Recipe #6: 'Pressed Potatoes' (page 149)

This recipe never sounded that interesting but seemed simple enough.  I figured I could knock one out quickly, perhaps use it as the base for another recipe (as Fergus' recommends) and possibly be enlightened by the end result exceeding my expectations which were low.

I did my shopping post-work day sans shopping list.  Of course the ingredients needed for this formula are few but no matter that, I failed and purchased a potato not waxy enough (Russet) to do the job properly (Yukon Gold are recommended).  In my own ignorant defense, the only potatoes I ever use are reds, usually of the creamer variety.  And when I use them, their starch content is not a point of important note.

Which leads back to the motivations for using or even having created this recipe.  With an initial cursory inspection it seems that this recipe is destined to create a starchy, dense cake of potatoes.  I did not know why this would be appetizing before I began but I had to bet that by the end I would have learned the answer.  I did in fact learn something but that particular solution continues to elude me.

As directed I boiled the peeled potatoes then sliced them into sturdy 1/2" slices.  I was using a small loaf pan, approximately 8" x 3".  I lined it with a (used) cut up ziplock bag as I disdain plastic wrap.  I seasoned aggressively and likely went beyond the intended use of capers.  I am all for subtlety but these dull, floury potatoes screamed out for something to assist them.  Looking back perhaps a bottle of catsup would have done better.

I weighted them with a number of items as I was already thinking that my potatoes were not of the correct strain to succeed in this arena; perhaps overcompensating in another direction would make up lost ground.  I found that a standard size VHS tape was almost the exact size and surely rigid enough to distribute the weight.

At first I reached for a large 'paperweight' which was not currently fastening down any print caught up in the cyclonic breeze that storms through my small abode.  Last summer I moved probably 1000 lbs of decorative stone from the front to rear yards at my grandfather's house.  I had a small tractor and trailer to assist but still had to load and unload the rocks manually.  This single remaining stone weighs 7 lbs. probably and we laughed at its tiny volume compared to the other boulders.  My grandfather said that I should take it home as a paperweight and I did not argue.  However in this application I decided that it was not heavy enough so I used my Williams-Sonoma molcajete as well.

In the end I allowed my spuds to remain under weight for nearly 20 hours, during which time I brainstormed furiously using only Fergus' few words of advice as inspiration:

"It is a wonderful base for oily, salty things"

He then specifically recommends the use of whole anchovy filets and olive oil followed by an eel stew laid out on other pages.  Eels being difficult to source, and unwilling to undertake that at this time I decided I would be using my own cookery skill.

I knew I would use anchovies.  I knew I would cook in olive oil.  After that, my brain shouted TOMATOES.  I don't know why but that was my starting point.  I spent sometime on the net looking at various recipes and kicking around ideas.  I readied myself for the decanting of my potatoes and finalized my plans.

There was clearly not enough starch content in my potatoes to hold them together.  Also I likely left far too many gaps in my layering, likely I should have wasted 10% of each potato so that they were perfectly square and tiled in the loaf pan.  Bu for a moment let us try to forget the construction of these potatoes and focus on their flavor.  Seasoned well, yes.  The capers did little to nothing, I dreamt that they would inject their saltiness into the potatoes but to no avail.  A total waste.  And how did Fergus' intend that you serve these? I guess I can see pouring the hot eel stew over them such that they become reheated but otherwise they will need to spend a few moments in the nuclear box: a useful appliance no doubt but one by no means suited to the food I hope to create from these pages.

But inspired not was I!  I trudged on with my recipe.  I portioned off a few slices of my rapidly shattering potatoes and began to build my full entree.

I began by rendering a can of anchovies into the oil from their can, I never waste this precious stuff.  Next came most of a medium sized fennel bulb minus its greenery and upper extremities.  The half disintegrated salted fish dirtied the licorice plant matter and a few cloves of fresh chopped garlic chased them.  A jar of marinated artichoke hearts and another of anchovy stuffed olives (a total disappointment, anchovies were non existent) were well drained and kicked into the T-Fal.  As it sizzled I prepared a single filet of catfish with standard seasoning and dosed a second (teflon) pan with more oil.

