Cheesy herb dumplings for a spring chicken stew
Spring cheer meets mollifying dumplings in soothing harmony which explains why nostalgia tastes delicious
“I want to write a recipe book about my grandmother’s cooking”.
Said every yet-to-be-published food writer ever. Well, let me and my cynically sharp tongue burst that bubble for you now, because the publishing industry is not interested. Unless your grandmother was Elizabeth Taylor. And you have a million Instagram followers.
But in spite the bored eyerolls we receive from the industry, we are drawn back to our nostalgic recipes nonetheless. To the battered and dog-eared exercise book, covered with scribbled notes in an old hand, fat splashed and singed.
Why? Nostalgia tastes delicious.
The claggy, suet chew of our Mum’s dumplings tastes like home. Literally. They remind us of a time when we were blissfully cossetted from the Grown-Up world. One bite is enough to transport us. Why? Well, true to form, Chat GPT explains whilst also draining any romance from the phenomenon:
Taste and smell are processed in the brain’s hippocampus and amygdala, which are closely linked to memory and emotion. These senses act as direct pathways to past experiences, often transporting us to childhood, providing feelings of safety, warmth, and comfort.
Quite.
Retreat to the veg patch
Given the current State of Things, I find myself this week very keen to retreat into wistful, homely comforts. The veg patch, though, offers little help, being, as it is, mostly weeds. The herb bed, however, holds more promise of succour.
It has been awoken by the recent spell of sunshine (actual sunshine!), resulting in a modest growth spirt. A delicate carpet of green now covers the mulch I laid in February: parsley, mint, hyssop, sorrel, thyme, oregano and rosemary, even the first fronds of fennel, all of them big enough to allow for a modest harvest.
Herby dumpling comfort
I take my nail scissors (raiding the bathrooms cabinet is necessary when dealing with such a diminutive harvest) and snip the brilliant green, young shoots, taking a handful back to the kitchen as my mind, yearning for nostalgic comfort, turns to dumplings.
Dumplings were a staple in my childhood. Nothing fancy, I mean the traditional suet type that you drop into the gravy of a glossy stew in the final 20 minutes of cooking. Cooked to fluffy perfection in the steam of a meaty casserole, they take on a unique texture that is at once claggy and light, their bottoms pleasantly soggy having rested in the gravy and soaked up the meaty juices. In my Yorkshirian childhood, they usually came unflavoured in a beef and kidney stew, complete with suckably soft carrots and a Granny in a paisley wraparound apron.
Today, I give this recipe, and me, a gentle spring lift: for the stew, leeks accompany button mushrooms, a jointed chicken and a handful herbs; and in the dumplings, more snipped herbs and a shaving of parmesan for depth. Spring cheer meets mollifying dumplings in soothing harmony.
But not before a quick invitation…
This month’s LIVE cookery class
I’m going a week early on this month’s cookery class because I’m judging the Great Taste Awards on our usual day. Thought and prayers as I tuck into 60 samples of anything from chocolate to chicken or miso to marmalade…
WHEN: Wednesday 18th March at 1pm GMT
WHERE: Live from my greenhouse here on Substack
WHAT: 3 new pesto recipes and 5 new ways to use it
We’ll talk about the formula for perfect pesto
Recipes for non-basil pestos, winter pestos, and vegan pestos
I’ll cook FIVE dishes (what could possibly go wrong!) using pesto that you (probably) won’t have seen before
This live is for paid subscribers. If you’d like to, you can upgrade for 77p/wk:
It works like Instagram Live (ie: you can see me, I can’t see you, and there’s a live text chat for you to ask questions.) You join via the Substack app or desktop. Just click here at 1pm on Wednesday (or click now to add it to your calendar. Fancy.):
REPLAYS: You can rewatch previous classes anytime, including Wednesday’s which I’ll post afterwards for anyone who missed it. Here’s an example of what we get up to:
Spring chicken & leek stew with herb dumplings
Take your time with this one. If you leave the chicken long enough for the fat to render and then cook the stew long enough for the meat to fall off the bones, the result will be a succulent stew that’s full of flavour. As spring progresses try stirring broad beans, spinach or peas into the stew as you add the dumplings. The stew can be made a couple of days in advance, but the dumplings are a last-minute affair.
Serves 6
1 whole chicken, jointed
180g back bacon, diced
25g butter
3 large leeks, sliced
