I love making stock so much that it's probably the most enjoyable part of cooking a chicken. It's cheap, delicious, can be altered in a thousand ways so it's never dull, and is the basis of innumerable great dishes.
With the carcass of a roast chicken to use up last week it actually fell to the Dear Leader (may her detractors shrivel like salted slugs) to start the stock off, a rare foray into the kitchen other than in an advisory capacity. To the carrots, onions, ginger and bay leaves she had incorporated I added a few rather tired but usable sticks of celery, a head of our own garlic, one of the few left from a disappointing season, and a load of spices - black cardamom pods, red and black peppercorns, some coriander seed, a star anise, some allspice berries... The more flavour you put in, the more you get out.
Once the initial albumen scum has been cleared from the surface, watching it give occasional little blips is a therapeutic exercise, repeated over a good two and a half hours as the liquid simmers ever so gently to maximise the flavour without clouding up. The aroma wafting up through the house is another mood lifter. And of course the end product is life-enhancing - tasty, complex, savoury, like a good wine but without the after-effects. As soon as the cooking is over I like to strain the liquid off the veg and bones, as left to cool on them it can develop some stale undertones.
As you'd expect with an ingredients list like that, the first use I made of the finished article was in a Chinese dish, a mushroom and vegetable-rich noodle soup-cum-stew into which, inauthentically, we stirred spoonfuls of the Mexican-inspired chili sauce made by Sternest Critic to preserve our bumper chili crop remains. A good soup needs a very good stock - I recall (probably not for the first time, my apologies) Chris Johnson, then owner of The Village Restaurant in Ramsbottom, being very upset that having paid £20 (and this in the early Nineties) for a bowl of soup in an extremely famous French restaurant owned by an extremely famous French chef, the stock was watery and boring. It spoiled what should have been - if critics were to be believed - the meal of a lifetime.
No such problem with our bowl of Chinese-y goodness. It was warmly spicy, onion sweet, and deep in colour and flavour. Satisfying to the palate, soothing on the stomach, and warming for the soul - and for pennies.
Showing posts with label stock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stock. Show all posts
Tuesday, 26 November 2019
Friday, 22 May 2015
The French Country Hotel Test
In my distant youth family holidays were largely spent camping in France and Switzerland. Finances were rarely flush, so we lived off dishes cooked beside the tent, or later in the caravan, bulked out on occasion with frites from the camp shop. When economies allowed we had a special treat of eating a meal out, generally in a small hotel restaurant. The quality, simplicity and generosity of that food is part of my culinary DNA now.
Best of all such places was the Midi Papillon in St Jean de Bruel, south of pre-bridge Millau. My parents had found a campsite nearby at Nant that was so good they did a deal to leave their tourer there permanently, Ruth and I free to use it when they did not.
By chance they and we discovered the Midi Papillon, and pockets by then being deeper would eat there maybe three times in a fortnight. Buying The Sunday Times on our way over we were delighted and annoyed to find it listed in their top 10 restaurants in France. Yet a seven course tasting menu cost little more than a Berni Inn steak and chips follwed by Walls Ice Cream.
The Midi Papillon (run by the Papillon family - how nice to be called Mr Butterfly) merited the honour. Highlights included stuffed sheep's feet: gelatious, meaty, herby, delicious; freshwater crayfish in a muscat and cream sauce (with a bib unpretentiously provided, the sauce flew everywhere); the best Vieux Cantal and Roquefort cheeses in the world (Roquefort is made half an hour away by the hazardous Cevenne roads); and soups.
The aroma of beautiful freshly cooked soup at home still conjures up memories of such pleasures in those hotels. For the hotelier of course it is a cheap dish, made no doubt with vegetables past their very best, stock that uses bones and trimmings from other dishes, and enormous care. Such soups appear daily as one of the two options on the Table d'Hote menu. But nobody objects, especially as they will be eaten with baguette of perfect crispness. Tired and troubled on a business trip I once arrived late on at a small auberge in Bourgoin Jallieu. That soupy smell greeted me, and I chose soupe au pistou for my first course. It was so good I finished the tureen. The chef-proprietor, clearly pleased by my appreciation of his food, chatted with me - he'd worked at the Dorchester it turned out.
Earlier this week we had such a super soup moment ourselves. A cauliflower bought for a salad I never got around to making needed using up, or so I thought - once the leaves were peeled back it was revealed as blemish-free. Cooked with butter and cream (a rare treat these days), an onion, a few chopped celery stalks and leaves and some chopped chard stems for bulk and depth, and using cheaty bouillon vegetable stock, its scent pervaded the house and greeted the Dear Leader when she returned from her travels and travails. It would have passed the test of acceptability in a small country hotel in France. There were no leftovers.
