Christmas files II – how to make chocolate truffles

Last Christmas I had a bit of a rush of blood to the head, after realising that nice chocolates cost about a pound each. “I know!” I thought, crazed with the madness of the festive season, “I shall make my own!” So off I went to Waitrose and bought loads of dark chocolate and double cream (because that, gentle reader, is the sum total of what you need for this enterprise), and I switched on Radio 4 and made my own chocolate truffles. It was terrific fun. The first attempt seized irretrievably, and my kitchen ended up looking like it had been the setting for the Oompa Loompa Spring, but they tasted great. So I tried again this year, with more success. Next year’s will be even better, I hope. I’d make them more frequently, but at the rate we get through them I wouldn’t be able to fit through the door of Waitrose after a couple of weeks.

100g of chocolate (70% cocoa solids, natch – I have yet to attempt this with milk chocolate) and 100ml double cream gives you about 15-20 truffles, allowing for waste and picking. Allow extra chocolate for coating, if you’re going to attempt it. If you’re going to infuse the cream with anything, allow two hours for this.

Bring the cream to the boil and add flavouring. I made a batch of chilli, to which I added a pinch of dried red chilli flakes, and a batch of Earl Grey, to which I added a teabag. The flavour of the latter was v subtle – next time I will use loose leaf tea. Allow to infuse for two hours, then strain.

Process all your chocolate in the food processor until finely chopped/reduced to rubble. Divide it into bowls, allowing 100g to every 100ml of cream. (I made 150ml worth of chilli cream/150g plain chocolate; 150g of tea-infused cream/150g plain chocolate; and 150g of rum-flavoured cream, which didn’t need to be infused – I just chucked the rum in with the cream once it was hot, and mixed with 150g chocolate.)

Boil the flavoured cream again, or the unflavoured cream for the first time, and pour it over the chocolate while it’s still very hot, so the chocolate all melts and you end up with a homogeneous choclately goo. Mix well, and resist the urge to take it to bed with a spoon. Ideally at this stage you should leave the mixture for about four hours to cool at room temperature, but if you’re impatient you can stick it in the fridge, stirring it often until you have a smooth, moldable paste.

Use a teaspoon to scoop out lumps of the truffle mixture and form it into balls by rolling between your palms. Have a sinkful of hot soapy water ready, because this gets messy. Once each truffle is rolled, plonk it on to a plate with plenty of cocoa powder and roll it around a bit. Repeat and repeat and repeat until they are all done, washing your hands whenever you can no longer bear it, and chilling the chocolate if it gets too melty. It goes without saying that you should keep the batches separate if you’re planning to put different coatings on the different flavours. Once they’re all done, put them in the fridge to solidify for a couple of hours.

Make the couverture. There’s a lot of talk on the internet about the importance of tempering chocolate to give it the perfect glossy appearance and pleasing snap. Next year I might invest in a sugar thermometer and try to do this properly – for now I operated on the principle that as long as it didn’t seize it was good enough for me.

So, over a pan containing a little gently simmering water, set your chocolate to melt in a bowl. You do need to allow for a lot of waste here – 100g of chocolate covers maybe 20 truffles. I had to dash out any buy a slab of Co-op Truly Irresistable Orange Green & Black’s Maya Gold Knock-off to coat my chilli truffles, and actually it worked extremely well. Anyway, you want to get the chocolate off the heat before it’s all melted, leave it for a bit until it all has, allowing the water to cool slightly, then replace the bowl over the still warm water (off the heat) and get on with dipping.

I used two cocktail sticks, one to impale the chocolate, swoosh it about and fish it out; the other to push it on to the waiting non-stick paper-lined tray. Again, repeat until all your chocolates are done. I used plain chocolate for the tea truffles, orange as above for the chilli ones, just a dusting of cocoa for the rum ones, and dipped some marzipan left over from icing Satan’s cake into the remaining plain chocolate.

