I’m a great believer in soup. Here is a dish that fulfils a multitude of functions, the prime amongst them being that it satisfies the soul. Oh – and the stomach. A big steaming bowlful of soup can really hit the spot. It makes a good first course and it makes the heart of a handsome lunch or supper, eked out with loads of soft-centred, crisp-crusted bread, a big hunk of cheese, and healthy fruit or something more indulgent to follow. Make one big batch and it will feed a crowd, or just feed you on your own quickly and easily over several days.
Soups divide, fundamentally, into three categories. The first is the puréed soup, with vegetables aplenty boiled up together, then liquidised to silky smoothness (or if you prefer, rustic chunkiness). The second is the bits and bobs, meal-in-a-bowl soup, where a pleasing medley of this and that is simmered in broth, which may or may not be thickened. The third is the incredibly elegant upmarket consommé – a beautiful limpid concoction, intensely flavoured, served in suitably small quantity with maybe a single oyster or whatever floating in its centre. This is restaurant soup, not impossible to make at home by any means, but a good deal of work. If you want a recipe for this type of soup, look elsewhere.
Making soup is all about extracting the maximum flavour from a set of ingredients. Certain techniques, like sweating vegetables and thickening or thinning the soup, are essential to a good result, while others, like stock-making, can be circumnavigated but are worth learning because they have the potential to turn a pedestrian but acceptable soup into a first-rate one. If you want to get the best soup on to your table, read these tips and techniques before you get out the saucepan.
First, a word about the basic structure of a soup. Most soups start off with a group of base ingredients (e.g. onion, garlic, butter or olive oil) that give the soup a background flavour. The main ingredients are what give the soup its predominant flavour – carrots, perhaps, or parsnips, or a medley of vegetables and beans.
Aromatics are the complementary ingredients that scent or spice the soup – usually herbs and spices. The commonest of these is a ‘bouquet garni’ which is a bundle of different herbs, tied together with string so that it can be easily removed before liquidising or serving the soup (see page 20).
All soups need some sort of liquid otherwise they wouldn’t be soups at all! And then last, but not at all least, they need to be seasoned with salt and pepper, or maybe cayenne pepper for a dash of colour and heat combined.
Most puréed soups and many meal-in-a-bowl soups start off with a spot of sweating. Not the sort that requires a cold shower, but sweating of the culinary sort. Foodie sweating means cooking vegetables and often herbs with a little fat, over a very low heat, with the lid clamped firmly on the saucepan. Once they are on the stove-top, you barely need to bother with them for a good 10–15 minutes, apart from giving them a quick stir once or twice, but no more. This process develops the full depth of flavour of the vegetables so don’t try to rush it. As long as the heat is low, they’ll produce enough liquid to prevent them sticking or burning.
Somewhere among the ingredients will usually be one that serves primarily as a thickener, to give body to the soup. Potatoes are the commonest, but rice, beans or lentils play a similar role. A few more starchy vegetables, e.g. parsnips, need no thickener, as they are quite capable of doing the job themselves.
Obviously soups need some type of liquid to dilute the main ingredients. In certain cases, where there is already a considerable depth of flavour present, water may be quite adequate. Milk can sometimes be used too. The rest of the time you really need a decent stock. This is the backbone of the soup. You can’t taste it specifically, but it is what all the other ingredients rely on for support. An insipid or tasteless stock will produce an indifferent soup. An absolutely tip-top home-made stock will transform the soup into something outstanding.
Stock-cubes and powdered ‘bouillon’ are tolerable stand-bys though not half as good as the real McCoy. Make them up slightly weaker than suggested on the packet so that the factory-brewed overtones are not so evident. You can buy real liquid stocks in supermarkets (sold in small tubs, often stacked alongside the chilled meat) and they come in second best.
By far and away the best option, however, is to make stock yourself. Whenever you have had a roast chicken, say, or find a selection of odds and ends of vegetables hanging around in your veg drawer, knock some stock up, and then freeze it for another day.
This is the ideal list of ingredients, but as long as you have the chicken carcass (most butchers will sell off raw ones cheap, and they do the best job), the onion, the carrot and one or two of the herbs, you can turn out a fine stock. Remember not to add salt to a stock. Why? Just in case you want to boil it down to concentrate the flavour, or add it to other ingredients that are already salty.
1 chicken carcass, raw or cooked
1 onion, peeled and quartered
1 carrot, peeled and quartered
1 leek, quartered
1 celery stalk, quartered
1 bay leaf
2 parsley stalks
1 thyme sprig
8 black peppercorns
1 Break the chicken carcass up roughly. Put all the ingredients into the largest microwaveable bowl you own. Pour over enough boiling water to cover everything.
2 Cover with a tight layer of clingfilm, and then microwave on full power for 25 minutes. Let the whole lot stand for a further 25 minutes, then strain.
1 Use the same ingredients on page 15.
2 Pile them into a roomy saucepan, and add enough water to cover generously. Bring up to the boil, then turn the heat down low and simmer very gently – the water should just tremble – for 3 hours, adding more hot water every now and then as the liquid level falls.
3 Once cooked, strain.
The greater the variety of vegetables you add, the better balanced the taste. Avoid potatoes (which make the stock cloudy) and globe artichokes (which make the stock bitter). The sulphurous scent of over-cooked brassicas, such as cabbage, broccoli or Brussels sprouts, is not too pleasant either, so leave them out. This is a good way of using up fresh vegetable trimmings and parings, as long as the vegetables were washed.
1 onion, peeled and roughly chopped
1 carrot, peeled and roughly chopped
1 leek, roughly chopped
2 celery stalks, sliced
2 bay leaves
1 large thyme sprig
3 parsley sprigs
8 black peppercorns
whatever other vegetables you have to hand (e.g. green beans, runner beans, courgettes)
1 Put all the ingredients into a saucepan and cover with water. Bring up to the boil, and simmer very gently for 30 minutes.
2 Strain and chill or freeze.
STORING STOCK Stock will keep for two days in the fridge. If you want to keep it for longer than that, pour it into a wide, deep frying pan and boil down until reduced in volume by about two-thirds. Cool, and then pour carefully into ice-cube trays. Freeze, and then store your own home-made frozen stock cubes in an airtight container in the freezer. When you come to use them, melt and dilute with water to taste, to restore your stock to its original state.
If you like smooth soups, then you will need to invest in some type of liquidiser. Jug liquidisers are surprisingly cheap and make a far smoother soup than a processor, which is far more expensive anyway. Hand-held wand liquidisers are also a bargain. Although it takes longer to liquidise a saucepanful of soup, you have a greater degree of control, so that if you wish you can vary the texture from rough and chunky to silky smooth.
Before liquidising, let the soup cool a little, so that odd splashes won’t burn you. With a jug liquidiser, always make sure that the lid is firmly clamped on. Don’t over-fill – it is better to liquidise the soup in three or four batches, than to risk it squirting out all over the kitchen.
Even the toughest liquidiser can’t reduce absolutely everything to a smooth cream, so every now and then you will come across a soup that also needs sieving (such as the roast tomato and onion soup on page 24). The trick here is to make sure that you have a sieve with a comparatively loose mesh, i.e. with big enough holes to make sieving bearable. A sieve with a very tight mesh is fine for, say, sifting flour, but a nightmare when it comes to soups and sauces, as you have to work really, really hard for relatively small returns. So, go check your sieves and if necessary invest in a new, wide-meshed one as soon as possible. With that in hand, sieving a soup should be an easy enough matter. Use the largest wooden spoon you own to push the solids through the mesh of the sieve, scraping the puréed matter that clings to the underside off into the rest of the soup fairly frequently.
Alternatively, you could buy a mouli-légumes, or a food mill, which will do a similar job with efficiency.
Once your soup is liquidised, you can assess the consistency properly. You may like it just as it is, but if you want to thin it down to a lighter consistency, stir in a little water if it needs only minor adjustment, or more stock, or perhaps some milk, if appropriate. Add a little at a time, stir in and then taste. Be careful not to overdo the extra liquid, or you will end up with a soup that tastes of precious little at all.
An unadorned naked bowl of soup is a fine thing in itself, but there are times when all of us, soup included, benefit from a spot of dressing up. Some garnishes go particularly well with specific soups, whilst others are universally a good thing. Here is a list of some of the best, to be used on their own or in tandem with others
Fresh herbs Shredded basil leaves on any tomato-based soup; coriander leaves on soups with a hint of spice; chopped parsley or chives will give a lift to most soups; tarragon leaves bring a hint of aniseed – use your imagination.
