Why we should be tucking into tongue and turnip

It seems our course is set. Food prices are rising at the fastest rate in more than 40 years, taking the average family’s yearly grocery bill over £5,200 – and there’s no relief in sight. Lord Woolton would be rubbing his hands at a situation so ripe for his ingenuity and optimism – and perhaps his namesake pie and the national loaf might find themselves resuscitated before long. But his 1945 call for ‘a simpler diet’ of bread, potatoes and vegetable oils won’t help much in 2022. According to the Office for National Statistics, ‘low-cost’ everyday staples are seeing the greatest price rises of all, with the average cost increasing by 17 per cent in the past 12 months. Vegetable oil is up by 65 per cent, pasta by 60 per cent and bread by 38 per cent, far outpacing inflation.

Belts will be tightened; braces must be braced. With rents, mortgages, bills, fuel and travel all heading upward in an unbending trajectory, discretionary household spending must go in an equal and opposite direction just to stand still. But as a chef for more than 12 years, I say: bring it on. My kitchen will not be bowed. From where we lie now, heads resting in the gutter, I plan to keep my focus firmly upward, eyes looking up to the stars.

I for one will not be returning to Woolton-era mock duck, carrot scones, war cake or wheatmeal loaf. I will, however, be embracing the cheap, the neglected and the out-of-fashion when shopping for ingredients. We’ve spent the best part of two decades splashing merrily in the blissful upsides of globalisation, and I plan to bring to bear what we cooks have learned, so that joy isn’t lost in this fug.

Wonky veg and frozen foods are one route to traverse, of course, with sales of both on the rise. But I want to make the case for forgotten treasures too: tongue and heart and liver and shin; turnip and beetroot and spuds.

The words ‘sliced boiled tongue’ inspire neither enticement nor anticipation for many, yet our grandparents made delicacies of such simple fare. And now, after decades of travel and TV shows and cookbooks galore, we have the benefit of knowledge from across Europe and Asia and South America in how we prepare such dishes, too.

Turnip tends to be used in this country for animal feed or for bulking out cheap processed soups, but is rather overlooked in other regards. If we peer out from where we stand, though, the French, Canadians, Catalans and Indians have myriad recipes that elevate it to levels that might see us wrestling turnips from sheep and saving them for our own dinner plates.

Add to tongue and turnip neck and hock and root and bean and barley, and drag the whole shopping bag from England to Mexico, China, Sri Lanka and back again, and we can all have a fist full of new recipes drawing on global influences, that allow us to cook lavishly and with panache, using the bits and bobs we’ve spent the best part of 50 years turning our noses up at.

So, in this spirit, below are five recipes utilising some out-of-fashion ingredients that I implore you to consider. I appreciate they won’t be for everyone, and for anyone wanting good British fare that won’t break the bank, I’d encourage grabbing a copy of Fergus Henderson’s Nose to Tail Eating, Jane Grigson’s English Food or Simon Hopkinson and Lindsey Bareham’s Roast Chicken and Other Stories, and seeing what they do with good cheap ingredients.

For those of us, though, who yearn for a little more oompf from our frugal cookery, below we have recipes for Sichuan tongue, Punjabi turnip curry, Baghdadi baharat beef heart and chips, Sri Lankan beetroot curry and Lebanese chicken livers with pomegranate molasses. Happy dining.

Spicy Sichuan beef tongue

The real work here is in preparing the tongue, which will need covering with water in a large pan and bringing to a simmer. After three hours, test with a knife, which should pass through without much resistance. Once the tongue is cool enough to handle, peel the skin from it using the edge of a sharp knife. This is quite easy work when warm and almost impossible when cold, which is worth bearing in mind.

My local butcher will happily get in a tongue when asked, or otherwise, Swaledale will send you one in the post. You can expect to pay about £10-12/kg, which is a fraction of the equivalent of rump steak or similar. As a tongue tends to be about 800g in weight, you’ll likely have some left to slice cold for tongue sandwiches too (which are a joy with plenty of salad cream and crisp lettuce).

Serves 4

– 650g or roughly 1 beef tongue, boiled and peeled as above, cut into ½ cm thick slices

– 2 tbsp good oil, rapeseed or olive

– Pinch fine sea salt

– 6 spring onions run through a few times with a knife

– 1 tbsp Sichuan peppercorns, crushed between your fingers slightly

– 1 tsp dried chilli flakes

– 1 tsp ground cumin

– 2 tbsp rice wine vinegar

– 2 tsp light soy sauce

– 1 tbsp sesame oil

Heat a large shallow pan over medium heat. Add the oil to the pan and once hot, season and then fry the slices of tongue until dark and golden on both sides, about 2-3 minutes per side, removing to a plate to one side once done.

Once all the tongue is browned, add the spring onions and Sichuan peppercorns to the pan, letting them sizzle and sweat in the oil for a minute or so before adding the chilli flakes and cumin. After 30 seconds or so, add the tongue back to the pan with the vinegar, soy sauce and sesame oil. Toss so that the tongue gets coated in all of the delicious sauce, before serving hot from the pan over boiled rice.

If the idea of the tongue makes you squeamish, this dish does also work wonderfully with finely cut minute steak or even slices of aubergine fried until golden brown.

Punjabi turnip curry

Serves 4 with rice and chutneys

– 400g (smallish) turnips, peeled and quartered (or one large turnip cut into 2in pieces)

– 2 tbsp good oil, rapeseed or olive

– 1 onion, peeled and finely sliced

– 1 tsp fine sea salt

– 4 cloves garlic, grated

– 2 tsp ground turmeric

– 1 cinnamon stick

– 2 tsp chilli powder

– 4 green cardamom pods

– 2 tbsp tomato puree

Heat the oil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. Add the turnips and allow to fry on all sides for 2-3 minutes per side and until starting to brown. Add the chopped onion and the salt, stir, reduce the heat, and allow to gently fry together for 6-8 minutes. Next, add the garlic, cook for two minutes, then add the spices, allowing them to cook in the oil and release their scent. Add the tomato puree and cook out for another minute before adding 250ml of water and simmering for 8-10 minutes until the turnips are pleasingly soft and you have a nice saucy curry.

