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.