The big breakfast: what to eat after a snow run

Snowy run in Wandsworth Common

During his polar expedition Sir Ranulph Fiennes ate 5,200 calories a day. With this in mind, seeing how snowy it was on Sunday morning, we went on our own expedition (round Wandsworth Common) with the promise of a big breakfast fit for explorers. Running in the snow can be a hazardous business. Just think - snow in your eyes; cold ears; ponds that masquerade as paths. But these dangers, I believed, were all worth conquering for the spoils that were waiting for us at home...

The breakfast box

...namely a box of breakfast goods. Spoiltpig sausages and bacon from Denhay Farm in Dorset's Bridport, mushrooms, eggs, ketchup and smoked chipotle salsa from Tracklements and HP sauce.

A long stretch ahead in Wandsworth

The run was refreshing rather than spikily cold. The snow underfoot - crunchy on grass and squeaky on pavements - gave extra satisfaction to a standard park jog. We ran for breakfast, there was no doubt about it, but it was a joy to run through, especially as we emerged unscathed, without injury and most importantly, without falling over.

The breakfast...

There was no point trying to go fancy. It was all about the classic. Grilled sausages and bacon and fried eggs. Mushrooms fried whole and rolled in the pan with thyme, a slick of butter and a squeeze of lemon. The sausages were fulsome - they had a deep herby flavour - almost black puddingy in depth, but the texture was strangely crumbly. The unsmoked back bacon was very thinly sliced - to the point where there was not much choice but to crisp them up, but that was no detriment to the taste.

Burford Brown eggs

Fried Burford Brown eggs

The real winners were the Burford Brown eggs from Clarence Court, their sunset orange yolks added creamy rich luxury to the breakfast. Though I found their ketchup too sweet, the smoked chipotle salsa from Tracklements was also a welcome discovery. Though it may not be my breakfast staple, I can see it working with cooked meats.

The snow is set to stay awhile. I think that means more breakfast.


Other things we made with the breakfasty ingredients:

Carbonara with spoiltpig bacon

Spaghetti carbonara: Burford Brown eggs, parmesan, parsley, spoiltpig bacon, garlic

Sausage and butterbean stew with chipotle salsa

Sausage and butterbean stew: spoiltpig sausages, garlic, thyme, butterbeans, onion, cloves, tomatoes, dollop of chipotle salsa


With thanks to Phipps for the breakfast box

Click here for more recipe ideas. 

New Culinary Tales with New Culinary Presents

Having professed that I don’t make resolutions (read my attempt to give up red meat last January), I am a glutton for punishment and shall make some more. Friends and family have been generous  with their culinary Christmas presents, so it would be rude not to use them. 

I, therefore, vow to cook more with these enabling gifts in 2013. 

Here are the new additions to the kitchen, and what I will do with them: 

Clockwise, starting from far left: spice grinder, fine mini grater, ice cream machine, David Hockney tray, meat thermometer, tea ball.

The spice grinder 

It’s easy to be a martyr for the spice-pounding cause. A few years ago my mother bought me ‘The Little Nyonya’ - a Singaporean epic drama set in Malacca, Malaysia. The protagonist, a Cinderella-type figure, would seek refuge in her cooking crouched on the floor as she pestled all the spices in her mortar for babi pongteh (braised pork-belly stew), winning love and a husband along the way. 

I have since discovered that crouching for two hours on the kitchen floor pounding spices for curries and satays won’t win you love. It is a highly antisocial activity. If you live in a first floor flat like me, pity the residents on the floor below - victims of constant dull thudding for hours on end. And pity anyone who comes near as you stink of shallots and turmeric. And the blisters - let’s not even talk about the blisters. 

I think of the spice grinder as the gateway to the food of the straits of Malacca, and to social acceptance. 

The fine grater

A grater not just for zesting but for making mush of ginger. When I cook Hainanese chicken, one of the sauces requires smoking hot oil to be poured over grated ginger with the most satisfying sizzle. My box grater produces woody shards of ginger, which doesn’t meld well with the oil. 

