FOOD:Simple pleasures of crushed spuds with Greek yoghurt, and a zesty lemon semi-fredo
SPUDS HAVE TAKEN some abuse in recent years because of that pesky Atkins fellow who single-handedly removed carbohydrates from the diets of many devout followers of his diet programmes.
It has all been proven to be such nonsense - as my dear departed granny used to say, everything in moderation. She was always slim and elegant, and I don't think I can ever remember a time when she said she was on a diet. She seemed to be the most perfect granny a kid could ask for and on special days, at 11am sharp, we shared a pack of cheese and onion crisps. I sipped a Cidona and she had a sherry.
She used to cook a ton of spuds in a pressure cooker for our "dinner" at 1pm sharp, which was served with a "chicken" stew - which was actually rabbit stew. Apparently, I was going through a Watership Downlove-in at the time, and clearly, I couldn't handle the truth. I remember my grandfather would sit down at the table, breathe in and say, "Agh, I love rabbit" and, as soon as he'd say it, he'd be on the receiving end of several kicks while being reminded yet again that it was chicken, not rabbit. It wasn't long before I started to sense bunny abuse.
The mountain of leftover spuds would be fried the next day with sauteed onions and loads of parsley in plenty of dripping left over from a roast bit of meat. It was served with scrambled eggs and a few rashers for our "tea". It was damn fine, tasty food and a lesson in simple flavours and pleasures.
Trying to reclaim some old-fashioned simple tastes, we settled on the spuds that were threatening to take over my fridge. The crushed spuds started off as a way to use up all the overgrown sorrel that was taking over Maisha's garden. But she kept forgetting to bring it with her, so I fired her immediately, for sorrel misconduct.
It was clear we had to improvise. We had some watercress, fresh horseradish, and a load of Greek yogurt. Initially, I thought it would all be too peppery and hot with all that raw horseradish and watercress, but the yogurt kept it cool in flavour. It all got smashed together and it was just delicious served warm.
Initially, we reckoned this would be fantastic served with some rare beef, but as we wolfed it down on its own, we changed our minds. It didn't need anything other than a hearty appetite, a big spoon and some reverence for the humble spud. Mind you, a poached egg would be damn tasty on top . . .
The lemon semi-fredo turned into a pretty decent dessert, but after initial testing and tasting it was abandoned in my freezer. On the night of the soccer semi-final, I pulled it out of the freezer, convinced it would have been destroyed by freezer-burn. I served it up with a few raspberries to some crazed soccer fans and they reckoned it was very manageable, even after copious amounts of beer and curry.
Crushed spuds with watercress and horseradish
1 kg new or small potatoes
30g fresh horseradish, finely grated (or use horseradish sauce, to taste)
1 x 250g tub of Greek yoghurt
Few tablespoons of crème fraiche (if you have it)
50g watercress, roughly torn
Salt and pepper
Regarding quantities, we only had one tub of Greek yoghurt, which was 250g, and the spuds were a bit dry, so that's why we added the extra bit of crème fraiche. You basically want about 300g of Greek yoghurt/crème fraiche to get the right consistency. This serves four to six people as a side order.
Boil the spuds in plenty of boiling salted water, until they are tender. Mix the horseradish and yoghurt together. Drain the spuds and dump them in a large bowl, then do a really poor job at mashing them so that they are just crushed. Mix the yoghurt and the crème fraiche together and add this to the spuds along with the watercress. Season well and serve.
Lemon semi-fredo
6 egg yolks
150g caster sugar
150ml lemon juice
Zest of one lemon
375ml cream, lightly whipped
You need a loaf tin of some description if you want to serve this in slices. Otherwise just freeze it in a plastic container.
Put the egg yolks, sugar, lemon juice and lemon zest in a medium-sized glass bowl and place this over a saucepan of boiling water. Whisk away, and as the mixture heats up, it will swell in volume. When it is roughly double in volume and is light and fluffy, remove it from the heat and allow it to cool, giving it the odd whisk. When it is fully cold, fold in the cream.
Line your loaf tin with cling film, leaving a generous amount of film hanging over the edges. This is so you can lift it out like one big loaf.
Pour the mixture into the tin and freeze until it is solid, which should take a few hours. When you are ready to serve, pull it out of the tin, using the cling film to drag it out, and slice as you would a loaf of bread.
