This is a recipe from the Ramsay protege Clare Smyth. It’s an unpretentious and hearty french stew, yet takes only 10 – 15 minutes. Mine is a little toned down from her version, going with what I had in the cupboard. It’s usually made with fresh artichoke but I used a jar of good-quality chokes that I had knocking about. It’s very tasty and very simple – my only slight criticism is that I think this will taste much better in the Spring.
Artichokes a la barigoule:
200g pancetta
200g baby onions, peeled and halved
1 carrot, sliced
1 clove garlic, sliced
4 mushrooms, quartered
100ml cider
200ml vegetable stock
500g jar of artichokes
Chopped parsley
Fry the pancetta and onions in a pan until browned. Add the carrots and mushrooms and stir fry four a couple of minutes.
Add the cider and bubble over a high heat. Add the stock and reduce to a simmer.
When the vegetables are tender increase the heat to high and get the sauce reduced down to a thick glaze. Add the artichokes to warm through.
“Oh look, he’s punting away at potatoes again.” Yes, I am.
During my last venture into the world of perfect roast potatoes, sailing the good ship Jamie Oliver, I unwittingly created a post with a life of it’s own. It’s pulls in lots of hits and a fair few comments too. One of the comments by Patrick Zahara (great name!) boasted of his own technique for perfect roast potatoes. I was suspicious of his ideas but how can I turn down advice on a plate like that?
I was so skeptical that I dedicated two potatoes to the Zahara method, while the remainder went to one of my usual techniques. They were cooked in the same oven at the same temperature, on the same shelf, in two identical baking trays. That way I hopefully gave them both a fair deal, allowing the ideas and flavours to show through.
the two samples ready for roasting
The Zahara Method involved boiling the whole potato from cold, skinned and chopped when tender. Then tossed in a little olive oil and salted. Meanwhile for my group I peeled and chunked them, boiled them alongside the peelings until nearly soup, then tossed in pre-heated duck fat. Halfway through I squished gently with a potato masher, tossed with sea salt and pepper, rosemary, garlic cloves and a splash of red wine vinegar. My twist on this occasion was shard of star anise – I wanted a little of it’s exotic perfume and savoury note, but not too much.
So, how were they? The Zaharans were ready much sooner, maybe 15 minutes ahead of mine, browning very quickly. I had the chance to prod and inspect them. They had a shiny, crystalline finish that had a loud tap when rapped. Mine came out their usual rag-tag selves, rippled and nobbly with a shin finish, threatening to fall apart when prodded. When they were finally both ready on the plate side-by-side, they could be properly tasted. The Zaharans had a very hard finish, like the crack of a shop-bought biscuit. The inside was floury and had some taste. Mine for today had a crisp, layered surface with fluffy, fudgy potato filling. As you bite subtle perfumes of garlic, rosemary and the faintest hit of vinegar comes through, and finishes with earthy tones. I’m sorry, but there was no contest here. The levels of flavour, crispiness and all-round satisfaction from my tried-and-tested method made it the clear winner. My criticism for today is that I got wussy on the star anise and couldn’t taste any of it, but I’m scared of it overpowering the potatoes.
One thing I can say in defence of the Zaharans is they were almost certainly healthier. Mine had to wade their way out of duck fat, not great for the ol’ ticker I’m sure. But the taste!
Zaharan potatoes
Patrick Zahara potatoes:
Maris piper potatoes
Olive oil
Salt
Boil the potatoes whole from cold water.
When tender, peel and chop into chunks.
Toss in a little olive oil and salt and roast in a 200°C oven until crisp, turning once.
roastpotato's roast potatoes
Roastpotato’s roast potatoes:
Maris piper potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
Duck fat
Sea salt & white pepper
Rosemary sprigs
2 garlic cloves, bashed but unpeeled
Splash of red wine vinegar
Fragment of star anise (about a quarter)
Boil the potatoes in salted water until nearly falling apart. Keep the potato peelings and put them in a J-cloth or muslin with the boiling liquor and discard when done. Drain and allow to steam-dry for a couple of minutes while you pre-heat the duck fat in a 200°C oven.
Shake the potatoes as much as you dare to chuff up the sides, then tip into the smoking fat.
After 25 minutes, gently squash the potatoes with a masher to open up the sides a little. Chuck in the rosemary, garlic, vinegar and star anise and a generous helping of salt and white pepper.
Continue roasting until browned to your liking (about another 25 minutes).
