belmond le manoir aux quat'saisons, oxford - review

There are some restaurants that need little introduction. In the UK, in my mind, these are The Fat Duck and Le Manoir. Part of the reason for these two is because I’ve had a glimpse into both of these kitchens through TV shows; a Masterchef episode where contestants got to cook in Bray, and Raymond Blanc’s: How to Cook Well respectively, the latter of which I tuned into religiously. There’s nothing quite like seeing a restaurant’s behind-the-scenes engine room at work to make you want to eat there.

Since long before then, Le Manoir has been high on my restaurant list. I bumped into Blanc himself at London Cocktail Club a while back (he mentored the two barmen who launched it), and experienced first hand his energy and zeal as we chatted about food and cooking over a couple of pisco sours. Granted, the French accent got thicker and more indecipherable as the drinks flowed, but I more than got the jist of what was being said.

There are two other reasons Le Manoir always stood out for me. One is it’s highly commendable longevity; Les Quat’Saisons opened in 1977 and has maintained two Michelin stars for a staggering 29 years - only a handful of other restaurants can boast a similar achievement. The second, which more than appeals to me as a big advocate of growing-your-own, are the vast kitchen gardens. Seventy traditional and exotic herbs call it home, there's a two-acre plot producing over 90 types of vegetables, an orchard with pears, apples and quinces, even whole greenhouses dedicated to micro herbs. It’s top-shelf allotment pornography of the highest caliber. 

Le Manoir is as grand and stately as you expect it to be. A handsome and stylish manor that despite its size, manages to feel comfortable and familiar. What’s particularly pleasing about the whole experience - the building, food, service and atmosphere - is that it’s not at all stuffy. Despite its formidable reputation, and the level of dining you experience (with the prices to match), the haughty air you might expect with that is not present at all, which is great. 

Everyone is relaxed and at ease, with the babble of convivial chatter and laughter coming from all the tables. You’ll even find (well behaved) children amongst the guests, who are welcomed with their own menu rather than shunned. Diners are well turned out but not to the point of jackets and pearls. The room we were seated in - I believe a newer extension in the expansion a while back - was like a very smartly furnished conservatory with walls and ceilings of glass letting in lots of light and creating space. 

Service is impeccable, nay, faultless. Just the right amount of attention whilst remaining mostly invisible. There is a copy of the days menu on your table in order to negate the need for those lengthy descriptions of every course on delivery, if you don’t want it. I quite like that though, so allowed them to indulge me. 

There’s a lot of ‘madame et monsieur’ which is all fine, lay it on as thick as you like. And you don’t order at the table, you decide what you want to eat in the foyer as you peruse over the menu with your hors d'oeuvres and a glass of champagne if you’re feeling extravagant. So once you’re seated, service is a series of flowing movements by the staff with little to no questioning or interruption.

I quietly sneezed at one point. Before I could reach into my handbag for a tissue, an outstretched arm with a box of them at the end of it appeared from the side of me. Exactly what I needed the moment I needed it - I was duly impressed.

The food was very good and in terms of value, the only real option is the seven course tasting menu. There was a little salad of Devonshire crab with grapefruit, mango and celery, then a confit of cod cooked to the exact point it just turns opaque, with limpid globules of pale green olive oil jelly sliding intact across the plate, the very youngest of basil leaves, firm white cocoa beans, smoky potatoes and tiny cubes of salty chorizo.

A take on green eggs had a spinach and watercress puree, the crunch of hazelnuts and crisped-up posh Spanish ham - that was very good. Then a picture perfect plate of different parts of a piglet - shoulder, succulent slices of leg, sensational black pudding, a Catherine Wheel spiral of crisp bacon (but without the sparks), and a neat cube of scored and browned belly. With it, cabbage, spinach, green beans, apple and onion pureé - a plate full of oink and joy.

Then there was a Comté served at three stages of maturation, 12, 24 and 36 months. A gradual increase in tang and crystallised saltiness, served with a complimentary glass of Vin Jaune 2006 (for those of you who can’t recall your GCSE French, that’s ‘yellow wine’), like a dry Fino sherry. The whole course was entirely typical of Blanc’s native region in the east of France, I loved it. 

