Bone Daddies - London

It’s hard to cast your mind back and remember exactly where you first heard of something, now seemingly quite familiar, but my very first encounter with ramen, many years ago, was in Thurrock Costco and it was the cheapest, bargain basement variety you could find, a plastic foil lidded pot containing noodles and some dust dry powder, just add boiling water. I thought it was the American knock off version of a pot noodle, which in fact, I suppose it was and that’s how things remained, fixed in my brain for quite a long time.

And then, a couple of years ago the Momofuku restaurant cookbook helped ramen once again shoulder its way into my consciousness. This was the real deal as served in the trendy New York restaurant and inspired by American Chef, David Chang’s time in Japan (ramen is a Japanese noodle dish, served in a broth, usually meat based). I was fascinated, it looked absolutely frigging delicious.

As is often the way, it wasn’t long before a few ramen joints started popping up in London with the intriguingly named Bone Daddies a clear favourite with just about everyone I know in London. 

So, I know I’m a bit late to the party, Bone Daddies having been reviewed and loved to death already, alles uber da platz, but I don’t give a f*ck, I live in Bristol now, I don’t get back to London as often as I’d like. I ate there last week, I thought it was awesome, I’m going to write about it. Yeah.

Rocking up to the restaurant in Soho at about 9pm, I was initially disheartened to see through the windows that it was banged out inside and that there was a queue outside. Operating a no booking policy can be an utter ballache for the terminally organised and a gift from God for lazy bastards. Luckily a supermarket just down the road provided cheap alcoholic refreshment, which made the short wait for a space unsurprisingly bearable. In the end, it was no more than 15 minutes.

Finally inside, Bone Daddies was dimly lit, loud and extremely busy. Squeezing unsteadily up onto a stall (we’d been for a few drinks previously, obvs.) my mate Liz and I agreed to share a couple of snack size plates before cracking into a bowl of ramen each.

Chasu pork and corn croquettes were as you’d expect crispy exterior, squishy meaty interior, what’s not to like?. Chasu pork in case you were wondering (I was) is pork belly that has been marinated in soy and spices, and then braised. 

Soft shell crab with green chilli ginger sauce was something else entirely. This blew me away, seriously amazing. Deep fried with the most intense, fresh tasting chilli and ginger sauce. I bloody loved it.

At this point, with time to kill whilst waiting for the rest of dinner, our attention turned to the table setting, some of it surprisingly mysterious. A pot of chilli sauce (very poky), soy, something in a grinder (turns out it was sesame seeds), bibs (we availed ourselves of these, despite looking decidedly unhip) and a mysterious jar of rubber bands (turns out these are hair bands so the luxuriously coiffured don’t get their lustrous locks dunked in their food). Fair play.

Our game of ‘guess what the hell’s that for’ was at this point interrupted by two steaming bowls of ramen. 

Liz had ordered the Tonkotsu variety, containing spring onion, slices of the aforementioned choshu pork, a halved soft-boiled egg and various other bits and bobs, all merrily suspended in a 20 hour, pork bone broth. I’m no ramen expert but bloody hell, I tried a bit and it was ridiculously fine.

Meanwhile, I was slurping away at a bowl of Tantanmen, which Wiki tells me isn’t actually ramen as such but a related, Chinese influenced noodle dish (based on Sichuan dan dan noodles) – how appropriate – and often served in Japanese ramen establishments. Consisting of a chicken bone broth containing sesame, chilli, pork mince, a soft-boiled egg and bok choy. Yeah it was amazing. Stupidly-drunkenly I added too much extra chilli from the little pot on the table. Spicy enough as it was, it blew my frigging head off, but it was so delicious, so intensely rich that despite the fact my nose was streaming from the heat, I couldn’t leave it alone for even a second and ate the whole lot.

Taking a second to look down and appraise my ramen spattered bib, I saluted my own good sense in favouring practicality over fashion sense. 

