Essex Eating in Spain - Núñez de Prado Olive Oil

The surrounding countryside on the hour long bus journey from Córdoba provided a constant reminder of why I was travelling on this ageing coach in blistering heat. With my head resting against the glass, I watched reflected a continuous vista of olive groves stretching up and down in beautifully neat lines over the gently undulating hills, nothing else but olive trees, trailing off into the distance in every direction.

Stepping off the bus, in an incredibly louche manner, I took in my surroundings, the rather sleepy Spanish market town of Baena, destination for a fair amount of the olives I’d seen on the journey, there to be squashed relentlessly and mercilessly at the hands of Núñez de Prado, makers of some of the finest organic olive oil you can get your grubby mitts on, which was exactly what I had in mind.

Taking a swig of water and bemusedly studying the map on my phone, I wandered off aimlessly into town, accompanied by Elly, in search of the famous olive oil mill, determined to bluster, cajole, bribe or threaten my way in (as it turned out, there was no need for any of this, they happily let anyone in).

Arriving unannounced in the oil mill office and enquiring about the possibility of a site tour I was a little taken aback to have the President of the company, Francisco Núñez de Prado (or Paco to his pals) stepping up to act as guide.

Joined by a handful of fellow olive oil tourists we were led around the mill by the extremely entertaining Paco, who explained the process in English, Spanish and French – with a little German thrown in, just for the sheer hell of it.

The Núñez de Prado family have been making Olive Oil for seven generations and have eschewed the use of chemicals in the growing process since 1986 being subsequently certified organic in 1990.

Harvest season runs from November-January with 160 employees picking the olives entirely by hand ‘working really fast’.

The olives are crushed in terrifying looking, rolling, heavy granite presses which date from just after the Spanish Civil War, in 1944 and were installed by Paco’s father.

The resulting paste is then hydraulically pressed. They only produce Extra Virgin Olive Oil and there is only a 1st cold pressing.

The company’s primo product is Flor de Aceite or ‘Flower of the oil’ a free run EVOO that is produced by squeezing the crushed olive oil paste between mats, 10 kilos between each mat with a total of a tonne being pressed at a time. The end product is the oil that seeps out. 11 kilos of olives are needed to make just 1 litre of this oil.

After pressing the olive oil is pumped into glass tanks that are hermetically sealed to prevent flavour contamination. As the oil sits, it separates naturally from the water, which is then pumped away. Nothing is wasted, this ‘black water’ and the leftover crushed, tasteless olive oil paste is combined and used on the olive groves as a fertiliser.

The finished oil is then rested for a couple of months before bottling.

And that is more or less that. We then got the opportunity to purchase some of this exceptional product at almost ridiculous knock down prices £4.25 for a bottle of the Flor de Aceite. Thank you very much, stick me down for a case.

I found the whole thing fascinating, probably because the process is so beautifully simple, just like me. Also, I hadn’t really considered how olive oil was actually made, I mean, I had intelligently surmised you squashed the olives, but had absolutely no idea what the actual squashing operation looked like. Now I do. Artisanal squashy.

Afterwards we had a quick wander around Baena, noting that olives, somewhat unsurprisingly for a town surrounded by the things, are sold absolutely everywhere.

Feeling a bit sharp-set and having an hour or so to kill before our bus back to Córdoba we wandered into a bar down the road from the bus station, where the bocadillos we ordered (despite taking an age to arrive, what with the kitchen actually making a tortilla from scratch for the filling) were each about the heft of a midget’s arm. These combined with some patatas and a bottle of water came to10 Euros. Bar La Tella, I salute you and your two-fingered attitude to proportion.

I have much to share with you all about Spain in the coming weeks. I basically ate and drank my way non-stop around three cities, no doubt forever ruining my health, just for this blog and its readers. I really hope all 3 of you appreciate it.

