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What is/was for dinner?
- Thread starter Gutwrench
- Start date
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I see.
Now, for waht it is worth, I would be more interested in reading about:
1: What cut (fillet, sirloin, etc) you choose to eat,
2: How you cook it (rare, medium rare, etc),
and,
3: What you serve with it, what sides accompany it: I doubt that you consume exactly the same meal each day - or, rather, I cannot imagine wanting to do so, or doing something so boring as eating exactly the same meal each and every day, thus, I assume that the meal may vary in how it is prepared, and served.
Just 2 pounds of meat everyday with salt and pepper. Meat varies. Some green vegetables from time to time and organs of course. Most of the meat I gather myself.
Dinner was based on, borrowed from, derived from, a number of Italian culinary classics, mainly some tweaks inspired by both classic bolognese, and ragù, where elements from each were borrowed as required or desired with the aim of not being too prescriptive with respect to the venerable originals, as there were elements, or features, that I wished to borrow from both dishes (namely, red wine, tomatoes and milk).
I had some shin beef on the bone (known as beef shank Across The Pond), and Italian recipes seem to work best with this cut of meat.
The oven went on first, (at a nice, low heat, dinner was going to be in there for hours and hours and hours), starting at 160C, reducing to 150C, then 140C, over a period of about seven and a half hours).
Prep: Gritting my teeth at those mendacious recipes that tell you that the prep will "take 15 minutes" (they are lying) - in fact, it took the best part of an hour, that is, not quite sixty minutes (maybe 59?), an Italian stainless steel sauté pan (Lagostina) was pressed into action on the stove top.
Olive oil in the pan, and diced guanciale to follow. These days, not only do I use guanciale when certain specific recipes (Carbonara, All'Amatriciana etc) call for it, actually, I have come to use it in place of pancetta, when recipes call for pancetta, as I (far) prefer it.
The nicely softened (and translucent) guanciale was transferred (by slotted spoon) into a large, copper casserole dish (French, Le Mauviel).
Next, the meat: These days, I very roughly chop the shin bone meat before adding it to a sauté pan, each 'slice' will be cut into three or four large pieces; this is to stop it 'curling' in the pan. Including the bone in the casserole is essential to the finished dish, the flavour it (and its marrow) bestows is incomparable. Brown the meat in batches (on account of its bone, it takes up quite a bit of space in a pan), then transfer the browned meat pieces (slotted spoon the mode of transport) to the large casserole dish where the guanciale awaits, and season them (sea salt and freshly ground black pepper).
If needed, add some more olive oil (extra virgin, naturally) to the sauté pan, and the next step is to sauté the soffritto, that mix of finely diced carrot, celery and onion, that forms the flavour base of so much classic Italian cuisine. (The French culinary concept of mirepoix - with the exact same vegetables - fulfils much the same function in French cuisine).
The knives I used were Japanese, two Classic range Shun knives, - I've had them for years, they feel like an extension of my wrist - a fantastic 6" utility knife, and a heavy classic chef's 6" knife. Both brilliant, the heavy classic chef's 6" is superb with guanciale, while the 6" utility knife is the knife I invariably reach for automatically, unless there is a precise need for a specific blade, such as a paring knife.
Once the soffritto was well on the way, minced garlic (some recipes recommended fours cloves of garlic, others advised six, I like garlic, hence ten nice, fat, cloves were minced with my nice, metal, Italian garlic crusher - a gift to me from my mother from a holiday she took in Italy more than thirty years ago) was added to the soffritto mix. Once softened, this was then transferred to the copper casserole.
A few sprigs of both thyme and rosemary (organic, etc) were added to the casserole dish.
Red wine (yes, Italian) was used to deglaze the pan, the liquid contents of the pan were then added to the casserole, along with stock, a little tomato puree, and a tin of San Marzano tomatoes that had been squashed (is there a more satisfying feeling on a wet Monday afternoon than physically squashing and squeezing San Marzano tomatoes over and into a glass bowl?)
