How to Eat (63 page)

SAUTERNES CUSTARD (OR ICE CREAM)

If you don’t want to use Sauternes, substitute any reliably honeyed dessert wine.

2 cups light cream

1 vanilla bean or ½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract, if not using vanilla sugar

1 cup Sauternes

7 egg yolks

1/3 cup vanilla sugar or superfine sugar, plus more, if needed

Preheat the oven to 325°F. Bring a kettle of water to a boil. Get out a roasting pan and put a wide, shallow bowl or an oval dish with a capacity of about 5 cups in it. Put the cream in a saucepan with the vanilla bean, if using, the wine in another, and bring both to the boil, but watch out that the cream never actually does boil. Remove them both from the heat.

If using the vanilla bean, allow the bean to steep in the cream for 20 minutes, then remove it. If using vanilla extract, add it to the cream now. With a fork, beat the yolks and sugar together and pour in first the wine and then the cream, beating all the while. Remember, though, you’re beating to combine the ingredients, not whisking to get air in. Taste and add more sugar if needed. Strain the custard into the dish and pour water from the kettle into the roasting pan to come up about halfway. Cover the pan with foil; the idea is to make for a steamy atmosphere that will prevent a skin from forming. Put in the oven and cook for 1–1¼ hours or until set (or cook in a saucepan on the stove as usual).

Take out of the oven and out of the pan of water and let cool for about 20 minutes. Then strain into the top of a double boiler; this is presuming you will want to eat it warm. In fact, you can do three things with this: leave it as it is and let people spoon it over the peaches cold; reheat it till it’s warm, not hot, when you’re about to serve dessert; or put it when cold into an ice cream maker and follow the manufacturer’s instructions. All three options are ambrosial.

POACHED PEACHES

I never think of myself as someone who likes cooked fruit—it’s hard to believe that anything could improve on its natural and fresh state—but these peaches are a revelation. I wouldn’t poach peaches with flesh as green and hard as young almonds, but ones that are slightly resistant, slightly lacking in that fragrant juiciness that is owing to the peachy estate, take on a plump but well-toned fleshiness and an aromatic roundedness that you couldn’t believe could be brought about by just a pan of water and a mound of sugar. It’s true that the vanilla you flavor the sugar with, the wine you scent the water with, each do their bit—but even with the plainest syrup, a dull and reticent peach can be transformed.

White peaches are my favorite here. Leave the skins on before immersing them in the softly bubbling syrup, and peel them later; you’re left with a plate of perfect, pale mounds splodged pink, like the cheeks of a painted mummer. They look like something out of a children’s fairy tale. You feel you should be drinking mead out of a jewel-studded goblet and wearing a wimple with a fetching organza veil.

The procedure is simple.

½ cup Sauternes, or the same wine used for the custard, above

3½ cups vanilla sugar or superfine sugar

1 vanilla bean or 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract, if not using vanilla sugar

8 peaches, preferably white, halved and stoned

Put 3 cups of water, the wine, sugar, and the vanilla bean, if using, in a big saucepan, give a good stir so that the sugar begins to dissolve into the water, and bring to the boil. Let boil for 5 minutes and add the vanilla extract, if using. Lower to a firm but not exuberant simmer.

Lower the peaches a few halves at a time—I fit 4 in one go—cut-side down into the simmering syrup. Poach for about 5 minutes or until the peaches feel tender but not flabby. If you know they’re in prime condition, then figure on 3 minutes, but you could need to poach them, gently, for 10. I use a fork to test for doneness, prodding into the underside so the fork marks won’t ruin the beauteous display later. With a slotted flat spoon, delicately remove the peaches to a nearby large plate and cook the remaining ones in the same way. Strain the syrup into a container, remove a ladleful, put it back in the saucepan (freeze the containerful for the next time you make this), and reduce. You want to end up with a syrup that will cling tightly to the peach cheeks when you pour it over them, but not so much that it sticks. Anyway, let both the syrup and the peaches cool for now, and when they’re cool, remove the skins, arrange the peaches on the serving plate, and pour the scant amount of syrup over them. They’ll be fine for a good few hours like this.

