
Chef Thomas
A Proper Ploughman's Board
A board of good cheddar, thick ham, proper pickle, hard-boiled eggs, and crusty bread. Not cooking so much as assembling with conviction, and one of the finest lunches the English kitchen has ever produced.
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Created by Chef Thomas
Chicken livers cooked pink with shallots and brandy, blended with more butter than you think decent, sieved into silk, and chilled until the surface sets to a pale, trembling gold.
There's a smell that belongs to December. Shallots softening in butter, a splash of brandy hitting a hot pan, and the brief, sweet singe of thyme leaves releasing their oil. That's the smell of the evening before a dinner party, when the kitchen is warm and the table isn't set yet and you're making something that will sit quietly in the fridge overnight and be better for the wait.
Chicken liver parfait is a generous thing. It costs almost nothing to make, it takes less than half an hour of actual work, and it arrives at the table looking and tasting like you've done something far more impressive than you have. The trick, if there is one, is butter. More than feels reasonable. The butter is what makes it silk rather than paste, what gives it that pale, yielding texture that melts the moment it touches warm toast.
I make this every Christmas Eve. The livers go pink in the pan, the brandy flares and settles, everything goes through the blender and then through a sieve, and by the time the kitchen is tidied, the parfait is setting in its dish. I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: "Livers, brandy, butter, the day before." It hasn't changed since.
Get your livers from a butcher if you can. They should be glossy, firm, and smell of almost nothing. Trim them carefully, removing any green-tinged patches or sinew. This is the only fiddly part, and it matters. Everything else is just heat, timing, and trust.
Quantity
400g
trimmed of sinew and any green patches, patted dry
Quantity
2
finely sliced
Quantity
2
finely sliced
Quantity
a few sprigs
Quantity
250g
softened and cut into cubes
Quantity
80g
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
pinch
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| fresh chicken liverstrimmed of sinew and any green patches, patted dry | 400g |
| banana shallotsfinely sliced | 2 |
| garlic clovesfinely sliced | 2 |
| fresh thyme | a few sprigs |
| unsalted butter (for parfait)softened and cut into cubes | 250g |
| unsalted butter (for sealing) | 80g |
| brandy | 3 tablespoons |
| Madeira or dry sherry (optional) | 1 tablespoon |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| white pepper | to taste |
| ground mace or nutmeg | pinch |
Melt a generous knob of butter in a wide, heavy pan over a gentle heat. Add the shallots and a pinch of salt. Let them soften for five or six minutes, stirring now and then, until they're translucent and sweet and the kitchen starts to smell like something is happening. Add the garlic and the thyme sprigs for the last minute. Nothing should colour. You're coaxing, not cooking.
Push the shallots to the edge of the pan and turn the heat up. Add the livers in a single layer. Let them sit for a minute without moving them. You want colour on the outside, a proper golden sear, but the centres must stay pink. Turn them once. Another minute. They should feel springy when you press them gently, not firm. Overcooked livers make a grainy parfait, and there's no fixing that after the fact.
Pour in the brandy and the Madeira. It will hiss and spit and the alcohol will catch if you're cooking on gas, which is fine, let it burn off. Scrape the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to lift any sticky, caramelised bits. Let the liquid reduce by half, just a minute or so, until the pan is nearly dry and the smell has gone from sharp to warm and rounded. Pull the thyme sprigs out and discard them.
Scrape everything from the pan into a blender or food processor while it's still warm. Add the mace and a good grinding of white pepper. Blend for a full minute, stopping to scrape down the sides once. With the motor running, add the softened butter a few cubes at a time. The mixture will go from rough and dark to pale, smooth, and glossy. Taste it. Season with more salt if it needs it, and it probably will. Parfait eaten cold needs to be seasoned generously now, because chilling mutes everything.
Push the parfait through a fine-meshed sieve into a bowl, using the back of a ladle or a spatula. This is the step people skip, and it's the step that matters most. The sieve catches any fibres or grain and leaves you with something impossibly smooth, the texture of cold silk. It takes three or four minutes. Worth every one of them.
Pour the parfait into a terrine dish, a loaf tin lined with cling film, or individual ramekins. Tap the dish firmly on the counter to knock out any air bubbles. Smooth the top with the back of a spoon. Melt the remaining butter gently in a small pan, let it settle for a minute, then pour the clear golden liquid over the surface, leaving behind the white milk solids. This thin layer of clarified butter seals the parfait and sets to a beautiful, trembling gold. Refrigerate for at least four hours, overnight if you can. Patience is the last ingredient.
1 serving (about 105g)
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