Familiarity breeds contentment (occasionally)

Sometimes on a Friday, or occasionally a Tuesday, I'll finish work at 5pm and head from Bond Street to Waterloo Station. The only good thing about working on Oxford Street is that the Jubilee Line can take you straight back home, or to the train to the town that used to be my home. There's something palpable about leaving London at the end of the week. You don't have to dislike the city to be relieved to be away from it; even if where you're going isn't necessarily the most genteel or elegant of places. If it makes you feel calm, then the monochrome and the disrepair don't matter at all.

I don't know what visiting parents represents to other people. Sometimes for me it can be stressful; my parents don't seem to enjoy time spent in each other's company, and that will always be hanging over their house like a shroud of gloom. I can't help but feel comforted, though, by being there. I've been grappling with living in the "Big City" for a long time now, and I think I'm finally forging a sense of a home for myself there. Even so, I now understand the film Kiki's Delivery Service on a whole other level (if one person reads this and understands the salience of that reference then it will be worth it - if not, click here and watch the trailer from 1989).

Stepping off the train into the "once-was" home then feels like I've entered into a routine that I don't feel like I walk within when I'm in London. When I make food in the evening on that Friday night, I usually feel compelled to make the same thing that I might have done on my previous visit. Unless I've had something particular on my mind throughout the work day, I'll head over to the Sainsbury's with every other commuting office worker who needs to find something for the evening, pick up the same ingredients, scan my Nectar card, and head back home. It seems to rain a disproportionate amount on these walks home, though that doesn't seem like an important detail to add.

I'll grab an aubergine, some mushrooms and a bag of parsley, and enough faith in my parents' kitchen to trust that I'll be able to use their store cupboard ingredients. I did try to kick-start a windowsill herb garden to allow me to forgo buying the parsley every time, however Mum has extended her parenthood to include an array of re-potted plants that now people the space; a natural move after all of your children have left the home that you can't really afford anymore.

The structure of the cooking process always remains the same. The ingredients may change if I quest towards something different or, more frequently, some miscellaneous vegetable is on it's last legs and has been slashed in price; then I might be able to integrate it into my plans. Even so, the variable ingredients will be cooked in a rather non-variable way.

What I'm bringing here is a version of something familiar that I make, which has been stretched beyond my usual habits, but not by a lot. The aubergine and the mushroom retain their roles at the front of the stage, with the parsley reprising it's position as the supporting character. I do introduce a few ingredients to push it into firmly (rather than vaguely) Italianate territory; lemon and thyme stand alongside the parsley, as well as a tumbling of black olives to support the veteran vegetables. While I very often just tumble whatever comes out of the saucepan on to a layer of microwave rice, this I felt deserved to be swirled into a pasta accompaniment. Still a denizen of a familiar culinary land, the end product was a rasping, peppery and punchy Aubergine & Mushroom Linguine with Lemon & Chilli.

I've been a little bit intimidated to put my hand into the ring of Italian recipes, without even realising that I had one unconsciously developed and stores over an almost two year period. There's a strangely haughty aura that hangs menacingly over Italian food which has been almost entirely conceived of outside of Italy. While it is perfectly legitimate to create elaborate and even dramatic dishes as a chef or a cook, food is all about context and Italian cuisine can sit perfectly within the realms of simplicity and comfort. In fact, so can most foods when we drop our aspirations to complete authenticity and remember that our tastes come from internal strivings, not external aspirations (though, aspiration is certainly not a bad thing either!)

I usually eat this in my childhood bedroom (which today had my niece's bike, my sister's wedding dress and an ironing board stored in it) while reading a book or watching something on my laptop. A bowl of this pasta works fantastically for that. But if you want to eat this at the dining room table with a lightly dressed side salad of rocket (arugula) and glass of wine, a bottle of Birra Moretti or even a cocktail (yes, FOTB Keith is here again!) then you will not be left feeling as if you needed something fancier. I very rarely eat at a table (and do not have a dining room at home), but please do if it is where you feel the most comfortable.

