A Veggie Grilling

After a real outdoorsy weekend of camping, beach and river boat fun, I needed some alfresco closure on Sunday evening to make it feel complete.  My veggie mate Louis and I decided to have a Barbeque in the warm Totnes sunshine. Old Lou Bags popped out to get the ingredients and I said in a manly fashion "I'll start the barbeque, by the time you get back the flames will have died down and It'll be ready for cooking". Using the sport section of Saturday's Guardian (I assume Louis wasn't going to read that bit) and some sticks, I built a fire. But for some reason the Guardian didn't want to burn, so I ended up putting petrol all over the cunting thing and it caught ablaze like a yeast infection.

So with my pathetic attempt at being a pyromaniac and Louis' lack of taste for flesh, we really weren't showing much respect for our neanderthal ancestors, or in fact man kind. But everyone can fuck off (especially Ray Mears), because our BBQ was so darn tasty. It may not of had big chunks of blood dripping animal flesh, it may have been lit with a dowsing of petrol, but putting those things aside, we made a meal so flippin' tasty.


On our mushrooms and chunky courgette slices we grated a few cloves of garlic, a bit of lemon zest & juice, a couple glugs of olive oil, salt & pepper and tossed it all in a hot wok for a few minutes to get things moving. Then after charing the veggies for a few minutes on a very hot barbeque, it was done. A mature cheddar, some black Kalamata olives, a few slices of griddled tiger bread and a Peroni, and I'm smiling, Louis is smiling, and it seemed the whole world was smiling back at us. Maybe my Totnes hippy roots are starting to show, and when they're fully grown, I'll shove 'em on the barbeque as well.

Dirty Secret

It's not dirty cos it's been up my anus, it's dirty in the way of 'a dirty little secret'. Everyone has their guilty pleasures, especially when it comes to food. Some of mine include leftover takeaway curry straight from the fridge as a breakfast snack, roast chicken skin, chips and white bread. After watching a piece of very good, Lynchian contemporary dance - Chamos Woke Up A Trash Dolly (usually not my scene), I came home in desperate need of a quick bit of scoff. As I opened the fridge to reveal some left over Bolognese, I began to conjure up dirty little thoughts in my dirty mind, a Bolonese-Baguette.

Although, at first glance my Bolo-Baguette may sound dirty, I soon jazzed up Mr Baguette with a make over, a bit like that vile programme Ten Years Younger, but I'll call it something even shitter like Ten Times Tastier. 

"Taste guru Oliver takes Mr Baguette to the trendy boutique - Jardin de Balcon, he dresses him in a suit of wild rocket. The multi talented Oliver now turns his hand to hair styling, keeping on the Italian theme he gives Mr Baguette a Parmesan Perm with golden curly shavings of salty Parmigiano Reggiano." 

So just like those middle aged, 40 ciggies a-day, house wives you see on that programme, my boring old Baguette has had a transformation. He has turned into a stylish Italian hunk. My baguette is so handsome I want to fuck him, because I actually know underneath that chic exterior is real filth, he is full of dirty cold Bolognese with greasy congealed fat ready to lubricate my oesophagus. He's mine, all for me and our secret love affair will continue for years to come, we'll plan dirty weekends together, I don't care, I want the world to know that - OLIVER COYSH LOVES A BOLOGNESE SANDWICH!

Poached Egg

The poached egg. Probably the king of the eggs. Apparently a difficult egg to cook and drives fear into many B&B owners. It is not difficult to cook. All you need is a good non-stick frying pan, which every able bodied cook should own, and you're away. 

A few years ago my girlfriend bought me an amazing Le Creuset frying pan, it was expensive, but when you use equipment frequently, there is logic investing in a good quality, functioning tool, which does the job very well. Highly recommended.

