Burger Cool

This post first appeared on Great British Chefs blog

It's a long shot but I reckon the obsession with burgers that seems to be all pervading at the moment, began as far back as 20 years ago. Sure, burgers have been around for a long time. The brothers McDonald arguably kick-started the beef patty in bun revolution way back in the late 1940's but this current trend has its roots firmly based in the 1990's. Of that I am sure. And it all comes down to one magical moment on celluloid when Samuel L. Jackson, who plays hit man Jules, tries some of his intended victim's Big Kahuna burger in the film Pulp Fiction. A shot focuses on the burger in question for just a split second. Sat all squat in its wrapper with bun squashed and cracked, molten cheese and tomato sauce oozing out of the side, it is the epitome of a dirty, greasy burger. Jackson picks it up and takes a huge bite, his eyes widen and he sums up quite succinctly via a laconic drawl, his own personal opinion.
"Mmm mmm, that is a tasty burger."

That was the birth of cool for the humble burger right there. Up until that point, I don't think we gave two flying monkeys about burgers. Before that moment, burgers were simply a thing to eat, to scoff happily and cheaply off Formica tables; in pubs, restaurants and on late night trains, with no care or attention of thought. Then Jules came along, resplendent in black suit and 'Soul-Glo" wig, like a badass muddyfunkster and he made them all trendy and sexy. Which is what you would expect from Samuel L. Jackson anyway..........

OK, it is a long shot. Especially since all the bearded, bespectacled kids who queued up for two hours to get a slice of Americana at Shake Shack and Five Guys recently, probably weren't even born in 1994 when the film was released. I am grasping at straws and theorizing wildly here. I suppose what I am just trying to do is figure out why burgers are so damn popular at the moment.

What has intrigued me even more however is the business of 'smashing' burgers, a process that involves rolling up beef mince into meatballs and thwacking them once they are on the hotplate and one that is closely associated with the aforementioned Shake Shack. For some aficionados, this is the best way to seal in flavour and to create an all important crust.

Yet after making some enquiries on Twitter with regards to the science behind it, there was a bit of an outcry. Namely from food writer Tim Haywood, who claimed the practice drove out all meat's inherent juice and, in his own words, made him weep bitter tears. 

A simpler way, he suggested, was to fling a handful of mince, seasoned with salt, straight onto a hotplate and then fashion it loosely into a burger with a slice. You then flip the evolving burger over, give the surrounding surface a quick squirt of water and then cover the meat with a wok to trap the ensuing steam.

This sounded like a novel idea, so last night I tried out both methods, all in the name of research. Along with a regular burger bought from a posh supermarket, just to make sure. Yes, that's three burgers in total but if you don't exercise strict and thorough perimeters with these sorts of experiments, the results can sometimes be inconclusive (ahem).

The 'Smash' Method

So this course of action, as far as I can make out from information gleaned from the internet, takes pretty much a 'does what it says on the tin' approach. In the absence of a hotplate (I don't own one) I heated up a frying pan to a high temperature, plonked a round meatball seasoned with salt squarely in the middle and then I hit it. With a heavy potato ricer because I wanted to be sure. The important part apparently, is to do this within a 30 second time frame of the meat touching the pan. Leave it longer and the juice will come flying out. 

The mince spread-eagled pleasantly and uniformly, which was a surprise. Part of the smash method is that the burger often forms an irregular shape but my one complied to an aesthetic that wouldn't look out of place in IKEA. I flipped it over and let it cook for a couple more minutes before throwing a slice of Monterey Jack on top to melt. And then I placed it in a regular seeded bun and chowed down. I probably should have left it to grill a touch more as it was quite rare in the middle but overall, it tasted extremely pleasant. Crisp on the outside. Juicy on the inside. Brilliant.

The 'Clumping' Method

The notion of simply taking a fistful of mince, again seasoned with salt and slinging it into a pan at first did seem like I was taking a neolithic guide to cooking. I may "Ug," belch and expel wind during most hours of the day but when I am behind the stove, I do like to exude a slight degree of finesse and decorum. However, the surprising thing about Tim Hayward's method was that it all worked very quickly and easily. The burger that formed from my frantic shaping and scraping with a fish slice didn't meet your usual standard visually but hey, what are burgers at the end of the day? They are lumps of meat. 

