Hawksmoor - 7 Dials - London

Last week I was summoned to appear in court as a witness. I’m more than prepared to do my civic duty, being from the less salubrious part of Essex, I am quite obviously a steadfast advocate where it comes to upholding the law…but sadly this call from lady justice proved to be a right royal pain in the arse. Let me explain. Now that I reside in Bristol, rather than Essex – London is now well over two hours away. Getting to Camberwell Green court for 9am, when there’s a tube strike on (not that it mattered much, South London being notoriously ill served by underground services), meant that I (and ‘E’ she’d kindly decided to accompany me for moral support) had to get up at 4am!

Nevertheless, we did it. I burst through the doors and strode into court, on time, with fists clenched and my jaw set in grim determination rehearsing my dramatic “You can’t handle the truth!” line only to be stopped dead in my tracks. The wheels of justice had pretty much fallen off already. The case was being ditched due to a ‘technicality’ and my services were no longer needed.

10am, a gorgeous sunny autumnal day in London.
What to do to salvage something from this disaster?
Stuff our faces and get roaring drunk perhaps?
Yes indeed, that sounds like inspired thinking!

Being a massive fan of the original Hawksmoor in Commercial Street, and an even bigger fan of their incredible burger, the lure of the newly opened restaurant in Covent Garden was strong.
A few phone calls later, and we were all set for lunch.

Wandering into the reception area and then downstairs, the size of the new restaurant compared to the original is nothing but impressive. The whole place is decked out in wood panelling, there’s a distinct Victorian gentleman’s club vibe to the interior. It’s dark and cosy, and looks like it’s been in existence for decades rather than weeks. A beautifully appointed bar runs one whole length of the room, and then the main restaurant proper was just visible through some doors at one end.

Hawksmoor is renowned for its strong cocktail list, and a reputation for making them well, so the new bar menu is a fascinating read. Incredibly well researched with a potted history of every drink, it’s absorbing to flick through. I was particularly impressed with the section comprised of Edwardian ‘Bridging drinks’ – designed to while away the long hours between lunch and dinner. And If that isn’t a fantastic enough concept for you. How about a drink from the ‘Anti-Fogmatic’ section? I quote: -

Harry Craddock, an American who published the legendary Savoy
Cocktail Book in 1930, was obsessed with creating an effective pickme-
up. He thought it was a “great necessity of the age” to develop some
kind of “anti-fogmatic, eye opener, bracer, corpse reviver or morning
glory.” His recommendation was to drink such drinks “before 11am, or
whenever steam and energy are needed.”

Obviously a visionary, I am often lacking steam and energy before 11am and can obviously appreciate the need for such drinks.

We relaxed and took in the atmosphere. I sipped on a pretty decent ‘Marmalade cocktail’ whilst ‘E’ being something of a sherry fiend knocked back a ‘sherry cobbler’ Until we were joined by our lunch companion Niamh and ready to wade into the food. Huzzah!

I’ll say it right now; bearing in mind how bloody amazing the original Hawksmoor burger is, there was really only one real choice for me from the menu – the kimchi burger.

Kimchi, in case you’re not aware (I wasn’t) is a Korean dish of fermented cabbage mixed with various spices. We were told one of the Hawksmoor chefs had tried it whilst travelling, and brought the idea back with him. Inspired.


I don’t often write about the wine I drink, but in this case the Moulin Montarels Grenache deserves a mention as it was bloody gorgeous and at £19 a bottle ridiculously cheap, a perfect accompaniment to a long boozy lunch.

It was with mounting excitement that I eyed each plate of food being transported from the kitchen, luckily I had sedated myself heavily with booze and vino otherwise I would have been barely able to contain myself when our food finally arrived.


There we have it in all its glory, the kimchi burger – using the incredible Hawksmoor burger as its base, I admired it from every angle. But what was that smell? A kind of cheesy, funky tangy whiff hung heavily in the air. Looking up, I eyed ‘E’ and Niamh suspiciously and then slowly I realised. The smell was emanating from my burger. I wrinkled my nose and surmised that kimchi smells a bit like sweaty socks. Not that appetizing, but as I was paying £15 for the privilege, and I’d drank a fair bit of booze It would have to smell a hell of a lot worse than that to stop me from tucking in.


Proving that smell is absolutely no indication of how good something actually tastes. I found happily that the kimchi burger is bloody gorgeous, rich, spicy, and tangy with a bit of a chili whack – it really is an incredibly flavored thing. I liked it so much, after stuffing mine I ate Niamh’s leftovers. Cracking.

Paired with beef dripping chips and béarnaise, I was the proverbial dog with two dicks.


Meanwhile, ‘E’ being the problematic pescetarian that she is was tucking into half a lobster with triple cooked chips and béarnaise and judging by the rapidly growing graveyard of lobster bits and bobs being assembled at the side of the plate, really enjoying it.

We sat, chatted, laughed and ordered more wine, and then more wine and then finally staggered back to the bar to order more cocktails. We’d lost all track of time when ‘E’s good friend Petra joined us.

