David

Cures for a hangover anybody?

I was told off in an Italian restaurant for asking for parmesean on my spaghetti with clams. Apparently cheese and fish don’t go. Who knew?

Peut-être, Andrew.

We should all eat more sea bream. It’s delicious.

I was lucky enough to grab the last fillet of a fresh (very fresh) wild sea bass from a great Japanese market close to home. I placed it on a board in the kitchen and considered it a while. It was quite a reverential-looking piece of fish. This fillet, I thought, deserves respect.

While I was thinking how best to prepare it, I cooked some baby fennel bulbs — halved, browned a little in some butter then finished with a dash of water and a sealed lid. A squeeze of lemon to serve and maybe a few strands of torn basil once plated.

Meanwhile, the bass seemed to beg me to keep it simple. I heated a skillet, poured a smidgen of my best olive oil and gently, so gently, laid my fillet skin-side down. I counted several long breaths before turning the fish and adding a knob of butter and a dash of fine sea salt.

I graced my plate with the fennel and the fish and added a final squeeze of lemon. In a separate bowl I threw a few salad leaves together along with a simple vinaigrette and poured an ice cold glass of a French Sauvignon Blanc.

I am writing about this not to boast, nor to receive accolades. Rather I thought to share with you that my dinner was conceived 20 minutes before I ate it, required little in the way of culinary skill to put together and tasted absolutely marvellous.

Not so long ago, I would have over-complicated things and tried to be too clever. It’s much better this way.

I cooked with a friend last night: a handful of peppered steaks with some great mushrooms, parsley and garlic thrown over; fine English new potatoes, sweetly buttered; broccoli; and a vibrant salad all washed down with some good wine.

As we opened our fourth bottle a little before 11pm, I decided this was the perfect meal. The food was neither so poor that we felt unsatisfied nor was it so spectacular that we felt obliged to talk about how sensational it was. It was a part of the meal, not the point of it. It accompanied good banter, laughter, a few tears, provocative and inspiring conversation and, at the end of it, a decent memory of an evening well spent.

GreatGrub indeed.

I had a GreatGrub party for my twins’ tenth birthday. A posse of their school friends cooked Carmen’s quesadillas, Summer flank steak, fajitas and chocolate fondue. Went very well… recommend it to all parents.

I marinaded too much flank. I cooked it for my extended family the following day who didn’t seem to mind the lime had already cooked the meat!

I was awake all night. I need a tonic. Ideas anyone? (Keep it legal please!)

I overcooked the Chinese broccoli. Will I ever learn!

Why, oh why, did I eat a hot dog at the cinema last night? Whenever I eat one, I always imagine that it couldn’t possibly be as bad as the last one. Yet it always is, of course.

Two questions come to mind. First, why are they are so bad? Second, why do we continue to tolerate them (and, worse still, buy them)?

Oh my… comfort food comes in the form of take-out egg-white fried rice with shrimps, dried scallops and Chinese broccoli. Can’t get enough of it and it goes mighty fast.

It’s all over bar the pouting.

I found myself contemplating life as a dog in bed last night. My kids’ dog has two meals a day consisting of a handful of crunchy, foul-smelling morsels along with a spoonful of something wet and slimy from a sachet kept in the fridge. Far from devouring her food with any kind of relish or enthusiasm, there appears to be a reluctant acceptance that this is her lot. “Oh well”, I hear her whimper each time she approaches her bowl. “Same old, same old.” And who can blame her. Can you imagine eating the same thing at every meal? Little wonder she jumps up at the table when we are tucking into something delicious and different. Someone should start a business delivering tasty meals for dogs to your home. Don’t think me barking mad: after all, why should a dog’s life be… well… a dog’s life!

I love a woman that smells of beer.

Shepherd’s pie with corn… now there’s a thing.

I tried talking to my food but it didn’t answer back.

Had chicken soup. Feeling much better.