Archive for the ‘Meat / Poultry’ Category

A good steak with anchovy and herb butters and shallot confit

15 May 2014

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Key, of course, is the quality of the meat. Beef should be grass-fed and dry-aged. To say I choose my homes according to their proximity to a good butcher is exaggerated, but we’ve been lucky for a while now, with, for years, excellent meat just a few blocks away. There was Ottomanelli in the West Village, Harlem Shambles uptown, and, here in London, we live close to another great butcher, Godfreys.

The cut is important, too. Meat on the bone is typically more flavorful, and thick cuts (an inch and a half at least) are much easier to cook to perfection: very brown and crisp on the outside but perfectly rare in the center.

There are debates over whether steaks should be seasoned early or whether salt left on the meat absorbs some of the moisture. I’ve decided to settle into the camp that favors early seasoning, allowing the salt to seep into the cut. Since meat should be brought to room temperature before cooking, I take the steaks out of the refrigerator about one hour before dinner, season them generously with coarse salt and freshly ground pepper, and let them sit a while.

It is useless to try to give a cooking time. Every steak is different, depending on the cut, its thickness, its initial temperature. I’ve found that a cast-iron skillet works best, and it should be very hot before the meat is added. A combination of butter and olive oil in the pan is good, as the butter is delicious and won’t burn as quickly together with the olive oil. Ideally one could add herbs to the rendered fat and baste the steak as it cooks.

Sear the meat on very high heat, turning it over once the first side is evenly brown. The steak is perfect when the outside is brown and crisp, like a crust, and the meat has contracted, but just barely. Not too much or it is overcooked.

Like all meat, steak needs to relax a little before being cut; about ten minutes, just the time needed to get the rest of the meal on the table.

Serve the steak with the butters, shallot confit, and some strong mustard.

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Herb and anchovy butter
These must be made a least an hour ahead, and easily the day before.
I make one butter with anchovies, parsley, and basil, and the other with just herbs and sea salt.

250g good unsalted butter

A generous handful of parsley

Small bunches each of basil and chives

A dozen anchovies in oil

1/2 teaspoon coarse grey sea salt

Cut the butter into two equal parts, place each in a small bowl, and let sit at room temperature until it becomes soft and easy to work with (probably about an hour).

Wash and shake the herbs dry. Pick the parsley and basil leaves from the stems.

Separate the herbs into two groups: one with half the parsley and a few basil leaves, the other with approximately equal amounts of parsley, basil, and chives.

Finely chop each group of herbs.

Drain as much oil from the anchovies as possible, and chop finely.

Using a fork, mix one of the softened butter with the anchovies, parsley, basil; the other with the parsley, basil, and chives, and the salt. Mix each well until the butter is homogeneously speckled with the herbs.

Transfer each piece of butter into a small serving bowl, even out the surface, and let cool in the refrigerator for at least an hour. The butter will keep for a while, though it will be best for a couple of days.

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Shallot confit

3-4 large shallots

Olive oil

Small sprig fresh thyme

Small sprig fresh rosemary

One bay leaf

Sea salt

Peel and slice the shallots into thin-ish slices. (The shallots can be cut either crosswise or lengthwise.)

Place in a very small saucepan with enough olive oil to comfortably blanket the bottom of the pan. Add the herbs and a good pinch of salt.

Cook on very low heat, staying close and stirring regularly, until the shallots are a deep golden. **In case the bottom does burn, quickly transfer the rest of the shallots to a different pan so the burnt flavor doesn’t tarnish the confit.**

Let cool a little and remove the herb stalks before serving.

The confit can be made ahead and kept in the refrigerator but must be slightly reheated before serving, just beyond the point where the oil isn’t congealed to awaken the flavors.

Essential slow-cooked lamb shanks

15 November 2013

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Some recipes are indispensable; these lamb shanks are of that breed. Incredibly good and remarkably easy. I simplified the original recipe slightly (not that it was complicated to begin with), and it could be further modified and adapted without much risk. This isn’t high flying patisserie, it’s a simple home-cooked dinner.

For another occasion I may take it up a notch as per the original recipe, by first rolling the shanks in finely chopped rosemary, crushed coriander seeds, dried chilli, and a spoonful of flour before browning the meat. But recently I had no white wine, forgot the anchovies, even the garlic. It was fine. Really good in fact. The dish would live on without the carrots, and might even survive with no tomatoes (compensate with more celery and/or carrots).

The essential elements are: onions and celery, some acidity (wine, vinegar), aromatics (rosemary, oregano, marjoram), and of course the magic of slow cooking. Here I followed the instructions and the result is perfect.

