I fear becoming a selfish cook, and yet I remain compulsively a nurturer. Fortunately, as a food writer, I find this conflict less jarring than I otherwise would.
In other words, while I tell you about the simple, solo, seasonal treats I make for my own foodie gratification, imagine me rushing to the table, loaded fork in hand, imploring you to try one mouthful like Good.
Food doesn’t have to be complicated to taste good. It is an eternal truth. But this needs to be reaffirmed at this time of year, as the pressure to strive for ever more demanding recipes can get out of control.
It’s essential to remember that the goal of cooking should never be to impress, but to maintain enjoyment. Likewise, while the focus is so overwhelmingly on the many meals to prepare for the gratification of others, while I appreciate that part, I emphasize your duty to yourself. You don’t need company to justify dwelling on what you’re going to eat. In addition, by explaining all this to you, you will see that everything is also suitable for more convivial meals.
Smoked salmon with Sanbaizu vinegar
The simpler the food and the less time you spend on it, the better the ingredients. All you need is smoked salmon, a little Sanbaizu vinegar and a good pepper grinder, but for an absolutely exquisite taste, I suggest you sprinkle thin slices of translucent radish and a few delicate dill leaves on top. . What makes all the difference is the use of Kampot pepper, which is extraordinarily aromatic and really reminds us that pepper is a spice. I wouldn’t want to cook or eat without it. After trying a few brands, I have to direct you towards Kampot black pepper from Kadodé. Sanbaizu vinegar – and I get mine from The Wasabi Company – is a vinegar in the sense that it’s fermented, but it doesn’t have any malice or acerbity. Rather, it’s slightly sweet, with a complex savory sweetness that instantly makes this no-nonsense offering taste like longtime sushi chefs made it. Of course, you can use any smoked salmon you want as long as you avoid very woody and fiercely salty cures. However, I can only use Goldstein, which is so soft and delicate that it is more like very thin sashimi.
Anchovy crostini
Nothing wrong with good bread, spread with a thick layer of good sweet butter, draped with anchovies. Indeed, everything is fine, but this alternative does not require much additional work. Yes, you need to cut a baguette into approximately 1cm slices, brush both sides of each slice with olive oil, arrange them on a rack over a baking sheet and let them rest for five to 10 minutes per side in a ventilated oven at 180°C. (The exact time will depend on how stale the bread is, the temperature of your oven, and how crunchy you want your crostini to be.) Alternatively, you could simply toast sourdough for this, thus making not crostini but bruschetta. Either way, once cold, spread generously with Stracciatella di Burrata (which tastes like a cross between double cream and the softest mozzarella), grind some pepper (Kampot) and drape with fillets of fleshy anchovies. If you can find Pujadó Solano anchovies, all the better.
Chestnut and pancetta salad
I’ve been making versions of it for decades and, unlike the previous two arrangements, I ritually wait until December before returning to it. Tear some bitter red leaves (here I used regular round radicchio, Treviso long radicchio and red chicory) into bite-sized pieces and throw them on a plate. Pour a very little olive oil into a pan and heat, then drop a few cubes of pancetta into it (lardons or cut bacon will also do the trick). When they are crispy, golden and have rendered their superb salty fat, add a few sous vide chestnuts to the pan and stir. It’s okay if some chestnuts break a little. Then turn off the heat and, using a slotted spoon or spatula, remove the pancetta and chestnuts and transfer them to the waiting leaves. You want some oil in the pan for the dressing, but if there is too much for the amount of leaves you have, just drizzle a little (save it for another time or go greedy now and dip some bread in it). Add a drop or two of vinegar – I recommend a good sherry or Moscatel vinegar, but it’s really up to you. Watch it bubble before pouring the hot dressing over the salad. You can also, before adding the vinegar, add a little Dijon or seed mustard to the pan. Cut a few chives on top, and that’s it.
My mother’s Mont Blanc was easily climbed
I have, once or twice, made good Mont Blanc: this heady confection of homemade chestnut puree, sweetened with rum and topped like spaghetti, with meringue and, according to Larousse, whipped cream. But it’s not just laziness that brings me back to this version. It’s just that this is how my mother always prepared hers, and so this inappropriate way seems okay to me. It’s construction, not cooking. Think of it like building an edible mountain. So, first chop some 70 percent dark chocolate and add this ground cover to a glass or pudding plate. Pour or press a little sweet chestnut puree on top. Whip the double cream with a little vanilla, and when it is voluminous and thickened, but still with a little flop, pour it over to form the snow-capped mountain peak. Next, crumble some store-bought meringue – think fresh snow – on top.
It’s hard to improve this, I think, but I found a way. Instead of using vanilla extract, whip your cream with vanilla liqueur! Directed by Giffard, I discovered its existence recently, and I can’t stop there. At home, we call it vanilla dream cream, because it adds a heavenly syllabic lightness to the cream when whipping, and I serve it with whatever I can. For 250 ml of double cream, I use four tablespoons. If I’m using my stand mixer, I whip the cream and liqueur together. If I’m whisking by hand, I add the liqueur more gradually once the cream starts to thicken. This is way more than is needed for a single Mont Blanc, but I find it reassuring to have it in the fridge to come back to. I like it instead of cognac butter on a tartlet, if that’s not blasphemous to say so, and it also happens to be extremely good with pandoro, which I much prefer to panettone.
Pedro Ximénez affogato
The most familiar form of affogato here consists of vanilla ice cream with hot espresso poured over it, although in Italy you may often encounter it with grappa instead of coffee. For my special seasonal version, I use this rich, grapey, molasses sherry that tastes like runny Christmas pudding. The result is instant nirvana. It starts as a spoonful of pudding and by the end it’s a creamy cocktail. I recommend it to you.
And speaking of cocktails, I have to finish by telling you about my Christmas Martini Camp. I use vodka (but use gin if you prefer) and, instead of vermouth, I add a drop of Campari, then shake vigorously with ice before pouring rose into a chilled glass.
