I had the inauspicious task of turning 33 a few days ago. I know that’s not a cue to start shopping around for retirement homes or for picking out my favourite shade of blue rinse, but it’s hardly spring chicken territory. If I were a footballer I would be described as being in my ‘twilight,’  the game of lawn bowls is becoming more and more appealing and I’m now the precise age that Jesus was when he was crucified.

I’ve finally realised that the purpose of birthday gifts is to take your mind off all of this stuff, something shiny to divert attention. My eldest Sister came up trumps in a big way this year by buying me my first ever Japanese mandolin. I must be the last person in the world to own one of these things but I’m not really a kitchen gadget sort of guy. A mandolin, however, is going to get its mileage in my kitchen, that’s for sure - I even inexplicably used it to make a cheese and cucumber sandwich at lunchtime. But for my Thursday evening snack-attack I’ve made something that probably all new mandolin owners make within their first 48 hours, parsnip crisps with a sour cream & chive dip.

My very generous Sister also bundled in a DVD of the Bruce Lee classic, ‘Enter The Dragon,’ so that’s my Thursday night done and dusted then! Martial arts, parsnip crisps and a couple of lager beers. You could turn me into a pig in a mud bath and I’d be less content than I am right now.

Thanks Big Sis!

GDave

PS. Hey! Bruce Lee was just a few months shy of his 33rd birthday when he died! What are you trying to tell me?

Still on a breakfast theme (the Floddies, not the Pimm’s) and it’s high time I posted a dish from my current part of the world. I moved to Scotland just over a year ago and it’s been equally an education of cuisine as one of culture.

I didn’t know until my time here that jumbo sausages could be deep-fried in batter, that the Pakora was regarded (by some) as Scotland’s national dish, nor that the Scotch Pies at Ibrox could make your gums bleed for more than the duration of a Glasgow Rangers football match. Here, just as in the rest of Britain, great food doesn’t come looking for you. It has to be hunted down, which is really what this blog is all about.

Herrings in Oatmeal doesn’t take too much hunting down. A very famous Scottish breakfast, one which even I’ve known of for years, and so simple there’s really no recipe involved. My herrings came to me filleted by my fishmonger with the skins left on, but these little blighters are über boney so a little time was taken to pluck out the worst offenders. Once boned and trimmed the fillets were well seasoned and dropped flesh side down onto a plate of pinhead oatmeal and pressed hard making sure the whole side of the fillet was firmly coated with the oats. The oiliness of the fish was all the adhesive needed for this. Finally the fillets were fried in a hot, oiled skillet on the oaty flesh side for 3 or 4 minutes until the oats were toasty and brown, then flipped onto the skin side for another couple of minutes along with a knob of butter.

Of course, your average 280 lbs Scottish bare-knuckle prize fighter might skip the sprig of parsley and lemon wedges, but this is one tasty brekkie that will set you up, well, until lunchtime at least.

GDave

The skies are blue, the days are long and the strawberries and cream are flowing at Wimbledon. The British summer has arrived with fervour. This might seem a trivial thing, but on an island where even the sunniest regions get over 100 days of rain per year, (close to 300 days in other areas) we have an understandable appreciation of sunshine. Knotted handkerchiefs become customary headgear, our trousers rolled up to the knees, and we pour ourselves a long glass of that most essential of all summer accessories, Pimm’s.

Pimm’s is regarded to be epitome of English refinery, the drink of choice for the Wimbledon hat-wearers and every polo tournament frequenter in the Royal Shires. Order a pint of Carling at a polo match and you’re in for some stern looks. Shellfish monger-turned restaurateur James Pimm came about the idea for this gin-based cocktail in 1823 whilst searching for the ideal digestif for his oysters. Thirty years later and demand for the ‘No.1 Cup’ was such that the company moved to large scale production in order to keep gentlemen’s bars and officer’s messes well stocked up. Pimm expanded his range in the years to come, using his herbal recipe with other base liquors; vodka, scotch, rum and the like, although few of these survive to this day. Marketing variations on an original brand is a difficult proposition, one which only the KitKat Chunky has met with success in recent years.

So dust off your top hat and sock garters, stiffen your upper lip, go out in the midday sun and enjoy the taste of a very upper class England.

Toodle pip!

