Happy Easter!

Made even happier by hot cross buns, fresh from the oven at St John Bread & Wine.

Bitter sweet symphony

One could rarely complain about eating a brownie. A mixture of chocolate, butter, eggs and sugar, it would be pretty difficult to go wrong. I've munched on a few of late, and have never been disappointed, but find them most satisfying when the rich, gooey indulgence of it all is balanced by bitter notes from proper dark chocolate.

I've been meaning to try out this recipe for St John's Brownies at home for a while now... I've made it, and the Rochelle Canteen variation a few times in catering volumes, but wanted to give it a road test in domestic conditions.

After having knocked a batch up yesterday evening, I left a tray full in the fridge to cool over night. Judging by the fact that half of it had been schnaffled by my housemate by the time I returned, I think it's fair to say the recipe was a success.

Dark chocolate brownies

Makes a 20 x 30cm tray full

200g dark chocolate (70%+ cocoa)

200g unsalted butter

3 eggs

250g sugar

50g flour

50g cocoa

100g hazelnuts

Preheat the oven to 160 degrees C, and grease and line a baking tray with baking parchment. Melt the chocolate and butter together in a bowl over a pan of simmering water, or in the microwave. Leave to cool slightly.

Mix the eggs and sugar together in a large mixing bowl, using either an electric whisk, or a lot of elbow grease, until pale, smooth and doubled in volume. Fold in the chocolate / butter mixture. Sift in the flour and cocoa, add the hazelnuts, and pour into the baking tray.

Bake in the oven for 25 minutes or so. The brownie is done when the mix no longer wobbles in the centre when the tin is gently shaken. You want a papery skin on the top, and a slight stickiness in the centre.

Leave to cool for ten minutes in the tin before turning out onto a board. The brownie will be easier to slice when it's cooled completely, but it depends if you can wait that long.

Note: You can also omit the cocoa for a slightly less bitter brownie.

Grandma's apples (part 1)

"Strong winds in the South West tonight" said the weather man, as I sipped my cocoa, and snuggled into my slippers, the night before setting off for Grandma's little patch of paradise, over looking the mouth of the River Ex.

He wasn't wrong. I arrived at Grandma's to find a garden full of windfall, a spotted blanket of Gala's and Cox's, spread across the lawn. Eager to put nature's bounty to good use, I returned to Dorset with bags full of tart, crunchy apples, and the beginnings of an idea for dinner...

Apple, shallot and Dorset Blue Vinnie tart

Rich, autumnal flavours, working in perfect harmony. The piquant blue cheese is the ideal compliment the slow-roasted sweetness of the apples and shallots. Use bought pastry if you like, but the whole meal homemade version adds a fitting rustic edge (literally) to this dish.

Serves four as a light main

For the pastry

250g whole meal plain flour

a pinch salt

125g butter, cut into chunks, at fridge temperature

1 egg yolk

50 ml milk

For the filling

four to six apples, peeled and quartered

four to six banana shallots, peeled and quartered

a few sage leaves, sliced

olive oil

salt and pepper

three whole eggs, lightly beaten

a dash of milk

200g Dorset Blue Vinnie or other blue cheese

First, make the pastry. In a mixing bowl, rub together the flour, salt and butter so the mixture resembles breadcrumbs (you can also do this in a food processor). Add the egg yolk, and a dash of the milk and mix together. A little at a time, add more milk until the mixture comes together into a dough. If you add too much milk, add a little more flour. Turn out, form into a ball, wrap in cling film, then refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Heat the oven to medium. In a baking tray, toss the apples, shallots and sage in olive oil, and season. Roast for 20 - 30 minutes until soft, sweet, and almost caramelised.

Roll out the pastry to cover a 25cm pastry tin. Prick the pastry with a fork, then cover with greaseproof paper and rice or baking beans, and blind bake for 15 minutes until just golden. Remove from the oven.

Arrange the apples and shallots into the pastry case, then whisk together the remaining eggs and milk and season. Pour over the apples and shallots. Break the blue cheese into chunks, and dot over the tart, tucking into the filling where you can. Bake for a further 15 - 20 minutes until the egg mixture is set, and the cheese has melted.

