Day Five: Best Meal

Day Five: Best Meal

I’ve had plenty of good food in my life. I’m lucky enough to have wonderful chefs as friends, fellow foodie lovers and plenty of restaurants to visit in almost every city I’ve visited. I’ve eaten handmade dumplings with native herbs in New Caledonia, slow-cooked Merino lamb on the side of the mountain, wild venison I shot and butchered myself cooked into a lemon myrtle and chocolate venison pie. I’ve devoured Mark Southon’s pork and puha, along with anything he’s ever made – all delicious but nothing compares to the fresh made habanero mustard on smoked BBQ. Fraser Shenton’s treatment of seafood still inspires me after a single lunch in 2016. Matt Lambert’s degustation at The Musket Room in New York remains a highlight, particularly eating off the green egg in the backyard garden of the restaurant. And in November, I can’t wait to taste more of Sid Sahrawat’s magic now that he and Chand have taken over The French Café. Travel to a city in the world and I’ll give you my list of recommendations compiled from the travellers, cooks, food writers and food lovers I trust most.

But a good dish and a good meal are not the same. I’ve eaten baked beans on toast with melted cheddar on top and felt the joy of laughter, simplicity and friends. I’ve sat cross-legged for the Passover Seder and eaten the maror; the bitter herbs and overcooked lamb but smiled and taken my fill of the sincere prayers. There is an element of ritual in a good meal that you cannot find in food alone. 

The sacred ritual of a good meal means a spacious table with cosy seating; a place people can be comfortable to sit and take their time over a meal. There are copious glasses – for water, wine and aperitifs. There is noise, perhaps the pre-requisite; either a table full of people or a room full of strangers or simply a noisy heart, but there must be noise. Scrape of knife on plate, clink of glass against glass, laughter and the dull swoosh of a napkin and crumbs falling to the floor. More laughter. Silence in between mouthfuls, followed by an intense volley of eye contact, smiles and chewing around the table; when food evokes another layer of pleasure on top of pleasure derived from the company. Finally, the ritual is complete when plates are surreptitiously swiped clean with fingers that meet lips and then stacked. The table cloth splashed with wine; that final special bottle opened from the cupboard.

 Sometimes, you look up from the best meal you’ve ever had and realise the restaurant has closed around you and the chefs are sitting at the table with you. Sometimes you realise it’s 2am in the morning and your dinner guests are going to need to sleep in the guest room or scattered over the couch. Occasionally, after the best meal you’ve ever had, you clean up after breakfast and start preparing ribs for the slow cooker because someone else is coming for dinner.

 There’s no such thing at the best meal, it’s just one that follows on from the next – it’s the always accessible magic of bringing together the elements of table, space, time, food, attention. The best meal I ever had and that I dine from frequently is the way my heart feeds on the intentionality of nourishment with people I care about.

The Beauty of Baking Bread.

The Beauty of Baking Bread.

I remember making a cake from packet mix when I was about 9 years old, in the matchbox kitchen of the shoebox unit we lived in with our mother. There was little room for improvisation with the recipe, I mean, really, adding a couple of eggs and some butter was hardly going to rocket this cake to memorial status. So recently intrigued by how adding food colouring to nearly any batter produced colour without flavour, I added red and blue to the cake and coloured the icing green. My brain still recalls that it tasted of blueberry vanilla. In fact, it was just vanilla. Purple and green vanilla cake. I thought it was hilarious.

So, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve come to this baking thing late in life. I remember various transgressions on my part through my early cooking years – a gunmetal grey F16 fighter jet birthday cake, flat scones, burst muffins and soggy pastry. I’ve no shame in admitting that I’ll happily use someone else’s guaranteed store-bought pastry to be assured of success in recent years. Now pies, tarts, you name it – leave my kitchen to happy homes and happy bellies. Baking has been a skill to master, a challenge to conquer even if cheating is required.

Bread, however, is another story. I like making it. I like that every dough is slightly different. I love the sound it makes hitting on the bowl as it changes through each stage. I love that it takes hours, consumes your attention. I’m yet to make a bread starter of my own, but the idea of a living starter of my own allures me with it’s ancient artistry.

Bread makes no pretenses about it’s demand for your attention, nor does it have any qualms asking to be left alone. It can be as individual as paint colours in final textures, finishes, flavours. I especially like that bread dough can look like a failure for the first 15 minutes, until the glutens hit their stride and transform into something moreish and chewy. It reminds me of people – you have to learn how to judge the moment and not beat them down too much, too soon and sometimes to just hold on a little longer.

Bread doesn’t need much adornment to satisfy you, either. Nothing more than a little oil or butter to be shown in it’s best light. Again, like the best people – in their simplest form, they are complete.

I like that bread is often best made in batches, not in single loaves. Worth sharing. Better for sharing. And while bread will bide time overnight if necessary, from the moment yeast hits water a process of inevitability has begun. Rise a little, rise a lot – so long as the yeast is alive, then your bread will come to life too. The cycle begins and then it continues.

Bread is simple, honest, universal and yet, personal because all bread eventually is finished by hand, prodded into shape.

Bread reminds me of people – you have to learn how to judge the moment and not beat them down too much or just hold on a little longer before giving up.

Bread is a lot like humans. We are all better off with a little interaction, a little time invested, a little hope holding on, a little belief and anticipation of the end result. Some of the best bread is finished in a fire, but it’s all good bread. Time is the best thing you can do for us. Time to prove. Time to rest, time to rise to the occasion.

The loaves I’m making today have an awkward beginning. You throw everything together* (see below) into a stand mixer and then beat it to within an inch of it’s life. For the first 20 minutes, it looks like a lumpy pancake batter, too wet to hold together and not remotely resembling any other dough I make.

