This year's Masterchef moment has arrived

Beat that drum sieve for good food

It’s ‘that’ time of year again: Masterchef The Professionals is entering the final stages and there’s already a new gadget in the kitchen.

It’s been a fascinating few weeks, with huge contrasts in culinary achievement.

Happily, the BBC seems to have realised just what a star Monica Galetti is and have given her more to do over a longer time in the series, including giving her the opportunity to demonstrate what to do on the infamous skills tests before the contestants try their hand.

And as for Michel Roux Jr’s demonstrations of classic French dishes – ‘oh my’, again and again. I most especially want to try Savoyard potato cake – a potato dish that’s made of grated spuds, mixed with onions and sweet sultanas and dates, and packed into wafer-thin bacon before being baked. Yummy.

Indeed, the variety of French potato dishes that have been seen on this series are mind boggling. I need to study my Escoffier and Robuchon books.

The Other Half had been observing, with a mutual friend, that it’s probably a good thing that they don’t make sous vide cookers for home use, and was horrified when I informed him that John Lewis sell exactly such a beast.

“No!” he responded, with something close to a roar that seemed to include panic.

I did point out that it wasn’t me that had discovered that JL stock such an item, but a colleague. Our mutual friend observed dryly: “Just because he’s daft doesn’t mean you have to be too”.

I must say, if I really did have a bigger kitchen, I’d be more than tempted. After all, it’s only about the size of a bread maker.

And anyway, what’s “daft” about serious cooking? With each passing series of Masterchef The Professionals I can see the value of cooking in a water bath, allowing you to cook thoroughly but without any risk of drying out something like pork loin, for instance.

There are, I hasten to add, cheats that can allow you to come close to the same method of cooking but with ordinary kitchen equipment.

Watch this space.

In the meantime, this year’s Masterchef-inspired gadget is a drum sieve and blue scraper – just like you’ve seen contestants use on the programme.

And the weekend saw its first outings.

Vegetables purées, I have now convinced The Other Half – well actually, Michel, Monica and the contestants have done that – are not ‘baby food’.

They can add colour, texture and – of course – flavour to a dish.

What they also allow is, if you’re cutting down on complex carbs (the spuds, pasta or rice), an easy way to offer something to add another portion of veg instead.

One of the other great advantages is that you can do a purée in advance.

Saturday morning’s visit to Broadway Market had seen me return with a shopping basket that unexpectedly included a red and a yellow pepper, after Mark had decided that he was giving one of each to regular customers.

I don’t use a lot of peppers – The Other Half isn’t overly keen – and had nothing planned for such a fruit.

But then again, I thought, since Saturday’s fodder was set to be steak and chips, why not serve a pepper purée with that?

The first thing I did, therefore, was to roast the peppers: cut them in half, take out the seeds and pith, then pay them skin side up on a roasting tray and pop under a hot grill, about 10cm away from the heat.

They’ll needs about 10 minutes before they start charring, but when they’re ready, as soon as they’re cool enough to handle, peel away the skins.

Blitz in a blender and then press through a sieve if you have one, and reheat gently when ready.

Now, I added a dot of butter to this and checked the seasoning – it needed nothing of the latter – but it was never going to be thick enough to be a purée, but it was a very, very nice sauce and went perfectly well with the rest of the meal.

On a side note, my small deep fryer decided, on only its second outing, to play up: instead of 12-15 minutes to heat up, I was still waiting after half an hour and eventually resorted to a digital thermometer to check.

Bigger, plain white plates do help.

I know it was a cheap piece of kit, but that’s poor.

Yesterday’s meal was slated to be pan-fried duck breast with sautéed potatoes and a few sprouts, into which a purée of sweet potato seemed destined to fit perfectly. 

First, peel and chunk some sweet potato – one medium-sized one was more than adequate for the two of us – and toss thoroughly in olive oil with a good sprinkle of celery salt.

Then roast for approximately 30 minutes at 180˚C (fan). You will need to test and may find that an extra 10 minutes won’t go amiss.

Once again, blitz and then sieve.

That left a smooth but pretty solid mass. I left it in a clean pan covered in cling film to avoid it drying out.

For anyone wanting to know, the duck breasts were cut on the skin diagonally and salted, before being placed skin side down in a hot pan and the heat turned to medium.

They were given seven minutes like this, with the fat that came out of the skin being poured into a large frying pan on the next hob.

The duck was then turned and given a further seven minutes before being lifted out and covered loosely in foil on a plate in the oven, which was still warm from grilling the peppers.

