Bone With a Hole

During and after the war, a time of la cucina povera, the Italian peasantry of the north were sustained by polenta, those of the mezzogiorno by chestnuts, and those of the south by da fishes. Peasant cooking, the transformation of humble ingredients, is deeply satisfying and easy on the wallet. Unfortunately, fickle fashion means that veal shank, like once-cheap lobster and oyster, is now a rare treat.

Ossobuco: it's vealy, vealy good, as Basil Fawlty would say. Risotto alla milanese is the traditional accompaniment to Ossobuco in bianco, but I think it works just as well with farro or pearl barley risotto, which transforms this into a comforting, earthy dish.

Ossobuco in bianco with pearl barley risotto and gremolata

First, prepare your Ossobuco. I did this a day in advance. You may need more than one piece of meat each, depending on the size. Dust each piece with a mixture of flour, salt, pepper and a little dry English mustard powder. In a casserole dish large enough to take a single layer of meat, melt a little butter and oil on medium heat and brown the meat on each side. Remove the meat to a plate, and then sweat one finely chopped onion and two ditto celery stalks (all ingredients to follow are per 2 servings), stirring regularly, until soft. Add one crushed garlic clove and four chopped salted anchovies in oil. Cook for a minute and then add 1/3 bottle of white wine. Bring to the boil and reduce by half. Add the meat to the pan in a single layer. Cover with greaseproof paper and a lid (or foil), and cook in a slow oven (150°C) for 2 ½ hours.

To make the risotto, soak 200g barley in water for a couple of hours. Drain, and then place in a saucepan covered with fresh water. Simmer for half an hour, or until tender and toothsome. Meanwhile, sweat 3 chopped spring onions and in a little butter. Add some halved or quartered chestnut mushrooms and a little chopped thyme and cook on a gentle heat until the mushrooms give up their liquid. Turn up the heat and add a good splash of white wine or vermouth. Allow to reduce, and then add this to the drained barley, along with ½ tsp ground cinnamon and half a preserved lemon. Season to taste and add a glug of olive oil.

To serve, make a gremolata: 1 finely chopped garlic clove, the zest of 1 lemon and a handful of flat leaf parsley. Sprinkle over the dish.

Mmmvelopes™

Bacon flavoured evelopes. Take that, email. By the good people at J&D's.

All Saints Day

Canapé time, for an All Saints Day soiree in Obuda. I was happy with these, my first effort at gougères, a sort of savoury profiterole. The sweet, earthy filling contrasts well with the piquant savouriness of the pastry.

Cheese and chive gougères with chicken, Jerusalem artichoke and hazelnut filling


This recipe makes 40 gougères, with enough leftover chicken for another meal.

Start the day before. Put a whole chicken in a large pot and cover with water. Add a chopped leek, carrot and celery rib, 2 garlic cloves, 2 bay leaves, a sprig of rosemary, 6 peppercorns and 1 tsp salt. Bring to a gentle boil and then simmer, lid on, for 1hr30. Remove from heat and allow to cool before picking the meat from the carcass. Sieve and keep the stock – you'll get over 2 litres of goodness, perfect for risotto. Shred the meat with two forks.

Thinly peel 10 Jerusalem artichokes. Cut into equal sizes and simmer in slightly salted water until just soft. Careful not to overcook them or they'll absorb water and the flavour will suffer. While they are cooking, make ½ cup vinaigrette of equal amounts white wine/vermouth and the chicken stock, 1 tsp Dijon mustard, 1 tsp honey, seasoning and a glug of neutral oil, e.g. grape-seed. Drain the chokes, and the vinaigrette and leave to cool. Chop the artichokes into smallish dice and mix, together with the vinaigrette, with 1 cup chicken and a small handful toasted, chopped hazelnuts (to toast, place the nuts on a baking tray at 175°C for 6 minutes – once cooled slightly, rub them together to remove most of the loose skin). Add 1 tsp lemon juice,, 1 tbl chopped parsley and check for seasoning. You're looking for a wet, glossy mixture, so add a little stock to loosen if necessary.

The above can all be done in advance. The gougères are best prepared an hour or so before they're needed.

Preheat the oven to 190°C, and line 2 baking sheets with paper.

Put 1 cup water, 120g butter and ½ tsp salt in a saucepan. Cook, stirring the butter to melt and mix, and then bring to a rolling boil. Turn off and remove from the heat and add 1 cup of cake flour. Beat the mixture with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula until it starts to pull away from the pan and is well mixed. Let it cool without stirring for 5 minutes.

