New kitchen digs, a loaf cake, and a couple of risottos

Hello again. It's been a while since my last update, and the simple explanation (aside from my usual laziness) is that I've been too busy unpacking my life and getting settled into my new apartment to cook all that much or blog about any of it. My camera's batteries are also dying, and the spares are...you guessed it...packed away in one of the godforsaken boxes still reproachfully taking up space in my room. So I haven't much time, or energy, or patience for my usual kitchen hijinks, but the truth of the matter is that if I go for too long without cooking anything I feel a weird sense of disconnect and ennui, the kind that, I've found, can only be cured with a relaxing stovetop session. Nothing fancy, either; just good old-fashioned brainless chopping and stirring. Enter risotto.

Both of these recipes are Nigella Lawson's, one from How to Eat, the other from Nigella Bites. Given that I'm now embarking on a new life of cooking entirely for myself, using only ingredients that I've picked and purchased with my own (never satisfactory) paycheck, I expect my collection of cookbooks to become much less a pleasant distraction and much more a way of life, particularly those (like HtE) that cover a host of economical basics. Depending on the ingredients, risottos aren't particularly expensive to make, they fill you up quite a bit, they're versatile (serve them in shallow soup bowls as a starter or in bigger ones as a casual main course), and they're one of the all-time great comfort foods.

First up is the Mushroom Risotto from How to Eat. Interestingly, this is featured in the "Cooking for Children" chapter; I wouldn't have pegged a risotto made with porcini mushrooms and vermouth as particularly kiddie-friendly, but this is Nigella we're talking about. There's no way this kind of thing would have worked on me as a kid - mushrooms are still the biggest hurdle I've yet to leap on my list of food prejudices - but perhaps you'll have better luck with your little ones, present or future. Anyway, all this talk of offspring clouds the point that this is truly a risotto to impress a dining room full of well-heeled adults, so rich and balanced is the flavor, so chic the presentation. And as mentioned above, I'm a certified mushroom hater, and yet this? Knocked my socks off. I couldn't get enough of the savory wallop that the dried porcini mushrooms packed. I was wary throughout the entire cooking process, afraid that the $4-for-15-grams bag of mushrooms would go to waste in a dish that I was sure to loathe, but the end result was marvelous.

The soaked and chopped porcini, ready for the pot. (A cast aluminum Dutch oven/casserole, one of the many moving day boons from my stepdad's storage. It looks like something Carol Brady would have owned, but damn if it doesn't make a good risotto. And let's not even talk about its stewing and braising potential. Score!)


The finished risotto. Dig in, my babies.

A couple nights later, I decided to try a recipe I've had bookmarked since the dawn of mankind, the Lemon Risotto from Nigella Bites. If the mushroom risotto is the kind to impress a dining room, this is the kind to impress a significant other when you're both home and in need of some serious comfort food, with all concerns about fat and carbs thrown to the wind. And if the mushroom risotto is a 9.5 in the flavor department, this is easily a 20. Here's the recipe; make it as soon as you can.


Last but not least, a bit of baking. One of the first things I packed away when I moved out of my parents' place (at 23 - shut up, I'm a student and the rent was cheap!) was my loaf cake pan, because I'm a dork. And because I knew it would come in handy, since loaf cakes have such a wonderful unpretentiousness about them that you need never feel self-conscious about baking one on a whim in the middle of the week for just yourself. And the simplest recipe in Nigella's baking tome, How to Be a Domestic Goddess, is the Madeira Cake on page 5. I'm gradually coming around to baking, previously an area of anxiety for me, and the ease and success rate of Nigella's recipes is entirely to blame for my change of heart. I have yet to bake a failure from one of her books. This cake is no different, but on paper, it's hard to see where anything could go wrong. Beat the eggs and sugar, add the dry ingredients gradually, dump it into a pan and bake. Really, how could you fuck this one up? Forgetting to preheat the oven?

Happiness Soup

"Forgive the tweeness of the title, but this is a soup of such sunny, mood-enhancing yellowness that it overcomes even the most pervasively innate cynicism."

