HUNTER-GATHERING: wild & fresh food

Christmas Tucker: The Three-Bird Roast…

Just thought I would post up this little gem from the archives (I believe it was 3 years ago whilst living in Londinium), since life has changed so dramatically over the last 2 years- I thought I would whip out this one- I must admit it was certainly a high point in my culinary past and worked out much better than hoped! Well worth doing if you have to lay out a big spread and here is how to go about it....

 

Christmas is about eating…lots. So there can be no better centrepiece to a festive feast than a huge bird-within-a-bird-within-a-bird. A bunch of friends received invites a week or so in advance and all that was asked for was £10, a bottle of plonk and a secret Santa present. I found that this supper-club approach to weekend revelry could be a taste of things to come for the New Year. Obviously I love cooking, especially when it comes to sharing it with friends, so naturally Clare and I thought we could cook up quite a bit with £100 in our pockets as we waited for the bus to the mupersarket.

Throwing in whole birds makes things a little more expensive. Good turkeys cost more than I expected, especially if it’s a Kelly Bronze Turkey, whole ducks and wine for mulling easily cleared half the budget! But the vegetables won’t cost that much will they? Don’t get me wrong; I admire those producers that take the time to carefully rear their crops, be it organically, bio-dynamically or otherwise.

But I am not one of these people who fill their baskets with everything organic, far from it, a good grope of a red onion or bunch of celery tells me everything I need to know. I am sure if I had the money to buy everything organic I probably would, but I don’t. Enough on shopping and food politics…

Stock.

 

The foundation of any good kitchen rests upon laying down some damned fine stock: the base for an infinite amount of sauces, broths and stews. Quick fix solutions come in the form of cubes or powder, but these will never do the real thing justice. Few things are more satisfying than skimming the fat off a simmering stock pot and I take great pleasure in knowing that whilst the stock market is all over the place, the stock in my freezer ain’t going nowhere. 

 

 

I always make my stock the way Marco Pierre-White does (I do find it ironic that he is the face for Knorr stock cubes!), I read a great recipe some years ago in one of his books under the aptly named ‘basics’ section:

 

• 2kg of roasted veal bones
• A couple of raw chicken carcasses
• Classic Mirepoix with a twist (1 red onion, 1 leek, 2 celery, 2 carrots)
• A squeeze of tomato puree
• Bouquet garni (sprigs of lemon thyme, rosemary, parsley and 3 bay leaves)
• 1 crushed bulb of garlic
• A good twist of black pepper
• ½ bottle of Red wine

 

 

 

Roasting the veal bones is a great way to add some serious body to your stock, as this melts all the marrow from within the knuckles (get your butcher to saw up the bones).  Of course stock wouldn’t be stock without the dog ends and roughly chopped chunks of onion, celery and carrot. My favourite kitchen smell is always kicking off a demi-glace; gently sautéing these three in a pan IS the essence of cooking for me.

Once the veal bones have been roasted, place them in a stock pot (make sure you get all the good bits off the roasting tin!) along with all your vegetables and the rest of the ingredients, apart from the red wine. Top up with cold water until everything is covered. Bring to the boil and then gently simmer for up to 5 hours, topping up with water every so often. Skim off any foam or oily-looking fatness that hangs around on the surface. Once you feel you have simmered enough, put the stock through a strainer into a fresh saucepan. Bring to the boil, reduce by half, add the red wine and boil again. Bag up or box the gravy and stick in the freezer until it’s time comes (I like to freeze mine in ice cube bags).

 

From here you are very near to having some incredible gravy for your roast. Boil up again, add some dried ‘shrooms and thicken with a roux (2 tbsp of butter, 2 tbsp of plain flour, melt butter in pan, add flour, whisk till combined, add to stock).

 

With the gravy in the bag, or more accurately the freezer, I can get on with more pressing issues: What birds and how many? I felt that a 10-bird roast was a little extreme for 10 people, perhaps 5? Or 3? I was extremely pleased to realise that there was some control, whatever my buddy Nick shot the weekend before would make the final cut, as well as determine the amount of birds within birds. 

 

 

 

As luck would have it, super sharpshooter Nick turned up at my door the Sunday night before with 6 pheasants…three birds it is, with a few pheasant breasts for a game terrine. During my research on the ‘net, I came a cross an American phenomenon called a “Turducken”. This was not the latest box office smash hit from Warner Brothers (imagine the voice-over guys with the deep, throaty voices doing the trailer- you must see this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQRtuxdfQHw) 

 

Only in America would they name a 3-bird roast (turkey, duck and chicken) in such a way! On British soil it is more commonly known as a royal roast. After careful consideration I decided on a 6lb Turkey, a 2lb Duck and a 1lb pheasant; three quite different flavours and three slightly different shades of meat. On paper, the royal roast seems like the gastronomic equivalent of climbing Everest (or at least K2), when in reality it is much simpler; time and patience are the only things to worry about.

 

Having a steady hand and a sharp knife for boning the birds is a key element to building this roast. Firstly bone out everything from the duck and pheasant, with the turkey you just need to remove the torso. By leaving the turkey’s legs and wings intact, this will help the final product keep its shape once it is bound and trussed. As you can see from the pictures below, once the turkey was opened up and a layer of stuffing and a little seasoning was applied, the duck was placed on and the process repeated itself, likewise with the pheasant. 

 

 

On goes the first layer of stuffing and the duck (above).

The stuffing goes on the duck (above).

The pheasant goes on (above).

All layers and stuffing in place (above).

A bit of nip & tuck, turkey surgery.

 

Sewing the turkey back together was a tad fiddly; I had no butcher’s twine or needle. Improvisation came in the form of plain string and a cunningly fashioned piece of coat hanger, which was actually quite effective. Once trussed, I turned over my creation and stood back to admire my handiwork.

 

“That wasn’t actually too bad.” Said I, with a satisfied grin on my face.

 

 

Clare, ever the voice of reason, gave it a prod and said: “Yes, but you haven’t cooked it yet…”

 

 

Thanks love!

 

By careful consideration of poundage/temperature/time, I calculated that this beast would need about 4 hours in a preheated oven at 180C and then at least an hour of sitting time before taking it to the table. As long as it went in at 3.30pm, it would be ready for main course. “Turduckant Royale” done.

 

 

A Christmas feast wouldn’t work without all the trimmings, and we had them all. In typical hunter-gatherer fashion, I took charge of the meat and Clare took care of the vegetables. Mini sausages wrapped in bacon, swede and broccoli mash, roast potatoes in goose fat, honey roasted Chantenay carrots and parsnips and finally red cabbage parcelled up in white cabbage leaves. 

 

 

Even the cranberry sauce was homemade (225g of fresh cranberries, 150g sugar, 125ml water: 10 minutes). Unfortunately when it came to the main, we had had a couple of hours of aggressive pickling (mulled wine, champers and more wine) during a quiz, my dainty little cabbage parcels were forgotten about in the oven and never graced the table!

For our starter, the extra pheasants Nick had shot had been given the lazy treatment (pluck breast area, cut out breasts, discard bird); a few breasts and the livers from all the birds were saved and formed the foundation of a game terrine (see chicken terrine blog under meat for recipe). 