Build and bake

After what seems like a fair old slog of double shifts, I’m granted a temporary pass out of the kitchen, with the offer of taking part in the Build and Bake course down at Park Farm.

We start the day in the yurt, with coffee and flap jack, still warm from the oven, as tutors Steve and Gideon explain the running order. We hear this is one of the more hands-on courses, and we can expect to get more than a little muddy. With a chilly breeze in the air, and the sky washed out with shades of grey, it’s time to warm our cockles before getting stuck in. “I know it’s early, but it’s become a tradition,” says Steve, as he pours us all a nip of West Country apple brandy.

And off we trot to the pond, where after a brief lesson in geology, we set about digging up the materials that will eventually become our oven. After having collected bucket loads of the region’s finest Blue Lias clay, it’s back to the farm to get started on the construction.

The clay needs to be mixed with sand in order to be set solid in the correct form. But there are no mixers or machinery here. We have a Tarpaulin and people power, and that’s all we need. Steve informs us that the best mixing method is to dance the twist and rub the sand and clay together with our feet.

In the cold light of day, with no music, we ditch our inhibitions, and hit the dance floor, twisting away with our fellow Build and Bakers. Who knew a plastic sheet full of mud and dirt could be so good for the soul?

Before long, we’ve made a sand former, and built our clay dome around it. After some gentle smoothing, we agree we’ve created something verging on perfection, and retire to the barn for a hot mug of tea.

And now it’s Gideon’s turn. It was Gideon who built the first clay oven at the River Cottage, but now he’s passed the reigns of tutorship over to Steve, allowing him to concentrate on his fortay - bread making. With clarity and simplicity, he explains the basics of of baking, as we collectively mix, kneed and shape our very own dough.

Our oven is not quite ready for use just yet, but thankfully, Gideon has already fired up the larger ‘Spanish oven’ outside, and as well as a large batch of light, airy pizza dough, there’s a spread in the yard with delicious toppings, including smoked pollock, pork rillet, golden beetroot, Dorset blue cheese, bacon, shallots, even wild parasol mushrooms, picked from the pasture where the Park Farm cows normally graze.

Despite being warned that “these pizzas are not our lunch”, we all concoct gourmet combinations, taking turns to man the oven, whilst gleefully tucking into one another’s creations, sipping River Cottage Elderflower champagne all the while. As far as non lunches go, it’s pretty hearty.

After lunch proper, it’s back down to business. We shape our dough into loaves, and leave them to prove once again before baking.

The moment of truth... Apparently, the oven can collapse as it’s hollowed out, but ours seems sturdy enough. Steve conducts the final part of the session, holding his baby girl at his side. It’s less like a lesson, more like a mate giving you DIY tips.

Just as it’s time to leave, Gideon calls over from the oven, where our bread is risen and baked to perfection. With smiles on our faces, and steaming loaves under our arms, we set off up the hill, dreaming of a future of sizzled scallops, rare-roast steaks, freshly baked bread, and slow cooked joints, all from our very own outdoor clay ovens... All we have to do is go home and build them.

Born and bread

Born & Bread: Peckham's finest purveyors wood-fired, sourdough bread to South East London and beyond...

Orders for the day. The B & B boys regularly get through over two thousands loaves in a single day of baking.

Like the loaves I'm learning to bake at the moment, everything is slow risen, using traditional sourdough starters.

And baked in their 1950s designed wood burning oven.

The stove burns something in the region of six cubic metres of wood each week. This might sound like a lot, but it's actually one of the most efficient, and environmentally sound fuels in existence.

The oven in it's glory. Manufactured by JJ Lopez in Barcelona, and built on site seven years ago at a cost of tens of thousands of pounds. The ingenious system within channels the heat evenly throughout the huge stone-based chamber.

Another important piece of kit in the bakery. We arrive at the end of the shift, and the beers are out, and reggae is rumbling from the stereo.

