Mix Me a Molotov

Last week: I invented my own cocktail

My passion for cocktails was fuelled by a 2009 trip to the Big Apple. Struggling to find a beer that suited my palette, I decided to go in a different direction and ordered a Margarita. Plus, when in NYC, it just seemed, well....rude not to. It was something I rather quickly developed a taste for and, on returning home, I was quick to invest in a cocktail shaker. Ice crusher and fancy glasses followed this year as a much appreciated birthday gift and now I'm all set to become Belgium's number one mixologist! I've now managed to master a half decent Margarita and also added Mojitos, Cosmpolitans and Caipirinhas to my repertoire.

Unless you're laughing all the way to the bank and have a home bar well stocked enough to put Oliver Reed to shame, homemade cocktails depend pretty much on what happens to be lying around lurking in the depths of half drunk/half forgotten bottles or whichever spirit is going cheap at your local supermarket. With UK branches of Lidl, offering bottles of Pimms for just £9.99 on my recent visit, it was hard to resist.

I'm still not entirely sure what it is, but I love Pimms. I can't get enough of the stuff. There's nothing more refreshing than a shot or two of Pimms topped up with lemonade and served over ice, orange and cucumber. Cucumber for me is possibly the most sinister of foodstuffs, tainting everything around it with an evil flavour that I just can't quite put my finger on (not bitter, not sweet, just....vile). Allegedly the Romans used cucumber to scare away mice, which is probably one of the few things it's good for. However, it takes on a new identity when bobbing around in a tumbler of Pimms and Lemonade and it's certainly the only way I can stomach it, not that I'm suggesting that this should represent part of your 'five a day'.

Last Friday night was cocktail night with my brother-in-law as our guest. Starting with a Pimms and Lemonade and then a Tequila Sunrise courtesy of Bri, I decided to get a little experimental. Here's what I made:

Fruit Fly

1 measure Tequila

2 measures Pimms

1 measure Orange Juice

2 measures Grenadine

2 measures Sparkling Water

Crushed Ice

2 Strawberries

*This adds up to 8 measures which, with the ice included, tops up an Optima Ikea cocktail glass very nicely thank you very much.

Rather horribly, I named my delicious concotion 'Fruit Fly' due to all the winged nuisances that were hanging out in my kitchen attracted by the sliced cucumber and strawberries.

Would I try it again? Oh, I already have!

Some of my memorable cocktail moments:

Jet Lounge
Amsterdam
Fellini Martini 
By far one of Amsterdam's coolest bars, ran by the legendary Mark Hodson who briefly played with The Cramps. Their most hardcore cocktail is called a 'Raging Alcoholic' and is served in a brown paper bag, ensuring you look the part. The menu stated that the Fellini Martini contained "Vodka, Sambucca and Weird Shit". We later found out that the 'weird shit' was plastic insects.
http://www.jetlounge.nl/

Sweet Ups
Williamsburg, NYC
Blackberry Bramble
The yummiest cocktail I've ever tasted. If I remember rightly, it was sloe gin-based. Sweet Ups is a rather cool cocktail joint which is part of the Williamsburg pub crawl in Brooklyn (emphasis on the crawl, as there seemed to be at least 2 miles between each bar and I was spitting feathers). Not sure about the Dexter theme though.

Skyline Bar
Hotel Radisson Blu, Riga
Latvian Mojito
Kicked off my fourth wedding anniversary at this swish 26th floor bar overlooking delightful Riga, whispering sweet nothings as we got wasted on cocktails laced with local firewater, Black Balsalm.
http://www.skylinebar.lv/

Lou's Bar
Liege
Dr Funk
Whiskey, rum, absinthe and grenadine.....ouch! Foolishly ordered this on a warm afternoon with my poor jetlagged friend Maria. It goes down a lot better once the ice has melted. I think it took Maria 3 hours to drink hers. But then again, Spaniards can be lightweights, jetlagged or otherwise.

Re: Cherry and the Cakemakers - update

After cousin Emma very kindly provided some piping bags, my second attempt at cupcakes proved rather more fruitful. Hoorah!

