CWFL (Chicken Wings For Life)

If I could only ever have one part of the chicken it would have to be the wings. They perfectly encapsulate the best parts of the humble bird and have the perfect proportion of skin, fat, red meat and white meat. I could honestly eat these things roasted as is all day, everyday.

But what if you deep fry them? Well then, my friend, you have passed through the looking glass into culinary heaven. And if it has to be chicken wings, then it has to me Morleys.

They act as a franchise, as such they don't directly own all their stores, and I will admit some of their offerings are not as good as others (in my opinion you should avoid the BBQ ribs). By God though if there is one thing I can't get enough of, and would heartily recommend (for as long as that organ survives on a chicken wing diet), are their hot wings.

Here's a dozen of them in a box in case you thought I was joking

Just looking at that picture makes me salivate; the greatest example of the perfect wing. The crispy skin, the spicy and salty coating, the succulent chicken, the moist skin...

Give me a minute alone please...

Okay, I'm fine now. I won't deny that this isn't exactly material to win the next London marathon. If you are looking for your next fast food obsession (as I constantly am) then I have no qualms pointing you in the direction of your closest Morleys outlet.

Just tell them I sent you please. I'm sure they'll post me some wings in the mail or something for my efforts.

Mozzarella di Bufala: The Posh Pizza Topping

Mozzarella di Bufala (also know to non-Italians as Buffalo Mozzarella) is one of those things that most people probably should care about but don't. I mean you buy the normal stuff, shred it on a pizza and enjoy; why should I have to bother with the "proper" buffalo one? Chefs without budgets and unfaltering supporters of quality food will likely scorn that statement but, with the product being roughly about £16 per kilo and visibly identical, it's not without merit.

It's written in Italian, of course it's expensive

So I decided to bite the bullet and get some myself. On a side note for it to be the real deal it has to specifically be called Mozzarella di Bufala and has to be certified, otherwise it wasn't produced in Italy and may or may not be as good.

It's supposed to look like a malformed cue ball

On the touch it's somewhat bouncy, indicating that the inside is wetter than the outside. Once you strip off a piece you can see how the outside is more like cows milk mozzarella and the inside is soft and gooey, almost partially set.

The flavour itself is very subtle. It starts off completely neutral but as you let it dissolve in your mouth the qualities of the buffalo milk start to come through. Creamy, lactose fattiness with a slightly sour tang at the end of it, leaving the tongue completely reset for another bite. It reminds me more of a good quality whole milk than of any cheese; it's really quite remarkable. You certainly wouldn't think what you just consumed was approximately 25% fat.

Compared to standard mozzarella it's a lot softer, the contrast between the outside and inside is greater, it breaks apart like cottage cheese rather than in thick strips and it actually tastes of something. When you grill it the flavours and texture are exemplified; it's the ultimate nacho topping.

All in all, is it worth it? Yes and no. If it is destined to be grilled or sit with a menagerie of other cheeses on a pizza I don't suppose the average dinner will exactly suffer from a lack of buffalo mozzarella. But if it's going to stand alone, or if you really want to make your food that extra bit more awesome, you owe it to yourself to use the original and the best.

Besides, it's gooey, creamy, fatty, moreish cheese. What other excuse do you need?

There's A New Monster In Town

Back in aught nine I used to run and write for a website called Inspired By Caffeine that comprised of consuming and reviewing energy drinks. Honestly it was pretty much a hobby that I happened to document but I did get sent free crates of drinks from various companies, boosting my teenage ego, so I had fun while it lasted. Since then I've stopped consuming quite so many caffeinated calories but I still get that original buzz whenever I see a new shiny canister in my local shop.

That brief recap of my life brings me nicely to this...

I think it needed more yellow

Don't be coy, you know what Monster is; chances are you've had one before. Seeing this on the shelf sends me right back to November 2nd 2009, writing my first energy drink review. My first review full stop, come to think of it.

It's co-produced (and signed) by Valentino Rossi, Moto Gp champion and owner of the pseudonym "The Doctor" which at least explains the colourful title on the front. As for the sun & moon stencilling or the "VR 46" caption across the rim? I have no clue, but it does look pretty.

So I'm disproportionately excited; as such when I cracked open the can and slurped the enigmatic contents within I was presented with an... anticlimax. It's lemonade. Maybe a bit sweeter, maybe a hint of original monster flavour. But, yep, definitely lemonade.

Oh well. Monster gets a celebrity partnership deal to sell their products with and I get a nice 500ml dose of nostalgia. What more could you want?

Well, a good flavour would have been nice...

A Hearty Swig of Gulp! Milkshake

Apparently Gulp! Milkshake (that's the one and only time I type the exclamation mark) has been around for a while, but I got my first try after spotting it in a local superstore. They were knocked down from £1.25 to 50p as part of a promotion and so, never one to say no to 60% reduced cow juice, I snagged myself a bottle or two.

Why does the colour blue mean vanilla?

The picture doesn't show it but this stuff is thick. Real thick. Double cream thick The vanilla flavour coats your mouth in that distinctive aroma and leaves your tongue like a blanket of cream has just been cast over it. I also tried the banana flavour and was greeted with similar results, albeit both flavours started to get  a bit heavy after a while like that extra spoonful of suet pudding.

Overall? I liked it a lot. But I wonder if my opinion would change if I wasn't giving up 50p for yet another milkshake brand and instead handing over £1.25. That's not awful, but is it worth it on a regular basis? I'd have to say no.

First For Everything: #8 Anchovies

If you look back at my previous FFE posts (First For Everything; it'll become a renowned acronym one day, trust me) I've been dabbling in the creatures of the deep. I don't know why I have avoided them for this long, whether due to unfamiliarity or a squeamish attitude to seafood, but so far my foray has been going well. As such I was more than happy to dive into another one: anchovies.
These small little fish are known worldwide as the little things in tins that you can order on pizza but no-one ever does. When they have been caught 99% of the time they are beheaded, gutted and packed in brine until they have been suitably cured; it's rare to find these fresh anywhere short of the port they come into. Once they have experienced their fair share of salt anchovies are tinned in olive oil (usually) and sent to shops everywhere.

