A Long and Messy Business. Rowley Leigh. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Rowley Leigh
Издательство: Ingram
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Кулинария
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781783525188
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texture.

      Whip the cream until it thickens and forms soft peaks,

      then whisk in the rhubarb purée. Taste the mixture – it

      should have a nice balance between sweet and sour – and

      add more sugar or a squeeze of lemon juice as necessary.

      Pour the fool into individual glasses and chill in the fridge

      for 4 hours.

      SPONGE FINGERS

      Makes about forty fingers.

      5 egg yolks

      125g (4½oz) golden caster

      sugar

      5 egg whites

      150g (5½oz) plain flour, sifted

      icing sugar, for dusting

      Preheat the oven to 150°C (300°F, Gas Mark 2).

      Whisk the egg yolks with two-thirds of the sugar until

      the yolks are thick, pale and much increased in volume.

      In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites, slowly adding

      half the remaining sugar, until the mixture forms stiff

      peaks. Stir in the remaining sugar, then fold the two

      mixtures together. Sprinkle the sifted flour over the top,

      then fold it in, making sure it is thoroughly incorporated,

      while at the same time trying not to deflate the mixture

      too much.

      Spoon the mixture into a piping bag fitted with a large

      plain round nozzle and pipe out lengths of mixture the

      size of a finger onto several non-stick baking sheets. Dust

      the fingers with icing sugar and bake in the oven for 15

      minutes. After removing the biscuits from the oven, dust

      them again with icing sugar and leave for 5 minutes before

      returning to the oven to finish for another 2 minutes.

      WINE: Sweet wines with plenty of complementary acidity

      work best with rhubarb. A good Vouvray would be ideal.

      72

      Take It or Leave It

      Grilled Pineapple with Chilli Syrup and Coconut Ice Cream

      *Roast pineapple with tipsy

      cake has been on the menu

      since Dinner opened. The

      ‘tipsy cake’ is a light, almost

      milky, brioche and is

      sensationally good.

      It is a take it or leave it sort of fruit, the pineapple. To some

      it is almost as repulsive as a durian or a Swedish rotten

      herring. I marvel at it. I eye them up carefully in the shop,

      looking for them to lose that greenness in the skin and for

      the leaves to look a tiny bit tired. Like melons, I turn them

      over and smell the bases, waiting until the aroma becomes

      quite strong. I have the same sort of awed respect for the

      pineapple as the eighteenth-century landowners who built

      greenhouses for their propagation and installed stone

      pineapples on their walls and parapets as a status symbol

      for the envy of their neighbours.

      This architectural respect for the pineapple even

      tended to dominate gastronomic approaches to the fruit.

      Many preparations involved scooping out the pineapple

      flesh and serving a mousse or sorbet inside the shell. That

      and the ubiquitous Ananas Condé – slices of pineapple

      macerated in kirsch and served with creamed rice – were

      about all classical cooking had to say about the pineapple

      until recently. It may be thought that was quite enough

      already and that the fruit, properly peeled and thinly

      sliced, needed no embellishment whatsoever. Nor does it,

      but nor does a little bit of heat do it any harm.

      I believe it was Marc Meneau at the three-star

      L’Esperance – still, sadly, on my unvisited list – who took it

      upon himself to roast a whole pineapple and flavour it with

      vanilla. I also believe Marco Pierre White produced a

      version of that dish when he presided over the Oak Room

      in Piccadilly. The pineapple arrived standing on a dais on a

      trolley, with spikes of vanilla protruding from the eyeholes

      in its skin and, as I recall, the whole fruit set aflame with

      rum. I hear that Heston Blumenthal has adopted the theme

      and intends to roast his pineapple on a clockwork spit in

      the dining room: I shall observe with interest.*

      I am all in favour of making things hot for the

      pineapple, and in more ways than one. I discovered

      that grilling a pineapple concentrates the flavour and

      smokiness induced by the chargrill only encourages the

      fruit. I believe that there was a chilli performing a largely

      decorative function in Marco’s roast pineapple dish and

      I – without any great originality – decided that the chilli

      should start taking a more active role. The smoky flavour,

      a quite serious degree of chilli heat and the concentrated

      sweetness of the fruit make for a heady marriage.

      73

      February

      GRILLED PINEAPPLE WITH CHILLI SYRUP

      AND COCONUT ICE CREAM

      The coconut ice cream is well worth it if you have an

      ice-cream machine. If not, buy in some vanilla ice cream.

      Serves six.

      2 red chillies, tops removed,

      deseeded and cut into very

      thin rounds

      1 vanilla pod, split in half

      lengthways and seeds

      scraped out

      ½ cinnamon stick

      4 star anise

      10 cloves

      50g (13⁄4oz) golden caster

      sugar

      1 pineapple

      FOR THE COCONUT

      ICE CREAM

      400ml (14fl oz) whole milk

      400ml (14fl oz) canned

      coconut milk

      8 egg yolks

      150g