Recipe: Ossobuco alla Novese

This is a combination of two recipes from Giuliano Bugialli - the basic recipe was from one of his earliest books, and the gremolada is taken from a much later version, where in fact he was quoting a dish from Sardinia. I think the marriage of the two works well.
Outside Italy, Ossubuco tends to be associated with a rich and heavy tomato sauce. The method given here is completely different, and the flavours are light and edgy, and accentuate the taste of the veal perfectly. Generally, there is quite a lot of sauce left over at the end , which is delicious subsequently either as a pasta sauce, or mixed in with cooked borlotti beans.

It is worth getting the best quality veal you can find for this dish!

For Six.

Ingredients:

For the main dish: 6 Ossobuchi; 15 pitted green Olives; 1 tablespoon fresh Rosemary; 6 Sage leaves; 2 tablespoons Capers; 1 clove of Garlic; 1 strip of Lemon Peel; 2 cups of dry White Wine; 4 tablespoons of Olive Oil; 2 tablespoons of Butter; approx 6 tablespoons of Flour; Salt & Pepper.

For the Gremolada: Grated peel of one large Lemon; 10 Sage leaves; 15 sprigs of Parsley; half a tablespoon of Rosemary; quarter of a cup of Oive Oil; 1 teaspoon of Lemon Juice; Salt & Pepper to taste.

Method:

1. Tie each Ossobuco with string, to ensure it doesn't fall to pieces as it cooks. Flour each Ossobuco on each side. Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees C.

2. On a board, combine the herbs, Garlic, Capers, Lemon peel, and Olives, and chop them finely all together. Put this mixture into a bowl and add the Wine.

3. Melt the Butter in an oven-proof heavy casserole (with a lid). Add the Oil, and when hot enough, brown the Ossobuchi for three minutes on each side.

4. Pour the Wine and herb mixture into the casserole, cover it with the lid, and place in the pre-heated oven for an hour. Half way through, carefully turn the Ossobuchi over and add seasoning.

5. While the Ossobuchi are cooking, chop all of the dry ingredients for the Gremolada and mix them thoroughly with the Oil and Lemon Juice.

6. Check and adjust the seasoning for the Ossobuchi just before serving. To serve, spread a spoonful of gremolada over each Ossobuco once it has been plated, with some of the sauce over and around it.

Artists, or Craftsmen?

This is a subject that has become of increasing personal interest - and gathering irritation - for some time now: Is the process of cooking best understood as the preserve of the Artist or of the Craftsman?

For me, the answer is firmly the latter: cooking is primarily about the efficient deployment of resources to optimal effect, and the ability to judge the correct texture of pastry or pasta dough, or the 'done-ness' of zabaglione or risotto, or the correct point at which to remove a fish or chicken from the oven, or how a freshly-baked loaf of bread should sound when you tap it - all these things are technical skills, learned through experience over time, much as a potter learns to handle clay, or a blacksmith learns how to work with metal. Once you've learned the technical aspects of the process, then - and only then - do you have the technical knowledge even to consider moving ahead and working from that knowledge-base to develop new combinations of ingredients or new methods of production. It is only at this stage - if at all - that any artistry kicks in.........and in my experience, very very few people have the skill or ability to make this leap. (Bruno Loubet does, for sure, and Raymond Blanc, to a lesser extent........and after that, I think we're essentially dealing with people of varying degrees of technical knowledge whose recipes are basically a re-hash of what has already come before, with some slight variation at best.....)

