THE CULINARY TALES

New Leeks and Old Leeks: Two Recipes

2012-02-12T10:44:00.007Z

Leeks with lemon and butter - half with a coating of cream cheese.
Recipe below
I’m running out of things to do with the leek. This is usually a problem confined to the carrot (a guaranteed muddy staple from Riverford), but this year the allium just keeps popping up, like an annoying but affectionate child, in my veg box.

So to use up the old leeks (almost two week old bendy things), the order of the day is a big vat of Nigel Slater’s leek and parmesan soup - once made, stored in the freezer and to be brought out on grey days like these. Sometimes I warm it up gently and drop in small cubes of double gloucester cheese that will melt in the residual heat so glorious yellowy-orange goo will grace each spoonful.

And yesterday, a new batch of leeks arrived - alert, erect and standing to attention. Little needs to be done with them - a quick fry will keep their sweetness and a slight crunch. A gorgeous lunch for one.

New leeks: with Butter and Lemon

So, after a cursory wash, and a rough chop of two leeks into thick rings, melt a slice of butter until foaming in a hot frying pan, and throw the leeks in. Coat the rings in butter, and leave to fry on high heat - only stirring occasionally - you want the leeks to catch and brown at the edges. When they’re just cooked (but still crunchy), squeeze lemon, season with salt and eat immediately. For a treat, spoon in cream cheese - it’s totally unnecessary but so delicious.

Old leeks: Nigel Slater’s velvety soup with Parmesan

Melt a slice of butter, and gently soften 3 leeks chopped into rings in a covered cast iron pan for 20 minutes. Add a peeled potato chopped into chunks, and cook for another five minutes. Add leftover Parmesan cheese rinds, and pour in 1.5 litres of veg stock. Season, then leave to bubble gently for under an hour, leave partially covered.

Take out the cheese rinds, (get as much Parmesan as you can from them), and blend until smooth. Add whatever grated cheese you would like in it, reheat and serve with crusty bread.

Adapted from Nigel Slater's the Kitchen Diaries

Previous leek risotto recipe here.

Redhead Risotto: Porcini, Leek and Jerusalem Artichoke

2012-02-05T15:59:00.008Z

Seventh floor, Tate Modern.

The Redhead and I are perched on seats that are too tall for us. We’re drinking to keep warm - a carafe of something that would have cost us five college dinners ten years ago. It’s lovely. It’s warming, this Trescone. Tourists shuffle behind us, huffing from the traipse up fourteen flights of stairs, only for their wondrous view of St Paul’s Cathedral to be marred by the heads of two women resolutely ignoring their protruding (or should I say intruding) fancy camera lenses.

Conversations with the Redhead are rarely linear. When we meet there’s not too much of the how are yous, what you been up tos. She could be reminiscing about nights lost queueing up to see the Manics, recent weddings (including her own) or explaining why she’s an evolved vegetarian - in fact, an evolved vegan - who now eats oysters (although she panicked when she scoffed them the night before her wedding. A ‘Bridesmaids’ scenario is to be avoided at all costs, I think). I will tell her with affection that I bought her a wedding wine - a super-Tuscan Cepparello (at Ruth Ford's suggestion) that matches her penchant for grilled aubergines.

Clearly there will be patchy holes of things we should know about each other that we don’t. Amidst twelve years of friendship, there’s bound to be something we’ve missed out on. But it’s a fright to learn that she’s been a fellow Riverford box subscriber for three years. THREE YEARS. She has hidden this crucial fact as slyly as she hid just how disgustingly clever she was at university.

And of course, this sets us off on a zillion directions - what the hell to do with a Jerusalem artichoke, how the Riverford man likes to hide her box in a bush - some sort of herbaceous joke neither of us quite get, how my Riverford scrubbing brush (free with the tenth box) changed my life, how she cheats by peeling muddy carrots.

Post-revelation, I promise that I’ll post some good Jerusalem artichoke recipes for her. Even as I type I’m preparing some for a happy marriage with a melting beef shin stew, so in love with the root am I.

So, this recipe, adapted from a Riverford one, is for the Redhead. A soothing risotto with a topping of slightly crunchy and tart Jerusalem artichokes - bowlfuls of comfort on a cold snowy day.

Redhead risotto

Handful dried porcini
Boiling water just enough to cover
2 tablespoons butter
1 leek finely sliced
1 small onion finely chopped
150g risotto rice
Big splash of dry vermouth or white wine
500ml hot stock - veg or chicken
Lots of grated parmesan

Olive oil
2 or 3 well scrubbed jerusalem artichokes. Thickly sliced.
2 lemon quarters
Salt

Soak the dried porcini in a small bowl with just enough boiling water to cover. Not too much.

Melt the butter over a medium-high heat in a large pan, add leeks and onions, and soften for a good 5 minutes or until they’re smelling lovely. Stir occasionally so they don’t catch.

Add the rice, give a stir or two for a minute to let the flavours get to know each other. Add the wine or vermouth, and let bubble until it’s all gone.

Add a slosh of the stock, let bubble away and stir every now and then. Keep adding a slosh of stock every time it has bubbled away until all the stock’s used up. This should take about half an hour. The rice should be al dente.

Meanwhile, parboil the jerusalem artichokes for about 8 minutes. Drain, and chop into 2cm cubes. Heat a frying pan with olive oil on a medium-high heat, and add the cubes. Stir to coat in the oil, then fry the cubes so that they brown - and only stir occasionally so that the sides have time to brown. This should take about 10 minutes for the artichokes to get a really meaty nutty flavour. Add a sprinkling of salt, and a squeeze of lemon before you take them off the heat.

When the rice is cooked, add the porcini in its liquid, stir and cook for a few minutes. Add the parmesan, stir and serve, with the crunchy cubes of jerusalem artichoke on top.

New Year's Hix

2012-01-08T18:39:00.011Z

Lose yourself with a Nick Strangeway cocktail in Mark's Bar downstairs at Hix

I don’t make New Year's resolutions. I just don’t. Whether it’s down to laziness or divertive sensibilities, I’ve never been wont to shackle myself to a half-arsed promise I’ve made to myself.

Except this year, I do. I’m at dinner in the Draft House. It’s New Year’s Day, all ten of us weary with effort. In hungover despair one happy chap asks us all to declare what resolutions we have made. Slight panic. And then I remember that I’d been to the V&A not long ago, peered at Annie Lennox’s trousers and Grace Jones’ marvellous sculptured body in the Postmodernism exhibition. Perhaps I can make something up about that.

So I do - something about being more cultural. But I'm actually hiding a more guilty secret, and couldn’t quite bring myself to announce this to everyone else.

I’ve given up red meat for January.

I'm not sure when or where I came to this decision, or what influence I was under at the time. This is all a bit shock-horror for me. I’m already struggling to turn my head from the Draft House burger. I opt for macaroni cheese instead to comfort me through the pain.

Cue dinner last Friday night. Where better to really test how good I am than a place admired for chops and steakage.

Woe. I am at Hix.

Best part of the pig? Can't resist a spot of crackling with Bramley apple.

I’m deep in the Soho joint from ex-Mr Caprice Holdings that opened in 2009. Surrounded by models, fat cats and joyous art (Sarah Lucas’ Fray Bentos pie mobiles a humorous jib at my predicament), I really think I’m going to buckle and just go meat.

Gluttons for punishment, we ask to see the steak board to ramp up the temptation. We consider the virtue of the rib chop, the Barnsley chop, the rose veal, the Porterhouse. Oh the Porterhouse - so angry-looking and huge in all its rumpy, sirloiny, fillety glory.

‘But no!’ I say to myself while crunching through shards of salt-flecked pork crackling dipped in Bramley apple sauce. ‘Tear yourself away from the dastardly red of carnal lust’. Well, actually the boyfriend reminds me of my said resolution and suggests perhaps that I might like the Dover Sole instead. Why, of course I do. Yes.

Heaven and Earth. No purgatory, thank you.

We share with the much lauded Heaven and Earth starter. A meatball-sized sphere of black pud kept in shape with the merest hint of caul fat, atop a cloud of buttery apple and potato mash.

Digging in.

Broadstairs Dover Sole.

Then the beast of a Dover Sole on the bone arrives, all chargrilled and meaty - bigger than most of the chops on that board. Its coat of criss-crossed chargrill gives the usually delicate flesh a punchy flavour and the slather of creamy bearnaise and cut of lemon juice elevates this simple dish. It's fresh and unfussy, and a fresh, unfussy herby lettuce-heart salad accompanies.

Gamekeeper's Pie

My boyfriend tucks into gamekeepers pie - venison packed in pastry goodness, piped with parsnip mash - each piped dot with a caramelised light casing that bursts when bit. The venison gravy is deep and sweet and the meat is dark and falls apart through the care shown with slow-cooking. (I decide, as I chew, that this resolution thing doesn’t count if the meat is not on my plate.)

Bakewell pudding

Dessert is joyous. Mouthfuls of spotted dick with custard, and flakey, crisp Bakewell pudding with almond ice-cream - a naughty cube of almond brittle hiding in the scoop, which in my tipsy state is as exciting as a kinder-egg to a five-year-old on a long car-trip to Wales.

A less than spotted dick. Custard-covered pud.

Onto Mark’s Bar downstairs, which, in my mind is one of the main reasons to come to Hix. Nick Strangeway’s cocktails are superb - intelligent and considered, without being try-hard. A couple of these usually make me superb at bar billiards and walk funny. All I know is that I’m won over (or conquered by) a Temperley Sour, which is ostensibly a well-dressed Somerset cider in a coupe glass and an egg-white top, but on second and third sip - so much more.

By the end of the night I make another New Year’s resolution. Steak board and cocktail menu, I resolve to conquer you.

Hix
66-70 Brewer Street
London
W1F 9TR
020 7292 3518

Phoenix Palace does good Dim Sum

2011-08-15T15:36:00.008+01:00

BBQ pork puff pastry
As a child who tried resisting all things Chinese - violin lessons, the Last Emperor, belching at dinner - there was one thing that attached me like an umbilical cord to my culture.

Thank God for dim sum, without which I might have been lost to cheeseburgers.

Xiao long bao - Shanghai dumplings with pork
Yum cha, that Cantonese tea-house tradition during which dim sum is served, is for the greedy. One is never full, and there is always more. Order as many of those small dishes as you possibly can, and talk loudly. With your mouth full.

The traditional time for yum cha is midday, Sunday, when all the aunties get together and “wah!” at how tall you are, how pale you are, how fat you are now - it’s a sign of family.

Octopus patties with vinaigrette
Lunch is elevated from a meat-and-two-veg affair to being the excited heart of the Chinese community. The meal is a sequence of rituals. There are rules you should learn. Serve tea to others before yourself. Tap fingers on the table to thank those pouring tea into your cup - a gesture not, as my friend thought, a sign of impatience or atrocious manners. Cock the teapot lid to show that the teapot needs refilling.

Stir fried choi sum and turnip patties with XO sauce
If you can successfully navigate the ritual of yum cha, you warrant inclusion. Golden Palace in Harrow, the hub of the Chinese community in the suburbs of northwest London, had been the scene of many dramas before it closed down. It was where boyfriends were first taken to meet the family, where celebrations and commiserations were held. My parents judged on whether guests would gutsily try that chicken’s foot. Or at least laugh if they didn’t.

Chickens' feet with black bean sauce - a childhood favourite
There is no more Golden Palace, sadly. But, keeping things palatial, our alternative is Baker Street’s Phoenix Palace, which is consistently delicious and does all the traditional dishes, like char siu bao and siu mai, but (refreshingly) innovates too. The sort of restaurant you might see in Hong Kong, the huge familial place has a soundtrack of chopsticks clacking in hungry fervour under the chat and you may very well find yourself near Chinese grannies seated by their begrudging but respectful iPod-wielding grandsons for their big Sunday lunch.

Look out for me if you’re ever there, and say hello. I shall be proffering cartilaginous chicken’s feet with my chopsticks to see if you're worthy of company.

Vietnamese spring rolls

Suckling pig with jelly fish

Grilled chicken gyoza

Mixed seafood crispy noodles

Phoenix Palace
5 Glentworth Street, London NW1 5PG
Tel: 020 7486 3515

Recipe: Squid, Chorizo and Broad Beans

2011-07-18T11:26:00.014+01:00

It all started with Rupert Everett. He was in white T - the sort that only those who want to show off what’s underneath it wear. We were at the counter of J Sheekey Oyster Bar, Dee and I, feeling as though we’d bunked school to eat fish pie and drink champagne.

Rupert walked through the door.

Our octopus with chorizo and broad beans arrived.

Slight panic. What to devour? Hollywood-star-in-tight-T-shirt-and-designer-stubble or good-looking-seafood-dish-that-dies-when-cold?

I think you know the answer to that question, friends. If Rupert had decided to give us a star turn of Say a little prayer I might have reconsidered but as he didn't I chose to spend the next day or so obsessing over the dish. The chorizo and broad bean dish, that is.

Anyway, here’s my attempt at it. I like J Sheekey's meaty-mollusc combination, especially their baked razor clams. Unfortunately I could find no octopus at the fishmongers, only frozen baby squid from Waitrose. But for a light Sunday-night supper, this is still a bit of a luxury. Great as a starter.

Recipe: Serves 2

I won’t go into how to prepare squid, but click here for a good ol’ Mitch Tonks BBC demonstration.

8 baby squid, cleaned and complete with tenticles
Under 100g chorizo slices
About 20 broad bean pods (thanks Riverford)
1 big garlic clove, sliced (optional)
Salt
Butter
Olive oil
Squeeze of lemon

Pod the broad beans and throw into a pan of boiling water for 4 minutes.
Drain, refresh with cold water then peel the skin of each bean. Keep to one side.

Slice the body of the squid in half, lengthways. Drizzle oil over the squid halves and tenticles. Heat a griddle pan, and when searing hot, season squid with salt, and lay squid on pan a minute each side until they curl. Be quick, and fry in batches, you don’t want to overcook them - in fact, better to undercook. Set to one side.

In another frying pan, heat some olive oil over medium-high heat, and throw in garlic (if using), then a minute later, the chorizo slices. When they start yielding that gorgeous pimentón-coloured oil, throw in the broad beans just to heat through, followed by the squid. Heat for a minute or two to ensure the squid is just cooked, and the orange-red oil coats the beans and squid and add a little butter to enrich the sauce.

Take off the heat, season and serve with a spritz of lemon. Lovely on lightly-toasted bread with a drizzle of olive oil.

J Sheekey Oyster Bar
Website
28-34 St Martin's Court
WC2N 4AL
020 7240 2565

Les Deux Salons review and Ruth Ford's Must Drink!

2011-06-24T10:56:00.010+01:00

It was an unfortunate decision - to celebrate his birthday on a Tuesday night. We should have just gone for late night Vietnamese.

I like to think it was everyone else’s fault, Giles', Adrian's, Guy's, though I only have myself to blame. You see, the reviews for Les Deux Salons in Covent Garden were stirling.

Stunning.

If I’d gone and opened a restaurant, hard-grafted and walloped £2million on this interior as Will Smith and Anthony Demetre have done, I wouldn’t mind being billed by FT’s Nick Lander as a “serious contender to the Ivy” either.

Herefordshire snail & bacon pie and salt cod brandade, sauté of young squid, parsley cromesqui
And the grand entrance, on William VI street, suggested this would be the place to exercise the art of dining . This is the restaurant of occasion! the doorway states, in all high pillared splendour. Pushing through the heavy door, our entrance felt akin to shimmying down the grand staircase of a country manor. Les Deux Salons is so different from its counterparts, Arbutus and Wild Honey, which have that Soho inclusive snugness I so love.

We were shown to our table, which was in the thick of things. And it was from this point the occasion fell apart.

Roast saddle of rabbit, spring chard, carrot purée
Efficiency is not a sin. But dishes flew from the kitchen with such efficiency that I felt like the naughty kid for chatting and I forgot to chew (we were interrupted about five times). Wines were not recommended with certainty, which was slightly unsettling. We sat almost knee to knee with the tables either side of us - awkward if you’re with your boyfriend.

Bavette steak, caramelised shallot sauce
The food, however, was joyous. There was a masterpiece of a snail and bacon pie, a saddle of rabbit, a sweet, slightly-marshmallowy floating island with pink praline for dessert. But the one thing that I would do star-jumps for is their bavette steak. Their thick, meaty, manly flank - infused with the pungent smoke from a Josper charcoal grill. It was coarse and wonderful, a glorious punchy red-pink inside. And I’d warrant that everything that erupted from that grill would taste as brilliant as this steak.

Floating island with pink praline & custard
A place to linger? Hardly. Too high-adrenaline for me. If this was a bistro - then I'd be happy here - a carafe of red and a manly steak would do just fine. But a bistro it ain't. Song Que can expect a call next year.

Les Deux Salons
40-42 William IV Street
London WC2N 4DE
020 7420 2050

Ruth Ford’s Must Drink!

Helena made the very excellent decision to drink carafes of wine with her dinner. I am a huge fan of carafes: being able to order a wine in 250ml instead of a 750ml bottle gives you the freedom to have different wines with every course, and the confidence to try wines you wouldn’t normally, because if it turns out you don’t like it, it’s not as expensive as a bottle would have been, and you can simply choose another one.

More and more restaurants are offering wines by the carafe and this is to be APPLAUDED. I look forward to the day that every restaurant offers every wine on its list by the carafe and glass…

However I was slightly – just slightly – disappointed by the wines that had been recommended to Helena. A Chardonnay and a Cabernet Merlot, whilst both perfectly acceptable as matches for the dishes chosen, are just a bit safe, especially given the incredible choice of wines that Les Deux Salons offers by the carafe (massive thumbs up).

So this is a post about the wines that Helena could have had…

With the warm salt cod brandade and the snail and bacon pie, something thirst slaking is needed, to counter all the salt, but also with enough richness to cope with the textures and weight of the two dishes.

The Grüner Veltliner, Gmörk, Anton Bauer, Wagram (Austria) would have done the trick, with enough body and spice notes to match the flavours of both dishes, but also plenty of crisp freshness to cut through the saltiness. Grüner Veltliner is Austria’s signature white grape and if you haven’t tried it, do. It’s a great alternative to ‘usual’ light white wines like Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay, and very good at matching with all kinds of foods.
Salt cod brandade
The bavette and saddle of rabbit are perhaps a bit trickier to find one wine for. The steak was meaty and smoky while the rabbit was light, so we need a wine that will cosy up to the steak without making the rabbit feel intimidated.

The Savigny-lès-Beaunes, ‘Les Bas Liards’, Rossignol-Changarnier, Burgundy (France), made from Pinot noir grapes in one of the more affordable villages of Burgundy, would go down a treat. Plenty of flavour for the steak, and yet light and silky enough for the rabbit.

From the cheaper end of the list, the Rosso di Montepulciano, Cantina Crociani, Tuscany (Italy) would also be good. The little brother of the more famous (and expensive) Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, it’s made from the Sangiovese grape and would be lively enough for the rabbit, whilst having enough fruit and savoury flavours not to be overpowered by the steak.

The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town

2011-06-21T12:35:00.012+01:00

There’s no denying the childhood fantasy with bars like The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town. Stumble across unlikely room, find hiding place, open wardrobe, discover other world.

Familiar? Yes, but swap wardrobe with SMEG fridge, and unlikely room with the Breakfast Club Cafe and there you have Narnia cocktail-shaken with retro design.

The speakeasy in London is spreading like glandular fever. There are the classics - Milk and Honey in Soho, and stunning additions the Nightjar, ECC and Lounge Bohemia who take The Cocktail to another level. But these are all hidden behind unmarked doors, often with bouncers brimming with menace and a cocky smile as you walk in.

But there’s no unmarked door here. Just a SMEG fridge you think stocks ham and cheese but actually stocks an underground bar, DJ and about 50 people. Walk through and like Doctor Who's tardis, or Narnia, you discover the world is bigger on the inside.

What also comes with this fantasy is that element of smugness, the whole - being in the know - that makes you a little annoying but helps your G&T taste a whole lot better.

I’m surprised bars such as this one aren’t more prolific - in New York, Please Don’t Tell has been around for years, a hot dog joint with a telephone box that’s the doorway to the drinking establishment.

And so I salute the Mayor of Scaredy Cat for bringing grown-up fantasy to London.

Here are the main reasons I love this place:

1. It’s not full of trendy kids who speak a different language to me.
2. They spun Neneh Cherry’s Buffalo Stance. Who does that any more?
3. Tasked with surprising us (three boys, four girls) with drinks, they embraced the challenge and made us seven different cocktails.
4. I like SMEG.

