The SPAM mì (it’s a bánh mì with SPAM)

SPAM: chopped pork and ham in a can. It’s probably not something you ever expected to read about on this blog, or many other food blogs, to be fair but hold your horses right there reader, because I’ve a few things I want to say about it. Let’s take some time to enter the realms of guilty pleasure, to put aside all thoughts of pork as you generally know it and (if your family was anything like mine), to cast your minds back towards the flavours of childhood.

Maybe you are turning up your nose right now, before wistfully reminiscing about the sophisticated little you tugging on your granny’s starched apron strings while she whisked resplendent glossy meringues and taught you all the secrets of perfect pickles. Well while you did that, I was eating SPAM (actually, my nan made stellar pickles and my parents are great cooks but that’s not the point); for me and my childish palate, highlights were salty chopped pig from a tin, and Mr. Brain’s faggots.

As I got older I turned my back on SPAM, deciding I’d grown out of it; I was embarrassed to admit it had ever passed my lips. It was like ditching an old mate because you moved up to big school and decided they’re not good enough to fit in with the cool kids. Harsh. It’s only in recent years I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s OK to eat something and damn well enjoy it once in a while, even if you know deep down it’s pretty wrong.

SPAM is meat in a can; let’s think about what that means. I’m aware that it doesn’t contain the finest cuts of rare breed swine with a royal blood line and that what it does contain is salty as hell, conceals a significant proportion of your daily fat intake and slides out of the can with an alarming jelly-lubed slurp. There’s no denying though, that on certain days in certain ways, I’ll chomp my way down memory lane and like it.

And you know what? It’s amazing how many people share in my occasional appreciation. Simon Majumdar for example, revelled in his opportunity to judge at the SPAM cook of the year awards, while my good friend Lizzie introduced me to one of her family’s favourite ways to eat it. Su-Lin serves up a classic SPAM, egg and rice, Sunflower makes some stonking Chinese pancakes and the Hawaiians are mad for SPAM Musubi.

When the people at SPAM offered to send me a cooking set, I accepted with the enthusiasm of the ten year old me. In it were such treasures as a SPAM apron; a SPAM oven glove; two pens (appropriately embellished, obviously); a cook book; a spatula and of course, a tin of SPAM. In return for this gift, the official people have asked me to come up with a recipe. I thought about the best way to use it. It’s a luncheon meat and the only really acceptable time to eat luncheon meat for me is in either something Chinese-style or in a dish similarly spiced, funked and/or pickled…

Enter the SPAM mi (that’s a bánh mì using – you’ve guessed it – SPAM). I smothered slices with a mixture of crushed garlic, black pepper, fish sauce and sesame oil before frying until crisp and stuffing into warmed baguette piled high with familiar bánh mì garnishes. It really hit the spot.

The taste and smell of the pink fried slices transported me back in time almost instantly, but my own personal history with the mystery meat is minuscule compared to the bigger picture. World War II troops practically lived on the stuff and in Hawaii, they still do the same today, feeling sufficiently passionate to celebrate it with the annual Waikiki SPAM Jam festival. It’s even on the menu at Maccy D’s. There’s a fan club, an outrageously famous comedy sketch, a cook book and a museum. While I probably limit my own consumption to a couple of tins per year, it’s a guilty pleasure that I’m happy to embrace because let’s face it, sometimes only the saline whack of a low budget cured pork product will do.

SPAM mi

340g SPAM (can size), cut into 1cm slices
2 tablespoons coarse, crushed black pepper
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 large clove crushed garlic

Garnish

Coriander leaves
Mint leaves
Sliced red chilli
Thinly sliced red onion or spring onion
Mayonnaise
Thin, de-seeded cucumber slices
Carrot and daikon pickle (there are loads of recipes out there – it’s really about adjusting to taste. Here’s one from Viet World Kitchen).

Baguette (to stuff it all into. Apparently the best ones are made from rice flour but I’ve never found one so I just use a normal one and scoop out a bit of the insides if it’s really dense).

For the SPAM, mix the pepper, fish sauce, sesame oil and garlic together well then rub over the SPAM slices and allow to marinate for an hour. After this time, fry the slices in a small amount of vegetable oil until golden and crisp on both sides. Drain on kitchen paper.

To build, lightly warm your baguette in the oven and then smear on the mayo, add the SPAM and all your other ingredients as desired.

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.

FACT.

