Lamb Ham Pie

I love a woman who's not afraid to tell me what she wants. One who spreads shivers of dark desire through inaudible whispers. With luscious lips, a sensual aroma, an unpredictable bite; her familiar face belies the olfactory orgasm concealed and waiting beneath. While many prefer to bypass the foreplay and pay for the more expedient of pleasures, those poor souls deny themselves the pleasure of long and slow cooking over a gentle heat, continual tasting and licking of lips, spooning, caressing the pastry with bare hands, and... well... let's just say that the two experiences are not quite the same...


Lamb Ham Pie

400 g Hay Valley Lamb Ham, diced + bone
2 brown onions, brunoise
1 carrot, brunoise
4 tomatoes, peeled & diced + stalks
1 head of garlic, peeled & smashed into smithereens
330 ml McLaren Vale Pale Ale
1 L chicken stock
20 g Vegemite
20 g maple syrup
80 g plain flour
2 bay leaves
8 g thyme sprigs
puff pastry sheets
1 egg + 1 Tbsp milk, for brushing

Gently sweat the onion in a large pot.
Throw in the diced ham, carrot, tomatoes and garlic. Stir everything around for a few minutes.
Pour in the ale and chicken stock.
Stir through the Vegemite and maple syrup.
Dust the flour over the surface and stir it through well for a smooth texture.
Add the bay leaves and thyme and simmer gently for 2 - 2.5 hours until ham is tender and the mixture has thickened considerably.
Remove bones, stalks, etc. and cool to room temperature before refrigerating.
Line a pie dish or a few muffin pans with puff pastry trimmed to size.
Fill generously with cold lamb mixture.
Whisk egg and milk together to create an egg wash.
Brush exposed puff pastry rims with egg wash and cover with puff pastry lids.
Remove excess pastry with a knife and press the edges together with the tines of a fork.
Brush the lids with egg wash.
Using a small, sharp knife, pierce the lids to allow steam to escape when baking so the pastry doesn't split.
Bake at 180°C for 35 - 40 minutes, rotating halfway for even heating, until golden brown and bubbling.
Cool for at least 10 minutes on a wire rack before removing from the pan.

Maple Syrup & Vegemite Glazed Lamb Ham

I'm Asian. I love freebies and I'm a sucker for good food.

The cunning pants at Meat & Livestock Australia and Hausmann have played me right into their hands with a sacrificial offering of Hay Valley lamb ham, gourmet mustard and sourdough tucked neatly into a red linen-lined basket. If Little Red Riding Hood had a hoarding habit and accepted her goodies in styrofoam boxes, we could very well be twins.

There was a lovely note slipped in beneath the bread, just in case I'd been struck by a sudden case of amnesia and forgotten the email I'd received two days prior confirming my availability to accept a perishable delivery from so and so.

"Thanks for all of your hard work - taking pictures of random things, chowing down on free food and taking more pictures, posting said pictures with delirious comments attached on a blog that nobody in their right mind would ever read.  Lots of love from the seedy man in admin who signs notes under exotic female aliases to build customer rapport."


I'll pretend to be frank for a moment. I was intrigued yet dubious about the concept of lamb ham from the beginning for the following reasons: 

1. I've never ever heard of 'lamb ham', thus it must be a terrible concoction of farce and nitrites. Perhaps past tasters in market research groups contracted botulism and were unable to speak of its delicious flavour and paralytic effects.

2. This so-called 'lamb ham' contains 20% less fat than the traditional porker. Since fat is flavour and a lubricating agent, the proportionally lower fat content of lamb would no doubt result in a despicable product with the dry and unpalatable texture and flavour profile of shredded cardboard. 

3. Google Images reveals numerous pictures of lamb that appear about as appetising as a dinner party consisting of two girls and one cup.. minus the girls.

I don't normally say this because it never ever happens except maybe just this once ..but well.. I was wrong. Cured in maple syrup and smoked, it was as good as (if not better than) a traditional pork ham - unbelievably tender, succulent, oh so moist. 

