Here is how I made ghee, or clarified butter, from good quality unsalted Cornish butter made by Trewithen Dairy, near Lostwithiel in Cornwall. Sometimes mass-produced ghee that you get in those vicious cans taste a little rancid and top-quality ghee can cost a lot of money. For example, a small jar (less than 1lb or 450g) at my local health shop cost £9.53 ! I bought the butter for this ghee for £3.18 (£1.59 a pack).

As well as Indian cookery you can use ghee in breads, cakes, as a base for sauces (particularly for shellfish) and more.

It is a very simple process that just requires a close eye to ensure you reach the clarification stage and don’t over boil the butter. In all it took less than 40 minutes from start to jarring up.

This slide show explains the process (as I did it) but the basic principle is to boil butter gently in a heavy-based pan over a medium heat. I used 500g (2x 250g packs).

As it melts and then begins to simmer a foam or scum will float to the top. Use a clean metal spoon to skim this off.

Milk solids will form and sink to the bottom. It is at the stage that no more milk solids are sinking to the bottom and the butter oil is glossy and gives a beautiful scent of butterscotch that it is ready.

Take off the heat and heave a couple of thorough clean and dry jars ready.

Line a metal strainer with muslin. It might be useful to get someone to help you at this stage. I placed a jam funnel in the jar first and the strainer on top and got someone to hold it steady. Gently pour in the ghee.

The milk solids and residue will be trapped in the strainer.

Wipe up any spills and leave to cool. The golden butter oil will slowly set solid.

When set after a few hours, seal jars with a moistened cellophane disc (used in jam preserving–moist side UP) and a rubber band and screw on the lid tight.

Store in a cool dark place. It will last a few months if kept in these conditions. If you don’t have a cool place in your house, store in the fridge.

Last week I attempted my first home cheese by making paneer (Indian cottage cheese) from Cornish whole milk.

3 litres whole milk
c.80ml lemon juice
1 square muslin or cheese cloth (c.30cm sq.)

In a heavy-bottomed non-stick pan gently bring the milk to a boil.

As it starts to break bubbles on the surface, stir gently and gradually add the lemon juice. Stir to incorporate the lemon juice into the milk as it continues to boil.

The bright white curds and greenish whey should start separating. When this has happened take it off the heat.

Place the muslin over a colander in a clean sink or large bowl, or use a large sieve like I did.

Carefully pour the curds into the muslin. Beware of the steam as it can scald you.

Draw the muslin together by bringing the corners of the square together and twist so the curds form a ball in the cloth. At this stage I tied it tightly with string and let it rest in the sieve to drain further. The key is to lose as much of the whey as possible.

To drain it further you need to place the cheese under pressure. There are several ways you can do this. I placed the ball in a tray with a piece of greaseproof paper/baking parchment on top to keep it clean when placing weights on top. I used a heavy stoneware bowl into which I placed a tub of baking beans and a few bags of rice. To ensure good drainage you could also place the cheese on top of a flat surface with holes in it like a steamer accessory or oven pizza tray and then place weights on top. Marble or stone mortars are also good as heavy weights. Anything that will place even pressure over the ball.

Leave under pressure for 2-3 hours. Then chill in the fridge or use straight away by cutting it into cubes.

I made mutter paneer from some of the cheese by marinated in chilli, garlic and ginger and tandoor masala and lightly frying with onions, tomatoes and peas. Serving with brown basmati rice and a bit of yoghurt. The rest I grilled with the same masala and ate them on their own as tasty morsels.

Often homemade paneer falls apart on cooking so I think it will take a few attempts to make sure that all the excess moisture is removed from the cheese during the draining and pressing stages.

Making this simple cheese was a fun and really satisfying experience. Not only does it make much tastier paneer than you get in shops but you will be really pleased with yourself that you managed to convert milk and lemon juice into something so nutritious and delicious.

