It’s Chriiiiiiiisssssssstttttmassssssss!

 

It’s Novvvvemberrrrrrr! I’ve already head Driving Home for Christmas by Chris bloody Rea from a cynical hastily constructed fairground. If I have to suffer, so do you.

I’ve never written a Christmas piece before. Everyone in catering hates Christmas, but not for the reasons you’d automatically assume. If you choose to cook for a living, but don’t like being busy, then you’ve made an error of judgement. Having said that, it is far from uncommon for small operations to see December as an opportunity to recoup takings, and to overstretch staff leading to burnout and plummeting standards. No, the worst thing about Christmas is the punters. Not you of course, the lovely regulars and people who spend money mid week and know how to enjoy yourselves without being rude to the staff. If anything, the winter amateurs are apt to drive your core audience away, making room for the part time pissheads, the office joker who vomits in the urinals and steals the handwash, because being a prick to a small business is fucking hilarious. 

I digress, so onto Uncle Rico’s top festive tips for a super happy jolly time. I wrote these as some user generated content for a journo and never heard back. I can only assume my tone didn’t match the style guide. First things first, what do you buy the difficult person who you haven’t taken the time to get to know? If in doubt buy booze. People aren’t drinking enough Medeira, but they should. Not only is it almost universally delicious, it fits neatly into the tradition of fortified festive intoxicants like Sherry of Port, but offers something slightly out of the ordinary. Go somewhere good like Mitchell’s or Starmore Boss and talk to the staff. 

What am I, a chef, planning for Christmas? Surely you’ll be taking charge in the kitchen and cooking up a storm? No. I will be cooking as little as possible for Christmas, ideally nothing at all. A fallacy believed exclusively by people who’ve never worked in the industry is that chefs enjoy cooking at home, and as a result are good to live with. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Ok then, if you don’t cook at home, what on Earth are you eating when you’re not at work forgetting to feed yourself? KH is my most often visited food shop in Sheffield, because there’s nowhere that comes close for Chinese ingredients, fresh frozen and preserved, plus the deli cater for daily roasted ducks, chicken feet, glutinous rice dumplings and such. Pound Bao Zi situated at ground level is my go to for dough sticks, noodles and hand made dim sum. For a treat by Friday the most exciting thing happening in Sheffield is Gilt Patisserie, a one man powerhouse that is better than ninety per cent of patisseries in France. Outside of places like Lyon or Paris, that number is closer to 100.

You must have some ‘hacks’ though? Everyone is terrified of cooking on the big day aren’t they? Please help. No amount of tricks and tips are going to save Christmas if you haven’t cooked all year and aren’t sure what you’re doing, so my biggest tip is don’t try too hard. It’s not a competition, and if you want to buy ready made roast potatoes, gravy or pigs in blankets it doesn’t really matter, Delia isn’t judging you. She doesn’t care. Rather than roast a bird on the day when youre half cut and desperately trying to find the fine line between food poisoning and dry meat, a slow cooked braise that you can warm up and hot hold along the lines of a cow au vin or daube du boeuf is your friend. Also, don’t stress about finding a gourmet Christmas pudding. They all come out of the same factory.

Le Langhe, or A Very Brexit Love Story

Nestling in the northern mountainous fecundity of Piedmont in Northern Italy is Le Langhe, diametrically opposed to the dusty toe of the boot, land of brigands, malaria, pizza and organised crime. It is not the home of the Italian cooking that became such a part of mainstream American culture, via Ellis Island, from the impoverished and disposed Calabria and Sicily.Whence al Capone, and further down the line, Frank Zappa. Swings and roundabouts. Migrant cuisines are gifted to the world by the push of religious oppression, ethnic pogrom, famine and hardship, thus it was the 'kitchen of poverty' that informed the shorthand of so called Italian cooking for nearly everyone who wasn't Italian, of pasta and tomato, and of course the pizza. If ever there was the perfect example of making a few good things go a long way, but this is something that deserves looking into another time.

Piedmontese culture may not have exported itself around the world in the form of spaghetti and meatballs, but it did colonise the country of which it would eventually be a part. Not only rich in natural resources, it was Piesmontese statesmanship the kept the cogs of The Risorgimento, the invention of 'Italy' moving, in the same way that Bismark's Prussia would engineer the unification of Germany the in the decade that followed. Why am I telling you this? What has today's history lesson got to do with a badly maintained food blog?

