On the Gravy Train …

A short while back British Onions sent me a “Gravy in a Box” kit containing, well, everything you’d need for excellent gravy – onions and some other interesting ingredients such as mushroom ketchup, Marmite, mustard and Worcestershire sauce. They’re trying to work out exactly what makes the perfect onion gravy; you can find my recipe at the end of this post.

Image from BBC Good Food Website.

Despite gravy’s strong ties with British cuisine gravy is actually thought to have originated in Egypt around 3000 B.C. Hieroglyphs in the tomb of Djer, an early first dynasty pharaoh, at Umm el-Qa’ab are said to resemble Classical Greek clay vessels, from which the modern French sauce boat (or gravy boat) was ultimately developed. Paintings on the walls of the tomb depicting feasting show the diners (presumably members of the royal court) drinking a liquid, however the context does not lend itself to wine or beer.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the English word “gravy” is obscure in origin. It is most likely derived from the Old French word “grane.” The earliest printed evidence of this word in our language from the Forme of Curry, an English cookbook circa 1390.

The original medieval meaning of “grane” was precise: the gravé consisted of the natural cooking juices that flowed from roasting meat. By implication, this meat was spit-roasted, and therefore two important implements were required to make and collect the gravy: a flesh fork for piercing the meat in order to increase the flow of drippings, and a dripping pan beneath the roast, designed to collect the gravy for use at table. Normally the gravy was skimmed of fat, salted, and then sent up as a sauce – the term in this sense has been replaced today by jus, and would not meet most modern criteria for a ‘gravy’.

The medieval roasted meat with gravé was generally served rare and not likely to have a counterpart in contemporary Byzantine cookery, since the Eastern Church forbade the consumption of blood or bloody food. Among Byzantine Christians, the gravy of pork, mutton, goat, and the mouflon of Cyprus (a species of wild goat) was often reduced over high heat and mixed with garum (a type fish sauce) or wine, as reported by several medieval travelers. The preparation was then served as a relatively thick dipping sauce.

“Gravy. In the British Isles and areas culturally influenced by them, is…well, gravy, a term fully comprehensible to those who use it, but something of a mystery in the rest of the world. Ideally, gravy as made in the British kitchen is composed of residues left in the tin after roasting meat, deglazed with good stock, and seasoned carefully. (Many cooks incorporate a spoonful of flour before adding the liquid but this practice is frowned on by purists.) Gravy varies in colour from pale gold-brown to burnt umber, and in thickness from something with little more body than water to a substantial sauce of coating consistency. In French meat cookery, jus is roughly equivalent to honestly made thin gravy in the British tradition…Kitchen tricks involving burnt onions, caramelized sugar, gravy browning’, and stock cubes are modern descendants of this practice. Indeed, numerous gravy mixes’ or granules’ are to be had, for use with the meat residue, or in its stead. Yet in many homes in Britain a true gravy is still made; and this remains the most delicious accompaniment for the meat form which it comes and an essential feature of the meat dish.”

—Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson [Oxford University Press:Oxford] 1999 (p. 351)

In Britain, gravy is more than just a condiment; it’s liquid comfort. Think of the warm, meaty embrace of every-mother Lynda Bellingham in the Oxo adverts of yesteryear, or that self-satisfied “ahh, Bisto” slogan which perfectly encapsulated a nation’s feelings about a piping jug of gravy – even if we now know that making your own is much more delicious and just as quick & easy.

It brings together a Sunday roast lending a soothing, savoury homeliness on everything it touches – hardly any wonder that commercials for roast dinner staples such as Yorkshire Puddings end with the host pouring gravy over is it?

Like mot other traditional favourites, every cook (or even family) has their own method. As Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall wisely points out in his River Cottage Meat Book, “there is no recipe for gravy, nor should there be”. There are, however, various ways to make sure you do your patriotic duty by varying the method and optional extras, such as adding wine or port, herbs or mustard – ah sure, you get my drift.

There are two main schools of gravy making – those who add flour to the roasting tin to make a roux – a thickening agent made of flour and fat – with the dripping and juices produced by the joint, and those who deglaze the tin with alcohol or a little stock before adding more liquid. I flit in a rather unorthodox way between the two, for chicken and turkey I simply deglaze, for beef I tend to make a roux.

Of course, sausage & mash or toad in the hole demands onion gravy, and, this gravy must be slightly thicker than gravy for roast dinners.  My favourite recipe for onion gravy is simple enough but I have an aversion to lumps in my gravy so I blitz it to a smooth consistency; yeah, I know onions aren’t ‘lumps’ exactly but I still can’t abide them in my gravy – I hold the horrors that were school meals entirely responsible.

Gravy. One of the most, if not the most, divisive of sauces. Some like it thick, some thin. Some like it highly flavoured, some simply meat juice and water. Me? Well, it depends on my mood, but I’m happy enough to stick to meat juices and top notch stock, but the consistency is key – just thick enough to coat the back of a spoon is perfect.

How do you like yours?

