Spring Lunch to Lift the Spirits, for 6


How to Eat: The Pleasures
and Principles of Good Food
by Nigella Lawson, 2002, John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Lemon Linguine
Green Salad
Irish Tarte Tatin

“According to my paternal grandmother, spring no longer exists, though her
lament was as much sartorial as environmental: no more spring coats, you see,
because no more spring weather. Actually, I suspect the change is in us rather
than in the climate; our failure to recognize, let alone celebrate, the advent of
spring owes rather more to the fact that we now live in centrally heated homes.
The meager upturn in the weather cannot have quite the impact it must once
have had. But I do think there is an idea of spring, culinarily speaking. Of
course, seasonal produce has something to do with it, but not everything. For
me, that idea is instantly conveyed by this lemony, creamy tangle of linguine
that actually you could cook at any time of the year. It is the easiest thing you
could imagine – the sauce requires no cooking, just stirring (and limply at that)
and it produces food that is both comforting and uplifting. There must be some-
thing about the smell of lemons, so fresh, so hopeful, which makes this instant
good-mood food. But it isn’t so jaunty and astringent that you need to brace
yourself to dive in.
I made this sauce once with a very fine pasta, some sort of egg tagliarini, and regretted it. You need the sturdier, but still satiny, resistance offered up by the linguine, which is why I stipulated this very pasta. Good spaghetti or Tagliatelle would do if linguine are not to be found. As the sauce is the sort of thing you can throw together after a quick rummage through the shelves of the corner shop, it would be unhelpful to be too sternly dictatorial about a pasta shape that is not universally carried.
As for the Irish Tarte Tatin, this is Roscommon Rhubarb Pie as chronicled by Darina Allen in Irish Traditional Cooking. The rhubarb and Sugar are piled on
the bottom of the pie dish, a scone mixture on top, and the whole turned out later
in the manner of a tarte tatin. The upended pie with its bronzy pink crown of
rhubarb looks beautiful and it fabulously easy. For this, you’re just mixing stuff
around in a bowl, idly and imprecisely rolling it out, and then tucking the large
disc of scone like a blanket over the simply chopped and sugar-sprinkled fruit.
Perhaps pastry after pasta sounds stodgy, but it won’t taste like that, I promise.
And the scent of lemons followed by the sharp-sweet breath of red and early
rhubarb conveys the brisk but tender air of early, still faintly wintry, spring.”

Lemon Linguine

2 pounds linguine
2 egg yolks*
2/3 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan
Zest of 1 lemon and juice of 1/2,
plus more juice, if needed
Pinch salt
Freshly milled black pepper
4 tablespoons (1/2stick) unsalted butter
2-3 tablespoons chopped parsley

* “I always use organic eggs from hens that are checked regularly for salmonella.
I thus have no anxieties about raw eggs, but you should know that because of
possible infection from salmonella, the old, the ill, the vulnerable, the pregnant,
babies, and children are advised not to eat anything with uncooked egg in it.”