Where to eat and drink in Bath

When I moved to Bristol three years ago, I was astounded to find that Bath is pretty much right next door (my mental geography image of this part of the UK at that time mostly consisting of the word ‘Cider’ scrawled across the South West portion of the map, in crayon). It is in fact a mere 15 minutes away on the train from Temple Meads and it’s fair to say that it’s bloody lovely. 

As you are no doubt aware, I’m a sophisticated chap and like nothing more than a meander around this rather beautiful city gawping at some Georgian architectural majesty. Innit. As such, I have visited Bath a fair old bit and I reckon I have a pretty good handle nowadays on where’s good for a drink or something to eat and I want to share this hard earned information with you.

Now before I begin, as with my previously published Bristol guide to eating and drinking, I should point out these are the places I like, so bear that in mind whilst reading and subsequently spraying tea over your screen in a flabbergasted manner, then resultantly pounding out an angry comment, all elbows and arses. 

Saying that, I’m not ashamed to point out that I have supremely good taste and you could do far worse than to follow my guidance on such matters.

So, lets get cracking… 

Colonna and Smalls

First of all, coffee. This is undoubtedly the best place to get ‘cwaffee’ in Bath, in fact it’s probably the best place to get coffee in the South West. These guys take their brewing so seriously, it’s verging on geeky. I love it. Oh, and the cakes are bloody nice too.

6 Chapel Row

BA1 1HN

Telephone: 07766 808 067

http://www.colonnaandsmalls.co.uk

The Star Inn

A fairly new discovery for me. One of the most beautiful and unspoilt pubs I’ve ever sipped a pint in. Seriously, the interior looks like it hasn’t changed since at least 1935. It’s like stepping back in time. No fruit machine, no flat screen TV, no garish posters offering 2 for 1 on WKD, just a fire in the grate and a background murmur of conversation and laughter. Absolute pub heaven.  I reckon the locally brewed Bellringer Ale is the drink to order.  

23 The Vineyards Off the Paragon (A4)

BA1 5NA 

Telephone: 01225 425 072

http://www.star-inn-bath.co.uk

Sam’s Kitchen

An Ottolenghi’ish display of beautifully heaped salads, cooked meat and cakes greet you as step into this cracking little café. The lunch I ate here recently was probably one of the best I’ve eaten anywhere in Bath. A plate piled with various salads topped with slices of roast lamb and olive tapenade. Superb. The excellent aforementioned Star Inn is just in the next street up. 

61 Walcot Street

BA1 5BN

Telephone: 01225 481159

www.samskitchendeli.co.uk

The Chequers

I had a cracking lunch in this Bath Gastropub and was so inspired by the dessert I ate, Elly and I nicked the idea for one of our most successful ‘Basement’ desserts. Looking at the menu, puddings are a particularly strong section. The set lunch menu is decently priced. The sister pub to The Chequers, The Marlborough Tavern is just nearby. I’ve had some extremely nice food there and some that’s been just OK, so I’ve found it a little inconsistent to be honest, nevertheless it has a superb beer garden, if the sun’s shining. 

50 Rivers St

BA1 2QA

Telephone: 01225 360017

http://www.thechequersbath.com

Bertinet Bakery

I’m a huge fan of Richard Bertinet’s excellent sourdough. Definitely pick up some of that, even if you’re just visiting Bath for the day, (preferably sliced) it keeps really well and toasts nicely from frozen and while you’re at it, grab some pastries and cakes too. Everything is superb.

6 New Bond Street Place

BA1 1BH

http://www.bertinet.com/bertinetbakery/bakery.php

Green Park Farmers Market

If you’re in Bath on a Saturday morning, head over to Green Park (formerly a train station) for the Farmers Market. There’s a fair bit of local produce on offer. I particularly recommend Homewood Cheese for their Ewe’s Curd. It’s cracking. Colonna & Smalls is located just around the corner, so get a coffee first to drink as you walk round.

