Things on Sticks: a quick look at Oishi-Q

One of my once-favourite shows, Iron Chef, opened every episode with this quote from Brillat-Savarin: "Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you what you are."  Thanks to Iron Chef this has become possibly one of the best-known food quotes of all time.  Which well-known food writer was it, though, who observed that "Putting things on sticks always makes them taste better"?

Actually I don't know that anyone has made that quote famous so far; probably I just made it up.  But it contains at least a grain of truth: satay and kebabs; the pintxos of Barcelona bars (little bread canapes, sort of like bruschetta -- but ON A STICK); toffee apples.  Even cubes of processed cheese with kabana and pickled onions taste a little less worse when skewered with a toothpick than they might otherwise.

And then, of course, there is yakitori.

Since my first visit to Japan last year, I have harboured a not-so-secret love of izakaya culture and yakitori joints.  It's not the grilled chicken itself (which is, after all, a commonly found thing) but something about the atmosphere: the smell of the charcoal, the shouts when you enter ("Irrashaimase!") and from the chefs working the yakitori grill as orders are ready to be served, the frenetic pace of the kitchen and floor staff while all you as a customer have to do is relax, sip sake and decide what to order next, and the ordering format which allows even encourages, you to pick just a couple of things at a time and then ask for more of whatever you want whenever you want it... all of this provides the perfect setting for a cosy evening.

I have sometimes wondered how this kind of venue would go over in Manchester and why we don't have a yakitori-ya here.  Well, it seems now we do!  of a sort, at least...

Oishi-Q is the latest venture to open up in the block that used to be a rather desolate wasteland opposite the BBC on Oxford Rd; the BBC is now gone and the block is now called the Quadrangle and home to an increasing number of semi-trendy eating places including Zouk, Rice, Nando's, Blue Ginger takeaway, Lameizi and as I recently noticed a newly-opened branch of Wasabi.  I was alerted to this 'new kid on the block' by a post from local food guru Hungry Hoss and, seeing as I pass by the side street where Oishi-Q is located almost every day, decided I should stop in and check it out.

The inside looks promising, with a clean, modern feel that avoids soulless minimalism by virtue of the fun fact-filled walls.  The space behind the counter is rather bare, though; no smell of charcoal and no bustle.  The latter may improve as custom picks up, but the electric grill doesn't create quite the same smoky ambience. 

The menu is limited to a dozen or so different types of skewers, all priced at £1.55, including some of the classic varieties: breast, thigh, chicken & leek, meatballs (tsukune); skin and liver, common in Japan but less often seen in restaurants here; quail eggs; and some different vegetable options such as mushrooms, asparagus and broccoli, some of which can also be ordered wrapped with pancetta.  There's also rice and salad for £1.50 a serve, but on my visit the salad looked somewhat forlorn and wilted, which wasn't really an incentive to order it.

Seeing as I had only popped in for a snack, I decided to take advantage of their opening "free taster" special -- "free" meaning if you buy two, you get one free; the normal offer is buy four get one free.  There is a minimum order of two skewers, although I didn't realise until later that it doesn't have to be two of the same sort (in most yakitori places I've been in, if there's a minimum order they have to be the same), so I went for two of the chicken thigh, this being the yakitori archetype and therefore a good test, and for the extra free one, the pancetta and enoki, for something a bit different.

The skewers were fairly small, as was typical in my experience at most Japanese izakaya, with about three pieces of meat each.  The chicken was suitably moist, juicy and tender, with some pleasingly crisp bits on the outside, though overall I would have liked it a bit browner with more char and the tare sauce was a good balance of salt and sweet.  The pancetta was quite salty but made a nice addition to the chicken, and the little bundles of enoki wrapped in each piece had the usual toothsome texture which is what I like best about them.

The big downer here, though, is that they don't serve sake!  Nor do they have plans to get a license, according to the waitress who took my order.  This is a great pity as to me, it's the combination of sake and yakitori (and other little snacky foods) that makes an izakaya.  Without it this is just a place that serves things on sticks -- but tasty ones!  I'll be interested to sample a few other types of thing-on-stick next visit and meanwhile hold out hope that they will introduce sake to the menu soon...

Rasa Sayang

Ooh, my 40th post!  Not an outstandingly prolific record for the just-over-two years I have been keeping this blog, but given that 2011 saw just four posts, 2012 had 21 and this will be the 15th for 2013, at least I'm getting better...