Cream A drizzle or swirl of cream looks classy and enriches soup. It doesn’t matter a great deal whether it is single, whipping or double cream. Lightly whipped cream, seasoned with lime juice or herbs, floats on top of the soup, melting gently in the heat. Soured cream, crème fraîche and yoghurt (especially Greek-style yoghurt) need to be dolloped on gently. Yoghurt has a tendency to sink.
Croûtons The traditional croûton is a small, crisp golden cube of fried bread which adds a welcome contrast in texture to most soups. I find it easier to bake croûtons in the oven: toss cubed bread (crusts removed) with a little oil, turning well, then spread out on a baking sheet and bake at 190°C/375°F/Gas Mark 5, turning occasionally until golden brown, about 5–10 minutes. Although any decent loaf of bread will do, you can make extra-fancy croûtons with, say, olive bread or sun-dried tomato bread.
Croûtes Croûtes are larger versions of croûtons. Small slices of bread (either quarter large pieces, or use slices of a baguette) can either be toasted, or brushed with olive oil and baked in the oven until crisp (the best method, I think, see the croûtons section above). You could top each one with a smear of pesto (bought or home-made, see page 71), or tapenade (an olive and caper purée that can be bought in small jars from the deli). Or try a small swirl of crème fraîche, or you could pile some grated Gruyère cheese on top. Whatever you do, the idea is then to float it in the soup as it is served.
Cheese Grated or very finely diced cheese is a good garnish for chunky soups, such as the Italian vegetable and bean soup on page 26. Parmesan is wonderfully piquant, but grated mature Cheddar brings oodles of flavour, too. The sweetish, nutty taste of Gruyère is another winner.
Olive oil A drizzle of a really fruity extra virgin olive oil works well in many more Mediterranean soups, bringing a fresh, light richness that invigorates all the other flavours in the soup. For a powerful injection of energy, fry 1 or 2 chopped garlic cloves and a deseeded chopped red chilli in olive oil until the garlic is golden, then spoon over the surface of the soup, still hot and sizzling, just before serving.
Bacon Choose good-quality dry-cured streaky bacon (it crisps up better than back bacon), and cook in rashers until brown and crisp (see page 21).
Diced tomato, cucumber or pepper These add an appealing freshness to a soup, as well as a splash of colour. Deseed tomatoes and peppers, but don’t skin them, before dicing small. I really can’t see the point in deseeding cucumbers, but if you really want to, that’s fine. Diced celery can also work well, but a fair number of people aren’t so keen on it.
This is a basic primer recipe for puréed vegetable soup. It’s ideal for using up the odds and ends of vegetables that gather in the bottom of the fridge or in the vegetable rack (as long as they are not too old and mouldering), but you can also use it to make a purer mono-veg soup, such as the curried parsnip soup below.
Serves 4–6
BASE INGREDIENTS
2 tablespoons olive or sunflower oil, or 30g (1oz) butter
1 onion, peeled and chopped
1 garlic clove, peeled and chopped
AROMATICS
1 bouquet garni (the classic one below)
and/or 1–2 fresh red chillies, deseeded and chopped
or 1 teaspoon or more curry paste or curry powder or spices, e.g. cumin, fennel seeds, cinnamon, etc.
MAIN INGREDIENTS
1 potato, or other thickener if needed, peeled and cut into chunks
500g (18oz) vegetables, prepared as appropriate (see page 27) and roughly chopped
LIQUID
1–1.5 litres (13/4– 23/4 pints) Vegetable or Chicken Stock (see pages 15–17), or vegetable cooking water, or a mixture of water and milk
SEASONINGS
salt and pepper
1 Heat the oil or butter gently in a large saucepan, then add the base ingredients, the aromatics and the main ingredients. Stir around to coat everything in the fat, then sweat very gently for 10–15 minutes.
2 Add the smaller amount of stock or other liquid, saving the rest for thinning down (if necessary), and season with salt and pepper. Bring up to the boil, then simmer gently for about 20 minutes until all the vegetables are tender.
3 Liquidise in several batches, and return to the pan. Thin down with the reserved stock, water or milk as required, and check the seasoning.
4 Reheat when needed, and eat.
BOUQUET GARNI This is a bundle of herbs, that gives flavour to stocks, soups and stews. Classically it is a bay leaf, a sprig of parsley and a sprig of thyme tied together with string. Other flavours can be added – leek leaves, alternative herbs or lemon zest.
This yummy, comforting soup can be served as a first course, or in larger quantities whenever you are need of a bit of inner warmth. I love it with a touch of cheese and some crisp, salty bacon bits stirred in, but neither is utterly essential. You might just want to scatter over a few chopped chives instead, or spoon on some nuggets of golden-fried chopped garlic and chilli with a drizzle of olive oil.
Serves 4–6
BASE INGREDIENTS
1 onion, peeled and chopped
30g (1oz) butter
AROMATICS
1 bouquet garni (2 strips lemon zest, 1 bay leaf, 1 sprig thyme)
MAIN INGREDIENTS
leaves of 1 bunch parsley, roughly chopped
1kg (21/4lb) potatoes, peeled and thickly sliced
1 whole garlic bulb, separated into cloves, peeled
LIQUID
1.2 litres (2 pints) Vegetable or Chicken Stock (see pages 15–17)
300ml (10fl oz) milk
SEASONINGS
salt and pepper
freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 lemon
DRESSING UP (OPTIONAL)
a handful of grated Gruyère cheese
4–6 rashers streaky bacon, cooked until crisp (see right), and crumbled
1 Follow the basic method opposite, adding the stock only, plus salt, pepper and nutmeg at stage 2. When liquidised, stir in the milk, and add a squeeze or two of lemon juice (this highlights flavours, but shouldn’t be so much that the soup tastes lemony).
2 Reheat, and serve with the cheese and bacon if you wish.
CRISPY BACON To get bacon appetisingly crisp you will need to start off with a pack of streaky bacon. The higher fat content is what makes it go so irresistibly crunchy and golden. A dry-cure bacon is a better option than cheaper bacon which will probably have been pumped up with water and other additives. The best cooking method, I find, is to lay the bacon on a rack over a roasting tin and cook it in a hot oven, around 200°C/400°F/Gas Mark 6, for about 20 minutes until it is golden brown. Grilling is the second best option and not so dissimilar – keep the bacon about 10cm (4in) away from the grill and move it around the grill rack every few minutes so that it grills evenly. Either way, let it cool a little before attempting to crumble it.
HOW BIG IS A BUNCH? ‘A bunch of parsley’ is, I admit, infuriatingly vague. Actually, it’s deliberately vague, and I hope you will consider it empowering in a very small, kitcheny sort of a way. It’s a permission-giver of a term. So, if you quite fancy the idea of loads of parsley giving the soup a definite green tint, then you use a big bunch. For an altogether tamer affair, take it down to posy-ish size. The point, really, is that the exact size is not critical to the success of the soup; it just changes the taste a little…or a lot. Hey – you’re the cook here. It’s up to you how the food turns out. Embrace the responsibility!
When my Mum, the food writer Jane Grigson, came up with this wonderful soup way back in the 1970s, it seemed quite radical. Now, almost everyone has caught up with it, and variations on the theme abound. The original combination of humble parsnips and curry remains one of the best.
Follow the Good Vegetable Soup recipe on page 20, using a 1/2 tablespoon curry paste (or a little more if you like things extra spicy) as the aromatic element, and replacing potato and vegetables with 500g (18oz) parsnips, which are starchy enough to thicken the soup without aid. Smaller parsnips should be peeled, then sliced, discarding the top. After peeling, larger parsnips will need to be cut into chunks, then quartered lengthways to reveal the tougher inner core. Cut this bit out and chuck it in the bin. Use what is left for the soup.
This is a soup that takes particularly well to being finished with a little cream swirled into each bowl and a scattering of croûtons.
This is another modern classic, but one that is often misinterpreted. It is coriander seed that works so magically with carrots, rather than coriander leaf (although this is welcome as a finishing touch).
Follow the recipe for Good Vegetable Soup on page 20, using a tablespoon of whole coriander seeds as the aromatic element, replacing the potato with 1 tablespoon of rice (any white rice: long-grain, pudding or risotto), and using carrots alone, with no other vegetables. Serve the soup with a scattering of fresh coriander leaves on top.
Roasting the vegetables for a soup gives a great depth of flavour, and a hint of something darker and treaclier distilled from the heat-charred edges. It also happens to be a particularly simple way of setting about soup-making. Everything bar the stock is piled into a roasting tin and slid into the oven. You go away for 45 minutes or so, and then all you need do is liquidise the whole lot. And sieve it. Finito.
