One tequila, two tequila...

I have a bittersweet relationship with hangovers.  Granted, they are often not quite as enjoyable as the preceding night; but along with pounding headache, dry eyes and - if you're me - the feeling that you may be about to expire, you are given carte blanche to eat whatever you choose in vast quantities.  This is handy, when often what you are craving is the sweetest, fattiest or most heart attack-provoking morsel imaginable.  I have always enjoyed taking full advantage of this guilt-free eating, and, when I lived in Glasgow, insisted that the only thing to cure my poisoning was a visit to Gregg's (conveniently visible from my kitchen window).  A combination of my attempts to cast the hangover breakfast net more broadly and the relative sparsity of Gregg's outlets in London led me to discover the following delight which is, hands down, the perfect comfort eating for when you are in the fragile way.

Huevos rancheros particularly appealed to me since I am a huge fan of anything Mexican.  Translating as 'ranch-style eggs', this was an often eaten mid-morning snack on Mexican ranches after the introduction of chickens (hence eggs) by the Spanish.  This dish also covers the essential hangover-curing components of carbs, cheese and eggs so is perfect for the morning after the night of one-too-many tequilas.  I am also a firm advocate that anything tastes better when it is to be eaten with your hands, as this is.
Arguably the perfect way to eat this is with a cold Mexican beer, and depending how bad the hangover is, you may want to so just that.

For 4 delicate friends...

1 onion, finely sliced
2 cloves of garlic
2 red peppers, seeds dicarded and finely sliced
1-2 red chillies, finely sliced
2 bay leaves
2 tins of chopped tomatoes
2 large red or yellow tomatoes, sliced
Salt, pepper and sugar to taste
6 - 8 large free range eggs
8 tortillas
Some cheddar cheese

Start by cooking the onions, garlic, peppers, chilies and bay leaves in a large pan with a couple of tablespoons of olive oil.  Cook slowly for 15 minutes until softened.  Pour in the tomatoes, bring the whole lot to the boil.  At this point add plenty of salt and pepper, and a couple of teaspoons of sugar to sweeten up the tomatoes.  Simmer for 5 minutes until there's a thick stew consistency.  Have a taste and adjust the seasoning however you like.  You could do all this the night before if you're pre-empting a boozy night and don't want to risk being near sharp objects the next morning.

Next, lay your sliced tomatoes on top of the mixture, then use a spoon to make small wells on top of the stew and quickly crack the eggs on so they poach in the tomato stew.  If you're suffering, grate some cheese over at this point, but remember you can also more at the assembling stage.  Put a lid on a cook on a low heat for around 3 - 4 minutes. In the meantime warm your tortillas (in the microwave, or in a hot oven, wrapped in foil).

Take the lid off the pan, check the eggs are cooked to your liking by giving them a poke, at which point turn the heat off and take the pan to the table, along with the warmed tortillas and the cheese plus grater.  I'm sure no further instruction is needed on how to assemble this comforting mouthful, but if unsure - please see pictures!

This breakfast will definitely be the silver lining to your dark cloud of a morning after the night before.  If this doesn't cure your hangover, you are beyond help.  Go back to bed.  

Sunny Day at Brockley Market

On the rare occasion that I actually woke up early on a Saturday, and because it was a really beautiful sunny day in London, I decided to make the journey across town for some serious foodie indulgence.  I've been eager to visit Brockley Market since discovering it through Twitter, drawn by artisan breads, cheese and the promise of pulled pork.  As an added bonus, I took my boyfriend with me so I could eat half of everything he bought.  Everybody wins.

After travelling for an hour from West to East - including a novelty trip on the DLR - we found the market which was actually much smaller than I expected; randomly located in a car park near Lewisham.  The effort instantly paid off as there is no shortage of amazing food on offer, and the array of delicious smells made me feel slightly rabid with anticipation.  I did a quick 360 of the market and earmarked my targets.  The first stop was Flesich Mob for some Austrian grub.  Before you even get to the eating, this guy is good fun to watch as he happily bops his way around the kitchen making schnitzel sandwiches to the dulcet tones of Otis Redding.  Sorry, but this place isn't suitable for dieters, no matter how many 'Points' you have saved up.  There's more than just a twinge of guilt (or is that chest pain?) when you see the pork schnitzel being fried in about a pint of oil and butter.  Although it really does look delicious, and I'm a firm believer in the 'no pain no gain' philosophy.  (There's also a philosophy which says 'Fuck it, it's Saturday' that I'm quite keen on too.)  Served on rye bread with sweet and spicy homemade chutney (possibly beetroot, couldn't tell) and a squeeze of lemon, this is some seriously good schnit.

Pork Schnitzel

After stuffing your face at the scene of the crime, there are also lots of nice stalls with goodies you can take away to eat in the privacy of your own bath.  We had some good chat with the chicas at Flavours of Spain who were selling delicious chorizo iberico, and also Cabrales - 'the strongest cheese in spain' - which is more than a little piquante and not for the faint-hearted cheese lover (at least it didn't suit my relatively cheese-naive companion).   Plus theres also a good selection of vegetables, from seasonal to weird and wonderful - I'm now regretting not buying Vitelotte potatoes for the sheer novelty of purple mash - and a friendly free-range butcher with reasonably priced, ethically sourced meats.  This may not make the smoked streaky bacon I bought taste any better tomorrow morning, but it keeps Jamie Oliver happy.

