Heston Blumenthal’s popping-candy chocolate cake

Ever since returning from Barcelona, I have been slightly obsessed with peta zeta, or as we say in English, pop rocks. It’s Oriol Balaguer‘s fault. When we were in Spain, one of the must-visit places on my wife S’s itinerary was Balaguer’s boutique. She’s been slightly obsessed with this genius chocolatier ever since a pastry chef friend gave her Balaguer’s cookbook as a present some years back. Balaguer’s Barcelona boutique is a very small, chic corner space, located in the middle of a wealthy residential neighborhood. (It is also just around the corner from the showroom of Tresserra, an amazing Spanish furniture brand I am currently in love with but cannot afford — and probably won’t be able to for decades to come.)

As you can imagine, we tried many of Balaguer’s chocolates and even some of his pastries. Everything was delicious, but one thing in particular blew me away — his pop rock filled chocolate truffles. These were simply fabulous, not just because they were made with the very best chocolate but because they were fun. Really fun. I hadn’t eaten pop rocks in years. In fact, I wasn’t even aware that these effervescent candies were still being made. (Keep reading)

The upside down chocolate shot

Ever tried making something from a cookbook that looks really cool and really simple but just doesn’t turn out right? Or, as happened to S and me just a few days ago, right-side up?

A great friend of ours had recently given us a copy of Modern Spanish Cooking by Sam & Eddie Hart. She and her husband had eaten at the Harts’ Fino restaurant in London and loved their meal. Knowing that we didn’t yet have a copy of their book and that the yummy dishes in it would inspire us to get back in the kitchen (a place, sadly, that because of work we’ve been spending less and less time in recently), she kindly carried one back home for us.

It really is an inspiring text. S and I literally drooled over the pages as we flipped through them together. (The fact that we are soon making our very first trip to Spain has also re-ignited an interest in and passion for Spanish cuisine.) David Loftus’ pictures are also quite nice, enhancing the saliva-factor of the book tremendously. Stand-out dishes that we can’t wait to try include jamon croquetas, potato and chrorizo chips, arroz negra, white beans and clams, chicken with red peppers, roast suckling pig, crisp pork belly, ensaladilla russa, pedro ximenez ice cream, and churros and chocolate.

The one dish that we thought looked super-yummy and strikingly simple to make was the Harts’ shots of white and dark chocolate. From the picture, which I have scanned and placed to the right, these shots are compositions of chilled white chocolate soup over which warm whipped dark chocolate cream is spooned. Using a straw, you then slurp the whole thing up in one lusciously rich and chocolately mouthful.

The recipe looked easy enough (we’re reprinting it below). We made the white chocolate soup first and let it chill in our fridge for several hours. Then S made the dark chocolate cream. Following the instructions in the book, we poured the white chocolate soup into a couple of shot glasses. Then we carefully scooped up some of the dark chocolate cream and ever so gently placed some on top of one of the shot glasses. Only to watch it disappear into the white chocolate soup and plop onto the bottom of the glass.

We tried it again with the same results. Each time, the dark chocolate plonked to the bottom of the glass. The chocolate cream was simply denser and heavier than the white chocolate soup. Unless we added some gelatin or other thickener to the soup — or conversely, thinned out the dark chocolate cream — there was no way we were ever going to create the shots pictured in the book.

The components, though, tasted fantastic. So, instead of wasting them, S decided to just do the logical thing and invert the shots. She spooned some of the dark chocolate on the bottom of each shot glass, over which we poured the white chocolate soup. We then happily devoured these.

We’re thinking of making these shots again soon. There are basically two scenarios. Either the recipe doesn’t work quite right or somehow while making these, S and I screwed up. Either way, we want to know what happened. Of course, if some of you want to give this recipe a try, please do. And please tell us if it works for you.

Update 26/3/2008: W, over at Whine & Dine has managed to pull off these shots properly. To see how they should look, click over here.

Shots of white and dark chocolate
from Modern Spanish Cooking by Sam & Eddie Hart

Serves 4

for the white chocolate soup
100g best quality white chocolate
150ml single cream
100ml whole milk

for the dark chocolate
100g best quality dark chocolate (70% cocoa solids)
10g cocoa powder
150ml double cream
4 tbsp whole milk

For the white chocolate soup, break up the chocolate and melt in a heatproof bowl over a saucepan of hot water on a very low heat. Take the bowl off the pan. Pour the cream and milk into a bowl. Slowly add the warm melted chocolate, stirring well until smooth, and set aside to cool. Refrigerate the white chocolate soup for 3 hours and then skim off the impurities from the surface.

For the dark chocolate layer, melt the chocolate in a heatproof bowl over a saucepan of gently simmering water. Add the cocoa powder and mix well until smooth. Pour the double cream into a large bowl and whisk until it just starts to thicken, then slowly pour in the melted chocolate, stirring well. Finally, stir in the milk to achieve a lighter consistency.

To assemble, pour the chilled white chocolate soup into 4 shot glasses, to 2-3cm from the top. Carefully spoon the dark chocolate on top of the white soup and serve, with straws.

Sauce from scratch

There are some foods that we self-professed gourmands try as often as possible to prepare from scratch. We shake our head and pooh-pooh store-bought pasta sauces. Canned soups are verboten from our pantries. We cry foul whenever friends try to serve us pizza baked on premade bases. Pasta must be made by hand. So too must our bread be, kneaded or not. Our fries have to be hand-cut, never frozen. And we take great pride in pointing out that the confit de canard we’re serving is home-made and most definitely not from any can.

But then, there are some other foods that we simply accept for what they are. Despite our new-found (and occasionally pretentious) predelictions against store-bought products, we never even think about making these things from scratch.

Like ketchup for example. I don’t know about all of you, but I’ve been pretty happy eating Heinz for most of my life. It’s one of our kitchen staples. There’s always an open bottle in the fridge and often a sealed one in the pantry (running out midway through a burger is simply a no-no). Unfortunately, most other ketchups just don’t measure up to the “thick, rich one”. Most are either too watery and simply unsavory. One of the rare exceptions is a Swiss German ketchup that S found in a gourmet store. It was nice, with a sharp and almost curry-like taste.

Recently, S and I have been helping some friends develop ideas for a new restaurant here in Singapore. One of the things that came up in conversation while we were brainstorming food concepts was the idea of serving homemade ketchup. S remembered that Heston Blumenthal, one of our food heroes, had included a recipe in his fantastic book Family Food.