Now touch up your errors. The cocktail sticks will have left little holes in the tops of the truffles – you might want to drop a bit of extra chocolate over these to seal them. Refrigerate until the coating has set. The truffles will also have “feet” where the melted choc has spread over the baking parchment – if you are particularly anal you may want to trim this away with a paring knife, wearing latex gloves so as not to leave fingerprints on the chocolate. (Did I do this? Did I hell.)

Next, decorate your chocolates. I dusted the chilli ones with gold lustre powder, using a sponge applicator from an unused eyeshadow compact. A small paintbrush would have worked even better. My attempt to pipe white chocolate over my Earl Grey truffles was not altogether successful – they looked like the Oompa Loompas had held a post-revolution bukkake party. Oh well – lessons were learned.

From 700g of chocolate and 450ml of cream, at a cost of about a tenner, I ended up with more than 60 gorgeous chocolates. It’s a fun way to spend your Christmas kitchen pottering time, if you’re into this sort of thing, and the truffles, prettily boxed, would make fantastic presents. I’m sure I’ll get better at this with practice, so watch this space for next Christmas’s attempt. The Oompa Loompas are getting restless already…

The Christmas files

Yes, it’s that time of year again, when the food blogosphere explodes with everyone’s marvellously inventive recipes for slow-cooked belly of this and tea-smoked that. Fair play to you all – even though there will only be the boyfriend and I for Christmas dinner this year, I still find the prospect of festive cooking stupidly stressful, and rely on tried and trusted recipes (and smoked salmon. And huge amounts of fizz).

However – and this may of course be Just Me, the problem with tried and trusted recipes is that just when you need them most, you find they have gone AWOL. As part of the mission statement of this blog was to provide a useful resource for such go-to gems, I am going to stick a few of my favourites on here over the next few days, in the hope that next time I find myself googling “Satan’s cake”, I will, well, find this.

Satan’s cake

A friend of mine didn’t get on with her mother-in-law. The lady in question was, however, an ace cook, and so this recipe was named. Apparently it’s a version of Delia’s, but the useful variations are all the work of Lucifer himherself.

225g plain flour
¼ teaspoon salt
1 x 5ml spoon ground mixed spice
200g butter
200g dark brown sugar
2 x 15ml spoons black treacle
½ teaspoon vanilla essence
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
800g mixed dried fruit
100g chopped mixed peel
150 g glace cherries halved
100 g blanched almonds chopped
3 tbsp brandy

Line an 8” round cake tin with non-stick baking parchment and tie a double layer of brown paper or corrugated cardboard around the outside.

Sieve together the floor, salt and mixed spice. Cream the butter, sugar, treacle and vanilla essence together until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs, a little at a time, adding a tablespoon of the floor with the last amount. Fold in the remaining flour, then all the fruit and almonds. Turn into the prepared cake tin and make a slight hollow in the centre. Bake in a cool oven for 3-4 hours, testing after 3 hours by inserting a skewer into the centre; when it comes out clean the cake is cooked. Remove from oven and leave in tin until cold. Make a few holes in the top of the cake with a skewer and pour brandy over the cake while it is still warm. Wrap cake in greaseproof paper and store.

The above is the original version. Satan’s variations:

Use just a hint of salt
Use a very good quality soft margarine
I am a bit liberal with the two tablespoons of black treacle
Soak the fruit brandy for a few days and use less currants
Never use peel
Never use chopped almonds always ground
Use more brandy
Never take the cooking greaseproof wrappings off until I marzipan the cake
Tend to be heavy handed on the dried fruit

I followed most of Satan’s instructions, except I:
Used butter as per the original
Did use peel, and also dried sour cherries, cranberries and a bit of crystallised ginger
Soaked the fruit in rum
I did remove the wrapping from the cake and shrouded it in more baking parchment and foil

I also burned the crap out of the poor cake, owing to using my new oven for the first time, but thanks to the corrugated cardboard the outside was fine – I just cut off the burned top, which became the bottom of the finished cake.