I don’t want to say too much for fear of ruining the fantasy, but for a place to drink that gives you more than the usual high-prices, bad chat and overcrowding, come here instead for an antidotal wink, a nod and a smugness you’re entitled to have.

To make a reservation visit the website

Thanks to Beth and Vivi for the photos

The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town
SMEG fridge
The Breakfast Club
12-16 Artillery Lane
E1 7LS

In praise of the doggy bag. Recipe: Leftover porterhouse steak salad

2011-05-07T17:56:00.012+01:00

The doggy bag... (box) from Dean Street Townhouse
How English of us to be embarrassed by the doggy bag. Sweeping up those bits we’ve chosen not to scoff, taking them home to reheat dodgy-style in a microwave.

How tight. How uncouth.

But surely it’s the second highest compliment a restaurant can receive: that the food was so fabulous and generous, we’d like to eat it again, thank you very much. The first compliment, of course, would have been to love it the first time round.

Well, the asking for the doggy bag needn’t be embarrassing nor confined to the back-street Chinese restaurant.

The porterhouse steak and béarnaise sauce
I’ve never been shy of asking (it’s my Chinese genes). My last doggy bag was from the impeccable Dean Street Townhouse in Soho. The Scottish porterhouse steak is a beast of a dish, all tender tenderloin fillet one side of the bone, and beefy sirloin on the other. Enriched with custardy yellow béarnaise and accompanied by thin-cut chips.

It wasn’t a cheap meal, this. In fact this beast will set you back a good £65, and it rather defeated us on the night. But it turned into a fantastic salad supper the day after (recipe below), and saved us having to pick up anything new.

Dean Street Townhouse was gracious enough to accept the compliment. In fact, they were prepared for it and as soon as we asked, packed us off with a fancy box and a bag. After our waiter informed us that many fail to finish the Porterhouse, I’d wager they’d not ask for the doggy bag, which to me seems a waste of prime steak.

Our waiter did wonder if we had a dog as we asked if he could pack the bone too.

“No dog”, we replied, “just us”.

Waitrose Food Illustrated’s William Sitwell started the campaign a couple of years back, and was taken on by Jay Rayner and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, but I wonder how mainstream doggy-bagging actually is.

Is it something that you’d be happy to do? Or is it just a bit too embarrassing?

The tenderloin fillet (left) and sirloin (right) before...

...and after

Recipe: Leftover beef salad

There were heated discussions while waiting for the bill on what to do with the beef, which was to be used for the next day’s dinner. Stir fry? Pasta?

Fears that the beef would lose its already fantastic flavour cast those ideas aside. We decided to freshen up the steak with lots of vibrant herbs, and enhance rather than hide the flavour with a simple lime dressing.

Serves 2

Beef marinade
1 garlic clove
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 teaspoons fish sauce
1 heaped teaspoon palm sugar
Few drops sesame oil

Leftover rare steak from last night’s blowout
100g dried vermicelli noodles

Handful of herbs - anything like fresh mint leaves, coriander, thai basil or all three is great. I like mine with mint and coriander
Scatter of dry roasted peanuts - roughly crushed with a pestle
Half a cucumber, sliced

Dressing
Juice from two limes
Fresh chilli or cheat with dollops of sweet chilli sauce

Using a pestle and mortar, crush the garlic, and then add the rest of the ingredients. Pour over the steak and marinate for at least an hour.

Cover the dried noodles with boiling water for ten minutes, then rinse under cold water

Flash fry the steak - you don’t want to cook that rareness out. If already sliced, then it’s a token heat through to take the edge off the marinade. If not, take out and leave to stand before slicing thinly.

Throw the noodles, sliced herbs, peanuts, cucumber, beef. Combine the lime juice and chilli, pour over, toss and serve.

Dean Street Townhouse 
69 - 71 Dean Street 
London 
W1D 3SE
020 7434 1775

Thanks to Tom for the recipe

Bank Holiday Asam Udang (Tamarind Prawns)

2011-05-03T08:13:00.006+01:00

Crete is unforgiving.

As Professor Trefusis says in Stephen Fry’s The Liar, travel broadens the behind and my eight days on this craggy beaut of an island has certainly done that. Sixteen meals of carnivorous feasting was just mixed-grill pleasure.

And so I arrive back on bank holiday Monday - the depression of the Royal Wedding weekend - resolutely craving a week of Asian food. Craving Nonya food in fact.

Nonya flavours are magnificent. The wince of tart tamarind, against the salt-tang of shrimp paste. I grew up with those flavours - so glorious in Penang laksas and satay. The cuisine is the 600 year old offspring of Chinese merchants and local Malay women along the Malaysian Straits. Nonya originates from Malacca, but Singapore has some of the greatest Nonya food I know. Personally I think this is the best food in the world - and I don’t say this lightly - the best of both Chinese and South-East Asian worlds.

The things to have in your larder will be a block of tamarind, a bottle of shrimp paste, lemongrass, galangal and chillies - all readily available from your Chinese supermarket.

Unfortunately, bank holiday supermarkets are also unforgiving, so all I managed to pick up was a pack of raw prawns and I had to shave a lemon as I didn’t have any lemongrass.

Still, my hit has begun the process of unbroadening that behind.

Asam Udang (Tamarind Prawns)

Serves 2 and takes 15 minutes max

150g prawns - either legs trimmed off, or for convenience a packet of raw prawns (as pictured)

Sauce ingredients
1 onion sliced
1 stalk lemongrass - bruised (peel from 1 lemon, bruised, if you don’t have any)
4 birdseye chillies - red and green, deseeded and slit lengthways
1 generous tablespoon tamarind pulp mixed with 450ml boiling water
1/3 tablespoon shrimp paste
1 level tablespoon sugar
pinch salt

Push the pulp through a sieve and collect the water in a saucepan. Put the rest of the sauce ingredients into the saucepan.

Bring to the boil and simmer for 5 minutes uncovered. Let the flavours get to know each other.

Add the prawns and simmer until just cooked.

Serve with rice and a generous helping of garlic broccoli with oyster sauce.

A right Jersey Royal weekend

2011-04-30T08:20:00.004+01:00

Though the union flags are down from frantic waving and we’ve peeled ourselves from the telly, we still have a few glorious days ahead of us to embrace that nationwide hangover. I’m certainly ready to adopt the weekend that’s as long as the working week.

The first crop of Jersey Royal potatoes arrived last week.

I don’t know who’s not partial to these regal things, freshly dug, all sweet and smooth and waxy.

A big bowl of earthy, just-cooked Jersey Royals is a welcome addition to the indoor/outdoor barbecue.

Whether guest or host can I suggest that these are part of the festivities as well as the Pimms.

Scrub off that soft mud that clothe the spud. They cook terribly fast - you want to watch them - give them less than ten minutes in salted boiling water. Sprinkle finely chopped spring onions which will wilt beautifully over the heat of the potatoes and a smatter of sea salt crushed with your fingers. Coat them in a light olive oil - nothing too strong.

Present with a lamb chop or a glazed steak hot off the barbecue, or perhaps a whole trout. Watch as your guests help themselves to large spoonfuls of spuds and, if they aren’t already, become right Royalists.

Thank you to Phipps and Jersey Royals

New York Tales: 2. The Burger Brunch

2011-04-10T11:09:00.015+01:00

Forget eggs benedict and fancy fries. When your insides are wincing from margarita pain - the burger’s where it’s at.

I’m a maximalist when it comes to the burger. I once had a month’s stint in Australia, where avocado and beetroot is packed in just about everything, after which I was purist no longer. Pickle, onion, fried things, bacon bits. You know the score.

Think thick slabs of meat, wedged in bun and made sloppy with enough condiment to drip from your hands. Cheese? Oh go on then. Melt it.

That was the tonic after a night out at Industry in Hell’s Kitchen - a pulsing gay club, newly opened, box-fresh and quite frankly, too much.

I’d spent the morning-after dazedly wandering the art galleries of Chelsea, all Andy Warhol polaroids and sad artists. But by midday I had a purpose. Brunch with my friend Barry had been booked at the Mercer Kitchen in Soho and burgers awaited. Just the anticipation of eating was making me shake.

The Mercer Kitchen is a fine place - airy and busy up top, but the floor underneath in its Christian Liaigre glory is clandestine - dark with wenge-wood. You may think it's a dear place as it's a Jean-George Vongerichten number (who's just opened Spice Market in Soho, London. Read Jay Rayner's review here) but with burgers at $15 a pop, I don't think that's bad at all.

Barry chose the Niman ranch burger, adorned with only aged cheddar. Mine was called the Mercer (which surely allows the kitchen to dress it up with as fancy ingredients as possible) fussy with tart pepperjack cheese, avocado, creamy Russian dressing and crispy onions. All this glorified cheeseburger was missing was the crunch of salty bacon. Simple golden fries were served charmingly in a flowerpot.

I’d learnt to love Brooklyn Brewery lager over the weeks (the Draft House in Battersea stocks the lager and the ale) which was a handsome thing to swig with mouthfuls of chargrilled meat.

Now, the Mercer is not the best place to chow down burger in New York City. But as far as fussy burgers and good chat go, this place has the winning combination.

It’s the place to talk the morning after the night before. The place where you can avoid smug bright eyed shoppers. The place to hide from the stream of sunbeams when your eyes aren’t quite used to daylight.

I’m all for the burger brunch. Are you?

The Mercer Kitchen
99 Prince St.
New York, NY
10012

New York Tales: 1. The art of eating alone

2011-04-06T14:21:00.010+01:00

I grew up on London suspicion.

“Don’t talk to strangers”
“Men that come up to you will kidnap you” (primary school aged six)
“Don’t answer the doorbell especially on Hallowe’en”

I’ve been slowly unpicking these axioms from my life (perhaps the last one not so much).

And then I go to New York City. Everyone’s yapping. No one's moody at you. No huff of an impatient brute in your ear on Oxford Street if you walk too slow. Nor constipated silence in the reluctant intimacy of a train racketing its way to work.

It is a joy to be in New York on your own. Almost every bar of every decent restaurant will have ownsomes drinking, eating, and if they could only smoke, they would.

It’s not an opportunity to leer, it’s not a no-mates statement.

In London it’s unheard of to see people alone for those brunch or dinner occasions. Lunch and coffee perhaps. And rarer still to see strangers talk to each other unless they want to pounce on each other. Perching up at the bar without a companion exposes them as being ON THEIR OWN and WITHOUT FRIENDS.

My friend Kate, a Brit who lives in New York, once rocked up to The Fat Radish to meet a friend only to realise she’d misread her diary and was frustratingly sans mobile. Undeterred, she ordered supper, armed herself with a glass of wine and a paperback. A full member of the ownsome club, she went back for supper with her friend the next day unembarrassed and knowing what to order.

And so I have twenty minutes at the Mercer Kitchen in NY’s Soho on my own. Yearning for a burger brunch that will make friends with some beers and margaritas from the night before.

My friend is late. And that is fine. Trouncing up to the bar, greeted by lovely white-teethed smiles, I snatch a high chair next to someone going at his egg-white omelette with his fork.

I order a cucumber martini.

He looks at me like I’m his kinda girl.

And that’s it. I learn about his trade - broking for marigold yellow cabs. He tells me most people like to rant about them. I don’t, and from there it’s freeflow.

It’s acceptable to be on your own, to wait. My friend Barry comes along, picks me up and there’s no obligation to keep talking. We politely exchange goodbyes. My interlude with a stranger has not ended in kidnap, but a richer appreciation of the yellow cab. Though to be fair – he didn’t come up to me, I bothered him. Perhaps he should’ve been suspicious of me, the Londoner instead.

Eyre Brothers, Shoreditch

2011-03-16T09:23:00.005Z

*Warning. Another porky post*

Eyre Brothers in Shoreditch. I’m too excited to give this place a full review as we only tried two dishes there - but I wanted to say that the two dishes we did have were outstanding. Both pork, both exceptional and balanced dishes. They were maximalist without being over the top, with punchy flavours that are expertly reigned in.

Pork and clams braised in white wine, garlic, bay with fried potatoes and coriander - Alentejo (a region in Portugal) style
A rich and fun dish - chunks of pork with the delicate clams that appear in the dish. Bursts of freshness of the sea

Grilled fore-loin of acorn-fed Iberico pig marinated with smoked paprika, thyme, garlic and patatas pobres - potatoes with green peppers, onions, garlic and white wine.
Perfectly cooked, hearty, rustic flavour through the meat.

To accompany, we drank a glass of Monastrell 2009, Bodegas Castano from Spain which was rather rich and rather fruity.

It’s rustic and stylish cooking from David Eyre, who set up original gastropub The Eagle in Clerkenwell, and his upbringing in the former Portuguese colony of Mozambique is reflected in the food, which has punchy Spanish flavours too. The room is pared down - dark African mahogany and New York clean lines. The service is impeccable. And you’ll be surrounded by a strange mixture of clientele - mostly City and creative-types. Oh and maybe a daytime TV chef having a celebratory supper.

All I can say is that I urge you to go. And I will be going again to try the pulpo - octopus Galician style, and Caldeirada - the Portuguese fish and shellfish stew.

The mains are close to £20, but each dish is very filling.

Eyre Brothers
70 Leonard Street, City of London EC2A 4QX
+44 20 7613 5346 ‎

6 Nations Rugby Rolls: Hot Pork with Caramelised Onions

2011-03-10T21:15:00.017Z

I can’t help the porky posts. I know I’ve gushed about hot roast pork rolls here and no doubt I shall write about them again. I make no apologies, it’s an addiction.

And it is rugby-time.

Here’s a treat for the six-nations weekends. I heartily recommend doing what we did last match - the boys came on over for a rugby lunch - a help yourself DIY hot belly-pork roll with a dollop of homemade apple sauce and a thick smear of caramelised onions. Perfect with the biggest bottles of British ale you can find.

It's the caramelised onions that makes this.

I learnt the secret of these onions when I was out in the South of France learning Provencal cookery from the extremely talented Alex Mackay.

The secret was simple. Patience.

I am an instant-gratification kind of girl. I'm not keen on waiting or stirring much (which is why I’ve never made risotto), so these onions are not as faithfully caramelised as what Alex would use in a Pissaladière (this fantastic recipe is in his book Cooking in Provence).
But I do make vast amounts and keep in a sterilised jar. A sort of condiment that goes well with almost everything savoury, the onions make great friends cold with a cheese sandwich, or hot on a steak.

Hot roast pork rolls with caramelised onions

Most of this can be made in advance.

The sagey pork
Get yourself a large slab of belly pork. Score and heavily salt the fat. Preferably leave overnight, but at least for two hours.
Preheat the oven to 240C. Slice the whole layer of fat off with a sharp knife and place sage leaves onto the meat as pictured. Put the layer of fat back on top and roast for 20 minutes before reducing the heat to 200C. Roast for 40-45 minutes until crispy. Leave to rest for 10 minutes then slice thickly.

The apple sauce and onions before
The onions
While the pork is roasting, slice five mild onions. Slug a little mild olive oil and a large wedge of butter into a heavy-bottomed pan. Heat gently until foaming, and throw the onions in. Let them cook gently for at least 15 - 20 minutes and stir occasionally to avoid catching on the bottom. Add a large pinch of salt, and two teaspoons of golden caster sugar. Add a little water every now and then to moisten and make gloopy - cover occasionally if you think they look like they will dry out to steam them a little. Cook for about 15 more minutes until a gorgeous goldeny colour.

The apple sauce and onions after
The assembly
Take floury white bap bottom. Layer with butter, Tracklements English mustard (warning - hot!), apple sauce, onions. Lay on three thick slices of pork, some crackling, salad leaves and floury white bap top.

Sink your teeth into that and get ready for some prime rugby.

Thanks to British Onions for sending me a vast selection of shallots and onions. I had too much fun experimenting.

Olive Magazine's Media Must Have

2011-03-10T08:25:00.004Z

Olive's Food Porn April Edition Cover

If I've been walking round with inane grin this week, it's because I'm ridiculously pleased to find out that Voracious is fabulous food magazine Olive's 'Media Must-Have' blog this month.

I'm terribly chuffed at being a 'Must Have', right next to cocktail genius Tony Conigliaro and Masterchef champ Mat Follas.

The view at page 114

So hello to any Olive readers who've dropped by this way - enjoy your browse and hope you'll come again.

Thanks Olive and to @charlythechef for choosing the blog.

Morito: Pre-Gig Tapas

2011-02-06T16:18:00.012Z

Carrying on the theme of little sister restaurants, three of us popped round to Morito. Down London's food mecca Exmouth Market fellow giggers Harriet, Ianthe and I caught a quick supper there before being wowed by the voice of Clare Maguire in Shepherd’s Bush. And I’ll say it upfront that Morito is a gem of a place, Sam and Sam Clarke have a little winner on their hands. It may be right next door to its older sibling Moro, but with its Spanish-Moorish tapas and informal clamour of canteeny tables and chairs, it is equally pleasurable.

Pre-gig bites were swift in their delivery and the staff so down to earth that on occasion I thought we were house-partying with them. More low-key and chirpy than Moro, we chatted happily to our waitress and the kitchen about quail egg deliveries and which moritos to have.

Padrón peppers
We plumped for padrón peppers - (the ultimate beery snack bar edamame beans and pork scratchings) scattered with crystals that gave perfunctory saltiness, croquettes that were light yet jam-packed with salt-cod.

Salt cod croquetas

Patatas mojo - salt crusted potatoes with green chilli & coriander sauce
We had wee boiled potatoes layered thick with a vivid green coriander sauce - a wonderfully simple and rustic dish, as was the sausage with white beans and alioli, which prompted uncouth mopping, ordering of the bread basket and unlimited alioli.

Butifarra sausage (a type of Catalan sausage) with white beans and alioli
The star dish of the night

Crispy aubergine with Miel De Caña
Sliced aubergines had their savoury-soft flesh drizzled with devilish miel de cana (a black molasses) and were followed by the quail’s egg and peppers - oh-so-sweet and perfect in its proportion. But this was the last dish, and there was a definite ‘is that it?’ disappointment by the end as the portions were so tiny. The recommendation was to have three dishes each, but when the tapas was an average £4 each we went for two-and-a-bit. This may have been a mistake.

Quail's egg and chargrilled peppers. They kindly replaced the jamon with peppers for the vegetarian among us

The cooking cannot be faulted. Neither can the service and if I could I would swing by every day. But the bill steadily mounted, and though we did order a fruity Castro Regio Tempranillo at £15, we were all taken aback at how much it totted up to.

On the bright side, you don’t want to be gigging on a full stomach, and there lies the silver lining.

Go early on a weekday and preferably pre-gig, ready to be wowed. And bring lots of cash.

Morito
32 Exmouth Market
Islington EC1R 4
020 7278 7007

A Polpetto lunch

2011-02-05T08:59:00.012Z

Polpo was the darling of London restaurant-lovers when she opened in 2009. Cutting through the ubiquity of the pizzas and pastas that have come to define Italian food, the breakthrough concept of the Venetian bacaro had arrived in Soho - a kind of working man’s wine bar, serving good but rough round the edges food.

A hard act to follow, no? Well, hot on its heels trots Polpetto, Polpo’s wittier, more confident little sister. Perched happily above boozer The French House, a Soho institution, battered stairs lead to the diminutive room that has the effortless intimacy of a supper club. It’s busy. And you have the sense it’s always busy. Polpetto only has 28 seats and a legion of Polpo fans after all. Tiny tables crammed with elbows and dishes, flickering candles in the bright daylight backdrop the hum of conspiratorial chat rising above the beats of Mark Ronson. This is not a deal-making place but one where plans are hatched.

A window seat means a firm view of brazen torsos and tight Y-fronts in an Old Compton Street shop window. Staff are equally rock ‘n’ roll, and we’re served by the cheery spit of a Camden frontman, all skinny limbs and skinny jeans. He’s the right side of chatty rather than intrusive and is quick to serve our inexpensive rosé from the well-chosen list - a fresh and accessible bardolino chosen by Ruth, sloshed from a humble carafe.

Chopped chicken liver crostini
Moscardini
Cicheti is the thing here, tapas-type small plates, which start at a friendly £2.50. Thick-cut crostini slathered with punchy chicken liver are impaled with the tartness of sunblush tomato. Moscardini, baby octopus flecked with shards of garlic and fennel is excellently flavoured but upsettingly chewy.

Braised ox cheek, polenta bianca
and breaded sardines, caper mayonnaise
Larger sharing plates are wholesomely good; braised ox cheek has a gloriously unfashionable amount of fat that ensures its melty softness. The cavolo nero, a kind of kale, is an inspired dish enlivened with the crunch of rosemary breadcrumbs as are crisp breaded sardines.