For a sauce, drain off the last fat from the pan you’ve cooked the duck in and deglaze with a couple of tablespoons of raspberry vinegar. Add a tablespoon of redcurrant jelly to this and stir until it’s melted.

The potatoes had been boiled for 20 minutes in their skins, then placed in the oven with the door just ajar and left to dry off for 10 minutes (it was still warm from roasting the sweet potato). This helps to stop water getting into them, which you certainly don’t want for sautéing.

They were then skinned and sliced and added to the second pan with the hot duck fat, over a high heat and cooked until just golden on both sides.

But back to the purée.

To loosen the mixture, I added plenty of butter and stirred it in over a very low heat. Since it was still stiff, I also carefully added some boiling water – remember, you want it to be loose enough that you can make a bit of a swirl on the plate.

The final touch, though, is the crucial One: a squeeze of fresh lemon juice, which just takes the edge of the sweetness.

Such things are not displayed at their very best on small plates with bright coloured rims, but that apart, the taste was lovely.

Purées offer not only an opportunity to provide another texture on the plate, but also to experiment with flavours.

It won’t be long before the next one.

Festive food lessons

Channelling Michel; Roux Jr.

A few days before Christmas, BBC online ran a magazine article with a headline that described sprouts as a “controversial vegetable”.

Now I’m well aware that not everybody actively likes sprouts, but in what possible way are they “controversial”?

I mean, gay marriage is ‘controversial’, but is someone really standing up and saying that sprouts (or a lack thereof) would mean the end of civilisation as we know it?

Personally, I love ’em.

The Other Half was not enamoured – until, in fact, late last year, when I discovered Joël Robuchon’s way to cook them, in a book, coincidentally, that had been a Christmas present from The Other Half himself a year previously.

Prep your sprouts as usual – although there’s no need to do a cross cut on the end of the stalk: it makes no difference – and then soak them in cold water, with a glug of vinegar, for two minutes. Drain and rinse, and blanch for a minute in boiling, salted water.

Stop the cooking process by plunging them in iced water, and then cook in fresh boiling, salted water for 20 minutes, gently, so that the water is just bubbling, but not harshly enough to break up the little “cabbages”, as the great chef himself describes them.

Now you have a choice: you can either drain and serve straight away, or you can decant them into a new bowl of iced water to be dried carefully later, and then finished in butter.

Bread rolls, straight from the oven.

Robuchon says that this process is good for the digestion – well, it certainly seems to reduce the fart factor – but you can see why it would be useful in a restaurant situation too, allowing most prep to be done, with only a tiny amount of cooking to finish.

And of course you can add chestnuts at the same time.

It’s worth noting that the timings are prefect: you end up with sprouts that are lusciously green and properly cooked, but still with texture: none of that ludicrous British idea that al dente means as good as raw.

Well, that was about as organised as I got on Christmas Day.

The night before, I’d started making bread and got it to the first proofing stage before covering it gently with cling film and popping it in the fridge. Remarkably, given how we associate yeast and warmth, this doesn’t stop the proofing process, but merely slows it down.

The next morning, it came out, was thumped around a bit and then left to proof once more.

And here was the biggest mistake of the day: not making breakfast before taking over the kitchen for the main event.

Anyway, the dough was divided into rolls and baked – and came out very well.

Consommé, big on flavour and as clear as it should be.

At the same time, I juiced four oranges, sieved the liquid and then reduced it, adding a touch of salt and very generous amount of pepper on the way, before sieving again and decanting to one of my tiny copper pans to be reheatedlater.

The sprouts were done, as above, and left in iced water.

Now, because I’m not a trained cook, timing is the sort of area where I come unstuck.

We hadn’t risen early – there was no need. But before I knew where I was, we were well into the afternoon.

I gently heated the beef consommé that had been prepared over a number of days previously, and gave it a final, careful pass with folded kitchen paper to remove any remaining dots of fat on the top.

It was good, I must say.

While The Other Half was sipping his in front of the telly, I was sipping mine while bashing on with the next course.

Home-cured salmon.

I’d cured some salmon fillet with roasted fennel seeds, salt, sugar, lemon zest and Noilly Prat – a Bruno Loubet recipe, except that the vermouth replaced Pernod.

Further adjustments saw pickled beetroot diced finely and set on top of thin layers of the fish, with pickled nasturtium seeds from the garden.

There was a salad/garnish of segmented orange and tiny endive leaves, with a simple dressing of olive oil, white wine vinegar, salt and grainy mustard, plus a ‘snow’ of grated, frozen horseradish – and served with the fresh bread.