This was the question that leaped to mind – and stayed there – when I first read about Amuse Bouche’s post challenging food bloggers far and wide to cook the ultimate Toad in the Hole. For those not in the know, Toad in the Hole is essentially sausages baked in batter. The batter is a Yorkshire Pudding batter, also known as a ‘popover’ in other parts of the world. I felt confident in giving this challenge a good go, as Yorkshire Puddings are something I’ve made since I was very little. My Mum always did a roast for Sunday lunch, and I was in charge of Yorkshire Puddings, often tweaking by adding other bits like stuffing mix or onion powder, but never deviating from the core batter recipe. It’s a recipe I’ve always remembered, and have had people request I bring the batter round to theirs to help with their roasts. It gives me a source of great pride.
When it came to this idea however, I felt it was time to re-evaluate what I knew about this. I thought about how Heston researched his In Search of Perfectionseries: to look at what people expect, and then how best to co-ordinate the meal to bring it together to something approaching personal perfection. When we’re dealing with such a well-known dish as this, I figured his take would be the way to go. To kick it off, what do we start with? There are three elements to come together: the sausage, the batter, the gravy.
The sausage would be relatively straightforward, I don’t have the facility to make my own so it would be a case of buying the best I could afford and doing it justice. A butcher in Chingford does these wonderful onion-flavoured pork bangers -what could be more appropriate? I tinkered with the idea of skinning the sausages and rolling the meaty lumps in crushed fennel seed, but while tasty it started to drift away from Toad in the Hole as we know. So the soss stayed safely in their skins.
onion gravy
With the gravy I wanted to reinforce the pork flavours, so roasted off some pork bones with root veg, then mixed with flour and water to get a thick gravy stock base. Adding more water and seasoning to this at the last minute would make a meaty porcine jus.
And then the batter. Little did I realise how much research could go into this; there is hot debate everywhere as to what is the perfect recipe. It should be puffy and risen, with a slightly eggy chew to the centre. The top should brown deeply and provide a satisfying hollow crispiness. How to achieve this contrast of chewy and crisp then? Delia has her own ideas, so does Yorkshire-born-and-bred James Martin, even the Royal Society of Chemistry has published a woefully unsatisfying guide on Yorkie perfection. After reading dozens of articles, I experimented with a range of batters to achieve the perfect result. I laid out a tin, and poured different mixtures into 12 indentations. There were different concentrations of egg, varying amounts of flour, some with baking powder, some without, some had stood overnight in the fridge, some had stood a shorter time, some stood no time at all. Some had fat pre-heated, some hadn’t. The results were surprising.
When it comes to flour, the evidence points towards the cheapest, nastiest plain flour being the best. So those supermarket brands in their worst packaging will be perfect. I imagine it’s the lack of active gluten, as the strong flours create far too bready a mix. Baking powder seemingly adds nothing (possibly even suspends growth) so no need to add any, nor use self raising flour. Plain flour is definitely the one here. Two rounded dessert-spoons of flour for four individual puddings seems right; pleasingly this amount is pretty much spot on 1oz. (I’m metric through and through, but you can’t ignore convenience like that).
With eggs the age doesn’t seem to make a great deal of difference as it does with meringue, but I found an equal amount of eggs to rounded dessert-spoons of flour gave the right balance of puffiness and chewy bits.
With milk the fattiness seems to have little effect though adding enough to get the consistency of single cream makes the perfect pouring and baking batter. On these lines, I strongly recommend making it in a large jug – pouring stuff into spitting hot fat doesn’t need any more hurdles frankly.
And you must season it – bland Yorkshires are as of air. A dash of soy is nice for an umami quality.
The type of fat was open to debate but served little difference than to change the flavour rather than the finish. I’m choosing to use pork fat from a recent confit to back up the pork flavours. Though it did become clear that the fat should be hot beforehand – the cold fat allowed the dough to just sit there twiddling it’s thumbs while both warmed up.
As for the leave to stand/not stand debate, there is no question that leaving the mixture overnight in the fridge makes for infinitely better results. I’m using cod-Chemistry here but I imagine the refrigeration captures the bubbles in the cold, dense mix and encourages the fluids to meld into the flour to break down any powdery lumps. It can look a bit odd the next day but a supplementary whisk does it the world of good.
Armed with all this knowledge, I constructed my lardy masterpiece. And it was fab. A brown crisp batter, with some firmer texture lower down, savoury sausages and some of the best gravy I’ve ever tasted, luscious with rich meatiness.
