Lemon : 1
Salt and pepper : to taste
Place 2 tablespoons each of the chervil and tarragon in a small pan with the vinegar, shallots, thyme, bay leaf and peppercorns. Bring to the boil and reduce in volume by two thirds. Once the vinegar is reduced, strain out the herbs and spices.
Meanwhile crack your eggs, one-handed if possible (it’s most impressive), and separate the yolks from the whites. Mix the yolks with 1 tablespoon of water and add to the reduced vinegar. Whisk together and heat very gently until the mixture thickens a little.
Melt the butter in a separate pan and gradually trickle the liquid butter into the eggs, whisking all the while. Go slowly, or the sauce will split and curdle.
Once all the butter has been added, the sauce should be the consistency of thick double cream. Add the remaining chervil and tarragon, a little salt and pepper if required and stir in a little lemon juice.
Serve the Béarnaise directly, or keep warm until needed – it cannot be reheated without splitting.
This sauce can be made less impressively, but more reliably, in a food processor. Simply mix the egg yolks in your food processor, add the strained vinegar reduction with the engine running, followed by a steady stream of melted butter, then the chopped herbs – almost too easy. To make a classic hollandaise, simply omit the tarragon and chervil.
ASPARAGUS
Asparagus, or ‘grass’ as my greengrocer insists on calling it, has long been considered to have magical lust-inducing properties. In the seventeenth century messianic English herbalist Nicholas Culpeper maintained that this tasty legume ‘stirs up lust in man and woman’, and looking at the evidence he may have had a point. Certainly asparagus’s almost alchemical ability, in the words of Marcel Proust, to ‘transform my chamber pot into a flask of perfume’ indicates that this is not a vegetable to be trifled with.
The first spears thrust vigorously out of the earth in late April and continue thus until early June, thereby coinciding with nature’s most fecund season. The birds and the bees have but one thing on their mind, and even we civilised sentients may feel a slight stirring of the loins. And asparagus itself does bear an uncanny likeness to a young man’s primed pride and joy; ladies are said to prefer the fat white French variety rather than the slender green British version. I feel it my duty to point out to said ladies that although admittedly of inferior girth, the weedy British version has an infinitely superior taste, and is less prone to disease.
Not only tastier, the green asparagus wins hands down when it comes to nutrition, boasting an impressive arsenal of nutrients including vitamin A, potassium and folic acid. Potassium and vitamin A indirectly stimulate glandular and metabolic functioning, which in turn keeps one’s sex drive firmly ticking over. Nice as this is, the true key to asparagus’s lusty reputation may stem from its extremely high levels of folic acid. Folic acid triggers the body to produce histamines, an essential ingredient in reaching both the feminine oh-my-God moment, and the less-fair sex’s grunting moment.
So far the evidence is pretty compelling: asparagus looks pretty lewd, has bolstering physiological effects and can be eaten only during nature’s naughty season. And when it is eaten, asparagus is traditionally consumed in an undeniably louche manner. Forgoing prim cutlery, aficionados fingerly feed each other the warm slippery spears, which some debauchees further maintain one should gulp down whole without chewing like some sort of seasoned port professional.
To enjoy asparagus at its sensual best, stick to the British crop and get it as fresh as possible; there is nothing alluring about a wizened wilting spear. The best, freshest asparagus can be eaten raw, sliced with a mandolin into thin linguine-like strips. Serve as a salady side drizzled with truffle oil and sprinkled with sea salt. Otherwise, asparagus can be grilled, roasted, boiled or steamed. I prefer the latter two methods. They ensure that the spears remain plump and springy; but do be careful as they only take a few minutes and cannot bear overcooking.
Prepare the asparagus for the pot by washing thoroughly to remove any grit from the sandy soil in which they thrive. To be confident of grit-free asparagus, use a stiff bristled brush or knife to scrape off the outer membrane on the asparagus’s skin, as this often harbours fine particles of dirt. Break off the woody stem by bending the spear up from the base until it snaps. Served simply with a knob of good-quality butter, asparagus is exquisite. This can be turned into something a little special using an anchovy and tarragon butter, or go the whole hog and make a beast of yourself serving your spears with a poached egg, bathed in hollandaise and topped with a ruffled slice of smoked salmon – probably better than the sex which will almost undoubtedly follow such a repast.
