Spectator Life

I don’t often find myself longing for the industrial rigours of a factory when I’m baking in my kitchen at home. But as I patted the squiggle of fig paste with wet hands, corralling it into a rough sausage shape I thought ruefully of Charles Roser of Philadelphia and his patent for a fig roll machine. In the late nineteenth century, poor digestion was thought to be the cause of a number of wider ailments and, as with breakfast cereal, biscuits were seen as an aid to digestion – and figs, of course, were a particularly digestion-friendly fruit. Brought over from Britain to America, the fig roll tended to be made by hand in small batches.

If you're sick to death of Deliveroo, it’s time to take a look at the meat box. Forget vegan meats and plant-based pretenders. It’s dark and wet and we’re all stuck indoors — there’s no point making ourselves any more miserable. Steakhouses and brasseries have been moving their menus online and into cardboard boxes, with a bit of home prep involved to ensure it's fresh on the plate. We’ve all got used to the idea that you can order anything over the internet — but there’s still something faintly thrilling in opening up an innocuous package and finding a Sunday roast staring back at you. And it seems bored Brits are warming to the idea of prep at home restaurant food: over the last 12 months, sales are up more than 92 per cent.

I am an unapologetic pudding pusher. Now, by pudding, I don’t simply mean that more people should eat dessert – although I do think we might feel a little more sweetly-disposed towards others if that were the case – but the peculiarly British tradition of steamed sponge puddings. Once terribly popular, now they are criminally underrepresented in the pudding canon. But for me, they are king. Far from their reputation of being dense or heavy – stodgy – proper steamed puddings are airy, fluffy, by far lighter than most cake sponges.

Venison’s attributes are remarkable. It is the probably the most sustainable meat you can eat, given the unquestionable need to manage the country’s deer population to stop these elegant but pesky creatures from damaging woodland and wildlife habitats. And what of its health credentials? The deer’s free-foraging, cross-country roaming lifestyle makes it incredibly lean: higher in protein and lower in fat than any other meat, with zero cholesterol. Ethically minded chefs and environmentalists have long been making the case for us to eat more venison, and more game generally. The Countryside Alliance’s ‘Game-to-Eat’ campaign has been banging the drum for years.

If I could pinpoint the the moment last March when I could no longer pretend that lockdown wasn’t coming, it was the phone call from my favourite neighbourhood restaurant cancelling our Mother’s Day booking. The rising terror I felt was akin to the bit in The Handmaid’s Tale, just after women’s bank accounts have been frozen, but before the summary executions begin. Instead of drinking blood orange Bellinis, I’d be cooking the usual Sunday lunch, with possibly a bit of grudging help loading the dishwasher, before embarking on half a year of home school hell. Restaurants and foodie businesses have been busy reinventing themselves for the Covid era ever since then.

St David’s Day approaches. I’ve been marking just about every high day and holiday that I possibly can recently, in a bid to differentiate my lockdown days. But with a Welsh husband and Welsh in-laws, I don’t need any extra encouragement to celebrate St David’s Day. Joining the obligatory Welsh cakes, and possibly some bara brith, this year is the Glamorgan sausage. If you’re thinking ‘what the hell is a Glamorgan sausage?’, then come over and join me in my corner, it’s cosy here, and we have snacks. I confess that when I first decided to make glamorgan sausages, I wasn’t 100 per cent sure what they actually were. It’s a vegetarian sausage, but not the Linda McCartney variety.

Now that there's a chill in the air and it's getting dark at 4pm, it's time to turn to those comforting winter staples that get us through the bleaker months of the year. And with lockdown 2.0 in full swing, we have never needed these satisfying dishes more: Braised lamb shanks Lamb shanks are one of my favourite cuts to braise. When it comes to meat, braising is great for cooking tougher cuts – like shanks, but also the shoulder, neck and shortribs. It breaks down the connective tissues in the muscles; it’s this connective tissue that makes the meat chewy if cooked hot and fast. If cooked slowly, the connective tissue turns into gelatine, making the meat soft and tender – and also gives body to the sauce that forms around the meat, making it rich and luscious.

