Over the past few weeks I’ve shared the story behind the dinner and the timeline (Part 1), the starter (Part 2), the main course (Part 3) and the dessert (Part 4).

Today, I’m bringing it all together with the two things that make the evening work: the table setting and the plan (the running sheet and shopping list).

I’ve always thought that a good dinner party is about much more than what you put on the plates. The table is part of it too. In fact, it’s probably the first thing people notice when they walk through the door, and it gives them a little clue about what kind of evening they’re going to have.

When a table has been set with care, people notice. They know they were expected. They know some thought has gone into the evening. And, perhaps most importantly, they feel welcomed.

As the Inherited Tables motto says: every table we set, becomes someone else’s memory. So setting the table with thought and care is equally important (if not more…) than the food you serve.

The lovely thing is that a beautiful table doesn’t need to be complicated or expensive. Just as with the food in this series, it’s really about making a few simple things work.

The Wrapping Paper Method

Regular readers will know this little trick from my post Setting a Table for the People You Love, which also includes the Inherited Tables Table Setting Guide.

It’s probably the simplest table-setting idea I know.

Instead of using a tablecloth, take a roll of pretty wrapping paper and run it down the length of the table. Almost like a runner.

A good roll of wrapping paper costs only a few dollars and there are endless colours and patterns to choose from. You can make it work with the plates you already have, or choose something to suit the occasion. Something bold for a celebration, soft and understated for an intimate dinner, or seasonal for Christmas.

And at the end of the evening, you simply roll it all up, crumbs and all, and put it in the recycling.

No washing. No ironing. No trying to remove a red wine stains the next morning.

For this dinner I used two rolls of wrapping paper, one slightly wider than the other. The wider one had a botanical print, with soft greens, cream and dusty blues. Over the top, running down the centre of the table, I placed a narrower roll with olive green and white stripes.

Then I followed the same basic rules I always use, which you’ll find in the Table Setting Guide: layer things up, keep the centre of the table low enough that people can see each other, and light the candles before the doorbell rings.

I put flowers at either end of the table and candles down the middle, with a few small butter dishes in between.

The plates are my cream Wedgwood plates, which I inherited from my mum. There was a large dinner plate, a deep soup plate on top for the tortellini, and a small side plate for the bread. I simply draped the linen napkin over the deep plate.

Two sets of cutlery, one for the starter and one for the main, and a wine glass and water glass at each place.

Nothing elaborate. Just simple, understated and pretty.

Once the candles were lit, the whole room seemed to change. There was a lovely glow around the table, and almost every guest said some version of the same thing when they sat down:

“Wow, this looks stunning.”

The Running Sheet

And then there is the plan.

This is where everything from the whole series comes together on one page. Every job, in the order it needs to be done, starting on the Monday before the dinner and finishing when dessert arrives at the table.

Print it out, put it on the fridge or your kitchen bench and cross things off as you go. There’s something very satisfying about a list with everything crossed out by the end of the day.

More importantly, you don’t have to keep everything in your head. One note: our guests arrived at 7pm and were seated at 7:30pm with the starter served around 7:35pm. If you’d like to start your dinner earlier, just adjust the times accordingly.

I’ve also included the complete shopping list, divided up according to where I buy things: the butcher, the market, the deli and the supermarket.

Page one goes on the fridge or the kitchen bench. Page two can come with you to the market.

One other thing I recommend: print the recipes from Parts 2, 3 and 4 and keep those with the running sheet as well.

On the day itself, I much prefer having everything printed and spread out on the kitchen bench. A screen covered in sauce or flour is not nearly as useful as a piece of paper you can scribble on, fold over or put to one side.

What This Series Was Really About

Five posts. Three courses. One table.

But if there is one thing I hope you take away from this series, it’s this:

Everybody at the dining table that night thought I had put hours and hours into preparing, cooking and setting the table.

But they were wrong.

The starter took about ten minutes. The main course was largely left to the oven. The dessert was made that afternoon. And the table?

A couple of rolls of wrapping paper.

We sometimes make dinner parties far more complicated in our heads than they actually need to be.

A dinner party isn’t a performance. It’s an invitation.

You invite people into your home, you give them something good to eat, you pour the wine, you light a few candles and you sit down with them.

Plan it well enough, and something rather wonderful happens.

You get to accept your own invitation.

You get to sit at the table, pour yourself a glass of wine and enjoy the evening too.

You become a guest at your own table.

Helene

A Simple Friday Night Dinner Party Shopping List And Running Sheet

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This is Part 4 of A Simple Friday Night Dinner Party.

In Part 1 I shared the story of the dinner, the menu and the timeline.

Part 2 was the starter.

Part 3 the main course.

Today, the dessert.

If you have followed the series, you will have noticed the thinking behind this menu. The starter was part bought, part homemade: the tortellini from a packet, the sauce homemade in the afternoon. The main had a few steps, but most of the work was done by the oven while I stood at the kitchen bench with a glass of wine. And now the dessert follows the same logic: something simple, prepared in advance, that asks almost nothing of you on the night.

This is deliberate. When the starter and the dessert hardly cost you any energy, you can give your attention to the main course, and more importantly, to your guests. It does not mean less delicious. It means clever thinking and clever cooking.

The recipe is Nigella Lawson’s, from How to Eat, which I bought when it came out in 1998. It caught my eye all those years ago and it has never left my repertoire since. I reckon I have made this dessert at least a hundred times. And every single time it is luscious, delicious, and a huge success at the table.

What caught me back then was not just the recipe but the way she wrote it. The very first instruction begins: “Before you’ve even taken your coat off”, and then she has you melting chocolate and butter over simmering water while you are still, presumably, half in your coat. The whole recipe is written for a person coming home from work who wants to produce something wonderful without ceremony and much time spent in the kitchen. Her advice for dinner parties is just as good: bake the puddings only after the main course is finished. Ten minutes with no food on the table does not matter. And serve them with a jug of very cold cream, to be poured into the hot, molten centre.

That is exactly how I serve them, and exactly why they work so well at a dinner party. The batter is made in the afternoon and sits happily until needed. After the main course is cleared, the ramekins go into the oven. Twelve minutes later, dessert arrives: outside set, inside molten, and the cold cream flowing into the middle at the table. It looks and tastes like a restaurant dessert. It is one of the easiest things I know how to make.

(As you can see in the photos, I served them with individual, small jugs of cold cream and a chocolate coated slice of dried orange.)

A few weeks ago, I published Two Desserts Worth Knowing: the lemon posset and the Strawberries Romanoff, both made entirely ahead, both requiring nothing at serving time. Add these chocolate puddings and you have three desserts in your repertoire that cover almost any simple dinner party you will ever host. Between the three of them, dessert is never the course you need to worry about again.

Ingredients

Serves 8. This is my scaled-up version of Nigella’s recipe; her original serves 4.

250g dark (cooking) chocolate

250 g unsalted butter

6 eggs

300 g sugar

70 g plain flour

Cold (pouring) cream, to serve

Chocolate coated dried orange slices (to serve, optional)

Method

In the afternoon

1. In a bowl set over a pan of simmering water, melt the chocolate and the butter, stirring occasionally. Once melted, take off the heat and cool slightly.

2. In another bowl, mix together the eggs, sugar and flour until combined.

3. Add the chocolate mixture to the egg mixture and stir to combine.

4. Let the batter rest for 30 minutes, or until required. It sits happily, covered, until after dinner.

5. Butter 8 ramekins and add some flour to each. Swirl the ramekins around so the flour coats the butter and tip out any excess. Set them aside, ready to fill.

After the main course

6. Preheat the oven to 220°C. I turn it on as we finish the main course; by the time the plates are cleared, it is at temperature.

7. Divide the batter among the ramekins and bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until the outside is set but the inside is still gooey. The tops should be firm and just starting to crack.

8. Serve the ramekins on small plates, as they are very hot. Bring a jug of cold cream to the table (or like I do here, serve individual small jugs along each plate). To eat: break a hole in the top and pour in the cream.

Notes

On the chocolate Use a good dark chocolate, around 70 per cent cocoa. The pudding is essentially chocolate and butter held together with just enough egg and flour, so the chocolate you choose is the flavour of the finished dish.

On the timing The batter can be made hours ahead and the ramekins prepared alongside it. The only thing that happens at the last minute is the baking, and that is the point: these must be baked to order and served immediately. The molten centre waits for no one.

On the bake Ten to twelve minutes, and the difference between the two matters. At ten minutes the centre is generously molten; at twelve it is softly gooey. Ovens vary, so the first time you make these, check at ten. You are looking for a set, slightly cracked top and a wobble underneath.

On the cream Cold, and plenty of it. The contrast between the hot pudding and the cold cream poured into its centre is half the pleasure of this dessert. Pouring cream, not whipped.

Next, the final part of the series: the table and the plan. How I set the table using the wrapping paper method, and the complete printable running sheet, so you can host this exact dinner yourself.

Helene

Gooey Chocolate Puddings

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This is the biggest post of the series, because the main has four components: the stuffed leg of lamb (inspired by a recipe from the wonderful Jill Dupleix), the crispiest potatoes, peas with lemon zest and a simple salad. Do not let the number of components worry you. The potatoes are half done the day before. The stuffing, the salad and the dressing are done in the afternoon. On the night, the oven does almost all of it while you stand around the kitchen bench with a glass of wine.

If you read Part 1 you will remember the times: the lamb went into the oven at 6:30 pm, the potatoes at 6:50 pm, and we sat down for the starter around 7:30. By the time the starter plates were cleared, the main was resting and ready. That is not luck. That is the plan, and it is written out below, including what to do if you have one oven instead of two.

The Crispiest Potatoes

To create real crispy potatoes, some patience is required. And that’s a good thing, as good things come to those who wait. Stage one happens the day before; stage two is one hour in the oven on the night.

Ingredients

6 large King Edward potatoes (or any starchy potato), whole, unpeeled

½ to 1 cup extra virgin olive oil (enough to cover your baking tray by about 1 cm)

Sea salt

Method

The day before

1. Boil the potatoes whole, unpeeled, for about 15 minutes, until cooked. Tip them into a colander to drain and steam dry. Some of the skin might get bruised and fluffed while draining. That’s ok. Those pieces will crisp up even better.

2. Once they are dry, lay them in a single layer on a plate or baking tray and store, uncovered, in your fridge overnight.

On the day

3. Take the potatoes out of the fridge 2 to 3 hours before serving.

4. Pre-heat your oven to 200 degrees.

5. Slice the potatoes in half and put them cut side down on a chopping board. Using a small plate or cup, gently press on the potato halves to slightly flatten them. Don’t press too hard, or you will totally mash them.

6. Once the oven has reached 200 degrees, place a baking tray, large enough to hold all the potato halves in a single layer, with 1 cm of olive oil in the oven for 5 minutes.

7. Carefully remove the tray with the hot oil from the oven and place the potato halves cut side down on the tray. Once they are all on the tray, turn them over, skin side down, sprinkle generously with sea salt and place the tray in the oven.

8. Cook for 30 minutes. Then take the tray out, turn the potatoes over and roast for a further 30 minutes.

9. If you find they are browning too fast, turn the oven down to 180 degrees. If the potatoes are not brown and crispy enough after one hour, cook them for 5 to 10 minutes longer.

10. Take them out of the oven and place in a serving bowl, ready to go to the table.

Stuffed Roast Leg of Lamb

Ingredients

1 leg of lamb, about 2 to 2.5 kg, bone in

2 tbsp mint leaves, roughly chopped

2 tbsp parsley leaves, roughly chopped

3 anchovies in oil, chopped

3 garlic cloves, crushed

2 tbsp salted baby capers, rinsed and roughly chopped

1 tbsp lemon zest

80 g soft fresh breadcrumbs (I store portions of old sourdough bread, crusts removed and torn into 1 to 2 cm pieces, in the freezer. They are perfect for this recipe)

3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, plus extra

2 lemons, halved

Method

1. Pre-heat the oven to 220 degrees.

2. To make the stuffing, combine the mint, parsley, anchovies, garlic, capers, lemon zest and breadcrumbs in a bowl. Add the olive oil and, using your hands, squish the mixture into a soft, paste-like consistency.

3. Place the lamb on a chopping board, meatiest side up. Using a sharp knife, make a series of deep cuts across the meatiest part of the leg, crosswise, at 2 to 3 cm intervals. Cut down until your knife reaches the bone, and stop there. Do not cut all the way through: the slices stay attached at the bone, so the leg opens like the pages of a book (see photos).

4. Push the stuffing down in between the slices, working it into each cut, then spread the rest over the top. Using kitchen string, tie the leg back together so the slices close around the stuffing, and place it on a rack set on a baking tray. If you don’t have a rack, just place the lamb straight on the tray.

5. Drizzle with some olive oil and place the lemon halves around the tray, cut side down. Bake at 220 degrees for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, turn the oven down to 200 degrees and bake for 1 hour more.

6. Take the lamb out of the oven and rest it for 10 minutes.

7. Place the lamb on a wooden board and take the string off. Place the roasted lemon halves around the lamb and bring the board to the table to carve. Carve parallel to the bone: the cuts you made earlier will guide you, and the slices come away with the stuffing held inside.

8. Drizzle the meat with the juice of the roasted lemons and serve.

One Oven or Two

I have two ovens and cooked the lamb in one and the potatoes in the other. The lamb cooks for 20 minutes at 220 degrees, then one hour at 200 degrees. The potatoes need one hour at 200 degrees. If you have two ovens, run them side by side to those times.

