Thankfully, this is now the time of year for reflection, and a merciful breath from the toils of everyday hubbub. I figure what better way to do that than to look at some of the things that I've learned this year food-wise.
Low and slow wins the race
This is something that I had always associated with Barbecue, and in particular Texas BBQ, as that was the first place I heard it. There, it is the key to sumptuous ribs, brisket and pulled pork that make you want to take a private moment with your meal, away from prying eyes. And it always felt woven into the character of Austin, where there's no need to rush, no need to hurry things along when a slower pace grants such delicious rewards. If you've read my post about overnight pulled pork, then you'll already have seen this philosophy put to good use. And it can honestly be applied to any roast, as long as you have the right meat for it. Stews and pasta sauces are also perfect candidates for this approach, where patience and gentle simmering work alchemic wonders on simple, basic ingredients. Where it has been a real revelation though, is when I started applying it to other areas.
Take salmon fillets, for example. We eat a lot of salmon at home, and try our best to mix fish in at least once a week among everything else. For the longest time, I'd simply chucked it in the oven and gotten on with the other stuff. Then I saw a comment online that suggested bringing the temperature right down, and cooking it low and slow. Combined with a simple homemade soy & honey marinade, it was a complete transformation from previous versions. Succulent, juicy, and delicately tender, it felt like we were eating a completely different meal.
Another good example is eggs. I am a total sucker for scrambled eggs, and grew up with them done a particular way (splash of milk, whizzed around in a pan for a few minutes and then served immediately). And when it comes to breakfast, often times you don't want to hang around too long. But if you ever have the time, try doing your scrambled eggs nice and slow, on low heat, with care and attention - those are probably not words you'd typically associate with Gordon Ramsay, but this I actually got this recipe from him. Trust me, once you've had scrambled eggs this way, it'll be virtually impossible to go back.
At the end of the day, there is a time and a place for slow cooking, and of course we don't always have the luxury to faff around when you've just gotten home and you want to eat your own face. But take some time occasionally, a rainy day or a weekend, and give it a go - you won't be disappointed.
A great burger is not hard to find
 |
| My no.1 burger. Seek it out. |
- The Dead Hippie @ Meatliquor. It's greasy, messy, cheesy, and quite simply the most perfect burger you'll get outside of America. Like a meat hug from Jesus.
- Cheeseburger @ Honest Burger (Soho). Their fries deserve special mention, they are absolutely spectacular.
- The Piggie Burger @ Bar Boulud. Very fancy location, decent cocktails, and if you can stomach the bill then the piggie burger is a beautifully compact fistful of beef and pulled pork.
- The Cheeseburger @ The Admiral Codrington. Gorgeous and elegantly crafted, almost a shame that you have to ruin it by shoving it in your face. Order the pork crackling starter.
Know your temperatures
I can never consistently cook a steak exactly the way I want it. I have huge admiration for the guys at places like the Hawksmoor, who deliver a perfectly cooked slab of meat to order, every single time. The type of cut, the thickness of the meat, the kind of pan, all of these things factor into how long and how fiercely you fire your meat. And up until recently the art of getting a steak right seemed like a mystical ritual of touch, timing and instinct, a skill honed with years of practice and experience.
Then I got a digital thermometer. Thank you, Heston.
Want a perfectly rare steak? Take it out at 45 degrees C. Medium rare? 50 degrees.
Perfect poached egg? Get your water to 80 degrees C.
Want your pulled pork to fall apart perfectly? Wait until it hits 93 degrees C inside.
Basically, if you know the temperature you're looking for, and you have a digital thermometer, it takes away 90% of the guesswork. Don't get me wrong, you'll still have to do all the other stuff right, but the value of knowing exactly when something is good to go cannot be understated. It will give you certainty when you just can't be sure otherwise.
Stock is not just for professionals
This one may seem obvious, particularly to the mothers out there who have been doing this for years. But for us young whippets (haha), stock always seemed like, well, a bit like hard work, and I never really appreciated why it was worth the effort. When I was little I used to see my mum boiling giant vats of yellow liquid filled with chicken carcasses and figured it was some macabre yugoslav thing where they boil animal bones for fun. And they always looked like taxidermy fishtanks, with bones and cartilage and vegetables floating around, steaming away. I'd hear chefs constantly talking about it in their cookbooks and tv shows, and figure that was just something you do in a restaurant. I never really got it. Until now.
One of the most enjoyable learnings this year came from trying to make stock myself. It's not the most complicated or exciting thing you'll ever do, it does take time and it does require a fair bit of attention. The payoff, however, is one that can genuinely improve a typical sauce or meal, giving it a whole extra dimension that's almost impossible to get any other way. There's something deliciously medieval to me about roasting bones and then simmering them in gallons of water, reducing and skimming until you're left with a beautifully golden broth. My next blog post is going to be about my experience making veal broth in particular, but for now take my word for it: stock isn't something that requires a professional kitchen or a crew of staff, far from it. The next time you have a roast chicken left over, or you're at the butchers (ask them for veal or beef bones, they're surprisingly cheap), try making a bit of stock yourself. The processes are generally all pretty similar, and the next time you do a nice pasta ragu or gravy or stew, you'll have something special to add.
