Marrow mania

I haven’t told many porkies in my life, but there’s one that I’ve repeated several times over the years. It’s about marrows. The thing is, people ask me things – annoying things – as if I am a walking food oracle. Ilaria calls me that for a laugh, but, honestly, I know just a little more than most people who follow this column, maybe, and not always. So, when someone asks me what to do with a marrow, I have to suppress the urge to say ‘stick it’ or, more politely, compost it, because marrows give me the heebie-jeebies – again, an expression Ilaria uses.

A lifetime ago, when I was still a kitchen newbie, someone served up stuffed marrow. It emerged from the oven slug-like, wobbling in its watery grave, emitting bad smells as it was brought to the table. If I had had a horse tethered outside, I would have jumped on it and gapped it. It was seriously bad. The smell while it was cooking was the first hint, like that stagnant odour that lingered in your grandmother’s house back in the 60s. I never had a grandmother, ever, but if one had survived past forty-nine (so sad), or three (simply tragic), I know that’s what their homes would have smelled like, because when I grew up, that’s how it was in repressed suburban houses across the land. It was a time when curtains were closed in the afternoon to keep the sofa (later called the couch, then the divan) from fading. Nowadays, we might close them early to keep the warmth in, but back then, we were hardier souls, and it wasn’t about conserving warmth but about stopping sunlight from coming in. It sounds weird now, but there was a reason: a couch had to last a lifetime, fifty years at least, and the last thing you wanted was faded fabric. So, curtains were drawn, and cooking smells were locked in, and in they stayed, hence the smell of cooked cabbage, grey mince and watery marrow imbued in the very walls of houses. Ghastly.

Guilt is such a powerful emotion. A zucchini got away on me. Fortunately, it had visitors. Little insects beavering away, so I could happily chop it up and put it in the compost without feeling guilty. But the weather has been so atrocious that the garden hasn’t needed watering, and down in the rhubarb patch where the yellow zucchini lives, growth went apace. Yep, another monster appeared. I had to admit; it was in very good shape. I put it in the fridge, as far to the back as I could, and hoped it would die there, but after a week, it was still looking sprightly. The guilt was mounting day by day: FOOD WASTE. This bugger was pricking my conscience. It deserved a culinary end, so I had to come up with something.

When I was about seventeen, I attended a few night school classes in Fulham, London, where I was living: Food and First Aid. No, not together, although knowing how to put someone in the recovery position and prevent choking has been useful knowledge to keep handy when working in kitchens around the world. The teacher leading the food classes, a ‘101’ of international dishes, was quite imaginative, to say the least. She made a dish called Ciz Biz, or something similar, loosely based on a Turkish recipe.

 It was a stuffed marrow sort of thingy. We chopped and sizzled, but she put it together and baked it; after that, we tasted it, and the filling was yummy (well, I was broke and STARVING!).  

Over the years, when I was asked, ‘what to do with marrow?’, the old memory of ciz biz thingabob would come to mind, but I didn’t actually know how to prepare the stuffing, couldn’t quite remember what went in it, nor how long to cook it, so I would bluff my way through and say, yes, they can be very tasty, you know, treat it like a stuffed zucchini, cook for longer, mumble-mumble, then change the subject.

Yesterday was the day. I was fed up with the big yellow thing looking at me every time I rummaged in the vegetable chiller. I pulled it out, introduced myself, and asked it, ‘are we going to be friends or are we going to hate each other for the rest of MY life?’. And do you know what? It winked at me and said, ‘stuff me baby, full of gorgeousness, and you’ll fall in love, promise’. So, I got started.   

I experienced a little jiggle of excitement when the smells started reaching me as I cooked down onion and added smoked paprika, a jot of ginger, and cumin. I was nodding more to Spain than Turkey. I didn’t want to brown the pork – there was already a pan used for the chorizo and another for the pork, so that was enough washing up – so I just mixed it in. I chose pork over lamb because I wanted the sweetness and ‘looseness’ of pork, not the iron-flavour of beef or lamb. You might wonder what on earth I am talking about, but the more blood in a meat, the more metallic it tastes, hence, ‘iron’. I know not everyone can taste that, but believe me, it’s there. Beef works well with red wine and grunty flavours, but I was aiming for something else. I’m not quite sure what, but definitely not that.

The trick with a filling like this is that it needs to be moist (a little bit sloppy) before cooking, so there is some moisture to evaporate and soften the marrow during cooking, or it will be solid once cooked. And pork has more fat and adds succulence, too.

I took the baked stuffed yellow thing out of the oven, and it smelled and looked good. I ate the two cut pieces you see in the photograph. It was only 6.00pm. I poured myself a glass of wine and sat in the setting sun, eating another two slices. I was won over. I had fallen in love with a stuffed marrow.

But I had a lot to learn. The question is, yes, this was delicious, but is it, or was it (now consumed) a marrow or an overgrown zucchini? I didn’t really know. Well, I sort of did; I just didn’t want to admit it. I hadn’t truly eaten a marrow, I’d merely eaten an overgrown zucchini. I was on shaky ground. What’s the difference?

They are actually different plants, although from the same family. By all accounts, true marrow is nowhere near as tasty to eat as overgrown zucchini. They have tougher skin and tend to become watery when cooked. If you disagree, please don’t write to me. Ha ha! I’m delighted with what I made and will happily let a zucchini turn into a monster so I can make it again. And I’m going to stop lying. I have never cooked a marrow (and I don’t think I ever will). Cheerio chin-chin.

Marrow Stuffed with Chorizo & Olives