The optimum temperature for baking bread is somewhere 240 and 220 degrees centigrade. Dough responds best to a falling temperature, as the stove cools between re-firing. The initial blast produces a good crust, whilst the moist, light centre isn't over-cooked by prolonged intense heat.

Our take home. Ciabattas, seeded flutes, rye, and whole meal. Find out where you can get hold of your own batch here.

Dough days

Keeps me off the streets...

The horn of Salamanca

Picture the scene: It's late spring, sometime in the early eleventh century and the university city of Salamanca is burgeoning as one of the intellectual centres of the Iberian peninsula. In turn, this new found significance has led to increased wealth, and the men at the top with the heavy pockets and loose purse strings are in need of some frivolities to spend their pieces of silver on. Thankfully, help is at hand to ensure that some of it finds it's way back to the working classes, in the form of the world's oldest profession, prostitution.

Meanwhile, Christianity has taken hold big time of late, the hillock that overlooks the river now has a huge cathedral sat upon it, the bishop is pulling no punches on the town council, and all those rich, idol menfolk are being told that those whores to whom they are all so fond of are strictly off limits...

Fast forward a thousand years or so, and Salamanca's working women are still the people to see if you want to spend your disposable income, however, their profession is somewhat less sinful. Nowadays, they've swapped street corners for sweet counters, having taken up residence in the many pastelerias that are to be found across the city. Whilst the shelves are always well stocked with cakes, biscuits and pastries, in this town, centre stage is inevitably given over to Salamanca's trademark savoury treat, the hornazo.

Hornazos are undoubtedly Salamanca's leading contribution to Spanish gastronomy, they are part of the empenada family – essentially a stuffed savoury pie, similar to what we know as a pasty. Empanadas can be found in various guises the length and breadth of the country. In the Balearic Islands they're small and cute, with crimped edges and decorative egg wash. In Madrid, we ate them hot from the oven at El Mercado de San Miguel, filled pimenton and ground pork. In Galicia the pastry is made with grasa de cerdo, and they're filled with berberechos... A cockle pasty, made with pig fat - you wouldn't find that on the stall at Euston Station, would you?

Salamanca's version is, I think it's safe to say, a little more upmarket, and very carnivorous. This being prime pig country, the hornazo is gordy and fat, thick with layers lomo pork fillet, slices of cured salchichon sausage, huge discs of chorizo, generous rashers of jamon iberico, and just incase that wasn't enough protein, a few boiled eggs thrown in for good measure... Say, I don't know, a dozen.

I first encountered the hornazo in Galicia, when a Salamancan guest brought one to the farm I was staying on as a gift. I was so taken with it that I've come to their point of origin to find out more, and to sample the goods on their home turf. Salamanca is one of Spain's most architecturally significant cities, home to the second-oldest university in the country, and an important stop off for pilgrims who are hoping to walk their way to salvation. Meanwhile, I've come here solely on the strength of a meat pie.

So instead of spending my last day in Salamanca sight seeing, I went to an industrial estate on the south side of the city to meet with Raquel Soria of Hornazo de Salamanca. Hornazo de Salamanca are to hornazos what Heinz are to ketchup, and Raquel is la primera campañera, and therefore something of an authority in the world of luxury meat pies. She says that the secret to a good one is plump, juicy rounds of chorizo, placed on top of the slices of the pork fillet - taken from the finest iberian iberian black pigs - so all the meat stays moist during the cooking.

All well and good, but what does all this have to do with the rich folk yesteryear and their hookers? Well, the hornazo is a dish that marks the passing of Lent and they're traditionally eaten outside "in the field" on Easter Monday. You don't have to be a genius to work out that Christian calender was based around existing pagan festivals, and Lent – a period of austerity, is preceded by celebrations or carnival.

A little excursion into etymology: The word carnival, which is Latin in origin, unsurprisingly holds it's roots close to the word carne, and therefore implies not only meat, but also sex. It appears Salamanca's upper classes found it hard to give up either during Lent, and eventually the only way to put a stop to their loosed-loined behaviour was to banish all the prostitutes from the city, to the other side of the river Tormes. And to make times even tougher, meat was off the menu for forty days and nights as well.

