Forgotten Favourites: Fishfingers & Liquorice Allsorts

I've spoken before about foods we love but just never seem to eat very often until a wave of retro cravings and sentimality forces up to satisfy that need. Today, this was fishfingers and liquorice allsorts. Two very different products but both forgotten favourites of mine that deserved to be resucitated.

The fishfingers came about after a conversation about fishfinger baguettes with a friend. For something so simple, this really satisifies on all levels. The crunchy carbohydrate goodness of a crisp, crunchy baguette, the cooling tartare sauce and the soft, warming fishfingers - it's a perfect threesome. What I love about fishfingers is how the breadcrmbs and tender cod all meld into one. The outside isn't crunchy and crisp (that's what the baguette is for) but forms a delicious skin around the melt in the mouth fillet inside that blends seamlessly with it but adds its own flavour.

And liquorice allsorts? Well, this was the result of a buy one get one free offer (damn supermarkets and their sugar peddling!). Alongside some Bassett's Jelly Babies (which frankly, I can't wait to get my teeth into), I purchased some liquorice allsorts. I absolutely adore these - to be frank, they are a strong contender for my favourite sweet.

But I think the reason I never eat them, is that they are an acquired taste. When a family member buys sweets for a Saturday night in or a colleague is getting sweets to share round the office, they never choose the poor liquorice allsrot because not everyone likes them. Instead, you usually end up with some bland rubbish to appease those who don't possess tastebuds. (It's the same with Marks & Spencer mini bites - in an effort to please everyone, we always end up with the dullest choices at work - the brownies and chocolate rolls - why can we never have the absolute ecstacy of the Oatberry Clusters or the sweet clusters of Rocky Road?)

I, for one, love the simple Allsort and its sweet but peppery charms. Even to look at, they're pleasing. All those bright, neon colours so striking in the way they contrast one another. I would much rather have a picture of liqorice allsorts on my wall than a Van Gogh. They're just so tempting looking. And as for taste, something so sweet is inevitably going to be a winner in my book. Combine that with a lovely texture, that is chewy and almost gritty but also soft and yielding and it's sweet nirvana.

 

I probably won't have fishfingers or liquorice allsorts for while now as they'll get lost in the sea of tempting choices I face everyday but though they may be temporarily forgotten, they'll never die out. They're just too good.

Rude Health 7 Grain Granola Honey Nut

'Breakfast like a King' is a phrase that's always bandied around but I do truly believe that breakfast is the most special meal of a day. It's the first thing we eat, setting us up for a day of what we can only hope will be filled with culinary delights. A good breakfast is so important to me, it's a celebration of waking up and the promise of a new day and if I don't have something tasty and satisying, it's automatically makes me just a little bit downcast.

Unfortunately, Rude Health's 7 Grain Honey Nut granola didn't fulfil what I want from my first meal of the day. The company's website reiterates the importance of breakfast and eating like a king at a breakfast but I felt this was more of a pauper's breakfast.

I absolutely adore granola. I've spoken about it before being the cereal equivalent of cocaine and I usually cannot trust myself to have it in the house (I once consumed a 600g box of Quaker Oat's Granola in 3 days) but I felt like having an indulgent breakfast and bought it because it was on special offer (another mistake, it's always worth spending more on food).

The granola isn't horrible as such but it is lacking. Whereas the Quaker one gives you great boulders of sweet, crunchy oats, this comes out as a pathetic rubble. The honey nut flavouring is nice but it's not as sinfully satisfying as the Honey granola from Dorset Cereals. The lack of raisins or any other dried fruit takes away the nice mix of textures and tastes you get from other granolas and the whole thing is just a bit dull.

I am an incredibly greedy person so it's no suprise that my biggest disappointment was the portion size. The recommended portion size is 40g. I went over this and measured myself out 50g. But this barely covered the base of the bowl. It was a sad scattering of small rubble, not the impressive mountain of clusters of oats, punctuated by fruity dots of joy that I usually expect from a granola. Sure, I could of had more but looking at the nutritional content, 50g was sufficient. And for something fairly indulgent, it doesn't taste very special.

I love food so I'm loathe to criticise any of it. Rude Health granola isn't bad - it was just disappointing. I did enjoy but it didn't wow me and when I cleared my meagre bowl, I felt unsatisfied. And that is not how I want to start my day.

Coronation Chicken

What with it being the Jubilee Weekend, (and I had the most beautiful banquet of British goodies imaginable yesterday to celebrate at a family buffet yesterday) what better time to celebrate that renowned national dish that is Coronation chicken.

Coronation chicken was created by Constance Spry, a florist, and Rosemary Hume, a chef, as a celebratory dish for the coronation of the Queen. It was supposedly inspired by Jubilee chicken, a dish prepared for the silver Jubilee of George V, mixing chicken with mayonnaise and curry. Modern day versions are very different - some include raisins (essential in my opinion), some flaked almonds and some creme fraiche. Recipes vary so much - and this is what makes coronation chicken so amazing - but also so disliked by some.

For a supposed 'national' dish, I know very few people who like coronation chicken. And this is the result of varying recipes and version. To take supermarket versions, for example, there is marked differences in quality in the various ones available. The Sainsbury's one I've tried is a horrendous mess. If this is people'e experience of Coronation Chicken, no wonder people turn their noses up at it. A claggy, gunky orangey mess that is far too sweet and is sickly with its mess of a mayonnaise.

The M&S one is by far by absolute favourite. Spread into a soft brown roll, sprinkled with a crunchy seed topping, it is hard to imagine a nicer lunch. It is a gloriously golden yellow, speckled with dots of spice that perfectly counterbalance the sweeter elements. The tender, generous sized pieces of chicken are lovingly coated in the smooth, silky sauce that has enough spice to provide a bit of bite but is never overpowering.

In time for the Jubilee, they've released a coronation chicken sandwich in their food to go range. I had this for lunch last Friday and it so satisfying. Sandwiched between onion bread with a generous helping of this beautiful deli filler, it more than justified its £2.50 price tag. They've also released coronation chicken hand cooked crisps. Wonderfully crunchy, with bite, texture and lovely spicy flavouring, these made an appearance at our Jubilee party yesterday and, of course, I had far too many.

I think people think they dislike coronation chicken because of the afore mentioned bad supermarket versions but also because of frumpy versions given to them at school or being force fed badly made versions by elderly relatives. At our Jubilee party, amongst many other delicious offerings, my aunt made a gorgeous coronation chicken. Though it was missing he raisins that I feel are essential to the dish's identity, it was still an absolute pleasure to eat. It wasn't swamped in mayonnaise, which is the cause of a many a bad coronation chicken, but rather, sparingly coated in a beautifully creamy, not claggy sweet and spicy sauce.

Piled high on slabs of a gorgeous bread from the local deli, this was food heaven. Soft, doughy bread with a mountain of fragrant, herbed flecked chicken heaped on top - it was no wonder I went home with tight jeans.

Coronation chicken is a national treasure for a reason. When it's done right, like this, I can think of no better reason for my love of being British.