The more I thought about it, the idea of making (and eating) ketchup without any artificial ingredients and preservatives was really appealing.

Heston’s recipe calls for 5kg of ripe tomatoes, which yields approximately 500ml of ketchup. Truth be told, I looked at these numbers for quite a while before finally deciding to actually try making it. 5 kilos of tomatoes is one heck of a lot of tomatoes. And to only get 500ml of ketchup seemed like a whole lot for a whole little, both in terms of quantity and in terms of costs of ingredients. But, I rationalized, if it tasted great, better in fact than any other ketchup that I’d ever had, it would be worth it.

Making the ketchup was easy. But it did take several hours, so be sure to set aside enough time. I suggest using the recipe (reprinted below) as a general guideline. I honestly eyeballed almost all of the ingredients (save the quantity of tomatoes that is), slightly increasing and decreasing some to suit my taste.

The resulting ketchup was delicious. Nothing at all like Heinz, but still gorgeously sweet and savory. The combination of ingredients — especially the mustard, cloves, five-spice, ginger and cayenne — gave the ketchup a spicy complexity. One friend who tasted it said it was more like a thick, slightly sweet salsa than a ketchup. Another said it tasted like ketchup, but one that had a real distinct richness. S liked that it really tasted of tomatoes and not artificial thickeners. It worked beautifully with some fries (home-made of course) and a nice bottle of bubbly (hey, a boy’s gotta celebrate these little culinary achievements). I simply can’t wait to spread some on a burger later this weekend.

(Picture note: The fries and ketchup are displayed in a “Nuevo Doble Bowl”, a beautiful disposable plastic bowl from Tast. S and I first saw Tast products at a World Gourmet Festival event in Bangkok a few years ago and fell in love with them. Until recently though, we had no idea where to get these gorgeous Spanish disposable catering tools. We’ve just discovered that you can now get Tast products in Singapore through Ruiter Far East. We think they look great and our friends have been totally wowed by these cute and sexy little plastic bowls.)

Tomato ketchup
From Family Food by Heston Blumenthal
Makes approximately 500ml

5kg very ripe best-quality tomatoes
200g onions, chopped
4 cloves of confit garlic or 2 cloves of garlic
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
8 cloves
2 coffeespoons salt
1 teaspoon Chinese five-spice
A good pinch of ground ginger
A pinch of cayenne pepper
6½ soupspoons icing sugar

Core and halve the tomatoes, then roughly chop them and put them into a casserole. Cover with a cartouche (a circle of parchment paper that covers the top of the braising liquid in the pan) and bring to the boil, then simmer for 10 minutes.

Pass the tomatoes through a fine-meshed sieve into another casserole, and add all the other ingredients except the icing sugar. Simmer until the mixture is reduced by approximately half and begins to thicken.

Push the mixture through a fine-meshed sieve again, return it to the casserole, and add the icing sugar. Put the casserole back on the heat. Whisking regularly so that the ketchup does not catch and burn, bring to a simmer and cook until the desired thickness and flavour achieved.

Pour the mixture into a sterilised preserving jar, seal, and stand the jar in simmering water for 40 minutes. The ketchup will then keep for several months.

Holiday Gift Guide 2007

Well, it’s that time of the year again. Time for giving and receiving joy, hope, charity, good tidings and, of course, gifts. This year, S and I have picked 12 (well, actually 16, but 4 are in the same category) wonderful gifts ranging from the very affordable to the uber-splurge that we love (own) and highly recommend. And–as we did two years ago, when we first started posting our holiday gift guide–we’ve picked 12 things to signify the 12 days of Christmas. So, happy holidays and happy shopping. (Note that most titles below also a hyperlink to the product or brand.)

1. Eva Solo Fridge Carafe
I personally adore these fridge carafes. The neoprene cases come in 5 brilliant colors (black, red, yellow, blue and green). They’re perfect for keeping your water, juice, milk or other liquids cool. And they look sexy and feel luxurious. They’re also designed perfectly. They sit upright in most fridge door shelves and the rubber stopper keeps your liquids fresh. The bottle has a flip-top lid that helps prevent spillage if you’ve added ice cubes into the carafe for some super cooling.

2. Baccarat Glasses
S is currently obsessed with collecting (thankfully, collecting slowly) Baccarat glasses. Last year, we spent a week in December in Osaka, Japan. While there, we had drinks a few times at B Bar, a stunning Baccarat-owned cocktail bar (it also has branches in Tokyo). All drinks, as you can imagine, are served in gorgeous Baccarat glasses. Since then, S has been determined to have her own collection of cool Baccarat crystal to serve cocktails in. Buy your Baccarat both old and new. While the one on the left is brand new, we bought the one on the right (a vintage Rohan tumbler) on eBay ridiculously cheaply.

3. Black Solstice plastic cocktail shakers from Habitat Bangkok
To help you make those drinks that you are going to serve in those chic Baccarat galsses, you’ll need a couple of cocktail shakers. While it’s great to have one stunning silver one, I find that it’s also very useful to have several cheaper ones lying around. That way, you can make several drinks at one time. These black plastic shakers from Habitat in Bangkok are less then US$5 a piece (on sale that is, they are normally priced at US$10), which makes them perfect for either hoarding at home or giving to friends.

4. Cusipro silicone baking spatula with stainless steel handle
S believes these are the very best spatulas she’s ever used. First, of course, is the silicone, which is heat-resistant, non-stick and a breeze to clean. It also makes this spatula super efficient at scraping every last bit of cake batter from your mixing bowl. Then there’s the great design, the sexy metal handle and all the colors you can choose from (ours is from a couple of seasons back). This is not just a great gift but a kitchen-essential. In Singapore, get your Cuisipro products direct from the distributor, Razorsharp.

5. KitchenAid Stand Mixer
Sure, it’s expensive. But doesn’t your loved one deserve only the very best? The KitchenAid Stand Mixer is THE mixer, the standard by which all other mixers are measured (and the only one your loved one really wants anyway). The fact that it looks amazing and comes in a variety of colors only makes this incredible kitchen-tool that much sexier.

6. Microplane Rotary 39000 Series grater
S and I have tested a lot of graters over the years. And the one we’ve come to love the most is this rotary grater (we’re onto our second one, and this is truly a new and improved version). The easy to use handle makes grating mountains of the fluffiest shavings of cheese the simplest task in the world. Where we used to argue about who would get stuck grating the cheese for pasta dishes and other foods, now we both volunteer for the duty. The 39000 Series grater comes with two blades for grating different kinds of foods. S also loves it because it can be adapted for left-handed use. In Singapore, you can purchase Microplane products from Ruiter Far East. Email heng@ruiter.com.sg.