The real fun part came from squirting water into the pan and covering with a wok and then standing back to listen to the sizzle for a couple of minutes. I should add that I used Aberdeen Angus mince that was 20% fat, as per Tim's instruction. I then lifted the wok up, gave it another flip, added the cheese and off it went into another seeded bun. Again, the burger tasted fantastic. Although I have to say, the amount of juice that flew out did catch me by surprise and Mr Haywood now owes me a new shirt but still, a lovely tasting burger.

The 'I Can't Be Bothered To Make Any Burgers Tonight So I Will Just Buy Some In Waitrose' Method

Bought from the butcher's counter, this burger on first impressions was wieldy, dense, heavy and compact and I did wonder how it would stack up against the previous efforts. It definitely needed longer in the pan and some squirty-wok action, which I was getting all trigger happy with but the end result was good. It could have done with some more seasoning but then again I think I went a bit cock-a-hoop with the previous burgers so my taste buds were probably out of tune. Or should that be in tune? Whatever, ultimately it was still a very decent and delicious burger that was juicy and beefy and gulped down with relish. So well done Waitrose.

A final analysis of what I have just written about all three burgers will naturally steer you to the fact that I am greedy so and so. A veritable Mr Creosote in fact and you would be right to assume that. I need to sort myself out really but I am also pedantically trying to make a point here. To my mind, a burger is what it is. Of course, there are lots of examples of bad burgers out there. Just go to Upton Park on a Saturday afternoon when the football season starts and try an infamous 'Dogburger' outside The Boleyn Tavern. That is a very, very bad burger that may well put you in hospital. That's if a West Ham fan doesn't first. But apply any modicum of care and attention towards a burger, the quality of the meat, how you cook it etc, well what can go wrong?

Hands up, I have yet to go down the Shake Shack or Five Guys to sample their wares but I bet you any money that the people who snaked in a line for hours on end, walked away afterwards and uttered “"Mmm mmm, that is a tasty burger." Just like Jules did, before he coolly blew his quarry away.

I put the emphasis on the word ‘cool’ there by the way.

Not Barbecued BBQ Brisket

Heggies Brisket

The plans I had for this lump of brisket that had been languishing in the fridge, I tell you. Having made its way from the hills of Herefordshire via Heggies, a family run butchers based in Hereford (of all places) as part of a wider selection of meat to sample; this frugal joint had been tucked it away with the express notion of doing something different. Namely to make pastrami with it. I got the idea from DIY Food, which is a new cookbook for bearded, grizzly homosexuals in plaid, if you were to believe one poor confused and sexually repressed individual, and I followed all the plans that were laid out in the book. In other words, I bought some salt and some spices and some herbs. But I never really got around to the simple stage of putting them all together to make a brine to start the whole curing process. I could have done but this is the sort of project that needs forward thinking. Five or six days of turning the beef in the brine before coating with cracked pepper and coriander seed, a period of hot smoking and then a final blast of steaming in the oven before serving up in thick slices, warm on rye bread and with pickles. Unfortunately, in five or six days time I plan to be lying flat on my face in a field in Devon somewhere, having drunk vast quantities of industrial strength farmhouse cider at a very small festival. 

So with regards to this whole pastrami business, you could say that there has been a conflict of interest. I will pick up on this thread in the near future though, once I return from the West Country, as the prospect of fumigating lumps of meat sounds very appealing. I don't have a smoker per se but with a load of foil, Betty MKII and an upturned mop bucket, I reckon I could rig one up quite easily. After all it worked with beer can chicken.

Anyway, the brisket did not go to waste, which I am sure you are glad to hear. It got served up yesterday over at my folks house after a thorough basting in a pot for about 8 hours on a low heat in the oven. A cheats method maybe and one that might not deserve the label of BBQ but the shredded brisket went down very well. So in the spirit of generosity, I thought I would share it with you, so that it may be added to the pantheon of great barbecue recipes that involve not actually using a barbecue. 

It is also worth mentioning, especially since I got it for free, that the meat that came from Heggies was of exceptional quality. As you might expect from locally sourced beef with all the inclusions of breed, traceability, the farmer's name, his favourite tie, what he likes for his tea etc etc. With that level of care and attention, the meat is guaranteed to taste good. If it doesn't, then someone is pulling the wool over your eyes (or blinding you with his tie). However, Heggies obviously do take pride. The flavour of their 30 day old steaks testifies to that. 

