An Erudite Sybarite

It’s been a hectic few weeks in the Sybarite household, what with work and a short break in our beloved Spain. There’s also been a lot of experimenting with new [and old] recipes and some very interesting photography work – all of which has kept me from the keyboard.

Once again, the title of this post comes from Simple Minds, although in this instance, it comes from an album they released in 1980. The album is ‘Empires and Dance’ and it was the first of the band’s three Eurotrance and art-rock endeavours [the other two being 'Sons and Fascination' and 'Sister Feelings Call'. Heavily influenced by Kraftwerk and other German bands of the time, the album is a good example of the stylish minimalism which was all the rage back then. Unfortunately for Simple Minds, their record label was not particularly enthusiastic about this experimental phase, resulting in a parting of ways.

On the way back from our Christmas break in Nerja, we decided that we'd go back out as soon as possible and with friends of ours having their wedding there at the end of April, it seemed logical to extend our break and take in another Andalucian city. We'd 'done' Granada, Málaga and Córdoba over the past few trips, which left Seville as our destination this time. Other than the rich Roman and Moorish heritage, there's a huge tapas culture in Seville and this was one of the main reasons for visiting. I follow a Twitter account called Sevilla Tapas and I'd been in touch with Shawn Hennessy to arrange a meetup while we were there. Shawn has lived in Seville for many years and has a good working knowledge of the best places in which to nibble and imbibe - she runs tours of the city and is worth getting in touch with if you're planning to visit.

Seville, Croquetas de pollo, Mushrooms with garlic and sherry. Click to enlarge

I’ve said it before, but the roads in Spain are a real pleasure to drive on. From talking with various friends, it would seem that Spanish drivers are the world’s worst, but in all the years I’ve been driving there, I can’t recall a single moment when I felt unsafe on the roads. The Andalucian countryside is very beautiful and this really adds to the driving experience, well, that and some good tunes on the CD player. Seville is a two and a half hour drive from Nerja and we arrived there just after lunch, garaged the car and checked in to our hostal. As we’d missed lunch, we found a nearby tapas bar and ordered some food. First up there was a sweet chorizo, followed by a portion of delicious morcilla [Spanish blood pudding, not entirely dissimilar to Irish black pudding] which came with pate in its centre. The chorizo was good, and the morcilla was amazing, but the third dish blew me apart completely. Solomillo al Whiskey sounds like the bastard son of an Irish/Hispanic one-night stand, but is a truly brilliant combination of pork loin, whiskey, stock, lemon juice, garlic and butter. This merely served to give us an appetite for more, so we did our own little tour, taking in the sights between pit-stops.

We spent two days in Seville and enjoyed every moment, but the icing on the cake was our next destination, Carmona. It’s a short drive from Seville, unless it’s bucketing down with rain and you’re reduced to tottering along at 30kmh, which is the situation in which we found ourselves. Perched on top of the hill is the Parador de Carmona, our lodgings for the one night we spent in this charming little town. We had a reservation for dinner in the Parador’s restaurant, so decided to take a walk around the town in search of nibbles and refreshing beverages. As the rain was never that far away, we had to indulge in a bout of speed tourism [check out all the sights, grabs photographs and run back indoors to shelter], but it’s a very charming little place and well worth the effort. Dinner that night was a pretty lavish affair, with chickpea purée, morcilla and chicken croquetas, slow roasted ox tail and the most magnificent dessert buffet I’ve ever set eyes upon. The set menu was €33.00 per person – Irish restaurateurs, take note – and a bottle of the house red was all of €12.00 and very easy on the palate.

Carmona, olives and beer, spinach and chickpeas. Click to enlarge

All too soon, we had to return to Nerja, but on the way back, we stopped off at a roadside hotel in search of the extraordinary value that is the Menu del Dia. Three courses for €9.00, inclusive of beer, wine, water or soft drink. A rich soup of fish, chickpeas and spinach was followed by braised pig cheeks with potatoes and vegetables and a cheeky little flan de casa. The place was hopping with truckers and locals, which is always a good sign, and it never ceases to amaze me how they can offer food of a high standard at such low prices. I’ve listened to the naysayers and their “ah, sure they use the cheapest cuts of meat which can’t be good for you…”, but I call bullshit on that. Yes, they’re cheap cuts, but done correctly, they’re tastier than some of the prime cuts we’re so keen to laud in this country.

A little warning in advance of my next post: it too is going to feature Spanish food, but this time it’s food I prepared and served at home in Dublin. A ten course tapas menu, to be precise. One of the most time-consuming yet so-worth-it meals I’ve ever prepared.

But that’s for next time…

So, I don’t post for ages and then two come along in quick succession. A bit like buses, I guess.

In March 1984, I was on a school tour to London and wandered into a record shop [the name of which I cannot recall] on Kensington High Street.

Therein, I bought three albums. All three of them debut albums.

