So. I feel this is something of a cheat of a blogpost. I wrote about a chicory gratin back in August, and this one isn't all that different.
It is, however, veggie, and at the moment, lack of meat in a recipe is all I care about. It's also just as tasty (perhaps more so, even... though the boy did note that it would be improved with a bit of bacon) and I am pleased with the walnut and thyme crust, which I shall now be using on top of anything I can imagine.
Quantities very easily halved (or just use one, not both, of the veg, which would save having small bits of random vegetables sitting in your fridge for the next week) for one person. You could presumably double up for a dinner party, too, although I'm not sure that this is really dinner party food.
And finally... a useful note about herbs. I've noted here that you can use two tablespooons of fresh thyme, or two teaspoons of dried thyme, and I generally find that to be a useful convertor (1 tbs fresh = same flavour punch as 1 tsp dried) for all herbs.
Chicory and celery gratin
2 heads chicory (aka endive), green or red
half a large head of celery
butter
More butter
Tbs flour
1/2 pint milk
200g gruyere
Four slices brown bread
100g walnuts
2 tbs fresh thyme, or 2 tsp dried thyme
glug of oil
Green salad, to serve
Start off by cutting your chicory in half lengthways, and by breaking off ribs (note: I *love* that celery sticks are called ribs. Something less like these it is hard to imagine.) from the head of celery, trimming any dried or dirty bits from the ends. Melt a decent slice of butter in a large frying pan (preferably one with a lid), and, once it bubbles, put the veg in, cut side down in the case of the chicory. Stick the lid on if you have one, and leave to sizzle for 10 minutes, shaking ocassionally, until they are slightly browned and softened.
I did some washing-up whilst they were cooking, but if you're not the sort to have a pile of 10 saucepans and an ice-cream maker in permanent residence next to your sink, you can make the cheese sauce during this time. Melt a tablespoon of butter in a saucepan, and stir in a tablespoon of flour. Cook for a minute until it turns deep golden, stirring all the time, then gradually mix in the milk, still stirring. Keep stirring as you heat the sauce, only stopping once it's boiled (when it stabilises). Leave to bubble very gently whilst you grate the cheese, then stir that in, together with a decent pinch of salt.
The final component is the breadcrumbs, which involve simply sticking everything except the oil into a food processor, whizzing until rough, then pouring in a decent glug of oil and whizzing again briefly, just to coat them all.
Construct the dish by putting first the veg, then the sauce, and then the crumbs into a baking dish. Bake for 20 minutes or so at 200 degrees, or until the sauce is attempting to bubble out of the dish and the crumbs have browned.
I don't normally make serving suggestions, but this really does need some kind of fresh green salad to go with it, preferably with a bit of crunch, to contrast with the sticky, rich, gratin. And a very crisp white wine, too.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
An omelette for not-quite-summer
After the gorgeous weather at the weekend, I was going to make a really light, herb-filled, summer omelette tonight. It's been just as sunny today, but the temperature has dropped somewhat, and dinner suddenly needed bulking up. I had a couple of mushrooms hanging around from making Nigella's Garlic Mushrooms (see note at the bottom for details...), and it occurred to me that they should add just the rich, meaty note I was in need of. Depending on your appetite, you could serve this as is, or with a piece of toast, or an entire garlic baguette!
Watercress and Mushroom Omelette
Two flat field mushrooms, or two handfuls of little mushrooms
Butter
Two eggs
Tsp dried tarragon (or 1 tbs of something fresh - parsley, dill, basil...)
50g watercress (about a large handful)
Tbs or so grated parmesan
Slice the mushrooms, and saute in plenty of butter and salt for five minutes. They need to go through the stages of absorbing the fat, releasing their juices, and then releasing the fat again; at the end they'll start to brown and this is when you need to whip them out of the pan.
Whilst the mushrooms are sizzling away, break the eggs into a bowl with more salt, some pepper, and the dried or fresh herbs, and whisk well. Chop the watercress and grate the parmesan.
