Rob Wickings's Blog, page 54

The Drokk-Easy

The Drokk-easy by Rob Wickings on Mixcloud

Stomm! Rob and Clive are joined by long-time friend of the Speakeasy Chris Rogers to talk about one of the most iconic British comic characters of all time: Judge Dredd. We pick apart one of his most iconic tales, The Day The Law Died, and see how that story is a distillation of everything that makes the man who IS The Law so great.

Geekery and comics. It doesn’t get much more Speakeasy than that!

Warning: contains gratuitous prog-sniffing.

The Joy Of The Oatcake

With a last-minute invite from the lovely Maria Thomas (friend to the blog and talented actress and producer), the Leading Man and I made it out to the wilds of Crouch End last Tuesday for a trip to the movies. The Greenhorn Film Festival, supporting new and emerging film-makers, held its Official Selection Night at the Arthouse Cinema, and we were treated to an evening of cracking shorts.

With patron Mike Leigh in attendance, the programme included Ed Chappell's prize-winning documentary Sandyman, a portrait of a sand artist who scribes mandala-like artworks into a Devon beach. Personal favourites of mine were Christian Schleffer's The Dewberry Empire, a funny and macabre animation about the often cruel world of children's game play, and Chris Lee and Paul Storrie's The Hedgehog, an exploration of games culture with a brutal twist.

But I'm not really here to talk about films today. See, one of the shorts was a smart little faux-newsreel piece on a culinary passion of mine. The film was George Smith's The Ultimate Guide To The Oatcake. And frankly, I'm shocked that this brilliant example of British local grub can be treated as a curiosity.

The oatcake is not, as the name might suggest, a type of flapjack or cereal bar. It certainly isn't a cake. It's more of a savoury pancake, with a denser, more robust structure that's somehow also airy and easy to digest. Think of it as a cross between a tortilla and a chapati. In fact, one long-standing theory for the origin of the oatcake has soldiers coming back from duty in India at the height of the British Empire and demanding their wives make the delicious savoury pancakes to which they had become addicted. Using local ingredients including oats, the result, although not authentic (we'd have to wait another hundred years for the real deal to make its way over from the sub-continent) were entirely delicious.

The oatcake is a highly versatile foodstuff, a benefit of its simplicity. A fantastic addition to a cooked breakfast, it's also great stuffed with cheese and ham as a lunch-time treat. Flavoursome and filling, I've even used oatcakes in a kind of cannelloni, rolling a thick ragu in them, covering with cheese and baking until everything bubbles. Now that, my hungry Readership, is a winter warmer.

The one problem with the oatcake is that of supply. Apart from aficionados like TLC and I, the oatcake is barely known outside of its native Staffordshire. Smith, in his pert little doco, notes that the shops that were once on every street corner in places like Stoke are fading away. The exclusivity of the dish, the fact that it's tricky to get outside The Potteries, has contributed to an obscurity that means that fewer and fewer people even know about them. Their short shelf life means that supermarkets are leery to stock them. The worry is that this most delicious of local dishes is in danger of becoming a culinary footnote.

Fortunately, thanks to the internet, it's easier than ever to buy them in vacuum packs from suppliers like High Lane or Poveys. You can even get a pancake-like mix to which you simply add water and a little fat. Or you could, you know, try to make them yourself. The batter is a mix of fresh yeast, sugar, fine oatmeal, plain flour and water, a leavened mix that needs time to rise and develop the bubbly texture that makes the oatcake so delicious.

Now, I've never tried this. I prefer the illicit thrill of knowing that there's a pack on its way down from my West Midlands contacts. There's an almost druggy tingle to the process. Crack the pack, hot pan, two minutes a side and hot damn, there's breakfast. There's nothing better with bacon and sausage, or simply warm with butter. But however you eat it, the oatcake is a must-try. It's even, with the low GI from the oats, good for you. Not if you fry it in lard, obviously. Find a balance. But do, please, find a pack of oatcakes. Your breakfasts will never be the same.

