Melt in the mouth slow braised pressed lamb

Slow braising lamb is not exactly rocket science. Even so, I can hardly claim it’s my own invention. I pinched the idea off a cooking show. Definitely Rupert Rowley’s idea.*

I saw through his fancy-pants cheffery at once. Past the la-di-da herb crust and caramelised onion mousse and sous vide tender loin and poached baby vegetables and aligot (cheesy mash).

A shoulder of lamb, very simply braised on the stove top and then pressed under a weight overnight. Dense, meltingly tender, rich and sticky, reheated in the strained and reduced braising liquid.

Not rocket science. Not even Michelin Starred Science. Just a perfect idea.

After placating Little Chocolate Flavoured P- with the promise of apricot frangipane pie, I commandeered her wood panelled country kitchen. Stripped of complications, glass of wine in hand, I did absolutely nothing for six hours.**

Braising is nothing new. Just time consuming.

Squishing things after they’re cooked is probably not new either. But this technique I despise in commercially produced chicken nuggets and processed hams results in a moist gelatinous and impossibly dense slab of lamb, infused with the braising stock flavours and melt in the mouth succulent.

I craved, no, coveted, this lamb ever since I witnessed it via the magic of television. Worth the wait? Oh G-d yes.

* Hairy Bikers Tour of Britain, Derbyshire Episode. The recipe for the braised and pressed shoulder is unfortunately not included on the BBC website.

** Not, strictly speaking, true. For a little while I surfed the net looking at chocolate art, and I whipped up two frangipane pies, helped Bird with the pomme de terre au gratin AKA potato bake, roasted a leg of lamb, baked some sweet potatoes, made gravy and generally made a mess.

Rosemary infused braised, pressed lamb with lamb jus

Boned shoulder of lamb, approximately 1 kg (although size doesn’t matter)
3 medium carrots, peeled and cut in half
1 large brown onion, peeled and cut into eighths
1 medium leek, cut into four pieces
1 bay leaf
2 sprigs rosemary
½ bottle dry red wine*
3 cups good quality beef stock (or a couple of beef bones, roasted in the oven for about an hour)
Kitchen string
Parchment paper (greaseproof paper), cut into a circle just a little larger than the saucepan, and with a 1 cm hole pinched in the centre
Fry pan and medium sized saucepan (just large enough to snuggle fit the piece of lamb)

Using kitchen string, tie the lamb up like a parcel. There is a neat way to do this that is a little like a blanket stitch and a little like a mobius strip (see this Epicurious video). Or, you could just tie it up any old way. This works too. Or ask your butcher to do it.

In a small fry pan, heat a small amount of olive oil. Add the tied lamb shoulder, turning occasionally to brown on all side.

At the same time, heat about 3 tablespoons of olive oil in the saucepan and add the vegetables and herbs. Cook on a medium to high heat, stirring occasionally for about 15 minutes, or until the vegetables are cooked and starting to stick to the pan (but not burning).

When the vegetables are stating to stick, toss in half the wine and scrap around the pan to deglaze all the sticky vegetable sugars. Add the meat into the saucepans and deglaze the frying pan in the same way with the remaining wine, then tip that into the saucepan too. Add the beef stock (or bones) and add water (or wine or stock) to just the top of the meat.

Press the parchment paper onto the surface of the liquid and meat (like a second lid) and then place the lid on the saucepan. Turn the heat the lowest setting, and set to very gentle bubble away for about 5 to 6 hours. Check on it from time to time – make sure it does not dry out or burn onto the bottom of the saucepan, and gentle turn the meat over after about three hours.

When the meat is finished cooking, allow to cool slightly and then remove from the braising liquids and strain over the saucepan. Place onto clean parchment , cut the strings and discard, then wrap up like a Christmas present in the greaseproof paper. Tightly wrap this package in plastic wrap (I went several times around it all).

Place in a bake dish, then cover with another baking dish and then weight the top baking dish (I used a concrete statue of a cockerspaniel. You could use a brick). Leave overnight (food safety would probably dictate in the fridge, but I left it out on the kitchen bench).

Meanwhile, strain the braising liquid and discard the solids. Keep the liquid. That stuff is gold.

To serve: cut the lamb into neat portions. It is very dense and rich, so make them smaller than you think you might want.

In a small frying pan or shallow saucepan, heat a little olive oil and add the lamb portions. Add a few spoonfuls of braising liquid (which by now should have a lovely jelly like consistency), turn and add more liquid as it bubbles and thickens, until all sides of the lamb pieces are richly glazed. Remove the lamb ready to serve. Add addition liquid to make a sauce, heat through until thick enough.

Place lamb onto a bed of pumpkin puree, spoon over some sauce and enjoy.

