Essex Eating

Shallot Puree

2012-01-24T22:28:00.002Z

There are some recipes that, for the home cook, remain nothing but food porn. Almost impossible to re-create in a domestic kitchen, except for only the truly masochistic or the utterly deranged, they remain exclusively the domain of chefs in the professional restaurant kitchen.

Often, the stumbling block is the lack of some expensive piece of kitchen kit. I’m thinking sous vide and vacuum sealer, siphon and N20 cartridge. Or perhaps it’s just the sheer impossibility of making and storing umpteen different component parts for one dish, in your postage stamp sized domestic fridge.

But that’s not to say these problematic recipes don’t have uses. I often scan through inspiring cookbooks, mentally discarding overly complicated elements and settling on a part of the recipe that’s a bit more do’able.

As was the case with my New Favourite Thing, shallot puree from the recently released Galvin Cookbook De Luxe.
The dish it’s featured as a component in isn’t ridiculously complex, although the recipe does ask for a very specific red wine and uses both chicken stock and chicken jus in the 2 1/2 hour cooking time. The real problem with this dish for me is that it’s a quite a bit of faffing around, when it’s pretty likely I’d be the only one eating it. It’s slow cooked short-rib of beef and ‘E’ is a frigging pescetarian. Bugger.

Forcing the thought of beef short-rib from my mind, the shallot puree element of this dish was a revelation for me. It’s just so bloody nice! I made it out of sheer curiosity, and it just blew me away. Subtly sweet, creamy and flavoured throughout with that sticky golden savoury taste of slow cooked onions. I fell instantly in love and started thinking what I could serve it with.

The Galvins obviously serve it with beef, but as ‘E’ can’t eat that – I thought it might be nice piled with some chargrilled purple sprouting broccoli, sautéed potatoes, garlic and tarragon crumb…and a poached egg – just for the sheer hell of it.

Oh yeah, frigging spot on. It was, even if I say so myself, muchos delicious’osh.

Shallot Puree

60g unsalted butter
300g Shallots, finely sliced
50ml Double Cream
200ml Chicken or Vegetable Stock
Sea Salt and freshly ground white pepper

Melt the butter over a low heat in a pan, and add the shallots. Sweat on the lowest heat for 1 hour until soft and golden brown. Add cream and stock, cook for another 5 mins. Puree in a blender and season to taste.

That’s all there is to it. Almost too simple. I used veg stock, instead of chicken and it was great. Now I’m wondering what else would it go well with.
What do you think?

3 years of Essex Eating!

2012-01-12T17:22:00.003Z

Today is a momentous occasion, a special day indeed. Cup your hand to your ear and listen carefully. Hear that noise? That low murmur from right outside in the street rising in pitch louder and louder until it’s an almost deafening roar of celebration? It’s the sound of a hundred thousand trillion (at least) satisfied readers celebrating the fact that this, the blog I started in January 2009 as a new year resolution is 3 years old! That’s right people, the terrible two’s were so 2011 – it’s trois, trois and frigging trois Happy Birthday to moi!

As is now traditional, I like to celebrate this most sacred of occasions by re-capping on the previous year, the good, the bad and downright Antony Worrall Thompson gorging on stolen Tesco cheese and washing it down with cheap wine from the bottle. So, this was 2011….

Best meal I ate in 2011

Looking back, seems like it was a vintage year for eating in restaurants, I ate out loads and loved (mostly) every minute of it. The absolute highlight had to be finally making it to The Sportsman in March. Proving to be everything I’d heard it was cracked up to be, the lunchtime tasting menu blew me away, in fact it was probably the best meal I’ve ever had.

Saying that, in July I had an absolute belting lunch with Niamh of ‘Eat like a girl’ at Simon Rogan’s London outpost, Roganic. I can’t recommend it enough, such beautiful and interesting food.

November saw a visit to Mark Hix’s Oyster & Fish House in Lyme Regis as part of a Talisker Whisky tasting event. Bloody hell, it was a treat – very British, very seasonal and incredibly elegant, after years of enviously watching other, more financially flush diners tucking into huge tiered platters of seafood, I finally got to experience it myself, unforgettable.

A tasting menu at The Pony & Trap in Chew Magna has to be another contender; entirely confounding any expectations I may have had, this was easily the best meal I’ve eaten in Bristol and one of the best meals I’ve eaten all year.

My recent birthday dinner at Jose Pizarro’s eponymous new Bermondsey restaurant Pizarro was also another incredibly memorable meal, sitting up at the bar and watching the chefs cook right in front of us, whilst Jose himself picked dishes from the menu for us to try was an incredible experience, it goes without saying that the food itself was superb.

Best Dish I cooked at home 2011

I still cook loads, but because of the Montpelier Basement supper club I run with ‘E’, most of the really memorable cooking seems to revolve around that. When I think about it, the daily lunch and dinner cooking seems to have been simplified a bit of late, more quickly thrown together meals using up leftover ingredients.

That said, a fresh Homewood ewe’s curd & blood orange salad with croutons tossed in marmalade was a winner back in February, we served this up to the pupils at a Cheese School event and I was really pleased with how it turned out.

Another Ewe’s curd based dish, but this time a dessert (It’s such an amazing ingredient, equally at home as a savoury or a sweet depending on what you pair it with). Pinched and adapted from a Tom Kitchin recipe, we used the Ewe’s curd in a baked cheesecake mousse; we partnered this with spiced shortbread, butterscotch apple sauce and fresh apple slices. This was the dessert we served when we brought Montpelier Basement to the Coach & Horses pub London back in September.

Apart from that, I particularly liked pigeon breast with pontack (a 17th century, old English elderberry sauce recipe); we fiddled with the available recipes heavily to come up with something we could use right away, without maturing for 7 years! And it turned out really well.

How could I forget Celery ice cream! An absolute winner, subtle, peppery and unusual – I made it as an experiment and it didn’t turn out half bad at all. ‘E’ turned her nose up at it, but we gave samples to some of the guests at ‘The Basement’ and pretty much everyone loved it...so in your face ‘E’! Although, I have to say, the whole concept wasn’t an unequivocal success. For what I originally wanted to partner with it, see below.

Worst Dish I cooked at home 2011

So, there were a few kitchen disasters last year. Returning to the surprisingly excellent celery ice cream, I thought it’d be great served with some kind of hot Stilton dish. I eventually found a recipe for Stilton fritters and I thought this would be just the thing. No. On it’s own, the celery ice cream was lovely, partnered with the hot fritters it tasted like the freakiest, weirdest dessert ever (I envisaged some kind of savoury dish). It just didn’t work at all.

Other memorable kitchen disasters were, with a room full of 18 expectant diners, our first course of Keen’s Cheddar Biscuits (A tried, tested and reliable recipe) inexplicably failing and strangely melting all over the oven into one steaming massive biscuit and leaving us panicked and scrambling to come up with a last second alternative.

Parsnip crisps – how I hate thee. We had all sorts of problems with these, burning them and when finally getting them right, our perfectly crisp and erect examples suddenly going soft (oooer) they were an absolute pain in the arse.

Oh, and finally apologies to everyone at our New Year’s Eve Basement when we filled the room with an acrid burning smell and for the complete absence of pork crackling. In an attempt to crisp it up under the grill, we got sidetracked and forgot about it – setting the whole tray alight.

Best Booze I drank in 2011

I’m all about the food, and often forget to record what I drank with my meal, but every now and again something grabs me by the lapels, gives me a good slapping and makes me sit up and take notice. A bottle of Grüner Veltliner, Soellner Fumburg 2008 at the Pony & Trap in Chew Magna did just that. Amazing stuff.

In general, 2011 seemed to me to be the year I became really aware of natural wine. Friends of ours, F&T are incredibly well informed on the subject, and sampling various bottles with them over the year, and attending an incredibly interesting natural wine dinner at Bell’s Diner has left me convinced as to it’s virtues. Don’t ask me for specific recommendations though, as always I’m guilty of drinking, thinking ‘this is nice’ and then forgetting exactly what it is I drank. Although I very much enjoyed a Spanish Red Natural wine ‘Flos de Pinoso’ whilst eating at Soho’s DuckSoup.

December saw me invited to Ghent as the guest of ‘St Stefanus’ beer (or Augustine as it’s know in Belgium). The trip left me in no doubt that the Belgians know all there is to know about making amazing beer, the ‘blonde’ St Stefanus in particular was a bit spesh, but based on what we ate, they could do with a few pointers on food (mashy prawny fishy croquettes…errrr no!)

Worst Dish I ate out 2011

I’m really struggling here, unlike the previous two years no outright disasters spring to mind. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve eaten some incredibly mediocre food and been disappointed on numerous occasions, but for the life of me I can’t think of anything that was so truly abysmal and utterly, utterly shit that it deserves the ignominy of being recorded here. Either I’m becoming more discerning in my restaurant/dish choice or food in Britain is improving at a phenomenal rate.

Best Dish I ate out in 2011

Loads and loads of contenders here and probably far too many to list, but here goes…

From The Sportsman, a piece of Roast Lamb from Monkshill farm, which was just over the road from the pub, I’d actually seen the cute ickle lambs scampering around in the fields as I arrived. I mused on this whilst eating the cutlet resting against a piece of braised shoulder accompanied by probably the most amazing mint sauce I’ve ever tasted (and which I’ve spent some time trying to replicate – see here).

Next, a dish based around the humble potato, the genius that is Roganic’s Heritage potatoes in onion ashes, lovage and wood sorrel. Easily one of the standout courses in what was a lunch packed with amazing food. I was particularly impressed with the incredible sharp savoury taste of the onion ashes. (Onions, dehydrated and reduced to dust using some kind of cheffy wizardry). Amazing.

‘That’ seafood tower from Hix Oyster and Fish House, a beautifully tiered heap of Dorset seafood Gorgeous lobster, razor clams, oysters, big prawns (quality of life) and mussels. Holy shit, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when this bad boy was plonked in front of me.

The Edwardian gentleman in me (oooer times deux) thought that breakfasting on Devilled Veal Kidneys at Hawksmoor Guildhall was quite possibly one of the most tip-top starts to the day I’ve had all year. Yes indeed Sir.

Pizarro provided Beetroot Cured Salmon, Capers and an Egg Yolk – essentially a kind of Salmon tartar. Breaking the yolk and mixing it through and then taking a bite was a revelation. Very simple and rustic, yet so effective. I absolutely loved it.

Closer to home for the last couple of dishes – Bristol’s Bell’s Diner served up an incredibly elegant Chocolate Millefeuille, Praline, Salted Caramel, Pain au Chocolat which was so beautiful to look at and so meticulously constructed it seemed like a shame to eat it. It tasted every bit as good as it looked and impressed me no end.

Finally, at The Pony & Trap in Chew Magna, Grilled Bone Marrow, Brown Shrimp Butter with Capers, Garlic & Lime and Celeriac Puree (with toast to smear it all on) had me tonguing the bone in the most obscene manner imaginable. It was rustic, imaginative and full of flavour. Amazing.

Weirdest Google searches that have led to my Blog 2011

After whisky eating fish
Food poisoning from Halloumi cheese
Full faggot factory (?)
How to get a table at The Ladbury (I think I may see your problem there).
What food do they eat in Essex?
Spied on a parisian store shelf, a châteauneuf-du-pape that cost a tad too little (very specific)
Recepis for porh cheeks (sic)
Pho soup gas bloating
man eat cheese

Best Recipe book 2011

My favourite cookbook of the year has to be the Hawksmoor cookbook. Like the restaurant it’s superb, very British and slightly eccentric. The recipes, cooking tips and historical background information are fascinating, oh and I also made a little contribution with a tiny bit of recipe testing for it (check out the acknowledgements, I’m in there and so is ‘E’).

Hopping across the channel with regards to cooking style, but not origins (they’re firmly Essex) The Galvin cookbook is also a bit special. I haven’t had my hands on it that long, but have already pinched a couple of ideas and techniques out of it for ‘The Basement’ and they’ve worked really well. I especially like the fact there are explanations for how the dishes work in a restaurant setting and where the cooking can be held and finished off, all really useful.

Strangest thing I ate in 2011

Calves Brain at Racine. Nothing else came close. A French classic, it was actually quite pleasant, until I got to the last forkful and started thinking about what I was eating. My stomach suddenly turned and I came over in a cold sweat.

Must visit restaurants 2011

Ok, first – here’s last years list. Not a bad showing, I managed to make it to the excellent Racine, The Sportsman, Oxford’s Magdalen Arms and Casamia. Once again a whole load of restaurants I wanted to eat at somehow got overlooked for one reason or another.

Anchor and Hope - London
Racine - London
The Sportsman - Whitstable
The Kitchin - Edinburgh
Magdalen Arms – Oxford
Brawn – London
Casamia – Bristol
Dinner by Heston Blumenthal – London
Restaurant Gordon Ramsay at Royal Hospital Road – London
St Johns

So that was then, this is NOW – here’s my personal list of 2012 must visit’s…be interesting to see how many of these I made it to when I look back in January 2013!

The Kitchin – Edinburgh (I will make it there this year)
St Johns – London (How the hell have I never eaten here?)
Brawn – London
Hedone – London
The British Larder – Suffolk
Le Champignon Sauvage – Cheltenham
Restaurant Sat Bains – Nottingham
Dinner by Heston Blumenthal – London
Zucca – London
Wild Honey – London
The Felin Fach Griffin – Brecon

So there you have it, my third year at Essex Eating.

Stay tuned throughout 2012 for another incredibly exciting year of me stuffing myself silly in restaurants, burning and scorching myself in the kitchen, getting drunk throughout, then recording the whole experience right here in my childish drivel style for your enjoyment. I love it.

Mwah Mwah
Dan
x

Pizarro - London

2012-01-09T20:06:00.002Z

One of my favourite new restaurants of 2011 was José, the eponymous sherry and tapas bar located in Bermondsey. Chef and owner, José Pizarro’s no nonsense, fresh and deceptively simple menu absolutely nailed modern Spanish tapas and had food bloggers, restaurant critics and punters alike singing it’s praises, so much so that the place is consistently packed. No bad thing, believe it or not, it adds something to its charm as you can eat perched at the bar, off a barrel top or on any space you can cram yourself into. Muchos authenticas as we often say in Essex.

The end of the year saw sister restaurant, Pizarro open just down the road; bigger, swankier (you can actually sit down) and just a bit more refined, it’s an opening I’d been looking forward to for ages. As it turns out, my birthday was the very opportunity for a visit, and so there I was on a rather frigid December evening, standing with ‘E’ at the bar in a very packed restaurant, sipping some very nice Cava and waiting for a table.

Now, before I write this up I need to make a few things clear. Pizarro was so newly open, that the paint was still wet on the toilet doors. It was late December, a notoriously manic time for any restaurant, packed full of big groups on work nights out etc, and finally ‘E’ had arranged this meal for me as a Birthday treat. Chef José knew we were visiting and we were treated by him as his guests and as such didn’t pay for everything we ate and drank. Which, I’ve tried not to let affect my opinion of the food or the restaurant, but is something that needs to said for the sake of transparency.

After a bit of a wait, this being a no reservation restaurant, we ended up being seated at the bar with front row seats watching the chefs preparing the food right in front of us. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather have been sitting. It’s absolutely fascinating to eat and watch the workings of a kitchen at full tilt dealing with the hectic demands of a packed out restaurant, pure theatre.

As we studied the menu, a small bowl of cauliflower and radishes appeared to nibble at. We decided to let Chef José Pizarro pick out dishes for us, which we mostly shared. This proved to be a wise move, as we got to try a good cross section of the menu and some things we might not have necessarily ordered.

To start, one of the best things I’ve eaten all year, Beetroot Cured Salmon, Capers and an Egg Yolk – essentially a kind of Salmon tartar. We were told to break the yolk and mix it through everything. Frigging amazing. The egg-coated salmon had a silky, fresh creaminess, reminding me, unsurprisingly of breakfast. It was very simple and rustic, yet so effective. Beautiful.

Following this, for me only as ‘E’ is a pescetarian, a half portion of Jamon Iberico Manuel Maldonado. An absolute treat, small wafer thin pieces of melt in the mouth, intensely savoury acorn fed ham. If I had the cash, I could sit and eat a plate of this, washed down with glass after glass of cold fino sherry all day long. My only regret was I stuffed the lot in no time at all.

Artichoke, Cauliflower, Soft Cheese and Walnut was nicely put together, and we certainly enjoyed eating it, but following on from standout dishes like the cured salmon and Iberico ham, it felt a bit overshadowed.

A half portion of the same amazing Croquetas they serve down the road at José. Absolutely beautiful, light, creamy cheesiness containing small pieces of ham and literally melt in the mouth.

Boquerones, Roast Red Peppers and Olives, topped with a soft-boiled egg was another standout dish. The marinated anchovies themselves beautifully subtle and understated combining well with the other flavours Again, simple and rustic but well thought out.

Comedian Stewart Lee has a sketch, where he equates big prawns to quality of life. After eating the big prawns at Pizarro, I can kind of understand why. Cooked on the plancha and served simply with chilli and garlic (and with a plate of Serrano Ham on the side for me – surf and turf style), bloody hell, these were good prawns. If you visit, definitely order these.

As a dish, Butternut squash, Blue Goats Cheese and Almonds didn’t really work as well as it should. The flavours did, massively. The earthy squash, the salty cheese scattered throughout with the sweetness of pomegranate, spot on. But, served in a scooped out baby butternut squash, which seemed to be just a vehicle for the filling and mostly inedible, I felt there just wasn’t enough to actually eat for £6.50. It’s just a couple of mouthfuls really. But, stuffed silly with the same filling, this could be a winner, as it stands, I wouldn’t recommend it. This said, another diner seated nearby demolished the entire plate, so either we were unlucky in that our squash was undercooked or she had the eating tenacity of a mountain goat.

Duck Livers, Capers and Fino however, a resounding thumbs up. With the beautiful, savoury liver flavour and an underlying sweetness from the sherry. It was another superb rustic dish and something I’d definitely order again.

‘E’ tucked into her main of Salt Cod, Potatoes and Vizcaina (a Basque tomato and red pepper sauce). A great chunk of fish sitting on a piquant sauce and crisp fried slices of potato. ‘E’ really liked this, saying it was quite spicy but really well balanced and delicious.

I was by this time stuffed silly and just a bit drunk (it was my birthday after all) Nevertheless, I happily ate a dish of Iberico Pork Cheeks, Olive Oil Mash and Almonds. The cheeks were so soft; they collapsed into meaty shreds at the touch of a fork. It was pure winter comfort food of the sort I like best. Outstanding.

Our main dishes were accompanied by a bowl of chicory and crisp mixed leaf salad, tossed with a really unusual vermouth vinegar and honey dressing. This was apparently complimentary and served with every main course.

Coasting over the finish line, both stuffed to bursting we celebrated with a shared dessert of chocolate, toast and hazelnut ice cream. The chocolate in this case being a quenelle of incredibly rich mousse, combined with the hazelnut and the toast, it reminded us of Nutella chocolate spread – which believe me, is no bad thing. A fantastic light(ish) end to a superb dinner.

I had a bloody good meal at Pizarro, so good in fact, after writing this and remembering what I ate – I’m now gagging to revisit. Apart from the butternut squash dish, everything else we ate was incredible, nothing too fancy or pretentious, exactly as with José down the road, just really good, honest cooking of superb ingredients. The ‘heart on its sleeve’ simplicity that both José and Pizarro exude seemingly so effortlessly is a formula for success that many restaurants strive for but few achieve. Well-done José for doing it again!

Pizarro

194 Bermondsey Street
London
SE1 3UB

http://www.josepizarro.com/restaurants/pizarro

Mishkin's - London

2012-01-06T12:54:00.001Z

When I told ‘E’ that I’d booked a table for my birthday lunch at Mishkin’s, the latest London outpost of Russell Norman and Richard Beatty of Polpo-Spuntino-Polpetto-Da Polpo fame, she was aghast. For one thing, being otherwise engaged, she couldn’t come with me and more importantly, in a departure from the Polpo’esque Italian vibe of the other restaurants, Mishkin’s declares itself as ‘a kind-of Jewish deli with cocktails’. This struck something of a chord, as ‘E’ herself is ‘kind of Jewish and likes cocktails’, who whilst growing up ate most of the menu at her grandmother’s house. To say she was disappointed that she couldn’t come would be an understatement.

So, instead of accompanying me she made herself useful at every opportunity by irritatingly correcting my pronunciation of all the Jewish food and lecturing me at some length….
Which was a complete waste of everyone’s time. I am of course from Essex. I can’t pronounce anything correctly. My monosyllabic estuary accent is stubbornly grafted on to my very soul; so no matter how hard I try ‘Latkes’ will always be ‘LATkaaah’ much to the disgust of ‘E’. Anyway, I digress. I was going, she wasn’t, so there. *Muttley style snigger*

Standing out on the street and admiring the striking black, red and gold retro exterior and then stepping inside it’s immediately obvious that the attention to detail at Mishkin’s is phenomenal, it actually looks like it’s been directly transplanted from New York and replanted in Covent Garden. The black and white chequered floor tiles, the bare brickwork, red leather booths, the lace curtains and the so-awful-it’s-cool 1970’s style wallpaper really are spot on, without it feeling gimmicky and overdone. So, top marks for interior design, but what about the food?

Taking a seat in a booth, it wasn’t long before the somewhat grizzled, motley crew of Neil, Mat and Claire joined me for lunch (just kidding, love you guys).

I’d been told that the chopped chicken liver was particularly good, and yep turns out it was. A generous portion of roughly textured meat with some toasted bread for spreading onto and a pile of cold schmaltzed radish on the side (schmaltz is a Jewish term for rendered chicken fat). I thought it was decent value at £6. The naff ‘granny style’ plate it was served on raised a smile.

Mat ordered a bowl of Cod Cheek Popcorn, scattered with sliced green chillies and presented on an even more outrageous rubbish plate-frilly-doilie combo. I thought this a really good tasty dish, a nice light batter and an interesting use of a relatively underused part of the fish. I liked it a lot.

Neil meanwhile went for Duck Hash, Fried Egg and Liquor. It was tasty enough but nothing remarkable. It is what it is. At £9 I thought the portion size was a bit on the small side.

Claire’s Brick Lane Salt Beef Sandwich was also £9 and I’d say better value than the hash. I’m actually a bit of a salt beef sandwich aficionado, having spent a hellish week serving up hundreds of them, so many in fact it put me off eating them for over a year. This example was really decent actually; one of these and a side dish would make a good lunch. BTW I didn’t get a photo because Claire immediately took a bite before I could get a chance. As you can imagine, I was tres sulky and unimpressed at her sheer impertinence, I mean - how dare she take a bite of her own lunch?

As it was my birthday, and I’m a greedy bastardo, I’d ordered a second dish of Latkes, Smoked Eel, Apple Sauce and Soured Cream. Having absolutely no frame of reference for this, I had no idea if these were good examples of latkes or bad. They were certainly very crispy, so crisp and brittle in fact, whilst eating there was the constant underlying tension caused by the worry that a piece would break off, skittering across the table spattering me with eel and soured cream. This proved to be unfounded in the end, due in no small part to my refined eating skills. Despite perhaps looking a bit messy, this was in fact delicious; I’m quite a fan of eel.

To follow up the cod cheek popcorn, Mat ate a decently constructed radicchio, Stilton, walnut and pear salad, at least that’s what I think it was – I’m going from rubbish memory and perusing the photo. Strangely, it’s not on the menu, maybe it was a daily special. I remember thinking at the time that there seemed to be a generous amount of Stilton scattered through it.

Everyone declined dessert, apart from, unsurprisingly me. Bananas Foster, somehow, I have no idea how, but I actually knew what this was before ordering it. A real retro classic of warm caramelised bananas swimming in a syrupy sauce with a ball of vanilla ice-cream sitting on top. So simple but so frigging amazing. I really, really loved this.

Errrr but what I didn’t love was £5 for a can of London Pride or £4.50 for a can of Red Stripe plonked on the table. The problem with this is, there’s no added value. I look at a can of Red Stripe and know I can buy exactly the same thing at an off license for a quid. Therefore, it really sticks in my craw paying almost 5 times the normal price for it. If it was a pint of draught, then that’s different, you can’t really replicate that at home, but a can of lager for £5? Holy-Moly, my jaw hit the table. Maybe I'm just being naive?

That aside, I really liked Mishkin’s. I had a really nice lunch. As with all the restaurants in the Polpo stable, it’s unusual, a bit hip and cool but it’s also a lot of fun. All credit to Russell and Richard for once again bringing something new to the London dining scene, ‘A kind-of Jewish deli with cocktails’ is an inspired idea. The food is good and the menu incredibly interesting, scanning it now, there are at least a dozen dishes that intrigue me and that I’d love to order. I honestly can’t say that about many restaurant menus.

Mishkin’s

25 Catherine Street
London
WC2B 5JS

Telephone: 020 7240 2078

http://mishkins.co.uk

My five favourite restaurants of 2011

2011-12-16T10:10:00.004Z

Toptable recently asked a selection of food bloggers, including me, to list their top five favourite restaurants of 2011.

I found it surprisingly hard to choose, I’ve eaten in so many fantastic places in the past year, but after much tortured soul searching, childish tantrums and hours spent blankly staring at the wall, I managed to finally cobble together a list of the five places I enjoyed eating at the most in the past year. Of course, it’s a very personal thing, I doubt everyone would agree with my choices, feel free to call me a 'know nothing twat' in the comments – but nevertheless, these were my favourites of 2011

Roganic - London

Simon ‘LeEnclume’ Rogan’s short lease, London outpost. Impossibly beautiful, elegant, delicious and interesting food full of unusual foraged ingredients. I had an amazing lunch here and loved it. Book and go sooner rather than later, in case it does actually vanish when the lease runs out!

José- London

José Pizarro’s Bermondsey tapas and sherry bar is a gem. Authentic, always busy and full of atmosphere. Serving incredible, fresh, rustic and well priced simple food. Squeeze in, and order a glass of Manzanilla and a plate of Pluma Iberica before working through the rest of the menu. It’s all good.

Pony & Trap – Chew Magna

A recent tasting menu at this Michelin starred pub just outside Bristol blew me away. Chef Josh Eggleton’s small charming old boozer serves beautifully judged seasonal food with a British slant. Easily the best meal I’ve eaten in Bristol and ridiculously cheap. Get in quick before they put the prices up!

Hix Oyster & Fish House – Lyme Regis

Mark Hix’s Lyme Regis restaurant is bloody fantastic. Perched on a hill overlooking the sea and serving elegant, simple, British food utilising locally caught seafood and foraged ingredients. I had an absolutely unforgettable meal here and can’t wait to go back.

The Sportsman – Kent

I finally made pilgrimage to the holy grail of pub restaurants this year and holy-moly, was it worth it. The ‘must have’ tasting menu was without a doubt the best meal I’ve eaten all year, in actual fact, quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had, anywhere. Astounding. If you haven’t been yet, make it your No.1 resolution for 2012, you wont regret it.

To see what my fellow food bloggers picked - Head this way.

The Pony & Trap – Chew Magna – Bristol

2011-12-07T21:26:00.002Z

Eating out quite often, as I do, it’s a rare and rather wonderful thing to eat somewhere and be completely taken by surprise by the whole experience. In this case, to be honest, I was less surprised and more absolutely blown away. Last weekend, a meal at The Pony & Trap in Chew Magna, just outside Bristol, massively exceeded any expectation I had and has left me gagging to go back and eat there again.

I first heard of The Pony & Trap pub when it was awarded a Michelin star just over a year ago (Michelin may have it’s faults, but they definitely play a role in bringing some new quality restaurants to the public’s attention). I’ve been wanting to give it a try ever since, but it’s countryside location, around 10 miles south of the city always seemed a bit of a pain in the arse to get to, especially when, like me, you don’t have a car. I was pleasantly surprised to find however, after phoning around taxi firms for a quote, that the cab fare each way from central Bristol was a not entirely ruinous £20 making a visit entirely doable.

Cue headlights briefly illuminating a tree lined, pitch-black country lane, the slow crunch and pop of tires on gravel and the warm friendly glow emanating from within the pub, spilling out of the windows into the car park. The brief murmur of voices and then the sudden quiet, cold, still night air as twin red brake lights silently disappear into the darkness of the lane. ‘E’ and I had arrived.

The Pony & Trap despite it’s Michelin Star is still a proper old country pub; it’s retained the rustic, low ceilinged, timber framed look and it’s all the more impressive for it. It actually feels like you can walk in, and drink a beer at the small bar and wouldn’t feel uncomfortable doing so, despite the fact the vast majority of the pub is undoubtedly laid out for dining.

We’d come to review the pub for the Great British Chefs blog and had decided to try the six course tasting menu. Reading through, it looked superb, full of interesting local ingredients and feeling distinctly British in theme. We ordered a drink, sat down and settled in. It’s not long before an amuse arrived, Cornish Crab, Roast Garlic and Saffron Mayonnaise. A fantastic mouthful of fresh tasting, subtly flavoured white crabmeat, beautifully simple but with a delicious taste which set the tone for the rest of the evening.

Another amuse arrived in a small verrine glass containing a hot Crab Bisque with olive oil. It was beautiful. Silky smooth and incredibly rich. ‘E’ and I glanced at each other and silently rolled our eyes in a well-rehearsed look that all at once said ‘this is bloody good’ and ‘we’re in for a treat’.

