Christmas Gammon with a Beetroot & Wasabi Glaze

A sweet blazing-pink beetroot syrup with a sting of wasabi is the glaze I've chosen for my Christmas gammon this year. To bring together the earthy flavours of beetroot and the nose-blast of wasabi, I've added crunchy pink peppercorns and a handful of fresh pomegranate seeds.

Christmas Gammon with a Beetroot & Wasabi Glaze, studded
with pink peppercorns and fresh pomegranate seeds. Plate by
my uncle David Walters, master potter of Franschhoek.

Both the peppercorns and the pomegranate seeds featured in my Christmas 2012 gammon recipe and I'm so smitten by the combination of brittle-textured warmth and bursting sweetness that I've used them again this year. I don't think I'll ever stud a gammon with cloves again because, really, what's the point? Nobody's going to to chew on them (unless you have an elderly relative with severe toothache), and all you need do to achieve a subtle Christmassy clove aroma is to pop a few into the gammon's simmering stock.

This is the fourth gammon glaze recipe I've developed for this blog over the same number of years, and I always feel a bit anxious when November rolls around because I receive more queries and feedback about glazing a gammon than any other topic. This year I pondered for several weeks over a choice of glaze, and eventually inspiration came from a short magazine piece I was asked to contribute to Food & Entertaining magazine.  It's a food love letter to my grandmother Peggy, and in it I mention the wonderful combination of sliced ham and pickled beetroot, which I ate as a child in the Sixties in Peggy's garden.

When you slice the gammon, the shocking-pink beetroot glaze penetrates
 the scoring marks. Serve with dobbles of wasabi and boiled baby potatoes.

A good jab of horseradish really brings the blood-and-earth flavours of beetroot alive, but instead of using the creamed variety, or fresh root (which I couldn't find in the shops), I whisked some Japanese wasabi paste into the glaze once I'd finished reducing it.

To my disappointment, the wasabi lost much of its fire during the glazing process, and faded like a sullen teenager into the background. So I doubled the quantity of wasabi from one teaspoon to two the next time I tested the recipe, which helped a bit, but still the flavour was elusive.

I therefore recommend that you serve this (in thick slices) with generous blobs of good-quality wasabi paste.

I have given detailed instructions below for simmering a gammon in stock, but please use your common sense here. I find that the cooking times given on the packaging for bone-out raw gammon (usually 55 minutes per kilogram) are excessive. This year, I cut 45 minutes off the recommended cooking time, and even then the gammon seemed a little overcooked.

I've had good results with cooking gammon in a roasting bag.

I've tried all sorts of methods of cooking inexpensive Christmas gammons - slow-seething in stock, baking under foil and paper, slow-cooking in a crockpot, overnight cooking in a roasting bag -  and have come to the conclusion that everything depends on the quality of the ham.

For this recipe, I used inexpensive boneless gammons from Checkers for testing purposes, and they were okay, with a good flavour, albeit a bit too salty for my taste.  But there is a certain stringiness about mass-produced hams that cannot be fixed, not matter how carefully you cook them. I suspect that the gammons I bought this year had been frozen for several months, then thawed and placed on the shelf. I can't be certain of this, but there was a tell-tale coarseness and stringiness about the flesh that was most disappointing.

For my family's Christmas feast this year, I am not going to skimp on the gammon. A good quality gammon should be fine-textured and moist, with a deep rosy pink colour and a good layer of snowy white soft fat.

>> To see my gammon glazes of Christmasses past, plus three other recipes using the leftovers of a gammon, please scroll to the end of this page.

