Lamb with Pea Jus in 5 Steps

There is a green, a beautiful pea green in the Lear tradition that can envelop the meat or fish in its gloriousness; a wonderful colour for any plate. Inspired by a “what-if-I-blitz-Petit-Pois-à-la-Française-in-a-blender” moment (and we all know what happens with those sorts of ideas), this is a dish where the sauce is the star.

To the eye it is already a feast but to the palate, well, it is pea-popped-from-a-pod freshness. Simple meaty caramels and tender cooked pink centres on this simple background, no other garnishing needed; simple (I will not debase this with an Aleksanr Orlov Meerkat squeak at this point). Hints of tarragon and mint, and the slight prickle of chilli also give the pea freshness a lift without contradicting the grassy earthy lamb flavours.

Lamb Shanks with Pea Jus in 5 stages

2 lamb shanks

1 carrot

1 onion

2 sticks celery

1-2 cloves garlic

500ml good chicken stock

500ml white wine

500g frozen petit pois

1 Stem tarragon (about 1Tbsp when chopped)

2-3 leaves mint

1 pinch chilli flakes

2Tbsp Double Cream

Oven on to 140C (275F, Gas 1)

Stage 1:

First, dice the carrot into small cubes and chop the onion and celery. Crush and rough chop the garlic and score each shank down the shin and down the back to stop the size 18 in a size 10 dress effect of the meat popping through the sinew. Boil the kettle and pour over the peas to sit for a minute or two before draining, and then pluck the herbs to rough chop later.

Stage 2:

Heat a frying pan on the hob until hot season and sear the meat, well spaced out, until caramelised. Put them into the casserole. Next, lower the heat a bit and throw in the carrots, fry until they start to turn a lighter golden colour before adding the onion and celery. Let these become translucent before adding the garlic. Give it a stir or two until the aroma reaches your nose then add the lot to the casserole. Deglaze the pan with some of the wine, pour it into the casserole with the stock and remaining wine, shake a bit to mix, then put the lid on and put it into the oven for a minimum of 3 hours, or until the meat looks ready to drop off the bone.

Stage 3:

In a blender, put the defrosted peas and herbs and chilli. Blitz until you have a puree and leave it there. Next, strain the sauce from the casserole into a large pan, carefully removing the meat and discarding the carrot, onion and celery. Return the meat to the casserole and keep warm (I turn off the oven and keep the door ajar).

Stage 4:

Reduce the sauce to a single cream consistency, about a third of what you started with, before taking a ladle of the sauce and pouring it into the pea mix. Blend for a few seconds to get a better puree then pour through a fine mesh sieve into a bowl using the back of the ladle to force all the juice but little of the pulp (this is a bit of a work out but worth it). Finally, once you have the thin green liquid in the bowl, pour it into the reduced sauce and stir to heat through. Once hot, add the cream and the sauce is complete.

Stage 5:

On a high lipped plate or a pasta bowl, place the meat in the centre or just off centre, ladle the pea sauce around it (I used lamb breast in my photograph but the principle remains). Serve with caramelised squash, steamed purple sprouting broccoli or crushed new potatoes for colour contrast.

Tender and sweet pea, helped by the hint of mint, contrasting with the fleshy rich lamb and mellower tarragon, the light chilli prickle giving a liveliness to the sauce and all enriched by the lightest of creamy hints. Who says the sauce can’t  be the star?

Nb. This can also be served with a slab of cod or other meaty white fish that has been roasted in the oven, and if you are feeling extravagant top the piece of white fish with salmon caviar.

 

 

Lamb Shank Spanish Style in 3 Steps

Lamb, slow cooked, either over a water bath or in a casserole; lamb so succulent that it falls off the bone, offers itself to you... now that’s lamb! An autumnal snap has chilled the air (thanks to a hurricane crossing the seas and bringing Scandinavian cool air to our once warm climes) and I have made a supper that lends itself to this change of temperature (and yes, it’s lamb).

