'Suitable for vegetarians'

Forget nut cutlets - Simon Hopkinson only leaves out the meat when vegetable dishes taste as good as these

If I am ever to find myself immersed once more within a commercial kitchen (although it would have to be very small indeed, maybe one table, at the most two) I will make no concessions whatsoever to those worthy, perfectly sensible, often very polite, usually prompt, nicely dressed - yet also occasionally prim, difficult, demanding, thoughtless and misdirected - folk who have chosen to take the vegetarian diet. A Brighton restaurateur (now retired) once, very astutely, put his view to me in regard to this matter: "I run a restaurant that is very much geared to meat with a little bit of fish and maybe some poultry from time to time. We are also very well known for our basket of crudités with hard-boiled eggs and lentil salad that begins our prix-fixe menu - but then we do those things simply because we like them. Yet still we find there is the occasional indignant guest who finds it quite absurd that a vegetarian option is not offered as standard in our establishment. How would the proprietors of Food for F

If I am ever to find myself immersed once more within a commercial kitchen (although it would have to be very small indeed, maybe one table, at the most two) I will make no concessions whatsoever to those worthy, perfectly sensible, often very polite, usually prompt, nicely dressed - yet also occasionally prim, difficult, demanding, thoughtless and misdirected - folk who have chosen to take the vegetarian diet. A Brighton restaurateur (now retired) once, very astutely, put his view to me in regard to this matter: "I run a restaurant that is very much geared to meat with a little bit of fish and maybe some poultry from time to time. We are also very well known for our basket of crudités with hard-boiled eggs and lentil salad that begins our prix-fixe menu - but then we do those things simply because we like them. Yet still we find there is the occasional indignant guest who finds it quite absurd that a vegetarian option is not offered as standard in our establishment. How would the proprietors of Food for Friends [a long-established Brighton vegetarian restaurant] behave towards me if I were to quietly suggest to them that they may like to cook me a deliciously rare and juicy fillet steak, having once perused the menu, and finding nothing that appealed to me from that which was offered?"

I understand this curious dilemma. Quite what is the difference between the following two scenarios? The proprietor of a non-vegetarian restaurant is faced with the question, "I'm vegetarian, what can you do for me?" and answers with, "Well, could we do you an omelette, perhaps?" to then be swiftly met by, "Is that all?" In a similar conversation, at a vegetarian restaurant, one member of a table requests, probably quite timidly, "I wonder whether it might just be possible to have a thin sliver of beef, lightly cooked in butter?" and is answered by, "Well, the nearest thing to that would be a nice nut cutlet," and then gives a meekly muttered response, "Oh, all right then ... " As if. More likely, the diner would be told, "Look, just leave, will you! How insulting! Are you mad?"

One would like to say, "Well, no I'm not mad, actually. I just happen to have been invited to your lovely restaurant by three vegetarian friends, and just wondered whether you might have had anything you could do for a meat-eater?" Can you, in your heart of hearts, truly argue with this vexing analogy? Of course this amusing little scene would never take place - just imagine the kerfuffle - but it bears thinking about when it comes to deciding one's restaurant of choice.

Anyway, the gist of what I have been saying is that were there to be a vegetable dish (which is quite, quite different to a vegetarian dish) upon the menu of a not-enough-room-to-swing-a-cat-in sized café of mine, it would be there simply because it was a good dish, and for no other reason than that. The Turkish dish known as Imam Bayeldi, which loosely translates as "The Sultan Fainted", is a case in point - the sultan either liked it so much he swooned with delight or ate so much of it that he keeled over.

Imam Bayeldi

Serves 4

There are various ways in which to approach the preparation of this sumptuous dish, but the one which asks you to make slits along the length of the vegetable, into which you are supposed to force the onion and tomato mixture, has always defeated me in practical terms. I like to use masses of onions and a wretched excess of chopped parsley in my interpretation, but choose to omit pine kernels, simply because I do not wish for unwanted textural intrusion to inhibit the silky-smooth mass that is the finished dish.

500-600g aubergines

salt and pepper

150-200ml olive oil

350-400g onions, peeled and very thinly sliced

4 large cloves garlic, peeled and chopped

250g ripe tomatoes, cored, peeled and roughly chopped, plus a few extra slices of tomato

4-5 heaped tbsp chopped parsley

200ml fine-quality tomato juice

5tbsp plain yoghurt mixed with 2tbsp chopped mint, to serve. (The brand called "Ciftlick", which I found in the Turkish shops of Stoke Newington, north London, is as excellent a strained yoghurt as I have tasted.)

Preheat the oven to 350°F/180°C/gas mark 4. Cut the aubergines in half lengthways, make a criss-cross of deep cuts into their flesh (taking care not to pierce the skin underneath), lay them out and sprinkle cut surfaces with only enough salt to generously season. Leave them like this for 10 minutes and then turn them over on to a wire rack (with a tray positioned underneath) and allow their dark brown juices to drip out for a further 30-40 minutes or so.

Squeeze out any excess with your hands, and dry the aubergines thoroughly with kitchen paper. Now heat about 3-4tbsp oil in a roomy, shallow pan (that may also be transferred to the oven) and fry the aubergines, cut side down, until golden. Flip them over and put the pan in the oven. Bake for 30 minutes or so until soft all the way through when pierced with a sharp knife. Remove and allow to cool.

