a bit more put together. The lentils are warming and filling and have a depth of flavour which would make you think they’d taken much longer than five minutes.
This recipe is intended to be made from fridge and store-cupboard staples, so the herbs are optional – if you have some in the fridge or on the window sill all the better. The same goes for the cheese; I always have a piece of Parmesan in the top of my fridge, but pretty much any hard cheese would work here.
SERVES 2
50g nuts (I like walnuts or almonds)
olive oil
1 clove of garlic, thinly sliced
1 x 400g tin of green lentils (or 250g home-cooked, see here)
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
a squeeze of runny honey
4 tablespoons thick Greek yoghurt
TO SERVE
a few slices of good toast
a small bunch of soft herbs (basil, parsley, dill, tarragon), leaves picked and roughly chopped
a little grated cheese (I use a vegetarian one)
First, toast your nuts in in a dry pan over a medium heat until they smell toasty and are beginning to brown. Once toasted, tumble them into a bowl and when they are cool enough to handle, chop or crumble them.
Meanwhile, put the pan back on a medium heat and add a good glug of oil and the garlic. Sizzle until the edges of the garlic are beginning to brown, then add the lentils and their liquid (if you are using home-cooked lentils you’ll need about 150ml of their cooking liquid) along with the vinegar and honey. Cook for about 5 minutes until all the liquid has been absorbed.
Now add a pinch of salt and a good grind of pepper to the lentils along with a good drizzle of olive oil. Taste and add more salt, honey, pepper or vinegar if needed. Once they taste great, take them off the heat and stir in the yoghurt.
Drizzle olive oil over hot toast and serve the lentils piled on top with the herbs, nuts and a good grating of cheese. Any leftover lentils can be eaten hot or cold and will keep for 3–4 days in the fridge.
Cooking with grace
I have spent time in ashrams and been to more yoga classes than I can remember. When I was pregnant I became really interested in the power of the mind and hypnotherapy. All of these things – meditation, yoga and positive thinking – are tools I use in my life to make it happier and better. And the more I have delved into how to keep my life as happy, free of stress and joyful as possible the more I know that my kitchen is where I find my calm space. Not every night. Some nights I clatter around, throwing things in a pan with very little grace, and the end result, while usually edible, is never repeated. But I know that the kitchen can be a transformative place, and that goes for anyone – you don’t need to consider yourself a cook.
When I centre myself and take in every little nuance of what’s going on, cooking becomes my solace, my meditation. Whether it’s the pleasing glide of my favourite potato peeler, taking in the intoxicating perfume of a bunch of mint or basil, or the searing splattering of juice that sprays up when I cut into a lemon, noticing these moments connects me with my food and reminds me of the wonder of where it has come from. Cooking is an offering: to me, to my body and to those I love – the people I cook for. And it is healing, not just through the nourishment it provides but in the very act and process of doing something physical and practical. It calms my mind and allows me to focus on just one thing.
A big part of this grounding, nourishing practice has been lost in cooking. Sure, we all know that making a loaf of bread, or jarring up some jam from heavy-laden fruit trees will give us a deep sense of satisfaction. But I think that our everyday cooking can be as much an act of meditation, escape and dare I say it, mindfulness. This may be nothing new, and it is by no means groundbreaking information but if, like me, you tend to get caught up in the day-to-day of life let this be my encouragement to you to remember that even the simplest of tasks in the kitchen can be something to embrace and delight in.
I truly believe that when we cook the emotions, thoughts and feelings of the cook get translated into the food. That may sound a little far out, but having cooked thousands of dishes, I know that when I’m paying close attention to what I am doing, giving each task and ingredient the reverence it deserves, the food tastes infinitely better. Equally sometimes I throw everything in a pan with a million other things going on as that’s all I can manage, and when I do I don’t give myself a hard time.
For me, focusing on how I cook means turning off other things like TV or music, following each task with dedication, taking as much care as I have time to do. To appreciate and even, if I don’t sound like too much of a hippy, marvel at my ingredients, our natural treasures. Make sure you take time to smell, taste and immerse yourself in the amazing process of cooking, and then finish it by putting the food on each plate with care if you can. When I cook like this I find it soothing, rewarding and everything I cook tastes better.
Our state of mind as we eat has a huge effect on how we digest our food and how we take in the nutrients and energy from it. Stress and anxiety around food and eating is something I try to avoid in my recipes and in my kitchen. I truly believe that a pizza and a beer enjoyed in good spirits, slowly and calmly with friends, can be as nourishing as endless green smoothies, which are inhaled on the run or sipped while reading emails at our desks with no real thought about the true meaning of nourishment. We’ve lost the connection with how we eat our food, the emotions going on around eating and the sense of offering that comes with feeding ourselves. I don’t manage it every time I eat but a couple of seconds to slow down and be thankful for the food on my plate before diving in seems to set a good tone for the meal and often allows me to appreciate the flavours, textures and sensations a little more.
A few observations on cooking and eating mindfully and with grace
— Turn off music, radio and phones, if you can, so that you can focus on all the sensations of cooking.
— Try to notice the little things – the colour change in the skin of a peach, the tiny pores on the skin of an orange, the condensation on the lid of a pan.
— Notice the sounds – the sizzle of frying, the bubbling of a pot. These tell you as much about what you are cooking and where you are in the process as anything you can see.
— Follow the process with all your senses, smell the changes as ingredients are added, feel how a mixture firms up as you stir it, notice the change in colour as you fry or blanch. And notice how you feel, whether ingredients or smells bring up memories or emotions.
— Try and keep your attention totally focused on your food and if your mind wanders, don’t worry, just bring it back to the food.
— Tune in to even the most mundane parts of the job – peeling carrots, picking herbs – immersing yourself totally in the detail of each task will allow you to switch off from other pressures.
Broken eggs with cavolo nero, ricotta and chickpeas
Broken eggs are somewhere between scrambled and poached eggs. They cook gently in the pan with a couple of turns of the spoon, then finish their cooking at the table. A heavy or cast-iron frying pan is great here, as it holds on to the heat better.
I first ate eggs like this at Raw Duck, a favourite breakfast spot near where I live. Cooking eggs this way means the last bit of cooking
