A little bit of miscellaneous

On the cobblestone in front of the Pantheon in Rome. Funny no?


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A few days ago I decided the time for homemade hummous had come. It hits me a few times a year. It's one of those foods that doesn't excite me all that much, but every now and then I just feel like beating up some chickpeas. And G likes it, so whatever, right? The problem is that he has recently begun to insist that the chickpeas should be peeled. I thought this was an INSANE idea but I actually found proof of this in other recipes. I was not happy about that.

So this time I actually stood there and peeled 2 cans worth of chickpeas.
Really.

It was about the most tedious thing I can imagine doing. It's not nearly as fun as, say, peeling fava beans, which I actually do get a kick out of. So I'm kind of wondering, do you think it's actually worth it to peel them? Does it affect the flavour of hummous, for instance? I'm hoping you'll say no, but I'm willing to hear your arguments.

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On the weekend I bought some pork ribs. I've bought them once before but I just coated them in a homemade barbecue sauce and threw them on the barbie. This would be only the second time in my life buying pork ribs, and this time I had to cook them in the oven. I knew I wanted to use my unopened can of treacle (the British version of dark molasses) and after conferring with a friend, I mixed the treacle up with some sweet chili sauce and soy sauce and lathered it all over the ribs.
Man were those good. Rich and dark like mahogany, slightly sweet with lots of caramelized bits.

They were nice and meaty too, not fatty like some can be. We licked those bones clean I tell you.

And then I knocked my wine over onto our new rug. And while I gasped in horror G just said "I'm glad you were the first one to spill something on it and not me." And then he went back to eating his pork ribs.
Gotta love it.

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On Saturday my aunt was in town and we met up at Harrod's intending to do some shopping. We soon realized the golden rule and that is this: Do not go to Harrod's on a Saturday 2 weeks before Christmas. That's all I've got to say about that.

We hightailed it out of there, and hopped in a taxi because it was pouring rain, again. Our destination was Moro. She had never been there before and I LOVE taking people there for the first time. I had chargrilled squid with harissa to start, and my main was a wood roasted pork with chickpea puree and cabbage with pancetta and chestnuts.
Yes, it was good. The main dish felt kind of Christmasy with the chestnuts, and I will take anything that has a sprinkle of pancetta in it.


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And I think that's about all I wanted to get off my chest.
Now about that chickpea thing.. Peel or don't peel?



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(click on the label below for my other posts about Moro)

I have moved way past infatuation..

Last night I got my Moro fix again. You know how I rave about Moro, and if you don't, let me tell you, I love it.
LOVE. IT.

Raving about a restaurant can sometimes be a dangerous thing. I mean, if you bring a friend there what if they hate it? So when Clotilde and I decided to go there for dinner last night, she admitted to me that with all my raving her expectations were pretty high. And we all know that that can, more often than not, result in disappointment.

Oh dear.
I scratched my head in contemplation.
I hadn't even considered that.
I mean, it's Moro.

But suddenly I realized that it was entirely possible that I was blinded by love and maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be her cup of tea at all.

But people, let me just say it. The minute they put that freshly baked bread in front of you and you tear off a doughy chunk of it and dip in that fresh peppery olive oil you will fall hopelessly in love too.

And she did. Just like I knew she would.

I mean really, you could stop there and be happy. But then came the appetizers.

She's French, she wanted to try the sweetbreads with artichokes, preserved lemon and cardamom. I am Canadian, and scared of meats that are vaguely named, as though there is something to hide. But oh my goodness. Sweetbreads? Maybe I don't want to know what you really are made of, but you sure do taste good.

We moved onto charcoal grilled onions and broad beans with salbixada. Neither of us knew what salbixada was, but what the heck. We threw caution to the wind because we are wild and crazy. Turns out it's a spanish chile paste, and it was heavy with the smokey scent of pimenton de la vera. That spanish paprika that I seem to put in everything these days. (Man I love that stuff)

Our mains did not disappoint--mine: a wood roasted chicken with garlic and saffron vinegar and slow cooked green beans. Hers: the fish fattee--a charcoal grilled bream with spring vegetable pilav, dill yogurt, sorrel and pine nuts.

And then came the ultimate question: "Should we share one dessert?"
To which I replied: "No. We should share two."

And so we did.

The spanish cheese plate with membrillo came out and we washed it down with Moro's yogurt cake with pistachios and pomegranate seeds.

My heart beats a little bit faster just thinking about it.

Love will do that to a girl.


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You can find all the pics at Clotilde's Moblog!


Moro Website

Photos on a Saturday..

You now know how I feel about Moro, and now I am providing further evidence of my infatuation. The puffy, doughy pillows pictured above are from Moro's basic flatbread recipe found in their second cookbook.

And if I may be permitted to show off a little bit, what you see below is organic lettuce grown by yours truly in my very own wee vegetable patch. I mean, come on, the rain is still clinging to the leaves. Does it get any better than that?

So... who's coming over for lunch?