(More) About (pig) face

This post has been delayed more than any other, and it'll be a bit brief as a result, but here we go anyway.  So my last post was all about curing pig's cheek, guanciale.  This is the 'what does one do with it now?' Part Two to that post.

The cheek I had actually had a seemingly higher meat to fat ratio that you'd probably expect to get, although it was still over 50% fat.  Which is a good thing.  It was firm but not hard, and upon slicing you could see the fat glisten and shine, surrounding the layer of meat running through the middle.  Frying turns it almost completely translucent for a while before browning and crisping up, whilst remaining soft inside where the fat will burst out when eaten.  And the flavour is richer and more intense than say, a cured pork belly, almost headily.

As I mentioned in the curing post, I discovered guanciale in Jacob Kenedy's The Geometry of Pasta in a recipe for Bucatini Carbonara.  I rarely make carbonara, it's the sort of dish where all the ingredients really have to be good quality, and subsequently if they aren't it can be not much cop.  There's not much room for alchemy where mixing crap eggs and grated crap cheese is concerned.  Besides, there's usually other things I'm more keen on making.  Anyway, in this instance the meat was home cured, the cheese was an excellent slab of pecorino which wasn't too over powering, the pasta homemade.  The eggs used for the sauce were the same deep-coloured yolk variety I always use for pasta, which gave an even more intense colour to the final dish.  But I was always planning on making this with my guanciale - things like pancetta are often used to bulk up flavour in dishes, rather than stand out themselves.  Having spent the best part of two months curing there was no way I was just going to hide it away in something else.  Especially as what I did cure wasn't actually that much.  You'll find all manner of carbonara recipes everywhere, far too many of which will say to use cream.  This one is as basic as it needs to be.

1 guanciale
1 quantity fresh spaghetti (same recipe as always)
2 whole, large free range eggs
2 large free range egg yolks
100g pecorino, grated (from a block, not pre-grated)
lots of ground black pepper
1 tbsp olive oil

Make the pasta in advance and set aside.  Set a large pan of well salted water boiling (around 4 litres per 250g of pasta).  If you're using fresh pasta it will take literally no more than two minutes to cook, dried will take around ten minutes or so, so if you're using dried, get that on first.

Whisk together the eggs and yolks with the grated pecorino and more than enough ground black pepper.  If you think you've added enough pepper, add some more.  If it looks a bit too thick, loosen it with a tablespoonful or so of the pasta water.

Heat the oil in a frying pan.  Slice the guanciale into sticks, about 5mm thick.   Add to the pan and fry until browned.  Take off the heat. 

Drain the pasta and add to the guanciale pan, tossing to coat it in the pork fat.  Add the eggs and cheese mixture and stir it in quickly to fully coat the pasta but without cooking the eggs.  Serve with more grated pecorino and more black pepper.

I didn't make quite enough cheese and egg mixture to sufficiently coat all the pasta - it was all coated, just that some were more like they'd been brushed with it, rather than thickly covered.  But the pasta was very good, as it needs to be.  If I was being anal (which, to be fair isn't something rarely leveled at me) I think it would be much better with rounded spaghetti, rather than the sort of squared-off sort that my (and I suspect most) pasta machine attachments make.  Minor details.  It tasted damn good. 

About face

As I started writing this post before the last one, I was originally going to go on about how long it had been since I'd last posted.  As it is, a couple of weeks between posts seems relatively prolific given the time there was between the previous two.  But what will remain the same is that as this is going to be another meat curing post, I should start off by addressing the broken promise that I made after my last foray into this subject, my home-cured salami. (here for a quick refresh.) It's about four months since I actually made the stuff, approximately eight weeks of which was spent hanging in my cellar gradually hardening, slightly shriveling due to my overly cautious first approach to hand stuffing natural animal casings (or any other casings, come to that matter) leaving a bit too much space inside, and getting excited by the development of little white specs of mould.

Ultimately I think eight weeks was a bit too long.  The texture in the very middle is just about perfect - quite soft and giving.  When you slice it you can see the fat start to glisten (especially on the one that's sort of chorizo, but isn't really), and although it's a bit of an odd shape (license to be firmer with the casings next time, they're stronger than they appear) it actually looks like salami.  And also, they both taste really good, too, which of course is the most important thing.  The flavours are distinct enough, in one the fennel really comes to prominence, in the other the smoked paprika pervading and providing a vibrant red colour.

