Jamie Oliver Has Good Idea Shock

There are some TV chefs (cooks is a more accurate word for most) I actually like - HF-W, for one. There are others - Nigella 'another bucket of cream please' Lawson, and Jamie 'fry it pukka fella' Oliver - I cannot abide. Strange then that reading a recent JO recipe gave me a headstart on what proved to be an excellent dish.


Probably on the BBC website, or maybe The Guardian (he's a Londoner so The Guardian - to which I subscribe btw - acknowledges his existence, unlike restaurants outside the M25) I read what was clearly a plug (surely not) for his recent discovery of vegetables. Doesn't he know HF-W planted his flag on such produce some time ago, even introducing common people to them? The recipe used lentils with other ingredients to make a non-meat basis for shepherd's/cottage pie (the end result more like cottage to my mind, for what it's worth).


Sternest Critic having been welcomed back to the fold with a huge T-bone steak on Wednesday (he's been off teaching diving in foreign climes), Thursday was his introduction to our present mainly vegetarian regime. Without the recipe to hand I worked from general principles and vague recollection: the 'meat' base was made with lentils (cooked from dried), to which diced carrots, fried onions red and white, garlic, chopped mushrooms, tomato puree, tomato sauce, smoked paprika, and - JO's good idea - some Marmite were added. I overdid the Marmite, as The Dear Leader (may her enemies writhe in eternal pain) pointed out, perfectly correctly (as if it needs saying). The lid was made with potatoes, parsnip and turnip, mashed with some grated cheddar and mezzo-luna-ed parsley, and a layer of grated cheddar put on top to finish it - and when that had browned up in the oven the pie was ready.


Normally I'm one for not substituting stuff for meat in vegetarian cooking - let the veggies speak for themselves - but this mixture made for a meaty texture, and was very savoury. Marmite has B12, so addresses one of my concerns about cutting out/back on meat and fish. It also imparts a terrific umami taste. But I added a bit too much, and it slightly overshadowed the lentils. Nil desperandum, it will be corrected next time, and there will be a next time, as it was enjoyed by all. Trouble was, we struggled to find a name for it: Crofter's Pie? Smallholder's Pie? Cheaty Meatless Pie?

The Importance of Eating Turnips

As far as I'm concerned the turnip (I resisted the cliche 'humble turnip' though it wasn't easy) is the Erik Satie of the vegetable world; looked down on by lovers of vegetables regarded as more accomplished, aparagus perhaps the Debussy of the greengrocer's shop, but offering lots of surprises and an ever-present strength.

A couple of varieties will feature in this evening's root salad, just peeled, cut into matchsticks, and teamed up with carrot, kohl rabi, celeriac (perhaps it's going too far to call celeriac the JC Bach of the plate, wrongly overlooked in favour of its more famous relative) and beetroot, only the celeriac needing blanching. Exceptionally virtuous certainly, but with real gourmet merits as well, the turnip will stand out in this company. It makes a fine soup too, Creme a la Vierge; takes some beating in the form of glazed baby versions as a Spring accompaniment to lamb; and with only a couple cooked with the spuds for a mash lifts it in the flavour stakes. 

With our supermarkets never out of flashier veg imported from the rings of Saturn I think we need to make an effort to get back to our roots, as it were, and make the most of the turnip and others of its ilk, including the carrot and even the much despised Swede (logical that, given the Swede is actually a turnip, though not one I'd be for eating raw). I experimented with a mash that incorporated spuds, turnip, Jerusalem artichokes and parsnip the other day, which was far more interesting than the ordinary spud-only type, and as a bonus had matured in flavour overnight when I used the few spoonfuls remaining as the basis of (I can't bring myself to use the word rissoles) 'potato cakes' mixed in with some chopped ham, cheese, and a couple of eggs. And anway, I really wanted to use that title.

It's All Kicking Off

From despair at how slow everything was in the kitchen garden and allotment to a sudden abundance in just two weeks. With the summer weather (worth noting again, summer weather) we are having to water lots of the crops, but that's a small price to pay for within the last two or three days a glut of strawberries and redcurrants - now seven jars of jam; the first small courgettes, tender enough to eat raw; loads of tiny turnips, our most under-rated vegetable; more lettuce than we can handle, so the chickens are happy; a pick of little artichokes for a starter; handfuls of spring onions nothing like the hard ones you get from supermarkets; and reasonable pickings of broad beans, again picked when small and tender and sweet. And above all, lots of new spuds.

We are not vegetarians by any means, but when you have veg that good there is less call for big lumps of meat.