Every Saturday 9am – 1:30pm

Green Park Station

Green Park Road

BA1 1JB

http://www.bathfarmersmarket.co.uk

The King William

A lovely little Bath gastropub set over a couple of floors. There’s a bar and a small dining room on the ground floor and a couple of attractive dining rooms upstairs. There are some extremely nice wines on their list and some great local ales on tap.  Elly and I had a stonking Sunday lunch here.

36 Thomas Street 

BA1 5NN

Tel: 01225 428096

http://www.kingwilliampub.com

Allium

Chef Chris Staines, formerly of the Michelin starred Mandarin Oriental in London has recently made the move to Bath and already achieved some rather impressive reviews from national newspaper reviewers, including Jay Rayner of The Observer and John Walsh in the Independent. Hard to believe the restaurant is located in a Best Western hotel, nevertheless the food is beautifully cooked. The set lunch menu is a bit of a bargain. I’m really looking forward to eating there again.

Best Western Abbey Hotel

North Parade

BA1 1LF

Telephone: 01225 805245

http://www.abbeyhotelbath.co.uk/allium-brasserie

Hare and Hounds

Since I last ate here, a new head chef has arrived so until I go back, I can’t really recommend the food (Although the pub has the same owners as The Chequers and The Marlborough Tavern so the odds are it should be fairly decent). The reason I’ve included this pub in my Bath recommendations is the view. This place has the most amazing vista over the surrounding countryside, both from within the interior of the pub and outside in a rather lovely terrace and garden. Although it’s a little way out of town, if the weathers nice, head here for a drink and if you do have some food, let me know if it’s any good.

Lansdown Road

BA1 5TJ

Telephone: 01225 482682

http://www.hareandhoundsbath.com

 

Finally, a couple of non-food related Bath tips… 

Bath Thermae Spa

Something to do in Bath that I highly recommend, especially if you’re in town midweek. (It gets stupidly packed at the weekend) The Bath Thermae Spa is absolutely frigging uber. Yes, it’s not cheap at £26 for 2 hours (Although if you’ve travelled to Bath on the train, print this voucher out and get 4 hours for the price of 2) but it’s worth it. Seriously, floating  in a warm open-air pool up on the roof, the surrounding countryside visible through the steam rising around you just has to be experienced…unless you don’t like pools. Personally I could have floated around in there all day. Tres ancient Roman. As I said, go midweek, in the morning, for the best experience. 

The Hetling Pump Room, 

Hot Bath St

BA1 1SJ

Telephone: 0844 888 0844

http://www.thermaebathspa.com

Found

Found is a shop owned by friends of mine and Elly’s, located just over Pulteney bridge. It’s basically full of extremely cool and well-chosen items, clothes, cards, stationery, bits and bobs and magazines (they stock David Chang’s Lucky Peach). Apparently Vogue has listed it as one of the top 100 stores outside of London, dahling. Well worth poking your head in for a look. Tell them Dan and Elly sent you to get 150% added on to anything you buy.

17 Argyle Street,

BA2 4BQ

Telephone: 01225422001

http://foundbath.co.uk

So that’s my Bath food and drink recommendations. It’s not an exhaustive list, I’m always finding about new places to eat and booze at. If you think I’ve missed somewhere worthwhile, or you have a recommendation, let me know.

Doughnuts Part 2 – Fennel and Raisin Custard

After the last nerve-shredding excursion to doughnut hell, I can hardly believe that I’ve managed to summon the sheer brass bollocked fortitude needed to make another attempt, but I have and this time, things were different.

First of all, I tried out a new flavour combination. Inspired by the rather bloody superb fennel and raisin bread available from Harts Bakery, (Located just around the corner from Bristol’s Temple Meads station) my doughnuts would be stuffed with fennel and raisin custard and would taste, it turns out, frigging uber. Even if I do say so myself.

Secondly, I actually followed my pastry chef mate’s tips, advice and amendments to the published St John doughnut recipe.

