What should politicians do to improve our food?

Earlier this week, along with fellow food bloggers Helen, Lizzie and Tom, I was asked to take part in a discussion recorded for the Observer.

The Venue – A pub in Kensal Green
The Host – Jay Rayner
The subject - What should politicians do to improve our food?

God help us.

Anyway, for what its worth here I am. Before you view, I’d like to point out that I talked intelligently and at length about sustainable produce, common European agriculture policy, the Maastricht treaty and its effect on food, the plight of our fisheries, global geopolitical issues and a memorable episode where I regaled everyone with an ancient poem on food which I’d painstakingly translated from it’s original Sanskrit.

Unfortunately, the whole conversation was condensed to 5 mins and all I got in to the finished piece was something about Jamie Oliver and a tax on pizzas and coke.

I’d also like to point out, yes I am from Essex – but to my keen ear I fondly imagined that I sound like a bastard cross between James Mason and Prince Charles. Imagine my shock upon hearing myself speak in the imbedded video, and the subsequent accompanying trauma as I realised that…errr…. basically… I don’t, coming off more like Ray Winstone.
A career in radio is not on the cards I'm afraid.

*Sigh*

Getting back to the original subject, loyal readers – what do you think?
What should politicians do to improve our food?



Here's a link to the original Word of Mouth page.

Wild Garlic and Potato soup

About this time last year, fellow Essex food blogger, and all round good guy Food Urchin was kind enough to supply me with some wild garlic from the abundant supply he has growing in his garden.

Unfortunately, I never got the chance to actually use it in any cooking. It was the end of the wild garlic season, the plant was small – the few leaves soon shrivelled, and died…the whole thing looked decidedly unhealthy. Unsure at the time whether my gardening ‘touch of death’ was at work, once again, or whether this was just the natural order of things…. I planted what was left, crossed my fingers and tried to forget about it.

Fast forward nearly a year, and spring has sprung, dormant plant life in my garden has burst into bud, blossom beautifully framed by cloudless blue skies is apparent everywhere, birds sing, fox’s play, baby lambs bleat… you get the picture, and best of all – what’s this? My ‘dead’ Wild Garlic has seemingly overnight, grown into a fine looking shrub with an abundance of pungent, beautiful, lush, verdant leaves draped seductively against each other.

With not a moment to lose, and determined to get as much use out of it as possible, I’ve been snipping bits off here and there…. Wild Garlic Mayonnaise as a dip for last weeks Scotch Eggs, Wild Garlic stirred through scrambled eggs for a breakfast, but still I feel like I’m not getting enough out of it, so yesterday I decided to go for broke – strip all of the decent size leaves, and make some Wild Garlic Soup.

A quick search threw up a Tom Norrington-Davies (recipe HERE), which appealed to me (I really have a thing about potatoes in soup – no idea why, but I love them, might be a childhood thing – oxtail soup with boiled potatoes conjuring up fond memories). In no time at all, I had a large heap of wild garlic leaves sitting on the kitchen worktop, and the other ingredients were assembled, ready to go.

Luckily, I had some beautiful homemade stock in the freezer – (seriously, when you next have roast chicken DO make stock from the leftover carcass, it may seem like a pain in the arse at the time (it’s not) – but you’ll be well rewarded for your efforts later). The kitchen was soon awash with the fresh pungent aroma of wild garlic and the gorgeous comforting smell of hot chicken stock.


I served the soup steaming hot with crusty bread from the local bakers, (just for that extra carb overload) and it was delicious. The wild garlic’s very distinctive but subtle taste was complimented nicely by the onions, and the roughly pulped potato and bread added a nice thick rustic texture – the addition of some crumbled dry chilli giving a nice little kick. Lovely stuff, and very simple to make.

I have to add; there is something incredibly exciting about cooking with produce grown in your own garden, especially so with an ingredient like Wild Garlic – which has quite a short season, and is, as its name suggests, a wild plant. It grows all over the place in woodland apparently, but whenever I’ve looked for it – I can never bloody find any. If you can lay your hands on the stuff, either through foraging (with better luck than mine), or perhaps getting some to plant in your garden then do, it’s very rewarding to cook with.