We were both too full to eat anything else so slunk away into the neon night glare of Soho, stuffed and well pleased with dinner.

I have no previous ramen experience to compare Bone Daddies against, I can’t tell you how authentic or inauthentic it is, all I can go on is how good it tasted and in that regard, it was bloody fantastic. Seriously good. Honestly, I want to go back and order everything on the menu, just to experience what’s on offer. It’s wasn’t even that expensive, if I remember right (things were a little hazy by the end) my half of the bill was £25

Thanks for everyone who recommended Bone Daddies to me. They were right and now I'm recommending it to you.

Bone Daddies
31 Peter Street
London
W1F 0AR

Telephone: 020 7287 8581
http://bonedaddiesramen.com

Le Champignon Sauvage - Cheltenham

I've got a wish list of restaurants relentlessly processing through my brain, an organ that, lets face it, can ill afford any of its limited resources to be used up in such a frivolous fashion. Nevertheless it’s there *slaps forehead to emphasise* and it’s constantly changing and evolving as my tastes change, restaurants close and new restaurants open. But for the past couple of years, two Michelin starred, Le Champignon Sauvage in nearby (ish) Cheltenham has featured prominently in my noggin and finally, last week, I ate there. 

The Chef and owner, David Everitt-Matthias is often described as a ‘Chef’s Chef’ which basically means he’s a serious grafter, always to be found cooking in the restaurant’s kitchen, in fact, famously he’s never missed a service in twenty five years, if he’s not there Le Champignon Sauvage is not open. An amazing record in an industry, which is notorious for long hours, hard work and uncompromising attention to detail, especially at the two Michelin Star level. 

Last week, I had a rare day off work and although I haven’t quite been knocking my cods off non-stop for twenty-five years, I've been working pretty hard lately and reckoned I deserved a bit of a treat, so a solo lunch at Le Champignon Sauvage it was.

After arriving and being ushered to a sofa in the bar area I sipped a cheeky pre-meal gin and tonic whilst studying the menu, I decided to go for the three course set lunch.

An amuse of a blue cheese and walnut cookie with rye crisp bread, smoked horseradish cream and pickled pear was placed in front of me and I was faced with something of a dilemma, as well as a beautiful looking piece of grub.

If I'm eating in a restaurant and planning to write about it, I do my utmost not to draw attention to myself. I take photographs as surreptitiously as I can and generally keep it low key. I want it to be as fair a write up as possible. But here I was in a hushed bar area with the manager and two staff standing just nearby with a dish I wanted to take a photo of just sitting there. In addition, Le Champignon Sauvage very specifically states on their menu ‘no mobile phones in the dining room’, which is fair enough. How would they feel about me whipping out my massive (yeah) Nikon?

Honestly. I sat there and agonised about this for a good five minutes, my food untouched in front of me before deciding to deal with the situation head on, I asked if they minded if I took a photo. ‘Not at all’. Phew.

The blue cheese and walnut cookie was delicious by the way, the incredibly short savoury pastry, filled with a fresh blue cheese cream. The accompanying rye crisp bread with smoked horseradish cream and pickled pear was equally delicious and looked almost too beautiful to eat, right up to the point I shoved the lot in my gob.

Shown to my table, I was offered a selection of bread rolls but they had me hooked instantly with the bacon and shallot brioche, which was frankly incredible. Seriously, some of the best bread I’ve ever eaten, (easily as good as the Ledbury’s) beautifully textured and sweet with both the saltiness of the bacon and a subtle shallot flavour throughout. Later I tried some of the other rolls proffered, just in the interest of being a greedy bastard and it’s fair to say they were all bloody nice. 

A second amuse followed, Jerusalem artichoke panacotta with field mushroom puree and smoked bacon foam, and I made pretty short work of it. It was surprisingly refreshing with the smooth, savoury, earthy flavours of the panacotta and the salty smokiness of the bacon foam. Lovely.

