So, you might be asking where have you been? Well to cut a long story short I’ve been studying for a food and wine diploma at Leith’s, a prominent cookery school which has seen the likes of Henry Harris, from Racine through it’s hallowed doors. I don’t think I’ll be hailed as the next culinary sensation to hit the London scene, however, over the past six months I’ve learnt an immense amount some of which I will share with you.

The first thing that you learn when embarking on a professional cookery course is that you can’t actually cook. Cast aside any delusions that you might have held prior to starting because they will quickly and harshly be knocked down. For any home cook these words will sound ominous, however for someone embarking into the world of professional cooking it appears to be a right of passage.

The diploma, which runs Monday to Friday, 9-5, for approximately 9 months, is an intensive course which equips students with the necessary skills to enter the culinary world. However, despite the practical skills learnt few go on to become chefs working in professional kitchen. There are a couple of reasons for this, the age of the students which ranges from 18-60, many are career changers who are not prepared to work the torturous hours with little pay demanded in the initial stages of chef-ing. Another factor might be that many of the students are women who sometimes feel out of sorts working in the predominantly male environment of a kitchen.

I myself fit neatly into both categories and can honestly say that the world of chef-dom is not beckoning. At this stage, I am just about to enter the advanced term, so still have a little time to decide what the future might hold for me in terms of my culinary career.

At the moment I’m taking a well deserved break for Easter so have a little time on my hands to recount some of my recent experiences. I would be interested in answering any culinary questions that you might have, not that I am an expert or anything (yet!) however the Leith’s methods are somewhat foolproof and I would be more than happy to talk you through them.

‘Dirty Sugar Cookies’ is Ayun’s hilarious and sometimes moving food memoir that charts her personal journey from self -confessed picky eater (eschewing her mother’s gourmet delights in favour of Pop-Tarts and Grape Fanta) to bona-fide foodie.

I got the chance to catch up with Ayun, over the net, and quizzed her about her motivation for writing such a food-centric autobiography and in the process also discovered that she is an unexpected supporter of the much maligned Durian fruit.

GC: What motivated you to write a memoir that largely centres on food?
AH: I’ve had the good fortune to have Leslie Miller as editor on all four
of my self-mocking autobiographies and I knew this was a subject dear
to her heart because she’d also initiated and edited an anthology that
I contributed to called Women Who Eat. When that book rolled off the press, I was surprised and a little embarrassed that all the other authors had tackled the subject of food head on, while I concentrated on describing this great restaurant where I once worked, and what a
crappy waitress I had been. So, I guess this was my chance to redeem
myself.

Food is also more of a universal subject than some of my other passionate interests, like low-budget theater, or pirates or dressing up for the Coney Island Mermaid Parade, so there’s a chance it will appeal to a wider audience. It’s always a bonus when a smaller press publishes a book that proves evergreen. If you could publish a book about Angelina Jolie’s Cesarean section in the next five minutes, you’d find yourself with a best seller, but that thing’s shelf life would be shorter than an unrefrigerated boysenberry’s.

GC: The Betty Crocker cookbook features heavily in your childhood, do you still prepare recipes from it?
AH: Oh HELL no! I thought maybe I’d make the Bunny Salad for my kids, but before I could, we ran out of fresh produce, so in desperation, I
cracked open the canned pears I had bought for this purpose. The kids
were like, “No offense, but is it okay if we don’t finish these things?
We tried a bite.” I was kind of pissed, because canned pears had been
one of the few things I did like as a child, but I have to admit, it was a labor saved.

GC: Do you think that your mother’s appreciation for gourmet food rubbed off on you in any way despite being a self-confessed fussy eater as a child and ultimately refusing to eat most of what she cooked?
AH: Most definitely. Even when I didn’t like to eat, I liked to pretend
that I was cooking. My grandmother and I used to take colored pencils
to the inside of oyster shells, which we would then line up on a patio bench as if they were the items on display at a cafeteria. And I also had this book called Mud Pies and Other Recipes: A Cookbook For Dolls, with these totally compelling, pen and ink drawings of stuffed bears and these creepy looking dolls dining on sawdust and leaves. I remember once, I went outside to play on this raw, early spring day and my mother’s only condition was that I not turn on the hose, but of course I turned on the hose, because of course, that was a requirement of the recipe.

