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Having not posted on this blog for over a year, I decided it was time to make a a renewed effort to write about my cooking. Though my readership is pretty minimal, I love looking back over what I've cooked in the past. So, mainly for selfish reasons, I'm determined to make a more consistent effort from now. But enough of that - neither of us are hear to read about my lack of dedication - and on to last night's dinner.
I fear, looking back, that I overcomplicated things last night. Not in the process, but the flavours. I spent the afternoon doing terribly bitty little jobs that tend to go on for hours, so wanted to do something I could, largely, forget about. I decided to slow cook some duck legs, but baulked at the idea of doing a proper confit; sometimes, even I am put off by that much fat. Instead, I seasoned the legs with thyme, salt and pepper, placed them in little gratin dish with some olive oil and cooked them for two and a half hours, covered with foil, at 140C. The idea was the long, slow cook would leave them meltingly soft, and I could crisp them up later on with the oven turned out high. An hour into the cooking, I also decided to take advantage of some of the fat that rendered out of the duck by roasting an onion in the dish, too.
Next came stage one of the aforementioned over-complication. I knocked together a chutney - a syrup of sugar and water with some stoned, chopped plums thrown in - spiced with cinnamon and cumin, and a splash of white wine vinegar for a sweet-sour taste. Perfectly lovely, actually, and very well balanced compared to the over-sweet versions I've made before without the vinegar.
By the evening, I had two tender, but rather anaemic looking, legs, some absolutely cracking roast onion, and a kilner jar full of chutney. I crisped the duck legs in the oven, this time turn up to 220C, for 15 minutes. It being a dark, cold evening, I decided to make mashed potato. Here was stage two of the over-complication; it should have been plain mash. But those onions sat there, and they looked tasty, so when I put the potatoes through the ricer, I also put half the onion through to join them. The resulting mash was beautiful, smooth, with a nice hint of roast onion in the background; on the plate, the sweetness of the mash, the richness of the duck and the plum chutney was just too much. As I say, the mash should have been plain, or maybe even lightened, sharpened by some spring onion. That, I think, would've worked far better, but and I didn't have any spring onions in anyway so it's rather pointlessly speculative.
In summary, I've learnt a lesson: don't just use things because they're lying around in the kitchen; instead, think about how they will affect the meal as a whole.
P.S. I'm sorry about the frankly awful photograph, I was hungry and didn't bother to take a good one.
I have, I will admit, been terrible at keeping this blog up-to-date recently. I hope I manage to keep going at it; this post is from some time ago, but I though I may as well post it up. This marks the return of the deep-fat-fryer to kitchen proceedings in our house, spurred on largely by my housemate. I must mention at this point that this was a collaborative effort between he and I; we've found that when deep frying things in the past, it's easier, quicker and safer to have one person watching the fryer and the other free to get things ready.
On the way home from work, we saw some Plaice which provided my housemate with a sudden craving for battered fish. His suggestion was to have this with mash, though I insisted that if we were to learn how to batter fish, we may as well do it properly and fry up some chips, too. I never cared about my waistline, anyway. Equipped with Plaice, a bag of Maris Pipers and a tin of mushy peas (essential, no?), we headed back home to read up on the intricacies of frying fish and chips, and quickly decided to ignore Heston Blumethal's advice; as it was just too complicated for a Monday evening.
Instead, we cooked the chips using our existing knowledge, and took a batter recipe from the BBC Good Food website, making the rest up as we went along. So, the batter was made using flour, salt and enough cold sparkling water to make a mixture that was the right thickness. The fish were floured, dipped in the batter, and fried until golden; about 5-6 minutes. The chips were cooked in the same way as my previous article on steak frites, but were this time slightly thicker cut. The results shocked us rather: the fish came out with a crisp batter, reminiscent of a good fish and chip shop. There was something lacking, though. The batter had a very 'clean' taste compared with that from a shop; maybe I need to change the oil in my deep fat fryer less often...
At the risk of sounding like everyone that has ever written about food, there really is something very comforting about having a cold roast chicken in the fridge. All too often, I fry left over boiled new potatoes up in some butter and olive oil, and eat these with slices of the breast meat and garlic mayonnaise, though this is a guilty pleasure I normally indulge in when alone. Last night something a little healthier, more restorative, was called for, and this chicken noodle soup really fits the bill; chillies provide a warming kick, parsley and lemon give a sharp, clean taste, and the noodles, chicken and vegetables lend some body. Cook it for someone who's feeling a little under the weather and they'll love you forever.
