Beer butt chicken

It’s not every day you find yourself in a supermarket, asking your Facebook friends which 500ml can of beer you should shove up a chicken butt…In the end I bought a crappy cheap can, binned the contents and refilled to the halfway mark with some decent local beer.

Remember, kids, if it’s not good enough to drink, it’s not good nought to cook with.

This is doubly true when it’s going to be used in cooking a fab free range chicken from a local farm.

Jamie’s America has been largely ignored on my shelves since I picked up a reduced copy in Eason a couple of years back. Though a fair few people write Jamie olive off as being a plummy Essex boy done good, trying to impose his will on dinner ladies, he’s got some good stuff out there. I’ve had a copy of most of his books over the years, and this is one Ive hung on to.

A rub is made with cumin and fennel seed, smoked paprika, brown sugar, salt, pepper and olive oil. He recipe also calls for mild chilli powder, but I used old bay instead s a) I have it in the press and b) mild chilli powder is usually a blend of stuff that’s less tasty than old bay.

The chicken is mounted on the beer can in such a way that it can balance, and the rub is smeared all over and into the cavity. I’m not gonna lie, it’s messy and you feel like an eejit as you do it…almost like there’s a hidden cam watching.

There’s a bit of confidence, and a deep breath, in getting it into the oven quickly, keeping it upright and the temperature from dropping too much (and in not losing your eyebrows from the heat). Getting my the can right up into the cavity is key, both for stability and height.

The suggestion is to keep the sides simple, but it’s not really chicken salad weather today, so I parcooked some potatoes in the microwave (shock, horror!) and popped them in to bake with the chicken (taking less than an hour thanks to my little trick).


Quite a bit of delicious looking pan juice accumulated during cooking, and I didn’t want to waste them, so I deglazed with boiling water and thickened them slightly with a little flour.

The removal of a red hot, upright chicken from the oven, and the extraction of a red hot can part-filled with beer and goo is not one for the faint of heart, or those without good, thick oven gloves. My oven has a slide away door which made the process much easier. No worrying about a burn off a slowly creeping closed door while getting dinner out.

For me, the simplest path was to tear off a big chunk of tin foil and loosely wrap it around the chicken in the oven, then quickly and decisively grab it with oven gloves on, and stand it on a plate on the counter. More foil, and a tea towel, then over to the sink where a little mild “football hold and a wiggle” gets the can out – watch for backsplash as it lands, as there’s sugar, fat and alcohol involved and that will stick and burn.

This was really tasty. The rub flavoured the dark meat beautifully, and my old bay substitution worked perfectly. I’ll try this on the barbecue during the summer as well.

Creamy sundried tomato penne

I’ve been watching Friends for the first time, as it’s on Netflix at the moment and the whole thing passed me by when it was broadcast first time around. In one episode, Monica and a cheffy friend are in the coffee shop talking about how sun dried tomatoes are *so* five years ago – I clearly missed that memo.

I’m a big fan of midweek pasta. It’s filling and comforting, and I love a good carb fest. The creamy sauces can be a killer though, so I usually stick to tomato based.

This recipe is best of both worlds. First, a tomato cream is whipped up in a blender from sundried tomatoes, veggie stock and soaked cashews.

Boil penne, and at the same time sauté some veg, add the cream, a first full of basil and the pasta. Simples. While I cut the recipe on half, I kept the full amounts of both garlic and tomatoes, and it was well worth it.

It’s definitely a recipe for cleaning up as you go, lest you finish dinner and have a blender, multiple pots, bowls and utensils to deal with. It’s also one you’ll want to do all your prep ( or Meeze, as Anthony Bourdain would say) as once you get rolling it all pulls together very quickly.

This went down well, especially with a generous shake of nooch on top. HusBeast, who is traditionally suspicious of pasta with sauces that don’t resemble beef ragu, deemed it delicious.

A couple of notes…if you’re not using fresh veggie stock, I highly recommend using Marigold.

Obligatory tea preparation in background…

It’s the shizzle. I also advise caution with the amount used as it’s a recipe that could easily end up tasting boullion-ny and disappointing.

Despite the tomato cream, it wasn’t quite silky-textured enough for me. I’d make sure to add two or three tablespoons of soy cream next time, as it would make a big difference. I’d also double the basil – it really punches things up a notch, and the green of it and the broccoli are fab.

The broccoli, while looking a little odd, was delicious in the dish, and not something d ever have thought of putting in a pasta dish. It’s very important to keep the florets as even in size as possible, and keep them al dents in the pan, or by the time they’ve been m see with hot pasta and served, some will be pure mush. Yuck.

Dilly stew with rosemary dumplings

Yup, more stew. February is often the coldest month here, despite it being Spring, and cold weather requires pots of delicious, warming, entirely unphotogenic stew.