Serves 4–6
BASE AND MAIN INGREDIENTS
1.5kg (3lb 5oz) reddest tomatoes you can find, cut in half
1kg (21/4 lb) onions, peeled and cut into eighths
6 garlic cloves, unpeeled
3 big thyme sprigs
4 tablespoons olive oil
SEASONINGS
2 teaspoons caster sugar
salt and pepper
LIQUID
900ml (11/2 pints) Vegetable or Chicken Stock (see pages 15–17)
DRESSING UP (optional, but really good)
50ml (2fl oz) whipping cream
a small handful of basil leaves, chopped
1 Preheat the oven to 220°C/425°F/Gas Mark 7.
2 Put all the base and main ingredients and the seasonings into a large roasting tin. Use your hands to turn the vegetables so that they all get coated in oil and evenly seasoned. Roast uncovered for 45 minutes, stirring once, until patched with brown and phenomenally soft and tender. If the onions still appear a little firm, give the whole lot another stir and return to the oven for a further 15 minutes. Remove the thyme stalks.
3 Liquidise in batches with big slurps of stock to keep the whole lot moving (in a processor, or with a hand-held wand liquidiser). Sieve the resulting soup back into the pan, with any remaining stock. Stir well, then taste and adjust seasoning.
4 Reheat when needed, or serve chilled on a hot day.
5 The dressing-up basil cream is easy. Put the cream and most of the basil, together with a couple of pinches of salt, in a bowl and whisk together until the cream just holds its shape. Don’t over-do it or you will end up with butter. Not at all the idea. Drop a spoonful of the basil cream into the centre of each bowl of soup and top with a little of the remaining basil before passing around.
This is a brilliant, filling chunky soup just like the ones mama makes all over Italy.
Serves 6–8
BASE INGREDIENTS
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, peeled and chopped
3 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
2 carrots, peeled and diced
AROMATICS
2 sprigs each of thyme and rosemary
4 tablespoons chopped parsley
MAIN INGREDIENTS
200g (7oz) dried cannellini beans, soaked overnight, or 1 x 400g can cooked cannellini beans
450g (1lb) potatoes, peeled and cut into 2 cm (3/4in) cubes
about 300g (10oz) prepared weight of at least 2 of the following: courgettes, winter squash such as butternut, turnips, fennel, celery, leeks (see opposite)
1 x 400g can chopped tomatoes
110g (4oz) peas, fresh or frozen and thawed
LIQUIDS
1.2 litres (2 pints) water
SEASONINGS
salt and pepper
DRESSING UP
freshly grated Parmesan cheese (or Cheddar or Gruyère)
the very best extra virgin olive oil
1 If cooking the beans yourself, drain after soaking. Cover with 1.8 litres (3 pints) fresh water, add half the aromatics, and bring to the boil. Boil hard for 5 minutes, and then simmer until the beans are just cooked and tender, around 40 minutes.
2 Drain the cooked or canned beans. If you have cooked them yourself, save the cooking water.
3 Sauté the base ingredients in a good large, heavy-based pan until soft and lightly browned. Don’t rush this. Allow a good 10–15 minutes and keep on stirring, so that the full sweet, caramelised flavour has time to develop.
4 Add the remaining aromatics and all the remaining main ingredients except for the beans, peas, courgettes or leeks (or whichever vegetables you are using). Pour in the liquid (use the bean cooking water if you have it). Season with salt and pepper and bring up to the boil.
5 Simmer gently until the potatoes are almost cooked (around 15 minutes), then stir in the peas and courgettes and leeks if using, along with the beans. Simmer for a further 4–5 minutes. Taste and adjust the seasoning.
6 Serve in big bowls, passing the cheese and olive oil around the table so that everyone can add just the amount they like to their soup.
Follow the recipe for Italian Bean and Vegetable Soup opposite, replacing some, all or none of the beans (depending on how much carbohydrate you crave), with a handful or two of small macaroni, or other small pasta shapes. Throw the pasta into the soup when it has been boiling for about 10 minutes, and check that it is cooked al dente (see page 65) before taking the pan off the heat. You may need to add a little extra water (say around 100–150ml/4–5fl oz) to the pan, as the pasta will absorb some of the liquid.
PREPARING VEGETABLES
COURGETTES: slice thickly and quarter each slice.
WINTER SQUASH (any from pumpkin to butternut squash, to onion squash and so on): cut away the hard rind and scrape out the seeds. Cut the flesh into 2cm (3/4in) cubes.
TURNIPS: if they are young and small there is no need to peel. Older chunkier turnips have older thicker skin, so it’s best to remove it. Cut what remains into 2cm (3/4in) cubes.
FENNEL: trim off the stumps of the stalks, which tend to be stringy. Cut a thin slice from the base, and if the outer layer is damaged and browned, discard that too. Quarter from base to stalk end, then slice each quarter.
CELERY: wash and slice, removing as many strings as possible.
LEEKS: slice off the tougher dark green leaves, and trim off the roots. Make a cut through the centre of the leek, from the leaf end, down its length for around 7.5cm (3in), and then make a second cut, the same length, at right angles to it. Fan this end of the leek out under running water to clean out any trapped particles of earth. Shake off excess water. Now slice the leek into rings about 5mm (1/4in) thick.
Chowders are big, hearty soups, quick to make and a delight to eat. Essential items are potatoes, carrots, celery, bacon and milk, and from then on you can extemporise. Fish of some sort is usual in a chowder – it was, after all, originally a fisherman’s on-board meal – but not absolutely critical (see below). Smoked haddock gives a particularly fine flavour (buy the undyed, pale honey-tan fish, not the garish yellow), while a handful of shrimps or prawns lifts it above the ordinary.
Serves 4 as a main course, 6 as a starter
BASE INGREDIENTS
1 onion, chopped
30g (1oz) butter
4 rashers back bacon, cut into small strips
AROMATICS
1 bay leaf
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
MAIN INGREDIENTS
2 large carrots, peeled and thickly sliced
2 celery stalks, thickly sliced
1 green pepper, deseeded and cut into postage-stamp squares
2 medium-sized potatoes, peeled and cut into 1cm (1/2in) cubes
30g (1oz) plain flour
250g (9oz) skinned smoked haddock fillet
110g (4oz) peeled, cooked shrimps or prawns
LIQUIDS
600ml (1 pint) milk
150ml (5fl oz) water
SEASONINGS
salt and pepper
DRESSING UP
a handful of freshly grated Cheddar cheese
1 Fry the onion and bacon gently in the butter in a large saucepan until the onion is translucent and soft.
2 Now add the aromatics, using only half the parsley, and all the vegetable main ingredients. Stir around, then sprinkle over the flour, a little salt (not too much as both the bacon and the haddock may be salty) and plenty of pepper. Stir again for some 30 seconds or so to make sure the flour is more or less evenly distributed.
3 Now add a third of the milk and stir well, before adding the remaining milk, the water, and some more salt and pepper if needed.
4 Bring up to the boil, stirring frequently to prevent catching (i.e. burning) on the base. Turn the heat down low and simmer very gently for around 15–20 minutes until the vegetables are all tender. Stir frequently to prevent catching. If the mixture seems too thick, add a little more milk or water.
5 While the soup simmers, cut the smoked haddock fillet into chunks about 2.5cm (1in) square, discarding any bones you may come across. Stir the haddock and the shrimps or prawns into the chowder and simmer for a further 3–4 minutes until the haddock is just cooked through.
6 Sprinkle with the remaining parsley and plenty of cheese. Make a meal of this one, serving it in deep generous bowlfuls with warm bread.
This time, you’ve decided, you’re going for the full works. Entertaining proper, with starter, main course and pudding. Any time-challenged cook (and that’s most of us these days) needs a bevy of almost effortless starters up their sleeves for occasions like these. Starters that will look good, taste fabulous, and take the edge off hunger during the wait for the main course. This is where the deli counter, be it at the supermarket or a proper delicatessen shop, comes into its own, able to provide the makings of a superb first course that demands little more effort on your part than a spot of arranging on pretty plates.
It’s worth pointing out, too, that any of these ideas below would also make a nifty light lunch. All you need do to flesh them out is add a couple of salads: maybe a green salad or a tomato salad, and a potato salad (see pages 188–89 and 191).
The one important thing to remember with these simple starters is that they all need to be served at room temperature (except for the grilled goat’s cheese, which obviously needs to be served hot), not straight from the fridge, as cold kills the taste of so many foods. So, lay them out at least half an hour before eating and cover with clingfilm until your guests congregate near the table.
