Porky persiflage

Gratuitous photo of my beautiful but flawed jambon persille, that "jewel of the charcutiere's art", according to one gushing writer. It looked and tasted the part, but my attempt at cutting it into French-sized slices resulted in a hideously deformed thing, post wolf-mauling. Note to self: chop the porky bits smaller next time.

Brussels Sprouts

Family FreshAirInspector have been on holiday, mostly next to the sea when not actually frolicking artlessly in it. I've eaten my own bodyweight in squid. Cats trail in my fishy wake, yowling disconsolately. There have been some memorable lunchtime meals (a plate of mixed mussels with limpid, peppery olive oil and homemade bread was the stuff of legend) and some mundane ones (many Balkan restaurants offer pizza, few offer any that are worth eating). Most evenings we sat on our various hotel balconies and ate bread, prsut, cheese and little tomatoes whilst guzzling tasty plonk out of plastic mugs. Sometimes the opportunity to cook presented itself. I quite like the challenge of cooking outside your own kitchen, although I really should take my own paring knife on holiday with me. Why do people invest in fancy knives and never sharpen them? What is this fascination with serrated knives?

Poor old sprouts. They get a bum rap. If they're overcooked they have that gassy cabbage smell of used poultice. They require quick cooking to retain a slight crunch and a subtle nuttiness. They can be eaten raw too: Ottolenghi does a great salad of Brussels sprouts. I like them pan fried or roasted, drizzled with a little olive oil and salt, or with nutmeg and crème fraiche.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts en grill double contact

This is a simple, healthy way to prepare sprouts that shows off their nutty, sweet crunch best. Eat as a side dish with any roast or grilled meats. I didn't have access to a non-stick frying pan in this self-catering apartment, so used the pictured “dual contact grill” or panini maker instead. The outcome was super.

Allow a handful of sprouts per person. Trim the base and discard any wilted or discoloured outer leaves. Cut sprouts in half lengthways. Toss in a bowl with 1 tsp light olive oil, and season lightly with salt and pepper. Bring a large non-stick frying pan to medium heat, and place a single layer of sprouts cut side down on the base. Place a lid over the pan (I use a flat baking tray instead of a lid) and allow to cook for five minutes. Test the sprouts by pricking with a sharp knife. They should give a little but still retain their bite. The lid helps the sprouts to steam cook, whilst the cut edge roasts. Now remove the lid, turn the heat to high, shake the sprouts around the pan to brown the edges a little, and serve.

If you are the lucky owner of a panini maker, oil and season the sprouts and cook both sides simultaneously for superlative results.

Steak Perrtaters

My wife likes steak. A lot. We eat steak regularly. I get lots of practice cooking steak. I have become experienced at cooking steak. Grilling steak. Broiling steak. Eating steak. That parses like Hemingway with a brain injury.

Sometimes it's comforting to be repetitive. Repetition may be the enemy of chance, especially in the kitchen. Thus, I offer my perfect steak supper recipe, safe in the knowledge that it has been tested to death. All that you require is good quality, aged steak. Spend decent money and it will be as good as a restaurant meal, I promise. I like Aberdeen Angus ribeye with a nice marbling of fat and no bone, so that I can do two at once in my small pan. Sirloin is good too. Rump is ace. T-bone is tasty. Fillet is acceptable, notwithstanding its shameful lack of fat. The steaks should be at least an inch thick. This way you get to sear the outside and keep the inside medium rare. I make no bones for only telling you how to cook a steak medium rare. Any more cooked, and you're wasting a good piece of meat and should really just stick to casseroles and things eaten cold out of a tin with a spork, possibly while wearing fingerless gloves. I scorn equally those macho blowhards who insist on eating a steak blue. You want it to be heated through, don't you? I bet you're the type of pestiferous customer that gives steakhouse chefs the heebie-jeebies.

You'll also need a blue steel frying pan (e.g. de Buyer) or something similar (non teflon-coated is preferable) that is oven proof (no rubber handles).

With this dish, timing is important, so make sure your prep work is done before the steak hits the pan, and that the salad is made and the potatoes done.

Pan fried steak with steak potatoes

Get your steak out of the fridge 2 hours before you cook it to allow it to come to room temperature. An hour before you want to eat, wash some smallish potatoes (I like Rooster for this dish – allow 2 or 3 per person) and cut into quarters lengthways. Keep the skin on. Now dry the potato wedges in a tea cloth and then put into a mixing bowl with 1 tsp olive oil, a generous pinch of cayenne pepper, 1 tsp curry powder, and a good grind of salt. Toss to mix well, spread out on a baking sheet skin side down and put into an oven preheated to 190C and cook until they yield to the tip of an inquisitive knife.

