Cook The Books

Gok Cooks Chinese: The Review

That’s a whole lotta Gok

Gok Wan is somewhat of an easy target. With all his hair flicking and shrieking of “you can do it, babes,” and grabbing of middle aged women’s breasts and forcing of housewives to get their thread veins lasered off, throwing casual insults his way is easier than taking your bra off and walking down a makeshift runway in a shopping centre outside Hull. For starters, he calls his fans Gokettes, and pictures of them in his glasses on his website form part of a Gokette’s Gallery. You’d think this blog post would write itself.

But I take people on face value, and having never seen more than ten minutes of How To Look Good Naked - and his new cookery show having not aired at time of writing - I have to judge ol’Gockles on the three times I’ve met him. I use the word “met” as casually as you might idly pick up a pair of his Specsavers specs, glance at their lilac frames in your hand and cast them aside, for on none of these three occasions would I have even registered on his consciousness.

The first was in Bristol, in 2006. I was on the cider boat with some friends, and after three pints of 7% Festival Proof Scrumpy the subject turned to one Mr Wan, who had recently become a TV phenomenon. “I can’t stand him,” I sneered, despite having never seen the show, though to be fair after that much Scrumpy I’d have held the same opinion of my own grandmother. Moments later, walking out into the sunshine, we were confronted with Gok standing on a street corner, looking long and lean and louche. “Hi,” I simpered, hoping he’d not been on the boat and heard my drunken diatribe. He beamed beatifically back. And that was the first time we “met”.

Then a few months ago at the Soho Hotel he held the door open for me with the sort of passive aggressiveness I thought only I was capable of. “Come on then,” he said meanly, tutting and sneering as I sheepishly held him up by walking through the doorway, past his angrily tapping foot, delaying him by a whole second and a half.

But only a couple of weeks later he flirted with me in the queue at Sainsbury’s. I got ID’d for wine (Best. Day. Ever) and he jokingly suggested he hoped he’d get the same treatment, and I made some remark about how hey, if they were asking me my age they clearly needed to visit his line of glasses in Specsavers, and he said that not at all, I looked very young, and we both laughed and smiled, and was that a frisson that passed between us? and all the time I was thinking about how he had been so rude when he’d held the door for me that other time and that all this charm was too little too late, but ooh, perhaps he was actually quite nice, and that well, I just didn’t know where I stood on whether I liked Gok or not.

But fortunately he has conclusively provided me with a concrete way to judge him – yes he’s got his own cookbook, entirely based on the Chinese food his dad, Poppa Wan, served in the family restaurant Gok worked in throughout his teenage years. “At last,” I cried, as it landed on my desk. “I’ll finally know whether I should flirt back next time I bump into him at the supermarket.” But just like my previous ”meetings” with the man, the results don’t determine a thing.

Gok’s Sesame Prawn Balls with Stir-Fried Cucumbers

Sesame prawn toasts are one of my favourite things in the world. They’re greasy and toasty and salty and surely make up at least half the wine glass full of fat that I once read in Metro is in every Chinese takeaway, but Gok’s version does away with the bread base and adds some stir fried cucumbers. It is also totally impossible.

Not pictured: the stir fried cucumbers, which by this stage I couldn’t be bothered with, or indeed any actual prawn balls

I followed the recipe to the letter. I chopped the prawns and water chestnuts finely, stuck them in a bowl with the sesame oil and mixed it all together. On Gok’s command I went to take an eighth of the mixture to form into a ball to roll in the sesame seeds…and it fell apart in my hands. “For Gok’s Sake!” I screamed. “This is the worst moment of my life!” My guests, over from Canada and expecting some top quality cuisine, rushed to help. “But there’s no binding agent,” they agreed. “There is no way this recipe could ever work.” I forwent the cucumber, cursing the name of Gok, and fried the prawn mixture as one. We ate it with a spoon, off one plate. Worst appetiser since the raw potato.

Gok’s Hot and Sour Soup

However, his Hot and Sour Soup was incredible. “Opposites attract!” begins his intro about why the two flavours work together, also neatly explaining why we would never get beyond the flirting-in-Sainsbury’s stage. With our glasses, love of scarves, and self esteem issues, The Gokster and I are as  one. I might marry him for this soup, however.