A canapé followed; Pickled Beetroot & Ewe’s curd. Topped with a thin slice of shallot, I counted only three ingredients, so very simple yet absolutely phenomenal as I ate the lot and let the flavours play across my tongue. The curd coating the mouth and then the pickled beetroot and shallot cutting through the creaminess with a tangy sweetness. I recognised the Ewe’s curd as locally made by Tim & Angela Homewood.

Some bread followed, olive foccacia with a choice of homemade butters, anchovy or regular salted. The anchovy butter in particular was lovely, quite subtle and very savoury.

At this point, our first courses arrived. A somewhat unusual take on a Full English Breakfast for me, consisting of soft poached hen’s yolk, hodge-podge (homemade black pudding) fried potato, roasted mushroom jelly, slow roast tomato, tomato compote, pancetta and truffle cream. Got that? Bloody hell, absolute genius. I loved it, the classic English breakfast taken to the extreme with all of the composite flavours intensified. I liked the sheer fun and playfulness of it, using something very British, very familiar and taking a different slant on it. Really impressive and even more so because it tasted amazing.

‘E’ being the pesky pescetarian had an alternative first course of a Blue Cheese Panacotta with Smoked Pear Puree, Celery, Walnuts and Black Fig. Presumably this was equally impressive as she began quietly chanting the mantra ‘Oh my God, I don’t even like blue cheese and figs normally’ repeatedly. Lost in my own pseudo breakfast revelry, it took me a little while to realise she’d repeated the same sentence about 5 times and needed a slight nudge to break her out of the broken record loop. She loved it.

How does Grilled Bone Marrow, Brown Shrimp Butter with Capers, Garlic & Lime and Celeriac Puree (with toast to smear it all on) sound to you? To me it sounded like absolute frigging heaven. I’m pleased to say I wasn’t disappointed. In a genius new take on surf n’turf I gorged myself on the sticky marrow coated prawns muckily smeared all over the accompanying toast and had to restrain a strong urge to tongue the bone. Absolutely filthy, in a good way.

Meanwhile, studiously ignoring my bone tonguing antics across the table, pescetarian ‘E’ ate more or less the same dish minus bone, on toast and was equally impressed.

A small piece of Roasted Hake, atop a bed of chicken stock cream sauce, diced ham, chestnut mushrooms, girolles and tarragon followed. The fish and meaty sauce worked surprisingly well together, a good interesting dish but to be honest, the previous two courses were a hard act to follow and amazingly for me I was starting to get a bit full up.

‘E’ had the same roasted Hake atop a Clam, Saffron and Potato Broth and ploughed through it, declaring it delicious and that she was also starting to get slightly full now.

The waiter had recommended a particular wine to go with this dish, and I make note of it here because it was absolutely spot on, and something I could happily drink all day long ‘Grüner Veltliner, Soellner Fumburg 2008’.

Rabbit made an appearance next, stuffed with poached venison and wrapped with Parma ham. Served with carrot puree, char-grilled purple sprouting broccoli, rabbit liver, heart and a red wine sauce. Bit of a classic this one, very good, nicely cooked. Nice to see the liver and heart on the plate, they have a fantastic flavour. I really was stuffed silly by this point.

Pan Fried Fillet of Cornish Bass with a Haddock Fish Finger and the same carrot puree and char grilled purple sprouting broccoli for ‘E’. She was also nearing ‘full’ on the tank, but still managed to put it all away and once again declare it superb.

Over the brow and racing downhill to dessert, a lovely little light and refreshing bowl of apple sorbet with some granola for texture followed. I liked the cheap plastic seaside style ice cream spoons.

Dessert proper, a Peanut Butter Mousse and Dark Chocolate layered Chocolate Cake with Gingerbread, Gingerbread Ice-Cream and a Sesame Tuille. Very rich, maybe a little too rich as an end to such an epic meal. I particularly liked the gingerbread ice-cream which had an amazing viscous texture.

Finally, coffee served with some chocolate flapjack and rather delicious beetroot pastilles petit four.

So, a bloody incredible tasting menu with some amazing and inventive cooking, by the extremely talented Michelin starred chef, Josh Eggleton. We met him briefly afterwards and he struck me as very genuine and down to earth. A very nice guy who seems mildly surprised that he’s received a Michelin Star. Based on what we ate, he undoubtedly deserves it. This was up there as one of the best meals I’ve eaten all year, and is without a doubt the best meal I’ve eaten anywhere in Bristol. I can’t recommend it enough. Massively impressed. If I had any criticism of the tasting menu at all, and this is hardly a criticism, it’d be too much food! ‘E’ and myself are gluttons of some renown and we struggled near the end. Maybe ditch the bread next time?

A quick mention of the service, obviously in this case they knew I was coming, so it was bound to be attentive. But, nevertheless our rather tall waiter was very impressive. He knew both the wine list and all the dishes on the menu inside out, including the ingredients, suppliers and how they were prepared and struck the perfect pitch between friendly and professional. It’s surprisingly hard to get right and he was bloody good. Bravo.

So bearing all that in mind, how much do you think you’d pay for a tasting menu like that, excluding service and booze?
What if I told you it was £45 each.
That’s right, £45! I think anyone would agree that this is an absolutely ridiculous bargain of the highest order. I also had a quick look through the a la carte menu and the prices are equally bargainous.

All I can say is go, and go quick before they come to their senses and put the prices up.

The Pony & Trap
Chew Magna
Bristol

BS40 8TQ

Telephone: 01275 332627

www.theponyandtrap.co.uk

* This is my first restaurant review as a guest blogger for the Great British Chefs Blog *

Ducksoup Soho - London

2011-11-29T19:02:00.002Z

Newly opened Soho restaurant Ducksoup is the kind of place you only find in big international cities like London, Paris, Rome, Barcelona or New York, in fact, to my mind, it’s kind of an amalgamation of the vibe of eating in all of these cities. The evening I visited it was dark, achingly hip and ramshackle by design, bustling, loud, and seemingly verging on chaotic but the service was actually very controlled. Packed out with all tables and all seats at the bar filled. It has a kind of frenetic buzz about the place, which is exactly the atmosphere many restaurants aspire to but few can necessarily conjure. Perched at the bar with ‘E’, lined up with four more food-loving pals, (Niamh, Sig, Ailbhe & Maunika) I took it all in, and instantly knew that I was going to enjoy this.

A handwritten menu appeared and there seemed to be only one copy of it being passed around the restaurant, from person to person, and table to table. Short and to the point, divided into daily specials, some smaller plates at £3.50 ‘From the bar’ and larger main dishes, priced at either £7 or £14 ‘From the Kitchen’ with the pudding and cheese options admirably concise (two of each) the menu hung together quite well. Which is amazing when you consider that it’s changing every single day, pays no allegiance to any particular countries cooking or style. It’s all over the shop, a mish-mash of classic French, Spanish, British, Middle Eastern, all of it gutsy, full flavoured, and punchy stuff. No pretension, no unnecessary faff, just good honest food.

If all of this wasn’t interesting enough, natural wines feature heavily on the wine list (scrawled onto the tiles behind the bar), which certainly makes for something different on the booze front.

Ordering a brace of smaller dishes to limber us up, and an accompanying bottle of an absolutely superb Spanish red natural wine ‘Flos de Pinoso’ which had an incredible fruity, almost effervescent raspberry like taste, we got started.

Small plates of decent bread and butter kept coming throughout with the rest of the food being placed in front of us as soon as it was ready.

Grilled aubergines with mint & chilli were good, charred and smoky with a decent kick.

A small bowl of salad leaves, pancetta and sourdough croutons were again, good, well made but nothing special.

Smoked Sprats, red onions and crème fraiche, I thought these were OK and I’m not a massive fan of eating small fish, head and all.

A simple artichoke and vinaigrette is always a treat, and this was nicely done.

Braised celery heart. I liked this a lot, it’s not something I’ve ever really tried before, it actually sounds a bit dull and unexciting, but this was a real surprise. Braised in chicken stock with white wine and scattered with crushed hazelnuts. Superb.

So a decent run through the bar menu, a lot of it actually prepared by a chef stationed behind the bar, apart from the braised celery heart, nothing particularly standout, but absolutely no bollocks dropped either, just good solid cooking and a great buzzing atmosphere drinking and catching up with friends.

I’d ordered a couple of the larger £7 plates, Casarecce, duck ragu and Parmesan (I had no idea what Casarecce was and asked, turns out it’s a narrow, twisted and rolled tube pasta shape, perfect for serving with a meat sauce). The duck ragu was beautiful, powerful and intense, packed full of flavour. Exactly what you’d demand from a slow cooked meat sauce. Perfect, I could have eaten another bowl of it actually but then my next dish arrived.

Leaping from Italy, to something with a more Middle Eastern vibe, chargrilled quail with pomegranate molasses and yoghurt was beautifully done, burnt, sticky and sweet. The accompanying chargrilled lemon slice was something of a revelation, still hot and when squeezed over the meat, the almost smoky citrus tang was amazing. Spot on. I picked and pulled at the tiny carcass until just a small mound of gleaming white bones remained as a memorial to its tastiness.

‘E’ meanwhile was frustrated by what proved to be a terrible choice. A whole crab with lemon and mayonnaise, whilst no doubt delicious is not the thing to order when perched on stall at a bar whilst being hemmed in on both side by other diners and jostled by passers by. Frustrated in her attempts to actually eat the thing due lack of manoeuvring room, her countenance all at once displayed sadness, irritableness and extreme hunger.

Taking a moment to consider this tragedy playing out before me, whilst idly patting my own rather full belly happily. I decided that a pudding would be just the ticket.

My crème caramel was actually very good. Simple, well made. Not the best I’ve ever had, but not that far off it. A nice end to the meal.

The only other taker for a pudding was Ailbhe, and her chocolate mousse was apparently good, but I thought £6 was pushing it a bit.

I liked Ducksoup a lot, it’s crowded, manic and a bit chaotic, but as a result, it’s also a lot of fun. The daily changing menu in terms of seasonality and interest is spot on. I love the idea of cooking whatever is available, fresh and great that day and in whatever style seems appropriate. It’s very honest, very ballsy and ultimately makes for very tasty grub. Although some of the dishes were a bit less impressive than others, all of it was of a good quality and some of it was absolutely fantastic. I guess, at the end of the day if you didn’t like what you had one day, go back the next day and it’ll all be different. Ducksoup is certainly offering an interesting alternative to the more formal dining options in the area and I salute them for it.

Ducksoup
41 Dean Street
London
W1D 4PY

Telephone: 020 72874599

http://www.ducksoupsoho.co.uk

Breakfast at Hawksmoor Guildhall - London

2011-11-26T14:43:00.003Z

Breakfast is probably my favourite meal of the day, but it has to be a proper full on breakfast. When I say that, I’m certainly not talking about some worthy, sawdust dry muesli moistened with a dash of skimmed milk or some flaky continental pastry croissant frippery or even that very Teutonic breakfast of sliced salami and cheese on rye bread affair. No. I’m talking about a real cooked breakfast; full of assorted dead pig with a side order of eggs and other accompanying bits and bobs. I really don’t think anyone does it better than us British.

Which brings me to those fine purveyors of all things meaty and British, Hawksmoor, who have recently opened a third London outpost in the City, specifically Guildhall. Located smack bang in the centre of the financial district and unlike either of their other two previous restaurants it’s open at 7am for breakfast.

Hawksmoor have the old school, chop house, dark wood panelled look down to a fine art now and the Guildhall site is no different. The dining room is gorgeous with its curved leather booths; brass fittings and rich wood finishes. It looks like it’s been there for bloody years and it’s almost impossible to imagine the place performing any other function. So it’s something of a testament to the slick restaurant fit-out to hear that the previous incumbents ran a somewhat different operation, indeed ‘City Titties’ certainly weren’t in the pork sausage game, well, at least not in the conventional sense.

But enough about such tawdry matters. Back to breakfasting like kings. I’d asked my fellow Essex chum and food blogger Food Urchin (Danny) to join me. We placed ourselves in one of the rather swanky curved leather booths and relaxed, surveying the dining room. It’s a fantastic space, grand in scale. It’s easy to imagine the movers and shakers of the City doing multi billion pound deals over breakfast. Inspired, I regaled Danny with some of my own impressive deals errr selling cheese (I’m sometimes an artisan cheesemonger in my day job) He looked impressed, or bored, I’m not sure.

After such heady financial chat, we decided on a restorative coffee followed by an even more restorative and rather superb Bloody Mary. Feeling adventurous we both opted for the ‘Number 7’ consisting of horseradish-infused gin, tomato juice, Hawksmoor spice mix and a splash of Meantime London Stout. Holy Moly – that’ll put hairs on your chest, especially at 9am.

As Danny is a greedy bastardo, I barely raised an eyebrow as he ordered rib-eye steak, fried eggs and hash browns. Not to be outdone, and hopefully emphasising the fact that I’m even more of a greedy bastardo, I ordered devilled veal kidneys on toast with a side order of hash browns and with a final killer flourish, a sausage and egg HkMuffin. (Hawksmoor’s tribute to a classic McDonald’s breakfast item, made with top-notch ingredients).

As you’d expect from Hawksmoor, which has a well-deserved reputation for serving some of the best steaks it’s possible to eat in London, Danny’s rib-eye steak was a thing of beauty. Perfectly charred on the outside and cooked medium-rare. I actually felt slightly jealous of his breakfast choice, until I took a bite of my devilled veal kidneys on toast.

Veal kidneys are not something I’d normally consider ordering for breakfast, but a trusted friend had told me this was a superb dish, and she wasn’t wrong. Absolutely fantastic, the kidney’s smothered in devilled sauce were incredibly rich and piquant, soaking into the sourdough toast, amazingly good. I could have easily eaten a bigger portion, that is, if I still didn’t have an HkMuffin and a side order of hash browns to contend with.

Suddenly feeling a little full and also uncharacteristically generous, I offered half of the muffin to Danny, which I’m pleased to say he accepted. It was really bloody good, and the sausage patty consisting of a rare-breed minced menagerie of Tamworth pork shoulder, Blackface Mutton and Longhorn Beef was especially so. When topped with a fried egg and melted Ogleshield cheese, sublime. But, and I’m going to go out on a limb here, priced at £8.50, if I’m truly honest I have to question if it’s worth it. Which probably says more about me than it does about the food. I’m loathe to admit it, but I still have a real soft spot for the dirt-cheap and disgusting Maccy D original. Even though I rarely partake nowadays, just every now and again treating myself, but then feeling somehow deeply ashamed and smelling strongly of egg afterwards. For the most part, the attraction is the price and although I know they can’t possibly be compared in terms of quality of ingredients or the sheer effort that goes into making them, I can’t help but think that I could get four of the originals to one of the luxurious versions. Forgive me. I am from Essex after all.

The Hawksmoor hash browns are fantastic. Standing completely apart from the normal greasy, triangle of cooked potato that passes for a hash brown, pretty much everywhere. In fact, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a proper handmade example anywhere. These were circular, crisp and moist and soft on the inside. Perfect.

If all this wasn’t enough, lets talk about doughnuts. That’s right, Hawksmoor Guildhall do a selection of pastries. The jewel in the crown among these, I had been informed by friends, is the marmalade & custard doughnut. Ordering a plum and a marmalade example each, just for comparison. I’m almost lost for words on how to describe them. The marmalade doughnut crisp and sugared on the outside, full of custard, specked through with vanilla seeds and oozing the intense orange condiment from its innards is pure genius. Truly wonderful. I don’t think the plum example works quite as well, it just doesn’t have that tang to it, but it’s still good.

So, a shirt popping, belly busting, canter through the Hawksmoor Guildhall breakfast menu and it was absolutely superb. If you really want a proper breakfast, a real treat I’d be hard put to think of anywhere that could provide it with such inventiveness, sense of fun and sheer panache, all wrapped up with a nod British culinary history. It really is genuinely superb. Hawksmoor’s previous two restaurants have been London favourites of mine for a long time, and their newest Guildhall restaurant lives up to their considerable reputation admirably. I’ll be amazed if it doesn’t become a city breakfast institution, although even if you don’t work in the city, it’s worth making the trip there just to have breakfast.

*After helping with some recipe testing for their new cookbook, I was invited for breakfast as a guest of Hawksmoor to say thank you.

Hawksmoor Guildhall
10 Basinghall Street
London
EC2V 5BQ

Telephone: 0207 3978120

http://thehawksmoor.com/

The Red Lion Inn - Cricklade

2011-11-13T22:22:00.004Z

A good example of the most British of institutions, a truly decent pub, seems to be an incredibly rare beast to track down nowadays. I’m talking about the almost mythical genuine article, my fantasy pub in fact. An ancient timber framed inn, full of mutton chopped, ruddy faced jovial locals drinking interesting artisan ales with a roaring log fire in the grate. A complete absence of fruit machines, in-your-face alcopop advertising and 50 inch widescreen TVs blaring out Sky Sports 24/7. It could be located anywhere, but the pub of my dreams is in a fairly rural picturesque location, oh and this is incredibly important, it must serve great food produced from fantastic local ingredients. Nothing too fancy, just really decent, hearty, seasonal grub. Definitely not the nuked in the microwave or boiled in the bag ‘Olde English Fayre’ that seems to pass for food in more than a few pubs nowadays.

Quite a lot to ask you may think. But, incredibly I’ve found this pub…it exists.

The Red Lion at Cricklade is pretty much my ideal. Historic ancient inn, log fires, interesting artisan ales, rural location, no fruit machine or widescreen TV in sight and bloody good food produced from local, seasonal ingredients. Points are lost for complete lack of ruddy-faced mutton chopped locals, but you can’t have everything I guess.

I’d had a tip that it was definitely worth a visit, and with my parents over last weekend from the Essex heartland; it sounded like just the place for a spot of lunch.

We arrived and edged our way into in an extremely convivial spot, just off the bar, near to the glowing embers of log fire. Just to underline the fact that we were in the countryside now, the odd dog could be spied here and there, sprawled luxuriously on the carpet close to the feet of their owners.

Settling down, we worked our way through the menus. Being able to order from both the printed restaurant menu and a separate chalkboard bar menu meant a lot of choice. Not that this bothered me, to use a crude yet extremely apt phrase, faced with dual menu action, I was like a dog with two dicks. If all of that wasn’t enough to take in, the pub has also helpfully matched beers with every single dish on the menu. It’s not something I’ve seen before except at The Draft House in London. It’s a really nice touch and something I’d like to see more often. It helps of course that The Red Lion is a freehouse and therefore not tied to any brewery, which means it’s able to provide really interesting beers, ales and ciders not normally available in your average pub. Wild Mallard paired with Stone Oaked Arrogant Bastard (USA) 7.2% 330ml anyone?

I started with a piece of garlic butter toast covered with gold and grey oyster mushrooms and locally foraged wild Pied Bleu. To be honest, every time I’ve ordered anything with wild mushrooms on it, I’ve had to wonder if it’s worth the premium price, the same was true in this case. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice, but at £6.95, it didn’t feel like great value for money. I realise that decent mushrooms are an expensive ingredient and obviously this pushes the price up for the kitchen, but the subtlety of flavour is lost on me. A cheaper portion of something a bit easier to lay your hands on would have been preferable. Writing this, and re-reading the menu, I kicked myself to see that The Red Lion is way ahead of me and do indeed serve fried Portobello mushrooms and garlic on toast at a more reasonable £5, for shroom philistines such as me no doubt.

Around the table, my Dad’s local, organic butternut squash soup was pretty decent, as was the accompanying homemade crusty bread.

My Mum had ordered cold pressed free-range chicken terrine, celeriac coleslaw, wild watercress and truffle oil. This was an altogether more interesting proposition, and I eyed it enviously from across the table with silent pleading until, unnerved she had no choice but to offer me some, it was a really nice starter, tasty, interesting and well put together.

‘E’ meanwhile had ordered from the bar menu a half a pint of prawns, homemade mayo and bread. A really decent portion arrived, they were lovely and fresh, which is all you can ask for really when it comes to seafood. Between mouthfuls, ‘E’ stated that she likes the fiddly nature of shelling prawns as it “slows her down” with regard to wolfing her food.

A main dish of slow roast wild mallard, truffle mashed potato, braised red cabbage and juniper sauce was belting. Everything was cooked just right. Each element was punchy, clearly defined and full of flavour combining to make an absolutely cracking plate of autumnal food. I couldn’t have been happier with it really.

My Dad went for the very British pub staple of sausage and mash, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that at all. Local free-range Gloucester pork sausages, and caramelised onion gravy over a heaped mound of mash. Totally rib sticking, he was more than pleased and stuffed the lot.

Mum had ordered the local free range chicken, ham and leek pie served with buttered hispi cabbage and watercress. Earlier whilst discussing the menu, we speculated beforehand on how it would come. It’s much easier to make pies with just a pastry lid; you just don’t often see a handmade stand-alone fully crust encased pie anymore. Well, what do you know? A fully formed, full-on proper pie arrived and drew gasps of admiration from all assembled. Impressive indeed. It was bloody lovely.

Remember my tasty but expensive mushroom starter? Well ‘E’ had ordered the main version of the same dish. It seems that all the mushrooms I didn’t get, she’d got piled on her plate instead – topped with a poached duck egg. More expensive, but a hell of a lot more worthwhile. ‘E’s only complaint was that the dish could have done with being a bit warmer.

The standout dessert was a chocolate tart served with a strikingly coloured and really unusual beetroot and black pepper ice cream. Beetroot goes really well with chocolate, and the ice cream had a beautiful texture with a pronounced pepper aftertaste.

The other desserts were a bit more traditional, but equally decent; both my Dad and I chose the blackcurrant and apple crumble with custard. Not much to say about this other than it was a good-sized portion and well made.

My Mum’s Baileys Cambridge cream with shortbread was something I’d normally consider a bit naff 80’s purely for the inclusion of the cream liquer. So if you’re going to have something like this on the menu, it has to be good. Happily it was and my Mother was more than pleased with it…. but to be fair, she does love a Baileys.

In conclusion, we had an absolutely belting lunch at The Red Lion, in fact, one of the nicest lunches I’ve had for ages. The county pub atmosphere is so disarming and relaxing and the food and booze so decent, I could have happily spent another few hours there. Actually it was just getting dark as we left. (In fact we could have pushed the boat out and stayed there, they have double rooms on a B&B basis, £75 per night).

The plus points for the Red Lion Inn are many. It’s a lovely old pub, full of character. The food is great and exactly the sort of well cooked, British, rustic pub grub I like to eat. On the back of the menu it states that the pub’s own chefs make the butter and bread. Pretty much all the produce is locally produced (suppliers and mileages are given, with the furthest anything coming from being 20 miles, apart from Cornwall for fish). Free meals are offered in exchange for produce, a bartering system that is incredibly practical and charming. Being a freehouse the booze selection is fantastic and varied and the beer matching is a lovely idea. Not everything was perfect, but the whole experience was definitely greater than the sum of its parts, so perfect enough for me. Overall The Red Lion Inn was so incredibly enchanting and worthwhile that I can’t help but recommend it. Go.

The Red Lion Inn

Cricklade
74 High Street
Wiltshire

SN6 6DD

Telephone: 01793 750776

www.theredlioncricklade.co.uk

Talisker Whisky at Hix Oyster & Fish House

2011-11-07T22:46:00.002Z

A cosy, wood panelled room lit only by the glowing embers of a log fire, lazily cracking and popping in the grate offering a comforting counterpoint to the howling storm outside. There is heavy, solid, antique furniture and prints on the wall, dramatic manly pictures of sailing ships in tumultuous seas and Napoleonic cavalry at the charge. From behind a high wing backed leather Chesterfield, an Aran sweater clad arm slowly appears, in its hand, a crystal glass filled with the rich deep amber liquid of a good single malt.

In an ideal world, that’s how you should be drinking whisky, and I want that chunky knit clad arm to be mine. I want the wood panelled, crackling fire, leather chaired dream. I want to love whisky, I really do, but up till now I don’t love it. The merest sip forces my face to contort into a hideous grimace, lips curled, and teeth bared. It’s hideous. Whisky and I are not friends and I don’t own any Aran jumpers.

But wait. What’s this in my inbox? An invite to a Talisker whisky tasting dinner at Mark Hix’s restaurant in Lyme Regis, with a spot of beach foraging led by Monsieur Hix himself? Hell yes! Sign me up. Perhaps whisky and me can somehow work it out, and if we can’t, we can still have mucho fun trying. With barely a pause, I hurriedly began to pack a selection of suitably rugged knitwear.

And so, here I was, freezing my cods off on an ice cold beach in Lyme Regis, dramatic grey sky and equally grey waves pounding in, providing quite possibly the perfect backdrop to a whisky led event. Briefly introduced to a smiling, windswept, craggy faced Mark Hix the group set off, beach foraging. I have to confess, I didn’t hear or comprehend much, the wind was howling in, it was pissing down with rain, we became strung out along the pebbles with the stalking figure of Hix leading from the front and occasionally stabbing a finger at a noteworthy mystery shrub. Rock Samphire tastes a bit like petrol until it’s cooked was about all I picked up. To be honest as far as foraging lessons, go, it wasn’t pretty, but as a pre-cursor to a slap up dinner matched with whisky? Couldn’t have been better.

Cocktail expert, Nick Strangeway was waiting for us back at the Hix Oyster and Fish restaurant and had knocked up a hot toddy of whisky and sea-buckthorn, which when you’re frozen and soaked to the skin, is ridiculously pleasant to drink. We were also given a couple of nibbles to take the edge off. Deep fried rock samphire, (definitely not tasting of petrol) and a ‘Cobb Egg’ basically a fishy Scotch Egg. Both of which were very bloody nice indeed.

After a brief opportunity to dry off, warm up and change into those all-important chunky knits – we were welcomed back to the restaurant later that evening.

The Lyme Regis outpost of the Hix empire (and the only one outside London) is a fantastic looking restaurant; perched on the hills above the Dorset town’s harbour (or Cobb as us salty sea dogs like to say). The views from the floor to ceiling windows out to sea are superb. Despite the rain and howling wind outside, it has a surprisingly cosy, quite intimate feel.

To start, a glass of 10 year old Talisker. After overcoming my customary involuntary spasm, it kind of grew on me, although saying that the initial burn of the whisky is the hard bit to overcome, whatever flavours are supposed to be present, salt, peat, smoke, to me are hard to pick out because the rasping alcoholic hit is so powerful. Ramsey, the suitably kilted Talisker representative tells us it’s ok to add a splash of water to the whisky, to ‘take the nettle out of it’. After following the advice, I find it’s a hell of a lot more pleasant to drink, softer and mellower. Ramsey regales us with tales of the rather solitary sounding experience of living and working on Skye where the Talisker distillery is located. Apparently it’s impossible to buy underpants on the island.

This pant-less revelation was interrupted by the arrival of waiters carrying The Fruits Of The Sea. I’ve often seen fellow diners in restaurants order huge towers of seafood, massive platters with everything piled up on ice. I’ve never actually ordered it myself. It always seems bloody expensive. But here was a waiter depositing a beautifully tiered heap of Dorset seafood right in front of me. Bloody hell. Gorgeous lobster, razor clams, oysters, big prawns (quality of life) and mussels. What a treat. Everyone waded in and it wasn’t long before the whole beautiful thing was a graveyard heap of empty shells and carapace.

Cern Valley red leg partridge on toast with elderberries and wood sorrel followed. The toast smeared with a pate presumably made from the partridge, piled with partridge meat, scattered with elderberries and wood sorrel. It was bloody fantastic. Very rich, very meaty. The elderberries added a lovely sweetness. The wood sorrel was something of a revelation for me; initially quite vegetal it suddenly bursts on the palate with an amazing citrus tang. It’s actually mildly poisonous, but you’d have to eat a load of it to feel any ill effects.

Fillet of Torbay silver mullet with Barra cockles and seashore vegetables, with a side dish of potatoes pretty much polished me off. Absolutely cracking seafood but incredibly filling. Some of the stuff we’d seen growing on the beach whilst foraging made an appearance here. Another lovely plate of food.

A glass of Talisker 18 year old now, again – pretty fiery initially, but after the addition a drop of water, pretty damn good. This is probably the nicest of the Talisker whiskies I tried all evening. I only half cringe, and shudder momentarily this time, whilst taking an initial sip.

Whisky and walnut tart with Dorset clotted cream works brilliantly. Rich and moist, displaying a, this time, quiet pleasant, whisky burn tempered by the cool rich velvet of the clotted cream.

Despite being stuffed silly, I still managed to eat my fair share of some local cheeses, Wookey Hole cheddar, Dorset Blue Vinney and Vulscombe (a very fresh tasting young goats cheese).

Finally, some truffles and a glass of 25 year old Talisker. Which is apparently bloody expensive. I’m afraid the save the best till last approach was lost on me, I’d had enough, food and booze. Hot toddies, all the whisky and with the gaps filled generously with some fantastic wines. I just couldn’t drink anymore. (What have you done with Dan? Ed)

So, in the cold light of day, what conclusions can I take from such a fantastic PR led whisky jaunt?

Lyme Regis is beautiful. I’ve never been there before, and I will certainly be back to explore.

