Roasted Asian-Spiced Mackerel with Egg Fried Rice

Having just come back from spending Easter weekend with Mrs Ribeye in Weymouth in Dorset, I noticed just how in love with mackerel the locals are. Every fish and chip shop and cafe in the area screams about their mackerel baps (as invented by Tim Maddams on the TV programme 'Hugh's Fish Fight'), or their mackerel curry, or their mackerel lettuce and tomato sandwich, or their Big Mac (er, actually that last one may be a burger).

Anyway, I, along with Tim and his former mentor Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, firmly believe that the mackerel is the under-ratedest fish in the sea. It's sustainable (whatever that means), its flesh is salty and sweet, it's easy to fillet (just hold it cut side down after gutting it and press it flat, then simply pull out the spine), it's full of omega-3 oily goodness for the ticker, and because it is no namby-pamby breed, its characterful rich fillets can take really strong flavours without being overpowered.

Oh, and at around a fiver a kilo, it's dirt cheap (mm, maybe that's the reason I like it so much).

Anyway, whatever the reason, today's dish really is such a winner for a mid-week dinner or a weekend lunch. I love Asian-ing up a bit of fish. All you need is a bit of ginger, garlic, sesame oil and soy sauce, and all of a sudden you're a chef. The secret is, that the whole dish takes five minutes to prepare and fifteen minutes to cook.

As you can see from the picture, my egg fried rice is quite a dark oak colour. This is due to some very thick sticky soy sauce I accidentally bought from my local Asian grocery. Until I poured it over my rice, I had no idea that it would be quite so creosote-ish. But as sometimes the best accidents make the most innovative dishes, I couldn't be happier. The black glue ended up being a fantastic glossy coat to my rice grains and lent my dish quite an exotic earthy tint. It tasted great too.

A whole good-sized mackerel at my local Waitrose (not exactly a budget supermarket, so you might be able to buy cheaper elsewhere) is about £1.50, which means that this dish comes in at a very sustainable (yes Hugh, you're not the only one to over-use the word you know) £2.25 per serving.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS:

2 whole mackerel, filleted, but left whole (see note above)
Half a thumb of ginger, peeled and minced
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tablespoon of toasted sesame oil
1 tablespoon of soy sauce
Black pepper

For the Egg Fried Rice:

1 small onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon of sunflower oil
Half a thumb of ginger, peeled and minced
1 garlic clove, minced
2 beaten eggs
200g cooked basmati or short grain rice
75g frozen peas
2 tablespoons of sticky dark soy sauce

Preheat the oven to 230c. Slash the skin of the fish three times along each fillet and rub in some ginger and garlic into the slits. Place onto a non-stick baking sheet and pour over the sesame oil and soy sauce. Place the fish on the top shelf of the oven and cook for fifteen minutes (I don't bother turning it over), until the top skin becomes crispy and the slits open up. While the fish is cooking, fry the onion in a wok with the sunflower oil and then add the ginger and garlic until soft and translucent. Add the beaten egg and scramble lightly. Add the cooked rice and the peas and carefully turn through the onion and egg mixture without breaking up the rice grains. Finally, add the soy sauce and carefully coat the rice. Plate the dish by serving a fish over a mound of the fried rice, then spoon any remaining baking tray juices over the fish. Serve immediately.

The Perfect Guacamole

Why the 'perfect' guacamole, you may ask?

Well, you really only need mashed avocados and salt to make a guacamole, because there really is no 'traditional' Mexican recipe. Therefore, after years of trying and testing, I can safely proclaim that I have found the true alchemic formula - and it's green. And delicious.

The key to making the perfect guac, is to use the perfect avocado - and this is no mean feat. I now use the Haas variety instead of those shiny green-skinned ones. I have found that the while the Haas is an altogether less aesthetically pleasing avocado, the flesh is richer and less prone to hairy fibrousness like the others.

I buy my Haas rock-hard on day one and do not attempt to eat it until day six. Any earlier and its slightly rubbery, much later and it's gunky, over-ripe and covered in black mushy spots.

