Cow and Prawn - The Viking Cooks

Cows are great aren’t they?  I mean, really great.  A half-ton of walking buffet with a brain.  And yet, so deliciously stupid that you can walk right up to one, kill it TO DEATH and then drag it away and the others won’t get suspicious when you return later on with a bolt gun and a wicked gleam in your eye.

I suppose I should mention at this point that I have never killed a cow.  But I would punch a Dolphin.  There’s something in their eyes, they’re not to be trusted.

Moving on (probably sensible), then, and the gorgeous bovine beast has been slaughtered, butchered, hung and purchased, and it’s time for it to get in my belly.  I’ve got two lovely pieces of fillet but – shock of shocks – tonight, a steak pan fried just ain’t going to be enough.  It’s a mad notion, and probably one that’s offensive to the cow that was until recently chewing the cud in a Herefordshire field (and if I should ever find myself in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe I’m sure the main course would regard me with baleful eyes before recommending a different cut of itself, trying to forget the faux pas I’d just made), but sometimes, some-bloody-times I want something to take my steak dinner and elevate it to a thing of ethereal beauty. 

I want colour.  I want sweet, crisp freshness.  I want something salty.  I want something that looks impressive but is actually damned easy.  I want to feel, at once, like a culinary god and an ordinary Joe.  And if you’ve ever wanted to feel like that, then I have three words for you:

Surf and Turf.

I know, I know what you’re thinking – you’re thinking “Now come on, Viking old boy, you’ve been banging on in your first few blogs about big tasty food and this, frankly, is a Beefeater special.”  To which I say, yes, you have a point but – as with anything else – with the right ingredients this can be one hell of a tasty, rewarding and inspiring dish.  I have a great affinity for it anyway (must be something to do with those Viking roots) – the combination of meat and shellfish is, for me, simply outstanding.  The sharp sweetness of the prawn cuts right through the meatiness of the beef.  The garlic (as they must be cooked in garlic, these prawns) adds another extra dimension of flavour – we have earthy beef and sweet prawn while marrying the two is a beautiful, rich and buttery garlic sauce.  Throw in a big-arsed chunky chip and I swear your Friday nights will never be the same again.

Enough of the titillation then, let’s get cooking.  You are going to need STUFF.  This week’s stuff is:

Fillet Steak - the turf part, if for some reason you though cows were marine animals.  Cut from the tenderloin, which runs along both sides of the spine just under the sirloin, the fillet is the tenderest cut of beef.  As a muscle, it isn’t weight bearing, so you get less contractive tissue and therefore the meat is tenderer (thanks, Wikipedia!) While I love a rib-eye or a sirloin, fillet is just melt-in-the-mouth beautiful.  It may be a tad more expensive but it’s so, so worth it.  Then you'll need:

Prawns – the surf!  For this recipe, I used tiger prawns.  I wandered up to Borough market and found a fishmonger who charged me £15 for 4.  That was a real swallowing of my pride moment, I can tell you.   There was a real fight on the fishmonger’s hands to remove the notes from my clenched fist – but he won the day and in the end I’m sort of glad he did.  Still, if your budget doesn’t stretch to silly proportions (trust me, mine didn’t), then replace tiger prawns with king prawns and that’ll be a-ok.  Again, choose how many you want depending on how many mouths you’re feeding and how hungry you are.

You’ll also need butter.  Proper butter, that is.  Not margarine, butter.  Nice, yellow, artery clogging butter.  Yes, fine, if you eat butter in large amounts every day you will have a heart attack.  That said, a little once in a while isn’t going to kill you, so get some butter.  I chose Lurpak because I’m half Danish and I insist on patriotism when buying dairy produce.  Add to your grocery bag 3 cloves of garlic (more or less depending on how garlicky you like things), parsley and as many good, white fluffy potatoes as you need - for these chunky chips, one potato will make four chips.

You’ll also need a pan of water, a griddle pan, a roasting tray, oil, sea salt and cling film.

Firstly, cut a good lump of butter and place in to a bowl.  Crush the garlic in there, and throw in a pinch of parsley.  Using the backside of a spoon, whip the butter, garlic and parsley together until you have a malleable ball of buttery garlicky goodness.  Take most of the mixture and place on to some cling film.  Cover, and then using your hands roll the butter in to a sausage shape and put in the fridge.  Save the remaining mixture for later on.