Mark Hix’s Oyster and Fish restaurant is bloody fantastic. No doubt about it. It’s exactly the type of food I like to eat. British, seasonal, unfussy using loads of foraged ingredients, beautifully cooked. It was a real treat to eat there, and I’d seriously recommend it to anyone.

Talisker Whisky. As far as whiskies go, it’s undoubtedly good and I have to admire the passion and the dedication that goes into making the product. But whisky and I still don’t fully love each other. I approached this event with the objective of graduating from hating the taste of whisky to full Aran clad jumper appreciation. I didn’t quite make it that far, but the good news is, I no longer detest whisky. I’ve learnt that there’s no snobbery concerning the addition of water to make it a bit more palatable, and the rather fantastic tart proves that it can be a cracking ingredient to cook with. I’m not quite ready for the wood panelled, log fire, leather chair ideal, but after this, it’s certainly one step closer.

Hix Oyster and Fish House
Cobb Road
Lyme Regis
Dorset.
DT7 3JP

Telephone: 01297 446910

http://www.hixoysterandfishhouse.co.uk

Talisker Whisky

I'm in Fire & Knives!

2011-10-21T11:52:00.003+01:00

Just a quick piece of self-publicising-trumpet-that-I-own-blowing, to inform you, the beautiful, intelligent readers of my blog (and any other interested casual passers-by), that I have just had a piece published in the latest edition of the truly excellent and respected independent quarterly food writing magazine ‘Fire & Knives’ issue no.8.

To say I’m absolutely chuffed is an understatement. It looks amazing, and to see my name in print and in such a quality publication as well, is an incredible feeling.

I’ve written about the trials and tribulations of hosting a supper club. Our Bristol based ‘Montpelier Basement’ providing ample inspiration and ammunition. (Shazza, I’m looking at you).

If you fancy getting yourself a copy; and I highly recommend you do, if for no other reason than to experience the glorious heady smell of it’s printed pages (I’m not kidding, the aroma is something else, like glue sniffing for respectable adults) Then you can pick up a copy at good independent bookshops, or you can grab a subscription online here.

A Brilliant Mint Sauce

2011-10-18T20:03:00.004+01:00

So you’ve bought this amazing, incredibly expensive free range, organic piece of lamb. You’ve slow roasted it for hours until it’s just so ridiculously soft and moist that it’s practically falling from the bone. The accompanying roast potatoes are crispy, the vegetables perfect. Your guests are sitting at the table waiting. The expectation is high, but you’re feeling pretty smug. You bring out the lamb joint on a platter, to ‘ooohs’ ‘ahhhhs’ and gasps of appreciation. The beautiful meat enveloped in an invisible wafting cloud of sweet, mouth watering, lambness, silently cloaking your guests in it’s warmth. You carve and serve, savouring this moment. You are amazing. You are ‘The Daddy’…

Cough.
Retch.
SPLATTER.

That’s the sound of your guests, in unison, involuntarily projectile vomiting your beautiful Sunday lamb roast out onto your face, the walls, the table and each other in utter disgust. You look around the table, confused. They’re angry, there’s swearing and pointing, people are getting up and leaving. Your best friend gestures at you angrily as if shaking a handful of coffee beans. You don’t think he wants coffee.

And then slowly, it dawns on you. The awful cheap arse ready-made supermarket mint sauce accompanying your lamb. What a complete and utter fool you’ve been. It all could have been so different if you’d made it yourself.

*Curtain Closes*

Cheer up. I'm going to tell you how to ensure that this sorry, entirely realistic scene never happens to you.

But first, a bit of back-story.
In March this year, I ate at The Sportsman in Seasalter, Kent. Accompanying my lamb cutlet was the best mint sauce I’ve ever tasted. So amazing was it that both ‘E’ and myself sat there, awestruck for a full 5 minutes. Tasting, analyzing and debating just why the hell it tasted so good.

We’ve subsequently served lamb at our ‘Basement’ supper club a few times, and tried to recreate The Sportsman’s mint sauce each time. We think we’ve almost cracked it.
This simple recipe comes in two parts. A base mint sauce, and then a basic stock syrup made using Demerara sugar to sweeten it.

Mint Sauce

Makes 150ml (Easily enough for 6-8 people)

You’ll Need: -

(Base mint sauce)
150ml malt vinegar
Bunch of fresh mint
2 heaped tablespoons Demerara sugar

(Stock syrup)
Equal quantities of Demerara sugar and water, 200ml of each should do it.

(To Finish)
More fresh mint, finely chopped.

For the base mint sauce, there’s no need to pick or chop the mint, put it in a saucepan and pour over the vinegar. Add the sugar and bring to the boil, cook for a few minutes until the sugar has dissolved. Leave to cool. The mint sprig can be left in. This can be kept in a sealed jar, in the fridge pretty much indefinitely.

Make the stock syrup by bringing the sugar and water to the boil for around 2 minutes, until the sugar has dissolved and it becomes syrupy. You can use this straight away or keep in the fridge for up to 2-3 weeks.

To serve, strain a small pot or jug full of the base mint sauce into a small serving jug. Add a good handful of finely chopped mint and stir well. Add a generous amount of stock syrup, stir and taste. Too sharp? Add more and keep on adding small amounts until it’s exactly how you want it. The Demerara stock syrup adds a caramel note that really makes this mint sauce taste superb.

Finally, serve with your lamb and receive the adulation you so richly deserve.

Ewe’s Curd Cheesecake Mousse, Butterscotch Apple Sauce, Cobnut Crumb & Spiced Shortbread

2011-10-11T14:32:00.002+01:00

This is a dessert we’ve served up at our Bristol based ‘Montpelier Basement’ supper club a few times recently, including our London debut at The Coach & Horses. It seemed to go down incredibly well, so I thought I’d write the recipe up on the blog .

In actual fact it's three recipes combined, stolen from three different chefs; Gordon Ramsay, Tom Kitchin and Jason Atherton. Between them they hold a multitude of Michelin stars but it took our culinary genius to slap the three elements all together in one bowl. So a massive 'in your face' Michelin starred chefs!

Ok first up, the ewe’s curd cheesecake mousse. This is an awesome recipe from Tom Kitchin. He uses Crowdie, which is a Scottish cream cheese. We used Homewood ewe’s curd instead, which is produced locally in Somerset by Tim & Angela Homewood, and is absolutely fantastic.

Cheesecake Mousse
Serves 4

450g Ewe’s Curd
125g Sugar
1 ½ Tbs Flour
1 Tbs Vanilla Extract
Zest of 1 Lemon
1 Egg
1 Egg Yolk

Preheat the oven to 150C. Mix the cheese, sugar, flour, vanilla and lemon zest in a blender until smooth. In a separate jug, mix the egg and egg yolk together, then pour into the blender with the cheese mixture and blend until smooth.

Pour into a 23cm baking dish and cover with foil. Bake for 35-40 minutes until set. (We cooked a much bigger volume, so it took quite a bit longer to set). Allow to cool and then transfer the mixture to a blender, and blitz until smooth. Leave to set in the fridge for at least 1 hour.

The butterscotch apple sauce is a Gordon Ramsay recipe, in fact, a component part of another dessert. It’s incredibly sweet but tastes amazing partnered with the slightly sour cheesecake mousse.

Butterscotch Apple Sauce
Serves 4

1 Large Granny Smith Apple, peeled cored and chopped.
1 Vanilla Pod
100g Caster Sugar, plus 2 Tbsp
100g Unsalted Butter
100ml Double Cream
Put the chopped apple in a small pan and sprinkle over 2 Tbs of water. Slit the vanilla pod and scrape out the seeds, adding them to the pan with 2 Tbs of caster sugar. Stir into the apple and heat until sizzling. Then cover and cook for 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally, until soft and pulpy. Cool then crush to a chunky puree with a fork.

In another saucepan, gently heat the 100g of sugar with a splash of water until melted. Stir occasionally. When clear, raise the heat, stir in the butter and cook to a light caramel. Do not stir at this point or it will become fudge.
Remove from the heat, and cool for 5 minutes before mixing in the cream. Cool to room temperature, before stirring in the apple puree. Refrigerate.

The third component is a Jason Atherton recipe for Spiced Shortbread. We’ve found it works really well, is incredibly simple to make and the spices give it a bit more of an interesting flavour.

Spiced Shortbread

225g Unsalted Butter, cubed and softened. Plus extra to grease tin.
250g Plain Flour
80g Rice Flour
¼ Tsp Salt
½ Tsp Ground Star Anise
¼ Tsp Ground Cinnamon
100g Golden Caster Sugar

Cinnamon Sugar Topping
1 Tsp Ground Cinnamon
1 Tbsp Golden Caster Sugar

Preheat the oven to 150C. Grease a 23cm square baking tin with butter and line it with buttered greaseproof paper, allowing plenty of overhang on opposite sides to act as handles.

Sift the flours, salt, star anise and cinnamon together into a large bowl; set aside. Using a mixer, beat the butter until soft and fluffy. Tip in the sugar and beat for 2 minutes on high speed until creamy. (You can do all this by hand, but it’s hard work!) Add the creamed mixture to the flour and knead together by hand until uniform in texture.
Press evenly into the prepared tin and bake for 1 hour until golden. Leave to cool in the tin for 5 minutes.

For the topping, mix together the cinnamon and the 1 tbsp of sugar in a small bowl.
Carefully lift the shortbread out of the tin (it's extremely fragile at this stage), using the overhanging paper as handles and place on a board. Cut it in half, and then into 1.5cm fingers. Sprinkle with the cinnamon-sugar mix (We also added a bit of leftover ground star anise to this). Place on a baking sheet, spaced apart and bake for another 10 mins to dry out. Transfer to a wire rack to cool and store in an airtight container.

Cobnut Crumbs

We sprinkled the final dish with cobnut crumbs. Basically roasted cobnuts which if you don’t know are like hazelnuts and smell absolutely incredible. Discard the outer husks, use a nutcracker to remove the shell and bake the nuts in a 150C oven for up to an hour, until hard and browned. Cool and then blitz to a crumb texture.

All that’s left to serve is a bit of assembly.

If you’re dexterous and suave, shape the cheesecake mousse into a quenelle and place delicately on the plate. Or if you’re me, dollop some on like a bricklayer shovelling cement. Next to this, add a generous portion of the butterscotch apple sauce. In an extremely cheffy asymmetric style, smugly place your spiced shortbread across the other two components. If you have a moustache, as this stage, you must twiddle it, if not, arch one eyebrow. Slice some apple and fan it out in a pleasingly pretentious fashion. Finally, sprinkle some cobnut crumb over everything.

Bon appétit. Your work here is done.

Hangover Cures

2011-10-04T14:12:00.002+01:00

A few weeks ago, at the Abergavenny food festival, I was in the audience for a talk on the subject of hangover cures held by chefs Fergus Henderson, Shaun Hill and journalist, Chris Hurst.
The cures suggested onstage weren’t a million miles away from my own hard won antidotes, gleaned from many wasted years of trial, much error and scant few conclusions. But then I was gobsmacked, some might say literally. Introduced to something entirely new in my experience, something revelatory. A potential silver bullet for all future suffering caused by a surfeit of alcohol, the cure-all that is a Dr Henderson.

As I entered the theatre, I was handed a small glass of murky, brackish, green and brown liquid, seemingly the contents of a flu sufferer’s hanky, scraped into a glass over ice. The straw protruding from it, obviously functioning as a stake through its foul heart. This revolting looking cocktail, (an unholy combination of the Italian herbal monstrosity Fernet Branca and Crème de menthe), was being touted by Fergus Henderson as the answer to any and all hangovers.

Against my better judgement, I bravely took an exploratory sip. Instantly, I was seven again, at the dinner table being force-fed boiled to death cabbage or sprouts, eyes closed and face contorted into a deathly grimace, lips curled back in the absolute epitome of disgust. But then, a funny thing happened. The shock dissipated, faded away and left behind it a curious green, brown, minted haze tinged with a bizarre almost electrical current of mental alertness. On stage, Fergus likened the feeling to a rebounding ‘ping, ping, ping’ down his chest.

Astounded, I took another sip, and another, amazed to find that I actually liked it and wanted more. The ultimate test of course would be the stupidity/bravery of self-prescribing a Dr Henderson whilst in the throes of a raging hangover. Against my better judgement, I’m seriously tempted and shall report back when I do.

Dr Henderson

If you fancy trying this wonder cure yourself, the ratio for a Dr Henderson is two parts Fernet Branca, to one part Crème de menthe, mixed together with ice.
Good luck.

In the meantime, my own tried and tested hangover cure is thus. If you’re sensible, as soon as you come staggering in, no doubt stinking of kebabs and Sambuca, head to the kitchen and neck a whole pint of water before bed. This one simple action could save you from enduring the whole hangover experience entirely. Obviously a glutton for punishment, I always forget to do this and wake up feeling like death, in which case I follow the next step.

The pint of water you forgot to drink before slumping into bed, combined with 2 Paracetamol is the foundation of the cure. If you’re going to be sick, obviously get this out of the way before, or all your efforts will be wasted. Next you want to lie very still, in a darkened room, softly moaning in agonised self pity. Do this for around an hour until the pills kick in and it all becomes a bit more bearable. Then you can crawl into the bathroom to brush your teeth and have a hot shower. After this, you’ll emerge feeling a hell of a lot better. But you’re not there yet. You need a steaming mug of tea, and a fried bacon and egg sandwich. The greasier the sandwich, the better it works in soaking up alcohol. I have no idea of the science behind this, best not to question it, just accept its absolute rightness with blind faith.
Follow the prescribed steps, and you will feel fantastic and ready, once again to face life and all it’s challenges.

But I should point out, this only works for the standard everyday hangover. Sometimes, and we all do it, we go a little bit bonkers. We push it just that little bit too much, stupidly convinced of our own particular invulnerability to the devil drink. The resulting hangover is nothing short of epic. In cases like this, try and drink the water, and keep down the painkillers. Forget about the shower and brushing your teeth (making it to the bathroom for anything other than copious bouts of vomiting will be beyond you). Bacon and egg sandwiches? Forget it, just the thought will plunge you into a spinning hell of misery and nausea.
Basically, if you were a racehorse, they’d be dragging you out back and putting you out of your misery with a Webley. You’ll just have to lie there, endure and wait for it to wear off.

Obviously, a hangover is a very personal thing. I’d love to hear how you deal with it.

What do you recommend as the best cure for a hangover?
Am I wrong; is there in fact a remedy for an epic ‘pray for death’ hangover?
Have you ever tried a Dr Henderson the morning after? And did it actually help?

Phở - Veggie Vietnamese goodness

2011-09-13T17:02:00.001+01:00

I absolutely love food, every aspect of it. I love reading about it, I love cooking, and I love eating in restaurants. Hushed and rarefied temples to fine dining? Hell yeah! Slutty takeaway grub, pawed at while I’m stumbling along the pavement on the way home bladdered? Tres Je’taime. I love that too…. I love it. I love it all.

And that’s the problem readers…I have too much love to give, far, far…. far too much. Often when I’m left feeling particularly bloated and corpulent after yet another week of loving excess, my thoughts turn to simpler, healthier pleasures.

It’s at these times I change into asymmetric natural robes of my own design that are soft, feather light and flow around my body like silk. I then spend hours in silent contemplation. Afterwards I like to exercise on a bamboo mat in the living room in my own freeform version of Tai Chi (involving lots of forward and backward rolls, slow motion ‘voguing’ with some particularly emotional mime action, all conducted to a custom soundtrack of wind chimes and monkey mating noises)*

As you can probably imagine, getting myself all Zen is extremely tiring and leaves a fella feeling particularly ravenous and sharp-set. What then could be more healthy and filling than a bowl of gorgeous Vietnamese noodle soup, pho?

I adore pho, particularly with slices of beef in it, but as ‘E’ is a pescetarian and…

A) It’s felt like too much like hard work to make a meaty version AND a non-meaty version

B) A non-meat version has to be healthier right? And the whole point is I’m trying to eat healthy here.

I set about throwing together a veggie pho.

I found a recipe online, and bastardised it a bit. The results were bloody good. Admittedly it’s probably not religiously authentic. I wouldn’t really know. I haven’t been to Vietnam. My only experience of eating pho is in the Vietnamese restaurants that line Kingsland Rd in London and in the eponymously named ‘Pho’, the small and rather excellent London and Brighton chain. You just can’t get decent pho at all in Bristol.

But the main thing is that it’s healthy and filling and tastes like it’s actually doing you some real good, cleansing your innards and leaving you both content and virtuous. (Which, lets face it, is a combination of feelings that is generally alien to most of us).

Veggie Pho

Serves 4

The recipe comes in two parts, which sounds more of a pain in the arse than it actually is. First you make the vegetarian broth, and then the second part is just a bit of slicing and assembly, basically slinging it all in a bowl. Start to finish; you can easily have the whole thing on the table in 30 mins. Oh and if you have an Asian grocery shop or supermarket near you, get all the ingredients there – it’ll cost sod all.

Veggie broth

You’ll need:

2 litres water
2 scant level tsp Marigold Veg bouillon (Unless you have 2 litres of decent veg stock knocking around – if so, definitely use that).
3 Tablespoons soy sauce
8 medium garlic cloves, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 small onion, diced
One-thumb size piece of ginger, unpeeled.
Two 3-inch cinnamon sticks
2 star anise
2 large bay leaves

Add water, veg bouillon or stock, soy sauce, garlic, and onion to a large stockpot and bring to a boil over medium heat.

Meanwhile, char the ginger on all sides over an open gas flame or in a small frying pan and add to the stock. (This is a completely new technique to me, not entirely sure what the point is, but suspect it adds a subtle ginger smokiness. The finished broth didn’t taste burnt at all, so just go with it).

Add the cinnamon, star anise, and bay leaves to the broth. Reduce the heat to low. Simmer, partially covered, for 20-25 minutes.

Strain the broth through a fine sieve. Adjust seasonings if necessary. Return to pot and keep hot until ready to use in Pho.

Vegetarian Pho

You’ll Need: -

2 Litres Vietnamese style broth (recipe above)
200g Rice noodles (I like the thicker ribbon type)
2 handfuls bean sprouts
4 Bok Choi – Leaves left whole, stems finely sliced.
1 handful of Basil leaves
1 handful Coriander, coarsely chopped
3 Spring Onions, finely sliced.
3 Tablespoons chopped, roasted, unsalted peanuts.
1 lime, cut into wedges
3 fresh red chilli peppers, sliced into rounds
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Whilst you’re making the Veggie broth in the recipe above, you can cook the noodles. Use the timings on the packet (normally soaked in boiling hot, but off the heat, water for 10 mins or so) drain and divide the noodles among four warmed bowls.

Assemble the soup by placing the bean sprouts, cabbage, greens, basil, coriander, spring onion, and peanuts on top of the noodles.

Ladle the hot broth onto the noodle mixture.

Eat it straightaway, whilst boiling hot. If you like a bit of heat, sling in the chillies. Definitely add a squeeze or two of lime and maybe a dash of soy or fish sauce if you think it needs it, scoff it down and feel that virtuous healthy feeling expand within you.

The great thing about a recipe like this is, it’s so adaptable, you can throw any fresh greens in really – spinach, chard, Savoy cabbage, finely sliced carrot whatever you have knocking around, it doesn’t have to be authentic, as long as it tastes good. Oh, and if you don't care about it being veggie, the following additions would all work well; cooked prawns, cooked shredded chicken or finely sliced roast beef.

*My own design asymmetric natural flowing robes, freeform Tai Chi program and wind chime/monkey shagging soundtrack are all available to purchase. Drop me an email at the usual address for a pricelist.

Best of 'The Basement'

2011-09-08T21:26:00.004+01:00

It’ll come as no surprise to the readers of this blog, that as well as taking photos of pretty much everything I eat in restaurants, I also take photos of the food we cook at The Montpelier Basement, a Bristol supper club I run jointly with ‘E’ (well, photos of most of it, when it’s not too hectic in the kitchen…which, invariably it always is).

Sadly we had to let the official ‘Basement’ photographer go in a recent round of entourage cutbacks, along with the personal manicurist, hairdresser and stylist. (but you’ll be pleased to know we kept the all-important Feng Shui consultant. The upshot of this is we now look like absolute shit, but our dining room is orientated in a way that pleases the gods immensely).

But I was recently struck by the thought that I write a food blog and I hardly ever write about what we’re cooking at the supper club on it, which could be considered something of an oversight perhaps.

So, time to remedy it, with a selection of some of the best things we’ve cooked at ‘The Montpelier Basement’ in the last few months (errr…and that we have pictures of, and were reasonably happy with). Snatched pics in bad light, as we’re trying to frantically get food out to the diners, before it gets cold isn’t a recipe for great snaps, but here goes…in no particular order….

The end of May saw us serving up ‘chilled cucumber & horseradish soup with Cornish crab’ (or Homewood Ewe’s curd for the veggies). Cold soup has never really appealed to me much, but I’ve recently discovered that on a hot balmy evening, there’s nothing more refreshing. I was quite pleased with this, the horseradish giving a surprisingly subtle punch despite loads going in.

A dessert of ‘elderflower posset with deep fried elderflower fritters, drizzled with local St Werburghs honey’ was bloody awesome, even if I do say so myself. The contrast between the cool, fresh, silky posset and the hot, crisp elderflower fritters worked so well. As with anything that’s deep-fried at the supper club, it was incredibly messy churning these out for 18 people with tempura batter alles uber da platz.

‘Cornish smoked haddock fishcakes with watercress and hollandaise’, possibly one of the most substantial fish courses we’ve served up. The smoked haddock was fantastic quality, really subtle procured by our fishmonger Joe at Source in St Nicholas market. Absolutely cracking combined with my favourite sauce of all time, hollandaise (which is always fun to make when you’re making it for a crowd…how much butter!?)

An ‘egg & bacon salad’ was basically a locally sourced take on the classic French dish. ‘Soft boiled pheasant egg with Devonshire dry cured bacon, frissee and sourdough croutons’. Our diners were amazed when we got 18 just soft boiled eggs out of the kitchen in no time at all. To do this we used a cheffy trick of pre-boiling the eggs so they were just underdone, then plunging into iced water to stop the cooking and then refrigerating. To re-heat we plunged them back into boiling water for 30 seconds. We were really pleased with how this turned out, as it’s such a simple dish, but easy to cock up.

‘Braised shoulder of salt marsh lamb with peas, broad beans and potato’. This is a Jason Atherton recipe and is fantastic because most of the preparation is done in advance. The lamb shoulder is braised slowly for hours in a combination of chicken and beef stock, and allowed to cool, then taken out and ripped up, discarding all fat and gristle. The resulting meat is then rolled up into clingfilm cylinders and refrigerated, where it firms up. To serve, it’s cut into portions and fried off last minute. It’s already cooked really, so you’re just re-heating and browning the outside. I think this is a really impressive dish. A sprinkling of chopped rosemary to finish, and that’s it.

The beginning of July and for dessert we served ‘Homewood ewe’s curd cheesecake mousse, Wye Valley raspberries & spiced shortbread’. We pinched the mousse recipe from Tom Kitchin’s cookbook, but used the excellent local artisan produced Homewood Ewes curd to make our own version. It’s almost a deconstructed cheesecake. We were really pleased with this.

The end of July, and this was the vegetarian option, offered instead of the treacle cured salmon, ‘Beetroot mousse, horseradish crème fraiche, pea-shoots and Harts Bakery bread’. A striking colour, horseradish and beetroot are a classic combination and it seemed to go down well.

This is one of my favourite dishes ever, ‘Gloucester Old Spot pork belly, black pudding, gooseberry chutney & potatoes’. It’s another one of those recipes, like the lamb shoulder, where it’s mostly prepared in advance, which is perfect for a supper club. The pork belly is rolled and tied, then braised in stock, removed and laid out flat, it’s then weighted down to press it and refrigerated. To serve, it’s portioned up, and fried to order. We made the gooseberry chutney in advance, the tart sharpness cutting through the fatty pork nicely…. and the potatoes…mashed. The best mash I’ve ever made in fact, sheer silky creaminess, lets just ignore how much butter, full fat milk and double cream went into them. Just to finish it all off, we crumbled some black pudding over the pork.

Another chilled soup, tomato in this case. Ok, technically it’s gazpacho (even more so as it’s Spanish chef Jose Pizzaro's recipe), but as all the ingredients were perfectly in season in England at the time, it’s too bloody good and there were so many fantastic tomatoes around, we had to make it. The recipe is simplicity itself and it astounded me that it tasted so fantastic for seemingly such little work. We used locally grown Radford Mill organic tomatoes, and served it with something else pinched from Tom Kitchin; a dollop of Basil Sorbet (which tasted incredible by the way).

Finally, right up to the most recently held ‘Basement’ one of the best desserts we’ve made, ‘Mirabelle plum & thyme tart with cinnamon ice cream’. The plums were also from Radford Mill and were organic. Plum and thyme went together incredibly well. The cinnamon ice cream was also one of the best we’ve made so far, but it’s always a pain to make enough for 18, as our machine is one of those small, cheap ‘freeze for 24hrs before using’ jobbies, which means much scheduling and planning in order to knock up the required amount.

So, there you have it. Some of the better food we’ve cooked in recent months at The Montpelier Basement (that we have photos of). I’m proud of all it to be honest. To knock 18 of any of those dishes out, from a small domestic kitchen, under pressure, with a room full of expectant guests and no practice run… it's always going to be massive sighs of relief, cheesy grins and back slaps all round, I reckon. At the very least, we haven't poisoned anyone...yet.

P.S.
On Sunday September 25th, we’re bringing the whole Montpelier Basement dog and pony show to London, at Farringdon’s The Coach and Horses pub, for one night only. It’s already fully booked up, but if you fancy being added to the waiting list, or want to come along to any future possible Basement On Tour dates, or any of our regular Bristol ones for that matter, drop us a line at montpelierbsmt@gmail.com and we’ll add you to the mailing list.

The Riding House Café - London

2011-08-29T20:08:00.004+01:00

Good service is absolutely key when you’re running a restaurant. A friendly smile here, a kind word there, some extra attention paid. It can all help to smooth over a multitude of problems. Most people, myself included, can be incredibly forgiving if the service is good or a complaint has been handled professionally and with a bit of charm. To put it bluntly, if I’m handing over my hard earned cash to eat at your restaurant, I expect a friendly welcome and some looking after. I mean, if I really wanted sullen cheerless service, I’d eat ‘E’s food at home, (I'm kidding of course)

Unfortunately, it seems that one member of the front of house staff at the recently opened Riding House Café didn’t get the memo. Our very first impressions upon entering the place were tainted somewhat by an unsmiling, glacial, unwelcoming but oh so trendily attired, fashion model proportioned, lanky greeter, who rubbed his designer stubble and sized us up from a vantage point that seemed to be located somewhere between an arched eyebrow and down his nose.

“Table for two?”

We followed as he pranced and sashayed through the restaurant as if on a catwalk, before gesturing silently to an empty table and tossing two menus onto it without even breaking stride as he continued on, to chat to someone at the bar.

What an absolutely abysmal start.
‘E’ and I looked at each other; eyebrows raised quizzically. We then began an urgent hissed and muttered conversation on how to deal with such awful initial service. We decided against walking straight out, because we were there now, we were hungry and we really wanted to give it a try. The reviews for the most part had been fairly positive and we were curious. But don’t think for one minute that the poor attitude hadn’t been noted. We didn’t like the cut of his jib one little bit.

Looking around us there was no doubting that the restaurant fit out has been done fantastically well. What an absolutely beautiful and interesting looking space. There’d obviously been no expense spared and no detail overlooked. Lovely, and I’d imagine a pretty good place to prop up the bar on a Friday night.

Glancing at the menus, it seems that we’d unwittingly timed our arrival in a sort of ‘menu no-mans land’, not quite lunch and not quite dinner. Only a hand full of the mains were available, and a selection of the menu’s small plates, which is The Riding House Café’s ‘thing’.

Not really fancying any of the available larger dishes, we decided to order a few of the small plates to share. All are priced between £3 and £5 and don’t appear to be influenced by any particular country or cooking style.

A bowl of spicy broad beans were a pretty standard nibble, and priced at £1.50

The bread selection with artichoke puree was far more interesting. The bread was pretty decent and the puree bloody gorgeous. Well worth the £1.50

A bowl of veal and pork sausage, lentils, mustard and sage was pretty good, the mustard sauce was perhaps a bit over salty but I’d have happily paid more money and stuffed a bigger portion of this.

Pipérade, anchovy, basil was a disaster in the offing. Onions, peppers and tomatoes precariously perched on a wafer thin piece of toasted bread, just waiting to crumble and deposit the whole oily mess down your no doubt, white shirt. Happily I ate without incident, the anchovies were nice and fresh and it was pretty decent at £3

Beetroot carpaccio, sheep’s ricotta, merlot vinaigrette. So incredibly simple that I bet the kitchen is slinging these out in their sleep. But, it’s a small plate of decent ingredients that work well together. A scattering of pumpkin seeds added a nice bit of crunch. Yours for £3.

