Some foods have come to be deeply traditional at certain times of year—Brussels sprouts with the cousins at
Christmas, pancakes and syrup for the children before Lent, or a hearty roast dinner with the family on an
overcast Sunday afternoon. These are all beautiful dishes, steeped in a respect for the past and
garnished with a moment to cherish what truly matters.
Some people, however, don't value these things as we do. They don't respect the deep bonds of decades spent
together and the innumerable sacrifices made for love.
If, after a round of golf foreshortened by bad weather, you've stumbled in on one of these people sampling her
Personal Trainer's cured sausage because "you're just not spontaneous enough anymore, Martin", then
I'd recommend this dish as a new tradition, a healthy and mature way to process your feelings,
and a scrumptious little number on a Friday evening.
| Hard | March 2021 |
| Makes: | 6 Servings |
| Total time: | 5 Hours |
| Submitted by: | Martin Johnsonson |
The trend for organic, free range, and otherwise 'ethical' food has taken the culinary world by
storm over the last few years. Upon entering the local supermarket, one can hardly move for
Uncle Frank's Self-Immolating Chicken Strips,
Nanny Orpington's Obliging Ostriches, or
Sister Mary's Consenting Cantaloupes. There are even rumours that Amazon have been trialling a new
scheme to dispense Happy Little Dead Things straight into the gaping mouths of customers to cut down
on packaging.
In light of all this, absolutely nothing could be more ethical than getting out there and catching your food
yourself, when it's happy as Larry, darting around Paradise Fields at 11am on a Tuesday. Simply buy a pack of
its favourite doggy snacks, crouch in a particularly dense bush on the Eastern edge near the car park,
and wear one of Katheryn's forest green hoodies (for the triple-threat of its scent, camouflage effect, and
rather spacious front pocket).
Once you've spotted the bright-eyed little scamp, it becomes a waiting game. The moment to strike is when its owner
begins endlessly nattering away to Susan about her kitchen renovation and how concerned she is that the
fashionably grey wallpaper won't precisely match the fashionably grey Self-Cleaning Pyrolytic Fan Oven and Touch
Control Induction Hob which she has arriving sometime next week. On top of that, they never give you a decent
delivery window, and Bobby has his first Polo match with the National team on Wednesday afternoon, so the whole thing has
just been a nightmare to organise, particularly with Fred's promotion meaning that he can't really work from
home to take the delivery. Mother's been a little under the weather too, probably because it's been so much chillier
recently, hasn't it? Oh absolutely, it's relatively mild around lunchtime but honestly the winds are really
something, it's no wonder she's a little run down, poor thing. Yes, well I keep telling her to turn the heating
up but you know what she can be like—a little stubborn, unfortunately.
Having exploited the gulf of opportunity to coax/snatch your ethical produce from its natural
habitat, hastily—but not too hastily—carried it back to the car, and gently—but not too gently—muffled its
playful squeals, it is now time to place it on the work surface and prepare yourself, and Mr Fluffles,
for what is about to happen.
Of course, the primary goal here is to bury the deep fondness that you feel for his adorable, little face,
as he inquisitively tilts it to one side, and search for a sense of forgiveness in his large, brown eyes.
As you gently stroke his short but silky fur and play with his delicate, floppy ears, explain that you love him dearly,
and that Katheryn is the one entirely at fault here.
Slowly unsheathe a 12" knife from the block and place it in front of Mr Fluffles so that he becomes accustomed to it. In the meantime,
take a moment to compose yourself—wiping away any tears triggered by the nearby onions.
Meet Martin's quivering gaze with your large, brown eyes, concealing your revulsion as his clammy hands continue to caress your
fur. In his glassy expression, note a deep, emotional turmoil—it makes plain the lengths to which he will go to retain a perverse pretense of agency, as his life rapidly unravels. Just for a second, pity him. That cocky, masculine self-assuredness puts him at the centre of some imagined narrative: protagonist in a dreamt-up drama where man eats dog... How desperately naive.
Rotate the knife in front of you on the countertop, using its well-balanced handle, and aim the tip at his soft belly. Grasping the handle between your teeth, leap forward, slide the blade about four inches deep, and quickly pivot sideways to open up the wound. As he reels backwards from the shock and collapses to the floor, you may let out a loud, disorientating bark. Quickly, leap from the countertop and bite his neck before he is able to prise the knife from his gaping stomach. If you can, scratch at his eyes with your rear paws as you do this.
The overfed and unfit human will not take long to die in this manner, but make his death as quick as possible—if they burn through
too much glycogen in their panic, the lactic acid produced will spoil the natural sweetness of the meat.
Tip: A large amount of blood will be produced during this step. For an irrestibly hearty sauce, reserve a cupful to add later on with the wine.
The work you did previously to bring Katheryn and Felipe together through their mutual appreciation of your playful tricks,
and the favours you pulled in to get little Bobby onto the national Polo team, have paid off. What's more,
the main ingredients have been chopped for you, the gas is already set, and everything is as fresh as it could be.
Working in the kitchen in these circumstances is a rare treat, and the passion it stirs in me rivals the few
years I spent working in Les Pres D'Eugenie under Michel Guérard.
However, there is not a second to lose.
Cut your meat from the thighs and/or biceps, and dice roughly into chunks of about one inch. Sear over high heat until they have a mahogany-coloured
crust. Over-crowding the pan during searing is a common error—the steam dampens the meat and you lose the
juices to the cooking oil—so instead, only brown six or so chunks at a time. For the sauce, focus on umami flavours
from rich tomatoes, mushrooms, and a heavy splash of red wine, and thicken it using a careful process of reduction rather than reaching for the
beurre manié.
Do not burden the stew with fussy accompaniments: instead let it shine by itself, and luxuriate in its simple, comforting warmth. If you absolutely must, the dish may be served with crusty bread and/or herbed, satuéed potatoes.
Call Katheryn, call Felipe. Gather around the dining table, as a family. Be sure to savour the dish with due reverence for the forging of a new tradition. It's what Martin would have wanted.