Bergamo ochre

Bergamo, however, surprised me from the start. Apart from the good mood my magical arrival put me in was first passing the greengrocer (fruttivendolo?). The window display (and they are always beautiful) burst with baskets of mushrooms of the season, including the ever present funghi porcini, young courgette flowers (fiori di zucchini) which can be fried or stuffed, oranges and greens. The damp misty air was clearly the lifeblood of those mushrooms and I was only sorry I didn’t get a chance to buy any fresh to cook myself. Next time. Pasticceria after caffè and pizzeria and enoteca (wine bar/shop) brought me to the broad windows of Il Fornaio. This was the familiar pizza al taglio (pizza by the slice) done in style and whose no-nonsense warmth was aimed about both visitors and locals. You bought your pizza by the weight with a single ‘slice’ being a healthy lunchtime portion. I had local gorgonzola, speck (good quality cooked smoked ham) and noci (walnuts) while my travelling companion had chargrilled carciofi (artichokes), smoked cheese (I can’t remember the variety) and pomodorini (cherry) tomatoes. Perched on top of the pastry and bakery counter which adjoined the pizzas we tucked in heartily, cheek by jowl with many others seeking shelter from the rain and a pausa.

On the way back to the hotel I became curious about a cake that adorned many a shop window with the neatly written label ‘Polenta ed Osei‘ (polenta and birds) or ‘Polentina’, domes of various size from individual portion to h-uge gilded in polenta with varying decoration of a chocolate bird, glace cherry and/or angelica on top. I had no idea what would be in side and neither did my companion. In the interests of science we purchased one each from two vendors, mine from Panificio Tresoldi. I read now that apparently it is meant to represent a typically turned out mound of polenta being pecked by birds. It is really quite difficult to describe except that it is a flavour and texture sensation. Bad ones could so easily be offensive. As it was, the balance of chocolate and nut butter cream meringue (yes, really), sponge and marzipan was surprisingly not overly sweet, blended well and I could detect some liqueur or other but could not identify which. The rougher exterior provided by the sugar and polenta is the vehicle through which you can savour each element on your tongue and around your palette. I might try making one. Or I might just need to return to Bergamo soon. We didn’t share in the end. Neither of us could. A fagotino al ciocolato (chocolate pastry) from another pasticceria after a long day in Milan proved to me that they treat sugar and chocolate with respect in this part of the world.

Coffee was universally good. Including at the hotel, Hotel Agnello D’Oro. Caffè del Tasso provided us with another beautiful venue for an afternoon coffee, all the tourist guides will lead you here to the main square Piazza Vecchia. I did not unfortunately have an opportunity to experience its pastries, cakes or fresh juices, nor an early evening aperitivo but it looked good. Pity it did not serve after 8pm. Next time. Here was where, as in so many cafes which must have sustained a smokey shadowy existence at one time (perhaps even since 1476 whence it claims its origins)–now all gone but the walls are still imbued with subversive talk and rebellion. Of course Garibaldi came here to plot with his Bergamascan followers. One of the most enigmatic destinations for a digestivo, or indeed an aperitivo, or indeed just a coffee, was the Caffè della Funicolare. The menu and advertising in front of the place, nestled inside the funicular station which transports you gently to the Città Bassa (Lower City), did not seem promising at first, but after a delicious but none the less disappointing meal (see below) and being one of the few places open after 9.30pm we decided to give it a go. And it did not disappoint. I needed tea (there was a fine selection for Italy) and went for some lapsang souchong, accompanied by a generous slice of homemade Torta di Mele (apple cake). When you experience such satisfying food and drink in such an incredible atmosphere–again the place was packed but pleasantly unintrusive and the night views over to Bergamo bassa helped to insert oneself into the pleasing liminal bubble that I felt I occupied throughout my short stay.

