So, yes, when eating for one, one possible option is to just roast smaller birds. But I was off buying some chicken for a caesar salad on Sunday and the price difference between filleted portions and whole birds really sank in for the first time. I could buy two chicken breasts (the smallest pack size, so if you're one you're stuck with leftovers anyway) for about £5 (price per kilo: £15), or I could buy a whole chicken for £6 (price per kilo: £5). So I bought a whole chicken.
I'm not going to act like this is just going to make one neat meal and that's that. You're going to need a freezer unless you want to eat chicken for every meal for a few days. It's also time consuming, but... the first roasting stage is very quick, and then you can stick the carcass in the fridge for a couple of days until you're ready to deal with the rest of it.
You need: a 1.5 kilo (or thereabouts) chicken. And an oven pre-heated to 180 degrees.
The first step is to add a large quantity of butter. The chicken needs this most on its breasts (don't we all?), so, starting at the thin end of them, pull the skin away from the flesh; it will be slightly reluctant but if you gradually slide your fingers under the skin you can ease it away. Fill a tablespoon with butter and slide it into the gap between the skin and the flesh, and then, with a finger on the outside of the skin, push the butter off the spoon and pull the spoon out, so you have a neat little pat of it under the skin. You can then massage it about until it's more spread out. Repeat on the other breast.
Then you add some flavourings to the inside of the bird. I like to go for half a lemon, two or three cloves of garlic (smashed somewhat), and a sprig of thyme or similar, if I have one hanging around. You could go for something more outlandish (lime, ginger and chilli? orange and five-spice? tomato, plantain and rum?) but do remember that those flavours will then imbue all the other meals you're going to make later. Grind a lot of salt over the top.
And then you put it in the oven for 20 minutes per kilo of weight, plus 10-20 minutes extra. For a 1.5 kilo chicken this will be about 45 minutes, which divides neatly into three sections of 15 minutes. After each of the first two sections, remove the chicken from the oven, baste with the fat and juices, and grind more salt over the skin. After the last section, remove it from the oven. The official advice is to stick a knife into the thigh to check for any pink juices, but I find that the bit of breast right next to the thigh always takes longest to cook, so that's where I stick my knife. If you do get some blood running out, stick it back in the oven for another 10 minutes.
A warm chicken salad
I made a chicken caesar salad with the first warm pickings from my chicken. Actually, I lie. The first thing I did was to peel the crispy, salty skin off the breasts and eat it. All. But then, I made a caesar salad; however, I used ready-made dressing and I don't think you need a recipe for that, so here's something else.
I remember an episode of a Jamie Oliver show (can't remember which) where he makes a big deal of throwing lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber away, because he wants to "pimp up" (or something) our ideas of salad. Well, sorry, Jamie, but I like normal salads. For one person, you need:
100g watercress
3 very good tomatoes
1/2 cucumber
Start work once the chicken has been out of the oven for 10 minutes. Pick over the watercress and remove the thick stems; even when eating alone there is little less dignified than having half a stem of watercress hanging out the edge of your mouth. Cut the tomatoes into halves, and then into thin wedges from stem to tip, so you get half-moon shapes. Halve the cucumber lengthways, then scoop out the seeds and slice thinly to match the tomatoes.
Make a dressing with:
1 tsp dijon mustard
1tbs white wine or cider vinegar
1tbs olive oil
and a good sprinkle of salt
Strip the chicken off one of the breasts: it should be cool enough by now to do this with your fingers. Pull into strands, then toss together with the salad and dressing.
Chicken sandwich
The downside to having a chicken between two people is that there is very rarely any leftover white meat. Not the case here, though: #singlepersonwin.
I do think that the best chicken sandwich is one that contains stuffing, but making stuffing as well as roasting a chicken for one person seems a little over the top even to me. Therefore, my perfect leftover chicken lunch or light supper requires:
Two very thick slices of good quality brown bread
Mayonnaise (shop bought. I just daren't make my own. You may, in which case do.)
Tarragon
Thin slices chicken breast meat.
I recommend toasting the bread, as that keeps it slightly stiff, thus avoiding the dreaded half-sandwich flop and consequent loss of lunch to the floor. Chop the tarragon very finely, stir into the mayo and spread this on both pieces of toast. Add slices of chicken. Munch.
This leaves you with brown meat and some bones. The obvious thing to recommend here is risotto, so I shall. You should make the bones into chicken stock by sticking them in a casserole dish with around 1.5 litres of water, a quartered onion, a bay leaf or two, and maybe a carrot if you happen to have one hanging around. Bring this up to a boil on the hob, then leave in the oven at 120 degrees for two hours or so. I freeze stock in 750ml portions, as that's what I need to make risotto, but I believe the sensible thing to do is to freeze it in smaller portions, so you can be adaptable about the manner in which you use your stock.