If you have one oven, it still works. Here is how:

1. Place two racks in your oven. Pre-heat to 220 degrees and roast the lamb for 20 minutes.

2. Turn the oven down to 200 degrees and place the potatoes on the bottom rack. Cook both together for 1 hour.

3. Take out the lamb and rest it for 10 minutes. Keep the potatoes in the oven at 200 degrees for 10 more minutes while the lamb rests.

4. Take out the potatoes, place them in a serving bowl, and carve the lamb. Everything arrives at the table together.

Peas with Lemon Zest

Ingredients

500 g frozen peas

3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Zest of 1 lemon

Salt and pepper

Method

1. Bring a pot of salted water to the boil. Add the peas and cook for 2 to 3 minutes.

2. Drain well and return to the warm pot. Add the olive oil and lemon zest, season with salt and pepper, and stir to combine.

3. Tip into a serving bowl and bring to the table with everything else. This takes five minutes and can be done while the lamb rests.

Simple Salad

Ingredients

2 gem lettuces, washed, dried and leaves cut into thirds lengthways

½ red radicchio, washed, dried and leaves torn into two or three pieces

2 radishes, washed and thinly sliced

2 tbsp dill, leaves only, chopped

2 tbsp chives, chopped

½ cup my new favourite salad dressing

Method

1. Place the gem lettuce, radicchio and radishes in a large bowl.

2. Just before serving, pour half the dressing over the leaves and, using your hands, distribute well. Sprinkle with the herbs and toss again.

3. Add more dressing if you think it needs it, then place in a large salad bowl and bring to the table.

And that is the main course: the lamb on its board, the potatoes crisp in their bowl, the peas bright and glossy, and the salad dressed at the last minute. All of it on the table together, and you at the table with it.

I served some crusty bread and French butter along side the main course. I bought the bread in the morning and although it was fresh and crusty, I heated it in the oven for about 5 minutes. Warm bread with good butter is so, so good!

Next in the series: the dessert. Nigella Lawson’s gooey chocolate puddings, and a little more on why simple does not mean mediocre.

Helene

Recipes Stuffed Leg Of Lamb Crispy Roasted Potatoes Peas Aand Simple Salad

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In Part 1 I shared the story of the dinner, the menu and the timeline.

Today: the starter.

If you read Part 1, you will remember the principle behind this course: some parts bought, some parts homemade. The tortellini comes from a packet. The sauce is homemade, slow cooked, and tastes like it took much more effort than it did. Together they make a starter that took me ten minutes to cook and plate on the night, while I was part of the conversation the whole time. It looked amazing and tasted even better.

Nobody at the table asked whether I had made the pasta myself. Nobody minded. The sauce carries the dish, and the sauce is where the small amount of effort goes.

Ingredients

The pasta

600 g wagyu beef tortellini (about 4 to 6 pieces per person)

I used the Alligator Brand from Costco. Use whichever brand or tortellini you like. As this is a starter, I serve 4 to 6 pieces per person, depending on the size of the tortellini. The Alligator Brand are quite large, so I served 5 pieces per person. If you cannot find wagyu beef tortellini where you live, see the alternatives at the end of this post.

For the tomato sauce

1 red onion, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, crushed

1 tbsp Gewurzhaus Mama’s Meatball Blend

400 g can peeled tomatoes, chopped (I buy the Mutti whole peeled tomatoes and cut them up with scissors, straight in the tin)

A large handful of fresh basil, roughly chopped

Salt and pepper

Extra virgin olive oil

To serve

100 g Parmesan cheese, grated

12 basil leaves

Crusty bread with French butter

Method

The sauce - made ahead

1. Heat a heavy based pot over medium heat and add two tablespoons of olive oil. Add the onion, garlic, spice blend and a pinch of salt and cook for 3 minutes, until the onion starts to soften.

2. Add the chopped tomatoes and simmer on medium low for 30 minutes.

3. Take the pot off the heat. Taste and season with salt and pepper, then stir through the chopped basil. Cover and set aside. The sauce keeps covered at room temperature for up to 4 hours. If you make it the day before or in the morning, refrigerate it and take it out about 30 minutes before serving.

On the night - ten minutes

4. About 10 to 12 minutes before you want to serve, bring a large pan of salted water to the boil and place the pot with the tomato sauce on medium low heat to warm through.

5. When the water boils, turn the heat down and add the tortellini. Gently boil for about 3 minutes, or according to the packet. Using a slotted spoon, lift them out and add them straight into the tomato sauce. Very gently stir through.

6. Set out six plates and divide the tortellini over them. Sprinkle with Parmesan and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. Add two basil leaves to each plate and serve.

7. Slice the bread and serve it, with French butter, alongside the pasta.

Notes

On the spice blend As you will know by now, I am a huge fan of Gewurzhaus and all of their spice and herb blends. Mama’s Meatball Blend is wonderful, not only for meatballs but also in this tomato sauce. It is a blend of sea salt, onion, red bell pepper, sweet paprika, red onion flakes, garlic, yellow mustard seeds, black peppercorns, chives, parsley and oregano. If you do not have it, use 1 tablespoon of oregano or thyme, or a combination of both.

On the bread Even though the bread was fresh from the bakery that morning, I warmed it in a 180°C oven for 5 minutes before serving. The oven was already on for the lamb and potatoes, so I simply added the bread 5 minutes before serving the starter. Warm bread with good French butter is a small thing that makes a big difference.

On the timing This is the course that proves the whole point of Part 1. The sauce is made in the afternoon, or the day before. On the night, the starter needs ten minutes: boil, warm, combine, plate. If your kitchen is open plan like ours, you never leave the conversation.

If You Cannot Find Wagyu Beef Tortellini

The Alligator Brand is a Costco product and not available everywhere. The sauce is the star of this dish, and it works with many filled pastas. If you cannot find wagyu beef tortellini, I recommend a veal tortellini. A cheese tortellini, or a pumpkin and mozzarella tortellini, are also great alternatives and make the starter vegetarian.

Here is what you will find at most Australian supermarkets, with the pack sizes worked out for a starter for six:

• Latina Fresh Veal Tortellini - 375 g pack, so you will need two packs for six people

• Coles Kitchen Veal Tortellini - 600 g pack, which is enough for a starter for six

• On the Menu Veal Tortellini with Cheddar Cheese - 600 g pack, enough for six

• Rana Four Cheese Tortellini or Rana Pumpkin and Mozzarella Tortellini - 400 g packs, so you will need 1½ packs

Whichever you choose, the method stays exactly the same: cook according to the packet, lift into the warm sauce, plate, Parmesan, basil, bread.

Next in the series: the main course. The stuffed leg of lamb, the crispiest potatoes, peas with lemon zest, and my favourite simple salad.

Helene

Wagyu Beef Tortellini

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There is nothing wrong with taking friends out for dinner. In fact, it is a wonderful thing to do. Especially when you’ve had a busy week and really don’t feel like cooking and want to be looked after.

However, inviting people into your home and cooking for them is something really special. It shows you care, and the dinner table at home is just different than the dinner table in a restaurant. At home there is no time limit on the table. Nobody comes to clear the plates before you are ready. The conversation goes where it wants to go.

The dinner I am sharing today was for six: Terry and me, Terry’s son and his girlfriend and a couple connected to Terry’s work. We could easily have booked a table at a nice restaurant. That would have been the expected thing to do. Instead, we invited them to our home.

During the evening, they said several times how special it made them feel. That we had opened our home to them. That I had gone to the effort of cooking. I found that touching and also telling. People really do feel the difference between a restaurant and a home-cooked dinner.

And here is the part I most want you to take from this post: the effort they thanked me for was far smaller than they imagined. Everybody raved about the food and thought I had spent days in the kitchen. I had not. I just planned well. And that is the secret, and this series shows you exactly how.

The Menu

This is a very simple but delicious menu. If you don’t have much time, I highly recommend building a menu where some parts are bought and some parts are homemade. Nobody at your table will mind, and most will never know.

The starter is (bought) wagyu beef tortellini in a (homemade) slow cooked tomato and basil sauce, served with Parmesan cheese and crusty bread.

For the main I roasted a leg of lamb stuffed with a paste made of soft breadcrumbs (I keep bags of stale, torn up pieces of bread in the freezer), anchovy, capers, lemon zest and olive oil, and served this alongside the crispiest potatoes, peas flavoured with lemon zest and olive oil, and a simple salad.

And for dessert I made Nigella Lawson’s gooey chocolate puddings, also known by a fancier name: chocolate fondant. I served them with fridge cold cream. I highly recommend you master this dessert. It is not only the easiest dessert to make, but also one of the most impressive to pull off in such a short time.

The Timeline

I did the shopping on Wednesday, because on Wednesdays my local market is open. You could also shop on Thursday. The only thing I bought on the day of the dinner was the fresh, crusty bread. And even though the bread was fresh, I heated it in the oven for about 5 minutes before serving, as I love warm bread with good quality French butter.

The salad dressing was already in my fridge. I often make a large batch on Monday, ready for the week (as I wrote in the post “My new favourite salad dressing”). So, on Thursday the only thing I did was stage one of the crispy potatoes: I boiled the unpeeled, whole potatoes for 15 minutes, drained them, and left them uncovered on a tray in the fridge overnight.

On Friday, around 4 pm, I made the tomato sauce for the tortellini (you could make this up to four days in advance). I grated the Parmesan and stored it in the fridge until serving. Then I prepared the lamb, potatoes, prepped the herbs, and made the batter for the dessert.

By around 5:30pm, I set the table, using wrapping paper instead of a tablecloth (I wrote a whole post about how and why to use wrapping paper a couple of months ago, which included the Inherited Tables Table Setting Guide, you can find it here).

The lamb went into the oven at 6:30 pm. The potatoes at 6:50 pm.

At 7 pm the doorbell rang and the guests arrived. I was relaxed. Everything was under control. Terry poured everyone a glass of wine, and we stood around the kitchen bench for about 30 minutes, chatting and laughing.

Around 7:30 pm I asked everyone to move to the dining table while I put a large pot of water on for the tortellini and warmed the tomato sauce over low heat.

Our dining room, kitchen and living room are open plan. So, while I was preparing the starter, I was also part of the conversation. It took me around 10 minutes to cook and plate the starter. It looked amazing and tasted even better.

This is the point of the whole exercise. At no moment during the evening was I absent from my own dinner party. The work that could be done ahead was done ahead. What remained on the night was minutes here and there, all of it within talking distance of the table.

What to expect from this series?

Instead of putting everything in one very long post, I am sharing this dinner as a series over the coming weeks. Each post covers one part of the evening, with the full recipe and the make-ahead notes.

Part 2 The starter: wagyu beef tortellini in slow cooked tomato and basil sauce. This post also includes what to use instead if you can’t find this particular pasta where you live.

Part 3 The main: stuffed leg of lamb, the crispiest potatoes, peas with lemon zest, and the simple salad, dressed with my favourite salad dressing.

Part 4 The dessert: the gooey chocolate puddings. And a little more on why simple does not mean mediocre. I have been making this dessert for years and it is always a hit.

Part 5 The table and the plan: how I set the table using wrapping paper (from my table setting post), plus a printable running sheet with the complete timeline, so you can host this dinner yourself.

By the end of the series you will have everything you need: the recipes, the timings, the table, and the plan. A complete dinner party, from Wednesday shopping to Friday plates.

Helene

My new favourite salad dressing (thanks to The New York Times’ Samin Nosrat).

Today’s post is one of the simplest recipes I will be sharing.

Three months ago I wrote the article Liquid Gold (read it here), about my love for good quality olive oil, a simple salad and Diana Henry’s writing.

Here I am sharing the recipe of a salad dressing that is so simple, yet so good (you can eat spoonfuls of it!).

Make a large jar of it on Monday and have it on standby for the rest of the week.

Rinsing the shallot under cold water takes aways some of the pungency that raw onion can have. And adding hot water also mellows to dressing.

So, so good!

This makes about 1 1/2 cups.

Ingredients:

1 shallot finely diced

2 1/2 tbsp sherry vinegar

1 tbsp warm water

235 ml extra virgin olive oil (use the best quality you can find)

1 1/2 tsp Honey

1 1/2 tsp Dijon mustard

1 1/2 tsp Whole-grain mustard

Leaves of 2 thyme sprigs, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, finely grated

1 tsp salt

1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

Method:

Place shallot in a mesh sieve and rinse under cold water. Drain and dry on paper towel.

Add shallots to a mixing bowl and add vinegar and warm water and let it stand for about 2 minutes.

Then, whisk in the oil, honey, both mustards, thyme, garlic, salt and pepper.

Taste and adjust if needed. Add more vinegar if you want it slightly more acidic or honey if you like it a little sweeter.

Store in a lidded jar in the fridge for up to a week. (Let it come to room temperature and shake the jar well before using.)


For the salad - serves 4

2 baby cos lettuce, washed and dried (leaves left whole)

1/2 fennel, finely sliced and fronds reserved

To serve

2 tbsp roughly chopped fennel fronds

2 tbsp chopped chives

Method

Add the washed and dried salad leaves to a large bowl, together with the sliced fennel.

Generously coat with the dressing. About a quarter cup. Using your hands coat the salad leaves and fennel well.

Add some salt and pepper and add to your serving dish. Top with the fennel fronds and chives and serve.

Endless variations are possible here: add whatever you like and have on hand. E.g. avocado, cucumber, tomatoes, boiled egg, crispy fried bacon pieces, blue cheese, etc.

