The Commis Chronicles

See you one the other side...

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 03:17:00 +0000

'The battle plan' before and after;
the MEP list from last weeks tasting.

There's a strange air that hangs in the kitchen the week leading up to a menu change. A discernable unease that comes with the impending unfamiliar. It’s something you can see in the face of your fellow cooks. The garnish chef that sets up his station the same way, service after service. Each container of MEP (mise en place) arranged in a manner designed for maximum efficiency. He’s a guy whose been shooting out the same dishes, day after week after month, and he just knows where everything should be in order for that to go as smooth as possible. That’s his set-up, his system for not ending up in the shit. May God have mercy on you if you try and mess with it. There’s the chef de-partie that places his orders five times a week. That’s checking the hotel’s occupancy for the week, looking at the events figures and checking kids in house with front desk. They’ll then use that information and to make decisions like, ‘Well there’s X amount of lamb in there so I’ll order Y for tomorrow and that should be fine to see us through the weekend.’ or ‘We’re really low on sweet potatoes, but it’s used for a low-selling dish so only X amount will still be enough until next week.’ This is the routine. The slog of the day to day running of a kitchen. Specials still go out on weekends or exceptionally busy midweek evenings, but by and large, the menu changes and then that’s it, the same 5-6 dishes that your section’s responsible for the next few months, until it’s time to change again. The ticket comes into the cook on starters and it reads, ‘terrine, two scallops, cured salmon’ upon seeing this, said cook then goes into an automatic routine of movements, a well-rehearsed pattern that is the result of shooting out each plate, with little variation, dozens of times a night for weeks on end. For this reason he sees the order and doesn’t need to think about what he needs to do in what order, he just knows. The same goes for everyone in the kitchen.
The stress of these periods of change can unhinge a kitchen. If it’s been done well, when those doors open at 6pm the servers will have been well briefed on the new dishes, their components, how they’re prepared, what is suitable and unsuitable for certain allergies, etc. The cooks will have all their MEP in place, know through multiple tastings over the previous weeks (at times months) how the dishes are to be plated, how the components are to be prepared and executed and should soon fall into the groove and routine of the new dishes. They’ve had the dress rehearsal, this is opening night. But if it’s done badly *closes eyes and nervously runs hand over head as the memory of terrible events are recalled* if its done badly, the staff will turn up the day of the changeover and will never have seen the menu until then. Will never had been involved in the ordering, never had time to practice any new techniques required that were unfamiliar to them before, have no notes or recipe cards on the dishes components and (worst of all) never have ever seen or tasted the finished dish. Instead, the chef will spend the day barking at section after section, orally listing off garnishes and preparations that they’ll need for the service ahead. And when asked about how these intangible elements and MEP that you’re frantically preparing are going to come together, they simple dismissively wave away your concern saying, ‘I’ll show you when it comes in.’ In these conditions there is only one thing that’s going to happen. You, and all you co-workers that you’ve been sharing nervous glances with all afternoon, are about to have a really fucking bad night. I know because I had such a night, which I and everyone else spent being sworn at and avoiding airborne missiles that were aimed for us. That night was the beginning of the end of my time there. I would be gone within two months.
Going into tomorrow I’d like to think we’re in the former. We have an idea what the deal is and the alarm’s been set a little earlier so we should have enough time to get everything in place for service. But it’s because of the above that new menu time has everyone on edge. That’s why as I write this I’m on edge. Because for me and the rest of the team, that time is tomorrow. Because we’ll be prepping our MEP and be thinking, ‘Is this enough of this item? Am I doing this right? Where’s the best place to put this on my bench?’ this and a dozen more questions of anxiety. The same goes for ordering, we’ve no idea which dishes which sell. We can guess, but it’ll be a few weeks before we’ve got it down. Before that it we’ll either be smashing a dent in our food costs because we over-ordered and over-produced a dish, or face an annoyed dining room and an irate chef coz, ‘who knew on a busy Friday that everyone would be in the mood for Salmon?’ But this is all copper coins to the gold nugget of stress that is, the first service. As with the starter cook, everyone in their section was working on unconscious knowledge. They weren’t thinking about what they need to do, before the plate can go, they know. But tomorrow cooks will have copies of the menu on their stations, photos for last week’s tasting will be printed and handed round like targets to a group of hit men, a chef will discreetly pin lists of each dish’s garnish to their docket slide like cheat-notes. That first service you’re working blind. Unconscious ignorance, you don’t know what you don’t know. And tomorrow we won’t know shit until that first table comes in.

Photos from tasting;
Top: the passe after plating starters.
Middle: the bench where I'd been prepping all day.
Bottom: 'like it never happened' cleaned down, next week it's
for reals...

All Hail Oxtail, Kale and Homemade Pasta

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Sat, 21 May 2011 02:44:00 +0000

Red Wine Oxtail with Tagliatelle, Kale and Mushrooms

Standard blogger protocol dictates that after an extended lapse of posting, the first few sentences of the post that ends said lapse should be spent giving reason as to the how’s and whys that caused it. Anyway.

I think I’m wrong in saying that nothing shouts ‘sexy’ like a cut of meat that’s spent its life at the business end of a quadruple-stomached herbivore. And also that nothing quite signals the arrival of summer like a serving of braised, rich red meat accompanied by various forms of starch. Of course, neither does. But personally I’m not one to restrict foodstuffs to a time of the day or year. I mean, cereal still tastes good at 2am and a kebab is just about okay when you’re sober. So just because the temp’s skipped up a few degrees and the sun isn’t covering itself like a fat girl on a beach, why should ‘stewing’ suddenly be tut-tutted over?

In an ideal world making a dish should always start with one step; choose the product you want to focus on (e.g. pork, salmon, lamb, cheese, etc.) and build the dish around that. I say an ideal world because whenever I end up cooking at home its more like;

Step 1: Open Fridge

Step 2: Spend 10 minutes determining which contents are actually edible.

Step 3: Desperately scratch head.

Step 4: Prepare to get really fucking creative.

Thankfully in this case it was the former. In this case it was oxtail. Oxtail’s pretty hard to come by and even in decent butcher shops it’s somewhat of a rarity. So imagine my surprise when I spot it, not in the meat counter of some uber-trendy specialist foodstore, but my local Tesco. I considered it almost a dare and when 750g cost less than a fiver, well it was on like Donkey Kong. Oxtail is exactly what it sounds like, not like those ambiguous cuts like brisket or blade that you couldn’t tell what part it was without the aid of a CSI-style wall chart. It is the tail of a cow, which consists of a jointed bone that runs through it and tough muscle that surrounds it. This muscle allows the animal to raise and swish its tail for reasons that have no need of explanation. As a result this is definitely a cut that is treated with the ‘low and slow’ approach. Because if you think that this is going to be anything approaching edible after less than an hour of cooking than you will be certainly needing to ensure that you’ve the evening set aside for some prolonged and uncomfortably chewing. Not to mention an up to date dental plan. The upside of this is that it is chock full of the kind of fat, cartilage and connective tissue that guarantee, when treated right, all kinds of succulent awesomeness. Also you get bones, and yes this is a good thing. As they have the ability to impart flavour like no-man’s business, after all it’s what used to make stock so why wouldn’t it make you’re Sunday dinner better? Also they’ll protect the meat they’re attached to, keeping moister as it cooks. So yea, bones are good.

Once I had it bagged and tagged I then had to start thinking about what I was gonna put with it. A walk through the veg aisle later and I spot curly kale on special offer. Everyone knows that wilted spinach with pretty much any meat is a winner, but though less used, kale still deserves a shout out. It’s like the girl at the bar surrounded by her much hotter friends. That while not seemingly the most attractive choice, gives it up in spades after just a Jagerbomb and a positive comment about her glasses. In other words; minimum effort, more than satisfactory results. I then (currently writing in the knowledge that that misogynistic analogy has probably turned away all female readers) had the idea of shredded oxtail, bright green kale, all tossed through pale yellow tagliatelle. A few days later I was explaining this dish to one of the chefs in work. ‘Slow cooked meat in a pasta dish, a bit unusual isn’t it?’ they said. ‘Oh, and Spaghetti Bolognese is what exactly?’ I replied. They thought for a moment before obediently leaning their head forward to within slapping distance.

It is definitely one of the ‘slow cuts’, so even though I’d never actually cooked it before I still had a decent idea of how to get the best from it. Because as I’d said in my [Pork Belly] post, once you know how to deal with one such cut, the others all fall into the same basic preparation. With this I decided a slow braise with mushrooms, bacon and garlic, all swimming in a good load of red wine. Because what liquid doesn’t suit that list of ingredients better? I also decided that I’d really make an evening of it so decided to make my own pasta. A task that some cooks dread and fear like a visit to the headmaster, that just happens to also be your dentist. But while admittedly the first time is always a drawn-out, somewhat painful and potentially embarrassing experience (and the same can be said for making pasta, ow, don’t touch me coz I’m on fire!) I find it be a relaxing and rewarding exercise and while it takes a bit of practice, there’s few moments as rewarding as when you serve up your first batch of competently made ravioli. I'm not going into too much detail as a detailed method on making homemade pasta is almost worthy of a post unto itself.

Red Wine Oxtail Tagliatelle with Kale and Mushrooms

The Braise:

3 large cuts (750-800g approx) oxtail

5-6 button mushrooms, roughly chopped

2-3 rashers of bacon, roughly chopped

1 large sprig of thyme

2 red onions, roughly chopped

6 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped

1 tbsp tomato puree

1 very large glass of red wine

300-500ml of stock, but water would be fine

With a sharp knife remove the layer of fat around the outside of the cut.
Heat a pan until hot and add oil. Season oxtail pieces well with salt and pepper and sear until all sides have some colour.
Remove and set aside. Add bacon and fry until it begins to colour.
Add the remaining dry ingredients and sweat for a few minutes. Then stir tomato puree through.
Pour in the wine and let reduce by half.
Add water/stock and bring to boil.
Remove from heat. Place oxtail cuts in a baking dish and pour the bacon/veg/wine pan contents over and around. Ideally the meat should be covered by ¾’s.
Cover with a lid or tinfoil and place in an oven at 140 degrees centigrade for three hours.
When done remove from oven and let sit (still covered) for at least half an hour.
Remove meat, and separate from the bone. If this is difficult more cooking is required as it should pull away easily. Roughly chop and place in a bowl with a few spoonfuls of the sauce and cover to keep moist. Strain the remaining braising jus.

