Time. Our most precious commodity and one which we have utterly no control over. It sets its own agenda and we’re largely at it’s mercy when it comes to finding out when it ends.
Time – He’s waiting in the wings
He speaks of senseless things
His script is you and me boys.David Bowie 'Time'
That might sound a bit heavy and bleak to start the week with, tackling all of life, death and everything in between. But it seems to have particular relevance to cooking. Yes, really, I’m serious. Yesterday, I was making a dish for the blog which involved some delicious sweet, rich, roasted red peppers. They were silken strands of slithering red, orange and yellow capsicums, swimming around in a simple dressing and my mouth is watering just thinking about them. I hadn’t roasted peppers for a long time and it reminded me of the sweet beauty…
It started with a cheese.
This all started after the people at Comté cheese treated me and a few other bloggers to a delightful little cookery experience and cheese tasting, featuring a some aged variants of Comté, a decidedly lovely cheese. Even Raymond Blanc agrees, recently tweeting about being spoilt by the very same “Dinner at my mum. a-wild flowers .comte..sculptured radishes ,home made -creme anglaise .biscuit .Totally spoiled(sic).”.
As for my being spoilt with Comté, I was treated to a decadent cheese soufflé, followed by getting involved in the making of a lovely puff pastry tart with bacon and apple, topped with unctuous, melted, oozing Comté. The latter of these enticed the little chef inside me to translate the recipe in some kind of vegetarian sausage roll that would have serious cheese appeal. Ideally something with hidden, molten Comté, only to be discovered when you break into the perfect…
Some people have similarities to vegetables. I don’t mean that in a rude, insulting way, but in an genuinely characterful or aesthetic way. People can look like aubergines, eggs, asparagus, all sorts of things. My girlfriend seems to think I look like a sweetcorn and apparently I have an affinity with them as they (my sweetcorn family) all wave at me as we drive down country roads lined with fields of tall sweetcorn plants.
I do admittedly have a certain understanding of sweetcorn, because when I was young, my Dad used to grow rows of them on his vegetable patch in our garden. As a youngster I learned how to tell when they’re ready to pick, waiting for the silky strands to darken and checking the corns are milky when pierced. Of all the vegetables that sprung from that patch of land, sweetcorn was the homegrown vegetable which I noticed…