West Yorkshire makes one very cynical regarding the weather.
Living in the perpetual dampness that is the Calder Valley has made me expect
rain at least once a day, regardless of what time of year it is. When spring
starts to shine its first few feeble rays of sunshine, we are invariably left
out. Weather reports are watched with hardened hearts and we can’t even watch
Gardener’s World anymore because it’s so depressing. Time to start moving
seedlings into deeper soil? You must be joking. Anything planted outside now
would turn to mulch after a few weeks of being battered by our storms. On a
rare day last week, however, we were blessed with a bit of sunshine; the high
winds kept us on our toes but Mum-y and I still managed a foray into the
garden, spending two hours attacking the overgrown mass of brambles and plants
in need of a prune. When we were finished, the sun was still shining so I
rustled up a spring lunch feast consisting of dips, flatbreads, cheeses and this
tomato salad. If like us, you’re still in root veg mode when what you crave is
a vibrant, zingy salad, then this will be enough to remind you that summer will
happen… someday.
I really connect with Polish food. It’s rustic, seasonal and
affordable, as well as being influenced by just about anyone who’s passed
through at some point; notably French, Jewish and Russian cuisines. I know this
is silly but it feels really earthy and spiritual somehow when I cook something
Polish for dinner; I feel transported to a scarred land of wheat fields,
cabbages, harvests and preserving. I want to go to Poland at some point to get
the “peasant making delicious stew on farmstead” image out of my head; I’m sure
that it doesn’t actually resemble a Bertold Brecht play. This aside, what’s
most important to me is the food, and it’s really delicious. One café,
Barbakan, situated on Walmgate in York was one of my favourite lunchtime spots
when I was a student. Small, bustling and cosy, Barbakan really opened my eyes
to the wonders of Polish food. Baskets of sourdough bread would be served
alongside piping hot dishes of goblaki -stuffed cabbage leaves- potato and
cheese stuffed pierogi -dumplings- or peppery, juniper-spiked bigos. According
to my worn cookbook, The Polish Kitchen,
by Mary Pininska, bigos is the national dish of Poland and was traditionally
made with any food harvested from the land; game, juniper berries, mushrooms,
all bolstered of course, by sauerkraut. See this as a base recipe to expand upon and make additions to; there is only one prerequisite, which is
that you absolutely must make bigos at least one day in advance to let the
flavours mature.
I call this recipe a lazy one because I feel like I’m
betraying some cook’s oath by using a bread maker. It makes me embarrassed when
people ask “did you make this from scratch?” because I don’t feel like I have
done. Just in the same way that I feel guilty when people praise a meal I’ve
made from a recipe. It’s not like I did any work, I just followed instructions.
You couldn’t boast you made a table “from scratch” if you picked up a flat pack
from Ikea. I don’t really think cooking is that
mechanical a process, but whenever I see a chef on TV making a cake in a mixer,
rather than with a spoon, I can’t help but think they’re missing the point.
Anyway, the reason I use a bread maker? Borderline O.C.D. dad. If I’m seen to
be kneading dough on a worktop, with flour going everywhere, my dad freaks out.
So out comes my robot helper, and the only mess is a pan to wash.
