It's The Launch of The Lunchbox
...and you're getting the first taste
Welcome to The Lunchbox. I hope you enjoy your time here. If you’ve found your way over and are not yet subscribed, let’s sort that out:
What I’m currently consuming
Ingredient: Belazu Smoked Chilli Harissa
Smoky, spicy, rich and soooo versatile. Spoon it over your fried eggs, stir it into yoghurt or houmous, whack it into your beef stew, rub it all over your leg of lamb, smash it into some smashed avocado. This is worthy of a permanent spot in your store-cupboard.
Piece of equipment: Oxo Good Grips Salad Spinner
The Lamborghini of spinners. Get one and say goodbye to soggy leaves forever.
This week’s terrible food joke: Why do the French only eat one egg? Because one egg is an oeuf.
Best food Instagram: @samyoukilis
I’m a devoted fan. Somehow manages to capture the most wonderful, cinematic, iconic and witty scenes. Mostly in Italy, mostly of Italian men gesticulating.
Best thing I’ve eaten recently: The World’s Greatest Sandwich @Caseificio Borderi, Sicily
When you see them hollowing out the bread, you know you’re in for a big one. This famous sandwich shop in Ortigia, Sicily has queues around the block to sample their epic creations. Mine took 10 minutes, four cheeses, two hams, five vegetables, a piping bag and a blow torch to make. Watch them make this piece of art here.
Something to fill you up
Burrata, Summer Herbs & Asparagus on Toast
Since the UK asparagus season is drawing to a close, it’s our duty to eat as much of it as we can before it leaves us. And what better way celebrate these special spears perfect than with a ball of burrata.
This is a quick, but really-quite-fancy, lunch. Whip it up just for yourself (YES, it is ok to eat a whole ball of burrata), or it’s ideal if you’re having people over and want a delicious mouthful before the main event kicks off.
If you can’t find burrata, mozzarella with a few tablespoons of creme fraiche is a very worthy stand-in. And once our dear friends asparagus have gone, try this with juicy tomatoes, grilled courgette or even peach would be pretty epic.
Serves 4
4 large pieces of sourdough
400g asparagus, tough end discarded
2 x 150g burrata or mozzarella, at room temp
3 tbsp olive oil
A squeeze of lemon juice
A small handful each of mint, parsley, basil or marjoram leaves, or whatever you have, roughly chopped, a couple of leaves reserved to finish
½ small garlic clove
3 tbsp small black olives, de-stoned and roughly chopped
Get the bread toasting. Bring a pan of lightly salted water to the boil and cook the asparagus for 3-4 minutes, depending on their thickness. You want them JUST tender.
Meanwhile, in a mixing bowl, break up the burrata roughly with a spoon and whisk in the oil, lemon juice, herbs and some seasoning to make a creamy sauce. Add a splash of cold water to loosen it.
Rub the hot toast very lightly with the garlic clove to infuse it with its goodness.
Spread the burrata on top of your garlicky toast, then sit the asparagus on top of the delicious burrata pillow. Scatter over the olives and a few pinches of herbs, drizzle with a little extra oil, then serve.
Something to finish you off
This Peach and Cherry Pie by fruit dessert queen Anna Higham is all kinds of amazing. A brilliant way to celebrate peach season which has recently blessed us with its presence. Her thrilling new cookbook, The Last Bite, has just been published, buy it here.
Why is it so hard to complain in a restaurant?
I’ve found myself in the perfect scenario to complain not once, but TWICE in the past few weeks. The first was in a bar in Paris. I ordered a Dry Martini (gin, please) straight up with an olive. Heaven.
Instead I got….
…warm gin mixed with sweet vermouth with a nice little bowl of olives on the side. I realise now I shouldn’t have known better to order this in France where Martini is more famous as a brand and is known according to its various colours (only one of which is actually dry). Yes, I drank it. No, I didn’t enjoy it. Yes, I paid 20 euros for it.
The next occasion, my friend and I found ourselves hungry and near a new brunch place on the weekend. We sat down, ordered some full English-style breakfasts, got our drinks promptly, and then waited for our food. And waited. And waited.
Forty minutes later it arrived. We both set upon our plates like a pack of ravenous dogs and when we came up for air, agreed the food was actually fairly cold. At that moment the waiter came over and asked if we were enjoying ourselves. I looked down at my half-eaten plate, panicked and said ‘Oh YES! Delicious! Thank you!’, while my friend tentatively said it was a little cold, but ‘not to worry’. So the waiter didn’t, and walked off. Why did we do this?
I’ve worked in hospitality long enough to know a nicely-put complaint is no problem at all and feedback is always useful. But why is it so hard to speak up when you’re the customer? I’ve always assumed it’s because I want to be seen as a nice person and a good little customer. And in this case, I was scared of having my food taken away from me when my internal dog pack was only half satiated. But was I really doing anyone any favours by keeping quiet? I left both places feeling disappointed.
The French barman will continue his crimes against classic cocktails and the restaurant will continue doling out cold sausages. Until someone spunky speaks up. That isn’t me, but one day I intend to be that person.
Loved the recipes and particularly enjoyed the piece on “Passive Complaining”! Don’t you always think of the best things to say after you’ve not complained!