Escape

This time two weeks ago, I was waking up on a sunny morning in Bordeaux, looking for the first café au lait of the day. The Mister was across the road, buying pains au chocolat, and we were looking at one another sadly, for it was the day we were due to fly back to London.

We had three hours to kill before it was time to get on the airport bus; that most depressing of transport types. We had already walked most of the length and breadth of the city but we knew it was important to keep moving and not think too much about the holiday taking its last gasps of air, and light, before being consigned to a dusty suitcase of memories.

We walked around until lunchtime, as the students at the University streamed out of classrooms and onto sunny squares, as office workers took cigarette breaks and murmured covertly over cups of coffee, and as more new tourists streamed into the city, gaping up at the magnificent sea-horses at Girondins, and snapping the circus big top pitched at the Esplanade des Quinconces. We met a sweet German couple in their seventies who asked us to take their photo with their old 35mm camera. They beamed for the picture like two lovesick schoolchildren. The Garonne glistened and beckoned as children played in the fountains at the Miroir d'eau.  I took a breath, on the tram back to the Gare St Jean, and held it, sitting very still, while I listened to that little voice inside, which said, why not stay?

Collecting our bags from the hotel, we had a minor argument, about something trivial, like luggage tags, or whose bag held the dirty laundry. It was only because we were both sad, and we had nothing to be angry with Bordeaux about. It was like it was something to do whilst waiting for the airport bus, because it was better than thinking about what we were doing; leaving this beautiful place which had enchanted us and made us want to stay and do anything just to have a little dog and live in an apartment with a balcony and raise French-speaking children.

We put our things underneath the bus and they got pushed to the back, as they always do. A family of South Africans sat near to us and talked very loudly about their cars and houses, their tannned blondeness and plentiful gold watchery seeming out of place on an airport bus. As we passed the Grand Theatre, and then the Piscine Judaïque, and finally the international school,  I cried a little. I turned my head away to the window, so no-one would see, and I made a promise to myself.

One day, little voice. One day soon, I will.

More Salad, Please

I'm really getting into this whole warm-weather-salad-for-lunch-dinner-and-tomorrow's-lunch-again thing.

Look: this was the beautiful beginning of a chorizo and chargrilled vegetable couscous salad also served last weekend in the sunshine:

I mixed the grilled ingredients with some couscous steeped in chicken stock and some Moroccan ras-el-hanout, (following the Moorish theme from the previous post) then served with a tuna, haricot vert and chickpea salad tossed in a coarse grain mustard and balsamic dressing, and a nice crunchy endive, rocket and tomato salad on the side. We had some homemade guacamole and some gorgeous olives from the local Turkish shop to complete our happy table.

Yum. Hooray for the summer and with it, the end of that daily craving for chips and soups and pies and all kinds of sweet comfort foods to get through those long nights. No, more greenery for me henceforth. This is when my heart really sings.

Summer. Finally.

It's finally warm! And as I was in Paris and then Milan for work last week, I got to see spring taking hold on the continent too. Paris was buzzing and full of lovers walking the boulevards. Milan was a mixed bag, with some thunder, lightning, and an occasional downpour, but they were the tempestuous Spring kind of showers, like the heated arguments of young Italian lovers; fiery yet short-lived.

Now we've had a week of lovely sunshine-filled days and the temperature has been steadily creeping up. Of course my mind has turned to summery things - cocktails, holidays, fresh seasonal foods. So with the warmest weekend on record this year beckoning us to go out and finally enjoy our garden last weekend, I rejoiced in the resurrection (don't know why I've used such epic language here, apologies - the sun must have gone to my head) of salads of all kinds and simple grilled meats, along with mezze-type foods that seem to work so much better in the climate they were born in.

One of my favourite restaurants serving mezze-style dishes, and lots more besides, is Moro in Exmouth Market. Sam and Sam Clark's first cookbook inspired by the food of the restaurant has some great recipes with an Andalusian/Northern Moroccan feel. For our rather 'Moorish' feast last weekend, I made pinchos morunos, substituting halal lamb from our great local Turkish shop for the pork the recipe calls for. Looking further East, recipes such as baba ganoush are stupidly easy yet still give off that 'I'm a worldy-wise chef' vibe to your guests. Finally, from the same 'mezze' section of the Moro cookbook, we tried out the carrot and cumin salad with coriander (with some chickpeas added for good measure). The results were pretty ace, even if I do say so myself...

