Roots, stalks, knives and forks

Is it safe to say that, for most of us, avoiding food waste simply involves using the ingredients we have provided for ourselves to a reasonable extent? Arguably, one might say that the act of buying an item of food then represents a commitment towards using it in full. While I certainly find myself in agreement with this line of thinking, perhaps the common notion of what "full usage" comprises needs to be broadened.

Across the past ten or so years, a culinary movement has arisen, terming itself "root-to-stalk" cooking, with the intention of promoting the use of fresh produce with an attitude of completeness. Stems and stalks, ribs and rinds, scraps and skins; suddenly there is a place in the kitchen for the unbeloved features of the fruit and vegetable anatomy aside from the bin. Proponents of this method of food-preparation advocate for three benefits, those being a lack of discarded nutrients, a greater diversity of flavour and texture as well as extracting the best possible value for money out of your ingredients.

I find the ideals of root-to-stalk cooking pretty hard to argue with. There definitely are parts of vegetables that we somehow just learned to assume are unpalatable or inedible. If I were to be presented with a naked corn husk, I would not have a clue what to do with it. The same is true for peach leaves, or dandelion flowers, or watermelon seeds; it isn't particularly intuitive and sounds vaguely like reagents for a bubbling cauldron, rather than a kitchen counter. Luckily, The New York Times is here to help, with an article from 2011 which lists preparation ideas for various salvaged ingredients if you scroll to the bottom of the page.

While the cost-saving imperative is certainly appealing, it's not the only reason why root-to-stalk cooking might be advocated by those who occupy the kitchen. A 2015 article from the Wall Street Journal sums this up pretty succinctly by asking "is garbage the new kale?", referring to the presence of items that would normally be discarded on the menus of premium restaurants. Not only are these ingredients thrifty, but they also hold some form of virtuous mystique that hints at a rather more holistic understanding of the vegetable as an entity.

Not to dismantle this aura, but I have to admit that while I think the idea of using ingredients to their fullest extent is a noble one, I'm not particularly good at knowing where to start. I'll consistently cook the stalk of the broccoli in a stir-fry preparation and occasionally slice up cauliflower leaves to be braised, but that's about it (so far). It is certainly best to begin in familiar territory, so I had the idea to use the leaves of a cauliflower I was using for a curry to make a small dish that could go on the side. Cauliflower leaves are an entirely non-threatening preparation, especially when braised; they become tender and imbibed with the flavours that they're cooked in. It makes practical sense to correspond with what the major body of the vegetable is going towards, but there's no reason why these couldn't be saved back to go towards another meal as well.

Given that this idea came to me in the midst of plucking florets from the cauliflower body, this was produce using ingredients that were already in the house, so is definitely an uncomplicated preparation. However, these could easily be swapped out to suit preferences. I liked the idea of a creamy side dish to go with the sharper heat of the curry, and had the remains of a pot of double cream and some Dijon mustard left over from another upcoming recipe development (this is taking a considerable amount of fine-tuning but I promise it will be up soon!). It also made sense to use some of the same aromatics used in the curry, such as garlic and celery, as well as a sprinkling of curry powder to give a mild sense of spice.

I don't think we necessary need to adjust our concept of waste to encompass the use of every single part of the produce we bring home, but it certainly cannot hurt to be aware that the assumptions we hold about edibility may be somewhat limited in scope. Trying to extract the greatest value from fresh vegetables, and knowing how to do that in a satisfying way, is certainly a balm to a mind concerned about the potential of running dry on money before the end of the month (especially if that particular mind in question has a food blog that they really want to carry on writing...)

Next time you find yourself cooking with a cauliflower, look not just to the pearly florets and give the leafy recipe below a go.

Cream-Braised Cauliflower Leaf

Preparation time: 10 minutes

Cooking time: 10 minutes

To go on the side of *this* cauliflower curry

Ingredients

Leaves of 1 large cauliflower

75 ml of vegetable stock

50 ml of double cream

1 stalk of celery

2 cloves of garlic

2 tsp of dijon mustard

1 tsp of curry powder

1 tbsp of vegetable oil

Salt

Method

Slice away the lower core from the body of the cauliflower and remove any stalks that are still attached to it. Discard the core.

