015. Dip Dip!
On the only time I'll allow being late, and turning this newsletter into an ode to dips.
January is almost over guys. We’re creeping towards February, squeezing extra light out of the giant orb in the sky at a rate of 15 minutes per week. The spring bulbs will soon start showing off, we’ve already got some early bird daffodils in every room of the house (if you’re me, anyway) and the difficult, difficult, lemon difficult few weeks after Christmas are almost behind us. It’s not quite dinner in the garden weather, but we’re edging towards not needing a bobble hat as standard for each dog walk. You can’t walk down an aisle in Sainsbury’s without a bag of Mini Eggs tempting you. The only way is up, baby. This week, I realise I’ve inadvertently turned this newsletter into an ode to dips, and I’m not that sorry ( you can find previous dip ideas here and here) plus a small collection of Really Good Reads™.
Being loved by me means eventually, I will insist on cooking for you, which will inevitably mean you will also grudgingly come to accept that if I say dinner will be ready by 7, the very earliest you will have food on the table is 8pm. This is because I am chaos, of course, and I would ugly cry within about ten minutes of being in a professional kitchen. Too much order, not enough vibes. Too much “yes chef,” not enough “have a little sip of the gravy and let me know if it needs more wine.” Too much yelling and not enough soft jazz and questionable dancing. To be startlingly clear, this is the only time I’ll admit to being late without much apology.
I will always be running behind because there’s always another herb to be added, always an additional glug of wine to be cooked off, always a last-minute side to be chopped and seasoned and left to bathe in dressing before making its way to the table. My loved ones have reluctantly come to accept this, along with me furiously refusing any help whilst manically trying to stir and carve and plate all at once with one hand and sending texts when they’re five minutes away asking them to pick up tarragon from Sainsbury’s if they’re popping in, no worries if not! with the other. (It’s always tarragon, I can never pre-empt needing tarragon.)
I find this can usually be forgiven if you can supply the perfectly sized entrée. This is not a starter, you don’t want them to need to sit at the table for this as it increases the pressure on you and gives them a window in to the havoc. It also needs to be easy enough that it doesn’t add even more kitchen time. Crispy cauli – cauli roasted in the oven on high with a slither of oil, maybe a bit of lemon, some sumac – big fan! Little hunks of meat carved and taken in on the same fork for sampling – perfect to buy you an extra 15 minutes when finishing up a roast. Sometimes a glass of wine will do, but sometimes you’re really really behind. So out come the dips. You’d actually planned on serving these with the main, and really didn’t want anyone sat around the table as you stumbled about the kitchen, attempting to keep the mystery alive, the façade that the dinner was casually knocked together between walks and a few chapters of whatever it is you’re currently reading. But dips need the table to be eaten properly, to be indulged, to be appreciated. Soft, pillowy bread, dipped into a still warm tomatoey dip, or a wrap, flash fried into a crunchy tortilla, slathered in a creamy, garlicky, paste. Don’t ask me why, but chomping on cucumbers dipped into a Tesco classic dip selection seemed vaguely aspirational as a child, so my adulthood comfort food of choice was only ever going to land here. Whoever thought of replacing cutlery with another edible tool was, frankly, a genius.
I straddle the line between rather eating hair than not serving enough food for everyone, yet loathing any kind of waste, but I’ve yet to nail portion sizes for whatever sized group I’m cooking for. But dips, you cannot have too much dip. No one is going to leave a smear of dip in a bowl at the end of the night, they’ll always find something to scoop it up with as the last of the plates are being cleared away. Dips are my go to, my saviours. The sides that bring the meal together, bring the people together around the table, bring the chaos to a simmer. Plus if I’m being cooked for, I quite like window into the madness that goes in to pulling it all together. Especially if it comes with a little yellow tub of aioli and a lightly salted Tyrrell.
Not a Date Night Dip
This is a cross between a cool and fresh tzatziki and a punchy onion and garlic dip, great in wraps with roast chicken or pork, as a part of a Greek spread, or simply loaded up on to crisps, as our lord intended. Probably best to avoid if you have any form of closeness to another person planned over the next 48 hours.
Ingredients
200g Greek yogurt
¼ of a whole cucumber
½ tsp garlic salt
2 spring onions (fat is best, skinny is fine)
chives and dill
(Tinker as you go, I fully trust you to know how much garlic and onion is the right amount for you.)
Method
Put the yogurt in a bowl and cover then set to one-side to come up to room temperature. Grate the cucumber into a sieve over a bowl, then stir through the garlic salt, and also set aside. After about 15 mins, stir the cucumber with a teaspoon, pushing it in to the sieve to get as much water out as possible, and leave for another 15 minutes. Don’t skip this step, if the cucumber is too watery it will make the dip sad.
Top and tail the spring onions, halve lengthways, then dice into little ribbons. Add to the yogurt, along with the cucumber and snip in some chives before giving a good stir. Set the dip aside for another half an hour.
Snip some more chives over before serving and add sprig of dill if you like a flourish.
Really Good Reads™
Top chefs on the best cooking advice they ever had. Love Rukmini Iyer’s “never apologise” and J Kenji López-Alt’s “Once you’re past the subsistence level, the basic goal of food is to get people around the table to enjoy each other’s company or to take a little pause in your day to sit down and collect your thoughts and enjoy yourself.”
I can’t figure out if I find it tragic that people would ever want to hide the lived in glory of their kitchens, or that it’s tragic that I simply cannot fathom the level of disposable income needed for a second, “back kitchen.” Either way - fascinating stuff!
Local places done good - really thrilled for three of my faves for this fantastic review by The Times food critic Marina O’Loughlin. I’ve had lush meals at all three places and so it’s great to see them getting recognised in the national press.
I keep coming back to the idea of “a gentleman’s 15 minutes,” and might start using this to manage dinner timing expectations going forward.
And that’s it from me, please drop your favourite dips in the comments - one can never try enough dips. Huge thanks to my Godpal for the inspiration behind this newsletters title, for when he was a toddler couldn’t see a cup of tea without demanding a biscuit and yelling “DIP DIP” until you allowed him to dunk it at will. Never change, brilliant boy! Thanks for reading, and like your favourite dip and giant bag of crisps, please share share share! N xo
My favourite is that sour cream and oil dip dip you made as part of a Middle Eastern spread. So bloody good pal.