It was the Jewish New Year recently, a family holiday requiring two different menus on two nights. This year I went for a mix of traditional & eclectic (for me), that is a combination of old favorites & recipes from one of my Jewish cookbooks: La cuisine juive maroccaine, by Rivka Levy-Mellul. The whole family was present for these meals, plus some friends, so the amounts are for 8-10 people.
Menu first night:
Lamb tajine with couscous
Traditionally a tajine is cooked in a clayware dish, but a non-stick pot with a tight fitting lid does well enough.
2 kilos of sliced lamb (preferably shoulder or leg if not worried about kosherness)
200 g pitted prunes
100 g raisins
100 g almonds
2 onions
2 carrots (optional)
1 turnip (optional)
cinnamon, ginger, curcuma, nutmeg to spice
sugar
Layer into slightly oiled pot sliced onions, lamb, prunes & raisins.
Sprinkle with the spices. Cover with a little water.
Bring to a boil, then simmer for about 2 hours or until tender. Add water if necessary.
During the last 15 minutes add the sliced almonds coated with cinnamon & sugar. Set some aside to sprinkle on the couscous before serving.
Menu second night:
Roast chicken stuffed with dates
1 large chicken
500 g pitted dates
100 g almonds
3 onions
juice 1 lemon
honey or sugar
cinnamon, nutmeg, saffron
Soak dates 1 hour in lemon juice.
Mix spices with honey or sugar.
Sauté onions in olive oil.
Stuff dates individually with an almond. Mix in onions & spices.
Stuff the chicken with the mixture. Rub saffron into the chicken, salt & pepper to taste.
Add remaining onions to the roasting dish. Cook on medium heat an hour or so.
Serve with the carmalised onions on top.
Roast chicken with bread stuffing & potatoes
1 large chicken
1 branch of celery
50 g roast pine nuts
3-4 slices of day old bread
1 large onion
sage & tarragon
1 kg potatoes
white wine
Roast pine nuts, set aside. Sauté diced onion, add thinly sliced celery, set aside. Heat the bread chunks in the sauté pan. Mix these ingredients together, add dash of white wine, salt & pepper.
Slice potatoes thickly, layer bottom of roasting pan. Stuff chicken then place on the potatoes.
Cover all with some olive oil & white wine, add the sage & tarragon to chicken & potatoes. Put in oven for about an hour.
Both the chickens were accompanied by a salad of fresh greens & herbs.
Showing posts with label lamb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lamb. Show all posts
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Saturday, 13 June 2009
LAMB SOBA
In a recent facebook chat I had with Karen she told me that there are now quite a few New Zealanders reading her blog. Neither of us have ever been there, so most of our brief discussion on the issue was about what your typical Kiwi is like, and decided that it must be something a bit like an Aussie, only not so tan. Trevor is allegedly a Kiwi, but I'll believe that when he teaches us how to make a proper meat pie.
So anyways, this post is kind of a shout out to New Zealanders, who have the world's highest per capita consumption of lamb (57 lb. per year, compared to 8 lb. per year in France and 0.8 lb. per year in the U.S.) and may encounter this culinary challenge more frequently than anyone else: after making leg of lamb, I'm left with pan drippings that are just too easily converted into a dark jus (or broth, if you prefer) deep with roast lamb flavor. What can I do with it? Gravy? I suppose, but who uses gravy with lamb? It's a bit too flavorful to use as a liquid for risotto or minestrone—anything made with this stuff will taste like roast lamb. After making a pot this singularly lamb-y liquid the other day I had the idea of "lamb soba"—which is kind of weird, considering that the Japanese are not generally big fans of lamb and make Americans look like lamb-oholics.
But why not? Soba are noodles made from buckwheat flour. They are dark and tasty and chewy—just the thing to stand up to the lamb broth. I made a run to a Japanese supermarket and picked up a packet of fresh soba, some enoki mushrooms, green onions, and a packet of mentaiko (spicy cod roe). I also added slices from the rarest part of the leftover lamb leg—close to the bone. The result, shown below, was a successful experiment.
Ramen noodles might have been an even better choice, or maybe I think this because I just like ramen over soba as a personal preference. But given that I was building a noodle dish around the robust lamb jus, I figured that if there were a "right time" for soba this was it.
