I’ve been spending my evenings at home of late. I think most people have. It was fortunate for me, then, that I’ve begun to befriend my neighbours. There’s something very strange about the fact that, living in such close quarters with so many people, I hardly know anyone round here. It’s hard, with most people within my building working. Leaving their flats at 7 and not returning until 9 means that I don’t often bump into anyone. But a chance meeting, a shared love of knitting and baking, as well as our shared obsessions with John Lewis, means that there are some people living upstairs who have become my friends.
So, on Monday night, amid the chaos of the streets outside, and after a pretty disconcerting trip to the Sainsbury’s in Angel, of which I was ushered out of in a scarily hasty manner, a dinner party still managed to take place. I’d invited a friend round, as it was nice to have someone to stay with my brother away, and two girls from upstairs came down for a little homely food and a thoroughly calm evening.
I’ll be honest; I’ve really enjoyed being forced to stay at home. I did venture out yesterday, only to bump into a friend who declared ‘what are you doing out? GO HOME. IT’S NOT SAFE.’ My explanation that I needed some milk just didn’t cut it, and I was escorted back to my flat, milk-less, but safe. So instead, I’ve been doing some ironing, I’ve mixed up a sourdough starter, and spend a good long time watching it for any sign of life (none yet). I cleared out the kitchen cupboards. When I started hoovering the inside of the drawers, however, I knew something a little more exciting was needed.
This is how the dinner party came about. I love cooking for myself, but there’s something about cooking for others that makes everything you do a bit more purposful. Laying the table, getting ready, tasting, chopping, stirring: when someone else is going to enjoy it with you, it’s not just cooking, but the whole preparation becomes part of an event. The food that followed was somewhat an amalgamation of things I had in the fridge and things I could procure from the shops closest to me, but it was delicious in the end, and I think we all enjoyed a little normality. And we turned the music up just a little so that the stream of sirens we could hear were little more than background noise.
Chorizo and Harissa in a Pot
For four
Three shallots, finely chopped
Three cloves of garlic, finely chopped
Three carrots, chopped
250g smoked bacon, chopped
600g chorizo, chopped into fat chunks
four tomatoes, chopped
a large glass of white wine
500ml vegetable or chicken stock
two heaped teaspoons of harissa
one tin of chickpeas, drained
a big handful of spinach
coriander
parsley
juice of a lemon
In a big pot, heat a little olive oil over a medium low heat. Add the shallots, then garlic and the carrots. Let them sweat for a little bit.
Then add the bacon and the chorizo*. Cook for about ten minutes.
Add the white wine and let it bubble for a bit before adding the chopped tomatoes.
Stir the harissa through, and then add the stock.
Add the chickpeas and bring to the boil, then leave to simmer for around half an hour.
Add the spinach, a big handful each of coriander and parsley.
Finish with the lemon juice and serve with crusty bread.
Plum Tarte Tatin
For six (I ate the leftovers for breakfast)
Eight plums
75g butter
6 tablespoons sugar
Pastry
120g cold butter, cubed
180g plain flour
40g ground almonds
two tablespoons sugar, caster or icing
a little water
Make the pastry by rubbing together the butter and flour until breadcrumb-y. stir the sugar and ground almonds through, and add some cold water, very gingerly, until you have a soft dough.
Make the dough into a ball, wrap in clingfilm, squash it a bit and leave it to rest in the fridge for at least half an hour.
Preheat the oven to 190°c.
Halve the plums and take the stones out.
Melt the butter in a pie dish, or baking tin, or whatever you think is suitable for a tarte tatin. I use a mini casserole pot. It’s really not the best thing to use, but it always comes out ok.
Add the sugar and leave until there’s a rich, medium to dark caramel.
Place the fruit in, cut side down and turn off the heat.
Roll the pastry out until it’s big enough to cover the dish, lay it on top and push down the sides to encase the fruit. There probably will be holes, so just cover them up with any scraps.
Cook for forty-five minutes, maybe longer, until the pastry is golden. Let it rest for about five minutes, before flipping it onto a serving plate.
Serve with cream