Remove the mushrooms from the pan, tipping it to one side and letting any fat drip off them. Put the pan back on the heat, adding a very small further knob of butter; once the butter is sizzling again, tip in the eggs and shake vigorously (more on omelette skills here) for a minute.
Scatter the watercress and parmesan over, then top with the mushrooms. Turn the heat out, but leave the pan on it and stick either a lid or plate over to keep the heat in. The idea here is to slightly wilt the watercress and just melt the parmesan in the residual heat; it will take about as long as it takes you to get out a plate, knife, and fork, and pour a glass of wine.
PS. For Nigella's Garlic Mushrooms, just make a garlic butter with a tbs of butter, a crushed large clove garlic (use two if yours are only small or average size), and plenty of salt and pepper. Smear this over two flat field mushrooms, then roast at 200 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Serve with toast or (as she recommends) in a ciabatta bap.
Watercress and Mushroom Omelette
Two flat field mushrooms, or two handfuls of little mushrooms
Butter
Two eggs
Tsp dried tarragon (or 1 tbs of something fresh - parsley, dill, basil...)
50g watercress (about a large handful)
Tbs or so grated parmesan
Slice the mushrooms, and saute in plenty of butter and salt for five minutes. They need to go through the stages of absorbing the fat, releasing their juices, and then releasing the fat again; at the end they'll start to brown and this is when you need to whip them out of the pan.
Whilst the mushrooms are sizzling away, break the eggs into a bowl with more salt, some pepper, and the dried or fresh herbs, and whisk well. Chop the watercress and grate the parmesan.
Remove the mushrooms from the pan, tipping it to one side and letting any fat drip off them. Put the pan back on the heat, adding a very small further knob of butter; once the butter is sizzling again, tip in the eggs and shake vigorously (more on omelette skills here) for a minute.
Scatter the watercress and parmesan over, then top with the mushrooms. Turn the heat out, but leave the pan on it and stick either a lid or plate over to keep the heat in. The idea here is to slightly wilt the watercress and just melt the parmesan in the residual heat; it will take about as long as it takes you to get out a plate, knife, and fork, and pour a glass of wine.
PS. For Nigella's Garlic Mushrooms, just make a garlic butter with a tbs of butter, a crushed large clove garlic (use two if yours are only small or average size), and plenty of salt and pepper. Smear this over two flat field mushrooms, then roast at 200 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Serve with toast or (as she recommends) in a ciabatta bap.
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Review: The Punter, Osney Island
I have lived in Oxford for nearly four years. I have never been punting.
And one more thing to get out of the way before I talk about the food: I think "The Punter" is a terrible pun of a name for a pub; even if it weren't for the fact (as I am informed by older, puntier, Oxford hands than I) that you can't actually punt on the stretch of the Thames that it looks out over. I am generally entirely in favour of the gastroisation of run-down little dives of pubs, but I fail to see the need to give them silly new names. This isn't an overly pretentious joint, so why the pretentious name?
Now. Food. Actually, no - one more thing first - the actual reason I chose to venture out to Osney Island in the first place. It was the first seriously warm and sunny day of the year, and I'd furiously been trying to think of somewhere to take the boy for lunch where we could sit outside. The best we'd come up with was the Turf Tavern, where, much as I love it, the menu definitely tends towards the cliche and the microwave, presumably thanks to their Greene King overlords. A stray tweet happened to alert me to a new foodie pub, and I managed to establish that it had a little patio overlooking the Thames. Sorted.
Osney Island is nearer than a north Oxford girl would expect, and we were settled in their peaceful little suntrap, staring rapt at the Thames, with a glass of Chardonnay and a pint of Aspall's cider, within a 10 minute walk of the city centre. The menu is short but would normally be plenty long enough for me; being a temporary veggie, though, my choices were somewhat limited. In the end, we decided to share a couple of starters and a main course between us, and all credit to a barman and a kitchen that are totally unfazed when you not only ask for this, but for them all to be served at the same time. So, within 15 minutes, we had on our table a purple sprouting broccoli, fig, and blue cheese salad, a massive portion of bruschetta with peppers and mozzarella, and a mixed veggie mezze platter.
