Ragù Bolognese

If there's one word that you can describe Britain's culinary decrees with, it's stubborn. Don't worry, I don't mean that in such a callous, unpatriotic way- in fact, this capriciousness has plenty of merits: no new-wave, hipster, chia-seed-age foodie can alter a good old steamed syrup sponge or toad in the hole, and that's how it should be. Similarly, we have our own homespun version of what is now called Bolognese, although it really isn't, and it's lovely and makes a great foundation for cottage pie or lasagne, but I've covered them before, and until you try the proper, deep Italy confection, you will not know what ragù Bolognese is truly about.
Real Bolognese is thick, rich, tomato-concentrated and fragrant which is why, as the Italians have always said, you need only a small dollop amongst a steaming bowl of pasta, which shouldn't be spaghetti (accompanying ragu with that is believed to have been conceived in New York), instead go for something denser like penne, although no one said you need pasta at all. I love it in a bowl with some good bread dunked in. For what goes on top, parmesan is traditional but if you want something gooier and more toothsome, go for some sharp cheddar. I don't think Italians would sneer too much at it, because believe it or not English cheddar is growing popular in Italy.
If you want to go ultra authentic, you need three meats, not two. Split the beef with minced pork on top of the pancetta and add 175g chicken livers that have been coarsely chopped and soaked in milk for at least a day to draw out bitterness. All that is an expense and a faff, but by all means go for it if it takes your fancy, however an easier option I often take in meat sauces is to add some lamb liver, finely chopped in with the mince for depth and a bit of vitamin A.
Normally when I say add fresh herbs I mean in the regime of 'only if you've got them in the house' but the fresh basil here is crucial for fragrance and to give a wild coyote call to make the herbs added previously jump into flavoursome action.
What's great about meat sauce is that because it's such a basic staple standby, you can double or even triple this recipe then divide it amongst various plastic bag lined tuppawares and when cool, freeze. When they're solid unmould the bag and keep that in the freezer and save your tuppaware box. From this point you have lasagne and cannelloni galore- all it takes is an overnight fridge thaw.

150g chopped pancetta (you could use regular bacon or lardons here, but don't even think of using back bacon- the fattier streaky is what's needed)
2 small onions, peeled and chopped
2 sticks celery, finely sliced
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
A few sprigs of thyme and rosemary, finely chopped
Pinch of chili flakes
500g minced beef (or 250g minced beef and minced pork)
60g tomato puree
2 x 400g tins chopped tomatoes
200ml water
250ml red wine, port, white wine, dry sherry, whatever's to hand
2 bay leaves
Salt and pepper
Freshly grated nutmeg
125ml single cream
Large bunch of fresh basil, chopped-

In a large, heavy bottomed saucepan heat some olive oil and cook the pancetta until rendered and slightly crispy. Add the vegetables and saute for about 10 minutes, until soft. Add the garlic and thyme and rosemary and then add the beef and cook until brown and crumbled, then add the tomato paste, the alcohol, chopped tomatoes, water (which is just the tomato tin filled halfway and while you're at it, swill the other tin too), bay leaves and chilli flakes.
Leave partially covered on a low heat for a few hours to simmer and reduce.
Season well, do it here so you don't add too much salt before the sauce has reduced and thus concentrated,  with pepper and lots of nutmeg and then ooze in the cream and add the chopped basil, leaving some to sprinkle on top.

A suggestion for Kippers

Writing this in front of this week's episode of Masterchef, displaying an unwavering parade of sugary desserts, I am reminded of how my savoury tastes are so much stronger than any sweet tooth I have.

And that's largely down to fish.

As much as I love, unoriginally, fried cod or plaice, I adore the more maligned but much more salubrious oily fishes- especially the ones that are so unfashionable you can pick them up wrapped in their smelly blanket of clingfilm for less than a pound. Today, that fish is kippers. 

After I picked them up very cheaply from a supermarket shelf and stashed them into the icy depths of my freezer, I researched using solely the masterpiece of Jane Grigson's English Food what to do with them. She suggested either piling them on to toast after cooking them or making a fish paste. Both options sound divine but the former is a little too austere and the latter a little too old fashioned, so I combined the two, and should you do the same this is how it should be undertaken.

Take 75g of really, really good and soft unsalted butter and mix in some salt and pepper, a good tsp of mace and as much fire of chilli powder or cayenne that you want. These are the seasonings Grigson suggests for kipper paste. When well combined, you can either just leave the butter to spread normally onto some toast or go the retro mile and splatter it onto a large piece of cling film, wrap it up like a sausage, and roll it gently and lightly into a rough cylinder. Chill in the freezer for a few minutes after which it will have firmed up and you can shape it into a tighter roll, then place it back in the freezer so it's really solid.

