Foodie spending

How much do I spend on food? This post was inspired by the first post of an interesting new blogger, The Skint Foodie, who has pointed up the nonsense of most government statistics on the subject of how much households spend on food. Apparently the most affluent 20% of us spend £38 per person per week on food and drink. Haha! HahahaHAhaHAHAha! One thing I’m pretty certain is that the most affluent 20% go out for at least one meal per week, with wine, which would suggest that they must spend the rest of the week rummaging through dustbins.

Anyway, we can laugh at government statistics all day. How much do I spend on food?

I’ve got a great advantage in answering this question. In 2010 we set off travelling around the world for a year (and blogged it), and this meant keeping a daily budget of absolutely

every darn thing we bought. It didn’t prove onorous, taking less than 5 minutes a day, and was instructive. Even if we ended up over-budget. Once we got home it just seemed natural to continue the habit, so I’ve got a record of our spending over the last six months. Not right down to the last bacon rasher, I do tend to just put “Butcher, £8.40”, but I certainly know how much we’ve spent on food.

It’s a lot. Actually, it’s the biggest part of our weekly spend by a long way.

So I ought to cover our eating habits in brief. Living in Ludlow, we’re surrounded by great local food shops; in consequence, I go to Tesco for exactly two things: loo rolls and chopped tomatoes. We eat well at home, but everything is cooked from ingredients; no ready-meals or cooking sauces. I like to buy good things, too. We only drink filter coffee, only fresh local juices, good quality chocolate, artisan cheese, you get the idea.

Eating out. Nothing like as often as when we lived in London! However, there’s probably one big (>£80 per person) meal every month, plus one or two other dining occasions lower down the price range. Of course there are also plenty of times when we’re out and need lunch, or dinner, or breakfast, or just a coffee. We’re foodies, so we don’t stop off at Pizza Hut or McDonalds. Maybe once a month we have a takeaway. And don’t forget that just because Christmas is special, doesn’t mean it gets excluded from the budget.

And so we come to the big figures. Over the last six months our average weekly spend per person (for a household of two) was…
£37 on groceries (excluding booze)
£6 on booze for the home
£41 on general eating out & takeaways
£61 on fine dining
Grand total: £145 per week on food and drink, each.

In context, our total weekly spend per person on everything except household bills is £330.

So food is where nearly half of our money goes. And I pulled out the booze deliberately to show it wasn’t going on bottles of old claret! In my defence, eating is probably my favourite pastime. But I’m only 10 stone, so it’s quality rather than quantity here. Recalling our eating habits back in London, this would easily have pushed over £200 each per week and the weighting would have been much more towards eating out.

Conclusions?

  • The Skint Foodie, aiming for £40 per week himself, is definitely a skint foodie
  • The office of national statistics couldn’t count its own buttocks with both hands
  • Food is a stupendously important part of our life and spending
  • If we ever needed to cut back, a moratorium on fine dining would be the best idea

I’d love to hear what other people spend weekly on food, and how it compares. Because I’m nosey. I do think it’s a useful exercise, but only if you try it over a few months. A trip to the Fat Duck will seriously skew your eating-out figure but it would be invalid to exclude it, just as the week before Christmas will skew the grocery (and booze!) figures but would be equally wrong to exclude.

Spiced game stew

Quick! While it’s still game season! Many good butchers will do a pack of mixed game; cubes and chunks of whatever they’ve got, and I think mine had at least venison and pheasant in it. D’you know, I didn’t really look that hard.

Anyway, I’ve really enjoyed Christmas this year as the season of spices, and I’m still in the mood for putting exotic warmth and depth into anything that will take it. A rich, melting game stew can definitely take it. The load of spices add a great deal of intrigue to the simple stew. I’d serve it to royalty without blushing or mumbling “sorry ’bout the ‘umble fayre, ma’am”.