The fig/blue cheese combo was familiar, but the pairing with broccoli was new to me, and it was a brilliant idea, helped along by PSB cooked to the perfection of toothsomeness. The bruschetta was equally an old idea, tarted up to new levels. They could have got away with less basil; less well roasted peppers; cheaper mozzarella; this is clearly the sort of place that cares more about making good food than saving money, though.
I think I might have felt a little disappointed with the size of the mezze platter (supposedly the main course) if I had ordered it alone, but all the components were superb. Ok, so it doesn't take much skill to buy the best feta you can land your hands on and stick it on a plate, but it does take skill to make baba ghanoush. This example was easily the best I've had: voluptuously silky, sweet, and gorgeously spiced. Even the boy liked it, and he claims not to like aubergines. There were also sun-dried tomatoes; olives; bread; hummus; tsatsiki; a butternut squash, goat's cheese, and pine nut pate; and a cumin-spiked carrot salad. I did feel that it could have done with one less dippy thing and one more solid though - a couple of falafel or stuffed vine leaves wouldn't have gone amiss.
I'll be back in future, partly to sample the rest of the menu and use their heaven of a patio again, but also to take advantage of their £5 lunchtime main courses - if the quality of our meal was anything to go by, this must be a massive steal of a deal.
Finally, huge thanks to Jessica Mann, the drinks writer for the Oxford Mail, for recommending the place to me in the first place. Here's to the series on outdoors eateries!
The Punter
And one more thing to get out of the way before I talk about the food: I think "The Punter" is a terrible pun of a name for a pub; even if it weren't for the fact (as I am informed by older, puntier, Oxford hands than I) that you can't actually punt on the stretch of the Thames that it looks out over. I am generally entirely in favour of the gastroisation of run-down little dives of pubs, but I fail to see the need to give them silly new names. This isn't an overly pretentious joint, so why the pretentious name?
Now. Food. Actually, no - one more thing first - the actual reason I chose to venture out to Osney Island in the first place. It was the first seriously warm and sunny day of the year, and I'd furiously been trying to think of somewhere to take the boy for lunch where we could sit outside. The best we'd come up with was the Turf Tavern, where, much as I love it, the menu definitely tends towards the cliche and the microwave, presumably thanks to their Greene King overlords. A stray tweet happened to alert me to a new foodie pub, and I managed to establish that it had a little patio overlooking the Thames. Sorted.
Osney Island is nearer than a north Oxford girl would expect, and we were settled in their peaceful little suntrap, staring rapt at the Thames, with a glass of Chardonnay and a pint of Aspall's cider, within a 10 minute walk of the city centre. The menu is short but would normally be plenty long enough for me; being a temporary veggie, though, my choices were somewhat limited. In the end, we decided to share a couple of starters and a main course between us, and all credit to a barman and a kitchen that are totally unfazed when you not only ask for this, but for them all to be served at the same time. So, within 15 minutes, we had on our table a purple sprouting broccoli, fig, and blue cheese salad, a massive portion of bruschetta with peppers and mozzarella, and a mixed veggie mezze platter.
The fig/blue cheese combo was familiar, but the pairing with broccoli was new to me, and it was a brilliant idea, helped along by PSB cooked to the perfection of toothsomeness. The bruschetta was equally an old idea, tarted up to new levels. They could have got away with less basil; less well roasted peppers; cheaper mozzarella; this is clearly the sort of place that cares more about making good food than saving money, though.
I think I might have felt a little disappointed with the size of the mezze platter (supposedly the main course) if I had ordered it alone, but all the components were superb. Ok, so it doesn't take much skill to buy the best feta you can land your hands on and stick it on a plate, but it does take skill to make baba ghanoush. This example was easily the best I've had: voluptuously silky, sweet, and gorgeously spiced. Even the boy liked it, and he claims not to like aubergines. There were also sun-dried tomatoes; olives; bread; hummus; tsatsiki; a butternut squash, goat's cheese, and pine nut pate; and a cumin-spiked carrot salad. I did feel that it could have done with one less dippy thing and one more solid though - a couple of falafel or stuffed vine leaves wouldn't have gone amiss.