Now, work in 4 eggs, 1 at a time, beating the mixture well with the spoon after each addition – it will look glossy at first, but once each egg is incorporated, the mixture will become sticky and harder to beat. You'll need to give it some welly – don't be timid. After adding the last egg, beat in ¼ tsp cayenne, 1 ½ tsp English mustard powder, and then 1 ½ cups cheddar and 2 tbl chopped chives.

Scoop up a heaped teaspoon of mixture and use another teaspoon to push it onto the paper-lined sheet. Leave 3cm space between each mound. Bake for 25 minutes, switching tray positions half way through. You may need to do this in batches. Remove from oven and allow to cool slightly before cutting open and spooning in a teaspoon of the filling. Serve whilst still warm if possible.

Grains Nobles

Couscous is nice. “Keep moving, Sir. Nothing to see here.” One of my favourite comfort dishes, created of necessity, is haggis (Macsween, natch) on a bed of couscous with a dollop of crème fraiche, a splurt of harissa, and a sprinkling of chopped coriander. Sacrilicious!

But couscous is old (red fuzzy-felt) hat. Quinoa, millet and amaranth are where it's at, Daddy-O. I know, I know, they sound like hair products. But they are cheap, nutritious, and delicious.

The following salad can be made with quinoa or millet. It is important to toast the grains in a dry frying pan to intensify the nutty flavours. You can substitute other veg and flavourings to suit your mood.

Millet salad

Measure out 250g millet (enough for 4 as a side dish), rinse and drain well. Dry fry in a non-stick pan for 6-8 minutes, stirring continuously, until the millet is completely dry and starts releasing a nutty odour.

Meanwhile, finely chop 2 ribs of celery, 1 chopped fresh chilli and 1 small onion. Fry at medium heat in a dash of vegetable oil for 5 minutes. Now add 1 heaped tsp garam masala and a chopped red pepper and fry for half a minute. Add the millet, 3 cups of water, a small handful of sultanas and ½ tsp salt, and bring to the boil. Cook, covered, for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. The millet should swell and absorb all the water.

Add 1 finely chopped spring onion, a generous handful of halved cherry tomatoes and some fresh herbage (parsley, coriander, dill or mint). Check for seasoning. Transfer to a serving bowl and splash over a little olive oil.

I ate this with some smoked peppered mackerel, and a little sauce of horseradish purée mixed with sour cream.

Uborka Saláta

This Hungarian cucumber salad is a good accompaniment for a braai or a potjie. This makes enough for 4 people:

Uborka Saláta

Peel and thinly slice a cucumber, ditto a clove of garlic. Spread the slices in a bowl and sprinkle with 1 heaped tsp salt. Leave for 1 hour, turning occasionally, and then tip the water that has leached out away.

Make a vinaigrette: ¼ cup water, 1 tbsp white vinegar, 1 heaped tsp sugar and a good grind of white pepper. Stir thoroughly, and taste – there should be a good balance between sweet and tart. You may need to add more sugar. Pour this over the cucumber, and allow to stand for 30 minutes.

To serve, spoon the cucumber onto a plate, leaving most of the liquid behind. Spoon over ½ cup stirred sour cream which has been thinned with a little yoghurt or milk.

Sprinkle with paprika or dill. Artless presentation photo optional.

Egészségedre!

Toxic Sludge

I got a text today from my great-aunt Hortense (like the Victorians with Queen Victoria, I didn't know she had legs under those voluminous skirts, let alone that she had mastered the ability to text, those gnarly thumbs being better suited to gripping a triple g&t than punching out an emoticon – I assume she dictated to a quivering underling), asking me “what the hell have I done to the Danube?" Hell indeed. It looks like Satan’s boudoir in west Hungary, people in Hazmat suits wading knee deep in Oros to rescue bedraggled pussy cats stuck up trees. Damage is so severe at ground zero that there is apparently no point in reconstruction, and it could be devoid of flora and wildlife for decades. Spare a thought for the locals, who will have to be relocated.

I guess catfish is off the menu for the foreseeable.

It's time to start stocking up on tinned pineapple and bottled water. And strange preserved things in glass jars, like a mad scientist's collection of HR Giger knockoffs in formaldehyde:

Hot cherry peppers stuffed with tuna and anchovy

Hooray for Hungary, with it's bewildering array of peppers (pritamin, cseresznye, kaliforniai, paprika, eröspaprika have found their way down my equal opportunity gullet to date). I pounced on some cseresznyepaprika (cherry peppers) at the market this week, and I immediately knew what I was going to do with them.

My cousin's mother-in-law makes a mean pepper stuffed with tuna. She is the type of formidable Italian woman who knows what to do with a pig's head, who has a larder stored with seasonal stuff harvested or purchased in abundance and then preserved to last out the winter. These peppers are a punchy, savoury treat, great as antipasto or with a Campari and soda.

