Recipe: Rabbit Stew

It's been quite a while since I've managed to do any proper cooking at Oxford, so I decided to usher in the end of term in a decidedly celebratory way.

I am generally not a fan of white meat, and I would prefer beef to chicken any day. However, after I once had the most fabulous stewed rabbit in Provence, rabbit meat has become one of my favoured meats.

Now, a lot of people get very squeamish around rabbits, and refuse to countenance the thought of eating them. Mainly because rabbits are cute and fluffy, so people can't bring themselves to eat them. I have no such problem, since when it comes to food, I'm an animal egalitarian. However, if you are in the least bit uncomfortable about rabbits, be warned that a skinned rabbit from your local butcher's is a very ugly thing, looking like some deranged chupacabra.

So I decided to cook a rabbit stew, after discovering that rabbits are much healthier than poultry (less fat and cholestrol), and not that expensive (one rabbit costs GBP 3.50 from Oxford's covered market). Being new to rabbit cookery, I had to look around for a recipe, but as with most stews, the basic principles are the same, and you could even use a coq au vin recipe to cook a lapin au vin. In the end though, I settled on a modified version of this one.

Ingredients (Serves 2 - 3)

1 rabbit, jointed
1 tin (500g) peeled tomatoes
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 carrot, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 large onion, chopped
5 sage leaves
5 sprigs thyme
3 sprig rosemary
300 ml dry white wine
300 ml chicken stock



Notes on ingredients: Ask your butcher to joint the rabbit for you. Save the heart and liver for making stock or enriching your sauce, or be lazy and throw them away. Rabbit forelegs cook faster than the hind legs and saddle, so you can choose to save them for stock or throw them in to cook in half the time. Depending on the size of your pot, you may need more liquids than the quantities specified.



On medium-high heat, heat some olive oil in a large pot and sauté the rabbit joints till they're golden. You can dredge them through flour (as in the photo) first, but it's not strictly necessary.



Once your rabbit joints are browned, remove them. In the same oil (add more if you've run low) fry the garlic till fragrant and golden, and then sauté the vegetables till the onions soften.



Add half the wine and stock to stop the vegetables from cooking any more.



Return the rabbit joints to the pot. Try not to let them rest on the vegetables, or you risk burning them at the bottom.



Add the canned tomatoes and their juice, as well as the rest of the wine and stock to just about cover the rabbit. Throw in the sage, thyme and rosemary at this point as well.



Bring the contents of the pot to boil, then turn the heat down to a gentle simmer. The more observant among you will probably have noticed the similarities between this recipe and other slow-cooked recipes, like osso bucco.



Simmer the stew, covered, for an hour or so, or until the rabbit meat is tender. There appears to be some considerable disagreement as to how long rabbit should be cooked before it's tender. Many recipes say 30-45 minutes, but I've seen some going up to 2 hours. Cooking time depends on how generously you interpret "simmer", so the best bet would be to check the rabbit after half an hour, and consequently every fifteen minutes or so until it's just right.

Bear in mind though, that the forelegs take a much shorter time to cook than the rest of the rabbit, so either remove them earlier, or add them to the stew later.



Serve the stew with any filling carbohydrate, like potatoes, noodles or rice. A real treat on a dark and shivering English night, or equally appropriate during the warmer Easter period.

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Miscellaneous Food: The Fat Duck

I know it's been ages since I've updated - but I've kept finding that I have work that needs to be done. I guess it's just a matter of postponing the writing of my essays...




After all I'd heard about the Fat Duck, and with all the anticipation of having a dinner there (it has a three month waiting list), when we finally arrived, I was a bit underwhelmed by its nondescript location. Situated in Bray, a tiny little village outside of London, it really is in the middle of nowhere. Even when you get to the restaurant, the only clue to its presence is Heston Blumenthal's signature logo outside; three utensils cleverly doubling as parts of a duck's anatomy.




The interior, too, is very unassuming, for a restaurant that has the reputation of being the second best in the world. The lighting is perfect, and the tables impeccably laid. Strangely there are too many waiters - though this may be because a name like Blumenthal's attracts so much free labour.