GC: In the book you describe an incident that inspired such wrath that you considered ramming a doll down your friend Darla’s throat as a result of eyeing up her Enchanted Castle birthday cake. Is food envy a condition that still afflicts you?
AH: Well, with Darla, it wasn’t so much food envy, as material envy. To my eyes, that elaborate, much fantasized about cake was just one more fancy thing that she had done nothing to deserve, but had been given all the same. Sometimes I feel that way when I go to some celebrated restaurant that I’ve heard about for years, and it’s full of people who
think nothing of eating there every day and totally take it for granted and order $20 dollar entrees for their two-year-olds. My husband used to have a very lowly job scouting locations for a popular television show that shoots in New York, and every day, the director and the
producers and the location manager would expense account these incredible meals. Every once in a great while, Greg would do something to distinguish himself in some wow-you-really-saved-our-asses-this-time way, and they would reward him by inviting him to join them for lunch. After which I would pump him for every single detail. What did you order? What did everybody else order? Did you get dessert? Did everybody get dessert?

GC: Do you still pine for pop-tarts and grape Fanta or do you think your palate has become more refined after living in New York and extensive traveling?
AH: I’ve branched out, but every now and then, I have an unindulged
hankering for a cinnamon frosted Pop-Tart. Once I bought my kids a
health food store version - unfrosted of course. They hated them, as
did I, but that didn’t stop me from eating the whole box. Wouldn’t want
to see food go to waste, not if I paid for it, anyway.

GC: I was interested to see a mention of the dreaded durian in your memoirs. I sampled it for the first time on a trip to Malaysia last year and actually rather enjoyed it. However my husband retches at the sight and more specifically the smell of it despite being from Asian descent. Why do you think this fruit inspires so much mixed opinion?
AH: Possibly because it smells like a soiled diaper? Its legend definitely
precedes it, as far as traveling Westerners are concerned. The first I
heard of it was when I was reading Lonely Planet’s Southeast Asia on a
shoe-string guidebook in preparation for a trip I made in 1989. The
editors noted that Singapore’s elegant Raffles Hotel had banned durian
from its the lobby, it’s odor was so offensive. I should add that the
Raffles did not permit hairy, Birkenstocked backpackers like me in
their lobby, either. I actually wrote about the moment where I got to taste some in Job Hopper - I think it tastes like sweetened cream cheese! I love it! But I’ve never felt compelled to haul one home from Chinatown.

GC: What is the most unusual dish you have ever consumed and did you ultimately enjoy it?
AH: Good lord, that’s a good question, but I’m not sure I can supply a
definitive answer. Once I inadvertently ordered a bowl of offal in Nha
Trang. The menu was a little vague. Not wanting to give offense, I ate
it all. The cook had served it in some sort of lemongrass broth. It
wasn’t awful (rimshot!) but I probably would have preferred it, had it
been prepared by a four-star French chef in Paris in 1942, when
hardship dictated that nothing be wasted.

GC: As a convert to vegetarianism do you ever secretly hanker after meat?
AH: No, just butcher’s refuse. Of course, I do, and not so secretly,
either. It’s the way most meat is raised and slaughtered in our country
that I object to, not the taste!

GC: Do you hope eventually that your daughter, once freed from the
shackles of picky eating syndrome, will share your culinary
enthusiasm?
AH: It’s what I’m wishing for, if I ever manage to get the damn genie out of this lamp.

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Anywhere, within reasonable driving distance of the Costa Del Sol or Malaga, it pains me to say, is unashamedly overrun with Brits. On the coastal drive from the airport I took in one tragic sight after the other – high rise timeshares, fish and chippies, fast food outlets. It wasn’t until we’d reached Estepona, a small seaside resort, that I finally felt like we were in foreign country. Famished we parked the hire car and strolled along the seafront in search of somewhere to eat. Unfortunately our random restaurant choice was a bit of a shocker, frozen vegetables, gritty prawns and leathery pork didn’t endear us to the place and we made a hasty retreat to the Carrefour, the local supermarket, in order to stock up with same basic provisions for the week. Pictured below is the quite astounding selection of ham on offer.