My first course proper, duck confit, crispy egg yolk, fig purée and pak choi, was beautifully plated. I sat there for some moments, just admiring the composition before wading in. The combination of rich duck confit with the sweetness of the fig and the fresh green crunch of the pak choi was superb. The crispy egg yolk was interesting in a cheffy, technical kind of way and rather pleasant to dip bits of confit into.

Lamb fillet with poached apricot, aubergine, garlic yoghurt and Moroccan spiced sauce…where have you been all my life? I just can’t believe this dish is on the set lunch menu, it was phenomenal. Seriously one of the best plates of food I’ve eaten anywhere. I don’t even know where to begin; the lamb was so tender and there was so much of it! The sweet dots of poached apricot and the subtly spiced sauce, just amazing. I ate every last bit, meticulously scraping my plate back into a pristine state.

I was starting to feel a little stuffed at this point, but I was enjoying this lunch a hell of a lot.

A pre-dessert of rice pudding, greengage compote and milk foam was probably the most conventional tasting thing I ate. Don’t get me wrong; it was delicious but just not quite as impressive as any of the previous courses.

However, chocolate delice with milk ice cream, buerre noisette and butterscotch was off the frigging chart. I don’t think I need to describe it to you, the photo says it all. It was just lovely.

If you go, definitely order coffee and petits fours. It’ll be the best £3.50 you've ever spent. What arrived was a slab of treats, to say it was generous doesn't quite do it justice.  I couldn't believe it. Ridiculous and all of them threw me slightly. Some looked quite conventional, but each had a hint of some unusual flavour twist. Yes. Of course I ate all of them and pretty much waddled out of the restaurant as a result. 

So, do not wait two years like I did. Go and eat at Le Champignon Sauvage as soon as you can. I promise you will not regret it. My bill, including a gin and tonic, two glasses of wine, three courses (with additional bits and bobs), a £5 supplement for switching to an a la carte dessert, petits four and coffee but not including a tip came to £56 That’s right, FIFTY SIX QUID!! That’s for one of the best lunches I've ever had, at a two Michelin starred restaurant with a chef in the kitchen who’s right at the top of his game. I don’t want to lower the tone, but of course, being me, I shall. WTF?

Seriously. Go and enjoy.

Le Champignon Sauvage
24-28 Suffolk Road
Cheltenham
Gloucestershire
GL50 2AQ

Telephone: 01242 573449

http://www.lechampignonsauvage.co.uk

Wallfish Bistro - Bristol

Legendary chef, TV personality, eccentric and consummate boozer, Keith Floyd’s first ever restaurant was in Clifton’s Princess Victoria Street. There’s a plaque on the wall outside to commemorate the fact. A friend of mine recounted to me his experiences of eating there regularly in the late 60’s, early 70’s. The food, as you’d expect from Floyd was phenomenal, but also somewhat unsurprisingly, from a chef rarely seen without a glass of claret in his hand, he had a habit of joining guests at the table whilst pouring himself glasses of their wine and even ordering himself bottles on their bill, unacceptable behaviour by anyone else but Floyd, his easy charm and larger than life character smoothing over any resentment.

Financial problems forced Floyd’s Bistro to close in 1972, leaving a vacuum, which has seemingly remained impossible to fill, because let’s face it, that’s some act to follow. 

But there’s another factor in play here. Clifton itself, despite being basically Bristol’s version of Chelsea and heavily populated by fantastically wealthy, red trousered property moguls called Hugo, doesn’t really have any good restaurants. It’s a bit of a head scratcher for sure. There’s a couple on the fringes, but in ‘the village’, the beating Barbour clad heart of the beast? Zilch.  

Until now.

Somewhere, somehow, something has shifted in the cosmos. God help us all Floyd’s former bistro site and therefore Clifton village finally has a superb restaurant. Can I get a ‘Hallelujah!’?

Of course, this success is less puzzling when you consider that the Head Chef, Seldon Curry has worked for Mark Hix and at Soho’s Ducksoup whilst his partner, Liberty Wenham formerly worked for Rowley Leigh at the rather superb Le Café Anglais.  