Pasta dough

250g strong flour

2 whole eggs

2 egg yolks

1 tbsp olive oil

1 tsp salt

1 tsp ground tumeric (for colour)

1. Place all dry ingredients in a mound and shape so there’s a ‘well’ in the centre.

2. In a bowl roughly mix the egg and oil together and pour into the well.

3. Starting slowly, start bringing in the dry ingredients and begin to work into a dough.

4. Knead for a couple of minutes before placing in the fridge.

5. Ideally do this when the meat goes in the oven and then it’ll be ready to roll when the meat comes out.

To Finish (per serving)

Reserved Oxtail

Reserved braising jus

Pasta dough

3-4 button mushrooms, finely sliced

2 rashers of bacon

Half red onion, finely diced

2 cloves of garlic, finely diced

1 sprig of thyme, finely chopped

Half a glass of red wine

1 handful of kale, stems removed and roughly shredded

Grated parmesan to serve

Put a large pot of salted water on to boil.
Tear off about a quarter of the pasta dough and roll through the machine, starting at the widest setting then changing to the next one down after each ‘roll through’ until come to the thinnest setting. Dust lightly with flour and roll the sheet as you would a Swiss roll. Cut into strips of desired thickness. Leave to dry slightly as you prepare the rest of the dish.
Heat a frying pan until hot and fry bacon with a little oil until lightly browned.
Add mushrooms, onion, garlic and thyme and sweat for a minute or two.
Pour in wine and reduce by at least ¾’s.
Add about 100ml of the braising jus and about 100g of oxtail. Bring to boil, add water if necessary. At this point put the pasta into the boiling water, as it’s fresh it’ll cook very quickly, mine was al dente within a minute.
Toss kale into the sauce, should start wilting soon after.
Once the pasta is al dente, using a tongs, fish out the pasta and place straight into the pan with the sauce. Toss through for one-two minutes.
Spoon out onto serving plates with freshly grated parmesan.
Give self the mother of all back-pats.

From the Crack-Addict Cookbook: CocoPop Pannacotta with Rice Krispie Praline

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 21:43:00 +0000

Coco-Pop panna cotta, rice krispie praline, apple, oranges and
coffee granita (not pictured, my bad)

'What's this?' I hear you say. 'Two postings within a week. Why Ambassador, with this blog you are really spoiling us!' To which I reply, 'Yes, yes I am.' Truth is, the reason for the update is not due to an abundance of generosity, but that even more illusive nugget that is: free time. Due to some cock-up with holiday pay and hours owed I am, for the second week in a row, enjoying four days in a row. So if fad has not faded to the point of uber-lame, allow me to declare: winning!

I swear I was not high, nor under the influence of anything unsavory when I came up with this. Nor was I in the depths of 'the day after the night before' whereby the mental filter that would determine whether or not an idea is 'decent, worthy of noting' or 'plain batshit crazy' would be on the blip. No, the most worrying aspect of this post and the recipe it contains is that I was of totally sound mind and body the day I came up with this. The only thing more unsettling than that bit of information is this: the dish itself, it actually kinda rocks.

It started as a simple thought that snowballed into something that became equal parts delicious and demented. Essentially if you were to give it a pretentious synopsis you would say it's a playful deconstruction of breakfast with a sprinkle of nostalgia. It was a Sunday in work and despite the busy night previous I had steamed my way through the prep so found myself in the rare position of not really having that much to do. This is a dangerous thing, you see, the thing about being a chef is that your time pre-service is spent just getting ready for it. So matter how busy or quiet it is, that's all you're focused on, that's all you care about. But with the mental blinkers of preparing for service now removed I look around and, as if for the first time, find myself surrounded by stoves, cookers, equipment and an insanely well-stocked pantry. 'Well-well,' says the culinary Loki on my shoulder, 'whatever shall we get up to now?'

Seared scallops with beurre 'vert'

Some interesting stuff has come out of these little sessions. The skin cracker with sous-vide chicken from the last post was the latest. Another was the idea of blending softened butter with spinach to give it a vibrant green colour, when cooled and set, this was then incorporated into a buerre blanc (technically making it a buerre vert) sautéed bacon, peas and herbs were then stirred through. Served with sautéed scallops it was total killer. However not everything has worked out as well. I'm still haunted by The German's face wrinkling in disgust, and then promptly spitting into the nearest bin, my attempt at pickled samphire. However this desert proved to be a step towards redemption.

I was getting a cup of milk from the dispenser in the service area of the kitchen where a majority of the breakfast items are stored. One of these is a multi-drum cereal dispenser. As I stood there drinking my milk and looking at this drum I saw one of the cereals were Coco-Pops. A waft of nostalgia crept through and I remembered that when I was a kid the best part of having a bowl of Coco-Pops for breakfast was finishing the cereal but still having a half-bowl of chocolaty milk with a slight malt flavour left to slurp through. 'Mmm, good times.' I thought and turned to go about the rest of my day. But then I remembered David Chang doing a panna cotta flavored with Corn Flakes, and that was it. As in that moment I realised there was no way I could on living my life without trying this!

Infusing the milk/cream with Coco-pops

The result is panna cotta infused with Coco-pops. I then started thinking about what to put with it. The panna cotta is soft and smooth so I knew I needed crunch. So keeping the breakfast cereal theme and I made a Rice Krispie praline. Sweet and sweet, now I need something to brighten it up. I went with two fruits that are commonplace at the breakfast table, oranges and apples. In this case, diced raw apple mixed with some fine orange zest. A line of toffee sauce for decoration and works well with the praline. And finely, when I saw I had a good range of textures I decided I needed a change in temperature, so to thematically bring it full circle a coffee granita. Granita is basically a sorbet that hasn't been churned, think of a dry slushie, or flavored snow.

Rice Krispie praline cooling

I got The German to try it, after his initial reaction which was to introduce random drug-testing in the kitchen, he took a spoonful and tasted. Then something happened. Something so rare and fleeting that some would question if it even occurred at all. The bastard actually smiled.

Coco-Pop Panna cotta, Rice Krispie Praline and Coffee Granita (not pictured, my bad)

300ml cream

200ml milk

1 cup approx Coco-pops

2 tbsp sugar

2 leaves gelatin, softened in cold water

100g caster sugar

1/2 cup Rice Krispies

2 cups of lukewarm espresso

30g sugar

Place the milk and cream in a pot and heat until warm, but do not boil.
Remove from heat, pour in Coco-pops and stir. Let infuse at room temperature for twenty minutes- one hour.
Strain well, return to stove and heat again until warm. Add the sugar, squeeze excess water from gelatin and add to pot. Stir to dissolve.
Pour mixture into desired moulds, place in fridge to set.
Put sugar with a bit of water in a small pot and place on a high heat.
Heat until it caramelises to a dark amber colour, remove from heat and stir in Rice Krispies.
Spoon out onto a tray covered with a layer of baking parchment. Be careful as the mixture is insanely hot. Allow to cool at room temperature.
Break into pieces and pulse roughly in food processor. Store in airtight container at room temperature.
Stir sugar until dissolved in coffee.
Place in small, shallow container and freeze.
Before serving take a dinner fork and scrape over the mix.
To serve (as I did anyway but don't take as gospel) sprinkle a line of coco powder on your plate. Draw on two lines of toffee sauce at an angle to this. Remove panna cotta from mould and carefully place onto the line of coco. (mine were pretty stubborn so I had to dip the moulds in hot water, which, while successfully freeing them, started to melt the edges. Hence why the one pictured looks a bit deformed at the end)
Sprinkle the praline on top of the panna cotta and place the diced apple and orange zest around the plate.
Finally remove granita from freezer and place a small spoonful to the side.

Quick Notes About Previous Posts

In my last post in which I preached then pros and virtues of sous vide cooking, I banged on about how it allowed uniform doneness when cooking meat. Yet some of you may have noticed how the heading photo which was meant to show it off was taken in a way that didn't really, well, show it off. That's because I was having problems with my meat (and not for the first time) I'd home-vac my steak, put it in and when it'd be done I'd remove, sear and slice it. Yet instead of revealing the sweet-sweet uniform pink I was promised and hoped, I was rewarded with a manky shade of grey. Now while the exterior will always oxidize to a degree, this is unavoidable, having it oxidize internally is unheard of. Numerous searches online revealed nothing. For all intensive purposes this problem has never been encountered. So I varied, well, everything trying to find out what was causing this. From different ways of sealing the bag, to cooking with different liquids in the bag (thought maybe high-acidity fluids like soy or stout was a cause) to no liquids. To the amount of time spent 'under vacuum' all not making that much difference. Less time seemed to lessen it but, you should be able to cook meat indefinitely without any internal oxidization occurring. Otherwise how is Thomas Keller doing 72 hour short-ribs that are cooked medium? So soon after posting he piece I got me some duck breast, et voila! Perfect medium-rare, so what's the craic Jack? Only variable left to explore was the meat itself and then I got my answer. You see, I'm not a rich man by any means (form an orderly queue ladies) so that affects my food shopping. Chicken legs: half price? You bet! Ribeye from questionable sources: 60% off? Count me in! But the thing is, the same thing would happen even with what the supermarkets claimed was 'their finest 21 day aged Angus'. I went into the best butcher I knew, got a striploin that was €10 more per kilo then what I would pay. Bagged and cooked it. In a word S-U-C-C-E-S-S. Finely the €800 egg cooker was doing what it was meant to! Because the places that are using and experimenting with sous vide are generally pretty well-funded and high-end, you can bet their ingredients are equally top notch. Hence, it's not surprising theirs never been the book, 'Sous Vide on a Budget' After all I can't imagine Marcus Wareing getting a KP to run down to Tesco for some back-up lamb chops. But this discovery leads to the unsettling matter, why does this happen to supermarket meat? It's a question I'm sure there's an answer to it, but whether I really want to know is a different matter entirely. Your thoughts people. . . .

Ribeye steak, cooked for two hours at 56 degrees C.

What? You didn't know I was on Facebook. Well now you do!

Stout, Steak and Sous Vide

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 20:25:00 +0000

Stout and Sous Vide Steak with Stew Garnish

I know it’s a cliché to say, but I’ve never won anything. Having spent my schooldays committed to mediocrity and inexcellence, prizes and accolades were about as rare as a designated driver on Paddy’s Day. Actually that’s not true, when I was ten I won the Wilson Cup for junior acting for my part in Rumpelstiltskin. Which may as well have been the award for Knowing All Your Lines, Getting Through Your Part With a Clean Nose And Not Spending The Entirety of Your Time on Stage Looking For Your Parents Amongst The Crowd, but would’ve meant the engraving be the same size as the cup. However two weeks ago I get a call in work from the MD of Eurolec, saying that after putting my name in the draw at their stand at the Catex Expo last month, I was now the proud owner of a Grant SV100 immersion circulator. . . .I will now pause for moment to bask in your collective envy. For those of you not taking a moment to contemplate how life has been nothing but a serious of misfortunes and let-downs while muttering, ‘some people have all the luck’ under their breath’s, you’re probably wondering what the hell it is and what it does. You, and nearly every single staff member who’s walked through my section and seen this piece of kit. Which is funny, given that a staff of a dozen cooks that total nearly half a century of experience, the resounding response to, ‘It’s an immersion circulator.’ is a blank stare followed by ‘How much does it cost?’ ‘If you were to buy it, about a grand.’ A curse word is then usually muttered followed by a shake of the head. Occasionally the odd one will not be satisfied by this and will ask what it does. Which by itself warrants a fairly straightforward answer, but the whole point of this piece of equipment is not so much what it does, but what it allows you to do. And that is a whole other matter entirely.