I'll be back in future, partly to sample the rest of the menu and use their heaven of a patio again, but also to take advantage of their £5 lunchtime main courses - if the quality of our meal was anything to go by, this must be a massive steal of a deal.
Finally, huge thanks to Jessica Mann, the drinks writer for the Oxford Mail, for recommending the place to me in the first place. Here's to the series on outdoors eateries!
The Punter
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Rabbit food
As some of you might know, I've gone vegetarian for Lent. With the possible exception a few of the times I had to eat out (I'm not sure I ever want to see another sweet potato/goat's cheese combo again in my life), it's been easy, fun and has prompted me to cook a lot more inventively than I would do usually.
I'm afraid that all kind of ended in the last couple of days; a boredom with beans culminated in a microwaved mushroom pasta for dinner tonight. This was the last thing I managed to think up before my brain collapsed into a bacon-deprived haze.
Purple Sprouting Broccoli Stir-fry
1 onion
Groundnut or other non-olive oil
1 clove garlic
1/2 tsp dried chilli flakes
100g purple sprouting broccoli
handful cashew nuts
2 tbs rice wine or dry sherry
2 tbs water
1 tbs soy sauce
1 tbs toasted sesame oil
Thinly slice the onion; thinly slice the garlic clove; chop the PSB into roughly three bite-size portions, depending on the size of your broccoli and the size of your bite; and roughly chop the cashews.
Heat a tbs or so of oil in a wok, and, once hot, throw in the onion; stir-fry over a high heat until well browned. Lower the heat slightly, then add the garlic, chilli, PSB, and cashews. Stir-fry again for a couple of minutes, until the garlic and PSB are slightly browned.
Tip in the wine, water, and soy, and bubble for a minute or two until reduced to a slightly sticky sauce. Add the sesame oil, then serve.
I had this as it was, but if you wanted to bulk it up with some rice or noodles, I'd suggest adding about twice the amount of all the liquids, so that there's enough sauce for that too.
I'm afraid that all kind of ended in the last couple of days; a boredom with beans culminated in a microwaved mushroom pasta for dinner tonight. This was the last thing I managed to think up before my brain collapsed into a bacon-deprived haze.
Purple Sprouting Broccoli Stir-fry
1 onion
Groundnut or other non-olive oil
1 clove garlic
1/2 tsp dried chilli flakes
100g purple sprouting broccoli
handful cashew nuts
2 tbs rice wine or dry sherry
2 tbs water
1 tbs soy sauce
1 tbs toasted sesame oil
Thinly slice the onion; thinly slice the garlic clove; chop the PSB into roughly three bite-size portions, depending on the size of your broccoli and the size of your bite; and roughly chop the cashews.
Heat a tbs or so of oil in a wok, and, once hot, throw in the onion; stir-fry over a high heat until well browned. Lower the heat slightly, then add the garlic, chilli, PSB, and cashews. Stir-fry again for a couple of minutes, until the garlic and PSB are slightly browned.
Tip in the wine, water, and soy, and bubble for a minute or two until reduced to a slightly sticky sauce. Add the sesame oil, then serve.
I had this as it was, but if you wanted to bulk it up with some rice or noodles, I'd suggest adding about twice the amount of all the liquids, so that there's enough sauce for that too.
Thursday, 24 March 2011
Aubergine, Mozzarella
The food I eat on my own often falls more in to the category of "snack" than meal; even when it's a meal-sized plate of food, it's likely to be just protein, or just veg, or just carbs, rather than a well constructed mixture of the three. A lot of the time I'd be happy just munching on a chunk of cheese and perhaps a pickle or two, though I usually manage to construct something a little more nutritious than that. This falls somewhere between the two camps: very few elements, all simple tasty things on their own, very little cooking time, but all the same a sensible, proper meal.
