Rachel Roddy's recipe for mushrooms stuffed with anchovies, breadcrumbs and herbs
Among the endless brilliant advice in Jane Grigson's The Mushroom Feast is a note about size that is really helpful. It is in relation to the cultivated mushrooms readily available in greengrocers and supermarkets, the controlled development of which she reveals to be as every bit as fascinating as the mysterious appearance of wild ones. Grigson reminds us that small button mushrooms are exactly that: small and immature. And, having just formed, they haven't had the chance to develop flavour, which is why it's advisable to buy medium-sized mushrooms or, even better, large, open or flat mushrooms that have been given the time to develop real flavour. 'Left undisturbed in mushroom caves,' Grigson notes, 'cultivated mushrooms can swell to a pound in weight and develop a flavour equal to field mushrooms.'
While out mushroom hunting in the velvet cool of my local supermarket the other day, I was delighted to come across not just one, but several packets of open-faced mushrooms with white caps and delicate brown gills. I might be a novice, but I do know to move slowly and quietly when mushrooms appear, so as not to draw attention, or to give away the spot to other mushroom hunters. Keeping my eyes low, I picked the packets off the shelf, put them in my basket, paid and walked home, making sure to disturb as few leaves as possible. I suspect a neighbour might have been watching me.
Another point Grigson makes is how helpful it is to recognise the role shallots and garlic stewed in butter play in bringing out the flavour of cultivated mushrooms, making them taste like mushrooms, and the kitchen smell good. The Mushroom Feast has also provided this week's recipe for funghi ripieni (stuffed mushrooms), which is adapted from Ada Boni's bible of Italian cookery, Il Talismano della Felicità. Like so many stuffed mushroom recipes, it utilises the finely diced stalks in the stuffing, along with onion, garlic, butter, a few minced anchovies, plenty of parsley, soft breadcrumbs and egg, which is vital for binding and also makes the stuffing slightly puffy. If you are lucky enough to find 12 fat-stemmed and bulbous ceps under a tree, they are ideal here; otherwise, eight large or 12 medium flat mushrooms will work almost as well.
While stuffed mushrooms can be eaten at room temperature – or cold, even – they are best when served piping hot, or at least warm enough that the filling is still tender and the mushroom caps velvety and glistening with melted butter. They can be served as an accompaniment to meat or fish, but they are also chief characters that make a satisfying meal with salad alongside – my choice would be the soft middle leaves of a butterhead lettuce dressed with olive oil, red-wine vinegar and mustard. Alternatively, and based on Grigson's observation of how surprisingly compatible mushroom and cucumber are, you could pair the hot stuffed mushrooms with a cold cucumber, dill and soured cream salad.
Serves 4
12 medium-sized or 8 large flat mushroomsA knob of butter, plus extra for greasing and dotting
3 tbsp olive oil2 shallots or 1 small onion, peeled and finely diced1 garlic clove, peeled and minced4 anchovy fillets in oil, drained and minced1 heaped tbsp minced parsley50g soft white breadcrumbs1 egg, lightly beaten1 tbsp fine, dry breadcrumbs
Remove the mushroom stalks and chop them very finely; set the caps aside. In a frying pan, melt the butter and olive oil, then gently stew the shallot/onion and garlic until translucent. Add the mushroom stalks and cook, stirring, for about five minutes. Season then add the anchovies and parsley, cook for a minute more, then pull the pan off the heat and stir in the breadcrumbs and beaten egg.
Arrange the mushrooms cap side down in a well-buttered oven dish, then divide the stuffing between the undersides, pressing it down so it fills evenly. Sprinkle the stuffing with the dry breadcrumbs and put a dot of butter on each mushroom.
