An easily forgotten, any-meal staple

Ah, mardi gras, it's that time of year when people like to party and rediscover the theatre of the absurd...

The third breakfast

A play with few words and even less action

The scene: a suburban kitchen.

Act 1

A middle-aged man appears wearing lycra. He carefully makes himself a large bowl of porridge, three slices of wholesome brown toast and a café au lait. Then he puts a Beethoven piano concerto on the CD player and settles down to eat. His breakfast consumed, he dons a helmet, mounts an expensive-looking drop-handle-bar bicycle and rides out of the kitchen – almost colliding with a dishevelled middle-aged women in pyjamas. She grunts a greeting, as he disappears stage left.

Act 2

Left alone in the kitchen, the woman makes herself two double espressos and drinks them as if chain smoking, becoming more alert with every sip. She switches off the music and replaces it with a radio drama of rural life. Then she proceeds to spend two hours doing the previous day’s prize crossword. By now it is lunchtime. She eats a large bowl of muesli and two slices of the brown wholesome toast.

Act 3

The kitchen clock now shows 1.00 pm. A sullen teenage boy clad only in pants enters stage right. He yawns and then belches loudly. The man cycles back into the kitchen, considerably redder than before, almost colliding with the boy.

Man: I need something to nom on. Fast.

Boy (standing forlorn at bread bin): Someone’s eaten all the bread.

Woman: Look at this great clue. “Toast Schubert, Brahms and Liszt – cheers! (10)”.

Man: We could cook some pasta.

Boy: But I want breakfast.

Woman: The answer’s “bruschetta”.

Man: There’s no substitute for bread, is there?

Boy (in “mockney” accent): I bet you blahdy idiot fools ate all my pancake mixture from yesterday too.

All in unison: Of course, pancakes!

They rise rapidly out of their solitary dysfunctionality and bustle together, taking turns to fry pancakes for each other and eat them… with lashings of maple syrup (in honour of a distant relative). No words can be discerned. Just friendly murmurs, contented humming and noisy chomping.

From a recent production...

You can't beat the classic lemon and sugar...

... unless it's nutella

... or blueberry jam and crème fraîche

... or small, fat and drenched in maple syrup.

A recipe inspired by the play

Takes just 5 minutes in theory to get your first pancake. Then it's up to you whether to cook more or to eat as you go.

Ingredients

8 oz of flour

1 pint of milk

2 eggs

pinch of salt

tiny blob of butter to fry first pancake

non-stick pan essential

Method

Chuck all the ingredients into a large jug.

Stir into an unappetising lumpy mixture.

Whizz it with a hand blender and you'll have some lovely smooth pancake mixture.

Heat the pan until very hot indeed. Chuck in the little blob of butter, which will smoke and sizzle if the pan is ready.  Pour in a small quantity of batter and immediately tip the pan around so that it spreads. When the sides are starting to go brown and curl up slightly, it's ready to toss (if you're brave) or turn (if you're not). The second side will need even less cooking than the first.

Yes, it's as simple as that. Well, maybe not quite. Some people say you should leave the batter to rest, but I've never really noticed the difference. Others add melted butter to the batter (why bother?) or use different proportions (why not?). Some like 'em fat (American-style). Some like 'em thin (French style). Some like 'em in between (British style). The only absolute is that the first one is always the hardest and often goes wrong (think scrambled omelette). Just make sure the pan is hot, experiment and enjoy. Once you get proficient, you'll even be able to write an absurd play in pancake mixture (very slowly) and – for added absurdity – eat it as you go.

Joke of the day 

What did the wooden spoon say to the flour, egg and milk?

I’m going to beat the crêpe out of you.

Rhetorical question of the day?

Why does mardi gras sound so much more fun than Shrove Tuesday?

Tip of the day

Pancakes really can be a life-saver. When you've got almost nothing in the fridge, you can knock up a two-course meal in just five minutes: cheese followed by nutella... all you need is red wine to make a very bad migraine. Oh, and apparently a handful of snow in the batter is magic. But maybe not if it's gathered from city streets.

Risotto made easy

I know you can’t believe everything you find on the Internet, but get a load of this article that I recently came across! Truly amazing…

THE GREAT RISOTTO CONSPIRACY

By our whistle-blower in Naples, Buffoni Fiat Tipo di Montalbano

Can you trust a recipe from a country where the politicians bunga bunga, the wine bottles dress to hula-hula and even the ecclesiastical monuments are incapable of standing upright? This is the question the world is asking following today’s startling revelations that risotto can be made with almost no effort at all.

Collezione by man at M&S

The first leak (from a source said to be a Collezione man) confirmed a long-standing rumour that Arborio and other expensive versions of short-grain rice are another food-industry scam. Research at an out-of-town branch of a well-known evil empire reveals that perfectly serviceable short-grain pudding rice is available for only 99p, while near-identical own-brand “risotto rice” is on sale at whopping £1.19. “Go foccacia yourself,” a Tesco manager was allegedly heard to whisper, when our undercover reporter questioned the pricing policy.