I considered the use of tarragon but denied its entrance as I worried for an overdose of anise flavor from the fennel.  This was likely unfounded in the end and in tonite's follow up it shall be called to arms.  Two bags of very fresh, sweet and delicious cherry tomatoes got to know the already sizzling mass in my pan.  I stabbed each and every one with my trusty Kuhn-Ricon paring knife and as they rendered a few passes of red wine vinegar was added to temper their sugar content.  Further balance was attempted with a large shake of dried Allepo pepper flakes.

My disassembled but 'pressed' potatoes met gamma rays within the cube - my tomato and fennel relish topped them, and my catfish filet leaned above them both with fennel fronds to garnish.  Success amongst failure!

Recipe #5: 'Green Beans with Shallots, Garlic and Anchovies' (page 153)

As a child I used to follow my grandmother around her garden and amongst the produce I would gobble green and wax beans right off the vine. I suspect that I was urged to do this by my grandmother but either way I couldn't get enough. I am not attempting to expound some love for vegetables (though that is present); I am working towards a similar case, proving that things such as fresh green beans don't need much besides heat, salt and pepper.

Which brings us to today's recipe which is in short a dressing or condiment for that very vegetable. My argument that green beans need little to be a star is not valid across the board. Just because something does not need an additional push does not mean it will not benefit from one. In many ways the components of the condiment seem obvious. I think I would be nearly aghast by anyone being truly shocked that this worked, I knew it would before I ever lifted a finger, or a head of garlic between them. Anchovies and capers are nearly brothers and garlic - especially the roasted variety, in bulk - never hurt a soul. I replaced Fergus' typically conservative dose of parsley with a fair amount of tarragon. It was ideally present but far from overpowering, as that herb can sometimes manage.

But it seems the real surprise is whole roasted shallots. I wonder still if I have properly interpreted Fergus' instructions, but I care not as I have come upon a revelation. Interestingly enough I either did in fact misunderstand his intent with the garlic, or else his own method is quite shoddy. Enjoy the 10% of garlic peeling left in the video below, the other 90% which coated my fingers in an ooze worse than wallpaper paste would have been surely avoided by chopping off the bottom of the head pre-oven. But I did not as the instructions were more vague. Of course I do not follow instructions from anyone, much less a cookbook when they are clearly illogical but in this case I did. I have already come across a number of procedures and protocols foreign to me, some enlightening. This was not.

But similarly leaving shallots whole and roasting them slowly in a low oven (I continually turned down until I reached 325F which is where I would start next time) is magical. First, the texture. They become so airy, like a crushable envelope of organic, carbonized happiness. I may have gone a bit far with them but as outlined above, this was new to me. The flavor is staggering to boot: a depth of caramelization never before seen, with tiny hints of near fudge, or dirt, or black earth. The nuggets being left whole throughout my salad of green beans was a treaure chest of surprises. It brought to mind my brothers own boeuf bourguignon -- I do believe I have found a replacement for his already delicious pearl onions...

A shockwave of vinegar at the close is just what this needs to really amplify the vegetative sweetness. My own weak replacement for simple red wine vinegar (blush pomegranate balsamic) saw its final use before the remaining 50% went drain-bound, the proper product would send this flying to left field. This was a good partner to two small boneless pork chops, the remaining half of the mix left for this afternoon, consumed moments after arriving home from the workplace. A due reward.

Recipe #4: 'Deviled Kidneys' (page 97)

The devil's influence is strong in this spicy preparation of kidneys. I saw this prepared once almost identically on 'Two Fat Ladies', another hallmark of British cooking.

Tossed in a lightly flour tainted with mustard powder and the requisite salt/pepper the kidneys are prepared for their pan of sizzling butter. The recipe called for cayenne in this mixture as well of which I had none. I briefly considered chile powder -- while decidedly non-Anglo it would certainly supply heat, some other subtle spice (cumin) and the element of smoke. I decided it against it and brought my heat to the dish in the form of liquid -- Valentina hot sauce (black label).

Having used a sieve to cast away any excess flour, the kidneys were turned once in the 1/3rd stick of butter (perhaps a bit much) before Worcestershire, hot sauce and a 'splash' (Fergus' unit of measurement for this recipe) of homemade chicken stock. After this brief poach, the kidneys are removed to toast fresh from the oven and the sauce allowed to very briefly reduce. Spooned onto the open-faced sandwiches of sort, ecstasy follows.

