I’m in print!

Thanks again to the efforts of one Carol Blymire, my little blog was mentioned alongside a slew of amazing “cook the book” food blogs in the Wall Street Journal today.  How cool is that?

Ryan S. Adams, who works in Austin for computer-graphics company Nvidia, says he was inspired by Ms. Blymire’s work to start on “The Whole Beast,” the offal-and-all British coobook that has a cult following in the foodie world. With dishes like “Cold Lamb’s Brains on Toast,” Mr. Adams says finding willing diners can sometimes be as challenging as the cooking. Ditto shopping. “I don’t know where I am going to get a woodcock,” he says. “I may have to go out and hunt one myself.”

And the picture I took of the Caragheen Pudding is right there in the article!

I’m off to go pick up, oh, I don’t know, 20 or 30 copies.

Roast Tomatoes And Crottins

A crottin, which means horse dung or sheep’s dropping in French, is a small, button like goat cheese from France; some are for eating and others specifically for cooking with. For a while now a few American goat cheese makers have been producing them. St. John uses crottins from a goat herder in Barnet, surprisingly, so look out, there could be a crottin producer near you! The best known of these is probably Laura Chenel in California.

This recipe is located in the Vegetables section of the cookbook, but I can see this working much better as a starter or in place of a salad.

My old roast pan finally gave up the ghost last weekend, so I decided that it was time to upgrade to an All-Clad pan. What a huge difference having a quality roasting pan makes!

18 vine ripened tomatoes went into the pan with a head and a half of peeled garlic, sea salt, some pepper and copious amounts of extra virgin olive oil. I placed the whole thing in a very hot oven for about 28 minutes or so.

After the allotted time, the tomato flesh was starting to soften and the garlic had cooked fully through which meant …

… it was time for the crottins. My wife bought me six cute little buttons of cheese made in Loire, France. Crottin De Champcol is a cheaper, yet still delicious imitation of Crottin de Chavignol, the most famous goat cheese of the many varieties produced in the Loire Valley. These were young crottins, so their rinds were still white and the interiors were rich and creamy. I nestled all six crottins on top of the tomatoes and placed the pan back in the oven.

While the tomatoes and crottins roasted, I picked the leaves off a bunch of mint which I then mixed with the juice of a lemon, some salt and pepper, and a squirt of extra virgin olive oil. After a quick tossing, I had a very nice mint salad to sprinkle over the tomatoes and crottins.

At this point the crottins were soft and melty. The tomatoes had become even softer and the garlic had gotten to that lovely beige color that means they were now sweet little nuggets of joy. I pulled the roasting pan out of the oven and replaced it with a half-sheet pan with slices of sourdough bread sprinkled with olive oil for toasting.

Mr. Henderson instructs the reader to “Squish the tomato, garlic, crottin, and mint onto the toast, scoop up some of the garlicky, tomatoey oil, and eat.” With gusto, we complied. This dish is obviously reminiscent of bruschetta, but with the substitution of mint for basil, and the use of the lovely crottins, I’d really like to think that this is a superior cousin.

One down, one hundred and eleven to go.

Carragheen Pudding

Carragheen is a small red seaweed with great setting properties, found in the Hebrides and Ireland. If you’re not in either of these places picking from the shore, there’s a good chance your local health-food shop will have it–or, bring it back dried from holidays in Ireland and Scotland.

Sorry for the lack of an update yesterday. My Internet connection was on the blink. Thankfully everything is working now.

Rather than try my local health shops, I decided to turn to the Internet first for finding Carragheen. My initial search came back empty, but I did find that Carragheen is known by many names: Irish Moss, Carrageen Moss, Irish Carraigeen, and scientifically as Chondrus crispus. Another quick Google search for Irish Moss was much more fruitful, and a little eye opening. Carragheen is used in countless products, from toothpaste to ice cream to lunch meats. Where I finally managed to find some dried for purchase however, was at a beer brewing website. Apparently Carragheen is “used during the boil as a ‘kettle coagulant’ to help proteins precipitate, resulting in clearer, haze-free beer.” I’ll have to keep that in mind if I ever decide to start brewing at home.

Here’s the star of this pudding, Carragheen. In its dried state it had a very strong seaweed smell to it, much like the nori one would use for making sushi rolls. Now, the recipe at no point mentioned whether or not the Carrageen should or shouldn’t be re-hydrated, and if it were to be re-hydrated, how long should it soak. Had I taken more than five minutes to debate this little matter, I’d probably have re-hydrated the seaweed. But I didn’t do that.

Nope, I dumped it all in pot with the correct amount of milk and some superfine sugar, oblivious to the fact the Carragheen was thirstily slurping up every drop of moisture it could. About ten minutes into the cooking time, I finally noticed that the seaweed was not melting away as the recipe had told me, but it was getting thicker. Much, much thicker. So I added a little bit of milk to keep my pudding from burning. Then I added a little more. And then a little more, with some more sugar.

Eventually, I had added the whole gallon of milk. I’m just going to chalk this up to a learning experience. I’ve never cooked with agar-agar or any other seaweed thickener before so that’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.

I strained all of the unmelted Carragheen out of the liquid, and then poured it into little ramekins for individual portions. These little guys were placed in the refrigerator to cool down and firm up…

…which they did admirably. I then added a nice blob of raspberry jam on top of the pudding, followed by a mound of sweetened whipped cream. The funny thing was, the pudding was so unbelievably slick that the jam kept sliding off the top of it. This was the best picture I could muster, so I do apologize.

