Champ with Chives and Garlic

I always watch MasterChef from the comfort of my own squashy couch, safe from the scrutiny of scary judges or ogling cameras, and yet I can’t help feeling a moment of slight panic whenever I consider what I’d make with a particular ingredient. It’s difficult to imagine how nerve-racking it must feel to be an actual contestant, to have to make a choice within minutes, and then to have to cook the dish in a ridiculously short period of time.

[This is the second in a series of recipes I've developed for Woolworths' revamped cookery-inspiration platform The Pantry, which has just been launched to tie in with their food sponsorship of the much-anticipated first series of MasterChef South Africa.]

I felt the same sense of mild alarm when presented with this week’s Woolies Pantry ingredient: potatoes. My first impulse was to come up with a complex dish that would wow the judges of an imaginary tasting panel with its cheeky flavour combinations. This is certainly the path I would have taken when I was an inexperienced cook and eager to impress my friends and family with what I thought was clever, edgy cooking. But then I sat back on my heels, metaphorically speaking, and considered the potato.  Potatoes, to my mind, are the ultimate comfort food.  They are dearly beloved by millions of people the world over, and mostly in their simplest forms: baked, mashed, fried and slow-cooked to fall-aparty goodness in stews, soups and curries. After some thought, I decided that if my imaginary judges really appreciated good ingredients, they’d surely like potatoes plainly presented in all their humble glory. So here, I give you potatoes in the honest form I love the most, and one that has been my favourite comfort food since I was a small girl: smoothly mashed with a scandalous amount of butter and cream, piping hot, and topped with a cold block of salty butter.

This is my version of the classic Irish dish champ (similar to colcannon, but with some refinement), which I’ve given a kick in the pants with garlic and chives.This recipe epitomises how I feel about good, fresh ingredients: do as little at you can to them, and let their essential character sparkle on the plate. Or in the bowl, in this case.

Champ with Chives and Garlic 
6 large floury potatoes
water to cover
a bunch of spring onions [scallions]
200 g salted butter
2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely minced
2/3 cup (160 ml) cream
a little hot milk
salt and white pepper
4 T (60 ml) finely snipped French chives
a few extra cubes of cold butter, for topping

Cut the potatoes in half crossways and cook them, in their skins, in plenty of boiling salted water for 25-30 minutes, or until very tender, but not yet falling apart. In the meantime, finely slice the white and pale green parts of the spring onions. Heat the butter in a frying pan, add the spring onions and cook very gently, over a medium-low heat, for 3-4 minutes, or until the onions are just soft. Stir in the garlic and cook for another minute or so, without letting the garlic or onions brown.

Drain the potatoes in a colander and leave them to dry out for 3 minutes. Put the potatoes back into the still-hot pot and set over a low heat. Now, using a potato ricer (see Cook’s Notes) or masher, mash them with the cream until very smooth. Add the buttery spring onion mixture and just enough hot milk to form a creamy, fluffy mash.  Season with plenty of salt and a few pinches of white pepper.  Pile the hot mash into a serving dish (or into individual bowls) and scatter over the chopped chives.  Make a few indentations in the mash, add a cube of butter to each, and take to the table piping hot.

Serves 4 as a main dish, 6 as a side serving.

Cook's Notes

• You can get away with preparing a dish of such simplicity as a main course, but it needs to be perfect: absolutely smooth mash, not a speck of burned onion or garlic, and brought to the table fresh and hot.
• The secret to very creamy, fluffy mash is to use the right sort of potato (buy spuds that are specifically labelled as good for mashing) and to use a potato ricer. These are affordable (look for them in kitchen shops) and they remove every little lurking lump from the mash. Alternatively, you can use an old-fashioned mouli, or push the mash (before you add the onions) through a metal sieve, using the back of a spoon.
• Don’t overheat the mash in the pan, or beat it too furiously, or put it in a blender or food processor, as it might become gluey.
• The amount of milk you add to the potatoes will depend on their age and variety. Add the milk a little at a time, until you are satisfied with the consistency of the mash.

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Rumbledethumps: hot mash, cabbage, leeks and cheese

I have always found hot mashed potato to be a superior cure for glumness, grouchiness and assorted aches of body and mind. Not any old gluey mash, mind you, but a fluffy, creamy pile of mashed fresh spuds, heaped in a volcano formation around a molten core of salty butter.

If I were on death row, perhaps for throttling an estate agent, or pushing a politician's face into the whirring blade of a food processor, I would not hesitate to choose mashed potato, pork bangers, peas and sticky onion gravy as my last meal. And if no pork sausages or peas were available, I would take the mash, straight up.

I don't often have the energy to peel a pile of spuds for real mash (my kids, annoyingly, seem to prefer crispy, healthy potato wedges) but I do find my thoughts turning to mashed potato when I am exhausted, hungry or fed up.

I'm also quite nuts about all the wonderful British traditional hashes of mashed potato. These dishes spring, in the main, from the thrifty use of leftover roast dinners, and although they have subtle regional differences, they draw from a common pool of ingredients: spuds, cabbage, onion, leeks, butter, chives, turnips, and, of course, butter. Ireland has colcannon and champ, England has bubble and squeak, and Scotland leads with three potato-based hashes: clapshot, stovies and rumbledethumps.

