A couple of Christmas crackers, a plug, a pig and a very happy new year

Our very last booking of 2016 turned out to be a corker... John's surprise 50th organised by his wife Christina (neighbours of ours). Luckily their celebration port - from his birth year - wasn't corked. It was fantastic. Probably the oldest bottle of anything anyone's opened in our kitchen. In fact, I had to open it. A half century cork -  no pressure!

The port demanded a cheese course and I thought I'd serve up a couple of Christmas crackers (wheat and rye) to accompany. Big, break and share jobs that I will always do from now on. Much more fun. One a cracker, one a crisp bread. More on this, and the recipe, in the new year. For now, I'm pulling off the apron and pouring myself some white Burgundy.

Many thanks, as ever, to Kate and Richard at Holtwhites for the cheese - they're not just the finest bakers in the world you know. The very best of British cheese. So glad I only have to travel to Enfield now, saving me the trip to Neal's Yard.

Holtwhite's cheese selection. 

A couple of Christmas crackers!

We are closing our ovens for a few weeks now. It's also my 50th you see so we're going to Midsummer House in Cambridge for what, I hope, will be the best meal of my life.

We will hopefully see you all, friends old and new, for a nice bit of dinner and a chat in 2017. 

Best wishes from the New River Dining Christmas pig.

A good gravy

Many things comfort, especially in the kitchen: the embrace of a roast; the blanket hug of bread baked and calmly steaming on the side; the soothing seethe of the pressure cooker, to the little tug chug of the dishwasher and the smell of newly clean linen on the dryer. Even better if it's raining outside. The kitchen is the snug hub of our home. And that's where we make our gravy. 

I was chatting through a roasting recipe with a friend who was also after some gravy tips when I realised I'd never blogged it; never even taken a photograph it seems. This is a curious omission. My family will tell you that I often call them in for a taste, or just a look, with me stood proudly, like a child, with a roasting tin or saucepan of some glossy, well reduced wonder.

A good gravy is a triumph and can elevate a meal from mediocre to memorable. But it should enhance the food not dominate. A fillet steak with a rich gravy will taste of... gravy. It should be both the bass notes, underpinning the music, and the piccolo, adding interest and contrast. I know, I'll stop with the metaphors. All this pretension for what is essentially boiled bones and flour.

First. Let's shoot the elephant in the room - those big bones will make excellent stock, after all. I know some of you might use, might even think you enjoy... gravy powder (I can barely bring myself to write it.) If you do, I don't really want to know. I'll just get upset and it will forever blight our relationship; like walking with something grim and sticky underfoot while we chat. I've written about why fake gravy is a heinous crime. It's there if you want it. And hey, it's Christmas, let's make an effort.

Deep breath. Let it go. 

Much of my progress over these past few years has been into food simplicity. Increasingly I think that most things are better left alone. I am not an Ottolenghi (is it true there are 23 ingredients in his glass of water recipe?). Meat especially is often best served as a simple roast, same with vegetables. If you want complexity of flavour, do it by mixing elements  This gives control to the eater. Gravy is the big exception. Gravies are complex; they take time and effort - often more than the rest of the meal elements combined.

The simplest of gravies is roasting juices and pan scrapings, maybe deglazed with some alcohol. This works well with fatty, juicy meat, less so with the leaner, more expensive cuts. You won't get more than a few spoonfuls from a fillet of beef or a rack of lamb. Sometimes, often, you want a thicker sauce too, something to coat your roasties or Yorkshires with.

This is how I do it. You need a big pot: a stock pot. This will take a while so we might as well go large. First let me tell you a secret: shop stocks are awful... and expensive. I have no idea why they are all so uniformly awful but they are. Doesn't matter that they have a grinning Blumenthal on the packaging. Don't bother. Make your own.  A home made stock will also contain gelatine for a much better texture. 

Make a lot and then bag it up for the freezer. Mine is a mass of beige and amber ice. I use a roll of plastic bags from Nisbets, about a litre at a time. You could go smaller, as I tend to serve large groups. Do remember to label them though. Lamb stock tastes very different to chicken.

I'm going to divide gravy into five elements.