Plucky little Gorganzola

Even more staggering, it emerges from cookbooks available on the open market in Italy that any cheese will do. Generations of celebrity chefs have, it seems, hoodwinked the world's public into believing that purse-raping, nostril-assaulting, baby-calf-murdering parmigiano reggiano is essential for a good risotto. Yet it turns out that many cheap vegetarian cheeses are simply delicious.

Indeed, goat is not baaaad at all, especially when combined with grated courgette and toasted pine kernels. Gorganzola, cheddar and even the product labelled only as “cheese” (selected British supermarkets only) are also perfectly acceptable. Delia Smith was unavailable for comment today, but a waiter at a ‘Jamie’s Italian’ outlet was seen brandishing a 1-metre pepper grinder in an aggressive manner.

Stirro ma non troppo

“We like our women chained to a hot stove,” said no official Italian government spokesperson today. “Or topless on daytime television,” he didn’t add. And so to the most shocking revelation of all, namely, that the sacred ritual of adding stock one ladleful at a time and stirring until your arm hurts is utterly pointless. You can simply add all the liquid at once, turn the heat down and bunga off to dance around the leaning tower of Pisa with a nice glass of chianti, while your risotto cooks itself.

Update: Buffoni Fiat Tipo di Montalbano is now resident in Sheremetyevo Airport, near Moscow

Here's a recipe that the article inspired.

Easy-peasy-cheesy risotto

Takes about 45 mins and serves 4. You can halve the quantities, but it will still take the same amount of time, so why would you (see 'Tip of the week' below)?

Ingredients for the basic version

• Olive oil
• A large knob of butter
• 2 biggish onions ­– chopped
• 2 or 3 cloves of garlic – crushed or chopped
• 400 grammes of risotto rice
• 2 glasses of white wine (or water)
• 1.1 litres of hot water
• A stock cube or two
• Herbs (optional)
• Two or three large handfuls of frozen peas (optional)
• 100 grammes of cheese
• Another large knob of butter
• Salt ’n pepper to taste 

Method

Melt the first knob of butter – with the oil – over a medium heat in a large saucepan. Fry the onions gently for 10 to 15 minutes or until transparent and soft. Add the garlic and fry a couple of minutes more. Now add the rice and let it sizzle for two minutes. Next pour in the wine (if using) and breathe in the delicious smell as the alcohol starts to evaporate, before adding the hot water and corresponding quantity of stock cube/powder. You can add dried herbs now too, if you like. Put the lid on, turn the heat down to a gentle simmer and go read a book for 20 minutes, coming back to stir occasionally. (If using peas, add them after 15 minutes or so and temporarily turn up the heat a little so that your risotto comes straight back to a simmer.) When the rice is nice and soft, take it off the heat, stir in the cheese, second knob of butter and salt’n pepper. Leave to stand for a minute or two before nomming greedily with extra grated cheese on top if wished.

Variations on the basic version

Additions to risotto fall into three main camps.

1. Hard things that need lots of cooking and that you need to add with (or soon after) the onions, before the rice goes in. These include: celery, squash, celeriac, beetroot (makes for a fab colour).
2. Soft things that need to be added shortly before the end of cooking (like the peas in the above recipe). These include: spinach, cherry tomatoes and grated courgette.
3. Things that need to be cooked separately (or bought cooked) and added almost at the very end. These include: mushrooms, roasted Mediterranean vegetables and seafood (fishy risottos are nicer without cheese in my view).

This one has red onions, squab (see 1), spinach (see 2) and mushrooms (see 3). 

Vox pops of the week

I went out and about to ask several risotto ingredients how they were feeling...

Risotto à la Raffle

Tip of the week

It’s worth cooking more risotto than you need just so that you can have it refried with an egg on top for breakfast, lunch and/or dinner on subsequent days (known as risotto à la Raffle after its inventor). Put a little oil or butter in a non-stick frying pan, turn up the heat quite high and fry your left-over risotto until the cheese in it goes brown and crispy (stirring and turning occasionally to maximise the browning of the cheese). When nearly done, quickly fry or poach and egg to serve on top, making sure the yellow stays deliciously runny.

Lasagne – British style

As requested, I have been carrying out some research into lasagne (lasagna in the singular) and was delighted to find the following scholarly article. So delighted, in fact that it inspired me to create a recipe...

A short history of lasagne eating in the British Isles

by Quentin T. Meatball, BSc, NVQ level 3

Way back when, some time in the late 1960s, the exotic dish of lasagne started to penetrate the British popular consciousness. Pronounced “lass-sag-knee” [1] by the non-cognoscenti, it initially appeared on the red-and-white-checked tablecloths Italian eateries (then known as “Trattoriae” or “Spaghetti Houses”) and was soon adopted in households of a more discerning palate – especially in the Home Counties.

Rarely encountered in the same kitchen cupboard as the more popular dehydrated staples of the day, such as Butterscotch Angel Delight, Vesta Chicken Supreme and the ubiquitous Smash [2], the original egg or spinach pasta sheets were both difficult to source and time-consuming to deploy. Indeed lasagne was considered a dish for a special occasion, as the sheets had to be boiled in batches, painstakingly peeled apart from each other and cooled before the ritual layering could occur. By then, so much gin and tonic had invariably been consumed that the whole project was frequently abandoned in favour of beans on toast à la Islington (q.v.) and a snooze on the sofa in front of Dad’s Army repeats.

