Swaledale Journal

On many a recipe, the instruction ‘brown your mince’ is set out plainly enough. And yet, deep into January, when slow cooking is very much back on the table and recipes keep asking for the same thing, it feels worth saying that this is meant quite literally. Brown your mince. It does not say grey it. Browning is a process, not a gesture. It takes time, heat, and a little patience, and what you are doing is building flavour, not simply warming meat through. When mince is rushed, crowded into the pan, stirred too soon, it stews. It turns grey. The moisture stays put and the flavour never quite arrives. So here is @grylos , taking a moment to explain the difference, and to remind you that if you want the most from good produce, you have to let it work. Give it space. Leave it alone long enough to colour properly. Let it smell right before you move on. Because this is slow food month, after all. There is no need to hurry. Take your time, do it properly, and you will taste the difference in the finished dish.

Winter. It felt strange being in Yorkshire, watching the news from the south where snow lay thick and sudden, while here January had arrived quietly, cold and wet, but not yet truly winter as we know it. Up here the season has always moved at a slower pace, and there is something steadying in remembering that. The idea that we should charge straight on after Christmas is a modern one, and it sits awkwardly with bodies and minds that are still tuned to pause, to take stock, to look back at the year just gone. Out on the farms, there is no rush but plenty to do. Some are already lambing, others preparing for it, working with the land rather than against it as the days begin, almost imperceptibly, to lengthen. The fields are still subdued, but there are signs, if you look closely, that life is beginning to stir again. And so, it feels right, now and then, to slow everything down and simply notice Yorkshire in January, not as something to be endured, but as a quiet and beautiful part of the year in its own right.

Now the depths of winter descend. The excitement of Christmas has passed, but do not let that fool you. These months are still some of the best for eating roasted meats and leaning into deeper, newer flavour profiles. Here is a traditional, and not so traditional, approach to our pork middle. We send a lot of our pork middles out to chefs, ready for them to stuff and roast in their own way, using both the loin and the belly. You will see plenty of porchetta on the market that uses just the belly. This is different. Using both cuts gives balance, structure, and allows the flavour of the pork itself to shine. For our website, we also offer a less traditional version, stuffed simply with our fennel sausage meat. That brings seasoning right through the joint, and a little extra fat to help keep everything moist during a long, slow roast. It is a brilliant cut to have, either as a roast or the following day, sliced cold for sandwiches.

Chef George Ryle @grylos, signing off the year with us. A delicious Christmas ham glaze. Nothing clever. Nothing rushed, but some useful tips. Thank you for watching, cooking along, and sticking with us this year. Merry Christmas.

We like doing things properly. Smoking is one of them. It is not sterile or shiny. But have you ever been to a smokehouse in Arbroath? If you have, you will know what this looks like. That black tar on the walls comes from years of smoke and years of meat. That is the point. We still smoke food properly. Many do not. Much of what you see labelled as smoked has barely seen smoke at all. For us, that matters. Food done properly matters. It will matter even more in the years ahead. So when you buy something from us and it says smoked, you know exactly what that means.

Much of the beef on tables and in kitchens at this time of year comes from Bill Whittaker’s herd of Belted Galloway cattle. They graze land in the shadow of Ingleborough, feeding on diverse forage shaped by limestone ground. It is land that suits the cattle, and cattle that suit the land. We usually receive Bill’s beef once a year, when it is ready. It is always a good moment when it arrives. Beef like this cannot be rushed. It follows the season. This is the way we like to work. Smaller farms, running the right cattle on the right ground, producing beef that fits the rhythm of the year. As we head into the new year, we are always keen to hear from other farmers working with native breeds, regenerative systems, and properly pasture-fed livestock. If that sounds like you, and you have something coming through, do get in touch.

Sometimes it takes a new perspective, a fresh angle, to see the value in things. To reverse a perception that might be long held and deeply ingrained. But when we achieve that moment of clarity, the bright light of revelation, the effect can be significant. A door opened and a new future imagined. Too much? Well, probably. But maybe, just maybe your eyes really are being opened to a new way. A future of menu writing with the possibility of a new ‘butchers’ steak’; move over bavette, onglet and Denver and step into the spotlight the chuck eye steak. Traditionally, a chuck, to butchers and chefs is most likely to conjure images of pies, stews and bourguignons. Your archetypal braising cut, or so it had been assumed. We don’t believe it should be confined by these parameters and are rather taken with the idea of it becoming your new favourite secondary steak. The chuck is the muscle that extends from the ribeye into the neck, like a pork collar, meaning it has good natural marbling and a nice, open texture. Cooked pink, with a great crust and basted in brown butter, it truly is an excellent steak. For maximum value, snaffle yourself a whole chuck, trim away some of the meat that runs around the eye, reserving for something braised and delicious, then cut yourself some choice steaks. You won’t regret it.

A rich, booze-laden beast of a pie. This is no ordinary mince pie. It is deep-filled, indulgent and made with real craft by @joshwhiteheadchef of @finer_pleasures. We are down to the last few. Our mailing list heard about them yesterday, which is why they are moving quickly. If you want first sight of future specials, sign up. Josh has been working on this recipe for three years. It is rooted in Hannah Glasse’s 1747 mince pie, where meat was once part of the mix. He has taken that idea and turned it on its head, using the clean, buttery fat from our native-breed cattle in place of suet. The filling is dried fruit soaked since July in Armagnac, aged port, Madeira and homemade ginger wine. There are ceps cooked slowly in brown sugar syrup until they turn to toffee. And yes, a little Bovril. Trust Josh, it works. Bake at 185°C until golden, let it sit for two minutes, then eat warm. A dusting of icing sugar finishes it well. Serve with cream, custard or brandy butter. A very special mince pie, and nearly gone.