Winter salad

This is comp week for the big investment banks, where the rich get filthy and the merely comfortable get an extra pillow to prop against their back. Or as my cousin, who works for a non-revenue-generating division of the Great Satan, puts it:" tomorrow is the day when my lamentably un-obscene, non-Daily-Mail enraging bonus is announced ."

This time of the year, stories designed to get the common man het up circulate in the papers, such as that of the BarCap traders who lunched to the tune of 44,000 ocean going squid back in 2002, guzzling Ch. Petrus and foie gras with grim abandon.

In the minted world of the beautifully becoiffed, excess usually entails covering expensive stuff in gold leaf, or stuffing your second most expensive ingredient into your most expensive one. Elsewhere, back in the real world, a celebratory banquet is marked by multiple dishes, or the use of many ingredients: a wedding biryani, a royal tajine, or a roast baron of beef with all the trimmings.

This salad is a celebration of contrasts: chewy, pillowy, crunchy, and flavours: tart, sweet, earthy.

Mebos again. I love this ingredient. They have a wonderful sweet/sour flavour due to the pickling process they undergo. When cooked, they melt and soften into the dish and impart an agreeable tanginess.

Warm chickpea, butternut, mushroom and mebos salad

Enough for 4 people. We ate this with some roast chicken thighs that had been marinated in garlic, lemon, olive oil, a splash of white wine, red onion, sumac and ground allspice. Dried apricots can be substituted for mebos: allow 1 handful in this recipe.

In the morning, soak a heaped cup of chickpeas in enough water to cover generously. Allow 1 ½ hours to cook: place in a small lidded saucepan covered with 2cm fresh, unsalted water. Boil rapidly for 10 minutes, and then turn the heat down to a simmer, covered. Check every now and then to ensure they don't cook dry. Taste for doneness after 90 minutes – they may need longer. Once they have finished cooking, drain the water and toss with 1 tsp olive oil and a small splash of white wine if you have anything open. Add a grind of salt and leave lidded until needed.

Whilst you're waiting for your chicks to hatch, peel and de-seed a medium sized butternut and chop into 2cm cubes. Toss with olive oil,1 tsp thyme and seasoning and cook in an oven preheated to 180°C until the cubes have coloured and softened, around 25 minutes.

Whilst you're waiting for your butt, sweat 1 leek, sliced into ½cm rounds,in a non-stick frying pan over medium heat in a little olive oil until they are softened. Don't allow them to colour, please. Remove the leeks and set aside. Now (without adding any more oil), turn the heat to medium low and add 250g sliced brown mushrooms. Cook slowly, turning every now and then, until the mushrooms darken and give up their juice. Turn the heat up a touch, add the leeks, a good sprinkle of chilli flakes, 2 finely chopped mebos, a handful of toasted hazelnuts (dry fry until they start to colour and smell nutty, then allow to cool a little and rub together in your big hairy paws to remove some of the skins, before chopping them in half) a little chicken stock or wine to loosten, and seasoning. Add the chickpeas and butternut and a handful of something green: rocket, baby spinach, sorrel or watercress. Allow to wilt slightly, and remove from the pan into a serving dish.

Lastly, make a little vinaigrette: 1 tsp dijon mustard, 1 tsp honey, 1 tbl olive oil, and a little water (I had orange blossom water to hand). Stir well to emulsify and then stir into the salad. Taste for seasoning, and be generous with the black pepper.

Did I say lastly? What an incorrigible tease. Fry a small handful of fresh sage leaves in a little vegetable oil until crisp. Scatter over the salad just before serving.

Bone With a Hole

During and after the war, a time of la cucina povera, the Italian peasantry of the north were sustained by polenta, those of the mezzogiorno by chestnuts, and those of the south by da fishes. Peasant cooking, the transformation of humble ingredients, is deeply satisfying and easy on the wallet. Unfortunately, fickle fashion means that veal shank, like once-cheap lobster and oyster, is now a rare treat.

