To me, the swine is the greatest of all animals (for eating) and what follows is an account of my lesson on arguably one of the finest ways man has seen fit to prepare the beast for its tasty fate. I was invited to a preview of  the new ‘ham workshop’ at Brindisa, which will be running monthly from 5th November. The workshop took place around a table in the Brindisa shop in Borough, surrounded by the dwindling bustle of the market and sounds of revellers in the pub opposite, which made for a lively atmosphere; definitely preferable to sitting in a quiet, stuffy shop. Alberto Ambler, the assistant manager at Brindisa Tapas, informed us we would be treated to a lesson on the importance of variables such as the diet, region and breed of the pigs, a tasting of four different hams and finally, a lesson in carving. Much of the lesson would come from Zac Fingal-Rock Innes – a ‘Master Carver’ who was nursing an occupational hazard on his hand, as you can see from the photo below.

As we nibbled on bread and olives and sipped a green apple scented Manzanilla, Alberto and Zac talked us through the lives of the pigs. We would be tasting four hams: one White pig and three Ibéricos, helpfully arranged on the plate at 12, 3, 6 and 9 o’clock, so as to avoid any confusion. The first we tasted (12 o’clock) was Jamón de Monroyo Reserva from Teruel, Aragon: a White pig which is cereal fed and cured for a minimum of 14 months. This Alberto described as an “entry level ham” – not too complicated, slightly sweet and mostly just plain ‘hammy’. This was a ham without high ambitions but tasty as you like nonetheless.

Next we moved on to the Jabu Recebo from Jabugo, Huelva, the first of the Ibérico hams. These pigs graze the dehesa (an area nearly 15,000 times the size of Hyde Park), covering as much as 20-25 km per day in their search for acorns. They are also incredibly selective about which ones they will eat even once they do find them. The purer the breed of Ibérico, the more selective they are about which nut is fit for dinner. The micro-climate of the Jabugo region also contributes to the flavour of the animal; the cool woods add another variable to the mix. This ham was much stronger in flavour, almost knocking on the door of Marmitey in intensity yet with a familiar sweetness and melty texture.

Our 6 o’clock ham was a Jamón de la Dehesa de Extremadura Bellota D.O.P from Badajoz, Extramedura: an Ibérico which is cured for 2-3 years. The flavour of this was really strong, almost a little musty and deeply nutty with a bit of that Marmite going on again; condensed umami; reduced, almost fermented and slightly pruney in flavour. The taste buds were going crazy with delight at this point and the mouth alive with an explosion of saliva.

Our final ham was an Joselito Gran Reserva Bellota from Guijuelo, Salamanca: an acorn fed Ibérico cured for 3-4 years. This ham was extraordinary. It had the characteristics of the other hams we had tried – nutty, sweet  and straight up porky but differed in that the stages of flavour just kept on coming. I remember distinctly a kind of muddy intensity that I wished would just swallow me up so I could wallow in its porky depths. The finish was slightly cheesy and the texture of the fat was hand-to-the-brow, fall-into-his-arms dreamy. Apparently, this ham was a particularly fine example due to 2001/2 being good years, therefore producing a good vintage, or ‘añada’ – something to do with the rainfall being just right for the acorns.

When the tasting was done and we gazed forlornly at our empty plates, Zac beckoned us over to the waiting hams for our carving master class. He began by showing us the tools of the trade and giving us a tour of the ham leg to get an idea of how to begin (by cutting off the excess fat on top) and how to finish  the leg (by cutting out all the little bits no good for slicing, which then resemble lardons, and are called ‘tacos’). When the leg is still being carved, the exposed surface should be covered with the layer of fat cut from the top, to prevent drying out during storage.

He proceeded to give a demonstration of the carving, making it look spectacularly easy, like the knife was running through butter. We then donned a metal mesh glove on our non-slicing hands and had a go ourselves. You know what I’m going to say don’t you? It isn’t as easy as it looks. The skill is to let the blade of the ‘jamonera’  do the work – stroking, not pushing the blade and using the section that is closest to the handle, rather than the length. I definitely improved as I practised, as did everyone, and by the end had me some pretty good slices going on. Well, good considering I’d never done it before and was slightly pissed on sherry; I’m pretty confident in saying Zac didn’t fear for his job.

