Thursday, 15 January 2009

Nella Cucina con Dermott III

So the boofy opposable thumbs got itchy again. They needed a workout.

I tried cards. No one would play with me after I kept producing extra cards from my various boofy orifices.

Hence the boofy opposable thumbs got even itchier.

So back into the cucina we went.

We, of course, as regular readers of this boofy bilge will recall, means me and my Home Economist - aka Barbara Cartland nee Barbra Streisand.

When I say we, that's how it started out. That's how it was on the way to the cucina. But, halfway to the cucina, Barbara had what she obviously thought was a better idea:

440,440 winks.

You can't get reliable staff anymore. Not for love or money.

Anyways, it was down to me. The Boofhead flying solo.

What to cook today? I rooted around in the frigo and what did I find?

Two nice, pink, juicy nodini. That's two nice, pink, juicy veal chops to the uneducated amongst you.

Now, in an earlier life, prior to my boofy opposable thumbs, I'd've done my usual boofy thing and, without hesitation, swallowed them whole, raw, as they sat. And eaten the plate for dessert.

Now, guided by my boofy opposable thumbs, I was led to do something much more interesting with them.

First, I tossed a knob of butter and a boofy pawful of rosemary needles into a pan on the stove. Over gentle to moderate heat, I let the butter melt and take up the scent of the rosemary. Then I tossed in the nodini:

And I left them there. Undisturbed. For 7 or 8 minutes. I was letting the underside get nice and golden brown and caramelised.

Only then did I turn the nodini:

At which point I sprinkled some boofy salt on the cooked surfaces. The salt helps the nodini release their juices into the pan.

They got another 5 or 6 minutes cooking time, undisturbed, in this fashion.

Then I whipped them out of the pan to rest on a handy plate, leaving the pan looking like this:

Boofhead Tip: That's where the real flavour is when you're pan-roasting like this. That's bits of caramelised veal stuck to the bottom of the pan, browned butter flavoured by the rosemary and caramelised veal, and crusted rosemary needles.

And it was going to be the basis of the sauce for the nodini.

I tipped a glass of white wine into the pan, grabbed my patented Boofhead Wooden Spoon, and began scraping up all the bits of stuff stuck to the bottom of the pan:

Note to sensitive readers of this boofy bilge with delicate stomachs: I have framed the above photo in order to avoid seeing a boofy hairy paw in close proximity to the food. You can also nick off, you cloth-eared milk-sop softies. My boofy hairy paws are spotlessly clean and germ-free on account of I lick them thoroughly every day.

But I digress. I simmered the liquid for a couple of minutes, stirring and scraping, while it reduced in volume and gained in flavour.

Then I returned the nodini - and all the juices that had accumulated on the plate - to the pan:

I let them simmer gently for another couple of minutes, taking up the flavour of the sauce, turning them two or three times.

At which point, they were done.

At which point, Barbara woke from her slumbers.

She gazed in awe and admiration:

And I sacked her as my Home Economist for sleeping on the job.

Applications for the position of Home Economist to the Boofhead should be emailed to me in plain brown envelopes.


Judith in Umbria said...

I'm sure you will be flooded with applications, but I know I don't qualify. I can only reach my front paws for licking.

Speaking of which, how many times do you reckon you licked your paws during the making of this delight?

Dermott said...

1. As long as you can lick any body part you can legally show in public, you qualify. Anyone who can lick elsewhere, forget it. This is a family blog.

2. Every time I dipped my boofy paw into the sauce to taste it. Obviously that manoeuvre wasn't photographed. Thankfully no one reads these comments, so my confession will go unnoticed.

Anonymous said...

one more to try....dermott you amaze me with all of your cucina knowledge...jil

Dermott said...

It's the opposable thumbs, Jil. Soon as I grew them, I turned into un grande cuoco. Before I grew 'em, I was just your bog-standard Boofhead who dribbled.