Chicken leg with herbs and star anise,
before.

First off, essentially all an immersion circulator does is heat water, that’s pretty much it. (My housemate’s response, ‘So it’s a really, really expensive kettle?’) But as it heats water it keeps it moving to regulate it to an exact preset temperature. It will keep this temperature to .01 of a degree and hold it indefinitely, days if needed. That’s what it does, now for the other matter. The matter is called Sous Vide, and if you’re not familiar with it then prepare yourself to join to ranks of the informed.

After 3 hours at 70 degrees C.

Sous Vide is the most common application in the kitchen that this device is used for. This translates as ‘under vacuum’, the item you wish to be cooked is placed in plastic bag, the bag is then vacuum-packed to remove the air within it. It’s then placed in water heated to a precise temperature. No doubt a lot of you will have seen this been done on TV at some stage. I was explaining it to one of the girls in the office, after a moments realisation she blurted out, ‘Oh yeah, that’s that thing that guy did on Masterchef.’ There’s no doubt that the use of Sous Vide cooking has become increasingly widespread of the past ten years. In truth it is no longer seen as a radical, avant-garde technique. Used only by those practicing the dark art of *hisses* ‘molecular gastronomy’. But now chefs are viewing it for what it is, just another way of doing something. The same way the microwave is an alternative to heating something over an oven. And a stick blender is an alternative to a bowl and whisk. Proof being that even the old school titans of classic high-end French cookery, namely Ducasse, Robuchon and Thomas Keller have all relented and have all fully implemented it into their multi-Michelin starred kitchens around the world. Keller even wrote a book on it. So how and why does it work? Not to procrastinate, but before we answer this we need to address something else. As the most common use of Sous Vide is to cook meat, in order to understand how cooking in this manner is different from conventional methods, we need to understand a few points of what happens to meat when we cook it.

High humidity meant I wouldn't get crispy
skin ,so baked it separately between two
baking trays.

Doneness: I don’t mean to dissuade you but there are experienced chef’s that have been cooking steaks for years that will not be familiar with what I’m about to say. You see, when you cook steak in a restaurant or at home, gauging i’s doneness be it from rare – well done, is determined by feeling. You can press it as it cooks and judge by its resistance. Alternatively, chefs would stick a metal skewer in, leave for 5 seconds, pull out and rest it under your lip. If it’s slightly warm, it’s rare-medium rare. If it’s roasting hot it’s well done. The idea is that the metal absorbs the internal heat, therefore the temperature you feel is the temp inside the meat. (For this reason I find an instant-read digital thermometer to be indispensable.) But what most people don’t consider that different levels of doneness occur at different temperatures. Example, rare is about 45-50 degrees C, medium is between 60-65 and well is past 70. So if you’re cooking a piece of meat and you want it a certain way, you cook it until the core reaches the temperature required. So traditionally you put it on a hot pan or bang it in the oven. But even if you want it well done, both methods involve the item been exposed to temperatures greater then you want it to ultimately end up. The result is that, say you cut your steak after it’s been cooked and look at the inside, the core may be exactly as you’d like it. But moving out from that they’ll be areas around it that have gone passed the desired temperature in order to cook the core sufficiently. So while most of your steak is spot-on, nearly a third of it is technically overcooked. Also when you get a steak or chop that hasn’t been evenly cut from the joint you can end with uneven cooking, as one part of the item is thicker than the other and so requires longer cooking. So half of your steak is fine but one part is overcooked. Now, can we kind of see where this is going?

Skin cracker, boom!

By having an item cooking in an environment where the temperature never exceeds that of the desired doneness (such as, say, water been heated by an immersion circulator?) all issues named above are simply, no longer issues. I want a piece of meat cooked medium, you set the machine to 60 degrees, drop it in and that’s it. The result is a piece of meat that, when sliced, is perfectly cooked and completely uniform in colour from end to end. This also near-eliminates another pitfall in not just meat cookery, but cookery in general: overcooking. ‘How long are you going to cook them for?’ The German asks me as I drop in marinated chicken livers, rolled into a sausage-shaped tube, ‘I want them about medium-well. Gonna give them bout an hour and a half.’ ‘An hour and a half, for medium-well! But zay will overcook!’ I then explained (again, to my SOUS chef) that because no part is exceeding the temperature desired, traditional overcooking is just not possible. That’s not to say stuff can be left there forever as a kind of tenderisation occurs and that doesn’t work for tender cuts such as chops and steaks. Also I’ve noticed on occasion that prolonged cooking in steak has caused them to oxidise internally, though still fine to eat, just doesn’t look that appealing. However the fact that adding ingredients to the bag with your item, allow it to be continually marinated as it’s cooking and not just before. Allowing a multitude of opportunities to add and impart flavour.

Borrowed some stuff from the garnish section: Chicken Leg cooked Sous Vide with
wild mushrooms and skin cracker.

Lastly there is one big advantage to this technique and for that we need to get slightly technical. Meat and fish are comprised mainly of protein. Yet the thing about protein and protein strands is how they react to heat. Mainly the fact that past the temperature of 85 degrees C they begin to contract. This has implications when it comes to cooking meat. As we’ve said, traditionally cooking meat requires high temperatures. The result is that areas that have exceeded this temp, the protein strands have contracted. The reaction causes moisture to be essentially squeezed out of the meat, like wringing out a damp cloth. And that, ladies and gents is why overcooked chicken is dryer then Mormon’s 21^st! This relates to my funky egg post. Eggs of course been stacked with protein, having them cooking at low temp results to completely different texture.

Last week saw St. Patrick's Day, which I shockingly spent in work, during which I learnt that there are few experiences more soul-destroyingly depressing to an Irishman. Anyway I brought Grant home and decided that I would make some homage to the day it was. Beef and Guinness Stew is one of the more well known strings in the Irish cusine bow. Traditional Irish dishes are hard to pin down, apart from, take a British dish replace everything that isn't meat with pototes. But this one is a belter. Here I decided to refine it by replaced the diced stewing beef with striploin steak, which was cooked Sous Vide in herbs, garlic, stout and stock. The garnish here is basically a traditional stew minus the beef which doubles as a sauce. Unconventional? Yes. Clever? Maybe. Pretentionus, while trivialsing the culture and history of our great nation? Pretty much, but that's the advantage of actually being Irish, not just your Grandmother.

Stout and Sous Vide Steak with Stew Garnish

1 striploin steak, approx 200-300 grams

500ml can of Irish Stout

2tbsp chicken stock

2-3 sprigs of thyme

1 clove of garlic, peeled and roughly chopped

1 decent sealable freezer bag

1 small red onion, finely sliced

2 rashers of streaky bacon, cut into lardons

3-4 button mushrooms, finely sliced

1 medium roosterpotato, cut into large dice and blanched until nearly done

1½ tbsp plain flour, add more if needed

½ cup of beer or chicken stock

small knob of butter, 10-20 grams

2 tbsp of finely chopped parsley

Set water bath to preferred temp.
Place the steak, thyme, garlic, stock and about 150ml of the stout into the bag.

Sealing the bag

Work all the air bubble out from around the steak. To seal I use the David Arnold method of home-vacuuming. Fill a basin or pot big enough to submerge the bag in with water. Seal the bag all the way till about 1” from the end. Hold from this opening. Place the bag in the water, keeping just this opening above the surface. With your other hand push the last of the air out, the water pressure should take out most of it. Carefully close the last of the seal.
Place into water bath. Leave for nearly an hour but not more than two.
Fry bacon on high heat with a tbsp or two or oil.
When they’ve got a bit of colour, turn down the heat to medium and throw in the onions.
After about 3-4 minutes add the mushrooms.
Stir in the flour and after a minute add about 150 ml of the remaining stout.
Drink remaining stout.
Bring to boil while stirring, add stock and bring to boil.
Add potatoes and most of the parsley.
Reduce until desired consistency. Take off heat and stir in butter.
Take bag from the bath and let sit for about 5 minutes.
Remove from bag and pat dry. If you want the liquid in bag can be adding to the ‘stew’.
Get a frying pan on a high heat and let warm for at least 5 minutes so it’s screaming hot.
Season steak with salt, pepper and a little oil.
Sear for no more than 15 seconds on each side. Remove from heat.
Place the stew garnish in middle of the plate. At angle slice the steak and arrange on top. Sprinkle with parsley and serve.

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Cured and Beeten Salmon

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 02:16:00 +0000

As served in work.

Cure mix.

You may be relieved to know that after the last post I took a deep breath, counted to ten and was fully ready to shake off that week and start anew with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Then that crowd up North had their mid-term which was immediately followed by our own national one, creating a proverbial DP of chaos. 'Well sure isn't it good that you're busy' you might say. Only for me to reply that yes, it is good that in the middle of February we're packing them in like Tom Cruise in a fudge factory, but when the result is me being unable to take a break throughout the duration (which in turn meant 24 hours between meals, five days in a row) that smile has now become a firm grimace sitting below two sunken eyes. And the song has switched from 'Mr Blue Sky' to this and this.

Today is pancake day but I'm not posting anything related. My bad, but were it not for a Facebook post from my house mate saying, 'Here, gay lad. Yer makin me pancakes today. I'm finished at half 5.' I wouldn't have bothered. Instead, you get a post about the process of curing fish. I know, but that's life and life has it's disappointments. Take it from someone who owns the Noma cookbook.

Packing on the cure.

This dish came about from no other influence than me just being curious and wanting to try something out. Ten days later its goodbye to our deconstructed Prawn Cocktail and hello to Homemade Beetroot-cured Salmon. The process of curing is an ancient method of preserving meat and fish by coating in a salt/sugar mixture for a period of time. This draws out moisture, sterilises the meat and slows the oxidation process. It's also the process that creates Bacon, Salami, Chorizo and Parma Ham. (thank you Wilkipedia!) Over the years I began noticing the trend of coating fish with grated beetroot as it cured to 'stain' the meat and I knew it was one of those things that I had to try. So after some funny looks from Chef, I was granted a side of Salmon to try it out. Worked like gangbusters. It looks cool and tastes awesome. Rather than being just a colouring agent, the beetroot actually lends a sweet earthy-ness. Even the German was impressed and he calls Salmon, 'Za pig of za sea'. And while it may seem like an ordeal to make and you'll need to clear a pretty large space in your fridge, it's actually embarrassingly straightforward and also will last for well over a week and freezes fine.

