Ok. Ready? You take all the ingredients, uncooked, and put them into the blender, liquefy, and dinner is ready. That's right, ready. No searing or roasting, steaming or boiling. In fact, I've abandoned cooked food altogether. No longer will I wax lyrical about the virtues of braising. No more posts about smoking meats or searing plump scallops in white-hot pans. I've joined the ranks of Charlie Trotter and will carry the torch of the Raw Food Movement.
Bring on the pounded flaxseed bread. Roll out the shaved radishes and julienned carrots. I'll wear my vague scent of raw garlic with pride, just like the rest of the hippies. Who needs a hamburger when you've got a bulghur patty? Why eat a roast lamb chop when a marinated soy brick is on offer?
No, my friends, there will be no more consumption of deliciously roasted chickens. I will, instead, practice the bizarre form of self flagellation known as Raw Food. Join me, will you, for a platter of grass or sand or something.
While you think about my offer, here is the raw, liquid dinner I promised. It is a classic Spanish soup which is perfect for hot afternoons. I've served is a a cool base for warm, roasted salmon, but it is stellar on its own. 
Gazpacho
750 g tomatoes, cored, blanched, and peeled.
½ spanish onion
500 g red capsicum (bell pepper)
200 g cucumber
1 clove garlic
100 g sourdough bread, crusts removed
2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
¼ cup olive oil
Begin by soaking the bread in the vinegar and enough water to cover for at least 10 minuets. Using a knife, cut all of the skin off of the cucumber; you want pieces of skin about ½ cm thick. Cut ½ of a tomato, ¼ of a capsicum, and the cucumber skin into a fine dice and set aside.
Roughly chop the rest of the vegetables, including the cucumber core. Combine these vegetables with the bread and vinegar in a blender. Puree until there are no chunks remaining. With the blender running, slowly pour in the olive oil. Season and chill in the refrigerator.
Serve the Gazpacho in shallow bowls with the reserved chopped vegetables, and drizzle with a bit of olive oil. I like to add a few dashes of hot sauce.
(One more thing about Charlie Trotter... how can a man who's sir name means “pig's foot” eat only raw food? Seriously.)
I Think That's Raw
All Dried Up
Don't use dried ingredients. That's a rule. No, a commandment. It's been written, in stone, by the cooking gods and woe be unto thee if you choose to ignore, for you invite the wrath of angry, wrathful, vengeful, profane deities upon your head. And you'll have to eat bland food.
Dried herbs, languishing in your cupboard for decades, have all the flavor of year-old lawn clippings. Powdered cheese sauce shouldn't exist in a just world. Dried french onion soup? What the fuck is that?
Look, I'm not suggesting you mill fresh flour every time you want to bake a cake, but perhaps dessicated mint in place of the cool, menthol-scented, fresh stuff is not such a good idea. Sure, just-add-water lifestyles are pretty space-aged. However, I'd rather my anti-gravity rocket scooter to be all advanced and stuff, leave my dinner alone.
So, to recap, dried food bad, fresh food good. No exceptions. None.
Well, maybe a couple exceptions. Some foods actually improve in flavor or texture upon being dried. Both oregano and bay leaves have a more rounded flavor after drying; when fresh they can be overpowering. Perhaps the best examples of a food's flavor benefiting from drying are mushrooms.
While drying most foods can adversely affect their flavor, mushrooms develop a rich, deeply earthy, truly mushroomy smack. Upon re-hydrating they release the most amazing woody aromas. It is not only acceptable, but often preferable to use these mushrooms in place of fresh ones.
In particular I am thinking of porcini. Native to Europe, naturalized in parts of North America, these broad-capped, squat, thick-stemmed mushrooms look not unlike the ones in which the now extinct species Smurfus Nobilis once dwelt. Fresh, they (the mushrooms, that is) are firm and spongy and have a slightly bread-like aroma. Once dried, usually in slices, they magically smell of smoked meats. It only takes about 20 minuets to rehydrate porcini, but I usually let them sit much longer, as it fills the kitchen with delicious bacon aromas.
Not surprisingly, procini go well with bacon. Throw in a rich risotto, some sharp parmesan, and a soft-poached egg and lookout, baby, I'm coming over for dinner. 
Procini and Speck Risotto with a Poached Hen's Egg
When buying dried mushrooms of any kind looks for ones that are in large pieces without holes (evidence of pests).
