
Chef Thomas
Baked Onions with Cream and Thyme
Whole onions surrendered to a low oven with cream and thyme until they collapse into something golden, sweet and yielding, the kind of side dish that quietly upstages everything else on the table.
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Celery braised long and slow in butter and good stock until it turns soft, silky, and almost sweet, the kind of quiet side dish that makes people ask what you did to it.
Celery is the most overlooked thing in the kitchen. It sits in the salad drawer, waiting to be chopped into a mirepoix or sliced into sticks for a cheese board, and nobody thinks to give it the stage. This is a shame, because celery, braised slowly in butter and a little stock, becomes something else entirely. Soft. Yielding. Almost silky. The sharp, raw bite disappears and what's left is a gentle sweetness you didn't know was in there.
This is an old-fashioned dish. Your grandmother may have made it, or her mother. It fell out of fashion somewhere around the time vegetables were expected to be crisp and bright and arranged on the plate like a small garden. I think that's a loss. There's a place for a green bean with some snap in it, but there's also a place for a vegetable that has been cooked with patience and butter until it gives in completely. This is that place.
I make it in the colder months, when a head of celery from the market feels right in the hand, firm and heavy, the leaves still green and fragrant. It sits alongside a roast chicken or a piece of simply cooked fish, and it does the job that all the best side dishes do: it makes you reach for more without quite knowing why. I wrote it down in the notebook years ago. Celery. Butter. Stock. Wednesday. The note hasn't needed updating since.
Quantity
2 heads
outer stalks removed, trimmed and halved lengthways
Quantity
40g
Quantity
1 small
finely sliced
Quantity
2 sprigs
Quantity
1
Quantity
300ml
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
a squeeze
Quantity
small handful
roughly chopped
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| celeryouter stalks removed, trimmed and halved lengthways | 2 heads |
| unsalted butter | 40g |
| onion or banana shallotfinely sliced | 1 small |
| thyme | 2 sprigs |
| bay leaf | 1 |
| chicken or vegetable stock | 300ml |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| lemon juice | a squeeze |
| flat-leaf parsley (optional)roughly chopped | small handful |
Trim the celery heads, pulling away any tough or damaged outer stalks. Keep those for stock or for snacking; they're not wasted, just not right for this. Cut each head in half lengthways, keeping the root end intact so the halves hold together. If the heads are very large, quarter them. Rinse under cold water, running your thumb along the inner channels where grit likes to hide.
Melt the butter in a wide, heavy pan or shallow casserole over a medium heat. When it foams and the kitchen smells warm and nutty, lay the celery halves cut-side down in a single layer. Let them sit without moving for three or four minutes until the cut faces take on a little colour, a pale gold, nothing aggressive. Turn them, add the sliced onion or shallot, the thyme, and the bay leaf, and let everything soften together for a couple of minutes more.
Pour in the stock. It should come about halfway up the celery, not cover it. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a gentle simmer, then turn the heat right down, put a lid on, and leave it alone. Check after twenty minutes. The celery should be starting to yield when you press it with a spoon but still have some resistance. Give it another fifteen to twenty minutes, turning once, until it's completely tender and almost translucent. A knife should slip through the thickest part without effort.
Lift the celery out carefully onto a warm serving dish. It will be very soft now, so a fish slice or wide spatula helps. Turn the heat up under the pan and let the braising liquid bubble down until it thickens into a glossy, buttery sauce, just a few tablespoons' worth. This takes a couple of minutes. Taste it. Adjust the salt. Add a squeeze of lemon, which brightens everything without announcing itself. Spoon the sauce over the celery, scatter the parsley if you have it, and bring it to the table.
1 serving (about 185g)
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Chef Thomas
Whole onions surrendered to a low oven with cream and thyme until they collapse into something golden, sweet and yielding, the kind of side dish that quietly upstages everything else on the table.

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