Paprika spice and orange perfumes infuse the kitchen with a warm enveloping welcome, or so I imagine, that and a meaty scent of lamb bathed, in part, in aromatic sherry. Memories of student days in Seville (a love affair for me as moody and intense as Flamenco) arise from the orange and Amontillado, the spice hinting at Spain’s east where it is produced. My sherry glass on the side (the ‘support’ during my preparation) reminds me of my local barman’s phrase: “one glass for each leg or you will walk home with a limp”. This is a dish light enough not to forget that summer was only a couple of weeks ago (and should still be here) but rich enough to shake off that goose-bump cool need for woolly warmth.

I served this with sautéed potatoes garnished with a tired red pepper I found in the back of the fridge and fried off (but a timbale of stock infused paella rice or maybe plain bulgar wheat would just as well to absorb the sauce).   

Lamb Shank in a Spanish Style in 3 stages

2 Lamb Shanks

1 Carrot chopped

1 Onion chopped
2 Celery Sticks chopped
1 Tbsp Tomato Puree (heaped)
2-3 Cloves Garlic, crushed
1 Tbsp Honey
3-4 strips of Orange Zest pith removed
500ml Chicken Stock
250ml Sherry (Amontillado)
250ml White Wine
2 Tbsp Sherry Vinegar
Pinch Cayenne Pepper
Olive Oil
Parsley
1 Red Pepper finely sliced (optional)
A handful of pitted Black Olives (optional)

Preheat the oven to 125C (250F, Gas 1)

Stage 1:

Chop the vegetables, crush the garlic and zest the orange. Mix the stock and wine/sherry, spices, zest, tomato puree and honey in a jug. Slice the skin of the shank on the back ridge and on the inside to help release the meat. Prep done.

Stage 2:

Put some oil in a frying pan and bring to a moderate temperature. Sweat the carrot first, until it starts to turn golden then add the celery and onion and cook until translucent. Add to the casserole. Pour in a light glug of oil and turn up the heat. Once the oil is shimmering, season the meat then brown it all over. Place on top of the sweated vegetables then pour in the liquid, put the lid on and place in the oven. Cook for 3 – 4 hours (depending on how large the shanks are). About 30 minutes before the end of cooking time you should start to cook the potatoes, rice or bulgar wheat, and red pepper and store in a warm place.

Stage 3:

Once the meat is cooked and wanting to drop off the bone, carefully lift it out to a board or plate, strain the juices into a pan. Return the meat to the casserole with the lid on and keep in a warm place (back in the oven with the door ajar works well). Put the pan with the sauce on to reduce. Keep this going until it reaches a single cream consistency. Finely chop parsley for added garnish.

On a warm plate place the lamb shank and carefully pour the sauce around the meat and sprinkle parsley over the plate (and olives or sautéed red pepper if using).

The succulent meat is enhanced by the honeyed tomato, the smoke and pepper prickle warmth of the spice and the orange and woody sherry perfumes in the sauce; flavours on the plate that dance dainty Sevillanas on the palate. Drink with a young Rioja or even sherry.

 

Petit Pois à la Française in 4 steps

Peas: the instant snap of flavour from each bite speaks wonderfully of early summer sun. Meld them with the mustier, leafy lettuce, hints of smoke from bacon and the salty chicken richness of a home-made stock and you have a dish that cries sun stippled, daisy strewn lawns, of sun bursts in the mouth (well perhaps not that ‘nuclear’). I am making Petit Pois à la Française, though not in the traditional long-slow-braise-in-a-copper-pot-from-Brittany method. Herbaceous hints of tarragon and mint give greater depth of flavour and knobs of butter offers richness with its glossy coat. It is summer on a plate.

Admittedly, a genuine Petit Pois à la Française doesn’t have bacon in it, that would be Petit Pois à la Bonne Femme, nor does it use frozen peas (the pea season starts late May and early June), nor large spring onions sliced then sweated rather than caramelised whole baby onions, nor does it substitute chervil for tarragon and mint, and God forbid anyone would add a spoonful or two of milk in a Cretonné manner to temper the meat’s salt (though neither will I, this time), non!

While the changes and additions may take us away from a true Petit Pois à la Française, it is still a genuine braise of peas and lettuce with a rich butteriness and slight tarragon herb note, it is quickly made, tasty and worth the culinary detour. However, purists look away.

