Pea.S I love you
A quick culinary confession: I love frozen peas. Apparently Nigel Slater once referred to Nigella Lawson as “the queen of the frozen pea”, and while I don’t profess to be heir to the throne, I do like to think I could be lady-in-waiting.
These tiny green pearls of sweetness have brightened up (and occasionally downright saved) innumerable meals of my life. I’m genuinely not sure I could live without them. Some people worry about not having milk in the house, whereas I get palpitations at the thought of finishing a bag of petits pois.
I will not tolerate snobbery about frozen peas: they are arguably the single most useful ingredient in the kitchen, not least because they take, like, no time to cook. Eminently versatile, they are as at home in a paneer masala as a spring pasta or quick fried rice. They are also truly excellent on toast, say, thrown in a pan of al dente courgettes and drowned in mustard vinaigrette or smashed with a fork and drizzled with lemon and olive oil. Top with a fried egg and you’ve got a complete meal, job done.
Not that frozen peas require such finesse — I’m more than happy chucking handfuls of them straight from bag to boiling water, before tipping them onto my plate plain, alongside anything that mildly (or sometimes, not even vaguely) complements them. Using a fork to spear peas like beads on an abacus is childish eating at its finest — a throwback to school dinners and early birthday parties — but it bothers me not a jot. The frozen pea represents the triumph of modern preserving methods and I will happily shout about it from the rooftops.
Don’t get me wrong, I can wax as lyrically as any other cook about the joys of podding a kilo of fresh garden peas in summer: of the satisfying ‘pop’ as you break open the pod, and the soft-as-silk feel of its bright green skin. But there is another beauty altogether in being able to reach into the freezer and pull out a bag of peas. Tiny little emerald heroes, they require neither fuss nor preparation in order to give your meal a little verdant lift. Simply through existing, the frozen pea ensures that green vegetables are always available for dinner, even when the fridge is looking bleak.
I discovered this ardour for the frozen pea as a student, when there was no time to really think about what to eat beyond “will this keep me full for a bit?” and “will this help prevent my contracting any communicable diseases that could ruin my finals?” I ate them multiple times a week: Veggie sausages? Serve with peas. Pasta sauce? Add peas. Frittata? Why not try peas? When batch cooking, I would regularly ask myself “Could this work with peas?” I fully re-embraced my childish love for them, and have remained loyal ever since.
As comforting and reassuring a presence they provide, frozen peas are not without their excitement, and I can further justify singing their praises by the fact that I know there are innumerable pea recipes yet to be discovered. I have never made pea pesto, arancini with peas or dosas with peas, but I will. I have a whole lifetime’s worth of frozen-pea-experimenting ahead of me. I can’t wait.
