Just last week I bought a slow cooker – my first. They’ve been out of fashion for quite a while now, I can remember a brown ceramic pot bubbling away on my nan’s counter, issuing clouds of savoury broth. Not sure I ever ate anything cooked in it though… I saw one in Tesco for £12 and impulse bought. But then… what to do with it? Luckily this month’s delicious magazine have a feature on that very subject, so they will be coming up shortly. But I was surprised by the lack of dedicated slow cooker recipes on the net. Many talk about slow cooking as a principle, but few about actually using a slow cooker. Being a cheap-ass implement it didn’t come with any cooking tips at all, so it’s invention all the way!
Thanks to the excellent Essex Food Fair at the weekend, a beautiful piece of brisket came my way. I chatted to lovely young gent who was passionate about his cattle, and how they only ate food grown on the farm. I tasted a little piece of silverside he’d roasted, and I commented how I’d got a tasty bit of fat on mine that was all creamy and peppery. We instantly shared a grin about being “those people that love fat on meat” I pointed out his brisket. After that, I was sold.
I ended up throwing very basic things into the pot – it was my first slow cook after all – and I was very pleased with the results. It was tender and “strandy”, with a sweet and luscious liquor that made an excellent gravy. Served alongside roast potatoes (made with yesterday’s leftover confit fat!) and steamed cauliflower, it was a real rib-sticker.
Braised beef brisket:
800g brisket
2 onions, sliced
3 garlic cloves, peeled
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 pint beef stock
Glass of red wine
1 tablespoon flour
1 tablespoon butter
Drizzle a little olive oil into a hot pan and sear the brisket on all sides.
Put the beef, onions, garlic, bay, thyme, stock and wine in the slow cooker. Top up with boiling water if necessary to bring the liquids up to 2/3 up the joint.
Leave to slow cook for 7 hours. When a fork can slide easily into the middle, it’s ready.
Remove the beef to one side to rest while you make the gravy.
The liquid will still be quite runny so it requires thickening. I used a beurre manié by mixing the flour and butter together and whisking into the winey stock.
Hack off big chunks of beef and drizzle over your gravy.
Lasagne recipes are like admitting you’re Spartacus. “I’m the definitive lasagne recipe!” “I’m the definitive lasagne recipe!” To that end, I’m not even sure I’ve cooked it exactly the same way twice. It’s one of those things I’ve been cooking forever and therefore patch the method from time to time. Today was no different.
I went bechamel rather than cheese sauce, and used beef stock over a stock cube (a standard step-skipper in my mince recipes). I also tried to overcome my carnivorous lust of piling everything into one layer, and instead went down the traditional route of many layers of pasta.
A word on the bechamel here: I find it’s always unfairly pasted as a difficult thing to do, but it really isn’t. Melt butter, add flour and allow to cook out a little, until it’s the dullest beige. Add milk slowly, allowing it to absorb each time (much like risotto). Keep going until it reaches the desired consistency. If things look awful, turn up the heat and whisk like mad. At this point it’s ready to take on all the flavours that you want. In this case, grated nutmeg, a smear of English mustard, black pepper and smoked sea salt. I also had some mascarpone left over in the fridge so I doled that out into it to lend a slightly tart, creamy edge.
There’s so mush to adore about lasagne (I suppose this is technially lasagne al forno, but this is the dish all English people picture when you say ‘lasagne’): tender yet chewy pasta, engorged with flavours from above and below, sweet and savoury meaty sauce, creamy and slick white sauce, and crunchy and tangy cheese crust.
Below I’ve detailed what I did this time, though it will be different next time… and the time after that… and the time after that… I’ve yet to try Carmela Soprano’s one, with an additional layer of basil leaves… yum.
Lasagne:
For the beef ragu:
450g beef mince
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic
2 tins/cartons chopped tomatoes
500ml beef stock
250ml red wine (pinot noir in this case)
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon dried basil
2 bay leaves
1 tablespoon dark soy sauce
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
For the bechamel:
75g butter
Plain flour
Milk
2 tablespoons mascarpone
Nutmeg
Smoked sea salt
Black pepper
1/2 teaspoon English mustard
For the final dish:
12 dried lasagne sheets
Grated parmesan
Grated cheddar
In a large casserole pan, fry the onion and garlic on a low heat until soft and translucent, about ten minutes.
