Ever tried buying al dente pasta?
Me and a mate from catering had a right argument about whether that story about the bloke who wanted to buy al dente pasta was made up or true.
I reckoned it was true. Not everyone spends their life cooking and knows kitchen lingo.
It was about a story going round the internet about a guy who went looking in shops for al dente pasta. Because the recipe said to cook the pasta al dente. And he couldn’t find it anywhere.
Al dente literally means “to the tooth.” Why to the tooth? Maybe because it’s that slightly firm, undercooked texture, where you actually have to use your teeth to eat it.
To get pasta al dente, check the texture 2–3 minutes before the time stated on the packet.
Not every pasta is suited to this kind of cooking, either. Some, once cooked al dente, slowly turn into mushy pasta slop on the plate from their own residual heat. Gluten-free pastas especially have this tendency. Here I’d recommend (if you’re in Germany or heading there) the gluten-free pastas from Edeka, own-brand.
At the moment I use wholegrain pasta (in general I’d recommend wholegrain pastas, they’ve got a more interesting texture and they’re healthier) made from Alnatura spelt flour (they’re not paying me for the advert, though they should be, same as Edeka). Back in Poland I used to buy it, and even today I sometimes reach for Barilla. They do loads of interesting pasta shapes, like bucatini. Similar to spaghetti, but hollow in the middle. Recommended!
Al dente is the mandatory way to cook anything from Italian cuisine, and any pasta with sauce.
If you mix the pasta with the sauce, it’ll keep on cooking the whole time, so depending on how long you’re planning between prep and getting it on the plates, the pasta should be al dente to match.
Pasta cooked this way (like any other carb product, rice included) has a lower glycaemic index.
Meaning it’s digested slower, we stay full longer. We get a smaller blood sugar spike after the meal. And frequent big sugar spikes after eating are linked to a higher risk of type 2 diabetes and insulin resistance.
And above all, it tastes better.
I reckon those traumatic childhood memories, the school-canteen noodles with curd cheese, were exactly the result of it being “overdone,” that is, cooked too long.
Cook it al dente!
As long as you’ve got teeth to chew with. It’s tastier and healthier that way!

If you want to make pasta, whether it’s from my recipe (best option! see below) or from someone else’s, remember to cook it al dente, and also remember a few other important things to get it right.
1. Oil? Weg! As in: pashol von — bugger off!
Adding oil to the water you’re cooking pasta in supposedly stops the greasy pasta sticking together.
And it also stops the sauce coating the pasta properly, instead it just slides and slips off it. And the result is terrible instead of delicious.
Instead of adding oil, add the pasta slowly while stirring. And stir every now and then throughout the whole cooking time.
2. When you drain the pasta, keep back a tablespoon or two of the water it cooked in, or if you’ve already got your sauce ready and a dish to mix the pasta with the sauce in, chuck that not-quite-drained pasta straight into that dish. And God forbid you pour it through and rinse the pasta, because you’ll rinse the starch off it and get the same result as above.
That water contains starch, which will thicken the sauce and make it stickier, so it coats the pasta more thoroughly.
3. Plenty of water, a litre per 100g of pasta, and a teaspoon of salt. Actually it’s better to undersalt the pasta a bit, but it depends on the sauce. If you’ve got a strong, intense, especially salty sauce, the pasta can even afford to be a bit bland.
4. Low heat, and gently. Once the water comes back to the boil after you’ve put the pasta in, turn the heat down, take the lid off (pasta has a tendency to boil over), and stir it gently, especially after a few minutes of cooking.

My sauces and other pasta dishes

https://rudekitchen.site/?s=Pasta

INGREDIENTS:
unroasted buckwheat groats 500 g
water — for soaking plus 200 ml for blending
salt a pinch, well, a bit bigger pinch than that

METHOD:
Cover the buckwheat groats with warm water for 8 hours.
Drain.
Blend the groats smooth with the salt and 200 ml water.
Pour into a bowl.
Leave (see Notes) until it ferments, rises and stinks like the devil’s own foot.
Pour into a bread tin. Carefully, so it drops as little as possible.
Bake 70 minutes at 180°C.