So, after all these tests and permutations, what had I settled on? What was the ultimate method?
Of course, it was my mother’s recipe. All these possibilities, and she’d nailed it years ago. 1 egg per rounded dessert-spoon of seasoned flour, slackened with milk.
PS. if you are doing individual Yorkshires, I strongly recommend using muffin tins if you can – they are tall and metal, funnelling the batter up into a pleasing mushroom shape.
Toad in the Hole:
6 ounces plain flour
Pinch of salt and white pepper
6 eggs
Milk (about a pint, maybe more or less depending on your flour)
6 pork sausages
Combine the flour, salt and pepper in a large measuring jug. Add the eggs and beat vigourously. Add milk until you have a smooth, runny batter the texture of single cream. Refrigerate overnight is possible, or as long as you’ve got.
Add pork fat to cover the base of a metal pudding dish. Put in a 210°C oven until smoking (about 15 minutes).
Fry the sausages in a pan until browned.
Give the batter mix a whisk to break up any sediment, then carefully pour the batter into the hot fat until it is about halfway up the sides. Float the sausages into the mix.
Bake for 25 – 30 minutes until puffy and risen.
Onion gravy:
1 kilo pork bones
2 onions, halved
2 carrots, halved
2 celery sticks, halved
½ bulb of garlic
1 star anise
2 bay leaves
Couple of sprigs of thyme
2 tablespoons flour
2 pints boiling water
1 red onion, sliced
Splash of balsamic vinegar
Splash of Worcestershire sauce
Roast the pork bones, onions, carrots, celery, garlic and herbs in a hot oven for about an hour until the bones have browned.
Transfer the bones to a medium hob and add the flour. Push the flour around so it coats everything and add boiling water. Stir vigourously, pushing and scraping at the burnt on bits to release the flavours.
Simmer for 5-10 minutes, stirring constantly until you have a thick stock. Strain through a sieve, pushing the veg matter into the mesh to get the last drops of flavour out. (At this point you can freeze this stuff for later if required).
Fry the red onion over a low heat with a little salt, sugar and butter until caramelised. Add a sprinkle of flour, the Worcestershire sauce and balsamic vinegar and continue to fry for another minute.
Add the pork stock and mix well. Add plenty of seasoning and keep tasting until it’s right. You may want to add a little more water depending on how you like it.
I’ve gone a bit curry mad lately. A recent rerun of Floyd’s Indiadidn’t help, and Gordon Ramsay’s latest seriesisn’t going to quash it either. So tonight I really fancied yet another home-brewed curry.
A quick aside: I can’t find a gospel on how Indian food should be named. Sometimes it’s named by method (balti), sometimes by ingredient (dhansak = double onion). I don’t know what the formula is. So I’ve decided to make my own rules too, smashing the Indian terms for coriander and cauliflower together, to reach dhania gobi. I could’ve gone with vegetable masala, or courgette bargar, or carrot jeera. So pardon me for slapping almost any old name on it, but I like the exotic sound. (If anybody knows the real ‘rules’, let me know).
I had courgette, cauliflower and carrot on hand, so they were a lock. Then it was a case of picking and choosing my spices. Coriander ended up going in twice and was the main flavour, so it packed quite a citrussy punch. A little yoghurt at the end helped both thicken and sour the dish, and was pretty pleased with the result. This won’t be the last curry I cook this season, I’m sure!
Dhania gobi:
1 tablespoon coriander seeds, cracked
1 teaspoon cumin seeds, cracked
2 inch cassia bark
1 onion, sliced
1 tablespoon garlic and ginger paste
½ teaspoon turmeric
½ teaspoon garam masala
1 teaspoon tomato puree
2 carrots, diced
2 courgettes, diced
½ head cauliflower, diced
1 litre vegetable stock
2 tablespoons plain yoghurt
1 tablespoon ground almonds
Chopped coriander leaves
Fry the coriander seeds, cumin and cassia in a little oil for a minute. Add the onion and soften.
Add the paste, turmeric, garam masala, puree and a pinch of salt and stir for another minute. Add the vegetables and coat well with the onion masala.
Add the stock and bring to the boil. Turn down to a simmer and continue to cook for 15 minutes or until the veg is tender.
Take off the heat and stir in the yoghurt and almonds. Serve topped with coriander leaves.