I was more excited about this sandwich than I was about the dish that made it happen – chicken with 40 cloves of garlic. That’s the kind of tunnel vision you find yourself dealing with when you’re a sandwich obsessive; always focused on where the next fix is coming from. It wasn’t just the leftover chicken that got me thinking so much as all that remaining oil – 200ml of the stuff. It struck me that this precious garlic, herb and chicken infused oil would make possibly the best garlicky mayonnaise I’d ever tasted. It did.

I’ve never mixed mayonnaise so carefully, such was the strength of my opinion that this oil was the most exquisite leftover to pass my way in a very long time. The result was a wobbly pot of  yellow goo which had ‘stick me in your face or stick your face in me right now’ written all over it. I mixed it with chunks of the leftover white and dark chicken meat and of course, lots of crispy skin bits.

It was time for The Build. This starts with the best bread you can find – I chose a classic white bloomer from the German bakery Luca’s in East Dulwich. It ain’t cheap but the bread is worth it; dense crumb, real flavour, perfect crust. Chicken-mayo mix heaps generously on one side of the sandwich and I smeared a few of those sweet roasted cloves onto the other.

With richness of course must come balance and the bitter leaves of a curly endive mixed with lemon juice and generous amounts of salt and pepper did the job perfectly.

All that could be heard for a full five minutes was chewing, interspersed by me spluttering, “best…chomp chomp…chicken…chomp…sandwich” – pieces of stray endive dropping on to my top and blobs of mayonnaise on my chin. It wasn’t pretty; I was out of control. Such is the power of a good sandwich.

My Ultimate Chicken Sandwich

First, you need to improve your quality of life considerably by treating yourself to this dish. Then you’re set to take the highway straight to leftover heaven central.

First, make your mayo. Put two large egg yolks in a clean bowl and whisk them together. Begin adding the oil a few drops at a time, whisking as you do so and making sure each bit of oil is fully incorporated before adding the next. As you whisk more oil in and the mayo starts to thicken, you can start adding the oil in slightly larger quantities until you are steadily adding it in a thin stream. The key with mayo is to be cautious with the oil until you get a feel for making it. If you add too much at once, it will split. If this happens, don’t despair. Take a fresh egg yolk in a clean bowl and begin adding the split mixture into it, very slowly, just as if it were the oil. This should bring it back.

Stop when the mayo reaches the desired thickness. Add lemon juice and seasoning to taste.

(This, by the way, is why I didn’t use extra fruity olive oil when I made my chicken, as the flavour would have been too strong for the mayo. The leftover oil is also great for roasting vegetables – particularly broccoli, and in salad dressings).

Mix the mayo with your leftover meat and heap onto one piece of bread. Spread some leftover garlic cloves on the other piece. Add some curly endive or other bitter salad leaves mixed with a generous amount of lemon juice and seasoning. Sandwich together. Eat and forget your troubles ever existed.

You know by now I have a  ‘healthy’ (bordering on obsessive) appreciation for sandwiches. I find it so satisfying to sink my teeth into a slice of crusty, fresh bread which yields to layer on layer of textures and flavours; it is a perfect self contained meal. Earlier this year I began to blog about sandwiches I’ve found around London but for some reason this slipped and I’ve now got a backlog. Here’s a little round-up, just to get us back on track.

First up, a London classic: the chorizo roll from the Brindisa grill at Borough Market. A ciabatta roll is stuffed with either a single or double portion of Alejandro Barbacoa chorizo (obviously I had the double) plus roasted Navarrico piquillo peppers and a good handful of rocket (£4.50 ish?) A drizzle of olive oil is all it needs in the way of lubrication as all the beautiful spicy fat from the sausage seeps into the bread, coating everything with its smoky, paprika flavour. This sandwich is intense and addictive, which is why the queue more often than not snakes right back into the market. The picture below represents a rare moment of quiet at the grill; when they are moving at full pace it is quite a spectacle of sizzle and smoke.

Next, a sandwich from my favourite local bakery, Luca’s. This is not one of their greatest creations unfortunately and would have been more enjoyable toasted. I mean, look at the size of that bread! Tim Hayward would hate this sandwich. The filling of brie and pesto was, as ever, fresh and high quality; the brie was ripe and pongy and the pesto tasted home made (it cost around £3).  Despite some ongoing problems with slow service, the staff are charming and endearingly ditsy and the baked goods are a cut above the norm. They also do cheese and charcuterie plates, an absolutely triumphant rye bread, preserves, biscuits and cakes.