It is always tempting to just eat it straight up, but the flavour it has when cooked is pretty damn impressive.  Initially I just stuck some on a homemade pizza.  Do pardon my modesty if I say it was amazing.  (It was).  I also made something from the hip that was sort of based on Jacob Kenedy's Orecchiette with 'Nduja, a dish I had at on my second visit to Bocca di Lupo.  Mine basically consisted of salami finely chopped and fried with red onion and garlic, then adding some sliced aubergine and halved cherry tomatoes before tossing through some paccheri pasta.  It lacked the richening sauce from the wine and cream of the original dish, but the melted fat from the salami distributed a deep, winey, meaty flavour throughout, with occasional hits of fennel.  I think I may have to work on it and there's something pretty good in there.  I still have designs on cooking some variation of razor clams with chorizo, which hopefully will happen at some point soon.

So onto the second part, as I said, this belated salami update was only part of the parcel. 

I first came across guanciale in Kenedy's The Geometry of Pasta, where he describes it as "a fatty, porcine treat, hard to find but worth seeking out."  And if it's worth seeking out, then there's a good chance it's worth persevering with making your own for several months.  Guanciale is the jowl of the pig, or in simple terms, its face.  Cheek, specifically.  Pig's cheeks are amazing, one of my first attempts at making pasta was a pig's cheek ravioli where I cooked the cheeks for several hours until the meat fell apart but was able to come together as little lumps of pasta filling from all the sticky, gelatinous fat in and around it.    As a cut of meat it's at least half fat, probably more 65% - 35% fat to meat.  So of course I wanted to try curing it at some point, and it seems ideal for doing so.

Up to this stage all my efforts at curing have come with a reassuring helping hand from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, but neither The River Cottage Meat Book nor The River Cottage Cookbook offers any sort of guide for curing pig's cheeks.  Neither does Kenedy's Bocca, a book which is so amazing on all other levels I shall forgive it.  So this is where the theory of doing things over so you know the basics well enough to be able to wing it on other things comes into play.  The sort of thing that someone impatient with a short attention span doesn't bother to do.  Like me.

Nonetheless, I kind of did that, but just used my one bacon curing as the basis.  I used the flavoured cure mix that I had been planning on using for the second round of bacon curing, which never actually materialised.  As a much smaller cut than a 2kg pork belly, I thought it must probably take less time to apply the cure in the initial stage.  As for hanging and air curing, I had a bit of a gander around the internet and found that Michael Ruhlman suggests hanging it for two months.  Michael Ruhlman co-wrote The French Laundry Cookbook (as well as Thomas Keller's other books), and was one of the disciples on Anthony Bourdain's pilgrimage to The French Laundry, so by association his opinion will do nicely.

Anyway, the cure mix was as follows;

1kg salt
1kg demerera sugar
25g ground black pepper
20 juniper berries, crushed
a few bay leaves, chopped

So I repeated the same process of applying a rub of cure mix each day for just under a week, then rinsing it off, patting dry and hanging, although whereas the bacon hung for about a week, this will hang for up to two months.  As of now, it's been up about a month.  I already can't wait for it to be ready, and it may be hard to resist temptation to take it down early at the expense of a bit more flavour maturation.

The prospect of my own pasta combined with unctuous, heavy, pork fat is quite something.  Whereas with the salami I pretty much made it just because I wanted to, and it was quite an obvious thing to cure and as such didn't really have anything specifically planned for its use.  With guanciale on the other hand, I'm already accruing recipe plans, all involving making pasta as well, so there shouldn't be much excuse to not go on and on about it afterwards.

In which Ed has a barbecue and gets two racks of ribs...

The weekend before last I had a barbecue.  As you might have guessed, I'm really not the sort of alpha-male douche-bag who couldn't tell his arse from his elbow in a kitchen but as soon as the mercury stretches past 15° wheels out the barbecue and takes complete control because there's fire involved and that's what men (manly men) are supposed to do.  No, in fact I'm far better within the luxurious confines of a kitchen where you can have four things on the go on different heats at the same time rather than just a temperature gauge of either 'red' or 'white'.  But, you know, barbecues are awesome, right?

