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.
This year our estate has undertaken a massive and brilliant community-driven project. The old, unused football pitch that used to score more deals than goals was ripped up, and replaced with raised beds, a bbq area and lawn. Katie’s mum and a few other members of the estate have worked tirelessly to orchestrate the project, and persuade the council to grant help and funding. And a few months ago there was celebration as the first seeds were sown. The finished garden looks fantastic, and it totally changes the atmosphere of the estate, bringing together a much stronger core of community. The residents have fully embraced it, and now into autumn the beds are heaving with the lush fruits of their labour. Oregano, rosemary and courgettes grow next to pumpkins, coriander and curry leaves. For a cooking enthusiast like me it is perfect, and I can wander outside in the evening with a pair of scissors, snipping here and there before returning with bunches of fresh herbs that transform simple suppers.
One of my favourite moments from this summer was sitting outside with Katie’s mum, sharing a plate of freshly-cut tuna flavoured with the herbs that she had planted. It was a scorching hot mid-summers day, and I had just returned home from work. As a fishmonger I am lucky that I have instant access to whatever is the pick of the slab, and on that day the tuna had really shone. Quite literally, it’s surface shimmering with ruby red, to the point where it would have been a scandal to expose it to any heat or frying pan. A few perfumed leaves and a glug of good extra virgin olive oil were all that was needed. Scooped up onto crisp bits of grilled focaccia and downed with icy, dry white wine it was a memorable afternoon.
Tuna is something that I try not to eat too often, but once in a while it can provide a real treat. The important thing is to try and get your hands on the freshest, highest-grade that you can. You don’t need a lot, and as with all raw protein, a little goes a long way. This is less of a recipe than an assembly of ingredients, all balanced and in harmony with one another. Tasting as you go is essential; the prize is the tuna, and you very much want it’s subtlety at the centre, just spiked here and there with the herby, tangy accompaniments.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
250g very fresh, sashimi-grade tuna
½ a garlic clove
1 tsp salted capers, rinsed
5-6 good green olives
1 tbsp finely diced shallot
½ a lemon, zest and juice
A sprinkle of dried chilli flakes
3-4 tbsp very good olive oil
To finish:
A handful of nasturtium leaves and flowers
A few sprigs of fresh oregano
Thinly sliced ciabatta or focaccia
First make the dressing for the tuna. Very finely dice the garlic, capers, olives and shallot and slide into a bowl. Season well and combine with the lemon zest and juice, chilli flakes and a generous pinch of seasoning.
Take the tuna out of the fridge 20 minutes before serving to allow it to come to room temperature. Trim away any sinew, then carefully slice into small dice. Tip into a large bowl.
Spoon half of the dressing into the tuna bowl and pour in a good glug of olive oil. Mix together until well combined, then taste. Add more of the flavourings as needed along with more seasoning.
Spread the raw tuna onto each plate. Dress the nasturtiums with a little oil and scatter on top, along with the freshly picked oregano leaves. Finally drizzle over another glug of extra virgin olive oil. Serve with the toasted bread on the side.
One of the great joys of working in a shop is the constant interaction with regular customers. I’ve made some good friends from this, and it’s always lovely to have a catch up and see what people have been up to that week. It makes the job so much more than providing a simple service and selling products, and a busy morning is always brightened up when a familiar face comes along. One day a few weeks ago, I was listening to someone describing how he planned to go shooting rabbits on his friend’s farm at the weekend. It sounded like fun, but I had completely forgotten by the time the following week when he arrived clutching a brace for me.
Food is always a wonderful and meaningful present, and I was determined to make something special with these rabbits, rather than simply and rather flippantly chucking them into a stew. I’ve also been cooking a lot of simpler recipes on this blog of late, so I wanted to push myself and see if I could come up with something a bit special. I’ve cooked with rabbit a few times previously, once when challenged by The Ginger Pig last year, and the time making a soft and comforting ragu with polenta. I love the gamey richness of the meat, delicate, deep and tender.
Choosing what to serve it with was the easy bit. I thought about the rabbit on the farm, and what I could imagine it having a little nibble on here and there. It seems like an almost cruel joke serving rabbit with carrots, but the flavours balance so well, and there are currently an abundance of beautiful multi-coloured bunches available. The other dominant flavours on the plate are thyme and green olives, both spiking with little bursts that contrast yet don’t interrupt the meat.
