Theodore Kyriakou’s garides saganaki
For this classic Greek saganaki recipe you need fresh medium-to-large-sized prawns, which are deglazed in ouzo to give a unique taste.
When I think of saganaki, I taste salty melted cheese with hints of ouzo and plenty of grilled bread, and then I start daydreaming about eating under the Almyrikia trees, my feet in the sea.
The word “saganaki” refers to the cooking pan, a flat little frying pan with squat handles on both sides. It looks like a cross between a tawa and karahi, the equivalents from East Asia.
Serves 4 as a starter
prawns 12
tomatoes 4 good size, ripe and juicy, peeled
olive oil 80ml
banana shallot 1, peeled and finely chopped
garlic 2 cloves, chopped
Aleppo pepper a pinch
salt and freshly ground pepper
ouzo 70ml, or dry white wine
feta 200g, crumbled
basil ¼ bunch
oregano a pinch
Peel the bodies of the prawns, leaving the heads and tails on for extra flavour. De-vein by making a very shallow cut along the back of the prawn with a sharp knife, just enough to be able to see the vein and remove it.
Grate the tomatoes into a bowl, using the large blades of the grater. Grate only the flesh and discard the skin. Let them strain in a colander, so that no excess water is added to the sauce.
In a saucepan, heat 50ml of olive oil over medium heat, add the diced shallot and saute until it looks translucent. Stir in the chopped garlic and Aleppo pepper, and season with salt and pepper. Add the chopped tomatoes, cover with the lid, bring to the boil and let simmer for about 5-10 minutes, until the sauce thickens and all water has evaporated.
Preheat the oven to 220C/gas mark 7.
Season the prawns with salt on both sides. Heat a large frying pan over medium heat and pour in 20ml olive oil. Add the prawns, saute for 1 minute on each side and deglaze with the ouzo until it almost evaporates. Your ingredients might catch on fire since this is flambéing – watch it carefully but don’t panic, as it should quickly die down.
Pour the tomato sauce over the prawns and shake the pan to cover all ingredients evenly. Press them down gently with your fingers to sink into the sauce. Top it with the crumbled feta, place the pan in the oven and cook for 5 more minutes, until the feta slightly melts.
Shred the basil. Sprinkle it over together with the remaining olive oil and the oregano and serve while still hot with plenty of crusty baguette.
Theodore Kyriakou is executive chef of The Greek Larder, London N1
Claudia Roden’s megadarra – brown lentils and rice
In Syria, it was called mudardara, but for us in Egypt it was megadarra. Accompanied by yogurt, it was a regular part of traditional Jewish dairy meals on Thursday nights, and on Saturdays it was eaten cold. It may seem that the recipe calls for a large amount of onions – but when they are crisp and brown and caramelised it will seem that there are not enough.
Serves 4-6
onions 3 large, weighing about 750g, cut in half and sliced
olive oil 125ml
large brown lentils 250g
long-grain rice 250g
salt about 1 tsp
pepper
Fry the onions in oil, stirring often, until they turn a rich golden brown.
Rinse the lentils and cook them in 1 litre of water for 20 minutes. Now add half the fried onions and rice. Season with salt and pepper and stir well. Put the lid on and cook on very low heat for another 20 minutes, or until the rice and lentils are tender, adding water if it becomes too dry.
At the same time, put the remaining onions back on the fire and continue to fry them, stirring often, until they are a dark brown and almost caramelised.
Serve the rice hot or at room temperature with these onions sprinkled on top.
From The Book of Jewish Food by Claudia Roden (Penguin, £25)
Sam and Sam Clark’s quail stuffed with couscous, raisins and almonds
One mouthful of this dish and you know it could come only from Morocco. It tastes heavenly!
Serves 4-6
free-range or organic quails 8, rinsed under cold water and drained
olive oil 3 tbsp
cinnamon stick 1
saffron a small pinch (about 30 threads)
red onion 1 small, roughly chopped
golden sultanas a handful
ground cinnamon 1½ tsp
runny honey 1 dsp
caster sugar ½ tsp
sea salt and black pepper
For the couscous stuffing
fine couscous 375g
sunflower oil 3 tbsp
golden raisins 300g, soaked for 10 minutes in hot water
almonds 150g, soaked for 10 minutes in hot water and roughly chopped
butter 60g
ground cinnamon 2¼ tsp
crushed sweet almonds 1 quantity (see below)
runny honey 1½ tbsp
icing sugar ½ tbsp
orange-blossom water 1½ tsp
For the crushed sweet almonds
olive oil 10 tbsp
almonds 250g, whole, blanched
granulated sugar 5 tbsp
To make the crushed sweet almonds, place a frying pan over a medium heat and add the oil. When hot but not smoking, add the almonds and stir around until lightly toasted (light brown, approximately 2-3 minutes). Take care not to make them too dark as they will be bitter and unusable (the almonds will carry on cooking a bit out of the oil). Remove the pan from the heat and spoon the almonds on to a piece of kitchen paper to absorb any excess oil. Transfer about 200g of the almonds to a mortar along with the sugar, and crush until the nuts are almost fine. Alternatively, do this in a food processor, but make sure the almonds are not too smooth. Reserve the extra 50g almonds whole for decorating the dish.
