Line the terrine dish with the thin slices of lardo or pancetta. Lay the slices in the dish neatly and slightly overlapping with a generous overhang. The idea here is that when the terrine dish is full of mixture, there is enough over-hang to meet comfortably at the top, thereby sealing the mixture. Spoon the mixture into the dish, pushing it down firmly into the corners with the back of a spoon. When you have half-filled it, gently push in a line of prunes along the centre, if you are using them. Continue to add the mixture, making sure that you completely fill the terrine dish to the top. Collect the excess lardo or pancetta to meet at the top neatly. Place the three reserved bay leaves gently along the top of the terrine. Cover the surface of the terrine dish tightly in foil and make four or five small holes in the top through which steam may escape.
Place the terrine in the baking tin, three-quarters fill the tin with boiling water and place in the oven. The precise cooking time will depend on the dimensions and shape of your terrine, but should take in the region of 1 hour 40 minutes. To test, remove the tin carefully from the oven. Take off the foil top (watching out for escaping steam) and insert a clean skewer into the centre of the terrine. Keep it there for 5 seconds and then hold to your bottom lip. The skewer should feel distinctly warm, but not uncomfortably hot. If it is still cold, or barely tepid, re-cover with the foil, return to the oven for another 15 minutes and then test again. Once cooked, remove from the oven, and set the terrine aside with the foil intact and allow it to return to warm room temperature. This will take a couple of hours.
At this stage, you can if you like simply put the terrine in the fridge overnight and it will be terrific as is. However, for a slightly cleaner appearance (without the risk of any crumbling when sliced), it is better to add some weight to the top of the terrine as it chills overnight. For this you require a tray on which to sit the terrine and a piece of hardboard or heavy cardboard cut to the same dimensions as the top of the terrine. (A second, identical, empty terrine dish is ideal.) You will also require a fair bit of space in your fridge for the Heath Robinson balancing act that is about to follow. Place the card/hardboard or empty terrine dish on top of the terrine. Put a couple of heavyish tins, such as baked bean tins, on your card/hardboard or in the second terrine dish and transfer the whole lot to the fridge. It might be a good idea to wedge something suitable either side of the contraption to prevent the weights shifting from their precarious perch above the terrine. Shut the fridge door and say goodnight.
The following day I promise you will wake with such excitement that you may surprise yourself by the manner in which you positively leap out of bed. You will leg it downstairs, perhaps still undressed, to look at your handiwork. To unmould the terrine, run a thin, pointy blade between the side of the dish and the terrine, taking care not to pierce the terrine itself. Have a small board slightly bigger than the terrine handy and invert the terrine dish on to the board. I then pick up the whole board with the upside-down terrine dish still on it, place the thumbs of both hands on the bottom of the terrine to keep it stable and shake the whole lot like crazy. This usually does the trick and the terrine should gradually ease itself on to the board with a pleasing schlopp of released pressure. There will be a fair amount of pink jelly too: lovely, savoury and semi-solidified juices – keep this.
Wipe the terrine dry with absorbent kitchen paper and carve yourself a slice with a long, sharp knife. You may need to get dressed and wait a few hours before serving the rest to your guests.
Onion tart
This spectacularly good tart featured on our opening menu in February 1995. For some bizarre and rather pretentious reason, I used to call it: Tarte à l’oignon; spécialité d’Alsace. What a mouthful. Well, the tart is actually, and a wonderful mouthful at that. Maybe I thought customers might be more likely to order it if they could identify its origins with a particular part of France and, as my food was definitely based on regional French food at the time, it seemed logical to advertise its authentic provenance. Anyway, I am glad to say that I have jettisoned the silly title, but the tart remains a frequent visitor to our menu. This is most definitely one of my top-ten favourite things of all time to cook and to eat.
Serves 10–12
8 large onions, peeled
250g unsalted butter
1 bunch of fresh thyme, leaves picked, stalks discarded
salt and freshly ground black pepper
9 medium egg yolks
750ml double cream
For the pastry
350g plain flour
scant 1 tsp salt, or a good pinch
225g unsalted butter, cold and diced
60ml iced water
1 medium egg yolk, beaten
Make the pastry. Put the flour into a large mixing bowl and mix in the salt. Rub in the diced butter until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the iced water and bring the whole lot to a dough with some swift kneading movements. Don’t overwork the dough. Form it into a slightly flattened ball, wrap in clingfilm and refrigerate for at least a few hours or preferably overnight.
Roll out the pastry on a lightly floured surface to a thickness of about 3mm. Use to line a 30–32cm (2cm in depth) tart ring and leave to rest for about 1 hour. Blind bake. When the tart shell is fully cooked, using a pastry brush, paint beaten egg yolk around the interior of the shell and return it to the oven for 30 seconds or so just to seal the shell.
Halve the peeled onions and slice them very finely. Take the knife right through the root so that none of the onion is wasted. The finished tart will slice more elegantly if the onions are prepared carefully at this stage, so take time to do this well. In a large pan, melt the butter over a medium heat and add the onions together with the thyme leaves. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes until the onions visibly start to wilt and change colour. Turn the heat down to its lowest setting and continue to sweat the onions, uncovered, for about a further 45 minutes to 1 hour, stirring frequently. The onions will have taken on a deep golden colour and the butter should resemble oil and will be separating out from the onions at the bottom of the pan. Season the onions really well with salt and pepper. Taste the onions – they should be sweet, savoury and delicious. Tip them into a colander and drain off the cooking fat thoroughly. This will seem like overkill on the butter front, but a lot is needed to cook the onions properly. It is also (rather extravagantly) discarded at the end of the cooking process and not consumed in the tart itself.
Set the oven to 150°C.
In a large mixing bowl, lightly beat the egg yolks and add the cream. Season this well with salt and pepper. Add the cooked onions and mix really well. Check the seasoning and adjust if necessary – good seasoning is essential to the success of this tart. With a ladle, add the onion mixture to the cooked tart shell and fill the tart right to the very top. Transfer carefully to the oven and cook for half an hour. Turn the oven down to 130°C and continue to bake until the tart is cooked and the filling has set without a trace of wobble – about a further 15 minutes depending on the dimensions of your tart ring. Leave to rest for at least 1 hour before trimming off the excess pastry overhang.
Remove the ring and slice with a very sharp, serrated knife. This is brilliant as it is, but dressed green leaves, roasted walnuts and Lancashire cheese also make a fine addition to the plate. Real men do eat quiche, by the way.
Gnocchi, pasta, polenta and risotto would have come under the unpromising title of ‘farinaceous’, in old-fashioned, catering college cookery books, denoting the inclusion of starch in a dish, usually in the form of flour. But this term is about as unappealing as other woeful, industry nomenclature such as ‘catering’; ‘beverage’; ‘cruet’; and ‘garnish’. In short, there would have been little to motivate the reader to rush to the farinaceous section, other than to discover some floury, blanket-like white sauce in which to suffocate overcooked vegetables.
However, these