7. Teastick by Gamila
Some of the coolest things come in very small packages. S and I love Gamila’s teastick for its size, design and usefulness. The tiny stainless steel tea-steeping tool is slim and sexy. To make a cup of tea, slide open the tea stick, pack your tea in, slide it shut and slip your teastick into a cup of very hot water. When done, remove. The water flows through perforated holes in your teastick, but the leaves stay trapped inside. It’s also easy to wash and dry. And at US$18, you can easily afford to have several, a couple for home, one for travel and one for the office.

8. Some very special books
It’s no secret that S and I love books. Here are 4 that we think make great stocking stuffers this year.

Ashley by Heng San San
Singaporean Heng San San lost her daughter Ashley two years ago. This beautiful child was just seven years old; she was five when she was diagnosed with malignant tumors in her brain. This moving children’s book, illustrated gorgeously by Ximena of Lobster Squad, talks about Ashley and her love for food, how she got sick and then how she came to terms with both her illness and her religious beliefs. This is a very beautiful book. San San self-published it and is selling copies at just S$25. Further, all proceeds are going to a children’s charity in the Philippines. To buy a copy, contact San San at bookashley@gmail.com.

Happy Now! by Karen Yeo
The story behind this book is also pretty moving. A little while ago, a lovely old woman named Lee Kim Wah was conned of her entire life savings. She had worked for most of her life as a nanny and housekeeper. Karen Yeo was one of the persons who Ms Lee helped raise. When she learned about what happened, she tried to help her get her money back and the conmen arrested, eventually to no avail. Trying to find a way to help Ms Lee get back on her feet, Ms Yeo and some friends decided to produce a cookbook of Ms Lee’s recipes. Friends had always said that her homecooked Singaporean and Malaysian food was some of the best they’d ever eaten. All the proceeds from sales of this book are being given to Ms Lee. To purchase, please go here.

Wine Dinners: Pairing Asian Flavours with Bordeaux Wines by NK and Melina Yong
Dr NK Yong is one of Asia’s most famous wine collectors. His wife Melina is a legendary cook. Over the past two to three decades, these two have been instrumental in introducing fine wine to Asia and in introducing Asia to winemakers from around the world. This is their first book, a small volume that presents 12 wine dinners, each focused on the wines of a very special Chateau in Bordeaux. This book is also special to me as S was the book’s co-author. Wine Dinners is currently only available at bookstores in Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia and through Swindon’s in Hong Kong. Melina is also auctioning off a private cooking class at the Miele Active Kitchen in Singapore to raise funds for the Children Cancer Foundation. The reserve price for the entire session for 10 people (including a four-course meal with wines) is $3,888. Interested donors are invited to submit their bids (along with their full names and contact details) to Cheryl Yuen at cheryl.yuen@miele.com.sg.

In the Land of Cocktails by Ti Adelaide Martin and Lally Brennan
This lovely little tome is written by cocktail divas, Ti Adelaide Martin and Lally Brennan, proprietors of the legendary New Orleans restaurant Commander’s Palace. It is naughty and nice, and filled with great cocktail history and recipes that will inspire you to re-introduce the cocktail hour (as it was first practised) into your social calendar.

9. Indonique teas
Indonique Tea & Chai operated a cafe and wholesale busines on Magazine Street in New Orleans prior to Hurricane Katrina. During this horrific storm, the whole business was literally destroyed. Since then, owners Daya and George Constance have moved to Connecticut and re-opened their business. As you can imagine, it’s been tough. Please support this couple as they try to get their feet on the ground again. Their Indian teas are excellent and by buying from them, you’re helping a very worthy enterprise.

10. 1995 Les Echansons from Mailly Grand Cru Champagne
What’s the holiday season without Champagne? This season, I’m drinking a classic Champagne from a classic house. The 1995 Les Echansons from Mailly Grand Cru is simply beautiful. And, for all Singaporean readers, I have arranged a special deal in case you want some for yourself or to send to a friend. This Champagne is normally priced at S$195. I have arranged with the distributor, Estima, to make 14 parcels of 3 bottles available at S$420 nett (including free delivery). That is a savings of S$165. Again, only 14 parcels are available, so act fast. Email eric@estima.com.sg to place your order.

11. Louis Vuitton European City Guide 2008
I am addicted to these city guides and buy every edition every year religiously. They’re beautifully designed, surprisingly well-researched and just plain cool to have, look at and touch. Every global nomad will love this amazing box set.

12. Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX2
I’ve written before how much I love this little but powerful point and shoot. With easy to use programmes, optional manual controls and a Leica lens, this is the best, small travel camera I’ve found to date. Give it to your favourite shutterbug and make his or her year.

Appreciating meat loaf

Despite being both Singaporean, S and I had very different up-bringings. My family moved to New York City when I was two years old. When I was twelve, we moved to Washington DC. When I graduated high school, I returned to Singapore for two years after which I moved back to NYC to go to college. My childhood summers were usually spent in North America or Europe; Singapore was a tad far and my father’s employers only covered the costs of one home visit every three years. S, on the other hand, grew up almost entirely in Singapore. Her family spent a couple years in the UK when she was a toddler but the majority of her formative years were spent in the Lion City. After finishing junior college, she went to university in Australia.

Despite being raised in very different places, when we first started dating, we discovered that we shared many beliefs and cultural norms. That, we expect, is due less to where we lived as children and more to do with our respective parents. But because we did grow up in different countries, we grew up eating some very different foods. Some of the foods that I grew up loving most, S had either never tasted or had only ever eaten poor versions of. It was only natural then that when I waxed lyrically about the dishes that fell into the latter category, S could only shake her head, unable to comprehend my hunger or love for them.

One such dish is meat loaf. I love meat loaf. S, on the other hand, had only eaten a couple of versions and all of them awful. When I asked her about them, what she described sounded vile — overcooked, grey hunks of tasteless minced beef. That, any one who has ever tucked into the real thing, will tell you is crap. A properly made meat loaf should be full of flavour. While you should be able to slice it, it mustn’t be too dry. It has to retain some of the juices from the various meats that went into making it. It should have a yummy crust, dark and slightly sticky from being glazed generously.

A healthy slice from a great meat loaf, served with mashed potatoes and slathered with gravy, makes for an amazing meal. When I was in university, I used to frequently dine at a little restaurant called Camille’s, on the corner of 116th Street and Amsterdam Avenue. Camille’s served a range of classic Italian and American dishes. Their turkey meat loaf was outstanding. Whenever it was available — it was always a lunch special — I would have it. I simply couldn’t get enough of it.