SAUTERNES AND LEMON BALM JELLY

Charlotte Brand, friend and cook, put me on to this recipe. I’ve got masses of lemon balm in my garden, but you can substitute an equal amount of lemon grass.

I use a 5-cup ring mold and pile pale fruit—golden raspberries and white currants if I can get them—dusted with confectioners’ sugar to fill the hole in the unmolded jelly. Of course you don’t have to choose Château Yquem, but do select wine good enough to give to friends without making wry-mouthed apologies for it. You don’t need a full bottle for the jelly, but as you want some dessert wine to drink with the dessert, there’s no point buying a half bottle.

Turn to the recipe for Scented Panna Cotta with Gooseberry Compote (
page 45
) for comments about gelatin. Make this a day ahead, if you’re concerned about its having enough time to set.

8 leaves gelatin or 2 envelopes granulated gelatin

juice from 1½ lemons

1 2/3 cups superfine sugar, plus more, if needed

1 ounce (1 cup tightly packed) lemon balm leaves

about 1½ cups Sauternes or other wine that can accompany dessert

If using granulated gelatin, soften it in the lemon juice, about 5 minutes, then heat it in the top of a double boiler over simmering water until the gelatin has dissolved, about 1 minute. Reserve. Bring the sugar and 3 cups of water to the boil and boil for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and pour off ½ cup. Infuse the lemon balm in the remaining syrup until cold.

Strain the syrup, measure it, and add enough Sauternes to make 33⁄4 cups, and set aside. Soak the gelatin leaves, if using, in cold water for about 5 minutes, until they’re soft. Warm 1⁄3 cup additional Sauternes, squeeze out the gelatin leaves, if using, then dissolve them in the Sauternes. Combine the syrup, gelatin mix and (reserved) lemon juice, which should bring the liquid up to 5¼ cups; check the sweetness and add more sugar if needed.

Dab a paper towel with vegetable oil and smear the inside of the ring mold with it. This will make it easier to unmold later. Pour the jelly mixture in and put it in the fridge to chill for 4–6 hours or until set.

To unmold, you might need to place the mold quickly in a sink slightly filled with hot water. But make sure it is only quickly. It’s better to keep putting it back in if it doesn’t come out cleanly and easily rather than leave it in and have it start to melt.

A rich white Burgundy or Californian Chardonnay are rich enough to complement the lamb, the garlic, and the mushrooms.

MIDSUMMER DINNER FOR 8

PEA, MINT, AND AVOCADO SALAD

BEEF FILLET WITH RED WINE, ANCHOVIES, GARLIC, AND THYME, OR TAGLIATA

NEW POTATOES AND WARM SPINACH WITH LEMON

STRAWBERRIES IN DARK SYRUP WITH PROUST’S MADELEINES

This, to me, is the perfect dinner: simple, impeccable, beautiful. Of course, it doesn’t have to be a June dinner, or even eaten in summer—I cook the beef all through the year and I’m such a fan of the frozen pea that I’ve got no reason to ration the unfashionable but deeply pleasurable salad, either. But when all the food comes together like this, it works at its best. I’ve given two choices for the beef simply because fillet for 8 is not always going to be a practical suggestion. If you want to make this a more formal dinner, then try the wine- and anchovy-braised fillet. The tagliata variation, a fat slab of meat cut from all along the rump, marinated, cooked briefly, then carved in squat, juicy slices on the diagonal, is the best thing you can do with your outside grill,
pace,
perhaps, the butterflied lamb of the menu preceding this. But if you’re kitchen-bound, a 425°F oven is absolutely fine for roasting the meat.

The tagliata needs marinating for a day, and the strawberries need macerating for 3 hours. If you wanted to strike a more voluptuously grand note, you could end instead with the white tiramisu; see
page 111
.

