A Real Pea Souper

My food week

2009-03-15T18:33:00.005Z

Good news for soup lovers this week - we are eating more of the liquid vegetable stuff. According to Radio 4's Today programme, fresh soup sales are increasing as we ditch the microwave meals in favour of a more substantial, yet still super-fast, dinner.

This won't be the case in my canteen, however, if Monday's 'French Onion' offering is anything to go by. It tasted like thickened Bovril. It may well have been thickened Bovril. And, if and when you were lucky enough to come across any onion, it was after it had snuck out of the spoon unannounced and caused minor scalding to your chin.

I finally got round to watching the BBC Money Programme documentary, Rise of the Superchef, an expose of the PR machine that surrounds our favourite celebrity chefs this week. And the money-making, business-minded savvy of it all made me feel a bit icky. It made me question almost all of their motives. Apart from Delia Smith's that is. The TV cook who did it first comes off pretty well. Not for her are the branded saucepans and sandwich toasters. So what if she's taken up cheating with tinned mince? At least she's not cheating the public. You will not catch her pitting her fame against that of AWT and his celebrity toilet cleaner. Her mission, she says, convincingly, has always been to teach the nation to cook.

Now I have always struggled with Delia recipes. As my love of soup might suggest, I am a bit of a one-pot cook. Perhaps it's just my choice of recipe, but Delia always seem to make me transfer everything from one pan to another, blend it, click my heels three times and say "there's no place like home".

But, determined to pay the great lady my respects, I set about creating her roasted vegetable biryani. Pictured here. Complete with Delia's suggested raw tomato and pepper garnish, the addition of which I am still inclined to see as superfluous, and my own offering of sultanas, thrown on with reckless, garnish-crazed abandon. And I have to say it was rather nice and my dinner guests oohed and aahed appropriately.

Done. As Gordon Ramsay might say. Although slightly less often now that he has sold his LA restaurant back to the hotel in which it is based. I await the hour long Demise of the Superchef with interest.

Perhaps it was Gordon's sticky toffee pudding that put off the body conscious LA diners. A few weeks ago we were outraged that we were eating more fast food, hurtling towards obesity, and increasing the profit margins of KFC and Subway in the process. Now comes the news, shock horror, that even proper chefs make food that is bad for you.

On Thursday, The Guardian published Gordon Ramsay's sticky toffee pudding recipe (which fed my vanity by bearing a startling resemblance to my own) to illustrate the point. This is like dangling forbidden fruit under our noses - "You shouldn't eat this, it's bad for you. But just in case you are willing to risk immediate cardiac arrest, here's how to make it and by the way it will taste great." Butter and sugar topped off with more butter and sugar and a generous helping of double cream. Mmm, sweet, gooey saturated fat. Once in a while. Obviously.

Carrot surprise

2009-02-16T18:10:00.000Z

At first glance I wan't sure what it was. There were no discernable chunks in the dark mustard coloured, starchy liquid at the top of the cup.

I went in with the spoon and quickly struck something solid. I scraped it up the side of the cup and raised it out of the liquid to examine my haul.

And there they were, the canteen's vegetable of choice. Diced carrots. I checked the description and was informed I was eating 'yellow split pea'. But, following further spoon-led investigations there were no legumes in sight.

Only carrots. They feature so often that I think the only reason my night vision isn't perfect is because they are boiled within an inch of their lives before I eat them.

Need. Green. Vegetables.

Back to the blender

2009-02-14T16:47:00.001Z

You know where you are with a bowl of soup. And my staple foodstuff has been pretty much the extent of my culinary adventures since I hung up my pinny after the hen night.

This week, roasted tomato and red pepper. In a restaurant, I'm always wary of a tomato based soup. My distrust is based on a cafe job I had years ago, where the tomato and basil consisted of the juice drained from a tin of plum tomatoes, boiled with dried basil, salt and sugar until reduced to a consistency only marginally thicker than that of water.

When considering an order of tomato soup it is also necessary to consider the Heinz question. That is, could this soup really be preferable to the sweet, creamy and deliciously smooth deep orange liquid that comes from a can? And moreover, if it is not, is it likely to spoil your evening to know that you could have got a better bowlful for 50p?

