BBQ Beyond the Meat - or Around It

BBQs are about meat, there is no getting away from it - at least not in this household. But they don't have to be - shouldn't be - solely carnivorous affairs.

With the glorious summer thus far (surely high time that the word drought was heard?) we have wheeled out the charcoal grill half a dozen times or so and taken advantage of the sunshine. One thing that has worked superbly has been using roasting joints - stuff we had in the freezer - butterflied out and roasted in a retaining rack. Given that they were Henry Rowntree's 'best roasting' Aberdeen Angus joints we expected them to be good, and found them superb. Not surprising given they were probably sirloin in one case and rump in the other, effectively making 4cm-thick steaks, cut into slices charred on the outside and bleu in the centre.

What makes it much more of a meal for me are the accompaniments. Salad of course gets nowhere near the heat, but other vegetables do. A skewer with baby courgettes impaled lengthwise cooked in 10 minutes. Another of mushrooms rolled in a little oil did likewise. Sweetcorn cobs achieve caramelised perfection on a grill, but need watching closely as the window between underdone and burned is narrow.

Best effort on that front was new spuds, however. Salted, oiled, rolled in several layers of foil then dropped directly onto the charcoal they did in about 25 minutes, turned occasionially to keep the cooking even. I do whole heads of garlic in similar fashion, only needing a few minutes before they are as squeezy as toothpaste.

The recent weather has provided us with an early glut of fennel bulbs, another veggie that works well in foil on the rack, and is very forgiving in that even if left for 10 minutes more than done-ness requires they still taste great, and their water content keeps them moist.

Not so the aubergine. A cheapo one foil-wrapped and cooked like the spuds, but far far too long, was a disaster. What emerged from the aluminium looked like something from a CSI episode about fire deaths. Back to grilling slices on the steel rack.

The Taste-Calorie Equation

There is no equation.

What I mean is if you are being a bit more careful with the calories, what you do eat needs to be good and extra tasty. The lamb chops - one apiece whereas previously I'd probably have done two - last night were a case in point. Henry Rowntree's meat tastes so much better than even the generally good stuff from Booth's, and certainly better than what JS have to offer. Bone-suckingly excellent.

More tasty means more satisfying. Less temptation to eat crisps and chocolate to fill a sensation gap.

There are substitutions involved here too - but still not a formal equation. Instead of the butter that would normally have moistened the flageolet beans accompanying the lamb I used a small amount of cheaty stock, and two cloves of garlic crushed to max their flavour.

And a subtraction - the meat griddled on a ridged pan allowed some of the fat to run off, whereas my normal method with this would have been to fry the chops and use the fat to give some flavour to the beans in the same pan, a dollop of butter to finish and give a nice gloss.

Somewhere in 'An American University' (the source quoted for most stupid survey results) a dweeb in a lab-coat is even now trying to work out the formula. While eating a massive sandwich filled with reformed ham and turkey and drinking gallons of the appalling dishwater that passes for coffee in that otherwise generally blessed country. Forget the figures, find the flavour.

Roast Beef Rides Again

One of the supermarkets has been running a campaign - actually a rather laudable one - showing people that a roast will do more than the Sunday lunch for which it was bought. Roast chicken is an austerity staple, as a decent bird will give you the roast, a curry/risotto/wrap/sandwiches, and broth or at least stock made with the carcase. Beef is no slouch on the second coming front either.

Tonight we will be having one of my takes on leftover topside, and almost as importantly on the gravy that graced it. We ate this a fortnight back and it was enough of a hit for there to be requests for it to be repeated with the excellent beef (Henry Rowntree's superb Aberdeen Angus, and no he doesn't sponsor me, it's just that even a teenager notices the difference) remaining after we feasted post the England - Wales match.

The gravy (ultra-garlicky as I roasted a whole head with the beef, and squidged the soft contents into the meat juices) will be flavoured with smoked paprika, a chilli chopped very finely, Worcestershire sauce, some ground cumin, cayenne, and plenty of pepper. The beef, chopped into 5mm dice, is mixed with its gravy and a tin of Heinz beans, and the resulting mass used to fill wraps that fill a 300mm x 200mm cast iron dish perfectly. Atop this goes a sauce made with tinned toms cooked with a chopped onion and flavoured like the filling, with loads of grated cheese - cheddar and Parmesan - on top.

Cooked in a 180C oven for 30 - 40 minutes (when the cheese is browning it's ready, though I tend to warm the Le Creuset cast-iron dish over a low flame first to speed things up and ensure it is piping hot inside as well as out-) it has the added benefit of looking rather lovely.

The result is filling, rich in vegetables, and tastes good. But then in our family lore most things taste good with Parmesan. And it doesn't need a £1 packet of ready-mix fajita magic dust to give it a Tex-Mex touch.

I'll try to remember to take a photo or two.

Horse Meat Good News for MPs

Am I too cynical to conclude that the spate of (plate of?) scandals about horse meat and other contamination of processed foods will have MPs patting their tummies? The lobbying firms will now be in overdrive, and instead of the big hitters enjoying the big dinners, the largesse will have to pass lower down the political food chain.

Among those defending themselves will be supermarkets showing that it was nothing to do with their grinding downward pressure on suppliers that has led to corner cutting. Step forward too a crowd of the giants of the food processing world, out to demonstrate how it wasn't anything to do with them, guvnor, they thought the extraordinarily cheap meat they were buying was kosher - bad choice of words - fine then. The inevitable conclusion must surely be the third plea in Scottish law: 'A big boy done it and ran away.'