So, what do you get when you come to a barbecue of mine?  Plenty awesome things, of course.  Sod sausages and burgers (which are fine in their own right), but ribs is really where it's at for proper barbecue.  So I asked my butcher for two racks of baby back ribs, and prepared them thus.

Spice rub
2tbsp smoked paprika
2tsp celery salt
2tsp ground cumin
cayenne pepper
ground ginger
ground toasted Sichuan peppercorns
ground cloves
ground black pepper

Mix all the ingredients together and rub over the surface of the ribs and leave in the fridge overnight.

According to Barbecue Sauce Folklore, I should have at least one Secret Ingredient.  But I don't.  Certainly not of Planet Terror proportions, but then I didn't have hoards of the undead to content with whilst making it.  I don't have a Secret Ingredient, not least because I've already told several people what's in mine, but also because there's not really anything in it that anyone might conceivably never think to put in a barbecue sauce.  Except maybe root beer, but even then my inspiration for using it came from an episode of Man v. Food (which is probably the greatest food show on TV.)  Also I'm not selling it, so it doesn't really matter.

Sauce
1 medium onion
3 cloves garlic
6 tbsp tomato puree
5 tbsp soy sauce
4 tbsp worcester sauce
4 tbsp red wine vinegar
2 tbsp cider vinegar
3 tbsp root beer
2 tbsp molasses sugar
1 tbsp chipotles en adobo
2 tbsp olive oil
1 star anise
1 piece mace
2 tsp mustard powder
2 tsp smoked paprika
2 tsp celery salt
2 tsp ground black pepper

Finely chop the onion and garlic and fry in the olive oil with the mace and star anise in a pan big enough to hold all the ingredients until the onion and garlic have softened.  Add everything else and cook on a gentle heat for about fifteen minutes.  This was left overnight with the mace and star anise left in to infuse. 

Set the oven to a low temperature, about 100°C.  Put the ribs in a roasting pan and crumble a few tablespoons of molasses sugar over the top.  Pour about 100ml of water into the bottom of the pan, cover with foil and cook in the oven for between 1½ and 2 hours until the meat is cooked through, but not overdone.  The water will create steam inside the pan, while the sugar will caramelise on the surface of the meat. 

Take the ribs out of the pan and coat the top side with a liberal amount of barbecue sauce and finish off on the barbecue for about five or ten minutes, depending on how hot it is.

Now my fondness for seafood extends to barbecues as well.  As a lot of seafood really doesn't need much time at all to cook, barbecues are great.  Last summer I barbecued some prawns that were about the size of a small domestic animal which were fantastic, along with some squid, which you only really need to wave at the barbecue and it's done.  While I was planning what to do I found a recipe for prawns ideal for barbecuing in Thomasina Miers' Mexican Food Made Simple.  These were just marinaded overnight in several generous spoonfuls of chipotles en adobo whizzed up with some onion, garlic and a bit of water, then barbecued until they turned pink.

I've been wanting to cook razor clams for ages now.  In fact I only got round to eating them for the first time in Barcelona in May, firstly an unfortunate stop in a harbourside tourist trap resorted to after the initial guide book recommendation being hideously beyond standing room only (crouching on the floor room only?) and the hilariously titled Bar Fanny being ominously deserted.  They were about as rubbery as anything you'll ever eat.  At least we did discover an amazing ice cream shop a few yards away in which to continue the Search For Amazing Pistachio Ice Cream.  Secondly, and thankfully, the tapas joint Kirsty and I sort of stumbled across retrieved them fully into 'Oh, actually these are just really incredible' territory.  So when I went to the fishmongers to get prawns and saw a fat bundle of razor clams lying there, obviously I got some as well.  As far as cooking them, I just threw them on the barbecue and put the lid on and waited for the shells to open, then liberally covered them in a mixture of olive oil, lime juice, garlic, chilli and parsley.  I think by then the barbecue had started to die down a bit as they could have done with being cooked over a higher heat for a bit less, but still, they weren't quite up to the Taller de Tapas standard, but then these were about twice the size.  They still tasted sea-salty and fresh...