Just for the record, we drank…

CORPSE REVIVER NO:4 Cognac stirred with Crème de Menthe & Fernet Branca
Not a big fan of this, it tasted like toothpaste.

Two rounds of SQUARE MILE ‘MARTINI’s
Vodka, Homemade Coffee Liqueur, Square Mile Coffee & a dash of Demarera syrup
These were bloody nice, really good.

SHAKY PETE’S GINGER BREW
Gin with homemade Ginger Syrup & Lemon Juice, topped with London Pride
A recommendation from the barman when asked for a refreshing drink – it certainly was.

PIÑA COLADA
Bermudan & Spiced St Lucian Rums blended with Coconut sorbet & Pineapple
Ahhhh a classic – and Hawksmoor’s version is incredible – loved this!!!


Finally Niamh and Petra shared a BOTTLE OF MANHATTAN
Rye, Vermouth, Maraschino, Cane Syrup, Angostura Bitters & a dash of Absinthe between them, which came up beautifully presented on a silver platter and was as far as I could tell, exemplary.

At this point we realized it was almost 8pm, we’d been in Hawksmoor for over seven hours (Now that’s what I call a lunch) and ‘E’ and I had to run to make our carriage back to Bristol.
Bearing in mind we were both utterly spannered, it’s amazing we made it up the stairs let alone back to Bristol.

Drawing a curtain over this tawdry, alcoholic end to the evening. Lets have a conclusion….
The new Covent Garden Hawksmoor restaurant is fantastic. The cocktail menu and bar is top drawer, really interesting and its a cracking place to while away an afternoon or evening drinking unusual concoctions.
the kimchi burger, despite smelling a bit ripe is bloody incredible, so much so I almost ordered a second one later in the evening. Hawksmoor’s original burger is in my opinion probably the best you can eat in London – I can’t give higher praise than saying that the kimchi burger is equally as good.

Go, Go, Go!!!

Hawksmoor
SEVEN DIALS
11 Langley St.
London.
WC2H 9JG

Telephone: 020 7856 2154

http://www.thehawksmoor.co.uk

Polpetto - London

Good Morning to all of you.
The beautiful, intelligent and amazing people who no doubt make up the readership of my blog.

First, an apology.
I know that lately, it seems that all my spare time has been taken up with ‘The Basement’ supper club and as such; I just haven’t had the chance to write about the restaurants I’ve been eating at. I want to share, I really do – but I just seem to spend my time running around like a headless chicken.
*Sad puppy-dog face*.

But suddenly, what’s this? A free day to fall out of bed, lazily scratch my generously proportioned genitalia*, yawn, and then slouch around in my pants like the slovenly bum I am, drinking tea and generally doing whatever the hell takes my fancy?
Hell yes....YES.

Today is that day friends. And I’m going to write about Polpetto, (Baby octopus) the newish (Opened end of August) tiny offshoot of the extremely successful and significantly larger Soho restaurant Polpo (Octopus). Ahhhh see what they did there? Clever.

Polpetto follows the same format as its older, more established parent, in that it’s modelled on a Venetian ‘Bacaro’ a type of working mans pub, specific to Venice where small plates of snacks, known as Cicheti are served.
It also shares the same rather fantastic interior design, which is a kind of semi industrial, shabby, 1930’s New York chic. It’s very nicely done, and creates just the right kind of furtive atmosphere I like when I’m dining. Mark me down as a fan.

So that’s the similarities covered, what about the differences?
Polpo isn’t a massive space but compared to its baby offshoot, it feels cavernous. Unusually for a restaurant, Polpetto inhabits a single room above The French House pub in Soho. It probably seats no more than 20 – 25 diners. Access is by a side door, with a brief glimpse of the busy pub bar, as you climb up a few flights of stairs, through a doorway to the dining room. All of this adds something to the almost speakeasy atmosphere, a hidden back room restaurant only frequented by those in the know, rather than the Soho media darlings, movers and shakers who were in evidence on the lunchtime ‘E’ and I visited. (OK, if you simply MUST know we were sitting between the celebrated author Sebastian Faulks on one side and the finance director of Hakkasan on the other. It goes without saying that ‘E’ and I had no idea who they were until it was pointed out to us later).


Another major difference is that, unlike Polpo at lunchtime the dining room is flooded with light from the large windows running one whole length of the room. With the lively hustle and bustle of Dean Street just outside, on a nice sunny day this gives the room an extremely airy and open feel, which goes some way to detract from the diminutive proportions of the restaurant.

Enough about the interior design and the atmosphere lets get on and talk about the food!


First, and most importantly some alcohol – we both ordered a spritz with Aperol to sip on whilst we perused the menu. This is a sophisticated drink for sophisticated people. I was of course, in my element.


‘E’ and I decided to mostly bypass the Cicheti, not wanting to be detracted from the main dishes. But, we just couldn’t resist a nibble of smoked swordfish with lemon and dill ricotta. I found it pleasant enough, the contrasting flavours of the smoked fish against the light, herby lemony tang of the filling worked well, but I think the ricotta filling was perhaps too cold dulling the taste somewhat.