Legend has it that by the time Lent was up, the men were all so gagging for it, they went down to the river to meet the returning hookers, planning to stay there so long, that they all packed a meaty lunch box. I realise that euphomisim was all too obvious, and I apologies, however they are Raquel's words, and not mine, so who am I to argue?

The great indoors

Grey skies stretch out over London as far as my forth-floor line of sight will take me. Thankfully, the leaky roof has now been fixed, but the weather is still permeating my Sunday afternoon. Despite the rain outside, however, it is a day to be content in confinement to the house; a day for tea, Radio 4, Sunday supplements, and pottering in the kitchen.

It's dark outside, but my little corner of Hackney is brightened by bowls of late-autumn fruits adorning the room, which I will later turn into a chutney; rust-coloured apples on the table in font of me; bags bursting with dates, sultanas and cranberries; a plate of plums piled so high, they look as though they are planning imminent escape from their porcelain home. On the stove, a smoked ham hock I bought the previous afternoon is making friends with a chunk of Iberico bone in the stock pot. It will form the basis of our supper, in a Basque-style stew with chicken, chickpeas, soft, sticky rice, and plump, jet-black olives.

And to cap it all, the room is filled with the warming scent of freshly baked bread, so comforting it's as if a blanket has been wrapped around the senses. Two loaves sit radiating on the rack. One is packed with pumpkin, sunflower and sesame seeds, which we'll snack on later, keeping our tummies and tastebuds occupied before the stew emerges from the oven.The other is a sweeter variation, filled with dates, walnuts and honey. It's intended for breakfast, but who could resist a slice or two fresh from the oven, with dough so warm it melts the butter almost before I have spread it from one side to the other...

Date and walnut bread

Despite having made a few loaves in my time, I could never claim my bread is perfect. In fact, baking generally isn't my strong point. That said, there is nothing quite as fulfilling as taking a hot loaf from the oven, that you mixed, kneaded, proved and baked yourself. I use the quick method here, although many swear by proving the bread twice, first to elasticate the dough, then a second time once it's formed into a loaf to rise before baking. Don't forget also, that you can ommit the dates, walnut and honey, for a standard wholemeal loaf, or likewise, try adding any combination of other ingredients, from nuts and seeds, to roast vegetables, olives, herds and even hard cheeses.

This mix makes a robust and wholesome loaf, that is perfect for breakfast, or to keep you going throughout the afternoon. Preferably along with a cup of freshly brewed tea.
Makes one loaf

500g strong wholemeal bread flour (or half wholemeal and half strong white flour), plus extra for dusting
a tsp fast acting dried yeast / one sachet fast acting yeast
half a tsp salt
a tbsp sunflower oil
roughly 2/3 pint warm water
a good handful of walnut pieces, plus a dozen or so walnut halves
a good handful of dates, pitted and roughly chopped
2 generous tsps honey
a beaten egg, for glazing

Mix the dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl, including the dates and walnuts, and make a well in the centre. Add the oil, and most of the water, and mix together with your hands. The mix should bind into a 'cloggy' dough, as opposed to a sticky mess. If it's too dry, add more water, if it's too wet, add more flour.

Turn out onto a floured work surface, and knead for a good ten minutes. By this time, the dough should be feeling springy and elastic. Work the dough into a loaf shape, and stud the top with a few walnut halves. Place in a baking try, lined with a lightly oiled sheet of grease-proof paper. Cover with a tea towel, and leave in a warm place to rise for 45 minutes or so. It should double in size. Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees (180 if your oven tends to cook at a high heat).

When the loaf has significantly risen, remove the tea towel, paint with the beaten egg, and put in the middle of the oven. Check it after 20 minutes - you might want to turn it around to make sure it cooks evenly - to make sure it's not over cooking. Turn the oven down to 150, and cook for another ten minutes. Check it by tapping the load - if it's done, it will make a hollow sound. Remove from the oven and leave to cool slightly before transferring to a wire rack, or just eat it!