Five Kilograms of Lentils
We have spoken much of festivity, much of joy. There’s been the frothing red passion of crushing tomatoes in sugo, the spaghetti squishing of my Sicily son, images of mussel shells that spin in slow motion across the Friday night air and vibrate with diners’ endless laughter. Insomma, enough revery to fill mass at the evangelical church they are building next to my house.
Yet - as we are often told - these are dark and unprecedented times.
They are unprecedentedly dark in fact.
And darkly unprecedented.
Trump…
Coronavirus…
Richard Osman suddenly everywhere…
The rise of the alt Right, the return of the radical Left, pesticides in our food, pollutants in our air, vaccines that could cure you… or be your end?
All that shit.
However the kind of shit that I furrow through, friends, is far more visceral. It’s not even dark, but a hue of pale green.
It’s my son’s diarrhoea, which I then clean, and which in turn makes me vomit as we both have norovirus.
“Wait, what kind of food writer is this anyway?” I hear you jerk back from your chair, shouting now with head in hands. I understand the question (probably because it was me who just asked it, not actually you - yes I tricked you), I mean what kind of damned maverick is it that tries to sell a plate of lentils by bringing up all this talk of excrement?
Well… each generation must break the mould. The Rolling Stones did it with long hair, the Sex Pistols did it with name alone, Lady Gaga did it with a dress made of meat. Here Sam forgoes his food writing forefathers and mothers, breaking all the rules they set in a mad attempt to usurp them.
Or more accurately, it’s all been a cheap ‘bit’ (as the comedians would put it) to bring attention to a more serious undercurrent.
My son has been very ill? Or my son has been quite ill? Or my son has been a bit ill?
I’m not really sure and that’s the point. He’s ok and I don’t mean to alarm, but he has been unwell and more poignantly this has been the first time I’ve felt truly clueless, helpless, and worried as a parent. A moment that was then backed by the realisation that this sense of helplessness, cluelessness and worrying is going to repeat itself when he is ill again, or when he’s bunking school, or when he’s failing his GCSEs and hooked on amphetamines and whatever else lies down the road.
And then of course there will come the time when he has his own kids - my grandkids - and they go and do the same.
Basically I realised I have just signed a contract for an endless state of worrying.
And it is against this backdrop of unpredictability, worry and abdominal disruption that I craved reliability and fortitude. A bag of lentils then stared down at me from the shelves and it was there I knew that at least I would not be facing this journey alone (my wife will also be there).
A bag of lentils is something we should all keep at hand. My bag is 5 kilos, which is not to show off (maybe a little… ) or say mine is bigger than yours, it’s simply the truth and a wondrous thing to behold. It’s saved uncountable days where I’ve not wished to shop, and made intimate evenings of unplanned visits from friends.
They are best cooked simply, which is handy as they often lend their hand to you when you are suffering enough complications. A soffritto of celery, onion and carrot (or whichever of those you have), not many herbs - just a leaf or two of bay will suffice - and boiling, salted water to soften and coax out the distinctly nutty flavour… yes that will do.
Lentils
I wasn’t sure if I could really get away with calling a recipe “lentils.” Feeling it needed more, I toyed with “cooked lentils,” but then I was like - duh - what else were they going to be?
So “lentils” prevailed, believing the stripped back name fits the the stripped back fare, and that really there is not much more to this than “lentils.”
However these “lentils” provide a hopping point for more daring adventures; “lentils and pasta” could be one path to glory, “lentils with sausage” another particularly noble quest, “lentils and fried polenta” ok I just made that one up - but come on it sounds good.
Whether you go plain or plain adventurous, the one constant is some of that much referred to “good quality olive oil” to pour (not drizzle) all over the top.
Ingredients
250g lentils
1 onion
1 leg celery
1 medium carrot
2 bay leaves
2 cloves garlic
Extra virgin olive oil
Method
Pour three tablespoons of olive oil into a pan that will accommodate the whole, and add in the chopped vegetables with the bay leaves and garlic cloves still in their skin. Add a big pinch of salt (this flavours the vegetables early and releases water which will help them stew) and let this cook and sweat on medium-low heat for about 10 minutes, or until it is softened and the onions are translucent. This little trinity of fried goodness is called a soffritto, and its proper cooking (giving it the full 10) is a cornerstone of good Italian cooking. Add the lentils, a teaspoon of salt and boiling water to cover by an inch. If adding something strange like a squash (I don’t know who would do that), you can drop it in at this point too. Boil until the lentils have lost their bite, but stop before they are mushy.
Enjoy plain with a good drenching of oil and a glass of sturdy wine, and if you find yourself feeling particularly enamoured by this meal, know you’ve found a soulmate in me, and that you’re always welcome for an impromptu evening at mine where I’ll make you a bowl and pour you a glass and we’ll whittle the night away.
Before you go, I had a thought!
If you have such fine taste as to be here, and your friends have such fine taste as to seek your company, then we should all get on very well I reckon.
So why not spread the word? Copy this link - www.samsgoodstuff.substack.com - and put it in your favourite Whatsapp group or whatever other place you know filled with kindred spirits. Thank you ☺️