Until a couple of years ago, my favourite restaurant on British soil was also named Le Langhe, a delightfully, and it seemed, wilfully obscure little eatery on the outskirts of Central York. Eatery is perhaps the wrong word. In the back was a small dining room where the you could eat a short selection of dishes derived from the eponymous region of the chef's birth. There was also a printed sheet detailing the daily changing pasta dishes, each of which was made from scratch on the premises. I've never really seen the point in fresh pasta, and to be honest I still don't, unless it was made by this guy. Glowing yellow, neither fondant soft, not al dente, it was unlike any pasta or noodle dish I can compare it to. 

The menu detailed various formulae that went something like: one pasta dish, one main course, a cheese, but not a dessert; or with a complimentary wine, with which you must choose only from the first two pasta dishes, and so on. You see what I mean by wilfully obscure? It's almost as if they only wanted you to eat there of you really meant it. The great thing was, you didn't need the menu. For twenty five pounds, the chef would construct a five course menu, all you had to do was say if you wanted fish, meat, or vegetarian as a main course. 

If you are in the presence of people who know what they are doing, why on earth make your own choice? I always went for fish, as finding someone who knows what they're doing is such a rare treat. The John Dory with crayfish butter is the sort of dish of beautiful simplicity nobody knows how to do anymore. I wouldn't choose my wine either, like I said, who am I to make decision like that when I am eating in the back room on an international wine importers shop, and they know far better than I what the best thing is to drink with whatever they want to feed me.

Here we get to the crux of the biscuit. Le Langhe wasn't even really a restaurant. It was also a delicatessen. There were cured meats, salami, cheese, oh what cheese, but above all there was wine. I'd usually leave with a bottle or two of something I'd sampled during that meal. When you went to the toilet, you passed boxes of wine, stacked from floor to ceiling. When you made it into the gents, there was often more wine, again, stacked floor to ceiling. It was obvious what kept the place afloat financially, but the gift on the side was that it made cooking like this on a small scale and an obtainable price something that was in anybody's reach, should they choose to hunt it out.

A couple of years ago, I learned that they had closed. I can't remember where I saw it. There was no official statement, and if it was a news piece,there was no interview or word of any kind from anyone involved in the business, but I'm willing to make a pretty confident stab in the dark. It strikes me as absolutely no coincidence that the closure came swiftly enough in the aftermath of the Brexit referendum. I'd spoken to importers myself on the phone as the prices of ingredients from Italy and Spain shot up almost overnight. Le Langhe in York was like a test bed, a microcosm of all the things that economic free fall was about to fuck up, foreign staff, food ingredients, wine, cheese, charcuterie.

Now it's gone. Gone forever. I used to worry that I'd spend my last few years fighting off mutant children for the last Tunnock's Caramel Wafer in a post apocalyptic nuclear wasteland. It was a survival strategy that I'd only need to enact if the massed forces of world messianic megalomaniac evil finally unleashed the end of civilisation. I never envisaged we'd be able to do it to ourselves. In Le Langhe the Barolo will flow like a river, the early morning sun rises of the damp earth as the the hounds nuzzle for truffles in the forest. On Brexit Island, the dream of a languid five course lunch over two or three bottles of wine feels like an impossible memory, as we sit down to a lunch of chlorinated factory farmed Trump Industies chicken ('the best chickens, great chickens, really great, the best'), and the last of the stockpiled Fray Bentos pies. Fucking well done everybody.

Abroad in Sheffield

I started this list as a resource of affordable eating holes for anyone who has the misfortune of finding themselves hungry in Sheffield. It's not a misfortune that is unique to Sheffield, although I'd venture that due to our particular type of suburban sprawl, significant leg work is required in contrast to a concentrated metropolis like Manchester. 

There are glaring omissions here that I make no apology for. No Jöro or Rafters, no Peak District destination fayn daynin. I rarely eat out as a special occasion, I eat out because I'm hungry. This is no reason to stuff a soggy supermarket sandwich in your cake hole for reasons of expediency. The advancement of gastronomic culture is not measured in skilfully intense young denim aprons trying to tweezer their way into the red book, it is the everyday availability of affordable quality.

HowSt (Howard Street) - imagine taking the concept of a British caff, of the bacon egg and sausage variety, injecting some professionalism into front of house and buying a decent coffee machine, and using edible ingredients. The full English is a thing of beauty, rather than a sorry shameful opportunity for self loathing.

