Comfort Food

I think one of the finer contributions the British have made to the world culinary scene has to be the Sunday roast. It's like a little Thanksgiving, only you get more choice of meat. And you don't tend to eat enough for three. Or fight with your sister.

You can have it down your local or not so local pub. And not all Sunday roasts are equal. Some are more equal than others. The Bulls Head, where Eva works, does Sunday roast. Just not very well, while the pub up the road, The Bell and Crown, actually does a rather nice one. And if you ever get the chance to go to a pub that has a carvery, you should cancel any plans you have so you can tuck into the juicy slices of meat they shave off for you.

And cooking it for friends is always a very pleasurable way to wind down the weekend. Expecially when you have friends like mine, who can all cook.

Today, this Sunday, is a little different. I do miss the foods of my life in America; indeed, one of the reason I started to cook was so I could cook the foods I couldn't get in London. Like decent Mexican. Or me mum's goulash, which I have since discovered isn't really gulyas. Or anything remotely resembling it.

Our comfort foods remind us of who we are, of where we came from. That is why we turn to them for, erm, familiarity.

I have had a usually very dormant craving for Chilli con Carne, or Chilli, as we call it. It's from Texas, not Mexico (to complicate things, Texas used to be a part of Mexico, there was a war and it eventually asked to be annexed), and was the stew that crews on long cattle drives would cook.

Fortunately, a seemingly crackin' recipe appeared in The Guardian. It was from the people that started a lovely fast-food chain, yes they do exist, called Leon.

The chilli is currently making the last little bubbles of simmering before we (being Eva and I. She had a rough day, and my desire to cook dovetailed nicely with needing to take care of my woman) stack it on freshly baked bread and whack it in our gobs.

One of the things I like about the dish that has made my flat smell so wonderful is that it is a chilli in which meat is only probably 1/4 of the dish. You see, most American chillis, they're all meat, a few beans and some green peppers. This recipe is a more balanced dish, like the stews, which it essentially is, from other parts of the world.

If you're interested, here it is. I'm off to eat:

Satisfies four very hungry gringos

1 heaped tsp dried chilli flakes

2½ tsps ground cumin

2 tsps dried oregano

1 tsp cinnamon

5 sprigs of thyme, tied together with string

5 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped

500g braising beef, chuck works well, roughly chopped into 4cm chunks

3 tbsp olive oil

1 heaped tsp cumin seeds

1 heaped tsp coriander seeds

Half a red chilli (or more if you like it hot), thinly sliced

2 Spanish onions, cut into large dice

2 carrots, cut into small dice

1 x 400g tin of chopped tomatoes

2 x 400g tins of kidney beans, drained (If using dried beans, soak about 200g overnight in cold water and add at the same point in the recipe as the tinned ones.)

One small red onion, thinly sliced

Juice of one lime

Salt

Put the dried chilli, ground cumin, oregano, cinnamon, thyme and half the garlic into a dish and add the beef. Turn the meat to coat and leave in the fridge to marinate for a few hours - overnight if possible.

Heat the olive oil in a deep stew pot over a medium heat and gently fry the cumin and coriander seeds for a few minutes until you start to smell them.

Whack up the heat, stir in the beef with the thyme and fry on all sides, picking up a good brown colour. Add some salt, the fresh chilli, remaining garlic, Spanish onions and carrots and keep stirring until the onions are transparent and the carrots soft - about 15-20 minutes.

Tip in the chopped tomatoes and simmer for 10 minutes before the kidney beans join in the fun.Pour in water just to cover, and simmer for an hour with
the lid on. Then take the lid off and simmer for up to an hour more, until the meat is very tender and the whole lot has become quite thickened.

In a little bowl squeeze the lime juice over the thinly sliced red onion; turn the onions over with a spoon a few times, then leave to macerate for half an hour.

Finish by adding a good pinch of ground cumin to the chilli to give fresh flavour to the slow-cook. Lastly check the seasoning and consistency - if it looks a little dry, just slowly stir in water until it is pleasingly loose.

Have all the necessaries on hand: sour cream (we use good-quality yoghurt instead), macerated onions, wedges of lime and a ukulele player.
Satisfies four very hungry gringos

1 heaped tsp dried chilli flakes

2½ tsps ground cumin

2 tsps dried oregano

1 tsp cinnamon

5 sprigs of thyme, tied together with string

5 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped

500g braising beef, chuck works well, roughly chopped into 4cm chunks

3 tbsp olive oil

1 heaped tsp cumin seeds

1 heaped tsp coriander seeds

Half a red chilli (or more if you like it hot), thinly sliced

2 Spanish onions, cut into large dice

2 carrots, cut into small dice

1 x 400g tin of chopped tomatoes

2 x 400g tins of kidney beans, drained (If using dried beans, soak about 200g overnight in cold water and add at the same point in the recipe as the tinned ones.)

One small red onion, thinly sliced

Juice of one lime

Salt

Put the dried chilli, ground cumin, oregano, cinnamon, thyme and half the garlic into a dish and add the beef. Turn the meat to coat and leave in the fridge to marinate for a few hours - overnight if possible.

Heat the olive oil in a deep stew pot over a medium heat and gently fry the cumin and coriander seeds for a few minutes until you start to smell them.

Whack up the heat, stir in the beef with the thyme and fry on all sides, picking up a good brown colour. Add some salt, the fresh chilli, remaining garlic, Spanish onions and carrots and keep stirring until the onions are transparent and the carrots soft - about 15-20 minutes.

Tip in the chopped tomatoes and simmer for 10 minutes before the kidney beans join in the fun.Pour in water just to cover, and simmer for an hour with
the lid on. Then take the lid off and simmer for up to an hour more, until the meat is very tender and the whole lot has become quite thickened.

In a little bowl squeeze the lime juice over the thinly sliced red onion; turn the onions over with a spoon a few times, then leave to macerate for half an hour.

Finish by adding a good pinch of ground cumin to the chilli to give fresh flavour to the slow-cook. Lastly check the seasoning and consistency - if it looks a little dry, just slowly stir in water until it is pleasingly loose.

Have all the necessaries on hand: sour cream (we use good-quality yoghurt instead), macerated onions, wedges of lime and a ukulele player.