Hot on the heels of the scallop carpaccio ‘starter’ described in the last recipe on this blog, was a more traditional beef carpaccio ‘main’. It’s been that kind of day. When you get a deep craving for something, the best thing is to go big. Have it twice. As Gary Busey famously (!) cries in Point Break: “Give me two!”. I now feel satisfied with my carpaccio fill, and it will be a little while before it comes around again. In the meantime, I can go back to craving pasta. All of the time.
As with the last recipe, this one was inspired by the flurry of amazing springtime ingredients. Okay, so you can get a fillet of beef pretty much all year round, but as soon as I saw baby artichokes and broad beans available, I knew they would be best friends. Also served raw, both vegetables possess enough subtle flavour and crunchy texture to hold their own, whilst not clouding the all-important (and bloody expensive, thank goodness it’s only a sliver) piece of meat. Although I’m always a sucker for the dead trad carpaccio with parmesan, rocket and oil, I fancied something a touch different and thankfully it worked a treat. Anything with a pile of anchovies chucked in normally does.
Today I discovered how making carpaccio really showcases the sharpness of your knives. In my case, I could have done a better job with a teaspoon. Blimey, what a mess. I love my knives, and they’re treasured and essential in my kitchen, but my god they’ve taken a pounding over the years. Perhaps it is time to finally send them back to the wonderful I O Shen to bring them back up to shape. In my next blog post I’ll no doubt be telling you how I no longer have any fingertips.
But my inadequate kitchen equipment was saved by the good and trustworthy rolling pin. They never let you down. They have just the one job, and they always rise to it. They never need sending back to the supplier. Here’s to the rolling pin! Anyway, the rolling pin made short work of making my frankly shite slices of beef serviceable again. Despite such bodging and faffery, the texture of the beef just melted away. So in that sense, this is truly a recipe that caters for any skill level.
Serves 2
200g of excellent quality, dry-aged fillet steak. Trimmed of sinew.
2 baby artichokes
3 broad beans
1 Sicilian lemon, juice only
For the anchovy mayonnaise:
2 egg yolks
1 garlic clove, grated
½ tsp Dijon mustard
1 Sicilian lemon, juice along with zest of half
4 anchovies
200ml vegetable oil
To finish:
A few bruscandoli shoots (optional)
½ a Sicilian lemon, juice only
Extra virgin olive oil
Wrap the trimmed beef fillet tightly with a couple of layers of cling film and pop in the freezer for 1 hour to firm up.
While the beef is freezing make the mayonnaise. Put the yolks, garlic, anchovies, lemon juice and zest and mustard into a small food processor along with a good pinch of seasoning. Blitz well to combine. With the engine still running, start to slowly pour in the vegetable oil. Continue to add the oil until it has all been emulsified, and you are left with a thick mayonnaise. Taste and adjust the seasoning and lemon, then spoon into a squeezy bottle. Set aside until needed.
Make a dressing by combining the juice of half a lemon with 3 tbsp of extra virgin olive oil and a little salt and pepper. Pod and shell the broad beans and transfer to a bowl. Strip away the outside leaves from the artichokes and trim the top about 1 ½ cm down. Use a vegetable peeler to trim any hard bits away from the stem. Use a knife to thinly slice, then add to the same bowl as the broad beans. Immediately toss with the lemony dressing to stop the artichoke from discolouring.
After an hour, remove the beef from the freezer and use a very sharp, long knife to thinly slice. If you want the carpaccio to be wafer thin, put each slice between pieces of greaseproof paper and flatten with a rolling pin.
To serve, arrange the meat slices onto each plate and dot on the anchovy mayonnaise. Scatter the broad beans, artichoke slices and bruscandoli over the top. Finish with a good glug of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon juice and a good pinch of seasoning.
I’m so happy that the winter dreariness seems to be lifting as we welcome the first few sunny days of spring. I am often asked what my favourite time of the year is for produce, and although I love the orange and yellow earthy yields of autumn, the vibrancy and freshness of spring fruit and vegetables really take some beating. I always look forward to embracing the colder months with a glut of steaming soups, stews and slow-cooking. Comfort food at its best. But I’ve had my fill, and now even the slightest tickle of the new season has got me craving small plates of delicately-flavoured morsels. Specifically, carpaccio.
