Ode to the Skirt Steak: Recipes and Where to Eat it

I love steak. So much so that I’ve belonged to a steak club for over five years, once ate steak five times in one week and still brazenly cook it in order to make friends. I remember being unable to afford a full three-courses at Hawksmoor when it first opened, but going to steak club and spanking £45 just on a juicy rib eye and absolutely nothing else. That’s how much I love steak. 



I’m a fan of the textured cut - one with a bit of chew and packs a meaty flavour punch. And so I introduce one of my favourite cuts - the skirt steak or bavette. It’s a cheaper cut (at one butchers the fillet is £45/kg, whereas skirt will be about £14.50/kg) but no less inferior. It’s a flat steak with beautiful marbling and takes flavour and marinating well (Anthony Bourdain recommends it grilled over an open fire of dried grape vines or good wood) and benefits from the smokiness of a Josper grill (like Les Deux Salons near Covent Garden). 

Bavette with Green Sauce at Duck Soup, Soho

You’ll find it on many a menu in London - I've seen it gracing Galvin's and Vinoteca's. Most recently, I ate one at Dean Street’s Duck Soup - sliced into ribbons and lifted with green sauce and served with sumac-sprinkled new potatoes and wilting wild garlic. 

But this is the easiest thing to cook at home. I find there’s nothing quite like a potter round the butchers and bringing home that precious, vermillion and marbled slab of meat, and unwrapping the paper like a present. The Ginger Pig’s skirt is second to none but we’ve had great ones from our local butcher down on the Northcote Road. 

Because it’s a coarse steak, it’s fit for the extremes of flash-frying or slow-cooking. I’ve not tried the slow-cooking before largely due to impatience (why wait 3 hours for something that takes five minutes?) So instead here are a few quick recipes on what to do with this magnificent cut. 

A few things to do with a skirt steak

How to cook the steak

Leave the steaks out so that they are room temperature. Lightly oil and season both sides liberally just before you’re going to cook it. Heat a flat-bottomed pan until smoking hot, and sear the steak on both sides for literally two minutes one side, a minute and a half on the other (I put my timer on). Do not be tempted to move the steak around in the pan. Leave to rest for 5 minutes.

With shallots

In the same pan, with the steak juices, heat up some more oil and cook finely chopped shallots with a sprinkling of sugar to caramelise and salt on a lower heat for 5 minutes. When a glorious brown, sprinkle on top of the steak. 

With garlic and parsley butter

Make a garlic and parsley butter about an hour or two before by mixing butter with finely chopped parsley and half a clove of crushed garlic. Roll into a sausage, wrap with clingfilm and put in the fridge to firm up. When ready to serve your steak, slice disks of butter, take the clingfilm off, place atop the unsliced steak and let it melt in the residual heat.

Steak sandwich

Steaks on the Japanese barbecue soon to turn into...steak sandwiches

Make a steak sandwich with a healthy smear of Tracklements horseradish and onions. 

(Fantastic and quick for entertaining as we did here on the Japanese barbecue)

Please do let me know if you have any more bavette recipes (more excuses to cook steak). 

Les Deux Salons review and Ruth Ford's Must Drink!

It was an unfortunate decision - to celebrate his birthday on a Tuesday night. We should have just gone for late night Vietnamese.

I like to think it was everyone else’s fault, Giles', Adrian's, Guy's, though I only have myself to blame. You see, the reviews for Les Deux Salons in Covent Garden were stirling.

Stunning.

If I’d gone and opened a restaurant, hard-grafted and walloped £2million on this interior as Will Smith and Anthony Demetre have done, I wouldn’t mind being billed by FT’s Nick Lander as a “serious contender to the Ivy” either.

Herefordshire snail & bacon pie and salt cod brandade, sauté of young squid, parsley cromesqui
And the grand entrance, on William VI street, suggested this would be the place to exercise the art of dining . This is the restaurant of occasion! the doorway states, in all high pillared splendour. Pushing through the heavy door, our entrance felt akin to shimmying down the grand staircase of a country manor. Les Deux Salons is so different from its counterparts, Arbutus and Wild Honey, which have that Soho inclusive snugness I so love.

We were shown to our table, which was in the thick of things. And it was from this point the occasion fell apart.

Roast saddle of rabbit, spring chard, carrot purée
Efficiency is not a sin. But dishes flew from the kitchen with such efficiency that I felt like the naughty kid for chatting and I forgot to chew (we were interrupted about five times). Wines were not recommended with certainty, which was slightly unsettling. We sat almost knee to knee with the tables either side of us - awkward if you’re with your boyfriend.

