Cho Cho: A Guest Vegetable Post from Peckhamistan


Y’all know that Peckham isn’t really in the Middle East, right? But for our purposes it may as well be, as it is from there that so much of my vegetable lore has been sourced. A lot of it from our pet greengrocer, who never ceases to surprise us with his range of weird and whacky vegetables.

Cho cho goes under many aliases. When we first met him he was masquerading as a rather sad, tasteless side dish in Barbados. As the man and I were on our honeymoon however, and the moon was as full as our glasses, and our table was on the beach, and I was wearing that skirt that I’d waited forever to wear, we barely noticed our vegetable accompaniments. As erstwhile gourmands we did think to ask our waiter about it, and discovered that in that part of the world it is called a christophine. Cho cho is also known as chayote, vegetable pear and choko. When I saw it in the greengrocers the other day I couldn’t resist having a go at preparing it, kind of figuring that in the worst case scenario one’s best beloved would simply spit it out and scowl.

So here you go: one vegetable, prepared 2 + 1/2 different ways….

Cho cho needs to be peeled. Er, and that’s it. There is a stone in the middle, which is entirely edible if a teensy bit bitter. So you can chop it, dice it, slice it, grate it…

It is most commonly boiled, quite often in the context of soup, and so that is what I did with it first. In fact the two Jamaicans who were in the greengrocers at the time I was buying my cho chos solemnly informed my that I ‘HAD to boil them and eat them with beef’. It tastes a little like boiled cucumber or marrow, although as long as you don’t over cook it (it needs about 8 minutes) it has a much better texture. To make it slightly more flavoursome I then tossed it (still hot) in sekanjabin (Persian mint sherbert) and fresh mint and freshly squeezed lime: you could improvise with mint sauce if you don’t live too near an Iranian corner shop. Cho cho must be a cold food (sard) under the Persian system of dietetics, and so the mint (which is garm, or warm) offsets it nicely, whilst enhancing the slight sweetness of the vegetable. Frankly it was delicious and even one’s extraordinarily pernickety in-laws tucked in. This ‘recipe’ would also work well with marrow.

Next we cut it into semi circular slices and fried it in olive oil. Once it started to soften a tad, we lobbed in 2-3 cloves of diced garlic, 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander, 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin, a pinch of chilli flakes and 1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric. When it started to brown we added 2-3 tomatoes, similarly sliced, and then we covered the pan, turned off the heat and let the cho cho just sit there stewing a while. Know what? It was even deliciouser than the first ‘recipe’. We ate it with forks and moppy bread straight from the pan. One’s best-beloved didn’t scowl. This way of preparing it, for those of you who do not have the fortune of living in Peckham, would also work well with courgette or aubergine.

Oh, and the 1/2 recipe to which I referred above? Cho cho is also real nice raw – it makes for fairly fun crudites, holds its own in a salad, and lends pleasing crunchiness in sarnies….

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Well this is nice…

Veggiestan seems to have made it on to the shortlist for the Guild of Food Writers Cook Book of the Year Award. This is totally unexpected, and we are sure we won’t win as the list features some stunning books. But what an honour even to make it thus far… You may think positive thoughts for us :) And we’ll keep you posted.

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Introducing: Mama Ghanoush


Because Baba shouldn’t get all the credit.

Yep, OK, so there is no such thing as Mama Ghanoush, and I’m just being really silly. But if Baba Ghanoush translates as ‘beloved of Baba’, then the title is apt, as this recipe is much beloved by one’s Mama. And the two recipes ARE awfully similar: smoky mashed vegetables with tahina and garlic…

Ingredients (for a party bowlful):

  • 6 courgettes, washed and topped
  • olive oil (a splodge, followed by a splodge further on)
  • 6 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced
  • 2 teaspoons roughly cracked coriander seeds
  • salt and coarse ground black pepper
  • 3-4 large tomatoes (squidgy ones will do)
  • 2 tablespoons tahina
  • juice + zest of one large lemon
  • handful of fresh coriander
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
  • 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika

So all you do is to… Halve the courgettes lengthways, place them in a roasting tray and drizzle them with a little olive oil. Sprinkle the garlic, coriander seeds and salt and pepper over the top, and then bake uncovered at gas mark 4 (180C) for around half an hour or until the corgis* are tender. Allow them to cool a modicum.

Once the vegetables are cool enough to handle, pop them in a blender (or chop them if making this by hand), garlic and all, and blend along with the tomato, tahina, lemon, coriander and spices. After a couple of minutes drizzle in some olive oil so that the mixture emulsifies a little.** You will probably need to do this in two batches if you wish to avoid oily overflow mayhem. Season to taste, and serve with warm dippy bread or crunchy croutons.

