Weymouth, the new Barcelona

 It must be true... it says so in the Guardian.

Good news, celebrated with a lobster lunch, at the Hive Beach Cafe.

Apple and kalonji onion seed chutney

Following the success of my Autumn Blend Super Muesli, here's the second of my seasonal offerings for you, this time in the form of a tangy, eastern-spiced chutney, guaranteed to make your cheese sandwiches ring with excitement.

The apples are from my Grandma's garden in Devon, and the chillies, kalonji black onion seeds, and other spices are from the fabulous Helen's Health Foods shop, near my Mum's house in Weymouth. I made it about a month ago on a trip to the West Country, and now it's had plenty of time for the flavours to meld and mature. I have to say, it tastes pretty good.

As with the muesli, I'm selling the chutney exclusively to readers of For Those That Love To Eat at a special price of £3.00 per jar.

It's another very limited run, so if you fancy turning your next Ploughman's into something rather special, get in touch quick:

nbalfe@gmail.com

Look forward to hearing from you!

Life in the Country

Autumn had barely begun to wrap itself around the land the last time I decamped from city life in favour of a green spell in Dorset. The pastures shone rich and full of life, the trees still proudly bore their leaves, and the hedgerows showed only the beginnings of their bejewelling in shades of crimson and magenta. Veg patches, allotments and orchards were replete with the spoils of summer growth. Mackerel, pollock and bream, seeking shelter in the milder coastal waters, were in abundance. Spring lamb were now fully grown, and ready for slaughter. There could not have been a better time to experience life at Park Farm, a place better known to most as the River Cottage.

Whilst the television show paints a fairly accurate picture of what goes on at the River Cottage, it's hard not to wonder if the lifestyle and activities that are portrayed are actually constructed purely for entertainment and viewer ratings. The cynics amongst us must surely question Hugh's picture-perfect rural existence, which complete with Barbour jackets, Land Rovers, and an Aga, is just as well accessorised as Jamie Oliver's urban-utopia ever was in the Naked Chef series.

But there's no expertly-crafted aspirational lifestyle reconstruction here. The River Cottage HQ isn't a 2-D set made out of plywood in a studio in West London. Nor was it dreamt up in a brainstorm by a bunch of Execs, peering over a flip chart in a meeting room. It really is a working farm, where traditional varieties of fruits and vegetables, and rare-breed animals are tended to and looked after by people who care about what they're doing, whether there's a TV series being filmed or not.

The River Cottage is many things. It's a mass market entertainment product, on a mainstream TV channel in a prime time slot. It's a promotional vehicle for a lucrative publishing enterprise. It's an ever-expanding product range. It is, without doubt, a fully functioning brand, with a growing portfolio of assets. But it's also a hub for the local community, a social enterprise, and a valiant attempt at experimenting with new ways of getting by. At the heart of it all, there's much more than a balance sheet and a shareholder meeting. There's a group of passionate individuals who not only believe the patter that they're peddling, they live and breath it. And that's what really defines the River Cottage; the collective desire to experience and share a way of life.

It doesn't take long to get an idea of what this life at Park Farm entails. Undoubtedly, seasonality, sustainability and environmental responsibility are key values, but more importantly, there's a sense of openness; that all are welcome to chip in and get involved – staff and punters alike. Attending a dinner or course there, as I was lucky enough to do on one of my days off, is more like hanging out with old friends than it is a formal dining or learning experience. You have a laugh and enjoy yourself, primarily because you see that's exactly what the staff are doing too.

On occasion, a sense of (only just) organised chaos slips into place at Park Farm, whether it be in the timings of day courses being treated with industrial standard elasticity, or the sous chef running platters of half-cooked food from the main kitchen in the barn, to the private dining room in the farmhouse opposite in the middle of a dinner for 85, or the cows happily grazing in the sheep's field, with the sheep looking on with what can only be described as vacant jealousy. Despite the sense that any concrete rules have been put aside in favour of loose guidelines, in it's own way, everything always seems to play out to perfection.

In amongst butchering hoggets from the farm, to preparing razor clams and seaweed that had been foraged from the Dorset coastline, to thinking up new recipes on the spot for the slew of freshly-picked fruit and veg that the gardeners would offload to the kitchen on a daily basis, there was always a sense that experimentation is universally encouraged at the River Cottage. Indeed, it wouldn't exist at all if Hugh hadn't gambled on ditching his city life in favour of a radically different existence in the country.