Proove and Porter Pizza - I mention these in the same breath for obvious reasons, and despite their differences both are excellent. No flabby boiled dough disks here, or ridiculous gimmicky toppings, charred crispy wood fired simplicity. Under no circumstances leave Proove without eating a tiramisu.

Noodle Inn Centro - I've given up on the London Road branch, which has turned into the sort of place you can take the kids for uncle Mike's sixtieth.  Because it functions as a de facto canteen for international students (chopsticks in one hand, iPhone in the other) the kitchen straddles volume output economy and competence. At these prices you can't expect the sort of stellar cooking you get with the traditional Sichuanese cooking of China Red or transcendent Hunanese at Golden Taste, but that costs nearly twice the price. Even if they were twice the price, they would still be the best value restaurants in town.

Noodle Doodle - again, don't be put off by the name, or the gaudy decor that invites the lazy deprication of 'cheap and cheerful'. Everybody needs somewhere to go and eat laksa soup when they're feeling frail, and my ongoing investigations suggest this is the place. It is certainly a solid reposte to the insipidly mild version served at the bafflingly popular Saigon 68.

The Beer Engine - a tricky one this, as I haven't eaten here since the departure of the superb John Parsons, but I trust their management to sidestep the pitfalls of tedious British pub stodge and get their shit together.

Apna Style - seriously brilliant no frills cooking, seemingly knocked out by one bloke with a couple of pans and a tandoor. Gluten apostates are advised to take their own spoon, as cutlery is not provided. An inexpensive inexhaustible supply of freshly baked chapphati and roti is.

Just Falaffs - I know, let it pass. Situated at the southern tip of the Lentil Belt which stretches from Hunters Bar to Meersbrook Park, this is a vegetarian restaurant that knows it's customer base and is, shudder with me, 'on trend'. This is of absolutely no importance however next to the fact that, like the pizza joints mentioned above, this is doing something g that few people have the faith or conference to carry through. As the name suggests they make falafels. Fresh every day. The same goes for the bread and tiny handful of other dishes. I'm sick of being told the 'customer wants choice'. I don't. I don't want the choice of walk into some gargantuan mega Tesco and being given the choice of a hundred differently branded loaves of Chorleywood  dogshit sliced white. I'd rather go to a proper bakery that makes one type of bread and has done so forever. 

On the subject of bread, Tamper a coffee on Westfield Terrace have recently started selling loaves from the Depot Bakery. Poor to this, we had a 'city centre', a hub within a conurbation of half a million inhabitants that didn't sell a single loaf of properly made bread. This is still something of a problem. Forge Bakhouse and Seven Hills do thugs properly, but you need a trek out into the Lentil Belt to find them.

This is a situation I don't see changing any time soon. More so than perhaps any other British City, Sheffield has been doomed to centrifugality from the off, and the latest developments in the ongoing debacle of city centre regeneration do not inspire. It is for this reason that I feel it important to chip in by writing this. Over the last decade, by asking like minds on the Internet and putting in the leg work have I started to out together this disparate map of people worth chucking your money at. If I save a single soul prom Pizza Express or a Pret a Manger, my toil shall not have been in vain.

White Fish, Black Rice, Red Octopus

Roast Cod, arroz negre and soy braised octopus with garlic and smoked paprika emulsion:

This may seem like a complex recipe, but it is split into several components, all of which can be prepared ahead of time, which is of course necessary in a professional kitchen, but is also useful if you want to have your mis en place ready for a dinner party or such, so that you just need ten or fifteen minutes if stove time to put everything together. Even if you don't attempt the whole thing, certain techniques, like the braising of the octopus can be used for barbecues, or the xo sauce is an infinitely superior sauce for cooked prawns than the standard pink industrial mayo abomination (apologies to purists). The ingredients may sound exotic, but the cod, octopus and squid ink can all be purchased from Simmonite's on Division Street, and Sheffield is well served with oriental marts, so all the ingredients for this dish can be gathered in an afternoon in Central Sheffield.

Step 1: for the octopus:
One whole cleaned octopus (approx 1kg)
Light soy sauce

This will yield more than you need, but surplus portions can be frozen for later use, and it's worth doing the whole thing. In a pan just large enough to hold it, cover the octopus with cold water, and place on a low heat and bring to a simmer. Add a couple of tablespoons of soy, enough to give the liquid a savoury taste, and maintain at a very low simmer for two hours. After this time the outer flesh will have turned a pinkish hue and break up slightly, but don't be alarmed. Remove the octopus and refresh in cold water. Once drained, cut the tentacles into forkable sized chunks and discard the head. Retain the cooking liquid.