Recipe mildly adapted from Jamie Oliver’s first book The Naked Chef

2 medium-sized onions

5 – 6 ribs celery

1 – 2 carrots

1 – 2 garlic cloves

4 lamb shanks

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Olive oil

2 Tbsps balsamic vinegar

2 Tbsps sherry or good wine vinegar

3/4 cup (200 ml) dry white wine

6 anchovy fillets

28 oz. can whole plum tomatoes

1 Tbsp fresh rosemary leaves

1 tsp dried oregano or marjoram

Fresh flat-leaf parsley, basil, or marjoram for serving

Preheat oven to 350°F (175ºC)

Chop the onions, not too finely. Halve lengthwise then slice both the celery and carrots. Finely slice the garlic.

Season the lamb shanks with salt and pepper. Heat a little olive oil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, brown the shanks on all sides, remove from pot and set aside. Pour out the grease and wipe away any burnt bits.

Pour a little more olive olive into the pot and cook the onion until just starting to turn translucent. Add the celery, carrots, and garlic, season with some salt, and cook for 7-8 minutes until the vegetables being to soften.

Add the vinegars and cook for 1 or 2 minutes. Pour in the white wine and simmer for another couple of minutes.

Meanwhile chop the anchovies, drain the tomatoes and cut them in half lengthwise. Add the anchovies and tomatoes to the pot. Swirl the pan to shake up the flavors and place the lamb shanks snugly on top of the sauce.

Finely chop the rosemary to be sprinkled with the dried oregano (or marjoram) onto the shanks. Put on the lid and place in the oven. After 45 minutes turn the shanks over in the sauce (so that the part that wasn’t submerged now basks in the liquid) and place back into the oven for the another 45 minutes.

Now remove the lid, turn the shanks over once more, and cook for another 1/2 hour. (Altogether the shanks cook for 2 hours: 1 1/2 hours covered, 1/2 hour uncovered.)

Let rest and cool for at least 10 to 15 minutes before serving. Or better yet, let cool completely, refrigerate, and reheat the next day in a 350°F (175ºC) oven for about 20-30 minutes.

Serve over rice, polenta, or mashed potatoes sprinkled generously with chopped fresh herbs.

Lamb stew with lemon, spices, prunes, almonds

26 March 2013

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It’s late March and no one heeds the snow flurries that still furtively sprinkle the city. Winter always draws too long in New York, we know, we grumble, we long for spring, for sunshine warm enough to cut through the chill, for blossoms, for green!

Looking for distractions some flee south, others hide out, I make stew. This one will briefly delude with the promise of travel, or dupe into enjoying the lingering cold.

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I modify this recipe constantly. I have added spices, forgotten the prunes, used ground ginger… It is meant to be played with. It took me a while to get perfect, melt-in-your-mouth consistency, but this is it. The cooking method was inspired by April Bloomfield’s lamb curry.

3 lbs boneless lamb shoulder

Salt

Olive oil

4 onions (red and or yellow)

4 garlic cloves

Fresh ginger, a piece approximately 1 x 2 inches long

2 tsps turmeric

1 tsp fennel seeds

1/2 cinnamon stick

1 dried chili

1 bay leaf

1 lemon

A generous handful dried prunes

A generous handful blanched almonds

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Preheat oven to 300°F (150°C).

Cut the meat into 2 x 2 inch chunks, season with salt, and brown assertively in a little olive oil in a heavy saucepan (with lid) or dutch oven, a few pieces at a time (about 5 to 7 minutes per batch). Set meat aside.

Peel and chop the onions into large-ish (1/2 inch) pieces. Cook in the meat fat (unless it is burned, in which case discard the fat and use more olive oil) until the onions start to turn golden, stirring occasionally and adding oil if necessary.

Meanwhile peel and slice the garlic. Peel and grate the ginger. Crush the fennel seeds in a mortar. Thinly slice the chili. First peel the lemon, then juice it.

Add the garlic to the onions, stir and cook for a few minutes, then stir in the spices: ginger, fennel, turmeric, chili, cinnamon, chili, bay, and lemon rind. Stir a few times to combine well.

Place the lamb pieces on top of the onions mixed with spices, sprinkle the lemon juice over the meat, add just enough water to cover the meat, close the lid, and place in the oven.

Cook for 2 hours at 300°F (150°C), stirring occasionally. Add the prunes after 1 1/2 hours.

Lower the oven temperature to 250°F (120°C), and cook for another hour. Add almonds 1/2 hour before the end.

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Related posts

Slow-roasted lamb shoulder

Slow-roasted pork shoulder

Grilled pork chops with fennel, sage, and pimentón

13 September 2012

I have a dilemma, and it involves pork.

As I may have mentioned, a few years ago I discovered Flying Pigs Farm at Union Square market. Before then I never bought pork (ham and bacon excepted), but since I’ve become more than a little fond of the animal, largely encouraged by a pretty remarkable recipe for slow roasted shoulder.

As I may also have mentioned, last November a real local butcher, Harlem Shambles, opened in our neighborhood.

So I have a problem of fealty: where should I buy pork now?

