tasty little italian gnudies

Gnudi. Not only exciting to chow down on but also such a lovely word. Where gnocchi sounds a little crusty, gnudi is cute, happy and lyrical. Say gnudi repeatedly and you sound like a slightly constipated teletubby (which is probably how I looked after eating my way through Italy for ten days in February).



The best thing in Rome was not the food but the Forum - like walking through a crumbling world of giants. But Tuscany - ah, sweet Tuscany - proved the hands down shizzle for veggie hearts: postcard pretty and filled with dee-li-shus dishes every town, every truck stop. Two standout meals were ricotta and spinach gnudi with sage and butter in Florence and a pureed radicchio ravioli with leek in a village in Chianti. Tonight I'm flying with the gnudi and am well into peas at the moment so throwing them into the mix too.

What you need for 2-3
250g ricotta
250g small spinach leaves
100g finely grated parmesan
grated nutmeg (roughly a teaspoon)
3 eggs (2 whole, 1 yolk only)
Around 250g semolina flour
A bunch of sage leaves
100g butter
a couple of handfuls of fresh peas


Making it
Cook, drain and chop the spinach (you'll get most of the water out using Chew's sushi mat technique). Dump the ricotta into a bowl, break it up a little then mix in two whole eggs, followed by the third yolk (discard the white). Add the spinach, nutmeg and parmesan, season the lot and combine well.


Shake semolina flour into a tray, shape your gnudi mix into balls (mine were a generous teaspoon each) and roll them in the flour. You can cook the gnudi immediately or make them ahead of time and leave them covered in the fridge. They'll firm up and absorb the semolina to form a nice little jacket.

When you are ready to rumble, drop the dumplings into boiling water for a few minutes (until they rise to the surface). Meanwhile, boil your peas for a minute. Melt the butter in a pan and add the sage to crisp, careful not to let the butter burn, then add the peas. When the gnudi is done, use a slotted spoon to get them onto the plate then pour the butter, peas and sage over the top. Dig in with a nice big glass of Italian red.

A mushy salve for the daily grind

Just like Chew I am looking to squash to calm work frazzled nerves (you can even use the leftover squash from her tomatillo recipe here). My last couple of weeks have been so filled with torment (i.e. too much work) that cooking has practically been wiped off the radar. It's a real shame. Super long work days leave no time for proper shopping but then when I do drag my withered self back into the flat, I crave something healthy, comforting, tasty and home made.

If any of you want to share your fast cooking fall backs, I'd love to hear them. In the meantime, hooray for pilaf! It is easy, tastes just as good on day two and can use any vegetable floating in the fridge. It is also a great leftovers lunch for desk slaves. As for squash, they are so flavoursome right now and their sweet, warm, sunny gooeyness is reassuring in times of low morale.

Squash, Pea & Mint Pilaf

1 chopped onion
1 small butternut squash, cubed
A couple of big fistfuls of spinach
peas
fresh mint
a small bunch of fresh sage leaves
A bay leaf
About 300ml veggie stock
170g Basmati rice
Balsamic glaze to garnish (if you want)

Making it

Gently fry your onion in olive oil until soft, then add the squash and fresh sage leaves. You want to get the squash to give in and break up a little (you can cook with a lid on if it helps). If the pan is drying out, add a splash of wine or water or stock. Squash is great in a pilaf because it disperses so well, sticking to the rice and making every forkful sweet and full of flavour. When the squash has softened, add your rice and toss it until coated. Add the bay leaf and veggie stock and bring to the boil. Then reduce the heat and simmer with a tight fitting lid for about 15 minutes. (Resist the temptation to lift the lid for a peek because you'll upset the whole steamy process.) In the last couple of minutes, add the spinach and peas before shutting the lid again. Then let the pilaf cook off the heat for another 5 minutes. Once on the plate, top with torn mint leaves and a drizzle of balsamic glaze if you want.

To counter the forlorn self pity that can accompany the over tired and over worked, the pilaf rice-plumping minutes give you enough time to wash your face, get into your jim jams and select a program on the BBC iPlayer (the squirrel's nuts for those of us without a tele). I watched a brilliantly made Storyville documentary (All White in Barking) that had me glued to the screen. It was just the ticket for taking my mind off the day's crud and providing a little something outside my own world to ponder. Even if it's the wrong side of 11pm when you settle down, if you can't have a tasty dinner in front of the tube at the end of a long day, it's all too easy for the 'work, eat, sleep, repeat' model of living to become far too depressing to bear.

block rockin rhu-beets

I've said it before and I'll say it again: beets are beautiful. Earthy, sweet and bright as a blast of sunshine on a crisp and frosty winter afternoon. They are also ideal after a Sunday spent wandering through Highgate cemetery (home to reposing souls as diverse as Karl Marx and Titanic riders).

