Just before serving, stir in the mixed greens, the endive, and avocado. You may need to drizzle a bit more oil in it after tossing. Serve this on a big plate. Sprinkle with some more of the chopped mint.
BEEF FILLET WITH RED WINE, ANCHOVIES, GARLIC, AND THYME
I love this particular combination; see, too, the more wintry, homey version on page 100. If you can find some wild arugula, with those tiny William Morris leaves, use it to edge the borders of the serving plate. This doesn’t just serve a decorative purpose—its pepperiness perfectly offsets the salty pungency of the anchovy–red-wine sauce.
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, 2 tablespoons cold and cut into small dice
8 shallots, sliced or minced
salt
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves or 1 scant teaspoon dried
8 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed with the flat of knife
12 anchovy fillets, packed in olive oil, drained and minced
2 1½-pound pieces beef fillet, trimmed
2 teaspoons superfine sugar
¼ cup tablespoons brandy
1¼ cups good red wine
freshly milled black pepper
In a heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or casserole in which the fillets will fit comfortably (no scrunching at the ends and they mustn’t touch each other), heat the olive oil and 2 tablespoons of the larger quantity of butter. Add the shallots, sprinkle with a little salt, and sauté on a lowish heat for about 5 minutes or until soft and transparent but in no way coloring. Add the thyme and give 2 more minutes, stirring, then add the garlic and push about the pan too. Now add the anchovies and cook until they’ve started fusing with the oniony, buttery, oily mess in the pan. Remove this mixture to a bowl for a minute so you can brown the meat and turn up the heat. Sear the fillets on all sides, sprinkling with the sugar as you do so, till you’ve got a good crusty exterior. Add the brandy, let it bubble up a bit, then pour in the wine. Return the shallot mixture to the pan. Lower the heat and turn the meat over. Give everything a good stir to make sure the shallots, garlic, and so on are not burning or sticking. Cover and cook for 10 minutes—the meat is braising, frying, and steaming all at the same time; as it cooks it breathes in flavor. Uncover, peek in, prod, or poke; if the meat is springy, it’s rare; springy but with some resistance, medium-rare to medium. Turn the meat over, cover again, and leave for another 5–10 minutes, depending on your findings and taste.
When the meat is almost as you like it, remove it from the pan (it will cook a little more as it rests) and get on with the sauce. And you can do all this before you sit down for the first course. Fish out the garlic with a spoon. Then turn up the heat and let the sauce bubble up a good bit, and taste, adding salt, if needed, and pepper. You may want to add some water. Take off the heat, but warm up before serving, at which time you should first pour into it the meat juices that have run out of the fillet as it stands and whisk in the remaining diced butter. Carve the fillets, arrange on a large, warmed plate, and drizzle over some of the sauce, leaving the rest in a sauce boat or pitcher for people to pour for themselves.
TAGLIATA
If you’re going for the tagliata, get 2 beef slices, each about 1¼ inches thick, cut from along the whole length of the rump (about 1 pound per piece), and put each in a large freezer bag to marinate with a clove of garlic squished with the flat of a knife, ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil, the zest of ½ lemon, a few peppercorns, and a heaping teaspoon of fresh thyme leaves or ¼ teaspoon of dried. Tie or knot the bags and put them in the fridge for 12 or so hours. Remove and let come to room temperature before cooking as above. It’s hard to say how long they’ll take; it so depends on how you like your meat. I like mine pretty well still quaking and trembling on the plate—20 minutes or so, depending on how my oven or outdoor grill is behaving. Test by prodding before you start poking knives in—to elaborate on the above, if it’s very, very soft and bouncy, it’s blue; springy, rare; springy but with resistance, medium-rare to medium, depending on that resistance; hard—well, you know the answer to that. Take the steaks out, let them stand for 10 minutes, then carve thickly or thinly as you like, crosswise and on the diagonal. If you’ve roasted the meat, you’ll have some meat juices; deglaze with a little red wine or Marsala, strain, adding a few more chopped thyme leaves to the clear ruby juices, then dribble over the carved meat. There won’t be enough for a sauce boat. Put a plate of lemon quarters on the table too, for squeezing over the meat as you eat.