It is well worth getting more than just the two rabbits, and bumping up the amount that you braise. Not only will this lead to an intense sauce, but you will be rewarded with a pile of wonderfully succulent, almost pulled rabbit. The next night I added dried oregano, fennel seed and sage, and stirred in more butter than I probably should to create a deeply satisfying ragu served with thick homemade pappardelle. Heavenly.
Serves 4
Ingredients:
2 wild rabbits, portioned into legs, racks and loins. Livers and bones kept.
For the braised rabbit:
The legs, bones and trimming from the rabbit
3 shallots, finely chopped
2 carrots, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, sliced
5 sprigs of thyme
1 bay leaf
1 large glass of dry white wine
2 litres of good chicken stock
-
The livers from the rabbit, finely chopped
1 shallot, finely chopped
75g smoked bacon or pancetta, finely chopped
2 knobs of butter
12 rashers of lardo
For the racks and loins:
4 small pieces of rabbit loin, trimmed of sinew
4 small rabbit racks, trimmed
1 large knob of butter
5 sprigs of thyme
1 garlic clove
For the sauce:
1.5 litres of the strained rabbit braising stock
1 knob of butter
½ a lemon, juice only
For the faro:
1 cup of faro wheat or pearl barley
500ml of the rabbit braising stock
For the carrot puree:
4 carrots, peeled and roughly chopped
500ml chicken stock
½ a lemon, juice only
1 large knob of butter
2 tbsp olive oil
For the roasted carrots:
1 large bunch of heritage carrots, scrubbed and trimmed
5 sprigs of thyme
To finish:
A few of the carrot tops, washed
A handful of good green olives, stoned and sliced
A bunch of radishes, thinly sliced
Thyme flowers
First get the rabbit legs on to braise. Heat a generous amount of olive oil in a large, heavy saucepan to a medium-high temperature. Season the rabbit legs and bones well, then brown quickly and transfer to a side plate. Add the shallot, carrots, garlic and herbs to the pan and fry until lightly caramelised, then pour in the wine. Reduce by two-thirds, and use a wooden spoon to scrape up any crust from the bottom of the pan. Return the rabbit to the saucepan and top up with the stock. Bring to the boil, then cover and gently simmer for 1 ½ hours, or until the rabbit is very tender.
When the rabbit is cooked, remove the legs from the liquid and shred well with two forks. Transfer to a bowl and set aside. Strain the rest of the stock into a clean saucepan, reserving a quarter separately. Bring the main quantity of stock to the boil, and reduce until only about 200ml of thickened sauce remains. Whisk in the lemon juice and butter, check for seasoning, then remove from the heat and cover until needed.
Pour 1 tbsp of oil into a frying pan and bring to a medium heat. Fry the rabbit livers, pancetta and shallot for a couple of minutes, until tender. Stir in the butter until melted, then tip into the bowl containing the shredded rabbit leg. Combine well, checking that there is enough seasoning. Once the mixture has cooled, lay 3 slices of lardo on a board, so they are slightly overlapping. Spoon some of the braised rabbit mixture on top, then roll the lardo around the filling, tucking in the ends. Repeat with the remaining lardo until you have 4 little parcels. Place onto a lined baking tray and set aside.
For the faro, pour the reserved stock into a small saucepan and add the grains. Bring to the boil, then simmer gently for 25-30 minutes, or until just tender. Add a little more water if it starts to dry out.
To make the carrot puree, bring the stock to the boil in a small saucepan. Add the carrots, then simmer for 15-20 minutes, until very tender. Pour the contents of the saucepan into a food processor and add the lemon juice and butter, along with a little seasoning. Blend to a smooth puree. With the engine still running, slowly drizzle in the olive oil, until completely emulsified.
Preheat the oven to 190⁰C. Scrub and trim the heritage carrots and then scatter onto a baking tray. Add the thyme sprigs and coat with a little olive oil and seasoning. Roast in the oven for 15-20 minutes, until just tender and caramelised on the outside.
Slide the baking tray with the lardo-wrapped rabbit into the oven and allow to heat up for 6-8 minutes.
Pour 1 tbsp of oil into a heavy frying pan and bring to a high heat. Season the racks and loins of rabbit and add to the pan along with the butter, thyme and garlic. Cook for 1-2 minutes on each side, basting continuously with the butter.
