Despite their exotic Latin name, alliums are not the most glamorous vegetables. They certainly are, however, among the most dependable. Alliums, a species that includes onions, leeks and garlic, are a cornerstone set of ingredients, no matter the season. They’re also a vital part of my cooking, and something I’d have a very hard time living without them.
Ask me to forgo, say, bacon, butter, wheat products or refined sugar, and I’d happily stand up to the challenge. But tell me I can’t use alliums … I’d run a mile. In all honesty, I can barely imagine cooking something from scratch without a member of the allium family present. Very few of my favourite savoury recipes begin without first chopping an onion, slicing a leek or dicing a shallot. Even a piece of toast is elevated by rubbing a clove of garlic over it before a generous swoosh of olive oil.
Often, alliums form the foundations of a dish, upon which other flavours can be layered, fortified and propelled. Their pungent nose and deep flavour can add acidity, sweetness or an almost spicy bite, depending on how they are treated. Try playing around with which type of onion you use in a dish, and witness the impact.
Brown (or Spanish) onions have a robust, savoury character, which will add umami to a dish, especially when browned slightly at a high temperature at the beginning of cooking. Red onions are sweeter, with a sharp piquancy, that can be useful in emphasising the fruity characteristics of, for example, a tomato sauce. White onions are comparatively delicate, making them a good choice for shredding finely, briefly salting, and using raw in salads and dressings. And leeks are useful to bring out green flavours – I wouldn’t consider using anything else to make a watercress soup.
I’m a sucker for the sweetness that shallots bring to a dish, diced finely and cooked gently in butter and oil until meltingly tender. Alongside garlic and thyme, this is the base flavour of many of the sauces, braises, soups and purees we make at the restaurant. That’s nothing new of course – it’s just a short step from the classic soffritto with carrot and celery (and sometimes peppers and tomatoes), which is used as the basis for many Mediterranean and Latin American dishes.
Yet alliums needn’t be limited to supporting roles. There’s no reason why shallots, leeks, or onions shouldn’t take centre stage. Heritage varieties of onion, such as Florence, Roscoff and Tropea are now regularly name-checked on restaurant menus. And the arrival of the first calçots (Spanish spring onions) in early spring are almost as significant in the kitchen as the first crop of asparagus. Traditionally they’re served grilled alongside a nutty romesco sauce for dipping, but they work just as well with other spring ingredients: we have paired them with tarragon sauce, morrel mushrooms, duck eggs, even nettles.
Here are three recipes that pluck simple, good value and modest ingredients from the background, and turn them into stars.
Shallots braised in beef stock and dripping
We served French onion soup in the first restaurant I ever worked in – Pinocchio’s in Harrogate, when I was 16 – and I always loved it. The toast, topped with molten cheese, would go soggy and rapidly disintegrate atop the steaming bowl of soup. A dozen or so years later, at Brunswick House in London, I was slow-cooking beef shin with shallots and red wine. The beef turned out really well, but the accompanying shallots were so divine that I decided to serve them as a dish in their own right, with soggy toast that emulated that old dish at Pinocchio’s.
Serves 4
250ml beef stock
A splash of red wine
250g beef dripping
12 banana shallots, peeled, left whole
A head of garlic, cut in half across the bulbs
12 sprigs of thyme
Salt and black pepper
4 slices sourdough bread
Comté cheese
1 Gently heat the beef stock, red wine and beef dripping in a pan until the fat has melted.
2 Put the shallots in an ovenproof dish, add all the other ingredients except the bread and cheese, and pour over the stock mixture. Cook covered in a preheated oven at 160C/325F/gas mark 3 for 1½-2 hours until the shallots are meltingly tender.
3 Toast the bread, and serve the shallots piled on top of the toast, with plenty of the sauce spooned on top. Cover with lots of grated comté cheese and serve immediately.
Poached then grilled leeks with cheddar cheese and cider sauce
A version of a childhood Sunday lunch staple: cheesy leeks. The leeks are topped with a version of a classic mornay – bechamel with cheese – sauce, although the cornflour makes it lighter and less cloying, while the cider adds acidity and zing.
Serves 4
4 leeks
A few bay leaves
10 sprigs of thyme
10 whole black peppercorns
A pinch of sea salt
A glass of white wine
For the sauce
75g butter
75g cornflour
250ml scrumpy cider
150g mature cheddar cheese, eg Montgomery, grated
1 tsp sour cream
Sea salt
1 cox’s apple
A handful of toasted buckwheat
1 Trim the outer layers from the leeks, and clean thoroughly. Place in a wide saucepan with the bay leaves, thyme, peppercorns, sea salt and wine. Add enough water to just cover the leeks, cover with a sheet of baking parchment, which helps the leeks steam, then cover the pan with a tight-fitting lid or tin foil. Bring to the boil, then simmer for 10-12 minutes, or until the leeks are tender when pierced with a knife. Set aside.
2 To make the sauce, melt the butter in a saucepan, then add the cornflour and mix. Add the cider gradually, whisking as you go to get rid of any lumps. It should reach a double cream consistency. Add the cheese, then the sour cream. Check the seasoning.
3 Remove the leeks from the poaching liquid and drain. Grill on a ridged griddle pan or barbecue until they are lightly charred on each side. Slice into chunks, and serve with the warm cheese sauce, diced raw apple, and toasted buckwheat.
Charred red onions with pomegranate molasses
At my local Turkish restaurant, there’s a dish on the menu that consists of little more than onions grilled over charcoal, doused in turnip pickle brine and dusted with sumac. It doesn’t sound that captivating, but the combination of sweet, smoky, sharp and vegetal is a stroke of simple genius. Of course, it really sings when set alongside a pile of mixed grilled meats, but holds up equally well on its own with yoghurt and flatbread, as a snack or light meal. Here’s a version for home.
Serves 4
4 red onions
A pinch of sea salt
A drizzle of rapeseed oil
75ml water
75ml red wine vinegar
35g caster sugar
A drizzle of pomegranate molasses
A handful of pomegranate seeds
A handful of flat-leaf parsley
A pinch of sumac, to serve
1 Peel the onions and slice in half lengthways from the top to the root, and season the cut side with a little salt. Heat a large, heavy-based frying pan over a medium heat, add a drizzle of oil, and place the onions in the pan in one layer, cut-side down. Leave to cook without moving for a good few minutes until the cut sides have begun to char and almost blacken – this will give the onions a smoky, charcoal flavour. You could also do this over a barbecue if you have one lit.
2 Add the water, vinegar and sugar to the pan, and cover with a tight-fitting lid. Turn the heat down and continue to cook for a further 6-8 minutes until the onions are tender. Take the pan off the heat.
3 As soon as the onions are cool enough to handle, remove them from the pan and slice off the roots with a sharp knife. Separate the layers of the onion so they resemble flower petals, and then transfer them to a warm serving plate. Whisk some pomegranate molasses into the cooking liquor, and pour it over the onions. Scatter with pomegranate seeds, parsley and a dusting of sumac. Serve with pickled turnips, flatbreads and grilled meats such as lamb chops.
- Next theme: Brassicas. Nicholas Balfe’s column next week is a wholehearted celebration of the humble cabbage.
