Yotam Ottolenghi doesn’t look like a chef. In his black cardigan and bespectacled-lemon t-shirt, he looks like a cool English professor, the sort who’d insist you call him by his first name. He has a warm presence and an easy smile. I suppose what I mean is, he doesn’t look ground down or hardened by his years in the industry; he seems energized. Fruitful. “I’m always thinking of what can I do else, what can I do next. My world of food has always been about discovery, and trying to find out interesting new things, all the time.”
At ILFD’s Off the Page event, Ottolenghi sat down with Irish Times contributor Aoife McElwain to talk about his background and his new book, Simple. It’s not a book you’d expect from the man dubbed the ‘King of Sumac’ (a fruity red spice he helped popularize), who admits that even his own sister has refused to cook his recipes because of the long ingredients lists and time-consuming processes. Ottolenghi explained that since he and his husband, Karl Allen, became parents, Simple is a reflection of the place he’s at in life. The maximalist has turned minimalist. “I see [food] through a child’s eye – and then the reaction is immediate. It’s a yes or a no,” Ottolenghi said. “You do get a lot of immediate reactions, whether you want them or not. Most of the time, you don’t. And it’s very sobering: you cannot fob off a child, you cannot say, ‘Well, this is really delicious, have it,’ and it’s not. Only a grownup would say, ‘Yeah, it’s lovely.'” His young sons tend to prefer Allen’s cooking – pies and casseroles – though they easily embrace mujadara, a traditional mix of cumin-spiced lentils, rice and fried onions.
Ottolenghi is maybe best known for introducing Europe to Middle Eastern food, though he’s quick to mention the authors who preceded him. He and his Jerusalem co-author Sami Tamimi grew up in Jerusalem in the Seventies, though they only met as chefs in London years later. “I kind of only remember food,” he said, describing his earliest memories. Jerusalem was more traditional, filled with street food which “attacks all the senses,” whereas Tel Aviv has always been the more modern, outward-facing city. That’s changed now: Jerusalem has more innovative, high-end restaurants, but it’s not as happy as it used to be.
With advice for novice cooks (develop basic competence, don’t kick yourself for eating take-out sometimes, and try not to pay too much attention to perfect Instagram dishes) and how to have a great collaboration (let it develop naturally), it’s clear that Ottolenghi’s greatest asset might be the ability to synthesize the traditional and the innovative, the restaurant kitchen and the home kitchen, without being intimidating or pretentious. “I’m probably doing myself out of a job by saying ‘cook Irish,'” he jokes, “but what I actually mean is that there’s a comfort zone, and the comfort zone is really, really important.”
After a hour or so, McElwain turns it over to the audience. Ottolenghi entertains minutiae from the audience who are clearly trying to decode what it is that makes his food so good. “Cauliflower is the best vegetable. At least this year.” He cooks almost everything in a deep, wide sauté pan. Trapped on a desert island, he’d want lemons, harissa, cauliflower, tomatoes and potatoes. “[Potatoes] are super-versatile, you can do tons of things with it.” He’s full of ideas, though ironically he says he used to panic at the thought of having to come up with a new recipe each week for The Guardian. Riffing on his choices, he offers an extempore recipe for a vegetable gratin.
Favorite corner-shop chocolate? Bounty. “I like coconut and chocolate. That’s the one.”
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Yotam Ottolenghi: podcast / Twitter / The Guardian
International Literature Festival Dublin
