Roasted Mushrooms with Goat Cheese and Grits/Polenta

Any Southerner who would have read the above title is probably in a wonderful position to shoot me now. I know, I know. You fundamentally can't confuse polenta with grits. Yes, they're both made from corn. Yes, they both can have a wonderful porridge-like consistency. But there is no way on heaven or earth that you can call one the other. I'm sure there's an actual fundamental difference between them (well, actually, even Wikipedia says they're darn similar), but when in England, grits are nowhere to be found.
Yes, this is sadly correct. Despite having adopted many a questionable item of American cuisine (like Poptarts, for example), grits remain an absolute unknown in the English food palate. Tell them about polenta and they're on board. Talk to them about grits and you get a blank face.
So, when I found this recipe (thanks to the NY Times Temporary Vegetarian), my heart yearned for the American original, yet I contented myself with the British equivalent. Which meant polenta. I was a bit nervous about using polenta instead of grits with the amount of water and milk that it called for, but it turned out beautifully. Just creamy enough to balance with the mushrooms and cheese and sticky enough to hold itself together in the bowl. I also had some leftover dried porcini mushrooms that I used with the recipe and used the water I rehydrated them with (infused with a wonderful mushroom-y taste) to blend with the milk in the recipe. An absolute win.

Grits may be off the menu for a little bit, but at least with this recipe, I have a fairly decent imitation. 

Ingredients

For the mushrooms:
1 cup chestnut mushrooms, cleaned and hard stems discarded
1 cup oyster mushrooms, cleaned and hard stems discarded
1 cup porcini mushrooms, rehydrated
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 sprig thyme
4 cloves garlic
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the grits (if you're lucky enough to have them) or polenta:
2 cups milk
1 jalapeño, split and seeded
1 clove garlic
1 bay leaf
1 sprig rosemary
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup organic grits/ 1 cup polenta or fine cornmeal
2 tablespoons butter
2 ounces fresh goat cheese

Method

1. For the mushrooms: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. In a mixing bowl, combine the shiitakes, oyster mushrooms, creminis, olive oil, thyme and garlic. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Transfer to a sheet pan, and roast for 15 minutes. Remove from heat, discard thyme and garlic, and cover to keep warm. While the mushrooms are roasting, prepare the grits.

2. For the grits/polenta: In a saucepan over medium heat, combine milk, 2 cups water (here I used the porcini mushroom "juice"), jalapeño, garlic, bay leaf, rosemary and salt. Bring to a simmer then remove from heat. Pour through a fine-meshed strainer into a heatproof bowl, and discard the solids.

3. Return the liquid to the saucepan, and place over high heat to bring to a boil. Add the grits, lower the heat to medium, and stir constantly until fully cooked and smooth, about 15 to 20 minutes. Add butter and mix well.

4. Add the goat cheese immediately before serving and mix well. Divide the grits/polenta among six plates, and spoon the roasted mushrooms over the grits/polenta.

Serves: 6.

Flat Roasted Chicken with Lemon and Herbs

I rarely cook chicken. No, wait, scratch that. I almost never cook chicken. I'm afraid of it. And with good reason, might I add. It's a culinary minefield. If it's underdone, there's the danger of life-threatening illness. If it's overdone, it's dry and horrible. For years I have found every conceivable way of cooking sans chicken. But finally, that period is long long gone. For I present to you not only the easiest chicken recipe that you will ever find, it's also amazingly delicious. Oh yes.

The recipe, from February's Delicious magazine, advocated a meat-based way of having a good yet healthy dinner. Well, it might be healthy, but what won points was its ease of preparation. The recipe advocated butterflying the chicken. Hell no. Why turn a perfectly nice recipe that takes little to no time to prepare and ruin it with a horribly complex butchery instruction? No way jose.

Anyway, there's little else to say except that it's delicious and if you eat meat, you'll want to eat this.  Serve it with leeks and you have yourself one fine looking dinner, if I don't mind saying so myself.