*no, not an auto-correct classic, but rather greengrocer-speak. In the hope that adding the odd bit of vernacular will enhance one’s street cred.

**As the daughter of a paint chemist I have to confess to a weakness for edible emulsions. Watch this space…

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Soya: A Veggiestan Conspiracy Theory

Soya is not indigenous to the Middle East. That’s why there isn’t much of it in Veggiestan*. The Iranians and the Turks now produce quite a lot of soya beans, but this is mostly for cattle fodder. And many Iranian and Arabic housewives are addicted to daytime TV, especially celebrity medical programmes, so they all know that soya is good for them. It is big in Israel, as well. So there is a market for the stuff.

But nevertheless I was intrigued when young Afghan and Iraqi immigrants started coming in and asking for soya mince. It is most definitely not part of their national cuisine, they are certainly not vegetarian, and there is no shortage of cheap enough meat in our area. So I did a bit of poking.

Seems that the West, in its wisdom, is trying to encourage Afghan farmers to grow soya (amongst other things) in place of poppies, and has started a possibly well-intentioned but nevertheless-rather-patronising re-education programme to persuade poorer Afghans of its nutritional value. Soya oil is of course quite profitable, and there are quite a number of big corporations involved in this houha. Cynic I am not, but let’s just say all of this made me raise my eyebrows….

So now you know.

*The other reason is of course that you would not have thanked me for producing a vegetarian Middle Eastern cook book by simply going through the cuisine substituting the meat element with tofu.

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Veggiestan’s Greatest Hits #11: Algeria


This is a cracking number sung by three of Algeria’s best-loved performers. The song, called Abdel Kader, commemorates Abdelkader El Djezairi, who is an (if not the) Algerian national hero and had a valiant pop at fighting off the French when they invaded in the 1830s. It was rai superstar Cheb Khaled who originally made the song famous: here he is joined by Rachid and Faudel. We dig both the tune and the on-stage rapport between them.

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Spiced Labneh

Bottom left, of course.

Labneh is basically thickened (strained), salted yoghurt. I have already waxed lyrical about it within the pages of Veggiestan, but here is yet another example of just how very versatile the stuff is.
You can use this as a meze dish/party dip, to go in sandwiches, as a filling for tarts/vol au vents (does anyone eat those any more?), on bruschettas or crostinis, in a savoury roulade, in jacket potatoes. Need any more convincing? Well, it’s so good I reckon you might just want to stand and eat it with a teaspoon straight from the fridge when no-one’s looking. Not that I do that or anything, no sirree…
You will need (to make a handy bowlful):
  • 250g labneh*
  • 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
  • freshly milled black pepper
  • 3 sticks of celery, ultra-finely chopped
  • celery salt to taste
  • 50g shelled walnuts, finely chopped + a few for garnish
  • 1 generous teaspoon za’atar**
  • 1/2 teaspoon golpar*** (ground Persian hogwort: yes, it’s optional)

Kind of intuitive this, no? Just beat all the ingredients together into a thick paste. Cover and chill. This should keep for up to a week, if you can leave it alone.

*If you can’t find any to buy, just strain regular yoghurt through a piece of muslin/old tea towel over the sink. Season lightly with salt and chill until needed. The yoghurt, that is, not you, although if you wish you may do the same.
**Arabic word for thyme, although in this context it means crushed thyme with sumac, sesame and salt.
***This is a ‘warm’ (garm) substance in terms of its effect on your constitution, and helps guard against the ‘cold’ (sard) of the yoghurt. It is readily available in Persian stores and silly yellow cornershops up and down the land(s).

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Meet Veggiecat


Many thanks to Dick Vincent for sending us pictures of his discerning resident chef Tigger, thus proving that not all cats are carnivores, and that Tiggers may yet grow to like haycorns.
If you have spotted any unlikely readers of Veggiestan, or copies thereof turning up in unusual places, do send your piccies in…

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Sweet and Sour Baked White Aubergines


This is a find example of an ingredient led recipe. Sometimes they are the most fun. You know how it goes: you buy something on a whim, and then worry about what to do with it later. Well, Peckham is full of little white aubergines. Great piles of them. We hadn’t cooked them before, but a quick chat with our friendly greengrocer gave us a few pointers.

