The Greasy Spoon

Jambalaya

I'm currently fascinated by the food of the American Deep South, with its Creole, Cajun, French and Spanish influences. Jambalaya is the Deep South's version of Spanish Paella. There are many different variations, and local recipes, but the general rule of thumb is that Creole jambalaya includes tomatoes, but Cajun jambalaya doesn't. Here's The Greasy Spoon's Creole version. I've included smoked paprika, cayenne, and Tabasco for added spice, but I'm aware that not all jambalayas include hot ingredients, so I'll leave it up to you.

First, I cook some chicken pieces, and smoked sausage in olive oil, until brown. Next, I add some chopped garlic, some chopped tomatoes, and the "Holy Trinity" of chopped onions, green bell peppers, and sliced celery to the pot. Sprinkle them with smoked paprika as they cook. Throw in a handful of rice (I use Uncle Ben's Long Grain), and pour in some fish or chicken stock. Season with salt, Cayenne Pepper, and a dash of Tabasco.

Let the jambalaya simmer away for about 45 minutes. Towards the end of the cooking, stir in some pre-cooked prawns (i.e. pink). If you want to use uncooked prawns (i.e. brown), you will need to cook them at the very beginning along with the chicken and the sausage. Serve in a bowl, and eat with a spoon.

Fondue

Back in the late 1960's, our Swiss au pair brought back a funky fondue set. I remember it well: a beaten copper affair, raised on a nifty wrought iron stand.. In my opinion, the best fondues use the authentic cheese recipes; but a bad, mad, and dangerous tendency has crept in for sickly, over rich chocolate fondues with cake, strawberries, and the like. Avoid them at all costs.

Here's how to make a genuine Swiss cheese fondue: Grate 1/2 pound of a Swiss cheese such as an Emmenthaler, and 1/2 pound of Gruyere into a pan. Start melting the cheese on a medium heat. It's important not to boil the cheese, over-stir it, or let it get cold. All these things will encourage separation and stringing. Carefully stir in two tablespoons of flour or cornstarch. Again, the flour will help to prevent separation. Add a tablespoon of dry mustard. When the cheese, flour and mustard have melted down, add a cup of dry white wine, a dash of Kirsch, a squeeze of lemon juice, and some grated nutmeg.

That's it. You then dip in hunks of fresh white bread into the cheese sauce. Traditionally, if you loose your bread in the cheese, you are supposed to pay a forfeit. Having seen the Stepford Wives, I can imagine the sort of things our parents got up to forty years ago, though I stress that in our family, the forfeit was always a bottle of Kirsch.

Never Was There Such A Goose!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. It's tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of bone upon the dish), "they hadn't ate it all at last!"

I've decided this cold and hoary morning (it's seven o' clock!) to write about the Christmas goose. There's something terribly Dickensian and Christmasy about our old friend the goose, isn't there? Up until the 1890's most people in England didn't eat turkey, because it was so incredibly expensive. That's why it's such a big deal when Ebeneezer Scrooge buys a massive turkey for the Cratchit family, who would normally be huddled round their scrappy little goose come Christmas Day. But which one is better? The goose or the turkey?

I like turkey, I do. But it has a tendency to become dry and stringy, and by Boxing Day most sane people are fed up with it; even when it's turned into our famed Boxing Day Turkey Curry. There is no doubt that a fresh turkey is preferable to a frozen one. If you have a frozen one, for god's sake make sure that it has thawed properly, otherwise you and your family could get yourselves into serious trouble. If you can, try and get the gamey tasting English Black Norfolk, or the American Bronze variety. And some more advice: stuff the bird at the last minute, rather than the night before.

The immediate problem with goose is that there just isn't going to be enough meat on the thing. If you've got lots of friends and family coming round, then some of them are going to go hungry. It tastes delicious, and has a rich and gamey flavour, but there's also going to be lots of fat. I'm fine with that, but there will be some poor souls out there who will want to run for the hills. Paul Levy also reckons that the goose is really at its prime come Michaelmas (ie September) rather than December.