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Christmas Gammon with a Beetroot & Wasabi Glaze

For the gammon and its stock:

one x 2.8 to 3 kg bone-out raw gammon
1 can (340 ml) ginger ale
1 can (340 ml) lager of your choice
2 bay leaves, dried or fresh
3 cloves
10 peppercorns
1 star anise
a small wedge of lemon, skin on
a sliver of fresh ginger
½ tsp (2.5 ml) coriander seeds
1 onion, cut in half, skin on
1 large carrot, cut in thirds
a few stalks of parsley
water, to cover

For the glaze:

2 medium-sized beetroot
3 Tbsp (45 ml) water, plus an extra half-cup [see recipe]
5 Tbsp (75 ml) white sugar
2 tsp (10 ml) wasabi paste
a squeeze of lemon juice

To garnish:

2 Tbsp (30 ml) pink peppercorns
the seeds of a pomegranate (or dried pomegranate ariels that you've soaked in water for 30 minutes)

Boiling a gammon in stock with some Christmassy
flavours. Top up the pot with water now and then,
 and skim off any foam as it rises. 

Put the gammon into a big deep pot and add all the remaining stock ingredients. The gammon should be covered in liquid to a depth of 2 cm.

Bring the gammon to the boil, then turn down the heat and simmer at a very low burble, covered with a tilted lid, until it is cooked through (follow the timing instructions on the packaging, but please note my  comments above).

 Every now and then top up the pot with more water, and skim off any mocha-coloured scum as it rises.

In the meantime, make the glaze. Grate the beetroot, skin and all, on the coarse side of a cheese grater.  Put the gratings into a large microwave-safe dish, add 3 Tbsp (45 ml) water, and cover with clingfilm. Microwave on high for 8-10 minutes, or until the beetroot is tender. Alternatively, simmer the grated beetroot and water over a gentle heat for 15-20 minutes, or until tender.

Cool the beetroot for a few minutes, tip it into a sieve set over a bowl and drain well, pressing down on the pulp with the back of a spoon to extract all the juices.

Discard the pulp (or save it for stirring into a hummous or creamy dip) and pour the liquid into a saucepan. Add 5 Tbsp (75 ml) sugar, plus an additional ½ cup (125 ml) water. Set the pan over a high heat and cook at a fast boil for about 15 minutes, or until the liquid is syrupy, and has reduced down to half a cup (yes, go ahead and measure it!).  Whisk in the wasabi paste and add a squeeze of lemon juice.

When the gammon is cooked, remove it from the pot, cover with clingfilm and let it sit for two hours on the countertop. Alternatively - and I recommend this method, as it allows the meat to cool and contract, without drying out - let your gammon cool overnight in its stock. (I always freeze the stock in small plastic boxes for use in future soups and stews.)

To glaze the gammon: set your oven grill, at least 20 minutes ahead of time,  to its highest setting.  Place the meat in a large roasting pan.

Carefully pull away the thick skin from the top of the gammon to expose the fat layer. Discard the skin, or give it to the dogs. If it's a very fatty gammon, use a sharp knife held horizontal to the fat to shave away excess blubber. I like to retain a fairly generous layer of fat - it is Christmas, after all - but you can shave it back to a depth of about 3 mm if you'd like a leaner ham.

Score the fat in a diamond pattern, using the tip of a very sharp knife. I use my index finger to gauge the distance between score marks.

Now pour the beetroot glaze over your gammon. Don't worry if most of it runs off - this will be fixed during the glazing process. Place the pan about 10 cm under the blazing-hot grill.

This is the trickiest part of glazing a gammon. You will need to watch it like a hawk, because the tallest areas will brown - or burn - first. I always set a stool in front of the open oven door, put on a pair of padded gloves and sit there patiently tilting and turning the roasting pan to make sure every part of it is bubbling and caramelised.  Every 3 minutes or so, I use a big spoon to scoop up some of the glaze from the corners of the pan and trickle it over the gammon.

When your gammon is merrily sizzling and the fat layer looks caramelised all over, remove the tray from the oven, place it on the countertop and tuck a folded-up cloth underneath one end to set it at a tilt.  Continue for the next 10 minutes scooping and dribbling the run-off glaze gathering in the pan's corners over the gammon, until it is coated with a thick, shiny burnish.

Scatter the pomegranate seeds and pink peppercorns all over the gammon, while it is till sticky.

Serve warm with dabs of wasabi, boiled baby potatoes and fresh green leaves, or cold with bread, butter and pickles.

Serves 6-8 as a main course with veggies and/or salad. 

