Ode To Sponge Bob

So, apparently myself and Moses Paltrow have something in common: we were both curious as to precisely what Sponge Bob and his Bikini Bottom-residing pals are ingesting when they tuck into a krabby pattie. Until Gwyneth (literally) stepped up to the plate and solved that great mystery. See, Moses was actually willing to admit that he didn't know, and came straight out and asked the question. Me, I just sat there on the sofa for years acting like I totally knew what krabbie patties are, sneaking sidelong glances at my nephews to discern if they didn't know either so I wouldn't look like a moron if I asked. So, thanks for that, Moses. Mystery solved in his mommy's cookbook. Not that it's the world's most mysterious mystery - they are very simple crab cake burgers, and the Gwynster serves them up with a little something she calls spicy remoulade: it's amazing. While crab cake burgers are speedy and easy and tasty, this rather special condiment requires a little more time, but it will make you immensely happy and really must feature in further adventures in seafood-eating. 

In Defence Of Gwyneth

Gwyneth Paltrow is one of those actresses that I kind of grew up with - you know what I mean? She was a real, proper glamorous star before all of that celebutard lunacy kicked in and Lindsay Lohan et al made the gossip mags week after week with their dramas and meltdowns. I always though that she was really elegant and understated - even though she was in madly 'sleb-ful relationships with Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt, it never got undignified. She does a mean English accent (Sliding Doors is a SUCH a great comfort watch), I thought that she made a great joy of portraying Sylvia Plath and, more recently, it was really entertaining to see her more fun side in Glee. Sure, she has a fair few turkeys on her CV, but don't most actors? People seem to see her as a smug celebrity who is quite irritating with her lifestyle website thingy and her kids' trendy names and that whole macrobiotic diet business, but I think that the Gwyneth-bashing is pretty snide and to some extent also quite mysoginistic. It's so easy to slag her off, and when it comes to her new cookbook, Notes From My Kitchen Table,  I find that really irritating. The main criticism of the book that I have been able to discern is that she is just too annoyingly perfect. This comes through so much more than any reference to the actual recipes in the book, and then there is a video on youtube where someone reads extracts from the book in a hammed-up poetry reading-style to highlight the pretentiousness of it. Yeah, yeah, ha ha ha, etc etc - but there are so so many cookbooks/food writers that you could do that with. And, having seen her on the Graham Norton show last month, I reckon that she probably laughs all of that stuff off. Check it out - here she actually does a mean version of Gangsta Gangsta, with the help of one of my favourite comedians, Jason Byrne. If you still think she's prissy and po-faced after that then there's no pleasing you. Anyhow - to the book: I love it! It was part of a cookbook-binge that I indulged in when I got a birthday voucher. It's simple, straightforward, unfussy cooking; very American, very family-oriented, full of healthy recipes while still not being preachy-preachy. There's a whole chapter on burgers and sandwiches that I'm particularly excited about tucking into.  I have it covered in sticky tabs and there's a ton of things that I want to try out - I started with grilled salmon teriyaki and polenta with fresh corn.

Fishy Friday

I bought some saffron recently, I was...amused by the price. Though, on Google-aided inspection, it may actually be worth more than its weight in gold. Some of these lofty claims flying around the internet are so ridiculous that they pretty much could lead you to believe that it is in fact a wonderdrug, if one were sufficiently gullible: fends off cancer and depression, enhances memory, combats insomnia - you get the picture, a true superhero. In the absence, however, of any actual scientific proof that it delivers such uber-duber-amazingness, I'll settle for the flavour. On this occasion, it loaned its tasty colourful beauty to a posh-sounding salmon and asparagus lasagne. See, there's a new Sophie in my life, courtesy of those cursed bargain bookshops that reel me in during moments of weakness. This is Sophie Grigson, and the book is The Vegetable Bible, an exhaustive compendium of veggies, just what the doctor ordered for my not-infrequent bouts of veggie-angst (lately, somehow, replaced by red meat-angst. Seriously, sometimes it is really hard being me). It breaks them down according to family - roots, fruits, etc - and then each veggie gets a wonderful biography, followed by some recipes. As soon as I spotted the salmon and asparagus lasagne I knew it had to get itself made and into my stomach sooner rather than later.

It Sounds Like Catfood But It Tastes Like Amazing

Clearly I'm being a bit of a lapse-daisical Catholic with my Fishy Friday post on a Monday, but allow me to very quickly distract you: TUNA MEATBALLS. Ok - what's your reaction? It sounds like a variety of Whiskas, doesn't it? But here's the thing: they are delicious, refreshing, comforting, easy to make...what more could one want from a dinner, eh? I am inclined to think that they might be a good way to get some omegas into fish-haters, being, as they are, deceptively chunky and tomatoey and herby. Small children, in particular, could be duped into munching up their EFAs by leaving out the word 'tuna' that goes in there before the word 'meatballs', if a parent were so inclined - not that I'm saying you should lie to your children in order to get them to eat healthy things, mind. Anyhow, if you have to disclose to your butcher what you are using the tuna for when you buy it, prepare to be laughed at - that's what happened to me, anyhow. I just love me some fresh tuna, lightly seared on the pan with a dose of sesame seeds is absolutely delish, but it's worth spending a little bit more time with your tuna to make these meatballs. It also makes your tuna go a little further, a bonus for the budget-conscious among us. Eating it all chunked up in meatballs gives a whole new perspective on the fish, in terms of both flavour and texture. This one is courtesy of Jamie's Italy, a loving celebration of the simplicity of Italian cooking - as ever, JO's enthusiasm really fires up the book, he clearly very genuinely fell for the country and its people. Though it's hard not to, it's one of my favourite places to visit, and the simplest food can taste just incredible there. The sunshine, of course, could be a factor there. Er, yeah, ok, there's usually a glass/bottle of something involved as well.

