Mulled cider (and juice)

While I remember, the cider I made from my friend's apples turned out to be utterly delicious - with a little help.

I didn't add anything to the juice - no sugar, honey, stabilisers - except, of course, yeast (I didn't trust "wild yeasts" to do the job). This meant the resulting cider was as pure an expression of the apples as I could make it, but it was tooth-meltingly sour once the fermentation was done. Not a pleasant drink at all - until I mulled it (I'd expected to have to do this anyway, in case the cider wasn't very nice; it *was* clean and clear, but unsweetened). Simply adding sugar to the cider returned the balance that had been in the juice - and the wonderful taste those apples had had revealed it was still there in the finished product. It occurred to me, too, that I'd need not worry about bottles exploding from unwanted secondary fermentation if there was no residual sugar.

Anyway, December being much colder than normal, mulling the cider was the perfect way to re-sweeten it in a seasonal way. I'd been mulling fresh apple juice for a few weeks in order to satisfy my craving for something warm without getting drunk every night (and using up my surfeit of homemade apple juice). I was experimenting with unusual spices, too.

So, here's a template for mulling dry cider (don't make the mistake I did once, and waste your money on sparkling stuff - it will obviously lose its bubbles when heated), apple juice, wine, grape juice and whatever else you can think of. It's very loose, because the tartness of the base ingredient, and the availability of spices will vary so much.

Ingredients
Liquid (e.g. cider)
Sweetener (I don't mean artificial sweeteners; white sugar is the least interesting option - try unrefined, brown, or honey)
Whole spices, roughly crushed (cinnamon sticks, allspice berries, cassia, green cardamom - these are great, if standard; try black pepper, nutmeg (freshly grated), black cardamom, grains of paradise, or anything similar).
Fruit (optional; orange slices are good in mulled wine, apple slices and sultanas are excellent in cider; finely-pared lemon peel can be interesting)

Method

• Fill a pan 1/2-2/3 full with the liquid. Place over the lowest heat on your hob.

• Add enough sweetener to balance the flavour - and remember, when it's hot, it may taste stronger, so you may want to marginally over-sweeten it. Ideally, start out with too little sugar, and keep adding and tasting until you reach the perfect level.

• The best way to add the spices is in a muslin bag, tied up, or a mesh infuser - I have one especially designed for spices, but you can use metal "tea bags", the sort to allow brewing of loose tea without any mess. This just stops people having to pick bits of spice out of their mouths as they drink.

• Add any fruit, if using.

• Stir until the sugar has completely dissolved.

• Heat until just hot - do not boil, as this drives off the alcohol (although not as quickly as you may think). If it cools down between servings, reheat - but never boil.
• Serve in heat-proof glasses or cups.
  

My favourite part is eating the swollen, apple-infused sultanas at the bottom of the glass.

The (Latest) Device

It occurred to me tonight that I haven't mentioned my latest kitchen gadget. Actually, "gadget" implies something gimmicky, which is unfair - this is something found in many homes and businesses: a juicer.

I had a juicer years ago - a combined centrifugal machine/blender. It was okay, and I learned the basics with it (like, I love carrot and apple juice). It was what you'd expect for a few tens of pounds - pretty basic, but reasonably reliable, if a bit messy. It died a while ago, and although I've not yet disposed of it, I think it can't be resurrected.

Back in 2005, I was into (apologies in advance) Gillian McK*ith (asterisk to prevent her coming up in searches - she's hopelessly litigious). I enjoyed her early shows, which seemed to preach the virtues of fruit and veg, fish and lean proteins, as opposed to processed sugars, starches, and excess fat. And her diet programmes seemed to work - the people (admittedly obese) lost a lot of weight. Someone in my family (I suspect my mother) bought the accompanying book, and I took it to university after the Easter holiday.

It was dire. The first day was a "detox", which involved such delights as hot water with lemon juice, hot water with flax seeds, and the most amazing of all - various root vegetables (turnip, mostly) boiled; you didn't eat them, you drank the water they'd been cooked in: wasteful.

