Organic vegetables and a punchy soup

You are probably aware by now that something is afoot in the atmosphere, and there are rumblings from Toyota Pious drivers everywhere that it might even be our fault, and that we should be doing our best to make a change. It's a bit of a moral nightmare for most of us. For every cause that we support, for every time we walk instead of drive, or for every shower we take instead of bath, there is always someone rolling their eyes and telling us that we could be doing more. While finding eco-piety utterly nauseating there is no escaping the fact that these people are unequivocally right (perhaps part of the reason for the nausea). It can be quite daunting.

I would gingerly suggest that the current economic climate might go some way to aiding the ecological one. The implications of driving everywhere or leaving the lights on are no longer focused on the effect your wastage is having on the environment, but also on your wallet. We now have two reasons for being careful with our energy. And this can only be a good thing.

So what can we do to stay green in the kitchen? Well, the possibilities are endless - use the oven as little as possible, keep your fridge at the right temperature, avoid the dishwasher, buy a pressure cooker. But my big beef is with supermarket vegetables, so I have started getting an organic vegetable box delivered weekly to the flat. In my box were, amongst other things, sweet potatoes and broccoli. Local, organic, in season. In the supermarket these had come from Israel and Kenya. Alarm bells are ringing. Can you sit down with a clear conscience and eat greens that are so clearly not green at all? The ecological effect of imported produce is terrifying, not to mention the fact that it cripples our own farmers (oh, I just did).

The quality of my local veg is, needless to say, remarkably better than its supermarket counterparts, but, as I have pointed out, we're now more wary of our wallets than ever, so I think it's only fair to compare prices. I can't start harping on about buying local organic ingredients when you can get them for half the price in the shops. So I dismount from my high horse and get out my calculator. Long story short, the equivalent (in weight and size, not quality) vegetables came to just under a pound cheaper in total than the organic box. Now, if this is the difference between you sleeping on the street and having a roof over your head, then fine. If not, have a think about what you're doing next time you reach for Brazilian beans.



Perhaps the most majestic of the Gourd family, the butternut squash, is sitting proudly in my box. Unwilling to go through the rigmarole of peeling the thing, I cleaver it in half down the middle, pull out the seeds and roast it with some garlic. The result is a rich, intense and velvety soup. Just try not to feel too guilty about using the oven - it's a cooking blog for Pete's sake, it's going to come into play at some point.

Roast butternut squash soup

Serves 6

1 large butternut squash
1 head of garlic
1 onion, peeled and chopped
1 1/2 litres chicken stock

Preheat the oven to 200C.

With a large knife (with a small one you will find this nigh on impossible) cut the squash straight down the middle and pull out the seeds. Cut the garlic in half horizontally and put half in each scoop of the squash. Season generously with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Roast for an hour and a half until it is as soft as an over-ripe peach and deliciously brown at the edges.

Leave to cool a little while you soften the onion in a little oil in a large saucepan. Scoop out the amber flesh from the squash, discarding the skin and half the garlic. Add the squash to the pan and squidge out the roast garlic into it also. Add the stock and simmer for 5 minutes. Blend thoroughly (make sure the soup is really hot at this point, which helps to ensure a smooth soup) and serve with a swirl of cream and some crusty bread.

Sausage ragu with penne

The combination of sausage and pasta is one I deal with probably once a month. This might be because I am a greedy fatty who doesn't consider it a meal if an animal hasn't perished in the process, or it might just be because there is something utterly sublime about the way pork mince hugs a pasta noodle like an over-affectionate aunt, or nestles inside a tube of penne, generously offering itself as a little self-made pig in blanket (or perhaps just hiding from my hungry gaze). There is just something so perfect, so comforting about sausage pasta, in any shape or form.

A traditional beef ragu often contains minced pork anyway, a real treat in itself and adding a lot of interest to a standard Bolognese sauce (try it next time you knock up a spag bol) but it is often lean and therefore tends to dry out a little when cooked on its own. The beauty of sausage is that it is a mixture of both meat and fat (hence the bingo wings on many a full English-noshing lorry driver) and so doesn't have the same inclination to dry out.

One of my favourite versions of the sausage pasta is a Nigel Slater concoction, whereby you sweat a chopped onion, add your sausage meat, some white wine, grainy mustard and cream and simmer for 10 minutes or so before stirring in lots of fresh chopped parsley. It's almost unbeatable, and very quick.

This recipe requires little more of your own time, just some more cooking time.

Sausage ragu with penne

Serves 4

1 onion, peeled and finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
2 carrots, peeled and diced
1 stick of celery, diced
a handful finely chopped parsley
a sprig of rosemary, leaves pulled off and finely chopped
6-8 plump sausages
150 ml red wine
1 tin chopped tomatoes
1 bay leaf
Some freshly grated Parmesan

Heat a little oil over a low heat and add the onion, garlic, carrots and celery. Season and cover. Cook for 30 minutes over the lowest heat you can muster, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, slit the skin of the sausages and remove the meat, discarding the suspicious looking membrane. When the vegetables (the soffritto it is known as in Italy - that's one to impress the ladies, ahem) are completely softened increase the heat and stir in the herbs. Stir for a couple of minutes before adding the sausage meat. Crush with a fork and stir for a further 5 minutes until the meat is completely broken up. Add the wine and simmer for a couple more minutes, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat and add the tomatoes and bay leaf. Simmer for 30 minutes. Stir in 400g penne that you have cooked according to pack instructions, and serve in warmed bowls with a sprinkle of parmesan and a little more chopped parsley.

