Carrots, Onions, Celery and Potatoes

‘Soffitto, is an aromatic mix of onion, carrot and celery, is the base for most sauces, soups, stews and braises in Italian cuisine. A ratio of 2:1:1 of onion, carrot and celery is generally agreed on, but some regions of Italy prefer to include other aromatics such as garlic, parsley, rosemary and bay. In some instances, bacon or pancetta is also added for an even richer flavour base.

Soffitto is the Italian word for ‘fried slowly, as after the vegetables have been finely diced they are then gently cooked in a generous amount of olive oil and sometimes butter. Traditionally chopped with a mezzaluna and stirred with a wooden spoon, the soffritto should be cooked until dorata (golden brown). Doing so releases all the flavours from the vegetables, resulting in a rich basis to begin any dish.’

Well, thank you Great British Chefs website.

( I just want to say that I cut and pasted that from their website but might like to point out that whilst soffritto means sauted slowly, soffitto means a ceiling. I am nothing if not a bit slapdash, but just saying.)

Now, I am a huge fan of soffritto and indeed, sorry to admit this but I stole a mezzaluna from a rented apartment in Brussels owned by an Italian woman, and I use it all the time – even now in Deepest Sussex.

I have to say in my defence, she was getting in house clearers after we left, and her corner bath with jacuzzi jets was rubbish. Just saying.

In case you need to know, a mezzaluna is a curved blade with handles either end and very useful for chopping things finely – herbs for example, but in this case onions, celery and carrots for home-made soffritto.

I might get back to making my own soffritto in large and time-consuming batches and freezing them, but for now Waitrose is a great help.

There isn’t a meal of the right sort which can’t be improved by some soffritto.

Any stew/casserole, stuffed cabbage leaves, soup, the alarming-sounding but actually very good lentil cottage pie….

And, whilst on the subject of there is the soffritto passata which also comes ready made.

I am sure that there is a reader or two out there, sucking their lips with disapproval at the thought of processed food, but on the health stakes, we are not talking a frozen deep fried mars bar here, people.

These are the bases for some good home-cooked food.

Chop up some celery and carrot and slowly sauté it gently in some olive oil, not too much because you want it to caramelised not stew. Peel and chop up some potatoes. When the celery and carrot are slightly carmalised, its takes say half an hour, add in some onions and garlic and, oh a bay leaf or two, some oregano and you could add a sachet of ready-done soffritto, just to add even more depth and body but you don’t have to.

Add in the bottle of passata and the potatoes and cook until the potatoes are soft, and you have a soup.

I add in some stock made with Marigold bouillon powder to thin it out a bit. Maybe a slurp of chilli flavoured oil. One way or another, you will need to add some seasoning.

And should you have some leftover greens they can go in, or indeed finely sliced raw greens put in when the potatoes have cooked for a bit but still need a few more minutes.

If you are in a hurry, you can skip the caramelising half hour, but it does make a difference.

Or you can just add a sachet of the ready made soffritto to the passata, add a bit of water and you are done.

Whilst we are on the subject of potatoes – well I am anyway – my life would be very sad indeed if potatoes were not around.

All shapes and sizes, all flavours, endlessly useful, cheap, versatile and yes I know, heavy on the carbs but until I am diagnosed with diabetes or a strange allergy to potassium, they will stay well up my favourite foods list.

( I may have mentioned before but one of my desert island meals would be a good salad and chips. Indeed, it might be the meal I rescue from the waves.)

Anyway, I could bore you with potatoes recipes but before I do that, I was interested to find out that Maris Piper, a very useful and easy to please variety is, perhaps unsurprisingly, the most popular variety in Britain.

I was hoping the name had some romantic history but apparently, the Maris came from the Maris Lane where the plant breeding institute which had spent many years making sure this new high yield, disease -resistant potato variety, was located.

The Piper was suggested by the main scientist’s son – and he, the main scientist, won The Queen’s Award for Technology in 1982 for his potato. Who’d have thought?

Wrongly but entertainingly, the slang word for potato, spud, was said to have originated in the initial letters of the Society for the Prevention of Unwholesome Diet.

Apparently, but boringly, it is more likely to be based on derivations of the word for a small knife/dagger/blade which was used to dig a hole in which to plant the potatoes.

As for King Edwards:

‘It was bred by a gardener in Northumberland who called it ‘Fellside Hero’ and passed into the hands of a grower in Yorkshire and in turn a potato merchant in Manchester who having no use for it passed it onto John Butler of Lincolnshire. He in turn purchased all the seed stocks available and multiplied the variety on 50 acres of land before renaming the variety King Edward on the advice of a potato merchant.’ Wikipedia

I do wish I was buying Fellside Hero rather than a dead rather uninteresting monarch….

I am writing this on a wet and dark February evening in Derbyshire, so the sweet, just-harvested-from-the-garden, first early potatoes feel like a long way away.

