Category: Bread

Za’atar Flatbreads

November 10th, 2013 — 12:42am

I am a very bad author, because I have a serious Amazon habit. They just make it too freakin easy to go batshit mental on there. What with their suggestions and wish lists and things other people have bought together and oh, here’s a deal to get both at a special price. There’s the extremely dangerous ‘one click ordering’ and the stealthy Amazon Prime, which obviously, I have. They’ve made it all so easy, and now the stuff turns up before you’ve had a chance to remember you ordered it while drunk.

I struggled to carry my latest haul of no less than 8 fat cookery books home, in the rain, from the office, which is where Amazon delivered them because I forgot to change the address. Surely telepathic assessment of preferred delivery address is not far off? Anyway, amongst the spoils, a couple of Turkish numbers, from which I plucked this flatbread recipe. I needed something to do with the za’atar  you see, an option other than just eating it straight from the pot in such vast quantities that it makes my mouth pucker and sting.

It’s the house blend at Peckham Bazaar and it’s the best za’atar recipe ever. The word za’atar means ‘thyme’ in Arabic, and I generally find that shop bought blends are way too heavy on the herb; too many dusty green flecks, mixed with some sesame seeds and not enough sumac. This recipe contains poky Turkish chilli, and rose petals, which apart from adding a bit of Turkish delight fancy, also look the bomb. Salt is important too; proper, pyramid-crystallised sea salt and plenty of it.

Mixed with a bit of oil it’s ace smeared onto these breads. Now bear with me when I say they’re brilliant flatbreads because they’re all soft and er, bready. I just mean that they’re not tough and floury as a home made flat bread often can be. The recipe makes 12, which with hindsight was a dangerous move when I’m working at home alone all weekend. Not only does Amazon empty my bank account, it is also trying to make me fat. Don’t let me put you off buying my book from them though; it will cost you money but all the recipes in it are 100% calorie free. Fact.

You can also buy it direct from the publisher and in doing so side step a whole heap of problems. Ta da. 

Peckham Bazaar Za’atar

150g toasted sesame seeds
20g sea salt
30g sumac
30g red chilli flakes
30g dried thyme
15g dried oregano
1 tsp ras el hanout
1/2 teaspoon rose petals

Toast the sesame seeds either spread out on a baking tray in a low oven or in a dry pan. They will darken slightly in colour and smell all, well, toasted. Keep an eye on them. Allow them to cool and then mix with all the other ingredients.

Flat Breads (from Turkey: Recipes and Tales From the Road by Leanne Kitchen)

Makes 12 breads

1 teaspoon caster sugar
1.5 teaspoons dried yeast
600g plain flour
1.5 teaspoons salt

Olive oil and za’atar, for brushing the flat breads.

Mix the sugar with 100ml lukewarm water and add the yeast. Set aside until frothy. Combine the flour and salt in a mixing bowl, then add the yeast mixture. Combine into a dough, then knead until smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes.

Cover with cling film and set aside until doubled in size (mine took an hour). Knock back the dough on a lightly floured surface then divide into 12 balls of equal size. Roll each out to a circle (about 9 inches) and cook in a dry frying pan over medium heat for about 3 minutes each side, until just coloured. In a small bowl, mix some za’atar with olive oil, just enough to lubricate matters slightly so you can smoosh it onto the bread. Give each a rub with the za’atar mix while still warm.

20 comments » | Bread

Georgia, I Adore Ya

February 2nd, 2013 — 1:23am

Last year I went to Georgia; a country I would never have considered visiting had I not been invited. As is often the way when one doesn’t expect these things, I completely fell in love with the place; the people, the culture, the wine and most of all, the food. Since then it’s been a mission to try and perfect recipes and also to seek out Georgian food in London. On the cooking front, khachapuri has been something of an obsession; it’s basically a cheese-stuffed bread, made with an incredibly salty Georgian cheese – we’re talking more salty than halloumi; being a complete and utter salt whore, I adored it. I lugged 6 khachapuri back on the plane with me and ate them, cold, for several days after my return, mourning their diminishing number with every bite.

