Ito Eats

The Delaunay

2012-01-24T12:27:00.000-08:00

Sienna Miller's in the room, with her new boyfriend. Ok, that got your attention. Now, bear with me...

Manners. Old fashioned, but I can't get enough of them. A tip o' the hat might be an archaic act of courtesy - only fashion nuts, elderly gentleman and aristocrats seem to wear them these days - but the silent greeting has an air of elegance.

The doorman at The Delaunay, donning a spectacular top hat, greeted us warmly with such a gesture as we approached the imposing entrance on the corner of Drury Lane. Greetings proliferated in the decadent entrance hall, with a maître 'd, cloakroom attendant and waiter all nursing us towards our table.

The dining room is magnificent. Grand, and already at ease, even though it's only been open for a few months. The secret seems to be a combination of impeccable eye for detail (perfect light, acoustics and table spacing), the confidence of the staff and kitchen, and the buzz - it was full on a cold Monday night. The wood panelled walls and soft lighting keep it cosy, giving it the intimacy of J Sheekey, while the room's dimensions make it feel like a central European grand café. It reminds me of Barcelona's Restaurant 7 Portes, but the rough edges of its European counterparts haven't been adopted.

Fortune sat us next to Chris Corbin, eating with his family and being repeatedly harassed by his most ardent fans. He and Jeremy King own The Wolseley, The Delaunay's established sibling, and have a loyal following. His close presence is the reason I took no photos of the food, I'm afraid, and probably also explained the profuse complements I received from the sommelier when we chose the second cheapest red on the menu...

Billed as a European all-day up-market brasserie, the menu offers a hotchpotch of crowd-pleasing European classics: borscht, goulash, chopped chicken salad, liverwurst, smoked salmon, classic brunch egg dishes, caviar, oysters, tagesteller, wieners and sauerkraut, schnitzels, coupes, and patisserie.

We ate, with a carafe of Moulin de Gassac Classic 2010 Hérault (v. reasonable at £13.25):
Tarte flambée (smoked bacon and shallots) £9.75. As thin as a crisp, topped with sweet smoky bacon and meltingly soft shallots. A triumph.
Steak tartare with quail's egg and toast £10.50. This beats The Ivy's, and maybe even Bentley's. The meat was doubtlessly of good provenance, and it was perfectly seasoned.
Moules frites £13.75. Massive, endless chips. Nothing innovative, just a well done classic. And good value for its size (you could definitely share it).
Chargrilled calf's liver and bacon with mash and gravy £19.75. Again, a hit. Soft liver, chargrilled on the outside and just warm on the inside. Perfect food for a cold Monday in January.

I've haven't been able to say I love everything about a meal for a while now, but this meal was faultless.

We had no room for dessert (a first, believe me) but the selection on offer was hard to resist: cakes, tarts and ice cream coupes, including banana split, knickerbocker glory, they call it a Kinder, and a Lucian (hazelnut, almond and pistachio ice creams with whipped cream and butterscotch sauce), named after Lucian Freud, a past devotee of the Wolseley.

The crowd is fascinating: a theatrical mix of drunk lawyers and larger than life characters from the West End, old boys and posh girls, and a fair fistful of celebs. The service is carefully practiced and beautifully performed.

Our bill came to £117.28 for two, including service, two glasses of Pommery, and some pricey side dishes. For a cover charge of £2 per person, you get some rather good little French baguettes, so you could easily eat a few wieners with a glass of wine and get out with change from £20.

All wines from the reasonable wine list are available by glass, carafe, or bottle.

Eating out is a special occasion for me these days, and this place made me feel special. It might even pip Bentley's to the post as my favourite London restaurant. Go, eat, oggle, and be merry!

NB: Corbin and King opening a French brasserie in London this summer, Brasserie Zedel.

Mishkin's

2012-01-14T14:04:00.000-08:00

Bacon sandwich for breakfast. Not a good way to start the day of our visit to Mishkin's. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret munching through slivers of salty pig (purists, look away: it was Oscar Mayer). And, I'm not Jewish. I just couldn't face more cured meat, and this 'kind-of Jewish deli', in the heart of Covent Garden, apparently makes a historic salt beef beigel.

I've reviewed most of restaurateur extraordinaire Russell Norman's joints already, so I won't pain you by repeating myself. He's the king of London's unfussy small-plate eating and drinking joints, and has hoards of evangelical devotees who gather as much for the buzzy atmosphere as for the food.

"Keep things simple" is Norman's mantra. Modelled after New York diner-style Jewish delis, Mishkin's serves plain non-Kosher fare, done well: chicken matzo ball soup, steamed burgers, chips, chopped liver, a generous snatch of sandwiches, fried eggs and onion rings, chocolate malt, and cream sodas. Unpretentious comfort food taken to the extreme.

The staff are equally laid back, and were disarmingly welcoming to our 20-month-old boy (Norman doesn't actively welcome small people), who loved every second of our visit.

We went for (good) cauliflower & caraway slaw £5, (exceptional) fried onion rings £4, and...

Duck hash, fried egg & liquor £9. Hangover heaven.

Chickpea, spinach and ricotta balls with tomato sauce £6. This was for baby, and he adored it. 'Nuff said.

Chicken matzo ball soup £5. A bit small for my liking and a little tepid, but it was instantly soothing, the stock rich and flavourful.

OK, we didn't need this. But who needs pudding. Apple and honey blintz £6. Massive, cloyingly sweet, perfect nursery food, bursting with cinnamon and syrup, coddled by thick cream.

Next time, we'll try their famous cod cheek popcorn, and steamed burgers. These have held a nostalgic belly-busting place in our hearts since my grandfather used to take us to his local White Castle in Ohio for their steamed sliders - I'm not joking, foodistas, White Castle rocks.

Our lunch cost £46, including service. Money well spent. The food is never going to be spectacular, just reliably good. It's the atmosphere that makes it the place to go. When given the choice, I'd much rather eat good food in a fun and friendly place, than excellent food in an up-itself humourless restaurant. Norman's nailed it.

What's next in the Norman empire? I wish I knew. He is hot property in the publishing business: after a frantic bidding war, Bloomsbury has bought world rights to The Polpo Cookbook, which is coming out this spring (pre-order on Amazon).

For reservations, call 020 7240 2078 (no online booking facility).

The Hand & Flowers, Marlow

2012-01-08T05:43:00.000-08:00

This can't be right, I thought: a country pub serving fish and chips, local ales, and a £20 3-course set lunch...the proud owner of two Michelin stars?

