My grandmother's cooking is better than your grandmother's cooking

Every time my grandmother cooks its an event. Not only because the whole family descends upon her place but also because of the kind of stuff she puts together - always meat. Even though she is a vegetarian! Most of her recipes were honed keeping up with the ever adventurous demands of my grandfather. If ever he ate something that took his fancy he would describe it to my grandmother or have her get the recipe - even in restaurants or when they were out travelling - and a recreation would follow. My grandfather wasn't one to mince his words. If it was crap, he would let it be known. Over a few attempts the dish was perfected.

The other thing that my grandfather was notorious for was playing a sort of recipe book roulette. He'd come home, sit around for a bit and then start going through recipe books. Once he'd find something that seemed worth a try, it would be all hands on deck - my grandmother's hands that is. Now the kind of stuff that he enjoyed wasn't exactly the kind of stuff that you can pull out of a packet. And he was a stickler for not cutting corners - if something had to be cooked over a wood fire, that was the way it was going to be. Most evenings were dedicated to the discipline of dinner.

This particular recipe is from our family food bible - a cook book from the House of Sailana. A fairly simple recipe this. Goat meat with lots of coriander, green chilies, ginger, garlic, all put together in an earthen pot and cooked slowly in its own juices over a wood-burning open fire.

Despite the fact that this particular recipe, as well as others, are printed in a book, there exist handwritten notes for each and every one of them. And I'm not just talking about odd scribbles here and there. Besides my grandmother's experience, I am convinced that the pot, which I remember from my childhood, and the wooden spoon, that has more than half a century on its side, definitely have something to do with how good this dish turns out every single time.

This dish goes great with bread.

Ish liebe Deutchland!

I know it's been a month since my last post, and let me assure you it is not because I haven't eaten since. I've been rather uninspired. Bloody bored. But there's nothing quite like Bavarian food to brighten your spirits. Well, the last time I was out for Bavarian food, it involved a whole lot of chanting, dancing on tables, and then spending the next 3 weeks nursing a broken ankle. Wouldn't blame the brew though. Or would I? Can't remember.



I was looking at ze menu and I couldn't help thinking - "ah this is some solid, rustic, wholesome food". Rustic, wholesome, and ze likes, often used to describes food, describes more accurately what ze food is not, rather than what ze food is. In nouvelle cuisine ze main feature is more often than not placed in the centre of the plate, as though drawing upon itself a sort of planetary importance, boulstered by other elements of ze dish circling around like moons. Nice at times, but too perfect most others. You never look at something like that on a plate and think to yourself - "I can't wait to dig in." It's more like - "It looks great. Genius. Maybe I'll look at it some more before I send ze perfectly symetrical, dandy arrangement into a  worm-hole-like chaos." A distraction, in a way, for a glutton like me. If nouvelle cusine is a selection of the best bits from the whole world arranged as a delicate system of balance on a plate, then Bavarian food is ze whole damn universe! And in my mind, in food terms, the whole universe contains, and should only contain two things - meat and starch.

On occasions, when ordering something off a menu, my expectation of how large ze dish is going to be does come into consideration. There is nothing worse than ordering something that is not enough, Not the case with German food. Order even a salad and they plonk a entire garden on your plate. With all the wildlife ofcourse. I ordered a Liver Dumpling Soup to start.

Good soup this. A meaty, marrowey broth. Well seasoned, as all good food should be, sprinkled with Parsley. The Liver Dumpling, no different to a Faggot. Just right considereing what I had coming.

Ze Leberknodel !

For ze main course, it was ze Roast Pork with a Potato Salad. The Pork was cooked to perfection. Ze best hunk of pig I have had in a long long time. Skin and fat left on. Would make a madallion look like baby food. The Potato Salad, good too. Tangy, like most Germany accompaniments. Goes well with the fattiness of ze meat. Had some crispy lardons of bacon on top, just for good measure. It's almost like the more fat they can introduce, to what's already a super heavy dish, the better. I like a lot. Fat's got a bad name. It's the best carrier of flavour. And that's the most important thing about food - the way it tastes.