As to the other ingredients: Lime juice? Check. De-seeded tomato? Check. Spring onion? Check. Fresh coriander? Check. Fresh Chilli? Check. Black pepper? Check.

Here are some 'no way' ingredients: Cumin (too pungent); sour cream or mayo or cream or yoghurt (yuck); garlic (too strong and all wrong); Anything else in the world? (er, no).

So here it is, the perfect guacamole. How do I know it's perfect? Well, last night our good friends Ophelia and Kumar came over for a food-and-movie-party (the director's cut of the 1973 version of The Wicker Man - incredible) and I made Fish Tacos (recipe to follow soon), and between the three of them - my wife included- I barely got a look-in at the guacamole. Ophelia even licked the GD bowl!

Four avocados for a pound at my local Morrison's supermarket, means that this dish comes in at a very delightful 50p per serving. 'Perfect' indeed.

Serves 4

INGREDIENTS:

3 ripe avocados
3 large spring (salad) onions, finely chopped
3 tomatoes, de-seeded and finely chopped
Handful of fresh coriander leaves, finely chopped
1 large fresh red chilli, de-seeded and finely chopped
Juice of a large lime
Salt and black pepper

Mash all ingredients together until blended, but still quite chunky. Serve chilled, with tortilla chips (or in Ophelia's case, with nothing at all...)

Passover Cinnamon Balls

Another fantastic telephone conversation with my mother:

After the old dear told me that she couldn't be bothered to make cinnamon balls this year, and I told her that I would be bothered instead, she explained to me that she didn't know the recipe. After 40 years of making them every single year.

So, after a brief and vague discussion with her about ingredients and measurements, I just made them up as I went along. She did however, explain to me in great detail what an 'airtight container' to store them in was. Me: 'Just to recap Mum, how much air should I let into the container?' Mum: 'You're not too old to smack, you know.' (I am. I'm nearly forty one.)

Oh, and sorry mum, my cobbled together recipe is better than yours. How do I know? Because despite warnings that they could end up hard as bullets, mine are gooey and delicious, and exactly how I remember them tasting in the 1970's - just as all Jewish food should.

I was told to use caster sugar; since I didn't have any, granulated had to do.
I was told to beat the egg whites until stiff; a bare froth was all I could manage before getting bored and my hand hurt.
I was told to use two spoons of cinnamon - I always feel that the cinnamon needs to be a bit stronger than when my mum makes them (they're called Cinnamon Balls FFS!), so three went into mine.
I was told to bake them for twenty five minutes; twenty was all I could wait before whipping them out of the oven.

The thing is, the slight under-cooking has left them a tiny bit gooey in the middle - absolutely sublime.

The whole project took me less than a half hour from start to scoff. When my wife (Mrs Ribeye Jr) came home from work, she told me that my cinnamon balls were delicious and that they tasted like some unpronounceable Russian word from her childhood. No dear. They're cinnamon balls. Not 'Schroonabobbletopf.'

The whole guntz comes to about £2 for 16 balls. That's 12p per ball. Very thrifty.

Makes 16 balls

INGREDIENTS:

2 egg whites
200g ground almonds
150g granulated sugar
3 (slightly more than level) teaspoons of cinnamon
Icing sugar, for dusting

Preheat oven to 160c. In a mixing bowl, beat the egg whites until a bit frothy and then add the almonds, granulated sugar and cinnamon. The mixture should look like damp grainy crumbs. With wet hands roll the mixture into 16 balls and place on a non-stick baking sheet. Bake for 20 minutes, until the balls have slightly risen (it doesn't matter if they slightly crack). After cooking, gently prise them off the baking sheet with the end of a spoon and roll them in the icing sugar while still slightly warm.

Seared Sirloin of Beef 'Tagliata' with Rocket and Parmesan

Mrs Ribeye and I had a very scary conversation tonight. No, not about kids, or anything quite as mind-bendingly horrific as that (although deep down, we're actually excited at the prospect of becoming parents in the fairly very distant future), I'm talking about us giving up meat.

