Pancakes

"They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam."

One of the most evocative descriptions of pancakes ever, it is that of William Allingham. Thinking a little more closely about the poetry, however, I have to say that I prefer my pancakes not to be crispy. Also the idea of yellow tide-foam sounds faintly repellent. Like yellow snow.

In my opinion, pancakes are not worth ordering in restaurants because in the time it takes to get them from pan to table, their point is lost. The times I have had soggy, sodden, cold disappointing pancakes. In a kitchen straight from the pan and on to the plate in front of the eater. Ideally the person producing them is not overly keen on eating them.

As for fillings, forget, please, about over-elaboration. Lemon and sugar are all that is required. Thus the perfect pancake will have contrasting flavours as well as contrasting textures.

Delia Smith has the best recipe in her Complete Cookery Course.

Oysters

The first time I ate an oyster, I described it as like eating a lump of seawater but interesting.

Now I am very happy making my way through a dozen oysters as a pre-starter, preferably with a glass of Pastis with ice, the clear drink turning milky with the addition of water. I used to do this in the town of Meze which looked on to the Bassin de Thau, a sea lagoon where oysters were farmed.

One time in Meze, friends staying with us came up with the idea that for lunch, we should have oysters on the beach. Away they disappeared on their errand. Our friends returned with a large pannier of oysters together with several lemons. My mother, an expert, was press ganged into opening them all. After a while, we children were sent away with a handful of oysters each to bash them open on the rocks. I recall thinking that sand and oysters do not mix.

On my brother's wedding day, we were not in Meze but in a village outside Winchester. This was for a pre-wedding lunch for the groom and family. One of the starters was "six oysters". So I ordered "six oysters". What arrived were six plates of six oysters. Thirty of the oysters were accordingly sent back but the bill (which I failed to check before settling up with my father's credit card) still charged for the six plates.

Raw is how I like eating them best although an oyster gratinee is a fine thing as well. I have never tried tinned oysters but they come recommended in one of Susan Coolidge's Katy books as having a remarkable flavour all of their own - a tinny flavour if I remember rightly. Another of my favourite literary references to oysters comes in Lewis Carroll's "Through the Looking Glass" and the Tale of the Walrus and the Carpenter:

"But answer came there none,

And this was scarcely strange for they'd eaten every one."

Reading that poem is one of only two occasions when I have ever felt sentimental about eating oysters.

The other was when I was Christmas shopping in the Conran shop where there is or used to be an oyster bar. I stared at a delightful sight: a mother, a godmother or an aunt taking out an eight-year-old for a plate of oysters. Both adult and child appeared utterly absorbed in eating and I resolved that one day I would do the same thing.

Simple roast chicken

I love chicken with all the trimmings - and at some point I must find out why the word "trimmings" is used to refer collectively to things like bread sauce, sage stuffing and pigs in blankets. But the apparent effort of producing these extra things, delicious though they are, I think puts us off having roast chicken on a week night.

Here, then, are my views about three essential ingredients to add to your plump raw chicken: plenty of salt rubbed into the skin; butter ditto; and a lemon stuffed inside. If I were allowed a fourth ingredient, it would be twigs of thyme, tarragon or rosemary, tucked all over the bird. (I am wondering while I write this whether an onion could also be fitted inside, and black pepper ground over the skin: enough!)

After five minutes' preparation, the chicken can then be put in the oven. Mashed potato and green peas to accompany the bird. A quick gravy can be made from the buttery, lemony juices.

Curiosity

It has just occurred to me that a significant number of simple and versatile foods end with the letters -on, namely: lemon, salmon, bacon, melon, onion, cinnamon and, if I am allowed it, maccaroon. And, even less allowed, capon. And tarragon. For a recipe which uses three of the above ingredients, see warm chicken and bacon salad.

Tequila

A thirtieth birthday party when Tequila shots were brought round reminded me of an occasion many years ago (in fact in about the year the birthday girl was born) when my parents entertained a Mexican at our house in East Dulwich.

I have no idea how he ended up staying with us but he brought with him a bottle of Tequila and gave us a lesson in how to drink it. We were all assured that his was the authentic way. There were the three stages. A pinch of salt on the bridge between the thumb and the index finger to lick, a swig (no shot glasses!) of the Tequila, and finally a sip of tomato juice from a separate glass. Somewhat extraordinarily, I was permitted to participate. Personally, my favourite bit was the salt and lemon juice.

Since then, I have never seen anyone drink Tequila in that fashion. Instead the form appears to be to start with unadulterated salt, then to down a shot of Tequila and finally to suck on a lemon slice. That was how we did it at Katy's thirtieth, anyhow. One of the deleted scenes from "The Office" involved an interesting variation on this theme in which the lemon slice was held between somebody else's teeth.

Lemon

So much of a lemon often gets discarded: the pips, rightly; the skins, which is often a waste (see Lemon pickle (2)); but most often the part that does not have a name. I will call it the residue. Imagine chopping the lemon or juicing it. On the chopping board or still in the juiced lemon is a mixture of flesh and juice, of solid and liquid. The point is that there is nothing inedible about it. Both the flavour and texture are good. Just for stirring into a mayonnaise or a curry, say.

Are there any other fruits or even vegetables that have so many different parts from the cook's perspective: zest, peel, juice and flesh. Compare other staples: onions, garlic, carrots, celery. All essential ingredients but in each case only one part that can be eaten: I might be prepared to accept that celery has a couple of other parts beside the flesh with culinary value: the leaves and the seeds.

The lemon is one of my eight desert island foods. Its ability to cut through richness, to alter flavour, to destroy blandness makes it a crucial thing to have around. Then there's always lemon pickle...

MOT

Stands for marmite, onion and tomato. That doesn't do it justice. Let me do some explaining.

First, good bread: one of those slightly dry "pain de campagne" or a baguette. Lightly toasted. Then spread marmite thinly on it; butter underneath the marmite if you wish. Finely chop some cherry tomatoes, or any other kind of tomato, provided it isn't Dutch. Then finely chop a shallot, or about a third of an onion. Mix with the tomato and squeeze on some lemon juice. Scatter it on the marmited toast. Scrape the tomato juices and any stray pips from the chopping board on to the bits of toast as well. Eat.

Lemon pickle

You know those jars of preserved lemons that you can buy fairly easily? Whole pickled lemons. In brine, I think. Slightly browned like an overripe banana. I am probably not making them sound appealing and that is the intention. Next post (I started writing this one and got side-tracked) will be about an alternative suggestion.