Exhibit 1: A photograph of the last person in the UK to find lasagne sophisticated.

The first major breakthrough occurred almost overnight when, in the mid-1970s, the magical words “no pre-cooking required” started appearing on packets. Suddenly the delights of lasagne were available to the massed proletariat. Over the next decade, new recipes proliferated in homes and restaurants. Exotic vegetarian varieties, such as spinach and mushroom or ricotta appeared alongside the traditional B&B [3], as well as less palatable pescatarian experiments involving salmon or mixed seafood.[4]

Alas, however, the status of lasagne declined steadily throughout the 90s and noughties. During these dark decades, it was frequently to be found loitering, frozen, in the ready-meal isles of Iceland and Lidl, or worse, in loucher public houses, lying in a pool of indeterminate yellow fat that had seeped from an adjacent heap of allegedly chipped potatoes.

Exhibit 2: A postcard from a British-resident lasagne sheet to his mother.

The nadir [5] came with the horsemeat scandal of 2013 and jokes such as: “Has that lasagne got bolo-neighs sauce in it?” or “What’s the salt and Shergar content of this ready meal?” Today the situation remains whoaful. One would like to conclude that the only way is up for this once-proud delicacy.

A recipe for jokin’[6] lasagne

Well, think again Quentin T. Meatball. For I can go lower. I have devised a recipe for instant lasagne. Just add hot water. OK, not quite. But no peeling, boiling or metal knives are required. And it only takes 30 mins from start to finish.

Ingredients (serves 2)

One tin of brown or green lentils
One jar of pasta sauce (spicy is surprisingly good)
One medium carton of sour cream, crème fraîche or cream
50–100g of pre-grated cheese
 6–8 sheets of lasagne
Butter or oil to grease a small oven dish (deep enough to accommodate several layers).

Method

1.     Heat the over to about 180C (or whatever temperature is suggested on the lasagne packet).

2.     Drain your lentils and mix with the pasta sauce in a suitable bowl.

3.     Grease your tin.

4.     Spoon a layer of red sauce into the bottom.

5.     Put a sheet or two of lasagne on top, snapping it into bits and sticking them on like a jigsaw – doesn’t have to be perfect and you can stuff odd bits down the side (a bit like brushing dust under a carpet).

6.     Spread a layer of creamy stuff on top – carefully so as not to upset the mosaic you’ve just constructed. Season with salt’n pepper. Add a little cheese if you’re feeling flush.

7.     Add another layer of lasagne and another layer of the red stuff.

8.     Repeat until your tin is full or your sauces all used up.

9.     Sprinkle the cheese on top.

10. Cook for about 20 minutes (or as instructed on the lasagne packet), until brown and bubbly on top and soft inside (stick a sharp knife through to check).

10 and a half. Eat and enjoy. The cream will probably have curdled a bit, but even this is surprisingly nice.

But if you’re feeling more authentic…

Make your own béchamel sauce, as described here (well-seasoned with nutmeg), construct your own tomato-meat filling and grate your own parmesan to bubble on top. To feed four people (or one person four times): you’ll need about a pint of the white stuff; red sauce made with a couple of onions, two tins of tomatoes and some additional veg and/or mince (horse or cow to taste); just over a packet of pasta sheets; and up to 100g of cheese.

My personal favourite is a red filling made with dried mushrooms, fresh mushrooms, aubergine and red wine with slices of goats cheese on top.

Apparently, “proper” (ie non-British) lasagne is quite dry. To obtain that effect you have to go easy on the sauce and heavy on the pasta sheets, but then you risk the pasta not softening in the oven. What the hell, I like it quite sloppy, anyway.

To be honest, the proportions don’t really matter. I like to start with a layer of red and finish with a layer of white and alternate strictly in between, but hay, why not let your imagination canter free across the culinary plains?

Tip of the day: Truth be known, lasagne is still a bit of a faff for a whole family. But it’s a surprisingly practical option for one person, as you can make a small one with bits of left-over sauce (try curry if you’re feeling fusiony), any old past-its-sell-by creamy stuff lying around in the fridge and top it with dried up cheese of any variety.

Wikipedia meatballs of the day: Jokin’ over, this is real. I reckon someone’s avin’ a larff, though.” Could it be Quentin T. Meatball?

On the origins of lasagne… “A third theory proposed that the dish is a development of the 14th century English recipe 'Loseyn' as described in The Forme of Cury, a cook book in use during the reign of Richard II.”

-------------

[1] Cf the exotic new breakfast cereal that appeared around the same time: “Mew-ess-lee”.

[2] For the benefit of Martians and the young, a form of instant mashed potato.

[3] Bolognese & béchamel.

[4] The Grauniad continues to plough this fertile furrow of innovation with a recent recipe for haggis lasagne.

[5] Neigh, dear?

[6] A Wenglish (form of pidgin English spoken in South Wales) term meaning ersatz.