 

I love making terrines, the satisfaction of the bricks and mortar building technique, surrounding it with streaky bacon and then finally, once cooked, cutting through it to reveal the patchwork of breast meat and forcemeat peppered with capers. Amazing. We ate this with some freshly baked black olive bread and it went down a storm, perhaps even better than the roast…

 

There was little room left for Christmas pudding, but Clare had made some Rocky road, which was very well received. Cheese was washed down with Port followed by numerous rounds of charades and a few more drinks. On the whole it was a glorious evening, a few cheesy Christmas tunes and almost a dozen stuffed guests.

 

Christmas is the time for getting together with friends and porking out on rich food and drink. The three-bird roast was the terrific climax of all the roasts I have eaten this year, and there have been many. Even though I still have leftovers coming out of my ears and it’s a race against time to make use of them and fill the freezer with pies etc. for January, I will definitely do it all over again next year, perhaps 5 birds? Where exactly I will be doing it is anyone’s guess…perhaps in Sussex, maybe in a tree house…who knows.

 

 

January and February are probably the two most miserable months of the year in my book, but while we have the holiday season lets make the most of it. Next year will see this blog rising to new levels of culinary extremes, lashings of wild food and perhaps a few other ideas I have up my sleeve.

 

 

A Couple of things do remain to be said, I can’t thank all of you enough for taking the time to drop in and read some of my rambling entries and I hope that you have had the chance to play around with some of the recipes or at least learnt something new. So to one and all, I hope you have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, get stuffed! I know I will…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mushroom ID Video 101- The Trumpet Chanterelle.

Last year I did a post about Trumpet Chanterelles (Cantharellus Tubaeformis) paired with the ridiculously moreish Joel Robuchon 'Pomme Puree' (see here). Out here in France I have been picking Trumpets for the last few weeks- there should still be plenty in the UK out and about, head to a pine forest near you and have a rummage! Here is a little video I put together to help with Identification and even included a Basque Sheep jam.

 

Trumpets dry very well, they hold their shape in the pan and are extremely tasty- well worth looking for...they make a very good tart with caramelised onion, thyme and egg too!

We also have a few places left on the HGC group course on Saturday 19th May. Get in touch if you want in! I was most pleased that we Auctioned an HGC overnighter recently for the charity 'Action against hunger' and raised over £1000 for them- Happy days!

Elemental Awareness- Underground oven video.

This year I was pleasantly suprised to become an 'Element Advocate' for the skate brand Element. Rather strange perhaps to be sponsored by such a brand for doing wilderness skills, but this is all part of 'Elemental Awareness' of which I am a proud to be supporting and teaching to others. Here is a video showing a few of the things we got up to at Skatecamp in Spain this summer:

 

Foraging in Sussex: Hunter:Gather:Cook School 2011.

What a year its been- I never expected when I started this website 4 years ago it would go from an online world of posting recipes, experiments and experiences and turn into something, real, interactive and informative. The first year of HGC school has been great fun and a I feel I have learnt almost as much as all those who have attended the courses (I think the best tip I received was from one Alan Paterson who told me to use washing powder to soak and clean burnt eggy pans- works a treat)! I cannot thank those who attended enough for making our first year a great success.

Throughout the Spring, Summer and Autumn I was consistently pleased to see that I had really had found the perfect place for the school, the flora & fauna of the surrounding landscape not only provided rabbits, squirrels, pigeon, fallow deer and carp for the HQ kitchen’s meat store (even allowing a few attendees to dispatch them on the day), but the plants and fungi were just as forthcoming: Giant puffballs, bay boletus, parasols and chicken of the woods all put in a timely, yet surprising appearance.

2011 saw HGC doing privately booked bespoke courses as opposed to days you ‘book on to’, this will still be the case for 2012- But fear not! In 2012 we are organising a series of group days, which you CAN book onto. These will have a predetermined structure and a bit cheaper than the private days

 

Private days and overnight courses will still be available- I still feel that the learning experience for the attendees is much better and on a more personal level than having larger groups, this also enables you to choose your desired date and we can design the course around what you wish to learn about. We have started taking bookings already for next year- May and June are gradually filling up so please get in touch if you fancy becoming a 21^st century Hunter-gatherer. There will be more dates to following for June, July and August.

The first group day course is on Saturday 19^th May.

We have a maximum of 12 spaces and the course runs from 9am-6pm and costs £80.00 per person. Please send me an email if you are interested: nickweston@hotmail.com.

Obviously all our courses are based around foraging and cooking, but that still means you have to know how to source it and how to cook it when you are off the grid and in the woods. This is how the HGC curriculum evolved- we do so much more than plant identification and ensure that you WILL get your hands dirty! As pictures are worth a thousand words, here are a few snapshots of what we have been up to this year on our courses at Hunter:Gather:Cook HQ and what YOU could be experiencing next year!

Humble beginnings- HGC off-grid HQ gets off the ground, all built from natural or recycled matrerials.

The HQ Kitchen- designed in the perfect kitchen triangle, Oak tables constructed from Oak from the very wood in which we reside.

Fish course- On the day, we set lines to catch carp out of our pond, Trapping lesson#1.

Off-Grid Ice Cream- its amazing what you can do with a bit of plastic, a power drill and a couple of buckets. Blackberry & wild mint ice cream.

Staggy- Yes, we do Stag and Hen do's aswell! It only seemed fitting to get them a roebuck for Lunch, do a bush tucker trial and shelter challenge at the end. All washed down with 10 gallons o'cider.

Trapping & Knapping- how to catch your fur with a fig.4 deadfall and of course, you will need something to cut it up with: flint.

Deer in a day- from processing to smoking, underground ovens and slow roasting. Too much meat? Never.

Cooking- Dutch ovens do more than just stews. Muurikka Skillets and good ol'fashioned Smoking tripod always make an appearence.

Hunter:Gather:Shelter Overnighters- If you are spending the night with us, we will take you through how to build a comfy nest for the night.

Clay Oven Cookery- Our clay oven produces the best Rabbit & nettle pesto pizza and the spade we used to make it is excellent for fry-ups.

Rabbits- Once we have taken you through how to remove their furry packaging and joint them, they transform into pan fried saddle of rabbit wrapped in pancetta and sage on a wild salsa with puffball base.

Pigeon- Plucked, Pan fried and relaxed- either with a wild leaf salad and blackberry jus or Carpaccio'ed with baby horseradish leaves, elderberries and wood sorrel.

Mycological Munch: Plenty of fungi found on the farm for a fun-filled afternoon of feeding. Bay boletus, puffballs and chickens.

Man's greatest discovery: Fire, without which we would only eat cold food. At HGC we cover all the basics from wood selection, fire management, fire by friction and the all reliable flint and steel. (Sorry about all the F-ing).

Pots & Pans...and Rabbits too.

Espelette Chillis: Perfect Peppers and Basque Soup.

Not far from here, nestled amongst the foothills of the Pyrenees, sits a small traditional Basque village. The white washed houses and dark red beams so typical of Basque country are further accentuated by the addition of thousands upon thousands of plump red peppers strung up to dry on all the houses. This is not just any small village, Espelette, famed for the punchy little chillis is a national treasure and a cornerstone of Basque culinary heritage, so much so that it has classified with an AOC (Appellation d’origine controlee) much the same as a PGI (protected geographical status) we get in the UK.

