No-one is born knowing how to poach an egg. Indeed, the technique is hardly intuitive: the addition of a little vinegar, whisking the water to create a swirling vortex. Just as golfing enthusiasts barred from hitting the links have resorted to putting practice in their living rooms, a lazy lockdown weekend feels like an ideal time to perfect classic cooking techniques. Here are six to try.
Spinning sugar
Spun sugar is a guaranteed way of achieving collective ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from assembled guests at your next dinner party. Playing around with burning hot sugar is however the sort of thing that can tip you over the edge should you attempt it unpractised whilst trying to make polite conversation with the in-laws between courses. I have three favourite shapes — a half-sphere basket (to hold a scoop of ice cream), a ball of wispy strands (almost like cotton candy), and a decorative spiral which can be nestled atop anything.
The most important tips are using a very clean, non-stick pan and getting the sugar (white caster) the right temperature: too hot and it won’t solidify, too cold and the sugar will snap. Heat the sugar in the pan until it is at a caramel colour. Don’t stir — just deploy some gentle pan tilting so it all dissolves evenly. Then put the base of the pan in some cold water so the mixture thickens to the consistency of golden syrup and you’re good to go. For the basket, take a tablespoon of the sugar and criss-cross it over the back of a small bowl or ladle (greased with olive oil) and then leave to cool. For the spun sugar ball, rapidly ‘spin’ sugar back and forth over a sharpening steel so it forms wispy strands. Gather these up into a ball and then gently place on a tray to cool. And for the spirals: twirl sugar around a steel before sliding it off to set. Once mastered, never forgotten. Just remember to cover the kitchen floor with newspaper for the first few attempts.
Julienne vegetables
I honed my knife skills during long summer holidays as a teen from ‘how to’ videos on the BBC Food website. Julienne was always my favourite shape: like little matchsticks, for salad garnishes and the like. Courgettes or cucumbers are the easiest veg to start with, as they yield easily to the knife. Once you’ve mastered those, you can graduate to the carrot, just be sure your knife is razor sharp. Whatever the veg, the julienne is achieved by making lengthways slices, a couple of millimetres thick. Cut these in half or into thirds so they are about 5 cm in length and then chop as thinly as you can with a chef’s knife in a rocking motion. The end result you’re looking for is like those sticks of cucumber or spring onion you stuff into Peking duck pancakes. If you turn the julienned veg ninety degrees and finely dice you will have a new cut—a brunoise—perfect for garnishing a consommé or anything else that needs a cheffy touch.
Chiffonade of herbs
While many herbs are perfectly fine being chopped any old way with a knife or mezzaluna, for delicate soft herbs, particularly basil which bruises easily, producing thin ribbons en chiffonade is the pro’s way. It is also an excellent method to finely slice leafy veg like spinach, Savoy cabbage or Swiss chard. The important thing is that the leaves are flat and evenly shaped so you can stack them neatly on top of each other (don’t even bother with rosemary). Then you roll them up tightly like a cigar and run a knife over to produce thin slices. To show off your talents, make a potage julienne which is composed of various julienned vegetables (carrots, beets, leeks and celery) and lettuce, sorrel, and chervil en chifonnade. The whole lot is sautéed, simmered in stock and then ladled over bread. A lockdown lunch to be proud of!
Folding an omelette
Making a perfect omelette is one of those tests used by testosterone-crazed chefs determined to catch their new recruits with egg on their face. It is something everyone should master at home: being able to include a French omelette in your offering when taking egg orders at breakfast lends an air of sophistication to an otherwise mundane family weekend breakfast. Classically, it should comprise simply butter and eggs, with no filling required.
First whisk up your eggs, then gently melt a very generous knob of butter in a non-stick pan. When a few butter bubbles appear, add your eggs, season and begin to stir—this is key to the eggs all cooking evenly. Keep the heat low, keep stirring and be patient. When the top is still a little runny, take it off the heat, leave to sit for a minute and then it’s time for the fold. Hold the pan in your left hand, tilt it slightly away from you and then use a spatula to coax the edge over into a roll. Once completely folded and the omelette is at the other end of the pan, tip the pan over onto a plate with the help of your spatula so the omelette is seam-side down. Serve with swollen chest and classically-trained savoir faire.
Making a roux
It is a pity to see so many recipes abandoning proper homemade white sauce in favour of a cheat’s version made from crème fraiche or, worse, a gloopy jar of ready-made. Lloyd Grossman is a man of infinite talents but a good roux-based sauce isn’t one of them. Making a roux is, moreover, ridiculously easy and rather fun.
Heat 500g of whole milk gently in a saucepan. If you want extra flavour you can pop in a few whole peppercorns, a blade of mace, half a white onion, a bay leaf and even some parsley stalks. In a separate saucepan, melt butter (don’t let it brown) and then add an equal quantity of plain white flour (50g of each works well). Stir for a few minutes using a wooden spoon to cook out the raw flour. Giving the elasticky play dough-like mixture a good beating is a great stress-buster and helps get you off to a lump-free start. Then transfer from wooden spoon to whisk and gradually add the hot milk. So long as you go slow and whisk well, you’ll avoid any lumps. Season with salt, pepper (white rather than black if you want to preserve the colour) and, if you like, a little grate of nutmeg.
There are of course infinite variations on this classic Béchamel: substitute the milk for stock as a pie filling, enrich with cream for a velouté, and add mature cheddar for a cheese sauce. Now go forth, to lasagne, moussaka, cauliflower cheese, fish pie and all good things.
Proper stock
We all know we should make stock, but few of us do. Yes it tastes good, but as someone who takes guilty pleasure in drinking OXO cube stock out of a mug it is not primarily for the flavour that I go to the effort of the homemade stuff. Rather it is for the satisfaction of chucking all the sad remnants of the fridge into a big pot and turning it into something wonderful.
Start with the bones — a raw or roasted carcass both work. Then veg— carrots, leeks, onions and celery are all typical. Then flavourings: my rule is to go big. I have tried the sophisticated approach—sparse bouquet garni and single clove—and always find myself underwhelmed. So now I’m more likely to go for five or even ten sprigs of thyme, rosemary and parsley, plus peppercorns and half a bulb of bashed up garlic. Of course, if the stock is destined for an Asian dish, consider ginger, lemongrass, star anise, coriander stalks and shitake mushrooms too.
Whatever the variation the method is the same. Roughly chop all the veg, place together with the bones and flavourings in a big pot, cover with cold water and then bring slowly to the boil and simmer for 3-4 hours, periodically skimming off any froth that rises to the surface. Once strained it’s ready to use in everything from the simplest broth with wilted greens, to a wintry risotto. What better excuse to get up from your desk when working from home, than to give the stock pot a little check?
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