Aubergine & Mushroom Linguine with Lemon & Chilli

Preparation time: 15 minutes

Cooking time: 15 minutes

Serves: 2

Ingredients

1 medium-sized aubergine

250g of chestnut mushrooms

3 tbsp + 2 tsp of extra virgin olive oil

4 garlic cloves

1 tsp of chilli flakes

1/2 tsp of dried thyme

1 lemon, juice and zest

30g of curly parsley

50g of whole, pitted black olives in brine

150g of linguine

1 tsp of sugar

Salt and pepper to taste

Method

Slowly heat a pan of water; you can prepare the ingredients as this comes to the boil.

Crush each garlic clove and mince. Remove the stalk from the curly parley, and finely chop the leaves. Finely grate the zest of the lemon and put everything aside with the chilli flakes and the dried thyme.

Slice the aubergine into inch-thick cross sections and then slice these into strips of a width of about 1.5 cm. Cut the chestnut mushrooms into thin slices.

Add the 3 tbsp of olive oil to a large saucepan and warm over a medium heat. Add the parsley, garlic, chilli, thyme and lemon zest into the pan and fry lightly for 3 minutes. This will allow the oil to infuse with the flavours of the ingredients.

Meanwhile, add the linguine to the boiling water, and add 1 tsp of olive oil and 1/2 a tsp of salt.

Add the aubergine to the saucepan and squeeze the lemon juice in before turning up to a high heat. Stir the aubergine until it has been folded in fully. Once the mixture has come to the boil, turn down to medium-low heat and clamp the lid on the pan. Cook on this heat for 6 minutes.

Add the mushrooms, black olives and 1 tbsp of the black olive brine. The addition of the brine will act as a savoury counterweight to the raspiness of the lemon, olive oil and chilli.

Stir the pan and bring to the boil once again. Turn down to a medium-low heat, replace the lid and cook for a further 6 minutes.

Once six minutes is up, take the saucepan off of the heat and remove the lid. Meanwhile, check the linguine is cooked to your liking. If so, drain the pasta and divide between your serving dishes (if you are like me then you might find yourself skipping the division aspect...). Add 1 tsp of olive oil, and a small sprinkle of salt and pepper to the linguine and fold in until the pasta is consistently oiled.

Tumble the vegetables onto the pasta bowls. You can stir the vegetables in or have them sitting on top of the pasta based on your preferences. Sprinkle with a small amount of torn parsley and serve.

Notes & Adjustments

• If you would prefer the dish to be a little less peppery, you can use regular olive oil instead of extra virgin.

• If you want the dish to be MORE peppery then you could stir in 50g of rocket (arugula) in the last 10 minutes of cooking.

• Many people do not like aubergines and mushrooms, but any vegetable that doesn't require a longer cooking period (I'm thinking carrots, cauliflower, sweet potato etc...) would work here, although it would result in a bit of a different taste; bell peppers, courgette, asparagus, leek, any kind of green -the list could go on for a while.

• In terms of the pasta to use here, technically you could use any and it would be good, but I think you should use a long one. I always prefer linguine over spaghetti, but you could use it anyhow. Tripoline would also be fantastic.

And now, you've scrolled this far just to find out which drink pairing FOTB Keith recommends in his cocktail corner! He opted for the alluringly named Cinnamon Bun. Quite simply, it consists of RumChata and Kahlua; something creamy to counteract the pepper and the zest.

Soybean holiday destination 2020

Tofu has had a bit of a rough ride ever since it came to a position of widespread consciousness outside of Asia. I'm not referring to that time in the 18th-century where Benjamin Franklin literally mailed soybeans back to America thinking it was "Chinese cheese"; rather more the mid-century rise in vegetarianism and East-Asian cultural dispersion. Somehow, it turns out that Franklin's excitement wasn't infectious, though perhaps his soybeans were after the transatlantic voyage.

On the surface, tofu is a hard sell. The idea of coagulated soy curds don't exactly catalyse the saliva glands. It's reputation it has garnered ever since it's introduction to the Western world barely evokes a substance that you'd eagerly welcome into your diet. May I posit that perhaps this can be partially explained by the fact that it was always associated with Ashram-dwelling, wind chime-bedecked white folk, rather than two millennia of East Asian cooking.