Turn your attention to salad. I don't wish be prescriptive, suffice it to say that a little dressed watercress or something peppery (I'm loathe to use the r word, arugula being shorthand for 90's bistro laziness, but it does the trick) or what I had – a little red chicory dressed with a honey, dijon, lemon and oil emulsion.

Now, turn up your oven to 250C. Whilst you are waiting for it to reach the required heat, finely chop 1 small clove of garlic and ½ tsp fresh thyme. When the oven is hot you can begin cooking the steak: place your pan on the hob and turn on to the highest setting. Be brave. Wait a few minutes until you have created a mini mirage above the hob, and the dry pan is smoking. Rub each steak with a tiny drizzle of grapeseed or peanut oil (not olive oil – the smoke point is too low). Get your stopwatch handy. Salt one side of the steaks and lay, salt side down in the pan. Count 2 minutes. Don't prod or move the steaks. Don't turn the heat down. Don't be tempted to cook them longer. You may want to switch on your extractor fan. After 2 minutes, salt the other side of the steaks and turn them over. Wait another 2 minutes.

Remove the pan from the hob and place in the hot oven. Allow 3 minutes, maybe up to 4 if you'd like your steak closer to medium. Take out the oven (at this point switch the oven off and put your plates in – steaks deserve a nice warm plate). Add the garlic and thyme to the pan, along with a little knob of butter. Stir well, and add a grind of pepper. Careful, that pan is going to be very hot.

Get those plates out, put your steaks on and drizzle the scant meat juices/butter mixture over them. Allow to rest for 5-10 minutes, then garnish with the potatoes and salad.

Eat with a steak knife, please. And drink a nice bottle of sturdy red out of your best glasses. We had a bottle of 1999 De Toren Fusion V. It was lovely, the tannins were well integrated and there was still an imprint of sweet fruit, chocolate and vanilla.

Kyk, cake!

Since the arrival of my son and heir, aka Wriggly McSqueal, The Milk Bandit, The Limpet, Wurmpie, DJ Hiccup, Die Klein Kak, time to attend to personal matters has evaporated in a haze of 2AM nappy changes and Daddy Epaulettes (regurgitated milk stains on the shoulders of all my shirts). If you'll excuse the mangled metaphor. Anyhoo, we still needs victualling and there have been a procession of (much welcome) well wishers to visit His Lordship and his gibbering parental units. I made this cake for an afternoon tea last week.

Orange, almond and rosemary polenta cake

In a large bowl, stir 200g sugar and ¾ cup olive oil (veg oil will do just as well, you etiolated, hairless non-Mediterranean you). Add 3 beaten eggs and 150g each of polenta and powdered almonds. Add 1 tsp baking powder and a pinch of salt. Mix well. Now add the zest and juice of 1 orange, 1 tsp finely chopped rosemary and 150g slivered almonds, or toasted and roughly chopped hazelnuts (rub most of the skins off, please).

Spoon the mixture into a non-stick loaf tin, its base lined with a piece of baking paper.

Bake for 30 minutes at 180°C and a further 20-30 minutes at 160°C, testing with a skewer after 45 minutes until said skewer can be introduced into the orange depths and comes out clean.

Meanwhile, make a little syrup to drizzle over the hot cake. In a small saucepan, heat the juice of 1 lemon and 1 orange and 2 tbl honey and reduce for 5 minutes until it becomes a thin syrup.

When you remove the cake from the oven, prick some holes in the top with the skewer (think of something hateful while you do this, it helps to lessen the angst generated by butchering your creation). Pour the syrup slowly over the cake, aiming for those holes.

Allow the cake to cool completely before removing it from the tin. It will keep well for at least a week in the fridge, and will get better after a day.

I served this with some home-made lemon curd and Greek yoghurt.

Chicken Little

Mrs FreshAirInspector is heavily pregnant. So pregnant that her stomach is a force of nature. She sends ants and the more timid mammals scurrying, sky darkening above them, as she sweeps around town. Birds dip towards her, and then wheel screeching and affronted back into the sky. I think I could staple two muumuus together and they might just fit.

We've been entertaining at home. Better to let Mohammed come to the mountain. I haven't once been called upon to make anchovy ice-cream or liver fridge tart during the pregnancy. What a wasted opportunity.

I served this last week. I thought the contrasting flavours and textures worked a treat. The salad is from my food hero, Yotam Ottolenghi, and can be found here. I substituted celeriac for swede and dried cranberries for pomegranate seeds and maple syrup for sugar, but you get the idea. The mash is a mixture of potato and jerusalem artichoke. Simmer until soft, push through a ricer and then blend with butter, a little single cream or milk to loosten, and chopped parsley.