This recipe is a peculiar one. My interest was piqued when I read about rhubarb and potato soup a while back. When my research uncovered a Nordic dessert, I decided to take it into a different direction and go for something savoury instead, bringing beets into the mix. The result was delicious, fresh and tangy: potato held the rhubarb's creaminess while the beets tempered their tart ways and added some resistance to the mush. Lest it was a one-off fluke, I made it a second time. Once again, I enjoyed a gorgeous combination of mellow beets pushing against the barb's tongue lashing.



What you need
A bunch of small beets for 1/2 a bunch of rhubarb (twice as many beets for your barb is a good ratio)
1 med-large potato
Handful of fresh parsley
Handful of fresh sage (not essential)
Veggie stock
Splash white wine
Olive oil

Making it
Wash, peel and chop your beets and potato. Mix them through a couple of tablespoons of heated olive oil with your rhubarb (washed and chopped). Add some fresh chopped parsley and sage if you have them handy. Let it all heat through on medium for about ten minutes, stirring regularly. Add the wine and cook for another few minutes. Fill the pot with veggie stock and bring to the boil. Lower the heat and simmer for a good 20-30 minutes, until the rhubarb and the potato have disintegrated into mushy pieces.

Take your red hot soup off the stove and let it all calm down for a good five minutes. Blend in batches if need be (this is the last thing you want to send spinning round your kitchen walls). Divide between bowls. If you want to add a little creme fraiche, go right ahead. One thing I would advise is to accompany this soup with your favourite toast: its intensity warrants a small serving rather than a whopping plate. If you want to reduce the intensity, bring a little more potato into the mix.

Acting the goat

I'm shit, I know. For far too long I've left Chew to battle blog empathy on her own in the dandelion leaf wilderness and I haven't got a great excuse beyond failing to multitask. But more on that laters.

First, to regain some semblance of continuity, there's one more thing to say about Paris. True, the socialist city will never win Vegan Friendly Town of the Year award, but there is one vego plate you should be able to ask for, sans menu, in any Parisienne restaurant without anyone spitting with disgust into your souffle. And so to my re-entry into everything Lily & Chew -- a variation on the formidable chevre salad. (It's a lowly place to crawl back from but I've got to start somewhere...)

What you need for a toasty chevre salad
100g wheel of goat's cheese (I cut mine in half to make wheels for two)
Baby spinach leaves
Grainy bread (sliced thickly for toast)
Baby potatoes
A few fresh sage leaves
1 boiled egg for each plate
Dressing (for me - red wine vinegar, olive oil, S&P)

Making it
Boil the potatoes for about 10 minutes then drain and toss them in some olive oil, torn sage leaves and sea salt. Roast for 15 minutes (or until the potatoes are golden and the sage crispy). Build the spinach, with wedges of tomato and boiled egg, on plates. Toast one side of bread under a grill then turn over and toast the other side very lightly before placing the chevre wheels on top. Grill until the cheese is melting, golden and a little bubbly (careful not to burn your toast). Scatter the roast potatoes and crispy sage around your salad then top with the chevre toast. Dress it up and dig in.

Herb your enthusiam

I have some bread leftover from a very enjoyable dinner party. Not fresh enough to tear chunks off and eat with some delicious Quenby Hall Stilton I've bought from Borough market; and not quite stale enough for duck food. What to do? This is when having a herb garden comes in pretty handy.





What you need
Half a big Ciabatta bread stick - or any old bread will do
A big handful of herbs - I used parsley, sage rosemary and thyme (..and oregano)
A third of a stick of butter, and more if necessary
Salt
Pepper
Aluminum foil

Split the bread down the middle length ways.



Spread the bread flat in a baking tray. Rip and chop up the herbs, then give them a good pounding in a pestle and mortar.



Melt the butter in a small saucepan. Add the herbs to the hot melted butter, remove from heat and allow to cool down a little. Douse the bread with the herby butter mixture, give it a salt and peppering, then cover with foil. Bake in a hot oven until the bread is heated through, then remove the foil and bake uncovered for a couple of minutes or until it all goes nice and crunchy.
You can also add a clove of crushed garlic to the butter mixture if it takes your fancy.