The accepted consensus among contemporary tofu historians traces the first record of it back to Anhui province in Eastern China, carved into a stone slab demonstrating the ancient usages of soy beans. There is a legend about a Han dynasty prince, Liu An, which tells of him inventing soy milk to give his ailing mother the taste of soy beans in liquid form. Although there is no concrete historical evidence to support this story, the invention of tofu has been attributed repeatedly to Liu An, notably in the 10th-century "Song of Bean Curd" (which, I am sure, is an absolute banger).

Alternatively, some historians think that Liu An was taught by a group of vegetarian monks he lived with, rather than being inspired by the plight of his sick mother. There is also the possibility that the technique was taken from methods of cheese making, imported from Mongolia. The great thing about not knowing for sure is that we can just pick whichever story we like the most; I have a history degree, I give you the permission to do so. I'm inclined to buy into the catchily-named "Accidental Coagulation" theory which argues that tofu was created inadvertently through an innocent salting of soybean soup. Tofu would then join an honourable coterie of unintentionally created, yet delicious food products; nachos and chocolate chip cookies, I'm referring to you here.

I stumbled into the dish below with a similar lack of intention, although no coagulation was to take place. My plan had initially been to make a dry tom yum-style pan-fried tofu for which I had been sporadically researching and planning (covertly Googling while I was at work) over the past couple of days. While I was looking for ingredients, I couldn't find what I needed and so I thought to myself "it wouldn't be so bad just to use a paste" so I picked one up. Upon getting it home, I found that it was not vegan; in fact, it was not vegetarian (my fault there entirely). Shrimp paste doesn't quite fit the veganuary brief. Besides, panicking and making reluctant concessions was probably a sign that I wasn't yet ready to make the tom-yum into something I could post here.

So, I kept the idea of tofu and reworked it with things around the flat. From Thailand, I moved north to China (no surprises there, I'm sure) and swapped out bright pungency for darker and more savoury flavours, keeping in the vegetables and the aromatics I planned to use for the previous dish; Pan-Fried Tofu with Braised Shiitake and Choi Sum is the result. Oh, did I forget to mention having a small meltdown in between the defeat and the creation? Yes, we don't need to go into that!

I am conscious about listing ingredients here that may not be commonly found in all supermarkets. However, for anything that isn't widely found then I will provide substitutions in my adjustments section. I always feel a bit conflicted, but I feel it is worth stating the original ingredients I used in case you do want to go and find them. I'm not going to enforce the pretense that tweaking a recipe will dramatically alter it; although I can't promise it will taste exactly the same, any substitution I specify is because I believe that it's addition will still bring something positive to the recipe.

I hope this can adequately demonstrate to you the exciting potential of tofu! Yes, I know how lame that sounded. Also, if this recipe (or anything else for that matter) inspires you to cook with tofu more, it is worth knowing about the different kinds. This article on Kitchn (click here!) will fill in the blanks for you.

Pan-Fried Tofu with Braised Shiitake and Choi Sum

Preparation time: 40 minutes (including tofu pressing)

Cooking time: 20 minutes

Serves 2-3

Ingredients

300g block of firm tofu

2 spring onions

4 cloves of garlic

2 green finger chilies

1 stalk of celery

1 inch piece of ginger

2 1/2 tbsps of black rice vinegar (otherwise known as Zhenjiang or Chinkiang vinegar)

2 1/2 tbsps of shaoxing cooking wine

2 tbsps of light soy sauce

2 tsp of sesame oil

1 tbsp of cornflour

125g of shiitake mushrooms

200g of choi sum

3 Sichuan (Szechwan) peppercorns

1 tsp of sugar

1/2 tsp of Chinese five spice

1/2 tsp of MSG (optional)

Firstly, you'll need to press your tofu in order to extract the excess liquid from it. This will ensure that it hols it's shape better when you come to cook with it. To do this, put a 2 layers of kitchen towel down on a cooking surface and place the block of tofu on top of them. Add another 2 layers of kitchen towel on top of the tofu, as well as a small cutting board. Now, find something to weigh the tofu down. I used a moderately-sized cookbook, so something of similar weight and not too heavy (no anvils or grand pianos preferably) in order to not crush it.

Leave the tofu to be pressed for 30 minutes. Throughout this time, you will notice the kitchen towel becoming increasingly saturated as the moisture leaves the tofu, while the block continues to retain its shape.

