Twice Cooked Chicken in Brandy Wine Broth

Last weekend I spent the best part of five days chugging up the Trent & Mersey and Cauldon canals in the county of Staffordshire, in the company of my three sisters, my mother and father, our Jack Russell Archie and Labrador Digger. The holiday could frankly have gone one of two ways; I’m sure there are few families, however loving, that could spend a prolonged amount of time crammed into a narrow boat travelling at 3 miles an hour through the pissing rain that plagues the West Midlands 366 days a year, without at least one member being lynched or thrown overboard. The ambiance in our shared births was worsened still by the food served up in the spit and sawdust establishments that lined the banks, with everything on the menu turning out either yellow or brown and in gargantuan proportions, the flatulence on board was so widespread that even the dogs were getting in on the act.

Regardless of the wind and rain and wind, the beige lunches, the depressing industrial decay you experience when motoring through Stoke – relics of a bygone era of pottery forges and affluent productivity – and the occasional dead dog floating arse upwards in the locks; I felt like we not so much as bonded as got through the journey together in avoidance of a full scale blow out and / or murder. We were all in the same boat.

Something that struck me immediately on the canal was the shocking amount of litter simply dumped along the tow paths and into the water itself, in the space of two miles I saw more refuse than in the entire river Thames between Tower Bridge and Kew, and although I am partial to a hyperbolic notion this observation may be a reserved understatement. It was absolutely disgusting.

I will never understand people who feel the urge to simply drop rubbish wherever they go; even when there is a litter bin in plain sight you witness mindless twerps discarding their unwanted wrappers as they walk. We live in an educated society, we are all perfectly aware of the detrimental effects that littering can have on the environment, we have been shown countless videos and images of how it effects wildlife, how seals and seabirds get caught in plastic bags, and ducks are suffocated by the rings that hold your six pack of special brew together. Beyond this it looks horrible as well.

So it was as we boated into the North end of Stoke on Trent that a couple of hooded youths dropped an empty crisp packet on the tow path; I slammed our vessel into reverse (an action that doesn’t immediately get a response in a seventy foot barge), and jumped from the helm onto the bank, picked up the packet and asked if this pustule ridden oik would be taking his used bag of Golden Wonder with him to deposit it in the nearest receptacle dedicated to detritus. He replied in a surly manner that indirectly insinuated he had a tiny penis, and began lurching away up the canal as though someone had made way for an enema by means of a particularly large carrot, as only a mentally challenged fifteen year old can. My father put it in words that he could understand: “you little knob head” he shouted from his position on the bridge.

After jumping back on and grabbing the tiller I seethed quietly for a while and thought about how I could vent my frustrations; whilst dreaming up ways to belittle this oaf of tomorrow I was reminded of a bus journey I took between McLeod Gang, the home of the Tibetan government in exile, and Amritsar, site of the Golden Temple and Sikhism’s holiest shrine. At the first loo stop of the journey a Dutch guy called Danni approached me as a fellow Westerner and struck up a conversation, he lived in a small town near Rotterdam with a name of no consequence, he had been volunteering in Nepal for three months, but more importantly; he was a cock. All he talked about were his experiences which he then somehow managed to turn into advice that was both unwanted and uninvited; he had something to say about absolutely everything. For instance: I bought a potato burger from a street vendor

“Have you been ill yet?” the Dutchman asked, “you will be, everyone is”.

I wasn’t aware that the first part of this question was rhetoric however his answering for me made it so. He then enquired as to whether “they” had told me to bring earplugs for the bus journeys to drown out the incessant horns that are synonymous with Indian roads. Now I don’t know you the hell “they” are, but nowhere have I read or heard this nugget of information with which he so readily interjected as I tried my best to ignore him. Above all it was the tone of arrogant condescension in his voice that I cannot convey effectively in my writing that really got on my wick; he was a wanker, no two ways about it. The barrage continued.

He asked me what I was doing when I returned home so I politely told him I was off to France for my mother’s birthday.

“Why would you go to France?” he spat out the words disgusted.

“Because my grandfather bought a house there in the 70s, we go every year”.

“Why would anyone buy a house in France?” he smiled disdainfully.