Finally, Atlantic Prawns, lemon and mayonnaise. Not a lot to say really, incredibly simple, unmucked about with, lovely fresh big prawns. Anyone who’s seen comedian Stewart Lee will know that massive prawns equal quality of life, so they get a big thumbs up. A bowl of these were £5

Sadly in this strange limbo time between lunch and dinner, the dessert options seemed to be severely limited to what was proffered by a (much more happier and professional) waitress from beneath a glass dome. Declining a lump of rocky road or a raspberry muffin type thing as just a bit too Starbucks for our liking, we, as the more sordid journalists often say, made our excuses and left…. pausing only momentarily to do the grown up thing and flick V’s in the general direction of the appallingly ignorant front of house model.

The Riding House Café is a fantastic looking restaurant and bar, beautifully and tastefully designed. I loved the look of it.

However, I didn’t love the ‘too cool’ service we received on our visit. It was frigging abysmal and goes a long way in undoing any wish I may have to return or recommend it. But, to be fair, it was just the one guy and if by now he hasn’t learnt to slap on a smile, do his job properly with a modicum of charm and the management is in any way competent, then he’ll have probably been given the boot. Harsh perhaps, but as my old Dad would say, tough titties.

The small plate idea is good, the prices reasonable and the food pretty good. Not setting the world alight, but not dropping any bollocks either. It performs the function of something to eat while you sip your drink in the rather fabulous surroundings admirably. I’ve heard the burgers are good, and if I’m in the area I might pop back to try one of the main dishes, but I probably wouldn’t go out of my way to visit again.

The Riding House Café

43-51 Great Titchfield Street
London
W1W 7PQ

Telephone: 020 7927 0840

http://ridinghousecafe.co.uk

Racine - London

2011-08-25T12:44:00.004+01:00

I’ve wanted to eat at chef Henry Harris’s South Kensington restaurant, Racine for a couple of years now. Notwithstanding the fact that every food blogger and critic in town has eaten there, (and for the most part, rated it highly). Henry is a former apprentice and later sous chef of the legendary Simon Hopkinson. This influence has obviously rubbed off, and Henry is considered a bit of a cooking legend in his own right.

Just to torture me further, on my frequent visits back to London, my route into town often passes Racine, (blurrily viewed through fogged up coach windows). I always resolve that I ‘must’ visit. Well, finally, it is done.

But first a question… where does your comfort level for eating offal lie? I’ve tucked into a few choice bits and pieces over the years, and for the most part am always pleasantly surprised by how tasty these seemingly indigestible animal parts are. Trotters, tripe, sweetbreads, pig’s head in the form of brawn. They’re all good. But for me, the old grey matter, a bit of juicy brain… has always been just a step too far. I’m not sure why, it’s just another part of an animal, as valid to munch on as a rare steak. But it just seems so far removed; almost alien… other people eat them, but not me.

I’d heard that famously Racine served up the Gallic classic, fried calf’s brains with capers and black butter. I imagined what it’d be like to eat. No doubt, a tiny cauliflower like brain. Fried and crisp on the outside, white and creamy on the inside, like an overripe cheese. I imagined biting in, a pop and my mouth suddenly flooded with the creamy unctuous brain, finding the hard twig like brain stem in the middle, pulled from the mouth clean with a flourish, like an empty grape stalk.

Excuse me while I retch.

I just couldn’t imagine brain would be pleasant to eat. But I was intrigued. As is now traditional in matters such as this, I decided to throw the question into the rather lively forum that is Twitter. A couple of immediate ‘Eurgh’s’ and about dozen much more positive replies assuring me that calf’s brain is a real treat. It seems most of the food types I follow have had a nibble in the past, and all had apparently survived the experience relatively unscathed.

No one was more surprised than me when I found that I was slowly coming around to the idea of eating brain. I decided that I’d order it, and have a go. Just so I could say I’d been there, I’d done it and feasted on a bit of thinking matter.

Stepping into Racine feels very much like stepping into a high-end Parisian bistro. The banquette-seating running the length of the room, the immaculately laid tables with crisp white tablecloths, the waiter’s dressed in classic black and white uniform. Happily, the often snooty and distinctly aloof Parisian service ethic hasn’t been replicated and the front of house team was extremely welcoming, friendly and professional. I can think of a few restaurants that could take much needed lessons in front of house service from Racine *cough* Riding House Café *cough*

After ordering some wine and nibbling on bread and beautifully packaged French butter (I’m easily impressed by nice packaging)…my moment finally arrived.

Cometh the hour, cometh the brains. A starter of Calf’s brains, black butter and capers looked much more appetising than I expected. I plunged right in, and took an exploratory forkful. Crisp on the outside, giving way to a slightly soft and subtly flavoured interior, it wasn’t actually bad at all. The capers cut through it nicely giving a much-needed sharpness. I ate away happily…I was eating brains…errr…. yeah…I was eating calf’s brain… munching on flabby brain …chewing…. is it getting hot in here or is it just me?

I started to sweat, and I could feel the bile rising. I stopped and looked at the last forkful sadly. I’d been beaten. No more. Bizarrely perhaps, I could eat brain; even enjoy it, up until the point where I started to think about what I was actually eating, and then I felt nauseous. But the main thing is, despite discovering it’s not for me, I’d given it a go and I can see how other people rate it as a dish. I just can’t get over the whole brain thing. Maybe it’ll be easier next time.

Meanwhile, oblivious to this cerebral drama, ‘E’ was happily consuming a more conventional starter of soft-boiled egg with creamed smoked cod’s roe, from the rather bargainous Prix Fixe menu.

After my self-inflicted brain trauma, I’m happy to say that the rump of lamb was without a doubt the best piece of lamb I’ve ever eaten…. anywhere. It was ridiculously good. Beautifully cooked pink, soft, tender meat. With the accompanying pea puree, runner beans and mint, I could have eaten it all day…and I almost did, the portion size was surprisingly huge. Not that I’m complaining.

‘E’s fillet of mullet, fennel, radish and watercress salad was also a fantastic dish. A superb fennel puree cut through the oiliness of the fish beautifully and combined well with the freshness of the aniseed, peppery kick of the salad. It was so good in fact; we’re planning on having a go replicating it at home.

I’m afraid to say the classic French dessert, Mont Blanc, (chocolate sauce, meringue, cream all topped with chestnut puree), wasn’t a great choice. Incredibly sickly sweet from the off, the meringue was ridiculously tough and chewy; I had trouble breaking it up with a knife and fork, let alone a spoon. Despite it being the first time I've eaten it in a restaurant, I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not supposed to be quite like that. Eventually I gave up for fear of my efforts sending a chocolate covered piece of rock hard meringue skittering off and spattering the white shirt I was wearing.

But, rising triumphant like a phoenix from the ashes of the Mont Blanc, the best crème caramel I’ve ever tasted. Absolute manna from heaven. Squat and firm but with a melting creamy spoonful filling the mouth, subtly coated with bitter sweet caramel. Absolutely beautiful. A classic simple dish, done incredibly well. Tres impressive as we say in Essex.

Racine is a great restaurant. There’s a legend cooking in the kitchen. The set menu is a complete bargain at £17.75 for 3 courses (although I have to point out, I ordered off the standard menu, and my portion of the bill came to £50) And despite not being to my taste, they’re serving up interesting dishes like calf’s brains. Admittedly the Mont Blanc was a bit of a disaster, but this can be easily forgiven when the mullet, lamb and the crème caramel were nothing short of bloody amazing. It obviously deserves its great reputation. I’d happily recommend Racine to anyone.

Racine

239 Brompton Road
London
SW3 2EP

http://www.racine-restaurant.com

Pontack - An Elderberry sauce

2011-08-22T18:59:00.001+01:00

Pontack is a venerable old English sauce that has been knocking around for at least 300 years. A slightly sharp but sweet reduction made from elderberries and spices. It’s the perfect accompaniment to rich gamey meat

It appears to have been first served in London’s Lombard Street in the 17th century. Named after its originator, Monsieur Pontack, proprietor of the eponymous Pontack’s Head Tavern, which according to André Simon was ‘London’s first fashionable eating house’. Jonathan Swift (author of Gulliver’s Travels) "found the wine dear at seven shillings a flagon". Proving perhaps that some things in London remain eternal.

We came across Pontack whilst researching what to serve with pigeon breasts at last weekend’s ‘Montpelier Basement’ (Our Bristol supper club). Elderberries are everywhere around our area right now, and it seemed like the perfect choice.

Famously Pontack is supposed to keep incredibly well, up to seven years in fact, maturing and mellowing with age. This fact is what actually put us off following any of the published recipes…we wanted to use it the next day and we weren’t entirely sure how it would taste after such a comparatively short time.

So, after much umming and ahhhing we ended up making a semi-bastardised recipe of our own, a sort of Pontack’esque elderberry reduction. Success! It was absolutely bloody gorgeous.

Montpelier Basement Pontack

Makes (after being reduced by half to serve) …350ml

You’ll need: -
450ml Water
650g of de-stalked and washed Elderberries
180ml Red Wine Vinegar
200g Golden Caster Sugar
5 Shallots – finely chopped
4 Cloves
4 Allspice berries
¾ Whole Nutmeg – grated
2 tsp cracked black peppercorns
Pinch of salt

First strip and wash your elderberries from the stalks (The stalks are actually slightly toxic, small bits are fine, but don’t leave any large bits in). Dan’s first rule of cooking is ‘don’t poison yourself’…. perhaps you should mutter this gently to yourself as you carry on making the rest of the sauce. By the way, the easiest way to strip the berries is to use a fork. Easy.

Next, put the sugar and red wine vinegar in a pan, and heat gently until the sugar dissolves. Turn up the heat slightly, and boil until it slightly thickens and becomes ‘syrupy’.

Add the water, elderberries, shallots and all the spices. Stir and simmer for 5 mins and strain through a fine sieve.

If using straight away, reduce by half.

If not, pour into a prepared sterilised jar, it should keep for a good while (maybe even seven years…. but seeing as we’ve messed with the recipe, don’t hold us to that!). But, and this is the main thing…. It’s absolutely cracking to use right away, just reduce it a bit before serving… to get it nice, thick and glossy. You’ll only need about a tablespoon per person, so this amount makes about enough for 30 odd portions. Its a perfect accompaniment to game birds and also supposedly very good with liver or kidneys.

The Magdalen Arms - Oxford

2011-08-11T19:17:00.000+01:00

Oxford. The dreaming spires, the Bridge of Sighs, the rarefied heady air of academic excellence. The collective, almost palpable legacy that’s conjured up by some of the finest minds this country has ever produced being educated here. And me, striding purposefully through the grey mist of torrential rain pounding the Oxford pavements, a striking figure absorbing, pondering, head bulgingly intelligent, handsome, yet sensitive. But something is up, my face contorted in agony; tortured by the newly discovered linguistic contortion that Magdalen (to my mind, always literally verbalised as ‘Mag-Da-Len’) is actually pronounced as ‘Mawd-Lin’.
Errr what?

This is of course extremely important. I’m headed to The Magdalen Arms, an Oxford gastro pub with something of an interesting pedigree. The owners having worked at what many consider to be one of the best gastropubs in London, The Anchor & Hope.

Taking over, by all accounts, what used to be a seriously rough old boozer and completely transforming it into a gastropub, The Magdalen Arms opened last year to rave reviews from bloggers and critics alike. Matthew Norman of The Guardian declaring it ‘among the very best of its kind in Britain’. Having read all this at the time, I’d stored it away for when I happened to be visiting Oxford again, and behold, here I was.

The pub itself is only a little way out from the centre, but it seemed a much longer trek when damp and trudging along in the pissing rain with ‘E’ loping along beside me, cursing the distance walked and moaning about the weather in a constant stream of misery. Nevertheless I was excited.

The trouble with reading mounds of positive reviews beforehand is that your expectation level soars ridiculously, so unless you have an almost religious eating experience you’re often left feeling a bit cheated. I am of course aware of this, and try and rein it in a bit, but it’s true to say I was expecting great things.

The pub itself is a pleasant large period corner building, with a surprisingly massive interior; a bar runs the full length of the room with a dining area towards the back. The connection with the Anchor & Hope and Great Queen St obviously extends to the décor style, with walls painted in a striking colour (Plum in this instance) and the battered mismatched furniture, if you’ve ever been to the connected London gastropubs, it all feels very familiar.

The menu could be best described as British with Spanish touches, (Spanglish?) Padron peppers, and tapas plates mingle comfortably with steak pies and bread and butter pudding. Again the A&H influence is evident in the sharing dishes. Sadly, ‘E’s accursed pescatarianism once again wedged firmly into the spokes of my rampant carnivorousness and I could only sadly mouth ‘I want you’ whilst pawing softly at the entry for Hereford Steak & Ale Pie for three-ish to share on the menu.

I’ve tried brawn a few times, and despite being always being slightly repelled at the actual idea of eating a pigs head, when served up, pressed and thinly sliced it doesn’t actually resemble anything remotely head’ish and is actually quite pleasant in a surprisingly subtle way. If you’ve never tried it, do. If only to say you’ve eaten it once. (Which is often my raison d’être when tucking into something a bit strange). The brawn as served at The Magdalen Arms is the best I’ve had. Streaked with a punchy mustard sauce and scattered with capers, sliced shallots and parsley, it was really very good and I happily stuffed the lot in no time.

‘E’ ordered a whole globe artichoke, which came with a bowl of the same mustard sauce for dipping. I’ve never eaten artichoke like this before, plucking off petals and sucking and scraping the leaves to get at the understated vegetal goodness. So simple, but really quite lovely. With ‘E’ going at it industriously, it wasn’t long before the artichoke had become a scrapheap pile of green on the plate.

Considering the bloody awful weather outside, a somewhat autumnal sounding dish of Wild Rabbit, Chorizo Fennel and Puy lentils drizzled with aioli struck a chord, and the real testament to how good this rustic dish tasted, was the plate going back a steaming carcass, utterly devoid of any meat at all, picked so bare and dry it looked like it’d been sitting in the Arizona dessert for years. I absolutely love a nice bit of Thumper, Cottontail or Flopsy. (Word of advice, if you own a rabbit, and I ever come round…hide it).

Crab ravioli and salsa cruda arrived swimming in a bowl of tomato and fish broth and despite eliciting fairly content noises from ‘E’ didn’t really seem to hit the spot like the other dishes had for me. This sudden discordant note in proceedings wasn’t helped by an accompanying side salad that had to be sent back as it was overdressed, smothered in a pungent mustard dressing that overwhelmed everything else.

Despite it being July, the unseasonably dismal weather prompted me to go for something traditional and stodgy (I don’t need much excuse). Warm Marmalade Bread and Butter Pudding encircled by a moat of cream ticked all criteria. A donkey-choking sized portion, so massive it barely fitted into the bowl, I couldn’t help but rise to the challenge and eat it all…. making myself feel absolutely bloated and sick in the process. Disregarding my excesses, it was very good – just a subtle hint of marmalade, not too overpowering.

A warm chocolate pot, topped with cold cream was admirably simple and well made. ‘E’ loves chocolate-based desserts and seemed immensely pleased with this one. So, big thumbs up from her.

Ignoring the fact that I blundered out into the daylight in an almost complete food coma (curse that marmalade pudding), The Magdalen Arms provided a pretty damn good lunch. Expectations met. The overdressed salad and the so-so crab ravioli aside, some of the magic of its London based parent gastropubs has certainly rubbed off here. I think Matthew Normans ‘among the very best of its kind in Britain’ statement is maybe a tad exuberant, but there’s certainly no doubt that it’s very good. The next time I’m in Oxford, I’ll be heading back.

The Magdalen Arms

243 Iffley Road
OX4 1SJ
Telephone: 01865 243159

http://www.magdalenarms.com/

Celery Ice Cream

2011-08-04T11:04:00.002+01:00

If one day, you hooked me up to some brain monitoring equipment. You could be forgiven at first for thinking the equipment was broken. Surveying the absence of any activity on the screen, you’d unplug and re-check every connection again and again, mystified as to what could possibly be wrong. You may eventually, patience stretched to snapping point; exasperated; punch the equipment violently. Meanwhile, I’d look on with a docile expression, serene, with not an actual thought in my head to register a blip, for herein lies the problem. Suddenly, without warning, the screen explodes into a frenzy of activity, you’d glance around at me excitedly to see my countenance, fraught and positively terrified as neurons and synapses frantically engage. I may even howl in distress as a crescendo of activity is reached. And then, as suddenly as it began, a silence that seems to draw out…forever….

I speak.
You’re stunned.

“Celery Ice-Cream”

Every now and again, dull mediocrity is punctuated by genius. That genius is celery ice cream and hot Stilton fritters.
*Needle skids across record*
Ok, not Stilton fritters. I tried making them, I thought they’d partner the ice cream perfectly, they didn’t. At all... So lets just forget I even mentioned that idea.

But celery ice cream standing alone, strong and proud, worked. It was beautiful, creamy, vegetal, and slightly peppery. And, the only recipe I could find for it online was an incredibly cheffy type one, for which you’d need a centrifuge, a team of bespectacled scientists and a chemistry set. Staring at these instructions uncomprehending, I gradually went boss eyed and gave up. Deciding instead to make up my own recipe.

Celery Ice Cream
(Makes about 1 litre)

You’ll Need: -

1 Bunch Celery, washed, trimmed and cut roughly into chunks
250ml Whole Milk
500ml Double Cream
3 Egg Yolks
100g Sugar

In a saucepan, add the celery to the milk and double cream. Bring to the boil. Turn off the heat, and allow to infuse for 1 hour.

Strain into a bowl, discarding the celery but giving it a good squeeze to get all the flavour out.

In another bowl, whisk the egg yolks with the sugar.
Add the celery milk and mix. Return to the pan and over a low heat; stir constantly until it coats the back of a wooden spoon. Don’t allow it to boil, or you’ll end up with scrambled celery eggs.

Remove from the heat, and cool (I use the sink full of cold water and some ice cubes). Continue stirring until its cooled right down.

Put the cool custard into the fridge, with Clingfilm directly covering the surface to stop a skin forming. Leave to rest overnight (I left it for a good day and a half before churning).

Churn in an ice cream maker, until firm, smooth and creamy. Transfer to a plastic tub and freeze until needed. Voila – Celery Ice Cream.

Now, to my mind, the only question is, what goes well with it? Believe me, Stilton fritters definitely don’t. I’ve canvassed opinion amongst friends and colleagues, and suggestions have included a Bloody Mary sorbet, chocolate, more celery in the form of a granita, and a Stilton ice cream.

What do you think?

The Runcible Spoon - Bristol

2011-08-01T18:07:00.000+01:00

Naming a restaurant after an obscure but entirely relevant line in a poem is an extremely clever thing to do. ‘The Runcible Spoon’…it’s just so perfect. (It’s from Edward Lear’s ‘The owl and the pussycat’, but then, you probably knew that already. I didn’t). Anyway, thank God I’ve never been asked to come up with anything along the same lines. After staring at the wall blankly for ten minutes, the only thing that popped into my luxuriously minimalist brain was ‘Hey diddle, diddle, my cat did a piddle’, which probably doesn’t project quite the image any dining establishment would be seeking. (In case I’m wrong, and you successfully open a restaurant called ‘Diddle My Cat’ or ‘Cat’s Piddle’ or any combination of the above, royalty cheques in the post please).

I’m going off on a tangent here. The Runcible Spoon is a modern British bistro situated in the Stokes Croft area of Bristol, which you may recognise from recent news as the charmingly bohemian neighbourhood where they don’t like a Tesco much. (Despite this, Stokes Croft normally feels very relaxed and safe, the riots were definitely not the norm, so don’t be put off).

Interestingly, The Runcible Spoon is a co-operative (Which all sounds a bit “Wolfie” Smith, Tooting Popular Front, but as I’ve found out, is very Bristol, so bear with me and I’ll explain). The five owners (4 chefs and 1 gardener), own the restaurant jointly. It’s not run for profit in the way a normal restaurant is, but just to cover overheads and pay the owners a salary. Additionally their focus is on locally sourced, seasonal, foraged and homegrown produce. In fact, they own an allotment nearby and their goal is to eventually make the restaurant self-sufficient.
So less Wolfie Smith perhaps, and more ‘The Good Life’ then. Either way, it’s extremely admirable.

The restaurant opened earlier this year, and despite living a five-minute walk away in Montpelier, ‘E’ and myself have just been so manically busy, it wasn’t until the other week that we managed a visit.

From outside at night, the exterior looks warm and welcoming with a real neighbourhood bistro feel to the place. The interior is styled in a similar fashion, with a small dining room and bar upstairs, and a larger dining room downstairs.

Grabbing the upstairs corner table, the evening’s menu was handed to us, hand written on a piece of paper. A short selection is nearly always a good sign, it’s indicative of spankingly fresh ingredients and dishes made with care. With a choice of two starters, two mains and two desserts, I took it as a decent indicator. In fact, it was actually quite refreshing to relax and not agonise too much over the menu choices.

‘E’ ordered the gazpacho and basil sorbet. Chilled soup has to be a perfect choice for a warm summer evening. The gazpacho was nicely seasoned and was portioned correctly for greedy bastardos like us.. The accompanying basil sorbet was a superbly fresh addition and as you’d probably expect from a herb with such an affinity with tomato, it worked beautifully.

Pork rillettes & cornichon on toast were as good as I’ve had anywhere. Happily the portion was suitably massive. I liked the way it was presented, with the shredded pork heaped on the toasted bread rather than having to scrape through a fat covered pot myself.

Squid and chorizo stew main, piled up with a chunk of bread on the side looked suitably rustic and was pretty good. To be honest, I’ve never been a big fan of squid – call me a fishy philistine but I think it doesn’t actually taste of much and in addition it’s an horrendously ugly bugger…. I’m not sure anyone should be putting anything that looks like that in their mouth. That’s not to say this dish wasn’t good. It was. I stuffed the whole lot. I’m just having a general squiddy rant. I’ve never eaten a squid dish that’s truly impressed and would have probably been just as happy if the squid was left out altogether.

Meanwhile ‘E’ was admiring the beautiful presentation of her courgette and ricotta cheesecake, tomato & oregano salad, new potatoes and burnt butter. (Bit of a mouthful) It looked frigging awesome. I had a sneaky nibble, and yep – it was great. ‘E’ was absolutely chuffed with it.

A dessert of elderflower poached gooseberry crumble with clotted cream, was good, the flowery summer scent of the elderflower adding a nice sweet note to the tartness of the gooseberry.

The chocolate and raspberry truffle pot with soft caramels had ‘E’ cooing and ‘oh my God’ing’ appreciatively, so chalk that one up as a winner too, although to be honest the accompanying caramels were a bit on the hard side of ‘soft’. Happily our dentures were upto the task.

So, 3 courses, £16. That’s right, sixteen quid. In anyone’s book, that has to be a bargain.
The Runcible Spoon has a rough rustic charm all of it’s own. The food is good with touches of real flair, generously portioned and interesting with its admirable emphasis on seasonality and Britishness. That it’s all so fantastically cheap caps it off nicely.
Anyone who likes eating out would love to have this bistro in their neighbourhood, and I count myself lucky that it’s in my mine.

The Runcible Spoon

3 Nine Tree Hill
Stokes Croft
Bristol
BS1 3SB

Telephone: 0117 329 7645

http://the-runcible-spoon.com

José - London

2011-07-17T17:01:00.005+01:00

My relationship with Spain, (or ‘España’ as us people more au fait with it’s ways like to call it, I mean – look, I’ve even used a frigging wiggly accent mark) has matured as I’ve grown older, especially my relationship with it’s food.

As a young man, oft visiting Spain on holiday, I was indifferent to their fine culinary culture and traditions. Dining? Well when I wasn’t seated in a plastic stackable chair in a beachfront café scoffing knock off versions of British dishes, with the obligatory mound of chips and bemoaning the lack of ‘decent sausages and bacon’, I could probably be found in a McDonalds, contentedly tucking into a ‘taste of home’ in a completely non-ironic fashion. I was the epitome of a Philistine and looking back I’m almost embarrassed at how unsophisticated I was in my tastes.

Fast forward 20 odd years, and I stand before you a sophisticated gastronome. A seasoned culinary traveller. Some might say handsome and rugged and I have often been accused of being sensitive and perhaps far too intelligent and impossibly beautiful. It’s a cross I have to bear. But the point is, nowadays I’d no sooner eat pseudo British food abroad than casually take a bite out of my own hand and wash it down with a swig of warm fruity, vintage urine. (I think you’ll all agree, the age is important).

All of which leads me to new Bermondsey Spanish tapas bar José (well not all, ignore the tucking into hands and the imbibing of piss bit, you silly).
It’s good, bloody good in fact. Which isn’t entirely surprising as José Pizzaro, ex head chef of the cracking Tapas Brindisa and extremely nice bloke, is running the show.

It’s certainly one of the most authentic tapas bars you’re going to find in London. It’s small. A short bar runs down one side, with a very compact but beautifully put together open kitchen at one end. There are a couple of tables, some barrels and a few stools lining the bar. A few Jamón swing lazily from the ceiling, a glass chiller cabinet built into the counter displays spankingly fresh fish. A chalkboard announces a handful of specials based on what’s available that morning at nearby Borough Market. That’s it. Entirely authentic in it’s simplicity and the freshness of the ingredients. There’s no booking, it’s very much first come, first served and not unsurprisingly, by all accounts it’s been absolutely packed since it opened a few weeks ago.

‘E’ and I turned up as the doors opened for lunch at 12 o’clock, and straight away pounced on the large central table whilst almost simultaneously ordering a chilled glass of Fino. I love, love, love a nice glass of cold dry sherry, Fino or Manzanilla purlease. It’s the absolute perfect accompaniment to tapas, and happily at José, there’s a nice selection on the wine list.

At this point our friends arrived for lunch, and we promptly ploughed into ordering . Between the six of us we managed to cover a hell of a lot of ground, and spanked the menu heavily.

To begin, a plate of salted Marcona almonds were the perfect nibble to accompany our second glass of sherry. Quickly followed up by a cracking slice of Tortilla.

As I’ve got older, the intense fishy saltiness of anchovy has grown on me. Boquerones in cava vinegar (Fresh anchovy fillets marinated in vinegar until they become white) that we were served at José were by far the best I’ve ever tasted. Subtly meaty and tangy. Absolutely cracking.

A glass of gazpacho with crab from the specials board was phenomenal. I could have eaten it all day long. It was probably one of the best things I ate, and if you go there I urge you to order it.

Not far behind in terms of sheer enjoyment, hake with allioli. A perfectly light, almost ethereally battered piece of fish with a generous accompanying dollop of rasping creamy garlic tang. Superb.

About this point, we started to crack into the Manzanilla – did I mention how much I love sherry?

The croquetas which, when bitten into slowly oozed liquid béchamel and ham were beautifully done.

A generously heaped plate of mackerel escabeche followed, and although not one of my favourite dishes was very good in its fresh clean tangy taste.

A cracking bowl of patatas bravas draped with dual slicks of allioli and a smoky brava sauce are incredibly moreish. I could sit and drink gallons of sherry whilst picking at these for hours.

Lamb meatballs in a tomato sauce are good; although the accompanying toasted bread feels perhaps a bit redundant in that it’s far too thin and crisp to mop up the accompanying sauce in a satisfactory manner. Or maybe, that's just me.

From the special board again, chicken livers in Oloroso are excellent. The sweetness of the sherry complimenting the subtle soft, almost smoky taste of the livers fantastically well.

Also from the specials board, sardines cooked simply with lemon and parsley are delicious. I’m not normally a massive fan of oily fish, but these are obviously incredibly fresh and I’m surprised how much I enjoyed picking at them.

Saving one of the best dishes until last, once again, from the specials board – Pluma Iberica. A plate of thickly sliced, charred and salted pork loin cut from just about the best quality acorn fed pig you can eat. To be honest, its surprisingly rare appearance gave the impression of a good steak, and upon munching on a piece; it was decidedly strange to experience the taste of pork instead. It’s definitely worth ordering if you fancy trying something different.

Finishing up the sherry theme with a sneaky glass of PX, we decided against ordering puddings. José is admirably authentic in that the Spanish don’t really go big on desserts. As such, simple dishes, such as a bowl of seasonal fruit with a splash of sherry feature.

Leaving José’s a bit unsteadily, something to do with the gallons of Manzanilla we’d necked, we decided to head to Soho and the rather excellent Gelupo Gelateria for something sweet. It’s the first time I’ve been. I can’t recommend it highly enough if you’re in the area. The ice creams and sorbets are bloody amazing, and surprisingly reasonable considering the central location. Just so you know, because I’m sure you’re wondering, I had summer pudding sorbet with an accompanying scoop of cherry and yoghurt ice-cream and it cost just three quid.

Whilst I was licking the remnants from my tub of ice-cream and thoughtfully biting on the wafer, I considered lunch at José’s.

It was really enjoyable. The food is supremely simple, authentic, rustic and fresh. It has a great, relaxed vibe, and it all feels extremely close to the experience of dining out in say, somewhere like Barcelona. If I lived nearby, on a hot summers day, I’d be popping in for some of the excellent gazpacho, a bowl of patatas bravas and a couple of gallons of Manzanilla far, far, too often.
Loved it.

