Homemade hummus and Hearth Wholemeal Sourdough bread (if you're in the Dunedin area, pick some up- it's insanely delicious.)
I may be an old goth but Andrew Eldritch never did it for me. Some of his budget sub-Joy Division regurg did though, don't get me wrong- it's a fair cop and society's to blame. I think a few of us have, in our time, recognized certain rhythmic advantages within the Sisters' canon and put it to a use that shall remain, in the interests of decency, nameless; suffice to say that if you've never banged your favourite piece of sullen white meat on black sheets to select portions of Floodland, this is a cooking post and I would never be so irresponsible as to allude to that sort of thing here. I hadn't heard this particular masterwork for ages until the lovely R smuggled some home from his place of work recently. We cranked it hard and as we stood, smirking at each other and appalling passers-by with Docktor Avalanche's dreadful stylings, I was struck by how many moody contemporary douchebags would probably give their left nut for that kind of shameless audacity...
But I digress. As I've said, this post is about hummus, that other longstanding challenge to good taste. Like The Sisters, its reputation is only partially deserved and somewhat dependent on context. Just as no one ever asked for a party where nothing else was played (remember those?), similarly, no one wants to wander toward a table only to find it groaning under the weight of ten bowls of sludgy, putty-hued pea paste intermittently studded with something resembling toenail clippings and/or bunion parings. Jesus H Christ no.
As with jam, the interweb is heaving with bullshit about hummus and chickpeas in general, I presume because hippiedom is an oral culture and many of their practices are utterly dependent on the drowsy power of ignorance for their survival and enjoyment. My personal journey toward homemade hummus began in the supermarket when I picked up a pottle of my favourite kind and found myself staring at something half the size it had been the week before at the same exorbitant price. Rage took over. Morbid bibliophilia served me as never before. I became informed, and Cicer arietinum yeilded its blushing secrets to the harrowing force of my penetrating intellect. Which means it's all pretty basic and there was never any mystery to begin with.
But I digress. As I've said, this post is about hummus, that other longstanding challenge to good taste. Like The Sisters, its reputation is only partially deserved and somewhat dependent on context. Just as no one ever asked for a party where nothing else was played (remember those?), similarly, no one wants to wander toward a table only to find it groaning under the weight of ten bowls of sludgy, putty-hued pea paste intermittently studded with something resembling toenail clippings and/or bunion parings. Jesus H Christ no.
As with jam, the interweb is heaving with bullshit about hummus and chickpeas in general, I presume because hippiedom is an oral culture and many of their practices are utterly dependent on the drowsy power of ignorance for their survival and enjoyment. My personal journey toward homemade hummus began in the supermarket when I picked up a pottle of my favourite kind and found myself staring at something half the size it had been the week before at the same exorbitant price. Rage took over. Morbid bibliophilia served me as never before. I became informed, and Cicer arietinum yeilded its blushing secrets to the harrowing force of my penetrating intellect. Which means it's all pretty basic and there was never any mystery to begin with.
Like everything, it's all about decent ingredients. Good chickpeas and proper preparation = good hummus. Eyes left. The ones in this jug have already been soaked but a good dry pea should look just like this- large, intact, a sort of wheaten colour and a similar size to each other. You don't want black spots, visible grit, grey shriveling or discolouration. Leave the bottom shelf 'soup mix' bags alone; you may cry alors, they are half the fucking price of the posh ones, but I am deaf to your entreaties and point out that they do not have an infinite shelf life. Stale, inferior peas will do you wrong in a bad way and your companions do not want to smell your farty arse, coming through the rye. Think of that shit as munching on stale bread and wondering why your sandwich sucks; spend the extra $2, thank me later. Around 200g dry weight will make a small-medium bowl of hummus, or something that will last around three days worth of num numming in our house. I used about 350g here, which is too much and I intend to divide this batch.
Rinse them under cold water and soak them in the same; I do this overnight but 6 hours is fine, as long as you have good peas.
Change the water at least once. I leave them on the sink in cool weather but if you're tropical or summery, stick them in the fridge to be safe. I don't add salt at this stage.
They will swell. That is good and necessary. I started out with less than half this volume dry.
Change the water at least once. I leave them on the sink in cool weather but if you're tropical or summery, stick them in the fridge to be safe. I don't add salt at this stage.
They will swell. That is good and necessary. I started out with less than half this volume dry.
Once they've really doubled up, rinse them again, tip them into a medium pot and add the basic flavours for the stock in which you will cook them. I add a whole small onion, a small head of homegrown Printanor garlic, a teaspoon of harissa (recipe onsite) and a good teaspoon of fresh cracked pepper. Also a piece of shitty old carrot or parsnip.
I fill this here saucepan two-thirds with cold water. You can add salt if you wish. Bring to the boil and let it bubble away for about ten mins, then turn the temp right down to a low simmer, stirring to make sure none are sticking to the bottom. Put the lid on and let them go for at least 45mins. There aren't any shortcuts, I'm afraid. But you can go and do something else at this point since they don't tend to get into trouble on their own. Let's have a bit of Sisters while we're waiting. NB,WF? Ahhh... le temps perdu, eh?
