Kitabı oku: «Greenfeast»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Tom Kemp

Introduction

In a Bowl

CHICKPEA, PEA, SPROUTED SEEDS

FREEKEH, PEACHES, FETA

GREENS, COCONUT CURRY

MELON, PEPPERS, CUCUMBER

MISO, CAULIFLOWER, GINGER

MISO, MUSHROOMS, PAK CHOI

BULGUR, NECTARINES, PARSLEY

PANEER, AUBERGINE, CASHEWS

PAPAYA, CARROT, RADISH

PEAS, PARSLEY, VEGETABLE STOCK

PEPPERS, CHICKPEAS, GARLIC

POMEGRANATE, CUCUMBER, PUFFED RICE

QUINOA, PEAS, SPROUTED SEEDS

RICE, BROAD BEANS, ASPARAGUS

RUNNER BEANS, CASHEWS, TOMATOES

SHIITAKE, COCONUT, SOBA NOODLES

RICE, COURGETTES, PICKLED VEGETABLES

RICE, PICKLES, NORI

In a Pan

ASPARAGUS, BROAD BEANS, EGGS

AUBERGINE, HONEY, SHEEP’S CHEESE

COURGETTE (OR MARROW), ZA’ATAR, HERB YOGHURT

COURGETTES, DILL, CHICKPEAS

COURGETTES, MUSHROOMS

AUBERGINE, CHILLI, SOY

FENNEL, ONIONS, EGGS

PASTA, TOMATOES

GNOCCHI, TOMATO, RADISHES

HALLOUMI, MINT, AUBERGINE

MARROW, TOMATO, COUSCOUS

PEAS, BREADCRUMBS

SPRING CABBAGE, SPRING ONIONS, POTATOES

SWEET POTATOES, TOMATOES

In the Hand

CARROTS, TOMATOES, BUNS

FETA, BEETROOT, BUNS

MUSTARD GUACAMOLE, MOZZARELLA, BAGEL

In the Morning

STRAWBERRIES, OATS, YOGHURT

In the Oven

ASPARAGUS, PUFF PASTRY

AUBERGINE, HAZELNUTS, ONIONS

AUBERGINE, PUFF PASTRY

HALLOUMI, TOMATOES

BAKED PEPPERS, BEANS, HERB SAUCE

BAKED RICOTTA, ASPARAGUS

BEETROOT, CARROTS, SUGAR SNAPS

GREEN FALAFEL, WATERMELON, YOGHURT

KALE, BLUE CHEESE, ORECCHIETTE

LENTILS, PEPPERS, GORGONZOLA

ORZO, PEPPERS

PEPPERS, PESTO, FETA

ROAST NEW POTATOES, SPINACH SAUCE

ROASTED PEPPER, TOMATO, FOCACCIA

ROAST SPRING VEGETABLES, PEANUT SAUCE

BROAD BEANS, SPRING GREENS, LASAGNE

TOMATOES, BASIL, BREADCRUMBS

TOMATOES, COUSCOUS, HARISSA

On a Plate

BEETROOT, CURRY LEAVES, CRISP ONIONS

BROAD BEANS, PEA SHOOTS, SALTED RICOTTA

BURRATA, BROCCOLI, LENTILS

FENNEL, RADISH, YOGHURT

MUSHROOMS, PEAS, TOAST

NOODLES, SPROUTED BEANS, PEANUTS

POTATOES, SPINACH, POMEGRANATE

TOMATO, PEAS, FETA

TOMATO, BEANS, BREAD

On the Grill

AUBERGINE, FETA, YOGHURT

GRILLED LETTUCE, CARROT SOUP

COURGETTES, RICOTTA, PINE KERNELS

HALLOUMI, MELON, CHILLI

POLENTA, SPINACH, PARMESAN

On the Hob

ARTICHOKE, TAGLIATELLE

ASPARAGUS, MISO, MUSTARD

EGGS, Potatoes

BROAD BEANS, FLAGEOLETS, COURGETTES

BROAD BEANS, COUSCOUS, PINE KERNELS

BROAD BEANS, NEW POTATOES, TOMATOES

BUCATINI, COURGETTES, SPINACH

CAULIFLOWER, PUMPKIN SEEDS, BREADCRUMBS

CAULIFLOWER, GARLIC, SPICES

FETTUCINE, SAMPHIRE, LEMON

FREEKEH, AVOCADO, CHIVES

POTATOES, WILD GARLIC

PEAS, PAPPARDELLE, PARMESAN

NEW POTATOES, GARLIC, PEPPERS

SUMMER SQUASH, TOMATOES, SPINACH

TOMATOES, CHICKPEAS, CASHEWS

TOMATOES, COURGETTES, PEAS

TROFIE, PARSLEY, PECORINO

Pudding

PLUMS, CROISSANTS

BLACKBERRY, APPLE, MARZIPAN

BLACKCURRANT, YOGHURT

CHERRY, SWEET PASTRY

LEMON RICE, MANGO, ICE CREAM

CUCUMBER, BASIL, CREAM CHEESE

FIG, GOAT’S CHEESE, HONEY

CURRANTS, GIN, BREAD

MERINGUE, APRICOTS, BLACKCURRANTS

PEACH, BLACKBERRIES, ICE CREAM

PLUMS, BROWN SUGAR, HAZELNUTS

SPONGE FINGERS, CHERRY, CUSTARD

PLUMS, CLOVES, BAY

RICOTTA, ORANGE BLOSSOM, CHERRIES

STRAWBERRIES, PASSION FRUIT, BALSAMIC

PEACHES, BISCUITS, MASCARPONE

WATERMELON, PROSECCO

Index

Acknowledgements

