Cook The Books

The Fabulous Baker Brothers: The Review

Which one is the hot one, again?

I read an interview with Delia in the 1990s where she moaned that whenever she went round to someone’s house for dinner they always cooked something fancy, trying to impress her, and all she really wanted was fish and chips or something.

#firstworldproblems

But when I invited my friend the renowned-food-and-drinks-writer Douglas over for dinner, I knew how Delia’s mates felt. (Sidenote: does Delia actually have mates? She seems too robotic to have anything other than football players whom she patronises, in both senses of the word). But as Douglas is a man who knows his claret from his Beaujolais, I had to wanted something a bit special. So I picked the new Fabulous Bakers Brothers book off my desk – it had a chapter called “Things Men Like to Make,” and Douglas was a man, so it was a sure fire winner.

I’ll admit, I’ve not seen any episodes of their new Channel 4 show. I’ve meant to – they’re all stacked up and waiting on my Sky box – but, well, watching Shipwrecked has been prioritised over them (ohmygod! Anna! whaddabitch etc). Anyway, Caitlin Moran, head of that sixth form girls-esque group who rule Twitter, has already proclaimed them the worst human beings who have ever lived, so forming my own opinion on them seems pointless and obsolete. Anyway, at least one of them is quite fit (I’m never quite sure which one).

I began cooking three hours before Douglas, our friend Jo, and my boyfriend arrived. As a starter I chose their Fish Finger Sarnies with Tartare Sauce, which comes with the pleasing directive to “eat whilst looking at a rainy window and thinking the world isn’t so bad when you’ve got a fish finger sarnie.” We didn’t do that – we ate with a glass of Sunday Times Wine Club Champagne (which expert Douglas assured me “smelt pretty good”) and constant proclamations from me about how fun and easy they were to make, and gasps from everyone else how about awesome they were.

The Baker Boys fish fingers. To be eaten looking at the rain, apparently

And they were actually pretty good. “Who bothers to make their own effing fish fingers?” I grumbled to myself as I laid out a plate of flour, a bowl of milk and egg, and a plate of breadcrumbs as my action station. But the process appealed to my obsessive nature: roll, shake, dip, roll, repeat until you have eight fish fingers ready to shallow fry just before serving. As for the homemade tartare sauce, all it took was to chop a couple of capers, mix them with some gherkins, herbs and mayonnaise, and you had Douglas claiming it was the best tartare sauce he’d ever tasted. And he eats out for a living.

I felt like a proud dad. They worked! And were easy! And I almost ruined them by running out of butter and covering the bread in Utterly Butterly!

But then the night went downhill. “I’m following the book exactly,” I’d explained to Douglas and Jo as they arrived. “So anything that goes wrong is their fault, not mine. Of course, if it goes right, I’ll take the credit too.” Sadly, the good name of the Fabulous Baker Brothers got besmirched over the event of my Beef Wellington.

Their version of Beef Wellington. Mmm, meaty stuff that men like to cook…

It sounded easy enough. You seared the meet – that was fine, even when a bit of blood spattered on my fluffy white alpaca slippers – and then wrapped it in the leaves of a savoy cabbage with some wild mushrooms before encasing it in the pastry. “Don’t leave any holes in the cabbage casing,” the book warned, “that’s what will ruin the pastry!” It was impossible not to leave holes – the leaves just didn’t stick to each other. I bunged the whole thing in the oven anyway, forgot about it, and then nearly had a meltdown as I had to serve up a disintegrating mess. The meat was uncooked at the 1 hour time directive – I had to break my own rule about how I’m not meant to break any rules. “You can’t serve it this raw, you’ll poison them,” said my boyfriend as he hacked of thick chunks and quick fried them in a hot pan. The meat was tough and stringy. The pastry soggy and limp. The whole thing looked like a pile o’crap, or deconstructed, if you will.  “Your broccoli is nice,” Douglas said gallantly, as I poured another glass of fizz.

My Beef Wellington. Meaty stuff that men don’t like to eat

The Rhubarb Queen of Puddings fell somewhere in the middle. The filling, poached with vanilla, sugar, orange zest and rosemary, was possibly the tastiest version of rhubarb I’ve ever had – and it smelled incredible whilst cooking. The base was fine to begin with, although the command to cook for 10-20 minutes, or until golden, actually meant it had to stay in the oven for 40. The Italian meringue was pretty good too – prepared by melting the sugar in the water until it got to 121C, and then pouring it into the beaten egg whites. With one hand on the electric whisk and another on the thermometer I had my second meltdown of the night. “Will!” I shouted at my boyfriend, who was busy getting drunk with the others in the living room. “I need you to hold this!” Thrusting the thermometer into his hand whilst I carried on beating the eggs, he looked at it rationally as it stuck at 106C. “It’s not going to get any hotter – it’s water,” he explained calmly, as if talking to an infant.

Their Rhubarb Queen of Puddings.To be fair, it does look pretty gay

Following a verbal tirade I accepted he had a point and poured the liquid into the eggs – it created the glossiest, smoothest meringue I’ve seen. The whole thing went into the oven happily. “Well, the pudding will be a success,” I boasted.

It tasted a lot better than it looked. The base would have made a nice cocktail, maybe?

