Austerity and Aligot

Last week I was on a press trip to the Midi-Pyrenees region of France, and very enjoyable too. During the four days we visited six Michelin-starred restaurants. This was a privilege, though the urge to be different produces such horrors as foie gras with raspberry sauce alongside works of perfection like a coddled egg in an asparagus crust, the yolk when cut oozing unctuously into a morel sauce.

But that is clearly not austerity fare (though a variation on that egg dish, effectively a subtle scotch egg, could be). Aligot, however, most certainly is. At the market in Rodez we tried this local speciality, which is simply very smooth mashed potato blended with melted cheese (young Tomme d'Aguiole or Cantal) and garlic. Happily the last Michelin-starred place we visited served some with a beautiful piece of lamb, a real bow to culinary tradition. That I think had a bit of cream in it, not a heresy but a variation, perhaps a refinement, and still traditional. They matched perfectly, unlike the foie gras and raspberry car-crash.

A bit of research shows that the proportions potato to cheese are 2:1, with garlic to taste and likewise seasonings. An acceptable-ish substitute for the Tomme would be Mozzarella, or a mixture of that and a harder cheese like cheddar, melted before marrying. I will be making some soon, either to eat on its own (now that is comfort food Nigel) or to accompany lamb. It forms strings as you try to fork it up from the plate. Huge quantities are not needed, such is its richness.

Secret Service Santa Stuff VIII

Yet another letter thanking Santa, written by a celebrity chef rendered anonymous. And I am willing to bet that it has the best pun on the words of a 15th century French poet that you have read all day. The worst too.

Dear Santa,

At this time of year with the last sad leaf clutching the rimed twigs I love to remember Christmases past as I look upon my little garden that produces miraculous quantities of different vegetables. Our quick lunch was Caramac, my favourite comfort food at this time of year, and those oh so 1970s tinned peas I still secretly adore. They are my favourite comfort food, the label promising the scents of summers long gone. We finished with some cheese from a shop that at this time of year only sells to you if you provide references. Cheese at this time of year is my favourite comfort food, especially on mashed potatoes. Mash is my favourite. Comfort food. Thanks for the hair-trimmers, their steely blades catching the glint of the sun. Low. In the sky. At this time of year I really needed them. I peeked coyly through my fringe and the frost bedecked window when you visited, but your reindeer no longer make a sound as they did in my childhood. Où sont les neighs d’antan? Reindeer are my favourite comfort food. At this time of year.

Yours ever,