Snakes on a Plate

or, The Spicery Box 2 - A Fiasco in Filo

By: Mr Robot

I was really looking forward to my second box from The Spicery because not only did it have very tasty-looking Cafreal kebabs, it had the terribly swish and exciting M’Hencha. On reflection that was stupid of me because my pastry skills are disastrous at best, and M’Hencha being a massive coil of filo, it could only ever go one way.

Anyhoo, the kebabs were great – quite subtle herby chicken onna stick backed up with an extremely punchy mango chutney. 

                                 

In fact the chutney was the highlight: dark, jammy and fiery hot. I’m more accustomed to that heat in more sour context so the sweet mango provided a novel and exciting backdrop. 

Mrs Robot was very grateful for the raita...

Inevitably, though, the star of the box was the M’hencha. It’s a spectacular - if done properly - sausage of ground almonds, orange and pistachios, wrapped in filo pastry which is then coiled like a snake (the literal meaning of M’Hencha apparently), baked until crunchy and then made soggy with an insane syrup of honey and citrus. 

Anyone who doesn’t find that a madly exciting prospect can leave the room right now.
As I’ve already hinted, pastry is not my strong point, and the fact that we’re using shop-bought helps not one jot. For some reason pastry drives me to flap and swear like nothing on earth. Think of an elderly relative trying to install a printer driver*  - that’s me where flour and fat are concerned.

We start off well enough, producing a lovely sweet goop fragrant with cinnamon, cloves, nuts and oranges. But that’s as far as it goes.
My instructions tell me to lay out my 270g pack of filo to a length of 1.5 metres, so in a spirit of terrified slavish obedience I measure out that distance plus a bit and start laying sheets. 

Well a third of a pack later I’m done, and I’m dithering. Should I be doubling up with extra layers, or is this all I need? Have I got the wrong packet of filo? What do I do? And how does spinning round in circles and flapping help?

It’s ridiculous because in any other kitchen situation I’d have coped fine. Not with aplomb, perhaps, and with no certainty of success, but I’d have had a decent go. I definitely wouldn’t have got hysterical. Eventually Mrs Robot delivers a Bogartian slap to restore my senses and I decide to proceed with just the single layer. But of course by now the pastry has already started drying out so despite painting it with butter (did I mention my painting skills? About as good as my pastrying), the rolling is more an exercise in folding and shattering.   

 

Coiling, therefore, goes no better and instead of a snaky circle I end up with something Pythagoras could’ve spent a diverting afternoon with.

Here’s where the instructions really let me down. They say you can bake this in a springform cake tin, or slide it onto a baking sheet, whereas of course it should have read, “bake it in a springform cake tin, or you can slide it onto a baking sheet BUT ONLY IF YOU’RE A BLOODY IDIOT”. 

 

Guess what I did.

Well as you can imagine at this point the air was blue, providing a lovely contrast to my face, and I was desperately in need of consolation.

About 40 seconds after shoving the accursed thing into the oven I got it, in the form of some of the most delicious smells ever to waft my way. 

It only got better, and by the time I’d taken him out of the oven, drizzled him with syrup and scattered him with pistachios and rose petals, my poor deformed snake promised to be something glorious. 

He may be a poor deformed snake, but at least I gave him a face

And it was. I mean you’d never expect bad things out of almonds and honey and pastry and oranges and more honey, so that was no great surprise but it was utterly wonderful sticky eating.

The phrase “preparation time 25 minutes” was clearly a big fat lie but at least the 35 minute cooking time allows for a pint or two towards recovery

Beauty's only crunchy-skin deep

All images (c) PP Gettins

*With apologies to all tech-savvy silver surfers, naturally. Please don’t hack me

The Spicery Spicebox - Tunisian Fish Stew, Saffron Pannacotta with Rhubarb

By: Mr Robot

It was my Birthday recently, and Mrs Robot kindly gave me a 6-month subscription to The Spicery spiceboxes. This consists of pre-mixed spices, freshly ground (no stale cupboard dwellers!) and sent out each month, giving a couple of set recipes each time.

