Last night's dinner plan (lentil soup with Italian sausage) went completely awry when I ended up buying a loaf of tasty white bread at a little German bakery in White Rock. I was hungry, and so enamored of the idea of a piece of it slathered with cold butter that all other thoughts vanished. Too, I knew at home I had a bunch of fresh, sweet local radishes. A plate of radishes and bread, with butter to spread on both a little pile of fleur de sel in which to dip the buttered radishes--heaven. Just heaven. I also had two handfuls of strong, sweet and local curly spinach from which to fashion a perfect side dish for some filet of sole broiled simply with garlic butter and bread crumbs, which Bob had asked for anyway. With a light Chiaretto rose reinforcing the color palette of white/green/pink in my meal, it would feel like summer again.
However, since the spinach wasn't going to be enough for two servings (I was not planning a side starch as we had the bread to start) I looked around for something to pad the spinach with, and about all I had was frozen peas. Having bought a new bottle of Noilly Prat dry white vermouth at the LCBO next to the bakery, that was on my mind too and out of the chaos that was my brain as I unpacked my groceries yesterday, this unusual never-before-tasted dish suggested itself.
It was spectacular--may I live long enough and have the gift of fresh curly spinach (regular will do, but this is better) often enough to enjoy this a thousand times more in my life. Typical of me when I have a great vegetable in front of me, I loved it so much that I ate two helpings and fed most of my fish to the cat under the table (I am a bad bad girl).
For two:
2 big handfuls of clean spinach
1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen peas
1 tblsp butter
2 tblsp dry white vermouth (Noilly Prat reccomended--Gallo and others are a sorry substitute)
salt to taste
In a sauce pan with high sides, blanch the peas in boiling water and drain (this sets the color and makes them impervious to bleaching from the acids in the vermouth). Drain, return to the pan with the butter. Allow the butter to melt and toss in the vermouth, and when it's bubbling add the spinach and salt. Turn several times using tongs until the spinach wilts. You'll have a panful of one of the most seriously emerald colored vegetables to grace a plate, wherein the peas flow into the crevices created by the spinach, like little rocks in a network of streams. And it doesn't taste boozy--just seems tweaked with an extra something that's sophisticated and special.
Tomorrow, I buy more spinach.
But creamed peas are easy--the "cream" sauce is just a thick bechamel: butter and flour make a roux, added milk makes the sauce. To create a distinctive flavor, I add a few drops of lemon juice and quite a bit of white pepper. I typically make it in small, single-serving lots as creamed peas thus prepared is one of my favorite breakfasts in the world. (Yes, I can and do eat vegetables all day long.) I often add a few drops of cream to enrich the sauce because 2% is just thin enough that with green peas in it, it looks more gray than white. For creamed potatoes with peas, prepare the same bechamel and combine it with hot, cooked pieces of potato. For my tastes, it needs nothing more than salt and pepper, and if I'm feeling expansive I'll add sour cream and/or horseradish to the sauce. The peas get cooked separately--just steamed or little more than blanched in hot, salted water. Drain well, then pour them over the finished potatoes. Looks great if you make the potatoes fairly thick (russets work well, but they break easily so don't overstir when combining with the sauce) such that they pile on a platter, like a volcano, and provide a lot of crannies for the peas to lodge in.