They're so small that the bones aren't even removed. You can eat them as they are.

I had never tried an anchovy before but I knew one thing; they are notoriously strong. Naturally I took this to mean that they were unequivocally fishy, so I braced myself as the tin was wrought open.

As it turns out anchovies packed in olive oil just smell meaty with a slight hint of ocean salt, not potently fishy or off, like that oily smell you get from an equally oily fish such as mackerel (oily, oily, oily). You also get about a table spoon of fish-infused olive oil to use at a later date.

On the tooth they are exceptionally meaty, like a hunk of gammon, and fall apart like a pork shoulder cooked for hours in it's own juices. Then a burst of umami saltiness comes through that takes you aback; that passes to leave a fatty, slightly viscous quality in the back of your throat that reminds you it's a fish. A richness in flavour not too dissimilar to the quality of good salmon, this is what I think could potentially put people off as that oil is the first thing that breaks down in off fish. However if you're partial to any tinned whole fish, such as mackerel or sardines, then these little slivers are just concentrated versions of them.

I could see them working well as the base of a pate or as the salty component in a broth (in place of salt or soy sauce for example). But for me? A single anchovy placed on top of a rectangle of buttered toast with something sweet to drink on the side for antithesis.

Not too many though; these things are SALTY!

First For Everything: #7 Dressed Crab

I seem to have eaten my way through the seafood kingdom over the past couple of weeks and, in an effort to stave off the end of this briny journey, I find myself trying some crab. It's a fleeting happenstance with a crustacean that had already been cooked, dressed and ready to consume

Maybe my cocktail stick usage was ambitious at best

It's prepacked nature did not detract from my experience. It was like a mix between mussel and scallop. A meaty, toothsome texture with a briny, oceanic taste. Slightly salty, yet sweet like a mild fruit. If you mixed a piece of haddock with a mild pear and then added a dash of steak texture, you'd get the idea. That initial taste of raw, slightly off flavour is what might get most people; a "mineral" flavour is the most flattering way to put it. But, for me, this is a balanced piece of flesh fit for any occasion.

Hopefully next time I shall have the pleasure of eating crab undressed and in whole chunks. Unfortunately, so far, my trips to the beach with nothing but a net and some inspiration have netted me nothing.

Pun unashamedly intended.

Scallops Are Delicious; This Is Why

Scallops are entry level seafood. They're sweet, slightly briny, a bite like a good rare steak and an overall meatiness that you would never think could come from a shell. The texture initially falls apart but once you start chewing you get a good mouthful to sink you teeth into. Forget that it's seafood; it's possibly the truest surf/turf hybrid of the culinary world.

Pure wads of delicious fleshiness

They do usually come with an orange sack, which is the roe. Perfectly edible, but with a bit more of an oceanic flavour; perhaps avoid it if you are literally using scallops as a gateway food to the sea as I wouldn't want that putting you off. Don't get me wrong, I think you'll grow to love it but, like good wine, it's an acquired taste.

Although you can do fantastic things with scallops in elaborate recipes I prefer to keep them Spartan; lightly cooked in butter and oil with basic seasoning. They do not need long in the pan; 1 or 2 minutes. This may seem worrying as seafood is, unfortunately, synonymous with illness when undercooked but if you cook it any further than a golden coating you're going to have something chewy and unappetising. When it comes to a scallop flavour is king and texture is queen so you need to pay attention.

Go ahead, convince me you're not at least intrigued

I cannot stress enough how game-changing this food is. If you have a fish-squeamish friend who refuses to eat creatures of the deep due to a bad experience with some flabby oyster that made them sick, this is THE food I would use. If, after eating a perfectly cooked scallop, they still don't appreciate seafood I would simply nod my head and give up. You owe it to yourself as a human being to enjoy these nuggets of perfection.

Cocktail sticks make it a canapé. I promise

First For Everything: #6 Chicken Livers

I've never tried any form of offal before and I had it on good authority from a reputable source (my Dad) that, as far as animal organs go, chicken livers were the gateway food. So I decided to try some. I've wanted to try some of the more unusual cuts of meat for a while now for two reasons: one, as a general exploration of my palette and two, to see if I could make myself a tasty and cheap new friend.

I prepared the livers very simply; tossed in a mixture of flour, cayenne pepper, black pepper and salt then shallow fried for about 5 mins.

They look unappetising now but just wait until I am done with them

Once cooked (they should, I'm told, still be pink in the middle) I stuffed them into a freshly baked baguette that had been slathered in the finest butter I could find in my fridge.

An ominous shadow was cast to initiate the proceedings

One thing I should point out is that every organ-eater on the planet will insist, nay, grab your skull and shake it violently whilst chanting that you should always get the freshest, most organic-est produce you can find or forsake your soul.

I didn't get the freshest, most organic-est livers I could find.

Despite countless warning from chefs telling me that offal must be fresh and from a good source I bought a frozen variety and allowed it to defrost. Let me start by saying this isn't a terrible way to do it but the first thing you will taste, in any organ, is what the organ does and what the animal ate. Since my livers were from a cheap chicken who met a chilly end I was greeted with a mealy, mineral flavour that told me this chicken didn't have a great life. I think this is what might trip most people up when it comes to offal and convince them never to try it again.

However, looking past my mistake, you find a delicate slice of meat with properties you didn't know chicken could have. There is a deep, marrow flavour that tells you it's chicken but vamped up about ten degrees; it actually starts to go beyond the dark meat and move into red meat territory. There is a slight mineral quality, but it actual finishes more like a vegetable in terms of flavour and certainly doesn't end up being bloody (which I think is what puts most people off). As well as that is has a texture akin to coarse pate.

All in all you're left with a chicken, beef, mince, pate hybrid with a deep meaty finish that is singular. Whilst it was good the way I did it I think it would benefit from the Kentucky method; deep fried in southern flavours. I also think it would pair well with a berry, such as a cherry conserve.