  There is a reason that France is the most visited country on earth that perhaps a baboon from a postage stamp sized country associated with windmills, weed, tulips and clogs can’t comprehend. It is a country overflowing with culture and steeped in history; a country of Camembert and Saint Emillion, Paris and the Riviera, Napoleon and Joan of Arc, Bordeaux and Brest. Van Gogh was Dutch and he moved there, he loved it so much he even chopped his ear off! So next time you’re shat shtoned in your room in a country that will be underwater in twenty years by all accounts, think twice before slating a country far greater than your own. Oh, and another thing, you cheated in the World Cup and still lost, nice one. Vive la France!

When I thought he couldn’t get any worse he proceeded to throw a plastic wrapper out of the window, I glared at him and he told me he had “given up binning his rubbish as no one else did”, but that he would “never do it in Holland”. Firstly I thought how hard it must be to “give up” not littering; somewhere between heroin addiction and chocolate for lent perhaps? Secondly, if you are a guest in someone else’s country you treat it with the respect it deserves, irrespective of whether its inhabitants have been educated in matters of the environment or not, you can’t simply resign yourself to the ‘needle in a haystack’ ‘won’t even scratch the surface’ philosophy, as ultimately you will and it’s the only surface we have. I minced words with him and ended all conversation thereafter.

I have come up with a theory based on my detailed scientific research then: the amount of litter someone decides to drop is directly and adversely linked to the size of the penis. More litter, smaller cock. End of.

After I got off the boat I needed something to warm me up, this did the job just brilliantly.  

Ingredients: (Serves 6)

1 medium sized chicken

Small bunch of thyme

½ a lemon

50g salted English butter

1 white onion, roughly chopped

1 whole bulb of garlic

2 large carrots, peeled and chopped

1 small cabbage, roughly chopped

2 sticks of celery, chopped into 1cm bits

3 cloves of garlic, crushed

3 bay leaves

1 large white onion, quartered

8 rashers of smoked streaky bacon

1 tablespoon of white sugar

300ml chicken stock

1 tablespoon tomato purée

2 tablespoons brandy or cognac

150ml of dry white wine

5 potatoes for mashing

2 tablespoons crème fraiche

1 egg

100g of salted English butter

Salt and Pepper

Olive Oil

Method:

1. After watching one of Heston’s programmes recently about how to cook chicken properly I was amazed at the difference in the meat; un-truss the bird and spread the legs apart before smothering it in butter. Stuff the bunch of thyme and ½ a lemon up its arse; whack it in a roasting dish with a couple of bay leaves, a few chunks of onion and a bulb of garlic cut across the middle. Put it in the oven at a temperature of 90°C and slow roast it till the inside temperature of the breast hit around 50°C, the time will depend on the size of the bird but it should take at least 2 hours.

2. When the breasts reach 50°C take the bird out of the oven. Get a large casserole and chuck in a couple of slugs of olive oil a brown the bird on all sides using a couple of wooden spoons to clumsily turn it around; when this is done take it out and let it stand on the side.

3. Chuck the quartered onions, celery, crushed garlic and carrots and stir them around in the juices, then add the cabbage, wine, tomato purée and brandy and stir it around until the alcohol burns off. Now pour in the stock and tablespoon of sugar, along with a couple more bay leaves and simmer for 10 minutes to reduce and infuse.

4. Now it’s time to return the bird to the casserole, I ended up transferring most (but not all) of the sauce to another pan, lowering the chicken in breasts up, and return the sauce to the casserole all over the top of the bird. Then lay out the streaky bacon over the breasts, cover, and simmer for one hour.

5. While the casserole is stewing boil the potatoes, strain them, then mash them with the crème fraiche, raw egg, 100g of salted butter and some seasoning.

6. After an hour take the casserole off and remove the bird once more; chop the meat off the bones and return it to the sauce in chunks and stir it thoroughly. Serve up on mash and feel amazing.

Stewpendous

Your brain needs sensorial stimulation to function,

While your lungs require oxygen to blow,

Your hair and your nails need sunlight to lengthen,

But without stew your heart would not go.

Now the heart is the most important of organs,

It’s capacity for love is unbound,

It knows when someone else is important,

Before your brain has the chance to find out.

It’s job is full time, it never clocks off,

Neither rain, nor shine, can stop it,

When your lungs pack it in and your brain becomes dim,

Your heart only says “oh come off it”!