Recipe #3: 'Salt Cod and Beans' (page 139)

Consecutive pages bring like ingredients.  I chose to run on with this one due to a number of factors.  I had an impromptu dinner guest planned a night before so I wanted to try and please their palate as much as my own.  Also my previous experience with salt cod was interesting and enjoyable enough to dive right back into it.

Starting with the beans, I was unable to source any haircot variety so I went with navy again.  I wanted a similarly tinted (white) bean and I felt comfortable with it from my first recipe ('Beans and Bacon').  This recipe interestingly has a subtle higher attention to detail in the preperation of the legumes than in that previous dish.  I chose to heed the call and add unpeeled garlic and bay to the cooking water.  Fergus would have prefered I use an entire head as per usual; I felt this was a bit much and also did not have enough to go around for all needs in that night's dinner.  I have never tampered with bay before, but I did procure some dry variety (was unable to locate fresh in time, though I do see it once in a while).  It's tea like aroma was far from overt in the final sampling but certainly provided an unseen push.  Again the recipe calls for 2 hours cooking (plus the obvious and necessary pre-night's soaking) which seemed to be and then proved to be excessive.  After about one hour I tested and felt they were done, and drained.  Interestingly enough, another contrast to the preperation of recipe #1 previously mentioned, this recipe calls for an immedate drain rather then to let them dwell in their liquor.  I would have kept the liquid, reserved for possible later use but with the use of the wrong pot (and lack of hardware in general) I needed to immediately wash and reuse the vessel for the next steps so I drained it to the municipal plumbing.

I set the cleaned pot back onto the fire and began with my now prepped aromatic veg.  Another rookie in my kitchen was fennel.  Labeled as anise at my local grocery I did visually identify it but still wondered if this was the guilty culprit or a similar cousin.  I sniffed at its exterior (it gave no clues) then inquired with an employee who pointed that it was 'next to the brocolli raab'.  Anise it is.

I predicted correctly that Fergus' typical slow and pleasant heating would decimate these parts of the product and was correct: I only sliced the fennel as discs from the bulb.  I left the 3 small onions I used in like sizes arcs.  I diced 4-5 cloves garlic (and also ate one of the poached cloves from the bean liquid - soft and delicious) but forgot to add them straight away, they did jump into the pool later.

Before any of this touched the pyre however my sausage went to town and this deserves and requires a substantial backstory.  The recipe calls for "1 3/4 pounds fresh chorizo, a variety suitable for cooking, sliced into 1/2 inch thick rounds".  I do have experience with chorizo and it comes in three distinct forms that I have either encountered or at least are aware of:

1) Cured as any other salumi.  Hard and dry, excellent for snacking, espically when combined with cheese/crackers and oceans of beer
2) Raw and loose without casing.  The local Mexican population makes this product available even at the largest commercial grocery stores
3) Same as #2 but cased as any other sausage (Italian, Polish, etc...)

I pondered this at length as I completed my daily tasks at work, my mind elsewhere and obsessing over seasoned, ground meats.  The key words in the recipe's description are 'fresh' and 'sliced'.  The two are nearly mutually exclusive in my experience.  I cook traditional red beans and rice with the stereotypical Cajun twist often using dried beans and Kielbasa.  Kielbasa is a smoked Polish sausage.  As it has been cured with smoke it takes on a wonderful 'snap' even before cooked which makes it quite choppable.  Other cased meats are not nearly as sliceable and most are aware of this.  Raw ground meat obviously cannot be kept in the delicious rewarding discs that swim in my red beans and rice.  Natural, uncooked casings are as pliable and difficult to cut as a tomato's unripe skin.  I began to think that perhaps I was to use the salumi style as describe in #1 above? This is not common but I have come across it long in the past, but I knew I had no chance to attain it in time for the nights cookery.  And still I wondered if this was what was intended and more importantly even what woudl work best, if at all? Even cased chorizo I knew I would have to travel to stores with a better and Latin influenced butcher to purchase, the uncased fresh variety seemed to be the most sensible and definately easiest to get my hands on.

In the end I made the decision to seek out a proper Mexican butcher and I found an excellent one.  I refered to a book I have long owned and turned to in such situations: 'A Cook's Guide to Chicago'. 

'Chorizo de casa' - chorizo of the house - homemade chorizo is what I bought and what a beauty it was!