Step 2 : For the cod and dashi:
One side of cod, approx 500g skin on
Kombu seaweed, dried shiitake mushrooms, dashino-moto (dried bonito seasoning), miso paste

Whilst the octopus is simmering, remove the skin from the cod and cut into four portions. If you ask nicely, an able fishmonger will do this for you, but make sure you take the skin home. Place the skin and any fish scraps from trimming the cod on a greased tray, and bake at a low heat (150 degrees or so) for approximately twenty to thirty minutes, until dry and crispy and slightly browned. Meanwhile, generously coat the fish with equal quantities of white sugar and sea salt in a high sided container, cover, and refrigerate for forty minutes, after which time, rinse in cold water, dry, and reserve covered and refrigerated.

Once the octopus has been removed from the cooking liquid, add the baked cod scraps, a couple of dried shiitake mushrooms, and two sachets of dashino-moto. Tear off a sheet of the Kombu seaweed, and add this along with a tablespoon of miso paste to the octopus cooking liquid, and simmer again for twenty minutes. If this all sounds like a massive faff, taste the cooking liquid, and realise that it is completely worth it. At the end of the cooking time, strain the liquid through a fine sieve and reserve.

Step 3 : for the XO emulsion:
Two whole heads of garlic
XO sauce
Smoked paprika
Olive oil

Wrap the garlic bulbs in foil, and roast in a medium oven for approximately 45 minutes. The important thing is that the garlic should become mild and lightly tan in colour without being burnt. When cool enough to handle, simply squeeze the bulbs out into a bowl, so as to get the maximum amount of paste. Beat with a whisk until smooth, then add a tablespoon of XO sauce, a dash of oil and a splash of water. Beat until homogenous, then season with smoked paprika and sea salt. You're aiming for a mayonnaise consistency, so if dry add a splash of water and a little oil. Keep tasting, does it need salt? More XO? We use a professional hickory smoke extract to add more flavour, but it's really about getting something that holds together and tastes delicious. Even if it splits, this isn't disastrous to the finished dish. Don't be disheartened, think taste.

Step 4: for the rice:
500g paella or risotto rice* see note
Large glass white wine
One white onion, chopped as finely as possible 
Four cloves garlic, minced to a paste
Four sachets squid ink
Reserved octopus dashi stock

Sweat the chopped onion in a generous amount of oil over a medium heat until it smells delicious and is going brown in places. Add the dry rice and garlic and keep stirring, until the rice grains turn opaque white and start to smell toasty, a little like popcorn. Throw in the wine and squeeze in the squid ink, and cook until almost dry. Add a decent amount of the octopus dashi and check for seasoning. Because the liquid is highly flavoured, you will probably only need a tiny amount of salt, if any. Keep adding liquid until the rice is tender, finishing with water if necessary. 

*We use 'Bomba' paella rice from Valencia for this because it is able to absorb more liquid than other types of rice without breaking down, and is more forgiving when reheated. With a little care, it shouldn't be a problem using more easily available short grain rice.

It is of utmost importance that pre-cooked rice be chilled and stored as quickly as possible for reasons of hygiene. If you intend to reheat your rice spread it as thinly as possible on a tray to cool, and refrigerate as soon as possible. It is best to do this a maximum of two days in advance.

Step 5: The Finished Dish:
Place your cod portions on an oiled and lined tray, and bake in a pe-heated oven (200 degrees) for twenty minutes. You now have ample time to put everything together. Bring the rice back up to serving temperature in a pan over low heat, checking for seasoning, and adding a little cheese if you so desire. We add smoked curd cheese to add an extra element of flavour and also to hold the rice together, adding a little water as it goes. Just before serving, melt some butter in a pan with a little lemon juice and salt, and gently fry the reserved octopus. It is already cooked, but crisp ing up the outside in butter really helps, and adding a few capers really brings something to the party. When everything is hot and delicious, add a tablespoon or so of the paprika XO emulsion, and coat the octopus. 

By this point the fish is probably cooked. It will tense up, appear opaque and be just on the point of flaking when it's about ready. Put a dollop of rice on each plate, top with the cod and then garnish with the octopus.

As promised, I am spurring myself on to bang out the recipe particulars. I realised I didn't give a single sentence description, so I'll try not to sound sanctimonious.