Beetroot - Cured Salmon, serves lots

1 side of fresh Salmon, skin on

175g Caster sugar

135g Sea salt

2-3 tbsp of black peppercorns

1 decent sprig of rosemary or thyme or both

2-3 oranges

3-4 raw beetroot

48 hours later

Check the Salmon for bones.
Place the sugar, salt, peppercorns, herbs, the zest from all the oranges but the juice from only half of them in a food processor.
Blitz from approx 10-20 seconds.
Peel the beetroot and grate finely.
Lay a sheet of cling film over a shallow tray large enough for the fish.
Place the Salmon skin-side down, take the cure mix and pack onto the fish. You want to be sure that it's evenly and entirely covered.
Take the grated beetroot and do the same.
Place another sheet of cling film over the fish, put another tray on top. Weight down with tins, bags of flour, family pets or whatever you have to hand.
Leave in the fridge. Take out after 24 hours, you'll find that there's a load of water in the tray. This is normal, drain off and return to the fridge for another 24 hours.
Remove, drain and wash off the beetroot/cure mix. Pat dry and slice as thinly as possible.

Okay fine, mark this one for next year. Recipe taken from my DCS folder:

100g plain flour

30g caster sugar

60g butter, melted

2 eggs

pinch of salt

200ml milk

zest of two oranges

Using a stick blender, blend the flour, sugar, butter and eggs until smooth. Add the milk slowly while blending to prevent lumps. Stir in orange zest. When smooth let sit for a half hour at room temperature.

Heat a frying pan on a high heat. Fold up a piece of kitchen paper. Hold over a bottle of sunflower oil and turn upside down to damp the paper. Wipe this around the pan.

Think you can take it from here?

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Valentine’s Day: A retrospective from a professional perspective.

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 22:35:00 +0000

Best of the best: Seared scallops with tomato tartlet and basil vinaigrette.

Obviously I would have preferred to post this sooner, perhaps at a time when it may have had some kind of relevance. But given how this past week has been, this is the best I could do. A phrase that to my ex is pretty much a catchphrase. It was a tough week in the restaurant. Last Saturday’s (12th Feb) service was an endless slog. There are evenings in a kitchen that are relentless. The first docket comes in at five minutes after opening and the printer keeps on churning them out right up to last orders, four hours later. The kind of service where it feels like someone’s holding your head underwater and just as you think you’re about to get a moment to catch your breath it’s, ‘CLICK-SCREECH, CLICK-SCREECH, CLICK-SCREECH’ three more tables of two have just come in. The next day the guys and I were talking and nearly all of us said that when we finally got to bed and closed our eyes we could almost still hear the printer churning in the background. As for Monday (the 14th), that was an interesting one.

We’re a hotel so regards to the restaurant nearly 90% of our customers are guests that are staying. So given the day the hotel was pretty quiet. On Sunday night the bookings for the next night were just eight. Around lunchtime on Monday that was up to eighteen. We laughed and joked, ‘Tough one tonight lads, haha!’ Five minutes to opening we’d gained twenty-five bookings. Hmm, we thought. So a bit busier then we expected, nothing to panic about. Then service began and about an hour in we noticed we had five-six tables in. There were main courses waiting on the pass and I had starters and deserts awaiting pick-up. This would be fine were it not that there was not a waiter to be found. On this night there were about four-five wait staff on, which to my mind would be enough if we were expecting over eighty, so where the fuck were they? ‘Anna, Sarah, Davie, you have mains for tables 21, 33 and 4.’ Would be barked when occasionally one would rush into the kitchen, and with a panicked look, grab a bottle of mineral water or some more bread for a table and rush back out again. Turns out reservations had the bright idea to clump nearly all the table into the space of an hour and half. All those people arriving at once did not fit our server’s standard protocol of total ass-kissery. Meaning they actually had to work quickly instead of listening to the entire family history of table 12 in the hope they’d be rewarded with an extra two quid with the service charge. Did we in the kitchen sympathize? Did we feck! I was working through a block of about two two’s and a four top. I had it laid out and getting ready so I was going to get it out in time. The German then entered my station, looked at the dockets and started to assist with the plating. ‘Actually dude I’m fine here, seriously.’ He shakes his head. ‘I know but vee shoot this out as quick as vee can. If they’re going to give us eight tables at once, they need to pick up eight tables at once.’ He then nodded to the lone waiter polishing a glass as the fish for table 8 overcooks under the hot lamps and lowered his voice, ‘So I vant to fuck zem.’ And if that seems a bit harsh and unnecessary all I can say is, you should see him at Christmas. Final count at the end of the night was sixty-eight covers

Location: Weedsville. Population: You!

Overall food-wise it meant putting some new things on the menu. My favorite is pictured top: Seared scallops with tomato tartlet, rocket and basil vinaigrette. Half some cherry tomatoes, marinade in thyme, oil, salt and pepper. Butter a dish and arrange five-seven halves face down. Place a disk of puff pastry over them like you would for a tart tatin and bake. The vinaigrette is just chopped basil blitzed with lemon juice and zest, garlic and oil drained from sun-dried tomatoes. Sear scallops for about one – one and a half minutes on each side. Serve as above, caviar optional. By the way that dish pictured was just a mock-up, hence why the tart’s gotta little char on it. The dish itself was light, fresh and in my opinion probably the best starter we’ve had. The tart on its own was a winner. So much so that this Saturday gone we ran it as a vegetarian special. We simply replaced the scallops and caviar with parmesan shavings and pine nuts. Despite the berating by the German sous that it didn’t look substantial enough (‘Zere is no fucking vay I vould pay nine quid for that!’) But the customers thought it was ace. So for not the first I get to say to my boss, in your face Hans! Now that the only contribution I can make at this point involving food is done. You may now leave and go about your evening. If you want to stick around however, here’s my personal summing up of Valentine’s Day:

Valentine's Day, oh how I loathe thee. And I know that sounds bitter and dejected and even somewhat juvenile. But really when you think about it there's very few holidays in the entire year, that's celebrated by any other culture, that is as contrived and alienating as this Godforsaken mush-fest is. And I'm not just saying this because this year it was dinner for one (a frozen pizza, eaten at 00:10 am, after a ten hour shift) But even if I actually had plans, that didn't involve taking a sizeable chunk out of my monthly download limit, there's still something kinda messed up about the whole concept of this holiday. Let's get hypothetical; there are other holidays that are more geared to a specific people. Paddy's day means nothing to a Korean IT student and Thanksgiving passes by unnoticed over here. I mean I'm not being rude but I honestly don't know what date it's on, its November isn't it? But should I find myself at an American family’s dining table on that date then I would like to think I would be welcomed into the traditions and values that the holiday represents. Likewise if young Hyun-Ki (didn't make it up, it means 'wise') woke up in my flat on March 17th, I would equally bring him into the fold as to how this day is to be spent as I made him breakfast. Breakfast being two cans of Guinness consumed before 11am. Yet unless you've someone to share this day with, exactly how the fuck are you supposed to spend it? Apart from being reminded that, oh wait, you don't. I think this whole situation would be remedied if there was another holiday celebrated in and around the same time that could only be appreciated by singles. Something like, 'Knob-jokes and Beer Day' or 'Strip club Appreciation Week'. To sum up, think about it, you wouldn't have a holiday called, 'My two legs work just fine thank you.' and is spent skipping merrily past people in wheelchairs.

Last year did nothing to endear me to this day. I was in work, of course, and just as the tempo was starting to pick and up and things were beginning to get a bit tenser. The phone in the kitchen rang, it's for me. 'Alright man, how's things?' I sigh 'What is it?' it’s a commis, young lad not even 19 with a tendency to wreck the head. He has the night off and hasn't shut up the days previous about this young 'wan' he was going to be meeting up with. 'Just eh, what's the recipe for that chocolate mousse you were trying out the other day?' 'I dunno dude, I don't have the exact measurements with me and we're kinda starting to get busy here and. . . ' 'Any chance you could just give it to me just like, off the top of your head' he then lowers his voice to a secretive whisper, 'She's going to be over in an hour or so, is there any chance man?' I sigh wearily, 'Okay it's about this and that and this. You then take that and those makea a thing and add this and do that.' 'Sound man, cheers. Appreciate it man.' I hang up and return to the brewing shitstorm that’s begun to take shape. The next day he comes in and without word or reason just marches straight up to me and locks me into a sincere, almost brotherly, embrace. 'Mousse work then?' I ask. 'Aw man, wait till I tell ya.' 'You know, I really don't want to know.' 'I got the can of whipped cream and I sprayed it on her. . .' 'I SAID, I'm good with the details.' Because it's one thing to know that there are other people getting some when you aren't. But knowing that someone got their jollies on account of YOUR recipe. Well then, thank you world!

Not surprisingly when the whole deal came round I decided to forgo anything to do with it. As to post anything related, given my attitude, would be akin to requesting a dissertation on the virtues of modesty from Kanye West. So let the records show, that for the season of Valentine’s 2011, my contribution to the blogsphere was a 600 word rant and a curry recipe. Perhaps next year I’ll even it out with a flower arrangement, a recipe for chocolate fondant and in the text hide a link to a picture of a puppy wearing a red bow with the words, ‘Wuv U!’ stitched into it (the bow that is, not the puppy).

Miss me? (Chicken, Chickpea and Pea Curry)

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 00:52:00 +0000

Yes, I know, it's been awhile. But the reality that you should all be aware of by now is my job is one where, to me, free time is as precious and rare a commodity as a listenable Justin Bieber song. But with the week that it's been and the workload required for our Valentine's day menu I've been spending so much time in work, that I'm one step away from just curling up in the prep kitchen with a sleeping bag at the end of the each night. So I apologies if the veg patch that is my blog has sprouted a few weeds and started smelling faintly of cat piss.

The result of which is my kitchen at home has been receiving as much attention as the fruit bowl in the Cowen household. So while the entire blogsphere has been clambering over itself to deliver their take on what they intend to dish up on the day of Val. I’ve been solely focused on overcoming one restaurant-related headache after another. So attempting to post anything related to this holiday is akin to requesting a dissertation on the virtues of modesty from Kanye West. But now the dust has nearly settled (we’re still running our special menu this weekend) I find the only thing I’ve to offer is the one meal I’ve cooked for myself in the past eight days that wasn’t ordered in or came from a frozen box (Oh Green Isle’s Gigantic pizza, don’t ever change!)

But the one meal I made is a demonstration of a piece of advice that is integral to been a better cook. In short, I'm feeling generous this week. Perhaps the hours have resulted in a fatigue-induced lobotomy, but I feel like sharing something with you all. Some advice, that if you've any interest in feeding yourself beyond ready-meals and potato waffle sandwiches, might help actually help you. This advice could be summed up in a one word. A word that applies to and encapsulates everything involved in cookery. It is a word that whether it be students in a grubby bed-sit with a copy of 'Jamie's 30-Minute meals', or amongst the brigades of the most avant-garde, pyrotechnical three-star kitchens of Paris, New York or Tokyo, holds just as equal relevance and importance. The word; technique. My advice; that if you want to be better cook, concentrate on learning techniques, not recipes. Now, considering that on the face of it techniques are, essentially, recipes I wouldn't be surprised if the following didn't come off slightly convoluted but I'll explain as best as I can. Also bear in mind that I'm so very, very tired.