NEW POTATOES
Proper new potatoes need nothing more than a brisk rubbing before cooking and the lightest anointing with butter after. As to the cooking itself—these are best steamed, but it’s pretty well impossible to steam enough for 8 people, so just boil them, but make sure you don’t overboil them. I’d work on rations of about 8 ounces a head; this sounds like a lot on paper, but on the plate it somehow isn’t.
WARM SPINACH WITH LEMON
You’ve got enough going on with everything else, so I’d use packaged spinach, or even frozen (providing it’s whole leaf, not chopped). Get 4–5 packages of the fresh stuff, 3 of the frozen. And you’re not doing much more than wilting the former, thawing the latter. Add butter, olive oil, and a bit of lemon juice, or else a good sprinkling of sumac, that sour, citrussy, Middle Eastern ground-berry spice. Leave some wedges of lemon around the edges of the dish. A little grating of fresh nutmeg does something extraordinary here, too. The spinach should be at room temperature.
STRAWBERRIES IN DARK SYRUP
The darkness of the syrup in question comes from balsamic vinegar. Well, wait; this is not a sprightly, modern, hardly-dressed salad, but one with a syrup of garnet depths and intensity. The balsamic vinegar seems to make the red of the strawberries against it shine with the clarity of stained-glass windows. And it tastes as it looks, deep and light at the same time.
If you have some syrup left over after dinner, you can boil it up so that it reduces and thickens and you’ll have the world’s best-ever, most intensely strawberryish ever, sauce to pour over vanilla ice cream. There won’t be enough this way for more than just you, but do it anyway; it’s a heady experience.
Steep 2 pounds of strawberries, hulled and halved, in 2 tablespoons (I find it easier to drizzle this over in 6 teaspoons) balsamic vinegar (the best you can afford) and 10 tablespoons superfine sugar. Cover with plastic film and give the dish a good but gentle shake to make sure all the berries get some sugar and some vinegar on them, and leave for 3 hours.
Please—no cream, or similar, with these. But any form of sponge or cake would be fine. Because we are talking ecstatic culinary experience here, it seems entirely appropriate to produce some madeleines. The recipe here comes, naturally enough, from Dining with Proust, so we are really talking about:
PROUST’S MADELEINES
As you need to leave the batter for 1½ hours, you may have to think of baking them as you eat the first two courses. You can eat them—warm and fragrant—as cake-cookies for dessert. Obviously, you need to buy the special molds for these shell-shaped cakes, but that’s not difficult now. I use ones that can take 2 tablespoons of the mixture below, but they are best when you fill them with just 1 tablespoon. You may, then, need to bake them in two batches. This makes about two dozen.
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 tablespoon clear honey
2 eggs
½ cup superfine sugar
pinch salt
¾ cup Italian 00 or all-purpose flour
confectioners’ sugar for serving
Mix 6 tablespoons of the butter with the honey. Beat the eggs, sugar, and salt in a bowl for about 5 minutes with a mixer until it’s as thick as mayonnaise. Sprinkle in the flour; I hold a strainer above the egg and sugar mixture, put the flour in it, and shake. Fold in the flour with a wooden spoon and then add the melted butter and the honey. Mix well, but not too vigorously. Leave to rest in the fridge for 1 hour, then ta
ke out and leave at room temperature for 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 425°F. Brush the remaining butter over the cavities in the madeleine molds and fill them with the cake mixture. Don’t worry about filling the cavities; in the heat of the oven, the mixture will spread before it rises.
Bake 5–10 minutes or until lightly golden on top and golden brown around the edges. Mine seem cooked after about 7 minutes, but not all ovens are the same, so be alert from 5 minutes. Turn out and let cool on a rack, then arrange on a plate and dust with confectioners’ sugar.
A really good Burgundy is always the perfect wine with beef.
INDIAN SUMMER DINNER FOR 6
* * *
PEA AND LETTUCE SOUP
LAMB WITH CHICKPEAS
COUSCOUS SALAD
TURKISH DELIGHT FIGS WITH PISTACHIO CRESCENTS
This is the sort of food to eat when the days are unexpectedly warm but the nights are nevertheless beginning to get cooler. You’re still in the mood for summer food, but you need ballast too. This food, like that in the previous menu, is as suited for eating on a table in the garden as it is for a windows-shut, curtains-closed dinner inside.