To enhance the subtle ingrained smoky sweetness, I sloshed together a fairly traditional ham glaze with maple syrup, Dijon mustard and cider vinegar. Hmm.. There wasn't anywhere near as much fat around the outside so I bypassed the scoring and clove studding and added a light dusting of allspice. Oh what the heck. Lamb is the epitome of the modern Australian diet. In went a blob of Vegemite. 

A whole lot of basting, cursing, basting, peering, and basting later, the lamb ham was removed and allowed to rest for two hours. Admittedly I was upstairs watching an enthralling episode of Better Homes & Gardens but it needed to rest anyway. All that basting would have tired the little lamb out. 

I dug out my biggest knife and sliced into the cooled meat with trepidation, but I needn't have worried. All of my niggling doubts and expectations flew out the window as the quivering pink flesh touched my lips. No words can describe the elation of discovering a ham that surpasses all other hams, or the Kodak moment when one tastes the first sliver of barely warm lamb that's been cured, smoked and basted for an hour with maple syrup and rich Vegemite. This is definitely a recipe that I'll be keeping in the books for next year, and possibly one to overthrow past traditions.



Maple Syrup & Vegemite Glazed Lamb Ham

1 x 2 kg Hay Valley lamb ham
200 g light brown sugar
60 g maple syrup (real maple syrup, none of that flavoured fake stuff)
60 g apple cider vinegar
50 g Dijon mustard
25 g Vegemite
1.5 tsp allspice, ground

Trim the skin off the lamb, leaving as much fat on as possible. Remove any visible sinew.
Cover the bone with foil to keep it nice and clean.
Leave for an hour or until it comes to room temperature.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C.
Chuck all of the remaining ingredients into a bowl and whisk until sugar is dissolved and Vegemite is thoroughly combined.
Place a rack over a tray and half-fill it with boiling water.  
Place the lamb ham on top (make sure the water doesn't touch the lamb), covering loosely with foil. 
Roast for 40 minutes.
Remove the foil, top up the water and baste with maple syrup and Vegemite mixture.
Return to the oven and continue roasting for 40 - 50 minutes, basting lightly every 10 minutes or until a beautiful golden brown.
Stick a thermometer into the centre to make sure that the meat has reached 60˚C.
Remove tray from oven and rest for 2 hours before slicing.
Enjoy! :D

Cooking with Matt Kemp

Matt Kemp of Montpellier Public House has very kindly allowed us to publish his recipe for the epigramme of veal breast with crushed carrots and jus that the superstar chef dished up to feed dozens of hungry locals at Barbecue Madness during Crave in October.

In Matt's own words, it's a fancy veal schnitzel and a damn good one at that. The meat is slow-cooked for hours with herbs and madeira until it's melt-in-the-mouth tender, then crumbed and fried for an irresistible textural juxtaposition. You can grab some of the Sydney basin's best veal at Feather and Bone and Victor Churchill. 

PS. For all you grill masters out there, Meat & Livestock Australia is running a BBQ competition next month with the winner snagging an awesome TRIP TO AMERICA BABY! Details below. Happy cooking! :)

A Taste of Hangzhou

The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;

The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.
                                                                       Li Po

I've been travelling around for a number of weeks - from Guangzhou to Hong Kong, Macau, back to Guangzhou, before Dali, Lijiang, Shangri-La, Kunming, Xishuangbanna, then Shanghai, Wuxi, Suzhou, Nanjing, Hangzhou and finally Longquan. I've taken a little time to recuperate and now I'm back in the blogging saddle! Well if you want to get technical, I left the saddle in Lijiang after riding through an escarpment in rainy weather, getting muddied up to my knees and singeing my clothes dry over a mound of flickering coals; but that's another story.

This wasn't my first trip to China. I've been twice before although the cultural progression and cosmopolitan development that have bridged the last twelve years left me a little bewildered at times. On my return to 'Paradise on Earth', better known as the city of Hangzhou where I'd spent a Summer of my childhood, I found it completely unrecognisable aside from the invariable view of West Lake. The apartment where my grandparents lived has been torn down and is overrun with thorny weeds, a supermarket franchise has replaced the local market where we once bought a chook that I tried to walk home on a leash, and the waterfront is now dotted with Starbucks, Häagen-Dazs, American car dealerships and French patisseries. Although I partly lust after the liveliness and romantic charm of the old city streets, it's incredible to realise just how much change has occurred in a country that everyone was once so fearful of being static.

