Strawberries in syrup with orange zest and fresh mint (and maybe Cointreau if you like...)
The problem with New Year parties is trying to stay sober enough to remember why you’re there. I’ve known people get to midnight on December 31 and wander around aimlessly asking whose birthday it is, or why everyone is so exciteable.
I remember this Irishman in Chichester in West Sussex who ran a local pub, The Fountain, in South Street. It was one of the oldest pubs in that ancient town, and there is a picture on one of the walls of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards drinking there, so you knew it had to be a pretty good pub.
We got to know the Irish fellow, Tony, quite well, and so we invited him round to our New Year’s Eve party one year, and it soon became clear why he had brought with him a melancholy, sighing driver-cum-escort. Tony was so drunk that at one point he called everybody to order, stood swaying with a drink in his hand, and started giving a speech about what a wonderful fellow I was and regaling everyone with tales of the many times we had gone out and got drunk together back in the good old days when we used to hang out in Germany.
I have never been to Germany, and I had only known the guy six months.
Anyway, Tony duly fell over and the chauffeur took him away.
So, I dunno. Maybe go out and see a movie or take in a show at the Baxter or Artscape or the new Vaudeville before heading for your big New Year’s Eve moment. It’s a tough call, I know. Certainly not one I’m much good at. But anyway, if we can all get to five to midnight on December 31 relatively intact, here’s a delightful way to see in the new year:
Just before midnight, hand everyone two glasses, one for your best Cape bubbly and the other to fill with a scintillatingly delicious midnight dessert of strawberries in syrup with mint and orange zest. At the stroke of midnight, gently – very gently – clink your two glasses together to create a celebratory mass tinkle as you see in the new year. Now drink.
Oh all right, all right. I hear you, Daisy. Yes, you can add a shot of liqueur to the strawberry syrup to turn it into a cocktail. But make it a clear one so that you don’t spoil the colours. I’d add a shot of Cointreau, which is wonderfully citrussy and has no colour. I suppose if you want to be really fancy-shmancy you could add Blue Curacao, but the mint will turn yellow and the strawberries purple. Nah.
Best of all is that you can make it a whole day earlier. And it’s dead easy. Put four parts cold water to one part sugar (as much as you like, to taste, and depending on how much you want to make) in a saucepan and bring to the boil, stirring. Add fine strips of the zest of an orange, and steep for two minutes. Chill in the fridge until it is icy cold.
Halve as many strawberries as you like and immerse in the syrup. Tear mint leaves and add those. (Add the Cointreau if you like.) Now return to the fridge, covered, to develop the flavours and colour, overnight or for at least eight hours. Two things happen: the flavours of the strawberries, mint and orange zest give the syrup a superbly delicious and refreshing flavour. And the strawberries turn the syrup a blushing pink. Which is why it must be served either in a white bowl (as I did, illustrated on this page) or in clear glass.
This dessert is about as fresh as anything can be, but you won’t be quite so fresh next morning. On the first morning of the new year, jaded or not, find the strength to get into the kitchen and make an ersatz Spanish omelette (or tortilla, as it’s called there, which has nothing to do with the Mexican item of the same name) with vast amounts of caramelised onions. When I say “vast” I mean that it should contain more onions than eggs. For the one in the picture, I used eight onions and seven eggs. The onions almost filled a very large, deep frying pan, so don’t be shy.
Spanish onion omelette
The most common of hundreds of Spanish omelette recipes uses potatoes, but this one, from Andalusia, is all about sweetly caramelised onions. You need half a cup of extra virgin olive oil, and the onions must be very finely chopped. Put the onions in the heated pan with the oil, spread around evenly, cover with a lid and cook on medium for 15 minutes, shaking the pan violently and frequently to prevent burning. Remove the lid, lower the heat slightly, and continue cooking for another 30-45 minutes, stirring frequently, until the onions have turned a rich, golden hue.
Beat the eggs lightly in a large bowl, add the onions to the eggs, and stir. Heat half a cup of olive oil in a suitable pan – preferably not one as heavy as my heavy duty enamelled iron pan, which is almost impossible to turn over with one hand. This is key, because this is not your French-style omelette, folded over and slid onto a plate. This is a Spanish one which is cooked round, thick and flat. When the oil is just starting to smoke, pour all of the egg mixture into the pan at once. Once it is setting, lower the heat slightly and use a spatula to push the egg away from the sides. Shake the pan now and then to stop it from sticking.
When it is set most of the way through, invert a large plate over it and quickly turn it over onto the plate, then slide it back into the pan to cook the other side. The other side will not take long to cook. Turn it once more onto an inverted plate. I garnished mine with quartered tomatoes sauted lightly in olive oil and garlic. A Spanish omelette can be eaten hot or cold, in great wedges, perhaps with a side salad, sauted mushrooms, bacon, chorizo, whatever takes your fancy.
For a light lunch or supper on the inevitably slow first day of the new year, make gazpacho a day or two ahead, knowing that you’re not going to feel much like cooking at the end of a long day. Again, there are many recipes, but this is a proper one in that it includes almonds pounded or blended with bread and herbs.
In a blender, put the following, all of them chopped: 6 large tomatoes (peeled and seeded), two red peppers (seeded), 1 onion, 3 fat cloves garlic, half a peeled and seeded cucumber and a cup of cold water. Add a chilli or two if you like. Blend thoroughly and pour into a large bowl. Now blend 20 toasted almonds with two slices of day-old white bread (dip them in water and squeeze out all the water), a teaspoon of salt and a tablespoon each of fresh mint and parsley. With the blender whizzing, pour in olive oil until it becomes a mushy paste – just as if you were making mayonnaise.
This goes into the gazpacho, to which also add a cup of balsamic vinegar and stir. The last is my innovation, but more traditionally you’d add sherry vinegar or sherry. Some recipes call for you to add more iced water at this point but I feel it makes it too watery. Rather do what I did: add a healthy lug or two of a quality Italian tomato sauce, which is nothing like ketchup, Daisy. Now chill it thoroughly.
Traditional accompaniments to this, served in little bowls, include olives, croutons and diced tomato. Some recipes even call for plopping a handful of white grapes into each bowl. But if this all sounds like too much hard work, just pour the gazpacho into a bowl and switch on the DStv. And hey, here’s to 2010 and victory.
About tonyjackman
Tony Jackman writes about food, wine and restaurants, witty and irreverent newspaper columns on almost any subject, and also dabbles in playwrighting and painting in watercolours and pastels. He cooks up dinners, lunches, breakfasts, braais and brunches for his weekly food column, and is developing this site into an extensive resource of information about Western Cape restaurants.