Charred watermelon with chilli, fennel, lime, mint and Parmesan
... a wonderful dish that uses up less-than-perfect watermelon lurking at the back of the fridge. In honour of my book baby, Second Helpings, now six months old!
There’s nothing like publishing a book to focus the mind on how breakneck the passage of time can feel. Your book baby takes an eternity to conceive, grow and deliver and then, before you can ask “Will I earn out my advance?”, six months have passed and you’re wondering whether it’s still dignified to mention you have a ‘new’ cookbook out.
Second Helpings, my book about leftovers, is now exactly six months old and I’m delighted at how well it’s been received. I’m particularly happy given that the subject matter is not the most glamorous; many people still believe, daftly, that a meal made with leftovers can’t be truly scrumptious. I think this also explains why I haven’t promoted the book on radio, TV and at food festivals as extensively as I did for my previous child, Cocoa (as I type it’s £7.69 if you love a genuine bargain.) Leftover food just isn’t as sexy a topic to chew over, it seems, although I strongly beg to differ.
On an indirectly related note (I will get to the point eventually) I got to go to the legendary annual Toklas summer party this week. (It’s one of my favourite London restaurants and if you haven’t been, do this: bunk off work one day, visit the Courthold Gallery at the magnificent Somerset House on the Strand in London and fill your boots with impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces. Then, pootle around the corner for a sublime lunch at Toklas. It’s truly life affirming.)
The party was very cool. There were many well-known restaurateurs to admire and consider approaching to say hello (I bottled and stood to the side sipping one too many perfect negronis). There were also lots of stylish arty people and more statement spectacles and fringes under one rood than I’d ever seen before.
Anyway, at the party I got chatting to a writer who recently had her first book published and she asked me how long I thought it was OK to keep pushing it on social media and to promote at events. The partial answer to this is, more than the two weeks your publisher will devote to actively promoting it. But after that? I say, keep reminding people it’s out there in the world but don’t bang on about it endlessly.
With this ongoing but measured approach to book plugging in mind, I’ve just arranged an event in the autumn at a local restaurant, where the chef will cook recipes from Second Helpings. I’ll be there to persuade people leftovers are sexy and to sign copies of the book. I hope to do more of these types of events in the autumn and winter, so, please get in touch if you’re interested.
In the interim, in this week’s newsletter, I’m sharing my love for using up food that’s past its best via an intensely tasty, summery recipe. My daughter bought a whole watermelon recenty, promising to eat the lot but then didn’t, so it got pushed to the back of the fridge and forgotten. The flesh was slightly past it’s best - definitely lacking its earlier refreshing crunch - so I scorched it in a lightly oiled griddle pan, which turned it into something very pleasing and altogether different. Sometimes foods get charred because it makes the recipe sound interesting, but flavourwise, is pointless. Not here. Lightly charring watermelon adds caramelised notes and a discenable savoury edge. Delicious.
As a kid in Australia we nibbled watremelon sraight from the smile of the rind and competed to see how far we could spit out the seeds. That’s as good as any way to enjoy it, of course. But watermelon’s magnificent ruby flesh - sweet but with an earthy, vegetal undertone - invites the company of all sorts of other flavours. Here, the heat of the chill, the aniseed notes of the fennel, the refreshing zing of the lime and the salty fattiness of the Parmesan complement watermelon beautifully in a real thunderclap of flavour.
Of course, you don’t need to use watermelon that’s past its best, but the recipe shows just how sexy not-at-their-prime ingredients can be. Did I mention I have a book out about leftovers?