Speck is a heavily smoked, aged bacon. You can usually by it from smallgoods suppliers in chunks by weight.
Allow a half cup of raw rice per person.
1 cup arborio rice
40 g dried porcini
100 g speck, diced into 1 cm cubes
1 small onion, fine brunios
1 clove garlic, cracked
1 sprig thyme
½ c white wine
50 g parmesean, shaved
2 eggs, room temperature
Place the mushrooms in a medium bowl and cover with boiling water. Allow to sit at least 20 minuets. Drain the porcini, squeezing out any excess moisture. Reserve the mushrooms and the water.
Heat a heavy-bottom sauce pan over medium-low heat. Add a tablespoon of olive oil and gently cook the speck. The aim here is to render out some of the smoky, cured fat, as this will flavor the rest of the dish. Take care not to color or crisp the speck too much. When a significant amount of fat has melted out, increase the heat to medium and add the onion. Cook this gently until the onion is soft and translucent, but not colored. Add the garlic and the sprig of thyme.
In the meantime, heat the mushroom water in a small pot on medium heat until it is nearly boiling. Reduce the heat and hold the temperature just under a simmer. Chop the re-hydrated porcini and set them aside.
Add the rice to the onions. It will turn clear as it absorbs the oil in the pan. Cook it on medium heat, stirring frequently, until the grains begin to turn opaque again. Add the wine and simmer until it is all absorbed.
Now, add a ladle-full of the hot mushroom water to the rice. Stirring constantly, cook until all the liquid is absorbed. Repeat this process several times until all the mushroom water has been absorbed. By this time your rice should nearly be done, soft, no crunch, but with a firm bite. You may (as I did) have to add a couple ladles of hot water or chicken stock if the reserved mushroom water isn't enough to cook the rice completely.
When you judge that the rice needs only one more addition of stock to be finished, Poach the eggs. Place a small saucepan with five to ten centimeters of salted water in it on high heat. When it boils, reduce the heat to the barest of simmers, swirl the water with a spoon forming a lazy vortex in the middle of the pot. Very gently, from as close to the surface of the water as possible, crack one of the eggs into the middle of your whirlpool. Allow it to just simmer for 3 minuets, then remove it with a slotted spoon and drain it on paper towel. Repeat with the other egg.
While the eggs are cooking, finish the risotto. Add the last of the water or stock and toss in the mushrooms. Fish out the thyme and garlic and discard. When the rice has absorbed the liquid, Stir in about half of the cheese. Check for seasoning. Serve with the poached egg resting on top and parmesean shavings sprinkled around.
On Chook
Anthony Bourdain said that chicken (or "chook," in Australian colloquial) is the meat chosen by customers who don't really know what they want. At least, he said something like that; it's been a while since I've read “Kitchen Confidential” and I may have the wording wrong, but the sentiment is spot on.
At any rate, I do not entirely agree. While I may not often order chicken when I go out (I secretly look for both the one: richest, and two: fattiest dishes on the menu and then try to order one of each), I do eat chicken quite frequently. In fact, looking back over my blog, I think chicken features more than any other protein, with the possible exception of pork, but we all know pork is not so much a foodstuff as it is a lifestyle. Livin' the dream, baby, livin' the dream.
Lifestyle choices aside, a good, free range chook is a joy, both to work with, as a chef and to eat, whoever you are. A corn-fed bird is unbelievably moist and flavorful, and the slightly jaundice appearance of its flesh makes me think of happy, fat hens scratching for kernels in the soft sunlight. These types of chickens are delicious and I can't imagine anyone who eats one holding onto the belief that it is a sub-standard, second choice meat. If I ever meet Bourdain, perhaps I'll cook the following for him; I have a feeling the scotch in the recipe will appeal to him. Really, who amongst us doesn't believe this man likes a drink? No hands? No? I thought so. 
Scotch Glazed, Slow Roasted Chicken
1.5 k chicken
Brine
3 L water
125 g salt flakes
100 g honey
1 lemon, halved
1 bay leaf
1 cracked clove garlic
6 whole black peppercorns
Scotch Glaze
200 ml scotch
150 g muscavado sugar
1/8 tsp ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp smoked paprika
Bring all of the brine ingredients to a boil. Stir to dissolve the salt and sugar and then cool to room temperature. Place the chicken in the brine and weigh it down by placing a plate on top of it. Refrigerate for 4 to 6 hours. Remove the bird from the brine, discarding the liquid, and pat it dry. Allow it to come to room temperature. Preheat oven to 150ºC (300ºF).