José
104 Bermondsey Street
London
SE1 3UB

http://joserestaurant.co.uk/

Gelupo Gelataria
7 Archer Street
London
W1D 7AU

http://www.gelupo.com/

Roganic - London

2011-07-14T13:17:00.004+01:00

Shocking as it may seem to my regular readers but when it comes to food, at heart, I’m a bit of a peasant. I know outwardly I’m obviously a classy guy. Seriously suave and if you’ve never met me, you could be forgiven for thinking I probably talk like Roger Moore (I do). But my real food love is very rustic, simple food made with excellent fresh ingredients. Although saying that, variety is the spice of life. I’m not opposed to a bit of posh ‘Up West’ as they often like to say in Eastenders.

So, when I read that Simon Rogan of Michelin starred L’Enclume had just opened Roganic, an outpost in London, and by happy coincidence I was due to be headed through London, back to the ‘Motherland’ (Essex). I booked a table for lunch straightaway.

I'd heard of L’Enclume of course. I always plan to visit someday, but its Lake District location is a bit of a schlep. If I’m ever in the area, inexplicably, I imagine this visit will include me arriving at the wheel of a small boat, perhaps wearing a captain’s hat at a jaunty angle and smoking a pipe. I’ll be laughing in a decidedly captainish way and surrounded by an entirely new, more wholesome circle of friends who will also be laughing heartily and sporting a selection of lightweight summer knits.
Until this eventually comes about (and it will), I’ll settle for Roganic.

This small London incarnation of L’Enclume is interesting for a couple of reasons. It only has a short-term 2-year lease, so is something of a temporary foray into the capital’s dining scene for Simon Rogan and somewhat unusually, like it’s bigger Lake District parent, only tasting menus are available, 6 courses, or a whopping 10. Although on my visit, I was told this may be tweaked and a more conventional 3-course menu also made available.

I met friend and fellow food blogger Niamh for lunch at Roganic on Friday. The restaurant itself is surprisingly light and airy for such a small space. Decorated in the fairly standard ‘fine dining contemporary bland style’, which is pleasant enough but is always slightly soulless and boring to look at. But then the food is the main event I guess and the sterile surroundings aren’t about to detract from that. I wonder if this inoffensive blandness in fine dining restaurant interiors is designed with this in mind?

It seems we’d struck lucky, it was still the soft opening, therefore a rather welcome 25% off the bill (Result), and Simon Rogan himself was cooking (Also a result). After a brief conflab, we decided to go for the rather interesting looking 6 course tasting menu, priced at £55.

But first, some wine. Niamh, knowing a hell of a lot more about quality plonkage than me, declared confidently that Slovenian wine is currently the absolute daddy with regards to quality and price. We went for a bottle of Quercus pinot bianco, and bloody nice it was too. You heard it here; (no doubt last), Slovenian wine is the way to go.

An amuse of chickpea wafer, ox eye daisy spread, aioli and flowers was a really nice and light introduction to the cooking to come.

Right away I’m going to be honest here; the menu is absolutely packed with interesting and sometimes slightly baffling ingredients. With the benefit of hindsight (and Google) I now know exactly what I was eating, but at the time, with my food rapidly going cold on the plate in front of me, ingredients such as orache, ox eye daisy spread and chenopodiums had me scratching my head.

Nevertheless, that’s exactly what you pay for at this level of cooking, to be delighted, surprised and baffled at the artistry with unusual ingredients.

Speaking of bafflement. There was a solitary smooth stone on our table, and it puzzled me. What could it be for? Perhaps something to stick the bill under?
Our waiter arrived to answer the mystery by spreading a thick scrape of whipped butter, with Maldon sea salt onto it. Obvious really. Not.

Then the perfect looking bread rolls arrived. A whole tray, potato, spelt and pumpernickel. They were all superb but especially the soft malty pumpernickel. A big thumbs up for the complete lack of parsimony with regards to the fantastic bread. The waiter cheerfully offered us more, and then when we’d greedily polished that off, even more.

A rather dainty course of millet pudding, grains, burnt pear and Stichelton followed. It was good. Basically a risotto in all but name. Pear and Stilton is a classic combo, and Stichelton is an absolutely cracking cheese. A great start.

The next course arrived and my jaw dropped. It was beautiful and elaborate, absolutely the most gorgeous presentation. Seawater cured Kentish mackerel, orache (Which I now know is a foraged plant, similar to spinach in taste), broccoli and warm elderflower honey. Somewhat unsurprisingly perhaps, it tasted fantastic. The sweetness of the elderflower honey offsetting the tang of the onions, all balanced with the crispness of the mackerel and the vegetal notes of the broccoli and orache. Stunning.

The next dish, almost impossibly, was better looking than the last. Heritage potatoes in onion ashes, lovage and wood sorrel. Beautiful to look at and who’d have thought a dish based around potatoes could be so bloody amazing? Easily one of the best courses I ate, mostly in part to the incredible sharp savoury taste of the onion ashes. (Onions, dehydrated and reduced to dust using some kind of cheffy wizardry). Amazing.

Roasted brill, chicken salt, surf clams and rainbow chard was next. Something of an unusual combination to my mind, chicken and fish, but surprisingly it worked brilliantly. The sharp bite of the chicken salt, cutting through the softness of the perfectly cooked brill. Lovely.

Another bit of artistry arrived in the form of Cumbrian hogget loin, artichokes and chenopodiums (Which Google tells me is another foraged spinach like plant). The lamb loin, so rare and soft, presumably cooked using sous-vide, was superb. The addition of a lamb sweetbread gave a nice offal flavour to balance the sweetness of the hogget. Once again, fantastic.

Onto dessert, and sweet cicely with strawberry, buttermilk and verbena was, (to match the previous courses), appropriately beautiful in an almost architectural fashion. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted verbena before, and its flavour was a revelation. Unusual, flowery, and citrusy. The combination of tastes were interesting, light and fresh. A nice end to the meal.

A final course, in the form of a cherry shot with a cherry marshmallow, and for me this was the one thing that didn’t quite work. The marshmallow was pleasant enough, but my shot seemed to be a bit on the insubstantial side, it didn’t fill my mouth with flavour as I’d expected. Somehow, all of the foam remained in the glass, and I looked around in vain for a spoon to finish it off. Not to be thwarted and reverting to childlike behaviour, I stuck my finger in it. (You can’t take me anywhere). This action broke the offending vacuum, and the remainder slid into my mouth. It was ok, but didn’t wow me like everything else had.

Nevertheless, I absolutely loved Roganic. The food is just plain gorgeous. Easily the best looking dishes I’ve eaten all year, possibly ever. The menu is full of quality interesting British ingredients, some conventional, some (if you’re anything like me), you’ve probably never heard of. The staff were extremely relaxed, cheerful and friendly. In fact, it’s all so slick that it’s hard to believe Roganic has only been open for a couple of weeks.
Overall, I had one of the best lunches I’ve eaten for a very long time. Go.

Roganic

19, Blandford St,
London.
W1U 3DH

Telephone: 0207 4860380
http://www.roganic.co.uk/

Not 'Basement' behaviour.

2011-06-30T23:35:00.005+01:00

So, can you believe ‘E’ and myself have been running ‘The Montpelier Basement’ supper club in our home since October last year? errr what’s that? *counts slowly on fingers* eight frigging months! Unbelievable. Surprisingly for us, (as I’ve just counted the dates up), tomorrow’s ‘Basement’ will be our 23rd. Therefore I thought it was high time that I wrote about it a bit, and you know…. spill my guts in a sharing fashion.

First of all, utilising all my fingers, and some of my toes, I can tell you that we’ve had nearly 400 people pass through our doors and eat our food. Incredibly, considering that number, nearly all of these people have been absolutely amazing individuals. They’ve been no problem whatsoever, they’ve loved what we’re doing and in return, we’ve loved them dearly. *blows copious air kisses, mwah mwah fashion*

But, it hasn’t been all rainbows, cuddles and snuggums. A couple of people have, quite frankly, been very bad guests. But, only a couple, out of nearly 400, that’s actually quite amazing. Nevertheless these few individuals have blighted our ‘Basement’ with their presence, and we curse their collective memories.

The most ghastly of our few rubbish guests descended on our subterranean lair a few months back. Lets call her ‘Sharon’, (errr because that’s actually her name). ‘Shazza’ was basically the supper club guest from hell.
She came on her own, which isn’t unusual in itself, lots of people do and that’s fine. She was in her late 50’s I guess, and she seemed a little bit pissed when she arrived. She ended up sitting on a table with 4 other people who were in their early twenties. It wasn’t long before we realised that she was completely dominating the whole table’s conversation. She was one of those awful people, with a loud voice (slurred) and an opinion on pretty much everything, all of it backed up with a winding longwinded story. The rest of the table were sitting there stunned, in a complete verbal vacuum. Mere puppets as Shazza held court in the most awful fashion.

But, our guests are adults, they can deal with this…. Thought I naively, until ‘E’ came into the kitchen aghast, and told me that ‘Shaz’ was now regaling her new dining companions with a cheery tale about her friend who had apparently committed suicide. As you can imagine, they quite literally looked like someone had died. Four pairs of eyes pleading for help and framed by expressions of exquisite misery greeted me, as I was physically ejected by ‘E’ out of the kitchen and into the dining room with orders to ‘change the subject’.

I decided the best approach was to engage Sharon in conversation, and draw her away from the others so they could best make their escape. Coming, as I do, from Essex, I have much experience of chatting to drunkards and felt assured that I could deal with this confidently. Try as I might, I can’t remember exactly what I said, or what Sharon said in response. I can only conclude that part of my memory has been blotted out, in what is no doubt some kind of primal brain defence mechanism which I am confident will see me awaking in years to come bathed in sweat and screaming.

But, the main thing is, I took one for the team. I changed the subject.

The evening progressed, and Shazza hadn’t seemed to cause any more real trouble. Apart from provoking the odd look from other guests. She’d taken to moving around the room, sitting at the other tables chatting, and helping herself to wine. Eventually at the arse end of the evening, myself, ‘E’ and two other women who happened to be young Doctors were left drinking and chatting. They were lovely, extremely funny and quite obviously had enjoyed a great evening, which made us happy. Shazza was still floating around, and by this time was steaming drunk. She offered to ‘help with the washing up’. We politely declined. She looked restless. A couple of minutes later, I looked around and realised she’d wandered into the empty kitchen. As I got up to she where she’d got to, she came stumbling out mumbling incoherently. The Doctors, bless em, had at this point realised what a problem Shazza was and whispered that they’d take her with them when they left.

I could only admire their skill, obviously honed to perfection in dealing with troublesome patients as they expertly shepherded our ghastly guest, cheerfully crying ‘C’mon Shazza, you’re coming with us’. Somewhat surprisingly she obediently accompanied them up the stairs to the front door.
As the unlikely trio departed into the night, we relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. Immediately resolving that Sharon would never be coming to ‘The Basement’ again.

But my sorry tale doesn’t end there. The next day, whilst tidying up the wreckage in the kitchen, I found an envelope stuffed behind the radio. It was Shazzer’s payment envelope. Confused, I ripped it open. Instead of leaving the suggested donation of £25, she’d left £15, and hidden it. This despite raving how good the evening and the food was, necking a load of leftover wine and ruining the evening for her entire table with her complete boorishness.
Shazza, you’re a piece of work. If I ever see you again, it will be far too soon.To all our guests that night who may have been mentally scarred. We're truly sorry.

No one else has even come close to Shazza for sheer awfulness. In fact, as I said previously, we’ve been extremely lucky that nearly all save for a tiny minority have been an absolute pleasure welcome into our home and cook for. We love you all ‘Basementeers’.

So that’s our worst ever supper club guest.
I’d be interested to hear what’s the worst behaviour you’ve witnessed at a supper club, or even a restaurant for that matter.
Go on share.

PS: If you fancy coming along to a future ‘Basement’ (No Shazza – we promise – drop us an email at Montpelierbsmt@gmail.com)

Momofuku ginger spring onion noodles

2011-06-18T15:59:00.003+01:00

I must have been living under a rock, because until I was sent a copy of the Momofuku cookbook a while back, I’d never heard of the New York restaurant group or David Chang, the chef and owner.
As regular readers know, I absolutely covet a cook book, and I had a quick flick through, thought it looked fairly interesting, but as is common with me – got distracted by other new shinier things, it went on the shelf, and I didn’t go back for another look.

In the meantime, as is often the way, Momofuku (Lucky Peach translated from Japanese) had registered on my consciousness and I started to notice it cropping up again and again, on Twitter, on the interweb and once on TV where I saw Anthony ‘Kitchen Confidential’ Bourdain eating his way through a whole shedload of their interesting looking dishes whilst chatting with David Chang, the chef.

I’m notoriously slow on the uptake, but eventually, with enough of this drip, drip, Momo drip Fuku drip feed bouncing off my skull, something had to give. Last Sunday, it was pissing down, torrentially, all day, without respite. With absolutely nothing better to do, I pulled the Momofuku book off the shelf for another, proper look.
It’s brilliant.

For starters, David Chang is brutally honest; about his food, his shortcomings as a chef, his business and the way he set it up. It makes for some fantastic and very funny reading. Chang has a real no nonsense, straight to the point style, much of it liberally sprinkled with ‘fucks’. It’s definitely not your average cookbook. I found it utterly compelling.

Then there’s the recipes. The Momofuku style is an incredible mish-mash of mostly Japanese and Korean food, sometimes mixed with a more classical cooking style thrown in with whatever seems to take Chang’s fancy. It’s almost impossible to define, with Chang himself describing his style hilariously as ‘bad pseudo-fusion cuisine’.

A lot of the recipes involve a fair bit of work, there’s often no real dumbing down or dilution for the home cook. But surprisingly it’s not off putting, as the technique and the thinking behind the dishes is what makes it all so interesting.

But, there is one recipe that is instantly accessible. It’s simple to make, it’s cheap, it’s bloody gorgeous, and I’ve made it three times this week.

Ginger Spring Onion Noodles.

It’s basically noodles, any noodles (I used the cheap ass ramen packet noodles you often see in Chinese supermarkets, 45p a pack), tossed with a sauce of finely chopped fresh ginger, sliced spring onions and soy. On top of this, you can add what you like – I piled it up with yet more sliced spring onions, oven roasted broccoli and cauliflower florets, fried beanshoots and more soy.

The basic recipe is this…

Ginger Spring Onion Sauce

250g Spring Onion – thinly sliced
50g very finely chopped, peeled fresh ginger
4 Tbs Neutral Oil (I used Vegetable).
1 ½ Tsp Light Soy Sauce
¾ Tsp Sherry Vinegar
¾ Tsp coarse Sea Salt

This makes enough for about 3 portions. Mix all of this up in a bowl, check for seasoning. It’s at its best 15-20 mins after making it, but will be fine for a day or two in the fridge.

Then, you cook your noodles (Chang recommends 170g of Lo Mein, rice noodles or Shanghai thick Noodles per person).
While the noodles are hot, spoon in 6 Tbs of the Ginger Spring Onion sauce, stir and then pile with Bamboo shoots, roast cauliflower, fresh veg, more spring onion, sliced chill and more soy, whatever you think works.

For my taste, I think the basic recipe itself has a bit too much spring onion in it, and not enough soy – so chop and change it as you see fit. As I said, I made it a few times this week, the first time following the actual recipe, and the other couple of times more in ‘the spirit’ of the recipe, and it was bloody nice each time.

It’s lovely stuff, and it feels incredibly virtuous to eat. Although it obviously isn’t quite as healthy as it seems with all the oil and the soy I tip over it. But what the hell. It’s superb and cheap.

Closing thoughts. Make this dish – and buy the Momofuku book. You wont regret either decision.

Riverford Field Kitchen - Devon

2011-06-13T19:39:00.001+01:00

Ahhhhhh Devon. *gulps in a huge lungful of air* beautiful verdant lush Devon. Land of cream, custard, cider and the beast of Exmoor. (Not necessarily in that order). I loves it, at least I do now. I’d never been there until just a few weeks back. Being from Essex, which, geography fans is the complete opposite side of the country, almost the entire South West of the UK was a complete mystery to me, just names on a map. But now, I’m gradually filling in the blanks and *wise knowing look* I can say things like, ‘Devon knows how they make it so creamy’, with the most complete and utmost conviction.

Errr…yeah….anyway…
I was recently given the opportunity to get my arse to Devon, for a look around the farm of vegetable box purveyors, Riverford Organic (Which, I might add, was incredibly impressive if you like swaying fields of beautiful organic vegetables, rolling countryside and the heady strident whiff of farmyard animal shit). But what I want to talk about is their restaurant, or ‘Field Kitchen’, which is slap bang in the middle of the farm and, for the most part uses the organic produce that is grown in the surrounding fields. It won an Observer Food Monthly award in 2010 for Best Ethical Restaurant. I’ve quite fancied a visit for some time.

‘E’ and I arrived in Devon separately from the other invited bloggers and hacks making their way over from London, who were scheduled to arrive much later that evening. So when we were offered dinner at the Field Kitchen while we waited, it wasn’t too taxing a decision to accept.

The restaurant itself is a surprisingly modern stand-alone building, with something of a Scandinavian look about it. It’s nestled in a natural bowl in the surrounding landscape. ‘E’ and I made our way down the steps, through a herb garden to the entrance, intrigued by what we would find inside.

The Field Kitchen turned out to be a large, high ceilinged room with an open plan kitchen at one end, and communal tables and benches throughout. Interestingly, for us, as we run The Montpelier Basement supper club along the same lines, you sit at a table with strangers and the food is served on shared platters which are then passed around the table by your fellow diners. It was interesting to experience this from the ‘punters’ view for a change. It works well and encourages strangers to chat and interact with each other.

The menu itself, written up on a chalkboard, is set – apart from desserts (More about that later).
On the night we visited, the menu read as follows…

Antipasti to share
Hot smoked salmon, dill, beetroot and roasted buckwheat
Potatoes in a bag with wet garlic and thyme
Broad beans, lentils, spring onions and mint
Spring greens and red pepper sauce
Spinach gratin
And a vegetarian option of Tomato and courgette parcel

I don’t know about you, but that reads like a cracking menu – perhaps it could do with a bit more meat, but for £26.50 a person….Hello.

‘E’ and I took our places at our bench and almost instantly fell into conversation with the two lovely women who were sitting immediately next to us. We waved and introduced ourselves to the rest of the table. It turns out, a surprising number of the table were veggies, ‘more meat for me’ thought I.

The food started to appear from the kitchen thick and fast, antipasti of homemade bread, sliced meats, crab bakes, shrimp & potato blini, cheese panzarotte and a selection of dips, olives and pickled mushrooms. The crab bakes in particular were bloody delicious.

I immediately sensed competiveness with a couple of the guests further down the table; they were a bit ‘grabby’ and seemed intent on ‘getting their fair share’. Which in one sense was kind of ridiculous as there was so much food…but I also kind of understand. I readily admit to having something of a voracious wolf like glint in my eye where it comes to eating, perhaps they realised this. Perhaps they eyed my predatory ‘eating build’, my just a second too long hungry glances at the arriving platters or perhaps my custom made- over-sized cutlery that I often produce from under the table when I’m competing for grub. They were right to fear me. I’d eat it all; mine, theirs, yours and I’d wash it down with their booze…any booze in fact, given half the chance. But for now I affected shocked and polite indignation for the benefit of my fellow guests at the grabby couple’s amateur posturing, whilst muttering meaningless platitudes such as ‘Anyone want the last one of these?’ as the aforementioned item was already halfway into my gob.

More and more food arrived; all of it piled high, most of it obviously grown in the surrounding fields, beautifully presented in a nice rustic fashion and all of it bloody good. There was more than enough to go around, even with a stomach on legs like me seated one side of the table, and an almost equally scary consumer of food in the shape of ‘E’ seated on the other side.

Finally, when even we, ‘Team Guts’ were declining the last few bits and pieces and shifting uncomfortably in our seats trying to balance the extra weight, the waiter arrived to usher each table one at a time over to the kitchen counter where a whole selection of desserts were assembled to select from. Trifles, tarts and puddings. Custard or cream. It was all here, present and correct.

Knowing that the head chef, Jane Baxter had previously worked at the River Café, and spying their infamous Chocolate Nemesis amongst the puddings on offer, (The recipe for this in the River Café cookbook is notorious, as it doesn’t work), I had to go for that, as I’d never seen it done properly. It was bloody superb, but so rich it almost send me spiralling into a staggering mumbling food delirium.

At this point, our taxi arrived to whisk us away and not a moment too soon. I was stuffed silly, and not a little drunk.
Myself and ‘E’ had a cracking time. It was a lovely evening with some fine company, a lot of booze and some excellent food. And at that price, it’s a complete bargain.

Amazingly, it didn’t end there.
The next day, after our scheduled tour of the Riverford Organic farm with our fellow bloggers and some professional hacks, hosted by the surprisingly affable owner, Guy Watson, we were ushered back to the Field Kitchen for lunch.
The other tables were full already with paying customers and once again, the lunch we had was exactly the same as what they ate.
Happily, this time the menu contained some meat;

Roast and confit duck with turnips
New potatoes cooked in a bag with wet garlic and thyme
Roast asparagus, rocket, pistachio and orange
Spinach gratin
Spring greens, red pepper dressing
Broad beans, lentils and spring onions

Another cracking menu, and this time, as it was lunch – an even more bargainous (and rather strangely priced) £19.90

Exactly the same format as the previous evening, shared benches, huge platters of beautiful organic rustic food. Absolutely belting.

The ‘school dinner queue’ format for puddings was also the same. Once again I engaged my sly and cunning brain to help me make a selection. Knowing that the head chef, Jane, who as well as working at the River Cafe had also worked at The Carved Angel in Dartmouth, which used to be famed for their sticky toffee puddings, that’s what I went for. Jackpot! Quite possibly the best sticky toffee pudding I’ve ever eaten, and I like to think that I’ve eaten a hell of a lot to compare against.

So, there you have it. Dinner and lunch at the same restaurant, and absolutely cracking both times.
Both ‘E’ and I really enjoyed it. The communal seating and shared platter format adds a great deal to the experience. The prices are ridiculously cheap when you consider the quality of the produce and how much of it you actually get to eat (Even if you’re competing with people like me). The food is plentiful, seasonal and really quite lovely. If you’re in the area, the Field Kitchen is something of a must visit.

I don’t think I’ve ever written about a free meal on the blog before. I’ve been offered a few, but have rarely accepted them, mainly because it’s hard to write about something you’ve been given for free – your objectivity is called into question if extra care, attention and dishes are lavished upon you, making the experience you may have had entirely unlike the meal an average punter would stump up for. Therefore, I thought long and hard before writing these meals up, but at the end of the day, it was quite obvious that the dinner and subsequent lunch we had was exactly the same as the paying diners. The communal nature of the field kitchen experience ensured this. So, in this case, I don’t really have problem writing about it.

Riverford Field Kitchen
Buckfastleigh,
Devon
TQ11 0JU

Telephone: 01803 762074

http://www.riverford.co.uk/restaurant

P.S.
‘E’ has a copy of the rather superb new Riverfood Farm cookbook ‘Everday and Sunday’, which has been signed by both Guy Watson and head chef, Jane Baxter, to give away on her blog.

The Gilbert Scott - London

2011-06-02T20:33:00.000+01:00

I used to work in Camden. Well, that’s what I used to say when I was infrequently asked where my sometime office was located. The elicited response was more often than not ‘”I love Camden”. But really I knew it was telling a bit of a fib. My office lair wasn’t in the funky, rough and ready, but in parts surprisingly genteel Camden that most people know. No. I was based in a strange arse-backwards, unglamorous netherworld between St Pancras and Camden. Bordered on four sides by a former tropical disease hospital/coroners court, a Travis Perkins, a veterinary college and a strangely anonymous Ted Baker office, (save from it being somewhat bizarrely decorated by a giant red lobster). It was precisely 20 minutes walk, in any direction, from anywhere of use, and I hated it. Bitterly mourning my exile from the much more central and cool Clerkenwell site every single day.

Where am I going with this? Well. For years, on the long walk to work, I used to pass through the gigantic building site that was St Pancras, and wonder what would become of the derelict former Midland Grand Hotel. An absolutely beautiful and sprawling gothic construction designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott, which in it’s heyday, during the late Victorian period was considered one of ‘the’ places to be seen. It finally closed in the 1930s, due in part to a completely Victorian lack of newly fangled central heating and plumbing, (300 fireplaces had to be constantly supplied with coal) and the rooms, which had been designed without bathrooms required a chambermaid to fill and wheel a bath into a guest’s room at the ring of a bell, while an army of servants were employed to discreetly dispose of chamberpots.

Whilst passing every day, I gazed at this boarded up relic and thought how amazing it would be to see it re-opened and how incredible it would be to have a great restaurant on the site. (One thing St Pancras/Kings Cross truly lacks is a really decent restaurant).

Well, no one was more surprised than me to hear that just a couple of years later, The Midland Grand has been completely refurbished, and has re-opened as The St Pancras Renaissance London Hotel and Marcus Wareing has opened a new restaurant on the site, named after the hotel’s architect ‘The Gilbert Scott’.

Hallelujah!

In something of a surprising move, considering Marcus Wareing’s classic French, Michelin starred restaurant background, The Gilbert Scott’s menu is resoundingly British, but with a bit of an historical slant. Unusual long forgotten British dishes feature heavily. Victorian culinary stalwarts, Mrs Beeton and Eliza Acton would no doubt approve.

I’ve been gagging to visit, and when I found I was going to be back in London earlier this week, I booked a table straight away.

Arriving for lunch, it seemed strange to be entering a building that has been off limits for so long. Following signs for the restaurant, ‘E’ and I gasped at the incredible Victorian gothic interior, rich crimsons and golds, heavy elaborately carved stone archways, beautifully tiled floors and intricately painted ceilings. As is often the case with many grand Victorian buildings, it has something of the hushed calm of a cathedral about it.

The dining room of The Gilbert Scott itself is absolutely gorgeous. Flooded with natural light from the large windows running down one side of the curved room and decorated mainly in mustard yellow, flanked by polished limestone pillars and with crimson leather banquettes, the former Midland Grand Hotel dining and coffee room has come up an absolute treat. In fact, it may quite possibly be one of the most beautiful dining rooms in London. It has the air of a grand Parisian bistro about it, but with a definite British feel.

Idly munching on some rather nice bread and butter (particularly the caraway seed), and glancing down the menu, my first thought was how well it reads in it’s simplicity and it’s seasonality. It’s without a doubt the most British menu I’ve ever seen, and somehow it makes me extremely proud to see so many cracking, but often overlooked, or in some cases, entirely forgotten, dishes on a fine dining menu. The whole thing actually hangs together surprisingly well.

Acting on a recommendation, I started off with a bowl of Quail Mulligatawny, decorated with onion rings. I’ll say this right from the start. Quail and me have never got on. In fact, it features in one of the worst dishes I’ve ever eaten. Basically, I’ve never eaten a decent quail dish ever. But this was something else. A revelation, sweet curry spice and the most delicate crunch from the onion rings, with incredibly moist and tasty pieces of quail at the bottom. It was superb. The first truly great quail dish I’ve ever eaten. The only problem I had was a brief flustered moment when deciding which cutlery to employ to eat it. (For the record; spoon, then knife and fork for the bird, and finally my fingers to pick at the bones…you cant take me anywhere).

‘E’ also having been tipped off by a friend, ordered the rather royally titled Queen Anne’s Artichoke Tart. It was a beautifully presented dish. I managed to duck in and pinch a taste, and it was bloody gorgeous. Creamy and rich, infused through with the vegetal green subtlety of globe artichoke. Chalk this up as a massive success.

Dorset Jugged Steak followed. Consisting of braised featherblade, pork dumplings, port and redcurrant jelly it was presented as a massive lump of meat, topped with more meat in the shape of the pork dumplings, surrounded by a glistening slick of port and redcurrant gravy. I heartily endorse meat on meat action and was actually grinning like a madman as I took my first bite. Bloody hell. Imagine the richest stickiest, tastiest beef stew you’ve ever tasted. That’s the closest comparison I can think of. I absolutely loved it. Combined with a side dish of colcannon made with a possible nod to the Joel Robuchon School of creamy spuddage. I was transfixed.

Meanwhile, ‘E’ was admiring the incredibly even and neat herb, lemon and nutmeg crust on her dish of seatrout, another blast from this nations forgotten culinary past, Tweed Kettle. A strikingly beautiful looking plate of food. It was an extremely well cooked and executed dish with top-drawer ingredients but perhaps lacked something of the expected eccentricity that such an unusually named dish conjures up.

My pudding of an incredibly moist and sticky Eccles cake paired with Cheddar cheese ice-cream was exceptional. The puff pastry exterior was syrupy sweet, almost in a baklava style and the fruit filling was rich and heavily spiced. I was intrigued by how the ice-cream would taste, It seemed to be more like a honey flavoured ice-cream topped with cheddar cheese shards rather than tasting of cheese throughout. In any case, the whole thing was frigging awesome.

‘E’ had gone down the less traditional route and ordered warm chocolate in a pot, with cornflakes, topped with a dollop of mascarpone. She thought it incredibly rich, almost like the gooey interior of a chocolate fondant, but combined with the crunch of the cornflake topping and the sweetness balanced by the tartness of the mascarpone. Her opinion, delicious.