By this stage, it's probably three days after you originally cooked your chicken, so it's time to just stick the rest of the meat in the freezer. Then it's around for those moments when what you really need is pie...
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Monday, 26 September 2011
The Perfect Mushroom Pasta
I've been thinking about this for a long time.
During my brief period in my teens as an "almost-veggie" (i.e. I wasn't sufficiently horrible a teenager to make my Mum cook me a different dinner to the rest of the family *every* night) I got very heavily into trying to perfect two different mushroom pastas. There was the one in a very rich tomato sauce, with masses of heavily caramelised onions in, which I topped with a round of grilled goats' cheese; and then there was the one where I reduced about a third of a bottle of chardonnay (Californian was best, I found) in with the mushrooms and a ton of garlic to make a sweet, vanilla-y sticky sauce. Looking back, both were over-flavoured to the point where you could barely eat more than a few mouthfuls before feeling faintly nauseous.
I've been working for some months on a mushroom pasta that has a balance of several flavours, rather than focussing on strengthening one particular flavour. I nearly gave up the search when I saw Simon Hopkinson's Baked Porcini Pappardelle, but it's really too involved a method for it to be the perfect mushroom pasta - it's certainly not perfect for any day when you have less than an hour to cook supper.
There are several small, but important, details in this pasta. The onion must be red, to add sufficient sweetness, and it must be finely chopped, so that the pieces almost melt into the sauce. The mushrooms must be thinly sliced for the same reason; they should ideally be chestnut, but normal button ones will do. 250g seems like a lot, but they reduce a lot, and they need to be an equal feature of this dish to the pasta even after that. The mustard must be wholegrain to give texture, and so that it is sufficiently mild.
Whilst I'm being prescriptive, I might as well note that it really is worth using decent quality pasta. For a long time I was tempted by the too-good-to-be-true pice of cheap pasta, until I realised it really was too good to be true: the pasta was soggy and slimy, regardless of how carefully I cooked it. De Cecco is good, and widely available; I've also been using Garofolo which is less easily available. And, at the end of the day, you're still getting a lot of food for a few pence.
Mushroom pasta
1 small red onion, or half a large one
1 clove garlic
1 large slice butter
small glug olive oil
75g short pasta - fusilli, penne, etc...
250g chestnut mushrooms
1 tsp wholegrain mustard
2 tbs creme fraiche
small handful of basil or parsley (or a mixture, I suppose), roughly chopped
Finely chop the red onion; finely chop the clove of garlic. Heat the butter and olive oil* in a medium saucepan, and bring a pan of water up to the boil.
Tip the onion into the pan of fat, and the pasta into the pan of water. Keep the onion on a medium heat, so that it is sizzling gently but not really browning. After 4-5 minutes, when it's looking soft and starting to turn golden, add the garlic, stir, and cook for a further minute.
Tip in the mushrooms, season well, and stir well. After a minute they will start giving up their juices, wilting and reducing considerably. After another few minutes, their juices will have mostly evaporated and they will start sizzling; at this point turn the heat down to its lowest setting.
Hopefully, your pasta will be cooked round about now; if it isn't, then the mushrooms will sit happily for a minute or two until it is. Once it's done, drain and put to one side.
Add the mustard, stir, then add the creme fraiche and mix well. Tip in the pasta, combine with the sauce, then finally add the herb(/s) and give a quick stir.
You could serve this with some parmesan, but I tend to find it rich enough on its own.
*Using two different types of fat might seem a bit odd. The butter is for the flavour, but it burns at a fairly low temperature, giving a bitter taste. The olive oil raises the burn temperature of the butter, adding little flavour but stopping the butter burning.
During my brief period in my teens as an "almost-veggie" (i.e. I wasn't sufficiently horrible a teenager to make my Mum cook me a different dinner to the rest of the family *every* night) I got very heavily into trying to perfect two different mushroom pastas. There was the one in a very rich tomato sauce, with masses of heavily caramelised onions in, which I topped with a round of grilled goats' cheese; and then there was the one where I reduced about a third of a bottle of chardonnay (Californian was best, I found) in with the mushrooms and a ton of garlic to make a sweet, vanilla-y sticky sauce. Looking back, both were over-flavoured to the point where you could barely eat more than a few mouthfuls before feeling faintly nauseous.
