Thursday, 25 January 2018

Fegatini Di Pollo in Swinging London

This is part two of my very short series of the Italian recipes that I felt I finally needed to write down. Like the caponata recipe I'm afraid it's probably a little elegiac in tone. I suppose that's what happens when you're as ancient as me. Never mind, it's the food that matters.

Alvaro Maccioni was one of the food celebrities in Britain through the 1960s and 70s. It's generally accepted wisdom that food in England was rubbish during that period but I'm not completely convinced. I admit there were certainly some highly questionable and eccentric restaurants around at the time but Maccioni's La Famiglia just off the King's Road definitely wasn't one of them. It tended to attract a celebrity crowd and hard up, scruffy people like me didn't necessarily eat there often - well, OK I did once or twice. Maccioni was a great advocate of authentic, delicious and often quite simple Tuscan food. Ahead of his time in many ways and hugely influential, he sadly left us in 2013, although La Famiglia is still there and carrying on the tradition if you'd care to visit.

This dish reminds me of Maccioni because I first came across a version of it in one of his books. Admittedly, this is my interpretation and not his recipe and probably not similar to the food served back then. Oddly, I've just realised that I have a signed copy of one of his books on my shelf but how I ended up with it is one of life's mysteries. My memory's not what it was and my excuse is that I was around in the 60s. At least I think I was.

This is easy to make, very delicious and is often claimed to be the inspiration for all French pâté. Well, maybe. This should serve 4 - 6 as a starter or as part of a simple lunch.
Fegatini Di Pollo

1 medium leek, finely chopped (don't use the tougher green bits)
1 or 2 sticks of celery, very finely chopped
½ medium carrot, very finely chopped
250 g chicken livers, prepared (in other words cleaned and with any nasty-tasting bits removed)
3 tbsp olive oil (this doesn't need to be your best extra virgin)
150 ml white wine
2 tbsp capers, washed, drained and chopped
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp finely chopped parsley
1 tsp finely chopped chives
1 or 2 generous squeezes of lemon juice
Baguette or other suitable bread to serve

Fry the leek, celery and carrot in the 3 tbsp of olive oil until softened. It's best to do this on a low to medium heat and take your time over it. You want to soften the veg and not colour it. If the livers are on the large size, then chop them into 2 or 3 pieces and add to the pan. Continue to fry, stirring a lot, until the livers have taken on an even colour all over. Add the wine, increase the heat a little and keep cooking and stirring until the wine has reduced by about half. Add the capers and season with a generous amount of black pepper. (Don't add salt at this stage since the capers are likely to be quite salty). Continue cooking and stirring until the wine has almost gone.

At this point anyone with a deep respect for tradition will tell you to take the livers out of the pan and chop them thoroughly by hand. To be honest, I use an electric hand blender and whizz until smooth (or as smooth as you'd like it to be). Either way, return the liver mixture to the pan and stir in the tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil. (You could also add a little butter at this stage if you fancy a richer result). 

Reheat the mixture gently. If it seems very firm then stir in a little water - it should be thick and creamy but not solid. Immediately before serving stir in the parsley, chives and lemon juice. Check the seasoning.

Serve while still hot (or at least warm) by spreading a generous dollop onto toasted slices of baguette, or whatever bread you fancy. You could rub the bread with a peeled and halved clove of garlic before adding the liver mixture if the mood takes you.

Just over a year ago we lost Peter Sarstedt who had a song that always makes me think of those very old days. If anyone wants me I'll be in Roger's old Jag driving round swinging London.

Wednesday, 10 January 2018

Lemon And Orange Guinea Fowl

I've just noticed that it's 2018. I know I should be reviewing last year or predicting the trends for the months to come but it's as cold and grey as any self-respecting January should be and so here's a summery sort of recipe for cheering up dismal days. I've been told that guinea fowl is at its best in the depths of winter and so that's the perfect excuse for making it now. (Of course, I might have been misled - I frequently am).

There's a traditional way of cooking guinea fowl with lemon in the Roussillon and this recipe probably owes its origins to that tradition, but it's more directly inspired by dishes that turned up fairly often in England back in the 1980s and early 1990s in some of the better, unpretentious restaurants of those long-lost days.

These days I don't often use cream in sauces (or any recipes for that matter) but I make an exception here because it works so well. You could use chicken in this recipe if that's what you have and it would still be very delicious but the deeper, richer flavour of the guinea fowl is worth seeking out now and then.
Lemon & Orange Guinea Fowl
This will serve 2 -3.

1 guinea fowl
1 shallot, peeled and finely chopped
1 tbsp sugar
200 ml white wine
Juice of 1 lemon
Juice of ½ medium orange
1 lemon (untreated), sliced fairly thinly
1 sprig of thyme
300 - 500 ml light chicken or guinea fowl stock (the amount will vary according to the size of your pan)
4 tbsp double cream

Joint the guinea fowl. You can divide the bird up as you'd like but, at very least, use the two legs and two breasts. If you're thoroughly organised you could use the remaining bones and meat of the guinea fowl as the basis of the stock that you need for this dish.

Use a reasonably generous, lidded pan that will hold all the guinea fowl pieces in one layer. Season the guinea fowl lightly and sauté in a little olive oil over a medium heat until lightly golden on all sides. Remove the pieces from the pan and set aside. Add the chopped shallot to the pan and fry gently for around 5 minutes without letting it colour. Increase the heat, add the sugar and stir for about 30 seconds. Pour in the wine and the juice of the lemon and orange. Bring to the boil and allow the liquid to reduce by about a third.

Lower the heat and put the guinea fowl pieces back into the pan together with the sliced lemon and the thyme. Pour in enough stock to almost cover the guinea fowl. Put the lid on the pan and simmer gently for 30 - 35 minutes. Turn the guinea fowl pieces once or twice during this time.

Remove the guinea fowl from the pan and set aside somewhere warm. Pour the remaining contents of the pan through a sieve, reserving the liquid but discarding the solids, although I tend to keep a slice or two of the cooked lemon for decoration (and to prove that I used real lemons, I suppose). Put the cooking liquid into a pan and reduce over a high heat. The amount that you reduce the liquid will depend on how much sauce you'd like in the final dish but reduce it by at least ½ and, I think, preferably by ¾. Take off the heat and whisk in the cream. Adjust the seasoning and add a little sugar if the sauce seems a bit too sharp.

I serve the guinea fowl with simple green veg and steamed or sautéed potatoes (the purple potatoes in the picture are pure affectation and the result of an ill-advised attempt to impress). Pour on as much or as little of the sauce as you fancy. I like quite a lot of sauce because I soak it up with slices of baguette but that's just my uncouth way.

Happy New Year.