Dessert began as an espresso cup housing a mousse with tart soft raspberries and cubes of what was a sort of spongy coconut meringue, the latter of which had little flavour or point. But it was topped with a kimono silk thin disk of chocolate with a speck of gold leaf which was fun to break through with the spoon. It ended with a sensational and intensely tart blackberry sorbet with disintegrating meringue, and a violet mousseux. Oh, and a birthday candle. A triumphant plate.

My partner swapped the final course in exchange for the cheese platter (for a charge of £15), and so we revelled in the theatre of one of the most handsome cheese trolleys I’ve seen wheeled out to us, the glorious honk of all that sweating dairy assaulting our noses before it made it round the corner. The cheese man (pardon me for not knowing the correct term for this member of staff - I’m sure there is one), was great and full of love for this magnificent spread. 

What you need to know is that the portion is huge - he will put a lot of cheese onto your plate. There’s even a tub of Stilton from which quenelles of the stuff are scraped up and shaped for your pleasure. I asked him to write down the ones we had, so as to identify them and purchase next time I’m at a posh cheese counter. For your knowledge too, they were: Blue - Colston Basset Stilton and Fourme d'Ambert; goat - Charolais and Sharpham Cremet; soft and ripened - Coulommiers; washed rind - Moelleux du Revard; hard - tommette de Savoie. We couldn’t finish it between the two of us, but what we did manage was nothing short of sublime.

It was at this point we walked about the estate before retiring to the lounge for coffee. We were at Le Manoir for a total of five hours and it was a glorious, languorous, lavish lunch.

My one point, and there really is only one, is that it is expensive. It’s in fact one of the most expensive restaurants in the UK, particularly when dining from the a la carte, with starters coming in at a hefty £40. The seven course tasting menu was £125. Add to that wine and coffee, and the bill soon mounts up. 

The focus of Le Manoir is on seasonality, expertly executed dishes, impeccable service and glorious surroundings. There are restaurants in London that can tick at least three of those four criteria with some confidence, and do so at a more agreeable price point. Whilst the food was all very good, it didn’t feel overly innovative or ‘current’ for use of a better term, something you might associate with such price tags. What it does do are classic dishes that aren’t too complicated, very well. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with that.

What’s particularly unusual, is they do not add service to the bill; Blanc’s note on the menu states they don’t want diners to feel as though they need to leave anything, but they can if they wish. I’m almost certain most do, and I do wonder if prices are a little inflated to compensate for this. 

Yes, you will pay handsomely for this dream ticket for out-of-town extravagance, as it remains the blueprint for the perfect luxury restaurant. I’m pleased I’ve ticked it off my bucket list, and I enjoyed the whole day immensely, but the price point will probably prevent me from passing through those grand gates again.

Liked lots: it's all rather faultless really; they give those active with them on Twitter a gift of a cookery book which is a nice touch
Likes less: it is pricey
Good for: very special occasions; experiencing cooking from a kitchen that has remained consistently excellent for years; a good reason to get out of London for the day

My rating: 4.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

soft bread rolls with ham and truffle mustard - recipe

When I find myself hankering for a specific item of food, there is little point trying to occupy my mind with much else until the desire has been fulfilled. Great bread fresh out of the oven, lacquered with a knob of melting butter, topped with a quality deep meaty filling and a slick of mustard, and you have have something close to what my daydreams are made of.

Paul Hollywood has a great recipe for barm cakes (originating from the Northwest) in How to Bake which I've used here, the bread more widely recognised as baps, flour rolls, soft rolls, and so on. They’re compact, hold a filling well and provide more bite than usual loaf bread whilst still remaining soft.

To finish the rolls I’ve stuffed them with quality cured ham, chopped capers and a dollop of indulgence in the form of Maille black truffle and Chablis mustard. Think of a whisp of heat coupled with the unmistakable presence of truffle, creating an unparalleled pairing with the rest of the porky and piquant goodness.