Moving on, we ordered a selection of side dishes to share.
A portion of really superb crispy based Pizzeta Bianca with a delcious, slightly gooey, onion and cheese topping.


A bowl of some rather nice shoestring zucchini fries.


And, a standout dish of warm lentils with basil, topped with a mound of Burrata (A soft Italian speciality cheese similar to mozzarella, but much more creamy and delicate). This was bloody delicious, both ‘E’ and I liked it a lot.


As a main, I’d ordered Osso Buco with saffron risotto and despite being unlucky enough to get a veal shank that was solid bone with no marrow to speak of, it was frigging superb, The rich velvety meaty texture of veal against the creamy perfectly cooked saffron risotto was just out of this world.


‘E’ had chosen the soft shell crab in Parmesan batter with celeriac slaw, and despite it being perhaps a less aesthetically pleasing plate to look at than some of the previous dishes we’d ordered, what little I got to nibble on tasted impressive. ‘E’ devoured it greedily and gave it the thumbs up.


By this stage we were absolutely stuffed silly, but still managed to fit in a nice little glass of tiramisu to share.

I absolutely love Polpetto. It has a wonderful buzzing atmosphere with an artfully decrepit yet secretive vibe and outstanding rustic food. What more could you want?
As with Polpo there’s a no booking policy for dinner, but you can book for lunch. Go!!!

Polpetto

Upstairs at The French House
49 Dean Street
London
W1D 5BG

Telephone: 020 7734 1969

http://www.polpetto.co.uk


* I just HAVE to say that - them's the rules, I don't make em.

Fame at the Basement!! (And our 2nd Supper).

The dining room is darkened. Silence.
The sudden low electrical hum as a spotlight suddenly appears in the centre of the floor, dust pirouettes lazily in the glow.
An appreciative gasp from the audience as I stride into the limelight, contemptuous of the stir I've just caused. I strike a pose, and hold it. Clad head to toe in a body hugging black Lycra catsuit, my athletic dancer outline broken only by my leg warmers and the stick I use to beat on the floor for emphasis as I spit out "Fame costs, and right here is where you start paying"...I strike a 'jazz hands' position. The audience gasps, then hushed silence as strange rhythmic music, played on a bongo begins to drift out of the darkness.
I begin my routine with a daring crotch splitting high kick and spin...

*Sound of a needle skidding across the track*

No silly people.
Not the 1980's TV Show 'Fame'!

The fame that comes from having a recipe from Montpelier Basement featured in Xanthe Clay's column in The Telegraph. And, if that wasn't enough, Fiona Beckett the new Guardian wine columnist (and food writer) coming to our second supper and giving us a stonking write up on her blog, kind of fame!
To say 'E' and I are chuffed silly would be a complete understatement. Cheesy grins, high-fives and backslaps all round.

Although, not quite as good as me dancing gracefully in a body hugging leotard I think you'll all agree, but it's up there.... it’s certainly up there.

So, the second supper was superb (has a nice ring to it don’t you think?)
As you can see, the final menu featured pumpkin in every course (as it was Halloween...err...almost), but it was all quite subtle.

The Montpelier Basement - Saturday 30th October.

Sherry served with Gorwydd Caerphilly, thyme, chilli and pumpkin dust gougère

Bertinet rustic rye bread with West Country butter

Pumpkin and sage soup with deep fried sage, brown butter and chilli

Baked Cornish haddock with pumpkin crust, leeks and white wine sauce.

Onglet with pumpkin jam and polenta chips
OR,
Mushroom and Old Demdike tatin with thyme, chestnuts and squash

Spiced pumpkin and pecan cake with mascarpone, honey and toasted pecans

And finally,
Gorwydd Caerphilly and Bristol Beer Factory Milk Stout Rarebit

Quite an adventurous menu I'd say, given that we only have a domestic kitchen to crank it all out from. We had all eleven guests seated at one table stretching the length of the room, rather than split up onto separate tables. The problem with this arrangement is how to get eleven plates of food out all at once, and all hot with only limited hob and oven space. But with careful planning, flow charts, pie charts, spreadsheets and a white board, 'E' managed to drill into my dense skull exactly how this could be achieved. But more about that later.


Before our guests arrived, we'd laid the table, lit the wood fire which was roaring away, throwing a nice warm flicker around the room, lit the candles and finally - as it was Halloween (well almost) we'd borrowed a projector and had old black and white horror films playing on one of the dining room walls. It worked really well and added a really superb atmosphere to the dining room.


First up - the Gorwydd Caerphilly, thyme, chilli and pumpkin dust gougère, which we served as nibbles with sherry. The basic gougère recipe I've blogged before here, but we substituted Caerphilly for Cheddar, added some Thyme and dusted with chilli flakes and blitzed toasted pumpkin seeds.


After some beautiful Bertinet rye bread, we served a small portion of pumpkin and sage soup ('E' now has her own blog, and has helpfully put the recipe up here). We decorated this with chilli flakes and deep fried sage leaves .


