Slow cooked cauliflower in yoghurt

I have certain dishes in favourite restaurants that are so bloody good, no matter what else is on the menu, I’ll always manage to find room to squeeze a cheeky one in somewhere.  The slow cooked cauliflower in yoghurt at my favourite Bristol restaurant, Bell’s Diner is a cracking example.

Cauliflower, cooked down until almost creamy, then subtly spiced with coriander, cumin, garlic and chilli with a lovely tangy acidity from the yoghurt. Oh yeah. It’s phenomenal. Chef, Sam Sohn-Rethel, who very generously allowed me to reproduce his recipe here, based this dish on a cauliflower soup he used to cook during his time at Moro.

In the restaurant, it’s served as a tapas size portion, but I'm something of a lazy bastard and wanted to stretch it out for dinner, so dished it up, heaped on chargrilled sourdough. Lovely. 

Slow cooked cauliflower with yoghurt

Serves 4

You’ll need:-

150g butter

1 onion, diced

1 clove garlic, chopped

1 tsp cumin seeds, crushed

1 tsp coriander seeds, crushed

1 tsp mild chilli flakes

1 cauliflower, stalk and tough outer leaves removed

1 handful coriander leaves

1 egg yolk

½ tsp cornflour

500ml Greek yoghurt

Heat 100g of the butter in a saucepan and cook the onion until translucent.

Add the garlic, cumin, coriander seeds and chilli and cook for another five minutes.

Finely chop the cauliflower along with the tender inner leaves, add them to the pan and season with plenty of salt.

Finely chop 2/3rds of the coriander leaves and stir into the cauliflower.

Cover the pan with a tight fitting lid and continue cooking over a gentle heat until the cauliflower is completely soft and cooked down to a mush.

Beat together the egg yolk, cornflower and yoghurt then add the mixture to the pan and cook for five more minutes. 

Check the seasoning and add more salt if needed. 

Keep warm until ready to serve. 

Heat the remaining 50g of butter in a small pan until it caramelises, as dark brown as you dare. Then pour it over the cauliflower.

Scatter over the remaining coriander leaves and serve.

Toasted breadcrumbs are a nice optional addition for a bit of texture.

Thanks again to Sam for allowing me use his recipe on the blog. I'm hoping to be able to wheedle/cajole/threaten/beg/blackmail recipes for a few more of my favourite dishes out of my regular restaurant haunts very soon.

Watch this space, people. 

Beef Rib Trim Stew with Stout, Treacle and Star Anise

The damp, cold, dark evenings of autumn bring about an almost overnight change in my food cravings. I suddenly demand the comfort of mashed potato (I am an unrepentant mash fiend) and I want it accompanied by any kind of dark, sticky, rich meat stew I can lay my greedy little paws on.

I made this stew the other night for dinner. To be honest, I’d forgotten how incredibly easy it is to chuck something like this together. Yeah there’s a bit of chopping, a bit of prep, but I actually quite enjoy the methodical nature of getting your ingredients ready. I find it almost calming. I also reckon part of the enjoyment is definitely having the right tools for the job, a decent peeler and a nice sharp knife. If instead of a smooth slicing action, you’re frustratingly hacking away at something with a blunt as assholes blade, then where’s the frigging Zen in that? Once your chopping is done, the actual hands-on cooking part takes no time at all. It’s just a case of slinging it in the oven and forgetting about it for a couple of hours.

You may not be able to easily lay your hands on beef rib trim. The butchers, Donald Russell sent me some ages ago and it’s been lurking at the back of my freezer. If not don’t worry, substitute for beef shin or stewing steak. You can use any braising or casserole type cut of beef, cubed really. They all work the same, more or less. You may just have to cook it a bit longer, which in the case of a stew is no real effort at all.

The addition of star anise to beef is something I once saw Heston Blumenthal banging on about on TV.  It may seem ridiculously cheffy and frivolous, but it definitely works. It’s bloody lovely. Don’t be a chump and go leaving it out 

For full rib sticking effect, I suggest serving this with mash (my recipe is here and it’s banging, even if I do say so myself) and some kind of sautéed greens. Oh, and if you’re a real greedy bastard, some crusty bread slathered with butter to mop up with.  

Beef Rib Trim Stew

Serves 2 (Generously)

You’ll Need: -

500g beef rib trim (Or beef shin) cut into 3cm cubes

Maldon Sea Salt

Pepper

Olive Oil

Tomato purée

2 large carrots, peeled, halved lengthways, sliced into 6cm pieces

2 sticks celery, chopped

1 Large onion, chopped

Half a leek, chopped

2 Bay Leaves

1 Tbsp Treacle

Bottle of dark beer or stout (I used Wild Beer Co, Wildebeest)

500ml – 1 litre Beef Stock

1 Star Anise

Handful Chestnut Mushrooms, halved

Handful of Parsley, finely chopped

White Pepper to serve (optional - well, not frigging really, but...)

Preheat your oven to 160C

Get a large saucepan or casserole with a lid, put it on the hob over a fairly high heat and add a tablespoon or two of olive oil.