In my short spell working there, I often felt refreshed by how little the River Cottage seemed to be bound by the usual conventions of business. After all, the River Cottage as a business would not exist if it had not evolved out of a lifestyle decision; a desire to try something different. Intrinsically, the lines have been blurred between home, farm, restaurant, TV show, brand, and lifestyle. In one way or another it's all of those things, it just depends on how you choose to experience it.

On my final day working at Park Farm, a trailer full of beef arrived at the kitchen doorway. It was one of Hugh's Devon Blonde cows, fresh from the abattoir. I don't think I've ever seen so much meat in one place in my life. Most of it was to be used for dinners and events at Park Farm, aside from the sirloins, which Hugh had baggsied for his own personal kitchen, but not before we'd had a taste, however. Head Chef Gill sliced off a couple of the biggest steaks I'd ever layed eyes upon. This was to be my Thanks and Farewell staff dinner.

Once the beef had been dealt with, and we'd skewered a suckling pig, ready for spit roast the following day, we downed tools and tucked into our steaks, which Sous Chef Neil had expertly cooked - just the way I had asked for it – halfway between rare and medium rare. As we discussed the weeks that had just passed, I couldn't help but be impressed by what has been created here at an old farm in a valley, on the Dorset-Devon border. The River Cottage shows just how good life can be when someone follows their dream... It's enough to spur me on to follow mine.

Some more of the pictures I took during my stage at the River Cottage can be found here.

Rossi's Ices

Mum and I aren't the only fans of Rossi's Ices on Weymouth seafront. The first thing that owner Fulvio Fugliolini told me, before he was willing to discuss the ice cream, was that Rossi's has thousands of fans on Facebook. I found 56, but still, who's counting?

With another sunny day at the seaside, Rossi's service window remains open for another day... The look in Fulvio's eye, however, suggests he'll soon be packing up his ice-cream maker for winter.

Three of a possible five flavours today. Don't ask how they're made, as I made the mistake of doing. Don't ask for vanilla - it's Natural, ok? And definitely, whatever you do, don't ask for Mr Whippy!

Still, completely deserved of the title of "Weymouth's favourite". Long may their summer 2010 opening continue.

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.

Abbotsbury squash box

As seen on my commute to work the other morning.

Way out West

A rainy start to my two-week stage at Park Farm, on the Dorset Devon boarder... Also known as River Cottage HQ.

On Weymouth Harbour

The moon has already taken centre stage in the sky as we round the corner from the Pavilion. Twilight has fallen, and the last of the evening light swathes the harbour in a spectrum of tranquil blues.

We make our way past piles of lobster pots and tethered fishing boats as their reflections slow dance on the water alongside us. It's well passed tea time, and after having walked the length of the beach, we've worked up something of an appetite.

Neon lettering calls out in garish red and green, as a photocopied sign below exclaims “AS SEEN ON ITV HOLIDAY PROGRAM AND CBBC”, complete with double underlining, and a few smudged greasy finger marks. Still, we don't need Judith Chalmer's endorsements to come to Bennett’s on the Waterfront... The smell alone is enough to make you swim across the harbour. The warm, nutty scent of freshly fried potatoes, and crispy beer batter fills the street as grinning punters emerge from the wood-paneled shop front, clutching steaming paper parcels. It's like a belisha beacon, calling out across the water. And I'm utterly mesmerised.

Inside it couldn't be more traditional. The décor consists of a few straggly pot plants, and a row of fizzy pop bottles on a shelf. If you're not sat at one of the Formica-topped booths, then your attention is automatically diverted to the counter. Two women in hair nets stand behind it, gossiping over local affairs as they lift fillet after mouthwatering fillet of fried fish onto the hot plate. I must have been in this chip shop fifty times or more, and still as I wait for the chips to be scooped out onto the paper in front of me, I can barely contain my excitement.

The chips are crunchy, browned along the ridges, but soft, light and floury in the middle, so hot and fresh they burn the roof of my mouth as I eat them. But there's no point in me even trying to stop myself. The flesh of the fish is firm, flakey, delicate; pure, brilliant white. The batter is golden, bubbled all over, and as crisp as conceivably possible. It’s heaven in fried food form. Sent from the Gods. Inevitably, I ditch my wooden fork and break inch-long chunks of fish off with my fingers, eager to feel the varying textures crumble into my mouth, all soused in plenty of salt and vinegar, plus the occasional dab of Heinz tomato ketchup.