All around the Mediterranean, people love to start a meal with a selection of little dishes to get the gastric juices flowing. One up from a picnic, this mini-feast can consist of no more than two or three items, or stretch to a sea of bits and bobs to nibble on. The point is that they should all have lively, vivid flavours, so a selection will usually include cured meat or fish, cheese, and pickles of one sort or another. Now that our supermarkets stock so many Mediterranean ingredients, it is incredibly easy to put together the same sort of starter here, and the brilliant thing is that it requires next-to-no effort on the part of the provider.
It’s almost impossible to be precise about quantities here, as so much depends on the rest of the meal, the appetites of your guests, and how many different bits and bobs you put on the table. As a rough guide, make sure that there is enough of each item for everyone to get a decent taste. The more different items you have, the less you need of each one. Provide plenty of bread as well, and don’t worry.
You have two options here. Option A is to make up individual platefuls of hams and cheeses and whatever for each of your guests. That way no-one is going to squabble over the last slice of Parma ham. And if you are worried that quantities may be a little skimpy, you can pad each plateful out with a small handful of rocket or watercress or other salad leaf, or even just an artful sprig or two of fresh parsley, basil or other herb if you happen to have some to hand.
Option B, which happens to be the one that I prefer, is to lay your collection of delicacies out on serving plates or platters and arrange them in the centre of the table so that everyone can help themselves. This way everyone can take what they like and ignore what they don’t without feeling embarrassed. And it’s wonderful how a bit of passing this or that around can get the conversation flowing, and invoke a cheery atmosphere.
In the south of France, they do the pick’n’mix starter with much grace. A classic hors d’oeuvre selection may include pâtés and cured hams, or delicious pungent dips and spreads.
Tapenade Buy a jar of this blend of olives, capers and anchovies. Pile it into a pretty little bowl, and finish with a sprig of parsley.
Fromage frais aux fines herbes As a complete contrast, make up your own bowl of creamy pale cheese flecked with green herbs. Buy a pot or two of creamy young goat’s cheese (chèvre frais) and beat in either a little crushed garlic or finely chopped shallot, lots of chopped fresh herbs (parsley, mint, tarragon, chives or whatever you have to hand) and a few spoonfuls of cream or milk if the mixture is still too thick to work as a dip. Then scrape into a bowl and place on the table.
Crudités Serve these with the two dips – in other words, carrot sticks, strips of pepper, celery sticks, pink and white radishes and so on.
French bread The ready-to-bake half baguettes are usually better than the ubiquitous French stick.
French olives These are easy to find. Amongst the best are small, dark, wrinkled Niçoise olives and green picholine olives.
Silvery marinated anchovies Although these may actually have come from Italy or elsewhere, they fit nicely into this southern French ensemble.
For a really special occasion, track down your nearest Italian deli for a classy selection of imports, but the rest of the time, scour the shelves of your local supermarket for some of the following:
Parma ham or San Daniele ham The most famous of Italy’s many cured raw hams (prosciutto crudo), sliced paper thin.
Bresaola Cured beef, thinly sliced and dressed with a squeeze of lemon juice and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.
Italian salami.
Pecorino A sheep’s milk cheese, which may be either hard or soft.
Provolone A softer cow’s milk cheese which may be young and mild (dolce) or more mature and punchy (piccante).
Buffalo mozzarella Mozzarella di bufala is the real thing, softer and milkier than cow’s milk mozzarella. It comes in packets in its own brine. Serve it drained, torn into pieces and dressed with lemon or balsamic vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper and a little chopped parsley, mint, or even fresh tarragon. You could also add some sliced halved cherry tomatoes for contrast, or ‘bocconcini di mozzarella’, walnut-sized mini-mozzarellas, served whole and dressed as above.
Olives Choose whichever type you like best as long as they are not those ghastly stoned black olives that taste of soap.
Sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil.
Canned marinated grilled peppers.
Marinated baby artichokes These come in glass jars. Serve them sliced in halves or quarters.
Ciabatta bread Many supermarkets now sell ‘ready-to-bake ciabatta’ which comes out of the oven crisp and golden outside, soft and slightly chewy inside, with the most tantalising smell. Warm ciabatta always seems to disappear with remarkable speed, so buy a loaf or two more than you think you will need.
Over recent years we have been introduced to more and more of the excellent cured pork products and cheeses of Spain, via a handful of delicatessens and now the supermarkets. These are usually referred to as ‘chaciñas’, which translates more or less as ‘cold cuts’, but taste a good deal more exciting than that sounds. To make up a Spanish chaciñas plate, take your pick from:
Jamón serrano The Spanish equivalent to Parma ham, cured high in the hills.
Chorizo A spicy salami, with a reddish hue from generous seasoning of paprika. It can either be ‘dulce’ or mild, or ‘piccante’ or chilli-hot.
Manchego cheese Spain’s most renowned cheese with a gorgeous flavour, which can either be mild or mature and is often served with ‘marmelada’ or quince paste.
Caper berries The fruit of the caper plant that grows wild around the rocky shores of the Mediterranean. Capers are the buds, but the berries or seed-pods are like tiny maracas that have been pickled in vinegar – delicious.
Olives Spain specialises in huge ‘gordo’ green olives which are sometimes sold here, but any juicy, plump-looking olive, black or green, will look good on the plate.
Canned ‘pequillo’ peppers Something of a speciality in Spain, you can sometimes find them on supermarket shelves here. Look out too for the small green padron peppers which are just beginning to hit the shops in this country.
Bread Spanish bread hasn’t made much of a mark here, so choose any handsome-looking loaf of bread to accompany your chaciñas. A sourdough pain de campagne or sturdy rye bread, warmed through in the oven, would be a good choice.
From Greece and the Middle East come some of the best ready-made starters and snacks – from hummus and taramasalata to pitta bread and now the floppier, larger Arab bread. Put them all together and you can create a magnificent ‘mezze’, a pick’n’mix of a first course.
Hummus This is the obvious starting place for any Greek-inspired ‘mezze’ and a pot of two of bought hummus can easily be dolled up to look glamorous. First of all, add a little crushed garlic if you wish to liven up the flavour, then scrape it into a small bowl, and dust the top lightly with paprika or cayenne pepper, and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. A small sprig of parsley in the centre adds a final splash of colour. If you have the time, you could also sprinkle over or stir into the hummus a handful of pine nuts, that have been dry-fried until golden brown for a sophisticated finish.
Taramasalata This has to be next on the list, but try to find some that has not been dyed a virulent bright pink. Natural taramasalata is a softer, honeyed colour. Again, scrape into a bowl and sprinkle over a little cayenne pepper and some chopped parsley.
Crudités Provide a selection of raw vegetables to dip into the hummus and taramasalata – carrot sticks, strips of pepper, celery sticks and so on, as well as plenty of warm pitta bread.
Gigantes beans in tomato sauce If you haven’t tasted these before, this is the moment to try them out. Usually sold in glass jars, they are similar to butter beans, bathed in a well-flavoured tomato, dill and olive oil sauce.
Canned dolmades Little parcels of flavoured rice wrapped in vine leaves, these are surprisingly good and just need to be transferred to a plate.
Purple black Kalamata olives are fat and juicy with taut skins and tip-tilted pointy ends.
Pickled green chillies These are a hot favourite in Greece, in both senses of the word – find them in jars, somewhere near the olives.
Here is a handful of quick and easy starters that never fail to please. Original? Well, maybe not, but the reason they’ve been enjoyed for so many decades is that they work so well, and cause so little angst to the cook!
This is a great (mainly) storecupboard stand-by that I often serve as a first course, or as part of a salad-based meal. It takes 10 minutes max to put together, and needs no more than some great, chunky bread as an accompaniment.
For four people you will need 1 x 400g can of cannellini beans, drained and rinsed, and a 198g can of tuna (the stuff in oil tastes nicer, but is higher in calories), drained and flaked. Mix them together with 1 small garlic clove, crushed, 1 shallot that has been finely chopped (or you could use 1/2 small red onion), and about 1/2 tablespoon chopped fresh marjoram or 1 level teaspoon dried oregano. Whisk together 11/2 tablespoons lemon juice, 3–4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper, and stir into the tuna mixture. Make a bed of rocket on a serving plate, and pile the tuna and bean salad on to it. Serve at room temperature.