Season your cubed beef generously and get it nice and browned in the pan. You may have to do it in a couple of batches, if you crowd it, instead of getting a nice golden sear, the meat kind of steams and you don’t want that, no.

Remove the meat from the pan with a slotted spoon and put to one side. Add the carrots, onion, leek a grind of pepper and a good pinch of salt. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring regularly until it’s starting to cook down and brown. You may need to add a little more oil.

Sling in the mushrooms and bay leaves. Cook for another couple of minutes. 

Add the tomato purée, stir it in so everything’s coated and cook for a couple more minutes. 

Add the beef back in, along with the star anise and the treacle, stir and then pour in your bottle of stout. 

Then add beef stock to cover. If you have it, use proper beef stock, if you don’t, make some up with an Oxo cube. Lets not be snobby about it. Use what you can lay your hands on; it’ll still taste great.

Bring to the boil; whack the lid on and place in the preheated oven for 1 ½ - 2 hours until the meat is tender and breaks apart when poked with a fork and the whole thing is looking pretty damn dark, sticky and gelatinous.

Heap into bowls, scatter with finely chopped parsley, mashed potato, sautéed greens and a good dusting of white pepper. 

Smoked Duck Breast Salad

On the rare occasion I've made no dinner plans of any sort, there’s a pretty good chance I can take a cheeky throw of the culinary dice and gamble I can knock something half decent together from what’s lurking in the fridge. 
It’s full of all sorts of disparate ingredients including a whole shelf full of various, often esoteric, half used condiments and odd bits of veg and herbs in various states of usefulness.

Often the resulting dish may be functional at best, but every now and again I surprise myself and manage to throw something together that’s a bit more impressive. This smoked duck breast salad I cooked the other night was one such occasion.

If you don’t have one, I urge you to get your hands on a good, heavy grill pan. I've got a Le Creuset one and I frigging love it. Yep, it was expensive but I've had it for years and consider it an investment. Almost everything tastes better chargrilled with smoky, black lines etched across it, I use it all the time. True, its use is guaranteed to set the smoke alarm off, but what the hell. In the case of this recipe, I used it to char little gem lettuce and spring onions.

I used smoked duck breast from Trealy Farm and I've got to say it’s an absolutely superb product, but if you can’t lay your hands on any, you can get something similar in most large supermarkets. 

Remember when I mentioned esoteric condiments? I present to you hawthorn jelly. If you haven’t got any, it makes no difference, use redcurrant, cranberry, blackcurrant or even blackberry jam, whatever comes to hand really. Any of these would go with duck.  

Smoked Duck Breast Salad
Serves 2

1 x smoked duck breast, sliced 
2 x little gem, halved lengthways
6 x spring onions, washed and top ends trimmed, leave the root end on.
Handful of new potatoes
Tbs Capers
2 tsp Hawthorn jelly
Olive Oil
Maldon Sea Salt & ground black pepper
2 Eggs, soft boiled and shelled.

There’s not a hell of a lot of cooking involved here to be honest, the duck breast comes already cooked, so just needs slicing. It’s more a case of assemblage.

Add the new potatoes to a pan of cold, salted water. Bring to the boil and simmer for around 12 minutes or until cooked. Drain and put to one side.

Get your grill pan nice and hot then brush the halved little gem and the spring onions with some olive oil and char for around 3 minutes a side till you’ve got some impressive looking lines scorched on.

Put your hawthorn jelly or whatever condiment you’ve found lurking at the back of the fridge, into a small frying pan with the capers and a good splash of the caper juice. Heat it over a moderate heat, stirring for a few minutes until it’s melted down into liquid.

Soft boil two eggs, shell and halve.

Assemble however you think appropriate. I reckon the potatoes at the bottom, with slices of duck breast artfully draped over, with the charred little gem and spring onions protruding here and there, plonk the halved soft boiled egg in the middle and drizzle the hawthorn-caper dressing alles uber da platz. Don’t forget to season with the Essex salt and black pepper.
And that’s that. Easy.

Spiced Aubergine Salad

First things first, if you don’t already own it, and you have even the slightest interest in cooking, I urge you to immediately drop everything and hurry as fast as your legs can propel you towards the nearest bookshop. Once there, forcibly demand a copy of Simon Hopkinson’s ‘Roast Chicken and Other Stories’. It is without a doubt one of the finest recipe books ever printed; you will never regret buying it.

Perusing the contents, you’ll find that every recipe is a classic, they all work beautifully and it’s surprisingly comprehensive for such a small volume.

Where am I going with this? Well, my newly acquired Lamb Ste Menehould addiction has sparked a renewed interest in Elizabeth David’s recipes and Simon Hopkinson; who is also a fan, features a few in his book.

I’m sure you know who Elizabeth David is, but just in case you’re unsure, she was a hugely revered British cookery writer who pretty much singlehandedly changed the national outlook towards cooking and food in post-war Britain, still under rationing until 1954. Her books and articles inspired generations of cooks and chefs and still do to this day.

Apparently this spiced aubergine salad was one of her favourite dishes and appears in ‘Roast Chicken and Other Stories’. Typical of Simon Hopkinson, there are no shortcuts, everything is done properly and exactly so, and all the better for it. So prepare to skin your tomatoes and salt your aubergines.

