Slow cooking

For me, slow-cooking is the new therapy. When things are slightly manic elsewhere, you can take the time and care to use the best ingredients and transform them into culinary perfection. You’ve got no excuses at the weekend because time’s on your side, and time makes for perfection.

It’s the ultimate indulgence: for me, the slower it is, the more enjoyable it is, because the flavours are more important than any deadline. I love how as they evolve over time, deepen and strengthen, the aromas start releasing and filling the whole house and the food almost becomes flawless. This is where chefs are at home, when they have more time to cook, and it always goes down really well in the restaurants: people appreciate how much more time and effort has gone into cooking it than, say, a quick pork fillet or a bit of salmon.

We’ve been doing oxtail with a really nice pur?e of parsnips, and the oxtail was braised for three and a half, four hours, taken off the bone, mixed back in with its juices and wrapped in braised lettuce to give it a glamorous coat. One customer said the last time she’d had oxtail was 25 years ago when her mother cooked it, but she’d never had it so tender: that’s because it was slow-cooked.

Slow-cooking really lends itself to cheaper ingredients, because of the lining of fat that you’re going to render down, and there’s less chance of making any major mistakes. You can’t really go wrong with it, to be honest. Take the ribs below: poor old pork ribs got bastardised in Chinese restaurants up and down the country for years, but we’ve put a completely new identity on them and made them really vibrant and spicy. And I’ve cut the richness with Granny Smith mash, which is a great way to make mashed potatoes a little bit sexier - and kids love it because it’s that bit sweeter.

Spending that extra time in the kitchen really gives rewards: the carrot soup sounds quite laborious, but roasting the carrots brings out their flavour, and the end result is stunning.