Petit Pois à la Française in 4 steps

2 bunches continental spring onions

150- 200g Lardons, pancetta cubes or finely sliced smoked bacon

1 clove Garlic

1 glass White wine or vermouth

4 Gem heart lettuce

500ml chicken stock (home made if possible)

750g Frozen Petit Pois

Butter

Olive oil

1 tspn Tarragon chopped

2-3 mint leaves fine sliced

A handful of parsley finely chopped

Step1:

Slice the whites of the spring onions (cut them in half length ways first then slice in half moons). Cut up the bacon if you are not using lardons or pancetta cubes, and crush the garlic with some salt and the back of a knife.

 

Step 2:

In a wide sauté pan pour in some olive oil and a good knob of butter and slowly sweat the spring onions until they are translucent (about 8 minutes). Once done, throw in the lardons and cook until the rawness has gone. (If you want crispier bacon fry it first in a dry pan, then lower the heat, remove the meat to a plate reserving the fat and add butter, fry the onion as above, then return for the next stage. However, I want the texture of this dish to concentrate on the greens).  Next, throw in crushed garlic, whip up the heat and pour in the wine. Let it bubble until it has reduced to nothing.

 

Step 3:

Cut the lettuce length ways into quarters, trimming the root end carefully to keep it whole. Place the lettuce quarters around the pan on top of the bacon and onions and then pour in the stock so that the leaves are only sitting in the liquid rather than being fully immersed. Bring to a simmer at a low to medium heat and braise for 10-15 minutes so that the lettuce is cooked but still remains firm when tested with a knife. When you are ready, pour the frozen peas over the lettuce and increase the heat again. Cook for 4-5 minutes.

Step 4:

Strain the stock to another pan and keep the vegetables warm. Turn up the heat to reduce the stock to a syrupy consistency. Chop the tarragon and mint and throw them into the stock with a knob or two of butter, swirl around until the butter is no more than a streak, then pour over the vegetables (or add the vegetables to the stock pan and toss).  Sprinkle with chopped parsley.

This recipe marries well with breast fillets of game such as pigeon with its earthy rich flesh, although given the Season hasn’t started I served mine with the breast fillet of a lemon roast chicken.

Almost Portuguese Pig's Cheek

Natural sweetness; it’s the theme of my next dish combining meat with fruit. It is a magical mix, think lamb with dates; a grassy, earthily tasting meal is given a toffee or palm sugar hit with the dates that sweeten the sauce. Perhaps roast pork and apricots, subtly savoury light fleshed meat mixed with a sweet and slightly acidic fruit. Or even Devils on Horseback? Tangy little bites of salty bacon enveloping a sticky centre. How about a pork loin fillet stuffed with chopped prunes and wrapped tightly in pancetta before sealing and cooking? Pure sweetness meets salt in a mouth watering combination leaving you wanting more.

 

Here though the flavours are less intense. A slightly earthier, darker, richer meat; pig’s cheek (forgive me but there were quite a few in the freezer so this is a variant of a theme), is married to a slightly softer, gentle natural sweetness: prunes. The prunes give a less overwhelming, slightly more acidic tang to the sauce, puffing up to their former plumy glory. Of course these naturally sweet prunes, naturally sweetened by the addition of port, naturally, and have been soaking in the alcohol for a few hours.

 

Port is a wonderfully rich, fruity, almost jammy drink that has a powerful punch at the end of it thanks to the inclusion of grape spirit (one part to every four of wine). Fortunately, the headier effects of the alcohol are burned off with the cooking process and second helpings will not get you pulled over and breathalysed (the stuff in the glass next to your plate will though).

 

To ensure a balanced flavour, the recipe includes white wine and stock. Now, I am not clever enough to know the different effects on the palate from using red wine in the dish, but would like to think the end result would be less pruney and therefore be a waste of good fruit. 

 

Almost Portuguese Pig's Cheek

 

250g Prunes

Port NV (for goodness sake don’t use the good stuff!)

