We respond to warm weather in extreme ways in this country. The sun shines in March and out come strappy tops and tiny cotton skirts, bare white legs proudly on show. Driving around London, my friend and I try to spot the boldest examples – a bloke in a string vest, teeny tiny shorts and diamante flip-flops, a girl in mirror sunglasses and a flamingo pink boob tube. ‘Oh my God!’ I exclaim, but I admire this optimism, this grasping of summer, this lack of inhibition. I’m much more cautious, carrying a shawl at all times in case it gets chilly, climbing out of winter slowly.
What we want to eat reveals a more measured response. Most don’t fire up the barbecue. Your body wants food that’s ‘in between’ winter and summer. I don’t fancy the slow-cooked shin of beef I was cooking a month ago, but I’m not diving headlong into summer either. I want light braises – a Scandinavian lamb stew with dill and cream – and sautés. What’s the difference between these? Sautées – especially chicken sautés – are a perfect spring dish as the cooking time is short. The amount of liquid used is very important. After browning chicken joints, the liquid – stock, wine or vermouth – is added (though chicken joints can also be cooked in their own juices over a gentle heat). The meat is never covered in liquid. Aromatics – shallots, onions or leeks – should be added early so that their flavour infuses the chicken and the cooking liquor. Other ingredients – asparagus, beans or carrots – are added at the end of cooking time, having been cooked separately, or towards the end, allowing enough time for the vegetables to cook with the chicken.
You need to keep an eye on a sauté, being careful not to let the pan go dry, adding splashes of water as you need to. The aim is to end up with an intense sauce that just coats the chicken. You can remove the chicken once it’s cooked and reduce the liquid by boiling. You can also thicken the juices with cream, or cream and an egg yolk (as in the chicken recipe here), or beurre manie. Beurre manie – butter mashed with flour – is whisked into the liquid in little pieces. It’s considered old-fashioned these days, cooks mostly prefer to reduce the cooking liquid by boiling, but it’s a useful option.
Braises take more time than sautés. A complex interplay of flavours is at their core – the meat, vegetables and liquid all flavour each other – and that takes time to develop.
They’re usually made with tougher cuts of meat as slow cooking breaks down connective tissue to produce tenderness. The meat is usually browned in fat – important for the flavour – and in batches. If you crowd the pan the meat will steam rather than fry. It should also be dried with kitchen paper before cooking – wet meat doesn’t brown well. These seem like small points but taking care will pay off.
As with sautés, the meat in braises can be removed once it’s cooked and the cooking liquor reduced by boiling. Flour can be used to thicken braises too, the meat tossed in flour before being browned or stirred in at the end of browning. It’s important not to add too much flour, though, or you’ll end up with a claggy sauce when you want a dish that’s like spring itself. The base area of the pot you use is important too. The different components need to stay close together as they cook.
I’ve also given a recipe for ‘olive oil-braised’ vegetables. I discovered this approach in Greece. We were served potatoes, garlic and a multitude of greens cooked slowly together in olive oil. It was stunning, the flavour of the oil – use one you love – imbuing every element and simultaneously bringing them together.
Put plans for chicken piri piri and barbecued steaks on hold. Let’s eat spring before we eat summer.
Braised artichokes and shallots with broad beans and serrano ham
Use one of your favourite olive oils for this kind of dish – it’s a dominant ingredient. Olive-oil braising needs to be gentle and you can use it for any vegetables – peppers and tomatoes, fennel, potatoes and green beans, even sturdy lettuce leaves.