The Fat Duck is one of the bastions of molecular gastronomy, and the amuse-bouche certainly reinforced that. A pomery mustard ice-cream with a red cabbage gazpacho, this was an unsual combination, to say the least. However, it was not unenjoyable - the mustard ice-cream was subtly piquant; refreshing in its mild pepperiness, its slight headiness and icy creaminess. The red cabbage gazpacho was strangely sourish, which went well with the ice-cream, but was a little too tart to enjoy on its own.




Our second palate-teaser was a fresh oyster served with passionfruit jelly. I felt this was slightly too exotic a pairing, with the flavour of the passionfruit overwhelming the delicate taste and texture of the oyster.




I started with a cauliflower risotto, served with a carpaccio of cauliflower and chocolate jelly, dusted with cocoa powder. I was really surprised with this dish, closely related as it is to Jamie Oliver's chocolate risotto. The risotto was perfectly creamy, with the blandness of cauliflower, offset by the sweetness of the chocolate and cocoa powder. The cauliflower carpaccio (really just very crispy roasted shavings of cauliflower), while repetitive, added a contrasting and welcome texture.







My main course took the form of a saddle of venison, served with celeriac puree, marron glacé and sauce poivrade. It also came with a civet of venison with pearl barley and red wine. The venison was quite excellent, a perfectly-executed combination of flavours and a riot of colours to boot. The pearl barley and civet were a deft touch; the barley sweetening and attenuating the sharpness of the red wine, as well as providing additional liquid for the sauce in the main dish.




At this point we were presented with further examples of why the Fat Duck deserved its reputation for culinary alchemy - a carrot-orange lollipop and some beet jelly sweets. The sweets tasted almost like those blackcurrant pastilles I enjoyed very much in my youth, and the carrot lollipop is surely a good way to get children to eat their vegetables.




My meal ended with a chocolate fondant with cardamom, dried apricot yoghurt and harissa ice-cream. While the chocolate fondant was intense and exquisite, I did think the use of harissa was a bit too extreme. The heat spread quickly through my mouth like wildfire, and made it difficult to enjoy the rest of the dessert. Too strong for me, I had to leave the harissa to the side.

While I appreciated the obvious thought and effort that had gone into the creation of every dish, I did think that molecular gastronomy was more gimmicky than more conventional cooking, but who is to say where cooking ends and science begins? I applaud Heston Blumenthal for pushing the limits of culinary possibility, and the Fat Duck is a restaurant to be enjoyed, rather like a work of art, out of deference to its creator.

The Fat Duck (Molecular Gastronomy)
High Street
Bray, Berkshire
SL6 2AQ
United Kingdom

Tel: 01628 58033
Website

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Miscellaneous Food: Le Manoir Aux Quat'Saisons

On one level, starting university on the other side of the world puts a bit of a dampener on the running of a food blog, especially if good food is somewhat limited in your particular location.

Still, there are glimmers of salvation. Not too far from Oxford is one such glimmer, in the form of Raymond Blanc's Le Manoir Aux Quat'Saisons, a restaurant famed for its usage of organic produce, much of which is grown on site in the two-acre vegetable and herb gardens.




Being a highly-recommended Relais & Chateaux hotel-restaurant, we took our seats at the dinner tables of the Manoir with great expectations. The restaurant is a lovely place to come for a meal, whether at dinner or lunch. Naturally if you come in the afternoon in summer, you'll be able to see the gardens in all their splendid lushness.




We started with an amuse-bouche that, oddly enough, came only on two plates, which meant we had to share. Decidedly artisanal and wonderfully refreshing, this set the tone for the meal to follow.




As we had the menu classique, there was no need to choose; instead we were treated to the best-loved dishes of Le Manoir. The first was a fresh tartare of salmon, wasabi and cucumber, topped with Oscietra caviar. I really enjoyed this, despite not usually liking salmon tartare. All the ingredients were so robustly fresh and bursting with flavour that it was really difficult not to inhale this dish. The cucumber, in particular, was very interesting; firm and juicy, it was nonethless soft and pliable enough to be wrapped around the entire starter.




