even when well soaked, is rarely less than chewy and is
of little interest. The taste, however, is emphatic and
concentrated: it is the reverse of its fresh counterpart
and launches in with dense, rich flavour from the opening
salvo. It is not unknown for chefs to reinforce the flavour
of fresh morels by adding an infusion of dried morels.
To my mind, this destroys the point and robs you of that
lovely moment when the flavour of the fresh mushroom
finally resolves itself. It is the classic proverbial
sledgehammer to crack a nut: I firmly believe in keeping
dried and fresh mushrooms well apart.
Apart from that concentrated intensity of flavour, dried
mushrooms have two other great assets: they are not hard
to find, and they are obtainable throughout the year. In
winter, when exciting fresh ingredients are somewhat
thin on the ground, they are to be valued. Dried ceps,
particularly, add an extra dimension to a beef stew, or a
roast or sautéed chicken, and are an invaluable
storecupboard standby with pasta.
I may have said it before, but I cannot stress too
strongly that with pasta you get what you pay for. Cheap
supermarket pasta becomes soft and tasteless very quickly
and is an insult to a decent sauce. The difference in price
between that and a good brand is barely more than a few
pennies per person, but the gulf in quality is huge.
27
January
PENNETTE WITH CEPS, CABBAGE AND PANCETTA
Many types of short pasta could be used in this recipe, most
obviously penne or even rigatoni. Similarly, a mixture of
dried mushrooms would do as well as dried ceps (often
labelled dried porcini).
Serves six.
40g (1½oz) dried ceps
(porcini)
80g (3oz) unsalted butter
6 slices of pancetta, cut to the
thickness of a pound or euro
coin (2cm/3⁄4in long and
5mm/1⁄4in thick)
50–100ml (12/4–3½fl oz) dry
white wine, if available
500g (1lb 2oz) pennette
1 head of Savoy cabbage,
outer leaves removed, cut in
half, stalk removed and
thinly shredded
salt and black pepper
4 tablespoons grated
Parmesan cheese, to serve
Place the dried mushrooms in a heatproof bowl and cover
with 250ml (9fl oz) tepid water. Allow to soak for an hour.
Melt half the butter in a large, heavy, flameproof
casserole dish, add the pancetta, and gently fry over a
medium heat until it becomes crisp.
Drain the mushrooms, retaining their pungent soaking
liquor for later, and chop them coarsely. Add the
mushrooms to the pancetta and stew them gently for
a moment before adding the wine (or some of their
soaking liquor) and stewing together for 5 minutes.
Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil with 2
teaspoons of salt. Drop the pasta into the water and boil
for 5 minutes before adding the cabbage. Continue to
cook for a further 10 minutes, then lift out the pasta and
cabbage and add to the pancetta and mushrooms. Moisten
with some more of the soaking liquor and stew together
for a minute or two, adding the remaining butter and
turning over until it is completely mixed and well
lubricated. Check the seasoning – it will need more salt
and as much freshly ground black pepper as you fancy.
Take to the table and serve with the Parmesan.
WINE: Some dishes are difficult to match with food but
there are few wines that would not rub along with this
savoury dish. However, a white wine would have to be
fairly full-bodied and aromatic – from the Southern Rhône
perhaps – and the red on the robust side. A muscular
Chianti Classico would perhaps be ideal.
29
January
Still on the Menu
Ham Hock with Lentils
I resolve to go to Paris more often. Every time I do go I
wonder why I have left it so long. Even more than Rome,
it is home from home.
It was not always thus. My first visit, with no money and
stuck in a huge, army-style Auberge de Jeunesse
somewhere in the Southern suburbs, was not auspicious.
It was probably another ten years before I returned. Even
then, I did not quite feel comfortable for a day or two: if
you go to the wrong restaurants, queue interminably for
the Louvre and look to the Parisians for a friendly word
of advice, you can have a pretty rough time of it in Paris.
The second time I was still on a tight budget and things
weren’t going too well, until we happened upon the
Brasserie de l’Isle St-Louis.
It is a place that has little right to be any good. Just
over the small bridge that links the Île de la Cité (and
Notre Dame) and the more sedate and civilised Île
St-Louis, there are tourists everywhere and many of the
cheap geegaws that bedevil any such destination. And yet
countless visitors to Paris have christened their stay in the
city with a modest meal at this brasserie and not regretted
it. The food is remarkably consistent and the menu today
reads almost exactly as it did in 1978. I suspect that it has
not changed ownership, and therefore no one has felt the
need to ‘improve’ upon it.
Resistance