My method for poaching eggs is simple. Boil the water in a kettle or in the frying pan, you need the water deep enough to cover the eggs, add a splash of vinegar, this will help the egg white hold it's shape (Do not add salt to the water as it will do the opposite, season when the egg is cooked). Make sure the water isn't boiling when the egg is added, so turn off the heat or have it very low. Crack the eggs cleanly and hold just above the water so the bottom of the shell is actually touching the surface and break open the egg so it smoothly drops into the hot water without a splash or too much movement. Leave for about 5 minutes and the eggs are cooked. You can either scoop the eggs (and I says eggs plural, because one isn't enough) with a slotted spoon or you can drain the water off, although draining can be a tad risky if the egg is still soft, so the spoon/fish slice method is best.

If you do sample my method, I'm confident you will never return to the vortex of convention, and all that bollocks. Also, a poached egg does taste better than a boiled egg. I find boiled eggs always have a sulfurous smell and taste, similar to it's shabby devourer. As the poached egg is clean, regal and has glossy white shine to match it's deep golden crown of a yolk. Eggs Royale.

When serving, a tiny pinch of smoked paprika and sea salt goes very well on the yolk, especially if you're planning on dipping shit in it. Definitely a scoffy egg!

Picklish Lamb Curry

I've been bored of those creamy British curries for a few years now, they are for the immature palate, along with those overly sweet chinese foods. Basically baby food. It's also pointless having the hottest curry on the menu, a macho act which normally backfires, in the mouth and the asshole.


Probably like most white brits, I started on those Tikka Masalas & Kormas and I said "oh this is nice", I even ordered chips instead of rice, oh the shame.


So like I said, bored of those creamy inoffensive fake curries, I began to order the unknown things on the menu, the Pathia, Makhani and sometimes a Tandoori Salmon. Fanny. None really felt authentic or hit the G-spot. But on this Indian culinary expedition (I'm referring to pointing at vulgar graphics on a greasy menu, rather than exploring the actual country) I have discovered a real gem, something so beautiful in flavor, full of spice but without the heat, something that does feel like an authentic recipe. Im referring to the Achar Gosht; is a meat based dish with onions and tomatoes and all the usual spices chucked in, but the recipe requires the meat to be cooked in the sauce until it goes dry. This style of cooking creates a type of relish where the dark brown sauce becomes a jammy sweet chutney, retaining a deep spice flavor.

This dish is normally served with a flatbread (Roti, Chapati or Poratha), but it also goes particularly well with a Tarka Dall (lentils with garlic & butter), although the texture of both are a little on the stodgy side. I chose to go for a Lamb Achar Gosht at my local indian restaurant, Ganges on Exeter Fore Street,  lamb is so good when cooked slowly. So I sat on my own watching 4 episodes of the trashy HBO series Game of Thrones and sunk 3 large bottles of Peroni Nastro Azzuro Italian larger (sorry it wasn't Indian, I just prefer Peroni).  It felt like a taste of bachelor bliss, all that was missing was a copy of Nuts magazine.


The other amazing dish I've eaten at Ganges is Malabar Lamb Shank, unfortunately it's not available for takeaway in shank form.

The Pork Returns

Tom was staying in Devon for a few days so we wanted to have a spot of dinner whist he was down. Tim's butchered pig was still lurking in the freezer at work, so what better opportunity to get rid of the swine. The only problem was deciding a location to host the dinner. To slow roast the shoulder & leg it needed to go in the oven around 3 o’clock, the problem with this is that I’d still be at work, the solution was to cook it at work, but why just cook it when we could eat it at the bakery? Great idea, no seats but lots of work space to put the food on. So we had an indoor picnic dinner, with the added bonus of popping across the road to the pub to have a few beers while the crackling got crispy.

To go with the pork I made a sauce with sweaty onions, apple and lemon juice & a little of the zest.  With some pizza dough I made focaccia bread by spreading and pressing the wet dough with my bare sexy hands and covering the soft sloppy slab with a load of E.V. Olive oil, which I had blended with a whole bulb of garlic in a food processor. Before leaving it to prove (rise) for 20 minutes of so, I gave it sprinkling of salt and a load of rosemary. Then the bread went in the oven for 20 minutes and just enough time for another pint in the pub before we all return to a perfectly cooked meal.

Duncan brought, from his recent trip to Scotland, some ale from a brewery called Black Isle, really good stuff, especially the Organic Blonde, went really well with the apple-sauce.