Onion Gravy

• 2 onions, finely sliced
• 1 tablespoon plain flour
• 250ml of stock (I prefer vegetable)
• 50ml port or red wine.
• salt and pepper

1. Fry the onions over medium heat in a frying pan, in a little butter, cooking them slowly until they are caramelised and a good even brown colour. This takes a surprising amount of time, about 30 minutes, but it can’t be rushed as it’s essential to give the gravy both its deep brown colour, and sweet flavour.
2. When you are satisfied with the colour of the onions, sprinkle over the flour and stir round to absorb any cooking fat and juices.
3. Add the port (or wine) and mix well together while the alcohol evaporates.
4. Add the stock, about 250ml but it will depend how thick you like your gravy.
5. Stir well, and simmer the gravy for 10-15 minutes.
6. Transfer to a blender and blitz until smooth (optional).
7. Return to the pan and heat through.
8. Season to taste with freshly ground black pepper and salt

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Just Like Mamma Used to Make!

What could be better on a cold wintery evening than a big steaming bowl of pasta? The ultimate in Italian comfort food, surely? Add in a few spicy meatballs and it becomes the perfect Italian-American supper.

I usually go for Nigella’s recipe for pasta & meatballs from Nigella Bites, but the other night I felt like a change – opting instead for an adapted version of this recipe from The Soprano’s Family Cookbook (which I’ve yet to add to my collection, hint hint, wink wink Santa )

This dish is not hard to make, but all that mixing and rolling and sauteing is a time-consuming process. And it’s mainly “active time,” as the magazines would say. Not that, that’s a bad thing – some days are meant for pottering round the kitchen and the cold, wet, dank weeks of winter have ‘kitchen’ days aplenty.

I used a fancy spaghetti, I could of course made my own pasta, but it just wasn’t that kind of day.

Pasta is a very healthy product ,especially the top quality pasta made with hard durum wheat flour and air dried in the traditional way. Unlike some of the cheap and cheerful pastas available in some supermarkets which are made with cheaper flours and forced dried. Its the same old story One gets what one pays for!

So where do most people go wrong when cooking pasta, its such a simple and fast dish but you do need to follow some basic rules .

• You need at least 4 litres of water for every 500 grams of pasta ,so use a large pan enough to hold both the water and the pasta ,
• When the water has boiled and not before, add salt (about a tablespoon).
• Next add the pasta, dried spaghetti and other long shaped pasta has to be held until it has softened in the hot water and can be bent round to fit the pan.
• When the pasta is in the pan, give it a stir to prevent it from sticking .
• There is no need to add olive oil to the water to stop the pasta sticking as long as you use a large enough pan and plenty of water.
• Cook the pasta unti it is al dente – al dente means to the teeth , or more correctly in this context firm to the bite, very slighty resistant.
• Most packets of Pasta have a cooking time shown , take this as a guild only as diffferent shapes take different times, therefore taste the pasta about half way through the recomended cooking time and continue to do so at regular intervals until it is cooked.
• The best way to add your sauce is after you have drained the pasta into your colendar pour the pasta back into the now drained but still warm pan and add your sauce to the pasta and stir as required before serving onto warmed plates

A few key meatball tips:

• Keep the meatballs refrigerated until the very moment you cook them as this helps them retain their shape. If you make them fresh, refrigerate for at least an hour before cooking.
• Dust them in flour before browning.
• Eschew the tongs! Instead, turn the precious meatballs carefully with a couple of spoons.

Soprano’s Style Spaghetti & Meatballs

For the sauce

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 pound Italian-style pork sausages
• 4 garlic cloves
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 2 tins Italian peeled tomatoes
• 1 cup water
• 1 cup red wine
• Salt and freshly ground pepper
• 6 fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces

For the Meatballs

• 1 pound ground beef or a combination of beef and pork
• 1/2 cup plain bread crumbs, preferably homemade
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon very finely minced garlic
• 1/2 cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano or Parmigiano-Reggiano
• 2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
• 1 teaspoon salt
• Freshly ground pepper
• 2 tablespoons olive oil

1. To make the sauce, heat the oil in a large heavy pot over medium heat. Place the sausages in the pot and brown on all sides. Set the sausages aside. Drain off most of the fat from the pot. Add the garlic and cook for about two minutes or until golden. Remove and discard the garlic. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 1 minute.
2. With a food mill, puree the tomatoes, with their juice, into the pot. Or, for a chunkier sauce, just chop up the tomatoes and add them. Add the wine and water, salt and pepper to taste. Add the sausages and basil and bring the sauce to a simmer. Partially cover the pot and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, for 2 hours. If the sauce becomes too thick, add a little more water.
3. Meanwhile, make the meatballs: Combine all the ingredients except the oil in a large bowl. Mix together thoroughly. Rinse your hands with cool water and lightly shape the mixture into 2-inch balls.
4. Heat the oil in a large heavy skillet. Add the meatballs and brown them well on all sides. (They will finish cooking later.) Transfer the meatballs to a plate.
5. After two hours, add the meatballs to the sauce and cook for 30 minutes or until the sauce is thick.
6. Serve with pasta of your choice (spaghetti, tagliatelle, etc) and sprinkle with cheese.