This is another recipe from Isa Does It. I’m a big fan of injecting some fresh herbs into things, especially when it’s a little on the wintry side outside. I’m also slightly dumpling obsessed at the moment, largely stemming from chats over gyoza with friends last weekend.

This recipe uses a roux to start, like I’ve seen multiple times in my Southern cookbooks. Usually I’d thicken a stew right at the end, so this was new to me. Being a little more careful with the cooking temperature was definitely needed; I imagine leaving this unattended and overheated would result in it welding itself to the pot!

The recipe serves 6-8, so I cut it in half – apart from the garlic. We loooove garlic. I also used canellini beans instead of navy beans, which don’t seem to exist here. Also white, creamy beans are more or less interchangeable for this I think. I also used smoked paprika instead of sweet, as that’s what I had in the press.

Onion, garlic, celery, carrot and potatoes are simmered in veg stock with the roux. In the meantime, a super simple dumpling mix gets stirred together. Once the potatoes are getting tender, add the beans and heaping teaspoons of the dumpling batter. Clamp the lid on and don’t lift it again for 14 minutes.

Stew in under an hour, including prep. Very exciting!

The dumplings were delicious – really light and fluffy. The whole thing came together really nicely, and I’d happily eat this again (just as well, as with potatoes and dumplings going on, it’s really filling and there’s loads left for lunch tomorrow). Next time, I’d probably add a little squidge of tomato purée and up the carrot and bean content slightly.

Carrot cake pancakes

It being Pancake Tuesday, aka Shrove Tuesday, it’s time for the obligatory pancake-related post.

Traditionally, eggs, butter and indeed milk were given up for lent, and so a giant pancake orgy took place the day before Ash Wednesday to use said ingredients up. While Ireland is growing more secular by the day, we will still happily keep this annual celebration going. Irish pancakes are like a thick crepe, rather than American style. Usually about 15-20 cm across, largely depending on the size of the frying pan.

For this evening, I broke out “Isa Does It” by Isa Chandra Moscowitz. I’ve used a few recipes in this book before. Unlike a lot of vegan cookbooks on the market, this one uses simple, real ingredients and not a whole load of brand name products, or ingredients that you can only find in The States. The biggest pain in the butt with the book is that everything’s in cups, which means googling conversions to grams before starting (particularly for baked goods, to get the chemistry right).

Carrot cake pancakes. Fluffy, thick, scented with vanilla and cinnamon and drizzled with maple syrup (ha! Who am I kidding? The term “liberally doused” was invented for such stacks of pancakes!).

Normally I’d break out the magimix for grating carrot, as the results are lovely and uniform, plus there’s the fun of shoving carrots down the chute. I was too lazy for the washing up today though, and there’s not massive amounts of carrot involved (a cup, grated) so I used my coarse microplane grater instead. Isa is careful to mention the fineness needed here, and the grater was perfect – the carrot needs to be able to cook in the amount of time the batter is on the pan. No crunchy or al dente bits need apply.


I love my little nutmeg mill!

While this was slightly more faffing about than my standard, non-vegan pancake recipe, it was quick to put together. I didn’t have ground clove, so I left it out, and I used vanilla soy milk as the leftovers will go in my morning coffee for the rest of the week.


Mine were more oval than round, as I wanted to cook two medium sized pancakes at a time rather than one huge one. I can live with that though.


These were absolutely delicious. You could even serve these to people who normally roll their eyes and make comments about “salad is what my food eats” and they wouldn’t be a bit the wiser. Yum. Two hearty thumbs up.


Now I just need to find the next excuse to make them again!

Two for one chicken and asparagus

When you hen you spot two bunches of asparagus for less than a euro each, well, it’d be rude not to!

I’ve boiled, sautéed and roasted asparagus aplenty, boiling being my least favourite method (goes soggy and overdone in a heartbeat) and roasting coming out on top (keeps a bite as well as all the flavour and lovely green colour).

Another book that I love, but have never cooked from, is Nigel Slater’s Tender Volume 1. One of his recipes that, in true Slater style is hardly even a recipe, involves a hot grill, some crispy lardons and Parmesan cheese.


Lardons are ultimately tiny chunks of streaky bacon, hopefully with a nice balance of meat and fat. Given that packs of lardons are hard to come by and often ridiculously expensive considering they’re rasher chunks, I usually just buy some good streaky rashers and do a little chopping myself. Smoked dry cure is the best, both for flavour and water content.


The magic trick with lardons is to start them on a mid heat, then crank it up for just a little at the end to get them crispy. I’m convinced that people who love back bacon, but avoid streaky, do it because it’s not cooked properly. Squidgy, undercooked fat is not a happy thing to eat. It’s greasy and chewy instead of melting and delicious.