For the chips, I basically made roast potatoes.  Cut your potatoes in to chunky chips, put them in a pan of water and rinse.  Cover with water again and put over a high heat and bring them to the boil.  Pre-heat your oven to gas mark 7 (220c), making sure you’ve got a roasting tin in there with a good slug of olive oil to get nice and hot.  Once the potatoes have been boiling for five minutes, drain them and sling them around gently in the pan to beat them up a bit.  Remove the roasting tin from the oven, add the potatoes (they’ll give good sizzle – give them a good turn so they get a covering of oil) and a generous pinch of sea salt, and then put them back in the oven for 45 minutes, turning once.

Now, prepare the prawns.  Release your inner beast and grip the head of the prawn between your thumb and forefinger.  It’s a bit gross, but twist the head all the way off.  Turn the prawn on to its back and using your thumbs break the shell off, removing the legs and the outer shell.  If you like, you can leave the tail on for decoration.  Now, turn the prawn right side up again, and you’ll see a little black line running the length of the back.  That’s the intestinal tract.  It is edible – but it’ll taste gritty and let’s not forget that it’s prawn poo in there.  So, using the tip of a small sharp knife, pull it free.  The next bit is down to personal preference, but I like to butterfly my prawns.  Using a sharp pair of kitchen scissors, cut half way down the prawn from top to tail and then press out using your fingers.


I actually cut the body of the prawn in to two.  This is a) because I like the way the two sides curl outwards when they cook and b) because I got carried away and accidentally cut the first prawn in half so, in the interests of continuity, I had to carry on with my ‘vision’.  Once you’re done, rinse the prawns in cold water and pat dry with a tea towel.  Arrange on a grill pan (I wrapped mine in foil to strop drippage), and then get the remainder of your butter mixture.  Spoon on to the prawns, and then set aside – don’t start cooking them yet!

Now, time for the steaks.  We all have our little steak secrets, but here’s mine.  If you’re using a pan, get it hot.  Really hot.  Shimmering hot.  Don’t put oil in it.  In the meantime, give your steak a good grind of pepper (beef loves pepper), and then put the oil on the meat.  If you want salt, add at this point – if you put it on the meat directly it will dry it out and that’s not what you want.  Then, add the steaks to the pan, and cook at high heat for one minute on each side.  Then, turn the heat right down to medium, and cook for a further minute on each side for rare, two for medium rare, three for medium and four for well done.  You can check how your steak is cooking without cutting it open by doing the hand test.

This time, however, I used a heavy cast iron griddle.  Instead of cooking over a high heat, I started and stayed on medium.  For that reason, it takes a little longer to cook the steaks, but also, I find, keeps them lovely, tender and juicy despite not sealing the outside in a hot pan.  Also, the griddle gives your meat wonderful steak house lines, which I think look great.

Resting is the key for steak.  Rare steaks should be rested for 6-8 minutes, medium-rare for 5, medium for 4 and well done for 1.

Depending on the cooking and resting time of your steak, you need to time when to put your prawns on.  So, turn on your grill and be ready.  Prawns will take a maximum (if using tiger prawn like I did) of 6-8 minutes.  So, if you’re having a rare steak, don’t put your prawns on until you’ve removed your steaks from  the pan.  You’re intelligent people, you can work it out, I’m sure!  A prawn is cooked when the flesh is white and the outside has turned a nice pink colour.

You’ll know when they’re cooked – they look like you expect them to look, if you see what I mean – and they’re entirely different from how they look when they’re raw.

To serve:

Get your butter sausage and cut off enough rounds to have one per steak. 

Then, on a heated plate, arrange your chips in a stack of six, two by two.  Place the steak to one side and garnish with your lovely pink prawns.  Top your steak with the round of garlic butter, and serve.  You don’t need any other condiments with this, unless you want to add a garlic mayonnaise to dip your chips in.  And why not, eh?

It’s amazing how just adding a couple of prawns to such a simple thing as steak n’ chips can elevate it to being something very special indeed.  Eat with a long, cold lager in front of your favourite movie with the people that you love.  If there’s anything that is as soulful, replenishing and fun as eating non fussy food with friends, then I don’t know what it is.

So get on the phone, get your friends over, and make them a Surf and Turf as prescribed by The Viking.  Let me know how you get on!

