
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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Spinach wilted and folded into butter and cream with a grating of whole nutmeg, the kind of quiet side dish that makes everything else on the plate better without asking for any attention itself.
Nutmeg is the thing. Not the spinach, not the cream, not the butter, though all of those matter. The nutmeg. Grated fresh from a whole nut, it does something to spinach that I've never been able to explain properly. It doesn't taste of nutmeg, exactly. It tastes of spinach that has finally become itself.
This takes ten minutes. Perhaps less. You wilt the spinach, squeeze the water out, warm it through with butter, garlic, and cream, then grate the nutmeg over the top. That's it. There are few better feelings than putting this on the table next to a piece of fish or a roast chicken and watching it disappear before anything else on the plate.
I make this all through autumn and into spring, whenever the spinach at the market looks dark and glossy and alive. Bags of it. It always looks like too much, then it wilts to a fraction of itself and you wish you'd bought more. Buy more. You won't regret it.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: spinach, cream, nutmeg, Tuesday. The recipe hasn't changed since, because it doesn't need to. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract, but this one said everything it needed to say the first time.
Quantity
500g
washed and thick stalks removed
Quantity
30g
Quantity
1 small clove
finely sliced
Quantity
100ml
Quantity
for grating
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| fresh spinachwashed and thick stalks removed | 500g |
| unsalted butter | 30g |
| garlicfinely sliced | 1 small clove |
| double cream | 100ml |
| whole nutmeg | for grating |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
Put a large pan over a medium heat and add the spinach in handfuls, letting each lot collapse before adding the next. No oil, no butter, just the water still clinging to the leaves from washing. It looks like a ridiculous amount of spinach for the pan. It isn't. It will reduce to almost nothing in two or three minutes. When it's all wilted and soft, tip it into a colander and press it firmly with the back of a wooden spoon. You want as much water out as you can manage. Squeeze it. Don't be polite about it.
Wipe the pan dry and return it to a gentle heat. Melt the butter. When it foams, add the garlic and let it soften for thirty seconds or so, just until it smells sweet and warm, not coloured. The moment garlic browns it turns bitter, and there's no coming back from that.
Pour in the cream and let it come to a gentle simmer. It will thicken slightly as it reduces, which takes a minute or two. Add the drained spinach back to the pan and stir it through the cream until everything is coated and glossy. The spinach should be bound by the cream, not swimming in it. If it looks loose, give it another minute on the heat.
Grate the nutmeg directly over the pan. A whole nutmeg on a fine grater, not the pre-ground sort, which tastes of cardboard and regret. Start with six or seven passes of the nutmeg across the grater, stir, and taste. You'll know when it's right. The spinach will suddenly taste more like itself, which is the odd trick of nutmeg: it doesn't add its own flavour so much as wake up what's already there. Season with salt and pepper. Taste again. Serve warm, straight from the pan.
1 serving (about 100g)
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