Peas and Cockles

Work took Paul to the west coast recently (to an RV in Palm Springs more specifically) so I was on my own for dinner for a night last week. I believe that it is incredibly important to indulge myself when I'm on my own...after all, who else will? And as you may have deduced, food is often involved when I do so.


As Judith Jones' new book dedicated to recipes for one has not yet come in for me at the library, in planning my solitary home cooked meal I opted for my favorite standby: shellfish. As you may recall, I often rely on mussels for an elegant, solitary weekday meal. They take no more than five minutes to prepare, most preparations include booze of some sort, and Paul's not the hugest fan so it makes perfect sense to eat them while he's away.


But spring is upon us...the scenery around me is changing by the day at this point so I was in the mood for something new and different. When I saw the New Zealand cockles at the fish counter I simply couldn't resist. And the pea shoots in the produce section were just too green and seasonally appropriate to ignore, so I picked them up as well.


Now Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers At Lucques is one of my absolute favorite cookbooks, but not the one I would normally turn to for anything quick and easy. I tend to reserve her gorgeous dishes for company (how absurd of me now that I think about it...why should I feed company better than I feed myself?), but when I came across this recipe how could I possibly resist?

And after laying eyes on this image of the cute little striped cockles laced with green, any doubt I may have been harboring about the undertaking was erased immediately.

Obviously a few tweaks were made...I ignored calls for green garlic champ and brown scones, threw in frozen petite pois rather than freshly shelled garden peas and as I only had lamb stock in the freezer substituted that for chicken, but the result was just as delicious as all of her other recipes are (and considerably easier).

I officially love the idea of greens with shellfish now...it reduces my need for bread (I have been known to go through the better part of a baguette with a bowl of mussels), obviates the need for a salad and, perhaps more importantly, makes me feel as though I'm eating a true, well thought out meal. A luxury, solitary or not, we all deserve.

Buttered Cockles With Peas and Pea Shoots

Adapted from Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques

Note: I found 1 pound of cockles was enough for one serving, so adjust the quantities (although frankly there's no need to be particularly precise with this recipe) depending on how many mouths you're feeding.

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1 1/4 cups thinly sliced spring onions plus 1 cup thinly sliced spring onion tops

1 tablespoons thyme leaves

3 pounds cockles, or small Manila clams, well scrubbed

1/2 cup white wine

1 cup chicken stock

1 3/4 cups peas (2 pounds in the pod)

6 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/2 lemon, for juicing

1/4 cup chopped parsley

4 ounces pea shoots

Heat a large wide-bottomed saute pan or Dutch oven over high heat for 2 minutes. Swirl in the olive oil and wait 1 minute. Add the spring onions, thyme, 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Cook about two minutes, stirring often until the onions are just wilted. Add the cockles to the pan and stir well to coat them with the onions and oil. Cook 2 minutes, add the white wine and cover the pan.

Steam the cockles for 3 to 4 minutes, until they open. Remove the lid and pour in the stock. When the stock comes to a boil, add the peas. Cook 1 minute (I do less if using petite frozen peas) and then add the butter, stirring to incorporate. Season with a squeeze of lemon juice and taste for seasoning. Discard any unopened cockles.

From Across The Pond

I own an embarrassingly large number of cookbooks, but like many things, I have a few favorites that I find myself reaching for time after time...my desert island cookbooks if you will. This is a series of posts that will describe these books that make up my core collection. I hope that you find them and the recipes they contain as enjoyable and useful as I do.

Well, as this is my fifth post in this little series, it feels only right that it should be my last.  I mean, you couldn't really take more than five books to a desert island, now could you?

And it seems only fitting that my last choice should be the most basic of the bunch:  How to Eat by Nigella Lawson.  For the record, my runner up choices include Sunday Suppers at Lucques, Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cooking (this is a small, old-looking paperback that I picked up at Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks in the West Village, and does not seem to be on Amazon), The World Vegetarian, Serena, Food & Stories, and At Home in Provence.   

We're all more than familiar with this doyenne of domesticity at this point.  She of the provocative finger licking, suggestive mmmm's and bosom-showcasing tops.  Whatever you may think of the new richer, slicker version of Ms. Lawson, I believe that her basic ethos has remained unchanged:  food should be pleasurable, and to be pleasurable it must be both good and easily doable.