Khachapuri in Georgia 

Also on the Georgia trip with me was Kerstin Rodgers, who took a similar liking to this supremely comforting  bread. We tried cooking a recipe from The Georgian Feast, an award winning cook book, but it just wasn’t right at all. We didn’t have the correct cheese but it wasn’t just that. Not the kind of people to give up, we got together recently to give khachapuri another try, using Ottolenghi’s recipe from Jerusalem. It worked a treat. I even managed to find sulguni in a Russian deli in Queensway (Kalinka), which I believe is one of the only if not the only place in London that sells it. They also sell Armenian cognac in bottles shaped like AK47s. One of those got bought, obviously; the last in the shop. When we requested to buy it the lady behind the counter got her walkie talkie out and started speaking frantically in Russian.

Oh how we feasted. Ottolenghi also includes a substitute cheese filling, and that also tastes really quite authentic. Read Kerstin’s post about our khachapuri making evening here; we tried just about every type of random cheese London had to offer (you’ll also get a story about my love life while you’re over there).

Sulguni cheese

Magnificent ‘Ajarian’ (boat shaped) khachapuri cooked in Kerstin’s Aga (and served on a very beautiful tray…)

‘Megruli’ (circular, stuffed) khachapuri, again cooked in the Aga

I also had great success cooking a recipe for BBQ pork and plum sauce in the summer; these spice rubbed skewers was everywhere in Georgia, grilled over hot coals in a pit in the ground and served with sliced raw shallots and a sour/sweet, dill heavy plum sauce. I was amazed at how authentic my plum sauce tasted; although our plums are completely different, the unripe ones we get in the supermarkets are perfect as they’re just as sour. A use for unripe supermarket fruit. Who knew?

Pork grilling in Georgia

The finished pork in Georgia

My Georgian BBQ pork

My Georgian plum sauce

Seeking out authentic tasting Georgian food in London has been much more hit and miss. First I visited Colchis, which is a kind of poshed up Georgian restaurant in Notting Hill;  each to their own, but having visited the country, that’s just the most bizarre concept and it didn’t sit well or indeed taste particularly good. My next experience was completely unexpected, coming as it did from the Pasha Hotel in Camberwell, where I spotted khachapuri on the menu in their Kazakh Kyrgyz restaurant. It was nothing at all like the examples I tasted in Georgia, made from a flaky pastry rather than a bread. It did taste rather nice however and I liked the idea of serving it with raw onion.

And so to my best restaurant experience yet: The Georgian in Clapham South. During the day it’s a somewhat run of the mill cafe serving the usual sandwiches and hot drinks but during the evening they serve Georgian food. I’ll be honest, they seemed surprised to see me when I walked in at 6.30 and a woman initially tried to speak to me in Georgian.

All the classics were there on the menu and I was properly excited. The khachapuri was rather good; nowhere near as oily as the real  thing (I really liked the supreme unhealthiness of the oil) but very tasty nonetheless. The best I’ve had in a restaurant by miles.

Pkhali are pureed vegetables mixed with walnuts, which are abundant in Georgia; we chose spinach and beetroot. They’re like a rich vegetable spread, intense with garlic and dotted with pomegranate seeds. In Georgia each ball is always studded with just one pomegranate seed, like a little jewel nestling in the top.

We stuffed ourselves full of traditional Georgian dumplings, called khinkali, which have very thick and rustic casings, filled with minced meats and their juices and heavily flavoured with black pepper. They take some careful eating; the way to do it is to hold them by the nipple at the top and carefully bite in. We ate them with a green chilli sauce, which was really fierce.

Dumplings with green chilli sauce at The Georgian

The Georgian is the best Georgian place I’ve been to in London so far and I want more people to visit because we were the only evening diners. At the moment they’re clearly frequented more for coffee and cakes which is sad, they ought to be serving many more of their excellent Georgian dishes.

I’ll continue working my way around London’s Georgian restaurants however; I’ve heard that Little Georgia is good. Does anyone have any favourite places?

33 comments » | Bread, Georgia, Restaurant Reviews

Langos: Hungarian Street Food

January 8th, 2013 — 9:26pm

So I’m having dinner with my Hungarian friend Gergely and he’s waving his arms excitedly in the air, getting all nostalgic for langos. During the conversation I get the impression very quickly that Hungarian food is all about insulating; it’s cold there in the winter, innit. Although apparently they eat it on the beach too so er, yeah. Basically a lot of the food seems to be rib sticking, fatty, carb loaded and in this case, deep fried. I am instantly all over it like a particularly vicious rash. It’s always good to talk about unpleasant physical complaints when describing one’s enthusiasm for food, don’t you think?