Make your own tomato-based offering, though, and you are in control. My recipe. Put all your vegetables in a deep baking tray or dish; stick them in the oven on a low heat for an hour or so; transfer them to a saucepan and blend with a bit of stock, some salt and pepper and fresh herbs of your choosing.

It could be the 58th variety.

Operation Hen: The Great Curry Menu

2009-02-08T14:52:00.000Z

A quote: "Everybody likes curry. Don't they?"

No. Two of my thirteen hens had the cheek to put in a late request for pasta. A bit of durum wheat in tomato sauce, better than a curry buffet lovingly prepared from scratch? Pah.

But I rose above their culinary indifference and put the last minute dried penne, tomato and olive concoction in a nice dish. I also scattered it with fresh basil leaves and chunks of mozzarella and baked it in the oven. Just to make sure I didn't seem offended.

The menu:

Poppadoms, lovingly microwaved. Served with home made raita and very much shop bought mango chutney. Couldn't be doing everything from scratch.

Chicken tikka masala; vegetable korma; paneer jalfrezi; aloo gobi and tarka dal. Five dishes, yes, five! And all of them cooked from scratch. And, after all my whining, I must confess it really wasn't all that bad. My onion calculations were spot on perfect. Small issues with an accidental overorder of fresh mint after one online shopping click too many, but hey.

On the side, basmati rice and home made chapattis, which were freshly cooked before their very eyes. I felt like a culinary magician. Liberal sprinklings of fresh coriander to give a bit of a 'much better than a take away' feel. And Bob, as they say, is your mother's brother.

I sneer at those who suggested I just make a lasagne. I do believe I mentioned my Masterchef dream... Watch out John and Gregg says I.

Operation Hen: Menu Planning By Numbers

2009-01-28T22:21:00.000Z

I think the most people I have ever cooked for is six. Times that by 2.5 and you have the approximate number of hungry hens who will be consuming my home-cooked fare in just one week's time.

I have decided on curry. Everybody likes curry. Don't they?

Last week, over a glass of wine, I oozed confidence. "Yeah, well, four different curries, rice, naan bread. And poppadoms and dips for starters. Oh and dessert, too."

Now pudding is easy. Tiramisu. My own version with amaretto liqueur and amaretti biscuits. But the maths of the rest of it is beginning to fox me. And I made the mistake of specifying numbers. I have said four curries, now three will be a disappointment. At least my promise of "dips" with poppadoms is simply plural. More than one.

Cooking mathematics is more tricky than I thought. Each ingredient must be at least doubled and then added to the already multiplied amount from the other three recipes that contain it. You follow me? This being the case, my curry feast's onion requirement could be written as the sum of 2x + 3y + z.

How do you put that in your online shopping basket?

A Soup Sabbatical

2009-01-20T17:23:00.000Z

After a break for solid food over the festive season, Real Pea Souper is back.

And back with a new project. As well as talking about food I now have to cook it. No, I'm not taking part in Masterchef (although that has been something of a dream since the days of Loyd Grossman), I am branching out into dinner party catering.

A hen do, for fifteen people. Nibbly bits then a two-course meal. It all seemed so simple, but now, with two weeks to go, I'm wondering what you feed a gang of white wine infused twenty-somethings for under fifteen pounds a head?

Real Pea Souper eats real pea soup

2008-11-27T19:48:00.000Z

Pea and mint soup is one of my favourite things. Above even whiskers on kittens and brown paper packages tied up with string.

It must be fairly substantial in texture, but smooth as velvet, and the colour of the Owl and the Pussycat's Boat. My tip would be to use a couple of peppermint teabags in with the stock for extra mintiness and add then the fresh stuff right at the end so it just wilts and you don't boil its flavour away to nothing. Blend with a whizzer and a slick of cream to add a bit of richness.

I didn't make today's offering - the nice ladies in the canteen did. It was pretty good. My only gripe in fact was that they had thrown in a few carrots. Now, this is a tactic that this particular canteen employs on a regular basis and, as I eat there on a regular basis, the presence of carrots in the soup is becoming almost as much of a safe bet as their presence in vomit.

They got away with it this time, there were only a few orangey lumps lurking in the bottom of the bowl to detract from the colour and taste of the main event.

But all I am saying, ladies of the canteen, is give peas a chance.

