Tapas come in many guises, from simple tortilla to London-centric ‘picture on a plate’ restaurant creations but often in Spain, and also Chez Ben’s, they can just be a ladle of whatever is in the pot at the time. Spain has an abundance of bean stews and Fabada Asturiana is, without question, the best known – almost the paella of the north. It's as simple as they come but totally dependent on the quality of the meat ingredients. It's almost a religion and the packs of, ready to go, belly pork, morcilla and chorizo are available in every food shop (including Ben's Farm Shop). Complete authenticity requires fabes de la granja (large dried runner beans) and a lightly smoked, semi cured morcilla (black pudding), chorizo and thick slices of salted belly pork. In damp Asturia, they smoke all their preserved meats in the chimney. The morcilla is the only one that keeps it’s form when cooked so definitely isn't interchangeable. The real deal beans are expensive and hard to find so most people, including me, substitute fava/butter/judion beans. It's important to stir as gently and little as possible to keep the beans intact.
The end result isn't exactly short of flavour but the extremely inauthentic mojo picon adds a little body to what can be a pretty thin broth. As with all these dishes, a slow cooker is ideal.
First Nation people were baking beans, sweetened with maple syrup, a long time before the Pilgrim Fathers arrived. A rum distilling industry soon developed in New England so the maple syrup was swapped for molasses or black treacle and Boston Baked Beans were born. It’s hard to imagine that tinned baked beans came from anywhere else. They were the first thing I cooked after my mother shipped me off to university with a slow cooker and a copy of Jocasta Innes’s Pauper’s Cookbook and they’ve remained a firm favourite ever since.
This spatchcock chicken with sticky miso & harissa is sure to wow any guests you have over this summer. It's simple to put together but the delicious umami and sweet flavours of the marinade give it a mouth-watering and succulently complex taste.
For years I thought that anything other than the green Genovese version was sacrilege - until I was introduced to its Sicilian cousin aka Trapanese. Since then, I’ve been swimming with the Trapanesian fishes. The only caveat is that you have to have the right tomatoes. Only the finest and tastiest will do and that definitely doesn’t include cherry - or anything available in the supermarket.
You need that mythical beefsteak tomato some old lady in a french provisioners used to make you a sandwich, one hot afternoon just outside Carcassonne about twenty years ago. As you can tell, it was the highlight of my holiday but I was firmly put in my place a few years later when a friend, who had had a similar experience told me that she had extracted some tomato seeds from said sandwich, smuggled them back to Blighty, germinated and grown them the next year. Now that really must have been a good sandwich.
Anyway, back to the pesto. It’s a simple concoction of peeled and deseeded diced tomatoes (blessed by the lady in black from Carcassonne), blanched almonds, garlic, basil and a little mint. Recipes invariably call for Sicilia or Sardinian pecorino but I reckon it’s best left out of the sauce and grated over the finished dish.
An indulgent dish of nduja, artichokes and ricotta for a spicy sausage dish with a difference.
Our seasonal hero this May is the humble broad bean. For the gardener, autumn sown broad beans should be just ready by the end of the month but Spanish and French will have been around for months. As with peas, you have to be pretty hard core to turn your nose up at frozen but freshly picked and podded, they’re in a league of their own. If you’re lucky enough to get a May harvest, you certainly won’t have to worry about double podding them.
For this simple Rowley recipe, a good quality olive oil and tuna, such as the Ortiz Bonito del Norte (white tuna) are essential. Serve al fresco and with a pale rose.
Bright, refreshing, and bursting with citrusy goodness, this fennel and orange salad is a simple yet elegant dish that celebrates seasonal produce. The crisp fennel pairs beautifully with the sweetness of oranges, while the lemon and marmalade dressing adds a zesty twist. Perfect as a light starter or a vibrant side, this salad is a quick and delicious way to elevate your meal.
If, like me, you've been suffering over the not so festive period, not only does cooking become a bit of a chore but, even worse, it's hard to summon up much enthusiasm for the fruits of your labour. Unless those fruits include a 'Totnes hug' of a chicken soup. It might have been slightly hijacked by Ashkenazi Jews as 'Jewish penicillin' but I think it's true to say that every culture has its own, much cherished, version. This one started in Persia - so, as with so much Middle Eastern food, probably by the historic Sephardic population.