Perhaps cheekily, as it was right in the middle of the lunch service, we asked for, and were happily given, a kitchen tour. We were led downstairs to the surprisingly spacious, immaculately brand new kitchen and spied Marcus Wareing himself working on the pass. It’s incredibly interesting to watch a respected chef at full tilt and it was immediately obvious how entirely focused he was on the job in hand. A couple of things struck me. The first was how incredibly quiet and calm the kitchen was. No shouting at all. Secondly, and perhaps more oddly, Marcus Wareing looked like he was wearing some rather expensive grey trousers, the sort that might partner a suit and not the kind you’d cook in.

Tour over, we headed upstairs to settle the bill, but at the suggestion of our host decided instead to order coffee and drink it in the bar.

Bloody hell.
The Bar is beautiful. Full Stop. It’s an almost cathedral like space, with large windows at each end allowing the light to slowly play across the daytime shadow of the room. The ceiling is painted, huge gilded archways lead back to the restaurant. It’s a fantastic space, which somehow puts me in mind of an Italian or perhaps Turkish palace.

Our coffee was served from a rather nice proper set, which led us to think ‘Hello, how much is this going to cost then?’
I had three cups, and upon checking the bill, it was £3. That’s right…an almost laughable three pounds! So, hanging out in St Pancras? Heading to Paris on the Eurostar? Laugh in the face of the coffee chains and their stupid paper cups, head here and act like you’re a Victorian Lady or Gentleman. Read your broadsheet, drink coffee served to you by smartly clad waiters from a proper service in an absolutely gorgeous room. What a frigging bargain. I really can’t think of anywhere nicer to hang out if you’ve got time to kill.

So, in conclusion I liked The Gilbert Scott a hell of a lot. The menu is endlessly fascinating to me. There are British dishes here no one has seen on a menu for probably a hundred years. It seems, at least from what we ate, that Marcus Wareing has refrained from tarting them up too much, and they are, more or less, the original honest dishes, just made with exceptional ingredients and skill. The restaurant itself is absolutely gorgeous, and housed in the most incredible building. The superb bar is the icing on a cake. I’m so excited to see a fine dining British restaurant with a big name chef, attached to a railway station. The last time we had anything remotely like this in Britain, was probably when Queen Victoria was on the throne.

Price wise, lunch for two came to £106, that includes a glass of wine each, coffees and a tip. Which all things considered, isn’t bad at all. Although £4 of the total was a cover charge, which on top of the 12.5% service is kind of taking the piss.

Nevertheless, The Gilbert Scott is cracking, and certainly lives up to the weight of expectation from being housed in such a grand setting. I’ll certainly be eating there again.

The Gilbert Scott
St Pancras
London
NW1 2AR

Telephone: 020 7278 3888

http://www.thegilbertscott.co.uk

The Star & Dove - Bristol

2011-05-25T20:46:00.002+01:00

For the last few weeks, I’ve been hearing things. Snatches here, snippets there. The Star & Dove gastropub located in Bristol’s Totterdown area has re-opened. People who know about food have eaten there, and the rumours reaching my delicate shell-likes seemingly confirm that it’s pretty good.

Gastropubs, I love em. I like the informality and the rustic food. I like being positively encouraged to drink pints of beer with my meal. Basically the sum of all a gastropubs parts appeals to my inner Essex peasant. So, I’d vowed to myself (in a somewhat admittedly over elaborate ceremony, involving chanting and farm animals) that as soon as I got the chance, I’d be hotfooting it over to Totterdown with all the single-minded determination of a cruise missile.

Monday was that day. Rolling out of bed with nothing planned, no demands expected, and not a thought in my mungus brain other than the half formed idea that it might be nice to stuff my gullet with tasty things, I suddenly remembered The Star & Dove.

Easily persuading ‘E’ to accompany me, whom as luck might have it, was enjoying a scheduled day off. We hurriedly got ready and it wasn’t long before we were both striding purposefully through the centre of Bristol, Southward bound.

Geographically, Totterdown is South of the river which runs through the centre of the city and therefore to my mind, somehow equates to ‘Sarf of the river’ in London. This also means that, to me, it’s a somewhat mystifying and unexplored part of Bristol, and my mental map has it marked with ‘There be dragons here’.
Luckily the Star & Dove isn’t too far into this heathen wilderness, and it wasn’t long before we were rocking up outside.

Monday lunchtime is probably not the best time to visit a place that has only been open for a few weeks, but needs must, and if a place is open and selling food then you’ve got to argue that anytime is valid for a review.

I hadn’t visited the pub in its previous incarnation; supposedly a pretty decent gastropub of the same name that had closed, and had remained so for a good few months. The new owners are in fact three of the chefs who had worked there previously, returning after a year apart, after working at The Harbourside, The New Inn Backwell and The Robin Hood’s Retreat on Gloucester Road respectively. Unusually, they appear to be sharing all roles, including running the bar and splitting their time between front and back of house. To encounter a ‘barman’, who is also one of the chefs, and also one of the owners isn’t something you come across often.

My first impressions upon entering the pub were of space and light. The place is frigging huge. There are three large rooms around a centrally located bar, with large windows flooding the place with daylight.

Now that I’m older, wiser, more sophisticated and almost impossibly, more beautiful, my automatic first choice is no longer a lager. So, it’s always good to see some more unusual beers on draught, RCH Double Header (oooer), Ruddles County and Abbotts Ale all featured, along with, happily one of my frequent choices, Otter. For the undecided, or those with a ridiculously short attention span, a nice touch is the option to buy 3 third of a pint measure, taster glasses. An offer that ‘E’ took up.

We picked up a menu. Ten minutes later, after much heated debate, vicious arguing and possibly a few heartfelt slaps and blows, we presented a smiling united front at the bar and ordered our food, a selection of starters and smaller plates first, and a larger main dish each.

First we started on some homemade bread with butter and rapeseed oil for dipping. The bread, apparently made each day on the premises was cracking stuff, liberally slathered with butter; we both happily stuffed our faces. I feel perhaps that the rapeseed oil as a dip for the bread isn’t the best choice. Yes, it might be locally produced, but it just isn’t that pleasant when compared to a decent Extra Virgin Olive Oil. Although saying that, we laid our hands on some smoked rapeseed oil recently at a farmers market, and that would be a completely different proposition. It’s gorgeous stuff.

With the nagging feeling that I might have over-ordered somewhat, I started on a large plate of home cured corn beef. The accompanying piccalilli was obviously homemade, and all the better for it. Some more of the excellent bread, toasted this time, and the corned beef, although not outstanding, was good. At £4.50 it was altogether a nice, incredibly cheaply priced plate of food.

Across the table, ‘E’ was rapidly working her way through a glass of freshwater crayfish, topped with some caper rapeseed mayonnaise. I tried some, and it was absolutely delicious. Once again, ridiculously underpriced at £2.50. The only minor niggle we had with this dish, was that upon nearing the bottom, there seemed to be a bit too much liquid, suggesting that the crayfish could have done with a more thorough draining off before piled into the glass.

‘E’ had ordered Porter Rarebit. To be honest, we weren’t sure about this dish at all. Yes, it certainly tasted of Porter, but strangely didn’t taste at all of cheese. It was more of a golden paste on toast, rather than a traditional grilled and bubbling rarebit. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a bit lacking in flavour really. I’d prefer to see this ditched from the menu, and a well put together standard rarebit, made using decent local ingredients, put up in its place.

So, a bit of a mixed bag to start with. Mostly good, albeit with some minor easily remedied niggles and one pretty duff dish.

But then, my main arrived and somewhat astonishingly saved the day. It looked bloody awesome; in fact it was probably one of the nicest looking plates of food I’ve seen outside a Michelin starred restaurant. I’m not sure the photo does it justice, but I sat and admired it from every angle for a good couple of minutes. Salt Marsh Lamb, Blood pudding, egg and Lamb Bacon. It was basically a whole load of beautifully cooked meat temptingly draped around an egg. I was like a pig in shit and demolished it in record time, all the while marvelling at the attention to detail, the interesting cuts and the bits and pieces artfully placed around the plate.
Truly outstanding and for £10 just a bit of a steal.

Meanwhile, although perhaps not garnering the ecstatic torrent of praise my food had provoked, across the table ‘E’ was soundly satisfied with her dish of cider braised mushrooms, wild garlic and baked potatoes. It looked great and I couldn’t say no to a quick taste. It was very good, full of herbs predominately dill - surprisingly, a great match with mushrooms and a combination I haven’t tried before. Altogether a really decent plate of food and at £7, a lot of work for again, a very low price.

Finishing up with a dessert of mead set cream with lavender shortbread that was pleasant, but had on paper, sounded a lot more interesting than it actually tasted.

I sat and mulled over the meal we’d just eaten.

I came to the conclusion, that it’s a bloody interesting menu, and that some of the food is absolutely spanking which proves that the Star & Dove could be amazing. My salt marsh lamb dish was off the chart in a scale of excellence, and it was absolute food porn to look at too. Although the side was let down a bit by the not so great dish (Porter Rarebit, I’m looking at you), and a minor niggle with the crayfish prep. It’s always just a bit frustrating when a meal isn’t consistent.

Also, if I was being a complete pedant, and had my ‘cheesemonger’ head on, the generic Stilton and Mature Cheddar on the menu really need to be replaced by some of the excellent British handmade artisan cheeses available. It’s that much more exciting to see ‘Stichelton, Colston Bassett or Keens on the menu, rather than Stilton or Cheddar which suggests the use of cheaper, catering stuff and could be the reason why the rarebit was so bland.

Saying all that, we both left more than happy with the lunch we’d just eaten. The Star & Dove is serving nice booze and obviously doing interesting things in the kitchen, (a pickled chicken dish on the menu certainly caught my eye, as did the rather interesting looking ploughmans that passed by our table, apparently served with a shot of celery juice).

The whole menu is blatantly underpriced and the Sunday lunch menu we saw looked superb. The owners went out of their way with regards to customer service, the chef even supplying ‘E’ with a free, ad-hoc, lemon curd and oat dessert when it transpired there was gelatine in the mead cream that we’d ordered.

To be fair, it hasn’t been open long, and they’re obviously just settling in. Hopefully with just a bit more attention to detail and some more consistency, The Star & Dove could be a real Bristol destination.
I’ll definitely be heading South of the river for another visit.

The Star & Dove

St Lukes Road
Totterdown
Bristol
BS3 4RY

Telephone: 0117 933 2892

http://www.staranddove.co.uk/

Back to British

2011-05-09T17:34:00.005+01:00

Notoriously slow on the uptake, and quite often utterly oblivious to what’s going on around me, even I haven’t failed to notice the recent trend for historical British food that seems to be influencing high end restaurant menus and cookbook publishers output alike. Yes, it seems that this year the combination of old and British is a winning one.

But not just anything ancient and of this green and pleasant land will do. That’s way too easy, British nursery food has been done to death in the past few years and is now almost a default choice on pub menus across the land. No. It seems it also has to be obscure.

Before featuring on the menu at Heston Blumenthal’s new London restaurant ‘Dinner’ how many of you had heard of the 17th century salad dish, salmagundi? I know I hadn’t. Sounding perhaps like a particularly loathsome venereal disease, it’s been plucked from historical culinary obscurity, rediscovered and reinvented for the 21st century. (Just so you know, it’s a salad comprised of cooked meats, seafood, vegetables, fruit, leaves, nuts and flowers and dressed with oil, vinegar and spices).

The Gilbert Scott, Marcus Wareing’s brand spanking new St Pancras restaurant (It opened just last week, and I’m gagging to eat there) similarly has a menu littered with forgotten British dishes that probably haven’t been served to a paying customer for at least a hundred years. Dorset Jugged Steak or Tweed Kettle anyone?

So you’re excited about all this unusual yet strangely familiar British food. But can’t wait 3 months for a table at Heston’s ‘Dinner’ and St Pancras isn’t handily located in your particular ‘hood’? You want to get in on the act, and you fancy cooking up some 19th or 18th century British food of your own. Superb. But where to begin?

Luckily, most of the cookery book publishers anticipated this trend and are re-releasing classic and quite often, downright obscure culinary texts as we speak.

Particularly interesting are the Penguin ‘Great Food’ paperbacks. This beautiful series of re-printed classic books cover a range of authors from Victorian cook Eliza Acton to 18th century housewife and the original domestic goddess - Hannah Glasse. Not all the books in the series deal with British food, but the majority have a link.

What I find fascinating, flicking through the pages is quite often, how little anything has actually changed. Many of the recipes and dishes are not a hell of a lot different from the versions you might find in a much more modern book. However, just to keep you on your toes, the very next recipe will be a ‘certain cure for the bite of a mad dog’ or a ‘receipt against the plague’ (If you’re interested. It’s a rather heady mix of rue, sage, mint, rosemary, wormwood and lavender cooked in white wine vinegar for 4 days, then mixed with camphor – wash your loins with that concoction, and you’re free to strut around town with no chance of contracting the plague at all).

My absolute favourite from the series is ‘Recipes from the White Hart Inn’ by William Verrall. An 18th century landlord from Sussex, who had trained as a chef in France and was trying to introduce the ‘modern and best french cookery’ to his customers. The preface where he describes being hired to cook a dinner in a Gentleman’s house, and the resulting woeful lack of equipment and culinary knowledge on the part of the incumbent cook and indeed the diners had me in hysterics. Surprisingly, most of the recipes seem very up to date (which is indicative perhaps of how little French cuisine has changed). Williams’s thoughts on the use of fresh vegetables, herbs, ‘mise en place’ and good kitchen management are just as valid today as they were then. All imparted in impossibly elaborate, beautiful Georgian prose with a mile wide streak of gruff pub landlord running through it. Hilarious. I can’t recommend it enough, if only for the sheer entertainment value.

Quadrille are also in on the act with a selection of re-released, long lost, volumes in their ‘Classic voices in food’ range. Eliza Acton features again, in a rather hefty and beautifully printed ‘Modern cookery for private families’. It’s incredibly comprehensive with 34 chapters covering pretty much, every conceivable facet of cooking. From soups to preserves, including unusually for the period, a whole chapter on ‘foreign and Jewish cookery’. Once again, it’s a fascinating and rather useful book, especially if you’re looking for some ‘on trend’ historical British grub inspiration

I absolutely love this unexpected direction British food has taken. Looking into it’s distant past and rediscovering itself. Instead of feeling like the red-headed culinary step child and constantly looking abroad to other cultures for ideas and influence, it seems that we’ve finally realised that once upon a time, way back when, we had some pretty bloody good food of our own, right here. I’m so proud and getting just a bit teary; after I’ve finished belting out a verse of Jerusalem, I might start hunting around for a tricorn hat on Ebay.

St Ali - London

2011-05-05T10:25:00.002+01:00

I love good coffee. But It hasn’t always been so. I’ve found that as I’ve got older, more into food, I’ve become something of a coffee snob. Nowadays I sneer at the acrid essence of crumbled mud in glass jars that passes for coffee from the supermarket chains, but years ago, a more innocent, a more naïve me deemed it a perfectly acceptable brew. Later I felt the same way about the coffee from the doggy-style-humping-evil-world straddling-corporate chain, Starbucks, as I blindly ambled to work sipping my tasteless yet ridiculously expensive fix from a two gallon cup.

But I’ve matured. I’ve grown. I’d sooner neck a litre of my own piss than drink an overpriced Shattachino (TM) from the aforementioned Seattle based company, at least my ‘home brewed’ is cheap, steaming, and tastes of something.

Nowadays, I want to buy my coffee from a little independent place. I want it made with love and care. I want it to taste smooth and amazing. I want a flat white. And I want leaf patterns drawn in the froth to show just how damn skilful and artistic the person who made my coffee is. Oh, and they simply must have lots of tattoos.
Not much to ask is it?

Luckily, London is sprouting a rash of decent independent coffee shops like a pubescent teen developing a particularly fine crop of acne. Pop your head into any of these places, and it’s a pretty safe bet that it will be an Antipodean behind the coffee machine. In a somewhat surprising development, whilst we were all gormlessly sipping on awful brown coloured pish, across the other side of the globe, the Aussies and the Kiwis were developing a café and coffee culture that is second to none. What they don’t know about decent coffee isn’t worth knowing. And God bless them, they want to share it with us.

All of which brings me to the latest, coolest place to get your premium caffeine fix, all the way from Melbourne Australia, supposedly the pre-eminent café in a city that is absolutely heaving with serious competition. Yes….Clerkenwell in London now has a ‘St Ali’.

But why St Ali? I hear you ask. Well, apparently it’s like this. Ali ibn Umar al-Shadhili (St Ali) was the patron saint of coffee, who in the 15th century introduced coffee beans to Muslim mystics. Who knew eh?

So, a couple of weeks ago, I made the pilgrimage back to my old and much loved stomping ground of Clerkenwell (Some of you will know that I was cruelly mistreated and banished from this wondrous area of London, last April by my one-time evil ex-employer in a savage and entirely unwarranted act of redundancy). In fact, I more or less worked right across the road from the new St Ali site.

Happily my pained and tortured countenance was rapidly replaced by a look of serenity and total calm, as I greeted my pal Nicola who was joining me for lunch, and took in the vast and light flooded space.

Seriously, the place is bloody huge. (You could fit my entire flat into the toilets). At one end of the main room, beyond the central bar is an absolutely massive free standing roasting machine. Next to this, a ‘living wall’ of plants, which added considerably to my feeling of zen…

…A feeling which, doesn’t last long for two reasons. Firstly my ordered flat white is absolutely excellent. Smooth but packing quite a wallop, it’s a bloody nice cup of coffee. The problem is the ‘coffee art’ gracing the foam.
I’ve had a few goes at doing this on a professional machine myself, and basically, I can’t do it. It’s much harder than it looks and all my attempts have been frigging diabolical. The example that I now held in my hands didn’t have just one fancy palm frond. It had a three. To my eyes, that’s just taking the piss and reinforces what an utter dribbling incompetent of a coffee maker I am, with all the subtlety of a boot heel grinding my face into a gravel path.
I throw a look of utter contempt at the smiling unknowing barista.

Strangely, the other ‘calm killer’ was the beautiful old communal antique bench we were sitting at. Absolutely cracking to look at, battered, full of character, one end covered with vases festooned with flowers. It looked like it belonged in a glossy magazine photo shoot. But…it’s set at just the right height that when seated on the proffered stools, it’s impossible to put your legs under. So we both ended up sitting ‘side-saddle’ whilst eating, which isn’t a comfortable dining position at all. Solution, raise the bench up – or cut the legs off the stools, right now it’s definitely a case of style over comfort.

On the plus side, apart from the excellent coffee, the food menu is very interesting. With an obvious emphasis on brunch/lunch, it’s full of fresh, Bill Granger’esque dishes and combinations, with unusual foreign sounding ingredients –savoury French toast with bacon, maple labna and apple balsamic, grilled sardines with skordalia (What the hell is skordalia?) dukkah, kasundi, zhoug all feature (Aren’t they characters from Star Trek?). Trust me. It’s an intriguing menu.

Mystery ingredients aside, those in the know had flagged up one dish as being absolutely cracking. The weirdly named ‘My Mexican Cousin’ (I have no idea why its called that – as far as I can tell, based on the ingredients, it has sod all to do with Mexico).
Consisting of corn fritters, baby spinach, halloumi, kasundi (A spicy Indian tomato chutney) and two poached eggs. It’s lovely. Just simple, fresh food and therefore pretty much the perfect brunch dish.

In fact, St Ali is the perfect brunch place. I just wish it was down the road from where I live. It’s the sort of place you want to grab a late weekend breakfast, chill out and read the papers. Sadly it’s in the wrong frigging city.
F*ck my luck.
Build it in Bristol next time Ok guys?

St Ali
27 Clerkenwell Road
London
EC1M 5RN

Telephone: 020 7253 5754

http://stali.co.uk/uk

*Added Note*
I've just been informed by the owner of St Ali, through the wonder of Twitter, that 'My Mexican Cousin' is so called, because it was literally his Mexican cousin who came up with it. So, now we know.

Spuntino - London

2011-05-03T15:51:00.004+01:00

Regular readers of my blog, you know, the achingly hip, hauntingly beautiful yet supremely intelligent types…. (Yes you), may have noticed a lack of restaurant reviews of late.

Believe it or not, I’ve been dining out often, but the problem is this. The places I’ve been eating at *whispers* haven’t been very good. But to be fair, they haven’t been very bad either. They’ve been alright, sort of OK…adequate.
Y’see I find mediocre boring to eat, extremely boring to write about, and absolutely yawnsome to read. I’m only interested in writing about the two complete opposite ends of the scale. Really bad is really good…. at least, good in the writing sense. It’s an absolute joy to write about somewhere that is cringingly awful, truly abysmal. Because, lets face it, if it’s that bad they deserve everything they get, upto and including my size 11's planted firmly in their rectums, in the literary sense of course.

And really good is just that, the best of all. Cracking to eat and an absolute pleasure to spew forth my gushing appreciation, alles uber da platz.

So. That’s the situation. I’ve been biding my time, pissing my hard earned cash down a urinal of culinary mediocrity, gradually…falling…. asleep…until….

….Last week I finally got a chance to pop my head into the recently opened Spuntino in London
The latest Soho outpost in the rather excellent Polpo/Polpetto stable, Spuntino is, for anyone who’s visited its sister restaurants, both familiar and at the same time, a bit of a diversion. Here is the same battered and frayed Victorian wreck meets New York dive bar chic, the same brown paper menus and even the same almost effortless cool vibe. But out is the Venetian bacaro style menu, instead replaced by a hard to define, New York bar snack menu punctuated with flashes of eccentricity and off the wall brilliance. Also out is the restaurant table, instead a bar fills most of the room with stools surrounding it.

It’s extremely informal. There’s no booking, (there isn’t even a telephone number to call), just show up, grab a stool, eat and drink off the bar with the food arriving in no particular order, as it’s ready.

Sipping a Meantime Pale Ale and studying the menu whilst nibbling on the complimentary popcorn served in a chipped enamel mug, I mentally wrestled with what to order. It’s such an unusual menu, filled with such interesting things it’s hard to know what to try first.

Egg and Soldiers arrived, a shelled, runny boiled egg, coated in a spicy crust with toast for dipping. Something different, but perhaps a bit too conventional when stacked up against the sheer awesomeness of the next dish to appear.

Truffled egg toast. A thick square of toasted white bread, with a square hollow cut into it, which is then filled with beaten eggs and truffle oil, and then finally surrounded by melted fontina cheese was very good indeed. Rich, oozing and just a bit decadent. I liked it a lot.

A Ground Beef and Bone Marrow Slider appeared next. (A Slider, in case you’re not aware is a mini burger). A skewered mini bun of melted cheese smothered meatiness. It was very nice indeed, but I’ve been thinking about the price. It was £4.50, which in itself isn’t terribly expensive…but, just a short walk from here you can get arguably the best burger in London, the Hawksmoor Burger with triple cooked chips for £15. The dilemma in my mind is, do three £4.50 sliders add up to the wonder that is a Hawksmoor burger and chips? I’m inclined to think no. Although in the context of the whole small snack menu, they work – I just think they might be a tad overpriced.

Eggplant chips with fennel yoghurt were beautifully crisp, with a nice aniseed kick from the dip. I could have sat whiling away the hours munching on these whilst drinking beer all day.

I was intrigued by the Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich, which turned out to be a couple of slices of peanut butter ice cream, sprinkled with crispy peanut ‘bits’ and filled with Jam. It was absolutely cracking, but definitely one for sharing as I found it a bit too sweet to finish on my own. (Although I managed…of course).

Spuntino is a very hard place to dislike. It’s extremely accessible and informal, the menu design, the bar stool eating and the lack of reservations invite both quick grazing and longer drawn out meals. In fact, I suspect propping up the bar here will be a very pleasant way to spend a few hours.

But what I like most is… it’s different.
Where identi-kit restaurants and bars, each with menus practically identical to each other blight our land from top to bottom, Spuntino is breaking new ground. They really are doing their own thing with a menu packed full of interesting new ideas and twists. It’s innovative, eccentric and therefore utterly cool. I applaud and cheer them for this heartily. I will be back, soon.

Spuntino
61 Rupert Street
W1D 7PW

http://www.spuntino.co.uk

*Edited to add*
I've just been reliably informed that there is a full size burger available at Spuntino, priced at £8. But just like the famous burger at Joe Allen, it's not actually on the menu.

An amazing Potato Soup

2011-04-22T20:27:00.005+01:00

Right now, the weather is so bloody nice, it makes a post about soup seem almost perverted somehow. But last week I made the best soup, well...ever basically. It absolutely blew me away and I just have to write about it. In any case, this being Britain, it'll probably be snowing next week. When it does, you'll all be thanking me for this.

It's a potato soup based on a recipe from the legendary Simon Hopkinson, who pinched it from the once legendary Walnut Tree restaurant, so it's actually legendary multiplied by two. Therefore, logically, an über legendary recipe. Tres legend as we say in Essex.
BTW - I've heard whispers that Mr Hopkinson has a new six part cookery series airing on the BBC this summer. Titled 'The Good Cook' I reckon It's going to be a must watch.

This recipe is interesting in that despite it's apparent simplicity and it's unusual 'boil it to death' cooking technique the resulting soup is fantastic. Honestly, it's frigging awesome. It's also extremely adaptable. We used the recipe as a base for a wild garlic version to serve at our 'Montpelier Basement' supper club recently and it worked really well.

Potato Soup with Porcini

Serves 4-6

You'll Need:-

5 Medium Potatoes (I used Maris Piper).
2 Cloves Garlic
60g Butter
Salt and Pepper
200g Porcini finely diced (The recipe calls for fresh mushrooms, but I used dried, and used the resulting mushroom 'soaking liquid' to loosen up the soup and add more flavour).
250ml Single Cream
2 Tbsp finely chopped parsley
Freshly Grated Parmesan Cheese
1 White Truffle, shaved (Optional...thank God for that!)

Peel and roughly chop the potatoes.
Boil them in salted water with the garlic. Cook until the potatoes disintegrate.
Pass the potatoes, cooking water and garlic through a mouli (If you don't have one, I guess you could push through a sieve with a wooden spoon, but it'd be hard work - definitely DON'T blitz or liquidise spuds - they turn to wallpaper paste).
Return to the heat. Add half the butter, salt and freshly ground black pepper. Beat the mixture with a whisk, if it's too thick (It almost certainly will be) loosen with some water, or if you used dried porcini, the mushroom 'stock' from re-hydrating them.

Saute the Porcini (dried or fresh) in the remaining butter and put to one side.

Add the cream and parsley to the soup.
Check the seasoning and consistency carefully, it should be velvety and impossibly creamy.
Serve in warm bowls, with the porcini piled on top and liberally smothered with grated parmesan and a nice drizzle of good olive oil.

Alternatively, omit the porcini (if you wish...or leave it in!) and stir through a good hand full of chopped wild garlic with the parsley and cream, at the end for a... errr...wild garlic version.

Cheese! (The blog post - part 2).

2011-04-12T10:25:00.003+01:00

Regular readers of my blog, casting their minds back to January, may remember mention of my heroic cheese mongering exploits for Trethowan’s Dairy at their Harvey Nichols pop up shop over the festive period, and of my rather comprehensive post on the subject of cheese here.

I’m pleased to say, (after a brief gap), that my epic fromage exploits continue. But, I am now safely ensconced in the St Nicholas Market cheese shop, with a much bigger range of cheese to learn about.
In fact there’s so much cheese that’s entirely new to me, I thought it worth another post to highlight it.

Let me start by saying, the most gratifying thing of all is that most of the cheese is British, in fact almost exclusively so. There are a couple of French cheeses, which are just so good, with no viable homegrown alternative, that they just have to be stocked. But I’m heartened by the fact that artisan British cheese is bloody amazing,and there’s lots of it.

One of the reasons for this British cheese renaissance that we’re currently experiencing is partly due to people like legendary South West cheese maker Mary Holbrook who started making goats milk cheeses in the 70’s, innovating and experimenting. We sell a couple of her cheeses; the rather beautiful blunt pyramid shaped Tymsboro, an unpasteurised goats cheese with a tangy, slightly nutty taste which should be arriving back in the shop any day soon.

We also stock her rather fabulous Old Ford as well. It’s an unpasteurised hard goats cheese, and has a lovely almost buttery, dry and nutty flavour. It’s slightly salty and in a way, strangely reminds me a little of feta. It’s a bloody gorgeous cheese.

Moving onto British sheep cheeses, we sell a couple produced by cheese makers Andy and Anne Wigmore, who, believe it or not produce their cheese from a converted garage at the end of their garden, near Reading in Berkshire. The first is the eponymous ‘Wigmore’ an unpasteurised cheese and made using vegetable rennet. With this cheese, unusually it’s all about the texture as opposed the flavour. Don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely stuff, but the texture is incredible. It’s soft, almost meltingly so, with a crisp shell like rind, it tastes sweet, light and milky and practically dissolves in your mouth. I guarantee you’ve never tried anything quite like it.

The Wigmores also produce Spenwood. This is one of my favourite cheeses right now. Like their other cheese, it’s unpasteurised and made using vegetable rennet. It’s very subtle, but has a nutty, hard to define flavour – the only description I can come up with, and which always pops into my head when I taste it, is ‘comforting’. I could eat it all day long.