Yellow split pea

2008-11-21T07:31:00.000Z

Soup in a styrofoam cup reminds me of bonfire parties at primary school. A painfully out of tune sing-song round the fire, warming your hands with Heinz Tomato, complete with lumps where it had burnt to the bottom of the enormous steel pan in the school kitchen.

There are logistical considerations when making a soup designed to be drunk rather than eaten with a spoon. Too lumpy and there is a big risk of scalding your upper lip with a chunk of boiling vegetable. Too thin and it takes a decade to be cool enough to drink.

Yellow split pea was a perfect soup drinking experience. Blended to silky smoothness with the texture of yogurt thanks to the starchy split peas. Decent stock, salt and pepper and a few carrots, it went down a treat.

Thai mushroom and coconut in a tom yum style

2008-11-19T07:26:00.000Z

Chilli, lemongrass, lime leaves, lime juice, mushrooms, tofu, mange tout, stock and coconut milk.

It had separated in its tupperware pot in the fridge which was unfortunate. A creamy crust on the top, tinged with the grey of the mushrooms. Underneath, a thin brown liquid engulfing chunks of silken tofu pressed against the sides of the tub as though in a bid for escape.

The mange tout were something of a logistical hazard. They are not bite-sized in nature, so you are forced to almost inhale them to get them into your mouth in one go. It is possible to bite through the middle and put the other half back with your spoon, but you run the risk of biting through a pocket of hot stock which will scald your chin and cause an unsightly dribble.

Don't get me wrong though, it tasted very nice indeed. The husband-to-be made it. Comforting to know that I shan't go hungry.

Discount vegetable

2008-11-17T16:54:00.000Z

94p is not half bad for a carton of soup. The soup itself was not half bad either - carrots, onions, swede/turnip, (the English living in Scotland struggle with this one) and, best of all, big chunks of French beans. All bound together in a not too thin, but not too gloopy, tomatoey liquid.

Nothing fancy, but then one would assume these so-called 'discount' brands aren't meant to be. I'm a bit suspicious of this whole supermarket discounting lark though. Of course everyone wants to pay less for their food if they can get away with it. But we are no longer willing to do so at the expense of what we perceive to be quality. I can honestly say my soup was as good, if not perhaps better, than many of the ones I have bought at over twice the price. It wouldn't surprise me if it was the same stuff.

Before the credit started crunching, there was a big to-do regarding Tesco's uber-cheap chickens. The big name chefs got on board and all of us foodies jumped on the bandwagon - cut-price, unethically reared chickens were not on, no matter how cheap they were. We wanted plump, organic chicken with our roast potatoes. And we were happy to tell the nation as much.

Cut to the dawn of credit-crunching cuisine and we are presented with a lobster from Lidl for the bargain price of £4.99. Instead of public outrage I can hear whooping from across the land. The way we eat has moved on. Organic food sales are dropping and the discounters are raking it in.

Food fashion is a big deal. It is no longer trendy to make extravagant culinary purchases because only the best will do. Now we need to be seen to be keeping tight control of those purse strings, even if all we are in fact doing is buying the same carton of soup in different packaging for a bit cheaper.

I must confess I don't know if it's possible to battery farm a lobster. But that is not the point. The point is that no one has batted an eyelid about where it might have come from. It is more likely that those of us who refuse to give up our love of fine dining hot-footed it down to Lidl as soon as the little blighters arrived. And snapped up a bottle of very reasonably priced Sancerre on the way to the checkouts.

Mushy vegetables in a cup

2008-11-14T10:36:00.000Z

I'm still recovering from Wednesday's offering - Potato. An unimaginative title for an unimaginative recipe. Potatoes, carrots, water and salt.

I could barely hide my disappointment as the overcooked powdery spuds dissolved on my tongue leaving only the metallic taste of the urn the vile brew was served from.

A good soup is a delicate balance of flavour and texture, not the accompaniments to a roast dinner in a water bath.

Homemade miscellaneous vegetable

2008-11-11T12:53:00.000Z

Onions, garlic, carrots, potatoes, a green pepper, some frozen sweetcorn, a couple of generous teaspoons of dried thyme, salt and pepper and vegetable stock.

There is something very satisfying about using up your leftovers. The carrots that are ever so slightly bendy. The accidental double purchase of potatoes that have already been boiled and mashed and chipped but never seem to get used up.

If it wasn't already such a cliche I might call it 'credit crunch cuisine', instead I shall call it lunch.