Ignorantly I had forgotten to bring my knife to work for sharpening on the bench grinder so I used a small Kuhn Ricon paring knife with ceramic blade to try and cleanly chop through the sausage.  I was further opposed by the fact that this sausage was packed a bit on the loose side.  At the end of the night I realized that perhaps I could have allievated this a bit by actually twisting and tightening up the guts of my casings but who knows if this would have helped.

I attempted to brown the pieces but likely overcrowded the pot.  And even if I had been more studious in that regard chorizos copious red grease flowed forth like a flood.  I drained it off and the sausage began to fall apart.  This did not bother me that much as some pieces did hold together well and even though I realized buying the much more local uncased variety would have worked as well, there is no way that factory made product could match the quality of this small batch house made version.

When my sausage took on some color and gave up much of its liquid in went my onion and fennel.  As those became stained with the chorizo's trademarked maroon hue tomatoes followed next.  I particularly looked forward to this step for a few reasons.  As I mentioned in my 'Beans and Bacon' recipe I really enjoyed the addition of tomatoes to that dish although at that time it seemed odd at first.  Second of all rather then buy one of the excellent whole, peeled tins available I used a 2008 vintage Mason jar of the same, prepared and grown by my own grandmother, now deceased.  When she would jar, some would end up as simple tomatoes in their water while others had onion and green pepper added.  I did not realize this is what I had until shortly before they went in, so this added variation to the dish benefitted all, not least my grandmother's memory.  Worthy of mention also that just before the tomatoes entered the picture I noticed that I had built up a delicious fond on the bottom of my pot.  While likely the tomatoes would have cleaned that up I decided to take matters a bit more seriously and complete a full deglaze.  As I rifled through my cabinets thinking along the lines of vinegar my mate suggested beer.  This had initially entered my mind but we were drinking a growler of local beer of the chocolate influenced variety: a horrible bedfellow to the contents of my pot.  However we did have a few cans of a much lower quality (but endearing in its own way) beer: Special Export.  A few ounces went in and it tore away the delicious burned bits; as I portioned off the remains the next morning I found a wildly intoxicating and intense new black fond around the edge of the pot which I gobbled up cold, even scraping at it with a butter knife.  I am not sure exactly which ingredient(s) were responsible for the continued construction of this caramelized material but the chorizo certainly must have had a hand.  What a gift!

As this began to reduce and really look delicious, I realized that I had forgotten to add my chopped garlic with the other veg so in it went.  Fergus is vague with what herbs to use and as I've said before, I go my own route with herbs in any situation.  I had a good amount of beautiful and very healthy fresh rosemary left from my previous recipe so I went for it again.  Finally I tipped in about 2 cups of my own homemade chicken stock.  Fergus calls for a full quart but as I added and inspected that seemed wildly excessive.

As that perked away a number of additional drinks entered my system and more hours ticked away.  It was nearly 2am when myself and my guest were ready for our meal so I finally added my wonderful salt cod to the already simmering water.  I must admit my facilities had become a bit blurred at this point and my hunger was getting the best of me.  This manifested itself in slightly undercooked but not totally unpleasant bacala.  However another twist entered the fray and I shall not take responsibility for this: despite following my already established method for soaking the cod (12 hours, minimum 5 changes of water) this batch must have been excessively salted because it was clearly salty on our plates.  Perhaps additional cooking in the heated water would have purged out the final hits of salt while finishing the meat as well? While I do enjoy the intended presentation of a large steak of the cod perched atop your beans as opposed to mashed in as in my last dish, it becomes the final issue with resolving the salt quotient.  If broken up and intermingled with the ingredients a bit the salt seems more tolerable while still present.

The chorizo has really changed character by the end, a substantial number of pieces had stayed in their casings though they had grown in size to near explosive levels.  And explode they did when they were introduced to the palate, both figuratively in flavor and physically as they nearly dissolved from the extensive cooking.  Such an excellent contrast with the white, clean cod.

In the end this dish requires a revisit at some point for a few tuneups and also just for pure enjoyment.  Simple and profound like all of Fergus' work.

Recipe #2: "Salt Cod, Potato and Tomato" (page 138)

This recipe struck me for its simplicity and its use of salt cod, an item I have never attempted to wrangle.  There is an excellent gourmet cheese store in my neighborhood that I have shopped in many times, they too carry the famous bacala, and it sits in open air unrefrigerated in a wooden box, so rigid that it cannot be constrained by that container and the ends of the long fillets reach upwards, and out.  Fearsome no doubt to the unfamiliar; quizzical to the interested and notified.