Detach any stalks that are still clinging to the cauliflower and wash thoroughly.

Cut off the fibrous end that was closest to the bottom of the stalk, and slice finely.

Crush two cloves of garlic and mince finely.

Take the stalk of celery and cut into inch long pieces. Slice each piece into thin strips.

Prepare the vegetable stock and mix together with the double cream and the mustard until combined fully.

Heat the vegetable oil in a medium saucepan and add the garlic and the celery. Lightly fry for two minutes before adding the cauliflower leaf.

Sprinkle the cauliflower leaf with salt before mixing to distribute, and then turning up to a high heat. Add the cream/mustard/vegetable stock mixture to the saucepan as well as the curry powder, stir until combined and bring to the boil. When this comes to the boil, turn down to a medium-low heat and clamp the lid down.

After five minutes, stir the mixture through again and take off of the heat. Cool slightly before serving with your main cauliflower-based meal.

Notes & Adjustments

• If you would prefer this to be a little lower in fat, then replace the double cream with creme fraiche. This will give the dish a little bit more of a sour tang. It would also be pretty tasty without the cream, and would give the dish more of a straightforward savoury flavour.

• If you don't have Dijon mustard, you can use wholegrain or French mustard too in the same quantity. If you have hot English mustard then use 1 tsp of this before tasting to check if the mustard taste is strong enough.

Infusion diffusion

I would say that I have a mild interest in drinks. It's pretty interesting to flip through a cocktail recipe book and see the actual ingredients behind incredibly cool sounding names that I've only ever heard uttered by figures of urbanity behind a television/cinema screen; I'm imagining Sex In The City despite never seeing it nor having any such desire to. I also take a great fascination in the craftspeople who go beyond the hallowed classics to make something intriguing (wasabi martini? sign. me. up.)

The only issue I tend to come up against is actually drinking the stuff. Now, this is usually where someone would fill you in with scandalous stories of debauchery and bacchanalia. Well, would Bacchus have become drowsy after just one beer? Did the ancient bacchanals involve slumping on the sofa, struggling to concentrate on the game of Final Fantasy X you have ongoing? I can't say for sure, but probably not.

This wasn't always the case. I'd say that I developed a good resilience to ingesting heavy quantities of intoxicating spirits around the age of sixteen? This begun to wane at around the time that I reached the legal drinking age (18 for any international readers). Contrary to the usual student experience, my alcohol consumption actually plummeted as a student. We could go deep into this, but let's just say that I spent a lot of my time as an undergraduate hiding away. There weren't too many opportunities within that self-limitation for convivial merriment. However, very occasionally I would retreat from my hermitage (to an extent) to take part in a "night out"; over three years, this probably happened about seven times. With about three of those taking place in the first week of the first year. Safe to say, my resilience took a hit.

I also had the tremendously slow-burning realisation that alcohol does absolutely nothing to combat my social anxiety. Quite the opposite, being tightly wound up in these situations makes any situation in which a sense of control has to be ceded a very troubling one. It's probably a positive thing to finally come to terms with, as I've heard from a few reputable sources that alcohol may not be the healthiest or the most sustainable balm for a precariously whirring mind.

Is this where you expect me to start handing out flyers for the temperance movement? Aside from desiring the complete expulsion of casual alcoholism jokes from society (tote bags that say "prosecco made me do it" need to insert themselves directly into the nearest available incinerator), I'm a big advocate for moderate drinking. At the age of 25, I don't particularly enjoy feeling as if I need to make a special effort to push through drink number one. My thought here is to think more often of drinking as something to enjoy for itself, rather than it primarily being the pathway to other sources of fun. Something I've been thinking about for a while is infused gin (I believe some people call these ginfusions). You mean that you can imbue spirits with flavour in the same way that you might make a herbal infusion? Revolutionary.