While the tofu is being pressed, prepare your vegetables. Crush each garlic clove and finely mince it. The celery stalk should be sliced into thin strips along its length and finely chopped. Thinly slice the chilies into circular cross sections and slice the ginger into slices before mincing. Lastly, slice the spring onions thinly across their length.

Slice the shiitake mushrooms into thin strips. These mushrooms are usually highly irregular, so no need to hold to hold our slices to unnecessary standards of homogeneity!

Separate the leaves and the stalk of the choi sum. Roughly tear the leaves and cut the stalk into long, thin strips.

Once the tofu has been pressed for 30 minutes, remove the weight from it. Slice the block into 1-inch cuboids, and then divide each one into four strips. Make sure none of the strips are too thin in order for them to retain their shape throughout the cooking process. Add the tofu strips into a small bowl.

In a separate bowl, mix together 1 1/2 tbsps of black rice vinegar, 1 tbsp of Shaoxing cooking wine, 1 tbsp of soy sauce and 1 tsp of sugar. In yet another bowl (sorry - it's worth it!) whisk together 1 tbsp of cornstarch and 1 tbsp of the soy/vinegar/wine mixture until smooth. Gradually add the rest of the mixture until all is combined, and pour on to the pieces of tofu. Stir the glaze into the tofu (ideally with a silicone spoon or spatula to avoid bashing the tofu around too much) until it is evenly coated; don't worry if there is surplus glaze at the bottom of the bowl.

Put the tofu aside and warm 1 tbsp oil over a medium heat in a saucepan. Once the oil is warmed, add the celery, garlic, ginger, spring onion and chili and lightly fry until soft. Add the slices of shiitake mushroom as well as a pinch of salt, and turn up to a high heat. Stir in 1 1/2 tbsps of Shaoxing cooking wine, 1 tbsp of black rice vinegar and 1 tbsp of soy sauce. When this has come to the boil, turn down to medium-low heat, put the lid on the saucepan and let it braise for 5 minutes.

When 5 minutes have passed, add 1 tbsp of oil to a frying pan and put on to a high heat. Meanwhile, turn the saucepan on to a high heat and add the choi sum stalks. Mix until the pan has come back to a boil, return to a medium-low heat and clamp the lid back on for 5 more minutes.

Add the marinated tofu chunks into the hot oil and fry, moving around as much as possible without breaking them. After five minutes, take the tofu off of the heat and add the choi sum leaves and the sesame oil into saucepan with the MSG (if using), cooking for 2 minutes.

Serve with basmati or jasmine rice. Interestingly, I was told that adding a tomato (with the top core section cut out) to the rice cooker would add moisture and flavour to the rice, so I gave it a go!

If you have a rice cooker (and want to try this too), prepare rice as you usually would. Cut out the green section on the top of a tomato and add it in to the cooker. Cook the rice for the usual amount of time, and when it's done mash the tomato into the rice.

So, what did I think? Honestly, it did give the rice a bit of extra moisture but it wasn't perceptibly too different. Give it a go though and see what you think, especially if you have a tomato that will need using up soon.

Notes & Adjustments

• I bought the black rice vinegar in a speciality Chinese supermarket. If you can find it there, it's an inexpensive price for a bottle of the vinegar (around the £1.50 mark). You could also order this online if you wished, but a perfectly acceptable alternative would be to mix 1 part balsamic vinegar, 1 part rice vinegar (this is pretty commonly available in supermarkets) and 3 parts water.

• Choi Sum is available in many supermarkets (I got mine in Tesco), however if you cannot find it then I think that 2-3 bulbs of pak choi would be an adequate replacement for 200g of choi sum. Choi sum has a great mild-mustard taste, however the mellow pepperiness of pak choi would also work well. You could even do a mix of the two. If you do substitute pak choi, separate the leaves and the stalks in the same way stipulated in the recipe.

• Shaoxing cooking wine can be found in some supermarkets. In Tesco it is quite expensive for a bottle (£6), whereas in ASDA I managed to pick up the same quantity for just £2.50. You will also find it for a more reasonable price if you can get to an Asian grocery store. If you can't find it then cooking sherry will also work fine.

