When I order in a restaurant, there are always two things that are uppermost in my mind. The first is to be nicer than the array of pampered children, aggressive parents and listless elder siblings that I had to serve in the restaurant I once worked in. The second is to order something I couldn’t cook for myself at home.
Ordering a meal you can cook yourself only ends in disaster. It might not be as tasty as something you could have rustled up yourself, or perhaps only as good, but invariably at a higher price, which will leave you feeling that you’ve wasted time and money. Worse still, you could end up eating something so delicious that it ruins your own humble spaghetti bolognese or sausages and mash forever.
Paul Newman once batted aside rumours of adultery by asking why he would go out for hamburgers when he could have steak at home, which is one of those one-liners that seems romantic provided you don’t actually think about it. While it’s a pretty shabby way to talk about one’s partner, it’s a good guide to eating out. Don’t ruin the steak you can have at home by finding out how good the one you can buy at Hawksmoor is.
But, that said, although I could make Delia’s chargrilled aubergine and roasted-tomato salad with feta cheese at home, I think in future I’ll stick to ordering it in restaurants.
The finished product looks a lot like something you could buy in a restaurant – in fact, it looks a great deal like one of those “carb-free” burgers you can buy in posh chains, where they charge you an extra two quid for the privilege of throwing away the bread and arranging the rest of the burger on the plate with an arty flourish. But that’s not why I’ll stick to ordering, rather than making this particular meal. The first clue is in the title: in those words “chargrilled”. At the risk of turning this column into an increasingly blatant series of bids for a free dishwasher, we have to do all our own washing up in our flat and, as a result, certain words have become red flags for me. “Slow-cooked” is one, “deep-fried” is another, and “chargrilled” is the third. These are words that all really mean the same thing: hours of elbow grease and washing up afterwards.
My long-standing commitment to this policy meant that retrieving our grill pan involved embarking on the world’s deadliest game of Jenga, as I rooted through every single pot, pan and tray in the kitchen until I finally found it. (I’m fairly certain our grill pan in fact belonged to the previous tenants, about whom the odd clue can still be found after a good clearout.)
Before the long-neglected grill pan can be put into action, you must first skin the tomatoes, cut them in half, and roast them in the oven for an hour. That done, leave them to cool, and start on the aubergines, cutting them into discs and frying them on the grill pan. Marinate the cooked aubergines in olive oil, basil and balsamic vinegar, then you’re ready to eat.
It’s nice enough, but as I stand at the sink and scrub furiously, three things come to mind. The first is that almost any recipe involving aubergine would be as nice and most would be easier. The second is that I really must get rid of this grill pan. The third is that, in future, I’ll get someone else to do my chargrilling.
- Stephen Bush is cooking his way through Delia’s Complete How To Cook (BBC Books, £40) in a year; You can watch Delia Smith’s free Online Cookery School videos at deliaonline.com; @deliaonline
- Stephen Bush is a writer and columnist for the New Statesman @stephenkb
