Hello and welcome to The Big Night In. We talk recipes, restaurants, and the occasional bit of drivel. If somehow you have slipped into my house and are still not subscribed, don’t worry, we can fix that:
You’re all new here, so let me show you around. Over there (picture: caramel-coloured, leather couch littered with nondescript butter stains) is where we sit with a negroni after a long day.* If you walk past the artwork of a ghost eating cake, you’ll notice the dining table where we discuss roast chicken outcomes & creative ways to cook a vegetable. Lining the corridor are a hundred ways to host a breakfast - because I worked in catering and I know how to lighten your workload. There are more rooms because I’m insatiable and sometimes have garish taste (it’s mine though and I love it, so who cares).
I want you to languish in every stupid (not stupid) corner of this house (newsletter). I want to bring you recipes that are effortlessly cool or not. Recipes that are easy or (sometimes) not. I want to bring you food tidbits - like how to use that last bit of buttermilk in your fridge. I want to give you restaurant recommendations because you should trust me. We won’t limit ourselves to recipes, don’t worry. If I want to write about it, you’ll get to read it - think my recent foray into affordable fashion, writing competitions anyone can (and should) enter, and the occasional wellbeing tip. Don’t worry, it’s mostly a food-focussed newsletter though. If you end up indulging me with a subscription, hand on heart, I won’t lead you astray. I can point you to chewy noodles & soy sauce chicken in Singapore. I can also point you to the best beans in London (Zephyr). And my favourite wine bar for a first date in Auckland (Bar Céleste).
This is not limited to Londoners or Kiwis, I love a spot of travel me, so I have a ton of good recs for all the foodies (do we hate that word?) and the foodie-adjacents. If you indulge this newsletter, I, hand on heart, will lead you to the actually-good, actually-worth-it spots in cities & hillsides alike.
As a chef, and former catering chef, we also host dinners in this apartment, so brace yourself for downloadables (ebooks!) containing grocery lists, how to pre-prepare everything so you can relax and enjoy your night, what you should buy (don’t f*** with homemade spaghetti unless you hate yourself), and maybe a few sneaky dinner party games thrown in there.
It is really, very, painfully important to me that I create recipes & give tips that work for you, the home cook. Not the restaurant chef. Would it be nice to sous vide lamb or dehydrate tomatoes? Sure, but don’t count on a recipe for that. I also don’t want to give you recipes that are untested, and certainly not with steps/ingredients that are unnecessary. I’ve been practicing the power of restraint just for you.
A bit about me: I grew up equally amongst Vietnam, Indonesia, Singapore, and London. I live in New Zealand for now (truly god’s country), but want to get back on a plane at some point soon. I’m, annoyingly, a creative. By that I mean, anything that doesn’t pay well is heady and smells like fun. I was a working, professional chef but I also have a degree in Psychology, went to drama school, and now I’m writing & copywriting (with a few cheffing gigs on the side).
In writing this newsletter, i’m being incredibly indulgent. I’ve had a few moi à moi, me to me, moments in the mirror of late encouraging myself to make it happen. I think we (a collective ‘we’ of people who don’t believe we are good enough to make money doing something off-kilter) see someone ‘doing it better’ and never start. Or start in such a lukewarm manner that it’s doomed from the offset. I am just shy of twenty-bloody-seven. A certified BABY. Sure, if I compare myself to Malala, Florence Pugh, or some young entrepreneur (which I do, and have) then I’m a bit of a soggy tea-towel. I’ll probably continue to feel that way if I don’t write my silly, very enjoyable newsletter though, so here she is. In her first edition. I love love love to clack like horse hooves on a keyboard, and toss vegetables in a big metal bowl. Mostly though, I love the idea of building a community of people. People who want to feel their evening’s are being shot on a 90s camcorder. Who like crunchy radishes, Taylor Swift, and appreciate a scoop of ice cream in a retro glass dish.
For all of you who so patiently sat reading this, I’m going to reward you with a (really good) pasta recipe. I am SO glad you are here, and ready to join me on the sofa for a negroni and our Big Night In.
The Recipe
Nduja Pork & Toasted Fennel Riccia
It’s Nduja (which is pork), with pork mince (which is, funnily enough, also pork). It’s Riccia (a thick-ish, squiggly pasta) but it can also be Mafalde (a thinner, still squiggly pasta), and at a press it can be pretty much any pasta save from orzo or something small like a pastina. I have an effusive gratitude for this sauce, possibly because I don’t need to fold in parmesan to make it work (though, we still hold love and space for carbonara here). It isn’t too spicy for your parents; it is spicy enough for your friends though. The Riccia leaves a satisfying burnt orange trail across your plate (flavour you can see!), and potentially your t-shirt too so choose wisely.
This is the type of pasta that needs a light, peppery, mustardy salad, and a cold glass of wine in tow. This will take you to one of those hot nights from that time you sat outside eating rich, fatty, moreish pastas, and gabbing about anything but work on your trip to Italy, or Waiheke, or Napa (I don’t know, but you’ve had that night, I know you have). It takes me to a cramped table in Lake Como after traversing a clock tower at 10.30pm. No light claims here I’m aware, but my confidence is there and yours should be too.
2 tablespoons of olive oil
400g of pork mince
2 large stalks of celery, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
1 white onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed/minced
1 tablespoon of fennel seeds
1 tablespoon of tomato paste
100g of nduja paste
115mls of white wine
650mls of chicken stock
150mls of cream
1 bay leaf
500g of pasta (riccia/mafalde/tagliatelle)
2 tablespoons of cold butter
Salt & Pepper
Parmesan (for grating on top)
Heat oil in a heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or pot over a medium heat. Add in the pork mince, break it down with a wooden spoon, and brown it off. Then remove the mince, and add the celery, carrot, and onion (this combination of diced vegetables is known as a mirepoix). Add a large pinch of salt and crack of pepper, then stir and sauté until completely softened; this should take about 8-10 minutes. You may have to adjust the heat to keep the mirepoix from burning.
To the pot, add the garlic and fennel seeds and sauté for a further minute. Add the pork mince back in. Add another pinch of salt then add in the tomato paste & nduja for 2 minutes or until the colour deepens.
Add the white wine until it’s completely evaporated. Then add in the stock, cream, and bay leaf. Cook on low for 30-40 minutes until the pork is beautifully tender, and the sauce has reduced to your liking - tasting & seasoning every 10 minutes or so. Add the cold butter and stir it through.
Prepare your pasta to al dente, then stir it through the sauce with a little bit of pasta water to reach your desired consistency. Like a bolognese, it’s a very fatty, rich sauce, which means the pasta does not need to be drowned, only lightly coated.
Serve with parmesan (and salad if you so desire).
Notes
This should be served in the sauce - don’t give people autonomy to freely wield the sauce on top of the pasta. They are wrong, the pasta will be dry, and you are the chef.
The fun thing about cooking is you can experiment! So if you don’t like fennel, remove it. If you like it spicier, add chilli flakes.
If you have any nduja paste leftover, toss potatoes with oil in it the next day, spread it on toast with a fried egg, chuck it in tomato soup before you add the stock, or toss it in with some cabbage or brussel sprouts before roasting them up. Endless possibilities.
*I saw a comment on a video that said people who drink negronis love to tell you they drink negronis. I’m here to confirm this; but it’s a GOOD drink, and we look good drinking it.
Hi friends-who-love-negronis (it’s okay if you don’t), I want to know what you want to see, so drop us a comment here. 🥃