Anyhow, the only thing I took away from that, ahem, experience, was that there are two kinds of juicer (in fact there are at least three), and the best is something called a "masticating juicer" (again, not strictly true). I knew that if I ever got another machine, that would be the one for me.

I came into some money recently - a combination of inheritance and tax rebate. It coincided with my first home cider making, thanks to a tree in my friend's garden. The house her partner inherited from his grandmother has the remnants of a small orchard, with plums, apples, pears and blackcurrants. This year only the apples produced much (or at least, we missed the blackcurrants), but there was a large tree laden with fruit. No idea what variety, or even if it was a cooker or an eater (her boyfriend thought the former). We picked, at my behest, as she would otherwise have left them for lack of inspiration. I said I'd make cider, and give her some when it was done.

Anyway, trying to juice 13.5kg of apples with a blender and a sheet of muslin is not fun by any means. After the first few kilos, I decided to put some of my spare cash to good use and get a juicer to speed up the process. I read into the subject for over a week, weighed up all the options, and plumped for the best masticating/augur machine I could get for the budget (I paid just over £200).

Since then I have juiced a good 40+ kinds of fruit and vegetable, and almost all of them have been great. Soft things don't go through any juicer so well, so figs, pears, and overripe guavas won't be tried again. Conversely, the hardest stuff juices best - think carrots, hard apples, beetroot. Some surprising combinations, especially apple with cabbage, and apple with yellow pepper, as well as many mixed beetroot and fruit juices, work very well. I'm yet to be convinced on sweet potato - the juice it yields is strangely creamy.

Anyway, I am currently experimenting with the next level of juicing - namely, clarified juices. I ran across perhaps the best food blog I've ever read (on which more soon), which introduced me to two techniques: agar clarification, and enzyme clarification. As I happened to have both dry agar and pectolase in my kitchen (the former from curiosity, the latter for the cidermaking project), I have tried both - and the results are very exciting. A few days ago I transformed apples into a cinnamon and apple syrup that was sensational with premium bourbon. Lime juice clarified with agar was even better, and has a bright future in my kitchen (please excuse the pun).

Much more on clarification in the near future, I hope...

Tomato and Parsley Sauce

Here is what has unexpectedly become one of my all-time favourite ways to serve pasta. It's so simple and low-fat, yet it packs a flavour punch that satisfies even my monstrous appetite. The recipe is Nigella's, from Forever Summer, although I've simplified it a little (as if it could be made any simpler), and below I provide a Thermomix version too.

You will need:

• olive oil (preferably extra virgin)
• garlic
• tinned tomatoes or fresh tomatoes, or even passata
• stock (one vegetable stock cube, or possibly chicken)
• parsley

I tend not to bother with quantities in my own cooking, so I haven't included any here (but see below for a rough guide). If you make too much sauce, it will keep in the fridge for a few days, and I expect it would freeze well too.

How to make it (normal):

Peel the garlic (as much as you like). Chop, put into a pan with a little pre-heated oil. Fry gently, but take care not to burn it. Add the tomatoes (3-4 large, or half a tin/carton per person) and a crumbled stock cube, and simmer for a while. Roughly chop the parsley, around a handful per person, and add to the sauce. Stir to combine, and pour over the pasta of your choice.

How to make it (Thermomix):

Peel the garlic, add to the bowl with a little oil. Speed 4-5 for a few seconds to chop and combine. Fry 1-2 minutes at 100ºC, speed 1. Add the tomatoes and a stock cube, and cook for 5-8 minutes, Varoma temperature. Add a handful of parsley per person and blitz, speed 6, for a few seconds, until chopped and combined. Stir into pasta.

The combination of flavours is just excellent - although some people might regard the use of instant stock as cheating. Health-wise, the only added fat is the olive oil, and the rest is very low-calorie vegetables (though it's not low in salt, given the stock). Anyway, the main reason for eating this is simply that it tastes so good! It's a great example of a vegetarian dish that really doesn't need any meat added.

Risotto I: The Traditional Way

I make a lot of risotto. It's one of my top comfort foods. It's never a quick option (it takes around 30-45 minutes), but it's not too much hassle, and is so deliciously indulgent it has to be worth the wait.