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“The Only Thing to do with Good Advice is Pass it On”

Oscar Wilde

Clodagh McKenna’s Cork Beef Stew from The Irish Farmer’s Market Cookbook is a real favourite of mine and is a frequently made winter warmer of a dish. Generally I’d served a big bowl of it alongside some fluffy mashed potatoes or colcannon and that itself is heaven on a plate. How could it not be? Succulent, tender beef in a thick stout (Guinness) based gravy is a fabulous food, if I had to pick a last meal it would be this – you can keep all the fancy delights for another time, thank you very much. Guinness is a stout beer and not only adds a delicious malty flavour to the stew but helps tenderise the meat too.  I used chuck steak but shin beef would also be perfect here and although the recipe said to cook for a couple of hours I left it in the slow oven compartment of my range for around seven hours and it was pure gorgeousness on a plate.

This weekend though, I fancied a change. Instead of a stew, I went for pie! A subtle change I’m sure you’ll agree, but a change all the same.

I served the pie with roast potatoes and carrots. There’s something wonderful about the combination of crunchy spud with succulent gravy, I’m sure you’d agree. Carrots? Well don’t a few carrots enhance any pie or stew with their delicate sweetness?

I used a very rich and ‘short’ shortcrust pastry here, but puff pastry would work well also. I’ve gained somewhat of a reputation for this pastry, and until now had guarded the recipe closely, listen carefully now – the secret is extra butter and double cream. Yes really, double cream. The result is melt in the mouth, tender pastry. Go on, give it a try.

Another trick to having really crisp pastry with your pie is to cook it separately. Genius, no?

My favourite way to cook roasties is the ‘Nigella Way’. By that I mean I follow here three crucial steps, I think they make the difference: the first is the heat of the fat (and it’s got to be goose fat)- if it’s not searingly hot, you don’t stand a chance; the second is the size of the potatoes – they need to be relatively small, so that the ratio of crunchy outside to fluffy interior is optimised; and, finally, maybe the most important, dredging the potatoes in semolina after parboiling, then really rattling the pan around to make the potatoes a bit mashed on the surface so they catch more in the hot fat, aiding in that most satisfying crunch.

Cork Beef Stew/Pie Filling:

• 2 tablespoons dripping
• 150g bacon, rind removed, cut into thick strips
• 300g shallots
• 1kg stewing beef steaks, cut into 4cm pieces
• 1 litre stout
• 1 pinch salt and black pepper
• 1 bouquet garni, made up of 1 bay leaf, 3-4 parsley stalks, and a sprig of thyme
• 1 tsp butter
• 400g mushrooms

1. Preheat the oven to 110C or the equivalent.
2. Place the dripping in a hot frying pan and add the bacon. Stir and fry for a minute before tipping in the shallots. Cook for a further 5 minutes, until the onions have browned.
3. Transfer the bacon and onions to a large ovenproof casserole dish, but leave the dripping in the pan.
4. Add the beef to the same frying pan and sear until coloured. Transfer to the casserole dish.
5. Pour the stout into the frying pan, while still on the heat, and scrape the sediment from the bottom of the pan. Bring to a boil and pour the stout into the casserole dish, over the other ingredients.
6. Put the frying pan back on the hob, over a high heat. Melt the butter and toss in the wild mushrooms. Season, and cook for about 5 minutes, or until the mushrooms have softened. Tip them into the casserole dish, season with salt and pepper, and add the bouquet garni.
7. Cover the casserole pot and cook the stew in the oven for at least 5 hours or until the beef is very tender.

The ‘Shortest’ Shortcrust Pastry

• 225g plain flour
• 160 butter, cut into small cubes
• Double cream or gold top milk

1. Begin by sifting the flour into a large bowl.
2. Rub the butter into the flour using your fingertips only and being as light as possible. As you gently rub the fat into the flour, lift it up high and let it fall back into the bowl, which helps incorporate more air, but do this just long enough to make the mixture crumbly with a few odd lumps here and there.
3. Now sprinkle 1 tablespoon of cream in, then, with a knife, start bringing the dough together, using the knife to make it cling, adding more cream as needed. Then discard the knife and, finally, bring it together with your fingertips. When enough liquid is added, the pastry should leave the bowl fairly clean.
4. Now place the pastry in a polythene bag and leave it in the refrigerator for 30 minutes to rest.
5. Use the pastry as directed in your recipe. To cook ‘plain’ roll to about 1cm thickness and cut into sheets, bake at 200C or the equivalent for about 20 minutes or until golden and crisp.