Bake in a fairly hot oven – about 190C (170C fan)/375F/gas 5 – for 15-20 minutes, or until the filling is firm and sizzling gently.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Herald Scotland
2 days ago
- The Herald Scotland
Acclaimed Oxford scholar who never forgot his roots in Glasgow dies
Died: January 24, 2025 Martin McLaughlin, who died aged 74, was an esteemed Oxford University scholar who would gain a global reputation as a classicist and a literary historian. In Oxford, where his death has been borne heavily, he was a much-loved academic colleague who would become the Serena Agnelli Professor of Italian at Oxford, a position he would hold for 16 years. His contribution to the study of Italian language and literature made him one of the outstanding English-language scholars of his generation, a fact underlined in 2008 when was made a knight by the Italian government. To all whose lives he touched and were made better for his love and friendship he remained entirely unchanged as he began amassing a formidable suite of academic honours. His brother Aidan remarked: 'If Oxford changed him utterly as a scholar, a lecturer and a writer, it never succeeded at all in changing him as a person, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a brother, an uncle, great uncle and cousin. To us he remained the same Martino.' They recall the boy who took his younger sisters and their friends to play tennis at the convent in Portstewart, and had everyone pause mid-game when the Angelus bell rang so as not to upset the nuns. He was the big brother who took them to big games at Parkhead to see his beloved Celtic and bought them fish suppers on the way home. They remembered the son, brother and uncle who loved family get-togethers and had time for a story or chat with everyone from the oldest to the youngest. And while he could discuss any subject you cared to raise with him, they would all conclude with an assessment of Celtic's chances the following Saturday. At their silver wedding in 1999 Martin revealed that whilst his beloved Cathy could put up with all of his idiosyncrasies, she had declared that if he developed a pot belly, she would divorce him. 'So I've started drinking ten pints a night,' he said. Read more In June 2008, Martin sent an email to his friends and family, headed simply 'Gong'. It read: 'Hi, you guys, just to say that the Italian government has decided, in its infinite wisdom, to give me a gong! I am to be made 'Commendatore dell'Ordine della Stella della Solidarietà Italiana', but you can all just call me 'Eccellenza' for short!' Martin McLaughlin was born in Glasgow on December 4, 1950, the second oldest of eight children born to George and Jo. He followed the family tradition of attending St Aloysius before making the short journey down Sauchiehall Street and Woodlands Road to Glasgow University. It was here where his remarkable intellectual gifts first became evident. His First in Latin and Greek earned him a Snell Bursary which bore him to Balliol College, Oxford in 1973. He flourished there too, earning a First in Classics and Modern Languages, the first time such a combination was possible. He then returned to Scotland to spend 13 enjoyable years as a lecturer in Italian at Edinburgh University, a period in which he also managed to fit in a tidy doctorate by Oxford in 1983. Before long, England's academic Holy of Holies was beckoning him back and he duly made the journey to the south east of England in 1990 to become a lecturer. Professor McLaughlin's love for Italian literature was expressed in a formidable body of work as both translator and writer, specialising in authors who span both ends of Italian literature: Alberti who was one of the earliest writers in the Italian vernacular in the mid-1400s and Italo Calvino, perhaps the most famous 20th century Italian author. His books on these figures made him the leading English-language authority on Calvino. During his time at Oxford, his students and colleagues also began to experience his innate warmth and humanity. As news of his death spread, Professor McLaughlin's Facebook page began to thrum with messages and anecdotes from grateful students and colleagues. He was slightly whimsical about some of the odder Oxford traditions – for example the £200 annual sherry allowance granted to him to enable his tutorials to proceed in what he termed 'a well-oiled manner'. In 2000, on moving from Christchurch (alma mater of Lewis Carroll) to Magdalen, Oscar Wilde's old redoubt, he told anyone who would listen that, having reached the age of 50, the time had arrived for him to leave the college of Alice In Wonderland to move to that of Dorian Gray. Acclaimed Oxford scholar he may have become, but Martin McLaughlin never forgot his roots in Glasgow. Several times a year he would be back amongst the family on visits which usually coincided with an important Celtic fixture. The family's long-time family friend, Evelyn Connolly, wrote this about him recently: 'It was easy to be in his company.' Martin McLaughlin bequeathed a mighty academic legacy, but to his friends and family he left something greater still: a treasury of happy memories of his love and friendship. He is survived by his wife of 50 years, Cathy, his daughter Mairi, herself a noted scholar and professor at Berkeley University California, his granddaughter Iona and the now far-flung McLaughlin family. At The Herald, we carry obituaries of notable people from the worlds of business, politics, arts and sport but sometimes we miss people who have led extraordinary lives. That's where you come in. If you know someone who deserves an obituary, please consider telling us about their lives. Contact
Glasgow Times
4 days ago
- Glasgow Times
Elderly learners in Bearsden celebrate French success
Myra Davidson, 85, Norma Spiers, 83, Joan Lyon, 87, and Wallace Cuthbertson, 95, from Meallmore-run care home, Antonine House, completed a 12-week course with social enterprise, Lingo Flamingo. This is Myra's second language qualification in less than a year, having previously achieved her National 2 qualification in Italian. Myra Davidson (Image: Supplied) A special graduation ceremony was held at Antonine House to celebrate their achievement, complete with graduation hats, gowns, fizz, and balloons. Myra said: "I enjoyed the class as the teacher took her time with us and taught us individual words rather than screeds. Read more: Council to change housing allocation policy - here's how to have your say André Rieu to perform at Glasgow OVO Hydro - here's when This is what will replace the O2 ABC site on Sauchiehall Street - what do you think? "It was a great class, the company was even better, and we were always laughing." The residents' achievement was made possible by Lingo Flamingo's collaboration with the Scottish Qualifications Authority (SQA), offering care home residents the opportunity to gain a formal SQA accredited qualification in a modern language. Norma Speirs (Image: Supplied) The course involved a tutor-led study, focusing on a variety of topics such as greetings, numbers, geography, hobbies, food, and animals and nature. There were no formal examinations; assessment was an ongoing process. Joan said: "I enjoyed the class, although I already knew the language it brought back wonderful memories. "Margot was great, her enthusiasm was so infectious and all round it was a great class to attend." Paula Ritchie, care home manager at Antonine House, said: "It makes us so proud to see our residents taking on a new challenge and thriving – and it's fantastic to see them so proud of themselves. "Activities like this one really highlight the unlimited potential for learning and growth, regardless of age, and the supportive environment we foster here at Meallmore.' Rosi Mele, development manager at Lingo Flamingo, said: "We're incredibly proud of each and every one of our learners, but especially of those who have achieved a national 2 qualification, often overcoming health and cognitive barriers and proving that it is never too late to learn something news and have fun doing it.'