A lot of people, it seems, think risotto is complicated or difficult. It really isn't. There's a lot of dogma attached to this family of dishes, but what follows is my own view.

Having made hundreds of risottos (I shy away from using the plural risotti - it just doesn't feel right), some from recipes, more often from what I had to hand, I can present a core formula, whose ingredients are essential. From there, you can create many variants by adding extras.

Core risotto
Ingredients

• Risotto rice (arborio, carnaroli, vialone nano)
• Stock (vegetable, chicken, beef, veal, fish or shellfish)
• Olive oil (I use extra virgin for everything nowadays) and/or butter
• Hard to semi-hard strong cheese (Parmesan, pecorino, or a vegetarian substitute, even Emmental, Gruyère, etc)
• Wine or wine vinegar
• Onion and/or garlic, finely chopped

Method

• Heat the oil and/or some of the butter in a non-stick pan (not a frying pan); add the onion/garlic. Fry until soft and golden.
• Add the rice, fry for a minute or so.
• Add the wine (enough to just cover the rice), or a dash of wine vinegar
• Add enough stock to cover, if using vinegar, or wait until the wine has been absorbed.
• Keep adding stock to cover the rice once the previous stock has been absorbed. Continue until the rice is tender but retains a little bite.
• Add more oil/butter, and grated cheese, and stir through. Serve immediately.

Notes

• Quantities are dependent on how much you want to make - it's down to how much rice you put in the pan. Just keep adding liquid until it's done - never let it dry out completely, or it will burn.
• The type of rice you use matters - it has to be risotto rice, or at the very least a similar kind, such as paella rice. I even used sushi rice once, and it was partially successful (but went much softer than is really appropriate). The grains must to be short and fat, which produce a creamy liquid but retain a certain bite. I can't say I have noticed much difference between the different types of risotto rice - some people claim to, but it seems a minor concern.
• My use of wine vinegar is unorthodox, but I don't usually have wine in, whereas I always have white or red wine vinegar in my cupboard. A dash adds a sharp complexity, similar to wine, but it is easy to overdo it - a dash is sufficient. If using wine, it's nice to serve the rest of the bottle with the risotto, so use something you'll like. White is more traditional, red works fine but produces a risotto with a strange, murky colour; rosé might be okay, but sweet wines are not suitable. Go for something not-too-assertive - you don't want to overpower the rest of the ingredients. Dry white vermouth is fine, and a light dry cider or sake might work.
  
• Homemade stock produces a subtler result, and you may need extra salt. Stock cubes are fine for most situations. Homemade chicken stock tends to be glutinous, and the result is a smoother-textured risotto. In general, any stock will do.
• Oil and butter are best. Oil for the initial frying (maybe a dab of butter), and butter at the end to stir through. This makes the texture smoother and richer. I often drizzle oil over at the end; remember, this is not health food. Flavoured oils can be nice at the end - truffle for complexity, chilli or garlic for zing, herbs for fragrance. Extra virgin is best, but for the initial frying, you could use a lower-grade oil.
• Onion is pretty much essential. I find it adds a savoury complexity and a second texture that makes the dish. Garlic adds some flavour, but is nowhere near as important. You could use shallots, or even leek if pushed.
• Finally, cheese. This adds yet more fat, but bumps up the umami, and saves the need for heavy seasoning. If I'm using stock cubes, and even sometimes unsalted homemade stock, I add no extra salt, as the cheese provides a salty-savouriness that suffices. It must be strong, hard, and not too fatty. Cheddar would separate and go greasy, without properly mixing through. Mascarpone or ricotta add a good mouthfeel, but are bland. Parmesan is easy, but other cheeses like a good aged Emmental or Gruyère work well, and if I have several cheeses in, I'll often use more than one kind.
  

So, that's the basic recipe. I almost always add more stuff, based primarily on what I have in the kitchen. Here are some guidelines:

• Meat, fish, shellfish: I prefer prawns to chicken, and these two are better than most other meats. If using, add at the beginning, fry with the onion. Frozen seafood is fine - add it halfway through. A rack or fillet of lamb is nice served alongside a simple risotto.
  
