Little John

Little John 1

Me (left) and Cam (right) in front of the entrance to the cheese factory

I was delighted to be asked back for a second cheese making session in Brockley yesterday with Cameron Rowan, one of the four founding members of Blackwoods Cheese Company. In January I went along on an afternoon milk run to the Commonwork Organic Farm in Kent. On that day we added cheese culture and rennet to the still-warm milk and called it a day – leaving the curd to set over night. Yesterday however, Cam went on an early morning milk run, so I came at mid-day to see the magic happen. I arrived to find not only a batch of Graceburn on the go, but also a 150 litre vat of Blackwoods’ new washed-rind cheese, Little John.

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Cam checking the curds

Named after a cheese-thief who was banished to Australia for his crimes, the Little John is still in the experimentation phase; a little less culture here, a slight change in temperature there. The acidity level the next morning is the first indication of whether it is a good batch or not – if it hasn’t risen too much, then its time to get excited.

Every five minutes or so, Cam gently lifts and turns over a handful of Little John curd in the vat, leaving a small depression. The whey that gathers there is still slightly cloudy, which means that the curds are not yet ready to cut. It feel like nothing I’ve felt before – under a thin film of cream, it is soft and smooth to the touch; luke-warm and moist with a texture that is at once gelatinous and brittle. The Blackwoods boys rely on their understanding of the look, taste and feel of the curds at this crucial stage. Cutting too early or too late could ruin the batch and waste a morning’s work.

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Checking the pH and temperature pre-cut

The waiting cheese-maker is like a good slips fielder; ready to spring into action when the moment comes. The whey gathers clear in the depression and its time to cut. Fingers spread, we carefully lift and turn first the top layer of curd, then the middle and finally reaching right down to the bottom of the vat. The curd pieces gradually become smaller and smaller as they slip through our fingers. Where some cheese makers would use a harp to cut the curds, Cam prefers to roll his sleeves up and use his hands. The curd pieces should be no bigger than a 1p coin to let the whey drain out evenly when the curds are hooped; lifted out of the whey with a ricotta mould and drained through blue cheese cloth.

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New-born Little Johns

Its amazing how quickly we made a vat of curds and whey into  26 cheeses, packed tightly inside a cheese-cloth lined mould and compressed to squeeze out the remaining whey. The cheeses then get taken back out of the moulds, turned and replaced several times before going to Neal’s Yard Dairy‘s maturing facility in Bermondsey. This morning I got a text saying the acidity had only risen to 5.2 on the pH scale – in Cam’s words, ‘boom, not bad at all!’.

You can get hold of one of Blackwoods Cheese Company’s delicious cheeses directly from Cam, Dave, Rory and Tim at Brockley Market, Herne Hill Market, or Greenwich Market. Alternatively, you can also buy it from their friends at Neal’s Yard Dairy in Borough Market and Covent Garden. Look out for the 4/3/14 batch of Little John, its going to be delicious!

An Afternoon with Blackwoods Cheese Company

Graceburn
As a huge cricket fan, you would assume that spending six days at the Salisbury Christmas Market with an Australian during England’s recent humiliation down under would be unbearable. Luckily though, Cam and I share a love for traditionally crafted artisan cheese as well. After spending a week together in a smelly cheese-filled chalet, I got to learn a bit about Blackwoods Cheese Company. Set up in 2013 by Cam and his three mates Dave, Rory and Tim, the company makes delicious fresh cheese in Brockley, South East London, using raw organic cow’s milk.

Yesterday I went with Cam to Commonwork’s Organic Dairy Farm to collect the milk for a batch of Graceburn – a fantastic creamy feta-like cheese marinated in oil and herbs. We loaded ten empty milk buckets into the company van – a wagon that bears the faded liveries of both Monmouth Coffee Company and Neal’s Yard Dairy on its sides. We headed south east, gradually leaving the city smoke behind and beating our way into rural kent, past muddy field gates and through winter woodlands.

It was imperative that we arrived just as the cows were having their afternoon milk. in the tank room next to the parlour, we filled the buckets with rich warm milk that came gushing from the pipe all frothy and steaming. While Cam filled up, I sprinkled cheese culture into each bucket so that by the time we were back on the road to London, the cheese making process had already begun.