I've been working for some months on a mushroom pasta that has a balance of several flavours, rather than focussing on strengthening one particular flavour. I nearly gave up the search when I saw Simon Hopkinson's Baked Porcini Pappardelle, but it's really too involved a method for it to be the perfect mushroom pasta - it's certainly not perfect for any day when you have less than an hour to cook supper.
There are several small, but important, details in this pasta. The onion must be red, to add sufficient sweetness, and it must be finely chopped, so that the pieces almost melt into the sauce. The mushrooms must be thinly sliced for the same reason; they should ideally be chestnut, but normal button ones will do. 250g seems like a lot, but they reduce a lot, and they need to be an equal feature of this dish to the pasta even after that. The mustard must be wholegrain to give texture, and so that it is sufficiently mild.
Whilst I'm being prescriptive, I might as well note that it really is worth using decent quality pasta. For a long time I was tempted by the too-good-to-be-true pice of cheap pasta, until I realised it really was too good to be true: the pasta was soggy and slimy, regardless of how carefully I cooked it. De Cecco is good, and widely available; I've also been using Garofolo which is less easily available. And, at the end of the day, you're still getting a lot of food for a few pence.
Mushroom pasta
1 small red onion, or half a large one
1 clove garlic
1 large slice butter
small glug olive oil
75g short pasta - fusilli, penne, etc...
250g chestnut mushrooms
1 tsp wholegrain mustard
2 tbs creme fraiche
small handful of basil or parsley (or a mixture, I suppose), roughly chopped
Finely chop the red onion; finely chop the clove of garlic. Heat the butter and olive oil* in a medium saucepan, and bring a pan of water up to the boil.
Tip the onion into the pan of fat, and the pasta into the pan of water. Keep the onion on a medium heat, so that it is sizzling gently but not really browning. After 4-5 minutes, when it's looking soft and starting to turn golden, add the garlic, stir, and cook for a further minute.
Tip in the mushrooms, season well, and stir well. After a minute they will start giving up their juices, wilting and reducing considerably. After another few minutes, their juices will have mostly evaporated and they will start sizzling; at this point turn the heat down to its lowest setting.
Hopefully, your pasta will be cooked round about now; if it isn't, then the mushrooms will sit happily for a minute or two until it is. Once it's done, drain and put to one side.
Add the mustard, stir, then add the creme fraiche and mix well. Tip in the pasta, combine with the sauce, then finally add the herb(/s) and give a quick stir.
You could serve this with some parmesan, but I tend to find it rich enough on its own.
*Using two different types of fat might seem a bit odd. The butter is for the flavour, but it burns at a fairly low temperature, giving a bitter taste. The olive oil raises the burn temperature of the butter, adding little flavour but stopping the butter burning.
Thursday, 15 September 2011
First Soup of Autumn
I came back from a week in Tenerife late Sunday night, and sitting down at my office desk on Monday morning a mere 20 hours after I'd been sunning myself was painful enough. Then I saw the tree outside my office window: orange. I appeared to have arrived back to face autumn, already.
The one plus-side to this seasonal change is that, having spent all summer pretending to enjoy salad whilst it rain, it is now acceptable to start making soup for lunch again. I wanted something that didn't feel entirely wintery, though, and had some peppers and squash in the fridge: ingredients that always make me feel slightly happier about letting go of summer.
When I say "roughly chopped" I don't mean *really* roughly. They need to be in 1-2 cm square chunks. It just doesn't really matter how precise you are, seeing as it's all going to be blitzed at the end anyway.
Squash and Pepper soup
1 onion, roughly chopped
2 sticks celery, roughly chopped
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 red or yellow pepper, roughly chopped
1/2 butternut squash, roughly chopped
2 tsp fennel seeds
500ml good stock (I used pheasant, but that's because that's what I had in the freezer - a cube would be fine here)
75g red lentils (the small ones which take c. 20 mins to cook)
In a large saucepan (do bear in mind you're just about to add a pint of liquid to it), heat a v generous glug of olive oil, then tip in the veg, chilli, and fennel seeds. Turn the heat down to medium, as you just want to veg to gently saute and give up some of their liquid, rather than actually browning them. Cook, stirring ocassionally, for around 10-15 minutes, or until the onion is softened and melting.
Tip in the stock and bring to the boil. Once it's there, add the lentils, and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the lentils are dissolving and the squash is tender.
Blitz vigorously in a food processor/using one of those stick things. Eat.
This makes roughly two generous, or three meagre, lunch portions.
The one plus-side to this seasonal change is that, having spent all summer pretending to enjoy salad whilst it rain, it is now acceptable to start making soup for lunch again. I wanted something that didn't feel entirely wintery, though, and had some peppers and squash in the fridge: ingredients that always make me feel slightly happier about letting go of summer.
