2 large carrots, peeled and
cut into 5mm (1⁄4in) cubes
½ head of celeriac, peeled
and cut into 5mm (1⁄4in)
cubes
½ head of cabbage, quite
finely shredded
450g (1lb) cooked cannellini
beans or similar
1 litre (13⁄4 pints) bouillon
(see recipe)
a few sprigs of thyme
a few drops of dark soy sauce
6 slices of rustic bread
a few sprigs of dried rosemary
1 garlic clove, cut in half
good-quality olive oil,
for dousing
sea salt and black pepper
Needless to say, the soup can be made and served before or
after serving the meat: if the latter, any leftover meat can be
diced and added to the soup.
To make the bouillon, place the meat in a large saucepan
and cover with cold water. Bring to the boil and then drain,
discarding the liquid. Cover again with cold water, bring
to a simmer, then add the onion, carrots, leek, celery and
herbs. Simmer very gently, from time to time skimming off
any scum or grease that comes to the surface and ensuring
that the meat is always covered, adding fresh water if
necessary. Continue cooking until the meat is very tender
and a skewer moves in and out of the joint like soft butter:
this will take about 21⁄2–3 hours. It is best to let the meat
cool in its broth, then place in a bowl and strain enough
of the broth back over it to cover. Reserve the rest of the
bouillon for the soup.
Serve the meat sliced in a little of its broth with some of
the vegetables, and your choice of condiments and pickles.
For the soup, heat the olive oil in a heavy, flameproof
casserole dish and add all the vegetables except the
cabbage. Turn the heat down and allow them to sweat
gently for 15 minutes. Add the cabbage, together with
a good seasoning of sea salt and freshly ground black
pepper, and cook for a further 5 minutes. Add the beans,
bouillon and thyme and continue to simmer for another
30 minutes.
Before serving, taste the soup for seasoning. Add a
few drops of soy sauce to accentuate the seasoning and
improve the colour. Grill the bread under a hot grill, then
sprinkle with sea salt and dried rosemary before rubbing
with the cut garlic and dousing in olive oil.
Serve the hot soup in bowls with the toast.
16
In a Nostalgic Moment
Kipper Pâté
Kippers have proved a resilient food. Despite their strong
taste and even stronger aroma, those of us who love them
have managed to keep them going. They are still made on
the Norfolk and Northumberland coasts, the Isle of Man
and at various other sites dotted around the British coast.
There is no better breakfast and, like Bertie Wooster, one
is inclined to think they are good for the brain.
Given that they are still plentiful, it is surprising how
clandestine the business of getting a whole kipper can be.
Everywhere, if offered kipper, one is given fillet. Good
hotels will generally offer them, but the true devotee will
know the overwhelming thud of disappointment when
served a couple of miserable little fillets because someone
thinks we cannot be trusted with a whole kipper.
Buying kippers for this recipe occasioned a visit to a
fishmonger who had none. The biggest local supermarket
only sold fillets in a vacuum-packed bag, with butter
thoughtfully provided. The next supermarket had fillets on
ice. I asked, despairingly, about the availability of whole
kippers. The young man appraised me, winked,
disappeared to a cold room and returned with a small box
from which he produced two fine specimens. I felt like a
thirsty man in prohibition-era America who had procured
a bottle of proper proprietary gin. I almost kissed him.
There are two reasons for making a fuss. A kipper
cooked on the bone has a great deal more succulence,
as fillets shrink and dry easily without the bone. Just as
important, fillets are cut away from the main backbone
with the result that, paradoxically, a fillet is full of the tiny
bones, which can be lifted away when cooked on the bone.
Even with a whole