Best of all such places was the Midi Papillon in St Jean de Bruel, south of pre-bridge Millau. My parents had found a campsite nearby at Nant that was so good they did a deal to leave their tourer there permanently, Ruth and I free to use it when they did not.
By chance they and we discovered the Midi Papillon, and pockets by then being deeper would eat there maybe three times in a fortnight. Buying The Sunday Times on our way over we were delighted and annoyed to find it listed in their top 10 restaurants in France. Yet a seven course tasting menu cost little more than a Berni Inn steak and chips follwed by Walls Ice Cream.
The Midi Papillon (run by the Papillon family - how nice to be called Mr Butterfly) merited the honour. Highlights included stuffed sheep's feet: gelatious, meaty, herby, delicious; freshwater crayfish in a muscat and cream sauce (with a bib unpretentiously provided, the sauce flew everywhere); the best Vieux Cantal and Roquefort cheeses in the world (Roquefort is made half an hour away by the hazardous Cevenne roads); and soups.
The aroma of beautiful freshly cooked soup at home still conjures up memories of such pleasures in those hotels. For the hotelier of course it is a cheap dish, made no doubt with vegetables past their very best, stock that uses bones and trimmings from other dishes, and enormous care. Such soups appear daily as one of the two options on the Table d'Hote menu. But nobody objects, especially as they will be eaten with baguette of perfect crispness. Tired and troubled on a business trip I once arrived late on at a small auberge in Bourgoin Jallieu. That soupy smell greeted me, and I chose soupe au pistou for my first course. It was so good I finished the tureen. The chef-proprietor, clearly pleased by my appreciation of his food, chatted with me - he'd worked at the Dorchester it turned out.
Earlier this week we had such a super soup moment ourselves. A cauliflower bought for a salad I never got around to making needed using up, or so I thought - once the leaves were peeled back it was revealed as blemish-free. Cooked with butter and cream (a rare treat these days), an onion, a few chopped celery stalks and leaves and some chopped chard stems for bulk and depth, and using cheaty bouillon vegetable stock, its scent pervaded the house and greeted the Dear Leader when she returned from her travels and travails. It would have passed the test of acceptability in a small country hotel in France. There were no leftovers.
Monday, 27 January 2014
One Pot Two Dishes - One Flame Rides Again
My son, aka Sternest Critic, has some quirky dislikes. One is that he likes meat that is stewed (let's face it he likes meat), but hates it to come with the liquid in which it cooked. A neat solution to this enjoyed last week was a version of the French Pot au Feu, where the liquid is served as a soup before the rest makes it to table as a main course. Two courses, one pot.
It helped the soup part that the dish was made with stock prepared previously using free bones from the butcher (I've taken to doing this when buying a load of meat, and never get any hassle) and another from the freezer, the penultimate bit of our Serrano ham bone. Those had cooked with some veg and other flavour enhancers, so the stock itself would have done as a soup (some more in fact did at the weekend, with mushrooms, noodles and star anise). But after it had in addition been the cooking medium for chuck steak and shin, with more veg, it was excellent - served without any thickening, likewise sans meat and veg, it was a really really good beef consome.
The original stock benefited btw from a beetroot being one of the vegetables, giving an earthy depth, but more importantly a fine colour.
The solid components were tasty enough, the beef not needing a knife to cut it, but not in the same league as the soup.
I've been trying to think of similar two-dishes-one-pot stuff, with little success. The only one that sprang to mind could in fact be a threefor, doing a similar stew for the soup and solids, but cooking a sweet dumpling or several in with the savoury bits. To modern eyes that may seem odd, but to cooks of centuries past (including the last one) with limited cooking equipment it made sense, and our contemporary separation of sweet and savoury would seem weird to medieval cooks in particular, but even our grandmothers (for those of us in the third decade of our thirties) were not averse to such things.
I have made apple dumplings in this way to eat as pudding, the edge with its meaty tang not putting anyone off devouring them.
It helped the soup part that the dish was made with stock prepared previously using free bones from the butcher (I've taken to doing this when buying a load of meat, and never get any hassle) and another from the freezer, the penultimate bit of our Serrano ham bone. Those had cooked with some veg and other flavour enhancers, so the stock itself would have done as a soup (some more in fact did at the weekend, with mushrooms, noodles and star anise). But after it had in addition been the cooking medium for chuck steak and shin, with more veg, it was excellent - served without any thickening, likewise sans meat and veg, it was a really really good beef consome.
