Butter? Melted into warm balsamic vinegar?
Please don’t play with me, God. Don’t take me to the gates of paradise, only to laugh in my greedy, salivating chops.
This is a partnership I dared not imagine but it consummated in my large intestine last night and I’m glad for the experience.
I had the same frisson of joyous presentiment the studio bosses must have felt when the news of Brangelina broke: two things of beauty, joined in one glorious unity.
Making one big mass of outrageous tremendousness.
The great thing about American recipes is they use cups to measure with, so you don’t have to pretend the grams and litres and ounces mean anything more to you than when you weren’t concentrating in maths at school. You just take out your nesting cups and un-nest them.
The bad thing about American recipes is that when you get back to living in U.K. you don’t know how to translate things back and forth and all your cakes die miserable, inconspicuous deaths from uncertain causes.
Don’t commit balsamicide with this recipe.
Go and buy the magic Uncle Sam measurers and knock it in the back of the net:
- Chicken wings, pork ribs, any goddam animal that will surrender a part of itself*
- Covered in the gloopy mass that results from the 12 minute simmering of 3/4 cup of balsamic vinegar, 1/4 soy sauce, 2 teaspoons of sugar, removed from the heat and stirred through with 1 tablespoon of unsalted butter. What am I saying, salted, unsalted, any butter that is butter and not ican’tbelieveitsnotbuttertypestuff.
*If you are a vegetarian spoon it over celeriac or lick it off John Humphrys.