Go try it yourself, see what you think. But remember, these things are cheap anyway, but try not to go for the lowest bidder. Buy some nice, organic chicken livers and take a culinary journey. Otherwise you might be put off for life and miss out on a whole delicious subsection of flesh.

I could have worded that better...

Weird Foodie Foibles 2: Eat Weirder

We're back with another exclusive expose on perhaps the hottest food-related topic on the internet today: the weird, wonderful, unusual, questionable but always interesting [citation needed] monologues about my food foibles.

Incorrectly Microwaved Burgers

Let's drop the charade here; we all, at one point or another, have eaten a ready-made burger prepared through the ancient art of nuking it. Nuking is what my family call microwaving and yes, we know that radioactivity is not used in microwavery. It's all done with witchcraft, how else could you explain it?
Anyway, for any who has indulged in the delights of a burger made by the lowest bidder, when you leave any food item on one side in a microwave it tends to build up with moisture. In the case of our nuke-a-burger that means the top bun is relatively unscathed whilst the bottom bun is in a weird transient state in which it is simultaneously chewy, hard, soggy and fluffy.
Should I be proud that I like it? Probably not. But that unusual texture leads to an entirely unique burger experience that offers meat, cheese, sauce, and a bun that is one part bread, one part dough, one part pancake, one part dumpling and all parts undignified gratification.

Underdone Puff Pastry

It's every pastry chefs worst nightmare; whilst the top of your croissant looks deceptively delicious it's lifted off the rack to reveal a soggy, uncooked bottom. No longer like it's flaky brethren, this patch of pastry is doughy, flabby,.buttery, silky, sumptuous...
What?! I like it when pastry goes wrong! I happened to have had enough gooey mistakes to garner an appreciation for them and, I dare say, it gives me an advantage. If your chicken pie comes out perfect then great! You get to enjoy the fruits of your labour. But for me, even when it's improperly cooked, I get to enjoy my creation.

Overcooked Scrambled Eggs

If I ever got to cook on Masterchef, standing in front of Gregg Wallace and John Torode, and I was asked to make scrambled eggs the plate I put forward would raise an eyebrow or two. They'd go into the intermission room, exclaim how I couldn't even cook eggs properly and I would be soundly whisked away with a sympathetic expression on the judges faces. Not that I've thought and dreamt about this specific scenario countless times or anything.
Nevertheless, the point being is that I like my scrambled eggs technically overcooked. I say technically in italics because to me I'm cooking them perfectly; how I like them. I know the proper (read: French) way is supposed to leave them just cooked, still fluffy and loosely spongy, but I don't like that. I prefer the firm, slightly dry results of an overcooked egg. Sue me.

Do you have any food quirks or abnormalities?

Do Leftovers Even Exist?

I was watching the show of a celebrity chef (who shall remain nameless) whose television series was dedicated to "helping" the viewer use up odds and ends of ingredients they may or may not have lying around in their pantry. A few examples of their leftovers were cuts of pork belly, half a pot of coffee, a small bowl of fish chowder and a pint of milk. With these parts they made fairly standard recipes or simply shoved it in a sandwich.

Which brings me to my point. How can you have a "leftovers" recipe? More pertinently, how can you truly have leftovers? Is the final thigh in a bag of frozen chicken a leftover? What about that asparagus stalk at the bottom of the fridge?

It's not unique to this chef; many TV personalities will talk about how to use that tired piece of beef to make something spectacular or pleading to the viewer on the screen that the cabbage need not be thrown away.

Who is the demographic here? Who is chronically purchasing and creating too much food that their kitchen has small batches of various recipes and single portions of ingredients? Maybe it's just me and my family but when we buy what we need for a particular dish we end up using all of what we bought. A casserole needs 500g of chicken breast? We'll buy 500g and use 500g. I don't leave a token chunk of product in the fridge as some sort of peace offering to the spirit of food preservation. If we made too much (maybe someone wasn't that hungry) it'll get put in a box and eaten later. I've never found myself staring at a refrigerated tub of bolognese, scratching my head, thinking "I need to create a new and interesting meal with this otherwise it's going in the bin". God forbid you'd just eat it.

The ideas are always oddly specific as well. "If you happen to have some duck breast, a tin of butter beans and a sweet potato don't throw them away! You can make my recipe!". Okay, if I'm ever stuck with those particular ingredients in my fridge and need to create something new and delicious for my soon-to-arrive dinner guests I'll be sure to give it a try. Does it have to be leftover duck breast or can I go out and buy some to cook your dish?

It's simply a weird thing for a show, i.e. a static piece of media, to do. A forum full of people all posting and editing their ideas for spare bacon, that's understandable. But a thirty minute piece to aid those betrothed with one too many spring onions doesn't seem sensible. It also doesn't help when it's so obviously staged. The chef in question went to a friends house to aid them in their never-ending fight with leftover ingredients and conveniently found about a dozen tiger prawns, a chilli, some ginger, lemongrass, garlic and coconut milk. A flash of inspiration told the chef to make a Thai prawn curry. So, what, the person bought all of these items that are synonymous with Thai cuisine but had no idea it could be made into a curry? What happens when the chef confront a cupboard containing only dried spaghetti, a packet of jelly and some cardamom pods? Just call the show off?

My point is that, with proper planning, leftovers shouldn't exist. Everything in the pantry should either be standalone or marry well with whatever else you've got. If you find yourself needing guidance on how to use that weird vegetable you bought because you have no idea how it goes with the random things in your fridge then you've done something wrong.

Keep it up and you'll end up with a shelf containing fennel, raspberry jam and bearnaise to turn into dinner. If you find a recipe for that, let me know because I have no idea what I'm going to do with them.

First For Everything: #5 Oysters

About six days ago I tried for the first time some oyster mushrooms, so named for their resemblance to the bivalve of the same title. Whilst a normal person might make the progression to another fungus, I decided the logical course of action was to try the eponymous mollusc.

