Mum looked concerned. “What is in that box Sam?”. “OH GOD, is it alive?”. Dad had a wry smile on his face, and looked like a boy scout who had discovered a new project. Mum inched back into the doorway as dad opened the lid to reveal a pair of glistening and energetic lobsters. Lunch. This was only the second time in my life that I have bought live lobsters. The first was the day after I proposed to my wife. They are and will always be a proper treat, a symbol of celebration. The native lobster season was only a week or two old, and as soon as the first delivery came into work, I just knew I had to cook with them. Mottled, and in places electric blue in colour, they are truly beautiful creatures; a world apart from the budget ‘lollipop’ lobsters that have been all over the press recently. Although this visit wasn’t a birthday or event, on the rare occasions when I get to cook for my parents, I like to go to town.
As with everything else that I cooked for this meal, simplicity was key. After being carefully and respectfully dispatched, we sat around the kitchen table preparing the meat. Mum came around to the idea and got stuck in too. We kept on sneaking little nuggets into our mouths, “just to check” dad would say. It’s a miracle that any was left for lunch. Pasta was the only option I even considered when planning the meal; I wanted to maximise the focus and flavour of the lobster, faffing about with them as little as possible.
This dish is broadly based on Angela Hartnett’s lovely recipe. Although I really get a lot out of making pasta myself, I took her advice and stuck to dried pasta for a greater contrast in texture. Funnily enough she was right, and what could have been a laborious process was ready in minutes. The other main element for this recipe is the tomatoes. I’m spoilt in London by the easy availability of beautifully ripe, sweet tomatoes, and it really is worth seeking out the best you can get.
From the burrata, to the asparagus, and finally the lobster spaghetti, it was a lunch that I will remember with a smile for years to come. A precious morning of cooking, chatting and catching up. Of course after the plates were cleaned, mum still managed to force feed me a slice of delicious and rich chocolate cake, and cheese was offered from the fridge. Then within the hour I was back on the road, plodding around the M25 planning what I will make next time. I can’t wait.
Serves 4
Ingredients:
2 large live native lobsters, approx. 800g-1kg in weight
For the pasta sauce:
2 good handfuls of small, ripe cherry or plum tomatoes
1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
6 spring onions, finely sliced
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 glass of dry white wine
For the pasta:
400g good quality, dried spaghetti
To finish:
½ a lemon, juice only
A handful of fresh basil leaves
First prepare the lobsters. Put them in a freezer for about 30 minutes prior to cooking. Fill a large saucepan with water, salt really well and bring to the boil. When the water is a rolling boil, drop the lobsters straight in (or poach one at a time if the saucepan is not large enough for both) and cook for 8-10 minutes, or until the shells turn a bright red colour. Transfer the cooked lobsters to a plate and allow to cool. To strip the meat, split the lobsters in half using a heavy chef’s knife and discard the small stomach in the head and the dark intestinal tract. Pull the tail meat away from the shell and cut into chunky pieces. Crack the claws and excavate all of the flesh. Transfer the chopped meat into a bowl along with any of the soft brown meat from the head. Keep the shells to make soup, stock or oil for another recipe.
Fill a large saucepan with water for the pasta and salt well. Bring to the boil. Add the spaghetti and cook as directed on the packet.
While the pasta is cooking, drizzle a good glug of olive oil into a separate large frying pan or saucepan and set on a medium heat. When hot, add the garlic, spring onion and chilli and fry for 2 minutes until softened. Raise the heat slightly and add the wine, allowing it to boil and reduce by half. Finally add the lobster meat, tomatoes and a good bit of seasoning, stirring to combine and heating through for a final minute or two.
When the pasta is cooked, use tongs to transfer it to the pan containing the sauce. Toss together really well, until each strand of pasta is coated with sauce. Add a spoonful or two of the pasta water to the pan if the sauce needs loosening up.
Pile the spaghetti onto each plate and scatter over the basil leaves. Finish with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and a squeeze of lemon juice.