Cavolo nero, borlotti beans & rosemary crumbs
Polpetto has nothing to prove, and there lies its scruffy charm. While the food may be slightly patchy, the coolly effortless concept isn’t. It has slipped seamlessly into The French House’s scuffed walls as though it’d been there all along and I bet you anything will be far more popular than her big sister.

Pizzetta bianca

Polpetto
Upstairs at The French House, 49 Dean Street, London
020 7734 1969
Reservations taken for lunch only.

Click here for my take on Polpo last year.

Happy Birthday blog!

2011-01-25T16:44:00.003Z

In November 2009, a certain editor suggested I should give up my career, throw it in to write and start a blog.

So I did.

To hell with pensions and a salary.

And it was this time last year I took a deep breath, downed hot sweet tea and published my first post.

Though the idea of self-publication was akin to self-flagellation, it turns out I like self-flagellation and thanks to my readers, Voracious has reached birthday number one! Though it’s been less about my heritage and more my urban tales, it’s been an absolute blast to write.

Fantastic writers have been hugely encouraging - special thanks must go to the lovely Pinch of Salt and Love and a Licked Spoon who were the first to push me along to be a journalist.

And since then I’ve been lucky enough to interview the gorgeous Rosie Lovell, Franco Manca’s Giuseppe Mascoli, slather on Creme de la Mer and spy on John Prescott for the Daily Express, eat homemade scotch eggs at Waitrose Food Illustrated and write for Esquire and Condé Nast Traveler magazine in New York.

Who’dve thunk it..

So I just wanted to say a heartfelt thank you to the readers of Voracious - I hope you continue to enjoy and keep me on track by letting me know your not-so and favourite bits.

Lots of love,
Hx

Here we go 2011

2011-01-23T13:37:00.003Z

Apologies for the absence Voracious readers, it's been a hectic one already, and we're only three weeks in. Keep an eye out for Tales of East London, New York and the usual recipes, reviews and mishaps which will be coming very soon.

Happy 2011!

Helena x

Rum Old-Fashioneds for New Year

2010-12-31T11:47:00.007Z

It’s Old-Fashioneds tonight. The drink that’s evocative of the turn of the century, America, a manly era. It’s not just the taste of the bourbon with that whiff of orange that laces the lips, but the heavy feel of the glass, the clink of the ice, the demand to be sipped and all-night drinking. A new year requisite, no?

However, the rum in the cupboard just won’t be ignored. It's getting to the point where it's just rude so I'm giving in and making old-fashioneds with rum to see the new year in. It's not how Jack Sparrow would have done it, but I'm sure swigging from the bottle is only a matter of time.

Happy new year, have fun tonight whatever your tipple of choice and we'll meet again in 2011.

You'll need:
3/4 teaspoon brown sugar (The traditional old-fashioned requires a sugar cube, but I think, as it’s rum, it could do with a bit less)
Few drops Angostura bitters
1 slice of orange peel
Aged rum
Ice
An old-fashioned tumbler

Add the sugar to the tumbler. Drop in the Angostura bitters, and half a teaspoon of water and stir until the sugar is dissolved.

Add the orange peel, and bruise with the spoon to release the oils. Add a measure of rum, keep stirring.

Add as much as ice as you can, top up with more rum - as much to your taste, stir and serve.

I sometimes add a naughty slice of orange to it, which is not the done thing at all. As the ice melts, the rum loosens and tastes heaven.

(Adapted from Victoria Moore’s How to Drink)

Revival of the Turkey Hash

2010-12-28T18:18:00.005Z

If anyone's already done their cold turkey slices, turkey pies, turkey soups, and still has some defiantly in the fridge I'd say turkey hash is the business for this kind of leftover meat. We ate this last night with a ridiculous amount of ketchup, which of course, has to be Heinz.

Here's my extremely simple Bostonian turkey hash recipe which I posted earlier this year, or if you fancy a bit more of a spicy one, Simon Schama's recipe from the FT magazine with chipotle for a sprinkle of fire.

Happy Christmas

2010-12-24T09:01:00.002Z

That's it from Voracious before Christmas, eat lots, drink more and have a thoroughly ace few days.

Hx

Voracious advent Calendar: Dec 20

2010-12-19T13:12:00.014Z

Dec 20: Marks & Spencer Egg Cups

The boiled egg is a resolute route to childhood breakfasts. It’s such a complete breakfast – to start with, the whole ritual of sawing off the top with a knife, having hot-buttered soldiers primed for a dipping, digging away to discover whether the yolk is wibbly, salting, or as my friend Sonia does it, soy saucing. No wonder wee ones love it, and I become a kid again when I have a boiled-egg breakfast.

So hurrah M&S for coming out with a handpainted Chick stoneware collection to brighten up breakfast with their quirky hen egg cups and egg baskets. And the egg-cups are £4 each, so they're pretty cheep* too.

They may be handpainted, but can withstand the toils of dishwashing and microwaves.

Chick Hen Egg Cup: £4

Chicken Egg Cup: £4

Chicken Egg Basket: £29.50

And if you’re not into your farmyard animals, M&S also have this regal heritage egg cup to wrap round your soft-boileds.

Heritage Egg Cup: £5

*Punny apologies. I don't know what came over me.

Voracious advent Calendar: The Bumper Edition

2010-12-19T11:20:00.014Z

Yes, it's the last weekend before Christmas. But don't panic, here are five ideas for the week ahead if you've not managed to get all your shopping done...

The Flavour Thesaurus

A brilliantly conceived book - you don’t realise you have needed this all your cooking life until you read it. Niki Segnit’s guide to flavour combinations is far from an exhaustive list of ingredients but a deliciously witty exploration of why certain flavours, such as goats cheese and coffee, work, and why some just don’t.

Worth getting if only for the pithy put down of chocolate and beetroot.

“It’s champions can hardly believe the lusciousness and chocolatiness of the combination. I couldn’t either and.. I still don’t.

“In chocolate beetroot cake...the raw cake mixture was so unpleasant that no one wanted to scrape the bowl clean. Case closed, at least in my kitchen.”

The Flavour Thesaurus: Usually £18.99, but now £10.44 from Amazon

Doughnut Box Canvas Bag

Anything from New House Textiles would be a stockingy treat, but their doughnut canvas bag is a particular favourite.

And thanks to the lovely Katy from Pinch of Salt, who brought them to my attention in her Friday Finds.

Doughnut Box Canvas Bag, £12.95

Le Creuset Bean Pot and Soup Bowls in Cerise

Forgive me for being twee, but this bean pot is adorable. I don’t even like beans. (That much).

I would like a kitchen big enough for these, and I’d probably make soups and stews all day and serve them in these lovely soup bowls which have lids, just because.
Heavy duty, French farmhouse and devilishly practical. I love them.

Bean pot: £45.60, John Lewis
Soup bowls: Set of 2: £17.60, John Lewis

St. John Hotel

St. John Hotel The opening of St. John Hotel is one of the most anticipated launches. If the restaurants in Spitalfields and Clerkenwell are anything to go by, after playing in Soho, this will be a a homely respite from the cackling bustle of Chinatown.
Writing about the St. John ‘Breakfast Bun’ at breakfast time is unforgiving, so I just beg that it opens soon. Breakfast or a cheeky stay here would be a wonderful present. Prices start at £200 for the post-supper room. For reservations, details below.

1 Leicester St
London
WC2H 7BL

0203 301 8069

Red Cabbage and Beetroot confit

And finally, a recipe. I’m sure you’ve had your fill of the brilliant ways to cook your bird already (Margot Ferguson’s collection in the OFM last week is a great place to start) so I’ve got a red cabbage one instead to go with it.

This is meant to be a ducky accompaniment, but actually if your meat is fatty, salty and roasty, I’m sure this sweet, rich confit would still work wonderfully well.
Finely slice a red onion, grate three beetroot and finely shred half a cabbage.
Heat up a knob of butter with some oil in a heavy saucepan, and soften the onions for a good ten minutes. Add 100g sugar, two heaped tablespoons of jam (raspberry or strawberry is good), 100ml red wine vinegar. Bring to a bubble, then throw in the beetroot and the cabbage, stir well, cover and keep it on the lowest heat for 30-40 minutes. Add another knob of butter before serving large spoonfuls.

Adapted from Riverford Farm Cookbook

Esquire Magazine: Hot Cocktails

2010-12-18T17:59:00.007Z

If the snow carries on like this, I definitely suggest scurrying to the shops to stock up on loads of booze for hot winter cocktails. For Esquire this week I chatted to some top barman from round the country - we have a rich and naughty port cocktail from Tony Conigliaro from 69 Colebrooke Row, and the intriguingly historical Lamb's Wool from Hix's Nick Strangeway. Get your cockles ready for some warming up...

Read the full feature here.

Do pop round tomorrow when there'll be a bumper advent calendar post for the last week before Christmas. x

Voracious advent Calendar: Dec 14 and 15

2010-12-15T08:20:00.008Z

Dec 14: Hot pork rolls and rum

Every year full-grown adults engage in fisticuffs to get to the front of the queue for hot roast beef sandwiches at our friend James' house. He invites everyone over for Christmas festivities, carols, mulled wine, but it's the whiff of prime meatiness from the largest piece of beef you'll ever see that bring 40 clamouring friends to his door.

This year, it was controversial. This year James decided to roast pork. Worrying stuff.

But fears were assuaged when he flexed his muscles and lifted out two huge pork shoulders from the oven, crackling golden and glistening, flecked with fennel and rock salt. Perfectly mottled with fat, and basted in cider for eight hours, the pork met with universal approval.

So here is the recipe from James, who also happens to be the director for the toasty Rum sixty-six.

"I just seasoned it with fennel, rock salt and rosemary (controversial but the butcher assured me it worked), blasted it at 350 [conventional oven] to get the crackling for 45 mins and then cooked it for 8 hours at 125 under foil with a load of cider, topping up if it fried out. Served with the rather excellent Rum Sixty Six!

"I think the real key is getting good pork. 3 things make sure its succulent.

1. Obviously the cider and the foil
2. You need a decent sized joint. We had whole shoulders.
3. Decent fat content, which of course also gives you the flavour."

Serve in baps slathered in apple sauce, your favourite salad leaves and, (the equivalent of crisps in your sandwich) a layer of salty crackling.

Thank you James for a perfect crackling evening!

James buys his pork from Moens near Clapham Common, one of Jamie Oliver's favourite butchers too.

Dec 15: How to Drink, by Victoria Moore

This is a slight cheat because it was reading India Knight's posterous that reminded me how deliciously written Victoria Moore's book How to Drink is.

I could read about shot glasses of chilled sauvignon blanc with crabmeat or oysters, how to drink a rose in winter or the way to make your own cranberry vodka all day. I might even make them one day. And it's not all alcoholic, for the proper way to drink tea, hot chocolate, or just ideas for elevenses, it's worth dipping into this gem.

I wrote about it earlier this year.

You can get it for half price (it's usually £15.99) at the moment, and have a peek inside on Amazon.

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 13

2010-12-12T16:30:00.006Z

Dec 13: Marc Quinn Frozen Strawberry Pendant

I remember seeing the head of blood. 'Self' by Marc Quinn, the sculpture of his own face from pints of his own frozen blood. It stood in the Saatchi Gallery in St John's Wood, and terribly striking in the days before the Tate Modern opened. It subsequently melted at the Saatchi home when builders accidently pulled the plug on the fridge it was kept in, but the effect it had on me stayed despite its demise.

And sculptor Marc Quinn, who is most famous for his Alison Lapper and Kate Moss sculptures, has created a piece of art you can keep for yourselves. It may be called 'Frozen Strawberry', but it won't melt and it won't take up the veg shelf in your fridge.

Quinn apparently removed every pip from a real strawberry, counted them and replaced them with 561 diamonds. Okay, it's probably the time to mention that Frozen Strawberry costs the princely sum of £28,000. While I might not be getting this for Christmas, I'm quite happy to admire for now.

Available from The Louisa Guinness Gallery

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 11 and 12

2010-12-11T21:29:00.008Z

Dec 11: Warhol Limited Edition Dom Perignon

Collecting is so unnecessary. I once picked up these limited edition Patricia Field Diet Coke bottles on a whimsy trip to Selfridges.

They sat pride of place in my bedroom where they propped up books and pouted at me. But on a desperate search for refreshment a couple of years later, my flatmate sinked a sip from a bottle before spitting the rotten liquid out.

The lesson? Drink first, save later.

Which is exactly what this covetable limited edition Andy Warhol Dom Perignon is for. Admire, sip and admire in that order. This is the thing for not any toast, but the toast to end all toasts. What else embraces market culture more than an Andy Warhol champagne bottle; after all it is so unnecessary and happy-making.

Warhol limited-edition Champagne, 750ml £120

Dec 12: Selfridges Panettone hat box

I have to admit it's all about aesthetics today. I was taken with the hat box for this luxury panettone, and presentation does matter. It might not be the best thing to keep the panettone fresh, but it does look so regal.

However, if you're after taste, which is not unreasonable, today's sterling Observer Food Monthly has chocolatier William Curley remarkably recommend Tesco Finest Panettone which pips panettones from Harrod's Scarpato, M&S and Bosari from Waitrose in the taste test.

Selfridges Panettone, 100g £24.99

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 10

2010-12-09T18:11:00.007Z

Dec 10: L'Artisan du Chocolat Spiced Fig Salted Caramels

A tweet from Juliet Kinsman, editor of Mr and Mrs Smith, reminded me how L'Artisan du Chocolat leads the way on salted caramels. The original salted caramel was fashioned for Gordon Ramsay at Claridges, and they haven't really looked back since. Their limited edition fig flavour, spiced with ginger, clove, nutmeg and cinnamon is a festive special and one that should be taken advantage of.

If you're not a big fig fan, maybe you can make dogs and cats happy by snapping up this Battersea Dogs and Cats Home 150th Anniversary bar infused with terribly festive mandarin and mulled spices. The bar is £2.75, and £1 of that goes to the charity.

More information here:

Spiced Fig Salted Caramels £11.99 for 25 salted caramels

Battersea Dogs and Cats Home 150th Anniversary bar £2.75 for 45g

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 9

2010-12-09T13:07:00.010Z

Dec 9: Charcuterie Bodega Ham Stand and Knife from Quintessentially Gourmand

According to the Guardian word of mouth today, British charcuterie is on the rise. And if that's the case, you could get in on the trend and kit out any charcuterie-obsessed friends or family you might have.

When I think of charcuterie, I think of Brindisa in Borough Market and those fabulous knives and terrifying ham stands that resemble instruments of torture.

I found these from Quintessentially Gourmand. There's only one thing to deduce from its owner. And that is - full on love for meat.

A wonderful ham contraption, £49.95

A scary looking but skilfully wrought knife, £34.90

They're not what you'd call snips, but it's the price you pay for looking as slick and equipped as those hunks at Brindisa.

Click below for more information:

Bodega Ham Stand
Jamon Charcuterie Knife

Interview: 28°-50°'s Xavier Rousset: a new generation of sommelier

2010-12-08T15:47:00.009Z

Xavier Rousset can open a bottle of wine 30 different ways. At least, that is what it said on his website. “Ah – that’s bullshit,” he says cheekily, when I mention this at his restaurant 28°-50°, “but you do have to know your wine inside and out, including how to open it”. This is not language, nor an admission I would expect from a refined Master Sommelier. However, he can uncork a bottle armed with a fork and a shoelace; an impressive feat even if it is not one of 30.

On paper, Rousset, 31, is a classic sommelier success story. He quickly rose to head sommelier at Hotel du Vin before moving to Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons, which has two Michelin stars, and gained the top industry accolade, the Master Sommelier diploma. He counts Gerard Basset (who recently won the title ‘Best Sommelier in the World’) and top chef Raymond Blanc as mentors. His restaurant, Texture, has just been awarded a Michelin star, and his more low-key version, 28°-50°, opened in the City of London to great acclaim in June this year.

However, Rousset is anything but a classic case. He was only 23 when he became a Master Sommelier (MS), achieved by most in their thirties. The wine lists he puts together for his restaurants are, by self-admission, “quirky”. His democratic view that “nobody’s got a good palate to start” is a view free from the snobbery associated with wine. And though his role is to offer the best wines for your food, he is “not very convinced about food and wine matching”.

Perhaps his liberal views spring from his upbringing. Raised in Saint-Etienne, France, he was “the only one with any wine knowledge” in his family. Like any 16-year-old, alcohol peaked his curiosity and this landed him his first job; although he was “always passionate about food and wine”, it was reading about cocktails, vodka, gin and wine in economics class which so excited him that he “turned that into a profession” when he was 18.

He wrote to Gerard Basset, by then a successful sommelier in England, asking to be taken on. Successful stints at sommelier school and Hotel du Vin followed and his love for wine was cemented. He was “hooked” and “stayed in London ever since”.

Tasting between 3,000 and 4,000 wines a year, which “sounds a lot, but that’s only ten a day”, it seems being hooked is a necessary attribute. How many is he trying today? He looks sheepish as he turns to a bottle standing tall on his workbench. “Today?” he says, “I’ll have to taste twenty-five wines”.

But then, tasting is the lynchpin of the buying and selling; the most interesting part of the job for Rousset. “To buy well, you have to research; making sure the vintage is good, the producers are good,” he says. And the selling? “It’s about seeing people enjoying themselves.”

“Sommeliers don’t create anything,” he says, “we don’t make wine, we don’t make anything, but what we try to give is pleasure.”

28°-50°, which he co-owns with fellow Le Manoir graduate Agnar Sverrisson, is a comely mixture of urbane function and rustic chic. The restaurant has no cellar and you realise on closer inspection all the worn wooden boxes that decorate the shelves also act as practical storage for his wines, including the £200 Corton Charlemagne star buy, reserved that morning by a customer to be sold tonight.

He chats to the casual lunchers with the bonhomie of a friendly barman, devoid of suit, stuffiness, airs and graces. But he does exude professionalism, a mark of his MS training when he learned everything from the climate of the Loire valley, which wine glasses to use, to the flavour of Havana cigars - a subject that was dropped following the smoking ban.

“But now you need to know about cocktails, spirits, beer, water,” he says. “We adapt to what the demand is and to the reality of the everyday.”

The reality for 28°-50° is an innovative business model which puts wine at its centre. Dependent on relationships with individuals who offer their collections at reduced margins, he explains that “restaurants solely make money on their drinks, so cutting the margin is very risky, especially in a recession.”

He proffers the restaurant’s two wine lists; one priced up to £600 per bottle that “people will travel for” from the collectors, and an accessible everyday drinking list with glasses sold for as little as £2. Mornings are spent by the computer updating what has been sold, and emailing his seven contributing collectors before attending to lunch and dinner service on the restaurant floor. Finding lunch service more functional than dinner, he enjoys the time spent talking to the customer in the evenings to see what they want as “it’s no good serving Riesling, even if it’s perfect with the fish, if the customer doesn’t like Riesling”.

“People [have to] get what we’re doing,” he explains, “With two wine lists I was worried - was I being too sommelier? Will nobody get it?

“When we opened I [made the list] half quirky, half safe. Now people want quirky all the time.”

But why does he feel strongly about quirky wines when many would be happy with a Pinot Grigio?

“I used to have a Sylvaner from Slovenia - I got through 24 bottles in two weeks.” He says proudly. “[Those who] have tried will remember a Sylvaner from Slovenia, but they won’t remember the last time they tried a Pinot Grigio.

“There are no rules. If you’ve got good food and good wine, then you’re covered.”

Rousset knows that London an exciting place for those in wine and the success of 28°-50° shows an appreciation for his exceptional skills. After all, London is a city that attracts young international talent just like him.

“The stuffy sommeliers have gone now - the snooty old classic French who are old and arrogant,” he says brightly. “We are now the new generation.”

28°-50°
140 Fetter Lane, London, EC4A 1BT
info@2850.co.uk
020 7242 8877

With thanks to Ruth Ford and Kirsten Bresciani

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 8

2010-12-08T11:01:00.005Z

Dec 8: Tweet Mass Gathering at The Florence Pub

As fellow blogger @tehbus says, today is full of awesome. And that's because he knows he's going to have a whole lot of booze and and meat at the end of it, in great company. And you could also stuff yourself silly with food from the most esteemed culinary trucks in London if you head down to The Florence tonight in Herne Hill.

If you fancy going, let me know - I'll see you there!

For more details on venue click here

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 7

2010-12-07T09:24:00.004Z

Dec 7: The Etiquette Collection from Liberty

During my amble in Liberty’s off Regent Street yesterday (I had to duck in from the unforgiving cold), I came across these gems from the ‘Etiquette’ series - Etiquette for Wine Lovers, Chocolate Lovers and Recipes for an English Tea.