And the reason for my irritation? It's simple - I don't know why, but it seems that in the anglophone parts of the world this distinction between cooking as an Art or a Craft has become completely confused, with sometimes dire results. The process is increasingly viewed as some kind of mystical alchemy, rather than as a precise science, and cooks are encouraged to think of themselves as 'creative beings' rather than as technicians. With an artistic temperament, to match, if a lot of the blah-blah surrounding celebrity chefdom is to be believed. And the end result of all of this is an increasing preponderance of restaurants where the menu is crammed with unrecognisable combinations of things in dishes you've never heard of, and which you're expected to eat with an attitude of hushed reverence for the creative genius behind the whole questionable process. Whilst in Greece, you can go out to dinner with a confident expectation of finding avgolemono soup on the menu, if that's what you want, or in Italy, if your taste is for Spaghetti Carbonara, you can find it........or Paella in Spain, or Tête de Veau in France.........in Britain or the USA, however, you're more likely to be confronted with a 'galaxy' of this, or a 'medley' of that, and end up dubiously picking at an unsuccessful marriage of greengages with Venison, or Wasabi & Campari Sorbet! Heaven forfend that the Chef should actually offer a traditional dish that might also appear on somebody else's menu somewhere else - but with the confidence that his version will bear critical comparison - and the whole experience ends up being a combination of purple prose, over-ambitious egos, and poor food.....

I blame the dead hand of celebrity chefdom, which has encouraged every restaurant cook to see themselves as the future Gordon or Emeril or Jamie, and so rush to distinguish themselves with the creation of 'signature dishes' which, quite frankly, just don't work. Ok, other countries have their foolishness too, like Gualtiero Marchesi with his Gold Leaf Risotto, or El Bulli's 'smoke' souffle - but you're more likely in those countries also to find myriad restaurants where the dishes being produced are an exact replica of what was learned from the generation before, and the generation before that. Which is as it should be.

There's nothing wrong with being a technician rather than an artist, and better an expert technician any day than a lousy artist!

Tonight's Dinner:

Tartes aux Moules

Bistecchie di Maiale, with Cannelini Beans cooked with Pancetta and Sage

Mango Ice Cream

Recipe: Chicken Liver Terrine

This is definitely a recipe for this time of year - partly because of its hearty-trencherman-fare-keeping-out-the-cold quality, and partly because we're approaching the period when suddenly you find you have an extra three or four (or five or six) bodies for lunch or dinner, especially during that ramshackle period between Christmas and the New Year, when a rather more ad-hoc approach to meals becomes the order of the day, and a terrine of this kind in the fridge will definitely come in handy. I know it seems ridiculously early to be mentioning Christmas, but in fact this is a dish which should be kept for at least two weeks before being eaten, and is fine at three and even four weeks, too. I suspect it would last even longer, if necessary, but I've never been in a position to find out - over time, the flavours strengthen, and as the terrine dehydrates, it becomes firmer and therefore easier to serve. Whenever I come across them, I read with derision the cautious comments from Health and Safety 'experts' that a terrine can be kept for several days .......with clearly no knowledge whatsoever that in in the past, the whole purpose of this kind of dish was specifically in order to be able to feed off it during the winter months; it falls within the same category effectively as dried sausage and cured ham...(which is a whole different story, and one for another day)

For Twelve.

Ingredients: 7 tablespoons Cognac; 3 tablespoons Port; 3 tablespoons Sherry; 2 cloves Garlic, minced; half a Cup of finely chopped fresh Parsley; 1 level teaspoon of dried Thyme; 1 pinch of Nutmeg; 1 level teaspoon of Sugar; 2 heaped teaspoons of Salt; a dozen grinds of Pepper from the mill; 500g Chicken Livers, roughly cut up (check to see that there are no 'green' bits that need to be removed - but frankly, I can't remember the last time I had to do this, given the quality of livers now generally sold); 200g Pork, cut into 1cm x 2 cm dice (you can use either Pork belly for this, or a Pork Steak or piece of loin - whatever is most readily available); 200g minced Pork or Veal; 200g rindless Bacon, for lining the terrine mould (or I use slices of Pancetta for this, if I'm making it in Italy).

Method:

1. Combine Cognac, Port, Sherry, Garlic, Parsley, Thyme, Nutmeg, Sugar, Salt and Pepper in a large bowl. Add Chicken Livers, diced Pork and Sausage meat, and stir with a fork to mix thoroughly. (At this stage, Michel Guérard, whose recipe this was before I mucked around with it for my own purposes, would have you let everything stand for at least 24 hours before proceeding. I see no point in this: if you are leaving the terrine for a week or so before eating it, the flavours will mingle perfectly at that stage, when the texture of the terrine is also sorting itself out).