Oh, before I go: this week’s technical directors on Food Viking were Mrs. Viking (for putting up with the herculean level of swearing coming from our kitchen when I realised I had never cooked prawns before) and Victoria King ) who heroically saved me from throwing away some perfectly good tiger prawns while I was having a fit about whether they were good to eat or not.  Cheers, Victoria.

Right, I’m definitely going this time.  I’ll be back next week, and until then, happy eating!

The Viking Cooks: Sweet and Hot Sticky Ribs

Hands up if you don’t like eating with your fingers.

Why not?  It’s quite an experience.  I don’t mean just grabbing hold of a cheese sandwich here, either.  That doesn’t count (although I wouldn’t wish to say bad things about a cheese sandwich – sometimes, nothing else will do) – think instead of all the great things that you can (and should) eat with your hands.  Big, juicy burgers.  Hot dogs.  Sizzling chicken fajitas.  Pizza.  Imagine: you clutch a chicken drumstick as big as your head in your fist, and then ripping great chunks of flesh from it with your teeth before dispatching the bone over your shoulder to be fought over by the dogs.  Tell me that doesn’t make you happy.

Alright, so maybe eating with your fingers needn’t be such a medieval affair after all – but it can be a lot of fun and there’s one food that is suited particularly well to the art of finger eating, and that’s the humble rib.

I remember that, as a child, I was the pickiest eater.  I must have been a constant nightmare for my parents.  Peas?  No.  Batter Pudding?  No (although I would eat a Yorkshire Pudding, so my Mother won that little battle, I suppose).  Fish?  Nuh-uh.  Eating out was an entirely new horror and often led to panic attacks – but there was one place that I truly loved to go to eat.  A place where I loved all the food, and the atmosphere, and the cool way the bar people used to make you highly coloured (and highly sugared, no doubt) cocktails for kids.  The restaurant was (and still is) called Back Inn Time, an American themed diner in Chelmsford Essex – if you ever find yourself there I highly recommend you drop in and check them out.  You’ll not be disappointed.

So there I would be sat, colourful cocktail alongside me, waiting for the feast.  Others would have burgers (loaded with all the accompaniments under the sun), or great big juicy steaks with piles of perfectly fried French Fries (oh, I didn’t like French Fries either, but if you told me they were ‘Thin Chips’ then I was fine with that) – but me?   I went for the ribs each and every time.  I’ve been visiting this restaurant for 20 years and I still always order ribs.  It’s the best – you get a rack of wonderfully sticky ribs, a pile of napkins and, best of all, a dog bowl to out your bones in.  As a child, I would feel like Fred Flintstone as these frankly gigantic (to my small eyes) racks were laid in front of me, and off I would go.  And that’s how my love affair with ribs started, and has endured to this day.  I think most rib lovers would tend to find their own rib shack that they like the best (in London – as I can’t always get to Essex – there’s a fabulous rib house called Bodeans in Soho), a place with the right stickiness to the sauce, the right smokiness to the meat, the right atmosphere to eat in.  But what I never realised until recently is you can achieve something similar at home for very little cost – it’s so very easy, and today I’m going to share with you my recipe for a sweet, hot and sticky rib sauce that you can make in near enough 5 minutes.

Now, before I get started I must say that sometimes it’s perfectly acceptable to not want to mess around – especially if you want ribs after work.  If you’re after quick, easy and tasty ribs, then I’d recommend using the Paul Newman range of sauces.  The best thing about them is that you’re doing something good for charity.  However, if you make your own sauce it’s something to be really proud of, and this is how you do it.

As usual, you’re going to need STUFF.  So, in order for you to get your stuff, here’s a shopping list (this lot feeds two):

Meat:

- One rack of baby back ribs.  You can use spare ribs if you like (and why not) – but I find the babyback is easier to eat.  If you go to Waitrose, these can be anything from £2.50 to £4, depending on weight.  Your local butcher may be cheaper.

For the sauce:

- 2 red onions, chopped

- 3 cloves of garlic, chopped

- 2 nice hot chillies, deseeded and chopped

- 200ml of ketchup

- A spoon of honey

- A tablespoon of dark soy sauce

- A tablespoon of dark drown sugar

- A pinch of fennel seeds, crushed

So.  Got your stuff?  Well done.  Grab a saucepan, stick it on the heat, and then (with a little oil) fry off the garlic, onions and chillies.  When they’ve started to cook down a bit, add in the sugar and briskly stir everything together.  You’re looking for the sugar to start caramelising, giving the rest of the ingredients a brownish colour. 