At 6AM by the monumental red gates, women once stood beside carts selling steaming hot mantou (wheat buns filled with a mixture of pork or vegetables) - breakfast for the morning crowd. Nowadays, only the deep, rolling mist hangs over the lake at this hour. A couple jogs by on the narrow, zig-zagging path that juts out over the gently undulating water. At 7AM a marching band meets for morning practice in the square while park officials tend to flowering plants in the central display and an elderly man rollerblades around them in sweeping arcs. By 8AM the sun has risen high into the sky and peeks out from behind the perpetual clouds with a strangely orange glow. Everyone is out now it seems. Men stretching against pagoda railings, women dancing with folding fans against the backdrop of a silent wharf, and retirees practicing Tai Chi in large groups with music crooning from portable loudspeakers set down on the pavement.

Tiny wooden stalls mark the major tourist spots, stocked with ice blocks, ridiculous hats and boiled corn cobs (a popular street snack food). I'm told that up to a hundred people come to West Lake every day to have their wedding photographs taken and as I cycle past, I count five couples on one bridge dressed in Western-style wedding attire, waiting patiently for the photographer's attention. Not far ahead an expanse of lotus is growing along the banks, the huge green leaves like flat parasols basking in the sun's rays. If you're lucky you might discover a lone man pedalling fresh lotus seeds, prized for their cooling property, along the outskirts of the lake. Encased in their olive green exocarp, they're piled high into woven baskets and hefted onto shoulders in a bamboo balancing act.

Six interconnecting bridges form the Su Causeway, the arched stonework dating back to almost a millennium. Along the causeway ballast, elderly men with folding stools and fishing rods relax in the shade of osmanthus trees, enveloped by the entrancing perfume of fragrant silver laurels. When Spring comes it is said that the entire causeway is blanketed by peach blossoms. What a vision of romance I would imagine that to be - pink flowers scattered over cobbled paths; tourists dismounting their brightly coloured bicycles to ascend arched bridges, pausing briefly on the other side for a photo under weeping willow branches that dance lazily in the warm afternoon breeze.
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The Su Causeway is not the only lasting legacy that Su Dongpo left Hangzhou before his death. He is attributed with the design of Dongpo rou - pork belly simmered over a low fire for hours in Zhejiang wine and many seasonings to produce a sweet, red meat that is both soft and mellow. Hangzhou's famous Longjing (Dragon Well) tea is used to cook an aromatic dish of silky shrimp, while dried osmanthus flowers are combined with lotus root starch and wild chestnuts to create a thick, sweetened soup. Grass carp thrive along the entire Eastern coast from Vietnam all the way to the Siberian-Chinese border. The species has been introduced to the Netherlands, New Zealand and the United States but not only is it handy as a biological control, it gets bonus points for being tasty too. West Lake Sour Fish is perhaps not the most palatable dish I've eaten but its origin lies entwined in a dramatic tale of love and vengeance, and is a characteristic example of classic Chinese cuisine.
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The city's newest night market spans 1.4km on Zhongshan Nan Lu, a leisurely stroll away from Wushan Square which is situated at the base of the mountains. There are over 120 stalls featuring both Chinese and international foods, and many more selling silk purses and creepy, hooting chicken toys. Walking up and down the street I attach my sticky fingers to as much as I can possibly manage - flaky peanut pastry, black sesame rubber candy, freshly juiced sugar cane, steamed chicken wrapped in fragrant lotus leaf, chilli-salted BBQ yak, grilled Indian flatbread filled with banana, and a Portuguese egg tart. ­
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One thing I learned in China is that nourishment is integral to daily life. We are constantly surrounded by food. Good cooking can be elusive sometimes, as I found to be the case in particular regions. There will often be tasteless grit masquerading as something better, but the existence of bad food is no reason to give up hope. Under the watch of a rigorous eye, often the ostensibly simple results in the most pleasing meal.

