The Greasy Spoon

Avocado

I don't think I've yet written about the ubiquitous avocado. It's hard to remember, but not that long ago, avocados were seen as exotic and sophisticated, and usually known as avocado pears.

Nowadays, of course, they're all over the shop, and probably seen as a little bit passe; the staple fodder of dubious bistros, and pretentious, second-rate restaurants. So, I've decided to have a closer look, and see if there's more to them than initially meets the eye.

The avocado (Persea americana) (from Nahuatl Aguacatl: agua-kah-tl), is native to Mexico, Central and northern South America, and classified in the flowering plant family Lauraceae. Avocado trees were cultivated in pre-Incan settlements with archeological evidence dating to 750 B.C.

The avocado of choice is the Hass variety, which grows in California. That's the one with the dark green knobbly skin (pictured above). It has a lovely, creamy, nutty taste, and is, in my opinion, superior to the smooth skinned varieties.

Avocados are full of fat, but the good news is that this fat is a monounsaturated fat, which is supposed to be good for you.

One of the best things you can do with avocados is to make guacamole. Originally an Aztec dish, it's easy to make, and goes brilliantly with things Mexican. Here's my own recipe for it. I prefer the texture to be a bit chunky, rather than completely smooth.

In a bowl, half-mash up some hass avocados, and then gently fold in red tomatoes (chopped into small pieces), a minced red onion, lime juice, finely chopped red chili, sea salt, a dash of Tabasco sauce, paprika, black pepper, and some chopped fresh coriander.

And finally, a useful tip: when preparing avocados, immediately sprinkle the exposed flesh with lemon juice. This will stop the avocado turning brown.

English Asparagus

In England, asparagus is in season at this time of year. I'm a firm believer in eating fruit and vegetables in season. Okay, I know that asparagus is shipped in from Spain all the year round; but who wants to eat asparagus in November, or for that matter, strawberries at Christmas?

I used to pick asparagus in a pick-your-own operation in Oxfordshire. It's a strange looking plant, but picking is easy; you just snap the stalk off at the base. Cooking them is simplicity itself, I think the best way is to steam them until tender- there is no need to boil them; as you run the risk of the asparagus going mushy.

Serve them with melted butter, sea salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice. Hollandaise Sauce works well, too. And forget knives and forks; asparagus should be eaten with your fingers. Pick up the stalks, dip them in the butter, or the sauce; and eat them. The woody base can be discarded on a side plate. It's perfect food for an early English summer.

Watercress and Roasted Shallot Puree

In the same way that I like to experiment with different flavour combinations when I'm making sorbets, vegetable purees offer the perfect opportunity to try out new ideas. Purees are dead easy to make, and, in my opinion, are a sophisticated alternative to the usual side vegetable dishes.

Here's a good 'un: it's my recipe for watercress and roasted shallot puree. I generally prefer shallots to onions, as they have a sweeter and more subtle taste.

Take a handful of shallots, remove the skins, and roast them in a hot oven for about an hour. Chuck them into your Magimix and puree them with unsalted butter, salt and pepper, and a teaspoon of sherry vinegar, or lemon juice.

In a steamer, cook a large handful of watercress for a few minutes, until they are slightly wilted, and a deep green colour. Add them to the mixer, and puree until smooth.

Another puree I've come up with is made from an interesting artichoke and leek combination. It's a similar process. I steam chopped leeks until soft, and then puree them with artichoke hearts, lemon juice, and salt and pepper. I finish off the puree of by cooking it gently in a small pan, and then mixing in a dollop of creme fraiche.

Remember, it's a good idea to keep the leeks as green as possible. If you overcook them, they turn yellow, and you loose the crunchy, fresh flavours- so watch them like a hawk when you steam them. It might be a good plan to plunge them under ice-cold water once they've cooked. This will set the colour.

Braised Red Cabbage

I promised in my recent Lancashire Hot Pot post to write about Red Cabbage, and this Sunday morning I am being true to my word. Braised Red Cabbage is a classic British dish. It's more than just cabbage- there are other ingredients in there as well, and the dish has tangy, piquant flavours going on. It's also suitable for this time of the year.

You need to get hold of a red cabbage, slice it in two and take out the core (that's the hard bit in the middle). Slice up the cabbage thinly. Next, slice up some apples in the same way, removing their cores in the same way. Put them in a casserole dish along with the cabbage, and some diced streaky bacon.

In a separate pan heat up a good dash of port, two tablespoons of red wine vinegar, and two tablespoons of caster sugar. Bring to the boil, and then simmer gently for a few minutes. Pour the liquid over the cabbage, bacon and apples, and season well with salt and pepper.

Shove the dish (with the lid on) into a medium oven and cook for an hour or so.

Braised Fennel with Orange and Pernod

Another classic from The Greasy Spoon, to which I've given a subtle twist. Fennel has that lovely licourishy, aniseedy taste; and this recipe brings out these flavours to the full. The photograph shows a selection of fennel bulbs at a local farmers' market.

Trim the fennel and cut them into wedges. In a pan, saute them in unsalted butter, so that they get brown all over, and slightly caramelised. Next, you're going to braise them. Braising is an old-fashioned technique, which uses a small amount of liquid. In effect you are using the rising steam as a cooking method, and you will be left with a thickish sauce which is created by reduction.