Now this was also very pleasingly good.

Sending The Other Half out of the kitchen, it was on with the main course.

I’d had some thick parsnip slices cooking gently in butter while we ate the salmon, so simply added the remains of the consommé (in lieu of stock) and let them continue to simmer away.

Then for the duck – at The Other Half’s request, breasts from the south of France, where they breed their ducks big and with a fantastic layer of fat (a foie duck, in other words).

Stephane and Arno at La Bouche had been wonderful in getting them for me – The Other Half is becoming a choosy foodie himself, it seems.

There were two, but they were huge (one remains in the freezer), so I took just one, cross-hatched the skin, salted it and then placed it skin-side down in a searingly hot pan, before draining off the melted fat into my duck fat pot.

It had seven minutes on the skin side, followed by seven further minutes on a lower heat on the flesh side. Then a rest of five minutes, during which I sautéed the sprouts with chopped chestnuts, and prepared the plates.

Now here I was, clearly channelling Michel Roux Jr, with a very nice arc of Balsamico dots in different sizes.

I mean, it looks the business, doesn’t it?

The orange sauce, reheated, was served in individual sauce pots.

The trouble was, by the time we sat down, I was knackered and we had both had the edge taken off our appetites by both the wait for food and the absence of it in the morning.

Dessert – painted chocolate and all.

The food itself was okay – albeit the sauce was a little too peppery and the parsnips, somehow, were a tad undercooked in the centre.

But the biggest disappointment was dessert. In many ways, it was an achievement. I’d managed – at the second attempt – a passable pear bavarois (pear purée mixed into a custard, then into Italian meringue and whipped cream) from Michel Roux’s Desserts.

It tasted good, but next time I need to remember that sieving the purée, no matter how pointless it appears, does make a difference.

My ambition had rather overreached itself, though, as I’d tried a ‘pear three ways’ dish.

What we missed: one of The Other Half's breakfasts.

The jellies of pear liqueur had way too much liqueur – although I was delighted at getting a good set, and getting tiny pieces of fruit ‘floating’ in the jelly.

And the candied pear slices were not crisp enough, because I’d opted to dunk them in icing sugar rather than a coarser type, leading them to become rather most, even after hours in the oven.

Fortunately, the Yule log that I’d made a couple of days earlier was fine.

Still, the point – in part at least – is to learn. Although you don't really want such lessons to be ones handed down over Christmas.

But still, there was nothing ‘controversial’ – and most certainly not the sprouts!

A little taste of Spain in the City

The festive season is almost upon us – so almost upon us, indeed, that the festive eating began yesterday, being entertained at Eyre Brothers in the City of London.

A very pleasant venue – which wasn’t there when I actually worked in the vicinity, but that’s beginning to seem like a very long time ago now – Eyre Brothers is dedicated to Spanish cuisine, but not, as is so trendy these days, just tapas.

As we nibbled olives and bread rolls, I ordered Brandada de bacalao (pictured left), which came with a soft-boiled egg, pimientos de piquillo, olives, capers and grilled bread, to start.

Brandade is an emulsion of salt cod and olive oil that’s also familiar in France as Brandade de Morue.

The only time I’ve eaten it previously was in a poor, touristy place in Paris, where it was only memorable for a bone piercing the roof of my mouth.

There was a single bone here too, but it was fished out in time. Otherwise, this was light and airy and a very soothing taste and texture.

The red pepper, olives and capers added a real burst of gutsy flavour and colour, while the thick piece of chargrilled bread brought texture, and the egg – cooked to perfection, with the yolk just running – seemed to bring the diner full circle to smooth, soothingness once more.

This really was a delightful and very satisfying dish.

Next up was roast Barbary duck with savoy cabbage, chesnuts and smoked pancetta.

It didn’t exactly bode well. Like an echo of last year’s pheasant at Blacks, was a leg and thigh, served in one piece, atop the cabbage mix, in a bowl.

That makes it difficult to cut – and indeed, sharper knives would also have helped.

Confit leg would work nicely like this – where the meat flaked easily away from the bone – but this was harder work although, once I managed to get to the thickest, brownest meat, it was tasty.

And the cabbage, chestnuts and bacon was very pleasant indeed, although the cabbage could possibly have been cooked a tad less.

Side dishes included broccoli – but I’m afraid that was taking the old al dente thing to the extreme of near rawness.

To finish, I opted for dulce de leche ice cream, which was pleasant and light.