• Meat stock
• Aromatics
• Alcohol
• Thickeners
• Finishing (final flavours, sweeteners and acidity)

Marrow bone and oxtail

Meat Stock

Clarified stock

Stocks are made by slowly simmering meat bones and trimmings, along with aromatic herbs and vegetables, in lots of water. If you have a pressure cooker, so much the better. The higher temperatures mean more flavour making Maillard reactions in the pot. Supermarkets are next to useless when making stock. They won't (can't) sell you the offcuts that make for bad eating but great gravies. You need to go and talk to a butcher. If you're local to Enfield try mine: F. Norman's in Oakwood. Tell them I sent you.

Generally I make stock by simmering (or pressure cooking) meat and aromatics in water, covered, for a couple of hours then allowed to cool. I sieve the liquid off into jugs, sealed with cling film, and leave overnight in the fridge. This means any fat present will collect in a layer at the top making it easy to skim off (and use if need be). The skimmed stock can then be fast boiled to reduce and concentrate flavours. Don't boil an unskimmed stock; you will end up with something cloudy and greasy.

You can take this concentrating stage to a higher level by clarifying the stock. I use a few egg whites and crushed shells whisked in. The stock should be brought to a simmer as slowly as possible and simmered for at least thirty minutes. The egg white captures all the unfiltered particles as it solidifies and, once sieved (ideally through muslin or a new kitchen cloth), you should have a fabulous, clear consommé.

You can always double stock, stock. That is: reboil with extra meats and aromatics. I often do this for improved flavour, or if the stock is lacking an element.

Never add salt at the stock stage, only ever in the final gravy. 

- Beef
For beef use chunks of marrow bone, any trimmings and maybe a kilo of chopped oxtail. You're looking to fill an oven tray. The weight will vary. Make sure your butcher gives you manageable chunks. The more surface area, the better.

Roast the bones and trimmings for about an hour at 220°C until brown and chewy. Being sure to scrape all the sticky bits off the bottom of your tin, place the roast in about five litres of cold water. 

- Lamb
Roast two kilos of scrag end, along with any trimmings from your joint, for about an hour at 180°C. You can give your partner the bones to nibble on afterwards. You can in my house anyway. She wasn't fed properly as a child or something.

- Chicken, Turkey, Poultry
Carcasses are an obvious choice to roast and boil... but who has several at once, unless you've recently feasted on fowl? Short of carcasses, try a couple of kilos of chicken wings. If you've been nice to your butcher, they may well bung them in for free. Turkeys often come with the neck and other giblets in a bag. All good. Dice them up to make the flavour release easier.

Again, brown your chicken bits in the oven for an hour. Unless you want a pale stock, in which case, don't. You used to be able to buy tough old birds called 'boiling fowl' and these are excellent for a pale but deeply flavoured broth. Ask your butcher. Again you can use the meat afterwards, but it won't taste of a great deal.

- Pork
Ah, yes, pork. For some reason, pork stock almost never features in (European) recipes. Maybe it's because it's not part of the classical French canon. But why isn't it part of the...? I don't know. I use pork stock for pea and ham soup and for pork and apple gravy.

Be careful when making pork stock. Many pork products contain prohibitive amounts of salt that would result in an unusable broth. I'd go for either trotters (yes, I can hear the squeamish screaming) or (more likely) a couple of cheap pig knuckles - just make sure they're unsmoked. You can even use the knuckle meat to make a terrine or soup afterwards.

Aromatics

Once your meat is ready and in the water, you need the aromatics: vegetables, spices and herbs. These elevate an otherwise flat base, adding nuance and highlights.

Most stocks will welcome the holy trinity: onion, carrot and celery. Perhaps two of onion, three of carrot and celery (stalks). Coarsely chopped and sweated slowly in butter to render sweet and remove any harsh notes of allium. Do this with some woody herbs: thyme, bay leaves, rosemary.

Fennel is great for pork and lamb stock but can be potent. Bash up half a bulb.

For dark stocks roast off a couple of chopped onions or shallots for forty five minutes at 160°C. You're looking for a golden brown not burnt. If in doubt, taste the darkest part. Do not use anything black and bitter. The smallest part can taint a stock. There is a subtly here though, and I'm reminded of the Father Ted gag about priests' socks. Some things are not black but very, very, very dark brown. Let your tongue tell you.

Mushrooms are excellent roasted or dry pan fried, especially with beef. Shiitake and ceps are hugely rich in those desirable, meaty, umami tones, if a rather expensive addition. Basic shaggy mushrooms, trimmed, washed and fine sliced will also do. Let them catch and brown a little.

Peppercorns. I usually throw in a handful with any red meat stock. The whole berry (peppercorns are dried berries) adds a more subtle touch than the freshly ground. More of a happy hum than a bright tune.