You see, nearly every action or process you undertake in a kitchen, be it cooking cheese on toast, sweating onions, making a salad dressing or preparing a 'torchon' of foie gras (don't expect a post on that anytime soon), are all the implication of a technique. Some more complex and difficult then others but the notion is the same. The difference between them and what is commonly conceived as a 'recipe' is that they are not specific to a dish. What I've always dug about Jamie Oliver, as much as it pains me to say it, is that he's one of the few mainstream cookbook writers who've grasped and applied the concept of not just teaching someone a dish, but teaching them a means to creating their own. Best example I can think of was in his book 'Cook with. . .' which was laid out in a way that the a chapter would begin with a base method, for say, pasta or gnocchi. And then the following recipes were ways in which that could be implied. That's essentially the distinction I'm trying to make. Learning the base of one thing, but using that as a starting point. An endless path of adaptation and altering to your own palate.

Let’s take one of the simplest such bases in a kitchen: a vinaigrette or dressing for salad, one part acid mixed to 3-4 parts oil. Google ‘salad dressing recipes’ and you’ll get near seven million results, and even if there are millions of dressing recipes out there I can tell you that at least most of will have the above at their core. So here I’ve made a curry. But I’ve posted a curry before and on the surface they seem pretty different but at their core in essence, is a method of making curry. Before I used just rice and peas, because it’s all it had. This time I’ve used chicken, chick peas, and mushrooms, because at the time it was all I had. So if you’re making this and you’d didn’t have any of those and instead had just a load of veg, or instead of chicken had lamb or even fish, with the method as a guide it’d still be ace.

After all, we all remember the Oxfam ad, 'Give a socially inept, World of Warcraft hooked, college student a Dominos Pizza and he'll be able to feed himself for the evening. But give him two slice pans of bread, a block of cheese, a tub of Ballymoley Relish and a George Foreman grill and you give him the means to feed himself for a week.' Although if cheese toasties are your sole meal for seven days straight, self-satisfaction aside, few could argue that this is an improvement.

Chicken, Chickpea and Pea Curry:

The method and quantities are near identical to this. But as I’ve said, that’s kinda the point. Amounts are per person:

1 onion

3 medium cloves of garlic

2-3 mushrooms

2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 tsp coriander seeds

3 whole cloves

1 tsp fennel seeds

4-6 cardamom pods

1 tsp tomato puree

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp tumeric

1 tbsp gara masala

½ tbsp chilli powder

1 diced chicken leg, de-boned. Thigh meat or even breast can be used.

1 spring onion

½ tin chickpeas

1 cup of frozen peas

1tbsp of cold butter

salt and black pepper for seasoning

Lightly fry the whole spices/seeds in a pan with a little oil.
Add onion, garlic and mushrooms and sweat for a few minutes.
Stir in ground spices, then add tomato puree and about a cup of water.
Add diced chicken; simmer for about 4-6 minutes.
Drain chickpeas and stir in.
When the chickpeas are warm add in peas and butter in bring back up temperature. Add spring onions and serve.

Steak + Bread = Awesome!

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 21:43:00 +0000

Mathematics was never my strong point in school. To the extent I can say with a weird sense of achievement that for the entirety of fifth year (for those reading across the pond that's the second-last year of high school. . . . .also there's a 'u' in colour) I, without exception, failed every single test. In one rather spectacular moment of ineptness I was put in detention, after one where the only marks my teacher could award me were that I'd managed to correctly spell my name. But as I'm and lefty (and damn proud!) and have the writing of an angry 10 year old, even that was put under scrutiny. The ironic footnote to this is that I changed teachers in sixth year where, lo and behold I became one of the top students. And while I can't say that the subject has made a direct impact on my day to day life. You find that life contains numerous simplistic equations that you learn and live by. For example, if x = work and y = coffee: x - y = Hell! Also if a = cats and b = the Internet then realistically a + b = YouTube. And then there's my personal and somewhat embittered favorite. Which brings us to this post which is the subject of another infallible equation.

There are some things in life, that even in their worst incarnation, are still capable of delivering a level of satisfaction within the ballpark of what their very best version could deliver. Having said that they're are those that unless it's anywhere near half-decent quality it's not worth your time. I mentioned this train of thought to my flat mate who totally understood what I meant, and then gave an example that I'm pretty sure even I can't share ('I'm telling ya man, if she doesn't know what she's doing it's just a waste of time.')

Something that falls into the former, along with fish and chips, ice cream and vodka, is the steak sandwich (not together). Because when you have a slab of red meat between two pieces of bread, there's no way that the result will anything but awesome.

Okay recipe time, but as it's basically a sandwich I think I can trust you to do your own thing. The only thing is something I call Bacon Onion Gravy Relish Thing. It's something I came up with when I had Yorkshire Puddings in the oven, it wasn't Sunday and there was nothing else going with them, I was just in the kind of. . . . .mood where you're standing in the middle of the kitchen and you suddenly realise that if you don't have a plateful of Yorkshires in the next half hour you're probably going to harm yourself. Then my flat mate. . . . . .who was also in a similar mood, clasped his hands over his head and, 'Oh no, we've no gravy!' 'Shit you're right!' So this was what came about, a case of just throwing stuff into a pot until it tasted good. Shockingly it actually does. Also, recently I made this using half chicken stock, half braising juices from my soy pork belly, which was awesome, as was rubbing the steak in the same spice rub. But anyway here's a rundown of how I put mine together:

I used a rib eye steak, my personal fav in terms of both flavour and texture. I subscribe to the Heston-endorsed Harold McGee method of steak cookery, whereby you pre-heat the nuts off your pan, drop in your steak and turn every 20-30 seconds. Because you turn it so frequently the heat is retained on the exposed side and continues to cook on both sides, rather then cooling down and then having to get back up to temp, which is what happens when you've only turning it every couple of minutes. The advantage of this is two-fold. Firstly, it cooks in no time. I once had a steak go from raw to well-done in only 5-6 turns. Secondly, because it cooks so quickly and therefore been exposed to heat for a shorter amount of time, it retains more moisture. So in short, a juicier steak in less time. Try also with pork chops and burgers, but wouldn't recommend it with fish and chicken.

Take it out and let it rest (simply the MOST important aspect of meat cookery) on a plate for about the same amount of time you cooked it. In the same pan you cooked the steak in throw in 2 -3 mushrooms for per person and a clove of chopped garlic. Cook with a little bit of butter. As this is going on toast your bread. I used a round pita, but that's because I always have pita breads, in fact I only ever have pita bread. But here anyway they worked like gangbusters. Before assembly, pour the resting juices from the steak into the gravy/relish for full cheffy utilisation.

Assembly went: garlic mayo - lettuce - gravy/relish - steak - mushrooms - sliced spring onions - small grating of Parmesan, just to give a savoury kick.

Right now I'm going to break food blogger's protocol, as this where you'd usually say 'serve with nice salad of x, y and z' or with homemade potato wedges. But no, on this night it was McCain's frozen best. That's right, from the freezer to the oven, half an hour later and you've got near-passable chips. Not a garlic clove, Rosemary sprig or drizzle of olive oil in sight! Would Donal Skehan approve? No, but Donal Skehan isn't making dinner at half 11 at night after working a 10 hour shift with a hangover that could pacify half of fucking Cairo.

Bacon Onion Gravy Relish Thing:

1 Red onion, sliced

2 Rashers of bacon, cut into lardons

2 Garlic Cloves, finely chopped

1 tbsp Plain Flour

1 tsp Tomato Puree

1 tsp Dried Tarragon

200ml-300ml approx Chicken stock/water with 1/4 of a stock cube

2 tbsp Ballymole Relish

1tsp English Mustard

In a pot fry the bacon on a high heat with a little oil until it starts to colour.
Add garlic and onions, turn heat down and sweat for a few minutes till soft.
Add flour, herbs and puree, stir for a minute or two.
Pour in stock, stir well till thickened
Stir in condiments. Let simmer for 5-10 minutes. If it gets too thick just add water or more stock. Ultimatley you're looking for a ketchup-like thickness.

Enjoy peoples!

Lets Get Ready to Crumble!!

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 02:37:00 +0000

'And what exactly am I supposed to do with these?' says the flat mate to his mother. When in amongst the moving-in gift that was a parental care pack that consisted of enough food to re-nourish a small village, a bag of apples is discovered. In the days that followed and once all the biscuits and cheese had been taken, we'd say to each other the odd time, 'we should make like, a pie with them or something.' But that was said in the same hypothetical context as when you turn to your mate at the end of a long night and say something along the lines of, 'You and me dude, driving across South America in a Reliant Robin. I'm tellin' ya man, this summer for sure.' In other words, nice idea but the when the effort involved was considered, not likely to happen.

A week later and the damn things were still there. We knew that is was now or never. There was talk of pie and tart tatin, but both of these involved pastry and the act of proper baking occurring would totally mess with our homestead's chi. As would anything as energetic as walking the whole two minutes to the store for the pre-made frozen variety. [Note: I will never feel or be made to feel guilty about buying store-bought puff or filo pastry. If you disagree then I can only hope that one day you look up beyond your domestic fortress to the world outside.] Not to mention looking completely out of place in the fridge. The vibrant and healthy green clashing unpleasantly against the family pack of bacon and the amber hue of the communal rum bottle.

'What about an apple crumble?' I said, half-hearted. Pause as this suggestion was considered. 'Do it.' was the answer. Now I'm not sure what you folks outside the British Isles know of crumble [currently this blog has been viewed from USA, Canada, Japan, Australia and Libya. International-five!] But it's kind of a big deal over here. Crumble is one of those desserts that nearly every mother, regardless of overall culinary ability, is able to produce. It's one of those dishes that everyone has experienced numerous times throughout growing up, be it at family gatherings or just Sunday dinner. Heston talks about dishes that evoke memory and in turn emotion. How a simple plate of food can transport you into a time and place within the mental back-catalogue of experiences, most brilliantly shown in that scene from Ratatouille. For me this is one of those dishes, one that resonates to something deeper. A mark from a certain time with certain people, punctuated by having a big dish of this in the middle of the table. 15 - 20 years later, me and my flat mate scooped piles of the stuff onto our plates and I took my first bite. Although the recipe was all my own it didn't matter because it was still an apple crumble. I ate, I smiled, I remembered.

I kinda misjudged the quantity here, as you can see. So unless you want to construct your own great barrier reefer (what we Christened the tinfoil divide that was devised by my flat mate, props!) and feed more then two people, you'll probably need to double the amounts here.