The chicken is a perfect party dish – it can be prepared in advance and then finished on the hob in under 10 minutes. It is not a greasy dish, regardless of the sheer quantity of fat involved. In fact, every time I make this I end up with a larger supply of fat, so I must be rendering some out of the chicken itself.

Confit chicken with shichimi and chives

This dish uses bone-in, skin-on chicken legs (i.e. drumsticks and thighs in one piece). Allow one per person. You will need a large volume of duck or pork fat – around 1 litre. In Hungary, this is easy and cheap to obtain, as it is used extensively in cooking. I use a mixture of both. This can be reused a number of times. Instructions to follow.

First, you need to brine your chicken. In a dish large enough to accommodate your chicken pieces, mix 8 cups of lukewarm water and 1 cup each of sugar and coarse salt. Add the chicken and allow to brine for 2-3 hours. Fish out of the brine and pat dry. Discard the brine.

Place the chicken as tightly as possible into an oven-proof, hob-proof casserole. Top up and cover with the fat, which you have warmed to a liquid in another saucepan. Insert 100g of smoked salt pork and a couple of star anise. Bring to a slow boil and then transfer to an oven pre-heated to 150°C. Cook for approximately 2 hours. Clear liquor should run from the chicken if a skewer is inserted. It looks pretty unappetising and etiolated at this point – bear with me. You can chill the chicken in the fat for up to 1 week if you wish.

When you wish to serve this, heat the fat on the hob until liquid. Remove the chicken legs and drain the fat off. Now heat a dry non-stick frying pan to medium high, and add the chicken. Don't crowd the pan – you may need to do this in batches. Cook for 3 to 5 minutes on either side until the skin has crisped and browned, and the meat is heated through. Sprinkle with shichimi* and some finely chopped chives or spring onions.

To store the fat, discard the bacon and anise. Allow to cool slightly – a chicken jelly will form at the bottom of the dish. Skim the fat off and refrigerate. Chill the fat closest to the jelly and you can peel this away from the jelly. That jelly is liquid gold. Freeze it in small portions and use it to enrich sauces.

*A note on shichimi: Shichimi is Japanese seven-spice powder. You can find it in a good Asian supermarket. It is a mixture of coarsely ground red chilli pepper(the main ingredient) , Sichuan pepper, roasted orange peel, black and white sesame seed, hemp seed, ginger and nori. It is seriously delicious and imparts a nice piquancy to this dish.

The Walk Home

I leave the warm room,
dough dried to a pleasing rime on my hands.

The street is slick and dark
the rain the distant clack of a typewriter pool.

Past the empty Pilvax
(a waiter hunched forlorn)
and the police tape, cast into mud.

A grey dog approaches, ears pinned back.
edging past red-painted MURDR
his tongue lolls, he smiles and shows his teeth.

Up the stairs, two-at-a-time.
The light is on.
I must have left it on.

Heart Food

Look at that. Not for too long, mind – you may go blind. A glistening lump of indeterminate protein nudging a pool of saffron-coloured spackle. It can't be helped. This dish is not a looker. Tasty, though.

Last week, in an attempt to shake off a grippe-induced lassitude, I cycled across the beautiful Szabadsag bridge and around Gellert, the part of Buda overshadowed by the citadella angel. I discovered a Syrian butcher/deli on Karinthy Frigyes ut, and came over all breathy, like an opera singer hoving into view of cake, at the vittles on display: lamb, butchered into recognisable cuts. Legs, shoulders, heart, testicles, tongues - not just flesh as victim of industrial accident. The friendly man behind the counter scolded me when I asked for a kilo of hearts, quite rightly asking me to nominate a precise number so that he wouldn't have to take a knife to one.

Heart, brain, eye, testicle – food that suffuses the eater with the life-force of the eaten. It sparks the paleomammalian brain, conferring courage, wisdom, fecundity or foresight.

Braised, stuffed lamb heart

Allow one heart per person. The following recipe serves 4. I served this on a root vegetable mash, good for mopping up the limpid sauce. Stuffing a heart can be a messy endeavour. I use a sausage gun, but a piping bag will do the trick too.

Clean the hearts, washing out any dried blood and trimming off excess fat, taking care not to puncture the heart wall if possible.

