The Eternal Sunshine Of The Shallow Mind

A real rats’ nest (now vacated)

Last night I dreamt I found a rats’ nest. As I opened the trap door which leads into the attic of my house, a squirming heap of startled rats scattered in different directions, before tumbling through the door into the room where I was standing. One rat fell directly onto my head, others used my shoulders as springboards to leap to the ground. As the rats fell, they died; and as they died, they turned onto their backs, revealing surprisingly clean and soft white bellies.

I dream regularly, fiercely and sometimes in colours which are brighter than the ones I see in real life. When I wake, the world looks pale and the morning light seems weak. I have frightening dreams, and happy dreams; my favourites are dreams where houses morph into other houses –where I walk through tunnels and appear in a tea room on Oxford High Street, then as I walk towards the kitchen, I find myself in a tree house in Thailand. When I wake from one of my more ‘imaginative’ dreams, the first thing I do is to reach for my computer and see what the internet has to say. So clearly, I googled the rat dream straight away.

 

The dream dictionary said conflicting things. One slightly disturbing suggestion was that an enemy was about to attack me. The other was (because the rats were dead) that I was ridding myself of people in my life who were no good for me. Another suggested that rats were a sign of good fortune. I decided to ignore the analyses* and instead to use the rats as inspiration for my next recipe

Last year, to combat the misery of winter and create a living metaphor for warmth and hope, I planted an entire packet of sunflower seeds in the sunniest spot in my garden. A large brown rat burrowed into the soil and ate the lot. I caught him sneaking along the wall, his fat, seed-filled belly dragging in the dirt.

I love sunflowers –they remind me of being a child and watching a seed grow into something taller than my father. I like the fields of sunflowers in France – especially for the few flowers which refuse to swivel their faces towards the sun and stand defiantly as their companions follow the sun’s path. If only sunflowers were delicious too! Sadly, sunflower seeds are rather boring and aside from sprinkling them on top of a vegetable gratin, I can’t really be doing with them. I always felt a little disappointed that sunflowers could not deliver a flavour as beautiful as their happy faces –that was, until I tasted Jerusalem artichoke for the first time.

Jerusalem artichoke

 

Okay so this vegetable doesn’t actually come from the sunflowers we cultivate,  but the Jerusalem artichoke (also known delightfully as the sun choke) is the tuber of a plant closely related to the sunflower. It is a knobbly round creation, about the size of a salad potato –a pain in the backside to peel, but worth the bother as despite growing in the ground, it tastes of pure sunlight.

When cooked, the texture of a Jerusalem artichoke is a bit like celeriac or swede –it goes from being completely firm to quite watery and squishy. It makes delicious mash, and is also quite wonderful peeled and roasted. The flavour is uncannily like that of a ‘real’ artichoke but without the enormous performance of preparing and eating one of those oversized thistles.

So, I decided to calm my rat infested mind with a sunflower-inspired soup. I wanted something light but filling to match this strange time of year, where sleet can fall one afternoon and the next morning early blossom is lit against a chilly blue sky.

I was so worried about stifling the beautiful and delicate flavour of the Jerusalem artichokes, I decided against using vegetable stock and spices. Instead, I seasoned with just a few whole mustard seeds and added some white burgundy for a gentle acidity. A few thinly sliced roasted hazelnuts make a delicious and crunchy topping, to give the soup some texture. Ridiculously simple, this is a perfect soup for March as it has the illusion of comfort food but is lighter on the stomach as Jerusalem artichokes are naturally low in starch. And of course- it tastes beautifully of the sun.

*I realised the true significance of the dream as the day progressed. My hairdresser had chastised me for my split ends the day before, grumbling because I had not been to see her for four months. My late mother often used to describe my hair as a ‘rats’ nest’ and the rats fell onto my head in the dream. Far from some deep and frightening omen, or a portent of happiness to come, this dream was actually a way of me saying ‘I don’t mind my hair, even if it is a rats’ nest’. I astonish myself sometimes with how shallow I actually am.

 

Sunlight Soup

1 pound Jerusalem artichokes, peeled and cut into chunks. The flesh discolours very quickly – so prepare just before you need them

1 long banana shallot finely chopped

1 tsp yellow mustard seeds

1 large glass of white Burgundy (as good as you can manage)

boiling water

Maldon salt and black pepper.

 

Place some good olive oil into the bottom of a heavy-based pan. Add the mustard seeds, stirring gently, until they begin to pop. Then add the shallot and fry until soft. Place the chopped Jerusalem artichoke into the pan and stir carefully for a couple of minutes. Add the wine, and bring to the boil, then add boiling water to cover the vegetables. Turn the heat down to a simmer, cover and cook for about 20 minutes, until the vegetables are soft.

