As you may well imagine, behind the scenes here at Pot Tossery there's plenty of discussion ranging from complimentary back-slapping on how amazing each other's food looks, future posting intentions and how we're not getting round to writing things, and really vain things like how many view we're getting, most recently how Kirsty's Tumblrs have completely besieged my introduction post after referring to me on there as massively talented. More of them were interested in my introduction than the chipotle post also linked, despite insistence that there wasn't a massive picture of my face accompanying it. But what can you do? Anyway, the whole point to this waffle is that, in keeping with my Whim Based Cooking, when I get an idea I tend to build it up, mainly because I can't stop myself from talking about it. Which is where this one comes into play.
Back in Pot Tossery's infancy, I was telling my friend Phil about it in the beer garden (and by that I mean large patch of tarmac) of the Bell and Hare in Tottenham. He asked if I was going to just show my triumphs, or whether or not I'd include the fuck ups as well (this already sounds ominous, right?) I said I would be, as it was intended to be a document of culinary experimentation, nay, ADVENTURE, and therefore I wouldn't be attempting to ignore the disasters and pretend everything went smoothly in my kitchen. So far, despite seemingly constantly blustering into unchartered waters (just because I can, apparently) of things I've not done before and fretting about the consequences, everything has so far come out reasonably unscathed. This all sounds like I should be building up to some spectacular failure, a plate of absolute shit that's impassable as anywhere near edible. Not quite. Some slight re-adjustments were in order, and having come out the other end relatively unscathed, my initial trauma at what was originally intended as the entire purpose of the existence of this post going to pot has morphed into a kind of "shit, I've actually got something I can really write about here" state of mind.
I last left these parts stating my intentions to get to grips with bits of animals that most people would turn their nose up at (and I think I have come to the realisation that what I said back in post number three about my liking some things partly due to other people's disgust at the mere thought of eating them carries a bit more weight than I initially thought.) So think about bits I did. I didn't want to just have a demonstration of 'I bought a new cook book and cooked something from it, well done me', and herein lies the first error on my behalf. When effectively making up dishes, it's kind of advisable not to charge in and plan to use things which you've never eaten, let alone cooked with. Like pig's trotters.
I was originally intending something based upon Fergus Henderson's Pigs Trotter Stuffed With Potato, served with what turned out to be a fairly rigorous bastardisation of Nigel Slater's Soup-stew of Beans and Cavalo Nero from Tender Vol. I. Instead I was going to stuff the trotter with a stuffing made from liver, anchovies, sage and garlic. It would probably go really well with mash, or some form of purée, but I really can't stand root vegetables made to resemble a liquid more than a solid, so I went for beans instead given how versatile they are and how well they can stand up to other flavours. Sorted. Except for my underestimation of the pig's trotter, or in fact my overestimation of how much meat there might be on one. I'm sure I remember on Masterchef: The Professionals when the contestants had to prepare one there was enough. As it turns out, I was thinking of a trotter and hock in one. Sails deflated. So in the end I just got a piece of pork loin and thought "well there goes the whole purpose and reason behind this exercise" (other than to feed myself, that is). In actual fact I think it would work better with a piece of belly rather than loin. Belly would lend itself better to spreading the stuffing across the underside and rolling, and therefore being more similar in shape to the original intention of trotters.
So anyway, the recipe. As I will say later, this could use a few tweaks, and in doing so could end up being really good. It could also use some tweaks in the sense of actually knowing all the proper quantities, but as I almost entirely winged this, it's somewhat vague in places, so do bear with me. At least my quantities will be more descriptive than a 'cup'. This is how I made it, imperfections and all.
One piece of pork loin. As much as you feel you can eat.
About a square inch and a half of liver. Ideally pig's liver I suppose, but I used lamb's and it was fine.
4 anchovy fillets (3 would probably be better, as the flavour was probably a bit too dominant at times)
3 large cloves of garlic
5 sage leaves
Pork fat, enough to wrap around the meat. Caul fat would be ideal, I used a really thin piece of back fat as it was all I could get hold of. And it was fine.