A note on the brushstrokes

A note on the type

About the Author

Also by Nigel Slater

About the Publisher

INTRODUCTION

There is a little black book on the kitchen table. Neatly annotated in places, virtually illegible in others, it is the latest in a long line of tissue-thin pages containing the hand-written details of everything I eat. This is not one of the kitchen chronicles where I write down recipe workings and shopping lists, ideas and wish lists, but a daily diary of everything that ends up on my plate. If I have yoghurt, blackcurrant compote and pumpkin seeds at breakfast it will be in that little book. Likewise, a lunch of green lentils and grilled red peppers or a dinner of roast cauliflower and a bowl of miso soup. Each bowl of soup, plate of pasta and every mushroom on toast is faithfully logged. I don’t know exactly why or when I started noting down my dinner, but these little books are now filled in out of habit as much as anything else. The notes are often made at night, just before I lock up and go to bed. I suspect my little black books will be buried with me.

I occasionally look back at what I have written, often as I change one journal for the next. One of the points that interests me, and perhaps this is the main reason I have kept the daily ritual going for so long, is that I can follow how my eating has changed, albeit gradually, over the years. There are of course unshakable edibles, (I seem to have started and ended each day’s eating with a bowl of yoghurt for as long as I can remember), but I also find marked changes in what I cook and eat. The most notable is the quantity, I definitely eat less than I used to, and there is a conspicuous move towards lighter dishes, particularly in spring and summer.

But here’s another thing. Despite being resolutely omnivorous, it is clear how much of my everyday eating has become plant-based. Although not strictly vegetarian (the bottom line for me will always be that my dinner is delicious, not something that must adhere to a set of strict dietary rules), much of my weekday eating contains neither meat nor fish. I am not sure this was a particularly considered choice. It is simply the way my eating has grown to be over the last few years. I do know, however, that I am not alone in this.

Greenfeast, like Eat before it, is a collection of what I eat when I finish work every day: the casual yet spirited meals with which I sustain myself and whoever else is around. The recipes are, like those in previous collections, more for inspiration than rules to be adhered to, slavishly, word for word. But unlike Eat, this collection offers no meat or fish. The idea of collecting these recipes together is for those like-minded eaters who find themselves wanting inspiration for a supper that owes more to plants than animals.

HOW I EAT

I rarely hand someone a plate full of food. More hospitable and more fun, I think, is a table that has a selection of bowls and dishes of food to which people can help themselves. And by that, I mean dinner for two or three as much as those for a group of family or friends. That way, the table comes to life, food is offered or passed round, a dish is shared, the meal is instantly more joyful.