• Tofu is stocked widely across UK supermarkets, however I found the place that sold it was for the most reasonable price was (somewhat surprisingly) Holland & Barrett so it is worth checking there to see if your local branch stocks it. I picked up a block for £1.50.

• Sichuan peppercorns are becoming more common across UK supermarkets, but if you can't find them then 1/4 of a tsp of mace will give a similar mouth-numbing effect. Make sure you don't overdo it!

• If you would prefer, oyster mushrooms would work very well in this dish in place of the shiitake.

I'm also very happy to declare that friend-of-the-blog Keith is here for a second time with a cocktail pairing! I'm very much hoping that this will be a long-standing partnership.

So, this time Keith suggests that you should pair this dish with an El Presidente. When I looked up what this was (because I am rather clueless when it comes to cocktails), I instantly agreed. This drink is made with rum, orange curaçao, white vermouth and grenadine. It is apparently quite strong and fairly dry, and I think that the heady taste of the vermouth will correspond quite well with the shaoxing.

Small flames for a Winter's day.

It transpires that the internet has a lot to say about Chana Masala. It feels like the dish itself has achieved the status of a mere template for those who produce it to fill in with their own ingredients, quantities and techniques. Maybe this sounds aggravating if you're just trying to find the "best" recipe to follow (rule #1: be wary of recipes which claim superlatives), but to a food writer the chance to summarise the literature and see where you slot in is an exciting one.

I have to share this nonpareil summary by Felicity Cloake (click here!) who has practically done the legwork for us in the pursuit of the chana masala review. This is one article in an ongoing series by Cloake produced for The Guardian newspaper called "How to cook the perfect..." which condenses the work of leading writers on the particular topic into an editorial and a recipe. This may seem somewhat at variance with my earlier refutation of superlatives (rule #2: just... look the other way when I contradict myself), but these articles are all deep fonts of wisdom; if someone were to trap me in a padded cell for 24 hours with just these articles, I doubt that I would protest.

When you're presented with the work of multiple writers, it just so happens that the recipe that you produce has a multiplicity of influencers (old school influencers; not vloggers on YouTube reviewing different types of slime - yes, I watched that entire video). I took Rick Stein's advice to add a tablespoon of lemon juice, because I feel a compulsion to acidify anything I cook. From Kaushy Patel and Maunika Gowardhan I added half a teaspoon of sugar, as citric acid needs it's cousin, sweetness, to truly shine. I use slightly less than they do, however, to preserve a hint of acerbity. In terms of the spice profile, I went with Madhur Jaffrey's inclination towards ground cardamom. If this dish was a section of a PhD thesis, it would be the literature review.

While Cloake's article is comprehensive, there are other sources of Chana Masala wisdom available on the resource-rich rainforest of online food blogging. I do love Molly Wizenberg's suggestion to crush canned tomatoes, either with a potato masher or with your hands. Although I didn't have any to hand, I'm very curious to give Meera Sodha's suggestion of adding bicarbonate of soda to the soaking chickpeas a go. Sodha also refers to chana masala as "workers curry" and, more illustratively, "the coals of India's engine room".

With that being said, there are parts of this recipe that come from my own tastes (and store cupboard limitations). Toasted and ground fenugreek seeds might possibly be my favourite spice from the South Asian canon (rule #3: don't ask me what my favourite spice is; I will dissolve into a primordial puddle of indecision), so I threw some into a pan with coriander seeds, milled them down and threw them in. As much as I'd love to try the recipe with amchoor powder (as the veritable Deb Perelman of Smitten Kitchen suggests) or dried pomegranate seeds, I'd feel dishonest trying to pass that off as being adherent to my own predilections.

One of the most interesting things about the virtual chana masala-sphere is the lack of consensus between the dried/canned/jarred chickpea debate. Usually, this is an issue to stoke the wildly burning flames of opinion but, like most other aspects of the dish, it really is up for you to determine. I used the dried variety, which is marginally cheaper than using canned and much cheaper than using jarred, because for once we had them in the house. These do require an overnight soak, though all you will be doing in that time is sleeping so I don't think this is too much of an impediment. However, if you wake up to find that the chickpeas are still not ready like I did, this may cause an unwelcome realisation that you should be sleeping more (rule #4: don't comment on my sleeping patterns).

