Spectator Life

There is a very particular fear that runs down your spine when you realise you've forgotten to buy a gift, be it for a birthday, Christmas or as a surprise for a special someone. Whatever the occasion, the same panic spreads through you, the social anxiety of knowing that you have failed in gift-giving etiquette, that you’re going to have to receive their present with nothing to hand over in return. Having learnt the hard way, this is why I like to have a little stash of homemade edible presents at home, ready to swerve such an occasion. Over the years I’ve done jams and jellies, fudges and toffees, little jars and crinkly cellophane bags, all bedecked with ribbons, ready to be doled out.

Hooray for Raymond Blanc for stating the absolutely obvious. He’s got an ITV series coming up, which, if I had a television, I’d be watching compulsively, called Simply Raymond Blanc. He’s an instinctively brilliant, self-taught chef, who really was a game changer on the Eighties restaurant and cookbook scene. And in an interview for the Radio Times he declared that Delia Smith was absolutely right to make use of convenience food in her most controversial cookbook, including frozen mashed potatoes. As he observed, ‘Delia Smith was the first TV chef to really simplify food. She was heavily criticised for using tinned and frozen food in her recipes, but she was absolutely right. ‘Take the frozen pea.

My casserole dish is seeing heavy use at the moment: with each day seeming colder than the last, a blipping stew sitting on the hob feels like a defence against midwinter. This week I’ve been making a variation on coq au vin: coq au riesling. As the name would suggest, coq au vin is a French dish, made by cooking chicken in wine. Traditionally, that ‘coq’ would be a cockerel, older and tougher than the chicken, but the slow braising in the liquor-rich sauce renders it tender and flavoursome. But then, traditionally, the dish would also use blood for thickening. Don’t worry: I’m not going to suggest you try to procure either an ageing rooster or a bag of blood. Some traditions are products of their time, and best consigned to it.

Our friend Colin is back in the news again. This time, it's not his name that has caused a storm – Colin's many fans may remember M&S filed an intellectual property claim against Aldi back in April in an attempt to stop them from selling their copy cat-erpillar Cuthbert. Rather, it's the suggestion that he may have been present at the Prime Minister's impromptu birthday party,  that is raising eyebrows. Like Prince, Madonna and Boris, in birthday party circles, Colin needs no second name, with over 15 million sales under his belt during his 30 year life. I’m only slightly older than Colin, and he’s been present at perhaps half the birthday parties I’ve ever attended, plus more than one wedding.

In 2014 I received a mystery phone call. It came from a French number but the voice sounded like a patrician Englishman from another age. It was a voice that you can imagine following into battle: 'Hello, it’s Anthony Barton here'. You might not know the name but to a wine lover, it was like taking a call from God. Barton, who died this week at 91, was the man behind Châteaux Léoville Barton and Langoa Barton, and his family were Bordeaux aristocracy. I was writing a book about the history of the British and wine, and had sent a message to the information at Langoa Barton email expecting at best to hear back from a PR representative, as had happened at Lynch-Bages. Instead, Anthony phoned me out of the blue.

Aside from Icelandic whale testicle beer and Korean wine made from baby mice, there are probably few drinks which the observation 'It's an acquired taste' is more applicable to than whisky.And with Burns night upon us, you can rest assured that there will be plenty of people who are already dreading the moment when the time comes to raise a glass in honour of Robert Burns, the 18th century 'heaven-taught ploughman-poet' whose birthday will be celebrated around the world on the night of January 25 with haggis, neeps - and, yes, whisky. Lots of whisky.

If these chocolate chip cookies are my only achievement for the entirety of last year's lockdown, I think I’ll be satisfied: crisp and buttery on the outside, fudgy and sweet within, with pools of dark chocolate, and just the right amount of salt. As ever, with baking, there are always substitutions you can make, if you don’t mind a slightly different (but still delicious) end product. Sub in the light brown sugar for dark brown sugar for an even deeper toffee flavour, or swap out the caster sugar for granulated or demerara. Strong white bread flour will work, if you can spare it, and rye or spelt flour will produce a damper but nuttier cookie (a delightful variation, in my books).

The humble pork pie has held its place in English culinary history for hundreds of years and now it finds itself embroiled in the latest Westminster plot to oust the Prime Minister. This iconic lunchtime staple may look simple to pull off but, just like the current political manoeuvres of SW1A, it's far from a small undertaking. Although crust pastry predates the pie itself, it wasn't pastry as we now know it, but a water-flour-oil mix used by the Romans to cover their meat during cooking. This protected the meat from burning during the cooking process and helped it retain moisture; it wasn't intended for consumption, and was discarded after baking.

I’ve said many times that I am not a food purist: I like shortcuts and variations, I have a massive soft spot for oven pizzas, and no time at all for those who are sniffy about prepared food or ingredients. I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by being categorical or dictatorial about food – what is the point in me insisting you cook your thick steak rare if you can’t bear to eat it that way? Eating and cooking should be about enjoyment, and I don’t get to decide what you do or do not enjoy, what is to your taste. So I try my very best to be flexible, to offer up alternatives, and not to make pronouncements from on high. However, I draw the line at shepherd’s pie.

They sparked the Crusades, built Venice, and spurred European colonialism. In many ways, spices and the spice routes along which they were traded, made the modern world. And how many other ingredients can make that claim? Not avocadoes, not goji berries, not truffle, no matter how fashionable. No, when it comes to historical importance, spices are in a league of their own. In medieval times black pepper was so valuable it was used as a currency, and worth its weight in gold. As an excitable Rick Stein explained on his journey around India in 2013, unscrupulous merchants in days gone by would cunningly cut the valuable pepper with mustard husks and even chimney sweepings to increase their takings.