So think for a moment, when lighting a fag,

Or sinking a pint or fifteen,

That thing that’s a pumpin’, and keeping you jumpin’,

Isn’t just some useless old spleen.

Look after yourself, it’s good for your health,

Eat carrots, get up early, see the dew.

But more important than this, and it’s the size of your fist,

It’s your heart, and it runs best on Stew.

Ingredients: (Serves 6)

1 medium sized potato, peeled and chopped

1 sweet potato, peeled and chopped

2 carrots, peeled and chopped

2 parsnips, peeled and chopped

2 leeks, roughly chopped
8 mushrooms, quartered

1 white onion, roughly chopped

1 can kidney beans in water, drained

1 can adzuki beans in water, drained

1 can cherry tomatoes in sauce

300g pearl barley, soaked for 10 minutes in warm water to soften

1.5 litres of vegetable stock

1 large glass of red wine, cabernet sauvignon will do nicely

½ grated nutmeg

2 bay leaves

3 cloves garlic, crushed

1 bouquet garni

6 tablespoons Worcester Sauce (ditch it if you want to go veggy)

Butter

Salt and Pepper

Olive Oil

Method:

1. In a large saucepan melt the oil and butter together over a medium/high heat and chuck in the leeks, onion and garlic. Sweat for a couple of minutes before throwing in the carrots, mushrooms, parsnips, sweet and regular potatoes, tossing them in the oil and butter and frying them for a few more minutes.

2. Add the stock to the pan, it should just cover the vegetables. Simmer for 20 minutes over a medium heat so the veggies soften up a little. Then add the pearl barley, bouquet garni, bay leaves, nutmeg and can of cherry tomatoes and stir thoroughly.

3. Simmer for another 20 minutes over a low to medium heat, the barley will absorb a lot of the stock and the stew will thicken up nicely. In the latter 10 minutes sling in the kidney and adzuki beans along with the red wine and Worcester Sauce, stir it in, smell the goodness and season it how you like it. 

4. Let it cool for another 10 minutes before serving with a heavily buttered multi-seed loaf. Crusty if needs be, and needs must.  

Whisky Seared Scallops

We don’t eat nearly enough of our own shellfish in the British Isles, which is a crying shame as we have some of the best in world. Instead it gets shipped twenty miles south to the French who turn it into the sublime, whilst we on home shores make do with cod, haddock, plaice or sole. These are all great fish in their own right, don’t get me wrong, however our general ignorance and frequent stubbornness as a nation of consumers has, over time, channelled us into a rather unadventurous set of fishy doldrums, humoured occasionally by squalls of ‘smoked salmon’ masquerading as faux-swanky-canapés during the small talking foretaste to a dinner party.

‘The Big Fish Fight’ has attempted with some success, to bring back our home grown produce to the tables of Britain, however there is still a long way to go before we are regularly eating mussels for instance. The coast of Britain harvest some of the best in the world yet you’re lucky to find a single bag in Tesco, and if you do they’re more than likely frozen, or worse still ready cooked in a plastic pot. Then there’s the lonesome Cornish clam, Waitrose is the only super market I’ve found that stocks them and even then you quite often have to pre-order.

“But they’re expensive and a hassle”, I hear people say.

Wrong on both counts in fact; you can quite happily feed a family of four with a huge bag of mussels for under a fiver and they cook in five minutes. Cream, leeks, butter, crusty bread, boom. Next question?

There is really no excuse for being selfish to the shellfish, the furthest geographical point away from the sea in the UK is Church Flats Farm near Coton in the Elms, Derbyshire, and that’s only 70 miles from the bountiful Norfolk Wash. So with the planned raise of the national speed limit from 70 to 80mph, you could stay with Henry and Joyce Blackwell in the evening and try some of their home grown lamb, and the following day scream down to Skeggy for a spot of fishing. Perhaps even stay at Butlins, if that’s your vibe?

I conclude then; when Hugh Grant spoke of Britain being “A great country, a country of Shakespeare, Churchill, The Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter, David Beckham’s right foot, David Beckham’s left foot come to that”, he should have spared a word or two for our mussels, our cockles, our clams and our scallops.

Rule Britannia.

