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.

It used to be the case that I was in the minority; my obsession with burgers and their buns has been a long time raging. Now every London blogger, their partner, pet and best mate seems to be fixated on them. My main issue was always the bun, which was what led me to arrange The Great Bun Tasting and to make several batches of these.  They are pretty much the ideal bun – a slightly sweet brioche with a structure that is light yet robust enough to last without turning to mush.

The problem with burgers in London is that decent ones are so few and far between that when we do actually find one, everyone gets worked up to the extent that the hype exceeds reality. It’s like playing a favourite song to death; it becomes so familiar that you almost have to try harder to enjoy it. The Hawksmoor burger is a perfect example.

In America though, they do things differently; we are teased with stories of delicious burgers on every other block. The interesting thing though is that while they are generally regarded with appropriate respect, most seem completely unpretentious. Fast food; high quality; grabbed and gobbled. American burgers is a subject I spend quite a bit of time reading about but sadly, I’ve not yet had a chance to visit for real. My excitement at discovering The Meatwagon then, in an industrial estate on my very own home turf of Peckham, was off the scale and then some. It was there that I tasted my first Bobcat Burger; I’ve craved another ever since. My love affair with Hamburger America had begun.

Then I got my hands on this book by George Motz and, as if that wasn’t good enough, it came with a DVD which is, quite simply, brilliant. Motz basically journeyed across America in search of the best burger joints (100 made the final cut) and the result is a charming record of the daily lives of each joint, the history, the customers and of course, the burgers – some of which are simply outrageous.

The film opens for example with ‘Dyer’s Restaurant’ where, “it’s all about the grease” – deep fried burgers. Super thin patties are plunged into NINETY ONE YEAR OLD oil until cooked and then lifted out and squeezed, an oleaginous waterfall gushing forth. The grease is apparently ’strained and processed’ every day but seriously, that fat has never been changed. Dyer’s consider this their selling point though and when they moved premises, the oil moved to the new location accompanied by a police escort and TV crew. Not joking.

Twenty minutes in and I was worried; a steamed burger with steamed cheese came next, followed by the peanut butter burger and then the plain old butter burger, which in case you are wondering is simply piled, piled with what I would estimate to be at least 5 or 6 tablespoons of butter. Amongst the extreme though there are the sublime and by the end of the film I was salivating.

The Bobcat Bite (New Mexico) is owned by John and Bonnie Eckre (above), who are very proud of their Green Chilli Cheeseburger. People actually come in coachloads to visit the place and often end up with a lengthy wait due to the limited seating capacity; Bonnie describes how customers have been known to wait for an hour outside without a grumble. The burgers are worth it.

The Bobcat is this: prime beef topped with chillies fried in butter; sinful juices seep through the meat. Cheese is then melted on top of the chillies, sealing the spicy layer. A sprinkle of their ‘famous’ tangy slaw provides crunch and contrast. When I found the recipe for Bobcat slaw in Hamburger America there was no stopping me; I made buns, the slaw and some patties from ground beef shoulder. Mild Turkish chillies were fried in butter, piled high and sealed with a cheesy vacuum. That cat was finally mine.

Some burger recommendations that will come as no surprise: if you live in London and you are not suffering from burger fatigue, I recommend you visit The Meat Wagon. It goes without saying that Hamburger America should also go on the wish list. While you are waiting for those things to happen, why not try the recipe/s below and inject a little New Mexican love into your boiger? It’s a taste sensation and no mistakin’.

Bobcat Burgers (from Bobcat Bite, New Mexico)

Ground beef shoulder, for making the patties, or ground beef of your choice. You want a good bit of fat in there basically. I wanted to experiment with a mixture of cuts but didn’t have time
Mild green chillies (or hot, up to you), sliced
Butter and a touch of oil, for frying
Cheese slice of your choice

I use this recipe for the buns – it’s the best I’ve come across

Bobcat Bite Slaw (from Hamburger America)
This is a half quantity. Double this apparently keeps the Bobcat Bite going for 1 day. It is best the day after it has been made.

1 small head white cabbage, core removed and finely shredded
1/2 large green bell pepper, grated
110g caster sugar (yep, really)
235ml white vinegar (trust me)
60ml flavourless oil, such as groundnut
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon celery seeds
1 tablespoon mustard

Mix it all together. Keep in the fridge and give it a good stir before serving.

Assembly

Toast your buns. Gently fry your chillies in a healthy amount of butter (20g or so) and begin frying your burgers. I use a cast iron pan for this – if you have a proper hot plate then use that – I am jealous. When you flip the burger, it’s time to put those chillies on followed by the cheese. Once the cheese has melted you are good to go. Get that burger in that bun. Top with slaw (and anything else you fancy) and serve.

Few things wrap themselves around pasta quite like the ragu. Three and a half hours of gentle simmering and that meat is ready to embrace every fold, nook and cranny of carbohydrate. You wait a long time for it to collapse, reduce and intensify and so a generous portion is essential as a reward. When you’ve finished devouring, it is perfectly possible that you may need a lie down and then, probably, a nap.