So my advice on this one: if there are just a few of you- go for goose, and sit back and enjoy the rich and subtle flavours; if you've got a horde coming round, go for turkey, but try and get a properly reared and decent variety, and cook it with care. I know this is expensive, but as it's only once a year, I think it's going to be a good investment. Joy to the World!

Guinness

Today's post is about that classic stout, Guinness. Guinness is a form of porter, a beer which originated in London in the early eighteenth century, and has been brewed at the St James's Gate Brewery in Dublin since 1759. The dark colour, and bitter flavour comes from unfermented roasted barley. The creamy head comes from nitrogen.

I've got a great recipe for you: Beef Stew in Guinness with Parsley Dumplings. What could be better for a cold December day? This is my own recipe.

It's easy to make, but remember, as ever, keep the stew cooking at a low temperature for at least three hours. This will help the toughish cut of beef to break down. Let's start:

Slice up some onions, and saute them in butter. Chop up some stewing steak, dust it with flour, salt and pepper, and fry it in the butter. When the meat is brown, add some beef stock, and a pint of Guinness. Bring to the boil to burn off the alchohol, and then reduce to a simmer. Add a dash of good old Lea & Perrins. Next throw in some carrots, which you've previously peeled and cut into batons. Add a tablespoon or so of tomato puree. This will help to thicken it up even further.

Simmer in a medium oven for at least three hours. At least. You should end up with a reasonably thick sauce, and nicely cooked beef- which should be beginning to break down.

Now it's time for the dumplings. Very easy to make. In a bowl mix some dried suet (the EU has banned the real thing; what on earth's going on there?), with twice the amount of self raising flour. Add some salt and pepper, and some chopped parsley; and form smallish balls with your hands. Float the uncooked dumplings on top of the stew, and shove the thing back into the oven. Cook until the dumplings have risen and the flour in them has cooked. It shouldn't take too long. Ideal for December. I like it.

Bang Bang Chicken

Apologies for my absence over the last few days. On Friday I was invited to a Bond-themed party, and was told to come in fancy dress. I rocked up in full naval rig; finding to my horror that no-one else had bothered, so ended up feeling like an extra from Follow the Fleet surrounded by kids in jeans and t-shirts. Heigh ho.

Anyway, this morning's gem of wisdom is taken from A. A. Gill's excellent book on The Ivy Restaurant in London's Covent Garden. I had a feeling that Bang Bang Chicken was one of those dishes that had been bastardised by British and American Chinese restaurants- but I've discovered that it is a reasonably authentic Szechuan thing. This is how you make The Ivy version:

Spoon 250g smooth peanut butter into a bowl, and place it over a saucepan of hot water for about ten minutes. The peanut butter should soften up- and you need to stir it now and again. Remove from the heat and stir in a dash of sweet chili sauce. Then add five tablespoons of sesame oil, and six tablespoons of vegetable oil. Stir carefully so that they form an emulsion.

Get hold of a smoked chicken, remove the skin, and take the meat off the bone, shredding it as you go. Put to one side.

Now for the Chinese style vegetables. This is easy. It's just two carrots, peeled and finely shredded; spring onions and cucumbers cut into strips, and shredded in the same way. Pile them up on a plate and sprinkle them with rice vinegar. Arrange the chicken on top, and pour over the peanut sauce. Finally, finish the dish off, by sprinkling some toasted sesame seeds on top.

Pheasant with Juniper Butter and Pear

Another gem from Nathalie Hambro. Remember our old friend, Juniper, from the gin post? The woody, aromatic flavours of the juniper berry work beautifully with game. I also like this recipe because it uses a chicken brick- and that is essential if you don't want the pheasant to dry out. As much as I love pheasant, the meat has a worrying habit of drying out, and the chicken brick will stop this happening. You should be able to get a chicken brick from Habitat.

Soak the chicken brick in cold water for about ten minutes. The clay in the brick will absorb the water. When the brick gets hot, the water turns to steam; and with all that moisture floating around, the pheasant will stop getting dry.