High Lane Oatcakes
Poveys Oatcakes
Staffordshire Oatcakes

For more on George Smith's great little documentary, including festival screenings, check him out on Facebook or Twitter. It's well worth a look.

 

Liable To Deprave And Corrupt

The UK Government's attempts to nanny up the images that we are allowed to make and view just took a new and twisted turn. Under amendments to the outdated Obscene Publications Act, which have already passed the Lords and become law on December 1st, there's about to be a major clampdown on the legality of extreme imagery—one that should worry every British film-maker.

I've made my disapproval of state control on the moving image clear in the past. If people want to bring a camera into the bedroom, that's their business. But, in using worries over child porn to pass ever more restrictive legislation, lawmakers have gone too far.

The existing rules are already open to abuse, and cases with laughably thin evidence have already gone to court—thankfully, usually to be thrown out. A recent case featuring an unfortunate young man found to have a beastiality video on his phone hit the headlines when the animal in question turned out to be a bloke in a tiger suit, who finished off with a cheery thumbs up and a Tony The Tiger-style “that's grrrreat!” Hilarious, right? Not for the poor sod in question, who lost his job and suffered two years of approbrium. Turns out the film was sent to him by a mate. I wonder how strong that friendship turned out to be…

The new amendments seek to legalise (gee thanks) the depiction of normal sexual activity on screen. And therein lies the problem, of course, because we now have a government intent in codifying what constitutes normal sexual activity and criminalise anything that isn't—at least, on screen. God help you if you like a bit of bondage and the rules and safe words that you and your partner worked out in advance aren't on there at the beginning as a kind of censor's warning.

So let's look at those amendments, just in case you think I'm over-egging the pudding. The new restrictions make it illegal to show torture with instruments, bondage with no clear sign of consent, realistic depictions of rape, and dismemberment. Which are terms so vaguely drawn that they could describe almost anything. Certainly, most horror movies made in the last 50 years fall into those definitions in one way or another. As does art-house fare like Gaspar Noe's Irreversible and Lars Von Trier's Anti-Christ. As does the work of prominent directors like Quentin Tarantino and Martin Scorsese. As does last week's episode of Marvel's Agents Of SHIELD. As do recent episodes of Eastenders. At a rough count, thirteen nominees for the Best Picture Oscar over the last 20 years would be illegal under these new laws, including five winners and the current holder of the award, Steve McQueen's 12 Years A Slave. In short, any film that shows any gore other than a gunshot squib or a blood-pack stabbing, or any captive tied up against their will will be subject to prosecution under these new laws.

Except, of course, there's a handy little out-clause. Anything with a BBFC certification is exempt from the rules. Hollywood breathes a sigh of relief. But where does that leave the film-makers who choose not to go through the hoops and expense of the Soho Square tango for a short film they made for zero budget in their shed? Where does that leave the horror enthusiasts who show at festivals like Horror-On-Sea or Grimm Up North? Where does that leave talented film-makers like my mate Mike Tack, whose work is based on just the kind of extreme imagery that Westminster wants to ban?

The law as it stands has sent innocent people to jail and ruined their lives for entirely consensual activities. Now that law is tightening its grip on independent film-makers who choose to use rubber and corn syrup, or CGI, to create films that will shock and disturb, but also get us to think about our lives and the frequently fragile grip we have on them. I could talk at length about the importance and history of horror, and how we love to be shaken and stirred by the dark arts. There should be no need.

There should also be no need for legislation to reach this far, or be worded so vaguely that it can be used on nearly anything on which the police care to prosecute. It appears that in fact, police are increasingly using the Act when they can find no other way in which to charge people, as Jane Fae points out in a recent politics.co.uk article (which at least opens up a little hope that this law may be quashed in the court). In the meantime, indie and underground film-makers are on the verge of discovering that their work has made them lawbreakers.

Let's end with a fun game. Take a look at the Charging Practices section of the new Obscene Publications Act, and see how many films you can prosecute!

http://www.cps.gov.uk/legal/l_to_o/obscene_publications/

 

 

 

 

 

As Local As It Gets

We took a break. Just a night away, out in the middle of nowhere.