This recipe is sufficient for 30 peppers, enough to fill a litre preserve jar.

With a small sharp knife, cut out the stalk and remove the seeds. Half fill a large saucepan with water and add 3 cups of white wine vinegar, bring to the boil and add the peppers in batches of 30, cooking for 5-7 minutes until the peppers have softened slightly. Do not let them become mushy. Drain well and allow to dry for 1 hour, cut side down.

To make the stuffing, empty into a food processor 2 tins of tuna in oil (not water), 5 anchovies, 1 heaped tsp drained capers, 2 tbs chopped flat leaf parsley, salt and pepper. Pulse until smooth and then add 2 tbs olive oil in a thin stream until the mixture is uniform.

You can spoon this into the peppers with a small teaspoon (fiddly), or use a piping bag or clean silicon sealant gun (thanks Sam!). Make sure the mixture displaces all the air in the peppers, and fill to the top.

Now pack the peppers cut side up into a sterilised jar. Fit them as snugly as possible. Top up with cheap olive oil (I used pomace, Nonna would probably have used that heady perfumed cold first press extra virgin stuff she puts on salads too). I'm sure these will last in the fridge for months, but I have no intention of finding out. They are delicious.

Kısır

Luanda is the most expensive city in the world for ex-pats to live in 2010. Tokyo is just nudged into second place. The annual Mercer study takes New York as the base measure for prices, comparing over 200 items, including housing, transport, food, clothing, household goods and entertainment, in 143 cities across the globe. It is around $11 for a cup of coffee in Moscow. Glowering barrista at no extra charge.

In Budapest, Culinaris deli is probably the only place to snaffle a pomegranate out of season. I saw some for around $9 each in June. No dice. Roll on October, and you can pick them up in the big markets for less than $1. “Seasonal” has become an oft trotted out phrase of trend watchers, but it assuredly makes economic and environmental sense. Plus, stuff tastes best in season. I'm just prostrate, hands clasped in fervid supplication, glad tears garnishing the gouty feet of Aristaios (the rustic god of shepherds and cheese-making), that cheese is a year round phenomenon.

Kısır with pomegranate and celeriac tops

This fresh, substantial Turkish salad can be eaten warm or at room temperature. I ate it with the chicken recipe in the next post.

Sweat an onion in a little olive oil. Once it begins to colour, add a handful of quartered cherry tomatoes, 1 tsp tomato purée or harissa and a small bunch of celeriac tops (beet or celery tops, or parsley can be substituted) and cook for 2 minutes. Now add 250g bulgur wheat and 100ml water. Bring to the boil, remove immediately from the heat, and add the following: 1 tbs pomegranate molasses (turksvye stroop works just as well if you're reading this on the stoep in Putsonderwater, peach mampoer in an enamel mug within easy reach of your beefy paw), a glug of verjuice, 1 chopped fresh chilli, 2 chopped spring onions, 1 tsp ground cumin, and seasoning to taste. Put a lid on the pan and stand for 20 minutes for the bulgur to soften and soak up the water. Stir in 1 tsp of dried mint or dill, and scatter over the seeds of 1 pomegranate and a drizzle of olive oil.

Be Grateful

Pregnant

Another neato sky, around sunset, between Stuttgart and Strasbourg.

So it's come to this

Was there ever a term more pejorative than goodie bag? This little treat was doled out at the end of the Budapest Half Marathon yesterday (the buff Mrs. FAI and the soft, yielding FAI shared duties in a relay, enabling Team Voertsek to romp home in 2H:04M:47S, way off our personal bests - the normally energetic Mrs. FAI being somewhat put out by the recent shift away from clement in the weather, resulting in a leash-straining reluctance to do any exercise). It tasted nothing like I'd imagine a Mexican might, being notable more for the texture of antebellum teddy bear stuffing than the “flavor”, a sort of bland, claggy, freeze-dried onion soup powder earthiness, strained through a grey sock.

This is why I can never become an astronaut. This, and the bad math grades.

Soup of the evening

Soup, the food that gives you the energy to eat other foods.

I know it's not much to look at (Mrs. Inspector vouchsafed "slime"), but it is an absolute treat.

Lamb, chickpea and spinach soup

This is enough for 2 people with leftovers.

Place 500g lamb neck in a small oven proof dish. Add enough water or good quality stock to cover. If using water, add a bouquet garni, some whole black peppercorns, 1 roughly chopped carrot, ditto 1 celery rib and 2 bay leaves. Cook in a slow oven (140°C) for 2 hours until the meat is falling off the bone. Remove the meat from the stock, and pick off the bone once cool enough to handle. Keep the stock for the soup.

