A Dish to Remember - Piperade

I'm blessed with a good memory.  Exams, as long as I can learn the subject by rote, have never been too taxing.  I'm sure I exasperate my husband with my ability to remember every. little. thing.  But when it comes to food, I'm Rainman.  Along with the list of Andy's likes and dislikes that I have committed to memory, I have freaked my friends out with my tendency to have conversations like:

 "I know you miss Marks & Spencer Smoked Mackerel Pate, so I've made you some". 

 "When did I tell you that?"

 "Three years ago, in passing in a conversation".

One friend doesn't like eggs, one doesn't like parsnips, one doesn't like cooked apple.  You get the idea.  It can make catering for groups of them an exercise in elimination, rather than blissfully picking one thing and sticking to it.

The same applies for recipes.  I have an uncanny recall of recipes I've read just once, let alone a few times.  So when it comes to a book I have probably read, cover-to-cover, novel style, more than any other, it's no wonder I can virtually recite the index from memory.  Delia Smith's Complete Cookery Course was the first 'grown up' cookery book I owned just for me, rather than borrowing from Mum.  It was a gift as I headed off to university - and what a gift.  I still recommend it to this day for people just setting off on the cooking journey.  Delia holds your hand through this in an informative, slightly strict at times, no-nonsense fashion, and I for one am still reaping the rewards.  Back in the days, before laptops and internet invaded student halls, there was just me and this book, and I read it, and read it, and read it.

So when I woke up this morning, and the word "Piperade" jumped into my head, I wasn't especially surprised, even though I'd never cooked it before.  I knew it contained eggs and peppers, both of which I had lying around.  I also had all the other ingredients, and so made it for a brunch.  Very glad I did; the sweetness of the slow-cooked vegetables makes the eggs incredibly sweet and creamy.  My young, grown-from-seed basil is aniseed-strong, and was a great highlight to the eggs.  

I'll be remembering this one for the future.

Piperade
Adapted from Delia Smith, 'Complete Illustrated Cookery Course'

1 onion, finely chopped
1 red pepper, finely chopped
1 tomato, chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
4 eggs
2 teaspoons butter
1 teaspoon olive oil
A few basil leaves
Salt and pepper

Heat the oil and butter in a medium pan over a low heat.  Add the onion and cook for about 10 minutes, until soft but not brown.

Add the pepper, tomato and garlic, and continue to cook slowly for another 20 minutes, until the vegetables are sweet and soft.  Season well with salt and pepper

Beat the eggs well then add them to the pan, stirring constantly.  After a couple of minutes, before they are firm, remove from the heat and continue to stir for 30 seconds.

Serve over toast or, as I did, a grilled field mushroom.  Garnish with basil and serve immediately.

Serves 2

Favouritism

Playing favourites can be a strange and confusing game.  Ask me what my favourite way to do potatoes, and that's fairly easy.  "Mash.  No, Dauphinoise.  No, wait, definitely mash.  If I could marry a food, it would be mash".  But ask me, for instance, what my favourite vegetable is and it gets tricky. " Spinach.  No, broccoli.  No, wait, mushrooms.  Mushrooms were my first love.  Or was that Brussel Sprouts?  ALL THE VEGETABLES."  Meat follows the same path. "Beef.  Lamb.  Pork.  Too hard.  TOO HARD".

Eggs I find similarly tricky.

That rare beast, perfectly cooked scrambled eggs.  Silky, plumptuous, buttery.  Poached eggs.  As I am missing the poached egg gene (Andy has it and can poach an egg perfectly, much to my annoyance slash delight) so appreciate a poached egg so much.  Omelettes.  The fried egg, an absolute necessity on a bacon butty.  Crisp around the edges, yielding and dripping within.  Spicy Huevos Rancheros.  I think I would refuse to choose.  Eggs are very much a mood food, and if you can find the perfect egg to suit your mood, you are in ovoid heaven.

I do, however, have a particular affinity with coddled eggs and its sister dish, baked eggs.  Same results, different methods - both cooked in vessels, in a water bath, one on the hob, the other in the oven.  My kitchen didn't feel complete (who am I kidding? It still doesn't.  Never will) until I had an egg coddler, spotted in one of the antique shops on Tinakori Road and clutched in my mitts.  Today I wanted something luxurious and creamy, and so turned to the delights of the baked egg.  Both coddled and baked are incredibly versatile dishes - try mixing up the herbs used, add some chilli, use different cheese or other protein (ham and smoked salmon work particularly well), add your favourite veg, if you can decide what that is.