60g dried borlotti beans (50g is probably enough)
Half a large white onion (or even a whole small one)
Half a large carrot (ditto)
2 bay leaves
Olive oil
3 handfuls of kale
Approximately 500ml liquid (water, stock, liquor from soaking the beans, or any combination of the three)
1 rasher of bacon (pancetta, or your own home cured bacon would be superb)
Salt and pepper
Soak the beans in plenty of cold water overnight. You could use tinned though, in which case you don't need to. Drain and rinse the beans and place in a large pan and cover with fresh, cold water. Don't add any salt at this stage, as it will prevent the beans from softening. Bring to the boil and skim any foam from the surface. Add the bay leaves and a splash of oil (about a tablespoon or so) and boil for around 45 minutes, or until they are just softening.
Preheat the oven to 200°C/Gas Mark 6. Meanwhile, finely chop the liver and anchovies and mix together with two crushed cloves of garlic, the sage leaves, also finely chopped, and some ground black pepper. Cut a pocket down the middle of the pork loin, as if you were separating it into steaks but not cutting all the way through. Spread the liver/anchovies mix into the pocket and wrap the meat in the fat. It doesn't matter how neatly you do this - if you're using caul fat then it should all pretty much melt away, if you're using back fat like I did, you'll remove it later.
Heat a splash of olive oil in a pan and get it really hot. Sear the fat wrapped meat on all sides until brown but not burnt. This is to seal the fat so that it keeps the meat away from direct heat, and holds the stuffing inside. Transfer to the oven and cook for about 15 minutes. In totally winging this, I didn't actually time how long mine was in the oven. It was around 20 minutes I think, and it was just slightly over done.
Drain the beans, reserving the liquor if you will be using some of it later. Dice the onion, carrot and other clove of garlic and sweat gently in a pan until soft. Chop the bacon/pancetta and add to the pan and fry until coloured and fat has been released. Add the beans, kale and stock/water/bean liquor and, turning the heat up, cook until the beans are properly soft and almost all the liquid has evaporated. Season with salt if needed, and lots of ground black pepper. The meat should be ready whilst you're doing this, so take it out of the oven and let it rest for as long as you can before removing the fat casing (if need be).
Slice the pork and serve on top of the beans and kale.
Usually you'd get step by step pictorial evidence, but in this case there's only one, just before I wolfed the whole lot down. As I said, it needs some tweaking. It could use slightly less anchovy, as their flavour managed to become prevalent over the other stuffing ingredients. The beans and kale really benefits from having an awful lot of pepper added at the end (what I suspect a certain redhead would refer to as a 'fuckton'). I'm usually livid at myself if I ever overcook meat, but in this instance I'm willing to give myself a bit of leeway, given that I didn't really know what I was doing, and I didn't want to remove the fat only to have to return it to the oven. I tried the old stick-a-skewer-in-and-see-what-colour-the-juices-run thing, but even though the meat was cooked it ran bright red because of the liver inside. I think cooking meat whilst wrapped in fat for protection is definitely the way forward (or at least one of them). If I'd taken it out of the oven a few minutes earlier it would have been spot on and moist as anything. Above all else, though, this was actually really damn tasty.
And the trotter made a really good looking stock, too.
what happens when a girl living in the midlands and a guy living in london meet via the internet and spend all their time discussing food? this does.
Showing posts with label offal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label offal. Show all posts
14/05/2011
23/01/2011
Ethics on a plate
Unintentional blogging pattern partly restored.
So this entry has been a long time in coming. By a long time I do actually mean only five days, but it has seemed like ages. The first butchers I tried to get the meat I required from initially thought they could get everything but had to check, then thought they couldn't, and finally could but only in quantities much larger than I could use. The recipe comes from The Geometry of Pasta by Caz Hildebrand and Jacob Kenedy, the latter being chef and owner of Soho Italian restaurant Bocca di Lupo. I first became aware of author and restaurant after purchasing Theo Randall's Pasta and Amazon subsequently assuming we were destined to be. They were correct. A bit of research later, the persuading of my parents to take me there for my birthday soon thereafter, and finally having received the book for Christmas and I am a fully fledged, cardholding Kenedy-ite. As I've made this directly from the book, I won't copy out the entire recipe (not least out of due diligence towards copyright law.) Instead I shall use this as an opportunity to delve into a subject that has come to the forefront of my eating awareness over the last year or so, that of the ethics of eating meat, specifically in this case of Ravioli Genovese al Tocco as it contains veal and offal from a calf.