We sit and munch our supper, sitting side by side on the bench that overlooks the launch of the mackerel fishing boat. I find it nearly impossible to say anything but “mmmmm” throughout.

And then up the hill to The Boot, where an odd ball assortment of characters spend their drinking hours, night and day. I come here for their perfectly-poured pints of Thatcher’s Gold, but today the Meat Raffle catches my eye first. It's almost enough to make me hang around until the weekend.

We share a table and a drink with very personable chap, who's so merry on the Cheddar Valley cider, he bursts into a fit of giggles with every sentence he attempts to spit out. “It's the worm wood barrels, you see...” I overhear at the bar, “it gives it a hallucinogenic quality.”

Maybe so, or maybe he's just enjoying his night on Weymouth harbour... Either way, who could blame him. Time for another round?

A very English sort of supper

There's possibly nothing more appealing than the fresh fruits and vegetables of an English summer. Crisp beans, plump in their pods, ready to burst out with an audible pop. Peppery lettuces leaves, supple and bouncy, bursting with the vibrant green of six weeks of unprecedented sun. Voluptuous berries in shades of crimson and rouge, skin soft and ripe, a perfume more inviting than the finest floral bouquet.

In the West Country, where I'm currently taking post-festival R&R, there's certainly no shortage of excellent locally grown produce. And there's nothing quite like a trestle table bursting full of the finest farm produce to re-ignite the neurotransmitters. The best beans I've seen this side of the Mendip Hills...

English bean and cheddar salad

This dish is a homage to the simplicity of Chris Gillard's menu at the Rocket Lounge Restaurant, where I spent last week working. After having bought some positively firey watercress at Helen's Healthfoods in Weymouth, and some super-fresh beans at Bridport Farmers' Market, it seemed only fitting to keep the theme of classic English flavours by pairing the greens with some local mature cheddar. The piquant vinaigrette brings the flavours together beautifully.

Serves two as a light main
A large handful of broad beans, podded
A large handful of French beans
A large bunch of watercress
75g mature cheddar cheese, crumbled into chunks

For the mustard vinaigrette
A tsp of dijon mustard
A tbsp of olive oil
lemon juice to taste (roughly a tsp)
salt and finely ground pepper to taste

First, make the dressing. Either whisk the ingredients together in a large bowl, or add to a clean jam jar with a lid, and shake until combined. The mustard should help the oil and lemon juice emulsify.

If your beans are very very fresh, you'll be able to serve them raw. As they age, the natural sugar turns to starch, and the flavour and texture begins to deteriorate. Taste one of each, and if you'd prefer, blanch them for a minute or two in lightly salted boiling water, just to take away the bight. Drain and immediately plunge into iced water.

Combine the watercress, beans and cheddar in a large bowl, and toss with the dressing until everything is lightly coated. It's better to be skant and allow the flavours of the other ingredients to come through.

Serve with crusty bread, and extra dressing on the side for dipping and mopping.

An easy English berry fool

A quick, and extremely luxurious dessert, invented on the spot by my Mother, as a vehicle for her excellent home-made summer berry jam. Use plain yogurt or crème fraiche if you don't have fromage frais, and broken up Digestives, Hob Nobs, or shortbread would make an ample substitute for ratafia biscuits – whatever you have to hand.

Serves two
Four or five ratafia biscuits, roughly broken up
A small tub of fromage frais
Four scoops of raspberry sorbet (which Mum happened to have in the freezer, but Gorgio Locatelli's recipe looks good if you fancy making it)
Rasberry, strawberry, or summer berry jam
Mint garnish to serve

In a tumbler or wine glass, layer the jam, on top of the fromage frais, on top of sorbet, on top of the biscuit. Garnish with mint, and serve.

Thanks to kawilson for the opening shot of the broad beans.

Dorset, Devon, Cornwall

Fish and chips, plus half a pea fritter, on Weymouth harbour

Folk nite at the Sailors Return

A stormy evening, over looking Summerleaze beach at low tide

Moores Dorset Biscuits bakery, shop and gallery, in Morcombelake, over looking Lime Regis.

Broken biscuit bounty!

A friendly local

Fresh fruit and veg from Washingpool Farm, near Bridport.

Leakers bakery in Bridport. Possibly the finest baked goods in the South West.

Leakers cheese, chilly and beer bread.

The idillic village of Covelley, North Devon.

Catch of the day

Sunday lunch - local mussels, fresh bread, and a beer.