Meanwhile slice ten hazelnuts roughly into rounds, spread them on a baking tray and roast them under a hot grill, keeping a careful eye on them, until they start to smell delicious and toasted.

 

Blitz the soup to a smooth consistency in a blender, then return to the pan and season carefully with sea salt and pepper. Pour into bowls and garnish with the toasted hazelnut.

 

 

 

Not Suitable For Rats

I may have mentioned before that I am not gifted at gardening. Every year I try to grow something new. This year, in a fit of whimsy, I planted an entire packet of sunflower seeds into a patch of earth which I had cleared of nettles. ‘Nettles are very good for the soil’, said one of the many, many people whom I ask for gardening tips. ‘They enrich the ground with nutrients’. Fabulous.

After a week, small green shoots began to peep from the soil. I took photographs on my phone, and posted them on Facebook. I thought of sunflower fields in the South of France and how charming it would look for people in the large car park next to my house, to see a row of cheery yellow flower heads looking over the fence.

After three weeks, I realized that a large rat had made a nest in the flower bed and had then eaten every single sunflower seed. The green shoots, which looked so promising, turned out to be more nettles, and the rat was bouncing around the garden, fortified by super foods. I tried to catch the rat in a ‘humane trap’ but the clever creature on its worthy diet had worked out ways to steal the bait and foil the trap. I gave up.

One plant the rat doesn’t seem to like eating, and which, like the hardy nettle, also flourishes in my garden, is a large gooseberry bush. Like the rat, I am not particularly keen on gooseberries. I don’t like the fact that they are hairy. I dislike the whiskery little tuft on a gooseberry base, which reminds me of the hairs which grow from unfortunate facial moles. When you bite into a gooseberry, there is an alarming burst of quite sour-tasting gritty seeds in a snot-like pulp. The skin is just that bit too tough to resist the teeth pleasantly like a grape or a nectarine and instead requires proper work from the incisors. Gooseberries are tiresome fruit, and more so because their queer floral flavor is one which people with sophisticated palates like to harp on about. I think they leave an aftertaste of bile.

I asked my friends for gooseberry recipes. The unanimous advice was that gooseberries need cooking in sugar. Quite a lot of people were in favour of pureeing and sieving them (to get rid of the tough skins and pips) and then throwing masses of cream at them. Most people liked the idea of a gooseberry crumble – and I love crumble.

When I lived in Germany, many years ago, I liked the cakes which had a crumble-like topping, called Streusel. Crumble mix is quite a handy thing, as you can squeeze it together into a pastry base, and then strew it all over the top of a cake to give a delightfully crunchy topping. This recipe has ground almonds in the crumble mixture to add richness and sweetness. The gooseberries are poached briefly in a lime and coconut cordial (but lemon, or elderflower or any pretty, floral cordial would work just as well). They are then sandwiched between firm crumble and crumbly crumble and finally the cake is drizzled with the gooseberry juice reduction.

When cooked, gooseberries do taste delicious. A little sugar knocks out the less fortunate flavor notes. Just-picked gooseberries, still warm from the sun have a true freshness which adds a delightful dimension to the rich, delicious crumble cake.

Rat’s Worst Nightmare Cake

300g fresh green gooseberries, topped and tailed (that means taking off the stalks and the gopping whiskery bit. Scissors are best for this)

1 Tbsp lime and coconut cordial

150g  caster sugar

200g plain flour

100g ground almonds

200g unsalted butter

50g flaked almonds

50 ml water

Grease and line a one pound loaf tin and preheat the oven to 180 degres Celsius

Place the flour, ground almonds, 100g of the sugar and flour into a bowl. Cut the butter into cubes and rub into the mixture until it looks like rough breadcrumbs. Take half of the mixture and place it in a separate bowl and set aside.

Press the other half of the mixture into the base of the loaf tin. It should stick together quite neatly. Place the tin in the oven for about ten minutes, remove and place to one side

Meanwhile place the gooseberries into a saucepan with the cordial, water and the remaining sugar. Poach them for about five minutes, then remove the gooseberries with a slotted spoon and place on top of the crumble base. Sprinkle the reserved crumble mixture over the berries and finish with the flaked almonds.

Bake the crumble cake for around 40 minutes. Be sure that the almonds don’t become too brown. If they look like they are getting too toasty -shove some baking parchment on top. Remove the cake from the oven and leave to cool.

Heat the cooking liquid from the gooseberries, stirring until it has reduced into a syrup. Once the cake has cooled, drizzle the syrup over the almond topping and leave to set. Serve with cream or ice cream.