Pork belly with harlequin squash, burnt apple puree, chard and nduja

Last week I was lucky enough to be invited along to a ‘Meet The Producer’ evening hosted by wonderful champions of British charcuterie, Cannon and Cannon, and their producer for the night, Moons Green. Having bought and enjoyed their products a few times before, it was great to learn more about what went into the production side of things, and interesting to hear the (often highly amusing) stories gained along the way. Of course, it was also brilliant to taste a wide range of cured meats, from beer sticks to UK coppa, cured ‘buttock’ and nduja. And I was very happy to be kindly given a piece of the latter to play about with back in the kitchen. 

 
I’m a real lover of foreign charcuterie, and any trip back from Europe sees me cramming my suitcase full of regional specialities to devour once back at home. But it was hugely enlightening to see the sheer range and quality of cured meats being produced in this country. In the UK we rear some amazing quality livestock, and it is crazy that we aren’t renowned for preserving it. Cannon and Cannon are rightly hugely enthusiastic about their products, and hopefully soon we will see a well-deserved charcuterie renaissance, one to rival the current resurgence with cheese.
 
Nduja is fantastic, and something that has recently achieved trend status in London and beyond. And rightly so; it is such a versatile ingredient. It can hold its own as a dominant flavour when used in something like a sauce with tomatoes, or balanced and tempered to add depth to other dishes. I recently saw a Gizzi Erskine recipe where she crumbled it into a vongole-style spaghetti and it looked fabulous.
 
Now that we’re full-swing into autumn, I thought that the fiery heat of the nduja would contrast brilliantly with the sweet fruit and vegetables that are now coming through. It also works a treat with greens and brassicas, in this case, some of the lovely chard that seems to be springing up out of the ground everywhere at present. At the centre of the dish is a hunk of pork belly, brittle and crunchy on top and succulent underneath. I wanted to showcase the quality of British pork, and here it is evident both cured and fresh. Ignore the pale, anaemic slabs you see lining supermarket aisles; independent butchers and suppliers is where the real quality (and flavour!) is at.
 
Serves 4
 
Ingredients:
 
For the pork belly:
 
1 x 1.5kg piece of on the bone pork belly, ribs removed and saved for stock 
1 tbsp fennel seeds 
1 tbsp dried oregano 
1 lemon, zest only 
10 sprigs of thyme 
1 pinch of dried chilli flakes 
1 carrot 
2 shallots 
3 cloves of garlic
 
For the sauce:
 
The ribs and trim from the pork belly, excess fat removed 
1 tsp fennel seeds 
2 shallots, finely sliced 
1 carrot, finely chopped 
2 garlic cloves, sliced 
5 sprigs of thyme 
1 bay leaf 
1 large glass of white wine 
750ml chicken stock 
1 large knob of butter
 
For the burnt apple puree:
 
4 braeburn apples 
2 tbsp caster sugar 
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
 
For the roasted squash:
 
1 large or 2 medium harlequin squash, peeled and seeded 
1 garlic clove, grated 
1 tbsp dried oregano 
1 tbsp sweet smoked paprika 
1 tsp ground cinnamon 
1 tsp fennel seeds 
1 lemon, zest only
 
For the chard:
 
1 inch-thick slice of spicy nduja 
1 large bunch of chard, tough stalks removed. Leaves roughly sliced. 
1 lemon, juice only

 
Preheat the oven to 240⁰C. Put the apples for the puree into an oven dish and roast for about an hour, until dark in colour all over and very soft. Transfer to a food processor with the caster sugar and blend until smooth. With the engine still running, drizzle in the olive oil until emulsified. Pass through a fine sieve if necessary, then spoon into a squeezy bottle. 

 
While the apples are cooking make the sauce. Bring a large frying pan or skillet to a high heat. Season the ribs and trimmings from the pork belly and brown in a little olive oil until all sides are well caramelised. Tip in the shallots, carrot, garlic and herbs and continue to fry for a couple of minutes. Pour in the wine and reduce by two-thirds, then top up with the stock. Bring back to the boil, then gently reduce until only a thick, concentrated sauce remains. Pour through a fine sieve into a small saucepan, discarding the bones and vegetables. Whisk the butter into the sauce, then cover and set aside.
 
Lower the oven temperature to 130⁰C. Put the fennel seeds, lemon zest, dried oregano, chilli flakes and half of the thyme for the pork belly into a pestle and mortar with a generous amount of salt and pepper and crush well. Slice the root vegetables in half lengthways and scatter onto the bottom of a roasting dish, along with the garlic and remaining half of the thyme. Use a sharp knife to carefully score the skin of the pork, then position the meat on top of the vegetables. Rub the spice mix into the skin of the pork, making sure that it gets right into the grooves. Roast in the oven for 3-4 hours, until very tender. Raise the oven temperature to 240⁰C, and continue to cook the meat for 10-15 minutes, until the crackling has bubbled and crisped. Remove from the oven to somewhere warm, and allow to rest before carving. 