Interestingly though, Mrs FU wasn't massively keen on the deep tang of the sirloin and was irked further when I suggested that her taste buds weren't up to the challenge. In return, she was quick to point out the idiot who cooed over the amazing bacon, which also came in the pack and which didn't leak white 'stuff'. Furthermore, she chided that in future, I should dig further into my pocket if I wanted something decent to go into between two doorsteps of thick white bread and there wasn't a lot I could say to that.

I think I will try and win her affections back when I try to make that pastrami though. Because Heggies' brisket is a lot cheaper per kilo than their bacon. And it's on the way back from Devon. Sort of.

Not Barbecued BBQ Brisket - serves 8

1.5 - 2kg of brisket, rolled and tied

2 red onions, chopped

2 celery sticks, chopped

4 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

1 red pepper, chopped

100gms of cooking chorizo, chopped

3 tomatoes, chopped

1 Guajilo chilli, soaked in water if dried and chopped, seeds and all (I got my chilli from souschef.co.uk) 

50gms honey

50gms dark brown sugar

50mls cider vinegar

Good splash of Worcestershire sauce

Good splash of tomato sauce

A can of lager (I used Red Stripe)

1 tbs ground cumin

1 tbs mustard powder

Salt and pepper

4 tbs olive oil

Method

Pre-heat the oven to 150C. Place a large saucepan on the hob and turn on the heat, add the oil and then add the onion, celery, garlic and pepper, bring the heat down and gently fry until everything softens and caramelises, for about 20 to 30 minutes. Turn the heat back up and then add the chorizo, chilli and tomatoes, sauteing for a couple of minutes, stirring everything around with a wooden spoon. Add the cumin and mustard and continue to stir for another minute then add the honey, dark brown sugar, tomato sauce, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce and lager. Bring to the boil and then simmer for 15 minutes. Take off the heat and leave to cool for 5 minutes and then blitz in a blender or food processor and then season to taste (I like to put lots of cracked black pepper in).

Take a stock pot or casserole with a lid and place the brisket inside. Pour over the sauce mix to cover and place the lid on your chosen cooking receptacle and put into the oven. Return every half an hour or so, or when you can remember and turn the brisket in the sauce. Repeat for around 8 hours or until the brisket becomes very soft and tender.

Remove from the oven and take the brisket out of the sauce on a chopping board, cut the string and with two forks shred the brisket, starting at one end, pulling the fibres apart length ways into ribbons (should be quite easy). Then mix back into the sauce.

Serve in white buns or between slices of bread and add slice gherkins.

Placed on makeshift barbecue for food stylisation
(no actual barbecuing took place for the brisket but we did cook lots of other things, honest)

It's very niiiiiiiice

As a youth I used to weep in butcher's shops.....

It's funny, initially this post was going to be a raving diatribe about butchers being a bunch of sarcastic, argumentative buggers but a certain recipe came along which knocked the wind out of my sails. One minute I'm thinking "I should really write about how I should have smacked a certain trenchant git with a blue stripped apron in the mouth" but then my mind turns to the success of a romantic evening. Do I witter on needlessly about the bad experiences I've had in butcher's shops, the subsequent fear that has developed and the panic that I'll look like a plonker whenever I walk in? Or do I give credit where credit's due? I think I'll do both because for all the stress and confusion I endured when purchasing some meat the other day, Mr Jonathan Brown's latest effort deserves to be championed.

Let's talk about the problem first. Whenever possible, I try to buy my meat from butchers and the reasons are straightforward. It's better to support small independent businesses, provenance and quality will be high on the agenda (well usually) and these are places where you can go in and talk to someone, confident that the advice you seek is coming from a professional. And not some spotty Saturday schoolboy.

Er so what is the fricking problem? Well for every friendly, presentable, rosy faced gentleman that I've met who practises the fine art of dismemberment, you do occasionally come across an obstructive piss-taker. I ventured into one local butcher once to buy some skirt steak, a cut I'd never come across before but wanted to try out after finding a recipe for barbecued bavette. After hearing my enquiry, the owner, a heavy set man with a corned beef complexion blinked at me and said "Whatugonnadowiththat?" I told him and what followed was some kind of mexican standoff as the proprietor argued that this was totally the wrong cut to be grilled on a barbecue and that perhaps I should go for some nice sirloin or fillet. I held my ground for about 5 minutes until he brought his toothless mate from out back to try and convince me that I was making a mistake so I just yelled in a high pitched voice "look please, I just want some fucking skirt!" to which he smirked "steady on mate, only trying to help."