So on Sunday Gergely came to my house and taught me how to make langos and it was brilliant. He freaked me out by managing to get the dough to rise super fast in my rather cold kitchen, then we made sort of cow pat (sorry) sized discs of dough and plunged them into hot oil. A couple of minutes each side and they emerged golden and sizzling; is there anything more appealing than freshly fried dough? No, no there is not.

We’re not done yet though, because here comes the most important thing about langos – garlic water. The garlic water makes the langos special. It’s officially my new favourite thing and I have a lot of favourite things on the go right now. Basically you just get an absolute shit load of garlic and whack it in a jar with, you’ve guessed it, some water. Oh and a little bit of oil. You mix it together and the garlic kind of mellows but at the same time stays er, really strong. Yeah, that makes sense. Anyway so you brush the freshly fried langos with the garlic water and the intensity of perfume created by the heat meeting the garlic is incredible.

Then it’s time to smear that dough with sour cream. I am assured that Hungarian sour cream is far superior and now of course I long for it. I had to make do with some regular stuff from Tesco Metro. Still, sour cream it was. To finish the langos, grated cheese. Yep. Oh and it absolutely has to be the shittiest cheapest most poorly produced ready grated cheese you can find, apparently. Gergely was very adamant about this. We bought some kind of basic stuff from Tesco and he instantly pronounced it ‘too good’.

Unsurprisingly I instantly fell in love with langos. It’s deep fried dough covered in garlic, sour cream and cheese FFS. We washed it down with Unicum which is like Hungarian Fernet Branca. I’d planned dinner afterwards. It didn’t happen. Gergely and his girlfriend rather impressively went straight on to dinner at Koffman’s. Respect.

Langos is the kind of food we should all be eating in January. Sod the diet, it’s cold and the Hungarians really know how to do food that keeps you warm.

You will however stink of garlic for 2 days.

Langos (makes loads)

1kg flour
2 sachets instant yeast
1 pint luke warm water
2 tablespoons sugar

Mix the sugar, yeast and water in a jug. Wait 5 minutes or so until the top is frothy, then mix with the flour to make a semi soft dough. Gergely did this with his hands. The dough should be really sloppy.

When the dough has doubled in size, oil a piece of foil, then add a drizzle of oil around the edges, which makes the dough come out of the bowl really easily (it is very sticky and won’t come out otherwise). Turn it out onto the foil, cut pieces and make little rounds, which are thinner in the middle.

Deep fry the fuckers.

For the garlic water and to assemble:

Mix about 10 cloves of garlic with a jam jar of water and a splash of oil. Leave for a couple of hours to infuse.

Thin the sour cream by whipping it with a bit of water.

To assemble, douse the langos with the garlic water, spread on sour cream and top with shitty grated cheese.

We did some crazy pimping with a bit of smoked salt and some fennel seeds, admittedly after we’d started on the Unicum.

50 comments » | Bread, Guilty Pleasures, Street Food

End of Summer Panzanella

September 7th, 2012 — 1:41pm

The best thing about buying fruit and veg in Peckham is that everything is always properly ripe; granted it’s often a bit too so, but since all the shops on Rye Lane sell essentially the same things anyway, it’s just a case of finding the best stuff on the day.

As I was walking past Khan’s the other day I got a waft of ripe tomato scent, something which does not happen very often, let’s face it, unless you’re blessed with a greenhouse or a holiday to Puglia; a tomato at its peak is a wonderful thing. Goodness’ knows where they’d been imported from but frankly, I couldn’t care less. I had half a loaf of excellent E5 Bakehouse sourdough going stale in my kitchen and all I could think of was panzanella.

This is one of my favourite salads but I know that many people don’t dig it, thinking that the bread will surely turn to mush once dressed. Not in a good panzanella. The key is to make sure the bread is about 3 days old and cut into large chunks. The skill then is in adding just the right amount of dressing so that the bread is moistened but never sodden. Think of the joy of mopping up plate juices with a crust and you’ll get the idea of panzanella.

Most recipes recommend dressing the salad, then leaving it overnight before eating. I disagree. Leave it for half an hour to an hour and it’s perfect. The next day it’s passable but past its best, the day after that you’re into mush territory…

Panzanella (serves 4 people)

The quantities here are approximate. I mean, it’s a salad.