Utter ball ache? Yeah, probably.
Worth it? Definitely.

This dish, similar to imam bayildi is absolutely delicious and handily, best served cold. So no need to rush making it. Definitely serve it with the mint yoghurt, maybe a bowl of brown rice or some toasted pita bread wouldn’t go amiss either.

Spiced Aubergine Salad
Serves 4

You’ll need: -
2 large aubergines
salt
100ml olive oil
2 large onions, peeled and finely chopped
8 ripe tomatoes, skinned and coarsely chopped
1 heaped tsp ground cumin
1 heaped tsp ground allspice
¼ tsp cayenne
4 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
2 tbsp currants
2 heaped tbsp chopped fresh mint
2 heaped tbsp chopped fresh coriander

You’ll also need: -
Greek yoghurt
Handful of mint leaves
Tabasco

Cut the aubergines into 1cm cubes. Put them in a colander and sprinkle with 2 tsp of salt. Mix and leave to drain for 30-40 mins.

Meanwhile, heat 50ml of olive oil in a pan and fry the onions until golden.

Add the tomatoes and spices. Stew gently for 5-10 minutes, then stir in the garlic and take off the heat.

Stir in the currants.

Tip the aubergines into a clean tea towel and gently squeeze them dry.

Put the remaining 50ml of olive oil in a large frying pan and heat until smoking. Add the aubergines and stir-fry briskly until thoroughly golden and cooked through.

Into this stir in the onion and tomato mixture, add the fresh herbs.

Tip everything into a bowl and leave to cool. Taste and add salt & pepper, if needed.

Serve with a bowl of yoghurt containing fresh chopped mint through it and a few dashes of Tabasco to liven it up.

Lamb Ste Menehould

This dish is recognised as an absolute culinary classic. It’s an Elizabeth David belter of a recipe that somehow, had completely passed me by. Yes, I’m ashamed to say that I’d never heard of it until just the other week. My introduction was a starter at my favourite new restaurant; Bell’s Diner & Bar Rooms in Bristol and it blew me away.

It’s lamb breast in breadcrumbs and ‘holy-tasty-fried-meat’ it’s good. Good in a kind of similar way to the resulting carnage if Colonel Sanders had the afternoon off from chicken and was let loose with a cleaver and a deep fat fryer in a field full of sheep. Yeah that’s what I call finger licking good. Combine it with a sharp creamy tartare sauce? Frigging ding-dong.

Since that awakening moment, I’ve been thinking of nothing else but having a go at recreating it at home. First I studied the original Elizabeth David recipe (reproduced in Simon Hopkinson’s Roast Chicken & Other Stories), next I asked Chef Sam Sohn-Rethel from Bell’s how he made his version.

As you might imagine, the demands of a professional kitchen mean that Sam’s preparation and cooking methods are a bit different from Lizzy David’s home cooked version. The original recipe calls for the lamb to be slowly braised in white wine and water, breadcrumbed and finished in the oven. The restaurant version has the lamb breast salted, then cooked confit in duck fat (which makes sense for avoiding waste, confit meat keeps for ages) It’s then quickly deep fried to finish.

Being an awkward twat, I decided to pinch a bit of both methods. Mainly because I was too tight to buy duck fat for the confit and also because I’m lazy and I like the idea of finishing the dish in two minutes, especially after it has taken hours to prepare.

I should point out that lamb breast is one of those dirt-cheap, tough as old boots, cuts that when cooked for hours, tastes incredible.

So, here we have my bastardised recipe. It’s pretty rich, I don’t think you could eat loads, at least I couldn’t and I’m essentially a mouth connected to a bottomless pit, so I reckon this will easily feed 4. I served it with sauce Gribiche but at Bell’s, Sam served it with Tartare sauce and I reckon that’s definitely the better option. With regards to Tartare sauce, you can slavishly follow a recipe or do what I generally do, sling a few tablespoons of mayonnaise in a bowl and throw in a heaped tablespoon each of chopped capers, gherkins, parsley, and maybe a bit of tarragon and a tiny bit of Dijon. If you don’t have all of that, don’t worry, even if all you can rummage together is just mayo with some chopped gherkins through, it won’t be far wrong.

Lamb Ste Menehould

You’ll need:-
1 Breast of Lamb (bones left in)
2 Carrots, sliced
2 Onions, sliced
A few sprigs of thyme
1 Glass White Wine
1 Glass of Water
Salt & Pepper

You’ll also need:-
1 Egg, beaten
Flour for dusting
Breadcrumbs (preferably Panko, excellent Japanese breadcrumbs, widely available)

A deep fat fryer

Preheat the oven to 140C

Simply sling the lamb and the other bits and bobs into a pan, cover it with foil and whack in the oven for 3 hours. Turning the meat over every hour or so.

By this time, after you’ve let it cool down a bit, it should be so tender you can pull the bones right out.

You’ll need to sandwich your cold lamb breast between something flat, a couple of chopping boards or baking trays would be ideal. Place it in the fridge and weigh the top down with whatever’s handy. Ideally you’d want to leave it like this overnight, but a good few hours will probably do it.

