Bury Black Pudding

Going back two or three generations, East Anglia is my ancestral home. My grandfather maintained that we could (loosely) trace our lineage back to that most famous nuisance Wat Tyler, leader of the Peasants' Revolt.

In that sense, since moving back to Cambridge, I've returned 'home'.

But I was born and bred in the North West. My accent may be softening (or non-existent) but I still feel an affinity for this part of the country.

There are a few culinary traditions that seem to be unique to the region: Eccles cakes (a flaky pastry cake housing a lightly spiced and tightly packed collection of raisins), Lancashire oven bottoms (a soft bread roll), chip barmcakes (said bread roll stuffed with chips and possibly a splash of thick gravy. Carb-tastic) and black pudding.



There are many variations of 'blood sausage': Spanish Morcilla, French Boudin Noir, or the Boudin Rouge from Louisiana. But the best come from the large Lancashire market town of Bury ('Buh-reh') just north of Manchester.

Made with pigs' blood, thickened with oats and pork fat, it is then spiced, stuffed into natural casings and steamed, transforming the colour from a vibrant red to the familiar black.

They are then left to cool before being sold in large slices or the famous horseshoe shape.

Before consuming, they must be cooked again either gently boiled or fried in a little butter.



Which is what I did this morning. Along with a couple of rashers of bacon and a fresh egg. Not the healthiest way to start the day but a hell of a lot tastier than a bowl of muesli.

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Interfering Kittens

I am without the entire middle line of my keyboard.

Not right now, obviously. I am on a different 'puter. But my aged iMac continues to skirt dangerously close to utter breakage.

I came home last week and the familiar shimmer of liquid was evident on the desk. Damn. Not only that but the keyboard was nothing short of damp. Damner.

'Quick, turn it off and get it onto the radiator,' said my techno-guru (The GF). 'The same thing happened to me at work and I managed to fix it that way.'

No such luck.

I tried taking off all the keys and laying them neatly on the desk. In order. Perhaps unsurprisingly they didn't stay in order very long thanks to inquisitive kitten paws.

I am unaware of any cat prey that looks like an Apple key but perhaps I've just never seen the fabled MacBird.

Anyway. Aside from not having the use of any of the following letters - a s d f g h j k l - Jed seems to have run off with my F5 and 'Shift' keys and hidden them somewhere for later consumption. I quite enjoyed using capital letters.

Major annoyance.

Anyway. Much to come when I get a new keyboard: Two N3T posts, something about 'mother-dough', something about cooking in the kitchen of the future and a whole host of other delights.

Right now I'm off to score some kidneys - a request from Laura over at Tiramisu. I knew it would happen eventually but I was trying to put them off for as long as possible because they make me pull a face like this:



They are my own personal 'heart of darkness'.

Bleurgh.

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Vodka Tonic

This is the ultimate drink.

The gratification that this simple concoction offers is near instantaneous. It is refreshing, gentle enough to drink more than three (unlike Martinis) yet in possession of an allure that belies its simplistic nature.

By definition, vodka is the purest spirit. I often find gin too perfumed, too aromatic. This may be part of its attraction. But not for me.

Usually all that goes into the glass is a squeeze of lime, a squeeze of lemon, plenty of ice, 50ml of vodka and a generous fizz of tonic water.

Like many people, I still remember my first time. Vividly. I was sixteen, wide-eyed and working in Toronto for my cousin’s magazine. We were in the Rivoli Bar, just off Queen St.

‘What can I get you?’ he asked
‘Erm, I don’t know. What are you having?’
‘I’ll get you a vodka tonic,’ he replied knowingly.

Every one takes me back:

The effervescence on the nose. The sweet bitterness of the quinine. The sour citrus hit. And the warming glow of the vodka. They still taste of dwindling innocence and suppressed excitement.


[Caution: Retro 80s style photography alert]

Often necessity is the mother of invention. We were out of lemons and limes but it had been one of those days. A real stinker. The cucumber looked slightly sad but strangely expectant.