Bavette steak, caramelised shallot sauce
The food, however, was joyous. There was a masterpiece of a snail and bacon pie, a saddle of rabbit, a sweet, slightly-marshmallowy floating island with pink praline for dessert. But the one thing that I would do star-jumps for is their bavette steak. Their thick, meaty, manly flank - infused with the pungent smoke from a Josper charcoal grill. It was coarse and wonderful, a glorious punchy red-pink inside. And I’d warrant that everything that erupted from that grill would taste as brilliant as this steak.

Floating island with pink praline & custard
A place to linger? Hardly. Too high-adrenaline for me. If this was a bistro - then I'd be happy here - a carafe of red and a manly steak would do just fine. But a bistro it ain't. Song Que can expect a call next year.

Les Deux Salons
40-42 William IV Street
London WC2N 4DE
020 7420 2050




Ruth Ford’s Must Drink!

Helena made the very excellent decision to drink carafes of wine with her dinner. I am a huge fan of carafes: being able to order a wine in 250ml instead of a 750ml bottle gives you the freedom to have different wines with every course, and the confidence to try wines you wouldn’t normally, because if it turns out you don’t like it, it’s not as expensive as a bottle would have been, and you can simply choose another one.
 
More and more restaurants are offering wines by the carafe and this is to be APPLAUDED. I look forward to the day that every restaurant offers every wine on its list by the carafe and glass…
 
However I was slightly – just slightly – disappointed by the wines that had been recommended to Helena. A Chardonnay and a Cabernet Merlot, whilst both perfectly acceptable as matches for the dishes chosen, are just a bit safe, especially given the incredible choice of wines that Les Deux Salons offers by the carafe (massive thumbs up).
 
So this is a post about the wines that Helena could have had…
 
With the warm salt cod brandade and the snail and bacon pie, something thirst slaking is needed, to counter all the salt, but also with enough richness to cope with the textures and weight of the two dishes.
 
The Grüner Veltliner, Gmörk, Anton Bauer, Wagram (Austria) would have done the trick, with enough body and spice notes to match the flavours of both dishes, but also plenty of crisp freshness to cut through the saltiness. Grüner Veltliner is Austria’s signature white grape and if you haven’t tried it, do. It’s a great alternative to ‘usual’ light white wines like Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay, and very good at matching with all kinds of foods.
  Salt cod brandade
The bavette and saddle of rabbit are perhaps a bit trickier to find one wine for. The steak was meaty and smoky while the rabbit was light, so we need a wine that will cosy up to the steak without making the rabbit feel intimidated.
 
The Savigny-lès-Beaunes, ‘Les Bas Liards’, Rossignol-Changarnier, Burgundy (France), made from Pinot noir grapes in one of the more affordable villages of Burgundy, would go down a treat. Plenty of flavour for the steak, and yet light and silky enough for the rabbit.
 
From the cheaper end of the list, the Rosso di Montepulciano, Cantina Crociani, Tuscany (Italy) would also be good. The little brother of the more famous (and expensive) Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, it’s made from the Sangiovese grape and would be lively enough for the rabbit, whilst having enough fruit and savoury flavours not to be overpowered by the steak.

In praise of the doggy bag. Recipe: Leftover porterhouse steak salad

The doggy bag... (box) from Dean Street Townhouse
How English of us to be embarrassed by the doggy bag. Sweeping up those bits we’ve chosen not to scoff, taking them home to reheat dodgy-style in a microwave.

How tight. How uncouth.

But surely it’s the second highest compliment a restaurant can receive: that the food was so fabulous and generous, we’d like to eat it again, thank you very much. The first compliment, of course, would have been to love it the first time round.

Well, the asking for the doggy bag needn’t be embarrassing nor confined to the back-street Chinese restaurant.

The porterhouse steak and béarnaise sauce
I’ve never been shy of asking (it’s my Chinese genes). My last doggy bag was from the impeccable Dean Street Townhouse in Soho. The Scottish porterhouse steak is a beast of a dish, all tender tenderloin fillet one side of the bone, and beefy sirloin on the other. Enriched with custardy yellow béarnaise and accompanied by thin-cut chips.

It wasn’t a cheap meal, this. In fact this beast will set you back a good £65, and it rather defeated us on the night. But it turned into a fantastic salad supper the day after (recipe below), and saved us having to pick up anything new.

Dean Street Townhouse was gracious enough to accept the compliment. In fact, they were prepared for it and as soon as we asked, packed us off with a fancy box and a bag. After our waiter informed us that many fail to finish the Porterhouse, I’d wager they’d not ask for the doggy bag, which to me seems a waste of prime steak.

Our waiter did wonder if we had a dog as we asked if he could pack the bone too.

“No dog”, we replied, “just us”.

Waitrose Food Illustrated’s William Sitwell started the campaign a couple of years back, and was taken on by Jay Rayner and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, but I wonder how mainstream doggy-bagging actually is.