A chance to settle ourselves before that dreaded Christmas season beds in with a vengeance.
TLC and I have been working our way through a small chain of hotels based in the Cotswolds, called (natch) Cotswold Inns. They're dotted in small towns and villages in Oxfordshire and Glocestershire: places like Burford, Moreton-In-The-Marsh and, on this occasion, the tiny village of Bibury.
It looks like a half-horse town, but Bibury punches above its weight. Home to a beautiful Saxon church, a row of cottages that are among the most photographed in the country (during our stay, we lost count of the Japanese coach parties that pulled in)–and, of course, the Swan Hotel.
Cotswold Inns make an effort with their grub, and we have made a habit of snagging a lunch or dinner deal along with the room. As always, we weren't disappointed.* We were especially pleased to see that the culinary ingredient that puts Bibury on the map for foodies was available for both breakfast and lunch. Trout, from the farm that's literally a stone's throw across the road.
Now, locavorism can be a bit of a pain in the ass. Sourcing your food from a 50-100 mile radius is fine and dandy if you can afford some of the more artisanal product on offer, or have access to a farm shop. If not, things get a bit more tricky. But it would be foolish indeed for The Swan not to offer Bibury trout. It's right there, ferchrissakes. Sweet and fresh, trout is a fish that has the characteristics of salmon and, to my mind, a little more class. Whole, baked en papillote or blasted under a grill for five minutes a side, it's a fragrant, easy supper.
As a smoked fillet, trout is a revelation. It somehow keeps its characteristic flavour, working with the smoke to present a more delicate yet entirely satisfying alternative to its bigger brother. As a starter with a caper-studded potato salad, smoked trout fillets are a knockout. As gravlax, the milder flavour works beautifully with a dill and sugar cure. As a fish cake, it's a delight, although I'd recommend a little care when making them: think chunky bits of fish, rather than a slurry folded through mash. With a thick, home-made tartare sauce on the side? Yes, please.
We took home a bag full, of course. Even driven back down the M4 to X&HTowers, Bibury trout has impeccable locavore credentials. 2014 has become the year when I found a new appreciation for the humble smoked fish. From the smokehouses of Northumberland to the pure, clean rivers of Gloucestershire, our fish packs a punch that can't be ignored.

 

 

*with one caveat. For a chain that pushes its Cotswold creds so hard, it was a shame not to see local ales at the bar. From Arbor to Wickwar, there are dozens of breweries within 20 miles of the Swan Inn. They could do better than Theakston and Deuchars, surely…

 

 

The Return Of Verse Publishing

2014 has been a quiet year for Verse Publishing, the home of The Dead Files so far. That’s about to change. 

Allow me to explain. The leading light of Verse, Rob Maythorne, has had a busy year. Along with running a successful photography business, he’s only gone and got married. All of which has meant that the publishing house he started has had to take a back seat. He couldn’t do it all by himself.

Finally, wisely, he asked for help. Help from a wise, capable and strikingly handsome feller with whom he already had a good working relationship. Step forward… me.

I’ve become Senior Contributing Editor at Verse, a move which means I’m much more able to work with our authors and buff their stories to a polished sheen. My partnership with Rob has also given us the chance to try something new: a podcast.

With November, the official month of novel-writing, under way, now is the time to bring Verse back into your eyeline with a burst of writerly goodness. Witness our new wares!

First up, we’re proud to present the debut novel from author Michael Coolwood, The Unexpected Death Of A Soldier. A vivid, picaresque steampunk story told with plenty of brash flair and wild imaginative touches, Unexpected Death takes the genre to strange new places.

Click here to buy The Unexpected Death Of A Soldier

Meanwhile, in time for the spookiest time of the year, Verse is delighted to announce the return of The Dead Files! Dead Files 5 is our strongest edition yet, featuring twisted takes on the zombie-verse from friends like Chris Lambert (whose Tales From The Black Meadow and recently released soundtrack album Songs From… are firm favourites at Verse Towers) and new talent whose stories will make you look at Hansel and Gretel and your next-door neighbour in a whole new way. Oh, and I’m in there too, with the conclusion to my epic story of electrical zombies in a post-apocalyptic future, Seal The Gates Of Hell.