Of course they are as necessary as Debretts, containing handy hints such as ‘A Guide for the Butler’ (who will know ‘that the condition of his glass and decanter is as necessary for fine wines as the brightness of his boots is for the morning appearance of a gentleman’.) The recipes for an English tea have the delights of Marrow Jam and Parkin, and I know quite a few tea-lovers who would love to brush up their marrow-jam making skills.

But most of all, they have pretty pictures.

In the ‘Etiquette’ series, there are also booklets for coffee-lovers, gentlemen (apparently sold out, I’m guessing as many want to be gentleman, or want their men to be gentlemen), and politeness.

At £4.95 a pop, I don’t think that’s a bad deal for a life-changing stocking filler...

For more detail go to Liberty, or Amazon. If sold out online, Liberty have plenty in-store.

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 6

2010-12-06T11:57:00.004Z

Dec 6: Dickens and Cognac

What the Dickens? Literature and booze?

Yes, when the Dickens-Courvoisier tour popped up in my Urban Junkies daily email dose I got rather excited. For me, Dickens is old London - the grime, the nooks and crannies, the pubs. And cuddling up on a dark walking tour of London with a hot punch waiting at the end makes me want to go ooh. In fact, it does.

I'd say this would be great for a date. And it's only a tenner, so it's a cheap date.

It runs until the 19th December, so get in quick! It begins and ends at the Covent Garden Cocktail Club.

Click here for more info.

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 5

2010-12-05T21:02:00.005Z

Dec 5: Cool Yule Chocolate Slab

A visit from Santa is in order, and begging to be unearthed from a Christmas day stocking is this chocolate slab - a glorious mix of milk chocolate, caramel and white chocolate. I used to work near the King’s Road near Hotel Chocolat, and would amble a few too many times past to try whatever they had out that day. I'd love a nibble of this cute thing.

For more info, go to Hotel Chocolat: Cool Yule Chocolate Slab

It's £13.50 which may seem steep but it's a big slab of a lotta choca.

Their tasting kits are also fantastic. I’ve been giving them as gifts for the last seven years, they’re a treat and a half for anyone. Prices start from £49 for a subscription for three months.
Tasting Kits

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 3 and 4

2010-12-04T17:02:00.009Z

Dec 3: St John Doughnut

Behold the St John doughnut. Defiantly cricket-ball shaped (none of that ring-with-a-hole business), deep-fried, rolled in sugar, overstuffed with cream. I was given a box for my birthday last week by our very own wine-botherer Ruth Ford. She had hurried down to the bakery in Bermondsey that morning, and, that evening, secretly hunched over the box, we wolfed them down there and then in the bar of fifty guests, guilty only because we couldn't quite bring ourselves to share.

Any host would love you if you brought a box. I know I would.

St John Bakery
Open from 9am - 4pm, Saturdays only

Dec 4: Alessi Parrot Sommelier Corkscrew

With bread must come wine. Well, something to get to it anyway. Here is a delightful corkscrew that looks like a parrot. Nice, eh? Alessi have done it again, a cheeky and useful present for the gamely sum of £27.

Alessi Parrot Sommelier Corkscrew in 'Proust'

You can buy them from A White Room

Voracious Advent Calendar: Dec 1 and 2

2010-12-02T21:19:00.007Z

I can be rather Scrooge at Christmas, but when I trudged home in the snow yesterday, someone had clearly risked frostbite to erect hundreds of glittery Christmas trees all along the road. I actually had to stop in the road for a rare heartstopping moment. It was all very Miracle on 34th Street.

Anyway, to get you in the mood, if you're not already, I'm launching the Voracious advent calendar - nothing dodgy, just culinary present ideas every day up until Christmas. And as I missed out on Dec 1, here are two present ideas. Enjoy.

Dec 1

I've been guilty of losing my notes in the ridiculous number of Moleskines I have on the go, but with this little beauty, at least you have your recipes all in one place.

Moleskine recipe journal

Dec 2

Irresistible Beano flask from John Lewis for those snowy days. Nostalgia, guffaws and hot sweet tea all in one go.

Beano Flask

Or if alcohol is more your thing (and for me, it very often is) Charlotte's drinks advent calendar is definitely worth a visit:
Concerning Cocktails blog

Recipe: Angry Flapjacks

2010-11-16T21:04:00.010Z

Outrage drove me to make flapjacks. It’s a strange irony that affects all parts of life - that a whole chicken will cost less than two sad slabs of breast, teeny tampons more than big... and thongs? Well, you could buy a pack of three-pack big pants for a thong. And yet I was still shocked when I saw the price of five cereal bars almost twice of a big pack of Sultana Bran.

So I thought - hold on. I’ll make my own cereal bars. That’ll show them.

And actually my flapjacks were so easy to make and so deliciously rewarding that I urge everyone who is a flapjack virgin (as I was until yesterday) to follow this recipe and donate that 15 minutes of toil to yield a week or two’s break-time pleasure.

Okay, so I haven't really shown them. But I do have a certain sense of so there. And more to the point I do have amazing bejewelled flapjacks. So there.

Angry flapjacks

Preheat an oven to 170 degrees (fan oven). Gently heat 100g butter, 4 tablespoons of golden syrup and 50g golden caster sugar together until all melted.

Mix with 225g of rolled oats, 50g mixed nuts (chopped pecans, cashews, walnuts are good) and dried berries (anything like raisins, cranberries, blueberries are gorgeous).

Spread into lined and buttered baking tin. Stick into the oven for 20 minutes until the oats have a satisfying golden sheen, and the berries glisten and take out. It should be smelling ridiculously homely. Slice into 10 portions.

Leave to cool for 10 minutes, then slice through again. They are crispy yet yielding with surprising bursts of dried fruit. Delicious over yogurt.

Note: Use baking parchment not foil to line the baking tin as in the picture above.

Café Boheme - the Friday Night Steak Frites

2010-10-31T18:07:00.006Z

There’s a dizzying flurry of incredible restaurant openings in London this year. Providores’ Gopapa and Hawksmoor in Covent Garden, St John Hotel in Chinatown, Bar Boulud, Les Deux Salons, Polpetto...

Quite frankly, I can’t keep up.

You know if you want to eat at these places (and I do) there will be months of ‘fully booked’ or two-hour-long waits amidst the hype. And now that it’s pretty much winter and the temperature has plunged to an unsociable degree, most nights I’m happy to nurse a bottle of red wine and sit staunchly in front of the X Factor/Downton Abbey/The Apprentice.

But it’s reassuring to know when you are out post-pub you can still stumble into the depths of Soho on a Friday night and get a no-frills humble dinner without the pressure of knowing what you should order, how you should order it, snaking queues, and above all, waiting.

Seeing the pulsing bar of Café Boheme in Soho is like catching sight of the golden arches. Yes it’s busy, crammed and London Underground-esque; but push through the bottleneck of Old Compton street crowds and you reach the oasis of a familiar faux French brasserie. You tentatively ask if there’s a table on the busiest night of the week, you begin to wince as you expect that no. And then... and then... relief! They say yes.

Perhaps it’s the relief that makes the food so good. I only ever order the steak frites with a simple side salad here. The steak is a good ol’ ribeye marbled with a wonderfully unfashionable amount of fat. It’s meaty and beefy and begging to be ordered rare. The frites are almost matchstick - crispy and even better with a coat of béarnaise. It’s not the best I’ve ever had. But it’s pretty damn good.

You can tell Café Boheme is the same stock as the Shoreditch and Soho Houses, same banquettes and French tiling, impeccable service, amazing drinks. The place is reminiscent of the upmarket Cafe Rouge feel of Pastis and Balthazar in New York, but with that London crowd piling in from GAY and the throb of Bar Soho, this is something unique. The lack of pints is an oddity (only halfs, two pint jugs or bottles sold here), but it’s just an excuse to down a G&T instead.

Boheme shouldn’t be your destination. It should be the place to go when you don’t want to end the night. It should be your golden arches because it is there, just when you need it most.

Café Boheme
13 Old Compton Street 
London W1D 5J
020 7734 0623

The Wolseley: The Art of Breakfasting

2010-10-30T11:36:00.014+01:00

Mr Random has breakfasting at The Wolseley in Piccadilly down to a fine art.

The staff have his direct line. He skips through the door confidently as he exhibits the mutual love and respect between them. A breakfast without at least three unplanned fortuitous meetings would be unthinkable; The Wolseley is his office and his playground.

I had previously eaten at The Wolseley approximately two and a half times. The half because I had been taken for dinner with a good friend, a vegetarian, who unreasonably banned me from eating fois gras and meat. The other two times had been forgettable, not because The Wolseley had underperformed, but because I had - by suffering from drinks-related ailments.

So when Mr Random, a stalwart of the advertising industry (who coined his own name on account of bumping into me randomly three times), invited me to The Wolseley, I knew this was going to be the real thing; the Pixie to my Katie Waissel, the Coke to my Pepsi.

There are a few things to the art of breakfasting:

Sitting at the right table
"It used to be a car showroom, now it's a people showroom,” my companion says. “You can have that one," he adds mischievously. And indeed it is. We sit in a banquette intimate enough for good conversation, but open to see and be seen. Normally I would object to this sort of behaviour, but his working of the room as streams of people who knew him came to our table, made fascinating viewing.

Wearing statement attire
My companion was encased in top-to-toe purple. A peacock designed to be looked at, with the fabulous addition of striking cufflinks fashioned from Viagra pills. If you’re a girl, Louboutins help.

Ordering unembarrassing food
Think carefully before ordering the fully stuffed bacon roll. This is akin to ordering spaghetti on a first date. Don’t do it. The expectation is that you eat as you talk. Be ready to jump up and greet. To say I have been caught out on occasion is a huge understatement. AA Gill once wrote an ode to porridge for his first review of The Wolseley. Now I know why.

And so to the food.

My companion ordered classic eggs benedict with coffee.

I had scrambled eggs on white toast with slats of bacon.

The scrambled eggs were perfectly set, with that slight creamy wibble (and you know how I like wibble). The bacon had edges of crispness. If I wasn't in a people showroom, I would have shovelled the clouds of scrambled eggs with a rasher in my mouth. But I didn't want to embarrass my companion, so I resisted.

Some English Breakfast tea, fresh orange juice and fruity chat washed the breakfast down - a breakfast elegant but hearty helped by the impeccable service.

I could write a whole other post on the art of conversation, but shall leave that for another time when the artist, Mr Random, next decides to exhibit.

The Wolseley
160 Piccadilly, London, W1J 9EB
020 7449 6996

The lemon, ginger and honey effect

2010-10-26T22:26:00.009+01:00

My half drunk steeper

So, with a wave of coughing and sniffing and spluttering striking down my fellow postgraduates (and, it seems half of twitter), this post is for all those who have suffered this week.

Last Monday I was sandwiched between two coldy sniffers for four hours, and lo and behold, by the evening I was a wreck, gibbering and crabby, and from then on unceremoniously adorned permanently with tissues.

I have a steeper to share with you - a most heartening tonic to drink day or night - that makes you feel that little bit better. It beats hot Ribena, it beats Berocca and it beats feeling crap all day.

Take a loved mug and stick the kettle on. Drop in 2 tablespoons of runny honey, 2 slices of unpeeled ginger, preferably bashed once with the handle of the knife. Pour the boiling water over and stir in. Leave for a minute to steep before adding a satisfying squeeze of lemon.

And for a frisky Lemsip which really greets your sinuses, I like to add a slug of whisky. A gentleman's measure, if you please.

Fuchsia Dunlop Interview at Bar Shu

2010-10-18T21:39:00.009+01:00

Chinese food authority and writer Fuchsia Dunlop talks junk food, women chefs and the cookery school back in her heartland of Chengdu

Photograph by Patrizia Benvenuti
“Average Chinese takeaway contains equivalent of a glass of fat”: the Daily Mirror headline informatively tells us in August. This is the backdrop that Fuchsia Dunlop, award-winning food writer, is working against. Easy slurs on the reputation of Chinese food, preconceptions of artery-clogging meals, a historical association with fast food and junk that has been difficult to shake off.

Despite these perceptions, Dunlop is still lauded as one of the main ambassadors and heroes of authentic Chinese cooking. Both academic and accessible in her approach, her journey from novice to expert becomes ours when reading her acclaimed book Sichuan Cookery which sits proudly in Observer Food Monthly’s top 10 best cookbooks and more recently into The Independent’s 50 best cookbooks.

So, why is Chinese food so ubiquitous yet so misunderstood? Dunlop believes this is down to being one of the earliest immigrant cuisines in the country.

“Chinese restaurants were starting to pop up more than 100 years ago.” Dunlop explains, “But Brits were very conservative in their tastes so [the Chinese] adapted the food and dumbed it down.

“Chinese food was handicapped from coming very early and I don’t think the community has been historically very good at communicating their food. I never understood why they weren’t they giving the good stuff to westerners, and that was because westerners weren’t used to it.”

Dunlop has been partly responsible for an exciting development in recent years - the regionalisation of Chinese food, and restaurants specialising in cuisine from Sichuan or Hunan have been appearing among unvarying Cantonese restaurants and takeaways. As consultant to Soho restaurant, Bar Shu, which in its success has spin off sisters Baozi Inn and Ba Shan (which has just launched its new Hunan menu) she has seen London embracing this regionality.

“When Bar Shu opened, we knew that the Chinese community were dying for a Sichuanese restaurant and had a guaranteed market of Chinese people. And that so many people are going on business to Shanghai, going on holiday to China, makes it easier.”

The audience she writes for may be well travelled and keen to try new things, but there’s no point being too adventurous. “The recipes have to be able to work outside of China so there’s no point writing recipes for bamboo shoots that you can’t get here.”

When I meet her over a pot of chrysanthemum tea in Bar Shu, she is very much the English lady and Cambridge graduate who grew up in Oxford, casually elegant in long white skirt and pearls, graciously apologetic for being slightly late. I’m only slightly put out that she can speak better Chinese than me and read better Chinese than me - the only thing she can’t trump me on is looking more Chinese than me, but then - she has used that to her advantage. As the first Westerner to be taken on by the Sichuan Institute of Higher Cuisine in Chengdu, she has often said that being an outsider gave her the “license to do anything”.

“But there was such a stultifying system in China; nothing would happen unless you made it happen.”

Unafraid by the bureaucracy and layers presented by the Chinese when she was there, she soldiered on with the course, as recounted in her autobiography Shark’s Fin and Sichuan Pepper, learning to read and write Chinese so she could understand the theory behind the cooking, and was only one of two women on the course among 50 men. In a system where women did not generally become chefs in kitchens, and where the provincial government would not let her take her final chef exams, these circumstances have not held her back.

She doesn’t think the number of women chefs in China will change and recounts the time she interviewed a head chef who told her women were just not strong enough. “I said 'HA!' and he said ‘come on then!’ and I made a complete fool of myself. I’ve only really met one female chef running a large kitchen and she’s a really tough cookie.”

She is now collaborating with businesswoman Diane Drey in designing the program for a cookery school back in her alma mater in Chengdu. It’s a project that lets her pass on the knowledge she so obsessively learnt when she was out there over fifteen years ago.

“I’m committed to the writing and communicating so it’s very complimentary to be working with Diane who loves the organising side of things.”

The school runs over two weeks, and mimics the intensity she originally experienced. The students are shown key skills and classic Sichuanese dishes to cook in the morning, and recreate them in the afternoon. And it’s a huge immersion into the culture - not just in the learning but eating at the local restaurants and spending time in the Chengdu so evoked in Shark’s Fin.

With more interest in real Chinese food Dunlop may well see those headlines change for the better. “What’s so completely mad is that most people in this country think that Chinese food is unhealthy and junky.

“One of the things that occurred to me more than anything else in China was how healthily people ate. The Mediterranean diet is held up as the ideal. Why not the Chinese diet?”

Cooking School in China
Course dates for Autumn: 24th October 2010 - November 5th 2010
Course dates for Spring: March 13th 2011 - March 25th 2011

Fuchsia Dunlop’s Chinese Restaurant picks in London

"When I was reviewing for Time Out I use to go to lots of places but now I’ve just got my favourites. Chinatown is not always the best place to eat."

Hunan: 51 Pimlico Road, London SW1W 8NE
“It’s lovely, very good, although I haven’t been for a while.”

Phoenix Palace: 5 Glentworth Street, London NW1 5PG

Bar Shu: 28 Frith St, London W1D 5LF
Baozi Inn: 25 Newport Court, Chinatown, London, WC2H 7JS
“I come to Bar Shu. And Baozi Inn, obviously. I LOVE that place.”

Royal China: 30 Westferry Circus, London, E14 8RR
“My favourite place for Dim Sum. The food is heavenly.”

Royal China Club: 40-42 Baker Street, London, W1U 7AJ
“A good place to splash out. I don’t often go because the ordinary Royal China is so damn good.”

What I did with my Romanesco

2010-10-17T21:11:00.010+01:00

Carl Warner makes art with his. The lovely people at Riverford Farm are reminded of “Madonna’s aggressively brassiered breasts” by theirs. When I see those intricate peaks I think of exotic Cambodian temples.

Carl Warner's Coralscape

It’s the season of the romanesco broccoli. With its luminous green colour and other-worldly appearance, this is a broccoli that alarms as much as it impresses.

The texture is similar to broccoli as you know it - the calabrese. Romanesco is as crunchy, but the flavour is not as nutty. Riverford are right when they say it’s “somewhere between cauliflower and calabrese”.

It was difficult not to stir-fry this, which is what I would normally have done with broccoli, but I decided to see what it was like pared down, so just littered it with a silly amount of garlic and adapted a recipe from the brilliant Riverford cookbook. And the broccoli was clean and delicious, and a lovely accompaniment to a good meat dish.

Romanesco with garlic and chilli

Start by making a hot dressing. Gently heat a few slugs of extra virgin olive oil in a frying pan. Slice three fat cloves of garlic and pop the slices in the pan. Crumble two dried chillis in and fry for about two minutes to soften. Don’t let the garlic brown.

Cut one romanesco broccoli into florets. I urge you to use the stalk too. Blanch in boiling salted water.

Drain the romanesco and mix immediately with the flavoured oil. Squeeze some lemon, sprinkle some salt and serve.

It’s also a happy partner with some fried off lardons and pasta for a quick supper.

Purple Sweet Potato: Climbing the Purple Mountain

2010-10-04T10:27:00.007+01:00

Behold the purple sweet potato - as exciting as a purple carrot and destined to have the alarming effects of beetroot.

Though the colour may be as rich as a Cadbury’s wrapper, the flesh is not so sweet. We had it mashed - boiled then buttered, as was recommended to me, but the consistency was slightly chalky and flavour blander than a normal sweet potato. I would think roasting would intensify the sweetness, so a dry roast whole then mashed, or roasted wedges with a touch of honey might be the ticket next time.

Apparently this exotic thing will be hitting the shelves under the name ‘Purple Mountain’. The potato is American, but like me, its origins lie in China. If you’re tempted to try it - let me know what you make, and whether you think mashed is the best way to go.

London Fashion Week Munch: The Biscuit

2010-09-17T12:39:00.009+01:00

It's London Fashion Week. Or, strictly speaking, London Fashion Five Days - a whirlwind of shows, the emergence of fashion editors armed with their pack of passes and very tall people.

I like Fashion Week - the papers get all excited and their supplements that little bit thicker. Glossy magazines get glossier, and London, already throbbing with shops, pulsates even more in anticipation.

But onto food - to celebrate LFW, as it's affectionately known, the Biscuiteers - online purveyors of beautiful hand-made iced biscuits - have developed a fashiony range. Fun tins packed full of edible killer heels, and handbags can be delivered straight to your desk. Click here to have a look.

It's difficult not to become unashamedly girly when a friend gives you this. Anything that comes in a box has occasion written all over it.

And I open only to reveal this gem of a thing:

Nice eh?

Quite frankly, if I can't have an Alexa, I'd rather have an Alexa biscuit.

They do biscuits for any occasion - births, marriages, being in love, being hungry. Yes, it's slightly twee, but there's nothing wrong with that if it gives you pure joy.

And the nice thing is, if it's your first order, you can get 5% off by entering 'bakelovex' in the discount code box.

www.biscuiteers.com

The Culinary Tales: Featured Blog of the Week

2010-09-17T08:12:00.005+01:00

I'm happy to announce that Voracious' Culinary Tales was last week's blog of the week in James Ramsden's rather excellent food news roundup.

As this title has previously been bequeathed to the likes of Hugh Wright and food hero Fuchsia Dunlop, I am a smiling wreck.

