A great meal out, for me, is one that takes you on a small journey. That’s because, when you leave a restaurant after a fantastic experience, the sensation is similar to walking out of a cinema after seeing a good film or looking up from a book in which you’ve been totally immersed. And, after being transported to another world, even if only for a short while, there’s always that little jolt as you touch base with reality. It doesn’t matter whether or not the journey is a long one, either: I get that same jolt whether I’ve taken 20 minutes to bolt down some dim sum in Chinatown or spent an entire evening over one long, elaborate feast.
I bring this up now because a few weekends ago I had a meal at the Ledbury in west London that felt like a leisurely wintry walk. Our “journey” that lunchtime was forest-like in just about every detail, from everything we ate right down to the plates on which the food was served. Prunes stuffed with Earl Grey-spiced partridge, a warm bantam’s egg with shaved celeriac and Wiltshire truffle, Chinese water deer from East Anglia… for the first time in my life, I ended up feeling as if I was wearing a waxed cotton jacket and green wellies.
It was completely in keeping with the theme, then, that the last thing we were given to eat were little juniper sticks filled with caramel and served on a small pile of purplish-black juniper berries. Niki Segnit, in her brilliant The Flavour Thesaurus, perfectly describes juniper as having “the flavours of a country estate”. With their clean, resinous and warming aroma, juniper berries are the only edible spice from evergreen conifers.
Juniper has a natural sharpness that cuts through the strong taste of game and the rich fattiness of meat, but it also has a special warmth that at this time of year makes it such a welcome feature in all sorts of fruity puddings and jams, not to mention in all manner of gin-based drinks. Those hard dried berries need to be crushed or ground to release their full flavour, but do remember that they are particularly potent, and that a little always goes a long, long way.
Beef stew with pale ale, juniper and prunes
The sweetness of the prunes and the date syrup is tempered beautifully by the slight bitterness of the ale and the juniper. The result is a warming dish I’d be happy to tuck into on any cold night. Serves four to six.
1 tsp juniper berries
½ tsp black peppercorns
Flaky sea salt
900g beef brisket, in 2 pieces
2 tbsp olive oil
500g baby shallots, peeled and left whole
4 garlic cloves, peeled
5g picked thyme leaves
500ml pale ale
2 tbsp date syrup (40g)
1 tbsp wholegrain mustard
600g small waxy potatoes (desiree or charlotte), peeled and cut into 3cm chunks
10 large pitted prunes (about 100g-worth)
The finely grated zest of ½ lemon
80g soured cream, to serve
Put the juniper berries and peppercorns in a spice grinder with four teaspoons of salt. Blitz well, then put in a medium-sized bowl, add the two pieces of brisket and, using your hands, mix well until the beef is well coated, then set aside for an hour.
Heat the oven to 160C/320F/gas mark 2½. On a medium-high flame, heat a tablespoon of oil in a 26cm-wide casserole or ovenproof saute pan for which you have a lid, then add the brisket pieces and fry for two to three minutes, turning them over halfway, so they brown on both sides, then lift out the beef on to a plate.
Turn down the heat under the pan to medium and add another tablespoon of oil. Once hot, add the whole shallots and fry for five minutes, stirring frequently, until golden-brown, then add the garlic and thyme, and fry for another minute, just to soften. Stir in the ale, date syrup and mustard, return the brisket to the pot and bring to a boil. Pop on the lid, transfer the casserole to the oven and roast for two hours.
After two hours, turn over the brisket pieces, stir in the potatoes and prunes, cover again and return to the oven for another hour, until the brisket is very tender, the potatoes are cooked and the sauce is thick. Take the pot out of the oven and leave the meat to rest for at least 10 minutes.
To serve, cut each piece of meat into four to six chunks (or even shred it into smaller pieces), then divide the stew between four or six shallow bowls. Sprinkle lemon zest on top and serve with a spoonful of soured cream alongside.
Lemon and juniper marmalade
Juniper works brilliantly in orange marmalades as well as in this lemon version, so it’s worth experimenting if you’re the sort to make your own with this month’s booty of Seville oranges. Makes five 300ml jars.
3 tbsp juniper berries
6 unwaxed lemons (790g gross weight), ends trimmed
320ml water
80ml gin
1kg caster sugar
Put a tablespoon of the juniper berries in a spice or coffee grinder, and blitz to a very fine powder. Crush the remaining berries roughly in a pestle and mortar, put them inside a square of muslin, and tie into a little bundle with string.
Cut the lemons in half lengthways, then cut each half widthways into 1-2mm-thick slices. Pick out and discard the seeds, then put the slices in a large saucepan for which you have a lid. Add the water, to cover the lemons, then add the gin and the muslin-wrapped juniper berries. Bring to a boil on a high heat, then turn down the heat to medium-low, cover and simmer for 40 minutes, stirring a few times; press the muslin bundle against the sides of the pan now and then, too, to help release the juniper berries’ flavour. The lemon skin should by now be very soft.
Lift out and discard the bundle of berries, then raise the heat to medium. Stir in the sugar and the powdered juniper berries and continue cooking for 20 minutes, until the sugar has dissolved and the jam has slightly thickened. (If you have a sugar thermometer, the temperature should be 105C.)
Remove the pan from the heat and set aside to cool for 10 minutes, then carefully pour into sterilised jam jars, seal and store.
Rhubarb, gin and juniper cake
This is best eaten on the day it is made, otherwise the crumble will lose some of its crunch. Use bright pink forced rhubarb, if you can, not least because it looks so beautiful. Serves eight.
2 tsp sunflower oil
5 sticks rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 2cm-long pieces (about 420g)
1 tbsp lime juice
2 tbsp corn flour
200g caster sugar
1½ tsp juniper berries
100g unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
2 eggs
120g self-raising flour
60ml gin
⅛ tsp salt
For the crumble
3 tbsp caster sugar
75g unsalted butter
100g self-raising flour
50g pine nuts
Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Line a 21cm-round spring-form (or other loose-bottomed) cake tin with baking paper and brush the paper with oil.
Put the sugar, butter and flour for the crumble in a food processor and blitz for 30 seconds, until the mix is the consistency of coarse breadcrumbs (or work in a bowl with your fingertips). Tip into a bowl and stir in the pine nuts.
For the cake, mix the rhubarb, lime juice, corn flour and 60g of the sugar. Put the juniper berries in a spice or coffee grinder, add a tablespoon of sugar and blitz to a fine powder. Tip into the bowl of an electric mixer with the paddle in place, then beat in the remaining 125g sugar and the butter, until combined. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then add the flour, gin and salt, and beat until the mixture comes together into a smooth batter. Pour into the prepared cake tin, and smooth out with a palette knife or spatula. Spread the rhubarb mixture on top, scatter the crumble over that, and bake for 70 minutes; cover the top of the cake with tin foil after 40 minutes, so it doesn’t catch and burn.
Once the cake has risen and the topping is nicely golden-brown, remove from the oven and test with a skewer – it should come out quite wet because of the rhubarb. Leave to cool in the tin before serving.