My version. Tasted as proportionately unlike vomit as it looked similar

Rich and dark, full of mushroomy goodness and tangier than Haribo, we all four licked our bowls clean. “And he doesn’t really even like mushrooms,” said my female guest about her boyfriend, staring at his empty bowl.

His Braised Aubergine with Pork

And then his Braised Aubergine with Pork fell somewhere in the middle. Served with his aromatic Wok Fried Beans it had an earthy flavour that came from the soy sauce and anchovies, but there wasn’t enough sauce – it lacked the oomph you’d expect from a man who talks to women about their breasts all day. “Yeah, this is fine,” everyone agreed, damning with faint praise.

And mine. Roughly as appetising as it looked

Of course, Gok being a former fatty there were no desserts in this book. We served ice cream and more booze instead, just like we were in a real Chinese restaurant. And that’s the problem with Gok’s endeavours. Flicking through it now, staring at recipes for Crispy Duck Plum pancakes and egg fried rice, I just want to order straight in from Deliverance, rather than make any of these things myself. It’s better than your average celeb-turned-cook cookbook, but he should have had the foresight to see that in an era where everyone’s a foodie, we really do need more than that. Perhaps he should have gone to Specsavers.

Cost of ingredients £27.35 (not including items already in store cupboard)

Appetiser * Shanghai Surprise, and not in a good way

Starter * * * * *

Main * *

Overall 5/10 It looks nice, and most of the recipes pretty much work…

Gok Cooks Chinese (Penguin, £20) Original Photography by Jemma Watts

Seasonal Spanish Food by Jose Pizarro: The Review

Artful artichokes resting on some tiles. Who cares why?

Sarah Beeny may be wrong about a lot of things – you don’t always need to be preggo on TV, you don’t always need to offer the death stare whenever anyone disagrees with you and you don’t always have to back people into submission (something she once did to me terrifyingly down the phone. She tried to convince me it was ok for her house to appear in Style after it had been in Hello, and I agreed with her gravelly voice of authority even though I knew my editor demands exclusivity. I then cowardly emailed her PR afterwards to say it was a no goer, feeling like that family on Property Ladder who put cladding on the house when they promised Sazzer B they wouldn’t). However, she’s right about one thing – you really do need to knock down all your walls and build a kitchen/diner/whatever, especially if you’re going to cook from Seasonal Spanish Food by Jose Pizarro.

After all, if there’s one sure fire way to lose points at Come Dine With Me – apart from falling asleep and dripping your hair in your avocado like Dawn from Preston – it’s when the host is constantly in the kitchen. “As the host was always in the kitchen, I’m giving him a……4” some drunk will slur in the back of the cab, holding the number card the wrong way up. Also, finishing off the dinner means that you miss out on all the action.

Some of the snippets I just about overheard going on at the dining table were:

“Was it worse than the time you accidentally shagged a junkie in his crack den?”

“Happiness is not meant to feel this way.”

“His penis is too big for that position.”

And by the time I was back in the room, serving up one of the many tapas courses (of which there were five) the conversation had moved on. So thanks, Jose. Because of your recipes I’ll never know when large becomes simply too much.

Let me explain. I’m in a book group – three girls, two gays, one book every six weeks or so. We probably spend about five to ten minutes each time on the book which only most of us have usually read, the rest of the evening is for drinking fizz, discussing boys, and eating food. But oh, the food! Since we’ve started we’ve had summer roasts, homemade pavlovas, even quails – it’s almost got competitive. With Jose’s two restaurants on Bermondsey Street being my favourite places at the moment I thought his new book would be ideal to uphold the standard.

But of course, I didn’t get home until 6.30pm and with guests arriving at half seven it didn’t give me much time to set the table, fluff the cushions and pick the perfect playlist – and pull together five courses.

I’d started the pudding the night before (it required part of it to rest 12 hours in the fridge) but everything else had to begin from scratch. Calmly rolling up my sleeves (there’s no point having a meltdown if my boyfriend’s not around to be at the receiving end, and the third rule of Book Club is that boyfriends are deffo not invited. The first is that you do not talk about the book at Book Club, and the second…well, you guessed it).