Because I really wanted S to appreciate my love of this simple American classic (and since we’d yet to find a good one in town), I decided that my only recourse was to make one for her. I had recently been given the The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook by a friend as a birthday present. The book is a treasure-trove of American, and specifically Southern, classics. The Lee brothers’ meat loaf recipe, which they admit was given to them by their sister (when they were all living together in Harlem, hence the name of the recipe), sounded delicious. I liked that they used Italian sausage stuffing and chopped pickles. The latter especially would give the meat loaf an interesting and exciting flavour accent. I also liked the glaze — a simple mixture of ketchup, Tabasco and Worcestershire that I knew would work well together. The recipe also sounded easy enough to make in a relatively short amount of time. Perfect for throwing together late one night in order to eat the next day — the Lees suggest storing the meat loaf in the fridge overnight in order to bind and accentuate its flavours.

As promised, the meat loaf was a breeze to make. I fed it to S and one of her cousins. Thankfully, they both loved it. I have to admit I was rather worried that S would take one bite, spit it out and go, “blech!” But she not only polished off the slice I served her, but also went back into the kitchen for seconds.

Harlem Meat Loaf
Feeds 4 hungry people
Adapted from a recipe in The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook

450g ground beef, chuck or sirloin
225g meat from Italian sausages
3/4 cup ketchup
1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
4 teaspoons Tabasco sauce
1/2 cup chopped sour dill pickles
1 large onion, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1/2 cup flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 175 degrees Celsius.

Place the minced beef and the sausage meat into a large, wide bowl. The Lee brothers recommended using sweet Italian sausages. I couldn’t find any at my local butcher and instead used spicy Italian sausages, which worked splendidly for me. Break the meat up into golf-ball sized hunks in the bowl. In a second bowl, whisk 1/2 cup ketchup with 1 tablespoon Worcestershire and 2 teaspoons Tabasco. Pour this over your meat.

Using the same bowl, mix your pickles, onion, garlic and parsley. Then scatter this over the meat mixture. Sprinkle the bread crumbs evenly over it. Then add the egg and salt. Using your hands, mix the ingredients well, until evenly blended.

Transfer the mixture to a 9inch x 13inch roasting pan and pat it into a compact loaf. Bake this for 35 minutes on the middle rack of your oven.

Whisk the remaining 1/4 cup ketchup, 2 teaspoons Worcestershire and 1 teaspoon Tabasco together in a small bowl. Brush the glaze generously over the top of the meat loaf. Try and use up all of the glaze. Pop the meat loaf back in the oven for another 15 minutes. The glaze should darken and stiffen. Let the meat loaf rest for 10 minutes before slicing or, more preferably, place it in the fridge for 24 hours before eating. If you do the latter, tent the pan with aluminum foil. To reheat, pop it in an oven heated to 140 degrees Celsius for 30 minutes or so.

Roast whole suckling pig

I know this post is going to offend some readers. So, I’m placing this little warning here. If you’re among that part of the population that doesn’t condone the cooking and eating of cute, baby animals, please don’t scroll down. If, however, like S and me, you live to eat and absolutely love the idea of tucking into a gorgeously roasted suckling pig, keep reading.

It’s no secret that both S and I love pork. It is most definitely my favourite meat. A healthy portion of the recipes found on this site are pig-dishes. And when S and I recently combed through the two leather-bound books in which we archive our menus, we discovered, not too surpisingly, that we almost always serve at least one pork dish when entertaining.

Over our years together, we’ve prepared pork in many different ways. And while we’ve long considered ourselves pretty pig-proficient, there was always one style–one rather amazing dish–that we would often talk about but never got around to making. Truth be told, I always found the idea of roasting our own suckling pig hugely daunting.

I’m not sure why, but I had always assumed that preparing a roasted, whole suckling pig would be incredibly difficult, time-consuming and complex. The idea, quite simply, scared me. It’s the kind of dish you could eat in a restaurant but not the kind of thing you’d make for a Sunday lunch. Then S came home with a copy of Fergus Henderson’s Beyond Nose to Tail: More Omnivorous Recipes for the Adventurous Cook and declared that we should attempt his amusingly worded Roast Whole Suckling Pig recipe.

What S and I discovered is that roasting a piglet is one of the easiest things we’ve ever done in our kitchen. The hardest part, in fact, was getting over how cute the raw piglet was. Our suckling pig was delivered frozen. It was wrapped tightly in plastic with its front trotters tucked under its chin. When we unwrapped it, it rather pathetically sat on our counter top, looking more like a sleeping pet than a future meal.

Prepping one’s piglet is easy. We were, admitedly, lucky. Our pig came gutted and cleaned. Our only chore was removing its kidneys, setting them aside for our stuffing, and salting the beast inside and out. To supplement Fergus’ recipe (which is entertaining but rather low on details) we also consulted the very detailed, illustrated notes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume Two.

Making Henderson’s stuffing took just 20 minutes. It is essentially a confit of red onions and red wine, mixed with stale bread, the pig’s kidneys and some herbs. While we enjoyed it, S has decided that when we next roast another pig, she’ll substitute Henderson’s stuffing for a more Asian glutinous rice mixture studded with shitake mushrooms, chestnuts, dried shrimp, dark soy sauce and salted duck egg yolks (like a rice dumpling or bak chang).

We decided to slow-roast our little piggy for just under 4 hours. It came out beautifully. We were thrilled. The skin was crisp, thin and easy to both cut and bite into. The meat was flavourful, tender and moist. It was fantastic. We served our suckling pig with some asparagus (simply blanched and then seasoned with sea salt and pepper) and a rich, sinful gratin dauphinois spiked with Comte and Beaufort D’Alpage. With all this, we offered our friends the choice between a lovely, light, sweet and zingy Gralyn Racy Red wine and a yummy, slightly savoury and refreshing Weihenstephan wheat beer.

Roast Whole Suckling Pig
inspired by a recipe from Beyond Nose to Tail: More Omnivorous Recipes for the Adventurous Cook
by Fergus Henderson and Justin Piers Gellatly

1 small suckling pig, gutted and cleaned, with the kidneys left within
olive oil
sea salt and black pepper

Stuffing
4 red onions
a dollop of duck fat
375ml red wine
kidneys of the pig, chopped
1/2 loaf of day-old white bread, cubed
2 cloves of garlic, peeled and crushed
8 sage leaves, chopped

A day before cooking, salt and pepper your piglet liberally (we used around 6 tablespoons of salt), both inside and out, and place it uncovered on a wire rack, over a tray, and into your fridge. You want it to be cool and dry.

