For the Love of Life

Asian steamed Snapper

2006-12-16T05:11:00.000-08:00

This is a really simple Asian themed dish. It really is easy to impart flavour into fish whilst steaming it. Although purchasing a bamboo steamer is an investment i myself do not have one, but instead use an upturned dish inside a large pan with a tight fitting lid.

Ingredients (serves 2)

4 Fillets of Snapper
2 Spring onions roughly chopped
2cm of Fresh Ginger thinly sliced
1 Clove of Garlic thinly sliced
2 Heads of Bak Choi cleaned and sliced lengthways
50ml Soy Sauce (Kikkoman if possible)
15mls Sesame oil
1 Cup of rice : 1 ½ Cups of water *

*This is a ratio. As long as the cup (Cappuccino, Tea, Glass etc.) is the same for the rice and water the measurement will be correct.

Method

The rice will take the longest, so start with it. Put desired amount of rice into cold pan, rinse a couple of times then add correct amount of water according to rice, and a generous pinch of salt. Place pan on maximum heat with lid on. Once the water has reached a vigorous boil turn the heat right down. Leave it like this for about 8mins, or until just under cooked. (Resist the temptation here to add more water). Turn heat completely off and leave until serving – voila perfect rice.

Score the skin of the Snapper and place them directly on to a plate or steamer skin side up (try not to overlap fish). Toss over the garlic and ginger, then place Bak Choi on top of fish.. (You can add anything aromatic at this moment (Lemongrass, Chilli, Coriander blah, blah, blah)).

Place the plate carefully on top of the upturned bowl ensuring water does not rise higher than about half way up the bowl. Add the lid, turn urn on heat to maximum, and steam for about 6mins (time starts when steam starts!!)

Whilst fish is steaming, heat up sesame oil and soy sauce together. As it boils turn off the heat

Remove steamed fish and vegetables from pot and pour over soy and sesame sauce, sprinkle over sliced spring onions and serve with the rice.

Fish Curry

2006-12-11T12:57:00.000-08:00

This is a brilliant dish which I have adapted from the original made by Atul Kochhar. There should be no excuses for not trying this. The three spices used are extremely common in Indian cooking. They are available in almost every supermarket, they are inexpensive, and will last indefinitely – they are worth the investment.

The dish is adaptable. Almost any fish can be used. Almost any greens can be substituted for spinach – try using the bottom of ready prepared salad bags, which are beginning to turn.

Ingredients (Serves 4)

2 Tblsp oil (vegetable oil would be best. But any other will do)
1 Onion, sliced thinly
2 Cloves of Garlic, crushed
1 Inch of Ginger, grated or sliced thinly
1 Green/Red Chilli, deseeded and sliced finely
1 Tblsp Garam Masala
1 Tblsp Tumeric
1 Tblsp Chilli Powder
1 Tin of Cocunut Milk
4 Fillets of Sea Bass, skin on and scaled
Handful of Spinach, or any other tender greens (completely optional)

Heat the oil in a shallow pan over a medium heat, add the onions. Cook the onions until they are soft. This should take up to about 10mins. Try not to colour the onions too much.

Once onions are cooked add Chilli, Ginger, and Garlic. Cook through for a couple of minutes (until you can smell the aromas). Add the spices. Stir, and again cook through until the aromas are released.

Add Coconut milk and stir to mix with spices. The curry should turn a brilliant yellow colour. Bring the Coconut milk to the boil, and add Bass fillets.

The fish shouldn’t take much more than about 5mins to cook through – depending on size. Remove fish from pan and place on bed of rice, pouring over sauce.

(Optional) If choosing to use spinach, place pan with a little sauce back on hob, and add spinach. Wilt (1min) and spoon sauce and spinach over fish and rice.

For Your Enjoyment

2006-07-25T03:58:00.000-07:00

Whilst I am finding my footing in my new home and area, here is something for your enjoyment. I have not yet found a suitable place in my new house to write, so longer pieces may be a little time coming. In the meantime I thought I would note down some of the comedy menu items myself, Ed, and several other friends thought up one night.

The requirement for listed menu items is obvious. If anyone has any suggestions please add a comment.

¨ Donald Rumpsteak

¨ Fillet Schofield

¨ Mixed Grill Clinton

¨ John Cleese Board

¨ Pork Gorbachop

That was our contribution. They are surprisingly hard to think of.

Peasant Stew

2006-07-07T04:40:00.000-07:00

This is a deliciously simple and robust dish. Although being one of my own creations I am sure it was inspired by a past life spent catching Wild Pigs in the Basque Country whilst sipping local Rioja in the hazy Summer Sunshine (oh to dream).

It is a fully adaptable dish, and I have added a few variations on the theme. For this dish it is preferable to have a hob proof Roasting Dish or Casserole big enough to snugly fit 4 chicken thigh portions. If you just have the normal roasting dish not designed to withstand direct heat from the hob then just cook in frying pan and transfer to pre heated dish. (And then put a hob proof Roasting Dish on your Christmas list!).

Instructions always seem so bloody patronising to me, (eg. “8mm² pieces”) so just use the following as guidelines. If followed exactly you will have a beautiful dish, however if changed slightly it will become your beautiful dish.

Ingredients

4 x Chicken Thigh and Leg Portions
3 x Carrots (Quartered length ways, and then chopped so you end up with 8mm² pieces)
3 x Celery Sticks (Cut to the same size as the Carrot)
1 x Medium Onion – Diced
1-2 Tins of Chopped Tomatoes (it really is worth buying good tinned tomatoes, an extra 20p can make all the difference)
3 x Garlic Cloves – Thinly Sliced
1 x Bay Leaf
1 x Large Sprig of Rosemary (or 1 level Tblsp of dried)
½ Tblsp Dried Oregano
12 – 16 Slices Chorizo
1 x Bottle of Rioja (175ml for the dish, and the rest to serve)
Basmati Rice to serve

Method

1. Pre Heat oven (and roasting dish, if not in possession of hob proof dish) to 180°c.

2. Place frying pan/roasting dish on hob on maximum, and add a good swig of olive oil.

3. Season chicken. Once the oil is smoking in the pan gently place the chicken portions in skin side down. Let the chicken fry hard for about 3mins before turning. Resist the urge to play and move the food in the pan, just leave it be. Brown chicken on both sides and remove to plate.

