Winter layers

In Karen Dudley’s house, winter means cosy dinners starring seasonal vegetables given much the same treatment as her cold-weather wardrobe

F“The vegetables steam quietly under the cabbage, becoming soft and confited, the way we do under our duvets”

or all the summer joys of sand between toes and balmy evenings, the delights of sea swims, sunkissed skin and gardens bursting with blooms, winter is my favourite season.

It gives us permission to be lazy.

The weather is inclement. Let’s stay home, build a fire and play a game (my family’s current favourite is Codenames). Winter gives us time to cook. It’s also a great excuse to cuddle. We yield to simplicity, to the season of restoration and withdrawal.

But my true confession is this: in winter I get to express myself as I layer up my wardrobe. Oh, let the cold come! There’s that rare window in a Cape winter when we pretend to be Europeans, wrapping a cashmere scarf around our necks, bundling up in mohair and wool and striding out, booted or brogued onto an (almost) icy street. Dressing this way is joyful self-expression. Coloured tights, hats, mittens. A colour-block party!

In winter, vegetables get to shine in their simplest state. I think of the unctuousness of cauliflower soup, of mash and of creamed onions. And yes, this is the time of year we make room for cream and butter and scorn all thoughts of summer bodies. We want comfort. We want potatoes (actually we want those any time of year).

My family has three layered vegetable favourites that I routinely make all winter long. One I can only describe as “vegetables under a blanket of cabbage”. My team at The Kitchen used to make this for the staff meal and it goes like this. Layer, in this order: a chopped onion (if you have a leek or a few sticks of celery, good for you), a chopped carrot or two, chopped potatoes, a sprinkle of salt and white pepper or a little vegetable stock, then cover with a good thick blanket of shredded cabbage. Pour over some glugs of olive oil (a good ½– ¾ cup) and leave to cook, covered, over a low heat, for 30 minutes. Any dressing up can be done as you dish this over rice or beans or creamy polenta. We bring out the relishes (there is a tussle for space in my fridge), a little vinegar, or a good chutney. No one would complain if you added a herb of your choice or even some cheese. Somehow, the vegetables steam quietly under their blanket of cabbage and become soft and a little confited, the way we do under our duvets.

Our second winter favourite is really all about looks – a chunky vegetable broth poured over toasted country bread rubbed with garlic (away with vampires and colds!) in oversized French soup bowls. The clear broth is layered with vegetables – leeks, soup celery, carrot, turnip and some white beans and sometimes even salsiccia or ham – then topped with a pistou (a French pesto) and a drizzle of olive oil.

The third favourite goes by the tenet that any vegetable served on top of a roast potato is a legitimate supper. My shameless trick is to microwave a good number of whole potatoes. I squash the cooked potatoes beneath a baking tray, then brush them liberally with oil and roast them until golden and crispy. I roast other assorted vegetables I find in the cupboard or fridge alongside the potatoes. Wedges of cauliflower, broccoli or cabbage go into the oven, perhaps with a few frazzled Brussels sprouts and radishes. To serve, I drizzle over one of my favourite sauces (Green goddess? Caesar mayo? Sambal BBQ?). I might even shred some spinach for a topping or do a flavoured crunchy breadcrumb gratin-style or a large pile of herb salad. Layer, layer, layer.

Thus fortified and grateful, we snuggle down on the couch and put another log on the fire.