I ate at Wallfish on the opening night, a month or so back, but thought it a little unfair to write a review at the time, not that it wasn’t good (it was) but better to let things settle down first. So, the other night I was back for a solo dinner, treating myself to some grouse.

A couple of weeks ago, ‘The glorious twelfth’ passed. If you don’t know the significance of the 12th August, it basically signifies annual doom for red grouse. The game season officially starts and it’s celebrated by much shooting of shotguns followed by wacky races getting the rather delicious game birds on to restaurant menus as quickly as possible, often within hours of being shot. Although many of those in the know reckon it best to wait a while, leaving the game to hang for a few days, to develop its flavour. Also, as the season goes on (it lasts till early December) the price drops, eating it early carries a premium.

I knew of no Bristol restaurants serving grouse (in London, it’s widely available), so when I heard Wallfish had it on the menu, it was settled.

Slurping on a rather decent Aperol spritz and munching noisily on bread and olive tapenade whilst scanning down an intriguing menu featuring much of the prospective cast of the British version of Finding Nemo, I wanted to order the whole frigging lot. Sadly, as my dining out is yet to be subsidised with any form of lottery funding or EU grant, I instead went for pork crackling with gooseberry sauce and chicken liver spiedini.

Straight up, the pork crackling was the best I've eaten anywhere. The massively puffed up, incredibly neat strips of pig combined with the sharp gooseberry hit of the accompanying sauce were absolutely top drawer, and at £2.50, ridiculous value for money.

I had to ask what spiedini were (turns out it's Italian for cooked on skewers) which in this case were chicken livers, spiked through with sprigs of rosemary sitting on individual toasts. Again, bloody delicious and at £1.50 each, silly money. I ordered two; I wish I’d ordered four.

So, the main event, roast grouse with bread sauce, parsnip crisps and watercress (also served with fried breadcrumbs, extra gravy and redcurrant jelly) was absolutely banging. No doubt about it. I went at it hammer and tongs, tearing into the moist, rich meat like it was my last meal on earth. Done well, it’s a real treat and well worth the cost (a very reasonable £26.50 in this case). 
Definitely not something to order on a first date, I took advantage of the fact that A) I’m now single B) I was dining alone, and C) I really don’t give a shit, to pick the whole thing apart. 

At one point I practically had my face entombed in its ribcage. By the time I’d finished, there was a carcass so barren, so utterly devoid of flesh, it wouldn't have looked out of place in the parched expanse of the Arizona dessert with a bemused vulture staring at it.

Offer salted caramel to me in any form and I’ll have your frigging arm off. Dark chocolate mousse, salt caramel and crème fraiche entirely lived up to its promise. Delicious. In fact, and I don’t say this often, because I’m a greedy bastard, but it was almost too much, too rich. Don’t get me wrong though, I ate all of it and even scraped the glass clean, but I’d say order one of these to share and ask for little spoons, lingering over it. Don’t shovel it in your gob with a spade, like I did.

After taking some après meal ‘me time’ to lean back, sigh to myself contently, pat my bulging belly and emit the odd happy belch, I settled up. My bill, including a glass of Cotes de Gascogne and a coffee came to £46. Bargain.

So, I think Wallfish is rather bloody good. Solid cooking featuring lovely seasonal ingredients combined with incredibly reasonable prices, what’s not to like? I love that the menu features British seasonal classics like roast grouse and that it’s all done so well. I can’t really fault anything, so I won’t. I had a superbly enjoyable dinner and I’ll definitely be heading back, for more of the same. Clifton village finally has a cracking restaurant. Go!