They were: ‘Swoon’ by Prefab Sprout; the eponymous ‘The Smiths’ and ‘A Walk Across The Rooftops’ from The Blue Nile. It is from this third album the title to today’s post is drawn. On any list of my top albums or artists, ‘Swoon’ and ‘A Walk Across The Rooftops’ will always feature in the first five [The Smiths, on the other hand, I never 'got' and this was the first and last of their albums I listened to]. Best heard on good headphones, at night, alone and with a glass of good wine [or whiskey], this is a hauntingly beautiful track from a band who released only four albums between their inception in 1984 and split in 2006. Vocalist Paul Buchanan will release a solo album in May but it looks less likely that the original three members will perform or record again any time soon.

It’s not that I’ve run out of food photographs to show you, but I really think this song is a stunner, which is why I include Easter Parade here.

Lamb Tajine. Click to enlarge

And so, to the Tajine, one of the dishes from my last post.

If the recipe is of any interest to you, please read on. If not, skip the next few paragraphs, gaze longingly at the photo of the finished article and move on to my parting words.

Lamb Tajine

Ingredients

Dry marinade:
2 teaspoons paprika
1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground green cardamom
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon garlic salt
3/4 teaspoon ground coriander

1kg lamb [I used cubed shoulder]
2 medium onions, cut into 2cm cubes
5 carrots, peeled, quartered, then sliced into thin strips
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
1 pinch saffron [needs to be infused in liquid, so use the stock below]
1 preserved lemon, finely chopped
600ml lamb or vegetable stock
3 tablespoons olive oil
100ml passata de pomodoro (or 100ml water and a tablespoon of tomato purée]
1 tablespoon harissa
125g dried apricots
100g toasted almonds [optional]
1 tablespoon honey

Mix all of the ingredients for the dry marinade together in a mortar, or if feeling lazy, blitz them in a blender until you get an evenly textured powder. Place this in a sealable freezer bag [I use the IKEA ones, which double seal]. In a bowl mix two tablespoons of olive oil with the lamb. Then add the lamb to the freezer bag and give it a good mix before sealing it. Pop it into the fridge and leave it for at least eight hours, preferably longer and ideally for twenty four hours.

To cook the dish, heat the remaining tablespoon of olive oil in a pan and add the onions, carrots and garlic. You really just want to sweat them off as opposed to browning them too much. Next, add the lamb, the grated fresh ginger, saffron infused stock and preserved lemon. Stir it well to mix the ingredients together and cook on a medium heat for forty five minutes before adding the passata and harissa paste. Reduce the heat to barely simmering and add the apricots and honey. Cover the pot and cook for up to two/two and a quarter hours, stirring occasionally – until the meat is so tender, it breaks up using the back of a spoon. If the consistency is too thick, add some water for the last ten minutes, if too thin, use some cornflour and water to thicken it up. Just before serving, stir the toasted almonds into the pot.

Lamb Tajine with steamed couscous and minty yogurt dressing. Click to expand

I steamed some couscous and served the Tajine with this and a minty cucumber dressing, but you could also use any flatbread or rice as accompaniments. If you have any of the toasted almonds left over, sprinkle them over the top of the dish just before you serve it.

Whilst it may seem tempting to buy a jar of Ras-al-Hanout spice mix and throw it into the pot with everything else, there’s a great sense of satisfaction to be got from making this meal from scratch. It may seem like there are a lot of ingredients, but the dish comes together in a few very simple steps and will be well worth the effort.

Anyway, I’m down to the last half-kilo of Lindt chocolate bunny, so time for me to go and ‘take care’ of it…

Enjoy the rest of the Easter break.

It’s that time of year again, the time when Irish people go buck-crazy if they can’t get a drink in a pub, and resort to drinking themselves silly at house parties [or on boats, in railway stations or for the very determined, army barracks - all of which serve alcohol on Good Friday]. Back in the old days when I lived away from Ireland, I had no real exposure to the obvious hardship that this one day brings to the Irish Drinker. Letters and phone calls would be exchanged, where tales of this great inconvenience and the subsequent innovative methods by which alcohol was acquired and consumed illicitly, would be told and retold until the truth became a distant haze.

The title of this post comes from a piece of music by Scottish stadium Kings, Simple Minds. I’ll doubtless be castigated for relegating U2 to the status of mere Princes, but Simple Minds were the better band [younger readers, you may refer to the Oasis/Blur rivalry of the 90s]. From the 1984 album ‘Sparkle In The Rain’, East at Easter is the last track on side one and is one of the few standout tracks on an album which – in my opinion – marked the decline of this once great band. There were a couple of singles released, but the album didn’t reach the same levels of greatness as its predecessor, ‘New Gold Dream (81-82-83-84)’, and the band went off on an expedition to conquer America with more radio-friendly material. It was around this time I lost interest in them but, having seen them play in London at the beginning of March this year, am happy to report that they’re back on the decks again.