Is it something that you’d be happy to do? Or is it just a bit too embarrassing?

The tenderloin fillet (left) and sirloin (right) before...

...and after

Recipe: Leftover beef salad

There were heated discussions while waiting for the bill on what to do with the beef, which was to be used for the next day’s dinner. Stir fry? Pasta?

Fears that the beef would lose its already fantastic flavour cast those ideas aside. We decided to freshen up the steak with lots of vibrant herbs, and enhance rather than hide the flavour with a simple lime dressing.

Serves 2

Beef marinade
1 garlic clove
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 teaspoons fish sauce
1 heaped teaspoon palm sugar
Few drops sesame oil

Leftover rare steak from last night’s blowout
100g dried vermicelli noodles

Handful of herbs - anything like fresh mint leaves, coriander, thai basil or all three is great. I like mine with mint and coriander
Scatter of dry roasted peanuts - roughly crushed with a pestle
Half a cucumber, sliced

Dressing
Juice from two limes
Fresh chilli or cheat with dollops of sweet chilli sauce

Using a pestle and mortar, crush the garlic, and then add the rest of the ingredients. Pour over the steak and marinate for at least an hour.

Cover the dried noodles with boiling water for ten minutes, then rinse under cold water

Flash fry the steak - you don’t want to cook that rareness out. If already sliced, then it’s a token heat through to take the edge off the marinade. If not, take out and leave to stand before slicing thinly.

Throw the noodles, sliced herbs, peanuts, cucumber, beef. Combine the lime juice and chilli, pour over, toss and serve.


Dean Street Townhouse

69 - 71 Dean Street

London

W1D 3SE
020 7434 1775

Thanks to Tom for the recipe

New York Tales: 2. The Burger Brunch

Forget eggs benedict and fancy fries. When your insides are wincing from margarita pain - the burger’s where it’s at.

I’m a maximalist when it comes to the burger. I once had a month’s stint in Australia, where avocado and beetroot is packed in just about everything, after which I was purist no longer. Pickle, onion, fried things, bacon bits. You know the score.

Think thick slabs of meat, wedged in bun and made sloppy with enough condiment to drip from your hands. Cheese? Oh go on then. Melt it.

That was the tonic after a night out at Industry in Hell’s Kitchen - a pulsing gay club, newly opened, box-fresh and quite frankly, too much.

I’d spent the morning-after dazedly wandering the art galleries of Chelsea, all Andy Warhol polaroids and sad artists. But by midday I had a purpose. Brunch with my friend Barry had been booked at the Mercer Kitchen in Soho and burgers awaited. Just the anticipation of eating was making me shake.

The Mercer Kitchen is a fine place - airy and busy up top, but the floor underneath in its Christian Liaigre glory is clandestine - dark with wenge-wood. You may think it's a dear place as it's a Jean-George Vongerichten number (who's just opened Spice Market in Soho, London. Read Jay Rayner's review here) but with burgers at $15 a pop, I don't think that's bad at all.

Barry chose the Niman ranch burger, adorned with only aged cheddar. Mine was called the Mercer (which surely allows the kitchen to dress it up with as fancy ingredients as possible) fussy with tart pepperjack cheese, avocado, creamy Russian dressing and crispy onions. All this glorified cheeseburger was missing was the crunch of salty bacon. Simple golden fries were served charmingly in a flowerpot.

I’d learnt to love Brooklyn Brewery lager over the weeks (the Draft House in Battersea stocks the lager and the ale) which was a handsome thing to swig with mouthfuls of chargrilled meat.

Now, the Mercer is not the best place to chow down burger in New York City. But as far as fussy burgers and good chat go, this place has the winning combination.

It’s the place to talk the morning after the night before. The place where you can avoid smug bright eyed shoppers. The place to hide from the stream of sunbeams when your eyes aren’t quite used to daylight.

I’m all for the burger brunch. Are you?


The Mercer Kitchen
99 Prince St.
New York, NY
10012

Eyre Brothers, Shoreditch

*Warning. Another porky post*

Eyre Brothers in Shoreditch. I’m too excited to give this place a full review as we only tried two dishes there - but I wanted to say that the two dishes we did have were outstanding. Both pork, both exceptional and balanced dishes. They were maximalist without being over the top, with punchy flavours that are expertly reigned in.

Pork and clams braised in white wine, garlic, bay with fried potatoes and coriander - Alentejo (a region in Portugal) style
A rich and fun dish - chunks of pork with the delicate clams that appear in the dish. Bursts of freshness of the sea

Grilled fore-loin of acorn-fed Iberico pig marinated with smoked paprika, thyme, garlic and patatas pobres - potatoes with green peppers, onions, garlic and white wine.
Perfectly cooked, hearty, rustic flavour through the meat.