Ode to the Rogan Josh

Rogan Josh is to Indian cuisine, what Fish and Chips is to Britain, or a Pizza is to the Naples. An embodiment of sorts. However, the popularity of any dish is often the beginning of the end. An end of what made the dish so great in the first place. You'll know what I am talking about if you've eaten a portion of Fish and Chips at a Turkish joint, at some unearthly hour, in the UK. Frozen fries, not chips, and soggy batter don't do the institution any justice. Same with the Pizza. Any Nepolitano would cringe at the thought of anything on a Pizza other than Plum Tomato sauce, some Mozzarella and Basil. The Rogan Josh is no different.

You can find a Rogan Josh on most meat serving restaurants' menus - if not all. And any meat dish on that menu, with a brown gravy, can pass off as a Rogan Josh. A dish that has been around for as long as Indian Cuisine itself has fallen victim to, not time, but it's popularity. The problem lies in what people have come to expect from a Rogan Josh - a basic mutton curry with a brown gravy. Just as people have come to expect a bread base with a tomato sauce, cheese and whatever else you want on it as a Pizza. Bloody ruined! Gone to the dogs.

Rogan Josh, in the UK - and I mention this here because I may have heard this dish mentioned more times in my 5 years spent there than I have in all the years spent India - has fallen prey to the 'scale of blokiness' that ranges from the 'pussy' Korma to the hairy chested 'Vindaloo'. A very clever marketing tool used by 'Indo-British' restaurants, no doubt, but not very good for the traditional, timeless, Indian curry.

I cooked what I think was pretty close to the authentic recipe a few years ago. It was by a women called Mrs. Balbir Singh, a heavy weight of India cooking in the 1960s and 70s. I can't find the recipe now and the book has become a collectors' item since it went out of print. But yours truly has managed to procure a second hand one from the UK - with a little help of course. The other recipe that I think is pretty authentic is in a cookbook called "Cooking Delights of the Maharajas" by Digvijaya Singh, The Maharaja of Sailana. This book I have. My bible of sorts. Will be pitting Mrs. Singh against Mr. Singh once the book is received from London.

Until then a little lesson in food history. The Rogan Josh was brought to India by Timur in the 1400s. Timur, a high-roller in his times, rolled with his expert cooks on his conquests - the Wazas. The Wazas were the Gods of the kitchen. Wazwan cuisine would make any opulent meal of today seem like a take-away. There were more than 30 courses back in the day. But just as the recipes have changed, so has the theatre of it all. The Kashmiri Pandits make their version strictly without onions and garlic and use asafoetida and fennel instead. I buy into the idea of there being no onion in a proper Rogan Jogh. Both Mr. and Mrs. Singh agree. Wikipedia has some interesting theories on where the name comes from, but I wouldn't take their word for it, especially because they list blogs (very much like the one you are reading) as sources. Fools.

Anyway in my attempt to uncover more about the Rogan Josh, I have come across numerous recipes. Some interesting, others not so interesting. But one thing is for certain - it would be a tall order for anyone to make the claim that they have the original recipe. However, Wazwan cuisine is not just about the food. It's about the processes which lead to the food being prepared, and consumed for that matter. So I can tell you with a certain confidence that the brown stuff you get in most restaurants in not a Rogan Josh.

Watch this space for a recipe that probably is.

Fried masala fish - Mumbai Style

You get into the rut of working and before you know it, you've actually managed to survive, just barely, an entire working week eating just chlorophyll and gluten. But thanks to a little glad somewhere deep within the subconscious mind, before I go into cardiac arrest from food boredom, my being starts displaying unmissable symptoms. Day 2 brings on periodic bouts of dismay, followed by that "it's going to be okay soon" feeling. On day 3 the hopeful feeling is been replaced by an "it's the end of the world" sort of thing and the dismay gives way to an aggressive cynicism towards everything. Day 3 is a bad one. There is an anger. But not a destructive anger. It's a "I am so angry that I think a little cry might help" kind of anger. A pitiable state. Day 4 is hilarious. At least it seems that way now. You are going mad and you know it. Yet can't do anything about it. I start seeing life in butcher charts. It's incredibly bizarre. The drive home becomes a little hazardous, stray cows, a cause of distraction. I start playing this game in my head where I rate stray bovine, out of 10, on the basis of muscle distribution, rump cover, rib extension and carcass quality. I'll smile to myself when I think I've spotted a winner. An imaginary blue ribbon awarding ceremony follows. The crowd cheers. The winning specimen bows it's head in humility as a result of this massive honour bestowed upon it. All the other cows moo as the Chosen One is led away by men in hair nets and white aprons, all to the sound of a 12 inch blades making repeated swift contacts with steels. I know ... I told you it's mad! This is followed by a restless night and a feeling of certain doom in event that the sad state of affairs is not dealt with.