A bowl or Rockets, or Jazzy or Vivaldi – bring on early summer.

And the idea of nipping back to France and having lovely yellowy Ratte potatoes in a little bistro somewhere also seems unlikely – not that they are not grown but ‘nipping to France’ is a much more laughable idea than it used to be what with one thing (Brexit) and another….

I think I have said this before but there is little better than mint butter with new potatoes and it has amazed me during my many years on the planet, there are people out there who have never heard of this.

So good salted butter left out of the fridge to soften. Fresh mint (from the garden if you can) chopped with a mezzaluna or sharp knife. Mix two together and slather on the freshest new potatoes you can lay your hands on.

Meanwhile, on dreary Sundays, bubble and squeak.

My friend Wikipedia, says the name derives from the noise the frying ingredients made in the pan – but when it was first named that, in the 17th century, and the ingredients were beef and onions.

My friend Wikipedia, also gives you a whole page on recipes and recommendations from chefs. The twentieth century , based on potatoes, recipe started when rationing meant potatoes were a more likely ingredient than lots of leftover beef. And cabbage is the traditional vegetable.

But, potato cooks, feel free to use what you fancy. As long as you start with mashed ( quite coarsely ) with butter but no milk or egg, potatoes, feel emboldened.

My grandmother always called spring onions scallions and they were always added – not raw you understand but cooked. Some pre-fried bacon or leftover meat, chopped up brussel sprouts, herbs like dill or parsley and roasted garlic,…. I have, though only once, used gently sauted red peppers and won’t be doing that again – wrong vibe all round.

However, some variations would be considered heresy and do you know what, I don’t care.

Some cooked cauliflower mixed in and then some cheese.

Yes I know that does not count as bubble and squeak, but with a little grainy mustard in the mix and should you be of that disposition, a slice of good ham underneath, who’s going to quibble on names?

So, make your potatoes and whatever you are putting in with them. Make them into fishcake sized patties, put in the fridge until you need them, but at least 30 minutes.

Heat some olive oil and if you like, a dollop more butter, and fry until brown and then turn over and again fry until nicely, deliciously, crisply browned.

You have your Sunday supper – Antiques Roadshow or The Great Pottery Throwdown, fire lit, and all is well with our world.

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Russians in America

As I have mentioned before, ad nauseam you might think, coincidence is a major part of the enjoyment of working in an Oxfam bookshop.

These are rather esoteric coincidences, but that’s what you get sometimes so buckle up.

Someone rang to ask if we wanted some volumes published by the Haklyut Society and I said yes. 

I had seen a few before and know them to be nothing-if-not-niche history books. And worth putting online.

They came in in pristine condition and the donor admitted he had not read all of them from cover to cover.

Now, given that among the donation were three volumes of The Artic Whaling Journals of William Scoresby the Younger – I am not entirely surprised.

( Though I was surprised to note this must have been where Phillip Pullman got his name for the artic explorer Scoresby in his Northern Lights Trilogy. 

Are you keeping up?)

Now, if you were thinking, ‘Well, they’ll be sat on the shelves for a while.’ You are wrong, they had sold before I got back to the shop to take a photo for this blog and to prove I was telling the truth about them.

Anyway, there were also two volumes of Russian California.

So,

‘Sailors from the Russian Empire explored along the northern coast of California. In 1812, the Russian-American Company established a trading post and small fortification at Fort Ross on the North Coast.Fort Ross was primarily used to supply Russia’s Alaskan colonies with food supplies. The settlement did not meet much success, failing to attract settlers or establish long term trade viability, and was abandoned by 1841.’

I am not sure how you would get two volumes out of that but as the Haklyut Society publishes ‘scholarly editions of primary records of voyages and travels’ maybe there were more bored settling Russian sailors writing diaries than one might expect.

And they seem to be convinced that the Russians came earlier and left later than Wikipedia thought.

So, I can hear you asking, who was this Haklyut who inspired this society of arcane travel history books publishing society?

Well, first of all his name is pronounced Hak’loowt which I found good to know as I had been struggling with various alternatives.

No, not Dutch as you might think.

Born and bred in Herefordshire – that was a surprise (and indeed the area I grew up in, by coincidence.)

Their family taking their name from the ‘Forest of Cluid in Radnorland’ apparently.

Richard’s father was a dealer in furs and was a member of the Worshipful Company of (aptly-named) Skinners.

Richard had a good education, got ordained, was around in Elizabeth and James I’s court and the was a significant promoter of the colonisation of America and was the chief promoter of a petition for ‘letters patent’ to colonise Virginina.

So, now you are feeling a lot more educated on Haklyut than you were an hour ago. No, it is fine, don’t thank me.

Anyway, on the same day that the Haklyut books came in, our champion donations-sorter came upstairs with a map.

And there it is showing Alaska ‘owned’ by the Russians.

The map was printed in 1865, just two years before the Americans bought it for $7.2m dollars. See below.