Wallfish Bistro
112 Princess Victoria Street  
Clifton
Bristol
BS8 4DB

Telephone: 01179 735435

http://www.wallfishbistro.co.uk

A decent weekend breakfast

For quite some time, I've viewed a good breakfast as something of a treat. My normal workday morning bowl of Weetabix is nothing but fuel, economical in both time and cost, relatively healthy yet depressingly functional, drab and almost Stalin’esque. If I ever have the extremely unlikely misfortune to eat this in a Volvo estate, (grey), I’ll probably shoot myself soon after. 

However, as soon as I have a day off, wallowing in an extravagant and leisurely breakfast is one of the greatest pleasures I know. Unhealthy, rich, filling, fried and often meat heavy, English mustard (Colman’s, natch) smeared on the side. The weekend papers to pore over. Coffee to start, and then a pot of tea to take my time over. Heaven.

As I'm talking about breakfast, I have to mention The Gallimaufry, just down the road from me, on Bristol’s Gloucester Road. It’s a favourite breakfast haunt of mine, especially for flaked ham hock on toast with poached eggs and hollandaise, or even better devilled lamb kidneys on toast. I treat myself to breakfast there a hell of a lot, but I'm just as likely to throw something together at home. 

Here’s a breakfast I made recently and particularly enjoyed. I'm almost ashamed to say, given my carnivorous reputation, that is doesn't feature meat, but was happily delicious all the same.

Potato Farls, Fried Shitake Mushrooms, Roasted Tomatoes & Poached Burford Browns.

Potato Farls are a soft potato bread common to Northern Ireland. If you have a soft potato head, you can faff around making your own, but don’t forget this is part of a leisurely treat breakfast, as such forget all that and just buy them. Most supermarkets stock a brand adorned with the irritatingly self-satisfied face of chef, Paul Rankin. Don’t let this put you off. It’s a necessary embuggerance.

Eggs. Don’t buy cheap eggs, ever. They’re shit and also evil due to the horrors the chickens suffer, if you consume these, you’re probably evil too and are just a hairsbreadth away from strangling kittens for a pastime. Buy the best free range eggs you can afford from relatively cosseted, happy hens. I like Burford Browns from Clarence Court. Seriously, you can definitely taste the difference.  

Tomatoes – As with eggs, don’t buy cheap tomatoes. It’s probably not evil, like eating rubbish eggs, but they taste absolutely f*cking ming, in fact worse than ming, they taste of NOTHING. You’re just cheating yourself for a few pennies. Buy tomatoes that are ripe and deep red, that actually smell of tomato.  

Shitake mushrooms, nice, pretty expensive and slightly extravagant. Use these or something equally pretentious, if you can afford to (when I cooked this breakfast, they were in the reduced section, result!) So, if you’re not feeling flush, use chestnut mushrooms. 

So, for two people, you’ll need:-

A pack of potato farls (with Paul Rankin’s face scratched off).

4 quality eggs

A punnet of shitake or chestnut mushrooms

6 medium sized tomatoes, best you can get

Handful of flat leaf parsley, finely chopped.

Squeeze of lemon juice

Sea salt (Maldon – natch) 

Freshly ground black pepper

Butter for frying

Drizzle of olive oil

White wine vinegar for poaching

Whack the oven up to 200C, wash and dry the tomatoes and if they’re on the vine, you may as well leave that on. It looks and smells nice. 

Drizzle them with a bit of olive oil, sprinkle with sea salt, grind of pepper and stick in the oven for 20 mins or so, until they’re starting to get a bit of colour and collapsing.

Trim and quarter/halve your mushrooms and melt a knob of butter in a frying pan, then sauté them over a fairly high heat until nicely browned. Season well and right at the end throw in the finely chopped parsley and a good squeeze of lemon juice. Remove from the heat and stick to one side.

Poach your eggs. The method I use is a good splash of white wine vinegar in a pan with water. Bring it to a simmer, crack your eggs into a cup and gently slide into the hot water. Cook for 3 minutes. If instead of pleasing spheroid shapes, your eggs ‘explode’ – that’s a general indication that the eggs aren't that fresh, the fresher the eggs, the better they poach, so buy fresh eggs next time! Drain on kitchen paper.