To marzipan and ice the cake, I used bought stuff. Rolling out the marzipan and sticking it on the cake with the aid of warmed apricot jam is dead easy, just use plenty of icing sugar to roll. I used pre-rolled icing but rolled it a little thinner as I was worried about not having enough extra for the decorations.

American apricot stuffing
This is the traditional stuffing I always used to make at home as a child – I think I was first put on stuffing duty aged about 12, and made it every year until I moved to London when I was 28. That’s a lot of stuffing. It’s fabulous stuff – even though we’ve having beef this Christmas I plan to make some anyway, as it’s so delicious cold.

Use 6 sausages and 250g chicken liver and 1 large onion to make enough for 12 people at least, plus cold.

Finely chop one very large onion or two small, and two or three sticks of celery. Saute in plenty of butter.

In a separate pan, bring to the boil the juice of an orange and a good slug of bandy or cointreau. Add some chopped dried apricots (maybe 12?); remove from the heat and leave to cool/plump up.

Remove the onions and celery from the pan and add six good pork sausages, skinned and broken up with a fork. Fry until no longer pink. Add 250g chopped chicken or turkey liver.

In a large bowl, mix everything together. Add flaked almonds (half a packet or more if you like), tarragon, sage, S&P, fresh white breadcrumbs (lots – maybe a quarter to a third of a loaf for this quantity) and enough chicken stock to make a hard-to-stir stuffing texture.

Put it into a well-greased dish and dot with butter. Cover with foil and cook for about 45 minutes to an hour.

At this point it can happily be left overnight or even for a couple of days in the fridge. When you are ready to serve it, spoon some of the cooking goo from the turkey over and heat, covered with foil at first if there is a lot of it. Remove the foil for the last bit of the cooking time and blast under the grill if necessary to give a crisp, brown top.

Dukan: The End of Days

So, today is the official Last Day of the Diet. The boyfriend will be doing his last Wednesday Weekly Web Weigh-in, and no doubt writing a highly intelligent and thoughtful blog post about his experiences (ETA – he has). Of course I haven’t been Dukaning with anything approaching strictness for some time now, but I have been cooking mostly Dukan-compliant dinners for us most nights. Lately we’ve been introducing more pulses as well as – I confess – more fat.

Here are a final few recipes for those readers who are still hard at it. Keep the faith – you will get there!

“F**k the world’s marine biology” fish and mash supper

Two large tuna steaks, marinated in soy, garlic, chilli, ginger and sesame oil and seared in a hot pan – they should still be raw in the centre
Raw king prawns, pan-fried with garlic, chilli, ginger and spring onions, arranged atop salad leaves and dressed with sesame oil and lime juice
Wasabi mash, made from a tin of butterbeans and half their volume each of steamed frozen broad beans and peas, all processed together with a little fromage frais and some wasabi paste

This really is indefensible – what can I say? Thankfully the cost to you of this kind of quantity of fresh tuna and prawns is as high as it is to the species concerned, so one’s not likely to indulge very often. It’s lovely though.

Fragrant orange chicken

4-6 skinless chicken thigh fillets
1 large onion, chopped
2 sticks celery, chopped
3 cloves garlic, crushed
Rind of half an orange, either grated or removed in large pieces with a potato peeler – I did the latter
1 tsp ras el hanout spice blend
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
1 sprig thyme
1/2 tin tomatoes
1 tin butterbeans

Brown the chicken pieces in a casserole dish and set aside. Add the vegetables with a little water if the pan looks like burning. Saute until soft and golden. Add the orange peel, spices, tomatoes and the same volume of water, and return the chicken to the pan. Cover and cook slowly for 30 minutes, then remove the lid, add the butterbeans and reduce until the sauce is thick and intense. Serve with cauliflower rice and salad.

Fame at last!