The broth in its natural state tasted adequately salty, but paired with the soba its salt content would seem insufficient. Soba noodles require more intense flavoring, which is why they're usually slurped after dipping into a soy sauce-type of liquid. I added some soy sauce to this broth before plating, but even this would not be enough. Simply eaten from any broth these noodles would taste underseasoned, and this is why I incorporated the mentaiko, which is quite salty. What I didn't anticipate was that it's kind of difficult to separate the eggs from the skein of the salted ovaries so that they could be distributed throughout the bowl. It required a bit of conscious effort to have some cod roe in with every bite of soba, but doing this was the key to having adequate salt in each mouthful of noodles. Had I used ramen, the addition of mentaiko would not have been as necessary, though I think salted fish eggs are a worthy addition to any food!
If anyone has suggestions of other uses of the lamb jus (besides French dip sandwiches--hey do you even have them in France? what do you call it, "le dip sandwich"?), please let me know.
So anyways, this post is kind of a shout out to New Zealanders, who have the world's highest per capita consumption of lamb (57 lb. per year, compared to 8 lb. per year in France and 0.8 lb. per year in the U.S.) and may encounter this culinary challenge more frequently than anyone else: after making leg of lamb, I'm left with pan drippings that are just too easily converted into a dark jus (or broth, if you prefer) deep with roast lamb flavor. What can I do with it? Gravy? I suppose, but who uses gravy with lamb? It's a bit too flavorful to use as a liquid for risotto or minestrone—anything made with this stuff will taste like roast lamb. After making a pot this singularly lamb-y liquid the other day I had the idea of "lamb soba"—which is kind of weird, considering that the Japanese are not generally big fans of lamb and make Americans look like lamb-oholics.
But why not? Soba are noodles made from buckwheat flour. They are dark and tasty and chewy—just the thing to stand up to the lamb broth. I made a run to a Japanese supermarket and picked up a packet of fresh soba, some enoki mushrooms, green onions, and a packet of mentaiko (spicy cod roe). I also added slices from the rarest part of the leftover lamb leg—close to the bone. The result, shown below, was a successful experiment.
Ramen noodles might have been an even better choice, or maybe I think this because I just like ramen over soba as a personal preference. But given that I was building a noodle dish around the robust lamb jus, I figured that if there were a "right time" for soba this was it.
The broth in its natural state tasted adequately salty, but paired with the soba its salt content would seem insufficient. Soba noodles require more intense flavoring, which is why they're usually slurped after dipping into a soy sauce-type of liquid. I added some soy sauce to this broth before plating, but even this would not be enough. Simply eaten from any broth these noodles would taste underseasoned, and this is why I incorporated the mentaiko, which is quite salty. What I didn't anticipate was that it's kind of difficult to separate the eggs from the skein of the salted ovaries so that they could be distributed throughout the bowl. It required a bit of conscious effort to have some cod roe in with every bite of soba, but doing this was the key to having adequate salt in each mouthful of noodles. Had I used ramen, the addition of mentaiko would not have been as necessary, though I think salted fish eggs are a worthy addition to any food!
If anyone has suggestions of other uses of the lamb jus (besides French dip sandwiches--hey do you even have them in France? what do you call it, "le dip sandwich"?), please let me know.
Friday, 22 May 2009
Definitely NOT a light lunch ...
I can still remember, when we first turned up in France about 20 years ago, buying my first Savoyard cookbook. One of the things that struck my fancy was (page 273), "Les Pets de Nonne": nuns farts. Deep-fried fritters flavoured with orange-flower water, basically, but from the name I'd always imagined something sort of ethereal, light and fluffy ... every time I've tried to make them they've turned out heavy and lumpen, which I suppose is in fact closer to how they'd really be, given what a nun's diet is supposed to be - I think my deep-frier is just not hot enough. And yet I can make great doughnuts. I can see I'll have to go and upgrade my stove, get one of the Rosières jobs with the built-in deep-fryers that can go up to 300° - in my dreams.
In any case, setting aside these farty delights, what I really wanted to talk about was cassoulet. Not, I must admit, a light dish - certainly not one I'd plan on for a summer lunch. But for dinner, with a good Chateauneuf du Pape, it's hard to beat. And you don't even need a salad to go with it.
On the other hand, given that you simply cannot make cassoulet in any quantity other than what can be loosely described as gargantuan, you will need a very large dish or dishes to stick the stuff in. And an oven that'll hold them. I have one of those enormous German earthenware dishes for doing chicken and things - a Strummelwotsit, or a Strewelthingy - and by using both the top and the bottom halves I usually manage to fit everything in.
