Northern Planner

Sausages

If you've loitered around this blog for any time and you're still here, you're probably aware I talk about food a fair bit and even throw in the odd recipe.

There's a few reasons for this, a little to do with wanting to share how easy and wonderful proper food can be, but mostly because cooking is one of my favourite things to do - I mean it's creative, it's making something, it's losing yourself in a task, it's showing people you love them and it's as endlessly exciting as world culture itself.

There's so much story in food where the recipe came from, your own experiences that wrap around it and the ingredients too - along with where it came from, how it was introduced and what context it once had.

I love this Gladwell article on coffee for that reason and I'm a fierce champion of bread in these low GI, post Atkins times (if I may, carbs are essential, it's only personal greed that makes them bad, there's nothing more satisfying that simple, well make bread, nothing filled with so much history and ritual).

Then, in a wierd confluence of seperate threads, my thoughts have returned to the sausage. Partly to do with the call to return to proper blogging, the nostalgia for the Meat Bracket that signifies that golden age, along with the fight for the sausage, but also thoughts about Marcus, the sausage champion and his heroic walk.

Any way, there are two types of sausage in my book. The great sausage that is made with quality ingredients, is probably bought from an independent butcher or a small firm that has got distribution in a large supermarket, and the mass produced, big brand or own label rubbish that is made of all meat that is only called meat thanks to dubious legal tapdancing.

The former is made with craft, care and attention, the other isn't. Trust me, you can taste the difference.

 

Just look at this commercial for Richmond Sausages (mass produced rubbish). Dwell for just a second on the horrific theme of nostalgic home cooked food, a generic space any food brand could fiddle with, and hopefully with a fresh point of view rather than thus dross, but lo, tear your attention away from the strategy (that was artfully proved by TGI and other wonderful data I'm sure) and just look at the sausages themselves. Perfect, each exactly the same size, with an unearthly pink hue that makes each identikit sausage look like a sunburned penis cloned from a cavalier nude sunbather. Horrific, processed rubbish. An insult to the amazing good stuff that's out there...

There's is just too much variety to pick a favourite - the Germans, the Polish, Spanish and the French have amaxing examples of smoked, cured and even just normal varieties. I love chorizo in stews, a Cassoulet can never be acceptable without good Toulouse sausages and the Italians produce sausages with a course texture that electrify pasta in a way no others can.

 

MY favourite happens to the ones my local butcher makes. Big juicy cumberland ones, the epitome of British sausageness. They are amazing when:

You roast them at around 170 degress for 25 minutes and put them in between two slices soft, lovingly buttered bread, with piles of onions fried slowly so they caramelise, making them outrageously sweet, with lashings of Dijon mustard cutting through that sweetness and complementing the juicy meat.

Or when you roughly peel and chop enough carrots, potatoes and sweet potato to feed you and yours well, along with a head of garlic, putting them in a casserole dish, pouring in enough hot chicken stock to nearly cover the veg, with the lid on for 40 minutes at 180 degrees, then taking the lid off,  covering the veg with sausages and putting back in the oven for another half hour (or until the sausages are sizzling and nicely brown) serving with good crusty bread

Or when they're roasted on a bed of red onions, which, once the sausages are cooked, gets mixed with a bit of flour and some great quality chicken stock to make an incredible gravy (and is perfect with a dash of balsamic vinegar) - and a pile of creamy mashed potato, made with lots of butter and hot milk, or even mixed with cooked cabbage to make colcanon.

Or cooked on a barbeque, with the grill high so they cook through, served in floury buns with the humbly fantastic Heinz ketchup.

And then there's chorizo, the king of cured sausage.

 

Incredible just eaten as it is of course, turns a chicken sandwich into a feast, especially with good mayonnaise (and make it yourself, it's so easy and a different planet to what you can buy in a jar -

I use Nigel Slater's. It rarely fails me.

large free-range egg yolks - 2
olive oil - at least 300ml
half a lemon

Break the yolks up. Now pour in the olive oil very, very slowly at first, almost drop by drop, stirring as you do until the mixture starts to thicken. If you get impatient and add the oil too quickly you will never get it to thicken, believe me.

Once you have a small amount of thickening mayonnaise you can turn up the speed a little, adding the oil in a long, thin trickle, stirring all the time. Stop when you have a thick mayonnaise. It need not be so thick you could cut it with a knife, but it should be well on the way. Squeeze the lemon juice in at the end, still stirring. The colour will fade, but should be almost crocus yellow.)

But gently fry it and it will transform and tin of tomato soup, a bowl of pasta with a tomato based sauce, a risotto of you fry it with the onions at the beginning.

Ladies and gentlemen, the sausage. My God I love it it.

The perfect evening

There isn't one of course, it depends on your mood, your preferences etc, but for me, last night seemed as if was at the time.  

I got home at 6.45pm, which is pretty good for me and dived in to play with my 6 month old boy who can't stop smiling and generally wants to play all the time. 

So while Mrs Northern got ready, we did the usual demented pantomime that consists of silly dancing, a bit of talking, bad singing, tickling , throwing around and general buffoonery that makes us both laugh like loons.

That's the amazing bit that's happening now, he's not just the helpless little thing that just wants looking after, we have a relationship, we're friends. And we really like being around each other.

Nothing makes me happier than coming in at the end of the day and him giving a little yelp of joy.

By 8pm he was getting tired, so it was time to give him his last feed an haul into his sleeping bag. This is always Will  and Daddy time. We get settles on the sofa and cuddle while he slowly drifts off.

