Let's tell the truth about animals for meat

It’s got into the press that David Cameron’s in-laws are objecting to having a slaughterhouse built next to their home. Quite why I should be interested in the personal matters of the Prime Minister’s relations is beyond me as it’s doubtful they were a major influence in our decision at the last general election, but that’s to digress.

I’ve just read a letter to a newspaper that was written by a lady from an organisation called Animal Aid who suggested Cameron’s in-laws would benefit from being educated about the reality of meat production. She implied that all slaughtered animals went through terror and pain and went on to say that Animal Aid makes available films about the subject.

Now, I’m sure that she holds genuine feelings but in her enthusiasm to further her cause she makes the same mistake made by so many who want to change our views: she transparently told only part of the truth and, as a result, lost me as a potential member to Animal Aid. There’s so much more to this subject than she let on.

It’s possible she actually disagrees with the breeding, rearing and killing of any animals for food. She didn’t say in her letter. I wondered if she’d be happy for us to eat an animal that had been accidentally struck by a car, or - taking the human element out of things - had met its end purely by its own misfortune (one of my sheep tried to commit suicide this weekend and didn’t even thank me when I saved its life). Is it ultimately the eating of meat that she’s against or the rearing and killing? She didn’t say.

But what I know not to be true is the suggestion that all animals destined for our table go to their maker (and diner) filled with terror and pain. The majority do and if she'd used the word "majority" I’d have been reaching for an Animal Aid application form faster than the release of a captive bolt. But, and here’s the rub, a minority don’t.

Obviously I’m a supporter of eating meat. That’s why I do it and why it’s on the menu in the restaurant. But being the wise and intellectual race we are, surely it’s morally correct that any meat we do eat comes from an animal that’s treated as well as possible prior and right up to its demise? After all, few of these animals would exist outside sanctuaries if we didn’t choose to eat them. We’d still need cows for milk but what would happen to the 50% of boy cows born? I guess there’d be a few sheep knocking about to keep moorland grass down but rabbits seem to be amazingly efficient at that in my garden. And pigs? They’d have to be in zoos.

Animals can be reared in a way that gives them a good time on this planet. And it’s not beyond the wit of man to put systems in place where the animals aren’t stressed being transported to the slaughterhouse and then, when they get there, never actually realise what’s happening to them. It does happen. We do it for Oldfields and so do a number of farmers we use to supply us.

I’ve seen the two extremes of slaughter house: first the sort where animals are delivered in multi-storied lorries and know exactly that a frightening fate awaits them due to their treatment, the noise, confusion and smells. And then the other sort where the animals are kept calm and quiet, get no terror-inducing feedback and are quietly and professionally led away to a sudden and, if there is such a thing as an animal afterlife, surprising end.

It could be like that for all animals reared for meat. It’d mean more expensive bacon but that’s your choice.

But this is the sort of reasoned discussion we should be having rather than picking on some people who didn’t choose to be, and really shouldn’t be, in the public eye. Perhaps Samantha Cameron’s parents don’t actually want a commercial building built next to their house and it’s their right to object. Maybe they don’t actually believe in industrial-style slaughter houses. I don’t know as I’ve not discussed it with them.

What I do know is that I’d prefer organisations such as Animal Aid to tell the whole truth and make sure we’re all educated properly so as to be able to make informed decisions rather than preaching, as they do, that the only cruelty-free diet is a meat-free one. I beg to disagree with them but admit that the cruelty-free option requires effort. And that’s what we, at Oldfields, are trying more and more to do.

3rd June 2011

Ox tongue and beetroot with ramsons and horseradish

Ox tongue and beetroot with ramsons and horseradish

It’s all too easy to turn one’s nose up and something like ox tongue but, as I’ve discussed in the adjacent column, if you’ve decided to eat well-reared and slaughtered meat you might as well go for all the bits of the animal; particularly when it tastes as good as this.

You can buy pressed tongue from all good butchers but, if you wanted to do it yourself, it’s easy enough and so cheap with enough meat to feed a family of four . It just needs a little forethought. Take one salted ox tongue and soak it overnight in plenty of cold water. Drain, place in a large pan, cover with cold water while adding a few peppercorns and something like a couple of carrots, sticks of celery and a bay leaf. Bring to the boil and simmer for 2 to 2½ hours until tender. Remove from the water and allow to cool a little before peeling off the skin and chilling well before slicing.

As for the ramsons (wild garlic), along with asparagus it’s one of my favourite seasonal vegetables of the moment and I love it because it’s free. Found in moist wooded areas, it’s recognisable by the garlic smell in the air and when the leaves are crushed between your fingers.

Serves two as a starter or light lunch

A few slices of ox tongue

One whole uncooked beetroot

Horseradish sauce

The zest of half a lemon

A large pinch of smoked paprika

Extra virgin rapeseed (or olive) oil

A handful of wild garlic (ramsons) leaves

A couple of walnuts or two or three hazelnuts

A few salad leaves of your choice

Salt and freshly-ground black pepper

Wash the beetroot but don’t cut off the stalk, just trim back a little with scissors. Piercing or cutting into beetroot before cooking dilutes the flavour. Place in a pan of cold water, bring to the boil and simmer for 30 to 45 minutes until it can be easily pierced with a skewer or pointed knife. Drain and allow to cool enough to handle.

To peel, you can use a potato peeler or sharp knife but the slices have a propensity to end up in the shape of a 50 pence piece. We use an old tea towel to rub the skins off but it will turn the towel pink.

