Don't Know What You Got (Till It's Gone)

Press play while you read, it will lend a heroic and noble quality to the words

When I was a young man the world seemed a strange and alien place.  To my teenage eyes everywhere I looked were confident, clever and beautiful people.  They were not like me because they didn't always wear trousers that were just a bit too short in the leg or sport glasses so huge that even Deirdre Barlow/Rashid/Barlow would have said,"blimey that kid's glasses are ridiculous".  

It was during this time that I turned to the great poets to help make sense of such a cruel world.  Whereas others would turn to Blake and Shelly and Wilde for stimulation, I found solace in the words of Steven Tyler, William Gibbons and Edward Van Halen.  I mean, when you think about it, there is rarely a situation where 80s American rock standards don’t help out.  Try it out. 

“An I’m gonna hold on for the rest of my days, ‘cos I know what it means, to walk along the lonely street of dreams”

Thank you David Coverdale.

I found myself drinking from the Rock Goblet of Wisdom (RGW) a couple of weeks ago whilst passing a pub I used to love that no longer exists.  The song that I quaffed until the juice ran down my face was You Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Til It’s Gone by Cinderella (see above).  

If I ever got on to Desert Island Discs, my local pub would be my luxury item because it is just about perfect.  It’s close to my house, it has great beers, a good wine list and wonderful food (when you go make sure you have the treacle tart).  But the Five Elms is more than this because of the people who run it, work in it and use it, it is in all senses a pub of the community.  Every year at Christmas there’s a carol sing-a-long outside with friends and strangers huddled together drinking mulled wine and eating homemade sausage rolls.  I can honestly say that some of my happiest times in recent years have been spent next to the fire in the small snug of the Five Elms or lolling around outside after a long hot summer day.

So, if you love your pub then heed the advice of the Motley Crue from their 1985 album Theatre Of Pain, Use It Or Lose It.

A Supercool Supper To Make Tonight

The tomatoes were so good I couldn't take the photo without eating some

Fancy a really quick and easy supper that you could do tonight..?  I got my sweaty hands on some really good late season tomatoes the other day and decided to make one of my favourite things in the world.

Halve the tomatoes and place cut side up in a roasting dish.  Crush some garlic and scatter over the beautiful red fruit.  Then splash some olive oil over the lot and season with salt and pepper.  If you have any thyme leaves or oregano then toss some in too.  It will all taste good believe me.

Roast the tomatoes in a hot oven (about 200C) for about 25 mins.

This makes a wonderful side dish for steaks or grilled chicken or roast lamb.  You could have it with some firm fleshed white fish or with some ribbons of tagliatelle.  Or like me you can toast some bread, spoon the tomatoes and all the lovely juices on top and grate over some parmesan.  This is definitely my kind of food, I hope you try it out.

Clang! Namedrop Fish Supper of the Week

Tom Kerridge and Matthew Fort would only agree to the photo if I promised to keep my eyes closed

OK, so I was recently hanging out with Tom Kerridge, Great British Menu winner and all-round amazing guy, and he gave me some sea bass fillets.  This was fabulous because sea bass is (a) delicious (b) in season and (c) eye-wateringly expensive.  

In my, very humble, opinion the key to sea bass is 'keep it simple'.  You don't want to over complicate things and run the risk of cocking it up after you've parted with all that cash for a few fillets.  Actually, that would make an excellent second key to sea bass; "keep it simple" and "don't cock it up".

So here's what I did with mine.  

I had some waxy potatoes, some large flat mushrooms and some peas (all in season as well I hasten to add!) so I thought I'd roast the sea bass on the spuds, fry off the mushrooms and make a simple pea salsa.  Sort of like fish, chips and mushy peas if you had the Queen or Posh Spice coming round.

Cut the spuds into thick slices, throw them on a baking tray and glug on a bit of olive oil and salt and pepper.  Put them in a hot oven for 15 mins.  After 15 mins place the sea bass on the potatoes skin side up, rub olive oil on the skin and season.  Return to the oven and cook for another 10-12 mins.