Take hold of your plucked pheasant, and wash it thoroughly. Peel a pear, and push it into the cavity of the pheasant. This will also help the pheasant to remain moist. Season the pheasant with salt and pepper. Crush some juniper berries, and rub them all over the pheasant. Saute the prepared bird in a pan with some butter and oil, for about six minutes, so that it is lightly browned all over.

Line the bottom of the chicken brick with tin foil, and put in the pheasant with its juices. Replace the top of the chicken brick, and bake in a preheated oven at 240C for an hour.

Now for the juniper butter. Finely chop up some shallots, and some garlic. Melt some butter in a pan, and add the garlic, shallots, and the crushed juniper berries you've got left over from the pheasant. Simmer for about twenty minutes. Take off the heat, and add the juice of two lemons, some chopped chives, and season with salt and pepper.

Serve slices of the cooked pheasant with a small helping of the pear (in effect a stuffing), and the juniper butter sauce.

Lancashire Hot Pot

What is the difference between Irish Stew, and Lancashire Hot Pot? Well, to be honest, not much. One comes from Ireland, and the other from the county of Lancashire in the North of England. Both should include lamb, potatoes, and onions. I've done my research this morning to discover the definitive version, and I would suggest that perhaps, the English version has greater flexibility. Whether this is a good thing or not is a moot point.

Lancashire Hot Pot was a working man's dish, and probably originated in the nineteenth century, during the period of flat caps, whippets, and satanic mills. Some people insist on beef, but I'm sure that the original dish used lamb. But there is one important historic difference. Lancashire Hot Pot should include oysters. A hundred years ago, oysters were much cheaper than they are today, and were considered a staple of the poor man's diet.

Take neck of lamb, and cut into chunks. Incidentally, neck of lamb is a fantastic cut to bear in mind for another time, and not too expensive. Season them with salt and pepper, and sprinkle them with flour. Arrange the lamb on the bottom of a casserole dish. Next get hold of some onions, and slice them up thinly. Sweat them in a frying pan in some butter on a lowish heat, for about five minutes. When they're done arrange them over the lamb. Next, slice up some carrots into batons, and arrange them over the onions. Throw in some oysters, and add another layer of onions. Finally, slice up some King Edward potatoes, and arrange them so that they cover the whole stew. Season again, with salt and pepper, and brush the potato slices with butter. This will stop them burning. Last but not least, add some chicken stock, so that the stock comes up to just below the potatoes.

Cook in a pre-heated hot oven for about thirty minutes, and then turn down the heat to about 130C and let it simmer for two and half hours. To finish the dish off, take of the lid, crank up the heat to about 200 C and roast it for a further half and hour or so. This will brown up the potato layer on top. Remember kiddos, the secret of cooking British style stews, is long, slow cooking at lowish temperatures. This will break down the meat. If you cook it too fast on a high heat, your meat will have the texture of rubber.

Traditionally, Lancashire Hot Pot is served with braised red cabbage. This is an old English favourite. Red cabbage sliced up, pickled in vinegar, and braised in stock. Another day, I'll initiate you into the secrets of that one.

Thanksgiving Blues

Today is Thanksgiving, and amongst other things, also the anniversary of the assassination of JFK back in 1963. I once made a futile attempt to cook a Thanksgiving Dinner for an American family in Los Angeles. The turkey was dry, and over-cooked, and I soon discovered that what we call "gravy" back in England, was, to Americans, a white sauce made from a roux of butter, milk and flour.

I expect my American readership to be down today, as you will all be stuffing yourselves with turkey, cranberry sauce, baked ham, pumpkin pie and the like. It's one of the reasons Americans tend not to have turkey for Christmas Day; by that date, you're probably all sick of it.

However, one of the better dishes from Thanksgiving are Candied Yams, and of course, you don't have to limit yourself to making them only for Thanksgiving.