Take two raw and prepared  (gutted and without a backbone) kippers; smoked and the colour of cornflakes, or unsmoked are fine, although I don't think you'll come across a kipper that hasn't been smoked nowadays. Place them in a large Pyrex jug or roasting tin and cover with recently boiled water and cover with a plate or even a lid should your chosen vessel come with one. Leave this for 10 minutes, by which time the fish will be melting and unctuous. This cooking method will also work with many oily fish, bar salmon, such as mackerel and pilchards. 

While that steeps lightly, dress a green salad with balsamic based dressing, unwrap the chilled butter and slice into rounds and warm up some plates- I tend to do this under the grill on a low heat. This is so that the icy butter will soften on the plate before you try and spread it on your toast. We all know that it is soul destroying trying to spread hard butter on soft toast. 

When the fish is done, take the skin off which is easier than you can imagine thanks to this gentle cooking, and flake into rough chunks onto a plate. Any sizable bones can be taken out, but don't lose sleep over tiny ones still left in the flesh. Spritz over some fresh lemon juice and scrunch over some salt and pepper, but only very lightly- you need to taste the fish over anything else. To serve, spread the butter over some wholemeal toast or good crusty bread, and mulch over some fish. Have the optional addition of the the green salad on the side.

Prawn Cocktail

Although I hate reiterating recipes, something needs to be done about prawn cocktail. Recently, perhaps a few months ago, I took a trip with my family to a lovely local gastro-pub called the Boathouse. Yes, this does mean their speciality is fish. However, I came across an atrocity before we even hit drinks- prawn cocktail with 'Bloody Mary' sauce. I have to say I don't want to meet the Bloody Moron who came up with that; how on earth are humble little prawns supposed to stand up against vodka and celery salt? It was this, noticing subsequent restaurants not even offering the beloved starter on their menues; and a read of Nigel Slater's 'Toast' that addresses how magical the dish was in its in heyday that prompted to tell you again how to make a quintessential, though never groundbreaking, prawn cocktail. Isn't the world in enough of a state as is without it being forgotten?
The foundations of a good prawn cocktail is where we start. I've always used iceberg, despite its reputation, and always will, and recommend you always do, too. The starter hales from pre-seventies and iceberg didn't actually appear in British grocery shops until the eighties. What they would have used are little baby gems, roughly shredded. You could do the same, but for me, their slightly rubbery texture is already covered by the prawns and they just don't stay as crisp after being swathed with Mary Rose sauce. Use about a quarter of a small head of iceberg to feed 4-6 and shred it very finely. Then, as if making a comfy nest, line the bottom of some pretty glass bowls or wide glasses with the lettuce. If you insist on going for the little gems, a fabulous touch that deviates outside of tradition, though still comfortably, is to use the leaves of the lettuce as boats and spoon in a delicate pile of prawns in the centre of each bit of lettuce. These can be popped straight in the mouth with no cutlery business.
Next we're onto sauce. I don't need to harp on anymore about how the only sauce a prawn cocktail should ever witness should be Mary Rose. This entails firstly 6 heaping tbsp of mayonnaise or salad cream. Lots of people, people probably more qualified than me, will tell you to make your own mayo. You can if you want, but for 99% of Britain, 6 tbsp mayonnaise means opening a jar of Hellman's, so that's what I do. Next you need 1 tbsp of rich, intense tomato puree. Dollop it in with great aplomb. After that, for a bit of heat, slash in some tabasco which is entirely to taste but obviously go slow-that stuff is vicious. Next you need the juice of just half a lemon for now and then give it all a gentle stir- it doesn't take much for them to amalgamate. The next crucial beyond crucial step is to taste it. Add more lemon, more tabasco, more tomato or more salt if it needs it, but also it's really important to have the confidence to say at this point that it's perfect as it is.
Now for the prawns. This is where people go the most mad. Long-haul imported, thawed, big-toe sized tiger prawns just don't play here as they would in a more new age recipe. Go for fresh water, small, delicate little commas (as I've read them described) and 200g of them; buy them ready cooked from the fridge or freezer section of the supermarket. Fold them into the sauce and then dollop the cocktail into the cluster of prepared lettuce. Finally, for a bit of zazz, sprinkle with sweet smoked prapika or even better for taste and even better to show the light 80s influence on this recipe, lightly crushed pink peppercorns.