But The Hand & Flowers is no ordinary gastropub (someone invent a new word for pubs with food, please):

The chef/patron is Tom Kerridge, who opened H&F in 2005. If you're a fan of Great British Menu, you'll have come across him. His bubbly, cheerful and gentle on-screen presence belies the nerves of steel, and indefatigable determination, he must need to run a Michelin-starred kitchen. He always struck me as too sweet a chap!
The a la carte menu is a great read: seasonal British food cooked inventively with classic French techniques, such as Parsley soup with smoked eel, bacon and parmesan tortellini, and Essex lamb "bun" with sweetbreads and salsa verde.
It's in Marlow. An impeccably turned out town in Buckinghamshire, a stone's throw from London, littered with upmarket restaurants. Marlow folk have plenty of money to spend on fine food.

It being January 'n' all, we were on a lean budget, so braved the North Circular for the £19.50 set menu. I was about to warn you that my thoughts therefore don't provide a full appraisal of the food, but in fact they are probably as fair as anyone else's. There should not be a drop in the quality of cooking or ingredients (though they'll be cheaper, of course) in a set menu.

The restaurant area takes up most of the pub floor, and is sensitively lit and furnished. Sanded bare wood tables are adorned with heavy cutlery, handsome glassware, starched napkins, and flickering candles. Sun streamed through the window at our corner table in the 'family room' (not as bad as it sounds, I promise), jolting us out of our winter blues, and the staff were warm and welcoming. A good start. Even better once I had a £6 glass of Reisling Louis Guntrum 2010 in my hand. (Well worth seeking out: it's around £9 a bottle online.)

Whitebait with marie rose sauce. This was a lovely surprise, not listed in the set menu. They were the best whitebait I've eaten. Simple, soft, delicate, and crisp, their saltiness and lightness whet our appetites.

Crown Prince Pumpkin Soup with Maple Walnut Dressing. A wave of salt knocked out my tastebuds. I objected at first, muttering about overseasoning, but two mouthfuls later, the sweet earthy pumpkin and smoky nuts and seeds burst through, reviving my tastebuds. Heavy-handedness with seasoning was overlooked, and the rich soup was happily polished off.

Bavette of Beef, served medium rare, with Roasted Onion and Mushroom Ketchup. Also known as flank steak, bavette is not a forgiving cut, but it's damn tasty (the cheapest cuts of any meat are often the tastiest - think chicken wings, pork belly). Provenance was not mentioned, but I'm pretty sure The H&F source their ingredients meticulously. The mushroom ketchup was a perfect accompaniment. Rich, yeasty, sweet sauce, a posh creamy brown sauce if you like. As were the double/triple cooked chips...

More fat than potato, granted, but they were perfectly crispy and fluffy. The perfect fat chip. The second best chip I've ever had. The best are, and probably always will be, the frites at Restaurant Les Pins in Sillans-la-Cascade, Provence.

Toasted Barley Fool with Oat Crumble and Goat's Curd Ice Cream. 'Decadent' doesn't come close. This was a big, beautiful bowl of light-as-air cream, infused with the warm malty note of barley, studded with crunchy sugary oaty bits, with refreshingly sour ice cream hiding in the bottom. Pure, heavenly indulgence. A perfectly judged combination of flavours, too.

20-month-old Charlie had Fish and Chips with Tartare Sauce, and a fair share of our food too. Scoffed the lot before I got to try it. Though it would have been better if they'd brought his meal before we'd got through starter and main.

It was an incredibly good-value indulgent meal, and I urge you to go there while the offer's still on, or splash out on the menu proper. Meanwhile, I'm saving up for the a la carte menu, and planning to make a weekend of it (the restaurant has rooms upstairs).

Love Music Love Food: The Rock Star Cookbook

2011-12-12T01:59:00.001-08:00

Sing-for-soup days couldn't be further from the minds of the influential contemporary musicians contributing to this impressive rock-food-portraits book.

The brainchild of renowned food photographer Patrice de Villiers, The Rock Star Cookbook was published late last year in aid of the Teenage Cancer Trust. Patrice and the Trust exercised their influence, prompting generous contributions from the legendary, the great, and the good.

This may not be a cook's book (there is no recipe index, and the recipes are somewhat buried), but it is a feast for the eyes. The lavish portraits, comical, outlandish, bold and decadent, show the musicians with their favourite foods, with accompanying interviews exploring their culinary obsessions and spilling the beans on their riders. Concluding each interview is a specially commissioned recipe, based on their favourite dish, created by Sarah Muir, a chef who has spent many years touring with bands and cooking for rock royalty. I tried Sarah's recipe for Goldie' Lookin' Chain's prawn curry - in a hurry, and it was speedy indeed, delicious, and great with chips. I'm betting she has her own book deal in the pipeline.

Music and food are fast becoming best buddies, just check out the posh gourmet fare available at festivals, Alex James making cheese, and - I kid you not - British Sea Power's band-brand fudge. All we need now is a band-brand jam.

However, many of the featured artists admit they're no good in the kitchen, and confess to predictable food weaknesses; curry, chips, sushi, roast dinner, fish and chips, and pizza, which Sarah cleverly transforms into Russell Norman-style instantly desirable recipes. A handful of artists have a more intriguing relationship with food. Just try keeping a straight face when Brian May talks about the cosmic resonance between the sun and a grapefruit, and who'd have thought Alex Kapranos of Franz Ferdinand loves growing beetroot.

This is ultimately a musical portraits book, despite a foreword by Heston Blumenthal. A glossy book of interviews. But get someone talking enthusiastically about food, and they often open up more than they intend to. It's worth buying for the interviews and food-fantasy portraits alone; the opportunity to eat like a pop star is just the icing on the top of a very rock 'n' roll cake.

Many thanks to Quadrille for sending me a review copy.

Read more about Patrice's collaboration with The Teenage Cancer Trust here:
www.lovemusiclovefood.org/ Love Music Love Food

Nightjar

2011-12-06T06:44:00.001-08:00

A second departure from my culinary comfort zone this week, this time to give a shout out to Nightjar.

A classy subterranean speakeasy-style bar, the entrance sits between two cafés just a few yards north of Old St tube, on City Road (look for the nondescript black door).

The cocktails, inspired by Prohibition era blends and their own homespun brews and infusions, are heady, complex, and brilliantly executed by a team of talented mixologists and bartenders (who I fear may be poached by the Royal Ballet given the performance we were treated to).

Be prepared to wait, as it's sitting room only and first come first served, though you can reserve tables for large parties. The queue outside can be considerable. Our 1 hour wait on a frosty Saturday night at 1am was made a little more tolerable by the sweet doorman (yes, there is such a thing, it seems).

I highly recommend the Fog Cutter. Enveloped in dry ice, it is a giddy and seriously damaging combination of rum, cognac, gin and sherry. Inebriated as I was, I can remember it vividly. The Bobby Burns, Benedictine, whisky and vermouth, laced with Absinthe, is a clever concoction, too.

