The days that I spend cooking for this blog are often hurried and frantic affairs. In the mornings I’m out and about gathering the required ingredients, before returning back home to turn them all into a finished (and hopefully successful) dish. In theory a fairly simple and straightforward plan. But often enough something goes amiss and the whole ordeal becomes much more stressful. Especially for something meant to be a hobby. And last week was a prime example.
Things didn’t get off to the best of starts; I overslept. This wasn’t the greatest of problems really, and in truth Mondays are also my only real day of the week to get some rest. But it set me behind schedule, and my window for messing about in the kitchen was getting smaller and smaller. What I really wanted to buy was a grouse or two. Since the Glorious Twelfth, my social media feeds have been jam-packed with them, and I wanted to have another crack at cooking them. But could I find one? Could I heck. A few tubes and buses covering a London map of butchers later and I still had empty bags and even less cooking time. Stuck on Oxford Street amongst the crowds, things were looking pretty desperate. But then I remembered that there was a rather good branch of the Ginger Pig, not too far away in Marylebone, so I walked up to chance my luck one more time.
They also didn’t have any grouse. Bah! But what they did have were a couple of lovely, plump pigeons. At that stage of the day, I snapped them up. With the recipe cogs whirring around in my head, I darted next door to the mecca that is La Fromagerie for some bits to accompany the bird, and I was soon sat on the bus home with a bag laden with beautiful sweetcorn, cavolo nero and prosciutto. Soon the light would be fading, threatening rubbish photography and a wasted day, so I had to work quickly.
I wasn’t too disappointed to be lumped with pigeon instead of my desired grouse. I haven’t tackled a pigeon for a good few years, but they remain one of my favourite things to eat. I love that gamey richness and tender, pink flesh. And because the birds were whole, literally heads, claws and guts, it meant that I also had access to the wonderful offal. Whilst the trimmings and liver helped to make the sauce deep and flavourful, the heart was simply pan-roasted, adding another dimension to the finished dish. I never mess around with the cooking of smaller poultry, in my opinion roasting the crowns before carving is the only way to go.
The rest of the dish is a simple balance of early autumn flavours. The sweetcorn provides a wonderful sweetness that cuts through the powerful flavour of the pigeon. Sage and onion are practically married. I’ll still try and track down a grouse this season, but in the end I was pleased as punch with my pigeon.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the pigeon:
2 pigeons, portioned into crowns with wishbones removed. Trimmings, hearts and livers kept
4 slices of prosciutto
4 sprigs of thyme
2 sage leaves
1 knob of butter
For the sauce:
The wings, legs, livers and trimmings from the pigeons
1 onion, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 slices of prosciutto, chopped
5 sprigs of thyme
1 generous splash of brandy
750ml good chicken stock
1 knob of butter
For the smashed sweetcorn:
The kernels from 2 sweetcorn cobs, released with a knife
75g butter
500ml water
For the charred sweetcorn:
The kernels from 1 sweetcorn cob, released with a knife
1 small knob of butter
For the burnt onion:
1 small onion, skin left on and halved vertically
½ a lemon, juice only
For the cavolo nero:
3-4 cavolo nero leaves, any tough stalks removed, leaves roughly chopped
For the pigeon hearts:
The hearts from the two pigeons, cleaned of any sinew
Get the pigeon sauce on first. Bring a large, heavy frying pan up to a medium-high temperature and add a good glug of olive oil. Season the pigeon legs, wings, trimmings and livers with salt and pepper and brown well on all sides, in batches if necessary. Add the prosciutto, onions, carrots, garlic and herbs to the pan and cook until lightly caramelised. Pour in the brandy and carefully flambé, then reduce until only a small amount remains. Top up with the chicken stock and bring to the boil. Use a wooden spoon to scrape up and caramelised bits from the bottom of the pan. Reduce slowly until only around 150ml of thickened sauce remains. Strain the sauce through a sieve into a smaller saucepan and discard the used flavourings. Whisk the knob of butter into the sauce until fully emulsified, then cover and set aside until needed later.