Asparagus with Poached Egg, Hollondaise and Smoked Salmon
The key to this dish lies in using the freshest asparagus and the freshest eggs. Asparagus behaves similarly to flowers or green herbs: once cut the stems will dehydrate rapidly, deteriorating in both flavour and appearance. They should be eaten no more than 72 hours from harvesting and should be stored in a refrigerator with a wet cloth wrapped around the cut ends. The freshness of one’s egg is equally critical; when it comes to poaching, a fresh egg is essential. An old egg will have a loose runny albumen, which when placed in the poaching water may separate from the yolk, resulting in culinary catastrophe.
Hollandaise : 100 ml
Asparagus : 10 plump green spears
Chives : 5
White wine vinegar : 1 tbsp
Eggs (large) : 2
Smoked salmon : 2 slices
Sea salt : a pinch
Black pepper : to taste
Prepare your hollandaise sauce – follow the recipe for Béarnaise sauce here, omitting the tarragon and chervil. Keep warm for use later.
Wash your asparagus thoroughly and remove the woody stems; trim to a uniform length and tie into bundles of 5 spears. Finish your mise en place by placing your plates in a warming oven and finely chopping the chives.
Bring a large pan of salted water to the boil and place the bundles of asparagus upright in the pan. The tips should be just out of the water whilst the stems are fully submerged. Cover the pan and simmer gently for 4 or 5 minutes. The idea is that the stems boil while the more tender tips simultaneously steam. Slender spears will require a shorter cooking time.
Meanwhile in a wide shallow pan bring some water to the boil, add the vinegar and reduce the heat until scarcely simmering – so the surface of the water ripples gently but no bubbles form.
Note that eggs should be at room temperature, not used straight from the fridge. Crack an egg into a cup and gently slide the egg into the hot water. Cook for about 3 minutes for a runny yolk; if required one can gently fold the white over the yolk to create a neat, compact poached egg.
Once the egg is cooked to the desired degree, remove it from the water with a slotted spoon, refresh under cold running water, drain and trim off any excess white to leave a neat egg. Keep the finished egg warm in a pan of hot water, held at about 40°C, whilst you poach the second egg.
When the asparagus is cooked, drain well and shake off any excess water, untie each bundle and place in the middle of each warmed plate. Carefully place an artfully tousled slice of smoked salmon on the asparagus and put a poached egg on top of this.
Spoon warm hollandaise over the egg and garnish with a sprinkle of chives, a pinch of flaky sea salt and a grind of black pepper. Serve with a smile and some warm toasted English muffins.
AVOCADO
The avocado hails from Central America. For thousands of years the Mayans and Aztecs have loved out on its lusty properties. The very word avocado is laced with sexuality. It is derived from the Aztec word ahuacatl – which means testicle. Growing in pairs, two avocados dangling from a tree do bear a passing resemblance to a man’s most sensitive section. In awe of the avocado’s libidinous power, nubile princesses would scoff the buttery flesh in fertility rituals. During the harvest, protective fathers locked up their virgin daughters, fearful o
f avocado-induced impropriety.
Looking at it objectively, one must conclude that the Aztecs were on to something with the avocado. In addition to the powerful and convincing similarity-to-testes argument, there is something undoubtedly sensual about the curvaceous avocado with its velvety flesh, slippery stone and luxuriant flavour. Rather less suggestively, dietary research has uncovered a nutritional gold mine beneath the avocado’s dark green skin. Avocados are awash with potassium and rich in vitamins E and B6. All three can help relieve stress and related sexual problems, specifically anxiety-induced infertility and impotence. Avocados will also help you look as sexy as they make you feel. High sterol levels in avocado oil boost collagen production, keeping skin soft, supple and springy, and lips of all description plump and pouting; all decidedly good things to those of conventional tastes.