NOTES:
Wild fermentation of buckwheat groats has the side effect of stinking something awful, so if you’re fermenting the batter in a bowl, cover it tight.
Fermentation at room temperature takes about 20 hours, so once again the bread maker proves its worth. I don’t know if all of them have this function — when buying, check there’s a programme that holds a steady 40°C for a dozen-odd hours. Different makers call it fermentation, culturing or yoghurt.
On mine it’s the last one, programme fifteen, running a dozen-odd hours and holding a steady 40°C.
Under these conditions the little loaf’s ready for baking in about 8 hours.
I make it when I’ve got guests on a gluten-free diet.
I usually set it fermenting at the end of the day, and in the morning, when I come in at five, the little loaf’s ready for baking. And stinking like the devil’s own foot.
The kind that hasn’t been washed in a long while.

Just so we’re clear. Various kinds of gluten intolerance are a genuine problem for 10% of the population.
A genuine problem. A problem that’s actually real.
Not a made-up one.
For years I’ve watched this gluten-free religion from behind the bar and the stove, and I get the feeling most people who walk into the place carrying a great big GLUTEN FREE placard have made that diagnosis up themselves.
Worse still, a lot of them confuse it with intolerance to the FODMAP group of carbohydrates.
Because those carbohydrates turn up in wheat, rye and barley (i.e. grains containing gluten), FODMAP intolerance routinely gets mixed up, in the internet/auto/pseudo-diagnosis process, with a reaction to gluten. Which, by the way, is a protein.
So yes, this one and one other gluten-free bread with a short, decent ingredients list — I serve both to my guests. And yes, for plenty of them it definitely helps. And yes, definitely not for the reason they think.
And I’d advise everyone to start by getting a proper diagnosis from a doctor, not some miracle-working quack. Who’s got a cure for every ailment, FODMAP intolerance included.

INGREDIENTS:
Soy yoghurt 400 g (standard tub) (see Variants)
Green cucumber 150 g
Cooked or tinned white beans 240–250 g (240 g, that’s the standard drained weight from a tin)
smoked salt
chilli (to taste but at least 1 small one)
1–2 tomatoes (approx. 150 g)
lemon or lime juice (see Variants)
for croutons: stale roll or bread

METHOD:
Best to start with the croutons.
Chop the roll or bread and bake for about 10 minutes at 150°C.
If you haven’t got a mini oven, you can use a dry, good non-stick pan instead.
While the croutons are baking, blend all the other ingredients, EXCEPT THE TOMATOES, together until smooth.
Season with smoked salt. The chłodnik should be a bit oversalted.
Cut the stalk bits off the tomatoes and dice them. Add to the chłodnik, stir.

VARIANTS:
I used my own homemade soy yoghurt, long-fermented, intense, sour, with that characteristic bitter edge natural soy yoghurts have.
Of course you can use other yoghurts, not even necessarily soy. But then, to get what you’re after, you’ll need to add lemon or lime juice so the yoghurt is clearly sour.

NOTES:
Best if all the ingredients come straight from the fridge, that gives you an extra sensory experience while eating.
Eating is a specific and deep experience, it engages different senses: sight, taste, smell, touch. In that way it’s similar to sex.
The contrast of hot croutons and cold liquid adds another layer to the sensory experience, the temperature difference.

SERVING:
Serve with hot croutons.
A few days’ break between two big events. Sunday, the day after a walk of a dozen-odd kilometres round Hamburg (well, 3.5 km of that was from the bus to home).
On one hand I really couldn’t be bothered making breakfast.
On the other, I know a lot of hard work’s coming up soon, and after yesterday it’s a bit like after a training day, and if I don’t eat properly, I will keel over.
And properly in this case means a lot of protein. There’s probably, roughly, give or take, eyeballing it, about 30 grams in this bowl. Necessary if you’re moving a lot (16 kilometres isn’t massively much, but it’s above average for a 60-year-old).
Hence the beans. And the fact that I ate breakfast at all.
Dinner was easier. And dinner was a proper blinder. Photo coming on sm.