This Wednesday was day 4. I hadn't cooked fish in while and I went to buy just that after work. I bought this fish that I always see at the market, but never buy. It's local name is Bakra Macchi. Literally translating to Goat Fish. Goatfish is also a name given to a group of Mullet but I am not sure if that's where the name comes from. If you know your fish, out with it. Even more local names are very welcome.

A basic masala fish is quick, easy and delish. Most regular fish eating families in India would have their own versions. Coriander seeds, coconut, chili, turmeric, mustard seeds, ginger and garlic would feature in most them. Here's a version that I reverse engineered from what I ate in Mumbai over one home-cooked Sunday lunch. The masala used to marinade the fish would also make a decent base for a curry. Just cook it with some water and coconut milk and you have yourself a simple curry to throw some fish chunks or prawns into.

Any white sea fish would do for this. Scaled and gutted, leave the fish whole. Make the customary cuts both sides of the body.


Bakra Macchi

For the masala, whizz in a grinder:

• roasted coriander seeds
• roasted grated coconut
• roasted mustard seeds
• red chili power
• turmeric
• juice of one lime
• ginger
• garlic
• a little bit of vinegar
• salt

Coriander seeds will make the base for the paste so be a little generous. The coconut will take away some heat so don't be shy with the chili. Grind all the dry ingredients first and set aide. Then whizz the wet ones before mixing both together and give it all one last spin. Add water to get a spreadable consistency.

Seasoning a marinade can be tricky. Just remember - season boldly. The marinade has to compensate for the lack of salt in the fish. I read in one cookbook, don't remember which one now, that you can season your marinade about 7% more than what you think is normal to account for the meat. I think 8% works better.

  

Let the fish marinade for some time. Three quarters of an hour should do it. Before shallow frying in a pan coat the fish in semolina (rava). And there you have it.

The Heart of China

Dear Great Leader of the People's Republic of China,

Nihao!

Much though I wanted to write to you earlier, I was unable to owing to the fact that you have had to restrict access to websites that have the potential to mobilise public opinion. I, like you, am also of the belief that free-will is unnecessary and over-rated.

I was in Beijing for half the day and I felt compelled to visit 'The Heart of China'. So what if it's nowhere near the middle of the country? I must say, downtown Beijing is a beautiful place. The old city gates are truly magnificent. I, however, think that 'palace gates' is probably a better way of describing them since in their day only the Emperor and his sycophants and posse stayed in the 'city'. Nonetheless a slight linguistic cock-up doesn't belittle the grandeur of the structures.

The 2nd gate

The main gate

Having admired the gates, and having wondered how the bloody hell the you still keep them looking like they were built yesterday, I went into Tiananmain square. And what a square it is. An epitome of order. A showcase of discipine. I felt a sudden urge to start marching with my heels digging deep and my chin tucked in. It was noting like what I expected. There were no bullet hole ridden walls from the time you were forced to use live fire to control angry students. Students can be very dangerous. I know. I was a student once. In my country, and most others, a site of such mischief would be preserved as a reminder of where the country had lost it's way. What a waste of time. Your clean-up job though is worth commending.

Museum to the right of the square

Gate to the Forbidden City, guarded by Mr. Mao

I then walked towards the gate of the Forbidden City. And behold! A picture of the greatest of all Great Leaders - Chairman Mao. I didn't have the pleasure of knowing him in person but I am quite certain he would want nothing to do with the American-style hot dog cart that parks steps from his memorial. I also witnessed the great audio-visual display in the middle of the square that was screening one of your many, superbly directed, propaganda films. I couldn't stay and watch the entire feature but understand the screening was about Xianjin, the Muslim, oil and gas rich province, that you are so selflessly trying to incorporate into your great land. On that note, whatever happened to the plan to integrate Tibet into China by offering free lifetime food to Tibetan women who married Chinese men? Any luck? I rear my own chickens and goats and do see how forced breeding can be used for a greater social good.