Baked Egg

2 tablespoons cream

1 egg

1 tablespoon tarragon, chopped

1 tablespoon Emmental, grated

Salt, pepper and nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 180c / 350f

Season the cream with salt, pepper and nutmeg.  Be generous.  Put one tablespoon in the bottom of an oven-proof dish.  Sprinkle over half the tarragon.

Break the egg on top.  Pour over the remaining cream, remaining tarragon and cheese.

Put the dish inside a larger oven-proof dish.  Pour lukewarm water in the larger dish to come half way up the side of the small dish.

Bake for 15 minutes.  This will give you a runny yolk, so bake for longer if you prefer.

Serves 1

The ends of the earth

I've been incredibly lucky, really, with the amount of travelling I've done, both alone, and since meeting Andy.  When I was writing my speech for our wedding in December, I totted up the amount of countries we've travelled to in our five years together; I got to twenty.  We've lived in three different countries together, and a few more individually.  Travelling and experiencing foreign life is not only part of who I am, it's part of who 'we' are (the dreaded 'we').

However, even though it can bring you riches beyond measure in terms of experiences, stories, photos, meals, and friends, it can also be tough at times.  Really tough.  For all that I love living in New Zealand - it's a gorgeous country, what's not to love? - at times I really, really wish that it were parked somewhere in the Med rather than the Pacific.  This is an entirely selfish concern, I appreciate that most Kiwis and expats love it because of its location, rather than in spite of.  I've been feeling this very keenly recently.  2011 was, to be succinct, a terrible year for far too many people that I love and hold dear.  When the chimes rang in 2012 I sent up a silent wish to the powers that be - that this year would be different.  Sadly, so far, it isn't really looking like it will be - already too many friends have had too much bad news to deal with.  It's times like these that I would like to be at home, offering comfort in any way possible, to the people who need it.  This is not to be, though, and so what is needed are comforting words across the ether, good thoughts and positive wishes for those who are struggling, and a need to bury my own desire to be not on a little island far south, but a little island far north.

At times like these, like most people, I turn to comfort food, food I can make with my eyes closed, food that tastes familiar, rather than strange, easy rather than challenging.  For me, carbonara is the perfect example of this.  I have a long and varied history with carbonara.  I first started making it when I went away to University - I could already cook before I went, but cooking for myself every single night soon expanded my repertoire.  I used a book called, somewhat incongruously, Bachelor's Buttons, and was aimed at people without much clue around the house.  Included were a number of easy recipes, and I eagerly fell on carbonara as it was quick and cheap.  Unfortunately, this version tasted like nothing so much as a plate of scrambled egg and bacon stirred through some pasta.  Nevertheless, I knew deep down that this was a good combination, and persevered.  Some years later, I discovered better versions.  My now-usual carbonara is a wonderfully rich affair, comprising cream and Noilly Prat, amongst other ingredients.  I do try, though, not to keep cream in the house always, mainly because I know I'm likely to drink it straight from the bottle, so when I read good reviews of Rick Stein's carbonara, enriched with only eggs rather than cream, I knew I should give it a go.  I made a couple of changes - I used penne rather than spaghetti as it is always my pasta of choice for carbonara, and I added nutmeg, as I always do when cooking savoury eggy sauces.

The carbonara was good.  Not mind-blowing, solidly good.  And sometimes you don't want your mind blown.  You just want to feel at home for a while.

Penne alla carbonara
Adapted from Rick Stein

100g penne
2 teaspoons olive oil
2 rashers streaky bacon, chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
Handful parsley, finely chopped
1 egg plus 1 egg yolk, beaten
20g parmesan, finely grated
Nutmeg, grated

Cook the penne in salted water until al dente.
In a frying pan large enough to hold the pasta later, heat the olive oil over medium high heat and fry the bacon until golden.  Add the garlic and parsley, heat for a few seconds, then remove from the heat.
Reserve 1 cup of water from the cooked pasta, then drain well.
Add some of the reserved water to the frying pan with the bacon, stir well.  Add the pasta, stir again until well coated in the bacony juices.  Add the eggs and parmesan, stir, then immediately remove from the heat - the residual heat from the pasta will cook the eggs.  Add nutmeg, and salt and pepper to taste.

Serves 1 homesick person.