Berries. Better than Chocolate.

Berries.  Beautiful, glamorous, sweet-tart, soft, fragile gems.  These were unusual varieties- alpine strawberries and pineberries.   

No recipe.  They were too good as nature made them.  After a quick rinse we ate them out of hand, savoring each one like it was the last.

The Spiciest Chicken (You are Welcome!)

I've had a small obsession with Sriracha sauce for going on 10 years now.  This bottle of atomic fire is my condiment soul-mate.  I can't think of anything I'd rather put on both fried eggs and popcorn and caramels and in cocktails and and and.  It's pure magic packed into a bottle.  I used to get my fix at Pearl River Mart (RIP?) in New York and drown everything in it.  It's got heat, but it's so garlicky and flavorful and good that even the most spice-adverse people can usually handle a couple drops.  Most hot sauces just bring on heat and discomfort, but this is multi-dimensional in what it brings to the table- so much flavor and by the way, some pretty good heat.  

It is almost impossible to find the good stuff here in London.  In Paris, we were in the middle of a worldwide shortage due to a plant in California expelling too much chili fumes into the air ("Deal with it", I say while stomping my feet and pouting).  Now there's no excuse but the market is flooded with cheap imitations of inferior hot sauces with birds such as geese and eagles on the label.  I've tried them and they are terrible- too sweet, not enough heat, loads of preservatives and fake sugars.  I have a nice racket going when friends from the states come for a visit:  I give you a bed, you give me suitcase full of rooster sauce.  It's called "paying rent".  

I have a couple precious Huy Fong bottles saved up that I use much more sparingly than I should.  If anyone London-area knows where I can get the real deal, let me know.  Every place in Chinatown has the wannabe sauces.  Someone told me a place in Croydon might have it, but that's basically going to the ends of the earth for it.  

Here's a recipe that I've adapted from the Huy Fong site.  It's craveable and good and comforting and I make more chicken than it calls for just so I can put it on bread and make a little ban mi sandwich the next day.  The quinoa means it's healthy!  but you could use rice if you aren't a fan.  I haven't tried it yet, but it would work well with fish and take about half the time to cook.  

Recipe: Sriracha Chicken
Serves 4

180 grams (1 cup) quinoa
60 ml (1/4 cup) coconut oil
1 kg (2 lbs) chicken breast, cut into bite sized cubes
1 onion, diced
4oz (1/2 c) Sriracha sauce
4oz (1/2c) honey
juice of half a lemon
salt and pepper 
bunch of scallions, chopped
1/2 t sesame seeds, toasted
handful of coriander (cilantro)

Rinse the quinoa a couple times in cold water.  Add the quinoa to a small pot along with 16oz (2 cups) of water with a pinch of salt.  Bring to a boil, than reduce to simmer and cook until all the liquid is absorbed (this happens quickly, so keep an eye on it).

Meanwhile, in a large sauce pan, heat the coconut oil over medium heat.  Add the onion and cook for a few minutes until it has softened.  Add chicken and cook until it starts to brown (or, if you have a crowded pan and it won't brown, until it's no longer pink and raw chickeny).  Season with salt and pepper.  

Whisk together the sriracha, honey and lemon juice.  Add the sauce to the pan and let the chicken finish cooking in this spicy mess for another 8 minutes or so, until it is cooked through and the sauce is quite thick.  Stir occasionally.  

Fluff the quinoa with a fork and spread a bed of it on each plate.  Top with the chicken.  Garnish with coriander, sesame seeds and scallion.   

Ode to Clotted Cream (A very lucky scone)

It's absolute crap outside.  What to do?

Bake yourself a batch of scones!  It makes everything better.  

Let's talk for a minute about clotted cream.  It was one of those things I would read about in Anglo-centric stories growing up and go, "ew, gross, what on earth are the Brits eating anyway?"  Clots are for blood, not for food.  Call anything "clotted" and you just don't have an appetite for it.