For a short period, I went through a stage of making terrines and made regular trips to another butcher for pork shoulder as required by a lot of recipes. All was fine and dandy until my, I suppose fourth or fifth visit and the cost had more than doubled. When I asked why, this normally amiable old soul just leaned over and snarled "I think you've been doing pretty well with the price so far" which I found very odd. Then I saw what I took to be his wife emerge through the chains hanging in the doorway behind him. The phrase 'rottweiler chewing a wasp' came to mind and as it was the first time I'd seen her, I could only assume that this hike was due to the presence of his missus. Shame, if he had just given me a subtle roll of the eyes and nudged his head gently backwards in her direction, I would have paid up with an equally subtle wink and tap on the nose. Instead, I simply walked out, fairly disgusted.

And now comes my most recent episode when I visited a farmshop that came highly recommended for it's butchery department. There was indeed a fine selection of meat on display. I was very excited to see ox cheeks as they seem to be one of the 'in' cuts at the moment and I hadn't tried them before so I bought a kilo. Feeling pretty pleased with myself and continuing to peruse, I decided to strike up a conversation with the fella behind the glass counter.

"What's the difference between braising and stewing steak?" I asked.

To which he replied "weeell, you see this" (points to braising steak) "you braise in the oven, and you see this" (points to stewing steak) "you stew in the oven." In a manner as if he were addressing a very young child.

I stared back him with a thoroughly perplexed frown, wondering "did I just ask him a really stupid question? Or is he just treating me like a simpleton? Or is that in fact his answer?" So I waited for the laugh, the smirk, the wink, the anything. But I got nothing. He just stared back at me blankly. So I just slowly walked off, feeling like the biggest plank ever, clutching a bag of ox cheeks tightly by my side.

And herein lies my problem. Sure I cook a lot and I eat a lot of the damned stuff but there are times when I feel like I am in the dark about the fundamentals, the different breeds and where the different cuts come from on the animal (let's not get started on the 'forgotten cuts'). Coupled with this self imposed image of being a fully paid up, badge wearing, flag waving foodie and well you start to feel like a bit of a fraud. Perhaps I should do one of those River Cottage courses. Perhaps I should read a book or two! Or maybe I am just being too hard on myself. Either way I have to do something to conquer this nagging doubt in the back of my head otherwise one day I am going to make a lunge for that smart-arsed butcher. Which of course would be even dafter, those guys could cut me up into chops in seconds.

"Yes madam, this mincemeat is very fresh, we made it only half an hour ago. Oh yes these glasses are new. Yes, just like what that Harry Hill would wear, ha ha ha"

Still there is the fairytale ending that I alluded to at the beginning of the post. After shaking off the embarrassment of my visit, I came home and set about looking for recipes for ox cheeks. As fate would have it, Mr Brown of Around Britain With A Paunch had just posted his recipe for Ox Cheek Open Ravioli so I decided so have a crack at that for a Valentines Supper last Sunday. Interestingly, this is the first time that I have used a blogger's recipe. Sure I've looked at loads for inspiration before but this was the first one I adhered to word for word. A little tip here, it's handy to keep your laptop next to the place where you are preparing your ingredients. I spent a good while to-ing and fro-ing between the front room and kitchen, spilling wine and dropping chopped onion everywhere before it dawned on me. And as I don't own a slow cooker I went for the Le Creuset in a very low oven for 5 hours method instead. I was very pleased with the end result. The meat came out beautifully, supremely tender and packed with flavour. The sauce itself was fantastic, rich and intense. And the pasta! Mama mia the pasta! I finally made some bloody pasta that I was happy with. In future I shall take the cue to make it little and often as it was infinitely more manageable. Like I said, I didn't really intend for this post to be a swoon over Jonathan's effort and I would have been happier if he'd called it "lasagne" rather than open ravioli. But the success of a good meal definitely perked me up after my last bout of carnophobia (or should that be catagelophobia). So I think a pat on the back is in order. And maybe, just maybe Mr Brown will hold my hand the next time I make a trip to The Ginger Pig?

