trimmed and cut into large
chunks (80–100g/3–3½oz)
4 garlic cloves, halved
750ml (11⁄4 pints) robust red
wine, such as Côtes du
Rhône or similar
100g (3½oz) plain flour,
plus extra for dusting
a handful of black olives
salt and black pepper
Preheat the oven to 90°C (194°F, lowest Gas Mark).
Remove the rind from the bacon and cut it into small
squares. Cut the bacon itself into lardons 2cm (3⁄4in) long.
Line the base of a heavy casserole dish with the olive oil,
then scatter the lardons on top. Arrange the carrot, onion,
orange peel and herbs on top of the lardons.
Lay the meat chunks, nestling them together, on top
of the vegetables and intersperse the garlic in any gaps
between the meat. Season the meat well with salt and
freshly ground black pepper, then distribute the pieces
of bacon rind over the top.
Bring the red wine to the boil in a saucepan, then pour
over the meat in the casserole dish. Add 3 tablespoons of
water to the flour in a bowl and work very well to form a
strong dough. Roll this out, sausage fashion, on a lightly
floured work surface to form a long coil that can be
positioned around the rim of the casserole dish before
pushing the lid down very firmly to form a really tight seal.
Place the daube in the oven and cook for 12 hours.
Break the seal by chipping away with a knife. Inside,
the daube should be dark and deeply aromatic, the meat
very yielding, and the sauce clear and rich in flavour.
Sprinkle the olives on top and replace the lid. Serve with
rice, large pasta shapes, such as penne or rigatoni, or with
boiled or mashed potatoes.
69
February
No Fool Like an Old Fool
Rhubarb Fool
Rhubarb comes ever earlier. The earliest rhubarb I have
seen – the finest, slenderest, most elegant forced Yorkshire
rhubarb – was at the River Café a week before Christmas.
There is nothing we chefs hate more than a rival gaining
an ingredient ahead of them in the season. Since we share
the same greengrocer, I berated him for not telling me
about the rhubarb. He cleverly argued that since I was
such a stickler for seasonality, he didn’t think I would have
thought it right to be serving rhubarb before Christmas.
The River Café were right, of course. Forced rhubarb,
far from being a product of the seasons, exists in defiance
of them. Like radicchio tardivo and sea kale, it is produced
by deceiving nature and encouraging the plants to grow
just when nothing is supposed to grow, at least not in our
latitudes. There is certainly nothing very ‘natural’ about
Yorkshire rhubarb, nor anything particularly attractive
about the triangle, a tiny pocket of land roughly defined
by Wakefield, Rothwell and Morley and centred on the
intersection of two motorways. The rhubarb industry owes
its location to its transport infrastructure, its adverse
climactic conditions – the triangle forms a frost pocket
under the Pennines – and the wool industry that supplies
the ‘shoddy’, a mix of various forms of wool waste. I find it
splendid that such a beautiful and rarefied plant should
rise out of such inauspicious conditions.
It would be easy to suppose that the sudden arrival of
rhubarb is just another consequence of global warming,
but the opposite is the case. The whole business of
growing rhubarb is to fool the plant into thinking spring
has arrived: the rootstock is left outside in the autumn and
needs a sharp frost to be convinced that it is winter –
hence the miserable weather enjoyed by the hardy rhubarb
farmers of the triangle. Once the frost has happened, the
plants can be taken inside to the warmer shed and then
duped into thinking it is safe to grow. Thus the earlier
and sharper the frost, the sooner the rhubarb will shoot.
We had a mild autumn, so I was puzzled by the
December rhubarb. It emerged that its producer stole a
march on his competitors by treating the plants with an
acid that encourages the conversion of carbohydrate to
sugar, which stimulates the plant to shoot. With such
trickery going on, my mind has been put to rest and I have
forgiven my greengrocer.
70
RHUBARB FOOL
Serves four.
500g (1lb 2 oz) rhubarb
75g (23⁄4oz) demerara sugar
fine strips of zest pared from
1 orange
½ teaspoon finely grated
root ginger or 2 pinches
of ground ginger (both
optional)
200ml (7fl oz) double cream
a squeeze of lemon juice
(optional)
Cut off the rhubarb’s leaves and trim its bases, then chop
the stalks into 3cm (11⁄4in) lengths. Place in a saucepan
with 200ml (7fl oz) water, the sugar, orange zest and ginger
and stew gently over a low heat for 10–12 minutes, or until
the rhubarb has completely collapsed.
Tip the rhubarb into a sieve over a bowl, then pour the
pulp into another bowl, discarding the zest. Save the juice
for a sorbet or cocktail (it’s good with gin). Whisk the pulp
vigorously. Should you want a really smooth fool, pass it
through a sieve or purée in a blender: personally, I prefer a