I fill this here saucepan two-thirds with cold water. You can add salt if you wish. Bring to the boil and let it bubble away for about ten mins, then turn the temp right down to a low simmer, stirring to make sure none are sticking to the bottom. Put the lid on and let them go for at least 45mins. There aren't any shortcuts, I'm afraid. But you can go and do something else at this point since they don't tend to get into trouble on their own. Let's have a bit of Sisters while we're waiting. NB,WF? Ahhh... le temps perdu, eh?
| The chickpea on the bottom right is the sort of thing you want to see after another half hour. The pea collapses into a squishy floury paste with very little pressure; you can see the beginnings of hummus around the edges. Drain the pot and keep all the onion and garlic, some carrot and a little of the cooking stock aside. If you think you've made too much you can freeze the excess cooked peas at this point and mash them up at a later date, defrosting first. Or put them in the fridge and use them for something else- a dhal or stew. | Okay, so this is important. The chickpea directly below has been simmered for around half an hour and is not ready. Although the skin will come off when pressed with a finger, the pea itself is still firm-ish and visibly retains some of its structure. This is a stomach ache waiting to happen. Do not proceed. Simmer another 20 mins at least.   |
Here's everything I add to hummus.
From top, clockwise:
-shitty old stock carrot
-big spoon of tahini paste
-the boiled garlic
-smoked paprika
-decent olive oil
-half a big lemon
-teaspoon of pepper
-in the middle, a big tablespoon of harissa.
(+ the unseen stock onion)
It's all about your own personal prefs, though. Classic, plain hummus is just lemon juice, garlic, salt and tahini. Juice the lemon and squeeze the garlic out of its skins; dump all the flavours you're planning to use into the drained peas. You can add a little stock to the mix if you prefer a lighter consistency. (If you're really set on toothpaste-smooth super-hummus, rub off the pea skins and discard, leaving only the fudgy pea. This is stupidly laborious and pointless unless you're deliberately trying to impress/piss someone off with your clearly superior but totally unassuming and almost godlike expertise. But I wouldn't know anything about that, obviously.)
From top, clockwise:
-shitty old stock carrot
-big spoon of tahini paste
-the boiled garlic
-smoked paprika
-decent olive oil
-half a big lemon
-teaspoon of pepper
-in the middle, a big tablespoon of harissa.
(+ the unseen stock onion)
It's all about your own personal prefs, though. Classic, plain hummus is just lemon juice, garlic, salt and tahini. Juice the lemon and squeeze the garlic out of its skins; dump all the flavours you're planning to use into the drained peas. You can add a little stock to the mix if you prefer a lighter consistency. (If you're really set on toothpaste-smooth super-hummus, rub off the pea skins and discard, leaving only the fudgy pea. This is stupidly laborious and pointless unless you're deliberately trying to impress/piss someone off with your clearly superior but totally unassuming and almost godlike expertise. But I wouldn't know anything about that, obviously.)
If you have a blender, great- use it. Perversity rules in the Blackthorn kitchen and we have an ancient Barmix wand because it was free, it never breaks down and, most importantly, is easy to clean. It makes perfect hummus. Do be aware that if you're using some sort of wand it might start spraying up the walls. (This is particularly hazardous if you have a neutral decor- fugitive hummus possesses a definite stealth factor. We have purple walls and you can see everything that's ever landed there + three generations of its intergeneric offspring.) Whip that shit like there's no tomorrow and in your wordless nihilism remember to get all the carrot and onion well atomized. Keep whipping and tasting (tee hee) until it's everything you dreamed of and more. The smoked paprika does give it a pretty colour but don't go overboard with that stuff or you'll end up with something that tastes like it was once trapped in a fireman's underwear with a slice of elderly bacon. And that's hummus, folks. Refrigerate. It will keep for about a week. The more lemon you add, the less likely it is to spoil before then. I have frozen half of this batch and having never done this before, cannot report on its probity, but will amend this post when we get round to eating the results. Serve it at room temp because cold hummus really does taste like sloppy troposphere; bring out the amount you intend to devour in one sitting and leave it on the bench for a wee while before consumption.
UPDATE! FROZEN HUMMUS IS FINE- IN FACT, I SUSPECT IT'S EVEN MORE DELICIOUS AFTER THE FLAVOURS HAVE HAD A CHANCE TO INTEGRATE FOR A WHILE. FREEZE AWAY.
EDIT: and yes I was spelling hummus with one m until now because I'm a complete retard.
UPDATE! FROZEN HUMMUS IS FINE- IN FACT, I SUSPECT IT'S EVEN MORE DELICIOUS AFTER THE FLAVOURS HAVE HAD A CHANCE TO INTEGRATE FOR A WHILE. FREEZE AWAY.
EDIT: and yes I was spelling hummus with one m until now because I'm a complete retard.
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