The market on Whitechapel High Street is a source of many emotions. Wonder, awe... disgust. The latter normally coming back from work when the debris of the day's selling is everywhere, and the noxious waste from the fish stall that's been stewing in the sun all day is running into the gutter and perfuming the air. The wonder and awe is at the brashness and the haggling and the women checking vegetables over meticulously and smelling the honey mangoes for ripeness. I think I can name about 50% of the produce on the stalls, and this, as well as the huge variations in quality, is what has stopped me shopping there in the past.
That was before the day I got a whole bag full of long, fleshy and sweet red peppers for just a pound. Shoo and I grilled them, and grilled them again the day after, and there were still some left at the end of the week to grill for a third time. Smothering in olive oil compulsory.
Since then I've had a hawk-eye on the stalls on the walk back from Whitechapel tube station every day. The latest find? A big bag of juicy and slightly tart baby plum tomatoes, again for a pound. Here's what they looked like after roasting till squishy and spurting juice, all ready to be stirred into a bowl of pasta:
At the same stall that sold me the tomatoes, they always have gargantuan shiny black aubergines, so I picked up one of those too, though I can't now remember what I did with it. However, I also spotted a mystery vegetable that looked a little like choi sum but clearly wasn't.
The young guy at the till didn't have a clue what the leaves were, so he told me to ask another customer - a Bengali lady shopping with her mum. Neither of them could tell me exactly what it was - they guessed, maybe the leaves from daikon/mooli - but they did tell me how to cook it. Sauteed in oil, apparently, with some black onion seeds thrown in. The asian supermarket across the road did everything but onion seeds, so I improvised with mustard seeds. Not on a par with spinach, but tasty enough.
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
The secret to the market? Cherry (tomato) pick
Just about up to date...
First of all, a progress check on my herbs. They were slow to get started, but now, on a south-facing windowsill in the height of summer (ahem - this is the UK after all) they are flourishing. All except the coriander, which has decided to bloom outrageously without giving much leafy matter for the cooking pot. To compensate, the Basil looks healthy enough to clamber out of its pot and take over the living room, and the mint is shooting upwards.
Photoarrears #2
About a month ago Katey came over for teatime treats. I tried out another recipe from my Japanese biscuit book - refrigerator cookies edged with sugar, in vanilla and matcha. Katey wasn't keen on the Matcha, but Martina and Shoo and I all dug in...
Photoarrears #1
Shoo and I went back to my parents' house together for the first time at the end of May. He passed with flying colours. I took over the kitchen; big and well equipped, it's much easier to work in than our messy Stepney one. Dessert was definitely a hit - Pear and almond tart. I cheated and just used bought puff pastry for the base, scored so that the edges would rise and contain the frangipane - though as you can see it didn't stay neatly within the border. Next time I'll definitely refrigerate it before baking.
Mum had recently come back from Italy, travelling exceptionally light, for her. The only thing she succumbed to was a kilo of fresh cheese for making a variety of Sardinian pastry that is something of an obsession. She has spent years perfecting her technique, and my, with the main ingredient imported specially from Milan (previously she'd made do with sad, tasteless supermarket ricotta), was this batch a revelation! These dainty little cakes are called Pardule. Saffron powder gives them their golden-yellow colour. The pastry is thin, unsweetened and a little austere - so as not to upstage the rich, sweet filling.
Shoo sat at the scrubbed wooden table in my parents kitchen playing with his ibook and distractedly polishing off one after another.
