Mission: Cook! (9 page)

PHASE 1: BOILING

Peel
the potatoes and rinse to remove any traces of dirt.

Cut the potatoes into uniform pieces. (It will reduce the cooking time if they are all of a similar size.)

With a sharp knife and beginning on one end, cut about two-thirds through the potato. Repeat the same incision from one end of the potato to the other, spacing the cuts uniformly. (The idea is to create the look of a fan, which is why you don't cut all the way through the potato.)

Place the potatoes in a large saucepan and cover with water. Add a pinch of salt and cook until just tender. (Do not overcook. The potatoes should remain a little hard, as they will continue to cook during roasting.)

PHASE 2: ROASTING

Preheat
the oven to 400 degrees.

Drain the potatoes and place them on an absorbent towel to remove excess water. Mix the flour and salt and pepper to taste in a bowl, and carefully toss with the already blanched potatoes.

Spread the oil onto a baking sheet and roll the floured potatoes in the oil, coating them evenly.

Bake until golden brown, 30 to 40 minutes.

To finish, scoop the potatoes with a slotted spoon onto absorbent paper towels to drain off any excess oil. Then immediately sprinkle with the fresh herb mixture and transfer to your favorite serving bowl.

Serve these magnificent potatoes with your great Sunday roast.

To
prepare the potatoes, peel the potatoes and slice them into
¹
/
₈
-inch rounds, preferably on a mandoline. Put them in a large bowl and add the onion, garlic, and parsley. Season generously with salt and pepper to taste and set aside.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Shape 1 sheet of the puff pastry to an 11-inch metallic pie dish. Add the potatoes. Cut around the perimeter of the pie dish, removing the excess pastry but leaving about 1 inch of dough hanging over the side. Discard the scrap pastry and fold the portion hanging over the side back over so that it encloses the potatoes. Brush the upward-facing dough with egg wash. Place another sheet of puff pastry on top of the pie dish and cut it so it conforms to the top of the pie dish. Brush the top with egg wash.

Put the dish on a baking sheet on the oven's center rack and bake until cooked through (a sharp, thin-bladed knife inserted in the center will come out hot), 45 to 50 minutes. Remove the dish from the oven and cut around the perimeter of the top, removing the pastry from the top. Set the pastry cover aside. Pour the cream into the pie and jiggle the potatoes with a spoon to let the cream seep into the deepest part of the pie. Season with salt and pepper to taste, return the cover, and let the cream infuse for 15 to 20 minutes, covered with a clean, dry cloth.

To serve, present the pie in its dish in the center of the table.

Boil
the carrots and rutabaga together until just soft. Drain and add the butter. Smash both together using either a potato masher or a food processor until the mixture looks like a puree. Season with lots of pepper and a little salt to taste. That's it! (They're not all this easy.)

In
a large saucepan, cook the frozen peas in water until they are tender without losing their bright green color, 3 to 5 minutes. Strain and rinse the peas under cold water, and set them aside.

In a large sauté pan, add the oil and shallots on medium heat and cook the shallots until they are transparent and tender, about 5 minutes. Add the cooked peas and warm through, then add the heavy cream and Parmesan cheese, and continue to cook until all of the cheese has been incorporated. Adjust the seasoning just before serving and, if you like, sprinkle with chopped fresh mint.

Using
a little of the softened butter, grease an ovenproof baking dish.

Slit the vanilla pod lengthways in the middle and remove all of the seeds by scraping the inside of the pod with a paring knife. Put the seeds and the pod itself into a saucepan with the heavy cream and bring to a boil, then set aside for about 20 minutes to allow the vanilla to infuse.

Take the remainder of the softened butter and spread it on each slice of bread on both sides. Cut each slice of bread diagonally, so that you are now left with two triangles for each single slice.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In layers, first arrange some of the buttered bread in the ovenproof dish and top with slices of banana and a sprinkle of raisins for each layer, reserving 1 tablespoon for the top. Continue to layer the bread and bananas until you have used them all.

Whisk together the eggs and the sugar in a bowl, then pour the warmed vanilla cream over the eggs, whisking constantly (because you don't want scrambled eggs!).