Okay... not new at all. But the great benefit of infused spirits is that they don't require a lot of (potentially costly) ingredients to create something that feels multifaceted. I don't know about you, but I don't think I'm ever going to have a cocktail bar. The idea of walking into a store and spending £20 at once on a bottle of alcohol makes me feel something similar to that first drink feeling. If I had to keep a cabinet for cocktails stocked, I would be a nervous wreck. Neither my heart, nor my wallet are really in it. Admittedly, the only reason this recipe came to be was that my father recently stopped enjoying gin. He didn't broadcast this fact very widely, however, and come Christmas he became the recipient of a few bottles of his once favourite (Gordon's - if you are a gin snob then maybe navigate away from this page). This is the anxiety-free way I managed to get my hands on some.

For a long time now, I had the idea that I was going to use some of the fragrant aromatics found in Thai cooking for a flavoured gin. It has just been a long time since I've had actual ownership over a bottle of the stuff. As well as my father, I need to give a shout out to FOTB Keith (the usual suspect) who bought me a gin-infusion kit for Christmas; really the festive period provided the perfect set of circumstances to create my long-nurtured concoction.

This is incredibly easy to do if you have a moderately neutral tasting gin in your store cupboard, and the various herbs and spices in your store cupboard. If not, the ingredients are all things that are now very commonly found in supermarkets. I stipulate a fairly small quantity of gin here, so if you read this and you think you might like it but aren't sure, you're not going to be sacrificing an entire bottle. By the way, when I say "neutral tasting gin", use one that is balanced and doesn't have a particularly distinctive flavour profile; we don't want our aromatics to be in competition!

As a last note, can I just say how much I dislike the word fragrant when used to describe Thai aromatics? I wasn't sure what to call this without using that word, but I find pretty twee. Surely, it can refer to any pleasant smell? Thai herbs and spices are incredibly characteristic to distill down to such a vague word. It also kind of feels like it's playing into somewhat orientalist notions of the delicacy of South East Asia, but we won't go too deep into that rabbit hole. Was that a pointless rant? Potentially! Let's proceed.

Thai Aromatic Infused Gin

Preparation time: 15 minutes

Infusion time: 8 hours

Ingredients

250 ml of neutral flavoured gin

3 lime leaves, dried or fresh (*see notes)

1/3 of a red chilli, cut into thin strips

1/2 inch slice of ginger, cut into thin strips

1/2 a stalk of lemongrass, crushed

3 strips of lime peel

Method

Prepare all of the ingredients as specified above, and insert them into a bottle that has enough room for 250 ml of gin to be poured into it.

Pour the gin over the ingredients and seal the bottle tightly. Turn the infusion over in your hands gently a few times, before leaving for at least eight hours.

After the infusion time is over, strain the ingredients and store your gin in the desired receptacle.

Notes & Adjustments

• (*) Lime leaves are most commonly found in supermarkets with the name k**fir lime leaves, however I do not want to use this name as I've found that it is actually a racist slur for Black Africans in South Africa. I'm going to refer to these simply as lime leaves from here on in.

• I imagine that this could be made with vodka if preferred; perhaps even white rum?

• The list of aromatics stipulated here is by no means exhaustive. If you wanted a more complex taste, you could add some fresh coriander for a more lively taste; galangal or turmeric for a herbal root kick; Thai basil or star anise for a shot of aniseed; or tamarind for a sour edge. I would probably advise against garlic, but if you were to try it then I would observe with a morbid curiosity.

• I made this into a gin and tonic, as I'm a simple boy of humble origin. However, if you have greater mixology intuitions than I then I'm sure this could be taken in many other directions. Personally, I would like to try making a gin martini with a twist of lime using this (just have to psyche myself into buying a bottle of vermouth).