Cook the red onions in duck fat over low heat until the onions are soft. Pour in the red wine. Let this simmer and reduce until the mixture becomes a yummy, dark red confit. If you find that the onions are becoming a tad dry but aren’t soft enough, you can add a little bit of water to the pan and keep cooking. Add the chopped-up kidneys to the mix. Then add pieces of bread and stir well. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Take off the heat and add the garlic and sage. Set aside until cool to the touch.

When ready, stuff your piglet. Turn your piglet over onto its back and fill the cavity with the stuffing. Sew as much of your piglet shut as you can. I used kitchen twine and a large needle and was able to sew up about two-thirds of its front.

Preheat your oven with the fan on to 150 degrees Celsius. If you don’t have a fan function, heat to 160 degrees Celsius.

Lightly oil a roasting pan or oven tray and place your piglet on it, “sphinx-like”, i.e. belly down, with its legs close to but on the side of the body. Shove a small ball of aluminium foil into the piglet’s mouth. Also wrap the piggy’s ears in foil. Rub a healthy amount of olive oil all over the piglet’s back and sprinkle a little more sea salt over it. Pop it into your oven and roast for between 3 hours 30 minutes to 4 hours. We roasted ours for 3 hours 40 minutes and then turned off the heat in our oven, but left the fan on, and left it inside for another 30 minutes. Note, if you don’t have a fan-assisted oven, you may want to spin your pan around after about 2 hours.

Your pig’s skin should be crisp and the meat tender and moist. Carve it at the table or inside your kitchen. Enjoy!

Crab cakes with green chilli mayo

Last weekend, S and I hosted several friends for dinner. Our menu consisted of a few old favourites and a few new ones. We started our dinner with Teage Ezard‘s crab cakes with green chilli mayonnaise. This was followed by sakura ebi pasta, and then a pan-fried snapper fillet served with laksa sauce, shelled edamame and young asparagus. Our main course was the pork kakuni with scallop porridge I wrote about earlier this week. And for dessert, S made an espresso-orange panna cotta with coffee gelee that I loved.

S and I both love crab cakes. Our all-time favourite recipe comes from the seminal Chez Panisse Cooking. But for this dinner, we were really excited to try something new. Other Ezard recipes that we’ve made before have all turned out really well. I like how he manages to combine Eastern and Western flavours with flair and finesse. These crab cakes are less like their loose, fluffy American counterparts than they are like Thai fishcakes. They are compact and firm. And they’re very, very tasty. Ezard pairs his crab cakes with a green chilli mayonnaise. While it was nice, I actually think this would be nicer with a little creme fraiche and Thai sweet chilli sauce (a la Peter Gordon‘s famous scallop salad).

So long as you can get good quality crab, this is a relatively easy and rewarding dish to prepare. With a glass of Champagne (we served a stunning Vouette et Sorbee Blanc D’Argile), they make an excellent first course or hors d’ouevre.

Crab cakes with green chilli mayonnaise
adapted from a recipe in Lotus by Teage Ezard

Makes 18 small crab cakes

Crab cakes
1 live mud crab weighing at least 1.3kg (2lb 10oz) or several fresh blue swimmer crans equal to the same weight
1 large red capsicum
1/2 tablespoon olive oil
600g (1lb 3oz) white fish fillets (such as whiting or john dory), skinned, boned and roughly chopped
1 egg
1 teaspoon white sugar
1/2 large red onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
750ml vegetable oil
a little sliced ginger and spring onion

Kill the crab quickly and humanely. Chop it up and steam it until the flesh is just tender and the shells are bright red. We steam our crab with a little sliced ginger and spring onion in our Miele steam oven (a Godsend) for 10 minutes. Let your crab cool and peel it, setting aside the yummy flesh. You’ll need 250g (8oz) of meat for this recipe. Refrigerate or freeze the rest for a rainy day.

Preheat your oven to 200 degrees Celsius (400 degrees F). Brush the capsicum with olive oil and roast until the skin begins to blister (10-15 minutes). When cool enough to handle, peel the skin and scrape out the seeds. Finely chop the flesh.

Place the fish fillets, egg and sugar in a food processor and blend until the mixture is firm and sticky (around 3 minutes). This helps the cakes to hold together. Scoop mixture into a bowl and fold through the crab meat, capsicum, onion, lemon juice, fish sauce and Worcestershire and roll the mix into 18 even-sized balls. Press the balls flat into squat discs and chill until needed.

Mayonnaise
1/2 tablespoon caraway seeds, lightly roasted
1/2 tablespoon coriander seeds, lightly roasted
7 long green chillies, seeded and roughly chopped
250ml (8 fl oz) vegetable oil
1 cup baby spinach leaves, washed and dried
1 egg yolk
1.5 tablespoons white vinegar
1 teaspoon dijon mustard
1/2 cup coriander leaves
1/2 cup mint
250ml (8 fl oz) olive oil

Grind the caraway and coriander seeds to a fine powder using a mortar and pestle. Sieve to remove the husks. Pound the chillies into a paste. Set the powder and paste aside.

Heat 250ml of vegetable oil in a wok to 180 degrees C (350 degrees F) and fry the spinach leaves until crisp. Drain on paper towel.

Place the spice powder, chilli paste, spinach, egg yolk, vinegar, mustard, coriander and mint leaves in a food processpr. Blend to a smooth puree. Slowly add the olive oil until the mixture emulsifies and thickens.

To Serve
Heat 750ml vegetable oil in a wok to 180 degrees C (350 degrees F). Fry the crab cakes in batches until crisp and golden. Drain on paper towel and serve them with the mayo.

Pork kakuni with scallop porridge

One of the nicest things about running a relatively popular food blog is that from time to time, S and I will get emails from publishers, asking us if we would be interested in receiving copies of some of their new cookbooks. Regular readers know that S and I are both cookbook lovers. With a library of over 500 volumes, our shelves are literally over-burderned with tasty texts. We’ve actually reached a point where the wall of shelves that we had dedicated and had once believed sufficient for our collection is stuffed to breaking point — literally. A few weeks back, one of the shelves, and not by coincidence one that had been double-stuffed with huge heavy volumes, gave way. Now, we have cookbooks stacked in our bedroom, in S’ office, and on our small but fortunately sturdy coffee table. Still, we keep on collecting books, voraciously buying new works on a monthly if not weekly basis. So, of course, if someone wants to send us a book (that we actually intended to buy already), we’re not going to say no.