15-20 very ripe cherry tomatoes, halved (or larger tomatoes, chopped roughly)
2 of those small cucumbers (or 1 large normal one) de-seeded and sliced
Half a small red onion, thinly sliced
Handful green beans, just cooked then cooled under cold water and cut into inch long pieces
Half a small loaf of stale sourdough bread, cut into large chunks
Small handful capers, rinsed
Small handful basil leaves, torn

For the dressing

1.5 tablespoons red wine vinegar
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Pinch sugar
Salt and pepper

Mix the bread with the vegetables and season with salt and pepper. Mix really well. Mix together the dressing ingredients then add about half to the bowl. Mix really well again and see if you want more dressing. I used all of the dressing in the end. The bread should be moist but not wet and should keep its structure.

Leave for about half an hour to an hour before eating at room temperature.

14 comments » | Bread, Salads

Mummified Cockerel

June 21st, 2012 — 8:15am

If you’re not intrigued by the title ‘mummified cockerel’ then we’re not going to get along, basically. First up, did you even realise cockerels were for eating? Me neither. I thought they were just for strutting about and waking people up with what is, frankly, one of the funniest animal noises ever. When I used to spend a lot of time out in the sticks, the noise of a cockerel never failed to make me giggle, even at 5am; they just sound so ridiculous and desperate.

I spent 15 minutes laughing at videos of cockerels crowing on youtube while writing this post, and that’s before I’d even started referring to the cockerel I cooked as ‘the cock’. So many jokes… ‘I cooked a cock today’. ‘I’m just mummifying a cock’. ‘Anyone for some hot cock?’ (sorry mum).


So the Ginger Pig have started doing er, chickens. They’ve started selling these hulking beasts that are a cross between a Cornish game cockerel and a Sussex or Dorking hen. They’re 100 days old (as opposed to 65 for the average commercially grown free range British chicken), they’re dry plucked and then hung for a week to bring out the flavour. That’s a special bird. A special cock. You’re not going to find cock of that quality elsewhere (snigger). They’re massive too, with obscenely plump legs. I’ve always been a thigh woman…

I was sent a cock in the post (giggle), to play around with (smirk), along with some advice to cook it ‘low and slow’. This would ideally happen with some liquid; in a casserole or pot roast for example. Problem is, I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to do something silly like smearing the cock with a kick ass spice paste, wrapping it in flatbreads and cooking it for four hours. So I did. And it worked. Ha! I do this all the time with regular chickens by the way, it’s a Middle Eastern recipe I found in one of my favourite cook books – A Tale of Twelve Kitchens by Peckham based artist Jake Tilson.

So you sacrifice the crisp skin with this recipe, let’s face up to that right now, but what you get instead is meat of super succulence and a load of bread that has spent 4 hours soaking up chicken fat, juice and spice and let me tell you, it’s off the hook. I witnessed an actual fight over the last piece of that bread between two people that have been friends for quite some years. Be warned.

I made the spice paste by slinging the following into a blender: two onions, 3 cloves of garlic, 2 tablespoons za’atar (a mixture of thyme, sumac, sesame seeds and salt), hot chilli flakes and a splash of oil. I then slapped it all over that cock. Intense. After the slapping part it’s the wrapping part, which is pretty much a case of doing your best to get it all enclosed. I always use a packet of khobez from Persepolis in Peckham (3 or 4 to a pack), which split apart nicely and are the perfect thickness. It’s widely available in London but if you can’t get it I suggest you just do your best with whatever you can find. Don’t use anything too thin like lavash however, as it will crisp up too much and burn.

So what of the cooked cock? Well, I was worried about it to be honest; the drawback of this cooking method is that it’s impossible to check on the progress of it once wrapped. I cook a regular chicken this way for 3 hours at 175 degrees. This seems like an age of course but the bird stays very juicy due to the wrapping. I’ve no idea why it’s cooked for so long but that’s what Jake told me to do so I don’t argue. As I’d been warned the cock would take even longer to cook, I gave it 4 hours to be on the safe side which was probably totally unnecessary (although it did no harm). As a friend advised me at the time of cooking, ‘I’d say 4 hours at 175 degrees would cook fucking anything to be honest.’ Well, quite.