Ossobuco: it's vealy, vealy good, as Basil Fawlty would say. Risotto alla milanese is the traditional accompaniment to Ossobuco in bianco, but I think it works just as well with farro or pearl barley risotto, which transforms this into a comforting, earthy dish.

Ossobuco in bianco with pearl barley risotto and gremolata

First, prepare your Ossobuco. I did this a day in advance. You may need more than one piece of meat each, depending on the size. Dust each piece with a mixture of flour, salt, pepper and a little dry English mustard powder. In a casserole dish large enough to take a single layer of meat, melt a little butter and oil on medium heat and brown the meat on each side. Remove the meat to a plate, and then sweat one finely chopped onion and two ditto celery stalks (all ingredients to follow are per 2 servings), stirring regularly, until soft. Add one crushed garlic clove and four chopped salted anchovies in oil. Cook for a minute and then add 1/3 bottle of white wine. Bring to the boil and reduce by half. Add the meat to the pan in a single layer. Cover with greaseproof paper and a lid (or foil), and cook in a slow oven (150°C) for 2 ½ hours.

To make the risotto, soak 200g barley in water for a couple of hours. Drain, and then place in a saucepan covered with fresh water. Simmer for half an hour, or until tender and toothsome. Meanwhile, sweat 3 chopped spring onions and in a little butter. Add some halved or quartered chestnut mushrooms and a little chopped thyme and cook on a gentle heat until the mushrooms give up their liquid. Turn up the heat and add a good splash of white wine or vermouth. Allow to reduce, and then add this to the drained barley, along with ½ tsp ground cinnamon and half a preserved lemon. Season to taste and add a glug of olive oil.

To serve, make a gremolata: 1 finely chopped garlic clove, the zest of 1 lemon and a handful of flat leaf parsley. Sprinkle over the dish.

Mmmvelopes™

Bacon flavoured evelopes. Take that, email. By the good people at J&D's.

All Saints Day

Canapé time, for an All Saints Day soiree in Obuda. I was happy with these, my first effort at gougères, a sort of savoury profiterole. The sweet, earthy filling contrasts well with the piquant savouriness of the pastry.

Cheese and chive gougères with chicken, Jerusalem artichoke and hazelnut filling


This recipe makes 40 gougères, with enough leftover chicken for another meal.

Start the day before. Put a whole chicken in a large pot and cover with water. Add a chopped leek, carrot and celery rib, 2 garlic cloves, 2 bay leaves, a sprig of rosemary, 6 peppercorns and 1 tsp salt. Bring to a gentle boil and then simmer, lid on, for 1hr30. Remove from heat and allow to cool before picking the meat from the carcass. Sieve and keep the stock – you'll get over 2 litres of goodness, perfect for risotto. Shred the meat with two forks.

Thinly peel 10 Jerusalem artichokes. Cut into equal sizes and simmer in slightly salted water until just soft. Careful not to overcook them or they'll absorb water and the flavour will suffer. While they are cooking, make ½ cup vinaigrette of equal amounts white wine/vermouth and the chicken stock, 1 tsp Dijon mustard, 1 tsp honey, seasoning and a glug of neutral oil, e.g. grape-seed. Drain the chokes, and the vinaigrette and leave to cool. Chop the artichokes into smallish dice and mix, together with the vinaigrette, with 1 cup chicken and a small handful toasted, chopped hazelnuts (to toast, place the nuts on a baking tray at 175°C for 6 minutes – once cooled slightly, rub them together to remove most of the loose skin). Add 1 tsp lemon juice,, 1 tbl chopped parsley and check for seasoning. You're looking for a wet, glossy mixture, so add a little stock to loosen if necessary.

The above can all be done in advance. The gougères are best prepared an hour or so before they're needed.

Preheat the oven to 190°C, and line 2 baking sheets with paper.

Put 1 cup water, 120g butter and ½ tsp salt in a saucepan. Cook, stirring the butter to melt and mix, and then bring to a rolling boil. Turn off and remove from the heat and add 1 cup of cake flour. Beat the mixture with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula until it starts to pull away from the pan and is well mixed. Let it cool without stirring for 5 minutes.

