The half-used seed packets are kept on the shelf above the milk in the fridge. Shuffling through the chilled packets like cards, the names read like a list of 1970s pop stars or exotic dancers: Crimson King basil, Tangier Scarlet pea, Russian Giant sunflower, French Breakfast radish, Isabel climbing French bean, this last, a robust and vigorous performer. Who knew that seeds could be so tantalising? There is no chard packet though: the seeds were all used.
So next thing, my mum and I are crouched on the floor flicking through the Thompson & Morgan seed catalogue until we find it. It’s a customer favourite – easy to grow and generous, guaranteed to bring colour to any border and flavour to the table: Bright Lights swiss chard.
It is bright – a riot of colour, stems like techno nightclubbers with deep green plumes sprouting from one of the raised beds in my mums’s garden. It’s generous too; I have been picking and picking and it doesn’t seem diminished. The chard is yellow, and red, and pink, and white ... “bright lights” indeed.
While I cut away stems of the stuff, and pick green beans, my parents’ neighbour Peter digs up his potatoes. “Halloooooo,” he shouts over the hedge. Meanwhile, my son picks rotten plums and threatens to eat them, the sun blazes in the hard blue sky and the Dorset hills swell and roll – they are every possible shade of green, the sheep bleat up on Colmer’s Hill in almost ridiculous bucolic bliss.
When I first went to Rome, coming back to England caused me anxiety, as if afraid I might forget to go back, or I wouldn’t be allowed back in. Twelve years on, roots now firmly established there mean I can settle back here, enjoying how familiar it all feels, drink tea in the knowledge I am not going to forget how to knock back an espresso. Also the food – it used to be here and there, Italian food and English food, a stand-off that missed the point.
Of course making comparisons is inevitable, and I relish the differences. I am just as interested though, in the shared. Isn’t that what food is about? It has been great to visit Davy’s Locker to buy sea bass, flashing silver, pulled from the English Channel, to roast on top of just-dug potatoes as the Romans do. There is local mackerel, stonking fresh, to finish with breadcrumbs. I have made Sicilian maccu with English dried broad beans and dill from the garden. Last week, we opened the vacuum-packed pecorino I had brought from Rome. I will return with marmalade and cheddar, and as many boxes of tea, sea salt and Tunnock’s teacakes as I can in stuff in my suitcase.
Chard and chickpeas; what will we have with it? That was my Dad’s first question. Lamb chops or a slice of salty cheese – ricotta salata or feta. This is a trusted recipe that, like so many recipes, is a collisions of ideas – a River Cafe recipe, a dish once made by a friend, a picture – all mixed up and made mine. Chard is a tasty vegetable, the stems fleshy (sweet though slightly bitter), which then thread like veins through the leaf. It tastes a bit like the love child of spinach and sorrel. If the leaves and stem are the weave of this dish, the chickpeas are the substance, so they need to be tender. Soak them for at least 12 hours, then boil until soft enough to squash easily between your finger and thumb. Alternatively, use tinned. The tomatoes are optional, but they add a pleasing sweetness. The lemon is another bright light, sharpening and lifting. What to drink with it? Roman white wine, Sicilian red, Dorset cider? Whatever you prefer.
Chickpeas and chard
Serves 4
250g dried chickpeas, soaked and cooked, or 400 g tinned chickpeas, drained
600g chard
12 sweet cherry tomatoes
6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
2 garlic cloves
Salt and black pepper
A handful of parsley, chopped
Juice of ½ lemon
Ricotta, feta, goats cheese, lamb chops, or a poached egg, to serve
1 If you are using dried chickpeas, soak them in plenty of cold water for 12 hours, then drain. Cover with more cold water, bring to the boil, then reduce to a simmer for 90 minutes, or until they are tender. If you are using tinned, drain and rinse.
2 Wash the chard and cut the stems from the leaves, trimming tough ends and pulling away any stringy bits. Cut the stems into short lengths, then roll the leaves into cigars and chop roughly. Bring a large pan of water to the boil, add salt. Add the stems for a 1-2 minutes, then add the leaves for a few minutes more or until tender. Drain.
3 Warm the olive oil over a medium-low heat. Peel and crush the garlic for a milder flavour, or slice for a stronger hit. Add the cherry tomatoes. Fry, squashing the tomatoes gently with the back of a spoon, until they are soft and the oil is tinted red. Add the chard and stir until it glistens with oil, add the chickpeas and cook for a few minutes more. Remove from the heat, add the parsley, lemon juice, salt and pepper, then let it sit for a while. Before serving, check seasoning, and pour over a little more olive oil.
- Rachel Roddy is a food blogger based in Rome and the author of Five Quarters: Recipes and Notes from a Kitchen in Rome (Saltyard, 2015) and winner of the 2015 André Simon food book award
- This article was amended on 30 August: in step 3 you add all the tomatoes, not half.