While the aubergines are cooking, gently fry the onions and garlic in 4-5tbsp olive oil, until the palest gold but very soft indeed; this will take anything up to half an hour. Tip in the tomatoes, season and continue cooking until all is a soft and slightly sticky mass. Stir in the parsley. Scoop out most of the flesh from the aubergines, leaving a finger-width wall of skin and flesh. Chop this flesh and thoroughly mix with the tomato and onion mess. Check for seasoning and pile back into the aubergine shells, smoothing over the surface.

Cover each stuffed aubergine with a couple of slices of tomato, sprinkle with a little salt and pepper, and pour over any remaining olive oil. Pour the tomato juice around, slide the pan back into the oven and bake for a further 30 minutes, or until the tomato slices have burnished a little. Leave to cool to room temperature before eating; as they so do, baste occasionally with the tomato and olive oil sauce from beneath. Hand the yoghurt and mint at table.

Spiced courgette terrine

Serves 6

This is my interpretation of a first course eaten this summer in a hotel in Provence. It was so very good that I asked if I might have the recipe. Somehow it never materialised. Jason, the photographer - who was with me at the time - recently pronounced this version every bit as good as the original. It was only when I had bashed him around the head a bit with a wooden spoon that he eventually hollered, "OK, OK - better!" What a honey he is.

500g courgettes, coarsely grated

salt

2-3tbsp olive oil

1 onion, peeled and finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped

1 heaped tsp ground cumin

a healthy pinch of dried red chilli flakes

3 ripe tomatoes, cored, peeled and chopped to a mush

3 eggs

100ml double cream

1tbsp chopped mint

Preheat the oven to 325°F/170°C/gas mark 3. Coarsely grate the courgettes. Mix with enough salt just to season, put in a colander and leave to drain for 1 hour. Meanwhile, heat a little of the olive oil in a roomy frying pan (preferably non-stick) and gently cook the onion and garlic until soft. Add the cumin and chilli, stir around for a minute or two, then tip in the tomatoes. Cook briskly until all juices that have exuded from the tomatoes have been entirely driven off. Scrape out into a bowl and leave to cool.

Rinse pan and wipe it clean. Squeeze the grated courgettes dry in a tea towel till no more excess juice drips out. Heat a little more olive oil and fry the courgettes for 5-10 minutes with some freshly ground white pepper. Do not allow to colour. Add to the tomato mixture and mix together. Combine the eggs, cream and mint, but do not whisk too much - if the custard is too light and airy, it will only sink back after cooking and cooling. Stir into the courgette mixture and check seasoning (be generous).

Pour the mixture into a small, buttered loaf tin (again, preferably non-stick; mine has a capacity of 750ml and is the perfect size), its base lined with a sheet of greaseproof paper. Put into a roasting tin filled with water, to come at least ³/4 of the way up the sides of the loaf tin. Cover with foil and cook for about 1-1 ¹/4 hours. Check from time to time; the terrine is ready when it feels firm to the touch and a bit bouncy. Remove from the water and leave to cool for 20 minutes before carefully turning out. Slice carefully and serve warm or at room temperature.

Warm salad of tomato, potato, basil and smoked anchovies

Serves 2

I have deconstructed this simple and robust salad from a favourite soup of mine involving the same ingredients (bar the anchovies) and have found the results very pleasing indeed. The addition of smoked anchovy upon the potato recalls the great French brasserie staple filet d'hareng pommes à l'huile. And hey, you know, it is these tiny little switcheroos and modifications that forever endear me to the simple joy of cookery - just so long as exceptional good taste is to the fore at all times, naturally.

So the humble smoked anchovy is the impostor among these leguminous offerings. But what an anchovy! It has been a long time since, without leaving the country, I have discovered an ingredient quite as good as this. Soft, lightly smoked, plump and already marinated in oil (those harengs of which I earlier spoke must be marinated in oil for at least a week to soften them up), they are truly a revelation.

I first discovered small tins of these (Anchoa Ahumada con humo natural) at the new Fish Shop at Kensington Place, in London, an annex to the legendary restaurant of the same name. I am thrilled over this recent addition to my local shopping facilities on two counts. First, it only sells fish (among many other goodies) that the particularly picky chef Rowley Leigh sees fit to offer in his restaurant - it seems, in fact, that most of the kitchen's fish can be seen being prepared while you shop, which is lovely.

Second, and not before time, there is now some genuine competition for the rather tired complacency of those who both operate and serve fish at Chalmers and Grey, the long-established monger just around the corner. It will be a positive thing indeed if this enterprising operation heralded competition of the finest sort: "Roll up, roll up! Fresh fish for all!"

2 medium-sized firm and waxy potatoes, washed

2 ripe tomatoes, cored and halved horizontally

olive oil

salt and pepper

a small handful of basil leaves

half a clove garlic, crushed to a paste

1dsp red wine vinegar

4 Spanish smoked anchovies (optional, but optional only for the most hardened vegetarians)

Steam the potatoes until tender, then peel. Keep warm. Season the tomatoes and then gently bake or grill them with a little olive oil until really soft. Cool to room temperature. Purée together the basil, garlic and vinegar with some seasoning, and then incorporate olive oil to taste as for a vinaigrette (you can add some of the olive oil juices from the cooked tomatoes too, but the dressing should remain quite sharp). Slice the warm potatoes on to two plates and arrange the tomatoes alongside - skin-side up, for preference. Spoon the basil dressing over and around, and criss-cross the anchovies atop the potatoes. Note: the addition of very thinly sliced onion can add further piquancy to the dish.