4. Reduce heat on hob to medium. Add a knob of butter and another swig of oil if needed. (make sure there are roughly equal amounts of oil and butter. The oil stops the butter from burning whilst allowing it to reach a hotter temperature)

5. Add Celery, Carrots, Bay Leaf, Onion, Garlic, Oregano, Rosemary, and seasoning. Fry mixture, turning every now and then for about 6-8mins.

6. Increase the heat to maximum. Once pan is hot (noisy with sounds of frying) add Wine. Stir gently. Once boiling, simmer for about 1min before adding the tomatoes. Once tomatoes are added, bring back to the boil and reduce heat to medium.

7. (If using separate dish remove it from the oven and transfer tomato mixture). The mixture should sit at least 3cm deep, if it is too thinly spread then you may have too big a dish, or you can add a few more tomatoes. Place the chicken portions, skin side up on top of the sauce and gently push down a little, the chicken should be slightly submerged.

8. Add the Chorizo slices. Each thigh should have at least one slice of Chorizo, but otherwise they can be arranged liberally. Cover with foil and place in oven for 45-60mins. Check each half hour. If it looks dry at all (it really shouldn’t) then add just a touch of water.

9. Cook Basmati Rice whilst waiting. One tip with rice if you want ease and presentation is to chill, drain and rinse the rice as soon as it is cooked. Then just before service pack the rice quite tightly into Cappuccino Cups, seal with Cling Film and Microwave for about 90secs each. Simply turn a plate upside down on top of the cup, and then flip the right way up, remove cup and, voila a beautiful mound of rice.

There are many variations to the basis of this recipe, I have listed a few below, but remember about 80% of cooking comes from the imagination, and another 10% comes from adaptability. That leaves only 10% that is basic cooking skill, have this in mind when you are cooking, be confident, don’t be afraid to make mistakes, have a glass of wine, and you are sure to have a successful dinner.

· For a Summer variation add a handful of fresh tender leaf greens, (Rocket and Spinach are brilliant, but even if you just have some lettuce that needs using, don’t be afraid to use it) just before serving. The residual heat from the sauce will wilt the tender leaves. This is also particularly good served with a wedge of lemon.

· For the Winter try different root vegetables to add a different flavour. Never underestimate the flavour given off by celery and carrot, but try experimenting with Swedes, Parsnips etc. Whatever is in your pantry that needs eating.

· Enhance the flavour of the Chorizo with some hot red chillis or red peppers. Experiment with other cured meats. Try to stick with cured meats with a high fat content and a personality of their own

· Add anchovies, and black olives instead of the Chorizo. Frozen, peeled prawns are also very good with olives and anchovies.

You can tell from the variations that this dish is fully adaptable. Recipes are always there to act as a basis for the imagination to wonder. Change everything, change nothing, the choice is yours.

"Et tu Moulé?"

2006-06-23T10:44:00.000-07:00

If I was to don a prison outfit, and be shaved from head to toe in anticipation of my turn in the Texan naughty chair, then my last request would be for a pack of mints. I know this because I would have dined on Moules Marinière the night before at my Last Supper, and the last thing I would want to do when meeting St. Peter at the Pearly Gates would be to offend him with my Garlic breath. Forget being buried with all that bling, that’s so 1323 BC; no, take me to the Next Life on a belly full of Moules, and a pocket full of mints.

Moules Marinière is my favourite dish – fact. It is not a decision I have taken lightly; it has been twenty years in the making, and it is not a fickle choice; there will not be a sudden change of allegiance. I cannot say it will forever stay at the top of my list, because it is impossible for me to have tried all the dishes in the World, but to this point it has beaten the likes of English Fish ‘n’ Chips, Udon Noodles, and Sushi to claim its place on the menu of my Last Supper.

As a dish Moules Marinière embodies everything I love about food, it is simple, honest, and ultimately delicious. For me it is the greatest dish conceived by modern culinary methods because of the perfect marriage of ingredients. Where so many dishes can be overcomplicated by unnecessary flavours that end up being lost on the palette, the ingredients of Moules Marinière combine only to enhance each other – it is the perfect team performance. There is something so deliciously simple about the combination of Mussel liquor, and white wine accentuated by garlic, and shallots, and then luxuriated by double cream. The Mussel may not be the most attractive ingredient, but it is the unique flavour it gives off when being steamed open that makes it stand head and shoulders above any other.

I had always seen the Green Lip Mussel as being the ultimate ingredient, paradoxicaly it was actually the Green Lip that cemented the foundations for my thoughts on over sized food (see “Suspicious Food – May 23rd). I have now reverted to the traditional, smaller European Molluscs. I will attempt to talk you through my process of eliminating the Green Lip as the Central ingredient for my Last Supper.

The Green Lip had been elevated to Everest like heights in my estimation by two separate experiences. The first was whilst eating Moules Marinière at Léon Bruxels in Paris. I was sharing the table with an Australian, who, as soon as he saw the size of Mussel I was about to pop into my mouth burst into hysterical laughter. “That’s not a Mussel” He said, “This is a Mus……… No I wasn’t eating with Crocodile Dundee, and no he didn’t pull out a massive Mussel from his pocket. However he did say that these Mussels would not only be illegal for human consumption in Australia, but would be illegal even to use as fish bait. This being my favourite dish I started to staunchly defend the size, but then remembered the second Green Lip experience I had, had.

I had seen, cooked, frozen, and then defrosted Green Lips displayed at my local supermarket so I understood the size he was talking about. Although always being fascinated I had never gone as far as purchasing any to try because I knew I was paying a ridiculous price to taste a substandard product, so I always made do with the smaller local equivalents. This exercise in self-deprivation just helped lift the Green Lip to a near mythical status in my mind.

The combination of these two events meant that by the time I arrived in New Zealand I could almost taste the delicious flavours of Moules Marinière. On board flight NZ002 from San Francisco to Auckland as others slept dreaming of Middle Earth, I dreamt of cheek stretching mouthfuls of gigantic Mussels.

