February, a bare month. So much shorter than all the others, even in the best (leap) of years. It could go practically unnoticed, snuck between a January full of intent, and the month of spring when things really do begin to happen.
No wonder its food is of two minds. At times preposterously flamboyant, or entirely demure.
On the ‘bright’ side: January King cabbage, raddicchio, blood oranges and all manner of citrus… Surely even lemons are more yellow at this time of year?!
But the most extreme example of all is forced rhubarb. Flaunting a hue as shocking as food has ever donned, once cooked forced rhubarb is a psychedelic, fluorescent pink. Its taste, however, is softer, more discreet. Forcing rhubarb to grow mild and early is achieved by tricking growth while at the same time depriving it access to sunlight. The practice began in Yorkshire in the North of England at the end of the nineteenth century. Shoots are lifted from the ground after exposure to frost and grown in a warm, entirely dark environment. The harvest is done by candlelight. And it grows so quickly you can actually hear it!
The peacock effect works. I really prefer the darker, tougher, traditionally grown rhubarb, which has more body and astringency, but forced rhubarb is so outrageous, it’s completely irresistible.
This is the way to cook forced rhubarb to its best advantage — which is, barely.
At other times, though, the whole point of winter food is for it to be brown. The hallmark of things cooked low and slow, for hours, until colours and flavours have merged and melded, combined into something that verges on the epitome of comfort. This is the colour of winter too.
Never more so than in the mountains, where I still can’t quite believe I’ve just spent a week. A new condition of the times, the trip felt uncertain until the last minute, preparations dampened by the threat of an administrative impediment. But once it happened — it did happen! — nothing seemed so easy.
I’ve been going to this family chalet since my teenage years, and at least one friend has been coming just as long! Alongside the long established traditions of slope side restaurants, classic runs, end of the day meet-ups — some temporarily disrupted with the advent of children — the most enduring habits were formed around our evening meals. There must always be raclette, a whole half cheese spiked onto a device with a heating coil that melts the cheese directly on the wheel from where it’s scraped onto boiled potatoes and accompanied with meats and cornichons; tartiflette (twice, if you ask Balthasar — click here for a recipe and the entertaining story about the name ‘reblochon’); and, more recently, diots, Savoie sausages that I like to prepare with lentils.
We’ve been home for barely a week and the world has shifted dramatically. The holidays may have been a dream.
Things to read and see
More on Yorkshire forced rhubarb: A long read [BBC] and a shorter fact sheet [Slow Food].
There has been quite a bit of talk about the Ebony test kitchen dismantled from the Johnson publishing building in Chicago and currently recreated for an exhibition about African American Food at the Africa Center in Harlem. Please go for me if you are in NYC!
London-based Ukrainian food writer and cook Olia Hercules has been amplifying the situation in Ukraine in a resonant, personal way through the story of her family and her efforts to effectuate resistance from here.
Things to make and cook
Bitter Seville oranges are still around, and vin d’orange is the way to grasp the season without embarking on the fastidious (though pleasurable) process of marmalade [N&Q].
A quick and easy kombu miso noodle soup and sourdough discard scones worth nurturing a sourdough for, and a few more links and midwinter food inspiration on this recent post. [N&Q].
Elsewhere, I’ve been seduced by chocolate cake! Someone who doesn’t often bake, and never chooses chocolate on a dessert menu, I’ve been suddenly seduced by not one, but two distinct chocolate cakes! Nigel Slater’s Hazelnut chocolate cake with sultanas and rosemary, which I discovered, a bit unexpectedly, via Adam Roberts’ recent Amateur Gourmet newsletter. And Rachel Roddy’s column Chocolate, almond, and cherry cake. The only question that remains: which one to make first? [Guardian]
Places to eat
This is my favourite time to eat out. After the bluster of the holidays, during which I was often happy to stay home, as winter settled, I went out. Restaurants still feeling mildly hungover from the festivities, there is a sense of quiet intimacy. Far from the social whirlwind of December, February is a quiet time, for good friends.
The Plimsoll is a newly reopened pub just south of Finsbury Park. Since it opened last summer tables have been in short supply, but I found a cosy spot on a Monday night with a favourite dining partner, and it was perfect in every way. From the food, the mood, the staff, the playlist, the windows, the tiffany lamp on the counter of the open kitchen. Tragically, Grace Dent just wrote a glowing review in The Guardian, which is sure to obliterate any chances of The Plimsoll mellowing down into our very own best, easy local hangout. It will remain worth the effort, though.
And since I’m hanging about Finsbury Park … The redevelopment around the station has brought, among others, a new cinema, burger and ramen chains, but the best place for noodles is (the also reasonably recent) Tenmaru just a few doors down from The Park Theatre. The place hums with the comfortable chatter of a mixed crowd — old and young, students, families — that appears very much at home, and the ramen are excellent — just the perk needed to get us off our streaming options and into a movie theatre, with the promise of ramen at the end.
I am so glad you write a monthly newsletter. The writing is fabulous. I particularly love the opening lines which so fully describe this time of the year. xx