As previously confessed, having halved (/stolen) the first instalment of lunch it was now time for round 2.  In my mind there was no competition, it had to be buttermilk fried chicken bap from Spit & Roast (it is South London after all).  Served with fennel slaw and korean hot sauce on a sesame bun this is one of the most satisfying sandwiches I have ever eaten!  I'm not sure what witchcraft goes into making that chicken so perfect, but it is off the scale of tenderness (if there is such a scale).  The are also serving up Poutine: fries (chips!) topped with cheese and meat stew, which, for a Glaswegian, ticks all the boxes and will definitely be top the list on my next visit.  

The market closes quite early at 2pm, so we got some cupcakes for the road from Kooky Bakes before getting the bus to "do something not food related."  Reluctantly.  It was slim pickin's at closing time but a cookie dough cupcake did the trick.  That salty, doughy chocolatey goodness was a smart purchase as it gave me something to nibble on while we wandered through the Tate Britain afterwards, where I spent most of my time fondly remembering the buttermilk fried chicken.

All in all, this place is absolutely worth the visit, even just for a tasty al fresco lunch on a Saturday.  It's got a great atmosphere too; packed full of bona fide foodies as well as locals and their families (and dogs).  It might even be worth setting the alarm for on a Saturday morning, and that's saying something.

Tentative Introductions

After some gentle nudging from my social-media aware friends, here I am to embark upon a new project;  the recording - and confessing - of my unhealthy, unrequited love (lust!) for food.  And drink, mustn't forget drink.  Hopefully the full flavour of this blog will develop with time when I get to grips with the logistics.  The current plan is to write my intermittent musings on the food that I'm eating, cooking or thinking about eating and cooking.  Maybe even the the food that other people are eating and cooking and I am jealously adoring.  In short: 'TBC'.  

This weekend snow has hit London.  For most normal people this means donning layers of fleeced garments and heading out to pelt one other with snowballs or fly down hillsides at deathly speeds.  For me, it's an excuse to make a huge pot of coffee, change from one pair of pajamas into another, and spend the morning poring through recipes looking for something to cook that evening.  If I am really lucky, I can do all of this without actually having to leave the house, as I loathe the snow.  I don't even own fleeced garments (no-one should).  My flavour of the week is Irish soda bread.  

I am not a great one for baking.  I would love to be one those Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall types who advocate sweating over your own bread on a bi-weekly basis but frankly, I've got better things to do with my day.  If it took less time and effort I would definitely be a home bread-baker: hence soda bread, which takes minimal time and almost no effort.  In austere 18th Century Ireland bread was of course a staple, but yeast not readily available.  Here comes the science bit; the combination of bicarbonate of soda (traditionally soda ash) and lactic acid from either buttermilk or yoghurt released carbon dioxide bubbles into the dough which leavens it into an attractive, cracked loaf fresh from the lanes of Limerick!

For a medium sized loaf...

170g self-raising wholemeal flour
170g plain flour
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp sea salt
1 260g carton of buttermilk or natural yoghurt
1 tbsp porridge oats (optional)

Oven at 200C/Gas 6, please.
Combine the flours, bicarb and salt plus half the porridge oats in a bowl.  Make a well in the centre and add the buttermilk.  Bring together with a knife until forming a ball of dough, then use your hands to combine the ingredients until dry enough that it is not sticking to the side of the bowl.  Tip on to a floured surface and give it a brief knock together for about 10 seconds, forming it into a round loaf.  Line a baking tray with baking paper and sprinkle with flour, sit the loaf of on top along with another snowy sprinkling of flour.  Cut a cross on the top with a sharp knife about 2/3rd of the way into the loaf.  I must emphasis that this whole process takes less time than reading this paragraph - take that Hugh.  Sprinkle the remaining oats on top then bake for 35-40 minutes until it has risen.  If the base sounds hollow when tapped it's ready.  

Look closely and you
can see the cheese!

For a rough crust leave to cool as it is, or for a soft crust wrap in a clean tea towel to let it cool down.  The steam captured by doing this leaves a chewy, rather than crusty exterior.  

With the splendid ease of making this dough, it's equally easy to tart it up with interesting flavours.  Think outside the austere Irish box at this point as you may otherwise find yourself limited.  Looking no further than what was already in my cupboard I added poppy seeds, some past-its best Christmas stilton (added at the dry ingredients stage) and a good tablespoon of treacle marbled through the dough after I had turned it out on to my worktop.  The result: ...cheesy - I ate this dipped into some homemade sweet potato and peanut butter soup.  It was also good toasted with a smear or marmite, but what isn't?  Slightly heavy on the stilton if I'm honest but the moral of the story is that you can really add anything.  The treacle looked nice laced through the dough, too.