Rather than 'pub food', a phrase I despise that comes loaded with potential disappointment, we serve food that just happens to be in a pub, and aim to provide something that other places don't, from a decent sandwich to properly executed dishes using ingredients nobody else in Sheffield has access to and most people haven't even heard of.

So, recipe time:

This may seem like a complex recipe, but it is split into several components, all of which can be prepared ahead of time, which is of course necessary in a professional kitchen, but is also useful if you want to have your mis en place ready for a dinner party or such, so that you just need ten or fifteen minutes if stove time to put everything together. Even if you don't attempt the whole thing, certain techniques, like the braising of the octopus can be used for barbecues, or the xo sauce is an infinitely superior sauce for cooked prawns than the standard pink industrial mayo abomination (apologies to purists). The ingredients may sound exotic, but the cod, octopus and squid ink can all be purchased from Simmonite's on Division Street, and Sheffield is well served with oriental marts, so all the ingredients for this dish can be gathered in an afternoon in Central Sheffield.

Step 1: for the octopus:
One whole cleaned octopus (approx 1kg)
Light soy sauce

This will yield more than you need, but surplus portions can be frozen for later use, and it's worth doing the whole thing. In a pan just large enough to hold it, cover the octopus with cold water, and place on a low heat and bring to a simmer. Add a couple of tablespoons of soy, enough to give the liquid a savoury taste, and maintain at a very low simmer for two hours. After this time the outer flesh will have turned a pinkish hue and break up slightly, but don't be alarmed. Remove the octopus and refresh in cold water. Once drained, cut the tentacles into forkable sized chunks and discard the head. Retain the cooking liquid.

Step 2 : For the cod and dashi:
One side of cod, approx 500g skin on
Kombu seaweed, dried shiitake mushrooms, dashino-moto (dried bonito seasoning), miso paste

Whilst the octopus is simmering, remove the skin from the cod and cut into four portions. If you ask nicely, an able fishmonger will do this for you, but make sure you take the skin home. Place the skin and any fish scraps from trimming the cod on a greased tray, and bake at a low heat (150 degrees or so) for approximately twenty to thirty minutes, until dry and crispy and slightly browned. Meanwhile, generously coat the fish with equal quantities of white sugar and sea salt in a high sided container, cover, and refrigerate for forty minutes, after which time, rinse in cold water, dry, and reserve covered and refrigerated.

Once the octopus has been removed from the cooking liquid, add the baked cod scraps, a couple of dried shiitake mushrooms, and two sachets of dashino-moto. Tear off a sheet of the Kombu seaweed, and add this along with a tablespoon of miso paste to the octopus cooking liquid, and simmer again for twenty minutes. If this all sounds like a massive faff, taste the cooking liquid, and realise that it is completely worth it. At the end of the cooking time, strain the liquid through a fine sieve and reserve.

Step 3 : for the XO emulsion:
Two whole heads of garlic
XO sauce
Smoked paprika
Olive oil

Wrap the garlic bulbs in foil, and roast in a medium oven for approximately 45 minutes. The important thing is that the garlic should become mild and lightly tan in colour without being burnt. When cool enough to handle, simply squeeze the bulbs out into a bowl, so as to get the maximum amount of paste. Beat with a whisk until smooth, then add a tablespoon of XO sauce, a dash of oil and a splash of water. Beat until homogenous, then season with smoked paprika and sea salt. You're aiming for a mayonnaise consistency, so if dry add a splash of water and a little oil. Keep tasting, does it need salt? More XO? We use a professional hickory smoke extract to add more flavour, but it's really about getting something that holds together and tastes delicious. Even if it splits, this isn't disastrous to the finished dish. Don't be disheartened, think taste.

Step 4: for the rice:
500g paella or risotto rice* see note
Large glass white wine
One white onion, chopped as finely as possible 
Four cloves garlic, minced to a paste
Four sachets squid ink
Reserved octopus dashi stock

Sweat the chopped onion in a generous amount of oil over a medium heat until it smells delicious and is going brown in places. Add the dry rice and garlic and keep stirring, until the rice grains turn opaque white and start to smell toasty, a little like popcorn. Throw in the wine and squeeze in the squid ink, and cook until almost dry. Add a decent amount of the octopus dashi and check for seasoning. Because the liquid is highly flavoured, you will probably only need a tiny amount of salt, if any. Keep adding liquid until the rice is tender, finishing with water if necessary. 