As we got back on the M20, Canary Warf and the Shard loomed big and bright in the distance. When we got back to Blackwoods HQ, I got suited and booted and received delivery of the milk from Cam through a hatch in the inner factory wall. After adding the rennet and with the room temperature a steady 18 degrees centigrade, our work was done – the curds are then given time to form, before being cut, wrapped in cheesecloth and steeped in brine the next day.

We agreed that we should reward our efforts with beers and Chinese food. After a quick bus journey over to Camberwell, we met up with Rory and Dave, two of the other Blackwoods boys. Over pints and the best Chinese food I have ever eaten (at Silk Road), I got a sense of the exciting stage Blackwoods Cheese Company is at. With orders for their first three fresh cheeses picking up and a new washed rind cheese in the pipeline, the lads are really beginning to see their hard work paying off. An Australian raw milk cheese company taking the English market by storm. What better model to pursuade the Australian Food Standards Agency of the value and importance of raw milk cheese?

You can purchase Blackwoods Cheese Company’s cheeses direct from Cam, Dave, Rory and Tim at Brockley Market and Hearne Hill Market, or from their friends at Neal’s Yard Dairy in Borough Market and Covent Garden.

Urban Harvesting


Alf with the pigs

Me with the pigs in Somerset

Growing up on the rural Devon-Somerset border I have always been aware of the crops the other side of the hedgerows and the animals grazing the fields. In our back garden we grew our own vegetables and had chickens scratching around, laying eggs in all the wrong places and getting in the way of our football games. I’ve missed this while living in the city, but you can’t take the Westcountry out of the boy and I’ve found a surprising number of ways to harvest produce in an urban environment.

1) Foraging;

In Norwich in the summer there is an abundance of elderflowers to be made into cordial; if you know where to look there are sloe berries to flavour gin and blackberries for pies. The Rosemary used in the Anchovy and Rosemary Butter came from a bush just down the road.

2) Allotments;

Norwich is a green city, it is home to more than 1,619 allotment plots on 18 sites. The average rent is £40 per year for a 250 square meter plot; plenty of space to keep you in vegetables throughout the growing months. The only problem is the waiting list, which was three years when I last checked; clearly a popular option!

3) Roof gardens;

Edible roof gardens absorb water, clean the city air and promote green living in an urban environment. In the past growing food in London has been a pipe dream for many, but developing roof space into gardens is opening up acres of previously unused space. Urban gardens have been endorsed by Boris Johnson as part of the capital’s Climate Change Adaptation Plan.

4) Guerilla gardens;

In the city of Los Angeles there is 26 square miles of arable land, enough space to grow 724,838,400 tomato plants. Guerilla gardening is Ron Finley’s way of reclaiming the streets and providing an alternative to fast food; projects for the mental and physical health of the community. His team of volunteers dig up vacant lots across the city and plant fruits and vegetables; “we’ve got to flip the script on what a gangster is; if you aint’ a gardener, you aint’ gangster, get gangster with your shovel, ok? and let that be your weapon of choice”.

5) Aquaponics;

Dan Barber is a chef and researcher. His research into aquaponics led him to Veta La Palma in South West Spain where he discovered “A farm that doesn’t feed it’s fish; a farm that measures its success by the success of its predators; a farm that is literally a water purification plant… farming extensively, not intensively”. Aquaponics relies on creating a self-sustainable ecosystem, which is why the farmers at Veta La Palma don’t scare away the birds who eat 20% of the farm’s fish. The pinker the flamingos’ feathers, the healthier the system is and therefore the tastier the fish will be. Companies like FARM:shop in London use aquaponics on a smaller scale to inspire the local community to grow and eat their own food.

The act of harvesting fruit and vegetables, whether they are foraged from the wild or cultivated in a garden, is the best possible incentive to eat a healthy diet free from processed foods. Gardening is a therapeutic process that sustains the body at the same time as satisfying the mind. There is nothing like the feeling of planting a crop, tending it, and cooking straight from the garden; as fresh as fresh can be.

Brandy Apple Pie with Cheddar Pastry

The pie filled with apple slices

The pie filled with apple slices

My roots are in the lush pasture and laden orchards of Somerset. I love this time of year in the West Country, when the countryside turns bright green as the weather gets warmer. This pie uses some of Somerset’s most prolific ingredients; apples and cheddar cheese. Like the Melton Mowbray Pork Pie, West Country Farmhouse Cheddar has a Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) which means that it must be made in Somerset by European Law. The soil and climate are also perfect for growing apples; such is the abundance of the fruit, the local farmers brew gallons of invariably strong if variably tasty cider.