For the stuffing, place the couscous in a bowl and pour over the sunflower oil. Mix well, then cover with cold water. When the water has been absorbed (5-10 minutes), delicately work with the palms of your hands to make the couscous light and fluffy, breaking up any lumps as you go. Fill the bottom half of a couscousier or steamer a third full with water and put on a high heat to boil. Turn down the heat to a steady simmer, and put on the top half of the pan. Gently scatter a layer of couscous 5mm thick on the bottom, wait for 1 minute, then add a second layer. Wait for 5-10 minutes until the steam beings to rise above the two layers of couscous, then put on the rest. Steam for 10 minutes.
Put the hot couscous in a bowl and season with salt. Add the raisins, soaked almonds and butter. Cover the butter with some of the hot couscous so that it melts, then add the ground cinnamon, 200g of the crushed sweet almonds, the honey, icing sugar and orange-blossom water. Mix well, add a little salt and pepper and taste to check the seasoning. Put some of this stuffing inside the cavity of each quail and a little under the skins. Secure the open cavity of the tail with foil or a couple of wooden toothpicks and brush off any excess stuffing. You will be left with sufficient stuffing to serve on the side.
To cook the quails, choose a saucepan that will fit the eight birds snugly, and put over a medium heat. Add the olive oil and, when hot but not smoking, add the cinnamon stick, saffron and chopped onion. Season with salt and pepper, then add the quails breast-side down and enough water almost, but not quite, to cover them. Bring to a steady simmer and cook for about 30 minutes, turning once halfway through the cooking time. At this stage preheat the oven to 230C/gas mark 8. When the birds are cooked, transfer them to a baking dish (keep the cooking liquor aside) and place in the hot oven until golden, a few minutes. Meanwhile, add the sultanas and ground cinnamon to the cooking liquor and reduce for 10-15 minutes. Then add the honey and sugar. Check for seasoning. You should taste a balance between the savouriness of the stewed quail, the sweetness of the honey and the spice.
When the quails are golden, warm up the couscous left over from the stuffing and serve on the side with the hot sauce (spoon a little of the sauce over the quail just before serving). Sprinkle the remaining whole lightly roasted almonds on the couscous for an attractive finish.
From Casa Moro by Sam and Sam Clark (Ebury Press, £20)
Yotam Ottolenghi’s Corsican pie with courgette flowers
You can use a wide range of wild, cultivated or supermarket greens in this recipe. Consider nettles, beetroot tops, turnip tops, spinach or watercress in place of the chard. Choose the ones you like most. The courgette flowers look wonderful but you can leave them out or substitute them with some long shaved strips of courgette, if you prefer. Brocciu, produced on the island of Corsica and considered a national food, is a fresh young white cheese made with goat’s or ewe’s milk. I couldn’t omit it from the ingredients, but the easier-to-find Italian ricotta can be used just as well instead.
Serves 4 as a main course
red onion ½ small (85g), thinly sliced
celery stalks with leaves 3 (220g), thinly sliced
swiss chard leaves 8 large (175g), white stalks discarded, roughly chopped
garlic 2 cloves, thinly sliced
mint leaves 2 tbsp, torn
parsley 2 tbsp, chopped
sage 2 tsp, chopped
olive oil 2 tbsp, plus extra for brushing
feta 75g, crumbled
pecorino 50g, finely grated
pine nuts 15g, lightly toasted
lemon grated zest of 1
all-butter puff pastry 350g
plain flour for dusting
brocciu cheese 100g, or ricotta
courgette flowers 4-6, cut in half lengthways if large, or 6 long, shaved strips of raw courgette (optional)
egg 1, lightly beaten
salt and black pepper
Place a large saute pan on medium–high heat and saute the onion, celery, chard, garlic, mint, parsley and sage in the olive oil. Cook, stirring continuously, for 15 minutes or until the greens have wilted and the celery has softened completely. Remove from the heat and stir through the feta, pecorino, pine nuts, lemon zest, ¼ teaspoon of salt and a hearty grind of black pepper. Leave aside to cool.
Preheat the oven to 220C/gas mark 7.
