The Kitchen Diaries II. Nigel Slater
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sharp to cut the fat is good here. Dried apricots have a pleasing tang that works well. Like cooking apples work well with pork. Neck of lamb is my first choice for this treatment, but I would also recommend small shanks. They are easier to get hold of. You may need to turn them once or twice during cooking, as they will sit proud of the sauce.
I usually reckon on at least 300g neck of lamb per person. This sounds quite a lot, but we are talking about one of the most bone-rich cuts of meat, so the quantity of meat should be just about right. The hands-on work is very straightforward.
middle neck of lamb: 1.25kg (8 pieces)
plain flour: 3 tablespoons
groundnut or olive oil: 2 tablespoons, plus a little more
onions: 2 medium to large
cumin seeds: 1 teaspoon
ground coriander: 2 teaspoons
crushed dried chilli: half a teaspoon or so
garlic: 2 cloves
fresh ginger: a 3cm lump
lemon zest: 2 strips, about 6cm long
a cinnamon stick
dried apricots: 250g
stock or water: 750ml
To serve:
chopped mint: 2 tablespoons
finely grated lemon zest: a teaspoon
Dust the lamb with the flour and season with salt and black pepper. Heat a couple of tablespoons of oil in a large, heavy-based casserole to which you have a lid. Add the lamb to the pan and let the pieces brown lightly on both sides. You will probably need to do them in two batches. Remove them from the pan, leaving behind any oil (if the oil has blackened, wipe out the pan and start again with fresh oil). Set the oven at 160°C/Gas 3.
Peel the onions and roughly chop them. Add them to the pan and let them soften for ten minutes or so over a moderate heat. Stir in the whole cumin seeds and ground coriander. Sprinkle in the dried chilli, adding a little extra if you want more warmth (I don’t think the dish should be hot, just warm and fruity). Peel the garlic and slice it finely, then add it to the onions. Peel the ginger, shred it finely and add it to the pan together with the lemon zest and cinnamon stick.
Add the dried apricots to the onions, then pour in the stock or water. Return the lamb to the pan, tucking it in amongst the rest of the ingredients. Season carefully. Bring to the boil, cover with a lid and place in the oven for one and a half hours, until the lamb is tender enough to come away from the bone easily.
As you serve, scatter the surface with fresh mint and lemon zest.
Enough for 4
Mograbia
Also known as giant or Lebanese couscous, the pearl-sized grains should be cooked till they are soft but retain a little bite, too.
half a cinnamon stick
mograbia: 250g
parsley: a few sprigs
a little butter, melted
a small lemon (optional)
Put a large pot of water on to boil (the mograbia likes to move around as it cooks, like pasta). Salt the water quite generously, as you would for pasta, and add the cinnamon stick.
Tip in the mograbia and leave to come back to the boil. Turn the heat down slightly, then let it simmer merrily for ten for fifteen minutes, till al dente, rather as you would like pasta to be.
Remove the parsley leaves from their stalks and chop them quite finely. Stir them into the melted butter, adding pepper and a little grated lemon zest if you wish. Drain the mograbia, discard the cinnamon stick, then toss in the melted butter and parsley. Serve with the braised lamb above.
FEBRUARY 12
The perfect marriage of smoked fish and cream
I am not especially fond of cream in main courses, but there are a few dishes in this book – rabbit with tarragon, gurnard with potatoes, pork chops with pears, to pick randomly on three – where it features with good reason. Tarragon is often overwhelming without the calming notes of dairy produce; a dose of double cream brings the fish and potatoes together; the pork dish uses the cream to deglaze the pan, giving the dish a velvety texture. The cream is not essential but it has a clear purpose.
Tonight I make the most of the masterful marriage of smoked fish and cream. Cream and smoke produce a calm and gentle partnership, working in dish after dish.
Smoked haddock with potato and bacon
unsmoked streaky bacon: 6 rashers
rapeseed oil: 3 tablespoons
medium potatoes: 400g
smoked haddock fillets: 500g
double cream: 500ml
bay leaves: 2
black peppercorns: 6
finely chopped curly parsley: 2 tablespoons
Cut the bacon into pieces roughly the size of a postage stamp. Warm the oil in a non-stick frying pan and add the bacon pieces, letting them colour lightly.
Cut the potatoes, without peeling them, in 1cm-thick slices, then cut each slice into short pieces, like tiny chips. Tip them into the pan with the bacon and fry for about fifteen minutes, until golden and cooked right through.
Meanwhile, put the smoked haddock into a pan with the cream, bay leaves and peppercorns. Bring almost to the boil, then turn down the heat and simmer for fifteen minutes. Put the lid on and leave to infuse for five minutes or so.
Divide the potatoes and bacon between two warm plates, lift the haddock out of the cream and place a fillet on each plate. Stir the chopped parsley into the cream, then spoon it over the fish and serve.
Enough for 2
FEBRUARY 13
Sharing a pudding
Sharing comes naturally to me. It is, after all, at the heart of what I do. Writing down a recipe is a way of passing something you enjoy on to someone else. A gift, yes, but also a way to make a living. And whilst I like sharing plates of dim sum, tapas and boxes of chocolates (though I generally stop short of double-dipping), I find myself divided over the merits of sharing a pudding. Nothing makes my heart sink like a restaurant order of one pudding and four spoons. I have no wish to sound greedy but I would really rather everyone ordered their own.
At home, I can never make up my mind whether I prefer a large, dig-in type of pudding or an individual one. As much pleasure as can be had in doling out generous spoonfuls of trifle or steamed treacle pudding to a gathering of friends, family and assorted appetites, there is something rather delightful in having a tiny pudding all to oneself.
Today is cold and wet. A sponge-pudding kind of day. I make a cluster of little puddings with brown sugar and soft prunes that I soak in sherry. Baked not boiled, they turn out moist, caramel sweet, and cute and plump as cherubim. So much more charming than a whole one cut into portions.
Little prune puddings with caramel sauce
The accompanying brown sugar and cream sauce seems, at first, to taste rather sweet, but