PEA AND LETTUCE SOUP
This is best prepared with fresh peas and a homemade vegetable stock. For the stock, shell the fresh peas, then combine their pods, some parsley stalks, peppercorns, onion, half a carrot, a stalk of celery, and, of course, water. Simmer for about 1 hour and strain. If I don’t feel like tackling fresh peas, or they’re not available, I use frozen young peas and either chicken stock or vegetable bouillon cubes. I find it easier to start the soup off with thawed peas, but if they’re still frozen, it couldn’t matter less. If you’ve got any basil-infused oil, you can use that for softening the vegetables at the beginning. I know mint is the usual herb here, but basil seems to enhance the fruity sweetness of the peas.
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 scallions (white and green parts), sliced finely
zest of ½ lemon
1 pound shelled fresh peas or frozen young peas
1 Boston or Bibb lettuce, roughly chopped
5 cups light stock (see headnote)
1 teaspoon sugar
1 tablespoon dry sherry
salt and freshly milled white pepper
3–4 tablespoons heavy cream, plus more, if desired
large handful basil leaves
Put the oil in a saucepan and, when it’s warm, add the scallions and zest, stir a bit, and then add the peas. Turn well in the oil, and then add the lettuce and cook till it wilts and then collapses into the peas. Pour over the stock, sprinkle over the sugar, and bring to the boil. Turn down to a simmer and cook gently and uncovered till the peas are soft, about 10 minutes. Purée in batches, in a blender if possible. You don’t get that velvety emulsion with a processor, though you can sieve it after processing, which will do it. Or use a food mill.
Pour back into the saucepan, add the sherry, and cook for a minute or so before tasting and seasoning with the salt and pepper, bearing in mind you’ll be adding some cream and eating it cold. Let it cool a little, then stir in the cream and let it cool properly before putting it in a tureen and into the fridge.
Just as you’re about to eat, taste for more salt or pepper, add more cream if wanted, and then shred the basil and add a good bit to each bowlful after ladling it out from the tureen.
LAMB WITH CHICKPEAS
For this, it’s up to you whether you use whole loin, which you roast and then slice, or individual noisette discs, which you grill, griddle, or fry; the former tastes better, but the latter look better. I can never carve from the entire rolled loin without it unfurling all over the place, but of course you do get the tender, uncharred sides from the middle of the roll. When you cook the individual noisettes, you’re sealing each slice in the heat. But the marinade will help to ensure that this wonderfully tender cut won’t coarsen in cooking. Make sure that you’re using the best lamb you can afford.
I think it’s easier to cook the chickpeas in advance and do the lamb on the evening itself, having put it in its marinade the night before or the morning of your dinner.
THE CHICKPEAS
Soak 1 pound of chickpeas in abundant water and with a paste made from 3 tablespoons flour, 3 tablespoons salt, and 1 tablespoon baking soda (as directed on page 78). Leave for 24 hours. Drain, running the cold water over them in the colander as you do so, then put them in a saucepan with 5 garlic cloves, peeled and bashed, 2 bay leaves, 2 small onions, peeled but left whole (makes them easier to remove later), and the leaves from a large sprig of rosemary. The bitter, boiled shards of rosemary will get in everyone’s teeth and ruin the creamy sweetness of the cooked chickpeas, so put them in tied cheesecloth or a tea infuser.
Cover again with abundant water, add 1 tablespoon olive oil, put the lid on, and bring to the boil, but do not uncover the pan; you’ll have to listen closely to hear when it’s starting to boil. Turn down slightly and let the chickpeas cook at a simmer for about 2 hours. You can check them after 1½ hours, but keep the lid on till then. When tender, drain, reserving a cup of the cooking liquid. Leave, even up to a couple of days, till you want to eat. It would be better to remove the skins around each butterscotch-colored pea, and I often start doing this, but have never yet completed the task.