You can find this flavour of the mustard (along with more than 60 new variants) from La Maison Maille Boutique - a beautiful little store situated in the Piccadilly Arcade in the West End, and their first International Boutique which opened this October. This mustard is sold in a stone pot which once empty, you can take back to get refilled.

Soft bread rolls with ham and truffle mustard

Makes 12 - 13 rolls

Rolls

500g strong white bread flour, plus extra for dusting

10g salt

40g caster sugar

10g instant yeast

40g unsalted butter, softened

320ml cold water

Filling

Butter

Good quality ham, ham hock, or other quality meat filling 

(enough for as many rolls as you wish to fill)

Capers, chopped

Maille black truffle and Chablis mustard

Put the flour in a large bowl. Add the salt and sugar to one side and the yeast to the other. Add the butter and ¾ of the water, and turn the mixture round with a wooden spoon or your fingers.

Continue to add water a little at a time until you’ve picked up all the flour from the sides of the bowl. You may not need to add all the water, or you may need to add a little more - you want dough that is soft but not soggy. Use the mixture to clean the inside of the bowl, folding the edges into the middle. Keep going until the mixture forms a rough dough.

Tip the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for 10 minutes, working through the initial wet stage until the dough starts to form a soft and smooth skin.

When it feels smooth and silky, put into a lightly oiled large bowl. Cover with cling film and leave to rise in a warm place until at least doubled in size. This could take anywhere from 1-3 hrs, depending on how the warm the environment is where you put it.

Tip I use a very low oven for this (circa 25C) but you could put it into a warm airing cupboard if you have one.

Once the dough has risen, tip it out onto a lightly floured surface. Fold it inwards repeatedly until all the air is knocked out and the dough is smooth. 

Divide the dough into 12 or 13 pieces weighing around 70g each. Shape each one into a smooth ball by placing a cage formed by your hand and the table and moving your hand around in a circular motion, rotating the ball rapidly. The shape comes with practice!

Put the rolls onto a heavily floured surface and leave to rest for 30 minutes. Cover them with large upturned bowls to prevent them drying out. Meanwhile prepare your baking trays, you will need three. Line them with non-stick baking parchment or silicone paper.

Once rested, roll out the dough balls, using a floured rolling pin, until they are twice the size of the original diameter. Lift onto the prepared baking trays, spacing them apart to allow room for spreading, and sprinkle with flour.

Put each tray inside a large clean plastic bag and leave to prove for about 1hr until the dough has doubled in size and springs back quickly if you prod it lightly with your finger. Meanwhile, heat the oven to 210C.

Tip You can also use cling film to cover the trays but if so, ensure you’ve left no gaps and enough room for the dough to rise without pressing against the plastic too much.

When the rolls are nicely risen, light and airy, bake them for around 10 minutes only until you’ve achieved the same colour as in the photographs. Leave them to cool a little on the baking trays.

Keep the ones you don't plan to eat straight away in a lidded container once completely cool to keep them soft. For the rest and whilst still warm, cut them in half and allow some butter to melt. Add the mustard, layer the meat and top with some of the chopped capers. What joy.

Afiyet olsun.

ba shan, soho - review

Chinese restaurants get a lot of stick. At least, they do from me. This is because most of them are appalling. 

Greasy piles of substandard meat and carbs swimming in radioactive sauces, slopped onto plates or stuffed into tin vessels, with a side of self-loathing big enough to make you want to drain the MSG directly from your veins. Menus read of generic fried vegetables with a stock protein in a thick sauce, dozens of chow mein options, and a selection of sweet and sour dishes and fried rices; plates of fodder adapted to be blander, thicker and sweeter for the Western palate. This is not what Chinese people eat. 

These routine menu items do nothing to accurately represent the full repertoire of Chinese cuisine: the country is enormous, as is the range of cooking that goes on there. Food is regional and style is distinctive, with influences taken from resources, climate, geography, history, cooking techniques and lifestyle.