The ristoranti around Piazza Vecchia left me a little cold. One evening we did try for an aperitivo at ‘Il Bar’ and it was worth it for a glass of velvet soft Valcalepio local wine. One meal at San Michele with its hand-written menu promised much but left us a little hungry. That said, one plate of the local casoncelli pasta, tortellini stuffed with roasted veal, amaretti, sultanas, Spadona pears, lemon zest, spices and garlic, simply served with a dressing of olive oil and butter, Parmasean and fried sage leaves was superb. We just needed more. The wine was ‘locale’ but not specified. It was a strange kind of place. No one else in this vast restaurant, clearly part of the Piazza Vecchia furniture and served by a couple who could have only been the proprietors. They seemed tired and so did the menu although the prices were not.

Some of the most inventive and superlative food I have ever eaten in Italy was at Vineria Cozzi whose fusion of deeply regional (genuinely so) cuisine and global fine dining was both astonishing and inviting. It is a testament to the brilliantly throughout out menu, with traditional courses of antipasti, primi, secondi and dolci (they call them I miei dolci pensieri… My sweet thoughts…) that I could only use my opportunities to eat there for anti pasti, pasta and dessert. The first evening we tried the place we were intending just to toast our arrival with prosecco and so we did. I wish I had paid more attention to where it had come from as its fine bubbles were far above the supermarket fizz you can often get here in the name of prosecco. The wine was served with the obligatory snacks although these extended to complimentary anti pasti: salted peanuts, olives, crisps and then small dishes of baked polenta with pork belly and beans. Our second aperitivo we decided to order up the dish of local salami to share. It was another regret that I could not purchase any of these to take back from one of the beautifully presented salumeria (deli) in town. I was only once I was amongst the hams, and the strong scented cheese while I chose a bottle of wine that would not take me over my paltry luggage allowance (this was Il Calepino 2007). Next time. I recommended we drink Campari (rosso) and soda with the salami that Vineria Cozzi served us and this worked perfectly. The fresh bread served with it was the best I have enjoyed in Italy, it had flavour both soft and stretchy textures, sesame seeds and poppy seeds. It minded me that the bread sold at Il Fornaio where we had had the pizza al taglio was classified according to the type of flour used (e.g. integrale, typo ’00′, etc.)

The main meals were served in the restaurant (see a menu) part which contrasted from the French cafe feel of the bar area with its wall to wall spirits, wines and liqueurs–particularly grappa of a bewildering variety of grapes, both blends and singles and the enticing camomile liqueur made my Marolo which I didn’t get to try. For our first main meal of the trip we ordered the local casoncelli, as we were to later at San Michele. Here I was more convinced that they made their own. (I think San Michele must have prepared theirs using the artisanal pasta you can buy by the kilo from the salumerie.) Again, served with melted butter, oil, seasoned beautifully and garnished with whole crisp fried sage leaves and similarly crisp pancetta. The nature of pasta is that it makes you eat quickly. These parcels of immense flavour, however, encouraged you to let the morsels melt in your mouth. Having already been fed like kings with our prosecchi, we did not feel we wanted any more food but we did order grappa, the choice being given was sweet/smooth (morbide) or dry (secche). The rest of the choice we left to the waiter. We had not at this stage realised that we were in a place of genuine grappa connoiseurship. We ordered dry. By this time, the curfew bell tolled by the Campanone (town bell tower) was tolling for its 100th strike (it rings 180 times to remind the medieval peasantry to return home behind the walls at 10pm). The waiter arrived with two bicchierini of the most elegant form: like a rare Dutch tulip growing from the most slender of stems. I asked the waiter what the grappa was and we were openly shown the bottle: Grappa Gaja & Rey made by Castello di Barbaresco. Crystal clear, smooth as a good astringent honey. Heady, yet able to seep slowly into every sinew. Evening two at the Vineria, which had started with Campari and salami noting well the seriousness with which they took their food and drink [interesting choice of background image behind a display of artisanal glasses and presentation wine, a black and white photograph of a sumptuous feast (c.1980?) being enjoyed by three naked women, wearing pearls and a naked man embracing them and the feast] there followed another choice each from the primi menu, for me fusili (emphasis on the middle ‘i’) in venison stewed with cocoa and for my friend homemade gnocchi in a wild mushroom stew with toasted pine nuts, accompanied by a glass of Verdicchio. We went straight for a sweet thought each. I washed mine down with probably one of the best red wines I have ever had with a meal, ‘Il Kalos’, a Calepino wine of pure Cabernet Sauvignon, strong at 14.1%, described as deep ruby red with purple reflections. I imagined that the very wealthy Athenian aristocrats would have (should have) drunk something like this when pondering participative democracy, out of a krater perhaps. Or was this the wine that the ancient Persians quaffed and got drunk to while mulling over important decisions (so said Herodotus)? I digress. Finally to our sweet thoughts. Friend: meringue topped ice cream with fig syrup sauce, me: Tower of Babel, a chocolate fondant pudding made with extra dark chocolate aubergines and pink pepper corns, served with a cardamom short biscuit. Really there were no words. You must eat it to understand.

