Hemp Tagliatelle with Porcini in Nduja Butter
Recipe
Hemp Tagliatelle with Porcini in Nduja Butter
This Hemp Tagliatelle with Porcini and Wild Forest Mushrooms cooked in an Nduja butter is absolutely delicious, well worth the effort of seeking out the ingredients. For the Hemp Tagliatelle recipe and method please see my separate article about Hemp Pasta.
So, on to the sauce.
Into a cold pan add a glug of olive oil, a large lump of butter and a big scoop of nduja. Slowly bring it up to temp while dissolving the rich nduja into the fats. Then simply add the chopped mushrooms, and while they’re cooking down get the pasta on, it only takes a few minutes.
Once the tagliatelle is cooked, pull it from the water and add it straight into the buttery mushrooms, mix well and plate up. Finish your Hemp Tagliatelle with some parsley, dried rose petals, hemp seeds and a drizzle of hemp oil.
Constituent Parts…
- Hemp Tagliatelle
- Large handful of Wild and Porcini Mushrooms
- Butter
- Olive Oil
- Hemp Oil
- Nduja
- Parsley and Seeds and things
Buon Apetito.
Hemp Pasta - Recipe & Method
Recipe
Hemp Pasta
Hemp, arguably one of Mother Nature’s greatest gifts. All other benefits aside, as a food ingredient it can genuinely be classified as a super-food. Perhaps even a hyper-food – but I’ll deal with that in a separate article. This is just my recipe for Hemp pasta, deliciously nutty and earthy, and as easy to make as regular pasta.
Hemp flour contains over 40% protein and is gluten-free, so it needs to be mixed with regular flour for some elasticity. I tried using 100% hemp flour on my first attempt and it just fell apart, so after a little experimentation I found a ratio of 75% regular flour to 25% hemp flour worked perfectly for texture and flavour.
The method for hemp pasta is no different from that for normal pasta, just combine one egg per 100g of flour and knead it together until it responds to a poke. Leave it to rest for 30 minutes before running it through your machine. You’ll find that it’s a little more delicate than you’re used to, so just handle with care.
You will also notice it’s interesting aroma as you’re working it, it’s earthy, nutty and mossy. A Porcini or Truffle sauce will come to mind as you consider what to do with it, I’ve created a nice Porcini hemp pasta recipe which I’ll post separately, along with a delicious hot-smoked salmon hemp tagliatelle too.
Hemp Pasta Recipe (per person)
- 1 egg
- 75g Strong White Flour
- 25g Hemp Flour
That’s it!
Hemp flour is readily available online. I source my hemp products, including the flour, delicious hemp seed oil, seed hearts and protein powder from The British Hemp Co.
Pappardelle with Spinach in a Grana Cream Sauce
Recipe
Pappardelle with Spinach in a Grana Cream Sauce
Roughly what you need…
- Egg Pappardelle
- 84,000 Cubic Metres of Spinach
- Small pot of farm fresh double cream
- A big block of Grana – use loads
- Black Pepper
- Grated Nutmeg
Fusilloni with Mushrooms & Taleggio Cream
Recipe
Fusilloni with Mushrooms & Taleggio Cream
Just in case you’re thinking about getting something big, chunky and creamy inside you tonight, here’s another option you might want to try…
Fusilloni with Mushrooms & Mange Tout in Taleggio Cream.
Get yourself down to your favourite local Fruit & Veg bloke and grab a handful of of the biggest and meatiest mushrooms you can find. Very, very carefully break them into bitesize chunks and sweat them down in a little butter and olive oil. Spice them up with a fiery little chilli to taste.
While that’s happening quickly blanche some Mange Tout for a minute or two then add them to the mushrooms to finish in the juices, but don’t over-do it, we’re looking to keep a fresh crunch and bite to the veg at the end. You should also have some big chunky pasta coming on too by the way. Add the slightly under-done Fusilloni to the mushrooms and Mange Tout with a small pot of thick cream and some broken up Taleggio. Season and adjust to taste.
While it’s gently simmering, warm some bread, lay the table and open a nice dark and strong Italian to complement the food.
Plate up, drink copious wine and have a wonderful evening.
Buon appetito e salute.