As well as these I did some aubergines and courgettes, thickly sliced lengthways and brushed with oil and lemon before barbecuing (before any of the meat/seafood went on), a now obligatory focaccia, and what is possibly the best/easiest thing to do with potatoes for such an occasion.  Take some large potatoes (doesn't need to be any specific type, but Maris Piper works fine as Generic Potoato of Choice.)  Slice in half lengthways, then cut each half into three or four wedges, depending on size.  Put in a roasting pan and cover liberally with olive oil, sea salt and ground black pepper.  Smash a few cloves of garlic under the blade of a heavy knife and stick in the pan, along with a few sticks of rosemary.  Roast in a pre-heated oven at 200°C for roughly an hour, or until golden.

I had also planned to do some cous cous using some preserved lemons I found lying around and toasted pine kernels and some other things, which I managed to totally forget about.  I also chargrilled and skinned some romano peppers the night before and left them in a jar with garlic infused oil, which I also totally forgot about.  Even with those in mind I had wondered whether or not that little lot was going to be enough, even though I don't have any Italian ancestry.  Obviously it was plenty, with enough left over to fry up some aubergine and courgette with some romano peppers and toss with some paccheri pasta the Monday after.

So overall it was a splendid barbecue.  Alas Esteemed Blogging Partner was being held against her will by Evil Corporate Pub Chain International, so couldn't come and make more types of bread and make it some sort of combined Pot Tossery showcase.  Large quantities of superlative beer was drunk (and all put on my Noble Green loyalty card, haha), and the neighbouring shitty street party where some two-bit pub band knock out hideous Blues Brothers covers wasn't too intrusive as they all seemingly became distracted by David Haye's tickling contest. 

I'll eat my over-exuberance with the pork and beans

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.

A Change of Plan

I must say whilst sitting in a pub may not be the most objective of examples to demonstrate a barmaid taking work home, it's true (since no one actually asked).

Anyway, I said back in Bacon Times that I would try the same process again with added flavourings to the cure mix before moving onto other forms of curing ("I'll warn myself not to get too carried away" to be exact.)  Well, as good as my intentions were at the time, I lied and ignored my own warning.  To be fair, curing another belly of bacon first probably wouldn't tell me much that is relevant to this stage, as I already know my cellar works as ok conditions for hanging meat for curing.  So I suppose so much chomping at the bit has finally worn it down and there are currently four cow intestines (see further example of ethical Using Up All Bits of Animals - my stance on that is already outlined on this blog) filled with pork hanging up in there.  Another spoiler, shit, there goes the chance of Disaster Post, I hear you cry.  Well, for the cruel and sadistic amongst you, there's up to 10 weeks from now for it to all go wrong, and I have no more idea than you about how, when or indeed, if that will happen.  So here's what's happened so far.  As always, guided by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and The River Cottage Cookbook.

Basic salami recipe and instructions;

400g lean pork, coarsely minced
100g back fat, cut into small pea-sized pieces
10g fine cooking salt
100ml red wine
½ garlic clove, crushed to a paste (1 clove for every kilo of mix)
½ teaspoon acidophilus

You will also need
Ox-runners
Butcher's string

Before you get to work on your salami mix, put the ox-runners to soak in a large bowl of fresh water.  Slosh them about to rinse off the salt, then run the tap through the inside of them to flush them clean.  When they are slippery, flexible and thoroughly rinsed of salt, they are ready to use.

Mix all the ingredients together thoroughly - with your bare (but clean) hands, if you like - so that the salt and fat are well distributed throughout the mix.  Load up your sausage-making machine with the mix, slide a length of ox-runner on to the nozzle, and tie the end of the casing into a knot, as you would tie a balloon.  Then tie a short length of butcher's string in an ordinary granny knot inside the knot in the runner.  Stuff the casing with the mix until you have filled a length of 40-50cm.  Then cut this length off, leaving enough unfilled runner at the end to tie another knot.

Hold the filled casing up with the knotted end at the bottom and squeeze the mixture down the casing gently, so it is nice and tight.  Then tie another knot in the top of the runner and another length of string inside that knot.  The compacted sausage, tied securely at both ends, will now be about 30-40cm long.

Here's my ox runners soaking (and looking lovely), and one of my two varieties pre-mixing.

I've gone for two variations, one a sort of chorizo (I'm loathe to refer to it as chorizo, as it kind of isn't really, but I'm even more loathe to call it chorizo style, because that just sounds shit) using paprika as the predominant flavouring (and a Spanish red wine) and the other a more basic (I suppose Italian style) salami, using fennel seeds and an Italian red.  Excuse to buy red wine?  Probably.  In fact the guy in Noble Green, the awesome beer and wine shop where I buy alcohol expressed surprise at seeing me buying wine rather than the Belgian trappist ales I usually stock up on, so I explained what they were for.  I now have two local tradesmen enquiring for updates, the other being the butcher I bought the meat from. 