Helene

When I started this Substack I promised myself to publish regularly, at least twice a week: an essay every Saturday and a recipe every Wednesday. Last Saturday came and went without one. This week might be quiet as well.

The reason for the silence at our house is that life is happening at our house. Big family things that fill your head completely and leave no room for anything else. Some of it is the most wonderful news imaginable, and we are waiting for it, hour by hour. Some of it is the ordinary worry that comes with loving people. My mind has been everywhere except behind the computer.

But here is what I have noticed about myself this week. Although I haven’t felt like writing an essay or designing new recipes, I have been planning to cook. And this has given me comfort.

On Friday we are hosting a dinner party for six. The menu is taking shape. I am thinking: wagyu beef tortellini to start, then sous vide eye fillets with a simple salad and salt and vinegar roast potatoes, and an apple crumble with ice cream for dessert.

I have been thinking about it for the past few days and writing shopping lists in my head and working out how to time the dinner.

I realise that this is what cooking does for me in weeks like this one. It gives my hands something to do while my heart is elsewhere. It is the steadiest thing I know.

The essays will come back, as will the recipes, including everything from Friday’s table. For now, a quiet week, and a kitchen that is keeping me company.

I will be back soon.

Helene

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This is the midweek dinner I crave. Everything goes on one tray and into the oven. The chicken sits on top with its skin exposed so it browns properly. The potatoes cook underneath in the harissa and chicken juices. The leeks go in partway through and by the end they are soft, sweet and almost caramelised. The peas are added in the last five minutes for some freshness and colour.

Because it all cooks together, the flavours combine. Nothing stays separate on this tray, and that is what makes it so good.

The work is minimal. You make a quick marinade, you slice two leeks, and the oven does the rest. I usually make the yoghurt while the chicken cooks and pick the herbs, and that is it. Dinner.

It also happens to be a great dinner party dish. It scales up easily, and the finished platter, with the yoghurt spooned over and a big pile of fresh herbs on top, looks amazing on the table. The colours are vibrant, as are the flavours.

One more thing before the recipe, because I think it is the most useful part of this post. The method here is a template. The chicken (although you can swop it for boneless, skinless chicken thighs), potatoes, leeks, peas, yoghurt and herbs never change. Only the marinade does. Change the marinade and you have a completely different dinner. I have given you two of my favourite variations at the end: a Greek one with anchovies, garlic, lemon and Kalamata olives, and a Middle Eastern one with za’atar, brown sugar and Aleppo pepper.

Ingredients

For the tray

1 kg bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs and/or drumsticks

600 g potatoes, peeled and cut into 3 cm chunks

Salt and pepper

2 tbsp harissa paste (I make mine by mixing 1 tbsp Gewurzhaus harissa with 1 tbsp just-boiled water)

¼ tsp ground cumin

6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, plus more as needed

2 leeks, white and light green parts only, halved lengthwise, rinsed well and thinly sliced into half-moons

1¼ cups frozen peas, defrosted (pour just-boiled water over them, let them sit for a couple of minutes, drain)

Grated zest of 1 lemon (keep the lemon for its juice)

For the yoghurt and to finish

⅓ cup plain yoghurt

1 small garlic clove

1 cup mixed soft fresh herbs, such as dill, parsley, mint and/or coriander leaves

Fresh lemon juice, from the zested lemon

Method

1. In a large bowl, combine the chicken and potatoes. Season well with salt and freshly ground pepper.

2. In a small bowl, whisk together the harissa paste, cumin and 4 tablespoons of the olive oil. Pour over the chicken and potatoes and toss to combine. Let it marinate at room temperature for 30 minutes, or up to 2 hours.

3. In a medium bowl, combine the leeks, lemon zest, ¼ teaspoon of salt and the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Set aside.

4. Preheat the oven to 200°C.

5. Arrange the chicken, skin side up, and the potatoes in a single layer on a large, rimmed baking tray. Roast for 25 minutes.

6. Take the tray from the oven. Toss the potatoes and scatter the leeks over the tray. Make sure the chicken is not covered by the leeks; you want the skin exposed so it crisps up nicely. Return the tray to the oven and roast for a further 20 minutes.

7. Remove the tray and scatter the peas over everything. Return to the oven for a final 5 minutes, just to heat the peas.

8. While the chicken cooks, make the yoghurt. Place the yoghurt in a small bowl, grate the garlic clove over it and season with salt and pepper. If your yoghurt is quite thick, loosen it with a little milk. You want it slightly runny.

9. Take the tray from the oven. The leeks are now almost caramelised, the potatoes crisp around the edges and the chicken nicely browned.

10. Transfer everything to a large serving platter and spoon the yoghurt here and there over the chicken and vegetables. Scatter the herbs over the yoghurt and drizzle some olive oil and lemon juice over the top. You may not need all the lemon juice; start with 1 or 2 tablespoons, taste, and add more if you like.

Serve the platter in the middle of the table.

Same Method, Different Flavours

Everything above stays the same. Only the marinade changes.

Greek Style

Make a paste from 4 anchovy fillets (mashed in a mortar & pestle), 2 grated garlic cloves (or 1 tsp Gewurzhaus garlic lovers spice), 1 tsp Aleppo pepper (or any chilli you have - or omit if you don’t like spice), 1 tsp bouquet Garni (or dried oregano), 1 tbsp of honey, 4 tablespoons of olive oil, the zest of 1 lemon and juice of half a lemon. Marinate and cook exactly as above. For a salty kick, add a handful of pitted Kalamata olives to the tray together with the leeks. Do not worry about the anchovies; they dissolve completely into the marinade and simply make everything more savoury.

Middle Eastern Style

Make a paste from 2 tablespoons of za’atar, 2 tablespoons of brown sugar, 1 tablespoon of tomato paste, the juice and zest of 1 lemon, a pinch of Aleppo pepper (or other chilli flakes), 4 tablespoons of olive oil and 1 teaspoon of salt. Marinate and cook exactly as above. The brown sugar and tomato paste caramelise in the oven and the za’atar makes the whole tray fragrant.

Notes

On the harissa Harissa pastes vary a lot in heat. I make my own by mixing the Gewurzhaus harissa spice blend with an equal amount of just-boiled water, which lets me control the result. If you use a jarred paste, taste it first and adjust the quantity.

On the chicken I prefer bone-in, skin-on thighs and drumsticks as the bones add flavour and prevent the meat from drying out and the skin goes nice and crispy.

On the leeks It is important to wash the leeks as they can hold a lot of grit. Best way to do this is to cut them in half lengthways and rinse the layers under the tap.

On the yoghurt The garlicky yoghurt balances the heat of the harissa and the richness of the chicken. Make it slightly runny so it can be spooned over the whole platter rather than sitting in one place.

On the scaling up For 6 to 8 people, use 1.5 to 2 kg of chicken and scale everything else up across two trays. Do not crowd one tray or the vegetables will steam instead of roast. The timing stays the same.

On the make ahead The chicken and potatoes can marinate in the fridge for up to a day; bring them to room temperature before roasting. The leeks can be sliced and dressed a few hours ahead and the yoghurt made in the morning. After that it is 50 minutes in the oven and a few minutes of assembly.

Helene

Harissa Roast Chicken With Leeks Potatoes And Peas

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The recipe I am sharing today is so very simple that I almost didn’t think it was worth sharing. But then I thought: it is not the simplicity of the recipe I should focus on, but rather the fact that this cake holds so many memories for me.

My Oma (Dutch for grandma) lived between our house and my primary school. The walk to school took me about twenty minutes, and her house sat somewhere in the middle of it, which meant I passed her door twice a day, every day. Often, on the way home, I would stop. Sometimes just for ten minutes or so, but most often for longer, an hour, sometimes two. There was always food waiting for me.

She was my father’s mother. Born and raised in Germany, but ending up living in The Netherlands after she had met my Dutch grandfather. She kept her German way of cooking her whole life. In winter she cooked deer, wild rabbit, pigeon. Hearty, warming dishes that filled the whole house with their smell. As a child I did not understand how unusual this was. I thought everyone’s grandmother braised game in winter.

Sometimes I helped her with chores. Shopping, cleaning, mowing the grass. I say helped; I am sure a small child following her around the garden slowed her down considerably. But we always had fun together. She was playful and cheeky in a way that only grandmothers are allowed to be. More than once she came running after me through the garden with a water spray bottle, both of us laughing. And she taught me German words, before I could speak any other language, and repeated over and over “anything you see Helene, you write with a capital letter”.

That is how I remember my Oma best.

She passed away when I was in my late teens. I have carried her food with me ever since.

My fondest after-school memories are of two things she baked: her Zwetschgenkuchen, the German plum cake, and this apple crumble cake. I would come through the door, school bag still on my shoulder, and there would be a slice waiting on a plate.

A Dutch apple tart, and I will share the best Dutch apple tart recipe in the coming weeks, is a more labour-intensive process. You have to make pastry, which needs resting in the fridge, and the apple filling requires more than a few minutes of your attention.

This one, however, you can make at any minute. Especially if you have a bag of homemade crumble in the freezer, as Oma always had.

I often make a batch of crumble and store it portioned in the freezer. Once you have crumble in your freezer, you can whip up a plethora of desserts in no time: add some fresh or frozen fruit, like apple, mixed berries, plums, or apricots, to individual ramekins, sprinkle with a little sugar and cinnamon, and top with crumble. Bake at 180°C for 20 to 25 minutes. Serve with ice cream. There you have it.

Oma’s Apple Crumble Cake

The Crumble

Ingredients

75 g cold butter, cubed

100 g plain flour

100 g rolled oats

100 g caster sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

Method

1. In a large bowl, using your fingers, rub the butter into the flour until roughly combined. You should have small clumps of butter and flour. Add the oats, sugar and cinnamon and, using your hands again, squash everything together.

2. Spread the mixture on a lined baking tray and roast at 180°C for about 10 minutes. You want it nicely browned; depending on your oven this might take a little longer.

3. Remove the tray from the oven and let the mixture cool completely. Store in a jar at room temperature for a week or so. Or, what I prefer to do: portion the crumble into zip-lock bags and store it in the freezer. This way you can whip up a crumble dessert in no time.

The Cake

For the base

120 g butter, at room temperature

½ cup caster sugar

1 cup self-raising flour

1 egg

A pinch of salt

For the apples

3 apples, peeled, cored and thinly sliced (I used two Pink Lady apples and one Granny Smith)

½ tsp cinnamon

¼ tsp ground ginger

½ tbsp lemon juice

1 tbsp brown sugar

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 180°C.

2. Add the apple slices, cinnamon, ginger, lemon juice, brown sugar and 2 tablespoons of water to a saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat until the apples have softened, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and spread the apples on a plate to cool.

3. Grease a 20 cm springform tin and line the base with baking paper.

4. In a mixer, beat the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy.

5. Add the egg and mix until well combined.

6. Using a spatula or wooden spoon, fold in the flour and salt until everything is incorporated.

7. Pour or scrape the batter (it will be quite thick/sticky) into the prepared tin and smooth the top.

8. Top the batter evenly with the apples and finish with a nice layer, about 1 cm, of the crumble mixture. If your crumble is in the freezer, there is no need to defrost it; use it frozen and proceed.

9. Bake at 180°C for 30 minutes.

For a wonderful dessert, serve the cake warm with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. It is also beautiful at room temperature.

Notes

On the apples A mix of apples gives the best result. The Pink Ladies bring sweetness and hold some shape; the Granny Smith brings sharpness and softens more. Two of one and one of the other is my ratio, but use what you have.

On the crumble The batch above makes more than you need for one cake. This is deliberate. The rest goes into the freezer in portions, and from there a dessert is never more than 25 minutes away. Oma always had a bag ready. Now I do too.

On the storing The cake keeps at room temperature for up to three days, or in the fridge for up to a week.

This is the cake that was waiting for me after school, more times than I could count. It takes half an hour to make. It has lasted me a lifetime.

Helene

Apple Crumble Cake

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ANY DAY OF THE WEEK - DINNER PARTY SERIES

Some of my best recipes begin at other people’s tables. Regular readers will remember that my French onion soup came from a dinner at Kirbie in South Melbourne, where Terry’s starter was so good I spent the following week recreating it. This happens to me often. I eat something in a restaurant, I cannot stop thinking about it, and eventually the only solution is to stand in my own kitchen and work it out.

This time, the restaurant is Lucy Liu, in the city. We have been twice recently, and both visits confirmed what the first one suggested: this is a restaurant that understands balance. Bold, punchy, layered Asian flavours, plate after plate, without a single dish tipping over into too much.

The first visit was for my dear friend Sigrid’s birthday. And in a gesture so typical of her that I should not have been surprised, she arrived with a gift for me. At her own birthday dinner. The Lucy Liu cookbook. That is the kind of friend Sigi is.

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I have been cooking from the book since. I want to make every dish we ate at that table, and the turmeric roasted cauliflower with tofu sesame dressing is next on my list. But the dish I couldn’t stop thinking about, was the hot smoked ocean trout with Wombok and coconut salad. Utterly punchy citrus, balanced with soft, creamy coconut, fresh mint and coriander, all of it wrapped around large pieces of hot smoked trout. And crunch. That was the detail I kept coming back to: the crunch.