Leafy herbs like basil, parsley, oregano, coriander should probably be left until the final gravy. Their flavours are ephemeral. A bunch of parsley stalks can add a pleasing vegetativeness though.


Alcohol


Alcohol, in the form of grape based fermentations, brings acidity, sweetness and a fruity base. Many recipes tell you to put alcohol directly into stocks but I don't usually, preferring to greatly reduce it on its own, almost to a syrup, to be added to the gravy later. Easier to add in increments, especially when you don't know how flavoursome your stock will be. All wines and spirits should be reduced by boiling. This rids it of much of the eyebrow raising harshness and stops one getting drunk on the gravy. Plenty of time for that later.

Don't use anything you wouldn't drink and don't assume one wine will taste like the next. Sweetness makes the difference here, those subtle tannins and fruits tend to cook out to no difference. Serious Eats did a proper study of this.

Red wine is the most obvious participant. I keep half and quarter bottles next to the hob for when I need a quick splash. White wine works just as well though remember and can be better when you're looking for a fruity or mineral note.

All the fortified wines work well; I am guilty of pouring port into almost everything. It's great with beef and lamb. Madeira or Marsala with pork, or perhaps Calvados or another apple brandy. With chicken I tend to reach for the vermouth; its herbaceous-ness works well with poultry.


Thickeners

Ideally a gravy should be reduced until it reaches the desired consistency but this isn't always possible. You simply might not have enough liquid to do that for a start but also, if you have a deeply flavoured stock you might not want to further concentrate it.

While other sauces can be thickened with egg yolks or gums, gravies are normally made more substantial with starch, in the form of flour, usually just before serving. Never just add flour to your stock though. You won't get the lumps out and it won't do its job. If using pan juices stir the flour into those first and heat on the hob. Flour also helps to bind the fat in roasting juices. There's nothing I like less than a greasy gravy (apart from, you know...)

I tend to make a beurre manis, a mix of equal amounts of melted butter and flour. You only need about 15g of both. This can be cooked on the hob slightly to remove any floury flavour before whisking into the gravy. All flour thickened sauces should be gently boiled to remove the starchy flavour and to start the thickening process. 

Corn starch mixed with a little cold water and whisked in also works well. Not much is needed. A tablespoon of cornstarch will easily thicken a litre of stock. Remember to simmer the sauce for a few minutes though.

Butter, chilled from the fridge and cut into small chunks can be whisked into a warm sauce, adding richness and shine. Don't then boil the sauce though as the butter may split out leaving you with a greasy nonsense.


Finishing

So you have your meaty, glossy, aromatic gravy. You are about to pour it over your perfect roast but then you remember that thing you should do, that beat before the birth of any table wonder. YOU TASTE IT. Funny how many cooks send things untasted out of the kitchen. 

You TASTE IT and you look skywards. 'Something' is missing. This is the job of the finishers. It's probably salt. We haven't seasoned it yet remember. Salt or maybe soy sauce, good for colour too. A generous grind of black pepper too, especially in the beef gravy. But there are other seasonings: ground coriander with chicken or lamb?

Worcestershire sauce? Take it easy, it's very distinctive. Mushroom ketchup? All good in a dribble.

Sweetness is possibly needed. Don't be afraid of sugar. A pinch often makes all the difference. I often go for redcurrant jelly, it brings more gloss and mouthfeel too. Honey works with chicken (couple it with a scant teaspoon of mustard).

But the 'something' you're missing is probably acidity. Chefs love this word, especially the Oliver boy, and for good reason. Acidity animates. It brings life. Maybe not a whole lemon but a quick zizz. This, in part, explains why I have at least twenty five different vinegars and if the house was on fire I would be saving my L'Olivier fruities first (sorry family).

Fruit juices can also add acidity, I'm thinking mainly of apple with pork or chicken. It should be the not-from-concentrate variety or it will be too sweet and not nearly acidic enough.

But know when to stop too. You are making an accompaniment remember, not a soup. Although... give my sons some bread and they'll make it so.

Layer bake of roasted vegetables

A layered bake. A tower of vegetables, all roasted until sweet and yielding, with a dressing of cheese, herbs and my sweet, sour and smokey sauce. Let's agree not to call it a 'mille feuille'; there's really no need, least of all because this is at least 994 leaves short. Also auto-correct hates the term and keeps wanting me to write about a 'mild refill', and this is definitely not that. 

