Good Cook (16 page)

Another pigeon entirely, here. These are bred especially for the table and are, in fact, a type of dove. Have no fear, they are not the pretty white ones that live in dovecots. Moreover, most display similar plumage to the common pigeon that you might see in Trafalgar Square but, thankfully, are a little less scrawny and certainly better to eat. So cosseted, in fact, are these beautiful, corn-fed birds that their over-plump breasts almost make me blush. Be warned, however, they don’t come cheap, so make the eating of these luxuries a special treat. By the way, the term “squab” is the name mostly used for them in North America. In France, it is “pigeonneau,” as well as variations around the word “palombe” in other European countries, such as Spain. And then there is that astonishing song “Una Paloma Blanca”: a white dove. Happy, now?

The sweet PX sherry vinegar used here is a deliciously fragrant one made from Pedro Ximénez, a richly thick, sticky-sweet sherry of which, I must admit, I am none too fond as a drink. The resultant vinegar, however, is a star of my kitchen. Initially think balsamic vinegar, then instantly change your mind when you taste it.

Heat a ribbed, stove-top grill until medium hot. Take each side of the pigeon from the carcass using a small, sharp knife, keeping the knife hard against the breastbone structure. This will leave you with a breast and leg/thigh part in one complete half; ask your enterprising butcher to do this for you, if tentative. (Freeze the pigeon carcass for use in stock-making.)

Place the pigeon halves on a large plate and season well. Smear with a little olive oil, rubbing it into the skin. Place skin side down on the grill, while also balancing upon them a heavy pan, so keeping them flat while further allowing the skin to be attractively striped by the ridges of the grill. Cook for 5 minutes. Turn the birds over and grill for slightly less time on their skinless sides; the pigeon should be quite rare, at this stage. Now place the pigeon halves on a hot plate, sprinkle with the shallot and add the vinegar and a little more olive oil. Cover with a shallow bowl, or deep pan lid, say, and leave to rest for at least 5 minutes, by which time the shallots will have wilted slightly and the pigeon flesh become a nice rosy pink throughout.

Eat with a squeeze of lemon juice, if you like, accompanied by a few romaine salad leaves, taken from the heart of the lettuce; the juices and dressing from the squab will offer plenty of lubrication to these.

An Aylesbury duck, roasted and served with gravy and apple sauce, together with garden peas, is a hotel dining-room dish that has not been seen since around the mid 1970s, I guess. Almost completely to blame, about a decade later, came the tentative trickle of imported duck breasts from France. Initially, it was only the “magret de canard,” the very large, fatty breast taken from a foie gras-producing duck, that was used. These were vacuum-packed, so possessing an excellent shelf-life and, furthermore, this sous-vide process was soon to become one of the most exciting and profitable innovations of the time. Not surprisingly, the duck’s shrink-wrapped legs swiftly followed suit, instantly turned into confit in every restaurant kitchen in the land, including mine.

So, in these days of easy breast and carefree confit, a proper English roast duckling (for genteel folk, this was the favored description) is a truly scrumptious feast when carefully cooked—with hot, crisp skin and meltingly tender, well-cooked flesh beneath—and, for heaven’s sake, very tasty! Well, you know what? I miss it very much indeed.

The exasperating result of the convenient duck portion has resulted in a sad decline of, all at once, roasting, carving and gravy-making skills. Simply,
this is mainly due to an absence of carcass. For instance, I won’t countenance the “roasted” chicken or duck breast found on many restaurant menus as anything other than something … well, something just cooked, actually. Yes, it may be placed in a small, heavy frying pan with added fat, then generously basted on the stove-top and roasted (flashed) in a very hot oven for about 5 minutes, but, essentially, it is nothing more than a sauté with a final, additional blast of wrap-around heat.

It is to the Chinese restaurant, of course, where one must now go to eat the finest roast duck. And, when push comes to shove, the Chinese are the finest duck-roasters of all. The Chinese method of pouring boiling water over the skin of a duck, then hanging it up to dry prior to roasting, is one of the best ways to achieve a crisp, dry skin. Another tradition, and not necessarily Chinese, is to first deftly puncture the skin all over many times with a thin skewer or the point of a sharp knife; and that is
just
under the skin, not gaily onward into the flesh, too. Anyway … read on, if you wish to recreate the sound of that 70s duck, sizzling and roasting in a hot oven …

As I like my apple sauce stone cold, I would make this first—even the day before, put into the fridge in a covered container. So, place the chopped apple in a small, stainless steel pan, add 4–5 tablespoons of water and then add the other ingredients. Place the pan over a medium heat and, once the mixture is beginning to bubble, allow to cook very slowly, stirring occasionally, until the apples have broken down to a sort of mush. When you have a rough sauce, and the sugar content pleases you, decant into a bowl to cool. Right then, to the duck …

Remove the giblets from inside the duck, rinse them and put to one side, for later. Now, using a sharp skewer or the point of a very sharp knife, carefully prick the skin all over the breast and leg parts (not right through into the meat) until you tire of doing it, probably about 40–50 pricks in all. Now place the duck upon an inverted bowl, or similar and, within the confines of the sink, fully drench it all over—and on both sides—with boiling water poured directly upon it from a kettle.