Hello to any new followers, and hope you enjoy the blog. Do drop me a line anytime, I'd love to hear from you. Hx

How to impress your date: Gelupo in Soho

2010-09-16T16:47:00.012+01:00

Mysinglefriend.com has a lot to answer for. This website has claimed too many of my friends. A spate have lost successive evenings to serial dating and revealing what they do for a living. And though a few have found themselves embroiled in unlikely situations, I cannot knock it. One has already found love. Many, flagrant embrace.

For the not-so-lucky in those incipient stages of datehood (juggling five dates a week, perhaps even two a day), innovative thinking is required for each date.

My suggestion would be Gelupo, in Soho, as the place to take a date.

It’s an ice-cream parlour - but Italian. Which means it's actually a gelateria - less schmaltz, gaudy colours, and cherries on top than your average parlour. And ice-cream is a safe bet - take your date on the premise that everybody likes ice-cream.

Teetotal date? Chocolate sorbet it is. Loves booze? Chocolate and Grand Marnier then. Vegetarian, or dare I say it - vegan? Well, let’s just say there is a flavour for everyone. For, Gelupo’s sorbets are as rich as as egg custard and cream without them comprising of egg custard or cream.

And as if that wasn’t enough, it’s across the street from brilliant sister restaurant Bocca di Lupo, well-wishing your date with its name which fortuitously translates as ‘good luck’.

Ask to taste. That’s the perk.

Gelupo, who make all gelati on the premises, are so proud of their flavours, they will urge you to try them. Chocolate sorbet sounds an anomaly - almost a paradox. The expectation is of something watery and one dimensional, but no. The sorbet is of a rich sort, made from 100% cocoa and sugar and is positively creamy. Their white peach sorbet will take you back to the heat of Venice (think Bellinis of ripe white peaches and Prosecco). The gelato of pear, cinnamon and ricotta is a sweet taste of autumn. Burnt almond granita, which I have to order on fellow tweeter Dinehard’s insistence, is a triumph. The raspberry sorbet is juicy and ripe, the ricotta and sour cherry ripple gelato is especially good fresh from the churn and in a huge waffle cone. My only regret is that I could not taste the naughty milk-infused fig-leaf ice cream as I'd not arrived in time.

In the case that you and your date get on well, the gelateria is open until 1am from Thursday to Saturday. If you do run out of things to say to each other, let me suggest a perusal of the amazing Italian produce on offer at the back of the shop. I defy anyone to lack conversation whilst looking at the refrigerated octopus.

And Gelupo have recently announced that they will be launching an online ordering service. Which means for true love there will be only one thing for it: home delivery of the fig-leaf variety.

Gelupo
7 Archer Street, London, W1D 7AU
Website

A Lesson in Superlative Service: Chez Bruce, Wandsworth

2010-09-15T14:36:00.028+01:00

Chez Bruce is exquisite. I’ll tell you that now. There are no quites, nor almosts, nor rathers about it. That I should resist penning superlatives when I write about this Sunday lunch is torturous. But I should, else no one will believe me.

The service is only part of the whole lunch, of course, but it is worth dedicating a healthy chunk to this subject. There are simply two tips that I will give should you fancy a Chez Bruce jaunt.

The first, is to trust. Put yourself in their Chez Brucey hands completely. They know what they are doing. We ordered good G&Ts, expecting better-than-most G&Ts, and drank the best G&Ts. We went for Sunday lunch thinking ‘what a nice Sunday lunch we’ll have’ and received a full four hours of worthwhile attention and a spectacular Sunday lunch. We were so looked after that we emerged, blinkered and mole-like in the sunshine very happy indeed.

The second tip is from Must Drink’s Ruth Ford (who gives her general wine tips below). When choosing the wine - ask the sommelier. To quote:

‘Chez Bruce has one of the best* wine lists in, like, the world, and one of the best* sommeliers in the trade... So my recommendation is - ask the sommelier!’

So we did. And Ruth was right. Terry, a talented Canadian with an extraordinary palate, was woefully underused so we would frequently ask what he thought was the best accompaniment to our courses. Armed with a price, and the menu, he delivered wonders by the glass (wonders can be delivered by the carafe too).

The food is predominantly French, a nod to Larousse, with humour and personality. One bite of each dish was a remarkable evocation of both British and French familiarity - caramelised chicory made friends with traditional roast beef and yorkshire pud; shards of very English runner beans added depth to a coating of bisque and mussels. The textures were inspirational.

And so to the food:

Pigs trotter and calf's brain croquettes with sauce gribiche and dressed leaves
Wine: Terlaner Classico 2009, Cantina Terlano, Alto Adige

Affectionately referred to by the staff as ‘the brains’. The brain croquettes had a hot crunchy outside which couched the wibbly inside. This had the beautiful creamy consistency of chinese steamed egg and was slightly gelatinous. The gribiche - sharp with capers - was a great foil to the brains. The trotter croquette, though delicious, paled beside its wibbly cousin.

Tagliatelle of mussels with runner beans, bisque sauce, saffron and chives
Wine: Albariño 2009, Lagar de Costa, Rias Baixas
Simple. Not too rich, which was my fear. The seasonal runner bean - with that lovely gardeny taste - added an unusual freshness to the dish.

Slow roast belly of pork with glazed apple, onion breadcrumbs and cocotte potatoes
Wine: Barbera d’Alba 2009, Ettore Germano, Piemonte
Flecked with curls of crackling, the large slices of belly were meltingly soft. The belly sat on a burnished sweet buttery slice of apple. The onion breadcrumbs were just another layer of glorious texture and bursts of flavour. And the wine was absolutely stunning with this dish.

Roast Beef with Yorkshire pudding, roasties and red wine
Wine: Touriga Nacional/Tinta Roriz 2004, Quinta Lagoalva de Cima, Ribatejano
A classic which failed to disappoint.

Hot Chocolate pudding with praline parfait
The moat of chocolate sauce disappeared through mopping with fingers. The parfait was studded with the sharp crunch of nutty praline, and when scooped up with a wedge of chocolate was the perfect pudding.

From this cheeseboard we chose:

Roquefort - pungent and tangy.
Dolcelatte
Napoleon - a hard sheep’s cheese from the Pyranees. Nutty and fruity and my favourite.
Tunworth - a British Camembert which puddled into liquid. My second favourite.
Robiola delle langhe- from Italy - a mix of goat, cow and sheep.

All the cheese, which was either from La Fromagerie, or Neal's Yard Dairy, was washed down with Taylors Tawny Port: 10 years old, and a child of the 90s. Just.

I thought the long afternoon would peak at the pork, but the cheese outsmarted us all. I can happily and unashamedly say this was one of the tastiest, most exquisite meals I’ve had in a very long time.

* Please excuse the superlatives. It can’t be helped.

Sunday Lunch: £35 for three courses, £5 extra for cheese

Chez Bruce
1 Michelin *
2 Bellevue Rd, London SW17 7EG
020 8672 011
Website

Ruth Ford's Must Drink!
My advice if you are going to a halfway decent restaurant is use the sommelier. It's all part of the service. They know the wine list, and they will be able to help you find a bottle which will suit the food you have ordered, the occasion, and your taste. What's more, they will take pleasure in doing it. Tell them what you are eating and how much you want to spend and leave them to choose the wine - more often than not you will end up with something you would never have thought of trying. Exciting! Even better if your restaurant, like Chez Bruce, has a good list of wines by the glass and you can taste a different wine with every course...

Terlaner Classico 2009, Cantina Terlano, Alto Adige, Italy

Terlaner is a region in Alto Adige in the far North East of Italy. Wine called Terlaner is white, and based mostly on the Pinot Bianco grape, though some producers also use Chardonnay and/or Sauvignon Blanc in the blend. It is a dry, perfumed, fruity wine which can be beautifully soft and full-flavoured (rather like the brains!).

Albariño 2009, Lagar de Costa, Rias Baixas, Spain

A lovely aromatic wine from Galicia in North West Spain (Albariño is the name of the grape that makes the wine; Rias Baixas is the name of the wine-producing region it comes from). Typical flavours are peach and apricot, but the wine is clean and crisp and light, a perfect companion for Galician seafood, and also for the tagliatelle Helena ordered.

Barbera d’Alba 2009, Ettore Germano, Piemonte, Italy

Another wine from Northern Italy, this time the North West. Barbera is the grape and Alba the place the wine is made. (It is also made in Asti). This is Italy’s third most planted red grape and can vary hugely in quality – at the cheap end it is thin and mean and acidic, but if you spend a few more quid you can find a wine full of rich cherry flavours, soft and ripe in the mouth, finishing with a freshness when you swallow that leaves you wanting another sip immediately. Helena’s Barbera was ‘stunning’: full-bodied and rich enough to get along with the pork, without overpowering the dish.

Touriga Nacional/Tinta Roriz 2004, Quinta Lagoalva de Cima, Ribatejano, Portugal

Here’s a perfect example of a wine you might never think to buy for yourself, so it’s great to be able to try it in a restaurant. Touriga Nacional and Tinta Roriz are two of the grapes that go into making port, that rich, sweet, heady stuff usually consumed at the end of a meal with a stinky blue cheese. However they also make very good dry red wine. Tinta Roriz is the Portuguese name for Tempranillo, the grape that goes into Rioja. The two grapes blended together make a deep-coloured, intense wine tasting of black fruits and with quite a lot of tannin, which causes that drying sensation you get around your gums after drinking some red wines, and stewed tea. Tannins soften when you eat chewy meat, so eating roast beef with this wine is the perfect thing to do – then the intensity of the wine flavour can shine with the tastiness of the beefy meat.

A Very Boozy Brunch - Boston Turkey Hash

2010-08-30T11:04:00.012+01:00

What to eat before a dance festival is a tricky one. Filling up too much beforehand can be capering suicide, but there’s too high a risk of pungent festival food repeating on you throughout the day.

The solution? Disco hash.

This is tasty fare that will last you the day and just yearns to be knocked back with a spicy juicy bloody mary. Testament to the ease of this recipe, we stumbled in the night before the festival, chopped, mashed, made hash and left overnight. The next morning, when everyone came round, we just fried the hash off and looked like stars - drink in hand and ready to rock.

We picked this Turkey Hash recipe up in Boston from the best diner I’ve ever been in. Charlie’s Sandwich Shoppe in Boston’s South End - fine purveyor of pancakes, homefries and a good dose of Southie chat. Open for eight decades, Charlies has served musicians through the Jazz age, cops their heavy cream and cornflakes sitting next to gangsters with their coffee and guns. But the star of Charlies (and what to order when you’re perching on those red stools) is the Turkey Hash.

Back in England, the Turkey Hash has now made it out after Christmas, after hangovers, to stave off hangovers. And now it’s festival fodder. If it’s good enough for the gangsters, I’m sure it’s good enough for the revellers.

Music Recommendation for the Hash below.

Turkey Hash
This is a great way to use leftovers - and whatever veg you might have.
Serves 6

1.25kg mashing potatoes
1 big onion
2 sticks celery
1 red pepper
1 Turkey leg
A big sprinkling of paprika
Oil
Butter
Salt and Pepper
6 Eggs (or 12 if you are feeding hungry hoards)

Preheat the oven to 190C, and when ready, roast the turkey leg for an hour. Leave to cool.
Peel, halve and boil the potatoes.
Whilst the potatoes are boiling, finely chop the onion, celery and pepper, and soften in a frying pan for at least 15 minutes on a low-medium heat until translucent.
Shred the turkey and chop finely into very small pieces.

Mash the potatoes and season with salt and pepper. lubricate with a little butter if needs be. Add the onion, celery, red pepper, turkey and the paprika. Mix together thoroughly.

Pack the hash mix tight - into a big sausage shape and wrap in clingfilm.
Chill overnight.

To serve, all you need to do is slice off the amount of hash you want per person and fry in a little butter and olive oil over a high heat until a satisfying crisp edge sets. Serve with a fried egg on top (two eggs for the starving), a spattering of tabasco and a big squidge of tomato ketchup.

Soundtrack: Hospitality: Drum & Bass 2010

Thanks to T for making the hash look delectable, and La and Fe for bringing disco with them.

Charlie’s Sandwich Shoppe
429 Columbus Avenue
Boston, US
+ 1 617 536 7669

Recipe: Stir-Fried Beef with Broccoli

2010-08-23T21:13:00.008+01:00

It’s been a long day. Today I officially called time on a six year career in advertising. I also got an amazing haircut where I was served a bottle of Prosecco. Today is not a normal day.

All I know is there is a juicy rump waiting for me in the fridge and a friendly head of broccoli and I don’t want to spend time messing with it. This is a classic supper - reassuring and damn simple.

Very Quick After-Work Beef Supper
Serves 2

Slice a nice piece of rump steak (about 300g) across the grain into strips about 2 mm thick. Marinate in a tablespoon of light soy sauce, half a tablespoon of Shaoxing wine, a few drops of sesame oil, a few drops of dark soy sauce, a teaspoon of sugar and a teaspoon of cornflour. Leave for at least 15 minutes.

In the meantime, start putting on the rice to cook (white, long grain would be best).

Cut a broccoli into small florets, and blanch in boiling salted water for about 2 minutes until just cooked. The broccoli needs to be vibrant green and still got a satisfying bite to it.

Slice either 3 shallots or a small onion into strips, finely chop 2 garlic cloves and a small knob of ginger. Heat groundnut oil in a wok on a high heat. Throw in the onions, garlic and ginger, and fry until smelling incredible and before they turn brown.

Add in the beef, and mix quickly. Brown the beef until just cooked - I like mine a tiny bit pink inside. Add a few drops of oyster sauce (optional), more soy sauce (dark and light), Shaoxing wine and sesame oil, then mix in the broccoli. Fry until all mixed in and heated through.

Serve with rice.

Variations
if you want heat, just crumble in some chilli. If you fancy peppers, fry it in first. I usually like mine with spring onions.

Caldesi Recipes: The secrets of Pappardelle con Ragù di Cinghiale and Other Stories

2010-08-22T09:44:00.014+01:00

The Ragù

Our teacher is insistent that we ‘do not rush’ when it comes to making this wild boar ragu. And whilst I like to think this is an encapsulating ethos of Italian philosophy or way of life that has transcended through to the cooking, it’s actually that the dish will smell of pee otherwise.

The flavour of the wild boar depends on where the pig comes from. If it is a Mediterranean beast from the wilds of Spain or Italy, then the strength of piggy gaminess will be higher. Giancarlo suggests - if you smell it, and think it’s too strong then you can soak it overnight in milk, but he would just cook it out. Today, our meat is actually from the north of England - much milder. He’s upset by this, but no matter - we are still going to make this taste good.

The ragu takes at least three hours to make. The photos show industrial amounts for feasting, but I’ve scaled down the quantities to feed about 6 as a starter.

Slug a good amount of extra virgin olive oil into a deep pan. ‘It upsets me all the bloody time that people say you can’t cook with Extra Virgin.’ explodes Giancarlo, our teacher at Caldesi in Campagna. ‘You’re not frying, you’re cooking with it. If you change the oil the quality will drop!’ Extra Virgin it is.

Heat the oil and add a few smashed and peeled cloves of garlic - just to release the flavour, a couple of rosemary sprigs, and a generous sprinkle of salt and pepper. Heat gently until starting to smell fragrant- this is to flavour the oil.

Add a soffrito of finely chopped celery (2 sticks), an onion and a carrot to the oil and fry gently until the vegetables turn translucent and the smell starts whetting your appetite. This may take a good 5-10 minutes.

Add a few fresh bay leaves, stir some more, turn the heat up slightly and add 1-1.5 kg of wild boar mince. The meat will yield a lot of water and start to smell gamey - almost uriney - this needs to all come out - so the idea is to cook it and stir every now and then until all the water has evaporated and the meat is all cooked evenly. Be patient. This will take a while - perhaps an hour.

Once the piggy smell has gone, add half a bottle of red wine - a Sangiovese would be good. Cook this down - again - gently until it’s reduced significantly. Then add half a can of tinned tomatoes. And cook this down. This may take another hour.

Fish out any protruding rosemary sticks. Add a glorious slug of shiny olive oil. Check for seasoning. Serve with a nice Chianti (see Ruth’s Must Drink! for wine recos in previous post)

The Pappardelle

Whilst this is happening, we might as well make the pasta. We have the time after all. Equip yourself with a pasta rolling machine and a long farmhouse table. If you don’t have these, I suggest buying fresh pasta in like I do instead.

It’s terribly simple - and all you need are three ingredients. Eggs, flour and a pinch of salt. But of course, the flour should be “00” flour - which even Asda sells now - and the eggs are preferably from corn-fed chickens which lends a sunshiney yellow colour to the pasta. The salt - well, as you please.

Pour your flour and salt into a large mixing bowl. Crack the eggs into the bowl, and using a fork - mix and mix - gently stirring the flour into the egg. When the mixture is thick enough not to run, start kneading the dough on a floured work surface until it holds together well. Continue to knead rhythmically - without too much force - but just to make sure the elements get to know each other well.

After about 6 minutes of kneading, the dough should feel elastic, and slightly colder. Wrap in cling film and put aside for about an hour.

Cut the dough into quarters and keep three parts aside whilst you run the first quarter through the pasta machine. Flatten the dough, then pass the pasta through the widest setting. Once through, decrease by a notch and pass through again. Repeat this until the thinnest you’d like - but do not pass through more than 5 times. Repeat for the rest of the quarters.

Once through, cut into sheets into lengths you’d the pappardelle to be, roll the ends in from either side - as in the picture - then slice into thick ribbons.

Pour the ribbons into a tray full of semolina which will keep them separated and leave them to dry for 20 minutes.
When ready, get a pan of salted boiling water ready and cook briskly for two minutes.

Serve with the ragu. Devour.

Caldesi in Campagna: The Promise

2010-08-21T17:11:00.019+01:00

On 7th May 2010, Giancarlo Caldesi made a promise. Declared over salsicce fatte in casa, veal saltimbocca and steak tagliata and made sacred with red wine. This exuberant chef from Montepulciano, Tuscany vowed to bequeath the secrets of ragù di cinghiale - that very Tuscan dish of wild boar ragu - to his students after a lesson in his Marylebone cookery school – La Cucina Caldesi. The students had been exerting themselves over Italian Butchery and thought he had been exerted too.

We didn’t really believe him. Did he really like us as much as he claimed that he’d give up a whole day to give us a free bespoke lesson in Bray? Just for us? I wasn't sure we'd been that good at making sausages.

It’s 9.30 on a chilly August morning in Bray. 14 people are staring at a skinless bunny - teeth skeletal and clenched in agony. Giancarlo lops off the feet and enjoys the morbid fascination we display. ‘Always buy rabbit from the butcher with the head on,’ he says conspiratorially. It must be for taste reasons, perhaps buying prior to decapitation stops it going off? ‘You never know - you might be sold a cat’. Oh, right. Several knife flourishes later the rabbit is in pieces ready to be casseroled.

Next it’s pigeon. Feathers fly everywhere after enthusiastic plucking. In a second its skin is un-peeled, breasts teased off, and blood clots from bullet wounds disposed of. Giancarlo’s whites are patchy with gory smears, but his grand figure captures his class’ attention, and if he doesn’t he will spatter you with kisses or pick you out like a naughty schoolchild.

This is all terribly gratuitous. Especially as neither pigeon nor rabbit will be served up to the hungry masses.

‘This is us,’ he declares in thick Italian. ‘A day for us. I don’t want nobody to interfere’.

The restaurant run by Giancarlo and his wife Katie itself is refined and stocked full of art. The floor of the bathroom is the sparkliest marble I ever did see. The garden is ours. We will cook there, learn there, eat there. It is parasoled and kitted out with a ballsy outdoors forno - a boy-meets-man chef’s wet dream. Although only open since 2008, the customers are regular, the dishes elegant but true to its rustic maternal roots.

Yes we are here to learn the intricacies of this ragu, but Giancarlo's generosity stretches further and further as he directs our attempts to devil poussin, create crispy rosemary garlic potatoes, make Italian love, and digest the principles of good cooking. We make pasta, we make ragu. We disturb the amazing and accommodating staff who are just trying to do their day job by wandering in and out of their kitchen with deadly knives and poultry-wrung hands.

The interesting rapport between the head chef Allan, and Giancarlo is a joy to watch. Spat-like and banterous. And the drama unfolds when we learn that the patisserie chef Maria is Allan’s wife, and the Sicilian lemon cheesecake - a star of a dish - is designed by her fair hands.

The three hour lunch matches the three hour lesson. We are the guardians of the secrets of ragù di cinghiale - (to be divulged in my next post). Giancarlo has fulfilled his promise. And more.