To top it all we were generously bestowed with gifts: the ham we had cut plus some masterfully sliced by Zac, some tacos and a pot of beautiful pure white fat which we were informed make amazing roast potatoes and croquettes. I’ll bet. It is also packed with amino acids from the acorns the pigs munched on. The bone can be used to flavour stocks and soups; nothing is wasted. I’ve used my pot of tacos already, cooked quickly with some white wine, scallops and artichokes which with hindsight, was not the best cooking method to use. I should have read my information sheet first, which advises to use them in stocks and stews, where they will soften. Gorgeous nonetheless.

I learned a hell of a lot about ham at the Brindisa ham workshop, and I am very grateful to Alberto for hosting and to the super glam Celia Brooks Brown, who suggested they invite me in the first place. Even though I did not pay for my experience, I most certainly would, and I will enthusiastically recommend to anyone else that they do too. The ham workshops will cost £65 per person and begin running every month, starting 5th November, between 7-8.45pm.

Brindisa at Borough Market

The Floral Hall
Stoney Street
Borough Market
London SE1 9AF
Tel & Fax: 020 7407 1036
Email: shop@brindisa.com

The annual jerk cook-out in the gardens of The Horniman Museum is one of my favourite food events. I live close enough to walk there but not so close as to be affected by the hugely increased volume of traffic, which I’ve heard is a bit of a nightmare. It probably wouldn’t make any difference to me to be honest, I live on a major junction – I’d feel nervous without the sounds of sirens, beeping horns, road rage and screeching tyres 24/7. Anyway, my point is that this year it was BUSY. The weather was glorious and approximately 10,000 people turned out to laze on the grass and eat, drink and be merry.

As you approach the museum gardens, the wafts of jerk smoke start to reach your nostrils and it’s basically a race from then on in. I literally couldn’t get in there fast enough. The best Caribbean restaurants in London are invited and a panel of judges decide who makes the best jerk, rice and peas and dumpling. Once inside, we were a bit unnerved at the size of the first queue we came across at the famous Cummin Up and so decided to start with one of the smaller stalls, Ramones.

The plan was to try three different places so we started with one portion of jerk pork, rice and peas, salad and a dumpling (£6 I think). The sauce on the meat was quite oily, although not unpleasantly so and the lady serving us spooned extra over the rice and peas without me having to ask. The meat itself was tender and the fat, oh the fat! Crispy in places but melty in others, the best of both pig fat worlds. I’ve been trying to create a jerk recipe I’m happy with for a long time now and so I made careful notes about the spicing; the ground cloves were fairly pronounced and there was a strong smack of black pepper.

As we contemplated where to go next I noticed that one stall in particular, Tasty Jerk, had the most ridiculously long queue snaking right across the park. They were also packin’ an impressive row of barrel BBQ’s. We feared it might take ages to get served and were just turning away when I spotted them – jerk crab claws. We joined the queue.

And then we waited…and waited…and waited and after an hour considered giving up but decided it would be silly to queue for so long without some sort of reward at the end of it. With hindsight, that was a poor decision. We stood in the blazing sun, on a backwards slope, battling wasps and hangovers and moaners for nearly TWO HOURS and I am not exaggerating. What was most disturbing though, was that towards the front of the queue, the whole thing got a bit desperate. There was pushing, shoving and arguments about who was in front of who two hours ago. “Where have you come from?” one man accused. “Nigeria” the other replied.

As we got within spitting distance of the stall, the reasons for the outrageous waiting time became clear – the staff had absolutely no idea what they were doing. Many were just standing around doing nothing. That’s pretty insulting when you’ve been waiting for two hours. By the time we got to the front they had run out of pretty much everything. “All that’s left is pork and lamb.” No crab claws?! We took a plate of pork and some corn.

The spicing was definitely better than Ramones, with a heat that wasn’t just spicy but had fruity scotch bonnet flavour too and a subtle build. The meat however was dry as a bone. They managed to win it for the second year running and I can imagine the spicing would be amazing on the freshest, juiciest pieces likely served to the judges. By contrast, our experience had left a bad taste before we even got our food.

