The beetroot is a real chef’s ingredient. It lends itself to creativity more than any other vegetable thanks, in part, to its immense versatility.
You can prepare it in any one of countless ways: soups, salads, pickles, gels, spheres, jellies, crisps, soufflés, sorbets and ice creams to name but a few. What’s more the cosy, earthy sweet flavour of beetroot lends itself to a multitude of flavour combinations – some classic, some unusual.
The sheer mettle of nettles. They are taking over the garden: cropping up in the vegetable patch, dominating the borders and creating no-go zones in the middle of the lawn.
But revenge comes in many forms – all of them tasty.
Nettle soup is a well-worn classic: virtuous and brilliantly evocative of Spring but hardly exciting and there are a thousand and one recipes for it washing around the Internet. In short, it needed re-mastering…
It was getting cold. The sea had leaked through my wholly inadequate aging leather boots and a frustrating hunger was beginning to nibble away at my belly. I was most definitely on the edge of a full-on grump.
The GF was still taking pictures, seemingly keen to fill up the entire 8 googabytes of memory that her camera was capable of.
‘Can you just get a shot of me taking a picture of this limpet?’ she asked, very sweetly, it must be said. I trudged over and snapped away, well aware that we’d left the car two miles away across decidedly swampy marshland. Lunchtime had been and gone and the kipper I’d eaten for breakfast but a distant memory apart from the occasional fishy burp. Even less pleasant than it sounds.
More photos for her magazine. I poked a few of the tenacious shellfish to pass the time, making a mental note to check HFW’s Fish Book later to see if they were edible (turns out that they are).
‘All done, come on, I’ll take you for something to eat at Badgers Tea House, it’s really good.’
Nod. Ok then. Trudge, trudge, trudge. the kitbag beginning to instil a niggling and deep ache in my shoulders.
The sight of the car was enough to lift the spirits, as was the promise of sandwiches, tea and cakes. But what really blew the fug away was Alfriston itself, a small but perfectly formed village in East Sussex, home to a quirky independent bookshop, numerous eateries and a village store that could have been yanked determinedly out of Edwardian England.
It was disconcertingly close to my own personal Elysium.
By the time we arrived at Badgers it was mid-afternoon and there was no way a sandwich would suffice. Something warm and hearty was required, stat, and the soup of the day seemed like the ideal option, despite the addition of fennel – a flavour I haven’t seen eye-to-eye with since discovering the debilitating effects of Pernod in my early teens.
Two bowls arrived, cauldron like, mine ‘garnished’ with a chunk of bread and a wedge of brie the size of a generous slice of pizza. It was delicious. A slightly jokey, but mostly serious request for the recipe was met with a frustratingly dismissive laugh and the words ‘Ooo, it’ll cost you, it’s top secret I’m afraid.’
The only disappointment of the meal (followed by tea and mince pies) was that this wasn’t mere banter. The recipe really was not forthcoming and there was no hastily scribbled list of ingredients on the back of the (very modest) bill.
But gosh darn it, I think I cracked it and I’ll be a little more open with the knowledge. Here you go. Merry Christmas.
Tomato and Fennel Soup
The fennel here is magical – it offers up none of its medicinal, aniseed qualities, merely backing up and boosting the rest of the flavours to the extent where you’d really notice if it was gone. A bit like a bass guitar. Ideal if, like me, you’re not too keen on it of itself.
Makes lots.
Two small carrots, peeled and chooped
Two small onions, diced
A single rib of celery, diced
A fennel bulb, roughly chopped
Three tins of tomatoes
A litre of vegetable stock
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
In the manner of Gordon Ramsay: vegetables, olive oil: fry. Tomatoes. Stock. Simmer. 40 minutes.
Blend. Seasoning. Serve. Tomato and fennel soup with homemade bread and squidgy cheese? Done.
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After teasing us with mild breezes and generous sunshine a couple of days ago, spring retreated with rapidity and definition yesterday.
Enter noisy winds, heavy rain and a reminder that it is still too early to put away the hats, scarves and gloves just yet.
But there is always comfort to be had in the kitchen.
The right food has an amazing ability to echo what is going on beyond the windows, especially when rain is pounding into the glass like an invading army. It comforts and reassures. Encourages and delights. Warms and satisfies.
Soup, above most other things, can perform these tasks effortlessly. And a curried parsnip soup, smooth and delicately spiced, is certainly one of the best.
I know this shouts ‘Winter!’ but sometimes you just have to go with what you know is right.
To make this warming cuddle-in-a-bowl, just peel and roughly dice the veggies – two or three parsnips, a couple of onions and a decent sized potato. Lightly fry in a little olive oil until a little colour starts to appear. Add a couple of litres of stock (vegetable or light chicken) and simmer until all the vegetables are tender.