Roll out the pastry on a floured work surface until 3mm thick, then cut it into a circle, approximately 30cm in diameter. Place on an oven tray lined with baking parchment. Spread the filling out on the pastry leaving a 3cm border all the way around. Dot the filling with large chunks of brocciu or ricotta and top with courgette flowers or courgette strips, if using. Bring the pastry up around the sides of the filling and pinch the edges together firmly to form a secure, decorative lip over the edge of the tart. Alternatively, press with the end of a fork. Brush the pastry with egg and refrigerate for 10 minutes.
Bake the tart for 30 minutes, until the pastry is golden and cooked on the base. Remove from the oven and brush with a little olive oil. Serve warm or at room temperature.
From Plenty More by Yotam Ottolenghi (Ebury Press, £27)
Richard Olney’s Provençal fish stew
Bouillabaisse is, to tell the truth, more of a philosophy than a culinary preparation. More gastronomic literature – and quarrels – have centered around it than any other dish (with cassoulet running a close second). If most of the recipes for it were to be followed, however, the result could only be the most banal of fish soups (I am thinking of those in French – some that I have seen in American and English cookbooks would make the hair of the most indifferent Marseillais stand on end).
It is not a delicate dish; to be good, it must be highly seasoned, and it is terrifyingly soporific, but it embodies and engenders the warmth, the excitement and the imagination which, perhaps, of all the Mediterranean peoples, the Provençaux exude in the highest degree. At best, it belongs to the realm of divine things.
There is a perpetual quarrel as to whether soupe de poissons (literally, soup of fish) or bouillabaisse (which is a soupe aux poissons, or soup with fish) is the finest dish. This is essentially debated among professional eaters and writers on food who are not experts on the technical side of things, for any professional chef knows (though rarely tells) that a really good soupe aux poissons is moistened, not with water, but with a fish stock, which is nothing more nor less than a soupe de poissons. Another detail little discussed by its practitioners is the addition of a bit of pastis, an anise-flavoured apéritif alcohol similar to absinthe. It serves admirably to reinforce the perfume of the fennel in the dish.
A number of circ*mstantial factors are, no doubt, essential for this fish soup to be translated into a memorable experience. It should be the main dish – and plentiful; it should be shared with friends in a relaxed and informal atmosphere; it marries well with the sea air (in any case, the proximity of the ocean tends to ensure the freshness of the fish); the wine should be kept generously flowing throughout the meal. I, personally, have many sublime memories of entire days devoted to shopping (early in the morning to the fish market to find the freshest of fish of the greatest possible variety), everyone preparing fish and vegetables (accompanied by a few more pastis than wisdom would ordinarily dictate), followed by euphoric hours spent at table.
The following is a list of fish used traditionally in bouillabaisse, with English translation where possible (although some may be unobtainable in English-speaking countries), and possible substitutes:
Rascasse: the one fish considered absolutely indispensable. No translation. Substitute red snapper.
Vive: weever. It is a sand-burrowing shore fish. Substitute whiting.
Girelle: I find no translation for this gloriously coloured fish, and a substitution is difficult. Although it is a close relative of the zander, also known as the pike-perch.
St Pierre: John Dory. A ferocious-looking fish of very delicate flesh. Substitute grey sole or lemon sole.
Congre: conger eel. [This now listed as endangered. Use gurnard instead.]
Baudroie or lotte: angler-fish. Substitute sea bass, fresh haddock or fresh cod.
Rouget: red mullet. The Mediterranean rock mullet (rouget des roches) is far finer than any other.
Favouilles: small crabs. Substitute soft-shelled crabs.
Mussels are often added and one often finds langouste (rock lobsters) added for elegance’s sake, but neither the lobster nor the soup gains in this marriage.
The following recipe is entitled noncommittally soupe aux poissons, out of respect for those purist defenders of the true bouillabaisse, which is prepared with fish to be found only on the rocky Mediterranean shores, moistened only with water, and accompanied by la rouille, a highly flavoured pommade made by pounding together cayenne pepper and raw garlic, and adding olive oil (some mount it, like a mayonnaise, with egg yolks). Generally speaking, the qualities essential to the success of the dish given here are a variety of absolutely fresh fish (at least 5 or 6 different kinds, some of the firm gelatinous flesh, others of tender white flesh – avoid, above all, any strongly flavoured oily fish such as sardines or mackerel), a very good quality fruity olive oil, and a rapid boil (the word bouillabaisse means “boil at top speed”). This rapid boiling, by forming a light emulsion of the oil in the cooking liquid, thickens the soup. If some of the suggested fish are unavailable, substitute others and don’t worry about it.