There is an Eastern angle to one of the dishes featured in this post. Okay, it’s a tenuous link, but having done some geographical homework, I’m happy to use the term Near-East to include the country of origin of this dish! Let’s play a little guessing game by looking at the photograph below and trying to identify the ten spices used in the dry marinade for this Moroccan masterpiece…

Ten spices are used in the marinade. Click to enlarge

If you guessed Paprika, Turmeric, Cumin, Cayenne Pepper, Cinnamon, Cloves, Green Cardamom, Ginger, Coriander and Garlic Salt, you’d be absolutely spot-on. And yes, these spices are the base for a rich lamb Tajine [although you could also use chicken or beef]. They were ground and mixed together in a mortar and added to a large freezer bag [the IKEA ones are brilliant as they double-seal, reducing the possibility of leaks], to which cubed lamb is then added. After a thorough mixing in the bag, it’s sealed and placed in the fridge for at least eight hours. As it’s going to be our Easter Sunday supper, we’ve got the luxury of allowing the lamb to sit in the fridge for just over twenty four hours, after which I’ll probably just want to eat it raw.

Moroccans don’t bother browning the lamb, but instead prefer to allow it simmer along with the other ingredients, some of which include carrots, preserved lemons, fresh garlic, grated ginger, apricots, nuts and honey. Of course, no North African dish would be complete without saffron and this will be soaked in warm water and added to the pot with some fiery harissa paste and passata de pomodoro [the Italian name for tomato purée] mid-way through the cooking cycle. After three hours, the meat will be meltingly soft and the Tajine will be served with steamed couscous and perhaps some roasted root vegetables. A full report will feature in the next missive and will include photos of the finished dish.

Dry-brined roasted Poussins. Click to enlarge

The Molecular Maestro that is Heston Blumenthal recently demonstrated the art of brining when featuring the Ultimate Roast Chicken on his current television show. It involved precise quantities of salt to water and seemed a little messy and time-consuming, but we’d acquired some poussins for Good Friday [no, we don't abstain, not even for one day. Any religion that has arrogantly covered up the clerical abuse of children can get knotted, in my book...], but another Meaty Maestro – Joe Macken of Jo’Burger, Crackbird, Skinflint and now Bear, fame – suggested that I dry-brine the little birds instead. I had some French Sel de Provence and thought this would be ideal.

All it involved was liberally applying the salt – which is a mix of sea-salt and herbes de Provence – to the inside and outside of the birds and leaving them for several hours. Then, the salt was rinsed off, the birds patted dry, into a roasting tray with some olive oil, salt and pepper, then to the oven for an hour and ten minutes. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy – oh yeah, a half of lemon and some thyme sprigs were inserted into the cavities before the birds were roasted. We let the birds rest for twenty minutes when they came out of the oven. In the meantime, chopped chorizo was sautéed with garlic slivers, thyme, lentils and red wine and reduced to an almost sauce then served on the side with some roasted sweet potato and carrot.

Right now, there’s a one kilo Lindt chocolate bunny that’s going to get the fright of its life when I bash its head in with a steak tenderiser…

Have a good Easter, y’all.

“The old Covent Garden, I remember only too well”

And so begins Philip Parris Lynott’s ode to Dublin town. Except it’s not really an ode to Dublin, it’s about the breakup of a relationship and only for the fact the video was shot on location in Dublin city, it may well have been about London, given the mention of Covent Garden at the beginning. Regardless of this, it’s a timeless Irish pop song and one that the volume dial on whichever device it’s emanating from gets cranked a bit more every time.

It was also the first song played on Capital 104.4 when independent radio finally became legal in 1989, and had the grave misfortune of being butchered by The Corrs, who introduced it as “a Thin Lizzy cover version” on their ‘Unplugged’ session for MTV.

Last weekend, I visited my oldest childhood friend in London. Ostensibly, we were going to attend a Simple Minds gig at The Roundhouse in Camden, but in reality, we hadn’t seen each other in several years and there was a lot of catching up to do. In circumstances such as these, catching up is best done with the assistance of food and wine [or beer] and in retrospect, we had an ample sufficiency of both.

Arriving into Heathrow early in the morning, I acquired a Travelcard and headed straight to Victoria station, where I dropped off my bag. I’d planned to visit some of the areas in which I lived and worked back in the 1980s, so set off to Earl’s Court to visit the rather wonderful Brompton Cemetery in order to take some photos [for those of you who don't know me, I like to shoot old cemeteries...], before the mania of arriving in the West End/Soho. Opened in 1840 and located on the Old Brompton Road on the Edge of Earl’s Court, it’s one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries in London and was a place I’d go to for some peace and quiet during the crazy days of my youth.