This dish is all about the big reveal. Wang it in the middle of the table and crack the crust to release the fragrant spicy meat puff. Ooooh! Aaaaaaah! Once the steam dissipates, the cock is revealed; the drama of de-mummification. At first I was a little taken aback by the funk of the bird; it smelled a little more high than the average chook. In the mouth though, that translated to chicken flavour to the power of 100 days + hanging for 1 week. It’s aged for a reason…

I served my bird on Persian style rice; basmati steamed with cardamom and streaked with steeped saffron. The shredded meat was dabbed with bits of the spice paste and then, then, scattered with what is possibly the best garnish ever: chopped dates fried in butter. They’re really high in calories, what with all that natural sugar and the liberal addition of saturated fat, which is why they taste incredible. If you’re not into the savoury/fruit thing which I know weirds people out sometimes, try them as a topping for ice cream. I wouldn’t want anyone to miss out.

Okay so it’s not the prettiest of dishes but it tastes incredible, it’s fun and it’s always possible to panic garnish with out of season pomegranate seeds, to give it some colour and make it look better in a photo…a little tip for you there. Damn, I could charge for this shit.

The cockerels are available to buy from Ginger Pig now. They cost £8.50/kg, which isn’t cheap by any stretch, but is only a couple of quid more than a standard free range bird and they’re pretty unique. A 3kg bird will feed about 6 people, or greedy me for 3 days.

See here for Ginger Pig branch locations

Mummified Cockerel

1 x 2.75 kg (or similar sized) cockerel
2 average sized onions
3 cloves garlic
Hot chilli flakes (about a generous tablespoon I suppose)
3 tablespoons za’atar
A splash of oil
3-4 khobez flat breads (or similar), for wrapping

Preheat the oven to 175c.

Whack the onions, garlic, chilli flakes, za’atar, oil and some salt in a blender. Blend it. Smear it all over the cockerel, inside and out, but mostly out. Split one of the flatbreads so that it is still joined on side; you basically want to tuck the chicken into a bready pocket. Do that. Then keep doing it until you’ve mummified the cock. Just do your best to make sure it’s all wrapped up.

Wrap it loosely in foil and put it in the oven. Cook for 4 hours. Every 45 minutes or so take it out and brush the top of the flatbread liberally with water; this should stop it from burning. You won’t be eating the top bit anyway but burnt stuff doesn’t taste good so don’t skip this bit.

After 4 hours it should be ready; who knows, it might even be ready after 3. Anyway, crack the flatbread crust and get stuck in.

Rice Iranian Stylee (these are Sally Butcher’s quantities from Veggiestan, which means they cater for Iranian – meaning large – appetites. This is also her method for cooking rice, which never fails)

600g rice
800ml water
Generous knob of butter
Pinch saffron strands steeped in a little boiling water
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
Pinch ground cinnamon
A few dates, chopped
More butter for frying the dates

Wash the rice well. Put the water and butter in a pan with some salt and bring it to the boil. Add the rice and let it come back to the boil, then turn the heat down really low. Tie a clean tea towel around the lid of the pan, then put it on and let it simmer very gently for 20 minutes. After this time, lift the lid, stir in the cardamom and cinnamon, put the lid back on and steam for another 10 minutes.

Melt some butter in a pan and fry the dates in it for a few minutes.

Streak the saffron through the rice and serve with the chicken and dates on top.

50 comments » | Bread, Far Out Crazy, Food From The Rye, Meat, Peckham

Sandwich à la Khan’s Bargain Ltd.

March 27th, 2012 — 10:32am

Many of you will know about my love for Khan’s Bargain Ltd. It’s one of the best shops in Peckham; so good in fact that I felt moved to write a whole post about it. Recently, a reader left a comment on that post saying that Mr. Khan has sadly passed away. I went down myself to verify this and sure enough, there was a sign behind the counter. The man who gave his name to such an endearingly chaotic shop is no longer with us.

I considered ways to pay tribute to Mr. K and his Emporium of Random and it seemed fitting to create a sandwich à la Khan’s because there have been oh so many over the past few years. I’ve stuffed them with various bits of cheese or vegetables depending on my mood; creamy labneh with slender crisp slices of baby cucumber perhaps, a slick of muhammara or a dollop of baba ganoush. Always a big handful of fresh herbs.