Unless you’re picking it in your garden and bringing it straight to the kitchen, you’ll usually lose a third to a half of your stem, depending on how long it has been sitting around, and at what temperature.

Bend one stem until it breaks naturally – that’s your point for cutting the rest. The fresher, the springier. I drained the fat off the pan from the lardons, and used that to roast the asparagus in, for about 15 minutes. Then crispy bacon went over the top, with a chunk of grated Parmesan, and under a hot grill for a few minutes til everything’s bubbling.

Chicken is a classic meat to serve with asparagus. Back to Ballymaloe for a simple recipe – marinating chicken breasts in olive oil and rosemary before chargrilling. While I do have a beautiful slab of cast iron grill ( it’s a Le Creuset one that stretches across two gas burners, and I adore it) currently I’m stuck with a halogen hob, which is why I pan fried the chicken on a super hot pan – about five minutes in total cooking time – using some of the marinade oil.

I boiled some Charlotte potatoes as well, which I tossed with some butter and salt. They’re the first of the season and I couldn’t resist them.



The combination worked really well together, and was actually pretty simple despite having a few things on the go at once. While I added lemon zest to the chicken marinade (it was recommended to serve with lemon butter, but I thought it would be overkill given my sides) I’d definitely add a clove of garlic next time. It was my instinct as soon as I read the recipe, but in the interests of the project and not changing every recipe I cook from the books, I left it without.

The asparagus would also be amazing for lunch with just a perfectly poached egg on top. Maybe next time.

My Dublin Coddle

Coddle is a Dublin tradition that no one in the rest of the country seems to know about, unless they’ve been enlightened by a possibly shocked and confused Dub. I only discovered it when I moved to Dublin myself (met a boy, as the story goes) and when I tried to find a “true” recipe to make it myself (oh, young love!) I found lots of passionate arguments about what’s allowed or not allowed in the pot and have it be still considered coddle. As it’s such a mystery to so many people, I want to give it a long post.

Ultimately, coddle is a pig-based white stew. Chickens, historically, were too valuable as egg producers to be eaten outside of special occasions, save for the odd old boiler. Beef was usually just too expensive apart from the ‘umbles; traditional Irish stew is lamb, or more correctly, mutton-based. It’s near-impossible to find mutton these days, but that’s another post.

The traditional, “pure” recipe uses sausages, bacon pieces, carrots, onion, potatoes, pepper and water. It has become acceptable to use back bacon rashers  instead of pieces, but I really dislike this personally – too much fat, too much faffing with a spoon trying to break them up, and let’s be honest, they look disgusting in it.  Stock is usually used instead of plain water, though I know a lot of people use a packet of leek and potato soup powder. Again, I don’t like this. Far too salty, and tastes like soup with weird bits in it that don’t belong.

Straddling the line of acceptability was barley (again, I’m not a fan, even in Irish stew) and red lentils (which are a bit of a strange addition, but essentially dissolve completely, and thicken the soup, and add nutritious filler). I almost felt sorry for the person who added both lentils and a can of chopped tomatoes, as an entire message board thread called out this abomination as being not-coddle.



Clockwise from bottom left are sausages (12 high meat content, with fine, natural casing), cured ham pieces ( about two handfuls. Usually from butcher offcuts. I’ve been known to chop up a small fillet of ham if the pieces on offer were too fatty or stringy looking), carrots (four big ones this time), one medium onion (never more for me. It’s largely for flavour) and I’ll add about four big potatoes later, so they dont completely break down over the long cooking time. I cut everything into chunks that can be eaten with a spoon, and without trying to break it up in the bowl.

I add a couple of non-traditional bay leaves and a clove of chopped (not minced) garlic, and some thyme and black pepper as well. Chicken stock works best for the liquid component. I stir some Worcestershire sauce into the stock to up the umami factor. It’s often added to the completed stew as a condiment, so not totally cheating. I also add a teaspoon of very unorthodox tomato puree. It can’t be tasted, but it brings out the sweetness in the carrots and meat. Give the pot a good stir and apply heat. I use a slow cooker, for about six hours. Stove top, over a low heat and partially covered works too. I’ve never done it in the oven, but I imagine 160 degrees for most of a day would be perfect.

So another offal-ly good (hur hur hur) addition to coddle are kidneys. This being a piggy dish, I assume that originally it would be pigs kidney. My preference is for lambs, as they’re small, sweet and not too overpowering in flavour or texture. As kidneys can be a bit of alien territory, I want to focus on them here.


One kidney, in the suet.

Step one with kidneys is to ignore anything shrink wrapped or vaccuum packed. They’re not something that you want to eat unless they’re super fresh, and attempts to extend their shelf life should be viewed with deep suspicion.

Getting them in suet does mean extra work in the kitchen, but I recommend it for two big reasons. First, the fat protects the kidney, keeping it intact and free of bruises as far as possible. The second, and more important reason, is freshness.


