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?