Tag: recipe

It’s That SPAM Again

It’s Sunday today, so we’ve taken our traditional day away from the reasoning-mine and, as they are often wont to do, our thoughts have turned to food. Now, some time back we brought you what we considered to be the ultimate SPAM recipe – Planked SPAM – but now we’ve unearthed something that has easily trumped Planked SPAM and knocked it into a cocked hat. Whatever that means. Brace yourself! It’s…

Yes, it’s SPAM ‘n’ Beans which is, apparently, exactly right for Saturday night (which is rather a shame as I took my wife for cocktails and to a really good concert in Northern Europe’s largest Gothic Cathedral last night (if only I’d seen this first)). It seems delightfully simple to cook, consisting as it does of two ingredients; SPAM and baked beans. Simply place slices of SPAM in baked beans and cook them on the hob, then serve in some sort of dirty brown pot with congealed sauce oozing over the side. Who wouldn’t be overjoyed to be served this? It seems that the simplest recipes are often the most delicious.*

*Sadly I’m the member of the 7 Reasons team that doesn’t eat meat and – as SPAM is a distant relative of meat – I can’t try it myself. Any readers care to give it a go?**

**7 Reasons will be back tomorrow, without any tummy trouble whatsoever.

May 8, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: It’s Cake!
Hello 7 Reasons readers! It’s Marc here and today, dear readers, we would like you to make a cake. This cake.

It’s Oxfam’s Easy Lime and Ginger Cheesecake, the recipe for which comes from my local Oxfam Bookshop’s brilliant blog . The recipe calls for the use of Fairtrade Stem Ginger Cookies and, when you go to your nearest Oxfam shop to buy them, you’ll be giving money to a worthwhile cause. That’s right readers, by making and eating an ethically sourced cheesecake (unless you buy mascarpone sourced from warmongering cheesemongers) you’ll be helping a good cause in an ethical way. In fact, if we can all make and eat enough cheesecake, we can probably save the world, and I’ll be trying very hard. Here’s the achingly simple recipe as published by Oxfam Books, Petergate York:

Easy Lime and Ginger Cheesecake
- Serves 4
- Prep time: 15 min
- Chilling time: 30 min
- Basically, in 45 minutes you’re in business.
Ingredients
- 200g pack of Fairtrade stem ginger cookies, crushed
- 50g butter, melted
- 500g mascarpone cheese (they usually come in 250g tubs, so get two of these)
- 40g icing sugar, sifted
- Finely grated zest and juice of two limes
Method

1. Mix together the crushed biscuits and melted butter (I also like to add a bit of sugar to my cheesecake bases to make them a bit jazzier) and press into the bottom of an 18cm (7inch) spring-sided or loose-bottomed cake tin.

2. Place the mascarpone cheese, icing sugar, lime zest and juice in a bowl and beat together. Spread this mixture over the biscuit base.

3. Put it in the fridge and chill for 30 min! That’s really it.

That’s the entire recipe. It’s basically spreading cheese on biscuits and it’s so simple that absolutelyanyone should be able to make it. And now we’re going to demonstrate that even people with no food preparation skills, knowledge or aptitude can follow this recipe. I’m going to hand you over to my writing partner: A man whose culinary education began and ended with learning how to boil water for tea: A man who – before he moved to Kent – was known as The Fulham Poisoner: A man whose litany of culinary disasters includes failing at defrosting a chicken and the hospitalisation of a flatmate*. He’s going to make a cheesecake himself and feed it to his fiancé Claire – a renowned and accomplished maker of cakes – who will judge it on appearance, texture and taste (should she survive). Here’s Jon.

“It was only when I was standing in the queue that I realised I had been well and truly duped. The idea of making a cheesecake and then eating it had originally sounded like a good idea, which is why I had agreed. Marc had, after all, said all it required was a spare half hour. In my book, that’s a fair exchange for cake. But as I stood there I realised it had already been twenty-five since I had left home and I hadn’t even purchased the ingredients. There was no way I could make a cheesecake in five minutes. Not there. And then I got to the till. Which is when I realised this idea was also going to cost me money. Just short of £5 in fact. That’s a lot to spend just to have something to write about. I couldn’t help but think if I had managed the past year and a half writing without having to pay for the privilege, why did this have to change? I trudged home.

