Odd Companions

I am not a fan of fusion cooking. Neither the imaginary version involving a nuclear-powered stove, nor the one where a chef tries to meld cuisines from radically different cultures and geographic locations. A bit of borrowing works, but pak choi with a red wine sauce and turmeric meringues doesn't. Nor am I one to experiment too radically with new (to me) combinations. But last night one (rather timid) attempt at introducing otherwise normally unconnected ingredients worked beautifully.


Pressed for time having returned from the cinema (The Equalizer 2 - not as good as the first one, but still a pleasing romp for a wet Sunday evening) we were to have the legs left over from the previous night's roast chicken - cooked by the Dear Leader no less (may her enemies shrivel like raisins) as I had been doing macho decorating stuff all day, and absolutely delicious - with a tomato salad, and needed something vegetal as a starter.


With kohlrabi aplenty at the moment I wanted to use some of that, so peeled and sliced two (raw) with a potato peeler into see-through circles (the secret is holding it with a fork so no blood is added involuntarily); cut thin slices of goat's cheese on top; crumbled some walnuts; and added a good handful of tiny basil leaves picked fresh from the plant. Dressed with walnut oil and cider vinegar, along with sea salt, it looked fabulous - which is a good start - and the four forthright flavours worked as well together as a string quartet.


That point about how it looked is important, more so for restaurants than the home, but still helpful in getting the gastric juices flowing. It actually looked good enough to cost £7.50 on a posh eaterie's menu. The dressing was not artfully drizzled in zig-zag patterns, there was no bloody silly lavender biscuit or similar to accompany it, but nonetheless looked fit for the commercial table. It also cost maybe £1 for two servings. When we arrived at the cinema around 6pm we passed a lengthy queue at the nearby McD's, where others were getting their treat of fat, sugar and carbs for rather more than that. Each to his or her own.

Eggs! Eggs! Damn All Eggs! (But Not All Cookery Writers)

So, as regards the eggs, said Lord Worplesdon, as all right thinking people will be aware. The title is prompted by the number of eggs now in our kitchen, seemingly increasing whenever my back is turned, and how to make the most of them.

For a cook it's actually quite a nice problem to have, if it qualifies as a problem at all. We breakfast on them every two or three days, and have enough for scrambled eggs to be served up as more than a small yellow stain on toast. An omelette or fritatta appears on the dinner menu about once a week; egg mayonnaise sandwiches occur at lunch with the same frequency; eggs boiled or poached are added to green salads with lardons and walnuts. The list of favourites goes on, but it's good to add new ways to use them up.

I was drawn to refer to Elizabeth David for eggy ideas recently. Inevitably an excellent one was rapidly found, and it suited another of our gluts - tomatoes ripening on the conservatory windowsill. Every cook has his or her favourite writers, Ms David one of my sacred quartet along with Jane Grigson, de Pomiane, and HF-W. I am pushed to ponder here, rather appositely, a chicken and egg question: have I chosen those four because they suit my cooking and tastes; or did they create my cooking and tastes?

David and Grigson were the first food writers who entranced me as a callow twenty-something, by which time, however, I was already fascinated by and reasonably adept at cookery; de Pomiane came to my notice rather later; and HF-W is younger than I, which points towards them fitting what I look for in a food writer as the correct answer to the above query. That they write well, or extremely well, comes high up the list; that they are rooted in French, Italian and British cookery before other styles is also important; and that their dishes are about making the most of ingredients, not making a show of them, is vital too.

The Elizabeth David dish by the way (from that holiest of texts, French Provincial Cookery) was an hors d'oeuvre of thinly sliced toms layered in a shallow dish with sliced boiled eggs, each layer of tomatoes seasoned as you go, some finely chopped onion strewn on top, the lot dressed with oil and vinegar. So simple, but so satisfying and tasty. It could be tarted up with chopped parsley, gherkins, capers, or olives and not suffer (though it would be wrong to add more than one or two of these).

White Supremacy - Except for the Other Colours Being Great Too

Back to the question of colour in food. Not food colouring, something almost always to be avoided, but the colours on our plates. And the wonders of raw food.

For the hard of reading I should start taking photos again, it would help with posts like this.

Yesterday, prompted by a remark by the Dear Leader earlier in the week (I follow behind with a notebook to jot down every word of her infinitely wise remarks), we had raw cauliflower as part of what our American cousins would call a 'dinner salad'. I've also heard the phrase 'garbage salad' used for something similar, though there is a notable difference between them - the former more refined and planned, the latter a way of using anything and everything (within reason) to hand.

The cauli was bought that day, was a fine shining white, and looked beautiful on the plate - thanks in particular to the contrast with red pepper and cherry toms, and the green mixed leaves. It was superbly crunchy and crisp, and had all the flavour without that unpleasantly lurking reek of the cooked version. As we don't grow caulis (too much faffery) we don't eat many, but when we do I love them raw like that, something I first came across in a mid-range restaurant in the USA (California if I'm not mistaken, spiritual home of the big salad).

It is not the only vegetable that I prefer raw. Give me coleslaw instead of cooked white cabbage (memories of school dinners) any day. Grated carrot rather than boiled (though I do like glazed carrots). Raw beetroot over boiled or baked. Crisp uncooked celery sticks instead of soft casseroled chunks. The purity of flavour is one part of those preferences, but the brightness of colour is as significant.

White - rather than very pale green, or dull gray/grey - is a rare thing in the kitchen unless significant quantities of dairy fat are involved. That scarcity made the raw cauli all the more enticing. But in case anyone wants to draw a point of political philosophy (or bigotry) out of that, alone it looked boring, only coming to life when set beside the vibrant red tomatoes and pepper.