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From 'The Art of Chinese Cuisine' by Hsiang Ju Lin and Tsuifeng Lin is a recipe for Dongpo pork. A simple recipe but one that requires the cook to have a clear understanding of the ingredients at hand to obtain the best result.
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"..

Dongpo Pork is customarily served at the end of a meal with
bowls of rice. People sigh, shout and groan with happiness when
they see it. This is one of the pinnacles of gastronomy, and sums
up the appreciation of fat in Chinese cuisine.

Dongpo Pork 

575 g belly pork in one piece
2 level tablespoons salt
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon wine
2 spring onions
2 slices ginger

Trim pork into a precise square. Wash it and wipe it dry with a towel.
Rub it with salt and let it stand for about 2 hours. Discard the blood-
tinged liquid.
Bring 12 cups water to the boil and blanch the meat in it. Rinse it free
of scum and repeat the blanching with a fresh portion of boiling water.
Place the pork skin side up in a pot with a tight-fitting lid, adding soy
sauce, wine, spring onions, ginger and 2 tablespoons water. Bring to the
boil, then reduce the heat to very low and simmer for 2 hours, adding
a little more water if necessary. Keep the amount of liquid as small as
possible, and do not keep uncovering the pot to see how the pork is
progressing. Let it stew in its own juices.
Discard the spring onions and ginger. Place the square skin side down on
a dish of soup plate dimensions; add the juices and cover it very closely
with foil, cellophane or an overlapping plate. Steam it for 4 hours, until
the fat is tender and can be cut with a spoon. Invert the square so that
the fat is uppermost, and pour the juices around it carefully.

                                                             .."
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MasterChef Challenge: Peter Gilmore's Garlic Custard

Being on holidays this week while the restaurant is having the floor revamped, and after watching MasterChef masterclass on Friday with Peter Gilmore demonstrating how to make garlic custard, I thought I'd head back into the kitchen to give his recipe a whirl.

Peter Gilmore is an AMAZING chef (that's AMAZING in capitals!). He's my biggest industry idol and his incredible food is reflective of his unbounded depth of knowledge. 

Unfortunately I don't have squid growing in a tank out on the back porch and there's not much in the fridge aside from corn milk, a jar of my hot cucumber pickles, middle-rasher bacon and hokkien noodles. I have a little walk around the garden to see what I might be able to throw together and I decide to combine the bacon with a simple salad of red mustard leaves and pickled onion.

My mum owns a nifty machine that makes soy milk. It works basically the same way as a thermomix, ie. it cooks and blends at the same time. This morning she used it to blend up the corn milk that's sitting in the fridge which is actually quite tasty. Sweetcorn kernels, water and a little dehydrated milk powder goes into the machine and 15 minutes later.. Voila! Corn milk! It's surprisingly sweet and I can imagine this being the base for some kind of Mexican dessert though I might have to figure that one out later.

The first thing I do is turn the oven on to preheat at 160ºC. A sprinkle of salt goes into the corn milk to maximise flavour and enhance the natural sweetness. Garlic is sweated away in a knob of butter before joining the milk. The steamer goes onto the stove to boil while the milk is infusing. I temper the eggs with the milk, strain the mixture into 3 small serving bowls, cover and steam.

Meanwhile I lay out a sheet of baking paper onto a heavy steel baking tray and spread out a few thin slices of bacon. I lay another sheet of baking paper over the top and weigh it down with another tray. Into the oven it goes. Ten minutes later the top tray comes off and the slices of bacon are cooking without a kink to be seen. I leave the paper on top to stop the grease from splattering all over the inside of my oven and give it another 10 minutes. I pour away all the delicious fat that's rendered out of the bacon and keep it aside to make the dressing. The bacon's not quite done yet so I throw it back in for a few minutes more until it's 100% crispy.

The custards are done so they're sitting on a rack, cooling. The bacon is nice and crispy so it's out cooling also. I heat up the rendered bacon fat in a small pot and throw in a few small sprigs of thyme to infuse all of those lovely thyme-y essential oils. A quarter of a brown onion, brunoise, goes in next to sweat slowly with a tiny pinch of salt. A splash of white wine vinegar and a teaspoon of castor sugar join the mess and I let it simmer for just a few minutes. It comes off the heat and a few drops of olive oil completes this vinaigrette.