When I say "roughly chopped" I don't mean *really* roughly. They need to be in 1-2 cm square chunks. It just doesn't really matter how precise you are, seeing as it's all going to be blitzed at the end anyway.
Squash and Pepper soup
1 onion, roughly chopped
2 sticks celery, roughly chopped
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 red or yellow pepper, roughly chopped
1/2 butternut squash, roughly chopped
2 tsp fennel seeds
500ml good stock (I used pheasant, but that's because that's what I had in the freezer - a cube would be fine here)
75g red lentils (the small ones which take c. 20 mins to cook)
In a large saucepan (do bear in mind you're just about to add a pint of liquid to it), heat a v generous glug of olive oil, then tip in the veg, chilli, and fennel seeds. Turn the heat down to medium, as you just want to veg to gently saute and give up some of their liquid, rather than actually browning them. Cook, stirring ocassionally, for around 10-15 minutes, or until the onion is softened and melting.
Tip in the stock and bring to the boil. Once it's there, add the lentils, and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the lentils are dissolving and the squash is tender.
Blitz vigorously in a food processor/using one of those stick things. Eat.
This makes roughly two generous, or three meagre, lunch portions.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Ashmolean Dining Room: Autumn/Winter menu
I feel slightly guilty blogging about the Ashmolean Dining Room. Shortly after the first time I ate there I started raving about it to one of my academics, before he cut me off with shushing noises. Apparently, if you know about it, you're not allowed to tell anyone, in case those in the know stop being able to get a table and skulk there any time they fancy. Given that Tony, Kate, Alison, Alissa, and even the Oxford Times have already gotten in on the act, I fear the days when my academic could sit there in peace and quiet are long gone.
So, given that, on to the food. I had expected a few canapes, and still haven't been forgiven by the boy for conveying this impression to him, resulting in him staying at home and eating beans on toast instead. This, however was much more. When they said "new menu tasting" they really did mean "tasting" the whole "new menu". I could barely walk by the end of it. Fortunately for you lot, though, you'll be able to just order one, two, or three of these dishes when you go, as I've done all the hard work of trying them for you.
Starters
The stand out, kick-myself-for-never-thinking-of-it, option for me here was the smoked paprika grilled squid. Charred squid + smoky spice = a brilliant match, and the squid was very well cooked. I would never normally order soup in a restaurant (I can make perfectly good soup at home, thank you very much), but the cauliflower one here is probably the best I've ever had. With a texture like liquid velvet, and aided by a dash of truffle oil, this transformed cauliflower from traditional "and cheese" ingredient into something sublime.
Let down options for me were the crab panacotta, which was just insufficiently crabby and too light and summery - not a dish for November - and the seafood platter. The second of these was a huge shame; having been persuaded to try the (home) cured herring element by Sue, and discovered that it was actually really delicious, I was puzzled by their inclusion of some pretty meh-inducing smoked salmon and prawns with all the taste and texture of those I recently dug out of year's hibernation in my freezer.
I'd also encourage giving the cauliflower salad (yes! I love cauliflower, so am pleased to see a restaurant do two interesting things with it) a go: it was perhaps a little underseasoned, but a good, interesting effort nonetheless.
Mains
It's worth noting here that the Ashmolean does good work in catering for vegetarians and pescatarians, with two (interesting!) vegetarian mains and five fish mains. The first were a nice twist on that classic compulsory option for vegetarians daring to eat out - mushroom risotto - but here made with pleasantly chewy pearl barley and with plenty of leeks and spinach, and a salad billed as "beetroot, pecans, and goats' cheese" but more like "GOATS' CHEESE, beetroot, and pecans". I'd be happy to eat deep-fried goats' cheese most days, and the salad here was a lovely accompaniment.
However, the top option for me here really has to be the lamb rump. As with the squid starter, this was superbly cooked: charred on the outside and rare on the inside. Every other restaurant I've ever eaten please take note and stop serving me grey, dry, flabby stuff. The chargrilled bream was also lovely (again with the charring - I spot a pattern), and served with some grilled chicory - an idea I'll also be stealing, thank you - and a dollop of herby creme fraiche.
The normally-less-adventurous among you should, however, order the rabbit. Beautifully tender and mild, in a tarragon sauce, this would make an excellent introduction to game for those normally scared of such things (and on that note, I should make you aware that the bream comes on the bone and with head, and the sole and monkfish on the bone).