* For goodness sake, only cook with wine you will drink. It doesn’t need to be great wine, but it does have to be palatable

Moorish Stew (lamb tagine, by any other name)

Some years ago I jotted down my work-in-progress recipe for ‘Moroccan Stew’ (even then I hesitated to call it tagine). This recipe – a very loose term for a list of ingredients and questions regarding possible variations, without any indication as to method or cooking time – is accompanied by a note at the bottom of the page which states: ‘potato emporium. idea. Why not have a shop that sells nothing but potatoes and potato related items, ie, peelers, mashers et cetera’. This page is sandwiched between an idea for ‘asian flavoured’ chicken mince kebabs made with left over boiled rice, fish sauce and coriander and my thoughts regarding the perfect blueberry muffin (consisting again of a list of ingredient and the admonishment that ‘hot! hot! The oven must be hot’). There are oil stains, smears of chocolate and what looks like an old, dried onion ring on the page. My life is filled with notebooks, folders, randomly sized slips of paper and cuttings from newspapers and magazines. The creative process is, well, creative.

I have an odd soft spot for recipes that bear the name of the vessel in which they are cooked. I think this is part of a broader appreciation of dishes that have names for themselves, and not merely a description of what they contain. Modern recipes, modern restaurants, will list for you dishes such as ‘pan-seared butterflied quail, with smoked fig, and liquorish sorbet’. Such nomenclature certainly conveys meaning but it denies the meal any independence from its components. The sum, in such a naming convention, is not greater than its parts. Not so for beef wellington. Or my perennial favourite, bouillabaisse. Or fairy cakes. Or spotted dick. Or lamingtons. These names speak of an existence beyond the ingredients – these recipes have independent identity.

And so for those fabulous meals eponymously named for their containers. Casserole. Hoppers. Paella. Saganaki. And tagine. The tagine is a two piece earthen wear cooking vessel consisting of a rimmed flat-bottom shallow pan and topped by a lid in the shape of an inverted flower pot. The tagine is the cooking vessel of Morocco. Think Divo, but rocking the Kasbah.

The tagine is suited to certain methods of cooking. And certain kinds of foods and flavours are found and appreciated in Morocco. So it makes sense that there is an identifiable and unmistakable family of dishes known as ‘tagines’. Earthy and spicy and slow cooked. Studded with sweetness and balanced with bitterness. Dates and figs and preserved lemons. Enhanced with almonds or pistachios. Lamb or chicken or fish, but never pork. And when you can hold that perfect, ideal, image in your head, it is possible to lift the impression of the dish – the smoky, soft, spicy-sweet-ness – and create a meal that is, in every respect except the one that counts, a tagine.

And because it tastes so good you might describe it as more-ish (pun approaching).

Moorish stew then, not tagine.

Moroccan lamb and vegetable stew, tagine style, served with scorched almonds in burnt butter with sour yoghurt sauce

Serves 6
400 g lamb pieces, large dice
2 tbsp corn flour
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp ground ginger
2 tsp cumin
1 tsp sumac
2 tsp paprika
1 cinnamon stick (or 1 heaped tsp ground cinnamon)
2 red onions, peeled and cut into thin wedges
4 cloves garlic, finely sliced
1 finely sliced red chilli (optional)
400 g tin of chickpeas
1 small red sweet potato, about 250 gm, cut into 1 inch cubes
400g tin of crushed tomatoes
1 Moroccan preserved lemon, finely sliced (otherwise, use the finely grated rind of a fresh lemon, lime or orange)
200 gm dried fruit (ie, pears, apricot, prunes, dates, figs or raisins – I like a mixtue of pears and prunes)
2 firm pears, peeled, cored and quartered
200 gm green beans,
1 red capsicum, cut into finger width strips
1 zucchini, cut into 1 cm rounds
(you could add cauliflower, eggplant, parsnip, spinach, carrot – pretty much anything)

Dust the lamb pieces with the corn flour.

Heat the oil in a very large heavy based saucepan. Add the spices and fry for about 1 minute. Add the lamb, and shake the pan occasionally until the lamb is brown on all sides.

Add the onion and garlic and chilli and cook until starting to soften (about 5 minutes), stirring to prevent the lamb or the onions from burning. Reduce the heat if necessary. Add the chickpeas and cook until starting to pop (you will hear them – sometimes they even jump out of the pan). Add the sweet potato and pear quarters and stir until coated in the oil and spices.

Add the tinned tomatoes and 2 cups of water. Bring to a gentle simmer. Add the dried fruit and preserved lemon and cook over a gentle heat for about40 minutes, or until the sweet potato is cooked and the lamb is soft.

Add the remaining vegetables and simmer for about 20 minutes, or until the vegetables are cooked but still firm.

Serve with couscous and scorched almond and burnt butter and sour yoghurt sauce.


Scorched almonds and burnt butter and sour yoghurt sauce.

