I was worried that me and callaloo were doomed from the start. The soup always seems to contain a healthy amount of okra and I had a problem with this for two reasons: firstly, those hairy little fingers irritate the hell out of my (thankfully not so hairy) little fingers, bringing me out in a rash, and secondly, most callaloo recipes called for them to simmer in the liquid for at least half an hour. This to me says one thing and one thing only: slime. Eating overcooked okra is like eating a fat slimy bogey; a big glutinous bowl of snot soup. Yum. Can’t wait.

After a bit of mental wrestling I came to the conclusion that omitting them entirely was not acceptable and so I fried the sappy slices until they were sappy no more, sealed instead by a crispy outer crust. They were added back at the last minute. Other than these (literally) irritating beasties, the soup contains pork, prawns, scotch bonnet chilli, thyme, two types of onion and of course, the callaloo. I think it’s safe to say there’s a lot going on.

The flavour of the callaloo, which I bought tinned, is described somewhere on the great interwebz as, ‘a cross between spinach and cabbage’. That is exactly what it tastes like. Perhaps there’s a bit of asparagus in there as well. You get the idea. This predominantly ‘green’ flavour, makes for a very vegetal soup. At first. Then comes pork and then, even-better-joy-of-joys, pork fat; melty pieces cling to each pink nugget with a seductive wobble. There is the odd surprise of shrimp but it’s not unpleasant.

At first I find the soup musty but as the spoonfuls pass this transforms into an intriguing peppery complexity. The coconut milk is not really discernible as its usual overwhelming self but instead sort of lingers around keeping things in order. The okra keep themselves to themselves.

There’s no getting away from it – this is some seriously hearty fare and I’m amazed that it is usually served as a side dish, to act as a sort of gravy for other foods. Most of my Rye Lane dishes have been similar in weight and intensity. They are the kind of dishes that stick to your ribs; fortify, bolster and sustain.

That said, this soup also has an aromatic quality from the little love triangle going on between chilli, coconut and thyme; a surprising delicacy underneath it all really. But then that was the problem right there: so much in the mix, so many flavours and contrasts that all got a little bit muddy and confused. I really should have started with a simple version (no meat or fish) like the family recipe sent to me by a friend and blogger yesterday.

Although I enjoyed the taste of the callaloo vegetable itself, I’m not sure I’ll be cooking with it that often. A green leafy vegetable from a tin is not really any contender for fresh spinach, kale or chard for example. Well, my version isn’t anyway. I basically made a fundamental schoolgirl error by choosing to make the nitrous oxide, big-bore, super-charged version when I should have started off with the understated yet reliable runner. You live and learn.

Callaloo

325g callaloo (drained weight)
1 small white onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon thyme leaves
3 spring onions, white and green parts, chopped
125g thick bacon cubes
225g small prawns
150ml coconut milk
200g okra, sliced
1 small scotch bonnet chilli, de-seeded and chopped
Stock – about 1 litre (I used vegetable)

Begin by frying the okra in a little oil until soft but crispy on the outside. Set aside on kitchen paper to soak up any oil. In a large pan, soften the onions and chilli gently for a few minutes before adding the callaloo, bacon, thyme and stock. Bring to the boil and then simmer for about 30 minutes before adding the prawns, okra and coconut milk for a further 2 or 3 minutes. Check the seasoning and serve.

Every so often, Chris will put in a dinner request: “I saw a Jamaican oxtail stew on Levi Roots a couple of weeks ago” he tells me, “can you make it tonight?” It sounds like a gentle question but is in fact a firm requisition. I’ve tried resisting once before and the look on his little face pulled so hard on the heart strings that I’m now conditioned to comply. Thankfully he was able to remember a few scant details, so a bit of light Googling and a recipe was formed. I marched off purposefully to pick up 1 kg oxtail pieces from a local butcher who describes his shop as, “Irish and Caribbean” – he is Irish, many of his customers Caribbean; it makes sense I suppose.