2. Line the terrine mould* with slices of Bacon or Pancetta, making sure you leave enough over to be able to cover the top of the terrine once all the ingredients have been added.

3. Fill the prepared mould with the Meat mixture, then cover the top with the remaining slices of Bacon or Pancetta. Bake in a bain marie, in a 220 degree C oven, for one and a half hours, uncovered. The top will become a deep crispy brown, and the smell as it cooks will fill the entire house!

* Although for years I've lusted after one of those porcelain terrines with a lid, none has ever actually come my way, and generally, I've made do with a succession of loaf tins for this purpose; recently I graduated to a Le Creuset silicone terrine mould, which worked wonderfully until I stupidly managed to put the tip of a knife through the side of it. It has since been replaced.....but take note of the fragility of this particular piece of kit!

And a Pisan Day......

Raining. It often does here - which begs the question why all those Inglesi consumptives arrived in the nineteenth century, in search of warm dry air for their damaged lungs. One of the standard local sights is the senegalese street vendors, who manage somehow - and instantaneously - to switch their stock-in-trade from CDs and cigarette lighters to all kinds of umbrellas at the first sign of a raindrop. Impressive. And because it's such a common occurrence, the Pisani don't let it put them off their stride one bit, but just carry on as normal, except with the protection of large umbrellas. Borgo Stretto and the marketplace in Via Cavalca are transformed into a version of that impressionist painting Les Parapluies - Renoir, I think - with a multitude of the things thronging the streets, all in bright colours and every kind of stripe and tartan and pattern you could imagine.

To Maurizio, for a Pork Loin. I stood and watched as he expertly boned and rolled it - something that almost never happens in a butchers in London, where you rarely get to see work like that actually being done, and in fact the butchers on show are really only acting as shop assistants. His speed and efficiency is almost balletic, there is no wastage whatsoever in the process, and the delicacy with which he strings the boned loin makes me embarrassed to think of the ham-fisted way I tie up similar cuts of meat at home, when I've had to open them up to stuff them!

Then to Antonella for Radicchio and Apples. She talks me into the mutant Radicchio - the one which has chaotic, primeval-looking tendrils rather than the more normal round or long variety - on the basis that it has a much more assertive bitter-sweet flavour than the others. She's right - but they also cost a lot more, so the choice isn't as obvious as you'd think.

And finally to Claudia, where I'm briefly tempted from my planned purchase of Casarecci by the mountain of deep yellow Pappardelle she's serving to the signora two ahead of me in the queue, and I consider the option of Pappardelle with some of her wonderful ragu, the sight of a bowl of which in the vitrina has my mouth watering. I have plenty of time to ponder, as the elderly lady before me is having trouble understanding the euro coinage - even after all this time, it isn't unusual to see people of that age who haven't managed to get their heads around the move away from the lira - and in the end Claudia accepts a handful of small change in settlement of a larger bill, in order to help her out. And by that time, I've decided to resist temptation, and to stick to the original Casarecci plan. Tomorrow is another day, after all......

Back home, for the first - and very welcome- cappuccino of the morning, and to put a batch of almonds into the oven to roast. If the rain eases off, then I can get out into the garden to clean the leaves from the lily pond, and to plant Hyacinth and Narcissus bulbs in pots for the terrace...and if not, then it's a question of hunkering down beside the fire, and attacking the remainder of this year's Booker longlist.

The Brancolis will be here for dinner this evening, and to spend the night, passing through en route to the airport, as they depart until early next spring. It should be a bucolic affair.....

Tonight's dinner:

Casarecci, with melted Butter and Parmesan

Pork Loin, pot roast with Radicchio, Pancetta and Garlic

Tartes aux Pommes - served with cream (as long as the luggage which was yesterday kidnapped by Gatwick baggage handlers actually turns upon this afternoon's flight!)

A London Day.......

Glorious sunshine, a hard, crisp frost, and an intensely blue sky. The four-footeds love it, and spent a deliriously happy half hour first thing in the morning running around chest-deep in the piles of autumn leaves in Kensington Gardens - much of which stayed attached to their coats and was transferred indoors in due course, to be discovered subsequently in every corner, and behind every chair. No squirrels left to chase at this time of year, but plenty of opportunity to lose yet another tennis ball (the third in a fortnight!).....