Ingredients
1.6kg chicken, boned and butterflied (bah! I bought bone-in chicken pieces from the store and never noticed the difference)
1 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp lemon juice, plus 1 lemon, sliced
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 red chili, deseeded and thinly sliced
1 tbsp oregano
1 tbsp thyme (if you have sprigs, use them)
8 artichoke hearts, tinned in water, rinsed and drained
200 ml dry white wine


Method
Preheat the oil to 220C. Put the chicken in an oiled roasting tin. Drizzle with the rest of the oil and the lemon juice. Scatter with the lemon slices, garlic, chili, and herbs.
Season, then add the artichokes and wine.

Roast for 30-35 minutes until the skin is golden and the juices run clear when you pierce the meat in the thickest part (turn the oven down to 200C if the skin browns too soon)

Transfer the chicken to a board, then cut into pieces. Tip the juices from the tin into a jug. Serve the chicken pieces with the artichokes, drizzled with the cooking juices.

Serves 4-6

Roquefort and Red Cabbage Salad

Ok, so the title might be a tad misleading. Technically this salad is supposed to be made with red cabbage, which is sweet and wonderful and photographs beautifully. Sadly, the local Tesco has not stocked red cabbage in months, if not years. So, alas, white/green cabbage it was.

Now, this is not to say that this wasn't delicious. I dare you to find me any salad that isn't made infinitely better with the addition of either bacon or cheese, but still, I feel a bit of the fraud by posting a red cabbage recipe which prominently features nothing of the kind. But ah well. If you are so lucky to live in a region with the rich bounty of red cabbage, please, do partake, and think of me when you do.


Roquefort and Red (ahem, white) Cabbage Salad

Ingredients
1/4 red (or white) cabbage, central core removed, thinly sliced
4 tbsp red wine vinegar
50g caster sugar
600ml water
100g streaky bacon (normal bacon for the Americans out there), cut into 2cm dice
2 slices of white bread, cut into 1cm cubes
1 garlic clove, crushed
2 heads of chicory (endive)
1 small head of radicchio
150g Roquefort (or any blue cheese) crumbled

for the Vinaigrette 
4 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
4 tbsp walnut oil
4 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp walnuts, roasted and broken into chunks
salt and pepper

Method

Put the cabbage in a bowl. Bring the vinegar to the boil, add the sugar and, once dissolved, pour it over the cabbage and stir well. Boil the water and pour that over the cabbage too. Leave to soak for 5 minutes, then drain in a colander and leave to cool.

Heat a frying pan over a high heat, add the bacon and cook it until it is crisp and the fat has been released. Add the bread and fry until golden, then stir in the garlic and fry for 1 minute.
Remove from heat.
Put the red cabbage in a salad bowl with the chicory and radicchio leaves, scatter over the bacon and croutons and the Roquefort cheese.
Whisk together all the ingredients for the vinaigrette and pour it over the salad.
Toss well, adjust the seasoning and serve.

Braised Leeks with Goat's Cheese

I know, I know, this is the second braised leeks recipe I have posted. And since I swore that the first one was so delicious, why on earth would I try another one? Because this is just as delicious, that's why. I happened upon this recipe on the Guardian website, created by Yotam Ottolenghi (and no, I have no idea how that's pronounced) who is known for doing all sorts of good and right things with food.

I was intrigued by this recipe because it seems to do the exact opposite of the other braised leeks recipe: simmering the leeks in liquid before braising them. The result is a softer, much sweeter leek. The sauce that is made from all the leftover juices is decadent and makes the dish. Unfortunately, the nice charred taste you get from roasting the leeks first before simmering them is lost, but still, this recipe is wonderful as a chicken side dish (see next post) and hey, who are you to turn down anything with goat's cheese? I certainly can't.

Note: The original recipe called for goat's curd. Now, you may live on a farm and have easy access to this. I don't. So goat's cheese it was, and it scrumptious. The curd will just have to wait.