If I was a self-sufficient small-holder then this pie would use up the end of last autumn’s wrinkly apples from the pantry. Alas the only thing I am growing in my Norwich flat is a pepper plant on the window-sill, so I have bought some bramleys. The Idea came from the April chapter of The Times’ The Cookery Year, which accredits the custom of serving cheese with apple pie. I then tweaked the recipe by adding brandy and spices.

Ingredients:

For the pastry:

  • 225g plain flour
  • 1/2 level teaspoon salt
  • 110g unsalted butter
  • 110g strong cheddar cheese

For the filling:

  • 900g cooking apples
  • 2 tbsp caster sugar
  • 2 tbsp brandy
  • 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
  • 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
  • 1 egg for glazing

Instructions:

  1. Cut the butter into small pieces and mix with the flour until crumbly.
  2. Add the salt, grated cheese and a little cold water and mix into a ball.
  3. Divide the pastry into two, roll one half into a sheet and line a 7 inch pie tin.
  4. Peel, core and slice the apples and lay them in the pie. Sprinkle over the sugar, spices and the brandy.
  5. Roll out the second half of the pastry, wet the edges of the lining and lay over the lid.
  6. Trim the edge, then crimp and decorate with the trimmings.
  7. Brush with a whisked egg, pierce an air hole in the top and bake for 35-40 minutes in an oven pre-heated to 220°C.

Crimped and Decorated

Crimped and decorated

The finished pie

In my excitement at cutting apple shapes out of the trimmings I completely forgot to pierce an air hole in the pastry lid, resulting in a big air pocket above the fruit. It ruined the aesthetic of the slice, but luckily it didn’t ruin the flavour. I cut the rest of the pastry trimmings into strips, glazed them and baked them for 20 minutes to make cheese straws. The top was very brown when I took them out, so I covered it with tin foil to stop it from burning.

The bite of strong cheddar along with the tartness of bramley apples is a real taste of Somerset. All I need now is a pint of scrumpey and the Wurzels on loud to transport me back to the West Country.

Ever got lost in Norwich Market?

Norwich Market Place by David Hodgson, 1855Norwich Market Place by David Hodgson, 1855

I am an experimental cook and I often need one of Norwich Market retailers’ specialist products, but the thought of venturing into the market maze puts me off. Its fine if you have time to mosey around, but a pain if you’re in a rush; there isn’t even a decent map of the stalls. Tom Loudon of Folland’s Organics agrees that this is a real issue for the market; “people get lost and have to ask for directions because the signs are put up so high people don’t clock it”.  When asked how he would improve the market he said “more symbiosis between the stalls”. Why not have one zone for food, one for clothes, one for toys and another for books? Folland’s current neighbours’ underwear stall hardly drives the customers their way!

Though the market remains in the same central location as it has for the last 700 years, its significance to the lives of the people of Norwich has dwindled. The Market no longer feeds the city because the stall-holders can’t compete with supermarket prices. As a result they either evolve to sell specialist goods, or they disappear; to be replaced by stalls selling orange plastic guns and novelty clothing. The market’s 34 vacant stalls are a testament to how difficult this task can be. Folland’s Organics is one stall that has found its niche. Stall-owner Rob Folland and Tom Louden have sold organic fruit, vegetables and sundries for three years. Tom puts Folland’s success down to their customer base, in that people who buy organic tend to have an aversion to supermarket shopping.

In 2005 Norwich City Council invested more than £5 million on the refurbishment of the market. The aim was to renovate the old market while retaining its character. A birds-eye view of the colourful new design suggests that they succeeded, but the view from the inside is quite different. When the stalls are locked up the market’s aisles look identically bleak, making it even harder to navigate. The Times described the new market as “an anaemic shopping mall for health and safety inspectors: straight lines, wipe-clean boxy cubicles, all life and love drained out.” The 2005 refurbishment was the perfect opportunity for the council to regroup the stalls into accessible zones and grant Tom Loudon his wish. Instead they instigated survival of the fittest; the desirable outward-facing stalls went to whichever stallholders could pay the higher rent.

Walking around Norwich city centre I can feel the city’s rich history. You could wander down Elm Hill, with its cobbled street and distinctive Tudor houses. Or you might walk the other way through the Norwich Lanes towards the Market. Overlooked by the Norman Castle from the east and flanked on the south and west by St Peter Mancroft and City Hall respectively, the market’s colourful striped roofs and awnings seem to complete the picture postcard. But is the market living up to its historical roots and its current potential?