When ready to serve, cut your lamb into oblong pieces, roughly a fingers length and say a couple of centimetres wide.
Dust in the flour, dip in the egg and then in the breadcrumbs.

Deep fry at around 190C for 2 minutes.

Season with salt.
Eat crisp and hot, dipped in tartare sauce.

Elizabeth David also recommends serving with some mashed potato, which sounds like a frigging capital idea. I love it – my recipe for uber mash is here

Thanks for Chef Sam Sohn-Rethel at Bell’s Diner & Bar Rooms for allowing me to reproduce his method here.

Doughnuts Part 2 – Fennel and Raisin Custard

After the last nerve-shredding excursion to doughnut hell, I can hardly believe that I’ve managed to summon the sheer brass bollocked fortitude needed to make another attempt, but I have and this time, things were different.

First of all, I tried out a new flavour combination. Inspired by the rather bloody superb fennel and raisin bread available from Harts Bakery, (Located just around the corner from Bristol’s Temple Meads station) my doughnuts would be stuffed with fennel and raisin custard and would taste, it turns out, frigging uber. Even if I do say so myself.

Secondly, I actually followed my pastry chef mate’s tips, advice and amendments to the published St John doughnut recipe.

If you read my last post on the subject of doughnuts, you may be asking yourself why try again, Dan? Why Dan? WHY?!

Well, if I’m honest, my ridiculous sense of perfection and my mungus ego was left critically wounded by how much of a massive ball ache I found the whole process last time. I just ‘had’ to have another go at it and confirm that I’m the absolute frigging daddy / an utter half-baked cretin (delete as applicable).

Well yep, I’m pleased to report it’s cheesy grins and congratulatory back slaps all round as a sweet yeasty doughnut smell of success pervades my smug old ass right now. I honestly couldn’t be more chuffed with how they turned out this time. I rock. Totally.

If you too fancy grabbing yourself some of this impossibly self-satisfied conceit, here’s what you’ll need in addition to the doughnut recipe from my previous post, HERE.

Fennel & Raisin Custard Doughnut

You’ll Need: -
6 Tsp Fennel Seeds, Crushed (to infuse the crème patissiere)
200g Raisins
2 Tbsp Fennel Seeds, Crushed (to dust the doughnuts).

First, as my chef friend advised, after mixing your dough, don’t leave to rise as the original recipe advises, place it straight into the fridge. I made it in the evening and left it in the fridge overnight. The resulting dough was much firmer and easier to handle than on my previous attempt.

I weighed the dough out into 50g per portion, before rolling into balls to rise, with my hands coated with a little sunflower oil.

Also as advised, I placed the doughnuts on greaseproof paper, two to each piece.

When it came to frying, (at 175C) I dropped both into the fryer at once, paper and all, holding onto the edge of the greaseproof and pulling it away as they dropped into the hot oil. This saved me handling the doughnuts and squashing them, something that caused me so much frustration last time.

When dusting your just fried doughnuts add a couple of tablespoons of finely crushed fennel seeds to the caster sugar.

The other changes are to the crème patissiere recipe, at the beginning; add 6 tsp of crushed fennel seeds to the milk and vanilla pods mix to infuse.

Finally, pour boiling water over the raisins and leave them for a few minutes, to puff up a bit, before straining and stirring through the finished crème-pat. No one likes a flaccid raisin.

So that, as they say, is that. I can hold my head high (and suck my stomach in even more) I have persisted and prevailed over doughnuts!

* Wild Applause*

Bacon and Bourbon Custard Doughnuts

Before last week, I had never made a doughnut. Yes *pats belly* I have eaten muchos many, but actually crafted a sugary orb of loveliness with my own fair hands? Tres massive non.

Looking back now, what prompted me then to sit up and declare ‘I shall make doughnuts this day’ (because that’s how I actually talk), I have no idea. I obviously had a yawning circular shaped chasm in my life that needed to be filled, totes Freudian. But anyway. I did it and bloody hell, what a journey it was. A whole day of mixed emotions, ok, I say mixed, it was pretty much howling anger and frustration but at the close, there was just a tiny measure of delight.

You see, I found making doughnuts to be a complete and utter fucking ballache from start to end, but the finished, aesthetically misshapen, fried sugar dusted globes, oozing bourbon custard specked through with caramelised bacon were an absolute joy to eat.

Where did I get the inspiration for bacon and bourbon custard doughnuts? I have no idea. It just came to me in a similar boss-eyed brain flash that brought you celery ice-cream (yay) served with hot Stilton fritters (errr retch). My noggin just spits out stuff, that’s how it works. Sometimes it’s ‘mazers. Sometimes it’s totally ming. There’s no way of knowing until I actually make whatever it happens to be. Thinking about it, in all honesty, there’s probably a combination of influences at work, from the BBQ flavours in the day job as a manager at Grillstock to the incredible oxtail doughnuts at Duck at Waffle.