Too Much Spice of Life

Last week, for the first time: I ate at Jamie's Italian

It's no secret that the Brits have not got the best reputation when it comes to cuisine. On numerous occasions I have found myself  rising to my compatriots' defence when continental friends snigger at the pairing of mint sauce with lamb, After Eight Mints and how we prefer our peas mashed to within an inch of their lives. The quality of basic pub and restaurant food is seemingly on the up, but my many past experiences leave a lot to be desired ("Would you like chips or mash with your Shepherd's pie?"), so my line of defence always revolves around home cooking. Nobody makes better scones or gravy than my Mum. And my Aunty Theresa's Chocolate Lime Mousse could make grown men cry.

It was with Mum and Aunty Tre that I spent a wonderful day last week in Liverpool city centre indulging in some classic retail therapy. A girlie day out like this would be incomplete without a fancy schmancy lunch and the communal decision was to grab a table at Jamie's Italian, the Liverpool One branch of the Jamie Oliver franchise. Love him or hate him, there is no denying that Jamie Oliver has helped revolutionise the way we approach food and his global impact has done no harm to the British culinary reputation. My hopes were fairly high.

The best word to describe the restaurant interior is fun. With the hustle and bustle of visible chefs and large ham shanks hanging from the ceiling, we were elbow to elbow with prospective university students, business men and ladies-who-lunch in a chatty but agreeable atmosphere. I was particularly fond of the toilets with the large old-fashioned sinks, Thomas Crapper branded lavatories and the Xlerator hand dryers that stick two fingers up to James Dyson (if indeed your fingers are still intact after using this contraption).

We were greeted by a superficially friendly waitress, gushing as she listed the specials of the day parrot fashion, going into the most minute detail of how many scrubs each potato had been subject to and what variety of knife had been used to slice the asparagus. The menu is fairly extensive with something for everyone and, as prices were high and appetites average, we opted for small portions of pasta with a selection of sides to share as a starter.

Something that gets under my skin on occasion is how the Brits have a tendency to dumb things down, shying away from sophistication, and Jamie's menu was littered with names of dishes that suggested "Get it down your neck, love": Posh Chips, Eat and Mess. I'm not sure if the grubby tea towels-cum-serviettes and chipped tin plates were aiming to create a quaint and rustic ambience, but for me, this rather smacked of greasy spoon with ideas above its station (I think they're called Gastropubs).



Adding to the rustic ambience or in need of Daz?


The World's Best Olives on Ice (I'm still unclear whether they were claiming to be the world's best olives that just happen to be served on ice or indeed the best olives in the world) pretty much lived up to high expectations and I could've munched on them for the entire afternoon.The star of the show was, by far, Jamie's delicious Posh Chips, so named because they are rather decadently drizzled in truffle oil and then sprinkled with grated Parmesan. The simple ideas are often the best. We discussed amongst ourselves how we plan to try this at home and I have just discovered that big-hearted Jamie is generous enough to share the recipe with his fans in his on-line magazine.

Our main course dishes were rather more disappointing; although Mum lapped up her Wild Truffle Risotto, my Bucatini Carbonara was not tasty enough to prevent my eye wandering towards the sumptious burger on the next table, but then again, my eyes are always bigger than my belly. It was only after we had scoffed the lot that we noticed that the contents of Aunty Tre's plate were going nowhere fast as she politely pushed her pasta around. Theresa had ordered the Gigli Primavera on a previous visit to the restaurant and enjoyed it, but now tears were streaming down her face as she battled with the overpowering chilli. I sneaked a little taste only to confirm that it was indeed laced with the stuff, my suspicion being to disguise the lifeless vegetables tossed among the pasta shapes. The failure to mention chilli on the menu description definitely warranted complaint and my Mum proceeded to do so in her ever confident and admirable manner. We were advised that on future occasions we should ask for the dish without chilli...mindreaders take heed!

Finally, after staff double checked the menu, we were, justifiably, offered Aunty Tre's meal free of charge. The least they could do. Before leaving, I glanced over at my two lunchtime companions and smiled to myself, realising that here were two women that represent everything that is good about British cuisine and that no amount of truffle oil drizzled on my chips will ever change that.

Would I try it again? Only if I can have it without chilli, please.

Songs for Songs' Sake Part 3

Here's the link to my latest podcast. Enjoy!

Cherry and the Cakemakers

The other week, for the first time: I made cupcakes.