The sesame speckled flat breads they sell are incredible, so soft and moist. I split one and layered it with aleppo pepper paste (a spicy blend made almost entirely from aleppo pepper and chillies), silky fried aubergine slices, pan scorched halloumi and plenty of coriander. It was a cracking sandwich; base chilli heat, juicy aubergines and salty cheese is a winning combo. Some of the best Khan’s ingredients all together. I didn’t know Mr. Khan personally, but I know his shop inside out; it’s one of the reasons I fell head over heels for Peckham 5 years ago and it’s one of the reasons I continue to relish shopping here. Rest in peace, Mr. Khan, your customers remain loyal and your shop, the most charming ramshackle arrangement of groceries, home wares and plastic animals on Rye Lane.

Sandwich à la Khan’s Bargain Ltd. (makes 2)

2 round soft flat breads
Aleppo paste (if you can’t get this, use another spicy paste, such as harissa or make a paste with red peppers, chilli and oil)
1 packet halloumi cheese
1 large aubergine, sliced into 2cm sliced
Very finely sliced red onion
Plain flour
Oil, for frying
A handful of fresh coriander leaves

Heat some oil to a depth of about 1cm in a heavy based frying pan. Spread some flour out on a plate and dust each aubergine slice in it, then drop into the hot oil. You will need to do this in batches so as not to crowd the pan. Keep the cooked aubergine slices on a plate covered with kitchen paper in a low oven while you finish cooking the rest. When all the aubergines are cooked, keep them all in the oven while you fry the halloumi.

To fry the halloumi, slice it thickly then drop into a dry pan until golden on both sides.

Warm the flatbreads briefly, then split them in half and spread with pepper paste. Layer on the halloumi, aubergines, onion and fresh coriander. Serve immediately.

29 comments » | Bread, Cheese, Food From The Rye, Peckham, Sandwiches

Roast Fennel & Bread Salad with Anchovy Dressing

October 13th, 2011 — 6:49pm


“It’s not a salad if you put bread in it” someone once told me. What a load of tosh. Have you ever heard of croutons? Hmmm? Although regular croutons depress me; rock hard squares that shatter to dust once bitten. I like to make bread more of the main event by getting some really good quality sourdough or a similar sturdy loaf, charring it and and tearing it into rough chunks (an idea I fell in love with after making this). It sponges up the dressing, leaving you with half juicy, half crisp pieces which really bulk out a salad in the most obscenely delicious manner.

Last night I wasn’t in the mood for meat, so I roasted some fennel and cherry tomatoes, added some fat kalamata olives and coated everything in an anchovy rich dressing – 10 really large, plump fillets which pumped things up a notch or twenty. Chilli, garlic, parsley, olive oil…you can imagine it all soaking into the bread. Go on, imagine it.

Deep-fried croutons, be gone.

Roast Fennel and Bread Salad with Anchovy Dressing (serves 2)

2 bulbs fennel
10 cherry tomatoes
3 cloves garlic
About 8 kalamata olives
2 slices sourdough bread

For the dressing:

1 red chilli, finely chopped
Small handful parsley, finely chopped
10 plump anchovy fillets, chopped
Juice of 1 lemon
Olive oil

Preheat the oven to 200C.

Remove the tough outer later of the fennel and trim any stalky bits at the top. Cut each bulb into quarters and then cut each quarter in half again. Arrange in a roasting dish and sling in the garlic (unpeeled) too. Drizzle with oil then give everything a good mix around to make sure it’s coated well. Season with salt and pepper and cook for 20 minutes.

Arrange the tomatoes in a separate dish, coat with oil and season as you did with the fennel. Once the fennel has been roasting for 20 minutes, put the tomatoes in the oven too. Cook for a further 15 minutes.

To make the dressing, put the chilli, parsley and anchovies in a pestle and mortar and pound to a paste. Add the lemon juice, a good slug of oil to loosen it and season with black pepper. Give everything a really good mix to emulsify the dressing. Once the vegetables are ready, remove the garlic and squeeze that into the dressing also. Mix well again.

Toast the bread, tear it into chunks and put into a large bowl. Add the fennel and tomatoes followed by the dressing. Give it a really good mix. Arrange on plates with the olives scattered over.

18 comments » | Bread, Fish, Fish and Seafood, Main Dishes, Salads

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