 

France in general, and many of you may have also noticed this on your travels, don’t seem to be advocates of the chilli pepper. The Gallic palate is clearly not designed to embrace the spicy heat after centuries of being attuned to fine wines, strong cheese, and if I may be so bold to hit upon the presumptuous cliché of garlic and onions. Might I add, just to clear up a few things- Gauls don’t actually smell of these two fruits of the earth…or wear berets, or black & white stripy tops. But they do occasionally say ‘Ooh lala’ and are frequently seen brandishing baguettes, especially around midday. Down in this corner of South West France, and being so close to Spain the Espelette pepper has managed to gradually win over a fair few Frenchies, the dried, ground down peppers have replaced the use of black pepper in some cases: Bayonne ham (another AOC) is rubbed down with a paste of piment d’espelette during the curing process giving the ham a distinctive flavour. In Bayonne, many restaurants will serve ‘Bayonnaise’ a mixture of mayo and Espelette chilli powder- punchy and delicious with a bowl of frites.

 The peppers themselves are grown in and around the communes of Espelette and Cambo Les Bains, vast fields of green are peppered (please excuse the Hugh Punely-Whittisism, but seriously, how many can he fit into one programme?!) with bright red chillis- quite a sight to behold in the open air, as opposed to being in the UK where they are shrouded in Polytunnel.

Espelette peppers are not all that hot- bite off the end of one and you would barely even feel a hint of warmth. However, munch down to the business end of the pepper, where the seeds are housed, and you will feel the endorphins start to flow as 4000 Scolville units assault your senses. This is a mistake I have made many a time when adding Espelettes to any dish, much like playing a game of Russian roulette with the fairly harmless ‘Pimiento de Padron’, a small green chilli from Spain and tapas favourite: the seeds are where the heat is and just because the flesh is bearable, the seeds will hit you where it hurts.

When I drove down to Espelette last week on a dual mission to see the village and explore the ‘Gaves’ or trout streams of the Pyrenees, I arrived to a very sleepy village, empty streets, the odd tourist (not sure if I classify as one or not) and millions of chillis. I browsed the shops and bought a rather expensive salami to go with my bread and cheese for lunch up on the mountain streams, not to mention picking up plenty of Espelette peppers- fresh and dried to play around with in the kitchen when I got home- perhaps with some fish?

As it happened, no fish, so soup it was with leftover bread. Basque soup to be precise, well my take on it at least. The chillis will create a gentle heat to the soup perfect to offset the winter blues. This soup is not so far removed from a good bolognaise sauce and as I made such a huge amount of the stuff, the rest was infused with a little red wine, reduced and thickened before being jarred up for later use. Thrifty.

Basque Soup.

• 8 Espelette Chillis (or 4 de-seeded red chillis)
• 5 large tomatoes
• 2 medium carrots
• 1 red pepper
• 1 large red onion
• 2 sticks of celery
• 2 cloves of garlic
• 1 sprig of thyme
• 1 TBSP of white sugar
• 2 TBSP of cider vinegar
• 2TBSP olive oil
• 1.2L hot vegetable stock (2 stock cubes)
• Salt & pepper

Heat up a large saucepan and add the olive oil, finely chop the carrots, red pepper, onion, celery and garlic and stick it in the saucepan. De-seed and finely chop the Espelette chillis and add them to the pan and keep a few seeds aside to add for a bit of warmth if you fancy it, sauté gently for ten minutes.

Slice the tomatoes into wedges and remove the white cores. Add the tomatoes, vinegar, sugar, salt and sprig of thyme, lower the heat and place the lid on top to allow the tomatoes to gently stew down for a further 10 minutes.

Make up the Veg stock, and slowly add it to the pan, stirring all the time, turn the heat back up until everything is on a fierce boil, then turn the heat back down and simmer for 20 minutes.

Remove from the heat, allow to cool for a bit then blitz it through a blender in batches- as to how long is up to you and how smooth you want your soup. Once blitzed, return to the pan and re-heat- adjust seasoning and serve, with plenty of bread and a dollop of sour cream if you think it is a bit to spicy for your liking.

The gin-clear waters of the 'Gave Bastan'- Serious Trout water in the Pyrenees.

Fly-fishing for Mullet: O Poisson where art thou?

Since moving to SW France three weeks ago, Fishing has been at the top of the list, to the point that I said to myself, no more posts until I catch a fish to post about (that and the small matter of relocation and trying to make money from thin air…pitch pitch pitch). Now I am not a sea fisherman, I never have been. Ok, a few bass or garfish here and there, even a mackerel of two, a few dorado, trigger fish and bonefish perhaps, but when it comes to fishing I am a freshwater piscator all the way.

I like small bodies of water, tiny brooks and farm ponds. Reservoirs put me off in the same way the sea does. Throwing out your line in the ocean is a bit like planting a single seed and hoping for a bumper harvest- unlikely. Having said that I was sitting out back in the surf this morning with a vast shoal of tiddlers surrounding me, must remember to get me a throw net and stand up paddle board and put whitebait on the menu.

Big Mullet at the top of Hossegor Lac even ignoring the camera.

Although I haven’t been fishing in the sea itself, I have been hitting Capbreton port, Hossegor Lac and the main channel between the two hard, with little success. The usual paternoster rig with ragworm, squid, prawns all turn up a few nibbles and occasionally a very small gilthead bream- but never anything for the pot. Mind you I haven’t seen the local Gauls hauling out anything to write home about either, unless they make a point of waiting till I’ve gone home to hit the water and pull out the beasts. I have been beating my head against the wall trying to catch something for the table. Even my faltering conversations with local Frenchies at the water’s edge have been about as useful as a shotgun is to a vegetarian, mind you fishing banter is rarely crops up when learning a language, this prompted me to purchase my first copy of ‘Le Chasseur Francais: la vie grandeur nature’. Good mag, nice pictures too, I just haven’t a clue what all the text means. It may help me pick up some obscure words not used in everyday conversation.

When I moved out here, I had to be ruthless with my packing, stuffing my beloved VW Golf with only the bare necessities- of course all the fishing equipment had to come, including the fly rod. I had been planning on taking it up to search out some amazing rivers in the mountains (oh yes! Check these out: http://www.pyrenea-flyfishing.com/brouillon3/en/gallery.php) and I intend to this weekend. After a particularly frustrating session on the lake spent mostly staring down wistfully at large Mullet feeding lazily in the shallows and completely ignoring my offering on a hook, I decide to tap the vast encyclopedia that is the interweb. Could you fly fish for Mullet?

The answer was yes, and here are three great links which enlightened me and can help you get started:

http://www.aapgai.co.uk/articles/fish/fish_article_5.html

http://www.hartflyfishing.demon.co.uk/mullet_fishing.html

http://www.stsflyfishing.com/A2Mullet.html

The fly bait: dough for the sinking bait and crust for floating.

