How to Eat (27 page)

2 portobello mushrooms, quartered or cut into eighths, depending on size

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

salt and freshly milled black pepper

Soak the beans in cold water for a day or overnight. Put the lamb, onion, herbs, celery, carrots, garlic, peppercorns, and chili in a large bowl. Shave off some orange peel—2½ inches or so, it isn’t crucial—with a vegetable peeler and add it to the dish of meat and vegetables, along with the rest of the orange, pith, peel, and all, sliced thickly. Pour over the wine to cover. If you want to drink wine with the stew, get two bottles (or indeed more). Put the bowl of meat and vegetables somewhere cool or in the fridge.

When the beans have soaked and the meat steeped, drain the beans, put them in a saucepan, cover by about 4 inches with cold water, bring to the boil, and then let boil for about 20 minutes. Put the lid on and remove from the heat.

Strain the meat and vegetables over another bowl; in other words, reserve the wine. Throw out the orange slices, but keep the strip of peel; I get rid of the chili at this stage, too.

Now get a heavy-bottomed casserole with a lid that goes with it and heat the oil in it. Pick out the bits of lamb from the sieve or colander and brown on all sides. Remove to a plate and put the rest of the stuff that you had marinating in the casserole to soften, adding the mushrooms. Cook for 10 minutes or so and then pour in the wine from the marinade (and the rest of the bottle, if you didn’t use it all earlier). Add the drained beans.

Bring to the boil over medium heat, but turn it down just before it actually boils. Add the balsamic vinegar (though it’s wonderful without, too) and put the lamb back in. Cover the pot with foil. Stick on the lid tightly. This is to help stop the liquid evaporating.

Leave to simmer gently for about 1½ hours. The meat should be tender enough to come away from the bone and the beans soft enough to squish, at the push of a wooden spoon, against the side of the dish. Prod both meat and beans to check.

Turn up the heat and cook, uncovered, at a vigorous bubble until all of a sudden the juices thicken. This may take about 10 minutes, but be vigilant; it may not need to be much more concentrated than it is already. Season with the salt and pepper. I eat this in a shallow soup bowl, with a hunk or three of good bread, buttered or not, as I feel.

Serves 2.

PEAS

Every day I thank God, or his supermarket stand-in, for frozen peas. For me, they are a leading ingredient, a green meat, almost. I don’t eat them that much straight as a vegetable, but I’d hate to have to cook without them. The almost instant soup—a handful of peas, some stock, a rind of cheese, whatever’s to hand—that I make for a sweetly restoring supper is itemized in Fast Food on page 159. The pea risotto that follows is another regular. Risotto is best suited to two. I like relative peace in which to cook it, and I prefer handling small quantities. It is also the world’s best comfort food.

The quantities I use might be nearer those ordinarily specified for four, but when I cook risotto I don’t want to eat anything else after. And I feel a pang if there’s only enough for one middling-sized flat puddle of the stuff.

PEA RISOTTO

I specify frozen young peas, simply because that’s what I always use. I have used real peas, just shelled, to make
risi e bisi,
the fabulously named Venetian slurpily soft risotto, or thick rice soup, however you like to think of it, complete with pea-pod stock. But to be frank, if you don’t grow peas yourself, then there is not a huge advantage in using fresh ones. By the time they’re in the market, they’re big and starchy and without that extraordinary, almost floral, scent, that heady but contained sweetness of peas just picked from the garden.

On the whole, I take the peas out and let them thaw before using them. But I don’t see that it makes much difference.

As for stock: I haven’t specified any in particular. When I can, I use ham stock—which, because of my stock-making obsession, I usually have in the freezer; otherwise I make up some using vegetable bouillon cubes. I wouldn’t use a dark beef stock here, but any chicken, veal, or light broth would be fine.