Sichuan dreaming

In a momentous first for this blog, I decided to prepare a recipe in the exact way that it specifies. This may not sound like a particularly significant feat, yet historically I have found it challenging to adhere to a set of instructions when cooking (as evidenced in by my attempt to make Smitten Kitchen's brownies - click here!). Apparently it took getting into cooking to locate the sense of intuition that was MIA for the first 23-25 years of my life.

So, what was it that punched through this Great Wall of culinary insubordination? The Sichuanese dish known as Mapo Tofu, or even more enchantingly Pock-marked Old Woman's Tofu; don't worry, I will give context behind that second name!

I have to admit, I hear about a lot of foods that were previously unknown to me through Molly Wizenberg and Matthew Amster-Burton's podcast Spilled Milk (click here!). Hearing two long-time culinary chroniclers discuss various food-adjacent topics in an approachable and goofy way is a great balm for a fledgling blogger. I think it was their tofu episode in which Mapo Tofu was initially brought up in the context of Fuchsia Dunlop's recipe. I'm not sure what it was about this, but I felt like I needed the guidance of of an outside source to produce what they were talking about. Mercifully, my parents got me a copy of Dunlop's tome full of wisdom, Every Grain of Rice (click here!) for Christmas last year. The book is an approachable, comprehensive, instructive and even humourous overview of everyday Chinese cooking; Dunlop was the first westerner to train at the Sichuan Institute of Higher Cuisine, yet her writing never feels didactic or pretentious (not an ad).

The book also has a lot of anecdotes about Dunlop's extensive time travelling in China, which validates to me once more the importance of the context behind the food you prepare. Personally, China is somewhere I've always wanted to travel, especially to the province of Sichuan with it's intense culinary history and Avatar-inspiring topography; it has been my dream for a while now to be able to spend at least a month in the country. Absorbing the works of food and travel writers can take on something of a wistful quality; almost as if I want to live vicariously through their words. Having just come to the realisation that spending just £90 to go away to France on my own for a few days would be an unwise financial decision, I do have a deep sense of anxiety that I'm never going to be able to live out these hopes.

Perhaps this is why I'm so insistent on following the recipe here. Rather than bringing this dish into my domain by augmenting it through my own instincts, I'm keeping it within Dunlop's own parameters; trace that back, and I'm tapping into something that had it's genesis in Sichuan itself. For the moment, this is the closest I can get to walking in those footsteps. And, for that genesis? Well, I'll outline one quite memorable "theory" for you!

Outside of the province, Mapo Tofu is one of the best one dishes hailing from Sichuan. The eponymous "pock-marked old woman" refers to (potentially apocryphal, but let's pretend otherwise) a Qing-dynasty restaurateur's wife who prepared a braised tofu recipe to distribute to passing labourers in Chengdu, the central city of the province. Visually, the most characteristic aspect of this benevolent tofu bearer was the fact that her face was marked by smallpox scars, giving the name to this famous recipe. Even if this is a mythical tale, it attests to the cult of legend that can arise around a dish; it is never "just food", but it represents to us whatever we place into it. Perhaps the scarred woman never existed, but the sentiments of providing care and a willingness to share remain all the same.

It's hard to describe what this dish is like; peppery, spicy, hearty... it felt very warm to eat. Fermented and salted black beans bolster it's savoury backing, whereas the Sichuan chilli bean paste and the ground Sichuan pepper add a numbing tingle and comforting warmth that can only be conceptualised as the equivalent of a fireplace for your tastebuds. The tofu adds a complex textural element to the dish and the aromatic triumvirate common in Chinese of garlic, ginger and spring onion keep it lively. I thought to myself while eating this for breakfast that every ingredient had a discernible role; if one were to be removed then it would result in a tangible difference.

Usually, at the end of a recipe I will add an adjustments section where I suggest ingredients that could be easier to find than what I have specified. I'm not going to do that this time. I feel pretty strongly this time that if you are to make this then it should be made with the ingredients specified in Dunlop's original recipe. However, I will advise on where these can be found.