-- Nigella Lawson's Forever Summer, pg. 28

Ask almost anyone in southern Ontario right now about how their summer has been and they'll complain that they haven't actually had one. And it's true - it feels like only weeks ago that the weather finally started hitting the high 20s around here, yet the calendar tells us that it's September already. What's your damage, Mother Nature?

Frantically grasping at what remains of the clear-skied and balmy season, I pulled out Forever Summer and decided to cook something simple and cheering to eat in the backyard sun. And dammit if this soup doesn't immediately raise your spirits. It's an intense, almost nuclear yellow (due to the inclusion of turmeric, which rivals only blue curaçao in terms of whimsical food coloring potential), and features such seasonal treats as lemon and yellow zucchini, which I only ever see in grocery stores and markets starting around July. I've made this soup before with green zucchini, and it's good, but you miss the kitsch factor. Or at least I do.

(Check out the recipe here. It's pretty lemon-heavy, so I'd recommend juicing half the lemon and then tasting to see if you want more.)

Drink of the Week: Barbican Zing

Nothing fancy here, just a nice gin-based refresher for summer. The recipe comes from the Plymouth Gin website.

Barbican Zing
2 oz gin
3/4 oz runny honey*
1 lemon quarter
freshly squeezed orange juice

Add the gin and honey to a highball glass filled with ice. Top with orange juice and stir well. Squeeze the lemon over and drop it into the drink.


*If your honey is the more common thick kind, zap it in the microwave for a bit before adding to the drink, otherwise it will sink to the bottom of the glass and refuse to be stirred. Or you could just shake all the ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice and strain them into the glass.

Braised Lemon and Herb Chicken Breasts

This is one of those weeknight-fallback meals, the brainless kind that involve chucking a dish into the oven and forgetting about it for half an hour while you get on with the side, or just sit and chill. Perfect for when you're overtired and uninspired after a long work day. I almost hesitate to call this a recipe, its method is so basic (and the measurements so arbitrary), but it's worth having it on paper as a reminder. You can use any kind of herb you want for this, or indeed a combination: parsley, rosemary, dill and thyme work wonderfully. Braising the meat ensures that it stays juicy and flavorful, particularly helpful when all you have on hand are shrink-wrapped supermarket chicken breasts, which lean toward the bland side (to put it delicately). And the leftover pan juices make a rockin' sauce when reduced.

I like this with a side of rice or, my personal pantry favorite, canned chickpeas à la Nigella Lawson: fry up some chopped onion, parsley, celery, garlic, and bacon (optionally) in a pan till soft, then throw in a drained can of chick peas and heat them through. Sprinkle with sea salt and pepper.

Braised Lemon and Herb Chicken Breasts

• 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 500-600 ml strong chicken stock
• 5-6 tablespoons olive oil
• splash of white wine or vermouth
  
• coriander seeds, whole or ground (optional)
• sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• juice of half a lemon, plus more to taste
• handful of chopped fresh herbs (see above)

Preheat the oven to 425 F. Pour the chicken stock and olive oil into a baking dish large enough to fit the chicken breasts in one layer. Add the lemon juice, coriander seeds, white wine, and herbs. Mix briefly, then add the chicken breasts and liberal amounts of salt and pepper (depending on how salty the stock is). The stock should come about halfway up the chicken; add more if needed. Smoosh everything around together for a bit, then cover the dish with tin foil and place in the oven. Bake for 30-35 minutes, turning the chicken over at the halfway point, until it's fully cooked. Remove the chicken to a plate and boil down the juices from the baking dish a bit to make a sauce, if desired (strain the mixture before it's fully reduced). Sprinkle some more salt and pepper and an extra spritz of lemon juice over the chicken, to taste. Serves 4 as a main course.

Best. Curry. Ever.

Well, so far.

I promise this will be my last Nigella-related post in a while; things are threatening to get wildly out of hand, and I apologize. I will move on to other celebrity chefs; there's a stack of Tyler Florence and Giada de Laurentiis recipes collecting dust in my big red recipe binder, and lord knows I have enough clippings from Bon Appetit and Fine Cooking piling up haphazardly in my desk drawers. Plus, I have other cookbooks. From, you know, other authors. It's just...