Bring a frying pan up to a high heat and add a small amount of olive oil and a knob of butter. When hot, add the smaller amount of sweetcorn kernels and a good pinch of salt and pepper. Fry for a few minutes, stirring frequently, until starting to brown and blacken. Tip into a bowl and set aside.
Pour the water for the smashed sweetcorn into a saucepan and bring to the boil. Tip in the sweetcorn kernels, butter and a good amount of seasoning. Stir to combine, then simmer for 8-10 minutes, or until the sweetcorn has softened and taken on some of the liquid. Using a hand blender or food processor, blitz into a coarse, yet soft mash. Loosen with a little water if necessary, and taste for seasoning and butter. Cover and keep warm.
Add a good glug of oil to a frying pan and set on a high heat. Place the onion halves cut-side down and fry for 5-6 minutes, until blackened and burnt. Turn over for an additional 5 minutes, then transfer to a side plate. When cool enough to handle, carefully separate the layers into little cups and place in a bowl. Squeeze in the lemon juice and season. Mix well and set aside.
Preheat the oven to 190⁰C.
Pour a generous glug of olive oil into a large, heavy frying pan and bring to a medium-high heat. When hot, add the sage leaves and fry for 30 seconds until crispy. Transfer to drain over a sheet of kitchen roll. Keep the pan hot for the pigeons.
Season the insides and outsides of the pigeons well with salt and pepper. Lay the sheets of prosciutto crisscrossed over the breasts, tucking some sprigs of thyme and a sage leaf underneath. Tie in place with some kitchen string.
Add a large knob of butter to the sage pan and sear the pigeons for 1-1.5 minutes on each breast. Turn the crowns so that they are sitting upright in the pan, and use a spoon to baste well with the butter for a further minute. Transfer to an oven dish and roast for 10 minutes. Allow the cooked birds to rest for 10 minutes, then carve the breasts from the bone.
While the pigeons are resting, cook the pigeon hearts. Bring the same pan that was used to sear the pigeons back to a medium-high heat. Season the hearts, then cook for 1 minute on each side, basting well. Remove and allow to rest briefly, then slice in half.
In the same, now empty pan, add the cavolo nero leaves and a good splash of water. Wilt down quickly for a couple of minutes until tender.
Reheat the sauce and the smashed corn.
To plate up spoon a few dollops of the smashed corn onto each plate and add some of the cavolo nero. Arrange the pigeon breasts in the middle and three of the onion segments in the gaps at the sides. Top with the charred corn, heart, sage leaves and some of the prosciutto from the pigeon. Spoon some of the sauce into the onion cups and around the plate and serve.
We’re now bang in the middle of game season, which means it’s time to branch out from the usual beef, chicken, pork and lamb and have a go at something different. I’m usually terrible at taking advantage of this glut of alternative meat, but this year I’ve really made an effort and have already cooked with pheasant, grouse and wild rabbit. Although the often stronger, livery flavour puts a lot of people off, I personally love a bit of game and will always jump at the chance to buy it from a butcher or order it when eating out. The flavours work so well with other autumnal ingredients, be it sweeter squashes, beets and sweetcorn or bitter cabbage leaves and earthy mushrooms.
This dish, like many of my better ones, happened by chance. It certainly wasn’t the result of a long-conceived and adjusted recipe; it all came together very quickly. I was strolling through Marylebone on the way home from town, and being a rare visitor to the area I thought I would take advantage and have a quick snoop around. Moxon Street was like my foodie heaven, with the delightful smell of cheese wafting out of La Fromagerie and the impressive glass-lined hanging room in The Ginger Pig, lined with blackened aged-foreribs and porterhouses. It was whilst in the butchers that I spied the mallard, and not often seeing them around I just had to take it. Back in London Fields and a quick trip to the local E5 Bakehouse for a huge slab of ciabatta and the local greengrocers saw me ready to go.