Turn the heat up, add the mince and fry until browned.
Add the stock and bring to the boil, then add the tomatoes.
Lower the heat, add the other ingredients and leave to simmer while you prepare the bechamel. Pre-heat the oven to 180C.
In another pan, melt the butter. Add enough flour until you get a chalky, plasticiney consistency. Continue pushing this round the pan until you get a pale nut colour. (this calms the floury taste down)
Gradually add milk until it is absorbed. Add the bay at this point too.
Keep adding milk until it reaches a custardy texture.
Add the other bechamel ingredients and continue to stir.
Now take a large ceramic oven dish and start to layer the ingredients. I went for: pasta, mince, white sauce, pasta, mince, pasta, white sauce.
Top with cheese, and decorate with tomato slices and basil leaves. Put in the oven.
Cook until bubbling on top.
For best results, allow to sit for a couple of minutes before serving. The white sauce and cheese will set slightly, and making cutting through it much easier.
Like many meat-eaters, I don’t think you can get much better than a steak. But not just a steak, a steak cooked very, very well. I’ve prepared steak many times, desperate for perfection each time. I’ve picked up dozens of tips over the years that I’ve spent in pursuit of ultimate beef eating. After many failures (many failures) I’m very happy with how it comes out for me. The “how-to” can be crystallized into a few steps that can lead to carnirvana.
First, the meat itself. Start with duff meat, you’re probably not going to enjoy the result. You could drown it in sauce, but what’s the point? Pay slightly more, probably get slightly less (in weight), yet end with a far superior dinner. The cut’s a little up to you, from supermarkets the choice is largely between ‘frying’ steak, rump and sirloin. Frying or minute steak is an odd flash-cook piece of meat best reserved for dedicated recipes. That leaves selections from the lower back or mid-back of the cow respectively. For me, the harder working rump wins every time – it tends towards a slightly harder texture but the payback is squarely in taste. Sirloin can sometimes smack of bland, so the consistency (both meanings of the word) of the arse of beef works for me. If I can get some, I also enjoy a rib-eye – more common than ten years ago, a supremely tasty cut indeed. Worth the premium. The best restaurants will serve fore rib, a versatile under-shoulder cut that does a lot of work on the animal and leaves a superior texture.
Do have a good look at the meat, don’t just grab the first pack off the shelf. Squint at it. The colour should scream at you to be eaten. That said, don’t squirm at a little browning on the meat – this usually means it’s been exposed to oxygen. The main thing is the marbling, the white lines of fat through the meat. This is good! You need some of this as this is where the main flavour in a steak is contained. Upon cooking this melts and bastes the flavour from the inside. So find something rosied and streaky that needs you. Additionally, if it’s possible press the meat with your finger: ideally it will take a while to spring back into shape, implying the beef will be loose in texture and nice on the tooth.
Second, get your pan hot. As hot as you can make it. Get your pan that can take the most heat and stick it on your highest, biggest burner. If the heat’s too low it won’t scorch and caramelise the meat and create lovely tasty bits; also the steak will boil in its juices and the flavour will bleed out. When menacingly hot the pan will brown the outside of the meat, encouraging both colour and flavour.
Thirdly, oil the meat, not the pan. This ensures that it isn’t overoiled and going to swim in fat. So, oil up the meat and season. I think only salt and pepper is required on a decent piece of steak, though if pressed I might add some thyme sprigs, cayenne or paprika. I also like to massage the flavours into the meat to help stick together.
I think these three points are the easiest stages to miss, and yet the most crucial towards getting it right. Now it’s time to actually cook!
Lay the steak into the pan (away from you to avoid spatter of course) and enjoy both the satisying sizzle and beefy aromas. It should stay, untouched, sizzling in the pan for about four minutes until you can see they grey-brown colour coming up around the sides. Then turn it over, as gently as you can without piercing the meat (more on that in a mo).