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My other gammon glazes, plus three recipes using the leftovers of a gammon:

Christmas Gammon with a Pomegranate and Pink Peppercorn Glaze

Christmas Gammon with a Sticky Orange & Ginger Glaze

Christmas Gammon Glazed with Brandy & Coke

And here's what to do with left-over gammon:

• Easy-Peasy Pea & Gammon Soup
• Hearty Soup with Tomatoes, Lentils and Gammon (scroll to the end of the page for the recipe)
• Luxurious Broccoli & Cheese with Gammon and a Parmesan Crust

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Olive, Mozzarella and Rosemary Christmas wreath

Inspired by a picture I pinned to my Pinterest festive board, I thought I'd expand on this lovely idea and create a wired-together rosemary wreath that can be rinsed off after Christmas and hung up to dry on a kitchen wall.

Olive, Mozzarella and Rosemary Christmas wreath

I've used green and black olives, baby gherkins, caperberries, cherry tomatoes, peppadews and beautiful bocconcini to make this wreath, but of course you could add anything you like to it - marinated feta, roast peppers and baby aubergines, rolled anchovies, sundried tomatoes, quails' eggs, and so on.

When you're done with the wreath, rinse it under running
water, shake off the moisture, and hang it up in a breezy
place to dry out. Crumble the dried rosemary into stews,
casseroles and roasts.

I photographed this on a board because it looked so pretty against the white and then (because I wanted to take it along to a carols-by-candlelight evening at my sister's house) transferred it to a big green platter. I tore the mozzarella balls into smaller bits to make sure everyone got a piece or two, and drizzled the whole wreath with olive oil, home-made pesto and plenty of black pepper.

This is so easy to make. You need:

- about 32 twelve-cm end-sprigs of fresh rosemary
- a long length of bendy vine, stripped of leaves
- green florists' wire
- pliers

I used a length of grape vine, stripped of leaves, but you could use any flexible branch from a non-toxic climbing plant.  A bent-into-a-circle wire coat-hanger covered in green florists' tape would work too.

First bend the vine into a circle, using your biggest, most beautiful platter as a size guide. Twist the vine ends around the circle, and secure with florists wire.  Coax the circle into a neat shape if it looks a little wonky.

Now, starting at the top, wire the rosemary sprigs onto the circle, their tips pointing slightly outwards, and overlapping one another by about two-thirds of their length (see picture below).

Loosely wire the sprigs to the vine circle, overlapping them by two-thirds of
their  length, and nudging them so the florists' wire is hidden. 

Put your wreath on its platter and arrange the cheese around the circle. Add all the other ingredients, drizzle with olive oil and season with salt and milled black pepper.

If you're entertaining two days in a row, you can rinse off the wreath and put it in the fridge overnight to  'refill' the next day.



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Tweeting Christmas recipes: the fun, the festivities, and the failure

My cousin Sarah's mulberry and raspberry Christmas trifle, which
 I whipped outside to photograph while the custard was being made.

I became a Twitter fan (oh, okay, a hopeless addict) this year, and this is the first Christmas in the four years I've been writing this blog that I have had the opportunity to engage, in real time, with people who've decided to give my recipes a whirl. 

(And what fun I had over Christmas! I joined my extended family in Franschhoek to prepare an extravaganza of a feast, to which we each contributed a course or dish; the trifle-in-the-making pictured left was one of two desserts made by my talented cousin Sarah Walters.)

I can't tell you what a kick it gave me to log in to Twitter over the past week to find many questions, comments and photographs posted by readers of this blog.

Not to say that I wasn't gnawing my knuckles at the thought of people putting faith in my recipes. I'm keenly aware that no matter how carefully I formulate and test a recipe, there is always a chance of failure: I might have made a mistake in writing down quantities, or left out a vital step, or neglected to explain the method clearly. (I experienced a spectacular failure myself when my huge Christmas gammon fell to soggy shreds in the pot last Thursday, but more about that later in this post).

