I’m getting nervous now. I blinked two months ago and here I am with just two weeks left to organise a lunch for 40 of my neighbours. Most of us have never even met and yet we’ve been living as close as rats. I know things about them just from listening. The guy downstairs loves to play boogie woogie on his piano, particularly on Sundays; I’ve spent many an afternoon cooking while he tinkles away in the background. I can’t wait to tell him that his playing has improved a lot. I want to ask the man upstairs if he has an indoor golf-putting machine, because we’ve spent the past two years trying to work out what that noise is and I really think we’ve nailed it this time. I’m looking forward to chatting more with the guy from No. 2, who has a brilliant dry sense of humour; he once asked me, completely deadpan, if I thought it was a weird idea to get everyone in the block to take a photo of themselves and stick it on a sheet so we know who is supposed to be here and who isn’t. Hilarious. I can’t wait to break bread with these people.

If I’m not stressed out of my mind that is. I was going to show you what I’ve been doing the past few days, including a little demo, if you could call it that, of how to make the feta and spinach spanakopita thingies you see below but seriously, I am cursed in the ‘vlogging’ department. Somehow, between us, Chris and I managed to repeatedly fail to press the record button properly and I’ve wound up with four very short clips of footage which bear pretty much no relation to each other. I’ve stuck them together into one big fail. I do hope you didn’t expect any improvement in the quality of this video compared to the last one. You did? Oh.

Yep. Sorry.

So here’s the recipe I was talking about. Warning: very addictive. It’s hard enough to stop yourself eating the filling while making them, let alone once you’ve crammed all that healthy spinach up against some cheese and wrapped it in pastry.

Mini Spanakopita (makes about 20)

1 pack filo pastry or 1 ‘samosa pad’, which you can buy in Asian grocers. They usually come frozen and are exactly the right width.
Olive oil
3 large bunches of spinach (see vid)
1 pack feta cheese (200g)
1 large onion, finely chopped
Seeds for the edges (optional). I’ve used sesame seeds, poppy seeds or sometimes I add some onion seeds inside the parcels themselves.

Preheat your oven to 200C

Gently soften the onion in a little olive oil until translucent (sometimes I add a few onion seeds). Set aside in a bowl.

Meanwhile, trim any tough stalks from the spinach and wash in several changes of cold water. Plunge the spinach into boiling water for 3 minutes, then drain and refresh under cold water until it is cool. Pick up the spinach in your hands and squeeze as much water as possible out of it, then chop it roughly and add to the onion. Crumble the feta into the bowl too and season with black pepper. Taste the mixture – it may not need any salt because of the cheese.

Take either your filo or your samosa pad and lay on a flat surface. If you are using filo, trim the sheets lengthways into 3 then begin each samosa with 1 sheet, brush it with oil and lay another sheet on top, then brush again and add another. If you are using a samosa pad, the sheets are generally thick enough already and you will only need to brush once around the edges.

Take a tablespoon of the spinach feta mix and put it on one corner of the pastry, then carefully fold over into a triangle, pressing down the seams and brushing as you go. Keep folding over into triangles until there is no pastry left. Brush the outside with olive oil. You can now dip the edges into seeds if you wish. Just scatter them on a plate and dip the edges in.

Bake for 10-15 minutes, until golden brown.

Thanks to everyone who left a little food story in the comments and also all those who sent entries via e-mail. I’ve chosen the winners and they are:

Krista, with the tale of her 6th form years spent living with a family in Paris and how the “scary, dominant” “witch” matriarch used to feed her broken dog biscuits as a “treat”, passing them off as regular biscuits. Krista manages to see the positive side of things though as she advises, “they are not overly disgusting and go well with hot chocolate.” Good to know.

The second winner is an e-mail entry, and I will assume therefore that she wishes to remain anonymous. I will tell you though that her story begins thus, “my late grandfather was a diabetic, compulsive gambling, Russian-Jewish diamond dealer.” She had me from the off.

Tyelperion is the third winner, for giving me three stories involving a salty meringue, a champagne cork to the face and a pea lodged between a cheek and a nostril.