Spiced game stew (serves 4)

1lb mixed game, cubed
1 tbsp plain flour
3 rashers smoked streaky bacon
1 large onion, chopped
1 stick celery, chopped
1 turnip, cubed bite-size
1 carrot, chopped bite-size
1 chunk of celeriac, cubed bite-size
5 star anise
5 black cardamom (or green)
5 cloves
1 stick cinnamon
2 bay leaves
½ dried chipotle chilli (opt.)
1 glass Madeira
¾ pint beef stock
  1. Get a big casserole dish really hot on the hob. Dry-fry all the spices (except the chilli and bay) for a minute, then set them aside but leave the dish on the heat
  2. Season and flour the game, then brown it in a knob of butter. Set it aside in a bowl
  3. Add another knob of butter and start frying the chopped onion and celery. Chop the bacon and add it, frying everything up and scraping up the burnt bits from the browned meat.
  4. Next toss in all the other vegetables and keep frying for another 5-10 minutes, moving it about occasionally so none gets burnt
  5. Now add back the meat, all the spices (chop the chipotle up), the glass of Madeira and then the beef stock. I’ve said ¾ pint, but basically you want enough to almost cover everything, with the odd little island of meat or veg still visible
  6. Put the lid on the casserole and pop it in the oven at 170C for 1½ hours, at which point the meat should all be beautifully tender and the vegetables soft and soused with flavour

You know what, you can substitute the turnip, carrot and celeriac for about the same amount of many other veggies. Try parsnip, or a squash, potato, swede, maybe even j-chokes? You can leave out the chipotle chilli, although it only adds warmth; there’s not enough to raise a sweat. You certainly don’t need to use Madeira, either port or red wine would be fine, or indeed a bottle of dark ale (use less stock).

This stew wants to be served on a plate with one starch and one green. Mashed potato and purple-sprouting broccoli, or roast potato and curly kale, or whatever else you can dream up.

The one thing that might annoy the royal dinner guests would be the bits of whole spice in the stew. I’d fish out the cinnamon and bay leaves, but the other bits are too fiddly. Then again, this lot are used to finding lead shot in their game! They aren’t going to mind spitting out the odd clove.

Pork sous-vide(ish) and chestnut

Here’s a question for you. If it’s possible to cook fillet of beef by leaving it in a hot water bath at 50C for several hours… would you cook yourself if you stayed in a hot bath for just as long? Scary thought.

That’s sous-vide, by the way, for anyone who hasn’t come across it. Your meat is vacuum-sealed in a special plastic bag by a special little machine and popped in a special hot water bath that can keep the water at a precise temperature for several hours, or even a couple

of days for some meats. Meat tender, flavour locked-in, still pink but safely cooked, it just remains to pan-fry for a minute each side to give it some attractive colour.

I don’t have any of this special equipment, but surely a big saucepan, a milk thermometer and some clingfilm would do the trick? How very Blue Peter.

I settled on pork tenderloin and got a couple of nice steaks from the butcher. The water bath was actually the easy bit. After getting my biggest saucepan up to 62C I just put it on the tiniest hob on its lowest setting and – give or take the odd tweak – it stayed pretty much steady for the 1½ hours needed. For the vacuum I used plenty of clingfilm and tried to wrap the steaks very snuggly, then tied off the ends with string. It looked pretty good to me, but there were a couple of air bubbles which resulted in slightly uneven cooking as the water isn’t transmitting heat properly at those points. Worse, it also turned out that water got in during the cooking process. So: my pork was properly cooked, still very moist, quite flavourful, but not pink and firmer than I had wanted due to the bit of poaching that took place.

The rest of the dish worked a treat, so feel free to enjoy the recipe but either (a) cook your pork the old-fashioned way, in a pan for five minutes each side; (b) invest in proper sous-vide equipment; (c) perfect the clingfilm Heath-Robinson technique and tell me how you managed it!


Pork tenderloin with chestnut sauce (sauce is enough for 4)

2 pork tenderloin steaks
2 rashers smoked streaky bacon
For the sauce:
1 stick celery
2 shallots
1 clove garlic
200g cooked+skinned chestnuts
1 tsp fresh thyme
50ml Madeira
400ml vegetable stock
2 tbsp cream
2 tsp truffle oil
  1. Slow-fry the bacon until it is cooked crispy, then reserve the bacon fat and let it cool
  2. Season your steaks, put them on your clingfilm (in your sous-vide bag), pour the bacon fat on, wrap them insanely tightly (use the vacuum machine to seal the bag) and pop them in the saucepan (water bath) at 62C for an hour. Or pan-fry the steaks in the bacon fat after making the sauce!
  3. Chop the shallots, celery and garlic then fry them softly in a good knob of butter until golden
  4. Reserving 6 chestnuts, chop the rest and add them to the pan along with the thyme. Turn up the heat, then pour in the Madeira and let it bubble and reduce until just a sticky coating on the veg
  5. Pour in the stock, then simmer it for 25 minutes. You could use ham stock, or perhaps 50/50 with the veg stock
  6. Add the cream, give it another 5 minutes, then add the truffle oil and blend the sauce until smooth. Check seasoning
  7. Halve the reserved chestnuts, chop up the bacon, and fry them together in a little butter for a couple of minutes – they make a nice addition to the pork