Now, work in 4 eggs, 1 at a time, beating the mixture well with the spoon after each addition – it will look glossy at first, but once each egg is incorporated, the mixture will become sticky and harder to beat. You'll need to give it some welly – don't be timid. After adding the last egg, beat in ¼ tsp cayenne, 1 ½ tsp English mustard powder, and then 1 ½ cups cheddar and 2 tbl chopped chives.

Scoop up a heaped teaspoon of mixture and use another teaspoon to push it onto the paper-lined sheet. Leave 3cm space between each mound. Bake for 25 minutes, switching tray positions half way through. You may need to do this in batches. Remove from oven and allow to cool slightly before cutting open and spooning in a teaspoon of the filling. Serve whilst still warm if possible.

Grains Nobles

Couscous is nice. “Keep moving, Sir. Nothing to see here.” One of my favourite comfort dishes, created of necessity, is haggis (Macsween, natch) on a bed of couscous with a dollop of crème fraiche, a splurt of harissa, and a sprinkling of chopped coriander. Sacrilicious!

But couscous is old (red fuzzy-felt) hat. Quinoa, millet and amaranth are where it's at, Daddy-O. I know, I know, they sound like hair products. But they are cheap, nutritious, and delicious.

The following salad can be made with quinoa or millet. It is important to toast the grains in a dry frying pan to intensify the nutty flavours. You can substitute other veg and flavourings to suit your mood.

Millet salad

Measure out 250g millet (enough for 4 as a side dish), rinse and drain well. Dry fry in a non-stick pan for 6-8 minutes, stirring continuously, until the millet is completely dry and starts releasing a nutty odour.

Meanwhile, finely chop 2 ribs of celery, 1 chopped fresh chilli and 1 small onion. Fry at medium heat in a dash of vegetable oil for 5 minutes. Now add 1 heaped tsp garam masala and a chopped red pepper and fry for half a minute. Add the millet, 3 cups of water, a small handful of sultanas and ½ tsp salt, and bring to the boil. Cook, covered, for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. The millet should swell and absorb all the water.

Add 1 finely chopped spring onion, a generous handful of halved cherry tomatoes and some fresh herbage (parsley, coriander, dill or mint). Check for seasoning. Transfer to a serving bowl and splash over a little olive oil.

I ate this with some smoked peppered mackerel, and a little sauce of horseradish purée mixed with sour cream.

Uborka Saláta

This Hungarian cucumber salad is a good accompaniment for a braai or a potjie. This makes enough for 4 people:

Uborka Saláta

Peel and thinly slice a cucumber, ditto a clove of garlic. Spread the slices in a bowl and sprinkle with 1 heaped tsp salt. Leave for 1 hour, turning occasionally, and then tip the water that has leached out away.

Make a vinaigrette: ¼ cup water, 1 tbsp white vinegar, 1 heaped tsp sugar and a good grind of white pepper. Stir thoroughly, and taste – there should be a good balance between sweet and tart. You may need to add more sugar. Pour this over the cucumber, and allow to stand for 30 minutes.

To serve, spoon the cucumber onto a plate, leaving most of the liquid behind. Spoon over ½ cup stirred sour cream which has been thinned with a little yoghurt or milk.

Sprinkle with paprika or dill. Artless presentation photo optional.

Egészségedre!

Toxic Sludge

I got a text today from my great-aunt Hortense (like the Victorians with Queen Victoria, I didn't know she had legs under those voluminous skirts, let alone that she had mastered the ability to text, those gnarly thumbs being better suited to gripping a triple g&t than punching out an emoticon – I assume she dictated to a quivering underling), asking me “what the hell have I done to the Danube?" Hell indeed. It looks like Satan’s boudoir in west Hungary, people in Hazmat suits wading knee deep in Oros to rescue bedraggled pussy cats stuck up trees. Damage is so severe at ground zero that there is apparently no point in reconstruction, and it could be devoid of flora and wildlife for decades. Spare a thought for the locals, who will have to be relocated.