Next, we were both especially pleased with the baked Cornish haddock with pumpkin crust, leeks and white wine sauce. It looked really elegant and tasted incredible (we made an extra portion for ourselves). It was actually a bastardised Gary Rhodes recipe from my old favourite 'New British Classics'. He uses Halibut and serves it in much bigger portions.


We had one vegetarian diner, and 'E' had made them a superb Mushroom and Old Demdike tatin with thyme, chestnuts and squash. We'd used a mixture of chestnut mushrooms, Portobello and for added luxury (it was an alternative to steak after all) sliced fresh ceps. This was layered through with Old Demdike cheese and thyme. We served it with the same pumpkin jam (Made the previous night) and polenta chips that we served with the Onglet.


The steak presented us with something of a problem. How to cook eleven massive slabs of Onglet, and then rest them.... to serve all at the same time, hot with only four hobs. Helpfully, the head chef at Source Food Hall & Cafe presented the solution to us. Pre-sear the Onglet first, and then whack all of it on a baking tray, covered with foil into the oven and cook until medium rare. A technique that worked beautifully. (Source incidentally supplied us with both the freshest Cornish Haddock, as well as the superb Onglet and Ceps).

Unfortunately, not everything was as easily worked around. The Polenta chips that we served with the onglet were a hell of a lot of work to flour, egg, and coat in panko then fry in small batches. But with head's down and working methodically we ploughed through it.

With the polenta chips fried, me frantically slicing the now rested steak and 'E' artistically smearing the plates with pumpkin jam and plating up, we managed to get the hardest course out. High Five!


Breathing a sigh of relief, and knocking back a celebratory glass of red we plated up the beautifully moist Spiced pumpkin and pecan cake with mascarpone, honey and toasted pecans which 'E' has made the previous evening (recipe here).
I drizzled with honey and artistically scattered toasted pecans whilst 'E' expertly shaped the mascarpone quenelles.

Pudding served we left the confines of the kitchen to sit with our guests, drink as much booze as we could lay our hands on and generally relax a bit and enjoy the atmosphere, with just a brief visit back to the grill to make the final course of Rarebit.

Everything, (surprisingly) had gone extremely smoothly, no tourette like streams of swearing, no panicked shouting and no screams, all of which have so often been the hallmarks of my dinner parties. Just fairly calm hustle in the kitchen.


With the majority of our guests waving unsteady goodbyes at around 1:30am, 'E' and I declared the second supper a bloody good evening, left the mess to clear up in the morning and crawled drunkenly upstairs to bed.

If you fancy attending a future supper at The Montpelier Basement, or would like to be added to our mailing list then send us an email at montpelierbsmt@gmail.com

We have at least two more dates planned for 2010, the 13th November and 27th November. (And possibly one more date in early December).
We’d love to see you.

This and that, bits and bobs etc…

What with all the work involved in The Montpelier Basement, I’ve found it pretty hard to find time to keep up with the blog posts. Seems this supper club gig is really time intensive!
But rest assured, in the background I’m still ‘out there’ doing all the same foodie stuff, eating in restaurants, cooking at home and falling out of bars…a lot – I just haven’t been writing about it as much…. which come to think of it, is no fun for anyone dammit, you want…no, you DEMAND to know what’s going on…. and I hear you, my beautiful, intelligent readers…. For indeed you are all beautiful and extremely intelligent and I am listening, like an unusual Essex-bloke-shaped radio antenna. I hear your plaintive cries for information reaching my furrowed brow, bombarding my brain with pleas…. I am attuned, and I’m going to give you what you want! Oh yeah, I’m going to squash a load of stuff into this post…. pack it, squeeze it all in until something breaks, or I get bored…and we’re off!!!!

First up, the next Montpelier Basement supper is being held on Saturday 30th October. The inaugural event seemed to be a massive success (*taps nose* check out Xanthe Clay’s column in The Telegraph next Saturday – say no more, say no more). We’re sold out already. However, we’ve worked out some future dates for the diary; Saturday 13th November and Saturday 27th November. Both dates are being booked up fast, so if you want to come, email montpelierbsmt@gmail.com

What will we be serving up at the next event on the 30th?

Here’s the menu….

Arrival drinks and nibbles

Bertinet bread and West country butter

Pumpkin and sage soup with deep fried sage, brown butter and chilli

Baked Cornish haddock with pumpkin crust. (Vegetarian option tbc)

Onglet with pumpkin jam, greens and polenta chips
OR,
Mushroom and Ogleshield tatin with thyme, chestnuts and squash

Spiced pumpkin and pecan cake with maple mascarpone, honey and toasted nuts.

Rarebit

As it’s Halloween weekend, we’ve tried to feature pumpkin in the menu a fair bit. Mainly because it’s orange and errr scary.

Moving on…..


