Spicy Butternut squash Soup with Yogurt and Coriander Raita

Spicy Butternut Soup with Coriander Raita

Last night we went to see Jersey Boys - which is a show about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons - with all their hits being performed of course! Lots of fun and fantastic 50s costumes.

It was the last show to be performed this season at the Artscape in Cape Town and it was only after much uhm-ing and ah-ing that we finally found ourselves in the Computicket queue in Checkers to purchase tickets. We had missed getting any of the good cheaper seats but such was our commitment to see the show now that we moved up a tier (on the pricing).

When it came round to dinner on Sunday evening, we were on a bit of a budget and besides, having played tennis most of the afternoon, there was no time to get ready and then still to go for dinner before the play. As anyone who has tried to go somewhere for dinner before a movie / play / show / opera / concert, can attest, that if you do not set aside at least 2 hours at any given restaurant, even if you are planning on having the Gazpacho, everything including the bill will take far too long to arrive. There will not be any languid conversation and enjoyment of food. Instead there will be a great deal of anxious looking at watches, stilted conversation as each party thinks about how to interrupt the time-space continuum in order not to miss the first act and gnashing of teeth. After a great deal of forced politeness with the waitress as she offers dessert and coffees and loiters around the waiters station, and then only eventually brings the bill, there will be a mad rush for the door and then the theater.

After show eating is, though, also somewhat a difficult. Agnes Jekyll's "A little dinner before the play", while I dote on her advice on eating in all situations, does have a rather extensive menu planned to eat before going to the theater. A little dinner, in other words is not so little in her books. At least not by modern standards.  One doesn't want to be eating anything too heavy as it will probably be a little on the late side. Yet there is the probability that having had to wait for dinner - if you are sensible you may have sneaked in a quick piece of toast with jam - will make one reasonably hungry. Anything too rich will keep you awake so meat is best avoided.

This is where the humble butternut - that South African squash that only the last ten years has made its gloriously and radiant orange flesh known to the rest of the world - comes in.

But if I may remove one from the world of charted maps and exotic locations, or if my mentioning of the rest of the world too brief and I left you coming out of the theater with your tummy rumbling slightly, I just want to whisk you back to the Computicket queue in the supermarket.

Having dispensed with our shekels on the more expensive tickets I posed this question: "So what budget do we have for dinner?"
"Thirty rand," came the reply, at which I eyed Christopher incredulously.
"Fine," I answered, because I'm the kind of person that likes a challenge.

Now, perhaps I should explain something here. It is still the early days of our relationship. But even if they weren't early days, since I consider myself a gourmand, my pride demands that cooking exquisite meals forms part of establishing my reputation in this relationship. But every urban princess, who would like to present their current beaux with delicious delicacies, when they are not being wined and dined by said beau themselves, have to be practical where there is a budget that has to be respected.

My tour of the supermarket done, I met up with Christopher who can abide any type of shopping except food shopping, and informed him that we would be having butternut soup for dinner.

I knew the look that I would get. It was a skeptical look. Men who are almost 2 metres tall never think that soup is a meal so much as a starter. I'd also been informed of this fact when, much to his credit, Christopher had brought me soup when I was ill for about two weeks running. The conversation went something along the lines of:
HIM: You really like your soup.
ME (with enthusiasm): Yes, soup is delicious and so nutritious!
HIM (without enthusiasm): I didn't like it when my mother made soup. I ate it. But I didn't like it.

So that is how I knew what kind of enthusiasm (or the lack thereof) the dinner plans for that evening would be met. He did manage a "that's great," though. The lack of complaining was noted.

When we got home we fell to making the soup. Since we would only eat it after the show, a three or four hour time lapse did everything to enhance its flavour.

Ingredients
Soup
1 tbsp Sesame seed oil
1tsp coriander seeds
1tsp fennel seeds
1 largish french shallot
1 celery stalk with leaves
1 clove garlic
fresh ginger
1/2 red chili (optional)
600g butternut
1/4 cup port
1 tblsp white wine vinegar
1 L chicken stock
Salt and black pepper to taste

Raita
4 generous tblsp plain white yogurt
1 handful fresh coriander
1/2 lemon zest
juice

A smattering of flaxseed oil for the top of the soup

Fresh white loaf

In a heavy bottomed saucepan, heat a tablespoon of sesame oil. Add a teaspoon of coriander and fennel seeds. Allow them to fry until they pop. Reduce the heat.