*We use 'Bomba' paella rice from Valencia for this because it is able to absorb more liquid than other types of rice without breaking down, and is more forgiving when reheated. With a little care, it shouldn't be a problem using more easily available short grain rice.

It is of utmost importance that pre-cooked rice be chilled and stored as quickly as possible for reasons of hygiene. If you intend to reheat your rice spread it as thinly as possible on a tray to cool, and refrigerate as soon as possible. It is best to do this a maximum of two days in advance.

Step 5: The Finished Dish:
Place your cod portions on an oiled and lined tray, and bake in a pe-heated oven (200 degrees) for twenty minutes. You now have ample time to put everything together. Bring the rice back up to serving temperature in a pan over low heat, checking for seasoning, and adding a little cheese if you so desire. We add smoked curd cheese to add an extra element of flavour and also to hold the rice together, adding a little water as it goes. Just before serving, melt some butter in a pan with a little lemon juice and salt, and gently fry the reserved octopus. It is already cooked, but crisp ing up the outside in butter really helps, and adding a few capers really brings something to the party. When everything is hot and delicious, add a tablespoon or so of the paprika XO emulsion, and coat the octopus. 

By this point the fish is probably cooked. It will tense up, appear opaque and be just on the point of flaking when it's about ready. Put a dollop of rice on each plate, top with the cod and then garnish with the octopus.

Adventures in Wonderland

This post has been a long time coming, but I feel I've needed to let a certain amount of time pass in order for me to digest what my experience has meant to me, and how it has changed me and the way I cook. Over a year ago, I convinced my parents to join me for lunch in a Leeds restaurant, at a place I thought might be a big deal. I'd heard that Michelin had been sniffing around the place, and that the food was either the most astonishing case of all mouth and no trousers, or that the chef patron was a potential culinary genius. All we had to do was make the short train ride, pay a reasonable sum of money, and find out. 

As it happened, in the interim between making our booking and turning up for lunch, The Man Behind The Curtain gained it's Michelin star, whilst simultaneously Michael O'Hare became something of a televisual star chef on the back of his appearance on the BBC's Great British Menu. Suffice it to say that by this point expectations were riding fairly high. I'd convinced my folks on the back of Marina O'Louglin's Guardian piece, but now the viewing public and the rubber man were in on the act as well, so, despite not knowing what to expect, we knew that we expected something special, whatever that night be.

What followed was one of the most memorable lunches of my life. By way of an introduction we were served a devastatingly dry and crisp cava, which I think was the Augusto Torelli Mata Kripta, but more astonishing was the langoustine tartare, mussel consommé and parsley oil. We tasted it,then looked at each other with a wordless glance that said 'yes'. You already know what the food is like, you've seen the pictures.

I'm incredibly grateful that I hadn't seen the pictures, that I don't know what was coming. If you come up with such stunning a dish as presa and secretos of Iberian pork, boquerone anchovies, smoked egg yolk and so on, it rightly becomes famous. I'm just glad it was a surprise, because what a surprise!

Like a magic trick, the dishes became more impossible and more delicious every time I remembered them, with each re-telling everything became more exquisite and surprising. Each time I though about what I'd eaten, I became more obsessed, more determined to find out how the trick had been done. I had to know what happened backstage. As the immaculately wonderful Penn and Teller tell us, you never do the same trick twice, you don't let the audience see your preparation, and you NEVER do the cups and balls with clear plastic glasses. I wanted to see the kitchen's balls with clear glasses.

I emailed the restaurant, and, after finally getting the email adress right, tried again, and was surprised to receive a prompt response. I assumed there'd be plenty of chefs would be willing to apply to skivvy in the kitchen for free just to see how it all came together. Once agin, I'd got in just in time. Could I commit to doing a week? Yes I could, and with the help of some friends with a spare room in Kirkstall, I promptly booked a week off work, and booked myself and my BMX on a train to Leeds, simultaneously rigid with excitement and crapping my pants that I'd just blagged my way into the country's most talked about restaurant kitchen.

I'm not sure I was ever really myself for all the time that I was there. I'd be shredding potatoes on a mandolin, or skinning a side of cod, or scooping the fleshy innards from sea urchins with a golden teaspoon, then I'd catch myself, look up and think 'shit, this is actually happening' . The first night after staff lunch, the lights were dimmed and I was putting hake cheeks and marinated cod into a water bath for service, for actual customers. Paying customers in a Michelin starred restaurant that had a couple of months previously blown my mind. 