3-5 Pig’s cheeks per person

Olive oil

1 Onion

1 Carrot

1 stick Celery

2-3 cloves garlic

500ml White wine

500ml chicken/pork stock

1 Tbsp Tomato Puree

Parsley

 

Oven to 130C (250F, Gas 1)

 

Stage 1:

Place the prunes in a cereal bowl (or similar sized bowl) and cover with the port.

 

Stage 2:

Roughly dice the Onion, celery and carrot and in a pan sauté with some olive oil, starting with the carrot to let that turn slightly golden first then adding the onion and celery. Finally, fine chop the garlic and add that to stir through and then remove all of it to a casserole.

 

Stage 3:

In the same pan, brown the pig’s cheeks ensuring they have that caramelised tinge. Do three or four at a time and don’t crowd the pan or they will steam and take on a rather grim grey colour instead. Add to the casserole. Deglaze the pan with some of the wine, pour into the casserole and add the rest of the wine, the tomato puree and the stock, stir gently. Then pour in the prunes, port and all. Put the casserole in the oven and cook for about 3 hours.

 

Stage 4:

This is the finger hot business. Strain the juices into a pan and start to reduce rapidly. While this is doing, carefully lift the cheeks and the prunes out of the vegetable mix and return to the casserole and put in a warm place, such as the oven with the temperature off and the door ajar.

 

Stage 5:

Once the sauce is reduced to a creamy consistency pour it into the casserole and then remove the warmed plates to the table. Put three or five of the cheeks in a stylish fashion onto the plate, in between scatter some prunes and then spoon over the thickened sauce.  Sprinkle parsley over for garnish. Serve with crushed potatoes or couscous or bulgar wheat.

Subtle natural sweetness combined with the robust tang of the stock and the gentle meat flavour of the pork. Add a little unnatural sweetness with a bottle of Portuguese red on the side (no preparation necessary).

Ravigote in 3 Stages

Following a colour theme of sorts, everyone is adding Salsa Verde to whatever they can get their hands on these days. If the palate is getting a bit tired of Salsa Verde, throw in some boiled eggs fine chopped and you have Sauce Grebiche (to the puritans amongst you: just go with it!)

However, a new black has arrived and it is distinctly green (if you follow my logic): Sauce Ravigote. Its name sings of Old France, minstrels, la dame à la Licorne or maybe it was because I had it first in the Loire Valley surrounded by magical chateaux. 

 

Ravigote Sauce should be an accompaniment to calf’s head but I have put it together with just potatoes and a simple roast chicken. The reason (you need a reason?): I have neither time nor will to boil a whole head of calf, roll up the meat, braise it with some root vegetables and then thinly slice it even before I have started the sauce (which technically is thinned with some of the liquor that comes from the meat), oh no. Using it this way will make for an easy Friday night supper if you have had a busy day and are expecting guests.

 

Ravigote is a mustard, shallot and herb based vinaigrette, the spice and pungency from the mustard is tempered by the sweet tarragon and peppered parsley herbs and the thinning of the cooking liquid. In this case I am taking the liquid that comes from the chicken at the bottom of the roaster and thinning it with a little wine and a bit of stock to get a liquor of sorts that can be comparable to the meat liquor. I like waxier potatoes like Charlottes for this dish.

 

Ravigote Sauce in three stages

1Tbsp Dijon Mustard

1 Banana (Escallion) Shallot fine diced (if you like it less pungent rinse it two or three times in cold water and pat dry)

1 tspn each of Parsley and tarragon (chervil and chives can also be used) fine chopped

1 Tbsp White wine vinegar

A squeeze of lemon juice

A pinch of salt

3Tbsp Olive Oil

1 chicken

2 cubes of frozen chicken stock (if you have a tub of fresh stock pour it into ice cube tray and freeze as this reduces any waste of stock you have when you only need a small amount)

White wine

500g potatoes such as new potatoes or Charlotte potatoes

Oven to 180C (375F, Gas 4)

Stage 1:

Massage the chicken with oil and season the skin. Turn upside down on a trivet and roast for three quarters of the cooking time before turning over to crisp the skin. (I work to about 17 minutes to the pound). Remove from the oven when cooked and set aside in a warm place to rest. Deglaze the pan with white wine (about a small glassful) add the stock. Pour liquid into a jug and hold whilst making the vinaigrette.