Well, this week I have to say that I have been royally treated. After a delightful mid-week trip to Clapham and The Manor (see last blog post) I was fully prepared to never eat again, and allow those lingering flavours to ember on my taste buds. But the weekend marked five wonderful years with my dear Katie, and as always our idea of celebration is a proper meal out. Traditionally this would be at Hawksmoor at Spitalfields, a stone’s throw away from our very first date. This is always an enjoyable if not reliable way to spend an evening, but I was excited that this year we would be ringing the changes. Also, I should say that an ‘accidental’ wing rib at the excellent Hill and Szrok the night before solved our steak fix. A few weeks ago I wrote of my inspiration from discovering Café Murano, and with all of the scurrying around in between our booking crept up fast. I adore and champion eating at the wonderful small and humble restaurants local to me, but there is also something joyous about getting dressed up and making your way into town for something a little grander. It’s such a rare pleasure, but always gives a celebration like an anniversary a sense of occasion. When we slipped through the heavy curtain and got our first glimse of the restaurant, with long, lamp-lit marble bar, beautiful wine racks and bustling tables I knew we’d made the right decision. Some places feel the need to fill a dining room with music and create an atmosphere, here there was just the comfortable sound of chatter, wine glasses and cutlery. Other reviews will run through a history of the other famous restaurants to inhabit this space, but upon my entrance on Saturday night this didn’t matter a jot.
What was constant during our visit, from the very first interaction to the last, was that we witnessed a total masterclass in service. Nice, friendly service is all well and good, and thankfully common in the vast majority of my dining experiences. But this blew everything else out of the water. Some restaurants just don’t quite get it, particularly the stuffier places. Places where you are immediately mobbed by highly-polite yet clinical robots and left cold and out of place. Good training is one thing, but having the right people is another and Café Murano really nailed it. Everyone was confident, chatty and engaging. There was never that awkward pause and back-straighten as soon as a member of the waiting staff approached. Even little things like how every time one of us left the table, our napkin had been folded for our return. The service was so seamless that it took a couple of times before we even noticed that this was happening. We were truly made to feel special throughout our evening.
Big nights out are always made better started with a cocktail, and the tangy and dangerously drinkable Frank 75 got things off grandly. Such a boozy beginning also loosened us up whilst browsing the menu. I was flattered when our waiter apologised for the lack of osso buco that had inspired me for my last recipe on this blog. Katie scoffed that everything I ordered seemed to include her nemesis the black truffle. With cicheti, antipasti, primi and secondi decided we certainly weren’t going anywhere for a while. Lovely slices of uniquely flakey focaccia appeared quickly with soft, fruity oil poured from a height. As if we needed something to keep us going. But those moments before the food arrived were not wasted, it was great to gaze across tables and open the window to other people’s evenings; a smart early date, some theatre goers, a celebration like ours and a couple of old, leathery men who looked like part of the furniture. The room too was also full of little details. The circular lighting set at just the right brightness. Those wonderfully designed wine cabinets. The cookbooks on the square block shelving. Enough to be visually drunk.
For snacks we picked on delicately fried fritto misto and well-handled truffle arancini, such things often so criminally bastardised were a perfect start here. My small plate of slithered raw beef with tiny white beans and a less-tiny heap of black truffle was the thing I looked forward to most and it really didn’t disappoint. With such a dish it is easy to misjudge the simplicity, but the meat was well seasoned and coated with more of that oil, with the subtlety of the truffle and texture of the pulse. Katie swooned at her creamy burrata and smokey grilled aubergine. With courses this good so early in the meal it made for excited anticipation for the roll of courses still to come.
More truffle tried to conceal beautiful dainty little duck tortelli sitting in gooey rich meaty sauce. Where it was all about subtlety in the antipasti, our pasta punched with flavour. I was inspired by photos of the osso bucco before, but now I was inspired by the taste of this. That pasta was something a future recipe will certainly be revisiting. The venison ragu in front of Katie was equally comforting, with tomato adding a welcome acidity to meltingly tender game.