As soon as I entered my first supermarket in Paihia I realised just how abundant the Green Lips were in this area: they have a Perspex box in supermarkets in New Zealand with a self refreshing water supply, and in that box they have stacks of huge Mussels. At a poultry NZ$2 per Kilo they are astonishingly inexpensive, cheaper than chicken wings, cheaper even than apples. At that moment I realised my entrance to Nirvana was not at the end of 7 pillars of wisdom, but was a plastic handled Perspex box filled with Mussels. I put off trying the Mussels until I was in more comfortable surroundings, but slept well in the knowledge that they were both fresh and freely available.

It was actually quite some time before I managed to try the Mussels, but on a beautifully clear hot summer’s day in Paihia, Ed, James, and I had our fill. James and I had been tipped off by a garrulous French man the night before, who with synthetically enhanced bright eyes had excitedly described a rocky outcrop no more than 100 yards from where I lived. He explained (mostly with quick hand gestures, whistles, and nasal noises) that at low tide, although still being covered with water you can perch yourself on top of the fecund rocks and pick out handfuls of Mussels. With James and I both having the next day off we decided to trust this man’s word, and headed out into the sea armed with a pair of goggles and a netted bag.

It was a simple, short swim off the one main Bluff in Paihia out to the rocks. The only problem occurred when we tried to steady ourselves. Because of the breaking waves, and the need to use both hands to pick the Mussels it meant we had to assume an uncomfortable squat position on top of the rocks. We needn’t have complained, because as we put our hands down on to the rocks, clasped, and brought them back to the surface our hearts were set pounding. We were pulling out Mussels the size of babies’ fists. It took us less than 10 minutes to fill our bag full of enormous Green Lips.

As James and I dried off and started our walk back to the hostel I could hardly contain my excitement, firstly the idea of passing a day eating dish after dish of delicious mussels had me going, but there was something more, I was on a high from the whole experience. This was my first catch in New Zealand and I couldn’t believe how good it had made me feel. As we made our way through the hordes of sunbathing travellers I couldn’t help walking just that little bit taller. If I hadn’t have been hurried by a mixture of adrenalin and hunger I would have stopped, struck a few muscular poses and talked to the many females about how manly I was. It was a moment of sheer concentrated, ebullient confidence. I felt like throwing on a pair of leather trousers and singing Delila.

In hindsight I believe it was the momentary return to primal instincts that gave me such a wonderful feeling. Akin to an animalistic mating ritual my chest subconsciously pushed itself out to a prouder position, and an extra swagger was added to each of my steps. In the most basic of terms I was revealing my potency as an alpha male, something that in years past would have been irresistible to the opposite sex. By strutting past the bronzing females on the beach James and I were advertising our innate manliness; that bag of Mussels announced our masculinity louder than any steak eating, football watching, or belching ever could. Our hunting expedition appealed to the innate female instinct of procreation, the desire to find a strong mate, who would be able to provide the basic human needs of, food, shelter, heat, and strong genes – our mettle was proven by the bag we carried in our hands.

To be honest I have no idea if that is what was going on at that moment. It is the only slightly scientific solution for the feeling of elation I had at that time and felt time after time with every fish caught, or mushroom picked. The feeling never became diluted, whether it was food, water, or firewood I had managed to collect it gave me a sense of worth, it was reassuring to know that I was able to provide for myself. It was nice to live out those childhood daydreams inspired by Davie Crocket, and sensationalised by Schwarzenegger, I now had a real use for my Swiss Army knife, and all those pockets on combat trousers suddenly became relevant.

I was lucky to have been surrounded by people who came from countries and backgrounds that embraced this more hands on approach to life. If left to my own devices I would not have taken many of the chances I did, because like many from this country I have been subconsciously taught to distrust the unknown. Every day the media broadcasts hundreds of reasons why we should be afraid, why we should be happy with our lives, because look what could be happening. This attitude stops us from taking chances, and stops us from possible enjoyment, and bettering of ourselves. I do concede that it is necessary for our government to put into place legislation and laws to protect, and to a certain extent control people, for a population based on no government or law would be self destructive anarchy. I just believe that the government shouldn’t act so supercilious, and think themselves so omniscient, give people a proper education, and then trust them to make some choices for themselves. Maybe this was the source of my joy, it was the first time I had done something slightly daring whilst sober, I had officially started my adventures.

After our triumphant walk back to the Hostel, and much celebratory back slapping we set about preparing the Mussels. Because these Mussels had come from the sea, close to the shoreline we decided they would need quite a lot of cleaning. We placed them in fresh water to irritate them into spitting out any sand they may have had in their bodies. We also scrubbed the outside of the shells, removing muddy barnacles. In hindsight I’m not sure if this was all necessary, I did eat Mussels from the sea again, didn’t soak them or scrub them, and they were still delicious. After the initial hour of cleaning, and congratulating James, Ed, and I looked proudly upon about 10 kilos of freshly caught, huge Mussels cleansing themselves in the bucket of freshwater.

The decline of the Green Lip was insidious. When something has been placed upon such a tall pedestal, there really is only one way it can go – South. Having been eager to satisfy my seven-year craving I had grabbed a small handful of Mussels and tossed them into a pot. Having cooked them for longer than usual (compensating for their larger size) I was surprised to see that the majority still remained tight lipped (pun intended), following the rule I had always been taught I discarded about 4 from 6 deeming them not fit for consumption. The remaining two I gobbled up with a salacious greediness normally reserved for porn frenzied adolescents.

Like the movie bad guy lasciviously fondling his weapon of mass destruction, I rubbed my belly and licked my lips. I was savouring the entire experience; it was my moment of triumph, I was overcoming a culinary nemesis. So consumed was I by my victory I was suffering severely from a dose of suspended reality; like that bad guy who hadn’t counted on the secret agent smashing through the windows, woman, and knife in hand I really hadn’t expected my triumph to have been so short lived and so shallow.