I rolled the chunks in seasoned flour then browned them on all sides, in batches (so as not to crowd the pan), and set aside. I then softened some diced onion, carrot and celery before adding back the oxtail plus 3 cloves crushed garlic; 1.5 tablespoons thyme leaves; 2 scotch bonnet chillies; 2 tablespoons allspice; 4 large tomatoes, chopped; 2 bay leaves; 1 teaspoon of sugar; 1 litre of beef stock and a can of Guinness. I let this bubble gently for 3 hours before adding 2 cans of beans (I used kidney and pinto) for another 30-45 minutes.

The rich oxtail flaked into melty mouthfuls while the marrow from the bones and high fat content gave the stew a wonderful gelatinous quality. There were still some bits of meat clinging to bone too, which satisfied the need to pick up and gnaw. The gravy was fragrant with allspice and tingling with scotch bonnet heat. I was happy with the Guinness addition too, which is a nod to the Guinness punch served in some Caribbean places; I’ve still yet to try it but have fallen rather in love with the idea. In this stew, it gives an extra depth with bite.

The stew was devoured in a frenzy of slurping, chewing and murmuring, punctuated by the odd ‘ker-ping!’ as discarded pieces of bone were slung into an empty bowl. I’m pretty sure this means I delivered the goods. It’s going into the repertoire for future tweaking and handily, fits into the frugal category, which is the name of the game in this house right now. In my hunt for bargain ingredients, I’ve been exploring the depths of Peckham Rye to an even greater extent than before and finding all sorts of weird and wonderful treats hiding away. Watch this space.

Regular readers of London blogs will know by now that my good mate Lizzie and I are South East Londoners (other SE bloggers include tehbus, Jassy, Naomi, Ben, Monkey Gland, Petra, Rosie, Salad Club, Sharmila, Rob and Pete). We live in the sometimes dirty, smelly and ‘lively’ area of the capital and we love it. Right now, I’m living in Peckham, and you’ll often hear me sticking up for it. The high number of African and Caribbean people living here means we get some damn good grub, which by its nature is charmingly rustic and heavy on spice. Many restaurants here lack the polish and presentation of more Northerly establishments, which to be honest, is part of their charm.

Over the last few years I’ve become increasingly interested in Caribbean food, which started with a trip to the annual Jerk Cookout in the gardens of The Horniman Museum in 2007, on the off chance that it might be a nice day out. I would now never consider missing it. Holidays will be scheduled around it. I’ve picked up a few tips along the way and tried out my own recipes for jerk chicken and curry goat but as I’ve realised, these recipes are something which take a long time – years, generations even, to perfect. In the meantime I’ve dedicated my days to visiting as many Caribbean restaurants as possible and I’ve learned that you are on your own trying to work out the secrets of the good places – ask and they clam up completely; heads shake firmly and eyes widen in disbelief.

It’s not all good of course, there are always some howlers. When I was planning our recent Peckham restaurant crawl I planned to take everyone to a Caribbean place a few minutes from my doorstep: ‘God Bless Caribbean Restaurant’. Thank goodness I decided to check it out first. The jerk was incredibly bland, as was the curry goat (which was mostly bone anyway). Strangely, the rice and peas were the best I’ve ever had but not even that will make me return to sample their dry, tasteless, spiceless meat ever again. Shame, because it takes all of three minutes to get there. Lizzie on the other hand, is more fortunate. Literally a few minutes walk from her front door in New Cross stands the unassuming shack that is Smokey Jerkey. When she told me of the tantalising wafts of grill smoke she endures on a daily basis and the surly woman who turns out some of the best damn jerk she’s ever tasted, it was a done deal – I had to try it.

“Is it shut?” I asked as we approached, with more than a hint of desperation in my voice. It wasn’t – it just always looks like that. A padlocked grill covers the front and inside there are a couple of chairs and a counter where you order the food. That’s basically it. We ordered the jerk chicken with rice and peas (£3 lunch special), and scurried back to eat it.