Scotch Eggs - The agony and the ecstasy

When I was a child, I just couldn’t stand Scotch Eggs. The horrible supermarket bought, uniform, mass-produced examples, sporting an obligatory grey sheen around the egg, like a convicted prisoners newly shaved head, about as unappetising as it gets visually, and then when paired with the accompanying aroma of cheap battery farmed cold egg. Hideous. I have no good memories of them at all.

But, in recent years, with the rise of the gastro-pub and a re-awakened interest in British food and its heritage, the Scotch egg is back on the menu, and it’s a million miles away from the supermarket versions of our youth. I guess what has made me re-consider my view is sampling Scotch eggs in a couple of London gastro-pubs which, are rightly famous for their versions. The Michelin starred Harwood Arms in Fulham serves up a Venison Scotch egg, the bar snack to trump all bar snacks it’s incredible, and deserves all the praise that’s been heaped upon it, and more. Across town in Farringdon, the also rather excellent Coach & Horses serves up a more traditional Pork version, which is utterly gorgeous. I’ve noticed that there are a couple of important similarities between these supreme examples of Scotch eggy’ness, and it’s what holds them head and shoulders above the rest. Both pubs Scotch eggs are the size of cricket balls, and more importantly – they’re served warm with the egg yolk just set, so as you cut into it…the silky, golden yellow yolk oozes gently out…

Is it getting hot in here, or is just me?

As you’ve probably deduced, I’m sold. I now love Scotch eggs, and wanted to try making them at home. Casting my mind back, I remembered that Gourmet Chick has a recipe on her blog, which she learnt from the head chef at the Coach and Horses himself and theirs are superb. What could go wrong?

Well, quite a bit actually.
After a moderately successful attempt the previous week where everything went right, except that the eggs weren’t soft and the amount of cayenne pepper used made them far too spicy for me (despite putting less in than specified in the recipe), I decided to have another attempt.

This time, I decided to make 4 Scotch eggs and I went ‘off piste’ a bit from the original recipe.

For the soft boiled eggs I decided to use a ‘Delia Method’ – which involves lowering the eggs into salted, simmering water – boil for 1 min…then turn the heat off with the lid on for 7 mins. Then plunging into cold water (This step stops the cooking, and also the grey ring forming).

So far so good, leaving the as yet unshelled eggs aside – In a bowl, I assembled the sausage ingredients:-

250g Pork Mince
½ Tsp Cayenne Pepper. (Still too much I think…1/4 tsp?).
1 Tsp Mace
8 Sage Leaves finely chopped
4 shallots, sliced and fried in butter.
3 Tbs English Mustard
Salt and Pepper

And for the coating:-

1 Egg
Splash of milk
Flour
Panko breadcrumbs

Ready to begin assembly – I started to shell my eggs, and here’s where disaster struck…the wobbly soft boiled egg, perhaps slightly too underdone was like a thing alive as I struggled to get all of the shell off…. and then it happened, a fissure opened in the white, and the whole thing started to collapse…. But it’s ok, I have another three…. and then the same thing happened to the next one, and in between howling in pained frustration, swearing and spitting like a man possessed…the next one ruptured as well. At this point I was almost having an apoplectic fit…. and then what’s this? Against the odds, one perfect shining beacon of soft boiled eggyness emerges from the wreckage, the sweat and the tears….Hallafuckingeulah! I feel like I’ve just given birth to it myself, and a smile breaks out on my tear streaked face.

Surveying the wreckage of the three ugly mutilated brethren, compared to my one perfect, adonesque like super egg…. I decide that I may be able to carefully reconstruct them.
Setting up a triage system on my worktop, I identify the most seriously injured egg and begin work quickly and silently, piecing it slowly back together…. luckily, the injuries sustained are not fatal; the yolks on all three are intact.