Crumble Topping

Plain Flour: 100g

Castor Sugar: 100g

Butter, cold: 100g

Ground Cinnamon: 1tsp

Apple Base

Granny Smith or Golden Delicious Apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1/8 wedges: 6

Castor Sugar: 100g approx

Whole Cloves: 3

Star Anise: 1

Ground Cinnamon: 1tbsp

Make the crumble mix by putting all ingredients into a food processor and blitz until resembles breadcrumbs, about 30 seconds or so. Place in fridge until needed.
For the apple base start by putting the putting the sugar and about 50ml of water into a pan large enough to hold all the apples. Melt on a high heat and allow to turn to a caramel, should take about 5 - 10 minutes. During this try to move the pan as little as possible, only at the end when the edges start to discolour should you really start moving it around. This allows it to colour evenly.
Throw in the apples and spices, leave for a moment before stirring. This is to allow the juices in the apples to come out, which then dissolves the caramel so you don't spend your time scraping lumps of solid sugar around the pan.
Add around 200mls of water and cook on a medium heat for about 15 minutes, or until tender when poked with a knife. Ideally the water should be evaporated by the time the apples have cooked.
[Here's where a controversy took place. I'd originally intended to keep the apples whole, but then my flatmate came over and asked if this was when I was going to start, 'mashing them up'. 'Well I was going to keep them whole.' 'Really. . . .in a crumble?' he said with that look of a 10 year old that's just been told that Christmas is cancelled and instead will be spent cleaning the verrucas on Aunt Nora's feet. 'Okay I'll blitz 1/4.' 'Nah, dude, do 'em all.' 'What about half and half?' 'Eh. . . .' 'Okay fine, 1/4 whole, 3/4 pureed.' 'Yea, alright.' he relented. But in retrospect, why did I even bother to negotiate? If I'd said tough shit, what was he going to do? Slam the door to his room and pull a strop the next time it was his turn to get milk?] So anyway, remove 1/2 - 3/4 of the apples, place into a food processor and blitz to a puree, sweeten if necessary.
Spread the puree on a suitable try or dish, place the remaining wedges on top, followed by the crumble mix.
Bake at 190 C for about 10 - 15 minutes, or until the top has gone a golden brown.
Remove from oven and let stand for a few minutes. Spoon out and serve with either whipped cream or ice cream. Or however you remember having it when life just seemed that little bit simpler.

Do you have any memories of crumble growing up? If not, what was the pudding that you always looked forward to your mother making? Have you tried making your own version since?

'I Like Mine With a Kiss'. . .(or if the proteins have coagulated at a lower temperature)

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Sun, 16 Jan 2011 20:03:00 +0000

Eggs: that's it today pure and simple. More specifically a method of cooking them I've recently gone nucking futs for. By the way, if you've clicked onto this hoping for some kind of elaborate brunch preparation then, well, tough. Because recipe-wise all that's here is a way of cooking eggs. And not even a properly written one either. In fact looking over this it's pretty much just a sentence at the end of the fourth paragraph. Oh and a photo. You're lucky enough to get a photo. So let's talk for a minute about something called a slow poached egg. Something that some of you might be familiar with. But for those who don't, and haven't really been reading a word of this because after seeing the heading photo all they're thinking is, 'Jumping Nike-Air Moses what the fuck is that!!' Let me explain.

You see, I was never that excited about eggs until my folks took delivery of three hens (now two after an introduction from Granny's dog), because apparently that's what you do when you turn 50 and move out of the city. Since then I've discovered that they provide simply the best Goddamn eggs in the whole world. And so I've proceeded to boil, poach, scramble and fry my way through tons of those little nuggets of awesome. Their richness, the way that (when poached) they'd immediately fold up into neat quenelles. And then there's the yolk, oh man the yolk. That vibrant, rich, near-florescent shade of orange. To me, one of the great pleasures in life was poaching a couple of those bad boys, then put them on top of a bacon-covered, Ballymaloe relish-smeared piece of toast. Then watch as that golden yolk flowed out, over and onto the plate, creating a mess of pure deliciousness.

But now you've found me after experiencing a paradigm shift of sorts. You see up until recently I was convinced that eggs, poached to perfection in acidulated water was the ultimate tribute you could pay to l'oeuf. But no more, not now. I believe it was Sat Baines, several seasons ago on Great British Menu, who had it incorporated into his dish. This was the first time I saw the 'slow egg'. The judges 'oohed' and 'aahed' over it and the dish itself ended up getting to the final banquet. Since then it'd pop up here and there. Tristan Welch did it a few seasons later. The odd time on Professional Masterchef, etc. Then I saw Wylie Dufresne prepare it for a challenge on Top Chef Masters. It was the first time any show had gone into any real detail about it. Dufresne had my attention already from an appearance on Iron Chef where he used an enzyme (transglutaminase) to make noodles out of pureed fish (there is no typo in that sentence, he made noodles out of fish, watch!). Back to Top Chef Masters, Jay Rayner wound up gushing about the unctuous, custard-like consistency of what, at a glance anyway, looked like a pretty standard soft-boiled egg. My curiosity grew.

Fast-forward to a month or so ago. A package arrives containing David Chang's Momofuku. A book I'd end up reading with the same vigor and devotion as you would a great detective novel. A book I've fallen asleep to reading on more then one occasion, refusing to submit to sleep for just one more page! Then early into the book my eyes glide over the header at the top of the page: Slow Poached Egg. Up until this point I had an idea of the method, but no clue to the specifics. I knew that the egg was cooked in its shell in water at a certain temperature. But at what temperature and for how long? Here at last was a definite method and recipe. In short, 60-63 degrees for 45 minutes. I closed the book and knew that I HAD to try this.

As I said before, up until now I'd always thought that poaching was the best way to enjoy eggs. But to me anyway, there was still a problem with that. Namely the white. Because to me the white was the tasteless, tough purgatory you went through to get to the heaven that is the runny yolk. But with this method what you end up is one creamy pod of gooey unctuousness that falls apart with one push of a fork. The white now a near-translucent coating around the yolk. Almost like a loose jelly. This is because (so I'm told) the low temperature means the proteins coagulate differently then they would in a regularly poached egg.

Despite this being a method used in multi-Michelin starred restaurants around the world, don't expect everyone to like it. I was staying at my parents for a few days when I first tried it. My mum shrieked that it was still raw. My current flat mate after seeing me nurse over the pot with my digital thermometer, then describing the what's and why's of what I was doing, was curious to see what was going to come out when I cracked the shell. He wasn't impressed, as below shows. In short, are they more work then cracking them into boiling water for 2 minutes? Yep. But if you like your eggs then you kind of owe it to yourself to experience them in a way that's new, exciting and most unbelievable of all, may actually have you agreeing with Jay Rayner.

You ever eaten/witnessed/enjoyed this way of having egg? Do you have a favorite preparation that has made you friends, gained enemies or just divided opinion? Or, like my flat mate, just want to tell me how utterly mank they look? As always the floor is open. . .

Pork Belly: An Introduction

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 20:16:00 +0000

If you're experience of dinning out over the past few years has been limited to goods foraged from the woods that surround your desolate shack that sits atop a mist-shrouded wilderness, then pork belly (or belly of pork as some Franco-philes write it) will probably have failed to make its way onto your dietary radar. Hence, this post. Though wouldn't this brief flirtation with civilisation be better spent replacing that potato sack you call jacket, rather than looking up food blogs?

Pork belly is somewhat of a Cinderella story. A slow cut that is now the staple of menus of nearly every price range and cuisine. Not bad for something once so unpopular it was almost considered offal. And while it's a cut that has been done to death at this stage, it didn't get this popular if there wasn't something going for it. (Oh Cheryl Cole, if only the same could be said for you!) Personally I've a great fondness for this slab of pork, in the same way I do for beef cheek, rabbit, venison and bone marrow. Working the sauce section in Alexis involved the daily butchering, preparing, roasting, braising and stewing of a variety of meats. Here our pork belly was rubbed on the inside with butter, salt, pepper and sage. Tied, rolled, seared and then placed in a covered pan in a low oven for about 3 hours. Tying was an art onto itself. Roll by hand, tie a knot at one end, drop the ball of twine down your apron to keep it from moving. Make a loop in the slack, then bring it over the tied end, tighten round the meat, repeat with 1-2" between each loop. Making sure to alternate between the slack coming from the right or the left in order to keep the tension even, so the joint didn't curl. I remember I once did ten in an hour, and we're talking whole bellies here, some with the ribs still on. Gabbo, a Romanian KP, asked me was I taking something as he put a finger over one nostril and pretended to dramatically inhale an imaginary line.

Rolling it is something you don't see in many places, as most are content with serving neat squares that nicely show off the layers of fat and flesh. I guess that's one thing that belly has going for it, it just looks so damn good. Those nice even layers, neatly framed within a perfect rectangle of meat. So while my old boss was insistent rolling was the way to go, I wouldn't bother. Doesn't look as good and takes longer to cook. So if you've never tried it before allow me to remove the any mystic or apprehension about preparing this meat. Because honestly, from a professional point of view, to cook a piece of fish perfectly or roast a fillet of beef to an exact medium-rare requires a degree of skill and intuition that is nowhere near on the same level as throwing a piece of meat in the oven for 3 hours. In other words, this is pretty easy stuff guys. The demi-god that is Marco Pierre White said that cooking is a number of small things done correctly, do the right thing at the right time and you can't fail. A philosophy that I've somewhat lived by and have beaten into any chef I've had to instruct. (in a nice mentoring way of course) When this is applied to pork belly it can simply summed as; low, slow and covered. That's it, once your meats covered and in a low oven for a long enough time then you can't really go wrong. And if you still manage to mess it up then you probably shouldn't really be let near an oven without someone to hold your hand or clip you round the ear when it becomes apparent you're incapable of making toast.

So here's how I make mine. I like to give mine an Asian twist so I coat it in ground spices and cook it on a bed of veg and whole spices as it braises/steams in a mix of stock and soy sauce. But like I said that's just how I do it. Don't like it, leave it out. Don't have soy, just use stock. Don't have stock, just use water. As long as it's low, slow and covered. Another great thing about this is that it reheats brilliantly. I make this and have in my fridge and just cut pieces off for dinner (as pictured above) or have them in noodles or sandwiches.

Idiot-Proof Pork Belly:

Pork Belly, skin removed: 500-600g

Chinese 5 spice powder

Red onion: 1, roughly chopped

Garlic Cloves: 2-4

Spring Onion: 1 roughly chopped

Coriander seeds: 2tsp

Fennel seeds: 2tsp

Star Anise: 2 whole

Soy Sauce: 4-6tbsp

Chicken Stock: 200-300ml

Rather then give this the neat bullet-point delivery that I did last time. I'm just going to Rick Stein this and give a general run through. Put your onions, garlic and whole spices in a tray. The reason I'm using red and spring onion is simply that that's all I had. For yourself if you just had onions that'd be fine. If you had some carrot, celery, leek or even celeriac, then good for you, that'd be even better. Score the fat of the belly and coat liberally in five spice, salt and pepper. Put a large frying pan on the heat, when hot add a little oil and sear the belly till golden on both sides. The point of this is to add flavour, having said that I've skipped this step in the past and it's still turned out dandy. Place belly on veg. Return pan to the heat, deglaze with stock and pour into tray, pour over soy sauce and cover with tin foil. Put in oven for about 2:30-3 hours at 140 degrees. Remove and leave covered for about a half hour. If not using that day wrap tightly in cling film and put in fridge. As for the cooking juices, pout into a small container and put in the fridge. Throw a spoon of that fat/juice mix in the next time your making any kind of sauce, its also total dynamite in stir-frys.

