Cheap Wine

Those of you who read my blog regularly will know there are things that I believe in spending money on, and things that I don’t.

For instance, I don’t think you should ever skimp when it comes to: American Apparel tights (yes, I’m obsessed), cardigans, gin, lingerie, perfume, and tea.

But, you can, and should, expect to economise on the following: handbags, shoes, costume jewellery, socks, sunglasses, and wine.

As the title of this post indicates, it is cheap wine with which I am concerned at present. I can, grudgingly, see the point in spending a couple more dollars on a bottle of wine that’s intended for drinking, particularly if the bottle is pretty and it’s a thanks-for-having-me present. There is no place, though, in my reality, for using expensive wine in cooking. Nor do I believe in blaming the wine if your bolognaise or bourguignon doesn’t turn out as well as you had hoped. You are the cook, you wield the wooden spoon, and, as such, it’s up to you, and not the ingredients, to make your food work.

This sounds a little harsh, but, really, it’s empowering. Too long have our food magazines promoted this ridiculous upper middle class idea of throwing fashionable, expensive 'good quality', pre-prepared ingredients together on a big white plate, and garnishing it with sea salt, as 'cooking'. That’s arranging, not cooking, and I find it hard to take seriously the credentials of a magazine when half of the dishes are of that ilk.

That’s not to say simplicity isn’t a virtue in the kitchen. On the contrary, what I love about cooking is how simple things – flour, water, salt, oil – can be transformed, through care and attention, into something so much greater than the sum of its parts – sourdough bread, for instance, is the result of these four things alone. It’s like Durkheimian mechanical solidarity on a plate, and it’s beautiful.

But back to the cheap wine.

I feel, after the above rant, that it’s only fair I share with you my favourite recipe for alchemically turning that half-used skanky bottle of red lurking at the back of the cupboard into something you can be truly happy to serve to your friends at a dinner party (and eat any leftovers while you do the dishes, listening to Cheap Wine by Cold Chisel, bathing in the sweetness of your irony).

With a little care and attention, and trust in your palette, you can get away with cheap wine. Which is a blessing, really, when you’ve spent all your money on tights (guilty as charged).

Cheap Wine Pears with Walnut Praline

Serves 4 (ish)

For the Pears
4 brown pears, peeled, halved, de-cored
Brown sugar – to start with, about ¼ cup, but you may need extra, depending on the wine
2 bruised cardoman pods
2 cloves
2 star anise
Nutmeg
Vanilla extract
Juice of an orange (and/or a strip of orange peel)
¾ of a bottle of cheap, skanky red wine (I normally have shiraz lying around, but you could use any red you have to hand)

For the Praline
¾ cup of walnuts
1 cup sugar
A little water

1) Preheat oven to 160 degrees.
2) Place the pears, sliced-side up, in a baking dish. Sprinkle with the brown sugar. Add the wine, the spices, vanilla and the orange juice.
3) Bake, turning every half hour or so, until tender. This will largely depend on how firm your pears are. I find that an hour and a half softens even the firmest of pears.
4) While you bake your pears, make the praline. In a small saucepan, place the sugar and a little water – I would probably say a few tablespoons – over a high heat. Boil the sugar and water until thick and amber-coloured.
5) Line a baking tray with baking paper. Spread walnuts out on the baking paper, and carefully pour over the toffee (remember, sugar burns HURT). While the toffee is still liquid, jiggle the sides of the baking paper to ensure that all the walnuts are somehow connected to the great land-mass of toffee. To paraphrase Donne, no walnut is an island. Place in freezer to chill.
6) Check your pears. They should be tender. Remove pears to an oven proof bowl (save time and washing up by using the bowl you intend to serve from) and place the poaching liquid into a small saucepan. Cover the pears with foil and return to the oven (dropped down to 100 degrees) to keep warm. If you are making this dish ahead of time, you can put the pears, at this stage, into the fridge, and just reheat them in a slow oven about a half hour before you want to serve them.
7) Taste test the poaching liquid. It’s here where you need to exercise your palette. Is the sauce too tart? Add some more brown sugar. Is the sauce too tannic? Add some orange zest and vanilla extract (I don’t know why this works but it does). Heat the poaching liquid, taste testing and adjusting regularly, over a high heat until it’s bubbling thickly and has a glassy sheen. Pour into some sort of serving vessel (I like using a dainty little milk jug, juxtaposing the wine-dark sauce, but then I can be a bit twee sometimes), and set aside.
8) By now, the praline should be completely set. Place into a large zip loc bag and bash with a rolling pin until the praline is roughly broken up – you want some power and some chunky toffee-nut pieces. Transfer to a pretty bowl to put on the table, so people can add extra praline to their pears if they so desire, or simply nibble on the chunky toffee-nut pieces as decorum levels take a nose dive (it’s after desert when the truth comes out, I tell you).
9) Serve the pears, sprinkled with a generous amount of praline and drizzled with your dark, rich, cheap wine sauce.