Expect top-notch live music - jazz, honky-tonk, blues - most nights, with a modest cover charge/entrance fee of around £7 on a Friday or Saturday night, less on a week night. Cocktails are priced at around £9.

Christmas gifts: cheap and gorgeous

2011-12-05T01:53:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but it's unlikely I'm going to be getting a KitchenAid for Christmas (about as unlikely as me being found trotting around Belgravia in bright red Louboutins and a mink shawl). The coveted food mixer has been popping up in the weekend supplements for weeks, as an ideal 'foodie' gift. A gift that costs over £300. Yeah, right.

As a child, I remember giggling as I discovered a hidden stash of Christmas cards my mom sent out to open-minded friends and relatives. The size of a postage stamp, they simply read 'Life is shit, times are hard, here's your fucking Christmas card.' I'm not a scrooge, neither is she, but Christmas is complicated: families, budgeting, cooking for large parties, booze... a toxic mix.

To make life just a little easier, I've done some research and found these beautiful, fun and desirable objects - all available online - that will please your wallet as much as they will delight the most hard-to-please recipient. I hope they provide inspiration. (Last year most gifts came from my kitchen, but it didn't prove to be a budget-friendly exercise. A few still will, but canny online shopping is key.)

Under £10
Spectacular Sourdough A loaf of Richard Bertinet's sourdough (Bertinet Kitchen Shop) £5.60
2 Person Paella Pan From the venerable purveyors of Spanish food (Brindisa) £8.95
Tea Towel Creative, fun designer tea towels (ToDryFor) £9.50
Floral and Bird Teapot Dainty tea time fare (Graham and Green) £9.50

London Lunchbox A trendy way to transport your office sandwiches (V&A) £5
Mezzaluna Set Stylish herb chopper, half price at time of writing (The Cook's Kitchen) £7.65
Glass and bone door knobs Add a glam, retro touch to cabinets and drawers (Graham and Green) £2.95-£3.95 each
Salt dish Adorable, totally frivolous; I want one (Anthropologie) £8

Under £20
Sari Measuring Spoons Cute, pretty and useful (John Lewis) £11
WRAP Christmas Goody Bag For design geeks (WRAP) £20
Sweet Shop Jar Nostalgic treats in a retro jar (Hope & Greenwood) £16.99

An English Rose A bare root rose plant for garden lovers (David Austin Roses) From £12 each
Spice Bundle The famous Spice Shop's selection of their favourite spice blends £10.55

Coffee Cup Beautiful, and ageless Scottish pottery (Highland Stoneware) £12.25
Iridescent Glass Jar Add a bit of glamour to your bathroom or vanity desk (Willow and Stone) £17.50

Dr Hauschka Hand Cream This smells intoxicating, and works like a dream, leaving no residue (Look Fantastic) £12.95

Pinchito Tapas

2011-12-05T01:13:00.000-08:00

Pinchito Tapas (one of two London branches) sits on an unpromising, scruffy street, a stone's throw from Old Street underground, not exactly asking to be found. But with a relatively healthy reputation online, and the decent Brighton-based Pinxto People as founders, I thought we had little to fear.

Our night got off to a bad start, with a confusion over the booking, and a long wait for a table, but a decent Old Fashioned helped soothe the nerves. It was a Saturday night and the bar was heaving with wannabe Shoreditchers.

Service was laughably crap. We were harassed into ordering the moment the menu arrived, and were attended to by three different waitresses, who were so hurried that our food was literally slam-dunked onto the table without a word.

I can't describe the food in detail, because there was no detail to describe. Absolutely everything - tortilla, pork, calamari, baked chorizo, patatas bravas - was heavy and smothered in, or drowning in grease. I suspect underneath all the butter and oil were some half decent ingredients (the boquerones and chorizo were nice enough), but our experience doesn't compel me to praise them for their sourcing. I'd rather send an appeal to the chefs to be less heavy handed, and let the ingredients speak for themselves.

A special mention must go to the 'pork and mango'. It was horrid. The pork belly fat hadn't rendered properly, and the 'mango' was a slick of greasy sweet orange sauce smeared over the plate.

They claim to offer Basque pintxos, but these cumbersome platefuls bear no resemblance. For a far superior and satisfying experience, head to Barrafina, Moro's bar, Morito (next door to Moro), Salt Yard, Dehesa, or Jose.

Our meal cost around £30 a head (incl. drinks).

At Home: Chicken Pot Soup

2011-12-02T03:57:00.000-08:00

For those of you sneezing, snuffling and generally feeling miserable about your lot, let this simple, soothing soup comfort, revive and revitalise you.

Cloves and saffron add a rich, heady note and a satisfying bittersweet edge to the slow-cooked carrots and onion. But you don't need them. There are as many versions of chicken soup as there are cooks who make it, so adapt it to your own taste. Just make sure your chicken is on the bone, and include as many fragrant herbs and root veg as you can get your hands on.

Niki Segnit suggests, in her wonderful Flavour Thesaurus, adding chicken's feet to give the finished soup 'a pleasantly gelatinous texture'. Go for it, if you have a Chinese supermarket nearby.
Serves 4

1 chicken, cut into portions
1 large onion, studded with 6 cloves
4 carrots, peeled and sliced
Bouquet garni of 1 whole bunch of celery tops, bay leaf, and a bunch of parsley
Pinch of saffron
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
500g cooked noodles
1 red chilli, deseeded and finely sliced (optional)
Toasted slivered almonds (optional)

In a heavy-based casserole or saucepan, place the chicken, onion, carrots, bouquet garni, saffron, seasoning, and enough water to cover. Bring to a boil and simmer for 45 minutes.

Remove the cooked chicken from the pan and set aside to cool. Remove the surface fat and bouquet garni, and boil rapidly until the liquid has reduced by half. Add the chilli, if using.

Remove the meat from the cooled chicken pieces, shred, and return to the pan. Warm through, and serve in generous bowls with piping hot noodles, and scatter with toasted almonds and freshly chopped parsley.

Charlotte's Organic Home Baking

2011-12-02T02:31:00.000-08:00

If you're a regular visitor, you'll know I seldom promote products, unless I come across something very special. Charlotte Woodbridge's sweet stuffs are just that.

Charlotte started trading earlier this year. Family experience with food allergies and intolerances led her to quickly conclude that not only were there not enough wheat- and gluten-free products out there, but what was on offer often lacked in taste what it lacked in allergens.

A period of illness led her to reevaluate her life, and compelled her to take the plunge and start her own business. After months of kitchen trials and research, and a series of rigorous taste tests, her chocolates, cakes and preserves were ready to sell.