To prepare the wild garlic, bring a large pan of water to the boil, blanch the leaves in it for a few seconds (this kills any germs or bugs) and then quickly drain and plunge into iced or very cold water. Drain well. Place in a blender, add the nuts, a little salt and black pepper and blend, adding enough oil to make a slushy sauce.

Place a teaspoon of horseradish sauce, the lemon zest and paprika in a small jar, add a little rapeseed oil and shake until well blended.

Place slices of ox tongue and beetroot on the plate along with the salad leaves. Spoon over then spoon over the horseradish and ramsons dressings.

June 2011

Chocolate coffee mousse with Anzac biscuits

Here’s a recipe for an unctuous mousse that never fails. But as a contrast we serve it with Anzac biscuits which, considering we’re a British restaurant might seem a little odd. However, I like to think it’s something to do with our colonial history that allows us to make this Australasian treat. It’s said that they were originally made by antipodean wives to send to soldiers abroad during World War 1 and they had particularly good keeping qualities. This is useful because I can never be sure how many biscuits the following recipe will produce but at least you can put the extra in an air-tight tin for future elevenses. The mousse recipe makes enough for four to six people, depending on appetite.

For the Anzac biscuits

50g rolled oats

55g desiccated coconut or flakes

250g plain flour

200g sugar

10g bicarbonate of soda

110g butter

One teaspoon golden syrup

30ml boiling water

Place the oats, sugar and coconut in a large bowl and mix well. Put the butter and syrup in a small saucepan and heat until melted before adding the bicarbonate of soda and water. Mix together and pour into the bowl and mix well. Place teaspoonfuls onto a greased tray, flatten slightly and bake on the middle shelf at 160°C for 18 to 20 minutes until golden brown and crispy. Allow to cool on a wire rack and store in an air-tight container.

And for the mousse

250g good quality dark chocolate

50g unsalted butter

40g caster sugar

6 free range egg yolks

9 free range egg whites

A teaspoon of good instant coffee mixed with a teaspoon or so of water.

Place the chocolate and butter in a small Pyrex bowl that sits comfortably on top of a pan of simmering water and allow to melt. Meanwhile, beat the egg yolks with half of the sugar until the mixture lightens in colour and becomes creamy. Then whisk the eggs whites with the other half of the sugar until the mixture forms stiff peaks.

Add the whisked egg whites to the yolks along with the melted chocolate and butter mix as well as the coffee and combine with a whisk before covering the bowl with clingfilm and placing in the fridge to chill.

To serve, spoon the mousse into serving bowls or wine glasses and place a biscuit or two in with it.

February 2011

Irish Stew-style mutton

Irish Stew-style mutton

This week’s hearty one pot recipe requires very little effort. So it’s ideal for those with a hectic lifestyle but needs a little patience. Do use mutton if you can get it. It works with lamb but the flavour of mutton is better and the long slow cooking will definitely tenderise it.

It’s ideal for the cheaper cuts of meat such as neck, scrag end (which is essentially neck) or shoulder.

1kg Mutton shoulder, scrag end or neck

Some mutton bones – if available

One onion

Two sticks of celery

Three carrots

½ a swede

50g of butter.

Two potatoes

Sprig of Thyme

Two bay leaves

A bunch of curly parsley - chopped

Salt and freshly-ground black pepper.

First, simply place the mutton, along with any bones, into a large pan and cover with cold water. Bring to the boil, reduce to a simmer and allow to cook for two hours, skimming off any scum or fat that rises to the surface with a ladle or spoon.

Meanwhile, wash and peel all the vegetables and cut into 1cm dice. Pick the thyme leaves from the stalks.

After two hours simmering, the meat should be tender and starting to break down. Remove it from the liquid and cut into bite sized chunks. Then pour the stock through a fine sieve into another pan or large bowl. Place the original pan back on a medium heat, melt the butter in it and add the diced vegetables. Allow them to sweat for five or ten minutes, stirring occasionally to ensure they soften but don’t colour.

Add the reserved liquid along with the bay and thyme leaves and cook for a further 30 minutes. Taste, season with salt and pepper, add the mutton back to the pot and finish with a generous handful of chopped parsley.

February 2011

Squid, garlic and potato casserole

Squid, garlic and potato casserole

Today’s recipe contains squid which is regarded as a sustainable fish. Never mind if you’ve had poor, rubbery experiences of it before. The long slow cooking makes it a melt-in-the-mouth fish. Give this a go and be delighted.

Ask the fishmonger to prepare and clean the squid with the ink sac and other internal bits removed. Otherwise, prepared frozen squid makes a reasonable substitute.

While not absolutely essential, the addition of a little truffle oil at the end lifts the dish onto another plane and is well worth it if you can get some.

500g fresh or frozen squid

500g potatoes - peeled

One onion - peeled

One bulb of garlic - peeled

One glass of dry white wine

Two bay leaves

A sprig of fresh thyme

200ml double cream

A bunch of parsley - chopped

50g butter

Salt and freshly-ground black pepper

Truffle oil (optional)

Cut the squid into bite-sized pieces, including body and tentacles. Place the garlic and onion into a food processor and pulse until all finely chopped.

  

Place a saucepan over a gentle heat and melt the butter. Add the processed onion and garlic and gently cook for five minutes or so. Add the chopped squid and cook for a further five to ten minutes. Pour in the wine, turn up the heat a little and reduce it by half before adding the thyme, bay leaves and double cream. Reduce the heat again and simmer for around 30 minutes.