Fuchsia Dunlop's Mapo Tofu (Pock-marked Old Woman's Tofu)

Preparation time: 15 minutes

Cooking time: 10 minutes

Serves: 2-4

Ingredients

500 - 600g of plain white tofu

Salt

4 baby leeks or spring onion greens

4 tbsp of cooking oil

2 1/2 tbsp of Sichuan chilli paste

1 tbsp of fermented black beans

2 tsp ground red chillis (optional)

1 tbsp of finely chopped ginger

1 tbsp of finely chopped garlic

100ml of vegetable stock or water

1/4 tsp of ground white pepper

2 tsp of potato flour mixed with 2 tbsp of cold water

1/4 - 1/2 of ground Sichuan pepper

Method

Cut the tofu into 2cm cubes and leave to steep in very hot, salted water while you prepare the other ingredients. Do not allow the water to boil as this will cause the tofu to become porous.

Slice the baby leeks/spring onions at a sharp angle. Crush each garlic clove and finely mince. Finely mince the ginger.

Heat a wok on a high heat. Add the cooking oil and swirl it carefully around the pan (I was terrified that I would spill this on my wrist; be careful!). Turn the heat down to medium and add the Sichuan chilli bean paste; stir-fry until the oil is a rich, red colour and combined with the paste completely.

Add the black beans and ground chillis and stir-fry for a few seconds. Add the ginger and garlic and stir-fry for the same amount of time. You don't want to overcook these ingredients as they still want to be fresh.

Remove the tofu from the water and shake off any excess liquid. Carefully lay the tofu in the wok and fold it in carefully, ideally with a silicone spatula to avoid breaking it up. Add the vegetable stock/water, the white pepper and salt to taste and mix gently again.

Bring to the boil and simmer for a few minutes. If you are using leek slices nudge them into the sauce now. Stir in for a few minutes, and then add a small amount of the water and flour mixture and stir gently as the liquid thickens. Repeat until the sauce clings to the tofu. If you are using spring onions rather than leeks, now nudge them into the sauce and stir until tender.

Pour the tofu into the bowl, and scatter with the ground Sichuan pepper.

Where to find ingredients

• Sichuan pepper is now generally available in supermarkets. To use my now-common refrain, I got mine in Tesco. Schwarz sell a variety marketed as Szechuan pepper (Szechuan being the romanisation of Sichuan). Also of note, despite the ubiquity of the brand, it took me three attempts to spell "Schwarz" correctly. If your local supermarket doesn't stock Sichuan pepper then you can find it online here!

• I've found fermented black beans at virtually every Chinese/general Asian supermarket I've stopped by. I initially had trouble because I thought they would be in a pot or a jar, but they came in a plastic bag. You'll find them for around £1.00 at a Chinese supermarket, but if you don't have one of these nearby then you can order them online here (this is a lot more expensive, however).

• I read online that Sichuan chilli bean paste could be found in one of the two large Chinese supermarkets in Chinatown. Now, this may either be my inferior searching skills, or the fact that I rushed to the enclave during my lunch break, but I couldn't find it. As such, I had to order some online - you can find this here. At £1.95 I think this is very reasonably priced, however Sous Chef deliveries cost £3.50 so I would recommend getting a few other things in with this.

• Tofu can be found the most cheaply at Chinese supermarkets. The New Loon Moon supermarket sells 600g blocks for just £1.80. After this, you will probably find it most reasonably at Holland & Barratt.

Finally, it is time for Keith's Cocktail Corner! Did anyone watch Cardcaptor Sakura and remember Kero's Corner at the end of the episode? If not, click here! This kind of reminds me of that, except with more alcohol (also, FOTB Keith has neither wings nor ancient magical powers to the best of my knowledge).

So, back on track; Keith recommends a cosmopolitan! He was veering between either a creamy or a tart drink, and I veered him towards the latter. The tartness of the cranberries paired with the acerbic citrus zest of the lime will be a fitting, acidic companion to the warming heat of the Mapo Tofu. I'm sure that the smallpox-scarred woman of myth would have raised a glass too.