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

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.

The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town

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

Rum Old-Fashioneds for New Year

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)

Esquire Magazine: Hot Cocktails

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

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 6

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.

The lemon, ginger and honey effect

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.

The Ivy Part I: The Bittersweet Beginning

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.