Ankle deep in propoganda

Knee deep in propoganda

Chest deep in propoganda

Nose deep in propoganda

After feasting my eyes, my stomach needed some attention. Leaving the old city, I went into the market just opposite. Not too far in, number 30 to the right, was where I had heard I could get the best Peking Duck. Do you prefer Beijing Duck? Not only that, I was ecstatic to hear that this was the place where the icon of the East was actually invented. Then, I was very disappointed to find out that there were no seats, and would not be for a while. I had lost all hope of sampling the fatty goodness when mass commercialisation came to the rescue. It is a great idea to have a fast-food version of the traditional sit down restaurant under the same roof. You've even put an outlet at the airport so people can take pre-cooked ducks home with them? You clever fox.

The place where Peking Duck was invented

Enterance to the place where Peking Duck was invented

Street on which there is an enterance to the place where Peking Duck was invented

I was happy with the size of the portion, which is a rare occurrence. I ate 2. The duck was moist, as I had expected. I am pretty sure it wasn't much different from the one served in the restaurant - minus the table-side carving of course. The skin was not as crispy as it should be but good enough for a fast-food joint. I hope I can enjoy the duck the traditional way, and not on a plastic plate, next time. Have you tried roasting the duck with any wood other than apple and pear? I reckon cherry or orange would go well too. No?

I washed down the Duck Pancakes with some Duck Bone Soup. I saw Duck Webs in Mustard on the menu. Maybe next time. I had a additional plate of condiments on the side - with cucumber, pickled walnuts and jasmine buds and some green beans. This was the best fast-food meal I have ever had. Even better than  the time I ate a kebab in a London kebab shop, with a sozzled friend, a portion of Chips and Cheese, a dozen pickled jalapenos  and a chilled bottle of Mumm.

Peking Duck

Peking Duck on plastic plate

More plastic plates



Duck Bone Soup

Anyway, as I was leaving I asked if the place I had just eaten at was still run by the founding family. What I was told was that the place has been state run for years now! Genius. Next time could I please have my Hoisin Sauce container filled to the brim? Thank you.

Yours faithfully,
Vikram Singh

Where is meat made?

meat   [meet] –noun

1. the flesh of animals as used for food.

Meat eaters fall under two categories. One; those that eat animals. And two; those that, for some reason beyond my comprehension, seem to forget where meat actually comes from. The latter I despise - more than vegetarians. Most people who eat meat seem to forget, or choose to forget, that a steak mooed not too long ago. I took a few Americans to dinner in Germany last September. Situated on the Main, this boat club served up some of the best food I've ever eaten. Local oysters, fresh fish, some German classics like the Schweinshaxe, the works. I went for the Calf's Liver with Mash, Roasted Apples and Gravy. A couple of my guests, Baked Seabass with Lemon and Rosemary. What my dear friends from The United World of America did not realise that the Seabass was not going to come out of a tin. They stared at their plates, as the fish stared back, not knowing how to start on the damn thing.

There was this show on British television called Kill it, Cook it, Eat it, where some specimens from the British public watched their meat go from pasture to pot. I am not proposing a soap-esque drama like that. I am proposing something much more radical!

If you eat meat and have never killed your food - shot it, slaughtered it, or clubbed it across the head, if you like eating baby seals - then give it a shot. If you still keep to your eating ways, which I hope you would, you will appreciate your meat a lot more. If you gag at the thought of having another bite of meat then good riddance, and if you carry on eating meat believing it came from the 'shop' you are the worst of the lot. Ignorant and damned.

I have been rearing my own animals for food for a few years now. Chickens to be precise. I rather that my food live well. While it lives that is. I don't think an overcrowded cage, where chickens wallow in their own shit, is much fun. But that's what most meat eaters settle for. Me included - most of the times. But if I can rear my food, I do. It normally leads to better ingredients to cook with, a longer association and a deeper involvement with your grub and, well, a certain satisfaction. Not to mention better food. And that's what it's all about.

I am currently in the process of building such an association with a couple of goats. Haven't named them - I don't name my food.