Roast Potatoes the Nigella Way

• 100g goose fat
• 500g potatoes, such as King Edward’s
• 1 tablespoon semolina

1. Preheat the oven to 250C or the equivalent.
2. Put the fat into a large roasting tin and then into the oven to heat up, and get it incredibly hot: 20-30 minutes should do it.
3. Meanwhile peel the potatoes, and cut each one into 3 by cutting off each end at a slant so that you are left with a wedge or triangle in the middle.
4. Put the potatoes into salted, cold water in a saucepan, and bring to a boil, letting them cook for 4 minutes.
5. Drain the potatoes in a colander, then tip them back into the empty, dry saucepan, and sprinkle the semolina over.
6. Shake the potatoes around in the saucepan to coat them well and, with the lid clamped on, give the pan a good rotate and the potatoes a proper bashing so that their edges fuzz and blur a little: this facilitates the crunch effect later.
7. When the fat is as hot as it can be, tip the semolina-coated potatoes carefully into it (they splutter terrifically) and roast in the oven for an hour or until they are darkly golden and crispy, turning them over halfway through cooking.

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I have become more and more bitterly disappointed with supermarket bacon over the years; the wafer thin strips that spew grey, salty water into the pan so they poach rather than fry, withering up into tiny corrugated flaps of anaemic disappointment. You can taste the pig’s depression in the meat.

I was a little dubious then when I was contacted by a PR company asking me to review some Spoilt Pig bacon – I wasn’t expecting much, a mediocre porky product at the most.

Spoilt Pig bacon, however, delivers such good all round quality it virtually left me speechless. Produced by Denhay Farms, the multi award-winners. each Spoilt Pig rasher is thick and juicy, without being slimy, and is a natural, blushing pink hue. As soon as they hit the pan the smell is intoxicating, the fat rashers are impervious to shrinkage so what you see really is what you get. The elegant ribbons of fat melt into the meat and fry to a salacious crisp without being sullied by watery run off. The end result is a delicious, crisp and rosy rasher, packed full of natural, sweet porcine flavour that delights the taste buds.

Spoilt Pig bacon is hand cured in natural sea salt using traditional methods, and is available smoked or unsmoked. The curing leaves the meat plump, and the saltiness is palatable rather than overpowering. The smoked bacon has just the right amount of delicate ashy flavour to compliment rather than overwhelm the tastes or the meat itself.

Spoilt Pig pigs are outdoor reared on British farms, spending over half their lives in the great outdoors, free-ranging in mud and grass. The rest of the time they are pampered in straw barns that are kept clean, spacious and warm.  This TLC is the reason the pigs have been approved by the RSPCA as having high standards of care and as a result, the bacon produced carries the RSPCA Freedom Food Mark.

Spoilt pig bacon could even give some butchers a run for their money.

Whether you want to show your support for British Farming and Freedom Food initiatives or simply want to pamper your taste buds, you can’t lose with Spoilt Pig bacon.

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After Christmas I made a promise to myself that I would resist buying more cookery book until I had sorted and organised the rather mammoth collection I already own. Well, a couple of weeks back I broke that promise. How could I resist Jose Pizarro’s stunning book, Seasonal Spanish Food?

Pizarro’s debut explores the regions of Spain and is embellished with lovely anecdotes about the rural upbringing of the author — the chef behind the esteemed London tapas restaurant, Brindisa.

Pizarro’s infectious enthusiasm for Spanish cooking permeates every page. His message couldn’t be simpler — use fresh, good-quality, seasonal ingredients and they will speak for themselves.

You might not be familiar with Pizarro but the fact that the Spanish Ambassador offered him the Embassy in which to hold his launch party tells you all you need to know about the regard in which he is held by his countrymen.

One of the recipes that stood out immediately was Chickpeas with Chorizo. Pizarro describes this as a cross between a soup and a stew but I decided to keep it soupier, adding extra stock.

The chorizo I used came from Unearthed – a lovely and much appreciated free sample! Unearthed cooking chorizo is a spicy Spanish pork sausage with paprika and garlic, sourced very near Barcelona.

The original chorizo probably was invented in Extremadura, which is hardly surprising given that the monks in that region were one of the first to cultivate the peppers brought back from Mexico.

Chorizo is a pork sausage that has been spiced and marinated, then cured for a varying amount of time. The key ingredient is the pimenton, of which there are varying degrees of spice/heat and the type used varies from region to region.

Chorizo, as with all meats, depending on whether you buy it from a specialist shop, or a supermarket, will vary enormously in taste, texture and quality, but can be relied on to send waves of vibrant, husky warmth through a cheap bean or dried pea stew. What I’m trying to say here, is buy the best chorizo you can afford, the rest of the ingredients are cheap and cheerful so splash out on the most vital of ingredients.

While I’m on my soap box about buying good quality ingredients, I might as well mention that I would recommend fresh home-made chicken stock here, or at a pinch a tub of fresh stock from the shops. Please no stock cubes here.

As per my usual preference I used dried chickpeas which I soaked overnight. Jose also recommends doing this, as the flavour of tinned chickpeas is never as good as dried and they are such a prominent feature of this dish it would be such a shame to make do with inferior quality/flavoured goods.

Chickpeas have two lovely qualities that make them suit rustic, slow cooking — their near-indestructibility and an agreeably knobbly feeling in the mouth. They also have a lovely nutty flavour which works so well against the spicy, paprika notes of the chorizo and of course the rust coloured stock in which it all sits amicably.

