It's a rare occasion that sees me pass a merguez sausage without buying it. Many a night, in the back streets of Toulouse after a hard day at Art college followed by the necessary 'unwinding', I could be found loitering by one of the many 'merguez-frites' vans. The meat may have been dubious, but if you add enough spices to something (and by those spices I also include everything that went in the sangria at Le Chat d'oc) it tastes amazing.
These days, I neither spice myself nor eat dubious things from vans. No matter that eating from a van or a skip is the height of fashion, and far be it from me to not appear as a man about town, full of a la mode encounters, I prefer to have a cosy night in knowing that what I'm eating is of du bon provenance, as it were. And besides, the idea of eating on a cold London street is frankly quite beyond the pale for a man of my age.
The newly opened butcher's shop down the road from us knows each farm that supplies their meat, if not each animal they slice up in the brightly lit back of the shop in the village. If things aren't up to scratch, they don't stock them. This gives me confidence in them, they really seem to care.
A large vitrine looks into the chilly fridge as you walk in the front door, framing the animal version of a gruesome Mafia scene and a pale red neon glow gives a rather voyeuristic feel to the whole set up. I ask for some bones for the dog, stock up on chicken and beef then spot the merguez. Ben, the tatooed and bearded man with the cleaver hands me the bag of body parts meat and I slowly, smilingly, back out of the shop and drive home through the leafy sun-dappled streets of Dulwich.
Back home, the dried butter beans(*) go into a bowl, covered with boiling water and soak for an hour before cooking. And I cook them in chicken stock made from Fosse Meadow farm birds until soft and velvety. Stirring through a good handful of parsley and a large pinch of dried mint I then pour in a lot of olive oil and leave the beans to quietly cool in a corner of the kitchen.
Later I will grill the merguez until oozing red oil comes out and the skin starts to crisp. The egg yolk(**) I've kept back from the stock clarifying is perfect for the rouille to go on top. All it takes is some toasted cumin seeds(***), ground to a powder with some saffron(*****), a couple of small garlic cloves(*****) and some salt(******). The olive oil(******) goes in a thin stream into the mortar as the egg yolk breaks golden into the spices. Thickening slowly it will add a hit of flavour to bring the sausage and beans together like a sun-tanned priest at a wedding.
*From Madagascar, apparently. For some reason or other I'm sure.
**From a nice farm in the Cotswolds.
***Packed in the UK, apparently. What a weaselly thing to say.
****From La Mancha. Saffron Panza de la Mancha. A quixotic strand.
*****French. I think.
******This, of course, is from Maldon.
*******La bella Liguria. This is really all over the place isn't it?
Bread. So comforting. All types from the soft and pillowy to the crusty, worthy and hard work. The trashy white slice filled with butter and grated cheese, the ciabatta rubbed with garlic, drenched in olive oil and toasted. The baguette, the base of a pizza, the pitta bread to hot to hold plunged into the houmous.It fills every need and no meal is worse for it being involved somewhere. Sandwiches would be very poor without it.I can't imagine a dahl without naan to dip in it and I love to dredge some focaccia through the rich juices left behind from some tomatoes slowly roasted in olive oil. The restaurants of my childhood memories are full of bread rolls and butter too hard to spread. Even rye bread, denser than the 'contestants' on 'Love Island', has its place, supporting prawns, dill mayonnaise and boiled egg.I'm always keen to try out new variations on what is always based on the simple premise of flour, yeast, water, salt and time and these 'sheermal' are a slightly sweet and soft milk bread. A new addition to the recipe collection. They are great straight from the pan and work well as a breakfast bread with some strong spiced tea but go equally well with a yoghurt dip.There is saffron in them, even though time and time again I ask myself why? It may be a pretty colour, but is it not, ultimately tasteless and a big waste of everybody's time?Ingredients125ml milk250g bread flour1tsp dried yeast1tsp cardamon seeds1tbsp sugarA pinch of salt185g melted butterPinch of saffron1tbsp orange blossom water1tsp vanilla pasteMethodPour the milk into a large bowl and add the yeast, spices and sugar.Mix in the butter and flour then mix in the milk and salt to make a soft dough.Rest for two hours. The bread that is, although feel free to lie down too.Divide the dough into eight balls then roll out into flat circles.Heat a cast iron pan until really hot then cook each bread for ten seconds on each side until colouring. Pile up and serve warm or leave to cool and serve with cucumber yoghurt dip.This weekWatched:Joan of Arc