As the evening progressed and more and more Moules were consumed I noticed there were increasingly more partially chewed remnants being left behind. It was about now that I started to wake from my desensitised coma. People were leaving behind semi-masticated mouthfuls because they were too chewy. The rubbery consistency of Mussels is often caused by paranoid overcooking, however even when delicately cooked the combination of the Cilia, Gills, Excurrent Siphon, and Foot (note: I do, do some research!!) mean that the Mussel could never be considered as ‘smooth textured’; but this was more. I was finding thick pieces of flesh becoming stuck in between teeth, picking these out whilst trying to savour the flavour became boring.

I could not believe the betrayal of this ingredient. There had been a time when I would have confidently strode through fire to collect them, and then happily conquered the highest peak to announce their arrival, and now it had the audacity to irritate the most heinous of all my food pet hates: It was fighting me! Like the Vindaloos I once attempted to eat when I was younger and more immature, the Green Lip was attempting to engage me in battle. At least the Vindaloo had the decency to be up front with its game plan, standing toe to sweaty toe, and daring you to have a go, these Green Lips were being far more surreptitious about the whole thing; they had lured me into a false sense of security and then bang………….. “Et tu Moulé?”

Well that’s how the Green Lip fell from grace, like Superman faced with Kryptonite the Mussels had gone from being a mythical, infallible ingredient of my Last Supper to just another Mollusc.

P.S. I still hold the Green Lip high in my estimation. My above feelings have been slightly dramatised. Really I shouldn’t have placed my expectations so high, and then they wouldn’t have disappointed so. I am sure there is a moral hidden somewhere in this story, something about hatching chickens and counting.

P.P.S. I will very soon add my favourite Mussel recipes. This is after all a blog that is supposed to include recipes.

Weak of Mind, and Fat of Gut

2006-06-05T12:50:00.000-07:00

I have often wondered about writing a diet book. I have no problem profiting from the self-loathing people have for their own bodies. You may think this cruel, preying on the weak of mind and fat of gut; but I disagree, in fact I claim it as my right to exploit others’ frailties. If we are to split hairs, then I can justify myself: My diet plan (if followed properly) would help people to lose weight, lead a healthier lifestyle, and live longer.

Aha I hear you cry, it has already been done many times over, already there exists a plethora of wondrous diets, promising the perfection we all crave: The (F)Atkins, The Zone, The Cambridge, The Bikini, The Brad, The Jen, The Juice………. The list is very long; some may say too long – well boo hoo to you, you sceptic everyone is just trying to give fat people a chance to be slim like those lithe Hollywood bodies paraded on screen and in magazine. Get with the program, get yourself on a diet: cut those Carbs, increase that juice, and shed those pounds – do it, do it now!!

So where does my diet fit in? I’m not too sure, you see I have a catchy title, “Put the Fork down you Fat F**k”, and I have a theory on which to base my diet: consume fewer calories than you burn, through a healthy balanced diet and a moderate exercise routine, but I just don’t think it’s enough. It’s not glam, there’s no celebrity endorsement, and there’s no radical plan – it needs tweaking.

You may ask what qualifies me to produce a diet, I am neither nutritionist, nor physiologist, however it seems my greatest failing is that I am no celebrity. To me it is a sad reflection of our society that people can have a near encyclopaedic knowledge of unimportant, fickle celebrities, but know nothing about the sustenance they put in their bodies. I am sure this is where my diet would fail; with no slick marketing campaign, and no celebrity to attach a perfectly plucked, airbrushed face nobody would take notice.

Another major flaw with my plan is that it is not instantaneous, it takes a little time, patience, and more importantly a shift in lifestyle and attitude. This is definitely something people are not willing to accept, because too many regard themselves as victims, helpless victims of fiendish marketing campaigns executed by money grabbing, conscienceless food manufacturers aiming at our ever so weak wills. My advice – Grow up! For how long can you wallow in your own ignorance and self pity? Food manufacturers function in a void of conscience afforded to them by a lax government, in essence they are profit-making organisations able to forego quality to maximise profit. They will sell you nutritionless crap dressed in convenience, and flavoured by chemicals, because that is cheap and that makes profit. It does not however excuse personal responsibility.

It seems senseless to me that the government allows food manufacturers to paint their products with misleading bi-lines portraying their product as a healthy alternative, terms such as “Reduced Fat”, and “Diet” are two of the worst offenders; so over used, yet so under implemented. The government seem uninterested hiding behind the banner of freedom of choice. The concept they do not seem able to grasp is that there is no choice without knowledge, and unfortunately too many of our population are uninformed.

My advice when next looking to lose weight is not to take my diet, do not take any diet, they are short-term fixes for ongoing problems. Instead look to employ that paradoxical commodity, common sense, get off your ass and take notice of what you eat, after all as Brillat Savarin once said, “You are what you eat”.

Does Size Really Matter?

2006-05-24T12:43:00.000-07:00

Does size really matter? This question I asked the man pushing the freshly shucked oyster towards me. He was myopic with his response, "These are the best oysters you'll ever try. Forget the ones from Bluff, these are the best." As a relative ignoramus in terms of Bi Valve delicacies, I really had no idea what I was looking for as I broke my New Zealand Oyster virginity. The first thing I noticed was the size. I had only ever seen Oysters on a buffet in Hong Kong several years prior. At this moment, those Oysters looked like some sort of undernourished distant cousin. This was the single largest oyster I had ever laid eyes upon, I felt that I should be attacking it with a knife and fork, not simply knocking it back as is traditionally suggested - I could choke on this. I started......... and then stopped asking the tattooed Maori in front of me if he was familiar with the work of Dr. Heimlich. Despite my concerns I slid the huge specimen down. Having chewed and swallowed, I was instantly converted. This was the most delicious, invigorating product I had ever let pass my lips. The apotheosis of refreshment. The iced pint of Coca - Cola, served with a thick wedge of lemon, enjoyed on a blisteringly hot day in Bournemouth had lost its' crown. Finally an untainted natural product had overtaken the best that the world of synthesised, sugary drinks could offer in terms of refreshment. - This road side shack between Paihia and Auckland had just taken on a monumental significance. I felt like laying flowers.