After shooting there for about an hour, it was back on the Tube and onward to visit some of the camera stores which are in abundance around the British Museum. It was upon ascending to ground level at Holborn station I discovered the delight that is the ‘Krispy Kreme’ doughnut. Dear sweet Lord, those things are out of this world and for the sum of £3.00, I acquired two [I could probably have eaten four, or maybe six] cheeky chocolatey chappies and a decent cappuccino. Yes, £3.00. Or approximately €3.59, which is a bargain given the asking price of similar items here in Ireland…

A selection of cheeses at 'La Fromagerie'. Click to enlarge

The weekend was a whirlwind of eating, drinking, dancing [if one could call the shuffling of two gentlemen of a certain age 'dancing'] and generally enjoying the place that had been my home for several years. Before meeting up with my friend on Friday afternoon, I took lunch at ‘Wong Kei’, in Chinatown. Back in the old days, it was renowned for having the rudest waiting staff in London and it was a little disappointing to be greeted with a smile and an escort to my table upon arrival this time. In fact, so courteous was the service that I wondered whether or not I was in the right place, but my fear was allayed when I spotted the ‘Upstairs. Downstairs’ motifs printed on the back of the t-shirts worn by the waiting staff [this was the standard greeting upon entering the premises when I frequented the Wong Kei of bygone days].

No ‘proper’ night out in London is complete without the consumption of a kebab. And kebabs are one of the things for which London is famous. Friday night’s post Simple Minds doner looked and tasted nothing like the excuses for kebabs to which we’re accustomed here in Ireland.

This was magnificent in the purest sense of the word:

1. Impressively beautiful, elaborate, or extravagant; striking
and
2. Very good; excellent

And, the best I’ve ever eaten. Not that I managed to eat it all. It came in a 12″ x 8″ polystyrene carton, and weighed somewhere in the region of one and a half kilos. I shit thee not, this thing was huge.

On Saturday, we did a rapid-fire tour of some of my host’s favourite food emporia, including the beefy brothel that is The Ginger Pig and the cheesy harem La Fromagerie, both off Marylebone High Street, before settling in for some organic lagers and tapas at a cracking little pub called ‘The Crown and Sceptre’, adjacent to Oxford Street. Vietnamese food in Shoreditch and Vintage Dancing [watching, not participating...] at the old Salisbury Hotel near Finsbury Park, completed a very eventful Saturday.

Well, not quite.

There was one more little kebab to be savoured before bedtime…

I’d wager that there are many ZZ Top fans out there who are unaware of the existence of this piece of psychedelic brilliance. From all the way back in 1969 [I was two years old so don't remember it personally], ‘Salt Lick’ was released on Bill Ham’s label and featured a pre Frank Beard and Billy Gibbons lineup [they didn't join until later in the same year]. It’s miles away from the soft rock for which ZZ Top became famous, but there’s no doubt it’s a catchy tune and has therefore been given the honour of this post’s song title.

Composed primarily of sodium chloride, salt is both essential for life in small quantities and harmful when consumed in excess. It’s also one of the oldest known seasonings and has been vital in the preservation of food for many thousands of years. Saltiness is one of the basic human tastes, along with sweetness, sourness, bitterness and umami. The Latin word ‘salarium’, referring to the monies paid to Roman soldiers in order to purchase salt, gives us the word ‘salary’, whilst the word ‘salad’ translates literally as ‘salted’ and comes from the ancient Roman practice of salting leaf vegetables. It was once one of the world’s most valuable commodities, wars have been fought over it and it has served as currency in the past. It’s fair to say that we take it for granted, yet we use it to clear ice from roads, and also in everyday conversation with terms such as “salt of the Earth” and “take that with a pinch of salt”.

So, that’s the story of salt then?

Spiced salt from Wales. Click to enlarge

Not quite. Back in 2002, the rather brilliant Mark Kurlansky wrote a book entitled ‘Salt. A World History’, in which he outlines in detail the timeline and import of this glittering part of the history of mankind. I’ve read the book twice but do not consider myself to be any more of an authority than Mr Kurlansky on the subject. What the book did give me was an interest in discovering the many types of salt that are out there and are used in cookery. Which in turn led to me starting a modest collection of salts.

As I recall, it all started with a modest Maldon sea salt, but it wasn’t long before I was actively hunting down other varieties of flavours and to this day, whenever we’re abroad, I seek out new types. People have started to bring back samples from their trips away too, all of which adds to the collection. It was recently written in a national newspaper that I own fourteen types of salt.

Please rest assured that this is a lie – I own a lot more than fourteen at this stage!

A selection of salts from around the world. Click to enlarge

But they don’t all live in glass cabinets having sugar-lumps thrown at them. Each and every one has either been used as a substitute for regular salt, or as called for in a particular recipe. Scrambled eggs really come to life with the addition of some truffle salt and chocolate truffles sprinkled with vanilla salt are definitely worth a shot. Add some smoked salt to your mash for an extra level of flavour, or try a blend of sea salt and dulse ['dillisk' is one of the more familiar names for this seaweed] on buttered new potatoes. You might just thank me!

