a murky-looking dressing; the greens will have imparted their stain but also, more importantly, their flavor to the original, simple vinaigrette. Add this reduced liquid back to the drained greens.
Now, put a tablespoon of the greens on a slice of ham, deftly roll it up and place on a large flat serving dish. Repeat this process with the remaining 11 slices of ham, so arranging them that they will please the eye. Spoon the reduced dressing over these diminutive bundles and serve forthwith.
I have been known to fling an occasional dusting of freshly grated Parmesan over these, from time to time. Feel free, but don’t go mad.
Piedmontese peppers
serves 4
4 red peppers
8–12 ripe plum tomatoes
4 cloves of garlic, peeled
a little salt
freshly ground black pepper
5–6 tbsp good olive oil
8 large Spanish tinned anchovies, cut in half lengthways, or 16 whole small ones
In the early 1990s, pictures of this dish adorned the tiled walls alongside the escalators on the Bakerloo line. They were extracted from an excellent, bestselling cookbook of the time. However, it was a bit surreal to see a plate of food, originally from a recipe in Elizabeth David’s
Italian Food
, now illustrated on London’s ancient tube system. Then again, it was good to see such a pretty picture at rush hour. And, furthermore, it may have inspired the occasional commuter to rush home and cook such a thing. Without beating about the bush, it is the most delicious event ever to happen to a pepper.
Preheat the oven to 375°F. Cut the red peppers in half, lengthways, slicing right through the stalk (leave it attached, simply for the look of the finished dish). Remove the seeds and cut out the pithy parts. Pour boiling water over the plum tomatoes, leave for 10 seconds, peel off their skins and then cut out the core. Place the halved peppers into an ovenproof dish (one that will be nice enough to present later, at table). Slice the garlic into slivers, distribute over the inside of the peppers and then fit the tomatoes inside, pushing them gently into the space. Add only a little salt, but a normal grinding of pepper. Spoon over the olive oil and then slide the dish into the oven. Bake for about 45 minutes to 1 hour, turning the heat down a little if you notice any excessive scorching of the peppers.
Once they are nicely softened, slightly collapsed, scorched in places and smelling quite wonderful (they always do), remove from the oven. Criss-cross each pepper half with an anchovy, baste with the copious, oily juices and allow to cool to room temperature.
gazpacho
serves 6
3 oz sherry vinegar
10 oz water
1 cucumber, peeled and chopped
1 red pepper, seeded and chopped
1 green pepper, seeded and chopped
1¼ lb very ripe tomatoes, skinned and chopped
5 oz passata (or tomato purée)
3 cloves of garlic, peeled and crushed
1 onion, chopped
1 scant tsp Tabasco
small handful of mint leaves
salt and freshly ground black pepper
aprox 2 cups crushed ice
9 oz extra virgin olive oil
to serve
tiny croutons, made from a few slices of white bread, cubed, and then fried in olive oil until crisp
Hot Spanish sunshine. Chilled glass of fino. Lunch. 2:30pm. Post swim. T-shirt and damp shorts. Espadrilles. Panama hat. Unfed cat at sandy feet. Beachside table. More hot Spanish sunshine. Cold soup. Gazpacho.
Note: there are those who think that a gazpacho should be chunky or garnished with more of the already included ingredients as dice. I don’t. I love the smoothness of this recipe and find that bits of extra vegetables simply get in the way. However, I wouldn’t miss out on the croutons for anything. I have said many times before that croutons in any smooth soup—hot or cold—do lovely things to the mouth, when supping.
Purée all the soup ingredients together until smooth, apart from about a third of the olive oil. Pass through an ordinary, round sieve (not too fine) while pressing down well on the vegetables to extract as much flavor as
L.M.T. L.Ac. Donna Finando
William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich, Albert S. Hanser