Chicken noodle soup

Yes yes, I know - more bloody chicken (and 'where's a pudding recipe?' I hear you scream), but come on, roast chicken is something we all encounter a couple of times a month, so it's good to have some top notch leftover recipes up your sleeve. I am still down in Sussex at a friend's house (hence the lack of recent entries) endeavouring to write some music, where we have been fed incredibly well by his Mum. Her roast chicken is sensational, with slippery and caramelised roast onions. We are left to our own devices the following day however, and seeing as there is a lot of roast chicken left and the weather has turned cold a zingy soup is clamoured for. We reckon we're the most gourmet band in the world.

If you don't have any leftover roast chicken (and why should you?) do this with 4 sliced chicken breasts simmered in the broth for 7-8 minutes. I do actually think roast chicken is much better for this, though, with a better texture and flavour. This is also excellent with prawns. Simmer in the broth until pink and firm.

Serves 4-6 easily

For the stock

Leftover chicken carcasses, with plenty of meat on them if possible
2 litres water
a splash of white wine
an onion, peeled and sliced
a stick of celery, sliced
a carrot, chopped into chunks
a few peppercorns

For the rest

2 red onions, peeled and sliced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced
4 birds eye chillies, sliced (seeds left in)
a thumb of ginger peeled and thinly sliced
a stick of lemongrass, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons soy sauce
a big handful of beansprouts
a packet of udon noodles
a good handful roughly chopped coriander

To make the stock, strip all the meat from the carcass and keep for the soup. With your hands, break up the bones into smaller bits. Put your roasting tray on a high heat and add the onion, celery and carrot. Stir for a couple of minutes, adding oil if necessary (the fat from the roasting should perform this task, however). Add the bones and continue to colour over a high heat for five minutes, stirring occasionally. Add a good splash of white wine and scrape up the juices. Transfer the contents to a saucepan, cover with water and add the peppercorns. Bring to a boil and simmer, with the lid off, for 2-3 hours. Pass through a fine sieve and set the stock aside.

Heat a little oil over a low heat in a large saucepan. Add the onions and garlic and stir for a couple of minutes until softened. Add the chillies, ginger and lemon grass, increase the heat and stir for a further two minutes. Pour in the stock and bring to a simmer. Add the soy, beansprouts, noodles and your leftover chicken and simmer for 3 minutes or so. Add the chopped coriander and taste for seasoning. Serve in warm bowls.

A glut of tomatoes

It's getting to the time of year when you might, if you're very lucky, have a bundle of tomatoes leftover and, if you're unlucky, slowly edging towards a state of inedibility in the larder. I'm not going to pretend you're having a headache about what to do with them, as there are a million freezable things to do with a tomato. Pasta sauce bases are the obvious ones - in Italy they might set three or four days aside for the annual tomato prulping, dragging dusty machines from the cupboards that will skin and seed the fruits quicker than you can say 'penne alla arabbiata' (not that quick, then) and making enough passata to last till the following autumn.

But I can't be doing with the faffing about of skinning and seeding the things. It's certainly worth it in some circumstances. A tomato salad, for example, is improved immeasurably by being skinless. To peel a tomato, by the way, you want to cut a cross in the skin at the base of the fruit, pour boiling water over it and leave to sit for a minute or two - a riper tomato shouldn't need more than a minute. Drain the water, allow to cool and pull off the skin. But I'm not doing that now, because it's a weekday evening and I can't be arsed. I just want something quick and delicious to go with the sea bass I am eating for supper. This recipe can be made in the quantities you are dealing with - it's really a case of approximation, feeling your way through quantities. This is for 500g tomatoes or so, but if you have 5 kg, go for it. As long as you are careful with the vinegar and chilli you will be fine. The jam is absolutely delicious with fish, sausages, cold meat, or added to a pasta sauce.

Oh, another note on tomatoes. They are best kept as far away from the fridge as possible. Picture biting into a cold tomato - not very nice eh? Hard and insipid, not exactly an enjoyable mouthful. Stored at room temperature, or even above (as, of course, it would be on the vine) a tomato will ripen, redden, and be a completely different eating experience.

Tomato chilli jam

2 tablespoons olive oil
4 sprigs rosemary
2 cloves garlic (unpeeled)
500g tomatoes, cut into chunks
50 ml red wine vinegar
200 ml red wine
1 teaspoon chilli flakes
1 tablespoon sugar
salt and pepper

In a non stick pan, heat the oil over a medium heat and add the rosemary and garlic. Stir for a minute or two and add the tomatoes, vinegar, wine, sugar and chilli flakes. Season well with salt and pepper and bring to a strong simmer. Leave to bubble away for 20-30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the liquid has reduced completely and you have a thick, dark, unctuous consistency. Taste for seasoning, and add a little more sugar if necessary. Serve hot or cold.