It was all going fine. I was adjusting to winter with seasonal gastronomy. The days were starting to get cold, really cold, but I was winning the battle. Armed with warming, rustic food, food of real substance, I was keeping spirits up.
Moro cookbook’s Oxtail with rioja and chorizo was cooked over two days but landed a heavy blow in this war of attrition with a hit of spice and warmth which induced thoughts of warmer climates yet felt so appropriate to wintry Britain. Well worth the effort, the suspicious feeling that this winter’s gas bill could cause a stress related ulcer was softened by the economic sense of the dish; a cheap cut of meat cooked in such a way as to produce lots of gorgeously beefy and rioja-y stock with which to make other hearty (which for me often means chorizo based) soups and stews.
Further advances were made thanks to Hollowleg’s Mixed Mushroom Ragu with Cheesy Polenta recipe. My previous attempts at using polenta had all pretty much floundered but feeling inspired I ventured once more and found it to be a fantastic basis for a quick meal (I served it simply with sausages) on evenings that are getting increasingly shorter. Nothing puts a dent in the battle formation of winter weather more than a gooey and rich cheesy polenta, so mature I expected it to come out with war stories of it’s own.
All was going well. Then this happened.
Now on the back foot, suddenly out of ideas, fatigue and weariness setting in, I feel I’m losing the battle. There’s nothing for it but one last charge. Into the valley of death (an icy Tesco car park) I shall ride and either be vanquished (wheels spinning as my poor Punto struggles on the ice) or emerge revitalised, spicy sausage in hand, ready to cook on in this war.