New Statesman
4 days ago
- New Statesman
I am once again woken up by the unpleasant buzzing of Russian drones
Photo by Sergey Bobok / AFP via Getty Images W hen I am staying at our house in the country, the feel of each day depends on the first sound I hear – the sound that wakes me up. Two turtle doves are nesting in our garden and the most beautiful thing is to wake up to their gentle call. Sometimes other birds beat the doves and it is their songs which greet my ears as I open my eyes. They also reassure me that the new day will be calm, not dangerous. Too often, however, the morning begins with other sounds. Two days ago I woke up at 3am and listened. I always follow the same procedure when I find myself awake in the middle of the night. First, I check the time, then look on the internet to see what is happening in the sky above Ukraine. Each night sees an invasion of Russian drones and I was not surprised to learn that five minutes prior one had flown over our house, moving in the direction of Korostyshiv, a town located 30km from our village. That night, Russia launched more than 400 drones at Ukraine. They all fell somewhere – either hitting their target or tumbling out of the sky having been shot down by air-defence systems. But as the one that woke me up flew on towards Korostyshiv, I fell asleep again. After all, it was still dark outside and the birds in my garden were silent. I was woken up again by another drone at around 7am. I heard the familiar, unpleasant buzzing of an engine in the sky and I went out into the yard. The drone had already flown on. I could not see it, but the noise of its engine was still audible. Twenty minutes later I took a cup of coffee out into the yard and heard and saw the next one flying over our village school towards the nearest town. Strangely, visual contact with it calmed me. I saw it, but it did not see me. At that moment it was not moving towards me but flying away. The anti-tyranny playbook On Friday I went to Kyiv's largest literary festival, Book Arsenal. Security guards carefully checked the contents of bags and made everyone walk through metal detectors. No one was indignant. It's wartime. Every now and then, in cities far from the front line, grenades explode – often thoughtlessly brought home by soldiers on leave. Later it became clear that the thorough security check at the festival entrance was prompted by the visit of President Volodymyr Zelensky and his wife. Surrounded by numerous security guards, they walked around the publishers' stands and picked up the book To Kill a Tyrant by the Italian writer and lawyer Aldo Andrea Cassi, which had just been released in Ukrainian. Publisher Anetta Antonenko, an old friend of mine, experienced one of the best moments of her professional life. No, I'm not talking about meeting Zelensky – his purchasing the book instantly turned it into a festival bestseller, and Antonenko twice had to order urgent deliveries of additional copies from the warehouse. The next day, the speaker of the Ukrainian parliament, Ruslan Stefanchuk, attended Book Arsenal. In his comments to journalists he said he bought 50 books, but did not mention any titles so that his visit did not affect the commercial success of the Ukrainian publishers present. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe The hive mind On Sunday, I read the news about the operation against Russian strategic aviation in which Ukraine secretly planted a swarm of drones in Russia before unleashing them in a surprise attack on airfields across the country. I could not help thinking that beekeepers must have had something to do with the development of this plan! The comings and goings involved reminded me of how beekeepers move their hives, seeking territories for them to collect pollen that are remote from civilisation. Darkest before dawn This year, Ukrainian school graduates were again unable to experience the most romantic part of the traditional graduation celebration: greeting the dawn. Before the war, having received their school leaving certificates, graduates would dance a farewell waltz with their classmates and enjoy raucous parties until the small hours. They would then walk around their cities and towns waiting for daybreak, which they would greet at a location chosen for its beauty. This 'graduation dawn' witnessed in the company of classmates was the starting point of a new, already adult and independent life. Dawn at the end of May begins around 4am, but curfew is lifted only at five. So, for the fourth year running, there is no dawn for Ukrainian graduates. Alas. 'The Stolen Heart' by Andrey Kurkov is out now (Quercus) [See also: It's the nuance, stupid] Related This article appears in the 04 Jun 2025 issue of the New Statesman, The Housing Trap