Another of my favourites right now is Beenleigh Blue. As the name suggests it’s a blue cheese. Made from pasteurised ewe’s milk cheese, using vegetable rennet and produced in Totnes, Devon, it’s comparable to Roquefort but is less salty. Basically this stuff is bloody gorgeous, it’s got such a distinctive sweet tangy flavour. We’ve been using it a lot when cooking for our supper club ‘The Basement’ and it is incredible with roast beetroot or crumbled into a risotto. It’s sharpness cuts beautifully through fatty meat dishes. I absolutely love it.

Moving onto cheese made from cow’s milk. We’ve recently been stocking Hafod, a Welsh Cheddar style cheese from Lampeter in West Wales. It’s unpasteurised, and made using traditional rennet. Also of some note is the fact that it’s organic. It has an incredible deep yellow colour, and has real depth of flavour, which, as Cheddars go, is subtle, nutty and buttery. It’s lovely stuff, but is pretty expensive even by handmade artisan cheese standards.

Whilst we’re in Wales, lets talk about a cheese that my employers, the Trethowans make. In my last cheese post I mentioned their bloody awesome Gorwydd Caerphilly. This time it’s their Gorwydd Washed Rind or GWR as it’s known. Basically, it’s the same cheese as the Gorwydd Caerphilly, but on day one it’s put aside and washed with a salt-water solution. This simple process amazingly changes almost every characteristic of the cheese. Rather than the grey rind ofthe normal Gorwydd Caerphilly, it develops a sticky yellow rind. As opposed to being crumbly, its texture can almost be described as ‘meaty’ being soft and creamy, with a more pronounced flavour. It’s a superb cheese, and it’s also interesting to note, as with all artisan cheeses, it’s texture and taste changes subtly throughout the year. Its flavour is dependent on the milk used to produce it, which is itself influenced by what the cows have been eating. Bearing this in mind, spring and autumn in particular are often superb times for cheeses which have relatively short maturation periods, e.g. GWR and goat cheeses like Dorstone. Right now GWR is bloody awesome and tastes that much better to the cheeses I was sampling in December.

Sparkenhoe Red Leicester is a strikingly coloured, unpasteurised cows milk cheese. Cloth wrapped in the traditional way in Upton, Leicestershire. I have to be honest, before I started selling cheese, I’d only ever encountered supermarket Red Leicester. day-glo orange chunks of tasteless cheese, about as flavoursome as the plastic they were wrapped in. The real stuff is, as you can imagine, far more interesting. Subtle, nutty and almost mustardy in flavour. It’s a million miles away from the supermarket stuff. Interestingly, the red colour is produced by the addition of annatto, a natural flavourless plant dye made from a tree that grows in South America and the Caribbean. Traditionally, cheese makers wanted their cheese to stand out from the competition at market, colouring the cheese red was a way to achieve this.

Ogleshield is also an unpasteurised washed rind cows milk cheese made by Jamie Montgomery in Somerset (of Montgomery Cheddar fame). It’s firm, yellow and has an almost wine-like, soft flavour. It’s very similar to the French Raclette, and shares it’s incredible melting qualities. Personally I love it used as Raclette, so melted and tipped over potatoes, pickled onions and cornichons, but I’m not so keen on it eaten in it’s own right. I find it just a little too subtle for my tastes.

Adrahan is a similar washed rind cheese, but unlike Ogleshield, is pasteurised, made using vegetable rennet and is from County Cork in Ireland. I much prefer this. It’s sticky, smelly (which can be off-putting for some) and somewhat moister. But despite the smell, it’s surprisingly subtle. It shares some of the wine-like flavours with Ogelshield, but it also has it’s own underlying slightly smoky taste. It has an almost meaty texture and is lovely stuff.

Finally, let’s finish up with a French cheese. Langres. It looks incredible, like a golden brain (Just me then?) Made from unpasteurised cows milk, traditional rennet and produced in the Champagne-Ardennes region, as with the previously mentioned cheeses it has a washed rind. But somewhat more extravagantly, it’s washed with ’marc’, which is a spirit made from leftover skins and pulp from the champagne making process. As you can imagine, Langres has an almost wine like flavour, and is creamy and soft in texture. Apparently the French, if really pushing the boat out in celebration, put a splash of champagne into the depression at the top of the cheese. Tres decadent eh? As with most washed rind cheeses it smells more pungent than it actually tastes. It’s lovely stuff, one of my favourites in fact.

So, between this and my last cheese post, that’s pretty much most of the fromage I’m currently selling covered. I’m proud to say most of it is British, and all of it tastes absolutely amazing.
Time for my Jerry Springer style "final thought" - It really is worth spending a bit more on the quality handmade artisan stuff, even if it means eating a bit less. Factory mass produced cheeses just don't compare. Until next time, take care of yourselves, each other and your cheese.

Faggots braised in Bristol Beer Factory Bitter

2011-04-04T11:16:00.011+01:00

Where it comes to meat, I’m an unrepentant consumer. I’m at my absolute happiest with a severed hoof hanging limply out of my mouth, whilst I clutch a blood spattered cleaver and drag an industrial polythene bag containing at least 2 Kilos of unidentifiable, bloody animal parts along with my other hand.

I go too far with the imagery perhaps, (just a little) but what I'm driving at, and I feel this can only be expressed in the following, almost primal sentence - ‘I likes me meat’, and I'm in no way squeamish about it in a raw state. Ever.

At least, I wasn’t. Until I made Faggots last week.

I was making the aforementioned meaty balls (steady) for our ‘Montpelier Basement’ supper club, and when I say ‘I’, it was very literally just me, a one-man show. ‘E’ had recoiled in horror long before at the sheer meaty carnage and was hiding somewhere in the house

It wasn’t just one or two that I had to make, I could have handled that, but I had to make 30 cricket ball sized globes, which meant digging my hands into 2 kilos of minced, pink, sticky, gelatinous seriously Offaly smelling pigs liver and then stirring through various spices, more pig; in the shape of a kilo of minced pork belly; breadcrumbs and herbs.

It was good stuff, Gloucester Old Spot, but strangely it didn't make me feel any better as I looked down into this quivering cauldron of mangled pig parts. I'm ashamed to say I almost broke. I really didn't fancy putting my mitts in there. But then quite suddenly, I got a grip and with a small sigh and a ‘lets get on with this’ shrug of resignation, of the type you’ll often see from new parents changing a particularly loathsome shitty nappy, I relented and slowly sank my hands in, seemingly up to the elbow

Warm and sticky.

I’d be hard pressed to describe anything about the process pleasant, but I got stuck in and it wasn’t long before the breadcrumbs and spices had mixed through nicely with the meat and it all looked a hell of a lot more palatable. By the time I’d rolled out a couple of trays of neat looking porky spheres, I was feeling quite pleased with myself.

Next came wrapping them in Caul fat. I’d read about its use often, but never actually got my hands on some. It’s basically the membrane that surrounds a pig’s internal organs and looks almost web like in appearance. It’s awesome stuff with amazing stretching qualities. I little goes a long way, and it wasn't long before my meaty globes (hahaha) were encased in the most incredibly organic looking wrappers.

We’d decided to braise them in a combination of chicken stock and gorgeous Bristol Beer Factory No.7 Bitter. Not to blow our own trumpet (much) they were a thumping success.
Everyone almost with exception absolutely loved them. I tried one, and it was surprisingly light, quite spicy and intensely meaty. We served each with some local Sharpham Park pearled spelt (cooked in the same way as a risotto, with chopped sage stirred through at the end), and buttered Savoy Cabbage.

If I’m honest, it’s probably one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever cooked. To make something so excellent out of such seemingly unappetising ingredients really strikes a chord for my inner peasant.

Here’s the recipe.

Gloucester Old Spot Faggots braised in Bristol Beer Factory No.7

Serves 6

You’ll Need: -

20g butter
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, peeled and crushed.
sea salt and black pepper
1/3 Tsp ground mace
1/3 Tsp allspice
Pinch of cayenne pepper
1 Tsp chopped sage
1 Tsp chopped thyme
1 heaped Tbsp of finely chopped parsley
400g pork liver, trimmed and minced
250g minced pork belly (Gloucester Old Spot if available).
125g fresh white breadcrumbs
150g caul fat – soaked in water

For the Gravy: -

15g butter
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 Tbsp plain flour
½ Tsp tomato puree
250ml Bristol Beer Factory No-7 Bitter
500ml chicken stock
Dash of Worcestershire Sauce

To make the faggots, melt the butter in a small pan and add the onion, garlic and a pinch of salt and pepper. Sweat for 6-8 minutes until soft but not coloured. Tip into a large mixing bowl and leave to cool.

Tip in ALL of the rest of the ingredients, (except the caul fat) and season well. Think happy thoughts and get your hands in there, mixing well.
Divide the mixture into 6 portions, and roll into neat balls. Place on a tray, cover with Clingfilm and chill for at least 30mins to firm up.

Preheat the oven to 200C.Wrap each faggot in the caul fat, overlapping the edges, which should stick.Place in a lightly oiled roasting tray, spacing apart. Press to flatten very slightly, season and bake for 30-35 mins until browned.

Whilst this is happening, make the gravy.

Melt the butter in a saucepan and add the onion. Season and sweat. Stir frequently for 5-6 mins, until beginning to soften. Stir in the flour and the tomato purée to make a paste. Stir for a minute or 2, and then pour in the Bitter, stirring the whole time.

Boil and reduce by two thirds. Pour in the chicken stock, and bring back to a simmer for 10-15mins, until slightly thickened. Season to taste, and add a few dashes of Worcestershire Sauce.

Pour the gravy over the faggots to coat them all and bake for another 10-15mins. Baste them halfway through and serve when the faggots are nicely glazed.

(Recipe adapted from the rather excellent Great British Pub Food)

P.S.

Exciting news, and validation in particular of how cool I am, and by association, how cool you lot are for reading my blog. We’re all frigging tres cool basically, and here’s the reason why.
In the latest issue of Esquire, glossy magazine for the discerning gentleman, I was listed as one of the ‘5 Food Bloggers the restaurants fear’.Which I don’t believe for a second, but it stroked my needy and fragile ego rather nicely, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Brown Windsor soup - A revival

2011-03-28T17:12:00.009+01:00

I’ve always been slightly intrigued by Brown Windsor Soup. I’ve read mention of it countless times, generally in the context of Victorian or Edwardian dining, or perhaps later being associated with drab wartime austerity. It seems to come up again and again, but I’ve never tried it. I’ve never seen it on a menu and I barely know anyone who’s ever eaten it, apart from my Mother – once, in the 1960’s in London, who remembered it as being “Nice and rich”.

It used to be a restaurant staple, an absolute British classic, but the ravages of wartime economy meant that although it remained very much on the menu, the only defining characteristic it shared with it’s pre-war version was it’s brownness. ‘E’s grandfather apparently ate it whilst serving in the RAF, and remembers it being made from Bovril.
Abominations such as this are what helped to consign it not only to the dustbin of culinary history, but literally had it being held up as an example of the sheer awfulness of British cooking.

Recently I came across an Alastair Little recipe for Brown Windsor, and browsing the list of ingredients it was hard to see anything to dislike, in fact; it sounded absolutely delicious. Shin of beef, Lamb fillet, Marrow Bone, Cayenne and Sherry. Meat and booze! Does it get any better?
How could we, as a nation, have fallen out of love with something seemingly so right?

There was it seemed, only one-way to find out.

The soup’s very Britishness seemed to fit in nicely with what we try and do at our Bristol based ‘Montpelier Basement’ supper club, where the recurring theme is British, seasonal and local. When we announced it was on the menu, there was a fair bit of interest in the dish, it seemed I wasn’t the only one who had heard of it and was intrigued.

The night before the supper, we worked our way through the recipe ending up with a cauldron of murky, brackish swamp like liquid. Removing the bones, and scraping the jellified marrow out into the soup elicited something of an appalled and disgusted commentary from pescetarian ‘E’, for who the sheer meatiness was just a step too far. But the prodigious use of a stick blender and then forcing the resulting mixture through a Mouli saw something of a transformation…the soup slowly became a rather drab, but not entirely unexpected, uniform brown. The final additional flourish of some sherry and cayenne did nothing to improve the dull earthen sheen.

But what did it taste like?

Belying its slightly depressing, functional look, it tasted absolutely belting. Subtle at first, meaty. But then turning spicy and tinged with the sherry flavour. Bloody gorgeous.

We decided to liven things up slightly by adding a dollop of horseradish and chive crème fraiche to each bowl, which also helped to break up the appalling brownness.

The verdict of our diners at ‘The Basement’? The general consensus seemed to be that they absolutely loved it. In fact, I don’t think anyone we asked disliked it.

So, time for Brown Windsor Soup to emerge from it’s period in culinary limbo and once again take it’s place on menus across the nation, if only that a whole new generation can get to sample an absolute British classic? I think so.

Here’s the recipe.

Brown Windsor Soup
Serves 8

You’ll Need: -

225g Shin of Beef, cut into 2.5cm cubes
225g Lamb Fillet, cut into 2.5cm cubes
60g Dripping or Butter
1 Large Onion, thinly sliced
2 Carrots cut into small dice
60g Flour
1 Marrow Bone, sawn into 5cm pieces
2.25 Litres Beef or Chicken Stock
Bouquet Garni of Celery, Bay and Thyme
Salt and Pepper
1 tsp Cayenne Pepper
Sherry glass of Sweet Sherry or Madeira
Chopped Chives, Crème Fraiche, Horseradish to garnish (optional).

In a heavy casserole, brown the meat in the dripping or butter. Add the sliced onion and carrots, lower the heat and fry gently until they wilt. Sprinkle over the flour; turn up the heat and brown, stirring.

Add the marrow bone, pour over the stock and bring to the boil. Skim, and then lower the heat to a simmer. Add the bouquet garni and season. Simmer for 2 hours, topping up with water if needed.

Remove the bones and the bouquet garni (Making sure to scrape the marrow out into the soup). Blitz with a stick blender, then use a Mouli or push through a sieve using a wooden spoon into a clean pan. Adjust the seasoning and add the cayenne pepper and sweet sherry or Madeira.

Heat through gently before serving.
If you fancy pepping it up a bit, as we did, add some crème fraiche mixed with horseradish and finely chopped chives.

Red Onion & Red Wine Soup

2011-03-14T12:25:00.003Z

Regular visitors to my blog may have heard me mention ‘The Eagle Cookbook’ once or twice in the past two years.
Despite amassing a collection of cookbooks large enough that I can almost legitimately refer to the living room as ‘The upstairs library’, this eponymous recipe book remains one of my absolute favourites.

In fact, despite seemingly cooking through it from cover to cover, I still managed to idly flick through the other day and stumble across yet another excellent rustic recipe that had somehow escaped my attention.

This ones an absolute cracker as well, managing to use up a whole bottle of red wine and a rather spectacular heap of twelve red onions (Since starting ‘The Basement’ we often seem to have the odd spare bottle of red lurking, which makes me think I’m beginning to show my age here…not so long ago, it would have been sloshing down my gullet in the blink of an eye - if you're reading this, aghast at the very prospect of leftover wine, I salute you).

So, if you’re the proud owner of a red wine/red onion mountain, this one is for you. The dish is apparently northern Italian in origin, and is a bit of a warming winter soup, so seeing as more snow is knocking around parts of the UK right now, perhaps get it in before spring begins proper.
Oh, it’s served with Parmesan Bruschetta – which are ridiculously easy to make and are an integral part of the dish, so don’t omit these, ok?

Red Onion & Red Wine Soup with Parmesan Bruschetta

Serves 6

You’ll Need: -

1 Bottle of red wine
4 Cloves
4 Bay Leaves
A few sprigs of Thyme
50g Butter
4 Tbs Olive Oil
12 Red Onions, sliced
4 Garlic cloves, chopped
2 Teaspoons tomato puree
500ml Vegetable stock
2 Tbs Balsamic Vinegar
1 Teaspoon ground cinnamon

For the Parmesan Bruschetta

6 Slices ‘country-style’ bread (I used sourdough).
2 Garlic cloves, peeled and halved
Extra virgin olive oil
Freshly grated Parmesan

Pour the wine into a large saucepan or casserole; add the cloves, bay leaves and half the thyme. Boil over a high heat until reduced by half. Strain, reserving the liquid. In the same saucepan, melt the butter with the olive oil. Add the red onions and garlic. Cook slowly over a medium heat until tender, stirring now and again. (This will take at least 30 mins).
Add the reduced wine, tomato puree, vegetable stock and the remaining thyme. Cook at a gentle simmer for half hour. Stir in the balsamic vinegar and cinnamon, simmer for another 15 mins and season.

To make the Bruschetta, toast the bread on a griddle or in a dry, heavy frying pan. Rub with garlic, and drizzle with extra virgin olive oil. Sprinkle with loads of Parmesan. Don’t be stingy.

Put a piece of Parmesan Bruschetta in each bowl, and pour over the soup. Garnish with thyme.

This soup is absolutely gorgeous, rich and sweet. In the photo I balanced the Bruschetta on top, but only so you, the reader, can see them. Otherwise, they’d be hidden under the soup. (Always thinking me). Oh and rather than the suggested 1 each, I decided 3 was a much safer bet, greedy bastardo that I am.
As is often the case with soups and stews, this tastes just that much better re-heated the next day.

The Sportsman - Seasalter - Kent

2011-03-01T22:07:00.001Z

Bitter experience has taught me that where it comes to dining out, expectation often leads to disappointment. I’ve lost count of the instances where the hype and promise surrounding a restaurant has built up my anticipation to almost feverish heights, but at the end of the night, the actual meal ends with blank looks, shrugs and a deflated ‘So was that it?’ feeling.

Therefore, no one was more surprised than me after a recent visit to the much-lauded, Michelin starred Sportsman pub in Seasalter, Kent. In the resulting post lunch haze, I came to the startling conclusion that it wasn’t just jaw droppingly amazing, but I had just eaten, without a doubt the best meal I’ve ever had – anywhere.

A bold statement you may think, and an even bolder statement if you’re prone to judging a book by its cover. The Sportsman being a somewhat down at heel looking building, just a stones throw from the sea, beside a quiet coastal road, surrounded for the most part by bleak marshland and fields dotted with grazing sheep. Don’t get me wrong; the location has something of a rugged charm to it. But what’s really remarkable about the place is, how unremarkable it is. Unless you knew better, you’d probably drive past with barely a sideward glance.

The overcast February weather on the day that ‘E’ and I visited probably didn’t do much to improve The Sportsman’s exterior charm. The frozen stillness of the grey leaden sky providing an almost perfect backdrop for the unremitting rolling crash of waves on the freezing cold pebble beach and the murky uninviting sea beyond.

Upon entering the pub, the weather outside provided a stark contrast to the charm of the bright, scrubbed, cheerful and welcoming interior. A log fire crackled lazily in the grate, and the room was flooded with natural light from the large windows on either side of the room.

Feeling instantly better about our prospects, we were directed to a large wooden table in the corner. We’d booked for the tasting menu (only available Monday to Friday, which is a bit of a pain in the arse, unless you live locally and are at large on weekdays). Our waitress asked whether we’d like the whole tasting menu to be a surprise, or if we wanted to know what they had in store. Being the busybody killjoys that we undoubtedly are, we opted to know what we would be eating beforehand. Being handed individually printed, separate menus was a nice touch (I had informed them beforehand that ‘E’ of course is a pescetarian and therefore foregoes the immeasurable delights provided by meat, whilst at the same time, embracing the fishy charms offered up by the sea). Which is handy, because at first glance fish appeared to feature heavily.

The Sportsman, as well as being a Michelin starred restaurant, is a pub. A proper one, with a remarkably priced wine list. The most expensive bottle comes in at just under £30. (This is partly due to the pub being tied to the local Shepherd Neame brewery, and therefore having to choose from what’s available at the brewery's suppliers). Nevertheless, it’s a well-chosen list. We decided to go for a bottle of Monopole Blanco 2009, a white Rioja, which we thought might be a good general option to go with the multiple dishes in the tasting menu. More from sheer blind luck than any real wine knowledge, we got it right and the chosen wine was perfect.

A slate appeared with some appetisers to kick off with. Neat looking beautifully fresh squares of Pickled Herring, Bramley Apple Jelly & Soda Bread.

The best pork crackling I’ve ever tasted, light and crisp but soft enough that it almost melted away in the mouth. When combined with the mustard, (which I think may have had a slight touch of apple), it was frigging awesome.

And one portion of Smoked Mackerel, Apple Jelly, Soda Bread and Sorrel (which I didn’t get to taste because ‘E’ stuffed it in her gob without offering me anything but a backwards ‘it was nice’ comment. (To be fair, it was her birthday and I shall of course be adding similar behaviour to the repertoire for my next birthday).

Our next dish swiftly appeared, Poached Rock Oyster, Sea-Buckthorn Granita, Jersey Cream and Dried Seaweed. I don’t think I’ve eaten a cooked oyster before, and now I’m wondering why as it was so bloody nice. The sea-buckthorn, (a wild foraged berry which grows in coastal regions), had a nice sweet, sour note which cut through the rich cream.

More poached oyster goodness followed, in the shape of Poached Native Oysters, Buerre Blanc, Pickled Cumber and topped with Avruga Caviar (Which I was unfamiliar with, and a quick Google has told me is a caviar substitute made from herring roe). Again, absolutely delicious, the buttery, slightly lemon tang of the buerre blanc complimenting the poached oysters beautifully. Lovely stuff.

A board of excellent bread, along with salted butter appeared next. Every element of which including, amazingly, the sea salt in the butter, is made in the pub. (The salt from seawater gathered from the handily located briny deep, just on the pub's doorstep).

The bread, particularly the focaccia was incredible with a beautifully crisp crust and we steamed our way happily through it all at a rate of knots, greedily accepting the offer of a resupply.

A bowl of Crab Risotto followed next, the brown meat flavouring the rich unctuous rice, and little pile of white meat heaped on top. It was subtly flavoured and delicious.

Mine and ‘E’s dining experience diverted at this point, her pescetarian tendencies meaning her next dish was Slip Sole with Smoked Salt Butter. Which was, from the taster I got, delicious and beautifully cooked. The bones, reminiscent of a cartoon representation were able to be removed in one complete piece.

My dish was Smoked Widgeon, which incidentally I’d never heard of and turned out to be a type of duck. It had been shot “around the back of the pub” (presumably whilst in flight, and not put up against a wall execution style). It came with a small pile of Puy lentils and a smear of quince. Again, beautifully cooked. The smoking gave the widgeon a pleasant almost bacon like taste. The sharpness of the accompanying quince cutting through the fattiness nicely.

‘E’s next morsel was a small heap of Whisky Smoked Salmon, which she ate at an almost obscene pace, declaring it excellent with just a slight underlying taste of whisky. I didn’t get a look in.

Eyeing ‘E’s rather more substantial dish and then turning my gaze back to the few scraps of a rather funky smelling meat I’d been given, I couldn’t help but feeling like I’d been stiffed. But what’s this? An explanatory note, which much to my surprise wasn’t from the chefs offering profuse apologies for the miniscule quantity of meat but an explanation that this was their own ham, laboriously cured on site for at least 14 months. I’m sad to say this was the only duff note in an incredible meal. I admire all concerned for the work involved in locally producing a cured ham. But, when the finished result is far inferior to what artisan producers in Spain are making, and having tasted Jamon de la Dehesa de Extremadura Bellota D.O.P. at Brindisa, I couldn’t help but think The Sportsman should scrap the whole idea of ham curing as a bad job and get some of this instead, because it is absolutely frigging amazing. Or, if not, omit ham from the menu entirely. To be honest I doubt very much if anything produced in the UK could ever compare.

Onwards and upwards. A teapot and cups containing ‘Turbot Tea’ was placed on the table. The ‘Tea’ was the stock that our next course had been cooked in, along with seaweed and soy. It was great, and an inventive way of introducing the next dish.

‘E’s menu and mine converged again at this point, Turbot with Sea Herbs (which were apparently sea beets gathered on the beach that morning by the chefs). Another beautiful dish, turbot is always a treat. The accompanying sea beet had an almost sweet taste, at least we think it was from the sea beet and not the sauce, neither of us having encountered it before. There were also cockles, some white crab meat, and a dusting of scallop roe powder.

Another fork in the road. ‘E’s next dish being a gorgeous looking plate of Red Mullet and Bouillabaisse Sauce. By all accounts it was lovely. I didn’t get to taste this either, but somewhat happily because I was totally and utterly distracted by the plate in front of me. The drive in had made me aware that lamb was very much in the offing. Seemingly in fields everywhere throughout Kent cantered cute little chops…I mean lambs… playfully nuzzled their muttons…mothers.

And here it was, Roast Lamb from Monkshill farm (which was just over the road from the pub). A cutlet resting against a piece of braised shoulder accompanied by probably the most amazing mint sauce I’ve ever tasted (so much so that we had a heated 10 minute discussion about what was in it, before giving in and asking the waitress…just demerara sugar syrup, mint and malt vinegar and no crack cocaine apparently).
Anyway, this dish was probably the best, eyes rolling back in the head, thing I ate. I absolutely loved it.

We’d been here a good few hours by this point, and getting near to the end, signalled by the arrival of a dessert. An Apple Sorbet, topped with yoghurt…and, as we discovered once we started eating, laced with space dust – which I haven’t encountered since I was a kid. A bit gimmicky perhaps, maybe. But ‘E’ and I were giggling and smiling like idiots, so it gets massive thumbs up from me.

Our next course was a somewhat more conventional dish of Iced Cream Cheese and Pear. The slightly sour iced cream cheese heaped on poached pear, scattered with a mixture of crumble and meringue crumbs. Absolutely cracking.

Finally, the best petit fours I’ve ever encountered anywhere – Chocolate mousse with warm salted caramel, squares of Shortbread, Mini Custard Tarts, Chocolate Truffles and finally Mini Apple Turnovers. All of it was excellent, but in particular the chocolate mousse and salted caramel was superb.

So over three hours later, The Sportsman tasting menu. Done.
Strangely, despite seemingly eating for England all afternoon, neither of us felt remotely stuffed or bloated, just happily full and contented. This, despite the eight courses advertised on the menu actually somehow expanding into 13 with all of the extra dishes accounted for.

Incredibly, my expectations had been surpassed by reality. Gobsmacking, it just never happens.
‘E’ and I talked about it afterwards, and agreed that this was without a doubt the best meal either of us had ever eaten anywhere, but it’s quite hard to pin down what made it so special.

I think it’s a combination of things, which make it such an experience. The seemingly remote location albeit surrounded by excellent local produce, seafood from nearby Whitstable, locally growing foraged herbs, vegetables from the pub's own garden and a meat from the nearby farm. There’s a complete and utter lack of pretentiousness about everything, from the service to the food. It’s beautifully informal, yet friendly and slick where it needs to be. The food is carefully presented and perfectly cooked. At the end of the day, I think they love what they’re doing at The Sportsman, and it shows.

I cannot recommend it enough, pretty much faultless. I honestly can’t believe I finally made it there after two years or so of wanting to go, and it was amazing. Seriously, drop everything, take a day off work and go. You won’t regret it.

The Sportsman

Faversham Road,
Seasalter.
Whistable.
Kent
CT5 4BP

Telephone: 01227 273370

http://www.thesportsmanseasalter.co.uk

The Montpelier Basement - Behind the scenes

2011-02-21T20:18:00.005Z

The last time I actually wrote about our Bristol supperclub ‘The Basement’ was just after our second event in October last year. We were complete novices back then embarking on an exciting new venture, fresh faced, young and naive. Much has happened since then. 12 suppers later, and we’ve been transformed into grizzled veterans; complete with scars, burns and wry smiles that seem to say ‘we’ve seen stuff’. But, and this is the nice thing; one of the reasons that we continue is that each event is still as incredibly exciting as the first.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it all takes a hell of a lot of work. In the weeks before there’s the actual administration, announcing dates, emailing backwards and forwards, replying to people who want to come and filling spaces if people drop out. (Last minute cancellations being the absolute worst nightmare of a supper club. The ingredients are bought to order, and it’s not like a restaurant where you’ll get passing trade to fill those places), luckily we’ve not been troubled too much in this regard, *touch wood*

Then there’s setting the tables, cleaning the cutlery and glasses, ironing tablecloths (and a seemingly inexhaustible supply of napkins), drawing up seating plans and building a fire. This is all before we’ve done menu planning, emailed this out to our guests, and then spent at least a couple of days shopping.

Buying ingredients for a supper club presents it’s own problems. You want to cook pork cheeks? Superb. Now try and ensure you’ve got two each for 34 people on the exact weekend you want them. But what’s this? There’s been some kind of balls up at the butchers and the aforementioned porcine cheeks order hasn’t turned up in full and it’s too late to find anything else. So do you scrap that idea and cook something else entirely? It’s often a logistical nightmare I tell you.
Then there’s the sheer bulk of what you have to buy. How about 30 onions, 20 leeks and six kilos of pork belly? Not having a car means I’m slowly developing the squat, muscular build of a man who’s forever humping heavy bags of vegetables and meat for miles and miles in an urban environment.