Anyway, cassoulet is one of those things where there are at least 500 recipes, each of which is the only true and traditional one. According to someone, anyway. Some call for goose only, no lamb - others banish our piggy friend from the menu. According to one, if you stick other than duck in you'll be excommunicated - go straight to hell, do not pass redemption. And I swear that I've seen one that called for putting lobster in, which in my opinion is definitely a sin of the worst order, meriting extermination. With buzzy noises.
My take on cassoulet is quite simple and I'm open to anything, except lobster. Start, anyway, the night before the feast with 500gm of dried white beans, stick then in a bowl - preferably large enough to hold them, if not it gets messy - and cover them with water. Then leave them like that for twelve hours or so. You could go and have a drink, they're unlikely to be going anywhere by themselves.
The next day, when you stumble bleary-eyed downstairs (or trip over the cat, for those of you that aren't blessed with the privilege of having stairs that actively try to kill you), you could probably drain and rinse the beans. They won't thank you for it, but they'll smell better.
Then, once you feel up to it, take a large saucepan and fry up some bacon in it (yeah, the home-cured stuff ...) and when that's smelling good have a large orange juice and eat some of the bacon before adding two coarsely-chopped onions and some (lots) garlic. When that's all gone transparent and smelling lovely it's time to stick in 2 (two) 200gm tins of peeled tomatoes and mash them up with a fork. A glass of white wine is also a good idea, and don't forget to stick another glass of it into the saucepan.
Add the beans, just enough water (or wine, if you've got any left - at this hour of the day you should have) to cover, thyme, basil - whatever, and let simmer for about an hour and a half. Or so. It's not that important. Then turn it off and let it consider the error of its ways, whilst you go and have lunch. I'd recommend something light, like a slice of stale bread and half a glass of water, considering what's in store.
OK, it's mid-afternoon and the beans should still be sloshy. Now you need to fry up at least:
Now it's simplicity itself: mix the beans and the meat and the fat and the juice, stick it into whatever you've got that's big enough to hold it and go into the oven (I told you I used both halves of my pottery thingy), sprinkle with breadcrumbs and chopped garlic, and stick in the oven on low. It's going to be cooking for about 4 hours, so open another bottle while you wait.
According to tradition (that is if you're making a traditional Toulousain cassoulet, which this isn't) you should stir the breadcrumbs in under the surface seven times during cooking: I can't be arsed, and no-one seems to worry. About an hour before the thing is done, bung in half a dozen good pork sausages - smoked if you've got'em. Just poke them in under the breadcrumbs. If it's drying out too much, add more wine. Or water. Whatever.
It's ready when everything is tender and it smells yummy. It also serves about ten people, with seconds, and probably leftovers. A simple green salad is more than enough with this - and bread, of course.
Oh, I hope you really really like beans. Our kids don't, but then they don't like choucroute either, which means they're on the direct route for the nether pits of hell. On the bright side, we'll probably get visiting rights.
In any case, setting aside these farty delights, what I really wanted to talk about was cassoulet. Not, I must admit, a light dish - certainly not one I'd plan on for a summer lunch. But for dinner, with a good Chateauneuf du Pape, it's hard to beat. And you don't even need a salad to go with it.
On the other hand, given that you simply cannot make cassoulet in any quantity other than what can be loosely described as gargantuan, you will need a very large dish or dishes to stick the stuff in. And an oven that'll hold them. I have one of those enormous German earthenware dishes for doing chicken and things - a Strummelwotsit, or a Strewelthingy - and by using both the top and the bottom halves I usually manage to fit everything in.
Anyway, cassoulet is one of those things where there are at least 500 recipes, each of which is the only true and traditional one. According to someone, anyway. Some call for goose only, no lamb - others banish our piggy friend from the menu. According to one, if you stick other than duck in you'll be excommunicated - go straight to hell, do not pass redemption. And I swear that I've seen one that called for putting lobster in, which in my opinion is definitely a sin of the worst order, meriting extermination. With buzzy noises.
My take on cassoulet is quite simple and I'm open to anything, except lobster. Start, anyway, the night before the feast with 500gm of dried white beans, stick then in a bowl - preferably large enough to hold them, if not it gets messy - and cover them with water. Then leave them like that for twelve hours or so. You could go and have a drink, they're unlikely to be going anywhere by themselves.