Ever since I had the chicken roasted on bread at Rotorino in Dalston I’ve wanted to have a go at something similar. It was such a fantastic dish, and the fact that I still have it at the front of my mind months after eating it is tribute alone. The end result is something similar to posh fried bread, all laden with the roasting juices and olive oil. To accompany the bird and the bread, I made a very savoury, earthy and thick stew out of the beans, the braised leg meat and the livers. Combined with the fairly sweet sauce it really brings depth to the dish.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the mallards:
2 plump mallards, legs removed and crowns trimmed
2 long thin slices of fresh ciabatta
2 cloves of garlic, sliced
8 sprigs of thyme, leaves picked
2 tbsp butter
For the braised mallard legs and sauce:
The legs and trimmings from the mallard
4 shallots, finely sliced
3 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tbsp soft brown sugar
1 carrot, diced
1 leek, sliced
5 sprigs of thyme
1 bay leaf
A good splash of brandy
1ltr chicken stock
For the smashed borlotti beans:
6 tbsp cooked borlotti beans including the cooking liquid
2 cloves of garlic, grated
4 sprigs of thyme, leaves picked
½ a shallot, finely chopped
4 chicken livers, cleaned and diced
The picked braised leg meat from the mallards
¼ lemon, juice only
Extra virgin olive oil
A few gratings of black truffle
For the roasted shallots:
2 shallots, quartered lengthways
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
5 sprigs of thyme
For the cavolo nero:
4 large cavolo nero leaves, thick stems removed
1 tbsp butter
To finish:
A few gratings of black truffle
Extra virgin olive oil
First braise the legs of the mallard. Heat a heavy saucepan to a medium-high temperature and add a little olive oil. Fry the mallard legs quickly to brown well on all sides, then transfer to a plate. Repeat with all of the trimmings from the bird until well coloured. Turn the temperature down slightly and tip in the shallots, garlic, thyme and sugar and fry for about 15 minutes, or until softened and golden. Add the other vegetables and herbs and continue to cook for another few minutes. Turn the heat back up and add the brandy, burning off the alcohol and de-glazing the pan. Top up with the stock and return the mallard legs and trimmings to the pan. Bring to a simmer, then cook very gently for about 2 hours, or until the leg meat is tender. Remove the legs from the stock and shred the meat off the bones. Set aside until needed later.
Strain the rest of the stock and discard the carcass and vegetables. Pour the liquid into a smaller pan and set to a high temperature. Reduce until only a small amount of thick sauce remains, about 150ml. Cover and keep warm until needed.
Pre-heat the oven to 160⁰C.
Put the quartered shallots into a small baking dish and toss in the olive oil, seasoning and thyme. Dot the butter around and bake in the oven for about 45 minutes, or until really soft and slightly charred at the edges. Peel the shallot layers into individual petals and set aside.
For the borlotti beans, add a little olive oil to a saucepan and set to a medium-high temperature. Season the chicken livers and then fry quickly for about two minutes or until golden brown on the outside and still pink in the middle. Transfer to a side plate. Lower the heat, add the shallot, garlic and thyme and soften for a few minutes. Add the borlotti beans and liquid along with the braised leg meat, season well and gently cook for about 15 minutes. Return the livers to the pan and roughly smash the contents against the side of the pan with a wooden spoon. Finish with the lemon juice, a tablespoon of the reduced sauce, two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil and a few gratings of the black truffle. Keep warm until needed.
Raise the oven temperature to 200⁰C.
While the borlotti beans are cooking roast the mallards. Pour some oil into a non-stick frying pan and set to a medium-high heat. Season the inside and outside of the birds and sear quickly on each breast for 1-2 minutes, then add the butter to the pan, turn the birds breast-side up and baste really well. Lay the ciabatta slices onto the bottom of an oven dish and top with a little extra-virgin olive oil, the slices of garlic, seasoning and the thyme leaves. Place the browned mallards on top of the bread, pour over the pan juices and roast for 10-12 minutes, basting every few minutes. When cooked, transfer the mallards to a chopping board to rest for 10 minutes. Pick the garlic off the ciabatta and return the bread to the oven for a few minutes to crisp up slightly.
