for puntarella – rarely strayed
from in Rome – is an aggressive mix of chopped
anchovies, white wine vinegar and olive oil, but one that
I find addictive. That combination of bitterness, salt and
sour is typically Roman and one can imagine it being
chomped by a bunch of centurions two thousand years
ago as easily as in a restaurant in Trastevere today.
Coriolanus would have regarded it as a little dainty,
perhaps, but enjoyed it nevertheless.
I was going to commend this traditional fare to you
– well, I still do – but I happened to have a few Seville
oranges and debated whether to partner them with the
puntarella. The question was whether the oranges were
just bitter like the salad, thus compounding the felony,
or complementarily sour, like the vinegar. In the end, I
made both the traditional salad and the version below.
There is a simple test on these occasions: which one did
the extraordinarily greedy (and skinny) photographer eat
and finish, concluding that whereas the zest of the orange
is indeed bitter, the juice is sour?
21
January
PUNTARELLA SALAD WITH ANCHOVIES AND
SEVILLE ORANGE
Puntarella is at the height of its season in January but, I
will have to concede, not easily found. Unusually, I would
also concede that substitutions can and might have to be
made. The salad will work well with curly endive, radicchio
or witloof endive, the flavours being similar, if lacking a
little of puntarella’s special crunch.
Discard the leaves from the outside and top of the
puntarella and separate the stalk clusters, breaking them
off or cutting them from the base. Cut these in half, then
slice them into thin strands. Rinse them carefully in cold
water, then soak in a large basin of very cold water for at
least 1 hour, preferably 2. Drain the stalks, then dry them
in a salad spinner. Place the anchovies in a bowl and
mix with the grated zest of one of the oranges and the
juice of both. Add the olive oil and a good grinding of
black pepper, then add the puntarella and turn it very
thoroughly until it is coated in the mixture.
Serve with plain country bread, either as a starter or as
a side salad to a piece of grilled fish or grilled lamb chops.
WINE: The aggressive seasoning – especially the orange
– will, I’m afraid, kill fine wine. A gutsy white from Central
Italy such as a Trebbiano, Pecorino or Fiano d’Avellino or
a coarse and racy red will not be so squeamish and should
cope very well.
Serves six as a starter.
1 head of puntarella
10 salted anchovy fillets,
coarsely chopped
2 Seville oranges
4 tablespoons strong olive oil
black pepper
22
Forced from Thongs
Sea Kale with Poached Eggs and Truffles
Most of the time I do my best. I try to suggest recipes with
everyday ingredients whenever possible. I take pride in
getting the best out of a shoulder of lamb, a Savoy cabbage
or a pineapple. Most of the produce that you see
photographed in this book comes from a well-known
online supermarket. Bearing in mind that many good
ingredients that were readily available in the high street
thirty years ago – fresh mackerel, wild rabbit, herrings, a
piece of brisket, say – are no longer so readily found, this
is not always easy. This recipe, however, is made with
ingredients that are unashamedly more arcane.
To my knowledge, and I’m happy to be corrected, there
is only one commercial producer of sea kale in Britain: the
sainted Sandy Patullo who grows it as a little sideline to
his asparagus business near Glamis, in Angus. Although
lacking the hydroponic element, producing sea kale is as
complicated and laborious a process as the production of
radicchio di Treviso tardive. Sandy learned the techniques
of developing the crowns, producing ‘thongs’, and the
subsequent forcing of the sea kale in the dark, from the
Paske family in Lincolnshire. Since they discontinued
production some forty years ago, he has kept alive a
tradition that began in Victorian England, when sea kale
was a fashionable vegetable.
If sea kale vaguely resembles celery, it doesn’t taste like
it,
