Photos  © J.Lowe 2009

Despite my desire to create a different kind of food blog, I could not resist the following surrogate posting in the interim.

How could I resist the offer of a deer heart from my good friend?  I had asked for the liver but his arrow went straight through it, turning it to mush.  Considering the fact that this dear friend is both a hunter and a photographer who recently lost sight in his seeing eye, my desire to create something from his travail was foremost in my mind.

It is quite something to hold a heart in one’s hand.  A deer heart is quite large, almost the size of my ‘should have been a piano player’ large feminine hand.  It is firm and cold.  It continues to bleed.  It is fascinating, especially when it comes to dissection.

I couldn’t but help to think about my own heart whilst I cut out the ventricles.  It was so clean and firm.  My heart would not look like this surely, for all my life and times entailed?

I set about photographing my heart.  Wherever it was it bled.  It continued to live in my house as I moved it around from scene to scene.  Only when I cut into it and took control of it, stuffing it with domestic objects, placing in a cooking vessel and providing it with heat did it relinquish control over me.

That was until it came to be cooked and for the sake of integrity I had to eat it.  Then the psychology came into play.  Cut, fork, eat.  Oh.

The taste was surprisingly clean and fine.  Not unpleasant. Had I been in the company of others I may have eaten more but alone in my house, heart on a plate, I felt scared.

Here it is, a heart.

photo © J.Lowe 2009

Gourmet magazine is gone.  I’m sad about that.  The publishers thought it would be perfectly ok if they rolled the remainder of my subscription money into my Bon Appetite fund?  How dare they think that one becomes the other. Gourmet photography was far superior to Bon Appetite.  Gourmet editorial content was much more interesting than Bon Appetite.  I buy Bon Appetite as a write off, I read Gourmet for its’ content.

So many magazines, so much slew.

And blogs, there are so many food blogs out there, how can I be different, how do I stand apart?

I have work to do.

All photos © J.Lowe 2009

I rarely think to use pomegranates in my cooking and I need to address this
shortcoming. Why overlook such a health giving, versatile ingredient that has been in
this world for about 5000 years?  The brilliant ruby seeds provide glinting eye candy in
desserts, salads and aromatic stews. The blood red juice turns jellies, cocktails, syrups
and glazes a stunning, tantalizing colour and provides a bitter sweet taste.

There is something darkly sensual about this fruit. Itʼs curiously exotic, pregnant with
seeds, unashamedly bloody and an alluringly luscious deep glossy red, like the mouth
of a harlot. To handle the pomegranate, to extract the seeds and feel the slippery arils, to suck them in and taste the sharp sweetness is really rather erotic.  It’s no wonder there is mention that the tree in the garden of Eden was actually a pomegranate tree.  Who wouldnʼt be tempted by such a provocative fruit?

When shopping for pomegranates, choose heavy smooth fruits and at the same time
pick up a bottle of pure pomegranate juice to augment your recipe if necessary. Itʼs a
great pantry staple. Use it in making salad dressings or marinades, add a splash to a
vodka martini or a glass of champagne, thicken it by reduction and the addition of sugar
to glaze ribs, pour over ice cream, just drink it or use to dye your knickers pink!

Before I continue with a recipe (which is not something I commonly do in my blog posts, preferring to simply write and let the idea of the dish capture interest rather than provide a presciption to my readers) you should know that the instigation for this post came from foodiefights.com

I signed up as a potential contestant for their 12th food challenge and was picked to
compete alongside the following fine bloggers:

Bake-Off Flunkie
Bite Me New England
Felice in the Kitchen
NomNomNom Blog
Om-nom-nomnivore (Lazy Sumo)

The challenge is to cook something showcasing two ingredients chosen by the
foodiefight hosts from suggestions sent in.  Since pomegranates are now in season and
I rarely use them I thought it would be an interesting suggestion for an ingredient.

It ended up being chosen, along with semolina flour.  I found and adapted a recipe from tesco.com called

Yogurt Cake with Pomegranate Syrup.

So, read on, enjoy and check out foodiefights.com to see how we all performed in this
challenge.

Ingredients:
3 cardamon pods
4 oz semolina flour
4 oz all purpose flour

1 tsp baking powder

6 oz superfine sugar

5 oz low fat natural yogurt
2 eggs
1/2 tsp vanilla essence
10 fl oz pomegranate juice
1 pomegranate (but buy a few in case some are light on seed count)

Preheat oven to 350F.

Crush cardamon pods, remove the seeds (discard the husk) and grind them in a pestle
and mortar. Place in large mixing bowl.

Add to the bowl the semolina flour, all purpose flour, baking powder and 4 oz of the
caster sugar. Mix together well.