I also decided that, as spring seems finally to have arrived, a seasonal make-over was in order.  I don't understand Blogger's interface or its mysterious back-end (oo-er) well enough to do a completely custom look, but, inspired partly by the hues of the cherry-blossom patterns I saw appearing in Japan last month (where they know how to do seasonal better than just about anywhere else), I have picked some springy colours to redecorate in, and a fun springy font to go with them.  Well, at least I think it's fun and springy.  Other people may think it's just annoying... feel free to tell me so!  Google Stats tells me that a few people (other than me looking up my own recipes!) have been to my blog -- hello dear readers! -- though I don't know if any of them are repeat visitors, but anyway, maybe someone will notice the change.

I have quite a lot of posts-waiting-to-be-written, mostly about restaurants I've visited, and a stack of photos and notes by way of supporting materials.  Currently I'm in the Tristram Shandy-esque position that in the time it takes me to get round to writing up my experiences at one place, I'll have accumulated two or more visits to other places and so the waiting list is growing!  Clearly I need to up my rate of posting -- and also perhaps learn the art of the quick-and-dirty blog post instead of waiting until I have time and leisure to do an extensive write-up.  (And to learn to get to the point.)  In the meantime though, let's travel back in time to last November, when I was in London for a rare pleasure rather than business visit.

I've made my thoughts on Malaysian food and its relative scarcity in the UK known before, so it should be no surprise that I followed up some blog tips (from local authorities Mr Noodles, The Catty Life and Tamarind and Thyme, all of whom certainly seem to know what they are talking about!) to seek it out while I was in London.  First impressions of Rasa Sayang were promising: its bright, cheerful, no-frills appearance was easy to locate on Macclesfield St in London's Chinatown, and the restaurant (at 3pm on a Sunday) was just full enough that I had to wait a wholly acceptable 5 minutes for a table.  This gave me time to peruse the menu, which revealed some of the more unusual Malaysian favourites such as otak-otak (fish steamed in banana leaves with a coconut spice paste, though literally I think the name means 'brains'!) and chee cheong fun (flat rice noodle rolls sliced into strips, with a sweet prawn paste and chilli sauce, garnished with fried shallots and sesame seeds) -- a good sign of potentially authentic food.

Something rarely found outside of Malaysia, and therefore one of the dishes I always eat when I visit, is rojak.  This could be described as a sort of salad, except that to do so would both be misleading and fail to do justice to this unique dish.  Penang rojak starts off like a fruit salad, with chunks of pineapple, green mango, guava, cucumber (technically a fruit, right?), a starchy fruit that I think is jicama, and pieces of a crunchy, juicy, slightly tart, red-skinned, translucent white-fleshed small fruit called jambu air (water-something; my Malay isn't good enough to know what).  So far, so ordinary -- except that it then adds pungent, treacly, salty-sweet prawn paste; hot chilli powder; and chopped peanuts and sesame seeds to make a sticky black spicy-sweet sauce in which the whole mix gets tossed.  Sounds bizarre but tastes delicious!  Another version is pasembur or Indian rojak, which consists of various fried goodies such as tofu puffs, deep-fried eggs, soy bean cakes, prawn fritters and potato chunks drenched in a thick, orange, slightly spicy, slightly sweet chilli sauce and tossed together with beansprouts for crunch.  The only real common feature between the two versions is that they are both assorted things tossed together with other things, which is, as far as I understand it, more or less what the word 'rojak' means.

The rojak at Rasa Sayang is the pasembur variety, although limited in its ingredients to what I think are prawn fritters and fresh cucumber.  The fritters are delightfully crisp, fresh and crunchy and clearly straight from the fryer; the sauce could have had more zing, particularly by way of acidity and chilli heat (though I am a self-confessed chilli-head and native pasembur sauce usually isn't hot enough for me either).  This was a LARGE serve, especially at £4.80; I could easily have been satisfied with this as a main course, though it might eventually have become a tad monotonous.  As it was I had to leave a few fritters uneaten to leave room for...

... curry laksa, or curry mee if you are in Penang.  This is always a bit of a yardstick dish for me at Malaysian restaurants, since most of them feature it on the menu but there's a wide variety in what you actually get.  In Rasa Sayang's take on it, the broth is deeply flavoured with a distinct prawn savouriness, rich but not too coconutty.  Mint is a somewhat unusual inclusion in my book but worked well to give a novel freshness.  The generous bowlful also contained tofu puffs, a portion of hard-boiled egg, tender squid and decent prawns; in Penang, curry mee is often served with cubes of congealed pigs' blood, but I wasn't bothered by their absence here.  My only slight quibble was that the menu offers a choice of egg noodles or bee hoon (rice vermicelli); I think a proper curry mee should come with both, but despite asking for the combination and my waitress apparently understanding and approving of what I'd asked for, there were only egg noodles.  Perhaps just a mistake in the kitchen?

On my next visit (for make no mistake there will be a next visit) I am looking forward to sampling their other offerings, including the Penang-style hokkien mee (known elsewhere as har mee, prawn noodle soup), the roti chanai, and the rarities mentioned above.  But for now, Rasa Sayang gets a thumbs-up from me!