There are a couple of irritating things about Luca’s though – one being the fact that their coffee is a bit watery (according to trusted sources) and the other that, as with most places in East Dulwich, you have to have a high tolerance for the presence of small children; this means lots of noise, mess and rows of increasingly alien looking pushchairs. I am practically immune to this now. If you can’t bear the thought however, I’ve recently heard from the charming Rosie Lovell that her deli (Rosie’s Cafe Deli in Brixton) will soon be stocking Luca’s bread and they will also be selling their goods at Brixton Farmers’ Market in the near future.

Next, another Borough Market offering: the salt beef from Roast to Go, which is one of those places I’ve always meant to visit but never felt particularly inspired by. To be honest, this wasn’t a particularly remarkable example of the classic. To me, thick hunks of meltingly tender brisket should be bursting out of the bread; this was just a bit rubbery and meagre in size and the miserly stripe of mustard down the middle wasn’t enough to invoke even a mild case of ‘mustard nose’. Pickles were present and correct but it pales in comparison to a classic salt beef from Bagel Bake on Brick Lane, which costs around £3 I think in comparison to Roast’s version for a fiver. The bread was sweet and soft though, almost bagel-like in chewyness. I think they could be onto something there…

Finally, a sanger from an Italian deli and restaurant called Tentazioni that Chris discovered down in Shad Thames. The deli seemed well stocked although I do have to question their choice of location. Are they really going to drum up enough business tucked down one of those dark side streets otherwise filled with estate agents and over-priced, under-sized apartments? It’s a shame really because the lady inside was very charming and keen to help, even if she did work at the most incredibly slow pace. As the place is not geared mainly towards making sandwiches, it was a bit difficult to see what was on offer and a language barrier issue meant we just had to point at a few things and hope for the best. We got some fennel and pepper salami and parmesan with cracked black pepper and salad. The ingredients inside were delicious but the sandwich on the whole, a little dry and bready.

That said, the place is definitely worth checking out. I spied some gorgeous looking (if ridiculously expensive) smoked mozzarella along with Sicilian fennel sausages, pastries, a range of Italian cheeses and meats and also dried products like good quality pulses. You can see more pictures in my Flickr sandwich set here.

So there we have it, a few sandwiches to digest while I search out the next victim. Londoners, I call out for your assistance in directing me to the best sandwiches in the city. Share your favourites please!

FYI: Jonathan also writes a great series on sandwiches in London: ‘The Sandwichist‘

In case you didn’t know, I’ve got a whole lot of love for the sandwiches. I’ve never been able to decide on my favourite but in truth, this must be it because I eat this sandwich every single Saturday morning. Yep. Sad, I know. Ladies and gentlemen, behold the BLAT. Bacon, lettuce, avocado and tomato atop a healthy dollop of mayo on thick sliced white. Sometimes I’ll vary the bread – crazy, I know. Exciting times.

The bun obsession was still in full swing last week and I started to experiment at home. The winner on flavour for me at the great bun tasting, was the brioche; almost perfect but letting itself down a little on structure. I wanted to kick things off using a tried and tested recipe which could then be modified afterwards, if necessary and I remembered saving this from Deb’s blog, which is usually very reliable when it comes to all things baked.

As Deb warns, the dough is incredibly sticky but it is important to resist over-flouring when kneading as this will only toughen the buns and make them too dense. Her technique for kneading is to pick up the dough, turning it and slapping it against the work top, which worked a treat. She has also posted some bread making tips, which I found incredibly useful.

The seeding here is a bit random as I forgot to buy sesame seeds and so had to scrabble around in the bottom of a packet of ‘seed mix’ I found languishing at the back of the cupboard. As you can see, I couldn’t be bothered to weed out the hemp seeds so they went on too. The odd cheeky sunflower also slipped through the net – it wasn’t an issue.

The buns turned out light, soft and neither too buttery nor too sweet. I thought they might benefit from being slightly denser but Chris disagreed and with hindsight, I think he’s probably right. I considered making another batch with slightly more flour just to see what happens but to be honest, I feel the bun obsession is finally coming to an end – it’s time to move on. Once toasted, I think this is actually as near to a perfect burger bun as it’s possible to get. The taste was spot on and they hold up well under the pressure of a greedy filling. Now all I have to do is start working on the perfect burger…

[Edit: to save any more of you e-mailing me - I've called it 'pan' rather than 'pain' because google told me so. I don't know why either.]

Firstly I would like to express my irritation with the man who persuaded me to buy these tomatoes which he promised would be sweet and delicious, even in UK spring time. Curiosity got the better of me and I caved. Of course, they didn’t taste of much. I called him a name which I shall not repeat here – not to his face of course, I made sure to complain behind his back like a good British customer.