After a tense few mins where I flatten a lump of the Pork mixture, onto a piece of Clingfilm – lay the egg in the middle and use the Clingfilm to help wrap it…before shaping into a sphere with my hands. I eventually have before me 4 Pork mix wrapped eggs, and they look beautiful, the outer layer belying the hideous injuries that lurk within.

Rolling first in the flour, then the egg (beaten with the milk) and then finally the Panko, I coat all 4 Scotch Eggs ready to be deep-fried.
I have a deep fat fryer, but I can’t be bothered to get it out…. so I decide to cook them individually in sunflower oil on the hob. They need to be deep fried at 180C for 2 mins, and I’ve read somewhere that if you drop a stale piece of bread in the oil – it will fry golden brown in 30 seconds when the correct temperature is reached. Not very scientific, but lacking any way to measure the temperature – I go with that.

Judging the oil to be hot enough, I lower the first one in. And it’s instantly consumed by ferociously bubbling oil. 2 mins later, I carefully lift it out…. a deep golden brown.
Into the oil goes the next, and I return my attention to the first one….I cut it in half, and – it appears to be cooked, and the yolk is still runny…it doesn’t look tidy, this being one of the casualties – but it tastes superb and looks right.

I cook all four Scotch eggs, and we eat three of them. All are OK, they taste lovely but all are a bit ‘untidy’…I’m not pleased with the whole aesthetic element…. I put the last one in the fridge.

Morning, a new day…awaking, and my thoughts stray to breakfast I remember the surviving Scotch egg, and decide to finish it.
Cutting through it, I gasp amazed, choking back tears of joy.....the most perfect Scotch egg this side of Scotchland is cleaved open before me. beautiful soft yolk, pleasing construction. I decide then and there that this shall be the ‘poster boy’ for my Scotch egg endeavours, and that’s why you can see only it illustrating this post. The other 3, despite undoubtedly being delicious, lurk in my culinary nightmares – and it would be too cruel to share that image of horror with you.

Sleep soundly dear reader.

Lunch at The Eagle

Despite mentioning the legendary Eagle gastro-pub in Farringdon more than a fair bit on the blog, amazingly, I’ve never actually reviewed it. Which is strange, as I’ve eaten there quite a lot in the past. I’ve been musing on the reason for this omission, and have come to the conclusion it’s because eating at The Eagle consists of pretty much one-dish dining. Lots of big, gutsy, plates of food. No delicate starters, no desserts to speak of. Which makes it a little hard to stretch a post out in the conventional sense.

But, nevertheless it’s one of my favourite places in London to eat. This is the original gastro-pub, the place where the dining revolution started. The battered chairs and tables, the mismatched cutlery and plates, the chalkboard menus above the bar, the unpretentious food that you’ve seen in countless imitators up and down the country, it all began here in 1991. It’s also worth mentioning that The Eagles pedigree is second to none, associated gastro-pubs being the superb Great Queen Street and Anchor & Hope.

Arriving at lunchtime, on a beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon at the start of service, 12:30 on the dot and hoping to grab a table (there’s no booking here, first come, first served being the form). We step through the door into the familiar high ceilinged, battered Victorian pub, flooded with light from the large windows on two sides – a bar running the full length of one side of the room, three quarters of which is taken up with a kitchen directly behind the bar where fat Italian sausages can be seen smoking on the grill, and steaks for The Eagles famous Bife Ana steak sandwich are hissing and spitting as they cook. The chefs and waiters weaving effortlessly around each other in the confined space. The other quarter of the bar is for ordering food and drinks.

It’s packed already, but I spy a small table for two and leap on it. The fantastic smell of grilling meat, garlic and other delights fills the room, and I study the menus chalked above the bar intently. I want the steak sandwich, I’ve had it before and it’s superb…. but too late, a waiter scrubs it from the board before I get the chance – it’s finished already…I look around and it seems like half the diners are munching on steak sandwiches. Cursing, my eyes flick back to the menu board with a new sense of urgency. I can still see the Italian sausages smoking away, on the grill – I know they are gorgeous; they obviously come from the Italian Deli two doors down the street, G. Gazzano & Sons, I’ve bought and cooked them many times at home myself. Today they’re being served with red onion and parsnip mash, Decision made.
‘E’ doesn’t waste anytime and chooses a Bruschetta with Caponota (Sicilian aubergine relish).