Separating the cheeks

Straining the wine

Making the pasta

Ox Cheek Open Ravioli (or Lasagne as it should be)

Blokes Eat Beef

Like a good responsible citizen, I am registered with the NHS as an organ donor so that in the event of my timely or untimely demise, I may just be able to help out my fellow man. Whether or not my organs are worth giving away remains to be seen. A decent surgeon probably wouldn't give my liver a second glance but I reckon my heart and lungs are good for a second outing. This is all of course rather speculative and lets face it, I won't really have a say in the matter. So it is quite possible that I'll end up as a cadaver to be carved up on the slab in front of some medical students. I can just imagine it now as the lecturer goes over my digestive system in front of a crowd of eager eyes.

"Ah yes, now here we have the typical traits of a male intestine, fetid and scarred after years of abuse, largely down to a carnivorous diet and.....what do we have here? Is....is that steak?...... Why it's totally undigested with no signs of mastication or anything!...... There's got to be over a kilo of meat in here. Good grief!"

And after Blokes Eat Beef on Monday night, this is how it could have all quite possibly ended. I don't ever think that I have eaten so much cow in one sitting before and I don't think I will again.

Blokes Eat Beef was organised by a Mr Simon Majumdar in response to the formation of a "girls only" steak club over the twittersphere. You see, it's alright for you ladies to have your coffee mornings with cupcakes and doilies whilst watching Loose Women but profess the love of a good steak and well you shake the foundations of the male ego to it's absolute core. And so his Maj in response sent out the rallying cry on Twitter "right who's up for some boy's only meat action then?!" Well not quite like that but I signed up straight away, especially when I heard the word "Goodman" getting thrown in the mix. By all accounts there are only really two good steak restaurants in London, the first being the aforementioned Goodman. And secondly Hawksmoor, which is where the ladies were headed to the following night. Why no-one thought of going to an Angus Steak House is beyond me but I decided to keep that to myself and go with the flow.

Pre-dinner drinks were taken in the basement bar of Hix in Soho. Cocktails were the order of the day although after spending 10 mins frantically walking backwards and forwards past the establishment (yes it was my first visit) I could have really done with a beer to quench the thirst. But as all the decent chaps lining the bar were supping Martinis and the like, I opted for a Negroni which soon enveloped the back of my skull like a steaming hot towel. Aha now I see, sod the beer, real men drink cocktails, very strong cocktails. Thankfully though I had just the one and was soon trotting off with my fellow compadres to our destination. Details had emerged earlier in the day highlighting that we had 36kgs of prime quality beef set by so I was fairly buzzing with the prospect of a meatathon as I walked down Regent's Street. (I hasten to add that 25 blokes were in attendance for this evening, that works out to an allocated allowance of 1.44kgs of meat each!)

On arrival, as I surveyed the interior of the restaurant with it's shades of brown throughout the woodwork and leather upholstery, it did strike me as a fairly masculine environment but there was also a simplicity to the decor that sort of said "we only care about the meat". Which was very encouraging and so off I sauntered into the back room where we were to have our frenzy. Drinks to kick off with came in the form of Chapel Down Sparkling Rose and Argentinean Chardonnay. I plumped for the latter, lovely, there was no smack in the face of oak from this drop of plonk. Although I did start to think that the whole blokish aspect of the proceedings may have been a bit of a misnomer. Perhaps it should have been more Sophisticated Gentlemen Who Eat Beef but maybe I was still hankering after that beer. Still all elements of doubt soon evaporated when 4 huge sides of beef were brought into the room to roars of approval. Things it seemed were going to get rowdy after all.

Head Chef, John Cadieux, took to the stand and immediately proved his credentials by giving us a thorough overview of the four different breeds that were to be served up. USDA from Nebraska, Belted Gallway from the Lake District, Charalais/Limosin from Scotland and Black Angus from Ireland. Like wine, it seems that the terroir is very important when developing beef of this quality, not to mention the physical and emotional well being of the animal, it all counts for delivering the best steak possible. A sad cow that has led a life of hardship with a poor diet will just not taste good. Quite obviously really and worth remembering the next time you sniff at your £5 steak (with a pint) at Wetherspoons. John also went into detail about the different aging processes, prodding, caressing and sniffing each hulk of meat. Which was quite unsettling really. Yes, John seemed like a smashing bloke but I couldn't help but wonder what kind of cellar he had at home. It was all his talk of corpses and buzz saws wot done it I think.