And that was just in Bergamo’s old town. Eating in Milan was more or less on the hoof, with a note worth making on ‘Il Milanese’ (Via Santa Maria, 11 – read the Frommer’s review) whose untranslated genuinely authentic menu was deserving of more than our fleeting visit at the end of lunch service (they accommodated us for a quick pasta none the less–Vi ringraziamo!). While I had to take the opportunity of relaxing into some porcini tagliatelle, my companion went for the signature risotto milanese, resplendent saffron gold in the white bowl. If you are in Monza, do keep a sum of money aside to sit outside with a coffee, or if you are in a devil may care mood, a spremuta d’arancia (freshly squeezed orange juice) at Confetteria Moderno in Piazza Roma, adjacent to the medieval covered market.

Tortelli di zucca, San Vigilio

San Vigilio brought me to the end of my short sojourn in Lombardy. We reached the village after a morning wandering the side streets of Bergamo, taking ourselves then down to the Donizetti museum where the tones of Anna Bolena gently wafted through our ears and remained with us to the end of the day. We took the second funicular railway of the city up to San Vigilio and arrived around midday. We were greeted with spectacular views across to the foothills of the Alps and the lush green terraces of the plains below. As we exited the tiny station we saw an ‘api’ van deliver fresh sticks of bread to the restaurant/pizzeria which has taken its name from the village, San Vigilio. We were going originally to go for a coffee or a juice and ended up there for the entirety of lunch service, overlooking the same view we enjoyed on our arrival from an enclosed terrace table, but with opera in our ears and the slow continuum of exceptional food and drink, the hovering mist giving way to warm mare’s tails and moments of blue, this was a genuinely other worldly experience. It would be silly to labour the point, so here is what we ate and drank:

Pane: sticks of plain, poppyseed and sesame seed bread (two rounds)
Primi: tortelli di zucca e zatate con Burro versato e mandorle (pumpkin and potato stuffed pasta with melted butter and toasted almonds) (two rounds)
Secondi: tagliata di manzo con rucola, grana e patate al forno (bavette style steak, cooked medium-rare with rocket, grana cheese and served with oven baked potatoes) and
stufato di manzo con velo di speck e mela caramellata (stewed beef with slices of smoked cooked ham and caramelized apples)
Patatine fritte (French Fries)
Da bere: a half bottle of Toscano Ruffino (red) and natural mineral water.
Digestivo: two caffè, one with grappa of Optima Gialla (peppery, herby, strong, warmth) and the other with grappa of Prime Uve Nera.

If you find yourself waiting for your train at a station fortunate enough to have a food outlet, you may be interested in a BiTE discount card which apparently will give you 20% off food and drinks from outlets like Pumkin, Caffè Ritazza, Burger King and Upper Crust among others.