Anzac Biscuits

I was never especially patriotic while I actually lived in my home country.  Being Australian was just something I took for granted without needing endless introspection about what it actually meant; notwithstanding the (detestable) then-Prime Minister's attempts to proclaim us, in the proposed preamble to the Australian Constitution, "one nation under God", we knew that Australian-ness wasn't about a shared religion or knowing the definition of "mateship".  'Australian' was just something we happened to be.  Australia Day meant a public holiday and probably good weather allowing a BBQ or trip to the beach.  Anzac Day was another public holiday, less chance of good weather and a gentle reminder, via the dawn parade (which I always knew happened though I never went to watch) and various typical comments in the media, of wartime history and the sacrifices of people long ago.

Now I'm older, more cynical about the world, more nostalgic and further away, I can see Australia from more of an outside perspective.  'Lucky Country': yes; Australia still has one of the best standards of living; things cost more there these days, but that's partly because the country's economy has remained comparatively strong while others are teetering on the verge of ruin.  Certainly lucky compared to so many others where war, disease, poverty, political unrest and violence threaten everyday lives -- but you also have to be lucky to live there; immigration policy and particularly the treatment of refugees remains a contentious issue; our "boundless plains" aren't to share with everyone.  The race riots of mid-last decade in Sydney; the more recent disturbances over Sudanese immigrants in Melbourne; an apparent increase in racially motivated violence, hate crime and people-being-dicks-in-public in the last few years -- all these things make me worry about what sort of society Australia is turning into.  Politics in Australia, since the last election's failure to return either party in a conclusive majority and the scrapping and bargaining that followed it, has become dirty, petty, lowdown and ad hominem.  And more and more people now refer to Australia Day, which commemorates the arrival of the First Fleet (of white British colonists, that is) as "Invasion Day" to acknowledge that Australia was NOT just terra nullius, there for the taking, but that the proclamation of British sovereignty and most of what followed from it was, in fact, an invasion of territory belonging to the indigenous peoples, causing harms which continue to persist to this day.

I'm not sure, amongst all of that, where Anzac Day fits in.  Is it, when wars are still being fought around the world, appropriate simply to remember our compatriots of nearly 100 years ago without wondering whether things have become any better since, and whether we should be trying harder to make them so?  I'm saved from this partly by the fact that it's just another ordinary day here; no holiday to wonder whether we deserve or should be doing something better with.

Of course, I could ponder these questions with a bunch of my non-Australian friends, but I'm not sure what they'd make of it, given that they probably don't even know it's Anzac Day in the first place.  One thing I have found, though, is that given a choice between politics, philosophy and biscuits, most people (NB. this does not apply to the people I work with.  They're strange) will choose the biscuits.  And so that's what I've gone with.

Anzac biscuits are really simple to make, and I would say easy to remember the recipe for except that I had to check, since it's been years since I last made them -- but at least I did remember it right!  I like them still chewy on the inside, not crunchy all the way through; if you like a crisp biscuit then bake for longer until brown almost to the centres.

Anzac Biscuits for an English kitchen
1 cup plain flour
1 cup rolled oats
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup coconut
125g butter
2tbs + 2 tsp golden syrup (the recipe I remember says 2tbs but the Australian tablespoon is 20ml)
1/2 tsp bicarb soda
1 tbs water

Buttery, golden syrupy dough

Preheat oven to 170C.  Mix dry ingredients together in a large bowl.  Melt butter, golden syrup and water together in a saucepan; stir in bicarb soda.  Add butter mixture to dry ingredients and mix until well combined and no dry bits remain. 

Roll dessertspoonfuls of mixture into balls (about the size of small walnuts) and place on greased baking trays about 1.5in apart to allow for spreading.  Bake for 10-12 minutes, rotating trays as needed for even cooking.  Biscuits should be golden brown around the edges but still light blonde in the middle; they will firm up as they cool down.

Makes about 28.

Ready for baking!

(Every time I have made these before, placing the uncooked dough on the tray in round balls, they have spread out to become fairly flat biscuits.  This time, for reasons I can't fathom, they have remained more mound-like.  Clearly there are some factors of an English kitchen I haven't yet worked out!  They still taste just as good though...)