As a fishmonger I am lucky to see this seasonal shift at a hands-on level. At this time of year, although the mackerel seem have performed their annual early spring disappearing act, many UK fish and shellfish are at their peak; nearing spawning time and benefitting in condition from the months of cooler water. I am always really inspired by the fish that we sell every week, and there is always something in particular that really shines out. Recently I was excited about the first proper wild black bream run of the season, and it won’t be long until we see the first sea trout. But last week the things that really caught my eye were the scallops. They were real beauties, diver-caught and still housed in their tightly-clenched shells. They immediately got the old recipe-cogs in my brain turning, and I just had to place a greedy order for some.
When I opened the box I wasn’t disappointed. I really enjoy scallops seared in a stinking hot pan, basted in butter until a burnished crust forms on the outside, encasing a tender, just-cooked middle. But with something so fresh (still very much alive), I almost didn’t want to waste them by adding an element of heat. A simple, tomato-based dressing and a few other seasonal bits and pieces were all that was needed to create a really delicious plate of food.
It’s always best to go to a fishmongers with an open mind, and let them tell you what is good on the day. So if scallops aren’t the thing for this recipe, they can be substituted with other raw white fish such as seabass, bream, or even flatfish such as brill, halibut or sole. The other flavourings will allow whatever fish you choose to be the main event.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
5 very fresh hand-dived scallops, in their shells
1 small bunch of monks beard, roots trimmed
1 large handful (approx. 300g) of winter tomatoes, such as camone
1 small fennel bulb, fronds kept
1 Sicilian lemon, zest and juice
Extra virgin olive oil
First make the tomato dressing. Take two-thirds of the tomatoes and tip into a food processor. Add a good pinch of salt, the zest of the lemon (and any leaves) and about a quarter of the fennel. Pulse the vegetables until coarsely chopped. Line a fine sieve with a piece of muslin, and position over a bowl. Tip the blitzed vegetables into the sieve and allow the clear juices to slowly run into a bowl for about an hour, without squeezing or pushing through. Once the liquid has been collected, pour it into a smaller bowl and set aside. Discard the vegetables.
Fill a saucepan with water and bring to the boil. Season well with salt. Fill a large bowl with cold water and have it standing by. Blanche the monks beard for 20 seconds, then transfer straight into the cold water to stop the cooking. Once cold, drain the monks beard and pat dry with some kitchen paper. Tip into a bowl and dress with a good glug of extra virgin olive oil.
Halve the remaining tomatoes and cut into thin wedges. Scoop out the middles and discard. Transfer to a small bowl and dress with more oil and a pinch of salt.
Prise the scallop shells open with a butter knife, then run a sharp, flexible knife flush to the inside of the flat shell to cut the scallop away. Carefully sever the muscle that attaches the scallop to the bottom shell, then use your hand to scoop up the contents. Run your finger and thumb around the scallop and peel away the frill and roe (this can be used in a different recipe). Repeat until all five are done. On a clean chopping board, slice the scallops into thin discs.
To serve, arrange the scallop slices onto each plate. Spoon over a little of the tomato dressing, then top with the monks beard, fennel fronds and the tomato wedges. Finish with a squeeze of lemon juice, a good drizzle of oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
Leftovers are funny old things. When I grew up, they would refer to the half-portion of grey-looking cottage pie right at the back of the fridge, or the tatty looking carrots in the veg drawer. Leftover curry or lasagne was the best, really developing in flavour after a good day or two of chilling. As a student, leftover pizza scraped out of the box was often essential to ward off some killer hangovers, getting me to the lecture in the nick of time. Leftovers were just that. There was nothing glamorous about them, they served their exact purpose.
As time has gone on, I’ve often been amused at the elevation of what consists of a leftover. Gazing through twitter, I’ve noticed gleaming plates of ‘leftover’ racks of lamb, prime steaks etc etc. It strikes me as funny how once upon a time leftovers were the thrifty scrapings of dinners, cobbled together to make an extra meal. Now people are commonly starting out with a glut of expensive ingredients. No wonder this country is gripped with a mounting waste crisis.