So here is what we eventually eat and drink when we sit down at lunch. Do scroll down for Ruth’s Must Drink recommendations. A special thanks must go to Jude, without whose loveliness and organisation, this day would not have happened.

‘I’m totally stupid’, Giancarlo admits, ‘but I know what I’m doing.’ That he does. And I guess, we do now too.

Pappardelle con ragù di cinghiale - Recipe to come in following post

Gilthead Bream - absolutely beautiful. Salmon over coals, with a honey-dressed salad. Devilled Poussin with Rosemary Garlic Potatoes (The recipe in a future post)

Desserts...Lemon Cheesecake with caramelised orange and lemon sauce, pannacotta, churros
The cheesecake was simply the most exquisite dessert. Made with Sicilian lemons, it was the perfect balance of oozy tartness, light sweetness and crunch from the amaretti biscuits.

Caldesi in Campagna 
Old Mill Lane, Bray, Berkshire
Website
01628 788500

La Cucina Caldesi Cookery School
118 Marylebone Lane, Marylebone, W1U 2QF
0207 487 0750/6/8

Ruth Ford's Must Drink!

Greco di Tufo is a characterful dry white wine from Tufo in Campania, Greco being the name of the grape. In a glass of this golden wine you can almost taste the glorious sunshine of the warm Italian south: Greco is delicately fragrant like white blossom flowers, and tastes of ripe peaches, and apples, and lemons, with a touch of honey. It is rich and sometimes oily in the most pleasing way, like the salmon Helena ate with it. And yet it finishes crisp, leaving you eager for more of this bright, flavoursome wine. Greco is grown and made all around Southern Italy, and is now very easy to find in the UK, even in the supermarket. I suggest you buy yourself a bottle as an antidote to Pinot Grigio.

With the wild boar, Helena drank Chianti.

There are Chiantis and there are Chiantis...

A good rule when faced with a dizzying choice of wine, or olive oil, or most things really, is to go for the one that has been well made and is therefore good quality. How do you know this with wine? You check the name of the producer on the bottle or wine list. Then you look it up on your Iphone, or whatever piece of smart technology you happen to be carrying (a reference book, perhaps). It’s like looking up the difference between a Rolex and a Casio.

Imagine you went into HMV and you wanted to buy a death metal CD but you’d never heard of any of the band names before. There are hundreds to choose from. Which one is good? What to do? You look around and see a couple that grab your attention and you Google the band names, or simply the topic “good death metal”. You read the reviews and comments. Now you are better equipped to choose your CD.

(Alternatively you could take home several bottles/death metal CDs/watches and try them all out to see which one you like best. This is much more fun where wine is concerned, but I realise not necessarily practical, especially if you’re on your way to a dinner party and already late.)

A bit of research is certainly required where Chianti is concerned. There is too much Chianti. Some of it is wonderful – savoury, rich, and appetite-whetting - and some of it utter dishwater. Chianti is the name of a region in Tuscany where red wine is made. The red wine takes the name of the region, as long as it is made with the correct grapes (Sangiovese is the principal grape, it can be blended with some others including Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot). But there are so many different red wines with the Chianti name, of wildly varying quality, that caution must be exercised when choosing which one to drink. For Helena’s cinghiale I recommended the Frescobaldi Castello di Nippozana Riserva 2006 Chianti Rufina which was £40 on the wine list. Frescobaldi is a reliable producer, ‘06 was a great year in Chianti, and Rufina is one of the best areas of vineyards for growing the Sangiovese grape. It worked; the wine tasted good with the rich ragu, and more importantly, Helena enjoyed it.

Wholesomeness. Recipe for Marinated Minced Beef and Fat Courgette

2010-08-09T16:30:00.023+01:00

Radiant Physalis

So, gardening. Creation and cultivation of life. I can’t bear that sort of responsibility amidst our daily frivolity. Oh, and given that even the supermarket parsley plant is doomed from the moment I choose it, I’ve resigned myself to the knowledge that I’m simply no good at it. My friend Sonia tended to lettuces in Cornwall, nursing them through bruising winds for weekly salads, but I assumed that was just what you did in Cornwall. (I’m slightly scared of the country. The natural silence, the lack of cars, the visible stars. The light pollution I’m used to fills city skies with a comforting gray or a lollipop orange. I fear the dark).

I’ve been following the progress of chef Alex Mackay’s tomatoes with a sort of envy. Every now and then a twitpic will appear of a stripey or purple variety of tomato and I turn green. Especially when he tells us they taste so good that they don’t ‘even need any salt’ but just a ‘brush…[of] Provencal oil and very thinly sliced basil.’
Have a look here and here and here judge for yourself.
So very wholesome. I like to admire from afar.

To me, an edible garden is ever so alien, but the absolute ideal. Decorative and full of food. When I popped to my parents last weekend I was astounded by what they’d produced and began to nurture a hope that latent gardening genes will reveal themselves when I grow up. There were…

Incipient Tomatoes

Physalis

Fat Slob Courgette and Baby Courgette

Courgette Flowers

Goji Berries - Good dried and in soups, but equally tasty fresh with honey

Blueberries

I came away from berry-nibbling and with an armful of fat courgette (overgrew as my parents went on holiday and forgot about it). It would waddle if it walked. I have vowed to start small and really look after that parsley plant next time. Baby steps.

Here’s a recipe for the fat courgette. The base of which is similar to the classic Chinese dish ‘Ants climbing trees’.

Marinated minced beef with fat courgette

Serves 4
500g minced beef or pork
Half a fat courgette - diced into large chunks
Sunflower/vegetable oil

Marinade
2 tablespoons Shaoxing wine
2 tablespoons Light Soy Sauce
1 tablespoon Sesame Oil

3 bulbous spring onions - finely chopped
3 fat garlic cloves - finely chopped
Knob of ginger - finely chopped
1 dried birds-eye chilli (optional)

Sauce
2 tablespoons Shaoxing wine
2 tablespoons Light soy sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
275mls chicken stock
1 teaspoon sugar

Marinate the beef for at least 15 minutes. It won’t hurt to leave it to settle longer.

Heat oil in a wok or a pan over high heat. Add the mince, and brown all over, stirring every now and then.

Take out the beef and put to one side.

Add some more oil over a medium high heat and add the spring onions, garlic, ginger and crumble in the chilli if using. Fry until smelling irresistibly fragrant.

Add back the beef, then add the sauce ingredients. Bring to boil, then simmer for 5 minutes. Add the fat courgette pieces, cover and cook for 5 minutes more.

Serve with just cooked long grain rice.

Blacks Members' Club: A Descent

2010-08-05T23:05:00.011+01:00

Candlelight. We are flickering silhouettes against the heavy-framed Hogarths and Duluxed wood-panelled walls. We listen to the music of low-levelled chatter charged with drama and frippery. Soft champagne opens the evening in this tall and slightly dishevelled Georgian building which nestles next to the new polish of Dean Street Townhouse. Our host for dinner this evening is the proprietor of Blacks members' club, Giuseppe Mascoli - also Mr Franco Manca of Brixton.

Little is written of this club compared to the institutions of Groucho or Soho House, but that closed mystery seems an English eccentricity. The three floors of Blacks is a world - the world of Samuel Johnson colliding with Mascoli’s - a thoroughly gentlemanly affair edged with the air of depravity. One imagines regular occurrences of opium eating and poetry readings; this is a club for artists and actors, wordsmiths and lovers of excess. And if I’ve not left with gout I would consider this failure.

We begin with the most humble of victuals - bread, wine and olives. But everything at Blacks sits on the edge of convention - you would do to cast expectation aside. A Languedoc red that comes to the table is what Mascoli calls ‘the crazy wine’ - and it is most extraordinary. Every time I raise the glass to my lips, the waft of horse manure is simply alarming. This alarm does not depreciate - but the peppery nature of this warm red makes it a drinkable beast.

Each subject on the weekly menu will have an anecdote or a story. The piquillo peppers are stuffed with coley salted at Blacks, the hake fillet baked with mussels, chorizo, tomato and white wine is a particular favourite of our host. The surprise is the hard boiled egg. ‘The egg works doesn’t it?’ he says eagerly as I unceremoniously mash it into the rich liquor. I mop up all traces with bread fashioned from Dorset rye - a heavy bread - not one for everyday eating. Livers soaked in Pedro Ximinez sherry is a treat, the onglet steak has the unusual beefiness of braising meat. It comes as no surprise to learn that the head chef had been a rock star - 'Not a good rock star - but definitely a good chef' - the food does have something of the hedonistic about it. The affogato (incidentally, my favourite dessert) - club-made ice cream drowned in espresso is simple and elegant. The vanilla is soprano as it sings through the coffee.

The big toe is starting to twitch.

Then the mezcal. Oh the mezcal - in a sniff already carries evocations of lost evenings. Softer than tequila, the golden warmth of this Mexican spirit turns into a harsh kiss at the back of the throat. I am distracted by rakish figures wandering back and forth. A vitiating haze begins to leave its taint as I vaguely recollect the whole bottle landing on the table. We are as significant as silhouettes by the end - art bores and babbling fools. But do not let this put you off. If you have the chance, seek out the basement entrance, attach yourself to a member and prepare for the Blacks descent.

Blacks
67 Dean Street, Soho, London, W1D 4QH

For a more comprehensive review, have a look here.

We drink:
- Blacks House Champagne, Beaumont des Crayeres, Grand Reserve, 2010
- The Crazy Wine: Domaine Fontedicto, Cotêaux du Languedoc, Pirouette 6, VDT

A State of Undress in the South of France

2010-07-31T13:21:00.026+01:00

So fresh, each morsel was eaten nude bar the merest spritz of lemon
The village of Neffies. An excited sun.

Villa. Pool. Five girls and fifteen bikinis.

This trip was strictly educational. We learnt much about our capacity to eat. Informed enough to tell you the merits of panaché versus shandy and to advise on only choosing figs that almost puncture at the touch, we can also prove that it is possible to consume €300 worth of cheese and wine. Over 3 days. By a pool. (See Must Drink below for sauce suggestions)

But we took a break from sun-ripening and pool-dipping to venture over to the town of Bouzigues in the Etang de Thau - the largest oyster-producing area in France. La Palourdière is the sort of restaurant one has to snaffle out rather than stumble across. With views overlooking the spectacular oysterbeds that cultivate the Bouzigue flat oyster, it is worth snaffling out.

Rumour has it that Rick Stein, on his French Odyssey, fell in love with this place. Though there’s no evidence to say it was here (he refused to divulge the name of the restaurant), we like to think it was.

The menu at La Palourdière was thus:

Bread and aïoli
I verily believe aïoli improves everything savoury.

Le Pêcheur - Fresh mussels, snails, prawns, clams, oysters (photo top of page)

Moules Gratinées
Plump and juicy with the delight and satisfaction of a cheese-flavoured crunch.

The waiters undressing the grilled bream and sea bass
I was disappointed by this undressing- I like the ritual of eating the whole fish.

The bream undressed

Gambas flambées à la Provençale
Prawns probably spritzed with brandy

Zarzuela (which means ‘Operetta’)
A Catalan dish - a mix of seafood cooked with tomatoes, onions, garlic and peppers. We affectionately named this vuvuzela as it was victually just as noisy.

So, by the end of our trip, what had we learned? Not much, to be honest. But what we do know is that our cheese eating abilities can only be complimented by our amorous seafood tendencies.

Thank you Hannah for introducing us to a French life beyond panaché and piscine.

La Palourdière
Port Loupian
www.lapalourdiere.com
04 67 43 80 19

Must Drink
A better man than me - Hugh Johnson - said Picpoul de Pinet is "perfect with an oyster". Since we were eating oysters in the Bassin de Thau, just a few miles south of the demarcated area where Picpoul de Pinet wine is grown and made, it would have been silly to drink anything else. And Hugh Johnson is right. A mouthful of lemony fresh Picpoul, followed by a gobful of salty shucked oyster, followed by a mouthful of lemony fresh Picpoul, and so on, and you could easily lose an entire afternoon in these lipsmacking flavours. And so we did... At its best, Picpoul is mineral and mouthfilling, with flavours of citrus, dried herbs and white flowers, tasting of the smell of the Languedoc countryside. Even at less than best it is still light and crisp and wonderfully refreshing. A glass of this is like diving into a cool, green pool under the hot Languedoc sun.
Ruth Ford

Picpoul de Pinet, Coteaux de Languedoc AC, Languedoc, France
White wine
Grape: Picpoul Blanc
Available: Majestic, Oddbins, and other independent retailers
(see www.wine-searcher.com)

Two Exciting Things: Part II - Guest Wine Botherer

2010-07-21T22:02:00.010+01:00

Photo: Kirsten Bresciani

Very often the authoritative voice on food cannot have the same level of authority on drink. And this is a pity. I often wish that Nigel Slater’s sumptuous recipes will be accompanied by the perfect drink suggestion - alcoholic or not. The absence of direction is odd when the flavours of the drink will be taken at the same time as the flavours of the meal.

I have a few cookbooks - Le Gavroche Cookbook for one, which have wine suggestions, but they are too expensive for low-key occasions. The book which I think matches food and drink well is How to drink, by The Guardian's Victoria Moore, which has a great emphasis on food and gives context to most of her drinks ideas.

So I’ve asked close friend Ruth Ford - a self-confessed 'Mancunian wine-botherer' - whose palate I am in awe of, to tie in wine and drink recommendations. Every now and then she will be giving a guide on how to match the wine to the food under the section she quite rightly titles with an urgent imperative:

Must Drink

She is the Olly Smith to my Saturday Kitchen - blonde and talented, but curiously prettier.

One area we’re both interested in is exploring how Asian food can work with wine. Whilst the Asian restaurant scene in UK has readily improved over the last 20 years, my own experience of wine in Chinese restaurants has been confined to either late-night tart whites sloshed illicitly from teapots, or obscure breeds served quaintly in Michelin starred hangouts.

The middle ground is - yes, there is a wine list, and no the waiter has no idea if the Sauvignon Blanc will go with the braised goose web. And of course, there is the question of whether wine is even the best thing to drink with such dishes of savoury and spice.

Please give Ruth a warm welcome and soak up the advice. And I can’t wait to learn gems from her so I can say things like - ‘you just can’t go wrong with a gavi di gavi’.

How to Drink by Victoria Moore, £15.99 is published by Granta
Le Gavroche Cookbook by Michel Roux Jr, £14.99 is published by W&N

Two Exciting Things. Part I: New London Review (again)

2010-07-17T19:08:00.014+01:00

I’ve been inexcusably absent from voracious. A brief sojourn in South-East Asia regressed into a sabbatical from web-logging. During this absence there have been unwarranted trips to France, the start of a new job, an unsteady obsession with the Straits Chinese cooking of Malaysia, and many barbecued spatchcocked chickens - all of which I’m sure will manifest itself coherently on here.

However, this post is one of two exciting things - the second of which will pop up in the next few days.

The compelling culture of South London's Brixton has reared cult-like culinary fervour. And rightly so. The market is the essential artery - its community the throbbing pulse. An indisputable respect for food means there is no room for indifference here.

The advocates are not hard to find. For the launch edition of New London Review magazine, I spoke to Rosie Lovell (author of Spooning with Rosie, and young matriarch of Rosie's Deli Cafe in the market) whose affection for Brixton was almost tangible.

The second edition is out now - and spotlights another Brixton Market success story. Franco Manca's enigmatic and exuberant Giuseppe Mascoli divulges the secrets of his success whilst I indulge in his wine, pizza and mellifluous musings.

So, I thought I'd post a preview of my interview with Giuseppe here.
The brilliant snaps are taken by Kirsten Bresciani.

I also round up the best of outdoor South London in a festival special which has the treat of a little Q&A with Fat Boy Slim. This summer - hedonism, urban art and farmyard animals await. If anyone is going to South West Four festival on Clapham Common over the August Bank holiday, I shall see you there.

South London Festival Special

If you've not managed to pick up a copy, you can subscribe by clicking here.

Front cover portrait:www.kirstenbresciani.com

Intermission

2010-06-06T05:17:00.001+01:00

Time for a break, but will be back in a week or so with some Tales of Asia
Helena xx

Cantonese Steamed Sea Bass with Spring Onions, Ginger and Coriander

2010-05-12T18:07:00.008+01:00

I think I’m turning into my mother.

Similarities keep erupting at unexpected moments... using showers of choking hairspray, needing flesh-coloured tights (the most unsexy garment bar flesh-coloured pants), spouting old wives advice (only wash your hands in warm water and drink cola boiled with ginger when you’re pregnant - apparently the potion dispels wind...).

And I take after her party-throwing ways. When she’s hosting, Daddy Lee complains she cooks too much. The guests, however, marvel at the multiple dishes they are presented with – she doesn’t serve one course after another, but many dishes - and a lot at once. Such is the Chinese and Malaysian way.

One of her classic dishes is steamed fish. Whether it’s skate, rainbow trout, bream, my mother often nourishes us with this when we’re -what the Chinese call - ‘heaty’ (that is, when we’ve stuffed ourselves with crisps, deep fried goodness and break out in acne). She’s a master at it.

This recipe is a tribute to my mother. I am using sea bass, a firm fish with delicately flavoured white flesh -perfect for withstanding the boiling hot oil that transmutes the dish from standard to spectacular. This is also for my friend Joey – an affectionately fussy eater who shies away from whole fish with heads - but I’m happy to say was clamouring for the recipe by the end of the evening.

Extremely simple to make, perfect for a quick supper.

Serves 2

1 large sea bass (already scaled and gutted)
4 tablespoons oil (vegetable or sunflower)
2 spring onions, finely shredded
5 cm knob of ginger, finely sliced into very thin matchsticks
Handful of coriander
Several glugs of light soy sauce

Place the fish in a steamer for 15 -20 minutes, or until it is just cooked. I like to line coriander in its belly, but this is not essential.

Once the fish is done, take the fish out and place in a heatproof serving dish. Pour a few glugs of light soy sauce all over the fish before sprinkling over spring onions, coriander and ginger.

Heat the oil in a wok over the highest heat (or a small saucepan that can withstand high heat). You want this to be smoking, it’s so hot. Be patient, the dish will be ruined if you take it off too early.

One hot enough (you can check with a wooden chopstick, the oil will bubble furiously around it), pour over the fish and herbs, and there will be a loud satisfying sizzle as the ginger etc. flash cooks and the skin of the fish crisps up.

Serve immediately with white rice and stir-fried vegetables (such as pea shoots).

To see the other Chinese dishes I cooked the same evening, click here.

Equation for a less-than-elegant but tasty Chinese dinner

2010-05-12T12:00:00.013+01:00

11 people for dinner. Mine and T’s little flat. The day before, I'd bought out the contents of Loon Fung in Chinatown, scaled fish, massaged pork, armed myself with cleaver, and wondered what wines oenophile Ruth would bring to match the food.

Here’s what we eat, drink and listen to that night.

The Friends
All from university. We don’t see enough of each other, but when we do, things happen... like deciding to stalk electronic genii Daft Punk and booking a long weekend in Vegas to see them. This time - out of the 11 people in my flat, 7 are running the Belfast marathon in a few days time. In neon/spandex-tutu/superman outfits. It is my moral duty to feed everyone up.

The Menu

Bak choi and limes for the G&Ts

Tonight it’s mainly Chinese food with a bit of impro, depending on what ingredients I’m left with. During the shredding, the gutting, the fine-chopping, Anthony Bourdain’s words often whirr through my head – your first principle should be ‘meez’...’mise-en-place’. As in, getting everything you need ready so that at the last minute (and so much is last minute putting together), all your chopped garlic and onions are set out like it is when you watch Delia serenely rustle up a coq au vin.

I’ll be linking the recipes for certain dishes below in following posts.

Chinese Turnip cake with soy and chilli dipping sauce

Cantonese steamed sea-bass with shredded spring onion, ginger and coriander

Crispy five-spice belly pork with mustard and soy sauce

Shittake mushrooms cooked in their own liquor

Dried-shrimp egg fried rice

Bak choi with ginger, garlic and soy sauce

Sliced rump steak with rice noodles and spring onions

Comté, Stichelton, port and apples

Sticky ginger cake and chocolate clafoutis with crème fraîche

(My friend Rob brings cheese – one of my favourites - nutty Comté, and Stichelton – a young blue made from unpasteurised milk.
Sticky ginger cake and chocolate clafoutis with oranges and crème fraiche is brought by dessert-goddess Hannah)

The Tunes
High Contrast, Confidential: drum and bass is a spicy backdrop to the savouries.

Floorfillers 90s Club Classics: For cheese and dessert, the retro I need your loving, Dub be good to me, and Ebenezer Goode just make sense.