You may have noticed that I haven’t posted about a sandwich I’ve found in the city for a while. That’s because March was a cursed month as far as the sammich was concerned (my partner in sandwich crime Jonathan had similar problems). I successfully tracked down many promising candidates but the execution was always foiled at the last minute. For this reason then, I bring you one of my favourite ever sangers, from my own little kitchen – a stand in for March (and probably most of April by the time you get this).

The pan bagnat is a Provençal sandwich, originating from Nice. It traditionally contains a salade niçoise but you can stuff it with practically anything and my slightly crazy version is filled with practically everything that happened to be lurking in my fridge that day. So, you get yourself a nice round loaf, scoop out the middle and then give the inside a good brushing with some garlicky oil.

Then you just need to start layering it up. I had some of those little peppers stuffed with cheese so they went in followed by some cucumber for crunch and then salty anchovies and basil leaves.

I sprinkled a few capers on top of the fishy layer before adding marinated artichokes.

Those fruits masquerading as tomatoes went on next followed by some spring onion shreds and gem lettuce (with hindsight putting the lettuce on top is a silly idea, as it prevents juices from meeting with bread). Then you weigh the whole thing down well in the fridge for a few hours so that the bread soaks up all the lovely juices within (at least on the bottom anyway…).

The bagnat is perfect picnic fare as you just cut it into big, fat wedges and chow down. This is by no means the best I’ve ever made – previous successes have included grilled vegetables, mozzarella, olives and sometimes cured meats. Still, not bad for a fridge job eh? A king among sandwiches and a true flavour explosion.

When I made this BBQ lamb recipe for my birthday meal last weekend, I deliberately didn’t take a photo of it so I had an excuse to make it again today. I could just feel the love for the recipe even before I tasted the final result. I used the date and aubergine stuffing recipe here but I did away with the pine nuts, adding pistachios instead which worked a treat.

I cannot take the credit for the brilliant idea of laying the lamb out all resplendent on the big bread (top photo), which is perfect for a bit of messy sharing with your mates. The kudos for that must go to Sally Butcher, who runs this shop and wrote this book from which I made this ice cream for the same birthday meal. Sally didn’t have the same gargantuan flat bread in stock that we bought last week (I don’t know the name) so instead we used naan, warmed through on the BBQ while the meat was resting.

I dolloped some garlicky, minty yoghurt on top for a bit of contrast and it lifted everything nicely, while also providing a sauce for the inevitable sandwich making. I cannot eat anything with bread without making some kind of sammich. Ever. You tear off a hunk of the naan, stuff it with the lamb and a few salad leaves plus yoghurt sauce and you’ve got yourself a piece of smoky BBQ heaven. The lamb was charred without, tender and blushing within and the stuffing sweet with Iranian dates (so deep they are almost chocolately) and scented ever so faintly with cinnamon.

I didn’t have any problems cooking the saddle on the BBQ by the way – a saddle being the bit that Barnsley chops are cut from – the saddle has then been boned to allow for stuffing. I have a kettle style BBQ and after some research I discovered that the way to cook something slowly is to light the coals in the middle of the BBQ, in a kind of volcano shape, then when the flames have all gone and you are left with coals which have a light grey ash coating, you move them into the sides. This gets the indirect heat circulating nicely around the kettle when you put the lid on. Not too much peeking either, as that obviously lets the heat out. I would say the saddle was about 5 inches long and took 50 minutes (ish) to cook.

Saddle of Lamb Stuffed with Dates, Aubergines and Pistachios

Like I said, the stuffing recipe is here but I swapped the pine nuts for pistachios and used a saddle of lamb instead of a leg. I removed the string that comes on the meat, opened it out, packed the stuffing into the middle and re-trussed it with fresh string. It is worth making sure that the string is covering the ends of the saddle too, to stop the stuffing falling out during cooking. Then I browned the lamb in a skillet to render some of the fat down before putting it on the BBQ.

I’ve searched for a bánh mì in London (without success) since I first arrived, so I was amazed to find I have been working a measly two minute stroll away from one (Café Bay has five different Vietnamese fillings on the menu), for the last two and a half years.

SATC #3: Café Bay (Camberwell) – Bánh Mì.

Where: 75 Denmark Hill, London, SE5 8RS.
When: 5th Feb – lunchtime.
Concept: Bánh Mì is a Vietnamese sandwich, featuring contrasting flavours and textures usually including pickled vegetables, chilli, cucumber and spiced meat – in a baguette.

Outside
Bread: A bog standard baguette, the really soft kind. Not usually a personal favourite but I liked it for the bánh mì.

