Necessity, Simplicity and Invention

Returning from Anglesey yesterday to an under-stocked fridge I had to rely on the garden, what little we had left by way of supermarket veg, and the store cupboard. I enjoy such petty challenges, making something with not very much to hand. It also seems healthy, using what is in season, and enjoying (relative) simplicity.


What resulted was what we decided was a sort of Mexican bean soup. Onion, garlic and carrots as the major part, Swiss chard (I guess not very Mexican at all) stalks and leaves, and a big handful of herbs - basil, parsley, sage, tarragon and chives - plus what was the defining ingredient, a green chili picked fresh from the conservatory. It was surprisingly hot, maybe because unlike previous pickings from that plant the chili was used in seconds, rather than kept for later. Liquidised carefully to make a satisfyingly velvety bowlful, and eaten with that staple of serving suggestions, good bread, the meal only needed a bit of cheese to round things off.


Prompted by the Dear Leader, we again discussed cooking and education, this time musing that given our litigious culture it would be very difficult now to teach large groups of kids the basics of cookery, even were the schools to have the teachers required, and the facilities. Little Jimmy gets a minor burn from a hot pan and his parents see the prospect of a six figure payout. Sad. So school reports will feature media studies instead of meal-making skills.


I missed a trick with that soup, I decided today. The fridge did (and does) have a packet of cooking chorizo tucked away at the back, and still in date. Adding fried slices of that as croutons would have finished it nicely, added to the nutritional range, and been in keeping. As my own school reports so often said, must try harder.

Austerity Feast

Wonderful weather prompted us to invite a few friends over for a mid-afternoon meal to be eaten in the garden on Sunday. The same weather had kept me from shopping, so I had to improvise with stuff from the garden and stores. Not exactly an austerity feast, but we resisted the temptation to rush out and buy a ton of ingredients to feed the five thousand - well, seven.

Last of the Swiss chard made a good soup with a couple of onions, some potatoes to thicken it, and liquid from a roasting chicken (defrosted from our intervention stock the day before). Same chicken (covered and stuffed with herbs to lift it) with a load of lettuce and other leaves fresh from the garden went farther as a salad than it would have as a chunk of meat each. And in between those courses three pizzas with different toppings, cut into slices and presented on a huge plate, filled stomachs and interested palates (especially the anchovy and chilli one, hot hot hot). 

On a perfect sunny afternoon you can get away with a lot. No pudding - just cheeses - met with approval instead of violence, as we could cut and nibble away while talking. Maybe we are going to have the first proper summer for about six years. The sunshine makes a huge difference. Our guests brought some good wines, we added to the list, made sure everything was well chilled (only whites and roses in evidence) and the warmth turned them into something special. 

One more 'course' preceded the above, a cheap and cheerful Cava chilled to death and made into rhubarb bellinis. Hugh F-W's idea, 500g of rhubarb stewed with sugar and orange juice for 15 minutes then the syrup (once chilled) sieved off and used 1:4 with the fizz. Surprisingly it was absolutely lovely, but then again we did have that sun.

Swiss Bliss

Swiss chard is something you hardly ever see in supermarkets - it tends to fade quite quickly, the bright green leaves look tired after a day and where the stem is cut turns an unappealing purply-black. So best to grow it yourself. More positive reasons to love the stuff are that once established it survives frosts and stands over the entire winter even in the wilds of Preston; you get two veg for the price of one - the leaves cooked like spinach, stems treated entirely differently; and the stems in particular have a pleasing sweet earthiness about them. Inevitably some cookbooks equate them to asparagus (along with a dozen other veg that taste nothing like the magic green sticks), but they have a fine flavour of their own.

Sunday's roast was followed by a gratin of the stems, cut into 2cm pieces and parboiled for five minutes. The  bechamel was flavoured with grated Parmesan which suited the sweetness of the chard, and in the post-roast oven browned nicely. It was almost a pudding -  if I'd used ground almonds in place of flour as a thickener it would have been even more like some medieval sweet-savoury offering.

It's always a good sign that nothing is left in the dish, but sadly this year we have grown very little chard - not for want of trying, the wet weather took its toll - so at most we can look forward to two more repeat servings now.