Re-heat the pan used to sear the mallards and add the butter for the cavolo nero. When melted, add the leaves, a bit of seasoning and a splash of water and fry for a couple of minutes until slightly softened.
While the mallard is resting also reheat the other elements of the dish if necessary.
To serve up, spoon a good amount of the smashed beans onto each piece of ciabatta and place one on each plate. Top with some of the cavolo nero leaves. Carve the mallards and arrange the breasts around the bread. Finish with some of the slow-roasted shallot, a generous spoonful of the sauce, some extra virgin olive oil and more grated truffle.
One of my main challenges when cooking this summer has been to turn ingredients associated with warming, stodgy winter dishes into something a little lighter. When planning my recipes for these posts I simply tend to avoid such produce, but a few times recently I’ve been handed ingredients before I’ve had the chance to imagine their outcome. So far red wine, perfect for that bourguignon, was turned into a punchy dressing for griddled octopus. Potatoes mashed and enveloped with dainty, translucent pasta. In this case, another allotment delivery from the parents comprised of dinky, golf ball-sized beetroot and sprawling runner beans. While the beans got roasted and provided the perfect foil for homemade taramasalata, a week later I was still thinking about what to do with that damn beetroot, that was frankly taking up precious space in my tiny kitchen.
Don’t get me wrong, beetroot is never a burden; I have grown to love this trusty root. It somehow has a bad image, and is often thought of merely just that thing piled up in plastic casing in the salad aisle. People rush past terrified in the knowledge that that pink will never leave their hands, chopping board and that freshly-pressed white shirt. While this is true, it is so worth endearing with. A friend once cooked an intense borscht, vibrant red with wonderful melty clumps of feta floating about. One of those ‘why haven’t I thought of that’ moments. Grated raw and mixed with horseradish and crème fraiche provides the perfect bed for a freshly smoked mackerel. And don’t get me started on that gratin. But what to do with it here was another thing.
Then, as most ideas often arrive, the answer came in a most random flash. My boss arrived at the shop one day, and as always the previous evenings meal was quickly brought up. Skirt steak, the best piece of meat he had eaten in an age. That was all I needed. I knew all about this virtuous cut, but it is one that had avoided my thoughts for many a while. A quick trip across the road to those trusty fellows in the Ginger Pig saw me sorted, and for the rest of that day I had visions of a plate laden with streaks of red steak, surrounded by orange and purple beetroot, mayonnaise and tarragon. Funny how quickly it all comes together.
It didn’t turn out quite as artistic as first imagined but boy was it good. The bone marrow, tarragon and cucumber dressing providing more beefiness, but also coolness to counter the mustard heat and pickled beets. It was also another light plate, perfect for a lunch on the balcony. As the evenings slowly start to draw in, these moments need to be savoured before stews and dumplings come a-knocking once more.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the steak:
1 large skirt steak
Salt and pepper
Oil
For the mustard mayonnaise:
1 clove of garlic, grated
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
2 egg yolks
250ml rapeseed oil
2-3 tbsp (or to taste) English mustard
For the roasted beetroot:
3 small beetroot, washed
1 garlic clove
5 thyme sprigs
1 tsp butter
For the pickled beetroot:
3 small beetroot, washed 150ml white wine vinegar
1 shallot, finely sliced
The stalks from the tarragon
1 tbsp caster sugar
5 peppercorns
1 bay leaf
For the tarragon and bone marrow dressing:
1 bunch tarragon, leaves picked and stalks reserved for the pickle
1 baby cucumber, seeds removed and cut into fine dice
1 lemon, juice only
4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 large split of bone marrow
For the crispy parsley:
10 nice parsley leaves
Vegetable oil
To make the tarragon and bone marrow dressing, bring a small saucepan of salted water to the boil and pour cold water in a large bowl on the side. When hot, blanch the tarragon leaves for 20 seconds before draining and transfer straight into the cold water to cool. Squeeze out the excess moisture and put into a small food processor. Add the extra virgin olive oil and blitz until the leaves are very finely chopped. Pour into a bowl, cover and refrigerate for a good few hours, preferably overnight. When infused strain through muslin, discarding the sediment and keeping the vibrant oil.