The original stock benefited btw from a beetroot being one of the vegetables, giving an earthy depth, but more importantly a fine colour.
The solid components were tasty enough, the beef not needing a knife to cut it, but not in the same league as the soup.
I've been trying to think of similar two-dishes-one-pot stuff, with little success. The only one that sprang to mind could in fact be a threefor, doing a similar stew for the soup and solids, but cooking a sweet dumpling or several in with the savoury bits. To modern eyes that may seem odd, but to cooks of centuries past (including the last one) with limited cooking equipment it made sense, and our contemporary separation of sweet and savoury would seem weird to medieval cooks in particular, but even our grandmothers (for those of us in the third decade of our thirties) were not averse to such things.
I have made apple dumplings in this way to eat as pudding, the edge with its meaty tang not putting anyone off devouring them.
Monday, 16 December 2013
Not so Much Soup as Miracle Cure
With Sternest Critic somewhat poorly over the weekend Sunday lunch was made with his delicate stomach in mind. Chicken soup is the Jewish penicillin; the Chinese swear by ginger for the upset tum; and noodles are one of the great comfort foods. Thus our lunch was chosen for its healing qualities as much as culinary.
That said, the stock was delicious, simmered for two hours with the pan packed with chicken joints, veg, ginger, star anise and dried chilli, the veg including two whole garlic bulbs (not cloves, bulbs - some of the last of our home grown) to try to purge the blood, or something. It wasn't just him comforted with the dish. Making stock is therapeutic for me. It can be rushed - grating the veg is one way to push things along - but if time allows shouldn't be.
Taking time means the scum from the meat can be cleared before the veg etc are added. Do that and much of the fat is removed too. A clear and flavoursome stock is a mini-joy.
More than any other cuisine that I have come across, Spanish food delights in the consome (still can't do accents). It makes a great light starter before their heavy main courses and even salads that tend to be far chunkier than we are used to. We went for the heavy and the light in one dish, the stock almost a background to a load of noodles, though as they are bland and the stock was pretty powerful, we lost nothing in terms of taste by it. And the boy was fit enough to face roast chicken in the evening, and go to school today.
It was economic too, the chicken - one thigh and two drumsticks cost £1.50 (it wasn't exactly a consome in the end, as I tried the meat and it had enough flavour to make it worthy of inclusion); the veg - three carrots, one onion, two garlic bulbs, chunk of ginger, three sticks of celery - maybe £1.25; and the three nests of fine noodles 40p. Allowing a generous 25p for dried chilli, two star anise and half a dozen peppercorns makes a total for a substantial dish and a miracle cure of £3.40.
That said, the stock was delicious, simmered for two hours with the pan packed with chicken joints, veg, ginger, star anise and dried chilli, the veg including two whole garlic bulbs (not cloves, bulbs - some of the last of our home grown) to try to purge the blood, or something. It wasn't just him comforted with the dish. Making stock is therapeutic for me. It can be rushed - grating the veg is one way to push things along - but if time allows shouldn't be.
Taking time means the scum from the meat can be cleared before the veg etc are added. Do that and much of the fat is removed too. A clear and flavoursome stock is a mini-joy.
More than any other cuisine that I have come across, Spanish food delights in the consome (still can't do accents). It makes a great light starter before their heavy main courses and even salads that tend to be far chunkier than we are used to. We went for the heavy and the light in one dish, the stock almost a background to a load of noodles, though as they are bland and the stock was pretty powerful, we lost nothing in terms of taste by it. And the boy was fit enough to face roast chicken in the evening, and go to school today.
It was economic too, the chicken - one thigh and two drumsticks cost £1.50 (it wasn't exactly a consome in the end, as I tried the meat and it had enough flavour to make it worthy of inclusion); the veg - three carrots, one onion, two garlic bulbs, chunk of ginger, three sticks of celery - maybe £1.25; and the three nests of fine noodles 40p. Allowing a generous 25p for dried chilli, two star anise and half a dozen peppercorns makes a total for a substantial dish and a miracle cure of £3.40.
Thursday, 12 December 2013
A Whole Ham for the Hambone?
Though Ruth said I was being foolish to do so, I went early to Aldi to buy - on the day they were to be in store - one of their Serrano hams advertised at £49.99 with knife, stand and sharpening steel. For some reason (it being sold cheaper on the internet apparently) it was actually £39.99. Not surprisingly perhaps the one I got at 8:30 was the last then in stock, the store having opened at 8:00.