Quickly fry your farls, 1 each, until nicely browned on each side.

Assemble the whole thing to your taste. I’d say farl on the bottom then the tomatoes, a nice heap of mushrooms piled over, topped with a couple of poached eggs. More salt and pepper. Job, as they say, jobbed.

Eat, drink some coffee, read the papers, (not the Daily Mail, please, remember my comment re: strangling kittens, that applies to this too). Relax.

The Walnut Tree - Abergavenny

So, I finally got to eat at The Walnut Tree last week, somewhere I’ve wanted to visit for bloody ages. Located just outside Abergavenny, (in Wales in case your geography is as shit as mine) it’s long been regarded as somewhere a bit special.

‘Special how?’ I imagine you spitting at your screen in an agitated manner.

Well, let me furnish you with some restaurant history that’ll explain what’s what.

It doesn’t really matter what happened at the place before 1963, when Ann and Franco Taruschio took over. For the next 37 years, under their care The Walnut Tree became one of the most highly regarded places to eat in Britain, a favourite of Elizabeth David no less. If you’d been lucky enough to eat a meal there, cooked by Franco, it would almost certainly be a highly prized memory.

Ann and Franco sold The Walnut Tree in 2001, and the restaurant had a couple of owners in the proceeding years but it wouldn’t be till 2007 for it’s legendary reputation and fortunes to be finally restored by Chef Shaun Hill, the current owner and something of a legend himself.

Having begun his career under Robert Carrier (how many legends are involved in this frigging thing?), he went on to get a Michelin star at Gidleigh Park. But where I first heard of him was when I first really started becoming interested in food. Then, the restaurant everyone seemed to be talking about was Shaun Hill’s, The Merchant House in Ludlow, which was once voted the 14th best restaurant in the world.

So, acclaimed restaurant meets acclaimed chef. Here ends the history bit.

Believe or not, Abergavenny is no more than an hour from Bristol. It’s incredibly easy to get to on the train and once there, The Walnut Tree is an £8 cab ride from the station. Being from Essex, I still can’t quite get my head round how close Wales is.

I had an early lunch booked and service hadn’t quite kicked off as I walked in. I spied Shaun Hill standing near the bar. Elly and I ordered G&T’s and the man himself complimented us on our choice of drink before heading into the kitchen. I am not worthy and all that.

As the weather is suitably scorchio right now, furnace Britain etc, we sat outside to finish our drinks. Amuse in the form of delicate little éclairs filled with salmon and cream cheese with pickled cucumber were brought out. Perfect for a hot day.

I’m going to get this out of the way. If you’re ordering a la carte, I reckon The Walnut Tree is pretty bloody expensive and I speak as someone who doesn’t mind throwing a bit of moolah at a meal. The average price of a starter is around the £12 mark and a main £23. Throw in £8 for a dessert, bit of wine and a tip and it soon adds up. But, happily there’s a really good value three course set lunch menu at £27.50 and you are having your food cooked by a culinary God, so I’ll pack it in with the complaining but consider yourself warned.

Now seated in the main dining room we picked at some rather superb bread, served with unsalted butter, which I just don’t get, I want salted, godammit. I still ate it though and it was lovely.

Elly’s starter of lobster with sweetcorn and chilli looked absolutely belting, no fiddling with claws and what not, this was just the good stuff, big chunks of meat. I tried a bit and it was lovely.

My quail, bacon grapes and verjuice (unripe grape juice) was phenomenal. The quail, normally pretty fiddly to eat, had been butterflied and de-boned. The whole thing was so beautifully balanced, the sweetness of the grapes, saltiness of the bacon, the sharp acidity of the verjuice sauce and the bitter accompanying chicory leaves. It was without a doubt one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. I even mopped up all the juices with some bread, the plate went back so clean they could have reused it straightaway.

Elly, having decided to slum it after her lobster starter, had ordered turbot with spiced cauliflower and chermoula. For her, this was the highlight of the meal, a real treat and beautifully cooked.