Puddings
I like that these are called "puddings" and not "dessert". Good thing too, as these are some proper puddings. The chocolate sponge wasn't particularly laced with amaretti, but was delicious nonetheless. However - fuck me - Paris Brest. None of us had any idea what this was, and were a bit underwhelmed when what looked like a plain choux bun appeared on the table. Reluctantly, we dug in, and were stunned by the rich and flaky pastry and the loveliest, most moreish nougatty and chestnutty cream. I've been furiously googling recipes for this to try and replicate it, but in the meantime I will certainly be back for more. Finally, as if to make up for the slightly sad panacotta starter, a proper panacotta with the perfect wobble and a grainy poached pear to keep it company.
I was slightly sorry to see that the Ashmolean has dropped its small-plates feature (although perhaps they'll still be there at lunchtimes), but the new menu is probably more accessible than its previous efforts. It still holds plenty of interest for dedicated foodies, if needing a little more perfecting, and a more generous hand with the salt and pepper, in places. I'll certainly be back, and not entirely because I've promised to take the boy as an apology for misleading him about quite how much food I was going to spend my evening eating.
With thanks to Andrew Cashin and all at the Ashmolean for letting us try it for free.
Ashmolean Dining Room
So, given that, on to the food. I had expected a few canapes, and still haven't been forgiven by the boy for conveying this impression to him, resulting in him staying at home and eating beans on toast instead. This, however was much more. When they said "new menu tasting" they really did mean "tasting" the whole "new menu". I could barely walk by the end of it. Fortunately for you lot, though, you'll be able to just order one, two, or three of these dishes when you go, as I've done all the hard work of trying them for you.
Starters
The stand out, kick-myself-for-never-thinking-of-it, option for me here was the smoked paprika grilled squid. Charred squid + smoky spice = a brilliant match, and the squid was very well cooked. I would never normally order soup in a restaurant (I can make perfectly good soup at home, thank you very much), but the cauliflower one here is probably the best I've ever had. With a texture like liquid velvet, and aided by a dash of truffle oil, this transformed cauliflower from traditional "and cheese" ingredient into something sublime.
Let down options for me were the crab panacotta, which was just insufficiently crabby and too light and summery - not a dish for November - and the seafood platter. The second of these was a huge shame; having been persuaded to try the (home) cured herring element by Sue, and discovered that it was actually really delicious, I was puzzled by their inclusion of some pretty meh-inducing smoked salmon and prawns with all the taste and texture of those I recently dug out of year's hibernation in my freezer.
I'd also encourage giving the cauliflower salad (yes! I love cauliflower, so am pleased to see a restaurant do two interesting things with it) a go: it was perhaps a little underseasoned, but a good, interesting effort nonetheless.
Mains
It's worth noting here that the Ashmolean does good work in catering for vegetarians and pescatarians, with two (interesting!) vegetarian mains and five fish mains. The first were a nice twist on that classic compulsory option for vegetarians daring to eat out - mushroom risotto - but here made with pleasantly chewy pearl barley and with plenty of leeks and spinach, and a salad billed as "beetroot, pecans, and goats' cheese" but more like "GOATS' CHEESE, beetroot, and pecans". I'd be happy to eat deep-fried goats' cheese most days, and the salad here was a lovely accompaniment.
However, the top option for me here really has to be the lamb rump. As with the squid starter, this was superbly cooked: charred on the outside and rare on the inside. Every other restaurant I've ever eaten please take note and stop serving me grey, dry, flabby stuff. The chargrilled bream was also lovely (again with the charring - I spot a pattern), and served with some grilled chicory - an idea I'll also be stealing, thank you - and a dollop of herby creme fraiche.
The normally-less-adventurous among you should, however, order the rabbit. Beautifully tender and mild, in a tarragon sauce, this would make an excellent introduction to game for those normally scared of such things (and on that note, I should make you aware that the bream comes on the bone and with head, and the sole and monkfish on the bone).
Puddings
I like that these are called "puddings" and not "dessert". Good thing too, as these are some proper puddings. The chocolate sponge wasn't particularly laced with amaretti, but was delicious nonetheless. However - fuck me - Paris Brest. None of us had any idea what this was, and were a bit underwhelmed when what looked like a plain choux bun appeared on the table. Reluctantly, we dug in, and were stunned by the rich and flaky pastry and the loveliest, most moreish nougatty and chestnutty cream. I've been furiously googling recipes for this to try and replicate it, but in the meantime I will certainly be back for more. Finally, as if to make up for the slightly sad panacotta starter, a proper panacotta with the perfect wobble and a grainy poached pear to keep it company.
