Our 50th birthday issue is on sale now. We're celebrating five decades of great food and travel with our biggest issue yet.
Subscribe to Australian Gourmet Traveller before 27th November, 2016 and receive a Villeroy & Boch platter!
Subscribe to Gourmet Traveller for your iPad.
We caught up with Princess Cruises’ Captain William Kent to talk life on deck, sailing the Red Sea and how to spend 24 hours in Venice.
After-dark glamour calls for monochrome elegance with accents of red and the glimmer of bling. Martinis await.
Thai food maestro David Thompson returns to the Sydney restaurant scene with the opening of Long Chim, a standard-bearer for Thailand’s robust street food. Fiery som dtum is just the beginning.
Join us at Quay for a specially designed dinner by Peter Gilmore to celebrate the launch of the new Gourmet Traveller cookbook.
We’ve partnered again with our friends at Snowgoose to bring you the ultimate party hamper. With each item selected by the Gourmet Traveller team, it’s all killer and no filler.
Meet Aerin Lauder; creative director, lifestyle mogul, mother and global traveller. Here she shares her musings on Morocco, the exotic catalyst for her latest collection.
A modern-day gin palace, The Distillery, is set to open in the middle of London’s Portobello Market this year.
The executive chef shares his salt and pepper squid recipe, including his secret for a crisp, light batter.
A pantry staple, noodles are ready in a flash. Here are six different recipes, all ready in under 30 minutes.
Here are 14 fresh takes on these small saltwater clams, from a hearty red mullet bouillabaisse to grilled pancetta scallop canapes and a Vietnamese glass noodle soup.
Sokyo's Chase Kojima's new project is something completely new.
Ready for spring? Take inspiration from last year's most popular salads, roasts and more that make the most of seasonal produce.
These dozen tales depict divergent lives in food. Swerve from a fast and furious account of a drug-addled line cook, to a fragrant memoir about living and cooking in China.
What brings people together more than tequila? Tequila, tacos and cake.
Make this summer the season of Michelin-starred grilling, thanks to Heston Blumenthal’s new range of barbecues.
Kensington, hold onto your hats.
You may think you don't like offal, but what's that chicken skin on your plate? Fergus Henderson prods the wobbly bits and shows us just why the organs are vital.
"Do not be afraid of your cooking," a wise man once wrote, and I
think the same could be said of your eating. I have something of a
reputation as a nose-to-tail man, an avowed eater of offal. But it
saddens me to see offal treated as a culinary dare or grim penance.
I don't want you to try offal because it's morally important to eat
the whole beast (though that is certainly a very good reason). I
want you to try it because I think you'll like it, and because, to
quote that same wise man, there is a set of delights - textural and
flavoursome - that lie beyond the fillet. No gel or foam can come
close to the mystery and magic of a meaty, giving piece of nicely
So let me take you by the hand and gently lead you into the world of innards and extremities. In fact, I think you might already be part of the way down the path, even if you think you're relatively innocent of such things. Roast a chicken and what are the first parts everyone goes for? The crisp skin and the nutty, sticky wings. Skin and wings: offal and offal.
Chewing the cud would appear to be the perfect exercise for an ox cheek destined for the pot; braised gently, the fat and muscle break down to a giving plate of joy submissive to the fork. Ox tongue, brined and gently boiled, deserves a prize for the best-behaved organ. It knows no bounds in culinary uses: thinly sliced, it is quietly devastating - especially in a tomato and mustard sandwich.
Now to the kidney, surrounded by suet. If you manage to get a
calf's or lamb's kidney in this pristine state, simply roast it
with plenty of salt. Freed of its fat, membrane and sinew, you no
longer have an organ of elimination but a gleaming jewel.
Roast bones are reluctant to give up their marrow (tools and a wee wrestle are required), but once the rich content is freed, spread on toast and sprinkled with salt, it'll bring anyone back from the edge.
The trotter is a vital thing. Vital from the pig's perspective because it stands on them, but vital to cooks, too. At St John we make what I call trotter gear, a jelly of cooked-down trotters and other goodness salvaged from the foot. It's a wobbly magic potion with untold uses in the kitchen. Rabbit, squirrel and guinea fowl benefit from its unctuous potential. A game pie, too, is one of trotter gear's finest moments, but whatever the meat, the gear will soothe and counsel it though the sometimes traumatic heating experience.
Oxtail you should be familiar with, but let's not overlook the tail of the pig. Kids love them. I love them. Texturally speaking, they represent the perfect midway point on the beast, the purgatory, if you will, between fat and flesh. Breadcrumb and deep-fry your oven-poached tails, and stand well back - they spit.
There's something reassuring, meanwhile, about a salted pig's liver hanging in an airy room. Thinly sliced and fried with a splash of vinegar to just soften, it's just the thing to add to a salad of boiled eggs and radishes. Not far away, physiologically speaking, we have the spleen. The spleen's been the victim of some bad PR what with all the venting, but in addition to being a bit of a romantic (swelling, as it does, when one is in love), it also makes for good eating. Rolled in bacon and sage, poached, and then served cold with raw onion and pickles, it's a joy.
Now imagine biting into something that goes "crunch!", and then gives. It's not a chocolate truffle, but a lightly poached and lightly breadcrumbed calf's brain - a cheeky fried cloud of deliciousness.
Brains are relatively easy to get, but fresh blood can be tricky. Whenever we come by some we make blood cake, a blood sausage cooked in a loaf tin, sliced, fried in duck fat and served with a fried egg on top. A little secret: rather than the little cubes of back-fat you'd traditionally put through a blood-pudding mix, we use little bits of gently cooked pig's head. It produces a far more giving result.
And, yes, I haven't yet mentioned tripe. I didn't want to lose you too soon - even now it seems to put a tremble through even the bravest tummies. So rather than a dish, I want to leave you with an idea: good tripe can achieve that rare culinary feat - the moment when food steadies and uplifts at the same time.
Thank you for indulging me in this offal odyssey. I'd best give you your hand back now before you start to worry about what I might have planned for it.
Sign up to receive the latest food, travel and dining news direct from Gourmet Traveller headquarters.
Sign up to receive the latest food, travel and dining news direct from Gourmet Traveller headquarters.×