When you’re going to the pub, and the evening will be rounded off with a stop at Harry the Greek’s fish and chip emporium on the way home, the wise man lays in a stock of soft, squidgy, tasteless, factory-made white bread for the purpose of constructing chip butties. I yield to no person in my admiration for artisan pain de campagne and hand-knitted olive oil, but in the matter of the chip buttie they are as much use as a chocolate teapot.
So it was that I visited my corner shop (prop. Honest Ahmed — “OK boss, my fresh limes cost, but where else you get them at 2am innit?”) and, having prodded the produce to test for the requisite softness and squidginess, opted for a Kingsmill “Fresh From The Bakery” Square White (Thick).
And fine chip butties it made too. But it was the wrapper that brought me up short. It features a large photograph, or possibly an artist’s impression, of what is unmistakably a cheese and tomato sandwich, bearing the legend, in bold black type: Serving Suggestion. I was lost for words, and that’s not good in this line of work. OK, the “serving suggestion” caption I can understand. We live in an increasingly litigious society. Without that disclaimer, before you know it Trading Standards have consulted m’learned friend and Messrs Kingsmill are up before the beak for flogging packets of what appear to be cheese and tomato sandwiches but turn out to contain only sliced bread.
But what the hell is the sandwich doing on the wrapper in the first place? I can’t get this domestic scene out of my head:
— Darling, I’ve found this marvellous new thing in the supermarket, we must try it. It’s called bread.
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— Really? What’s in it?
Well, some pretty exotic ingredients. Flour, water, yeast, salt...
— Good God, whatever will they think of next? Are you sure you know what to do with it?
— Haven’t a clue, darling. But look, there’s a serving suggestion on the wrapper. We could try a “Cheese and Tomato Sandwich”.
— I say, steady on. Let’s not get too ambitious. Why don’t we leave that till the weekend, when we have more time?
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Put your feet up and I’ll do us a quick crunchy penne arrabiata...
For the breadcrumbs you may use a day-old Kingsmill “Fresh From The Bakery” Square White (Thick). If so, be sure to omit the cheese and tomato.
Crunchy penne arrabiata
Serves 4
Prep 5min
Cook 45min
400g dried penne
1tbsp olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 x 375g tins Italian plum tomatoes
1tbsp tomato purée
Grated zest of a lemon
1tsp dried chilli flakes
2tsp caster sugar
2tbsp breadcrumbs
1tbsp grated parmesan
50g butter
Chopped parsley
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METHOD
Cook the pasta according to the packet instructions, but subtract 2min from the cooking time. Heat the oil and sauté the onion till translucent. Add the garlic and cook gently for another 2min. Add the purée and tomatoes and simmer for 30min. Stir in the zest, sugar and chilli and simmer for another 5min. Drain the pasta and tip it into the sauce, shaking till it’s coated, then transfer to a baking dish. Sprinkle over the mixed breadcrumbs and parmesan, dot with little knobs of butter and bung the dish under a hot grill till it’s golden brown and bubbling. Serve sprinkled with chopped parsley.