As an alternative starter, my parents had a pumpkin soup, which, though it seems unexciting, was executed perfectly. The sweetness of the pumpkin really shone through, the cappuccino foam adding to the lightness of the otherwise full-bodied soup.




Following that, was a risotto of new season pumpkin and chestnuts with wild mushrooms, topped with a quenelle of mascarpone and toasted pumpkin seeds. This was one of my favourite dishes; I really loved the golden hues of the risotto, contrasted with the reds, greens and whites on top of it. Creamy and sweet, the risotto was perfect, with the crunchy pumpkin seeds providing a contrast of texture and taste.




Next came the pan-fried Icelandic halibut with citrus fregola, scallops and lemongrass braisage, on a light bed of lentils. I'm not a great fish-lover, but I did like the use of lemongrass and citrus to lift the dish to some unusual heights.




We then had the meat course - a roasted fillet of Angus beef, served with Girolles mushrooms and shallot and celeriac purees. The filet was a little firmer than I expected, but extremely flavourful and well-complemented by the smooth, creamy purees.




The only dish I didn't really enjoy, the pan-fried apricots in nougatine and poached meringues served with Kirsch vanilla cream was too sweet for me, which was strange since I enjoy much sweeter foods than my family, all of whom polished off the dessert.




What I did enjoy were the petits fours and chocolates at the end of the meal, as well as the guided tour of Le Manoir's kitchen before that (suggested by the waitress when she heard I was a food blogger). Service was generally excellent, and the food, with its strong emphasis on organic produce and full flavours, was quite exceptional.

Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons (French)
Church Road
Great Milton
Oxford OX44 7PD
United Kingdom

Tel: (01844) 278881
International: (44) 1844 278881
Email

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Recipe: Macarons

"I want to make macarons," my sister said to me one day, with the same nonchalance with which she brushes her teeth. Horrified, knowing what it involved after a lesson at Canelé, I tried to impress upon her the artform that was macarons. Not to be dissuaded, she promptly bought everything she needed and embarked upon Project: Macaron. Intrigued, I was drawn into helping out, and eventually I spent the whole of today making macarons on my own, which explains this post.

Ingredients (Makes 20 macarons, depending on size)
250g ground almond (Almond flour)
450g Icing sugar
220g Egg white (about 6 or 7)
60g Sugar
Cocoa powder (optional)



Special equipment required: Piping bags, a good mixer and Silpat

Notes on ingredients: You can buy ground almonds from the supermarket or Phoon Huat, but the latter sells very coarse almond flour that you have to grind down again. You can get Silpat at Shermay's Cooking School.



Sieve the icing sugar together with the ground almonds into a big bowl. If your almond flour is too coarse, grind it down in a pestle and mortar and sieve it again, rather than discarding it right away, as that makes your macaron mixture too runny.



Beat the caster sugar and egg whites in a mixer on high speed till you get a nice meringue that forms stiff peaks.



Fold the meringue into the almond flour and icing sugar.



This bit is tricky, because you don't want to overmix your meringue and dry ingredients, nor do you want to err on the side of caution and leave unmixed egg whites in. You need to mix quickly and exactly, without undue nervousness or energy. The original recipe calls for you to knock out some of the air from your whites by a few judicious strokes of the spatula, but I'd recommend only two or three quick strokes.



Fill a large piping bag with the macaron mix. It should not be runny, rather, it should ooze slowly, much like sludge.



Pipe circles of the mix onto the Silpat-covered baking tray. Be very controlled in your piping, otherwise the mix will spread all over the place and ruin your efforts. This is also the time you find out if you're mix is too runny or too dry. It's better to fall on the side of runniness - if your mix is too dry the little peaks from piping will not melt gracefully back into the piped circle, and if it's runny your circle quickly becomes much larger than you had envisioned.



You can dust them lightly with cocoa to decorate, which is also a sneaky way of obscuring any cracks that may occur during baking. You can see that these macarons were piped a little too close together, so some estimation is required while piping.

Preheat your oven to 160°C.