Meanwhile, I was eating rib-eye of beef with braised chicory and salsa verde (well someone has to). A massive plate of food, and I couldn’t have been happier. Beautiful meat, medium rare and a nice sharp salsa verde. Perfect.

Accompanying this were dauphine potatoes, which were pretty damn nice but being a greedy bastard, I’d also ordered jabron potatoes as an extra side dish (I'd seen them featured on Simon Hopkinson's latest TV program, last week) and I really only had eyes for these. Let me just tell you now, jabron potatoes are frigging epic. Cooked potato chunks, baked with cream, garlic and cheese. Definitely as beautiful as it sounds.

Finally, something so simple but so elegant and well made, both of us were gobsmacked. Accompanying Elly's turbot was a small plate of tomato and red onion salad dressed and sprinkled with (we think) chervil. It was topped with green beans in a light tempura batter and it was just ridiculously good. It's a combination that neither of us had seen or tried before. 

Onto desserts and Elly’s berry brulee was a bit workmanlike and unphotogenic, so I didn’t bother taking a photo. She also reckons she’d prefer it to be set a little more. Nevertheless it was still delicious, apparently. I didn’t get a look in.

I’d ordered chocolate marjolaine, a classic French layered dessert (I didn’t know this at the time, in fact I’d never heard of it before). It was nice, probably not £8 nice, but good.

Neither of the desserts we ate really lived up to previous courses, but I’m not complaining. Lunch at The Walnut Tree was one of the most enjoyable meals I’ve had anywhere, really special. The service was spot on, not too formal, pitched just right. The food was just beautiful and it tasted phenomenal. Expensive? Yep. Worth it? Yep.

At the end of the day, you’re eating food cooked by Shaun Hill and I’d say it’s every bit as good as what that promises.

The Walnut Tree

Llanddewi Skirrid,

Abergavenny,

Monmouthshire

NP7 8AW.

Telephone: 01873 852797

http://www.thewalnuttreeinn.com

New Potatoes - To peel or not to peel?

By virtue alone of the sheer volume of potatoes I’ve consumed in my lifetime, I consider myself something of an expert on spuds and the preparation and cookery, thereof. So, consider if you will my rapt attention whilst watching Simon Hopkinson prepare buttered new potatoes on his new TV program last week (yes, my Hoppy fixation rears its ugly head once again). He cooked them, OK, yes. But then…he peeled them.

This is something new to me, I mean, I realise you can peel cooked new potatoes but it’s such an utter frigging ballache to do, and the skins are supposedly so healthy and supposedly full of life enhancing nutrients that make your wanger strong or sumfink, so why bother? I’ve always been an unrepentant subscriber to the boil em, drain em, season em and whop a lump of butter to melt on them school.

Yet, Hopkinson’s bare spuds (steady) slowly cooked off in melted butter until glossy had me in a hypnotic daze with my tongue practically brushing my toes within seconds of appearing on the screen.

Hopkinson himself had nothing but utter contempt for the skins

“Now, would you want these little, leathery jackets on your potatoes when you could have them like that? My answer is No. Never. It’s worth all the effort, such as it is”

Which definitely reinforced my dawning realisation that I don’t actually know how to prepare new potatoes at all.

So, what to do but educate myself by cooking some spuds immediately, peeling those bad boys and seeing what all the fuss is about.

Of course, I’m sure you know how to boil some potatoes, but bear with me and I’ll remind you anyway, in case you’ve errr…somehow forgotten.

Hoppy prefers Pink Fir Apple potatoes. I used Jersey Royals, four per person.

Put em in a pan, cover with cold water. Add a pinch of salt and bring to the boil, for 10-12 minutes until tender.

Peel your potatoes whilst hot, this is apparently ‘easier’. I still found it maddening but ‘deep breath’.

Return your beautifully peeled potatoes to a pan, with a knob of butter and move around on a low heat until your spuds are nice and glossy. Season with salt and pepper, and then eat.