An aubergine and mozzarella supper for one
1 aubergine
Jar of harissa paste
1 ball (c. 125g) mozzarella (use the best/most expensive stuff you can buy without feeling guilty about it)
Garlic bread/crusty bread to serve
Top and tail your aubergine, then slice into rounds roughly 5mm in thickness. No need for tape measures, but if they're too thick they'll burn without cooking through, and if they're too thin they'll just burn plain and simple. Spread them out on a grill pan; I find mine is generally just the right size for an aubergine's worth of slices, but do yours in two batches if not.
Mix a tbs of oil into the harissa paste to loosen the thickness, then brush a very thin layer of the flavoured oil and paste over both side of each slice of aubergine. Keep the amount of paste to an absolute minimum - it's spicy stuff - unless you are normally the kind of person who eats a vindaloo for breakfast.
Stick under the grill and grill until well browned (almost until they start catching and burning), then turn over and repeat on the other side. On my grill, this takes about 3-4 minutes per side, but grills vary so much in strength that you're just going to have to watch over them like a hawk so that you can whip them out at the right moment.
Stick on a plate with the ball of mozzarella and the bread. Eat.
Then, of course, I want those same flavours when I'm cooking for two, but putting a few slices of grilled veg on a plate with a ball of cheese and a slice of bread feels slightly underwhelming when there's more than one of you. So this is how to turn it into a "proper" meal:
And a bigger aubergine and mozzarella salad for two
In addition to the above...
1 other vegetable, perhaps a red onion or a courgette
100g or so of cherry tomatoes
bag salad leaves (I'd suggest rocket or spinach)
juice 1/2 a lemon
...and you'll need to up your quantity of whatever bread you've chosen, too
Repeat the harissa-grilling method with your chosen other vegetable; you'll probably need to add another tbs or so of oil to the jar of harissa to get enough for this.
Chuck the grilled veg into a bowl with the cherry tomatoes (which you've halved or quartered according to how big they are and how little you like them), salad leaves, the lemon juice, and a drop more oil from the harissa jar if it all looks a bit dry at this stage.
Rip your mozzarella roughly into half (taking care to reserve the larger half for yourself), then place on plates. Serve the salad and the bread on the table separately, helping yourselves according to likes and appetites.
An aubergine and mozzarella supper for one
1 aubergine
Jar of harissa paste
1 ball (c. 125g) mozzarella (use the best/most expensive stuff you can buy without feeling guilty about it)
Garlic bread/crusty bread to serve
Top and tail your aubergine, then slice into rounds roughly 5mm in thickness. No need for tape measures, but if they're too thick they'll burn without cooking through, and if they're too thin they'll just burn plain and simple. Spread them out on a grill pan; I find mine is generally just the right size for an aubergine's worth of slices, but do yours in two batches if not.
Mix a tbs of oil into the harissa paste to loosen the thickness, then brush a very thin layer of the flavoured oil and paste over both side of each slice of aubergine. Keep the amount of paste to an absolute minimum - it's spicy stuff - unless you are normally the kind of person who eats a vindaloo for breakfast.
Stick under the grill and grill until well browned (almost until they start catching and burning), then turn over and repeat on the other side. On my grill, this takes about 3-4 minutes per side, but grills vary so much in strength that you're just going to have to watch over them like a hawk so that you can whip them out at the right moment.
Stick on a plate with the ball of mozzarella and the bread. Eat.
Then, of course, I want those same flavours when I'm cooking for two, but putting a few slices of grilled veg on a plate with a ball of cheese and a slice of bread feels slightly underwhelming when there's more than one of you. So this is how to turn it into a "proper" meal:
And a bigger aubergine and mozzarella salad for two
In addition to the above...
1 other vegetable, perhaps a red onion or a courgette
100g or so of cherry tomatoes
bag salad leaves (I'd suggest rocket or spinach)
juice 1/2 a lemon
...and you'll need to up your quantity of whatever bread you've chosen, too
Repeat the harissa-grilling method with your chosen other vegetable; you'll probably need to add another tbs or so of oil to the jar of harissa to get enough for this.
Chuck the grilled veg into a bowl with the cherry tomatoes (which you've halved or quartered according to how big they are and how little you like them), salad leaves, the lemon juice, and a drop more oil from the harissa jar if it all looks a bit dry at this stage.