100 gm blanched almonds
50 gm butter
1 cup low fat natural yoghurt
Sea salt

In a small fry pan, toast the blanched almonds until they are starting to appear scorched (some parts will be very darkly toasted and some will appear raw). Add the butter and reduce the heat. Cook until the butter is foaming and starting to turn a rich golden colour. Don’t actually burn the butter – you want it to taste toasty but not smoky.

Pour over the yoghurt and sprinkle with sea salt.

No such thing as too much garlic

I’m going to smell for days.

I will have no fear of vampires, demons, werewolves, Satan, black magic, plague, small pox, the common cold or indeed, other people.

It’s good for you.

No, seriously. It’s really good for you.

Garlic is one of those miracle foods.

Everyone from the Bible to Louis Pasteur says so.

For thousands of years the medicinal effects of garlic have been observed and touted. In the 5th Century BC Hipprocates prescribed garlic for pretty much everything. In 1858 Louis Pasteur observed the anti-bacterial properties of garlic. Since then countless studies have been conducted on the efficaciousness of garlic for a variety of health concerns and enhancements. My personal favourite is one that essentially demonstrates that when combined with the Atkins diet, excessive garlic consumption increases testosterone levels (in, of course, rats).* See? Very useful stuff, garlic.

Garlic has two active compounds, which are, in a state of nature, contained in separate cells within each clove. The great and mighty alliim (a cysteine based and sulphur rich amino acid**) and the slight and dainty alliinase (a protein based enzyme***). Yeah, I don’t really get what that means either, except – crush or cut garlic and you start this chemical reaction between the two. The result? Allicin. Sharp, hot, spicy deliciousness. An aroma that it over-powering and rich and heady.

Also resulting: bad breath and garlic-infused sweat pores.

The supplement industry has rejoiced – pop a pill, avoid bad breath and garlic sweat. Take one, take two. Take more than you could ever chew. Which I think misses the point – if garlic is good for you, then we should be eating it. As part of a balanced diet. Things that garlic is delicious with: tomatoes, natural yogurt, ginger, seafood, chickpeas, leafy greens. Ie, other things that are also really good for you.

The whole ‘allicin reaction thing’ can be avoided if you cook the garlic. Heat treatment, particular the cooking of undamaged cloves, triggers a different chemical reaction – it effectively destroys the sharpness and smelliness associated with garlic. The result is surprisingly sweet and nutty. A bulb of garlic, wrapped in foil and cooked in a moderate over for about 40 minutes results in little squeezy tubes of garlic paste, delicious mixed with olive oil and salt as a spread for bread or a sauce for red meat. Or simmer unpeeled cloved in milk and salt for fifteen minutes – soft and lovely with sautéd spring vegetables.

It’s worth noting that amongst the many reputable studies on garlic out there, many suggest that the health-giving-benefits are greatest in raw garlic. Which, when you think about it, is the perfect excuse to eat bucket loads of spicy raw garlic with wild abandon.

I just eat it that way because it tastes fantastic.

* Oi Y, Imafuku M, Shishido C, Kominato Y, Nishimura S, Iwai K. (2001). "Garlic supplementation increases testicular testosterone and decreases plasma corticosterone in rats fed a high protein diet.". Journal of Nutrition 131 (8): 2150–6.
** Google it.
*** See above

Garlic and yoghurt chickpeas with garlic lamb kofta

Chickpeas in garlic yoghurt

1 tin chickpeas (or 1 cup dried, soaked and boiled chickpeas)
1 bulb garlic
1 cup natural yoghurt
2 pieces flat bread (pita bread or tortillas) – baked, grilled or fried until crispy
¼ cup chopped or slivered almonds
1 tbsp butter
2 tbsp chopped parsley or mint

Spicy lamb kofta

½ kg minced lamb
1 onion, finely diced
1 heaped tsp ground cumin
1 heaped tsp ground coriander
1 heaped tsp turmeric
½ tsp chilli flakes

For the kofta – mix the lamb, onion, 5 minced cloves of garlic and spices together with tbsp yoghurt until well combined (you can put this in a food processor, but it will result in a stickier, smoother kofta). Refrigerate for about an hour (this helps firm it up).

To cook – roll kofta mixture with your hands into egg shapes. Heat oil in a non-stick pan and cook the kofta, turning gently when each side stops sticking to the pan. The kofta are ready when firm to press (about 10-15 minutes)

For the chickpeas – heat a little olive oil in a non stick pan, add the chickpeas. Cook on medium high until nutty and starting to brown. Whisk four minced cloves of garlic with the remaining yoghurt. Add a pinch of sea salt and the chopped parsley or mint. Heat the butter and almonds in a small pan until the nuts start to brown.

Toss the chickpeas with the yoghurt mixture. Break up the toasted flat bread and toss it through the yoghurt and chickpeas. Serve immediately with almonds and butter over the top.

Ward off vampires and the sniffles