It was, if anything, the sheer ordinariness of it all that was the most jarring and uncanny, but of course, that is when the penny started to drop. Cooking at this level is only attainable by the meticulous coordination of processes executed with rigorous and exacting control. What was eaten that night had been rehearsed ad infinitum by previous services, and that nights service was a rehearsal for those that would follow. It's something that I find particularly irksome about the term 'experimental cuisine', as though experiment is something that happens when all the shackles are off, and you throw out the rule book and just see what happens. If experimental science worked like that planes would fall out of the sky and medicines wouldn't work. In order to innovate competently, you need a deep understanding of what happens when you do things the usual way, and you must understand how and why such things behave.

This ties into the lasting effect of my time there, and it was something I didn't expect. Working in that environment caused me to break down certain barriers and experiment and mix things I did know, and had researched and looked into. I consider myself very tied to classical and old school French cooking, the stuff you teach yourself by reading Escoffier, Jane Grigson, Julia Child, Claudia Roden and Jonathan Meades at university (ok, maybe that's just me). At the same time, I'd become obsessed by the cooking I saw all around me growing up in Sheffield, successive waves of immigration from Italy and India, and most importantly, China. 

There's a line of reasoning that goes that the most authentic cultural expression of a people's cuisine exists where they are outsiders. You only get steak and kidney pudding in Buenos Aires be use that's where the ex-pats need it.  In Sheffield, down home Chinese places turn out Chengdu classics, because it's in vogue for Chinese restaurants at the moment, but also because it's what the massive student population want, food is a form of remembering. What has this got to so with my time as a stagiere in Leeds you ask? Let me explain:

I had no idea that I would come away from The Man Behind The Curtain feeling that the regional Chinese cookery of my home town and my classical French background would be forever inseparable, but there you go. It gave me the confidence to think that all the influences that go into what I cook could coalesce, and hopefully make something personal to me, and more importantly, make me a much better cook, by using what I understand, with rigour, but also creative freedom. The best holiday I ever took.

Hoi Sin and Fermented Chilli Lamb On Toast

Now that it is pretty much a given that every menu has pork belly on it, it's time to give lamb breast it's moment of glory. This recipe really needs a slow cooker. If you don't have one,then go out and get yourself one. They can be had for for cheap, and have so many uses that they belong in every home. I'll explain some of the other stuff you can do later. Because the initial cooking of the lamb takes a long time, it's best to do a large batch, then freeze it in portion size bags. The joy of this is that you're never more than ten minutes away from the ultimate post pub snack.

Buy as much lamb breast as you can pack into your slow cooker, and cover with a neutral oil. Set the thermostat to the lowest setting, and leave to confit for at least twenty four hours. It might seem counterintuitive to cook a fatty piece of meat in yet more fat, but the slow cooking renders the fat from the meat, leaving you with a delicious by product that you can store in the fridge, covered with a layer of salt. 

When the meat is fully cooked,you should be able to push a spoon through it, so very carefully lift from the oil and cool on a wire wrack suspended over a tray. When cool enough to handle simply pull away the meat from the bones and spread on a try, then freeze for ten minutes. This cooling will set the meat and make it easier to deal with. Place your sheet of lamb on a board and roughly chop. At this point the hard work is over. Anything you don't need immediately can be bagged up and frozen. Press the bags flat so that they will defrost in moments in warm water when your feeling frail and in need of a quick and steadying repast.

The sauce is based in the traditional flavours of Sichuanese twice cooked pork, with a couple of modifications. 

Equal quantities of Hoi Sin sauce, and fermented broad bean paste (Hong Yu Du Ban)

This will be quite thick, so let it down with soy sauce (ideally Shibanuma 18 month, available from Oisoi) and balsamic vinegar.

Into a very lightly oiled pan or wok, cook as much lamb as you desire over a high flame. Because it is still quite fatty and has a high surface area, it will crisp up and colour very quickly. Off the heat, toss in a dollop of sauce and mix until everything is combined and smelling seriously awesome. This is really too good to put onto toasted triangles of sliced white, but we don't all have an artisan spelt bâtard to hand, though decent toast will thank you for being topped with this delicious concoction. We finish the it with smoked curd cheese, capers and white anchovies, adding a few textures and tastes that complement the lamb.