Mullet have always been tagged as being particularly finicky fish, spook easily, won’t take any bait and once hooked will shed the hook as they have very soft mouths (being more the case with the thin-lipped mullet rather than the thick lipped).  In some cases I have found them to be just so- not so spooky, but completely disinterested in my hookbait. About 3 days ago after frustrating session at the top of Hossegor lac and facing a rising tide, I thought I would try one place I hadn’t been before (see aerial photo below). The tide was slowly moving in and with it where plenty of Grey mullet cruising about and, by the looks of things, on the feed. Left over from my lunch was half a baguette, I ripped off a few chunks and threw them out to see if these fish would show more interest than the ones I had encountered earlier- to my surprise they were all over it like a fat kid on a cupcake. I took up the fly rod, tied on a bare hook and baited it with a small crust. First cast went out and as the tide pushed it upriver the fish moved onto the bait, in my excitement of the realization that I could be in, I struck way to early. But then it happened, I struck, the hook set and my god, the fish took off!

 

This was the first contact I had ever made with a mullet and I was shocked at its strength, the only fish I had encountered before with the same ferocity would have to be a bonefish in Cayman (to see the post on that click here)

I should have expected it as they are not all that dissimilar in terms of look, location and behaviour. The mullet put up an excellent fight, zipping off down stream at quite a pace and then winging it out to the far bank. By the time I got the fish in it was probably only about a pound but had fought with the same power as a 5lb trout.

A couple of Gauls had been watching and approached after the fish was on the bank. They were slightly bewildered by my set up- why the fly rod for sea fish? At least that was what I deduced from the exchange. I wasn’t sure of wether or not to take the mullet home- did I want to disrupt my Karma having finally managed to bag a decent fish? Hmmm, I was hungry and I didn’t want to upset my onlookers who would think I was clinically insane for returning a fish fit for the table. So I donked it on the head and in the bag it went. (I should point out that Grey Mullet are extremely slow growing fish- so be selective, return larger fish, one of 6lbs could be over 10 years old).

 

So finally, the French fish had begun to talk my language. I fished on, landing a few more that were to tiddly for the table and then called it a day, best not push my luck! On the walk back down the tidal creek I came across clumps of sea spinach, obviously things that grow together go together, never being one to pass up some wild nosh, a bunch of the succulent leaves joined the mullet in the bag.

Back at home, I was faced with the dilemma of how to deal with the fish in the kitchen. As it was to be my first taste of the fish that had always seemed to elude me, I decided to stay simple and bake/steam the fish. Preparation was simple- after de-scaling and gutting I stuffed the belly with a couple of slices of lemon, butter and a good helping of salt & pepper. I was intending to serve the sea spinach on the side, but in an flurry of inspiration thought I could turn it into a one-pot wonder: the sea spinach was spread out over a sheet of foil, liberally doused with a good Bordeaux (may as well as it comes from just up the road), placed the mullet in the center and rolled it up like a fine Cuban cigar before being baked in the oven at 180C for 15 minutes.

 

With the remains of the baguette I had used as bait, I tucked into my first mullet, and it was certainly worth the wait. A fine, firm textured white meat and not a hint of the earthiness I would have expected from a fish that rifles through muddy estuaries. It would be good to catch a few more before they head out to sea for the winter, but as we don’t have a freezer out here, so for know they will just have to remain the ‘Plat du Jour’. 

As for other stuff: We are taking bookings for Hunter:Gather:Cook Courses for May-Oct 2012 so please do get in touch if you are interested. I am also looking at setting up an HGC HQ out here in SW France for next year- so will keep you posted on developments. Meanwhile I have my work cut out looking for a local who can take 'le Ros Bif' out to do a bit of this:

Truffle Hunting on the South Downs.

I recently did a feature on Truffle hunting for the Independent, thought I would share it with you here and throw in some of my own pictures. My Guide for all things Truffles was Melissa Waddingham- if you want to get your mutt transformed into a Truffle hound or even head to the woods for a spot of 'shrooming- contact her here.

My first ever encounter with a truffle occurred age six, somewhere in the Jura Mountains of France. My brother and I had pooled our pocket money to buy my father a birthday present. We settled upon a small Périgord truffle in oil, sealed in a shot glass. I had no idea what a truffle was, but understood this: they weren't cheap. Quite why we had paid 25 francs for something that resembled an oversized, warty bogey in a jam jar was beyond our comprehension, but my mother assured us it was worth it for the exquisite taste, a flavour I would have to wait quite a few years to see if it really was worth it's weight in gold.

Now, while looking for mushrooms above ground can be difficult even when you're bang in the middle of a good cep season, trying to root out a subterranean fungus, relying on only a few pointers and perhaps the assistance of a creature with a keener sense of smell than you or I, is a completely different kettle of fish altogether. I had always disregarded truffles as something I was never going to find in the UK, until last autumn when I began to hear mutterings in and around Sussex of the South Downs having a rich history of truffle hunting, though sadly many of these fellows in the know have died and taken their knowledge and locations of the wild-truffle orchard with them.

Of the three truffles regularly sought after, only two are highly prized: The white truffle (Tuber magnatum), which hails from the Piedmont region of northern Italy, most famously the countryside surrounding the city of Alba and the black truffle or Périgord truffle (Tuber melanosporum) named after the region where it is found in France. The white truffle, with its pungent aroma, is perhaps the most valuable with the largest specimen to date, with a 1.5kg (3lb 5oz) beast, being auctioned for £165,000 in December 2007. The black truffle has a more refined, earthy scent with notes of umami capable of filling a room almost instantly. It is perhaps more affordable than its cousin at around £1,500 per kilo.

It might surprise (or disappoint) you to know that the third, the summer truffle (Tuber aestivum), with its milder aroma, is the only one we are likely to find in the UK and fetches a modest £180 per kilo.

Over the past couple of months my desire to harvest a truffle from the South Downs has become fanatical. When you find yourself in a library looking at soil maps of the local area, you have to have a word with yourself, so I decided to track someone down who might be able to help me on my quest.

If Indiana Jones had been into truffle hunting and had been a woman, then he would have been called Melissa Waddingham and would have lived in Horsham, West Sussex, with an excitable Labrador called Zebedee. I managed to track down Melissa on the internet through our mutual love of all things foraging. She agreed to take me on a hunt. Melissa has been chasing all members of the fungal world for the past seven years and trains dogs to become "trufflers", takes guided fungi walks and is even considering cultivating truffles. Her background in woodland management clearly helped her find her first jackpot some time ago.

By following a series of natural indicators, unaided I might add, she unearthed 13 fine specimens of Tuber aestivum. A good start. Being an avid forager myself, who regularly practises and teaches the ancient art at my Hunter: Gather: Cook school in Sussex, I know only too well how productive areas are kept schtum, not so much with plants, but definitely fungi, and if you're talking truffles, well, I was expecting to be blindfolded and have the phone with built-in GPS taken away.

As it happened, there were no such cloak-and-dagger shenanigans and we met on a glorious September morning on top of the Downs at one of Melissa's closely guarded wild truffle orchards. It soon became evident that it didn't really matter if I knew the location, since I didn't possess a well-trained truffle hound to sniff out the goods and Melissa knew it. It was apparent that when it comes to truffle hunting, knowledge and some sort of creature with a good snout aren't everything – look can be just as important, and I felt woefully underdressed for the occasion compared to my expedition leader in all her finery. I knew I was in good hands.