The province of Hunan is located in the south-central part of China; a little piece of it can also be found in Soho with the name of Ba Shan above the door. Owned by the people who run the Szechuan sister, Barshu, over the road, it boasts an all Hunanese menu developed with Chinese food expert Fuchsia Dunlop. If your idea of a great meal is having your chops whalloped with fire and flavour, there is little need to entertain the thought of dining anywhere else in town.

Piquant preserved yard-long beans chopped into chewy segments provided an unusual but stellar texture for the vegetable. Stir-fried with stiff boards of salty Chinese bacon and slithers of preserved crisp garlic, it was a piled high plate of spicy and savoury splendour. 

Square slabs of crispy fried tofu with soft middles saturated with black bean sauce squelched between the teeth, the dark viscous extract coating the inside of the mouth with its sloppy fermented pungency. Both plates were furnished with festive chunks of hot green chillies and even hotter red and both had me at their complete mercy - these are precisely the sort of flavour sensations my palate craves for on a daily basis.

A heap of aubergine mush pounded into submission with garlic and sesame presented still in its mortar, and a plate of slippery wood ear fungus, did wonders at pacifying blistering tongues. The glistening quivering dark mushrooms looked freshly hauled from a sea bed; dressed with vinegar, garlic and chillies they were cool, tangy, crunchy and slipped down barely touching the sides.

The restaurant decoration keeps with tradition, with Chinese lanterns, dark wood and walls adorned with images of Chairman Mao. Service was perfectly acceptable; whilst perplexity flashed across the faces of several waiters at the request of additional coriander (a request left unfulfilled - ‘it’s just for decoration, we don’t have any more’), tea was topped up, words were said smiling and despite advance warning of a 1.5hr time limit for the table, we were there for two with no problem. In other words, for a Chinese restaurant, the service was excellent.

The heat from Hunanese cuisine, whilst almost ubiquitous in its presence, is less of the type that leaves a fat tongue hanging out of your mouth in a desperate search for cold lactose. It’s more penetrating than that, permeating through to your core and the very marrow of your bones, leaving a subtle tingling sensation at the corners of your mouth on the way in. I don’t know how they do this, but it’s excellent. 

This is food that doesn’t just pay a visit to your taste buds, it conquers them outright. Planting the flag of flavour firmly into its new found territory to mark its occupation, the food from Ba Shan will leave an impression deep enough that you won’t be able to hold off your next visit for too long.

Liked lots: all of the food; the location
Liked less: was a little quiet at the start, but background music played later on; the menu link on their website is broken (prevents pre-dining anticipation build up)
Good for: authentic, fresh, real, regional Chinese food at good prices; blasting away a cold

My rating: 4/5

Afiyet olsun.

luiz hara's japanese supper club - review

It’s rarely too early to start with one, so let us begin with a cocktail. 

Take a man with a passion for great food, travel and wine. Add to this far-reaching culinary influences courtesy of Japanese and Italian parents. Have him born and raised in São Paulo and living in London for the past 20 years. Throw in classical training from a diploma at the Cordon Bleu cookery school along with an advanced certificate from the Wine and Spirit Education Trust. Shake up with a history in investment banking and a swish Islington pad, and finish off with a strong desire to share the food of his yesteryears home cooked by his Japanese family in Brazil; decant, serve over ice and savour the very memorable experience that is Luiz Hara's (aka The London Foodie) Japanese supper club. 

This is a no holds barred event of gratification, the level of which has guests ‘wow’-ing from the moment they are greeted at the door to their departure. 

Think of the best dinner party you’ve attended. Triple the number of attendees and add another four courses. Include a handful of volunteers to help plate up, clear down and serve drinks and involve ingredients like lumpfish caviar and Clarence Court duck eggs. Execute this in a generous open plan dining area complete with two full length tables and a breakfast bar to accommodate all 28 guests, with full view of the maestro toiling over a hot AGA. You will then have something close to the well-oiled machine that is this epicurean event.

The menu spoke of dishes mostly unfamiliar to a Westerner unaccustomed to Japanese food created outside of restaurants; apart from a token plate of salmon sashimi (incidentally very good and with a South American twist of avocado and crème fraîche), there was not a sushi roll, yakitori stick or bowl of ramen in sight. 