The gloriously mashed San Marzano tomatoes were seasoned (sea salt and black pepper), added to the casserole, their tin rinsed out into the casserole, as well.
This lot then headed into the (pre-heated) oven, there to spend the next six to seven hours, being taken out and inspected, tasted and stirred roughly every hour and a half to two hours; some recipes suggested every 20 minutes, but that seemed to me to be necessary only if you were cooking on a stove top. In the oven, with ample liquid, the dish could look after itself, and needed little oversight, just an occasional check, to ensure that it did not dry out (and it didn't), and to give it a satisfied stir every hour or two.
Around a half an hour before I planned to dine, salted water was put on the boil, and I grated a decent sized hunk of Parmigiano Reggiano.
These days, I find that I tend to prefer Pecorino Romano, and, just as guanciale has replaced pancetta in my larder, so, also for the most part, has Pecorino Romano supplanted Parmigiano Reggiano. However, some dishes require - and go better with - Parmigiano Reggiano, and today's repast was one of them.
The casserole was removed from the oven, the heat reduced to 100C, and I added a glass of milk (full fat, organic) - and stirred it through - for the final few minutes of the cooking. When I first came across this suggestion (in a Nigel Slater bolognese recipe, over a decade ago), I was astonished, but several Italian recipes I consulted more recently confirmed their use of milk with this dish. Anyway, strange and wonderful to relate, it works wonderfully well.
This is a dish that seems to call for a flat pasta; I used fettuccine (courtesy of the 'rustichella d'abruzzo' company, @yaxomoxay may have heard of them, the cheesemonger stocks their products, and I have been using them for around 15 years, they produce excellent pasta), cooking it in salted boiling water, and reserving some of the lovely pasta cooking water, for the starch in the pasta cooking water, when added to the sauce, allows it to bind all the better with the pasta.
Several ladles of sauce (from the casserole) were ladled into the sauté pan (summoned into service once again), whereupon the pasta (tongs are brilliant for this) also found its way into the sauté pan, with some starchy pasta cooking water and more sauce added as this was stirred and mixed, and melded and married; the meat was moist and tender, literally falling from the bone, so soft and tender and flavoursome you could cut it easily with a spoon.
Dinner was then served, (table cloth, napkins, place mats, coasters, proper cutlery, crockery, glassware, etc) and - for once - the Parmigiano Reggiano (which I rarely use in this context, as I have come to prefer Pecorino Romano) worked exceptionally well.
And yes, dinner was delicious, though I say so myself.
I had some shin beef on the bone (known as beef shank Across The Pond), and Italian recipes seem to work best with this cut of meat.
The oven went on first, (at a nice, low heat, dinner was going to be in there for hours and hours and hours), starting at 160C, reducing to 150C, then 140C, over a period of about seven and a half hours).
Prep: Gritting my teeth at those mendacious recipes that tell you that the prep will "take 15 minutes" (they are lying) - in fact, it took the best part of an hour, that is, not quite sixty minutes (maybe 59?), an Italian stainless steel sauté pan (Lagostina) was pressed into action on the stove top.
Olive oil in the pan, and diced guanciale to follow. These days, not only do I use guanciale when certain specific recipes (Carbonara, All'Amatriciana etc) call for it, actually, I have come to use it in place of pancetta, when recipes call for pancetta, as I (far) prefer it.
The nicely softened (and translucent) guanciale was transferred (by slotted spoon) into a large, copper casserole dish (French, Le Mauviel).
Next, the meat: These days, I very roughly chop the shin bone meat before adding it to a sauté pan, each 'slice' will be cut into three or four large pieces; this is to stop it 'curling' in the pan. Including the bone in the casserole is essential to the finished dish, the flavour it (and its marrow) bestows is incomparable. Brown the meat in batches (on account of its bone, it takes up quite a bit of space in a pan), then transfer the browned meat pieces (slotted spoon the mode of transport) to the large casserole dish where the guanciale awaits, and season them (sea salt and freshly ground black pepper).