On a perfectly fresh kidney, the fat is firm and waxy, and creamy white, and firmly attached. There should be no soft spots or yellowing, or any gamey smell at all.



Once you peel the fat away with your fingers, the membranes should be elastic, and the kidney should be evenly coloured and plump. Catch the membrane with point of a knife and carefully pull away towards the centre. They can break quite easily, though this isn’t a massive issue for this dish.



De-membraned kidney on the left. Hand on top, run your knife perpendicular to you board and slice down the middle from the curved outside edge to the central core. A little knife work will remove the core, seen in the bottom of the centre above, along with the little sinewy bits, leaving you with something approaching the half on the right.

If, and this is very important, there’s the smell of ammonia, or a strong, unpleasant odour, then take the kidney and chuck it in your outside bin – it’s either stale or the animal wasn’t processed efficiently. Either way, don’t eat it.

If your kidneys are all cored, chop each half in two, and rinse well in lots of cold water.



This is six of them, ready for the pot. Just pour in, stir, and stick the lid back on.

I tend to stick the suet in a deep roasting dish and put into a medium oven for an hour or so to render. I’ll pour the liquid off into a jam jar, and when it’s cool it goes in the fridge for future roast potatoes, and discard anything left.

I make my coddle a day ahead, taking the whole slow cooker liner and stashing it in the bottom of the fridge. It’s much better after a night to itself, and reheats beautifully – just steer clear of the microwave unless you want exploded sausage and kidney bits to clean up. Adjust seasoning as you reheat. The saltiness of the meat can vary wildly, and can also mellow out a lot as it rests in the fridge.


If you want to get fancy, chop some curly parsley and sprinkle over before serving. Good with bread – either brown soda or crusty white, smeared with plenty of Kerrygold butter.

Again, not the most photogenic,  but that’s peasant food for you. Something slightly fancier next time, honest.

Stuffed lambs hearts

Over the years I’ve been an on and off veggie, but these days I’m largely an omnivore. I firmly believe, however, that if an animal meets its demise to fill our plate, the least we can do is give it a comfortable life, a quick and efficient end, and use every part.

I haven’t eaten heart, outside of haggis or pudding, since I was a child, but I remember loving it. Traditionally stuffed and roasted, they take long, slow cooking to tenderise.

A very welcome library addition for Christmas is my shiny copy of “The Complete Nose to Tail Eating: A Kind of British Cooking“. I’ve been very interested in Fergus Henderson’s brand of cooking for a while – lots of offal, offcuts and out of fashion cuts – but never actually tried a recipe.

So lambs hearts. I ordered mine from my butcher, as they’re actually surprisingly popular around here and I wanted to get four super fresh ones. If you’re getting offal, I highly recommend asking the butcher what day is best to drop in for it, i.e. delivery day. It’s not something that benefits from hanging around in a display case.

IMG_20180120_201224799_HDRTa dah.

These came trimmed and cleaned and ready for stuffing, as requested, and just needed to be rinsed and dried.

The stuffing recipe is simple to follow and takes about 30 minutes including peeling and chopping. It also involves wine, which is new to me in stuffing recipes, so I cracked open a bottle of Rioja I got for Christmas.


Between the red onion and the red wine, the resulting mix has a distinctly pinkish colour. Left to cool, it’s liberally squished into the heart cavity with the aid of teaspoon and fingers. Streaky bacon (I used smoked) is wrapped around and tied off with cotton string, or would have been if I remembered to get some, so I used some short bamboo skewers I luckily had in the press. Note to self – read the whole way through the recipes in this book before starting them.

As I don’t have a nice cast iron casserole or a small, deep roasting tin – the hearts should fit snugly to keep the stock volume to a minimum – I used a suitably sized saucepan. If you’re doing the same (and not running for the hills already) then make sure it’s a completely oven safe pot. Melted plastic or burned wood are not welcome garnishes.

Pour over chicken stock, cover with foil and roast in a medium oven for about 2 1/2 hours. It’s suggested that the liquid gets strained and reduced and used as sauce, and that mashed turnips are served with it. I thickened my sauce with a little roux – it looked like Cream Of Beige, but tasted delicious – and mashed my turnips with potatoes and a good knob of butter.


It was very tasty indeed. The meat was tender and dense, and tasted like leg of lamb meets liver – so while we enjoyed it, it’s a strong taste that might not go down well for everyone. Given the very long cooking time its not one I’ll be making outside of a lazy weekend, but I’d be happy to have it again. Something green and crunchy would be nice with it as well as the root veg, like some al dente green beans.

One note on serving size – with sides, one per person is plenty. I overestimated completely, judging on size, especially as this cooking method doesn’t result in shrinkage. It’s filling stuff, good for cold weather eating, and worth trying at least once.