I regret the decision to queue at Tasty Jerk because the event itself is amazing. I’ll be back next year and for as long as it keeps running. There was a real carnival atmosphere inside and next year I’m rounding up a bunch of mates so we can all pile down with a blanket and plenty of cold beers. I definitely picked up some good spicing tips too and I’m so excited about the new recipe I already have a batch of ribs marinating ready for a mates’ birthday BBQ tonight. Watch this space.

You can see all my photos of the day here.

And so on to our main course for Nom Nom Nom – duck with gooseberry sauce, fondant potatoes and rainbow chard. This is where we nearly ran into trouble when shopping for ingredients. Lizzie had spotted some duck breasts in Marylebone farmers market, but at £10 for two, they were going to send us seriously over budget (we needed to make 4 portions of each dish). A mad dash around Waitrose turned up nowt as we just stood there, staring blankly at the space where duck breasts should be…”Sorry” said the sales assistant. I think he thought we might be about to cry. We hot footed it back to the market and decided to buy three for £15 – they were proper beasts and once sliced served 4 easily.

We rendered the fat from the duck and used it to fry our potatoes – be rude not to, really. Mmm, duck fat. We then gave them a good sprinkling of chopped rosemary, slung in some bashed garlic, filled the pan with stock and a generous wadge of butter, then covered and let them simmer away on the hob until silky, buttery and aromatic on the inside – the tops still crispy from the duck fat frying.

To continue our fruity theme we chose a gooseberry sauce to go with the duck. They are bang in season and the tart fruit cuts through the richness of the duck perfectly. So, think rare slices of meat, crispy fat on top, tangy gooseberry sauce (lightly spiced with cloves) on the side, dreamy fondant potatoes and a little bed of rainbow chard, wilted in the fondant potato juices at the last minute. I’m actually in danger of dribbling a little bit just thinking about it. If you are too then please vote for The Go Go Gin Girls HERE!

Duck with Gooseberry Sauce

Serves 1

1 duck breast
100gr gooseberries
4 shallots
A knob of butter
2 medium sized floury potatoes
A glug of white wine
A pinch of ground cloves
Sugar, to taste
Half a bulb of garlic
1 sprig of rosemary
Chicken stock
Some greenery (in our case, Swiss chard but spinach or savoy cabbage also works)

Score the duck breast and salt heavily. Meanwhile, peel the potatoes and cut in half lengthways. Top and tail the gooseberries. Pat the duck breasts dry, and fry them on a low heat, skin side down to slowly render the fat out. This needs about 15 minutes, to really get the fat out and crisp up the skin. When this is done, turn the duck breast and fry on a medium heat for a minute or two to give it some colour. Remove and leave on a baking tray. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celcius.

Next, fry the potatoes in the rendered duck fat until they are browned. Remove them and place in a frying pan with a lid, with the browned sides facing up. Smash the garlic cloves with the side of a knife, scatter them around the potatoes with the sprig of rosemary, chopped finely. Add the chicken stock until it comes partway up the side of the potatoes, but doesn’t cover the previously fried part. Put the lid on and simmer gently for about 15 – 20 mins, or until the potatoes are tender.

Meanwhile, heat the knob of butter in a pan and add the shallots, sliced. Fry until softened and then add the glug of wine. Simmer until reduced, then add the gooseberries and the cloves. Fry on a low heat until the gooseberries have collapsed, and mash them down with a fork. Add sugar to taste and leave to simmer gently.

Depending on how thick your duck breasts are, we put ours in the oven for 8 – 10 minutes. Remove and leave them to rest for 10 minutes, to coincide with the potatoes being finished. To serve, plate the potatoes on a warmed plate. Strain the stock into a saucepan and add the greens to be cooked in the garlicky rosemary stock until al dente, and then drain and use them as a bed to serve the duck breast, sliced on top. Spoon some of the stock onto the meat, and serve the gooseberry sauce on the side.

When you go to a restaurant, you generally know what to expect – sit down, order, eat, drink, pay and leave. If you can afford it, the realm of molecular gastronomy may be within your grasp, in which case things can get a little more wacky; challenging texture and flavour combinations and a more full on assault on the senses – think Heston with his ’sounds of the sea’ ipod for example. Lately, however, there are some new kids in town – the crazy culinary partay creators Bompas and Parr.