Zeb tearing around a classic 'Brulee' in search of truffles.

As we entered the wood, a mixture of ash, hazel and hawthorn, which looked just like any other woodland I had ever rummaged around, Melissa explained to me that having a truffle hound such as Zebedee is only the half the battle: you need to get into the ballpark first before sending out your star player. So I was put through my paces on how to locate a wild-truffle orchard.

"Firstly, you need to be on calcareous [limestone or, in our case, chalk] soil. This is why the South Downs are perfect. Next is having the right species of tree."

Melissa went on to explain that the mycelia of truffles (the fine white strands found in decomposing leaf litter- fungi roots if you like) form a symbiotic relationship with certain trees, predominantly hazel, beech and oak. Truffles help the trees by "fixing" the nitrogen and extracting and breaking down chemicals in poorly drained soils such as chalk. Although this is all going on below the surface, naked to the human eye, there is a tell-tale sign on the surface: truffles are alleopathic, which means they chemically inhibit the growth of any vegetation around them, and this is quite visible on the surface. "What we're looking for is a 'brûlée' or 'burnt area', devoid of any vegetation," Melissa explains.

As we wandered through the hazel, ankle-deep in dog's mercury, a common woodland plant that's quite poisonous, we eventually came to what I would have thought was simply a clearing, but was in fact a brûlée. Looking around, it must have been a good 30ft (9m) in diameter, with a smattering of hazel stands and, compared to the rest of the wood, an eerily perfect circle, devoid of any greenery.

"The next indicator within the brûlée is evidence of any digging or activity by woodland animals," Melissa says. She went on to explain that the truffle's method of reproduction and spore dispersal relies on animals attracted by the scent to dig them up, scoff them and deposit the remains elsewhere. No doubt humans could do the same – a quick pit stop in Hyde Park on the way back from a top London restaurant could prove lucrative in the future. Simply put, any kind of surface disturbance is a key feature.

A sniff of Truffle oil.

This is where the ever excitable Zebedee or Zeb stopped picking up sticks twice his length and went to work. Melissa didn't have to do much to get him in the mood: a bottle of truffle oil was produced, sniffed and along with some encouragement and frequent use of the word "working", Zeb was off. It was a complete transformation of character: one minute he was childish and playful, next a serious MI6 snoop on the case. He snaked around the brûlée, snuffling the ground and showing particular interest in a patch of soil at which point I was handed a trowel and put to work.

As with any type of foraging, sustainability and respect for the environment cannot be stressed enough. Under Melissa's guidance, I was shown how deep to take back the leaf litter and how to replace it in order that the mycelium (fungi roots) should not be harmed. Also, she added, so that no one else in the know might recognise it as a truffle stronghold.

What we did find was a false truffle. Close, but not close enough. The rest of the day continued with the same practice, moving from brûlée to brûlée, but unfortunately it wasn't our day. Just like fishing or even looking for mushrooms, if they aren't there, they aren't there. As luck would have it, Melissa had come prepared and brought four large truffles from her last foray the week before. Now it was time to indulge. Truffles took me a while to appreciate. At first, I couldn't understand why this fungus that Plutarch believed was born out of thunderbolts striking the earth, was so highly regarded: to an amateur, it smells of wet dog and old socks. But then, I used to think beer was horrible.

What they are is something quite special. Truffles are as much about aromatherapy as they are taste, and because 70 to 75 per cent of what we perceive as taste is actually smell, then you begin to understand how the truffle works as an ingredient. You can't simply bite into a truffle as if it were an apple: to get the most out of it you have to use a mandolin to get thin, almost translucent slivers of truffle, which then reveals its intricate marbled flesh. Rarely cooked as this can compromise and reduce the flavour, the slivers are best sprinkled over a warm dish, such as the classic scrambled egg or wild mushroom risotto, through which the intense earthy perfume of the truffle, its very soul, will waft up to your senses and infuse every mouthful. That is why the truffle is so sought after (coupled with the prospect that they are about as easy to spot as sardine among a gang of pilchards).

We headed off the Downs to my local pub, the Rainbow, where head chef Dan Baker had agreed to cook up a few taster dishes using our summer truffles. After supping a well-earnt pint of Harveys, Melissa and I talked a bit about "black diamonds" and examined the ones she had brought with her: they had a heady aroma that was both earthy and quite nutty, these were mature truffles, ready to release their spores. Typically, truffle season is between September and May, and immature truffles picked before this will have little aroma or flavour. On asking the best way to store them, I was quite surprised, well, shocked actually, that most truffle oil isn't even made with actual truffles but with an organic compound called 2,4-Dithiapentane, derived from a petroleum base and infused with olive oil. Most truffle oil is fake? Yes. That explains why it is possible to buy a small bottle at a reasonable price.

Dan & Melissa getting papped whilst dressing the dishes.

We were invited into the kitchen to watch Dan in action. First up was a sweetcorn veloute made from nothing but fresh ears of corn stripped and blitzed into a sweet creamy consistency and warmed through. As Dan began to grate thin slivers of summer truffle I asked him how it would work with this particular dish: "The sweetness of the corn will tease out the sweetness of the truffle and the warmth from the soup will pass through the truffle and enhance the aroma," he said.

Mushroom Risotto avec Truffles.

Next was a wild mushroom risotto followed by skate wing with a caper sauce and Provençal vegetables. In each case the truffles were used in the same way, to help accentuate certain aspects of the dish.

There is no doubt that truffles are a luxury ingredient, for the very reason that they have a rich taste and intoxicating aroma. They are not, as I found out, all that easy to find – it is this scarcity that holds their market value: plans in France to mass produce cultivated truffles has caused uproar as it would drive down the value of the elusive truffle. Truffles are not something you are going to use every day – that is why when you do get your hands on a "black diamond" keep it simple and use it wisely. My search is still not over, with or without a snout to help me, there is gold in them thar hills and I mean to have it, hold it, sniff it and then grate it all over my scrambled eggs.

Secret ingredient: the lure and lore of truffles

Finely sliced, raw truffles work especially well with chicken, veal, fish, omelettes, soufflés, pasta and rice.

For an exquisite roast chicken, insert thin wedges of truffle under the skin of the chicken 24hrs before roasting.

Truffle aroma also has the ability to penetrate eggshells, so pop a truffle in a bowl of eggs overnight in the fridge for the tastiest scrambled eggs ever.

Preserve truffles by storing them in good quality olive oil.

The reason pigs, especially sows, make such fine trufflers is because the pungent odour of the truffle is very similar to that of a male wild pig.

Truffle production has declined over the past century. In 1900, France produced around 100 tons, now it produces around 20 tons, 80 per cent of which are from specially planted truffle fields.

As with most ingredients that have a hefty price tag, truffles are also considered an aphrodisiac...

Parasols near HGC HQ.

HGC Fallow Deer transportation.

As of two days ago, after a soul destroying 12 hour drive, become French! And made it down just in time to put together a surprise party on the Beach for the Mrs (see above). Although I will be back next spring to get HGC school up and running again with a whole new exciting course structure, specialist days, banquets and even staff members! Expect plenty of French food adventures over the coming months...at last the year in Providence has begun!

