Foodie fashion

I’m clearly not up to speed with the latest in foodie fashion. Just the other day I mentioned to the Wife two items that would make great Christmas gifts for me: a pastry knife and a multipack of dish cloths; no more than a tenner each. But I find in today’s Weekend magazine that I should in fact be aspiring to greater, rather more expensive, things.

First, I should be reading the remarkable story of an Italian chef who set up an Italian restaurant in London: Giorgio Locatelli, who has a column in Weekend magazine and who I would guess, thanks to numerous TV and media appearances, is far better known for his grubby great hands and Romanesq features than he his for his 22 different types of risotto. Next, I should be making sure I’m armed with one of several River Café Pocket Books (£8.99 each from bookshops nationwide) just in case I happen across a pile of rocket, basil and some sun-blushed tomatoes this yuletide and am unsure as to how to turn it into a quick, rustic pasta dish. Finally, for £65 I can engage in some “Outrageously Organic Tasting” at Berry Brothers which includes wine and canapés. It’s a damn shame I don’t live in London you know.

Branding, branding, branding. A huge-conked personification of classic Italian food, a bite-sized serving of the contemporary version, and a trip to the only wine merchant’s you’ll ever hear anyone go on about, at length. Oh yes, the metropolitan foodie set is going to be skimmed proper this Christmas.

I, meanwhile, have been skimming the froth from a venison stew in practise for the Wedding next week. I need to get that meat cooked to perfection if this is to come off at all: not too chewy from undercooking and not too dry from overdoing it. So I put together a classy little pile of meat&sauce made from excellent wine and veal stock which is setting in the fridge ready for tomorrow, studded with properly-attempted turned carrots and uniform, peeled shallots. It is an experiment. By the time I was able to sit down to supper myself, on account of the stew, a lightning-speed fish pie I felt I had to make for the kids and the fact that I had said kids to myself all FUCKING day, it was almost 11pm. But I couldn’t have chosen a better meal, having only to slip half a dozen firm sardines under a hot grill and slicing a lemon in half.