Monkfish with Black Rice and Pomegranate
Recipe
Fried Monkfish with Black Rice and Pomegranate
I’ve never really liked fish, for me it always tasted too much like fish. But I’ve been experimenting a little lately, trying to broaden my horizons, and I’m gradually coming to learn that with a delicate touch it really can be a truly sensuous thing. So with my imagination pescatorially awakened I find myself mindlessly ricocheting around the aisles of Waitrose this afternoon in search of some kind of yet-to-be-discovered, perfect for Facebook, fish-based inspiration.
By the grace of the Fish Gods I was spiritually and lovingly guided towards the finned and gilled counter. However, with the shadows now being so long, the day’s offerings had been thoroughly and efficiently pillaged in the build-up to my arrival. As such, I was faced with the curiously meagre choice of a curled-up Skate wing, 48 exquisitly geometric fishcakes on a ‘Buy One Get Eight For Free’ offer that nobody else wanted, a spotty shoelace staring teenager in an apron with a vague interest in fish, and a milky-white piece of Monkfish that appeared purposefully disguised under some plastic point-of-sale seaweed, looking suspiciously as if the barely post-pubescent, Instagramly-aproned fish-teen fancied for himself that night.
So I bought it, and he snarled at me with a stunningly corporate Waitrose smile and beautiful teeth.
Get the rice on in some salted water. That stuff takes forever to cook so in the meantime pour some wine and post something on Facebook. Once you’ve got a few likes melt down a big lump of butter in a pan with some fresh chilli and anything else you think may go well with fish. When the rice is close to done carefully introduce the Monkfish to the chaos that’s occuring in the pan and sear on both sides. Add a big splash of Prosecco and leave to simmer for a few minutes. Meanwhile, break open a Pomegranate and add the fruit to the strained rice. Once the fish is tender remove from the pan and turn the heat up to reduce the sauce.
Plate up, open a few bottles of wine and have a wonderful evening packed full of hedonistic post-fish tendencies.
Buon appetito e salute.
Monkfish Ingredients…
- Fish – Mostly Monk
- Salted Butter – Brittany is beautiful.
- Black Rice Matters
- Pomegranate,,, uhhh, don’t know.
- Prosecco – Life is nothing without Prosecco.
- Spices and stuff – Parsley, Chilli and Pepper, that kind of thing…
- A few bottles of wine
I like fish now.
Tiramisu - Veneto's Favourite Dessert
Recipe
Tiramisu - Veneto's Favourite Dessert
All I want to do is smear it all over you and,,,
Anyway, it’s nice. I like it.
I also like it quite alcoholic. People often make it with Marsala which of course would lead some to believe that it originates from Sicily. But it was actually first created in Veneto, along my other two favourite things in life – Grappa and,,, I’ll leave that to your imagination.
So, drink a load of grappa. Then put your Moka pot on, make a very strong coffee and set it aside to cool – add some sugar to taste if you like it sweet and then a big glug of Grappa (or whatever love potion you fancy).
Separate two eggs, whip the whites to make stiff peaks, whisk the yolks with 50g of sugar till smooth and creamy. Pour yourself another shot of Grappa and add 250g of Mascarpone into the yolk mixture, then gently fold the whites in.
Now it’s time to get those lady fingers drunk and creamy. Quickly dunk the Savioardi into the coffee and grappa, but don’t soak them – just teasingly dip them in and out. Layer the moist fingers in the bottom of a glass and cover with the cream. Keep going until you run out of cream, fingers or space. Lick the bowl out and drink the remaining coffee/grappa. Suck a finger.
Put everything in the fridge to cool down for a couple of hours then smear it all over someone and lick it off.
There, I said it.
Tiramisu Stuff.
- Cold Strong Sweetened Coffee
- Grappa to taste
- Two Eggs (Separated)
- 250g Mascarpone
- Savoiardi Biscuits
- Cocoa Powder for dusting
Chicken Milanese with Polenta Mash & Peppers
Recipe
Chicken Milanese with Polenta Mash, Peppers & French Beans
I hate polenta. Which in itself is no big deal in the grand scheme of things, except for the fact that my family are from just outside Venice and I’m kind of genetically pre-disposed and expected to love that stuff. My Nonno used to boil it, bake it, fry it, wash his car with it and take it to bed with himself every night – naturally. In vain he tirelessly and relentlessly flavoured it, buried it under things it and disguised it in a thanklessly futile attempt to allure me to its darkest and most desirable secrets. To no avail.