 Ingredients: (Serves 4)

20 British scallops, coral on or off, your choice, I like it

3 British shallots, finely sliced

A slug or two of Scottish whisky

Healthy knob of English butter

Olive oil, European but from one of the colonies

Handful of curly British parsley, finely chopped

Method:

1. Using a sharp knife graze some shallow cross hatching into one side of the scallops. Heat a little oil and butter in a frying pan over a medium high heat and sear the scallops for a minute or so on either side. Throw in a wee drab of whisky and using a match, light the pan, it will flambé instantly and rather vigorously so take care not to set light to yourself. Let it burn for a few seconds, actually 3, then blow it out and take the scallops out of the pan and onto a plate.

2. Return the pan to the heat and add a little more butter and oil, when it’s sizzling chuck in the shallots and fry them till soft. Chuck another wee drab of whisky in and set alight to it, again let it burn off for a few seconds. Now add the cream and mix it in thoroughly whilst still cooking. It’ll make a beautiful golden sauce. After another minute chuck in the parsley, stir it around, take it of the heat, plate up the scallops and pour the sauce on top. I actually returned the scallops to the pan when doing my second lot and tossed them in the sauce before serving. It gave them a real good coating.

Pork Wrapped in Bacon with Super Smash and a Vermouth and Mushroom Sauce

A pig isn’t just for Christmas, you can eat it on Boxing Day too. Sentiments I shared up until a couple of years ago when I found myself driving through Somerset in my 1986 Mercedes 608D, complete with mock oak flooring, tiger print upholstery, 2 hob cooker, Roman tiling, bespoke spice rack, carpeted walls, and of course 1500 watt super sound system. To those of you don’t know what I’m talking about the snub nose 608 is the holy grail of campervans, six and a half tonnes of pure unadulterated metal, a labour of love, and now part of the family. In fact there are so many comparisons between me and my Mercules it is rather uncanny: we were both born in 1986 for starters, and were extremely painful to deliver. We’ve both got a lot of things going on inside, some of questionable taste and none screwed down. Then of course we are a huge drain on resources; in fact having committed to my beloved van I now have a heightened appreciation of my parents and what they did for me in the first 20 years of my life, what they still do for me. The fact is no matter how much care and attention he needs, no matter how much money I have to throw at him to get him around Eastern Europe again so I have a comfy bed to retire to after 24 hours standing in a glorified ditch, listening to the strangely therapeutic roll of a Psychedelic bass line. I will continue to do so, because I love him, and that is the greatest curse a man can be blessed with.

So, as I was saying, me and my Mercules (and my little sister Claudia) were driving through the beautiful rolling hills of Somerset on our way to pick up the latest addition to the ever growing hoard of livestock; a pair of eight week old pedigree Kune Kune piglets. Cute doesn’t even come into it, these two reduced me do a swooning wreck of peculiar noises immediately, and it was all I could do to pay the breeder and sign the ownership papers without joining them both in the mud to see what all the fuss was about.

On the way home the newly named ‘Bangers’ and ‘Mashed’ were good as gold in their box in the back of Mercules, that was until after nearly four hours driving and only a few miles from home they both escaped with a squeal and a snort and joined us up front. It conspires that contrary to popular belief pigs are rather clean and well mannered creatures, of course they appreciate a good wallow, but when it comes to defecation they refuse point blank to pass stool in their sleeping quarters. Poor little Bangers and Mashed were so desperate they simply couldn’t hold on any longer and had staged a daring escape from the confines of their box, in order to crap all over the mock oak floor of my van.

Many a happy hour was spent playing with the two new family members as they ran through the kitchen squealing, chewing the tails of our confused dogs, and repeatedly falling into the neighbouring duck pond prompting a full scale rescue operation. The stories are true, pigs cannot swim.

Anyway, a year or so went by and contrary to what the breeder told us Bangers and Mashed continued to grow at a rather alarming rate. We weren’t after a micro swine plagued with inbred health conditions to carry around in a handbag, however our kitchen garden was fast resembling the Somme and the chance of the vegetable patch surviving were slim to none. It had got to the point where had Bangers decided to go for an impromptu dip it would’ve taken more than one of us to hoist him to safety. After two years it appeared we would have to part ways after all.