Ingredients

8 long, thin leeks
2 bay leaves
2 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
200ml dry white wine
3 tbsp olive oil
250ml water
Salt and black pepper
½ small red onion, peeled and finely chopped
20g currants
1 tbsp cider vinegar
2½ tsp sugar
3 tbsp sunflower oil
100g goat's cheese

Method

First prepare the leeks. Discard the green part, then cut each leek widthways into two, each about 10cm long, and wash.

Lay the leeks in a large, shallow pan, add the bay leaves and garlic, and pour in the wine, olive oil and water, so the leeks are half-covered in liquid.

Season, then simmer gently for anywhere between 30 minutes and an hour (I did this for no longer than 30 minutes), turning the leeks a few times during cooking, until a knife can be inserted through the middle without any resistance.

Once tender, use a slotted spoon to transfer the leeks to a plate and set aside. Strain the liquid into a small pan and reduce over a high heat until you are left with two tablespoons of sauce. Remove from the heat, add the onion, currants, vinegar and sugar, and season. Set aside so the onion and currants soften in the residual heat while you finish off the leeks.

Heat the sunflower oil in a large frying pan and fry the leek pieces for a couple of minutes a side, until lightly golden. Place on a plate and leave to cool to room temperature.

To serve, divide the leeks between four plates. Top with small chunks of goat's curd, followed by the onion and currant dressing.

Root Vegetable Gratin

Another slightly horrific picture of a gratin, I apologize. There's just not other appropriate way for me to display the cheesy glory that is this recipe (similar to, I imagine, any gratin dish). Again, I have to cite the "Recipes for Health" section of The New York Times as my inspiration.
It's cold here in England. Very cold. January cold.
Which makes it the perfect time of year to celebrate the perhaps coldest section of the United Kingdom: Scotland.
Yes, that's right, once a year, the Brits pay homage to that most indecipherable of poets, Robbie Burns, Scotland's national hero. Perhaps because this is the time of year when most of Britain resembles Scotland: cold, dark, and slightly tipsy.
But, as only the Scots can, they make a merry night of it. Burns' Night, as it's called, involves a great feast and Scottish dancing (called a ceilidh, though just try to say that phonetically). 
And what better way to celebrate Scotland than to sample some of Scotland's most famous fare? That's right. Haggis. As Robin Williams says, I'm pretty sure that most Scottish cuisine was based on a dare. Innards and oats, you say? Sign me up!
But seriously, it's delicious. It's warming, it's filling, perfect for cold, dark, slightly tipsy nights such as these. And while haggis is traditionally served with "nips and tatties" (no, not that. I mean, roasted parsnips and cabbage. Get your mind out of the gutter!), I thought we could change the recipe slightly and throw some cheese and milk in with the mix. Hey, the Recipes for Health people recommended it. Who am I to disagree about its apparent "healthiness"?
Whether you're serving this with sheep innards or not, this is a great winter dish and amazingly easy to make. The timing can throw off things, but I cut corners and was able to get this dish out in less than hour (despite what the recipe may say).
G'un robh math agad! (or something to the effect)

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds combination of parsnips and swede, peeled and sliced thin (or a combination of turnips, kohlrabi, rutabaga, large parsnips) 

Salt and freshly ground pepper

2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves (or dried)

3/4 cup grated Gruyère cheese (3 ounces)

1 1/2 cups low-fat (1 percent or 2 percent) milk

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Butter a 2-quart gratin or baking dish. Place the sliced vegetables in a large bowl, and season generously with salt and pepper. Add the thyme, and toss together.

2. Arrange the vegetables in the gratin dish. Add the milk, season with more salt and pepper if you wish, and place in the oven on the middle rack. Bake 45 minutes (I did this in 35 min); every 15 minutes, press the vegetables down into the milk with the back of your spoon. Add the cheese, and stir in carefully to incorporate. Return to the oven, and bake another 30 to 45 minutes (again, I cheated and did this for 25 minutes), stirring or pressing the vegetables down with the back of your spoon every 10 minutes until the gratin is nicely browned and most of the liquid is absorbed. Remove from the heat and serve, or allow to settle and serve warm.

Serves four.