The Observer Food Monthly re-launches this weekend and promises to be even better and stronger than it was before. As part of the fun, The Observer invited me, Chris and Euwen along for a natter with Jay Rayner on the topic of British Food. Watching yourself on video is no easy task I can tell you that for nothing. Two bits of advice if you ever have to do it: 1 – make sure you spend more than five minutes styling your hair and 2 – be prepared to forget every opinion you ever had, along with the majority of words that were in your vocabulary.

Anyway, here it is. The idea of the vid is to stimulate a bit of discussion about British Food, of course, so do please share your thoughts below. I’d love to know what your favourite dishes are and your opinions on whether or not we even have a national cuisine.

Shoot me a jibe about my childlike obsession with ice cream and I’ll knock it back from fifty paces. It’s not dull, it’s not just for kids and I don’t need to order the gold-leaf-plated mille fuille of  fruits of Eden with a Perrier Jouet Belle Epoque sabayon; I  just want a bowl of ice cream. Its combination of baby food smoothness and melting sugared cream may be part of the appeal, yes (and classics such as raspberry ripple get me every time) but often it’s the way it so gracefully carries those grown-up flavours which has me reaching for the sundae spoon. I do love a bit of spice in my sweet stuff.

I originally envisaged this ice cream oozing all over a rhubarb galette but the recipe I used was not at all to my taste. To be fair alarm bells did ring as I was making it – 1 whole teaspoon of vanilla extract + 170g sugar must surely = sickly perfume?

The answer is yes, yes it does. The pastry was nice; I picked it off and used it as a scooper for the ice cream.

Back at my drawing board, I got a bee in the bonnet for poached pears. Simmered with a syrup laced with cloves, vanilla (half a pod) and  cinnamon stick, they were delicate, elegant and actually rather perfect. One thing missing though: pastry. Makes you wonder why I didn’t just make the pear tatins as suggested in the ice cream recipe, doesn’t it? Hmm.

Anyway, the bottom line is that the ice cream is awesome. The scary amount of star anise actually infuse just the right amount of flavour* and the base seemed particularly creamy. Now I’ve got the bug for spice I’m set on making a chocolate and cardamom version but there’s one lesson I’m taking with me and it’s this:  sometimes, a girl just needs a simple bowl of ice cream.

Star Anise Ice Cream Recipe from The Times

*I was very nervous when I clocked the amount of star anise in the recipe, but realised this is because the milk is infusing for only a short time – you need to get that flavour in fast. The end result is not overpowering.

Here’s a way to sneak up on your next pasta binge from a different angle. Cooking the pasta for a second time in the oven gives you a bit of textural contrast from the lovely crisp edge bits, the soft inside stuffed with your weapons of choice. I’ve heard this recipe touted as a ‘good use for leftover pasta’ but really, who ever has 500g of leftover pasta? Perhaps an army chef.

What it is good for though, is using up the odds and sods in the fridge. I slung in some softened onions and garlic, black olives, jarred artichoke hearts, grilled bacon, most of a tub of ricotta and the juice and zest of two lemons. A waif end of cheese and stray stalk of parsley went on top. The secret to a good spaghetti cake is to keep it well oiled; they have a tendency to come out dry otherwise. As an alternative, try using a double cream and egg yolk mix stirred through the pasta  – the end result will be denser and richer.

So there we have it, a way to make pasta even more unhealthy than it was before; where there’s a will there’s a way.

Sicilian Spaghetti Cake

500g spaghetti
1 large onion, finely chopped
5 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
150g jarred artichoke hearts in oil (reserve the oil), chopped roughly
150g black olives, pitted and chopped roughly
250g ricotta cheese
A generous handful of parsley
The juice and zest of two lemons
6 rashers of bacon
Olive oil and plenty of it
A splash of white wine if you have it

Preheat your oven to 180C

Begin by cooking your spaghetti until almost al dente. While this is happening, grill the bacon until crisp then chop roughly and set aside.

Soften the onion and garlic gently in a little olive oil (then add the splash of wine if you have it allowing a minute or two to cook out), then add the artichoke hearts, olives and bacon to warm everything through. When your pasta is ready, stir through the oil from the jar of artichokes plus your artichoke mixture, the lemon juice and zest and a really generous seasoning of salt and pepper. Stir through the ricotta and most of the parsley. The mix will probably need another generous slug of oil at this point. Don’t be shy – that’s a lot of spaghetti.

Brush an oven proof skillet or similarly shaped pan with a little more oil or butter and pour in your spaghetti, flattening it down to a cake shape. Bake for about 30 minutes, until golden and crispy at the edges. Garnish with more parsley. Slice and serve warm, with salad for a bit of psychological self trickery.