All I have to do now is spoon a little custard onto the plate, arrange a few bits of crispy bacon in an aesthetically pleasing manner, toss a few freshly picked baby red mustard leaves in the vinaigrette, spoon a little more around the plate and just to be fancy, I toss in a few chilli flowers as well.

And there you have it: Corn custard, garlic, mustard, bacon!

Has anyone else tried a recipe that they've seen on the show?

Smoked Trotter Stew

Ham hocks are not quite the trotters nor the legs of of a pig but rather more the ankles. Full of fat, tendons and other grisly bits, they don't appear to be quite as popular as other below-the-waist cuts yet their flavour is tremendous and they're cheap to boot. Smoked hocks are my favourite, simmered in stews to impart a sensuously deep and lingering kiss. Partnered with the humble and understated cannellini bean and a few fragrant herbs and spices, this stew served cool is the perfect foil for those hot summer nights. If you have a tasty, tasty legume recipe make sure you join in this months 'My Legume Love Affair' event!

Smoked Trotter Stew

4 pork trotters
50 g duck fat
1 brown onion, sliced
3 tsp salt
1 head of garlic, halved
3 cinnamon quills
1 knob of ginger, sliced thickly
4 star anise
1 C. shaoxing (Chinese rice wine)
3 celery sticks, chopped
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
600 g smoked ham hock (on the bone)
5 bay leaves
4 small sprigs of rosemary
2 C. cooked cannellini beans
1 handful of parsley leaves

Remove skin from the trotters with a small sharp knife and discard.
Heat duck fat in a large pot and brown trotter bones. Remove and set aside.
In the same pot sweat off the onion with salt until translucent.
Throw in the garlic, cinnamon, ginger, star anise and stir it all around for a bit.
De-glaze with shaoxing and cook for a minute more until almost dry.
Return trotters to the pot with celery, carrots, ham hock and 3.5 L of water.
Bring to the boil and skim off any impurities that rise to the surface.
Now you can add the bay leaves and rosemary.
Reduce heat to a bare simmer and leave it alone for 2 hours. Top it up if need be.
The hock should be nice and tender now so fish it out while it's still hot, set it on a plate and strain everything out of the stock.
Drop the hock back into the stock and let it cool (this will keep it tender and juicy).
When it reaches room temperature pull it out onto a wide chopping board and peel off the skin, discard and separate the flesh from the bone.
Chop the smoky flesh into bite-sized pieces and divide into serving bowls with a handful of cannellini beans and a sprinkling of parsley, roughly chopped at the last minute.
Taste the stock and perfect the seasoning.
Ladle into bowls over the pork and beans.
Best enjoyed cool.

Zingy Chicken Sambo

 
I've been really forgetful as of late. I've been searching all afternoon, high and low for a recipe I wrote down many weeks ago and to no avail. Perhaps the stress, late nights and strange sleep patterns have finally caused my brain to rupture, clogging up my skull with tiny little blood clots that are killing off my axons one by one and preventing normal neural transmission activity.

I made up a great recipe for horseradish and lime mayo and I have no idea what I've done with it! I'm so annoyed! Oh well, stay tuned. I may still find it yet - when I'm tidying up my belongings to move house in ten years time. In the meantime, if you want to give it a go (fingers crossed) I think I used an egg yolk, Dijon mustard, maldon sea salt flakes, horseradish cream, delicious GM canola oil and a squeeze of lime juice to taste.

The horseradish and lime mayonnaise wasn't the hero of the dish of course. That title was given to the leftover Chinese white-cooked chicken, the star of my sandwich show - cold and quivering, thinly cut slices of just cooked chicken, poached in a heavily seasoned broth of ginger, shallots and shiao xing wine.

The chicken is gently poached for 15 minutes then left to cool in the broth until it reaches blood temperature (about 3 hours) allowing for the residual heat to penetrate and cook the meat without excessive temperature and protein shrinkage. The resulting meat is tender and succulent, unlike that achieved by any other technique.