A quick and hearty soup, which should be on the table in about an hour, for most of which time it can sit unattended, with just the occasional stir to see how it is getting on. It is also delicious reheated, so perfect for lunch the next day too. Some crusty bread wouldn’t go amiss but it is by no means essential.

Chickpeas with Chorizo

• 300g dried chickpeas
• 4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 2 garlic cloves, chopped
• 1 onion, chopped
• 2 carrots, chopped
• 300g fresh, spicy, chorizo, chopped
• 250g dry cured bacon, cubed
• 900ml chicken stock
• 1 bay leaf
• black pepper

1. Soak the chickpeas in lots of cold water overnight (a minimum of 6 hours is required, but longer is better)
2. Heat the oil in a saucepan and lightly fry the chopped garlic, onion and carrots. When the vegetables are golden add the chorizo and bacon, sauté until lightly browned and the chorizo is purging itself of the rusty, red tinged oils.
3. Add the stock and bay leaf. Bring to the boil, add the chickpeas and cook for about an hour on a simmer. While the chickpeas are cooking skim off any foam or excess fat that comes to the surface.
4. Once the chickpeas are soft but not mushy, season with black pepper to taste (personally I wouldn’t add salt to this dish).
5. Top up with boiling water or stock if you require a soupier consistency.
6. Serve, drizzled with a little extra virgin olive oil and scattered with fresh parsley if wished.

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ODE TO A HAGGIS

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,

Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang’s my arm

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
You pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’need
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reeking, rich!

Then, horn for horn they stretch an’ strive,
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive
Bethankit hums

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle

Ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
An’ dish them out their bill o’fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r,
Gie her a Haggis!

Robert Burns

A couple of weeks back I made a mammoth journey to Scotland to collect our new family member Maximus, and back home in the same day — a journey that took over ten hours.

On the journey north a breakfast break was taken at a fabulous farm shop come service station. After a hearty, if rather expensive, breakfast I just had to take a wander around the farm shop. Sure it would be rude not to peruse the goods for sale wouldn’t it? I ended up buying some local cheese, a couple of pork pies and bread (food for the journey home) and, a haggis. Not just any haggis mind you, but a Rick Stein Food Hero haggis.

So what is a haggis? Well, without wanting to disappoint anyone, it is not the mythical furry creature with its two inside legs shorter than its two outside legs to allow it to run easily along hillsides. Haggis is in fact a very old Scottish dish, which combines meats, spices and oatmeal to create a very rich, unusual, but nonetheless delicious meal.

The origin of haggis, as with many other national dishes, is obscure. A similar dish was known to the ancient Greeks and Romans and is mentioned in some 14th-century Scottish chronicles. Dr. Michael Krause, a physician from Hamburg reported that it was much like a Silesian dish he called ”derma.” And although haggis includes pork fat or suet, its taste and texture also resemble the Jewish dish made of chicken fat, flour, spices and onions baked in a steer’s intestines that is also called derma.

The French honour its Scottish connections by calling it ”Puding de St. Andre” although, in fact, the word haggis is probably French in origin and comes from the verb hacher — to chop up or mangle. Though unproven, the French origin seems likely as French influence was strong in Scotland until 1603 and other traces of that tongue remain in the Scottish lexicon.

What to serve with the haggis? Well, ‘neeps and tatties’ would be the obvious choice but I wanted something a little different, nothing too out of the traditional realms of Scottish cuisine though. Rumbledethumps seemed the obvious choice, and, isn’t the name just lovely.

Rumbledethumps is a traditional dish from the Scottish Borders. The main ingredients are potato, cabbage and onion or  swede depending on which recipes you care to look at. Similar in nature to Irish colcannon, and English bubble and squeak, it is either served as an accompaniment to a main dish or as a main dish itself. An alternative version from Aberdeenshire is called kailkenny which replaces the butter in the potatoes with cream.

The name rumbledethumps apparently comes from the noise made in the kitchen as the tatties and cabbage are rumbled and thumped in the preparation.

Contrary to Tim Hayward description of Rumbledethumps (found here) that they are “potatoes and cabbage knocked about a bit in a pot – just to ensure the ultimate disheartening combination of lumps, bruised, leathery brassicas and self denial.” I found them luxuriously creamy, fresh and vibrant – note though that I added a dash of cream to the process and mashed away at the potatoes until not a lump could be found; before folding through quickly sautéed strips of kale. A culinary pleasure indeed.

The recipe I used for the rumbledethumps comes (in an albeit slightly adapted way) via Sue Lawrence’s Scottish Kitchen; an absolute treasure-trove of recipes which emphasises all that is good about Scottish cooking.

Of course you need a wee dram of whisky to accompany your dinner.