“Why is the base so watery?” Jo asked 20 minutes later, looking at her meringue-covered rhubarb soup. “Can I have more of the topping?” Verdict: it tasted good, but looked like sick. Ah, but at least one of the Fabulous Baker Boys is hot.

Cost of ingredients, to serve 4: £37.87 (not including items already in store cupboard)

Starter: * * * * *

Main: No stars

Pudding: * * (for the meringue and aromatic rhubarb)

Easiness * *

Overall marks:  4/10 – the fish fingers were excellent, some of the bread recipes look good, and one of the Brothers is kinda pretty.

The Fabulous Baker Brothers: As Seen on Channel 4 by Henry Herbert and Tom Herbert

Published by Headline. Official photographs by Chris Terry.

Full of Flavour by Maria Elia – The Review

Maria’s chicken. How hard can a spatchcocking be?

“You need to spatchcock the chicken. Calm down, it’s not as scary as it sounds!” begins the recipe, complete with its own friendly exclamation mark, for Slow-Roasted Paprika Chicken with Butternut Squash, Smashed Butter Beans and Tomatoes. Obviously I panicked. The vague instructions spoke about cutting off the wing tips with scissors and then chopping out the backbone. Mid-meltdown, I made my boyfriend do it. “Shall we watch a video on youtube?” he asked. But that’s against the rules – the plan is to cook every recipe exactly as the book says, using only the book and no initiative, to judge how good it really is.

Fortunately my boyfriend is made of sterner stuff, and with the chicken now as spineless as me I was able to make the simple marinade and stick it in the fridge overnight.

The next morning, hungover, and with guests arriving in three hours for lunch, the act of cooking felt like too much. You know when you’ve drunk too much and everything is an effort, and why is there no Lucozade in the house and who are all these new characters in Hollyoaks? Yes, that.  Anyway, I took to my bed in a fit, bemoaning that preparing the parsnips three different ways for my Truffled Parsnip Salad starter was more than I could bear. In fact, two hours later, showered and almost without the sicky feeling the previous night’s wine had caused, it wasn’t. Cubing two and frying them in a lake of butter, roasting two more in the oven (the book said for ten minutes, or until golden brown – this actually took 30) and turning two more into a puree was as difficult as the whole meal got. Every stage was simple, the flavours in each – truffle oil with the cubes, sage with the roasts, milk in the puree – seeming like they could never be anything but delicious.

Maria’s Truffle Parsnip Salad. Everyone loves a good threeway

My replica. Liderally as amazing as it looked

And the chicken couldn’t have been easier too. Slowly roasting for two hours with the butternut squash, there was nothing to do but baste it every half hour, then add the beans at the very end. Obviously, post-strop, I was behind schedule, and our two guests arrived, on time, once it had been cooking for 30 mins. “Who turns up punctually to a Sunday lunch?” I bitched to my long-suffering boyfriend as Matt and Mark arrived with two bottles of prosecco and a bunch of lillies. “Lovely to see you,” I said cheerfully. “Hope you’re not hungry, dinner won’t be for aaaaaaages.” As the whole flat filled with the smell of paprika-y goodness we broke out the cheese Doritos. They’re practically a palette cleanser, right?  

My chicken. Almost the same, right? Note the lack of crushed beans. Bitch gotta work for them

The best thing about this dinner was that there was now nothing I needed to do, except wait. We drank the fizz, had a chat, and opened another bag of salt and vinegar Kettle chips – it was the most relaxed and non-stressful three course Sunday lunch ever. The meat was tender, juicy, full of flavour, the squash and beans the perfect accompaniment. It was a dish that looked impressive, smelt amazing, and yet you felt almost sheepish for how easy it was – spatchcocking notwithstanding. The only difficulty came when the book said to mash the butter beans in the roasting dish – but they were all mixed up with the tomatoes and butternut squash, and a pool of incredible juice.  I half heartedly managed to crush a few but as they started to make a mush with the tomatoes I gave up and served them whole.

Maria’s trifles. Sweet. Yes, really.

My mother never swears, instead using “Rhubarb” as a cuss word. We don’t know why, we’ve stopped questioning it, just one of those things mums do like ironing old wrapping paper to be re-used after Christmas, or recording Songs of Praise. To me, though, rhubarb is the most perfect ingredient, so tasty and easy and versatile. The Rhubarb, Rosewater and Ginger Trifle didn’t let me down – the whole course took just a few minutes to make after I’d put the chicken in the oven and tasted as creamy and perfect as a pudding can be. Obviously, mine didn’t look as neat as the ones in the book’s picture, but then it still goes down the same way, amiright?

And the homemade version. Not *too* shabby

Every plate of every course was returned clean, and after my unnecessary strop, which I’m blaming on the hangover rather than the recipes,  it was easier than pouring another glass of wine. “I’m going to buy this book,” said Mark, leafing through it over coffee after lunch, stopping at a Middle Eastern Inspired Eton Mess which mixes Turkish Delight into the meringue. And I would recommend you do the same.

Cost of ingredients, to serve 4: £28.73 (not including items already in store cupboard)

Starter: * * * * *

Main * * * * *

Dessert * * * * *

Easiness * * * * (Spatchcocking? Really?)

Overall marks: 9.5/10

Maria Elia: Full of Flavour

Published by Kyle Cathie. Official pictures by Jonathan Gregson.