Then, add the ketchup, soy sauce and honey, and bring to the boil.  Simmer for 5 minutes to thicken the sauce down and bang, you’re done!  How easy is that?  If you’re feeling cheeky, add a good slug of Jack Daniels – I was, so I did.

The best things come to those who wait, eh?

"One shot for the ribs, and one for me..."

The level of heat/sweetness you put in is up to you – I have used two spoons of sugar before and my teeth nearly fell out.  For me, I really like the heat to come piling through the sweetness in the aftertaste, so maybe if you like a bit of heat don’t deseed the chilli.  I know that the ketchup is a bit of a cheat, but it really works and using that and the honey is going to give you a really sticky rib.

Now that the sauce is done, get your rack of ribs.  Using a shap knife, score along the top of the ribs in diagonal lines in opposing directions – this will help the marinade get right in to the meat transferring all that lovely flavour.

Spoon your rib sauce out on to the ribs and use a brush to spread it all over the meat, ensuring you get in to all the nooks and crannies.  If you’ve used a rib sauce before, it might look a bit weird but that’s only because you can see the lumps and bumps from the onion you made the sauce with.  You could strain the sauce if you like, but I like the extra bite those onions give.  If you have the time, let the ribs sit in the marinade for about 6 hours.  If not, you can get going straight away, you’re still going to get a good result.

Top tip time!  Wrap your baking tray in foil.  Your ribs and sauce will leak and it’s impossible to get off once it’s dried on.  Also, this creates less washing up and that’s always good for me!

Anyway.  Get your ribs in a hot oven, gas mark 7 (220 C) should do the trick.  Set a timer for half an hour.  Once that’s done, don’t even look at the ribs, just turn the oven down to gas 4 (180 C) for another hour and a half.  Even better, if you’re not pushed for time you could go down to gas 2 (150 C) for about 3 hours.  You can turn the ribs half way through cooking if you like, but it’s not essential.  Just make sure to have some extra sauce on the side so you can keep basting your ribs during the cooking process.

Afterwards, pierce between the ribs with a sharp knife.  If the juices run clear then you’re all cooked.  An even better way to tell is pulling the meat from the bone.  If the meat pulls cleanly away (and it should, you’ve cooked it good and slowly), you’re set to get eating!

It might look messy, but it really is a thing of beauty...

Please ignore the next picture.  Good ribs should, I think, be served with a pile of coleslaw and a crisp jacket potato.  I lost control of myself though and cooked some potato slices.  I’m sorry to let you down so.  It’s only just now I realise how much colour I could have added.

Eating with your fingers is fun, sociable and just a little decadent.  I highly recommend you have a go at this one – just make sure you have a small bowl of soapy water nearby to wash your fingers with.  The ideal drink to go with this would be an ice cold lager and I guarantee you and your guests will end the meal happy.

Next week, picture quality will return to normal now that I have actually managed to find the charger cable for my camera, and I think we'll be looking at a Great British Classic, the Toad in the Hole.  Until then, folks, and let's eat!

The Viking Cooks: Sweet and Hot Sticky Ribs

Hands up if you don’t like eating with your fingers.

Why not?  It’s quite an experience.  I don’t mean just grabbing hold of a cheese sandwich here, either.  That doesn’t count (although I wouldn’t wish to say bad things about a cheese sandwich – sometimes, nothing else will do) – think instead of all the great things that you can (and should) eat with your hands.  Big, juicy burgers.  Hot dogs.  Sizzling chicken fajitas.  Pizza.  Imagine: you clutch a chicken drumstick as big as your head in your fist, and then ripping great chunks of flesh from it with your teeth before dispatching the bone over your shoulder to be fought over by the dogs.  Tell me that doesn’t make you happy.

Alright, so maybe eating with your fingers needn’t be such a medieval affair after all – but it can be a lot of fun and there’s one food that is suited particularly well to the art of finger eating, and that’s the humble rib.