Of course, showing off these salts at the dinner table practically guarantees a discussion when we have guests over, and another recent fetish has been collecting cellars and receptacles for their display. That started in southern France last Summer with the purchase of the glass ‘Sel Cérébos’ cellar in the photo above – although in fairness, it wasn’t me who spotted that in the antique shop in Mirepoix and made a beeline for it… We’ve now got some real gems, including a matched pair of solid silver Victorian cellars with blue glass inserts, and another silver version dating from 1811, so not only do we have some nifty means of displaying the numerous salts, we’ve also ended up with items of real and appreciable value.

A song about love that mentions pasta, pizza or wine in its lyrics, was always going to be a contender for a post title, and ‘That’s Amore’ is probably the only one of which I am aware that mentions all three, making it a shoo-in.

Written in 1952 by Jack Brooks and Harry Warren, it is most closely associated with the great Dean Martin, and first appeared in the 1953 movie ‘The Caddy’, earning an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Song that year. It lost out to a number from ‘Calamity Jane’, but went on to become Martin’s signature tune. It’s one of those songs that will always make me smile and feel better. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not particularly inspirational, the lyrics aren’t deeply profound and it’s not a tub-thumper, but there is something evocative of past times, when life seemed simpler, that puts that smile on my face.

A bit like Italian food, really.

I’ve written about pizza and pasta in past articles and don’t know enough about wine to come across as being either interesting or authoritative, but Italian food generally gets my facial muscles going. It’s the simplicity of preparation [for the most part] combined with the complexity of flavour that attracts me. I was discussing this with a gentleman of Italian descent one evening over dinner and he was in agreement about the simplicity – his recently published cookbook is full of brilliant yet simple recipes – but there was one thing we didn’t quite see eye to eye about. As a starter, he had prepared ‘Melanzane alla Parmigiana’, or to give it its completely uninteresting, unromantic American English name, ‘Eggplant Parmesan’. There was no doubt that it was delicious, with great depth of flavour, but it wasn’t quite right. Picture for a moment, if you will, a semi-sozzled Irishman telling an Italian in a similar state that his dish was prepared incorrectly, then pause and picture the resultant furore. It wasn’t pretty, but we’re still friendly and I’m sticking with the recipe given to me by a gentleman of Sicilian extraction.

Frying the aubergine, tomato sauce and building the dish. Click to enlarge

As with a lot of Italian dishes, this one starts off with the tomato sauce. You want to end up with something that’s sweet, rich and thick [pretty sure there's a joke about the perfect man/woman there somewhere...], not a normal pasta sauce. To achieve this, I gently fry four cloves garlic in olive oil, allowing them to soften. Don’t let it burn, as garlic can become bitter, something you definitely don’t want in this case. To this, I add two tins of chopped tomatoes, a squeeze of tomato puree, some torn basil leaves and a good pinch of sugar. Simmer it until such stage as it’s reduced by about half, then remove from the heat. That’s your tomato sauce out of the way. Feel free to add a splash of red wine, or anything else that comes to mind, but for me the ingredients above are all you need.

Next up comes the aubergine prep. I slice four large specimens into 8-10mm thick rounds – although lengthways is fine too – but sometimes forget to salt them as is purportedly essential for removing the bitter stuff. To be honest, I can’t recall the finished product ever tasting any different as a result of my absent-mindedness, but if you feel the need, sprinkle the slices with salt and leave them for half an hour in a colander. While you’re waiting for the aubergines, get three bowls out and put flour in the first, whisked eggs in the second and breadcrumbs in the third. When you go back to your aubergines, you’ll notice a large volume of liquid, which is the bitter stuff; the salt pulls it out, apparently. Rinse the salty liquid off the aubergine and pat the slices dry. Dip each slice into the flour, dredge through the egg and cover with breadcrumbs. As with the garlic earlier, gently fry the aubergine until it becomes golden brown [yes, I realise that the examples in the photos above are a little more than golden, but you get the drift].

The finished dish. Click to enlarge

To assemble the dish, you’ll also need some cheeses – sliced mozzarella and freshly grated parmesan, to be specific. Grease a roasting dish and begin with a layer of the fried aubergine. To this, add a layer of mozzarella and cover with some of the tomato sauce. Sprinkle some grated parmesan over the tomato and begin the layer process again. Make sure that the final layer gets an extra large sprinkling of parmesan, then place the dish into a pre-heated oven [180°C for fan-assisted, 200°C otherwise] and leave to bake for 20-30 minutes, or until the dish resembles the finished product above.

This is one of the few vegetarian dishes I love to cook, but fear not, carnivores, the fried aubergine has a sufficiently meaty texture – with the mozzarella adding extra bite – to sate even the most dedicated eater of flesh. Serve it with lightly dressed leaves [I use spinach and rocket drizzled with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper], as it’s quite a filling dish and is often served as a complete meal in Italy. And, it’s equally delicious hot or cold!

This Sicilian version of a Cantabrian speciality is one of my favourite dishes to make and eat. It has nothing to do with the fact that I have no desire to awaken beside a horse’s head, nor do I wish to end up sleeping with the fishes.

