You'd be forgiven for thinking that it's all freshly-pulled veg and jolly trips to the market for this kitchen, but seriously, it ain't. Some nights it's late, we're busy, and the only option left is the supermarket, which sounds better (and funnier) if you call it the supermarché, the way the French would, but with an Australian drawl to make it sound more like souper-maarshay, which instantly makes me feel happier about stepping over the threshold of any brightly-lit temple to shopping.
Kathryn and I, as you probably know by now, value Honesty in food pretty damn highly, and there's been a few instances of late when I've found myself reaching for cherry tomatoes and bunches of coriander at the supermarket without thinking. And honestly? Some of those dinners have been great. Grreat with a rolling double 'r'. We've both taken a break from An Honest Kitchen duties over the last couple of months, but we're still thinking, doing, talking and dreaming about where to from here. Watch this space; there's more AHK to come.
My point is that, honestly, sometimes the supermarket is where dinner comes from, and there's nothing wrong with that. The clever shopper (read desperate-to-get-outta-there shopper) can do a quick whip 'round, avoiding the lure of the junk food aisles and dodging all the marketing spin, and still manage to come out on top. This salad's pretty much the bees knees as far as supermarket-friendly meals go. It's something I fall back on often during the warmer months.
Roasting supermarket cherry tomatoes makes them taste so, much, better; their previously-hidden sugars concentrate in the heat of the oven, especially if helped along by adding a sprinkle of soft brown sugar, a dribble of olive oil, some salt and pepper. The world doesn't need another recipe for roasted tomatoes, so I reckon you can wing that bit on your own, but Shula's recipe is tops.
Feeds 2-4, depending on what you serve it with. I like this with a couple of slices of pan-fried haloumi or tofu. Truth be told, I don't mind which. Around here, we like to chase the dressing around the bowl at the end with a bit of crusty bread because, as Nadine Abensur says, sparks fly when paprika - sweet or smoked - meets cumin. Adapted from Enjoy. (p.s. the spice quantities aren't a mistake.)
1 small clove of garlic
1 tablespoon of sweet paprika
1 tablespoon of ground cumin
Extra virgin olive oil, something you like
2 x 400g (15oz) tins of chickpeas
1 large bunch of coriander
1 large bunch of parsley
Cherry tomatoes, halved (roasted with sugar, pepper, salt & oil if you've time)
Peel and finely chop the garlic. Pay attention here; noticable chunks of garlic will not make you popular. In the base of a roomy bowl, mix the garlic, spices and the juice of 1 of the lemons. Pour in roughly 3 times as much olive oil as there is lemon juice; the oil is heavy handed here, but trust me. It works. Add a teaspoon of tamari, a little more to taste, then whisk with a fork. Drain the chickpeas and toss them in next, turning over and over, letting them luxuriate in the dressing. Leave for at least 20 minutes, as long as all day if you can.
Chop the coriander and parsley - stalks, too - and add just before serving, adding more lemon juice and tamari to taste. The flavours should be bright and sparkling, with rich, spicy Moroccan undertones. Pop the cherry tomatoes in and serve.