If you read my last post on the subject of doughnuts, you may be asking yourself why try again, Dan? Why Dan? WHY?!

Well, if I’m honest, my ridiculous sense of perfection and my mungus ego was left critically wounded by how much of a massive ball ache I found the whole process last time. I just ‘had’ to have another go at it and confirm that I’m the absolute frigging daddy / an utter half-baked cretin (delete as applicable).

Well yep, I’m pleased to report it’s cheesy grins and congratulatory back slaps all round as a sweet yeasty doughnut smell of success pervades my smug old ass right now. I honestly couldn’t be more chuffed with how they turned out this time. I rock. Totally.

If you too fancy grabbing yourself some of this impossibly self-satisfied conceit, here’s what you’ll need in addition to the doughnut recipe from my previous post, HERE.

Fennel & Raisin Custard Doughnut

You’ll Need: -
6 Tsp Fennel Seeds, Crushed (to infuse the crème patissiere)
200g Raisins
2 Tbsp Fennel Seeds, Crushed (to dust the doughnuts).

First, as my chef friend advised, after mixing your dough, don’t leave to rise as the original recipe advises, place it straight into the fridge. I made it in the evening and left it in the fridge overnight. The resulting dough was much firmer and easier to handle than on my previous attempt.

I weighed the dough out into 50g per portion, before rolling into balls to rise, with my hands coated with a little sunflower oil.

Also as advised, I placed the doughnuts on greaseproof paper, two to each piece.

When it came to frying, (at 175C) I dropped both into the fryer at once, paper and all, holding onto the edge of the greaseproof and pulling it away as they dropped into the hot oil. This saved me handling the doughnuts and squashing them, something that caused me so much frustration last time.

When dusting your just fried doughnuts add a couple of tablespoons of finely crushed fennel seeds to the caster sugar.

The other changes are to the crème patissiere recipe, at the beginning; add 6 tsp of crushed fennel seeds to the milk and vanilla pods mix to infuse.

Finally, pour boiling water over the raisins and leave them for a few minutes, to puff up a bit, before straining and stirring through the finished crème-pat. No one likes a flaccid raisin.

So that, as they say, is that. I can hold my head high (and suck my stomach in even more) I have persisted and prevailed over doughnuts!

* Wild Applause*

Bacon and Bourbon Custard Doughnuts

Before last week, I had never made a doughnut. Yes *pats belly* I have eaten muchos many, but actually crafted a sugary orb of loveliness with my own fair hands? Tres massive non.

Looking back now, what prompted me then to sit up and declare ‘I shall make doughnuts this day’ (because that’s how I actually talk), I have no idea. I obviously had a yawning circular shaped chasm in my life that needed to be filled, totes Freudian. But anyway. I did it and bloody hell, what a journey it was. A whole day of mixed emotions, ok, I say mixed, it was pretty much howling anger and frustration but at the close, there was just a tiny measure of delight.

You see, I found making doughnuts to be a complete and utter fucking ballache from start to end, but the finished, aesthetically misshapen, fried sugar dusted globes, oozing bourbon custard specked through with caramelised bacon were an absolute joy to eat.

Where did I get the inspiration for bacon and bourbon custard doughnuts? I have no idea. It just came to me in a similar boss-eyed brain flash that brought you celery ice-cream (yay) served with hot Stilton fritters (errr retch). My noggin just spits out stuff, that’s how it works. Sometimes it’s ‘mazers. Sometimes it’s totally ming. There’s no way of knowing until I actually make whatever it happens to be. Thinking about it, in all honesty, there’s probably a combination of influences at work, from the BBQ flavours in the day job as a manager at Grillstock to the incredible oxtail doughnuts at Duck at Waffle.

I decided to adapt the St John doughnut recipe from Beyond Nose to Tail, theirs are generally considered to be the best example money can buy (although if you’re reading this and are Bristol based, check out Pippins doughnuts, every Friday at Corn Street market – made by a former St John pastry chef, they’re just as good, unsurprisingly).

