A little tribute...

There's no point to deliberate since Mother Net is full of lengthy features no further than a short google away but let us just thankfully raise a glass to the memory of Keith Floyd, THE chef on the telly. Have I never stumbled upon one of his wine infected monologues I wouldn't be typing recipes here today.

Adieu, monsieur Floyd and...

...Clive, over to me now.

Cassoulet to cry for!

I remember (even if somewhat hazily and distorted) when I was a teenager and became big enough to drink adult disapproved beverages whenever said adults weren't looking, that in those blissful times pretty much anything would do. I mean, if the party was well on it's way but the supplied fuel was running out, there were simply far more important issues than being fussy. If only there was an open 24/7 shop within a crawling distance an expedition would be assembled (usually consisting of a group of growling creatures tied together like a bundled hay to keep them vertical-ish), the last financial resources would be scraped out of the bottom of the pockets very tight indeed (how could any of us fit in those stupid jeans?) and after some sympathetic cheering from a balcony or window the human centipede would sway away and then back bringing a hefty serving of whatever was cheapest.

Youth... Never bloody again!

But then things begin to change. People grow up (or at least get older), mature (some like good wine, some like bad cheddar) and generally there's a fine chance that they start develop something of a taste. It's not something we can direct in any way, it's not anything we can influence, it is more like a gravity, that makes a cloud of dust start to revolve slowly and get closer and closer together until it forms something more substantial. And that's what happens to us as well. From the bottomless abyss of 'whatevah'-ness when it comes to drinking, suddenly we realize we've got preferences. That we prefer full-bodied red to any other and white is a no-go altogether. That whisky is better than brandy. Or other way round. That Żywiec is the best continental lager ever. And so on... Now. What all this have to do with cooking? Very little in fact, but elaborate entry always makes for interesting reading, n'est-ce pas?

Anyway, not all is lost as there is actually a tiny line of thought in this gibberish capable of taking us to cooking. Just as that stormy youth takes us all over the place without any direction, sense or purpose so are our beginner's steps in the kitchen. We try whatever comes our way just because it's new, because there's no context to it and in all our inexperience we simply have no idea what we like and what we wouldn't. It takes years and a few culinary trips around the world in 80 dishes to start appreciate some ingredients more than others, develop a particular liking for some flavours and feel more comfortable with Mediterranean cuisine than Chinese or any other way round. We grow up and mature in our preferences and without realising become specialists in some areas. Me, personally, I've just had a look back at my cook-record and can see clearly one thing - I'm a stew man! (An official, caped outfit and modus operandi yet to be confirmed...) There's simply nothing better than a generous helping of food that seems to outstretch its arms and cuddle you. A good stew is like a hot bath after taking the bus from town in December. It's like a soft and woolly blanket when you can hear outside your window how the gale and rain try to kill everything that's vertical. It's like a smile, like a goose-feather pillow, like hearing 'well done, young man' when you're five, like a knee-long jumper, like anything else in this world that gives you that warm and guilt-free sense of happiness. Is good for you because it makes you feel good and that's all you need to know.

So... if you ever wondered how to get there, here's a recipe that's just as good as Willy Wonka's golden ticket. We're going to need a couple of things and preferably a few hours for all the goodness to creep in. The dish is based on a traditional French cassoulet but with some adjustments for that little touch of originality. We'll need:

- pork (pork belly, Polish boczek, pork ribs, pork tenderloin etc., see details below)
- large onion
- white wine
- a couple of tomatoes
- tinned beans (of choice, but I recommend butter beans or any other large beans)
- red pepper (optional)
- some mushrooms (optional)
- seasoning and herbs (salt, pepper, marjoram, rosemary, bay leaves, allspice)

The choice of meat is crucial as it's going to influence the flavour of the whole dish but at the same time is fully open to personal preferences. I strongly recommend the pork belly/ribs/boczek trinity but if you prefer leaner option there's always tenderloin, shoulder or leg. Avoid loin though (traditional pork chops) as it's likely to end up very dry and there wouldn't be that much flavour to give to the stew. The cooking might take some time, but it's absolutely dead simple. Start traditionally with chopped onion and fry it with a little bit of mild olive oil (not the extra virgin one!). It'd be best if you had a casserole dish or at least a heavy bottom cooking pan so you can just carry on adding things into the same pot. When onions start getting transparent and soft add the rest of the vegetables and cook under cover for about 20 minutes until everything starts to mix together. Then add your meat (in full pieces, we'll be cutting it once it's cooked. Remember to keep the skin on the belly pork as well!), wine and herbs. Do not add salt as you might not need it at all in the end. Cover the pot, reduce fire to minimum and go and read War and Peace. You won't have to come back to the kitchen until she dies in the end.

...several chapters later...

When the smell makes your stomach try to jump out you're permitted to go and have a look. If the meat is cooked, take it out and cool it down on a side. You can loose the skin from the belly pork now and get rid of the bones from the ribs. They've given your stew all their flavours by now and are free to go. The rest of the meat cut in sizeable bits and return to the stew. Time to prepare boczek. You can find it in supermarkets but if not, use pancetta. Boczek is simply a belly pork that's cured and smoked and once you've tried it once you'll never stop salivating over it. Ever.