Well, it is not in the book…

So I tried reconstructing it. I used my taste memory of the dish itself, and I borrowed the bones of Lucy Liu’s chicken and Wombok salad, which is in the book, adapting the dressing and the aromatics toward what I remembered eating. The below recipe is not their recipe. It is my memory of the dish, tested in my own kitchen until it tasted right.

It is also, conveniently, a perfect dinner party dish: everything can be prepped in the afternoon and stored in the fridge, and the salad is assembled in five minutes just before serving. I made it as a main for Terry and me on a simple weeknight, which it suits just as well.

Ingredients

For the salad

1 large piece hot smoked salmon (or hot smoked ocean trout if you can find it; I bought mine at the South Melbourne Market, but most supermarkets stock it)

½ baby Wombok, core removed, finely sliced

1 cup coriander leaves

1 cup mint leaves, large leaves halved

2 shallots, finely sliced

4 kaffir lime leaves, finely julienned

1 stick lemongrass, white part only, finely sliced

1 bird’s eye chilli, seeds removed, finely sliced

3 tbsp fried shallots, plus 1 tbsp extra for garnish

For the dressing

100 ml coconut cream

50 ml lime juice

2 tbsp brown sugar

2 tbsp fish sauce

50 ml water

Method

Make the dressing

1. Combine the coconut cream, lime juice, brown sugar, fish sauce and water in a bowl and whisk until the sugar has dissolved and the dressing is smooth. Or do it my preferred way: put everything in a jam jar, screw on the lid, and shake vigorously.

2. Taste and adjust. It should be salty, sweet, sour and creamy, with no single flavour dominating. This balance is the whole dish; take a minute to get it right.

If preparing ahead

3. Store the components separately in the fridge: the Wombok in one container, the coriander and mint together in another, the lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves in a third. The sliced shallots in a small bowl, the chilli in another. The dressing in its jar. Everything holds happily for several hours.

Assemble just before serving

4. In a large bowl, start with the Wombok, then add the coriander and mint, the lemongrass and kaffir lime, the shallots, the chilli, and 3 tablespoons of fried shallots. Break the salmon into generous pieces and add it last.

5. Drizzle over about half the dressing and mix gently, using your hands. The salad should be wet with dressing but not drowning. Add more if needed.

6. Plate into serving bowls. Finish with the remaining fried shallots and one more small drizzle of the dressing.

Notes

On the fish Hot smoked ocean trout is the original, and its slightly richer, softer character is worth seeking out. Hot smoked salmon (what I use here) is a perfectly good substitute and much easier to find; most supermarkets sell it. Whichever you use, break it into generous pieces rather than flaking it finely. You want proper mouthfuls of fish through the salad, not shreds.

On the dressing This is a classic Southeast Asian balance of salty, sweet, sour and creamy, and the tasting step is not optional. Limes vary enormously in sharpness, fish sauces vary in saltiness, and the right dressing is the one that tastes right to you. Adjust one element at a time until nothing dominates.

On the crunch The fried shallots are what give this salad the crunch I kept coming back to at the restaurant. Buy them in a tub from any Asian grocer and keep them in the pantry; they lift almost any salad, noodle dish or soup. Add the final tablespoon at the very last moment so they stay crisp.

On the aromatics Fresh lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves, always. The julienned lime leaves and finely sliced lemongrass distribute through the salad and give it that unmistakable fragrance that no paste or dried version can replicate. Kaffir lime leaves freeze beautifully, so buy a bag and keep them in the freezer.

On the make ahead This is one of the most dinner-party-friendly dishes I know. Every component can be prepped in the afternoon and stored separately in the fridge. Assembly takes five minutes just before serving. Do not dress the salad in advance; the Wombok will soften and lose the freshness that makes the dish.

On the serving As a starter for four, serve smaller portions in individual bowls. As a main for two, add steamed jasmine rice alongside, or simply eat it as it is, which is what we did.

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Two visits, one cookbook, a missing recipe, and a dish reconstructed from memory. This is how restaurant inspiration works for me: not copying, but remembering, testing, and adjusting until the plate in front of me tastes like the one I could not forget.

Thank you, Sigi. And happy birthday.

Helene

Hot Smoked Salmon Wombok Coconut Salad

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I believe this completely. But I did not always know it. And it occurred to me recently that I have never told you the story of the evening I learned it.

So here it is. Amsterdam, the early 1990s, and a chicken that would not turn golden.

I was in my early twenties, living alone for the first time in my own apartment in Amsterdam. I had invited four close friends for dinner on a Saturday evening.

I had decided to cook my mum’s roast chicken.

This was, in retrospect, an ambitious choice for a first dinner party. My mother had trained under Paul Bocuse. She cooked the way other people breathe. With instinct and without anxiety, with an absolute ease I had grown up watching and had not yet understood how to replicate. I had eaten her roast chicken hundreds of times. I had stood beside her in the kitchen while she made it. I thought I knew what I was doing.

I did not.

By six o’clock, with guests arriving at seven, the chicken was pale and underdone. The salad was still just leaves in a bowl. The candles I had bought, good ones, tall, cream-coloured ones that mum always used, refused to stand straight in their holders. The wine was sitting on the counter at room temperature because I had forgotten to chill it.

I remember standing in the kitchen, staring at the oven, and thinking very seriously about sending a message to each of them. Something apologetic and vague. Something that would get me out of it.

What stopped me, I think, was the image of my mum. Not what she would have said. She would have laughed and told me to turn the oven up. But the image of her at her own table, which was never perfect either. The tablecloth unironed, the flower arrangement slightly too large for the room. And yet those evenings, those long, laugh-filled evenings, were the most beautiful things I had ever been part of.

I turned the oven up. I dressed the salad. I lit the candles anyway, even though they leaned.

My friends arrived as they always do, bringing warmth and noise and the smell of cold air from outside. Someone immediately offered to open the wine, which solved that problem. Someone else found the bread I had forgotten on the counter and sliced it without being asked.

Dinner was late. The chicken was slightly less golden than my mum’s. The salad was simple. The table was imperfect.

We stayed for four hours.

There was a moment, I cannot tell you exactly when it happened, where I stopped watching the food and started being present at my own table. Someone said something funny and I laughed without thinking about the oven. Someone asked a question and we followed it somewhere unexpected. The candles, leaning slightly, threw a beautiful warm light.

Not one person mentioned that dinner was late.

I have thought about that evening many times since, especially during the catering years when I was cooking professionally for other people’s occasions. The anxiety I felt in that Amsterdam kitchen in my twenties never entirely goes away. I have met it in different forms at every table I have ever set. But I understand now what I didn’t understand then.

People do not come to dinner to evaluate you. They come because they are glad to be invited. They come because they want to sit somewhere warm with people they care about and eat something made with thought. The chicken being golden is not the point. The leaning candles are not the point.

The gathering is the point.

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That first dinner party taught me three things I still do today:

Cook something you know. Not necessarily something easy, something familiar. Confidence in the kitchen is felt at the table. Save the ambitious experiments for when you have cooked for people before.

Set the table before you start cooking. Walk into your own dining room and see it as your guests will. The sight of a table laid with care, cloth, glasses, candles, a flower or two, will calm you more than any other preparation. It reminds you that this is a considered act. That you have done something deliberate.

Once they arrive, put the food down and pick the people up. The evening you are hosting is not in the kitchen. It is at the table. The moment you stop adjusting and start being present, everything shifts.

That evening in Amsterdam was imperfect in so many ways.

The fact I still remember it, is because it turned out to be one of the best evenings I have ever hosted.

And the chicken, in the end, was fine.

Helene

If you grew up in the Netherlands, you grew up with slagroomsoesjes. There is no avoiding them, and no reason you would want to. They are everywhere: at birthdays, at anniversaries, on the table when family comes for coffee, in the glass display cases of every bakery in every town. Small, golden puffs of choux pastry, filled generously with sweetened whipped cream, dusted with icing sugar. You eat them in one or two bites. You never eat just one.

Slagroom means whipped cream. Soesjes means little puffs. The name tells you everything, which is very Dutch of it.

And then there is the big one. The Bossche Bol - the ball from Den Bosch - is what happens when a slagroomsoes grows up: a choux puff the size of a tennis ball, around twelve centimetres across, filled with whipped cream and coated in a thick layer of dark chocolate glaze that sets hard. It is eaten with your fingers, ideally upside down so the hard chocolate shell serves as the base and the cream does not end up on your shirt. It usually ends up on your shirt anyway. That is part of the experience.

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The history of the Bossche Bol is contested, as the history of any beloved food always is. Cream-filled buns were being advertised in the Netherlands as early as 1815, and by 1903 a Den Bosch pastry baker named Joseph Johannes Lambermont was advertising chocolate bollen from his shop in the Visstraat - though those early versions were filled with yellow pastry cream rather than whipped cream. Then, on the 23rd of February 1924, Lambermont announced something new: his chocolate bollen were now filled with pure whipped cream. Twelve cents each. Heritage researchers in Den Bosch consider that advertisement the birth certificate of the Bossche Bol as we know it.

There are rival claims, naturally. A baker from The Hague named Henri van der Zijde, who opened his shop directly across the street from Lambermont in 1920, is credited by his descendants with the whipped cream idea, though no hard evidence has ever been found. And most people in Den Bosch today will tell you the only real Bossche Bol comes from Bakkerij Jan de Groot on the Stationsweg, a claim that is demonstrably wrong on the history and completely understandable once you have eaten one. Even the name is borrowed: it was likely a 1930s mayor of Den Bosch, promoting his city on the radio, who renamed the chocoladebol the Bossche Bol. The locals never adopted it. In Den Bosch, to this day, it is simply a sjekladebol.

A hundred years after Lambermont’s advertisement, the Bossche Bol has its own museum, its own pilgrimage site at Jan de Groot, and a permanent place in the Dutch heart. And its little sibling, the slagroomsoes, remains what it has always been: the thing that appears on the table when there is something to celebrate, or when there is nothing to celebrate and someone decides that is no reason to go without.

This is the recipe I grew up with. The choux pastry is straightforward and, once you have made it, you will realise it always was. I am giving you two finishes: the classic dusting of icing sugar or a soft chocolate glaze for the small soesjes, and the proper hard-setting glaze of the Bossche Bol, the way the bakers of Den Bosch make it, for when you want to attempt the real thing.

Slagroomsoesjes

Makes about 30 small puffs

Ingredients

For the choux pastry

100 g milk

100 g water

100 g unsalted butter

100 g plain flour

4 eggs

A generous pinch of salt

For the filling

500 ml thickened cream

50 g caster sugar

To finish: choose one

Icing sugar, for dusting

Or a soft chocolate glaze: 200 g dark chocolate, 100 ml cream, 100 g icing sugar

Method

Make the choux pastry

1. Preheat the oven to 200°C, conventional (top and bottom) setting.

2. Place the milk, water and butter in a heavy-based saucepan over medium heat. Warm until the butter has fully melted and the mixture just begins to boil.

3. Remove the pan from the heat. Add the flour all at once, together with the salt, and mix with a whisk until combined. Return the pan to low-medium heat.

4. Using a spatula, keep turning and stirring the dough over the heat for about 10 minutes, until it forms a firm, smooth ball and a thin film develops on the base of the pan. This step cooks out the raw flour and dries the dough so it can absorb the eggs; do not rush it.

5. Transfer the ball of dough to a stand mixer fitted with the flat paddle. With the mixer running, add the eggs one at a time, waiting until each egg is fully incorporated before adding the next. The dough will look split and slippery after each addition; keep mixing and it will come back together.

6. Mix until you have a smooth, glossy dough. It should fall reluctantly from the paddle in a thick ribbon.

7. Transfer the dough to a piping bag. Pipe small mounds the size of a walnut onto a baking tray lined with baking paper, leaving space between them, they will puff up considerably in the oven. If you do not have a piping bag, a sandwich bag with a corner snipped off works well.

8. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes until golden brown, puffed, and cooked through. Do not open the oven door during the first 15 minutes or the puffs may collapse. Allow to cool completely before filling.

Fill and finish

9. Whip the cream with the caster sugar until firm.

10. Fill a piping bag fitted with a small plain nozzle with the whipped cream.

11. Push the nozzle into the side or base of each cooled puff and fill gently until the puff feels full and slightly heavy.

12. To finish, dust generously with icing sugar. Or, for chocolate soesjes: melt the dark chocolate with the cream and icing sugar in a bowl over gently simmering water (au bain-marie) until smooth. Allow the glaze to cool slightly, then dip the top of each filled puff into the glaze and leave to set before serving.

Notes

On the weighing the liquids You will notice the milk and water are given in grams rather than millilitres. This is how Dutch bakers write choux recipes, and it is worth following: weighing everything, including liquids, on one set of scales is more accurate and means fewer things to wash. For water and milk, grams and millilitres are close enough to identical.

On the the choux pastry The two moments that matter: drying the dough properly over the heat (the full 10 minutes, until it is a firm ball), and adding the eggs one at a time with patience. If the dough is too wet the puffs will not hold their shape; if the eggs go in too fast the dough will not come together. Neither problem is likely if you simply do not rush.

On the the oven door Choux pastry rises on steam. If you open the oven door in the first 15 minutes, the steam escapes, the temperature drops, and the puffs collapse. Set a timer and trust the process.

On the filling ahead The unfilled puffs keep for a day in an airtight container and freeze beautifully for up to a month; refresh them in a 160°C oven for 5 minutes and cool before filling. Once filled, they are best eaten within a few hours. This has never been a problem in my experience.