Pre-heat the oven to 180⁰C.
Rub the cut side of the bone marrow with a little oil and season well. Roast for 8-10 minutes until the marrow comes away from the bone but hasn’t melted away. Allow to cool slightly then scoop out in long pieces and cut into small dice. Transfer to a bowl with the cucumber and lemon juice, then pour in the tarragon oil. Mix to combine, then taste and adjust the seasoning. Set aside.
While the tarragon oil is infusing, roast the beetroot.
Pre-heat the oven to 200⁰C.
Arrange the beetroot for both pickling and roasting on a baking tray with the garlic and thyme. Drizzle with a little olive oil, season well then cover with foil and bake for about an hour, or until tender. Allow to cool slightly, then peel and quarter. Set the beetroot for roasting aside for later, and tip the pickling beetroot into a jar.
Pour the pickling vinegar into a small saucepan and add the black peppercorns, shallot, bay leaf, sugar and tarragon stalks. Bring to the boil, then pour onto the beetroot in the jar. Screw the lid on tightly and gently shake to combine. Set aside to cool.
Next make the mustard mayonnaise. Put the garlic, egg yolks, vinegar, seasoning and 1 tbsp of the mustard into a food processor and blitz for 30 seconds to combine. With the motor still running, drizzle the rapeseed oil in really slowly, starting with just a few drips and gradually increasing the speed as the oil is emulsified. When all of the oil is incorporated the mayonnaise should be thick, so let down with a bit of water if necessary. Mix in more mustard to taste, you want it to be quite punchy.
Heat 4 tbsp of vegetable oil in a small saucepan to a high temperature. Fry the parsley leaves quickly until crisp, then remove to drain on some kitchen paper.
Take the skirt steak out of the fridge at least 30 minutes before cooking to allow it to come to room temperature.
Heat a heavy pan or skillet to a high temperature. Rub the steak with oil and season really well. When the pan is smoking hot, fry for 1 ½ -2 minutes on each side for rare, then transfer to a board to rest for 10 minutes.
While the steak is resting, gently heat the butter for the beets in a small frying pan. Add the beetroot quarters and warm through.
To serve, arrange slices of the rare steak around the middle of each plate. Dot the mayonnaise around the meat and spoon over some of the dressing. Place on some slices of roasted and pickled beetroot and finish with some of the crispy parsley leaves.
Another week, another curing project. In a totally spontaneous manner I have managed to fill my summer with a number of lengthy and not entirely necessary preservation projects. But although I’ve had to put up with many estranged “are you crazy” type looks from the friends, family and total strangers whose ears I’ve bent detailing my doings, I have to say that they have all absolutely been worth it. It is true, you can buy good, exceptional even, sardines, and in this case bacon, from some fabulous independent suppliers. They will definitely save you time and might even in some cases be cheaper, but there is definitely something for the satisfaction felt in sitting down and eating something that has been days or weeks in the making. I have also discovered that a big lump of bacon as a gift inspires a great deal of happiness.
In this case, I was inspired by reading old Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall books where he explores old-fashioned techniques such as curing, smoking and preserving, and it occurred to me just how simple a lot of it is. I used to think that DIY bacon was something that was unreachable to small-flat city dwellers, but I was instantly taken with the idea, and I quick trip to my local Ginger Pig saw me committed with a large hunk of pork belly. Miraculously the whole process was surprisingly simple, and even without a proper smoker I managed to achieve a similar result using a BBQ which had a lid to catch the smoke. I have to say, the bacon that came from this labour of love tasted pretty damn good, and happily I have still got a big old piece in the fridge to whittle away every so often.