What I love about this book is that, as her first, it is just undeniably her, and her ethos shines through unfettered.  There are no pictures, just pages and pages of wonderful, imaginative recipes interspersed with charming witticisms, light philosophizing and stories.  It almost is a book that you could sit down and read as you would a novel (I actually have done so, albeit in a piecemeal fashion).

The recipes alternate between things that your vaguely alcoholic but very cultured British aunt would request, if you had one that is (I personally have always wanted one, she would eat the Rhubarb, Muscat and Mascarpone Trifle), things that a man with very basic taste in food would love (Minute Steaks With Bearnaise Sauce), things that a sophisticated 30-something woman would prepare for dinner on her night in (Sole With Chanterelles), and things that a family as a whole could enjoy together (Spanish Stew).

I have a particularly soft spot for the Barbados Cream (I believe you are supposed to serve it over fruit or something similar, but embarrassingly, I tend to eat it without accompaniment...while standing in front of the refrigerator) and Anna's Chickpea and Pasta Soup.

Barbados Cream

From How to Eat by Nigella Lawson

Serves 6-8

1 1/4 cup heavy cream

1 1/3 cup plain yogurt

about 1/3 cup light brown sugar (I like to use dark)

Mix everything together and beat till fairly but not too stiffly thick.  Pour into a shallow bowl measuring approximately 8 inches in diameter.  Sprinkle over it a thick carpet of brown sugar, cover with plastic, and leave somewhere cool for at least 12 hours or, better still, 24 hours.

Anna's Chickpea And Pasta Soup

From How to Eat, by Nigella Lawson

Serves 8

2 cups dried chickpeas

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons salt

3 quarts vegetable stock, meat stock, white wine and water, or water

3 rosemary sprigs

8 garlic cloves, peeled and bruised

1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving

1 pound tomatoes, skinned and seeded (I just used canned whole tomatoes here)

salt and freshly milled black pepper

8 ounces small tubular pasta such as ditalini

2-3 tablespoons chopped parseley (optional, but I like it)

chili oil, for serving (optional)

grated parmesan, to serve

Put the chickpeas in a bowl and cover with plenty of water.  Mix together the baking soda, flour and salt and add enough water to make a thin paste.  Stir this mixture into the bowls with the chickpeas and leave to soak for at least 12 hours, and preferably 24 (I would err on the longer end here, I've found they can take as long as 36 hours).

When the chickpeas have doubled in size (you don't have to get your ruler out; trust your eyes), they are ready to be cooked.  Drain and then rinse them.  Put them in a large pot and add the vegetable stock

Tie the rosemary sprigs in cheesecloth and add to the pot.  This will make it possible to remove the rosemary without leaving any needles to float in the soup.  This might sound persnickety, but when I ignored the advice, I found the sharp and, by now, bitter needles an unpleasant intrusion.  If you feel intimidated by the idea of cheesecloth then use, disgusting though it sounds, an old clean knee-high stocking and tie a knot at the open end (I would just interject that I would bite the bullet and go with the cheesecloth), or use a tea infuser.

Add the garlic to the chickpea mixture and pour in half the oil.  Cover the pot tightly and bring to the boil.  You will have to gauge this by ear without peeping in.  Lower the heat and cook over the lowest simmer until the chickpeas are tender, 2-4 hours.  Take a look after 1 1/2 hours.

When the chickpeas are tender, remove the garlic and the rosemary bundle, which should be floating on the surface.  Puree the tomatoes in a food mill or in a food processor and add to the soup with their juice.  Stir well, add salt and pepper to taste, and cook for 10 minutes further or so.  This is the point at which you should stop when you're cooking the soup in advance.

When you want to eat it, put the soup back on the burner and reheat it, so that you can proceed to the final step, which is to cook the pasta.  Before you add the pasta to the soup, check that there is enough liquid in the pot.  If not, add some boiling water.  Now, to the boiling soup, add the pasta and cook till al dente.  At this point, I like to add chopped parsley, but the glory of this soup will be undiminished if you prefer not to.  But do pour some of the remaining olive oil into the pot of soup, and drizzle some more into each bowl after you've ladled the soup in.  Serve with chili oil and parmesan on the side.