INGREDIENTS:
400 g stale bread
650 ml oat milk or any other
130 g sugar
4 tablespoons ground flaxseed
1.5 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon cardamom
1/3 teaspoon nutmeg
1/3 teaspoon ground cloves
optional: chocolate with a high cocoa content, coconut milk, fruit e.g. blueberries

METHOD:
Cut the bread into smallish cubes and put it in a bowl
Blend all the remaining ingredients together until smooth
Pour the contents of the blender into the bowl and mix it thoroughly with the bread
Leave it for an hour
Mix it again, best with your hands in gloves, squashing the pieces of bread a bit
Transfer it to a baking tin. If round, then 18 cm across and 6 cm deep. It’ll come up to the rim
Bake in the oven at 180 C, for 70 minutes

VARIANTS:
Obviously the pudding comes out a bit different if you use different kinds of bread, one thing from light white bread, another from something heavy, dark or even rye..
Worth doing a topping to go with it.
The simplest one, the one I did.
A bar of chocolate in a small pan, very low flame, warm it gently with 3 tablespoons of coconut milk, best the thick part
Once the chocolate melts, spread it over the top of the COOLED pudding and put it in the fridge so the chocolate sets properly.
You can also have a play with the spices.
The mix I used comes out of my fascination with the German Christmas flavour, that’s biscuits, chocolate, cakes with a spice blend a bit like for gingerbread
These days that flavour says Christmas to me more than any of the dishes from the Polish Wigilia, the Christmas Eve supper
That particular spice blend, used only for Christmas sweets, is for me one of the best things in German cooking
You can also do it the other way round from me, that is lay the fruit out first and then pour the chocolate over. I put the fruit on top of the chocolate because it was only after I’d spread the chocolate that I remembered I still had blueberries

NOTES:
Best to cut the pudding in the kitchen before serving, because it tends to fall apart when you cut it. A good sharp serrated knife, like for bread
If anyone’s wondering how stale, then the sort that’s dried out a bit already but you can still cut it with a knife rather than snap it.

SERVING:
Can be, for instance, a cracking thing with fruit alongside Sunday dinner, or with coffee.
It somehow went that way during that event, that nearly every day I made something extra for the Lamas.
And since I’ve been fighting a losing battle with food waste for a long time now, I made a pudding out of stale bread with a Christmas flavour, so about as fitting as it gets for a religious event
This pudding sorted me a good rebirth.
As everyone probably knows, an integral part of the Dharma, the Buddha’s Teaching, is the doctrine of rebirth. But not transmigration of souls. Because leaving the complicated theological and psychological deliberation to the learned Lamas and Teachers experienced in meditation, I can state that I don’t really understand what it is that gets reborn and travels from body to body but it’s definitely not a soul.
What’s very important is that the chance of being reborn as a human is minimal
Farmed animals alone, 90 billion of them get killed every year, and at any given moment there are around 30 billion such animals alive in the world, that’s almost 4 times more than people. And wild animals? Insects alone, there’s around 10 quintillion of them, that’s 10 billion billion, that’s 10 000 000 000 000 000 000. Which gives 1.4 billion (1 400 000 000) insects per one human.
In the lottery there are 13 983 816 possible winning combinations, so our chance of a win is 1 in 13 983 816, that’s a hundred times greater than the chance of being reborn in a human body if out of the animals we only count the insects.
And apart from animals, there are also the realms of hungry ghosts, hell beings, gods and demigods.
And in Buddhism gods are beings that die too, and their end is the more pitiful the greater the pleasures they enjoyed in the god realm.
In Buddhism we use the metaphor of a yoke floating in the ocean.
Imagine our planet is covered entirely by ocean. A horse yoke floats on the ocean. And down in the depths swims a turtle that comes up now and again for a breath. And we get reborn as humans exactly as often as that turtle, coming up, happens to put its head through the yoke.
And even rebirth in the god realm isn’t as precious as in a human body.
Because only being reborn in the human realm do we get the chance to meet a Teacher, receive teachings, practise, reach enlightenment.
To reach enlightenment, or at least not drop down into the lower realms, you have to practise hard, meditate, do mantras, pray, do prostrations and a hundred other odd things. But Buddhism is a very practical religion and not everyone can spend whole days meditating.
So there are plenty of shortcuts and skeleton keys.
Because if for instance you’ve got a strong connection with some Teacher, and a Teacher in Buddhism isn’t a representative of the Buddha, the way a priest is a representative of God, he IS a Buddha, then you’ve got a chance of being reborn near that Teacher. Whether in His human or His mythical form (in the Buddha realm)
And when you feed someone, with love and devotion, when you prepare and serve someone food, then you’ve got a very strong karmic connection with that person. And you’ll meet in the next life
But bugger it, there’s a catch. I’ve only just spotted it.
I’ll be meeting my exes too…oh for f…

INGREDIENTS: 4 servings of coffee — cold brew made with one litre of water (see Notes)

1 tin (400 ml) coconut milk

100 g chickpeas, tinned or cooked

1 big tablespoon of Matcha (10 g)

optional sweetener (see Variations)

METHOD: Make the cold brew following this recipe. No orange juice!