In summer there will be a couple of light, easily-prepared principal dishes. Alongside those will be some sort of accompaniment. There may be wedges of toasted sourdough, glossy with olive oil and flakes of sea salt. Noodles that I have cooked, often by simply pouring boiling water over them, then tossed in a little toasted sesame oil and coriander leaves, or an all-singing and -dancing Korean chilli paste.

A dish of red pepper soup might sit alongside a plate of fried aubergines and feta. Crisp pea croquettes may well be placed on the table with tomato and French bean salad. Southeast-Asian noodles might be eaten with roast spring vegetables and peanut sauce and a mild dish of creamed and grilled cauliflower could turn up with a spiced tomato couscous. Two dishes, often three, are very much the usual at home. I find the thought of being able to dip into several dishes uplifting in comparison to a single plate piled high.

Much of what I cook in the spring and summer is exceptionally light, by which I mean it is unlikely to be carb-heavy or based on dairy produce. There are a few things that come out on a regular basis. Bowls of yoghurt that have been folded through with chopped mint and coriander, a splash of rice vinegar and chives. There are often some lightly pickled vegetables: usually carrots, beetroot or red onions. A tangle of sauerkraut turned with an equal volume of chopped herbs, or a tomato and basil salad. Like migratory birds, these are regular visitors to my summer table. There will be others too. Perhaps some rice with crisped onions and coriander or noodles tossed with crushed tomatoes, sea salt and red wine vinegar. There may be a dish of couscous with mint, golden sultanas and green peas, or new potatoes with olive oil, tarragon and lemon zest.

It is no secret that I have a deep affection for the cold months, but my love of summer cooking, its ease and laidback feeling is not far behind. There are highlights that turn up on the table from May to September and often beyond. A few pieces of melon rolled in the juice of a passion fruit for breakfast. A deep cup of miso soup with shreds of spring greens and lemon for lunch. The uppermost points of early summer asparagus tossed with ground sesame seeds and a trickle of toasted oil to accompany a salad of sprouted seeds and green peas. A single misshapen ball of burrata with an emerald ribbon of basil oil, or a cucumber, crushed and scattered with cool ricotta and mint leaves aside a bowl of avocado and green wheat. The list is almost endless.

The recipes throughout the book are light. They are meant to be mixed and matched as you wish. A table with several little bowls of light, unfussy food to please and delight and, ultimately, gently sustain.

A NOTE ON THE RECIPES

Though all are plant-based, the recipes within these pages are not strictly vegetarian. They can, however, be rendered suitable for vegetarian or vegan diets with a bit of informed tweaking.

I am a collector of bowls. Bowls for soup and porridge, bowls for rice and pasta, bowls for pudding. I enjoy choosing which will be most appropriate for my dinner, deep or shallow, with a rim or without, earthenware, lacquer or wood. There is nothing precious about this, I simply feel that food tastes better when you eat it from something that flatters the contents.

When I moved to London, forty years ago, I bought a couple of thick, heavy, white Pillivuyt soup bowls. I have them to this day. They were my only tableware for many years, long before I bought plates or shallow dishes. They are used daily, no longer to eat from, but for beating eggs or blending a dressing. There is always at least one sitting in the fridge, a saucer for a hat, keeping a little treasure safe for another day.

I have two wooden bowls for porridge, made from ash. They form a gentle start to the day. The quiet, beatific pleasure of the movement of wooden spoon across wooden bowl. I feel like Goldilocks, even when they are used for a strawberry Bircher muesli. Occasionally they are commandeered for a soup or rice, but they are without doubt meant for the early hours.

Miso broth is my panacea. It solves every question, soothes every ill, warms, satiates and cossets. Initially a morning ritual, the bowl of miso soup can be enhanced with sliced vegetables, shreds of seaweed, sliced mushrooms and skeins of noodles. If ever I am unsure of what I want to eat, five minutes with a cup of miso broth and I have decided. The darker the miso the more it sharpens the appetite and spurs you to cook.