Baba Ganoush (adapted from the Moro cookbook)

Ingredients:

3 large aubergines (about 750g - 1kg in total)


2 garlic cloves, crushed to a paste with 1 tsp salt


juice of 1 lemon


3 tbsp tahini paste


4 tbsp olive oil


sea salt and black pepper



Directions:

Pierce skins of aubergines, and grill whole over hot barbecue, directly on naked flame of hob, or under the grill, until the skin is charred and flesh is very soft. Under our grill, 3 aubergines took about half an hour, turning regularly. Or place in a very hot oven (gas mark 7) for 45-60 mins until soft inside.

Remove from heat.
When cool enough to handle, discard tops and peel off skin, scraping flesh from back of skin if necessary. Place flesh and any juices in a large bowl, and either whisk or beat by hand until almost smooth (I beat by hand, to leave a bit of texture). Add garlic, lemon juice, tahini and olive oil, stir and taste for seasoning. Serve with warm flat Turkish bread.

Carrot, Chickpea, Cumin & Coriander Salad

Ingredients:

450g carrots – organic ones are fit.

400g tinned chickpeas, drained

2/3 tsp cumin seeds


1 garlic clove


juice of 3/4 lemon


1/3 tsp caster sugar


1 tbsp olive oil


1 small bunch fresh coriander leaves, chopped


sea salt



Directions:

Peel carrots and boil whole in salted water till tender. Drain, spread out to cook and dry before slicing them quite thinly.
 Pan fry the cumin seeds, then grind in a pestle and mortar (or just crush with a spoon), add garlic and 1/2 tsp salt and pound some more.

Mix lemon juice, sugar and olive oil into garlic mixture. Now toss carrots and chickpeas in the cumin dressing with the coriander. Serve at room temperature.

Pinchos Morunos

The cookbook calls for pork filet for this recipe, but we found that 500g of lamb chunks did very nicely instead.

Ingredients:

500g lamb shoulder, diced

sea salt and cracked black pepper

Marinade:

1/2 heaped teaspoon each of coriander seeds, cumin seeds and fennel seeds, all ground

1 tsp smoked Spanish paprika 'pimenton dulce'

2 garlic cloves, crushed with salt

a good pinch of Spanish saffron, infused in 2 tsp boiling water

1 bay leaf

1 tbsp red wine vinegar

a slosh of olive oil

Directions:

Place lamb into a large mixing bowl and add the marinade ingredients. Mix thoroughly and add the olive oil and leave in the fridge for a couple of hours to allow the flavours to marry. Thread on skewers and grill on charcoal for best results (we haven't got a barbeque yet in this flat so we made do with a nice hot grill).

Serve with bread, natural or Greek yoghurt with cucumber and mint stirred through, your baba ganoush and salad. Sit back and enjoy the warmth. Sunglasses optional.

The Summer Bubble

The Summer Solstice (Sunday, June 21st 2009)

So, there's someone, suddenly. Today, this someone I’m just getting to know - there have been 8 truly lovely meetings – found a long, silver hair at the back of my head as we left the house and ventured out into sunshine. I was mortified. My birthday is coming up and I’m continually reminded of my mortality. But no, said he. 'It needn’t be a negative thing. It’s a sign of transition.'

Isn’t it just.

Wednesday, June 24th

Last night I saw him play a gig in Kentish Town. He sang, played guitar and compered the entire evening of live music. He thoroughly charmed everyone’s socks off, including mine. His voice is delicious – deep and soulful, and the women he sang with had voices that complimented his own well – treacly and smooth. I enjoyed watching him work a room. I’m always most attracted to those who can.

Monday, July 6th

It was the 16th meeting on the 4th of July. We walked around Battersea Park at dusk and kissed by the river, the lights on the Albert Bridge twinkling at us coercively. We sighed at everything, and somehow fell into an easier rhythm than ever before. Suggestion was in the air – from the fading light and the sounds of starlings to the lamb burgers that crackled and hissed on the griddle at just before midnight. Spinal Tap kept things light for a while, and the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble carried us on their groove, but soon The Boss gave us his blessing and we were Zorbing with Stornoway into the night.