There are many arguments and counter-arguments both for and against meat eating, and as such I'll keep it fairly to the point. Not least because were I to go into significant detail I would just end up crudely regurgitating and paraphrasing Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall on many fronts. I do thoroughly recommend The River Cottage Meat Book as a bible for anyone who eats meat and gives even the slightest damn about what they're putting in their mouth and the consequences of their actions (or more importantly, non-actions.)
I'm not ready to completely cut out meat from my diet, and may never be. But knowing that somewhere a pig has been killed so that I can enjoy a bacon sandwich, or that a cow has been marched off to slaughter for my roast rib of beef on Sunday, it seems right to at least ensure that up until that point the animal has been treated well, and has not been abused, taken advantage of and generally enjoyed a good life. This is beneficial on two fronts, namely conscientiously and unsurprisingly, the quality of the meat. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that meat from a chicken that has never seen daylight and spent its entire life on the receiving end of the distress-induced aggression of the thousands of other chickens imprisoned with it is not going to taste as good as the meat from a chicken that has been free from obstruction to run around, inquisitively looking amongst the natural, nutritional food provided for it. Like with all vague supermarket labeling, meat packaging will try and cover up what they're not telling you by alluding to something it probably isn't. A 'British fresh farm chicken' is certainly not free range unless it explicitly says so. After all, if you were selling something free range you'd shout about it as loudly as possible.
So in order to do the most justice to the animal, it seems pertinent that not only do we demand the animal be treated well whilst it's alive, but also post-slaughter. Of course this means cooking it well to get the most out of the flavour and texture of the relevant cut. At this point I direct you to Jay Rayner's recent excellent article for Observer Food Monthly on the criminality of a well-done steak, and to Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential as to what many chefs may be doing to your requested well done steak (surely whoever coined that term was wrong in the head; forcing all the delicious, juicy moistness out of a steak is not at all doing it well.) As for making use of as much of the animal as possible (after all, it would only undo all the good work to then throw away something that could otherwise be used) I again point you in Anthony Bourdain's direction, this time to the first chapter of A Cook's Tour. This recipe marks the occasion of my first culinary encounter with two cuts largely consigned to the 'that looks/sounds disgusting' scrapheap of British eating habits; veal sweetbreads and calves brains (this is also the cause of the delay in cooking this, as they're not exactly the easiest things to come by.) I'll briefly swat away the debate about whether or not veal should even be eaten with a well-aimed quote from Hugh's The River Cottage Meat Book (did I mention anyone who eats and cooks meat should own this?)
"...what few consumers realise is that to banish veal forever from our shopping list and our menu is to condemn potential veal calves to a fairly heinous alternative to being reared for meat. If there is no market for veal, then the thousands of pure-bred dairy calves born each year that are neither suitable for beef production nor needed for replacing the dairy herd will be shot within a few hours of birth. The fact is that the production of veal is not intrinsically cruel, any more than the production of pork, beef or lamb is."
The crates which lead to veal's tarnished reputation are now banned in EU countries, and British production includes a number of organic producers. If this were not the case, or was unavailable, then I wouldn't be cooking with veal.
After my initial attempts at sourcing the ingredients stumbled, I obtained them from HG Walter's butchers in Barons Court, West London, which comes with high recommendation from Rose Gray, Nigella Lawson and er, Terry Venables. Of course. The dish consists of shin of veal slowly simmered for two and a half hours in a wonderful concoction of the bone marrow from the shin, a mirepoix of vegetables, soaked porcini (and the liquor), beef stock, white wine, tomatoes, bay leaves, parsley, cloves and nutmeg. The meat then goes on to form the ravioli filling along with the the poached sweetbreads and brains, borage (which I couldn't get hold of so replaced with spinach), egg yolks and grated parmesan, while the cooking liquor from the veal is puréed down and strained to make the sauce.