It is hugely rewarding for me, as a recipe developer, to see my dishes being cooked by real people in real kitchens, and on such an important festive occasion. My Christmas Gammon Glazed with Brandy and Coke was the recipe most people made, with others trying my festive turkey stuffing, my Layered Christmas Ice-Cream Cake with White Chocolate and Berries, and several older recipes for salads, including the perennially popular Marinated Mushrooms.

Here are some of the pictures that were tweeted by readers who'd made the Coke-glazed gammon: don't they look scrumptious?

Some of the gammon photographs tweeted by readers of this blog!

And here's a picture sent to me by Steve Mabbutt (one of this blog's most loyal and informed readers, and a cook of note), of his mise en place for the gammon:

Our own festive feast (traditionally served on Christmas Eve) was just wonderful. It's so special to come together as a family to cook, laugh and talk, to eat, drink and be merry, isn't it?

Even though we are (mostly) heathens of note, I've always found Christmas Eve to be the most magical and merry night of the year. Twinkling lights, frosty champagne glasses, glowing candles, presents rustling under the tree, kids whirling in giddy circles, spicy aromas drifting from the kitchen...

My family, starting the feast.

And then, as the evening blossoms into its fullness, singing of carols, snapping of crackers, stirring of gravy, carving of turkey, munching of chocolate, filling of Christmas stockings, putting-out of milk and biscuits for Father Christmas, and all the other treasured family rituals that make those marvellous and important memories.

And then there is (of course) the food. This year, my family pulled out the stops to produce a humdinger of a feast. My sister Sophie produced a seriously delicious dip of smoky aubergines, garlic and toasted pine nuts.

My other sister Karen roped in the kids to make what is always the star attraction of the feast: little pork sausages wrapped in bacon, with fresh rosemary. My sainted mother glided back and forth, with her usual poise and enthusiasm, dishing out champagne, encouragement and hugs to her adoring children and grandchildren.

The winning dish - in fact, one of the best things I've tasted this year - was a beautiful starter of smoked trout made by my uncle David.  In this truly gorgeous recipe (recipe here) piping-hot sesame oil is trickled over a bed of Franschhoek smoked trout, then topped with miso, soy sauce, black sesame seeds, fresh ginger, garlic, caperberries, dabs of home-made mayonnaise and great dollops of pink and black fish roe.  This was served on exquisite plates hand-made by David, each one embossed with our names.

 My sister Karen's pork chipolatas, ready for the oven

The starter was followed by a traditional turkey course, as demanded by the British-born men of my family (three brothers-in-law: a Scot, a Welshman and an Englishman). We made two turkeys for 20 people (each turkey with its own stuffing), plus potatoes roasted in duck fat, peas, gravy, bacon-wrapped chipolatas and a green salad. For dessert, my pudding-queen-of-a-cousin Sarah and her man Jim produced a mulberry and raspberry trifle and an incredibly delicious Nigel Slater cheesecake.

And finally: my Christmas-feast disaster. I bought an enormous (4.3 kg) bone-in gammon from a local supermarket chain that collapsed into sodden shreds when I cooked it.  I won't name the supermarket until they've responded to my complaint, but I will say that I'm annoyed and frustrated at having wasted both money and time on a clearly inferior piece of meat.

The joint looked beautiful, all right, when I bought it (it's the same joint, from the same supermarket, shown in Steve's mise en place picture, above) but within half an hour of my placing it in a flavoured, spiced stock, it began to swell alarmingly.  Some three-and-a-half hours of simmering later (well short of the cooking time recommended on the packaging) it began to disintegrate into tasteless grey shreds. I couldn't save it, because it fell to pieces as I fished it out of the stock.

All was not lost, though, because a foraging party found another gammon from another supermarket (this time, in Franschhoek) which held together as it boiled, and tasted delicious.

I've cooked many gammons in my life, always using the same cooking times, and this is the first time I've ever seen a piece of meat collapse in such a spectacular fashion. I fretted briefly over whether I'd done something wrong, or miscalculated the cooking time, but when the aforementioned Steve told me he'd had exactly the same disaster with his gammon, I realised that the fault lay with the ingredient, and not the cook  (Whew!)

I will get back to you with details when I receive a reply to the email of complaint I've sent the supplier.

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