Towards the end of the doughnut making process, when I was feeling utterly broken, covered in a combination of flour, dough and desperation with every single bare surface in the wreckage of my kitchen littered with discarded ingredients and equipment, like a far warmer, gastronomic version of Napoleon’s 1812 retreat from Moscow; salvation came.

I’d forgotten that a friend of mine was until recently a pastry chef at the St John Hotel and was just a bit more than au fait with the whole doughnut making process. No doubt observing my blood curdling, profanity laden doughnut hell via the medium of Twitter, he offered to email me some tips and addendums to the published St John recipe, based on his own professional experiences. This much-needed lifeline came too late for me friends. I will be forever mentally scarred by my delicious but ugly doughnuts sat there, silently mocking my herculean baking efforts, just by their very existence.

But this need not happen to you. I’ve added my chef friend’s observations to the recipe, so if you attempt it yourself, you’ll be better prepared than I was.

The doughnuts themselves are delicious. The bourbon flavoured custard is subtly boozy, the caramelised bacon bits, salty-sweet and you know…as porky as you’d expect. If you’re really not sure about the meat element, leave it out. I’ll forgive you. Sort of.

One final observation. Crème patissiere is the f*cking daddy. I’ve never made it before and to say I was massively impressed is something of an understatement. Holy shit, I couldn’t leave it alone. Sneaking back for sly spoonfuls, smearing it in hot cross buns, mainlining it intravenously…. perhaps not the last one…yet, but you get the idea. Consider yourselves warned and go purchase some fatty trousers now.

Bacon and Bourbon Custard Doughnuts
Makes 25

You’ll need a freestanding electric mixer with the beater attachment (like my faithful KitchenAid, Klaus Von Battenberg).

You’ll Need: -
500g strong white flour
65g caster Sugar, plus extra for coating
10g salt
15g fresh yeast
4 large eggs
Grated zest 1 lemon
155ml water
125g softened unsalted butter
Sunflower oil for deep-frying

Place all the ingredients except the butter and the oil in the bowl of the mixer. Mix on a medium speed for 6 minutes, then scrape down the sides of the bowl.

Start mixing on a medium speed again, adding the soft butter about 20g at a time until all incorporated. Keep mixing for 6-8 minutes, until the dough has come away from the sides of the bowl and looks smooth, glossy and elastic.

Place the dough in a large bowl, sprinkle the surface with flour and cover with a tea towel. Leave to rise for 2-3 hours in a warm place, until doubled in size, then knock back the dough. Cover the bowl with cling film and place in the fridge for at least 4 hours or overnight.

Cut the dough into 25 pieces and roll them into smooth balls. Place on floured baking sheets, leaving about 5cm between each one. Cover with cling film and leave to prove for 2-3 hours, depending on how warm it is; they should double in size.

Heat your deep fat fryer to 190C

With the oil at the right temperature, start frying the doughnuts in batches of 3 or 4. They will take about 2 minutes on each side. Remember to check the temperature of the oil between each batch, as the doughnuts are done; place them on kitchen paper to soak up the excess oil and then toss in caster sugar.

To fill your doughnuts, you will need a piping bag with a nozzle. Make a hole in each doughnut with a small knife and pipe in the filling, about 4 Tbs per doughnut.

Here’s the Bacon and Bourbon Crème Patissiere recipe for the filling.

Makes enough to fill 25 doughnuts (that’s handy then).

You’ll need:-
2 vanilla pods
1 litre full fat milk
12 large egg yolks
130g Caster Sugar
80g plain flour
250ml lightly whipped double cream
3-4 Tbsp Bourbon Whisky
8 rashers streaky bacon
8 Tbsp brown sugar

First, lay the bacon out on a silicon-baking sheet or foil-covered tray, sprinkling each piece with the brown sugar. Place in a 200C oven and bake for 12-16 mins. Halfway through, flip them over. When dark brown, remove from the oven and cool on a wire rack. Once cooled, chop into small pieces (remember, they have to go through a piping bag nozzle).