The night before (or sometimes two nights before, depending on what’s on the menu), we begin to cook. Preparing as much as we can in advance to give us a fighting chance on the actual night of the supper. We have a four-burner hob and one oven. Trying to cook an eight-course menu on that for 17 can be incredibly tricky unless you plan it carefully (as we’ve learnt to our cost when horrified, we discovered three things we should be cooking, had to be in the oven all at the same time, at different temperatures. As you can imagine, much panicked juggling ensued!)
So we bake tarts, make ice cream and simmer stocks, normally working well into the night. The morning of a ‘Basement’ involves getting up early, shopping for last minute items and then cooking, cooking and more cooking. We write a ‘to do’ list; stick it up on the kitchen window and cross stuff off as it’s complete.

No matter how much time we think we have to prepare, the last few hours before a supper always pass in the blink of an eye. There’s normally the slightest moment of calm, a limbo where we wait for the first guest to arrive, and then we’re off, it’s wacky races (I’m Dick Dastardly, and I wont tell you who ‘E’ is……..Ok, who said Mutley?)

We both cook, and love it, sharing all the prep and the actual cooking on the night but we’ve also learnt to play to our individual strengths. ‘E’ has much experience of managing restaurants and waitressing, so she normally takes on the role of maitre d’ and waitress (Moving through the diners, smiling and balancing ridiculous amounts of plates on each hand “gracefully, like a swan” as one of our more poetic diners put it).

My own skill set lies more towards verging on being utterly OCD where it comes to tidiness and organisation. Basically, in between cooking, I wash up and put stuff away like a man possessed. (Finding enough space to plate up 17 dishes is hard enough even with the worktops clear!)
Obviously there’s some overlap, I sometimes act as greeter, clumsily bring dishes out to tables or clear them away and ‘E’ sometimes helps with the washing up (although she absolutely detests doing it), so actually it all works like a well oiled machine…sort of.

One of the main problems is getting the food out all at the same time and hot, but we’ve become pretty adept at getting this right. Making sure the plates are warmed beforehand is a must. (So, just one more thing to cram into the oven then yeah?).

Normally the main course involves much frantic activity, more often than not it’s served with accompanying vegetables and side dishes, which means mucho hob juggling trying to cook everything and keep it hot.

But once it’s all out and our guests are eating, it’s cheesy grins and high-fives. We’re over the ‘hump’ and it’s all downhill from here, (often literally, this is normally my signal to start drinking…. extravagantly). We come out of the kitchen for a bit, mingle, chat to everyone and have a drink with them before finishing off with the desserts and our signature savoury of Gorwydd Caerphilly and Bristol Beer Factory rarebit.

Then, feeling immensely satisfied, elated and buzzing it’s more mingling, chatting and drinking until in the early hours eventually people start to call it a night and drift off home.

Then it’s a sit down, a chat over a drink about how we thought the night went, perhaps a swift tidy up (That would be me), and then off to bed, to get up early and probably do it all again the next day. (Our preference of late is for back to back ‘Basements’ on a Friday and Saturday, it makes for a more manic time, but it means that people who want to come, can and we get some weekends off too…. it’s a tiring win/win).

But wait, the work doesn’t end there. Did I mention trying to get wine stains out of tablecloths? Or the problem of trying to get rid of all those empty bottles? God knows what our bin-men think; let alone our unsuspecting neighbours. Our recycling bin is normally bursting at the seams with 40 odd empty wine bottles on most Mondays…

If you fancy coming along and contributing to our Monday wine bottle mountain, then drop us an email at montpelierbsmt@gmail.com and we’ll add you to the mailing list.

Oh, and don't forget to follow us on Twitter @montpelierbsmt

Mwah Mwah

Homewood Fresh Ewe’s Cheese & Blood Orange Salad with Bristol Marmalade Croutons

2011-02-08T12:49:00.007Z

In our ‘Montpelier Basement’ guise, ‘E’ and I were proud to be asked to provide lunch for the attendees of Bristol’s ‘Cheese School’ on Sunday, a fascinating regular class on all things cheese, jointly hosted by Trethowan’s Dairy and Food Writer Fiona Beckett, held at the Bordeaux Quay cookery school.

The brief was something light (as the ‘pupils’ had been gorging themselves on amazing artisan cheese all morning), but it also had to feature cheese in some way. (My initial thought of cheese& pineapple on cocktail sticks interspersed with Wotsits as a buffet option was swiftly vetoed).
Despite this initial setback (I mean come on! It fitted the brief perfectly), we eventually came up with an amazing yet simple and flavoursome cauliflower cheese soup using excellent Keen’s cheddar, this was topped with small pieces of welsh rarebit made with Trethowan’s own beautiful Gorwydd Caerphilly. (‘E’ has thoughtfully provided the recipe for the soup here on her blog).

In addition, we served a salad of our own invention, using sliced little gem, tossed with Homewood Fresh Ewe’s Cheese, Blood Orange segments and Bristol Marmalade Croutons. Over this we drizzled a warm marmalade dressing.

What’s really nice about this salad is that a local couple makes both the Cheese AND the Marmalade. Tim and Angela who actually met whilst selling their produce on adjoining stalls at a farmers market. (Tim selling his cheeses, Angela selling her jams and chutneys). Talk about ‘terroir’ eh? (If that reference just sailed over your head, ‘terroir’ is a bit of a vague slightly poncey French term to describe a special sense of 'place', with regards to food or wine.) I think this qualifies.

Anyway, enough of my babbling here’s the recipe….

Homewood Fresh Ewe’s Cheese & Blood Orange Salad with Bristol Marmalade Croutons

Serves 4

You’ll Need:-

2 x Little Gem Lettuce – leaves roughly shredded
1x Blood Orange – peeled, segmented and cut into 1cm chunks
2x slices of stale white bread, crusts removed and cut into 1cm cubes for croutons
Small 150g pot Homewood Fresh Ewe’s Milk Cheese
2-3 tbsp. Bristol Marmalade (Substitue normal Marmalade + a splash of Bristol sherry if unavailable).
4 tbs Olive Oil
1 tbs Sherry Vinegar
Butter
Salt & Pepper
2 tsp Pumpkin Seeds – lightly toasted.

To Assemble:-

Arrange the shredded little gem lettuce in a large serving bowl.
Scatter the lettuce with Blood Orange chunks, toasted Pumpkin Seeds and then crumble over the Homewood Fresh Ewe’s Milk Cheese.

Make the marmalade croutons by melting a large knob of butter in a frying pan, when foaming add the bread cubes. Toss in the melted butter and fry until crisp and golden. Add a heaped tbsp of Bristol Marmalade to the pan, and coat the croutons as it melts. Remove from the heat and allow to cool briefly to firm up before sprinkling the croutons over the salad.

To make the dressing, pour the Olive Oil into the same frying pan, with the Sherry Vinegar, and a heaped tbs of the Bristol Marmalade. Cook over a fairly high heat until the marmalade has melted and then drizzle the warm dressing over the finished salad. Season with salt and pepper and serve.

PS – I think I should mention that Angela’s Bristol Marmalade is so called because it has Bristol Sherry in it. And for those outside Bristol looking to buy some Homewood Fresh Ewe’s milk Cheese, it’s stocked by Able & Cole.

The New Inn at Backwell

2011-02-06T21:50:00.000Z

It’s been 2 weeks or so since Michelin published their 2011 guide. As is now almost customary, I scoured the lists of restaurants, and held my head in my hands as once again Essex seems to be almost entirely unrepresented, not a single Michelin Star and just one Bib Gourmand in the whole frigging County. (George and Dragon at Kelvedon, I salute you). Entirely depressing. If it wasn’t for London having an embarrassment of riches when it comes to decent restaurants and being just a stones throw away, I think I’d sink into terminal depression.

However, I was startled out of my low spirits by suddenly remembering that this year I live on the other side of the country and the culinary problems of Essex although close to my heart are 175 miles away.
Happily, Bristol, and the surrounding area fared much better in the 2011 guide with the Pony & Trap at Chew Magna being awarded a star and The New Inn at Backwell getting a Bib Gourmand. It was the latter we decided to visit for lunch last Sunday.

Blackwell lies just outside Bristol; barely 10mins on the train from Temple Meads and then a brisk 15 min walk through a leafy and not entirely charmless village. So surprisingly easy to get to, even for people like me who are currently minus a car *sniff*

The New Inn itself is a lovely looking place, old, stone built and with character but obviously the subject of recent refurbishment, it all looks very neat, tidy and pleasant. The interior also looks brand spankingly decorated in muted grey contemporary colours, but the wooden floors and original fireplaces help to retain some age worn character. It all feels suitably cosy and relaxing. It was nice to see some locals drinking in the bar, I think there’s nothing worse than a place purporting to be a ‘pub or inn’ that is actually anything but.

Taking a seat in the restaurant area proper, beyond the bar we got our first look at the menu. My Initial thoughts were, ambitious inventive cooking and bloody cheap…. 3 courses for £19.50 – Hello!

Unusually, as the whole menu looked so interesting ‘E’ and myself decided to order a starter each and an additional one to share.

Despite having chewed and gnawed my way through some bloody awful Carpaccio style dishes in the past, (A lamb Carpaccio in Southend’s ‘The Glasshouse’ a few years back being perhaps the worst, three 50p size slivers of tasteless chewy meat sprinkled with dried packet herbs…£7 thanks very much). The New Inn’s Carpaccio of Long Ashton Fillet with Stilton Shortbread and Stout Cream, intrigued me.
The plate of food looked beautiful, serious food porn and the actual Carpaccio itself was awesome, meaty full of flavour and generously portioned. Unfortunately the Stilton shortbread was overcooked, and just a bit hard. So much so, that as I tried to cut into it, the end went pinging off across the table and onto the floor. It all tasted great though and it’s nice to see someone doing something really different and exciting with British food.

‘E’ had gone for something of a more classic yet conventional dish, Moules Marinières. There’s not a lot to say about this really, the pile of mussels cooked in garlic, cream and white wine looked attractive enough presented in a glass bowl, but if I’m honest it’s not something I ever order in restaurants finding it a bit unadventurous. Although to be fair to ‘E’ it was the only choice out of the starters for a Pescetarian.

A vegetarian would have been stumped for starters actually, as it turned out the only non-meat dish we’d ordered to share ‘Welsh Rarebit Mousse with Chicory, Apple and Red Cabbage’ contained Gelatine and ‘E’ could only look on aghast as I ate it all. It was really interesting actually, as with the previous dishes, it was beautifully presented, with all of the expected cheesy rarebit flavours present in the mousse, which contrasted nicely against the sharp and sour flavours in the accompanying salad.

So far so good, some minor niggles but really interesting food.

I love a nice bit of Pork Belly, so couldn’t resist some that was 12 hour roasted with crackling and braised cabbage puree.

Up it came, and bloody hell. It was a work of art. I don’t think I’ve seen a roast dinner as beautifully presented ever. There was even a sneaky piece of mystery meat, (which turned out to be duck), perched on top. A small pot of rich jus to pour over it all completed what to my mind looked like a perfect plate of Sunday lunch. I’m happy to say that it didn’t just look amazing, but tasted the part as well.

Almost in an act of vegetarian redemption for the lack of starter options, separate large bowls of superb roast potatoes were deposited on the table, mine cooked in goose fat, ‘E’s cooked in vegetable oil and a nice big bowl of seasonal vegetables.

‘E’s veggie choice of Baked Leek and Pine Nut Pudding with Roasted Parsnips was excellent, it’s really good to see some real thought going into Sunday lunch vegetarian options on the menu with ‘E’ constantly frustrated by the almost standard unimaginative restaurant options of dishes comprised of goats cheese in some form or other, or a totally inappropriate pasta dish.

Stuffed silly and bursting at the seams, but having caught sight of a dessert menu with yet more inventive dishes evident, so refusing to throw the towel in just yet, I ordered ‘Nougat, Pistachio and Hazelnut Praline with Salt Coffee Parfait’.
What an amazing dessert, the whole thing was delightful to eat, although I have to say the salt coffee parfait served in a jar was particularly good.

I’ve eaten in a lot of Gastro-Pubs, and more often than not the desserts are where things normally fall down. How many times have you seen Sticky Toffee Pudding or Crème Brulee on the menu? The same old dishes again and again and again, Isn’t it about time we moved on a bit?
Don’t get me wrong both of these examples can be sublime when done well, but enough is enough, I wish restaurants would put as much thought into their desserts as they do with the rest of the menu.

Happily, The New Inn hasn’t fallen into the rut that so many other places seem to languish in and their desserts are exciting, new and unusual. Even when a classic is served, it’s with a twist, the Rhubarb Crumble coming with the intriguing addition of Bay Leaf cream for example.

Across the table, ‘E’ was eating a well made ‘Bitter Chocolate Tart with Marzipan Ice Cream and Chocolate & Orange Sauce’, again something a bit different and a bit exciting, I can’t say I’ve seen Marzipan Ice Cream before and it was bloody good, maybe a bit sickly sweet after the excesses of the rest of the meal, but I’m pleased I tried it.

So, on the plus side The New Inn at Backwell gets a massive thumbs up from me. I can easily forgive the minor quibble of the overcooked Stilton shortbread as the food was generally amazing. My only real negative comment is that the starters need to include a real vegetarian option, if it contains gelatine it’s not actually vegetarian. But nevertheless really beautiful and interesting food, inventive use of quality ingredients, the best Sunday lunch I’ve eaten for quite some time and perhaps the most imaginative and exciting dessert menu I’ve seen in a gastro-pub for years. Oh and at £19.50 for 3 courses, it’s a total bargain as well. I can’t wait to go back to give the evening dinner menu a try.

The New Inn at Backwell

86 West Town Road,
Backwell
Bristol
BS48 3BE

Telephone: 01275 462199

http://www.newinn-backwell.co.uk/

Forman's Love Cook Off (Win a Hamper Competition!)

2011-01-31T15:54:00.009Z
If you happened to be a passing my basement kitchen last night, and stopped to listen closely. You might have heard the torrent of filthy curses, screams of rage and incredulous swearing emanating from my normally cultured mouth.
I thought I’d left that behaviour behind. Guests at our supper club often comment on how calm and serene the kitchen appears to be. But the blind cooking rage returned last night as I wrestled and sweated, trying to create something from a pretty random selection of produce sent to me by Forman & Field of London.

I’d somewhat naively agreed to participate in a Valentine’s Cook Off using a box of mystery ingredients with the aim of creating the best Valentine menu. I would be competing against a cunning and notoriously evil group of my fellow food bloggers.
‘I will crush them’. (Said in an Ivan Drago style voice)…

Tearing open and unpacking the mystery box, my excitement turned to puzzlement and then finally to panic I was confronted with the following luxurious, but utterly disparate selection of items…

H. Forman & Son Royal Fillet of Smoked Scottish Salmon
Formans Marinated Anchovies with Garlic
Mrs Kirkham's Lancashire Cheese
Moniack Castle Horseradish Sauce
Plantation Cottage Tarragon Jelly
Formans Brandied Cherries
Regent’s Park London Honey

What the hell could I do with this lot?

Sitting down to sob inconsolably and bang my head upon the table, I thought…and thought…and then, after about half an hour, ideas started to come to me, tumbling forth in an unconscious stream….

…It’s a Valentines menu, so it seemed obvious that it should be quite indulgent but also light, (so as to facilitate any après meal fumbling that might possibly result).
The Royal Fillet of Salmon was too good an ingredient to do anything with other than serve it sliced…
I could make a dessert out of the Honey and the Brandied Cherries…and I could incorporate the tarragon and the horseradish somehow…the anchovies, I had no frigging idea what to do with these, so…. errr…thought the best option was to pretend they didn’t exist and kicked them under the sofa.

There, a plan of sorts…now to refine, and tweak, cook, scream and swear as it all goes utterly tits up and finally force ‘E’ to eat the resulting mess…

Here’s the finished menu and recipes….

All recipes serve 2.

Sliced Salmon, Scrambled Egg Tart with a Tarragon Jelly glaze.

Salmon and scrambled eggs are a classic match, I thought it would look more impressive and elegant in a tartlet case, with the tarragon jelly brushed inside to glaze and give an interesting contrasting flavour.

For the Shortcrust Pastry: -

200g plain flour
Pinch of salt
75g cold butter, chopped
1 small egg
12ml water

Sift the flour with the salt. Rub the flour and butter together till it’s a crumble consistency. Add the egg and water and mix to form a smooth dough. Cling film and refrigerate for 30mins before using.

Roll out the pastry and line 2 greased tartlet tins, leaving the pastry overhanging to be trimmed later.
Line with greaseproof paper and baking beans, and bake at 180C for 15 mins.
Remove the beans and using a pastry brush coat the inside of the tarts with the Tarragon Jelly.
Return to the oven and bake for a further 10 mins.
Remove and put to one side to cool.

For the Scrambled Eggs: -

4x Large Eggs
Large Knob Butter
1 Tbs Double Cream
Salt and Pepper

I shouldn’t really have to give a scrambled egg recipe, but in the interests of completeness…

Add the knob of butter to a saucepan over a low heat and melt until foaming.
Beat the eggs with a fork, season and then pour into the saucepan. Stirring with a wooden spoon. Add the double cream and turn the heat down low, stirring regularly. The idea is too cook slowly until just set and creamy. Remove the eggs from the heat just before they seem ready.

Spoon into the tartlet cases.

Drape with sliced Salmon (Be generous).

Beetroot Jelly, Salmon and Horseradish Cream.

I’d made a Beetroot Jelly before, and knew that this flavour partnered with Horseradish and Salmon is an absolute classic. I pictured how it would look and how simple it should be, but the whole thing turned out to be quite fiddly to assemble and get right. I used Agar Flakes to make the jelly as ‘E’ is a Pescetarian but if you’re not bothered about such things, you could swap for Gelatine, as it’s much cheaper.
First make the Beetroot Jelly

You’ll Need: -
250g Cooked Beetroot
375ml Vegetable Stock
½ Tsp Caster Sugar
3 Heaped Tsp Agar Flakes

Grate the beetroot into a saucepan and add 250ml of the stock. Simmer, covered for 10 minutes.
Pour the remaining 125ml of stock into another saucepan and sprinkle over the agar flakes, leave for a couple of mins and then warm through stirring now and again until all the flakes have dissolved. This should take about 10 mins.
Pour into the beetroot pan and stir together.

Pour the mixture through a sieve into a bowl, do not force the mixture through.
Set the bowl over a larger bowl filled with ice, and stir slowly with a metal spoon until a gel begins to form. Spoon the jelly into a small flat-bottomed bowl lined with Clingfilm. Ideally you want the beetroot mixture to be at least 1cm thick.
Refrigerate until firm. This should take a couple of hours.

Next, make the Horseradish Cream.
You’ll need: -
100ml Crème Fraiche
2 Heaped Teaspoons Moniack Castle Horseradish Sauce
1 Tsp finely chopped Chervil or parsley

Mix all of these ingredients together.

To Assemble: -

Using a square cookie cutter, or sharp knife cut an 8cm x 4cm oblong out of the Salmon Fillet and place in the centre of the plate.

Cut a piece with the same dimensions from the beetroot jelly, and place on top of the Salmon.

Finally top with the horseradish crème, and garnish with some finely chopped parsley or chervil.

Regents Park Honey Parfait, with Ginger Crumb and Cherry Coulis

This is a bit of a cack handed homage to the beautiful Regents Park Honey Ice Cream Sandwich they serve at The Restaurant at St Pauls. It’s awesome, truly one of the best things I’ve eaten anywhere. For this, I made my own gingerbread and blitzed it up, but you could save time by blitzing some bought gingerbread biscuits, I doubt anyone would notice.

For the Honey Parfait
You’ll Need:-
3 Egg Yolks
90g Caster Sugar
225ml Double Cream
75g Regent’s Park London Honey

Line two small (6cm across, 4cm deep) ring moulds with Clingfilm.

Break the eggs into a bowl and add the sugar.
Heat the honey in a saucepan until melted then pour over the egg and sugar mix.
Whisk the eggs, sugar and honey over a saucepan of simmering water until doubled in volume.
Remove from the heat and whisk until cool.

Whip the Double Cream until at the soft peak stage, and then fold into the honey mixture.

Pour into the lined moulds (you’ll have some extra, so pour that into a tub), and freeze until set (at least 3 hours).

For the Gingerbread Crumb
You’ll Need:-
110g Plain Flour
Pinch salt
1 tsp Bicarbonate of Soda
½ heaped Tsp ground ginger
¼ heaped Tsp ground cinnamon
25g unsalted butter
50g soft brown sugar
50g golden syrup
1 tsp treacle

Sift the flour, salt, soda and spices.
Heat the butter, sugar, syrup and treacle until melted and then cool.
When ready, pour into the dry ingredients and mix to form a dough.
Refrigerate for 30 mins.

Pre-heat the oven to 190C, and grease a baking sheet.

Roll out the dough to about 5mm thick, and cut out biscuit shapes.
Bake in the oven for about 7 mins, but keep an eye on it. Gingerbread although seemingly soft, hardens as it cools – it’s very easy to overcook, so be cautious.

Cool on a wire rack.

To Assemble: -

Blitz a couple of the gingerbread biscuits to a fine crumb and sprinkle onto a small plate.

Stone and Blitz a handful of brandied cherries to make the coulis.

Un-mould the Honey Parfait, and dip each end into the gingerbread crumb.
Top each with a whole brandied cherry and spoon cherry coulis around the plate.

Honey Oatcakes served with Mrs Kirkham’s Cheese.

I wanted to use as many of the ingredients as possible, but still had some of the excellent Mrs Kirkham’s Lancashire Cheese left (Lets forget about the anchovies yeah?). In the end I decided to use some more of the Regents Park Honey to make some honey oat biscuits and to serve these simply with the cheese at the end.

You’ll Need: -
90g Rolled Oats
60g Butter
60g Regents Park Honey
Small pinch of salt

Melt the butter, add the salt, honey and oats and mix until combined.
Pour into a greased baking tin and bake at 170C around 25-30mins or until golden.
Remove from the oven and leave a few mins to cool, then cut into squares.

So that’s that. ‘The stuff that I cooked’.
I think that the tartlets and the honey parfait dishes worked best. Overall I was fairly pleased with how most of it turned out.

*Needle skidding across Queen's ‘We are the Champions’*

But, what’s this?
You think I’m an incompetent fool who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow and you could rustle up something far more impressive with the same ingredients?
Well….

*COMPETITON TIME*

Leave a comment telling me what you’d have made with the same ingredients, or failing that; utterly berate me for being a culinary clown and ruining such beautiful produce. The best and most entertaining replies will be entered into a prize draw to win a Forman & Field Hamper worth £60.

PS: Make sure to leave an email address or Twitter name so you can be contacted. The competition closes on the 10th February.

The Ledbury - London

2011-01-24T22:24:00.002Z

Last January, on this blog I wrote a list of my ‘must visit’ restaurants for the coming year. I hardly made it to any of them for one reason or another, and to be honest I didn’t expect to. My list was always meant to be more aspirational rather than a solid statement of intent.
But right at the very ass-end of 2010, I finally managed to cross one very important restaurant off the list. It was somewhere that I’ve wanted to eat for bloody ages…

The place in question? The Ledbury, a two Michelin starred restaurant located in West London.
The occasion? My 30th (ish) birthday.
Who had booked this surprise treat and was paying for it? ‘E’. (Oooh hello).
Was I excited? Hell yes.

Although I’d never actually considered it at the time. Thinking on it now, as I write this, I’d never ventured into a two Michelin star place before. I’ve eaten at a number of places graced with one, but never two. So this was completely uncharted territory for me. Would it be twice as good as it’s lowlier one-starred brethren? I was absolutely gagging to find out.

But first we had to actually get there. The day started well as we left Bristol bright and early, preened and beautifully attired in our best going out clothes. Me resplendent in my all-in-one, skin tight, black satin dining suit with Nehru collar and enveloped in the understated masculine scent of Kouros. I was complimented by ‘E’ in her grey velvet poncho with hood and matching grey velvet jeggings. As you can imagine, we attracted many gasps of appreciation as we swept regally onto the coach.

About an hour into the journey, motoring down the M40 towards London we noticed the odd flake of snow beginning to fall. Then more, and more, heavier and heavier until within about half an hour the whole motorway was covered and traffic had been reduced to crawling along in one lane whilst a blizzard raged around us. I honestly have never seen so much snow dumped in such a short space of time. Needless to say the two and half hour coach journey took four and a half hours and finally arriving in West London blanketed under a foot or so of snow, we didn’t fancy our chances of getting to the restaurant in Notting Hill anytime soon. The Ledbury had very kindly agreed to hold our table for us, which was handy as there were no cabs and the tube was in its normal state of meltdown when any weather other than blazing sunshine looms over the horizon. We’d been left with no choice but to resignedly trudge through the snow to the restaurant from Earls Court via Holland Park.

After an epic trek, we arrived at The Ledbury (over 3 hours late!) and practically threw ourselves through the door into the warmth and the mercy of the smiling staff, who were utterly charming and understanding in equal measure.

Shown to our table and a chance to relax, I looked curiously around the room. The impression I got was of an elegant, modern space flooded with natural light from the windows lining two sides, in turn framed by heavy dark grey curtains. A mirrored wall at the back of the room gives the illusion of a much larger space than it actually is.

Opting for the set menu, and starting off with a glass of sherry each it wasn’t long before we were offered a dainty but beautifully crafted amuse each. ‘E’s consisting of goats cheese and cured black olives, mine of Foie Gras and Ginger, both encased in the lightest most delicate pastry cases. Both the merest bite, but each flooding the mouth with intense flavours. Suitably impressed, ‘E’ and I grinned inanely at each other across the table and awaited the next course.

Bread and lots of it. No parsimonious approach here where it comes to dispensing from the basket. Beautiful miniature sourdoughs, bacon onion brioche, and chestnut rolls. Want one of each? Fine. Not enough, want more? Also fine. Not needing to be asked twice and being peasants at heart, we positively gorged ourselves on bread. (I particularly like the bacon and onion brioche). Until a flurry of waiter activity signalled the arrival of our starters.

I couldn’t resist the sound of the Raviolo of Beef Short Rib with Cepe Consomme, Truffle and Parsnip. And my photo does not do it justice. It was beautiful to look at; in fact everything we were served was beautiful to the eye, aesthetically pleasing food to the upmost degree. And it tasted gorgeous; breaking through the pasta and taking a forkful of the ridiculously tender, meaty, beef combined with the almost pornographic truffle and parsnip dribbling down it. Thoughtfully, provided with a spoon to lap up every last dribble of the surrounding consommé, my eyes were practically rolling back into my head in pleasure.

‘E’ meanwhile was happily digging into her Ceviche of Hand Dived Scallops with Seaweed and Herb Oil, Kohlrabi and Frozen Horseradish. She described it as being incredibly light, with the frozen horseradish giving the dish a really unusual pleasant texture. I did try it, and it was pleasant, but as is so often the way it’s hard to appreciate that one solitary proffered forkful when you’ve been eating an entirely different dish.

Next to arrive was my main dish, Shoulder of Pyrenean Milk Fed Lamb with Jerusalem and Chinese Artichokes, Winter Savoury Milk and New Season Olive Oil. Another artfully presented plate of food, the lamb being almost impossible to do justice to, tender and practically falling apart at the touch of my fork. I marvelled at what looked like some kind of crackling adorning the dish, but was in fact Jerusalem Artichoke skin and the winter savoury milk, dotted around the plate and apparently the result of some kind of kitchen alchemy.

Across the table ‘E’ was eating Fillet of Brill with Buttered Langoustine Claws, Pumpkin Puree, Trompettes and Ginger. And this is the problem with leaving it so long before writing about a restaurant experience, I remember at the time ‘E’ positively loving what she was eating. But asking for her impressions now, a scant 5 weeks later, she can’t remember anything about the dish apart from that she liked it, and she was impressed that the pumpkin was presented in various forms on the plate.
So looks like not much of a lasting impression, for this one.

We both went for the same dessert, a Date and Vanilla Tart with Clementine Leaf Ice-Cream. The tart was nice, but we both thought the ice-cream particularly good. The flavour being hard to define but it tasted almost ‘plant like’ and ‘green’.

At this point (‘E’ having informed the restaurant it was my birthday), I was surprised to be served an extra little dessert of a crème caramel. It was a really nice touch.

Coffee and a selection of petit fours to finish, of which; the Earl Grey Macarons were very good. ‘E’ paid the bill, her treat and we wandered back off out into the snow outside.

So, how does a restaurant with two Michelin stars compare to a one starred restaurant? Is there much in it?
The service was impeccable, friendly and efficient, but no more so than many other restaurants I’ve been to. The décor although certainly pleasant was again, no better than many other places I’ve been to. What really sets The Ledbury apart and what presumably makes it worth that extra star is the inventiveness, and the sheer technical talent displayed to produce such beautiful food. It’s full of new and interesting ideas, but at the same time it’s extremely polished and it works. No real duff notes. (Apart from most of the petit four; which I thought surprisingly ordinary). Everything else shone.

Oh, did I mention that the three course set lunch menu is £33.50? Which, I think anyone would agree is ridiculously cheap. I’ve spent more than that on a pub lunch.
If you haven’t been, don’t leave it as long as I did. Book and go. I'll certainly be going again to try the tasting menu.

The Ledbury

127 Ledbury Road,
Notting Hill
London
W11 2AQ

Telephone: 020 7792 9090

http://www.theledbury.com/