A fra poco!

Having spent two nights in the beautiful city of Córdoba – which you can read about here – we once again took to the road and set off for Málaga. As we left the outskirts of the city and headed into the countryside, the sightings of orange trees dropped off and were replaced by vast fields of olive trees. Thousands of olive trees, perhaps tens or hundreds of thousands of them, so abundant were they.

There seems to be some form of roadworks-based conspiracy when I drive into a city in Spain for the first time. The road I was to take to get to our hotel in Córdoba was nowhere to be seen [it had actually disappeared, yet was still on the GPS] and in Málaga, the street I needed to pass through to get to our lodgings had ‘Men at Work’ hoardings dragged across it just as I turned onto it.

‘Just as I turned onto it’ – this is neither an exaggeration nor a joke. I turned left onto the street as directed by the GPS and my beautiful navigator, and some workmen 100 metres up pulled the red and white barriers from the footpaths and blocked it off. Within seconds, a digger appeared, followed by a lorry and some more workmen, and I’d completely exhausted my rather extensive vocabulary of expletives. In the end, we got there, parked the car and set off on foot for our hotel [the car park was in a sister hotel, a five minute walk away]. Checked in, got wi-fi passwords, ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the beautiful room and the views from its balcony, and then headed out to do some exploratory eating and drinking.

Grilled vegetables and meats, Málaga cathedral. Click to enlarge

For many, Málaga is a name they associate with an airport gateway to the Costa del Sol, and for many years, I gave it little or no attention. I was persuaded by a local photographer acquaintance to visit the city back in 2007 – ostensibly to take photographs, but also to sample the local tapas bars – and since then, love to visit whenever possible. It’s got history, yet it’s also got bucketloads of cool, and I recommend that next time you fly into Pablo Ruiz Picasso Airport [sounds better than Málaga Costa del Sol Airport], take some time and explore the city – you’ll be glad you did.

There are tapas bars on every corner, in fact, there are tapas bars everywhere and we’d decided in the car that we’d visit as many as we could in order to have a more diverse experience. I really love the whole notion of tapas – it’s said that the concept originated when sherry drinkers in Andalucian taverns covered their glasses ['tapar' means 'to cover'] with pieces of bread or meat between sips in order to keep the fruit flies away from the sweet liquid within. Given that the meat was usually jamon or chorizo and rather salty, it wasn’t long until the wily tavern keepers began to offer a variety of delicious snacks to their customers, resulting in an increase in sherry sales! There are as many types of tapas as there are venues in which to sample them and it would be impossible to taste every single one, but we set out with empty bellies and a good dash of vim and vigour.

We were done and dusted after the fourth bar…

Clockwise from top-left: Grilled prawns, chorizo in red wine, paella, prawns with avocado. Click to enlarge

Being Irish, we like to think that we can outeat and outdrink everybody else. Well, we don’t actually think it, but it’s an inherent part of the psyche that if Johnny Foreigner can eat one plate of [insert foodstuff here], we can eat two or three. But when the plates of food turn out to be considerably larger than mere morsels, you know you’re not in it for the long haul. We had grilled vegetables, grilled meats, meatballs, ham and beans, cheese, bacalao [cod], squid, prawns, chorizo in red wine, chorizo not in red wine, aubergine… It all became a bit of a blur as I insisted on going large with the accompanying beers.

Not the way to do it at all and in fact, very little of what we ate would be deemed to be traditional tapas so we’ll just have to repeat until such stage as we get it down pat.

Roll on, April.

So, Christmas is pretty much done and we’re at the start of another year, which means resolutions and new goals for many. I’ve decided that I’m going to write more posts this year – a minimum of three a month – and will also try my hand at cooking food from even more countries and cultures. Oh yes, I’ll also be naming all of my blog posts after song or album titles, something I did last Summer with the ‘In France they kiss on Main Street’ posts about our trip to Southern France. That was a reference to a Joni Mitchell track and this post’s title is culled from the 1960 release of the same name by Miles Davis, which seemed only right and proper.

Last Christmas, we spent the entire holiday period in Spain, something we repeated again this time around. We’ve been visiting Nerja [in Andalucia] for several years and use it as a base from which to visit other towns and cities in this beautiful part of Spain. We had such a great time last year that it was a no-brainer to leave Ireland on December 22nd, safe in the knowledge that even if the weather was bad, it’d be nowhere near as bad as at home. This season was no different and we had 19ºC on Christmas Day, warm enough to stroll out for lunch without needing a jacket.

I’m torn between describing Christmas lunch in detail, or moving straight on to the other amazing meals we had… Christmas lunch was lovely, really lovely, but I’ll write about that in more detail next time, I think.

Córdoba had been recommended to us as a must-see city and we booked two nights at a posada in the old town, starting on December 28th. From Nerja, it’s less than a two hour trip inland on what can only be described as some of the finest roads I’ve ever driven, through some truly spectacular countryside. Be aware though that parking in the city is a nightmare – we were fortunate in that our accommodation provided access to an underground car park [€14.00 per day] – and can lead to frayed tempers due to the roadworks and tricky one-way system.