I served this with a round of black pudding, some button mushrooms fried in butter and garlic, and a small bunch of red grapes. The whole dish was pleasantly autumnal and yet surprisingly light. No potato, rice or pasta because the chestnuts seemed to give enough starch. However, I think there’s any number of other vegetables that would go well here: pan-fried celeriac cubes, parsnip mash, shredded cabbage, braised celery…

Enjoy!

Goulash

Growing up, and then starting to cook at University, I can remember the horrible meekness of cookbook recipes where strong flavours were concerned. I don’t know if this stemmed from war-time deprivation and paprika rationing, or if it was just a timid British palate. Bolognese with a pinch of herbs, chicken jalfrezi with a teaspoon of curry powder. Thankfully we’ve mostly got it out of our systems. But nevertheless, look for a recipe for goulash and you’ll still find plenty out there that call for “1 teaspoon paprika” or – ohmygosh – for a really raunchy dish: “2 teaspoons paprika”. American recipes seem equally pathetic when it comes to putting in flavour.

Try two tablespoons. And make it smoked paprika while you’re at it. And stop buying those stupid little jars of Schwartz spices. If you’re going to do any authentic Indian cooking or even give enough punch to your goulash then you’re going to be through a jar in one (maybe two) recipes.


There’s no such thing as “the” goulash recipe; it’s not a classic French dish, it’s a peasant stew or soup enjoyed right across eastern Europe. But from my own experiments I can confirm the following: (1) a bit of tomato is good, but not a whole tin – treat it like a bolognese and it won’t be right; (2) be cautious trying to add root veg – it feels like a natural thing to do, I know, but when I tried parsnip it added nothing to the goulash and beetroot was decidedly wrong; (3) beef definitely works out better than pork, although the addition of any kind of preserved pork sausage is a winner.

This is my recipe, but I have to say it varies a bit depending on what I have to hand.

Goulash – serves 4

½ kg braising steak, cubed
30g butter
2 onions, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 large red pepper, chopped
2 medium tomatoes, chopped
1 tbsp sweet smoked paprika
1 tbsp hot smoked paprika
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tbsp tomato puree
1 tbsp worcester sauce
1 tsp dry-fried and ground caraway seed
½ pint strong ale
½ pint beef stock
2 tbsp soured cream
1 tbsp chopped parsley
  1. In a large casserole, fry the onion in the butter for 5-6 minutes on a medium heat.
  2. Take the dish off the heat, add the paprika and still in.
  3. Back on the heat, add the garlic and the steak, fry until the steak is browned all over – the juices from the meat should prevent the paprika from burning.
  4. Add the beer, stock, tomato puree, worcester sauce and thyme. Stir, season, cover and cook on a low simmer or in the oven at 170C for at least 1.5 hours but preferably 2.
  5. Add the red pepper, tomatoes and any potato or parsnip you want. Check the seasoning while you’re at it. Cook for another 40 minutes or so.
  6. When it’s done, either stir in the soured cream and chopped parsley or add them on top after serving.

You can serve goulash on a bed of plain rice, but equally good is with a hunk of crusty bread or some mashed potato. Really good is making Polish potato pancakes to go with it. Goulash has a great affinity with cabbage; you can go the whole hog and serve sauerkraut on the side, or just plain boiled and sprinkled with a little vinegar. If you like to tone down the spice then just stir more soured cream into the pot after cooking. Or only use sweet smoked paprika. Oh, and as with many spicy slow-cooked dishes you’ll find the goulash even better if you cook it the day before and re-heat!

Enjoy.

