Cook The Books

Notes From My Kitchen Table by Gwyneth Paltrow: The Review

I’m not sure if it’s the resemblance that is frightening about this pic, or something else I can’t put my finger on

There’s a story doing the rounds of the London media about how, at Philip Green’s party on some exotic island recently, Gwyneth Paltrow was quietly jogging down the beach when she happened to run past Kate Moss, eating crisps and smoking fags on a sun lounger. “God, why are you running?” Kate is supposed to have asked sneerily, laughing with her Mean Girls gang of friends. “Because I don’t want to look like you,” Gwynnie allegedly replied. One version of the tale claims Kate then threw her crisps at her, another that they had to be kept separate for the rest of the party, but one fact is clear. Despite what you may imagine, our Gwyn has sass.

And for that reason, I love Gwyneth Paltrow. But it’s not an easy thing to do. For every time she’s seen jiggling her non-existent jelly with Jay-Z there’s a moment where she says “I first had a version of this [recipe] at a Japanese monastery during a silent retreat—don’t ask, it’s a long story.” For every far-better-than-the-show-itself cameo on Glee she’ll counter it by saying “One cold wintry day in London, I was dreaming about salad nicoise—one of my favourites.” And it’s hard to recall just how fun and bubbly she was on Graham Norton when, on another occasion she drones on about how, “during the strict macrobiotic chapter of my life, I ate miso soup every day for breakfast and sometimes with dinner as well.”

All three of the above examples are taken from her cookbook, Notes From My Kitchen Table, in which she opens her perfect life unselfconsciously for all of us to stare at. And stare we did – having gawped at Goop, her so-bad-it’s-incredible website, every newspaper rushed to serialise it, every fashion hound was suddenly spotted toting a bottle of agave syrup around town. No one cared whether the recipes were any good – they were written by a film star, and nothing else really mattered, right? With ingredients such as sautéed dandelions, and an entire section devoted to what to do with the wood burning pizza oven in your garden, this book was not for actually cooking from, but for gaining a greater insight into everyone’s favourite caped crusader.

Captain Gwynnie to the rescue - no more unhealthy suppers for us!

Until I decided to put her to the test, and serve up a Gwynnie Special for six last Friday night. Astonishingly, I managed to buy all the ingredients in Tesco – I avoided any recipes which sounded too outlandish – and could cook them all in my boyfriend’s kitchen – even though it doesn’t have its own pasta maker, or Oscar sitting above a sous vide machine.

Gwyn’s Ivy Chop Salad

And actually, everything was pretty straightforward. Because my boyfriend was still at work when I started the prep there was no one around to shout at, so instead I just calmly got on with it all. The Ivy Chopped Salad, which The Goopster name droppily says is “inspired by the famous vegetable grilled salad at the Ivy restaurant in Los Angeles,” was a summery mix of lime juice, lettuce, grilled courgettes, salmon and beetroot. “You can’t beat the beets,” one guest claimed, which was when I noticed the empty bottle of vodka which had been full when people had arrived just an hour before.

My version. I don’t know why the salmon looks like chicken, but it tasted ok

You see, my boyfriend loves to play host. He’s happiest when mixing up extra-strength martinis, or Cosmopolitans with double shots in them. As people got stuck into Will’s fourth, fifth, maybe even sixth round of drinks, we started to have the sort of fun that probably never happens in the Paltrow household, the sort which only follows twelvety glasses of my boyfriend’s special shock-tail. We began a photo shoot, copying the earnest shots of Gwyneth in the book as an homage to the great actress.

Note that her and I have the same olive oil. We’re Oily BFFs!

Yes, that’s little girl Gwyn second in from the left

Yes, that’s Elle Decoration’s Designer of the Year Lee Broom second in from the left

“Gwyneth is out of control,” claimed one guest, quite rightly, when we came across the shot of her throwing all her actress-y pretentions out the window and thoughtfully smelling some cherry tomatoes.

Unlike Gwynnie, I don’t grow my own basil

But back to the food, which in Gwynnie’s case no one ever really cares about – what we all want to know is why she fell out with Madonna, and what her and Beyonce actually talk about.

GP’s Duck ‘Cassoulet’

Her Duck ‘Cassoulet’ (inverted commas are all hers) was fine – the bean mixture was quite tasty but the duck could probably have been cooked a little longer, and the caramelised Brussel Sprouts, which she claims have converted many a “sprout cynic” were simple and surprisingly tasty.

My version. Slightly raw duck never hurt anyone, right?

Her Blueberry Pavlova, however, was superb. I’ve never made meringues before – my mother makes such a big deal about how much of a fiddle it is every year when she’s wheels out her Raspberry Pavolva at Christmas that’s I’ve always assumed it was impossible.

Her Blueberry Pavolva

Maybe my mum’s doing it wrong – or I’ve just proved where I get my skills at playing the martyr in the kitchen – but this recipe was such a doddle, and produced the lightest, fluffiest, most perfect meringues ever.

And mine. Despite drunken photography, deffo worthy of a Foodie Oscar

The next day, I woke up, still feeling drunk. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so mocking of Gwyn’s lifestyle diet after all.

Cost of ingredients (not including items already in store cupboard) £48.44

First course * * *

Main course * * *

Dessert * * * * *

Overall: 6/10 – minus a point for  “A lecture from Leonardo DiCaprio (when he was nineteen and I was twenty-one) about how such animals are kept and processed, made me lose my desire for factory farm pork and beef right there.”

