Salad in the city

Funny what effect a night spent sat crooked upright next to a barking mad women in her forties can have on a man. Emerging from the sleeper train at Chanmartin station bleary-eyed and shaggy-tailed, I was a shadow of my former self. The self that had spent the day being wined and dined by the foremost exponent of Galician cuisine. The self that had also spent the night in the cheapest of the cheap seats heading cross country with only a bottle of the station's finest vino tinto to drown out my unwanted travelling companion's castellano warblings.

Bidding farewell on the concourse, she headed for her connecting train, and I stumbled towards the station coffee bar to gather my senses, which felt like they'd be left somewhere north of Valladolid. Still, stepping out of the Metro in downtown Madrid, it didn't take long for the fuzz to clear and the energy of one of Europe's greatest cities to take hold.

If Coruña marked the end of the first part of my journey through Spain, then Madrid has been a rogue chapter, complete with it's own sub-plot, floating somewhere between the beginning, the middle and the end.

Sat in a kitsch coffee shop in the trendy - dare I say hipster? - district of Masaleña, complete with mugs of cappuccino instead of cafe con leche, retro wallpaper, and lots of beautiful boys and girls tinkering away on their Macbooks, it could not be further from the farms of Austurias and Galicia.

What was going to be a quick stopover turned into a long weekend, then a super-sized mini-break, complete with all the distractions of modern urban living. Waking up late again to sunshine streaming through the windows of the loft apartment where I'd been crashing, it seemed like high time to repay my old friend, host, and honorary Madrilena in kind.

A good excuse for a day spent pottering in the markets for a leisurely dinner as the sun goes down over the city... Chipirones (baby squid) stuffed with chorizo, pumpkin 'fritas', sliced thinly and cooked briefly in a hot oven with lots of olive oil, roast garlic alli oli, and a couple of huge salads to make it all feel a little healthier.

Having leftovers for lunch for a couple of days might help me get back on track with my budget as well...

Roast cauliflower salad with saffron and sultanas

Saffron, alongside paprika, is one of the archetypal Spanish flavours. The addition of some plump sultanas, and the tangy sweetness of caramelised onions are a great way to balance this most decadent of herb's distinctive earthy flavour.

Serves four or five

one head of cauliflower, cut into florets

three or four cloves of garlic, bashed in their skins, but not chopped

half a lemon, skin on, cut into segments

an onion, finely sliced

a generous handful of raisins

a pinch of saffron

a couple of handfuls of rocket leaves

olive oil

salt and pepper

First, soak the raisins. You can do this in the morning, a couple of hours before you're eating, or whilst you're waiting for the oven to warm up. Put the saffron in a bowl and cover with a splash of boiling water. Leave to infuse for ten minutes, before adding the raisins and a bit more water so the fruit is almost covered.

Preheat the oven to medium-hot (say 180 degrees). Put the cauliflower and garlic on a baking tray, and squeeze the juice of the lemon segments over them. Add some olive oil and seasoning, and mix. Roast for 20 minutes or so, until the florets are beginning to turn brown. Meanwhile, in a frying pan with a little oil, slowly sauté the onions on a medium-low heat.

When the cauliflower is ready, remove from the oven, and pick out the garlic cloves (add them to mayonnaise with a squeeze of lemon for a quick alli oli-style sauce), and the lemon segments. With a sharp knife, trim the pith and flesh away from the segments, so you're left with the roast lemon peel. Slice into thin strips. The flavour is quite strong so you might not need them all.

By now, your onions will be ready, and the raisins soaked.

In a large bowl, toss the cauliflower florets, sliced lemon peel, caramelised onions, and raisins, making sure you get all the saffrony juices from the bowl. If you can, leave to stand for an hour or so, so the flavours can come together, then stir in the rocket, and serve at room temperature.

Carrot and pomegranate salad

The sweet and sour flavours here make this salad a perfect zingy starter or palate-cleansing side dish.

Serves four or five

four or five large carrots, grated

two large apples, grated

an orange, skin trimmed off and cut crossways across the segments (save the juice and add to the mix if you can)

a red onion, finely sliced

the seeds from one pomegranate

the juice of a lime

a handful of fragrant green herbs, e.g. rocket, mint, coriander

olive oil

salt and pepper

Combine all ingredients and mix thoroughly. Check seasoning and add a dash of white wine vinegar if you want a sharper taste.

On the eve of Christmas

Sunday 13^th December: The day that the spirit of Christmas swept it's way through the door at For Those That Love To Eat HQ. We had designated it our day to celebrate, Norwegian style, as if it were the 24^th...