Joining the short queue snaking along the bar to order food, I watch the food being cooked feet away, which provokes my stomach into making disgruntled, grumbling noises, it’s my turn – I order and pay for the food and drinks (Pint of Kirin for me…ahhhh lovely Japanese lager)…. and a rather nice White Rioja for ‘E’. I return to the table and wait. Mismatched knives, forks along with a basket of bread and condiments appear…. shortly followed by the food.

‘E’s dish of Bruschetta with Caponata looks incredible, rustic, heaped on toasted bruschetta with rocket scattered on the side. I love the old plate it’s been served on. From the appreciative noises drifting across the table, I deduce that it’s bloody nice…I have a sneaky forkful and have to agree. Lovely.

My trio of fat, grilled Napoli sausages on parsnip mash with red onions is also a great dish of food, no frills, nothing much to look at – but the Italian sausages are thick, meaty and superb. Both dishes being true to The Eagle ethos, simple, intelligent pub grub.

As we eat, dishes are regularly scrubbed from the chalkboards above the bar. By about half past one, most are finished. It occurs to me how well oiled and honed the lunchtime service is, no waste, economical, not many more customers come in after the initial rush (like they could find a spot if they did), lunch is pretty much done in one franticly busy sitting.

Desserts rarely feature on The Eagle menu, apart from rather nice Portuguese custard tarts. In any case, we are now both full, leaving more than happy with a rather nice and relatively inexpensive lunch.

Even after nineteen years, The Eagle is still doing what it’s always done, and very well too. It’s always worth a visit.

Finally, if you fancy re-creating some of the dishes served at The Eagle, as is now almost traditional on this blog - I’ll recommend their cookbook…it’s excellent, one of the best recipe books I own.

The Eagle
159 Farringdon Road
London
EC1R 3AL

Telephone: 0872 148 4071

Penne with slow-cooked sausage sauce

Right now, as I write this, my home is filled with the aroma of something cooking…a recipe I absolutely love. I’m at home alone this evening and decided to indulge myself in a delicious Sophie Dahl’esque manner (topical eh?)

*Pouts at camera, assumes vacant, innocent doe-eyed, yet slightly naughty expression*

And what a treat it is. A dish liberally filled with sausage, Parmesan and double cream – it doesn’t get much richer. For some strange reason this afternoon, I suddenly thought of this recipe in particular. It popped into my head and I knew straight away, I had to cook it.

Right then and there…. I swiftly checked the recipe, wrote a short shopping list…. pulled on my trainers and walked determinedly off to the local shops to get the ingredients I needed. A lightning visit to the local butcher and greengrocer, and back I hurried, urgently swinging a carrier bag filled with ingredients.

The interesting thing is, at least; to me, is that I’m writing this post as I actually cook it…. which is something of a first on this blog.
It’s gently simmering away, out there in the kitchen, throwing out a rich scent of bubbling wine, onion, garlic and sausage meat…I’m in here in my, for want of a better word ‘study’…typing away and trying to judge correctly when to hurry back to give the pot a good stir so it doesn’t stick…nothing else to do for 45 minutes. The plan is – to get this written up, take photos, and have the post up and being read by you, whilst I lean back, belching lazily, patting my now full belly and swigging on a well earned, ice cold Peroni.

Its from the River Café cook book; and in Italian is Penne con Sugo di Salsiccie, or Penne with slow-cooked sausage sauce.