Serve with boiled rice, perhaps a dollop of yoghurt or raita and your favourite chutney.

If turnips really aren't your thing, a similarly simple yet frugal curry could be achieved with potatoes, parsnips, swede or carrots treated in exactly the same way.

Baghdadi baharat beef heart and chips

The real work here is in the making of the spice mix – after that it’s all plain sailing. Ask your butcher to prep and slice your beef heart into 1cm thick slices if you’re not the most confident knife-handler, but from there on in you need to think as though you’re dealing with a nice piece of sirloin or minute steak. If the spice mix seems too much of a palaver, simply season the heart steaks with salt and pepper and flash fry them for a minute a side. Served with chips, horseradish sauce and a good peppery salad, I promise this will challenge steak and chips for top spot in your heart, and for a fraction of the price.

Serves 4

– 800g beef heart, cut into 4-6 x 1cm thick slices

– 4 large baking potatoes, cut into thick chips or wedges, skin left on

– 2 tbsp good oil, rapeseed or olive is fine

– 2 tsp salt

For the spice mix

– 2 tsp black peppercorns

– 1 tsp hot smoked paprika

– 1 tsp chilli powder

– 2 tsp cumin seeds

– 1 tsp turmeric

– 2 tsp coriander seeds

– 1 tsp cloves

– 1 cinnamon stick

– 1 whole nutmeg

– 10 cardamom pods

– 1 tsp ground ginger

Add all of the above to a spice grinder or blender and blitz to a powder. Store in an airtight container and use as needed.

Preheat your oven to 200°C. Add your chips or wedges to a large roasting tray and rub with one tablespoon of oil. Season with a teaspoon of salt and a tablespoon of the spice mix. Make sure the chips sit in a single layer so they can cook and get some colour, as opposed to steaming. Place in the hot oven and cook for 30-40 minutes, tossing every 10 minutes or so.

Once the chips are all but cooked, season your slices of beef heart on either side with the remaining salt and a good pinch of the spice mix.

Get a heavy-bottomed saucepan hot over a medium heat. Add the remaining tablespoon of oil to the pan and once shimmering, carefully lay the seasoned beef heart steaks into the pan and cook for 2 minutes per side, or until nice and golden brown. Remove to a plate and allow to rest while you pull together a green salad and lay the table.

Sri Lankan beetroot curry

This is a pleasingly simple curry, normally served as part of a spread, but more than capable of holding its own with rice and a good chutney or two. Anyone who gets a regular veg box, or who is looking for good filling and cheap veg at the shops, will find themselves with beetroots rattling around the veg drawer at this time of year. Turn to Sri Lanka and let this deceptively simple dish prove any beetroot doubters wrong.

Serves 4 alongside rice and your favourite chutney

– 3 tbsp good oil, rapeseed or olive

– 2 sprigs or 10-12 curry leaves, fresh is best, although dried is fine

– 2 tsp cumin seeds

– 1 red onion, finely sliced

– 6 garlic cloves, crushed

– 2 green chillies, finely chopped

– 800g raw beetroot, peeled and cut into eighths

– 1 tsp fine sea salt

– 1 400ml tin coconut milk

– 1 lime, juiced

– A small handful of coriander leaves, chopped

Heat your oil in a saucepan over a medium heat. Add the curry leaves and cumin seeds and let them crackle for a moment in the oil before adding the sliced onion and sweating for 8-10 minutes until soft and just starting to colour. Add the garlic and green chillies and cook for a minute or two until the scent of garlic fills your kitchen. Add the beetroot, stir to coat with the onions, season with salt, add the coconut milk, pop on a lid and simmer for 15-20 minutes until the beetroot is fully cooked. Finish the curry with the lime juice and chopped coriander, serving alongside rice and a good chutney for a simple supper.

Lebanese chicken livers with pomegranate molasses

This was Stevie Parle’s signature dish at the Dock Kitchen in Ladbroke Grove. Sadly the restaurant has closed, but I crave this meal at this time of year. Lightly spiced, the pomegranate molasses cutting through the richness of the livers, this is a super-quick and dirt cheap weekday lunch, especially once you have a batch of the spice mix made and ready in the cupboard.

Chicken livers are more and more available in butchers' shops and supermarkets, a sign perhaps of the times. The livers will need a simple prep, which is easy enough with a sharp knife, and involves simply separating the livers and removing any white membrane or connective tissue.

Serves 2 as a nice simple lunch

– 300g chicken livers, any white membrane removed

– 2 knobs butter

– Salt

– 2 tbsp pomegranate molasses

– 1 tbsp yoghurt

– 2 flatbreads or pittas, lightly toasted

For the spice mix

– 50g ground coriander

– 40g ground cumin

– 40g ground allspice

– 50g ground cinnamon

– 60g ground black pepper

– 2 tsp ground cloves

– 1 whole nutmeg, crushed

Heat a heavy-bottomed frying pan over a medium heat. Add the butter to the pan and once frothing, arrange your livers in a single layer in the pan, season with a pinch of salt and one teaspoon of the spice mix, and fry for one minute per side, or until golden brown on all sides. Don’t overdo it here, you want the livers pink in the middle.

Once the livers are suitably browned, add the pomegranate molasses to the pan, toss and allow the molasses to reduce slightly before adding a tablespoon of yoghurt, swirling it once or twice, before serving alongside or on top of your flatbread or pitta.