I decided to adapt the St John doughnut recipe from Beyond Nose to Tail, theirs are generally considered to be the best example money can buy (although if you’re reading this and are Bristol based, check out Pippins doughnuts, every Friday at Corn Street market – made by a former St John pastry chef, they’re just as good, unsurprisingly).

Towards the end of the doughnut making process, when I was feeling utterly broken, covered in a combination of flour, dough and desperation with every single bare surface in the wreckage of my kitchen littered with discarded ingredients and equipment, like a far warmer, gastronomic version of Napoleon’s 1812 retreat from Moscow; salvation came.

I’d forgotten that a friend of mine was until recently a pastry chef at the St John Hotel and was just a bit more than au fait with the whole doughnut making process. No doubt observing my blood curdling, profanity laden doughnut hell via the medium of Twitter, he offered to email me some tips and addendums to the published St John recipe, based on his own professional experiences. This much-needed lifeline came too late for me friends. I will be forever mentally scarred by my delicious but ugly doughnuts sat there, silently mocking my herculean baking efforts, just by their very existence.

But this need not happen to you. I’ve added my chef friend’s observations to the recipe, so if you attempt it yourself, you’ll be better prepared than I was.

The doughnuts themselves are delicious. The bourbon flavoured custard is subtly boozy, the caramelised bacon bits, salty-sweet and you know…as porky as you’d expect. If you’re really not sure about the meat element, leave it out. I’ll forgive you. Sort of.

One final observation. Crème patissiere is the f*cking daddy. I’ve never made it before and to say I was massively impressed is something of an understatement. Holy shit, I couldn’t leave it alone. Sneaking back for sly spoonfuls, smearing it in hot cross buns, mainlining it intravenously…. perhaps not the last one…yet, but you get the idea. Consider yourselves warned and go purchase some fatty trousers now.

Bacon and Bourbon Custard Doughnuts
Makes 25

You’ll need a freestanding electric mixer with the beater attachment (like my faithful KitchenAid, Klaus Von Battenberg).

You’ll Need: -
500g strong white flour
65g caster Sugar, plus extra for coating
10g salt
15g fresh yeast
4 large eggs
Grated zest 1 lemon
155ml water
125g softened unsalted butter
Sunflower oil for deep-frying

Place all the ingredients except the butter and the oil in the bowl of the mixer. Mix on a medium speed for 6 minutes, then scrape down the sides of the bowl.

Start mixing on a medium speed again, adding the soft butter about 20g at a time until all incorporated. Keep mixing for 6-8 minutes, until the dough has come away from the sides of the bowl and looks smooth, glossy and elastic.

Place the dough in a large bowl, sprinkle the surface with flour and cover with a tea towel. Leave to rise for 2-3 hours in a warm place, until doubled in size, then knock back the dough. Cover the bowl with cling film and place in the fridge for at least 4 hours or overnight.

Cut the dough into 25 pieces and roll them into smooth balls. Place on floured baking sheets, leaving about 5cm between each one. Cover with cling film and leave to prove for 2-3 hours, depending on how warm it is; they should double in size.

Heat your deep fat fryer to 190C

With the oil at the right temperature, start frying the doughnuts in batches of 3 or 4. They will take about 2 minutes on each side. Remember to check the temperature of the oil between each batch, as the doughnuts are done; place them on kitchen paper to soak up the excess oil and then toss in caster sugar.

To fill your doughnuts, you will need a piping bag with a nozzle. Make a hole in each doughnut with a small knife and pipe in the filling, about 4 Tbs per doughnut.

Here’s the Bacon and Bourbon Crème Patissiere recipe for the filling.

Makes enough to fill 25 doughnuts (that’s handy then).

You’ll need:-
2 vanilla pods
1 litre full fat milk
12 large egg yolks
130g Caster Sugar
80g plain flour
250ml lightly whipped double cream
3-4 Tbsp Bourbon Whisky
8 rashers streaky bacon
8 Tbsp brown sugar

First, lay the bacon out on a silicon-baking sheet or foil-covered tray, sprinkling each piece with the brown sugar. Place in a 200C oven and bake for 12-16 mins. Halfway through, flip them over. When dark brown, remove from the oven and cool on a wire rack. Once cooled, chop into small pieces (remember, they have to go through a piping bag nozzle).

Next, make the crème patissiere.

Slit the vanilla pods lengthways and scrape out the seeds. Put the pods and the seeds in a saucepan with the milk and bring to the boil over a medium heat.

Meanwhile, mix the egg yolks and sugar together in a large bowl. Sift in the flour and whisk it all together. When the milk is boiling, pour it over the egg mixture, whisking all the time. Then return the mixture to the saucepan and slowly bring to the boil over a low heat, whisking occasionally.

Once it is boiling, whisk continuously for about 5 minutes, until very thick and smooth. Strain through a fine sieve into a bowl and cover the surface with cling film to prevent a skin forming. Leave to cool, then chill.

When you’re ready to fill the doughnuts, fold the whipped cream through the crème patissiere to lighten it and, stir through the chopped caramelised bacon and the Bourbon whisky.