There are quite a number of varieties when it comes to oysters; tasty ones, pretty ones, thorny ones and the ones that produce gigantic pearls seen in old cartoons. The most notable and edible family is the Ostreidae, of which I will be sampling.

Like most shellfish, they have the impression of a mermaid's trinket

I know there are probably as many ways to eat oysters as there are varieties: Oysters Rockefeller, Oysters Kilpatrick, Angels on Horseback, a dash of Tabasco, a squeeze of lemon or simply raw. Since I'd never had them before, and didn't want to risk poisoning myself with a bad oyster, I decided to simply steam them over salted water for about five minutes.

I'll know if I have done it wrong as the grand wail of a thousand oyster aficionados will be heard far off in the distance as they read it. Still, that's how I did them; feel free to leave a comment below telling me how much I messed it up.

Incorrect or not they still look good to me

A lot of people don't find the look of shellfish very appetising, their resemblance to other land creatures of similar appearance probably being the reason. I, however, have no such qualms and so promptly placed them into my mouth.

The first thing is, obviously the texture, and it is remarkable. The outer "gills" as it were resemble the soft and yielding flesh of mussels, like rendered animal fat without the inherent oiliness. The little muscle that attaches to the shell itself has a firmer feel to it, more reminiscent of scallops.

The flavour is in no way, shape or form, fishy. A delicate briny, salted flavour with an unexpected sweetness that catches you off guard; how did that come from a mollusc? The juice that oozes from the oyster (the brown spots of liquid in the above picture) is extraordinary; a perfect seafood stock with sweet and salty notes that amplify the intrinsic flavour of the oyster, all ready made in the shell. Truly sumptuous.

Clearly, these are not only very pretty, but also delicious. With such quick preparation and cooking time annexed with such great results it's no wonder the oyster is considered the ultimate canapé. I though they were great the way I prepared them, but is there a better way? Would the flavour have been intensified if I cooked them in a shorter amount of time? Can a splash of cocktail sauce take it to new heights? have I not truly experienced their greatness unless I try it Taiwanese style; oyster omelettes?

The simply answer is: I don't know! I'm more than happy to find out myself, but drop me a message if you've got the perfect way to enjoy these shelled wonders.

First For Everything: #4 Oyster Mushrooms

Pleurotus Ostreatus (oyster mushroom) is so named, both in English and Latin, for their resemblance to the bivalve of the same name. According to our friend Wikipedia it was first cultivated in Germany as a reliable food source during the first World War. Attempting to feed an entire army on fungus? Those crazy Germans.

Pretty little things, aren't they?

I love mushrooms and so the idea came about to try a more renowned variety other than the ubiquitous white shroom that has a million different names. The particular batch I have is full of older mushrooms; much like the elderly they have flabby appendages and tend to leak water when pressure is applied.

I decided to cook them quite simply: olive oil, butter, sea salt and white pepper. Because of the their water content one must slow cook them to release the juices and then, once they have wept beautiful mushroomy tears, turn the heat up to add some colour. I did it for about 6 minutes so if this isn't long enough or an egregious amount of time feel free to send me some hate mail correcting the matter

They look fine to me, but then I get my facts from online comics

Just in terms of appearance they look lovely; more like wilted petals than a tree-born fungi. Their texture is also deceptively refined. A little bit spongy, a little bit firm, a nice bite to it but not chewy with a fibrous quality. It perfectly capitulates the fact that it's technically neither plant nor animal.

In terms of flavour they're mushrooms Mk II. That distinctively earthy, umami flavour is dialled up to eleven with a nutty back note. They also absorb flavour like a sponge. When you cook then whole and uncut you almost get two versions; the gills soak up whatever is in the pan whilst the stem is a bit more resilient and gives you a more neutral representation of the mushroom. Considering how simple the preparation was they really are delicious.

My serving suggestion? A couple of these, sautéed as above, in a soft roll with crispy streaky bacon and a sweet chilli conserve. Try it. If it goes well, I'll take the credit. If it doesn't, I accept no responsibility.

First For Everything: #3 Physalis

Physalis is a small gooseberry shaped fruit that grows in a grassy pocket on a branch; members of the nightshade family, they can be found growing in several places across the globe, most notably Mexico. The variety I tried is called Physalis Peruviana, otherwise known as the cape gooseberry.

Its colour and skin is similar to that of a Sharon fruit, maybe a cousin of it or a twice removed uncle or something. The texture and flavour is a strange mixture of tomato, kiwi and cucumber, leaving a slightly tart taste in the mouth. Apparently the fruit has a very high pectin content, meaning it lends itself well to jams and preserves (when I say "lends", I mean gets forcibly boiled and mashed against it's own will).

All in all the Physalis is a deliciously juicy fruit with a compendium of exotic flavours stuffed within. I'd like to have a bunch more to attempt some more adventurous culinary uses for them, but this time around I simply scarfed the entire packet down, scribbled some messy short-hand about their taste and quickly wrote this post before grabbing a packet of my favourite fruit of all.

Pork Scratchings.

A Foray Into Polish Juice

In most supermarkets there is a section filled with strange lexicon, unusual ingredients and a general leaning towards flavours that would strike the western consumer as exotic. I like to call this area the "Pantheon of foreign delicacies"; most would probably know it as the place you can get eastern European and Indian products.

Today's foray into the wild world of "foreign delicacies" is a bottle of Polish fruit juice I found known simply as Frugo.

What is Frugo Polish for? Nothing. Absolutely Nothing.

For starters, what is that fruit on the front? It looks like a mix between an orange, a passion fruit and a zombie pathogen. In reality, it's something know as Lulo, or Solanum Quitoense. However the ingredients reveal that only 0.1% of the entire thing is Lulo so that seems a bit misleading. Probably more disconcerting about the ingredients is the listing of locust bean gum. I just... forget about it.

Upon trying it I'm met with a somewhat disappointing taste; I had no idea what Polish juice from concentrate might taste like when mixed with sugar and water but it turns out it's pretty similar to what we would have done. A pretty uninspiring mix of random fruit-esque flavours that ends up being a bit too luminous to warrant any health claims.