If it were up to me I would accept the five million spent in 2005 as being a bad investment and turn the market into an open square. This space could be used for gigs and performances as well as fetes, fairs and farmers’ markets. I would lose the stalls selling tat and instead focus on local produce; I would put real food back into the heart of the city and make it accessible to the people.

Ears, Trotters and Trimmings; a Perfectly Porky Pie

My ongoing quest to find traditional British food has lead me to a 14th century pork pie recipe in Dorothy Hartley’s Food in England; 

‘Flea Pyg and cut him in pieces, season with pepper and salt, and nutmeg , and large mace and lay in your coffin good store of raisins and currans, and fill with sweet butter and close it and serve hot or cold’.

After consulting a few more recent recipes, I decided to give it a go. I made my ‘coffin’ out of hot-water pastry moulded around a jam jar. The filling is pork trimmings and smoked bacon from my local butcher. The jelly is made from trotters and ears boiled with carrot, celery, onion, peppercorns and sea salt. This concoction is boiled for three hours and then cooled overnight. The fat is skimmed off the top and it is boiled again, before being poured into the pie through a hole in the pastry lid.

Over the last few days the kitchen has filled with a catalogue of porky smells; from the foul steam pouring off a pan of simmering ears and trotters to the delightful aroma of hot-water pastry baked in a hot oven.

The famous Melton Mowbray pork pie is made using a pastry case that has been ‘raised up’ around a pie mould or jam jar, filled with seasoned pork and topped with a pastry lid. Like Westcountry Farmhouse Cheddar and Jersey Royal potatoes, The Melton Mowbray pie has had a Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) since 1993. Other pies make use of a band to prevent the bowing of the sides, or a pie tin with a removable bottom; some pies use minced, cured pork and different spices, but none of these pies can be called Melton Mowbray pies by European Law.

The jelly ingredients

The Jelly ingredients

Jam jar and pastry dough

Jam jar and a ball of pastry dough

The pastry raised around the jar

The pastry raised around the jar

Out comes the jar, in goes the pie filling

Out comes the jar, in goes the pie filling

The lid crimped, the foil belt fastened

The lid is crimped, the foil belt fastened

The finished pies

The finished pies

After cooling on a rack, the pies are refrigerated to allow the jelly to set. They should be eaten at room temperature with chutney or piccalilli.

I find it Ironic that many of today’s meat eaters shun cuts like offal and trotters while scoffing processed meat products by the kilo. This is an unsustainable way of eating meat. Using the whole animal is the best way to respect a creature that has been sacrificed for our tables and cooking from scratch is the only way to respect our own bodies. I have decided recently to eat less meat, and when I do to seek out the most weird and wonderful cuts on offer in my local butcher. If I’m going to dine on pigs ears I at least want the bragging rights of knowingly doing so.

The lesson we need to learn from the horse meat scandal is not to tighten up regulations and increase spot checks, but to stop eating processed meat all together.

Stop getting ripped off in the supermarkets; buy real cuts of real meat from a local butcher

Why does the man eating his dinner have blinkers on? Because the horse in his lasagne doesn’t need them any more.

In your local butchers you can see the animal from which your cut has come; your butcher has nothing to hide and he is proud of the contents of his shop. Try doing the same in the supermarket and you will have a different experience. DNA tests on hundreds of UK meat products are showing just how much the big meat processors are concealing from us – how much they are cheating us. The supermarket employees don’t have the answers, but they might send you to one of their suppliers, where if you are lucky you might get shown the room where the last suggestion of flesh is power-hosed from the animal carcasses before being swept off the floor and sent to be processed.

Ready meals

Ready meals

What real meat there is in the supermarkets has been marked up so much that we are forced to go for the cheaper, processed alternative.They have us on a leash, thinking that we are making our own decisions when really they are making them for us. buying real cuts of real meat is often cheaper in small butchers than in supermarkets. The difference is that your local butcher has to look you in the eye when he serves you whereas the CEOs of big meat processing companies can happily screw you from a safe distance and line their pockets with the proceeds.