This is the kind of 'proper eating' I enjoy, and I feel its an excellent microcosm of the book, and what I enjoy about it.  Potatoes and tomatoes are quite easy to come by of course, so I set out on a Sunday afternoon to a grocery store only a few miles from my home but one I do not frequent.  They did in fact have the salt cod, though I was shocked by its $9.99/lb price tag.  They had prepackaged amounts that led to either a ~$28 or ~$14 price tag.  I opted for the smaller 1.5 lb package and made my way out.

This is another example of Fergus' wild addiction to garlic.  The recipe calls for no less then 28 cloves of garlic: I sourced an excellent head from the same store who's produce is prime.  Its large fresh cloves only reached a summation of likely 12-14 cloves.  The thought of two entire heads of garlic is a bit much by my standards, however I am used to this by now after reviewing this log of recipes time and time again.  As I mixed likely 8 large plum tomatoes with that head of garlic (the cloves lightly smashed and peeled, but not chopped) and a shower of fresh black pepper from my new grinder (another gift from the same [my only] brother) and copious amounts of salt and rosemary it dawned on me that this concoction amounted to something that Emeril (yes, I dared to speak his name in a sentimental fashion) would say would be 'just fine stuffed into a hoagie roll' or something of that nature.

The rosemary raises an important point regarding herbs.  This amounts to another improvisation upon the standards laid upon me by Mr. Henderson.  His use of herbs is quite demure, no doubt an extension of his (quite British) personality.  I am a more brash (read: American) cook and also a student of Jamie Oliver who spoiled me long ago upon gigantic bales of herbs.  This recipe calls for a simple 'handful' of curly parsley, I made the call to use rosemary in fair amounts.  I used the rewards of two long (6") stems chopped, plus two more of the same in with the boiling potatoes.

I did a 12 hour cycle on the salt cod, likely changed the water 5 times.  I started around 6pm the evening prior to this one as I rise at approximately the same hour in the AM.  I changed the water 3 times within the next couple hours, as expected the salt osmosis was great initially.  I did wake around 2:30am (as is standard) for a variety of reasons at which point I changed it once again.  Before I left for work at 6:40am sharp, I drained the cod and left it in the fridge in its container.

Already mentioned is my preparation of the tomatoes, I carefully coached them through their bid in the oven until they appeared beaten sufficiently.  Fergus is careful to mention the rendering of tomato juice into what he refers to as 'tomatoey oil' and he was not kidding.  I was a bit liberal with the olive oil but the delicious liquid produced at the bottom of my immortal Pyrex seems suitable for either refreshment on breakfast cereal or a hot toddy.  The garlic cloves easily mashed into near total disintegration with the help of a standard metal tined fork.  I was worried early on that the concentration of tomato flavor would prove too much even for a seasoned red fruit consumer as myself.  I spent many years preparing and eating home grown tomatoes from my grandmothers garden and I eat salads usually 3 days a week with raw product amongst them.  I allowed a single segment to cool and I was knocked back (I honestly mouthed the word 'wow' after the sample) by the flavors that tasted neither like garlic nor rosemary directly, but some phenomenal sum-is-better-than-its-parts fiesta rendered by the cooking process.

Cooking the spuds was simple enough, the rosemary poached nicely and a huge waft of aroma punched me as I manipulated the lid to check and control boil level. As I removed them from the water I added my salt cod to another pot of already simmering water.  I waited until the last moment to do so as Fergus recommended only 5 minutes to poach it well.  Never having tampered with this material before I followed his advice, or at least prepared to.  I was surprised earlier on at the firmness of the cod even after 12 hours drowned -- this continued as it poached.  I prodded it gently time to time and by 5 minutes I did not feel that it was about to give way.  Edible certainly but Fergus points that it should almost easily shred when drained and cooking has completed.  In the end it took closer to 10 and as directed it did begin to flake when stirred with the other components of this dish.

At the last minute I began to spoon away the 'tomatoey oil' from the large garlic chunks then began to carefully add some that did contain my fork-mashed cloves and in the end could hardly control myself, I added nearly all of it.  This is a dish that calls out to be well seasoned in all regards.  The copious use of rosemary was a home run, unfortunately I cannot agree that simple parsley would bring this together.  A heavier hand with salt/pepper on the tomatoes as well really was the chemistry experiment in my oven that made this come alive.