Serves 6-8
mixed whole fish 1.8kg of medium size (150-275g), such as small red snappers, grey sole, lemon sole, mullet, whiting, wall-eyed pike, etc
sea bass, fresh cod, halibut, etc 450g, cut into thick slices
conger eel [use gurnard] 450g, cut into slices approximately 4cm thick
soft-shelled crabs 450g
olive oil 350g
branches of wild fennel (or lacking these, fennel seed), bay leaf, thyme, savory, oregano
powdered saffron approximately ½ tsp
whole saffron a good pinch
pastis, Pernod 51 or Ricard 1 small glass
leeks 450g
onions 3 medium
garlic 4-5 cloves
water approximately 3.5 litres
fish carcasses 450g (ask your fish merchant for carcasses from fish that have been filleted - these replace, albeit imperfectly, the little “soup fish” used on the Mediterranean coast)
dried orange peel
salt (preferably coarse sea salt-or, if near the ocean, sea water diluted to the right saltiness)
tomatoes 700g firm, well-ripened
freshly ground pepper
French bread about 20 slices, dried out, either in the sun or in a very slow oven, but not toasted
garlic 6-7 cloves, with which to rub the bread
Cut off the fins, remove the gills and scale and clean the fish that are whole, if this has not been done for you. The heads may be removed or not – the presentation is more attractive if the heads remain, but the fish stock is thus impoverished. Trim the slices of larger fish to make them more presentable and put aside the trimmings with the heads and carcasses. Sponge all the fish and seafood, dry with paper towels, spread them out on a large platter and sprinkle them thoroughly with some of the olive oil, then with the herbs, about ⅓ teaspoon of powdered saffron, and finally with half the pastis. Gently rub the fish in your hands, inside and out, until they are all equally yellowed by the saffron, then leave to marinate, turning them around from time to time, while preparing the fish stock and vegetables.
For the fish stock, cut off the tough, dark-green parts of the leeks and discard them. Slit the remaining parts halfway down to facilitate washing them and, when they are well washed, cut each in 2, in order to separate the greenish parts from the white of the leek. Put the white parts aside and coarsely chop the green parts. Peel the onions, put 2 aside and coarsely chop the third. Crush the 4-5 cloves of garlic.
Heat the water and add the heads, carcasses and trimmings of the fish, chopped leek greens, chopped onion, crushed garlic, a branch of fennel (or seeds), dried orange peel, thyme, bay leaf, and salt. Bring to a boil and cook, covered, over a medium flame, for approximately ½ hour. After 15-20 minutes, crush all of the solid material with a wooden pestle. Pour the contents of the pot into a fine sieve and press the debris well with pestle or wooden spoon in order to extract all the flavour possible.
Dip the tomatoes in boiling water for a moment to loosen their skins, peel them, cut them in 2 horizontally and squeeze them to rid them of seeds and excess liquid. Chop the white parts of the leeks and the remaining onions finely.
Pour the remaining oil (there should be approximately 160ml) into a very large saucepan (the fishermen in the south of France use a large galvanised tin basin, the same form as a dishpan – if you have no suitable saucepan, an enameled dishpan will serve). Put the chopped leeks and onions to cook gently in the oil, stirring them regularly with a wooden spoon, and, 10 minutes later, add the chopped tomatoes, a pinch of powdered saffron, a pinch of whole saffron (the powdered, assuming it to be pure good-quality saffron, lends more flavour, and the whole saffron lends a decorative aspect) and a piece of dried orange peel. Continue to cook for another 5 minutes or so, salt lightly (bearing in mind that the fish stock has already been salted to taste) and add a generous amount of freshly ground pepper. Place the pan over the highest possible flame and add the fish stock and the remaining pastis. From this moment count 15 minutes’ cooking time. The liquid should be kept at a rapid boil and the pan uncovered. The fish should be added at 3 different intervals; those of firm and somewhat gelatinous flesh should be added first along with any crustaceans; 5 or 6 minutes later, the larger specimens of the more tender-fleshed varieties; and 5 minutes after that, the smallest of the soft-fleshed fish. This timing is inevitably somewhat arbitrary, everything depending on the variety, the size, and the kind of fish used. Sometimes only 2 intervals rather than 3 are needed, and it may be that 10 or 12 minutes’ cooking time is sufficient.
During the time that the fish is cooking, rub the dried-out bread slices with 6-7 cloves of garlic. Count 1 medium-sized clove for 3 slices of bread.
Lift out the fish carefully with a large wire skimming spoon and arrange on a heated serving platter. Moisten them with 2 or 3 ladlefuls of broth and pour the remainder into a soup tureen. Send the fish and the soup to the table at the same time, accompanied by the garlic-flavoured crusts, and serve, first, a ladleful of soup poured over a garlic crust, and after, the fish, moistened with an additional ladleful of soup for each guest.
From The French Menu Cookbook by Richard Olney (Harper Collins, £14.99)