Next, make the crème patissiere.

Slit the vanilla pods lengthways and scrape out the seeds. Put the pods and the seeds in a saucepan with the milk and bring to the boil over a medium heat.

Meanwhile, mix the egg yolks and sugar together in a large bowl. Sift in the flour and whisk it all together. When the milk is boiling, pour it over the egg mixture, whisking all the time. Then return the mixture to the saucepan and slowly bring to the boil over a low heat, whisking occasionally.

Once it is boiling, whisk continuously for about 5 minutes, until very thick and smooth. Strain through a fine sieve into a bowl and cover the surface with cling film to prevent a skin forming. Leave to cool, then chill.

When you’re ready to fill the doughnuts, fold the whipped cream through the crème patissiere to lighten it and, stir through the chopped caramelised bacon and the Bourbon whisky.

Now, before you dive in and start madly churning out doughnuts here’s what my friend Sam, ex St John Hotel pastry chef has to add to the recipe and doughnut making in general…

Firstly, I think you can drop 5ml of water from the mix. This is probably one of those little things that creep in when you scale up/down recipes.

Second, you need to really mix it well before the butter goes in. The instructions in the book are misleading I think. I used to do it for 10mins on medium speed until the dough is really glossy and comes away from the sides of the bowl. At the start that seems unlikely but then it works and looks like proper dough! Once at this stage, add the butter, which needs to be properly soft. I add it a bit at a time, mixing slowly until it's all incorporated, then turn up the speed and give it a 3-minute blast, to really make sure the butter is properly combined.

Thirdly, we used to just stick the dough straight in the fridge, as leaving it out is going to make it overprove before it's chilled enough for shaping. When you refrigerate fermenting dough there's a degree of inertia - dough takes a while to chill, and it's fermenting all the time, so there is a tendency for it to overprove even in the fridge. I think if you leave the dough out before fridging, then overproving is guaranteed. It'll be pretty warm from the mixer anyway. I find they are best to mix the dough in the morning, then pop in the fridge all day, then fry in the evening, but the dough is good in the fridge 3 days as long as it went straight in there from the mixer.

Shaping wise: with the dough really cold it'll be a lot easier. Oil on the hands stops it sticking, and on the scales etc. Oil some pieces of baking paper which are large enough for the amount of doughnuts you can fry in one go, say 2, then when you fry you can drop the whole paper with dough straight into the fryer instead of having to manhandle them. You can drop the paper in the oil, just keep hold of one bit so you don't burn yourself taking them out again, they need to be kind of submerged so the doughnut cooks off the paper.

When you shape, you don't need to do much, but to get them very regular you need to shape them like a bread roll, taking the edges of the piece into the middle, one at a time, each time it stretches the dough and provides shape, then roll it between your hands 'til it's smooth. Hard to explain really.

Fry at 175c, not 190. They are best within an hour, but fine for a day.

Staff fave for leftovers is one bunged in the oven to warm, then cut open with a scoop of chocolate ice cream inside... Naughty.

So there you go, hopefully with the original recipe and these doughnut shaped words of wisdom from Sam, you won't have a nervous breakdown, like I did.

Massive thanks again to Sam for taking the time to email me such useful advice.
Follow him on Twitter @samjleach

Gypsy Tart

When I was a child I’d get taken on summer daytrips to the seaside at Southend. These were elaborately arranged affairs where we’d arrange to meet my grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins from East London and all head to the Essex coast by train. We’d get off at Leigh on Sea, breathing in that immediate, almost alien hit of seaweed and salty air and stroll excitedly past the cockle sheds, through the old town and down the baking hot tarmac path alongside the beach until it was decided we’d halt and stake our claim on a piece of sand. Out would come the wind breaks, towels and deckchairs, picnics and buckets and spades.