I guess catfish is off the menu for the foreseeable.

It's time to start stocking up on tinned pineapple and bottled water. And strange preserved things in glass jars, like a mad scientist's collection of HR Giger knockoffs in formaldehyde:

Hot cherry peppers stuffed with tuna and anchovy

Hooray for Hungary, with it's bewildering array of peppers (pritamin, cseresznye, kaliforniai, paprika, eröspaprika have found their way down my equal opportunity gullet to date). I pounced on some cseresznyepaprika (cherry peppers) at the market this week, and I immediately knew what I was going to do with them.

My cousin's mother-in-law makes a mean pepper stuffed with tuna. She is the type of formidable Italian woman who knows what to do with a pig's head, who has a larder stored with seasonal stuff harvested or purchased in abundance and then preserved to last out the winter. These peppers are a punchy, savoury treat, great as antipasto or with a Campari and soda.

This recipe is sufficient for 30 peppers, enough to fill a litre preserve jar.

With a small sharp knife, cut out the stalk and remove the seeds. Half fill a large saucepan with water and add 3 cups of white wine vinegar, bring to the boil and add the peppers in batches of 30, cooking for 5-7 minutes until the peppers have softened slightly. Do not let them become mushy. Drain well and allow to dry for 1 hour, cut side down.

To make the stuffing, empty into a food processor 2 tins of tuna in oil (not water), 5 anchovies, 1 heaped tsp drained capers, 2 tbs chopped flat leaf parsley, salt and pepper. Pulse until smooth and then add 2 tbs olive oil in a thin stream until the mixture is uniform.

You can spoon this into the peppers with a small teaspoon (fiddly), or use a piping bag or clean silicon sealant gun (thanks Sam!). Make sure the mixture displaces all the air in the peppers, and fill to the top.

Now pack the peppers cut side up into a sterilised jar. Fit them as snugly as possible. Top up with cheap olive oil (I used pomace, Nonna would probably have used that heady perfumed cold first press extra virgin stuff she puts on salads too). I'm sure these will last in the fridge for months, but I have no intention of finding out. They are delicious.

Kısır

Luanda is the most expensive city in the world for ex-pats to live in 2010. Tokyo is just nudged into second place. The annual Mercer study takes New York as the base measure for prices, comparing over 200 items, including housing, transport, food, clothing, household goods and entertainment, in 143 cities across the globe. It is around $11 for a cup of coffee in Moscow. Glowering barrista at no extra charge.

In Budapest, Culinaris deli is probably the only place to snaffle a pomegranate out of season. I saw some for around $9 each in June. No dice. Roll on October, and you can pick them up in the big markets for less than $1. “Seasonal” has become an oft trotted out phrase of trend watchers, but it assuredly makes economic and environmental sense. Plus, stuff tastes best in season. I'm just prostrate, hands clasped in fervid supplication, glad tears garnishing the gouty feet of Aristaios (the rustic god of shepherds and cheese-making), that cheese is a year round phenomenon.

Kısır with pomegranate and celeriac tops

This fresh, substantial Turkish salad can be eaten warm or at room temperature. I ate it with the chicken recipe in the next post.

Sweat an onion in a little olive oil. Once it begins to colour, add a handful of quartered cherry tomatoes, 1 tsp tomato purée or harissa and a small bunch of celeriac tops (beet or celery tops, or parsley can be substituted) and cook for 2 minutes. Now add 250g bulgur wheat and 100ml water. Bring to the boil, remove immediately from the heat, and add the following: 1 tbs pomegranate molasses (turksvye stroop works just as well if you're reading this on the stoep in Putsonderwater, peach mampoer in an enamel mug within easy reach of your beefy paw), a glug of verjuice, 1 chopped fresh chilli, 2 chopped spring onions, 1 tsp ground cumin, and seasoning to taste. Put a lid on the pan and stand for 20 minutes for the bulgur to soften and soak up the water. Stir in 1 tsp of dried mint or dill, and scatter over the seeds of 1 pomegranate and a drizzle of olive oil.