Stage 2:

Boil the potatoes until nicely nutty and cooked thoroughly. Drain and slice either in half length ways or into discs about 1cm thick.

Stage 3:

Put a pinch of salt in the bottom of a small bowl. Add the Dijon mustard, the vinegar and the lemon juice. Stir well. Continue stirring while drizzling in the olive oil until it is a thick emulsion. Add the chopped shallot and herbs and stir.

 

Carve the chicken, catching any more of the juices that come from it. Pour all the juices into the vinaigrette and stir in well.

 

Arrange the chicken and potatoes on a warm plate and drizzle or spoon with sauce.

 

This is a zingy treat to contrast with the creaminess of the meat and potatoes; little fuss and more time to spare for the all important drink with friends. Digest and dream of castles, unicorns and chivalrous France.

Polpettone Primavera

“Think pink”, so sang Kay Thompson in Funny Face. Well in a way I have, although the pink is very much from the stripy saline meat wrapping that envelopes this creation: Meatloaf.

Meatloaf. Sadly, the name does not make you salivate in anticipation yet there is something about the dish that gets me excited and reminds me of sunny summer days to come (coughs aside): a slice of rested and slightly above room temperature meatloaf served with a simple green salad, something like lambs lettuce a drizzle of vinaigrette and you are there. Perhaps the word Polpetonne could conjure up a more emotive reaction, an Italian word that brings colour to something that sounds, in English anyway, rather bland if not plain blunt.

The main meat is minced veal but you can add a variety of meats to this. I have mixed the veal with pork mince, though chicken works well (turkey mince I am not so sure about and a friend suggested sausage meat which is, of course, an abomination). What keeps this dish moist and light is the bread: a secret I learnt from Marcella Hazan (no not from her personally, nor as with Amy Adams’ character Julie Powell do I ‘imagine her in my kitchen with me’ that would be creepy!).

Lining the loaf tin with strips of pancetta gives it the streamer like colourful appearance and also helps with the moisture (there is a lot of liquid to drain at the end but don’t worry). Parma Ham creates a nice envelope to serve on the plate as well but you will need a super sharp knife to cut through it. The zing of spring, so to speak, comes from the tangy zest of lemon and also the seasonal stems of asparagus, hence the Primavera in the name.

Polpetonne Primavera

500g veal mince

500g pork mince

1 onion fine chop

1 stick celery fine chop

2 cloves garlic minced

1 slice of bread about 1 inch thick crusts removed

Full fat milk

2 eggs (medium) beaten

1 handful (apologies for loose measures) grated parmesan cheese

Zest of 1 lemon

5-6 Asparagus stems

2 packs pancetta strips (approximately 30)

Oven to 180C (375F, Gas 4) 

Stage 1:

First place the bread slice in a milk pan and pour the milk in until it reaches half way up the bread. Place on the hob and bring to the boil then remove the pan from the heat to cool (flip it over carefully to ensure the milk infuses evenly). The milk should be thoroughly absorbed but it is a rough measurement.

Stage 2:

Next sweat the onions and celery very slowly in a sauté pan avoiding browning. Once done stir in the garlic, heat through and remove the pan from the heat.

Stage 3:

Blanche the asparagus for a minute in boiling salted water and then plunge into cold water.

Stage 4:

Roll up the sleeves and put the mince into a large mixing bowl. Add the onions, celery and garlic to the minced meat, take the cooled bread from the pan (if there is any liquid left over, leave it in the pan) and add that as well as the eggs. Finally, add the zest of the lemon and parmesan cheese. Mix thoroughly to ensure there are no clumps of the bread in the mix.

Stage 5:

The fiddly bit. Line a 2LB loaf tin with the pancetta (remembering that the bottom of the tin is the top side for presentation). Pack the meat mixture into the loaf tin quite tightly up to half way. Then get three of the asparagus stems and lay them out, tips in, base to the edge, one way and the others the other way. They should be evenly spaced and not crowded. Pack the rest of the meat on top, pressing down firmly. Then flip the hanging pancetta ends over the meat to cover. Place in the oven on a tray for an hour to an hour and a half or until the meat is cooked through thoroughly (use a skewer, insert into the loaf, hold for 10 seconds, remove and then tap on either the pulse side of your wrist or on the back of the hand, if it is hot you are done). Drain any excess juices carefully before turning out onto a serving plate. Leave to rest for a few minutes.