I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it a little hard to get out of my own head, these days. I’m trying not to think about how long life has felt stalled, how many days we have spent inside the same four walls, save for a daily constitutional, how many more we have to do. Those projects of early lockdown – jigsaws, learning a new language, finally reading Moby Dick – have lost their allure. There’s little to define the days, or break them up; the weekends feel the same as the weekdays. In an attempt to get close to culinary mindfulness (or mindlessness, I really don’t mind) I’ve found myself reaching for dishes that don’t require a lot of thinking, but do need attention.

No-one is born knowing how to poach an egg. Indeed, the technique is hardly intuitive: the addition of a little vinegar, whisking the water to create a swirling vortex. Just as golfing enthusiasts barred from hitting the links have resorted to putting practice in their living rooms, a lazy lockdown weekend feels like an ideal time to perfect classic cooking techniques. Here are six to try. Spinning sugar Spun sugar is a guaranteed way of achieving collective ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from assembled guests at your next dinner party. Playing around with burning hot sugar is however the sort of thing that can tip you over the edge should you attempt it unpractised whilst trying to make polite conversation with the in-laws between courses.

Next Tuesday the banal humdrum of lockdown life will be interrupted, however briefly. No longer the sad, soggy Weetabix while listening to the daily hospitalisation numbers or Special K eaten at your makeshift desk. No, even if just for a couple of hours, next Tuesday is an opportunity to block out the Outlook calendar and have some fun in the kitchen. Shrove Tuesday. Pancake Day. It’s a funny old thing. We don’t have a celebratory day dedicated to trifle or sticky toffee pudding (though we should). Of course there’s logic to our scoffing our faces with pancakes on this day preceding Lent—it was traditionally the way to use up rich foods such as eggs, butter, milk and sugar before the fasting began.

In Britain, we mark the beginning of Lent with pancakes. Although nowadays relatively few of us strictly observe the Lenten dietary traditions which prohibit the eating of dairy and meat in the lead up to Easter, we happily leap on the annual opportunity to eat breakfast for dinner: sales of lemons and caster sugar soar, and we delight in filling ourselves full of pancakes. But pancakes are not the only Lenten final hurrah: the semla bun is the Scandinavian favourite. Following the same logic as pancakes, the buns are designed to eat up the dairy ingredients which would have been prohibited by Lent religious laws.

As we’re all doing Valentine’s Day at home this year it’s well worth breaking out the cocktail shaker to make the occasion feel special. This selection of drinks, each more romantic than the last, should do the job nicely. Air Mail A glamorous little cocktail that harks back to the 1940s, when the fastest way to send a love note around the world was by plane. This has a lot in common with the classic French 75, but brings a sense of holidays and warm weather with it that’s quite charming. The combination of rum and sparkling wine might sound like a reach but grassy Havana Club (£21.45 – The Whiskey Exchange) makes great friends with a nice dry fizz. 35ml Havanna 3yo Anejo Blanco 15ml honey syrup.

This week I decided to bring all the fun of the fair into my kitchen and make churros. Churros are a dough enriched with butter and eggs, that are piped into lengths and fried in very hot oil until crisps and light. There’s nothing quite like the smell of sweet, hot dough, frying. In the days when I used to churn out hundred of doughnuts overnight in our small kitchen for events, I’d crawl to bed in the small hours of the morning, wearing the distinctive perfume of that pastry. There are different types of fried dough all over the world – bombolini, beignets, gulab juman, yum yums, funnel cakes – all seeking to satisfy that universal craving for hot, fried dough.

‘Many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese--toasted, mostly’: such is the power, the appeal of cheese on toast that when Ben Gunn is found, having been marooned on the eponymous island for three years, his longing for cheese on toast is one of his first statements. When I find myself considering the possibility of another round of Welsh rarebit, it’s reassuring to remember that not only has such a craving been immortalised in fiction from over a century ago, but that the thought of cheese on toast can sustain a shipwrecked man. It makes my Sunday evening hankering for Welsh rarebit seem quite reasonable. Of course, Welsh rarebit is no simple cheese on toast.