To finish off my sandwich I toasted some bread, slathered on a little butter, popped on some crisp watercress layered with cold slivers of chicken and drizzled over with my zingy horseradish and lime mayo. Delicious!

Spring Break: Asparagus Gone Wild!

Late last week we received a special shipment of wild asparagus from our 'not-to-be-named' truffle supplier. He'd managed to source it from somewhere outside of Australia and turned it over to us for roughly $100/kg. For wonderfully fresh and herbaceous young shoots that are available for only one month of the year, the going rate isn't really too much to ask.

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Chonz decided that he wanted a dish centred on simplicity which would allow the quality of the produce to shine so for two days we ran with what we had in the bag - asparagus, eggs and cheese.

All up we used five components to create this dish. Wild asparagus, morcilla (locally made Spanish blood sausage), champagne beurre blanc, a poached duck egg and a little grated Manchego (imported from La Mancha, Spain) over the top. The simplicity of ingredients and the quality resonates from the very first taste until the last. You'll see.

The champagne buerre blanc is the most time consuming so we'll start with that. You'll need to melt a small knob of butter and sweat off 2 finely chopped eschallots with a pinch of salt, a bay leaf and a few cracks of white pepper (so as not to be left with dirty flecks in the final sauce). Pour in 50 ml of champagne vinegar, 250 ml of champagne and reduce at a simmer until you are left with about 25 ml of liquid. Remove from the heat, discard the bay leaf and add 200 g of chopped butter a little at a time, whisking continuously until emulsified. You can stabilise it at this point by adding a small splash of cream, totally optional. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Have a small pot full of salted water ready to poach your egg in and another with enough seasoned chicken stock to blanch the asparagus in with a few knobs of butter thrown in. Working quickly now, slice the morcilla into thick rounds and pan fry them in a little oil over medium-high heat. With a little swirl, slip the duck egg into gently simmering water and immerse all the asparagus in the chicken stock until soft.

To assemble, pour a little champagne beurre blanc onto the plate. Pile the slices of morcilla onto one side and the drained asparagus onto the other. Carefully lift your poached egg into the centre and grate a generous amount of Manchego over the top.

When you first attack the egg, the semi-cooked yolk will ooze out and combine with the now melting Manchego to create a lusciously cheesy sauce. As if in an out-of-body experience, you will begin a quick attempt to drink up every inch of this gooey goodness with what little is left on your plate.

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Do you see now?

Liver Lust

I often wonder what direction food is heading towards in the 21st century. Globalisation of the world's cuisine has seen many changes over the last few decades and at times it can be more than a little confusing. Back in the day (although for some of us it seems difficult to imagine now) pineapple hors'doeuvres, chicken nibblets, meat trees and tuna jelly were all the rage. Thank god we're past that. I think I'd cry if every meal I was presented with was served up in gay coloured crockery and overzealously garnished with sprigs of curly parsley.

But what of now? We've been gradually overwhelmed with increasingly bastardised variations of god knows what kinds of gastronomy.. Minimalist, architectural, contemporary European, modern pan-Asian tapas, 'classic', naturalist and most recently molecular. It's all well and good to eat a deconstructed bloody mary composed of hot-frozen pudding with spherified tomato water and a celery tuile craquante, garnished with a whiff of dancing nitrous and I admit that I think having the knowledge and ability to execute that kind of technical stuff is pretty darn cool, but sometimes it just gets down right confusing.

I mean when exactly did the consumption of good food become some kind of complex ceremonial act where we find it necessary for a professional to stand beside the table and direct us in the art of mastication? How long will it be before El Bulli and Will Goldfarb gelling kits are found in every 'modern' restaurant? Where will the foodie scene move to from there? Will we see gastronomy continue to be pushed into the abstract with the likes of alcohol-soluble flavours and the convergence of sweet and savoury? Or perhaps we may even be introduced to restaurant menus designed specifically for tasters, non-tasters and supertasters.

It's absolutely confounding to try to imagine all of the different possible turns the industry may take in the near future. But you know what? It doesn't matter because regardless of how cuisine changes, we can always return to our favourite memories from the good old days of comfort food before Texturas, like sauteed chicken livers with white onion soubise and oloroso glaze.