Peel and dice 2 medium sized potatoes. Fry in a tsp olive oil until translucent and almost cooked, around 10 minutes. Add 1 finely chopped spring onion, 200g chopped spinach (or an equal quantity defrosted frozen spinach purée, which works just as well) the stock, a small glass of white wine, an equal one of water, 1 tin of drained chick peas, half a finely chopped preserved lemon and 1 tsp chilli flakes (only a pinch if you have the temerity to use cayenne rather than flakes). Bring to a boil and simmer until the potato has cooked through. Add the meat and 1/2 tsp dried mint or dill, taste for seasoning, and serve.

This hearty soup partners equally well with a light, fruity red or a gutsy white wine. I had the tail end of a bottle of Aegerter Chablis 2008. It was delicious.

Noosphere

There is this
and then there is another place outside inside everything
where all the rivers in our hearts empty out
a hummingbird at dawn
a shooting star
in the desert, the bleached bones of a long-dead thing

Leave the glass floor with a gentle push of your bare feet and send yourself into a watercolour cosmos

the most beautiful skies as a matter of fact

Interviewer: "What were the skies like when you were young?"

Jones: "They went on forever – They - When I w- We lived in Arizona, and the skies always had little fluffy clouds in 'em, and, uh... they were long... and clear and... there were lots of stars at night. And, uh, when it would rain, it would all turn - it- They were beautiful, the most beautiful skies as a matter of fact. Um, the sunsets were purple and red and yellow and on fire, and the clouds would catch the colours everywhere. That's uh, neat 'cause I used to look at them all the time, when I was little. You don't see that. You might still see them in the desert."

Singing nose flute Rickie Lee Jones recalling picturesque images of her childhood. This was later appropriated without her consent by ambient house troupe The Orb as a sample on dance noodle Little Fluffy Clouds.

Apricots

I like apples. Apples rarely disappoint. Apples are the Ivan Lendl of the fruit world. Sure, there are some more exciting flavours out there, but are there any that are so consistent? Sure, they can get a bit mealy (they like to be kept in the fridge), and like any tennis players, respond badly to bruising. Most apples are within touching distance of the best apples I've ever eaten (a particularly succulent, crisp and perfumed batch of Spartans which heralded autumn some years back).

Not all fruit are as dependable. There is a massive difference between an early ripening stone fruit, and a full blown mid-summer job, almost ready to explode it is so lusciously ripe. Apricots especially. They can be polite and unassertive, or moderately spectacular. I like dried apricots because they concentrate the sweet sour tang that defines the best of this fruit.

In South Africa, an unusual preserve called mebos is made from ripe, but firm, apricots which are brined, stoned, pressed flat, salted, and dried in the sun for several days. This produces a complex tangy, sticky puck of apricot, which is popular in the Cape as a lunch box staple. I was lucky enough to take delivery of an aid parcel from some friends in London (thanks R&R!), full of South African treats for the homesick, wan soutie, including a much coveted pack of mebos. I have adapted the following recipe from ice cream supremo David Lebovitz's book, The Perfect Scoop.

Mebos and Pistachio Ice Cream

Quarter 120g dried apricots and chop 2 mebos finely. Put the pieces into a small saucepan with 180ml white wine, dry or sweet as the mood takes you. Simmer gently for 5 minutes, cover and stand for 1 hour to allow the fruit to soak up all the juice. Coarsely chop 70g unsalted pistachio nuts.

Pour the apricot/mebos/wine mush into a blender with 130g sugar, 500ml single cream and a few drops of lemon juice. Blend until smooth, and chill thoroughly in the fridge before freezing the mixture in an ice cream maker. During the last few minutes of churning, add the pistachio nuts.

Socca

This is a Yotam Ottolenghi recipe, from his fantastic new book Plenty. The recipe can also be found here. I commend it to you. It makes a very tasty light supper. I'm posting a photo of my effort, because I was very proud of pancake # 4, which had a shape that almost certainly occurs in another dimension's version of nature, and hardly any burnt bits.

In The Pink

Since my arrival in landlocked Hungary, most of my intake of Class Pisces has been of the tinned variety. I come over all excited when Mrs. Inspector gets the tin opener out of the drawer, and am reduced to rubbing up against her leg in anticipation. I've also had a rather tasty fisherman's soup, or halászlé, at a dingy bistro at the top end of Paulay Ede Utca. And one day, I'm set on purchasing a whole live carp from a market and smacking its head on the kerb to send it to Fishalla before doing all sorts of unspeakable things to its carcass. But what I really miss, is a spanking fresh bit of sea fish. So, it was with lightened wallet that I returned home earlier this week with 2 chunky salmon fillets, procured from Culinaris, where etiolated ex-pats can be seen staring hungrily at the various imported wares like dissolute vampires.