Click here to buy The Dead Files: Vol 5

I mentioned a podcast earlier. Rob and I have launched a fortnightly chat about all things writing called, appropriately enough, The Write-Up. We want to share our tips and hints about how to live, thrive and survive in the literary world… or at the least, get yourself out there and your voice heard. The Write-up is available through iTunes: just click on the link below to be taken to the subscribe page.

Verse Books presents: The Write-Up!

And this is just the start. Look out for Verse in 2015. The word will be out there…

Bring On The Winter: Garlic shoulder of lamb with potato boulangère

Doco Dom and The Lady Deming have been visiting old haunts in France, and returned with a gift for lucky old me: a big-ass garlic grappe from Lautrec, the town famous for its stinking roses. I was, of course, deeply appreciative, but I was left with a slight problem. Now I have to do the stuff justice.

Garlic is the friendliest stuff with which to cook. The papery coating is the perfect defence against the heat of the oven, and a roasted head of garlic is a brilliant accompaniment to just about any savoury meal. Simply lop the top off, splash over a little oil, and cook for half an hour in a medium oven. The honey-coloured, mellow-flavoured paste that results when you squeeze out the cloves is a delight.

But we can do better than that. Keeping it French, I decided to snag some lamb shoulder, and put together the ideal slow-cooked meal for a lazy Sunday.

 

I'm a recent convert to the ways of the slow-cooked shoulder of beast. It is, to be fair, a dish that requires time. I could get my act together before leaving for work and pop a cut into the slow cooker, I suppose. But really, this is a weekend dish, designed for a bit of kitchen puttering. Particularly if you're smart, and do the potatoes at the same time.

Preheat your oven to 130C, and get on with the lamb. I had a half-kilo lump which will easily serve TLC and I with leftovers. Season it thoroughly, then get garlicking. Skin a whole head of the lovely stuff (it's easiest to bash it with the flat end of a knife or cleaver–the flesh will pop free from the papery husks) and nick off the hard stem. Then make deep incisions into the lamb with a sharp knife, and stuff the cloves into these pockets. Try to make sure they go all the way in. Don't be shy. Shove 'em in there.

Now to the spuds. Potatoes boulangère is the way forward here: layers of potato and onion, moistened with stock and flavoured with the copious fat from the lamb. You need a mandolin to do this properly. No, not the stringed instrument, you fool, the terrifying cross between a knife and a guillotine that has shortened many a chef's finger. Finely slice a couple of onions and four or five big potatoes. And grab some herbs. Thyme is traditional, but rosemary also works brilliantly.

Now to build. You can use a roasting tin, but I find a good deep casserole works just as well. Butter it well first. Pop a layer of potato in the bottom of the pot, then onion, herbs and a grind of salt and pepper. Then repeat, layering spuds, onion, herbs and seasoning until you've reached the top. If you're using Pyrex, then you get to see the result of your labours at the end. Check out this work of art.

 

Then all you do is slosh over a couple of ladlefuls of good stock, pop your lamb on top of everything and shove it in the oven. Then wait, which is probably the hardest bit. Five hours cooking time, slow and low, letting the fat gently render out of the lamb and into the boulangère, giving the garlic time to mellow and soften. Cook it for long enough and the cloves will actually melt into the meat, although I like the notion of squidging the soft garlic around on the plate.

When that five hours is finally done, let the meat rest for twenty minutes, then shred it. If there's a bone on the joint, it should slide free without complaint. Serve the lamb and potatoes with a simply steamed green veg (we had broccoli). You shouldn't need gravy as the boulangère is still quite sloppy. But don't let me stop you from sloshing a little mint sauce on the side.

The whole thing is is rich, herby, rib-sticking. There's nothing harsh about it. Hell, you don't even have to chew that hard. On the day the clocks went back, it was the perfect way to usher in the cooler months.