In the meantime, bring the ingredients for the glaze to a simmer in a small pot. Simmer gently until the mixture has reduced at least by half. It should be a thick syrup.
Lightly pepper the flesh of the chicken. Place it on a rack over a roasting tray with a cup of water in it. Roast the chicken for ½ hour. Remove the bird from the oven and paint the glaze on with a brush. Return to the oven and roast another ½ hour. Repeat the glazing process. The bird will take about 1 ½ - 2 hours to cook. It is done when the juices run clear when you pierce the thigh at the joint. Glaze once more before carving and serve with the sweet and sticky pan juices.
Raindrops on Kittens and Whiskey in Hip Flasks...
Some of my favorite things in and about the kitchen, to list: slow cooking, preserving, duck fat, traditional methods, ageing meat, pic-nics with fine food, sweet spices (vanilla, cinnamon) in savory cooking, pork fat, pork meat, salt, picking meat from bones, grinding spices, rich snacks, hand mixing, and tasting and tasting and tasting. If only it were possible to combine all of these things into some kind of super food/experience. I'm thinking it would be wickedly delicious. I'm thinking of rillettes.
Rillettes evolved as a way to preserve meat by salting it, cooking it until it falls apart, shredding it, and then mixing it with either its own fat or some other rendered animal fat. And that's pretty much how it is still done today. Made properly, rillettes keep for ages; they have a cap of fat that seals them like jar of jam. As with all charcuterie, some people have absolutely mastered the process. However, unlike, say, sausage making, this little bit of food preservation is accessible to everyone.
Be sure to start your rillettes at least a week ahead of your pic-nic (did I mention you are going on a pic-nic?), as they benefit greatly from a bit of time in the fridge. 
Pork Rillettes
750 g pork shoulder, cut into cubes
2 chicken wings
1 garlic clove, peeled
1 shallot, peeled
1 bay leaf
175 ml chicken stock
100 ml white wine
1 tsp quatre épices (see below)
1 cup duck fat
Place the pork into a large dish with a tight-fitting lid. Set the wings on top, and drop the garlic, bay, and shallots, whole, around the sides. Pour the wine and stock over. Sprinkle the whole lot with the tsp of quatre épices and generous amounts of salt and pepper. Cook, covered, in a moderately heated oven for 2- 4 hours – until the meat is falling apart. The key is to not allow the liquid to come to a rapid boil; rather it should “tick” slowly as this will prevent the rendering pork fat from combining with the stock.
Strain the contents of the pot, keeping the liquid and the solids in separate bowls. Allow the meat to cool until you can handle it. Pick the meat from the chicken wings and discard the bones, along with the bay leaf. Using your fingers or a couple of forks, shred the meat and cooked vegetables. You should end up with a fine-grained texture, not a paste.
Using a ladle, transfer to the meat all of the fat that has risen to the top of the reserved cooking liquid. This will (hopefully) be quite a bit. Mix this into the meat, tasting and adjusting seasoning – adding more salt, pepper, and quatre épices as needed. Remember, cold food (you'll eat this cold) needs a bit more seasoning than hot food, so add a pinch more of each than you think necessary.
Sterilize some small ceramic pots or jars or glasses. Divide the warm meat evenly, packing it down and attempting to prevent air bubbles; leave at least 1-2 centimeters of space at the top of each one. Smooth the top and cool in the refrigerator for a couple of hours. When they have cooled, melt the 1 cup of duck fat (just melt, don't heat it beyond that). Pour the duck fat over the top of the meat until it is about ½ a centimeter thick, taking care that no meat protrudes from the fat. Return to the refrigerator and store for at least one week before serving. Wrap them with foil or cling wrap the morning after making them, so they don't take on that “fridge smell.”
Any unopened rillettes will keep for weeks, if not longer.
Be sure to pack pickles, some apple cider, and a giant loaf of sourdough bread in your basket.
Quatre Épices
This traditional spice mixture is widely used in France in potted meats and terrines. Classically, it is made up of four spices: pepper, cloves, ginger, and nutmeg. This is the version I use, perhaps it should be called Cinq Épices.
1 cinnamon stick
6 whole cloves
2 Tbsp black peppercorns
½ nutmeg, grated
3 allspice berries (pimento)
Grind ingredients in a spice mill or mortar and pestle.
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