I managed to stick out three and a half hours cooking this ragu. At one point I thought it might need four, and in my delicate mental state owing purely to the anguish of delayed gratification I almost shed a little tear. I’m sure none of you lot would be so fragile and unreasonable in the face of a half cooked stew though, so don’t let that put you off.

While the persona of the ragu is like that of a mature and erudite gentleman, the gremolata zips in with the energy of a three year old given free reign with the sherbet dip dabs. The chipper mix of lemon zest, parsley and garlic is, for me, the perfect condiment, skipping around those wintry depths with perky high notes.

This is solid Sunday food. It’s indulgent, comforting and takes a long time to cook. It also gives you time to get into character with it; I pretended I was Keith Floyd in his heyday as I poured an entire bottle of gutsy red over some large pieces of meat and then settled down with a glass of my own.

Beef Ragu Papardelle with Gremolata

800g beef shin
2 large carrots, finely diced
2 large sticks celery, lightly peeled and finely diced
2 onions, finely diced
2 bay leaves, slightly torn
1 tin good quality chopped tomatoes
1 bottle red wine (not crap)
2 large cloves garlic, very finely chopped
A large sprig of thyme, leaves only
Pasta, to serve

For the gremolata

Handful parsley leaves, very finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, very finely chopped
Zest of 2 unwaxed lemons, finely chopped or grated (if you can only get waxed lemons, give them a good scrub under a hot tap)

Add some olive oil to a large, heavy based pan and add the onions, celery, carrots, bay leaves and garlic and sweat gently, with the lid on, for 10-15 minutes until they softened. Season the beef shin well all over and add it, plus everything else. Bring to the boil then turn down very low, put the lid on and simmer gently for 3-4 hours, until the sauce is thick and the meat is falling off the bone. Remove all the pieces of bone and discard. Flake up the meat if it hasn’t done so by itself and add back to the sauce. Adjust the seasoning and serve mixed through pasta of your choice (papardelle is good as it is quite big and robust).

For the gremolata, just mix everything together and sprinkle over your pasta.

I’ll admit from the off that I was slightly scared. Not by the quantity of garlic you understand – of course it mellows considerably with roasting – but by the oil; 250ml of olive oil settled into a deep golden pool in the bottom of my battle scarred roasting dish. I did consider slashing the amount but then as someone pointed out in the comments on my tofu post recently – I don’t do things by halves.

This dish comes from Provence, land of olive oil and garlic. A full forty cloves stew gently in the fruity elixir, and by the time the chicken is cooked, they are transformed to a soft savoury paste which can be squidged from its papery home and smeared onto the chicken, or good bread, or into mashed potato. A sprig or two of thyme and a couple of bay leaves add their own perfume and the whole heady medley gets right into that chicken – and your soft furnishings – beautifully. Febreeze eat your heart out.

If you are thinking of making this dish – and I cannot encourage you enough to do so – then this article and this one, are definitely worth a read. There are a few controversial points to consider, such as whether to peel or not to peel when it comes to the garlic (don’t) and whether or not one should brown the chicken before roasting. I recommend that you do. The whole thing is baked under foil you see and I ended up having to try and crisp at the last minute once I got around to thinking about what was (or was not) going to happen. Flabby chicken skin does not float my boat.

Once you’ve browned then, the bird goes into the roaster (or a suitable casserole like a Le Creuset) and is surrounded by the other ingredients. I also shoved some plant matter into the cavity. A bit of lemon would have been nice. The bird is seasoned generously, covered with foil and baked for 45-50 minutes; the result is roast chicken heaven. I’ve never eaten a bird like it, and I’ve roasted a fair few chickens in my time.

When it comes to resting, I recommend positioning her with her legs (mine spectacularly yellow, from corn feeding) sticking up in the air – a trick I learned from Adam Byatt at Trinity. This means that all the juices seep down towards the breast, leaving you with moist, succulent meat. To serve, most recommend mashed potato but I just didn’t fancy it in the face of all that richness and made a salad of bitter curly endive dressed liberally with a lemony dressing. Juices were mopped with hunks of good bread.

I’m really happy that I went the whole hog with this dish, because the leftover oil has been a source of much excitement over the past couple of days. I can’t wait to tell you what I did with the leftovers. The carcass went into the stock pot too so that one decent chicken has been the base for three meals each for two people. It’s the gift that just keeps on giving.

Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic (I basically used this recipe)

One well treated, free-range chicken
250ml olive oil (I didn’t go too fruity because I had plans for the remains. All will soon be revealed)
40 cloves of garlic or thereabouts (that’s four whole bulbs), papery bits removed but not peeled
A sprig of thyme (plus a bit extra for the cavity)
A sprig of rosemary (I didn’t use this, but it can’t be a bad thing)
2 bay leaves
A bit of lemon would be nice come to think of it
Salt and pepper and lots of it

Preheat the oven to 180C

Un-truss the chicken and remove all fat from the cavity – if you look just inside there are two blobs, one on either side – cut them off. Drizzle a little oil over the chicken and rub it in. You can now brown the chicken on the stove top, which is what I wish I’d done. You can use your casserole or roasting dish for this if it’s big enough, and then just transfer it into the oven.