 

 

The Summer Movie Sum-Up

Clive and Rob are joined again by film-makers Maria Thomas and Simon Aitken as we revisit our May Summer Movie preview. Did we see the films we said we’d watch? Did we like the films we said we’d watch? Did we watch films we didn’t say we’d watch? Did we film watches we didn’t have the time for?

From the game-changing Guardians Of The Galaxy to the tender, insightful Frank, we’ve got the whole gamut of the summer movie experience–summed up.

The Summer Movie Sum-up by Rob Wickings on Mixcloud

Direct link: http://traffic.libsyn.com/xhtspeakeasy/October_Movie_Sum-up.m4a

Ooh, yes. We mentioned the music video that Simon directed, starring Maria. Check it out!

The Robin Hood Beer Festival: On Target For Food!

The Robin Hood Beer Festival is a must for any fan of the fine art of brewing. It takes over the grounds of beautiful Nottingham Castle for a long weekend in early October, usually catching the last of the sunshine before England succumbs to the soft rains of autumn. The Festival has been a lock on the Beeranaut's diary for quite a few years now, and 2014 saw a representative quartet (Super Sam, Rev Sherlock, Charmin' Ciaran and myself, El Conojito) jump on the train and hit the Midlands.

Now, I could spend a long time raving about the quality and choice of beer on offer, and let's be straight up here: The Robin Hood Festival has a larger selection than any other gathering in the country, and that includes the Great British in Olympia. Given the choice, you should be heading here rather than the big shed in London. The surroundings are nicer, the beer is better and, most importantly, the food is amazing. There'll be plenty of bloggers out there talking about the beer. Me, I'm peckish. Let's take a look at the food.

The thing with the Robin Hood Fest is that we're almost more excited about the grub than the beer. We know we're guaranteed a good feed at a reasonable price. We're not talking about duff burgers or a soggy cone of chips here. The scran at Robin Hood is top notch.

It never seems long after we head up the hill to the main marquee before we gravitate to the deli stand. It's lunch-time, after all. This is a shared concern between The Cheese Shop, which is normally based in the Flying Horse Arcade in Nottingham itself, and Melton Mowbray's own Mrs. King's Pies. I dream about the porky goodness encased in a lovely crumbly hot-water crust. A half-pie with a dab of mustard will set you back £2, and set you up for the afternoon. You will note that greedy Conojito had a salami on the side. Dense, meaty and utterly delightful. Rob's top tip: put a whole pie back to pick up for later, along with some choice cheeses. You have to check out the smoked stilton.

Porky bliss

 

While you're picking up treats, head to the Merry Berry stall and snag some chocolate for the significant other. These guys do a roaring trade at the bigger food festivals (they were at Olympia this year) and specialise in creamy buttons and spicy dark chocolate. TLC insists I bring her back the white chocolate with lemongrass. I have a thing for the Scorpion Death Chili Chocolate: absurdly hot, with a burn that just keeps building. Try it, but have a glass of something to hand, because that bad boy is gonna sting.

After an afternoon's connosieuring of fine ales, the hunger struck and we Beeranauts wended our way down the hill to the food stands. Tempted as I was by the maple and beer-glazed bacon, something more substantial was needed. Memsaab, a local curry house of distinction, was serving up good grub for the geezer on the go. A heaped punnet of curry and rice was £6 and it was money wisely invested. Beef Madras or Chicken Tikka Masala, both beautifully spiced and fall-apart tender. If you ask nicely, you can have a bit of both. Don't be embarrassed if you feel the urge to lick your tray clean. Lord knows, I wasn't. Memsaab also did amazing wraps of grilled marinaded meat. I had one of those later in the day. Hey, I was hungry.

As the sun started to ebb and the crowds started to grow, we knew it was time to vacate the site and find a quiet hostelry. For one thing, we'd been on our feet for six hours. But we needed one last snackie to get us on our way. A bowl of duck fat roasties from the appropriately named Duck Fat Roastie company did the trick. Deeply savoury, crispy, crumbly in the middle, intensely addictive. A big bowl was £3, and was enough for 4 greedy boozy blokes. The scraps at the bottom were the best bits, but the whole thing was deliriously good.