And last but not least is Danielle, who touched me with the tale of her struggle with an eating disorder and how she is re-discovering the pleasure of food. Good for you girl. Free tickets coming your way.

Let’s not forget the runner up prize of a 2 for 1 ticket deal though; that goes to Gav, who offered to give me a glass of wine and some bacon. He also complimented me on my curry goat. I’m easily bought, what can I say.

I’ll e-mail all the winners. Thanks to everyone who entered.

So I’m doing a Big Lunch this year. The people behind it saw me banging on about food and community for The Observer and asked me to put my money where my mouth is. Fair enough. The idea is that you get all your neighbours together and have lunch in the street. I’ve never even met most of the neighbours in my block so the idea of a get together is really exciting and a bit scary at the same time. What if no-one wants to do it? Think of all the things that could go wrong!

The set up process and actual lunch itself will be documented on the slightly scary medium that is video, thanks to the Big Lunch people who are sending me a ‘flipcam’ for the purpose. You can therefore actually watch me tearing my hair out rather than just reading about it. Lucky you.

It seemed like an excellent opportunity to raise some money for charidee and it took me all of two seconds to decide that I’ll be raising money for Maggie’s – it’s a Scottish cancer charity I used to work for. I have never felt so inspired, humbled, scared, elated, sad and generally in awe of others as I did when I worked in that place. Maggie’s are experts in supporting  people when they are truly vulnerable and I was honoured to work with some very unique and experienced people. Since I no longer work there, this is another way to give them something.

So, watch this space. Oh and if any lovely helpful generous folks want to get in touch to help out on the ingredients front then that would be much appreciated. I’ll be making cakes, scones, sandwiches – basically anything English tea themed (with a Peckham twist, of course) because it’s simple and most of it can be cooked in advance. I think that trying to cook hot food on the day would be complete self sabotage and therefore utterly insane.

So, wish me luck! I dare say I’m going to need it. First update will follow shortly and the actual lunch is happening on Sunday 18th July. In the meantime, I need to contact Southwark council, and my neighbours. Over and out!

OK so here’s the deal: I’ve got 4 pairs of free tickets to give away so I’m running a little competition. All you need to do to win some is tell me a little food story. It can be as short as a few words or as long as your arm; as simple as telling me the name of your favourite dish; a  joke; a guilty pleasure you’re happy to embrace or a moment of consumption that you’re genuinely ashamed of. Get it off your chest – I’m all ears.

My 4 favourite comments will win the tickets, so the judgement will be based on my whim and fancy; there will be no random number generator or witness present. I’m easily impressed so fire away.

There’s also a 2 for 1 deal up for grabs – that’s 2 tickets for a bargainous £12 for a runner up, should they wish to take the deal.

The Real Food Festival is taking place in Earl’s Court again this year, but don’t let that put you off – many of the people inside are selling some really lovely stuff. I know because I went to visit some of them last year and wrote about it on the RFF blog. I’ll be there myself, serving up tea at the ‘Mad Hatter’s Tea Party’, which will involve Henrietta ‘tea lady’ Lovell and those crazy kids Bompas and Parr. Do pop over for a cuppa.

I’ll choose the winners on Monday 3rd May.

www.therealfoodfestival.co.uk

To me, the swine is the greatest of all animals (for eating) and what follows is an account of my lesson on arguably one of the finest ways man has seen fit to prepare the beast for its tasty fate. I was invited to a preview of  the new ‘ham workshop’ at Brindisa, which will be running monthly from 5th November. The workshop took place around a table in the Brindisa shop in Borough, surrounded by the dwindling bustle of the market and sounds of revellers in the pub opposite, which made for a lively atmosphere; definitely preferable to sitting in a quiet, stuffy shop. Alberto Ambler, the assistant manager at Brindisa Tapas, informed us we would be treated to a lesson on the importance of variables such as the diet, region and breed of the pigs, a tasting of four different hams and finally, a lesson in carving. Much of the lesson would come from Zac Fingal-Rock Innes – a ‘Master Carver’ who was nursing an occupational hazard on his hand, as you can see from the photo below.