Having spread the ingredients in front of me and read the recipe, I realised this was the exact same cheesecake that Claire makes. And she makes it very well. Brilliant. So I’ve had to walk all the way the shops, spend the best part of a fiver on ingredients and now I am challenging my future wife by making one of her specialities. Perturbed, I carried on. Twenty minutes later I was left staring at the following creation:

Making it was something of a doddle. What was not a doddle was the washing up. I don’t know how often you zest a lime, but cleaning the zesting part of the grater is quite possibly a harder job than watching England play cricket. Still, an hour later I was done. I also had lime poisoning from licking the bowl.

The next part of this project – and that is very much what it had become – was to get Claire to profer her opinion. These are the results of the Claire survey.

On Appearance: “That looks nice.”

On Texture: “It’s nice.”

On Taste: “That was very nice”.

So there we have it. I make nice cheesecakes. I am sure your Sunday just got a whole lot better with that news.”

*Which he denies.**

**Falsely.

***As Oxfam Books, Petergate York would (and actually did) tell you themselves, remember the whole point of this recipe is that it is a Fairtrade recipe. So help the global community during this Fairtrade Fortnight (and after) by buying Fairtrade goods as much as you can.
March 6, 2011
7 Reasons That the Hot Toddy is THE Winter Drink

The hot toddy is the winter drink. Here are seven reasons why.

1. They’re Warming. Hot toddies are hot. The winter is cold. Therefore, when you arrive home after any time outdoors, you are probably cold. Given that the temperature differential between the toddy and your body* is going to be quite substantial, the taking of the toddy will be beneficial to your body temperature and innate sense of wellbeing.

2. They’re Medicinal. Given that it’s winter, you’re probably suffering from some sort of cold/flu/sniffle/sinus-block-green-stuff-induced-torpor. The hot toddy contains cloves, which help you breathe more easily (if you embed them in the lemon properly). If you don’t, you may accidentally get one caught in your throat and choke to death. Still, fear of imminent death makes drinking a hot toddy far more interesting than drinking a cup of tea.

3. They’re Convenient. Don’t have the necessary ingredients for a hot toddy to hand? Well, firstly, sack your housekeeper. Secondly, relax. The hot toddy recipe isn’t some hideously rigid formula that must be adhered to, it’s more a rough guide to creating your own drink: Hot toddy making is an art rather than a science. If you don’t have any whisky handy, you can use pretty much any other dark or oak-aged spirit; whiskey, brandy, grappa, rum are all acceptable (individually, don’t go mad) and bring a different flavour to proceedings. You can also – should you find that you’re out of honey – substitute dark sugar, syrup or treacle. My favourite alternative is maple syrup, which is from Canada, where they have weird canoes and they milk trees.

4. They’re Healthy. Most hot toddy recipes suggest that you use a slice of lemon. They are wrong. If you use a quarter of a lemon and squeeze it before putting it in the mug (squeezing the juice into the mug, obviously, don’t just dribble it over the worktop or onto a passing cat) the toddy is much better. Firstly it uses up a greater quantity of lemon – which is always desirable – and secondly, it puts more lemon juice into the drinker. Not only does this give you vitamin C, it probably counts as one of your recommended five portions of fruit and vegetables per day so, disregarding clove-choking incidents, you’ll be healthier too and may live for ever.***

5. They’re Even Healthier. One of the things you need to do to fight those wintry ailments is to make sure your blood sugar levels are high. This will give you the energy you need to carry on regardless/lie down and complain that you are dying (delete as appropriate, based on sex). This is why they give ill people Lucozade, and this is why you should drink a hot toddy, either preventative or medicinal. That and they don’t taste of Lucozade.

6. They’re Even More Convenient. You might be thinking that the last thing you want to be doing is messing about with spirits, cloves and lemons every time you want a hot drink, but the good news is that you don’t have to. Because you can pre-make your hot toddies. Just put all the ingredients, minus the hot water, into a mug and put it in the fridge (in our kitchen, we have a walk-in refrigerator that we call “the kitchen”). You can put as many as you want in there. You might also consider adding a note that says “in case of emergency, add boiling water, stir, bring upstairs to me” or some such. Your partner/housemates/parents/children/pets/imaginary friend will doubtless appreciate that.

7. They Taste Good. I seem to have forgotten to mention that they taste bloody marvellous. Plus, the flavour is so strong, that even with a cold, it is still apparent. And they smell so nice that other people will follow you around the house as you drink one and attempt to steal it, despite having declined your kind offer of one only ten minutes previously. That always happens.