This is a pretty dish, the rose sauce and the gentle pink of the poached salmon contrasting with the autumn hues of the salad

Poached salmon fillet with pink sauce and warm lentil salad

Allow one salmon fillet per maw. In a snug saucepan just large enough to accommodate the fillets in a single layer, add an equal mix of white wine and water to cover. Add 6 peppercorns, some chopped green herb stems (I used parsley and dill), a bay leaf, a chopped celery rib, and a small chopped onion or shallot.

Bring this slowly to a simmer, and cook gently for 4 minutes. Remove from the heat and allow to cool in the stock.

To make the lentil salad, put 80g Puy lentils per person in a saucepan, and add enough of the strained stock from the salmon to cover by a finger's width. Top up with water if necessary. Bring to the boil and then reduce the heat and cook, uncovered, for around 35 minutes until the lentils are cooked. Watch the stock level, but ideally the liquid should have mostly evaporated by the end of cooking. Drain.

While the lentils are cooking, make a mirepoix of 1 carrot, 1 celery rib and 1 onion. Sweat gently in 2 tbps olive oil for 10 minutes until softened. Add ½ tsp chili pepper flakes, a handful of finely diced button mushrooms, and cook gently for a further 10 minutes until the mushrooms give up some of their liquid. Now add the cooked lentils, a bunch of finely chopped parsley, a tsp of finely chopped sage leaves, 1 crushed garlic clove, a little crumbled feta and 1 tomato, also finely chopped. Season generously, add a glug of olive oil.

To make the pink sauce, mix 1 heaped tsp Erős Pista with 1 tbsp tejföl. You poor foreigners can substitute these for harissa and crème fraiche accordingly.

To serve, place a piece of salmon atop a mound of lentils. Spoon a good heaped teaspoon of pink sauce over the salmon.

Born up a tree.

New and Exciting

Sea-buckthorn juice, from Aragatsotni in Armenia. Tastes like a briny apricot.

Goats cheese and tomato tart

I'll try most anything from scratch in the kitchen. I've made my own cheese (a necessary by-product of Mrs. Inspector's overenthusiastic milkman standing order – why she thought the 2 of us would require seven pints of full fat milk a week, I'll never know), I've made Scotch eggs (huge, irregularly shaped things they were, like a prize bullock's knackers), I've even made chocolate flavoured marshmallows, albeit the thinnest, least pillowy marshmallows ever to see the light of day - they could have passed for after dinner mints, served along with the Nescafé Alta Rica the rector's wife only gets out for special occasions.

I draw the line at puff pastry, though. In order to get satisfactory puff, one folds the pastry in three, 4 to 6 times (or turns, in cheffy parlance), taking care not to allow the interstitial layer of butter to become too soft by refrigerating the dough after every turn, thus keeping the pastry foliated. The butter keeps the layers separate, and the folding action traps in air, which expands in baking and further helps to keep the layers separate. This takes an age and is fiddly, to boot. Hervé This has a good recipe for puff pastry, should you want to make the effort.

Goats Cheese and Tomato Tart

This is a good dish for a party, where it can be served warm or at room temperature, in slices of varying sizes.

Pre-heat the oven to 190°C. Roll open a packet of puff pastry onto a large, non-stick baking tray. With a sharp knife, score a line all the way round the pastry rectangle, about 1cm in, taking care not to cut all the way through to the baking sheet. This gives a nice edge to the finished tart.

Crush 2 cloves of garlic in a pinch of salt. Now add around 150g soft goat's cheese (I used a rinded French cheese similar in texture to brie, although a chevre-style log would work admirably too), 2 heaped tablespoons of crème fraiche, one finely chopped spring onion and 1 tsp of chopped fresh thyme. Mix until well combined and gloopy.

Spread this mixture evenly and thinly onto the pastry base, taking care to go work all the way up to the scored line.

Now take some good quality, ripe tomatoes, and slice them as thinly as you can with a sharp knife. Lay the slices on the tart, taking care to cover the whole surface and overlapping like roof tiles. Drizzle on a good glug of olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Lay some thyme sprigs on for decoration. Cook until the pastry is nicely browned and the tomatoes are roasted, around 40 – 45 minutes.

Allow to cool slightly before cutting and serving. We had this with a glass of Dúzsi Tamás' wonderfully fruity Kékfrankos rosé. I must start drinking things with less special characters. It took me an age to type that.

Cobblers

Mrs. Inspector is in London this week, bullying subordinates, tut-tutting at the weather and stocking up on organic emollients.

So, contrarily, I decided there was no better time to make a cobbler, a dish more suited to a large gathering than a solitary supper.