Processed meat

Processed meat

As if our food culture wasn’t already the laughing stock of Europe before the horse meat scandal. According to Joanna Blythman we buy the most ready meals in Europe, and we eat more packets of crisps than all of the other European countries put together. We are so used to seeing an ingredients list that is longer than our attention span that we have learnt to switch off. As a nation we have regressed to the stage where we scoff down foods made from liquid pasteurised egg, maltodextrin and diglycerides of fatty acids, and even my spell check doesn’t recognise this last one! I’m ashamed to think what my ancestor would say; who died from eating a hitherto unknown poisonous berry so that future generations might learn what is food and what isn’t.

It is possible to eat well on any income by buying the cheaper cuts of meat from a local butcher and eating less meat in general. Kicking the processed meat habit is better for your health, your wallet, your community and the environment; just because supermarket shopping is easy doesn’t mean its good! Britain’s green and pleasant land produces some of the best meat in Europe, but the reality is that without the support of their communities local butchers will be a thing of the past. Then we will really see how expensive real cuts of real meat will become in the supermarkets. Without the competition, who is going to stop them?

Stargazy Pie

Stargazy Pie

Stargazy Pie

I accredit my particular liking of oily fish to two childhood memories: The first is of a fisherman at Branscome beach on the Dorset coast who takes groups mackerel fishing in the summer. We would spend an hour racing to see who could catch the most and then barbecue the lot on the beach that evening. The second memory is from one of my favourite children’s books, The Mousehole Cat. Based on true events, the story tells of Cornish fisherman Tom Bawcock and his trusty cat Mowzer who brave the winter storm in their fishing boat to save the starving people of Mousehole.

Mousehole Cat

Mowzer soothing the raging sea-cat

In the book the storm is personified as a raging storm-cat who is soothed by Mowzer’s purring. When the intrepid duo return they bake their catch into an enormous Stargazy Pie to feed the villagers. Traditionally this pie uses whole sardines whose heads poke through the pastry crust to gaze at the stars. Baked in this way the oil released from the fish during cooking is contained within the pie. Folk lore tells that Stargazy Pie, along with other unusual Cornish pies, prevented the Devil from crossing the Tamar into Cornwall. He reasoned that the Cornish seem to put anything and everything into a pie and decided to return to Devon before they take a fancy to ‘Devilly Pie’.

In Dorothy Hartley’s book Food in England she claims that ‘the vegetable or herb that the beast feeds upon is the best condiment to it when cooked… thus, Thyme for mountain grayling, watercress for brook trout’. Now, I’m not claiming that pilchards feed upon the following, but I think that bacon lardons, mushrooms, leeks and a mustard sauce compliment their flavoursome oily meat in my Stargazy Pie.

Instructions

First of all make 350g of pastry an hour or so in advance and let it sit in the fridge.  Crisp up bacon lardons in an oiled saucepan and add the vegetables to soften with a lid on. In a separate pan boil two or three hard boiled eggs.

Meanwhile roll out enough pastry to cover the bottom of your greased pie dish and par-bake. When it comes out of the oven, lay six gutted, deboned sardines on top of the pastry with their tails meeting in the middle and their heads poking out of the side of the dish.

Spoon over the fish the sliced eggs, vegetables and a sauce made from flour, butter, milk and mustard. Then cover with another layer of pastry so that the heads are poking out like the handles of a ship’s wheel. Crimp the edges and brush over with an egg glaze.

Bake at 220 celcius for 15 minutes, then turn down to 180 for a further 25-30 minutes. Serve with boiled potatoes and steamed broccoli.

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Pie vegetables

Vegetables

20130305_192248The fish laid in the par-baked pastry.

Valentines day meal – Three Courses for Three Saints

Two Gouldian Finches

Two Gouldian Finches

There was not one but three Saint Valentines; a priest from Rome, a Bishop from Interamna (now known as Terni, Itali) and a third who lived in the Roman provence of Africa, now Tunisia and part of Libya. The BBC website reveals that Bishop Valentine was incarcerated by Emperor Claudius in 270 AD. His crime was conducting ‘illegitimate wedding ceremonies in the capital’ at a time when mariage between young citizens was illegal because it was thought detrimental to young soldiers. Before he was executed he fell in love with his jailor’s daughter and on the eve of his beheading he sent her a note; ‘from your Valentine’.