Now I disappeared down a rabbit hole of the history of Russians in Alaska and below is a short summary of what I found out – but feel free to think that you might not need to have even a very short version of this corner of history.

By the time the sale treaty was signed, Russians had been in Alaska for 125 years.

In 1741, Vitus Bering (he of the straits fame) was spurred on/ordered by Peter The Great to find out what happened after the end of Siberia. 

One voyage failed but on the second one they found the edge of Alaska. Bering died of scurvy but his ship mates returned loaded up with skins of sea otters, foxes and seals – and whetted the fur-appetite of Russian dealers.

So, the Russians headed back to Alaska asap.

Alaska wasn’t empty of people. There were an estimated 100,000 native people living there.

There were some trading arrangements set up but relations were not great once the Russians started taking leaders’ children as hostages and using their more powerful weaponry, for example.

On the Aleutian Islands, again for example, a pre-Russian population of about 17,000 plummeted to 1,500 as a result of disease, capture or fighting.

And they brought over Russian Orthodox missionaries to do what missionaries tend to do. And, the most visible trace of the Russian colonial period in contemporary Alaska is the nearly 90 Russian Orthodox parishes with a membership of over 20,000 men, women, and children, almost exclusively indigenous people. 

In search of somewhere just a little bit more clement and less demanding that you were a very rugged man, the Russians headed south and set up a trading relationship with the Spanish and Fort Ross in 1812 – just 90 miles north of San Francisco Bay. 

Fort Ross in its early days

Russian Orthodox Church Fort Ross

But they were half a globe away from St Petersburg, it was tough, cold and 

By the middle of the 19th century, profits from Russia’s North American colonies were in steep decline. Competition with the British Hudson’s Bay Company had brought the sea otter to near extinction, while the population of bears, wolves, and foxes on land was also nearing depletion. Faced with the reality of periodic Native American revolts, the political ramifications of the Crimean War, and unable to fully colonise the Americas to their satisfaction, the Russians concluded that their North American colonies were too expensive to retain. Eager to release themselves of the burden, the Russians sold Fort Ross in 1842, and in 1867, after less than a month of negotiations, the United States accepted Emperor Alexander II‘s offer to sell Alaska. The purchase of Alaska for $7.2 million ended Imperial Russia’s colonial presence in the Americas.’ Wikipedia

So the wildlife and local people were killed off. And, of course, that is not just the prerogative of Russians. See also America, the British Empire and many, many others.

And one man’s ‘revolt’ is another person’s definition of fighting to reclaim their own land, customs, rights. 

Life Lessons

Recently I spent a weekend with my amazing niece and because we hadn’t seen each other for ages, I treated us to a lovely place in Derbyshire – and taught her another thing.

The place was the kind of pub with rooms that all pubs with rooms should be – nicely done rooms, great staff, very good food, a busy bar with walkers, family gatherings and a carpet of dogs.

So, we relished the comfy beds, she got a lot of use out of the roll top bath, and we ignored the rule that you can’t eat chips on consecutive days.

We successfully charity shopped – who knew that either of use needed a nest of 1960s plastic tables or a ski jacket when no skiing was on the horizon – mind you its cold up north.

The rest of this weekend is between me and my lovely niece – what we talked about, her extraordinarily thoughtful takes on issues personal and political, bigger breakfasts than we had planned, why we laughed, what she is thinking of doing, what made her eyes widen when I told her about my past. ( In my defence, she did ask.)

I’d like to claim that as her aunt I have taught her valuable stuff about how to live life, what I have learned and could pass on to her but actually it boils down to two things she has already taken to heart, and one which I taught her this weekend.

My niece is the only one of my nearest and dearest who does not need nagging into drinking enough water during the day. 

Water drinking is an aunt/niece badge of honour and we compare notes about how annoying it is to try and get people we care for to do more than take an occasional sip of the liquid of life.

Now, we can talk about that for a long time but we won’t bore the rest of you – except to say a pint of water – just that lovely stuff from the tap – would do you the power of good and no coffee/tea/coke/ginger beer is not the same thing. Actually.

It didn’t stop us drinking wine, but we did have large water chasers. Just saying.

The second life lesson I taught her was something I also taught her early on in life and another thing which has stuck.

There is something very good about a bacon sandwich made with pesto and a really good in season tomato.

So, before you sneer and reach for ketchup of brown sauce, give it a try.

You can toast the bread or not, up to you.

Butter on one slice, pesto on the other. Thinly sliced tomato, crispy bacon. And you are done.

The third lesson in life came this weekend when my amazing niece was shown, took it to her heart and relished, the delight of chips dipped in peppercorn sauce.

It would be great to be able to say that I had taught her to appreciate herself as much as I do, that I had given her life skills to navigate her way through life with an inner happiness, or a love of amazing challenges or just remembering me in a good way, but a couple of tasty ways to eat and appreciation of a large drink of water will have to do.

She will more than manage the rest of her life on her own.