No need for smoke and mirrors this month: I really do make all three of these dishes on the same day and serve them as part of the same (extended) meal. A true Random Menu for once!Of course, it helps that the starter is basically a dip, the main course is basically a salad and the dessert is basically some sugary air topped with fruit.
So without further ado, let's get dipping...
◘ THE STARTER ◘
The book: Nigella Express (Nigella Lawson)
The recipe: p243, "Roquamole"
"Naturally, I know Roquefort does not come from Mexico." Nigella kicks us off this month by stating the absolutely bleeding obvious. But she sells this one well: As awesome as guacamole is in its own right, the idea of adding blue cheese to it (a) wouldn't have occurred to me, and (b) sounds pretty fantastic. Though also pretty rich...?
Nigella actually recommends standard supermarket Saint Agur for this one, making the ingredient list gloriously easy to assemble:
I begin by stirring a couple of generous tablespoons of the sour cream into the crumbled blue cheese. The avocados then get mashed in too - they're ripe enough for this to be done with a fork (and a bit of effort), which is nice.
Now, this is never going to be an attractive-looking dish even once it's done, so I suppose we might as well start as we mean to go on.
 |
| Appetising |
Next, a welcome bit of texture joins the mush in the form of some chopped spring onions and jalapeño pepper slices. Pretty finely chopped, it must be said - the end result still needs to be smooth enough to scoop up easily without the risk of it falling straight off your tortilla chip or carrot baton.
Speaking of which, Nigella waffles on about blue corn tortilla chips in the blurb - even going so far as to describe them as "subfusc", which is exactly the kind of pretentiousness that put me off her until I finally tried some of her recipes and realised she's all right really. But come on - "subfusc"? I expect that kind of thing from Jacob Rees-Mogg and I'm definitely not buying his cookbook.
Perky peppers and springy onions added, anyway, all that remains is to "arrange" the dip - i.e. put it in a bowl, like you do with a dip - and sprinkle some paprika on top.
Inevitably, the end result is an odd-looking thing. Green avocado mixed with white cheese makes for a "pistachio ice cream" colour palette, rendering the slash of bright red spicy paprika even more arresting.
Fortunately, it eats very well indeed, so much so that I'll forgive it being called "Roquamole" (I mean, really).
Rich and indulgent, you'd want to stop yourself having too much of it, as moreish as it may be - Nigella's admission that this can be a "greedy solitary dinner" as much as a dip with drinks makes me worry for her bathroom porcelain, frankly. But framed in its true role, well, let's say that if you come round to our house for a Eurovision preview party any year soon, you're likely to get this and a bowl of tortillas shoved under your nose at some point.
One-word(-ish) verdict: Roque'n'roll.
◘ THE MAIN COURSE ◘
The book: Riverford Farm Cook Book
The recipe: p170, "Salad of French Beans and Grilled Leeks with Tapenade Dressing"
We haven't been in Riverford territory since an abortive encounter with baked custard last year, and this month's random selection could hardly be more different.
I'm not normally one to try and present a salad as a main course, but given that this recipe mainly comprises leeks and green beans, it's really more of a side dish. Indeed, the introduction suggests serving it with chicken or a meaty fish. That seems like a fine excuse to do a couple of tuna steaks and flesh this out into more of a main, albeit one that's still light enough to be part of a three-course meal.
I vaguely recall a tapenade as involving olives in some way, and that's the first thing I need to assemble here. It's all very straightforward: Black olives, garlic, a couple of anchovy fillets, a spoonful of capers (still in the fridge after last month) and an "optional" chilli (no such thing in this household) are blitzed in a food processor until they form a rough paste, then olive oil is added until a "dressing with a coating consistency" emerges.
Not that I really know what that means, but I think that's about right. It's certainly not pourable in any way, but "coating consistency" implies a certain viscosity and this is still a bit smoother and oilier than the kind of tapenade you might dig out of a jar with a knife and smear on some chunky bread.
"At this point the chopped herbs can be added", the recipe says. In our case, that means parsley, so:
Looks more like some plants I'm trying to grow from seed than something I'd willingly put in my mouth, but let's face it, nothing involving mushed-up black olives is ever going to look gorgeous. Let's roll with it.
So, on to the vegetables. 300g of (British) French beans and 500g of leeks are trimmed accordingly then briefly cooked in boiling salted water (separately, not together) until starting to soften. The beans are already done at this point and are set aside so they can cool, whereas the leeks are cut in half lengthways, brushed with oil and popped on the Foreman grill until "just tender and lightly charred".
And with that, we're already into the final stages of preparation, so I take the opportunity to get the tuna steaks cooking.
The last step is to mix the beans and leeks together then stir in "enough dressing to taste". Short of actually eating the dish, how am I supposed to know what proportion of tapenade to veg is to my taste? Do people just know this kind of thing?