*Don’t panic, I know it rhymes. I shan’t attempt to turn that line into the start of a song.**

**Well, I’ll try to resist it.

***If you fail to live for ever after switching to the hot toddy as your winter drink of choice, feel free to email your complaint to us.

As a special bonus, here’s the recipe:

Some whisky: Maybe a little bit more. A tiny bit more. Oh, fuck it, another splash won’t hurt me.

Two teaspoons of honey.

A quarter of a lemon (squeezed, if you are at all health-conscious)

Some cloves (4-8). Embed them in the lemon or you will die.

Hot water.

Combine all the ingredients in a mug, then fill with hot water and stir. Remove teaspoon. Drink.

(You can also add a cinnamon stick if you like cinnamon or sticks).

January 20, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: A Recipe

Hi, Marc here. It’s Sunday and half of the 7 Reasons team is unwell. Sadly, its the half that’s writing today’s post; so I’m sorry if you’ve been clicking refresh on the homepage for the last few hours waiting expectantly for this to appear. Anyway, here it is.

A glass of mulled wine contains several of your five a day. Probably.

We’ve brought you recipes before of course. I’ve given you a recipe for SPAM on a plank, and Jon’s shown you how to remove something from the freezer. Badly. But it occurred to me that we’ve never given you a recipe for something you might conceivably like to consume. And it’s the time of year for it, so here’s my epic recipe for mulled wine that I’ve been inflicting on house-guests every winter since…well…before we had a house. Or guests. Anyway, here are the ingredients that you will need:

2 Bottles of red wine: It doesn’t matter how many people that you are going to give mulled wine too, the correct quantity is always two bottles. Don’t just use the cheapest wine that you can find as, if you do, your mulled-wine will be mulled-cheap-wine, and no one will like it. You don’t need to spend very much though, an inexpensive Aussie Shiraz-Cabernet will have enough strong fruit notes and body to support the ingredients, or a cheap Tempranillo. Just don’t use anything too light of body like a Pinot Noir or a Beaujolais, as it will be overpowered by the other ingredients.

2 Lemons (quartered).

2 Oranges (quartered).

4 Cloves.

5 Tablespoons of honey.

1 Cinnamon stick.

2 Teaspoons of ground ginger.

Put all of the ingredients into a pan. Put the pan on the hob. Turn the hob on (to a low heat). Stir constantly until the mulled-wine is near boiling point but importantly DO NOT LET THE MULLED-WINE BOIL! When it boils the alcohol escapes, and you need that in order to suffer your house-guests, (or they will need it to suffer you, in my case). While it is warming, taste frequently and add any random thing you can think of to improve the flavour. Last New Year’s Eve, I added a quartered and squeezed satsuma, half a cup of brandy, half a cup of triple sec, a big splash of orange juice and a tsunami of dark rum*. All of these things work very well in it. When everything’s in and it’s near boiling point turn the hob off and ladle your mulled-wine into cups, mugs or glasses (glasses without handles will be too hot to hold so only give those to guests you dislike). You may then drink the mulled-wine. And as you’re the person that made the delicious, warming, tasty beverage that they enjoyed so, everyone will briefly love you and will happily tolerate you for the remainder of the evening.

Right, I’m off to mull my way back to health. 7 Reasons will be back tomorrow with seven reasons…for something.

*Several hours after drinking this mulled-wine when we were cracking open the Champagne, we all realised that we were really quite drunk, and were surprised because we’d only consumed a bit of mulled-wine and three or four beers over the course of the evening. I think I’ve just solved the mystery.

December 19, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: A Recipe

It’s Russian Roulette Sunday again (and ordinary Sunday too) and we’ve realised something: We’ve never given our readers a recipe before. We’ve requested them when under pressure; we’ve offered general lifestyle advice on how to do food correctly; and on how food should be consumed, but we’ve never been specific about how to prepare it. Until now.

This isn’t our own recipe, it’s one that we stumbled across on the internet while doing something else. But it’s safe to say that we were amazed by it. Flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. It’s a perfectly genuine recipe that features in an advert for the main ingredient and we haven’t in any way made it up.

In the past, we may have created and altered posters and passed them off as genuine, but we did that because we didn’t think that anyone would believe us, and we certainly didn’t imagine that thousands of people around the world would download those posters, presumably to use in essays and school projects. In fact, we feel fairly confident that, as World War II recedes further into history, and internet content becomes ever-more readily-accepted, those posters will come to be seen as genuine, and we – in our usual hapless manner – will have inadvertently caused a revision of history. We’re actually dreading the day that one of our posters turns up in a newspaper, or a book. Anyway, we’ve learned our lesson, and this poster is categorically not one of our creations.