Now, before you dive in and start madly churning out doughnuts here’s what my friend Sam, ex St John Hotel pastry chef has to add to the recipe and doughnut making in general…

Firstly, I think you can drop 5ml of water from the mix. This is probably one of those little things that creep in when you scale up/down recipes.

Second, you need to really mix it well before the butter goes in. The instructions in the book are misleading I think. I used to do it for 10mins on medium speed until the dough is really glossy and comes away from the sides of the bowl. At the start that seems unlikely but then it works and looks like proper dough! Once at this stage, add the butter, which needs to be properly soft. I add it a bit at a time, mixing slowly until it's all incorporated, then turn up the speed and give it a 3-minute blast, to really make sure the butter is properly combined.

Thirdly, we used to just stick the dough straight in the fridge, as leaving it out is going to make it overprove before it's chilled enough for shaping. When you refrigerate fermenting dough there's a degree of inertia - dough takes a while to chill, and it's fermenting all the time, so there is a tendency for it to overprove even in the fridge. I think if you leave the dough out before fridging, then overproving is guaranteed. It'll be pretty warm from the mixer anyway. I find they are best to mix the dough in the morning, then pop in the fridge all day, then fry in the evening, but the dough is good in the fridge 3 days as long as it went straight in there from the mixer.

Shaping wise: with the dough really cold it'll be a lot easier. Oil on the hands stops it sticking, and on the scales etc. Oil some pieces of baking paper which are large enough for the amount of doughnuts you can fry in one go, say 2, then when you fry you can drop the whole paper with dough straight into the fryer instead of having to manhandle them. You can drop the paper in the oil, just keep hold of one bit so you don't burn yourself taking them out again, they need to be kind of submerged so the doughnut cooks off the paper.

When you shape, you don't need to do much, but to get them very regular you need to shape them like a bread roll, taking the edges of the piece into the middle, one at a time, each time it stretches the dough and provides shape, then roll it between your hands 'til it's smooth. Hard to explain really.

Fry at 175c, not 190. They are best within an hour, but fine for a day.

Staff fave for leftovers is one bunged in the oven to warm, then cut open with a scoop of chocolate ice cream inside... Naughty.

So there you go, hopefully with the original recipe and these doughnut shaped words of wisdom from Sam, you won't have a nervous breakdown, like I did.

Massive thanks again to Sam for taking the time to email me such useful advice.
Follow him on Twitter @samjleach

Salted Caramel and Rosemary Tart Tatin

If you cast your mind back (or scroll to the post before this) you may remember me regaling you in some detail how I was suddenly struck dumb(er) by the potential flavour combination of salted caramel and rosemary and how originally I envisaged it in some kind of apple dish (that at the time I couldn’t be arsed to make) well; hang on to your aprons people…I have pulled my finger out, and I have created, no…crafted… with my own fair hands, something…golden brown….

Oh yeah!

It’s a Salted Caramel and Rosemary Tart Tatin, and to replicate it’s wonder you need only read hither….

Salted Caramel and Rosemary Tart Tatin

You’ll need:-

For the tart:

200g Puff Pastry
12-14 medium Cox’s Apples
10g Butter – Melted
1 Tablespoon Caster Sugar
2 Heaped Tablespoons finely chopped fresh Rosemary
1 Lemon

For the Caramel:

50ml Water
100g Caster Sugar
25g Butter
2 Hefty pinches of Maldon Sea Salt

You’ll also need an 18cm baking or pie tin, 4-5 cm deep, preferably a solid one-piece job, not the removable bottom type.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the pastry to around 2mm thick, place on a baking tray, and chill, covered with Clingfilm for 20 mins.

Cut a circle out of the pastry, 20cm in diameter. Prick all over with a fork and place back in the fridge.

Next, make the caramel. Put the water in a small saucepan, and scatter over the sugar. Let it absorb for a couple of minutes, then place on a medium heat and leave it. Don’t stir. Simmer until it turns a deep golden caramel colour, quickly stir in the butter and add your Maldon Salt. Quickly pour into your baking tin, turning to make sure the bottom is evenly coated.

Peel, halve and core the apples, placing into a bowl of water as you go, to which you’ve added a good squeeze of lemon juice.

Pre-heat the oven to 190C

Arrange your apples in the baking tin. First, sitting a half apple in the middle cut side up and topped with another half apple, cut side down. Place the rest of the apple halves upright around the edge in a circle. Cut the remaining apples into wedges and plug all the gaps. Really squeeze as much apple in as you can, the finished result will be better.

Brush melted butter over the top. Sprinkle with the caster sugar and the finely chopped Rosemary.

Bake the tin in the oven for 35 mins.

Remove and place your puff pastry circle over the top of the apples, tucking down the edges inside the tin with the handle of a teaspoon.

Place back in the oven, and bake for another 30-35 minutes, until the pastry is golden brown.

Finally remove and let it cool down, for a good 1-2 hours.

To unmould, slide a sharp knife around the edge, place a large plate on top and flip, giving it a gentle shake to release the tart.

Serve with Crème Fraiche or Vanilla Ice Cream.