I know what you’re thinking, the recipe is a piggy one, but don’t worry, we didn’t send them off to the abattoir to be strung up. What we actually did was to find a piggy sanctuary not too far away from home where the two of them could live happily ever after, and we could visit them whenever we wanted. Alas Bangers died from a heart attack shortly after he arrived (perhaps his naming pre-ordained his fate), Mashed however lives on happily, burrowing around, snuffling, and doing general piggy things.

This recipe is a celebration of our 45 million year old friends, the wonderful, lovable, and not so dirty pig. 

Ingredients: (Serves 4)

1 pork filet (loin)

16 rashers streaky bacon (2 packs)

Wholegrain mustard

8 large potatoes, Desiree or Maris Piper will do

1 head of brocolli, pulled into medium florettes 

1 leek, chopped finely

2 shallots, chopped finely

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

2 tablespoons of runny honey

2 tspns English mustard

200g chestnut mushrooms, finely sliced

100g butter

1 tablespoon plain flour

400ml vegetable stock 

150ml dry vermouth

Olive Oil

1 egg

50ml double cream

Salt and Pepper

Asparagus to garnish (in season in spring, mine tasted bland)

Method: 

Preheat the oven to 220 degrees centigrade.

1. Lay out the streaky bacon on the work surface slightly overlapping each piece, pat the pork filet dry on kitchen towel and position it in the middle of the bacon. Smother it in wholegrain mustard then wrap the bacon around the filet, place it on a baking tray and put it at the bottom of the oven, cook for 40 minutes. The pork can turn dry if you over cook it so be careful not to overdo it, you want the bacon to be going a little bit crispy on top.

2. Whilst the pork is cooking peel and chop the potatoes into halves, put in a large saucepan with cold water and a pinch of salt. Bring to the boil and cook for 15 minutes until soft, drain in a colander.

3. At the same time as the potatoes are boiling boil the brocolli till soft, strain and set aside. 

4. In a frying pan add a little butter and oil and fry off the leeks until they are soft but not browning, then add a small slug of red wine vinegar and cook it off, take off the heat and set aside. 

5. Mash the potatoes with the double cream, 50g of butter, the egg and lots of seasoning. The heat from the potatoes will cook the raw egg and it will give the mash a great taste and colour.

Now add the leeks, honey, brocolli and English mustard and stir thoroughly until it's all mixed through, this will give you the super smash you want and need.

6. For the sauce melt 50g of butter in a saucepan and add the flour to it, this will become instantly thick and lumpy. Add the stock to it a bit at a time a stir it in, as it absorbs it and becomes thick again you want to continue adding until you reach the right consistency; like double cream. When this happens add the vermouth, mushrooms and shallots, add a little seasoning and simmer until the pork is done. About 20/25 minutes, this will ensure the shrooms and shallots are soft and flavoursome. 

7. When it's all ready dish up the super smash, dump the pork wrapped in bacon on top, surround it  with a pool of the sauce and sling on a couple of steamed asparagus tips (when in season), and you're ready to go. 

Pearl Barley Pumpkin Risotto

Halloween isn’t one of the more popular calendar events in my house, it falls somewhere between Guy Fawkes night (5/11) and United Nations day, today, my birthday, which I unfortunately share with Manchester United’s primate striker Wayne Rooney. Who, incidentally, shouldn’t be paid quarter of a million pounds a week for kicking a ball into the back of a net, something he failed to do on Saturday during the battering that Man United took from City. This is rhetoric and not open to discussion.

Trick or treating for instance is one element that hasn’t caught on at home, not that we are scrooge like by any means, but the children who have rung our doorbell in the past demanding sweets are the same little shits that for the rest of the year deface the horse chestnut tree on our driveway and hurl eggs at the wall of our house, so for them to march up to the front door demanding Haribo in lieu of a devious trick is a little presumptuous. I would also add that these children appear to get older each year, a line needs to be drawn at some point and I suggest when Darren who works behind the bar at the Rose and Crown turns up in a wizard’s outfit to claim his Starmix, it’s probably time to draw it.