Lets talk about Elizabeth David. Rightfully considered to be one of the most influential post war food writers and cooks Britain has ever produced, she pretty much singlehandedly shaped the face of what we eat and in some ways still influences what we eat today. So basically as important as it gets. Aaaaaaand, until I started writing my food blog almost two years ago, I’d never heard of her. There I’ve said it! I didn’t know who Elizabeth David was; fellow foodies come hither and flay me with chains, then squirt me liberally with lemon juice (Sicilian of course).
I’d like to say it’s because I was just too ‘into Escoffier to have time for her man’, or something. But no, I was just blissfully ignorant. Yet, gradually I became aware of her and her works. As they were entirely text (and being from Essex I’m all about the pictures) I always just scanned them and never really took them in. Until a few weeks ago, when I was sent *drum roll purlease* ‘At Elizabeth David’s Table’, a collection of her more everyday recipes, all with glorious food porn photos of what the grub is actually supposed to look like. So now, when I’m knocking out a quick Perdrix a l’auvergnate, I know exactly what it’s supposed to look like.
The interesting thing about this book, for someone like me who is less accustomed to Elizabeth David’s work, is how ahead of her time she was and how obviously influential she has been. Nearly all of the recipes could have been written yesterday, and considering how hard the exotic ingredients must have been to source in a dreary, just released from the shackles of wartime rationing Britain, the book is not only a cracking collection of her recipes, but a fascinating insight into our country’s food heritage.


I cooked a couple of things from the book (had to try it out of course), and the results were pretty good. Although, a quick pasta dish, Fettuccine alla marinara was fairly unspectacular as far as pasta goes.



I was much more impressed with the coffee ice cream recipe (which incidentally is something ‘E’ absolutely loves) and the classic chocolate mousse. Results for both of these were good, and being Elizabeth David, the recipes are beautifully written.


But enough about the past, now let’s talk about the future, in the shape of Stevie Parle, who aged just 24 has managed to cram a ridiculously impressive list of restaurants onto his CV. He has recently been awarded Young Chef Of The Year by Observer Food Monthly, as well as running the London pop up Moveable Restaurant AND has now opened his own restaurant, The Dock Kitchen…. oh…in between this it seems like he’s travelled everywhere. As such, we should all hate him with a fixated jealous seething anger, but I was sent his cookbook ‘My Kitchen, Real Food From Near And Far’ quite a while ago, and this is the thing…. all of the recipes I’ve tried so far are frigging amazing! (Chana Masala, I’m looking at you baby). So he’s grudgingly forgiven, frigging overachiever that he is.
Anyway, we were so impressed we had a bit of an evening where we cooked a few dishes from it, all were new to me and all were superb.


Apart from the aforementioned Chana Masala, a chickpea curry which achieves the rather enviable double whammy of being both delicious and cheap, we also made Avial, which was one of the weirdest things I’ve ever eaten; a thick coconut, yoghurt and vegetable paste, it looked utterly bizarre but was strangely tasty.


While we were at it, we made our own chapattis from a recipe in the book, which were surprisingly simple to knock up. Finally we made a fresh ginger and tamarind pickle. This particular accompaniment seemed to involve a hell of a lot of work for the end result of a small pot of pickle, but wow! It was bloody gorgeous. The strange thing is, when I tasted it, I realised immediately that I’ve encountered versions of it before in a hundred Indian restaurants, but I’ve never known what it was and it always tasted disgusting. Not this though, it was fresh, vibrant and punchy – I can’t recommend it enough.
So in conclusion, if you don’t have it – Stevie Parle’s book is really worth picking up.


Finally, the other night ‘E’ and I attended a Bristol supper club run by Sam J Leach. We’ve visited before and I wrote about it here, the food was cracking and when we heard he was holding another event, we signed up straightaway.

As before, the food was superb, and now having had a go at running our own supper club we have a bit more of an appreciation of how much bloody hard work it all is. There were a couple of truly standout courses, the duck heart, smoked mash and beetroot was delicious and beautifully presented, but what really blew me away (and everyone else it seemed), was the dessert.


A toffee apple hollowed out and filled with custard. Sam had cleverly worked out how to achieve this, and the ‘oooh’s and ‘ahhhh’s from our fellow diners that filled the room as everyone broke through the outer caramel shell and discovered the custard filling in unison, were a delight to hear. Stunning and extremely clever. Bravo.


There’s a hell of a lot more that I’ve eaten, cooked and drank lately that I’d love to share with you, (An excellent lunch at Polpetto in Soho, a not so great burger but great beer at Draft House Tower Bridge and a book launch at Moti Mahal spring to mind) but I’m acutely aware that too much information and peoples attentions start to wander. Yes I’m talking to you at the back.

So until next time, and do come to our supper club if you can, we'd love to see you.

Montpelier Basement - Gastronomic success or gastroenteritis?

Slowly, almost painfully, one heavy lid creaks open to expose my bleary and bloodshot retina to the blurred soft grey hues of early Sunday morning. Sunlight leaks lazily around the corners of the curtain, rudely intruding into my dark hungover world. I lay there still, staring blankly, studying the ceiling as my brain winds up slowly like a dynamo; it's not quite there yet. Silence. But not perfect. I strain my hearing and concentrate on the deep rhythmic breathing of a slumbering 'E'.
Suddenly, almost surprising myself, I wrest off the covers and immediately wish I hadn't, as the cold morning air envelopes my still duvet-warm body. The shock wakes me up instantly and my brain moves up a gear, from reverse into first. Like an automaton, I reach out blindly for a sweatshirt from a pile of clothes, dragging it over my head, as I creakily fall out of bed in a kind of silent controlled tumble and pad quietly, bare feet on carpet to the door and the darkened silence of the rooms beyond.

