Beetroot and Chickpea Dip

While I don’t go in for starters, even if I have friends to dinner, I am — as I mention often — a dips-with-drinks devotee. This is a new addition to my stable of regulars: the beetroot not only turns the chickpeas a quite ridiculously uplifting pink, but its earthy sweetness is smokily tempered by the tahini and, furthermore, it helps create a smooth and soft texture, all the better for dipping a baby carrot, a radish or, indeed, a tortilla chip in. And I generally bring it out as a pair with the Coriander and Jalapeño Salsa: I can never resist the combination of pink and green, but more, the sharpness of the green sauce is perfect with the luscious creaminess and depth of the pink one.

I tend to use the Spanish chickpeas (along with the gloop they sit in) that come in jars, though they are admittedly a lot more expensive than canned, but have such a soft and velvety texture. All too often canned chick peas have a resistant pebbliness which can never quite be blitzed smooth. Still, by far the most economical option if you want soft and creamy chick peas is to soak and cook 300g/ 1⅔ cups dried ones, though remember to keep some of their cooking liquid to add while blending. (If you have a slow cooker or an Instant Pot, you wouldn’t even need to soak them.)

I do have to insist you use a beetroot you’ve roasted yourself which, while easy enough, does take more time than one ever imagines; I cannot, I’m afraid, recommend ready-cooked beetroot here. I must also recommend you get the more fluid and less claggy proper Middle Eastern tahini.

But this is not just a dip: when I first started making it, I did think of it as Beetroot Hummus, but then I decided that perhaps it was too mutant a version to be worthy of the name. But still, I eat it, too, just as I would a traditional hummus; it is very fine spread thickly on bread or toast, topped with long skinny wedges of avocado, spritzed with lime and sprinkled with sea salt and those fairy fronds of dill. And, splodged vibrantly on a plate of dry-fried halloumi slices sitting saltily on peppery rocket/arugula, sharply dressed and dotted with capers, chopped fresh mint scattered over the lot, it makes for a fabulous light lunch or supper. However you eat it, I can promise it will brighten up any day!

For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

While I don’t go in for starters, even if I have friends to dinner, I am — as I mention often — a dips-with-drinks devotee. This is a new addition to my stable of regulars: the beetroot not only turns the chickpeas a quite ridiculously uplifting pink, but its earthy sweetness is smokily tempered by the tahini and, furthermore, it helps create a smooth and soft texture, all the better for dipping a baby carrot, a radish or, indeed, a tortilla chip in. And I generally bring it out as a pair with the Coriander and Jalapeño Salsa: I can never resist the combination of pink and green, but more, the sharpness of the green sauce is perfect with the luscious creaminess and depth of the pink one.

I tend to use the Spanish chickpeas (along with the gloop they sit in) that come in jars, though they are admittedly a lot more expensive than canned, but have such a soft and velvety texture. All too often canned chick peas have a resistant pebbliness which can never quite be blitzed smooth. Still, by far the most economical option if you want soft and creamy chick peas is to soak and cook 300g/ 1⅔ cups dried ones, though remember to keep some of their cooking liquid to add while blending. (If you have a slow cooker or an Instant Pot, you wouldn’t even need to soak them.)

I do have to insist you use a beetroot you’ve roasted yourself which, while easy enough, does take more time than one ever imagines; I cannot, I’m afraid, recommend ready-cooked beetroot here. I must also recommend you get the more fluid and less claggy proper Middle Eastern tahini.

But this is not just a dip: when I first started making it, I did think of it as Beetroot Hummus, but then I decided that perhaps it was too mutant a version to be worthy of the name. But still, I eat it, too, just as I would a traditional hummus; it is very fine spread thickly on bread or toast, topped with long skinny wedges of avocado, spritzed with lime and sprinkled with sea salt and those fairy fronds of dill. And, splodged vibrantly on a plate of dry-fried halloumi slices sitting saltily on peppery rocket/arugula, sharply dressed and dotted with capers, chopped fresh mint scattered over the lot, it makes for a fabulous light lunch or supper. However you eat it, I can promise it will brighten up any day!

For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.