Au Revoir. Weston Out.

Pigeon Carpaccio & Wilderness Gathering.

Pigeon has to be my favourite meat hands down, for a while beef and lamb where up there, but the free-rangeness of the wood pigeon and the fact it is wild is a comforting thought indeed. I’ve never bothered so much with chicken- it’s a tasteless bird on the whole and after HFW’s big chicken out campaign I thought rather than fork out an extortionate amount for blandness, I stopped buying it all together, same with fish unless I catch them myself. Too much fuss and politics to inflict on the palate methinks.

Pigeon are wily buggers indeed and taking them down can be frustrating. A couple of key features in the pigeon’s survival kit is unbelievably quick flight (50mph-80mph) and, more importantly, seriously good eyesight with the ability to clock an Englishman peeing in the woods a mile away.

The only real success I have had with them, in terms of sheer numbers is from decoying, but they have succumbed in some odd ways over the years: A shot with an air rifle whilst relaxing in a hammock chair on the Tree house balcony (easy supper), once whilst paddling down a river in a coracle they dropped from the sky into the boat (nearby decoyers) and lastly but by no means leastly- taking a bush pee in a hedgerow, 12-bore under arm and taking a unobservant passer by down, tackle out (bird must have been blind- Jammy beyond belief).

Being a fine, lean red meat, pigeon seemed perfect for Carpaccio so I decided to do some playing around in the kitchen. Carpaccio is actually rather a recent taste sensation and as we know it, has only been with us since the 1950’s: Ever since Countess Amalia Nani Mocenigo walked into Harry’s Bar in Venice (also the home of the Bellini) and informed the propreiter that her doctor had recommended she only eat raw meat. The dish that Giuseppe Cipriani, the then owner produced, was so named because the colours of the food reminded him of the paintings by the Venetian painter Vittore Carpaccio. Bang, bosh, shebing.

The portable HQ- always busy morning, noon and night with taster dishes.

Last weekend I took Hunter:Gather:Cook on the road to Wilderness Gathering with my trusty companion Ash (he has a fine blog on outdoor cooking escapades-check out here) to cook up plenty of wild fodder for bushcraft enthusiasts aplenty. We also took along a roe buck and a dozen pigeons and rabbits to play with over the three days. Pit Roast venison, cold smoked venison, puffball and rabbit pie, wild salads, panfried saddle of rabbit wrapped in parma ham with sage & mustard, beetroot borscht with horseradish cream were just a few of the dishes we knocked together to showcase what HGC is all about (Ash even manged to collaborate on a cake baked in his dutch oven and won 1st prize in the cake comp!).

Ash manhandles the Roebuck down from cold storage.

A wonderful festival and we met some great folks- definitely keen for next year. This recipe is a revised version of the improvised one I knocked together for our ‘small game preparation and cooking’ workshop. The feedback was excellent, but not as good as our ‘Wild Brewing’ workshop which included plenty of samples!

 

Pigeon Carpaccio.

This recipe does require a bit of preparation- at least 12 hours in a marinade, but 24 if possible. Alternatively, if you wish to do it immediately, you can smoke the pigeon over smouldering oak or sawdust for an hour to give it a bit of a smoky flavour.

Wild ingredients are, as ever, a great addition to this recipe and there are some perfect matches in the hedgerows at the moment which coincide nicely with the amount of pigeon decoying going on across the country- farmer’s crops need protecting, so if you cant go out and shoot them yourself, most good Game dealers should have plenty in stock.

Wild Horseradish growing near Black Cap on the South Downs.

The two wild additions for the Carpaccio are Horseradish (both young leaves and the fiery root) wood sorrel (for sharpness) and elderberries. A word on these- The young leaves of horseradish have a nice pepperiness to them and a slight bitterness which make a good substitute for rocket. Elderberries do contain minute traces of cyanide, which is broken down by cooking, although a small handful of raw berries is harmless.

For the marinade:

• 6 pigeon breasts
• 150ml olive oil
• 50ml cider vinegar
• 2 cloves of garlic (roughly chopped)
• 1 carrot (roughly chopped)
• 1 stick of celery (roughly chopped)
• 1 small red onion (roughly chopped)
• Black pepper (good twist)
• 1tsp Salt
• 2 sprigs of rosemary
• 4 bay leaves

Mix together in a bowl, cover and refrigerate overnight. Put the breasts in the freezer for 1 hour before cutting wafer thin.

Carpaccio Ingredients:

• 1/2 horseradish root (grated)
• Handful of young horseradish leaves
• 1 cluster of elderberries
• Parmesan shavings
• Wood sorrel
• Gherkins (chopped
• Capers
• Olive oil
• Squeeze of lemon
• Salt & pepper

 

Arrange all ingredients on a large plate, season to taste and serve with fine red wine and crusty bread.

Carpaccio Construction.

Puffballs found on the farm at HGC- good haul!

Pastis, Petanque and the Perfect Vinaigrette…

I’ve had the French under a microscope for some time now. Studying them as if it was some kind of science project, what makes them tick, what do they eat? What do they drink? What do they do? And above all: why they don’t quite understand what the little lever next to the steering wheel is actually used for.

Of course my research has been conducted in a relatively small part of France, Hossegor, Bayonne and Biarritz: the South-West in high summer- the Cornish Riviera for the Gauls. Although my fumbling grasp of the native language is weak, I can understand most things if said at a reasonable pace and try to avoid direct translation from English to French. I’m not sure what I was taught at school, but it doesn’t seem to apply when ACTUALLY in France…apart from the vocab, that is handy.

Living by the beach is great apart from in July and August when the place has turned into nothing short of a bloody circus, the place seems like the Gallic equivalent of Rock or Polzeath- packed to the brim with hormone-fuelled rich kids with little else in mind than booze, necking one another and playing crap Euro-pop as loud as the gallivanting Gendarmerie will allow. I don’t think I have had a full night sleep without a dawn chorus of drunken teen for two weeks.

   

So what have I learnt so far? Some of it may sound scathing, but I find it all deeply amusing and sort of loveable. These traits are what makes France, well…France.