Rumbledethumps:

• 600g potatoes — peeled and chopped
• 400g turnip (swede) — peeled and chopped
• 250g kale or Savoy cabbage with the stalks stripped of — washed and shredded
• 50ml double cream
• 75g butter
• 50g mature farmhouse Cheddar – grated

1. Boil the potatoes and turnip in boiling salted water then drain thoroughly, before mashing well adding the butter and beating until smooth.
2. Gently cook the kale or cabbage by sautéing in the butter over a medium heat for four to five minutes, stirring, until wilted but still vivid green
3. Tip the kale and all the butter into the potato pan and mix everything together, season to taste with plenty of salt and freshly milled black pepper.
4. Tip into an ovenproof dish.
5. Sprinkle over the cheese and bake uncovered in a preheated oven (180C) for about 30 minutes or until golden brown and piping hot

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Jose Pizarro’s recent guide to Spanish cooking with rice and the chance finding of some Unearthed Catalan cooking sausages at a local store really got me in the mood to embrace the virtues of Spains cuisine; “No, not Spanish, Catalan” (Anya von Bremzen).

Catalonia (Catalunya) is a country within a country, with its own language, complex history and a wealth of artistic & culinary traditions. Catalan food blends Roman, Arabic and even Italian influences into one of Europes most interesting and distinctive cuisines; which today runs the gamut from rustic to the ultra refined. This region is of course the turf of Ferran Adria and his experimental disciples of elegant modern food art at El Buli. Yet Catalan cuisine keeps its roots in robust grills served with garlicky allioli, rust-coloured seafood stews to warm your cockles, earthy casseroles inland in which meats, poultry or the much beloved salt cod (bacalo) might be rather funkily paired with dried fruits, honey or even chocolate and most temptingly for me at least rich and bracing rice dishes.

Where to start though with these lovely sausages? How could I make the most of them?

Luckily enough for me Jose did a live web chat over on the Word of Mouth blog, giving me chance to ask for a little advice.

Jose suggested that to make the best of the ingredients I had to hand, I make arroz caldoso (soupy rice) — one of those much loved rich and bracing rice dishes. So onward to the stove armed with Bomba rice, sausages and various store cupboard staples to make a stunningly quick and delicious meal.

Arroz caldoso is basically a ‘soupy’ rice dish not all that dissimilar from paella in terms of flavour and risotto in terms of its aesthetic qualities. One huge advantage arroz caldoso has over risotto is that you don’t have to stand laboriously over the stove stirring away. Arroz caldoso should be like a soupy stew with a drop of the broth left on the top of the rice so you can get a bit of the broth with each bite.

The key is to use the right kind of rice, Spanish rice (Calasparra and Bomba being the most well known) is rounded and short; it absorbs liquid very well, and it stays relatively firm during cooking. Unlike risotto rice the Spanish rice stays separate and relatively ‘dry’ rather than creamy.

The sausages were incredibly dense and meaty, delectably flavoured with fennel and black pepper.

It is hard to believe that something so simple could become something so delicious. Just some rice, garlic and herbs along with some top notch sausages, meld together to create such a wonderfully flavoured meal.

Despite the meal being warming and comforting it also brought a burst of sunnier climes to our meal; no bad thing given that we’ve had an exceptionally cold and miserable winter here.

So If you’ve never made paella because it sounds a bit complicated, this arroz caldoso or soupy rice is for you — it’s very easy to do and tastes absolutely fantastic! What are you waiting for?

Arroz Caldoso

5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 large garlic cloves, chopped

400g tinned chopped tomatoes

200g field mushrooms

1 pack Catalan cooking sausages

250g paella rice (preferably Calasparra or Bomba)

6 tablespoons dry white wine

1 litre chicken, warmed

Sea salt

Handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley

Scatter the parsley over the rice and serve immediately.

1. Heat the oil in a big pan or casserole over a medium to high heat. Fry the garlic for about 3 minutes, until it turns golden, then add the tomatoes and cook until the juices have reduced.
2. Slice the mushrooms caps and stalks into 2cm slices and cut the sausages into half lengthways.
3. Stir in the mushrooms and sausage slices, and fry the mixture for another 3 minutes.
4. Turn up the heat and add the rice, giving everything a good stir, then pour in the wine. The mixture will bubble nicely; let the alcohol evaporate before adding the stock.
5. Season with salt to taste, give everything another stir, then turn the heat down. Leave to simmer gently until the rice is cooked, about 18 to 20 minutes.

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Unless you have been hiding yourself away from the foodie scene these last few years I’m sure the hype surrounding the St. John Restaurant cannot have escaped your notice. The offer of a meal there would I’m sure be as poll dividing as Marmite – love it or hate it, sure, nose to tail eating isn’t for everyone. Me? Well, I’d be leaping for joy, this is one of the many must visit restaurants I have listed.

Over on Twitter recently there seems to have been a lot of talk about the St. John Restaurant, most of it excellent and most of it around mouth-watering fayre. Catty on the other hand didn’t have such a great experience but hey as she points out, sometimes the hype and build up of excitement can easily take the edge of something no matter how good it was.

And. Back to me. All this chatter, and the chance buy of some lovely oxtail, got me in the mood to try out Nose to Tail Eating: A Kind of British Cooking by Fergus Henderson (one of the founders of St. John Restaurant).

A lovely book which I have read and pondered over many times but had yet to actually cook from. Somewhat shockingly however it did not include a recipe for oxtail. Now, I could either find another recipe book or find a recipe in Nose to Tail Eating that I could adapt; I did the latter – Lamb Shanks Eben’s Way, almost leapt out of the page; the flavours included and the method of cooking would most certainly work well with oxtail.