Meat Cobbler

Dice 1kg of stewing meat (I used half pork shoulder, half beef shin, but lamb would be lovely too). Toss the meat in a couple of heaped tablespoons flour which has been seasoned with salt, pepper and ½ tsp. English mustard powder or cayenne pepper.

Brown the meat in batches in a heavy pan or oven suitable casserole dish over a medium heat. Avoid the temptation to dump all the meat in at once, you don't want it to stew. Remove the meat with a slotted spoon and brown 1 finely sliced onion in the pan. Add 1 tin of dark beer or stout and allow to reduce by a third. Add the meat back to the pot, along with 2 carrots sliced into 1cm thick rounds, a couple of chopped celery sticks and their attendant leaves, and some of the following spices: 4 juniper berries, a sprig of thyme, a pinch of mace, a good grind of black pepper.

Add a cup of stock (I had chicken to hand, but vegetable would be just as good), bring to a slow boil, and then transfer to an oven pre-heated to 150C.

Cook uncovered for around 3 hours, stirring occasionally, until the meat is soft. Top up with a little stock if it looks too dry. Add some halved button mushrooms for the last half hour of cooking.

Turn the oven up to 200C and make your cobbler topping:

Sift 300g plain flour with 4tsp bicarbonate of soda and a teaspoon of za'atar (substitute this with a pinch of salt and ½ tsp of thyme if you wish). Rub in 70g chopped cold butter, and then add enough plain yoghurt to form a dough. Work lightly.

Roll out onto a floured surface until the dough is 1-2cm in thickness. Use a cookie cutter to cut out rounds, and then place them on top of the stew so they fit snugly.

Cook for 15-20 minutes until the cobbler is nicely browned. Peas go nicely, I think.

I enjoyed this with a glass of Portugieser from Villany, but I think a pint of Black Sheep Ale would have been even better.

00:27

Storm.
Moving away in the night.
Count the heartbeats after the flash...
The rumble is languorous, folding in on itself, like a soft-bricked building imploding.
The streets are dry.
The city sleeps.
Insects bump against the windows.
Wait.
Listen:
Here comes the rain, softly now.

Tikehau and tuna

Mr. and Mrs. Inspector have been swanning around in Fronch Polynesia, where the air is boocoo fresh and the bananas are Reference Bananas against which all wan imitators will henceforth be given the gimlet eye.

Mrs. Inspector has a beady-eyed predilection for all things piscine (except for fish-fingers, which she disdains with the fervour of the slightly unhinged), so she was in her briny element.

Island no. 4 on our jaunt was the extinct volcano atoll Tikehau (population: 407) , an iridescent green slash like the contracting pupil of the kraken, the inner edge bordered by pink coral sands and water of impossible blue, the outer edge by insistent waves, coral reefs, and various frolicking sea creatures, beflippered, befinned and betoothed according to their kind. On land, Tikehau is a barren place: the raised reef sustains coconut palms (and their atttendant crabs) and some shrubs, but there's little fruit and veg, and the only drinking water is collected from the rain and the odd well. This means that fish, and lots of it, was on the menu at our pension. The friendly and helpful owner, Caroline, performed marvels in the kitchen with limited ingredients, all supporting the main event - Bigeye Tuna. Someone must have landed a whopper, because it was our constant companion over 3 sultry days:

Day 1: tuna sashimi with grated carrot and cabbage, followed by grilled tuna steak with rice and a warm salad of carrot, onion and carrot.

Day 2: tuna poisson cru style (raw chunks marinated in coconut milk) with carrot and cabbage, followed by tuna brochettes with rice and a mushroom cream sauce.

Day 3: sliced raw tuna in soya sauce (my favourite treatment – my palate was finely honed tuna-wise by this stage), followed by cubes of tuna in a cream sauce with carrot and cabbage – this last dish delivered slightly sheepishly.

Any more tuna and I was in danger of turning into a human thermometer, blood replaced by mercury. I'm not complaining though – I miss fresh fish here in landlocked Hungary.

Chipotle Lasagne

Lasagne (and I won't stand for this Lasagna nonsense, pal) is one of those Italian dishes, like watery Spag Bol or poorly executed Caprese (spinach instead of basil; bendy Government Cheese instead of pillowy mozzarella; greenhouse grown, all flesh and no juice, never-ripening, gym class sick note tomatoes), that has found its way into the catholic vernacular of every corner of the indiscriminately hungry earth.

But, rather than use the above rant as a platform for providing a Reference Lasagne, should such a thing even exist, I shall use it as an excuse to expand on the canon with this delicious, super-cheesy heresy:

Spicy Chipotle Cheese Lasagne (serves 5 drawstring pants attired gluttons)

This recipe uses the chipotle chili, which is a smoke-dried jalapeño. You could conceivably substitute in smoked serrano or habanero chilies, but fresh or unsmoked chili won't give the same results. It also has a layer of unadulterated cheese for added unctuousness,or Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggggghhhness as Homer Simpson would say.