Breakfast of champions?

“Breakfast is the only meal of the day that I tend to view with the same kind of traditionalized reverence that most people associate with Lunch and Dinner. I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon; anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas or at home — and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed — breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned beef hash with diced chiles, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of Key lime pie, two margaritas, and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert… Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours and at least one source of good music… All of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked.”

- Hunter S. Thompson

courtesy: Dr. Green

Multi-cuisine. No, really!

I haven't been getting as much time as I used to to cook, let alone to write about food. Still eating well though. A lot of time is spent reminiscing about the good grub of the near past. And given that despite being technologically backward I went and got myself a BlackBerry, I thought it might be a good idea to use my thumbs while on a flight to Bangalore. Speaking of which - I haven't had a good Dosa in a while. Pretty fed up of the Shiv Sagar type nonsense. Before that though I have a reheated meal out of a plastic container to look forward to!

Anyway, the past - one of my long held food beliefs was challenged in Goa recently. I am generally quite sceptical of food in multi-cuisine joints. May have something to do with all those road side laaris that  read - Punjabi and Chinees/Chines (or something to that effect) Food. In this country Chinese and Punjabi seems to cover 75% of what can possibly come out of a kitchen.

If you've been to Goa, seen a typical menu at a shack and have the same apprehensions as I do, you wouldn't think of a shack as a place you'd go to for a meal - more like a place to go eat when you are slightly incapacitated by all the drinking. There are plenty of good, proper, restaurants in Goa. Many a portion of fried and quite a few Veg Manchurians later (thanks to my vegetarian friend) we chanced upon Bay View, in Candolim. The shack spots  on the beaches get auctioned every year and Bay View has been around for 15. The menu is very typical, but order your food, from all over the world, and you'll know why I give the little joint special mention and a solid recommendation.

The ordinary shack with an extra-ordinary kitchen

I did'nt hold back and ordered a Prawn Vindaloo (pronounced Vind-Aaloo I am told by a trusted beef griller), a Goan Prawn Curry and a Goan Sausage Curry. All with rice and rotis.




Prawn Vindaloo

 

fore - Prawn Curry, following - Goan Sausage Currry

The prawn dishes were superb, but it was the Goan Sausage Curry that really did it for me.  The Goan Pork sausage was cooked in a spicy gravy with potatoes. Quite full-on on the flavour front. Garlic, paprika, quite like a Chorizo. Very much like a Chorizo in fact! Now a lot of people will turn their nose away from a Goan sausage. Something to do with eating something that eats something  that's already been eaten. - don't care. The damn thing is delicious. So Bay View scored on the Goan cuisine. And it should. It's in Goa after all.

And then came the surprise. Surprises rather. The Paneer Pasanda that the friend (he isn't really) ordered. Fantastic. Better than what I've eaten at most Punjabi or Muglai places. The richness of the cashews really came through. Its wasn't cooked in a hurry and you could tell. Another  friend ordered a Spaghetti Bolognese. Brilliant again. Pasta was al dente, the tomato sauce was subtly flavoured (not something we Indians do well) and richly tomatoey!

Truly a multi-cuisine joint. A must go next time you are around during the season.

Easy as pie?

I have always admired people who can bake. It isn't like cooking where you can just whack stuff together. Baking drills a certain discipline into you, teaches a cook how to follow orders when the urge is to do otherwise. No wonder some of the best chefs in the world train as pastry chefs at some point in their career.

Now, I knew baking wasn't easy, yet so easily forgot. A disastrous attempt at making puff pastry sent me crashing down to earth this evening. I knew the ingredients I had weren't perfect. To begin with, I only had plain flour as opposed to strong flour, and I was a little short on butter. Though I did not expect fireworks to begin with, I was horrified at how different the pastry was to anything remotely like puff pastry. It sure was nothing like how I had imagined it.

Not saying that it's time to put away the butcher's knife and bring out the oven mitts, but most certainly time to give the cake tins a little attention.

Gamda nu khavaanu

I seldom hesitate in telling people of the non-Indian credentials of the Chicken Tikka Masala or the Balti. Indian food is more than that. It's about marrying countless spices in accordance to timeless recipes, about impart flavours through patience and pain. It's about serving up rich portions of food in generous proportions. Food fit for kings. Or is it?