Leaving the dogs dozing contentedly in front of the fire, we then set off for Buckingham Palace - not the front door, but the side one, for another visit to the outstandingly good exhibition of the best renaissance pictures from HM's collection. Impossible to recommend it highly enough. My parents traveled up to Town for the occasion, and it was no hardship to accompany them to the gallery for a second bite at this particular cherry. Del Sarto, Giulio Romano, Titian, a particularly beautiful little Mazzolino, even a Vasari which I liked ( normally I wouldn't)......and the overall quality so spectacular that it even prompted a degree of relative sniffiness about the Parmigianinos and Corregios..Yes, it really is that good!

Thereafter, to Elizabeth Street, for lunch in the Ebury Wine Bar.

Elizabeth Street these days has become something of a second-mortgage food mecca: Jeroboams, for outrageously expensive cheese, has come to rest there (I remember when Juliet Harbutt first opened it in South Kensington in the eighties, and it was a wonderful discovery, and became a regular stopping-off point on a Saturday morning, ......), and Baker & Spice has also finished up there, having left Walton Street and spent a rather odd, but brief, period in the doldrums just off Sloane Avenue. Still staffed by braying Sloanes, doubtless.....but their puff pastry (sold uncooked, in large slabs) has always been exceptionally good. Then, a few doors down is the retail outlet for The Chocolate Society, with a quaker-ish simplicity that makes the place look like an offshoot of the WI - difficult to square it with the famously irascible Alan Porter, whose dream-child the Society initially was, and whom I remember from numerous chocolate events in various countries in the nineties. And I notice that Poilane ....which surely has to be the most expensive bread shop in the World...has now opened a shop just along from Baker & Spice. The Duchess of Devonshire used to have a shop here to sell surplus produce from the Chatsworth Estate, but I expect the rent ended up being too much for the Devonshire coffers!

And nestled amongst all this edible treasure trove is the Elizabeth Street Clinic (for four-footeds) which has quite different connotations - it was here that an earlier four-footed was rushed as an emergency case one Sunday evening, several decades ago, when, as a puppy, she'd jumped out of a third floor window in Cornwall Gardens and caused serious damage both to herself and to a Mercedes parked outside - both equally badly dented in the process.
I recall going to pick her up the next day, when she was out of surgery and clamouring to go home, and I walked her carefully along Elizabeth street, a sticking plaster rakishly adorning her forehead; even that experience didn't dim the allure of the contents of the rubbish bins, so I suspect that we were talking good quality scraps even in those days. Always a dog of great discernment, that one......

Tonight's Dinner:

Crab-cakes, with Lime Mayonnaise

Roast Lamb (back to Italy tomorrow, so making the most of the opportunity); braised Celery

Chocolate & Hazelnut Mousse

Recipe: Tiger Prawns with Mango....

This came from Raymond Blanc, during his post-heart-attack period when he was concentrating on recipes that got the thumbs up from pretty much anybody whose attitude to food was significantly health-focused. Lots of fish, and natural oils, and low fat. His splendid recipe for smoked salmon with a warm dressing of cucumber and scallions and chili pepper, served over creamed shallots comes from the same collection, and is equally unusual and good. As I recall, in none of those recipes did he put a foot wrong, and was surprisingly successful at meeting both the healthy-eating and gourmet challenges at the same time.
The other plus for this particular recipe is that it's another one that can be done pretty much from start to finish within fifteen minutes, which definitely gets my vote.

For two.

Ingredients: a dozen peeled but uncooked Tiger Prawns; 4 Shallots, finely diced; 1 oz of Butter; 1 medium sized ripe Mango, stoned, peeled and cut into half-centimetre dice; 1 tablespoon of Sugar; 3 tablespoons of Red Wine Vinegar; 1 bunch of Rocket (about the same volume as a Cabbage); 1 tablespoon of Olive Oil; Salt, to taste.