Fishy Friday

The thing I don't get about the way that people, in general, don't eat enough fish, is that recipes for fish dishes are generally incredibly simple. Obviously there are many lovely easy peasy things to create in the kitchen, but I personally think that fish is one foodstuff in particular where minimal input on the ingredients and effort front yields disproportionately high levels of tastiness. For the most part I tend to pop a little something on top, bung it in the oven for about ten minutes and then tuck in. A creature of many well-entrenched habits, most of them fattening, I tend to revert, with coma-inducing frequency, to my old reliable tomatoes and olives swirled around in a bit of pesto topping. But this blog would end quite abruptly if I were to trundle along in my boring old ways without giving something new a go every now and then. On the trawl for something speedy and fishy that I could bung very quickly in the oven on a hungry Friday evening after catching a movie at the Dublin Film Festival, I reached for my Tom Doorley book, Grow And Cook, and instantly happened on the perfect fish and side-veggie recipes for my needs - and, to add to the virtue of it all, perfectly within season in the February chapter. 

Fishy Friday

Yes, before you ask, I was still hungry after I ate this, I'm pretty sure I ate a load of bread or chocolate or something as soon as I had wolfed it down, but it really was delicious. And, to be fair to it, even if I had doubled up on quantities, chances are I would still be hungry afterwards and find excuses to insert more food into my gob. So, don't let that put you off - it's a thoroughly filling dish for a normal human being. It's also speedy and comforting, deliciously creamy and full of flavour. I know that it looks like a very simple plate of scrambled eggs but it is, in fact, oeufs brouillés au haddock *haughty sniff*. So, scrambled eggs with fish, then. See, I was having a think about nutrition and how I need to eat feed my body responsibly in order to ensure that it doesn't protest at my relatively high exercise levels by packing in altogether. When I was upping the ante with my running initially, the immense sugar cravings took me by surprise, and I did what any normal human being would do under the circumstances - I took to the biscuits with religious fervour (chocolate caramel digestives, mainly), followed by a Haribo chaser if I was feeling indulgent. After a while the novelty of behaving like a small child who finds itself without authority and decides to eat chocolate buttons at every meal wore off, and I started to feel the need for some grown-up behaviour (kind of like Kevin in Home Alone, if you will). I increased the amount of carbohydrates in my diet and laid off the biccies. A little. Now recently I have been training even more, particularly since I'm preparing for my first marathon, and figured that I should perhaps be eating more red meat than I have been. Who better to instruct in the eating of meat than the French? Off I trotted to the library to source a suitable cookbook that might instruct me in my mission.

Fishy Friday

Holy smoked mackerel, it's my weekly rose-tinted-edible-side-of-Catholicism slot! Except this beetroot, potato and smoked mackerel salad is WAY fancier than the fish fingers of my youth, and yet deceptively simple. This nutrition-packed gem is from the latest Jamie Oliver magazine. I love the Jamie mag, it's chock-full of recipes, as well as some lovely articles and travel features. It's also groaning under the weight of his own cooking utensils, tableware, etc - but it's so very lovely, and, indeed, Jamie himself is so very lovely, that I can't find it in me to mind. In fact, I almost want to be one of his Jamie At Home sales ladies, like the greedy girl's answer to an Avon lady. Almost. But not quite.

Fishy Friday

Apparently my Irish Catholic upbringing has impacted on me than I had realised up to this point. More specifically, the habit of eating fish on a Friday is an old one that has died hard. So much so that I barely noticed until I started this blog. This, admittedly, could be more to do with the fact that I made a new years ressie to eat more fish, and somehow, in spite of myself, I have actually managed to stick to this. My fish eating appears to be a recurring Friday compulsion. Perhaps this is because I have found myself to be in an unmerciful grump this past few Fridays, and my subconscious mind steers me in the direction of gobbling up positive omega vibes. Last Friday I had the hump for some utterly unknown reason, but since I was up early the next morning to go on a cycle I couldn't mollify myself with a nice big glass of wine, so I had to rely on food to perk things up. I was flicking through all the cookbooks on my shelves and couldn't find anything to quite hit the spot, when I remembered the Ina Garten book I had borrowed from the library and never got round to using. I have heard a great deal about this Barefoot Contessa lady, but I've yet to get in on the love. Her easy peasy baked fish really reached out to me in my grouchy feed-me-now state.

Fishy Friday

Like the vast majority of the rest of the country, I generally look forward to the weekend, and I get a little Friday feeling even if I have absolutely nothing interesting planned. This Friday, however, I somehow found myself in a horrendous big grouch. There was no taking me out of it. When I got home I stropped out on the sofa and felt sorry for myself - for no particular reason, it has to be said. I was so narky that (brace yourselves) I wasn't even particularly interested in what I was going to have for dinner. I know, crazy business. Since I was heading off on a cycle up to Howth summit early the next morning, a glass of wine was out of the question. Huffing and puffing away to myself, I hauled out the bright and cheerful Jamie Does book that my sister in law got me for my birthday; out of all the Jamie books, I think that this one conveys his personality the best. It's one big ray of sunshine, full of simple, inviting recipes from his travels. You know the ones - when he hops on his motorbike and leaves poor old Jools behind to mind their bajillion ludicrously-named children in drizzly old England. Anyhow, his chirpy jaunting makes for some excellent cookbooks, so I appreciate his wife's patience on that front. And his spicy Moroccan take on fish and chips cheered me up no end on a grumpy Friday evening.