As much as the anticipation of changes and shifts dominates this time of year, there is also the surprise of just getting back to simple routines that were forgotten in the gloom of November and the chaos of December. On Sunday I found myself sitting at the only place I go for brunch, chosen both for its proximity from my bed and for the fine quality of its french toast, maple syrup and bacon. J was sitting across from me at our wee table by the window eating exactly the same thing. We always talk about ordering something else this time, but we never make good.
The day thought about being sunny for a couple of hours, but was having pangs of heavy spitting rain, so instead of a walk through the park, we bought some provisions and went home for movies and cooking. It was brunch, but I was already thinking about dinner and a lovely, soothing and clean meal. Mussels with leeks and white wine and a green loaf of watercress bread. A menu that met two of my rules for new years: 1) do things that scare you a bit (like cooking mussels and making bread) and 2) eat food that reminds you that you like living. January provides enough punishment without having to subject yourself to a guilt-inducing and joyless diet.
There is no reason why anyone should be scared of mussels. I am not entirely sure where my own anxiety stemmed from. I was definitely queasy at the thought of cooking something that was still alive, a lingering trace of my numerous vegetarian years. Not that the killing was so much of a problem, I was more afraid that I would mess it up somehow and the mutilated mussels would be inedible and resigned to a horrific life as maimed, partially cooked critters. They would look up me from between their gleaming dark shells and gurgle a plea for mercy, for a quick and effective death. I would never sleep through the night again.
Less dramatically, I was nervous that I would mess up a meal that I really like to eat.
It turns out that mussels are the easiest thing in the world to cook. Maybe you already know this, but I didn't understand just how simple it was. All you do is clean them of their beards (these are the strands they use to anchor them to things) and barnacles (which can be arduous I guess, but mine were pretty clean already). Make sure they close if you tap on them (they don't close immediately, it could take them a minute of two. I think mine were drowsy), or you feel some mussel-y resistance if you force the shells together. When that's done, you'll have a bowl of dark blue shells that are slowly and quietly clamping and gurgling. A low breath that you can just hear. Then you put leeks, garlic, shallots, whatever, in a pot with butter, stir for a bit, throw in the mussels, and dump half a bottle of white wine on top. Top them with a little splash of cream. You cover them to steam for 3-5 minutes until they open up (throw out any that don't open). And then you eat them.
And you should eat them, especially the ones that have been farmed, and especially if they've been farmed in Scotland. These guys are good for you. Loads of Omega 3s, and B vitamins, high in protein and low in fat and cholesterol. They don't have a high mercury content, they aren't fed anything weird, and they are reared in an ecologically friendly/neutral way. Here's Hugh's article about how they grow. Basically big ropes get lowered into Scottish lochs and teensy baby mussels start to grow on them. They live on these ropes, eating whatever comes their way, and encouraging the ecosystem around them for 3-4 years. Then they are harvested and then you get to eat them. That's it. Farmed Scottish mussels are renowned for being delicious and have a higher meat-to-shell ratio than wild varieties. Plus they're cheap and local. I think a bag of these guys will make its way into my kitchen often this winter.
To go with them, I tried out a recipe for Watercress and Nettle Bread from Britain: the Cookbook by Phil Vickery, a new Christmas acquisition. This was one of the more alluring recipes and a good excuse to try and make bread again, another thing that makes me nervous. Unfortunately, it's not nettle season so we had to make the recommended spinach substitute. Nonetheless, it was delicious and pretty simple to make. This dough is kneaded for ten minutes, which is a lot longer than I thought it was. But while I was pushing and twisting it, I could feel it puffing up a bit, all of the tiny yeast particles sighing their little sighs. Another reminder that not everything is dead and sad at this time of year. These tiny indications of life make me feel brighter. Just like the knowledge that we are gaining a minute or two of daylight again, that at 4pm today it wasn't truly dark.
I added too much salt to my loaf; it didn't ruin the bread, but I would stick to the amount recommended. It meant that I didn't have to season the sandwiches I made with its slices later on (p.s. beets get on really well with this bread). I think I would also add more watercress than spinach, but I like thing peppery. Otherwise, this recipe is solid.
(To view it a bit bigger, just double click on the picture. It should open in a new window and you can then print it off if you want. This is a new system. Tell me if it sucks.)
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