If needed, add some more olive oil (extra virgin, naturally) to the sauté pan, and the next step is to sauté the soffritto, that mix of finely diced carrot, celery and onion, that forms the flavour base of so much classic Italian cuisine. (The French culinary concept of mirepoix - with the exact same vegetables - fulfils much the same function in French cuisine).
The knives I used were Japanese, two Classic range Shun knives, - I've had them for years, they feel like an extension of my wrist - a fantastic 6" utility knife, and a heavy classic chef's 6" knife. Both brilliant, the heavy classic chef's 6" is superb with guanciale, while the 6" utility knife is the knife I invariably reach for automatically, unless there is a precise need for a specific blade, such as a paring knife.
Once the soffritto was well on the way, minced garlic (some recipes recommended fours cloves of garlic, others advised six, I like garlic, hence ten nice, fat, cloves were minced with my nice, metal, Italian garlic crusher - a gift to me from my mother from a holiday she took in Italy more than thirty years ago) was added to the soffritto mix. Once softened, this was then transferred to the copper casserole.
A few sprigs of both thyme and rosemary (organic, etc) were added to the casserole dish.
Red wine (yes, Italian) was used to deglaze the pan, the liquid contents of the pan were then added to the casserole, along with stock, a little tomato puree, and a tin of San Marzano tomatoes that had been squashed (is there a more satisfying feeling on a wet Monday afternoon than physically squashing and squeezing San Marzano tomatoes over and into a glass bowl?)
The gloriously mashed San Marzano tomatoes were seasoned (sea salt and black pepper), added to the casserole, their tin rinsed out into the casserole, as well.
This lot then headed into the (pre-heated) oven, there to spend the next six to seven hours, being taken out and inspected, tasted and stirred roughly every hour and a half to two hours; some recipes suggested every 20 minutes, but that seemed to me to be necessary only if you were cooking on a stove top. In the oven, with ample liquid, the dish could look after itself, and needed little oversight, just an occasional check, to ensure that it did not dry out (and it didn't), and to give it a satisfied stir every hour or two.
Around a half an hour before I planned to dine, salted water was put on the boil, and I grated a decent sized hunk of Parmigiano Reggiano.
These days, I find that I tend to prefer Pecorino Romano, and, just as guanciale has replaced pancetta in my larder, so, also for the most part, has Pecorino Romano supplanted Parmigiano Reggiano. However, some dishes require - and go better with - Parmigiano Reggiano, and today's repast was one of them.
The casserole was removed from the oven, the heat reduced to 100C, and I added a glass of milk (full fat, organic) - and stirred it through - for the final few minutes of the cooking. When I first came across this suggestion (in a Nigel Slater bolognese recipe, over a decade ago), I was astonished, but several Italian recipes I consulted more recently confirmed their use of milk with this dish. Anyway, strange and wonderful to relate, it works wonderfully well.
This is a dish that seems to call for a flat pasta; I used fettuccine (courtesy of the 'rustichella d'abruzzo' company, @yaxomoxay may have heard of them, the cheesemonger stocks their products, and I have been using them for around 15 years, they produce excellent pasta), cooking it in salted boiling water, and reserving some of the lovely pasta cooking water, for the starch in the pasta cooking water, when added to the sauce, allows it to bind all the better with the pasta.
Several ladles of sauce (from the casserole) were ladled into the sauté pan (summoned into service once again), whereupon the pasta (tongs are brilliant for this) also found its way into the sauté pan, with some starchy pasta cooking water and more sauce added as this was stirred and mixed, and melded and married; the meat was moist and tender, literally falling from the bone, so soft and tender and flavoursome you could cut it easily with a spoon.
Dinner was then served, (table cloth, napkins, place mats, coasters, proper cutlery, crockery, glassware, etc) and - for once - the Parmigiano Reggiano (which I rarely use in this context, as I have come to prefer Pecorino Romano) worked exceptionally well.
And yes, dinner was delicious, though I say so myself.
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Sounds amazing, pork and leek sausage is intriguing but toasted fennel and chili yum.