Enjoy suckaa's!

Had any good (or bad) experiences with belly? Think something else should be given it's moment in the spotlight? Do tell.

Cheap Spills: Yamamori Noodles

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 01:12:00 +0000

Website
Phone +3531 475 5001

‘Sure it’s only spaghetti in water, I don’t see what the big fucking deal is!’ this is the words of someone voicing their opinion of the Japanese delicacy that is Ramen. Once more, they’re mine. Or at least they were, spoken several years ago during a conversation with friends over where we should eat. Someone suggested Mao’s, several seemed enthused by this, so that was my response. Forgive me as I was so very young and wrong about so many things that have been put right since. So now I totally kill for Ramen. I also don’t wear stupidly baggy t-shirts and realise that the music of Fred Durst and Kid Rock were never ever, ever, ever, anything but total shit on a stick.

Skip forward to last week and I’m the LUAS into town, when I find myself with a sudden desire for anything involving noodles that verges on ‘third-trimester’ level of craving intensity. Being the good boy I was this year I’m now the proud owner of an iphone. And if you think that’s me gloating I’d just like to point out that I had my previous phone for nearly six years. A phone so old that I’m pretty sure it’s preceding model was two baked bean tins connected by a piece of string! I Google ‘Dublin, noodles’ and scroll through the results, there’s a few options but being not exactly flushed for cash I’m looking at the more informal and fiscally approachable end of the market. It’s then that Yamamori pops up. I’d been there years ago for dinner with college friends to celebrate graduation. But it being a few years ago my opinion wasn’t far from the opening words of this post. I decide to right the wrongs of culinary ignorance and reckon today Yamamori seemed to fit the bill.

I arrive and am seated in about a minute flat. Good start. I then look around the room and guess that there must be close to 50 – 60 people sitting at this moment. By the time I leave, close to an hour later, three of four tables around me will have been turned. From the off one thing is clear, this is not a place that fucks about with getting food out. Remember this is Tuesday lunchtime; I try imagining what this place is like on a weekend and how frantic the kitchen must get. And then I have to stop because I start feeling faint as my eyes tear up. I look at the menu. Yamamori is a Japanese restaurant so the menu offers a range of sushi, grilled dishes, sides, stir-fry and one section devoted just to Ramen. A glance-over draws my attention to the Yamamori Ramen. Then suddenly the menu went blurry as all the words became unreadable. All except this dish and its description, which was crystal clear and surrounded by flashing neon lights, as two blonde cheerleaders danced either side of it. It boasted of mixture of grilled chicken, pork, prawns, seaweed and crispy tofu. All yours for less then a tenner! I ordered it and a bottle of beer at the next possible opportunity.

I wait, expecting my beer to arrive shortly. So I continue to wait and it still fails to show. My waitress has forgotten, but hey, we’re all human and it’s a busy place. She’s probably looking after at least a dozen other customers, all in different stages of their meal. It happens. I get her attention and remind her as politely as possible. She apologises but her tired expression means I still can’t help feeling like a dick. What the hell is that anyway? Is it something in our Irish – Catholic DNA that means guilt and shame are automatically hardwired into our system? Only in

Ireland

would the train of thought be, ‘You made the mistake, I’m pointing it out, yet I’m so sorry for doing so.’ You see that shit just wouldn’t fly in New York, ‘Forgot my drinks did you, right and how much of a tip were you expecting? Now dance, dance my little server monkey!’ So my drink arrives, ‘Busy one today?’ I ask. She sighs, ‘You could say.’ as a table of twelve is seated ten feet away. Shortly after this my meal arrives. My meal in this case being served in a bowl the size of my freakin’ head! Not only that, but damn-near overflowing with the aforementioned goodies the menu promised. I grab my chopsticks and dig in.

The broth boasts the meaty punch of pork and chicken. Thin strips of pork are tender if a little anaemic in both appearance and taste. The chicken is just above room temperature and a touch dry. The prawns, they’re fine. The crispy triangles of deep-fried tofu give a good variation in texture, but my advice would be to eat them first as after a while they became soggy and I became less keen on them. Now while these may seem like scathing criticisms, let’s just put things in perspective. I’m looking at a bowl containing five forms of protein (there was also a hardboiled egg sitting on top) swimming in a broth that tastes like someone has actually put some effort into making. And an overall portion size that’d give the Incredible Hulk concerns of finishing. And it’s less then ten quid! So although I noticed these things, did I care? Eh, no.

However by the end I found my palate had reached a kind of plateau affect. Where, by sheer volume, any variation in texture or flavour had been numbed into a monotonous experience. Any subtly or nuance now lost, not even refreshed by the occasional acidic bursts of scallion or pickled ginger. But again, in no way did I consider this a bad thing. As the last of the chunks and noodles disappeared, leaving only broth, I picked up my spoon for the last push. I looked around. The waiters now dashing around like coked-up honey bees. I saw one dropping a drinks order at a table without stopping, like drive-by serving. The waitress comes to clear my table, I’m slumped back in my chair and rubbing my belly like content Buddha. I try to say thanks but I'm so full that all that comes out is an incoherent mumble.

My bill says the Ramen was €9.95. I also got a side of pickled daikon for €1.50 which just wasn’t for me. Older and wiser then my first visit, on sheer value alone I’d recommend Yamamori for whenever you’ve in the mood for spaghetti in water.

Seasons Message, kinda but not.

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Sat, 25 Dec 2010 03:11:00 +0000

Tried to write a good intro for ages. Then I realised that in three and a half hours my alarm will be going off so I'll be on time for my 14hr shift, cooking Christmas lunch to people that are either too damn privledged or stupid to make it themselves. So I won't be having dinner today surrounded by friends and loved ones. But if you are and you're going anywhere near a Turkey, consider the following advice from the man himself.

Spiced Rice and Pea Pilau

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 00:42:00 +0000

So at last, something actually relating to food: my first recipe. It's in the vein of what I was talking about here. This recipe was devised out of necessity rather than desire. It comes from opening the fridge and seeing sweet FA staring back at you. It’s an attempt of making something out of nothing, so in that respect I feel it kinda succeeds. It's quick, easy and it tastes alright to boot. Here I’ve used basmati rice, but could be done with other grains such as cous cous or make it a dhal by using lentils. Just adjust the cooking times.

This amount got me two bowlfuls, so would do two people for a quick dinner.

1 red onion

3 garlic cloves

2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 tsp coriander seeds

3 whole cloves

1 tsp fennel seeds

4-6 cardamom pods

1 tsp tomato puree

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp tumeric

1 tbsp gara masala

½ tbsp chilli powder

1 cup of basmati rice

½ cup frozen peas

1 spring onion

Finely slice the onion and garlic

Fill a kettle with about half a litre of water and put on to boil.

Heat the oil on a high heat in a saucepan.

Add seeds and pods to hot oil. Sometimes I crush them first with the bottom of a mug to release the flavour, but this isn’t necessary.

Turn down the heat and let the seeds fry for about thirty seconds before adding the onion and garlic. Season with salt and pepper and sweat for a few minutes until slightly softened.

Add the ground spices, then the tomatoe puree. Stir well and cook out for a minute or two.

Add rice and cover with the boiled water. Bring to a simmer and leave to cook uncovered for about fifteen minutes. Stirring occasionally and topping up with water if needed. But not too much, the idea is that by the time the rice is cooked the water should be nearly all evaporated.

When rice is tender, taste and add more spices if needed. Turn off the heat and add the peas and sliced spring onion. Stir through and leave for a minute and so. The heat from the rice will be enough to defrost and cook and peas.

Spoon into serving bowl and eat.

Soundbites: November Round-up

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 20:18:00 +0000

Procrastinating, the art of putting shit off by engaging in menial tasks and activities. Resulting in the main thing you were meant to be doing growing increasingly unappealing and its completion even more distant. Not exactly Webster’s definition, but in this scenario its good enough. Even as I write this I’m taking a break every few lines to find the answer to questions that simply will not wait until after. But at least now I continue knowing that the default web browser on an Android phone is apparently faster then Safari and has flash support, unlike the iphone. All I can say is thank God my leaving cert was done and dusted before Facebook hit the web.

I’ve always had a problem with procrastinating, big time. I guess that’s why I ended up staying a chef. This is because at it’s busiest, a kitchen is a workplace of pure concentration and unwavering focus. It’s simply an environment where putting stuff off is just not an option. At home however, I’m scrolling through the endless list of unopened mail in my account. A list of food and industry-related updates, newsletters and blog entries that have all sat in my inbox since they arrived and I said unto them, ‘I’ll check’em later.’ Lord help me this has been going on for nearly a month now. It’s gotten to the stage where my inbox became so crowded that I created a folder just for them. That folder now contains over 30 messages. Each message containing in it an average of 6 articles. In short, a lot of reading. Which, at the time when I was working tons and in the process of looking for a new flat, I just wasn’t up to.

Eventually I got through them, all of them. Or at least November’s stash. And it was when I was about half way through, while reading what felt like the Epi-Log’s 15,000^th Thanksgiving tip that I thought, ‘I really wish there was someone to do this for me.’ However I didn’t. So I put the kettle on, hoped my roommate wasn’t stoned recently and ate all the Jaffa Cakes and proceeded to dredge the ocean floor of my inbox, hoping that it wouldn’t be all rusty cans and used jonnies.

As I went through them I found myself keeping the links for the pieces I dug. So here it is; TLOFRSIFIIMIFTPM or ‘The List Of Food-Related Stuff I’ve Found Interesting In My Inbox From The Past Month’ just rolls off the tongue doesn’t it?

Okay, how about Soundbites instead? Anyway links to full story attached if my intro doesn’t adequately slate your thirst for knowledge, enjoy!

My Mother’s Thanksgiving

Eleven top New York chefs give their versions of their families Thanksgiving dishes. Chefs include Mario Batali (Apple Pie), Thomas Keller (Creamed Pearl Onions) and the god-like David Chang (soy-braised short-ribs). No pics but still worth a look.

Full Story

Why Chefs love Rabbit

Since the time where my job was to butcher and cook several dozen rabbits a week, its always been a meat I’ve had great affection for. There’s just something about utilizing a whole animal in a variety of ways, getting the most out of each component. Like you do with chicken, but a lot cooler. Here six chefs give their praise and offer their own take on what they do with it.

Full Story

Epi-Log’s Thanksgiving Round-up

So of the never-ending cluster fuck of thanksgiving advice that the Internet pumped out last month, here’s the only stories that caught my eye. Mainly about turkey and considering what’s going down in a few weeks, it’s all relevant.