Spaghetti (not noodles - real Italian spaghetti and entirely authentic to this specific dish, Luiz informed us) coated in a luxurious chilli-marinated cod roe and caviar sauce yielded all the comfort and textural characteristics of a carbonara, but singing of seafood, speckled with black fish eggs and delivering a punch of heat to the back of the throat.

The duck egg received a slow cook sous-vide treatment to replicate the cooking method of the dish ‘tamago onsen’ where they are traditionally submerged in Japanese hot springs. With delicate silken tofu and a mixture of dashi, soy and mirin, the yolk was served at the precise moment just before setting takes place; a sublime physical state of buttery viscosity. 

The flesh of the tempura aubergine had broken down to that characteristic and irresistible mush it does so well, lightly battered and served with umami mirin, as were broccoli florets and splayed oyster mushrooms.

Large tabletop hotpots on individual gas burners were crammed full of fresh sea dwellers: firm squid and fat prawns, sweet clams and meaty cod, along with slippery and transparent glass noodles, yielding tofu, mushrooms and greens. Over the vessels great jugs of miso, soya milk and dashi broth were poured to allow a brief and gentle simmer of the contents before guests dipped in a ladle to fill their bowls. The mild sweetness from the milky brew worked with the seafood particularly well.

‘Buta Kakuni’ consisted of generous hunks of pork belly striped through with inviting layers of fat, slow-braised in brown rice and caramelised in a mix of brown sugar, soy sauce and ginger, resulting in sweet flaking lean and fat that slipped down with ease. Glutinous chestnut rice, crunchy sugar snaps and green beans provided fitting companionship for the meat.

Then there was the flourless chocolate cake with Armagnac soaked prunes. This may well have been one of the best derivatives of the cocoa plant I’ve consumed; the pleasure receptor reader, had there been one, would have blown a fuse.  Along with refreshing green tea ice cream and a cool glass of superb Muscat, this course was in my top three.

I can only imagine the level of knowledge, skill, precision and professionalism demonstrated through the food, the encompassing bon vivant atmosphere, and the diners in full flow of a truly splendid evening are things most supper club hosts (and a lot of restaurants no doubt) could only hope to aspire too. 

It is also entirely appropriate to reference the cost per person for this evening (I’ll always grab an opportunity to induce a simultaneous raising of eyebrows amongst my readers): £40 + service which included all of the aforementioned, plus canapes and a gin and tonic to begin. I’ll reiterate what many have said before: seek this level and quantity of cooking in the high-end restaurant it would be at home in, and you would pay at the very least double that. At the very least.



To say I would recommend attending would be an understatement - it’s an essential visit for anyone seeking out great food for outstanding value and who wouldn’t say no to a wonderful evening out. So I make that, almost everyone*.

Be sure to take a look at upcoming dates for Luiz's supper clubs that cover both Japanese and French cuisine, as well as Japanese cookery lessons.

Bravo Luiz, you were the perfect host - I anticipate I won’t be able to hold off my next visit for much longer. 

My rating: 4.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

*it goes without saying that if you don't eat seafood, a supper club with a Japanese menu perhaps shouldn't be your first choice, as one misguided diner averse to eating things that swim quickly came to realise..

CUTS - a forza win & the ginger pig pop-up - review

Red meat is not something I indulge in too frequently at home. Partly because if I did, it would be quite an expensive habit (when I do entertain it I’ll splurge on high welfare free range), and partly because handsome hunks of loins and rumps take a decent amount of time to cook and are therefore, in my mind, best reserved for the slower pace of life weekends are so good at. 

So when the opportunity arises to have not one but three glorious and often underused cuts of marvellous muscle sourced from none other than The Ginger Pig cooked for me to succulent perfection by tong-tastic bearded professionals in a single evening, I’m jumping at the chance like a frog on fire. Did I mention they’re cooked outside over coals? Exactly.