Of course, food bloggers are different from newspaper or magazine journalists (which S and I have also been). When a cookbook is delivered to the average editorial department of a printed publication, an editor or writer will most often be tasked to “review” it. That usually means a quick look at the author’s bio, the book’s pictures, recipes, and (of course) the accompanying press release. Based on this brief examination, a short review is generated and run as soon as possible (printed publications like to be the first to break any news to their readers). Food bloggers, however, are different. They actually cook from these books, testing recipes and making honest commentary on whether they work or not. They will also often reprint one or more of the recipes in these works, with annotations, revisions or suggestions. Over the few years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve come to admire many of my peers, who spend countless (unpaid) hours testing recipes, photographing the results and posting their often very articulate opinions for the world to read. Some of my favourite posts include Nicky and Oliver’s review of The Silver Spoon, Melissa’s thoughts on In a Cajun Kitchen, Clement’s ultra-detailed review of Bouchon and S’ own review of Kitchen Sense (but really, that’s only because I got to eat the results of her tests).

While I’m happy to get a free cookbook in the mail, I make no promises. With my schedule, there’s no telling when I’ll actually have time read it, let alone cook from it. Sometimes, the books will sit on a shelf for weeks, gathering dust. Others S and/or I keep returning to, trying to find an excuse to cook something from it. One book that we recently received and that we were very eager to cook from was Morimoto: The New Art of Japanese Cooking, published by DK. While neither of us have actually eaten at any of this celebrated chef’s restaurants, like the rest of the foodie world, we’ve heard lots about him.

The book is large, gorgeously photographed and chock full of some really interesting recipes and ideas. I really want to try making Morimoto’s lobster and foie gras balls; his squid strawberry ice candy; red miso souffle; eggplant shigiyaki; and beef belly tartare. The recipes are also very clearly written and each one is introduced with a short, personal note. One recipe in particular, a pork kakuni (slow-braised pork belly) served with scallop porridge, really made my mouth water. S, who is as into pork belly as I am, agreed that this would be the first dish we cooked from Morimoto’s book.

While this dish looks simple, there’s a lot going on here and you need to start your preparations way in advance. The pork is cooked for 8 hours, then cooled for 8 hours, then cooked for another 2. The rice for the porridge has to be soaked overnight in (home-made) spring onion oil. The results, though, are fabulous and well-worth the time spent making this. Morimoto’s technique of braising his pork with water and brown rice was new to both of us. The rice acted as a tenderizer and made the pork heart-breakingly tender. By soaking the rice in oil overnight, then cooking it with dried scallops and stock, the porridge was bursting with interesting and powerful flavours. Honestly, I could have eaten it by itself, without the pork, and have been satisfied.

This dish has immediately become one of my favourites. And because the recipe worked so well, I predict this book is one that we’ll turn to whenever we entertain. Hopefully, the other recipes will be as easy to follow and the results as delicious as this first one we’ve tried.

Pork Kakuni with Scallop Congee
adapted from Morimoto: The New Art of Japanese Cooking and revised by S
Serves 4

PORK
1 tbs vegetable oil
900g boneless pork belly (we used Kurobuta)
1 1/2 cups brown rice (we used short-grain)
1 3/4 cups sake
1/4 Japanese soy sauce
2 tablespoons sugar

Preheat the oven to 120 degrees Celsius (240 degrees Fahrenheit). Heat the oil in a large flameproof casserole large enough to hold the pork over medium-high heat. Sear the pork belly, skin side down, until golden brown (abt 5 min). Turn over and sear the other side. Remove and pour away the fat in the casserole.

Return the pork belly to the casserole. Sprinkle the brown rice around the meat (we found that the rice grains resting on the top of the pork belly dried out during the cooking process and got stuck). Add enough water to cover the pork by an inch and bring to a simmer over high heat. Cover and transfer to the oven. Braise gently until the pork is tender (Morimoto recommends 8 hours). We left the pork in the oven for 5 hours, then switched it off and left it in the oven overnight. Uncover and let the pork cool for a couple of hours in the cooking liquid (we skipped this since the pork was cool enough to touch when we removed it from the oven the following day). Discard the rice and cooking liquid. Cover and refrigerate the pork belly for at least 8 hours, or up to 2 days.

Cut the pork crosswise into 4 pieces about 6cm wide. In a heavy medium saucepan, mix the sake, soy sauce, and sugar with 4 cups of water and bring the the mixture to a boil over high heat (stir to dissolve the sugar). Add the pieces of pork belly and reduce the heat. Partially cover the pan and simmer until the pork is very tender (about 2hrs).

Carefully transfer the pieces of pork onto a plate (they will be very delicate) and cover with foil to keep warm. Strain the cooking liquid and reduce it down to 1 cup.

SCALLOP CONGEE
1/4 cup Japanese short-grain rice
2 tablespoons spring onion oil
2 dried scallops
1 3/4 cups chicken stock (preferably home-made)
sea salt to taste

SPRING ONION OIL
1 cup vegetable oil
2.5 cm piece of fresh young ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
1 small onion, peeled and sliced
6 spring onions, green part only, cut in 2.5 cm lengths

To prepare the spring onion oil, combine all the ingredients in a small saucepan. Set over medium heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion slices turn a rich golden colour (10 to 15 mins).

Strain, discarding the solids. Let the oil cool before using. This can be stored at room temperature for 2 to 3 weeks.

To prepare the congee, rinse the rice until the water runs clear. Drain well. Transfer the rice into a small bowl, add the spring onion oil and toss to mix well. Cover with plastic wrap and let the rice stand at room temperature for at least 8 hours or overnight.

Soak the scallops in warm water for 20 mins. Drain and flake them.

Combine the oil-coated rice, flaked scallops, chicken stock and 1 3/4 cups water in a heavy-bottomed pan. Bring to a boil over high heat, stirring often. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered, stirring often until the rice breaks down into porridge (about 45 mins). Seasons with salt to taste and serve hot.

CRISPY BURDOCK
Juice of 1 lemon
1 burdock root (about 225g)
vegetable oil for deep frying
coarse salt to taste

Combine some cold water and the lemon juice in a medium bowl. With a vegetable peeler, remove the skin of the burdock (it may be easier to first cut the root in half). Use the peeler to create long ribbons of root and drop them into the water.