To serve, place a piece of the lardo-wrapped rabbit to one side of each plate, and a dollop of the carrot puree on the other. Arrange the roasted carrots, rack and loin, and scatter on some of the faro. Finish with the sliced olives, radishes, carrot tops and thyme flowers.
Custard tart. Two words which so perfectly sum up the new wave of ingredient-led yet wholesome food that has emerged out of new openings of late. Home cooking, but done better. Plates of food minus smears and quenelles, in relaxed environments minus stiff waiting staff, quaveringly-poised behind your chair whenever they predict that you might require the toilet. Places like Lyles in Shoreditch and Primeur in Highbury have nailed it, somewhere you could take the parents for a celebration meal, or just as easily pop in for a glass of wine and snack. And championed in the middle of all this is the humble custard tart, that familiar staple, elevated with a bit of careful, clever cooking into something dominating column inches and Instagram likes.
And this is what my eyes quickly focussed on upon first glance of the Sabel pop-up menu. A dreamy list of rissoles (a word that I can only associate with childhood dinners when it was clear that what my mum meant was ‘meatballs’), slow cooked meat, and the current dairy darling, ticklemore cheese. All so refreshing; there were no games in this menu. On second thoughts this wave might not be so modern, and perhaps this is just the norm of what the St John revolutionised all those years ago. But whatever the case, I just wanted to eat it all. And there was a custard tart.
And what a space for it. The Lower Clapton Road is now on the fringes of the relative wild west it used to be, and in that damned name of ‘gentrification’, there are now some rather interesting ventures cropping up. And I would certainly not have imagined for one second that that beautifully restored first floor of the Palm 2 building would exist, all wooden floors, fans of flowers and glorious evening light pouring though large industrial windows. At the end was a shiny fitted professional kitchen, chefs basking in that false pre-service window of ease. Although technically a pop-up, this was certainly no flapping amateur pulling questionable casseroles out of the oven and charging £35 for the pleasure. Sabel meant business.
But the good nature of the conventional pop-up were carefully maintained. The host and the chef were lovers soon to be wed. The waiters were roped in friends and family, all gunning for the cause and effortlessly friendly. There was a charm similar to childhood stories read from Happy Families books. And the 60-odd covers, about twice that of many permanent openings, were kept compact on trestle tables and everyone encouraged to interweave.
Then there was the food, and this is what mostly set it apart from anything else sharing the pop-up label. Casual, homely food is one thing. Homemade food covers for sloppiness and execution, “here’s something I just rustled up”. Or at the other end of the scale, a load of sterile, disjointed restaurant dishes that feel lonely in such surroundings. But all of the food at Sabel was made and presented with a clever cunning, banquet style food that still wowed and wowed course after course. Early highlights included whipped brown butter on good sourdough and a clever take on a tomato salad; crunchy with seeds with tangy hits of that crumbled ticklemore. And to round off the starters was a platter of beautifully plump and sweet queenie scallops, perfectly accompanied with vibrant pureed avocado and gazpacho dressing.
The starters were a strong indication of what was to come, and the main certainly didn’t disappoint. China dishes piled high with smoked wheat (a total revelation), peas and lettuce were topped with meltingly flavourful chunks of lamb neck. A few bits of slow cooked meat on a risotto-style base, something simple in theory that could feasibly appear on any home-cooked menu. But this was seriously accomplished cooking, with each ingredient maximised and balanced in total harmony with the next.
As well as the quality, the amounts of food on offer were nailed. As one of the younger children of a large family, there is always a slight panic when sharing food is laid out on a big table that you’re going to receive your fair share. But there was just enough of everything, even allowing for that extra spoon or two of that bit that you particularly liked. Which was all of it.
And then there was the custard tart. By this point we had been truly bowled over, and were drunk in praise of everything. Had an unboxed supermarket tart been plonked onto the middle of the table, we would have probably fought with excuses as to why this was the right thing. But of course this wasn’t the case, and perhaps this was the course that stole the show. Firm-set but smooth and light as you like, the accompanying berries almost weren’t needed. We had two slices each.
All good meals have you infectiously analysing each bit as soon as it’s over. And as we spilled out onto the Lower Clapton Road, we couldn’t help reliving that smoked wheat, that tomato salad or indeed that custard tart. I can’t tell you how much I recommend Sabel Feasts. For pure enjoyment, quality food and value they would run most restaurants for their money. Which for a pop-up is simply mindblowing.