The Sauce
We are lucky enough to have some handpicked wines brought by my friend Ruth, and some barrel samples from a Bordeaux tasting.

Here are the wine notes for anyone who wants to know what can go with Chinese fish, pork and beef.

Stormy Cape Chenin Blanc 2009 - South Africa; easy, fruity, cheapie!
Henschke Tilly’s Vineyard 2007 - V famous Australian producer making premium wines; the Tilly’s is their ‘entry level’ white, blend of Semillon 55%, Sauvignon Blanc 20%, Chardonnay 25%; very aromatic, juicy tropical fruits, lots of body.
Quartz Reef Pinot Noir 2006 - 100% Pinot from v reputable New Zealand producer, winemaker Rudi Bauer has won lots of awards; savoury, juicy red fruit, spice

Bordeaux 2009:
Ch Petit Bocq 2009 St. Estephe
Ch Pierre de Montignac 2009 Medoc
Ch Pontac-Lynch 2009 Margaux

Do watch this space for the recipes.

Frolicking in The Lakes and Review of The Queen’s Head, Troutbeck

2010-05-05T10:55:00.015+01:00

It’s monstrously difficult not to put on weight or to avoid buying technical gear when you’re in The Lakes. Yes, I succumbed and bought a waterproof with built in pro-plus-mega-shell-triple-gore-tex and a hood that turns with your head, hidden buttons and a cinched-in waist for the vain in me. Thank you Brent for demonstrating this in the shop, all I needed was a bucket of water thrown over me to complete the in-store demo.

And the weight thing? I’d like to say it’s down to muscle built up from climbing mammoth peaks like Bow Fell, and scrambling down to tarns and whatnots.

But it’s simply copious eating. How can you not devour wonderful Herdwick lamb, prized and possessed by the Lakelanders, a hardy, tasty sheep guaranteed to have scaled those mountains that have thwarted you?

We roasted a joint from Booths, a supermarket with a strong local-sourcing ethos, and used the leftovers to make a shepherd’s pie (which I’m still eating).

Or there’s the famous spiced warm Grasmere Gingerbread, the recipe a closely guarded secret, which you just have to pick up if you’re in the area. Cumbria has its fair share of starry restaurants, and good pubs and beers -the Hawkshead Lakeland Gold a particular favourite. (See below for my list of culinary places to go).

But what I really want to write about is dark cosy pub The Queen's Head in Troutbeck, near Windermere, because it’s tucked away and not starry in the slightest. Attentive bar staff and Cumbrian hospitality ensures an intimate dinner. I’m sure the vague waft of offal hits me when I walk in, but perhaps it’s the smell of too many children. That aside, there are several things I must rave about.

The first is Hartley’s Cumbria Way – an English pale ale deserving of adoration. If you go, drink it, it’s citrusy and light at first, but malty the more you drink. The second is my starter. The lambs kidneys – slightly pink in the middle, braised in claret, redcurrant and rosemary served on a wedge of crispy onion bread. I am raving about this as my picture makes them look like inedible body parts, but believe me, this is the most perfect-est dish.

The kidneys taste incredible and look much better in the dark...

A pressed pigeon and partridge terrine with tomato marmalade is good. The beer battered onion rings – crispy and airy - should be bagged and sold in supermarkets. The Chilean Santa Helena Merlot is a soft wine with a spice edge, and drinkable in the extreme.

I almost don’t want to mention the mains. By this time, not only are we having a rollicking time, but also filled up with starter. I love oxtail. I love venison. But as the ingredients for a cottage pie base, they do not marry - the result being that I taste neither, and the dryness renders the majority of it unpalatable.

A casserole of shin of beef with caramelised shallots is rich, the real ale gravy adding a depth to the dish.

We prop the bar afterwards, Italian taxi-drivers haranguing us, the barstaff giving us banter. But what amazes me is the familiar service, and the overall good quality of the food, probably down to the locality of the ingredients. The area, with its wet weather and lush greenery breeds flavour like no other. Cumbrians know how to sell us a good time, whether it be a well-fed and watered evening, or the dream of staying dry under a waterproof.

The Queen's Head, Troutbeck, Townhead Brow, Cumbria LA23 1
015394 32174

Other places to eat and shop:

Low Sizergh Barn
I have to be dragged out of here – it's difficult not to leave this farm shop in an old 17th century barn with armfuls of local chutneys, ales and cheeses.

Low Sizergh Farm, Sizergh, Kendal, Cumbria , LA8 8AE

The Drunken Duck Inn
Slightly more pricey than The Queen’s Head, but consistently good food.

Ambleside, Cumbria, LA22 ONG
0871 961 1376

L’Enclume restaurant with rooms
Simon Rogan is to Cartmel what Heston Blumenthal is to Bray. The village, which claims to be the home of the sticky toffee pud, houses Rogan's Michelin starred restaurant L'Enclume as well as his less-expensive inn. I ate here in September 2008, experiencing fizzes, foams and fantastic fresh ingredients and combinations I’ve never heard of. I would definitely go again.

Cavendish Street, Cartmel, Nr Grange over Sands, Cumbria, LA11 6PZ,
015395 36362

New London Review launch: Brand Spanking New Magazine

2010-05-04T13:14:00.017+01:00

A small plug for the launch of a lovely new magazine for South London (currently covering Streatham, Clapham and Brixton). Slightly New Yorker-esque in style, the magazine has great coverage of what's going on in the areas (like the Streatham food festival 15th-20th May), and also features yours truly. The editor Stephen Murphy sums it up..

"We set out initially to report on local democracy and community issues in South London - and then quickly decided it would be more exciting if we also covered the great arts scene we have from arthouse cinema to fringe theatre to street art exhibitions.

As well as the website, we publish a monthly magazine… see May’s issue for our line-up of star columnists including Toby Young, Martin Bright & James Purnell writing about all things education, the arts and community organising. We also cover the best of May’s movies and theatre south of the river. And check out our interviews with Adam Byatt and Rosie Lovell – two of our very own gastro stars, both with book launches and growing fan bases throughout London."

The magazine is distributed at stations, but is also available for you to subscribe online.

For those who can't pick up a copy, you can subscribe or get a sneak preview by going here and pressing look inside.

Clicky here for my interview with Brixton deli owner and author Rosie Lovell. Unfortunately the edgy yet winsome photos which are in the magazine didn't make it onto the website, but have a look here for photographer Kirsten Bresciani's take on Rosie and her deli.

www.newlondonreview.com

Polpo: An Education

2010-04-29T11:43:00.018+01:00

Ah Venice. If only I’d paid more attention when I was there last, I would have known how to drink and eat in a bacaro. This story of ignorance begins years ago, when a radiant redhead and I whisked ourselves off to read Latin in the Venetian heat for our impending Finals, finding Ovid and Virgil indigestible in the wet of England. Every morning we’d down cappuccinos, read 200 lines of the Aeneid before claiming heat-exhaustion and playing for the rest of the day. We ate well - beautifully thin cheap pizzas with courgette flowers or langoustines still in shell laid sculpturally across it, drank bellinis a peach colour you’d never see in England – just the way they’re meant to be drunk, from tumblers in Harry’s Bar.

But I can safely say, so immersed in hexameter were we that we failed to take advantage of the bacari. We noticed gondolas, crazy lace from Burano, glass orchestras from Murano, horny art students... but no Venetian working mens’ drinking holes serving wine in tumblers and cichetti (small tapas/pintxos-eque snacks). So thank god one has come to find us over in rainy Soho. And contrary to my previous experience, this time I did know about Polpo because no one would stop talking about it. And I like Bocca di Lupo, the other nice Italian down the road, and since Polpo has its former head chef Tom Olroyd, I guess it's worth trying.

There was one thing for it...reclaiming the experience I never had. So three ladies rock up to this bit of Venice carved off Carnaby Street. The bar is full of trendy things, chatty things, datey things. It’s all cheeky banter and casual dates jammed in an osteria. The first thing we need is prosecco (almost every meal is improved if opened with good prosecco). And then we order. Everything to share. The girls look to me to do it. Gulp.

“Right. Ahem. The prosciutto, the arancini, salt cod...the parmesan crocchetta, smoked salmon crostino, salami grissini... the er.. mussels and clams, fennel salad..will you tell me if we’re ordering too much?”

“No no – this doesn’t look much at all!” our waitress says brightly.

“Ok..” I soldier on, making up for my inadequate Venetian knowledge. “er.. the flank steak, the zucchini salad, the white beans and wild garlic and erm.. some pork belly. Thanks.”

I look sheepish. The waitress processes quickly. “Yep – looks fine to me!”

And that’s it. Anxiety over. And so to the food, and what I should have ordered in Venice.

Cichetti: from top right, clockwise: arancini, potato & parmesan crocchetta, prosciutto and mozzarella di bufala, smoked salmon with horseradish & dill crostino, salt cod on grilled polenta, salami & pickled radicchio crostino

The plate of cichetti comes quickly. Each piece - a couple of quid. A good juicy wedge of creamy mozzarella with the salt of the prosciutto, warm arancini (tiny rice ball filled with mozzarella) crunchy surface, and yielding inside and satisfying. Smoked salmon and dill crostini? Does the job.

Breather as a bottle of Gavi di Gavi is opened. Pour, taste, lovely...back to the food.

The flank steak is excellent. Already thickly sliced, our medium-rare, slightly bloody plate is adorned with a white truffle cream subtle and perfect with the steak and elicits feelings of naughtiness – white truffle cream. It’s the sort of dish your eyes flit to automatically on the menu and can’t let go. And, blow me! It lives up to its name.

Grilled flank steak, white truffle cream, and grilled zucchini & rocket salad

The steak is superior to the belly pork with hazelnuts which was well-flavoured but slightly tough. The mussels and clams are crunchy with breadcrumbs, garlicky and sweet. We were drinking the clear broth by the end. White beans and wild garlic? Fantastic. Courgette salad and fennel salad with whole crunchy almonds? Again, fresh and faultless. I could eat these five times over.

Fennel, curly endive, almonds, and mussels & clams

Two niggles though. First – polenta. I do have issues with polenta, I’ve only ever enjoyed it with about half a wheel of parmesan cheese in it.

The salt cod that topped the polenta - tasty, the polenta – wet and slimy.
Secondly – the grissini – a tiny breadstick the size of my little finger wrapped with salami and pickled radicchio costing £1.90. This does upset me. That 5 of these breadsticks would cost almost £10 is absurd.

However, we would have ordered the whole menu if we could, but somehow exercise a little self restraint. We’ll have to go back to try the rest. I’m glad a little bit of Venice has come to find us - the best education I've had in years.

Polpo
41 Beak Street, London, W1F 9SB
020 7734 4479

Happy. Empty plates

Do NOT come here on a Thursday or Friday night, you will not get a table without a horrendous wait. Come for lunch with friends you really like and make it last, order an inordinate amount and go overboard with the mains, share as much as you can, you WILL eat it all.

Hot Stuff: the Rival

2010-04-24T11:54:00.011+01:00

My friends who live down the road from Hot Stuff, in Vauxhall, cannot stop raving about it. They have been going to this Indian for years. I’m slightly jealous of the attention it gets - the affection with which they talk about it surpasses friendship. So when I’m invited for a birthday I jump at the chance to meet this rival.

Poor Hot Stuff. 17 of us descend onto this local favourite which is so compact, it’s about the size of my lounge. And I would never think of squeezing in 17 people plus other diners into my lounge. The room is so small that the toilet is practically in the kitchen, and over the course of the night there is undignified limbo-ing under the table to reach that toilet.

But it’s all in the spirit of keeping diners happy, and the Hot Stuff team seem at ease with the numbers. With owner Raj back in Kenya to get married, I’m sure the rest of the crew are wishing they were back in Kenya as well when we come along.

But, quite simply, the service is faultless. Dishes arrive in quick succession, we all share fun-coloured curries, they put up with our bad jokes – they even smile at some of them. I can see I have stiff competition. Oh, and did I mention that it’s BYO with no corkage fee? Damn, they’re doing well.

So, to start. Chilli paneer, pleasingly orange and mildly hot. For me, paneer has previously sat up there with halloumi, slightly unsatisfying for the amount of love it usually gets. My head isn’t fully turned, but this is moreish, like a bar-snack. Perfect with a swig of Cobra.

Jeera chicken – definitely the dish of the night. The pieces are lightly spiced with cumin, softened with yogurt, and begging to be nabbed at by fingers.

Lovely coconutty peshawari naan comes to mop up all the juices, whilst keema kofte, and onion and potato bhajis served with tamarind and mint chutneys are party food for us screaming kids.

Then come the mains. Sweet butternut squash and spinach, achari chicken (cubes of breast with tomatoey, almost sour sauce), aloo gobi, lamb dopaiza a dish both onioned and underwhelming. Garlic naan,savagely torn to pieces, it was so good.

The mains aren’t the star of the show - when you try them all at the same time, the punch of flavours all gets overwhelming, but they are fine dishes, and extra fine for the price. It all comes to £22. It’s not the best curry in London, but if I lived in Vauxhall, this place would supply my curry hit. I think I’ve made a new friend.

Hot Stuff restaurant and takeaway
19 Wilcox Road, London, SW8 2XA, 020 7720 1480

The Easiest Springtime Accompaniment – Pea Shoots, the Veg de Jour

2010-04-20T13:56:00.008+01:00

Pea shoots are in.

Every supermarket wants to flog them to me - I can’t open any food magazine without being told they’re a must-have of the season. There are websites dedicated to them, and even Nigel Slater, whom I utterly adore, pins up the glorious greens and paired them with spelt risotto in last Sunday’s Observer Food Monthly.

And who am I to disagree with Nigel Slater.

Unfortunately, unlike Nigel, I don’t have a garden, and with defiant un-saintly behaviour snatch bags of shoots from the supermarket when I see them. I am hooked. And a total victim of supermarket marketing.

Anyway, I have the most easiest most stylish accompaniment to any Chinese dish (yes, it deserves multiple superlatives it’s that easy). It takes literally three minutes from start to finish, and I’ve been cooking this for years. Pea shoots can often be found on Chinese restaurant menus but I always try to resist ordering them as the cost is usually more that I can morally part with for a plate of leaves.

Flash-cooked garlicky pea shoots (or dou miu)
Serves 2

I prefer using soy sauce usually, but if the main dish it accompanies has lots of it in, then I may use Shaoxing rice wine with salt instead. I like these with chicken with chinese mushrooms.
You can use any leaf like baby spinach if you can't find pea shoots.
Make these at the very last minute, just as you are about to serve. It’s eye-blinkingly quick.

2 bags of washed pea shoots OR 100g pea shoots washed
1 BIG garlic clove finely chopped
EITHER 1 tablespoon light soy sauce OR 1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice with a little salt
A little sunflower/vegetable oil for frying

Heat wok/frying pan until very hot. Add oil, and wait until very hot.
Add garlic and soften for half a minute
Up-end the two bags of pea shoots into the wok. Stir fry for 20 seconds.
Add the soy sauce/Shaoxing wine and salt and stir fry for half a minute until the leaves are slightly wilted. You don’t want these mushy.
Done. Serve immediately.

The Ivy Part II: the Art of Dining

2010-04-14T12:37:00.022+01:00

"To dine is to linger." - C. LeSage, 2006

A veteran of the advertising industry imparted this wisdom to a group of upstarts before a celebratory Claridges dinner. He was old New York money (like a descendant from the Age of Innocence), vulgar and elegant at the same time, often referring to David – David Ogilvy, the original advertising Mad Man. And with that, the upstarts did not just eat, they dined. Lingering over the foie gras, bavarois and petit fours, retiring to the Macanudo Fumoir for a puff of a Monte Cristo in the days where you weren’t spanked for smoking indoors.

The meal was over too soon, we rightly lost our upstart sensibility through the years, but those words stayed with us.

As soon as we walk into The Ivy, we know we will be dining because everything about that restaurant wants you to linger. The service, the theatre, the carpet for towering heels. The food is almost secondary to the feel of the place.

We linger over our aperitifs at the crescent wood-panelled bar, before we are shown to our intimate table. (Apologies for the badly lit photos. As cameras and mobiles are banned, sleuthlike, I capture what I can.)

The starters come. A grilled squid, chorizo and parsley salad - juicy and clean - layered with mellow, caramelised strands of fennel. A palate-cleanser for me.

It’s a steak tartare for him. He chooses to have it mediumly spiced. A thick rounded diamond of capered and cornichoned vermillion meat, at once refreshing and moreish. I keep nicking bits of tartare. It’s my favourite dish of the night.

Soak in the chatter, the smiles, the intimacy of the place. At J. Sheekey you feel part of the party. At The Ivy, you are part of the club. Linger linger.

Out comes a Middle White pork belly with buttery zeppelins of Goldrush apples and cider sauce. The milk-white belly is delicately delicious on a bed of pommes purée with just the merest layer of golden crackling on top. The cider sauce is too much like toffee apples, sickly-buttery and sweet.

He is tucking into shepherd’s pie. Do not be fooled - it looks small, but it’s actually huge. Bloody good shepherd’s pie and minced meat a-go-go after the tartare.

To accompany is, what we can only call battered courgettes (or parmesan-fried according to the menu) which is to be avoided at all costs, and cauliflower cheese, which is divine.

Then, to round things off spectacularly, the extravagant Baked Alaska. For your £15.50, you get a huge dessert for two and a performance as kirsch is wildly set alight, poured all over the baroquely sculpted soft meringue which hugs ice cream and sponge, before Griotte cherries are spooned over.

I’m mildly embarrassed. It must be the British in me.

It is delicious. I’d like the meringue to be a little more caramelised, but I forgive them because the serving of the Baked Alaska was done with such good humour.

After the dessert and the coffees we linger some more. Mostly because we’re so full that we can’t do anything but linger.

We have dined well tonight.

The Ivy, 1-5 West Street, WC2H 9NQ
020 7836 4751

The Ivy Part I: The Bittersweet Beginning

2010-04-13T14:38:00.013+01:00

First time at The Ivy. Need a drink.

Sometimes I wonder how I haven’t been here before. And then I think there are so many places to go in London - The Ivy was never top of my list.

Today, though, it’s a fine occasion and a good excuse to check it out.

Ordering an unhurried aperitif at the bar. Mojito for him (Too too sweet). Negroni for me.

I started drinking Negronis when working with Italian clients - a perfect antidote to countless meetings in Milan. The great thing about Milan? Aperitivo. This is pre-dinner drinks during 'happy hour' served with free nibbles. Being Italian, nibbles are prosciutto and melon, sea-salted focaccia, hot pasta with black olives. It's a sneaky way to prevent binge-drinking. I wasn't complaining.

My first Negroni was horribly bitter on taste but it mellowed. By the third sip it was so right - bringing back memories of my first ever coffee. Now, I think the blood-orange stained drink is sundown in a glass, to be sipped and to be savoured.

It’s made with bitters, gin and red vermouth, but the trick to a good Negroni, I’ve learnt, is the vermouth. The Ivy use coffee-coloured Punt e Mes, a red vermouth from the makers of Fernet Branca (the main ingredient of Fergus Henderson's cocktail Dr Henderson).

“Dubonnet is too light,” the suave barman duly tells me, “Martini Rosso is factory-made and tastes it. Punt e Mes is the secret to a good Negroni.”

And here is the recipe of the drink that exudes the heat and urbanity of Milan. Campari-haters, turn away now.

The Ivy's Negroni

1 part Campari
1 part Bombay Sapphire
1 part Punt e Mes

Fill a large mixer glass full of ice.
Combine the Campari, Bombay Sapphire and Punt e Mes in the glass and stir well.
Strain into a short drinking glass filled with ice.
I like to top it with an orange wedge, which is a treat at the end as it bursts with alcohol on biting.

The delights of lime and lovage

2010-04-12T10:19:00.014+01:00

The first time I met lovage I was unprepared.

I’d just arrived at my hosts – a lovely house in Warwickshire.
The door opened in welcome.

WHAM

It was like the smell of ten French cheeses left in the sun hitting the lacto-free nose of a practicing vegan.

Astounding. What can you possibly say that’s not rude? What on earth was it?

“Why, lovage of course,” came the breezy reply.

A herb? I thought a whole cauldron of this leaf must be on the stove. How was it that something that looked like this:and tasted like celery was such an olfactory offender?

But no, it was an innocent and simple dish. Fresh from the garden, the lovage was muddled with the vigour of sour-sweet limes and mellowed with cream - forming the base of a sauce for beautifully cooked chicken.

Chicken with lime and lovage.

Told that this dish was made from a competition-winner’s recipe torn from the Observer years ago, it seemed to me that it was like a sweet Madeleine dipped in tea for the hosts - a nostalgic reminder of childhood dinners.