Just to be on the safe side though I contacted St. John Restaurant via the masterpiece of social medial that is Twitter and asked their advice. They advised the addition of prunes, and so prunes were added; along with a few carrots as I had some to use up.

Oxtail is a boney, gelatinous meat; now that doesn’t sound all that appealing really does it? However, the meat has a fabulous flavour, very deep but sweet and cooked well it is fork tender, yet remaining well textured. If you or your family are a little put off by the eating of the tail, why not do as I did for my family and remove the bone prior to serving?

Whereas oxtails used to be considered a “throwaway” meat, often free for the asking or close to it, you may have to put an order in ahead of time as it is becoming increasingly popular these days. The recipe itself also needs to be planned a few days ahead, it is by no means quick. But don’t be put off — most of this time is taken up with waiting while the oxtail marinates and slow-cooks

The long marinade (in a bottle of red wine amongst other spices) not only allows the flavours to permeate the meat but aides in the tenderising of it too. This marinade is then joined by a good slosh of port and reduced down to a sauce for the meat prior to serving; the flavours really do bring out the best in the oxtail, which by this point is almost ‘gamey’ in its strength of flavour.

Now get that oxtail on order!

I ate the leftovers for lunch the following day and it tasted even better (as do most stews) than on the day of cooking. Be aware though that the stew will become very gelatinous and solidify on getting cold, just reheat it gently and all will be fine.

Oxtail Eben’s Way:

• 1kg oxtail pieces
• 20 raisins
• 10 prunes
• 4 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
• 4 tablespoons red wine vinegar
• 750ml red wine
• 4 juniper berries
• 4 allspice berries
• 10 black peppercorns
• 3 bay leaves
• 150ml port
• 100g diced, cooked carrots (optional).

1. Place all the ingredients (except the port), in a plastic or china container (do not add salt at this stage). Marinate in the fridge for at least 2 (or up to 3) days, turning every half day or so.
2. Heat the oven to 150°C/gas 3.
3. Put the oxtail and marinade in a heavy, non-reactive pan with a well-fitting lid, adding a good pinch of salt. Cover and put in the oven for about 3 hours, turning. If they are cooking too fast, turn the oven temperature down: the secret is slow and low with this dish. The meat should be thoroughly giving but still just holding on to the bone; when this is achieved, remove the oxtail and keep warm. Add the glass of port to the juice in the pan and put over a high heat, reducing the sauce briskly for 5–10 minutes, until slightly thickened. Sieve the sauce over the oxtail and serve, accompanied by plenty of creamy mashed potatoes and buttered peas.

NB – as you can see in the photo, I deboned the meat prior to serving so as to suit the wishes of my family (I followed the method as above but while the sauce was reducing I removed the meat and then returned it to the pan along with the carrots to warm through prior to serving).

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Lamb took centre stage for me this week. The rarity of having the house to myself for the evening was occuring and this could only mean one thing – the cooking of a solitary feast that the rest of the family simply wouldn’t have cared to join me in; in other words a meal that under normal circumstances just wouldn’t get cooked.

Lamb is one of my favourite meats but alas it isn’t that of my family so it is rare that I get to indulge; all the more reason to make the most of the opportunity then.

Armed with some fabulous organic lamb steaks from my local butcher and feeling greatly inspired by the fabulous Nigel Slater’s slow cooked lamb with chickpea mash I set about creating a version fit for one person.

I wanted to keep the flavourings simple and straightforward; this was my day, my ‘me time’ and I didn’t want to be spending it making a million and one components for my simple supper. I settled on coating the lamb with a harrisa rub and keeping the mash incredibly basic; simply mashed chickpeas with a drizzle of olive oil and a few leaves of watercress (as I had a huge bag from Riverford that needed using) tossed through.

Harissa is a North African hot red sauce or paste whose main ingredients are chili peppers (often smoked or dried) and garlic. Though most closely associated with Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria, it is a standard ingredient of North African and Middle Eastern cuisines.

Harissa paste is now an everyday, easily accessible, storecupboard ingredient and can be bought from supermarkets and small ethnic food stores alike. I am lucky enough that my lovely Israeli friend Francesca keeps me well stocked up with supplies though. Harissa spice rub is an altogether different beast, one that I struggle to locate locally and so always order directly from The Spice Shop; one day I will visit the London based store and trust me I will be like the proverbial child in a sweet shop.

Slow cooking the lamb steaks was certainly not an option, so, I went down the route of extreme opposites. I pan fried the lamb quickly over a very high heat; giving me caramelised edges, burnished fat and yet quiveringly tender, rose pink meat.

Keeping the chickpea mash subtle, if not even slightly bland, was a great idea as it became a base carrier for all the other flavours. The chickpeas themselves just gave a subtle creamy, nutty, backdrop.

Once the lamb was joined by a sloppy mash of chickpeas and the few cream enhanced mahogany juices, alchemy occured. A simple supper was elevated to a meal I’d have gladly served to guests at a dinner party.