Ciaran makes an annexation attempt on the duck fat roasties. He failed.

 

A quiet pint at the Castle Rock Brewery tap by Nottingham's thoughtfully restored train station and we Beeranauts considered the ales of the day. The hits for me were Oakham's Citra (which you can get in M&S, in a slightly rebranded form), Enville's Cherry Blonde, which was the essence of a Cherry Bakewell in a glass, and Nottingham Brewery's own Centurion Porter. But I don't think I had a duff drop all day. Not bad, considering there were over a thousand beers to choose from and I was going purely by instinct.

As ever, The Robin Hood Beer Festival was the best of all possible worlds for the discerning Beeranaut: good beer, great food and a fantastic atmosphere in lovely surroundings. It's probably the highlight of my beer year, and its growing popularity shows that I'm not alone. Maybe see some of you there next October?

 

Your Beeranauts: El Conojito, Rev Sherlock, Super Sam, Charmin' Ciaran. Blue skies, great beer.

 

Riding The Horse

I spent the weekend in the garden, and had to face the rambling wildness of our herb patch. In particular, the time had come to do something about the horseradish.

Now, horseradish is one of those plants that, like mint, is incredibly easy to grow and incredibly tricky to control. It's recommended that you plant it in a pot to keep it in check. We didn't do that, and ended up with a plant that, while magnificent with its bold green flags of leaves, was taking over.

I went in with a fork, and showed it who was boss.

The end result of my labour was about half a kilo of gnarly root, clean white at the point where I'd snapped it free. It smelt, ever so faintly, of the sharp tang of the stuff I'd dollop on my roast beef. Time to make horseradish sauce.

Now, you can just grate freshly from the root, and it'll store in the freezer quite happily. But I fancied an experiment, so after a quick Google I found just how easy horseradish sauce is to make.

I peeled and cubed about 225g of the root and slung it in my trusty Magimix, along with a teaspoon of salt, a tablespoon of honey and 175 ml of cider vinegar. Then I simply blasted it all into a pale, sloppy paste. Sauce done.

Now, a warning. Do not, whatever you do, peer into the bowl of the processor once you're finished. The active ingredient in horseradish, the thing that gives that sting, allyl isothiocyanate, is released when the root is grated or blitzed, and there's a lot of it aerosolised in the bowl of the processor. End result: if you put your face over the bowl, you will end up with an eyeful of concentrated eau d'raifort. If you think that stuff stings on the plate, imagine how it feels in your tearducts. I speak from bitter experience. Don't do it.

Ok, so we have our sauce. Now, what do we do with it? It's not like we have roast beef every day. Well, horseradish is a member of the Brassicaceae family, which includes mustard. And there's your clue. You can use horseradish in any recipe that calls for mustard: the two have a similar pungency and sinus-tickling sting. It's great with oily fish, cutting through the richness. This is something the Japanese know all about with sushi (fun fact: most wasabi sold in the West is actually dyed horseradish. The real stuff is surprisingly hard to get hold of outside Japan). It's remarkably good with mackerel, for example. Try it in mash, or mixed into mayo for a condiment or dip with a kick.

To sum up, then. Horseradish is easy to grow, and remarkably versatile. Try it with something other than roast beef, and be prepared to have your taste buds tickled in the nicest way.

 

The September Read-easy!

Who doesn’t like a good book? Well, if you don’t, you’re in the wrong place this month!

Rob and Clive share the works of literary merit that have tickled their fancy recently, in a podcast that’s sure to appeal to those of you that enjoy slightly drunken rambling from two opinionated old geezers.

Pop your slippers on, pour yourself a sherry and join us as we crack open a volume or two…

The September Read-easy by Rob Wickings on Mixcloud

(Clive mentioned The Doctor Who Book Club podcast: you can check that out here.)