Review: The Wellington Arms, Hampshire

Last Christmas we took a break from festivities entirely. In the middle of travelling around the world for a year, we found ourselves in Cambodia and in the town of Siam Reap. Essentially a tourist service centre for the astonishing ruins of Angkor Wat. And there wasn’t the tiniest hint or mention of Christmas anywhere. Not at our hotel, not at the temples, not even in the gift shops and eateries of the town. There was just one opportunistic restaurant that had planted a pair of scantily clad Santa-ellas outside the door to tempt in tourists who were hankering for something seasonal. We steered well clear.

We had tried to escape from Christmas a few years ago, to the Caribbean. Yet in spite of the pina coladas and beach weather, we still managed to get a full turkey lunch on Christmas Day. And last year, once we left Cambodia for Thailand we were forced to endure a horrendous New Year’s Eve gala dinner at the only hotel we could find a room in Krabi. So hurrah for Cambodia, one place where you truly can escape from Christmas if you want to.

Returning to the bosom of the family this year, it turns out that we have a new Christmas tradition; going out on Christmas Eve for dinner at the Wellington Arms, a pub just fifteen minutes from my brother’s house in the wilds of Hampshire. More accurately, between Basingstoke and Reading. This was only my second visit to “The Welly”, but I recalled enjoying the first one greatly and was looking forward to it.

The Wellington is absolutely charming, inside and out. It certainly isn’t a pub. My rule is: if the only place for a drinker to be is propped up at the bar, then it’s a restaurant. Gastropub. Whatever. I was talking of charm. It’s a tiny place, furnished in such quintessentially country pub style that you feel you could walk out of the door into The Shire and tip your hat to Bilbo Baggins. Before we went I was alarmed to hear that they had been “doing an extension” – this so often means a soulless add-on that greedily doubles capacity at the expense of atmosphere. Needn’t have worried; the extension adds a whopping three tables and already looks like it has been there a hundred years.

Other reviewers have already remarked on the basket of hens eggs and the hand-knitted tea cosies offered for sale on the bar, so I won’t. But I do have to echo others in saying that a huge part of the Wellington’s charm is Simon, who looks after front-of-house and is clearly absolutely in love with his establishment. Along with his friendly young team he welcomes and cares for his guests very well indeed. Oh, and his mum knits the cosies.

Now of course I should turn to Jason, Simon’s partner in the kitchen, and our Christmas Eve dinner. The menu is entirely in keeping with the zeitgeist: classic pub dining, all very well executed. Yes, I know I can’t use zeitgeist in reference to a restaurant. Bah humbug. My duck liver parfait was creamy and rich, with a distinctive flavour of port coming through that usually gets lost. Seasoning seemed light, but then Maureen found all the pepper at the bottom of hers. Lovely toast with it. Further praise was heard around the table for twice-baked cheddar souffles and the smoked salmon with tangy horseradish and roasted fennel salad.

My venison pot pie was splendid and comforting, the venison still fibrous but falling to pieces, the root vegetable and gravy a deep, satisfying mush. All topped with a big glossy cap of golden brown puffy pastry. It arrived at the table somewhere near the temperature of an active volcano – luckily the steam provided a warning. Maureen’s posh cottage pie also arrived at near volcanic heat, but although tasty there wasn’t much to justify the label “posh” except for some of the meat being finely chopped rather than minced. Sides of chips and sprouts were good, but the peas deserve a special mention: served plain and slightly crushed, they were sweeter and more flavourful than any other peas I can remember. One of those little “how did they manage that?” dishes.

Pudding was bravely attempted following some belt-loosening. I had a lemon posset covered in sweet blueberries, and I cannot think of anything else in this world more deserving of the adjective “luscious”. Perfect marriage of lemony sharpness and creamy richness. The rest of the table were on the sticky toffee pudding. Now, there is an easy test for a sticky toffee pudding. Scrape the toffee sauce and cream aside and try some of the pudding on its own. If the actual pudding is tasty and moist enough that you could enjoy the whole thing with no sauce or cream, it’s a good sticky toffee pudding. The Wellington do a great sticky toffee pudding. Almost black, with good bitter notes, and remaining moist but surprisingly light. Quite important this, as the toffee sauce lake is generous and jolly rich.

Three courses without drinks works out around £25 a head – remarkable for food this good. I must admit to envying my brother. I can’t think of a more idyllic venue to welcome in the holidays in earnest, but I could also get used to popping into “The Welly” every other week for a convivial feast at any season.

Excuse the duff photos – the light was too cosy and I was too busy enjoying myself!