Now, anyone who has been following Potless will know, that the wife and I have been weaning ourselves off the flesh for some time now. We stopped eating meat on weekdays about a year ago, favouring the fish and veg diet (not 'pescatarianism' - we're not wankers), and only eating meat between Friday night and Sunday night. However, we have started to think that we might be able to give up meat altogether.

Why though? Well, it's because we both agreed that after eating less meat, we feel that it tastes kinda... dirty. I initially thought that the dirtiness came from substandard quality purchases - the McD springs to mind - but we joined Costco a few months ago, and the meat we have been buying from them has been tip-top. Therefore, we can only think that we have unwittingly become pescatarian wankers.

It can happen to the best of you. If you want to start wanting less meat, the key is to start actually eating less meat. The same goes for sweets and sex.

So, why on earth am I writing about my latest tagliata dish? A plate piled high with almost raw, bloody beef? Well, Mrs Ribeye and I have decided that when do decide to eat meat on the very odd occasion, it has to be the best. And trust me, this dish is THE BEST.

From now on, meat will feature in our diets about once every 2-3 weeks. And when it does, it will rock our world. Today, I chose the most succulent 28-day hung Aberdeen Angus beef and seared it for seconds on each side until it formed a crust on the outside, but was meltingly raw and tender within. Heaven. The thing is, it was so full of carnivorous delights that I feel that I can hold myself for a month or so until my next dose. I suppose my wife and I are kind of like a boa constrictors in that way.

Cost-wise, a little meat goes a long way, when you cut it wafer thin and make it a sort of garnish for a rocket and parmesan salad. A big (300g) sirloin steak is about a fiver between two of us, which means that this dish comes in at a very reasonable £3 per serving. It's back to veg again tomorrow... In a weird way, I can't wait.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS:

1 large sirloin steak - about 300g
4 tablespoons of olive oil
1 tablespoon dried mixed Italian herbs (or herbes de Provence)
2 large handfuls of fresh wild rocket
1 tablespoon lemon juice
50g block parmesan cheese, shaved
Rock salt and black pepper

Marinate the steaks in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil and the herbs and set aside until they reach room temperature. Heat a pan until blisteringly hot. Fry the steaks on both sides for a minute or two until crispy and then set aside to relax for 5 minutes. Pile the rocket onto the centre of each serving plate and dress with the remaining olive oil and the lemon juice. Top with the parmesan. Slice the steak thinly and arrange around the salad leaves. Season fairly heavily and serve immediately.

Seared Scallop Salad with Ginger and Sesame Dressing

I haven't been blogging for a while, because my 'real life' has taken over and sucked every last drop of creative writing energy from my soul.

However, in a fit of pique, I put pen to paper (actually finger to keyboard) and decided to fire up the old Potless machine to tell you about a very piggy weekend Mrs Ribeye and I had a few days ago.

On Friday night, I told Mrs Ribeye that any of our usual weekend festivities (er, pub with mates to be exact) would be put on hold for a well deserved night in. As an inducement in lieu of external entertainments, I explained that we could spend our money and efforts on a stay-at-home-night-out. Which meant extravagant wine and food.

So, today's dish was the starter to our main course of chorizo and cheddar quesadillas with sour cream. Slight problem: Both dishes (delicious on their own and eaten in moderation) don't go together particularly well - which meant a night feeling sick and eventual dreaming of being waterboarded with dairy products.

Next time, this salad will be a main course, and the quesadillas will be a main course... on a different day entirely.

Scallops are really reasonably priced these days. I bought eight big fat fresh King daddies from Morrisons for just over a fiver. What a bargain! And they were totally delicious! And I loved them (as did the missus)! And they looked so pretty! And I wish I hadn't eaten quesadillas straight after them!

