Brown Windsor soup - A revival

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

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

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

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

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

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!)

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.