Apologies for my prose on this one. I am in the middle of the most intense job of my career and, right now, I feel like I've run out of words. I spent at least ten minutes this afternoon searching for the term 'eccentric'. I think, for the first time in my life, I might be tired.

I often serve this as part of a split menu when the carnivores are having lamb or beef. It's a robust full flavoured dish and so works with traditional accompaniments to roast meats. More a technique or a theme than an actual recipe, you can use any veg that will roast well. It's infinitely variable* but I especially like the colour combination of red and yellow peppers, tomato and butternut squash but you can also use cauliflower, aubergine, carrots, courgette or even portobello mushrooms.

A large one serves as an entire course on its own. Smaller ones serve in place of meat as part of a meal. You can build a stack as in the pic above but I also like cutting circles out of the veg for a neater look. I also find that trying to stack very hot veg to be both tricky and burny for more than two people. No one wants their mille feuille, froid do they? So I assemble part baked veg and then finish in the oven once guests are assembled. If you are also serving roast meat these can sit in the already hot oven while the meat rests under foil.

Slice all your vegetables, apart from the peppers, to equal thickness, about a centimetre (third of an inch). Place on baking parchment or silicone, roll in a little oil and roast at 200°C for roughly:

Carrots: 30 minutes - why does carrot take so long to cook?
Squash: 20 minutes
Peppers: 20 minutes - top and tail, cut in half, deseed and press flat
Cauliflower: 25 minutes
Aubergine: 15 minutes - go easy on the oil there.
Courgette: 10 minutes
Mushroom: 5 minutes - Just oil the tops.

There's no need to roast the tomatoes just yet.

This is just a guide. Basically you should be able to make an indentation with your finger (careful). You might also like your veg harder or softer than me. Aubergine, especially, is a matter of personal taste. The easiest way to do this is add the longest roasting slices first, then the others in reverse order. The important thing is that all the layers are in the same state of 'cooked' so, ready for the final bake.

Roasted

The mushrooms, peppers, courgette and aubergine can alternatively be griddled. This gives you attractive and tasty char lines. If you don't have a griddle, try a skewer, held over a hob flame. Bit of a faff though.

Once roasted, either stack up the slices in bags and refrigerate until needed or assemble straight away. Roast veg slices make a handy side dish anyway. Great with meat or fish. 

Assembled

Before guests arrive make your stacks. Again line the roasting tray with oiled paper. Oven to 200°C. I like to season each layer with just a little salt, pepper and a pinch of freshly crushed coriander seed. Note: I don't mean use powdered coriander here. Just cracked seeds smell fantastic and add some texture.

Go as high as you dare, or you think appetites will manage. Top with some cheese - I like salty feta crumbled but soft goats works well too. Mozzarella will give you mouth feel but little flavour. Personally I think this is no place for cheddar but feel free to shout me down.

Finished in the oven and glazed

Bake for about 12 minutes, until the cheese is looking interesting.

Remove to plates using a spatula and a steady hand. Serve on a display of spinach leaves.

Pour over the dressing and garnish with lots of aromatic herbs. Often dill or very finely chopped rosemary.

The dressing makes the dish here but for an easy meal you could just slum it with oil and balsamic. If you substitute redcurrant jelly for the honey (and obviously omit the cheese) the dish is vegan.

You won't find the vinegar I use in the shops but please seek it out. I've linked to my on-line provider. I've said quite enough about L'Olivier vinegars in another place and won't bore you all here again.

New River Dining glaze for roasted veg.
Enough for two
In a glass, mix a tablespoon of oil with one of red pepper vinegar. Add a half tablespoon of honey. Add a big squeeze of lemon or lime juice. Fish out any pips if using lemon. Whisk with a fork. Taste and adjust. Add a knife tip of smoked paprika, less of cayenne, a good pinch of sea salt, black pepper and at least a half teaspoon of ground coriander. Taste again. Add more of everything probably, until something tingles. The flavour should be intense. Remember that this will be spread thin. Toss in some robust chopped herbs, maybe chives or lemon thyme. Pour over your roast veg.

*So not infinite. I think it would be the factorial of n, where n = (let's say) three cheeses and eight vegetables = factorial of 11 = 39,916,800. Eaten once a day that would take you over 1300 lifetimes to work through all the combinations, by which time you and the many generation of your family after you, burdened with your gastro-pedantry, would be utterly sick of it.

Would really appreciate it if a mathematician could correct my errors here.