And I hold my hands up fully at this point, as this recipe is fully based around a leftover truffle that I had sitting in my fridge. That’s right, a leftover truffle. My parents would fall over at the thought. In all fairness, I didn’t need a full, whole truffle for the intended recipe (the last steak and celeriac recipe on this blog), and it’s not as if I could have gone to the deli and bought half of one. So I was indeed left with leftovers, and I was damned if I was going to let it rot and go to waste. I read somewhere that making truffle butter would extend its life for a good few weeks, and that sounded very good to me.
The rest of this recipe was easy peasy. When I think of truffle butter, the only accompaniment to it has to be pasta. And nothing nearly complicated either. People give me a funny look when I talk about pasta filled with mashed potato, but it’s a glorious thing. These little, light pockets do an amazing job of letting the truffle speak for itself. And when it’s in front of you on a plate, it certainly doesn’t seem like leftovers.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the pasta:
200g strong ‘00’ grade flour
2 eggs, plus 1 extra for sealing
A good glug of extra virgin olive oil
A good pinch of salt
For the potato filling:
2 medium-large maris piper potatoes
150g ricotta cheese
3 tbsp finely grated hard pecorino
3 sprigs of thyme, leaves picked
A good knob of butter
For the truffle butter:
A small black truffle
100g salted butter
To finish:
2 sprigs of thyme, leaves picked
A grating or two of pecorino
To make the truffle butter, tip the soft, room-temperature butter into a small bowl. Finally grate in the truffle and mix well with a spoon. Lay a sheet of greaseproof paper onto a flat surface and transfer the butter on top. Wrap the butter with the paper so that you are left with a small, sealed parcel. Pop into the fridge until needed (up to a couple of weeks).
Preheat the oven to 200⁰C.
Put the potatoes onto a baking tray and scatter with salt. Bake in the oven for 1 hour, or until the middles are very soft. When cooked, allow to cool slightly, then halve and scoop the flesh out into a bowl. Mash well, then combine with the ricotta, thyme leaves, pecorino, butter and a good amount of salt and pepper. Taste and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Cover and allow to cool.
For the pasta dough, measure out the pasta flour in a large bowl and combine with the salt. Use a wooden spoon to make a well in the middle, and break in the eggs. Pour in a good glug of olive oil, then use a fork to whisk the eggs, gradually incorporating the flour until a dough forms. Tip the dough out onto a work surface and knead really well, until it in no longer sticky and has an elastic texture. Wrap with cling film and rest in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.
When the dough is ready, roll it through a pasta machine until it is at the thinnest setting. Lay the sheet of pasta out and cut 2.5” squares. Beat the remaining egg in a small bowl. Add a teaspoon of the cold potato filling to the middle of each square, and brush a little egg around one half of the edge. Take a filled square of dough in your hands and carefully fold it diagonally into a triangle, sealing the edges around the filling, and expelling any air bubbles. Take the two points of the folded side, and bring them together with a slight twist, so that they meet opposite the remaining point. Crimp with your fingers to seal. Repeat, until you have 20-30 cappelletti.
Fill a large saucepan up with well-salted water and bring to the boil.
When the water is at a rolling boil, add the cappelletti and cook for 3 minutes.
Whilst the pasta is cooking, melt the truffle butter gently in a large frying pan. As soon as the cappelletti are ready, use a slotted spoon to transfer them to the butter pan, tossing them gently to make sure they get covered on all sides.
To serve, spoon the filled pasta onto the middle of each plate, and pour over all of the remaining butter. Finish with a few fresh thyme leaves and a little more grated pecorino.
Earlier in the year, with food magazines and newspapers dedicated to detox dieting and clean eating, the humble old celeriac was lifted to dizzy heights, heralded the vegetable of 2016(!). I like to think of the celeriac as a modest, warts and all vegetable that sits muddily on greengrocer’s shelves, without the pomp of radicchio or the swagger of a heritage carrot. It probably felt mildly patronised by such sudden attention, as it’s always been a star. Like the quiet genius that sits in the corner in indie films while the quarterbacks parade and shout. Like Clark Kent. For years it has been there in the perfect remoulade, creamy, comforting gratins and caramelised, roasted chunks. Now the poor root will be subjected to endless spiralising. Someone will probably try and make brownies with him too.