Serving risotto from a bowl instead of a plate is enough to get you lynched in some circles. I care not a jot. I like my risotto in a bowl, where the last spoonful (and yes, a spoon!) remains as hot as the first rather than chilling on a plate. Or perhaps it is the joy that springs from winding up those whose eating is atrophied by tradition. That said, I am not a prolific eater of rice. There is much to be said though for a bowl of pure white basmati or sticky Japanese rice, seasoned with jewel-coloured tsukemono, the emerald, saffron and magenta pickles of Kyoto. Sometimes, I crumble a sheet of nori over the top, or sprinkle the tiny tea-green flakes over the grains, or add a dusting of chilli and sesame-toasted togarishi.

The holding of a bowl – more like cradling really – comforts us. But it is important how the bowl feels in the hand. Too rough and it can grate on the nerves, like nails down a blackboard or teeth on a pear drop. Too smooth and your soup feels refined and cold-hearted. What I appreciate most is the humble quality of a bowl and the food you put in it. Even the most exquisitely-formed recipe is brought down a peg or two when served in an earthenware dish. The food jumbles unaffectedly in the hollow, the deep sides capture the scent of the food, increasing the enjoyment of every mouthful.

I eat more food from a bowl than I do from a plate. Partly because I can pick it up and get closer to my food, the act of eating becomes more intimate, but also because of my adoration of potters and the work that goes into their art and craft. The idea that something has been on a clay-dusted wheel, moulded and shaped by their own hands and signed with a potter’s mark, only adds to the experience. The only ones that don’t work for me are the square ones, angular, awkward and uncomfortable and no less unattractive than square plates. A bright pattern can cheer or jar as your spirit takes you.

This being a spring and summer book, there are probably fewer bowl-based recipes than in the second autumn and winter volume, but we still have a crisp Vietnamese-inspired salad, a cooling melon gazpacho, a paneer korma and a bowl of green peas and sprouted seeds. There are rice bowls and soup bowls, freekeh salad, a verdant curry and a deep dish of creamy noodles. There are others of course, recipes in the On the Hob chapter in particular. There is not much that isn’t more appealing to me when eaten from the depths of a beautiful bowl.

I don’t think we should spend too much time agonising over the right receptacle for the right food any more than we should play too seriously the wine-matching game. That said, I get pleasure from rummaging through my collection of everyday, utilitarian pieces simply to make my food look comfortable. (Anyone who has ever put tomato soup into a bright blue dish will know what uncomfortable food looks like.) In general, salads need a bit more space so I tend to favour a wide dish. Big soups like a generous home in which to sit – it will keep the contents hotter for longer and shallow ones are good for beautiful ingredients you want to admire. A deep one will also give you the joy of finding a hidden dumpling lurking deliciously at the bottom.

I have a certain reverence for food served in a bowl that I don’t when it is served on a plate. I am not sure why this should be, I only know that it is. I love the way the dressing, sauce or juices sit in the base, to be spooned up as a final treat, which is why so many of the dishes throughout these books are presented the way they are. It is my preferred way to eat.

CHICKPEA, PEA, SPROUTED SEEDS

A can of chickpeas from the shelf. Green peas from the freezer. A store- cupboard supper for a spring evening.

Serves 4

chickpeas 2 × 400g cans

frozen or fresh peas 400g (podded weight)

sprouted mung beans 100g

sprouted seeds such as radish 80g

olive oil 4 tablespoons

ground cumin 2 teaspoons

ground coriander 2 teaspoons

For the dressing:

tahini 1 tablespoon

juice of a lemon

olive oil 4 tablespoons

Bring a pan of water to the boil. Drain and rinse the chickpeas. Cook the peas in boiling water till tender. Drain and refresh in a bowl of iced water. Rinse the mung beans and sprouted seeds in cold water and shake them dry.

Make the dressing: beat together the tahini, lemon juice and olive oil.

Warm the olive oil in a frying pan over a moderate heat, add the chickpeas and ground spices and let them sizzle for a couple of minutes till hot and fragrant. Move the chickpeas around the pan as they brown.

Drain the peas again and put them in a serving bowl with the mung beans and radish sprouts. Fold in the dressing and lastly the chickpeas.

• One of those everlastingly useful ‘suppers in minutes’. Use frozen peas or a packet of fresh, podded peas from the supermarket. If you are podding fresh peas for this you will need a generous kilo.

• Use whichever sprouted peas you have around, including the mixtures of lentils and mung beans from health food shops. The point is to introduce as many differing textures as you can.