Eurofrutta – blog

Relax gentleman, size doesn’t matter after all. Not when we’re talking about garden herbs it doesn’t, anyway. Indeed during these interminable winter months, what the punters wants is not something big, bulky and hard to swallow but something small and perfectly formed. I am, of course, talking about micro herbs.

For the last five years now, micro herbs, also known as micro leaves or micro greens, have been the vegetable of choice of many a leading London chef. Tom Aikens is a fan, Raymond Blanc grows them by the poly tunnel, and Gordon Ramsey, appropriately enough, swears by them.

If you’ve never heard of them, micro herbs are the shoots of standard salad plants, such as celery or coriander, that are harvested as soon as they have sprouted their first tiny leaves, as opposed to when they are mature. By being nipped in the bud – or just after anyway – these plants are believed to contain more nutrition than their older counterparts – and are considerably more tasty.

We’re not talking garnish here. We’re talking the brave new world of nutraceuticals – a world in which standard herbs and spices will look about as advanced in cuisine terms as an over-sized pepper pots in a pizza restaurant. Now shoots of fennel, broccoli, chard and red cabbage represent the fresh-tasting future. Rocket, celery, rhubarb and roots are all the rage.

Throw into the equation the fact that their Muji-like size makes them easy on the eye and handy to store and it’s impossible to ignore micro greens as the latest culinary must-have.

Now is a particularly good time of year to indulge in micro leaves, too, because they can be grown indoors at a time when there is not a lot on offer to pick outside. You can of course grow your own, but you need to tread carefully as parsnip seedlings, for example, are reputed to be harmful.

So this week why not think of the bigger picture, downsize and go micro green?

The first time I ever had a chilli was when I was 18 years old and working as a door-to-door salesman in Italy. In those days I could pretty much only afford one meal a day (which speaks volumes for my sales technique) but decided to chance the Pizza Atomica in a restaurant in Arezzo. After about two bites my mouth was hotter than Tahiti and tears were welling in my eyes – and not just because I knew I was going to go hungry again that night.

I vowed never to make the same mistake again, but in the 20-year interim I have in fact become a chilli addict. I am forever being told that I eat too much of it, the general consensus being that as I am vegetarian I need to spice up my boring meals with something hot and fiery. As a consequence, apparently I can’t even taste my food. Needless to say, this is utter nonsense.

I’m not saying that I’m not liberal with the odd drizzle of chilli oil here and there, or a daub of sauce or oil from time to time to give my meal a cheeky kick, but any self-respecting chilli connoisseur will tell you that, generally speaking and when used in the right quantities, far from disguising the taste of your food, chilli enhances it.
Of course too many of our red and green friends and the taste buds will be blitzed, but gradually, like most things in life, the more accustomed to them you become, the greater your tolerance. So the seasoned chilli-fiend can still enjoy the flavour of most dishes while enjoying that chilli hit.

That is the beauty of chilli. The reason it is so addictive is because as soon as you eat it, the brain produces endorphin, a natural painkiller that gives a natural rush – a feeling of mild euphoria. And, no, I don’t get out much these days.
I’m not saying that chilli goes with everything – those chilli-flavoured chocolate bars that are all the rage on the Continent, for example, are just plain wrong. They ruin the sweet luxuriant aftertaste that is the whole point of eating chocolate in the first place.

An old friend of mine and fruit and vegetable vendor, Bruno Fulgoni, was forever on at me that chilli was no good for the guts and perhaps he was just trying to get me to use his downstairs toilet, but as it turns out he was wrong, because chillies are one of the most nutritious foods you can eat. Here’s ten reasons why.

1. Chillies contain seven times more vitamin C than an orange.

2. Chillies are a source of vitamin A, B and E and include minerals such as molybdenum, manganese, folate, potassium, thiamin, and copper.

3. Chillies help keep you slim because they burn calories more easily. Try the Dorset Naga chilli – the hottest in the world – and you’ll lose weight alright. You’ll be in the can before you can say ‘D-arse-t’.

4. The beta-carotenoids in the Vitamin A and C in chillies contain powerful antioxidants, which destroy free radical bodies, which when untracked can damage nerve and blood vessels, build up cholesterol, or lead to other diseases such as cataract, osteoarthritis, rheumatoid arthritis and diabetes.

5. The Capsaicin in chillies has been found in laboratory tests to inhibit the growth of prostate cancer cells. In studies carried out on animals it was found that tumours got smaller when they were given doses of chilli. It appears that capsaicin causes cell death by attacking mitochondria – the respiratory centres of cells.

