Home comforts

It is at this time of year, dearest reader, that the mind turns towards the creature comforts. Dreary mornings spent de-icing windscreens, days at work where you don’t see daylight, cold, dark evenings – it can all get to be too much. We are, of course, still some days away from erecting the Christmas tree in Chez Peas (although I am turning my mind towards the annual conundrum of what to use to top the tree...) but even without the festive lights and the hedonistic promise of Yule, I am doing my best to warm my spirits and those of my nearest and dearest Mr Green.

And how am I doing that? You may well ask. There are many techniques, though for the purposes of this column we had best restrict ourselves to discussing food.

Soups, my dears. Stews. Savoury foods cooked on a long, slow, simmer. Scents that fill the house, promising the visitor warmth and comfort, an evening of conversation and well-chosen wine. It is a different way of cooking from the instant gratification of those summer months, when you pick a perfectly ripened ingredient and hasten home to transform it, almost instantly, into something fresh and succulent. No. This is the time of year when you choose carefully, shop days before you want to eat, bring home the bacon, the butternut squash, the parsnip, the shin of beef and plan, oh so carefully, when and how you will cook it, when and in what company you will eat.

Cooking now takes a little love – you have to respect the ingredients before they will give you their best. You have to treat them gently, give them time. This is not a moment for haste or reckless abandon.

Let me share with you a stew, so savoury and full of promise that it won a place in the heart of even the once-vegetarian Mr Green. 

 

Oxtail stew

Ingredients

One oxtail, cut into segments

Onions

Garlic

Carrots

Celery

Mushrooms

Wine

Stock

Flour

Mustard powder

Cayenne pepper

Black pepper

Bay leafs

Star anise

Tomato Puree

Butter

To finish

Wholegrain mustard

Dijon mustard

First, combine a little flour with a teaspoon each of mustard powder and cayenne pepper, and a good grind of pepper. 

Use this to coat the oxtail. Clean and chop all your vegetables and put the oven on to preheat to 150 C (Gas mark 2).

Now fry the coated oxtail in a little butter until browned, and set aside on a plate.

Using the same pan fry your onion, celery, and carrots until they slightly soften before adding the mushrooms and garlic and giving everything a good stir and letting it have another minute or two.

Now, stir in a good dollop of tomato puree and carefully arrange the oxtail on top of the vegetables.

Pour over your wine and stock. You want the equivalent of a wine bottle’s worth of liquid – and you can use a whole bottle of wine if you are that way inclined. I must admit that I am not a fan of very, very wine laden stews, so I used about a third of a bottle of wine, topped up with a low salt stock. I didn’t arrive at this amount of wine by any scientific method – I merely used the open bottle of wine from the night before and poured myself a glass to drink because lazy, tipsy Sunday afternoons are a thing to be treasured.

Anyway, as I was saying, pour the liquid over your oxtail and vegetables, pop in a few bay leafs and a judicious amount of star anise, bring the whole thing to a simmer and then pop the lid on and place in the oven.

You want to let this cook for around three hours. The house will fill up with the most delicious smell. You will mourn the fact that you won’t be eating this until at least tomorrow. Distract yourself. I drank the wine, made parsnip soup, and called some friends. Then I went to the shop and got more wine, ate some of the soup, and spent the rest of the day writing.

When three hours have passed, carefully take the pan out of the oven and check the meat. It should dissolve into happy, melting fragments if you give it a stern look – or at the very least if you use two forks.

Now, here is where you need to be patient my dears.

Let it cool completely and then pop it into the fridge. Leave it. Leave it alone. Leave it at least overnight – it really is best after a day or two.

When you are ready to eat it, remove from the fridge and scrape off the fat that has solidified on the surface. Put on a low heat (a very low heat!) or back into a low oven and let it warm through while you boil and mash some spuds (just a note – a generous spoon of horseradish works wonders stirred through the mash you serve with this).

Shortly before serving (between five and fifteen minutes before) stir a tablespoon of Dijon mustard and a tablespoon of wholegrain mustard into the sauce.

Serve.

Eat.

Bask in the flavours and textures, the subtle peppery heat of the stew, the aniseed notes that peep out at you, the tender, melting meat – as yielding and pliant as a virgin who has ventured to the big city with wide eyes and an insatiable curiosity. Then bask in the praise of your friends, the ebb and flow of good conversation, a nice bottle of red wine. This is not a meal to be rushed – it is something to be savoured. We finished the evening with chocolate – bitter and dark, with a hint of chilli, and it worked perfectly.

As I said – this is not a meal that can be made or eaten in a rush, but it is intrinsically comforting and the perfect antidote to dark nights and cold days.