Total success - though in closing I must admit that I decided to forego Fergus final garnish: hardboiled eggs.  The thought does not disgust me per se but seems wildly unnecessary and too far astray from the more sturdy, rustic flavors the dish delivers.

Recipe #1: "Beans and Bacon" (page 78)

[Please forgive the lack of photos for this initial posting.  This was the first recipe I completed and I did so before deciding to blog about my journey.  I ate the last portion the evening prior, the above sample was actually frozen for about 10 days then thawed and reheated.  Future posts shall have far more pictures, I promise!]

This recipe calls for pig's trotters and saltpork.  A discussion of the definition of both is necessary, as at the time I completed this recipe I was not fully comprehending either.  A pig's trotter entails the foot as well as the shank.  It is not cured in any way.  Salt pork is a bit more complicated.

As this is an British cookbook, definitions of bacon need to be understood to manage attempts at faithful reproductions.  American bacon is produced from the belly of the pig and is smoked and salted.  British bacon is produced from the back.  This recipe calls for:

"2- to 2 1/4-pound piece of unsmoked streaky bacon, with rind on"

Often times American (belly) bacon is refered to as 'streaky' as belly bacon has a far greater fat content then meat taken from the back of the animal.  Therefore 'pork belly' is just what it sounds like -- it is uncut American bacon which has not been cured.  But since Fergus makes reference to it being unsmoked yet still refers to it as bacon (and not simply pork) then it is more likely he meant salt pork.  Salt pork by no means needs to be from the belly but since he refers to it as 'streaky' it is likely this was the intended cut.  He also makes reference to In my early confusion I was able to source from pork belly and used it instead.  I thought it to be the accurate choice based on the book -- it was not but none to my dismay, or the three others that sampled the dish.

The use of the word 'trotter' I attributed to British parlance as a sophisticated way of saying 'foot'.  So, I purchased pig's feet.  I know now that trotter entails not only the foot but the shank as well.  No matter.

The night before I assembled everything, I made my pork stock.  Fergus calls for a single trotter and indirectly explains that you will be making two quarts once reduced.  I am unsure of the amount of liquid I used, I simply used the pot I always employ for stocks and filled it up.  At the time I was preparing the stock I still had not figured out the difference between trotters and feet, but I thought there was no way I could make much of a stock from a single foot (they were also bisected laterally).  So I used an entire package which was four full feet, split into 8 pieces.  I used the typical stock veg as recommended (my own sensibilities agreed) of celery/carrot/onion however he calls for two whole onions.  When I make my largest batch of chicken stock I yield three quarts (reduced) and I only use one large onion.  So I decided no way I was going to use two.  Also, while I am aware that many use garlic in their stocks I do not.  I prefer my stocks to be clean and I feel the garlic really muddles that up, as it often does when overused in quantity or used innappropriately in any proportion in a cooked dish.  But while I opted against Fergus' advice on the amount of onions, I followed his advice on the garlic.  Furthermore I used a full head; while unpeeled, it still seemed to be a shocking amount.  But rather then defer to my own personal logic I followed the book's lead, interested in what new flavors this would produce.

I yielded 2.25 quarts, the recipe calls for two.  I cooled and packaged it up for the next day's final cookery.  When that evening came, I first set out to prepare the beans.  Two pounds of navy beans as recommended in simple unsalted water.  They were previously soaked overnight, a procedure I am quite familliar with as I work with kidney and small red varities dried often.  However I have never cooked more then a pound at once and was shocked at the level of foam the quantity of strain of beans produced!  I skimmed and when they began to soften I killed the heat and left them in their beany liquid to cook on the stove as I set out to get to the more important part: meat.

For this recipe, I borrowed one of my brothers dutch ovens: a beautiful Le Creuset enamel on cast iron.  I hacked the rind of pure, white fat from the pork belly (I had three pieces total in the vicinity of two pounds total) and cut the soft meat into chunks as well as I could manage (a very sharp knife [sharper then mine] would prove useful for such giving fodder).  As directed, I briefly fried the rind with a hit of olive oil to attempt to render some of its volumes of grease.  Side note: one year ago my brother and I successfully prepared three large jars of rabbit rillettes for Christmas and we roasted the rabbit in a semi-confit by surrounding it with pork belly and fat.  Even in extended lengths we were unable to allow the pork belly's fat rind to liquidize much and I saw that again there.  However the coming braise did succeed, more on that momentarily...