But I really wanted to like it. As a boy I desperately didn’t want to disappoint my Nonno, I just wanted to feel his amazing blue-eyed smile fill the room with his special warmth as he finally achieved his life-long ambition of actually getting some inside me. Yet no, it wasn’t to be. With each and every grimace as I bit, tore and chewed my way through wet and sometimes crunchy corn nothingness, I could feel his pain and sadness inside – as if I’d just turned the crucifix over his bed upside-down to see what Jesus would have looked like had he taken up freestyle Base-Jumping. He must have been so disappointed.
He’s sadly gone now, but out of respect for him I’ve taken up his cause and have continued throughout my life with his committed efforts to make me like Polenta. And tonight, in the name of the most beautiful man I have ever met, is one of those nights…
Chicken Milanese was meant to be on the menu earlier in the week, but due to freezer issues – meaning the chicken was still inside it – I had to rain-check. Then it rained today and I remembered. I have the same feelings about raw chicken as I do Polenta, at least Polenta isn’t slippery. Anyway, carefully bash it flat (the chicken, not the polenta), dredge in seasoned flour, dip in beaten egg and coat with bread crumbs. Boil up some French beans and potatoes. Gently fry sweet peppers in lots and lots of salted butter with paprika, chilli flakes and a little olive oil (you’ll need it later). Make up a small pan of Polenta. Fry the breaded chicken in more butter, lemon juice, zest and olive oil, then add the nearly cooked beans. Mash the potatoes, combine the buttery pepper juices with the polenta and fold into the mash.
Plate it all up in whichever way you fancy
I looked upwards, smiled at Nonno, raised my glass and told him I loved it. I may not be fully forgiven but after all these years I’m pleased to have made it this far. For his sake.
Things you might need for Chicken Milanese with Polenta…
- Bashed flat chicken.
- Stuff like eggs, flour and breadcrumbs.
- Sweet Peppers.
- Polenta.
- The Frenchest of Beans.
- Mashed up taters.
- Seasoning.
- Chilliness.
- At least one cows worth of butter.
- Olive oil.
- Breadcrumbs.
Buon appetito e salute.
Ti amo Nonno.
The Talbot Inn - Mells
Review
The Talbot Inn - Mells
Ahhh, The Talbot Inn, Mells. Spit, sawdust, cloudy cider and beer-battered fighting men. Scampi and chips served in a basket, warm Butcombe and the ammonioid stench of outside ‘piss against the wall’ toilets. Football, pool, skittles, darts and shove’apenny gladiators proudly competing at the very pinnacle of work-stained, inter-village man-stuff. Weekly pay cheques nonchalantly wagered on single blind hands of three card brag, followed of course by the inevitable crunch of flat-broke knuckle on already broken nose. They were great days.
The main bar and adjacent pool-room were the beating and bleeding heart of The Talbot. It was passionate, hierarchical, sticky, incestuous, protective, warm, hostile, vital and inspirational. Legends drank there, both men and boys. The Oxford Bar on the other hand, was the painfully pretentious posh bar. Men with strange accents, tweed waistcoats, big newspapers and semi-important cigars would discuss Scotch, rugby and each other while their wives nattered, conspired and ordered supper politely. The Scampi came on a plate in The Oxford Bar. The Snug Bar sat uncomfortably between the two and served the lost, the lonely and the transient, in a basket beside the fire. They smelt of soft drugs, oil paint, newsprint and garlic. We would go there occasionally for a taste of obscurity and tales of far away places and past glories. They didn’t eat Scampi in The Snug Bar.
Forty years on and my, how things have changed! Only The Oxford Bar remains for the thirst-quenchers and post-pugilists, everywhere else is wall-to-wall dining tables for those without mortgages. It has all been very tastefully done of course, formulaic and predictable as if straight from the ‘How to market a Gastro-pub’ free downloadable handbook, with everything perfectly dotted, crossed, primped, pruned and plumped.