I remember that, as a child, I was the pickiest eater.  I must have been a constant nightmare for my parents.  Peas?  No.  Batter Pudding?  No (although I would eat a Yorkshire Pudding, so my Mother won that little battle, I suppose).  Fish?  Nuh-uh.  Eating out was an entirely new horror and often led to panic attacks – but there was one place that I truly loved to go to eat.  A place where I loved all the food, and the atmosphere, and the cool way the bar people used to make you highly coloured (and highly sugared, no doubt) cocktails for kids.  The restaurant was (and still is) called Back Inn Time, an American themed diner in Chelmsford Essex – if you ever find yourself there I highly recommend you drop in and check them out.  You’ll not be disappointed.

So there I would be sat, colourful cocktail alongside me, waiting for the feast.  Others would have burgers (loaded with all the accompaniments under the sun), or great big juicy steaks with piles of perfectly fried French Fries (oh, I didn’t like French Fries either, but if you told me they were ‘Thin Chips’ then I was fine with that) – but me?   I went for the ribs each and every time.  I’ve been visiting this restaurant for 20 years and I still always order ribs.  It’s the best – you get a rack of wonderfully sticky ribs, a pile of napkins and, best of all, a dog bowl to out your bones in.  As a child, I would feel like Fred Flintstone as these frankly gigantic (to my small eyes) racks were laid in front of me, and off I would go.  And that’s how my love affair with ribs started, and has endured to this day.  I think most rib lovers would tend to find their own rib shack that they like the best (in London – as I can’t always get to Essex – there’s a fabulous rib house called Bodeans in Soho), a place with the right stickiness to the sauce, the right smokiness to the meat, the right atmosphere to eat in.  But what I never realised until recently is you can achieve something similar at home for very little cost – it’s so very easy, and today I’m going to share with you my recipe for a sweet, hot and sticky rib sauce that you can make in near enough 5 minutes.

Now, before I get started I must say that sometimes it’s perfectly acceptable to not want to mess around – especially if you want ribs after work.  If you’re after quick, easy and tasty ribs, then I’d recommend using the Paul Newman range of sauces.  The best thing about them is that you’re doing something good for charity.  However, if you make your own sauce it’s something to be really proud of, and this is how you do it.

As usual, you’re going to need STUFF.  So, in order for you to get your stuff, here’s a shopping list (this lot feeds two):

Meat:

- One rack of baby back ribs.  You can use spare ribs if you like (and why not) – but I find the babyback is easier to eat.  If you go to Waitrose, these can be anything from £2.50 to £4, depending on weight.  Your local butcher may be cheaper.

For the sauce:

- 2 red onions, chopped

- 3 cloves of garlic, chopped

- 2 nice hot chillies, deseeded and chopped

- 200ml of ketchup

- A spoon of honey

- A tablespoon of dark soy sauce

- A tablespoon of dark drown sugar

- A pinch of fennel seeds, crushed

So.  Got your stuff?  Well done.  Grab a saucepan, stick it on the heat, and then (with a little oil) fry off the garlic, onions and chillies.  When they’ve started to cook down a bit, add in the sugar and briskly stir everything together.  You’re looking for the sugar to start caramelising, giving the rest of the ingredients a brownish colour. 

Then, add the ketchup, soy sauce and honey, and bring to the boil.  Simmer for 5 minutes to thicken the sauce down and bang, you’re done!  How easy is that?  If you’re feeling cheeky, add a good slug of Jack Daniels – I was, so I did.

The best things come to those who wait, eh?

"One shot for the ribs, and one for me..."

The level of heat/sweetness you put in is up to you – I have used two spoons of sugar before and my teeth nearly fell out.  For me, I really like the heat to come piling through the sweetness in the aftertaste, so maybe if you like a bit of heat don’t deseed the chilli.  I know that the ketchup is a bit of a cheat, but it really works and using that and the honey is going to give you a really sticky rib.

Now that the sauce is done, get your rack of ribs.  Using a shap knife, score along the top of the ribs in diagonal lines in opposing directions – this will help the marinade get right in to the meat transferring all that lovely flavour.

Spoon your rib sauce out on to the ribs and use a brush to spread it all over the meat, ensuring you get in to all the nooks and crannies.  If you’ve used a rib sauce before, it might look a bit weird but that’s only because you can see the lumps and bumps from the onion you made the sauce with.  You could strain the sauce if you like, but I like the extra bite those onions give.  If you have the time, let the ribs sit in the marinade for about 6 hours.  If not, you can get going straight away, you’re still going to get a good result.