We were also treated to a quick series of talks from David Strauss, Goodman's general manager, a lovely young lady from Catena who supplied the wine (and who's name I didn't catch - sorry) and also Frank Hederman, Irish salmon smoker extraordinaire who personally flew over some salmon for our starter. Frank is quite a character and very passionate about his fish. It was joy to listen to him extol the virtues and techniques of smoking salmon but also slightly sobering when he touched upon the subject of sustainability (wow far too much alliteration there, oops).

But enough of the chitter chatter, it was soon time to get down to hard task of eating and drinking and being a bloke. Frank's salmon was brought out two ways, for the first dish it was simply sliced and presented with red onion, capers, mayonaise and soda bread. For the second, the salmon was finely diced and formed into a quinelle with cucumber and crème fraiche. Both plates were stunning, delivering a deft combination of juicy beechwood flavours with wonderfully light textures. Really good.

And then came the beef. The BEEEEEEEF! All four varieties were served up at once on large platters numbered 1-4, the idea being that we were to tuck in as part of a blind taste test and come up with our favourite steak. And we're not talking about receiving tiny slivers to sample here, we're talking about great big fat wedges of meat. Initially on my table, there was a collective widening of eyes and hushed awe but then some imaginary starter pistol went off somewhere. And so we just piled in taking 4 chunks apiece. It didn't stop there either. Side dishes piled with creamed spinach, fries, onion rings, and jugs of bearnaise and peppercorn sauce were crambed into every available space. As our glasses were charged with some fine Malbec, the whole scene in the back room turned decidedly Dionysian as grown men simultaniously started to bawdly growl, chomp, laugh and gulp their way through the meal. A token bowl of salad was also placed on each table but that was just met with howls of derision. There was a slight calm as plates were cleaned but the furor soon started up again as a second round of steak was brought in. I thought that this would separate the men from the boys but from my observations, everyone got stuck in again with glee. We were behaving like greedy pigs. In other words we were behaving like blokes.

Eventually plates were cleared and it was soon time to make a show of hands for our preference of steak. In my mind they all tasted fantastic but I opted for number 3 as to me it was the most tender, the knife through butter adage definitely applied. So it turned out that I picked the Scottish Charalais as my favourite. What was interesting was the fact that the show of hands for each steak showed a distinct clumping pattern around the room. Some of the ladies reading this, could point out that this is a stick in the eye for independent thinking in men but I just like to think that we all became really good mates on each of our tables.

There were still two more courses to go and at this point I have to admit that my own personal alarm bell started ringing in my head to slow down but I was caught up in the moment and starting to feel pretty pissed so ploughed on regardless. A crème brûlée was dealt with in the most severe fashion (thank you very much Catherine Phipps) and when the cheese plate of Stinking Bishop, Keen's Cheddar and Stichelton arrived, I had resorted to using my fingers to scoop lumps into my mouth. The night from there does desend into a haze somewhat and I point the finger of blame at a bottle of sickly sweet American Port. Yes the yanks are getting in on the act. I vaguely recall going down to the kitchen and into the aging room with some others to meet John again to stare at more big lumps of flesh but his lyrical waxing on funky smelling meats started to give me the heebie jeebies, so I ran back upstairs. I also remember Mr Tim Hayward taking on the role of debt collector and it did go through my drunken mind to challenge him to an arm wrestle instead of payment but he's a big fella so I just handed over the cash. Overall I am just glad that I didn't end up fast asleep with my head in my plate (and that's happened before)

And therein lies the problem, etiqutte and social graces go flying out of the window when groups of men get together, things do go on the slide somewhat. Or maybe that's just my own personal experience. So ladies, next time you want to go out on a jolly, take us blokes with you, we need looking after.

That aside, big thanks to Simon, John and David at Goodman and the waitresses who were fantastic for organising and putting on a magnificent spread, it was a really enjoyable evening.

Blokes Eat Beef Menu

The BEEEEEEF!

