Roast Day

It's Roast Day tomorrow. Jess and I are having the Grevilles over and I'm cooking a roast. But not just any roast, a Roast Day roast.

Allow me to elaborate.

Roast Day roast, by definition, is a roast that defines and occupies the entire day. Roast Day begins, as it falls on a Saturday, at a very leisurely noon-ish. I'll start a fire in a washing-machine drum in the backyard (to set the scene, the fence around my backyard is two-metre tall rusty corrugated iron with barbed wire atop, the back wall is a patchwork of varyingly-aged steel plating and the whole thing looks like a post-apocalyptic stronghold, a place from which to weather a zombie outbreak, but today - my friends - we roast!). In the drum goes a huge, cast-iron camp oven and in the camp-oven goes a 3kg shoulder of lamb. Beers are opened and the fire is watched for a few hours. Then some chicken breast fillets are tossed in, the fire angried up, and a half-dozen more beers are downed over the next few hours. Shit-talking commences. An accoustic guitar may come out. Laughter is free and boozy cheer surrounds, mixed with the smell of the lamb that's now been pressure-cooking in its juices for a good five hours. When the arse of the lump of lamb (now already deliciously tender and alive with aroma) is starting to caramelise in its own juices, it gets lifed up and a half kilo of spuds go in to both cook in lamb/chicken juices and form a scaffold for the meat to steam without touching the pot and risking burning). Another hour later, the sun has set, everyone is nicely sozzled and start at devouring a six-hour-roasted piece of pure fucking bliss.

The world may be a terrifying place, and life speeds by at a terrifying pace, but on Roast Day we slow down and enjoy. Because the next Roast Day might be a fortnight away.

Chicken Allemande

This is a dead fancy fucker of a meal. Do it to impress someone who isn't expecting anything more elaborate than a Spag Nap.

Chicken Allemande

This makes up good three chicken breasts worth.

Sear chicken in olive oil, toss around until just starting to brown on the outside and well coated in oil. Pop into oven, bake gently until cooked and crisping up a bit on the outer.
The allemande sauce is based on a veloute sauce, which is based on a white roux.
To make the roux, combine equal parts butter and plain flour (for this we want about a ½ cup of each) and heat gently in a saucepan. Cook, stirring constantly for about seven minutes. The texture should be smooth and slightly sticky. A good way to test if the roux is done is by tasting it, when it’s done it will have lost the floury taste and be a little sugary. The purpose of cooking a roux is to break down the starch in flour to release glucose, which gives it the flavour and thickening properties.

Add 4 cups of fresh chicken stock and stir together on a low flame. What you’ve got now is veloute sauce.

Separate the eggs. Whisk the egg yolks and cream together. Add a ladle of veloute and mix. Add another ladle of veloute and mix. Then pour the whole lot into the pot with the veloute. Squeeze a couple wedges of lemon into the sauce and set aside. The completed allemande sauce should be thick and smooth with a delicate richness and slight tang.

You want to time this so the sauce is done at the same time as the chicken, as allemande sauce doesn’t really like being reheated. Cut the chicken breasts in halves crosswise. Put on warmed plates and coat with allemande sauce, like icing a cake. Garnish the top with a sprinkle of sage or a pinch of nutmeg.

Serve with some vegetables. You probably want to go with something acidic, like tomato, or other vegetables with vinegar. The sharpness will contrast well with the richness of the main. I do ratatouille as a side, maybe you should too if you're following me this far.

Maybe next time I'll give you my recipe for Lomba Steak. If you're good.

Cheers