Cut the potatoes into two centimetre cubes and add to the pan, simmering for a further 30 to 40 minutes. If the cream appears to be getting a touch thick at any time, just add a little water.

  

At the end of this time, taste it. The squid should be very tender. Season as necessary with salt and ground white pepper. Just before serving, add a large bunch of chopped parsley and, if you have it, trickle a few drops of truffle oil around once you’ve spooned the casserole into the bowls. Lovely with some crusty bread.

March 2011

Chocolate flapjack

Chocolate flapjack

Canadians often refer to pancakes as flapjacks. But then what do they know? Here in the UK, what we know as a flapjack (and some Canadians know as Hudson Bay bars) generally means a baked dessert or sweet made from oats, brown sugar and golden syrup. This week’s recipe is for our own twist on the traditional flapjack made with chocolate. Delicious.

Incidentally, did you know that Scott’s the oat processors spell “porridge”, “porage”? My spell checker doesn’t agree.

175g unsalted butter

Two tablespoons of golden syrup

75g soft brown sugar

75g castor sugar

225g rolled or porridge oats

Three tablespoons of cocoa powder

75g of dark chocolate

Makes ten flapjacks

Pre-heat the oven to 150°C, gas mark 2. Butter the insides of a baking tray big enough to take ten portions of flapjack. Place a saucepan over a gentle heat and melt the butter, golden syrup, both sugars and the dark chocolate, stirring continuously and not allowing to bubble.

Once melted and combined, simply remove from the heat and stir in the oats and cocoa powder until mixed well. Press the mixture into the baking tray using the back of a spoon and bake in the oven for 15 to 20 minutes.

The flapjacks need to cook in the centre but stay moist so that’s why they’re cooked at a low temperature. You don’t want them to bubble whilst cooking as this will result in them becoming too toffee-like. Remove from the oven and cool for 20 minutes before slicing into ten pieces. Leave to cool completely before removing from the baking tray.

We serve them in the restaurant with lots of home-made custard but I’m a big fan of Bird’s and I think that would still do your flapjacks proud. Alternatively, just warm them a little and eat as a chewy, oaty, chocolaty, biscuit-like treat.

April 2011

Beetroot and spiced onion salad

Beetroot and spiced onion salad

Currently on our menu, this salad is a nice light lunch dish or starter to reflect the fact that spring is here and the sun’s been shining – a bit.

Buy fresh, uncooked beetroot which should always be cooked unpeeled, otherwise the purple juices will bleed out. Just trim the stalks and was the beetroot under a running tap before boiling. Once cooked, peeling is very easy using just a tea towel to rub off the skin – although you’ll need to wash the towel afterwards.

The salad leaves themselves could be some micro cress, watercress, rocket, baby spinach, standard salad leaves or a even a combination of some of those. It’s up to you.

Serves four as a starter

Two whole beetroot – trimmed and washed

Extra virgin rapeseed or olive oil

One clove of garlic – peeled

50g pine nuts

Salt and freshly-ground black pepper

One red chilli

One white onion

Two spring onions

A few handfuls of salad leaves as described above

A few spoons of natural yoghurt

A little smoked paprika (optional)

Place the beetroot in a large pan, cover with cold water and bring to the boil. Reduce to a simmer and leave to cook for a about two hours. When cooked, drain, allow to cool a little and peel off the skin using a tea towel.

While the beetroot’s cooking, peel the onion and slice very thinly. Slice open the chilli lengthways and, if you don’t like too much spice from your chilli, remove the seeds and white membrane from the inside. Slice the chilli very thinly and place in a sieve along with the sliced onion. Put the sieve over a bowl or over the sink and sprinkle the onion and chilli liberally with salt and leave for at least an hour. During this time the salt will draw the moister from the vegetables, intensifying their flavour. They don’t need to be washed at the end of the process as the salt will have washed itself off.

Tip the onion and chilli into a bowl. Chop the spring onions finely and add them to the bowl along with a few splashes of oil, mixing to dress everything.

Once the beetroot’s cooked and peeled, place in a food processor along with the clove of garlic, pine nuts and some salt and pepper. Blend until smooth, adding a little oil to make the consistency of a stiff paste.

Add your choice of salad leaves to the onion and chillies and toss

Arrange the salad leaves on serving plates, spooning the beetroot puree alongside. Serve with a dollop of yoghurt on top and, perhaps, a little smoked paprika sprinkled over the top. 

March 2011

Mackerel on toast with ramsons

Mackerel on toast with ramsons

You may never have heard of ramsons. But you might have heard of wild garlic and it’s the same thing. Purportedly named after being found on the banks of the River Irwell  that flows through Ramsbottom, it’s also occasionally known as bear garlic or boar garlic because of those animals’ liking for it. I’m lucky enough to have it growing at the bottom of my garden and now’s the season so I gather it for the restaurant. Some greengrocers sell it but you can pick your own. Usually found along the banks of rivers, it’s easily identified by its garlicky smell, particularly when rubbed between the fingers. It’s important that you test it like this because visually the leaves can be confused with Lilly of the Valley which are poisonous!

Mackerel can be filleted by the fishmonger or the recipe works equally well with fresh sardines.