To my immense chuffedness, I had a couple of pieces published recently on the Guardian’s Word of Mouth blog. Here they are.

Orwellian eating
Celebrity food producers

Another dukan recipe: tom yum soup

Yes, I’ll admit it, I was wanting to do a “tom nom nom nom” thing in the headline. But then I thought some readers might hunt me down and boil me alive, so I refrained. Oh, I didn’t. Sorry.

Anyway, this is probably the Dukan recipe we’ve made most often, and it’s lovely, easy, cheapish and healthy as. Also, like so many SE Asian recipes, it needs little adaptation to be Dukan-compliant. If you want you can simplify things by not doing the fishcakes and just lobbing some chicken or whatever in the soup, which would also be lovely, but much as I hate making the fishcakes, they are delicious and somehow make it all feel more substantial.

For the fishcakes
400g fish – I’ve used cod, pollack, defrosted frozen coley and even raw prawns. I’d steer clear of anything too oily though.
3 spring onions, roughly chopped (green and white parts)
Half a bunch of coriander, roughly chopped
Small piece ginger, peeled and roughly chopped
1 red or green chilli, roughly chopped
1 clove garlic
1 tsp fish sauce
1 tsp red curry paste

Put all the ingredients in the food processor and process until finely chopped but not too pastelike. Form into small cakes and refrigerate until you’re ready to cook them. Be warned, this is a tedious and sticky job and it takes ages to get the smell of fish off your hands but your cat will love you.

For the soup
300ml good chicken stock
2tsp tom yum paste
5 spring onions, roughly chopped (green and white parts)
Half a bunch of coriander, roughly chopped
Small piece ginger, peeled and roughly chopped
1 red or green chilli, roughly chopped
1 stick lemongrass, trimmed and chopped
1 clove garlic
1 tsp fish sauce

The rest of the ingredients – the body of the dish really – are up to you. I use whatever’s in the fridge, but I think one should include a minimum of five different vegetables – tonight’s version has carrot, mushrooms, red pepper, mange tout peas, baby corn, cauliflower and kale. In the past I’ve used butternut squash, broccoli, spinach, and those fancy oriental-style mushrooms you get at Waitrose and Asian food stalls. If you’re making a veggie version you’ll probably want to include some tofu too, but use the fresh, extra firm kind; the “firm silken” stuff you get in tetrapacks in the supermarket is too fally-aparty, I find.

Chop all the vegetables and sort them according to the order in which they’ll cook – carrots first, spring onion tops and spinach last.

In a large pan, warm a little oil and add the chilli, ginger, garlic and the white part of the spring onions. Cook until the wonderful volatile oils make you cough, but nothing is browning. Then add your slower-cooking veg, the stock, tom yum paste and a cup of water. Simmer until the hardest of the veg – usually the carrots – are beginning to tenderise. Then add the softer vegetables and simmer.

Heat a pan with a little oil or non-stick cooking spray and cook the fishcakes for about five minutes a side, until brown, sticky and cooked through.

Add your final ingredients to the soup: the spinach and spring onion tops, tofu or raw prawns if you’re using them. Simmer briefly, then finish with fresh coriander.

Serve the fishcakes on the side and the soup in its pot. You can eat them separately or dunk the fishcakes in the lovely fragrant broth.

Review: Hawksmoor’s beef tasting menu

In the past, TOE has been a lone voice, crying out in the wilderness, possibly the target of old shoes and older vegetables as I pass by, when I’ve said I don’t like Hawksmoor. The Spitalfields and Seven Dials restaurants are almost universally fetishised in the blogosphere and the broadsheets – it’s nigh-on impossible to find a negative review* – and the announcement of a new outpost opening in the City was met with breathless excitement by carnivores across the capital.