As we nibbled on bread and olives and sipped a green apple scented Manzanilla, Alberto and Zac talked us through the lives of the pigs. We would be tasting four hams: one White pig and three Ibéricos, helpfully arranged on the plate at 12, 3, 6 and 9 o’clock, so as to avoid any confusion. The first we tasted (12 o’clock) was Jamón de Monroyo Reserva from Teruel, Aragon: a White pig which is cereal fed and cured for a minimum of 14 months. This Alberto described as an “entry level ham” – not too complicated, slightly sweet and mostly just plain ‘hammy’. This was a ham without high ambitions but tasty as you like nonetheless.

Next we moved on to the Jabu Recebo from Jabugo, Huelva, the first of the Ibérico hams. These pigs graze the dehesa (an area nearly 15,000 times the size of Hyde Park), covering as much as 20-25 km per day in their search for acorns. They are also incredibly selective about which ones they will eat even once they do find them. The purer the breed of Ibérico, the more selective they are about which nut is fit for dinner. The micro-climate of the Jabugo region also contributes to the flavour of the animal; the cool woods add another variable to the mix. This ham was much stronger in flavour, almost knocking on the door of Marmitey in intensity yet with a familiar sweetness and melty texture.

Our 6 o’clock ham was a Jamón de la Dehesa de Extremadura Bellota D.O.P from Badajoz, Extramedura: an Ibérico which is cured for 2-3 years. The flavour of this was really strong, almost a little musty and deeply nutty with a bit of that Marmite going on again; condensed umami; reduced, almost fermented and slightly pruney in flavour. The taste buds were going crazy with delight at this point and the mouth alive with an explosion of saliva.

Our final ham was an Joselito Gran Reserva Bellota from Guijuelo, Salamanca: an acorn fed Ibérico cured for 3-4 years. This ham was extraordinary. It had the characteristics of the other hams we had tried – nutty, sweet  and straight up porky but differed in that the stages of flavour just kept on coming. I remember distinctly a kind of muddy intensity that I wished would just swallow me up so I could wallow in its porky depths. The finish was slightly cheesy and the texture of the fat was hand-to-the-brow, fall-into-his-arms dreamy. Apparently, this ham was a particularly fine example due to 2001/2 being good years, therefore producing a good vintage, or ‘añada’ – something to do with the rainfall being just right for the acorns.

When the tasting was done and we gazed forlornly at our empty plates, Zac beckoned us over to the waiting hams for our carving master class. He began by showing us the tools of the trade and giving us a tour of the ham leg to get an idea of how to begin (by cutting off the excess fat on top) and how to finish  the leg (by cutting out all the little bits no good for slicing, which then resemble lardons, and are called ‘tacos’). When the leg is still being carved, the exposed surface should be covered with the layer of fat cut from the top, to prevent drying out during storage.

He proceeded to give a demonstration of the carving, making it look spectacularly easy, like the knife was running through butter. We then donned a metal mesh glove on our non-slicing hands and had a go ourselves. You know what I’m going to say don’t you? It isn’t as easy as it looks. The skill is to let the blade of the ‘jamonera’  do the work – stroking, not pushing the blade and using the section that is closest to the handle, rather than the length. I definitely improved as I practised, as did everyone, and by the end had me some pretty good slices going on. Well, good considering I’d never done it before and was slightly pissed on sherry; I’m pretty confident in saying Zac didn’t fear for his job.

To top it all we were generously bestowed with gifts: the ham we had cut plus some masterfully sliced by Zac, some tacos and a pot of beautiful pure white fat which we were informed make amazing roast potatoes and croquettes. I’ll bet. It is also packed with amino acids from the acorns the pigs munched on. The bone can be used to flavour stocks and soups; nothing is wasted. I’ve used my pot of tacos already, cooked quickly with some white wine, scallops and artichokes which with hindsight, was not the best cooking method to use. I should have read my information sheet first, which advises to use them in stocks and stews, where they will soften. Gorgeous nonetheless.