Assorted ingredients
Simmering Tocco
Sweetbreads and brains soaking in cold water
Earlier in the week I had been reading Thomas Keller's method of making pasta dough by incorporating the flour into the eggs in a circular motion on a flat surface. Having already gone ahead and put all the ingredients in a bowl I thought I'd try this anyway within its confines. Next time I will definitely be applying Keller's method to Randall's recipe as it resulted in the best pasta dough I've made yet - after repeated passes through the widest setting it had taken on a velvety texture, so smooth and pleasing to touch. It felt the right thickness for ravioli having only been passed through up to the seventh setting, rather than the eighth, which I have previously espoused as ideal.
Finished ravioli
The final dish
As a footnote, obviously when making something that uses so many egg yolks there is just as many egg whites left over. It would be stupid, amongst many other things, to allow these to go to waste. Therefore it is unadvisable to make pasta if you don't enjoy meringues, soufflés, or any other such things heavily reliant upon egg whites. I suck at meringues (as demonstrated by the pavlova I made with the whites left over from the squid ink pasta earlier, since dubbed the spazzlova) so to further my ascendency to the state of Domestic God I adapted Nigella's recipe for Pistachio Soufflés to incorporate white chocolate and raspberries. Here's photographic proof that they did in fact rise.
HG Walter butchers can be found at 51 Paliser Road, Barons Court, London. www.hgwalter.com
Jay Rayner - A well-done steak isn't a food choice: it's a crime
www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/dec/12/steak-meat-animals-cooking
So this entry has been a long time in coming. By a long time I do actually mean only five days, but it has seemed like ages. The first butchers I tried to get the meat I required from initially thought they could get everything but had to check, then thought they couldn't, and finally could but only in quantities much larger than I could use. The recipe comes from The Geometry of Pasta by Caz Hildebrand and Jacob Kenedy, the latter being chef and owner of Soho Italian restaurant Bocca di Lupo. I first became aware of author and restaurant after purchasing Theo Randall's Pasta and Amazon subsequently assuming we were destined to be. They were correct. A bit of research later, the persuading of my parents to take me there for my birthday soon thereafter, and finally having received the book for Christmas and I am a fully fledged, cardholding Kenedy-ite. As I've made this directly from the book, I won't copy out the entire recipe (not least out of due diligence towards copyright law.) Instead I shall use this as an opportunity to delve into a subject that has come to the forefront of my eating awareness over the last year or so, that of the ethics of eating meat, specifically in this case of Ravioli Genovese al Tocco as it contains veal and offal from a calf.
I was brought up eating meat, and to be grateful for what was put in front of me and as a result didn't question the relationship between humans and animals raised for slaughter until it was something that I became aware of. With the best part of thirty years of meat eating behind me, it's fair to say that it certainly feels natural, but that's not to say I couldn't bear the prospect of eating a meal that did not contain any meat.
There are many arguments and counter-arguments both for and against meat eating, and as such I'll keep it fairly to the point. Not least because were I to go into significant detail I would just end up crudely regurgitating and paraphrasing Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall on many fronts. I do thoroughly recommend The River Cottage Meat Book as a bible for anyone who eats meat and gives even the slightest damn about what they're putting in their mouth and the consequences of their actions (or more importantly, non-actions.)
I'm not ready to completely cut out meat from my diet, and may never be. But knowing that somewhere a pig has been killed so that I can enjoy a bacon sandwich, or that a cow has been marched off to slaughter for my roast rib of beef on Sunday, it seems right to at least ensure that up until that point the animal has been treated well, and has not been abused, taken advantage of and generally enjoyed a good life. This is beneficial on two fronts, namely conscientiously and unsurprisingly, the quality of the meat. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that meat from a chicken that has never seen daylight and spent its entire life on the receiving end of the distress-induced aggression of the thousands of other chickens imprisoned with it is not going to taste as good as the meat from a chicken that has been free from obstruction to run around, inquisitively looking amongst the natural, nutritional food provided for it. Like with all vague supermarket labeling, meat packaging will try and cover up what they're not telling you by alluding to something it probably isn't. A 'British fresh farm chicken' is certainly not free range unless it explicitly says so. After all, if you were selling something free range you'd shout about it as loudly as possible.