The Mauritian Prawn Curry, from Forever Summer, is the kind of recipe that more or less sums up Nigella's appeal for me, at least from a practical standpoint. On paper it sounds a little fancy, just a shade too exotic for a weeknight dinner - and if, like me, you can't find curry leaves anywhere or wouldn't even know where to start looking for them, it might be. But that's the only remotely esoteric ingredient in this dish; the rest is all very above-board and familiar. Shrimp, canned tomatoes, a handful of spices, some fresh lemon, and so on. But oh, how those common ingredients work magic together. This is a phenomenal curry, earthy and mellow rather than sour and hot, although if you want heat you can add plenty with some fresh chili peppers (Nigella recommends green finger chilis; I bought the tiny red Thai ones, because I have a death wish). The spices within - including ground coriander, turmeric, mace, cinammon, and nutmeg - add delicious, nutty flavor and a gorgeous aroma. And like all of Nigella's recipes, it's pathetically easy to make.

Served with plain white rice, cooked with a sprinkle of turmeric. No real reason why, I just think yellow rice looks cute.

I'm going to reprint the recipe for you now, at the risk of breaking copyright law, with the implicit agreement that you will not only purchase your own copy of Forever Summer at some point in the near future (if you don't have one already), but that you will cook this curry as soon as you possibly can. You won't be disappointed.

Mauritian Prawn Curry
(from Nigella Lawson's Forever Summer)

• 1 tbsp turmeric
• 1 tsp ground coriander, or crushed coriander seeds
• 1 tsp ground cumin
• half tsp chili powder
• quarter tsp mace
• 4cm piece fresh ginger
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1 onion
• salt
• 2 tbsp peanut oil
• 400g can chopped tomatoes (if you can't find cans that size, weigh 400g of tomatoes from a larger can)
• juice and zest of half a lemon
• 1 stick cinnamon
• 1 tbsp curry leaves (or bay leaves, it's not crucial)
• 750g medium raw prawns, shelled and de-veined
• fresh nutmeg
• handful of chopped fresh cilantro
• 3-4 green finger chilis

Measure the turmeric, coriander, cumin, chili powder, and mace into a bowl and grate over the peeled ginger and garlic cloves with a microplane. Add a little water to form a paste, and leave to one side. Chop the onion finely and fry it gently in the oil until it softens. Stir in the spice paste and cook for a minute or so, still stirring. Pour in the tomatoes, then fill the empty can with water and add it to the pan (I filled the larger tomato can about halfway with water). Squeeze in the lemon juice and add the cinnamon stick and curry leaves, and let the whole thing simmer gently for about half an hour.

When you are ready to eat, add the prawns and cook until they're opaque inside. Pour the curry into shallow bowls and grate well with the nutmeg and lemon zest. Sprinkle over the cilantro and split the finger chilis lengthwise, popping them on top of the curry. (Remove the seeds if you want less heat.) Serve with rice.

Peter Piper prepared a plate of pasta with pecorino and pepper, promptly.

Another Nigella recipe, one pasta dish among many in her book Forever Summer. I have a sort of love/hate relationship with Forever Summer; every time Nigella stipulates curry leaves, pomegranate molasses or squid tubes I have to stifle an eye roll, but the handful of recipes I've cooked from the book have all been stellar. Of that handful, this is certainly the quickest, and one of the most satisfying: Capellini con cacio e pepe, or capellini with cheese and pepper.