First, get cracking on your Ragù (enough for 6 cups):

In a heavy based saucepan, sweat 1 finely chopped onion and 3 chopped cloves of garlic until the mixture begins to colour. Add 2 each of finely chopped carrots and celery sticks. The dice should be the size of match heads or smaller. If you have neither the patience nor the coordination required to finely chop these, then shred in a food processor. You don't want lumpy sauce, do you?

Add 2 whole chipotle chiles, and cook uncovered over a medium heat, stirring regularly, until the vegetable mix begins to soften. Now add 500g pork or veal mince and stir to break up. Add 100g diced smoked pancetta/streaky bacon/smoked pork and stir through. Allow to colour before you add 2 tablespoons of tomato paste, a glass of milk, a glass of red plonk, a tin of chopped tomatoes, 1 cinnamon stick, 1 star anise (or a pinch of Chinese 5 spice powder), half a teaspoon of coarse salt and a couple of grinds of pepper.

Bring this unholy stew to a gentle boil then turn down the heat until it just bubbles, put on a lid and cook for 90 minutes, stirring occasionally. Allow it to cook uncovered for the last 20 minutes to reduce and thicken slightly. Discard the cinnamon and star anise, and taste for seasoning. It should be punchy.

Now, bring your considerable attention to bear on the Béchamel (enough for 4 cups):

Pour 700ml milk into a saucepan. Add a fingerwidth slice of onion, 1 piece of mace, 8 whole peppercorns and a couple of bay leaves. Bring slowly to a simmer, stirring regularly to stop the milk catching. Drain through a sieve, keeping the milk and discarding the other bits. Now, in a heavy saucepan, melt 50g butter, add 40g plain flour, and stir well to form a paste. Now add a little milk, and stir to incorporate with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula. Repeat this process until the mixture starts to loosen, then switch from a spoon to a balloon whisk and add milk , whisking constantly, to achieve a smooth, silky sauce. Add a pinch of salt. Allow to cook on a low heat for 5 minutes until thickened slightly and almost simmering. Take off the heat and pour into a jug if you'd like – it will make dispensing easier once you assemble the lasagne.

To assemble, coat a deep oven-proof casserole dish with a thin layer of ragù, then add a layer of "no pre-cook" lasagne pasta. Repeat with another thin smear of ragù, a thin layer of béchamel, then another layer of pasta, perpendicular to the last layer. Now a little more ragù, and then a layer of provolone or similar smoked cheese (in Hungary I use the prosaically monikered Cheeseland Smoked Sajt), cut into thickish slices. This will give a lovely, smoky, oozing layer to the finished dish. Now more pasta, ragù and béchamel, ending with a layer of béchamel atop a layer of pasta. Aim for 4/5 layers of pasta if you can make the ingredients stretch this far. Sprinkle with a large handful of grated strong cheddar, and pop into an oven pre-heated to 200°C for around 35 minutes. Keep covered with foil initially, but allow the top to brown for the last 10 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes before slicing and serving. A simple green salad and a nice fruity, lively Italian red wine are the best partners.

Disclaimer: I'm well aware that the pictured lasagne looks all forlorn huddled against the far edge of the plate, but I was leaving space for eatyergreens.

Gettin' my thang on

Have you nothing interesting to say?

N-no sir..

Well, why ever not? What did you do today?

I watched telly and ate leftovers...um, asparagus quiche and some sweaty chocolate avec nuts and an apple cold from the fridge. And played squash (lost 5-3, but I'm not cut up about it, it's the exercise that matters). I walked all the way home, too. That's about 40 minutes. I listened to the whole of Mingus' Tijuana Moods on my ipod while I strolled. It starts off hopeful and light-fingered, but ends a bit maudlin and pensive.

Not a surfeit of application then?

Nossir.

Well then, what are you going to do tomorrow?

Oh, tomorrow I'm quite busy. I have to plan a trip, do a spot of grocery shopping. Reclaim my muse. Get my thang on.

Do you even know what that means?

Nossir.

Hickory Chickens*

The last couple of times I have visited Nagy Vásárcsarnok, I have seen a stall holder with a cloth covered table hawking a mound of fresh morels. I took the plunge and bought some on Saturday, lest her supply peters out. I have a sneaking feeling the price won't dwindle appreciably over the season, so no point in procrastinating!

The French have the treatment of mushrooms sewn up: with garlic, cream, mild herbs such as chervil or parsley, the mushroom pan de-glazed with a splash of cognac, served on a crouton, or sacrificed to a duxelles.

