Pork Chops with Lemon

Into a frying pan, a large knob of butter and a slug of olive oil to keep it from burning, followed by two thick, fatty pork chops, seasoned heavily with salt and pepper on both sides, when the butter was starting to froth. They sizzled for a moment, and then started gently cooking, the pink flesh turning first opaque, then taking on a gentle golden colour. As the generous curve of fat started to crisp slightly at the edges, they were done, and placed on warm plates to rest for a moment. A squeeze of lemon juice into the pan was enough to loosen the exciting crusty bits from the base, producing a sharp but deeply savoury sauce to pour over the chops. We ate these with sautéed potatoes and some bitter leaves to mop up the remaining juices. Gnawing on at the bone, the remaining shreds of meat coated with the remnants of the sauce, was undoubtedly the highlight of the meal.

Baked Cod in a Buttery Parsley Sauce

I had a rather indulgent weekend; my birthday celebrations having started with a bottle of champagne with breakfast at 11am on Saturday, I rolled home from a night out at 3am on the Sunday morning. Needless to say, Sunday was a struggle, and Monday wasn't an easy ride either. Dinner on Monday called for something simple, light, tasty and, possibly most importantly, easy to prepare. I had a giant bunch of parsley in and, looking towards it for inspiration, white fish seemed to fit the bill perfectly, so this is a really simple way to cook a couple of nice cod steaks or fillets; it takes no time at all and tastes delicious, too.

Serves two

Two cod steaks or fillets
A glass of dry white wine
75g of unsalted butter
A large bunch of parsley
Juice of half a lemon

Set the oven to 220C, and meanwhile get the fish ready. Place the steaks in a small roasting pan (If they're fillets, skin side down), pour over the glass of wine, and dot the fish with half of the butter, cut into small cubes. When the oven's hot, put the fish in; it should take 10-15 minutes to cook through, but give it a baste half way through. While this cooks, remove the stalks from your bunch of parsley, and roughly chop the remaining leaves. When the fish is cooked, pour out the juices into a sauce pan and return the fish to the now-turned-off oven to keep warm. Throw the remaining butter and the lemon juice into the pan, and whisk for a minute or so until the sauce thickens slightly. At this point, add the chopped parsley, and stir in. Serve the cod on warmed plates, the sauce poured over, with some boiled new potatoes on the side.

Hot Smoked Chicken

In contrast to the weather we've been having recently, last Sunday was glorious. Instead of a typical roast lunch, it seemed fitting to cook outside and I decided that I'd try to hot smoke a chicken in the barbecue. This is something I'd seen done before, though had never read about, and my reckoning was it couldn't be too tricky; I therefore decided that I didn't need to do any further research on the matter, which would soon transpire to be incorrect. Barbecue lit and left to its own devices as the coals settled, I got the chicken ready in much the same way as I would normally roast a bird. I put half a lemon and half an onion in the cavity, rubbed the whole thing with butter and added some salt and pepper to the skin, thinking that that my first try at doing the hot smoking thing should be carried out with straightforward flavours. When the coals were all white I put the grill on the barbecue, placing the roasting tin on top, shut the lid, crossed my fingers and reckoned on the chicken being ready in an hour and a half. Disappointed by the lack of crispy skin at this point, we soldiered on, carving it anyway. It wasn't, as such, cooked. Not just a touch pink next to the bone, but really quite raw around the whole thigh. Another twenty five minutes did the trick. The skin still didn't crisp up in the way I would have liked it to, though.

The four of us ate it with a potato salad, grilled courgette and hunks of crusty bread to mop up the pan juices. The meat was succulent, with a subtle smoky flavour that really suited a warm afternoon in the sun. That damn skin wasn't crisp, though. This I put down, very obviously, to the barbecue not being hot enough. Now, I'm not sure how i can make my barbecue hotter. It's only a simple charcoal burning thing, and I'm a little unsure how I can make air draw through it more quickly to warm things up. If you have any advice, please leave a comment, and in the meantime, I must ask my friend Chris how he smokes his chickens so beautifully; his having crisp skin to go with that beautiful smoky flavour. All in, neither a success nor a failure; more a learning exercise.

A Warm Bruschetta

This idea came about somewhat by accident; I needed a quick dinner before heading out to some birthday drinks and originally planned to just grill some cherry tomatoes with a little olive oil, salt and pepper until they blistered and began to pop open, eating the results with some crusty bread to mop up the juices. As it turns out, I got bored while waiting for the tomatoes to grill and decided to turn it into a hot bruschetta. It made a large plateful for one, bursting with summery Italian flavours, but would make a great snack for a couple of people. I'm going to try serving it as a starter at some point, as it makes a really interesting change from a normal cold bruschetta.