For a hotly anticipated and select 30 days over the summer of 2013 that was, supper-club stalwarts Forza Win teamed up with beloved butchers The Ginger Pig in a gathering of flesh and fire, pork and panzanella, rump and rib-eye, cocktails and coals and a lot of people chowing down on some seriously good dinner.

Each Thursday to Sunday between 25th July and 22nd September saw piles of salivating punters following their nose to locate the disused East End pickle factory hosting the carnivorous carousal, guided by wafts of quality meat browning on hot grills. Around a vast communal dining table constructed from salvaged wood, 70 clientele were seated each night to enjoy four courses of Tuscan inspired dishes cooked with expertise, executed simply and presented on beautiful big sharing platters passed round and picked off. 

Commandeering the custom-built sustainable English firewood and charcoal burning behemoth was chef Nick Fulton (previously of The Orchard in Brockley), along with a little help from his friends.

Large mixing bowls of panzanella accompanied the meats, full of multicoloured ripe tomatoes, lightly pickled red onions and oily crunchy croutons. The meat marathon began with juicy hunks of 80-day Longhorn beef rump (from the top of the rear leg) served with polenta croutons hardening from the post-Parmesan melt, a deeply flavoured wild mushroom confit, and plates slashed with drizzles of garlic cream.

Round two presented itself as slices of lamb neck fillet (textured and muscular from the top of the backbone) tenderised to the touch of a plump baby’s thigh thanks to an overnight marinade in rosemary and lemon, and served with a vibrant sweet pea and marjoram purée, whole firm peas and fresh pea shoots. A wonderful pea-off to accompany the luscious lamb.

Tender pork rib-eye (boned-out shoulder from the front leg) rounded off these class cuts, a blackened exterior encasing succulent flavoursome flesh within and my favourite of the three meats; served with firm Italian beans slow-cooked with fatty lardons and a side of grilled bitter treviso lettuce. 

Delicate silken panna cotta flavoured with lavender and served with blackberry compote, espresso and homemade biscotti bark concluded the evening’s delightful proceedings.

CUTS was a novel dining affair in an unusual setting and with a communal and sociable format that many won’t have experienced before, not to mention the food was utterly delightful. It’s had it’s run this summer but due the runaway success, I would put good money on seeing this collaboration resurface at some point in the future. And if it does, you surely must go.

My rating: 4/5

Afiyet olsun.

This review can also be found on the Your Local Guardian website.

pearl barley, pork mince and saffron orzotto

Well, I've finally managed to get back into the kitchen - it's been a while. Where I belong, some may say. Also, where I'm in my element. I think the lack of culinary exercise of late is down to a combination of a few nights spent in town trying out possibilities for the 'London Cheap Eats' part of the blog (some have made it, some haven't) and Matt making most of our meals when I have been around, just because I haven't had a chance to or I've been down right lazy when it comes to cooking up a storm. A bit of a hindrance for a food blogger, but it happens.

This recipe is incredibly simple. It is an orzotto which is essentially a risotto but made with pearl barley instead of rice. Pearl barley is my preference for this type of dish as it has a nutty flavour and retains a wonderful bite, unlike rice which can get a bit too mushy if you're not careful. You also don't need to follow the somewhat laborious process of adding one ladle of stock at a time - just pour most of the stock in, stir occasionally and keep an eye on the liquid level. A sprinkle of luxury is added to this dish in the form of delicate golden saffron strands which gives the whole thing a wonderful glow.

Pearl barley, pork mince and saffron orzotto 

Makes 4 portions

Extra virgin olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
150g pork mince
200g pearl barley
120g spinach, roughly chopped
1 litre stock (vegetable or meat, or combine)
A bunch of flatleaf parsley, finely chopped including the stalks
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
A large pinch of saffron strands (optional)

Tip Pork mince often comes in packs of 500g. If you want to use up the whole lot, scale up all the other ingredients to make more portions which freeze really well. Great mid-weak saviours when you can't be bothered to cook anything.

Heat about one tablespoon of the oil in a large saucepan, add the onion and pork and cook, stirring, until the onion is soft and the pork browned.

Stir in the pearl barley and spinach and cook for a couple of minutes.