The source of the finest oysters available will forever be debated. The New Zealanders believe it to be their Bluff Oyster, The Australians, their Rock Oysters, if the Belgians (noted as being the largest consumer of oysters per capita) are to be believed then the title falls to the Colchester Oyster. None of this concerns me, as I believe, as with almost every example of food, it is down to personal preference. One mans oyster is another mans cold porridge. I simply wanted to consume as many of these mouthfuls of bliss as I could. I would obviously find a type of oyster I preferred, but I could never see myself refusing one on the grounds of its’ postal address.

There is then the question of what to do with your oyster once it is in your hands. For me a freshly picked oyster, dressed lightly with lemon juice, slid from shell to mouth, chewed, passed through the gullet, and finally into the stomach is undoubtedly the best method of consumption. If a living organism is to be put to death in possibly the most gruesome fashion i.e. swallowed alive, then it is necessary to pay it the respect it deserves. This is why you must be fully involved when eating an oyster. It is not just the flavour that needs to be considered, but the texture must also be savoured. The best oysters are those that, not only taste like freshness itself, but also feel like refrigerated creamy silk, flowing through the mouth appeasing all sensory feelers, sending a message of satisfaction via the Mandibular nerve to the brain, where a party ensues. This is the aphrodisiac that has become a cliché. It is not in the chemical make up, there are no reactions going on, it is simply the luxuriant texture that reminds you of everything indulgent. It evokes feelings of decadent pleasure. - This is the power of the Oyster Au Natruel.

When it comes to the Kiwis' preparation ideas, they seemed to have lost the plot slightly. One can hardly blame them, they have so many. They're done with the raw thing, they're too macho to gush over the merits of a fresh oyster. I understand this now, but imagine my surprise when I spotted my first battered and deep fried oyster, sold at the local fish and chip shop. I had heard of cooked Oyster dishes such as Rockefeller and Kilpatrick before leaving, and have since tried both, (Although an interesting change, I do not think either method adds much), but never had I heard of battered, deep fried oysters. I was horrified. Did people know this practise was going on? What is the number for the foodie police? This was an emergency, I needed Ramsey, Oliver, Slater, and Blumenthal to abseil in and right this wrong, surely this could not be tolerated. But it is. Not only do they batter oysters, they also desecrate the beatific scallop and the huge Green Lips. There are simply too many of them.

I don't think Oysters Au Natruel will ever be topped, but the recipe below is easy, delicious, and extremely quick - perfect for the van. The Oysters we used were collected from a work site one of my friends was working on. As the tide receded from the private jetty attached to the semi-built house it revealed clumps of small, mud covered oysters. The site, located on the Russell side of Opua Harbour will now almost definitely be inaccessible, with the house, I'm sure completed, and occupied by a wealthy inhabitant, who will not take kindly to scavenging travellers. This site may be gone, but Oysters are prolific in this area. The further they are into the sea the cleaner they will be. Watch out for those located near boat jetties, they will be full of Diesel.

Opua Oyster Breakfast, serves 1
I found myself cooking this dish on the back of a 50ft yacht. It belonged to a South African I had met, Neil. His was a fascinating story: Having left South Africa with 3 friends when he was 18, he now found himself at the age of 20 in New Zealand. He had sailed via Brazil, through the Panama Canal, and then down through Fiji and Tonga, an incredible voyage. The yacht was not his, but had been bought by his father during the most volatile period of Apartheid. His fathers’ thinking being that if the shit hit the fan for his white family, they could load both family and belongings on to the boat and sail off to safety. As it happened Terreblanche was muted, and Mandela walked free. This left the yacht available for Neil and his buddies to tour the World – a trip I am certain they are still on.

It must be said that I spent a lot of time with Neil, Mr. T, Seth, and Chris. They were true travellers, escapees from taxes, and laws, 100% mobile to travel where they pleased. My favourite memory of Neil was when he dropped his kite, whilst Kite Surfing in the middle of The Bay, only to be picked up by a tourist packed jet boat.

Anyhow it was on the back of his boat where we hung the oysters through a tide change to clean them, and it was on the back of this boat where we cooked them.

It was such a nice feeling as we were picked up by the boys in their launch, coasting across the beautiful sun kissed Opua Harbour. It was times like these when I was reminded of my reason for leaving England for New Zealand. I was on a working holiday, and I did work a lot, often two jobs. But this feeling of freedom, and adventure appeased any frustrations built up during the working week. This is the opposite of how it feels in this country, where we are too unimaginative when it comes to enjoyment. Our children are numbed by television, and computer games, whilst our adults are retarded by alcohol. The get up and go spirit seems to have been forgotten. Our government seems too wrapped up in bureaucratic White Elephants to constructively deal with social problems. This is the joy of a democratically governed population of over 50 million. Trying to please everyone all of the time does not work, so instead we all live in this constant state of mediocrity. Where are the Neil’s of this country? Why can’t we be rash and irresponsible?

With these thoughts in your mind, be irresponsible and have oysters for breakfast. The following is based on one person eating. Poached eggs can be a pain, so leave it out if it causes problems. In my case, I was using a barbecue, so was able to fit a pan and a frying pan on the grill over the coals.

Ingredients:
Rasher of Bacon, sliced thinly
¼ Clove of Garlic, finely sliced (optional)
½ Tblsp of Sesame Oil
Handful of fresh greens. Rocket is excellent, but any other tender leaf works.
3 Freshly shucked oysters
Thick slice of bread
1 Egg

1. The oyster dish will take less time than the egg, so start poaching first. For a perfect poached egg, add some acid into the boiling water. This can be vinegar, lemon juice, or any other edible acid. Once just boiling, spin the water with a fork, spoon, whatever, then crack in the egg (as fresh as possible) into the middle. Cook to your requirement. This is not fail proof, but gives you the best chance.

2. For the oysters. Heat the pan very hot. Pour in your sesame oil. Once this starts smoking, add the bacon. This should cook almost instantly. You do want it to go golden brown. At this point add the oysters and garlic and reduce heat. (If you feel pan is too hot. Remove fully from heat for a few seconds). To cook through should only take a couple of minutes for the oysters, and you will see how finely you have chopped your garlic by how raw it is.

