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.

Bone With a Hole

During and after the war, a time of la cucina povera, the Italian peasantry of the north were sustained by polenta, those of the mezzogiorno by chestnuts, and those of the south by da fishes. Peasant cooking, the transformation of humble ingredients, is deeply satisfying and easy on the wallet. Unfortunately, fickle fashion means that veal shank, like once-cheap lobster and oyster, is now a rare treat.

Ossobuco: it's vealy, vealy good, as Basil Fawlty would say. Risotto alla milanese is the traditional accompaniment to Ossobuco in bianco, but I think it works just as well with farro or pearl barley risotto, which transforms this into a comforting, earthy dish.

Ossobuco in bianco with pearl barley risotto and gremolata

First, prepare your Ossobuco. I did this a day in advance. You may need more than one piece of meat each, depending on the size. Dust each piece with a mixture of flour, salt, pepper and a little dry English mustard powder. In a casserole dish large enough to take a single layer of meat, melt a little butter and oil on medium heat and brown the meat on each side. Remove the meat to a plate, and then sweat one finely chopped onion and two ditto celery stalks (all ingredients to follow are per 2 servings), stirring regularly, until soft. Add one crushed garlic clove and four chopped salted anchovies in oil. Cook for a minute and then add 1/3 bottle of white wine. Bring to the boil and reduce by half. Add the meat to the pan in a single layer. Cover with greaseproof paper and a lid (or foil), and cook in a slow oven (150°C) for 2 ½ hours.

To make the risotto, soak 200g barley in water for a couple of hours. Drain, and then place in a saucepan covered with fresh water. Simmer for half an hour, or until tender and toothsome. Meanwhile, sweat 3 chopped spring onions and in a little butter. Add some halved or quartered chestnut mushrooms and a little chopped thyme and cook on a gentle heat until the mushrooms give up their liquid. Turn up the heat and add a good splash of white wine or vermouth. Allow to reduce, and then add this to the drained barley, along with ½ tsp ground cinnamon and half a preserved lemon. Season to taste and add a glug of olive oil.

To serve, make a gremolata: 1 finely chopped garlic clove, the zest of 1 lemon and a handful of flat leaf parsley. Sprinkle over the dish.

Chipotle Lasagne

Lasagne (and I won't stand for this Lasagna nonsense, pal) is one of those Italian dishes, like watery Spag Bol or poorly executed Caprese (spinach instead of basil; bendy Government Cheese instead of pillowy mozzarella; greenhouse grown, all flesh and no juice, never-ripening, gym class sick note tomatoes), that has found its way into the catholic vernacular of every corner of the indiscriminately hungry earth.

But, rather than use the above rant as a platform for providing a Reference Lasagne, should such a thing even exist, I shall use it as an excuse to expand on the canon with this delicious, super-cheesy heresy:

Spicy Chipotle Cheese Lasagne (serves 5 drawstring pants attired gluttons)

This recipe uses the chipotle chili, which is a smoke-dried jalapeño. You could conceivably substitute in smoked serrano or habanero chilies, but fresh or unsmoked chili won't give the same results. It also has a layer of unadulterated cheese for added unctuousness,or Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggggghhhness as Homer Simpson would say.

First, get cracking on your Ragù (enough for 6 cups):

In a heavy based saucepan, sweat 1 finely chopped onion and 3 chopped cloves of garlic until the mixture begins to colour. Add 2 each of finely chopped carrots and celery sticks. The dice should be the size of match heads or smaller. If you have neither the patience nor the coordination required to finely chop these, then shred in a food processor. You don't want lumpy sauce, do you?

Add 2 whole chipotle chiles, and cook uncovered over a medium heat, stirring regularly, until the vegetable mix begins to soften. Now add 500g pork or veal mince and stir to break up. Add 100g diced smoked pancetta/streaky bacon/smoked pork and stir through. Allow to colour before you add 2 tablespoons of tomato paste, a glass of milk, a glass of red plonk, a tin of chopped tomatoes, 1 cinnamon stick, 1 star anise (or a pinch of Chinese 5 spice powder), half a teaspoon of coarse salt and a couple of grinds of pepper.

Bring this unholy stew to a gentle boil then turn down the heat until it just bubbles, put on a lid and cook for 90 minutes, stirring occasionally. Allow it to cook uncovered for the last 20 minutes to reduce and thicken slightly. Discard the cinnamon and star anise, and taste for seasoning. It should be punchy.

Now, bring your considerable attention to bear on the Béchamel (enough for 4 cups):

Pour 700ml milk into a saucepan. Add a fingerwidth slice of onion, 1 piece of mace, 8 whole peppercorns and a couple of bay leaves. Bring slowly to a simmer, stirring regularly to stop the milk catching. Drain through a sieve, keeping the milk and discarding the other bits. Now, in a heavy saucepan, melt 50g butter, add 40g plain flour, and stir well to form a paste. Now add a little milk, and stir to incorporate with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula. Repeat this process until the mixture starts to loosen, then switch from a spoon to a balloon whisk and add milk , whisking constantly, to achieve a smooth, silky sauce. Add a pinch of salt. Allow to cook on a low heat for 5 minutes until thickened slightly and almost simmering. Take off the heat and pour into a jug if you'd like – it will make dispensing easier once you assemble the lasagne.

To assemble, coat a deep oven-proof casserole dish with a thin layer of ragù, then add a layer of "no pre-cook" lasagne pasta. Repeat with another thin smear of ragù, a thin layer of béchamel, then another layer of pasta, perpendicular to the last layer. Now a little more ragù, and then a layer of provolone or similar smoked cheese (in Hungary I use the prosaically monikered Cheeseland Smoked Sajt), cut into thickish slices. This will give a lovely, smoky, oozing layer to the finished dish. Now more pasta, ragù and béchamel, ending with a layer of béchamel atop a layer of pasta. Aim for 4/5 layers of pasta if you can make the ingredients stretch this far. Sprinkle with a large handful of grated strong cheddar, and pop into an oven pre-heated to 200°C for around 35 minutes. Keep covered with foil initially, but allow the top to brown for the last 10 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes before slicing and serving. A simple green salad and a nice fruity, lively Italian red wine are the best partners.

Disclaimer: I'm well aware that the pictured lasagne looks all forlorn huddled against the far edge of the plate, but I was leaving space for eatyergreens.