Jose’s Courgette Soup with Cheese

The soup was incredibly easy. Boiling some courgettes with chicken stock and then blending it with cream cheese, I began to think the evening was going to be ok. “This is delicious,” everyone cried, slurping it up in seconds. But then it was 8.50pm, and there were already three empty Proseccos nestling in my Recycling.

My still relatively-sober version

“Excuse me,” I cried, jumping up to head back to the kitchen. “Don’t talk about anything interesting!” The croquetas are practically Jose’s signature dish at the restaurants, so I was worried mine wouldn’t live up to his. I needn’t have – the recipe was straightforward, if time consuming.

Jose’s Ham Croquetas

The leek and ham innards had to rest in the fridge for an hour (they were the first thing I made after the playlist) but the dip n dunk approach to rolling them in breadcrumbs was fun – or about as much fun as being stuck in the kitchen can be when everyone else is swapping stories about dating Brazilian doctors (that was the most detail I ever really gleaned on that).

My version. Just pictured: The Book: Postcards from the Edge by Carrie Fisher, in makes-a-surprise-appearance-at-Book-Group shocker

“Don’t take this the wrong way, because I really like them, but they taste like an upmarket Findus Crispy Pancake,” said one guest. “Can I be really uncouth and ask for ketchup?” said another. It was 9.30, we were all pissed, of course she wanted ketchup.

Jose’s Deep Fried Goat’s Cheese With Orange Blossom Honey. If only mine had turned out like this

I blame the alcohol for ruining the next course. It was all going a bit too well  - the recipes working just that bit too perfectly. I’d fried my beetroot crisps like I was meant to and then chucked the goats cheese into the pan. It turned into a white, sloppy mess. “Oh, shit!” I shouted, re-reading the recipe. “I was meant to cover them in breadcrumbs.”

What necking two bottles of bubbles turns it into

Still, deep fried cheese goo with beetroot actually tastes pretty good, especially if it’s 9.55pm and your insides are sloshing with Champagne (we’d moved on to the good stuff by now).

Jose’s Pan Fried Pimenton Chicken with Mashed Potato.You want to dive in, right?

The chicken was easy, too. The only bit that took any time was peeling the potatoes (“He left me to go and be sick and then came back and carried on with the date” I heard at this point, as I snarled to myself, feeling left out). Doused in paprika and sherry they had a syrupy glaze which meant we ate them even though we were drunk-full, because they simply were that good.

Ah, the main reason for the book - as a placemat

“When are we going to get something green?” one of my guests asked, not outside of her rights of expectation. Fortunately the spinach, which I’d stirfried so sloppily that most of it littered my hob, was light and delicious.

Jose’s Apple Pie

I don’t remember much about pudding, other than it had to be prepared in three stages, and then took half an hour in the oven. Forcing it down at 11.30pm, I only remember that it tasted incredible, really vanilla-y, and that the pastry had kind of broken up as I’d heavy handedly rolled it on the only bit of my worktop not covered with dirty bowls.

And my version. See also: empty wine glasses

Eventually, at midnight, the guests left – drunk, full, and far more aware of each other’s gossip than I was. All the recipes were straightforward, successful (except when mixed with booze brain) and relatively easy. The only problem is that they all required immediate serving, so unless you have staff to cook them for you don’t really make good dinner party fare. Or simply get an open plan kitchen – something my boyfriend has, and I’m moving into his in two weeks! Did I mention that? Sorry, but I feel like I have to talk about my news now, seeing as I barely got to last night. So there you have it, Jose’s recipes. Perfect for people who actually have nothing to say to their guests.

Cost: £34.02 (not including items already in store cupboard

Soup * * * *

Croquetas * * * * *

Cheese * * (admittedly, not Jose’s fault)

Chicken * * * *

Apple pie * * * * * (probably - who can remember?)

Overall: 9/10 for delicious recipes, 4/10 for suitability for dinner parties. Maybe just go to his restaurants?

Published by Kyle Cathie. Original Photography by Emma Lee

What’s For Dinner? by Fay Ripley: The Review

Her easy recipes are the reason Mumsnet don’t go to Iceland, apparently

For members of Mumsnet there are no grey areas. Life is divided into two distinct groups - things they love and things they abhor. In the first set are Bugaboos, cafes which allow breastfeeding breeders to wop their waps out, and haranguing women who go back to work after giving birth. Things they hate include, according to recent posts, spreadable butter that “just isn’t fricking spreadable”, low rise jeans and the presenter on a CBeebies show called Iconicles.