So, I hope after all that you feel you can trust me to create a decent chana masala? Well, if that isn't the case then at least I've provided you with a glut of alternatives. Happy to settle with me? I'm thankful. Scroll on down for my own particular distillation.

Chana Masala (Chickpea Curry)

Preparation time: 15 minutes (not including chickpea soaking)

Cooking time: 20 minutes

Serves: 2-3 people

Ingredients

500g of canned or rehydrated chickpeas

2 white onions

3 cloves of garlic

1 inch piece of ginger

3 green finger chillis

15g of fresh coriander

1 400g tin of peeled plum tomatoes

1 1/2 tsps of fenugreek seeds

1 tsp of coriander seeds

3 cardamom pods

1 1/2 tbsps of sunflower spread

1 1/2 tsps of turmeric

1 tsp of paprika

3/4 tsp of cumin

1/2 tsp of chilli powder

1 tsp of garam masala

1 tbsp of lemon juice

1/2 tsp of sugar

Salt

If you are using dried chickpeas, these will need to be soaked prior to cooking for at least eight hours. This can be done overnight, or if you will be preparing this for an evening meal then this can also be done in the morning (depending on what time you get up!)

Chop your onions. I prefer to slice this into long strips by cutting down the side of each layer which gives the onion the role of vegetable as well as an aromatic. If you're not so keen on onions, then chop into finer pieces.

Crush and finely mince each garlic clove, and slice the ginger into similarly sliced pieces

Behead the green chillis and slice them into roughly 1/2 centimetre cross-sections. Do not de-seed them.

Remove the stalks from the coriander (don't be too zealous - when I'm feeling lazy I just chop the stalks up with the leaves...) and finely slice the leaves.

Warm a frying pan to a medium head before adding the fenugreek seeds and the coriander seeds. Toast them until the fenugreek has darkened to a chestnut brown colour. Add the seeds to a pestle and mortar.

Remove the seeds from the cardamom pod and add into the pestle and mortar. Grind everything down to a coarse powder. If you have a spice grinder, you could also use this.

Add the remaining ground spices into the mortar for the sake of having them all in one place.

Empty the canned tomatoes into a bowl and crush them with a potato masher (or with your hands if you feel so inclined). You could also blend them, but this will create more washing up at the end.

Melt the sunflower spread on a medium heat in a large wok or saucepan until it has melted completely. Add the onions and turn up to a medium-high heat. Fry for 8-10 minutes, or until softened. If you have finely chopped your onions, this will only take around 4-5 minutes.

Add the garlic, ginger and chillis and fry for an additional 1 minute.

Add in the spices and fry for 2 minutes.

Stir in the lemon juice and the sugar, before adding the chickpeas. Stir through until the chickpeas are coated with the spice mixture, and then fry for 2 minutes.

Add the crushed tomatoes and stir in thoroughly. Bring the pan to the boil before turning down to a medium heat and cooking for an additional 5 minutes.

Stir in the chopped coriander and add salt to taste, before cooking for an extra 1 minute.

Leave to cool for a few minutes before serving with rice and/or flatbread.

Notes & Adjustments

• If coriander isn't something that you can eat then leave the fresh stuff out. However, don't omit the coriander seeds as they taste totally different.

• The amount of chilli you use is variable. I've specified three based on my tastes, and I like a bit of heat. If you aren't so keen, I'd say reduce the amount to two. You could even go up to four if you like it fiery.

• You can look for other suggestions in the articles I've linked to!

Also, for the first time, I am happy to welcome friend-of-the-blog Keith, who is here to suggest an accompanying cocktail to suit the flavour profile of chana masala. He suggests a Bombay Sapphire gin & tonic with a twist of lime. This makes a lot of sense; you are likely to eat chana masala in Mumbai, and my recipe is indeed a gem. Personally, when I have anything spicy, the alcohol I'd instinctively go for is a light, golden beer but my drinks tastes are pretty limited. When I had this, I skillfully paired it with a freshly poured glass of tap water, so that's 3 suggestions in one for you.

Also, not that I think anyone would believe this blog is popular enough for product placement, but I just want to disclaim that the above was NOT an advertisement for Bombay Sapphire gin. FOTB Keith just knows his preferences!