Serves two

Two mackerel fillets

Flour for dusting

Two thick slices of bread

Three or four tomatoes - eyes removed and roughly chopped

One fennel bulb - finely sliced

A generous handful-sized bunch of ramsons

A small handful of hazelnuts

A few fresh soft herbs

Extra virgin rapeseed or olive oil

Salt and freshly-ground black pepper

Bring a large pan of water to the boil and blanch the ramsons in it for 20 to 30 seconds. Immediately drain and refresh in iced water to stop them cooking further and to retain their colour. Drain and dry using a tea towel before putting them into a blender along with the nuts and a glug of rapeseed oil. Blend until it resembles pesto, adding a little more oil if necessary and season with salt and pepper.

Heat a grill pan or heavy-based frying pan, add the tomatoes and fennel along with another glug or two of rapeseed oil. The contents, along with the resulting liquid, will make both a garnish and a dressing for the dish with the acidity coming from the tomatoes. Cook gently for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, dust the fish fillets with flour and cook, skin side down, in a hot pan for a few minutes, until the skin is golden and crisp. At the same time, brush the bread with oil and toast under a pre-heated grill.

To serve, arrange the tomato and fennel and fish on top of the toast. Finish with a generous spoonful or two of ramsons puree and sprinkle around some of the torn soft herbs.

April 2011

Kipper paté

Kipper paté

If you’re like me, you possibly really like the idea of kippers but something puts you off buying them and serving them for breakfast. Could it be the way kippers can linger; in the air and your mouth?

However, the following is a way of making a seriously tasty paté. Great for outside eating now that the weather’s showing the potential for a good summer or simply as a starter or light anytime dish. It’s possibly the easiest recipe I’ve ever written down and the only real skill it requires is that for making toast. If you can’t do that, I go out to eat if I were you.

To make things as simple as possible, see if your fishmonger will remove all skin and bones. However, it’s an easy job to do yourself.

200g kipper - bones and skin removed

Four tablespoons of good horseradish sauce

The grated rind of half a lemon

A pinch of cayenne pepper

A handful of fresh parsley – roughly chopped

If the fishmonger’s not done it for you, remove all bones and skin from the kipper.

Then, simply put into a food processor along with all the other ingredients and pulse to the consistency you require which could be smooth or more coarse. Either are good but different.

When the correct consistency, adjust the seasoning by adding more lemon, cayenne or horseradish to suit your taste.

Serve with thick sliced toasted bread. The paté can be stored in an airtight container in the fridge for a few days if necessary.

May 2011

Ramsoms salad with a poached egg

Ramsoms salad with a poached egg

To continue my theme from a couple of weeks ago, the use of ramsoms, or wild garlic, is sadly under-known. However, just as with asparagus, we’re still in the season for the stuff and it’s a free food. Found in woodland, often near rivers, you should be able to find it by following your nose. Use the leaves which give off the unmistakable odour of normal garlic when crushed between your fingers.

Here we use it served with a poached egg in a salad mixed with other leaves. But it could be mixed in any salad or served as a vegetable, cooked like spinach.

Serves two

Two fresh free-range eggs

A couple of handfuls of mixed salad leaves – torn to bite-size pieces

A couple of handfuls of wild garlic leaves – again torn

Two teaspoons of vinaigrette

A couple of handfuls of cubed bread

Rapeseed or olive oil

Sea salt and freshly-ground black pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 200°C (gas mark 6)

Place the bread in a bowl, sprinkle over a little oil and some salt and pepper and toss to coat. Place them on a baking tray and bake in the oven for five to ten minutes until golden brown.

Meanwhile, bring a medium saucepan of water to the boil and add a little salt. Break the egg into a cup. Using a large spoon, swirl the water in the pan until you’ve got a whirlpool. While it’s still spinning, pour the egg into the middle and turn the heat very low. Place a lid on the pan and leave to cook for three minutes after which you should have a runny yoke with the white set all around it.

During the three minutes cooking time, place the salad leaves and wild garlic into a bowl, spoon aver the vinaigrette and toss.

To serve, pile the dressed salad onto a plate, scatter the still-hot croutons over and around and, using a slotted spoon, lift the egg from the water, rest on a kitchen towel to remove excess water and then place on the top of the salad leaves. 

May 2011

Potted rabbit

Potted rabbit

The opposite of the word “love” is “hate” and that is the emotion that I feel when I see the holes in my garden and the damage that rabbits do to my lettuces. However, it’s the former that comes to mind when they’re tuned into food and this is a real traditional country method of cooking and preserving the meat; not unlike the French way of confiting meat by slow cooking in fat. It’s also become a favourite on our menu.

One whole rabbit.

Two to three packs of lard or goose fat.

Four star anise.

One bulb of garlic - peeled.

One tablespoon of fennel seeds.

Ten black peppercorns.

One sprig of  thyme.

Three bay leaves.

One sprig of rosemary.

One bunch of curly parsley.

Salt and pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 200°C, gas mark 6. Place all the ingredients apart from the rabbit, salt and parsley into a deep-sided roasting tin and place in the oven for a few minutes until the fat has melted.

Remove from oven and turn the temperature down to 140°C, gas mark 1. Place the rabbit into the roasting tin, making sure it’s fully submerged in the melted fat. Cover with a couple of layers of tin foil and cook in oven for five to six hours.

  

When removed, allow to cool just enough to handle and carefully take the rabbit from the fat and pick the meat from the bones, placing it in a large bowl before breaking it up with a fork. Then pour ¼ of the fat through a sieve and onto the rabbit. Save the excess fat for further potted rabbits or for roasting potatoes.