The ice cream machine

I am desperate to make Christmas pudding ice cream (in my head, just vanilla flavoured with clumps of leftover pud folded in. Or should the base be laced with brandy in the place of brandy butter?). Also Campari sorbet for summer. I wished and was good, and Santa delivered. 

The David Hockney tray 

This present from my betrothed is his way of asking me to make more tea. 

The meat thermometer 

I’m not a roast-meat purist. By that I mean that I often judge my pork belly or beef joint by looking and poking and slicing it open. Obviously, this is not ideal. If anyone asks me for different levels of done-ness this will send me into a spiral of panic - hence the meat thermometer. According to Heston Blumenthal (and who can argue with HB?), to achieve a rare rib of beef the central insides need to reach 55C. Gone are the days of putting a licked finger to the wind, now I can brandish my digital meat wand. Panic no more, Miss Lee, panic no more. 

The tea ball

I have stacks of loose leaf tea, abandoned and crying in the dark at the back of my cupboards. Now with my new tea ball I can unearth the Japanese roasted rice tea, the darjeeling, the strange LOV teas I’m not sure I’ll like. Or I could use it for infusing bouquet garni in soups...  

Here's to endless feasting in 2013. 

Voracious is Square Meal's Food Blogger to Follow in 2013

New Year’s Eve dinner tonight. Our host is cooking venison, and I have been charged with preparing something to amuse the bouches. My first thought was to make my friend Sonia’s bloody Mary cherry tomatoes (tomatoes filled with infused vodka and worcester sauce) but I lack some basic equipment (syringe and needle). Perhaps Hix quail’s egg shooters instead - the insides still wibbly and topped with crunchy bacon and chives - each to be downed in one. We have plenty of time to decide, plenty of time until countdown.

Whatever it is, it needs to be fabulous to round off a fabulous year. Last week, the restaurant authority Square Meal tweeted me to say that I was one of their fifteen ‘food bloggers to follow in 2013’. What a marvellous accolade, especially when amidst the company of the likes of Hugh Wright, the perfect Felicity Cloake, gloriously acerbic Chris Pople and Niamh Shields among others. It’s also heartening to discover quality blogs - more reading to look forward to next year. 

I also write about food (and the arts and culture) for Harper's Bazaar, so if this blog does go a bit quiet, I may be at my Bazaar blog here or writing for their restaurant guide here instead. 

Anyway, thank you kindly for reading my culinary tales and I hope you continue to enjoy them fully in 2013. 

Happy New Year!

Hx

Click here for the full Square Meal feature.

Christmas Clementine Champagne

I'm feeling festive. 


The rustle of present wrapping accompanies the camp jazz-hands neon lights on the tree. We're looking forward to the hearty out-of-tune warbling at midnight mass tonight, the sprouts (with bacon, chestnuts and a splash of soy sauce, if you please), roast duck and crispy potatoes tomorrow.

And of course - the drinks. Instead of Buck's fizz, we’re having clementine champagne in the Lee household. I don't like the idea of drowning out a crisp Champagne with a potent juice, so this is my alternative.

Squeeze out the juice from 10 clementines after zesting one of them, bring the juice and zest to a simmer with 200g of caster sugar and a cinnamon stick for 3 minutes. Strain. Cool on a wintry kitchen ledge, then on Christmas morning, pour a splash in each glass and top up with Champagne (or sparkling water for the children). 

A fresh, boozy, merry start to the day.

Happy Christmas for tomorrow!

x

Kaosarn, St John's Hill: Guaranteed Good Times

‘Why don’t we go to Kaosarn instead?’ The text from wine-botherer Ruth Ford read a year or so ago when I suggested we visit some upstart of a restaurant in Brixton village. ‘I’ve heard not-great things about ___, but Kaosarn will be guaranteed good times.’

We didn’t end up going for some reason or another, but that epithet stuck with me. In my head, Kaosarn became the unfaddy, honest restaurant we all needed round the corner. 

Oh the excitement, the unfettered joy we felt when we heard that Kaosarn was opening on St John’s Hill in Wandsworth. The lead came from a tweet from Luke Mackay that the much-loved Thai canteen was making its way westward, expanding from its Brixton home closer to my home. 