To accompany, we drank a glass of Monastrell 2009, Bodegas Castano from Spain which was rather rich and rather fruity.

It’s rustic and stylish cooking from David Eyre, who set up original gastropub The Eagle in Clerkenwell, and his upbringing in the former Portuguese colony of Mozambique is reflected in the food, which has punchy Spanish flavours too. The room is pared down - dark African mahogany and New York clean lines. The service is impeccable. And you’ll be surrounded by a strange mixture of clientele - mostly City and creative-types. Oh and maybe a daytime TV chef having a celebratory supper.

All I can say is that I urge you to go. And I will be going again to try the pulpo - octopus Galician style, and Caldeirada - the Portuguese fish and shellfish stew.

The mains are close to £20, but each dish is very filling.

Eyre Brothers
70 Leonard Street, City of London EC2A 4QX
+44 20 7613 5346 ‎

6 Nations Rugby Rolls: Hot Pork with Caramelised Onions

I can’t help the porky posts. I know I’ve gushed about hot roast pork rolls here and no doubt I shall write about them again. I make no apologies, it’s an addiction.

And it is rugby-time.

Here’s a treat for the six-nations weekends. I heartily recommend doing what we did last match - the boys came on over for a rugby lunch - a help yourself DIY hot belly-pork roll with a dollop of homemade apple sauce and a thick smear of caramelised onions. Perfect with the biggest bottles of British ale you can find.

It's the caramelised onions that makes this.

I learnt the secret of these onions when I was out in the South of France learning Provencal cookery from the extremely talented Alex Mackay.

The secret was simple. Patience.

I am an instant-gratification kind of girl. I'm not keen on waiting or stirring much (which is why I’ve never made risotto), so these onions are not as faithfully caramelised as what Alex would use in a Pissaladière (this fantastic recipe is in his book Cooking in Provence).
But I do make vast amounts and keep in a sterilised jar. A sort of condiment that goes well with almost everything savoury, the onions make great friends cold with a cheese sandwich, or hot on a steak.

Hot roast pork rolls with caramelised onions


Most of this can be made in advance.

The sagey pork
Get yourself a large slab of belly pork. Score and heavily salt the fat. Preferably leave overnight, but at least for two hours.
Preheat the oven to 240C. Slice the whole layer of fat off with a sharp knife and place sage leaves onto the meat as pictured. Put the layer of fat back on top and roast for 20 minutes before reducing the heat to 200C. Roast for 40-45 minutes until crispy. Leave to rest for 10 minutes then slice thickly.

The apple sauce and onions before
The onions
While the pork is roasting, slice five mild onions. Slug a little mild olive oil and a large wedge of butter into a heavy-bottomed pan. Heat gently until foaming, and throw the onions in. Let them cook gently for at least 15 - 20 minutes and stir occasionally to avoid catching on the bottom. Add a large pinch of salt, and two teaspoons of golden caster sugar. Add a little water every now and then to moisten and make gloopy - cover occasionally if you think they look like they will dry out to steam them a little. Cook for about 15 more minutes until a gorgeous goldeny colour.

The apple sauce and onions after
The assembly
Take floury white bap bottom. Layer with butter, Tracklements English mustard (warning - hot!), apple sauce, onions. Lay on three thick slices of pork, some crackling, salad leaves and floury white bap top.


Sink your teeth into that and get ready for some prime rugby.


Thanks to British Onions for sending me a vast selection of shallots and onions. I had too much fun experimenting.

Revival of the Turkey Hash

If anyone's already done their cold turkey slices, turkey pies, turkey soups, and still has some defiantly in the fridge I'd say turkey hash is the business for this kind of leftover meat. We ate this last night with a ridiculous amount of ketchup, which of course, has to be Heinz.

Here's my extremely simple Bostonian turkey hash recipe which I posted earlier this year, or if you fancy a bit more of a spicy one, Simon Schama's recipe from the FT magazine with chipotle for a sprinkle of fire.

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 9

Dec 9: Charcuterie Bodega Ham Stand and Knife from Quintessentially Gourmand

According to the Guardian word of mouth today, British charcuterie is on the rise. And if that's the case, you could get in on the trend and kit out any charcuterie-obsessed friends or family you might have.

When I think of charcuterie, I think of Brindisa in Borough Market and those fabulous knives and terrifying ham stands that resemble instruments of torture.

I found these from Quintessentially Gourmand. There's only one thing to deduce from its owner. And that is - full on love for meat.


A wonderful ham contraption, £49.95


A scary looking but skilfully wrought knife, £34.90

They're not what you'd call snips, but it's the price you pay for looking as slick and equipped as those hunks at Brindisa.

Click below for more information:

Bodega Ham Stand
Jamon Charcuterie Knife