I will speak up for the Pagan date however and say that it is a wonderful excuse do dress like an idiot and get shit faced - at Uni I painted my body white before squeezing myself into a pair of horrendously tight skinny jeans, dying my hair black, donning a trilby and strapping a giant syringe to my arm to head out as the train wreck front man of the Libertines, P Dock. Only last year I visited a local pub dressed in fish net suspenders, eight inch platform boots, a tank top, a US sports jacket belonging to a Drum Major called Jill who attended Providence Rhode Island some time in the mid 80s, and a pair of Muay Thai shorts that proved less than insulating in the near freezing conditions. The night ended with me trying to carry my youngest sister to the car as she vomited all over ‘Jill’s’ white leather sleeves, which in a pair of heeled platform boots was challenging to say the least. A good night then.

Of the positives and negatives that Halloween brings, the best and most fun of all has to be carving spooky faces into pumpkins. Like chocolate eggs at Easter the pumpkin really is the highlight of my 31^st, so here is a recipe that’s a little bit different to use up your surplus flesh this weekend. Mwahahahahahaaaaaa!

Ingredients: (Serves 4)

240g pearl barley

2 large handfuls of cubed pumpkin flesh

1 handful of fine French beans, top and tailed, steamed

1 white onion, finely chopped

70 grams of parmesan, finely grated, a few shavings to garnish

1 tspn thyme leaves, four sprigs for garnishing

1 tablespoon of rosemary

2 large cloves of garlic, crushed and chopped

Zest of 1 lemon

Juice of 1 lemon

Extra virgin olive oil

Butter

1.5 litres of vegetable stock

1 glass of dry white wine

Method:

1. Put the Barley in a pyrex bowl and soak in boiling water for 10 minutes to let it soften, drain and set aside.

2. Steam the fine beans for 6 – 8 minutes, set aside.

3. In a deep thick bottomed frying pan melt the butter and a couple of slugs of olive oil, chuck in the onions, garlic and pumpkin and fry over a medium/high heat until softened but not browned. Add the pearl barley and stir through, then pour in the white wine and burn off the alcohol till the liquid reduces by more than half. Add the lemon juice and zest along with the thyme leaves and rosemary and stir. Now add the stock a bit at a time, continuously stirring over a medium heat, as the barley absorbs the stock add more.

4. It should take between 10 and 15 minutes for the barley to soak up all the stock, it will be quite sloppy by this point and would have doubled in amount. Chuck in the fine beans and stir them in, then add the finely grated parmesan and mix it through.

5. Serve in large bowls with a handful of peppered rocket, a sprig of thyme, some parmesan shavings and a drizzle of olive oil. Scarily tasty. 

Rump Steak with a Twin Cheese White Wine Mushroom Sauce

“Did you ever see the customers in health-food stores? They are pale, skinny people who look half dead. In a steak house, you see robust, ruddy people. They’re dying, of course, but they look terrific.”

The wise words of Mr Bill Cosby (still touring) and the 8oz rump sat in my cooler were invitation enough to go rich or go home, no half way point, no celebration of culinary mediocrity, the whole hog, or cow for that matter. I think that’s the great thing about eating a steak; there’s something intrinsically masculine, nay (moo) empowering about using a specially provided knife to cut into a great slab of meat, and watching the blood, that only days earlier was coursing through a methane machine somewhere in the home counties, ooze out and meander across your plate. “I am a man!” I think to myself, “And I shall eat this beast.”

Not only does red meat massively increase your libido, pulling power and general masculinity, it is also a source of zinc that is important for your immune system, iron, phosphorus, potassium, magnesium and selenium, all of which produce a squeaky pop, and it has been shown that a diet based on lean red meat can aid in weight loss. So for those of you Mr Cosby is talking about, why not try, at least once a week (or perhaps on a rare occasion), to tuck into a sumptuous sirloin, a tender T-bone, a revelatory rib eye or even the phenomenal filet mignon. In terms of health, the steaks really aren’t that high.

Ingredients: (Serves 2)

2 x 8oz rump steaks

1 small glass dry white wine

8 shallots, finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, crushed

150g cup mushroom, destalked, finely sliced

Handful fresh parsley, finely chopped

Sprig of thyme

150ml double cream

50g Swiss Gruyere cheese, finely grated

50g Saint Agur blue cheese, broken into bits

Butter

Olive Oil

Salt and Pepper

Method:

1. In a thick bottomed pan/skillet heat a splash of olive oil with a tspn of butter over a medium to high heat until it begins to sizzle, add the shallots and garlic and fry for a minute, then add the mushrooms and toss to coat. Pour in the wine and burn off the alcohol, the liquid should reduce by over half as the flavour is absorbed by the shallots and mushrooms, this will take a few minutes.