The portion was generous and not too rice and pea heavy as can often be the case. The chicken was succulent and chopped  into hand manageable pieces in the way that Caribbean places always do. And the jerk seasoning? Brilliant. I found it pleasantly sweeter than other jerk I’ve had, sticky with caramelised crusty bits and infused with a smoky char. The flavour was fruity with scotch bonnet chillies and the heat started as a little numbing tingle on the lips and slowly built to good ‘n’ hot. We also doused on some hot sauce for good measure. The heady mix of spices was not too powerful and the extra sweetness prevented that dusty wallop that can happen when it’s a case of too much spice and not enough everything else.

All in all, this is some of the best jerk I’ve had in the South East and I highly recommend you try it if you are passing through the area.  By the way, if I’ve missed any SE London bloggers, then please do reveal yourselves – it’s always nice to find some more locals to share tips, drinks and maybe even restaurant crawls with. Also, I know I’m asking a lot of questions at the end of my posts right now but if you have some favourite jerk places anywhere in London then I’d love to hear about those too. I do venture North of the river occasionally you know…

The annual jerk cook-out in the gardens of The Horniman Museum is one of my favourite food events. I live close enough to walk there but not so close as to be affected by the hugely increased volume of traffic, which I’ve heard is a bit of a nightmare. It probably wouldn’t make any difference to me to be honest, I live on a major junction – I’d feel nervous without the sounds of sirens, beeping horns, road rage and screeching tyres 24/7. Anyway, my point is that this year it was BUSY. The weather was glorious and approximately 10,000 people turned out to laze on the grass and eat, drink and be merry.

As you approach the museum gardens, the wafts of jerk smoke start to reach your nostrils and it’s basically a race from then on in. I literally couldn’t get in there fast enough. The best Caribbean restaurants in London are invited and a panel of judges decide who makes the best jerk, rice and peas and dumpling. Once inside, we were a bit unnerved at the size of the first queue we came across at the famous Cummin Up and so decided to start with one of the smaller stalls, Ramones.

The plan was to try three different places so we started with one portion of jerk pork, rice and peas, salad and a dumpling (£6 I think). The sauce on the meat was quite oily, although not unpleasantly so and the lady serving us spooned extra over the rice and peas without me having to ask. The meat itself was tender and the fat, oh the fat! Crispy in places but melty in others, the best of both pig fat worlds. I’ve been trying to create a jerk recipe I’m happy with for a long time now and so I made careful notes about the spicing; the ground cloves were fairly pronounced and there was a strong smack of black pepper.

As we contemplated where to go next I noticed that one stall in particular, Tasty Jerk, had the most ridiculously long queue snaking right across the park. They were also packin’ an impressive row of barrel BBQ’s. We feared it might take ages to get served and were just turning away when I spotted them – jerk crab claws. We joined the queue.

And then we waited…and waited…and waited and after an hour considered giving up but decided it would be silly to queue for so long without some sort of reward at the end of it. With hindsight, that was a poor decision. We stood in the blazing sun, on a backwards slope, battling wasps and hangovers and moaners for nearly TWO HOURS and I am not exaggerating. What was most disturbing though, was that towards the front of the queue, the whole thing got a bit desperate. There was pushing, shoving and arguments about who was in front of who two hours ago. “Where have you come from?” one man accused. “Nigeria” the other replied.

As we got within spitting distance of the stall, the reasons for the outrageous waiting time became clear – the staff had absolutely no idea what they were doing. Many were just standing around doing nothing. That’s pretty insulting when you’ve been waiting for two hours. By the time we got to the front they had run out of pretty much everything. “All that’s left is pork and lamb.” No crab claws?! We took a plate of pork and some corn.

The spicing was definitely better than Ramones, with a heat that wasn’t just spicy but had fruity scotch bonnet flavour too and a subtle build. The meat however was dry as a bone. They managed to win it for the second year running and I can imagine the spicing would be amazing on the freshest, juiciest pieces likely served to the judges. By contrast, our experience had left a bad taste before we even got our food.

I regret the decision to queue at Tasty Jerk because the event itself is amazing. I’ll be back next year and for as long as it keeps running. There was a real carnival atmosphere inside and next year I’m rounding up a bunch of mates so we can all pile down with a blanket and plenty of cold beers. I definitely picked up some good spicing tips too and I’m so excited about the new recipe I already have a batch of ribs marinating ready for a mates’ birthday BBQ tonight. Watch this space.