I never buy capellini, and rarely have more than spaghetti, linguine, and macaroni on hand, so in my kitchen, and especially when I'm hungry, pasta is pasta is pasta. I had half a bag of egg noodles left over from another recipe, so I used them here. The cheese Nigella calls for is pecorino Romano; on my last trip to the discount grocery store I spotted a wedge of something indistinctly labelled "Romano cheese" and picked it up. Pecorino is made from goat's milk, Romano is a type of pecorino, and the ingredients on my packet of Romano listed goat's milk, so I figured I was in the ballpark. Marcella Hazan considers Romano the crudest of all pecorino types, but she would. I can never win with her. Every time I buy something reasonably authentic to use in an Italian recipe, her books tell me that what I just bought is the crap version of a much better original - cheese, vegetables, pork, you name it. If I want to really eat Italian, apparently I need to mail-order some cured ham from San Daniele or spend a king's ransom on olive oil imported from Liguria. But I, for one, find Romano cheese delightful; sharp and salty, more intense and to-the-point than Parmesan, which can dither around sometimes and take too long to get to the good stuff. (Yes, I apply human personality traits to my cheese. What of it?)

The recipe itself is stupidly easy and quick: Boil the pasta, grate the cheese, grind some black pepper coarsely, and toss everything together with butter and some of the pasta cooking liquid. Then you eat it.


And it's delicious. Black pepper is more or less my lifeline in the kitchen - growing up, it was the only seasoning I ever applied at the dinner table, and I had to force myself not to sprinkle it on every damn thing I ate - and it works perfectly with the mellow yet flavorful cheese to kick the pasta into high gear. The butter ties everything together, and makes you crave another entire bowlful of the stuff. If you're ever in a lunch emergency, turn to this baby.

Broccoli Soup Showdown: Nigella Lawson

As soon as I found out that Nigella included a recipe for broccoli soup in Nigella Express, of course I had to make it right away. And I daresay we have a new frontrunner in our little soup-off. It's okay, I knew Gordon Ramsay's glorified broccoli purée was only going to last for so long in an arena that included competitors with Stilton cheese, fresh herbs, and heavy cream under their belts. Nigella's recipe uses the former (it's actually called Broccoli & Stilton Soup, so Ramsay should have seen this coming), which marks this as my first time buying, and tasting, Stilton cheese. I don't mind blue cheese as much as some other people do, but Stilton is definitely an acquired taste. It's very sharp and smoky, but in a good way. And for all the talk about blue cheese stinking to high heaven, I actually find the smell of Stilton perfectly pleasant. The price, however, isn't - around $3.50 for a 90 gram wedge at the market - and thus I plan to keep recipes involving Stilton at a safe distance until some friendlier paydays come my way. It's the same reason I hesistate to buy that hunk of authentic Parmigiano-Reggiano for $14, even though I know it will change the way I cook and eat Italian food forever. Must...resist....

At any rate, this soup uses only 200g of Stilton, which I halved because the recipe's yield is for 8 people as a starter, 4 as a main course. Nigella also calls for frozen broccoli, which is not only more convenient than the fresh kind but apparently tastes better in soup. The broccoli in supermarkets isn't always at its peak, while frozen broccoli is packaged when fresh. I have what I consider a healthy distrust of most prepackaged convenience foods, but I figured frozen broccoli couldn't be all that bad, and if it's good enough for Nigella, it's good enough for me. She's certainly turned me around to the miracle of frozen peas.

The cooking process is dead simple: Chop some green onions, fry them in garlic oil, add the frozen broccoli and some dried thyme, then some vegetable stock and the Stilton cheese, chopped or crumbled and ready to go.


Then you bring the pan to a simmer, put the lid on, and cook until the broccoli is just softened, about 5 minutes.


Purée the soup in batches, add pepper to taste (the stock and cheese already provide enough saltiness, but add some more if you want), and serve with a sprinkling of chopped red chili pepper on top. It's an optional extra, so I just added a few red chili flakes instead.


Unlike the last two broccoli soups, this one isn't dominated by broccoli with some background flavors thrown in. Its taste profile is very much half broccoli, half Stilton, both working in tandem to create a creamy, savory soup with nice depth of flavor. It's hard to compare this one to more traditional broccoli soup recipes, since the Stilton plays such a huge role in the overall taste, but for now I'd say it's the most delicious broccoli soup I've made, smooth and sharp at the same time. Very satisfying.

Verdict: Nigella takes the lead, but only by a hair.