A few months ago, I finally moved to an appartment with its very own oven, something I guess that many people take for granted. For me, however, this opened up endless possibilities of homemade goodies that have already added more than a couple of centimetres to my waistline: pizzas, pies, Sunday roasts, baked potatoes....the list goes on.

I don't consider myself much of a whizz in the kitchen; I can whip up a half decent curry and people have been known to say I make the best Pot Noodle in town, but I am definitely more greedy than gourmet. I'm clumsy and awkward in pretty much every walk of life, so the kitchen is not the ideal environment for me. What I lack in common sense, I more than make up for in enthusisam, which over the years, has led to several cut fingers, burnt saucepans and one ghastly Bread and Butter Pudding baked with the cling film left on top.

One activity I have rarely attempted is baking. Any inclination has been thwarted by memories of dreaded high school Home Economics classes with evil Mrs Green's voice echoing, "Whose are these poor things?", as she points derisively at my unappetising tin of scones, causing much mirth amongst my classmates. Mrs Green (shudder) was far from encouraging and HE was abandoned in favour of Music, leaving me with nulle points in basic life skills, but the ability to play The Entertainer on anything with a reed.

Getting to grips with my new toy oven, the past few weeks have seen me face my demons and overcome my crisis in confidence, discovering a new passion and - dare I say it - aptitude, for making cakes. I've perfected a Lemon Drizzle Cake that melts in your mouth, done my Mum proud by mastering her much coveted scone recipe and even thrown together some rather impressive birthday cakes for friends and colleagues. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it Mrs Green. It was definitely time to get a little more adventurous and the word on the street was cupcakes are where it's at.

When it comes to cupcakes, the authority on all things sugar and spice, is my cousin Emma. Her talent and creativity is remarkable and the rest of us can only stand by and hope we get to lick the bowl. Emma made her own wedding cake, which consisted of several tiers of beautiful individual cupcakes, and she has a weekly commission for the highly reputed Liverpool-based Dafna's Cheesecake Factory. When Emma decided to start up her own small business, my side of the family were only too happy to contribute ideas for a company name, the most ingenuous being 'Cherry and the Cakemakers' (you see she's based in Liverpool!) Liverpudlians are pretty inventive when it comes to naming things: Matthew Street's favourite tribute band Crowded Scouse, driving school El Paso, hairdressing salon Curl-Up and Dye....

Emma's fabulous wedding cake.
 I seem to have misplaced the photo of my baking attempts...

Back to the point, Emma's little business Cupcake Indulgence is thriving and she was only too happy to encourage me in my culinary endeavours, buying me a beautiful Hummingbird Bakery cook book for my birthday. The recipe that caught my eye was for the rather tasty sounding Earl Grey Cupcakes. Mmmmm. I planned to make a basketful for my friend Laurence's birthday and even spent a small fortune on some of those tiny edible silver balls that look so decorative. But not all things go to plan and, although the cakes themselves were nothing short of scrummy, I made a bit of a pig's ear of the frosting. It's a delicate, fiddly process to ice individual cakes and, as usual, I went in feet first and smeared on the sugary mixture as if applying cement to a driveway. There seemed little point in adding the decorations, but I went ahead anyway and managed to create yet another thing that looks like it's been done by a two-year-old. The cakes were devoured by myself and my husband and Laurence received a basketful of scones, that even I can't ruin. I spoke to Emma last night and she wisely advised me to use a piping bag and nozzle for any future attempts and promised to forward a Youtube link more than likely called 'Icing Cupcakes for Dummies'.

Would I try it again?: Mmmmm. I like it. I like it.

