But I’m not here to talk about risotto. When you make it with barley it’s called orzalano. And it takes a lot less stirring and watching over to get right. Lovely stuff, barley. It has a great flavour and texture. It’s far too nice to restrict it to Scotch Broth.
Anyway…Barley. It’s dirt cheap. Apparently ‘pot barley’ is meant to be the whole grain and ‘pearl barley’ the polished, but I’ve never noticed a difference. It can be a bit starch and gloopy. I recommend pre-soaking it and rinsing it thoroughly in one of those watchamacallits with the holes, and/or bringing it to the boil in lots of water, then changing the water and boiling again. Then simmer on a low heat until tender but al dente. (40 minutes to an hour – depending on pre-soaking etc. etc.). That’s another advantage over risotto, where you have to add the water to the rice gradually. You can just cook the barley in advance in plenty of water and then drain it.
So – you’ve got yer barley. Now get a big frying pan sort of thing. Sauté some shredded leaks and a couple of cloves of garlic in a little olive oil. Then add plenty of sliced/ chopped mushrooms. Make sure you use the big, flat ones. (Sensible languages use a separate word to distinguish these from button mushrooms). Porcini/ Ceps, dried or fresh, would be even better – only somehow last autumn I never got around to foraging. Then add your barley (you want to keep a decent veg-barley ratio), stir it all up and moisten with sufficient stock (including the porcini-reconstituting water, if applicable.). When it looks suitably ondine, slip in a big knob. Of butter. And a handful or two of grated parmesan. Stir a couple of times.
Serve topped with chopped parsley, a little black pepper and more parmesan.
There are two more holes in Blackburn, Lancashire today as Jack Straw patronises both his constituents and Condaleeza Rice by showing her the delights of ‘modern, multi-cultural Britain.’ I don’t know whether to admire Straw’s chutzpah or to puzzle over his lack of social skills in inviting a guest to go places where she’s going to get shouted at all the time. I’d hope.
'Eats, shoots and leaves.'
'Those things over there are my husbands'.
Now, for the first time in public, a sentence whose meaning is dependent on capitalisation:
'I helped my Uncle Jack off a horse.'