Then add a finely chopped banana shallot, a clove of finely chopped garlic, a centimetre thick piece of grated ginger and a stalk and the leaves of celery (also finely chopped). If your tastes tend towards enjoying the very hot, you can add half a red chili - but the ginger will already give it a bit of sting. Saute until the onion is translucent and be careful not to burn the garlic.

Add the butternut (approx 600g) that has been peeled with the seeds removed and diced. Add a good few twists of freshly cracked sea salt and black pepper. Fry over a medium heat for about 3 or 4 minutes. Then increase the heat.

Add a quarter cup of red port and a dessert spoon of white wine vinegar and let it cook off for a minute or two. Then add a litre of chicken stock to cover the butternut. Cover and reduce to a slow heat. In the meantime, peel and core a sweet red apple. Cut into pieces and add to the pot.

Allow to simmer for 20-30 minutes. (If you have the time, allow it to sit for a couple of hours).

Zap with a blender until smooth.

Reheat.

While the soup is reheating, toss a nice, Portuguese white loaf in the oven to crisp up. Also this is a good time to make the raita. In a small bowl, spoon in four tablespoons of white yogurt. Add a decent handful of  fresh coriander that has been washed and chopped up. Add salt and pepper to taste and lastly the zest of half a lemon. Add a few drops of lemon juice if you wish and then mix.

When the soup has been reheated, dish out into bowls and add the raita on top. Serve with the freshly warmed bread.

Some nice wine suggestions would be a nicely chilled Riesling or Viognier. You could go for a creamy Chardonnay if your tastes tend towards something richer for winter. If your tastes tend towards a red, I would suggest a light Pinot Noir or a light red blend that displays the spiceyness of a Shiraz.

A Little Dinner Before The Play

I recently came across Agnes Jekyll's "A little Dinner Before the Play" a collection of her "Kitchen Essays"that was published in The Times in the 1920's  put together by Penguin earlier this year.

It is, in a few short words, delightful. I think particularly for me because of their historical information about food. Being interested in food, I am interested in people (not necessarily those that are still living, mind, who can be somewhat annoying!) But those that have gone before exist at a safe distance and in that way I find are a great deal more endearing to me.

For instance, I know that Lady Jekyll and myself would have been very good friends, both taking an interest in food and both acknowledging that one is not at one's best first thing in the morning - though she published these thoughts in The Times almost 90 years ago and for those of you who have never met me, for the first time, now on this blog.  But I do feel so strongly on the idea that getting up before the sun rising is wrong, that I'll be surprised that I haven't written it somewhere else. All the more reason form the cheerful breakfast tray which she prescribes!

But I digress: this is not about me, but about Lady Jekyll.  Agnes, from her writing seems like a perfectly no nonsense kind of woman who found that all things being equal, and even if they weren't, that they were to be rectified immediately by putting effort into how and what you provided your guests with, but moreover, by putting careful thought into what guests ate.

Here is one such example. She says:

God made the first Christmas and man has ever-since been busy spoiling it. Year by year, the propaganda of the shops grows increasingly active (what would she have said today?) ; and their suggestion for the keeping of that high feast, including such secular items as dozens of brandy, whisky, and champagne, appear annually more elaborate and incongruous than never before.

So she doesn't hide her indignation at the fact that then friends will come from the countryside to Town in order to procure said brandy and champagne. But does she hold it against them? Of course not! Being delighted that she should see her friends, she suggests that the gracious Town hostess would make for them such delights for tea (read here an almost three course lunch to allow them relief from the effort of being on their feet and flitting from one shop to the next) as they would not be able to make in their country abode due to their being unable to procure the ingredients: A dear friend indeed!

The effort (or her cook's effort - since she was lucky enough to oversee one - though I have no doubt that if she saw her cook doing something incorrectly that she would take over and instruct with the good intention of bettering her cook's skills) that she went to in proving them with such fare leaves us in no doubt as to her being much treasured as such.

Some of her recipes do seem a little on the difficult side, but she seems not to have been one to spare the horses on account of her guests' happiness!

She would insist that guests enjoy themselves and in doing so, benevolently allow others to do so - another point with which I sit in solidarity with her on.

She was after all, a famed philanthropist, which starts in the kitchen.

I'm so delighted to have met her through her writings!