Don't let the name throw you.  This stuff is luxe, a true delight.  I found a brand called Rodda's which is excellent.  There is also some farmhouse stuff I get in my vege box from time to time that is quite good.  It's a specialty of the South West- Cornwall and Devon- and it is sometimes called Devonshire cream or Cornish cream.  

It's a richy fatty buttery cream spread.  The closest thing I could thing of would be Italian Marscapone cheese, but with a buttery crust.  

Traditionally, you serve it at tea time with scones for a classic "Cream Tea".  There is nothing better than slathering it on thick and topping with jam.  Or, if you are in Cornwall, you mangle this and put the jam on first and top it with the cream.  Either way, it is fantastically good.  English comfort food at its best.  

Scones are also one of those things that are super easy to throw together.  I usually make a batch for when we have guests, and pop them in the toaster whole to warm them up on demand.  I am a fan of berry scones, but it's still a little early in the season to go nuts and start baking with fresh berries.  What to do?  I used dried ones, reconstituted in hot water.  For this batch, I used a combination of strawberries and morello cherries.  You could go super-brit and use currants, or substitute frozen berries.  

Scones are not tricky, but working the dough as little as possible is key.  You don't want to kneed it like bread, but persuade it with the palm of your hand to hold together until it is just barely cohesive and not a moment more.  This will yield lovely airy flaky tender scones.  Work the dough too much and you'll get a lead puck.  

Recipe: Fruit Scones
yield: about 16 scones

150 g (3/4 cup) dried fruit
150 g (3/4 cup) butter, cold
500 g (2 cups) self-raising flour (or make it yourself with regular flour)
2 t baking powder
2 T sugar
pinch of salt
2 large eggs
4 T milk

If you are using dried fruit, soak the fruit in hot water to cover.  If using fresh, carry on!

Preheat the oven to 200c/400f.

Put the flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder in a bowl and whisk together with a spoon or a pastry blender.  Cube the cold butter and add to the flour; mix with your hands or the blender until it is crumbly in texture. 

In a small bowl, break the eggs and beat until blended.  Add the milk and beat until incorporated.  In the bowl with the flour, make a well in the centre and pour the egg mixture and begin to gently stir with a spatula, folding the drier outside edges in.  Drain the berries and add those once it starts to become cohesive, but its very important not to overmix.  If its looking very dry, add a splash more of milk.  

Turn the dough out on a lightly floured surface.  Pat it into an evenly thick mass, about 3/4 inch thick.  Use a biscuit cutter or a floured glass to cut perfect rounds out of the dough and place the scones on a baking sheet.  Now gather the cut-up dough, form another mass of even thickness and cut again.  Keep doing this until you have no more dough, or one giant lumpy misshaped scone at the end.  

Bake for 12-15 minutes, until the tops are golden and the perfume of baked goods lies heavy in the air.  

Serve while warm with clotted cream and jam or lemon curd and a pot of good tea.  

Buttery Pound Cake

 You there!  You need a good pound cake recipe!  

Everyone does.  It's simple, endlessly adaptable, and always good.  You can glaze it or frost it or smear it with clotted cream and jam, stud it with nuts and fruit, brighten it with berries.  It's really the best cake to have in your repertoire.   

"I hate pound cake", said no one ever.  

While the amount of butter that goes in makes your heart go pitter-pat, it has that unbeatable, dense buttery crumb with a caramelized browned top.   

This also freezes really well.  Cut it in half once it's cooled, wrap well in plastic and no one will be the wiser when you pull out the emergency cake.  More than a pound cake recipe, you will one day need emergency cake.  

It's fantastic with tea, it's great to make when you have peckish houseguests with no real idea what they might like, you could prick the tops with a toothpick and drizzle grapefruit syrup on it.  I get a little crazy just thinking about how many ways pound cake could be something novel or to fit an occasion or, say, a lover of rhubarb.  

In England, they call this Madeira cake.  I have no idea if this actually came from Portugal originally, but they put a stake with a union jack on top of this and called it their own.  Speaking of Port, you could reduce some port on the stove with sugar and make a nice alcohol glaze on top with a nod to its maybe-roots.