Making my way downstairs, I turn into the dining room. Sunlight streams unrestricted through the French doors, lighting the scene in stark detail. I stand in silence, my eyes picking over the wreckage of the night before. At least a dozen empty, dull emerald wine bottles lay forlorn and discarded. The length of the table is strewn crazily with screwed up napkins, crumbs, water glasses, wine glasses, pitchers, knives, forks - in fact pretty much all the cutlery we own. The white tablecloth has a massive red stain spread across one end. I stare and remember. It looks like a map of Africa painstakingly drawn in claret. Strangely impressive.

Leaving this scene behind, I take a few steps and turn into the kitchen and gasp. Utter carnage. Every surface is covered haphazardly with bowls, plates, saucepans. It looks like a bomb has gone off. My head hurts. I'm starting to think that the bottles of Japanese lager that we necked whilst cooking the previous evening, followed up with white wine, then celebratory red, more white...stout, and sherry?!! Probably wasn't the wisest course of alcoholic consumption. But let's rewind....celebratory, yes....last night had been cracking, in fact it had been a real success. We'd even been applauded by our guests, amongst them no other than Xanthe Clay, the Telegraph food columnist and author.
Smiling, I turn back to the kitchen wreck and start the business of clearing up. It's something I'm rather good at, being almost borderline OCD when it comes to tidiness. Whilst I work, I process the day before in my mind; it had flown past in such a blur with all the preparation....

Saturday was to be the first date of our supper club, Montpelier Basement. We had begun early and were up and on the train to nearby Bath at 7am to pick up some bread from Richard Bertinet's famous bakery and fresh produce from the excellent weekly farmers market.
We met Richard Bertinet who was incredibly friendly and helpful, and the bread well what can I say - amazing. Gorgeously crusty and flavoursome sourdough, beautifully lightly textured Bath Buns and incredible focaccia. Both 'E' and I were goggle eyed, as we looked around at all this beautiful produce displayed on the shelves of the bakery. Richard asked us about our menu, and suggested some of the aforementioned incredible sourdough, a spelt loaf, two different types of focaccia (rosemary and olive), some ciabatta and finally, we couldn't resist a sweet Bath bun to nibble on as we walked along the still quiet, early morning streets to the farmers market, which by contrast was a hive of activity. The incredible fresh bread smell emanating from the bag was quite something.

Surveying the various stalls heaving with beautiful fresh local ingredients, we worked quickly and soon had a massive bag full of different types of beetroot; (purple, amazing candy striped and golden. We planned to roast these with thyme and a dash of balsamic vinegar), big bunches of cavolo nero, some brussel tops (similar to greens, we planned to chop, blanch and finally pan fry these), some beautiful locally grown Desiree potatoes, quite unlike anything you'd get from the supermarket in terms of quality, and some bunches of incredibly varied coloured carrots. Quite a haul and pretty damn heavy as we struggled our way back to the station.

Arriving back in Bristol, and leaping into a taxi at the station - I decided the next thing I should do in order to prepare for the evening supper club, would be to slam my finger in the taxi door. That's right, God knows how I did it - I jammed my finger in the closed door good and proper. As a justifiably alarmed 'E' struggled to help me and shouted at the Taxi driver, he looked blankly at me and said "errr do you want me to unlock it then?"
My barely restrained response of "errr yes!" elicited some action and as he unlocked the door from outside, freeing my mangled finger, I almost dreaded to look. It was flat - probably half the thickness that it normally is. Inside I was screaming like a child throwing a tantrum, but outside I was strangely calm as I assured both 'E' and the driver I was completely fine. I'm not entirely sure why we do that, put a brave face on things; the psychology of it is lost on me.
Strangely, despite my finger throbbing, and the taxi driver grimly assuring me that it would
"hurt tomorrow, oh yeah - that'll be black and blue that will",
before launching into a litany of other finger-trapped-in-door accidents he had known. Meanwhile, my flat finger had somehow 're-inflated' itself. Yes it hurt like hell, but it was back to its normal size. I could wiggle it. Not broken, luckily!

Leaping from the taxi, this time I was extremely careful in slamming the car door. We hurried downstairs to the kitchen and began preparing for the evening's supper right away. I glanced at my watch, it was just before noon.


We'd already laid the communal table, polished the glasses and cutlery, washed and stacked all the tableware. I'd got the log fire ready, I'd already made the beef cheek with milk stout stew, we'd tidied and prepared. 'E' had made the St Clements posset dessert, and was busily making stem ginger shortbread. We were well on track, in total control - we had hours and hours to prepare....