I was slightly sorry to see that the Ashmolean has dropped its small-plates feature (although perhaps they'll still be there at lunchtimes), but the new menu is probably more accessible than its previous efforts. It still holds plenty of interest for dedicated foodies, if needing a little more perfecting, and a more generous hand with the salt and pepper, in places. I'll certainly be back, and not entirely because I've promised to take the boy as an apology for misleading him about quite how much food I was going to spend my evening eating.
With thanks to Andrew Cashin and all at the Ashmolean for letting us try it for free.
Ashmolean Dining Room
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Raw mushroom salad
Unfortunately, there are no competitions for “most unappetising blogpost title”, or I would just have won a million pounds. Perhaps I should have lured you in with promises of cheese and bacon and steak before revealing the truth.
Having managed the feat of following a week’s holiday with a weekend at my parent’s house, I was in need of something other than cheese and bacon and steak. Starting days with a full cooked breakfast and concluding them with a massive fish and chip dinner is all very well when you’ve got “climb three mountains” scheduled in between them, but my day-to-day office is somewhat devoid of mountains. The need for some relief from serious food coincided with this unexpectedly pleasant weather – unexpected in the sense of “shit my fridge is full of autumnal ingredients” – and resulted in me thinking of raw salady things.
This is a very pared-back version of this salad, which I’ve made before and would strongly recommend if you fancied something with a bit more variety in, or if you were cooking for more than one. This has a certain elegance all on its own, though, which I rather like.
A couple of notes on ingredients - you can really use 20g of whichever soft herbs take your fancy, although I do recommend using parsley as one of them. Chestnut mushrooms are my second favourite (after flat field ones, which wouldn't work here), but you could use normal white ones. And I hadn't had pecorino in ages, hence using it here, but any parmesan or other hard, strong, cheese would work well. It's just seasoning, really, so do make sure it's quite a salty one.
Raw mushroom salad
100g chestnut mushrooms
½ lemon
1 tbs olive oil
Salt
10g (ish) of parsley
10g (ish) of dill, or another soft herb like tarragon or basil
25g pecorino or parmesan
Thinly slice the mushrooms. In a largeish bowl, juice the lemon, and whisk in the olive oil and a decent pinch of salt. Tip in the mushrooms and stir very well, until each slice is coated in liquid. Leave for 30 minutes to an hour (or more, if you really want to), stirring occasionally to make sure no slices are sitting in the dressing at the bottom for too long.
Finely chop the herbs and shave (i.e. peel very thin slices off with a vegetable peeler; if your cheese is hairy then start thinking about alternative dinner options) the cheese.
When you want to eat, stir the herbs through the mushrooms and place in a flat serving dish. Scatter the cheese shavings artistically over the top.
You’ll probably want some crusty bread to go with this, and/or some extra salad leaves.
Having managed the feat of following a week’s holiday with a weekend at my parent’s house, I was in need of something other than cheese and bacon and steak. Starting days with a full cooked breakfast and concluding them with a massive fish and chip dinner is all very well when you’ve got “climb three mountains” scheduled in between them, but my day-to-day office is somewhat devoid of mountains. The need for some relief from serious food coincided with this unexpectedly pleasant weather – unexpected in the sense of “shit my fridge is full of autumnal ingredients” – and resulted in me thinking of raw salady things.
This is a very pared-back version of this salad, which I’ve made before and would strongly recommend if you fancied something with a bit more variety in, or if you were cooking for more than one. This has a certain elegance all on its own, though, which I rather like.
A couple of notes on ingredients - you can really use 20g of whichever soft herbs take your fancy, although I do recommend using parsley as one of them. Chestnut mushrooms are my second favourite (after flat field ones, which wouldn't work here), but you could use normal white ones. And I hadn't had pecorino in ages, hence using it here, but any parmesan or other hard, strong, cheese would work well. It's just seasoning, really, so do make sure it's quite a salty one.
Raw mushroom salad
100g chestnut mushrooms
½ lemon
1 tbs olive oil
Salt
10g (ish) of parsley
10g (ish) of dill, or another soft herb like tarragon or basil
25g pecorino or parmesan
Thinly slice the mushrooms. In a largeish bowl, juice the lemon, and whisk in the olive oil and a decent pinch of salt. Tip in the mushrooms and stir very well, until each slice is coated in liquid. Leave for 30 minutes to an hour (or more, if you really want to), stirring occasionally to make sure no slices are sitting in the dressing at the bottom for too long.
Finely chop the herbs and shave (i.e. peel very thin slices off with a vegetable peeler; if your cheese is hairy then start thinking about alternative dinner options) the cheese.
When you want to eat, stir the herbs through the mushrooms and place in a flat serving dish. Scatter the cheese shavings artistically over the top.
