The Juice on Jus - Maxing One Flame Flavour

An aspect of the post yesterday about cooking a steak or a lamb chop set me to thinking about how much flavour can be won or lost after the meat has been lifted from the pan. Unless you have cooked it too long you are likely to have some of the juices glistening in the skillet in front of you, and maybe some scraps adhering to the surface where the flesh caught briefly. The austerity cook, or any decent cook really, wants to make the most of these, and with just a tiny effort you can capture them in a simple sauce to accompany the meat. My apologies to anyone for whom this is second nature.

The first method is deglazing: add a good dash of alcohol to the hot pan, scrape the bits up and stir in the juices, then reduce for a second and pour over the chop. Wine is ideal, white or red, if you have some on the go, or the dregs of a bottle saved with a Vacuvin. Cider is good, and suits say thin pork escalopes done this way. From reviewing I have loads of brandies and rums that I find useful for this, though only a small amount is needed, the flavour being powerful - and take care you don't inadvertently flambe yourself. Best of all is dry vermouth with the bonus of herby notes. The resulting liquid can be thickened with butter, a dab of French mustard, a slurp of ketchup - tomato or mushroom - or a slurp of cream (not creme fraiche for me). If no suitable alcohol is to hand water's ok, but you gain no taste.

Bunnahabhain Distillery

Alternatively a pat of butter or some cream will mix with the juices, but be conservative as otherwise you'll not taste anything else, and here the pan must not be too hot or you'll waste juice and all.

It doesn't have to be just meat. During a press trip on Islay chef Francois Bernier seered locally dived scallops in a dry pan, then used Bunnahabhain whisky to stretch the juices, and in that case to flambe the scallops, with if memory serves a spoon of butter to bind the results together. This was one of the best things I have ever eaten, and with all due respect to Francois, so simple. He, by the way, was using a single Calor Gas burner to cook at the distillery.

One Flame Cooking Fang Man Style

This evening's meal includes the ultimate bloke-carnivore thing, the flash-fry steak. Sternest Critic likes his still capable of movement, oozing red juices that might put Dracula off, which means about 30 seconds each side on a very hot and minimally oiled pan. My wife and I both go for rare edging towards medium-rare.

Again when in France with just the one Calor Gas burner a small steak was frequently the protein component of an evening meal, some balance provided by carbs from the ubiquitous French stick, veg from the traiteur section of the supermarket - a small tub of celeri-remoulade, Russian or lentil salad or something similar - followed by a cake and some fruit and cheese. So a three/four course meal with only one thing needing heat. With a bit of forethought I'd have a few mushrooms to pop in the pan with the steak, broadening things a bit, or a drained tin (no freezer) of French beans. 

French beans cooked in the leftover meat juices from steak, with a knob of butter and a crushed clove of garlic, is something I'll still do for three of us now, good way to use the jus (a word that like pod people took over without us noticing) and no additional washing up, and it forces me to give the meat a couple of minutes' rest. We have a dishwasher but old habits die hard and the fewer times it runs the better, economically and environmentally.

De Pomiane takes such thinking further in his Cooking in Ten Minutes, dashing off a five course meal in that time, a trick that I'll try every now and then. It's not hard with some thought: starter some slices of salami or a pack of mixed charcuterie and a gherkin or two. Main course steak or lamb chop, both fine underdone though if you get the pan heating when the whistle blows you can have it well done, should you (why?) wish to do so, with said mushrooms or green beans as above; next a small pack of pre-washed salad (I never buy the big ones as they are too much for three people and the remains inevitably wilt and lose their attraction) with any suitable additions available from the fridge like cucumber and red pepper, dressed with my own vinaigrette (bought stuff is stupidly expensive and far too sweet), followed by a simple pud - bought pastry, ice-cream bought or homemade, or virtuously some fruit, with cheese after if we are going the full English route, or before if it's continental that night. You can argue either way and feel free to do so, just don't look down your nose at someone who orders it differently. 

The secret with such a meal is not to have too much of any dish. It's a taste of something and move on when you want to, though you have to time things around the steak. 

One Flame Cooking

A recent comment about having to cook on one burner while kitchenless made me think about my year living in France during my degree course - living in a disused school accommodation block at the Lycee next to the one where I worked, and cooking on a single calor-gas burner (with a kettle too). Youth of course made it easier to accept a restricted diet - often wine, cheese,  and fabulous French bread from a bakery 200m distant - but I learned a huge amount about food and cooking in that year. Austerity, restrictions, can teach us coping strategies and the value of what we have. Variations on beans with big thick smoked pork sausages when it was cold were great, the sausages already cooked, but benefiting from the heat, their flavour enhancing the beans (not at that time Heinz in France, but some sort of cassoulet flavoured versions, often with chunks of petit-sale in them.

The big thing that I learned there was the value of great bread. Sadly it is still, 30 years later, almost impossible to find really good bread in this country. Waitrose makes an effort, Booth's sadly has very expensive stuff without a hint of crispy crust, and Sainsbury's is a disaster zone. So I make my own when moved to do so, which at least is free of additives, and for a brief moment has a crust worthy of the name.

It is totally impossible to find good French sticks here. They need a Vienna oven, and should have both crispy crust and a very holey interior. Not one that supermarkets go for as they are stale within three hours at most, but when fresh there is IMHO no better bread anywhere. The stuff I bought when living in France was inevitably nibbled on the short walk home, nobody could resist that aroma surely?