Make-Ahead Gravy

This is, in essence, a turkey stock which you make in advance then combine with the juices in the bottom of the roasting tray once the turkey is out of the oven on Christmas day.  The idea comes from Jamie Oliver, but the recipe is my own.

Ingredients

6 turkey wings
3 rashers bacon
2 large carrots, cut into chunks
2 sticks celery, cut into chunks
3 cloves garlic
1 onion, quartered
1 bay leaf
thyme, either fresh or dried
1L salt-reduced chicken stock
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Method

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees.

Put a large pot on the stovetop and brown the turkey wings in batches in olive oil. Put the turkey, along with all the other ingredients (except the chicken stock) in to a roasting tray, season lightly and drizzle over some olive oil, and roast in the oven for one hour.

Tip the contents of the roasting tray into the pot, add 500ml of the stock and 500ml of water, and simmer for approximately 1 1/2 hours, or until the meat is falling off the bones.  You may need to top up with some more chicken stock and water as it simmers away.

Strain the stock through a fine sieve or a muslin-lined colander, into a clean bowl.  If you are making this more than a few days in advance, store the stock in the freezer.

To turn stock into gravy

On Christmas day, when the roast turkey has finished cooking, remove it from the roasting tray.  Drain most of the oil out of the tray, leaving behind the dark juices and meat bits stuck to the bottom. Put the roasting tray on the stovetop, add one or two tablespoons of flour, and stir to make a paste. Add a dash of sherry and cook, stirring, for a few minutes. Add your turkey stock to the pan, stir to combine, then simmer until your gravy has reduced and reached the right consistency. Taste for seasoning and adjust if necessary. Strain through a sieve into a serving jug.

Christmas Cassata Semifredda

Enthusiasts of southern Italian cuisine will know that Cassata is normally associated with Easter, but with its glace cherries, chopped dark chocolate and fruit peel, and at the risk of offending purists, I can't help but think it belongs more naturally at Christmas.  There are numerous variations on the Cassata theme, the classic being the ricotta-filled sponge cake draped in green marzipan. This one, which is a derivative of the recipe given in Antonio Carluccio's The Collection, is the semifreddo, or icecream, version. I've made one two years running and it was a light and delicious way to end a hard day of eating.

What I love most about the cassata is that, a week out from Christmas, dessert is already prepared and sitting safely in the freezer. Whatever disasters may befall me on the day, I know I can bring the meal home strongly with this beauty.

Ingredients

200g egg whites (approx 4 eggs)
50g caster sugar
100g full-fat ricotta cheese (La Casa del Formaggio is my preference)
400ml double cream
75g honey, warmed so it's runny
100g mixed candied fruit peel
50g pinenuts, toasted
100g dark chocolate, chopped finely
1/2 cup red and green glace cherries, chopped into small pieces
1 tsp orange essence
1 tsp rum
2 tbsp strega (optional)

Method

Line a round bowl or pudding basin with clingfilm. 

Put the cherries, orange essence and rum into a bowl. Put the fruit peel and Strega in another bowl. Stir, then cover and let them sit while you get on with the rest of the recipe.

Get out 3 bowls. Put the egg whites in one, the ricotta in another, and the cream in the last one. Whisk the egg whites until stiff, then gradually whisk in the sugar.  With a fork, break up the ricotta until it is softened and somewhat smooth (if it's dry, add a little dash of milk to help with this process). Beat the cream until thick.

Gently fold the honey into the egg whites, followed by the ricotta and the cream. Then, fold in all the other ingredients, stirring until they are well-distributed.

Pour the mixture into your prepared round bowl or basin and smooth the surface.

In his book, Antonio Carluccio recommends serving this with a pistachio sauce (made by whizzing up 80g pistachios, 20g caster sugar and 20ml milk in a blender), but it would be fine on its own, or just with chopped pistachios scattered over.

Bistro Dom

Have no reservations. Make one.

Doubting Thomas that I am, I had my reservations about Bistro Dom. There had been too much hype, too much press, too many cool young things telling me you have to go there.  Hipsters were behind it all, I suspected, or perhaps pretentious self-styled foodies looking for opportunities to plagiarise the reviews in their conversations around the executive watercooler.

