Therapy cooking

IF there’s no food column next week you’ll know that I won the lottery and I’m ripping it up in Las Vegas or some other far flung destination where I’ll no doubt live for the next year or so, partying the bit out with Johnny Depp and getting up to no good on a regular basis.

If there is a food column next week, you can assume that the opposite transpired, which is to say, I didn’t win the lottery and I’m still eating peanut butter on toast for breakfast and watching the latest madness in the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard debacle on a daily basis – wile hanlin altogether (the Depp/Heard debacle, not the peanut butter on toast).

Speaking of wile hanlins altogether, I may or may not have had one or two sherries too many on Saturday night when I was out watching the Champions League Final. Who’d have thought that finding a pub that had a). A working TV. b). A decent seat in front of said TV and c). some decent atmosphere would be so difficult? Suffice it to say, we found one in the end and the match and it’s many ramifications were digested alongside those sherries I mentioned.

Not feeling especially intelligent on the morn, I struggled on, aided and abetted only slightly by Berocca and some left-over kebab from the night before (further questionable behaviour, I know).

“How’s the head this morning?” all the messages seemed to ask too loudly.

“Aye, grand,” I replied. “But I know rightly it’s in the post.”

Replenishing fluids is the key in these situations and as such, I made sure to wire all manner of teas and soft drinks into me in an attempt to quench the rising fire inside. This worked for a time until the afternoon wore around and the question of dinner reared its head. I then discovered that cooking can work as a great form of meditation and at the very least, can take one’s mind off the prospect of imminent death brought on by one or two sherries too many.

Beginning at 3pm and lasting for an unrecorded number of hours, I concocted the following: A spaghetti carbonara, a roasted tomato and chilli pasta sauce and I set the slow cooker to work on a slab of real corned beef and a selection of root vegetables.

I may not have been feeling too intelligent at the time but I was smart enough to know that the scents churned out by tomatoes roasting in the oven and corned beef slow cooking in stock, garlic, onions and a carrot, is enough to bring the dead back to life. And so it came to pass…

Eating a slice of the juiciest corned beef later on Sunday evening on a sourdough bap, with extra red onions, lettuce, cheese and a honey-mustard-mayo and I was officially rejuvenated. There was also the small matter of left-over carbonara to deal with and a few tablespoonfuls of the roasted tomato sauce by way of sampling. All in all, despite my struggles, the evening turned out to be something of a mild success, not least because I realised I had made enough food to cater for the following two nights’ dinners. Batch cooking while hungover is a thing!

This recipe is probably best completed with tomatoes you grow yourself but having said that, they’re the one food that I tend to eat year round. Whatever the case, this is one of the most joyful experiences one can have in the kitchen – perfect for when your team has lost and you’re not feeling the Fred West.

If you read this recipe and you’re still buying jars of tomato sauce, you need your head examined.

INGREDIENTS

* One kilo or fresh tomatoes, the best you can find

* One red chilli pepper

* One clove of garlic

* Lots of extra virgin olive oil

* One tsp of brown sugar

* Lots of salt and pepper

THE PLAN

Pre-heat your oven to 175C and as that’s happening, prep your veg. Wash and half the tomatoes and place these skin side up in a slightly oiled roasting dish (ideally you want them to be tight fitting in the dish). Bung in the garlic clove (unpeeled) and the chilli pepper (whole and unchopped) and then give everything a generous drizzling of olive oil – about 100 ml or so. Lastly, generously season with the sugar, salt and pepper and then retire the toms etc to the oven and bake for 45 minutes to one hour or until the tops are beginning to char and your kitchen is filled with the most wondrous fragrance known to mankind.

When they’re done, scrap everything out into a bowl and blend until smooth. You could de-seed the chilli but I don’t bother.

Taste and adjust the seasoning as necessary and it’s done.

If you’re going to stir this through some hot pasta, some torn basil leaves will be your friend and maybe a pinch of oregano. And if you have a glass of something ruby red to hand, so much the better.

What hangover?