At its most elemental, bruschetta (pronounced ‘broos-ket-ah’) is no more than a slice of griddled or char-grilled bread, rubbed with garlic and drizzled with olive oil. This most straightforward form of bruschetta is an ideal accompaniment to antipasti (see above). For a stand-alone bruschetta that is interesting enough to make a first course in its own right, the basic bruschetta is surmounted with any one of hundreds of toppings. A serving of three pieces of bruschetta, each with its own individual character, makes a substantial starter, although you should remember when planning the meal that the bruschette (that’s the proper Italian plural) will need to be made no earlier than half an hour before guests arrive. Even better, they should be griddled and made up at the very last minute so that the bread is still warm, but that may prove just too tricky in terms of timing.
The key to success with bruschette is to source good-quality sturdy bread; if in doubt buy a loaf of pain de campagne or a sourdough loaf. Slice thickly and cut huge slices in half, or even into thirds. Then toast under the grill, or better still griddle to achieve the all-important slightly smoky flavour with a hint of charring (but no more than a hint, please!). It could also be done on the barbecue, but it seems a little excessive to get it going just for a few slices of bread! The toaster is completely out of bounds.
To griddle the bread, you will need to have a ridged griddle pan. Place over a high heat and leave to get really, really hot – allow some 5 minutes for this. Cram as many slices of bread on to it as possible, and turn once the underneath is striped with dark brown. Griddle the other side in the same way.
While the bread is toasting cut a couple of cloves of garlic in half. Rub the garlic lightly over one side of each piece of grilled bread, then drizzle a scant 1/2 teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil over each piece.
With the toppings, you can really let your imagination go, but to kick-start you, here are three straightforward ideas.
1 Halve several well-flavoured tomatoes (you can use cherry tomatoes if necessary), and rub them over the bread, pressing down firmly so that the juices and some of the flesh are smeared over the surface. Top with slices of jamón serrano, or Parma or San Daniele ham.
2 Instead of drizzling with olive oil, spread each slice with pesto, then top with sliced buffalo mozzarella, a piece of sun-dried tomato and a sprig of basil.
3 Top with rocket, drizzle with a little balsamic vinegar, and finish with shavings of Parmesan. To shave Parmesan, take a vegetable peeler and pull it across the surface of the block of Parmesan to create thin shavings of cheese (see left).
This is one of summer and autumn’s most perfect combinations. The key is learning to choose ripe fragrant fruit. In midsummer it is the melon you should go for, whilst in the autumn the fig reigns supreme. Although you may occasionally find a magnificent melon in midwinter, it is rare, so ignore temptation in the colder months.
For this you are looking for an orange-fleshed melon, in other words a cantaloupe or charentais melon. The paler, white/green-fleshed varieties have a duller taste – not to be sneezed at, but less of a success with salty Parma ham. Use your nose. A ripe melon will smell fragrant and sweet. Press the stalk end gently: if it gives slightly then you are probably on to a winner, but double-check that there are no soft squidgy patches indicating over-ripeness or a mouldy taint. One large melon will be enough for four people.
Ripe figs are tender and fairly soft. Pick them out carefully, avoiding any that are showing patches of brown. Handle them reverently, and place them side by side in a paper bag, settling the bag on top of the rest of your purchases as ripe figs are easily squashed. One or two figs per person is fine.
To serve the melon, cut into eight wedges. Scrape out the seeds and discard. Arrange the slices on individual plates and drape two or three thin slices of Parma ham (or jamón serrano) over each serving.
With the figs, nip the hard stalk tip off each one, then quarter, cutting down towards the base, but stopping just short of it, so that the quarters stay together. Splay them out slightly like the petals of a flower. Place on individual plates, and arrange two or three thin slices of Parma ham (or jamón serrano) alongside them on each plate.
Now something of a bistro classic, this is still a great way to start a meal, but does require a brief spell of last-minute work in the kitchen. Keep this to a minimum by preparing everything in advance, so that it’s all ready to go. Choose small drum-shaped goat’s cheeses for this – the sort with a soft, white rind.
For each person you will need a handful of mixed salad leaves (I favour a mix of rocket and spinach, but the choice is entirely yours), about 1/2 tablespoon of a good vinaigrette (see page 189), a 1/2 goat’s cheese, a small sprig of rosemary or parsley, a trace of oil (olive or sunflower) and some good (walnut) bread.
Preheat the grill thoroughly and line the grill rack with foil. Arrange the 1/2 cheese cut-side up on the foil. Brush the cut side with a little oil, then slide under the grill until browned. Meanwhile, toss the salad with the vinaigrette and divide between plates. Top each salad with a sizzling, browned 1/2 goat’s cheese and finish with a sprig of herb. Serve immediately with toast.
Quick and easy to prepare, guacamole makes a brilliant starter served with warmed pitta bread or tortilla crisps. Alternatively, use it as a sort of relish to serve with grilled fish or meat, or roll up with chicken and peppers in a ‘fajita’ (see page 108).
If you use the smaller Hass avocados you will need three, but with larger avocados two will suffice. The avocados must be ripe and buttery for guacamole.
Serves 4 as a starter
2 tomatoes
1–2 fresh red chillies
a handful of coriander leaves
2–3 ripe avocados
1/2 red onion, peeled and finely diced
juice of 1 lime
salt and pepper
1 Deseed and finely dice the tomatoes. Deseed (depending on strength) and finely chop the chillies. Chop the coriander. Skin the avocados, and remove the stones.
2 Working quickly, roughly mash the avocado flesh with a fork in a bowl, then mix in all the remaining ingredients. Taste and adjust flavouring, adding more lime if needed. Cover the surface with clingfilm to exclude as much air as possible, thus diminishing the inevitable browning of the avocado. Chill.
3 Bring back to room temperature before serving, then stir and scoop into a clean serving bowl.
A decent meal is never far away if you have a stash of eggs in your kitchen. And if you think egg dishes are boring, you’d better revise your thinking right now. An omelette, for example, is an extraordinary vehicle for any number of other ingredients from the minimalism of a grating of Cheddar to the Mediterranean delights of a frittata. The humble fried egg is given a new lease of life with a spot of chilli and garlic, while scrambled eggs take to the fresh zing of citrus juice with consummate ease. One of the best of all egg and cheese combinations, needing just a little butter and flour for substance, is the wicked French gougère, a gorgeously indulgent, gooey cheese pastry that I often knock up for supper or a light lunch. The great thing about all of these simple dishes is that you can tailor them to your own requirements – once you get the basic principles sorted, the imagination can take over (even if it is only to the extent of using up the odds and ends left in the back of the fridge).
Eggs are no longer just mere eggs. Oh no. Nowadays there is a bewildering series of choices to be made when buying eggs: four-grain, barn-fresh, perchery, free-range, organic, Colombian this, and something else that. In fact, buying eggs is not half as confusing as it may first seem when you are facing the high-stacked egg shelves. Ultimately there are really only three critical choices to make: size, the well-being of the laying birds, and freshness.
Eggs are sorted into size bands according to weight: extra large (more than 73g), large (63–73g), medium (53–63g) and small (less than 53g). All the eggs used in testing recipes for this book were large, so if you want to be sure of getting a good result with my recipes, these are the ones to go for. When you are using other cookbooks, particularly if you are baking cakes, it is worth checking the beginning of the book, where there should be a short section telling you what size eggs are to be used, as well as other useful basic cook’s information.
By the year 2012, the very worst space-depriving cages for egg-laying chickens will have been banned in the EU. About time too, for they are grim and deeply objectionable. Hard to believe that a nation of so-called ‘animal-lovers’ could have let them exist for so long. Meanwhile, unless you really don’t care one iota about animal welfare, pay the few extra pence to buy free-range eggs. The law guarantees that the chickens that lay these eggs at least have continuous daytime access to outdoor runs. In other words, they can peck around and stretch their wings, even if they don’t live in quite the idyllic circumstances one might imagine. Organic eggs are by definition free-range.
Crack open a perfectly fresh egg on to a saucer and the yolk stands proud above the white, which clings thickly around it. In an older egg the yolk is flatter and flabbier, while the white is more liquid and spreads in a dilute fashion around the saucer. Luckily you don’t have to crack open each egg to ascertain its age. Look on the box instead, where you will find a ‘best before date’. The eggs were laid 21 days, in other words three weeks, before this date.
For some cooking methods (poaching in particular) ultra-freshness is critical, whilst for others (e.g. boiling) a small scrap of maturity is a positive boon.
The doom-laden spirit of salmonella contamination still lingers on in many people’s minds. The truth is that these days the chances of developing salmonella poisoning from semi-cooked or raw eggs is verging on negligible. That time-honoured hazard of falling under a bus is far, far more likely to happen to you than a spot of salmonella sickness.