Rip your mozzarella roughly into half (taking care to reserve the larger half for yourself), then place on plates. Serve the salad and the bread on the table separately, helping yourselves according to likes and appetites.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tagliatelle
This is a rich, luxurious pasta dish. It's not a speedy one, and will demand a good half hour of your attention; but that half hour is one of gentle chopping and stirring which should slowly stroke away the stresses of your Monday.
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tagliatelle
1/2 onion
1 large clove garlic
4 large chestnut mushrooms
10g dried porcini
1/2 tsp dried tarragon
200ml boiling water
100ml white wine
75g tagliatelle
100g goats' cheese
1/2 tsp truffle oil
Finely chop the onion and garlic. Chop and slice the mushrooms so you have a variety of different shapes and thicknesses. Soak the dried porcini and dried tarragon in the boiling water (they will probably want around 15 minutes).
Heat a teaspoon of butter in a small saucepan, over a low heat, and gently saute the onion for 10 minutes or so, until it is soft and slightly yellow, but without browning it. Add the garlic, and saute for another minute or two, until it loses its sharp white colour. Add the fresh mushrooms, a decent pinch of salt, and saute for a couple of minutes until they start giving up their juices.
Around the same time, get the pasta water on to boil, and tip in the pasta.
Turn up the heat slightly on the mushroom pan. Remove the dried porcini from their soaking liquid (keeping the liquid itself), and chop them roughly, then add to the mushroom pan and stir in to the rest of the mixture. Tip in the wine and boil until you stop smelling the strong alcohol evaporating off: around a minute. Then add the soaking liquid from the dried porcini, stopping before you get to any gritty bits at the bottom. Bring to a gentle boil and reduce until you just have a little liquid left in the pan.
Chop the goats' cheese into 1 cm chunks. Drain the pasta and tip into the mushroom sauce pan; stir well until coated. Tip in the goats' cheese and truffle oil, stir briefly, then serve.
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tagliatelle
1/2 onion
1 large clove garlic
4 large chestnut mushrooms
10g dried porcini
1/2 tsp dried tarragon
200ml boiling water
100ml white wine
75g tagliatelle
100g goats' cheese
1/2 tsp truffle oil
Finely chop the onion and garlic. Chop and slice the mushrooms so you have a variety of different shapes and thicknesses. Soak the dried porcini and dried tarragon in the boiling water (they will probably want around 15 minutes).
Heat a teaspoon of butter in a small saucepan, over a low heat, and gently saute the onion for 10 minutes or so, until it is soft and slightly yellow, but without browning it. Add the garlic, and saute for another minute or two, until it loses its sharp white colour. Add the fresh mushrooms, a decent pinch of salt, and saute for a couple of minutes until they start giving up their juices.
Around the same time, get the pasta water on to boil, and tip in the pasta.
Turn up the heat slightly on the mushroom pan. Remove the dried porcini from their soaking liquid (keeping the liquid itself), and chop them roughly, then add to the mushroom pan and stir in to the rest of the mixture. Tip in the wine and boil until you stop smelling the strong alcohol evaporating off: around a minute. Then add the soaking liquid from the dried porcini, stopping before you get to any gritty bits at the bottom. Bring to a gentle boil and reduce until you just have a little liquid left in the pan.
Chop the goats' cheese into 1 cm chunks. Drain the pasta and tip into the mushroom sauce pan; stir well until coated. Tip in the goats' cheese and truffle oil, stir briefly, then serve.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Not for one
It is, frankly, impossible to cook risotto for one person.
I've tried it a couple of times in the last few months, and just produced enough for two people anyway. Rather like Salad Nicoise, there are too many individual components. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing: leftover risotto can be pretty good, even (especially?) when eaten cold from the fridge at 2 a.m..
