
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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Created by Chef Thomas
Beetroot roasted in foil with thyme until the flesh turns sweet and yielding, the kind of side dish that quietly becomes the thing on the plate everyone reaches for first.
October. The garden is winding down and the beetroot are the last thing still asking to be pulled. They come out of the soil heavy and cool, with that particular earthy smell that tells you exactly what season you're in. I scrub them at the outside tap, and by the time they reach the kitchen my hands are stained the colour of old wine. It doesn't wash off for a day. I don't mind.
Roasting beetroot is barely cooking. You wrap them in foil, put them in a hot oven, and walk away. The heat does everything: concentrates the sugars, deepens the colour from muddy red to something closer to garnet, turns the flesh from dense and raw to soft and yielding. The thyme, tucked inside the parcel, scents the whole thing without ever shouting. When you open the foil, the kitchen smells of earth and warmth and something faintly herbal. I wrote it down in the notebook once: beetroot, thyme, October rain. That was the whole entry.
This is a side dish, but it has a habit of becoming the centre. Put a plate of roasted beetroot on the table next to whatever else you've made, and watch where people's forks go. There are few better feelings than that. We're only making dinner, but dinner is worth making well.
Quantity
6 medium
scrubbed, tops trimmed to 2cm
Quantity
a few sprigs
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
a splash
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| beetrootscrubbed, tops trimmed to 2cm | 6 medium |
| fresh thyme | a few sprigs |
| good olive oil | 2 tablespoons |
| flaky sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| red wine vinegar (optional) | a splash |
Set the oven to 200C/180C fan. Give the beetroot a good scrub under cold water, but don't peel them. The skin protects the flesh while it roasts, holding everything in. Trim the tops to about two centimetres. If they've still got their leaves, set those aside for a salad another day.
Tear off a large sheet of foil and lay the beetroot in the centre. Drizzle with olive oil, scatter the thyme sprigs over the top, and season generously with salt and pepper. Fold the foil into a loose but sealed parcel. The beetroot need room to breathe in there, but you want to keep the moisture trapped. Think of it as a small oven within the oven.
Place the parcel on a baking tray and put it in the oven. Leave it alone for fifty minutes to an hour. You'll know they're done when you can push a knife through the foil and into the centre of a beetroot with almost no resistance. If there's any firmness, give them another ten minutes. The size of your beetroot determines the time, not the clock. Trust the knife.
Open the parcel carefully. The trapped heat will rush out. Let them cool for a few minutes until you can handle them, then rub the skins off with kitchen paper or your thumbs. They should slip away like a coat coming off. Cut the beetroot into rough wedges or thick rounds, whatever feels right. Arrange them on a plate, drizzle with a little more olive oil and a splash of red wine vinegar. The vinegar is optional but worth it: it sharpens the sweetness and makes the whole thing sing. Season again. Taste. Adjust.
1 serving (about 150g)
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