Beat the yogurt, eggs and vanilla essence together (I used an electric hand mixer)
and add to the flour mixture, blending until smooth. Pour into a well greased 9” cake pan
and bake for 30 minutes or until a wooden stick inserted into the middle of the cake
comes out clean.

While the cake is cooking, put pomegranate juice into a saucepan and heat to boiling,
turn down to a slow boil and reduce by half. The recipe says to add the rest of the
sugar at the end and just dissolve it but I wanted the syrup thick and sticky so I added
the 2 oz of caster sugar while the liquid was boiling and reducing. This way I got a
lovely syrupy mixture.

Remove the seeds from the pomegranate(s) and add to the syrup. When the cake
comes out of the oven, allow it to cool, turn out onto desired plate and pour the syrupy
sticky goodness all over the top.

In addition to the Tesco recipe, I also made a yogurt cream to serve with the cake.
1 cup low fat natural yogurt
1/2 cup plain low fat cream cheese
juice and zest of one orange

Mix all the above ingredients together and serve in a bowl alongside the cake. The
bright, citrus note of the orange melds wonderfully with the deep sweet syrup and the
dense vanilla and smoky cardamon cake.

(It did occur to me to put the cardamon seeds in with the syrup. Perhaps the next time I
cook venison or lamb Iʼll try that as a glaze for the meat)

The resulting cake is dense, moist and fragrant, not overly sweet. It would be good
served plain as a breakfast cake with coffee but by adding the syrup, the resulting
dessert is a veritable crown of jewels.

My childhood love of the cooking world has gone.  Keith Floyd died yesterday.  He was a huge part of my food culture.  My mother and I would stop all activity to sit and watch his show on television.  We have all his books and refer to them always for his sound culinary advice but more than that his no-nonsence, just do it and enjoy it attitude to cooking.  I think of him on a boat in the raging sea, on a sea side in a blasting wind, in a cramped kitchen, in amongst a maelstrom, it didn’t matter, Keith was a lover.

The stroppy man with a scarf about his neck, manhandling the ingredients at his behest. He said just what he should say, regardless of those who would rather him say other.

Great great man.  I love him for the education he gave me, foodwise and personality too.  A quote from the man:

“But listen to me. Food is life, life is food. If you don’t like my approach you are welcome to go down to MacDonalds.”

Photograph © Derek Richmond 2009

So Autumn is almost here.

As the colours of the landscape begin to change and the smell in the air starts to get musty, my food wants to get richer in flavour and heartier in substance.  Goodness knows how long the winter will last and whether the world will freeze over and I’ll be left standing on an iceberg wishing I’d eaten that last piece of polenta.(recipe)

You can buy ready made polenta at the store but it’s an unsurprising, shiny, slippery, sausage of a package that has absolutely no character and really, quite honestly, it’s just so much more satisfying to make it from scratch.  It also happens to be rather good exercise.  Much like making gougére, one has to vigourously stir the pot otherwise you’re left with a lumpy mass.  Once cooked I like to spread it in a shallow baking dish, dot it with butter and season liberally.  It is essential for me at this point to add lots of cheese, preferably gooey stinky cheese or sharp hard cheese.  Put it in the oven and watch the cheese metamorphose.

If you make too much for dinner, save it for breakfast, fry in butter and serve with a runny egg and some hearty sausages.  That’ll be sure to keep you going during the ice storm.

I am loving my iPhone and lately have been exploring all the apps that are available. To be able to photograph food whilst out shopping and eating is fun in itself but add to that the ability to edit the pictures, email them, post them on facebook etc and as I am doing right now, create a blog posting, is just fantastic.
Apps I like:
Urbanspoon, photogene, foodict, tiltshift, camerabag.

So this weekend in no particular order i had a mojito, a goat cheese omelette, calamari, serrano ham and peach grilled foccacia, a French 75 and am just now sitting in the doctor’s kitchen watching him prepare america’s test kitchen chicken in a pot (poulet en cocotte).
What a lucky girl I am.

Photos © Derek Richmond 2009

The fig, in season now, is one of the first fruits cultivated by humans and predates the story of the birth of Christ by about 9000 years.

I don’t remember when I first had my taste of fig but I do remember my father planting a fig tree in the garden, stubbornly in the middle of the lawn.  We later learnt that a fig tree likes to grow with some constriction, perhaps against or wall or planted in amongst some rocky earth.  Our tree still grows today,  quite large and fruiting a little.  We won’t move it.  The tree stands awkwardly and stubbornly proud in memory of Martin.

