Combine the 325ml milk, 325ml water, and the salt in a medium pot (a 2-litre pot should do it) and set over high heat. As soon as the liquid comes to a gentle simmer, add both kinds of oats and lower the heat to medium. Cook the oats at a steady simmer, stirring frequently and tweaking the heat as necessary to maintain the simmer. After about 20 minutes at the simmer, the rolled oats will have turned a bit mushy, while the pinhead oats will be just tender and pop when you bite them. Turn off the heat.
Have a taste. It’s good and salty, isn’t it? Now you want to add sugar or syrup to your taste. I like my porridge to taste a little salty at first, then fade into sweet. Spoon the porridge into warm bowls and let it sit for a minute. Then carefully pour a little cold milk around the edges of each bowl, so it pools all the way round. Sprinkle a five-fingered pinch of sugar or drizzle the syrup in the centre of each and let it melt, then serve right away.
Note:
This recipe feeds four, but it’s great reheated–make the whole batch even if you’re just feeding one or two. Reheat leftovers over low heat along with a splash of water or milk.
When I was hired at the River Café, Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers were my bosses. By the time I left, they were my mentors and my friends. Rose was seventy-one when she passed away. Just ten months before that, she’d still been working four days a week in the kitchen.
Rose didn’t give compliments often, and I actually grew to love that about her. I think that she was just honest. If you were doing a good job, she’d say it. If not, she’d keep mom. I was always doing something embarrassing in front of her. One day, she and I planted courgettes in the restaurant’s garden. I’m a Taurus. I’m supposed to have a green thumb. But a few days later, Rose looked at the courgettes she had planted. The plant stood there looking vigorous. She took a look at my sad, droopy, little plant and said, in her upperclass accent, ‘Darling, I think you’ve killed it.’
My first month at the Spotted Pig, Rose came on a visit from England. The night she stopped by, I was on the line with just two other cooks. The Pig’s burger had got a bit of press, and we had twenty of them grilling at once. I was a mess – sweating, my hair going every which way, like weeds in a garden. That was when Rose chose to pop her head into the kitchen. Fuck, I thought, Rose Gray is here and all I’m doing is cooking burgers! Her only comment on the Pig was that she didn’t care for the raw onion I’d put in a salad.
Rose and Ruthie were inspiring people to work for. Rose almost always took a notebook with her when she went out for dinner, especially in Italy. She’d draw little pictures of dishes she liked and scribble down notes on how she thought they were made. The amazing bit is that when she and Ruthie re-created them in the restaurant’s kitchen, their versions were even better. They were both so passionate about food. Everything had to be just so, from the way food was plated to the balsamic vinegar they used. It was infectious. I began to believe what they believed. It consumed me, partly because it felt so great to be consumed by. It’s why I’m so hard on my cooks today.
The duo’s dynamic spirit made me feel lucky to be around them, even during tedious tasks. And I’ll never forget the day when there was a plumbing problem (and therefore, a bit of a smell) at the restaurant. I don’t know what most people would have done – light candles? spray air freshener? – but straight off, Rose had us put a massive wheel of ripe Gorgonzola out on the bar.
Perhaps my favourite times at the River Cafe were when Rose and I would meet in the morning to discuss the day’s menu. I’d come in, invigorated from my stroll to the restaurant along the Thames and through the restaurant’s little garden. It was quiet inside, and I’d have a rare moment to take in where I was. I would make breakfast: toast with olive oil and salted anchovies for Rose. For me, toast rubbed with raw garlic and slathered with leftover vinegary Salsa Verde (see recipe, here). Perhaps a little grated Parmesan and a drizzle of Tuscan olive oil. Each bite reminded me how far I’d come from carving roasts at the Holiday Inn.
POTATO BREAD
This is just about the easiest bread to make. The dough doesn’t require a starter yeast or endless kneading, but despite the lack of effort, the result is a moist, lovely crumb with lots of character and a thin, crispy crust. The bread toasts beautifully and goes just as well with pâtés as it does with Fennel-Lemon Marmalade (see recipe, here). It also makes fantastic sandwiches, stuffed with turkey or ham, of course, or perhaps leftover slices of Stuffed Veal Breast (see recipe, here).
makes 1 large round loaf
450g baking potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 2.5cm pieces
2 teaspoons sea salt
1 tightly packed tablespoon crumbled fresh yeast or 2¼ teaspoons active dry yeast
350g plain flour, plus extra for dusting
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus a drizzle for the bowl
1 tablespoon Maldon or another flaky sea salt
Special Equipment
A pizza stone; stand mixer with a paddle attachment and a dough hook
Pop the potatoes into a medium pot, pour in just enough water to cover them, and add the sea salt. Set the pot over high heat and bring the water to the boil, then lower the heat and gently simmer just until the potatoes can be easily pierced with a fork, 10 to 20 minutes. Drain the potatoes in a colander, reserving 50ml of the cooking liquid, and let them cool in the colander until tepid.
Put the potatoes in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium speed until the potatoes are crushed but still chunky. Replace the paddle attachment with the dough hook.
Use an instant-read thermometer to measure the temperature of the reserved cooking liquid. Reheat if necessary so it’s between 40.5° and 46°C. Stir the yeast into the liquid until it dissolves, then wait for it to bubble, so you can be sure the yeast is active. This could take up to 5 minutes.
Add the yeast mixture, flour, olive oil, and sea salt to the potatoes and mix on low speed for about 2 minutes, until the mixture has combined. (The dough should be quite sticky to the touch. If it isn’t, gradually mix in a little water.) Increase the speed to medium and mix, occasionally stopping the machine to scrape down the sides of the bowl, until you have an elastic dough, about 10 minutes more. It’s okay to have a few odd lumps of potato.
Lightly flour your work surface and hands. Transfer the dough to the work surface and knead for 3 minutes. Tuck the edges of the dough underneath it to form a ball. Lightly oil a bowl with olive oil and add the dough to the bowl. Cover the bowl with clingfilm and let the dough rise at room temperature until it doubles in size, 30 to 50 minutes, depending on the temperature of your kitchen. It helps to put the dough in a warm place, like on the worktop near a preheated oven.
Lightly flour your work surface and hands again. Put the dough on the work surface and knead until it looks smooth, about 1 minute, then tuck the edges underneath again to form a ball. Turn the ball over and gently pinch the seam partially closed.
Add a generous amount of flour to your work surface and lay the dough on it seam side down. Cover the dough with a damp (not wet) tea towel and let it rise (again, in a warm place) until it’s nearly doubled in volume, 25 to 40 minutes.
Meanwhile, put the pizza stone on the centre rack of the oven and preheat the oven to 190°C/375°F/gas 5.
Handling the dough gently, place it seam side up on the hot pizza stone and bake, rotating the bread after 20 minutes, until the crust is a deep golden-brown colour, about 40 minutes. Another way to tell if it’s ready is to gently tap the base of the loaf with your knuckles – if it sounds