"Ultra Fruit, Ultra Green" is the catch-line across the bottle and I guess they can lay claim to at least 25% of that: it's definitely green. Frugo, unlike such things as pistachios and good pickles, is something that the Poles can keep.

First For Everything: #2 Making My Own Pizza

I've done a bit of baking in the past, a few loaves at university that were a bit denser than they should have been, but never have I produced my very own pizza from scratch. I chose to rectify that.

Firstly I had to make the dough. A simple mixture consisting of 500g strong white flour; it has to be strong as the gluten in it compared to standard flour gives it the necessary elasticity after kneading. Add a teaspoon of sea salt, a teaspoon of caster sugar and a single sachet of dried yeast (usually about 7g or 8g) to 325ml of lukewarm water and leave to rest for a minute or so to let the yeast activate.

Add the water mixture steadily into the flour bit by bit, incorporating everything together with a fork. Carry on doing so until it's all basically mixed together and your wrist starts to hurt a bit. Take the dough out of the bowl and slap onto a surface that has been liberally dusted with enough flour to cause cleaning problems for weeks. Knead for about 10 minutes until one of three things happens: the 10 minutes actually pass by, the dough becomes a springy ball of deliciousness or, in my case, you haven't done any manual labour in weeks causing you to get unnecessarily tired and have to sit down. Leave to get really big in a bowl somewhere for about an hour.

You knead to perform those steps. It's the yeast you can do

Next is the sauce. Simply pour a tin of plum tomatoes into a saucepan on a medium heat and mash them with an appropriate utensil (a spoon, a masher, your fist etc.) until it has all been mushed up. Add salt, pepper, basil and oregano to taste and leave on the heat for as long as your Italian-senses tell you to leave it.

Grab your now voluptuous ball of dough and split it into four smaller balls; roll each ball into a rough circle about 5mm thick. Cut rectangles of Edam, place them on the edges of the dough, turn them over and crimp to form a delicious stuffed crust; repeat until you get bored or you finish. Add a spoonful or two of your sauce to the middle and top with Cheddar, Pepperoni and Mozzarella in that order. Place in the centre of your oven on a sheet of tinfoil for about 20 minutes. If that doesn't work then try preheating the oven to 200 degrees Celsius; that usually helps.

Take that, traditional Italian cuisine!

All in all I rather enjoyed my doughy exploits. The feeling you get after having created all the elements of the pizza from scratch, watching your family force slices of it down their throats with grimaces and fake praise is something everyone should experience.

I'd like to say it was an old family recipe, like Momma used to make, but it's mostly purloined from Jamie Oliver. Except the Edam cheese stuffed crust; that's a Food Philomath exclusive.

Kickstarter? I hardly knew her!

With the recent news that the Coolest Cooler has broken the Kickstarter record for the most amount of money garnered I thought it might be a good idea to list some of my favourite food related Kickstarter projects that I have seen on this famous crowd-funding website.

Fowl Scratchings

Unfortunately, it seems as though the inventor of Fowl Scratchings didn't reach their target, but that doesn't mean their idea is any less golden. The concept is simple; pig skin is to crackling as chicken skin is to Fowl Scratchings and I think the product sounds great. Though it seems I shan't get to try one any time soon the notion that I can have deliciously fried chicken skins in ready-made foil packets, that I can scarf down with reckless abandon, is something I can't wait to try.

Craft Marshmallows

Marshmallows aren't anything new as I'm sure we all enjoy one of those gooey, sweet balls of fluff from time to time. But have you ever found the flavour selection a bit lacking? That's where Craft Marshmallows comes in with a menagerie of new takes on the old favourite. Chocolate, peppermint and raspberry sound solid but what about purple yam with honey and white pepper? As of this moment the project is still running, so if you're interested go and offer some support.

DIY Gin & Tonic Kit

For anyone who has experienced the bitter quinine of supermarket tonic water, this kit may be a godsend. With the ability to add your own flavours and essences the next G&T you make can be that much more special. It's already been funded so it's soon to come out for sale.

Do you know what the best part of all this is? I found out that within the section labelled food on Kickstarter there is a further subdivision: Bacon.

God bless the internet.

The Juice is Loose in the Juicer!

I'm not one of those people who insist that everyone should spare the time to organically farm all your own vegetables or to never buy a supermarket loaf. The modern world is fast and busy; horses were replaced by cars and letters were swapped with e-mails because, in this day and age, they simply aren't fast enough.

But just as the horse turned into an equestrian past-time and letters transformed into romantic devices, the arts of producing basic foods from scratch is something I think anyone can enjoy. One of my favourite things to do is to slice, dice and blitz my own juice drinks.

Here are the ingredients I used for my juice drink

Along with kneading bread and murdering sci-fi creatures in video games there is something wonderfully cathartic about preparing and creating your own juice. Perfectly peeling the oranges, scooping soft kiwi flesh from the skin, plucking each individual grape from the bunch, all to create a signature beverage that is unobtainable anywhere else other than your kitchen.

Maybe I'll add lemon and lime for extra tartness? Mango to make it lusciously thick? Carrots to give it a beautifully deep, glossy colour? You become an alchemist, experimenting with various extracts of fruit and vegetable to synthesis the perfect balance of texture, flavour and nutritional content

Tart and vibrantly orange. Also how I like my women.

I urge you to give it a try yourself; you can get juicers relatively cheap and the flavours you can accomplish with this humble device are astonishing. If you're looking to add more healthy items to your life, or simply trying to get the ultimate fruity essence for a cocktail, a juicer is the way to go.

Okay, you got me. I only got the juicer so I can have fresh peach juice for Bellinis.

Polynesian Obesity: Who's to Blame?

