Orange is the New Black...

A few years ago someone mentioned (Mr. Udeshi, it had to be you) that orange was the new black...

I don't wear orange, but I do cook orange. I love sweet potatoes, pumpkin, and of course, carrot cake (for me, a food group unto itself). This week, I was on an orange kick. I wanted to make pumpkin scones, an idea I've been mildly obsessed with since I got back from Australia, where they are a well known speciality. My Australian editor (who rocks, by the way) sent me a recipe - but my attempt was bland and flat, not nearly enough butter cut into the flour. So, after seeing some truly terrifying photos of myself from the reading at WHSmith (which also rocked, by the way, thanks to the 50 lovely Parisians who turned up with smiles and wonderful questions!) I decided I probably shouldn't be eating scones at the moment anyway, and moved on to more protein-based fare. At least Augustin got to taste some fresh pumpkin. My mother-in-law gave me a cookbook for Christmas, La Fabuleuse Cuisine de la Route des Epices (Fabulous Cuisine from the Spice Road). It has beautiful illustrations - and I've been looking for an excuse to cook from it (Note to self: have a dinner party with grapefruit safran creme brulee!). As G. is in Las Vegas on business (revisit his trauma here), I was looking to make a big pot of lentils that I could chip away at all week. I had some coral (read: orange) lentils in the house. And found this recipe - which calls for curcuma (also orange), which, like ginger, can be sweet or savory, depending on your mood.

I knew I had some laying around - another gift from my mother-in-law, but locating it in the deepest darkest depths of my spice cabinet took some doing.

The color here was a vast improvement over traditional lentil soup. I love puy lentil stew - purpley nibs, flecked with parsley and tomato, but once you puree it, the dark, almost blackish color starts to look like toxic sludge - run off from some nuclear power station off the Jersey Turnpike. The curcuma was sublte, woken up by a big squeeze of lemon and a dollop of plain yogurt - and some fresh coriander for color.

The next evening I had a chicken to roast, so I continued with the orange theme, inspired by another recipe from the same cookbook. I rubbed some olive oil on the skin - then sprinkled with sea salt and a good dose of curcuma. The recipe suggested turnips tossed with vanilla and powdered sugar. This is why I read cookbooks in bed: I would never have come up with that thought on my own - but a marvelous idea none the less. Halfway through roasting, I sqeeuzed on some fresh orange juice to keep everything sizzling.

Normally, I'm not one to wax poetic about the comforts of a home-roasted chicken (I ususally buy mine from the Saturday market chicken man, fresh from the spit), but this particular combination was a chef d'ouvre: the meat was moist, with a crispy skin infused with curcuma - a charred, woody smell, like carving your intials into the bark of a tree.But it was the pan juices that were truly worthwhile, the sauce sticky with orange and just a chirp of vanilla from the turnips. Next time, I'm going to use the warm sauce - mixed with a bit of sherry vinegar - to dress a green salad.

Paris has cured me of my taste for leftovers - but roast chicken is an exception. I pulled the remaining meat off the bone that very evening, and for lunch the next day, I improvised a Coronation Chicken. I have some jarring memories of this from dodgy English sandwich shops (there's always a skin on top when it sits out too long, ugh), but the principal is sound. I avoid chicken salad with mayo - just a personal peeve, but with plain yogurt instead of Helman's, the sweetness of golden raisins, the crunch of walnuts, and the zing of fresh coriander - this was chicken salad fit for a queen. Ta.

Coral Lentil Soup with Curcuma

1 large clove garlic, minced
2 shallots, minced
olive oil
1 large ripe tomato, chopped (or 3/4 of a can of crushed tomatos, with juice)
1 generous tablespoon curcuma
2 cups coral lentils
6 1/2 cups water
2 chicken or vegatable bullion cubes
1 cup plain yogurt
1 large lemon
Fresh coriander, to garnish

In a medium saucepan, add a glug of olive oil. Saute the garlic and shallots until transparent. Add tomato, simmer for 3 minutes. Add curcuma, stir. Add lentils, stir.

Add water, and bullion cubes (which you've dissolved in a bit of boiling water). Cook until lentils are tender (10-20 minutes). Using a hand blender, blend until smooth. Stir in the yogurt until throughly blended and creamy. Squeeze in juice of the whole lemon (the acid makes a real difference - keep squeezing!). Add a pinch or two of curcuma to finish.

Serve piping hot with a dollop of plain yogurt and chopped fresh corianger.

Serves 6

Roast Chicken with Curcuma and Vanilla Turnips

1 small chicken, preferably organic

Olive oil

Coarse sea salt

Curcuma
6 medium turnips (golden, if you can find them), cut into bite size pieces
1 teaspoon vanilla

A dash of powdered sugar
2 oranges (preferably the variety you would use for juicing)

Heat the oven to 450 degrees Farenheit.

Rub your chicken all over with olive oil. Sprinkle with sea salt and a generous dusting of curcuma. Place in a medium roasting pan.

Toss the turnips with the vanilla and sugar, add to the bottom of the pan.

Roast for 20 minutes, then squeeze on the juice of the two oranges, stuffing one of the squeezed out orange halves inside the bird. Shake the pan to toss the turnips a b

Bake for 25 minutes more or until chicken is done.

Serve with pan juices.

Serves 2-3 (I like small chickens)

Madras Chicken Salad, Fit for a Queen

Leftover roast chicken, chopped

Plain yogurt

Sea salt

Madras curry powder

Walnuts, crushed in your hand

Golden raisins

Fresh coriander

In a medium bowl, place plain yogurt, curry powder and a good pinch of salt. Stir to combine - add as much or as little curry as you like, depending on your taste.

Add roasted chicken, stir to combine. Top with walnuts, raisins and coriander, stir lightly to combine. Serve with a green salad.