On the the eclair variation The same dough, piped in lines rather than mounds, gives you eclairs. Fill and glaze exactly the same way.

The Full Bossche Bol

Makes 10 full-size bollen · Based on the recipe by master baker Robèrt van Beckhoven

For the full-size Bossche Bol, the choux dough changes in one important way: the milk goes, and only water remains. Milk enriches and softens a choux, which is exactly what you want in a small soesje. But a bol the size of a tennis ball needs a stronger, crisper shell to hold all that cream and carry the weight of the chocolate, and water alone gives the dough the structure to puff larger and set firmer. A small amount of baking powder gives the rise a little extra help at this scale.

This version comes from Robèrt van Beckhoven, the master baker from Brabant known to every Dutch household from Heel Holland Bakt, who says he can be woken in the middle of the night for a Bossche bol. His warning is worth repeating: the ratio of flour to egg is everything. Add the beaten egg gradually and stop when the dough just runs off the spatula. Slightly too much egg and, in his words, you no longer have Bossche bollen.

Note the order of assembly, which is the reverse of the small soesjes: the empty, cooled puffs are dipped in the chocolate first and chilled, and only then filled with cream through a hole in the base. At this size, it is far easier to coat an empty shell than a full, heavy one.

Ingredients

For the choux pastry

200 ml water

100 g unsalted butter

100 g plain flour

4 eggs, lightly beaten

A pinch of salt

4 g baking powder

For the chocolate coating

400 g caster sugar

200 ml water

20 g unsweetened cocoa powder, plus more to taste

600 g dark chocolate drops (or chopped dark chocolate)

For the filling

1 litre thickened cream

80 g caster sugar

Method

Make and bake the choux

1. Preheat the oven to 220°C. Grease a baking tray and dust lightly with flour, or line with baking paper.

2. Place the water and butter in a saucepan over medium heat. When the butter has melted and the water is boiling, remove from the heat.

3. Immediately sift the flour over the pan and add the salt. Return the pan to the heat and stir until the flour is cooked through and a thin film of dough forms on the base of the pan.

4. Transfer the dough to a mixing bowl and allow to cool slightly.

5. Add the beaten eggs a little at a time, mixing until each addition is fully absorbed before adding more. Stop when the dough just runs off the spatula: this is the moment that matters. You may not need all the egg.

6. Mix the baking powder through the finished dough.

7. Transfer the dough to a piping bag fitted with a 12 or 13 mm nozzle. Pipe 10 equal rounds onto the prepared tray, each in a single continuous motion.

8. Spray a little water into the hot oven to create steam, then immediately place the tray in. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes until deeply golden and fully puffed. Do not open the door during baking. Remove and allow to cool.

Make the chocolate coating

9. Place the sugar and water in a saucepan. Sift the cocoa over the top; add a little more cocoa if you prefer a darker coating.

10. Place over medium heat and let the mixture reduce and thicken. Keep the sides of the pan clean by brushing them down with a wet pastry brush.

11. When the syrup has thickened, remove from the heat and add the chocolate. Stir until fully melted and smooth. The coating is ready when it no longer runs off the spoon. If it becomes too thick as it cools, loosen it with a little extra water.

Dip, then fill

12. Take the cooled, empty puffs by the base and dip each one as deeply as possible into the chocolate. Place on a tray lined with baking paper and refrigerate until the coating is set.

13. Whip the cream with the sugar until it is thick and just holding its shape. Finish the last stage by hand with a whisk for control: you want it firm enough to fill, not stiff.

14. Take the chilled, coated puffs from the fridge, make a hole in the base of each, and pipe the cream generously into the centre until the bol feels full and heavy.

15. Present on a wooden board, and eat the traditional way: upside down, with your fingers.

Notes

On the water, not milk This is the key difference between the small soesjes and the full-size bol. Milk tenderises a choux; water strengthens it. At this size, the shell needs to be strong and crisp enough to carry a full load of cream and a heavy chocolate coat, and only an all-water dough will give you that structure.

On the the egg Robèrt calls this the hardest part of the whole recipe, and he is right. Beat the eggs first, add them gradually, and watch the dough rather than the measuring jug. The moment it flows reluctantly off the spatula in a thick ribbon, stop. Too much egg and the puffs will spread rather than rise.

On the steam A quick spray of water into the hot oven just before the tray goes in creates an initial burst of steam that helps the bollen puff dramatically. A plant mister works perfectly. Then keep the door shut for the full bake.

On the the assembly order Dip first, fill second. An empty puff is light and easy to handle in the chocolate; a cream-filled one is heavy, fragile, and liable to end in tears. Chill the coated shells until the chocolate is firm before filling through the base.

On the scaling down This recipe makes 10 generous bollen, which is a lot of cream puff. It halves cleanly if you want 5, though in my experience leftover Bossche bollen have never once been a problem.

Make the small ones for a crowd, pile them high on a platter and watch them disappear. Make the big ones when you want to bring a little piece of Brabant to your table. Either way, you are eating something the Dutch have been making, arguing about, and loving for more than a hundred years.

Some things do not need improving. They just need making.

Helene

Slagroomsoesjes And Bossche Bollen

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I will admit something: I have never been drawn to the idea of salt and vinegar roast potatoes. I love salt and vinegar crisps as much as the next person, but the thought of that same sharp, tangy quality applied to a roast potato had never appealed. I was convinced the vinegar would dominate, and that I would end up with something acidic and strange rather than the golden, crunchy, herb-flecked potatoes I had in my head.

Then I paid attention to who was making them.

Nigella Lawson loves them. Yotam Ottolenghi loves them. Both have published their own versions, and both speak about them with the kind of enthusiasm that made me stop and reconsider. If two people whose cooking I trust above almost all others both love them, I should probably pay attention. So, I gave them a try.

I was wrong, and I am glad to say so. These are now my next go-to way of cooking roast potatoes. The vinegar is not sharp or dominant in the finished potato – it adds a hint of tang, a background note that you feel more than taste, and that makes the potato somehow more interesting than a straightforwardly roasted one. The real heroes are the texture, which is enormously crunchy, soft on the inside and the herbs and chilli stirred through at the end, which bring everything up another level. They are, in a word, moreish.

A note on quantities: Ottolenghi uses considerably more vinegar than I do and serves his with a vinegar dipping sauce on the side. If you want a more pronounced tang, by all means follow his lead. I like mine with just a hint of it, which is what this recipe gives you.

The rest of the meal is straightforward and follows the same logic as the potatoes: mostly hands-off, oven-led, and far more impressive than the effort involved suggests. The roasted vegetables – whatever combination of green things you have or feel like – go into a tray with olive oil and Gewurzhaus Salad Herbs, roast while the potatoes finish, and come out topped with slices of goat’s cheese that soften into the warm vegetables as you bring the tray to the table. The steaks take six minutes in a very hot pan.

This works on a Tuesday night for two and scales just as naturally for a dinner party of six or eight. Everything goes onto a large platter in the middle of the table and people help themselves. That is the kind of dinner I like best.

Salt and Vinegar Roast Potatoes

Serves 2 to 4 · Scale up as needed

Ingredients

1 kg floury potatoes (Desiree work well), unpeeled, cut into 4 cm chunks

2 bay leaves

5 garlic cloves, skin on

30 ml white wine vinegar

2 tbsp fine sea salt

100 ml extra virgin olive oil

¼ cup flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

¼ cup dill, finely chopped

¼ cup chives, finely chopped

½ tbsp chilli flakes (I use Gewurzhaus Mild Seedless Chilli)

Salt flakes, to finish

Method

1. Place the potatoes, bay leaves, garlic cloves and white wine vinegar in a large pot. Add the 2 tablespoons of fine sea salt and cover with plenty of cold water. Bring to the boil over high heat, then reduce to medium-high and simmer for 15 minutes, or until the potatoes are fully cooked through. Test with the tip of a knife: it should slide in easily with no resistance.

2. Drain into a colander. Give the colander a gentle shake to rough up the edges of the potatoes: this is what creates the crunchy exterior. Remove and set aside the garlic cloves. Discard the bay leaves. Leave the potatoes to steam dry for about 10 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 220°C (or your oven’s highest setting; fan-forced at 200°C works well if your oven does not go higher).

4. Tip the potatoes onto a large, rimmed baking tray. Pour the olive oil over them and toss gently to coat. Roast for 45 minutes, turning them once halfway through.

5. In the last 10 minutes of roasting, add the reserved garlic cloves to the tray.

6. Remove from the oven. Scatter over the chopped parsley, dill and chives and the chilli flakes. Toss to coat. Finish with a generous pinch of salt flakes and serve.

Notes

On the vinegar The vinegar goes into the boiling water with the potatoes, not over them at the end. This means the tang is absorbed gently during cooking rather than hitting you at the surface. The result is subtle – a background note rather than a dominant flavour. If you want a more pronounced vinegar flavour, follow Ottolenghi: mix 45 ml of white wine vinegar with 1 tsp of Worcestershire sauce, drizzle half over the hot potatoes before adding the herbs, and serve the rest in a small bowl alongside.

On the potatoes A floury potato works best here because the starch is what creates the fluffy interior and the rough, crunchy edges when roasted. Desiree are excellent. Sebago also work well. Avoid waxy potatoes, which will not rough up in the same way and will give you a dense, smooth result rather than a crunchy one.

On the herbs The herbs go in at the very end, off the heat, so they stay bright and fresh rather than wilting. Do not be shy with them – the combination of parsley, dill and chives with the chilli is what takes these potatoes from very good to genuinely moreish.

On the scaling up This recipe scales cleanly. For 4 to 6 people, use 1.5 to 2 kg of potatoes and scale the oil and herbs proportionally. You will likely need two baking trays; do not crowd the potatoes or they will steam rather than roast. The cooking time stays the same.

Roasted Green Vegetables with Goat’s Cheese

Serves 2 · Use any combination of vegetables with similar cooking times

This is less a recipe than a method I use constantly. Whatever vegetables I have, whatever looks good, goes into a tray with olive oil and a herb blend from Gewurzhaus, into the oven, and comes out as a side dish that goes with almost everything. The tomatoes are the key addition: they roast and collapse into the olive oil and create something close to a sauce, which, mixed with the softening goat’s cheese, makes the whole tray cohesive rather than just a collection of roasted things.

Ingredients

80 g snow peas, topped and tailed

3 stalks of broccolini, cut into 5 cm pieces

2 baby zucchini (approximately 170 g), sliced into 1 cm rounds

1 bunch green asparagus, cut into 5 cm pieces

1 large handful baby tomatoes, left whole

Small handful of basil leaves

1 heaped tbsp Gewurzhaus Salad Herbs (a blend of parsley, chives, red onion, dill, pepper, garlic and salt)

Extra virgin olive oil

Salt and pepper

3 slices herbed goat’s cheese (I use La Buchette fresh goat’s cheese with garlic and herbs)

Method

1. Place all the vegetables and the basil in a large roasting tray. Drizzle generously with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Scatter over the Gewurzhaus Salad Herbs and toss to coat.

2. If using a second oven, roast at 180°C for 25 minutes. If using the same oven as the potatoes, place on a lower shelf when the potatoes have 20 minutes remaining and cook at 220°C for 15 to 20 minutes.

3. Remove from the oven and lay the goat’s cheese slices over the hot vegetables. Leave for a minute or two to soften slightly before serving.

Notes

On the vegetables Use any combination of vegetables with broadly similar cooking times. Green things work particularly well together: beans, snow peas, sugar snaps, asparagus, broccoli florets, broccolini, zucchini. You could add cauliflower florets or red and yellow peppers if you like colour. The tomatoes are worth keeping regardless of what else you use: they collapse and create the sauce-like quality that makes the dish work.

On the herb blend If you do not have Gewurzhaus Salad Herbs, use 1 tablespoon each of finely chopped parsley, chives and dill, the same herbs used in the potatoes. The flavours will complement each other across the whole meal.

On the goat’s cheese Lay the slices on the hot vegetables straight from the oven and let the residual heat do the work. You want the cheese to soften and begin to melt into the vegetables, not to melt away completely. A minute or two off the heat is usually enough.

Pan-Seared Eye Fillet

Serves 2 · Allow one steak of 180 to 200 g per person

The steaks are the simplest part of this meal and take the least time. The technique is the same one I use for all pan-seared steaks: a very hot cast iron pan, no oil in the pan, and the frequent-turning method in the final two minutes that gives an evenly cooked, medium-rare result all the way through.

Ingredients

2 eye fillet steaks, approximately 180 to 200 g each and 3 to 4 cm thick

Extra virgin olive oil

Sea salt

Method

1. Remove the steaks from the fridge at least 30 minutes before cooking and allow to come to room temperature.

2. Heat a cast iron pan over very high heat until smoking hot. Do not add oil to the pan.

3. Drizzle the steaks with a little olive oil and season with sea salt. Place in the hot pan and leave completely untouched for 2 minutes.

4. Turn and cook for a further 2 minutes on the other side, untouched.

5. For the final 2 minutes, turn the steaks every 15 seconds. This more frequent turning gives a more even, medium-rare result from edge to edge.

6. Transfer to a plate, cover loosely with foil, and rest for 5 minutes before serving.

Notes

On the resting Resting is not optional. The steaks need time to redistribute their juices after the intense heat of the pan. Five minutes under loose foil is the minimum; they will stay warm and will be noticeably juicier for it.

On the other proteins The potatoes and vegetables work just as well alongside lamb chops, chicken thighs, or pan-fried fish. If using fish, reduce the pan heat slightly and adjust the cooking time according to the thickness of the fillet.

