
Chef Thomas
Beef and Ale Stew
Braising steak surrendered to dark ale and slow time, with onions and mushrooms, until the gravy turns thick and malty and the kitchen smells like the kind of evening you want to stay in for.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A whole hare braised for hours in red wine and port, the sauce darkened with blood and finished with forcemeat balls, the kind of cooking that asks everything of you and repays it at the table.
January. The kitchen window is black by half four, rain against the glass, and the casserole has been in the oven since lunchtime. The smell has changed three times already: first the searing, hot and iron-sharp, then the wine hitting the pan in a cloud of steam, and now this low, steady warmth that fills the room like a blanket pulled up to the chin. This is a jugged hare. It is not quick. It is not simple. It is, on the right evening, one of the finest things you can put on a table.
I don't make this often. Once, maybe twice a winter, when the butcher has a hare hanging and the weather is cold enough to justify the commitment. A jugged hare is not a casual supper. It's a dish that belongs to a particular kind of day: short light, long evening, the sort of company that doesn't mind sitting at the table for a while. You need a good hare, a bottle of wine you'd drink yourself, some port, and a willingness to give up your afternoon. The sauce, thickened at the end with the animal's blood, turns glossy and dark and impossibly rich. It is the reason the dish exists.
The forcemeat balls are not optional. They're part of the tradition, small and herby and crisp, a counterpoint to all that dark, winey depth. I learned to make them from a handwritten recipe in a second-hand book, the kind with stains on the pages and someone's notes in the margins. The note next to the forcemeat balls said: "more lemon next time." I've followed that instruction ever since.
I wrote it down in the notebook last February: "Hare. Blood sauce. Forcemeat. The kitchen smelled like a country pub in 1965. Everyone went quiet after the first mouthful." That's the test. When the table goes quiet, you've done it right.
Quantity
1
jointed into 8 pieces, blood reserved
Quantity
2 tablespoons
seasoned with salt and pepper
Quantity
40g
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
2 medium
roughly chopped
Quantity
2
peeled and cut into thick rounds
Quantity
2 sticks
sliced
Quantity
4 cloves
lightly crushed
Quantity
1 bottle (750ml)
Quantity
150ml
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
2
Quantity
4 sprigs
Quantity
6
lightly crushed
Quantity
8
Quantity
1 strip
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
approximately 100ml
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
120g
Quantity
60g
Quantity
1 lemon
Quantity
2 tablespoons
finely chopped
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
generous grating
Quantity
1
beaten
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
a knob
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| whole harejointed into 8 pieces, blood reserved | 1 |
| plain flourseasoned with salt and pepper | 2 tablespoons |
| butter | 40g |
| vegetable oil | 2 tablespoons |
| onionsroughly chopped | 2 medium |
| carrotspeeled and cut into thick rounds | 2 |
| celerysliced | 2 sticks |
| garliclightly crushed | 4 cloves |
| red wine | 1 bottle (750ml) |
| port | 150ml |
| beef or game stock | 500ml |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| thyme | 4 sprigs |
| juniper berrieslightly crushed | 6 |
| black peppercorns | 8 |
| orange peel | 1 strip |
| redcurrant jelly | 1 tablespoon |
| hare's blood | approximately 100ml |
| salt and black pepper | to taste |
| fresh white breadcrumbs | 120g |
| suet | 60g |
| lemon zest | 1 lemon |
| flat-leaf parsleyfinely chopped | 2 tablespoons |
| thyme leaves | 1 teaspoon |
| nutmeg | generous grating |
| eggbeaten | 1 |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| butter for frying forcemeat balls | a knob |
Dust the hare joints in the seasoned flour, shaking off any excess. Heat the butter and oil together in a heavy casserole over a high flame. When the butter foams and the foam starts to subside, lay the joints in, a few at a time. Don't crowd the pan. You want a deep, mahogany crust on each piece, and that only happens if the meat has room and the heat stays fierce. Turn each joint as it colours. This takes patience. Perhaps fifteen minutes for all the pieces, working in batches. Set them aside on a plate as they're done.
Turn the heat down. Add the onions, carrots, and celery to the fat left in the pan. Stir them through the sticky residue on the bottom and let them soften for eight to ten minutes, until the onions are translucent and the kitchen starts to smell savoury and sweet. Add the garlic, the juniper berries, peppercorns, bay leaves, thyme, and the strip of orange peel. Stir everything together for a minute until the herbs start to release their scent.
Pour in the red wine and the port. Let it come to a lively bubble, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to dissolve all the dark, caramelised bits. These matter. Let the wine reduce by about a third, which takes five minutes or so, until the raw alcohol smell has gone and what remains smells rich and concentrated. Add the stock, stir in the redcurrant jelly, and bring everything back to a simmer.
Return all the hare joints to the casserole. The liquid should come most of the way up the meat but needn't cover it entirely. Put the lid on, slightly ajar, and slide it into an oven set at 150C/130C fan. Leave it alone. Three hours, checking once at the halfway mark. The hare is ready when the meat yields easily from the bone but hasn't fallen apart. It should give when you press it with a spoon but still hold its shape. The braising liquid will have reduced and darkened to something that looks and smells like a proper sauce.
While the hare braises, make the forcemeat balls. Combine the breadcrumbs, suet, lemon zest, parsley, thyme, nutmeg, and salt in a bowl. Add the beaten egg and work everything together with your hands until it holds when pressed. Roll into balls about the size of a walnut. You should get twelve or so. Fry them gently in butter, turning occasionally, until golden all over and cooked through. They should be crisp on the outside and soft within, herby and rich and a little bit lemony. Set them aside while you finish the sauce.
Lift the hare joints out carefully and keep them warm under foil. Strain the braising liquid through a sieve into a clean pan, pressing the vegetables to extract everything they have. Bring it to a gentle simmer. Take the pan off the heat. This is important: the pan must be off the heat. Stir a few tablespoons of the hot liquid into the blood to temper it, then pour the blood mixture back into the pan, stirring constantly. Return the pan to the lowest heat you have and stir until the sauce thickens to something that coats the back of a spoon. It will turn glossy and dark, almost black in certain lights. Do not let it boil. If the blood boils, it curdles, and the sauce is lost. Season with salt and pepper. Taste it. The sauce should be deep, winey, slightly gamey, with a dark richness that nothing else quite replicates.
Arrange the hare joints on a warmed serving dish or divide between warmed plates. Pour the sauce over generously. Nestle the forcemeat balls alongside. Serve with something plain that will soak up the sauce without competing with it: mashed potatoes, or good bread, or both. A dish of braised red cabbage on the side if you have the energy, but nothing more.
1 serving (about 330g)
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