A pot of braised buckwheat adds a wholesome, hearty bite to four different dishes: a fiery mint adjica salad; a spring supper of lamb, tarragon and watercress; savoury shrimp cakes; and a peppery plaice with sorrel.
Buckwheat is a (pseudo) grain that is very close to my heart. I used to be a peculiar eater when I was a child, and would often ask my mother to cook me the same thing for the whole week. If I loved something, I just couldn’t let go; I had to have it until I could have it no more (until next time). Buckwheat would figure heavily in my obsessive repetitive eating. I loved it savoury, with soft, caramelised onions on top, and some chicken livers. But I also loved it sweet, for breakfast, doused in melted butter and sugar (I now substitute it with maple syrup).
Source: the guardian