Wasabi Noodle Bar and Dessert Room

Sushi has always been one of my favourite foods.  While I do love the high-end Japanese restaurant experience with a refined (read: often mournfully small, albeit delicious) portion of assorted unusual top-quality raw fish atop perfectly-cooked rice that has been prepared by a chef who has to train for 3 years even to be able to do just that, the combination of freshness and flavour that is the basis of sushi's appeal can be attained more simply, cheaply and fillingly.  The form that epitomises this: the sushi handroll.  Not quite the same as the standard temaki, which is usually rolled into a cone shape, the handroll is simply a normal maki roll, with not too much rice or filling (somewhere between the average hosomaki and futomaki in diameter) but instead of sliced into 8 pieces, just cut in half.  Because there's less exposed rice, they pack and travel well and are easy to eat on the go -- you can put them in a paper bag without rice sticking to everything, and they don't fall apart in transit or while you're munching.  They are usually reasonably-priced, from $2-3 per roll, and 2 or 3 rolls make a decent lunch.

In Melbourne, sushi handroll shops started proliferating about 15 years ago by my count, as I've written about previously.  Nowadays they are everywhere and even in the dingiest shopping centre in the outer western suburbs you are likely to find somewhere to satisfy a sushi craving.  I don't know where the handroll phenomenon started; I doubt it was in Japan, as I didn't see any while I was there and in fact suspect the Japanese might view them as somewhat sacrilegious, since I'm sure the method of preparation and serving, not to mention some of the combinations, are in violation of the traditions and customs that have grown up around sushi in Japan.  In fact, now I come to think of it, I can't recall seeing them anywhere except for Australia; perhaps in the US, though I have no clear memory of it. 

In any case, cheap and convenient sushi was a regular part of my diet until I moved to Manchester and discovered that here, in 2005, there was no such thing.  Yo!Sushi, at that time only in Selfridges, was about the closest, but it was still comparatively expensive, with 3-4 plates plus soup and water easily stacking up to over £10.  So I was super-excited when, some years ago now, Wasabi Sushi & Noodle Bar opened just round the corner from me in Chinatown, with all plates £1.50 and a 6-plates+soup or 3-plates+noodle/rice dish deal for £7.95.  They also have special offers on 10-plates+soup or, although I don't know how anyone would ever manage to eat this much, 10-plates+noodles/rice!  When I first visited with my equally sushi-loving friend Andy, he was all for ordering the mega-deal; after our noodles, 3 plates and just having managed to stuff in an extra plate each, we both agreed it was a good thing I'd talked him out of it...  The prices have gone up a bit since (there's now a variable pricing structure on the plates, with the basic plates £2.00 and up to £3.50 for deluxe items, and the set menu is now £8.50) but it still remains a frequent and favourite destination.

On a recent visit I managed to tear myself away from the set menu, as I had a fancy for the rich and savoury taste of unagi-donburi (grilled eel rice bowl).  In general, items on the a la carte menu are regularly 30% off at all times (I thought this was a special opening offer to begin with, but it's been the case ever since; why they don't just print a menu with lower prices, I'm not sure, but maybe it makes customers feel happy to be getting a 'discount') but as I found out, the una-don is now sadly an exception to this, apparently because of the increased price of eel.  At £9.25 however it's still reasonable value; in Japan this amount of eel alone, from an unagi vendor, not in a restaurant, would cost nearly the same. 

The skin could perhaps have been grilled to a tad more crispness, but the texture of the flesh was just right -- soft but not mushy, rich but not oily -- and the deeply-flavoured sauce, rice and pickles combined to make a satisfying bowlful.

I also ordered a couple of skewers of yakitori, thinking with fondness of my various izakaya experiences in Japan.  The sticky tare sauce was a little sweet but I rather like it that way; the chicken -- breast fillet, I think -- was fine, although it was on the dry side; always a problem with breast meat.

Some time after Wasabi first opened, they added a new feature upstairs called the "Dessert Room", sounding like the place of which childhood dreams are made and with enticing pictures of fantastical concoctions featuring ices, waffles, pancakes syrups, fruits and exciting toppings.  I am less of a sweet-tooth these days than when I was younger and despite having been in regularly for sushi, noodles and the like, I'd never got round to checking it out.  Yesterday, though, I visited Wasabi with a more dessert-inclined friend and finally took the plunge. 

After vegetable tempura ramen and assorted plates of sushi, I wasn't sure how much room I would have for dessert.  The lightness of the snow-ice was both inviting and deceptive -- multiple layers of thinly-extruded sorbet folded over on each other to make it even more airy, but it was still quite a large mound!  I had a hard time deciding which flavour to go for; mango was tempting but eventually lychee won out and was just what I wanted it to be: fruity, refreshing, not too sweet, served with little pieces of strawberries and some other fruit I couldn't identify, two tinned lychees and a little heap of what turned out to be juice pearls, filled with lychee-flavoured syrup, that pop in the mouth in a deliciously thrilling way!  I shall definitely be having these again.  (There were also 4 squashy mochi balls, which I left discreetly behind at the bottom of the bowl; I'm not a fan of eating dough.)