Yams are sweet potatoes. Scrub them all over. and then steam them for about thirty minutes. Take them out, and put them to one side. In a small saucepan, make a caramelised sauce. Melt some unsalted butter, add some sugar, Maldon Salt and pepper, some grated ginger, and a bit of stock. Cook for a few minutes. When you have a thickish sauce, pour it over the steamed yams, and bake them in the oven for about fifteen to twenty minutes. Sprinkle some chopped parsley over the finished yams and serve.

Marinated Haddock with Prawns and Dill

This recipe comes from Nathalie Hambro's Simple Fare (1986), one of the more interesting cook books in my collection. As well as being a fashion designer, and all-round style guru, Nathalie Hambro is one of the most innovative and inspiring cookery writers out there, and if you are looking for fresh ideas, I whole-heartedly recommend her books. Most of them, I think, are out of print, but can be bought easily from amazon.co.uk, or abebooks.co.uk.

I like this recipe for its Baltic, or Nordic, overtones, and it's very easily made with the simplest of ingredients. Here's how you do it:

Line a dish with tin foil. Spread some dill over the foil, and season with sugar, Maldon salt, and black pepper. Next, place a fresh smoked haddock fillet over the dill. Normally I would use undyed haddock, but for this recipe I've found that the dyed yellow haddock works better. The Haddock needs to be as fresh as you can get it. Cover the fish with more dill, sugar, salt and pepper. It's best to use more sugar than salt, and to go easy with the pepper. Sprinkle some large peeled prawns on top. Wrap the whole thing up tightly with the tin foil, and stick it into the 'fridge, with a weight on top, for at least 24 hours- preferably longer.

When it's ready, slice the haddock into long, thin pieces. It's slightly like Japanese sushumi. Arrange it in a serving dish, with the prawns. Take some spring onions, and cut them in four lengthways. Soak them in a bowl of ice-cold water- after a few minutes the green tops with start to curl-up- which looks impressive, for virtually zero effort. Take them out, drain them; and stick them in with the marinated haddock and the rest of the prawns.

French Chicken Salad with Curry Vinaigrette

A few months ago I went on a trawl of the Parisian antique markets at Porte de Clignancourt, the last stop on the Metro. If you haven't been there yet, you must go. The quality and range of things for sale is good, and the stands are arranged with Gallic elan. All was dandy, apart from one desperate furniture dealer who tried to flog me a third division bureau, which she insisted had been made by the ebiniste Reisner for none other than Louis XVI. Well.

To escape this outrage, we stopped off at a small unpretentious bistro. One of the dishes they came up with was this simple chicken salad. It was delicious, and the slightly unusual curried vinaigrette worked surprisingly well. Up until then, I had been slighly suspicious of the use of curry in French cooking, thinking that the French didn't really understand how to use it properly. You will find Sauce Indienne in French cuisine, and usually they just stir in uncooked curry powder into a mayonnaise or a bechamel sauce. The Indians (and Brits!) know that they need to cook the spices first- to bring out the full flavour and get rid of that rather bitter taste.

Anyway, here's my adapted version of what I had that day- and I think it works. Try it out for yourself. First, I chopped up some organic chicken breasts into thick slices. You could also chop them up into chunks. Brush some honey over them, and season them with a generous amount of salt and pepper. Shove them under a grill.

Now you need to make the curry vinaigrette. In a small bowl add a dollop of curry paste (I used a Madras paste- may have been too strong), Dijon mustard, lemon juice, and a tablespoon of sugar. Next, slowly pour in some good olive oil. As you stir it around, you should end up with a thickish emulsion, a bit like a sloppy mayonnaise.

On the serving plate, arrange some fresh crunchy lettuce. Place the grilled chicken, which should be nice and golden in colour, yet not over-cooked. Drizzle the vinaigrette over it. You could of course add other salady ingredients (the Parisian version had tomatoes), but I'm currently a fan of all things simple (and all things green) when it comes to salad, so I just added some chopped tarragon, which worked well with the chicken. Season again with Maldon salt, and pepper, and squeeze a bit of fresh lemon juice over the salad. Bon Appetit.