I’d paddle in the sea, make sandcastles, spread ice cream across my face and no doubt piss my parents off by showing them every shell I came across. Every now and again I’d glance curiously out across ‘the sea’ wondering what France was like over there on the other side. I just couldn’t get my head around the fact that this vast expanse of water was actually the Thames and that distant land on the horizon was Kent. I’m older now, a little wiser, and although it’s not quite another country across the Thames, they do some things differently over there.

If you were educated in Kent, you’d undoubtedly have eaten gypsy tart. This curiously named, ridiculously sweet dessert is specific to the county and associated with school dinners. I think that’s fantastic. Britain has sadly lost much of its regional food heritage but here one item stands, unmovable, unapologetic. Bravo.

I’d heard of Gypsy tart, but never eaten it. However, a newly published wine magazine, Noble Rot, has recently pulled off something of a coup for their first issue in getting Michelin starred, Kent pub, The Sportsman to provide a recipe for their first issue. Straight away, I was all over this. I’d say the best meal I’ve ever eaten was the tasting menu at The Sportsman and it’s rare to see Chef and owner, Stephen Harris’s recipe’s appearing in print. All around a result then.

I had a go at making The Sportsman’s Gypsy Tart recipe. Twice. I pretty much ate the first one to myself. Elly had a slice, but to my shame, I ate all of the rest over a couple of days. What can I say? I’m an absolute evaporated milk fiend.

As I thought it was so good; I made it again the following week for a dinner party.

The method of slicing the pastry and pressing into the tin to avoid gluten development is new to me, but it worked really well.

Overall, I bloody love this recipe; it’s relatively cheap, simple and tastes superb, especially with a blob of Jersey cream on the side.

Gypsy Tart

This recipe makes one tart.

Ingredients:

For the pastry (you may end up with far more pastry than you need, but it’s not really worth making less – it freezes well anyway):

250g butter, softened

500g low-gluten flour

190g sugar A pinch of salt

2 medium eggs, beaten

Egg wash, to glaze

For the filling:

410ml canned evaporated milk

350g Muscovado sugar

Method:

Cream the butter and sugar until the sugar has dissolved, then beat in the eggs.

Now, by hand, mix in the flour and salt, and knead until you have a pastry dough.Roll into a cylinder and chill until hard.

You don’t want to roll this pastry, as you want to avoid gluten development, so once it’s hard,cut as much of it as you need into enough 5mm-thick discs to line a 20cm tart ring (freeze any excess pastry).

Wet your fingers, place the discs around the edges and base of the ring, and work gently together until they cover it in a smooth, even layer.

Prick all over with a fork then chill.

Fill the case with baking parchment and baking beans, and blind bake at 180C

Remove the paper and beans, turn down the heat to 160C/320F/gas mark 2 and cook until the pastry is an even brown.

Remove, brush with egg wash, and return briefly to the oven to seal.

To make the filling, whisk the cold milk and sugar in a bowl for 10 minutes until you have a light, airy emulsion. Pour into the pastry case and bake at 160C/320F/gas mark 2 for 15-20 minutes.

The filling should be just set, with a slight wobble. There will be a few bubbles on the top and it will show signs of having risen.

Leave to cool until set.

Massive thanks to Noble Rot magazine and The Sportsman for allowing me to reproduce the recipe here.

Pease Pudding and Ham Hock

In these recession-ravaged times, food frugality is to be clutched to the metaphorical bosom. But cheap ingredients aren’t necessarily a poor substitute. A recent dinner of pease pudding and flaked ham was one of the best things I’ve eaten in bloody ages and it doesn’t really get more frugal than that. Split green peas, 50p. A ham hock that admittedly looks like the sort of offcut you might buy as a treat for your pet dog, £1.99. A bit of root veg to sex it all up, say a couple of quid, and you have dinner for 4 and a load of stock left to make soup with.