Inside
Flavour: I thought it only right and proper to go for the ‘Bay Special’, pâté with two kinds of pork – spiced and ‘regular’. So, we have chilli on the bottom, then the spiced meat, then the rich pâté, mayonnaise, crunchy cucumber, fresh coriander and awesome pickled carrot (I was sad when I realised there was no daikon). It’s all about the contrasts. There’s one major problem, but that’s coming next.
Quality: The ‘regular’ pork is like luncheon meat, which freaked me out a bit. The spiced pork also had huge, tough, rubbery flabs of fat, with a really hard ‘rind’. I’m always up for pork fat but I couldn’t eat it. Shame, because the spicing was tasty. [Edit: I've since come around to luncheon meat - guilty pleasure ahoy. See my SPAM mi]

(scary meat)

Quantity: Average lunchtime baguette size.
Textures: Lots of great contrasts, apart from the pork rind/fat stuff and the ‘luncheon meat’ twisting my brain.
Spreads/Dressings/Sauces: The combo of mayo and pâté was a bit alien to me at first but I really got into it.
Assembly: Lightning fast and sound. Good even distribution.

Particulars
Value for Money: £3 but I wouldn’t buy it again, so – poor.
Service: The lady who makes the sandwiches smiled and spoke to me for the first time ever when I ordered this – mostly I rock up with a hangover and ask for a bacon butty. I think she was pleased with me.

Overall Score: 4/10

Although I loved the contrast of the hot chilli with the cooling pickle, cucumber and herbs, that meat just turned me off. If anyone knows of a better bánh mì in London, please, share your knowledge. Or perhaps you can advise me on how to properly cook the meat, so I can have a go myself?

I orginally intended to post these spiced pumpkin patties for Halloween but the first time I made them, the ratio of pumpkin to chickpea was off and they were too mushy. I wanted a bit more texture and nutty flavour from the chickpeas and so had to hold off until I made them again. This time I cracked it by upping the chickpea content and leaving some of them whole which gave the burgers a lot more bite.

Since making the switch from canned chickpeas to dried, I literally cannot get enough of them. The difference in flavour and texture is staggering. I always thought the humble chickpea was a bit bland and boring, having absolutely no idea what I was missing out on. And really, it’s not that much hassle. OK, so it is (mainly the cooking time), but I think the rewards are well worth it.

You could use any orange-fleshed squash for this recipe – you can see that I didn’t use a ‘traditional’ pumpkin this time around, basically because I couldn’t find one – and I have no idea whether the squash I used was even grown in this country to be quite honest – I know, I know, my bad. I was desperate, desperate I tell you!

I’ve subtly spiced the burgers with a touch of cumin, coriander and a scant teaspoon of smoked paprika, which is great with the sweet pumpkin flavour. Be careful though, not to overdo it with this spice, it’s very easy to sprinkle too far and end up with a smokyness that completely overwhelms everything. For herbage, I tried using coriander the first time around and then basil and parsley the second, both were delicious. Some onion and garlic and they’re good to go, couldn’t be simpler. Chuck everything in a blender then shape as desired. Healthy, easy (pumpin carving aside, I really need new knives) and so satisfying.

To serve, I topped them with tzatziki (yes, I categorised this post as ‘vegan’ so just skip this or use an alternative) and a quick salsa made from tomatoes, red onion and lime juice. A nice bit of tang and crunch to contrast the soft and sweet burger. One small bit of advice though – despite using a beautifully crafted and truly delicious baguette for the bun, I actually wanted something a bit more wholesome and, ideally, seeded – alas, I could not find anything. I recommend this option if it’s your thing as I think it would complement the burgers much better.

So, there we have it. A Halloween recipe that is 9 days late. Good job these burgers are far too good to eat just once a year anyway.

Pumpkin and Chickpea Burgers
(makes 6 burgers)

500g cooked chickpeas
300g roasted orange fleshed squash (I like it roasted, which you can do while getting the other ingredients ready. Just splash with oil, season with salt and pepper and stick in the oven until tender – mine only took about 20 minutes)
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds, crushed
1/2 teaspoon coriander seeds, crushed
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 small onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
A good handful herbs of your choice (basil, parsley and coriander all work well), roughly chopped
Salt and pepper

- Add everything to a blender, apart from 150g of the chickpeas. Blend everything together until well mixed, then stir in the whole chickpeas. Adjust the seasoning then shape into burgers.
- Fry the burgers in a non-stick pan in a small amount of oil until golden on both sides.