Now it comes away from recipe, as each steak is different depending on many factors. The steak will dictate to you when it’s ready by touch. After a couple of minutes, take a finger and press it into the thickest part of the browned meat. Its springiness will tell you how ready it is. My favourite method of testing doneness is by comparing the touch of it to parts of your face. A bounce similar to poking your cheek means the steak is rare. A touch akin to your chin is medium. If it feels like your forehead it’s well-done and probably not worth it (though I suspecters ‘well-doners’ won’t be reading this blog).
If you’re happy with it’s doneness, remove the steak to a warm plate. Not quite out of the frying pan and into the fire, but nearly. This resting period is crucial to tasty and tender meat. During this time the juices in the meat relax and flow back throughout. Cutting into it too early causes these juices to flood out, and there goes your flavour and your texture. This steak needs to sit for five to ten minutes, whatever you can spare.
During this resting time you can prepare something to do with those lovely leftover bits in the pan. This is totally optional, but to ignore it is a dreadful waste of taste. At the very least, keep the heat high and sloosh a small amount of water – enough to cover the base of the pan – around, swirling those yummy pieces up as it bubbles away. When it reduces down to a slightly sticky gravy it’s ready to go and you can get it off the heat. If you’re feeling a bit more extravagant, use some alcohol – wine, brandy, or my particular fave, marsala. The principle’s the same. If you want something bit more fancy, a splash of a good wine, a little stock and when reduced take the heat down a little adding some cream. As you take it off the heat swirl in a knob of butter for a glossy and rich finish. Don’t forget to check for seasoning.
Slap those badass bits of meat on a plate, sauce over and away you go. It’s that combination of soft and chewy, Marmitey and salty that really gets my carnivorous tendencies going. It’s also slightly different every time so there’s always a slight surprise in store. A truly great meal and one of my absolute favourites. Perfect side dishes include (but not limited to): fried button mushrooms, frites, green beans, garlic mash, a lemon-dressed rocket salad, beef tomatoes, asparagus, wedges…
It’s so simple, yet can be so easy to get wrong or fuss with too much. The humble hamburger can be an incredible dish, reminding me of great BBQs, glossy fast food restaurants, and neon-lit New York eateries. This is one of those foods that proves that great food is rarely about the actual food itself, and more about the setting, the atmosphere, and the company. I had a BBQ in January last year, and I bought in the cheapest, lousiest burgers to flip. But in the drizzle, in the dark, they tasted great fresh from the grill.
When I analyse it, I’m after a strong meaty flavour, though this is secondary to the texture, which should be loose and crumbly. And then how you accompany it. The burgers in the pic above are unadorned, though shortly afterwards crispy lettuce, a meaty slice of tomato, a sliver of red onion, a thin piece of swiss cheese and ketchup ended up in the bun. Which is another component in itself; a floury soft bap works best for me. It has to be a vehicle for the sandwich, and not get in the way. The meat’s the star.
I consulted a number of sources before deciding how to go for it this time; I saw Tom Parker-Bowles do a cracker on Market Kitchen last week, and I read every page of Heston Blumenthal’s In Search Of Perfection burger recipe.
The burger mix itself has to be extremely simple: no egg, no breadcrumb, nothing that’s going to get in the way of your beef. It’s beef mince – rump for everyday, chuck / brisket mix for posh – salt and pepper, that’s it. According to Heston, it should be 1% salt to mince. This allows for flavour without too much emulsifying.
So the meat then; for me it was my butcher’s best, with a high fat content to allow it to fall apart in the mouth. Usually I push the patties together by hand however I was lucky enough to be given a burger press by a good friend recently, and this was it’s debut outing. See below!
After seasoning, the mince is roughly piled into the press with a wax disc underneath. Another disc is placed on top and then the handle comes down. Out comes a perfectly-shaped burger. And because it’s got wax top and bottom, they stack well without sticking. Another great effect of forming them this way is that the mince isn’t handled as much. When you handle the meat the fat is squished together and the air is squeezed out. What it means in the finished burger is a nice loose grainy texture that allows the meat to fall apart when you bite into it.
I fired them on a large griddle pan (another brand new gift), flipping often to form a consistent brown crust. In the last 30 secs of cooking I brush on some melted butter to give a lovely mouthfeel and an extra layer of taste. It’s humble honest food but so delicious.
