Locatelli’s column in the Guardian (fast becoming my favourite bit of the Saturday paper) is talking pheasant ravioli. I tear out the column and wonder where I can get hold of a pheasant.
During my lunch hour I stroll down to Adeyfield and pop into Nelson’s butchers. Sadly, its the only independent butchers in Hemel Hempstead, and does its best to be a cut above the supermarkets. People must just get on the Tescos conveyor belt in this town and accept what they’re given, which is sad as there is plenty of money about. Anyhow, I wonder in and ask the chief if he can get hold of a pheasant for me – and I swear the guy looks proud! He looks like he’s been vindicated, by a young(ish) bloke walking in and doing what would be unthinkable in Tescos – ordering some decent meat. We arrange for a hen for me to pick up on Friday, and he promises to ring if there is a problem.
On the way out I spot some minted lamb shanks, a decent size, at £3.50 a pop. I hesitate for a minute, as it’s a bit much for a Tuesday night dinner… but there will be some left for a butty tomorrow… and I can keep the bone for a stock (I have a collection of lamb bones in my freezer, Mrs Jiffler will no doubt throttle me for using up valuable ice cream space when she gets back from Rwanda)… there is a fiver in my pocket…
It goes in the oven for a slow roast with a couple of shallots and glug-glug-glug og marsala. 160 degrees, covered for 45 mins then uncovered for 45 more. It comes out nicely cooked, perhaps slightly overdone (the oven has a vicious edge), but the gravy looks a bit too black. I try dipping some sweet potato mash in and the gravy is burnt, so goes straight down the sink. A partial success though as the shank is juicy, and the mash gets an extra knob of butter to loosen things up. Not much in the way of leftovers for a sandwich tomorrow though…
During my lunch hour I stroll down to Adeyfield and pop into Nelson’s butchers. Sadly, its the only independent butchers in Hemel Hempstead, and does its best to be a cut above the supermarkets. People must just get on the Tescos conveyor belt in this town and accept what they’re given, which is sad as there is plenty of money about. Anyhow, I wonder in and ask the chief if he can get hold of a pheasant for me – and I swear the guy looks proud! He looks like he’s been vindicated, by a young(ish) bloke walking in and doing what would be unthinkable in Tescos – ordering some decent meat. We arrange for a hen for me to pick up on Friday, and he promises to ring if there is a problem.
On the way out I spot some minted lamb shanks, a decent size, at £3.50 a pop. I hesitate for a minute, as it’s a bit much for a Tuesday night dinner… but there will be some left for a butty tomorrow… and I can keep the bone for a stock (I have a collection of lamb bones in my freezer, Mrs Jiffler will no doubt throttle me for using up valuable ice cream space when she gets back from Rwanda)… there is a fiver in my pocket…
It goes in the oven for a slow roast with a couple of shallots and glug-glug-glug og marsala. 160 degrees, covered for 45 mins then uncovered for 45 more. It comes out nicely cooked, perhaps slightly overdone (the oven has a vicious edge), but the gravy looks a bit too black. I try dipping some sweet potato mash in and the gravy is burnt, so goes straight down the sink. A partial success though as the shank is juicy, and the mash gets an extra knob of butter to loosen things up. Not much in the way of leftovers for a sandwich tomorrow though…
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