Since the entire company was eating dark meat/game, we opted for a 2010 Quinta dos Roques from Portugal, which was bold and fruity and very enjoyable.

The fellow diner who also had duck was of the same opinion as me. But those who had the lamb said that it was excellent – and it certainly looked so.

It was good to see an eatery that hadn’t gone all insanely festive with the menu as soon as Advent had dawned, but was sticking with what it does normally.

Service was friendly and very pleasantly unrushed.

For all the small qualms, I’d be happy to eat at Eyre Brothers again.

Convenience food – voluptuously

It’s Friday, it’s well gone 4.55pm (but it’s not Crackerjack) and the Voluptuous Manifesto is bloody knackered.

What happens then? I want to eat well – but I am seriously not feeling in the mood to spend an hour or more in the kitchen. Is there a solution?

Well yes – there is. And amazing as it may sound to readers of this blog, it comes in the shape of three cans and a jar.

I had thought about pottering off for fresh fodder, but by the time my shift was done, I was glazed of eye and dull of mind, and all I wanted to do was get home and slump.

We all feel like that on occasions. The question is, can you make a good meal – and I do mean a seriously, volutuously good one – from the store cupboard?

Well, it does rather depend on the cupboard, but here goes.

Set the oven to approximately 155˚C (fan).

From a jar, decant some sauerkraut into a pan, just cover it with water, and simmer for a good 20 minutes or so. If you want, add a clove or two, the odd peppercorn, a few juniper berries and a bay leaf.

Open a tin of duck confit. Lift up the legs gently and let most of the duck fat drip slowly off. Do not throw any of this fabulous stuff away: remember, this is the fat of the ‘French Paradox’.

Pop the duck legs in a dish and from there into the oven for around 15 minutes.

One of the things with this dish is that it is not going to spoil – you’re not easily going to ‘overcook’ it.

Go and have a sit down. Have a cup of tea or a glass of wine.

Then rinse and drain a tin of cannellini beans and a small tine of new potatoes.

Dry the potatoes gently with kitchen paper.

Then pop the potatoes, the sauerkraut and the beans either into the same roasting dish as the duck – or in another one that has had a little of the duck fat melting in it.

Give it 10 to 15 minutes and … voila!

There you are. That’s the easiest gourmet dinner you’ll cook.

The thing is, convenience food is not cheap. But on occasion, it can be perfectly good.

The tinned confit ingredients were simply duck, duck fat and salt. Exactly as it should be.

For the sauerkraut, just white cabbage and salt – again, exactly as it right.

Both are traditional preserved foods: sauerkraut, incidentally, is not pickled, but fermented – and in parts of Germany and eastern Europe, they swear by the liquid as a health drink.

I find myself drifting back to the post the other day about the noble porker: we have forgotten, it seems to me, about preserved foods – other than jams and chutneys.

And it's worth noting that such traditional foods as the confit and the sauerkraut do not come with instructions on the tin or jar: these are foods that it is assumed the cook will know how to use.

The potatoes and the beans may be a slight cheat, but in terms of what I used, the waters came in water only, with no added salt. The only thing, apart from beans and water in the cannellini, was salt, and you can easily rinse them.

If this seems to be a strange combination of national foods – a cross between France, Germany and Italy – well it’s not really. In a cassoulet, beans are as essential an ingredient as the duck legs, while choucroute garni, a traditional dish from the Alsace region, incorporates sauerkraut and assorted meats.

Sauerkraut is also to be found in the cuisine of northern Italy – it’s not just a specifically German speciality.

I would recommend that you get hold of German sauerkraut – Polish is available, but it is, generally speaking, rather rougher.

This is a dish that sates superbly. You could quite easily remove the potatoes altogether. One of the big things here is the mouth feel.

That may sound like a phrase that foodie snobs use – and it is – but it has an everyday meaning and significance.

How food feels in your mouth – how the very experience of eating feels – is one of the factors that influences how sated you feel.

And this is a dream.

Go on – seriously. Take your time and think about how it feels when you bite down, when you move it around in mouth. Relish it.

The mouth feel is a major reason why I like cooking tinned cannelloni in good fat – they become wonderfully unctuous.

Okay, it might not be something to do quite every day, but it is real, real food – and it is as easy as anything.

And by god, as the nights draw in, the leaves fall to the ground and the temperature plummets, it is like being snuggled in a gloriously soft cardi, and hugged by warm and adoring cats.

In a dish.

Now what on Earth more could you want than that?