1. The French have a penchant for public urination and will exercise the will to do so, when and where they please, regardless of time, place or spectators. Even ladies too…I had the pleasure (?) of watching a lass mark her territory by the entrance to our underground parking- Paula Radcliffe eat your heart out.
2. There is nothing more annoying or frustrating than going into a shop or such like and doing your best to speak French only for them to reply in English. The conversation ensues with you speaking French and them English. I haven’t worked out wether they are just trying to be kind and helpful or smug. I don’t think my grasp of their tongue is that bad, if I’m going to make the effort so should they.
3. Driving. Now this is a special subject. It is a well-known fact throughout the rest of the world that the French can’t drive for shit. Citreon, Peugeot and Renault take note: Its only worth making your cars with a steering wheel, pedals and air conditioning, nothing else is going to be used. I have had a few near misses out here through lack of indication (and breaking for that matter). Also, Frenchies get a real hard-on over number plates and eyes always glance to your plates. If there English- forget it, you are last in god’s order. France is split into departments, each has its own number at the end of the plate for ID. If they have a 75 (Paris) at the end you might as well be English. The French hate Parisians more than the British hate Londoners.
4. Dress. Well what can I say, around here in Surf central most of the lads enjoy wearing stupid big, flat visored truckers caps that make them look even more retarded than a baboon on crack. If the sun is shining they will walk around flexing every muscle possible in the hope of getting an ‘ooolala’ or ‘vavavoom’ or whatever it is they say. The female of the species dresses quite well, especially on the beach where they wear virtually nothing at all apart from bikini bottoms. Vive le France, Vive indeed. Oh Yes, you can spot the Parisians on the beach- strictly designer swimwear, Ladies wear big white sun hats, gents like the nut-huggers (speedos).
5. Food. Hossegor sits on the cusp of two mighty gastronomic dynasties. In Aquitaine it is all about food from terra firma, all very rich and packed with herbs, butter and wine. To the south Basque country begins, lots of Pinxtos (tapas) red peppers, chillis and seafood. Around here you would be more likely to find a leper colony than a chilli. French people don’t like hot food. Fact. But garlic and everything that goes with it is warmly embraced. There is, much to my delight plenty of duck and fois gras around here, cruelty to geese is a national pastime and although we may find it an awkward subject back in the UK, out here, they don’t fuck about with where their food comes from. Kill it, cook it, eat it with lashings of red wine and bread to mop it up, whilst grinning inanely. Oh yes, the French do have a strange habit of boiling their potatoes and then scraping the skin off with a knife, weird I know. It’s a potato, not a pineapple.
6. Drink. The Brits reading will be pleased to know that binge drinking is just as rife over here as it is in the UK- In Leclerc yesterday I had two lads buying six bottles of vodka in front of me, with no mixers. As it is so close to Spain Sangria does feature heavily, only too much at the fete de Bayonne- allegedly the biggest fete in the world (probably true because no-one outside of France calls them fetes). Arriving back from Bilbao the other week I found myself slap bang in the middle of a heaving maelstrom of white and red beings all absolutely conkered. The Fete de Bayonne is a five day piss up where traditional dress, all white with red neckerchief is mandatory. Sangria is liberally thrown about staining everything in the vicinity. Apparently it is a rather pleasant family affair during the day but at night, due to the French appreciation for public urination, rivers of piss and vomit roll into one. Good clean fun, I must go next year! Seriously.

 

Which brings me onto the subject of the post- Pastis. PASTIS! I first tried it last year when we went to a friends for supper. Eager to find out a bit about it, I enquired as to what it was and why it is such a common drink (the French consume 130 million litres of it per year). Eager to fit in I accepted a glass of it and sat there swilling it in the glass as the two French lads looked on in earnest- will the Ros Boeuf take it like a man? I did, just. Having an aversion to Sambuca since Uni makes anything anise shut the gullet down. But its actually not too bad and I am proud to say I purchased my first bottle the other day, be it only a small one. What is really nice is to be able to go into the supermarket and purchase a tip-top bottle of Bordeaux for as little as 3 euros. Again, vive indeed. I also visited the Vin de Sable (wine of the sand) vineyard in the sand dunes just down the road in Capbreton…it was definitely and surprisingly worth the 9 euro price tag.

As for Petanque, apparently it goes very well with pastis, it is a national sport and there are some bad-ass old boys playing it in the park in Hossegor. When I have the courage and the linguistics to get involved- you will be the first to know! Great banter.

 

 

The Perfect Vinaigrette.

Had to include a recipe. Now I rarely buy salad dressing- except in France, they do make some good creamy ones I must admit. Making your own is much more fun and its great to play around with. Out here, because it is so bastard hot, Salad features at every mealtime except breakfast. Over the years one keeps cropping up on a regular basis and whilst I will give you the ingredients, you will have to work out the quantities for yourself, I might want to bottle and sell it one day…

 

Ingredients:

• Olive oil
• Balsamic Vinegar
• Maggi
• Worcestershire sauce (Lea & P)
• Soy sauce
• Dijon Mustard
• Salt
• Pepper
• Sugar
• Lemon Juice
• Mixed Herbs

Next week, I must return to Mother Blighty for a hectic month of courses at Hunter:Gather:Cook HQ, before donning my beret in September and moving to France full time. HGC will be running in 2012- the course schedule will be up in October. Lots of other stuff been going on: Check out Reader’s Digest this month to read the feature I did on living as a caveman for a week, and also have a watch of this HD vid from Mazda of foraging in the skies with Reggie Yates.

   

 

The office in Hossegor- a difficult place to work with too many distractions.

 

 

Chub Ceviche & Hot Air Balloon Foraging…

I have had some bizarre requests in my time, but creating a wild taster menu and teaching a foraging lesson from a hot air Balloon for Mazda, tops the list (or living as a caveman for a week might be closer…) Whatever will be next? Building a Tree House on the Eiffel Tower? Foraging in the Amazon Basin? Yak shooting, skinning and gutting in the Himilayas? I’d probably do them all- well, why not? Sounds like fun!

When it came to planning and plotting the menu, I delved into the HGC archives to ensure they would be receiving the finest fodder the countryside had to offer. Obviously, whatever was in season would make the cut and then it was down to digging out what was going to be exciting, tasty and inspiring. Elderflower was first to be binned- yes in season and yes as about inspiring as a BNP conference. For the last few years meadowsweet has long been the new elderflower for me and only that would make the cut- so I was pleased to see it out in full force.

Pigeons and Rabbits were de rigueur for any of my feasts, Mushrooms were still to appear (my source of chicken of the woods was looking a bit ropey on last inspection) and as far as something fishy was concerned, I wanted something different, but more native Britain than a Sunday roast. Trout- although pleasant I feel they are great to catch, but nothing special- you would also be hard pressed to find a truly ‘wild’ fish anyway these days and If you did the last thing you would do is take it home for tea.

I had my sights set on Carp or Chub. Having already been crucified by the nation’s anglers after writing an online piece about tucking into Native freshwater fish for the Guardian Word of Mouth (see it here), I was more determined than ever to continue my crusade to get more people to try our lesser-known fish. I mean, what kind of bell ringer writes a comment saying: “If every one of the 3 million anglers in the UK to a fish home for supper, there would be none left”. Yeah right, of course that’s going to happen you anus. Daft comments aside, there were some well-informed comments, all reeking of hatred for my suggestion (honestly, where the hell does HF-W get his silver lining from?!) and plenty of rants about light-fingered eastern European ‘gangs’ taking fish. I hadn’t expected such a racial assault from Guardian readers…

Obviously when eating native freshwater fish, it’s important to adhere to the Environment agencies guidelines- provided you have the owner of the water’s consent you may remove X-amount of fish on any given day. Lucky for me I have a good source of both fish and consent, so it was down to how I would cook the buggers. The food was all going to be pre-prepared and nothing served hot. Simple: Ceviche. Contrary to popular belief, Carp are NOT muddy fish, provided they are under 5lbs. This myth has been developed by cunning piscators that would prefer not to have their favourite sport fish eaten- carp fishing is BIG business these days. Ever wondered why our Eastern European counterparts are so fond of carp flesh?