3. Finally, just as the pan is losing heat, place your slice of bread in any space you can find. This just needs 15 secs on each side. Out with the bread, and in with the greens. The residual heat should wilt the leaves. Once halved in mass your meal is ready. Serve oyster mixture on bread, topped with poached egg

This is a wonderful recipe. It must be noted that it is fully adaptable. Olive oil instead of Sesame works well. A knob of butter at the end for extra luxury. A squeeze of lemon for freshness. Just smash a clove of garlic and remove before eating, instead of slicing etc. I will not continue, It’s a bit patronising.

For Your information, my favourite 3 Oysters of all time: No.1: West Mercea Oyster, bought and eaten at Birmingham Indoor Fish Market. No. 1: Oyster bought at shack between Paihia and Auckland. No.1: Opua Farmed Rock Oyster, given to me by Jim the man who ran the fish and chip shop next door to me. As you can tell I really have no out and out favourite, they were all perfect for different reasons.

A Welcome Distraction

2006-05-24T12:30:00.000-07:00

I had travelled to NZ with a friend and had picked up a 1989 Toyota Town Ace, painted matt green. The colour was a result of our vendor becoming frustrated at the number of rust patches he was smothering with primer, so simply deciding to join the dots. It was nothing special, having stood stationary for a good part of its’ life near the beach, the interior was covered by a thin layer of sand. Passing any speed of more than 50km would cause the steering wheel to shake uncontrollably, and often it felt as if the front wheels were continuing forwards as the body was rounding one of the many corners. We later found both these problems were due to an oversight on the part of the mechanic who had sold us the van. – All the wheels were of a different size! Having corrected this indiscretion, and whilst ignoring several others, we were on our way. The van didn’t amount to much but it was ours, and we set about adding to the 500,000km already registered on the clock.

The whole experience was something special, but there is a part of the van life I wish to share: Cooking on the road. I have two relevant influences for these cooking experiences: the first, Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall had once said of eating, that it is something we do at least three times a day, so there is no real reason for us to do a bad job of it. My second inspiration was Ray Mears. Somewhere in between constructing a bear trap, and traversing the Atlantic using only toe nail clippings and a bowl for buoyancy, he had mentioned the phrase 5% more effort, 50% more comfort. Both gentlemen, unlike our politicians, live true to their word. Hugh’s zeal for the most natural ingredients, combined with his ad hoc cooking methods constantly surprise. Ray Mears, never happy with just a simple shelter, would add a porch, maybe a wind chime or two and if the there was a favourable breeze, a smoke house. With this upbeat outlook, and the vast, natural, edible bounty available in NZ, I ate extremely well.

Cooking on the road can, and does become an obsession. It seems to stay out of the pubs, of which there are many, it is necessary to find something to fill the void between stopping, and going to bed. For me it was looking for, preparing, and eating food. There are some obvious places to look for food, such as…. the supermarket. It must be noted that, although living more off the land and from the sea than most others, many of my dishes would have tasted like a dusty encyclopaedia, and had the consistency of a burnt eraser had it not been for the intervention of supermarket ingredients.

Fish are abundant in NZ, you are never too far from the coast, and every Kiwi fishes. My advice when fishing is to ask a local. You may well need to ply him with several Red Lion, but it is worth it. Especially when it comes to fishing in the sea, to avoid endless hours of nothing, consult a local. There are all sorts of large, white-fleshed fish: Snapper, Blue Cod, Kawhi, Trevailly, John Dory, Kingfish. The list is endless. You won’t need much more than the basic line and rod to secure coastline specimens. When it comes to fishing in the lakes you need to consult DOC (Department of Conservation). For example, Lake Taupo, possibly the most famous lake in NZ has its’ own separate rules. In some cases it is illegal to fish with a spinner, because it is simply too easy to snare the iridescent, torpedo shaped Rainbow Trout and Quinnet Salmon found abundantly in freshwater.

My first recipe comes from the banks of the Wakatipu. Lake Wakatipu, according to legend was formed after a giant had been set on fire. As the giant came to rest, his huge body mass caused the depression in which the lake is located. The heat resulting from this hulk of flesh burning, melted the snow from the surrounding Remarkables mountain ranges, filling the void. Thus the Wakatipu was born. Now this, along with many of the Maori legends is a beautiful tale, however I suspect geographers will argue something along the lines of plates moving, and lava spurting. The fact I remember the story of the giant, and not the half hour lecture delivered by a monotone, moustached “A” level teacher demonstrates which I prefer.

I had found myself on the banks of the Wakatipu, 12 miles outside of Queenstown at the request of the Queenstown Local Council. They had grown weary of seeing the Van of Love parked in different sites around the streets, so subtly informed me I needed to move to the nearest legal camp site located exactly 12 miles from the town limits, or risk losing all my possessions. The camp was a huge Delta gradually rolling from the high bank to form a level shore with the lake. As a result of true Kiwi imagination the camp was called 12 Mile Delta. Having spent a couple of lonesome nights I was approached by a rather marvellous man named Dave. He informed me there were others who had also had enough of the cat and mouse game played between van owners and Council Workers. I repositioned my van amongst the international throng, and was quickly acquainted with the group, whose representation of nationalities would have been the envy of any United Colours of Benetton advertising campaign. Meeting these locals gave me hope, there was a month to go before I started work, money was at a minimum and to be honest my morale was quite low. They pointed out life was good on the Delta and it was much easier to dodge the honesty box than Council workers. Anyhow I digress. Amongst skimming stones, wood gathering, and shivering we found time to fish and cook. My second contribution to the menu confirmed my place as a 12 Mile Delta Original.

Mushroom Risotto and Rainbow Trout, serves 4-6

The trout was caught within 10mins. The mushrooms gathered whilst waiting for the fish. Note: only pick mushrooms with someone experienced, or with a particularly detailed guidebook, failing to do so really can be fatal. Maybe not comparable to death, but having an overactive bowl whilst living in a van can be a very messy business.

Ingredients:
All ingredients and amounts are subject to availability. However they are all basic and should form the building blocks of many van meals. The only ingredient in this list, apart from the fish and mushrooms I wouldn’t normally travel with is the butter, as it melts. The rest of the ingredients are dry, leading to their all important longevity, and so are perfect for both, adding flavour and travelling with. I always carried wine. A 3L box is a must for travellers, to cook with, sedate oneself, and clean windscreen.