Blend the chickpeas with half the coconut milk. They blend better that way than if you chucked the lot in together.

Add the rest of the ingredients, blend a good while longer until there’s a proper foam on top.

VARIATIONS: I like bitter coffee, bitter tea, I like bitter flavours, I like the bitterness in beer, so for me this version with nothing sweet added at all is brilliant. The coconut milk brings a bit of sweetness of its own. Cold brew is less bitter than normal coffee, with a sour note to it, and that works for me.

But of course the first thing you can add, optionally, is sugar. But you can also, like in the previous recipe, add orange juice. You can add bananas and more chickpeas and turn it into a smoothie.

And why are there chickpeas in here at all? Because chickpeas have protein in them, and it’s worth making sure there’s protein even in snacks like this.

NOTES: A serving is roughly what you put in for 250 ml of brew, in cold brew recipes I use one tablespoon of coffee as a serving (though my serving in my morning coffee is a fair bit bigger)

SERVING: Best in tall, thick glasses, if you ask me. And on top, a bit of cocoa or cinnamon, say. Or a drizzle of pomegranate syrup. A drop of sesame or peanut oil. That I’d suggest mainly for the sweet version.

Working as a cook is very, very good at breeding eating disorders. Eating disorders, alongside alcoholism and drug addiction, are common occupational diseases in gastro. When you work with food all day, touching it, smelling it, seeing it, serving it, tasting a bit now and then, then as far as your brain’s concerned, you’re eating. But the body isn’t getting the fuel it needs, and neither is the brain. This is something that never existed in the process of evolution. Evolutionarily we’re not adapted to a situation like this (same as we’re not adapted to the current abundance and availability of food in general) With me it runs along a few tracks

1. something like classic food aversion (anorexia). I’m put off the moment I think about eating something. As you get during a do like this, I’ve got a fridge full of all sorts of food. I open it, have a look whether I’d eat any of it, and not a fucking chance
2. The thought of having to cook something for myself puts me off so much that a permanent part of my diet is Alpro vegan chocolate protein desserts. 20 g of protein and a good, meaning low, price. Their protein drinks are excellent too but dear as fuck. Maybe I’ll tag them and they’ll send me some. Eh?
3. Weird flavours. Sometimes it’s some shift in what I fancy taste-wise, or something like last week when I kept eating bread rolls. Anything, as long as it came with a roll.
4. The best one. That’s why this recipe exists. I fancy eating something nice, something new, something special, I’m after some weird unusual flavour, something I’ve never eaten before. That’s how more than one of my recipes came about. Normally I never make myself Cold Brew I drink one coffee early in the morning, sometimes a second in the afternoon, but I’m running about all day, especially at work, on Yerba Mate With me there’s no doubt another factor in the eating disorders, which is that my depression gives me a kicking from that side as well. Together with kitchen work it makes a splendid example of a synergy effect, of harmonious cooperation and mutual reinforcement. Shame it’s only disorders. Innit?

This Turkish place is perfect proof that the best grub is in the worst neighbourhoods.

For over a week I didn’t leave the house, laid low on my bed of woe by the flu, and the minute I felt better I’d had such a bellyful of moping about at home playing pocket billiards that here I am of an evening on a crossroads practically in the middle of St. Georg in Hamburg, wondering where to go and get something to eat.

I was thinking about a lovely little German place on Hansaplatz. They do a cracking vegan kumpir, that is a stuffed baked potato. In January 2025 a shooting ended in that place, one that had started in another place in St. Georg.

Hamburg is one of the three main ports cocaine comes into Europe through — after Antwerp and Rotterdam, and the biggest in Germany. And that means the Mocro Mafia, and that means a gang war.

That’s the sort of neighbourhood it is. So far there’s no shooting in the streets yet and no random casualties, no Kalashnikov bursts outside a metro station like in February ’25 at Clémenceau in Brussels, where the gangs are fighting over “selling points”.

No telling what the next year brings. If you fancy visiting Hamburg, get a move on.

And so I was pondering away at the crossroads opposite the porn cinema. And right next to some Turkish place.

And here’s a big plus. Especially from the point of someone with social anxiety like mine.

