Cradock - Looking for best buys can be fun when you’ve reached that stage of a tough month when the debit orders are about to go out but the payment you’re expecting for work done has not yet come in.
These times can be nerve-wracking, and if you’re one of those fortunate people whose lives are so cushy that you never have to worry about things like cash flow, hie thee to the gilt-edged pile you inherited. For those of us who live in the real world, the bargain end of the supermarket can be a beguiling place.
If your next thought was, “Even when I’m cash-strapped I wouldn’t resort to that,” you’re missing a key factor. I don’t mean circumstances as dire as the time when we had first moved to the UK in 2002 and our budget was so ridiculously tight that we bought almost everything from a very basic German chain called Lidl. All these years later, I read last week that the financial woes of Tesco, arguably the most ubiquitous of the British supermarket chains, are directly attributed to the success of Lidl and that even more downmarket chain, Iceland.
Iceland’s formula is hinted at by that name: almost everything in it is prepackaged and frozen.
But Iceland did have a couple of fridges selling fresh meat including chickens and chicken portions, and some red meat cuts, at insanely low prices. On our budget at that time, you did not enquire about the provenance.
The key factor I referred to above is this: it’s at the bargain end of the supermarket’s butchery fridges that you find the things that many people choose not to eat, but that does not mean they are not desirable. Kidneys and liver are anathema to many, as are pig’s trotters. But great chefs love to get their hands on a trotter, and to make something memorable with it.
It was at this end of my local Karoo supermarket that I was very surprised to find, this week, packs of unspecified veal marked “best buy”. The price was R29.99 a kilo – much cheaper than even chicken and the cheaper cuts of pork.
I determined to use the veal cuts to make what I suppose you might call a poor man’s osso buco. That Italian classic is meant to be made with slices of veal shin, but no matter. These were pretty lean, quite meaty cuts, and would do in a fix.
Osso buco (let’s just call this by that name because the recipe is the same, but for the exact cut of meat) is a wonderful amalgam of the slow-cooking in what is really a French-style stock despite its Italian origins, and the gremolata that finishes it off.
In the first, you have the base of a classic mirepoix on which you build elements such as tomato, herbs and red wine. In the second, you have the very finely chopped trio of parsley, garlic and lemon zest to scatter over the finished dish. The combination is a winner, as long as the meat is on the bone, and lean. And this meat was.
Veal Stew with Gremolata
Olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 sticks celery, diced
1 large carrot, finely diced
2 cloves garlic
1 heaped Tbs cornflour
1 tin chopped Italian tomatoes
1 tin (the same tin) dry white wine
Salt and pepper to taste
2kg lean veal, on the bone
1 bouquet garni or sprigs of rosemary, parsley and thyme tied with string
Juice of 1 lemon (optional)
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon (the same one)
3 or 4 sprigs Italian flat-leaf parsley
1 large or 2 smaller garlic cloves, very finely chopped
Heat oil in large heavy-bottomed pot or tajine on the stove. Chop onion, carrot and celery finely and add to pot, with chopped garlic. Simmer gently, stirring, for about 5 minutes. Sprinkle cornflour over the top and stir for two minutes.
Add chopped tomatoes and white wine (use same tin), and season with salt and pepper to taste. Now add the veal and the bouqeut garni. Bring to a gentle bubble, cover and allow it to cook for about two hours, stirring now and then.
Make the gremolata: Finely grate zest of a lemon into bowl, add very finely chopped parsley and equally finely chopped garlic. Stir well.
Squeeze lemon through sieve into cooking pot, to give stew gentle lemony tang (and also so as not to waste lemon). This may be nontraditional, but let’s not be slaves to a recipe.
When meat is utterly tender, turn off heat and plate up. Sprinkle gremolata all over the top and congratulate yourself that you’ve made a brilliant supper for next to nothing.
Weekend Argus