6. It has also been noted that vitamin C, beta-carotene and folic acid found in chilli – particularly the red pepper, which contains cartonoid lycopene, reduces the risk of colon cancer.

7. As well as helping remove waste product from our bodies chillies increase the supply of nutrients to the tissues.

8. Chillies act as an anti-biotic bringing fresh white blood cells and leukocytes to the site of infection, where they fight virusus.

9. The vitamin B6 and folic acid in chillies help fight against heart attacks and strokes. The vitamin B reduces high homocysteine level which has been shown to cause damage to blood vessels.

10. The Capsaicin in chillies also dilates the airway of the lungs which reduces asthma and wheezing and gives relief from nasal congestion by increasing the metabolism.

There are all myriad chillies out there on the market varying in type, flavour and heat, which is officially measured by Scoville heat units (SHU). The SHU scale normally ranges from 0-300,000. At the milder end of there are the Anaheim, poblanos (or anchos) and every day bell peppers, in the middle lie the jalapenos, cherry and Hungarian wax peppers and tipping the scale marked ‘hotter than Rosie Huntington Whiteley on a hen weekend’ are the fruity habaneros, piqu’ns (or bird peppers), Thai chillies and the aforementioned Dorset Naga – a chilli named after its county of provenance – is so hot that its growers, Joy and Michael Michaud, had to wear gloves to handle them. When measured the heat of the Dorset Naga was quite literally off the scale, measuring some 900,000 SHU. Stick that on your pizza and eat it.

With a week to go before Christmas most people have finally solved the riddle of where to actually spend it, although not without offending those family members who were spurned in their attempts to be hosts and are now feeling like Prince William and David Cameron, who foolishly thought they could land the 2018 World Cup without the traditional bung.

So if, like Mother Russia in eight years’ time, it is you who have bribed family members to make the journey through the driving snow to celebrate Jesus’ birthday at yours, what are you going to cook on the big day to meet their approval?

Now I may be vegetarian, but I know that some of you can’t contemplate a Christmas feast without sinking your jaws into some flesh. So against my better judgment I’ve done some research for you and recommend that this year you forget about turkey and go for the goose. Turkey is so last year. And the year before that. And the year before that come to think of it. Goose, meanwhile, is a departure from the norm and a richer, more succulent alternative. Furthermore, it serves less meat too. So does a nut roast, but even my veggie sensitivities wouldn’t stoop so low as to put you through that.

Anyway, the point is, when it comes to poultry, less is most definitely more. Due to its fattier flavour you don’t need eat so much goose as you do turkey and the bonus is that you won’t be bombarded with cold goose, goose sandwiches, goose soup or goose surprise for ever more afterwards either.

And any bright sparks who claim that goose is simply not traditional Christmas fare, can be put right too. Goose had always been the seasonal bird of choice on Christmas Day in England until Scrooge came along in A Christmas Carol (1843) and showed his new-found generosity by buying the Cratchits the biggest turkey in the butcher’s. Thereafter, every Englishman and his dog wanted a yuletide gobbler rather than a Christmas goose and Charles Dickens became the least popular person in the turkey community until Bernard Matthews came along.

Much like skinning a cat, there are many ways to cook a goose but should you wish to zing up your Christmas, why not give your goose some lemon zest? Once you’ve got your goose, get rid of the giblets and season it with lemon zest, parsley sprigs, thyme and sage (outside and in) and lightly score its skin and legs with a knife to help release the fat during roasting.

For a golden goose, heat your oven at 240C/fan 220C/gas 9 and brown your bird in a frying pan with two tablespoons of oil. Hold the legs, press firmly down on the breasts and try not to think of the good old days.

Next, glaze the goose in three tablespoons of honey, stick her in a roasting tin and let nature take its course, though you’ll need to reduce the heat to 190C/fan 170C/gas 5 after ten minutes or so. Also, keep checking in every 30 minutes or so, to baste the goose with pan juices, taking care to pour off the fat through a large sieve into a heatproof bowl. You can use this later for the potatoes and vegetables. And if you’re worried your bird is getting too brown, cover her in kitchen foil.

And then do the same with the goose…

It was with great pride that this Saturday afternoon my son Alex harvested his first potato crop. The story started some months earlier when I explained to my two-year-old how when a potato is placed in the ground at the right time of year a little bit later it produces lots of baby potatoes. I showed him how the red potato (Desiree) had started to shoot and even how to place it in the ground. I then continued to mow the lawn and left him digging happily in the mud.

I had completely forgotten about the potato until quite recently I noticed a new plant growing and flowering in the garden. My family’s many years’ involvement in the fruit and vegetable industry did not help me in the answer to the mystery plant until my son said two words in his ever-expanding vocabulary “DIG POTATO!”