To make the stuffing, sweat 2 finely chopped onions in 30g butter for 10 minutes in a large non-stick frying pan, stirring occasionally. Add 250g finely chopped button mushrooms – you're making a duxelle, so you need to chop very finely, then use a rocking motion with your big knife to mince further. Add the mushrooms to the pan, and turn the heat to medium. No need to add any liquid or oil to the pan – you need to cook the mushrooms for 10 to 15 minutes until they give up their water and reduce in size. Now add 2 crushed garlic cloves, 1 tsp chopped fresh thyme, ½ cup fine breadcrumbs from a stale loaf, ½ tsp chilli flakes and season to taste. Cook for 3 minutes and remove from the heat.

When cool, spoon the stuffing into your piping receptacle and inject the stuffing into the heart tubes. Wrap the hearts in streaky bacon – 1 or 2 slices per heart – and truss with butcher's twine (or skewer with a toothpick if you wish). Place the hearts into a small casserole dish so they fit snugly. Pour over 150ml brown beer and cook, covered with foil, in the oven at 180ºC for 2 hours, by which time the hearts should be tender and yielding. Uncover for the last half hour of cooking to colour the meat. Serve over your choice of starch with a good spoonful of the cooking liquor.

Winter salad

This is comp week for the big investment banks, where the rich get filthy and the merely comfortable get an extra pillow to prop against their back. Or as my cousin, who works for a non-revenue-generating division of the Great Satan, puts it:" tomorrow is the day when my lamentably un-obscene, non-Daily-Mail enraging bonus is announced ."

This time of the year, stories designed to get the common man het up circulate in the papers, such as that of the BarCap traders who lunched to the tune of 44,000 ocean going squid back in 2002, guzzling Ch. Petrus and foie gras with grim abandon.

In the minted world of the beautifully becoiffed, excess usually entails covering expensive stuff in gold leaf, or stuffing your second most expensive ingredient into your most expensive one. Elsewhere, back in the real world, a celebratory banquet is marked by multiple dishes, or the use of many ingredients: a wedding biryani, a royal tajine, or a roast baron of beef with all the trimmings.

This salad is a celebration of contrasts: chewy, pillowy, crunchy, and flavours: tart, sweet, earthy.

Mebos again. I love this ingredient. They have a wonderful sweet/sour flavour due to the pickling process they undergo. When cooked, they melt and soften into the dish and impart an agreeable tanginess.

Warm chickpea, butternut, mushroom and mebos salad

Enough for 4 people. We ate this with some roast chicken thighs that had been marinated in garlic, lemon, olive oil, a splash of white wine, red onion, sumac and ground allspice. Dried apricots can be substituted for mebos: allow 1 handful in this recipe.

In the morning, soak a heaped cup of chickpeas in enough water to cover generously. Allow 1 ½ hours to cook: place in a small lidded saucepan covered with 2cm fresh, unsalted water. Boil rapidly for 10 minutes, and then turn the heat down to a simmer, covered. Check every now and then to ensure they don't cook dry. Taste for doneness after 90 minutes – they may need longer. Once they have finished cooking, drain the water and toss with 1 tsp olive oil and a small splash of white wine if you have anything open. Add a grind of salt and leave lidded until needed.

Whilst you're waiting for your chicks to hatch, peel and de-seed a medium sized butternut and chop into 2cm cubes. Toss with olive oil,1 tsp thyme and seasoning and cook in an oven preheated to 180°C until the cubes have coloured and softened, around 25 minutes.

Whilst you're waiting for your butt, sweat 1 leek, sliced into ½cm rounds,in a non-stick frying pan over medium heat in a little olive oil until they are softened. Don't allow them to colour, please. Remove the leeks and set aside. Now (without adding any more oil), turn the heat to medium low and add 250g sliced brown mushrooms. Cook slowly, turning every now and then, until the mushrooms darken and give up their juice. Turn the heat up a touch, add the leeks, a good sprinkle of chilli flakes, 2 finely chopped mebos, a handful of toasted hazelnuts (dry fry until they start to colour and smell nutty, then allow to cool a little and rub together in your big hairy paws to remove some of the skins, before chopping them in half) a little chicken stock or wine to loosten, and seasoning. Add the chickpeas and butternut and a handful of something green: rocket, baby spinach, sorrel or watercress. Allow to wilt slightly, and remove from the pan into a serving dish.

Lastly, make a little vinaigrette: 1 tsp dijon mustard, 1 tsp honey, 1 tbl olive oil, and a little water (I had orange blossom water to hand). Stir well to emulsify and then stir into the salad. Taste for seasoning, and be generous with the black pepper.

Did I say lastly? What an incorrigible tease. Fry a small handful of fresh sage leaves in a little vegetable oil until crisp. Scatter over the salad just before serving.