Ottolenghi love, part II

I once spent a short amount of time in London working on a book project. To compensate for the brevity of my stay, perhaps, as well as the attending traumas of making frequent moves, the gods gave me the best officemate ever. A German who spoke the Queen’s English better than I ever could or will, she gave great advice on love and other matters, wore only trousers suits with enviably well-pressed shirts, and taught me more than I ever thought I’d know about the differences between ‘which’ and ‘that.’

But what—other than a middling command of American English—did I bring to our shared space? I often wondered. I don’t own too many trousers suits, and I’m no good at ironing, precluding competition in professional appearance. To be fair, we’d had a spirited discussion of ‘which’ and ‘that,’ as it seems that U.S. and U.K. rules differ on this point. But really, that doesn’t count for very much. One of the few in our vast office who brought a lunch to work, I often received inquisitive looks from our neighbors when slouched over my Tupperware at noon, followed by such elegant, English questions as, What are you eating? or What’s for lunch? One day my officemate answered these questions for me: It’s like Ottolenghi in here, she sighed. In my corner, I suppose, were the comestibles. 

I had never heard of this O-place, but found out quickly what I’d been missing, a lesson more interesting, perhaps, than the one on ‘which’ and ‘that’ (if not as interesting as that advice on love). The aforementioned Ottolenghi has a devoted London clientele—of which I was a part while I was there—and I miss it terribly. However, with the chefs’ more recent cookbooks, it really can be Ottolenghi at my desk (and yours!), no matter the location. To be sure, Messrs. Ottolenghi and Tamimi’s recipes can be complex, but I have yet to try one that hasn’t been worth the effort. If you are making food for company, one of their salads served with a simple grilled fish or roasted beast alongside can make a pretty fancy supper. Two of them can make a very fancy supper. And the following day, of course, with a bit of bread and cheese, the leftovers do make an enviable lunch.

Green bean salad with mustard + tarragon

Adapted ever so slightly from The Telegraph

The original recipe suggests lamb chops to go with. As an alternative, I think this would be great with roast chicken and some herbed rice.

.5 lb/250 g green beans, trimmed  |  .5 lb/250 g snow peas, trimmed  |  .5 lb/250 g frozen green peas  |  kosher or coarse sea salt  |  3 T olive oil  |  2 t coriander seeds, crushed a little with a mortar + pestle or the flat side of a knife  | 1 t mustard seeds  |  1 pinch  dried chile flakes  |  1 garlic clove, smooshed  |  ½ red onion, finely chopped  |  1 t nigella seeds  |  zest of 1 lemon, grated  |  small palmful tarragon, chopped  |  1 big handful (30 g) baby spinach

Blanch the vegetables: Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil and salt heavily. While you’re waiting, fill a large bowl with ice and water. When the boiling water is ready, add the green beans. After 2 minutes, add the snow peas. After 1 minute, add the frozen peas. Wait about 30 seconds. Then drain everything, and place in the bowl of ice water. If you would like to blanch all the vegetables separately, that’s fine too. After about a minute in the cold water, drain the vegetables, and leave them on a towel to dry.

Make the dressing + assemble: Put the olive oil in a small sauté pan over medium heat and add the coriander seeds, mustard seeds, chile flakes, and garlic clove. Let these all heat up together. When the seeds begin to pop, put your now-dried vegetables in a mixing bowl and pour the hot oil and spices over everything. Toss well. Add the red onion, lemon zest, tarragon, spinach, and a couple pinches of salt. Toss again, taste, and add more salt if necessary.

Serves 4