How had I been so stupid? Of course he had planted the potato while I had been otherwise engaged and it had now grown and would soon be ready for harvesting. For the next few weeks we both watched the plant flower and then wilt waiting anxiously for the day when we would dig her up.Well this Saturday I took my garden fork and he took his hand spade and we dug up the plant. The excitement on his face as one by one we discovered potato after potato was a joy to behold. It truly was one of my happiest moments.

This has only encouraged us to attempt grander things next year, a tomato plant perhaps?

what the pluck?

I don’t know whether anyone caught the Saturday Kitchen on BBC One at the weekend but chef Marcus Wareing made an appearance to plug the opening of his new restaurant ‘Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley Hotel’, which opens on 15 September.

Wareing is such an accomplished chef that his culinary skills have helped earn London retaurant Petrus two Michelin stars and five AA rosettes. It was reassuring to hear Gordon Ramsey’s former protege talk about the importance of using in-season ingredients in his cooking while viewers also got the chance to observe the maestro in action as he rustled up an eight-minute concoction of braised halibut with watercress puree, coddled quails’ eggs and grilled baby leeks.

All was going swimmingly until Wareing suddenly produced a jug of chicken stock and chucked all 200ml of it onto the halibut. Chicken stock!

Now, he may be flavour of the month at Petrus, or the Berkeley, or whatever other posh London eatery have decided to line his pockets but to a one-time pescatarian, the sight of Wareing submerging fish in meat juice is like finding your wife in bed with your father – or worse still, a Tottenham fan. What on earth was he thinking? You could maybe understand it happening at a village b&b – the chicken stock/fish debacle that is, not your old man getting it on with your old girl routine, although come to think of it both are equally appropriate – but this is Marcus Wareing we’re talking about. Shame on you, Wareing!

All of which of course means that if a famous gourmet chef uses meat in his ‘fish’ dishes, then how many other times in the last 15 years have I been similarly duped? And, come to think of it, where on earth is my Missus? She should have been home hours ago.

The seabass wasn't half bad

In the current economic climate it may well be time to tighten the purse strings, batten down the hatches and cut down on the eating out. But try telling that to your better half on a gloomy Sunday night when you’ve been off playing golf all day. So this weekend we made our way to the High Road Brasserie in Chiswick.

House wine
Now someone once told me that you can judge a good restaurant by the quality of its house wine, so when the maitre d’ confessed to me that their house red wasn’t quite up to scratch I was left processing a multitude of thoughts. Did this mean that the restaurant was crap, was my host trying to make me fork out more for a pricier vintage or was i just being offered an honest answer to what an indiscreet question. Answers on a postcard please? Or maybe just on a post.

Malbec 2006
Personally, I will always rather spend a few quid extra on a decent tipple than endure a rubbish vino and this time around I was grateful to my host because the Malbec recommended went down very well indeed. I still don’t understand why you would stock a house red that’s no good but then neither do I understand why you would put aubergine parmigiana on the menu of a French restaurant. The fact that I ordered it was a basic schoolboy error on my part because you don’t go to a French restaurant to eat Italian food.

Pea soup
I did realize my mistake at the time but, as in most French restaurants, I was hardly inundated by vegetarian options, which essentially amounted to pea soup or a vegetable tart of some description. The chef at the High Street Brasserie may well be to vegetable tarts what Ben Ainslie is to sailing but that doesn’t mean I want to give it a go. As for my dish, it was doughy, dour and unremarkable.

1940s vibe
Still, the High Road Brasserie is not a vegetarian restaurant and it is a very pleasant place to while away a few hours. The atmosphere and service are both stylish and slick, the lighting low and accommodating, the decor giving off something of the 1940s Parisien vibe. As I mentioned the wine, a 2006 Malbec, was w

ell worth the £24 I shelled out for it, while my dinner companions both enjoyed their tuna and sea bass dishes. By the way, I know you’re supposed to order white wine with fish but all three of us prefer red – so there.

Good fish
I was particularly envious of Sarah, who had a massive, mouthwatering tuna steak, which came rare and accompanied by a succulent tomato topping. The sea bass was also well-received – even if it did look as though it has just been fished out of the Thames, cleaved in half and slapped unceremoniously on to the plate while still in the final stages of rigamortis. We all shared tasty spinach, soggy fries and a crisp salad as side orders and finished our meal off with a dark chocolate mint mousse, which was overly rich and minty for my tastes.

Verdict:
All in all, at £35 a head it was a pleasant enough couple of hours – but I’d advise any vegetarians considering popping in to take the High Road.

Review:
High Street Brasserie: