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.  

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.