The ham weighs 6.5kg, so quite a bit to go at over the Christmas break. It will make life easy when we have friends and neighbours (who generally are friends anyway) over. I'm looking forward to the meat, but having a hambone with which to make stock is a massive bonus. For the next few days I'll be thinking of recipes for the scraps and the mis-shapes too as we try to cut see-through slices. Omelette, pizza, risotto, tiny cubes in paella...
As per a previous post, however, the simplicity of the thing appeals hugely too. Any of us fancying a snack or a quick starter will be able - with a bit of practice - to dig in. It does take practice, as we found pre-Joe when I brought a whole cured ham back from France, nestled among the wine that filled the boot at the end of every continental business trip by car. We had no long thin knife then, and so every other slice was too thick, chewed determinedly or cut up and used in stews etc.
Cooking with the stuff is not, though, the real point of it. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity again: ham, bread, wine, salad, talk. And more ham. That's the point.
Thursday, 3 January 2013
New Year and Using Stuff Up
The usual suspect Christmas leftovers are long gone - a turkey crown means that the meat is a memory well before it becomes a recurring nightmare, and what was left of our sirloin transformed into the traditional cold cuts on Boxing Day, fabulous butties the next, and a stir fry and Chinese soup another. Others remain, or remained, yesterday's main meal a determined effort to make the best of them.
Thus a chicken carcase (am using the alternative spelling in the hope a friend keen to help me mend the error of my orthographical ways will correct it - curses, think she may spot that trap now) sitting in the fridge after a weekend festive meal with mates became stock yesterday afternoon that then made minestrone in the evening (the rest for tonight's risotto). And the dog-ends of cheese, some of it rather fine cheese, flavoured a sauce that helped stretch the tinned salmon (how very 1970s again) and kippers in a fish pie topped with mash from same weekend repast.
When the good-housekeeper stuff of using up Christmas bits before they are only fit for the bin is done I will turn to my foodie New Year's resolution, which is to have at least two vegetarian evening meals a week, and one based on fish. The inspirations behind this are several: environmental guilt about using too much meat and meat-farming using too many of the earth's resources; economy; health matters; and stretching my culinary abilities and repertoire - it is too easy to fall into the routine of planning a meal around a slab of bloody protein.
Thus a chicken carcase (am using the alternative spelling in the hope a friend keen to help me mend the error of my orthographical ways will correct it - curses, think she may spot that trap now) sitting in the fridge after a weekend festive meal with mates became stock yesterday afternoon that then made minestrone in the evening (the rest for tonight's risotto). And the dog-ends of cheese, some of it rather fine cheese, flavoured a sauce that helped stretch the tinned salmon (how very 1970s again) and kippers in a fish pie topped with mash from same weekend repast.
When the good-housekeeper stuff of using up Christmas bits before they are only fit for the bin is done I will turn to my foodie New Year's resolution, which is to have at least two vegetarian evening meals a week, and one based on fish. The inspirations behind this are several: environmental guilt about using too much meat and meat-farming using too many of the earth's resources; economy; health matters; and stretching my culinary abilities and repertoire - it is too easy to fall into the routine of planning a meal around a slab of bloody protein.
Sunday, 18 November 2012
Cheap Luxury Jacobean Style
My reading of the Jacobean lady housewife Elinor Fettiplace's receipt book sparked the idea for the starch accompaniment to yesterday's gammon. I had even thought this one through in advance, buying the sweet potatoes with such a dish in mind. I had not realised previously that the potatoes Raleigh brought over here were not the common spud, but said sweet potatoes.
Two huge tubers (cost 86p) were boiled whole for 15 minutes, then skinned - it just wrinkles off when pushed with the thumb. Sliced thickly they were put in a gratin dish into which was poured to come close to the top a mixture of hot ham stock, the juice of two oranges (rather sad overlooked specimens from the fruit-bowl), a tablespoon of rosewater, and a big lump of butter, all previously stirred together so the butter had time to melt. The surface was sprinkled with a little sugar, and the dish then cooked in the oven for about 45 minutes at 180C - until the top slices took a knife point easily, a question of judgement as they were slightly candied.
The colour was beautiful - I am not sure if the camera does it justice. The flavour too was excellent, a perfect match - contrast indeed - for the savoury-salty gammon.
A post some days back looked at the value in terms of nutrition and cheerfulness of colour in our food. This was the brightest thing we've eaten in weeks. And it had an almost restauranty touch of glamour and sophistication, the rosewater just a background hint to add extra interest.
Hilary Spurling suggested that modern American cooks do something not a million miles away from this at Thanksgiving Dinners, but never having attended one I cannot confirm that - if anyone reading this can offer confirmation and comment on that I'd be grateful.