The tree fills the room with the scent of pine, as if we lived in the middle of a Scandinavian forest, not an arterial East End bus route. We wrap it in fairy lights, place presents underneath, and balance gingerbread snowmen and clove-studded clementines between it's branches. Our friends have arrived, and a long, plentiful evening of food, wine and festive cheer lay ahead of us. As we raise a glass to one-another's health, Judy Garland serenades us from the stereo. Here's to the start of our Merry Little Christmas. All that's missing is an open fire...

A bright winter salad

This vibrant, lively-looking dish was inspired jointly by Nigel Slater's ever-reliable column in the Observer, and Philippa Davies' exceptional Christmas menu at Mudchute Kitchen. Whilst Nigel pairs his down to little more than celeriac, red cabbage and some citrus, Philippa opts for the inclusion of duck, plenty of herbs and a balsamic dressing.

Mine is something of a half way house. It's by no means as austere as Nigel's minimalist effort, yet it's a different beast entirely to the Mudchute creation. Principally, there is no meat – there will be plenty of that in the next course - so instead, I roast chunks of winter squash with cinnamon and nutmeg, almost to the point of caramelising. This gives the salad a nutty richness and smooth, buttery textures to contrast with the crisp shards of red cabbage. More bight comes from finely sliced fennel. The little aniseed flavour that comes through is balanced with sweet citrus from slices of orange, peppery rocket, toasted walnuts and scattered with ruby jewels of pomegranite.

With more colours than a tin-full of Quality Streets, it sums up everything a festive starter should be; light and crisp yet still indulgent, with enough flavour to perk up the taste buds in anticipation of what's next to come. And when you're lucky enough to get all the flavours on one fork full, it really does taste exactly like Christmas.

Serves six as a starter, two or three as a main

a small winter squash or pumpkin, peeled and cut into chunks

ground cinnamon

nutmeg

a fennel bulb, sliced as thinly a you possibly can

a quarter of a red cabbage, shredded

two oranges, plus the juice of half another

a bag of rocket leaves

a handful walnuts, toasted

the seeds of one pomegranite

a tbsp cider vinegar

2 tbsps olive oil

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees C. Scatter the squash on a baking tray, turn them in olive oil, season, and sprinkle liberally with cinnamon and freshly-grated nutmeg. Roast in the oven for 20 minutes, until the tips of the corners have crisped and taken on a dark brown colour.

Meanwhile, slice the cabbage and fennel, either by hand or with a mandolin, and toss together in a large bowl. Zest the oranges, and add the bowl. Slice the off the skin, and slice the flesh across the segments so you have a series of orange disks, and add to the bowl, along with the rocket, walnut, and pomegranite. Season, and toss together the olive, vinegar, and orange juice. Serve immediately.

Roast rib of beef with bernaise sauce, potatoes roast in duck fat, braised red cabbage

If there is ever a day when when I have to choose my last supper, my decision would likely look something like this. In my kitchen, beef is served rare - Bloody as hell, as Vincent's waiter put it in Pulp Fiction – and this is no exception. The meat is massaged with olive oil, and covered in coarse ground pepper, before being seared in a hot griddle pan for three minutes on each side. After that, it goes into a hot oven, say 180, for another 15 minutes. Only when it is removed is it seasoned with salt, as sits for it's five minutes of rest before carving. The bone will have browned, and the outlying seams of fat will have begun to render, but in the centre the meat will still be soft and red-pink.

The trick with the potatoes is to par-boil them, almost until they fall apart, then add to a tray full of hot duck fat, along with rosemary, salt, pepper, and heads of garlic, sliced through the centre, across the cloves.

The cabbage gives a fruity addition to the plate, braised for a good hour or more in red wine and balsamic, with a few dots of butter, slices of pear and a single cinnamon stick to keep it company.

It's a rich plateful, to which some fresh, bouncy watercress leaves are a welcome addition. With a pot of warm bernaise sauce in the centre of the table, this is about as indulgent as a main course gets, and in my opinion, it couldn't be better.

Chocolate and apricot tart with vanilla yogurt and rose petals

Quite how we managed this, I'm not entirely sure. But manage it we did, and second helpings too. It's a wonderfully decadent dish, which calls out for yogurt, as opposed to cream, to cut through the rich chocolate. The rose petals add a ceremonious touch, and also fill the air with perfume as you're about to take your first bight. Dark chocolate heaven on a plate.

Now, anyone for cheese?