These ideas of extravagance are most certainly not false. But, there is another India. If Indian food is what most Indians eat on a daily basis then this is it.

I have been working on 'The Land' for the past few days, coming home in the afternoon for lunch, and to get out of the blistering mid-day sun. Its been a while since I ate there, with the care-taker and his wife, and some good gamda nu khavaanu (village food in Gujarati) was long over due. Cooking in rural India is no easy feat. The wood has to be foraged and prepared, the fire tended to with great care and, in the case of dinner, the setting sun to race.

Sunita cooking the potatoes and eggplant

The village spread

The food can best be described as functional. Wheat is not on the menu of most rural households. Coarse grain such as corn, jowar (sorghum) and bajra (pearl millet) are the order of the day and the bread is unlike the rotis or the naans served up in restaurants. The 'roti' (called rotla in Gujarati when made from these coarse grain) are heafty, dense and on most occasions eaten cold. They taste great hot with some melted butter on the top but labourers working in the farms do not have that luxury, and nor did I.

The bajra was cultivated on The Land itself and the veg was picked from neighbouring farms. Debts are settled in kind. The eggplant was paid for in grass for the farmers buffalo. I think the potatoes were too. It's all done on good faith. That afternoon only a handful of ingredients went into everything. Garlic, chilli, turmeric, and salt and lots of oil. Without non-stick cookware the copious amounts of oil is a necessity. The oil also helps prevent the food  drying up as left overs are consumed at the next meal and are stored in a cool place without refrigeration.

This is great food. Hardy and whole. Only one complaint though. No meat?

Of cuts

Having become very accustomed to, and fascinated by, butchery in Britain, I sometimes feel that there is something really wasteful about the way meat, especially lamb, is butchered in India. There is absolutely no distinction made between the various cuts. Lamb is broadly divided into the shoulder, the leg and the ribs. You can get paya (trotters) or the neck in particular, if that's what you are after, but mostly the meat is chopped up indiscriminately, into either medium, large or small pieces. With bone or boneless.

But then, this only bothers me because the sort of food I have in mind, stuff like loin steaks, braised shanks, Frenched chops (cooked rare of course) mean nothing to most Indians. I have come to the realisation that the kind of food I like would never make me millions in India. I got my butcher to cut me some double chops once - it was a very small lamb and single rib chops weren't thick enough - for some grilled minted chops I was making for one of my father's parties. When I cooked them it very quickly became apparent that no one there shared my love for meat cooked rare. Most Indians don't understand cooking meat to taste. The meat is either raw or cremated. And they like it cremated.

The way meat is butchered in India is a result of the kind of cooking. Curries are stewed for a fair bit, or cooked in a pressure cooker, so even the toughest meat goes tender. All the spices over shadow the meat's taste and make it, with its fat content, a carrier of flavour rather than something of flavour itself. Sometimes to get the meat really tender, very young animals are slaughtered - I have eaten curries with bones that looked like they came from a rodent (maybe they did) - and on other occasions the animals are over 2 years old - meat that would be considered mutton in Britain and isn't really used that much.

If I have been informed correctly, lamb is cheaper than goat (chevon) in India and some butchers will regularly peddle lamb to goat expecting customers. Again, as long as customers are getting meat they don't seem to care. Butchers will sometimes leave the tail hairs on the carcass to show customers that they are indeed selling goat. My butcher gave me a funny look when I first categorically asked for lamb. But then with the amount of business I give him, he will happily do as I say.

And hanging meat to mature? Unheard of. The quicker the animal goes from slaughter to pot, the better it is considered. This makes perfect sense given the lack of refrigeration at most butchers'. But why does all this concern me? Well, because what I can cook is limited by what the butcher can give me.

Solution? Butcher your own animals.

This only arrived in the post the other day. Even if I do not rear my own lamb anytime soon, I am keen to start working on carcasses or quarters bought from the butcher. It's just another way to get a little bit more involved with your food.