See also Egg Safety Information

Fill just about the biggest pot you have with water and bring to the boil.
When friends are coming for lunch, get the water heated to the boiling point
before they arrive, otherwise you end up nervously hanging around waiting
for a watched pot to boil while your supposedly quick lunch gets later and
later. Bring the water to the boil, cover, and turn off the burner.
I tend to leave the addition of salt until the water’s come to the boil the
second time. But whichever way you do it, add quite a bit of salt. When the
bubbling’s encouragingly fierce, put in the pasta. I often put the lid on for a
moment or so just to let the pasta get back to the boil, but don’t turn your
back on it, and give it a good stir with a pasta fork or whatever to avoid
even the suspicion of stickiness, once you’ve removed the lid.
Then get on with the sauce, making sure you’ve set your timer for about a minute or so less than the time specified on the package of pasta.
In a bowl put the yolks, cream, Parmesan, zest of the whole lemon and
juice of half of it, the salt and a good grind of pepper, and beat with a fork.
You don’t want it fluffy, just combined. Taste. If you want it more lemony,
then of course add more juice.
When the timer goes off, taste to judge how near the pasta is to being
ready. I recommend that you hover by the stove so you don’t miss that
point. Don’t be too hasty, though. Everyone is so keen to cook their pasta
properly al dente that sometimes the pasta is actually not cooked enough.
You want absolutely no chalkiness here. And linguine (or at least I find it
so) tend not to run into soggy overcookedness quite as quickly as other
long pasta. This makes sense, of course, as the strands of “little tongues”
are denser than the flat ribbon shapes.
Anyway, as soon as the pasta looks ready, remove a cup of the cooking liquid, drain the pasta, and then, off the heat, toss it back in the pot or put
it in an efficiently preheated bowl, throw in the butter, and stir and swirl
about to make sure the butter’s melted and the pasta covered by it all over.
Each strand will be only mutely gleaming, as there’s not much butter and
quite a bit of pasta. If you want to add more, then do; good butter is the
best flavoring, best texture, best mood enhancer there is.
When you’re satisfied the pasta’s covered with its soft slip of butter, then
stir in the egg mixture and turn the pasta well in it, adding some of the cook-ing liquid if it looks a bit dry (only 2 tablespoons or so – you don’t want a
wet mess – and only after you think the sauce is incorporated). Sprinkle
over the parsley and serve now, now, now.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As for the green salad: buy a package of the ready washed and chopped stuff or assemble your own as you wish. But keep it green; by all means add raw sugar snap peas if you like (a good idea, indeed) and some whole, tender basil leaves (equally so), but remember the idea is to provide something clear and refreshing between the pasta and the pie. A soft, round, pale green lettuce like Bibb is just right for this – nothing else, just that, in a plain vinaigrette, no interesting oils.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Irish Tarte Tatin

“Bright-hued, early spring rhubarb is indicated here, but I’ve used the later
stuff with good results. But be stern when inspecting it before buying;
there’s no point in making this dessert if the fruit’s woody and acrid. If it
looks as though it’s rusting and wilting, then don’t bother.
Darin Allen specified a 9 x 2-inch round pie pan and remarks that she also
uses a heavy stainless steel sauté pan. I use my regular stainless-steel pie
dish. It’s about 8 inches in diameter, 2 inches in depth, and has sloping
sides. Because of the sloping sides, the pie, when turned out, looks rather
celebratory, as if it were holding up the rhubarb as an offering.”

2 pounds rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 1/4 cups sugar, plus additional, if needed

For the scone dough
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons superfine sugar
1 heaping teaspoon baking powder
Pinch salt
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsweetened butter,
cut into medium dice
1 egg
3/4 cup milk, plus more, if needed
1 egg, beaten, for the wash
Sugar, for sprinkling

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Put the rhubarb into a pie dish or a
sauté pan (see headnote) and sprinkle it with the sugar. Taste the rhubarb
and add more sugar, if needed.
Into a bowl sift all the dry ingredients for the scone dough. Rub the butter
into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse bread crumbs. (Not hard
to do by hand, but I tend to use my free-standing mixer.) Whisk the egg
with the milk. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, pour in the
liquid all at once, and mix to a soft dough. Turn out onto a floured board
and roll into a 9-inch round (or the size of the dish you’re using) about 1
inch thick. Place this fat disc on top of the rhubarb and tuck in the edges
neatly. Brush with a little of the beaten egg and sprinkle generously with sugar.
Bake in the preheated oven for 15 minutes, then reduce the temperature
to 350 degrees F for about 30 minutes more, or until the top is crusty and
golden and the rhubarb soft and juicy.
Remove the pan from the oven and allow to sit for a few minutes. Put a
warm plate over the top of the pan and turn it upside-down so that the pie comes out on the plate. It is almost impossible (or I, naturally impatient
and clumsy, find it so) not to burn yourself with some of the escaping hot
liquid. The trick is to find a dish that is flat at the bottom with slightly
upturned edges. I’m working on it.
Serve warm with, Darina Allen recommends, light brown sugar and cream.
I can think of nothing nicer. For those who cannot contemplate rhubarb
without custard, a good cold dollop of the stuff would be an obvious, but rewarding, choice. [And do check out Rhubarb Custard Pie.]
 

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