We pick things young and tender, whereas commercial growers and outlets want to maximise the weight. Take those turnips: we have four varieties, each with their own characteristics. The purple top Milan are my favourites. Great raw in crunchy salads; as half-starch half-flavouring in last night's chicken dish; as a soup (creme a la vierge, lovely with small sweet roots, horrid with overgrown woody things that smell like school cabbage when cooked), or glazed to accompany a little lamb chop.

It's nice to have your menu dictated by the season too. A Navarin of lamb is now called for, with the broad beans instead of peas, and those little turnips stewed gently with new potatoes. Salads various, but the plain green (for which read green, red, bronze and pink with the different lettuces we grow) at least every other day. There is no reason to limit yourself to one salad with a meal when the crops are so full of flavour.

One Flame Navarin and Alice B Toklas

My culinary reading currently is The Cookbook of Alice B. Toklas. It is usual to follow her name with a put-down something like 'the lover of Gertrude Stein', but as her memoirs-cum-cookbook is far more interesting than stream of consciousness rubbish by the latter, let's not.

I read cookbooks for ideas, and historic cookbooks for a real feel for period. Parson Woodforde was on a daily basis far more concerned with tracklements than treaties. Food history is demotic. Alice B's work gives a nice insight into the world of arty (and rich) Americans in Paris in the first half of the 20th century, and the section dealing with their struggles in the countryside of Eastern France in WWII is fascinating.

As with other works though, including some contemporary hits, you do wonder if some of the dishes were ever cooked. Chicken browned briefly in butter then roasted in a medium oven for 35 minutes invites food poisoning. And her Navarin recipe is far too complicated. This is country cooking. It did inspire me to make a Navarin of lamb, however, which is another one flame dish worth noting.

The vital ingredient in Navarin of lamb (apart from the lamb) is turnips, young, small, sweet and something we don't make enough of in this country. On the allotment we grow several varieties, my favourite the purple topped Milan ones, but Snowball is elegant too. Elegant turnips. They are wonderful raw in salads (a salade de racines the best hotel fodder I ever tasted in France), glazed as a vegetable in their own right, or as Creme a la Vierge (still can't do accents here), a delicate soup.

So to the Navarin.

Five small turnips were peeled, quartered and browned in olive oil then removed. I had bought three leg chops for the meat cut into big chunks and likewise browned along with an onion diced small. Flour stirred in followed by boiling chicken stock (I cheated with a cube, ok) and a small glass of brandy (no wine open) made a thin-cream-consistency  sauce. Seasoned with salt, plenty of pepper and a pinch of nutmeg this was left to simmer for 45 minutes with a few bay leaves and twigs of thyme from the garden, then four carrots sliced thinly, a few smallish new potatoes in walnut-sized chunks, and the browned turnips added to cook for 20 more. At the end a big handful of frozen peas was dropped in, left to heat through and then the thing was ready, with a bit of corrective seasoning.

Classic one pot cookery that is forgiving of time until the veg go in. The meat could have cooked for twice the time, but not the potatoes which must retain a bit of bite.

Sweet & Sour Power

Those neat little packets of sauce are so tempting: sweet and sour, black bean, Thai green curry... But a look at the ingredients list often reveals one reason not to buy, and the price for what you get is another - 99p, £1.25, for something you can whip up in seconds.

Last night we had a Chinese banquet, big on veg from the allotment - braised beef with our turnips, steamed kale with chilli and soy sauce, braised courgettes in a simple thickened sauce made with stock, and sweet and sour chicken. The last item was made because I overdid the quantity of sauce for the courgettes (cheaty vegetable stock powder with soy sauce, plus some cornflour to thicken it). A dollop of Heinz, a tablespoonful of sugar, and a big dash of red wine vinegar and it had changed character, coating the stir-fried chicken and red pepper strips deliciously.

The Chinese food we eat here (except in a few restaurants) is for obvious reasons very anglicized, which tends to mean meat-based dishes predominate. When I travelled for work in China and Taiwan banquets and business meals had plenty of vegetable dishes: simple steamed greens, braises, some stir-fried mixes. For a meal at home it is very easy to prepare such things, and healthy, and it means you end up with more dishes on the table so it feels like a feast. The extra colours don't hurt either. Taste and colour highlight for me yesterday was (a tin of) bamboo shoots cut into matchsticks, stir fried till they began to turn light gold, then braised with soy, sugar, a slug of sherry and boiling water until the liquid all but disappeared. Left until cool they were so tasty. A special touch for well under £1, when a packet sauce would have cost more.