Top tip time!  Wrap your baking tray in foil.  Your ribs and sauce will leak and it’s impossible to get off once it’s dried on.  Also, this creates less washing up and that’s always good for me!

Anyway.  Get your ribs in a hot oven, gas mark 7 (220 C) should do the trick.  Set a timer for half an hour.  Once that’s done, don’t even look at the ribs, just turn the oven down to gas 4 (180 C) for another hour and a half.  Even better, if you’re not pushed for time you could go down to gas 2 (150 C) for about 3 hours.  You can turn the ribs half way through cooking if you like, but it’s not essential.  Just make sure to have some extra sauce on the side so you can keep basting your ribs during the cooking process.

Afterwards, pierce between the ribs with a sharp knife.  If the juices run clear then you’re all cooked.  An even better way to tell is pulling the meat from the bone.  If the meat pulls cleanly away (and it should, you’ve cooked it good and slowly), you’re set to get eating!

It might look messy, but it really is a thing of beauty...

Please ignore the next picture.  Good ribs should, I think, be served with a pile of coleslaw and a crisp jacket potato.  I lost control of myself though and cooked some potato slices.  I’m sorry to let you down so.  It’s only just now I realise how much colour I could have added.

Eating with your fingers is fun, sociable and just a little decadent.  I highly recommend you have a go at this one – just make sure you have a small bowl of soapy water nearby to wash your fingers with.  The ideal drink to go with this would be an ice cold lager and I guarantee you and your guests will end the meal happy.

Next week, picture quality will return to normal now that I have actually managed to find the charger cable for my camera, and I think we'll be looking at a Great British Classic, the Toad in the Hole.  Until then, folks, and let's eat!

The Simple Pleasures - The Viking Roasts!

There’s something undeniably British about a Sunday. We all have our routines – I, for example, tend to wake up earlier than is entirely necessary given that it’s supposed to be a day of rest. Then, I walk down to the shops, grab a paper, return to my sofa and stick on Goals on Sunday while flicking through the culture section. Later, if the mood should take me, I might sneak off to the local for a pint of Old Knickertwister before coming back home only to find that my Gran hasn’t nipped around and done a roast for me.

This is, I’m sure you’ll agree, completely selfish.

And then, because it’s Sunday and I can be a lazy so-and-so at times, I stamp around the house complaining “cor, I could murder a Sunday Roast right now. I mean it. I could eat the side out of a cow” in the vain hope that someone somewhere will hear my plea and decide to end my misery. They never do, you know.

If you haven’t already guessed, I love a Sunday Roast. I love it so much I capitalise it. I love the smell of it as it permeates the house. I love the social aspect, getting people around a table to talk and eat together. I love leaving the meat on low to disappear to the pub for a pre-lunch loosener. I love placing a big, juicy bit of meat on the table and watching everyone’s faces as you carve in to it, the anticipation lighting a fire in their eyes. And gravy. I adore gravy. I would swim in gravy if a) I had a swimming pool, b) Bisto sponsored me to do it and c) if my wife wasn’t totally against that sort of thing. How you can be against swimming in gravy I don’t know, but then I suppose it takes all sorts in this crazy world.

The thing that I find with roasts is that people often tend to look at you as if you’re some kind of wizard in the kitchen if you say you can cook a roast. I guess that’s because sometimes, due to the sheer scale and amount of food that can be laid out, a roast can seem like a pretty intimidating thing. Whereas the truth is that roasting a piece of meat is easy. Today, I’d like to share with you the easiest roast in the world that will leave you utterly satisfied and is guaranteed to impress your Mum if she thinks you can’t do a roast yet, even though you’re thirty and you left home twelve years ago.

Firstly, let’s talk about meat. We all have our favourite roast (mine is beef), but for this little concoction I used a piece of Pork belly. The belly is a much underrated cut of a fantastically flavoured animal for a few reasons – it’s melt-in-the-mouth tender, it gives great crackling with little effort, it can be cooked in approximately infinity different ways and, most importantly, it’s cheap. Seriously cheap. A cut of belly – in Waitrose – will cost you less than three quid, and it’ll be enough to feed three or four people. Or two greedy ones.