You’ll probably want some crusty bread to go with this, and/or some extra salad leaves.
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Summer game
So, game (venison, pheasant, grouse, etc etc) is winter food, right? Autumnal at best. To be paired with rich tomatoey-winey sauces, the juices soaked up by plenty of mash and rooty vegetables.
In which case, I have a problem. I'm moving out of my flat in seven weeks (panic!) and have a freezer full of food which will have to be used before then (double panic!). I managed to get away with using up a pheasant by using a cunning combination of the particularly rainy period we had a fortnight ago, plus a slightly lighter recipe: Diana Henry's Georgian tea-and-grapes one from Food from Plenty. That still left me with two pigeons. With the boy away this weekend, and my strong belief that a little bird is the perfect food for one, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to use one up.
This is my summery way of using a rich meat like pigeon. It's warm, and requires some use of a cooker, but not so much that you can't feel comfortable doing it on a warm summer evening.
Pigeon, Fennel and Raspberry Salad
1 pigeon
1/2 bulb fennel
small handful of radishes (maybe 6)
handful of walnuts or hazlenuts
handful of raspberries
handful of salad leaves - watercress is perfect
walnut oil
a light, sweet vinegar - I used white balsamic, but cider or sherry would work too
First, finely slice up your fennel and radishes. Tip into a bowl, then chop up the nuts and add them, plus around half of the raspberries, which you've torn slightly. Drizzle lightly with the oil and vinegar (perhaps a tbs of each), toss, and set aside.
Remove the breasts from the pigeon (notes on this later), then fry for just two or three minutes on each side; they should still feel fairly squishy as you want them to be rare on the inside. Remove from the heat and leave to sit for five minutes.
Once the pigeon breasts have rested, slice them thinly, then toss with the salad together with the leaves. Tip onto a plate, top with the remaining raspberries, and a little drizzle of some more walnut oil.
Removing breasts from pigeons: the easiest thing to do is to buy just the breasts, or to get a butcher to do this for you. I had a whole pigeon, so that wasn't an option, but it really is very simple to remove them yourself. There's a good video here (ignore the feathers!) - start at 1.45. The basic idea is just to make a slice along one side of the breastbone, then gradually hack your way down the ribcage until you get the whole thing off, then repeat on the other side. You'll find the breasts are really quite happy to come away from the bone in one piece; I've found before that after the initial cut, you can do the rest almost entirely with your bare hands.
In which case, I have a problem. I'm moving out of my flat in seven weeks (panic!) and have a freezer full of food which will have to be used before then (double panic!). I managed to get away with using up a pheasant by using a cunning combination of the particularly rainy period we had a fortnight ago, plus a slightly lighter recipe: Diana Henry's Georgian tea-and-grapes one from Food from Plenty. That still left me with two pigeons. With the boy away this weekend, and my strong belief that a little bird is the perfect food for one, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to use one up.
This is my summery way of using a rich meat like pigeon. It's warm, and requires some use of a cooker, but not so much that you can't feel comfortable doing it on a warm summer evening.
Pigeon, Fennel and Raspberry Salad
1 pigeon
1/2 bulb fennel
small handful of radishes (maybe 6)
handful of walnuts or hazlenuts
handful of raspberries
handful of salad leaves - watercress is perfect
walnut oil
a light, sweet vinegar - I used white balsamic, but cider or sherry would work too
First, finely slice up your fennel and radishes. Tip into a bowl, then chop up the nuts and add them, plus around half of the raspberries, which you've torn slightly. Drizzle lightly with the oil and vinegar (perhaps a tbs of each), toss, and set aside.
Remove the breasts from the pigeon (notes on this later), then fry for just two or three minutes on each side; they should still feel fairly squishy as you want them to be rare on the inside. Remove from the heat and leave to sit for five minutes.
Once the pigeon breasts have rested, slice them thinly, then toss with the salad together with the leaves. Tip onto a plate, top with the remaining raspberries, and a little drizzle of some more walnut oil.
Removing breasts from pigeons: the easiest thing to do is to buy just the breasts, or to get a butcher to do this for you. I had a whole pigeon, so that wasn't an option, but it really is very simple to remove them yourself. There's a good video here (ignore the feathers!) - start at 1.45. The basic idea is just to make a slice along one side of the breastbone, then gradually hack your way down the ribcage until you get the whole thing off, then repeat on the other side. You'll find the breasts are really quite happy to come away from the bone in one piece; I've found before that after the initial cut, you can do the rest almost entirely with your bare hands.