St John’s Hill has had a strange relationship with restaurants - so often has some unsuspecting and naive budding-restaurateur arrived and fled within the year. St John’s hill is no Northcote Road - sans gloss and prams, but it’s lately had an influx of good things happen to it. Joining the rather brilliant Fish Club, French deli and Chinese Good Earth Express were Ben’s Canteen, which recently hosted a dinner from Roganic’s ex head-chef Ben Spalding, and two new popular drinking establishments - the Plough and Powder Keg Diplomacy. 

Thrown into the mix is Kaosarn, the Thai canteen with the cult following. And the ‘Hill’ has been screaming - aching, in fact - for a place like this. 

Opening today, it was manned by a full staff of efficient ladies and led by the industrious Gisele. Much more of a restaurant than the cafe in Brixton, the space is roomy and light (there’s a back room that can be hired for private functions as well), with tables lit intimately with candles. The menu is so extensive (the first page already divided into starters, salads, noodles and soups) we had to reign ourselves in. Armed with four bottles of Chang beer from the offie across the road, we were ready. 

On Gisele’s recommendation we started with moo ping - skewers of tender pork, sticky with sauce and dark and shiny with the caramelisation of palm sugar. It was a confident and competent start to the meal. 

The tom kha gai - chicken pieces in a hot coconut soup - was a compact explosion of flavours - laced with chilli and lemongrass and flavoured with slices of galangal and plump mushrooms. 

Hot tiger prawns and bamboo with red curry paste had the lick of Thai basil and was sprinkled with Thai aubergines and green peppercorns. The menace of red chilli slices thrilled through this stunning dish - our favourite and the one that will draw us back. (Pad prig gang on the menu)

Yum woonsen - warm glass noodle salad with prawns, minced pork, peanuts, chilli, coriander, red onion and spring onion was light yet satisfying. The balance of sweet sugar with the tang of fish sauce was right on. I could eat bowls and bowls of this. 

Though it was the first night, there were no nerves, no cock-ups and by seven o’clock was almost full. Kaosarn will live up to its Brixton reputation and draw the food-loving crowd to St John’s Hill, light up nights out and provide what they’re known for: guaranteed good times. 

Kaosarn

110 St John’s Hill

SW11 1ST

020 7223 7888

BYO, cash only (cash machine across the road), takeaway

The Gilbert Scott: A thoroughly British affair

Evangelists occupy the Gilbert Scott restaurant. This is no place for indifference. The security guard chats for twenty minutes about the wrought iron from Coventry with Olympic fervour next to the now-famous staircase in the Spice Girls’ Wannabe video. The front of house enthuses about Marcus Wareing who pops in at least once or twice a week to run the team here with head chef Oliver Wilson. A grail for history-lovers, artists, models and academics who take refuge from the British Library, the newly refurbished St Pancras renaissance hotel (which houses the restaurant) is an ode to the skill and splendour of British architecture and industry. 

So prescient is the personality of the St Pancras Renaissance that you almost feel short-changed by the simplicity of the bar and dining room. Unfairly so, as the ceiling is cathedral-high, the marble twinkles and is splendidly grand and altogether impressive. It’s shiny and polished and, quite frankly, splendid. 

It’s such an exhibition of the best of home manufacturing and design that one can only wonder about the food. 

It would follow that Marcus Wareing seems a good fit, after all, he is a Lancashire craftsman who evolves already staunchly British dishes to become iconically British. This is the Wareing whose care has won Michelin stars for the likes of Petrus and brought Prue, Oliver and Matthew to their knees with the wibble of his custard tart in the first ever Great British Menu.

And so a charming evangelist at front of house takes us to the bar, where the evangelist barman serves us up a spiced virgin mary (for my pregnant friend Claire who’s saving her drinks for the main)...

...and an a-pear-itif cocktail (Pear Grey Goose, Sipsmith gin, cucumber, elderflower), fresh with that taste of English gardens. A most elegant drink with the cool of the cucumber wrapped round an ice cube in a coupe glass.