Bring everything to the table on a large serving platter: potatoes piled generously, the vegetable tray alongside, the rested steaks on top or beside. Let people help themselves. This is exactly the kind of meal that looks like a great deal of effort and is, in fact, mostly the oven’s work.

I admit I was wrong about the potatoes. They are extraordinary.

Helene

Salt Vinegar Roast Potatoes Roast Vegetables Steaks Recipe

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The findings were striking. Sixty per cent of respondents said they wanted to have friends over more often. Fifty-three per cent wanted to receive more invitations. People are craving company. They know it, and they want more of it. And yet the dinner parties are not happening. Why?

The answer Olly found was not what you might expect. It was not that people were too busy, though they are. It was not that they were too tired, though they often are. The real blocker was something more psychological: the fear of being judged. Performance anxiety. The gap between the dinner party we imagine we should host and the one we might actually manage to pull off.

One of Olly’s respondents put it beautifully: “I have a fantasy version of me as a host that has absolutely no relation to what I really appreciate as a guest – low fuss, warm, friendly and comforting places to be and people to be with.”

This is the heart of it. And it is something I have been writing about on Inherited Tables since the beginning. The dinner party is not a performance. It is an invitation. And the best ones are almost always the relaxed ones: the food is good, the table is set with some thought, and the host is present rather than anxious in the kitchen.

I strongly recommend reading Olly’s full piece – I have linked to it above. It is warm, funny, and will make you want to pick up the phone and invite someone over immediately.

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Which brings me to the reason for today’s post.

Earlier this year I introduced the Inherited Tables Dinner Party Series – a long-running thread of recipes, menus and practical frameworks for every kind of occasion. I have been publishing individual posts within that series for months now: the Boeuf Bourguignon and Classic Beef Stew for winter; the Lemon Posset and Strawberries Romanoff for dessert; the Whole Roast Eye Fillet with Vincotto Jus; the French Onion Soup; the Salmon Wellington; the Lasagna; the Chicken Rendang. Each one arrives in your inbox as a standalone recipe or story.

But I wanted to give you something you could hold in one place and return to whenever you were planning an evening and were not quite sure where to start. A reference document. A starting point. Something you could open when you know you want to have people over but are not yet sure what kind of evening it should be.

Today I am sharing the Inherited Tables Dinner Party Guide.

It is organised around four pillars:

• Low and Slow

• The Backyard BBQ

• The Considered Dinner

• Themed Evenings

Within each pillar you will find suggested menus, recipe ideas, and frameworks for everything from the arrival grazing table to the shared dessert. Many of the recipes have already been published here on Substack and you can find them by clicking on Archive on my webpage, where you will find all my recipes and stories.

This is not a rigid prescription. It is a starting point. Mix and match freely, scale up or down, and add or remove courses to suit your table and your guests. The guide is here to make the decision easier, not to make it harder.

The dinner party is not a performance. It is an invitation. This guide is here to help you send one.

“Every table we set becomes someone else’s memory.”

Inherited Tables The Dinner Party Guide

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I used a batch of those frozen tomatoes for this dish, and it does not matter in the slightest that they were frozen. In fact, for what I am making here, an almost stew-like topping of beans, tomatoes, garlic and herbs, the soft texture that comes from freezing and thawing works in the dish’s favour.

This is the recipe I want to make the case for tonight: a genuinely restaurant-quality mid-week dinner that asks very little of you. The eye fillet itself takes about six minutes in a hot pan. Everything else, the beans, the tomatoes, the potato gratin, goes into the oven and largely looks after itself while you do something else. There is no reason a Tuesday or a Wednesday cannot end with a meal like this on the table.

The trick, as it so often is, is sequencing. Start the potato gratin first, because it needs the longest in the oven. While it cooks, prepare the beans and tomatoes, and add them to the oven alongside the gratin for the final twenty minutes. While those finish, sear the steaks. By the time the steaks have rested, everything else is ready, and the whole meal comes together within a few minutes of each other without you having stood over a stove for the better part of an evening.

Ingredients

For the beef

4 x 180 g beef eye fillets (or 200 to 250 g per person if you prefer a larger portion)

Salt and pepper

Extra virgin olive oil

For the green beans and tomatoes

200 g green beans, ends trimmed

250 g skinned baby tomatoes, fresh or frozen (see note)

1 large shallot, finely sliced

1 garlic clove, finely sliced

1 tsp Aleppo pepper (I use Gewurzhaus)

1 tsp herbes de Provence (I use Gewurzhaus)

2 tsp vincotto (or balsamic vinegar)

Extra virgin olive oil

Salt and pepper

For the potato gratin

1 kg starchy potatoes (Sebago or Dutch cream work well), peeled and sliced 3 mm thick

375 ml pouring cream

1 garlic clove, peeled and lightly smashed

4 sprigs of fresh thyme, plus extra leaves to finish

30 g unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing the dish

Salt and pepper

Freshly grated nutmeg (optional, but very good)

Method

Start with the potato gratin

1. Preheat the oven to 180°C. Butter a medium baking dish generously.

2. Place the cream, smashed garlic clove and thyme sprigs in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a gentle simmer, then remove from the heat and set aside for 10 minutes to infuse. Fish out the garlic and thyme sprigs before using.

3. Slice the potatoes thinly and evenly, about 3 mm thick. A mandoline makes this easy and gives the most even result, but a sharp knife and a steady hand work perfectly well. Do not rinse the sliced potatoes; the starch on the surface helps the gratin thicken as it bakes.

4. Layer the potato slices in the prepared dish, slightly overlapping, seasoning each layer lightly with salt, pepper and a little nutmeg if using. Pour over the infused cream, pressing the potatoes down gently so the cream comes most of the way up the layers. Dot the top with the butter.

5. Cover the dish tightly with foil and bake for 1 hour.

While the gratin bakes, prepare the beans and tomatoes

6. Slice the green beans in half horizontally and place in an ovenproof dish. Add the tomatoes (frozen is fine), the sliced shallot and garlic. Sprinkle over the Aleppo pepper and herbes de Provence, drizzle with the vincotto and a generous amount of olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and mix everything together well.

Finish in the oven together

7. After the gratin has had its hour covered, remove the foil. Place the bean and tomato dish in the oven alongside the gratin, both uncovered now, and cook together for a further 20 minutes, or until the gratin is golden and bubbling and the beans and tomatoes have softened into a loose, fragrant stew.

Cook the eye fillets

8. When the vegetables and gratin have about 15 minutes remaining, heat a heavy-based or cast iron pan over high heat until very hot. Do not add oil to the pan.

9. Drizzle the room-temperature steaks with olive oil and sprinkle generously with sea salt. Place in the hot pan and leave untouched for 2 minutes. Turn and leave untouched for a further 2 minutes.

10. For the final 2 minutes, turn the steaks every 15 seconds. This more frequent turning, rather than the traditional single flip, gives a result that is evenly medium-rare from edge to edge, rather than two well-browned surfaces with a raw centre.

11. Transfer the steaks to a plate, cover loosely with foil, and rest for 2 to 5 minutes while everything else finishes.

To serve

12. Place the rested steaks on a high-sided serving platter and spoon the beans, tomatoes and their juices over the top. Bring to the table alongside the potato gratin, served straight from its dish.

Notes

On the frozen tomato trick Freeze ripe baby tomatoes whole. When ready to use, pour just-boiled water over them, then immediately remove and place on a plate: the skins will slip off easily. Return the peeled tomatoes to a zip-lock bag and back to the freezer. This gives you beautifully ripe, peeled tomatoes year-round, ready for sauces or a quick roast with garlic and herbs on toasted sourdough with ricotta or goat’s cheese.

On the steak technique Turning the steaks every fifteen seconds in the final two minutes is a slightly unconventional method; some cooks insist on a single flip. I find the more frequent turning gives a noticeably more even result: properly medium-rare all the way through, rather than two nicely browned surfaces with the centre still raw. Try it once and you will likely keep doing it this way.

On the potato gratin A traditional French gratin dauphinois is made with just potatoes, cream, garlic and seasoning, no cheese at all, which is the version I have given you here. Infusing the cream with garlic and thyme before it touches the potatoes, rather than adding them directly, gives a more delicate, evenly distributed flavour. Slice the potatoes as evenly as you can; uneven slices cook unevenly, and some will be tender while others remain firm.

On the make ahead The potato gratin can be assembled completely up to a day in advance and refrigerated, then baked when needed; it may need an extra 10 to 15 minutes if going into the oven cold. The bean and tomato mixture can be assembled in its dish several hours ahead and simply placed in the oven when needed. Only the steak should be cooked just before serving.

On the vincotto Vincotto is an Italian condiment made from slow-cooked grape must, sweet and deeply flavoured. If you cannot find it, a good aged balsamic vinegar makes a very reasonable substitute, though it will be slightly sharper. Either works beautifully against the sweetness of the slow-cooked tomatoes.

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This is the kind of meal that looks like it took the whole evening and actually required very little of you beyond good timing. Pour something good to drink, set the table properly even though it is only Tuesday, and enjoy a dinner that would not look out of place on a restaurant menu.

Restaurant quality does not have to mean restaurant effort.

Helene

Inherited Tables

Inherited Tables Ey Fillet With Green Beans

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I was not looking for anything in particular.

That is the thing about op-shops. You go in without a plan, which is the only way to go in, and you move through the aisles the way you walk through a market in a city you don’t know: open to whatever presents itself, not expecting much, occasionally surprised by something that catches your eye.

I was at the Salvation Army op-shop in Port Melbourne, on a Tuesday afternoon, when I found it. A cookbook, spine facing out, shelved between a book on weight loss recipes and one on cocktails. River Cafe Cook Book Green by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers. In near-new condition. Three dollars.

I stood there for a moment holding it.

The River Cafe is on the Thames, in Hammersmith, London. It sits inside Thames Wharf, a converted warehouse complex. The garden that wraps around it, is one of those places that feels, even in a city as large as London, like an oasis of calm. I know this because I have been there. I know the garden and the light and the excitement of a long lunch on a summer afternoon when you have nowhere else to be.

I went with my parents, sometime around the late 1990s. It was summer. We walked from our hotel, which took the better part of forty minutes, and we arrived telling each other that we had earned the lunch ahead of us. We had drinks first, in one part of the garden, standing in the sunshine with a glass of white wine, watching the river. Then we were seated, at a table on the side of the courtyard, and the afternoon began.

We ate for hours. A long, multi-course menu, each dish more exquisite than the last, the wine carefully chosen by dad, the conversation moving in the relaxed way that only happens when no one is watching the time. Mum was in excellent form. Dad was happy. The sun moved across the garden while we sat there, and by the time we left, the afternoon had become early evening without any of us noticing.

I had not thought about that afternoon in years. And then I was standing in the Salvation Army op-shop on a Tuesday afternoon in Melbourne, holding a cookbook for three dollars, and I was back there instantly.

This is what objects do, sometimes. Not photographs, which you expect to carry memory because that’s their purpose. Not letters or journals. But ordinary objects, encountered unexpectedly, that have no business making you feel anything at all. A cookbook on a shelf. The smell of something. A certain quality of light. And suddenly you are somewhere else, and twenty-five years have passed without you noticing.

I put the cookbook in my basket and kept walking.

The plates were on the next shelf.

Franciscan Desert Rose. Cream earthenware with a border of pink roses and green leaves, each piece hand-stamped, the glaze slightly uneven, as handmade items often are. A serving platter, two dinner plates, several bowls, a side plate. All in excellent condition. All, unmistakably, the same pattern as the plates I inherited from my mother.

Mum had bought hers in England. A shop in London, in the late 80s, on a trip she and dad had taken together. I don’t know which shop. I don’t know what made her stop and look at them, or what made her decide to buy them, or how she managed to get them home to the Netherlands without breaking any. I know only that they existed in her kitchen for as long as I can remember, and that after she died, I brought a selection of them back to Melbourne in my hand luggage, wrapped in clothing, praying they wouldn’t break during the journey.

Desert Rose has been in continuous production since 1941. It is one of the most recognisable patterns in American ceramics, and it turns up in op-shops sometimes, in ones and twos, separated from whatever set it once belonged to. I have picked up the occasional piece over the years when I have found one. But I had never found this many in one place.

I stood there for a long time, turning each piece over in my hands.

There is a Dutch word – weemoed – for the feeling that arrived when I picked up those plates. English does not have one precise enough. It is the sensation of something from your past surfacing unexpectedly, whole and intact, when you had long since stopped expecting to find it. Bittersweet is too simple. Nostalgic is too comfortable. Weemoed carries the ache of it: the recognition, the tenderness, the awareness that the person who first put these objects in your life is no longer here to know that you found them.

I felt it in the Salvation Army op-shop, holding my mother’s plates.

Not her plates, of course. Someone else’s plates, from someone else’s kitchen, with someone else’s history attached to them. But the same pattern. The same roses. The same slight unevenness in the glaze. Objects do not know who owns them. They have no loyalty. They go from hand to hand and table to table, and they outlast everyone who has ever used them, and occasionally they surface in an op-shop on a Tuesday afternoon and find their way back to someone who recognises them.

I bought them all. The platter, the dinner plates, the bowls, the side plate. I do not remember how much I paid. Not much. The cookbook was three dollars.

At home, I washed each piece carefully and set them on the kitchen bench. Then I went and found the plates I had brought back from my mum’s kitchen and arranged them alongside. The colours matched exactly. The roses were the same roses.

