A Burning Sensation

Mrs. FAI puts chilli on just about everything, or rather, she would if I allowed her. To her mind, there's simply no food, or combinations thereof, that won't benefit from being drenched in heat. Chilli has an affinity with most things Mediterranean and Mexican, Near and Far East, however, I put my foot down when she wants to spoon chilli over, say, a quenelle of poached fish with leeks, or a Comté souffle. Just...no.

Sometimes I wonder if chilli is a food crutch, the adult version of slathering ketchup on the dreaded vegetables that your thin-lipped parent insists you eat.

I like Tabasco on my oysters, Sriracha on eggs, MSG-riddled Chinese flavoured chilli oil on fried rice, but for me, the Italian way of preserving fresh chillies in olive oil yields the tastiest results. A pizza or tomatoey pasta is naked without it.

This fruity, spicy condiment gets better with age. Fresh chillies lend a length and depth of flavour (not just heat) that shop-bought, long-dried chillies can't match. You can top up the oil for a while without diluting the fruit's punch. I suppose if you live adjacent to an olive grove you'd happily use your best cold pressed extra virgin, but I have obtained very good results with pomace oil, which is significantly cheaper. Use whatever you can afford.

Holy Oil

Buy a couple of large handfuls of fresh, red chillies. Although you could use piri-piri or bird's eye, I prefer the slightly milder large red “cayenne”style pepper. Remove the green stalks and chop the chillies into 1cm long slices. Don't remove the seeds. Take care not to rub your eyes until you have washed your hands thoroughly, unless you desire to look like the Bride of Wildenstein.

Now place all the chilli pieces in a sieve, add 1 cupful of coarse salt, and place the sieve above a glass or ceramic bowl. Leave for a week, during which the salt will leach all moisture out of the chillies. Stir every now and then so that the salt mixes well with the chillies. You can use the liquor which accumulates in the bowl to flavour cholent or curry, if so desired. Don't be tempted to hurry this procedure. The chillies must be dry before being steeped in oil: any residual water may turn the fruit rotten and there is a risk of botulism, which is really rather nasty.

After a week, pick the chillies out of the salt, shaking out as much loose salt as possible, and then place in a glass jar. Top with olive oil, and leave for a week so the oil can draw flavour. This oil can be kept in the store cupboard.

Keep the salt. I use it every year, topping up when necessary, and after a while it will be a beautiful pink colour and dotted with chilli seeds (my stash is visible on the left of the photo). It is lovely used as a punchy table salt.

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.