Here’s the recipe: -

Penne con Sugo di Salsiccie

Serves 6

You’ll Need: -

TBS Olive Oil
6-8 Italian spiced fresh pork sausages, meat removed from skins and crumbled (if you can’t get them easily – just use good quality pork sausages).
2 small red onions peeled and chopped.
2 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped.
2 small dried chillies, crumbled.
2 bay leaves
1/3 Bottle Red wine (preferably Chianti or Sangiovese)
2x 400g tines peeled plum tomatoes, drained.
½ nutmeg. Freshly grated
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
120g Parmesan, freshly grated
150ml Double Cream
250g Penne Rigate

Heat the oil in a large pan, and fry the sausage meat, stirring and breaking up the pieces. After the juice from the meat has evaporated and the fat begins to run, add the onion, garlic, chilli and bay leaves. Cook gently for almost 30 mins until the onions are brown. Pour in the wine, increase the heat and cook until the wine evaporates. Now add the tomatoes, lower the heat, and simmer gently until you have a thick sauce, about 45-60 minutes. Season with nutmeg and salt (and pepper, if the sausages were not spicy), and add the Parmesan and cream.
Cook the penne in a generous amount of boiling salted water, and then drain well. Add the pasta to the sauce, combine and serve.



Utterly superb, and whilst I’m talking about incredible, slow cooked, unctuous, rich Italian pasta dishes, I tried this recipe earlier in the week by The Graphic Foodie, Red Pasta sauce with Pork. It’s an Italian family recipe, her Mothers in fact, and it’s without a doubt one of the best things I’ve cooked in ages. Incredibly good and rich, I suspect I’ll crave it sometime soon like I craved the recipe above. I urge you to give it a try, you won’t believe how good it is.

I’ve finished just in time, I’m being distracted by the urgent ‘beeping’ of the timer from the kitchen; dinner is more or less, done. I'll quickly take pictures, (eternal curse of the food blogger – cold dinner)…. eat my food – and get this post up. Enjoy.

The Seahorse - Dartmouth

The Seahorse, located in the incredibly picturesque town of Dartmouth makes good use of it’s position on the harbour front, a stones throw from the mouth of the river Dart, and from there, no more than a mile or two upriver, the English Channel where the moored Fishing boats, viewable from the restaurant ply their trade. Ensuring that, as primarily a seafood restaurant, it’s reputation is second to none. This is about as fresh as it gets.

In addition, with the extremely well respected, self taught Chef, Mitch Tonks in the kitchen, of whom it could be said; knows just a thing or two about fish. Seafood lovers visiting the restaurant are in for a treat. A recent Giles Coren review raved about the food and the atmosphere, and with me being in Dartmouth for the weekend accompanied by ‘E’ and it being her Birthday, the choice of restaurant to celebrate the occasion was clear.

Walking down the cobbled harbour front, along past the still waters of the Dart, on an unusually mild late February Saturday evening, and entering the rather smart balconied frontage of The Seahorse it all felt very right, soft ambient lighting, a very smart bistro vibe to the table layout, incredibly only open since April 2008, but feeling like it has been established for much, much longer. The dining room has that settled, lived in feeling, of real character. A large window at one end of the restaurant giving an interesting view onto the kitchen brigade, busy at their work. The Final piece of polish being a friendly greeting from the Maitre'd, perfectly pitched at professional politeness with none of that saccharine, forced bonhomie you often encounter.

Taking our seats at the table, we were really very excited about the meal ahead, and decided to have a Prosecco cocktail aperitif whilst studying the menu and dipping the proffered bread in some smoked cod roe, very nice.

To start, I went for the Lyme Bay scallops with garlic and white port roasted in the shell over the charcoal fire, as Giles Coren had me salivating over them in his review. ‘E’ chose Oysters from Bigbury Bay.

The scallops were incredible, rich, garlicky and succulent, with an almost toffee like consistency to the roasted garlic, port and breadcrumbs surrounding the meat. Seriously, I consider these to be one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. Delicious.

Across the table, ‘E’ was happily wading into her oysters. Served with a choice of lemon or shallot vinegar, I tried one, and it was superb, fresh and with that characteristic taste of the sea.

Setup nicely for the main course, I went for Sea Bream cooked ‘al cartoccio’ (Roasted in paper, if you don’t know what it means…. I didn’t). With chilli, roasted garlic, rosemary and olive oil. ‘E’ chose Fritto Misto, served with aioli, the smaller print underneath informing that this consisted of monkfish,john dory, red mullet, whitebait, carabineros prawn, squid and chiperones. So a veritable haul of seafood there then.