Firmly in the “Love” camp is Fay Ripley, former star of Cold Feet, now advertising stooge for the National Lottery and reinvented saviour of all those busy mothers who feel strongly (as they do about everything) that they shouldn’t just buy ready meals from M&S but that, after a busy day bitching about the au pair over an organic extra-caff latte in Kensal Green, they just don’t have the energy for anything much more advanced. Fay’s last book was awarded Mumsnet’s coveted Best Cookery Book 2011, and What’s For Dinner, out March 1^st, looks set to win the same. It is aimed at that mythical moron who reads Grazia and actually says “OMG” out loud whilst reading about Jen’s romantic failiures, and then rushes out to buy every It shoe in the “Look! 20 New Must-Have Heels! Scream!” feature trailed on the magazine’s cover.

“It has to be said that a new handbag can lift my spirits for a week or so” warbles Fay in the intro, posing with glossy hair and what looks like a stale herby rock cake.”Obviously my children bring the usual surges of love that, in between nit combing and turning nagging into an Olympic sport, provide me with that warm glow of wellbeing.” See! She’s just like us! Only with more expensive highlights! “However, the glue that sticks it all together, that turns a moment spent smiling into a memory for life is….food.”

Oh no you dittn’t!

Anyway, her recipes are all well easy – the sort of thing anyone can follow, even those whose brain has been addled by spending entire afternoons alternating between reading the Gruffalo to their child and poring over the Daily Mail Online. And it pains me to say that they’re all actually crammed with good ideas.

Fay’s Comforting Rice and Garden Veg Soup

The aptly named Comforting Rice and Garden Veg Soup was like a risotto, only slightly more soupy. She sticks the rind of the parmesan into the soup during cooking, fishing it out at the end like an errant toy dropped by a naughty child, which gave it a wonderfully cheesy piquancy. No seasoning was needed at all – these are family friendly recipes after all – and it was ready in minutes.

My version. Also pictured, my bread maker which hasn’t been used since I went off carbs two months ago

The most tiresome part of the Crusty Pistachio and Cranberry Salmon was shelling the pistachios. Literally, all you had to do was blend them with some cranberries, rosemary and garlic, slather them on the fish fillets with honey and bake them for 20 minutes.

Fay’s Pistachio and Cranberry Salmon

The taste? Well, the honey was a bit too sweet and the sprig of rosemary per person a bit overpowering, but the idea itself was pretty nifty, and so easy that for the first time ever I managed not to have a cooking-induced meltdown at my boyfriend, innocently watching the rugby in the living room, as I brought the meal together.

My version. Ok, so I’ve not given up ALL carbs.

In fact, the Easy Lemon and Raspberry Tart was so, well, easy that I even had time to think about my relationship. We’ve been dating for a little while, the subject of living together has come up but I’ve been putting it off. We live less than ten minutes walk from each other, see each other all the time, but twice a week it’s nice to be able to lie diagonally across my own bed. “Don’t throw away the chance to move your relationship forward for two nights lying diagonally across your own bed,” my friend Ella counselled. “There’s so much more to life than that.” True, she has a point, but then she’s not over six foot, and going out with someone whose shoulders are broader than that crappy fake Manc accent Fay Ripley used in Cold Feet.

 

Fay’s Easy Lemon and Raspberry Tart

But over the dessert – whose pastry was a bit soggy and whose filling could have done with being slightly less tarmac-like in consistency – I began to think Fay was right. Food does bring us all together! It does turn a moment spent smiling into a memory for life! Imagine if I got to eat dinner with Will every night of the week, and smiled and made life memories every single day?

My version. I’m sure that in her pic her food stylist didn’t use the lemon rind, which made it look all messy. What a fake!

“I’d like to move in,” I said, as he was bashing his way through the lemon filling. He smiled (creating his own life memory, I’m sure) and said he’d love it if I did. We looked at each other shyly. We looked away. “We’re going to be a family,” I just about resisted from saying, as we beamed big lemony across the table.