The Spaniards must have a real love of pork because half the supermarket was devoted to it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many different types of chorizo or pork products.

Onwards to Gaucin the scenery dramatically changed and with it my spirits were lifted. Undulating green countryside, windy roads with steep drops were a welcome contrast to the tacky sights witnessed along the coast. Climbing further and further up steep hills I secretly prayed that the remoteness would deter only the most foolhardy tourists and as a consequence we might after all sample an authentic taste of Spanish life. Finally we reached our destination, Gaucin, a gleaming white village, with our cottage situated a couple of hundred metres down a dirt track.

This pictures, taken from our balcony, gives you some indication of how beautiful the surrounding countryside is. It provided the perfect spot for a week of relaxation.

Sorry everyone for my absence over the past week, however sometimes in life there are even more important matters than food, hard to imagine I know. With my mind preoccupied house-hunting, I have rarely felt like cooking and have satiated my appetite on a variety of take-outs and other joyless meals that I will refrain from boring you with.

On Saturday however I am jetting off to Southern Spain, to a little village called Gaucin, where I am bound to find inspiration once again. I visited northern Spain earlier in the year, indulging in a gastronomic frenzy around the coastal town of San Sebastian. Whilst Gaucin won’t be able to compete with San Sebastian in terms of haute cuisine, I am hoping that it will possess a unique charm and cuisine of it’s own.

Most of all however I am looking forward to escaping the miserable weather in London, lying in the sun, and sipping sangria. Adios.

I happened on Pham Sushi by chance. Walking down a desolate street, tucked behind the back of the Barbican, I spied a diminutive Japanese restaurant overflowing with diners. Fed up with the generic conveyor belt style sushi bars springing up across London I ventured inside and made a reservation for the following evening.

Again the place was full. The crowds weren’t there however for the opulent surroundings or odd celebrity sighting that have become synonomous with the more upscale sushi bars. Rather they sat huddled together around cramped tables in pursuit of, what I later learnt, some of the best sushi in town.

Whilst the establishment might be modest the menu is anything but. Yellowtail sashimi with jalapeño peppers is a nod to the chef’s background and training at Nobu and the unusual yet sophisticated selection of dishes hint that this restaurant might be a cut above the rest. Hawaiian Roll (pictured above) a kind of inside out California roll, with a thick slab of salmon arranged artfully on top, was a sight to behold. Rock shrimps encased in a light,crisp,tempura batter went down well with my husband who tends to shy away from the more exotic options. The real jewel in the crown belonged however to the crunchy tuna roll, not actually listed on the menu, but something which was recommended by our amiable waiter.

Since my initial experience at Pham, almost a year ago, I have become a regular. Their delivery service which cargos their sushi within a one mile radius has become a godsend on evenings when I can’t be bothered to cook or eat out. As a result I’ve pretty much made my way through the entire menu and can honestly say that it is rare to have a dud dish. The sushi is of a consistently high quality, the fish always fresh and the rice always cooked well, something which is quite rare to find here in London without forking out loads of money. Whilst the hot dishes can’t really compete with the sushi offerings they are fine nonetheless.

I highly recommend.

Pham Sushi
155 Whitecross Street,
London
EC1Y 8J

On Thursday Thomas Keller’s long awaited cookbook, Bouchon, arrived on my doorstep. I’d had a cursory flick through it at a friend’s house and had pledged there and then that as soon as I owned the book I would tackle one of the more demanding bistro classics, the French onion soup. On my honeymoon, back in October, I’d enjoyed a particularly good one at Pastis (a faux French bistro located in the trendy meatpacking district in New York) Whilst the rest of the food was not up to much, the crusty bread laden with melting cheese floating in the sweet oniony liquid refuses to leave my memory.