I posted a while ago about our disappointing – in fact abortive – visit to Hawksmoor Seven Dials last year. Although we didn’t take them up on their lovely offer of a complimentary dinner to make up for our bad experience, we have since been to both Seven Dials and Spitalfields. It’s hard to fault the food, the cocktails are fantastic, the service efficient and cheery. But I suppose the memory of that first visit has stayed with me (especially as we were given the identical, deeply unsatisfactory table at Seven Dials), because I simply haven’t been able to warm to either restaurant.

I think part of the problem is that the boyfriend and I were always there as a couple, and there is something about the meaty, testosteroney vibe of these restaurants that’s not conducive to romance or intimacy (unless you’d like to become more closely acquainted with the next-door table for two). So when a group of foodie friends invited us to join their table for ten and sample the much-vaunted beef tasting menu at the softly launching Guildhall restaurant, we were eager to give it another go. (Much as I loathe the smugness with which lines like “So there we were, the cream of London’s food bloggers…” get trotted out, it would be inappropriate not to thank the lovely Victoria of Alphabet Soup for marshalling our group of meat fiends together for the occasion, and a hat-tip is also owed to the intrepid Malcolm Eggs of The London Review of Breakfasts, who had arrived early and got outside a Hawksmoor brekkie before squaring up to the beef.)

At Seven Dials, the room is arranged with the large tables in the centre and the smaller ones squashed (there, I said it) along the sides of the room. At the Guildhall restaurant the arrangement is reversed, with the larger tables in booths on the side and smaller ones in the centre. This is great as far as acoustics are concerned, but has some major drawbacks, as we were to discover. Still, who doesn’t love a booth, massive round table, squashy curved banquette and all? Things were off to a good start.

The beef tasting menu kicks off with beef tea, which I’d only encountered before in Victorian fiction as something used to “build up” recuperating invalids and pique a listless appetite. It’s served from teapots, in pretty blue willow-patterned cups, and it’s fantastic. You know when you have really, really good gravy, so good you want to drink it but etiquette forbids you? This is like that, except you can, and of course it isn’t gravy, but more a kind of uber-Bovril.

Next up were oysters, served with kimchi and braised shortrib. Kimchi is something of a favourite with Hawksmoor – the love-it-or-loathe-it kimchi burger is a standout item on the bar menu, and if its purpose was to get the food writers trading blows with one another, it certainly succeeded. I have no quarrel with the pungent Korean cabbage pickle, but I wasn’t convinced that it added anything to a perfectly good oyster. Those who tried the (excellent) braised beef atop the oyster and kimchi were even less persuaded that the combination worked.

On to course the third: “tongue and tail” salad – cured, poached beef tongue and braised oxtail salad with oyster mushrooms and chestnuts. To my mind the mushrooms and the chestnuts suffered terribly and the oxtail only slightly less from being served cold – a cold, cooked mushroom has a sluglike texture that I find deeply unpleasant, and the flouriness of chestnuts is best enhanced by being mouth-blisteringly hot. The third course is a tartare-off of beef versus veal. Our table delivered a 60/40 verdict in favour of the beef – the veal lacked the necessary punch of flavour to stand up to the robust seasoning.

By now we were beginning to realise that practicality had been sacrificed on the altar of conviviality in the design of the outsize booths. It’s impossible for the staff to reach the diners on the far side of the table, so everyone has to muck in and pass wine bottles and clear plates and hand food. It’s great fun, but I suspect that after one dry-cleaning bill too many when a drunken diner accidentally tips beef tea over his companion’s Versace frock, the management may regret their “we’re all in this together” approach.

Perhaps the most talked-about of Hawksmoor’s new dishes is beef shin macaroni. Allow me a moment’s indulgence as I take you back in time to my childhood, when family feasts often featured a dish nicknamed Jo McFatty. This consisted of onions, mushrooms, minced beef, condensed tomato soup, macaroni and obscene amounts of cubed cheese cooked together to savoury, unctuous, so-wrong-it’s-right deliciousness. Gentle reader, this dish is that dish, only uncomplicated by the addition of tomato and benefitting from a huge hunk of marrow bone-in, meltingly tender shin of beef instead of mince. This is comfort food at its best – a hot water bottle on a plate. There was silence around the table as we wallowed in the stuff**.

