All in a Stew

Central Eating

Myfanwy Alexander

Being conscious of the seasons makes me sound rather zen, as I stand barefoot in elds letting the rhythms of nature ow through me but in fact, I measure the calendar in terms of the volume and temperature of draughts rattling around and within my ancient house. It’s not that we are badly situated, with a shoulder of hill to fend of the ‘wind of dead men’s feet’ as my father always called an easterly gale. e problem, rather, is that when this place was built, all the potential local building control o cers had followed Henry VII down to Bosworth so it o en feels as if the weather has come indoors. Dark evenings and draughts call for warming food so now is the time to stew and simmer to create the sort of dishes which radiate warmth.

ere’s an alchemy in a stew, the melding together of homely ingredients into a steaming whole, the savoury equivalent of a fruit cake where the whole is way greater than the sum of the parts. It is also a good way to stock up on seasonal root vegetables, many of which have fallen from fashion. Come on, admit it: we have all looked at a swede and wondered frankly, if we can be bothered with it. ere is something rather sad about the overshadowing of the swede by ashy celeriac or those little turnips which always look to me like miniature poodle-ish vegetables. I have a long history with the modest swede. On long walks in my teens, I would pull them up from the elds where they had been planted, peel the muddy skins away from the golden sharp esh and chomp as I walked, pausing every now and again to peel away more skin and wipe away more mud. e avour was sharp and surprisingly complex, combing rather ferocious citrus with the earthy depths of beetroot, and there was plenty of juice. I’ve also won a half-hundred weight sack of swedes in a whist drive, which is a chance one never gets with celeriac, at least not round here. It’s a family favourite when blitzed in a food processor with lots of cream and black pepper, third favourite vegetable to have with a roast, beaten only by lemony carrots and braised red cabbage. But best of all, swedes do so much for a stew.

But as Meghan Trainor almost said, it’s not all about that swede. If you’re into snout to tail zero waste eating, stews can turn the less than prime cuts into melting perfection. And with so much fantastic local meat available here in Wales, remember you can really cut down on your food miles too. ere’s a handy map on the Porc Blasus website which tells you you’re never more than an oink away from brilliant local pork suppliers who will keep you casseroling merrily until the spring is here. e traditional alliance of pork and apples can also play its part in your family war on food waste: the saddest wrinkled Pippin from the depths of the fruit bowl can return Frank Sinatra-like for one last glorious appearance in a casserole. Or you can chuck plenty of cider in but I realised that ciders like my local nectar, Old Monty, are just too good not to drink so here’s a life hack worth sharing: there will always be party cider le behind by teenagers so casserole that.

My mother was a creative casseroler (though Dad always said they were stews), and though I don’t o en travel to the wilder shores like rabbit and elderberry, I have inherited her partiality for juniper berries, great with pork or chicken. I think adding lemon takes the taste too far in the direction of a gin and tonic but it might make a savoury consolation if you’re keeping to your dry January. But my mother was not a fan of dumplings, perhaps traumatised by pre-War nursery food. So there is probably some element of forbidden fruit in my love of the ultimate stew accompaniment, surely ready for a re-brand. Daughter Number Six always refers to them as Casserole Clouds so maybe it is the stodgy name holding back dumplings from their deserved status as peasant classic food. Or, if you’re having a retro suet moment, you could swerve in the direction of a steak and kidney pud which, thanks to modern gadgetry, no longer takes all day to boil.

If you had vile versions of puddings at school, give them another go: a er all, you may not have had brilliant English lessons but you haven’t turned your back on literature so cut suet the slack you cut Shakespeare. Suet crust, for dumplings or puds, welcomes all kinds of additions, herbs fresh or dried from Liliwen Herbs or get inspired by the seeds from Case for Cooking: don’t tell me you won’t rethink a Casserole Cloud fragrant with fennel oating on a warming tide of meat and seasonal veg. Stews, they’re what a Welsh winter is made for.