The acidophilus is what encourages the mould growth on the outer casing.  Hugh suggests hanging the salami with others that have already developed their own mould as an alternative, but as this was my first attempt I went off to Holland & Barrett and got the smallest amount I could.  One hundred capsules.  Fortunately they keep for about a year as, as far as I am aware my digestive health is perfectly fine so I'll always have some for future salami making. 

My flavour variations were;

Aglianico Terredora 2009
½ teaspoon fennel seeds
½ teaspoon ground black pepper

Quinta el Refugio Tinto, Toro 2008
1 teaspoon hot smoked paprika
½ teaspoon fennel seeds
1½ garlic cloves

I don't possess a sausage stuffer, hand cranked or automated, so I went out and bought the widest nozzled plastic funnel I could find (which wasn't actually very wide at all) and then sawed half the nozzle off to widen it whilst leaving enough to pull the bung over and smoothed the edges off so as not to potentially rip holes in it.  In the end I managed to tear a couple of holes in the first attempt, but that was more down to some sort of over-exuberance and novice Coaxing Of Meat Down A Cow's Intestine By Hand rather than self-made plastic splinters.  Fortunately they were relatively near the top of the bung and were easily rectified by cutting it off below the tear, but it did lead to increased trepidation, especially as I got near the end.  It had taken me longer than I anticipated and didn't particularly fancy the prospect of having to start all over again and waste one of the bungs.  They are actually a lot more robust than I was expecting, and it is not as delicate a process as I thought it would be.  Which is a very good thing.  I suppose they should be pretty strong really, given their original purpose.  Hugh does advise that "for large quantities of salami, a sausage-making machine... is invaluable"  Unless you particularly want to spend an entire day filling salami, I'd have to agree.

Having trimmed the first filled salami I discovered that (actually rather obviously) it is much easier to fill half of one than a whole, so come the second lot I decided upon filling them effectively from the top down, rather than attempting to push it all the way to the end.  I think it was probably down to the longer soaking time afforded the one I used for the chorizo as I found it much easier, and filled and tied the two in at least half the time as the first lot. 

I'm trying to monitor temperature fluctuations in the cellar, due to the sporadic temperature increases in the weather lately.  It tends to stay pretty cold regardless of the outside temperature.  So far it seems to have stayed pretty rigidly to about 13℃, which means either it does stay cold despite it getting pretty warm outside, or the thermometer is broken.

So now I just have to wait and see and eagerly look at them every day.  I suspect I shall approach the first mould growth with the same level of excitement one might expect for say, a new seedling sprouting, as some kind of reassurance that it is at least giving the impression of working.  The lack of control in leaving something to its own devices, as such, is the sort of thing that piques my curiosity to some level of substitute for the nurturing that isn't really required.  I ended up almost completely ignoring my bacon once I'd hung it, yet so far I've snuck down to look at the salamis every day now.  So far after about four days the skins have almost completely dried out and the meat has just started to firm up.  I could just leave the chorizo hanging for about a week, then use it for cooking, but I'm going to leave both for at least the minimum four weeks required for eating raw.  Obviously I'll update any interesting progress, good or otherwise.

Patience...

Bloody hell, it's nearly two weeks since I last posted anything here, so I'd better make up for it.

So the bacon is out.  I'll avoid any attempt at suspense (I mean, there's already been enough anyway, given it's been the best part of three weeks in the making) and flat out say it's just really damn good.  I'm sure that the majority of the credit must go to the quality of the meat as it doesn't feel like I've actually done much, except wait.  And worry.  As I've divulged recently, things that fall outside of the area where I can brush things off with a swift Oh, I Know What I'm Doing tend to cause me concern, some of it almost certainly unnecessarily.  I think to watch me in the kitchen I generally exude an air of I Know What I'm Doing, even if that is not always the case, but with my first foray into curing this has been conspicuous by its absence.  To the extent that after hanging it up I pretty much ignored it until I took it out of the cellar and transferred it to the fridge.  But my overly pessimistic fears were unfounded.  The balance between meat and fat through the belly is pretty much perfect as far as I'm concerned.  Having tasted some simply fried during the process of the first recipe below I wouldn't want to leave any future bellies curing for longer than this one was, as it was quite salty but not too much as the sweetness from the sugar underpins the saltiness rather nicely.  Whilst the meat is firm, it isn't as hard as I was expecting, so much to the extent that I can just about get some unevenly thick rashers from it for breakfast purposes just using a heavy cook's knife.  I must admit that when I first sliced into it I stood and admired it for a moment or two, as it does look quite fantastic.