Chub however, is a fish that has never enjoyed a culinary reputation of any kind. Quite simply it’s known as being inedible…until now. Even back in the day, Izaak Walton said the chub was like eating cotton wool stuffed with pins. Catching them is not too difficult, being omnivores, they will take bait, fly and even spinners. They can be found in almost every river and even some still waters and are greedy fish- smaller fish will spook less easily, but the bigger fish are big for a reason (not that anyone bothers to take them home with them).

5 Years back- 1st attempt!

In the past I have tried to cook them- on gutting they have the same firm white flesh you would expect from a bass, on cooking they turn into fishy mash potato...

It was my Friend Tom (aka the Hungry Cyclist) that suggested Ceviche as the only form of ‘cooking’ that might render the chub edible. And he was spot on. So off I went with the fly rod to my local spot to try and entice one of the beasts home to the kitchen. The mayfly nymph rarely disappoints and before long I had a good size fish in the bag.

Processing a chub is a bit fiddly: the bones along its flank are the main issue. First, de-scale the fish with the back of a knife or fish scaler, gut the fish and then fillet. Once you have the fillets, you will need to remove the pin bones that were the ribcage. As long as you have a pair of pliers, it is a case of feeling your way along and then pulling them out. Once washed, chop the fillets into thumbnail size chunks and you are ready for Chevy-chasing.

Chub Ceviche:

 

• 4 medium sized chub fillets (or 2 big ones)
• Juice of 4 limes (or lemons)
• 1 shallot (finely diced)
• ½ small red chilli (finely diced)
• 1 stick of celery (finely diced)
• 1 carrot (finely diced)
• ½ cucumber
• ½ red pepper (finely diced)
• ½ green pepper (finely diced)
• Salt & Pepper

Once you have cut up the chub into small chunks , place them in a bowl with the lime juice and a sprinkle of salt, mix well and place in the fridge to ‘cook’ for 15 minutes- you will notice the flesh turn from translucent to opaque. The citric acid from the lime juice breaks down the proteins in the fish and renders it ‘cooked’.

Finely dice all the other ingredients, season well and mix them in a bowl. The cucumber is going to be used as the base for serving the ceviche canapé style. Cut it into ½ inch wide pieces and, using a teaspoon, scrape out some of the middle to make a bowl in which to place the ceviche.

Once your chub is done, drain off the lime juice and mix the chub in with the rest of the ingredients, season to taste and then scoop into the cucumber resepticles. Et Voila!

So there I was, 2000ft in the air feeding chub ceviche to Radio 1 DJ and all round good lad Reggie Yates. He certainly tucked in! I’d never been in a balloon before, and being a tree dweller I didn’t think I would suffer from vertigo. At about 1500ft, I had a brief moment when I looked down and realized there was nothing but an oversize hamper between me and the Buckinghamshire countryside far below. Shit my pants and freak out? Or are we ok? Fortunately there was no rising panic and I was actually quite blown away by the gentle silence and the stunning views. Let the feasting commence!

The rest of the menu read like so:

Potted Rabbit and Rabbit and Roe liver Terrine wrapped in stinging nettles. Served with three cornered leek doughballs.

Oak smoked, pan fried pigeon breast with elderberry and blackberry coulis served with a mixed wild leaf salad and  a pine needle vinaigrette (horseradish leaf, yarrow, dandelion, bittercress, sorrel, Jack by the hedge and ox eye daisy).

Meadowsweet and mint cheesecake.

To wash it all down: meadowsweet cordial and nettle beer.

 

Here is a short Video of the Adventure courtesy of Mazda:

 

I am currently out in France enjoying life with the Mrs and putting my outdoor skills to use at the Element Skatecamps in the hills south of Bilbao. I am back in August for a busy month of courses at Hunter:Gather:Cook HQ and then to Wilderness Gathering to show Bushcraft keenos how to cook Wild food- cant wait!

 

Igel Jokoa- Basque Bar Game.

If you fancy booking up a HGC course in August- Get in touch there are still dates available. Drop me an email with your dates and requirements and we will arrange a tailor made Hunter-Gatherer Experience just for you…Hasta Pronto!

 

 

 

 

 

The homemade Ice Cream Machine: How to build one & make Ice cream.

Childish excitement aside, the prospect of ice cream is a wonderful thing. I must confess I was more of a sun lolly kid myself- ingeniously designed like a PG pyramid tea bag to prevent kids on a sugar high flipping the contents out onto the floor, that was the problem with Callippos. And as for Mr Freeze? Well, raspberry and cola all the way.

Ice cream isn’t really something I have in my freezer, but that’s because its so chock full of various parts of fish, fur and feather there simply isn’t the room. It just so happened that I had a craving for it during the summer we had a month ago. I decided to google how it was made after having a chat to a friend of mine about hand cranked Ice cream machines and the possibility of involving them down at HGC headquarters.

As I scrolled through endless useless links, the only instructions I could find were how to make it with a couple of plastic bags- nothing on putting together a traditional hand powered beast of a machine: It was time to hit the workshop and get tinkering…

The principle behind making I scream, you scream, we all scream for Ice Cream is both keen and cunning, a process evolved and developed over 100’s of years. It is not exactly clear who is credited with hitting the nail on the head. Most countries have been messing about with their own versions of frozen pud for time, however it was the Arabs that were the first to tuck into the dairy and use milk, sweeten it with sugar, flavour with rose water and fruits & nut. Before that it was all sorbets- in 62AD the Roman emperor Nero used to send slaves up to the Apenine mountains to collect snow to be mixed with honey it has even been claimed, in the Yuan dynasty, Kublai Khan enjoyed ice cream and kept it a royal secret until Marco Polo visited China, pinched the technique and high tailed it back to Italy. Well thank you Wikipedia. I like to maintain a ‘plagiarism free’ blog…

So where to start? Firstly you don’t actually even have to make a contraption, for the simple ‘bag method’ all you need is:

• 1 large ziplock plastic bag
• 1 small ziplock plastic bag
• ½ cup of whole milk
• 2 TBSP caster sugar
• 2 trays of ice cubes.
• 6 TBSP salt.

And follow this link for a video on how to do it. Not to be rude, but this isn’t amateur hour: the ice cream is far from perfect- for that you need a proper hand-cranked, Macgyver issue machine…give me two buckets, a plastic box, a piece of wood and a hand drill.

The science behind making ice cream is the same for both the ‘bag’ method and the ‘pot freezer’ method. This involves mixing salt with ice. In simple terms…bear with me sciences were never my strong point:

 Lets say you have a glass of water with crushed ice in, ok? For ice to melt, energy must be drawn in from the surrounding water to break the hydrogen bonds that keep the ice frozen. The energy that's taken is in the form of heat, which is why ice makes the water cold, since it's taking the heat to melt. Salt upsets the balance and makes the melting rate slower, because the ice requires more energy to melt. This draws more heat from the solution, which results in a larger temperature drop.

That took me a long time to understand too. For more info on why check out this link. So a combination of ice and salt will lower the temperature allowing your mixture to become ice cream, water isn’t needed. It took me a couple of failed attempts before I had perfected the machine.