We’re taken through to the impeccably elegant dining room, and dinner begins. Claire’s Portwood Farm asparagus are fat and sweet, accompanied by a burnt butter hollandaise. They are unspectacular but wholly delicious. 

My bone marrow with snails is a quite perfect dish. Juicy snails, deeply dark in taste and look, sit affably on the jelly of the marrow. Spooned onto toast soaked through with garlic butter, it’s almost creamy in its richness and overall, exquisite in conception.

We take a quick break to sneak down to the kitchen table, a front-row view (for up to ten people) of the cool mechanics of the steam-lined kitchen. The curious can also peer at the wines kept behind the table. 

Back up to our table, our mains are ready to serve. My rump of veal is a solid symphony of flavours - wild garlic and sage accompany the pink, surprisingly meaty and juicy veal, lifted by the sweet of plump roasted onions. 

Claire’s coral-pink scottish sea trout is a succulent and slim fillet under a blanket of crisp skin. It’s a well-executed dish. We expect something cold and salady from our side order of peas, lettuce and lovage but with the latter wilted and thickened with a touch of cream to mellow its pungency, it is a welcome surprise. 

For pudding we have Mrs Beeton’s snow egg, a variation of the French dessert ile flottante - poached meringue atop a light and cold custard or creme anglaise. It is slightly ‘ile’ heavy (I'd love more custard), but cleverly lined with marmalade in the middle and the smooth almost foam-like richness is cut through with the crunch of caramelised almonds. 

Claire’s warm chocolate cornflakes makes up for all those times you were deprived pudding as a child; the dessert is almost unforgivably rich and a nod to the glory of the chocolate crispy cake. 

There is a sort of humour and pride that laces the Gilbert Scott menu; where else outside of Cumbria will Kendal mint cake be an ingredient? I would certainly love to pop in for a peanut butter ice. Either way, I do believe for those who arrive in straight from the Eurostar, the Gilbert Scott should be the first stop for a happy and glorious view of London town. By the end of the meal we are satiate, evangelistic, and terribly proud that the British are such devilishly good cooks. 

The Gilbert Scott

St Pancras Renaissance Hotel

Euston Road

London

NW1 2AR

020 7278 3888

Website

Helena and Claire were guests of The Gilbert Scott.

What to drink with Bavette, by Ruth Ford

Must drink..! 

An irregular column from wine-botherer Ruth Ford 

...to accompany an ode to the skirt steak (bavette)

Bavette at Duck Soup in Soho

'Sometimes when you taste a red wine it can leave a really dry sensation in your mouth, as if you've just sipped some tea in which the tea bag has been sitting for too long. The feeling is round your gums, at the back of your tongue and on the roof of your mouth, and it is sometimes described as chalky, bitter, and astringent. All these sound like bad things that shouldn't be there in your glass of wine, but in fact they come from something called tannin, which is a chemical compound found in wine. In some wines the levels of tannin are higher than in others, and that's when you get the sensations described above. 


Tannin comes from grape skins, pips, and stalks, and sometimes from oak ageing. It's extracted during the wine-making process, when the grapes are pressed and then when the grape skins are left in the juice for a while to extract colour and flavour. Some grapes have more tannin than others, and also the wine-maker can decide how much tannin they want to extract for the style of wine they want to make. 


Tannin provides 'backbone' to a wine - it gives it structure and stops it from being too soft or one-dimensional. It's also a natural preservative which helps a wine to grow old gracefully. It gives a wine complexity and interest of flavour. However, sometimes it can make a wine difficult to drink on its own. And that's where chewy red meat comes in. Chewing meat whilst drinking a tannic red will help to break down the tannins in your mouth so the other flavours in the wine - fruit, spice, etc. - come to the fore and are complemented by the tannin rather than overpowered by it. 


Bavette has a fantastic gamey, intense flavour and texture that will help to sort out even the most challengingly tannic wine. Some classic examples of tannic wines include Barolo, young Bordeaux and Chianti, and Cahors from the South of France. If you've tried a wine before and thought you didn't like it because of the sensations described above, why not try it again with Helena's bavette recipe? You might be pleasantly surprised at how the wine changes when paired with the delicious juicy meat.'


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