So for this recipe I found a large handsome specimen of a celeriac, complete with bouffant plume of green leaves sprouting out of the top. What a guy. And I was determined to use the whole vegetable. I first had a go at salt-baking celeriac a few years ago, where it proved a rich and flavoursome accompaniment to some roasted pheasant. The whole process requires some patience and dedication, but yields a unique result. It’s also pretty spectacular taking a salt-crusted dome to the table, before smashing it apart and scooping out the ever so tender, steaming flesh.
The celeriac really is the main event here, but whilst on my way home with said celeriac poking out the top of my bag, I stumbled across a butcher selling some outrageously marbled ribeye steak. Celeriac and beef have always been excellent bedfellows, so to reacquaint the two was a no-brainer really.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the ribeye:
1 x thick ribeye steak, approx. 350-400g
For the salt-baked celeriac:
½ a large celeriac
1kg coarse sea salt
2-4 eggs, whites only
3 tbsp fresh picked thyme leaves
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
For the sauce:
2 handfuls of beef trimming, bones
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 carrot, finely chopped
1 large glass of white wine
500ml beef stock
2 large knobs of butter
A few gratings of black truffle
For the braised chestnuts and celeriac:
A handful of chestnuts, shelled and quartered
4-6 thin, wide strips from the remaining celeriac
2 sprigs of thyme
100g dripping
For the celeriac crisps:
10-15 thin shavings from the remaining celeriac
Vegetable oil for deep frying
To finish:
The green leaves from the top of the celeriac
A knob of butter
1 small black truffle
Pre-heat the oven to 180⁰C fan.
Put the celeriac half for salt baking cut-side-down onto an oven dish. Pour the salt into a bowl and mix with the thyme leaves. Stir in enough egg white to form a stiff, pliable paste. Pack the salt evenly over the celeriac until it is fully covered. Slide into the oven and bake for 2.5-3 hours, until very soft in the middle. When cooked, crack open the salt and slice the top off the celeriac. Use a spoon to scoop out the flesh and transfer to a food processor. Season with salt and pepper if needed. Turn on the processor and blend well. With the engine still running, slowly pour in the olive oil, until it is fully emulsified and you are left with a smooth puree. Cover and set aside.
Set a wide, heavy pan to a medium-high heat and add a glug of oil. Season the beef trimmings and bones, then toss into the pan. Fry for 10-15 minutes, making sure all sides are well browned. Add the onion, carrot and garlic and continue to cook until caramelised. Pour in the wine, and use a wooden spoon to scrape up the crust from the bottom of the pan. Reduce the liquid by half, then top up with the stock. Return to the boil and reduce again, until the sauce is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon (this process should take about 20 minutes). Strain the sauce into a small saucepan, then stir in the butter and a few fine gratings of truffle. Set aside until needed later.
Spoon 1/3rd of the dripping for the chestnuts and celeriac into a saucepan and bring to a moderate heat. Add the chestnuts and fry for a few minutes until lightly coloured. Add the celeriac, thyme and a little seasoning and cook for a further minute, then melt in the remaining dripping. Turn the heat down to low and gently simmer for about 30 minutes, until the vegetables are very soft. Keep warm.
Use a vegetable peeler to shave 10-15 strips from the remaining celeriac. Pour enough vegetable oil into a heavy saucepan until it is an inch deep, then heat up until it reaches 160-170⁰C. Fry the celeriac in batches until it turns golden-brown and crispy. Use a slotted spoon to transfer to some kitchen roll and drain.
Take the steak out of the fridge about an hour before cooking, to let it come to room-temperature.
Heat a heavy frying pan until it is smoking hot. Coat the steak with a little olive oil, and season all sides really well. When the pan is hot, add the steak. Cook without moving for 3-4 minutes on each side for medium-rare, or a few minutes longer if you prefer it better done. Transfer the steak to a plate and allow to rest for 10 minutes.
Let the steak pan cook down a little, then add a knob of butter and the green tops from the celeriac. Cook on a medium heat for a couple of minutes, until softened.
While the steak is resting, reheat the sauce, celeriac puree and dripping-braised chestnuts and celeriac if needed (draining the latter before serving).
To plate up, add a few thick slices of the steak to each plate. Spoon on some of the celeriac puree, and arrange a few of the greens and braised chestnuts and celeriac around the meat. Finish by drizzling over a little of the sauce, then scattering some celeriac crisps and truffle shavings on top.