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

1 cup frozen young peas

4 cups stock (see headnote), hot

2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan, plus more for the table

freshly milled black pepper

whole nutmeg

drop of oil

2 shallots or 1 small onion, minced

1 cup arborio or Canaroli rice

1/3 cup white wine or vermouth

salt and freshly milled black pepper

Put about 1 tablespoon of the butter in a saucepan and, when it’s melted, add the peas and cook, stirring every now and again, for 2 minutes. Remove half the peas and to the remaining half in the pan add a ladleful of the stock. Put a lid on the pan and let cook gently for about 5 minutes or so till soft. Purée this mixture—I use the miniprocessor I used to use for baby food—with 1 tablespoon each of the grated Parmesan and remaining butter and a grating each of pepper and nutmeg.

Melt another tablespoon of the butter, with the drop of oil in it, in a pan. Cook the shallots, stirring with a wooden spoon, for about 4 minutes, then add the rice and stir till every grain glistens with the oniony fat. Pour in the wine or vermouth (last time I did this I used Chambéry and it was fabulous; it seemed to add to the grassy freshness of the peas) and let it bubble away and absorb. Then add a ladleful of the hot stock (I keep it on low on the neighboring burner) and stir until this too is absorbed. Carry on in this vein, patiently, for another 10 minutes, then add the whole, just sautéed peas, and then start again, a ladleful of stock at a time. In about another 8 minutes or so, the rice should be cooked and the risotto creamy. Taste to see if it needs any more cooking or liquid. It’s hard to be precise; sometimes you’ll find you have stock left over, at others you’ll need to add water from the kettle.

When you’re happy with it, add the buttery pea and Parmesan purée and beat it in well. Taste, season with the salt and pepper as needed, then beat in the remaining Parmesan and butter. You can sprinkle over some chopped parsley (and as I’ve got it growing in the garden I have no reason not to), but the lack of it won’t give you any grief.

Serves 2.

The first time I made pea soufflé (in response to an urgent request), I had no cheese in the house other than some processed Gruyère and Emmental slices, and so had to chop those up small in place of the real grated stuff—and may I tell you they were absolutely delicious. I now keep them in the fridge and I always have egg whites in the freezer. Making a soufflé is no longer a kitchen requirement for the aspiring hostess, but it’s always worth tackling recipes that scare you with their attendant mythologies, just so that you’re no longer cramped by that lurking fear. Read carefully and you’ll see that absolutely no culinary pyrotechnics are called for.

PEA SOUFFLÉ

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 cup frozen young peas

4 ounces Gruyère, grated

2 tablespoons Italian 00 or all-purpose flour

½ cup milk

2 eggs plus 1 extra egg white

salt and freshly milled black pepper

pinch ground mace or freshly grated nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 400°F and put a baking pan in it to heat up. Butter a soufflé dish with about a 2-cup capacity, if you’ve got one. Otherwise, any same-sized casserole or container, preferably round, should do. If you’ve got any Parmesan at hand, then you could grate some over the buttered soufflé dish, tapping the dish so that it’s lightly covered with it, much as you would when flouring a greased cake pan.

Put 1 tablespoon of the butter in a saucepan and cook the peas in it till soft. Purée them with the grated cheese and set this aside while you make the paste-thick white sauce. Melt the remaining butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan and stir in the flour. Cook, still stirring, for 2–3 minutes, then, off the heat, very gradually whisk in the milk. When all is smoothly amalgamated, put back over low heat and cook, stirring frequently, for about 5 minutes or until the sauce is thick and all flouriness gone; if you’re using all-purpose flour, you may find that you need another 5 minutes. Let the white sauce cool slightly.

Separate the eggs and put the yolks aside. If you’ve got a lemon in the house, slice it in half and wipe its cut side around the interior of a bowl—preferably copper or else other metal. Put in all the egg whites and a pinch of salt and whisk until they stand in soft peaks. You want the whites firm, but not dry or stiff.

Leave the whites for a moment and add 1 yolk to the white sauce, beating well, then add the other and beat that in. Then beat in the cheese and pea purée. Taste and season with the salt and pepper and sprinkle on the mace or add the nutmeg. Remember the egg whites will damp down the flavor. Take a clean spoon and add a big dollop of the whisked whites to the now pea-green sauce. Beat this in as roughly as you like; you could use an electric whisk and it wouldn’t matter. The idea is just to lighten the mixture to make it easier to fold the remaining egg whites in gently, which you should now do.

