Cooking my way out of conundrums, one dish at a time

Unseasonable skies, gnawing hunger & a table for one. This recipe, one that straddles these weeks of late summer as autumn beckons just as well as any other time, is a must to have up your sleeve.

A very delicious use of mushrooms, when time is poor and hunger beckons

The forecast is predictably gloomy, as it seems is the British weathers’ want for these months of summer ‘23. Long gone are any expectations held for a turn in the skies; instead, I am turning my attention to autumn and the bounty it brings. Early mornings are now tinged with the all too familiar aromas associated with months rooted in the back half of a year. The razor-sharp focus clean skies of spring and summer serve, as day breaks through a night sky has shifted in mornings of late, replaced by a soft focus lens, where first light blurs the skyline and illuminates lacy webs spun overnight. There is a dampness that differs from the dew of spring, where grass underfoot sparkles in the early light. This is the advent of Autumn, where it instead hangs in the morning air, scents reminiscent of leaves trodden underfoot and stones clad in a camouflage of bottle green moss, becoming more permanent as each day moves us closer to September. Already the flowerheads on the nature reserve, those that cling to the riverbank or shroud the large ponds where trees spring from the reeds, are bowing their heads, a respectful nod to a season that has passed it would seem prematurely.

I scurried home with the threat of rain behind me, a less than gentle breeze causing overhanging boughs of rudimentary apples never reaching their potential to fall in my path as I hurry. A trio of carriages judder to a clumsy halt in the village station; the earlier London express never breaks pace to slow and gather passengers here. I wonder as to whether the commuters on the platform conjure the same imaginary tales as to my life as I do theirs. This daily collision of our worlds each day is fleeting, the footpath leading out of the meadow parallel to the platform and train tracks that hiss as a chariot approaches. The man in a blue coat is a daily fixture at this time of each morning, snack box in hand and already bored as to the day ahead it would seem. Others seem lost in a world of their own, this early hour no breeding ground for conversation.

The train tracks connecting our village to the wider world beyond

A french press is full, liquor darker than treacle and needed to distract me from a broken nights sleep. There is plenty to be done here, a house that seems unable to keep itself tidy or free from debris. Piles of clothes to press and floors grubby from a dozen paws remain a constant, no matter how much time is thrown at them. If I were to say I care less these days as to a pristine house, it would imply I once held these values dear, which would mislead. I strive in amongst gentle chaos, thrive when against the clock and delight in an environment that tells a story. Crumpled linens, the worn patina of wooden boards and crockery with telltale signs of overuse are the backbone to our table. Cool marble worktop juxtaposes with the comforting heat of our Aga, an aged timber workbench dragged into situ from Provence & home to everyday pans, mixing bowls and stockpots our kitchen centrepiece. This is a room where work, rest and play overlay. Today is no exception to these unwritten rules, save for the stone cold Aga, hibernating across what we presume to be warmer months of summer.

Being around food had always been my anchor. When people speak of their north star, I recognise that for me, this is the creative and comforting space a kitchen enables. Last nights supper was one of simple pleasure. There is much to be said for a meal that relies on little and serves up a lot. It is rare, even as the years turn our children into grown ups, that the house is without one or another of them hanging around the kitchen or kicking their heels upstairs. Returning home from a day in the office with only our trio of dogs to greet me remains one of mild joy, for I know such peace and solitude will be short-lived. I am the best version of myself when our home is filled with fever pitch conversation and we have a full house on the family front. To consider any alternative as being a more comfortable existence would be for me, like a day without bread. Brief pockets of aloneness are therefore cherished for being the exception, rather than the norm.

With only my own rumbling tummy to consider and a short evening ahead, this recipe plays a blinder on both the taste & time front. I remark about this dish to plenty, one well worth tucking in your armoury & ingredients that never seem absent from our larder & pantry. In short, a tangle of linguine is brought to life by a pan of mushrooms. There are of course additions, for tasty and thrilling as mushrooms can be, these alone would not ignite the same delight as this recipe rouses. We are never without white wine to cook with, a carafe alongside the Aga topped up with remnants leftover by guests from any previous dinner. That this has been drained, presumably by Mr Smith for last weeks punchy pork supper, had me in a tizz. A rummage in the cupboard for a suitable substitute turned up a bottle of Marsala, always on hand for tiramisu and sweet sticky onion marmalade. It came through on the flavour front, in truth stepping this dish up a notch with its rich fruity undertones and dark shade of bronze.

My sturdy mushroom brush, every bit as useful as it is aesthetically pleasing

Mushroom, Truffle and Thyme Linguine with Parmesan (serves two)

• Approx 350g mushrooms - chestnut, field, portobello - there are no right or wrongs here

• A few stems of thyme

• Decent knob of salted butter - if pressed, I’d wager 25g

• Small glass of white wine, rosé or, it turns out, Marsala

• Generous glug of truffle oil * see note below

• Double cream **

• Banana shallot, peeled and finely diced

• Linguine, approx 200g - the dried stuff is good to go here

• Olive oil

• Parmesan

• Coarsely milled black pepper and Maldon salt flakes

Three quarters fill a suitably sized pan able to house the linguine in due course with cold water and allow this to come to the boil, whilst you press on with getting the rest of the ingredients ready. I add a splash of olive oil to the water in the belief it helps stop the pasta sticking together, even though those allegedly in the know dispute this theory. A pinch of salt is added to the water too.

Rid the mushrooms of any surface dirt, using either a mushroom brush or dry cloth; do not use water here, for fungi are like sponges and this action impairs their flavour. Thickly slice the mushrooms. Melt the butter in a spacious frying pan until bubbling, then add the mushrooms to the pan of butter, keeping the heat beneath relatively high to get some colour on them. When they start to soften, splash with a glug of truffle oil and add the diced shallot. As they continue to cook and reduce in size, softening further against the heat, push them around the pan frequently and add the thyme, stripping the delicate leaves from the flimsy stems with thumb and forefinger. Pour in the wine (or marsala) and maintain the heat, allowing this to bubble and reduce in volume by about a third. Add the double cream (about 3 -4 tbsps) season with the salt & black pepper and upend a further splash of truffle oil. Keep atop the heat, allowing the myriad of liquids to blend and blur, reducing in volume by about a third until this is just thick enough to easily coat the strands of pasta that will follow. Check taste & adjust < seasoning, cream, wine, truffle oil > as necessary.

During the process above, at the point the pan of water comes to the boil, add the linguine: on my kitchen timings, this is around the time the mushrooms soften and I add the shallot. I reckon on about 100g (dried weight) pasta per person, though I appreciate appetites are wildly different, so lean on what you know to be true in your own household here. Lower the heat to a gentle rolling boil and allow the pasta to cook for the time denoted on the packet, usually somewhere between 9-11 minutes the years have taught me.

Once cooked, drain the pasta, upend into the pan of mushrooms and stir to coat. Shower with parmesan as though tomorrow will never come, a further lick of truffle oil for those who revel in it’s heady, earthy, decadence and serve.

* for any of you uninitiated with truffle oil, do not be fooled into thinking all truffle oils are equal. Simply put, they are not. I am sure there are others equally bold with their notes of truffle, however I lean on TruffleHunter for their black truffle oil, a heady, fragrant oil which leaves nobody wondering.

** I cook with my eyes and instinct in the main, only pausing for accuracy when baking. I have gauged as to the measurement here by way of tbsp, but I would urge you to meddle with these suggested measures, since this is a recipe with wide margins for error and you can easily adjust and taste as you go along.