A Long and Messy Business. Rowley Leigh
eggs, plus 1 yolk
150g (5½oz) caster sugar
150ml (5fl oz) double cream
icing sugar, for dusting
For the pastry, cream the butter and sugar together until
light and aerated (best done with an electric mixer). Add
the egg yolks one by one, and beat until well amalgamated.
Add the sifted flour and salt and very gently knead into a
dough without overworking. Shape into a slightly flattened
ball, wrap in clingfilm and refrigerate for 1 hour.
Roll out the pastry on a lightly floured surface to a disc
of at least 27cm (103⁄4in) diameter, then carefully ease it
into a 24cm (91⁄2in) tart tin, making sure it fits into the
corners and hangs over the edge all the way round. Do not
cut off this overhang, but use any surplus to make certain
any holes are repaired. Refrigerate the case for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F, Gas Mark 4). Line the
tart case with greaseproof paper or foil and dried or baking
beans, and bake for 25 minutes. Remove the beans and
paper and return to the oven for 5 minutes.
Beat the egg and milk together and brush inside the
tart case the minute it comes out of the oven. Return the
case to the oven for 3–4 minutes. Allow to cool a little.
For the filling, very finely grate the zest of the oranges
into a bowl, then strain over the well-squeezed juice. Whisk
the eggs, the extra yolk and the sugar together in a stand
mixer or with hand-held electric beaters until the sugar
has dissolved and the mix is smooth. Pour in the cream
and mix well before stirring in the juice and zest.
Turn the oven down to 150°C (300°F, Gas Mark 2). Place
the tart tin on the middle shelf, one-third of the way out of
the oven. Stir the filling if you have let it rest, then carefully
pour it into the case and slide it very carefully into the
oven. It will take about 40 minutes to cook. The surface
should not colour: if it threatens to do so, cover it with foil.
To test, give the tin a gentle nudge back and forth – there
should be no sign of liquid movement beneath the surface
of the tart.
Allow the tart to cool a little before cutting off the
overhang with a serrated knife and gently lifting it off.
Transfer the tart to a plate once it is completely cool, then
refrigerate. Dust the tart with a sprinkling of icing sugar
and serve chilled. It needs no further accompaniment.
42
February
Less is less. It is not always fewer. I once began a
sentence in conversation with Jeremy Paxman with
the words ‘Less people…’ FEWER! The grand inquisitor
exploded and I was cowed. For days, nay months,
afterwards I worried about my grammar. Why not less?
Why is it that everyone on the BBC uses the word
fewer even when it is inappropriate? From which
heavenly body did this commandment emanate?
In the true esprit de l’escalier – a French expression that
hints at the sense of loss one feels when one remembers
the correct riposte too late – I badgered him on our next
meeting. ‘Do you think more people are in favour of
Brexit now, Jeremy?’ Oh definitely, he replied. I had him
trapped. If you could allow more people, what was wrong
with less? He was, momentarily, discombobulated.
February can be tough going. There is less fresh food in
the traditional seasonal calendar. I know that does not
matter much to the average supermarket shopper but to
those of us who look forward to the treats each season
brings, February is pretty much hard tack. There are
exceptions, such as the rhubarb featured below, but this
month marks the low point of the growing year, when
nothing has started to crop and stores are getting low.
No wonder we begin Lent now.
When times are tough, the cook gets cooking. The
paucity of ingredients requires careful handling. You
will need to have a good storecupboard. And you can
cheat a bit. I know red peppers are hardly winter food
but just occasionally you can go off piste. Some of these
recipes, like the first one, are exercises in minimalism,
dishes that require a bit of precision and a lot of
restraint. When less is more, in fact.
An Exercise in Minimalism
Pasta e Ceci
Soups are an exercise in minimalism. It is what you leave
out that is important. I have long argued that a good thing
to omit is stock – unless, of course, it is the key component:
vegetable soups and purées have a purer, cleaner flavour
when there is no stock involved. Old-fashioned cream
soups made from simple vegetables – celery, carrot,
cauliflower, for example – have a delicacy and definition
that many modern combinations lack. Many of the best
soups are so simple not just by virtue of a sense of
aesthetic purity, but also as a result of poverty.
Proper peasant soups are meals, not the first act of
a banquet. Sometimes a meat or chicken broth will be
fortified with bread, pasta, vegetables or dumplings.
Sometimes there is no broth but simply water: with an
egg and garlic in the Languedoc; beans and not much else
in Tuscany; or carrots, water and rice in Northern France.
However, these simple soups do not lack variety or
interest – just look what they do with chickpeas in Italy.
In Calabria, a chickpea soup will be chickpeas and
tomato. A little pork fat or bacon might be introduced in
some areas, while in others pasta is cooked in the soup.
Further