My companion in dessert-adventuring chose the chocolate-Oreo variety, which came topped with (as you'd expect) crushed Oreos, plus mini-marshmallows and strawberries and a drizzle of syrup.  The snow-ice, of which I had a taste, was intensely chocolatey and met with approval from us both.

At around £5 these are not cheap desserts, but you could always share one between two (so long as you could agree on the flavour!  Other intriguing possibilities include green tea; black sesame; and blueberry) or go in specifically for dessert -- I think, having discovered the delights of this place late but better than never, I might be doing just that in future.  If I can resist the sushi, that is...

Soup, glorious soup

I make soup so often, it is a wonder this blog isn't entirely filled up with soup posts.  In fact I was hesitant about making this post, thinking I must have posted similar recipes before, but a review of the archives shows that I write about soup far less than I actually make it: the sum total of soup posts so far consists of a rich tomato, two different versions of hot and sour soup, and a sneaky cheese and beer soup not labelled as such. 

I've recently discovered the joys of stock-making, using my slow cooker to simmer bones and aromatic vegetables for hours on end to create fragrant broths for noodle soups and the like; my freezer now always contains a bag of vegetable trimmings waiting for the next batch.  But what I've even more recently come to realise is that making vegetable stock is super-easy, comparatively quick and very, very worthwhile.  Given that soup is basically stuff cooked in liquid and then blended up to whatever degree you prefer, the liquid used makes a big difference to the flavour of the soup, and even a quick stock set to simmer for 20 minutes with the ends of the vegetables you'll be using in the soup (or that you used in yesterday's cooking and saved in the fridge, or that you might be using later the same day) adds taste dimensions to the soup that go beyond stock cubes and water.  I still use stock cubes to boost the flavour, but the extra step of simmering a batch of the real stuff definitely adds something.

This does require some forward planning so you can save trimmings appropriately, and fairly regular kitchen activity (no point cutting the tops off your onions to make stock if you then don't cook with the onions within the next day or so).  Luckily our boat was an ideal environment for this -- producing two cooked meals a day, with plenty of staples such as onions, carrots and leeks (we had an oversupply of leeks, because I brought some that had been 29p a bag and I couldn't resist the bargain), gives plenty of scope for stock-simmering.  And hot soup is, in my view at least, an excellent lunch at any time, but especially when you have been up since early and out in the still-chilly April weather all morning.

During the week we had: sweet potato and ginger; mixed vegetable; and orange-orange (orange vegetables -- butternut squash, sweet potato and carrot -- with fresh orange).  The first is a favourite of mine but somehow I've never got round to noting it down, so here goes...

(This is us preparing to sit down to a soupy lunch, accompanied by leek, mushroom and cheese tart.  Someone described this as "National Trust lunch"!)

Spiced sweet potato, ginger and coconut soup with lime
1-2 brown onions
thumb-sized piece ginger
2-4 cloves garlic
2-3 sweet potatoes
2-3 carrots
1-2 tsp curry powder (to taste -- I used a mixture of cumin, coriander, cinnamon and curry powder)
1 can coconut milk
1-2 vegetable stock cubes (to taste)
salt and pepper
zest and juice of 1 lime

Throw onion and ginger trimmings, carrot tops and any other suitable vegetable scraps you may have (such as leek tops) into a pot with a few cups of water and bring to a boil on the stove while you prep everything else.

Chop the onions, roughly is fine as everything gets whizzed later on; shred the ginger and chop the garlic.  Meanwhile heat a bit of oil in a large saucepan and fry the onion, ginger and garlic gently until semi-cooked.  Chop up carrots and peel and chop the sweet potatoes -- reasonably small chunks (1" or so) will cook faster.  Add the curry powder and fry for a minute or so longer to toast the spices; then add the rest of the vegetables and strain the stock into the pot with them.  The vegetables should be mostly covered with liquid but not swimming in it; add a bit more water if necessary.  Simmer until vegetables are soft, then blend until smooth.  Taste and add stock cubes dissolved in a little of the cooking liquid as required.  Add coconut milk and lime zest and blend in; heat until simmering; taste and season with salt, pepper and lime juice to taste.

Messing about in boats

And suddenly it's Week 15 and I'm 8 weeks and several blog posts behind with my resolutions.  The Blogger app eating a half-written post earlier this week hasn't helped either (note: never switch out of app while in the middle of writing; your post will miraculously disappear).  I ought to delete it from my phone so I'm not tempted to try using it; it really is a pile of junk that has brought me nothing but annoyance so far!

