The blog has now moved to the altogether simpler www.jamesramsden.com.
I’m in the process of moving your subscriptions over to the new site, but you’ll need to click ‘confirm’ when you get the email. That’s if you’d like to.
Would be thrilled if you did.
On a fairly regular basis I get a friend to come and host a night at the Secret Larder. We’ve had Al Instone from the School of Food, Ravinder Bhogal, Stefan Gates, and Oliver Thring, and I’m very excited to have Alice Hart and Georgie Fuggle, of the hugely successful Hart and Fuggle, next week.
But I’ve yet to let someone take over my kitchen entirely…(Jeremy Clarkson voice)…until now…
On the 20th June Pigs in Pinnies will have complete control of the kitchen, and I will not lift a finger, or indeed interfere. At all. Promise.
If you’d like to come to this glittering evening then send me an email – jteramsden(at)gmail(dot)com – it’s going to be a cracker.
And yes I know Friday is usually food news day but that’s happening tomorrow instead, with any luck.
Some time ago I wrote about the fridge slut, a dish concocted from the odds and ends in the fridge. It’s a dish that, I reckon, has a 50/50 chance of going well. There is always the very real possibility that your speculative marriage of maple syrup and spring onions is going to end in tears. But then it’s just as possible that your fridge sluttery will end in triumph.
Yesterday, buried under an avalanche of deadlines, I couldn’t face going to the shops. I boiled a potato. I fried some bacon and onion with a little thyme. I made an eye-watering dressing with English mustard and cider vinegar, then put my face in the fridge. Chives! Radishes! Salad leaves! All the above made a happy union on my plate.
But something was missing. I fried an egg. I bunged it on top then ate the whole slutty mess in one go. While watching Made In Chelsea. Ha!
Today’s lunch was more civilised. Fat English asparagus boiled for a couple of minutes, tossed in melted butter and served on garlicky toast with hot smoked trout and horseradish. Somehow the slut was better.
If you were to make a fridge slut now, what would it consist of?
Hark! I’ve penned a piece on the hugely enjoyable but rather costly Taste of London for lovefood.com. Why not have a gander here.
I know I’ve been neglectful of you these past few weeks. I haven’t written on you nearly enough, or updated the spurious little bits of trivia along your right hand column. My readers must think I’m an idiot – it would seem I’ve been reading Conrad’s The Secret Agent for about 6 months!
And there are bits of you that I’ve left a bit askew – The Secret Larder page, for example…just what the hell is going on there?! It’s all bulbous and nigh-on unreadable.
What’s happened to the searingly insightful, deeply informative yet hilariously witty weekly news round-ups, you’re probably asking. There hasn’t been one for yonks.
I can but apologise. It’s been a busy couple of months. I went to Australia. I ran a marathon. I put up some shelves. But I’m here now, and I vow to get this blog back up and running, to write more delicious recipes, random thoughts, and food news round-ups. I’ll fix your wonky pages, caress and coddle you, burnish you to a fine, coruscating glow. Oh! What fun we’ll have.
Yours ever faithfully,
James T. E. Ramsden.
Well, hardly a recipe. The title just about gives it away and I’m sure you could work out the rest. But the first asparagus of the year needs celebrating and celebrate I shall. Peruvian imposters had long been hogging the shelves, but as soon as that little union jack appeared on the green shoots I pounced.
Joy upon joys, I had a perfect goose egg sitting at home; rich as Mark Zuckerberg but not nearly as emetic, it just so happened that fried in butter over a medium heat it took exactly the same length of time to cook as the asparagus – about two minutes, that is, in boiling salted water. I put a lid over the frying pan for all of 30 seconds at the end, just to nudge the yolk along, and finished the asparagus with a little EVOO, salt and pepper, but this was a simple lunch that was ready in less than 5 minutes.
Serve with crusty bread, maybe a few shavings of parmesan if you fancy.
One of the great luxuries of writing about food (and indeed simply of living in a developed country) is that one is rarely hungry. We get to eat delicious scran and, when not stuffing it in our mouths, are generally thinking/dreaming/tweeting about it. However, (at the risk of sounding evangelical) there are many who don’t have this luxury.
For over 30 years Action Against Hunger have worked to bring food and clean water to places where it is wanting. Yesterday, for my small part, I ran the London Marathon in aid of AAH, in the dignified if not world-beating time of 4 hours and 37 minutes. Today I feel like I’ve been run over by a tractor. Happily, I can console myself with a huge lunch. If you fancy donating a few shekels to those who aren’t so lucky, then you can do so here – www.justgiving.com/ollieandjames