Whizz in a food processor then return to the pan for seasoning. A teaspoon of mild curry powder, some Garam Masala and a little black pepper should do just fine. This isn’t a spicy hot soup, merely one that will entice you into a warming embrace whilst the wind does its worst outside.
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I made it! It’s Friday and I’m posting a ‘nibble’ on time. Cause for celebration indeed. There’s plenty to come over the next few days. I’ve had a number of requests for the falafel and flatbread recipe (thanks to everyone who asked for that) so that will go up next week as soon as I make up a batch and get some good photographs because a recipe without pictures is like a birthday cake without candles – it’ll do, but you notice it for what’s missing there rather than what’s present.
But in the spirit of maintaining the momentum that I started building up two weeks ago (but stalled a little last week) I’ll put these on hold and write about another essential item for any storecupboard.
For this week’s nibble, I’m going small – a bite-size nibble, if you will, although I probably wouldn’t recommend biting into one of these.
Chicken stock cubes (other stock cubes are handy too – we tend to have fish and vegetable ones in the cupboard most of the time as well, but chicken stock is so adaptable that I thought I’d focus on this particular flavour) are such an integral part of my ingredients list that I really can’t think of a suitable replacement. Of course, actual proper homemade chicken stock is superior to these highly flavoured little cubes, but it can be hard to find room for chicken carcasses, so these are the best substitute.
Even if it seems we eat a fairly constant stream of homemade meals lovingly constructed in the kitchen of our little cottage, this is not necessarily the case. Rest assured that we too get bitten by the apathy bug or succumb to a wave of laziness. This is where we crack open the Knorr. It might sound crazy but if you have a packet of these to hand, you can be mere moments away from a warming meal.
It is at times like this that the humble stock cube comes into its own and a noodle soup is just three minutes away. I tend to sit back at this point and let my girlfriend work her culinary magic. Some spring onions, a little garlic, some chilli and maybe a few slices of chicken, if you have any, can be dropped into a pan along with a pint of boiling water and one of these little flavour powerhouses. Add a slab of noodles then when they are cooked pour the soup into deep bowls and you’ve got a dinner to warm the soul. It tastes even better if you can hear the wind and rain lashing down through the windows.
The first stock cubes were introduced exactly one hundred years ago by a company called Maggi. These bouillon cubes were then copied by the iconic Oxo brand two years later, although I prefer the squidgy varieties to the crumbly – and incredibly salty – Oxo cubes. They can be used to add flavour to stews and sauces as well as soups but they really come into their own when making risotto.
Some of the finest comfort food it is possible to consume is a simple risotto made with Arborio or Vialone Nano rice, stock and then finished off with butter and parmesan. It might not be as quick as a noodle soup but the extra effort is certainly worth it.
With the weather taking a swift and decisive turn for the Autumnal, the appeal of salad and other such meals diminishes rapidly to be replaced by a desire for soups and other heartier fayre.
I know it is only August and that theoretically we have another couple of weeks before the short sleeves are replaced with jumpers and the barbecue is packed away for another year but the last few days have seen winds whipping through the branches and a significant dip in the temperature. Blackberries, perhaps the most evocative of Autumn fruits, have started to ripen to a vivid purple and the apple trees in the overgrown orchard next door are beginning to bear fruit, albeit a touch on the sour side – not that it will prevent us from making a batch of cider.
A triumvirate of peppers – one red, one green and one yellow – have sat in the vegetable draw for the past few weeks and yesterday seemed like a good opportunity to use them before they make that inevitable transition from edible to compostable.
I find raw peppers hugely unappealing, but roasted they take on a complexity of flavour that belies their uncooked state. They sweeten and lose the bitterness that makes them so unappetizing. They make great antipasti simply dribbled with olive oil, with a few grains of sea salt scattered over the top but I felt that something more filling was appropriate.
After they had been roasted, I added them to a pan with an onion and three or four cloves of garlic that had been gently sweating away for about ten minutes. Two tins of plum tomatoes, a little smoked paprika and some seasoning and you have a soup that can bubble away gently for an hour before it needs blitzing.
Alongside the soup I cooked a couple of generous handfuls of green lentils which are not only cheap but also wonderfully filling. These were stirred into the soup just before serving with a chunk of sourdough The result was a warming autumnal meal for an unseasonably autumnal day.
I'm Alex Rushmer: writer, chef and Masterchef 2010 finalist. Welcome to my little corner of the Web. Why not get a cup of tea, snuggle down and make yourself at home?