Although, although... risotto has always been such a labour of love for me, so much something to be shared, that I've found myself slightly reluctant to make it for just myself. I think this lies partly in the time it takes, the forty minutes or so of standing at a hot stove working your arms muscles for all they can give (and that's before we get onto the stock; more on that beneath): you need someone you love waiting at the other end of that. The other aspect is its soft, warm, comforting texture. I've made fresh-tasting risottos before (see here for a lemon/chilli/prawn one...), but what really makes me happy is the kind of risotto that simply smothers you in a giant cuddle.
And now I find myself cooking for one less and less often, and cooking for two more and more, and I want to cook food that says "I love you" more and more. There's just one problem: my favourite risotto contains mushrooms, and the boy in question is allergic to mushrooms.
So, I have to find a new comfort blanket of flavours, and let go of the old habits. For the rest of you lovers, here's the recipe I won't be cooking in the future. In essentials, it's what I remember from standing at my mother's knee since before I can remember, although she'd never have added the truffle oil at the end, and she always used arborio rice. I like vialone nano these days - the shape takes slightly longer to cook, so it's easier to catch at the al dente stage, but carnaroli is good (better than arborio) and more widely available.
I learned my snobbery about homemade stock at my mother's knee, too, although *guilty look* I do sometimes use the shop-bought fresh stuff, which can often be sufficiently glutinous, and you could do the same here if for some reason you've let your freezer run out of homemade. Stock cubes and their many variants simply won't cut it - risotto needs the juice of animal bones (preferably those of a free-range or organic bird that's been running round strengthening them all its life) to be really good.
Chicken and mushroom risotto, for two
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
A dessertspoon or so of butter, and a drop or two of olive oil
A couple of handfuls of mushrooms, sliced
150 g risotto rice
A glass of white wine, or half a glass of dry sherry if you're not planning on opening a bottle to drink with dinner anyway
A couple of handfuls of leftover chicken
750 ml - 1 l chicken stock
Another dessertspoon of butter
50 g grated parmesan, plus more still in block to grate over at the end
A teaspoon (or maybe more...) truffle oil
Heat the butter and oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat, and, once the butter starts to fizzle a little, add the onion and fry gently for five minutes or so until it goes all translucent, but doesn't colour. Add the garlic, fry for another minute without letting it catch on the bottom of the pan, then tip in the mushrooms. You'll probably need to add a little more butter here, as the mushrooms will absorb quite a bit, and this is a good stage to do an initial seasoning: I would just use a little pinch of salt here (don't forget you'll add parmesan later, which will also add salt), but my mother would have added lots of pepper, and you could too, if that's your thing. Fry for another couple of minutes until the mushrooms wilt a little and start releasing their juices.
At the same time, pop another saucepan on to heat and stick the stock in there. Don't bring it all the way up to a boil, but get it suitably steamy.
Add the rice, and fry for another minute. This is important, and most recipes won't tell you to do it, but you're aiming to get the rice to soak up some of the butter and to also toast a little. Then tip in the wine or sherry and allow to bubble furiously for a minute until you don't get instantly drunk if you accidentally inhale the steam.
Then comes the steady stage of adding a ladleful of stock, stirring, waiting for it to be absorbed and to evaporate slightly, and repeating for fifteen or twenty minutes. The time and quantity of liquid required depends on so many variables (the exact heat of both the risotto and stock pans, the variety, age, etc, of the rice, how often you stir, etc, etc...) that your only option after about ten minutes is to taste, and taste, and taste again, until the rice has reached whatever your preferred level of dente might be.
At this point, turn the heat off and stir in the extra butter and the initial lot of parmesan (this is what you'll sometimes hear called mantecare, or feeding the risotto - I like the latter term because it hints that the risotto is now a living creature in need of food, which is how I see it). Leave to sit for a couple of minutes, then stir in the truffle oil, and check for seasoning again.
Serve in wide bowls with plenty more parmesan to grate over.
PS. Diane Henry's wonderful and inspiring book, Food from Plenty, has a promising recipe for Chicken and Parsley risotto. Wish me luck.
I've tried it a couple of times in the last few months, and just produced enough for two people anyway. Rather like Salad Nicoise, there are too many individual components. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing: leftover risotto can be pretty good, even (especially?) when eaten cold from the fridge at 2 a.m..