Anyway, my anticipation was such that I wanted to cook things where the bacon was relatively predominant.  Whilst it would be perfect to add to other dishes to add flavour, or moisture from the fat, or to bulk up meat content, I felt I needed to see how it would command a dish.  For some reason, I've been struck with a bit of a cooking blank recently.  Maybe because I've been intentionally forcing myself within the confines of things where the focus is primarily on bacon as an ingredient (not that it usually would otherwise), but on top of that I've had virtually no inspiration, and I've been totally underwhelmed by pretty much everything I've considered.  So I suppose it was quite apt that I ended up falling back on what is seemingly the only structured element of my cooking, that being my interpretation of Penne All'Amatriciana which I make on actually quite a regular basis.  I've made it so often that it really requires no thinking on my behalf.  Before that, though, I went for another Do It In Your Sleep dish, risotto.  I've had some dried porcini left over ever since I overbought them for the Zombioli, which I'd always earmarked for a risotto of some kind.  It's one thing I think anyone can make, regardless of ability, simply because it can be adapted in virtually any way imaginable and still be amazing.  Added to which the beginnings of a good risotto are the sorts of things I always have lying around somewhere, so its reliability as a strapped-for-just-about-anything recipe is invaluable.  It's easy to make a good risotto, less so a great one, and this was actually pretty great.

Here's what I did...

40g dried porcini
150g shiitake mushrooms
2 thick slices bacon or pancetta
200g arborio rice
1 glass white wine
1 small onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, diced
a good knob of butter
2 sprigs fresh thyme
4 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper

Put the porcini in a bowl and cover with 600ml of boiling water and leave to soak for about 20 minutes.  Afterwards remove the mushrooms and very roughly chop. 

Heat 2 tbsp of the oil in a heavy based pan and add the onion and garlic.  Soften on a low heat for about 10 minutes, until translucent.  Meanwhile chop the bacon into pieces roughly the size of a postage stamp and fry in a frying pan until browned and some of the fat has drawn out.  Add both the bacon and the fat to the onion and garlic and turn the heat up.  Add the rice and stir to coat it with the bacon fat and cook for about a minute.  Add the wine and allow the alcohol to cook off, then add three ladlefuls of the porcini liquid.  Strip the leaves from the thyme sprigs and add to the pan.  Keep stirring constantly, and add more of the porcini liquid two ladlefuls at a time once the rice has absorbed all that was in the pan.  Continue this process for about 10 minutes, adding more liquid as it is absorbed.  It must never become too dry, or be allowed to stick to the pan.

Slice some of the larger shiitake mushrooms in two or three.  Add the remaining oil to the pan used to fry the bacon, and fry the shiitakes until slightly browned and softened.  Season with salt and pepper.  Add the chopped porcini and the shiitakes to the risotto.  Continue to add more liquid until the rice has become soft and pulpy, but still retaining a slight bit of bite in the very centre.  Add the butter and stir in to give the risotto a rich and creamy texture (having ridiculed American cup measurements last time round, I suggest it take heed from the 'good knob', a truly flexible measurement if ever there was one; a knob of butter for this purpose is as big or small as you want it to be).  Season to taste with pepper, and if needed, sea salt.

Sort of Penne All'Amatriciana...

3 handfuls penne rigate
About 12-15 pomodorino tomatoes
2 thick slices bacon or pancetta
1 tbsp olive oil
1 clove garlic
ground black pepper
torn basil leaves

Fill a large saucepan with salted, boiling water (pasta is best cooked while giving it plenty of space) and drop the pasta in.  Heat the oil in a frying pan and fry the bacon until browned and the fat has drawn out.  Slice the tomatoes in half lengthways to expose the seeds.  Add to the bacon and fry for a few minutes until the juice from the tomatoes has reduced slightly.  Finely chop the garlic and add to the pan, along with the black pepper and basil.  Check the pasta and drain just before it is al dente.  Turn the heat off from under the bacon and tomatoes and pour in the pasta and stir in to allow the sauce to coat.