Pork and leek sausages go very well with autumnal northern European cooking; actually, these sausages pair exceptionally well with root vegetables, irrespective of how they are cooked (roasted, boiled, sautéed, as a gratin, etc).
It is a tasty, slightly sweet, but gentle and soothing (dinner) sausage, (apples would also work well, and plums; as I said, classic autumnal cuisine).
The izakai near me does an amazing torched Mackerel sashimi dish.
Oh, wow.The izakai near me does an amazing torched Mackerel sashimi dish.
Mouth-watering.
Do enjoy.
I had forgotten that Greek lemon potatoes (and I remembered that I had all of the necessary ingredients - garlic, lemons, olive oil, chicken stock, oregano, sea salt, black pepper - to hand) were so delicious.
However, the preparation - which is well worth it - does take time.
Small shell shaped pasta mixed with cherry tomatoes cut in half, baby spinach, garlic, olive oil and crumbled goat cheese to melt in the mixture. A bottle of decent Italian red on the side.
It is very tasty - and is brilliant with almost any meat dish (plus a nice, green salad, or a Greek salad of tomatoes and cucumber), but, it does take time, and specific ingredients.
I was kicking myself, because I wanted a tasty potato dish, was bored with the standard stuff, and had forgotten this dish, and, moreover, had forgotten that I actually had all of the ingredients (lemons, - and this is a dish that calls for freshly squeezed lemon juice - garlic, (again, fresh garlic, minced), olive oil, chicken stock, oregano, plus salt and pepper. Thyme and rosemary work well with it also).
However, once one has done the prep work - juicing lemons, peeling potatoes, mincing garlic, and so on - and that is not "five minutes" - the dish does take care of itself once it is in a hot oven, as long as you greet it every half hour or so, and give it a quick stir, for the almost two hours it takes to cook.
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Excellent. The only thing that could make it better is if you were enjoying it with friends at a rustic table in a Greek village.
Yesterday evening, I treated myself - a sort of monthly treat, for evenings when I am not in the mood for serious cooking - to a proper standard classic, namely fish'n'chips, from a local (highly regarded) Asian restaurant, actually, one that specialises in sushi.
Their tempura batter on the fish - which was moist and flavoursome - was superb, while their chips were excellent.
What is interesting is that while the helping was very generous, I devoured every single last morsel (which is not always the case with some takeaway/takeout food).
Their tempura batter on the fish - which was moist and flavoursome - was superb, while their chips were excellent.
What is interesting is that while the helping was very generous, I devoured every single last morsel (which is not always the case with some takeaway/takeout food).
Nothing worse than too thick greasy batter on fish. Light but crispy tempura sounds great.
Agree completely.
It is almost embarrassing when places that specialise in specific ethnic cuisines (such as Asian restaurants, or French bakeries, to name but two that I know of personally) do "our" specialties far better than any of our own "local" businesses.
For example, the French bakery does not only what one would expect from a French bakery - the standard French classics, baguettes, boules, croissants, those incredible French fruit tarts, etc - superbly well, but also does stuff (such as ryebread, - which I often buy there, and it is excellent, or superb sourdough, or horribly healthy breads with nuts and seeds) that one might not find in France but that their customers like, and these are far better than the versions one might find in a supermarket, or a health store, or some other local bakeries.
Likewise, that Asian place: Their fish'n'chips - which I discovered by accident - are truly superb, - astonishingly good - I ordered a side of Japanese pickled cucumber (sunomono) with them which was delicious - far better than the fish'n'chips (exactly what you say, greasy batter that is far too thick on fish; limp and greasy chips) I had stopped buying from some of the local fish'n'chips places that were supposed to be good, and were (and are) still living off a reputation for quality forged years (if not decades) ago.
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Tonight's repast took the form of a homemade fish soup:
That is sautéed, finely diced onions in olive oil, plus minced garlic (around ten or eleven cloves, as I am rather partial to garlic), and several anchovies - chopped - stirred and dissolved into the onion and garlic mix. Anchovies confer a fantastic unami flavour as the base of a sauce, especially a fish sauce.