Mashing avocados into guacamole, whilst tasty with tortilla chips, is not the best way to enhance their eroticism, particularly if you are male and share the Aztec belief in their testicular characteristics. I pant at the proposition of simply served avocado with buffalo mozzarella, ripe tomatoes and fresh basil, allowing one to luxuriate in their rich unctuousness. Should one’s dining companion prefer their pleasure a little more primped, serve perfectly ripe avocado with fresh crab and samphire bound in a chervil mayonnaise and pressed into a chef’s ring mould.
Avocado and Buffalo Mozzarella Salad with Sweet Basil Dressing
The success of this dish relies on the ripeness of the avocado and on using good-quality mozzarella. Test the ripeness of your avocado by pressing firmly on to its skin with a finger – the flesh should give under this pressure. Another, and the ultimate, test, is to cut the avocado in half, remove the stone, and run a spoon inside the skin – one should be able to scoop out the entire flesh in one piece.
Fresh garlic : 1 small clove
Sea salt : 1 pinch
Palm (or brown) sugar : ½ tsp
White wine vinegar : 1 tbsp
Freshly squeezed lime juice : ½ lime
Extra virgin olive oil : 5 tbsp
Semi-dried tomatoes : 5
Chives : 1 tbsp
Sweet/Thai basil : 1 small bunch
Avocado : 1
Buffalo mozzarella : 1 (150 g)
Black pepper : to taste
Prepare the dressing by crushing the garlic with the salt and palm sugar into a fine paste in a pestle and mortar. Mix in a jar with the vinegar, lime juice and olive oil.
Finely slice the semi-dried tomatoes and the chives.
Chiffonade the basil: place the leaves on top of each other and roll up into a basil cigar, then finely slice to leave fine ribbons of bruise-free basil.
Add all three to the dressing jar, put a lid on and shake vigorously to combine.
Prepare the avocado and mozzarella salad, by first cutting the avocado in half. Remove the stone and using a spoon scoop out the flesh from each half in one piece. Slice the avocado lengthways into 5 mm slices.
Slice the mozzarella to the same thickness as the avocado and arrange on a serving plate, interleaving the avocado and mozzarella slices.
Pour the dressing over the avocado and mozzarella, grind some black pepper over the salad then cover with foil and leave the flavours to infuse for a couple of hours (while imbibing a well-deserved glass of Chablis). Serve with warm ciabatta and any remaining wine.
Avocado with Crab, Chervil and Samphire
Crab : 1 medium cooked crab
Semi-dried tomatoes : 6
Samphire : 100 g
Baby spinach : a large handful
Chopped chives : 1 tbsp
Chopped chervil : 1 tbsp
Mirin : 1 tsp
Tabasco : a few shakes
Mayonnaise : 5 tbsp
Lime juice : 2 tbsp
Avocado : 1
Sea salt : a pinch
Black pepper : a pinch
Cayenne pepper : a pinch
Either laboriously pick out the flesh from a freshly cooked crab or buy some ready-picked crabmeat from your fishmonger. If you are using your own crab, reserve the claws for decoration.
Finely chop the semi-dried tomatoes.
Blanch the samphire and baby spinach in boiling water for about 60 seconds. Refresh under cold running water and squeeze dry.
Finely chop the herbs. Reserve a little of the chopped herbs for garnishing and mix the rest with the crabmeat, samphire, spinach, tomato, mirin, Tabasco, mayonnaise and 1 tablespoon of the lime juice.
Select a ripe avocado, cut in half lengthways, remove the stone and using a large spoon scoop out the avocado flesh.
Slice the avocado thinly (3 mm) lengthways and brush with lime juice to stop the avocado discolouring from oxidisation whilst adding a zesty contrast to its butteriness.
Spread the sliced avocado across your plates. Place an oiled chef’s ring next to the fanned avocado and press the crab mayonnaise into it. Remove the metal ring and top with a reserved cracked crab claw (if you have one).
Sprinkle some reserved chopped herbs, sea salt and freshly ground black pepper over the plate. Dust with a little ground cayenne pepper. Serve with a stack of hot buttered toast and start feeding each other.
BROAD BEANS
Until the discovery of the legume-rich New World, the broad bean was pretty much the only guest at an old-world bean feast. Cultivated since the Bronze Age, the broad bean went temporarily off the menu when ancient Greek mathlete Pythagoras theorised to his followers (of whom there were many) that beans were bad. Unlike his elegant mathematical theories, Pythagoras enigmatically gave no working whatsoever for his bean-banning conclusion.