I was watching an episode of The Food Truck which involves Michael Van De Elzen roaming across New Zealand in his eponymous food truck attempting to get Kiwis to eat healthier versions of their favourite meals. Sometimes it's baked, not fried, chicken or soy bean falafels but in this particular instance the cuisine in question was Polynesian.
A brief look into their diet wasn't promising; one instance included a stew consisting of lamb flaps (breast/belly tissue with a high fat content) cooked in onions and ginger. Another involved a Polynesian individual describing the cultures' general disdain for vegetables and a man who simply stated that the food he made "doesn't have enough salt".
This wasn't the first time I had seen this; in the TV show The World's... and Me Mark Dolan made a visit to a Tongan family and their diets were very similar. Large feasts were a daily occurrence, supermarkets were stacked with cheap and fatty meat. Mark Dolan himself was introduced to the country with a popular breakfast item: a loaf of bread, hollowed out and filled with ice cream and a can of Fanta. Delicious.
Recent studies have shown that obesity in Polynesian countries is becoming a rampant problem; this source reveals some startling figures on the percentage of overweight individuals on those islands:

Western Samoa      -   Male: 33.3%   Female: 46.1%
Manu'a                    -   Male: 56.2%   Female: 76.9%
Tutuila                     -   Male: 61.9%   Female: 79.4%
Hawaii                     -   Male: 75.2%   Female:  80%

Clearly these offshore countries have become a casualty of western influence, but who precisely is to blame? The finger is initially pointed at the people themselves; naturally stocky folks who obviously have unhealthy food habits. However studies made in the 1960s (before major trading took place between neighbouring countries) show that their diets were generally well balanced, consisting of fruits, seafood and coconuts which provided the only high fat content.
The World's... and Me suggests that import products are to blame; Australia and New Zealand offload the fattier cuts of meat that are undesirable in western culture onto the Polynesian countries who, without realising the consequences, are happy to accept the surplus they've never had before. Annex to that the unusually high salt content of tinned products, destined for long shelf lives and many hours in transport, it's not hard to understand the earlier quip about the food not having enough salt; as a man in his thirties that flavour wasn't what he grew up with; it wasn't Polynesian.
Though I generally loath ignorance to responsibility, in this case I find myself siding with the afflicted. As untouched microcosms of traditional lifestyles it is unsurprising that they have been corrupted by the sudden influx of goods from more bountiful countries. They didn't look a gift horse in the mouth; unfortunately they ended up eating it.

Weird Foodie Foibles

Has anyone got snacks or drinks that feel so comfortable and familiar to them, but when they're revealed others you're met by a look of confusion and pity?
Sometimes it's not actually so strange (like an appreciation for smoked mussels) and sometimes it is (such as eating dried pasta raw), but I have a few that garnered a disparate look or two from my contemporaries. Or as I like to call them, people waiting in line with me at Tesco.

Chicken Skins

This one may not be as weird as the others; I'm sure lots of people are perfectly fine with eating the skin on deep-fried chicken but I'm talking about another level. When the Sunday roast comes out of the oven or you pull the pre-cooked thighs out of the deli-counter bag what's the thing that gets you salivating? Probably the meat right? Not for me, the crisp, fatty skin holds all the poultry goodness concentrated into a single sheet of flavour. I like it, but I've had a cocked eyebrow from family members across the table.

Cream Crackers

We've all had a cracker, haven't we? Covered in cherry conserve with a wedge of brie on top. A slice of cheddar and pickled onions, or... plain. What, you've never eaten half a pack of crackers in one sitting with no toppings? I happen to find the semi-astringent effect of several dry crackers in my mouth rather pleasant, and they are a great snack whilst remedying an upset stomach.

Wine and Pork Scratchings

Yeah, I know. I'm a working class casualty. I moved up from the crass nature of drafts and ciders to the suave sophisticating of a long fermented grape but the nibbles never caught up with it. It's not something that's been a social stumbling block as of yet, but I'm waiting for the day when I'm sipping a bordeaux among the worlds elite someliers in a picturesque French cottage somewhere, causing a monocle to pop into a glass and a cuss spoken in "la langue francaise" as I grab a handful of pig skins.

Is there any food foibles you have?

Perfect Pasta? I'll give it a try

Ever knocked up a bolognese or ragu, boiled and drained your pasta of choice only to find oneself pushing the strands (or spirals) of pasta that have not been regaled with the sauce around the plate? As a man destined to never get my pasta portions correct I too have suffered this horrible fate; forever doomed to either toss the remaining tubes (or shells) into the bin or begrudgingly chew on empty carbs.

But it needn't be so! Here are my personal tips to make pasta the star of the show once more. No longer a means to simply fill our bellies with stodge but a celebrated ingredient in it's own right. Here's what you need to do.

The pasta you use is one of those points that everyone could agree is important, but they're probably not sure why. I mean, I know it comes in various shapes and it isn't always dried but so what?
You'd be vindicated in saying that. No-one is going to suffer stomach problems because you lavished a beschamel sauce on conchiglie nor will your Italian friends disown you for using shop bought dried pasta (although that's not usually a problem since Italians only seem to care about fashion and coffee, but that's besides the point).

However, ancient Italian Pastamancers crafted each shape to specifically cradle a certain sauce, so try finding out which goes with which, like penne with tomato based sauces or fusilli when it needs to stand alone. Also try using fresh egg pasta available in most supermarkets; it's invariably more expensive but I bet you won't believe the results. Or you might actually since, after all, it is just pasta

Tip number two? Once drained, dress the pasta with freshly ground pepper and a good glug of extra virgin olive oil. Yes, I know every single chef covers everything with the stuff but there is good cause; the olive oil adds a robust base of flavour to the food and it also makes you look like you know what you're doing when with friends and family. I used to add grated cheddar but stopped because not only does an Italian, somewhere in the world, get a shiver up their spine whenever you do this but it also has a tendency to make the overall result a bit cloying and fatty. Which, sometimes, has it's place but not in pasta.

Finally, and I saved the curve-ball for last, half a clove of freshly grated garlic. As this point I know I've got the rooms attention, some swooning from my devil-may-care approach to pasta and others verbally distraught, but give me a chance. If you are a fan of garlic, like me, and you never get that pungent slap in your dishes this is the trick you need. You don't need a lot; raw garlic is stronger than cooked garlic and you can always add more but can never take away.

