finely chopped
200g (7oz) canned chopped
tomatoes, best quality
available
1 small teaspoon salt
1 small teaspoon golden
caster sugar
1 teaspoon chilli flakes
300g (10½oz) small soup
pasta (macceroncini,
ditalini, maruzzini,
tubettini, etc.)
freshly ground black pepper
50g (13⁄4oz) Parmesan or
Pecorino cheese, finely
grated, to serve
Rinse the chickpeas in cold water, removing the very small
and hard ones and any bits that float to the surface, and
soak in a large volume of cold water overnight.
The next day, drain the chickpeas, place in a saucepan,
cover with fresh water and bring to the boil, skimming off
any scum that rises to the surface. Turn the heat down,
add the chilli and rosemary and simmer, without salt, for
a couple of hours until tender, topping up with water if
necessary. Once cooked, remove from the heat and allow
the chickpeas to cool in their liquid.
Heat a deep, heavy, flameproof casserole dish with the
olive oil, then add the onion, carrot, celery and garlic and
gently soften for 10 minutes before adding the tomatoes.
Season with the salt, sugar, a good grinding of black
pepper and the chilli flakes. Add the chickpeas and
enough of their liquor to keep them afloat and simmer
for 10 minutes.
Making sure there is enough liquid to cook the pasta,
add it to the soup and continue to cook for 8–10 minutes
until the pasta is al dente. The finished soup should have
just enough liquid to cover the pasta and chickpeas, but
no more. Check the seasoning and serve with the grated
cheese alongside.
WINE: There is no restriction on what to drink here, the
rich, suave flavours being savoury and unaggressive.
Simple, youthful wines with good acidity would be ideal.
If I must plump for one, let it be for an aromatic but robust
Central Italian white such as Fiano d’Avellino, Pecorino or
Greco di Tufo. That said, a young red would do just as well.
48
Observing Liturgical Rhythm
Oeufs en Meurette
‘Surely this recipe could be made simpler. The constant
heating, cooling and reheating especially makes no sense
with coddled eggs’ commented a reader. He was right. The
original recipe called for seven different pans. I have cut it
down to four, which still seems a lot for a simple peasant
dish but there you go: good cooking can be a long and
messy business.
At Lent, I climb once again on to my wagon and
abstain from alcohol. At Le Café Anglais we run a special
menu that follows the path of virtue and features the
burgeoning roots, shoots and leaves of the season, and we
try to eschew fats and carbohydrates. If I tell people that I
adhere to some form of Lenten abstention I am generally
asked if I am a Christian or, more particularly, a Roman
Catholic. I am, in fact, an unbaptised heathen, but I like
to observe the liturgical rhythm of the seasons because
they make sense. After all, no one questions our sense of
religion when we tell them that we intend to celebrate
Christmas or if we want a leg of lamb on Easter Sunday.
My observance of Lent takes a minor form. Originally,
Lent was a serious fast with no meat or animal products
allowed. Gradually the notion of Lenten observance was
eroded, meat being allowed into the diet once a day –
but not on Fridays. Central to the Lenten fast was the
proscription on eggs; it was to use up any eggs that one
made pancakes on the last day before the fasting began.
Similarly the Easter egg was the celebration of the end of
the fast and, of course, the arrival of spring and some fresh
food in a diet dominated by store crops and little else. It
was not for nothing that the period of fasting coincided
with the period when there was not much to eat anyway.
I see some point in abstaining from eggs. I don’t like
to see them taken for granted. In professional kitchens
nowadays eggs rarely come in their usual form of
packaging, the ovoid porous shell that we know of old
and that breaks easily when dropped. Most eggs used for
baking or any other application