• Vegetables: a great risotto needs no meat at all. Try anything (except maybe aubergine), but don't use more than a couple of kinds, or the purity of flavour and texture will be lost. Add peppers, mushrooms and the like, chopped, at the beginning. Squashes and pumpkins, very finely chopped, along with broccoli and cauliflower, roughly chopped, go in with the stock so they are tender by the end. Fresh and frozen peas and beans can go in with the last of the stock, so they don't overcook. Dried mushrooms can be soaked in the stock to add complexity.
  
• Saffron is traditional for risotto alla Milanese; soak some strands in the stock beforehand, and strain out before adding if you don't want them in the finished dish. No other spices are really appropriate, but you could experiment.
• Fresh herbs are great - for most, finely chop and add right at the end when serving. Try tarragon, chives, parsley, basil, chervil, thyme, or combinations of these. Oregano might work, and rosemary, though this may be best added during cooking. Sage can be fried with the onion, or fried and added at the end, or both.

Essentially, risotto is about simplicity. It's rich, savoury, and balanced. Unlike many other rice dishes, such as paella and nasi goreng, less is more here. So long as the core elements are there, only a couple of extras need be added to produce a great result. I usually eat it unaccompanied, but it can serve as one part of a more complex meal. More than most dishes, risotto can be tweaked and varied endlessly. It's never going be to low-fat, and the basic ingredients are not the cheapest, but for satisfaction, comfort and taste, it's hard to beat.

In Praise of Pumpkins I

If one vegetable sums up how far I've come in my tastes, it's the pumpkin. The only thing I'd've done with one until quite recently is carve it - although since Hallowe'en was a fairly minor affair when and where I grew up, I don't remember even doing that, until my sister left home and started hosting spooky parties every year.

In fact, even now, most of my friends don't eat pumpkin, even if they bought it for carving; one or two of the more adventurous might make soup with the flesh of a Jack O'lantern. It's perhaps ironic that butternut squash, which does not grow reliably in the British climate, is much more pupular - but then imported butternuts are available all year round in supermakets here, and are quite cheap despite all those food miles. I like butternut squash, and it could be substituted into any of the recipes in part II, but probably not the 'beer' below. The same holds for other winter squashes - last autumn I got blue kabocha and adorable acorn squashes in Morrisons, and a reasonable variety are available in markets and ethnic shops in London (and doubtless eslewhere) when in season (in fact, there is a fabulous grocer in Penge - nominally Turkish, I believe - that sells the large, blue-green-skinned kabochas pretty much year-round). Inside, they are all similar, but I love the variety of shapes and colours - they are very decorative, and will keep well at room temperature, preferably cooler, for many weeks - a great seasonal alternative to flowers, in my opinion.

The one type that is not the same is the 'carving pumpkin', bright orange, ribbed, and usually larger than 'culinary' pumpkins, and ubiquitous for the last couple of weeks of October. The flesh is pale, far more watery, and quite fibrous. The other types, for eating, tend to have denser, smoother, more richly-coloured flesh with much more flavour. I didn't know this last year, but I bought a fair few from October onwards, and learned the difference. That's why I chose to make pumpkin 'ale', because the flesh of the larger carving pumpkins, while plentiful, didn't warrant any serious culinary use. I found an old Welsh recipe, whereby a pumpkin is opened and hollowed-out as if to carve, then filled with sugar, which dissolves the flesh, and topped-up when necessary. The sugar ferments, and produces a weak, sweet, probably quite bland alcoholic beverage. I didn't want to go to the trouble, and I suspect this recipe would make quite a mess as the skin goes soft, although my friend's sister, whose Hallowe'en party I attended last year, had followed a similar route in making spiced, sweetened pumpkin rum. I chose the easier, but still quite messy, method of cubing the flesh, puréeing it, and straining over white sugar. I added wine yeast, the juice of a lemon and an orange (as I originally intended to make wine, I wanted good acid balance), and instead of hops, the fragrant astrigency of bay leaves and juniper berries.