All eggs that are stamped with the ‘lion’ symbol (which represents the Lion Quality Mark) come from flocks of chickens that have been vaccinated against salmonella, and are regularly checked to make doubly sure they are clean. If you are buying wonderful extra-free-range eggs from a local farmer, then the likelihood is that his or her flock has also been vaccinated, but if in any doubt, just ask.
Salmonella bacteria are killed by high temperatures, so eggs that are hard-boiled or cooked thoroughly in, say, a cake batter cannot possibly cause any harm. Many of the most delicious ways of cooking eggs, however, demand that they are semi-cooked, with the yolk still runny and this is where, in the very, very unlikely event that they are infected, the problem lies. For most healthy people, the worst that could happen is a nasty bout of stomach upset and diarrhoea, but it is not worth risking even this extraordinarily unlikely event with anyone susceptible to illness. In other words, the elderly, invalids, pregnant women and very young children should all steer clear of semi-cooked or raw eggs. End of scare stories.
None. The colour of the eggshell is totally irrelevant and tells you nothing about the inside or the way it was produced. Even more surprisingly, the colour of the yolk isn’t much to go on, either. A deep, rich, almost orange hue might suggest a grain-rich diet for its mother hen, but it may just as well indicate the inclusion of dyestuffs in the feed. Appearances can be deceptive.
In an ideal world, you would keep your eggs in a cool larder, temperature around 15°C or less. Oh? You don’t have a cool larder where you live? How very awkward of you! You’ll just have to keep your eggs where most people store them: in the fridge. It’s the second best option and it’s done me fine for the past twenty something years, so I don’t think there’s any need for concern. Try to remember to get them out of the cold and into the warmth of the kitchen 15 minutes or so before cooking, particularly if you are boiling or poaching them – again, counsel of perfection, but easier to achieve than the cool larder.
Separating the yolk and white of an egg is essentially an easy process, but it may nonetheless take two or three attempts to get it right. So make sure that you have a couple of eggs in reserve, just in case. Fresher eggs (up to a week old) are easier to separate than older ones.
Before you start, gather together a large bowl to hold the whites (assuming you intend to whisk them after separating), and two smaller bowls. The first of the smaller bowls is for the yolks. The second is for the white of the egg that you are in the midst of separating, before you tip it into the larger bowl. Why do you need this extra bowl? Insurance. Just one small drop of fat in amongst the whites will be enough to prevent them whisking up properly. Yolks are very fatty. There is nothing more dismaying than successfully separating four eggs, and then breaking the yolk of the fifth so that it contaminates the whole lot. An infuriating waste of eggs and time. For the same reason, you should always make sure that both of the bowls for the whites are scrupulously clean before you begin, with no trace of grease.
1 Hold the egg comfortably in your hand, pointed end towards your thumb, rounded end towards your little finger (or vice versa), fingers wrapped around.
2 Tap the exposed side firmly against the edge of a bowl, cracking the shell. The skill here is to use enough force to crack the shell without actually smashing the whole egg. A bowl with a narrow edge is better than one with a thick rim.
3 Turn the egg cracked side upwards and ease the tips of both thumbs into the crack, pulling the two halves of the shell apart, over the bowl, so that the yolk settles neatly into one side, while some of the white falls out of the other into the bowl.
4 Gently tip the yolk from one half of the shell into the other, allowing the white to dribble out into the bowl. Two or three goes at this should be quite enough. Slide the yolk into a small bowl.
Whisked egg whites are used to lighten cakes, mousses, soufflé omelettes and other dishes. The whisking process traps small bubbles of air within the egg whites to make a foam. The more you whisk, the thicker and firmer the foam. For cooking you need to whisk egg whites either to soft peak or firm peak stage (see overleaf). But it is possible to go too far. Over-whisked eggs turn lumpy and it is impossible to incorporate them evenly into a batter. Nor will they give nearly so much lift.
When properly whisked whites are cooked, the air bubbles expand in the heat, lifting the mixture, at the same time as the egg white sets to hold the bubbles in place. Uncooked whisked egg whites are distinctly unstable, so must be used as soon as they have been whisked. If left standing around, they will collapse and liquefy and cannot be re-whisked successfully.
It is possible to whisk egg whites with a fork if all else fails, but it is extremely hard work. A balloon whisk is more efficient, but still tiring on the arms. An electric hand-held whisk is a brilliant luxury that makes quick work of whisking egg whites to the lightest foam.
Make absolutely sure that both bowls and whisk (or fork!) are completely grease-free before you separate eggs and start whisking the whites. It takes no more than a smear of grease to prevent egg whites whisking successfully.
How to whisk egg whites with a balloon whisk or a fork
1 Hold the bowl containing the egg whites firmly with one hand, tilting it slightly towards the other hand.
2 Move the whisk in a continuous circular movement, using your wrist rather than the whole arm, taking the whisk down through the whites then up and around and back down into them again.
3 Keep going and have faith. Eventually (assuming they haven’t been contaminated with fatty yolk or grease), the whites will bulk up in volume, transformed into a fluffy cloud of whiteness.
4 For the vast majority of recipes, you will need to whisk the whites either to ‘soft peak’ or ‘firm peak’ stage. To test, pull the whisk slowly out of the whites. If the whites just slump back down into the bowl, you’ve not reached either stage yet. If they form a peak, the tip of which flops over as the whisk is withdrawn, then they have reached soft peak stage. If the tip of the peak remains pointing straight up at the ceiling, they have reached ‘firm peak’. Whisk no more!
When it comes to blending whisked egg whites (or whipped cream) into another mixture, you must do your very best to keep as much air as possible trapped in the whites, whilst at the same time mixing evenly. You wouldn’t want to waste all that effort, now would you? This demands a special technique, called folding in.
First of all, search out a large metal spoon. Wooden spoons have thick edges, which break lots of bubbles releasing more air, whereas the thin edge of a metal spoon keeps damage to a minimum. Take a spoonful of the whites and just stir them straight into the other mixture (which should, incidentally, be no more than lukewarm). This loosens it up a little, making it easier to fold in the remaining whites. Now tip the rest of the whites on top. Slide the spoon, edge first, down into the whites and underlying mixture, right to the bottom, then curl it back up in one continuous movement, scooping up some of the contents of the bowl. As the spoon emerges tip what it brings up with it back over into the bowl. Keep going, turning the bowl every now and then, until the whites are evenly mixed in, with no lingering traces of white. Work swiftly and with confidence.
First of all, get your eggs out of the fridge at least 15 minutes before cooking if at all possible. This reduces the likelihood of shell-cracking in the heat of the saucepan. Pour enough water to submerge the eggs, into a pan that is just large enough to hold the eggs in a single layer (an over-large pan encourages the eggs to ricochet off the sides and each other, which is another reason they may crack). Bring the water up to the boil, then lower the eggs on a spoon into the water, one by one. Reduce the heat so that the water is simmering rather than bubbling violently. Set your timer to 5 minutes for soft-boiled eggs with a runny yolk and just set white, or 8 minutes for just hard-boiled eggs (firm white, creamy set yolk), 10 minutes for fully hard-boiled eggs.
Presumably you will be eating your soft-boiled egg while still hot from the water, so dish up immediately. If a hard-boiled egg is for a salad, or other cold dish, plunge it straight into cold water as soon as it is cooked, to prevent the formation of a discoloured green-black ring around the yolk. Not an attractive sight.
To shell a hard-boiled egg, tap the egg against the work surface, turning to break the shell all over. Pull off the shell, along with the thin membrane that lies underneath (easier to do with fresher eggs).
There are many ways to fry an egg, but I shall attempt to keep things simple by offering just two of them: firstly the more traditional method, using butter; secondly a more vigorous method, using oil. If you have an excellent non-stick frying pan, you can also cook your eggs with virtually no fat at all (use the first method without the butter), though whether this technically counts as frying is debatable. Fresh eggs (up to a week) produce neater fried eggs than older ones.
Smooth and buttery method Melt a good knob of butter in your frying pan over a moderate heat. When it is foaming, swiftly break your egg(s) into the pan – the older they are the more room you will have to allow for spreading whites. Spoon some of the hot butter over the whites of the egg. Turn the heat down a little and then cover the pan with a lid or a large plate. Cook for about 2 minutes. Lift the lid and inspect the whites of the eggs. If they are still translucent and runny around the yolk, spoon over more hot butter, then replace the lid and leave for another 1–2 minutes by which time they should be done. Once the white has set to a glassy white opacity right up to the edge of the yolk, they are ready. Lift out of the pan with a fish slice and eat right away.