So, grab yourself a nice bit of pork belly. You’re looking for a piece that has a good bit of meat on it, and a reasonably thick layer of fat under the skin, maybe up to an inch. Turn your oven on to gas 7 (220 C) and pop your pork belly on to a roasting tray.

Lightly score the skin of the pork with a sharp knife.  Don’t go too deep in to the fat – you only need to break the skin – and definitely don’t cut right through to the meat:

Make sure your knife is good and sharp.

Using your fingers, separate the score marks slightly and then rub a nice bit of flaked sea salt over the skin.  This will aid in making the crackling later on.  Add a grind of black pepper, and then chuck it in to the oven for half an hour.

(Soon to be) Crackling - nothing like it!

Meanwhile, get on to the veg.  Roast potatoes are integral to a roast.  Some people (who aren’t really people) only have boiled spuds on their plates– no way Jose, not on my watch.  Peel a good big pile of potatoes, I prefer a red potato: I used Mozarts this weekend and they really worked very well indeed.  Once peeled, cut into quarters and leave to one side in a saucepan full of water.  At the same time, peel and halve some carrots, and leave them aside too:

After half an hour, check on the belly.  You’ll be able to see it starting to colour, and the crackling will already be browning.  Turn the heat right down to gas 4 (180 C), and then leave for one hour.  An hour, for you, all to yourself.  Maybe play some X-Box, or go for a walk.  It’s up to you.  Anyway, after an hour, get thee back to the kitchen.  Put a lid on the potatoes, add some heat, and boil for five minutes.  In the meantime put a good swig of Olive Oil in to a large roasting tray and put it in to the oven to get nice and hot.  Once the potatoes are parboiled, drain the water out of the pan.  The next bit is really important – beat up your spuds a little bit.  Not too much, just so that the potatoes are flaking at the edges.  This gives the olive oil something to cling on to and will get you nice, crispy edges on your roasties.

Remove the roasting tin with the oil in from the oven, and the oil by now should be shimmering hot.  Being careful not to burn yourself, transfer the spuds from the saucepan to the roasting tin.  They will sizzle, so you need to work quickly.  With a large spoon, turn the potatoes over in the oil so they’re nicely covered (you can add extra at this point if you need to).  Sprinkle with some flaked salt and Rosemary, and then back in to the oven.

Now remove the pork belly, baste, and get your carrots.  Arrange them on the tray, and then place the belly joint on top of them:

Sort of like a pork bridge with carrot supports.

You could add any sort of veg around the edges to this – I would recommend some quartered onions, some parsnips and perhaps some swede.  Once you’re done, back in to the oven with it, and then increase the heat to gas 6 (about 200 C).  Leave for another hour.

After an hour is gone (did you enjoy that?) return to the oven and remove the meat.  It’ll be cooked by now, but to make sure skewer the fattest part of the meat.  If the juices run clear, you’re done.  Cover with some foil, and rest for 10 minutes.  Check on your potatoes – if they need extra browning, whack your oven up to full to finish them off.

Spuds as spuds should be.

Slice your meat in to appropriate portions.  It might be easier to remove the crackling with a sharp knife before you carve.

Tender, moist and I need a napkin.

Once the crackling is removed you can put it under the grill if it needs a final push to get nice and crisp.  Try and leave some fat attached, as that is going to give the crackling loads of flavour.  Arrange your veg and meat on the plate, and garnish with nice, thick gravy:

Do you like how I tried to be cheffy with my presentation there?  Needless to say, minutes later this plate was covered in the good stuff.

If you’ve removed your crackling before carving, break it up and share it evenly with everyone.  But hey, if you cooked it no-one’s going to know if you gave yourself the best bit, right?

I didn’t have a drink with this one, but I know that a nice white wine would have worked wonders with that lovely white pork meat – perhaps a Californian Sauvignon Blanc.  Otherwise, for the ale drinkers among you, something fruity with not too much in the way of hops.  If you can get it, Badger makes a beautiful beer called Stinger (brewed with Stingy Nettles, would you believe?) which I think would compliment this dinner wonderfully.

So there we have it.  A lovely roast dinner that will comfortably feed up to four people for well under ten quid.  Your Mum will be impressed, your Dad will be stuffed full, and you (as you close your eyes for your well-earned Sunday nap) will not have to do the washing up.  Because that’s the most important thing, isn’t it?

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Roast Dinner!