...Seemingly five minutes later, it was 7pm and our first guests would be arriving in half an hour as we hustled around the kitchen. I don't know how we did it, but as the first people began to arrive, we were ready. I have to say when it comes to organising a kitchen 'E' demonstrated ably why it's her profession.


With the guests drinking sherry and tucking into nibbles of spiced almonds and pumpkin seeds, we quickly readied ourselves. 'E' had drawn up a complete timing plan, and wow was it complicated. The roast baby squash with beet leaf and hazelnut pesto starter, although involving some last minute work, wasn't too bad, but getting the main and accompanying side dishes out for ten people… all at the same time, and all hot, would involve some serious organisation in a domestic kitchen.

As 'E' patiently explained to me how it would work, I listened stupidly, went boss eyed and wished that I'd studied rocket science so I would be better able to understand what the hell she was talking about. Snapping out of this revelry I assured a doubtful looking 'E' that I'd taken in all that she'd just said and understood the plan backwards. And we were off!!!!


The next hour or so passed in something of a blur. I didn't really get the chance to get out of the kitchen as much as I'd have liked, but - and this is the main thing, our guests were obviously having a cracking time judging by the sounds of raucous laughter and noisy conversation. The kitchen actually leads directly off the dining room, so we were no more than two meters away from the table.


The cleared plates coming back pretty much empty were also a good sign. After reaching the high point of the evening, getting the main course and accompanying side dishes out on time, and most importantly, hot, 'E' and I grinned at each other broadly and had a congratulatory 'high five'.
Able to relax a bit more, we joined our guests for dessert and a few glasses of wine - and received a round of applause. Superb.


Finishing off the meal with Keen's cheddar Welsh rarebit on Bertinet sourdough and some Trethowan's Dairy Caerphilly with homemade membrillo, some of our guests - proclaiming themselves stuffed to the gills, made their way off into the night. Others stayed till way after 1am as we chatted, and drank the remaining wine and sherry.

'E' and I had a bloody good time, and were more than happy with the evening. Of course there are things we'd like to improve, but it's a learning experience and for our first supper club, the feedback from our guests the next day was phenomenal.

I only wish I'd managed to get some more photos of the food, but just didn't have time.

My twin brother texted me the next day with the question “So, Montpelier Basement – Gastronomic success, or Gastroenteritis?”
Gastronomic success I reckon.

In actual fact, we enjoyed ourselves so much, we've already set the next date - Saturday 30th October. The menu is yet to be confirmed, but will again be British, seasonal and where possible, local. (With a bit of Halloween thrown in for good measure...in a completely classy and non-cheesy way, naturallement).

If you like the sound of this, and want to join us, or would like to be added to the mailing list - drop an email to montpelierbsmt@gmail.com

The Montpelier Basement - A Bristol supper club

If you follow ‘E’ or myself on Twitter, you may (or may not) have realised we’re about to try our hand at running a supper club from our home in Bristol. The first night will be Saturday 16th October. The kitchen and surprisingly spacious dining room is downstairs, in the bowels of the building as it were – so we’ve cunningly decided to name it ‘The Montpelier Basement’ – or ‘The Basement’ if we’re being familiar.

We’ve talked about it and talked about it, and in the end thought ‘lets set a date and just do it’. We did, and we have…and it’s come around faster than we can believe. We’ve had so much to organise, and ever finite amounts of time to do it in.

But saying that, we’re on top of things (just) and seem to be pretty much ready. Our first menu is written, we’ve pilfered our respective families’ houses for likely looking tableware, and we’ve pretty much got a full house.

Our menu has a real British theme, and we’ve tried to use local suppliers and seasonal ingredients, as much as possible. (We’ll be picking up most of the veg. on Saturday morning at the rather excellent Bath farmers market, so if you see us looking harassed and lugging huge bags, be kind and slip us a Valium or two).

Anyway, without much further ado – for your delight and delectation here is our first menu…. God help us.


Saturday 16th October - 7.30pm for 7.45pm

Arrival drinks and nibbles

Herbert's Bakery bread and West Country butter

Roast baby squash with beet leaf and hazelnut pesto, leaves and toasted seeds.

Beef cheeks braised in Bristol Milk Stout with horseradish and herb dumplings, mash and veg OR Braised Puy lentils and roast celeriac with horseradish and herb dumplings, mash and veg

Earl Grey cream with stem ginger shortbread

Rarebit


All for the bargainous suggested donation of £20 (in used notes, please).

Do follow us on Twitter @MontpelierBsmt depending how it goes, we’re hoping to hold evenings every couple of weeks or so.

Drop us an email if you want to come along, (there’s a couple of spaces left), want to wish us luck, or just want to be added to the mailing list: -

montpelierbsmt@gmail.com

I shall keep you posted on how it all went, right here.

The Victoria Park - Bristol

Bristol is a much big city than I first realised. I’ve been here a few months now and thought I was getting a real handle on the place, but every now and again I stumble into an entirely new area and am amazed that a whole swathe of the city could have eluded me for so long.
I found this just a couple of nights ago. I came across an entirely new vista of Bristol, visible in the approaching autumn dusk whilst climbing my way through the steeply hilled yet surprisingly serene and pleasant Victoria Park. I was with ‘E’ on our way to visit the park’s brand spanking new gastropub namesake.