This year is the centenary of the birth of the Italian futurist movement. To mark the occasion, Bompas and Parr collaborated with Time for Tea and the Dhillon Hotel Group to throw a big old shindig in the form of a banquet, a futurist aerobanquet – or as B & P put it, ‘dinner with a plane crash and explosions’. You must know by now that I adore pretty much everything they do – I’ve wolfed down their glittering gold leaf flecked Prosecco jellies, I’ve breathed in their vapourised walk in cocktail and now I’ve piled onto a coach out to The Olde Bell Inn, Berkshire for the most random, spectacular and just downright fun meal in my recent memory.

On arrival we were welcomed by a group of radiant air hostesses and one rather stern captain. They ushered us through security, which involved a cloakroom disguised as an x-ray machine, ticket and visa collection and some light frisking – all in exchange for canapés and cocktails.

The canapés were designed to celebrate the multi-sensory approach promoted by the futurists and we were invited to close our eyes and pop our chosen nibble down the hatch while stroking the attached textural appendage. Think stickily glazed kumquat accompanied by velvet and the rasping scratch of sandpaper complementing a baby fennel. Looking around at this point I could see some hesitancy from fellow passengers and so made a beeline for one guy who was really getting into it and then proudly displaying the textured sticks like army stripes on his lapel.

My favourite cocktail was a red wine and lemonade effort, sporting what I thought was a wedge of pineapple as garnish. When I bit into it however (excitedly encouraged by the woman standing next to me), I was surprised to find it was cheese. Red wine and cheese at the beginning of a meal? Those crazy kids.

Drinks in hand, we moved through to the ‘departure lounge’, our chattering drowned out somewhat by the whoosh of plane noises overhead. Then suddenly, a huge swathe of silver sheeting was pulled down to reveal a magnificent room containing the most stupendously large and shiniest table I’ve ever clapped eyes on. As we were seated and prepared to take flight, our hostesses performed the necessary safety instructions (exits here, here and here etc.), before the engines fired up and we were (literally) blown away by the force of huge fans aimed from the corners of the room. I may or may not have squealed with delight.

And then the food started to arrive, the first course, a ‘futurist tasting menu’ was arranged on specially crafted aeroplane style plates, with a little indent for each nibble, including ‘geraniums on a stick’, swordfish and fig skewer, ‘dates in moonlight’ (pressed dates and ricotta tart) and a savoury jelly – a ‘cubist vegetable patch’. Apparently the futurists thought it might be better if everything we ate could be consumed in a single mouthful. The starter then, would have gone down very well. The main course on the other hand – a juicy, crackly, herby stuffed beast going by the name of ‘pork fuselage’, perhaps not so much (fools!).

While we waited for the fuselage to make its grand entrance the hostesses appeared again, this time resplendent in stockings, jewels and feathers, to perform a magnificent chorus line show – kicking, flapping, shaking, strutting – there was even some upside down scissor leg action.

A porky waft indicated the fuselage had arrived and I rejoiced in the excellent crispy crackling on my portion, bulking it out with some new potatoes and slippery, buttery greens and washing all down with an excellent Innis and Gunn beer – malty, toffee heaven.

I was feeling a little merry by this point after cocktails, wine and beer and so the ensuing evacuation amidst explosions, smoke and full on fire in the garden accompanied by a screeching ambulance and emerging jelly in the shape of an airport sent me into a whooping, cheering frenzy of giddy excitement.

We queued up with plates for a slice of the wobbly stuff (me and my mate opting for absinthe flavour), a scoop of ice cream and a mini pastry plane. This was eaten whilst standing in the flickering flame light of nearby plane wreckage.

Then there was mingling and drinking of brandy, before we retreated indoors to enjoy the futurist jazz band, accompanied by some rather excellent and professional dancers who were thoroughly impressive although perhaps a little intimidating until I’d downed my third brandy.

Bompas and Parr combine the two things I love most in the world – eating and partying. In many ways, I enjoyed this meal more than I have enjoyed meals at high end restaurants because of the creativity, the element of surprise and the invitation to open your mind and become absorbed in the fantasy experience. It made me laugh, it made me think, it made me clap my hands together in excitement more than once. I ate, I danced, I whooped and cheered and I was more than a little drunk at the end of it. The only way anyone could not have had a fantastic time at this event is if they were a) ill b) totally lacking in imagination and spirit or c) dull as bloody dishwater.