I promise if you follow these tips your pasta will never be humdrum again. Although there is always the chance that I have no idea what I am talking about, in which case I humbly apologise for your plate of ruined linguine and urge you to order a pizza

Roast Dinner... Need I Say More?

Next to tea, crumpets and colonial pillaging there isn't a greater British institution than the humble roast dinner. A menagerie of random garden ingredients paired with a simply roasted bird, doused in gravy and accompanied by crispy, doughy yorkshire puddings.

If I say "Sunday", what do you think of?

Actually, when you put it like that, what's all the fuss about?
For starters there isn't even a set checklist for what goes into a roast dinner; it's a collection of things, not a recipe. I'm sure there'd be a wave of tutting and groaning if I said my version has cabbage in it, possibly even a swoon on discovering the mash has butter AND cheese. Does one have roasts as well? Brussel sprouts? Bread sauce? Whatever way the dish is performed you'll be condoned and condemned.

Secondly it doesn't have much culinary merit. Sure, you have to cut the vegetables and the mash takes a bit of legwork (or should that be armwork?) but otherwise it's boiled greens and a bird left in a hot box for an hour. In comparison to the national dishes of other countries, such as France's coq au vin, it's hardly accomplished or difficult; anyone could make it. It reminds me of an anecdote from my offices when a coworker asked another one, who had lived in Japan for many years, whether you could get roast chicken there.

But perhaps I'm being a bit harsh; I've had many in my life and they were all delicious (90% of those were cooked by my father though, who is basically my personal Michel Roux Jr). In my opinion there are several essential components to a perfect roast dinner:

• Smooth, lump-free mash with a high butter-to-potato ratio. But not too smooth; I don't want a french-style puree of spud on my plate
• Gravy that must be made with the roasting juices of the bird
• Crispy chicken skin. All of it. On my plate
• Yorkshire puddings. Obviously

Provided it's made to these parameters, it can't go wrong. Unless, of course, you have different parameters. Which you most certainly will.

Bugger. Back to square one.

First For Everything: #1 Sharon Fruit

I like to try new things as often as I can and, whilst the familiar is always reliable, the discovery of something delicious to annex your culinary repertoire is always a good thing. Apart from when it's not enjoyable; such is the price we intrepid food explorers pay!

That's where Diospyros Kaki comes in, otherwise known as Japanese Persimmon, Kaki Persimmon, Asian Persimmon, Sharon fruit, Korean mango or any other name I care to purloin from Wikipedia. It's a relatively small fruit that resembles an orange beef tomato. The "Sharon" variety is actually a cultivated variant that removes the astringency of it's progenitor.

Displayed here in a completely unsculpted scenario

The leaves are inedible but the skin is perfectly comestible and the dark spots represent pockets of concentrated natural sugars within the fruit. Those indicative dots remind me of good marbling in a piece of beef or pork; this in turn makes me hungry.

Once sliced open I was greeted with a subtle fragrant mixture of citrus and pumpkin. A slightly squashy smell (squashy: of or pertaining to members of the squash family. If it isn't a word it is now) accentuated by a sweet zest, like a mix between orange and lemon. The internet, an infallible source of truth, informs me that the original versions grown in China are a lot more pungent so perhaps I will endeavour to get those at some point. For now, the western equivalent will suffice.

I swear, they just *landed* in the basket like that!

The flavour is something quite unique and moreish. Without being sickly, it exhibits a syrupy ooze of pear and orange that greets the tongue upon mastication with a brief hint of cucumber who, presumably, is knocking on Sharon fruit's door asking why it wasn't invited as well.

The party continues unabated as you discover that the fruit has crisp skin and grainy flesh almost indiscernible from a pear. Whilst, at least the ones I tried, weren't bursting with juice the flavours and textures were both singularly exclusive and enjoyable. I surmise that it would pair well with a fruit that had more liquid content and a sharper flavour such as lemon, passion fruit and grape.

But these are investigations best left for another day, as I will leave on the notion that the Sharon fruit is surprisingly accessible given its far-flung origins. It isn't a food that you have to struggle to understand nor utilise your expert palette to fully appreciate.

It's going to become a more regular item in my fruit basket after today's trial. That is, providing I can get it for 10p in the reduced aisle every time.

I'll just get a doughnut instead.

Is Manuka Honey Worth The Money?

Honey is one of those store-cupboard ingredients that is universally acknowledged and then forgotten. I mean you spread some on toast every now and then, maybe put it on a pudding or something, but what more is there?

Much more. This is mainly because it is rarely considered as a flavouring, akin to the herbs and spices that any self-respecting gourmand knows are essential. Once you respect it in this manner it opens up a new plateau of appreciation for the product; runny or set? Acacia or Elderflower? Eponymously, is Manuka honey worth it?

Manuka honey is produce in New Zealand and Australia and is named as such because the nectar is exclusively retrieved from the manuka tree. Generally lauded for it's health benefits and restorative properties, a jar can set you back anywhere between £20 and £80. This is heavy stuff, ergo I have to try it. My mother was recently gifted a jar so that it might aid her recovery after surgery; naturally I pilfered some for the purposes of conducting a review and totally not because I could never bring myself to surrender more than £10 for something that can't get me drunk.

Yes it's on toast. Yes I'm unoriginal.

Visually the honey is a lot more translucent than any other variety I have seen. Whilst most brands supply a golden syrup looking product this is very reminiscent of the stuff Winnie the Pooh is addicted to. Also in terms of consistency it is a lot thicker and less gloopy than standard honey, reminding me of melted fudge more than the honey I am familiar with.