You can see all my photos of the day here.

Chris and I returned to my student stomping ground, Oxford last weekend to pay a visit to Chris’s bro who has just moved back over from Dubai. Amongst his possessions he had stashed a magazine clipping which he kindly saved for me and which covers one of my favourite subjects in the whole wide world – sandwiches. I was drawn immediately to a confit oxtail creation and set out in search of the necessary caudal appendage in Oxford’s Covered Market. Alas, it was not to be – sold out in every one of the five or so butchers inside. And then I spotted the goat. Not advertised as ‘mutton for goat’, which is the usual offering of, well, mutton instead of goat but the genuine, bona fide Billy.

An early afternoon train meant I would get back in time to pick up the other requisite ingredients from Peckham – scotch bonnets, thyme and spring onions. Ingredients secured I scurried back to the house, my eager mind racing with thoughts of welcoming a whole brand new meat into my life. And then a thought struck me…I’d never cooked curry goat before but I would bet my bottom dollar it needs marinating overnight. A quick Google confirmed this. Knowing I wouldn’t have a chance to cook the next day I resolved to push on regardless – a brief 1 hour marinade and 3 hours on the hob.

The results were, quite simply, dribble inducing. I sprung out of bed the next morning and missioned it down Peckham Rye in search of some more goat, striking gold almost instantly. I bought double the amount this time plus some bony bits for extra flavour. This batch would get some overnight marinating, even longer, slower cooking and a healthy mountain of rice and peas on the side.

Making a dish like curry goat takes serious patience and I strongly advise stocking up on snacks to save sanity. The smell of the meat in the marinade is a tease, the smell of the marinated meat hitting the hot pan is enough to make your knees turn to jelly, and the smell as it bubbles away gently on the stove is almost unbearable. The reward however is a deep, complex curry with meat that melts apart when you so much as show it a fork.

Although the second batch of curry was even better than the first due to the extra effort, I’m not convinced it actually was goat meat. The first batch melted almost completely and tasted a little bit like lamb but a bit more beefy. This second batch smelled just a bit too, well, lamby. It also had a huge amount of fat, and tasted suspiciously like mutton. Hmm. Whatever, the resulting curry was still fruity, spicy, fragrant and rich. If you’ve never made curry goat before I strongly encourage you to try it, although avoid, if you can, using mutton dressed as goat.

Curry Goat

For the goat and marinade

1kg goat meat or mutton, diced into large chunks (a few bits of bone for flavour won’t go amiss)
Juice of 1 large lime
1 bunch of spring onions (about six or seven small or three large), sliced
1 tablespoon salt
2 scotch bonnet chillies, finely chopped
Leaves from 1 large sprig of thyme
1 onion
2 fat cloves of garlic, crushed
3 large tomatoes, de-seeded and chopped (you can remove the skins if you like by blanching them in hot water and peeling but I didn’t bother)

For the Jamaican curry powder (makes a nice little batch – adapted a bit from this recipe)

25g coriander seeds, toasted and ground
25g turmeric
25g ground ginger
7 cardamom pods, crushed and seeds ground
25g black pepper
10g ground fenugreek
10g ground cinnamon

- Mix all the spices together well. Add the meat to a bowl then add the lime juice and salt and mix well. Add 3 tablespoons of spice mix along with the chillies, thyme, onion, spring onion and garlic.
- Mix really well, rubbing the marinade into the meat and then cover and refrigerate overnight or for as long as possible.
- Heat a heavy based pan with some oil for frying the meat. Dust the excess marinade off the meat and reserve it. Heat some oil in a heavy based pan until very hot and brown the meat on all sides, then set aside.
- In the same pan, fry the reserved marinade for a few minutes. Add back the meat, together with the tomatoes and enough water to cover the meat. Bring to the boil then reduce the heat, cover and simmer on the lowest heat possible for 3 hours or until the meat is falling apart and the gravy coats the back of a spoon.
- Serve with rice and peas.