Since the ancient Greeks it has been believed that certain foods improve sexual performance. They are named aphrodisiacs after Aphrodite, the Goddess of sexuality and love.  Garlic, mushrooms and wine infused with cheese and onions were thought to increase the blood flow to the nether regions and reduce inhibitions. Thankfully in today’s society cheese and onion have been relegated to the realm of Walkers, to be replaced by asparagus, figs, honey and chocolate. I wonder what our three saints would say about the blatant sexual discourse evoked by these foods; it doesn’t seem very Catholic thats for sure!

Its funny how three martyred saints could inspire such materialism in today’s society. The fourteenth of February sees the shops filling up with an abundance of teddy bears, cherubs and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. We have lost sight of the reason Valentine’s day is celebrated on the fourteenth of February. In Chaucer’s Parlement of Foules he states that half-way through the second month the birds ‘pair off and usually forsake all others’.

Its easy for the commercialism of Valentine’s day to put you off entirely, but for me its about ignoring this and taking the opportunity to share a meal with someone special. My first thought was to make a stew of little birds, then I decided it was a bit morbid, so we are going to make three courses, one for each saint; an artichoke starter from Rome, a Tunisian Fish Stew for the main course and Panpepato from Terni for dessert.

What’s the fuss about posh dried pasta?

3 kinds of dried spaghetti

From left to right; Napolina Basic, Napolina Bronze Died, Tesco Authentic Italian

The discrepancy between different brands of dried spaghetti has never really occurred to me. I always thought the question was whether to go for time consuming but delicious home-made pasta, or quick perfectly acceptable dried pasta. When most dried brands contain just water and wheat, how much better can the more expensive stuff possibly be? And is it worth paying more for this staple food? I came up with a pasta criteria to find out; good dried pasta must:

  • Have a firm texture when cooked
  • Have a flavour of its own that comes out when cooked in salted water
  • Hold onto the sauce it is then mixed with

Mike Sissons, author of Global Science Books explains the science behind the firm texture of good pasta; ‘The key features of durum wheat include its hardness, intense yellow colour and nutty taste.’ High protein semolina* from good durum wheat is made up of uniform protein particles and minimal starchy particles which makes the dough strong and elastic during manufacture and firm to the bite when cooked. If the correct balance between protein and starch is achieved the pasta shouldn’t shed too much starch into the cooking water.

(*Semolina is a coarse flour made from the protein-rich endosperm of the wheat.)

In her book, Italian Food, Elizabeth David concurs that the dried pasta with the best flavour and texture is made using very hard water and the highest quality durum wheat. Naples is the home of such favourable conditions which is perhaps why Napolina spaghetti, at £1.55 per 500g, is more than twice the price of its Tesco ‘Authentic Italian’ counterpart. The latter comes in at 65p per 500g despite the nutritional information on the two packets being very similar.

But does sauce adhere to Napolina spaghetti more than cheaper brands? Azélias Kitchen has a highly educational post on bronze die pasta. When making pasta, dough is extruded through a stamp mechanism called a die. The shape of the die determines the shape of the pasta and the material the die is made of determines the texture of the finished product. Though Napolina spaghetti costs £1.55, it is extruded through the same synthetic die as the cheaper brands which gives the pasta a shiny sauce-repelling texture.

The best dried pasta is made using a traditional bronze die, which makes the pasta rough and absorbant, the perfect surface for soaking up sauce. The spaghetti in Napolina’s Bronze Die range costs £1.99 for 500g.

Bronze die

Bronze die (photo found online)

So there you have it, the very best dried pasta on offer is made in Naples out of the finest quality high protein semolina from durum wheat. The dough is mixed using the local hard water, before being extruded through a traditional bronze die and slowly dried.

That is a lot of things to remember if you do decide to splash out on a pack of dried pasta. The main buzzwords to look out for are ‘bronze died’; Generally if the manufacturer has gone to the trouble of using a bronze die, then their ingredients will also be of good quality and their method sound.

Having conducted this research I cooked a spaghetti bolognese with Napolina Bronze Died spaghetti last night. With all my newfound knowledge I thought the spaghetti would dance a waltz around my mouth and romance my taste buds. However, my initial reaction was sceptical with regards to the value of the product.  Luckily the ragù alla bollognese made up for the disappointing spaghetti. I used up the dried porcini left over from the mushroom risotto I made last week and it was fantastic!

Despite falling at the first hurdle, my gut feeling is that good ingredients and traditional processes must yield a superior product, so I will continue looking for a pasta whose taste lives up to its credentials.