Add most of the stock (leaving some behind) and the saffron and give everything a good stir. Put the lid on with a slight gap and leave to simmer until the pearl barley is cooked - check the packet timings for an estimation of how long it will take. Keep an eye on the water level - if it gets low before the grains are cooked, add the remaining stock. Be sure to scrape the bottom of the saucepan with a wooden spoon every now and then to prevent the pearl barley sticking and burning at the base.

Tip The saffron adds a wonderful rich colouring to the orzotto but if you don't want to make a special trip to buy some, then you can leave it out.

Remove from the heat, mix in the remaining oil and parsley and season with salt and black pepper. Plate up and drizzle with a little extra virgin olive oil. Serve immediately or allow to cool and portion up to keep in the freezer.

This is one of my favourite mid-week recipes. Enjoy.

Alfiyet olsun.

sticky pork ribs

Ribs are a meal that defiantly bear a cross to the face of etiquette and utensils; like a sanguivoriphobe (Google it, it's an actual thing) to a blood sucker - they are not welcome here. There's something liberating about pulling meat off bone with your teeth - throw into the scene a spread-eagled woolly mammoth rug and a couple of tusks as leaning posts and I could well be making dinner for a pair of grunting Neanderthals. You'll find rib sauce systematically migrate across your face, further reaching with every bone you gnaw and suck dry as you throw back to the ways of our ancestral cavemen and get your muzzle in amongst all that juicy meat - embrace it.

Sticky, chewy, sweet and sour, these ribs are impossible to resist and tick all the boxes for any animalistic tendencies you fancy exercising, with a little bit of added finesse when it comes to flavour. The glaze is packed full of vibrant citrusy notes and the sweetness from the honey counteracts the spices very well. The secret is to get the ribs really well caramelised before adding any of the other ingredients. As they braise in the oven, all that colour turns into the most amazing flavour with a hint of the Orient. This recipe is one from Gordon Ramsay's book Ultimate Cookery Course.

Sticky Pork Ribs

Serves 3-4

1 kg pork ribs, separated
Olive oil
Sea salt and black pepper
3-4 fat garlic cloves, peeled and sliced
5 cm piece of fresh ginger, peeled and sliced
1-2 tsp dried chilli flakes (to taste)
1 tsp Sichuan peppercorns
2 whole star anise
4 tbsp runny honey
150ml soy sauce
2-3 tbsp rice vinegar
300ml Shaoxing rice wine or medium dry sherry
5 spring onions, sliced
400ml chicken stock

Preheat the oven to 180C.

Season the ribs with salt and pepper, pushing the seasoning into the meat. Heat a roasting tray on the hob with a little olive oil and brown the ribs for 5-10 minutes until  they are coloured on all sides.

Tip If you don't have a roasting tray that can be used on a hob, you can colour the ribs in a large frying pan instead.

Add the garlic, ginger, chilli flakes, Sichuan peppercorns, star anise and honey and continue to cook over the heat for 2 minutes until the honey begins to caramelise. Add the soy sauce, rice vinegar and Shaoxing wine and bring to the boil, simmering for 1 minute. Taste and adjust the flavours, adding more vinegar if necessary. Add the spring onions and stock and bring to the boil. 

Tip If the above was done in a frying pan, now transfer all of the contents into a roasting dish that's been heated up in the oven.

Place the roasting dish back in the hot oven and cook for 1 hour until tender, turning the ribs halfway through the cooking time.

Remove the pan from the oven and place back on the hob (or tip the contents back into the large frying pan). Heat the marinade and reduce for 8-10 minutes until the sauce is thick and syrupy. Turn the ribs in the sauce to ensure they're fully coated. Serve - with napkins.

If you can't quite manage that amount of protein in one hit, leave any remaining ribs sitting in their sticky marinade for a day or two which will help develop their flavour. When you come to finish them off, give them about 20 minutes in a hot oven to ensure they're well heated through.

These rich ribs work very well with some fresh spring rolls; how we ate them and the next post to be added - watch this space.

Alfiyet olsun.