Technically speaking the soup itself is not difficult to prepare however it is time consuming, you’ll need the best part of an afternoon. Keller’s recipe instructs one to spend 5 hours intermittently stirring the onions (which means a total cooking time of well over 6 hours) in order that the onions reach the perfect point of caremalization and surrender their sweet juices. In a professional kitchen this is all well and good but for the home cook it can be a daunting and unnecessarily worrisome task. So whilst I have stuck loosely to Keller’s recipe I have reduced the cooking time (by approximately 2 hours) by not using a heat diffuser under the pan meaning the onions cook significantly quicker. Another modification I made was using chicken stock instead of beef, like many cooks I usually have some lying around in my deep-freezer whereas I very rarely make beef stock, using the chicken stock makes the soup lighter and less meaty.

The most unpleasant aspect of the recipe however is chopping the mountain of onions needed. This is particularly irksome if you are predisposed to weeping, a sure fire trick that works for me is to put a metal spoon in my mouth. However whilst this might avoid tears streaming down your face it won’t guard against the onions infusing their potent odour into everything in their immediate vicinity and that includes you. So beware you might have a distinctly whiffy air of onions about you for a couple of days.

A final word of warning, keep an eye on your onions when cooking, if you notice there is too much liquid in the pan turn up the heat and make sure you dry them out a little otherwise they will boil instead of caramelize.

Despite all these little annoyances nothing beats a lovingly prepared onion soup, especially when it is cold and rainy outside as it is while I am cooking the soup. It is the ultimate in comfort food, so much more than just a soup, a meal in itself, and ultimately spirit lifting.

French Onion Soup

For the Soup
8 pounds yellow onions
4 ounces unsalted butter
kosher salt
1 ½ teaspoons all purpose flour
beef stock ( chicken or vegetable will do)
sherry wine vinegar

For the Croutons
1 baguette
extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt
6 -12 slices aged Comte or Emmentaler cheese (at lease 4 inches square)

For the soup
Cut of tops and bottoms of the onions, then cut the onions lengthwise in half. Remove the peels and tough outer layers. Cut a V wedge in each one to remove the core.
Lay an onion half cut side down on a cutting board with the root end towards you. Note that there are lines on the outside of the onion. Cutting on the lines (with the grain) rather than against them will help the onions soften.
Melt the butter in a large heavy stockpot over a medium heat. Add the onions and 1 tablespoon salt, and reduce the heat to low. Cook stirring every 15 minutes and regulating the heat to keep the mixture bubbling gently, for about 1 hour, or until the onions have wilted and released a lot of liquid. Continue to stir the onions every 15 minutes being sure to scrape the bottom and corners of the pot, for about 3 hours or until the onions are caramelised throughout. Remove from the heat (You will need 1 ½ cups of onions for the soup, reserve any extra for another use)

Transfer the caramelized onion to a 4.5 litre pan. Sift in the flour and cook over a medium-high heat, stirring for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the beef, veg or chicken stock and sachet, bring to a simmer, and simmer for about 1 hour or until the liquid is reduced to 2 litres. Season to taste with salt, pepper and a few drops of vinegar. Remove from heat.

For the Croutons
Preheat the broiler/grill. Cut 12 3/8 inch thick slices from the baguette (reserve the remainder for another use) and place on a baking sheet. Brush the bread lightly on both sides with olive oil and sprinkle lightly with salt. Place under the broiler/grill and toast the first side until golden brown then turn and brown the second side. Set aside and leave the broiler on.

To Complete
Return the soup to a simmer. Place six flameproof soup bowls, with about 1 ½ cups capacity on a baking sheet to catch any spills. Add the hot soup to the bowls and lay the cheese on top.

Place under the grill for a few minutes until the cheese bubbles, browns and forms a thick crust. Eat carefully the soup will be very hot.

Whilst I could sit and wax lyrical all day about the steamed prawn dumplings with chives, the magnificent buns filled with sweet barbeque pork, and my personal favourite prawn cheung fun, this is not the focus of my post. Instead it is to express my uncontrollable glee at seeing row upon row of iridescent macaroons, not witnessed since my last trip to Laduree back in March.