When the whites have been serenely and lightly folded in, pour the mixture into the prepared dish—it should be about three quarters full—and put it on the baking sheet in the oven. Immediately turn the heat down to 350°F and cook for about 30 minutes or until the soufflé is risen to well above the rim of the dish. I’m presuming you’ve got an oven with a glass door and a light that works so that you can see the action inside.

Take out of the oven and eat immediately. This is intended to be supper in its entirety; it’s not a delicate item before something more substantial. Mind you, some prosciutto eaten alongside is not a bad idea.

Serves 2.

In theory, at least, I prefer meatier, chunkier soups (preferably with pasta in, too), but when I need soothing rather than bolstering, this nostalgic chicken soup is unparalleled.

CREAM OF CHICKEN SOUP

Use slender leeks for this, if you can find them. Discard most of the green part—you want this creamily white, not a pale, lurid lime green. I happily use chicken bouillon cubes in place of the stock here; half of one in 1¼ cups water will be fine.

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

3 slender leeks (white part only) or
1 regular, sliced very finely

1¼ cups chicken stock

1¼ cups milk

2 bay leaves

1 garlic clove, peeled

1 free-range chicken cutlet (½ whole breast; about 6 ounces)

1 tablespoon Italian 00 or
all-purpose flour

pinch salt

pinch ground mace

1 egg yolk

3–4 tablespoons heavy cream to taste

Put 2 tablespoons of the butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, melt it, and in it cook the leeks gently until soft. Meanwhile, put the stock and milk in a saucepan with the bay leaves, garlic, and chicken. Bring to the boil, turn down the heat, and simmer until the chicken is just tender. I know it sounds not very long, but about another 5 minutes should do it. A couple or so minutes before the chicken’s ready, the leeks should be soft and cooked enough. Into the leek mixture stir the flour and cook on a low heat, stirring, for a couple of minutes.

By this time the chicken should be ready to come out, so remove it and pour the milk mixture into the floury leeks, stirring while you do so. Bring this to just below the boil, stirring occasionally. While you’re not stirring, shred or finely chop the chicken and return it to the saucepan. Add the salt and mace and keep cooking over a lowish heat, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add the remaining butter and cook in the same way for another 5 minutes. If the soup looks as if it’s getting too thick and white-saucy, just add a glug of milk or as much as you feel you need.

Pour into a blender in batches of about 1 cup of liquid at a time and whizz and then push through a strainer back into the rinsed-out saucepan.

Put back on the heat, stirring until warm enough to eat. Mix the egg yolk and cream together and, off the heat, stir into the soup.

Serves 1–2.

BUTTERNUT SQUASH AND PASTA SOUP

This is robuster stuff altogether. I make it for lunch when it’s cold and I want to cook something easy but with some distracting chopping involved. You can use best-quality vegetable bouillon cubes to make the stock for this.

½ tablespoon olive oil

½ small onion, minced

8–9 ounces butternut squash, peeled and cut into ½-inch dice

¼ cup white wine or vermouth

2½ cups vegetable stock

1 bay leaf

2 ounces ditalini or other soup pasta

salt, if needed

Parmesan, for grating at table

Put the oil in a biggish, heavy-bottomed pan on the stove and, when hot, add the onion. Cook for about 10 minutes, stirring frequently, until soft, then add the squash and turn well in the pan for 2 minutes. Pour in the wine, let it bubble up, then add the stock and bay leaf. Bring to the simmering point, then leave to simmer away for about 10 minutes. Take out a ladleful, purée it, then put it back in the pan. Turn up the heat and add the ditalini. Cook for 10–12 minutes until the pasta is cooked. Taste and add salt, if needed, remembering that Parmesan will be added to each serving, then ladle this thick, sweet stew of a soup into your bowl. Grate the Parmesan over as you eat.