Fortunately the last weeks, though short of time to post, have not been devoid of exciting new food experiences, including all sorts of culinary delights in Japan and some new discoveries in London.  Not just eating, either, but also cooking -- on a boat!  With four friends, I spent a week going up and down the Bridgewater and Leeds-Liverpool canals: cruising; singing at the top of our voices in the open air (sometimes to the amused glances of towpath pedestrians); conversing on all manner of random and diverse topics; laughing -- a lot!; playing various games; and of course eating and drinking.   This was actually our second such trip; last year saw us bravely attempting (and conquering!) the Cheshire Ring, with its 91 (or is it 92?) locks, amidst adverse conditions which included extreme cold, a day of biting sleet and snow (in April!) and several mishaps to our boat and its crew, such as yards of plastic sheeting tangled in the propeller and an incident with a boathook, a bow window and disturbing amounts of bloodshed.  We were determined that this trip would be equally successful but less hair-raising!


We began the week as we meant to go on, with a celebratory afternoon tea treat of chocolate-dipped strawberries, cheese-on-toast and champagne.  This boded well for the days to come!




Beautiful waterside views contributed to the peaceful atmosphere as we puttered gently along.

The logistical challenges of a small and somewhat under-equipped galley (I brought a good deal of my own equipment from home, including knives, chopping board, peeler, shredder, zester, whisk, blender... and pepper grinder!) were more than made up for by the enjoyment of cooking with and for friends, and the appreciativeness of the eaters!

On last year's trip, the Boat Scones were particularly well-received.  Although I have never had much success with scones in the past, something about the cooking environment (perhaps the eggcup-cutters or the gas oven) seemed to be in my favour, and my baking efforts yielded appropriately light, fluffy, crisp-tender results.  At any rate, scones seemed to be anticipated again by all this time round, meaning I had a reputation to live up to!  The initial lack of self-raising flour (due to an Asda delivery accident) put a bit of a hold on scone plans, but by the next day cheese scones were back on the menu.  Sadly the eggcups on this boat were not suitable for scone-cutting but I made do with a small-mouthed tumbler instead; there were no complaints, and no scones left uneaten!

Cheesy Boat Scones
550 ml SR flour
generous pinch salt
1 tsp sugar
a couple of grinds of black pepper
60g butter
80g sharp cheese, grated
~200ml milk
1 egg

Preheat the oven to Really Quite Hot, which was Gas Mark 9 on this year's boat, not quite full blast on last year's boat, and probably corresponds to 200-210C in a regular oven depending how accurate it is.

Mix together dry ingredients.  Before you get your hands covered in flour and butter, measure out the milk, crack the egg into it and beat together.  (I always forgot to do this step until later.  D'oh!  or d'ough...)

Rub cold butter into flour mixture (cutting it into small chunks first will help) until more or less incorporated (coarse breadcrumbs yada yada; there shouldn't be any big lumps of butter left).  Stir through cheese (or, if you are flummoxed and in a hurry like I was one time, forget to stir through cheese until you've mixed, rolled and cut out the scones; curse roundly; and then sprinkle some on top and pass the rest round for sandwiching.  Not really recommended although still adequately tasty!!) and then tip in most of milk/egg mixture and mix quickly and gently (with a knife, even if it does cause strife -- experience tells me there's no strife that deliciously light and tender scones can't make better...) until combined into a soft but not sticky dough.  If it looks like the mix will be too dry then add more of the liquid; it should come together quite easily with no large amounts of dry flour remaining.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured cabin table or other flat surface.  With lightly-floured hands, pat into a rough but at least vaguely regular shape about 1-1.5" thick (depending on size of your cutter).  The aim is to be able to cut out as many rounds with your cutter, be it eggcup or tumbler, as you can from this first rolling.  Do this, dipping the cutter in flour as necessary to prevent sticking and transferring the cut-out rounds to a greased baking sheet.  Press the scraps together, without over-handling, into a slightly thicker mass of dough, and cut out remaining rounds (you'll probably end up with one misshapen bit that can't be cut out.  Bake this and eat it with glee).

Glaze the tops of the scones with any remaining milk-egg mixture, or just with milk if you've used all the liquid mix.  Pop them into the hot oven and bake for around 15-20 minutes, depending on size of scones and oven strength.  You probably want to check them at about 10-12 minutes just to see how they're doing; if the ones towards the edges look done then swap them round for the ones in the middle to ensure even cooking; if they're not browning fast enough then turn the oven up a bit; if they're a bit too brown then turn it down; if they're cooking more on one side than the other, rotate the tray before putting it back in.  Scones are done when they are risen, look golden-brown, sound vaguely hollow when tapped on the base, and when you can't wait any longer before trying to eat them.

Serve with generous lashings of (real!) butter, extra cheese or whatever other toppings you like.

