I am stuck. Not from the
snow, although I have seen snow. Thick flurries. Slow flurries (thankfully no
McFlurries). Flurries swirling in such dizzying fashion that looking out at
them through the window I have wondered if I was actually in a snow dome and
waiting for a giant hand to shake it some more. I have seen rain, sheets of
water bouncing off the path, Scotch mist hanging in the air, swirling with the
wind. Mud, floods and ice. Coldness, so penetrating, so bitter I am wrapped in
a big jumper over several layers wanting to say something in Danish: Jeg er sulten! Jeg vil lave mad til alle! (Or something like that).
1 Onion diced
1 Carrot cubed
1 Celery stick diced
2 Garlic cloves crushed
500ml Stock
500ml Red wine
1Tbsp Tomato puree
2Tbsp Balsamic vinegar
Small handful of Juniper berries pressed with the back of a knife
1 Rosemary sprig, good size
450ml Chicken or Vegetable Stock
Butter
A handful of grated Parmesan to taste
1/2tsp Chilli flakes
Flat leaf Parsley chopped for garnish
Either way, I am stuck,
unable to move as I am avoiding spending any money. There is a certain
friction between my bank manager and me that if we were connected by crocodile
clips I could summon enough energy to get warm. So I am in the kitchen hugging
an old gas oven for heat and finding there is nothing to do. Nothing. Grease
prints of my nose, lips and finger tips on the window pane are testament to
that.
The poet Burns brings an
upside to all this bleakness. As an ‘Anglo Angus’ (someone who dons a plaid
skirt and goes commando once a year) I feel I should do something for Burn’s
Night. I have game for a stew in the freezer (I bought it earlier!) but want to
do something different to accompany the meat, something traditional but with a slightly
Gothick twist that is thrifty and
reflects my circumstances.
With the cold, warming and
filling food, like oats, comes to mind, but a gruel-like ‘mash’ does not sound
appealing. And yet... (rubbing chin with fingerless gloves) I have always
wanted to see just how far I could go with the savoury side of oats, for
example, the classic dish of herring rolled in oats. Nigel Slater in his OFM
column http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2013/jan/20/nigel-slater-oat-recipes shows how diverse they can be, with oat dumplings and
venison in port (it must be the North London air that our hands reach out for
the same ingredients... I bet his flat is warmer!) My decision made, I will do
a variation on a similar theme.
A slow cooked meaty venison;
iron rich gamey flavours. And to serve with it? A stock based porridge of oats,
a little Parmesan cheese, some chilli flakes to give it a thistle like prickle.
Recipe
500g Diced Venison
100g Pancetta cubes1 Onion diced
1 Carrot cubed
1 Celery stick diced
2 Garlic cloves crushed
500ml Stock
500ml Red wine
1Tbsp Tomato puree
2Tbsp Balsamic vinegar
Small handful of Juniper berries pressed with the back of a knife
1 Rosemary sprig, good size
Side
150g Porridge oats450ml Chicken or Vegetable Stock
Butter
A handful of grated Parmesan to taste
1/2tsp Chilli flakes
Flat leaf Parsley chopped for garnish
Method
Put the oven on to 130C,
250F, gas 1. Heat a frying pan, fry the carrots a little first before adding
the onion and celery. Place them in the casserole. Next fry the pancetta cubes
until the fat is rendered down, remove to the casserole. Now season the venison
lightly, sear in the hot frying pan until browned on each side. Keep to small
amounts, four to five pieces at a time, to prevent sweating. Deglaze the pan
with a splash of the wine, pour into the casserole, add the remaining liquids,
the balsamic and stir in the tomato puree. Throw in the berries, the rosemary
sprig and the garlic, put the lid on and place in the oven to braise slowly for
a couple of hours, or until the meat breaks easily when you test it with a
knife.
When the meat is cooked,
strain the liquid into a pan and return the meat and vegetables to the
casserole to keep warm. Turn the heat up and reduce the liquid until the
flavour is good and it is a cream like consistency (you may need to slake some
corn flour into the sauce if the flavour is ready before the sauce is
thickened). When you are happy with the sauce, pour it into the casserole.
Meanwhile, melt some
butter in a pan and pour in the oats. Once they start to absorb the butter, add
the chilli flakes and pour in the stock (this can be done while the sauce of
the venison is reducing). Stir constantly, making sure that there is enough
liquid. When it is just ready (only a few minutes) throw in the grated
Parmesan, enough to give it flavour but not so much that there is no other
flavour (a small handful). You could add a tablespoon of double cream at the
last minute to enrich this further, making it less ‘Miserables’ and more a marveille.
The result?
Moistened fibrous meat should
break apart with the gentle persuasion of the fork, and it does, just; a
saline, marmite-y hit comes from the reduction of the stock based sauce and red
wine; in contrast, a hint of sweetness from tomato puree and balsamic vinegar,
and, herbs; well, to get a stew that brings back memories of childhood, with
joyously heady aromas that hit your nose the moment you walk into the kitchen,
the home, you needed to throw in juniper berries and rosemary didn’t you?... oh
yes, and then the oats.
A mouthful of glutenous, gruely,
savoury sensation, a slight prickle from the chilli, and hints of husk that
define it as not being a ‘mash’ or puree. It is hearty. Heartier than the
braised venison itself in the warming, internally glowing manner (a true
“Not-the-nine-o’clock-news-Ready-Brek- Windscale” sense. Does anyone remember
that? Me neither!) Rich and stuffing enough to eat by itself, but sadly its
visual appeal would make Anne Hathaway balk! (Almost beige wallpaper paste to
look at, I will have to work on how it can best be presented).
My mouth is filled with a
kaleidoscope of flavours and textures, food aimed at seeing off the cold
weather with a thermal hot water bottle longevity; a lyrical mix of gastronomic
metaphors that potentially do credit to the The Bard race through my mind, as I
pace around the flat like a lady in labour, holding my well filled, round and
slightly aching stomach (yes, it was filling). The cold snap continues but so
warmed up with this ‘thermogruel’ am I, I could book a beach holiday in Solway
Firth (not according to my bank manager though).