Rumbledethumps is, as far as I can ascertain, the only one of these flavoured hashes that is commonly (although not always) tipped into a dish, topped with cheese, and set in the oven to bake. It's a dish from the Scottish Borders, and usually features mashed potato, cabbage and onion, although I've found variations that include turnip. The delightful name of this dish (pronounced rumble-dee-thumps) is said to come from the bumpy burbling sound that the mixture makes as you turn it over in a hot pan. In my opinion, the name is more likely to be derived from gaseous, cabbagy pressure-leaks that make duvets float ceilingwards at night.

My version of rumbledethumps includes leeks, and I made it, rather prissily, in individual ramekins. Feel free to thump the whole mass into a big dish, and slap it in the centre of the table.

This dish can be made many hours - or even a day - in advance, and popped into the oven half an hour before serving.

Rumbledethumps

8 large, floury potatoes, peeled
enough boiling water to cover the potatoes
2 tsp (10 ml) salt
4 leeks, white parts only, peeled and finely sliced
half a medium cabbage, core removed and finely shredded
3 T (45 ml) butter
1 T (15 ml) vegetable oil
about 1/2 cup (125 ml) milk or cream (or a little more, see recipe)
a little extra butter
2/3 cup grated sharp Cheddar
2/3 cup finely grated Parmesan, Grana Padano or Pecorino cheese
a little nutmeg [optional]

Pre-heat the oven to 200°C.

Cut the peeled potatoes into quarters. Put them in a large, deep pan and add enough water just to cover them. Add the salt, place on the heat and bring rapidly to the boil. Boil for 20-30 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender, and fall apart, when poked with a sharp knife.

While the potatoes are boiling, prepare the leeks and cabbage. Heat a pan, add the butter and oil, and stir-fry the sliced leeks for a few minutes until they soften (but do not allow them to brown). Now add all the cabbage, toss well so that every shred is coated with fat, cover and allow to steam gently for 3-4 minutes, or until the cabbage has wilted. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside, leaving the lid on.

Drain the potatoes in a colander. Leave the hot plate on. Allow the spuds to drain and dry out for a minute or so. Return the spuds to their cooking pan and place over the heat. Add the milk and another generous knob of butter, wait for a moment for the milk and butter to bubble, and, using a potato masher, bash and mash the spuds to a smooth, fluffy consistency, adding more milk if necessary.

Now tip the leeks and cabbage into the mashed potatoes, and stir well to combine. Remove from the heat and tip in half the grated Cheddar and Parmesan. Stir again, and season with salt and pepper. Tip the mixture into a big, greased baking dish (or individual ramekins) and smooth the surface, using the side of a knife. Grate a little nutmeg - just a whisper - over the surface. Sprinkle with the remaining Cheddar and Parmesan, and place in the oven for 10 to 15 minutes, or until the cheese topping is bubbling and golden.

Serves 8, as a side dish, or 4, as a main course. Print Friendly

Mashed Madumbis with Spring Onions, Butter and Cream

This is a version of champ - that dreamy Irish dish of potatoes, spring onions, butter and cream - but it's made with madumbis (also known here in South Africa as amadumbe).

A madumbi is a type of yam (Colocasia esculenta, or taro), with a rich earthy flavour and a starchy flesh. In South Africa, you might be able to find organic madumbis in Woolworths food stores, or perhaps at your local greengrocer's, where I bought mine.

I'm ambivalent about madumbis, but, then again, I don't have a taste for any vegetable with a starchy, slightly sweet flesh. I can do without yams (sweet potatoes, they're called here) and pumpkin entirely, and only barely tolerate butternut squash. But, in the interests of broadening my family's palate, I thought we might try mashed madumbis, champ style. They like the dish - "but we can't eat a lot of it, mom."

Madumbis tend to discolour as they are boiled, so add a thin slice of lemon, and plenty of salt, to the boiling water. Don't over-mash them, or they will become a bit glutinous.

If you can't get madumbis, try this decadent and delicious dish with ordinary potatoes. This recipe contains a scandalous amount of butter.

Mashed Madumbis with Spring Onions, Butter and Cream

6 madumbis
200 g salted butter
a small bunch of spring onions, white and pale green parts only, finely sliced
2 cloves of fresh garlic, peeled and crushed
1 cup (250 ml) cream
milk to thin the mixture
salt and milled black pepper

To serve:
a few cubes of cold butter, and sliced spring onion

Bring a big pot of salted water to the boil, and add a thin slice of lemon. Peel the madumbis and cut them into small chunks. Put the chunks in the boiling water as you go. Boil until completely tender (about 40 minutes, depending on the age of your madumbis) skimming off any grey foam as it rises. Drain the chunks in a colander and set aside for a few minutes to cool and dry out. In the meantime, heat the butter in a deep pot and add the slice spring onions and the garlic. Allow to cook, very gently, for a few minutes, or until the onions are softened, but do not allow to brown. Tip the cooked madumbis into buttery spring onions and, using a potato masher, mash over a medium heat until smooth. (If you need a perfectly smooth mash, put madumbis through a potato ricer first). Add all the cream, and enough milk to make a smooth, creamy mixture. Don't over-beat the mixture, or it will become sticky. Season well with salt and pepper.

Pile the piping-hot mash onto a big platter - or onto individual plates - in a big, conical, volcano-like mound. Make a hollow in the top of the mound and fill it with a few cubes of cold butter. Scatter with a little more sliced spring onion.

Good with steak, boerewors and chicken.

Serves 6 as a side dish. Print Friendly