'I love to bake, and nothing makes me happier than to be in the kitchen', she tells me. Her laudable mantra is that her products must be indistinguishable from their gluten-laden counterparts. And I'm delighted to confirm that they are, particularly her delectable chocolate brownies - moist, sticky, and rich - and boozy chocolate truffles. Believe me, you will not taste the difference.

Charlotte's sweets and treats are an ideal gift for anyone with a weakness for sweet things, not just coeliacs, or those with an intolerance to wheat and gluten.

Oh, and all her products are organic, too.

You can order her products direct (contact and sales: c.woodbridge@hotmail.co.uk), find her on Twitter, Facebook (where all new outlets are announced), or visit her on the 9th, 10th and 16th Dec. at The Green House Community Market, Letchworth, HERTS.

Check out these recipe websites for excellent gluten-free savoury and sweet recipes:
La Tartine Gourmand
The Baking Beauties

If you'd like to learn how to make gluten-free bakes, join Sarah Jones who has just set up a baking course.

Bacon Jam

2011-11-24T12:31:00.001-08:00

The team behind our local Walthamstow grocer, bakery, pizzeria, bar and restaurant, known collectively as Eat 17, are a pretty industrious and ambitious bunch. Brand experts and manufacturer secured, they are branching out into own-brand foodstuffs, starting with this rather clever bacon jam.

I've not always been keen on Eat 17. Admittedly, Walthamstow has benefited from its looming presence and smart facade, but with no competition breathing down its neck, it started to get a bit full of itself. Last year, we boycotted it after a series of visits were ruined by snooty staff, shoddy service, and overpriced mediocre food. Custom was taken for granted, tolerated even. But since noticing their involvement in the local E17 Art Trail, and being impressed by the baked goods, we're prepared to give them another chance.

Infinitely superior to standard savoury relishes, their bacon jam it is a complex sweet-smokey savoury spread. Eat 17 restaurant has been serving it for a while on their burgers and, apparently, it was the enthusiastic clamour from regular customers that urged them to start selling it. It has a dense consistency and resembles the sweet richness of fig jam, but 'with bits in'. Bacon-y bits. Ingredients include smoked bacon (award-winning Denhay's Dry Cured bacon), red onion, maple syrup, bourbon, garlic, coffee, rosemary, and chilli.

I was going to say it's innovative, but research and a Twitter exchange with Eat like a Girl - who has come up with two recipes; one she's blogged, the other she's saving for her next book - informs me otherwise. It's big in the US (Skillet are the main manufacturer, bloggers love it), and is made of roughly the same ingredients.

I used it in much the same way as fig jam or onion marmalade. The label suggests spreading it on toast, serving it with cheese, adding it to a burger, or a pasta sauce, and here are some other ideas:

Smear it over butternut squash before roasting
Spread it on corn on the cob before wrapping in tin foil and grilling
Pop a bit on top of grilled/baked peach or apricot, with a crumbling of goat's cheese
Dot over a tomato-based pizza before adding cheese, baking, and garnishing with basil or rocket
Smother an oatcake with it before crumbling liberally with blue cheese or aged gruyere
Spread it over a toasted muffin before plopping a poached egg on top
Use it to pimp up a BLT, roast chicken, or a simple mustardy dressing

You can buy it online (£3.60 for 110g), or purchase it from the Spar shop on Orford Road, Walthamstow, though I hear rumour that it will be available in outlets across the capital in the next few months. It's a great stocking gift for food lovers.

At Home: Sticky Toffee Ginger Pud

2011-11-05T13:16:00.001-07:00

Proper puds don't come more sublime and decadent than this pimped up gingerbread. When the dark veil of winter descends, I kid myself that my body expends lots more energy to keep itself warm, therefore making gluttony and excess entirely reasonable. Bring it on.

I had friends over for weekend lunch, and a three course meal to prepare. Fortuitously, half a loaf of sticky and fragrant gingerbread I'd made mid-week was happily maturing on the kitchen surface. Job done - a pretty-much instant pud. All I needed was good quality vanilla ice cream (bought), and a speedy butterscotch sauce. You can find recipes for both the gingerbread and butterscotch sauce below (though you could cheat with bought versions of all three components), and all I'd add is:

Slice the gingerbread thickly, and give it 10 seconds in the microwave before constructing.
Construct at the last moment, heating your sauce in the microwave/on the hob to loosen it to pouring consistency, if it has cooled.

THE CAKE
This gingerbread recipe comes courtesy of Nigella's glorious How To Eat. Do wrap it up and keep it for a day or two before eating. It's worth the wait.

Prep: 20 minutes
Cook: 60-90 minutes

230g self-raising flour
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tbsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground mixed spice
110g unsalted butter, chilled and diced
110g black treacle
110g golden syrup
110g light/dark muscovado sugar
280ml full-fat milk
45g stem ginger (drain off syrup and grate)
1 large egg, beaten

Grease a 900g loaf tin (23cm x 11cm, 6cm), and line the bottom with greaseproof paper. Preheat the oven to 160C fan/180C/Gas 4.

Sift the flour, bicarb, and spices into a large mixing bowl. Add the diced butter and rub it with your fingers until the mixture resembles fine crumbs.

In a small saucepan, melt the treacle with the syrup, then leave to cool to blood temperature. Meanwhile, in another pan, dissolve the sugar in the milk over a low heat, stirring occasionally.

Add the grated stem ginger to the flour mixture. Then whisk/beat the milk mixture into the flour mixture, and next whisk in the treacle mixture, followed by the egg. When thoroughly blended, the mixture should be a thin batter.

Pour the batter into the prepared tin and bake for 1-1 1/4 hours, or until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. Start checking after 45 minutes. Leave to cool completely in the tin, then turn out and wrap first in greaseproof paper and then foil.

THE SAUCE
This could not be easier to make, and gives Cartmel toffee sauce a run for it's money. Adding a little salt really peps it up.

Prep: none
Cook: 10-15 minutes

55g unsalted butter
140g golden syrup
115ml double cream
125g light brown sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
a small pinch of sea salt

Put all the ingredients in a small heavy-bottomed saucepan and bring to the boil. Boil over a medium heat for 5-10 minutes. Pour into a jug for serving. It will thicken when cool, and simply needs reheating to reach pouring consistency again.

At Home: Crispy Duck Pancakes

2011-11-03T14:04:00.000-07:00

Nothing for me has that 'mmm' factor - Flake advert porn style - quite like a mouthful of salty crispy fat. Check out Tom Parker Bowles raving about the 'pure, salt and fat soaked pleasure' of the pork scratching in the latest issue of Fire and Knives, a taste - albeit an acquired one - I have a particular weakness for.