The ancient world scratched its head and the ensuing debate brought out some of the biggest guns of the age: Aristotle, punching somewhat below his intellectual reputation, attributed the bean’s forbidden status to its dubious similarity in shape to the male gonad; Cicero, Plutarch and St Jerome more astutely concurred that Pythagoras’s animosity towards the broad bean was rooted in its supposed aphrodisiac properties, and the mathematician’s prototypically prudish aversion to such matters. In addition to discovering remarkable properties about triangles, Pythagoras also founded a decidedly mysterious secret brotherhood of celibate, vegetarian mathematicians. The original secret society, this brotherhood has an unbroken history leading directly to the covert handshakes of today’s Freemasons.
Chomped throughout Europe and Asia, broad beans enjoy a surely connected popularity in two of the world’s most densely populated regions, northern China and the Egyptian Nile valley. They are the principal ingredient in the Egyptian national dish fūl medames and a key component in the ubiquitous felafel. Like most pulses, broad beans offer vegetarians a good source of protein and iron. Unlike other beans, they also contain the active amorous ingredient levodopa, a chemical the body uses to produce dopamine. As discussed previously, dopamine is the brain’s reward and motivation hormone, dished out to drive us to fulfil our basic urges – the most base of which is to go and get frisky. So although not obviously sexy and unlikely to grace the table of lascivious lords, the humble broad bean has a lot to recommend itself to the lover, particularly to one on a budget. Fresh new-season broad beans steamed and served with mint, parsley, flaky sea salt and melted butter are a side dish that takes some beating; and for which a beating should be gladly accepted. Blitzed with lemon juice, olive oil, anchovy and Parmesan, broad beans make a delectable tapenade. Spread it on bruschetta, mix through pasta or serve dolloped on white fish.
Broad Bean Tapenade
Broad beans require a bit of love to bring out their true glory. The bitter khaki foreskins need to be circumcised. Not the most engaging of culinary activities, so I would limit catering strictly to meals à deux.
Fresh broad beans (podded) : 250 g
Fresh garlic : 1 small clove
Sea salt : to taste
Salted anchovies : 4 fillets
Extra virgin olive oil : 50 ml
Lemon : ½ large lemon (unwaxed)
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Chopped flatleaf parsley : 1 tbsp
Chopped mint : 1 tsp
Chopped basil : 1 tsp
Grated Parmesan : 1 tbsp
Black pepper : to taste
Steam the broad beans for 10 minutes. Refresh under cold water and set about removing the skins. I find the best way is to make an incision in the skin with a knife and gently squeeze out the beans.
Finely mash the garlic with the back of a knife and a little salt to make a smooth paste, add it to a small blender with the anchovies and a little olive oil. Pulse until they are combined.
Add half the beans, the juice of half a lemon and a teaspoon of finely grated zest to the garlic anchovy paste. Blitz until smooth.
Add the remaining ingredients and pulse to coarsely chop the beans and herbs into the tapenade.
Taste and season with freshly milled black pepper, sea salt and more lemon juice as required. If the tapenade is too stiff, mix through more olive oil.
CELERY
To the casual observer celery is a particularly joyless vegetable. Ninety-five per cent water, celery offers its dieting diners a positively misanthropic 6 calories per stalk. Hardly the ideal guest for a bon viveur’s banquet, you would think. As it happens you would be wrong, for celery’s other 5 per cent is pure rock and roll.
The jive is partly provided by some pretty active compounds called phtalides. Acting on the adrenal glands, they greatly reduce the production of stress hormones. Stress is one of the biggest causes of impotence, tightening blood vessels and strangling the libido. Phtalides have the net effect of loosening the tie, dilating the blood vessels and letting the love flow. They also directly increase testosterone levels. The adrenal glands produce 90 per cent of the body’s DHEA, the chemical precursor to testosterone. When the adrenals are flat out producing stress hormones, DHEA production drops off. Conversely, when stress levels drop, DHEA and testosterone pick up.
The Aphrodisiac Encyclopaedia Page 7