Although there had been no ‘winner’ in previous courses, Katie was adamant that I had achieved this with my cod main. The fist-thick loin itself was cooked to soft perfection inside a golden, crunchy crust, and sat atop a sea of buttery lentils spiked with strands of prosciutto. It was the sort of food that given a chance you could eat every night through the winter. Katie’s lamb wasn’t too far behind though, also rustically perched on a bean stew flecked with vibrant salsa verde. These dishes were just the food that reached to my core. Fantastic ingredients cooked simply to achieve the deepest flavour and satisfaction. They were presented well and looked smart on the clean plates but that wasn’t the point. The glory was in the eating.
We were allowed a short break after this onslaught of food. I was full to the point where I worried that my eyes would pop out to meet the insides of my glasses. Well-written dessert menus are deviant things, there to tempt and lure even the most overcome. And how can you refuse when you are given a piece of paper promising Amalfi lemon tart, baked pear, ricotta and amaretti or chocolate and almond cake. And those staff were so nice. And it was such a nice room to spend an evening. Oh sod it, we’ll share. We were practically immobilised yet had gone and ordered yet another something. But wow. I’ve made and eaten a lot of lemon tarts, and this one was right up there. You felt like if you wobbled it for long enough it must surely burst. When we dreaded eating more it was light and perfect.
Then we got given more. The insightful front of house had already congratulated our anniversary, but this was made concrete in those eleven letters miraculously being piped in chocolate surrounding three perfect balls of ice cream. When we were in dire need of something sharp, the mango, pear and blackberry scoops came to the rescue. We also ordered some short, reviving coffees when the sommelier approached with a mischievous grin on his face. Cradling a lethal bottle of grappa, he poured us a glass to send us on our way.
It’s often the little things that you remember of a meal, but those two acts of kindness and surprise were part of something much bigger. We had been totally looked after and were humbled, both in service and in food. I think we might have set a new anniversary trend, but I will be returning long before that. When everyone is so obsessed with new openings or food trends, they need to remember what brilliant places we already have.
It’s funny how a picture can inspire you, and within an instant give an idea or craving that dominates everything else in your head. Well this is exactly what happened with this recipe. A week ago I was researching a few restaurants to find somewhere for Katie and I to celebrate our anniversary at the beginning of February. Traditionally we have gone to Hawksmoor Spitalfields to gorge on slabs of charred beef and sup into a stupor of prosecco and cocktails. It’s always a fun and highly satisfying evening, but this time round we fancied something a little different. I had forgotten all about Café Murano until a google search led me there, and instantly I knew that this would be the place for us. As big fans of those rolling Italian feasts this looked right up our street. I’d always liked Angela Hartnett’s approach to cooking and it wasn’t long before a little booking confirmation email was winging it’s way to my inbox. Whilst browsing the rest of their website, I came across a photo of their osso buco and I HAD TO HAVE IT. It just looked like the most comforting plate of food imaginable, with a big chunk of bone marrow and tender meat surrounded by a moat of yellow risotto. I had a dilemma though, as my booking wasn’t (and still isn’t) for a few weeks, but I had to get my chops around it somehow. So instead I decided to cook it.
Appetite is a strange old thing. I’ve never particularly been interested in eating or cooking veal before now. I love the big, strong flavours and texture that you get when eating older beef, so why would I want to swap that for something delicate and mild. I’ve occasionally picked it on holiday and have regretted it every single time. It’s always the same; tough, dry and boring. And despite this, and having never really heard or tried the meal in which this recipe is based, I suddenly found myself with a massive craving. Having had nothing to compare the results with, it would be interesting if it is on the menu on the date of our visit. There’s no way that I couldn’t order it.
Bone marrow sceptics should flick away to another recipe at this point, as there is a whole lot of it here. And all the better and richer it is for it. As usual with this blog, I’ve tried to do something a little different and interesting, and in this case it came in the smoking of the marrow. I’d seen and read about it before, but until now had never got round to having a go myself. I’m a little obsessed with smoking and charring ingredients at the moment; I just think that it adds another element of flavour to a dish. It yields a wonderful sweetness in vegetables whilst creating umami richness with meat. I just can’t get enough of it. And the smoked bone marrow will definitely be getting another outing. It’s just so simple and easy to prepare, and hugely addictive to eat. Just make sure that you do it somewhere highly ventilated and away from any flammable objects!