The dressing is so so easy. Basically stem ginger in syrup (from a jar) with garlic and a few store cupboard ingredients, which makes the dish taste quite Japanese and exotic and very special. From beginning to end, the whole dish took 5 minutes to cook, and 3 minutes to eat. Oh, and at £3 per serving, a bargain too.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS:

8 king scallops, shelled, with roes still attached
2 tablespoons of olive oil
Salt and black pepper
3 pieces of stem ginger from a jar, finely chopped, with a tablespoon of the syrup
Half a clove of garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon each of rice wine vinegar, sesame oil, and soy sauce
2 large handfuls of salad leaves

In a blisteringly hot pan with the olive oil, sear the scallops for a minute on each side until crispy on the edges and still slightly raw within. Season the scallops as they are removed from the pan and set aside while you make the salad. Mix the dressing ingredients together and dress the salad leaves. Place a pile of leaves on each serving plate and dot with the scallops. Serve immediately.

Za'atar-Topped Naan Breads

I have gone spice-crazy at my local Waitrose. Noticing that they stock the whole Bart spice range, I decided to spend some of my John Lewis (which you can also spend at Waitrose - who knew?) Christmas vouchers on the whole gamut of exotic delights adorning the racks of dried herbs, spices, rubs, marinades, potions, tinctures and unctions.

Ras-el-hanout (four-bloody-quid-thankyoumuchly) is some kind of translation for 'best spices in the house', and is a heady mixture of the pungent and fragrant. The mix can vary from place to place, but mine contained  cinnamon and clove, together with coriander and cumin - and rose petals, among other things. What a weird idea, but very very effective. A sprinkle on to a salmon fillet and a quick roast in the oven, and you have a feast, rather than a meal.

Sumac. Ahhh, sumac. It seems that every Londoner I have spoken to recently has told me about eating some houmous sprinkled with an amazing mystical sour-tasting orange-coloured spice, in a Lebanese restaurant, which justified the menu price of £6 for a starter portion. After their enquiry of the reluctant waiter, it became apparent that the secret is sumac. And what a find! £2 for a big jar means that my shop-bought houmous will magically taste six times more expensive. And guess what? It does.

Za'atar (yup, another four quid). A blend of dried wild thyme, sesame seeds and some of that spicy cocaine (err, sumac again) is the only thing to adorn freshly made bread. Mrs Ribeye and I live above a Middle Eastern grocer, who along with the dodgy baked beans ('Multipack. Not to be sold separately') and questionable brand toilet paper, does do a nice line in pitta bread with a fabulous thick dark herby coating. Until now, I had no idea this was za'atar.

So, with my bag of spicy delights in my eager-with-anticipation sweaty palm, I hotfoot it home to start cooking for my Saturday night dinner party. The only problem: Which spices do I use in tonight's menu? The answer: All of them. Problem solved.

I cooked ras-el-hanout salmon with a sumac and garlic yoghurt sauce, together with rice and salad. And these breads on the side. Bingo. All three purchases in one fell swoop. Did they go together well? Yes! The salmon was rubbed with the 'ras' a full day earlier to allow the flavours to fully intermingle and penetrate. The yoghurt sauce was subtle enough not to overpower the fish, but was still redolent enough with sumac to let my buddies know that there was something special going on, and the bread was - well the bread was incredible actually. In fairness, not incredible enough to entirely stop me popping downstairs to Mazur's shop to buy his pittas, but incredible enough to think twice.

Bread-making may be more time-consuming than a quick trot down the rickety staircase, but it is so much more rewarding to be able to tell your mates that you made the stuff yourself. Being a good bread buyer is not quite as cool than being a good baker. Even in central London.

Price-wise, home-made bread is a HUGE win. I made eight breads (1 each for my greedy guts friends, plus leftovers for lunch today) for the princely sum of £1.50. Even if za'atar is pricey for a whole tin, I only used a scant half-teaspoon per bread, which means that this recipe comes in at a less-than-fancy 20 pence per serving. Certainly cheaper than that Lebanese restaurant (but then, they probably put sumac on their bread too).