I have just sent off for one, will see what happens.

Last year, during the FA World Cup, I bought a sandwich which came with its own thought for the day. Today I find myself buying the same sandwich made by Daily Bread: shaved cheddar and pickle. It still comes with its daily motto which today is:

If God wanted us to fly, He would have given us airline tickets

Mel Brooks

Quite so.

The last bottle of HP Sauce was manufactured in the Birmingham factory where it had been made for over 100 years early this morning. US company, Heinz, who bought HP two years ago are now going to have it manufactured in the Netherlands. West Midlands MPs have protestested both against the closure of the factory (with the loss of 125 jobs) and its move to the Netherlands while retaining the trademark image of the Houses of Parliament (thus the name HP). Heinz say they will not be removing the image but some MPs want it banned from the cafeterias and restaurants at the Houses of Parliament. This recent HP advertisement also markets its ‘Britishness’ (although its more unsophisticated elements).

I will not use HP again so I will have to find my own recipe.

My cheese
Goats milk hand-made cheddar.

Isn’t it beautiful? I am aching to try it. We will cut it on the day of the Mongolian New Year, Tsagaan Sar.

I made it last year in September at Hartpury College. We were taught by Judy from Wharf Farm Dairy. It is a goats milk cheddar. Thank you, Judy, for such a wonderful experience. I can’t wait for more.

Today, a woman from the Women’s Institute of Tutshill, Gloucestershire, made a wonderful protest outside the Houses of Parliament in Westminster by sitting in a bath of milk. The protest was about the declining price of milk (down now only to 18p per litre for the dairy farmer from 24.5p ten years ago).

We only have about 13,000 dairy farmers left in Britain and there is a very real danger of losing all milk production in a few years time. The Department for Environment Food and Rural Affairs (Defra) are making a piddly £1.3m available to dairy farmers to “address issues of efficiency.” Defra refuse to introduce a milk regulator and insist price negotiations should be a private commercial matter that government cannot get involved in so long as competition rules are being adhered to, however they continue to increase the burden of rules and regulations onto dairy farmers who cannot take the burden of the cost anymore.

How can Defra be singing from the same hymn sheet? On the one hand, this is a key department responsible for pushing forward plans to reduce carbon emissions and find more sustainable ways of producing energy, on the other, they are quite happy to ‘let markets decide’ where our milk comes from (even if that means yet more food miles). Cretinous.

A couple of weeks ago I attended an introductory cheesemaking course at Hartpury College, Gloucester. We were taught by Judy King, cheesemaker from nearby Wharf Farm Dairy. We made a cheddar method goats cheese which will mature in about two months. The photo shows the second cheddaring which is the process of re-cutting the curds, placing one block on top of another for more whey to drain out. See all my cheesemaking photos to understand the process.

Cheesemaking was a wonderfully fulfilling experience. The combination of the preciseness of a science to the magic of applying your intuition to get each stage right (the art) made for a truly religious experience. Cheesemaking allows all your engergies to flow from your head to hands to feet (you’re on your feet most of the day) which is a refreshing change after book reading. A lot of people are suspicious, ignorant or otherwise indifferent to cheese. A lot of things that parade as ‘cheese’ are not. Especially things like ‘cheese strings’. which is little more than a plastic drainpipe, melted, compressed, fried and dyed. Even the ‘cheese’ you get in most lunch time sandwiches has never felt the gentle hands of a cheesemaker or even the slow stir of a semi-mechanised dairy overseen by highly knowledgeable cheesemakers. Why do we so readily accept insipid pale sheets of linoleum? They should call this stuff ‘imitation cheese’ or something else altogether like ‘food slices’.

Cheese is a miracle. It’s alchemy. Turning milk into such brilliant fast food with the addition of starter culture (‘friendly bacteria’) and rennet (based on fungi) should amaze people. It should also gladden people that cheese is still made in the way it should be, slowly by hand, with love.