Duck legs have no shortage of fat, which crisps up a treat in a hot oven. This recipe is truthfully no fuss, and it's easy on the wallet too. Many methods for creating homemade versions of the takeaway classic require marinating, steaming, and deep-frying the duck. Don't bother. You will get a perfectly crispy skin by seasoning and roasting the legs, in a fraction of the time.

The roasted duck recipe below is based on James Ramsden's Five Spice Duck Legs recipe. I just added some Sichuan pepper and fresh ginger, and cooked the legs in a roasting dish instead of a frying pan, since I'm not lucky enough to have an oven-friendly pan.

NB. Seek out this brand of five-spice in your local Chinese supermarket. It beats supermarket spice rack versions hands down.

SERVES 2

2 duck legs
1 tsp Chinese five-spice
1 tsp Sichuan peppercorns, bruised in a pestle and mortar
2 onions, peeled and thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, bashed flat and peeled
1 tsp grated fresh ginger
4 flour tortillas/8 Chinese pancakes
Shredded Cos lettuce
half a cucumber, cut into thick strips
4 tbsp hoisin sauce

Preheat the oven to 160C fan/180C/Gas mark 4. Rub the skin side of the duck legs with a generous pinch of salt, the five spice, and the Sichuan pepper. Heat a little oil in a roasting dish over a medium heat on the hob and add the legs, skin side down. Fry for 10 minutes until browned and crisp.

Remove the legs and add the onion, garlic and ginger. Prod around the pan until coated in the duck fat, season with salt and pepper and lay the legs on top. Pop in the oven for an hour and a half, until soft and yielding to the advances of a fork.Remove from oven and rest, while you warm through the pancakes in a steamer, dry frying pan, or microwave. Remove the fat from the meat, then tear the meat off the bone with your fingers. Place shreds of meat, pieces of that wonderful crispy skin, the caramelized onions from the roasting pan, the lettuce, cucumber and a drizzle of hoisin down the centre of each pancake, wrap, and guzzle.

At Home: Feeding baby

2011-11-02T07:45:00.000-07:00

I am treading with trepidation into baby food territory. I swore I would spare my blog from our messy journey, but recent conversations have compelled me to do so.

Food and eating come up in every conversation I have with a new parent. At first, it was 'are you going the purée or baby-led-weaning (BLW) way?', and 'when is the right time to start weaning?', then what to eat, and how to eat it: 'what do you make?', 'what do you buy?' and 'when should we introduce cutlery? '. Most of all, parents seek inspiration for fresh, quick dinners, having got stuck in a rut with the usual suspects (pasta, fish fingers, beans...).

I have no answers, but like every parent I have a story to tell, and am using this first post on the subject to share with you how we (try to) feed our child.

Evangelical weaning books were hard to avoid at first. Late nights on Amazon led to a stack of books on my bedside table professing to know just how your child should eat. After some dithering, and a fair dose of confusion, we decided on a combination method: part BLW, part purée. My instinct told me he'd be fine feeding himself, and BLW would make it fun, but I was eager to fill his tummy. Taking advice from both camps meant he could experiment with handling and chewing on solid food, and take in a fair amount on the spoon to satisfy his hunger (alongside milk). Despite the odd phase of pickiness and loss of appetite, it worked. Check out Catherine Phipp's Word of Mouth article here to read more about BLW.

Now 17 months 0ld, he has the biggest drawer in the freezer, which I rely on for at least 80% of his main meals. Nearly every dinner starts with a pot-luck rustle and grab, followed by a steamer filled with carb boiling in the bottom (rice/potatoes/pasta) and veg (broccoli, beans, diced squash etc.) steaming on top, cooked for 10 minutes or so. Along with slicing fruit to go with Greek yogurt for his pud, prep never takes longer than 10-15 minutes. Couscous and peas is the extra-speedy option.

MY ESSENTIAL KIT
Silicone muffin tray, for freezing toddler-sized portions of sauces
Hand blender
Medium-size resealable plastic food bags
3-piece steamer

TYPICAL FREEZER DRAWER CONTENTS
MADE (batch cooked, or left over from family meals)
Mashed potato
Ratatouille
Fish fingers
Chicken goujons (posh name for fingers)
Sweet potato fritters
Chicken and apricot/squash curry
Cauliflower and potato curry
Greek lamb and carrot stew
Macaroni cheese
Ragu
Basic tomato sauce
Lentil and tomato soup
Spiced fruit purée
Meatballs (pork and beef)
Fish pie
BOUGHT
Pittas
Mini corn on the cob
Broad beans
Petits pois
Soft wholemeal rolls
Gnocchi
Corn/wheat wraps

BREAKFAST
I am obsessed about the high sugar and salt levels in our popular cereals, to the point where I will spend 20 minutes scrutinizing the back of cereal packets in the supermarket (to my husband's chagrin). Determined to find something healthy (C won't eat porridge, sadly), I came across Rude Health. Jackpot. Corn flakes made only of toasted corn! And Wheetabix isn't exactly pure wheat, but it's the best of the worst supermarket cereals as far as I can tell, though do correct me if I'm wrong.

LUNCH
Whether C has lunch at home or out and about, it's usually simple fare: a sandwich, grated cheese and apple toastie, frittata, leftovers from the night before, or pitta and dips, and some pieces of fruit, dried or fresh.

DESSERT
I should add that C usually eats fruit and yogurt for dessert, but at weekends I might make a rice pudding, or some apple-oaty muffins. As I write, he's demolishing a bowl of Greek yogurt mixed with mashed banana and a tsp of cashew nut butter. Not a pretty dish, but great for hungry tums.

Here are a few simple recipes:

MIXED VEGETABLE FRITTATA - Nutritious, economical finger food.
Boil 4 new potatoes until tender (you can do this in advance/use leftovers). Beat 4 eggs, and season with black pepper. Heat 1 tbsp olive oil with a knob of unsalted butter in a frying pan, add a small chopped onion/spring onion with half a diced red pepper and half a diced courgette. Cook until soft (5-10 minutes). Throw in the cooked potatoes, chopped, heat through, add a cup full of frozen petits pois, and stir over a medium heat for a minute or two. Stop stirring, pour over the eggs, and turn on your grill. Grate over some Cheddar/Parmesan, and after 5 minutes on the hob over a low heat, transfer to the grill to cook the top. Leave to cool, then turn out and slice into 8-12 pieces. This will keep in the fridge for a couple of days.