Two huge tubers (cost 86p) were boiled whole for 15 minutes, then skinned - it just wrinkles off when pushed with the thumb. Sliced thickly they were put in a gratin dish into which was poured to come close to the top a mixture of hot ham stock, the juice of two oranges (rather sad overlooked specimens from the fruit-bowl), a tablespoon of rosewater, and a big lump of butter, all previously stirred together so the butter had time to melt. The surface was sprinkled with a little sugar, and the dish then cooked in the oven for about 45 minutes at 180C - until the top slices took a knife point easily, a question of judgement as they were slightly candied.The colour was beautiful - I am not sure if the camera does it justice. The flavour too was excellent, a perfect match - contrast indeed - for the savoury-salty gammon.
A post some days back looked at the value in terms of nutrition and cheerfulness of colour in our food. This was the brightest thing we've eaten in weeks. And it had an almost restauranty touch of glamour and sophistication, the rosewater just a background hint to add extra interest.
Hilary Spurling suggested that modern American cooks do something not a million miles away from this at Thanksgiving Dinners, but never having attended one I cannot confirm that - if anyone reading this can offer confirmation and comment on that I'd be grateful.
Thursday, 1 December 2011
Risotto for Pennies
Risotto in some form features on the menus of many high-end restaurants, with a twist or two to make it different. The basic dish, however, is good old-fashioned peasant cooking. Which means it can also be cheap (another thing that appeals to restaurateurs but that's another area altogether). Last night I fed the three of us for I'd reckon under £2, though how you cost the leftover chicken from the weekend roast is tricky.
In the morning I made the stock from the chicken carcase, stripped of flesh, very necessary to decent risotto and it's sensible to squeeze the most in money and flavour terms from your bird. An onion (5p), bayleaf from the garden, and two Sainsbury's basic carrots (a knobbly carrot is a carrot is a carrot), (10p) simmered very gently for an hour to make wonderful liquor and to fill the whole house with its scent.
The evening meal was done in 25 minutes. Another onion (5p) chopped fine and fried in oil, with a similarly treated red pepper (again knobbly basic, 25p), then a third of a pack (say 45p) of basic cooking bacon (top bargain, you tend to get big thick slices that make chunky dice as used here), half a pack of risotto rice (so less than 50p) fried until coated, then usual risotto method - add hot stock until it is soaked in, cook at medium heat giving a stir every now and then, more stock, until the rice has only the memory of chalkiness at its heart. Add diced leftover chicken to just warm through (cook it too long and it goes stringy and unpleasant), a knob of butter to melt and give it a lovely unctuous texture, season and serve. As we are not on our uppers I went wild and grated some parmesan, probably adding another 70p to the overall reckoning, though even then discounting the chicken it comes to well under £2. A veggie version using mushrooms in place of the meats (and mushroom stock) - Sainsbury's today selling a (special offer) carton of brown mushrooms for 50p - is equally good.
The world, by the way, is becoming full of special offers as we become more discriminating (meaner) about our food purchases. Local fresh foods particularly so.
In the morning I made the stock from the chicken carcase, stripped of flesh, very necessary to decent risotto and it's sensible to squeeze the most in money and flavour terms from your bird. An onion (5p), bayleaf from the garden, and two Sainsbury's basic carrots (a knobbly carrot is a carrot is a carrot), (10p) simmered very gently for an hour to make wonderful liquor and to fill the whole house with its scent.
The evening meal was done in 25 minutes. Another onion (5p) chopped fine and fried in oil, with a similarly treated red pepper (again knobbly basic, 25p), then a third of a pack (say 45p) of basic cooking bacon (top bargain, you tend to get big thick slices that make chunky dice as used here), half a pack of risotto rice (so less than 50p) fried until coated, then usual risotto method - add hot stock until it is soaked in, cook at medium heat giving a stir every now and then, more stock, until the rice has only the memory of chalkiness at its heart. Add diced leftover chicken to just warm through (cook it too long and it goes stringy and unpleasant), a knob of butter to melt and give it a lovely unctuous texture, season and serve. As we are not on our uppers I went wild and grated some parmesan, probably adding another 70p to the overall reckoning, though even then discounting the chicken it comes to well under £2. A veggie version using mushrooms in place of the meats (and mushroom stock) - Sainsbury's today selling a (special offer) carton of brown mushrooms for 50p - is equally good.
The world, by the way, is becoming full of special offers as we become more discriminating (meaner) about our food purchases. Local fresh foods particularly so.
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