It was a little different this time, he stayed awake for another hour. So while watched a bit of telly, we kept staring and smiling at each other. He kept on putting his hands out, wanting to explore my face, he seems to like feeling th texture of stubble (he seems to get very excited exploring my bald head). I can't tell you how happy I felt, just smiling at my little boy and him smiling back. His eyes seemed to be saying, "I liked the rough and tumble, but I love just being together like this too". I quietly talked to him, nothing special, just thoughts and stuff and eventually he dropped off.

Finally, it was time for a bit of late night cooking and eating alone. I had no idea what to have, hadn't thought about, but making it up as you go along is sometimes half the fun.

It was, roughly, spaghetti with roasted tomato and chicken.

What you need to do is:

Roast a punnet of ripe tomatoes until they're squishy and a little black around th edges. Glug some olive oil on them before they go in the oven- set it at about 180 degrees c.

What you like for 10 minutes, then put a handful of spaghetti in a pan of boiling water. I also put in a handful of dried sun dried tomatoes.Not only does this rehydrate them quickly, the juices that come out flavour the spaghetti.

Leave it to boil for 12 minutes.

When the tomatoes are done, pour in a glug of white wine, put it back in the oven,

Drain the pasta and sun dried tomatoes, throw them it back in the pan with a handful of chopped, roast chicken, a teaspoon of basil and a teaspoon of dried chillies.

Tip in the roast tomato mixture, along with a handful of rocket and toss it all together. Eat straight away.

It's absolutely magic, really juicy, and the sweetness of the tomato contrasts with the bitter rocket and basil, the kick from the chilli and the dry wine. It tastes of summer.

That was one version of a perfect evening. There are others of course.

Eating alone is brilliant

So much brand communication when it comes to food is all about family and groups. Yet about a  third of adults in the UK are single. The obvious point is why this isn't looked at a little more.

Less obviously, even if you're attached in some way, there's some mileage in a conversation about eating alone.

Those nights when everyone else is out, you can do what you want. Might be read a good book, favourite DVD, telly of your choice or even playing music as loud as you want.

It also means you can eat what you want, make as little or much effort as you fancy (and time allows). The shape of the whole thing is different. There's the lovely, slightly wicked sense of indulgence.

It might be quick....a naughty cornish pasty, a ridiculously large fish finger sandwich (my record is 12 mashed between two soft slices of farmhouse bread), you can go straight to pudding with a microwave sponge or something.

Or you can take your time and make an effort on yourself. Personally, I love pottering in the kitchen, playing a CD, or maybe some Radio 4, sipping some wine. Here's a couple of things I like to cook on my own.

First off is a zingy, tingly pasta. My other half doesn't like food that's too hot while I love it. This only takes 20 minutes.

Boil a big handful of spaghetti it will take about 10 minutes. On the hob, put a good glug of olive in pan and put on the hob, add a knob of butter and when it's foaming, add 1 chopped garlic clove, a heaped teaspoon of chili flakes and a sprinkle of dried parsley, As soon as you can smell the cooking garlic, add a glass of wine and bring to the boil. Keep it warm until the pasta is boiled.

Then drain the pasta, tip in your chili wine mixture along with as many big, plump, tiger prawns as you fancy. Toss it together over the hob for thirty seconds and eat. I have at least one pitta bread with it, and stuff spoonfuls of pasta into it, but that's up to you.

Depending on how long I've got to myself, it will probably be eaten while watching an episode of The Thick of It, or really good film.

Second choice is a juicy steak sandwich. My other half isn't a steak fan. I love it

You'll need some good thick slices of bread of course, along with a steak that's at least an inch thick. Sod fillet, it's too expensive and has no fat...i.e tasteless. I suggest good sirloin or rib eye.

Slowly fry some chopped onions in olive oil, so they're brown and sticky sweet...it will take around 15 minutes. You must keep stirring or they'll catch and burn. Once they're done, fry your steak.

In pan, put in a table spoon of olive oil and a knob of butter, When it's foaming, put your steak in and press it down firmly. leave it for two minutes, then repeat in the other side. That should cook it medium. You'll know it's perfect when you press a finger onto the mean and springs back up.

Shove it in the buttered bread with the onions and whatever sauce you fancy. A purist would say mustard, but if you want ketchup or even brown sauce, it's your sandwich, have what the hell you like!

Still loving Yorshire tea in spite of......

In case you hadn't noticed, Yorkshire Tea is one of my favourite brands. I religiously warm the pot, take just a couple of careful stirs at the start and generally behave like a tea geek.

 

It breaks my heart to say I hate the 'tea time' work. I'm sure it works, I don't know what their data is telling them to do, but I don't think tea time should be treated with such flippancy (or play to stereotypes).

Those little doses of slowness and ritual in the day are really important, I think there a real joy in tea's role in our lives. We deserve something great in these precious moments, from somewhere that knows some rituals should stay as they are.

That's on opinion, that's all it is. I love my Yorkshire Tea too much to be put off by pretty bad gimmicky advertising (and website).

But then, recently, I had a couple of Twittery based conversation that included Yorkshire Tea as subject matter and, low and behold, the brand is following me. Why? Do they want me to have 'a relationship with them?' I already have one. Where exactly have the engaged with me? Do they just want to have lots of Twitter followers or make it easy to see what people are saying about them?

In any case, it makes me feel quite dirty being coldly sized up for something like this. I love tea, please don't waste that.

I truly hope they want to be my friend so they can find out what I care about, listen to me and perhaps let me contribute. Hope....