Crisp and bubbly method I love fried eggs with a crisp browned edge to contrast with the smoothness of the rest of the whites, and the richness of a runny yolk, and to achieve this you need heat. Butter burns too quickly, so oil is the preferred frying medium. Spoon 1–2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, or sunflower or vegetable oil into your frying pan, and heat over a fairly high heat. Break the egg(s) carefully into the oil, which should be hot enough to sizzle and spit a little. Spoon the oil over the whites to help them set. Once the eggs have browned a little at the edges, reduce the heat to moderate and continue cooking until the whites are cooked through to the yolk, occasionally spooning the fat over the whites. Lift out of the pan with a fish slice and tuck in.
The very best, creamiest scrambled eggs are those cooked slowly and lovingly in a bowl set over a pan of simmering hot water – try it one day when you have plenty of time (it can take 20 minutes or more of fairly constant attention). Meanwhile, stick with this quicker, not-quite-so-ideal method, which is better suited to the normal pace of life. Remember that scrambled eggs should never, ever be cooked in advance and kept warm. That way you end up with ghastly over-cooked, rubbery, institutionalised scrambled eggs instead of the luxuriously creamy, tender confection that properly scrambled eggs should be.
Break two eggs per person (or three if ravenous) into a bowl and whisk together. Season well with salt and pepper but do not add milk or water. Place a small saucepan or frying pan over a low heat and add a good knob of butter. Let it melt, then pour in the egg. Stir constantly with a wooden spoon or spatula, scraping the base and sides of the pan as the egg sets on them. Keep going until the saucepan contains a creamy, thick primrose-yellow scramble of eggs. Whip off the heat swiftly, scrape the scrambled egg straight on to plates or toast and dish up.
Smart scrambled eggs Sunday brunch or breakfast with someone special is the time to dress up your scrambled eggs in full finery. Something as simple as stirring chopped fresh herbs into them as soon as they are cooked brings a touch of glamour – try chopped chives, tarragon or coriander. More fancy is the addition of strips of smoked salmon and some chopped chives, or sautéed sliced mushrooms, cooked alongside in a frying pan. I also love diced deseeded tomato or sun-blush tomato and roughly torn-up basil, again stirred in just as the scrambled egg reaches the perfect creamy consistency.
Beautifully poached eggs are things of great purity. Some people love them on toast for breakfast, though I happen to prefer them at lunch or supper perched on top of a nice piece of grilled smoked haddock with a mound of spinach, or on pasta tossed with (ready-made) red pesto and rocket leaves, or on a warm spinach and bacon salad. There is something so very inviting about their wibbly-wobbly exterior, just begging to be breached, allowing the yolk to flow out in a flood of molten gold.
As I have discovered the hard way, over a number of years, it is only worth trying to poach eggs that are extremely fresh – up to four days, or at a pinch a week. In this state the thick white clings closely to the yolk, swaddling it in a protective layer. This is exactly what you want when poaching an egg. After a week or so, the white thins and no longer holds fast to the yolk. Result – when slid into hot water, the white floats off in disintegrating ribbons and your poached egg is a barely salvageable disaster. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
How to poach an egg
1 Take a non-stick, high-sided frying pan, or a wide shallow saucepan. Fill it to a depth of at least 2.5cm (1in) with cold water and season with salt. Bring up to a boil, then reduce the heat so that the surface of the water trembles provocatively, with only the occasional burp of a bubble.
2 Break the first egg gently into a teacup or small ramekin or glass. Swirl a small whisk round and round in the trembling hot water to form a vortex. Remove the spoon and swiftly tip the egg into the centre of the vortex. As the water settles back down, use the bowl of a spoon to nudge any straying white back on to the yolk. Cook for approximately 3 minutes.
3 Cook no more than two or three eggs in the pan at any one time. Once the white has set, lift the poached egg out carefully, with a draining spoon if you have one (allowing water to drain back into the pan). Set it down on a plate lined with a double layer of kitchen towel to mop up dampness, then serve.
These are fried eggs with attitude – jumping and sizzling with flavour. The recipe is based on the brilliant breakfast I tasted down at the wholesale vegetable market in Bogota in Colombia, many years ago. There’s something about chilli and garlic and runny egg yolk first thing in the morning that is decadent and exotic and kicking. A great way to start the day.
Per person
olive oil
2 eggs
1/4 red chilli, deseeded and finely sliced
1/4 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/2 garlic clove, peeled and chopped
1–2 slices toasted bread to serve
1/2 teaspoon balsamic vinegar, or lime juice
coarse salt
a handful of chopped coriander
1 Pour enough oil into a heavy frying pan to cover the base. Heat over a fairly generous heat and then carefully break the eggs into it. Fry as usual (see page 48), spooning hot oil over the eggs to help them set.
2 When they are about half cooked, add the chilli, cumin and garlic to the pan and continue cooking until the white is set.
3 Lift the eggs out on to the bread, together with the bits of chilli and garlic, then spoon over a little of the oil. Drizzle over the balsamic vinegar, season with salt and scatter over lots of chopped coriander. Eat immediately.
Quite the classiest scrambled eggs, these, ideal for a special breakfast or brunch. The lemon takes the edge off the richness and gives them a big boost. If you are feeling in a particularly indulgent mood, you might embellish them even further with a slice of smoked salmon apiece. I also serve these lemon scrambled eggs cold with smoked fish as a first course. Sounds a bit weird, but they actually taste great. As soon as they are cooked, scrape into a cool bowl to stop them thickening any further. Cool, then arrange a slice of smoked salmon, or cold-smoked trout, or smoked eel on each plate, with a mound of the lemon scrambled eggs beside it.
Serves 2
6 eggs
2 tablespoons double cream
finely grated zest of 1/2 lemon
juice of 1 lemon
salt and pepper
15g (1/2 oz) butter
2 plain or onion bagels, split open
1 teaspoon chopped parsley or chives (optional)
1 Whisk the eggs with the cream, lemon zest, half the juice, and some salt and pepper.
2 Melt the butter in a small saucepan over a low heat and add the beaten egg. Cook as for ordinary scrambled eggs (see page 49), until creamy. Taste and add more lemon juice, and salt and pepper if needed.
3 Toast the bagel halves lightly, and arrange on plates. Spoon the scrambled eggs over and scatter with parsley or chives if using.
A good omelette is a beautiful object, with the gold-yellow of the eggs burnished with softly glistening, honeyed brown, plump and curvaceous in shape, with a definite come-hither look to it. Quick and easy too. What a seductive little beast.
There is no great mystery to making a good omelette, as long as you bear the following in mind:
• The eggs have got to be good quality – there’s not much else to mask imperfections. So, opt for free-range eggs, and make sure that they are at most two weeks old.
• Though quick, omelettes need constant attention while they cook. Therefore it is not a good idea to attempt feeding the whole gang on omelettes. This is a treat for one or two people only.
• Butter is the cooking medium for a French omelette – the magic combination of fresh eggs and butter is the whole point.
• Do not attempt to ‘stretch’ the eggs by adding water or milk to them. The liquid evaporates anyway, and makes the omelette a little tougher in the process.
• You do not need a special omelette pan. A good non-stick frying pan is ideal. If you use a non-non-stick frying pan, then it should have a thick base, and you must make sure that you get temperatures just right, otherwise the omelette will stick.
• Pan size is critical. For a three-egg omelette you should use a 17–20cm (7–8in) frying pan, but for a six-egg omelette (to be shared) the frying pan must be around 25cm (10in) in diameter. A frying pan that is too large will produce a thin, tough omelette, and in a pan that is too small, the egg is likely to burn before it sets adequately.
• Don’t over-cook your omelette. It is done when the top is ‘baveuse’, a French term which means still moist and a little teensy bit runny. Remember that the omelette will continue cooking in its own heat for several minutes, so to take it any further in the pan would result in an over-cooked rubbery omelette.
• Omelettes should never, ever be kept waiting. Cook them only when you are ready to eat, and make sure that all fillings and accompaniments are ready to serve.
There is no end to the ways you can liven up a plain omelette, either by mixing flavourings into the beaten eggs themselves (as in the omelette here) or by wrapping the omelette around them. Some of the best omelettes I’ve ever made have been one-offs, created from odds and ends and leftovers nestling in the fridge. Then again, some of the old standards are hard to beat. Following this basic recipe are a few ideas to launch your career as an omelette-creationist-extraordinaire.