My collection of Desert Rose is larger now than it was last week. So now I have a full set for dinner parties in a way I did not have before. That is the practical fact of the afternoon.

The other fact is harder to put into words. It has to do with the way the past finds you when you have stopped looking for it: on a Tuesday afternoon, in a Port Melbourne op-shop, with a cookbook under your arm and your mother’s plates wrapped in a paper bag.

And somehow, mum’s kitchen felt a little closer to mine.

Helene

Surely not. There are hundreds of them out there: in cookbooks, on websites, passed between friends in handwritten notes and torn-out magazine pages. Every family has a version. Every Italian grandmother has a version. Every food writer has, at some point, declared theirs the definitive one.

And yet. Here we are.

Two years ago, one of my closest friends was going through one of the hardest things a person can go through. Her mother was dying in the Netherlands, and she had gone home to be with her for the final months of her life. She was away for a long time. And while she was there, her husband and three children were here in Melbourne, managing as best they could.

I have written before, in the Mother’s Day essay What My Mother Left Behind, about how food becomes a language in moments of loss. (Read it here.) How a pot of something left on a doorstep says what words cannot quite manage. How cooking for someone is one of the oldest and most direct expressions of love and care that we have. When someone is grieving, or exhausted, or simply overwhelmed by ordinary life, a meal is not a gesture. It is a lifeline.

So I cooked. I made several things over those months: soups, stews, things that could be reheated and eaten when hunger returned. But it was the lasagna that they kept talking about. The kids asked for it by name. They asked their mother, when she came home, if she could make it. Her youngest, who does not normally like lasagna, had two helpings.

I have been making this version for years, and Terry says the same thing every time I put it on the table: this is the best lasagna I have ever eaten. I am never quite sure what to do with that, because I cannot entirely explain what makes it different. I have read and tested many, many recipes over the years. This one is the result of all of them, gradually refined and simplified until it became this: a combination of beef and pork, grated vegetables in the sauce, fresh buffalo mozzarella between the layers, a proper bechamel on top.

It is not complicated. There are no herbs or spices beyond salt and pepper. No Gewurzhaus for this one. The flavour comes from quality ingredients, from the combination of meats, and from the patience to let the sauce do what it needs to do.

Sometimes the simplest version is the right one. And sometimes a dish earns its place not because it is clever or surprising, but because it is the thing people ask for again. The thing they remember. The thing that, for a family going through something very hard, felt like being taken care of.

That is what I want a lasagna to do.

Lasagna - serves 8 to 10

Ingredients

For the meat sauce

2 tbsp olive oil

1 brown onion, finely chopped

6 garlic cloves, grated or finely chopped

2 large carrots, peeled and grated

4 celery stalks, grated

500 g organic beef mince

500 g organic pork mince

4 tsp plain flour

3 tbsp balsamic vinegar

A pinch of sugar

700 ml tomato passata (Mutti)

400 g canned San Marzano tomatoes, chopped with scissors in the tin (Mutti)

3 large handfuls of fresh basil leaves, large ones sliced in half, small ones left whole

Salt and pepper

For the bechamel

50 g unsalted butter

50 g plain flour

600 ml full-cream milk

Salt and pepper

To assemble

8 fresh lasagna sheets (Rana, from most supermarkets)

250 g fresh buffalo mozzarella (2 balls), torn or sliced

100 g Parmesan, freshly grated

1 small handful of three-cheese blend, grated (Perfect Italiano)

Method

Make the meat sauce

1. Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-based pot over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant.

2. Add the grated carrots and celery and cook for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until softened.

3. Increase the heat to medium-high. Add the beef and pork mince. Break the meat up with a wooden spoon and cook for about 4 minutes until no longer raw. The meat does not need to brown.

4. Sprinkle the flour over the meat and stir through. Cook for 2 minutes.

5. Add the balsamic vinegar, sugar, chopped tomatoes and passata. Add a little water to the emptied passata bottle, shake to collect the last of it, and add to the pot. Stir to combine and bring to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about 10 minutes until the sauce has thickened slightly.

6. Taste and season generously with salt and pepper. Turn off the heat and stir through the basil leaves. Set aside while you make the bechamel. The sauce can be made ahead and refrigerated.

Make the bechamel

7. Melt the butter in a heavy-based saucepan over medium-low heat. When the butter has melted, add all the flour at once and whisk continuously for 1 to 2 minutes. The mixture will smell slightly nutty when the raw flour has cooked out.

8. Remove the pan from the heat. Pour in all the milk at once, whisking constantly as you pour to prevent lumps forming.

9. Return to the heat and switch to a wooden spoon. Stir continuously until the sauce comes to the boil and thickens. Keep the heat at medium and do not stop stirring: as the sauce thickens it can catch on the bottom of the pan. This can take 5 to 10 minutes. Season generously with salt and pepper, taste and adjust.

Assemble and bake

10. Preheat the oven to 190°C. Set up an assembly station with the baking dish in the centre and the meat sauce, bechamel, lasagna sheets, mozzarella and grated cheeses arranged around it.

11. Spread a quarter of the meat sauce over the base of a large baking dish (approximately 32 x 26 x 7 cm). Lay two lasagna sheets on top.

12. Spread another quarter of the meat sauce over the pasta. Scatter over one third of the torn mozzarella.

13. Continue layering: pasta, meat sauce, mozzarella, two more times. You will have four layers of pasta in total, with the final pasta layer on top.

14. Spread the bechamel evenly over the top layer of pasta. Scatter over the grated Parmesan and the three-cheese blend.

15. Bake for 30 minutes, until the top is deep golden brown. If it needs more colour, place under a hot grill for 2 to 3 minutes, watching closely.

16. Remove from the oven and rest for at least 10 minutes before cutting. This step is important: the lasagna needs time to settle so it holds its shape when served.

Serve with garlic bread or good crusty bread. A simple green salad alongside is all it needs.

Notes

On the meat combination The mix of beef and pork is what gives this sauce its depth and richness. Pork has a higher fat content and a slightly sweeter flavour than beef; together they create a sauce that is more complex and more satisfying than either alone. Use organic mince if you can: the quality makes a difference in a recipe where the meat is the centrepiece.

On the grated vegetables Grating the carrots and celery rather than chopping them means they dissolve almost entirely into the sauce as it cooks, adding sweetness and body without being visible in the finished dish. This is the detail that people cannot quite identify but that contributes significantly to the flavour.

On the balsamic vinegar Three tablespoons is generous, and it is correct. The balsamic adds a quiet depth and a slight sweetness that rounds out the acidity of the tomatoes. It does not taste of vinegar in the finished sauce; it simply makes everything taste more like itself.

On the mozzarella Fresh buffalo mozzarella between the layers rather than grated cheese gives the lasagna its texture: pockets of soft, creamy cheese that melt into the meat sauce as it bakes. Drain the mozzarella well and pat it dry before using; excess moisture can make the lasagna watery.

On the bechamel A proper bechamel, made from scratch, is worth the ten minutes it takes. Season it more generously than feels comfortable: it should taste well-seasoned on its own, because its role is to carry and balance the richness of everything below it. A pale, under seasoned bechamel is the most common reason a lasagna tastes flat.

On the make ahead The meat sauce can be made up to two days ahead and refrigerated. The lasagna can be fully assembled, covered and refrigerated for up to a day before baking. Remove it from the fridge 30 minutes before it goes into the oven to take the chill off. Leftovers keep well for 3 days in the fridge and reheat beautifully.

This recipe is for my friend, and for her family, who needed to be taken care of for a little while. And for anyone who has ever found themselves standing at someone else’s kitchen door with a dish in their hands, not quite knowing what to say.

You do not need to say anything. The lasagna says it for you.

Helene

Inherited Tables Lasagna

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There is something about homemade bread on a dinner party table that changes the atmosphere of the whole evening. The house smells extraordinary. The bread arrives warm, with a proper crust and a soft, open crumb. Your guests reach for it before anything else has been served. And somewhere in the room, someone will say: you made this yourself?

Yes. And it took about ten minutes of actual work.

This is the thing about bread that most people do not know or have been led to believe is more complicated than it is: the bread does not need you. The yeast does the work. The time does the work. Your job is simply to put four ingredients in a container, give them a stir, and leave them alone. What happens next requires no kneading, no proving in a warm spot with a damp tea towel, no anxious checking of the dough every half hour. You mix it, you leave it on the bench for two hours, and then you put it in the fridge. That is it. The dough will sit there, quietly improving, for up to fourteen days. Every time you want fresh bread, you take out what you need, shape it, and bake it.

The technique comes from the tradition of high-hydration, long-ferment doughs that have been used in professional bakeries for decades and brought into the home kitchen by bakers who believed, rightly, that everyone deserves fresh bread without the theatre. The long, cold fermentation in the fridge develops flavour slowly and deeply. The resulting bread is complex, slightly tangy, with a proper chewy crumb and a crust that shatters when you cut it. It is, by any measure, better bread than most people manage with a same-day recipe.

For a dinner party, this recipe is almost unfairly useful. You make the dough on Tuesday. On Saturday, you take out a portion, shape it, let it rest for thirty-five minutes, and put it in a very hot oven while your guests are arriving. By the time they have had a glass of wine and found their seats, the bread is done. The house smells like a good bakery. Nobody needs to know how little effort it required.

The olive couronne, which is simply the master dough with black olives pressed through it and shaped into a ring, is the version I make most often for dinner parties. A couronne is a French crown-shaped loaf, and it has a particular quality on a table: it is generous and beautiful and slightly dramatic. It tears easily for sharing. It pairs with almost everything. And the olives, pressed into the dough and rolled through it before shaping, distribute through the crumb in a way that makes every piece different.

Serve it warm alongside anything from the Low and Slow series, with a good olive oil and some sea salt on the side, or simply with good butter. It will be remembered.

The Master Bread Dough

Makes enough for 4 loaves · Preparation: 10 minutes · Resting: 2 hours · Refrigerator life: 14 days

This is the foundation. Make it once and you have fresh bread available for the next two weeks. The recipe below makes enough for four standard loaves of approximately 450 g each. Each time you bake, you take out one portion and return the rest to the fridge.

Ingredients

700 ml warm water

1½ tbsp granulated yeast (about 14 g)

1½ tbsp kosher salt or fine sea salt

900 g unbleached plain flour, plus extra for dusting

Method

1. Find a large container with a lid, at least 4 to 5 litres in capacity. A tall plastic bucket or a large lidded mixing bowl both work well. (I bought mine at Chefs Hat, in South Melbourne. Any good kitchen store will have one.)

2. Add the warm water, then the yeast and salt. Add the flour all at once. Using a wooden spoon, mix until the flour is fully incorporated and no dry bits remain. The dough will be wet, shaggy and quite sticky. This is correct. Do not be tempted to add more flour.

3. Cover the container loosely with its lid, leaving a small gap for gas to escape. Do not seal it airtight. Leave at room temperature for 2 hours. The dough will rise and become bubbly.

4. The dough is now ready to use. If you are baking immediately, proceed to the shaping and baking instructions below. If you are baking later, close the lid loosely and refrigerate. The dough will keep for up to 14 days. It becomes easier to handle and develops more flavour the longer it sits in the fridge. After 5 hours of refrigeration, it is noticeably easier to work with.

Each time you bake, dust the surface of the dough lightly with flour, cut off a 450 g piece using kitchen shears or a serrated knife, and return the lid to the remaining dough. Refrigerate the remainder immediately.

Notes

On the water temperature Warm, not hot. The water should feel comfortable on your wrist, roughly 40°C. Too hot and it will kill the yeast; too cold and the dough will take much longer to rise. If you are unsure, err on the side of cooler rather than warmer.

On the yeast Granulated or instant yeast both work here. There is no need to dissolve the yeast in water first; it goes straight into the container with everything else. If your yeast is old or has been stored somewhere warm, check it is still active by dissolving a small amount in warm water with a pinch of sugar: it should foam within 10 minutes.

On the salt Kosher salt is specified in the original recipe, but fine sea salt works equally well. Do not reduce the quantity; the salt is essential not just for flavour but for controlling the fermentation rate of the yeast.

On the container The dough will roughly double in size during the initial rise, so the container needs to be large enough to accommodate this. A 5-litre plastic bucket with a clip-on lid, left slightly open, is ideal. Do not use an airtight seal; the fermenting dough produces gas that needs to escape.

On the using the dough over two weeks The flavour of the dough improves noticeably over the first few days in the fridge, developing a slight, pleasant tanginess from the slow fermentation. Bread made on day three or four is better than bread made on day one. By day ten it is very good indeed.

Olive Couronne

Uses 450 g of master dough · Serves 6 to 8 · Baking time: 25 minutes

The couronne, from the French word for crown, is a ring-shaped loaf. It is one of the most beautiful breads to bring to a table, and one of the most practical: the ring shape means it tears naturally into portions, and the hole in the centre makes it easy to carry on a board. This version is made with black olives pressed through the dough before shaping, which gives the finished loaf a deeply savoury, briny flavour that pairs beautifully with olive oil, cheese, charcuterie, or any of the stews and braises in this series.