Preheat 2cm of oil in a deep fryer or deep saucepan to 170 degrees Celsius (340 degrees Fahrenheit). Drain the burdock strips and dry them well. Deep fry until golden brown (about 2 to 3 mins).

Remove the crispy burdock and drain on paper towels. Season with coarse salt.

TO SERVE
minced spring onions for garnish

Since we prepared the pork earlier and it wasn’t warm when we wanted to serve it, we steamed the pieces for 10 minutes to re-heat. Spoon some scallop congee into four bowls. Top each with a piece of pork and some of the reduced sauce. Garnish with crispy burdock and minced spring onions. Serve immediately.

Mango sorbet & coconut ice cream

When we were in Jakarta two weeks ago, some lovely friends of ours gave us a boxful of mangga gedong (which happened to be in season) to take home with us. While mangga harum manis is famously sweet, the relatively smaller mangga gedong packs a heady punch. It is not only sweet and juicy, but irresistibly perfumed. The ripe fruit has vibrant, orange skin and flesh, and smells simply heavenly. We shared the bulk of our stash with friends and ate as many as we could just chilled and sliced. But at the end of a week, we were still left with over half a dozen delightfully ripe fruit. Inspired by Keiko’s gorgeous post (and the blistering heat), I decided to use our mangoes in a sorbet.

David Lebovitz’s recipe in The Perfect Scoop (a tome I have raved about previously) is fabulously simple. I will give an adapted and abbreviated description of it below, but I highly recommend buying the book — especially since the toasted coconut ice cream he suggests that we pair the sorbet with is absolutely divine. I can’t think of a better way of capturing the gastronomic glory of ripe mangga gedong. The sorbet tastes like smooth spoonfuls of frozen fruit and dazzles with its brazen tropical hue. I’m tempted to serve it in a glass of icy cold Prosecco or with a shot of kaffir lime-infused vodka.

As for the coconut ice cream, its subtle coconut flavour comes from infusing milk and cream with toasted, unsweetened dried shredded coconut (I used some from Bob’s Red Mill). A vanilla pod and splashes of homemade vanilla extract (a treasured gift from our dear friend Melissa) give it an added depth and dimension. Best of all, the French style (or custard-based) ice cream doesn’t taste overly rich or heavy. It is now my favourite coconut ice cream recipe! Now, if I can locate a website that will deliver a wooden cone-rolling form to Singapore, I’ll try out David’s ice cream cone recipe.

Mango Sorbet
Adapted from A Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz
Makes 1 litre

1kilogram peeled and deseeded ripe mangoes, roughly diced
130grams sugar
160millilitres water (I used Fiji Water because it tastes so clean)
8 teaspoons freshly squeezed kalamansi juice (This is a lime indigenous to the Philippines. It has a distinct sweet tartness to it.)
2 tablespoons dark rum
Pinch of salt

Combine the ingredients in a blender and puree until smooth (add more lime juice and/or rum to taste). Chill the mixture then freeze it in your ice cream machine.

Do you moo shoo?

For a good chunk of my life, I’ve harbored a secret. It’s something my wife is pretty disgusted by, something that few friends here in Singapore sympathize with or even understand. But I know there are others out there like me, others that share my hidden shame. Some are even more passionate about it than I am. Those people indulge this vice regularly while for me, it was always an occasional tryst… something that always satisfied me yet also made me feel just a tad ashamed of myself.

But enough is enough. If there is one thing I’ve learned in my life is that there’s absolutely no point pretending to be something that you’re not. And so, I’ve decided to simply come clean and say to the world a few simple but pretty shocking words.

I actually like American-Chinese food.

Well, not all of it mind you. I’ll never understand or appreciate what Americans call “Singapore Noodles” and I find beef and broccoli pretty bland and boring. But I do enjoy my fair share of a cuisine that my darling food-writer wife, who grew up in Singapore, refuses to acknowledge as real Chinese food. I like and have eaten over the years a substantial amount of General Tso’s chicken, cold sesame noodles, eggplant in hot garlic sauce, lemon chicken, sesame chicken, kung pao chicken, and shrimp lo mein. (Note that I’m saying “like”, not “love”. While I do enjoy and even occasionally crave these MSG-rich dishes, I would never go so far as to actually say that I love them.)

Another dish that I enjoy is moo shoo pork, served with pancakes of course. The first time I told this to S, she actually burst out laughing. Not only had she never eaten the dish, she didn’t think that anyone with any taste would ever voluntarily seek it out. I think for quite a while she was pretty freaked out that she had actually married someone who would. Fortunately (for me), she got over it. That didn’t stop her, however, from making fun of my moo shoo madness for the longest time.

A couple years ago, S picked up a book by American-Chinese food-writer Grace Young called The Breath of a Wok. As I’ve written before, we have a ludicrous number of cookbooks. And while we try our best to look through and use as many of our books as possible, there are a few that S might look at but that I’ll forget about and vice-versa. Young’s The Breath of a Wok is one such work. While S has poured over several of the recipes in it, I only opened it for the first time last week. Imagine my surprise and excitement when I flipped the book open and found a recipe for “Virginia Yee’s Moo Shoo Pork with Mandarin Pancakes”. If you can do that, now try and imagine S’s groans of sheer fright and horror when I announced that I was whipping up a batch for dinner!

To her credit, she was a complete trooper. After several hours of pleading, she agreed to help out, taking on the difficult task of making the dough for the pancakes. And at the end of our meal, I was pleased as punch that she actually admitted that she enjoyed her very first moo shoo pork platter. Of course, I should say that Young’s recipe yields a substantially healthier and more flavourful version than anything I’ve ever had before.

Moo Shoo Pork
Adapted from Grace Young’s The Breath of a Wok
Serves 4

1/3 cup cloud ears
5 dried shiitake mushrooms
45g dried cellophane noodles
230g pork butt/shoulder
3.5 teaspoons soy sauce
1.5 tablespoon Hoisin sauce
2.5 teaspoons Shao Hsing rice wine
2 teaspoons cornstarch
3/4 teaspoons sugar
pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 slices ginger
2 scallions, diced
1.5 cups shredded cabbage
1/2 cup cup canned shredded bamboo shoots
1 tablespoon sesame oil

Soak the cloud ears in cold water for 30 minutes or until soft. Drain, trim away the hard parts and cut the rest into shreds. Set aside. In a separate bowl, soak the shiitake mushrooms in 1/2 cup of cold water for 30 minutes. Drain, reserving 1/4 cup of the soaking liquid. Squeeze the mushrooms dry, discard the stems and cut the caps into fine shreds. Set aside. In another bowl, submerge the cellophane noodles in cold water and soak for 15 minutes. Drain and cut into 3 inch pieces.