Some rabbit stock will have separated to the bottom of the roasting tin so carefully spoon off the fat and add the remaining stock to the rabbit in the bowl. Taste and season with plenty of  salt and pepper. Add the chopped parsley and mix in well. Then simply spoon the rabbit into ramekins (if you’re going to eat it immediately) or sterilised storage jars and pour a thin sealing layer of the melted fat or clarified butter over the top. It’ll keep in a fridge for several months.

Lovely served with toast or a little salad.

Jan 2011

Lose weight and save fuel

I use to work for an energy giant; one of those companies frequently vilified for being uncaring about our environment and shareholder-pressured in their quest for ever greater profit. But the division I worked for wasn’t trying to sell more oil or gas. Rather, it was making its money by investing in energy efficient technology on the sites of large energy users such as factories and chemical plants. Most people we approached saw this as entirely logical because by helping to reduce their costs, they had more of a chance to grow or, at least, stay in business and keep buying energy. So, everybody won and, as a bonus, we could all quote our green credentials; even though nobody had coined that phrase in those days. I saw energy efficiency as a way of eking out a limited supply of fossil fuels rather than keeping the planet comfy for human beings.

Funnily enough however, there were always a few who couldn’t grasp this. They were suspicious that an oil giant would wish to encourage you to use less of their product. These people usually practiced conspiracy theory as a hobby and their parents were brother and sister. However, they exist and I occasionally meet them through our restaurant business.

As most of our customers know, at Oldfields we’re passionate advocates of understanding where meat comes from and trying to ensure that the meat that we all buy comes from animals that have been well bred, reared and slaughtered. I appreciate that it’s not always easy and, at the restaurant, we’re continuously striving to find ways of improving our knowledge and purchasing techniques.

And, of course, sometimes this results in having to buy meat that’s more expensive than other intensively-reared meat would be such as is found in our supermarkets. So, when giving talks about this, my response is usually to recommend keeping the expenditure in line by actually eating less – and that, will of course, include eating in restaurants. Which leads to one or two slow-thinkers to become suspicious and wonder at my motives as I try to succeed in the restaurant business by encouraging people to eat less.

Well, just as with energy efficiency, there are good reasons and a nice bonus. First, if we care about where our food comes from we can protect animals from a lifestyle you wouldn’t wish upon a dog. While at the same time we know that the food is of a higher quality and so we’re looking after our wellbeing as well as that of the animals. But the bonus is that as we’re frequently being accused of becoming an increasingly obese nation, we have the opportunity to lose a little weight into the bargain. Marvellous.

And it really would be marvellous because you may have read recently about the demand by ambulance fleets across the country for wider stretchers, heavy-duty wheelchairs and lifting gear to cope with the increasing number of fat patients. So-called bariatric ambulances are also being ordered to cope with the most obese who can’t be levered through the standard rear door of a Transit van-sized ambulance. All of this equipment will add weight to the ambulances themselves, not to mention carrying the large person lying in the back and this must have some effect on the vehicles’ fuel economy.

You might be able to see where this is going but I have to assume that a lot of these larger-than-life patients comprise many who would be suspicious of a movement to encourage them to pay more for their food. After all, some of them will have gained their size by the ingestion of much cheap processed food, caring not one jot about its provenance.

But if we could encourage them to lose weight, the ambulances would use less fuel and, our fossil fuel reserves would last longer and the planet would be more friendly to our children. So, everybody wins. And once-fat people could then claim to be green as well.

11th February 2011

Does slow mean slow?

Without meaning to sound like a London cab driver, I had that Jonathon Porritt in the restaurant the other day. For the uninitiated, he’s a well known environmental campaigner, a previous chairman of the UK Ecology Party (now known as the Green Party) and senior advisor to governments on all things green – in an environmental sense rather than vegetables and the Irish.

He was dining with members of the Slow Food UK who, amongst other things, are on a mission to encourage us to respect the environment, human health and animal welfare. Good, because regular readers of this column will recognise those as some of our main objectives at Oldfields and therefore, I think, we support the Slow Food.

However, I say “I think” because the name itself threw me for some time. As a result, I initially found the aims and objectives of the Slow Food movement difficult to grasp and I got the impression that everyone involved with it was very serious and worthy and almost too intellectual. And if others felt the same, it’d undoubtedly put some of them off. Not being that educated or clever, I saw food and its eating to be something that brought people together and was fun and encouraged laughter. And while it’s important we have a nice planet to live on, without good company and humour, it wouldn’t be worth living so we might as well stop trying. So what was this Slow Food thing all about?

To my mind, the Slow Food movement suffers from the same problem being experienced by David Cameron’s Big Society. They’re possibly both very clever and extremely good ideas, but have got names that don’t immediately say what they mean.

I think, maybe, I rather like the Big Society idea – if I have begun to understand it correctly. Despite what many have said, to my mind it’s nothing to do with politics. It could be suggested by Genghis Khan or Stalin for all I care. But it seems there’s some common sense in it because, these days, we seem to expect everything to be done by government, local or central, instead of switching off the TV, getting our over-sized backsides off the sofa and taking many initiatives into our own hands.

I’ve previously written about a local produce initiative with which I’m involved called Love Food. It’s designed to encourage and educate people in the west side of County Durham to produce and use real local food. It’s championed and overseen by a group of volunteers who went and found the grant funding and employed the relevant people. It’s now one year into its three year programme and, I believe, doing a very good job.

And I was involved with another initiative to set up a farmers’ market in Barnard Castle. That was about 12 years ago and it’s still running. Many other farmers’ markets have been set up by local authorities but I think ours has been better and more successful because of the way it was formed and grew out of the private community.