When they had cooked down, and softened, I added the shells (and heads) of several shrimp, - which I had peeled - and stirred that lot through, letting them simmer for a few minutes, so that the shrimp heads (and shells, and tails) would add to the flavour of final dish.
Next, I added stock, plus a few dessertspoons of Asian fish sauce; that (plus the shell & shrimp heads and tails) was allowed to simmer for around twenty minutes.
Next, the shells, and shrimp heads and tails were removed (scooped out) and discarded; then, I added a tin of (already mashed and chopped, and seasoned - sea salt, black pepper, a little brown sugar) San Marzano tomatoes, and also rinsed out their tin into the simmering broth.
That was allowed to simmer and cook for a further half an hour.
A medley of fish - a fish mix - of chopped white fish (something akin to haddock, or coley), chopped salmon, and smoked haddock (chopped) were added to the broth, and allowed to cook; when they were ready, the shrimps were added, they hardly needed much more than being thoroughly heated through.
Once this was ready, it was served in nice, deep, bowls, with some chopped parsley (a mix of curly and flat leaft parsley, chopped roughly) and drizzled with a little organic, double cream.
Delicious.
Dessert was seasonal roasted fruit: Peeled and sliced cooking apples, pears and plums, with freshly squeezed lemon juice, organic brown sugar, cloves, and a few dabs of French (Normandy) butter, roasted for around forty minutes.
Again, delicious.
That is sautéed, finely diced onions in olive oil, plus minced garlic (around ten or eleven cloves, as I am rather partial to garlic), and several anchovies - chopped - stirred and dissolved into the onion and garlic mix. Anchovies confer a fantastic unami flavour as the base of a sauce, especially a fish sauce.
When they had cooked down, and softened, I added the shells (and heads) of several shrimp, - which I had peeled - and stirred that lot through, letting them simmer for a few minutes, so that the shrimp heads (and shells, and tails) would add to the flavour of final dish.
Next, I added stock, plus a few dessertspoons of Asian fish sauce; that (plus the shell & shrimp heads and tails) was allowed to simmer for around twenty minutes.
Next, the shells, and shrimp heads and tails were removed (scooped out) and discarded; then, I added a tin of (already mashed and chopped, and seasoned - sea salt, black pepper, a little brown sugar) San Marzano tomatoes, and also rinsed out their tin into the simmering broth.
That was allowed to simmer and cook for a further half an hour.
A medley of fish - a fish mix - of chopped white fish (something akin to haddock, or coley), chopped salmon, and smoked haddock (chopped) were added to the broth, and allowed to cook; when they were ready, the shrimps were added, they hardly needed much more than being thoroughly heated through.
Once this was ready, it was served in nice, deep, bowls, with some chopped parsley (a mix of curly and flat leaft parsley, chopped roughly) and drizzled with a little organic, double cream.
Delicious.
Dessert was seasonal roasted fruit: Peeled and sliced cooking apples, pears and plums, with freshly squeezed lemon juice, organic brown sugar, cloves, and a few dabs of French (Normandy) butter, roasted for around forty minutes.
Again, delicious.
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Thank you.
Actually, I like all types of fish soup, (and prepare them all, myself), from the chowders of the British Isles (don't know their North American/New England cousins, as my many travels have never included the Americas), often with some root vegetables, to the spicy hot and sour Asian fish soups complete with chilli and ginger and - sometimes, a different version, with coconut milk - to those wonderfully rich Scandinavian soups, the taste an explosion of satisfyingly intense flavour.
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Lots of cold and rain the last three days, perfect weather for ham-n-bean soup, with a pan of Pilsbury's Finest.
That looks delicious.
Actually, - now that autumn has indeed finally arrived - I have asked my butcher (organic, ethical, environmentally aware, etc) to try to source ham hocks so that those wonderfully warming autumnal broths and soups can begin to feature more as the source of dinner.