Chain pain

Just round the corner from 170 Gloucester Place, where I live, within a matter of about 200 metres, there is an ASK, a Subway, a Pizza Hut, a Pizza Express, a McDonalds, a KFC, a Gourmet Burger Kitchen, a Strada, a Nando's and a Zizzi. Just down the road from Zizzi there is a Giraffe, a Ping Pong and The Real Greek. Where the bloody hell are all these chain restaurants coming from? In the age of economies, standardisation, and franchising, we accept there to be some chain restaurants, but the number springing up these days is a damn disgrace. Oh yes, and another thing that has led to the pitiable state of affairs - feminism. If women had just stayed at home rather than getting into the workplace, the death of good old home cooking could have been averted and these sad excuses of restaurants would not have sprung up like mushrooms. Says Prince Rose. Not me. I am all up for feminism and all that bollocks. (Rose on the BBC).

There's something about most chain restaurants that makes me cringe. It's probably to do with how industrial they make the food feel. And how modular the establishments themselves are. I can't help but think of the kitchen in these places as assembly lines; food should NOT be prepared using flowcharts and  standard operating procedures. We are not talking of building furniture here. And what I find really disturbing is that this chain phenomenon has, from the junk food brands, crept into the kind of restaurants that serve three course meals. Not great meals, but meals nonetheless. There is an upside. More people can enjoy the 'dining out' experience without having to sell their children, but the food, ah, its just 'okay' at the best of times. Not talking about the junk food chains here - the 'food' there isn't really food.

Chains aren't all bad. My local butcher, Ginger Pig, is a chain establishment. They rear their animals in the Yorkshire Moor and operate a few shops in the Greater London area. They specialise in rare breeds of pigs, make some awesome sausages - they have a chili and ginger sausage, a real man's sausage. Will put hair on your eyeballs - and make some great pies and pasties too. And every time I go there I am greeted by the same man, who will have a bit of banter, put in his two bits with regard to how I should cook what I am buying, suggest something new that they might have, and just be generally enthusiastic about the food he sells. Oh yes, and they run butchery classes too.

My local fishmonger, FishWorks, also a chain. They source fish from small independent fishermen, and women, around the Devon and Cornwall region. Sourcing fish does not get more sustainable than this. Of course you can buy monkfish tails, halibut and sea bass from them, but they also have gurnard, bream, great sardines, sorry, pilchards, and other more reasonable and sensible fish. They normally have a damn good selection of flat fish. And ray wings. Talking about ray wings - the shop doubles as a seafood restaurant. And a damn good one. The roasted ray wing, with caper and butter sauce is great. Most of the food is very simple, and the quality of the fish is allowed to shine. A good selection of oysters too. Have enjoyed some great dinners there with some great people. Also runs a cookery school.

So, lets have some more chain establishment that are designed around connecting people with good food, rather than around getting people fed quickly, cheaply and, well, badly.

The namesake

The British love affair with Indian food has been going on longer than I thought. I thought the British found their curry buds - these have been scientifically proven to exist in all individuals who enjoy curry - during my parent's generation, but I was wrong. It was a generation before that. And curry is not just being enjoyed by masses of semi paraplegic drunken lads on tour. The Evening Standard, which is the jewel in the crown of the free press, found that 7 out of London's top 40 chefs (whatever that means) prefer to get an Indian takeaway on their days off. Heston Blumenthal, by his own admission, has been visiting an 'Indian' restaurant called Malik's, in Berkshire, most Mondays for over a decade. However, I do not share Mr. Blumenthal's, or any blooming Brit's, obsession with the 'Indian' food on offer in Britain. As far as I am concerned every single time I have gone to an 'Indian' restaurant in the UK, the food has never been Indian.

If you speak basic Hindi, have a vague idea of how a Bengali would speak Hindi and know that there is a massive Bengali speaking Bangladeshi population in the UK, then every time you see 'Aaloo Mutter' spelt 'Aaloo Moter' or 'Chicken Kadai' spelt 'Chicken Korai' you will know that you are in fact in a Bangladeshi restaurant. And this is almost always the case. In the case of the few that are not Bangladeshi it is pretty easy to spot that they are Pakistani. Because the Pakistanis will not even bother trying to be subtle about the identity theft. I went past a restaurant sign that read - "Lahore Grill, Indian Restaurant". This angered me, but let me assure you that I am not a food racist.

