Give peas a chance

The jeans of vegetables. Plus, baking with Lois Daish, scary TV and Mark Diacono's Abundance.

“Hello ma’am, you look like a peaceful person,” said the man waving a copy of the Bhagavad Gita at me on a rain-lashed Lambton Quay. “I would very much like to talk to you.”

I smiled at him as benignly as I could, pivoting away from his outstretched hand. What I really wanted to do was turn back and say, ‘actually, friend, I am a peas-ful person’. (Yes, the thought of delivering this line made me smile to myself for the rest of the afternoon - it’s the little things that bring me joy.)

Image by Luna Q for Unsplash

The humble-yet-mighty frozen pea has come to the rescue on many occasions recently and I am extremely grateful. Whenever our household greens intake looks in doubt, frozen peas are there to save the day.

The frozen pea was invented just over a century ago by Mr Clarence Birdseye and it’s been delivering cheap, nutrient-rich vegetable goodness to the masses ever since. Peas are the jeans of the vegetable wardrobe: democratic, serviceable, go-with-everything. When I was at boarding school, peas were a regular, comforting meal component that couldn’t be stuffed up. Peas were a staple in every flat I ever lived in for much the same reasons. When I was cooking for one or working shifts, a favourite desperate dinner was buttered basmati rice, puy lentils and peas, topped with chilli and coriander-laced Greek yoghurt. Luxury! And then much later, when I was feeding a small person in a highchair, a little dish of frozen peas was an excellent distraction (she still prefers them this way).

Searching my file recently for something I came across this recipe, which we’ve enjoyed in many different iterations over the years. A bit of energetic crushing transforms boring old peas into something more novel and tasty.

Smashed peas (+ variations)

I using prefer baby peas (sweeter and cuter) to big grown-up ones (bigger peas can be mealy), but use whatever you have.

The basics

• 1 Tbsp butter or olive oil

• 1 large clove garlic, peeled and sliced

• 2-3 finely chopped spring onions (reserve some finely sliced green parts for garnishing)

• Finely chopped red chilli, to taste (optional)

• 2 cups frozen peas

• 2 Tbsp water

• A handful of fresh parsley and mint, finely chopped

Melt the butter or olive oil in a small pot set over medium heat. Add the garlic and spring onions and chilli, followed by the peas and the water. Crush the peas with a potato masher or a fork as they cook, until you have a rough puree (this will take about three minutes). Stir in the chopped herbs.

The next steps

While the peas are cooking, you can:

1. Toast four slices of hearty bread and spread generously with butter (or drizzle with olive oil). Arrange the toast on a plate and pile the crushed peas on top, allowing for a bit of artistic scattering. Season well with salt and pepper and serve to two people for lunch.

2. Or, follow the above instructions and top the peas with poached eggs.

3. Or, follow the above instructions and top the peas AND the poached eggs with some rashers of crisp bacon.

4. Or, remove the peas from the heat and mash in half an avocado and a squeeze of lemon juice. Season well, then scoop this into a bowl and serve with posh crackers (or spread on toasted baguette slices for a canape vibe). Season well with lots of freshly ground black pepper and some salt flakes.

5. Or, stir the smashed peas through some just-cooked pasta (choose a shape that will let the peas fall into its nooks and cranks). Loosen with a splash of pasta water and then shower the whole mixture with freshly grated grana padano or parmesan. This trick works with rice too (add green lentils and the yoghurt sauce described above instead of cheese).

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Good Things

Baking with Lois

Lois Daish has been helping me make biscuits this week. Not in person (a girl can dream) but via some extremely detailed and solid advice. I had a sudden, inexplicable craving for peanut brownies and found a recipe in her 2005 book, A Good Year. The trick, she says, is to roast and skin the peanuts first¹, then to cream the butter and sugar thoroughly and then mix in the dry ingredients with as much care as if you were making a cake. “This makes biscuits with a light, crisp, friable texture,” she says. Having followed her instructions to the letter, I can confirm she’s right. Peanut brownies are an extremely underrated biscuit; if you haven’t had them for a while then I urge to you rediscover them.

Abundance

I’m quite late joining the Mark Diacono fan club, but I’m trying to make up for lost time by gorging myself on as much of his work as possible. This lovely book, which he wrote in newsletter instalments, is a joy to read. It’s a bit upside down if you’re in the southern hemisphere (which will be a familiar frustration if you’ve read a lot of Nigel Slater) but no less charming for it. He also runs a writers’ retreat with Diana Henry, which is the first thing my no-doubt imminent Lotto win will be spent on.

Javier Bardem as Max Cady in Cape Fear. Image: Apple TV+

‘What is your worst fear?’

I read a story this week that explained the trend for female cannibal fiction (!) as a response to trying times. “Horror thrives in times of anxiety,” it said. Perhaps that’s why I’m so in thrall to the latest iteration of Cape Fear, where pardoned murderer Max Cady (Javier Bardem) turns up to make life hell for the lawyers (Amy Adams and Patrick Wilson) who put him away. Sure, the story takes a few leaps here and there, but Bardem chews up the screen (and Amy Adams is good in everything). Don’t watch if you’re home alone.

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Stay warm out there and thank you for reading,

Lucy

1. This advice includes the instruction to rub off the skins outside, ‘blowing them away into the garden’, which strikes me as the most delightfully Wellington-centric recipe instruction ever.