The recipe: p178, "Aubergine Hummus"
Dear readers: it's finally happened.
SOUND THE NOVELLI KLAXON!
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| And place your swans on high alert |
It's the book that launched a thousand quips, not to mention inspiring what remains the most-read post of the Random Kitchen project to date. Forty-five long weeks we've waited for the random finger of fate to finally point its way. And now - now, at last, my friends - the moment has arrived.
While the likelihood of me having to lovingly feed a tub of mussels or hand-craft some sugary swan necks is statistically low, the possibility is very firmly on the table this week and the sense of peril is palpable. Which is why it's both a relief and a disappointment when random.org's choice ends up being fairly mundane. Heck, not only does the method involve a mere seven steps (practically a ready meal by Novelli standards), but aubergine hummus sounds like something I might actively want to eat. What is this sorcery?
I can only hope there are some arcane cooking techniques involved. Maybe I'll have to hand-rear a school of baby chickpeas.
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| Or a herd of lemons |
The prep: For a relatively simple dip, the ingredients list is reassuringly lengthy (don't ever change, Jean-Christophe). In terms of herbs alone, we're talking fresh basil, coriander and thyme, which would seem to promise a bright and tasty end result. I'm a little puzzled by the need for "Cajun spices" as that doesn't seem especially Middle Eastern, but Sharwoods do a handy mix that shouldn't go to waste (potato wedges, baby!) so I don't resent having to shell out for it.
The only sticking point is the tahini. A mandatory feature of any hummus, the thick sesame seed paste is thin on the ground in Lewisham on this particular Sunday. The designated shelf at Sainsbury's is desolate and empty, and while you'd think one of the local Turkish supermarkets might come to my rescue, since they stock pretty much everything else in existence, I can't seem to find it and the staff are way too loudly busy for me to want to risk disturbing them.
On a hunch, I decide to pull out my phone and google to see what's actually in tahini... and, erm, turns out it really is just basically sesame seeds (toasting optional if preferable) and a splash of oil (even that's optional). I reckon I ought to be able to replicate that.
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| I'm a seedgrinder. In my sleep I grind my seeds |
And so I can. The result isn't quite as smooth as shop-bought tahini, which may be because my blade isn't sharp enough or because I don't have the patience to add a few minutes to the blending time like I probably ought to, but it'll do for the job at hand.
The making: The oven is pre-heated. Two aubergines are cut in half - lengthways, though technically it doesn't specify - and laid out on baking sheets before being sprinkled with a diced garlic clove, a tablespoon of caster sugar and a teaspoon of the Cajun spices. Sprigs of the thyme are then laid on top before liberal quantities of olive oil are applied.
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| Oiled up and ready for action |
The prepped aubergines are then covered with foil and baked in the oven "for 20-25 minutes, or until soft". I immediately identify two problems with this instruction: firstly, I always find aubergines take longer to cook than recipes think; and secondly, I always find foil-covered things take longer to cook than recipes think. True to form, it's probably closer to double that time (including a period of baking uncovered) before the aubergines are approaching the kind of scoopable softness the recipe demands. (Fuck's actual sake.)
Once the aubergines are removed from the oven and allowed to cool to a less finger-endangering temperature, the flesh is scooped out and blitzed in a food processor until smooth. Next, most of the remaining ingredients are added - that's 200g of cooked and drained chickpeas, a further two cloves of raw garlic, the home-made tahini, generous portions of chopped basil and coriander, and the juice of 1-2 lemons. "Blitz together until smooth", the recipe tells me, so I do.
The result is something that already looks pretty dippable to me, but that apparently isn't decadent enough, because I'm required to feed in up to 200ml of olive oil while the Kenwood's blades continue to do their thing. "You may not need all the oil," Novelli warns, and is he ever right. I'm barely at the 100ml point when it becomes clear that the contents of the food processor bowl are a bit more, well, liquid than I might want them to be. Not disastrously so - the consistency is still recognisably hummus-y - but christ only knows what it'd have been like with the full quantity of oil.
"Adjust the seasoning and chill until required" is the final instruction, in direct contravention of the introductory claim that this is "delicious served warm with a crusty, rustic bread of your choice". Your mind, J-C: make it up.
The chilling would probably give it a more solid consistency, granted, but recent proximity to oven time means we're still in "warm" territory here, so I take advantage of that by decanting the hummus into a serving bowl, doing a half-arsed presentation job with some black pepper and a slug of extra virgin olive oil for good measure, then serving it as part of a lazy dinner that we'll call "Lidl mezze" because that's exactly what it is. (Although the crusty, rustic bread of my choice - an oven-warmed kalamata olive loaf - is from Sainsbury's. And rather good it is too.)
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| Go on, you try making it look un-gloopy |
The eating: You might feel there's a cynical tone creeping into my words today, so let me make one thing clear: this is pretty good. The herbs are present and correct (visually as well as on the taste buds), the lemon juice gives it a fresh tang, and while there's a bit of a sesame seed aftertaste to the whole thing, I'm going to put that down to my failure to make Mediterranean-standard tahini rather than a flaw in the recipe itself.
If you think "aubergine hummus" sounds suspiciously like baba ganoush with some chickpeas added, you're probably not far wrong. It could actually cope with more chickpeas to give it greater substance - as it stands, it's closer to something you'd spread on your bread than something into which you could successfully dip a carrot stick or a grissino - but the taste and texture are authentic and convincing even if the end result is a bit drippy.
The trouble with aubergines is that they don't really have much of a flavour in their own right, so they tend to absorb what's around them - and one thing that's around them here is garlic. That becomes increasingly evident as I return to the leftovers in the following days. (Sorry Sam.)
As a dish prepared fresh, served warm and polished off in a single sitting, however, I'd quite happily serve this up to my guests with a few tweaks for experience (roast the garlic and use less oil, mainly). "Everyday" it isn't - who can be bothered, frankly? - but it's a damn sight less wilfully complex than a lot of what this now-legendary book has to offer. And for that bullet dodged, I am thankful.
One-word verdict: Sloppy.
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