If this recipe doesn't convince you to go out and get a slow cooker, there are many more possibilities. Eaten a roast chicken? Don't bin the carcasses slow cook it overnight with veg trimmings and you've got the basis of a decent soup or risotto. In fact, for the home cook, a slow cooker is the ideal stockpot, allowing you to make slow simmered brown stocks and soups. I once threw a couple of lobster shells and a tin of tomatoes in my slow cooker overnight, and drank the results for breakfast. That was a good day.

Busman's Holiday

 A perk of my job is that I get to take my days off in the week.  Of course, this is something younger chefs find difficult. The demands of the industry are such that we are forced to work weekends, bank holidays and such. While the rest of the world is enjoying a long weekend or going out for after work drinks, service industry at its most pressed. No doubt it is the shock of long hours and curtailed social life that leads so many new recruits to the realisation that this is not something they want to stick at.  On the other hand, I very much enjoy the opportunity to get out and about while the ordinary world is at work. The streets are not thronged with tourists, the queues at the bar are short or non existent, and best of all, I can always get a table in a restaurant.

I'm quite happy to eat alone. Now that so many people can be seen sharing a table, yet ignoring each other whilst staring at their electronic devices, I think the stigma of eating by oneself can be well and truly put to rest. Anyhow, this is far from being my point. What I am driving at is that at least one day a week, I try and get out of Sheffield, and ideally visit somewhere I have never been before. I recently ended up in Hull on a whim, after a points failure and subsequent delay made me despair of seeing out the rest of the journey to Beverley. Thankfully, I was able to call on the advice of a friend who directed me to Princess Avenue, where I found a coctail bar that served fish and chips. The girl behind the bar wanted me to have a fruity strawberry and vodka number, because it was a new recipe shed just learned. The guy up a ladder doing the sign writing asked me what I'd ordered, and was genuinely interested if I liked it. Just as he was finishing his work on the new restaurant, his mates turned up in their white van. A couple of them asked if I liked the food, and said they'd just been for a calzone at a place down the road, but that they'd eaten here before and really liked it. 

 Every city, every large grouping together of peoples is bound to throw up plenty of good places to eat, but for the ignorant traveller, they can be hard to find. This is probably more so the case for a visitor to Sheffield, than it is to a city of comparable size. Sheffield is more centrifugal than most cities for loads of reasons I won't go into here, but imagine being a first time visitor, fresh off the train and deposited by a skillfully wrought, but heavy handed, urban planning scheme, via the Millenium Garries, to the Peace Gardens. What are the chances that you're going to discover the joys of London Road, the boutique gastronomy of  Rafters or Peppercorn, or top notch burger and pizza at Kelham Island, not to mention decent pubs? So I thought I should do a quick rundown of places where the gastronomically sentient traveller on a tight budget should visit.

Gusto on Chapel Walk. Quite pricey, but to my mind the only actual 'restaurant' in Central Sheffield. Run by a fantastic couple (she cooks, he manages the floor),  properly Italian.

Noodle Inn Centro on Westfield Terrace. One of my favourite places to eat in the world. The food is never outstanding, it doesn't take your breath away. Once or twice, it's made mistakes. David Chan's Noodle Inn places are almost a chain, and every time they open a new place, the staff change and the food at each of his kitchens might experience a wobble. I'm more than willing to forgive these teething troubles, because when on point, as they usually are, his chefs turn out the nuts and bolts of some fantastic classical Sichuanese dishes and dim sum.

Other places in town (other than me) are Eten, down by the cathedral, run by my first head chef, the astonishingly capable Lee Vintin, and various other places I haven't eaten in enough to judge, Lucky Fox (decent down home Americana) and Seafayre. You can do a lot worse than wander round the back of John Lewis and get some Fish and Chips, but if not, you're in the right place to go down the road and get a burrito from Street Food Chef or an edible falafel from Fanoush. 

If you're willing to travel the short distance into the burbs, then all sorts of joy waits you in the form of Urban Choola, Two Steps - for mystical reasons our best chippy, and Made by Jonty. Resident of Sharrow Vale, not content with the best kebabs (Elif) and a world class chip shop, have a competent bakery in the form of Seven Hills, independent butchers and fishmongers, people making their own pasta, and soon, an Urban Quarter burger restaurant, I'm the last person in the world to get excited about meat disks, but these people have got it right.

Like so many things about our city, you have to get out of the middle to properly appreciate it. I only hope that this is of some use to visitors, and maybe to natives also.