When a girl gets gifted with a hefty hunk o’ prime cattle, her thoughts immediately turn to entertaining; a lengthy weekend lunch with mates was on the cards. Picture this: nearest and dearest gathered on sofas with a glass and a smile; the soothing rhythm of contented chatter drifting through the kitchen; me pondering whether or not to give the beef another 10 minutes resting. I imagine myself emerging from the kitchen carrying the magnificent centrepiece to a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and pairs of eyes gleaming with excitement. I’ll be as proud as punch as I set her down on the table and…

…pooff! That was the sound of my dream going up in smoke. We still don’t have a proper dining table and it’s breaking my heart. Our only stand-in is a dainty set of patio furniture which only sits two and well, it’s garden furniture. That only really feels right if you are either a student or it’s Christmas and you need to squeeze in a couple more relatives. So anyway that’s my excuse for two of us eating a piece of meat that could probably serve ten. I’m sticking to it.

I began by cutting off two fat sirloins for Sunday lunch. A ballsy chimichurri filled the craving for something with the invigorating prickle of salsa verde without actually being just that; I seriously need to overcome my addiction to the green mistress. Parsley is still a main contender here, whizzed with a lorra lorra garlic and spiky chilli flakes. A fine way to commence a week of bovine feasting. It’s a tough job, eating all that lovely meat, but someone’s got to do it.

Chimichurri

30g parsley leaves (a large handful)
2tsp hot chilli flakes or to taste
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tbsp lime juice
1 shallot
Olive oil, to loosen
4 cloves garlic
Salt
A sprig of fresh oregano, leaves removed (optional)

Either chop the garlic, parsley, oregano and shallot very fine or whizz in a food processor. Mix in the chilli flakes, vinegar, lime juice and loosen with olive oil to reach your desired consistency. Season with salt. Great with grilled meats and fish.

Food classes are all the rage; I’ve been a dedicated student of  ham school, pig school, steak school and currently,  wine school. I never miss a chance to learn a skill from an expert and I was nothing short of ecstatic to be invited to a butchery class at one of London’s most renowned: Allens of Mayfair.

As our cosy group of six gathered around the famous octagonal butcher’s block to absorb information about safety and don some rather fetching protective gloves (secured around my dainty laydee hand with a couple of laccy bands), I found I became strangely nervous. The kind of nerves you get when you really want to make someone proud; it seemed that David (one of two owners) had already become like a favourite teacher – I didn’t want to let him down.

I needn’t have worried – this is about as friendly as it gets and yet utterly professional. We stood, mouths hanging agape watching David butcher a whole lamb, instructing us to ‘”let the knife do the work” and to “move the meat around – it’s already dead.” He shimmied it back and forth across the block with the ease of an entirely automatic action; the knife like a natural extension of his arm. To watch the pros at work is really something; I can see why many top London restaurants choose Allens, London’s oldest butcher’s shop, as a supplier.

We giggled as David mused on the difference between the male and female approach to the classes. Apparently men tend to barge in with testosterone fuelled caveman hackery while women, in general, adopt a more careful, considered style. A stereotype of course but also a valuable message: butchery is an art, a skill – not a lesson in who can make one lump of meat into many in the shortest time possible.

We began the class with the humble chook. Now I’ve hacked away at many a bird in my time and despite owning a copy of ‘Knife Skills Illustrated’ and having free and easy access to Google, I’m ashamed to say I’ve never looked up the proper method for jointing. That leg joint has flummoxed me on too many occasions; on Saturday I learned that all one needs to do to release that joint is put a hand underneath and push upwards.

The extra trick with the legs is also to preserve the ‘oyster’ – regarded by some (including, famously, Marco Pierre White) as the most delicious morsel of meat on the entire bird. I failed miserably on my first attempt but nailed it on the second (above, the one on the left has the oyster, at the top).

Next was oxtail; the trick here to locate each joint and then slice just next to it – your knife should glide through easily. If it doesn’t you know you’re off track. Most of us needed help – some joints are more elusive than others. Everyone took pride in lining up their pieces in size order as suggested.

After the simplicity of the oxtail it was on to a French-trimmed rack of lamb. This was daunting due to the need for sawing of bones but careful supervision left us all with a  rack to be proud of. No sniggering at the back please…

The grand finale was just that;  jitters set in – what if we made a wrong cut? A spectacular 3 bone piece of sirloin demanded all our attention and respect. The challenge was to remove the bone, the unwanted fat and gristle and roll, securing the joint with some surprisingly tricksy butcher’s knots. Our teachers really excelled themselves in terms of patience and attentiveness; we were all terrified of making a wrong slice on a clearly expensive piece of meat.

At the end of approximately 1 1/2 hours, a quick squiz around the room revealed a bunch of people with silly, cheesy grins. The team at Allens are charming, patient, funny and extremely good at what they do. That’s not a gushing, biased blurb but a heartfelt recommendation that you try this class for yourself. It costs £100 and you will take home valuable experience, knowledge and a shed load of high quality meat that you have butchered with your very own hands. It is extremely good value. Schoolin’ just doesn’t get better than this.

See Allens website for details. Type of meat and cuts change according to availability and season.

Allens of Mayfair
117 Mount Street,
London W1K 3LA
Tel: 020 7499 5831

Full Flickr set here