One of the beauties of food is that everyone can make it their own. You can keep what you like, get rid of what you don't, put in a whole lot of stuff that does not belong and still probably manage to pass it off as a version of the real thing. And you don't have to be native to a country to cook the country's food well. My local greasy spoon, which does the best all day breakfast in the vicinity is Italian. So Italian in fact that I have once felt the urge to order spaghetti meatballs for breakfast. A sushiya I went to for a very long time, and very often, was run by a bunch of Chinese and, just to drive the point home, my moules are better than any Frenchman's. Then why this venom when it comes to fellows of the subcontinent trying to cash in on the curry craze?

Upon reflection - yes, what used to be time spent day dreaming is increasing being spend reflecting on the state of things - my issue with 'Indian' food in the UK is that it is not Indian at all. Sure, it is a version of the real thing, but a version so unlike that it might as well be a cuisine in its own right. This is not a cuisine I find myself mad about. I have never walked out of a restaurant thinking I'd like to come back for some more. At the heart of the problem is the fact that no matter what you order you get the same slop with a few tweaks. This one time at an 'Indian' restaurant my Rogan Josh and a friends Balti were the exact same thing, the only difference being his came in a balti and mine had some fresh coriander as garnish (I don't think you would find coriander on a Rogan Josh in India). And that's what makes me angry. People deceiving the good public of this country as to what Indian food is.

But it's not all bad news. I think how 'Indian' food as evolved in this country is a testament to how people connect with food, even if foreign - not to mention a testament to great marketing. The Balti and the Tikka Masala aren't India, they are British, and I think they are pretty good, as British dishes of course. And viewed as British food, the sickeningly sweet Korma or the unnecessarily spicy Vindaloo start to make some sense. It's all in the name. So from this moment forth, speaketh of this as Indo-British food. Indian food is in a different league altogether.

Waste not want not

Roast Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad

I don't think I have ever been this excited about a book. This is more than just a cook book. It is part philosophy, part lifestyle and part holy text. It would be impertinent of me to even attempt to shower praise on this one. Anyway Fergus' (yes, we are the best of friends) Roast Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad is Anthony Bourdain's 'Death Row Meal' and I can't beat that. Thought haggis was pushing the boat out? Then you have another thing coming.

If you have looked at lamb hearts or kidneys and thought "umm yum yum", then at the risk of making this sound like some cult, this book will really make you feel like you belong. If you are anything like me then the Dried Salted Pig's Liver, Radishes, and Boiled Eggs and the Warm Pig's Head will instantly trigger a fury of what can only be described as emotions, and you will find yourself lost in thought, trying to imagine what the plate of food will smell like, taste like and most definitely, look like - the fact that the book does not have many pictures makes it much more engaging.

This is honest food. Rustic and unwasteful. And though offal is becoming fashionable (I had some rabbit kidney canapés at a restaurant Autumn menu launch yesterday), and it is most definitely fashionable to be seen at St. John Restaurant, let’s be honest, how fashionable can tripe or pigs tails actually get? And therein lies the beauty of this book and the recipes - they still excite and fascinate. It's all substance.

From a cook's point of view the stubbornness of the ingredients frustrates and humbles. I have lost count of how many times I have disappointed myself with leathery lamb livers on toast. My attempt at experimenting with cow kidneys in a beef stew was a disaster - my pride had to be let lose, and the kidneys fished out and binned. This explains what I am trying to say perfectly - "Nearly anyone - after a few tries - can grill a filet mignon or a sirloin steak. A trained chimp can steam a lobster. But it takes love, and time and respect for one's ingredients to deal with a pig's ear or a kidney properly" - Anthony Bourdain, forward, Nose to Tail Eating.

But the reason why this book really moves me is the philosophy behind the use of these, what some might deem archaic, ingredients. While the use of offal has only just seen resurgence in Britain, other parts of the world, such as most of Asia and even parts of Europe, Greece for example, never went off the stuff. This may be part frugality but something tells me it may also have a little to do with just plain and simple common sense. If it's edible, then in the words of the man himself, "it is only polite" to not be wasteful if you have killed something for food. Anyone who has ever killed one of their own animals for the table would probably know pretty darn well what I am on about here. If something is going to be raised for FOOD, EAT it. All of IT.

St. John Restaurant, London