I’d been invited to lunch there with a very special mortgage-free friend, as a birthday treat. Mells was sparkling in the mid-July sunshine, and every available parking space, from Vobster to Great Elm, was double-parked with uninspiring and mind-numbingly dull German things. And the streets were fluid with a fashion show of pink shorts, deck shoes, upturned-collar polo shirts, flimsy floral dresses, bra-less sandals and San Tropez spray-tans – while bare-footed, ice-cream smothered, feral children wreaked havoc on the weak and vulnerable.
Walking in through the Talbot’s arched and cobbled entrance, it became immediately clear that any nostalgic connections to its glorious past had been deliberately and efficiently deleted. Other than the dog hanging over the arch, it had been stripped, sanitised and anonymised. Most of the fighting men were dead and the lost and lonely were online. The toilets still stank of piss but now has a heater and soap. The cigars were even less important and the strange accents were on the other side of the bar. There was however, one tiny and tenuous connection remaining; we were welcomed by our ‘host’ with an exquisitely west-country accented “Ello me luvvlies!” That felt good.
We decided to share a starter and went for the Brixham Crab Mac & Cheese. It was predictably under seasoned and the macaroni was so over-cooked it had the texture of a soggy Farley’s Rusk. We rummaged around amongst the stodgy pasta in search of any kind of crab evidence and found nothing more than some micro-plastic sized specs of crustaceous crumb. It was Mac & Cheese with essence of crab that had been sat stewing in a warm oven since the previous Tuesday.
Mains for us both were to be roast beef, Lyons Hill Farm rare breed topside to be precise. And it was stunning. A mountainous pile of perfectly pink, well hung and aged slabs of medium-rare cow protein that was melt-in-the-mouth tender and delicious. It was accompanied by some equally spectacular red cabbage, unbelievably raw greens, squidgy and anaemic carrots, some cauliflower slop, yorkies and the worst fucking roast potatoes I have ever cried over. If they weren’t re-heated leftovers from the day before, then they were re-heated leftovers from the day before that. Sinful. A little extra gravy, horseradish and mustard are available upon request.
We gave up on the desserts, just read the menu and guessed the rest. No doubt it would have been tooth-curlingly sweet and deliciously, instagrammably, sickly. We settled our bill and as we strolled out through the hallowed archway I took a final glance over my shoulder, cracked a half smile, enjoyed what once was, and accepted what now is. The cider-soaked fighting footballers and fried-fish in baskets should rightly remain in nostalgic, hungover history. It’s just such a shame that the stories, characters and rose-tinted memories have been scrubbed away and painted over in Farrow and Ball Tik-Tok grey.
Was Alfredo Sauce actually invented by the English?
Recipe
Was Alfredo sauce actually invented by the English?
So here’s a funny thing; over 200 years before Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford happened across a little Roman trickster by the name of Alfredo di Lelio, it seems the English already had the Alfredo Sauce recipe covered!
Italians have of course been eating pasta with butter and cheese for eons before that little hijacker Alfredo came along, but strangely enough the first ever written recipe for this comes from 1769 Essex, England.
[1769] To dress Macaroni with Parmesan Cheese
‘Boil four ounces of macaroni till it be quite tender and lay it on a sieve to drain. Then put it in a tossing pan with about a gill of good cream, a lump of butter rolled in flour, boil it five minutes. Pour it on a plate, lay all over it parmesan cheese toasted. Send to to the table on a water plate, for it soon goes cold.’
–The Experienced Engish Housekeeper, Elizabeth Raffald, introduction by Roy Shipperbottom [Southover Press:East Sussex] 1997 (p. 144) –
Spaghetti with Roast Sweet Peppers in a Grana Cream Sauce
Recipe
Spaghetti with roast sweet peppers in a Grana Cream Sauce
Do you like it quick and creamy in the middle of the week?
Spaghetti with roast sweet peppers in a Grana Cream Sauce. Thinly slice some mixed long sweet peppers lengthways, add a little olive oil and pimenton – roast in a medium oven. Once they’re soft enough to twirl on a fork remove from the oven and add cooked spaghetti, mix well and allow the pasta to absorb the delicious oils. Place on a warm hob, add a small pot of double cream and lashings of Grana Padano and black pepper. Plate up once the cream has cooked.