SWEET POTATO FRITTERS - Freezable, healthy finger food.
Roast 2 sweet potatoes for 1 hour at 170C fan (you can do this the day before).
Dig out the flesh from the skins once cool, and mix in a bowl with 1 tbsp soy sauce, 3 tbsp plain flour, 3 finely chopped spring onions, 1 beaten egg, and 2-3 tbsp whole milk to loosen the mixture. Add a handful of tinned/fresh sweetcorn if you have some to hand. Melt a small knob of unsalted butter/1 tbsp olive oil in a frying pan, and drop spoonfuls of the mixture into the pan. Cook for 5 mins each side, then set aside to cool on a paper towel. Serve immediately, keep in the fridge for a day or two, or freeze until needed.

FISH/CHICKEN GOUJONS - Prepare these one evening, stock the freezer, and you have almost instant homemade fish/chicken fingers when time is short. They take 20 minutes to prepare.
Two boneless and skinless cod/coley/pollack fillets or two chicken thighs/breasts.
Slice the fish/meat into thin finger-long strips. Prepare, on three separate plates:
2 tbsp plain flour
2 beaten eggs
150g breadcrumbs, mixed with 2 tbsp finely chopped parsley, a pinch of black pepper, and a heaped tbsp of Parmesan
Piece by piece, dip the fish/meat into the flour, shake off the excess, dip in the egg, then cover with the breadcrumb mixture. Set aside on a plate. Pop the plate in the freezer, then when they are nearly frozen solid, remove them and pop them into freezer bags. They can be cooked straight from frozen, in a frying pan with a little olive oil (5-8 minutes each side).

Please share your own mealtime solutions and feeding stories.

At Home: Apple cake

2011-10-14T13:07:00.000-07:00

I am disheartened by the continued absence of British apples in our supermarkets. Living in the city, the glut of fragrant fruit harvested from our precious and ancient orchards rarely makes its way to my local greengrocers', and I want to know why. Surely uniformity of shape and size are no longer key indicators of quality for the Big Four? Of the hundreds of traditional British varieties, are none of them commercially viable? I despair. That is until good fortune, and the cool breath of autumn, bestows on us the annual Apple Day. Only once a year do I get the opportunity to sample an abundance of the real deal. Engorged, tasteless, floury imported fruit have no place here.

Fenton House in Hampstead holds a wonderful celebration, and I used to be a regular visitor until our move east. Fortunately, Walthamstow's Vestry House Museum has a similarly reverential event, at which I bought a handbag-full of fragrant, sweet, gnarled russets and tangy pippins.

I wanted to make a simple cake, and Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries offered inspiration. His English apple cake - adapted recipe below - is much like the Dutch version: simple sponge baked with a topping of chopped apples and a touch of spice. Seraphic fruity loveliness, its light and moist consistency called for instant consumption. If you have any left, it will keep for a day or two in a sealed container, and will need reheating in a warm oven before serving.

Serves 8

130g unsalted butter, softened at room temperature
130g unrefined caster sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
3 dessert apples, peeled
the juice of half a lemon
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
small pinch ground cloves
2 tbsp demerara sugar
2 large eggs
130g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
3 tbsp fresh white breadcrumbs, combined with 2 crushed Amaretti biscuits

Preheat the oven to 180C/Gas 4. Line the base of a 24cm cake tin (round or square), about 6cm deep, with a piece of greased baking parchment. Let the ends of the parchment come up over the sides of the tin so that the cake is easy to release when cooked.

Put the butter and caster sugar into a food mixer and beat until light and fluffy. Whilst this is happening, cut the apples into small chunks, removing the cores as you go, and dropping the fruit into a bowl withe juice of the half lemon. Toss the apples with the cinnamon, ground cloves and demerara sugar.

Break the eggs, beat them with a fork, then gradually add them to the butter and sugar. (Don't worry if the mixture splits, the addition of the flour will bind it together again.) Sift the flour and baking powder together and fold them gently into the mixture. Scrape into the lined cake tin. Put the spiced apples on top of the cake mixture, then scatter with the Amaretti breadcrumbs and, if you wish, a little more demerara sugar.

Bake for 50 minutes to an hour. The edges should be browning nicely, and the centre firm. Leave to cool for ten minutes or so before removing from the tin. Eat warm.

Panorama Taverna, Kefalonia

2011-09-21T12:03:00.002-07:00

My sister Helena chose our holiday this year, as she had suggested a family trip and we were distinctly lacking in imagination. Fiscardo, on the Greek island of Kefalonia, was our destination.

Kefalonia satisfies all the beach holiday 'must haves': crystal clear water, beautiful beaches, quaint harbours, and a predictable climate. It also wipes you out. I'm not talking waves, but wallets. Fiscardo harbour's summer takings (€7 frappe, anyone?) will most likely solve the nation's debt crisis.

We followed the flocks to the harbour, and ate mediocre food at £30 a head for a few nights (chewy stifado, and enough Greek salads to put me off feta for life), before we decided to turn away from the harbour, dragged ourselves up the hill, and came across this beautiful place overlooking the bay.

The 83 year old owner and chef, Hrodotos, has been running his business, Panorama Taverna, for over 40 years. He'll offer you a laminated menu, but there's little point reading it. He makes 2 or 3 slow-cook dishes early every morning, and has a fresh selection of fish, meat, and vegetables for grilling or deep frying. Every day the menu changes: just as it should be. 'Let me tell you what we've got', followed by mouthwatering descriptions of the components of each dish, was music to our ears.

This was the beautifully rich feta (used judiciously) and tomato saganaki.

This murky Greek version of 'bouillabaisse' won't win any beauty contests. Hrodotos described it as 'special bouillabaisse', and it didn't disappoint on flavour: delicate and soft flakes of cod and red mullet in a light and herby vegetable-based stock, a refreshing change to the heavy greasy dishes Greece has earned a dubious reputation for.

Fried calamari. Not a hint of chewiness to these deep-fried and perfectly seasoned cephalopods - a hard trick to pull off.

Slow-cooked veal with lemon, carrot and potato. I rarely add potato to stews, rather cook them separately. If you do too, break the habit. It's easier to chuck them in a stew, requires fewer pans, and they take on the taste of the rich stock. Our 1-year-old boy couldn't get enough of this. The lemon and carrots gave it a fresh and sweet lift, and the veal could not have been more tender. A simple yet artful dish.

The homemade crème caramel. These little beauties were still setting, so I didn't get a chance to try them. I was reliably informed that they are worth waiting for.

Here's the man himself, gamely giving our boy a lift.

Should you find yourself homing in on one of Greece's most beautiful islands, please resist the overpriced harbour and head here. Hrodotos will welcome you with open arms, and the most spectacular home cooked Greek food you have ever eaten.

Spuntino

2011-09-21T12:03:00.001-07:00

Russell Norman knows how to roll out a successful establishment. His easy-please small plates have had (primarily) young and hungry Londoners salivating and swooning for the last two years as he has opened, in quick succession, Polpo, Polpetto, Spuntino, and now da Polpo.

