Food For Thought.
I’m almost two hours into a train journey home from North Wales to London. On one side of me was the coast, the other the mountains. Looking out there were patches of blue and thick mist, sun and clouds; the leftovers of summer mingling with the autumnal shift. Once we passed through Wales it’s become that familiar green shaded by grey skies as the train slowly creeps through the countryside.
It’s been another week of not really cooking, except for being inspired by my friend Rosemary, who, last Sunday, roasted me a chicken with an exceptional side dish of Provençal style courgettes and tomatoes. So, for the sake of you not having to read another week’s worth of ‘why I’m not cooking’, I thought I’d let Rosemary do the talking/writing instead. She’s a beautiful storyteller. And a wonderful cook.
The end of summer is always a bittersweet time. Your skin is still brown from the sun, there is still an abundance of glorious produce coming in from the garden or farmer’s market, the days are still warm enough to have an apéro on the terrace. But slowly and then suddenly, it’s the last of things, “there’s the last of the tomatoes in,” “That’s the last evening warm enough to get by without a sweater.”
This year especially, it feels like a major chapter closing. Relationship ended, the world opening up, new job, figuring out how to get back to a wider routine while looking after my pup. Like most of us, I think I could have used a few more months of glorious Summer sunshine to ease the transition. Best way I’ve found to cope is to go slow and savour. Pick the blackberries that remain on the bush while I walk my dog, curl up outside in the sun with a sweater and blanket and a favourite Jane Austen, and cook low, slow and mellow but with the best of end of summer flavours.
I love having Cat over for dinner, I feel she always inspires the best of my cooking, and roast chicken is a bit of a tradition for us. How to make it the most simple but the best? The past week when Cat came over, I wanted to make up a plate for her that felt both cozy but summery at the same time. I trussed my favourite Sutton Hoo chicken with plenty of Halen Mon salt, two lemons and grate the lemon zest all over the skin of the bird. As sides, I felt a bed of fluffy mashed Maris piper spuds with plenty of grass-fed butter would go great with a pot of stewed courgettes and tomatoes.
Recipes-not-recipes™️
Inspired by Provençal style, I did a rough chop of an onion, smashed three whole garlic cloves and sweated that in some good olive oil and salt for 15 minutes. You want a low temperature here, nothing caramelised, just melted. I sliced two courgettes relatively thin and added them to the pan to sweat it out for 5 minutes or so with a bit more salt. Finally, I roughly chopped the tomatoes (about three large ones) into quarters or eights and added them to the pan. A good stir, a touch more olive oil and cover for 30 minutes over low heat. When ready to serve I added a handful of roughly chopped fresh basil. Lemon juice wouldn’t hurt, but it doesn’t need it either. This stew makes a luscious sauce that acts as gravy for the spuds and the chicken. Enjoy with a glass of white wine or elderflower cordial and you’ve got the perfect summer tribute meal. (Words by Rosemary)
Since I Asked
Rosemary is the friend I call when only a home-cooked meal and a DMC will do. She’s infinitely more wise than me and has a certain kind of New York elegance that I can only hope to emulate. She is wonderfully creative in the kitchen and always pulls together the most wholesome, rustic dishes that make me feel like autumn has arrived in my stomach. I’ve eaten tomato tarts and cold rosé on her Putney rooftop and roasted many a chicken with her, which she carves much better than I could ever. I couldn’t not ask her a few questions when I was over last weekend.
How would you describe my relationship with food?
My dad is a gardener and both my parents were phenomenal cooks, so I grew up with an understanding of what a tomato tastes like warm from ripening in the sunshine and how nice it is to cook with your own onions. My favourite picture of myself was taken at 6 years old holding a paring knife, standing over a mountain of harvested tomatoes to make chutney for the winter with my dad. I’ve always been curious about making food, and I think that describes my relationship pretty well, a tinkerer, always wondering what’s going to taste the BEST. Now in my late 30s I’ve added a layer of what’s going to make me FEEL the best too. That’s meant a few adjustments in the ratios of what I eat, way less gluten and dairy, way more legumes, veggies and pasture-raised protein, but if you’re using the most lovely, seasonal, sustainably raised ingredients, the food is equally, if not more, satisfying.
What dish makes you feel most like you?
Probably a roast chicken. It can be fancy and elegant or as simple and casual as you like. For me, it never fails to satisfy, and can be done in a million ways with a million things and it always works. Only thing is making sure you don’t overcook it, and you’re laughing. It always feels like a good trick to surprise people with how exceptional a simple roast chicken can taste, the secret is salting the hell out of the cavity of the bird and using a meat thermometer. Like you, I have an obsession with having stock in the fridge. I drink it in the morning and add it to most things I cook. So roasting a chicken is usually a weekly event. It warms the house, and smells divine, and then if it’s just me, I will pull it apart, standing at the kitchen counter and eat the oysters as my treat. The pup usually gets a bite too, so he’s happy.
A meal that reminds you of home?
My family is a cooking family, so this is a hard one to answer. There are so many things that make me think of family. On my Canadian side, there were so many traditional dishes, some that meant Christmas, some that meant Easter, some that meant summer. The two that are the most special to me would be Pâte De Poulet, which is a luscious chicken pie made in the flakiest pastry in the world, and the other is called Tourtière, which is a pork and veal pie, where you stew the filling for basically 12 hours, and then make these pies and serve it with tomato chutney. Both of these dishes are traditionally served on Christmas Eve and it always means I’ve been lucky enough to have a snowy Canadian Christmas.
What ingredient couldn’t you live without?
I’m really cyclical when it comes to food. My dad always reminds me that I would eat the same thing for breakfast for months on end. I’ve gone through stages where I have to have spicy lime pickle, or a peanut sauce called Rayu, or everything needs Cholua hot sauce, or lemon juice. But if I’m completely honest it’s pretty basic. Salt. I have to have either Halen Mon (which I was lucky enough to have introduced to me at the Do Lectures, and have a stockpile of) or American kosher salt, which is hard to get in England, but there’s a specialty shop in Stow-On-The-Wold which stocks it and I bought two boxes. I sprinkle salt on fruit, chocolate, cookies, it’s always my last action before serving anything.
The best kitchen utensil?
My cast iron Le Creuset frying pan. I’m pretty religious about seasoning it and now it shines with this incredibly oily patina, and is the best non-stick pan in the world. No one is allowed anywhere near it with soap. An old roommate once put it in the dishwasher and I had a quiet melt-down and she got a firm-but-focused talking-to about cast iron pans and seasoning them.
Leftovers.
Wildly excited that Koya has arrived on Broadway Market – I’ll be eating this breakfast rice bowl on a hangover asap.
Autumn can only mean this mushroom and truffle gratin from Royale.
It’s leftover pasta in a frittata – what’s not to love?
More transitional tomato/courgette dishes, this time a tian c/o Rebekah Peppler
Post-September tablescape idea: all the pumpkins.
Any budding food writers fancy contributing to Potluck Zine’s new issue?
Dan Pelosi’s caption “meat ball > met ball” really rang true for me.