Cold evenings and the case for cooking slowly

By the time January settles in, the garden has gone quiet and the kitchen becomes the warmest room in the house. Slow cooking is the natural response to that. A stew, a casserole or a steamed pudding asks for nothing more complicated than a heavy pan, an afternoon at home and the willingness to leave things alone. In return it fills the house with steam and scent, stretches a modest piece of meat across several meals, and turns the cheapest vegetables of the season into something deeply savoury.

It also suits the British calendar almost perfectly. There is little else to do with a wet Sunday, and the larder is at its best right now: roots sweetened by frost, hardy greens that stand through the cold, stored apples, and the forced rhubarb that arrives from the dark sheds of West Yorkshire in February. Everything that grows stubbornly in poor light rewards a long, gentle cook.

Begin with the meat and a properly hot pan

Almost every good stew starts the same way, and it is the step most often rushed. Dry the meat thoroughly with kitchen paper — wet meat steams rather than browns — then brown it in batches in a wide, heavy casserole with a little dripping or oil. Crowding the pan drops the temperature and you lose the crusty, savoury layer that gives the finished dish its depth. Take your time over this; fifteen minutes of browning is worth an hour of simmering.

Once the meat is out, soften sliced onions, carrots and leeks in the same pan, scraping up the browned bits as they release. Then deglaze: a bottle of brown ale, a glass of dry cider or a splash of stout poured in and reduced by half will do more for flavour than any stock cube. Add stock only to just cover — a stew that swims is a thin stew.

Some cuts to look for at the butcher's counter:

• Beef shin — the finest stewing cut there is, full of gelatin that thickens the gravy as it cooks.
• Braising steak — affordable and reliable, but needs a full two and a half hours to soften.
• Lamb shoulder — bone it out for a hotpot, or leave it on the bone for a Lancashire-style stew with black pudding.
• Pork shoulder or belly — excellent with cider, mustard and a handful of sage.
• Chicken thighs — the only part of the bird that genuinely improves with long cooking.

Layering flavour without spending much

Once the meat is back in the pan, the difference between a decent stew and a memorable one comes down to a few small additions rather than expensive ones.

• Alliums in quantity — onions, leeks, a couple of cloves of garlic, and a spoonful of marmalade or redcurrant jelly to round off the acidity.
• Tomato purée — fried for a minute with the vegetables until it darkens to a brick colour.
• Something deeply savoury — a dash of Worcestershire sauce, a teaspoon of Marmite, or a few dried porcini soaked and chopped.
• Herbs that stand up to long cooking — bay, thyme, rosemary stalks, a pinch of dried mixed herbs. Save the parsley for the end.
• Pearl barley or split peas — a handful thickens the liquor naturally and makes the meal go further.

Dumplings are the traditional finish and take four minutes to mix: 100g self-raising flour, 50g suet, a pinch of salt, a little mustard powder and enough cold water to bring it to a soft dough. Drop spoonfuls on top of the stew for the last twenty-five minutes with the lid on. They will swell and turn fluffy underneath.

Steamed puddings reward the same patience

The sweet side of slow cooking is unfashionable and completely delicious. Buttered pudding basins, pleated greaseproof paper with a foil lid tied on with string, and a pan of water that comes halfway up the side — that is the whole technique. Keep the water topped up with boiling water from the kettle and never let it boil dry.

A syrup sponge takes ninety minutes and costs pennies. Spotted dick, Eve's pudding with sliced Bramleys under a suet crust, and the magnificent Sussex pond pudding with its whole lemon at the centre all come from the same method. Serve them with hot custard, a jug of cream or a spoonful of clotted cream, and accept that nobody will ask for anything lighter afterwards.

Fitting slow cooking into a real week

The practical objection is time, but the answer is simply to cook more than you need. Stews and casseroles taste better on the second day, and they freeze beautifully. Cool them quickly in shallow containers, portion them out, and reheat thoroughly until piping hot all the way through.

An oven set to 140–150°C is ideal for a casserole with the lid on for two to three hours, and it costs little more to cook a steamed pudding alongside it, or a tray of baked apples, or a batch of root vegetables roasted in dripping. A slow cooker set to low for six to eight hours does the same job for anyone out of the house all day.

Finish with a squeeze of lemon, a grind of pepper, plenty of salt and a scatter of fresh herbs. Seasoning at the end, once the liquid has reduced and concentrated, is what makes a slow-cooked dinner taste deliberate rather than merely long. Then shut the curtains, put the pan in the middle of the table, and let the cold evening do what it likes outside.