Simon
Embarrass and hot-bubble your baby parsnips for no more than 9 minutes.
Savage them into quarters and, while they're still warm, splash-drop
a top-tablespoon of vinaigrette. There are some incredibly overpriced
vinegars on the market. Any of them will do.
Place
your parsnips in an auction-bought dish. Arrange them centrifugally
like the spokes of a wheel in a Brueghel painting. (Brueghel the
Elder, of course.) Twirl a smattering of leaves from still-beating
lettuce hearts. Shower the epicentre with French still mineral watercress.
Let almonds fall where'er they may, at five centimetre interludes.
Regard
your Parsnip and Watercress Salad with amusement. It's just like
the pugliese, isn't it? Or that floppy Tuscan mane. It's all too
precise and perfect. So, just imagine you're muzzing that young
man's mane. Plunge both hands in and fiddle with your fingers. Turn
it from immaculate to untidy. It may feel wrong, but it's
right. It's natural, it's what happens, he really can't complain.
He may tell you you've made him feel 'like something leftover on
the side of the plate.' Explain that a leftover is something wonderful.
One doesn't want a five-course meal all the time.
Simon