As an aside, the defining characteristic of a country beer, as opposed to a country wine, seems to be the speed of fermentation. [Although a further distinction is often the type of sugar used - brown, muscovado, or molasses, for beers, castor sugar for wines - this is not always the case, and either may be made from any kind of fruit, vegetable, or herb, with or without aromatic herbal additions.] I came to this conclusion after wading through a good couple of hundred recipes, looking for inspiration, and wondering about the prevailing nomenclature. A wine is fermented slowly, at a fairly low temperature, for weeks or months, until it has 'worked itself out' (i.e., the yeast has fermented as much sugar into ethanol as it can); a beer is fermented for a few days to a couple of weeks, and may thereby retain natural effervescence, and this is done at a higher temperature in order to attain low to moderate alcohol levels. Or at least, that's my interpretation - the logical conclusion is that there is a continuum of home-brews, and whether you call it a beer or a wine (or an ale, for that matter), is entirely up to you (I should point out that shop-bought drinks are usually much easier to define).

I was anxious to mimic the sensation of a light beer with my improvisation here, so I added the bay and juniper as they share certain aromatic compounds with hops (myrcene, pinene); I also kept the sugar fairly low, to prevent the mixture being too sickly; I wanted it to be ready in a few days, so I could take some to the Hallowe'en party. I fermented it at a high temperature, probably around 25-30°C, leaving the demijohn by a fire, turning occasionally. The final experiment was with effervescence - a success, despite my reservations. I decanted the beer into stoneware bottles, stoppered with wired-down corks (normal glass bottles might have exploded). The result was a light gold, cloudy, fizzy, fragrant, somewhat astringent brew, refreshing if a little odd. I reckon I could get used to it. In any case, it demonstrated the versatility of the pumpkin - if there is a glut next autumn (I intend to grow my own this year), I will certainly revisit and refine the idea...

Pizza I: Dough

Early this August, I went with my mother to stay with my sister and her family, who live in the Midlands. My sister shares my mother's and my fascination with cookery books, and incidentally is in her final year of training to be a dietician (i.e. a medical nutritionist - not some phoney qualification, but rather a 4-year degree, including hospital placements). She also shares my dream of a rural house, big kitchen, a garden in which to grow as much of our own produce as possible, and a assortment of animals. In fact, although she lives in the suburbs, she has kept chickens on and off for some years, and grows a small range of vegetables and fruits, rather more conscientiously than me. But I digress.

I baked a fair bit while I was there - she was working at the hospital, whereas I stayed home with my mother to look after one or both of the kids (hyperactive youngsters). My sister showed me a new bread book she had acquired, and I worked from it, mostly making rolls, which must have been at least edible, as I baked up to a dozen a day (making dough at 7am on occasion, the resultant virtuous feelings not quite making up for the utter exhaustion later on).

In fact, it was she who started me off on the bread path a good few years ago. My sister discovered a few years ago that she has an intolerance to wheat gluten, and although she enjoys bread very much, she decided to avoid it as much as possible. She had a wonderful book, the World Encyclopedia of Bread and Breadmaking, which belongs to a series of equally good books covering subjects such as coffee, cheese, and potatoes, but gave it to me, since she would henceforth have little use for it. So I took it to university, and started baking, and my life (or at least, my attitude to bread) has never been quite the same since.

What does this have to do with pizza? Ah, well, although we don't tend to think of it as such, pizza is just a special kind of bread. For some reason, even in Italian cookery books, it is often treated separately to those other, similar, breads, such as foccacia - but the line between a foccacia, topped with oil, cheese, olives, and herbs, and a pizza, is slim. (I'm glad to see that the Wikipedia article on foccacia is 'part of a series on pizza', however). Well, my sister decided to make pizza, and as if to highlight its bready nature, made a standard batch of dough. She then simply flattened it out and covered it with appropriate toppings. It was delicious.