I decided to try it two ways; once as a humble spoonful into my maw, so that it may stand on it's own merit and once on toast, because I am British.
I have to say at least one thing in this product's defence as I fear it will get lambasted later on; it is unequivocally delicious. Thick, but no sticky. Umptuous but not grainy. It has the great physical properties of caramel but with a earthy, floral and deep sweet flavour (thanks fructose!) that reminds you of its humble pollinated origins. This honey is in no way sickly or heavy and is most definitely on another echelon.
Are you happy manuka? Because it goes downhill from here.

Some people may disregard my primary issue with this product, either because of their economic situation or because it perhaps should not factor into my analysis of the product. However it does for me and it always will; the price is the stumbling block. It's delightful, but I've tried high grade, non-manuka honeys that are at worst decent and at best just a hair away from matching this one. They were also available in many stores and cost a fraction of the price, 15% of the cost of the manuka honey in my particular instance. Does it taste more than six times better? No, but therein lies the issue; product quality and product cost are exponential. You can get a good wine for £5, no problem. Want the next step up? That'll be £20. The grade above that? £50. It ultimately depends on how much one is willing to pay for it.

There are obviously the medicinal benefits of manuka honey, even topical variants are available for that specific purpose, but I am considering it on a purely culinary level. Considering all factors, Is it worth it to me?
Hell no. It cuts into beer money!

A Synopsis of Rook's Chicken Baguette

At most JC Rook & Sons outlets you can grab yourself a fresh baked baguette, slathered in butter and mayo, with two southern style chicken steaks wrapped inside. At a cost of £1.99 it's a particularly dependable snack option; a wedge of carbohydrate and protein filled goodness to get you through lunch.

The humble chicken is always a reliable option

The seasoned coating won't inspire a flavour epiphany and the chicken steaks leave a lot to be desired texturally. However there's something that can't be ignored when you combine rich butter and umptuous mayo in a baguette with a crunchy crust and a doughy core. When you have that combo the filling itself has a tough act to follow. Whilst it won't blow you away, I defy anyone to not at least be comfortably sated by this humble offering. It's got me through many a tough and hungry school day; that's enough for me.

Today's Lunch Menu: Guilt, Shame and Fried Chicken

I'm going to show you a picture and you need to regale to me with what emotions and thoughts come to mind:

Go ahead. Soak it in. Like chips in a frier

What springs to mind? Images of obese Americans? Calorie numbers in four figures? Bland and uninspiring flavour prospects? For me, I get the most carnal and sacrilegious feeling of them all: Anticipation. Now this is when the room will be divided; I can picture those scoffing in one corner, some even feeling sorry for me, at the notion that I could entertain commercial fast food as a worthwhile talking point. But, and this could be the chicken talking, I am certain of another entourage; those who would join me in appreciating this commodity.

Pandora's (Deep Fried) Box

I won't ever argue that this is sophisticated, delicate, complex, original or even particularly special. However I cannot abide by the individual who does not accept the fast food outlet for what it is; a smooth engine to deliver a shot of salty, fatty goodness straight into your left ventricle. I make no (chicken) bones about this fact. Millions of people eat this sort of food on a daily basis and whilst you may object to it, on reasons of health or disgust, one must accept that by virtue of its ubiquitous nature it has redeeming values. Tasty values, even. I'm sure people across the globe, eating exotic food on beaches dappled with shade, would give anything, anything, for a bite of this greasy Western totem.

You either revile or rejoice this kind of food

You will gnash into that deep fried chicken skin, laced with those 11 herbs and spices of varied and probably dubious origin, dousing it in their meaty gravy whilst simultaneously mashing fistfuls of salty, crispy chips into your maw. Alternating bites of fillet, wing and drumstick occupy your mouth as you frantically search the bottom of the bag for a chip that may have absconded from the pack. And you will enjoy it. The only difference between us all is how we choose to emotional concede to this. Disgust? Remorse? Regret? Guilt? Nay, I say: PRIDE!

And possibly palpitations.

The Burger Van from Yesteryear: A Fond Reminiscence

It's 2009 on a Friday, 1:30pm. School has been particularly busy that week and four hour long lessons have ebbed their way through the day. You're hungry, lethargic and most importantly adolescent; ergo you require a burger.
Everyone has their school-time haunts: the kebab shop, the newsagents or the nearest fast food giant. Mine was a small burger van that only graced us with it's presence on Friday. The bell would ring and the pilgrimage lasted five minutes until you joined a sizable queue full of equally savvy and ravenous students.

The Sacred Burger Outlet With No Name

Unassuming. Arguably uninspiring, but you and your rapacious comrades knew better; this was the only place to get your fix. Tentatively waiting for the line to weed out the uninitiated, those who would give up and compromise with a cookie cutter burger from a commercial outlet, you finally ascend to the front and are requested: "What would you like, young man?". Your choice was made, but to what extent? The quarter pound burger was reliable and steadfast in it's ability to sate the consumer, but the hunger was greater than usual; perhaps the half-pound burger? Something larger? Tales had been told of one who had slain the full one pound burger but these were clearly spurious, they couldn't be true. A fleeting thought suggests a hot dog, however what if it was unsatisfactory? It would be a full week before you could try again.

The line was buckling in anticipation, the decision could not be delayed any longer. A half-pound burger is passed forward, you pay the toll, slather your desired condiment upon it and slink away with the prize in hand.

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

There it is. Your greedy gift to yourself is unfurled from its wrapper, enticing you with pockets of oozing burger sauce and onion. Ready to sate your carnivorous desire...

That was how every Friday lunch transpired for me and a recent visit to that hallowed place brought memories flooding back. A decadently fatty burger; with bite but not tough, yielding but not flabby. Onions that were simultaneously charred and silvery. Creamy, tangy sauce that offered the rich texture of cheese and the vinegary kick of tomato sauce. All in a soft bun, to be taken and squirrelled away to your favourite bench on the seafront.

It isn't expensive, it isn't refined. It's not healthy and it's not ground-breaking. But it is satisfying, moreish, memorable and the closest I think I'll ever get to tasting a weekend. Because that's what it was in one fell swoop; a harbinger for the lazy days to come and the relief that a vacation brings, all contained in a delicious burger.
What could be better than that?