Aircraft Commanders Time for Tea and Bompas and Parr I salute you.

Distressed hostess photo courtesy of Bompas and Parr.

I’m sure you all know the format of the Taste of London festival by now – a selection of London’s top restaurants serve up miniature versions of their dishes for Monopoly money (festival currency or ‘crowns’ – £1 for 2) and hungry punters like you and me snap up as many as possible while swanning around Regent’s Park in the sunshine. So, on Sunday, the final day of the festival, a group of us hungry bloggers did exactly that. Here’s my pick of the dishes that wowed and those which could have done better…

No sooner had we walked through the gate than Fino sucked us right in with their impressive paella pan brimming with arroz negro – deeply satisfying rice cooked with squid ink, which packed a hefty umami punch and bore treats of prawns and squid in its rich, murky depths. Their lamb cutlets with ajo blanco were also spectacularly juicy and tender. Both simple dishes but both packed with flavour.

Seven hour braised lamb with balsamic onions and mash (Tom’s Kitchen) was another stand out dish and apparently the most popular at the festival on the previous day. Heavenly melty tender pulled meat with sweet and sharp onions and the lightest cloud of mash. A bit of a gamble serving up roast meat and tatties on a summers day but one that clearly paid off.

Another honourable mention must go to this seared marinated salmon with fennel and grapefruit salad from Boxwood cafe. I can’t really be bothered with cooked salmon but adore it raw and this generous portion was just lightly seared without and raw and silky within. Perfect. Slivers of wafer thin fennel and a citrus burst of grapefruit freshened the dish.

My highlight of the day (from my favourite restaurant overall) was this strawberry and hibiscus bellini from The Ledbury. A fragrant hibiscus mix lay underneath the most intensely fruity strawberry foam. For me, this drink was perfect in every way. We started giggling with our very first sips and didn’t stop oohing and aahing until the whole thing was gone and we walked away giddy with pleasure. It was served with a freshly fried jammy doughnut which satisfied the inner child but seriously, it was all about that bellini.

The Ledbury’s main course was also a winner – celeriac baked in ash (made using hay apparently), with hazelnuts, summer truffle and a kromeski of wild boar. The kromeski turned out to be a little fried parcel with a super crisp outside encasing deep, rich, tender boar meat. The celeriac was totally transformed – slightly bitter, slightly sweet and visually unrecognisable although, it has occurred to me since that it isn’t in season. Still, whatever, I really don’t care because it tasted great and I am now saving furiously (as are my festival companions) for a full on dinner at The Ledbury (that’s their starter at the top by the way).

And here are the dishes I felt were disappointing…firstly, this tomato pasta from L’Anima was just rather boring. Perhaps at a different time and place it might have been ambrosial (e.g. your mate’s house on a weeknight) but in the midst of all the exciting flavours at Taste, it was simply lost. I’m sorry to say their chicken alla Romana also fared quite badly with our group for the same reason. Perhaps we just had palate fatigue. That said, their offering of fettucine with wild mushrooms and summer truffles was spectacular (it carried a price tag of £24 crowns (£12) to match).

And finally, probably the worst dish of the day for me – sweetbreads and lamb’s tongue from Hereford Road which sounded fantastic but in reality was absolutely crying out for seasoning. The accompanying parsley salad was also a let down. It was just all parsley but not in the same way as the vibrant, piquant salad which comes with roast bone marrow at St. John is all parsley – it was just dry and uninspiring.

Happily, most of what we ate at Taste was delicious but, at £25 per ticket before you’ve even bought any food, you’re really crossing your fingers that it will be. On this occasion, The Guardian dished out press passes to readers and bloggers as part of their #tastefringe event, which allowed us free entry in exchange for tweeting in tandem with our munching (read our collective tweets here). The festival provides the opportunity to sample dishes from many different restaurants and of course I thoroughly enjoyed doing just that but I must admit – without the privilege of the press pass, the cost of Taste of London would have been a prohibitive one for me this year.

You can see the full extent of our gluttony in my Flickr set here.