PEA, MINT, AND AVOCADO SALAD

This is one of my great-aunt Myra’s recipes. Of course, you can use frozen peas, but it’s a pity at midsummer, and feels odd somehow, like having a light bulb on in brightest daylight. Alternatively—and this is probably the genuine compromise position—you can shell and cook the peas in advance and leave them steeped in the dressing. Nothing beats freshly shelled, just-cooked new peas, but we must be prepared to bend a little for our sanity’s sake.

9 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more, if needed

1½ tablespoon good white wine vinegar

fat pinch superfine sugar

bunch of mint, chopped

1 pound shelled peas (about 3 1/3 pounds unshelled)

1 package (10 ounces) mixed salad greens

2 heads Belgian endive, separated into leaves

3 ripe avocados, cut into bite-size chunks

First make the dressing: put the oil, vinegar, and sugar into a large bowl and then put in a decent handful of the chopped mint. Stir well so all is amalgamated. Cook the peas for 2 minutes or so in salted boiling water, just so that they’re ready, but not soft. Taste after 2 minutes and then keep tasting. Drain the peas in a colander, put them straightaway into the bowl of dressing, and let steep for an hour or up to a day.

Just before serving, stir in the mixed greens, the endive, and avocado. You may need to drizzle a bit more oil in it after tossing. Serve this on a big plate. Sprinkle with some more of the chopped mint.

BEEF FILLET WITH RED WINE, ANCHOVIES, GARLIC, AND THYME

I love this particular combination; see, too, the more wintry, homey version on
page 100
. If you can find some wild arugula, with those tiny William Morris leaves, use it to edge the borders of the serving plate. This doesn’t just serve a decorative purpose—its pepperiness perfectly offsets the salty pungency of the anchovy–red-wine sauce.

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, 2 tablespoons cold and cut into small dice

8 shallots, sliced or minced

salt

2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves or 1 scant teaspoon dried

8 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed with the flat of knife

12 anchovy fillets, packed in olive oil, drained and minced

2 1½-pound pieces beef fillet, trimmed

2 teaspoons superfine sugar

¼ cup tablespoons brandy

1¼ cups good red wine

freshly milled black pepper

In a heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or casserole in which the fillets will fit comfortably (no scrunching at the ends and they mustn’t touch each other), heat the olive oil and 2 tablespoons of the larger quantity of butter. Add the shallots, sprinkle with a little salt, and sauté on a lowish heat for about 5 minutes or until soft and transparent but in no way coloring. Add the thyme and give 2 more minutes, stirring, then add the garlic and push about the pan too. Now add the anchovies and cook until they’ve started fusing with the oniony, buttery, oily mess in the pan. Remove this mixture to a bowl for a minute so you can brown the meat and turn up the heat. Sear the fillets on all sides, sprinkling with the sugar as you do so, till you’ve got a good crusty exterior. Add the brandy, let it bubble up a bit, then pour in the wine. Return the shallot mixture to the pan. Lower the heat and turn the meat over. Give everything a good stir to make sure the shallots, garlic, and so on are not burning or sticking. Cover and cook for 10 minutes—the meat is braising, frying, and steaming all at the same time; as it cooks it breathes in flavor. Uncover, peek in, prod, or poke; if the meat is springy, it’s rare; springy but with some resistance, medium-rare to medium. Turn the meat over, cover again, and leave for another 5–10 minutes, depending on your findings and taste.

When the meat is almost as you like it, remove it from the pan (it will cook a little more as it rests) and get on with the sauce. And you can do all this before you sit down for the first course. Fish out the garlic with a spoon. Then turn up the heat and let the sauce bubble up a good bit, and taste, adding salt, if needed, and pepper. You may want to add some water. Take off the heat, but warm up before serving, at which time you should first pour into it the meat juices that have run out of the fillet as it stands and whisk in the remaining diced butter. Carve the fillets, arrange on a large, warmed plate, and drizzle over some of the sauce, leaving the rest in a sauce boat or pitcher for people to pour for themselves.

TAGLIATA