Macarons, almost unlike any other confection, are an exercise in delayed gratification. After piping them out and dusting them if you wish, it is a very good idea to let them rest, in an air-conditioned environment, for about fifteen minutes (or two hours, if you can wait). This enables the macarons to form skins, giving them that glossy sheen, and prevents cracking when baking.



Place the macarons in the oven, centre rack, for 14 minutes, by which time your macarons should have risen slightly (or a lot, if you chose not to beat out the air), and developed a little skirt round the edge.



Allow the macarons to cool down in an air-conditioned environment while you prepare your filling. This makes it easier to turn them over, without leaving great big bits of macaron mix on your Silpat.



The macaron fillings can be almost limitless in variety; buttercream and chocolate ganache tend to be the most common. Here my sister is making a raspberry-white chocolate filling.

Chocolate Ganache
200g cream
220g 58% dark chocolate, chopped
30g butter



Heat the cream and butter till boiling.



Pour the boiling cream over the chocolate and emulsify, till you get a gloriously glossy bowl of melted chocolate.



Once that happens, you can refrigerate it for about 20 minutes, or leave it in an air-conditioned room for an hour to cool to piping consistency. If you leave it in the refrigerator for too long, stir the hardened chocolate thoroughly with a wooden spoon till it liquefies. Do not be impatient to pipe it, or your chocolate filling will be too firm.

Fill a piping bag with the chocolate ganache and pipe some onto one half of a macaron before sandwiching it with another half.



Like I said, macarons are an exercise in delayed gratification. You could eat one now, but its texture will be slightly crunchy; not quite the melt-in-your-mouth quality that characterises the most sublime of macarons. To achieve this, you need to refrigerate them overnight; to be enjoyed the next day.



It's not often I have the patience or precision to devote an entire day to confection, but macarons occupy an entirely different plane of existence.

For an in-depth tutorial on macaron-making tips, do read J's excellent post on the subject.

Technorati Tags: Recipes, Desserts, Macarons

Hong Kong: Day Three

We decided to have a proper breakfast on our third day in Hong Kong, which was basically milk pudding from Yee Shun Milk Company. Unfortunately, they were closed (at 9.30am - atrocious), so we had breakfast at one of the diners nearby.



These diners are really interesting - quite different from our usual coffee shops, even though you can grab a quick meal of toast, eggs and coffee at both. Hong Kong diners offer all kinds of set meals, from sandwiches to hot dogs to more traditional stuff.



I decided to go traditional and ordered a bowl of wan ton noodles, which surprisingly arrived with no visible wan tons - they were all buried beneath the stringy noodles. The noodles were excellent; thin and springy, with remarkable bite that characterises hand-made noodles, almost impossible to find in Singapore these days.



What was even more amazing than the noodles, though, was the wan ton. I don't think anyone hand-makes wan ton anymore, let alone wan ton as incredibly delicate as these were. The skins were smooth and gossamer-thin, not like the rubbery rubbish you get here, and the fillings were bursting with flavours from the pork and shrimp.



We took a day-trip into neighbouring Shenzhen, and had the worst meal of our trip - a char siew rice with barbecued meat that was almost pure fat and swimming in oil, proving that it's not just the shoppers who get ripped off in China.



Disappointed that we'd missed a chance to have some delicious milk pudding, we headed back to Yee Shun Milk Company for tea.



I sampled their egg custard, which was excellent - all silky smooth and chilled, neither too eggy nor too characterless. Yee Shun also does a steamed milk pudding with two skins, which I didn't like as much; but it's a great casual spot to meet friends over a comfortable pudding.



Dinner was at the Tsim Sha Tsui area, a place with a name like Happy Garden Noodle Restaurant or something. I ordered a bowl of char siew noodles. While the noodles weren't as mind-blowing as the ones I had for breakfast, the generous portions of char siew, each marbled with a nice ripple of juicy fat, more than made up for it.



Deciding to be adventurous, we ordered a roast pigeon, which turned out fabulously. Unlike roast chicken, pigeon has less meat, but is also less oily. It was the first time I'd had pigeon, and fears of bird flu notwithstanding, it was actually pretty delicious.

Technorati Tags: Miscellaneous, Hong Kong, Food, Day Three