It will not just be MPs at the trough, either. Their parties (and it will be all the major parties) will have a boost to funding from some of the big food fish, by which I don't mean halibut. Halibut smells better. So the result of the debate will be 'It's a bit of a pity but we are sure it won't happen again. Honest. Delicious foie gras by the way. And the Yquem with the brulee was wonderful.'

My approach to processed food is - by and large - avoid it. Fresh meat needs care too - I try my damndest to buy from sources I trust, which includes a local Aberdeen Angus farmer, top man Henry Rowntree, for a regular delivery of meat that tastes great, is from beasts that enjoyed a good life, has not been up and down the country to save 2p per animal on slaughter fees, has been hung properly, is tender, and is actually at a very good price as the middle man has been cut out. Of course that means I have to cook it and turn it into ragu etc myself, but as cooking is one of life's great joys why would I want someone else to do it (badly) for me? Why would I indeed get someone to charge me for removing a pleasure from my life? I don't hire someone to drink my wine for me and tell me how good it was.

Parson Woodforde and the Great British Pie

Not that I am stuck in the past, but my new reading is Parson Woodforde's diary, or at least the Folio Society's selections from it. Somewhat less than brilliant observations: how did the middle classes and above actually manage to stand in the 18th century? The good parson drank vast quantities of wine, cider, beer, arack, punch, rum and brandy, yet it was his brother Jack who was the sot. And what did it do to their livers? One wonders if the frequent reports of deaths of apoplexy were the terminal points of organ damage caused by alcohol.

From the foodie point of view (or has foodie become as unacceptable and derogatory as luvvie now?) there is much to be gleaned from the pages of his journal. He lived well, and his guests could generally rely on a table laden with several major main-course components - a fowl, boiled pork, rost (his spelling) beef, perhaps a leg of mutton.

Somewhat inspired by this at the weekend I served visiting friends a roast chicken and a venison and beef pie, along with vegetables various. Not unsurprisingly the pie was the hit - everybody loves a pie. Please someone commission me for that TV series/book/world pie-tasting tour. Venison from Lidl, beef from Henry Rowntree, both meats cooked together in a low (125C) oven with bay, thyme, carrots and onions for two and a half hours, then freshly cooked onions, carrots and turnips added and the lot covered with cheaty Jus-Rol puff pastry. I am a fan of own brands, but for some reason the Jus-Rol stuff seemed better than the last lot of Sainsbury's I used - though they may be made together for all I know. The juice from the oven cooking was reduced and thickened with cornflour (how terribly unfashionable) then half of it spooned into the meat and veg before the pastry lid went on. About 30 minutes at 180C finished the thing off, the puff pastry lifting clear of the filling at the end. This was a pie, a Great British Pie.

The Monetary Value of Time

That title one for the accountants and MBAs out there - a sort of pun on the time value of money - my how they didn't laugh. Net present value and all that. Never mind.

This post comes out of last night's meal, something very simple but I am sure hugely improved by the time factor involved. It was spaghetti with meat ragu, or as we called it in the 1970s spag bol. Too often it is something done rapidly, a standby that can with practice be on the table in edible form in 20 minutes. But the rapid version doesn't have the smoothness or the depth of something simmered for an hour or more, and food should be more than just edible.

Time is the magical factor in transforming mince (admittedly here Aberdeen Angus mince from the most excellent Henry Rowntree) from something a bit grainy into a tender and toothsome pleasure. Likewise in taking tinned tomatoes and rounding off their tartness, combining with the sweetness of the chopped onions to make a mellow vegetable (yes the tom is a fruit, don't care) base that can be called a sauce.

I cooked the ragu for about 90 minutes, on very low heat, and it was so much better for the extra time. Even before that simmer time played its part - the meat allowed to brown properly, caramelize in places, instead of being merely turned in a hot pan then moved hastily on.

Pate on the Hoof

Yesterday thinking it was stewing beef I defrosted what turned out to be liver, part of a box of meat that I had delivered by the excellent Henry Rowntree (pictured with one of his prize bulls), whose Aberdeen Angus farm I visited some time ago for Meat Trades Journal and Lancashire Life. We buy a 10kg box from him every few months: his meat is great, and at £120 delivered it is far cheaper than we would pay for similar quality (were it available) in the supermarket. Booth's and maybe Waitrose are the only ones I'd expect to have meat approaching his in quality.

My error, and as my son won't eat liver as is I had to use it to make pate, which he does like. Guess it must be the texture of liver that puts him off. So with a 99p pack of Sainsbury's basic bacon lardons (plenty of the fat needed for the dish), an onion, four small cloves of garlic and a glass of  leftover red wine, plus celery salt, sage and thyme from the garden, and lots of pepper, I set about it. No egg because I zapped the meats fine enough for them not to be too crumbly, and because I forgot to use one.

Using what was doubtless calf's liver made me wonder how it would turn out, pig's being the norm, but reasoning that chicken liver is softer still but makes great pate (I wish I could find how to do the accents) I went ahead.

The result is a very winey-herby-garlicky pate that will be a starter tonight (as ever with pates will have grown in flavour overnight) when we have a friend over taking potluck, and tomorrow when some more are here for what will be a sort of mezze. Or meze.

Making pate always brings home the savings that can be had by doing the cooking yourself instead of buying ready-made. I reckon the amount now garlicking out our fridge would have set us back about £7, maybe more. With a food processor it is ridiculously easy, zap, mix, season, put in a shallow ovenproof dish and cover with foil, put that in a roasting dish with boiling water 1/3 the way up, and cook for about 90 minutes in  an oven at 150C, removing the foil lid 15 minutes from the end to let the top brown. You can tell it's done by the smell, the fact that it comes away from the sides of the dish, and being doubly careful by pricking it with a knife - the juices should be clear, and the knife clean when removed.