I previously claimed that this dish would not make for very interesting blogging, and yet now here I am going back on myself.  Not least, as Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall points out in The River Cottage Cookbook, recipes "will be extra tasty and extra satisfying if you use your home-cured belly."  Still, I do feel slightly disingenuous passing off such an easy thing to cook, but nonetheless I shall.  It takes as long to cook as it does to cook dried penne, about 11 minutes or so (although 30 if you're in a Butlin's self-catering chalet with The Bluntest Knife In the World and a shitty electric ring hob that has had all the heat gauge numbers rub off that's near impossible to tell actually how hot it is.)

I have previously only made this with back bacon and thought about how it might turn out using a higher quality substitute, yet in fitting with the whole cooking structure thing I have never actually got round to it, until now.  Using a much fattier cut of pork obviously results in more fat being released during the cooking, which in turn I found results in a much better sauce.  This was easily the best I've made this recipe, and I can't feasibly put it down to anything other than the fact I was using my own bacon.

Next up (after finishing off this belly, let's not get ahead of ourselves, here) I'm going to try the same curing process only with the peppercorns, juniper and bay flavourings to see how they impart during curing.  What is actually a large part of my relief at this working first time is that the conditions I've got for doing so are obviously adequate at the least.  Whilst I'll warn myself not to get too carried away, in my mind I'm already thinking and salivating about moving on to more complicated salami style curings.

Reverting to type

So first things first, I need to feedback on the replacement marmalade as I rather disgracefully completely forgot to do so in my last post.  They're both really good (and I can be a bit of a marmalade snob sometimes).  The whisky and orange version has a pretty hefty kick to it, (Kirsty ain't no stinge on the booze) especially for a predominantly breakfast product, although as of yet I've not had anyone giving me questioning looks on the train to work as if I were a raging alcoholic.  There's probably plenty of them on my train route anyway.  I did initially think maybe the peel was in too large pieces, but there's enough give to them without being too soft.  I tried that one first, which I'm glad of because I, much like their creator prefer the lemon and honey version.  I prefer fruit to be sharp and acidic, and generally expect it from citrus, but the sweetness here is certainly not misplaced and the lemons' natural piquancy comes through.  It also has a better set, and while both could be described as 'spreadable' it's far from detrimental.  Watch out, Frank Cooper.

Anyway, my new culinary project is curing meat.  I've had the desire and interest to try this out for a while now, and so I think in part this blog has had a hand in finally doing so.  It's something that appeals to me directly on two levels (actually maybe three, I guess).  Firstly, cured meat, and in particular pork varieties, is fucking amazing.  When I visited my friend Timo in Madrid a few years ago I came back armed to the teeth with a twenty-one inch chorizo (yes, I measured it - if it had been any longer it wouldn't have been able to fit in my bag) and a pretty huge slab (at least 1.5kg I seem to remember) of jamón ibérico, albeit I think just the grain-fed variety as it didn't cost me any of my limbs.  Even so, I delighted in scoffing at how comparatively little these cost me, and even more so in having a supply of fantastic Spanish pork products for a couple of months afterwards. 

Secondly, cured meat is a product that came about by necessity.  Before someone invented the fridge, some little genius came up with the idea of rubbing salt on meat to extend its edibility span, and in the process incidentally discovered a way of arguably making it better (in fact in the case of pork I'd probably say inarguably).

Thirdly, the possibilities are almost endless in terms of flavourings, combinations and such, before you even get down to finer details such as the animal's diet.  It's no wonder there are so many varieties of cured meat that are protected by EU Designations of Origin as so many are direct expressions of the region in which they are produced, down to the breed of animal or the mix of spices and other flavourings, or the curing method itself.

As with all things concerning meat, especially new ventures my first port of call was Mr Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall; firstly The River Cottage Meat Book, and then The River Cottage Cookbook, which contains more detail in curing processes.  I decided to start with seemingly the easiest method, bacon.  It is the simplest of all those described in the book, and I think the shortest, so conservatively and almost certainly wisely struck me as the best place to begin, rather than go rushing in and potentially bollocks up a whole pig leg or something.