Serves one as a meal, two as a snack.

250g of cherry tomatoes
3 garlic cloves
handful of basil leaves
grated parmesan, about 1 tablespoon full
a half baguette or ciabatta
olive oil

Turn on the grill and, while you're waiting for it to get hot, halve the cherry tomatoes, placing them in a roasting tin cut side up, and drizzle with olive oil. Smash two of the garlic cloves, roughly chop, and scatter over. Add a sprinkle of salt and a grind of black pepper and pop the tomatoes under the grill.

While the tomatoes cook, cut the bread into 2cm thick slices at an angle and cook on each side in a dry, pre-heated griddle pan. They should just start to brown, maybe charring just a touch in places. When they're done, cut the third garlic clove in half and rub the top of each slice with the cut side of the garlic.

Check the tomatoes after five minutes; they should be releasing their juices, blistering just slightly at the edges, with the skins about to fall away. If they're not at this point, leave them another minute or two and check again. If they're ready, sprinkle over the parmesan, replace under the grill and leave for a minute so the cheese becomes golden.

To assemble, place the breads on a plate, and spoon a heap of tomatoes onto each slice. There should be some exciting juices on the bottom of the tin; spoon a little of this over each bruschetta. Finally, add a grind of pepper and tear a handful of basil over the whole plate.

Veal Escalopes with Artichokes, Broad Beans and Peas

I've been in Paris with work for the last week and was lucky enough to spend the weekend with a friend, Paula, who's living there over the summer. She is a far better cook than I can ever hope to be, so I had been looking forwards to spending the weekend at her flat, hunting around food markets, poking around butchers and cooking in the evenings. I arrived at hers later than intended on the Saturday, so her local market had closed, but her fridge was full of things she'd found earlier that morning, and she'd already partly decided what we were going to eat for dinner. On that note I should mention that this post is mostly due to her; praise or, indeeed, criticism, needn't be steeped upon me.

Anyway, on with the food. We had some lovely artichokes, broad beans and petit pois, which we cooked up in what is a classic Roman style; the artichokes slowly cooked with some onions and white wine, the beans and peas added at the end, providing a soupy side dish of beautiful summer greens, with a little mint added at the end to lift the whole thing. We decided to eat this with escalope of veal, largely because we rarely have it when back in Britain, lightly flavoured with thyme. It combined to provide a beautifully light, refreshing dinner on a warm Parisian evening. A nice glass of white wine and some crusty baguette to mop up the pan juices are pretty essential here. These vegetables would go beautifully with chicken, pork, veal, or maybe even a fairly robust piece of grilled fish, too.


Serves two

2 veal escalopes
6 medium size artichokes
a large handful of broad beans
a slightly smaller handful of petit pois
a large onion
5 sprigs of mint
1 sprig of thyme


If you're cooking pork or veal escalope, take your meat one piece at a time, place it in a freezer bag, and bash it with a rolling bin until it's about half a centimetre thick. Place in a dish, pour over a decent slug of olive oil, sprinkle with a little salt and pepper, add some herbs if you feel so inclined (we added a little fresh thyme to our veal) and put to one side while you sort out the vegetables.

Having removed the tough outer leaves, halve the artichokes, removing the choke, and shove into cold water so they don't go brown. Pod the broad beans and petit pois. If you're over-keen, have very large broad beans, or have Paula bossing you around, you may want to shell the podded broad beans, too. This is a lot of effort, but the dish is much the better for it.

Peel and thinly slice a large onion, and throw it into a large frying pan, for which you have a lid, with a glug of olive oil over a medium heat. Soften until sweet and tender, but try not to colour them too much. When you get to this point, add the artichokes and a bay leaf, stir, and cook for a few minutes. Turn the artichokes, and cook for a few minutes more.

Pour in a generous glass of white wine, stir everything around, and place a lid on the pan. Check the artichokes after about fifteen minutes to check how they're getting on. You want them to be soft, but not falling apart. If they're not ready, leave them for another five minutes and check again. If they are ready, throw in the beans and peas, and cook for a couple of minutes. Handily, this is about the time it takes to cook the veal.

Get a frying pan hot and add the veal to the pan. You definitely want to make sure you don't overcook it, so turn it after twenty to thirty seconds to make sure each side is nicely seared before it's had chance to cook through. As a rough guide, let all the pink disappear on the outside edge of the escalope, which should leave a slight blush in the centre. Failing that, it will at least still be extremely moist and tender even if it isn't slightly rare in the middle. Plate up the veal, stir a handful of chopped mint through the vegetables, and serve them at the table with some crusty bread on the side.