"Being disproportionately saucy is ok."

Paying homage to the average lasagne (mine) and a recipe for very good lasagne (Rosemary's).

Food For Thought.

I had the best of intentions. To write my newsletters earlier in the week. To schedule rather than hit send. But as 2021 taught us, plans are made to be broken (RIP holidays, Christmas and other significant events) and so are intentions. Instead, it’s 9.30pm the night before the inaugural SNOA of 2022 is due to be sent and I’m two wines, half a mezcal + tonic, and one double cheeseburger-and-fries deep, lying on an acupressure mat. This time four years ago I was living in Varkala, on the southern coast of India. Days would begin with strong black coffee, tiny bananas and a surf, oftentimes just beyond the cliff edge where we worked. My penchant for nostalgia usually leads me to feel overly sentimental for these roving days of yore; and while I wouldn’t pass up 30ºC weather and a masala dosa, I’m feeling pretty good about this year already.

January has already brought a return to an old bakery favourite, long walks around Hackney, a catch up at Jolene (feat. the most perfect roast delicata squash with brown butter and sage, and an anchovy butter tagliatelle with pangratatto, absolute chef’s kiss), a solo noodle lunch, breakfast at Café Cecilia (the Guinness bread!), two batches of rice, a trip planning session and a renewed sense of optimism.

On new years day, after a three hour ramble around the surrounding neighbourhoods, lasagne was on the menu. We were craving layers of hot mess. Armed with mushrooms and ricotta, I began to cook. Cooking a lasagne is still foreign to me, even though the taste is familiar and the desire to eat it urgent. I scrolled through various recipes and – as I am wont to do – mainly ignored the measurements. I ended up with the largest batch of mushroom ragu, and a far-too-small amount of ricotta. I’m seemingly allergic to making a béchamel (it involves flour, which I file under ‘baking’ – and I am not a baker. Foolish and misguided, I know. Welcome to my brain) so we’re really just stuck with a disproportionate red sauce to white sauce ratio. Oh and I forgot the mozzarella.

But, with all the 15-hours-worth of 2022 energy and hope, we persisted. And do you know what? It turned out ok. Average. Nothing special. Kind of a mess. But definitely edible. It was sloppy and formless. It lacked the creamy quality I’d been dreaming of. It probably could have done with an extra pinch of salt. Still, we ate half of it, and I only apologised for it twice (ok, maybe three times).

The old (2021) me would have cried, made a fuss, slammed the dish on the table, thrown cutlery dramatically into the sink. But, 2022 me is older, wiser and aware that dishes aren’t always perfect. And do you know what? It tasted better the next day when it had some time to form some edges. Which felt like a nice metaphor. To let things cool off. To accept that ‘perfection’ isn’t always found in the heat of the moment. That being disproportionately saucy is ok. The our layers aren’t necessarily solid and sometimes bleed into one another, whether that’s just us or other people.

Take that half-baked metaphor how you will.

Happy January!

Cat x

Recipes-not-recipes™️

Considering the above, this is not my mushroom and ricotta lasagne recipe. Instead, I asked my good friend Rosemary, who has just moved back home to the Canadian lakes and is living my cabin-in-the-snowy-woods dreams, because she makes a damn good lasagne that has very nice edges. Here are a few wonderful words from her.

Comfort food is a long enduring concept.  An image of grannies, bubbies and nonnas in a kitchen stirring over a pot or pulling something from a piping hot oven.   A steaming bowl served to you after a long journey or a wet trek.  Something made with love when you are sick, in the body or in the heart.  

Two years into the pandemic, the quest for comfort has moved so many of us to make changes.  I decided, after the small voice in my head wouldn't go away, to move back to Canada.  I made the decision in October and by mid-Nov I was settled in Meaford, Ontario on the shores of the Georgian just as the deep snow started to fall and the Christmas decorations started to go up. 

It was the first time in four years that I had been home for the holidays, and the first time in three years that my family had been able to gather.  I think we were all feeling a desire for the familiar, a nostalgia for our family traditions and comfort of big meals.  It was also a poignant reminder of the joys of small community life and the support of neighbors, how small gestures make the season such a brighter one for everyone.  I was struck by the tradition of cookie boxes, everyone seemed to spend afternoons turning out hundreds of baked treats, whipped shortbread, gingerbread cookies, nanimo bars and flapjacks, or fruitcakes, lovingly popped into little tin boxes and dropped on your doorstep with Christmas cards.    