Yet whilst Yauatcha’s macaroons might bear a fleeting resemblance to their French counterparts they are unique in flavour. Lemon cashew, lychee raspberry, black bean to name a few, afford them an Oriental twist. They might not have the lightness of touch that the French provide but are still a worthy treat.

Yauatcha
15-17 Broadwick Street
Soho
London, W1F
Tel: 020 7494 8888

My first efforts in the medium of photography could best be described as conceptual, an assortment of images so blurry and indecipherable that even I was unsure of what the original image was. Nevertheless under the stern tutorship of my husband who proffered these following pearls of wisdom, ‘TAKE THE BLOODY LENS CAP OFF’ and a fashion photographer friend’s advice ‘point the camera at what you want to shoot and then press the button’ I was off to a good start. Reaching inside my baron fridge I grabbed the first solid object which came to hand, a can of Kronenburg 1664 (which probably reveals a little too much information about the household I live in) and began shooting. After an hour and a half fiddling with the focus, aperture and shutter speed I managed to come up with an image that vaguely resembled what was in front of me. And this was my best effort.

I don’t think you’ll be viewing it in the Tate Modern any time soon, however what it does reveal is that somebody as technically retarded as myself can produce an image which is not altogether displeasing.

So this episode marks a new chapter in the history of my blog, because from this day forth I will banish the trusty Google images and replace them with my very own authentic shots. Any tips or words of advice would be greatly appreciated.

It didn’t take long before I found one staring at me alluringly from Nigella Lawson’s excellent cookbook ‘Forever Summer’. Her recipe deviates slightly from the norm by her inclusion of chocolate, which in my book is always a welcome addition. As luck would have it a new chocolatier, Paul Young, has recently taken up residence in a small shop, in Camden Passage, round the corner from my apartment. It is homage to all things chocolate and I have been spending a little too much time there scoffing down his award winning sea salt caramels. For the purposes of the pavlova however he recommended using Valhrona dark chocolate 66% cocoa content, you can use one with a higher cocoa content if you desire.

The topping is also a matter of personal preference. To be honest you can stick most types of fruit on top. Nigella uses raspberries however they had run out at the local supermarket so I was forced to use strawberries and blueberries instead.

I’m not really a great baker so I was frankly rather relieved that this turned out so well. The meringue retained a crunch on the outside and a gooeyness within and the chocolate gave it an added depth and flavour.

After lovingly decorating the top of it with the strawberries and blueberries, I took it outside onto my balcony to photograph. I then rushed back inside to answer my telephone and when I returned found my naughty puppy up on a chair licking the side of it. You can imagine how mortified I was, thankfully however half of it was salvageable.

Serves 8 - 10

Meringue base
6 egg whites
300g caster sugar
3 tablespoons cocoa powder, sieved (I used Green&Blacks)
1 teaspoon balsamic or red wine vinegar
50g dark chocolate, finely chopped

For the topping
500ml double cream
500g raspberries
2-3 tablespoons coarsely grated dark chocolate

Preheat the oven to 180C and line a baking tray with parchment
Beat the egg whites until satiny peaks form, and then beat in the sugar a spoonful at a time, until the meringue is stiff and shiny. Sprinkle over the cocoa and vinegar, and the chopped chocolate. Then gently fold everything until the cocoa is thoroughly mixed in. Mound on to a baking sheet in a fat circle approximately 23cm in diameter, smoothing down the sides and top. Place in the oven, then immediately turn the temperature down to 150C and coof for about one to one and a quarter hours. When it’s ready it should look crisp around the edges and on the sides and be dry on top, but when you prod the centre you should feel the promise of squidginess beneath your fingers. Turn off the oven and open the door slightly, and let the chocolate meringue disc cool completely.
When your’re ready to serve, invert on a big flat bottomed plate. Whisk the cream until thick but still soft and pile it on top of the meringue, then scatter over the raspberries. Coarsely grate the chocolate so that you get curls rather than rubble, as you don’t want the raspberries luscious colour and form to be obscured, and sprinkle haphazardly over the top, letting some fall as it will on your plate’s rim.