A FOOD CRITIC’S FEAST

So you might be wondering what has happened to my rich diet of exotic foods and even wondering if Ihave given up my gastronomic delights. Nothing could be further from the truth,
far from it in fact. But every now and again I feel the need to squash the received impression that I live on a diet of champagne and caviar. Even if I could afford that it would be far from my chosen diet. I love simple home cooked dishes, the stuff that mum made when money was tight. Take egg and chips for instance, what could be more satisfyinig than a plate of good home fried chips with a brace of quality fried eggs?

I knew that faggots would be the answer

I always cook for myself at home, seldom if ever resorting to ready meals, and I reckon I can prepare a decent supper in about the same time as it takes to warm one in the oven. Pasta – childs play, risotto – a soothing passtime, a good salad enforces that need to feel virtuous from  time to time and a bowl of hot home-made soup is easy to create in no time whatsoever. Yes I hear you say, that’s all well and good but it’s easy for you, after all you are only cooking for one.

Well let me tell you that it takes virtually the same time to slap four chops under the grill and four potatoes in the oven as it does to do just one. It’s the same with shopping, it takes me as long to shop as itmight take you to shop for you and your brood.

I will admit that cooking is my favourite pastime and and I am never happier then when I am in my kitchen being creative or simply rustling up a fish finger sandwich. This weekend I was confined to barracks with a sore knee. I think the doc thought that laughter was the cure because when he suggested bed rest I almost wet myself laughing. Anyway I was stuck at home and hungry, so I had a delve in the freezer and pantry to see what I could conjure up from store-cupboard favourites. There I found some chicken livers and some pork. I knew there was some stale bread in the cupboard and fresh sage in the garden so it took no time for me to work out that faggots would be the answer. I’m lucky and have a proper mincer attachment so the process was easy. With equal weights of the two meats and a similar volume of bread crumbs and a beaten egg and I was ready to go. I had no caul fat but the egg bound them well enough and 45 minutes later after braising in an enamel dish of chicken stock I had six plump beauties that saw me through the weekend and beyond. With potato wedges and frozen peas it was a traditional taste of childhood, warming in every sense and hardly any trouble. I love restaurants but this week I dined in!