 
Lower the oven temperature back down to 200⁰C. Slice the squash into thick wedges and scatter into a roasting dish. Sprinkle over the spices and spoon in a good glug of olive oil. Toss well to combine, then roast for 30-40 minutes, until tender in the middle and caramelised on the outside. Set aside 4 pieces of roasted squash, and transfer the rest into a food processor. Blitz well into a smooth puree, adding the butter and a good sprinkle of seasoning.
 
Bring a frying pan to a medium heat. Pour in 1 tbsp of oil, then add the nduja. Fry for a couple of minutes, until it starts to release its oil, using a spoon to break it up into small pieces. Add the chard leaves and the lemon juice, and combine well with the nduja. Cook for another minute or so, until the chard leaves have just wilted. 

 
Reheat the sauce and roasted squash if necessary.
 
To serve, postion a piece of pork belly onto each plate. Squeeze on a good blob of apple puree, add a piece of roasted squash and spoon on a dollop of squash puree. Add some of the chard and nduja, before finishing with a couple of spoonfuls of the sauce.

Farfalle with ‘nduja, anchovies, red wine and cherry tomatoes

It’s been a while since my last post. Tragically, my twin brother died very suddenly just before Christmas after a very short battle with cancer. All thoughts of cooking flew out the window as my family came together to support each other through the most difficult time imaginable.

I’ve only been back in London a week or so, and it feels good to slowly get back into a normal routine, even though I’m not sure I know what normality feels like anymore. Like many other food centrics, cooking proves therapeutic and healing, and never more so than in the last couple of weeks. Luckily, I’ve had some spare time on my hands recently, so I’ve had afternoons to tuck my head into the butchers, and time to nosy about the green grocers again. I’m finally itching to get back in the kitchen, and with thoughts firmly on my wonderful brother, this was always going to be my first post… 

The inspiration for this recipe is the pasta of my youth. It was one of the first things that I was confident in cooking, and would cook it at any given opportunity. When my parents went on holidays I was always in charge of the cooking, and invariably we would eat this dish two or three times over that period. This became my brother’s favourite, and we would gorge on it until we were fit to burst before laying on the sofa groaning in pain. When we stopped living in the same house, he would always phone me to be reminded of the recipe, complaining that he had tried to make it but it hadn’t been “quite right”. 

Of course in those days I hadn’t even heard of things like ‘nduja, and it was a good few years until I would learn to make pasta. The sauce would be made with chorizo or bacon, mixed with a tin of chopped tomatoes and then poured over whatever dried pasta we had in the cupboard. This recipe is slightly more refined, but the taste still brings back warm happy memories. 

‘Nduja seems to be a very trendy ingredient at the moment in restaurants and food blogs, but despite this it’s still relatively difficult to get hold of. It gave me a great excuse to head to Borough Market where I found a wonderful British made variety. The texture of the soft salami is similar to those I have tried before, but the taste is slightly less spicy and more fragrant with fennel seeds. Delicious. My brother always hated anchovies, but accepted them in this sauce as they just melt away and enhance all of the other flavours. 

Although my reasoning for making farfalle in this recipe was in tribute to the random pasta shapes that we used to find at home, the shape is very suitable with the sauce. The large surface area grips the sauce meaning that you get a good taste with every mouthful.

Serves 2 

Ingredients: 

For the pasta: 

200g ‘00’ grade flour
2 medium eggs
1 tbsp olive oil
Good pinch of salt 

For the sauce: 

1 shallot, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely sliced
½ red chilli, finely chopped
1 tsp smoked sweet paprika
1 tsp fennel seeds
3 sprigs rosemary, finely chopped
4 anchovy fillets, roughly chopped
80g ‘nduja, skinned and chopped roughly
1 glass red wine
15-20 very small ripe cherry tomatoes, quartered
Olive oil 
Salt and pepper

To finish: 

Parmesan, finely grated
Basil leaves
Extra virgin olive oil


To make the pasta, put the flour, eggs, salt and oil into a food processor and pulse until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Tip out onto a clean surface and knead well for about 10 minutes until the dough is smooth and elastic in texture. Wrap with clingfilm and allow to rest in the fridge for at least half an hour. 

Remove the dough from the fridge and roll through the thickest setting 6-10 times, folding after each pass. Lightly dust the sheet with flour then pass once down through the settings until you reach the thinnest. Lay the long, thin pasta sheet onto a floured surface. To make the farfalle, cut small rectangles out of the sheet and shape them by gently pushing out the middle and folding in the narrow sides to form a bow tie. Put each one on a lightly floured sheet of greaseproof paper. They can be used straight away, but are best after allowed to dry for a few hours.
Fill a large saucepan with well salted water and bring to the boil. 

To make the sauce, heat a little olive oil in a large non-stick frying pan. Cook the shallot, garlic, rosemary, fennel seeds, chilli and paprika over a medium heat for a few minutes until softened. Season a little. Add the ‘nduja and anchovy and continue to fry for another few minutes, stirring until they almost melt into the mixture. Turn the heat up slightly and pour in the red wine and allow to reduce by half. Stir in the quartered tomatoes until slightly softened.

Tip the farfalle into the boiling water and cook for 1-2 minutes. When cooked, use a slotted spoon and transfer the pasta to the frying pan with the sauce, along with 1 tbsp of the cooking water. Stir gently to combine the sauce and pasta and cook for a further minute. Taste and season if necessary.

