The Christmas of 2012 marked a few changes in tradition. Firstly, I would be flexing my culinary muscles by preparing dinner for a family of eight. Secondly, that there was to be no turkey on the table. Dilemma? Well, initially. Although preparing ‘the perfect’ bronzed and juicy turkey reaches a somewhat zealous fervour – what with every celebrity chef ‘helpfully’ proffering the Holy Grail of turkey-handling – the difficulty lay in the compensation. Everybody can appreciate a slice of turkey with a good dollop of gravy – but how does one know whether the new star of the table will hit it off with relatives of varying preferences?
The risk was in the taking, and I made the decision to present a Venison Bourguignon as the tentative star of the show. The supporting cast would comprise an earthy Lentil and Beet salad with goats’ cheese and a dill vinaigrette (see Rachel Khoo’s recipes), a bowl of the classic Brussels sprouts given a face-lift with pancetta and walnuts, and roast winter vegetables to complement the mains.
I have fallen madly in love with Brussels sprouts and I am brimming with excitement at sharing with you just how exactly you can make these under-loved, over-boiled vegetables threaten to overshadow your mains. The steps are simple, and I’ve done a similar version a while back. I will, however, go through the steps again to save you time into digging the archives (though you most certainly could, if for the pictures!)
1. Salt and boil a pot of water that will adequately suit your amount of sprouts. When the water starts to boil enthusiastically, throw the lot in for about two minutes. You can then try one – the idea is that the outside is softened by the boil, whilst the inside retains a fresh crunch. It will also make the outside of the sprouts absorb all the flavours in the pan you will be throwing them in.
2. Speaking of pans, this you can do whilst your sprouts are in the pot. Heat up a dash of olive oil in a pan large enough to accommodate the sprouts. Once the olive oil heats up on a medium setting – hover your hand over the pan and you will feel a glowing warmth (not enough for the oil to start spitting) – throw in a handful of pancetta (or chorizo, for a sweet paprika warmth) and let it cook in the oil, releasing the fats from its meat into the pan. I typically use a third of pancetta to the ratio of sprouts – you want the meat to flavour and present a different texture, not to take over the show.
3. Drain and let your sprouts cool before cutting them in halves and tossing the lot together with the pancetta. Cook for about five minutes, stirring occasionally. Allow yourself to try about two-thirds of the cooking process – feel whether the texture and bite is just right for you. At this point, the pale sprout hearts will have acquired a jolly bronzed glow. You’re now nearing the finishing line – toss a handful of walnuts into the pan, stirring them in nicely.
What you have is a sprout coated in delicious smoky pancetta oils – soft, but with a bite in the middle. The walnuts round off the sweetness, smokiness and zing of the ingredients and adds a new textural dimension. I promise you, even the most dedicated of picky eaters will scoff down more than everyone else!
Now onto the Bourguignon. Ever since watching ‘Julie and Julia’, I have acquired this preconception that a Bourguignon had all the aspiration in the world to cause fits of stress, fury and the occasional disposal of a once-sturdy casserole dish. Hardly so.
(Perhaps I may be doing it in an unorthodox manner – the steps are actually quite straightforward.)
Whilst having exact grams for ingredients is wonderfully useful for future reference, I was very naughty to not have noted down the quantities. I do, however, encourage you to gauge quantities by yourself, once you know the principles of each dish. In regards to the contents of this dish, I can tell you that it contained:
1,8kg of venison chunks
a small bowl of shallots, sliced in half
pancetta cubes
a small bowl of mushrooms, sliced in half
a cup of prunes
two bay leaves
about a tablespoon of black peppercorns
a can of Guinness
two-can equivalent of venison stock (you can use beef)
about three-four cloves of garlic
two sprigs-worth rosemary leaves
First thing is first – preheat the oven to 150 degrees. It is a low setting, but that is so that the stew cooks slowly and allows its flavours to mingle, whilst making the meat tender and juicy to the palate.
I continued by heating up a large pan with sunflower oil to a degree of heat that made it difficult for me to hover my hand over the pan for long.
I patted my venison chunks dry of moisture – something that helps the venison to acquire a tasty crust when put in the hot pan. This being my next step, I kept the venison pieces cooking on one side for about a minute or so, or until I could flip them over and see a lovely golden char – my signal to give the other side the same bronzing treatment (bronzing – what a word to use with cooking!). After all my meat was given the same approach, it was taken out of the pan and put to the side in a bowl.
The next to go into the same sizzling pan were the chopped shallots. In there, they became soft and golden, a cue for the mushrooms to join in. Now the shallots and mushrooms were immersed in the juices of the venison.
Once all the frying was done, I combined the meat back into the pan and stirred it for a moment or two. This then went into a deep casserole.
The stock was poured in first, and the Guinness followed. I then threw two bay leaves and two sprigs-worth of rosemary leaves for that unmistakable fragrance, my peppercorns for that kick, and prunes for a lulling sweetness. This casserole – seen in the image – was then placed into the oven for about two-and-a-half hours, though you can easily leave it for three (if you have the discipline of a saint!).
Do brace yourself when you open the lid of the casserole – the scent of venison stewed in boozy sweetness is heavenly. No one protested the absence of the turkey this Christmas, I can tell you that!
Cookers And Dough 