Rest, rest, rest
Arguably, this one could also seem obvious to some. Resting meat is one of those other things you constantly hear about, yet many people don't pay heed to. I would usually try to do it, although I wouldn't quite know why (like boiling water before adding pasta to it). Without going into the science behind it, basically when you cook any meat the heat you apply makes the proteins in the meat contract and tighten up, squeezing the moisture towards the center of the meat, as well as outwards into the pan. This is why when you sear a piece of meat, you'll hear it sizzle - that's water evaporating. There is a great article that goes into more detail about why resting's important at The Food Lab.
The reason I mention resting is because this year I started applying it properly, and in conjunction with a drying rack, it actually made a world of difference. Understanding the reason for resting is one thing, doing it properly is another. I always used to rest steaks on a plate under loose foil, and after a few minutes I'd come back to find the steak sitting in a pool of its own juices. The trick instead, is to make sure the steak is raised, so that it's not just stewing and getting soggy. You can use any kind of grill or rack on top of a plate, but it helps enormously.
Doing this for all sorts of meats will improve them. Chicken, lamb steaks, roasts, even the salmon I mentioned earlier. A general rule is to rest something for half as long as you've cooked it for, but it honestly varies depending on what it is, and what you've done to it. You should rest a steak for about five minutes even if you only cooked it for six, whereas I rest a pulled pork joint for two hours after cooking it for twelve. So it's tough to give you a consistent rule you can apply, only that you should always give the thing you're about to eat a bit of time to recover before you dig in.
An exceptional meal is worth ten average ones
This one is less about cooking, and all about eating. As you can probably guess, I enjoy the odd meal out. And as someone who eats out a lot in London, I'm always on the lookout for good bargains and little discoveries (like Orchid, our local vietnamese, or Addie's, an amazing thai place that looks like a hair salon). That said, every year I manage to have one or two truly incredible meals. And this year, I had a meal that was in every possible way, perfect. I literally couldn't tell you a single thing that you could improve. For our two year anniversary, we went to Dinner by Heston Blumenthal.
Now there are hundreds of reviews of the restaurant that can sum up far more eloquently than I what makes the place incredible. The thing that really stuck with me was the lasting impression and memory that you take away from the table, and how that was worth so much more than just the bill. When you consider that this unbelievable meal was the equivalent cost of let's say five average meals, it makes you think - why not do it more often? I mean, obviously you're not going to drop that kind of cash on a regular basis unless you are totally rolling in it, but I think meals and experiences like that should be tried by everyone, if for no other reason than because you'll get to enjoy something that goes beyond what's on your plate. Perhaps that's me giving in to my inner foodie (and helped in no small part by the emotional enrichment of the occasion), but whether it's at Dinner, or the River Cafe, or even just a lusciously indulgent meal with friends at the Hawksmoor, a really great meal is the one that stays with you months, not hours, later.
But Dan, I hear you say, you can have a great meal at a hole in the wall, at a gastropub? Why fork out for something so expensive? Again, this has been covered a great many times by much better writers than I, but I think what it really comes down to is a) the service and b) the quality of what you're consuming. The first thing you notice in a really good joint is how the service is almost ethereal, completely hands off, while being constantly attentive. The really big one for me here, is knowing when not to interrupt a conversation. I don't think there's anything more simple, yet significant, to good service. Butting into a discussion between friends to constantly ask if everything is ok is such a surefire way to annoy people, and it smacks of laziness posing as concern. If the table's enjoying themselves, stay the hell away. In a really great restaurant, they will never interrupt you, and you will barely know they are there.
Side note: At one of the best meals I've ever had, at Perry's in Austin, Texas, the waiter was so good he refilled our glasses without us ever actually seeing him do it. That was one hell of a bill though, come to think of it.
As far as the quality is concerned, I think it's both the food itself and the craftsmanship that goes into it. Neither can really truly stand on it's own, and the great restaurants excel in both of these areas. Again, I'm stating the obvious here, but all I'm trying to say is that even if you only do it once, skip a few average meals, put some cash in a piggy bank, and go and have a truly spectacular meal next year. Find somewhere that really excites you, save up for it, and allow yourself to have a really memorable dining experience. When a meal is greater than the sum of its parts, that's when you really kindle a love for food and experiences it can create. For me, next year I'd like to try Le Gavroche or The Ledbury, we'll just have to see how many meals I can skip before then ;)
Until then, enjoy a very Merry Christmas everyone!