Transfer the coated pasta to warmed plates and top with basil leaves, grated parmesan, cracked pepper and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.

Mussels with ‘nduja broth, butter beans and tarragon

Here I will carry on from my last blog post with the actual meal that I intended to cook in the first place! Before I got sidetracked into buying the prawns, the main reason that I went to Borough Market at the weekend was to buy the ‘nduja to make the sauce for my mussel broth. You can buy the rest of the ingredients from most fishmongers and greengrocers, but I have travelled to loads of Italian delis around Stoke Newington and couldn’t find it anywhere. I always try and find my ingredients as locally as possible, and if I fail with that then I know that I can get pretty much anything from Borough, even though it is a bit of a trek from north London. From researching on Twitter, I knew that there were stalls that sold the soft, spicy salami from southern Italy, and luckily I managed to stumble upon one really quickly. The guys at the De Calabria stall were very friendly, and I was happy to have found what I had come for. 

In the past I have used sombrasada, which is a soft chorizo from Spain, and very similar to the ‘nduja in texture. However, the ‘nduja carries a much meatier and savoury flavour, with a much spicier kick than it’s Spanish equivalent, which I thought would work really well with the cider broth and the mussels. I’ve still got a big chunk of the stuff in the fridge, and am always so tempted to slap it on some crusty bread when I stumble back from work hungry. Aside from this broth, it will work really well in giving backbone and depth to soups and sauces, and I can’t wait to have it with some fresh pasta. As it’s strong and spicy, you only need a tiny bit to make an impact; a little definitely goes a long way.

I’m surprised that it’s taken me this long to write about mussels in this blog, as they are right up there with my favourite seafood. I started eating them on holidays with my parents cooked with white wine, cream and garlic and haven’t looked back since. Although I still love moules mariniere, or even better, moules frites, there are so many more ways to cook mussels. They handle big flavours really well, so using things like ‘nduja, cider and paprika is no problem. The key is in the preparation and cooking of the mussels. Always buy fresh live mussels from a good fishmonger in the months when they are in season. Make sure you de-beard them, and while you do this, discard any mussels that are broken, or that don’t close when given a sharp tap. They only need to be quickly steamed, otherwise they go very rubbery and won’t be nice! If you haven't already, I urge you to give them a go. They are also really sustainable and excellent value for money, which can only be a good thing.

To give my sauce even more flavour and a little sweetness, I used the leftover shells from the prawns that we had eaten as a starter. You could see if your fishmonger has any spare, but this is not totally essential, and the sauce will be lovely if you don’t have the shells. 

Serves 2 as a main, or 4 for a light lunch or starter.

Ingredients:

1kg live mussels, de-bearded and cleaned

3 shallots, finely chopped

1 red chilli, finely chopped

1 carrot, finely chopped

1 fennel, finely chopped

2 garlic cloves, finely sliced

1/2 tsp hot smoked paprika

1 tsp tomato puree

75g ‘nduja, skin removed and roughly chopped

1 small pinch saffron

1 bay leaf

1.5 litres good fish stock

250ml dry cider, I used Black Fox organic

1 splash brandy

Shellfish shells (optional)

To finish:

400g butter beans, pre-soaked or tinned and drained well

1 large handful small cherry tomatoes, halved

5 sprigs tarragon, leaves picked and roughly chopped

1 lemon, juice only

A few rocket leaves

To serve: 

Soda bread and butter

Heat up a large saucepan or skillet to a medium heat and add a little oil. When up to temperature, add the shallot, season and cook for a couple of minutes until soft. Add the fennel, carrot, garlic, chilli and paprika and cook for  5-10 minutes until the vegetables start to become tender. Stir in the ‘nduja, saffron and tomato puree and cook for another couple of minutes, so that the ‘nduja dissolves into the sauce and the puree has cooked out. If you are using the shellfish shells, you can add them at this point too and saute. Turn up the heat slightly and pour over the brandy and carefully flambe, burning away all of the alcohol. Add the cider and reduce by half, then top up with the fish stock and bay leaf. Bring to the boil before turning the heat back down to medium and seasoning well. Cook uncovered until the liquid has reduced by about two-thirds, stirring occasionally. This reduction process should take around 30-45 minutes. 

When the mixture has reduced, strain the liquid through a sieve into a bowl, pushing down on everything to make sure that every drop of liquid and flavour goes through. Discard the vegetables in the sieve and put the strained sauce into the cleaned saucepan. Heat the sauce back up and when simmering, add the drained butter beans and cherry tomatoes. 

Turn the heat up, bring the sauce back to the boil and add the prepared mussels. Cover the saucepan and give it a shake. Keep the pan covered and cook for 4-5 minutes, or until all of the mussels have opened. When the mussels are cooked, remove them from the pan and set aside. Stir through the lemon juice, tarragon and seasoning before tasting and adjusting. 

To plate up, spoon some of the sauce, beans and tomatoes into a bowl and then add some of the cooked mussels. Top with a little rocket, a drizzle of olive oil and serve with some crusty soda bread and butter.