I began to brown the chopped pork belly in the mix of greases in the dutch oven.  Fergus recommends that you use duck fat if available.  While none was, I do have two large jars of goose grease available from a Thanksgiving bird but decided against it.  I would be interested if his decision here is one to 'gild the lily' yet again or if he had other reasoning in store.  I continued on as the recipe states: remove the colored pork belly then add onion and leek.  His love for onions shine through again as in the stock, here he calls for a gigantic amount of three large onions plus the leeks - I used a mere single bulb with the leeks.  When ready, in goes a can of whole peeled tomatoes (the recipe states only a can of 'plum tomatoes').  I used San Marzanos as I would for making marinara.  I also stuck with my tried and true method of using a potato masher to break them up (Fergus recommends your hands which I have done in the past), what some might accuse as the disuse of a kitchen implement that rarely does its stated job in my kitchen.  All of that goes on for a bit with a soon added 'two ladles' of trotter [foot] stock and reduces a bit just before the beans are added.  I should also note that here I would almost be tempted to use two cans of tomatoes, in the finished dish the small bits of them were a real treat and I wouldn't mind a bit more.

Fergus calls for a mere bundle of herbs of unquantified amount (rosemary, thyme and parsley).  In it's stead I chose to use a giant amount of strictly thyme, carefully pulled from its twigs and chopped, tossed in at varying periods but focusing towards the end of cooking time.  In the end I am not sure how much it did, I think the eventual braise murdered it a bit but I'm sure it was a present note even if undetectable in its normal guise.

For the final assembly, you should use yet another pot which will be moved to the oven, such that you can layer things a bit more.  First of all I am sorely lacking in hardware this large (the one I was using was borrowed as it is) and second of all it seems silly to layer things when they will become so soupy that it will all get mixed up.  Reminds me of the old adage involving separated materials on the dinner plate accidentally intermingling, a sight considered sore for some but always remedied sarcastically with the call that 'it will get all mixed up inside [your gut] anyways'.  However I did add the feet back in for further flavor (and eating) as well as 2 of the 3 pork belly rinds (and the browned pork belly).  When I made my pork stock a night previous I added a single foot back to the 3 cup containers I used to store the stock.  I think I will continue to do this no matter the eventual use for my pork stock (if any is even predicted during the stock's birth) as it helps me to discern between that and regular chicken stock in my freezer.  Here Fergus also recommends adding a whopping two full heads of garlic (in the paper) to the pot, I compromised with one.  And while he calls for two quarts of stock here (minus the 'two ladles' already removed, I guess) I only got in about 24oz to his 64 before the 5 quart dutch oven was brimming.

Moved to the oven for a good hour or slightly more, the last portion with the lid off this did quite crusty as Fergus claims it will.  It looked absolutely perfect and I wish I had a picture of that final sight for the both of us right now.  Should you take this recipe upon yourself please do be sure to remove the fat rinds however (they appear solid but are very soft at this point) because should you be forced to decant your beans and bacon to containers for leftovers in a state of extreme fatigue/intoxication at 2am you will likely forget, quite a surprise for the eaters of said dish (my mother thought the fat rind was pork belly, and the pork belly was pig's feet! In her defense it is all quite unrecognizable at that point).

Introduction

I have a rack of cookbooks.  Many were gifts, all are good reads and some I've taken a step further and actually cooked from.  I recieved another one this season from my brother and it has begun to take upon a life of its own.

The book is 'The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating' by Fergus Henderson.  It has dominated much of my time in the kitchen and in general in the few weeks I've owned it.  I was forced to borrow it back to my brother as I was so taken aback with its content that I had to share it - as much as this hurt me to be away from my precious book for a short period.

I intend to continue cooking recipes from it and documenting my progress here.  I will unabashedly improvise on ingredients and techniques that I do not agree with or have other reasons to be opposed.  This may come across wrong to those that are familiar with the books info; fear not, I shall not replace any of the offal described therein.  I shall say no more on this particular angle, as it will be wholeheartedly explained as the times arise within the individual recipes and blog posts.


And here we go!