The result?

How could I ever doubt you Hoppy?

Buttery, perfect potatoes and on the plus side, no hidden manky bits lurking beneath the skin (my personal horror).

Consider me converted.

Definitely peel em.

An English Lettuce Salad

When I was a kid, we used to spend a fair bit of time at my Nan and Granddad’s house in East London. Quite often, if a lot of family were around, there would be some kind of buffet dinner going on. Often a component of this would be a classic English lettuce salad. The assembled adults all seemed to love it. I on the other hand thought it was disgusting. Whiffy hard-boiled eggs, the yolks lined with an unappetising grey ring; eye watering peppery radishes, rasping raw spring onion and just salad in general. Utterly minging. I just didn’t get it. I’d rather have eaten chips and baked beans.

Fast-forward 30 years. A bit older, a bit less finicky and a just a tad less imbecilic, flicking through ‘Second Helpings of Roast Chicken’ by Simon Hopkinson, a recipe for the exact same horror salad of my youth leapt from the page. Instead of retching and scurrying to the kitchen to find comfort in chips and a tin of beans, I was intrigued. It’s a British classic.

The upshot of all this waffling is, I made the salad and as well as being bloody delicious, it confirmed a few truths. First, once again, Simon Hopkinson is a God. Secondly, my Grandparents knew how to put together a salad; I was just too unsophisticated in my tastes to appreciate it. Soz. Finally, homemade salad-cream is absolutely banging, seriously good.

I’ve copied Simon Hopkinson’s recipe out verbatim below, but have a few points of my own to make.

The unappetising grey rings around a yolk are the result of not cooling down your hard-boiled ouefs in cold water. Do that and they won't materialise.

Six hearts of lettuce seems a bit much, I used three and that was plenty for four portions.

The mint really adds something, so I'd say stick a fair bit in, more than a 'few leaves' anyway.

Tarragon vinegar, you’ve either got it stocked locally or you haven’t. If not, stick some tarragon in a bottle of white wine vinegar, et voila, job-jobbed. Even if it’s only a couple of hours before you want to use it, that’ll work.

The salad cream I made, maddeningly split, I was whisking by hand, I couldn’t be arsed to get the blender out, resulting in me breaking out an impromptu, Basil Fawlty ranting impression. If you’ve got a blender, I suggest you employ that. If it does split, add a little sunflower/vegetable oil, a trickle at a time and blitz it, then add a bit more, blitz , repeat, etc. It should eventually re-emulsify and come together again. Sighs, relieved grins and hearty backslaps all round then.

Lastly, I love how Hoppy advises to use your good taste when arranging the salad on a plate. If you’re unfortunate enough to have none, then don’t panic, the finished article may indeed look like a frigging (strangely vegetarian) dog’s dinner, but it’ll still taste amazing anyway.

An English lettuce salad

Serves 4

You’ll need:

6 hard-boiled eggs, separated: the yolks sieved into a bowl, the whites coarsely chopped to add to the salad.

For the salad cream:

2 tsp sugar

salt and cayenne pepper

2 Tsp dry English mustard

1 ½ Tbsp tarragon vinegar

300ml whipping cream

1 Tbsp coarsely chopped fresh tarragon

For the salad:

6 hearts of very fresh round lettuces, separated into leaves, washed and dried.

12 thin, fresh spring onions, trimmed and sliced into 3cm lengths

12 radishes, washed, halved and put into ice-cold water for 30mins, to crisp up

½ a cucumber, peeled and not too thinly sliced

a few leaves of mint, torn to shreds.

To make the dressing, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, seasoning, mustard and vinegar. Add the cream and tarragon and mix thoroughly.

Arrange the ingredients for the salad in a large shallow dish, employing good taste the while, so achieving as a natural a look as possible. Sprinkle over the chopped egg whites and then spoon over the cream dressing in dribbles and swirls.

Serve straight away.