2. Pour in the cream and stir it through, then add the sprig of thyme and simmer for a few minutes taking care to continue stirring. The aroma from the herb will waft rather deliciously up at you. Add the cheeses and melt into the mix, the flavours will be getting pretty orgasmic by now. Mix the chopped parsley in and remove from the heat.

3. Whilst you are making the sauce prepare you beef, season both sides thoroughly with salt and pepper, depending on how you like your meat cooked you will have to make allowances for timing. I like mine rare so a minute on each side, you may want more. In a griddle pan heat a couple of slugs of olive oil over a high heat, put the steaks in and add a small knob of butter around them (doing this when they are already in stops the butter from burning), fry them to how you like them. If they spring back at you when you touch them then the meat is getting to well done, if they are still relatively soft then towards rare.

4. Plate up the steaks and cover with the sauce. Garnish with a wee sprig of un-chopped parsley and prepare to grow chest hair (careful ladies). 

Julia Child's Bouef Bourguignon

Last night I received a rather jovial message on ‘The Book’ from an ardent admirer of both me and my blog (you know who you are), the content of which poked fun at the correlation between me and my blogging and the character of Amy Adams in the recent Julie and Julia film.

As with all comments, no matter how misdirected, I took this to heart immediately and have subsequently spent an epic 5 hours in the kitchen cooking, almost word for word, the recipe for Julia Child’s Bouef Bourguignon. As for the mischievous pixie whose request led to me pouring my blood, sweat, and half a bottle of Beaujolais into a casserole, this time you get off Scott free, next time you won’t be so lucky and you may find some auburn bread men dedicated to you.

I have converted the measurements from US into UK and 20^th to 21^st century, this should make it easier when preparing, rather than drenching your keyboard into grease like I’m doing this very second finding online measurement converters.

Ingredients: (Serves 6 ) – 5 hours prep and cook

1 pack of finest unsmoked bacon, cut into 1cm squares

Olive Oil

1.3kg lean stewing beef, cut into 2 inch cubes

1 carrot, sliced into circles

1 white onion, sliced

Salt and pepper

2 tablespoons plain flour

400ml red wine, young and full-bodied (like Beaujolais, Cotes du Rhone, Burgundy or Mon Petit Amis)

800ml beef stock

1 tablespoon tomato purée

2 cloves garlic, mashed

½ tspn thyme

1 crumbled bay leaf

20 small round shallots, skin taken off

60g butter

Herb bouquet - 4 parsley sprigs, one-half bay leaf, one-quarter tspn thyme, tied in cheesecloth

(For the above I just used a Bouquet Garni from Waitrose)

450g chestnut mushrooms, quartered

Method:

Preheat the oven to 230°C

1. Heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a flame proof casserole and add the bacon bits, fry until brown and transfer onto kitchen towel to drain off the oil.

2. Pat the beef dry with paper towel and brown in the same casserole in batches, transferring to the plate with the bacon when done.

3. In the same fat, brown the sliced onion and carrot, pour out the excess fat, and return the beef to the casserole and toss with ½ tspn of salt and ¼ tspn of black pepper. Sprinkle the flour on top and toss again to lightly coat the beef before placing it, uncovered, in the middle of the preheated oven for 4 minutes. Toss the meat again and return to the oven for another 4 minutes – this browns the flour and covers the meat with a light crust.

4. Remove the casserole and turn the oven down to 160°C, stir in the red wine and around 500ml of stock, enough to just about cover the meat. Add the tomato purée, mashed garlic, thyme and bay leaf (I chucked in a bouquet garni here for good measure) and bring to a simmer on top of the cooker. Cover the casserole and return to the oven for 3 – 4 hours, stirring a couple of times between, the beef should become incredibly soft and tender.

5. Whilst the meat is cooking heat a tablespoon of butter with the same amount of olive oil in a thick bottomed frying pan, add the small whole shallots and sauté over a moderate heat for around 10 minutes, roll them around to get them smothered in the butter. Add 150ml of stock, salt and pepper and a bouquet garni, cover and simmer for 45 minutes until the onions are tender and the liquid has evaporated. Remove the bouquet garni and drain the shallots on kitchen paper.