GDave

The lowly potato has been taken unto the bosom of so many nations. Who would have thought that when Sir Isaac Newton brought the potato back from the Holy Land it would have proven the cornerstone of our diet? (this actually happened, I read it in a book about history ‘n’ stuff) As soon as we were convinced they weren’t poisonous we went on to discover just how versatile potatoes truly were; creating chips, mash and other delicacies. But it was the potato cake that ultimately united the world. Enjoyed on every continent of our Earth, they might be different shapes, sizes and flavours but they all contain that same key ingredient… cake! (uh no, make that potato)

Enough waffle, this version of an English potato cake comes from Gateshead and Durham in the Northeast of the country. Bacon Floddies are a traditional breakfast course said to have been a staple of the ‘navvies’ working on the northern canals in the 19th century, a tale leading to them being otherwise know as Canal Floddies. A hearty start to the day for labourers and the big-boned alike, they would be served with rashers of back bacon and good butcher’s bangers. An interesting story, if not a little fanciful, is that the navvies would cook these up for themselves on their shovels over an open fire. Undoubtedly a romantic image, but I’m having difficulty seeing hardened canal workers leaving home with empty stomachs and knocking up potato cakes on frosty mornings. Isn’t that what wives are for?

Floddies belong to the Swiss rösti/hash brown school of potato cakes, using grated potatoes rather than mashed, although the addition of flour make them a little heavier than a rösti. But I can see these babies coming to the rescue on a hungover Sunday morning. Here’s the forme… > > Read on > >

Today in the Commonwealth we celebrated The Queen’s Official Birthday. The Queen’s real birthday is on 21st April but this is a day to mark her coronation to the throne and a day of pageantry and celebration for our Royal Family, armed forces and anyone who wants to revel in a bit of national pride.

I’m not much of a monarchist and about as likely to put my hand on my heart when the national anthem plays as John Lydon, but something very strange hit me during the 2003 celebrations of The Queen’s 50th anniversary, even stranger than Bryan May’s guitar solo on top of Buckingham Palace. The thing was, I actually buy into this stuff! I love the fact that The Queen is adored by millions of Britons. That Australia, who by all rights should be a republic, still voted to retain her as head of state. That Fiji, after more than 20 years of independence, still celebrate her birthday. Despite all of her offspring’s (and husband’s) misdemeanours she remains a talisman of Britishness and, for me, Englishness. I’ll leave it to Stephen and Hugh to sum up what it means to be English.

Coronation Chicken was a dish created in 1953 for The Queen’s coronation by Rosemary Hume and subsequently published in her, and Constance Spry’s, cookery book. The recipe has been changed and adapted over the years but this is quite a faithful version of Hume’s original. > > Read on > >

Ynys Môn, better known to non-Welsh speakers as Anglesey, is an island that lies a short distance off the Northwest coast of Wales across the Menai Strait and is the fifth largest island off the British mainland.

A large part of the local economy depends on tourism thanks to its outstanding rural beauty and dramatic coastlines, very typical of North Wales, but that’s not to say entirely dependant. Industry and agriculture also play big roles for the population of 69,000 people, two of its largest employers being the Wylfa nuclear power station and Anglesey Aluminium (owned by Rio Tinto). However, Anglesey faces testing times in the coming years. Wylfa is provisionally earmarked for closure in 2010 (a good or bad thing is not for me to comment) and as a result Rio Tinto have decided that the aluminium smelters cannot viably survive without their cheap source of energy. Combined job-losses could total over 2000 people, obviously a devastating blow for a community of this size.

But Anglesey has a few rays of hope on the horizon. There are discussions to keep Wylfa open until as late as 2014 which will at least secure those jobs for the near future (and hopefully beyond the recession) after which, German company RWE npower have an option on the site. But Anglesey has also secured part of a £38m EU regeneration grant aimed at helping the most deprived areas of Wales as well as private companies looking to invest in the area. Further to this, a new scheme is being rolled out to encourage the placement of students with existing island businesses designed to stem the “brain drain” of high achieving school-leavers and university graduates from leaving Anglesey, a statistic recorded as a massive 89% by the 2001 census.

Hopefully the proposed support will make a difference to Anglesey’s inhabitants. My own countless holiday experiences in North Wales (albeit never across the strait) have always been a joy and it would be terrible to see their community degenerate as is currently threatened.

Okay, no more ‘heavy’ stuff. Let’s see what Anglesey has to fill our bellies! Here’s a very tasty dish from the island.