You will now see that the tiny punctures you made will have opened up on contact with the boiling water, thus allowing the subcutaneous layer of fat beneath to later seep out as the duck cooks. The bird should then be allowed to dry. I find that the best way to do this is to either rest it on a wire rack or hang it up on a meat hook; whichever method you choose, the close proximity of a breezy open window will enormously assist and speed up the process. About 3–4 hours should do, but overnight will give the finest results. In hot weather, however, this would not be an advisable procedure.

Preheat the oven to 450ºF.

Rub salt all over the duck’s skin, then grind plenty of pepper inside the cavity. Now put the duck on a wire rack placed inside a roomy roasting pan and slide it into the oven. Roast for 30 minutes and then turn the temperature down to 350°F. Roast for a further hour or so. No basting is required, but as the fat runs from the duck into the roasting pan, periodically pour it off into a metal bowl (keep this fat to roast potatoes). Once the roasting time is complete, remove the duck from the oven and allow to cool till warm and able to be handled. Leave the oven on.

Now, completely remove each half of the duck from its carcass using a small, sharp knife, keeping it close to the carcass as you work. Put the 2 duck halves back into the roasting pan (emptied of all traces of fat) and put to one side. Using a large, heavy knife, roughly chop and crush the carcass and put into a large pot. Add the duck giblets, also roughly chopped, together with the wine, vegetables and herbs. Pour in water to just cover, together with the half stock cube, redcurrant jelly and port. Bring up to a simmer, remove any scum from the surface and quietly cook for about an hour. Strain the resultant stock through a fine sieve into a clean pan (discard the solids) and reduce by at least half or, at least, until well-flavored and very ducky. Slake the potato flour with a little water (or port) and slowly add to the stock until syrupy and of a gravy consistency. Turn up the oven to 400°F.

Return the duck halves to the top of the oven and reheat for about 20–25 minutes, or until the duck skin has become nicely crisp; you may flash them under a moderate broiler, if you like, to aid final crisping. Carve into joints, present on a heated platter, and hand the gravy and apple sauce at table. Serve with watercress or peas—and I am particularly partial to fine-quality canned ones, here—and some roast potatoes cooked in that collected duck fat.

If I were you, I would buy a whole, nicely farmed rabbit from an enterprising butcher who will stock such an item. Ask him to joint it into two legs, two shoulders, one trimmed saddle and the belly flaps removed from the latter. This way, you can use everything but the saddle for the following dish and, perhaps, roast the saddle a day or so later—or freeze it, well wrapped in plastic wrap for another occasion entirely.

With regard to the quality of the olive oil, here, it is imperative that it is very good indeed; so use your most favorite, special lotion—and, particularly so, for the aioli.

Note: the initial preparation for the rabbit needs attention the day before it is cooked.

Put the ingredients for the salting mixture into a small food processor and process until fine. Place the rabbit joints in a shallow dish or lidded plastic container and pour over the salting mixture. Mix together with your hands until well coated, then put into the fridge for 24 hours, turning the rabbit occasionally.

The next day, rinse the rabbit in cold water and then leave to soak, covered in water, for about 1 hour, to remove excess salt. Preheat the oven to 275°F.

Put the rabbit pieces into a deep, lidded pot which will accommodate them snugly. Pour over enough olive oil to just cover the rabbit, then tuck in the cloves of garlic. Just to allow the oil to start heating up, place the pot over a very low flame, stir the rabbit around a bit and, when there are a few bubbles beginning to show, cover the pot and put it into the oven. Leave to very slowly cook for about 1½ hours, or until the rabbit is starting to fall away from the bone, but leave a little longer if necessary; it is essential that the rabbit is well cooked.

When the rabbit is fully cooked, leave the pot to cool for about 15 minutes, then carefully lift out the rabbit and put it into a shallow dish until cool enough to handle. Strain the olive oil through a fine sieve into a bowl and discard any garlic or bits of rabbit debris from the sieve. Flake the pink and tender rabbit meat from its bones, put it into a lidded container and re-cover with the strained oil.

Note: I would not necessarily advise using the rabbit straight away as, like a confit, it is improved by at least a few days buried in fat/oil, in the fridge, where it may also be stored for at least a month. Once the rabbit meat has been used, keep the oil in the fridge for another occasion where you may like to repeat the dish. Or, use it to cook other things.

When you wish to serve the dish, steam (or boil) the potatoes in their skins. Take the rabbit flesh and warm it through in a pan with a little of its olive oil. Peel and thickly slice the potatoes, arrange on a platter and strew over the rabbit. Serve the dish warm, with the following aioli:

Place the egg yolks in a bowl with the crushed and salty garlic and the pepper. Beginning slowly, beat this together, while very, very slowly trickling in the olive
oil. Once the mixture is becoming very thick, add a little lemon juice. Continue beating, adding the oil a little faster and increasing the speed a little. Taste as you continue beating, adding a touch more lemon juice and more seasoning as you think necessary. Once you are happy with the flavor and texture—which should be almost ointment-like—the aioli is ready.

To serve the dish, top with a little chopped parsley.