6. Wipe the pan and add the same amount of butter and oil over a high heat, when sizzling add the mushrooms and toss them around for 5 minutes till they are cooked and browned.

7. When the meat is done Julia recommends that you - “Pour the contents of the casserole into a sieve set over a saucepan. Wash out the casserole and return the beef and bacon to it. Distribute the cooked shallots and mushrooms on top. Skim fat off sauce in saucepan. Simmer sauce for a minute or two, skimming off additional fat as it rises. You should have about 2 ½ cups of sauce thick enough to coat a spoon lightly. If too thin, boil down rapidly. If too thick, mix in a few teaspoons of stock. Pour over the meat and vegetables and baste the beef several times”.

I simply added the shallots and mushrooms to the original casserole, mixed them in, and served with some parsley to garnish. It tasted absolutely delicious. I didn’t bother but some boiled new potatoes tossed in butter and chives would have gone perfectly with it.

Friday Fish and Chips

Having recently returned from six months abroad, the final two of which were spent in India, I have been getting stuck into reacquainting myself with Great British foods. The kind of staples that embody the quintessence of old Blighty and only really taste great on home soil. 

When I was walking through the infuriatingly chaotic streets of Varanasi, Hinduism's holiest place and the setting for some pretty mind blowing religious devotion, I was accosted every step of the way by hawkers and street children trying to sell me something or get a commission out of me. The kids, all of whom are illiterate but speak several languages fluently, find out your country and hurl the relevant colloquialisms at you, almost every time as Brits we got "FISH AND CHIPS"! 

I thought of this yesterday when considering how to enable my fishy Friday and thought it would be a nice idea to chuck a bit of the east in there, hence the ginger, cumin seeds and chilli in the mix that are all brought together by the lemon zest and seasoning. Enjoy. 

   

Ingredients: (Serves 4)

Fish:

4 skinned cod fillets

Small bunch of finely chopped parsley

Tspn of cumin seeds

One medium red chilli, seeded and finely chopped

Zest of half a lemon

1 clove of garlic, crushed

Extra virgin olive oil

1cm of ginger, finely chopped

Salt and pepper

Beer Batter:

1 cup of plain flour

1 egg, beaten

1 garlic clove, crushed

½ tspn black pepper

Can of lager

Mushy Peas:

4 handfuls of fresh garden peas (frozen will do)

A handful of freshly picked mint, finely chopped

1 tablespoon of crème fraiche

A small knob of butter

Salt and pepper

Chips:

5 large potatoes, peeled and chopped into chips

Salt

Tartare Sauce:

300ml of Hellman’s mayonnaise

1 tablespoon of capers

6 pickled gherkins, roughly chopped

Small bunch of flat leaf parsley, roughly chopped

30g of anchovies, roughly chopped

Juice of ½ a lemon

Smoked paprika

2 litres of Vegetable oil for deep frying

Method:

1.Put the cod in a bowl and add all the ingredients from the fish section along with a dash of extra virgin olive oil, leave in the fridge to marinate for a couple of hours.

 2.
Boil the chips for 5 minutes in salted water until they begin to soften but still hold their shape, drain and set aside.

3. For the batter put the flour in a bowl and make a well, pour in the egg, garlic and pepper, and then the lager, stir it thoroughly till the batter reaches a smooth thick consistency and set aside.

4. For the tartare sauce put the mayonnaise in a bowl and add the capers, along with the remaining roughly chopped ingredients and the lemon juice, mix well and keep in the fridge. You can dust the top with paprika when you serve it.

5. Boil the kettle and cook the peas for 3 minutes until soft, transfer to a blender along with the crème fraiche, chopped mint and butter, and blend for a few seconds so it remains lumpy and not pureed. Season to taste.

6. Heat the vegetable oil in a large pan over a high heat until it is ready for frying, test it by chucking in a small piece of chip, if it starts to bubble aggressively then you’re ready to get frying. Carefully pour in the chips and cook them for around 10 minutes or until golden, using a slotted spoon transfer them to a plate with some kitchen cloth to drain the oil from them, toss in salt and keep warm.

7. Remove the fish from the fridge, dunk and cover in the batter and lower it carefully into the oil. Cook for between 7-10 minutes or until golden and crispy, remove, and drain on tissue paper before plating all the components together.