Those are two examples of what, I reckon, Cameron means by Big Society: people in the community actually doing things rather than waiting for the council to do it or bleating “somebody must do something”. I think.

And it’s the same with Slow Food. I think I support it because it wishes us to care for the world around us, the animals that we rear and eat as well as encouraging us to think about the whole eating process thus enjoying something that we have to do every day of our lives.

But if I hadn’t done a little research, I might have assumed that because Mr Porritt, the environmentalist, was dining with Slow Food members, they’d all be eating very slowly thus, like driving a car gently, conserving energy and needing less food. And the planet would be well on the way to being saved. But I’d have been wrong. I think.

25th  February 2011

Dog fish - sort of

Here’s a riddle for you. What sounds like a dog but smells like a fish? Well it’s the Scarborough Woof so named because it’s got four legs, is covered in hair and digs holes in the beach. Actually, I made up those last three bits. But there is definitely a fish colloquially known as the Scarborough Woof. However, internationally it’s known as the Seawolf. Or there again it’s called a Scotch Halibut or perhaps a Wolfish or maybe an Atlantic Catfish or even a Wolf Eel. It’s known as all of these and some other names too which is pretty confusing. And it’s a fish that we have on our menu at Oldfields at present because it’s very tasty and, we’ve been reliably informed, it’s sustainable. Or not, depending on what you read and who you talk to. This is a very confusing subject.

For instance, you can download a list of sustainable fish from the Marine Conservation Society who also provide their MCS logo for use on displays of sustainable fish. But, then again, Greenpeace doesn’t currently endorse the Marine Conservation Society and even recommends that we should eat less fish; especially of the non-farmed variety. And Scarborough Woof, or any of its derivations, isn’t even mentioned by the MCS on the list I’ve got. We’re all probably aware that we shouldn’t be eating locally-caught Atlantic Cod but we’re also being told by the health police that we should be eating more fish. But which ones?

It’s very worthy and important that we know which fish we shouldn’t eat because, apart from the obvious moral concerns of deliberately removing a species from the planet, it’s surely self-defeating to force a natural resource into non-existence. But despite all the information technology available to us these days, it’s not easy to figure out what you should buy and eat and what you shouldn’t.

It was confusing enough when we were told that prawns contained cholesterol and that a pink cocktail could give you a heart attack before then being informed that, actually, the cholesterol contained within was the good sort so you could stuff ourselves full of them. But actually not too many because it seems they also contain traces of arsenic so, if you eat a bucketful you’ll poison yourself. Or explode.

Whatever. It’s all as clear as the mud at the bottom of the estuary. At Oldfields we’re trying hard to only choose fish that we know is not being depleted. So we put Coley and Pollack and Gurnard and mussels and mackerel and squid on the menu. But it’s apparent that they’re a new food to many people as the questions come thick and fast. They’re almost always greeted with surprised delight once eaten but if people find them new in a restaurant, it’s doubtful they’ll try and cook them themselves at home.

It’s enough of an uphill struggle to get people eating fish as it is, never mind introducing new ones that they’ve never heard of. Particularly if we’ve got half a dozen choices of what to call each one.

Maybe we should ask the European bureaucrats to come up with a simplified naming system. But, thinking about it, maybe not. After all, it was partly their meddling that got us into this over-fishing malarkey in the first place.

11th March 2011

Wait 5 seconds? You must be joking!

Being mildly hedonistic, I find it difficult to imagine that you can have too much of a good thing. After all, I could be dead tomorrow so I think I’ll give in and eat the whole of that box of chocolates today; both layers. I know that only a little of what you fancy enables you to appreciate the good things more but if tomorrow’s number 33 bus has my name on it, I should have it all now; right away.

And I only want the best. That’s the trouble when you experience something good: you want better as well as more. But then it depends upon what you’re used to. For instance, it wasn’t until people started to travel abroad that we realised how much terrible service there was in this country. We used to put up with absolute rubbish – and unfortunately we still do. But then again, that depends on the type of organisation you’re dealing with. I’ve come to the conclusion that you can be sure that any place where you have to take a ticket and join a queue when you get there is almost certainly going to treat you as if you’ve just crawled out of the bin. The reason being that if there’s a necessity for a queue, there’s probably a greater need from those within the queue than there is from those set up to satisfy it. Most public-facing government departments fall into this category.

Looking at it from the restaurateur’s point of view, we want your trade. Without it we’d go out of business, I’d lose my house and my wife and the animals would be on the street. So we have a pretty strong motivation to make sure you come to us and leave wishing to return. Part of that means making sure you’re happy from the second you poke your head around the door. Sure, if we mess up at that moment we have the opportunity to put things right while you’re with us but we give ourselves an uphill battle. So it helps if we keep you sweet as you arrive and that means we have a rule at Oldfields that you have to be greeted immediately you come in, that we smile at you and make you feel welcome. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear whispered panic cries of “door” from the staff as each guest arrives.

Sure, sometimes it goes wrong and only last Sunday lunch, Mother’s Day, I found myself apologising profusely to a couple I’d left standing at the door until the chap pointed out that it was probably no more than a few seconds. But at least we care and that means we have to work hard at it. The reason being? Well, if a business doesn’t provide a good enough service, there’s a chance you’ll go somewhere else next time and never come back to us. And then we go bust.