Tabernas in one of Córdoba's many alleys, Carne con Tomate and fresh oranges. Click to enlarge

Our posada was practically next door to the magnificent Mezquita, and as it was lunchtime, we decided to grab a bite at the nearest hostelry, which happened to be directly opposite. A quick flick through the menu confirmed that spontaneity can sometimes be a very good thing indeed. The majority of dishes were Moorish in theme, which suited us perfectly. We ordered a portion of Kufteh [lamb meatballs on skewers, served with spicy tomato sauce and fried potatoes] and Carne con Tomate [literally, meat with tomatoes]. Both were very good, but the combination of slow-braised beef with tomatoes and Moorish spices was the winner of this first round of piggery.

Walking through the old city of Córdoba revealed much more in terms of Roman and medieval architecture than is strictly fair, but it is the largest urban area in the world to be declared as World Heritage, so I suppose I’m okay with that. It’s genuinely astonishing to behold, with a photo around every corner and up every alleyway. One could be forgiven for thinking that it is also the orange growing capital of the world, as practically every street, plaza and avenue is lined with trees bearing fruit which looks ripe for the picking. According to one local with whom we spoke, the fruit has a tendency to be a lot more bitter than that to which we’d be accustomed. Then again, he might have been telling us a fib and I may just mention this fact to the pram-pushing ladies on Moore Street in Dublin’s city centre…

Pan con Tomate, Rabo de Toro and fountain at the Mezquita. Click to enlarge

When we mentioned that we’d be spending a couple of days in Córdoba, everyone said that it was pretty much obligatory to try the Rabo de Toro at the 19th Century [although some claim it originated in the 1600s] Taberna Plateros. Directly translated, Rabo de Toro means bull’s tail and this dish was first served in Córdoba, using the tails from bulls recently killed in the Corrida de Toros. As bulls tails are not so easy to source these days, oxtail is used as a substitute. The oxtail is cut into thick pieces and browned in oil, then sliced onions, carrots, leeks and garlic are added, followed by tomatoes, thyme, bay leaf, sweet paprika, beef stock, sherry and brandy. The pot is then covered and left to cook slowly for up to five hours, or until the meat falls off the bones. Traditionally served with creamy, garlicy mashed potato, I’m the first to admit that it looks awful, but this is a dish that really has to be tasted to be appreciated. It was highly flavoured but in no way overpowering, and the meat had a taste similar to that of slowly stewed rump steak, only slightly stronger.

We had several really great meals in this magical city, most of them cooked and served simply. For me, one of the most memorable was the breakfast we took at a little café just outside the recognised tourist area. It consisted of freshly-squeezed orange juice, milky coffee and Tostada con Tomate – toast with tomato. The tomatoes are blended with a little garlic until they reach a creamy consistency, then served with toasted bread, olive oil and salt. Drizzle a little glug of oil onto a slice of toast, ladle on a couple of spoons of the tomato and garlic, then add salt to taste. Brilliance achieved through simplicity.

That’s the end of side one of this record. Side two is in progress and will be along in the very near future.

Until then, ¡Salud, pesetas y amor y tiempo para gozarlos!

And of course, Happy New Year.

Christmas is once again upon us, and the foods associated with the season of goodwill have been on the shelves in shops and supermarkets for a while now. Beautifully packaged in reds and golds and greens, they seem to jump off the shelf and straight into your shopping trolley [let's face it, nobody uses a basket at this time of year], tempting and teasing all the way to the checkouts.

I must admit to loving mince pies. A lot. I can take or leave Christmas pudding and cake, but as soon as the mince pies are available, I’m all over them. In fact, they should be available all year round. They taste great, but they also look great, whether they’re in shortcrust or puff pastry form. But, the mince pie wasn’t always the zingy, fruity article we know today. Originating in medieval times, they were made from chopped liver or meat, boiled eggs, dried fruit and other sweet ingredients. They were then fried or baked. It wasn’t until the 17th century that the meats were replaced with suet, made from beef or mutton fat. Doesn’t sound too appealing, does it? But, they looked good, which is why they became so popular.

A modern take on Saag Aloo at Dakshin in Donnybrook, Dublin 4

Having lived in London back in the 1980s, I had access to cuisines from far and wide and with its large population of Indian and Pakistani people, their regional specialities which quickly became some of my favourite foods. The one thing that always struck me as odd was that the dishes all looked the same. Perhaps not identical, but it was often difficult to tell the difference between a Chicken Korma and Butter Chicken [ghastly dishes, both, but from an historical viewpoint, two of the most popular]. Same colour, same texture, same consistency. In many cases, they also tasted the same. And, don’t get me started on the vegetable dishes and sides; other than to say that, for the most part, they were green. Resemblant of something one might find in a nappy, perhaps.