With our mains, we ordered some sides of exceptional, buttery charlotte potatoes and roasted seasonal vegetables.

The Sea Bream was lovely, beautifully cooked and redolent with the perfume of the garlic and rosemary. Although, I couldn’t detect any chilli at all, despite poking around in the paper bag for a good few minutes… a little drunkenly by this stage, I might add. (We’d ordered a bottle of ‘Tonnix’ a white wine, which is the result of collaboration between Mark Hix and Mitch Tonks, it’s been produced to match well with seafood. It was very nice indeed, and did go perfectly with our food).

‘E’s Fritto Misto looked superb, and she was more than happy with the, as promised wide selection of local seafood fried in a perfectly light batter, one of the beauties of this dish being there are literally minutes of fun to be had trying to work out which piece of battered fish is which. (errr...just me then?)

Onto desserts, and this is where I made an uncharacteristic pudding slip up. I went for Rhubarb and Blood Oranges with caramel and cardamom – expecting something a bit more substantial than what actually arrived…. I guess now, I think I was expecting some kind of crème caramel pudding with fruit…not a small plate of fruit in syrup. I was inconsolable…. I mean, it was nice…. but just not £5-50 nice.

‘E’ on the other hand had chosen more wisely, ordering a baked chocolate pudding…. I stared sadly at her stuffing this much more substantial dessert. Me, casting by turns desolate and envious looks across the table.

Coffee slurped, and bill settled, we left the glowing confines of The Seahorse extremely happy with the meal we’d just eaten. The seafood is sublime, beautifully cooked and the restaurant itself exudes a certain cheerful atmosphere, which is infectious. It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what generates the happy vibe – but The Seahorse is obviously doing something very, very right.

If you’re ever in this part of Devon, The Seahorse is a must visit.


The Seahorse Restaurant
5 South Embankment
Dartmouth
TQ6 9BH

Telephone: 01803 835147

http://www.seahorserestaurant.co.uk

Polpo - London

Last autumn, Polpo opened in the eye of a veritable hurricane of social media led positive publicity and superb heavyweight reviews. Here at casa Essex Eating, this didn’t go unnoticed. But, as one who is always fashionably late, (some might say painfully so), I must admit to being one of the few food bloggers left in London who had yet to visit…. that’s right, past tense ‘had’…. I’ve now been, and I’ve tried. (Err otherwise this would be a pretty rubbish review, non?). So sit back, read on and I’ll tell you about my visit.

Polpo is unusual in London, insofar as it’s what’s known as a ‘bacaro’. An eatery specific to Venice, it’s a form of working mans pub where small plates of snacks, known as Cicheti are served. Think Venetian tapas and you wouldn’t be far wrong.

The restaurant is also unusual in another way. There is a ‘no booking’ policy in the evening, which I found to be quite refreshing – upon arriving, you can stand and have a drink at the bar whilst waiting for a table to be vacated, it’s all very pleasant and means that rather than plan an evening days in advance, you can just drop in on a whim. Superb.

Arriving on a Saturday evening Polpo was visibly busy, buzzing and packed with the general hum of happy diners conversing. Making my way to the bar, I enquired about a table and was told, there would be up to a thirty-minute wait. Fair enough. Putting my name down on the waiting list, I ordered a Moretti, and “E”, my dining companion ordered a Campari spritz. (Which, she proclaimed to be excellent).

Exactly eight minutes later, we were approached to tell us our table was ready. Not bad going at all on a Saturday night. Threading past the bar and other tables, through the beautifully distressed (white Victorian style tiles, exposed brick, bare light bulbs), into the extremely dimly lit restaurant proper, mood lighting with the emphasis very much on mood.

Sitting down at a small table for two, it was cosy…. very cosy. Our neighbours being mere inches away. Looking down our table produced the optical illusion that made it appear, rather than sitting at individual tables, my fellow diners and I were sitting at a long communal table. Which is fine by me, in my opinion it all adds to the atmosphere.