Serve in thick slices garnishing with lambs lettuce or other greens.

For a spring lunch with friends think pink, unwrap a meatloaf dish and serve with a chilled rosé.

Oxtail with a hint of Italy

What is Oxtail to you? A stew that is too rich, too stringy, too... well, just “too”? A circle of Hell from Dante’s Inferno? Perhaps it is more Paradiso, a dish that leaves the diner looking as doe eyed and tongue-lollingly lovingly as the taurean provider itself (apologies for mixing my metaphors).

Maybe it is the richness of the meat, after long hours of being slow cooked? Maybe it is the rich sauce created from stock, wine and marrow from the bones rendered down to a rich emulsion? Or maybe it is the visceral joy of lifting the portions by hand, loudly slurping and gnawing to get all the meat off while juices run freely down the chin and palm, leaving you feeling rather dirty but as smug as a renaissance prince,  that makes it just a little more pleasurable? Who knows? However, oxtail is such a dish combining the genteel with the overtly barbaric.

Divine Comedy? Dante? Italy? Well, I am putting the tang of Italy into my Oxtail dish by adding balsamic vinegar to the sauce, the acidity from this should help break down the fibres of the meat though in reality there isn’t very much (and let’s not forget there is all that wine too) but at least it will add a dark rich mellowness to the stock and wine.

Nor can I be satisfied with a sinfully plain mash, or dare I say it, ‘crushed’ potatoes. No, I have opted to add yet another circle of richness in this comedy of culinary errors: Polenta mash.

Woodbine’s Oxtail with an hint of Italy

1 Oxtail

1 Carrot diced

1 Onion diced

1 Celery stick sliced

2-3 Garlic cloves minced

500 ml Beef (or Chicken) stock

500ml Red Wine

2Tbsp Balsamic Vinegar

1Tbsp Tomato Puree

150g polenta (quick cook or prepare to stir for hours)

300ml full fat milk

300ml chicken (or vegetable) stock

50ml cream

50g Parmesan Cheese

Parsley for garnish

Oven to 130C (275F, Gas ½)

Stage 1:

Fry the vegetables in a sauté pan, carrots first as they take a bit longer then add the celery and onion. When done stir in the garlic and heat through before removing it all to a casserole.

Stage 2:

Ensuring the pan is hot, season the oxtail pieces and then sear in the pan until browned all over. Do three to four pieces at a time but don’t over crowd the pan. You want the meat browned not a sweated grey. Add to the casserole. Deglaze the pan with some of the wine. Pour into the casserole.

Stage 3:

Mix the balsamic and the tomato puree together and pour into the casserole. Add the remaining wine and the stock. Put the lid on and place the casserole into the oven for 4 hours.

Stage 4:

Strain the oxtail once cooked (carefully removing the meaty bones as the meat should be about to drop off) pouring the sauce into a clean pan for reducing. Put the meat and vegetables back in the casserole (if you want a sauce with no vegetables then they can be more roughly chopped at the preparation stage as you will discard them at this point) and keep in a warm place (the oven off and door ajar works). Once done, return the sauce to the casserole

Stage 5:

While the sauce is reducing, bring the milk and stock to a boil and add the polenta stir until it is done and then add the cream to loosen it and the cheese to give it some extra flavour. This should still be thick enough to pour but not to run (and will thicken even more as it cools).

To serve drop a dollop (can there be any more gluttonously adhesively satisfying a word than that) of the polenta off centre of a warm plate and then a piece of the oxtail quirkily to the side at a jaunty angle. Spoon the sauce around and garnish with chopped parsley. Alternately, pour all the polenta onto a meat plate, place the meat on top and the sauce around.

Gnaw, slurp and handle the food as much as possible like a true Borgia: Divine.