Getting Back Your Mojo
If there’s one thing most of us will feel in desperate need of at this time of the year as the winter keeps doling out bouts of cold and grey weather, it is a little sunshine.
You used to be able to jump on an airliner and get it; in a centrally heated conservatory and feel it through the windows; or some people dream about it under a sun-bed - but generally speaking the rays still beam down upon a world too that is chilly for its own good.
You can, however, have a go at making your own. By which I mean prepare some kind of food that somehow captures the essence of sunshine.
There are foods and dishes all around the hotter parts of the world which seem to encapsulate the fact that they’ve been grown or prepared with the help of masses of sunlight. One home of sunshine food is the bright warm archipelago of the Canaries where some things served at table seem to screech sunshine up at you.
Anyone who has holidayed down there halfway to the Equator will know that most savour meals are accompanied by two or sometimes three small pots containing brightly coloured substances. In our stumbling culinary English we might describe them as dips, or sauces, or even salsas - but the real name for these intensely flavoured little accompaniments is mojo - pronounced mO-ho.
And they really do add a splash of sunshine to just about everything imaginable, from dry bread to hearty stews, from Canarian salted new potatoes to grilled octopus - which happens to be my own favourite way of consuming these liquid flavour bombs.
Mojo come in all manner of colours from orange to fiery red, or green to porcelain white, depending on their ingredients. Basically all are heavily flavoured with garlic - some are mild and creamy while others are spicy, or picón as it’s known locally.
Most will contain quite a lot of olive oil - some vinegar, or orange, lemon or lime juice - local sea salt, red pepper, generous amounts of cumin, almonds, thyme, oregano, coriander along with several other spices.
Canarian islanders - being from the busiest corner of the heaving Atlantic Ocean - emigrated all over the world down the centuries and took their mojos with them to places like Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Venezuela, other parts of Latin America and many of the non-Hispanic Caribbean islands.
But back at home in the islands most Canarian families have their own recipe for mojo - and let me say right away that the fresh homemade offerings are vastly superior to the jarred, industrially-made, versions served in many of the tourist restaurants.
I was on a walking tour of Lanzarote with my friends from Ramblers Worldwide Holidays, and the beauty of this was the fact that we reached remote villages high in the hills or along lonely coasts, well away from the main visitor centres. The little restaurants and bars where we stopped for late lunches or tapas were more likely to bring us homemade dishes accompanied by mamma’s or granny’s favourite award-winning mojos.
The saucy offerings can be hugely variable in flavour, spiciness and texture. For example, there is a creamy garlicky almond mojo which is often used to accompany roasted meat. Canarian saffron is another favourite ingredient - apparently mojos made with it are often served alongside fried cheese.
The wonderful thing is that, unlike so many holiday sunshine foods which do not travel well to freezing old Blighty, mojos made here can taste just as good as those found in the remote mountain restaurants and bars of Lanzarote.
What you need are fresh good quality ingredients and one of those small food processors which are much better for making tiny amounts of liquid mixes than their big brothers where you end up having to make a minimum of half a pint. Having said that, many of the oil and vinegar based mojos will last in jars kept in the fridge for weeks or even months.
The secret is to experiment around the basic theme, adding whatever flavourings take your fancy. Even the most basic of mojos will add real life and sunshine to end of British winter stodgy stews and roasts that somehow require a kick up their lacklustre backsides. My stolid beef casserole this week suddenly became so exciting I thought it capable of leaping off the plate to dance the South American tango…
Basic Red Mojo
Bulb of best garlic you can find, 1 red chilli, 1 teaspoon of cumin freshly ground, 1 teaspoon of paprika, 4 tablespoons of vinegar, 10 tablespoons of olive oil, sea salt to taste.
Peel the garlic cloves and take out any green cores which you find developing at this time of year. Put all the ingredients into the mini-food-processor and whizz into a thick paste.
This can be diluted with a splash of water - or better still the juice of an orange or a couple of tangerines.
Basic Green Mojo
1 green peppers, small bunch of fresh coriander or parsley, 4 cloves of garlic, 2 teaspoons sea salt, 2 tablespoons white wine vinegar, 4 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon cumin, 1 slice of white bread.
Again, simply bung the lot into the mini-food-processor and whizz for 30 seconds. I add blanched ground almonds and lime juice if I am going to serve this mojo with fish. Another variation on the green theme mojo verde uses avocado - a mix which I think goes very well with salty traditional British cheeses like a strong cheddar.