For me, pease pudding and flaked ham hock is evocative of the old East London I briefly glimpsed as a child in my nan and granddads kitchen, before the family’s exodus to Essex.

Pease pudding is now thought of as an exclusively Northern dish, but there was a real tradition of eating it in East London. Growing up, my Mum’s favourite dinner was Ham or boiled bacon, pease pudding, boiled carrots and potatoes (tres boiled, yeah). My granddad used to cook the split peas in a muslin bag along with the hock.

If there was some left over, the next day, cold pease pudding, ham and mustard sandwiches were another of my Mum’s favourites.

Even if they didn’t cook it at home, pease pudding was often on the cards. As a little girl, my Mum remembers ‘Webster’s’ a delicatessen opposite East Ham town hall, on the Barking Road selling pease pudding from a pot on the marble counter, slapped into grease proof paper and eaten along with saveloys or ‘very peppery’ meat pies which must have been at the dying end of a tradition that novelist Walter Besant wrote about in his book ‘East London’ published in 1901 – which describes an evening trade of ‘faggots, saveloys and pease pudding’

With all this family food heritage, I’m almost ashamed to say that, it was only the other day that I first tried cooking pease pudding and a ham hock myself. It definitely wont be the last time. It was astoundingly good. Pease pudding is subtle, peppery and strangely comforting. Topped with the slightly salty and rich ham hock and loads of white pepper, incredible stuff.

Even if you don’t fancy making the pease pudding, the ham hock is worth doing on it’s own. Life feels much more complete with some lumps of ham to pick at along with a blob of mustard and some good bread and butter.

If you fancy pushing the boat out and doing two ham hocks, you don’t need to add any extra veg, just bang them both in the pot.

I’d like to say this is an old East End family recipe, but I shamelessly pinched it from the always reliable, Gordon Ramsay’s ‘Great British Pub Food’,

Ham Hock and Pease Pudding

Serves 4

You’ll Need: -

1 large smoked or unsmoked ham hock, with bone. Soaked overnight in cold water

2 leeks, trimmed

2 celery sticks, trimmed

1 large carrot, peeled

1 large onion, peeled and halved

1 head of garlic, halved horizontally

2 bay leaves

few thyme sprigs

few rosemary sprigs

1 tsp black peppercorns

For the pease pudding: -

300g split green peas, soaked overnight in cold water.

1 small onion, peeled and finely chopped

1 tbsp butter

few dashes of Worcestershire sauce

white pepper

small bunch of flat leaf parsley leaves, chopped.

You’ll need to plan ahead to make this recipe. Both the ham hock and the split green peas need to be soaked overnight in cold water. It might seem like a load of faff but believe me, it’s worth it. In the case of the ham it’s a precaution to rinse out any salt present. It’s impossible to tell how salty it might be and there’s the possibility of ruining the finished dish As for the peas, it softens them and reduces the cooking time.

Rinse and drain the ham hock, then put into a large pan. Cut the leeks, celery and carrot into 5 cm lengths and add to the pot with the onion, garlic, herbs and peppercorns.

Pour in enough cold water to cover. Bring to the boil, skimming any scum from the surface. Cover with a lid and gently simmer for 2-3 hours, until the meat is soft and pulls away from the bone easily.

Remove the ham hock from the stock and set aside to cool slightly, before flaking the meat into pieces discarding any skin, gristle or bones. Strain the stock, and measure out 600ml for the split green peas.

For the pease pudding, strain the split peas and put them into a saucepan with the chopped onion. Pour in the reserved ham stock and bring to a simmer, then cover and cook for 2 ½ - 3 hours until the peas are soft and the liquid has mostly been absorbed. Add the butter and Worcestershire sauce and season well with white pepper (the original recipe suggests black – I don’t agree).

Serve the pease pudding in bowls, topped with flaked ham hock, chopped parsley and some more white pepper.