1 Fresh Rainbow Trout
Good handful of wild picked mushrooms
1 medium onion
2/3 Cloves of garlic
3 Scooped handfuls of Arborio rice
Oil and Butter
Splash of wine
2 Packets of Cream of Mushroom Cup-a-Soup.
Water to loosen

Whilst the risotto is cooking you need to prepare the fish. Preparing the fish will make you a legend amongst more green campers, and also give you that rustic experience you have been craving. This may come across as a little blood thirsty, but there is so much more to be said for catching a wild animal and preparing it with respect than buying the sterile, non-sustainable, vacuumed packed offerings of a supermarket. My advice: enjoy the moment. In the dramatic, mountain lined cauldron, breathing in the fresh, cool air I know I realised an ambition. This was the romantic notion I had left England in search of. I didn’t know it before I went, I didn’t appreciate whilst in the process, but in hindsight this was one of those moments to be engraved forever on the memory. Even know, every time I recall it, it makes me smile inwardly – for half a day I was king of the outdoors.

Filleting the fish removes the messy task of gutting it. There are advantages for both methods, but for this dish I chose fillets. (The chef in me won the day. The bright pink fillets look extra ordinary placed on the off brown mushroom risotto, set off by a touch of wild greenery!!) To fillet it is best to place the fish on a tea towel to stop it sliding. (I actually used a trouser leg I had removed from a new pair of shorts made from a former pair of trousers.)

For the Risotto:

1. Into a medium hot pan throw a knob of butter and a splash of oil. As it heats the butter will melt into the oil and bubble. Before the butter browns, add the chopped onion and garlic, stir and soften for 2-3mins. Add the mushrooms and cook for further minute.

2. Increase the heat to just off maximum, and throw in the rice. Stir the rice in with the mushrooms, onion, and garlic until well-mixed: 2mins. Add some wine. Because the pan is on a high heat, the wine will bubble on contact, and a good part will evaporate. (If it doesn’t bubble and evaporate, don’t worry your pan is not hot enough, just be patient, increase heat and it will happen). Stir gently in a circular motion. Take a glass of wine for yourself – it is important to enjoy these experiences.

3. Once the rice starts to stick to the bottom, 2-3mins, reduce heat to medium and give it a good glug of water. Again stir gently, now put the lid on the pan to conserve gas. As the rice looks to be sticking, simply add more water, (be careful not to add too much, otherwise you will be left with too much liquid at the end) and stir. From start to finish it should take about 15-18mins. Once the rice is cooked the cream of mushroom soup should be poured in. shake the packets’ contents over the rice, ensuring there is enough water to absorb the powdered mixture. It is important to not just dump the powder in, otherwise you’ll have lumps! Stir the rice lightly, and you should end up with a lovely, creamy risotto. For extra luxury throw in a knob of butter and let it melt in just before serving.

Whilst the risotto is cooking you need to cook the fish. In another pan, placed over a medium to hot heat pour in a good glug of olive oil. Once the oil has heated sufficiently (2-3mins) place the fillets in skin side down. It is important to not over crowd the pan. (Cook in batches, if you are like me you have all day, so take another glass of wine.) Fry the fillets on their skin for about 4mins, you should see the translucent pink slowly turning opaque. If you’re cooking in batches, simply rest the cooked fillets on top of the risotto to keep them warm.

Once everything is ready, serve with any random, clean greenery you can find. This is just for presentation.

With off brown risotto serving as the base, the bright pink trout laid gently off one side, complemented by a sprig of greenery, this dish could hold its’ own on any dinner table. The fact you are eating it whilst camping with a bunch of newly made friends, surrounded by some of the most beautiful nature in the world could bring a grown man to cry. This is the apotheosis of travelling and camping.

When Confidence Ends and Arrogance Begins

2006-05-24T08:54:00.000-07:00

Confidence is a great attribute. It is both engaging, and attractive. In certain jobs it is a necessity, entertainers would be nothing if they became consumed by nerves, public speakers would be useless if too afraid to speak up. And so it is true with politicians. Their confidence breeds conviction, which in turn reflects power, attributes every member of the voting, patriotic population wants to see in their elected leader. The question is when did the swashbuckling, attractive trait of confidence end for our Labour government, and the ugly characteristic of arrogance emerge? Answer: 6th December 2005, the day David Cameron became Tory Leader.

Blair had, had his ego polished over the last 9 years by an incompetent opposition, who may have been well prepared but were too easy to quash with volume. IDS’s warnings about the power of the quiet man were so quiet the noise of Prescott’s pre elevenses belly rumbling was enough to drown them out. Hague, (who since relinquishing his position as leader of the opposition has found a new lease of life) seemed more interested in shedding his perceived leather on willow dusty persona than actually opposing. He subsequently muttered politics into pints of Ale in Oxford pubs. Howard……. Well I’m sorry I was in a different country that year, and as enigmatic as his speeches may have been I didn’t hear them on the other side of the Pacific.

So Blair has ambled through the past nine years of premiership. He has held us close to his bosom as intrepidly he took it upon himself to follow the World’s only superpower into an illegal conflict. Like a Shepard to his flock he has enveloped us within a warm blanket of legislation protecting us from those hungry Middle Eastern wolves. Thank you Tony. Thank you for taking the heavy weight of international burden upon those most masculine, yet sensitive, and understanding shoulders.

What s**t! He is a self believing, sycophantic Martyr at the head of an arrogant party. He is the most incompetent manager since David Brent, leading his money grabbing, sleaze ridden, hypocritical team from one disaster to another with his sound byte motivation. I am sure Blair and his cronies didn’t start off like this, and I believe somewhere deep inside their core they are decent human beings, who believe they are foregoing popularity to do their best for the country. It just happens they have evolved into an arrogant, deaf beast, unable to hear the cries of reason and common sense.

There has been a catalogue of catastrophes. Not problems, catastrophes. If the government was a company they would have gone under years ago. They have shown absolutely no value for money, taxing already strained pockets to fund private sector cloud chasing. They have lost themselves within their own web of sententious jargon; meaningless phrases, and committees bounded about to convince themselves and the outside World that work is going on to solve problems. It is a self perpetuating cycle of scratched foreheads, and stern faces staring at endless reports, wading threw the myriad of statistics, attempting to manipulate them to prove what a good job is being done.