The onion soubise will take the longest to cook so be sure to start that first. You'll need four brown onions, about 80 g of unsalted butter, a few sprigs of marjoram and 180 g of pouring cream. Have a pot warming on medium-high heat while you thinly slice up the onions. Splash a little cooking oil into the pot and throw in the butter. Give it a few moments until all the solids have melted then throw in the sliced onions and stir it around. Add only the tiniest amount of salt to bring out the moisture and help along the sweating process then turn the heat down to medium-low, bang on the lid and let it cook for another half hour or so. Give it a stir every now and then (to be sure it doesn't stick and begin to caramelise as it's a white sauce) and keep it cooking until it's completely broken down and the natural sweetness has emerged. Now scrape everything into a food processor with the cream and the marjoram leaves and blitz it until it's as smooth as possible. Taste it for seasoning and add a little more salt if you think it needs it.

The oloroso glaze is a very simple one. Bring a tablespoon of castor sugar to a light caramel and carefully add a splash of red wine vinegar (carefully as it may spit at you). Bring it to the boil then add a cup of oloroso sherry. You can leave this ticking over and reducing slowly while you prepare the livers.

With a sharp knife, remove all possible sinew from the livers and rinse off any unsightly gunk. Toss them in enough cornflour to give them a good coating and season generously with salt and pepper. Have a pan ready over medium-high heat with a splash of good olive oil. Place livers into the pan and caramelise on both sides. Continue cooking until they're done to your liking.

To serve, place a dollop of soubise onto the plate. Pile the livers on top and drizzle over with the thick oloroso glaze.

Christmas Pudding

360 g suet, grated
360 g raisins
360 g currants
180 g plain flour
180 g japanese breadcrumbs
180 g mixed peel
180 g brown sugar
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 g nutmeg, ground
1 g cinnamon, ground
1 g table salt
4 eggs
100 ml brandy
600 ml milk

Combine all ingredients and divide into 3 buttered ceramic bowls.
Wrap entire bowl with cling film 10 times then steam for 8 hours in convection oven or 9 hours in baine marie (remember to top up water regularly).
Remove from oven and test with skewer. Puddings should be cooked all the way through.
Cut away cling film and turn out onto rack whilst hot.

Chicken and Shallot Spring Rolls

500 g chicken breast
200 g telegraph cucumber, peeled and julienne
1 b. coriander, chiffonnade
1 b. shallots, finely sliced
100 g hoisin
20 ml soy

Poach chicken breast in chicken stock then set aside to cool.
Remove from stock and shred finely into a bowl.
Add all ingredients, season and toss to coat.
Wrap in rice paper and serve with daikon dressing, garnished with purple shiso.

Duck & Pork Rillette

3 kg duck Maryland, salted
1.5 kg pork belly
½ b. lemon thyme
8 cloves garlic
duck fat, to cover
200 g Dijon mustard
160 ml chardonnay vinegar

Bring to the boil and cook over lowest heat for approx. 3 hours.
Strain and reserve duck fat.
Separate flesh from bones and fork through until it becomes a smooth consistency.
Add mustard, vinegar, seasoning and fat to taste.
Press 100 g of rillette mix into a ramekin.
Pipe apple and lemon butter to cover the top.
Refrigerate until set and turn out with a paring knife.

Duck Liver Parfait

800 g duck liver
8 eggs
200 g eschallots
2 g thyme, finely chopped
1 bay leaf
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
90 ml brandy
180 ml port
180 ml Madeira
800 g butter, diced

Bring liver and eggs to room temperature.
Sauté eschallots in butter with thyme, garlic and bay leaf.
Deglaze with liquors and reduce.
Whisk in butter to thicken.
Puree liver, eggs, liquor and season.
Pass through a chinois lined with muslin and pour into ceramic terrine moulds.
Cook in a baine marie for 1 hour at 110ºC.

Tips: Use cold butter to prevent the glaze from splitting and start the baine marie with boiling water to minimise cooking time. When cooked the internal temperature should bebetween 57ºC - 65ºC.