Julius Roberts shares a hearty, autumnal three course recipe from his new book.
Beetroot Soup
This is one of those recipes my family just live off, a dish we return to again and again, at its heart deeply simple and uplifting. Velvety and voluptuous, this soup bubbles away like a cauldron of lava and is wonderfully nourishing. Seasoned with a little cider vinegar to brighten the earthy richness, it’s a dinner party classic I often serve as a starter because of its striking colour, but it’s equally at home eaten on your knees. I’ve given you three toppings that will bring this soup to life, so you can vary how you eat it depending on what you have to hand.
Makes 8 proper bowlfuls
1.5kg beetroots
100ml cider vinegar
200ml creme fraiche or double cream
Your choice of topping
A few slices of smoked eel and a dollop of fiery horseradish sauce
Crumbly goat’s cheese and dill
Natural yoghurt and toasted cumin seeds
Start by giving the beets a good scrub in the sink to remove any grit. Don’t peel or trim the tops; you want them intact, to preserve the vivid colour. Place in a large pan and cover with water, then pour in the vinegar and season with a proper handful of salt. Bring to the boil, then set to a simmer with the lid on for about 1 hour, until completely tender. You should be able to easily pierce them to the core with a knife.
Take the beets out and leave them to cool in a bowl, but keep all the cooking liquor. When cool enough to handle, peel off the skins: they should come away easily with a squeeze from your thumb – I think it’s one of the most satisfying jobs in the kitchen, but wear a pair of Marigolds or your hands will be pink for days.
Chop the beetroots into quarters and place in a high-speed blender, then top up with a little of the cooking water and blitz into a thick pourable soup. You might need to do this in two or three batches. Taste as you go, as you don’t want to overdo it with the vinegary water, though the vinegar is a key part of the seasoning and cuts through excessive earthiness. Add the cre?me frai?che while blitzing in the blender and it will lighten and aerate the soup into a lovely velvety texture. It should taste divine and be the most incredible colour, but make sure to taste and adjust the seasoning to get the balance right.
Warm back up in a pan, and finish with your chosen toppings. This keeps in the fridge for up to a week, and you can freeze any leftovers for a rainy day.
Epic Tarragon Roast Chicken
There are recipes in this book that i love because they are interesting, there are those that I love for their simplicity, and there are those that I find myself making again and again. This is the latter, a great roast chicken, the heart of home cooking and one of life’s great pleasures. I relish the ritual, my family’s fight over the wings, the secret chef ’s treats of the oysters, the leftover sandwiches and bubbling stocks.
There is no meal that makes me feel more at home. In my mind, there are three keys to a good roast chicken . . . juicy meat, brown salty skin and most importantly a ton of sauce. And it’s the sauce of this chicken that really sets it apart: handfuls of tarragon, lashings of cream and a proper dollop of mustard, which when combined with the cooking juices, garlic and wine creates a truly epic mouthful.
Serves 5
1 organic chicken
3 tbsp olive oil
1 whole head of garlic 250ml quality double cream
20g bunch of fresh tarragon, stalks removed, roughly chopped
1 large heaped tbsp Dijon mustard
A glass of dry white wine
Preheat your oven to 220°C fan and start by spatchcocking the chicken. To do this, turn it over and cut along one side of the spine from the tail to the neck. Then turn it over, open out the two sides and press down hard to flatten it. Your butcher will gladly do this for you. Lay the chicken in a large, high-sided roasting tray, season generously with salt on both sides and leave for an hour at room temperature so it loses the chill of the fridge.
When ready, generously drizzle the skin with olive oil and work it into all the nooks and crannies. Smash the head of garlic and hide the cloves underneath the chicken, then roast in the oven for 20–30 minutes, until the skin begins to turn golden brown. Meanwhile, mix the cream, tarragon and mustard in a bowl and season well with salt and pepper. After 20–30 minutes, turn the oven down to 140°C fan, take out the chicken and pour a generous glass of white wine into the tray. Then pour the tarragon cream all over the chicken and place back in the oven for 30–40 minutes until it’s ready.
To judge when it’s cooked, I check the deepest part of the thigh with a temperature probe, looking for 65–70°C. If you don’t have one, prod this point with a skewer and ensure the juices run clear. At this point, remove from the oven and leave to rest for 15 minutes, covered loosely with a bit of foil. Carve straight into the tray and serve as you like, with lots of the sauce, garlic and a zingy green salad.
Stewed Plums, Whipped Yoghurt, Mint and Granola
In September the plum tree by the veg patch hangs heavy with fruit, its branches laden like a strained washing line on the brink of collapse. How this small tree produces such bountiful abundance each year bemuses me; often a branch or two fracture under the weight of fruit. We pick them by the basket, teetering on a rickety ladder and battling the wasps, to make jams, gins, chutneys and all sorts.
This recipe is a particular favourite that is just as good for breakfast as it is after a sunny September lunch. I got the idea for the yoghurt folded with whipped cream and honey from the pastry chef Nicola Lamb – it’s a wonderful twist that gives it a lighter and more elegant touch, but I often use labneh instead.
Serves 6
80g quality granola or pistachios
30g butter
6–10 plums, depending on size, halved and destoned
20g golden caster sugar
60ml Madeira, brandy or sweet sherry
280ml double cream
1–2 tbsp runny honey
350ml natural yoghurt
A couple of sprigs of fresh mint
Preheat your oven to 160°C fan. If using pistachios, pour them into a tray or ovenproof pan and cook for about 10–15 minutes max, until they are toasted and crunchy but not burnt. Set a timer – I always forget.
Put a wide frying pan on a medium-high heat and add
the butter. When it begins to foam, swirl it around, then add
the plums, cut side down. Ideally, they should fill the pan.
Sprinkle over the sugar and let it gently sizzle so that the
plums release their juice, then pour in the Madeira. A lovely
thick and unctuous sauce should slowly be created. Before
the plums get too soft, turn them over to cook the other side.
The ideal is to end up with a beautiful sauce and plums that
still hold their shape but are soft and delicious. So don’t cook
them for too long, and add a splash of water if the sauce
gets too thick. You need enough for each person to get a
spoonful.
While the plums are cooking, pour the cream into a large bowl. Whip it until it is light and voluptuous but still has a nice movement to it. Whipping cream perfectly is an art, taking it far enough to create that luxurious feel, but not so far that it begins to solidify. When ready, drizzle in 1 tablespoon of honey and add the yoghurt. Gently fold together and have a taste; you can add a touch more honey if you like, but don’t overdo it.
Finally, crush the toasted pistachios, if using, and roughly chop the mint leaves. Spoon a generous dollop of the cream into a bowl and make a crater in the middle. Add two or three warm plum halves and a spoon of the sauce, then top with the granola or pistachios and mint.
You can make a lot of this ahead; just slightly underdo the plums so that you can warm them up again without overcooking them. But the active ingredients in the yoghurt will begin to work on the cream if left too long, so I would recommend making that more or less in the moment.
Extracted from 'The Farm Table' by Julius Roberts (Ebury Press, £27)
September, 2023