***

Another baking highpoint on this trip was a flatbread topped with caramelised onion and cheese, to go alongside one of the lunch soups (to which the quick stocks we cooked up from vegetable trimmings made a vast difference, incidentally).  This used an iteration of the No-Knead Dough method (made famous by Jim Lahey and subsequently publicised everywhere) and a simple topping inspired by a conversation about goats cheese and other complementary flavours a couple of evenings before, and was, not just by my account, quite successful.

I have elaborated before on my love of caramelised onions, but that doesn't stop me doing it again.  While I seldom have the patience to wait for them to cook on their own, if I can put them on over a low heat and stir occasionally while I'm doing other things -- such as making a sweet potato, butternut squash, carrot and orange soup -- then it's no trouble at all.  The sticky-sweet onions paired with a crumbly, creamy-sharp cheese, such as the remnants of a Wensleydale-with-lemon that we'd picked up earlier in the week, were a perfect combination; the base came out with a moist and spongy crumb and slight crunch from the olive oil and salt.  Highly satisfactory!

Caramelised Onion and Cheese Flatbread

For dough:
2.5 cups flour
1 tsp sea salt
1 tsp (3.5g) dry yeast
2 tsp olive oil
275 ml warm water
2-3 tbs olive oil (for greasing tray and dough)

Stir together dry ingredients; mix in water until a flexible dough forms, with no dry flour remaining.  Scrape dough down into a ball, cover and leave to rise overnight (8-12 hours).  The next day, about 2 hours before baking, turn dough out onto a well-oiled baking tray; turn to coat in oil and then stretch out gently towards edges of baking tray (the dough will also spread as it relaxes and rises).

For topping:

2 large / 3 medium red onions, finely sliced
30g butter
1/2 tsp salt
freshly ground black pepper
2 tbs red wine / balsamic vinegar
1 tbs sugar
 ~ 100g crumbly white cheese (Wensleydale, Cheshire, Lancashire etc), crumbled into bits
2-3 tbs tomato paste (optional)
few sprigs thyme (optional)

Melt butter in small saucepan over medium-low heat.  Add sliced onions and cook until translucent, reducing heat if they seem like browning.  Add salt and pepper and continue to cook over low heat for 30-40 minutes until very soft; add wine or vinegar as needed to prevent sticking.  Add sugar and continue to cook until soft and sticky.

Heat oven to Really Quite Hot (Gas Mark 9 or around 200C).  When dough is spread out and risen, spread tomato paste (if using -- I did half with and half without; both tasted good) and then caramelised onion mixture over surface.  Scatter with crumbled cheese and with thyme leaves, if using.  Bake in preheated oven about 25 minutes, or until edges of dough and cheese are both browned and base is cooked through.

Japan, I'm coming to eat you!

Week 8 of the year, Week 5 (is that all?  it feels like I've been slogging through this forever...) of term.  It has been a rather uninspiring week on the food front, at least as far as new experiences go: I've eaten the same dinner (carrot and coriander soup) on four nights of the week and been to four restaurants that I've been to before: Kro Bar for lunch, Try Thai and Zouk for dinner and Tribeca for Sunday brunch.

One thing that I hope will get me out of this (both gustatory and general) rut is the fact that I'm off to Japan tomorrow!  The trip is the product of a most welcome work invitation that also gives me the opportunity to explore this fascinating country further, by way of a few days in Tokyo and then nearly a week in Kyoto.  It also gives me two reasons to post:

The first is that, in preparation for two weeks away (I'm coming back via a weekend in the Netherlands) I need to clear the crisper drawer of the fridge.  Four days of carrot soup still haven't managed to use up my root vegetable surplus, and the cucumber I bought in a fit of salad-days optimism (what was I thinking?  It's still winter!!) one week ago is sitting there entirely untouched, plus there's a wedge of cabbage and a stray onion.  The carrots and cabbage might just last out the fortnight, the onion probably, but the cucumber -- no chance; it was already going soft at one end.  This means: Pickle Time!

There are bazillions of pickling recipes out there that vary in the amounts of vinegar, sugar and salt called for.  Some explicitly state they are meant to be eaten within a few days; others, with proper sterilisation techniques and a higher ratio of acid, sugar and salt to Other Stuff, will last at least a year.  I'm going for a decent whack of the chemical preservation agents heated to boiling point, a sterilised jar, and a good dash of hope that when I get back, my pickles will be crunchy, delicious and above all edible -- as opposed to a rampant source of botulism.  Pictures when I get my phone connected...

The second Flimsy Excuse For A Post is that I'm not ashamed to admit, one of the things I'm looking forward to on my Japan trip is the food.  I went to Japan for the first time last year; I loved every bit of it, but the eating and drinking experiences definitely ranked among the highlights -- my first venture into a restaurant in Osaka where there was not a word of English on the menu, and my triumphant delight at being able to order a bowl of delicious noodles nonetheless; sampling real okonomiyaki in Osaka, the home of the dish; making new friends over sake tasting in a tiny bar in Nara; the sashimi bar where, to our mixed horror and titillation, we realised those strange characters on the menu translated as 'whale'...