Surprisingly, I think I even had seconds.

This dish has now been savoured many times, served with a pile of fluffy long-grain rice and lashings of sauce. I can tell you that this springtime chicken - when the lovage is prime - is not something you can have mixed feelings about.

I love it. Ardently.

Which is why I’ve decided to post this recipe – with thanks to Professor J. Shattock, whose lovage was lovingly plucked for this brave dish.

My photo honestly doesn't do it justice.

Chicken with lime and lovage
Serves 4

I’ve tinkered with the original recipe which called for chicken breasts but in the light of my previous post I propose using six chicken pieces. The only thing affected here will be the time taken to brown the chicken.

1 chicken cut into 6 pieces (thighs, breasts, drumsticks)
Flour to coat the chicken pieces
2 limes, zested and juiced
¾ pint chicken stock
¼ pint single cream
Handful of button mushrooms, sliced
1 onion, diced
Big bunch of lovage (or celery leaves if not available)
Parsley to serve
Salt and pepper
Oil

Coat the chicken pieces in flour.
Heat a frying pan on medium-high heat and brown the chicken pieces. Do not overcrowd the pan with chicken else the chicken won’t brown.
Place the chicken in a large casserole dish pour the lime juice and zest over the juicy chicken pieces and watch telly whilst marinating for half an hour and preheat the oven – Gas 6, 200°C.
Roast for 30 minutes.
While roasting fry the onions in the same frying pan on a medium-low heat and when softened add the mushrooms. Chop the lovage.
When the mushrooms are cooked, add the chicken stock. Bring to the boil, add the lovage and simmer for five minutes.
Add the cream, simmer for a further two minutes.
Before serving, add chopped parsley and pour over the chicken.

Serve with steaming white rice and lash on the sauce.

A treat from Barry

2010-04-06T12:19:00.006+01:00

Ah, for those who read about Barry's love for coffee, he's sent us a hello from Harlem. Enjoy the smoulder!

Polishing off the Pandan Cake

2010-03-31T17:59:00.008+01:00

Pandan cake is incredible. It’s cakey-brown on the outside yet alarmingly green on the inside, so light it could almost fly, and has a gaping hole in the middle. One slice is never enough, so airy - like a Wispa, and is horribly moreish. It shouldn’t share a surname with heavy drunken fruit cake - they’re so polar-oppositely different.

Of Malay origin, it’s a popular cake in South-East Asia - where the pandan leaf grows. Uniquely aromatic, the dark green juice from the leaf gives the cake its flavour and that colour, whilst the lightness comes from using oil rather than butter. There’s a taste I can only describe as satisfying – coconut milk. I’m not a fan of coconutty-flavoured things, but this in no way dominates the pandan flavour.

My mother used to drop this off whilst I was a student to make sure I was at least eating something. And now that I’m not a student, she still drops it off - and this week I’ve been picking away at it scoffing at least two wedges a day.

Pandan cake is a good way to round off an Asian meal – I usually crave something like this rather than a good old-fashioned Western pud after a pork belly or a stir-fry.

You can pick this up from any good Chinese or Asian supermarket in small, medium or large. I usually get large. Look for the cake with the hole in it.

1 chicken, 3 meals and a whole lot of joy

2010-03-27T14:21:00.020Z

I have an almost moral objection to buying a packet of chicken breasts at the supermarket. There are two reasons for this.

The first is highly embarrassing. I have inherited a flavour preference for meat on the bone – I like to pick at jointy bits, chew at the leg and savagely eat what Americans call dark meat. Think of fillet steak which may boast a velvet smooth texture but just doesn’t pack a flavour punch as much as an oozy rump or rib-eye. Breast versus a nibble on the rib of a roasted chicken? No contest.

The second, and the most important is simply to do with cost and waste. I flatly refuse to buy two chicken breasts for £4 when a whole chicken, which already has two breasts thrown in, costs the same. And what joyous meat you can get from a whole bird - being clever about using your chicken means that you’d never have to buy individual pieces again. I sometimes wonder what happens to the rest of the chicken - does the carcass get used to make a warm homely stock? I doubt it. And stock costs an extra £2.50, by the way, if you were to buy it.

So I propose that you can make three meals for two people with one 1.5kg chicken. I’m not the biggest fan of the freezer, it's a place to store peas and vodka, but in this case - as a way to avoid eating chicken every day whilst still using the whole bird - I salute it. It’s just about being resourceful and knowing how to joint (for first timers I recommend Shaun Hill's jointing demonstration in The Cook’s Book - lots of pictures).

Once I have my chicken I start by taking off the breasts off the bone and slicing them into thin strips for a stir fry. I tend to freeze the strips immediately so I can use them for a supper the next week, taking them out to defrost in the morning on the day I want to cook them before I go to work.

Then, I take off the legs and thighs. These will be used for something like a Nigel Slater-type Chicken Supper (recipe below).

Finally you are left with a carcass – which is just begging to be used for stock and can be the base of a whole meal. I generally use the golden liquid for things like Chinese meatball soup called Lion’s Heads (will post that recipe up soon), or an onion gravy for sausages.

I urge everyone to reward themselves with what a whole bird yields, not just for roast chickens but for your everyday meals.

Chicken with Ginger Wine
(My version of A really good simple chicken supper from Real Food)
Rich, buttery and warming. Absolutely deelish.

2 chicken thighs and 2 chicken legs
Big big knob of butter
Three glugs of olive oil
A small glass of ginger wine (or dry white wine if you don’t have ginger wine)
4 large garlic cloves chopped in half
Handful of chopped parsley
Lemon juice
Salt and pepper

Rub the chicken pieces with salt and pepper whilst warming the butter and olive oil in a lidded cast iron casserole dish over a medium heat. When the butter is foaming, lay the chicken pieces skin side down. Brown well for about 10 – 15 minutes– the skin should look gorgeously crispy and golden-brown before turning over. Let the chicken cook gently in the butter (about 35 minutes) until the chicken is just cooked.

Remove the chicken, and tip out most of the oil from the dish. Return the dish to a high heat, and add the ginger wine. Bring to the boil whilst stirring vigorously so that all the chickeny goodness at the bottom of the pan is mixed in the sauce. Return the chicken to the pan, add the garlic and simmer with the lid on for 10 more minutes.

Add chopped parsley, and generous squeeze of lemon and serve with crushed new potatoes mixed with fruity olive oil and a sprinkling of chives and sea salt.

Will you eschew the new instant brew?

2010-03-14T13:54:00.014Z

My mate Barry loves coffee.

He loves coffee so much that when he grows up he wants to be a Starbucks barista. Never mind that he’s grafting for his MBA in New York - that’s just the first step to becoming top barista aka CEO.

So when I was invited to smell, slurp and savour Starbuck’s instant brew with a couple of other bloggers, Barry’s Glaswegian lilt popped into my head. After all, he would wrinkle his nose up at instant in an instant. And as I’m not a particular Starbucks-lover, I asked myself - would he love this? Would he give up his ritualistic brewing ways for a gratifying quick-fix caffeine hit? In fact would it be gratifying at all?

What Starbucks doesn’t really have to do is convince on taste. Yes I’ve had the odd burnt coffee in-house now and then, but I blame that on a barista’s slip of the hand rather than the basic quality of coffee. I had absolutely no doubt that the new Starbucks VIA would taste anything less than marvellous when pitched against another brand of instant brew. And indeed it did.

I’m sure Barry would know the real thing from the instant, as I did when tested. But half the room of bloggers didn’t. So instant-brew kind-of-almost wins against the freshly brewed stuff by getting a mixed response.

Now don’t get me wrong - Barry’s not a purist by any means. He jams frozen potato waffles into toasters and loves shortcuts as much as the next person. But for him, coffee is so much more than just a taste.

It’s the backbone of his working day - his guilty pleasure, his fag break.

For him the ceremony is as enjoyable as the slurping – the scoop of the grounds, the warming smell that fills the house followed by that reward of exotic black liquor in a beloved mug.

And clever ol’ Starbucks has caught onto this. The feelings that coffee evokes, that is. They’ve engaged the heavyweights from the food world – Kevin Gould, of Guardian and Waitrose Food Illustrated fame, and Professor Charles Spence – a pioneer of ‘neurogastronomy’ (how environment influences our interpretation of food and drink) who’s worked with Heston Blumenthal on the menu and atmosphere of certain Fat Duck dishes (like ‘sound of the sea’, for which you plug in iPod earphones while you eat).

Gould telling us we live in the age of sophistication

Composers commissioned to devise music that increases your coffee-drinking pleasure, formulas cracked by Prof Spence that tell us the perfect time to quaff (11am for those who are curious. Most of us, including Winnie-the-Pooh, were already familiar with the joy of elevenses), Starbucks certainly has been busy. And Gould tells us that he personally does serve his unwitting guests VIA after dinner, followed by a ‘ta da’ moment when he reveals the cheat.

All this is admirable to say the least. But does this enhance the instant coffee? Only as much as it would enhance a filter coffee - it's not quite foie-gras to the sound of trumpets. My advice to Starbucks would be to upgrade those who swear by other instants. Wow them with your jazzy technology.

Yes it is better than the nearest instant brew and no it isn’t the same as my lovingly filtered cup of joe. I will be using VIA in cakes. Delia’s coffee and walnut to be precise. And I doubt the Barrys of this world will be turned.

Well, not until he becomes CEO.

Chilli Crabs, Fish Heads and other stories

2010-02-27T15:57:00.033Z

The feasting begins at 7.30 Saturday night and wraps at 1 Sunday morning.

Thinking about what we eat - I can now see why...

7.30pm - ‘Loh Sang’ salad
8.00pm - Grilled fish heads

BREAK (We’re pretty full at this point, and this is only the beginning)

9.00pm - Chilli crabs
9.45pm - Steamed crab shells
10.15pm - Baked pomfret with chilli pepper and fried noodles

ANOTHER BREAK (Walk, breathe)

11.15pm - Garlic and spring onion prawns
11.45pm - Pomelo and satsumas

On the seventh day of Chinese New Year falls ‘Everybody’s Birthday’- a day in the Chinese calendar apparently more important than your own. Cue excessive eating back at the Lee family household. My mother has commissioned me to cook chilli crabs, and her school friends who also whip up some prime seafood (and whose grilled fish head dish makes its way onto this post).

I’m only posting recipes for Malaysian Chilli Crabs and Grilled Fish Heads, but special mention must go to the evening’s opening salad, the extraordinary ‘Loh Sang’ - which I’ve only ever seen Malaysian Chinese make. Everyone round the table must toss the ingredients - a variety of shredded vegetables, like carrot, fruit, pomelo, raw fish (symbolising life) and peanuts. A sweet dressing is poured over it, and everyone grabs their chopsticks and tosses the salad altogether. Permissible playing with food. We're beginning to enjoy ourselves.

Adding the dressing then mixing the salad.

Thinking of chilli crabs evokes outdoor restorans in the cool of a Kuala Lumpur evening - piles of crustacea lacquered with sauce, mucky hands grabbing the next leg, hearing the crack of teeth against shell and the satisfying sound of the suck of sweet crabmeat from the claw.

It’s such a wonderfully communal dish and there are infinite ways of making chilli crabs – but this particular recipe has been cooked countless times for hawkeyed Malaysians who leave not a scrap, which I guess is a good sign. I’ve experimented with brandy, extra tamarind, and even vermouth (big mistake) but the ingredient that makes the difference is actually lashings of Sriracha hot chilli sauce (discovered by accident when a friend up-ended a bottle into the wok). And when I didn’t have the chilli sauce, the understudy was ketchup, which worked as lickably well – both add a sweetness and depth that cut through the spices of the base paste.

And then fish heads. They provoke strange behaviour in the older generations.

Imagine you’re at dinner. You’re having a perfectly normal conversation about the demise of Cheryl and Ashley over a plate of whole fried fish, and all of a sudden, passionate spatting erupts, and chopstick-wielding parents and uncles fight over the fish head in the way teenage girls squabble over a spotty pubescent boy.

And I’ve noticed that whoever wins is silent for the next 15 minutes as they work to reach then savour every morsel of cartilagey goodness and soft meat and cheek that nestles in the head.

I realise this may not be to everyone’s taste, but I can say with a surety a fish head is an absolute treat as it yields so much flavour and tender meat. The Chinese talk about whether you ‘know how to eat’ something. Fish heads are something you have to ‘know how to eat’ because it’s a maze of bone which you expertly nibble around. My very English boyfriend does amazingly well amongst such seasoned cranium-eaters. But he can’t bring himself to eat the eyes. He’s still got a way to go.

And, as you can imagine, the heads are also terribly terribly cheap. I once went to Billingsgate market after 2 hours sleep (post-night- out). Marvelling at how little everything cost, I bought five huge salmon fish heads for £2.50 (as well as 3 lobsters, 5 cheeky crabs who terrorized my kitchen, 3 sea bass and 5 sea bream all for 35 quid. To say I got carried away is beyond understatement). Bargainous.

I wanted to post this fish head recipe – it’s so simple, so cheap, and such a tasty starter that I salute anyone brave enough to make it.

Grilled salmon fish heads

Serves 4

Ingredients

- 4 salmon fish heads, cut in half down the centre between the eyes (get your fishmonger to do this for you if you don’t have a sharp enough knife)
- Lots of salt

Recipe

Preheat grill to the highest temperature.

Wash the fish heads, and if there are still scales on them, give them a quick rub with a knife to take the scales off. Pat the heads dry with kitchen roll – the skin should be dry.

Salt the fish heads by rubbing the entire surface of the heads, skin-side and flesh side, with plenty of salt.

Place the heads on a wired baking tray, skin side up and put under the grill for about 15 minutes, or until the skin has JUST turned black. You want the skin to be a little blistered and blackened.

Take the baking tray out and turn the heads over so it’s flesh-side up.
Grill for another 5 minutes until the flesh is just cooked and still tender.

Serve immediately.

Chilli Crabs

Serves 4

You’ll need a good wok, or a deep frying pan

Ingredients

- 2 large live crabs. Buy on the day you want to cook them. You can keep them in the fridge in wet newspaper until you need to use them.
- Plain flour seasoned with salt and pepper
- Sunflower, vegetable or groundnut oil
- 1 teaspoon tamarind paste mixed with ¼ pint water and 1 teaspoon sugar
- 4 large squirts of Sriracha hot chilli sauce OR tomato ketchup and chopped fresh chillies

For the paste:

- 1 stalk lemongrass
- 12 shallots
- 6 cloves garlic
- 4 cm ginger (or 2 cm galangal, 2cm ginger)
- 1 level teaspoon turmeric
- 1 teaspoon shrimp paste
- 10 birdseye dried chillies

Garnish:

- 2 spring onions finely sliced
- 2 sprigs coriander

Recipe

Chop all the ingredients for the paste. If you have the energy, forgo the gym and pound all the ingredients in a pestle and mortar. This seems to yield a better texture and taste. You can magimix the paste instead though - put all the ingredients in and whiz until an ochrey yellow paste. It won’t be smooth, but you want all the bits small enough so that there aren’t individual bits of lemongrass that get stuck in your teeth. Set aside.

Prepare the crabs.
Clean the crabs first under running water. An old toothbrush is best for a thorough scrub.
Place the crabs on a solid chopping board. Hold the crab on its back (shell side down) and stick a sharp knife into the crab directly behind the eyes to kill it.

Pull off the tail flap from the underside and discard. Then, either press down on the centre and legs and pull off the shell, or, if you’re having difficulty, insert the knife under the shell to give yourself some leverage.

Pull off the gills (dead man’s fingers) and throw away the spongy sand bag, which sits behind the eyes.

Using a sharp knife, cut the crab in half, and then cut off the claws. Use a mallet or rolling pin to bash each piece so that it’s easier for those eating to get to the meat.

Dip these parts (claws and legs) into the seasoned flour and make sure they are dusted all over.

Heat about 200ml of oil in a wok or a deep pan. You know the oil’s hot enough when you stick a chopstick in and the oil furiously bubbles.

Fry 4 pieces at a time, 2-3 minutes each side. The outside of the crab should be bright red and the flour crispy. If the oil turns brown at any point, use fresh oil.
Set the crab pieces aside on kitchen roll.

Heat the wok again. Using 2 tablespoons of fresh oil, fry the paste in the wok for about 2 minutes, until the spices smell amazingly fragrant. You do not want the paste to burn.

Add the tamarind-water-sugar mixture. Bring to the boil, then tip in the crabs back into the wok. Stir to make sure all of the crab is covered in sauce. Then cover the wok for about 5 minutes, giving the crabs a stir every now and then, so that they steam a little.

Open the wok, and add the ketchup and chillies/chilli sauce. Stir and cook for an extra minute.

Add the spring onions and coriander.

Stir once more, then serve.

If you’re at a loose end with the crab shells, which have the roe inside, you can either cook them the same way as the claws and legs, or you can steam them just as they are, and eat with a spoon. They are an acquired taste, but absolutely delicious.

London’s new Colony

2010-02-20T16:12:00.004Z

Opening of Atul Kochhar’s new restaurant

In advertising, you know you’ve stumbled on a chin-plummeting idea when it seems so obvious you think – why the hell has this not been done before?
Animalistic joy evoked in a drumming gorilla. Can you get any more joy than that?

And this is how I feel about Colony, Atul Kochhar and restaurateur Carlo Spetale’s new venture in London’s Marylebone Village, the champagne-fuelled opening for which was last Wednesday night.

I mean - serving dishes inspired by street-food from the myriad of British colonies, street-food honed from centuries-old techniques. These global influences all in one place. What a great, steamingly obvious idea. And with a ridiculous amount of street-food out there in the world, there is also a ridiculous amount of room for Colony to evolve.

And then there’s the idea of bar-snacking this food.

Nothing whets the inebriant appetite more than a good injection of savoury spicy nibbles, and with Colony bringing over the head chef from Michelin-starred Benares, one would hope for particularly good spicy nibbles. Their speciality is in nashtas, which they call Indian-style tapas, usually eaten in India as elevenses. My personal favourite of the canapés was the paneer with a vibrant verdant herb sauce.

I’d just arrived as Jimmy Choo, the revered shoe designer, was leaving and was told that Kochhar and Choo are soon off on a jolly jaunt together to Malaysia for culinary research. Mmmmm. The master of spice with the master of shoes. Not the most obvious choice of travelling companions until you realise that Choo is fortuitously Malaysia’s ambassador of tourism. Will he intensify Kochhar’s already far-reaching interest in multi-cultured Malaysian food?

Kochhar will also be venturing to other former colonies, including South Africa, to compile these recipes for a book, and there are rumours of a TV programme too.

Time will tell whether this concept will fly, but I’m willing to wager success.

Colony Bar and Grill: 7-9 Paddington Street, London W1U 5QH
020 7935 3353

The Hoxton Pony
Quick word on where NOT to go. I had to scoot off to the Hoxton Pony afterwards for a masquerade ball. Surly service, soggy nuts and general all-round disappointment – Hoxton’s very pony bar.

104-108 Curtain Road, London EC2A 3AH
020 7613 2844

Check out my Pomelos

2010-02-09T20:24:00.013Z

I first tasted a grapefruit aged 10 - my mother only brought it home as a novelty English product. Blissfully unaware of its bitter fruitiness, it was only through reading Enid Blyton and visiting friends’ houses that I realised the English had such a penchant for grapefruit that there was cutlery specially devised for it.

Ignorance of grapefruit meant knowledge of the pomelo. The pomelo is a bigger, sweeter, juicier fruit than its grapefruit descendant. My mother grew up right next to “the best pomelos in Malaysia” in Tambun which, in my mind, qualifies her as a surefire expert.

The Thais know how to work this fruit; they dip it straight into sugar, salt and chilli or tart it up in a salad with dried shrimp and fish sauce. The Chinese candy the peel.

But it’s honestly so good that it should just be eaten on its own, unadorned with sugar, naked - as part of breakfast, a refreshing end to a rich meal, or even down the pub (the lads feasted on pomelo and peanuts as they watched England lick the Welsh in the six nations last Saturday…).

Pomelos are in season until the end of February and you can buy them in most good Chinese supermarkets. The pomelo in the picture is from China, and is a honey pomelo. Sweet, but faintly bitter, the flesh is pale golden.

Here's how to peel a Pomelo:

Score the thick skin with a sharp knife into quarters.

Grip the pith and strongly peel the skin from the segments.

Pull apart the segments, and they are ready to be peeled and eaten straight away.

It is a big fruit, so if you do want to eat some then keep some without ripening further, then just keep the segments wrapped in an airtight container or in clingfilm, and keep in the fridge.