So in order to do the most justice to the animal, it seems pertinent that not only do we demand the animal be treated well whilst it's alive, but also post-slaughter. Of course this means cooking it well to get the most out of the flavour and texture of the relevant cut. At this point I direct you to Jay Rayner's recent excellent article for Observer Food Monthly on the criminality of a well-done steak, and to Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential as to what many chefs may be doing to your requested well done steak (surely whoever coined that term was wrong in the head; forcing all the delicious, juicy moistness out of a steak is not at all doing it well.) As for making use of as much of the animal as possible (after all, it would only undo all the good work to then throw away something that could otherwise be used) I again point you in Anthony Bourdain's direction, this time to the first chapter of A Cook's Tour. This recipe marks the occasion of my first culinary encounter with two cuts largely consigned to the 'that looks/sounds disgusting' scrapheap of British eating habits; veal sweetbreads and calves brains (this is also the cause of the delay in cooking this, as they're not exactly the easiest things to come by.) I'll briefly swat away the debate about whether or not veal should even be eaten with a well-aimed quote from Hugh's The River Cottage Meat Book (did I mention anyone who eats and cooks meat should own this?)
"...what few consumers realise is that to banish veal forever from our shopping list and our menu is to condemn potential veal calves to a fairly heinous alternative to being reared for meat. If there is no market for veal, then the thousands of pure-bred dairy calves born each year that are neither suitable for beef production nor needed for replacing the dairy herd will be shot within a few hours of birth. The fact is that the production of veal is not intrinsically cruel, any more than the production of pork, beef or lamb is."
The crates which lead to veal's tarnished reputation are now banned in EU countries, and British production includes a number of organic producers. If this were not the case, or was unavailable, then I wouldn't be cooking with veal.
After my initial attempts at sourcing the ingredients stumbled, I obtained them from HG Walter's butchers in Barons Court, West London, which comes with high recommendation from Rose Gray, Nigella Lawson and er, Terry Venables. Of course. The dish consists of shin of veal slowly simmered for two and a half hours in a wonderful concoction of the bone marrow from the shin, a mirepoix of vegetables, soaked porcini (and the liquor), beef stock, white wine, tomatoes, bay leaves, parsley, cloves and nutmeg. The meat then goes on to form the ravioli filling along with the the poached sweetbreads and brains, borage (which I couldn't get hold of so replaced with spinach), egg yolks and grated parmesan, while the cooking liquor from the veal is puréed down and strained to make the sauce.
Simmering Tocco
Sweetbreads and brains soaking in cold water
Earlier in the week I had been reading Thomas Keller's method of making pasta dough by incorporating the flour into the eggs in a circular motion on a flat surface. Having already gone ahead and put all the ingredients in a bowl I thought I'd try this anyway within its confines. Next time I will definitely be applying Keller's method to Randall's recipe as it resulted in the best pasta dough I've made yet - after repeated passes through the widest setting it had taken on a velvety texture, so smooth and pleasing to touch. It felt the right thickness for ravioli having only been passed through up to the seventh setting, rather than the eighth, which I have previously espoused as ideal.
Finished ravioli
The final dish
As a footnote, obviously when making something that uses so many egg yolks there is just as many egg whites left over. It would be stupid, amongst many other things, to allow these to go to waste. Therefore it is unadvisable to make pasta if you don't enjoy meringues, soufflés, or any other such things heavily reliant upon egg whites. I suck at meringues (as demonstrated by the pavlova I made with the whites left over from the squid ink pasta earlier, since dubbed the spazzlova) so to further my ascendency to the state of Domestic God I adapted Nigella's recipe for Pistachio Soufflés to incorporate white chocolate and raspberries. Here's photographic proof that they did in fact rise.
HG Walter butchers can be found at 51 Paliser Road, Barons Court, London. www.hgwalter.com
Jay Rayner - A well-done steak isn't a food choice: it's a crime
www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/dec/12/steak-meat-animals-cooking
Labels:
Jacob Kenedy,
meat eating,
offal,
pasta,
veal
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