Salted Caramel and Rosemary Baked Custard

Every now and again I have a flash of recipe inspiration. A gear slips somewhere in my brain, and just for a moment the dull grey veil that obscures my normal waking state, parts and I suddenly see flavours, textures and twists on classic dishes in extreme high definition clarity and then, it’s gone and I’m left scrambling to make sense and notes of my vision.

Of course I’d like you to think that my ‘gift’ is something special, enviable and absolutely infallible. An idea that could best described as absolute cobblers. I’m sad to say I’ve dreamt up some absolutely shocking ideas in the past; I was once adamant that I could get grapes to somehow work in mashed potato, to the subsequent disgusted grimace of everyone I shared it with. But sometimes…

I’d certainly seen the flavour combination somewhere else and forgotten, but the other day came an idea; rudely shoulder-barging aside any more mundane thoughts ‘apple, rosemary and salted caramel, I scribbled this down and mused on it a while. Deciding that I definitely couldn’t be arsed to do anything with apples right then, I thought on it some more and then it came. A crème caramel (or baked custard if you’re me) infused with rosemary and topped with salted caramel.

Right then and there, I decided to give it a go, mentally ticking off the short list of ingredients and realising that I probably didn’t have to buy a thing. Result.

As is often the way, I started making it, and then half way through wondered if anyone else had made something similar and wrote about it previously. A cursory Google provided the answer ‘not really’ which was slightly worrying. I ploughed on regardless, my quick research break had confirmed that rosemary and salted caramel go together, so what the hell.

Later that evening, I unmolded my inaugural Salted Caramel and Rosemary Baked Custard. Despite having made an individual portion that could choke a donkey, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact it was bloody nice. The rosemary-flavoured custard was perhaps a bit too subtle (I think I’ve fixed this in the recipe below) but yeah, I’m happy with the results.

Here’s the recipe – I’d really like to know what you think.

Salted Caramel and Rosemary Baked Custard

Serves 3 Greedy bastardos or 4 slightly more sensible people

Salted Caramel:
65g Sugar
3 Tbs Water
Generous pinch of Maldon Sea Salt

Rosemary Custard:
3 Sprigs of Rosemary (leaves stripped and chopped)
130g Sugar
Pinch of Salt
470ml Full Fat Milk
½ Vanilla Pod or equivalent in Extract
2 Whole Eggs
3 Egg Yolks
Vegetable Oil or other neutral oil.

Of course, you’ll also need 3 or 4 individual moulds or ramekins.

Preheat your oven to 160C

First, make the salted caramel. In a small pan, bring the sugar and the water to the boil. Turn it down a little so it’s not boiling quite so furiously and watch it like a hawk. When it turns a nice deep caramel colour, quickly sprinkle in your generous pinch of Maldon and give the pan a swirl.

Quickly pour the salted caramel into your moulds, making sure to coat the bottom and a little way up the sides. When they’ve cooled, grease the sides with the vegetable oil.

To make the custard, add the rosemary, sugar, salt, vanilla and milk to a saucepan. Bring to the boil, and allow to remain at the boil for 1 minute.

Remove from the heat and put aside for 5 minutes

In a bowl, beat the eggs and yolks together then slowly add your warm milk mixture, beating all the time.

Pass through a fine sieve and leave to stand for 5 mins.

Skim off the foam and any bubbles on the surface.

Pour the custard into your moulds, and place them into a bain-marie using a roasting tin with boiling water two-thirds of the way up the sides. Place into your pre-heated oven and cook for 30-40 mins, until the centre is set and no longer liquid.

Remove from the oven, cool and then chill in the fridge for a couple of hours.

To unmold, run a sharp knife around the edges, place a small plate on top, and flip over, giving it a bit of a gentle shake.

Cider Battered Onions

This is a quick recipe we’ve served a number of times at ‘The Basement’ supper club as a nibble and it’s bloody superb, ridiculously easy to knock out, cheap and absolutely frigging delicious. The flavour combination of deep fried, hot battered onions and the sharp tang of the onion salt is cracking.

I wish I could say it’s my recipe, but it’s pinched from Mark Hix, although we only use one type of onion, made our own onion salt, and most importantly changed the name of the dish, which makes all the difference….probably…errr….not so much.

Just a couple of onions make enough to feed a whole frigging horde, it’s amazing, so it’s tres frugal too and therefore suitable recession eating.

Cider Battered Onions

Serves – a lot

You’ll Need:-
2 Large Spanish Onions

For the cider batter
80g Self Raising Flour
120ml Cider
Sea Salt and Freshly Ground Black Pepper
Vegetable Oil for Deep Frying
Plain Flour For Dusting

For the onion salt
2 Tbsp Sea Salt
2 Tbsp Dried Onions

First make the onion salt by blitzing the onions and the salt together in a mini processor until suitably pulverised into a fine, salty dust.

Peel and slice the onions in half, and then into 1cm thick half moons. Separate the slices.

Make the batter, put the flour in a bowl and whisk in the cider until it’s thick and smooth. Season and leave to rest for 30 mins.

Heat the vegetable oil in a deep fat fryer to 180C – be mindful that it’s incredibly scorchio so don’t go sticking any delicate appendages in there. Remember, if you burn those fingers, you won’t be able to continue with the next step, which is…

Season the flour for dusting the onions.

