What follows is three good things to do with last year's old potatoes while waiting impatiently for the arrival of this year's juicy young crop. Meanwhile, the elder is just coming into bloom in my local gathering ground in one of west London’s parks - no time to lose (see below for the simplest possible here’s-how).
Belgian frites speziale
Oven-bake your chips as above (or deep-fry at least twice). Meanwhile, prepare a dipping-dish of tomato ketchup, another of mayonnaise (ready-made - your own won't be sticky enough) and another of chopped onion. Dip the hot chips into each bowl in the order given. Happiness. Should you happen to spot a van advertising "Frites speziale" in a layby on a motorway while driving between, say Brussels and Bruges (or anywhere else, for that matter), don't hesitate to pull in and join the queue.
Patatas bravas
Chips prepared as above, but cubed rather than cut into fingers. Literally translated, papas bravas (shortened for ease of communication) means potatoes as fiery as a fighting bull. At its simplest, this can mean a dusting of hot pimenton and a pinch of salt, but better still is a dipping sauce of fresh or canned tomatoes (skinned and diced) cooked down in olive oil with garlic and chilli till sludgy enough to stick to the chips. Also possible is an additional dip of aioli (garlicky mayo, but for authenticity, an emulsion of pounded garlic and olive oil, no egg).
Chips with curry sauce
Fry a handful of finely-chopped onion in a tablespoon of oil or butter with a teaspoon of grated ginger and another of de-seeded finely-chopped chilli (or a pinch of chilli powder), sprinkle with a little salt and continue to fry till the onion is soft and golden. Add a handful of raisins or diced dried apricots or a spoonful of chutney, and reheat. Stir in a heaped tablespoon of curry powder and another of plain flour, let it feel the heat, then add a tumblerful of chicken or veg stock and splash of vinegar. Bubble up till thick enough to stick to the chips. Taste and season - more salt? Extra chilli? A squeeze of lemon?
Elderflower cordial
Baskets at the ready, folks - and only pick as many of the flower-heads as you need. Some forty Sambucus species - hardy and prolific, they pop up everywhere they can find a toe-hold - are distributed throughout the temperate and sub-tropical regions of North America as well as Europe and Asia.
The blossoms - big flat disks of tiny, fragrant, creamy white or pinkish flowers held on short stalks in bunches - appear in late spring and early summer. All varieties (including the dark purplish ones which tint the cordial a delicate pink) are suitable for preparing in infusion as the basis for elderflower cordial. The flowerheads turn downwards as the seed-heads develop into shiny clusters of deep purple berries that are prepared as a syrup (be warned - it's laxative).
A dozen - maybe fifteen if small - flower-heads are enough to perfume a litre of boiling water. No need to de-stalk, just rinse in a bowl of cold water and any unwelcome residents will float to the top. Shake the blossoms to dry and pack back into the bowl. Pour in enough boiling water to cover. Leave to infuse and cool overnight. Next day, strain through a sieve lined with a clean cloth into a roomy saucepan. Add 1k sugar for each litre of infusion, heat to boiling point, stirring to dissolve the sugar crystals, add the juice of 2-3 lemons or 50g citric acid per litre (available in chemists, as long as they don’t think you’re a bomb-maker), bottle up, seal, and store in the fridge (citric acid lasts longer than fresh lemon-juice).
Dilute the cordial with plain or fizzy water and serve well-iced, maybe with a slice of lemon and/or a sprig of mint. Even more delicious on a summer evening undiluted over ice with a slug of gin, accompanied by bowlful of oven chips - what else?
Your artwork is as delicious as your recipes!
I had a delicious drink in Croatia called a Hugo. Elderflower syrup, prosecco, mint leaves, fizzy water. Light and wonderful.