Spectator Life

Diwali, which falls this year on November 14th, is a festival of family, fireworks and food. Here are the dishes to try to keep the Diwali flame alive in a Covid winter. Covid has already put paid to regular Diwali celebrations. It was inevitable: eight people around the table to tuck into a Christmas turkey is one thing; a Diwali gathering involving your typical Asian extended family— aunts, uncles, fourth cousins and all—is quite another. But, as a festival celebrating the triumph of light over darkness, we should all get in on the cheer and do our best to salvage the festivities by rustling up some celebratory food.

I have always been a bit of a stew-pusher; it tends to be my answer to any of life’s dilemmas, culinary or otherwise. Friends coming round? Stew. Cold and dark outside? Stew. Feeling sad? Stew. To be honest, it doesn’t matter whether or not the weather demands it, I am always in the mood for stew. I’d eat mince and dumplings in June, a slow-cooked sticky oxtail ragu in high Summer. But once Autumn arrives, and my obsession is legitimised by the cold and the dark evenings, there’s no stopping me. In our household, it’s casseroles from now until Spring. I struggle to think of something more comforting and cosy than a big, generous dish of braised meat, tender vegetables and a beautiful sauce arriving at the table.

Oh the avo. The fruit that launched a thousand tweets. This millennial Holy Grail has done more to divide generations than anything save perhaps Brexit. It has been three years since Australian property developer Tim Gurner became a hate figure for suggesting in a TV interview that it was not economic difficulty that was keeping millennials from getting on the housing ladder but a tendency to spend $19 on smashed avos for brunch. Millennials vented their anger in the only way they know how—by twitter tirade. Perhaps it would have been more fitting to pelt Tim with over-ripe avos for his audacity. To eat avocado on toast in public is now as bold and unequivocal a statement one can make on their position in the contemporary culture wars.

Long before we pick up the tongs and crack open the first of seventeen-or-so stubby beers we have to ask the big question; charcoal or gas? The debate over which fuel is best can take on almost tribal dimensions, fraught with foodie orthodoxy. In truth, both camps have their good points and choosing between them is mostly about deciding what barbecuing means to you. In a rush? The great British barbecue tends to see us throwing sausages on the grate while we keep a wary eye on the great British weather. With a gas grill you can get your cooking surface up to temperature quickly, grill for hours without worrying about maintaining a steady heat, and have no ashy mess to contend with when you’re done.

The legacy of Greek antiquity extends to the country’s cuisine. One eats there as the Ancients would have done—Greek yoghurt and honey for breakfast, simply-cooked fish and cold wine for lunch and supper—as one reclines languidly on the klinai couch, grapes dangling from the mouth, like Dionysius and Adephagia. Greek food can sometimes be disparaged as crude and one-dimensional: the runt of the Mediterranean litter, overshadowed by the glorious culinary traditions of France and Italy. But, for me, its beauty lies in its simplicity. And while it is often familiar it is simultaneously unexpected: fat olives in spectacular Greek salads, but also acerbic caper leaves. Feta crumbled atop everything, but baked too with aubergines and peppers.

If you’re a coffee lover and can’t comprehend mornings without a strong cup, now might be the perfect time to invest in a machine that will stand the test of time. After all, it’s going to be a while before we can rely on a barista to whip us up a cup on the way to work. Bean to Cup Machines These machines take roasted coffee beans and grind them for you, pouring water through the ground beans and into a drip pot or a cup below. Often the more expensive coffee machines, as they have more moving parts and automate some of the process for you. Filter Coffee Machines You will be familiar with these kinds of machines and will have probably comes across them in one way or another in the past, either in the home or office.

Are toasties the ultimate comfort food? For me, they have to be in the top three at the very least. Toasties mean late nights or early suppers; they mean eating in the kitchen, standing up, or sitting on the sofa, probably in your pyjamas; they mean picking the little bits of escaped melted cheese from the pan before you plate them. They mean waning hangovers and catch-ups with close friends; they mean solitude and they mean company; they mean ease and speed, a direct route to something crisp and hot and oozing. But crucially, toasties are completely delicious. They don’t rely on nostalgia (although I have plenty of nostalgia for them) to deliver their comfort, they aren’t bland nursery food, or esoteric family favourites. Toasties hold their own.