So, in anticipation, I thought I would share with you some of the food experiences I'm looking forward most to repeating on this return visit, along with some of the memories (in picture form) from last year's trip:

My first takoyaki, fresh and hot from the grill

Giant angry octopus!

Takoyaki (literally "octopus-fried") are little spherical savoury pancakes, delectably tender and moist, each with a small morsel of octopus inside and served with a drenching of tonkatsu sauce, a drizzle of Japanese mayonnaise and a sprinkle of dried bonito flakes and aonori.  I've had Chinese street versions before, but the real thing -- first tried at an Osaka takoyaki joint with a giant angry octopus climbing up the neon sign out front -- was entirely different, and a revelation. 

Tori Kizoku is an izakaya (Japanese pub) chain that apparently originated in Osaka, which possibly explains why I managed to find them all over Kansai.  Liking Tori Kizoku, I suspect, is possibly the equivalent of liking KFC or McDonald's.  But I can't help it -- I loved them!

The start of the night at Tori Kizoku

Everything is 280yen, which makes it easy to calculate the bill and far too tempting to order just one more -- be it one more sake ('reishu', chilled, was my preferred style) or one more dish.  I had to try yakitori, of course, which were grilled right in front of me amidst clouds of billowing smoke; other delicacies included an eggplant pickle, and there were all manner of grilled-chicken-bits-on-sticks that I could have ordered.  Possibly my favourite, though, was "tako-wasa": raw octopus pieces marinated with a wasabi dressing, and utterly delicious. 

It may be a dumbed-down version of izakaya made simple for Western tastes (there was an English menu), but the ever-friendly staff and the cute yellow chicken made this place one of my fondest memories of Japan -- so much so that I bought a little Tori Kizoku keychain, with an enamel chicken on it.  It still makes me smile.

Fish-testicle sushi is not, in itself, an experience I'm hanging out to repeat; then again, neither is it something I'd avoid.  It was reasonably tasty: salty, sea-tasting, fresh and slightly creamy-textured.  I'd picked it off the belt before I knew what it was, and then had an interesting exchange with the waitress, who spoke about as much English as I spoke Japanese (ie, very little), trying to work out what it actually was.  Much amusement ensued, and the waitstaff seemed impressed that I actually ate it in the end!

Anyway, I might eat it again if it passes in front of my nose, but what I'm really looking forward to is the array of fresh seafood and seeing how the high-end sushi chefs live, at the Tsukiji Fish Market.  I'm morally conflicted about the tuna auction and the fishing practices in general (Unsustainability R Us?) but interested to see the sheer size and scale of the place.  Apparently one has to arrive very early in the morning to get in and watch the action; my hotel just happens to be under a mile away, so this may well be possible.

Gyoza... 'nuff said.  These dainty, bite-sized morsels of amazingness are even better when paired with sake from an elegantly-shaped-yet-mass-produced bottle.  These particular samples came from a small gyoza restaurant in Gion, the famed geisha district of Kyoto.  I took the sake flasks home with me as a souvenir -- again, to the amuseument of the waitstaff!  At least I am keeping the service industry of Japan entertained.

The Nishiiki Market in Kyoto is a veritable Paradise-on-Earth for foodies.  It's about a mile-long covered alley lined either side with shops selling all manner of foods, both ready-to-eat and ingredients for further preparation...

Sashimi on sticks and every imaginable flavour of tsukemono were just some of the delights to be sampled here!


(This was also the home of the Japanese-menu-only sashimi bar where we discovered whale on offer...)

And finally, depachika: Japanese department-store food halls.  If I lived in Japan, I would probably never cook; I'd just live on scrumptious ready-to-eat goodies from the plethora of stalls in the food hall basements.  Everything from sushi and sashimi to korokke, ready-made salads, all kinds of side-dishes, fresh and pickled vegetables, onigiri, inari pouches, bento boxes...  Even supermarkets have a pretty impressive array of to-go foods, still with less of the plastic feel than UK supermarket ready-meals.

Other than that, I somehow managed to go the whole time I was last in Japan without getting a picture of ramen; that's not to say I didn't try it (traditional chashu ramen at a shop in central Osaka; tsukimi ramen at the Kiyo-mizu-dera Temple in Kyoto), but I understand Tokyo is particularly well-known for its ramen shops, so I shall be checking out a few of its best while I'm there, if I can!

I may not have done everything I need to do here before going; I may not have done everything I'll need to have done to go (packing?  what's that?), but Japan, I am coming to eat you.  Watch out!