Earl Grey Tea Cupcakes

Ingredients:

For the cakes:

3 earl grey tea bags

(I will use more next time as the flavour was a little subtle)

3 tbsp hot water (just boiled)

80g butter

280g caster sugar

240g plain flour

1 tbsp baking powder

1/4tsp salt

200ml milk

2 large eggs

For the icing:

50ml milk

500g icing sugar

160g butter

Method:

1. Put the teabags in the hot water and infuse for 30mins.
2. Preheat oven to 190′C and line the muffin tin with liners.
3. In a mixer, mix together butter, sugar, flour, baking powder and salt until it resembles fine breadcrumbs.
4. In a jug, whisk together the milk and eggs, then pour in the infused tea, squeezing out every drop of liquid from the teabags. Save the teabags for the icing.
5. Pour 3 quarters of the milk mixture into the dry ingredients, mix slowly to combine first, then increase speed to mix till the batter is smooth. Pour in the rest of the milk mixture and mix until smooth and lump free.
6. Fill the muffin liners no more than 2/3 full, bake for 18 – 22 minutes, until well risen and golden. When cooked, cool on a cool rack entirely.
7. To make the icing, put the used teabags in the 50ml milk and leave to infuse for 30mins.
8. Mix together the butter and the icing sugar, now mix very slowly at first as it will go everywhere… if using mixer, remember to cover it with a tea towel first. Then mix in the tea flavoured milk until fluffy.
9. Ice the cooled cakes and decorate! Enjoy x



When Ze Boat Comes In

The other week, for the first time ever: I drove a speed boat.

I'm running a little behind with my blog posts, but everyone has to have a holiday now and again, n'est-ce pas? This year's vacation for me was a wonderfully relaxing week spent on the shores of the jaw-droppingly stunning Alpine Lake Annecy with eight lovely friends. Sound idyllic?  Well it pretty much was, with one factor throwing a spanner in the works: RAIN. I'll spare you a boring paragraph where I pontificate about the disappointing climate of recent years and come over all dewy-eyed at the mere mention of the Summer of '76. The fact is, we were on holiday, it rained every day, we dealt with it. We were still on holiday after all, and, when in France in the rain, there is still wine to be quaffed, cheese to be gorged upon and bowling alleys to visit.....(yes, seriously).

I, for one, was not about to let the odd downpour of torrential rain get in the way of my enjoyment of "Europe's cleanest lake" and between all nine of us, we managed to get more than our money's worth; from early morning dips and taxi boat sightseeing to inebriated skinny dipping at 5 am.

On our final day, whilst we were humming and ahhing about how to maximise our enjoyment of the little bit of sunshine that had come our way, I received a call from fellow holidaymaker Roy: "I've hired a speed boat for three hours. I'm parked at our private beach. Bring sun cream and a snorkel". Music to my ears. I was on board before you could say Hello Sailor.

I've been on speed boats before but usually manned by some self-important jobsworth who takes great pleasure in chastising passengers for trailing their hands and feet in the water. This was our very own boat: Roy was the captain, we could go wherever we wanted and we had beer! And if we wanted more beer we could go ashore and damn well get some.

Having a boat to yourself opens up all kinds of possibilities of exploration. For fear of getting stranded, we didn't quite get close enough to the Roc de Chère to catch sight of any of the 560 species that warrant its status as a protected nature reserve. However, we did reach some of the parts that other boats can't reach and, on occasion, drifted close to some rather handsome properties that are not part of the taxi boat itinerary and served as a gentle reminder of how the other half live. By far the highlight of our little excursion was being able to stop in the middle of the lake and dive into the deepest, coolest part of the crystal clear emerald waters. Despite its "Europe's cleanest lake"' boasts, little marine life was visible when I donned snorkle and mask, but closer to the lake's edge, more professional-looking divers seemed to be reaping some reward.

The only shadow that was cast over proceedings was when we went ashore for more provisions and had the audacity to climb out of our little vessel onto our neighbour's jetty, giving us easy access to our lakeside garden, rather than having to wade. Our neighbour watched on disgusted, hands on hips and wagged his disapproving finger at the trespasssing scum of the earth that we were. It beggars belief that somebody who has the good fortune to spend their retirement years in this little slice of heaven can be so downright miserable and uncharitable.

Roy and Bri took it in turns to steer the boat and the looks on their faces betrayed the fact that, for that moment in time, they were making chase in From Russia With Love. Unfortunately the cans of beer bearing a Jamiroquai silhouette were no compensation for the absence of Martinis. When I took to the wheel, my lack of driving experience was only too apparent and the one-legged duck effect set in. A few circles later, I had almost got the hang of it but decided to leave it to the boys, preferring to sit on the helm, arms in the air, feet trailing in the water, pretending to be King of the World.

Would I try it again?: Next time, I'll make the cocktails.