Surround it with the garlic cloves, herbs and bay, then stick the other herbs (and maybe lemon) inside the cavity. Pour the oil around. Season the chicken very generously, then cover with foil and seal tightly. Roast it for 45-90 minutes depending on the size of your chicken. Baste it 2-3 times during cooking. The chicken is cooked when you insert a skewer at the thickest part of the leg and when pressed gently, the juices run clear. The legs will also feel looser when the bird is cooked.

Rest the bird with its legs in the air, covered with foil. It will sit happily for at least 20 minutes, while you make a salad, cut some bread, pour a glass of wine etc. Serve with a little of the oil drizzled over the top, a bitter green salad and some good bread or potatoes.

Fiona Beckett recently threw down the challenge to produce the ‘ultimate’ macaroni cheese. I think it’s fair to say I was up for that with bells on. My enthusiasm escalated to such lofty heights that I ended up producing a cheesy carbilicious beast of mammoth proportions; a behemoth capable of providing an extra  insulating layer around my ribs that would keep out the winter chills and probably stay put well into spring. It fed two of us twice a day for two days plus three men for dinner on a third.

Before Creation of course, there was only me. Me and my hungry brain trying to figure out what would make my ‘ultimate’ mac ‘n cheese. I dipped my toe into the idea of going down the purist route (read ‘no pork’), but I’ve learned not to try and trick my tastebuds for the sake of principle. Usually I use bacon, but this time I wanted to somehow gently infuse the porky flavour throughout the dish and hit on the idea of simmering a small ham hock to make stock before cooking the macaroni in the golden swiney liquor. Pasta cooked in ham stock. Yes. The meat I teased from the bone into silky pink nuggets; every now and then a porcine treasure bobbed up from the bubbling cheesy depths.

When it comes to the cheese, I’m a cheddar girl. Extra mature, naturally. A mac needs guts and only x-rated quantities of a well ripened cheddar can produce the tang I crave; melted into silky bechamel with a smidge of the Montgomery smoked to play off the pork, finished with a good shake of white pepper. I often prefer its sharp, ripe intensity over the black stuff; hugely underrated.

And finally to the crust. For me, it must be crisper than a  winter morning in Siberia and for this I could think of nothing more suitable than Japanese panko crumbs, mixed with yet more CHEESE.

Shattering crust, cheesy steam, rich, gooey pasta; sauce oozing through every tube. Crispy burnt edge bits tumble into soft, unctuous, silken stodge. How could I forget such a classic? The divine chorus of carb and dairy, singing to the tune of winter weight gain.

Mac ‘n Cheese for an Army

The quantities here got a bit out of hand so you might want to halve it! This filled a  14 x 12 x 3 inch dish if you want to feed your entire neighbourhood. Do the hock first, then while the pasta is cooking, make your cheesy sauce. If the pasta is done before the sauce, add a few drops of oil and stir to stop it sticking together.

For the hock

1 small ham hock
1 bay leaf
Six black peppercorns
A few parsley stalks
1 carrot, halved
1 stick celery, halved
1 onion, halved and stuck with a couple of cloves

Place the hock in a large pan and cover with water. Simmer for a few hours then strain into a bowl and reserve the stock for cooking the pasta. Flake the meat from the bone, taking care to avoid any bits of skin or sinew, chop into bite size chunks and reserve for mixing into the mac.

For the sauce

Triple this bechamel recipe, adding about 500g cheddar of your choice plus 150g smoked cheddar melted in at the end. Season with plenty of white pepper but no salt (the hock and cheese are both salty).

425ml milk
40g butter
20g plain flour
A swift grating of nutmeg (optional)
White pepper to taste

Melt the butter over a gentle heat and add the flour, stirring quite vigorously to make a paste. Let this cook for a few minutes, stirring vigorously the whole time. Begin adding the milk a little at a time, making sure each bit is incorporated fully before adding the next. Towards the end you can start pouring larger amounts in there. Add the nutmeg and cook over a low heat, stirring, for about 10-15 minutes. When it starts to thicken, add the cheese and allow it to melt. Season with the white pepper to taste. If you need to keep it to one side, cover with some greaseproof paper to stop a skin forming.

For the macaroni

700g dried macaroni

Cook the macaroni in the reserved ham stock, topping up with a little water if necessary.

For the topping

Panko breadcrumbs (enough to cover), mixed with a good couple of handfuls of grated cheddar. I grated a bit more on top and added a bit of parmesan too simply because I had it lying around but that’s optional.

Assembling and cooking the mac

Mix the sauce with the macaroni and ham hock pieces then check the seasoning before piling into a well buttered baking dish. Sprinkle on the crumb topping, grating on more cheese if desired. Bake at 200C until golden brown and crisp. Allow to cool a little before serving and serve with a salad of bitter winter leaves or a summer salad with a sharp dressing.