If, like me, you’re thinking longingly of the days spent drinking with friends in some of London’s finest establishments – then worry no longer, here are some of best ways to enjoy your afternoon tipple from the comfort of your own home. There’s never been a better time to get into whisky – and Milroy’s has you covered. This Soho gem is shipping its finely curated whisky collections to your door. A simple online order brings you the best from around the world – Scotch from the Highlands, Lowlands, Speyside, Islay and Campbelltown; Bourbon and rye from the United States; and a host of other malts from Japan, Sweden, Australia, South Africa and more.

Over the last few weeks of lockdown, I've found myself going through a number of different cooking emotions: normally a form of solace, something I turn to in times of crisis, it has become a little more complicated. I already knew I was privileged to have a well-stocked kitchen, radio 4 burbling away in the background, as I pottered about making whatever came into my head that day, but I don't think I'd considered how stabilising the time I spent in there was. When the pandemic first came to Britain, I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place: not wanting to stockpile and deprive others, while also not knowing whether, if forced to quarantine, I'd have enough in to keep us going for a fortnight.

London feels very different from the city it was a few weeks ago. Restaurants are closed, the tubes are empty save for key workers, and Soho is a ghost town. We can’t eat out, or go to bars or pubs; many are struggling to get hold of even basic supplies, like eggs and flour. But a number of food businesses have shown extraordinary tenacity, ingenuity and spirit in the way they have dealt with the daily changes to our lockdown situation, manipulating their business models, and pivoting to delivery services. We’ve collated a list of independent food stores or producers who are delivering in London at the moment. Please visit individual suppliers for delivery time estimates, as most are slightly longer than normal due to the current Covid-19 situation.

Continuing in the vein of the last couple of weeks of Vintage Chef columns, this week’s recipe is designed to make the most of common ingredients, and give maximum reward for minimum effort with these incredibly simple flatbreads. Last week, I wrote about the joy that baking can bring even in adverse circumstances, how it remained a source of solace to me in this brave new world. These flatbreads are joyful (warm, pliable, smoky from the griddle), but when I make them, I tend not to be seeking joy as much as stability. These flatbreads require so little: no yeast, no proving time, no kneading – they don’t even need an oven. And it takes – from bag of flour to stuffing it in your mouth – about ten minutes.

In the midst of the greatest threat to individual liberty – not to mention health and livelihood – that most of us have experienced in our lives, it is a sad inevitability that the hospitality industry has taken the first economic hit. What we don’t know at the moment is if this is a recoverable, if irritating, situation that can be overcome with patience, good humour and forbearance, or if it spells the end of many of the interesting drinking and dining options that we have in this country. Yet there is something that individuals can do to support their local restaurant rather than simply writing posts of solidarity on social media (and those help, too).

Not only are the supermarkets running out of bread, bananas and bog roll, the wine is taking a pounding too. And if you want anything delivered, well, good luck with that. Early May is probably the soonest you’ll get a slot. Let us wine lovers thank heavens, then, that the independents are showing true Blitz spirit and are delivering across the UK every day during these strange times. Tom Ashworth of Yapp Bros tells me that they’re up 200 per cent on this week last year and are busier in the warehouse than they were at Christmas.

I’ve spent the last few days wondering whether it is frivolous to give you a cake recipe at a time like this. But I’ve finally come to the conclusion that, actually, it’s probably more important than ever. Baking is a source of comfort and joy, both for those doing the baking, and for the recipients, and to willfully lose something like that when we face uncertainty and challenges, when many of our other sources of comfort and joy have been at least temporarily restricted, is sad. Having a simple cake recipe up your sleeve is reassuring – a taste of normality. I’ve gone for a cake which relies on store cupboard staples, one which you might recognise from school dinners: raspberry and coconut traybake.

We live in interesting times. Given the recent government guidance on not leaving the house for unnecessary reasons, the run on supermarkets, the advice to avoid restaurants and pubs, we’re all looking at food preparation rather differently. Whether you are quarantined because you’re symptomatic, self-isolating because you’re vulnerable, or social distancing to protect those who are at high risk, there are ways to inject flavour and interest without having every possible ingredient or convenience at our fingertips. This is not the reboot of Ready Steady Cook we were all hoping for, but with so few things within our control, being able to handle ingredients and turn them into something wonderful is reassuring and hopeful.