To reheat, put 8 tablespoons olive oil and 6 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped, in a large, wide pan on moderate heat. I like to use a terra-cotta pot for this. Add to this 1–2 fresh red chilies, to taste, seeded and finely chopped, or crumble in a dried chili pepper. Add the drained chickpeas and turn well. Meanwhile, take 3 good-sized tomatoes, blanched, peeled, seeded, and roughly chopped, and add to the chickpeas. Salt very generously, stir well, and taste; you may need to add some of the cooking liquid. You don’t want this mushy exactly, but you want a degree of fusion, of fuzziness around the edges. Take off the heat and cover until you’ve dealt with the lamb.
THE LAMB
If you’re going for the whole-loin option, think along the lines of getting 3 1-pound loin pieces (although I might well get 4) and then roasting them in a 425°F oven for 20–40 minutes, depending on your oven and the age and thickness of the meat. You do not need to marinate the rolls.
As for the individual noisettes, I work on the assumption that you have to give each person 2, and then allow for half of those present to have more. For 15 noisettes of lamb, make a marinade out of ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil, 4 garlic cloves, crushed, 1 medium red onion, chopped, and 1 small fresh red chili pepper, seeded and sliced. I find the easiest, most efficient way of doing this is by dividing the lamb and its marinade between 2 plastic bags. Leave overnight or for as long as you can.
Just before you’re about to sit down for your first course, take the lamb out of its marinade. You can drain the marinade and use that in place of the olive oil for sautéing the chickpeas, above, in which case use a smaller amount of chili. Cook the lamb either by frying it in a cast-iron pan or a griddle, or by giving it a few minutes each side under a very hot broiler. Alternatively, sear the meat in a pan, then give it about 10 minutes in a 425°F oven. To keep the lamb pieces warm, leave them in a low oven on a dish covered with foil while you eat your soup.
When you serve, arrange the chickpeas on a big, flattish bowl (again, a terra-cotta one is perfect) or a couple of big plates, and place the lamb over them. Chop over some fresh, flat-leaf parsley—or coriander, if you feel infused with the mood of late-summer headiness.
COUSCOUS SALAD
Sometimes I provide just a couple of small bowls filled with well-chopped red onion for people to sprinkle over the lamb and chickpeas as they like. The alternative is the couscous salad, which, in effect, is panzanella, only using couscous in place of the bread. I often put basil in it, but this dinner has enough going on as it is without introducing another forceful character, so I suggest parsley.
1 cup quick-cooking couscous
1 teaspoon salt, plus more, if needed
6 tablespoons oli
ve oil
2 tablespoons best red wine vinegar, plus more, if needed
freshly milled black pepper
6 ripe tomatoes
½–1 small red onion, to taste, minced
1 cucumber
½ cup chopped parsley
Put the couscous into a bowl with the salt and pour over 1 cup boiling water. Cover and leave for 15 minutes. Fluff up with a fork and add the olive oil and some pepper, and put in another bowl (or leave in the same one, if you’re in no hurry) to cool. Prepare the tomatoes by blanching, peeling, seeding, and dicing, only make sure you don’t leave them in the hot water too long. Cut the flesh into neat small dice.
When you’re about to put the main course on the table, dice the cucumber and stir, along with the tomatoes, onion, and 7 tablespoons of parsley, into the couscous with a fork. Add salt and more vinegar if you think it needs it.
Arrange on a plate and sprinkle on the remaining parsley.
TURKISH DELIGHT FIGS
with thanks to Pat Harrison and Masterchef
These figs are beautiful but not in an art-directed way—the purple-blue fruits are cut to reveal the gaping red within, so that they sit in their bowl like plump little open-mouthed birds. When they’re slicked with the flower-scented syrup, they become imbued with Middle Eastern sugariness, and the aromatic liquid itself absorbs and takes on a glassy pink from the figs. Perfect symbiosis.
Two figs a head should do it—they are very sweet, very intense—but if you can find only small figs, increase this to 3 per person. They’re wonderful, anyway, the next day.
2½ cups sugar
2 tablespoons rosewater
2 tablespoons orange-flower water
juice of 1 lemon
12 ripe purple figs
Dissolve the sugar in 2½ cups water in a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan over a low heat. Increase the heat, bring to the boil, and boil rapidly for 5 minutes. Add the rosewater, orange-flower water, and lemon juice. Bring back to the boil and simmer for 2 minutes.
How to Eat Page 46