When the fennel wedges are sufficiently brown, add a teaspoon of sugar, salt and pepper, a splash of fresh orange juice, a small dash of Pernod, some meat stock, and a dash of balsamic vinegar. The liquid should come about a quarter to half-way up the pan. Bring to the boil (you want to burn off the alchohol from the Pernod), then turn down the heat and simmer, basting the fennel now and again with the sauce. Put the lid back on the pan.

After about fifteen minutes or so, your fennel should be nicely braised, and glazed by the orange and balsamic sauce. It might be a good idea to shake the pan now and again, while the brasing is going on to stop the fennel burning. Arrange the cooked fennel in a dish, and pour over the reduced sauce.

Ratatouille

Ratatouille was originally a poor man's dish from Nice in the South of France. To make it properly, it needs a bit of preparation before hand. Whatever happens, don't just just chuck all the ingredients into a pan and cook them. If you do that you will end up with a mess. Instead you need to cook all the vegetables separately. Here's my method, and it works every time:

Cut up some aubergines (egg plant) into small bite-sized cubes, put them into a bowl, and sprinkle them with salt. Do the same thing with some courgettes. The salt will draw out water from the vegetables. Meanwhile, slice up some red onions , and cook them in olive oil. Towards the end of the cooking, stir in some crushed garlic. You need to cook the garlic later on, because it has a tendency to burn very quickly. When the onions and garlic are soft, put them to one side.

Next fry the drained aubergines in the same oil until they are browned and cooked properly. Put to one side. Fry the courgettes in the same way. Chop up some red and green peppers into cubes. Fry them in the olive oil. Now, combine all the cooked vegetables and cook them briefly on a gentle heat with a few springs of thyme.

Next you need to add tomatoes. In London, I find it incredibly difficult to get hold of decent red coloured , ripe tomatoes (most supermarkets seem to stock those rather pathetic under-ripe efforts), so for this dish, I tend to use a tin of quality plum tomatoes in juice. Stir those in. Season with salt and pepper- although you may already have enough salt from the courgettes and the aubergines. I'll leave it to you to decide.

The finished ratatouille will keep well in the 'fridge- some say, that this will even improve it. It goes amazingly well with lamb. I finish off the dish with a squeeze of lemon juice, an extra dash of virgin olive oil, and some chopped parsley. One of my favourite recipes. Truly scrumptious.

Pumpkins

Yesterday I admitted that I didn't like the taste of pumpkin. Several years ago, in a moment of madness, I tried to make pumpkin soup from the remains of a jack o' lantern. It was disgusting. I've learnt since then that many of the jack o' lantern pumpkin varieties are inedible, so I expect I'm being unfair, and probably escaped a trip down to casualty with food poisoning.

Anyway, I've had a comment from the mysterious "nlm", who has come up with a brilliant recipe for Pumpkin Chutney. This is similar to a local chutney made in India. Here's how you make it.

Chop up 2.7kg of pumpkin flesh into cubes. Put it into a bowl and sprinkle with Maldon Salt. Leave it overnight. The salt will draw out all the juices. The next morning drain off all the surplus water, rinse the pumpkin, and drain again.

Next peel three oranges, and two lemons, removing all the skin, pips, and pith. Tip them into a large pan along with the pumpkin. Add 500g of light muscovado sugar, and 600ml of cider vinegar. Bring to the boil, and then simmer for forty minutes. When it's ready, pour into sterilised jars. You can sterilise your chutney jars by "cooking" them in the oven first, but at a lowish heat so that the glass doesn't shatter.

I haven't tried this chutney yet, but I like its simplicity- and that's often the best way. The balance between the salt, sugar, and acidity sounds spot on too. I have no idea how long it would last for- but I suspect several weeks, if not a month or so. The salt should act as a preservative. And it makes a change from the dreaded Pumpkin Pie.

Glazed Onions

If you're looking for a side dish that's slightly different, this is the perfect recipe. It's similar in style to Vichy Carrots, which are glazed baby carrots cooked in a bit of sugar and mineral water from the Vichy area of France.

Buy or dig up some baby onions. You could also use shallots, but I think the baby onions will hold their shape better. In a small pan, saute them very slowly in butter for a minute or so. Next, add some meat stock, salt and pepper, and two teaspoons of sugar. The idea is to braise the onions, so you want your stock to come only half-way up the onions.

Cook gently, so that the stock combines with the sugar and butter, and forms a syrup. Make sure that the onions are well coated; and carry on cooking, until the stock/syrup has been reduced. You're looking for nicely caramelised onions. If the heat is too high, they may burn, so watch out for this.

That's it. I'm off for the weekend for a well-deserved escape from the Counting House, but will be back on Monday. I should be cooking whitebait tonight, so if the photographs are good enough, and all those hundreds of fish-eyes staring up at me from the plate don't freak me out, I hope to be tackling this in my next post. And there's Hallowe'en, Guy Fawkes Night, and the Mexican Day of the Dead coming up soon, so over the next week I'm going to be having a field day with all sorts of fascinating seasonal food. Ciao.