By this point even the doughtiest of us was beginning to flag, and we faced the realisation that the main course was yet to come: prime rib, porterhouse, chips, salad, bearnaise sauce and, hilariously, sausages. There comes a point in a marathon dinner like this at which one has to simply submit, set aside any thoughts of moderation, and eat all one can, and we’d reached it. This is what Hawksmoor does best: impeccable quality meat faultlessly cooked. The chips, cooked in beef dripping and more like junior roast potatoes in size and shape, were perfect. We fell on the salad like polar explorers on a nice cup of hot tea, so welcome was a bit of green after all that meat. The sausages were delicious, but undeniably a bridge too far.

Huge kudos to Hawksmoor though, for offering to provide takeaway bags and boxes of the uneaten sausages and macaroni, without making us feel like they wouldn’t put it past us to go through their bins if they didn’t. It would have been a tragedy to waste food this good and it’s giving me great joy knowing that more of that macaroni is reposing in the fridge as I type this.

After months of self-imposed sugar starvation on the Dukan diet, I would probably have fallen in love with just about any dessert, but the sticky toffee pudding, with a salted caramel sauce and a sizeable quenelle of clotted cream, really was a thing of wonder and delight. I can’t wait to try to make a version myself. By this point we were all as replete as pythons, sated with protein and red wine. “Ah, the meat coma,” observed our waiter as he cleared the plates. As we emerged shortly after into the late afternoon bustle of the City, I wondered whether I would ever be able to eat again.

Will I eat at Hawksmoor again? There’s no doubt it’s broken its duck with me. We has a brilliant time – although not every course worked for me, the overall experience was a huge amount of fun and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it. At the promotional rate of £375 for ten of us, it also represented fantastic value – but double that and the normal price of £700 starts to feel a little steep.

* AA Gill dissed it, but who cares what he thinks?

** The recipe, along with many many other good things, can be found in Hawksmoor at Home

Maisonette pie

Yet more delights for Dukan dieters.

This isn’t strictly Dukan-friendly, because butterbeans aren’t on the list of allowed veg, but I reckon a bit of flexibility is no bad thing, and you can always leave them out, although you may then need to reduce the amount of creme fraiche in the topping so it doesn’t turn out too sloppy. I’d also normally add a few frozen peas to the mince before adding the topping, however on this occasion I was playing with the cat and I forgot.

500g lean minced beef
1 large onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 carrot, grated
2 large sticks celery, chopped
A few button mushrooms, chopped
250ml red wine
1 tsp English mustard
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp anchovy sauce
3 bay leaves
Squeeze of tomato paste
1 beef stock cube
Salt and pepper

For the topping
1 cauliflower, separated into florets and steamed
1 tin butterbeans, drained and rinsed
1 tbsp fromage frais
1 tbsp half-fat creme fraiche
1 tsp horseradish (I use the plain grated kind but I expect creamed would work fine too)

Brown the mince well. Remove it from the pan and add the vegetables, stirring and cooking until the onions are transparent. Return the meat to the pan along with the other ingredients and 250ml of water. Cover and cook slowly for a couple of hours, removing the lid near the end of the cooking time to allow the sauce to reduce – the cauliflower mash topping isn’t as absorbent as potato so you want this to be quite dry.

Put all the ingredients for the mash into a food processor and process until more or less smooth – a bit of texture is quite nice to have, I think.

Add your frozen peas if you’re using them, spoon the mince into an ovenproof dish, top with the mash and cook at about 180°C until the topping is lovely and brown.

I served this with gem squash – they are among my favourite of all autumn veg. Just prick their skins (otherwise they burst, which is quite fun really, so don’t worry if you forget) and cook in boiling water for about 20 minutes, until a knife easily pierces the skin. Cut in half, scoop out the seeds and discard, then scrape out the flesh and season.

