A cruel chilli

I spend alot of the day dreaming up exactly what flavours I am going to use in my Maroccan chickpea curry-thing, with the only building-blocks being some fabulous rose harissa and, well, chickpeas. I have coriander seeds, baby spinach, tons of bouncy tomatoes, some lemon, onions - all sorts of things.
Then, whilst delving into my fridge to show off my outrageously purple rainbow chard to my (feigning interest) Spanish friend, I am disappointed to find it has wilted considerably. Damn.

Plans must suddenly change.

I have bok choi, still in very good nick, and all the usual things, by which I mean garlic, ginger, chilli, lime, shoyu soy sauce, etc. And some fat, deliciously worm-like udon noodles.

I finely slice the garlic, a good knob of ginger, and a fat red chilli, and cut the chard and bok choi into thick chunks. Frying the former stuff in some oil (NOT olive), I quickly add the stalky parts of the bok choi, then add soy sauce. In go the noodles then, and the chard and rest of the leaves, and I squeeze a lime over the lot. This has taken me about 5 minutes, from chopping board to bowl. In fact, it is just what I need tonight - fast, tasty and healthy; Saturday night's effects still with me.

Back in my room, I can barely wait to scoff it down, pausing only to press 'play' on a repeat of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Escape to the River Cottage, Episode 4. I shove a mouthful in greedily with my knobbly red IKEA chopsticks, and it's perfect; sharp, salty, umami heaven. Another lip-smacking bite. Then, on the third, things start to go wrong. My mouth is heating up, very quickly indeed. It stings. It burns. I didn't take the bloody seeds out of the chilli - I usually don't with these big ones. Evidently, today is not my day for chilli Russian Roulette.

In a frenzy, I pour a glass of milk, and down most of it. It is of little consolation to the inferno that is my mouth. I wait, then, stupidly, have another bite. I'm hungry, and I used my beautiful chard in this. I'm not going to waste it. But oh, the pain. I have now finished the entire new two-pint milk carton, and have resorted to Greek yoghurt.

I will spend the rest of the evening picking reproachfully at the bowl. Sod it. So much for the chard, and for my chilli bravado. Next time, I'll be more careful, but next time is not this time, and I'm still hungry. Of course, there is nothing to eat that will not leave me short for the next days' meals. Still, I won't admit defeat with the noodles.

And you know what? That chilli, my last one, deseeded of course, would have been so useful for tomorrow's chickpea curry.

Borough Bounty

A trip to Borough Market at London Bridge this weekend, and as usual, I am filled with the same excitement as the proverbial kid in a sweetshop. January is said to be a boring food month, but come here to be shown otherwise. Of course, there is the usual vast array of regulars; the same dedicated lot who show up every week to bring us their delectable wares from all over Europe.

Many people I have spoken to reject the idea of going to Borough on the grounds that "it's far too expensive, isn't it?". On the contrary, this is mecca for any hungry student bored by the banal, looking for something exotic. One could easily eat to their fill here; a massive lunch of miniture tapas-style bites, one or two from each of the vast number of stalls.

Imagine; whet your appetite with a few nibbles of heavenly bread dunked in some tzatziki or perhaps aubergine mezze from Greece and North Africa, then meander the salume stalls - a bite a wild boar salami here, an exquisite taste of Brindisa's chorizo there - and a mouthful of every possible cheese you could imagine, from wine-marinated l'Ubriata to delightful French comte.

Then to the sweet stalls, for a melt-in-the-mouth nugget of Turkish Delight, a teensy slice of deeply chocolatey tart or a generous crumb of the BEST brownie you will ever taste. All washed down with sips of local apple juice and cider.

A 10,15,20+ course menu degustation - for free! Get thyself there next Friday or Saturday (but in the morning, before the tourists descend).

We come back with a couple of spanking-fresh squid and four enormous tiger prawns the size of small lobsters. Yes, they were pricey, but a weekend treat far cheaper than a night out on the lash, and far better. Also, beautiful tomatoes, a salame made from wild boar-cross pigs in Northerm Italy, a crisp head of bok choi and some heady basil, and vivid rainbow chard the colour of 80s lipstick. And a soft, floury, heaven-scented ciabatta from a stunning Italian girl at the Flour Station.

But the oranges are what draws me today. This is the thing with markets using seasonal produce - go without a shopping list and feel yourself being inticed by whatever glows, jewel-like, from the treasure trove that is this noisy, bustling, godsend of a place.

There is a cart of blood oranges, £1.80 a kilo. They are alive with flavour and loud, loud colour. I buy about three kilos, for juice, sorbet and stickily greedy devouring. Also, a wooden crate of teensy clementines, sweetie-like, the leaves still intact, begs me to lug it home until I give in. £3.60 to last me two weeks at least (or one greedy, vit-C bingeing one).

