Passport & Plate - Pastizzi tal Pizelli
Malta | Friday, March 6, 2015 | 1 photos
Ingredients
175grams dried split peas
1 large onion
4 teaspoons curry powder
Generous pinch of chilli flakes
1 vegetable stock cube
Splash olive oil
Knob of salted butter
1 egg/tablespoon almond milk
Packet of puff pastry (sorry!)
How to prepare this recipePrep: Soak the peas in a bowl of water overnight – they don’t soak up too much water, but make sure you’ve covered them generously. Preheat the oven to 180.
Step 1: Dice your onions thinly and soften them with a splash of olive oil. You can add diced carrots or leeks if that takes your fancy. It’s important to get your veg chopped into small cubes rather than big chunks.
Step 2: Add in your seasoning. The pea filling is usually flavoured with curry powder, but I always add a healthy dose of chilli flakes too. Add pepper too, but you might want to hold off of the salt (see step 4…).
Step 3: Drain the peas and plonk them in with your beautifully seasoned onions. Add the stock cube and some boiling water. Cover the peas by about an inch. Turn the heat up and give it a quick blast for a minute or so.
Step 4: Turn the heat down and let it simmer. This is where the waiting game gets tough, especially when the smell of curried peas is wafting around your house. Leave the mix for at least an hour. I usually stir in a generous knob of butter at this point (I don’t add salt when seasoning for this exact reason). For a vegan version you can skip the butter completely. You need the mix to thicken up – almost like a mincemeat texture. The longer you can leave it, the better. Once you’ve got a good consistency leave the mix to cool down.
Step 5: When your peas are cool you can get your pastry ready. I cheat at this bit and get shop-made puff (don’t judge me!) but you can make your own. Use a large mug or bowl to cut out circles. Put two heaped tablespoons of curried-pea-goodness into the middle of the pastry and bring the edges up. Pinch along the sides to seal the package up. If you’re feeling adventurous you can make a nice pattern with your pinches at this point. Brush with egg or almond milk (for all you pasty loving vegans) and pop in the oven for 20 minutes, or until they look golden.
You can have them hot, cold or dipped in gravy (don’t ask…).
The story behind this recipeI’m a rude chef. I would never normally admit it, but it’s true. The air around me turns blue as soon as I crack out the rolling pin and dust flour on the surface. It’s not that I’m prone to swearing in my everyday life (unless Arsenal are having a particularly bad game), it’s just that when I cook I feel this pressure to make things right. To make things perfect. And that pressure is quadrupled when I make pastizzi.
My granddad was Maltese and my Mum grew up there as a kid. She filled our heads with stories of jumping into the sea and tucking her lunch of Hobs bi Zejt (bread and oil with fish and tomatos) under a rock to keep cool. Or drinking Kinnie (which tastes vile!) by the gallon. And pastizzi; 'I've never found anywhere that can make them just right over here.'
I used to wonder what all the fuss was about. I remember jumping on the bus from the airport to my Granddad's old house and the bus driver pulling up alongside a battered hut to pick up a couple of fresh, warm ‘cakes’. The smell took over the bus and I made sure to grab some as soon as we arrived in town. It was like nothing I’d ever had. It is comfort, it is indulgence and it is tradition – all wrapped up in a perfectly light and beautifully twisted shell.
As I stand in my kitchen in Wood Green swearing at the pastry for threatening to crumble, or the curried peas for having too much zing, I know that I’m not actually angry at the ingredients piled up on the surfaces. Or the fact that my housemates will inevitably sneak in and pinch the best looking pastries from the pile. I’m angry that I never got the chance to make them for my Granddad.