Anyway, I go with this and it feels about right. I guess we'll see!
Tuna duly prepared, it's a simple assembly job and away we go.
And actually, at the risk of blowing my own trumpet, doesn't that look dangerously close to an actual dish? I'm not going to say "restaurant quality" here, but if I was served that at a touristy beachfront eatery in Lanzarote, I certainly wouldn't send it back.
Especially if it tasted as good as this does, because this is nice. You have to like your challenging flavours, of course - even in smaller quantities, the olives and capers and anchovies would be very present in the tapenade, and the "optional" chilli even more so - but it's worth taking the plunge, because the contrast with the quite meaty veg is a rewarding one. To my surprise after my initial cynicism, then, I'm happy to call this main course an unqualified success.
(It's still definitely not a salad though.)
One-word verdict: Inyerface.
◘ THE DESSERT ◘
The book: Ainsley Harriott's Meals In Minutes
The recipe: p168, "Lemon Caramel Strawberry Nests"
I went to lunch with friends last week - I know, right? What is this "socialising" thing? - and there transpired something awkward but ultimately amusing.
Remember the life-sized cardboard cutout of Ainsley Harriott that showed up on my doorstep anonymously last summer? Well, it turns out I blamed the wrong friend for sending it to me. It was so obviously the kind of thing that the person in question does, his blunt denial so clearly a coded admission of guilt that it hadn't occurred to me that he might be telling the truth.
As if that wasn't enough, the friend who was actually responsible forgot all about having sent me the original Ainsley... and ended up ordering me another one for my birthday in November. Cue a slightly awkward lunch conversation in which we danced around the issue before figuring out what had happened.
Now I've never claimed my life was normal, but I can't say I ever expected to be the kind of person with two cardboard Ainsley Harriotts in his garden shed. Anyway, one of them has since been regifted - to the friend I originally accused, naturally - so all's well that ends well. Except for those of us whose Amazon suggestions now consist entirely of Celebrity Standees.
Anyway, given all the above, it's appropriate that random.org brings us to Ainsley's Meals In Minutes for this month's dessert. And usefully, having waffled on about cardboard cutouts for several paragraphs, there's not a huge amount to say about this one given that it's basically a rehash of last month's Eton Mess from Delia, only without the part where Delia ruins a very basic concept for no obvious reason. It doesn't even have an irritatingly twee Ainsley recipe name (feels curiously suspicious, doesn't it?).
This version of Strawberries x Meringues (as a modern song credit would put it) involves leaving the meringue nests intact, which already seems like a good start. Half of the strawberries are chopped (not puréed, Delia) and stirred through a mixture of mascarpone, single cream and icing sugar. This mixture is spooned over the individual meringue nests, then the remaining strawberries are halved and arranged on top - "attractively" is a bonus but, as always, not something that can be relied on.
And then there's the part I nearly forget. The dish is called "Lemon Caramel Strawberry Nests", after all, and so I'm called upon to make caramel. From scratch.
Having seen this be the downfall of many a Junior Bake Off contestant - and that's my skill level at best - there is some degree of trepidation on my part here. But the meringues are only going to get soggy if I don't crack on, so crack on I do.
Caster sugar and lemon juice are heated in a saucepan until the sugar dissolves, then the heat is turned up so that the mixture bubbles for several minutes. "Until golden" is the instruction here, and I'm sceptical about whether that's ever going to happen...
...but, lo and behold, a certain degree of goldenness starts to emerge over time. Mindful of not burning the caramel (a famous Bake Off error), I take it off the heat perhaps a little early - it could be thicker, not least since the next instruction is to add a tablespoon of water, but never mind.
This done, some chopped toasted hazelnuts are stirred through the caramel and it's poured over the meringue nests immediately before serving.
See? Could definitely be a bit gloopier. Still, ignoring the pool of caramel that's slowly forming on the plate there, it's not an unattractive end product once you lower your expectations to allow for my presentation skills.
Unfortunately, the eating is a bit underwhelming by comparison. It's not bad, not at all, and I'm possibly being harsh because Sam is definitely more enthusiastic than me. But I feel like the recipe promised more (there's some "if you like toffee apples, you'll love this!" waffle in the introduction), and I might have expected a bit more indulgence from something involving cream and caramel, even butter-free caramel.
Perhaps most disappointingly, there isn't much of a lemon zing to it - if you're going to put "lemon" in the title, I want to know it's there. Maybe adding the zest would help, to give it a bit more of a kick.
Still, it's a lot more satisfying than what Delia came up with last time - and if the least impressive component of a three-course meal is perfectly decent, I suppose I can't grumble! Ainsley, you're all right, and so are your many cardboard cousins.
One-word verdict: Sufficient.
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