We fry the seafood in chopped garlic, chilli and parsley, scoring the squid bodies so they curl up beautifully as their tentacled counterparts coil up bouncily. Their juices, a tomato salad, with olive oil and torn-up basil, and the sliced salame, all are welcome for the vehicle of Italian bread, torn greedily as we go. Bright, juicy, vibrant oranges and a home-made chocolate mousse (chocolate, eggs, sugar) finish up this flavour orgy perfectly. Then, of course, we all get a bit too drunk as we haven't had enough carbs. It's perfectly good fun, apart from the sore head the next day - a small price to pay, and it's Sunday, anyway.

Comfort food, pure and simple

I spend the weekend at home, being fed like a November turkey with all the luxe foods I rarely eat at university. There is crab, lobster and English breakfasts. A detour to see The Boy, with little time or inclination to cook, sees me making a sort of jumbalaya, pinched from this month's delicious. magazine. Comprising spicy chorizo, big juicy prawns, lime and spring onions, it is both comforting and lively, and oh-so-easy to put together.

Monday evening was spent with a fellow foodie student - a Jamie salmon dish and then some French cheeses, washed down with Tanqueray and a few (too many) glasses of wine. Perfect. Then a large lunch in the not-to-shabby campus 'cantine' leaves me too full to cook, though a delivery of the basics does arrive.
I absolutely adore Nigel Slater - he quietly rebukes the 'celeb chef' label, thus making him and his recipes by far the most approachable. I have devoured all of his books with as much gusto as many of his recipes, and his feel for writing matches perfectly his absolute sensitivity and appreciation for seasonal food cooked beautifully. In short, every single one of his recipes is a dish that I would love to cook and love to eat - something I have never come across before. What's more, unlike the Gordons and Ricks of this world, there is nothing of his that I could not afford to cook. Promise.

Tonight I cooked a dish inspired by one of his, from The Kitchen Diaries, a truly fabulous, read-it-as-a-novel sort of book. Hearty, healthy and a cinch to cook, it has left me feeling comforted and homely; even inspiring me to do a bit of pre-spring cleaning - unusual for me. I roasted a few good-quality, full-flavoured sausages whilst cooking some puy lentils on the hob. Meanwhile, I chopped a bit of garlic, halved some little plum tomatoes and grabbed a handful of baby spinach. After draining the lentils (and believe me, this is a far cry from any student-lentil associations anyone may have), I used the fat from the sausages to gently fry the garlic, and at the very end added the tomatoes and spinach. Just before it wilted, I tipped the whole lot onto a plate, plonked the sausages on top and scurried into my room to greedily devour the lot away from sight. Comfort food at its delicious and and inexpensive best.

Thai soup

Just chuck a load of Thai-type stuff together, like ginger, garlic and lemongrass, add stock, some fish sauce and lime juice, sugar and whatever else you have meat or veg-wise - for me, some sliced chilli, pepper, spring onion and udon noodles which I happen to have. Good enough.

Tabbouleh Tuesday

My Tesco or Sainsbury's online shop usually costs me about 30 pounds a week, aiming for this to cover nearly everything. It usually does.
Today, all from things in this order, and pomegranates from a Middle-Eastern stall in Stepney Green (much cheaper, you see), I made a tasty sort of tabbouleh-thing with pomegranate and feta:

bulghur wheat, cooked, cooled and drained
pomegranate, seeds bashed out
feta
herbs - parsley, coriander, basil, all or any
1/2 a red chilli, deseeded and finely chopped
cherry tomatoes, halved
fresh spinach
lemon juice and olive oil

I just mixed everything together, crumbling in the feta and then making a dressing with the pomegranate juice, lemon juice and olive oil. It was great; really lively, pretty and felt healthy and virtous in the best possible way.
The leftovers (always useful) will be for dinner with some leftover lamb which I will sear and slice, adding any juices to the whole mishmash.

The story so far...

Having just moved to London a couple of months ago, and facing several obstacles: time, resources and the dreaded b-word (that's it, budget), I was worried with how I might continue to feed myself in the way I had previously. General feeling is that students are terrible eaters; lazy, uninterested and poor. I wanted to prove that this generalization can sometimes be the other b-word.

London is full of fantastic foodie opportunities. A huge multicultural centre, we have amazing variety on our doorstep, much of it pretty cheap. Weekly markets, foreign shops and supermarkets provide rich pickings for students to find and try all sorts of different foods, meat and veg (typical student deficiencies) included.
Realistically, supermarkets are going to play a decent role - it isn't always possible to reduce your carbon footprint without increasing your budget - which is fine, as there is incredible variety available here too.

Wherever you shop, I want to show that it can be cheap, easy and relatively quick to feed yourself fabulously.