The whole menu up in the window.

A separate section in the menu — “vegetarian and vegan dishes”!

Brilliant thing, and my impression is it’s getting more and more common in Germany, especially in Arab or Turkish places. I’ve seen it in Berlin, a few times. Places have the vegetarian and vegan options put up where you can see them. And in Middle Eastern cooking those “options” are the backbone of the menu anyway, like hummus, falafel, tabbouleh or baba ganoush.

And that’s one of the reasons strictly vegan places are losing custom and going under.

If I went out with mates and some of them wanted meat, we’d pick Saray Köz, not an all-veggie place. It’s a great spot for all sorts of occasions, a date as well. Not suggesting anything, but if any lady happens to be in Hamburg, I’ve often got the whole day off.

In the vegan options — seitan kebab.

You’re not obliged to know, so I’ll explain: seitan is gluten, that is wheat protein, got by long and terribly *********** washing of the starch out of wheat flour dough. I’ve had a go at seitan a few times, never been fully happy with a single one of them, so all the more respect to cooks who work with this stuff.

And you really can do wonders with it.

And with it, Richtig Turkishe Mocca. My pursuit of happiness had come to an end. For that evening at least.

They had me totally with the coffee alone. I’d been traipsing round Hamburg for an hour, and it was Tippischenorddeutsches winter, that is around zero, blowing a bastard and wet. So strong hot coffee was one of those things that change your life and make you happy.

And here’s an important note when you’re ordering.

If, like me, you reckon it’s thin bread only — tortilla or Lebanese pita — then order DURUM. If the menu says “in bread” or “in pita”, as a rule that’s a great thick bap, and next to it the whole dish loses the point. Stuffed full of bap, the richness of the flavours won’t get through. Because a good falafel, and in fact a kebab too, has this about it, that it’s got a lot of different flavours, different ingredients, different textures. We put sauce in it so there’s as much of those flavours, those textures as possible — and that does a big part of the job.

And I can definitely recommend the Seitan Kebab at Saray Köz, warmly.

Nicely gentle seitan, not like any particular meat, but like some gentle one — a gentle bit of seitanison.

If I were to do anything differently, I’d mix up the veg a bit more, with pickles for instance. Turkish pickled turnip would go perfectly here, smacking you in the eye with its electric pink-purple. And it goes brilliantly with falafel and kebab.

And obviously, me being me, I’d add pickled jalapeños. Only that… With me those are the 2 basic seasonings I add at the plate: pickled jalapeños and sriracha.

The sarnie €9.50, coffee €3.90. Let’s say for two tenners, even less, you’ll eat a proper dinner and drink something hot or cold.

Menu’s varied, too long even. A long menu causes problems for various reasons, more waste for instance, or you need bigger storerooms and fridges. I don’t know how they manage it, but judging by what I ate, their Chef has got it sorted. Respect, mate!

And as it’s a proper Turkish place run by practising Muslims, there’s no alcohol.

What there is instead is a big choice of coffees (Turks, what do you expect) and alcohol-free cocktails.

And although as a rule, if there is one, I’ll have a beer with my dinner, this suits me fine, especially when I can get coffee served like that.

Another thing in their favour, from a purely professional point of view: in a very natural way, in a conversation I started myself, the waiter asked me if I’d leave them a review on Google. I’d been praising the Chef for the seitan.

From my experience that’s one of the more important bits of grassroots marketing work in gastro.

Not fucking about on Facebook and daft little reels on TikTok.

Reviews in places like Google Maps, Tripadvisor or HappyCow.

So on that front too, brilliant.

The place is generally the sort where some wild man, a scruffbag out of the woods, can walk in off the street and order a falafal to take away, and you could actually take a date there too.

Just reminding the ladies, just in case.

Waiting and front of house isn’t my department, but to my taste the service was excellent.

Makes it a pleasure to leave a tip.

Which I remind you to do likewise.

A paean of praise is what’s come out of this, so I’ll chuck in praise for the website at the end as well.

Just nice and elegant, no bells and whistles. But with the menu and the other information you need.

And I have got something to pick at. Because that site is a bit too elegant. There’s an option to book a table, but no information that you can also just walk in off the street and eat.

The route from the station to Saray Köz and then back to the station via Hansaplatz. On the corners watch out for ladies of negotiable affection. And in St. Georg generally, you’d better watch out.