First one is about something that I’m sure no-one in this isle does but is pretty commonplace in USA, brining turkey. Here the method of wet and dry brining are compared. Dry wins

Full Story

Short piece about the dilemma of whether or not to stuff your turkey. In short, don’t. The cavity is full of bacteria ‘Going at it like your parents at Woodstock’ in the words of Anthony Bourdain. So by the time the stuffing is cooked to safe temp, the breast is cooked to hell.

Full Story

Here a blogger gushes about their love of leftovers. As someone who enjoys the turkey, ham, gravy, bread sauce sandwich almost more then the main meal, I’m with them on this.

Full Story

Less Corn, Saner Fishing and Soda on Fridays

Article by (Iron Chef) Mario Batali, talks briefly about the future of food. From the overuse of corn to industrial farming and the collapse of fisheries. Short and informative, bleak yet encouraging, if that makes any sense.

Full Story

Chefs Look for Wild Ingredients That No One Else Has

Cool piece about the trend of chefs incorporating foraged foods into their menus. The appeal being that dishes containing ingredients that few people have encountered before, never mind tasted.

Full Story

At the Chef’s Table

I’ve moved two weeks ago into my fourth flat in over two years. Since then I’ve fallen properly in love with my kitchen. Not even kidding, it’s awesome. The layout, the way the appliances are arranged, the way the worktop wraps around into the cooker top making one giant work surface. I love it in ways and for reasons that you mere muggles will never understand. Here, the Baltimore Sun takes a look inside a couple of local chefs home kitchen (including one Top Chef winner). Photos are in the ‘related’ box. Interesting to see the varieties of the sleek, showy and practical elements that the professionals incorporate into their home stove-space.

Full Story

Paris Chefs go Underground

A group of top Paris chefs treated subway travelers to cooking demos. So Joe-Soaps going to work got to try stuff like duck with artichoke sauce, calamari risotto and fruit-filled crepes. Try doing that at

Pearse St

Full Story

Star chef: Pay people what they're worth

“Chefs have set the example that consumers follow. So I want arugula now, or I want to to see a short rib or whatever it is. It's being written about. What's being produced in restaurants, people see it and say I want to get them. When I was a kid, how many varieties of lettuce did you see in the store? Iceberg lettuce! Now you have 12 different lettuces to choose from anywhere -- from arugula to endive to whatever. And it's because chefs have demanded those products in their restaurants” So says Thomas Keller in this interview where he points out why the $250 price tag at either of his 3-star restaurants is justified. Talks about the relationship with producers and the demand for quality over price. Insightful, but to be honest I’d say the same about a piece on how Thomas Keller puts his socks on.

Full Story

35 Ways to Stretch Your Budget

Economy gastronomy piece from the Epi-Log. Exactly what it says on the tin but still worth a look.

Full Story

Exploring the ‘Fifth Taste’ of Unami

Thanks to the likes of Heston, unami is something that has come more into the light of western cooking. Which is good, because we’re only a few thousand years behind the Japanese in that respect. Personally I found this pretty fascinating as it goes into what and why of what it is and lists the quantity of glutamates in foods such as seaweed, Parmesan cheese, tomatoes and soy sauce. If you haven’t a bean about anything I’ve just said then you owe it to yourself to follow the link below.

Full Story

The Menu: One Entrée. That’s It

A few months ago I was in Las Vegas where on the obsessive urging of our friend we took a cab off the strip to a joint called In n’Out Burger. The menu was either a burger, a double burger, fries and well, that was it. Been used to the usual fast food paradigm of a menu of items that runs into triple figures, this was kinda jarring but the queue was nearly out the door. Be it meatballs, fired chicken, mac and cheese or even rice pudding, this piece is about small New York restaurants that focus on just doing one thing. But doing it brilliantly. I queued for my burger, I ate it. It was amazing, I came back.

Full Story

Coast Guard Chef Gets ‘A’ Grade For His Sea Fare

Article about Barry Wildman, a chef who turned the coast guard base in San Pedro into a destination restaurant turning the galley into a vegetable and herb garden. At the same time training and feeding armed service recruits.

Full Story

So what’s it like to be on Iron Chef?

I KNEW it! I knew there was no way that when the cover came off that table in a cloud of dry ice that there was no way the contestants didn’t know what was underneath. This article just confirms the worst-kept secret in food television. For anyone familiar with the show Iron Chef America, you’ll be interested to know that not only are the challenging team told what the secret ingredient is, they given a Goddamn choice! I always had a feeling this was the case, but it’s still interesting to hear what it’s like to enter kitchen stadium. As someone who thinks it’s one of the best shows on TV, I was one happy camper when I clicked onto this sucker.

Full Story

Bad Eats

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Fri, 03 Dec 2010 04:41:00 +0000

Let me just begin by saying something. Because you know, this is my first ‘real’ post and I think we should be honest with each other. And well, if we start hiding things at the start then there really is no hope for us. So what I feel I need to tell you is this; I eat really, really badly. Something which, I’m sure inspires you to no end. Now I’m not the traditional form of ‘bad eating’. Not the ‘

America

’s Biggest Loser’ or ‘You Are What You Eat’ bad eater, with a diet consisting mostly of beige. My problem is not that I eat bad things; it’s that I eat at bad times and when I do it’s often not nearly enough. It’s a curious result of laziness, adrenaline and exhaustion. All brought about by work. While most of you lucky (lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky) people enjoy the working day of 9-5. Mine is not so much. Mine has been seemingly custom made to ensure that any time I do have to eat I’m either not in the mood, too busy, or simply too wrecked to rustle up anything more imaginative then toast. Or a Crunch Corner.

Let me explain. I work from 3-11 on a weekday and anything from 12-11 or 1-12 on a weekend. So I leave the bed post-morning and return to it late. Mainly because by the time I get back from work and have sufficiently wound down enough for sleep to become a possibility, it’s nudging the 3am mark. So when you come home from a 10 hour day to a house that has three sleeping housemates, all of which are up in the morning, there is simply nothing you want to do less than a) make noise, or b) anything that doesn’t involve making a bum-shaped dent in sofa cushion. Unfortunately cooking falls into both those categories. Which is why, during those life-draining, nerve-tearing busy weekends, the cooker top is left as pristine and untouched as a salad bar in Pizza Hut.

As for breakfast, forget about it. That’s something that has defected from daily staple to something of a whimsical ideal. Like world peace. . . .or reversing climate change. On the outset it may seem like I’ve more then ample time to get something solid into me before work (that’s what she said!!) but really here’s what happens. I get up about 12-ish, shower and I spend a fleeting moment considering eating something before I head off to work. Then I think of work and in my mind’s eye I see that list I left last night. I think of what’s on it and the time I have to box off the tasks laid out by it. I then have one of those chills when I imagine what could be the result if they aren’t completed in time. I shudder and suddenly feel that omitting a bowl of muesli and a slice of toast from my morning is a small price to pay for getting a 20 min head start on the day ahead. I hurriedly dress and run to my car. Occasionally I do leave myself time to eat, pre-work. Only to find that my carton that says ‘milk’ can no longer be legally classified a such and the bread I bought on my last day off has turned green and is probably 13 hours away from becoming self-aware. Then I get into work and from then on the only opportunity for a break is a brief 15 minute window between 5 and 6. Sometimes there just isn’t the time, then that window will close and I’ll have worked through it. I’ll leave work that night having spent 10 hours on my feet without rest or food. It can and does happen that I go anywhere from 15-24 hours without what could be described as a proper meal. This is made all the more ironic by the fact that, for me, ‘work’ and ‘food’ are one and the same. So in case you haven’t worked it out by now, may I present to you the big third act reveal: I am a chef.

And with that I feel any sympathy I’ve built up over these past few hundred words dissipate instantly. That and any nutritionists that were reading this are currently being placed in the recovery position as they lay on the kitchen floor, while puddles of spilt wheatgrass are being wiped from the kitchen table. Because, you might say, for me the task of making food that is edible is of no real challenge. Would coming home from work and spending 20 minutes on something as vital as feeding yourself really be that much of a stretch? Well you may have a point. But let me respond with this story my sous chef told me.

One day his roommate asked him why he never cooked at home and instead relied on an endless supply of ready-meals. To which, my 6ft German boss replied, ‘You work on building sites. Would you go into the garden after work and start digging a fucking hole?’

Firing the First Shot

noreply@blogger.com (Farlo J) — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 03:50:00 +0000

So here it is, another fuppin’ food blog. Another addition to the influx of stay-home cooks, gourmets and foodies who, not fulfilled by talking the ear off their respective spouse/partner/flatmate/cat, feel that now the whole world shall benefit from every sweaty and intimate detail of their stove-lives. (And what they think is best to do with leftover roast chicken.) So yes, I’m under no illusion or pretence that what I’m doing counts as something new and innovative. Now pardon me while I bleat like a grumpy old ewe and dive aboard the trendy, overcrowded bandwagon. As Donal Skehan turns around in the driver’s seat and cheerfully asks, ‘Where to now guys? And while you’re thinking about that, here’s a dinner recipe for a family of four using just potatoes and leftover air.’

Now if this was a morning business pitch meeting and presuming you hadn’t already thrown out your lukewarm coffee, spat out your stale Danish and stormed out of the board room on the way to the nearest line to security. This’d usually be the juncture in which you inquire, ‘Alright Farlo J (if that is your real name), what’s the deal here? Why should us busy-busy people spare a moment of our time to survey over your secluded hermit shed of web-space? What are you going to offer that’ll make the arduous task of clicking a mouse worth it?’

‘Why potential reader,’ I should reply, ‘let me list off all the features and ways that’ll make my blog the bestest blog of them all.’

I say that’s what I should do, but I won’t. And that’s not me trying to appear cocky or arrogant or in some weird flirty way attempting to play hard to get. But how many blogs have you read and it’s like, ‘Hello! My name is, I dunno, Annie Aga-lover and this is my blog!! This is where I’ll give daily updates, postings about what I’m cooking, photos, recipes, kitchen tips, essays, interviews with purveyors and organic growers, household cleaning advice, DIY instructions, basic marriage counselling, psychological profiling and a complete set of online fitness videos’ Last posted: two years, eight months ago.

I’m saying that when you begin by stating what should specifically be there, you’re kinda obliged to provide it. You're restrained, too preoccupied about what you said you'd do rather then what you want. And when you don’t provide the mantra of your mission statement you get self-important twats ‘tut-tutting’ and mentally blacklisting you as ‘promising so much yet simply unable to deliver.’ (Rumour has it my ex-girlfriends have set up a Facebook group of the same name.) In a strange way when you say you’ll do X, Y and Z on your blog, it’s almost a promise. You’ve stated an intention, raised an expectation and people expect you to follow through with it. That’s the irritating thing about promises; you kinda need to keep them.

The description says it best in all its eloquent vagueness. So as long as whatever I post falls into that category, then happy days. No ones let down. No ones ‘tut-tutting’ from their home study. And most importantly of all, no ones in a position to agree with my exes.