And it really worked. Perhaps not quite as refreshing as the sharpness of citric acid but it added something else. Something worth repeating.

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Pizza

Things seem to have got a bit ‘bakery’ recently what with oatcakes, flatbreads and Italian style tray bread. You’ve not been complaining though, so I’ll take that as a good sign.

The situation will be rectified shortly and there is a belated Nose to Tail Tuesday on the way as well as some cheeky nibbles.

In the mean time here is the final (for now) piece on what to do with bubbling masses of sourdough that I've been nurturing as it gradually expands and develops its own unique characteristics.

(I will post about making the actual mother dough next week)



When people refer to pizza as fast food they are normally talking about the sort that comes in a cardboard box with a base as thick as a telephone directory and all sorts of toppings that would probably make even Tony Soprano weep.

But there is another way.

Along with the swamp of dough that sits in the fridge, I try to keep a batch of tomato sauce on hand either frozen or refrigerated (gently fry a couple of shallots or a small onion in a little olive oil, add some chopped garlic, a little balsamic vinegar and two tins of tomatoes. Let it simmer for an hour or so, add a little oregano and seasoning and you have a tomato sauce fit for a king and a multitude of uses).

If you have these two things available you are only ten minutes away from a fresh pizza, and that’s quicker than any Dominos delivery.

Crank your oven up to full (about 225-250 degrees C) and get a dry frying pan hot. Roll out a handful of dough until it is the size you want and about half a centimetre thick. Try not to get it too evenly rolled, you want some discrepancies - they add to the flavour and character of the finished pizza.

Cook one side of the dough in the hot pan until it starts to blister slightly. What you are doing here is replicating the scorching temperatures on the base of a genuine Italian pizza oven – it will give you sublime flavour and a wonderful crispness.



Place on a tray and cover with a little tomato sauce, whatever toppings you want (I usually keep it simple and go for mushrooms, maybe some red onion and a few roasted peppers – basically whatever you have left in the ‘fridge!).



Top with cheese and get it into the oven. It should take no more than seven or eight minutes until the edges start to crisp up, the cheese starts to bubble and the whole lot begins to look like deliciousness defined.

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Hummus and Flatbreads

If you are ready and willing, I’d like to let you in on a little secret.

Ready? Good

Willing? Excellent.



Here we go: you never need to buy another flatbread, pita bread, wrap, tortilla or naan bread ever again.

They are so easy to make, so very tasty, so incredibly fast and so extraordinarily cheap that it makes almost no sense to buy them.

Before I started keeping a ‘mother dough’ in the fridge, I used to make flatbreads with a simple flour and water dough, flavoured with a little salt and olive oil (about 250g of bread flour, 150ml of warm water and seasoning to taste).



Within five minutes it was possible to have a steaming pile of hot, blistered flatbreads ready to be torn apart by hungry guests and dipped into garlicky hummus or wrapped round a spicy lamb kofta.

Now all I do is tear a small handful of dough from the bubbling mass in the fridge, incorporate a little extra flour to make a workable dough, roll extra thinly and cook for 30 seconds on each side in a hot, dry, frying pan.

For pita breads, after the dough has been rolled, fold it over on itself once, then once again to trap a layer of air in the dough. Roll it out and cook as above. It should puff up like a little pillow as steam gets trapped inside the bread. Perfect for slicing open and stuffing with falafel, salad and tzaiki .

We cook these a lot. Brushed with olive oil and sprinkled with salt, they are an ideal snack and near impossible not to eat whilst they are still too hot.



Dipped in hummus, too, they are wonderful. Blitz a tin of chickpeas, some of the reserved water, two cloves of garlic, olive oil and seasoning in a food processor and you have an insta-lunch.

I tend to sprinkle a little smoked paprika over the top as well, just to add a slight warmth and depth of flavour. Just delicious.

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