The informality of his brand (I think I'm safe in saying he has a little empire on the go) is key: osterias and bacaros featuring bare brick walls, sparse decor, no reservations, friendly and relaxed staff - if your tattoo is impressive enough you're in, apparently - serving at a prominent bar, and food for sharing.

Lunch at Spuntino ticked off three of his four joints.

The anonymous entrance is slap bang in the middle of porn central, Soho, and it fits right in. A good kind of seedy, its intimate subterranean vibe and bare walls exude NY cool. More a bar with food than a diner, the menu veers from Italian-style cicchetti, crostini, and pizzette to petite versions of American diner classics: mac & cheese, cheddar grits, sliders, chopped salad, and steak and eggs. Basically, anything that pairs well with a stiff drink.

Truffled egg toast £6. Click here to read Helen Graves in raptures over this now-near-mythical creation. I could smell it before I could see it. 'What's that horrid smell?', were my exact words, I believe. But like great cheese, you can't let one sense fool you, especially when it comes to truffles. This is a masterpiece, a brick of artery-tickling greatness: soft bread holding a molten egg yolk, smothered in truffle-infused melted cheese.

Eggplant chips with fennel yogurt £3.50. Good idea, but I couldn't taste the aubergine (the crunchy coating was too dense), or the fennel. Perfectly edible, and moreish, just not impressive.

Fennel, radicchio, hazelnut and truffle salad £5.50. This was very lovely: crunchy leaves smothered in a mustardy smooth dressing, spiked with a dash of truffle oil.

Baked figs, prosciutto, gorgonzola and walnuts £7. For me, the only let down. It was just a bit boring: heavy, and too sweet and sickly.

Zucchini pizzetta £6.50. A favourite from Polpo: I love these pizzettas. A thin, crispy base, with a perfectly judged topping decorated with chilli and mint. A refreshing pizza, and an obvious oximoron, in one.

We also found room for two of the four "sliders" (£4.50-£5 each), mini burgers in soft mini buns. The best burger meat I've eaten in London, though I have yet to try Meatwagon, Byron, or Bar Boulud. Let me put you in the safe hands of Burgerac to take you through these mini meaty delights in salivating detail. They vanished the moment they were served, hence no pic.

Shoestring fries £3.50. Addictive. Light as air, they practically evaporated on the tongue after that satisfying first crunch.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwich £6.50. This was a sight to behold: two layers of peanut butter ice cream (more butter than ice, I'm guessing, as it was set but not freezing cold - hello heart attack...), sandwiched with raspberry jam. Sinful, and well worth a short stay in hell.

Lunch bill for 3: £69 incl. service at 12.5% and two glasses of Trebbiano at £7 each.

Spuntino offers good value, great food, and a hip place to prop yourself up at the end of a long night. I'm pretty sure I'm the last person in the capital to have made it there, and you're all probably seasoned regulars, but just in case... go!

Norman's opening a Jewish deli in Covent Garden soon. God help us, he'll be running for Mayor next.

A pig feast

2011-08-30T03:43:00.001-07:00

In our early 20's, when mortgages, serious jobs, and raising a family were unfathomable, and money could be spent frivolously, Jon and I hot-footed it to Bali to celebrate our engagement.

I found this picture (excuse the poor quality) in an old photo album crammed carelessly with hundreds of loose memories, and wanted to share it with fellow food lovers: it was a bacchanalian pig feast, a thunder clap for the senses, and an eye opener for my thus far uncultivated palate. Here began my now dedicated love of all things porcine.

We met a wonderful man called Wayan in our first week. Born and brought up in Bali, he worked as a chauffeur for tourists, ferrying them around the island in his trusty 4x4. He took us to see a few sights and told us about his life on the island, the woeful state of governance etc ... but this post is about pig, not politics.

Special occasions in Bali are often celebrated with the roasting of a young pig on a spit. Wayan was celebrating, and invited us to join in the feast (known locally as nasi guling).

The first thing we saw when we arrived at his home in the woods late morning, besides children chasing chickens, was the pig, freshly slaughtered, being pulled off a pick-up truck. It was swiftly hung upside down by a hook on the outside of a wooden kitchen hut. Its throat was cut immediately, and the beast's blood poured copiously into a bucket placed on the ground below its head. Blood collected and set aside, the stomach was slit, and the pig's intestines and organs were removed. With awe, we watched as the organs were diced, spiced (I wish I'd asked which spices they used), and the intestines repeatedly rinsed and cleaned out, stuffed tightly and deftly with the spiced offal, and knotted at each end.

The pig had by now been impaled on a long wooden stick, and was being turned slowly by hand over a smoky fire of coconut husks and wood. The intestine 'sausage', easily two meters long, was wrapped loosely around each end of the stick to cook slowly alongside the pig.

Meanwhile, the women of the family were in the kitchen hut, a basic structure with two thin clay walls, a basic frame, and corrugated iron roof (needless to say, there was no running water or electricity). As the pig approached readiness - after 2-3 hours - they set to work preparing the salad: blood, mixed with freshly grated coconut and more spices (you'll find an approximation of its ingredients here).

We vividly remember squeezing into their main living area with the rest of the family and guests, the pig laid out on a blue plastic sheet in front of us. With everyone squatting or sitting on the floor, sharp knives were handed around, and we all dug in. Sweet, moist, smoky meat, and sublime crackling rendered us speechless (the soft cheek meat was a delicacy all of its own). As did the intestine sausages, such as I have never tasted since - succulent and rich with offal, they had taken on the same sweet smoke flavours as the pork.

I dreaded tasting the blood 'salad', but knew I must. I grabbed a handful. It was a revelation: sweet, fresh, and delicately spiced, with a kick of chilli heat. I devoured the lot.

Needless to say, the centrepiece of our wedding feast at the Hollybush pub in Hampstead 5 years later was a suckling pig. Not sure the guests would have smiled for the pictures if we'd offered them blood salad ...

At Home: Scones

2011-08-22T04:40:00.000-07:00

I tore this wonderful Dan Lepard recipe for vanilla almond scones from the Guardian Weekend magazine a few weeks ago. They are perfectly simple, and incredibly moreish.

This was my second attempt, by the way. First attempt, I weighed out the dry ingredients the night before, then plainly forgot the next day that I had only half the dry ingredients (for half the quantity of scones), and added the full quantity of wet ingredients. Needless to say, this batter was not going to transform itself into delectable scones. Lesson learnt.

They will keep for a day or two in an airtight plastic container, but why would you want to? Eat them fresh with lashings of cream and your favourite jam. The following tips and and recipe are stolen verbatim from the magazine, except I used buttermilk instead of yogurt, and left out the almonds:

- Keep the dough soft, pat it gently, keep it thick.
- When cutting, do so swiftly and straight down without twisting.
- Bake in a very hot oven, to give you the tallest scones possible.
- They are best eaten as soon as they're warm, with butter or cream, as you prefer.

