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.