Method:

1. Melt the Butter in a sauté pan, and sweat the diced Shallot in it for about five minutes, until the Shallot has completely collapsed - but don't let it colour!

2. Add the diced Mango, Sugar, and Vinegar and keep cooking over medium heat for several minutes.

3. Meanwhile, heat the Oil in a separate pan, and fry the Prawns in it over high heat, turning them as they colour. Once done, remove the Prawns to a heated plate, and tip the Rocket into the hot pan. Cook stirring continuously, for a minute or two, to wilt the Rocket thoroughly.

4. Using a serving ring, divide the cooked ingredients between heated serving plates, with a layer of Mango & Shallot at the bottom, then a layer of wilted Rocket, and finally place the cooked Prawns on top. (If you don't have a serving ring then just follow the same process anyway - it won't affect the flavour of the dish, but will just give you a slightly less slick presentation).

It came as a shock....

...to the great and the good in the culinary firmament when, earlier this year, Truffle Oil was exposed as a fake! Some boffins in a laboratory, somewhere, had worked out how to replicate Bis-(Methylthio)methane, which is apparently responsible for a significant part of making truffles what they are, and it is this artificial compound which accounts for the truffle quality in almost all commercially available truffle oil. If you think about it, bottles of truffle oil almost never - possibly never, in fact - include 'truffle' in their list of contents, but instead refer airily to 'truffle flavour' or 'truffle aroma'. Which is about on a par with the reference to 'Lemon Aroma' that you find on the back of the bleach bottle, the content of which you can be absolutely certain has never come within a million miles of a piece of citrus fruit!

The news about Bis-(Methylthio)methane apparently caused great consternation in restaurant kitchens across the western world, and for a while there was nothing to be seen but white tocques wilting in despair. Or else bristling with outrage, as their owners vowed never to use this mendacious substance ever again. Which is just silly. They'd been perfectly happy to use it the day before, and the substance on their pantry shelves hadn't mysteriously been de-natured by the discovery that it contained only artificially produced Bis-(Methylthio)methane, as opposed to the naturally occurring version. It was also a bit dim, if you think about it, since anybody who has been buying truffle oil over the past twenty years would be only too aware that over that period the bottle sizes have got progressively larger, and the price of the stuff has gone through the floor. It used to be the case that truffle oil came in miniature glass bottles, as though it was Chanel No. 5 - and with a price to match! These days, I have to look twice to make sure I haven't taken from the rack walnut oil in mistake for truffle oil, since they now come in equally large containers. And since the price of truffles has remained as stratospheric as ever, then it doesn't take Einstein to suspect that something must be up!

But, frankly, how much does it actually matter? The addition of truffle oil to scrambled eggs, or porcini risotto, or a Beef Strudel, or a few drops in a salad dressing is a great thing, and unless we strike oil (the black kind) in the back garden, then I'm unlikely ever to be in a position to replace truffle oil with shavings of the real thing. So, as a way of introducing truffle flavour, I'm quite happy to rely on the artificial version..........and although you could never mistake it for the real thing, it's certainly a better option than having nothing at all. It's very similar to the relationship between Vanilla Essence and Vanilla Bean - even the best essence (90% of all production of which, by the way, has no natural Vanilla in it whatsoever, according to the people from Slow Food) is only ever a poor cousin to the real thing, but it still quite clearly has its uses.

And when it comes to Truffles, the real thing is just incomparable. Musty, and intoxicating , and feromonal and quite wonderful. In Cammillo, where they currently charge four euros per gramme, a splendid piece of theatre is played out, where a small set of scales is brought to the table, and the truffle is solemnly weighed before the customer's eyes before being carefully shaved over whatever dish it is they're having, and it is then solemnly re-weighed afterwards to show exactly how much has been served.
Although, I challenge anybody to be able to concentrate on the read-out of a set of scales when they have a dish before them, the aroma of which is enough to fog the senses of even the most mentally acute!

Tonight's Dinner

Beef & Porcini Strudel (including Truffle Oil!), with Porcini Cream sauce

Pork Loin, roast with Mustard & Herbs; Turnip Gratin

Orange Crêpes, stuffed with Caramelised Pear.