And so I’m reminded of my ridiculous behaviour once when in Canada. I’ve found that some of the best service in the world is on the west coast of Canada. My wife and I had spent a week experiencing some fabulous food and service in Vancouver until one day we walked into one particular restaurant that had been recommended to us. However, as we walked through the door, nobody looked up, smiled and walked towards us. In fact, the three staff present were busy in a huddle talking amongst themselves. Therefore, after a totally reasonable long wait – about 5.3 seconds – I turned around and walked out, muttering to myself and dragging a perplexed wife behind me.

Now, the truth is, one of the staff might have just heard that the dog had died or all three had won the lottery. And the fact that they ignored me for a full 5.3 seconds was just a small oversight on their part and, of course, I was being totally unreasonable. The trouble was, I’d got used to perfect service and this was probably only going to be 99%. So Mr Pathetic dragged his wife out the door. I’d obviously been spoilt which proves that, unfortunately, you can have too much of a good thing.

8th April 2011

You're being forced to use restaurants

Did you see it in the budget? It was well hidden and has had little publicity but it’s going to be a boon to the restaurant industry and make millionaires of all of us restaurateurs. It was that bit, about three quarters of the way through, somewhere near indexed-linked pensions but before the amortisation of foreign debt, just after most people had gone to sleep, where the Chancellor of the Exchequer said that, whether you need to or not, you have to go out for a meal at least once a week. And, if you don’t, you’ll still have to pay for it. It’s a brilliant move and I can’t think why it’s not been done before.

After all, they did it with the motor insurance industry. Even if you’re not using your car, even if you’ve got it stored away in a garage and are prepared to take the risk that a plane might land on it, unless you’ve told the government you’re not going to be taking it on the road, you have to pay insurance on it. Otherwise you’ll be sent to prison or put in the stocks or something.

Seems fair enough to me. If I had an insurance company I’d love the government to force people to buy my product when they don’t actually need it. A product which, also by the way, is increasing in price way ahead of inflation but it’s got nothing to do with my own personal greed, oh no. That’s down to government taxes or repair scams or, er, something else that, actually, ought to be put into the official category of daylight robbery.

I know, I was dreaming but you can’t expect to stay awake throughout a whole budget. But if only our industry was deemed controllable by the government for some reason, you wouldn’t stand a chance and we could make a fortune. Once it’s been decided that you must have our product and the government gets involved, I can start planning more summer holidays and early retirement.

The motor insurance industry is a good example. But so is rail transport – heavily regulated, always moving ahead of inflation, hideously expensive for the 95% of us who can’t plan ahead, lacking in choice and downright insulting to its customers.

What else? Energy springs to mind as does the real biggee, health.

So you must be able to see why I’m so keen on the idea. Let’s get the meddlers involved. They’re already talking about getting us to print obesity potential on all menus. Now that’ll make the dining-out experience a bundle of laughs and our job an absolute delight. Fine for fast-food joints that rarely change the menu but a bit of a so-and-so if, like us you change the menu depending on what’s seasonal and fresh in the market.

But hey, it doesn’t matter because I’m going to be making a fortune. Unless you tell the government that you’re not having to eat for a while, you’re going to have to eat out. Of course, because of these legal changes, we’re going to incur massive costs so these will immediately have to be passed on to you, the customer. In fact, these costs will probably have to be backdated because Dave say’s it was Gordon’s fault and, what with Afghanistan and now Libya, well, what do you expect? We’re going to have to take on extra administration. Why? Well we just do, get over it. You can’t expect me to have to pay for all this from my house in the Caribbean.

I was getting tired of eating out being about the love of food, the quality of ingredients and the desire to experience a bit of luxury every now and then to get away from the pressures of normal life. It’s wrong that anything in life should just be fun without some sort of mandatory legislation.

Motoring used to be fun. You got the car out when you wanted it and insured it when you needed to via nice insurance people who competed for your business and that kept the price down. But that’s all gone some time ago and now, if my nightmare actually happens, eating out’s going to go the same way. You’ll have to do it; you’ve no choice because some daft legislation will say you have to. But the price will triple, the government will take its cut and I’ll be living in paradise with insurance company executives as my neighbours. Or is that an oxymoron? 

25th March 2011

Fish surveyor

Surveys might drive you mad but they’re also a great source of inspiration; particularly for an aspiring columnist with few original ideas of his own. If I find myself bereft of inspiration for an article about food I only need to open a newspaper to read that there’s been a new survey that proves, absolutely and once and for all, that we’re killing ourselves or, possibly, living to the age of 150 due to the bad, or possibly good, diet we’re all consuming.

Surveys result in pious advice being given by the I’ve-read-one-or-two-surveys experts to us mere mortals in order that we’ll live longer and not cost the NHS too much – I guess they mean in the short term.

We’re frequently told that survey after study has shown that fish is good for us so should be included as much as possible as part of our diet. Those surveys show that fish makes us brainy or attractive or athletic or something. I certainly agree that we should eat more; not for the health benefits but because fish tastes great, is very versatile and is the ultimate fast food. However, most people I know hardly ever cook fresh fish. Maybe a little salmon but rarely some John Dory or turbot or maybe squid. You might be one of the few exceptions but, I promise you, most people don’t cook fish – unless it’s frozen, ready breaded or battered.

But, as other studies have shown us that we should eat less salt and fat and sugar, cooking and eating fish, maybe served up with a few new potatoes and a little salad, is a GOOD THING as it means that we can easily monitor and keep down the amount of these supposedly bad ingredients that we eat. However, it’s not necessarily that easy. And I know, because I’ve just carried out my own survey.