I learned a hell of a lot about ham at the Brindisa ham workshop, and I am very grateful to Alberto for hosting and to the super glam Celia Brooks Brown, who suggested they invite me in the first place. Even though I did not pay for my experience, I most certainly would, and I will enthusiastically recommend to anyone else that they do too. The ham workshops will cost £65 per person and begin running every month, starting 5th November, between 7-8.45pm.

Brindisa at Borough Market

The Floral Hall
Stoney Street
Borough Market
London SE1 9AF
Tel & Fax: 020 7407 1036
Email: shop@brindisa.com

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.

And so on to our main course for Nom Nom Nom – duck with gooseberry sauce, fondant potatoes and rainbow chard. This is where we nearly ran into trouble when shopping for ingredients. Lizzie had spotted some duck breasts in Marylebone farmers market, but at £10 for two, they were going to send us seriously over budget (we needed to make 4 portions of each dish). A mad dash around Waitrose turned up nowt as we just stood there, staring blankly at the space where duck breasts should be…”Sorry” said the sales assistant. I think he thought we might be about to cry. We hot footed it back to the market and decided to buy three for £15 – they were proper beasts and once sliced served 4 easily.

We rendered the fat from the duck and used it to fry our potatoes – be rude not to, really. Mmm, duck fat. We then gave them a good sprinkling of chopped rosemary, slung in some bashed garlic, filled the pan with stock and a generous wadge of butter, then covered and let them simmer away on the hob until silky, buttery and aromatic on the inside – the tops still crispy from the duck fat frying.

To continue our fruity theme we chose a gooseberry sauce to go with the duck. They are bang in season and the tart fruit cuts through the richness of the duck perfectly. So, think rare slices of meat, crispy fat on top, tangy gooseberry sauce (lightly spiced with cloves) on the side, dreamy fondant potatoes and a little bed of rainbow chard, wilted in the fondant potato juices at the last minute. I’m actually in danger of dribbling a little bit just thinking about it. If you are too then please vote for The Go Go Gin Girls HERE!

Duck with Gooseberry Sauce

Serves 1

1 duck breast
100gr gooseberries
4 shallots
A knob of butter
2 medium sized floury potatoes
A glug of white wine
A pinch of ground cloves
Sugar, to taste
Half a bulb of garlic
1 sprig of rosemary
Chicken stock
Some greenery (in our case, Swiss chard but spinach or savoy cabbage also works)

Score the duck breast and salt heavily. Meanwhile, peel the potatoes and cut in half lengthways. Top and tail the gooseberries. Pat the duck breasts dry, and fry them on a low heat, skin side down to slowly render the fat out. This needs about 15 minutes, to really get the fat out and crisp up the skin. When this is done, turn the duck breast and fry on a medium heat for a minute or two to give it some colour. Remove and leave on a baking tray. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celcius.

Next, fry the potatoes in the rendered duck fat until they are browned. Remove them and place in a frying pan with a lid, with the browned sides facing up. Smash the garlic cloves with the side of a knife, scatter them around the potatoes with the sprig of rosemary, chopped finely. Add the chicken stock until it comes partway up the side of the potatoes, but doesn’t cover the previously fried part. Put the lid on and simmer gently for about 15 – 20 mins, or until the potatoes are tender.

Meanwhile, heat the knob of butter in a pan and add the shallots, sliced. Fry until softened and then add the glug of wine. Simmer until reduced, then add the gooseberries and the cloves. Fry on a low heat until the gooseberries have collapsed, and mash them down with a fork. Add sugar to taste and leave to simmer gently.

Depending on how thick your duck breasts are, we put ours in the oven for 8 – 10 minutes. Remove and leave them to rest for 10 minutes, to coincide with the potatoes being finished. To serve, plate the potatoes on a warmed plate. Strain the stock into a saucepan and add the greens to be cooked in the garlicky rosemary stock until al dente, and then drain and use them as a bed to serve the duck breast, sliced on top. Spoon some of the stock onto the meat, and serve the gooseberry sauce on the side.