Serves 8

INGREDIENTS:

500g strong white bread flour
1 level tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
7g dried yeast
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 beaten egg
150ml milk, warm
150ml yoghurt
2 tablespoons sunflower oil, plus a little extra for the baking sheets and for glazing the breads before cooking
3-4 tablespoons of za'atar
1 tablespoon of rock salt, for sprinkling

In a large pot, mix all of the ingredients - not the za'atar or rock salt - together (much as I do for my Regular Bread Recipe) and prove it, then form into hamburger-shaped breads. Transfer to oiled baking sheets, smear the tops with more sunflower oil, then liberally with the za'atar and rock salt, and allow to prove for a second time. Preheat oven to the maximum setting (230-240c) and place the breads onto the highest shelf. Cook for about 20 minutes, or until the breads are golden, crispy and risen. Remove from the oven and serve still warm.

Marmalade

Having made Houmous at home, and decided that shop-bought is actually better, I thought I would change my luck and try my hand at some marmalade. The reason, is that Seville oranges happen to be available at my local Waitrose and knowing that they make the best marmalade and that they are rarely available in supermarkets, I thought I'd give them a go.

One problem: I have no idea what I'm doing.

So, using a little common sense and a load of blind luck; after using my potato ricer (basically a giant garlic press) to extract all of the juice and pulp from the oranges, and mixing in a load of sugar (no idea exactly how much) and boiled it until the mixture was thick and gluey, then it cooled down... Voila, marmalade. I am not kidding. Actual marmalade.

I chose not to make the type with the bits in, (a) because I'm not a fan of the bitter peel; and (b) because clear marmalade is more versatile in other recipes (like cakes etc), in case I found that I didn't like it that much on toast.

So, let's get down to what actually happened:

I bought a kilo of oranges. I cut them open and squeezed them to extract the juice. I found that about a dozen decent sized oranges yielded a measly half cup of juice. So I set to work with the potato ricer to get every last drop of nectar out of the pathetic dry fruits - and knew that I needed some pulp and pith etc to extract 'pectin', the mythical enzyme which turns juice to jelly.

When I guessed how much sugar I would need, I went to my sugar tub in the cupboard and saw it was a third full. So I dumped the whole lot into the saucepan. How much was in there? No idea, but it was about a third of a container that used to hold just under a kilo, so I would say 300g.

Then I boiled the mixture. For how long? Can't remember. But I do know I watched an episode of Iron Chef America while it cooked, which is 40 minutes without the fast-forwarded commercials - which means I cooked the marmalade for 45 minutes, including the time it took to find the episode and the remote control and sit down to watch it.

How did I know when it was done? I didn't. The mixture looked like a fairly runny orange syrup. When I put it into the sterilised kilner jar (by 'sterilising' I mean put into a hot oven for 10 minutes) and then allowed it to cool down, I had no idea if I was the owner of a jar of sweet orange juice or marmalade. I waited an hour or two until the jar was cool and then stuck in a spoon. A REVELATION! The best marmalade ever! Smooth, fruity, sharp/sweet in the right proportions, back notes of toffee. In a word... Marmalade.

Slight problem: A dozen oranges (£2) and 300g of sugar (50p ish) has yielded half a jar of marmalade - which means a whole jar would be a fiver (not including the cost of the jar, which in fairness I will re-use). But so what? The marmalade is home-made, and definitely tastes different to shop-bought, and another victory chalked up to 5% knowledge and 95% good fortune. A perfect ratio.

Do Do Do make your own. I know it's expensive and time consuming and you have to wash up a sticky pan afterwards, but it's so rewarding to know you can make really delicious stuff so easily. The half jar may have set me back £2.50, but at 10p a serving, it's still a Potless bargain.

Makes a half jar (200g approx)

INGREDIENTS

12 Seville oranges
300g granulated sugar

Extract as much juice and pulp from the oranges as you humanly can, and transfer to a heatproof pan together with the sugar. At this stage, you can cut up some of the peel (but none of the bitter pith) and add it to the mixture to make marmalade with bits in. Simmer the mixture on a low to medium heat for 45 minutes. The mixture should be runny but thick. Transfer to a sterilised jar and allow to cool. Spread onto buttered toast or use in cake recipes.