Ŵyau Ynys Môn (lit. Anglesey Island Eggs) is a gratin of mashed potatoes and boiled eggs, topped with white sauce and cheese. Very simple to make and is destined to be a regular at Chez Greedydave. > > Read on > >

Back on food, and I hadn’t sampled Patum Peperium before the beginning of this year. Plenty of people in this country remember it as a store cupboard staple when they were growing up, whether they liked it or not. Sadly, it wasn’t an item on me old Ma’s shopping list. Saying that, it’s not particularly widely available now and I don’t have any perception of it being more so when I was a kid.

So I had very little idea of what to expect when my delivery arrived from an online deli other than Gentleman’s Relish was a fermented, spiced anchovy paste whose secret recipe dates back astonishingly to 1828 and whose perfect partner is hot, buttered toast. Deciding to do it the traditional way I popped the top off the small, white plastic pot and spread a little on the corner of a sippet of toast. Wow! This stuff is potent. The saltiness hits you straight away, but the intensity of the fermented anchovy creeps up and keeps creeping up, similar to a first Marmite experience (which in turn is like a near-death experience). But this crescendo peaked and I began to find myself enjoying it thoroughly. Yes, these are very strong flavours but not severe. The intensity of its fishiness is comparable with that of Thai shrimp paste (if you’ve ever sampled that straight from the tub) and the spice is well balanced. On texture, well it is exceptionally salty to the extent of being grainy, but Patum Peperium is good, ballsy stuff, befitting of any gentleman’s breakfast table.

Actually, I think that’s what might entertain me the most, that in a world where peasant foods have become that of the elite, (oysters, monkfish, cassoulet, etc) Gentleman’s Relish has done the reverse. Originally designed for the bow-tied hoi polloi, Patum Peperium is ours for a couple of quid a pot. Although, it is still best served with the morning broadsheet, ironed by one’s butler.

GDave

Okay, so this is a food website, but as a Manc I can’t really let this one pass.

The curtain has all but dropped on another football season but what a great season it’s been for my hometown team, Manchester United.

The UEFA Champions League title wasn’t to be this year, soundly beaten 2-0 by FC Barcelona in last night’s final at the Stadio Olimpico, Rome. Stepping out from behind my own partisanship, it was well earned and Barca were deserved winners. Despite this deep disappointment it’s important not to overlook the achievements of this year.

The English football league season drew to its conclusion last Sunday with United once again taking the spoils, their 11th triumph in the FA Premier League era and 18th in England’s top division - a joint record. Further more it becomes the second time that United have won three successive Premier League titles, a feat not matched even once by their rivals.

Back in March, Manchester United took the Football League Cup (aka Carling Cup) in a Wembley final against Tottenham Hotspur but an FA Cup semi-final loss to Everton prevented United from a clean sweep of domestic trophies. However, just before Christmas they achieved their first ever victory in the FIFA Club World Cup, a relatively new tournament represented by all six of the continental football confederations, being dubbed World Champions.

It’s been a wonderfully memorable football season for us Mancs and for the hundreds of thousands of Manchester United supporters worldwide, due solely to the dedication, determination and abilities of everyone involved with the club. Until August, “Forever and ever, we’ll follow the boys…”

GDave

It’s only fitting that I kick off this whole malarkey with something from my own neck-of-the-woods and something which, not entirely out of bias, is one of my all-time favourites, Eccles Cakes.

Eccles used to be a borough unto itself and bordered my own district of Flixton. These days, however, the town of Eccles is part of the borough of Salford, about 4 miles west of Manchester. By most accounts Eccles led a reasonably low-key life up until the Industrial Revolution when the Bridgewater Canal and the Liverpool & Manchester Railway brought industry to the area in the form of textiles and iron. But mention the name of Eccles to anyone on these shores and, “Eccles Cakes,” will be the first words you’ll hear. They are delicate little pastries filled with a currants, candied fruit peel, bound with butter and topped with a sprinkling of caster sugar.

Accounts of the Eccles Cake go all the way back to the 18th century and were sold commercially from 1796 by James Birch from a small shop on the corner of Church Street and Vicarage Road in the town. The annals of the Eccles and District History Society tell of Birch moving to larger premises in 1810 only to have the old shop occupied by a former employee, James Bradburn, who set himself up as a rival Eccles Cake maker, the scoundrel. There are a couple of lovely photos of the two shops on their website.

Okay, so my pastry experience is limited at best and I’ve never tried flaky pastry before so this could be messy. This version using frozen butter and lard appealed more than endless rolling, dotting and folding. > > Read on > >