Spiced Moroccan Lamb:

• 4 lamb steaks, roughly 2cm thick
• 1 tablespoon of dried harrisa spice rub
• 1/2 teaspoon harrisa paste
• 100ml double cream

1. Rub the dried harrisa over the lamb steaks (this can be done in advance if wished).
2. Heat a frying pan or griddle until very hot, add the lamb steaks and cook to your liking.
3. Remove the lamb from the pan and set aside to rest.
4. Add the cream to the pan used to cook the lamb and add the spice paste, whisk to amalgamate and simmer gently to reduce the sauce slightly.
5. Return the meat juices to the pan.
6. Serve the lamb on a bed of chickpea mash and drizzle with the sauce.

Chickpea & Watercress Mash

• 1 tin of chickpeas
• 1-2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil (preferably a North African one)
• a large handful of watercress leaves, picked from the stems and stems discarded.

1. Drain the chickpeas and put then in a pan with just enough water to cover them.
2. Bring to the boil, then turn down to a simmer. The aim is to warm the chickpeas through rather than cook them further, simmering for around 5 minutes will be enough to do this.
3. Drain the chickpeas, then either mash them with a potato masher, or in the food processor – the latter is preferable to me as I like a smooth almost ‘humous’ like puree.
4. Mix in the olive oil to make smooth and luxurious puree. Stir in the watercress, season with a pinch of hot paprika, salt and black pepper, and serve with the spiced lamb.

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The first time I came across stifado was a young teenager on holiday in Corfu, from the first taste I was hooked. Strangely enough though until yesterday I had never cooked the dish at home. I don’t really recall much else from that trip to Corfu, other than a great many hill walking trips, but the hearty dishes of stifado have stayed lodged in my memory bank; maybe it’s a deep rooted feeling I might fail at recreating that ‘perfection’ that has put me off trying stifado for so long.

For me cold winter weather demands comfort food in the form of hearty stews and braises, so with the last few days being bitterly cold and frosty what more excuse could be needed than to make stifado? Stifado are rich and sustaining stews, headily spiced with cumin, cloves, cinnamon and bay leaves, making them perfect winter warmers. Most commonly a stifado is made with rabbit but beef, chicken and pork also work very well.

A stifado is also a great dish for economy cooking (providing your spice rack is already well filled of course) as you need to use the ‘cheaper’ cuts of beef such as chuck steak, shin of beef or cubed beef cheek as they contain a lot of connective tissue including collagen, the collagen melts during the cooking of the meat, making the flavour intensely stronger and giving ultra tender, cut with a fork meat.

The key to getting the characteristic, rich, sweet sauce is to use lots of onions. Most of the recipes I’ve looked at contain either shallots or boiling onions left whole but I didn’t have any, so I made do with four large onions which I finely sliced and allowed to caramelise before returning them to the pan to cook with the other ingredients. Whilst large chunks of shallot or onion would have been nice, the caramelisation of the sliced onions did give the sauce the correct body and sweetness. Next time I will be sure to have ordered shallots from my organic vegetable box scheme.

In a strange twist of culinary country identities I decided to serve the stifado not with the traditional rice or boiled pasta but with colcannon; a dish traditional of Ireland. Why colcannon I here you ask. Well because it is my faveourite side dish of all time, and, because I’d a bag of kale and some cream that needed to be eaten fairly soon. Colcannon is such a simple dish to make, simply mashed potatoes with some sauteed scallions and kale (or cabbage) mixed through. There are however, a few rules to follow to get good results – cook the potatoes in their skins in just enough water to half cover them so they almost steam, peel them and return to the pot to ‘dry’ before mashing them, always add hot milk to prevent lumps.

The iron richness of the kale worked really well against the sweetness of the stifado sauce, giving a lovely contrast in flavour and texture.

Although I didn’t see a mention for it in any of the cookbooks or websites I consulted in my search for the ultimate stifado, I have memories of a hard cheese being grated over the stifados in Corfu; so in keeping with my fond food memory I served some grated kephalotyri cheese with the dish.

Very few ingredients are used in stifado so make sure you use the freshest and best quality ingredients you can; take your time over the preparation and cooking, give it some love and you will be transported in mind to a Greek taverna; all you need to complete the experience is a good glass of red wine such as Xinomavro.

Beef Stifado:

• 1 kg of cubed beef (cheek, chuck steak, braising steak, shin of beef etc)
• 4 onions, thinly sliced
• 200ml tomato passata
• 300ml red wine
• 100ml red wine vinegar
• 4 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 2 whole cloves ground
• 1 teaspoons of allspice berries ground
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1 teaspoon oregano
• salt and freshly cracked pepper

1. Heat some olive oil in an oven proof casserole dish and saute the onions gently for about 10 minutes, until they are softend and begining to caramelised. Remove and set aside.
2. Saute the beef until it has browned in the same pan. Add the onions back along with the remaining ingredients and enough water to cover everything.
3. Bring to the boil and then leave to simmer for about 3 hours or until the sauce has a lovely rich, thick consistency.

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