Serves 2, generously
A left over chicken carcass, stripped of any remaining meat
2 onions
1 carrot
2 sticks of celery
1 big leek
Half a cabbage
Handful of frozen peas
2 portions of dried noodles
3-4 of chillies
Bunch of parsley
1 lemon
Firstly, make up the stock, which is going to be the base of the soup. If I'm making this for dinner when I get in from work, I don't make the stock correctly; I just throw the carcass in a pan with chopped onions, carrot and celery, a couple of bay leaves and a sprig of thyme, then cover this with water and simmer it for about an hour and a half. Not the best stock in the world, but good enough for this soup and the longer you can leave it on the hob, the better it will be. Whilst the stock bubbles away, get the rest of the ingredients chopped and ready to go in to the soup. Trim and wash the leek, cut in half and thinly slice, do the same with the cabbage, roughly chop the chillies (I tend to leave the seeds in) and parsley, and shred any meat you salvaged from the carcass. When the stock's ready, strain to remove the carcass, meat scraps, and vegetables, then return to the pan. Add the leek, cabbage, chillies, peas, noodles and chicken and simmer for 5 minutes. At this point, check the seasoning; it will need salt and probably pepper, and add lemon juice to taste. Add the chopped parsley, stir through, and that's it, finished. Share between two large bowls, and you'll need a fork and spoon to tackle it or, if you're that way inclined, use chopsticks and drink the soup from the bowl...
I'm not much of a baker, really. Despite being a scientist, I'm not really one for weighing things out accurately or following recipes religiously, so this is my first stab at baking in a good long time, inspired by my friend Joe who has been providing colleagues with his home-baking recently. I chose flapjack as it was something I hoped I would struggle to mess up; even I can melt stuff in a pan, stir in oats and put it in the oven. The entire contents of the tin disappeared over coffee at work today, so I think they turned out OK. Hopefully this marks the the start of me baking more regularly...
Makes about 12 squares
150g of rolled oats
100g of golden syrup
80g of unsalted butter
2 tbsp of muscavado sugar
Pre-heat the oven to 180C and, while waiting, place the syrup, butter and sugar in a pan and place over a medium heat. When molten, pour the liquid into a bowl with the oats and stir together. Grease the inside of a brownie tray (or similar: I used a 25cm ceramic Le Creuset baking dish), pour in the mixture and spread out to an even thickness. Place in the oven for 20-25 minutes and, when done, take out and leave to cool. Once cold, slice the flapjack into squares, fingers... whatever you fancy, and store in an airtight tin. Should keep for a few days, will last a few minutes...
I am lazy. I am lazy enough that home-made pesto is something I wouldn't normally think to make; it's easy enough to pick some up from the Italian deli or, failing that, a jar from the supermarket. Our organic box this week had a big bunch of basil in which needed using up, so in a fit of domesticity I decided to give making my own a try. It really is very easy to do and I think I may even stick to making it from fresh in the future; it has a much more vivid colour and fresh taste when it's just made. One last thing: excuse my very rough measurements, as I was making it up as I went along.
Makes enough to fill a small kiln jar
A large bunch of basil
A handful of pine nuts
A half-handful of Parmigiano-Reggiano
Olive oil, probably around 100ml
Put the basil, pine nuts and parmesan into a food processor, and blitz until everything's smooth. Start adding the oil, and keep checking the consistency of the pesto; you're looking for a fairly runny paste, but stop adding oil before it becomes entirely liquid. When it'd done, spoon the pesto into a sterilised jar, and pour a thin film of oil over the surface, which should stop the top layer discolouring over time. In the fridge, it should last for a couple of weeks.
Into a frying pan, a large knob of butter and a slug of olive oil to keep it from burning, followed by two thick, fatty pork chops, seasoned heavily with salt and pepper on both sides, when the butter was starting to froth. They sizzled for a moment, and then started gently cooking, the pink flesh turning first opaque, then taking on a gentle golden colour. As the generous curve of fat started to crisp slightly at the edges, they were done, and placed on warm plates to rest for a moment. A squeeze of lemon juice into the pan was enough to loosen the exciting crusty bits from the base, producing a sharp but deeply savoury sauce to pour over the chops. We ate these with sautéed potatoes and some bitter leaves to mop up the remaining juices. Gnawing on at the bone, the remaining shreds of meat coated with the remnants of the sauce, was undoubtedly the highlight of the meal.
I had a rather indulgent weekend; my birthday celebrations having started with a bottle of champagne with breakfast at 11am on Saturday, I rolled home from a night out at 3am on the Sunday morning. Needless to say, Sunday was a struggle, and Monday wasn't an easy ride either. Dinner on Monday called for something simple, light, tasty and, possibly most importantly, easy to prepare. I had a giant bunch of parsley in and, looking towards it for inspiration, white fish seemed to fit the bill perfectly, so this is a really simple way to cook a couple of nice cod steaks or fillets; it takes no time at all and tastes delicious, too.
Serves two
Two cod steaks or fillets
A glass of dry white wine
75g of unsalted butter
A large bunch of parsley
Juice of half a lemon
Set the oven to 220C, and meanwhile get the fish ready. Place the steaks in a small roasting pan (If they're fillets, skin side down), pour over the glass of wine, and dot the fish with half of the butter, cut into small cubes. When the oven's hot, put the fish in; it should take 10-15 minutes to cook through, but give it a baste half way through. While this cooks, remove the stalks from your bunch of parsley, and roughly chop the remaining leaves. When the fish is cooked, pour out the juices into a sauce pan and return the fish to the now-turned-off oven to keep warm. Throw the remaining butter and the lemon juice into the pan, and whisk for a minute or so until the sauce thickens slightly. At this point, add the chopped parsley, and stir in. Serve the cod on warmed plates, the sauce poured over, with some boiled new potatoes on the side.