I came across The Spicery some time ago so was intrigued to try it. I confess I was a little ambivalent about the concept. I feared it straying too far towards the cake-mix / DIY ready-meal approach that we try to avoid: how far is it really from, say, a jar of curry paste or packet noodles? Not that they can't be wonderful things of course, but you're probably not going to develop much as a cook by using them.

On the other hand, if it's bringing just the required amount of an ingredient you won't use often, that can only be a good thing (especially since our spice cupboard is already a disaster zone). And since I don't control what I get, I could see it being a good way into things I might not choose to cook otherwise. Perhaps this would offer a jumping-off point into new worlds, or at least give me a bit of a nudge.

Fish / Rhubarb Klaxon!

So I signed up for the adventurously named Discoverer box, hoping to be pushed into new exciting areas and forced to try things I tend to skim past in the cookbooks.

Well it's a good job I took that approach. As regular readers may know, I'm generally underwhelmed by fish, and as a child was traumatised by Gran's indescribable rhubarb.

So my box turning up with the makings of a Tunisian Fish Stew and a Saffron Pannacotta with Rhubarb was a bit of a chin-scratcher.

Well, I wanted to be pushed...

The box contains nice little recipe cards with a variety of spice packets (plus a freebie Indian BBQ mix, ta muchly), and happily the fish recipe is more involved than I'd expected. This bodes well.

Fish lumps in chermoula

First up there's a chermoula seasoning to be rubbed into fish chunks before frying it off. Then there's a spice mix to go into the stew, started with onions, carrots, courgettes and tomato with olives and ultimately the fish added later.

Stoo

Then there's a blend of herbs to flavour couscous and chickpeas, and finally harissa spices to be blitzed up with charred (and jarred) red peppers - though no doubt the truly dedicated could blowtorch their own at this point.

Harissa Hot-Hot-Hot

So that makes a decent-sized shopping list and to my mind takes it a fair way outside the ready-meal scenario, and importantly there's scope for the inept to knacker it up - not least effectively double-cooking the fish, which I'm pleased to say I managed with panache.

And you know what? It was really good. Rich and intense stew, and although I found the chickpea couscous slightly bland a good dollop of nose-burning harissa set everything right.

The Pannacotta was the real excitement though. As already noted it demanded the dreaded rhubarb (which, spookily, the vegbox had turned up a few days before), on top of which I've never tried making pannacotta and only rarely eaten it, since I tend towards the Brown And Sticky school of puddings.

New best friend

Well it was a delight. Extremely simple to make, this pack just had a few strands of saffron, and a mix of spices for the rhubarb.

The rhubarb was outstanding and all my fears evaporated. Heavily sugared (never thought I'd say this, but possibly too sweet? Just a smidge?) the spice mix was full of black pepper and cardamom, producing a loose jammy, intense, fragrant, fruity goo.

I loved it.

I loved it so much I've invented the word "rhuplay" for my new hobby.

The saffron pannacotta itself was just too easy, so will become a staple of mild showing off. Even allowing for my hamfisted delivery it looked sophisticated and was highly satisfying in the mouth. If there's any complaint here it's that the saffron got a bit lost in the face of that massive rhubarb, but that's very minor.

Needs practice, you say? Curses...

Undoubtedly there is a degree of cake-mix-cooking here, but it's significantly more engaging than that. There's a little effort, but only a little, for a very good result. It's (just about) possible to wrong, so there's pride to be had at the end. I can see it being great for the beginner, the nervous or the short of time.

Personally speaking, my hope for a bit of inspiration and a gentle hand to guide me off the path of habit have been entirely fulfilled. If the next five boxes are anything like this I'll be very happy indeed.

Top Tip: save serving blushes and turning-out-faffery by making your pannacotta in a nice cup

All images (c) PP Gettins

Note: We have no association with The Spicery and there are no freebies or favours - Mrs Robot paid for the subscription with her own hard-earned cash, though being a gentleman I couldn't tell you how much.