While this is going on fry the mushrooms in butter and cook the peas for a minute or two.  Blitz the cooked peas with some butter, a little cream if you have it, and some salt and pepper.  Season the mushrooms.  Put on a plate and enjoy.

I think Tom would approve.

A Cup of Joe

The Flat White coffee originated in New Zealand and should be 6oz of espresso topped up with textured milk served in a standard cup sized cup (should Flat White be capitalised? Is flat white a proper noun? Is proper noun a Proper Noun? Damn).  If you get a f(F)lat w(W)hite in a big bucket cup it will be insipid, pointless and frankly a waste of money.  Think Nick Knowles presenting another show on the beeb.

All these coffee facts were presented to me by Elliot Wallis from Monkshood Coffee, he's the man on the right looking perplexed as to why anyone would take his photo in a field at half past ten on a Sunday morning.  I met him at my son's football practice.  Yes, we are so middle class we have a barista at football practice though Elliot was quick to inform me that this will not be happening again.  He told me two other essential pieces of information for the discerning coffee enthusiast. First, don't buy coffee from a large chain because it will be garbage.  Second, never ever under any circs buy a cup of coffee from a large chain because it will be garbage.  Admittedly the second point is very similar to the first but it was worth repeating. 

Praise The Gorge

A jar of autumn: sloes steeping in gin under my stairs

I have always been one of life’s gorgers.  I gorge like there’s no tomorrow (which I believe is the point).  I am incapable of loving something and being able to moderate my consumption of it, especially since I have my own money to buy whatever shiny new thing has caught my MTV ravaged attention.  For example, last year I saw ten minutes of The Wire at a friend’s house and three months later I had watched all 65 episodes.  That’s one and a half episodes every night for ninety days and when your wife ‘just can see the appeal’ that is a lot of late night and early morning viewing.

I’m the same with food.  Three months ago I was giddy with the thought of BBQs. The medium rare burgers, the blackened sweetcorn, the marinated racks of ribs, the buttery roasted new potatoes, the crispy and pink shoulders of lamb, the burst and browned sausages, the braised lettuces, the spatchcocked and tikka’d chickens.  Are there three letters that look as good together as the double B to the Q? 

Well, having gorged for the summer I am now officially over the garden grilling.  It is so last month.  My tongs have been put away for another year, my amusing big breasted BBQ apron has been moth-balled and I am patting my tummy and drooling in anticipation of my absolute favourite eating time of year, autumn.

The move from summer to autumn eating has been greatly eased by a terrible burger experience at the Bucks County show (the word ‘gourmet’ has never been so devalued) and the treat of some of the current Mrs B’s early homemade plum jam.  I don’t know if it was the glory of the May and June sunshine or the dampness of the August but the plum trees in Weedon have been producing the most wondrous early fruit all of which has been jammed already and most of which has been eaten.

Next will be the blackberries and the apples, which will be conserved or crumbled.  The pumpkins will be souped with a touch of Buckinghamshire chilli from the farm between Whitchurch and Winslow.  I’m already fantasizing about the Waddesdon game that the Parrot boys will tempt me with.  I fall asleep dreaming of the rabbits that will be roasted and turned into batches of ragu for autumnal pasta lunches.  I close my eyes and can smell the aroma of roasted or casseroled pheasants, depending on whether my neighbour, Martin, will finally relent and give me the recipe for his highly prized pheasant stew.  And please don’t get me started on puddings.

I cannot help it, I am trapped in a delicious cycle of gluttony daydreaming.  Perhaps I need help, a support group of some kind.

Hi, my name is Matt and I’m a gorger

By the way, if you have any favourite autumn recipes then please message or email me.  There is absolutely nothing I like more than chatting about food.  

Praise the gorge and pass the gorgonzola.

New Blog New Me

OK, here's the deal.  I love food and I love writing so I'm going to start blogging about food.  The name One Hungry Gent comes from a column I write for a Buckinghamshire magazine.  That column is called One Hungry Man but the One Hungry Man blogspot URL was taken so I have arrived after several days of procrastination at One Hungry Gent.  If you don't like it, well tough.