Alas, the latest instalment of Bond has been pushed back yet again to the autumn of 2021. So what are die hard 007 fans to do for nine months while their patience is tested by Covid delays yet again? A tipple from Bond's drinks cabinet might be just the thing to help the months pass. Although No Time to Die – the 25th film in the 007 canon – is set to be Daniel Craig’s final appearance as our man with the Walther PPK, you can rest assured that it won’t be Bollinger’s. Bolly, you see, has been the preferred fizz – the Official Champagne, no less – for the celluloid Bond since its first ice bucket outing in Moonraker in 1979.

This February 14th might be the one night of Lockdown 3.0 when it’s no hardship to have to stay at home. Who really wants to go to a restaurant on Valentine’s Day, full of couples who never usually speak to one other? The food is invariably as naff as a Forever Friends foil balloon; everything comes drizzled with pink coulis and at some point you’ll be offered a single red rose for your beloved which has been flown half-way round the world, stiffened with chemicals and devoid of scent. But nor should you think of cooking — bar a bit of finishing off here and there. So don’t say it with flowers, say it with one of these divinely decadent food deliveries.  My bloody Valentine Hawksmoor At Home have surpassed themselves with their Valentine’s box.

I often find myself turning to lemon-filled recipes in January. I think it’s something my baking subconscious realises before I do - that cold, dark days require the antithesis, something bright and bold, something cheering. You know what they say: when life gives you lemons, make lemon meringue pie.  Unlike its austere, pared back French cousin, the tarte au citron, the lemon meringue pie is never going to be a subtle pudding: a lurid, chartreuse centre hidden by big billows of toasted meringue, piled ludicrously, disproportionately, toweringly tall. It quivers and wobbles on the plate, crisp and firm on the outer edge, giving way to a marshmallowy interior. But that’s the point isn’t it? It isn’t sophisticated or chic or cool.

Beef Stroganoff has had its heyday: terribly popular with both restaurant chefs and dinner party hostesses of the 1950’s to 70’s, I can’t remember the last time I saw it on a menu or dinner table. It’s been relegated to buffet dishes and ready meals, beige and bland, insipid and gloopy. It sits in canteen chafing dishes, or is blitzed in the microwave, until it’s rubbery, grey, congealed. No wonder we don’t think of it fondly. Of course, that’s not how it should be.  True beef Stroganoff is a treat: punchy and rich, with a silky brandy-spiked sauce made from beef stock, sour cream and mustard, covering sautéed onions and mushrooms and impossibly tender, rare meat. It’s a luxury dish, made with expensive cuts.

You would be forgiven for not wanting to go full veganuary in early 2021 despite what all those healthy eating gurus suggest. A period of gentle moderation is far more realistic, especially in lockdown.  Fortunately there's an array of healthy delivery options to help you on your way, none of which compromise on taste. Gone are the days of diet shakes. As these delivery options prove, you can be mindful of your health and still dine like a king.  Gauthier Home Alexis Gauthier remains very much in the vanguard with his commitment to sophisticated, inventive gastronomic vegan food with a different theme each month. Currently he is showcasing Japanese plant based cuisine with its emphasis on texture and umami. His food is sensational.

January 2021 looks set to be a little duller than your average. And that's before many of us take on the traditional new year’s detox. Luckily, the drinks world has upped its game significantly on the low-and-no alcohol front of late, so cutting back doesn’t mean giving up on fun. Here are some of the best options for a dry – or perhaps just a little less wet – January. Teas and Kombuchas When we taste fermented food and drinks we’re experiencing a whole world of micro fauna in all its chemical complexity. It’s why wine tastes so much better than grape juice. Until recently the only fermented drinks consumed in these parts were of the boozy variety but this has started to change.