The first impressions did not do much to allay my fears; a young staff member with something of a disinterested air showed us to our little table in the dimly-lit corridor space with walls adorned with esoteric art-for-sale. Trendies, I inwardly groaned, recognising the signs. Not even the menu grabbed me on first inspection. Although I knew that the menu changed frequently, supposedly depending on the availability of seasonal ingredients, I was disappointed that none of the dishes on the website's sample menu that I'd been keen to try were offered on this particular evening.  Further, we were seated and our orders taken without any advice or explanations, which led me to expect the kind of brusque service that seems to be currently in vogue. So it was with muted enthusiasm that I ordered the Cured kingfish, roasted shallot and fermented kohlrabi for entree and Chamomile salt crust baked lamb with beetroot and soft curd for main course.

If I believed that The Universe was a sentient being concerned with teaching me important life lessons, I'd suggest that it was deliberately playing discordant notes in order to juxtapose the perfect harmony of the experience to come.

The arrival of our evening's waitress signaled the change in tone; she was knowledgeable without being condescending, friendly without being inappropriately familiar, and she was concerned and apologetic about the service oversights at our arrival.  Given that the professionalism of the staff for the rest of the evening was immaculate, I believe that we'd earlier experienced an uncharacteristic glitch in the process, one that was not to be repeated.

But it was the first taste of our entrees that snuffed out any lingering doubts.  My Cured Kingfish was tender and beautifully mild in flavour, and its accompaniments, the thoroughly unappealing-sounding fermented kohlrabi (which was surprisingly mellow and unacidic), the roasted shallot, and an inconspicuous curl of white flesh, which turned out to be a sliver of cured pork fat and one of the most delicious things I've ever put in my mouth ("What WAS that", quoth I), complemented it perfectly.  My husband's Braised pig's trotter, abalone roe risotto and master stock poached abalone, while the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of style, was equally delicious, and was impressive, not only in flavour and texture, but in the inspired drawing together of seemingly disparate ingredients.

Main course delivered what the entrees had promised. One often hyperbolically talks about meat that "falls apart", but in this instance it was literal truth, and the beetroot and curd, while perhaps more classic companions that other combinations on the menu, were nonetheless inventive in their execution.  Dom's version of the ubiquitous pork belly (served with house made boudin noir, pain d'epices and apple) stood up to its competition, was a generous serving, and was meltingly tender and delicious.  The descriptions of the dishes on the menu truly do not do them justice, as both entrees and mains were accompanied by surprise finishing touches and additional flavours that belied the impression of simplicity, and tied each dish together expertly.

Because my husband had made the decadent choice to order two pork dishes, we decided to share a dessert and ordered the Souffle.  Fortuitously, something went awry in the kitchen (oh how it joys the home-cook to know that even the experts suffer from the occasional collapsed souffle!) and to apologise for the delay (which, truth be told, was welcome, particularly by my pork-stuffed companion), we were presented with the bistro's signature petit dessert, the Chocolate Egg with Salted Caramel. A concoction of chocolate, hazelnut, caramel and popping candy would seem to defy being considered sophisticated, yet somehow this delicate eggshell filled with what can only be described as Oh My God, manages to pull it off.  The souffle, when it arrived, was likewise magnificent, cloud-soft, moist, and served with a tiny pitcher of creme anglaise to pour into a burrowed well in the centre, and finished with a side of hazelnut icecream. If I had to put a label on my emotional response, the closest thing would be gratitude.

And all this was topped off by the most pleasing experience of reverse bill-shock that we've encountered in a while - $180 for the three course meal for two (admittedly, with shared dessert, but also including complimentary bread and an amuse bouche) and a bottle of wine. For such quality food and in such a popular restaurant, I think this represents exceptionally good value.

Bistro Dom has become, for me, the new yardstick against which to judge the fashionable inner-city restaurants, no mean feat considering the quality of its competition and the weight of expectation that its status as Adelaide's it restaurant confers.