Rather than resolve this question just yet I’ve embraced this sudden begging supply of excellent pork and expanded my pork-cooking horizon further; I’ve been making pork chops. We’ve grilled them and, due to uncooperative weather gods, have seared them in a pan. Both work very well; key are the quality of the pork, and seasoning that respectfully complements the flavor of the meat.

They were amazing, I thought. Whether here or there, another great reason to buy pork.

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Serves 4, one pork chop per person

4 (1 inch-thick) all natural and preferably heritage breed pork chops
1  1/2 tsps fennel seeds
1 tsp coarse sea salt
8 sage leaves
Smoked Spanish paprika (pimentón)

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Take the pork chops out of the refrigerator and prepare the rub at least 45 minutes before cooking.

In a mortar, crush the fennel seeds with the sea salt.

Rub the chops on each side with the spices and add a sage leaf in the middle. Let sit at room temperature. *Meat cooks more evenly if allowed to come to room temperature.*

Just before cooking — on a grill or in a pan faintly coated with olive oil — sprinkle some smoked Spanish paprika on each side of the chops.

Cook the chops over very high heat so they become beautifully brown on the outside without having time to dry up inside. It’s difficult to give an exact cooking time but it should be approximately 4 minutes on one side and 3 to 4 on the other.

As always, let the meat rest in a warmish place 5 to 7 minutes before serving. The chops should be faintly pink inside and very juicy.

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Related posts

Slow-roasted pork shoulder

Pork rillettes

Ratatouille

Foie gras terrine

28 December 2011

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The first memory I have of foie gras is a conversation with my parents. We were in the car. I don’t remember whether I was 8, 10, or 12, but I think we were visiting friends in the Périgord, one of the prime foie-gras producing regions in France.

My parents were explaining foie gras: Duck or geese are force-fed excessively until their livers become abnormally large. These livers are prepared most delicately and the result is terribly delicious, a rare delicacy to be savored with due appreciation for what goes into its making.

I was appalled, and had no idea what the dish actually was. Foie gras, a French regional specialty? I pictured a sort of liver stew, and swore solemnly never to eat it. Quite honestly, forsaking liver stew forever didn’t seem like such a sacrifice. Had I known.

Later, much later, I ate foie gras, of course, and was compelled to admit that my parents were right.

Now I make foie gras terrine once a year, for Christmas eve. Have all my scruples disappeared or have I discovered many shades of grey? Am I willing to forsake anything for pleasure or have I been convinced that producing foie gras is not as barbaric as it sounds?

Just as I don’t eat meat or chicken raised industrially and buy eggs from pastured hens if I can, I always get foie gras from Hudson Valley Foie Gras. I believe they raise happy ducks. I am sure some will disagree.

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More than usual, the raw product is crucial here. In New York the best source of good foie gras is Hudson Valley Foie Gras.

The tricky part about preparing foie gras is deveining the lobes. I learned it from my mother, who learned it from a friend, but I found this good video online. It’s in French but the images are self-explanatory.

This recipe is very slightly adapted from one by the French chef Michel Guérard. It uses many aromatics but in very small quantities, so the taste of the foie gras is enhanced but not overpowered.

2 raw foie gras livers about 1 1/2 lbs (600 g) each

1 quart (1 liter) whole milk

16 g (2 level Tbsps) finely ground (in a mortar) fleur de sel or unrefined sea salt

3 g (1 1/2 tsps) freshly ground white pepper

1 pinch freshly ground nutmeg

1 pinch freshly ground allspice

1 tsp finely ground sugar

2 cl Madeira

2 cl dry Sherry

2 cl Armagnac

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When cold the foie gras is quite hard, so in order to devein it it needs to soften a little. Pour the cold milk and about half as much hot water in a large bowl (the liquid should be warm). Put in the raw foie gras and let it soften for about an hour.

Remove the livers from the milk, place them on a large board, and, working carefully with the blunt side of a sharp knife, remove the veins from the liver. To do this, start at the big knot of veins and carefully follow the veins, removing as much as possible to avoid any blood stains in the liver.

Place the deveined livers in a shallow dish and sprinkle with the spices and alcohol. Let marinate for a few minutes or up to 12 hours in the refrigerator (I have done it both ways and would be hard pressed to say definitively which is better. I’d make it depend on what is more convenient, logistically).

Preheat oven to 250°F (120°C) and place a large shallow pan filled with 1  inch (2.5 cm) of water at 150°F (70°C).

Place the livers in the terrine, and the terrine (without the lid) in the pan of water. Cook for 40 minutes, checking regularly that the water stays at 150°F (70°C) the whole time.

Once cooked, the liquid fat should have risen over the livers and cover them by about 1/2 inch (1 cm).

Close the terrine and let it cool at room temperature for about 2 to 3 hours, then transfer to the refrigerator.

Foie gras must be made at least 24 hours in advance, is best after 3 to 4 days, and will keep for about 8 days.

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Related posts

Chicken liver terrine


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