The coronavirus lockdown means we’re under strict orders from the Prime Minister not to head down to our local for a pint and to avoid social get togethers wherever possible. So why not start a new trend and share a digital drink with your friends? Here’s how to pull it off: 1. Get online Google Hangouts is great for group video calls, as is Zoom (free for the first 45 minutes) or, if you have access to it through work, Microsoft Teams. New app Houseparty is also a popular choice with young people and has been picking up users very quickly since lockdown was announced. Simply agree a time, send out the invites and off you go.

I don’t like one-use kitchen gadgets. Well, that’s not true, I do like them actually. I love them. I am drawn to them in those little catalogues that come through the door, brimming with plastic and promise, like a magpie. But my small kitchen doesn’t love them. My overflowing drawers and crowded worktops don’t love them. After ditching my garlic peeler and my egg poacher, my milk frother and my (ahem) hot dog slicer, I have made a pact with myself that any utensil or equipment I bring into the kitchen has to do some heavy-lifting. No single-purpose gadgets shall darken my door any longer. But there is one exception: my waffle maker. I feel hypocritical, I do, but I can’t give up my waffle maker.

We all have secrets which, when we remember them, shroud us in shame. I’m afraid I have a particularly dark one that I’m forced to remember almost every day of my life. Twenty years ago, I was a working in a big London ad agency with a smart and ambitious young man named Richard Reed. I liked him a lot and it was clear that he wouldn’t be constrained by the advertising industry forever. Sure enough, he came to me one day and announced that he and some friends were starting a business, making fruit smoothies called ‘Fast Tractor’. Richard explained that they’d chosen Fast Tractor because the tractor that transported the fruit from field to fruit crusher was fast. Or something.

“Try smoked salmon without the lemon – you might just like it!” says Lance Forman, the fourth generation owner of family salmon smoking business H. Forman & Son. Overlooking the Olympic Stadium, Forman’s smokehouse (cum-deli-cum-restaurant-cum-shiny-disco-palace) is the fishtastic Trump Tower of the East End. “In a restaurant,” continues Forman, “the plate arrives, and people often add salt to their food before they’ve tasted it. It’s the same with smoked salmon – people automatically squeeze lemon over it. But actually, that’s a habit that has sprung from eating poor quality smoked salmon which can be quite slimy.

Spotted dick is synonymous with school dinners: it’s one of a field of puddings that divide the nation – like rice pudding and jam roly poly – into those who, haunted by sloppy or stodgy memories, cannot countenance the idea of enduring them again, or those who seek them out in a fit of nostalgia. The joy of writing this Vintage Chef column is that even those dishes I might otherwise avoid, I get to rediscover and share. I was extremely sceptical of blancmange; I treated coronation chicken with suspicion, but in exploring and experimenting with recipes, I was newly converted: blancmange can be heavenly, like an enormous panna cotta; coronation chicken need not be claggy, but can be vibrant and fresh and delicious.

I’ve been cooking for a little while now: professionally for huge quantities of people for a couple of years, writing about it for the thick end of four, and teaching myself at home for over six. I’ve been to pastry school for an entire full-time academic year. None of this matters to my family: all my family wants from me is sticky toffee pudding. At Christmas, it is mandatory, and every other occasion where I fail to arrive bearing a huge tin of the stuff, its absence is quietly resented. I’m going to visit my sister soon, but will be away just beforehand, so there’s already a large pudding sitting in my freezer.

Chelsea is a rarefied end of town. The old streets behind Cheyne Walk and around the Physic Garden are some of London’s most charming, while the King’s Road has for a long time been known as the place to be seen. When it comes to restaurants, cheap eats are fewer and further between than other parts of London, but with hefty prices often comes quality. There’s a notable focus on organic produce and the countryside – possibly testament to Chelsea’s proximity to the M4 headed west. A few of the UK’s best known chefs have set up shop in the area and Chelsea is home to some of the city’s prettiest eateries.

Islington sprawls. Strung out along Upper Street and the many streets off it, it boasts the best variety of restaurants outside Zone 1 (I am happy to be challenged on this). To secure a table at a decent Upper Street eatery on a Friday night, will require booking ahead or a willingness to queue. Things can get pretty rowdy as the evening progresses, so for a less frenetic experience head towards Clerkenwell or adventure into the side streets around Canonbury.