Dry-cured bacon

1 whole pork belly, bone in, divided into 3 pieces
malt vinegar
1kg salt (we use pure, dried vacuum salt)
1kg sugar (we prefer demerera or soft brown)

OPTIONAL FLAVOURINGS
a few bay leaves, finely chopped
about 20 juniper berries, lightly crushed
25g freshly ground black pepper

Rub the belly pieces all over with a cloth soaked in malt vinegar - or spritz them with vinegar from a spray bottle.  This subtly alters the pH of the meat surface and accelerates the curing process.

In a clean, non-metallic container, thoroughly mix the salt and sugar and any of the flavouring ingredients you want to use (none are essential).  Put a thin layer of this cure in the base of a clean box or tray, big enough to hold the belly pieces.  Add the first piece of belly, skin side down, and lightly rub a handful of cure into it.  Put the next belly on top, rub it with cure, then repeat with the final piece.

Leave the box, covered, in a cool place.  Keep the leftover cure mix in an airtight container.  After twenty-four hours you will see that the meat has leached salty liquid into the bottom of the container.  Remove the bellies, pour off this liquid, and rub the bellies lightly again with fresh cure mix.  Re-stack the bellies, preferably moving the one from the bottom to the top.

Repeat this process daily.  Your bacon will be ready after just four days, though if you cure it for longer (up to two weeks) it will keep for longer.

Wash all the cure from the bellies under a cold running tap, then clean their surfaces with a cloth soaked in malt vinegar and pat them dry.  Hang the bellies in a well-venlitated, cool, dry place such as a ventilated garage or outhouse - or even an unheated spare room with a window open - for 5-10 days and they are then ready to use.  You can keep the bacon hanging in a cool place - again, it must be very well ventilated - or store it in the fridge for around a month.  Take slices as you need them, removing the bones as you come to them.

So I took myself over to HG Walter's butchers in Barons Court Saturday morning and purchased a big slab of belly pork (just under 2kg, about £13 - despite the best efforts of wanky chefs, belly pork is still a pretty cheap cut.)  Again, my conservatism led to me just buying one slab, rather than a whole belly.  I figured it best to get my head for curing, and also see just how quickly 2kg of bacon can be eaten, before churning out vast quantities and most likely blocking my arteries.  I was informed by the butcher the cut came from a cross-breed of Hampshire and Duroc pigs.  I'm not entirely sure what that tells me about my bacon, but it's definitely something I can see myself experimenting with.  Also, for reference I'm using plain old table salt and demerera sugar.

As you can see on one side of the belly, it came complete with nipples, which led to me immediately texting Kirsty a close up picture of one as I knew she'd well appreciate it.  I started the curing process on Sunday night, so should be ready to hang anytime from Thursday.  Depending on my working hours (and I'm almost certainly going to be working a hideous double weekend shift) I may cure it for up to a week.  Obviously the longer it cures for, as well as keeping for longer it becomes more salty, so for a first time I don't want to cure it for any more than about a week.  I'm also, as a first time get-the-basics-down-to-a-tee exercise, not using any of the flavourings suggested.  I'll try some or all of them on my second attempt.  I'm using a wooden wine box, as it was readily available.  It does have room for more bellies than I'm curing, so if I end up doing more in one go I think it may end up becoming my curing box.  I'm keeping it in the cellar (one of the benefits of a Victorian house that used to be a shop).

Monday
So I came home from work early having finished everything and there being no point in me kicking around for an hour and a half and went straight down to check on my bacon.  As you can see from the picture quite a lot of liquid has leached from the belly, although there wasn't sufficient to pour away.  I think this is mainly due to the fact that I'm using ⅓ of the amount of meat in a box big enough for all of it.  I decided to take all the curing mix that was soaked out and replace it with fresh mix, although thinking about it afterwards I don't think I need to go that far.  Depending on how it is tonight (Tuesday) I think I may replace just the mix immediately underneath the belly.  As a result of all that liquid removal the meat has stiffened quite significantly.  Before, if you held it it would droop where there wasn't support beneath it.  Now, when I picked it up it momentarily stayed rigid before giving slightly.  The skin on the underside has changed from a pale skin tone and has reddened quite deeply, as well as becoming quite crisp to the touch.

I won't update this daily, as I think it may well be quite repetitive, but at some stage I will.  If not when it comes to hanging then certainly when it come to being eaten.