In my last post, I addressed the photography of food and the props we’ve come to expect when we see photographs of dishes. Everyone is familiar with that classic Indian/Pakistani side dish, Saag Aloo; a blend of spinach, potatoes and spices. The photograph above is a modern take on this classic, but it’s broken down into its composite parts and presented as you can see. For me, it’s a totally different dish to the one I’m accustomed to getting. It looks great, there’s been a huge amount of time put into the preparation and presentation, and it’s not a slimy green concoction. In short, when it was put in front of me, I wanted to dive straight in, which is exactly what I did once I’d finished photographing it.

Sushi and Sashimi prepared by Kwanghi Chan

If it’s ever suggested that we ‘go grab some sushi’, I make sure to go and grab something substantial to eat beforehand. It’s not a part of our culture and never will be, so enough with the hep-cat nonsense already. I love raw fish and have eaten some amazing dishes all over the world, but sushi is a complete waste of time as far as I’m concerned.

Okay, that was my opinion of sushi until very recently. Not so long ago, I posted a piece about a weekend we spent at The Ice House and its chef, Kwanghi Chan and the food he prepared and served us. I also mentioned in the piece that I felt Kwanghi was a chef to watch. So what’s he gone and done? He’s only moved to County Waterford and taken up the position of Chef de Cuisine at the Michelin starred Cliff House Hotel. And I’m delighted for him, mainly because he’s facing a whole new set of challenges under the extremely tall eye of Martijn Kajuiter, and there’s nothing that makes him sing like a good challenge.

When I was taking photographs in his kitchen in Ballina, Kwanghi mentioned that he was experimenting with several dishes and wondered if I’d mind getting a few photos to give him an idea of how they might look if they ever made the menu. One of those dishes is in the second photo above, and yes. it’s a mixture of sushi and sashimi. I’d been blazing a trail through some really great dishes and was convinced that the air was about to be taken out of my tyres when this was brought to the table.

As good-looking food goes, this was on another level. With its little dots of wasabi, grated vegetables and fiery microleaves, it was drop-dead gorgeous. In fact, so good did it look, I couldn’t bring myself to eat from this plate.

But, eat it I did, as he’d made enough for two plates, and it was very, very special indeed.

Several years ago, I was asked to do a photoshoot where the subject was going to be food, a first for me but I thought it would be an interesting challenge and accepted. The date, time and fee were all agreed upon and just as we were about to finish our meeting, the client asked me if I’d be providing the food-stylist. To be perfectly honest, I had no idea what a food-stylist was, nor what he or she would do to food [and yes, I'm fully aware that the title contains a hint]. A couple of phone calls later and I’d both found out what such a person does and – more importantly – had secured the services of a friend who agreed to be my ‘stylist’ for the shoot.

It was around that time I realised that food had become so much more than just mere sustenance, and decided to learn as much as possible about the importance of presentation.

Magazines were purchased and perused, television shows were recorded and watched over and over, and cookbooks from all over the world were acquired – the fact that lots of them were not written in English didn’t matter, it was all about the images. It was a whole new world, with beautifully set-up photos involving not just food, but backgrounds, foregrounds, antique cutlery and delph, condiments, and the most colourful arrays of tableware imaginable.

Who knew that a squeezed orange with pips scattered all over a table, when placed carefully into a frame, could add a whole new atmosphere to a photo? Not me, clearly, but I studied all the material at my disposal and came to a rather stark conclusion – whilst all the surrounding bits and bobs are undoubtedly attractive, do they not take from the food?

Panfried mackerel with chilli dressing @ Matt the Thresher, Dublin - click to enlarge

The photo above is an example of camera and lens concentrating on just the food. I’d tried the shot with the plate on a tablecloth, then one with a knife and fork on the plate, followed by a setup using wine glasses, flowers and other tableware. They all almost worked, but I kept going back to the image you now see.

And this was the image that was agreed on as being the best possible portrait of what is essentially just a piece of fried mackerel [a very lovely piece of fried mackerel, but its taste is not up for discussion here]. The other photos seemed to take the viewer away from the fish so we decided in this case, less was definitely more.

The focus is on the fish, with the chives adding a little colour and the lemon wedge sitting in the background – instantly recognisable but almost completely unobtrusive.

Panfried mackerel with chilli dressing @ Matt the Thresher, Dublin - click to enlarge

Now look at the photo above. It’s the same fish, same day and same time, yet it’s a completely different image. From side to side, the image is in focus, with equal emphasis on the plate, the fish and the lemon wedge.

Several people have remarked that this is the sort of photo they’d hang on a wall. That it’s got a certain symmetry to it, it’s almost Oriental in its simplicity.

I have no idea why. To me, it’s a generic stock-shot which – when compared with the earlier image – looks almost clinical.

Unlike the first photo, it doesn’t evoke the desire to grab a fork, pull away some of that succelent, sweet, sexy mackerel and give it a good eating…