Take a couple of big handfuls (enough for four people) and use a paper towel to wipe off any dirt. If they are filthy and you feel you must wash them, use them immediately afterwards to stop them discolouring.

Pop a knob of butter and a splash of light olive oil into a pan, add a very finely sliced clove of garlic and sweat over a low heat until the garlic is translucent. Add the mushrooms and some fresh herbs (I used thyme leaves and parsley stalks) and cook for 5 – 10 minutes until they have lost some volume and are just softened. Morels should always be well cooked to neutralise any toxins they may contain. De-glaze the pan with a tot of brandy or Madeira (vodka or vermouth will work just as well), add a glug of cream, a grind of pepper and salt, et voilà! I also added a little chicken jelly which I had culled from a chicken confit. More on that later.

Serve on a thin piece of toast, with a nice red Burgundy if you're feeling lavish.

* a.k.a Dry Land Fish, a.k.a Morels according to the good folks of Virginia and Kentucky, where they also grow

Magyar Tea Leaf

WE wuz robbed today: Mrs. Fresh Air Inspector's fancy-pants bicycle, which was chained to the central courtyard railings outside our front door with no less than two utterly ineffectual (yet monstrously expensive) chains. For good measure, the thief cut the brake cable and stole the saddle to my bicycle too, a sort of two-wheeled version of shooting out your potential pursuers' tyres in order to effect a clean getaway. I'm a bit miffed that my bike was considered unworthy of larcenous attention. It's red, for goodness sake!

The Rendőrség materialised within 20 minutes of the deed, dragging behind them a sheepish looking yoof in handcuffs. They were courtesy and efficiency itself, and I am due to pick up the errant object from the VII district police station later on, once CSI have been round to comb for fibres and bodily fluids and make fatalistic sucking noises through their teeth.

Why don't Hungarians eat more lamb?

Winter is loosing its grip, the birdies are twittering in the hedgerows, the dogshit is defrosting on the pavements, but the odd cold snap still causes me to crave moundy food: stews, confits, gelatinous shreddy bits of meat with caramelised root veg. Lamb St Menehould fits the bill.

Lamb isn't eaten much in Hungary, save for Easter time. Funny, considering the proximity to Serbia, where the sheep is king.

Some of the bigger markets stock some pretty sorry looking lamb, mostly pale (think milk-fed veal in hue) and weedy hunks of meat in odd cuts, but there are a couple of Turkish butchers dotted around the city who offer less scrawny and etiolated specimens.

You need lamb breast for this recipe – a very cheap cut, which most people don't bother with due to the massive amount of fat and wastage involved. But if you have time (and time is something the Fresh Air Inspector has a positive surfeit of at present), you can turn this into something rather special.

Take a whole lamb breast (no trimming required), and lay in an oven-proof dish. Add water to cover (probably a litre or so), and some flavourings – a roughly chopped, scrubbed carrot, a celery stem, a carrot, an onion, some bay leaves, peppercorns, and if you have it, a small piece of smoked pork or a couple of slices of smoked bacon.

Cook covered in a low oven (120°C) for 2 – 3 hours, until the meat is soft, and the rib bones are loosened. Remove from oven and allow to cool just enough to slide the bones out without scalding yourself. If the bones don't slide out easily, return it to the oven for a little longer. Once the bones are out and the lamb has cooled, remove the large flap of fat and discard. The stock can be cooled and drained, and used for other purposes (I made a rather tasty demi-glace with mine).

Cover the lamb with a plate or cling film, weigh it down with a heavy weight (I used a large tin of Koo brand guava halves, fact fans), and refrigerate overnight.

To serve, cut the lamb on the bias into fishfinger sized chunks. Coat in Dijon mustard, then beaten egg and finally roll in Panko breadcrumbs. Cook under a medium grill until nicely browned. One breast should serve 4 people. Serve with salsa verde or sauce gribiche, mashed potatoes, and some greenery. A fruity red with good acidity goes well with this. I had a nice Kadarka from Villány. Some juicy Italian should also work admirably.

Spring is in the air

The balcony gets 3 hours of sunlight a day, enough to keep my herbs happy. I haven't bothered to plant flat-leaf parsley or dill, which are cheap and readily available year round. Secret ingredient for the best Greek salad: a tablespoon of finely chopped dill. Wondrous.

You can see the Opera House in the background, for added gravitas.

Holes

I went for a walk around Pest yesterday, ostensibly to get my first Hungarian haircut (severely short, symmetrical; by a thick-set, gruff borbély, since you ask), but I ended up walking around vacant lots and excavations taking photos of things that no longer exist. Budapest feels like one big building site. Roads are being pedestrianised in District VIII, and many unsound balconies are being demolished from old buildings.