The Greasy Spoon | Food & Culture

Mrs Kennedy's Green Risotto

 

 

I bought an entertaining second-hand book the other day. For a few pounds on abebooks.co.uk. It's called (hilariously) "Cooking for Madam". Marta Scubin was Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis's private cook, and her book tells the story of her career with Mrs Onassis, and shares the secrets of their Fifth Avenue kitchen.

Now I've currently got a thing about simplicity in food. Classic dishes cooked well, with attention to detail and using the correct techniques. Arranged artistically on the plate. The right size of helping too; veering on the belt-tightening side of restraint, and avoiding the vulgarity of excess. Mrs Onassis appears to have been very keen on this sort of food. Simple dishes such as "Roast Loin of Veal with Morel Mousse", "Pear Sorbet", "Tarragon Chicken", "Mousseline Sauce" and "Mussel Salad". I like the sound of the last one. It's a plain green salad, with mussels removed from the shell, and served with a saffron flavoured creamy vinaigrette and an empty mussel shell or two for decoration.

 

 

I'm also enjoying her "Green Risotto". It's a simple risotto flavoured with puréed spinach. The latter turns it a lovely, vivid green colour.

You heat some olive oil in heavy saucepan and sauté some chopped onions. Next, you add about 1½ cups of arborio rice and let the rice grains coat themselves in the hot oil. I'm sure you all know how to make proper risotto: add a splash of white wine to the rice and let it evaporate. Ladle in the steaming hot stock bit by bit, until the rice absorbs the liquid; stirring and beating away at it like mad so that the rice releases the starch. Carry on stirring until the rice is cooked.

The trick is to get the rice al dente (ie slightly firm) yet bound in a starchy, creamy sauce. It will take about twenty-five minutes. Then it's time to add the spinach. 

In her book, Marta puts ten fresh wet spinach leaves into a blender and whizzes them up into a paste. Having tried it myself, I'm not sure about this method. What you end up with is thousands of very tiny uncooked spinach particles suspended in water, and your risotto will end up flecked with green. Instead, try steaming your spinach leaves briefly before-hand, and then when you come to whizz them up, they should make a much smoother purée. If necessary, add a bit of water to the mix.

Stir the green spinach purée into the risotto, and serve with shavings of parmesan cheese.

 

Nutmeg

 

 

 

I've suddenly got a thing about nutmeg, and very recently have been using it quite a bit in my cooking. It's hard to define its flavour: aromatic, yes. Musky? Perhaps. Slightly sweet? 

As I was driving to the Blacking Factory this morning, a thought occurred to me: we go to the supermarket, and out of a) laziness and b) a genuine lack of time, buy our spices in those little jars on the supermarket shelf without having any idea whatsoever where these spices actually come from. Do we know anything about their history?  The answer is quite probably no, we don't.

Take nutmeg for example. You buy a few nuts in a little jar, which you then grate in the over-complicated nutmeg grater your mother gave you for Christmas; it's all very convenient. But how many of you out there in cyberspace know that nutmeg comes from the evergreen nutmeg tree, indigenous to the Banda or "Spice" Islands of Indonesia? Or that "nutmeg" is actually a seed, and that the growers have to wait a staggering seven to nine years before the first nutmeg is harvested?

Nutmeg oil is also used in toothpaste. Yup, that's right. Toothpaste. And taken in large doses, nutmeg can have a similar effect to marijuana, though for health reasons, this is not especially to be recommended. It's also supposed to be an aphrodisiac for men if mixed with avocado.

In the superlative The Flavour Thesaurus, Niki Segnit lists a collection of interesting pairings for nutmeg, some of which are more obvious than others: nutmeg and apple, nutmeg and aubergine, nutmeg and butternut squash, nutmeg and cabbage, nutmeg and cauliflower, nutmeg and celery, nutmeg and chocolate, nutmeg and lamb, nutmeg and shellfish, and last but certainly not least, nutmeg and oysters.

I love the idea of this, and it's given me the inspiration for a new dish. Maybe something with smoked oysters?  A terrine, perhaps?  Terrine of Smoked Oyster with Nutmeg. It's got a certain je ne sais quois about it, hasn't it? Simplicity is often the way forward. I need to get my thinking cap on and report back. Over and Out.

Jerusalem Artichoke Soup

 

 

We served this soup to our lucky guests on New Year's Eve. Jersualem Artichokes are currently in season. They're nothing to with artichokes by the way: bizarrely, they're actually the tuber of a species of sunflower, Helianthus tuberosus; Winter root vegetables. They look a bit like small, knobbly potatoes, with a pinkish coloured skin, and were grown by the Native American Indians long before the arrival of the European settlers. I love their subtle, slightly earthy taste.

And there's something else about Jerusalem Artichokes you need to know: apparently they make you "windy", whatever that means. Every time some television chef mentions Jerusalem artichokes on screen, they suddenly "come over" all coy (the otherwise excellent Nigel Slater was a recent culprit), it's slightly bugging; my theory is that if you cook them well enough, you shouldn't have any problems.

Here's how I made the soup. It was velvety smooth; and utterly delicious:  Chop up some an onion or two and fry gently in butter and oil with some chopped celery. In the meantime, take your Jerusalem Artichokes and using a peeler, remove the skin. You might find it easier to cut off the knobbly bits first. Plunge the peeled artichokes into a bowl of cold water into which you've given a good squeeze of lemon. This will stop your artichokes turning grey. You'll find that they start changing colour very quickly if you don't.

Chop the artichokes into small pieces, and add them to the hot pan. Stew them gently with the onions and the celery for about fifteen minutes. When they're soft, pour in some stock (I used an excellent, slightly salty ham stock), and simmer for a further twenty or so minutes.

When the artichoke pieces are cooked (ie soft), transfer the contents of the pan (the artichokes and the hot liquid) to your magimix or blender, and puree the mixture until smooth. The soup will be a creamy-white colour. Push through a sieve into a clean pan (this will help to make the soup velvety-smooth), check the seasoning (I used an oak-smoked salt from Waitrose to give the soup a slightly smokey flavour, lots of freshly grated nutmeg and some white pepper) adding a decent squeeze of lemon juice, and stir in several tablespoons of double cream to taste. Stir carefully and simmer gently for a few more minutes until hot enough.

Serve with crisp croutons and garnish with fresh dill.

Miniature Blini Canapés with Herring, Keta Caviar and Dill

 

 

 

I came up with this idea for canapés on New Year's Eve, and they went down a treat.  I expect someone's thought of them before, but they were utterly delicious, and I would, without any hesitation, serve them again.  

First, you need to get hold of some miniature blinis. Mine came in a packet from Sainsbury's, but they were fine. You'll find that they have been pre-cooked, so you will need to heat them up in the oven for about five to ten minutes.  Grate some fresh horseradish into several spoonfuls of sour cream (making sure you grate across the base of the root) and add a squeeze of lemon juice.  

Spread the blinis with the sour cream, horseradish and lemon juice. Cut up some cured herring (ie marinated roll-mops) and place a small "square" of the herring onto the blinis. Top up with a teaspoon of keta caviar (that's that wonderful juicy orange stuff from H. Forman & Sons) and arrange the blinis on a serving plate.  Finish the canapés off by sprinkling freshly chopped dill over the canapés and the plate.  Happy New Year!