I feel rather bad about the girl who came for supper yesterday and who, having eaten a large plate of it asked me what the secret to my potato gratin was. Rather sheepishly I told her that in fact it didn't contain a single potato so the secret was basically turnip. And nutmeg. And masses of proper cream. Salt and black pepper. And that's it.
It cooks more quickly than its older potato-based brother. And it's definitely lighter, whilst still providing that cream-laden, "this must be bad for me" high that you get from a really good gratin. In an ideal world I think it's better cooked on a low temperature for an hour or so, to stop the cream burning and drying out.
Yesterday's version was made to accompany rare roast beef with salsa verde (of which more later) and asparagus. There were lashings of burgundy and a chocolate and orange cake for pudding. We were trying to feel summery but as it's still only ten degrees in Paris, we lit a fire.
Kate, Paris, May 18th
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