The Victoria Park pub is situated slap bang in the middle of a row of Victorian terraced housing, harking back to the days when the local was seen as being an integral part of the community. It’s nice to see the ethos surviving here, (Although, I’m not sure I’d want to live next door to a pub, even one as upmarket as this).

The interior is decorated in the now fairly standard gastro-contemporary style, all muted colours, stripped floorboards and large battered old tables with a slick and well stocked bar down one wall. It’s pleasant enough, and it works but it’s interesting that what was once bleeding edge anti-styling in, say The Eagle, is now the standard format for all gastropubs. What will the avant garde bring us next I wonder?

On the Friday night ‘E’ and I visited, the pub was pretty busy and we struggled to find a seat, eventually cajoling and squeezing our way onto the end of an already inhabited large table. A quick glance at the chalkboard menu composed of a somewhat eclectic but interesting selection; my eye was immediately drawn to the Moroccan Chicken with cous cous, caramelised cinnamon onions and harissa roast garlic yoghurt, which was sold out (f*ck my luck, as always). Monmouthshire charcuterie with home pickled vegetables also intrigued, forcing me to adopt the highly intelligent, ‘is he thinking about astrophysics, chaos theory or just what to stuff his face with?’ pondering pose for which I am rightly well known.


Pondering complete, I went for a starter of chicken liver and wild mushroom parfait. Which, when it arrived was a pretty generous slab, beautifully made and creamy with some cracking toasted sourdough and a slick of what initially appeared to be ‘Daddy’s sauce’. “Hello”, thought I – chicken liver parfait and brown sauce, surely not? For this is a classy establishment, otherwise I wouldn’t be here…me being from Essex. My suspicions were proved correct when the waitress informed me it was a raisin and PX sherry reduction. “Indubitably” I replied knowingly.
At £4, it was ridiculously cheap and bloody superb, a great start.


‘E’ meanwhile was demolishing a plate of sautéed wild mushrooms, on sourdough, topped with a fried ducks egg. “Good” was her considered opinion, but not as good as the mushroom on toast dish at Graze near Bristol’s Harbourside, which currently holds the highly sought after accolade of ‘best pile of mushrooms on bread type thing Dan and ‘E’ have eaten to date’.


Onto the main course, and my plate of roast beetroot, thyme and parmesan risotto with candy beetroot crisps was the most amazingly lurid, scarlet hued plate of food I’ve seen in quite some time. The incredibly swirled candy beetroot crisps looked amazing. I loved it, and the photos don’t do it justice. “Does it taste as good as it looks though?” Was the question I asked myself, striking yet another ponder pose (to much admiration from surrounding diners I might add). Breaking the spell I’d cast over the pub to take a bite, all eyes were on me as I gave an achingly slow thumbs up, and the crowd erupted in back slaps and cheering, whilst the head chef collapsed on the floor in floods of relieved tears….
…. Which in an ideal world, is how it should be, but sadly no one gave much of a shit as I had a taste, decided it was pretty good and gave a solitary ‘yay’ to no one in particular, except ‘E’ who, in between forkfuls of her buffalo mozzarella, Italian tomato and bread ‘panzanella’ salad, glanced at me with a quizzical look and a raised eyebrow.


By the way, the ‘panzanella’ salad was bloody nice, beautifully put together and ‘E’ seemed more than happy with it.


A quick word about our side dish of tempura courgettes with tamarind sauce. The Victoria Park’s head chef hails from Bristol’s 2nd floor Harvey Nick’s restaurant, and here is where the influence shows. They serve the same side dish at the temple to all things fashion, which is equally delicious…but more expensive and not as generous. So get your tempura courgette fix at The Victoria Park, folks.


Desserts were particularly good, my ‘affogato’ honeycomb ice-cream, salted caramel sauce and an espresso shot to pour over it (from the excellent local coffee people at Extract, according to the branded cup) was everything you’d expect from a bowl of excellent coffee, melted ice-cream, salted caramel and honeycomb. That is to say, I was making contended mewling noises as I ate it.


‘E’s choice of pear Bakewell tart with star anise custard caused something of a rift between us. I loved it, after the initial surprise of the star anise flavour; I thought it worked really well with the stodgy, sugary pear tart.
‘E’ on the other hand wasn’t so keen, thinking that the star anise had no business being there, was too reminiscent of Chinese seasonings, and overpowered the delicate flavour of the tart. Pah! What does she know eh?

The Victoria Park is very good. It has a nice atmosphere, a nice selection of booze; it’s in a nice part of the city…. That all adds up to a heap load of nice. Add the food into the mix, which is ridiculously cheap and bloody excellent; and you’ll know where to find me when I’m next over that way. Liked it, liked it a lot.

The Victoria Park
66 Raymend Road
Bristol
BS3 4QW.

Telephone: 0117 3306043

http://www.thevictoriapark.co.uk