Last week I hopped across to my parent’s house to cook for my not-so-culinary-skilled father, mum was banished to the spare room to battle the dreaded mid-season flu and warned not to surface until she was given the all clear. So I did my offspring duty and fed my father.
Dinner has always been important in our family. It’s a time when we all sit together and catch-up on eachothers days, debate the news and, occasionally, get mutually hooked on a BBC drama. And it’s still the same now. Tall Hungry One and I go across once-twice a week, and since he and Furry Hungry One have left for Suffolk I’m keeping the tradition alive.
For a Tuesday evening feast I opted to keep things somewhat classic, Dad isn’t a huge fan of “that Greenwich fare” I tend to offer up, a thinly veiled dig at the many food trends I tried during my time in London/still try after reading articles professing the new ingredient the “one we’ve all been waiting for”.
Carbonara is quite possibly the ultimate in comfort food. It’s pasta, it’s quick and it’s bacon. Tick, tick, tick. To bulk it up a little I added chicken and seasonal asparagus. But hear this, NO cream. Zero, nadda, nought, none, non, nein. Just good old eggs yolks and Parmesan.
Oh, but there was no spaghetti so it’s a pasta bow carbonara, I like to shake things up sometimes.
I cooked the slices bacon, then removed from the pan leaving all the tasty oil. Threw in the chicken until it was cooked, added the asparagus and returned the bacon.
Meanwhile, the pasta was cooking. As soon everything was cooked, the pasta was plonked into the pan with the chicken, bacon and asparagus, followed by two whisked egg yolks, some chopped parsley, Parmesan and a dash of pasta water.
And that, was that.