Blair’s arrogance has been highlighted by Cameron’s passé attitude. Not looking to be constantly on the offensive, Cameron has heeded the words of Mark Twain and sat back, not interrupting his opposite number as he makes a fool of himself. To be fair to his predecessors there has never been a better time to be a Conservative leader, but you do just feel that Cameron’s quiet confidence is killing Blair’s overbearing arrogance as softly as Roberta Flack once described.

Suspicious Food

2006-05-23T09:51:00.000-07:00

Roald Dahl once wrote about James and his Giant Peach, a Peach, so huge it opened up to reveal a world of adventure. Unbelievable, you may think, the stuff of brilliant, psychedelic imagination – well yes, you’re right, there is no Giant Peach, and even if there were, a bite would not uncover talking Glow worms, Spiders, or Ladybirds. There is however a Mushroom big enough to contain at least a neighbourhood: The Honey Combe Mushroom covers 2,200 acres of Prime Oregon Forest. It is the World’s largest living organism - The Champion of Champignons…… it’s one mother of a fungus. You may wonder what I am getting at: all this talk of over sized foods, am I about to attempt the worlds largest mushroom risotto? Have I gone mad, and actually believe I could live inside this mushroom, picking off pieces of my house to eat? Of course not – that’s stupid – look what happened to Hansle and Gretle.

I had often wondered about cooking massive food, and had subsequently discussed the idea of cooking the World’s biggest Cookie with a friend during a particularly stupid conversation. However having revisited the idea in a more sober state of mind it became apparent that we would need the World’s largest oven, and with neither of us being of an engineering background soon realised the complications would become more effort than it was worth. Alas our dreams of basking in the instant celebrity that would no doubt come with our freakish food feat had to be put off.

In hindsight we should have thought more laterally, baking is impractical. Carlos Fernandez, and Juan Carlos Galbis got it right when they cooked the World’s largest omelette and paella respectfully. A huge frying pan is far simpler than an oven: A supine Satellite dish over a fire would have been ample. They probably did it in the same day, sharing the same Satellite dish. I have done the Maths and the 5000 eggs cracked to produce the 1,320 lb omelette would have fit quite easily into the 20m (Diameter) paella dish that contained enough food to feed 100,000.

I have always been interested in feats of mass cooking. It is quite fascinating for me to see a huge omelette, paella, or cookie. I was also intrigued by some of the eating records I found in a copy of the Guiness Book of Records I uncovered in a Hostel in Paihia. This particular issue dated back to the mid 70’s, and included some records not found in the more recent, politically correct editions. Although not being able to recall the exact measurements and disciplines, there were records held for the consumption of Yards of Ale, and Beer, so unbelievably quick that even the Aussie cricketers of old would be moved to stand and applaud. However the one record that really sticks out in my mind was that of a man who consumed an Ox in its entirety within 72 days. At first I thought it hilarious that anyone would want to attempt this, I then discredited this performance, thinking that I could eat anything in 72 days. It finally dawned on me that it would be incredibly difficult to fight the monotony of eating Ox for every meal and that really just finishing the whole beast within a respectful time was worth a mention.

I am sure the individual in question was bored, and in an inspired moment of wonderment decided that the only way he could stamp his name on the annals of history would be to complete a feat so mindless, and pointless as to never be attempted again. This is what people did to occupy their time before Playstations and televisions corrupted our imaginations and thumbs.

So you can see that the World of food phenoms is both wide ranging and eccentric. I would like to now retreat a little from the extreme feats and concentrate on more available products. The Portabello Mushroom and the Beef Tomato are prime examples of edible, oversized foods. They are the layman’s gateway into the pantry of giants, but they are also a little gross. Let me explain. Having waxed lyrical over my admiration for record breaking eaters, chefs, and produce, I have to admit that when it comes to eating something like a grilled Portabello Mushroom I am just a little intimidated. I find its augmented resemblance to the harmless (normal sized) button mushroom, just a little unnerving. The gills of the mushroom, something I never normally take notice of are suddenly amplified to such a size as to be a concern, you can see all the details. It may be easier to explain (and understand) myself using eggs as an example.

The soft-boiled egg is a thing of simplistic beauty. For me perfection is a pierced, room warm egg boiled for 5mins. Three hundred seconds of gentle bobbing is all it takes to perfectly form the protective white chamber around the still liquid yolk. The five minutes cooking time is passed toasting rounds of bread to be cut into thirds in preparation for the inevitable dipping. Expectantly, the egg is removed from the pan, and comes to rest, nestled tightly within its specifically designed cup. A moment of slight apprehension passes as you wonder whether you set the timer correctly. Will the egg be perfectly cooked? Only one way to find out; removing the top of the egg, either with the gentle tap of the back of a teaspoon, or lightly slicing with a knife, a slight amount of downward pressure pierces the Albumen revealing the glorious golden yolk, which in turn prompts the arrival of soldiers. The thin slices of toasted wholemeal bread provide the perfect vehicle for the luxurious mixture of melted butter, and hot yolk. Just as you are reaching your fill of protein rich yolk it comes to an end, unearthing a thin layer of comparably refreshing white to lightly cleanse the pallet.

It is the perfectly balanced dish, the original boil in the bag, pre-packaged meal. It is so perfect because it is in proportion; the maths makes sense: 300 seconds, thirds of bread, specific amount of yolk to Albumen etc. So imagine repeating the exercise with an Ostrich Egg. The results would be devastating. The task of spooning endless amounts of yolk into your mouth would be disgusting. Normal soldiers would be innadequate, the toast SAS would be required.

So when you reach for the second boiled egg, wondering if it wougld be easier to just have one large egg, just remember nature’s bounty comes only in one size and that size fits all.

A Voice at last

2006-05-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

At last I can speak freely without feeling guilty about boring friends and family. I can’t believe how easy it is to have an internationally accessible Soap Box. I know it is very possible that nobody will be listening, but this has never mattered to me before, and at least now I will be saved the embarrassment of facing rejection in person. – Brilliant.