The next day, when you stumble bleary-eyed downstairs (or trip over the cat, for those of you that aren't blessed with the privilege of having stairs that actively try to kill you), you could probably drain and rinse the beans. They won't thank you for it, but they'll smell better.
Then, once you feel up to it, take a large saucepan and fry up some bacon in it (yeah, the home-cured stuff ...) and when that's smelling good have a large orange juice and eat some of the bacon before adding two coarsely-chopped onions and some (lots) garlic. When that's all gone transparent and smelling lovely it's time to stick in 2 (two) 200gm tins of peeled tomatoes and mash them up with a fork. A glass of white wine is also a good idea, and don't forget to stick another glass of it into the saucepan.
Add the beans, just enough water (or wine, if you've got any left - at this hour of the day you should have) to cover, thyme, basil - whatever, and let simmer for about an hour and a half. Or so. It's not that important. Then turn it off and let it consider the error of its ways, whilst you go and have lunch. I'd recommend something light, like a slice of stale bread and half a glass of water, considering what's in store.
OK, it's mid-afternoon and the beans should still be sloshy. Now you need to fry up at least:
- 3-4 duck legs, cut into drumstick and thigh
- 2-3 lamb shanks
- a jarret de porc (pork foreleg)
- 1 slab of pork belly, sliced thickly
- 1 garlic sausage, ditto
Now it's simplicity itself: mix the beans and the meat and the fat and the juice, stick it into whatever you've got that's big enough to hold it and go into the oven (I told you I used both halves of my pottery thingy), sprinkle with breadcrumbs and chopped garlic, and stick in the oven on low. It's going to be cooking for about 4 hours, so open another bottle while you wait.
According to tradition (that is if you're making a traditional Toulousain cassoulet, which this isn't) you should stir the breadcrumbs in under the surface seven times during cooking: I can't be arsed, and no-one seems to worry. About an hour before the thing is done, bung in half a dozen good pork sausages - smoked if you've got'em. Just poke them in under the breadcrumbs. If it's drying out too much, add more wine. Or water. Whatever.
It's ready when everything is tender and it smells yummy. It also serves about ten people, with seconds, and probably leftovers. A simple green salad is more than enough with this - and bread, of course.
Oh, I hope you really really like beans. Our kids don't, but then they don't like choucroute either, which means they're on the direct route for the nether pits of hell. On the bright side, we'll probably get visiting rights.
Sunday, 29 March 2009
Leg of lamb
Yes yes, a well known family dinner or Sunday lunch dish! Truth is though, that hubby really loves leg of lamb so we eat it at the very least once a month. Which means I have many ways of preparing it.
Given the size of the family, I usually make at least a 4 lb leg.
Cooking time for a nice tender pink is about 20 min per lb.
Always:
-marinate ahead of time (preferably 24 hrs before cooking)
-take out of fridge an hour before cooking
-preheat oven to hot
-pierce flesh with carving fork & baste with juices continuously during cooking
-salt half way through cooking, not before (preferrably with sel de Guerande)
ANCHOVY, ROSEMARY & GARLIC
A new recipe, given to me by my close friend Jeff, one of the best cooks I know. Since I never put up a recipe I haven't tested, this version of leg of lamb was served as a Sunday dinner (almost the whole family, we were only 7), to universal acclaim. Don't balk at the anchovy, the leg of lamb will neither smell nor taste of fish. Adding anchovy gives it a particular salty flavor, very nice!
5 anchovies (always in oil)
5 cloves of garlic
3 twigs of rosemary
pepper
red wine
Mash anchovies. Add crushed garlic. Rub the oily paste into the leg of lamb. Grind pepper to taste. Splash with red wine. Cover if marinating ahead of time. (Careful with the salt, as the anchovies are already pretty strong)
SAGE & GARLIC Simple but delicious. Use fresh sage (mine comes from the garden), about 4 or 5 leaves. With a small knife pierce the leg all over. Stuff each whole with shredded sage & garlic (small cloves or cut in half). Set aside a few leaves & cloves to rub into the skin. Cover leg with a few tbsps of olive oil, rub into skin. Pour a glass of red wine over the leg. Pepper to taste. Put into oven! Oven potatoes are a nice accompaniment.
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