This dessert is very, very unusual, but in a good way. Texture-wise it was like an ultra thick, rubbery custard. The pudding by itself had a mildly sweet, seaweed-like flavor to it. Though when combined with the jam and whipped cream, the pudding began playing the part of a backup singer. When I took a bite, the pudding was still there and still an important part of the song, but muted. The jam and the rich whipped cream took center stage, but they would have been way too sweet without the balance of the Caragheen. I can also see the pudding working with almost any flavor jam, so diners will be able to tailor it to specific preferences with little trouble. This recipe is a winner for sure.

One down, one hundred and twelve to go.

Chocolate Ice Cream

With the aid of Leah White, my pastry chef (who has been a great help with various puddings and pastries and their technicalities), we tried to create a wonderful dark bitter chocolate ice cream. We have failed so far, so if anybody can help, please communicate with us at St. John at 011 44 20 7251 0848. Even so, seeing as chocolate ice cream is fundamental, I have included the recipe we currently use. It is not as dark or as bitter as I could wish for, but is rich and delicious.
I’m afraid before you go any further you will need an ice-cream machine.

I’ve been kicking around the idea of a vanilla and tarragon ice cream in the back of my head for a while, but I was finally inspired to give it a shot after reading about Hank Shaw’s Oregano Ice Cream on his blog, Hunter Angler Gardener Cook. I highly recommend adding it to your favorites, Hank updates often, and it’s always a good read. Anyhow, after I picked up the ice cream maker I remembered that I had needed to buy one to make this recipe. Two birds with one stone!

The recipe starts off with simply bringing a little over two cups of milk and heavy cream to a boil, and then dropping the heat down to let things sit at a simmer.

My wife brought home some 70% cocoa solid buttons made by El Rey. These were roughly chopped …

… and added to the milk/cream mixture.

While the chocolate begain melting and mixing with the dairy, I had my standing mixer whisk half a dozen egg yolks with confectioner’s sugar. The recipe asked for caster sugar but my local megamart was fresh out.

Once the sugar was completely integrated with the yolks I tempered it, added it to the pot on the stove, and stirred until it was nice and thick.

In the meantime I chopped up some Lindt unsweetened chocolate and added it to the pot, which made the mixture a very rich, dark brown once it melted.

I let the chocolate cool a little bit, and then strained it through a sieve to remove any small particles of unmelted chocolate.

As a kid, my father used to make the best vanilla ice cream; however, the machine seemed to take forever, and even when it was done the ice cream was really soupy. We’d have to stick the canister in the freezer and wait even longer for it to really be considered ice cream. Technology is an amazing thing, because now we can have real, honest to goodness ice cream in under 20 minutes.

Here’s the ice cream with some pirouette cookies and a little bit of bittersweet chocolate grated on top. Mr. Henderson couldn’t have described the results any more aptly. The general consensus was that it was indeed “rich and delicious”. Too many desserts these days are cloyingly saccharine, but this was not overly sweet, which was a welcome surprise.

One down, one hundred and thirteen to go.

Rabbit And Garlic

There was a wonderful rabbit I ate in Barcelona, which was dry but wet, salty but not too salty, and above all garlicky. This recipe came out of attempting to recreate it. In fact, except for the garlic it is nothing like it, but still delicious nonetheless.

Last week’s update was delayed due to me having a nasty summer cold. This will be another one of those two update weeks.

My wife and step-father in-law have wanted for years to have rabbit for Easter dinner. The thought of Peter Cottontail in pieces on the kitchen table was a bit too much for my mother-in-law, but this year I finally managed to make their dream come true and take care of an update all at the same time.

When you pull a rabbit out of the cryovac plastic, it looks sorta like they skinned and gutted a cat instead of a rabbit. I suppose we really have to take them at their word because I don’t know how I’d be able to tell otherwise. Thankfully farm-raised rabbit tastes exactly like chicken, and the final result tasted very chicken-like. So I’m just telling myself that it was rabbit and am moving on.

After 15 minutes of hacking, I had two rabbits in pieces, ready for browning.

In cast iron dutch oven I poured in some olive oil, got it smoking hot, and then began working on achieving a nice Maillard reaction with the rabbit. Once the pieces were sufficiently browned, I moved them out of the dutch oven.

I can’t begin to describe how tough it is finding large, uncut pieces of bacon with the rind intact. As much as America loves its bacon you think it’d be easier to procure. Big chunks of smoked streaky bacon was as close as I could get. The chunks were dropped into the still hot dutch oven with two dozen shallots. I let the shallots get a bit soft and soak up some of the rendered off bacon fat.

I placed the rabbit pieces back into the dutch oven along with some dry sherry, white wine, chicken stock, a bouquet garni and eighty–that’s right, 80–cloves of garlic. When Mr. Henderson says “above all garlicky” he means it!

Everything was brought to a boil, then I put the lid on and placed it into a medium hot oven for an hour and a half.

Here’s the dish plated. The initial taste was exactly what you would expect: chicken with bacon and garlic goodness. The garlic had become soft and sweet, and as the book requested I instructed my Easter dinner guests to suck the flesh from the unpeeled cloves. This was a great recipe, and I’m looking forward to making it again. Hopefully it’ll be before next Easter.

One down, one hundred and fourteen to go.