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Pancetta and asparagus risotto
As some of you may have seen me tweet, I visited the Daylesford Farm Shop on Monday. This is probably a good opportunity to correct a small factual mistype: when I said I escaped having only spent £40, that should have read that the boyfriend escaped having only spent £40. Whoops.
As a small apology for making such a catastrophically erratic tweet, I made a risotto for him last night with two of the ingredients I (/he) bought there: a block of pancetta, and some asparagus. I've been meaning to get hold of pancetta in the piece for ages now; I love the idea of cutting my own lardons to just the size I want them. Supermarket packs always cut them far too small. This block did not disappoint, from the gorgeous smell when it came out of its pack, to the melting texture once fried. It's not that expensive, either - about the same as you'd pay for one of those supermarket packs of ready-teeny-cubed pieces.
Pancetta and asparagus risotto
c. 200g off a block of pancetta, sliced into large lardons (or a pack if that's all you can get your hands on)
Large onion, peeled and finely chopped
c. 200g asparagus spears, tough ends broken off, tips sliced off, and main stem chopped into three or so bits, about the length of the top two joints of your thumb
125g risotto rice
Small glass white wine
500 ml chicken stock (see previous rant here)
50g parmesan, grated
In a small saucepan, heat your stock with the tough ends of the asparagus spears until simmering, then keep warm.
In a larger saucepan, fry your pancetta lardons over not too harsh a heat, so that their fat renders down and they begin to crisp up. This should take 5 minutes or just over. You shouldn't need to add more oil, unless you have some exceptionally lean pancetta on your hands (I didn't!).
Once the pancetta is crispy golden, throw in the chopped onion, stir, and fry for a further 5 minutes or so, until the onion is softened and beginning to get slightly golden itself. Tip in the rice, and stir for a couple of minutes. Tip in the glass of wine and simmer furiously until almost entirely gone.
Add the first ladle of stock, and the chopped bits of main asparagus stem (but not the tips yet). Stir. Leave to simmer. Stir again. Add another ladle of stock when it starts getting a bit dry. Repeat.
After about 10 minutes, throw in the asparagus tips, and keep adding stock and stirring. After about 15 minutes, taste the rice - it should be nearly done, with a slight bite but no chalkiness in the middle. If it needs a little longer, give it a little longer, and taste again in a couple of minutes.
Once the rice is how you like it, stir in the parmesan, and perhaps a little black peppper; with the pancetta and parmesan, it shouldn't need salt.
Serve, with more parmesan at the table.
As a small apology for making such a catastrophically erratic tweet, I made a risotto for him last night with two of the ingredients I (/he) bought there: a block of pancetta, and some asparagus. I've been meaning to get hold of pancetta in the piece for ages now; I love the idea of cutting my own lardons to just the size I want them. Supermarket packs always cut them far too small. This block did not disappoint, from the gorgeous smell when it came out of its pack, to the melting texture once fried. It's not that expensive, either - about the same as you'd pay for one of those supermarket packs of ready-teeny-cubed pieces.
Pancetta and asparagus risotto
c. 200g off a block of pancetta, sliced into large lardons (or a pack if that's all you can get your hands on)
Large onion, peeled and finely chopped
c. 200g asparagus spears, tough ends broken off, tips sliced off, and main stem chopped into three or so bits, about the length of the top two joints of your thumb
125g risotto rice
Small glass white wine
500 ml chicken stock (see previous rant here)
50g parmesan, grated
In a small saucepan, heat your stock with the tough ends of the asparagus spears until simmering, then keep warm.
In a larger saucepan, fry your pancetta lardons over not too harsh a heat, so that their fat renders down and they begin to crisp up. This should take 5 minutes or just over. You shouldn't need to add more oil, unless you have some exceptionally lean pancetta on your hands (I didn't!).
Once the pancetta is crispy golden, throw in the chopped onion, stir, and fry for a further 5 minutes or so, until the onion is softened and beginning to get slightly golden itself. Tip in the rice, and stir for a couple of minutes. Tip in the glass of wine and simmer furiously until almost entirely gone.
Add the first ladle of stock, and the chopped bits of main asparagus stem (but not the tips yet). Stir. Leave to simmer. Stir again. Add another ladle of stock when it starts getting a bit dry. Repeat.
After about 10 minutes, throw in the asparagus tips, and keep adding stock and stirring. After about 15 minutes, taste the rice - it should be nearly done, with a slight bite but no chalkiness in the middle. If it needs a little longer, give it a little longer, and taste again in a couple of minutes.
Once the rice is how you like it, stir in the parmesan, and perhaps a little black peppper; with the pancetta and parmesan, it shouldn't need salt.
Serve, with more parmesan at the table.
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