Frank Hederman Smoked Salmon

Four Steaks

John and the Aging Room

Charcoal Oven (I would love one of these in my kitchen)

One greedy bloke

Rendang-a-Dingdong

I am acutely aware that I haven't been paying much attention to this blog lately, mainly because I haven't done much in the way of cooking recently and mainly because I've been getting people to cook for me for Where's My Pork Chop? I plan to remedy this over the next few weeks by rustling up some old favourites at home, by visiting the miserable old gits down the allotment and by reporting on some trips and adventures I've been on lately. So I thought I would kick off with an example of the kind of cooking I do best, the kind where you have to do bugger all but just sit and wait. You know highly technical stuff.

I discovered the delights of Rendang Curry after finding a copy of The Essential Asian Cookbook in the bargain bin at WHSmith quite a few years ago now. It was probably one of the first cookbooks I ever bought and it's been a great companion over the years. It's pretty concise in it's coverage of the different cuisines of the East but there's a little bit of something for everyone and most importantly it is very easy to follow. The great thing about this curry is that it improves with flavour should you leave for it alone for a day or two. In fact I'm a great believer in leaving food to stew for a while after you've made it. Make a great big batch load of spag bol and serve up a couple of portions for dinner that night and put the remainder in the fridge (once it has cooled down of course). When you return to it the next day, it will taste miles better. The same goes for casseroles and soup. And with Beef Bourguignon, it's an absolute must. Of course some food stuffs do not benefit from this process. For instance many, many years ago, my friend Matt discovered at Reading Festival a pack of bacon in his rucksack that was plainly left over from his jaunt to Glastonbury a couple of months previous. As it was unopened and bizarrely enough, still looked to be in pretty good shape, he decided to open it and fry it on his Trangia. He then whacked it in between two slices of bread for a good old fashion bacon sarnie and said to our amazement that it still tasted pretty good. About an hour later he promptly threw up and spent a good day with his guts in turmoil. Matt is a vegan now.

Still stupid stories about stupid teenagers aside, on with the rendang. This is quite a rich dish due to the amount of coconut milk used but the slow-cooking process used creates a fairly dry curry. As the viscous sauce evaporates, the meat, beef in this case, takes on complex notes of flavour which intensify the longer you leave it . Also the original recipe instructs that everything be cooked in one pan on the hob over an hour and a half but when I made this the other night the beef didn't quite melt in the mouth. So it may be beneficial to braise everything in a casserole dish with a tight fitting lid in the oven on a low heat, say 150c, for a couple of hours to really tenderise the meat. If there is any liquid left, then you can finish it off on the hob when you are ready to eat it.

We had this last Saturday, as I made it early on the Friday morning. I served up the rendang with some festive rice (cooked with turmeric, coconut milk, garlic and ginger) and some bok choi which I steamed to within an inch of its life such was I hooked on this concept of slow and easy cooking, dopey sod that I am. Still the curry was delicious and even if it did resemble dog poo somewhat, the hot, sweet and sour flavours from the chilli, tamarind and lemon really did kaleidoscope on my tongue. Overall a great meal to get ready for the weekend if you fancy a lazy one.

Malaysian Beef Rendang

Serves 4-6

2 onions chopped

5 red chillies

4 gloves garlic, crushed

good thumb sized piece of ginger, grated

500 mls coconut milk

1 tbs ground coriander

1 tbs ground cumin

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp ground turmeric

quarter tsp ground cloves

quarter tsp chilli powder

1 tbs of sunflower oil

1 large strip of lemon rind

1 kg of braising steak, cubed

1 tsb lemon juice

1 tsb soft brown sugar

1 tsp tamarind concentrate/paste


Method

1. Take the onions, chillies, garlic, ginger and a couple of tablespoons of coconut milk and blitz in a food processor/blender until you have a smooth paste.

2. Heat the oil in a large pan and add the paste along with coriander, cumin, cinnamon, turmeric, chilli, cloves, lemon peel and chunks of beef. Stir so that the meat is nicely coated and then add the rest of the coconut milk and bring to the boil before reducing heat to a gentle simmer. Cook for 1 and half hours, stirring every now and then.

3. When the oil begins to separate from the sauce as it reduces right down, add the lemon juice, brown sugar and tamarind paste, stir through and take off the hob to cool. Leave for a day or two in the fridge before reheating and serving.

Spices

Soon to be paste

Reduce baby, reduce!

I promise you this is not a dog turd sprinkled with red chilli and that it really does taste rather good