Cut the pork into small “matchstick” pieces. Put the pork into a bowl and add 1 teaspoon of the soy sauce, 1/2 teaspoon of the Shao Hsing, 1 teaspoon of the cornstarch, 1/2 tablespoon of the Hoisin, 1/4 teaspoon of the sugar, and a pinch of pepper. Stir to combine. In a small bowl, combine the salt, and the remaining 2.5 teaspoons of soy sauce, 2 teaspoons Shao Hsing, 1 teaspoon cornstarch, 1 tablespoon Hoisin, 1/2 teaspoon sugar, and the reserved mushroom liquid. Set aside.

Heat a well-seasoned flat-bottomed wok or large fry pan over high heat. Swirl in the vegetable oil, add the ginger and cook it for 10 seconds. Then remove the ginger and throw it away. Add the scallions and shiitake mushrooms and stir-fry for 1 minute. Push the scallion mixture to the side and add the pork, spreading it evenly. Cook for 20 seconds undisturbed. Then stir-fry for 1-2 minutes.

Add the cloud ears, cabbage and bamboo shoots. Stir-fry 1-2 minutes or until cabbage is tender. Add the cellophane noodles and stir-fry just to combine. Stir the cornstarch mixture into the pork until the sauce has thickened and the noodles are cooked through, about 1-2 minutes. Stir in the sesame oil.

These are to be eaten with Mandarin pancakes. The Breath of a Wok has a fantastic recipe for making exceptional pancakes. For the recipe, please buy the book.

Fave recipes: Lentils a la Balthazar

lentils2.jpg

I remember when Keith McNally opened Balthazar. It was the Spring of 1997. And even though I was no longer living in New York, word of this ultra-hip, retro-chic, uber-trendy and neo-traditional French bistro reached me in Hong Kong. The NY press went wild over SoHo’s hottest new restaurant, dedicating several column inches to cover its opening. Several friends also emailed me, telling me about it while also very slyly asking if, perhaps, I had or knew anyone who had Balthazar’s secret reservation phone number. You see, when this very sexy bistro first opened, they had an interesting reservations policy. Basically, as far as the public knew, they didn’t have one. Which meant, given the typical New York frenzy among punters to be among the first to try any new restaurant, you could end up waiting from around 1-2 hours for a table. Fortunately, the bar was long and the drinks good, so waiting for your table also meant getting sloshed while also chatting up fellow patrons. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Now, here’s the kicker. Balthazar did indeed take reservations. But you had to have their very special reservation number, which was only given out to a handful of very carefully selected and cool people, and which most of these people guarded preciously. Armed with this number, you could call, get a table and then walk in without so much as a glance at the throngs of black-clad wannabes elbowing for space at the bar. (Of course, there was an amusing story in which one magazine Editor, who was given the number, decided to print it, which both caused a flood of calls and a forced change of the number… but that’s not my story to tell.)

Fortunately, thanks to some of my parents’ friends who were pretty well-known patrons (i.e. big-spenders) in the NY food scene, I did, in fact, have the phone number. But there was no way I was going to email it to friends unless I was going to be dining with them. Knowing them, they’d pass it around to anyone and everyone they knew. Fortunately, I had made plans to be back in the Big Apple that year and arranged with my buds–some of whom had sucked it up and waited in line for a table–to gather for a feast at Balthazar.

The restaurant blew me away (and still does). While not entirely authentic, it has cool, fantastical retro-French stylings akin to sets in Baz Luhrman’s Moulin Rouge. It was glam, kitsch, sexy, retro, ultra-stylish, loud, crazy, mad, intimate and comforting all at the same time. And the food was good. Very good in fact. After just one meal (with lots and lots of wine), I was a fan. And I’ve tried, on every trip back to New York since, to grab at least one meal there or at its sister restaurant Pastis.

(On a random side note, when a good buddy of mine, who was helping to run the Raffles Hotel here in Singapore, asked me what the hotel should do with its Bar & Billiards Room, I told him immediately, “You should open an ultra-chic bistro just like Balthazar.” Sadly, he didn’t take my advice and opened a pretty blah buffet restaurant instead. But recently, I’ve heard rumours that the management is now considering converting the space into a bistro. If that’s true, I hope they go the Balthazar route and don’t opt for something cheesy and touristy.)

S and I both, in addition to loving the restaurant, also love The Balthazar Cookbook. It’s both a nifty souvenir of one of my favourite restaurants and also filled with good recipes for classic dishes. While we cook from the book frequently, the one item we make the most is a simple lentils side dish, which in the cookbook is prepared to go with a mustard-crusted salmon. We serve it with the salmon dish, of course, but we also serve it with a dozen other things, from roast chicken to lamb chops. It is a great, easy to make side has become something of a constant on our table. We hope you like it as much as we do.

Lentils
Adapted from The Balthazar Cookbook
Serves 4 to 6

1 cup lentils du Puy
2 slices of bacon, finely diced
4 sprigs of thyme
½ medium onion, finely diced
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium carrot, peeled and finely diced
1 celery stalk, finely diced
¼ teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
1 cup chicken stock

Make sure that you prepare all the diced and minced items before you start cooking the lentils. You will need to cook them as the lentils simmer. We find that if we try to prep the ingredients while the lentils simmer, we tend to end up with overcooked lentils and undercooked vegetables. Feel free to ignore this tip if you move with the swiftness of Superman in the kitchen.

Rinse the lentils and place them in a medium saucepan. Cover the lentils with 4 cups of water. Bring the water to a gentle simmer and cook for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat a small saucepan over a medium flame. Place the bacon and thyme in the hot pan and cook until some of the fat has rendered from the bacon (about 2 minutes). Next, add the onion, garlic and salt, and cook until the onion is translucent (about 5 minutes). Add the butter, carrot, celery, white pepper and chicken stock. Bring to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes.

Drain the lentils and return them to the saucepan you cooked them in. Add the bacon-vegetable mixture and simmer gently for 7 to 10 minutes, until the lentils are very tender. We often simmer the dish for a shorter period of time (about 5 minutes) and leave it to stand until we need to serve it. Just before serving, we simply heat the lentils. By slightly undercooking them earlier on, we avoid ending up with mushy lentils when we reheat the dish before serving it.