Wanting to make a fish soup the other day I called into one of the larger Tesco’s and happily spent a few minutes choosing a selection of small pieces of fish and shellfish which the assistant bagged and priced for me. Then, remembering that I’d like to make some fish stock as a base, I asked if they had any fish bones and heads. She told me there were loads in the bin out the back but they weren’t allowed to sell them to me. Why? She didn’t know but those were the rules.

At the checkout a supervisor came along. We got chatting, I asked her about the fish bones and she told me there was a very good reason why I wasn’t allowed to buy fish bones off them: health and safety. Admittedly she did accompany this with a frown and a shrug of her shoulders but rules were rules. Maybe I was to feel pleased that they took my welfare so seriously. Maybe they wanted to send someone home with me to check I didn’t burn myself on the cooker.

So I carried out my own, not necessarily scientific, survey and phoned Sainsbury’s and Morrison’s; both of which have wet fish counters like Tesco’s. Morrison’s told me that the only fish they got in whole was oily fish so they didn’t have any white fish bones which are preferable for stock.

I was offered fish stock cubes but who’s to know what’s in them? Sure, they’ve got the ingredients listed in micro-writing along the side of the box but, somehow, you can’t imagine them using the best ingredients when a few flavour enhancers, including salt, will lift their intensity and mask any shortcomings.

I enquired as to whether they had any ready-made liquid fish stock but you still can’t be sure what’d be in there either.

So, surveys tell us to lower our salt intake, and it’d help if, amongst other things, you cooked your own fish. Need a stock to go with it? Well you can’t cook your own because, as my extensive survey showed, it’s near impossible to get fish bones – at least in supermarkets. But you can make one with salty stock cubes. Well that’s alright then.

Oh, and Sainsbury’s? I’m still waiting for them to call me back after leaving three messages.

22nd April 2011

Service with a smile

Why do people take on jobs that involve dealing with the public when it’s clear they hate dealing with members of the public? This might be deemed an insensitive question in that, during these strained times, any job might be worth it; even one you hate. But that’s too straightforward.

Even during the boom years of the last government we all experienced people snarling at us through the security glass of some official’s counter. I recently went to a government office that I won’t name for fear of reprisals; the people behind the counter are scary and they’ll have access to my home address. It’s one of those where you have to queue outside while those inside in the warm watch the second hand on the clock go around and won’t unlock the door until it hits the appointed hour, to the second. Why? There were people outside and those inside were there already. So why not let us in, if only to queue?

Ah, and then the queue involves taking a paper number from a ticket machine and, clutching said ticket, you make your way to a seat, if there’s one left, and stare intently at the repeating advertising screens – advertising what you’re already there for – until you’re sick of that and you start to watch the counter staff instead. And that’s when you start to worry, hoping that you don’t get the fierce looking one but maybe the slightly more attractive one (it’s all relative) or the apparently smiley one, until you realise it’s not a smile but a snarl. You start to count up from the numbers being served to your own number, calculating which one you might get, crossing your fingers and hoping against hope – in vain.

Because it’s my turn at last. Excited, I’m determined to be nice and get through to the human being inside the creature on the other side of the glass. And so I smile as I approach and say good morning and ask how they are. They don’t see the smile as they’re not looking up and appear to be deaf but who knows? I take a seat and the assistant finally looks up. “Yes?”. Oh boy. It’s obvious they’re really pleased to be here, one and all. It’s as if they’ve decided  the meeting’s not going to be fun and could, possibly, be confrontational. Well I certainly didn’t feel confrontational before sitting down but I start to understand the “We reserve the right to throw you out if you’re nasty to our staff” notices pinned to the walls because my blood pressure’s rising.

Imagine if the hospitality industry posted such signs. I assume you’d run a mile but, there again, that’s your prerogative. You don’t have to come to our restaurant but I did have to go to that office. I had no choice and they knew it. But we’re all in the business of customer service – or maybe business isn’t the correct word.

Maybe it’s understandable why people in such employment are, well, grumpy. They don’t need to be nice to do their job. The public will still come through the door no matter how uncaring they are. Therefore, for some obscure, unfathomable reason they get shouted at and they hate their job almost as much as they hate you and the people in the queue behind you. But surely they’re never like that in our type of business, are they? We’re in the people-pleasing business and we only attract staff that love that type of thing. Don’t we?

Well, I don’t understand it but it’s interesting how often I walk into a pub or go to a bar at a theatre or walk into some restaurants to be greeted with complete indifference. It’s almost beyond belief. Even if someone’s only taken the job because there’s nothing else available, surely it doesn’t take much sense to realise that the job’s more fun if you like your customers. You just know that the business could be more successful with a better attitude from the staff.

But it doesn’t help that in the UK we seem to denigrate the role of serving and waiting staff. That’s bound to make people go into such a job with the wrong attitude. In some countries it’s a revered profession and it happens to be a job that I love; even though it’s tiring, the hours are long and it involves dealing with unpredictable situations. After all, customers are human and there’s drink involved. So it needs skill and a quick mind as well as good interpersonal qualities to deal with any situation. But it’s also like hosting a dinner party every night and most of us enjoy those.

Most customer service jobs in the private sector are incredibly important. And waiting at tables is, therefore, a seriously important job because if we get it wrong there’ll be no customers and therefore no restaurants and all the tax we generate and collect will be lost and they’ll be less government money to keep in employment those other customer service people who don’t need to be nice to the public. I don’t sound bitter do I?

6th May 2011