Despite appearances, the word ‘Veganuary’ is not a part of the female anatomy – nor is it a venereal disease. It’s probably as irritating as the latter, however, and I dare say just as resistant to even the most powerful antibiotics. In case you are unfamiliar with this unsavoury neologism, its refers to an annual initiative, first launched in 2014, to get people to forgo meat, poultry, fish and dairy products for the first 31 days of the year. That’s right, it’s like an especially joyless form Dry January dreamt up for masochists – those seeking the black-belt in self-denial, and a sure-fire way to usher in the January blues. Despite this, it’s been more successful than you’d suppose.

There’s always a bit of a post-Christmas sag, isn’t there? The presents have been piled up but not actually put away yet, the tree is dropping needles like there’s no tomorrow, and those final bits and bobs of leftovers in the fridge aren’t looking terribly appealing (a weary parsnip and some withered peas do not a Christmas sandwich make). So it’s no surprise that the French have made sure there’s something to look forward to before we pack away the festive season for another year: the galette des rois. Named after the three kings of the nativity story, galettes des rois are traditionally eaten on 6 January, or Epiphany, the day that the magi were supposed to have visited Jesus in his stable.

It seemed a bit rough – and very American – when in 2006 That 70s show actor Wilmer Valderrama described (then) teen girlfriend Mandy Moore’s efforts in bed as good but not 'like warm apple pie'. Yet on an austere January evening on the other side of the Atlantic, I do wonder if nothing can really beat the comforts of a truly excellent pie. The anticipation of pushing a fork through the pastry. An oozing middle revealed. The steaming aromas that furl out. And that’s even before the embrace of the first mouthful, succulent savoury or sweet. As Margot Henderson, co-proprietor of Rochelle Canteen, one of London’s finest pie-making establishments, says: eating a pie is 'a little like unwrapping a present' and gosh in January there is a dearth of presents.

I’m entirely convinced that, when drunk in moderation, wine is good for us, with its benefits far outweighing its potential harm. It certainly reduces stress, a contributory factor in around a fifth of all heart attacks, and helps us socialise, raising our ‘feel-good’ dopamine and serotonin levels. All of which should make us think twice about a completely dry January, whatever the level of our festive indulgence. Red wines are high in chemical compounds such as resveratrol – an antibiotic agent and antioxidant which some studies suggest might play a part in protecting against heart attacks, strokes and cancer – and saponin, an antioxidant which might help reduce cholesterol.

Well, Christmas may be complete, but the festivities are far from over: the new year is just around the corner. As we stare down the barrel of the end of the decade, we’re not quite ready to give up the cheese board, the doorstep-sized leftover sandwiches, or remove our hand from the Quality Street box. But although the food might be the same post-Christmas, the tone of our eating has changed slightly. Christmas cooking (and eating!) can turn into a logistical marathon: juggling pans and hob space, reconciling wildly different cooking temperatures for items that need to be in the oven at the same time, catering to a raft of traditions and preferences, all of which need to be satisfied in this single, momentous meal. Preparing Christmas lunch can feel like a maths GCSE problem.

I’d always assumed that the hummingbird’s cake derived its name from its unapologetic sweetness: a cake so singing with fruit juice and soft caramelly sugar that it charms the (humming)birds from the trees. The origins may in fact be more prosaic: originally called the Doctor Bird cake, it was named after the national symbol of Jamaica, a type of hummingbird, only found on the island, and it first came to fame outside of Jamaica thanks to a bit of a PR stunt. It was a marketing tool, really: one of a number of recipes exported by the Jamaican Tourist Board in 1968 in little press packs sent to the USA.

As many of us are favouring small gatherings this year you’ll have lots of opportunity to break out the shaker and show what a cocktail hero you became during lockdown. The selection below contains festive recipes – read: drinks with lots of Champagne in them – a tactical low-ABV option for hosts needing to stay sharp for the long haul, and the perfect pick-me-up for New Year’s Day. So make sure you have all your ingredients ready ahead of time, stock up on far more ice than you think you need, and get those cocktail glasses in the freezer. Southside Royale The classic Southside is basically a gin sour with a little mint added for luxury.

Poke House last week opened four new restaurant sites in London. It is just the start of a fishy influx with the Californian-inspired poke bowl chain planning to open 15 London sites and 65 UK sites over the next year. It is little surprise; where West Coast America goes London soon follows. But the huge popularity of poke bowls has been entrenched for several years. In 2015 the LAist publication was already writing that 'The Poke Bowl Craze Is Getting Out Of Hand'. Six years on, poke’s staying power seems beyond doubt. Poke, for the uninitiated, means 'to slice or cut' in Hawaiian and consists of pieces of raw, marinated fish – usually tuna – that is tossed over rice and topped with vegetables and various vaguely-Asian sauces.

I’m going to keep this short, because if you have flung yourself into the festivities, or simply survived them, and are now sizing up piles of leftovers wearily and warily, the last thing you want to do is read a blog post. If that’s not the case, please feel free to trawl my archives and fill your boots. But it’s important not to waste valuable Quality-Street-eating or telly-gazing time on recipe-based mirth. So know this: this Leftovers Pie will save your Boxing Day. Here are the headlines: this dish is (a) easy, (b) delicious and (c) entirely adaptable according to what you have in the house. Got stuffing? Throw it in! Leftover roast potatoes? Squash them down and mix them through. A surplus of pigs in blankets?