Apparently they are eaten raw in salads in a lot of African countries, and are used extensively in Thai cuisine. We tried a little raw – and yes, they are actually rather nice. Sweetish, and crunchy. But we’ll play with them in a salad another day. On this occasion we decided to bake them.

You can of course make this recipe with regular baby aubergines, or even courgettes.

Ingredients (to make enough for 4 as a starter):

  • 8 baby white aubergines
  • 8 cloves garlic, peeled + very finely sliced
  • 1 small onion, peeled + very finely sliced
  • salt and pepper
  • olive oil

For the sauce:

  • oil for frying
  • 1 onion, peeled and chopped
  • 2 green chillies, chopped (optional)
  • 1cm knob ginger, peeled + chopped
  • 4 large tomatoes, halved (chance to use up those soft-not-very pretty ones)
  • 2 small overripe mangoes, peeled and mashed, or one small tin mango puree
  • 75ml balsamic vinegar

So all you do is… Rinse the aubergines, and then make four lengthways incisions (about 3/4 cm deep) in each one, from the calyx towards the base, taking care not to split them.
Put the garlic and onion in a small bowl, sprinkle with salt and pepper and add enough olive oil just to coat them. Sloosh them around a bit, and then insert a little bit of garlic into two of the cavities in each of the aubergines, and a sliver of onion into the other two slits. Arrange the aubergines in an oven dish and put to one side.
To make the sauce heat a little oil in a pan and fry off the onion, chillies and ginger. Once the onion has softened, add the tomatoes, the mango puree and the vinegar plus around 100ml of water. Allow to bubble in the pan for around five minutes, stirring regularly, before pouring the sauce over the aubergines.
Cover the baking tray with foil, and bake at gas mark 4 (180? C) for around 45 minutes or until the aubergines are tender when prodded with a fork.
Serve with moppy-uppy bread.

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How to Speak Veggiestani: On Middle Eastern Languages


The key to many a kitchen is a smattering of the language of that kitchen. And I don’t just mean for health and safety reasons. For a start, the history and origin of the name of a dish is often a clue as to the origins of the dish itself. A knowledge of Persian certainly unlocked the door to my mother-in-law’s kitchen. Indeed, when I cheffed in Spain my cooking improved no end when I was able to ask for a skinned and boned chicken instead of a ‘chicken without shoes, hat or jacket’ (now would I make that up?).

It has to be said that I was fortunate in selecting a Persian beau: Farsi is by all accounts an easy language, as it is Indo-European and fits comfortably into the European ear. It follows many of the same rules as Greek or Latin derived languages, and is also blissfully devoid of gender. The business of learning it is heavily obfuscated by the fact that it uses the Arabic alphabet – so if you are going to give it a go, try and learn it phonetically first before the text books get at you; you will find it much easier. Farsi has Urdu, Hindi, Pashto and to a certain extent Kurdish as its cousins. And English, Russian, French and Spanish as its second cousins once removed.

Turkic (or Altaic) languages (which spread from the Altaic mountains across to the Med) are also reputedly easy, although I have yet to cross that invisible linguistic line between not even recognising the language and understanding a few words. They seem to get incredible tongue-twisting mileage out of the letter ‘U’ and its vowel counterparts. Like Farsi, Turkish has neither gender nor definite article. Unlike Farsi, it has practically no irregular verbs, and it is pronounced phonetically. This should make it very easy to learn. I’ll just keep telling myself that, eh.

The other main language of Veggiestan is Arabic, which is one of the Semitic/Afro-Asiatic family of languages (that’s for all you closet philologists out there). What can I say about Arabic? To the uninitiated it all sounds like a combination of the sounds ‘yuch’ and ‘la’. The alphabet is hard enough (although to anyone who has studied shorthand there is a certain logic to it). But you get a double whammy with Arabic as the language itself is fiendishly hard. Pronunciation is guttural (some would argue that as I come for Essex I should take to it like a seagull to candyfloss), and just for fun many of the pronounced letters are omitted from the written versions of words. Major respect to Westerners who manage to learn it.

I have two tips for anyone wishing to speak Veggiestani. The first is to listen to as much trash TV and radio from your selected country as you can. It sinks in subliminally, believe me. And the other is to become a shopkeeper somewhere cosmopolitan. Like Peckham. Because whether you want it or not you will start to speak in tongues after a week behind the till.

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Veggiestan’s Greatest Hits #10: The United Arab Emirates


To celebrate our trip to the Abu Dhabi International Book Fair this week (thanks to the British Council), we’ve found you some jolly Khaliji music. Mr. Shopkeeper is totally going to have to practise his sword twirling to keep up….

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