A lot of folks would give up on this recipe about then, but you have to have faith that it will come together. Put aside how you expected it to happen and just watch it, beating on and on. Eventually something magic happens and the threads of gluten start to pull away from the bowl and follow the finger pulling them. The grip of the dough swings from the side of the bowl to your hand, with more of a desire to cling to itself than to a foreign object. And then you leave it, in an oiled dish – just a little oil to help it out and make it more comfortable you might say.

Let it sit, rest and rise – a few hours at least, then slide it gently to the floured bench, cut into four pieces, dust with cornmeal and leave to prove for another 45mins. Then and only then, pull and prod it into the oblong shape you want, dimple the top slightly with your fingertips, little dimples of love. Finish it for 25mins in a searingly hot oven (really 220 degress celsius for the first ten minutes, then 180). Mist it with water or oil until the crust is firm and crunchy, with a resonant hollow note when you tap the base.

It will make 4 loaves, 1 to eat, 1 to keep and 2 to share. Bread has a funny way of filling your house with warm, toasty fragrance and making your belly happy. It’s a wonderful excuse to fill a house with people too, people eating together, using their hands.

*Recipe:
500g bread flour or 350g bread flour + 150g semolina flour
500ml warm water
15g salt
15g active dried yeast

 

Bread & Wine.

Bread & Wine.

The Whiskey Mac-Gill
1 part irish whiskey (Jamesons)
1 part green ginger wine (Stones)
Fresh squeezed lime or lemon juice (preference): 1 whole fruit = 4 serves.

Pour over a ‘cup’ of ice cubes, blend.
Serve over two slices of lemon or lime, top up with lemonade (sparkling or homemade).
Make it southern-style by adding fresh chopped mint to the blender, or muddling after.

Chicken
Legs, deboned, stuffed with pork, pistachios, plenty of italian flat-leaf parsley, plenty of thyme. Wrapped in streaky bacon, seasoned well, then poached for 20 – 25mins. Chill for 30 mins. Then pan fry til bacon crispy, slice and serve.
(Original stuffed chicken recipe from Gordon Ramsey, slightly modified).

I serve with:

wild mushroom & garlic risotto and fresh asparagus, blanched and peppered
or
spring vegetables (mushrooms, zucchini, asparagus & onion)in white wine pepper cream.

For a spicier, Oriental twist, use cashews, coriander and chillis in the stuffing, along with a little ginger. Then serve on simple asian noodles of choice with green beans, capsicum slivers and bamboo in salty sweet chilli sauce.

Lamb
Take individual lamb loin or a small roast, split through the middle and stuff with feta, plenty of basil and capers. Add a little pepper and olive oil. Tie with cotton string so that the meat closes well over the cheese. Season the outside of the lamb with olive oil, salt, pepper, just a little ground chilli powder and crushed garlic. Sear on each side (about 4 mins), seasoning each side. Then roast in the oven for approx 25mins. Always let the meat rest for a few minutes before slicing.

Serve with roasted vegetables – I chose red peppers, vine-ripened tomatoes, asparagus, zucchini and green beans.

*I think it’s really important to eat seasonally – so what’s locally available is always a good (and usually cheaper) way to go.

Roasted Vegetables
The key to success here is roasting to taste.. I like to put them in a high heat bake oven and then switch it to grill to crisp up when the texture is just right. I put the capsicum & tomatoes in at the beginning, well salted, with olive oil and pepper too. Then adding the zucchini, followed by the asparagus and green beans (which are blanched first). Just roll the additional vegetables in the oil you used for the capsicum and tomatoes, seasoning as you go. Perfecto. If you add the vegetables about the same time as the lamb – you’ll be perfect.

*I served the asparagus whole, the green beans in two-inch lengths. The capsicum in eighths, the zucchini in 1cm wide diagonal slices.

**Any variation of the following would also work well – whole field mushrooms, whole garlic cloves, eggplant slices, broccolini.

Roasted Vegetable Pasta
If you were roasting the above vegetables with garlic cloves and mushrooms – another great way to serve an easy and light summer lunch is cooking off some angelhair pasta or tagiatelli, then adding your bite-sized roasted vegetables with plenty of fresh basil, salt, pepper and garlic. Delicious.

Beer Bread
An easy and aromatic way to consume your favourite brews.
2 cups self raising flour
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon sugar
a drizzle of good quality olive oil
about 250ml of a good beer

Mix together until a good dough is formed – add more of whatever it needs – flour or beer, until you have a workable dough. Then form it into whatever shape loaf you prefer. You can use a tin but I prefer free form, sometimes braided etc. Bake for an hour at medium heat oven. When it’s crusty and hollow-sounding, you have a great loaf.

The consistency is a little different than normal bread – and you could make this loaf wholemeal easily. I prefer the darker ales for the aromatic content – I recently made it with a renaissance Porter ale. Delicious. Great to toast and serve with soul or another light meal.

Spanish Mushrooms & Chorizo
Inspired by one of my favourite bars, Mezze in Durham Lane, this is so simple, yet one of my favourite things on the menu. It’s perfect served with hummus on beer bread.

1 chorizo per serve (sliced diagonally, thinly)
150g mushrooms per person (button is fine, quartered)
fresh basil
fresh garlic, crushed or finely chopped

Saute off the garlic and chorizo until the chorizo is crispy. Then add the mushrooms and saute til they are crispy. Add a dash of wine (honestly, just a splash) then a dash of either sour cream or cream. The various flavours will mix together well – add the torn fresh basil and a touch of pepper to taste.

Serve as a tapa or main over toasted bread or fresh greens.