When I came home, I decided to replicate this, and since the end of August, I must have made pizza a dozen times or more. The case for pizza is strong: they're very cheap (see the end of the article below), very tasty, fairly quick, and very adaptable (the only case against is that I did get a bit sick of them after three days of pizza in a row one week). Here's how I make them:

First, the dough. The primary recipe for dough I've used is one I brought back from my sister, from her new book. The book is Dough, by Richard Bertinet, and although I don't totally agree with everything he says, I do very much like his simple white bread recipe:

• 500g strong white bread flour
• 350g water
• 10g yeast
• 10g salt

The first thing that stands out about this recipe is that the water is weighed, rather than measured by volume. This is actually quite revolutionary, and absolutely brilliant. It is, as he states, far more accurate (a standard measuring jug works in maybe 25ml gradients, or even as much as 100ml, and it's very difficult to be accurate even to tens of millilitres), but it is also less messy - you just weigh everything in the same bowl. The previous statement is dependent on the yeast, of course. I must admit, I have never used fresh yeast, although I very much want to, if only from curiosity. I accidentally bought yeast granules a few weeks ago - they look like tiny bobbles. This was a mistake, as they must be dissolved in (warm) water before using, or they won't mix fully into the dough. The best type of yeast, for everyday use, is the fine, 'powdered' type (it looks like tiny cylinders, the shape of hundreds-and-thousands, but much smaller, and remind me of bacilli). This can be mixed straight into the flour, and works straight away. If you use this, you only need the one bowl.

Okay, anyway, so you mix the four ingredients together, work the dough together with your hands, and knead with extra flour, until it forms a smooth ball that won't stick readily to your hands. The more you work the dough, the better, but I am lazy and generally mess around with it for about 5 minutes. Oil the bowl (extra virgin olive oil is my preference), cover either with cling film or a damp towel, and leave somewhere warm until it has doubled in volume. Then, break into pieces, flatten and stretch them on a non-stick or oiled baking sheet, and then add the toppings.

At this point, I should mention a few things. First, strong wholemeal flour can be substituted into the recipe, although I would caution against using 100% wholemeal, as the texture would not be 'pizza-like' enough, but it's a matter of taste, I suppose. The white flour can be '0' or even '00', which is usually reserved for pasta making; it will give a smoother result. Second, the thickness of the pizza base can be varied - another great advantage of making from it scratch. I prefer thin, so when you stretch the dough out, you don't leave it to rise again, and the above amount of dough will make four large, or perhaps six smaller bases. If you want a thicker base, you might only get two large pizzas from this quantity of dough, and you'd do well to leave it to rise a second time, until it reaches the desired thickness. In this case, cover again and place somewhere warm. Finally, if you want to flavour the dough, you could add a little cheese, something like parmesan that is strong but won't alter the texture of the dough too much, or paprika, basil, or maybe even a little pesto. To be honest, though, I don't think it's noticeable, especially if there's plenty of topping.

I have on occasion used a second recipe. This is a bit fussier, and to be honest isn't appreciably better, but it is more authentic, and if I wanted to impress, I'd probably go for this one. It's from Carluccio's Complete Italian Food:

• 400g '00' flour (superfine, sometimes labelled 'pastry flour')
• a pinch of salt
• 35g fresh (he says brewer's) yeast
• enough lukewarm water to make a soft dough

Now, obviously, I would subsitute in powdered yeast, probably a couple of teaspoons (I don't find you have to measure fast-acting yeast too carefully, once you get the hang of it). As for the water, just add some, and mix, then add more if you need to. The rest of the process is as above.

The biggest difference is the smoothness of the base, and the amount you can stretch it. The finer the flour, the more elastic the dough, and therefore the crispier you can make your bases. However, '0' and '00' flours are a little more expensive than standard strong flour, and you can't really mix in wholemeal as successfully, as the roughness of the latter will stand out more from the white in this case.

So that's the dough made, and shaped into bases. One last thing: I mentioned the cheapness of pizza as an advantage. Just talking about the bases, which are pretty much constant; a 1.5kg bag of flour can be bought for as little as 50-70p. From that, you can make 3 batches of 4 large, thin-based pizzas. One of these will probably satisfy a normal person (I tend to have two), especially served with salad, or as part of a larger meal. So, one large pizza base can cost as little as 6 pence, including the yeast, salt, and a tiny drizzle of oil.