Sometimes new friends ask you to Boxing Day lunch. Sometimes those friends ask you to bring salad. Now, as we all know from my long history as a top-tier food influencer, literally every dish I make includes a cast iron skillet. Every one. Without exception. (If you don’t believe that, then I dare you to go back and read all the recipes.)
Sometimes you start writing a recipe and the title gets long. Very long. Because you see, in your writer’s mind, where this is heading. It’s Noodle Salad for godsake. We’ve got to make it interesting somehow!
Let’s first establish the ingredient list:
- Noodles (is this necessary to list in a “Noodle Salad” recipe?) (I prefer spirals because the oil and seasonings have a lot of surface area to cling to.)
- Olive Oil (Extra Virgin? Sure. Depends on your level of trust regarding where the olives have been.)
- Onions
- Peppers
- [insert other vegetables you like to eat and want to sear in a searingly hot cast iron skillet]
- Herbs, such as oregano and other “Italian-ey” leaves
- Salt, Pepper, Garlic (the big three!)
- White wine of some variety, preferably about to go off because you forgot a half bottle at the beach that time and had to circle back the next day and remarkably it was still there)
First step, in the spirit of Édouard de Pomian, set a pot of water to boil on the stove. (This reference is specially dedicated to the finest of friends who will know exactly who he is and will know it will have been churlish not to include this essential reference!) The water will, eventually, hold the noodles that you have chosen. So, choose your vessel wisely….
(How much do you salt the water? … Are you kidding me? At this stage in our relationship, you know you can do what you choose; I do what I choose; if you don’t like it, get another cook book (website)!)
Next, while the water boils, begin chopping. Vegetables. Chop the vegetables that is. No fingers. No suey. Just vegetables. Here’s what mine looked like:
You see those zucchini / courgettes in the background? Those came straight from Wombat’s Garden, and if you don’t know what that is, then you’re one of three people from outside the family who is reading this recipe. Keep those in mind as we proceed.
(You see that knife in the foreground? That’s handmade in New Zealand from a recycled band saw blade with a sustainably-sourced American ash handle. It’s carbon steel. It’s the most no-bullshit piece of kit you’ll ever find and the sharpest object I’ve ever held. You should have one. I have two — the santoku knife as well. Food tastes better when chopped with a handmade Nuz knife. (I just wrote that line, and yes, I’m available for hire as a marketing director, content writer, script supervisor, improv comedian, short-order cook, raconteur, party animal, etc….))
Back to the story: Because I’m basically allergic to everything when it’s raw, I sear the living shit out of everything — when it’s raw — until it isn’t raw anymore. Enter the cast iron skillet.
(I recently cleaned out the ol’ Lodge skillet. Heresy you say? Fine. I don’t care. Drop a comment at the bottom if you’re fussed. The problem was all the build-up from two decades of refusing to clean the pan. There was so much shit that there was no longer a smooth surface in the pan, which defeats part of the purpose of the cast iron; you want a smooth and really fucking hot surface to make contact with the food. Why smooth? Well, think about it. If it’s not smooth, the amount of material touching the food is less than it could be; the smoother the better. (As in all things?)
(Since you asked, I cleaned it with oven cleaner. Yes yes, I know there are a thousand ways to restore cast iron. This is what I chose in this instance, largely because it’s quick and easy (like me!) and I didn’t have the patience or space to push for anything more elaborate with two kids jostling about a 80 square metre flat flexing their perpetually poor attitudes toward one another, toward me, toward eggs, toward melted cheese, toward pissing directly in the toilet rather than on the toilet (which I just can’t get my head around), toward (gasp!) noodle salad…. It’s non-stop catastrophe around here folks!)
Anyway, I seared those round green slices of garden-fresh joy like this:
What the fuck else is in that pan???
Well let me tell you. These were leftover from the pizza we did yesterday. I saved them, plus a couple shreds of roasted green pepper. Want to see the pizza? Yeah cool. Me too (maybe someday I’ll do a recipe):
I did those separately because I wanted to ensure that there was sufficient flat cast iron surface to make contact with the faces of the vegetable. That makes them delicious-er. The rest of the vegetables went in after I removed those bits (stored safely in a warm porcelain bowl). The whole scene looked like this:
(It occurs to me in this moment: these are pretty pictures, but inessential to the technique involved in making noodle salad. To put a fine point on it: we’re searing vegetables that we’ll toss with noodles any minute now. Why all these pictures. Yes. I’m loathe to admit it. I’m a food pornographer. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to all the food I’ve exploited to create these recipes. I’m sorry for reaping all the glory and all the honours, when really we should be celebrating the …. Yeah fuck that. I like sexy food pictures. So do you. Let’s proceed…..)
When you’re happy with the state of the vegetables, add some noodles. Remember those? I reckon somewhere in the middle of all this your timer went off and you strained them and tossed them lightly in oil. Yes? You did? Oh thank goodness!
While you’re tossing, ensure that you add some wine. That old weird wine that you were unsure about. Add that. It’ll contribute that je ne sais quoi, or as the Sicilians say: “what the fuck is that extra taste after I swallow?” (I worked for a few years at a Sicilian delicatessen, and I have yet to recreate the magic they created so effortlessly, despite insisting on using the exact same pan they used for almost literally everything that ran through the place. Anyway….)
Here’s how mine looked:
You’ll observe, no doubt, that I’ve added some seasonings. And oil. And everything else I promised. Then I sort of toss-stirred it around. To be honest, then I scraped it into a bowl and toss-stirred more noodles that were left and combined them as well into the big bowl of noodle goodness. Here’s how it looked in the end:
Different lighting? I dunno. This is a mobile phone camera. Do I look like a professional food photographer to you? Do I look like I have a budget and a production team? I have nothing my friend. Nothing but a rather sizeable stock pot of freshly-tossed noodle salad, which I shall bring to some casual barbecue or another, never revealing the deep Sicilian secret to this recipe.
I can’t say.
Nope.
It’s secret.
…
(OK. The secret is to never overdo the oil. Better that it’s a bit dry than greasy. And, add some butter if you’re into the salty goodness of melted churned milk fat. Doesn’t that sound appealing!) ((When in doubt, more salt.)) (((Too much salt? A dash of lemon juice will cure it.)))
***
Did you enjoy this recipe? Great.
That is all. Our exchange is over.
You can’t leave comments.
I don’t even care if you read the other recipes. Does this look like the monetised site of an influencer? Nope. I don’t think Clarke himself even knows this homage to his existence exists.
Please just enjoy some noodle salad.