My other memory of figs is a tree across the street from a friend in London.  Much to her consternation I would carry a step ladder to the fence and scrump the plump, luscious fruit.  Only the offerings that hung on the public side of the street would I take, is that so bad?

Dried figs; figgy pudding; figs soaked in wine, brandy or marsala; figs in bread and butter butter pudding; figs with cheese or fig salad, drizzled with honey on some bitter leaves with toasted pine nuts and mozzarella.

The English figure of speech, “I don’t give a fig”, relates by way of a Bengali proverb, perhaps to the fact that the flower of the fig is invisible (the flower is actually the fruit inside).  One says it to mean, ‘I don’t care’  (I don’t see you).

But I do care, I care very much that you like figs and you must eat them with abandon in season.

Photography by Johanna Lowe and Derek Richmond © 2009

Almost 4 months without a kitchen sink or a cooker.  It started out as kind of fun, like camping is, until the rain starts and your shoes are soggy and all you want is a quick cuppa without the rigmarole.

But, now I have it all, almost.  The function is there, the prettiness is yet to be done.

My diet has been affected by this experience. I have been grazing on nibbles of food rather than whole meals and it’s interesting how this changes one’s approach to eating and nutrition. I have been eating much more simply.  Each piece of food is in and of itself.  I get to appreciate a piece of cheese, a slice of salami, an olive, a good piece of bread.  Sounds rather like peasant food.  I like it. I like the simplicity of eating in this way.  I went to the farmers market this Saturday and bought a baguette and some apricots. I had a lovely lunch of those with some soft brie that had been left out to ooze in the warmth of the summer day.

I think we complicate food.  When I go out to eat I get confused by all of the ingredients in one dish.  Not just confused, but put off.  For instance, I don’t want a million different elements in my salad.  I want to taste the greens. I want to have a dance of green and a spark of brilliance, a tango perhaps. I don’t want a teenage smothering sloppy smooch.

I made a plate recently of cheese with caremelised walnuts. The cheese was a french crottin, a goat cheese that has a nutty flavour and is good as is or baked to be soft and oozing.  I drizzled it with honey and added some thyme for extra fragrance in the nose.

Like life, food should be humble and good.

Photos by Derek Richmond © 2009

Sardines.  One thinks of them in a flat can in oil or water.  Or if you live in a busy city then one thinks of them as human beings packed into the subway or bus.  My perfect idea of a sardine is fresh, glistening like an oil slick, smelling of the sea.

Fresh sardines are such an easy meal and so good for you.  An oily fish full of omega 3 that partners well with lemon and parsley, potato salad, frittata and a crisp bottle of white wine. Perfect Summer feast.  Holidaying in Southern Spain whilst in my twenties beget me many a meal of sardines.  Standing at the bar fumbling Spanish, ordering tapas, everything caught that day, grilled simply, ate quickly.

I don’t know if or when I’ll ever return to that place in Spain but my memory of it endures, along with another of a hill top restaurant where we would go for brunch.  Ajo Blanco, a cold garlic almond soup, with frittata and bread.  Looking out over the pool and across the soft valley, morning fog in my head, sweet garlic taste and cold fresh eggness in my mouth. Life, oh joy.

A recent trip to Isaac and Stein fish wholesaler in Chicago landed me some sardines.  I brought them home, split them and removed the backbone (pretty easy, they are a soft fish) made a stuffing with breadcrumbs, garlic, parsley, lemon zest, salt and pepper, preheated the broiler and threw them under, turning once for maybe 15 minutes total cooking time.

I like to keep the heads on my fish, some of you won’t.  I like to see the creature afore me, make friends with it as such, eye to eye.  You can of course remove the offending member if that is your wish.  However, be assured, be close to what you eat, know it like you know yourself.  I hope you know yourself.

Warts and all.

photos © j.lowe 2009
The above image pretty much sums up my life right now.  My kitchen is far from being functional and “far from” means I have no sink, no oven, no counter tops.   This makes cooking impossible unless you count the weber grill as an alternative, which it is, but seeing as Michigan has only just granted us some warm weather, albeit thunder stormy, standing in the freezing cold building a fire is not so much fun.

I’ve been eating lots of bread and cheese.  Good bread and cheese mind you.  Living life like the French perhaps; a crusty fresh loaf, some soft cheese, a tomato, perhaps some olives and mais oui, a hearty bottle of wine.  This of course can be translated to breakfast, sans vino, and as I just returned from London with my favourite cookies (biscuits in my language) my early morning repast has been thus:

mmm, Digestive biscuits, sweet but not too sweet, crunchy, good texture and just like home.  This blog  has a very informative entry on the history and a recipe for them.