Notes From My Kitchen Table by Gwyneth Paltrow (Boxtree, £20) Original photography by Ellen Silverman, homage shots by Charles Rudgard and Polly Broderick

The Little Paris Kitchen by Rachel Khoo: The Review

“Nothing here is styled”

By now, you’ll have had the perfect life of Rachel Khoo rammed down your throat by the BBC. Fancying herself as Croydon’s greatest export since Kate Moss, she uses her TV show and new book to swan around her home of Paris on her bicycle, buying baguettes, drinking coffee, probably having winsome affairs with existential poets she happens to meet on the Montmartre. She so carefully  and contrivedly markets her slice of the good life that she  makes Amelie look like she should star in her own ITV2 show When French Bitches Go Bad.

But I’ve seen One Day. I know you can go to Paris a disillusioned teacher and emerge as a best selling author. Perhaps this former nanny really had become a domestic goddess, and her carefully-styled floral dresses and cutesy kitchen (“Nothing here is styled,” she claimed disingenuously to a journalist recently) really were part of a perfect life. And with my parents meeting my boyfriend’s parents for the very first time, I needed all the help I could get.

Of course, I knew they’d get on. Parents have an endless capacity to talk about gardening, and what plays they’ve seen lately, and when they’re planning to retire. There are so  many pleasantries to exchange that there need never be a quiet moment with parents around – they’ll talk about anything so long as to avoid the blatant fact that the their respective sons get naked with each other.  

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” I rounded on my poor boyfriend, as the dessert, which I was making first, with two hours before arrival of the guests, became apparent it was going to be a lumpy mess. “Who cares if our parents ever met, why does it even matter?” “I thought it would be nice,” he replied lamely, staring at the brown sludge which was meant to be a light, fluffy mousse. “Stick it in the fridge, perhaps it will look better once chilled?”

My parents arrived just as I was putting the main course in the oven, his parents were moments later. The dads stood on the balcony and discussed all the London landmarks which could be seen across the skyline, the mums stood in the kitchen and talked about films they’d seen at the cinema. “I thought The Artist was ten minutes too long,” said his mother. “Oh, we loved it,” replied mine, and so on.

Meanwhile, I was slicing up the pears and potatoes thinly for Rachel Khoo’s Potato and Pear Gallette. “Is everything ok?” Will asked, putting his hand on my hunched shoulder. “Don’t talk to me,” I hissed, shrugging him off. “Take my dad out that coffee. For God’s sake.” You can see why he wants me to move in.

Rachel’s Potato and Pear Gallette with Roquefort

But actually, there was no need for much stress – all the gallette required was to place raw slices of potato in the oven with chunks of pear and cheese crumbled over the top. “This is a slightly more sophisticated French homage to my humble childhood favourite of baked potato and melted cheese,” Khoo blithers in what you imagine she thinks is an adorable way. Perfect for an informal but impressive lunch then, you’d suppose.

My version. And hers wasn’t styled, apparently

As the first forkfuls were eaten, silence fell for the only moment so far. “I’d give this one five out of ten,” my mother in law eventually said, diplomatically. “Perhaps the potatoes could have done with a touch more in the oven,” my own mother ventured, with tact. She wasn’t wrong. Almost raw wedges of potato, it turns out, is edible – just – but not enjoyable. “I think the flavours might need a little bit of something,” said Will’s dad. “Yes, but it was a very light starter and I don’t feel too full, which can sometimes happen with these things,” Will said optimistically, demonstrating his ability to find the silver lining in every cloud, and one of the reasons I love him.

Rachel’s Duck a l’Orangina

Khoo’s Duck a l’Orangina was more successful in that the duck, which had marinated over night, was perfectly cooked and full of a lightly spiced flavour. However her Orangina sauce, which could only have been easier if it had been poured from a jar, essentially bubbled away into nothing. Duck a l’Orange is covered in a gooey marmalade-y jus.

And mine. The sauce you can see was actually fat from the roasting pan, desperate as I was for something to drip over it

This was like eating cooked meat without any condiments – nicely flavoured but missing that vital last kick. “Well, the meat is very tender, much better than the starter,” said my dad, appreciatively, as the polite conversation about his new job faltered for a moment.

Khoo’s Chocolate Mousses

It was time for the dreaded dessert. Khoo’s Chocolate Mousse had sounded fiddly – and with every stage there was more possibility to go wrong. Her crème patissiere (one component of the mousse) was lumpier than a bowl of sugar cubes. “Give it a whisk with a fork to break make sure it is smooth”, her recipe had advised, but it was like stroking a vat of hardened cement with a feather. When I eventually managed to combine it with the cream and meringue it took on the texture of school custard, so I covered it with nuts like she recommended and consigned it to the dustbin of TV “chef” recipes – all style, but the only substance coming from the nobs of chocolate-y cornflour in her dessert.

Hmm

“This has a lovely texture,” Will’s dad said, incredibly, dousing his mousse in cream. “Yes, the lumpy bits are real chocolate!” I lied, taking another swig of wine. It did taste good, if you pretended to yourself you weren’t chewing on dry powdery lumps, that perhaps they were stray nuts from the topping, or real bits of Green and Blacks. “Yes, well done,” everyone else chimed in. “A delicious way to end dinner.” It was fundamentally a sham, of course, but I had just about managed to pull it off. Any parallels between that and Khoo’s Parisian perfection are merely coincidental.

Cost of ingredients: £25.47 (not including items already in store cupboard)

Starter *

Main course **

Dessert * (unless you pretend it was meant to be like that, in which case it tasted good enough to get a charitable * * * *)

Overall 1/10 Well, she’s nice to look at.

The Little Paris Kitchen by Rachel Khoo, published by Michael Joseph. Original photography by David Loftus