My family made a tour of all our favorite hits.  My sister insisted on a batch of mushroom crustade canapés, which are creamy, cheesy, crispy little bites of heaven.  We had our Tortière, a French Canadian meat pie, made next level by my Aunt's lighter than air pastry, and of course Pâte de Poulet, a traditional chicken pie that takes a million years to make and gets gobbled up in seconds.  Fondu on Christmas Eve, the worlds most glorious Ontario raised Turkey, brined and cooked to perfection, followed by Bouche De Noel on Christmas.  All of these things eaten around never ending Bridge games, puzzle doings, back-gammon, tobogganing excursions, cozy fires while the snow fell outside.  

Now the glow of holidays has passed, and I am stuck with a lingering case of COVID caught from god knows where and I'm finding ways to comfort myself as the January doldrums set in.  Luckily living in rural Ontario has many benefits, one being that I made friends with a mushroom farmer, who furnished me with 5lbs of massive blue oyster mushrooms.   Lasagna has long been my favorite comfort food.  I love it because making it is an event and an activity.  You just settle into the kitchen for an afternoon, knowing full well that you will dirty every dish, but enjoy the process thoroughly.  For all the phaff, I recommend that you commit to quantities that will make a few lasagnas because they freeze beautifully and make the effort worth it.   I'll do approximate quantities but nothing here is very scientific.

2-3lbs of your favorite mushrooms, I used a combination of lion's mane, blue oyster and cremini.  You want the mushrooms to really deepen, so go big and get lots.  
10 cloves of garlic, crushed
Butter, just have lots of it.
2-3 boxes of flat lasagna noodles
Flour
Celery
Onion
Thyme, sage
Cream
Full-fat milk
Ricotta cheese
Two-packs of frozen spinach
Mozzerella, grated
Pecorino Romano cheese, grated

Heat your oven to 400F.  Slice or shred your mushrooms.  The blue oysters shred beautifully and gave me mushroom ribbons.  spread a thin layer of mushrooms on a sheet pan.  Massage with garlic and dot with butter.  Slide into the oven, give a shake every 10 minutes or so.  You want the mushrooms to get golden brown and have thoroughly released all of their liquid.  I actually saved the mushroom liquid as they sweat it out.  I also cooked the mushrooms in several batches so they would get good and golden.  It takes about 15-20minutes per batch to cook the mushrooms.  

Thaw your frozen spinach and then squeeze out as much water as you can from it in a kitchen towel.  Whip your ricotta cheese with plenty of cracked black pepper, a pinch of salt and an egg until it's really light and then fold in the spinach.

Bring a big pot of salty water to boil.  Cook your lasagna noodles in batch, fishing them out with tongs after 2 minutes in the water.  Place them in a bowl with lots of olive oil, otherwise they will stick together and make your life a nightmare. (this happened to me, even though I did coat with oil, make sure you use lots.)

Pop about 3 cups of milk and 1 cup of cream on the hob with half an onion, celery, sage and thyme and gently simmer for an hour, then drain the aromatics.

Melt roughly 1/2 cup of butter in a heavy bottom pan.  Sprinkle with enough flour to make a paste and cook on low heat until the butter/flour mixture darkens in color a bit.  Slowly dribble the milk in, whisking any lump out.  Add the mushroom liquid that you saved while cooking the mushrooms.  Add more stock or water as you need and then cook the béchamel until it coats the back of a wooden spoon in heavenly creaminess. Shred and grate cheese.

Now you can assemble.  Here are the layers that I did: enough béchamel to cover the bottom of the pan, layer of noodles, mushrooms, mozzarella and pecorino, noodles, ricotta and spinach, mushrooms, more cheese, noodles, béchamel, noodles, mushrooms, the rest of the cheese on top.

Once you've assembled you can leave it in the fridge for as long as you like.  It takes about 40minutes at 375 to heat through, you want it bubbling, and a gorgeous brown and crispy cheesy crust on top.  

**
Rosemary is a tech consultant and a food tinkerer on the side.  You can find her food musings, photography, creative writing, and info on the Bean Protocol on her blog www.secondshift.biz, or follow @secondshiftfood on Instagram. 

Leftovers.

• Joe Woodhouse making me want to return to Spain asap with this tortilla, cime de rapa and very huge dollop of aioli.

• In a similar vein, why aren’t we all turning our bolognese leftovers into a frittata like Georgia Levy?

• Two former Feed Feed employees of colour talk to The Washington Post about their experience working for the company.

• Bee Wilson on exploring kitchens and cooking through people’s grandmothers, for the FT Weekend.

• I’ve become obsessed with the How Long Gone bro-cast and co-host Jason’s food sensibilities, as detailed here on Grub Street.

• Bao really understanding the art of solo dining.

• A journey I completely approve of: the tenacious quest to find the world’s best rice.

• Thank you Alexandra Jones for writing this piece for The Guardian on finding solace in ditching the diets.

• This weather means eating a ham-and-cheese toastie at least once a week.