Honestly, the photography on this blog gets worse and worse. It’s because we’re generally too hungry at the time to be messing about with tripods.

Dulash

Is there some kind of “lamest-ever name” award? Look no further than this autumnal recipe for Dukan diet types.

It looks a bit carroty. Sorry about that.

In the Guardian last weekend the ever-wonderful Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall had a delicious-sounding recipe for goulash. TOE took one look at it and thought, yes, Dukan! This is a brilliant recipe to Dukanise, because it needs very little modification – less fat for frying, no potatoes, and no sweet paprika, because Dr Dukan strictly forbids it, as any fule kno I didn’t have any, and nor did the deli.

Hugh uses shin for this, and I applaud his choice – it’s lean, achieves melting tenderness, and is the cheapest cut of beef my butcher sells. I’m sure you could try it with chuck or any similar stewing beef but I love the richness that shin provides once its bands of cartilage have given up and dissolved into the sauce.

I served this with cauliflower rice with a few chilli flakes added, and creamed juniper and caraway cabbage. Here’s how.

Dukan (again) blinis

Sorry, sorry, but (some of) you did ask. These have been a huge success, I’ve made them several times and they’re lovely.

2 eggs, separated
3 tbsps oat bran
1 tsp dried yeast
3 tbsps fat free natural yoghurt
1 tsp sugar*
Pinch salt
Butter, oil or non-stick spray for frying

* I know the inclusion of sugar in this recipe will horrify hard-core Dukaneers, but it is there to feed the yeast, not you. You can leave it out but I think allowing the yeast to do its thing more enthusiastically than it would if restricted to the small amount of sugars in the yoghurt and oat bran, is worth making a compromise for. Ditto the butter for frying – you only need a tiny bit, and it makes a massive difference to the flavour.

Mix the egg yolks, oat bran, yeast, yoghurt, sugar and salt together and leave in a warm place for several hours until puffed up and spongy. Beat the egg whites to stiff peaks and mix everything gently together. Heat a pan and add a little butter, vegetable oil or non-stick spray. Cook tablespoons of the mixture until golden brown, turning once.

Serve with smoked salmon, fromage frais, caviar (or the cheap alternatives – Ikea is great for knock-off caviar), finely chopped capers, cornichons, parsley and red onion, salad or all the above (guess which we have?).

Goan – get in!

Since some readers have been v kind about my Dukan recipes and asked for more, here’s what we had for dinner last night.

Goan fish curry – mmmmm!

1 small onion
3 mild red chillies
Thumb-sized piece of ginger
4 cloves garlic
1 tsp coriander seeds*
1 tsp cumin seeds*
1/2 tsp mustard seeds*
5 cardamom pods*
1 tsp dried red chilli flakes*
1 tsp tumeric
1/2 can low fat coconut milk
1/2 can chopped tomatoes
3 tbsps fat free natural yoghurt
300g White fish fillets (ideally pollack, I couldn’t get any so used haddock – sort it out, Sainsbury’s!)
1 pack raw prawns
1 small butternut squash
1 pack baby spinach leaves

Toast the cumin, coriander, mustard seeds and cardamom seeds in a dry pan until they start to pop, then grind in a pestle and mortar. Process the onion, garlic, fresh chilli and ginger until finely chopped. Saute in a little oil for a few minutes, then add the ground spices, dried chilli, tomatoes, coconut milk, yoghurt, butternut squash and a little water. Cook until the squash is tender, then add the fish and cook for a few minutes until the prawns are pink and the fish is flaking. Add the spinach, cook for a minute, season and serve.

We had this with cauliflower rice and a rather afterthoughty salad of finely chopped yellow pepper, red onion, tomato, cucumber, carrot and basil. Lovely.

* Take all my spice measurements with a generous fistful of salt. I have a heavy hand with spices and you may want to emulate me!