Ever.

The best way to handle it for this recipe is to chop or dice it very finely (you'll only need a couple of handfuls) and pre-fry in a frying pan until it's crispy. Add to the stew with all the fat that melted out. The boczek is very salty itself so that's why you need to be very careful about adding any so wait with that until you're ready to serve. At this point add also the beans and carry on cooking until your neighbours come knocking on your door with spoons and soup bowls ready. Let them have some only if they've always been very nice to you. But very nice. I mean, proper, very nice. And if they ever ask you for a recipe, tell them, that it was revealed to you by an very old French lady from just outside Toulouse on her deathbed and that a terrible curse would fall upon your head if you'd ever reveal her secret to anyone. They'll fall for it, promise.

mighty mash

The thing is... We all so love to show off. I mean, there's no deeper dungeons of depression and self-misery than a man without admirers. Think of a specimen of patheticness from Sevres and then add some. It's like listening to Portishead while burying all your relatives on a hangover. A depth three storeys beneath Mariana Trench's bottom.

Proper ugly.

And that's why it is so easy just to get carried away. To start bidding higher and higher with recipes more sophisticated and elaborate than Jonathan Ross' attempt to say 'sorry, I am an overpaid git who thinks that can get away with anything'. 

Which is fine by me.

But there are moments when it could just make sense to share some tips on absolute basics as well. 

When I started this blog it all came down to an easy way of sharing recipes with my friends who are just as much interrested in showing off about their cooking skills as I am myself. But then again, since you never know with the Internet, there is a remote chance that one day a completely lost reader that I do not know personally finds this little place and decide to spend a few minutes of his/her invaluable time to read what we're on about. And maybe that person, like my best friend (hi, Kuba!), doesn't even know that he/she can cook really well because they've never really tried since all the recipes they come across seem to be so damn complicated. And that's why I decided to throw in from time to time not as much a recipe as a little cooking help, advice, collection of tips on how to start with something easy. With a little luck, my dear colleagues will follow. And so today I'm going to start with one of the most substantial things in the whole of European food culture - mashed potatoes. And how to make it the best in the world without as much as breaking sweat.

So, obviously you need potatoes and for best result the right ones. If you go to a little high street shop just ask which ones would be best. Your local grocer will surely take a great pride in knowing his/her trade and you simply can't go wrong when following such an advice. But if you shop in supermarkets then simply read labels. There should be an explanation as to which types of potatoes are best for what. When it comes to mash, avoid the huge ones (they're for baking) and little ones (they're meant to be cooked whole or in chunks). Red ones are most likely what you're looking for.

Once you've got them, to cook you simply need to peel them remembering to cut out all the different spots you can come across beneath the skin. Depending on size it's good to halve them or even cut in smaller bits. Never let then dry and even if you peel them to be cooked later always make sure they're kept in some cold water. When your spuds are naked, wash and rinse in cold water and for cooking make sure there's always enough water to cover them. Ideally you'll have 1-2 centimetres of water above potatoes. Always cook in salted water even if your mum never used to do it that way. It may be only one or two teaspoons of salt but the difference in flavour is simply unbeatable. And then you simply boil them until soft. Irecommend trying them with knife. If the blade comes in and you can feel very little resistance, then you know the time has come. Now, here's a point when I'm going to ask you to perform some actions you'd probably never seen to be done when preparing mash. Because you not only need to drain your potatoes but dry them as well. There are two ways of doing that. You can either drain them in a colander and then return to your cooking pot or put the cover on leaving a little gap on one side and drain the potatoes that way (just remember to use some oven gloves!). Then return the pot on the fire (small to medium) and keep going for about a minute or two, shaking the pot vigourously until you can see that the potatoes are dry and start breaking. That bit is absolutely essential if you want to end up with a mash that's fluffy and light otherwise everything would be muddy and soggy.

Time to mash.

Take as much of it as you need. Now, you might have heard from different sources that little lumps in a mash are OK. That they even should be there. That it's a real secret of the trade and that's what REAL proffesionals do. So please, let me explain. These are exactly the same kind of people who would tell you that your newly fitted wall socket SHOULD be hanging on bare wires. That your new front left tire SHOULD be bigger than the right one to compensate a natural tendency of your car to pull a bit to the left while driving. And that nothing else could be done with it, actually and it's a known fact among people WHO KNOW. 

You get the idea, I suppose. 

So, simply as that. Mash equals smooth. No discussion. And once it is smooth we can proceed. 

Put the fire back on (again, not too big) and add an honest knob of butter and a few splashes of milk (although not-so-guilt-free double cream would be much superior) and seasoning. That can consist of little bit of Maggi, some rosemary, thyme, marjoram, parsley. Experimenting is always welcome. Stir everything patiently and if everything went right you should end up with something that looks and behaves like a proper bread dough.

Done.

To serve you can always sprinkle some fresh chopped parsley on top as well.

And if you ever want to try something a little bit dofferent, you can always do your mash without any bells or whistles. Just boil your potatoes as above, mash them and serve straight. Without adding any milk, butter, herbs or extra seasoning. It may sound a bit rudimentary but as for a flavour you might be in for a surprise!