Serves 1
3 eggs
1 tablespoon chopped chives
1 teaspoon chopped parsley
1/2 teaspoon chopped tarragon
salt and pepper
a knob of butter (about 15g/1/2oz)
1 Whisk together the eggs, herbs, salt and pepper.
2 Melt the butter over a frisky heat in a 17–20cm (7–8in) frying pan. As soon as it starts to foam, pour in the egg mixture. Reduce the heat a little and let the omelette begin to set around the sides, turning the pan if necessary so that it cooks evenly.
3 As the edges begin to set, use a fork or a spatula to lift up the sides here and there around the perimeter of the omelette, nudging them towards the centre and allowing runny egg to slide down into the gap. Continue cooking in this way until the omelette is almost set, but still moist on top. Remind yourself that it will carry on cooking in its own heat after it leaves the pan, so don’t cook it to desiccated death.
4 Flip one side over on to the centre of the omelette, then tilt the pan towards the awaiting plate, and flip the omelette gently out on to it, so that it folds neatly in three. Eat straightaway.
Stir a handful of grated mature Cheddar or a couple of tablespoons of freshly grated Parmesan into the eggs. Mix a couple of tablespoonfuls of cream cheese (or young goat’s cheese) with lots of chopped chives, salt, pepper and a grating of fresh nutmeg. Cook the omelette as opposite. As soon as it is ‘baveuse’ (see page 52), turn off the heat, spoon the cream cheese mixture down the centre, then fold and slide out on to a plate.
Sauté about 110g (4oz) sliced button mushrooms in butter, adding a chopped garlic clove when almost done, and a scattering of chopped parsley. Season and keep warm. Make a plain omelette – as opposite, but without the herbs – and as soon as it is ‘baveuse’ (see page 52), spoon the mushrooms down the centre, fold and slide on to a plate.
For an even more luxurious version, sauté the mushrooms in butter, then add the parsley and a small slug of dry sherry or white wine. Let it bubble up, stirring the mushrooms around at the same time, then mix in 2 tablespoons of double cream or crème fraîche, salt and pepper. Let it bubble until the sauce is thickened. Keep warm and use to fill the omelette.
Deseed and dice a medium tomato and chop a small garlic clove. When the omelette is almost done (see page 54), melt a knob of butter in a small frying pan, add the garlic and fry for a few seconds, then add the tomato, with a little salt and pepper. Toss in the hot butter for about 30 seconds to 1 minute to heat through, then take off the heat and mix in around 6 basil leaves, roughly torn up. As soon as the omelette is ‘baveuse’ (see page 52), spoon the tomato mixture down the centre, fold and slide out on to a plate.
Halve and slice a medium onion. Fry in a mixture of butter and oil until patched with brown and very tender. Season with salt and pepper. Cut a rasher (or even two) of streaky bacon or pancetta into short strips. Heat a small splash of sunflower or vegetable oil in your omelette pan and fry the bacon strips briskly until they start to brown. Now tip in the beaten eggs, and cook your omelette as on page 54. When it is done, spoon plenty of the fried onions down the centre, fold and flip out on to a plate.
Cut about 60g (2oz) chorizo (Spanish spicy salami, available from delis and good supermarkets) into cubes. Dice a medium courgette. Heat a trickle of olive oil in a frying pan and sauté the chorizo in it until sizzling. Add a chopped garlic clove and the courgette and sauté until the courgette is tender and patched with brown. Now add a diced, deseeded tomato, and fry for another minute or so, then finally add a small handful of peeled prawns. Fry just long enough to heat through, and season with salt and pepper. Use this mixture to fill your omelette as above.
The frittata is the Italian omelette, hovering somewhere between the purity of a classic French omelette, and the bold chunkiness of a Spanish omelette or tortilla. The ‘filling’ is right there in the very body of the omelette, mixed amongst the eggs as they cook. Those eggs are usually well flavoured, probably with plenty of Parmesan, and with herbs such as parsley or basil or marjoram, or the warm fragrance of newly grated nutmeg. The other defining characteristic is that it is cooked top and bottom, then served in wedges, like a cake.
You can pad a frittata with all kinds of items, from the simplicity of just Parmesan and lots of parsley, to something more substantial, such as chunks of sausage and red pepper, or even sautéed potatoes or leftover pasta. Imagination is the key, though restraint is no bad thing, either. A frittata should never be a dustbin dish, but it is an ideal way to use up small quantities of this and that.
Although frittate (that’s the proper Italian plural) are often cooked in butter in Italy, I love the taste of olive oil with the eggs and cheese, and besides, it is less likely to burn. Either way, make sure that the fat is pretty hot when you pour in the eggs, then immediately reduce the heat so that they cook through slowly. I find that the easiest way to set the upper side of the omelette is to slide the whole pan under a well preheated grill, fairly close to the heat. As soon as the top has set, with just a hint of brown here or there, pull it out again, so that the frittata remains moist and juicy inside.
One of the great joys of a frittata is that it is excellent hot, warm or at room temperature. So very well behaved. When still hot from the grill, team it up with buttered lightly cooked cabbage, or green beans, and with new potatoes or sauté potatoes. Warm frittata is lovely with a tomato and olive or basil salad unless there is tomato in the frittata itself, in which case a green salad or bean salad would be more appealing. Alternatively, eat it warm or at room temperature as the Italians often do, in a sandwich. A crusty roll is the very best casing for it, but whatever bread you have to hand will do fine.
The taste of the tomato, cooked so lightly that it doesn’t have time to collapse, and the sprightly spring onion, make this a light and fresh-tasting frittata.
Serves 2–3
4 large eggs
4 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese
salt and pepper
freshly grated nutmeg
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large garlic clove, or 2 small, peeled and chopped
4 spring onions, trimmed and sliced
2 medium tomatoes, deseeded (see page 8) and roughly chopped
1 Preheat the grill.
2 Beat the eggs with the Parmesan, salt, pepper and plenty of nutmeg.
3 Heat a 25cm (10in) frying pan, preferably non-stick, over a medium heat. Add the oil, and after about 30 seconds, the garlic. Fry, stirring, until beginning to take on a little colour. Quickly add the spring onions and tomatoes and stir around. This lowers the heat in the pan swiftly, which will prevent the garlic burning. Cook for a further minute or so, to let the tomato heat through and the spring onion to begin to soften. Don’t over-do this stage, or else the tomatoes will collapse to start forming a sauce.
4 Give the eggs one more quick whisk, and pour in. Tilt and swirl the pan a little so that the eggs settle evenly and nudge the pieces of tomato around so that they are more or less evenly distributed. Without disturbing the eggs, let the frittata cook gently for another 5 minutes, give or take. The top should still be runny.
5 Slide the frying pan under the grill, fairly close to the heat, and grill until the top is set and golden brown, but no more! This will take a matter of minutes, so hang around. Slide the frittata on to a plate, and either eat immediately or leave to cool, and eat at room temperature.
Replace the tomato and spring onion with 225g (8oz) button mushrooms, washed and sliced and 3 slices of pancetta or rashers of streaky bacon, snipped into small strips. Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in the frying pan over a medium heat and add the bacon. Fry for about 1 minute, then raise the heat high and toss in the mushrooms. Fry briskly until tender and patched with brown, then add the garlic and fry for a further minute or so until beginning to colour.
Pour in the eggs, already beaten with the Parmesan, salt, pepper and nutmeg, plus 2 tablespoons chopped parsley, then immediately reduce the heat. Finish cooking as for the Tomato and Spring Onion Frittata on page 58.
Instead of using tomato and spring onion, this frittata is filled out with sweet red pepper and fragrant basil. Here’s how. Quarter and deseed one red pepper, then cut into thin strips. Fry these in 1 tablespoon olive oil until tender, and then add the garlic. Sauté for a further minute or so until the garlic begins to colour.
While the pepper cooks, beat the egg with the Parmesan, salt and pepper, but no nutmeg. Instead, add a handful of basil leaves, roughly torn up. Pour the mixture into the frying pan with the peppers. Reduce the heat and continue as on page 58.
So, you have some leftover pasta from last night’s supper? With a bit of sauce still clinging on hopefully? Good, because that’s what you need for this frittata. Anything from penne to spaghetti will do fine, with practically any sauce, though a tomato-based one is particularly good.
Leave out the tomato, spring onion and garlic in the original frittata (see page 58). Instead, whisk the eggs with the Parmesan, salt, pepper and 2 tablespoons finely chopped parsley instead of the nutmeg. Stir a cereal bowlful of the leftover pasta into the eggs, breaking up any clumps.
Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in the frying pan over a high heat. Pour in the eggs and pasta, smooth down, reduce the heat and continue cooking as above.