Although, although... risotto has always been such a labour of love for me, so much something to be shared, that I've found myself slightly reluctant to make it for just myself. I think this lies partly in the time it takes, the forty minutes or so of standing at a hot stove working your arms muscles for all they can give (and that's before we get onto the stock; more on that beneath): you need someone you love waiting at the other end of that. The other aspect is its soft, warm, comforting texture. I've made fresh-tasting risottos before (see here for a lemon/chilli/prawn one...), but what really makes me happy is the kind of risotto that simply smothers you in a giant cuddle.
And now I find myself cooking for one less and less often, and cooking for two more and more, and I want to cook food that says "I love you" more and more. There's just one problem: my favourite risotto contains mushrooms, and the boy in question is allergic to mushrooms.
So, I have to find a new comfort blanket of flavours, and let go of the old habits. For the rest of you lovers, here's the recipe I won't be cooking in the future. In essentials, it's what I remember from standing at my mother's knee since before I can remember, although she'd never have added the truffle oil at the end, and she always used arborio rice. I like vialone nano these days - the shape takes slightly longer to cook, so it's easier to catch at the al dente stage, but carnaroli is good (better than arborio) and more widely available.
I learned my snobbery about homemade stock at my mother's knee, too, although *guilty look* I do sometimes use the shop-bought fresh stuff, which can often be sufficiently glutinous, and you could do the same here if for some reason you've let your freezer run out of homemade. Stock cubes and their many variants simply won't cut it - risotto needs the juice of animal bones (preferably those of a free-range or organic bird that's been running round strengthening them all its life) to be really good.
Chicken and mushroom risotto, for two
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
A dessertspoon or so of butter, and a drop or two of olive oil
A couple of handfuls of mushrooms, sliced
150 g risotto rice
A glass of white wine, or half a glass of dry sherry if you're not planning on opening a bottle to drink with dinner anyway
A couple of handfuls of leftover chicken
750 ml - 1 l chicken stock
Another dessertspoon of butter
50 g grated parmesan, plus more still in block to grate over at the end
A teaspoon (or maybe more...) truffle oil
Heat the butter and oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat, and, once the butter starts to fizzle a little, add the onion and fry gently for five minutes or so until it goes all translucent, but doesn't colour. Add the garlic, fry for another minute without letting it catch on the bottom of the pan, then tip in the mushrooms. You'll probably need to add a little more butter here, as the mushrooms will absorb quite a bit, and this is a good stage to do an initial seasoning: I would just use a little pinch of salt here (don't forget you'll add parmesan later, which will also add salt), but my mother would have added lots of pepper, and you could too, if that's your thing. Fry for another couple of minutes until the mushrooms wilt a little and start releasing their juices.
At the same time, pop another saucepan on to heat and stick the stock in there. Don't bring it all the way up to a boil, but get it suitably steamy.
Add the rice, and fry for another minute. This is important, and most recipes won't tell you to do it, but you're aiming to get the rice to soak up some of the butter and to also toast a little. Then tip in the wine or sherry and allow to bubble furiously for a minute until you don't get instantly drunk if you accidentally inhale the steam.
Then comes the steady stage of adding a ladleful of stock, stirring, waiting for it to be absorbed and to evaporate slightly, and repeating for fifteen or twenty minutes. The time and quantity of liquid required depends on so many variables (the exact heat of both the risotto and stock pans, the variety, age, etc, of the rice, how often you stir, etc, etc...) that your only option after about ten minutes is to taste, and taste, and taste again, until the rice has reached whatever your preferred level of dente might be.
At this point, turn the heat off and stir in the extra butter and the initial lot of parmesan (this is what you'll sometimes hear called mantecare, or feeding the risotto - I like the latter term because it hints that the risotto is now a living creature in need of food, which is how I see it). Leave to sit for a couple of minutes, then stir in the truffle oil, and check for seasoning again.
Serve in wide bowls with plenty more parmesan to grate over.
PS. Diane Henry's wonderful and inspiring book, Food from Plenty, has a promising recipe for Chicken and Parsley risotto. Wish me luck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)