Bacon is normally the bridesmaid. There to discretely add a depth of flavour or add a salty contrast to the primary ingredient. After getting this far, I really wanted it to be the star of the show in this dish. I’ve cut thick, proper slices and fried them until crispy, and only paired them with subtle vegetables and herbs to create something fresh and light yet packed with flavour. This year I’ve been growing courgettes, cucumbers and mint on my balcony, and it’s been lovely to walk out on a summer evening and pick a few things to go with dinner.
As I said, you can buy fantastic bacon if the process puts you off. If that’s the case, this dinner becomes a very quick affair indeed. But I’ve caught the bug now, and am on the hunt for more ingredients to chuck in the smoker…
Serves 2, plus a good bit of extra bacon
Ingredients:
For the bacon:
2.5kg pork belly, ribs removed for eating on another occasion
1kg table salt
200g brown sugar
1 lemon, zest only
10 sprigs of thyme
4 tbsp black treacle
Juniper chips for smoking for 24 hours
For the roasted carrots:
6 small heritage carrots, trimmed, washed and scrubbed if necessary
3 sprigs thyme, leaves picked
1 garlic clove, crushed into a few pieces
¼ lemon, juice only
For the courgettes and cucumber:
2 baby courgettes, flowers reserved
2 baby cucumbers, flowers reserved
1 lemon, juice and zest
3 sprigs mint, leaves picked and roughly torn
Splash of cider vinegar
For the mint and parmesan sauce:
½ bunch of mint, leaves picked
5 sprigs fresh oregano, leaves picked
1 clove of garlic, grated
1 lemon, zest and juice
3 tbsp grated parmesan
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
To finish:
The flowers from the baby courgettes, stamens removed and leaves roughly torn
The flowers from the baby cucumbers
Red-veined sorrel leaves
Fennel herb sprigs
Start by curing the bacon. Mix the salt, sugar, treacle, thyme and lemon zest together in a bowl. Pour a quarter of the mixture into the bottom of a large, deep dish, big enough to accommodate the pork belly. Place the pork belly on top, then evenly distribute more of the curing mixture over the top and sides, rubbing the meat in the process. Keep about a quarter of the cure. Cover the dish with cling film and refrigerate for 5 days. After a couple of days moisture will have drained out of the meat. Drain this away and pack the remaining cure around the pork. After 5 days, rinse the meat clean and pat dry. It should have firmed in texture and darkened. Clean the dish and place the meat back in it, then refrigerate, uncovered, in the fridge for another 24 hours to dry out.
Create a long, heaped line of the fine juniper chips on the bottom of the smoker or barbeque and light one end until caught and smoking constantly. Place the pork on a rack above, then cover with a lid. Slightly open any ventilation ducts and leave to cold smoke for 24 hours. Check every 3-4 hours, topping up and relighting the chips as and when needed. When smoked the bacon will have taken on a golden colour and have a lovely smokey aroma. Wrap with cling film and refrigerate until needed.
To prepare the courgettes, use a mandolin to slice into thin cross-sections. Cut the baby cucumbers into long quarters. Put both into a bowl and add the lemon zest and juice, vinegar and mint leaves along with a good pinch of seasoning. Mix to combine then cover and set aside.
For the mint and parmesan sauce, put all ingredients into a food processor and blend until everything is finely chopped and combined, adding a little more oil if needed to loosen. Taste and adjust the seasoning and/or acidity if needed.
Pre-heat the oven to 180⁰C.
Put the carrots on a baking tray and scatter over the thyme leaves, garlic clove and seasoning, then drizzle with olive oil. Roast in the oven for about 20 minutes, or until tender. When cooked, squeeze over the lemon juice.
Pour a little olive oil into a frying pan and set on a medium-high heat. Cut two thick 2cm slices from the bacon joint and fry for about 5 minutes on each side, until well browned and crisp on the outside and cooked through. When ready, remove the bacon from the pan and use a little of the juices to dress the courgettes and cucumber.
To serve, transfer one piece of bacon onto each plate. Place some of the courgette and cucumber slices and roasted carrots around it. Scatter over some of the vegetable flowers, fennel sprigs and sorrel leaves and finish by dotting some of the mint sauce around the plate.