Then pour the mixture through a sieve over the bread and top with the remaining raisins. Place the ovenproof dish in a larger, deep roasting pan. Pour hot water into the roasting pan until the water comes halfway up the outside of the ovenproof dish.

Cook for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the blade of a knife inserted into the center of the pudding comes out clean.

Serve topped with a scoop of any type of ice cream you like!

H
ERE IS A LEFTOVERS STORY, A TIDBIT FOR AFTER DINNER. IT HAS A BIT OF
conflict, just in the beginning, but a happy ending, and I think it's one of the most interesting and romantic stories I know.

You would never know it if you met them today, but when I was very much younger, my parents actually legally divorced. I don't know what the issues were, and have never asked even as an adult, because I believe that they wish to keep it private. I was just a little scrapper, about six, when my mother gently pulled me aside and gave me the talk so many kids have heard: “Your daddy has to go away for a while; Mummy and Daddy can't live together right now…” I can't claim to have really understood what was going on, but out of the house Dad went. Dinners were still served at the same time, at the end of his working day, as if he'd be coming in the door any minute, but his chair remained stubbornly unfilled. Too many potatoes remained in the serving dishes, depressingly uneaten. It was surely an empty feeling.

My dad owned a maroon Vauxhall Victor at the time. It was a spacious mode of automotive transport, especially for England in the day, broad in the beam with a sweeping panoramic windscreen. This one was well worn and had been through the mill a time or two; it reminded me of a Dalmatian, it had so

many different colors of purple speckled all over it. Well, week one after his leave-taking, didn't I wake up in the morning and immediately notice my dad sitting in his Vauxhall across the street from the house, like a cop on a stake-out? Every day, on our way to and from school, he was stationed there to make sure all was as it should be, and to let us know he was still on the job. He was sticking to the letter of the divorce agreement, I suppose, by staying out of the house, but he pursued his one-man conspiracy with cool determination. Looking back, I think my mom must have known what he was about and was tacitly approving, since she graciously let him get away with it for so long.

In spirit, it made a huge difference, especially to me, to know that he was never far from me. I looked for that car everywhere I went, and to this day I remember the license number: BYA177J. I didn't know where he was staying, but if I ever really needed to talk to him, about school or whatever, I would make my way down the pub and perch beside him where he sat at his Saturday post at the Plough, quietly sipping and chatting, and waiting it all out, seemingly.

About six weeks past the divorce, with, I promise you, no explanation whatsoever, my dad moved back into our house, and as far as I have ever been able to tell, life went on as before, ranging from the normal, tiny, reassuring domestic squabbles to the blissfully happy union of a well-married couple.

And every Sunday since then, after dinner during the washing up, my father asks my mother to marry him again and she always says no.

They have been together in total for close on to fifty years. They are supremely well matched, and I know that the ties that bind are many and run deep, but I have to think that the attraction of a good English Sunday dinner must at least have something to do with it.

Here's a classic use for leftovers from your Sunday dinner, called bubble and squeak. It is an “Olde English Favourite.” Some say that its name comes from the sound your tummy makes after you've eaten it; I believe that it was named because of the noises it makes in the pan when you cook it. This dish is traditionally made with leftovers from the big Sunday meal, filled out with inexpensive green cabbage. The main ingredients are potato and cabbage, but I have added carrots, peas, Brussels sprouts, even breakfast sausage. If I want to serve it along with leftover meat, be it beef, chicken, ham, or turkey, I always serve it on the side, so that the bubble and squeak is hot and the meat is cold. This is a
great
summer dish. Be sure there is a proper, stiff-necked English mustard on the table at all times, along with a jarred chutney or a Branston pickle, and don't forget to open a nice, cold beer.

METHOD FOR LEFTOVERS

Add
the oil to a cast-iron skillet or a shallow frying pan and heat until it begins smoking. In a large mixing bowl, combine all of the other ingredients and stir until you have a nice, lumpy mixture. Season lightly with salt and pepper to taste. You can add the Tabasco sauce or jalapeño for heat.

Place the mixture in the hot skillet and cook for 5 to 10 minutes, making sure to stir so that all of the ingredients are warmed. To serve, dollop onto the plate with a big wooden spoon.