You’re probably feeling a little peckish by now so, Ladies and Gentlemen, discerning readers of 7 Reasons (.org), we present to you, without any further ado…Planked SPAM.

Now, to some people, a meal consisting of SPAM on a plank might seem a little unconventional or unappetising, but rest assured: When you unveil this culinary master-stroke with a flourish, it will be “…greeted with cheers” by your jubilant dinner-guests. The advert says so, so it must be true. We’re not sure what wood the plank should be made from, though pine would probably be nice and fragrant, and less tough than oak. But you can experiment with your own planks, we wouldn’t want to ruin the fun. Let us know how you get on.

September 26, 2010
7 Reasons That I’m Sick Of The Lemons

On Monday, I started my bank holiday project: A batch of limoncello. It’s a simple enough liqueur to make, requiring a couple of litres of vodka, some sugar and lemon zest. A lot of lemon zest. The zest of twenty-four lemons. Here are seven reasons that I’m now sick of the lemons.

1. Peeling Them. Ever peeled a lemon? It’s the second dullest activity known to man (or woman). You have to be careful not to get any of the pith with the zest, so it takes a long time. I peeled twenty-four of the things. I have no idea exactly how long I was in the kitchen, but I do know that I had a ginger beard when I emerged from it. I had one when I went in too, but I was definitely in there for a very long time. Peeling lemons.

2. Poor Planning. “Errrr. Ummm. Errrr. Have a lemon, darling.” That’s what I said when my wife – not unreasonably – enquired what I was going to do with twenty-four peeled lemons. This is because, caught up in my enthusiasm for making the limoncello, I had forgotten that a by-product of lemon zest is lemons. Lots of lemons. I decided to put them in the fridge, certain that we would be able to use them.

3. Juice. Our fridge was already quite full. So full, in fact, that I had to remove several jars of jam, a bag of onions that pre-dated the internet, and all – except for two – bottles of beer, to fit the large, overflowing bowl of peeled lemons in. Eventually, two days later, desperate to free up fridge space for more beer, I had a brainwave. Lemon juice. I would juice half of the lemons. This would free up space in the fridge and enable me to put beer in there. Ever juiced twelve lemons? It’s the dullest activity known to man (or woman). After what seemed like a fortnight of squeezing lemons, I put the (surprisingly still quite full) bowl – now containing half the original number of lemons – back into the fridge. Then I had to remove the remaining bottles of beer in order to make room for the two bottles of lemon juice. Brilliant.

4. Drinks. As there was now no cold beer in the house, and many, many lemons, I decided to have a cocktail week. The things that I have drunk at home in cocktail week have included: lemon drop martinis, gin fizzes, whisky sours and tom collinseseseses. Hic. All of these cocktails contain lemon juice, of which there is still a lot. Probably enough to keep Amy Winehouse in lemon-based cocktails for several months. Still, one of the benefits of having had lemon-based cocktails all week is that they’re a perfect match for…

5. Our Food. The meals that we’ve eaten in the past four days have been (in no particular order): pancakes with sugar and lemon juice, linguine in lemon cream sauce with smoked salmon, fish finger sandwiches with tartar sauce and lemon, and home-made bread and lemon summer soup. I have no idea what we’re having for tea this evening, but I sense that it may involve a lemon. And I don’t want to eat any more lemons. I think I may be turning yellow. And then there’s…

6. The Smell. The fridge smells of lemons. The kitchen smells of lemons. I smell of lemons. My wife smells of lemons. The entire ground floor of the house smells of lemons. Our cat now lives in the garden because of the smell of lemons. Our neighbours have been looking at us strangely all week, presumably because of the smell of lemons emanating from our house. If you were to send a letter to:

The house that smells of lemons,

York.

We would probably receive it. Please do not send any circulars. Or lemons.

7. The Lemons Are Seemingly Infinite. Despite having consumed so many lemons that my blood is now 29% citric acid; despite having reduced half of their number to juice; despite having made my wife consume so many lemons that she could possibly use it as grounds for divorce – “Being married to him was horrible, m’lud. He filled the kitchen with bicycles and forced me to eat lemons.” – there are still many, many bloody lemons in the fridge. At the current rate of consumption, they will probably last for about three months…

…which is when the limoncello will be ready. Will this lemon-hell never end?

September 3, 2010