Ingredients

450 g master bread dough (from the recipe above)

85 g good black olives, pitted and roughly chopped

Plain flour, for dusting

240 ml hot water or ice cubes for steam

Equipment

A baking stone (ideal) or a heavy baking tray

A deep baking dish/roasting tin for steam

Baking paper

Kitchen shears or a serrated knife

Method

Shape and fill the dough

1. Line a pizza peel or baking tray with baking paper and dust lightly with flour. Dust the surface of the dough in its container and cut off a 450 g piece. A useful method: place a flour-dusted bowl on kitchen scales, tare to zero, and weigh the dough directly into the bowl as you cut it.

2. On a lightly floured work surface, use your hands to flatten the dough to a thickness of about 1.5 cm. Scatter the chopped olives evenly over the surface. Roll the dough up to encase the olives, then dust with a little more flour and knead briefly, just enough to distribute the olives through the dough. Do not overwork it.

3. Shape the dough into a ball by stretching the surface down and around to the bottom, rotating the ball a quarter-turn as you go. The surface should feel taut. Place the ball on a piece of baking paper, cover loosely with plastic wrap, and rest for 15 minutes.

Form the ring

4. After resting, push both thumbs through the centre of the ball. Working gently with your fingers, gradually stretch the hole outward until it is wide enough to hold its shape during rising and baking. The hole should be roughly three times the width of the wall of the ring: it will shrink as the bread rises, and a hole that looks too large now will be just right in the finished loaf.

5. Transfer the ring to the baking-paper-lined peel or tray. Cover loosely and rest for 20 minutes.

Bake

6. Preheat the oven to 230°C. Place a baking stone or heavy baking tray on the middle rack. Place the deep baking dish/roasting tin on a lower shelf.

7. Just before baking, dust the surface of the couronne lightly with flour. Using a serrated knife, score the surface with cuts radiating outward from the centre like spokes in a wheel, each about 5 mm deep.

8. Slide the loaf directly onto the hot stone or place the tray in the oven. Immediately pour the hot water (or ice cubes) into the empty baking dish/roasting tin underneath and close the oven door quickly. The steam is essential: it keeps the crust soft and flexible in the first minutes of baking, allowing the bread to rise fully before the crust sets.

9. Bake for 25 minutes, until the couronne is deeply browned all over and sounds hollow when tapped on the base. A pale loaf is an undercooked loaf; do not be afraid of deep colour.

10. Transfer to a wire rack and allow to cool for at least 15 minutes before serving. The crumb continues to set as it cools, and cutting into it too early will give you a gummy interior.

To serve

Bring the couronne to the table on a wooden board. Place a small bowl of good olive oil alongside, with a pinch of sea salt. Let guests tear it apart themselves. It is warm, fragrant, and will not last long.

Notes

On the olives Use good black olives with genuine flavour: Kalamata, Ligurian, or Nicoise all work well here. Avoid the bland, large black olives sold in tins, which have little flavour and too much moisture. Drain and dry the olives thoroughly before chopping; excess moisture in the dough will affect the texture of the finished loaf.

On the steam The steam tray is not optional. Without it, the crust will set too quickly, restricting the rise of the loaf and giving you a dense, thick-crusted result. Hot water poured into the tray immediately as the bread goes in is the simplest method. Ice cubes work equally well and produce steam more slowly, which some bakers prefer.

On the baking stone A baking stone retains heat evenly and gives the base of the bread a crust that a standard tray cannot match. If you bake bread regularly it is worth investing in one. A heavy cast-iron skillet placed upside down on the rack is a reasonable substitute. A standard baking tray will work; the base may be slightly softer.

On the shaping the hole The hole must be made wide enough before baking or it will close up entirely in the oven. If after baking you find the ring has become a dome, the hole was not stretched wide enough. Next time, go larger than feels right. The bread will taste just as good either way.

On the variations The same master dough shaped as a plain round loaf, scored across the top, bakes beautifully without any addition. A rosemary and sea salt version is made by pressing fresh rosemary leaves and flaked sea salt into the surface just before scoring. A walnut and dried fig loaf, made in the same way as the olive couronne, is wonderful with a cheese course.

On the for a dinner party Make the master dough up to a week in advance. On the day of your dinner, take out a 450 g piece about an hour before your guests arrive. Shape, fill, rest and bake while you are getting ready. The bread will come out of the oven just as the first guest walks in. Few things make a better first impression.

Helene

Terry and I have both been under the weather this week. Nothing dramatic, just the kind of cold that settles in and makes everything feel slightly harder than it should be: the thick head, a sore throat, tiredness that makes the sofa seem the most sensible place to be. We are apparently not alone in this. Half of Melbourne seems to be sniffling and reaching for tissues at the moment.

When I am unwell, or when someone I love is, my instinct is always the same: make something warm and nourishing and put it in front of them. This is not a medical opinion. It is something older than that, something inherited from mothers and grandmothers and the long tradition of cooking as a form of care. The kitchen, in these moments, is where I go not because I have to but because it helps. The act of making something, even something simple, is its own kind of remedy.

There are two things I have been making this week. The first is so simple it barely qualifies as a recipe. The second is the real thing: a proper homemade chicken soup, made from scratch with a whole, organic chicken, that fills the kitchen with a smell that makes you feel better before you have even tasted it.

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Hot Ginger Water

This is the first thing I make when I feel a cold coming on, and the thing I keep sipping throughout the day. It is not a recipe so much as a habit, and I am sharing it here because it is genuinely useful and genuinely good.

Take a mug. Add four or five thin slices of fresh ginger, skin on, cut directly from the root. Pour over just-boiled water. Let it steep for three to four minutes. Drink it as hot as you comfortably can.

That is it. The ginger infuses into the water quickly and the result is warming, slightly spicy, and deeply soothing on a sore throat. Sometimes I add a thin slice of lemon and a small spoon of good honey when my throat is particularly unhappy. I drink three or four mugs of this a day when I am unwell, and it is one of those things that feels medicinal without being unpleasant.

Homemade Chicken Soup

Serves 4 to 6 generously · Best made over two days

There is a reason chicken soup appears in virtually every food culture on earth as the thing you make for someone who is unwell. It is warm, it is gentle, it is nourishing in a way that is easy on a body that does not have much appetite. And a properly made one, built from a whole (preferably organic) chicken simmered slowly until every bit of flavour has been coaxed into the stock, is something else entirely from the version that comes out of a tin.

This recipe is made in two stages. The first is the stock: a whole organic chicken, simmered for an hour and a half with vegetables and aromatics until the liquid is golden and deeply savoury. The second is the soup itself: a fresh set of vegetables softened in olive oil, the stock added back, the shredded chicken returned to the pot, a squeeze of lemon to lift it. You can do both stages on the same day, and the result is excellent. But if you have the time, making the stock the day before and refrigerating it overnight is worth doing: the fat rises and solidifies on the surface and can be lifted off cleanly, giving you a clearer, lighter stock. The soup you make from it the following day will be noticeably better.

I do not add pasta to mine. I prefer it without, and I think the soup is more elegant and more versatile for it. But if you want it more substantial, add a small pasta of your choice, such as orzo or small shells, with the stock and cook until just done before adding the chicken.

Ingredients

For the stock

1 whole organic chicken, approximately 1.8 kg

2 carrots, unpeeled, roughly chopped

2 celery stalks, roughly chopped

1 whole head of garlic, sliced in half horizontally

2 brown onions, peeled and cut into large chunks

1 tbsp whole black peppercorns

2 fresh bay leaves

4 sprigs of fresh thyme

5cm piece of fresh ginger, sliced (optional)

Approximately 2.5 litres of cold water

For the soup

2 tbsp olive oil

1 brown onion, finely chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

2 carrots, peeled and finely chopped

2 celery stalks, finely chopped

1 fresh bay leaf

A few sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves picked

1 tbsp good-quality chicken stock powder

1 to 2 tbsp fresh lemon juice

Salt and pepper

To serve

A handful of flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped

Crusty bread

Method

Day 1 (or the morning of) – Make the stock

1. Rinse the chicken inside and out under cold water and place in a large stockpot.

2. Add the carrots, celery, garlic, onions, peppercorns, bay leaves, thyme sprigs and ginger (if using). Pour over enough cold water to just cover the chicken, approximately 2.5 litres.

3. Place over medium-low heat. As the water heats, skim the surface regularly with a ladle or large spoon, removing any grey foam that rises. This step gives you a cleaner, clearer stock. Continue skimming until the water comes to a gentle boil.

4. Reduce the heat to low. Cover the pot and simmer gently for 1 hour and 30 minutes. The stock should barely bubble: a rolling boil will cloud it and toughen the chicken.

5. Remove the chicken and set aside. Strain the stock through a fine sieve into a large bowl or second pot, pressing gently on the vegetables to extract all the liquid. Discard the vegetables.

6. When the chicken is cool enough to handle, remove and discard the skin. Pull the meat from the bones and shred into generous pieces. Discard the bones. You will have more chicken than you need for the soup; the rest is wonderful in sandwiches or salads.

7. If making the soup the next day, allow the stock to cool to room temperature, then transfer to the fridge overnight. The following day, lift off and discard the solidified fat from the surface. If making the soup straightaway, proceed to the next step.

Make the soup

8. Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook for 2 minutes until softened and fragrant, not coloured.

9. Add the carrots and celery and cook for a further 3 to 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables have softened slightly. You are not looking for colour, just a gentle softening.

10. Pour in the stock. You should have approximately 2 litres; if the stock has reduced further, top up with cold water. Add the bay leaf, thyme leaves and stock powder. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle simmer.

11. Simmer for a few minutes until the vegetables are tender. Add half the shredded chicken and stir gently to warm through, about 1 to 2 minutes.

12. Taste carefully. Season with salt and pepper. Add the lemon juice, starting with one tablespoon and adding more to taste. The lemon lifts the whole soup and is essential, not optional.

To serve

Ladle into deep, wide bowls. Scatter generously with chopped parsley. Serve with crusty bread alongside and, if you like, a small dish of good butter.

Eat while very hot. Go back to the sofa. Rest.

Notes

On the chicken An organic, free-range chicken makes a noticeably better stock. The flavour is deeper and the resulting soup has more body. It is worth the extra cost here, particularly if the soup is for someone who is unwell and needs something genuinely restorative.

On the skimming the stock The grey foam that rises in the first fifteen minutes of heating is proteins and impurities from the chicken. Removing it gives you a cleaner, clearer stock. It does not affect the flavour significantly if you miss some, but it is a good habit and takes only a few minutes.

On the lemon juice Do not skip the lemon juice at the end. It lifts the soup completely and balances the richness of the chicken. Add it gradually and taste as you go: one tablespoon is usually enough, but the right amount depends on the acidity of your lemon and the depth of your stock.

On the leftover chicken This recipe uses roughly half the shredded chicken in the soup. The remainder keeps well in the fridge for two to three days and is excellent in sandwiches with good mayonnaise and a little tarragon, or folded through a simple green salad.

On the pasta I prefer this soup without pasta, but if you want something more substantial, add a small pasta such as orzo, risoni or small shells to the pot with the stock and cook until just tender before adding the chicken. Serve immediately: pasta continues to absorb the stock as it sits and will become soft if the soup is left to stand.

On the make ahead The stock keeps in the fridge for up to four days and freezes beautifully for up to three months. The finished soup keeps for two to three days in the fridge; the vegetables will soften further on reheating, which is not unpleasant. Reheat gently and add a fresh squeeze of lemon before serving.

I hope this finds you well. And if it does not, I hope you have someone to make this for you, or the energy to make it for yourself. Either way, it will help.

Feel better soon.

Helene

Inherited Tables Chicken Soup

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We stumbled upon Kirbie by accident. It is eighteen months old and sits on a quiet stretch of South Melbourne that we drive past regularly, but somehow it had never registered until the evening we found ourselves standing outside it, peering through the window at what looked unmistakably like a French bistro: intimate, warm, close-set tables, the kind of room that makes you want to go in.

We went in.

Kirbie is not strictly French, as it turns out. The menu moves between France and Italy and the wider Mediterranean without much concern for borders, which is the best kind of menu to encounter when you have not planned what you feel like eating. There is garlic fougasse and anchovy toast alongside wild mushroom linguine with truffles and veal saltimbocca. The wine list is considered and not too long. The room feels like the kind of place that has been there for twenty years, which is the highest compliment you can pay a restaurant that has been open for eighteen months.

Terry ordered the French onion soup as a starter. It arrived in a small ramekin rather than the traditional deep lion-head bowl, which made it exactly the right size for a first course: enough to be generous, not so much that it overshadows what comes after. The flavour was extraordinary. A deep, dark, almost caramelised sweetness from the onions, a broth with real body, the gruyere on top bronzed and bubbling. I had the anchovy toast with tomato and manchego, which was equally good. For mains, Terry had the steak frites and I had the veal saltimbocca, both of which were exactly what they should be. We will go back soon.

The soup sent me home wanting to make my own version. French onion soup is one of those classics that appears deceptively simple but rewards patience. The depth of flavour that made the Kirbie version so memorable comes almost entirely from time: the onions need nearly an hour on the stove, coaxed slowly from raw and sharp to soft and golden to deeply caramelised and sweet. There is no shortcut to this step and no substitute for it. But there is also very little to actually do during that hour. You stir occasionally, you adjust the heat, and you let the onions do what onions do when you give them enough time and butter.

As a dinner party starter this soup is close to ideal. It can be made entirely the day before, which means it is reheated and ready in the time it takes to toast and top the bread. The flavour, like most braises and slow-cooked things, is better the next day. And it arrives at the table looking and smelling like something from a Parisian brasserie, which is never a bad way to begin an evening.

Recipe - Ingredients

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