If you do make this in smaller portions for a starter, you’ll have to fight for those two rounds of marrow. Fight dirty; it’s a fight well worth winning.
Serves 2 as a main, or 4 as a starter
For the veal:
2 slices of bone-in veal shin, about 700g
1 litre chicken stock
1 glass of dry white wine
1 shaft of bone marrow
1 leek, sliced
2 carrots, chopped
1 stick of celery, chopped
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, lightly crushed
2 bay leaves
2 sprigs of rosemary
For the risotto Milanese:
1 cup of carnaroli rice
½ a shallot, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, grated
A good pinch of saffron
A handful of grated parmesan, plus some of the diced rind if available
2 good knobs of butter
1 glass of dry white wine
800ml-1ltr good chicken stock
For the smoked bone marrow:
1 bone marrow shaft
1 handful of straw
For the gremolata:
1 large handful of flat leaf parsley
1 lemon, zest grated and half of the juice
1 garlic clove, grated
A splash of white wine vinegar
2-3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
To finish:
A little more grated parmesan
A small drizzle of extra virgin olive oil
Heat a large saucepan to a high temperature and add a glug of olive oil. Season the meat and bone marrow on all sides then brown well. Transfer to a plate. Tip the vegetables into the saucepan and turn the heat down a little. Cook for about 10 minutes or until tender. Turn the heat back up and add the wine, burning off the alcohol and reducing by half. Top up with the stock, then add the meat back to the pan along with the bay leaves and rosemary. Cover with a layer of greaseproof paper and simmer very gently for about 2 hours, or until the meat is very tender.
Remove the meat from the stock and allow to rest in a little of the cooking liquid. Strain the rest of the liquid into another saucepan and discard the vegetables. Bring to the boil and reduce down until the sauce is thick and syrupy. Cover until needed.
While the meat is cooking, make the other elements of the dish:
For the smoked bone marrow, boil up some water in a kettle and pour it into a wide, deep bowl or dish. Submerge the bone marrow shaft into the water for a few minutes, or until the marrow softens but before it melts. Scoop the marrow from the bone, pat dry and place on a small sheet of greaseproof paper. Line a saucepan with a layer of foil and top with the straw. Go somewhere well-ventilated or outside and light the straw with a match. Burn until it smoulders, then extinguish any remaining flames and pop the sheet with the bone marrow on top. Cover with a tight fitting lid and smoke for 5-6 minutes. Remove the marrow and place on a small baking tray.
To make the gremolata, boil up some water in a saucepan and have a large bowl of cold water on standby. Blanche the parsley and then instantly refresh in the bowl of cold water, then squeeze dry. Put in a food processor along with the lemon zest and juice, garlic and vinegar and whizz up until combined. Drizzle in the olive oil and keep the motor running until you are left with a fine, spoonable and sharp sauce. Cover and set aside.
Preheat the oven to 190⁰C.
Heat up the chicken stock for the risotto and enrich with the leftover marrow bones from the smoking and stewing processes.
Melt one knob of the butter for the risotto in a saucepan and gently sweat the shallot and garlic for a few minutes until soft. Turn the heat up slightly and pour in the rice, stirring until all of the grains are coated and begin to make a popping sound. Add the wine, parmesan rind (if using) and the saffron and bring to the boil, reducing the liquid until nearly all of it has been absorbed or evaporated. Start adding the stock a ladle at a time, stirring continuously to release the gluten, waiting until everything has been absorbed before adding more. Continue until the grains have softened but still hold a little bite, then turn the heat down and add the rest of the butter and most of the parmesan. Stir well, and adjust with more stock if needed until the risotto has a glossy, pourable texture with the rice and the sauce combined.
While the risotto is cooking, warm up the reduced veal sauce and add the rested meat. Baste well, covering the veal with the sauce and heating gently through.
Put the smoked bone marrow in the oven for 5-6 minutes, until soft and cooked through. Slice into rough pieces.
To plate up, spoon a generous pillow of the risotto into bowls and top with a piece of the bone marrow and a few large chunks of veal. Arrange a few pieces of the smoked bone marrow around the meat and add a few dollops of the gremolata. Finish with a scattering of parmesan and some olive oil.