I've included some ideas for a few variations at the bottom, a la Mark Bittman, as he was always my inspiration for making things my own.  My photographed version:  I toasted a couple of tablespoons of sesame seeds, added a handful of candied ginger and lemon zest and I had an Asian-inspired one.

Recipe: Theme and Variations on a Pound Cake
makes enough cake for a sitting of 8, or 4 over 2 days or 2 over 4 days

240 grams (1 cup) butter, at room temperature
200 grams (scant cup) sugar (I use turbinado "raw" sugar, but caster or white sugar works)
juice of 1 lemon (optional, let's talk about other flavors below!)
3 large eggs, at room temperature
300 grams (2 1/2 cups) flour
1 t salt
1 Tablespoon baking powder

Preheat the oven to 170c/ 340f.  Butter and line with parchment a large loaf pan, or two small ones.  

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, salt and baking powder.

Cream the butter and sugar with a whisk.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Juice the lemon and add.   Switch to a spoon or a rubber spatula and gently begin to incorporate the flour, 1/3 at a time.  At this point, add whatever you'd like to add.  

Bake in the oven for about an hour, or when a toothpick comes out clean.  Let cool slightly, nibble away until it's gone.  

Some ideas for add-ins:

I'm sure we'll be seeing this cake again in disguise.  In this version I added 2 T sesame seeds, toasted, the finely chopped zest of the lemon, and about  75 g of sliced candied ginger for a zippy spice.  

You could very easily turn this into a lemon-poppyseed cake: double the lemon and zest and add two tablespoons of poppyseeds.

If you feel for berries, frozen or fresh- and this would be just lush dotted with raspberries, scented of rosewater and pistachio- measure out about 100 grams of berries.  Be sure not to beat them in too vigorously unless you want a pink cake.  In which case- give them a thrashing in the blender or by hand before adding them to the batter.  

Rhubarb Chutney

I am still happily embracing the bounty of rhubarb that comes my way.  It was interesting to watch it trickle down:  at the first hint of spring, it could only be had at upscale specialty vendors for way too much money.  By now with it being near-summer they are practically giving it away at Tesco and Lidl and every other chain grocery in the land.  I've taken advantage and stocked up.  

One of the things I've made recently with this glut of 'barb has been a chutney.  The Brits do love their chutneys, and I've come to embrace this (with relish!).  They are usually sweet-tart, quite chunky, and they pair them on all sorts of savory dishes.  Not that I eat a lot of meat, but a spicy tart rhubarb chutney pairs fabulously with any fatty piece you throw at it- pork tenderloin, ham, lamb, roast beef.  It would even do well smothered over a grilled chicken thigh.  Pairing fruit with savory is one of my favorite tricks.  If you don't eat meat?  This is lovely on fish, or added to a vegetable stir fry for a nice sour kick.  I don't normally advocate cooked cheese, but I would be all over this with a baked brie or Camembert.  You get the gist: anything fatty enough to feel guilty about, this will elevate.  

Plus, it's easy to throw together and it will freeze nicely.  You can put it in pretty jars and gift it if you are feeling generous.  

Recipe:  Rhubarb Chutney
Makes about 4 cups

200 g (1 cup) sugar
6 oz (1/2 cup) red wine vinegar
1 cinnamon stick
an inch-long piece of fresh ginger root, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons orange zest
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom

1060 ml (41/2 cups) coarsely chopped rhubarb  
180 ml (3/4 cup) dried currants (or raisins or sultanas)
4 green onions, chopped

Stir the first 6 ingredients together in a large pot over medium heat until the sugar dissolves and it begins to boil (and smell wonderful).  Add the last three ingredients and reduce to simmer and stir occasionally for about 4 or 5 minutes- the rhubarb should start to get soft but not so mushy to lose all texture.  

Let cool to room temperature before serving.  Keep covered in the fridge or freeze in small batches.