So thanks for bringing us together Fay. Your recipes may need some minor tweaks here and there, but you have helped create one of my most happy life memories to date.

Cost of ingredients: £20.38 (not including items already in store cupboard)

Starter: * * * *

Main * * *

Dessert * *

Overall: 6/10. So easy to use, so quick to make, but so unrefined. Take it as inspiration for fast recipes and fiddle with the flavours.

What’s For Dinner by Fay Ripley, (Collins, £20) Out March 1^st. Original photography by David Munns

 

 

Gordon Ramsay’s Great Escape: The Review

Oh, Gordon. I wish you’d bat for my team

Oh Gordon, you big, sexy, sweaty hunk, you. You hulking Easter Island rockface, you domineering, sweaty man-beast, with legs as thick as a walnut tree, face as grooved as a walnut itself. You’re everything I could possibly want in my fantasy figure – you’d shout me into submission, call me a snivelling twat, throw a lumpy white roux all over me and storm out swearing at the cameras.

But you don’t make it easy for me to love you.

There’s that open letter you wrote to your mother in law. The constant gurning after the Beckhams. The dreadful Ramsay’s F word. And now…your book, Gordon Ramsay’s Great Escape. The cast list – including Mark Sargeant who wrote the recipes and Emily Quah the text – is longer than one of your Marathon training sessions. What did you actually do here, Gordo, (can I call you that?) other than hop around the Far East, playing cricket with the locals, posing for dreadful portraits like this one, above?

But then, what does it actually matter? You’ve long been merely a figurehead, off eating undressed spinach leaves with Eva Longoria, letting Stuart Gillies and the team at Gordon Ramsay Holdings quietly go about creating brilliant new restaurants like the awesome Bread Street Kitchen. Why should you, a cook, be expected to actually cook? You’re the heavily-lined face of this brand, not the workhorse who has to carry the load. Have another game of cricket, eh Gordy? Who needs to sweat above a stove?

And actually, the recipes were delicious in spite of your non-involvement – no wonder you were happy to take an expensable jolly around Mumbai in their honour. I don’t even like Indian food that much Mr Ramsay, sir, as I always find the smell of the spice comes out my hair follicles the next day. You probably know that feeling too, what with your lovely luscious locks. What shampoo do you use, by the way? Tell me you’re the secret softie we both know you are deep down. Tell me it’s Johnson’s No More Tears.

But I’m getting off the track, something your crashingly unsubtle charisma often causes me to do. Not only were your team’s recipes tasty, they were easy too. Not once did I have a meltdown at my boyfriend, which is customary in these proceedings, not once did I have to tell the guests to eat another cheese dorito as dinner wouldn’t be for another three hours. Not once did I have to curse your name, and everything you’ve ever put it to (even those awful pasta sauces) – this was  simple Sunday cooking at its best.

 

Gordon’s (team’s) Spiced Tomato and Coconut soup

Yes, the soup was a little on the thin side, but the creaminess of the coconut milk cut through the chilli to perfection.

And my version. Not quite so inspiring without the styling, is it?

As for the butter chicken, I’ve never eaten such a delicate dish.

The Ramsay Holdings ideal of Butter Chicken

So perfectly smooth and subtle and mild, like your pillow talk probably is, when it’s just the two of us and you can drop your hard-man image.

You like my courgette, Gordie?

And you should remember to congratulate your team on this fruit salad, too – it was as easy to prepare as it looks:

Team Ramsay’s Fruit Salad with Spiced Syrup

One guest even favourably compared the spiced syrup to Red AfterShock – “in a good way” – which I could only take as a compliment.

Healthy AND delicious. A winning combo. Just like you and me, bbs.

Thanks Gordon my old friend, your team really turned out another blinder. Look me up next time you’re in town, you can swear at me any day. And give my love to Posh!xx

Cost of ingredients: £22.73 (not including those already in store cupboard)

First course: * * *

Main Course: * * * * *

Dessert: * * * *

Overall: 8/10 – gains points for easy recipes and raw animal sex appeal, loses them for cheesy portraits

Gordon Ramsay’s Great Escape (Harper Collins) Original Food Photography by Emma Lee, Reportage Photography by Jonathan Gregson.

carved from a walnut stone, hair fashioned from