
Chef Ally
Anchoïade with Seasonal Crudités
A pungent, silky Provençal dip of pounded anchovies and garlic, surrounded by whatever crisp vegetables the market offered that morning. Simple food that rewards good sourcing.
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Spring peas pureed just enough to keep their grassy sweetness, swirled with creamy ricotta and bright mint, finished with good olive oil and meant for tearing bread alongside friends.
Start with the peas. They should be so fresh that the pods squeak when you press them, the peas inside tight and glossy, smelling faintly of the vine. This is a dish that exists only in spring, and only when you can find peas worth eating raw.
At the market, look for pods that feel full but not bursting. Ask the farmer when they were picked. Yesterday is acceptable. This morning is better. Peas begin converting their sugars to starch the moment they leave the plant. Time is not your friend here.
The technique is almost nothing. A quick blanch to soften, a rough puree to preserve texture, a gentle fold of fresh ricotta that keeps its identity in the bowl. Mint and lemon brighten without overwhelming. Good olive oil to finish. That is all.
Every meal is a meaningful choice. When you buy peas from someone who grew them, shelled by your own hands at your own table, you are participating in something older and more honest than convenience. The puree tastes better for it. I promise you this.
Quantity
2 cups (about 2 pounds in the pod)
Quantity
1/2 cup
Quantity
3 tablespoons, plus more for finishing
Quantity
1 small clove
minced
Quantity
2 tablespoons
loosely packed
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
freshly cracked
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| fresh shelling peas | 2 cups (about 2 pounds in the pod) |
| fresh whole-milk ricotta | 1/2 cup |
| good olive oil | 3 tablespoons, plus more for finishing |
| garlicminced | 1 small clove |
| fresh mint leavesloosely packed | 2 tablespoons |
| lemon zest | 1 teaspoon |
| fresh lemon juice | 1 tablespoon |
| flaky sea salt | to taste |
| black pepperfreshly cracked | to taste |
Pop open each pod with your thumb and run it along the seam. The peas should tumble out, tight and sweet-smelling. Taste one raw. If it tastes starchy or bland, wait for better peas. If it bursts with sweetness on your tongue, you are ready to cook.
Bring a pot of well-salted water to a rolling boil. Add the peas and cook for sixty to ninety seconds, no longer. You want them tender but still vibrant green, still tasting of the garden. Drain and transfer immediately to a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. This preserves their color and that grassy sweetness.
Drain the cooled peas well and add them to a food processor with the olive oil, garlic, mint, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Pulse until you have a textured puree, some peas still showing their shape, others smooth. You are not making baby food. You want variation, something for your teeth to find.
Transfer the puree to a bowl. Spoon the ricotta on top and fold gently, leaving visible streaks of white throughout the green. The ricotta should not disappear. It should marble through, creating pockets of creaminess that surprise you with each bite. Season with flaky salt and pepper. Taste. Adjust.
Spread the puree in a shallow bowl or on a small platter. Create gentle swoops with the back of a spoon. Drizzle with your best olive oil. Scatter a few small mint leaves and a pinch more flaky salt. Serve with grilled bread, good crackers, or simply a spoon for those who cannot wait.
1 serving (about 120g)
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