Ordering a carafe of wine to share, we quickly decided that as the ‘Cicheti’ section of the menu was so reasonable £1 - £2 per item, we’d order everything, the lot…. just to try it. Along with this, we ordered some rather nice bread, cured ham and split pea risotto from the Meat section. Mussels and clams from the Fish section, grilled zucchini and rocket salad from the vegetable section …it all looked so good…. at this point our waitress stopped us and said “Actually guys, I think that’s enough”. Foolishly we listened to her ill advised, but well-meant interruption and stopped ordering.

After a short wait, up came our ordered Cichetti – all of it on one plate.

Prosciutto, mozzarella di bufala
Rocket and walnut pesto crostino
Arancini
Chopped chicken liver
Anchovy and chickpea crostino
Salt cod on grilled polenta
Potato and Parmesan crochetta
Salami and pickled radicchio grissini
White anchovy, tapenade and egg.

Small but perfectly formed tasters - no more than a couple of bites each, most of the proffered snacks were seriously lovely, the Arancini in particular were superb, as was the chopped chicken liver. The white anchovy tapenade and egg, was a favourite of ‘E’ which in her opinion packed a real flavourful punch for such a small bite. I wasn’t keen on the Salami and pickled radicchio grissini, I couldn’t discern much apart from dry grissini to be honest. And the salt cod on grilled polenta consisted of tasteless salt cod on unpleasant fridge cold, grilled polenta, utterly bland due to being over chilled.
But, despite a couple of duff Cichetti – there were many more hits than misses and both myself and ‘E’ were more than happy with what we’d tried.

The larger plates we’d ordered arrived. My cured ham and split pea risotto was incredibly good, unctuous and rich – exactly as a decent risotto should be.

‘E’s Mussels and Clams, were also excellent – with some incredibly large meaty Mussels filling the shells.

From the vegetable section, the grilled zucchini and rocket salad was superb. Coated with fried breadcrumbs the whole dish was delicious.

Ploughing our way through that lot, the waitresses earlier warning of our gluttony whilst ordering came back to haunt us, but probably not in the way she expected. We’d eaten everything ordered, were still hungry and could happily eat more. What to do? Order more savoury dishes or move onto the desserts…. and order three to share?

Honey and Walnut semifreddo arrived in a novel manner, scooped into an ice-cream cone. The initial taste was loaded with honey, but subsequently it was less flavoursome. It was the least successful of the three desserts we ordered.

Flourless orange and Almond cake with mascarpone was altogether more pleasing, light, moist and tasting strongly of orange. Very nice indeed.

But, saving the best till last – the Hot Chocolate pot and ‘esse’ (Italian ‘s’ shaped biscuits), was gorgeous, so, so good. Rich, creamy and decadent. It was everything a good dessert should be.

Coffee’s arrived, and at this point the needle zips across the record. My espresso was fine. ‘E’s Americano was bloody awful, so strong it was incredible, it tasted like the equivalent of six espressos…the accompanying small jug of milk wasn’t enough to dilute it to a drinkable level, we had to ask for more – and it was still barely drinkable. Not entirely sure what went wrong there.

But, turgid coffee aside, I absolutely loved Polpo. I had a great meal and really enjoyed what I ate. I tried a lot of different food, with a lot of exciting different flavours and that’s the beauty of it. With small plates and portions, you can roam around the menu easily, a bit of this,... a bit of that. Perfect to share.
Looking at the menu now, next time I visit (and there will be a next time), I’d order in a different manner – ignoring the Cicheti and perhaps ordering a couple of the main dishes with some of the vegetable side dishes.

Sadly, I didn’t order the Cuttlefish in its ink, gremolata dish and there were collective groans of horror from foodies on Twitter upon hearing of this oversight, it being something of a signature dish. But, it gives me another reason to go back, so I’m not too put out.


Polpo
41 Beak Street
London
W1F 9SB

Telephone: 020 7734 4479

www.polpo.co.uk