Toss the onions in the flour, then coat in the cider batter before dropping into the hot oil. Work in small batches.

When golden and crisp, remove and drain on kitchen paper before sprinkling with the onion salt.

I'm not the only one suggesting eating the lot, whilst hot and necking loads of cold Fino sherry. Refuse to share. (That's just me).

Slow Roast Shoulder of Pork in Cider. Mashed Potato, Green Sauce

It’s been far too long since I featured any recipes on the blog. Hopefully this post goes some small way to rectifying matters. Here’s something simple, but very decent we served to our guests this past weekend, at ‘The Basement’, the Bristol supper club I run with ‘E’.

Shoulder of pork is a fairly inexpensive cut, and doesn’t really need a hell of a lot doing with it, apart from a few timely interventions, it can be left to it’s own devices for hours in the oven until it’s practically falling apart and of course, there’s the added bonus of crackling, to really give those fillings a good workout.

A thick slab of tender pork, partnered with the almost rasping, herby pungency of green sauce. An aesthetically pleasing dollop of creamy mashed potato and finally, a spoonful of the porky-cidery cooking juices. You have an absolutely winning plate of food.

The Green sauce recipe is from St John. The mashed potato recipe is my own.

I am a total mash potato fiend and have gradually perfected what I modestly consider to be second only (just) to Joel Robuchon’s famous pureed pomme. Tried and tested at countless ‘Basement’s. This is the first time I’ve shared it with anyone.

Slow Roast Shoulder of Pork in Cider
Serves 6

1.5 kilo pork shoulder, boned, rolled, skin scored.
1 bulb garlic, broken up into cloves. (leave the skin on)
6 bay leaves
750ml dry cider
2 tbsp fennel seeds, bashed

Preheat the oven to 220C

Pat dry the pork with kitchen towel and place in a deep ovenproof dish
Shower it liberally with the fennel seeds, sea salt and black pepper. Be generous, giving it a good-old-all-over-rub-in.

Cook in the oven for 40 mins.

Remove from the oven, and transfer the pork momentarily to a plate.
Drain off the excess fat from the ovenproof dish and toss in the bay leaves and garlic cloves.

Place the pork back in its rightful place, and pour the cider around the sides of it.
Cover with foil and return to the oven at 160C. Cook for three-four hours (most likely four).
By this time, the pork should smell amazing and be practically falling apart.

Don’t forget to leave it to rest, covered in foil for about 20 mins before serving.
If the crackling is soft, take it off and put it in on a tray, in the oven at 220C for 10 mins. It should crisp up.

It’d also be a good idea to ladle off some of the porky cider juices from the pan, pour into a saucepan, boiling vigorously, reducing to make a nice syrupy gravy to pour over your meat when you serve up.

Of course, while all this was going on, and your pork was cooking away in the oven for hours, you had ample time to knock up your accompanying green sauce and mashed potato.

Green Sauce
Serves 6 (generously)

Half a bunch of curly parsley
Half a bunch of flat leaf parsley
Half a bunch of mint
A quarter bunch of dill
Couple of sprigs of tarragon leaves
1 small tin of anchovy fillets – finely chopped
12 cloves of garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1 handful of capers, roughly chopped (if extra fine, keep whole).
Extra virgin olive oil
Black pepper
Lemon juice (optional)

Chop the herbs finely, but not too finely, by hand (if you blitz them up by mechanical means, you’ll end up with a slurry).
Mix with the anchovy, garlic and capers. Add olive oil until it’s a loose, spoonable consistency. Season with black pepper and salt if it needs some.
Diverging a little from the original St John recipe, we added a squeeze of lemon juice at the end.

Dan’s Famous Mashed Potato
Serves 6 (Easily)

9 maris piper potatoes
400ml full fat milk
150g butter
12 tbsp double cream (180ml)
Sea salt
Freshly ground white Pepper

Peel and dice the potatoes into rough 2cm cubes.
Place in a pan, cover with cold water, bring to the boil, add salt and simmer for 12 minutes or until tender.

Drain well, and then using a potato ricer crush back into the empty pan. (If you don’t have a ricer, get one, they’re awesome. Otherwise, mash wildly in a traditional fashion with lots of elbow grease…. don’t leave any lumps).

Put the pan back on a low heat, for two minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon.
In a separate saucepan, heat the milk till it’s almost boiling. Gradually pour into your potatoes, stirring it in.

Add the cream. Keep stirring whilst on the heat, for three or four mins.
Turn the hob off.

Cut the butter into cubes, and gradually stir into your mash until it’s been absorbed.

Taste and season generously with salt and white pepper. The choice of pepper is important, mash must have white pepper. Don’t ask why, just accept it.

Your mash should be creamy and oozy, but still form a nice generous dollop when slapped onto a plate.

Do this now.

Place a generous, inch thick slab of pork astride it, at a jaunty angle. Spoon some green sauce over the pork, drizzle over a tablespoonful or so of your reduced cider cooking juices. Don’t forget the crackling.

Eat it all up.