
Chef Thomas
Anglesey Eggs
Eggs bedded into leek-flecked mash under a blanket of sharp cheese sauce, baked until golden and bubbling. A Welsh supper dish that proves the simplest things are usually the best.
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Created by Chef Thomas
Linguine tossed with king prawns, garlic, chilli, and white wine, the kind of supper that takes less time to cook than it does to decide what to eat, and tastes like you knew all along.
The pan is already hot. The garlic is sliced. The wine is open, and you've poured yourself a glass before any of it went near the cooking. This is a Tuesday evening kind of dish, or a Friday when you're tired and want something that feels like a small reward for getting through the week.
Prawn and chilli linguine arrived in British kitchens sometime in the nineties, borrowed loosely from the Italian south, and it never left. It didn't leave because it works. Because it takes fifteen minutes and uses one pan and a pot of water, and because the smell of garlic and chilli softening in good olive oil is enough to make whoever else is in the house wander into the kitchen and ask what's for dinner. That's the whole performance. You don't need more than that.
The trick, if there is one, is restraint. Good prawns, a decent chilli, garlic sliced thin enough to melt into the oil, and a splash of wine that lifts everything without drowning it. The pasta water does the rest, pulling the oil and wine and prawn juices into a sauce that clings to the linguine like it belongs there. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. If you've got a handful of cherry tomatoes going soft on the windowsill, halve them and throw them in. A few capers wouldn't hurt. But it doesn't need them. We're only making dinner.
Quantity
200g
Quantity
250g
peeled and deveined
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
3 cloves
sliced thinly
Quantity
1
sliced finely, seeds in or out
Quantity
100ml
Quantity
half
juiced
Quantity
small handful
roughly chopped
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
freshly ground
Quantity
pinch
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| dried linguine | 200g |
| raw king prawnspeeled and deveined | 250g |
| good olive oil | 3 tablespoons |
| garlicsliced thinly | 3 cloves |
| red chillisliced finely, seeds in or out | 1 |
| dry white wine | 100ml |
| lemonjuiced | half |
| flat-leaf parsleyroughly chopped | small handful |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepperfreshly ground | to taste |
| dried chilli flakes (optional) | pinch |
Bring a large pan of water to a rolling boil and salt it generously. It should taste like the sea. Not a tentative pinch, a proper handful. Drop the linguine in and cook it until it still has a little resistance when you bite through, a minute or two less than the packet says. Before you drain it, scoop out a mugful of the starchy cooking water. You'll want it later.
While the pasta cooks, pour the olive oil into a wide pan or skillet over a medium heat. Add the sliced garlic and chilli. Let them sizzle gently, moving them around now and then. You want the garlic to turn pale gold and the oil to start smelling like something you'd happily eat with a spoon. Two minutes, maybe less. Watch it. Garlic goes from golden to burnt in a breath, and burnt garlic is bitter and beyond rescue.
Turn the heat up. Add the prawns to the pan in a single layer and season them with salt and pepper as they hit the oil. Leave them alone for a minute. You want colour on the underside, a proper pink-gold sear, before you flip them. Once they've curled and turned opaque, no more than two minutes each side, they're done. Overcooked prawns are rubbery and sad and no amount of sauce will save them. If in doubt, pull them out early. They'll finish in the residual heat.
Pour in the white wine. It will hiss and spit and the kitchen will smell suddenly, sharply, of something worth sitting down for. Let it bubble away for thirty seconds or so, scraping up any sticky bits from the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. Those sticky bits are flavour. Don't waste them.
Drain the linguine and add it straight to the pan with the prawns. Toss everything together over the heat, adding a good splash of that reserved pasta water. The sauce should come together into something glossy and loose, coating every strand without pooling in the bottom of the pan. Squeeze in the lemon juice, scatter the parsley through, and toss once more. Taste it. Season again if it needs it. Serve straight from the pan onto warm plates. Don't let it sit. Pasta waits for no one.
1 serving (about 375g)
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