400g plain flour, plus a little extra
3 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
50g unsalted butter, slightly chilled
225ml natural yogurt or buttermilk (I used buttermilk, readily available from large supermarkets)
3 tsp vanilla extract
2 tbsp caster sugar
75ml double cream
1 egg, beaten

Spoon the flour, baking powder, and salt into a bowl, and toss with a fork. Cut the chilled butter into cubes, then rub into the flour mixture until only the odd flake remains visible.

Stir the buttermilk with the vanilla extract, caster sugar, and cream, then tip this into the flour bowl and combine until the mixture barely forms a smooth dough. Flour a patch of worktop, scoop the dough on to it and tap it out to 3-4cm high - you want it quite thick because you want a good lift from the scones.

Line a tray with nonstick paper. Cut scones from the dough using a round, 6cm cutter, and place them 3-4cm apart on the tray. Brush the tops with beaten egg, and bake at 220C/200 fan/Gas 7 for 12-14 minutes, until lightly brown on top.

At Home: Wild Plum Jam

2011-08-06T23:29:00.000-07:00

I discovered this tree in my father's back garden in rural Norfolk. He claims it's a Cambridge Wild Plum, but my research proved fruitless (ha), and no such variety could be found. They are much like damsons - a tart, wild plum. I gathered as much fruit as I could carry, using Charlie's stacking cups as vessels, and hurried the fruit back to London.

This jam recipe is as simple as they come. If you regularly make jam, you don't need it, but I'm not a seasoned jam-maker, and always appreciate some guidance. So I read up, and am offering it out to you, my dear readers.

900g (2lb) barely ripe wild plums/damsons

900g (2lb) preserving/caster sugar

Don't bother washing the plums. If they are wild, and above ground level, you can be pretty confident they'll be free of any nasties. But do check them over, discarding any that have succumbed to rot or hungry bugs. Slit the plums with a knife. This will allow the stones to float to the surface during cooking so that they can be easily removed with a slotted spoon.

Place a small plate in the freezer, to test the jam for set later on.

Wash 4 x 450g jam jars, including lids, in warm soapy water (or your dishwasher). Place the jars in a warm oven (160C/Gas 3) for 8-10 minutes to dry, along with a heatproof bowl holding the sugar. Turn off the oven. Boil the lids separately for 5 minutes, and leave to drain on a clean tea towel.

Put the fruit in a preserving/aluminium pan with 150ml water. Bring to a simmer over a low heat, and cook for 20 minutes until the fruit has broken down. Add the warmed sugar. Shake the pan gently to disperse the sugar. As soon as the sugar has dissolved (this will take about 10 minutes of gentle simmering), increase the heat and boil the jam rapidly for 10 minutes. Skim off the stones as they float to the surface. After 10 minutes of boiling, remove from the heat and test for setting point:

Put a teaspoon of jam on the cold plate, leave for 10 seconds, then push it gently with your finger. If a crinkly skin has formed, then it is ready. If not, continue to boil for another 5 minutes and test it again.

Be careful not to boil the jam for too long, for danger of turning it into fruity caramel.

When the jam is ready, carefully pour into the warm jars. Seal with tight-fitting lids. Allow to cool completely before labelling and storing.

Serve with homemade scones and clotted cream (or butter - whatever rocks your boat). My scone recipe is a simple Dan Lepard gem, published in the Guardian a few weeks ago. I'll post the recipe in the next day or two.

Happy preserving!

Bistrot Bruno Loubet

2011-08-06T12:24:00.000-07:00

I must admit, until Bistrot Bruno Loubet opened to great hoo-hah and frenzy last Spring, I hadn't heard of Bruno. My weakness for French bistro food is undeniable, and it's invariably the kind of food I cook for friends, but mention the man and I drew a blank.

After spending his formative years under the tutelage of Pierre Koffman and Raymond Blanc, it transpires he made rather a name for himself in the Nineties with Bistro Bruno and L'Odeon in London, achieving a Michelin star at the Four Seasons Inn on the Park, where he was Head Chef, before hot-footing it to Oz.

Two years after his return to the UK, his eponymous restaurant in Clerkenwell has established itself confidently among its high-end neighbours (St John, The Modern Pantry, Moro, and Vinoteca all sit within five minutes of Bruno's front door). The room, a large high-ceiling softly-lit space on the ground floor of the trendy Zetter hotel (I have a vague memory of being devastatingly drunk at a rooftop party here, years back: swanky rooms, in case you're wondering), is crammed with chattering media 30-somethings. The contented buzz put me and LT immediately at ease. With a wall-hugging table we were free to people-watch and settle down for a preprandial drink*.

The menu was measured, imaginative, and seasonal. I had been expecting a larger selection of dishes (maybe more than one soup, and some charcuterie), but each course (7/8 dishes for each) read well, particularly the starters and mains. The appearance of fusion flavours amidst the savoury bistro classics was a tell-tale sign of his decade in Brisbane (yuzu and miso in particular). The desserts looked indulgent, certainly, but sounded a little too familiar: apple tart, chocolate mousse, ice cream, cheeses. They have also not come off terribly well in recent write-ups.

With a carafe of sherbety French white (I forget which - too busy thinking about the food) delivered promptly by our lovely waiter, we considered and chose:

Vegetarian antipasti, roasted aubergine, pepper, tomato, fig, blood orange, Parmesan mousse £7
Salmon tartare, radish and pickled ginger yuzu dressing £8.00
Rabbit 'tournedos', artichoke barigoule, lovage pesto £17.50
Grilled English asparagus, soft boiled duck egg, green salsa £13.50

The vegetarian antipasti was a stunning starter. Beautiful to look at and just as artful on the palate. It was hard to detect the Parmesan, but I didn't miss it. Generous, too, for £7.

LT's salmon tartare was equally easy on the eye. Hardly French bistro, but apparently delightful and refreshing, the fish being top rate.

The rabbit 'tournedos' were the highlight of the evening for me. Succulent, tender rabbit meat wrapped tightly in bacon, filled with soft rabbit sweetbreads and accompanied by earthy artichoke with a dark rich jus, and a verdant and piquant lovage pesto. A highly accomplished dish.

LT didn't seem quite so keen on her grilled asparagus main. This was her first taste of a duck egg, and she had been expecting to be able to differentiate it from a hen's. She was left wanting, though the asparagus (seasonal? hmm) was delicately cooked and generously plated. Maybe not a dish to return for.

Overall, I loved the place. The atmosphere was convivial, and the food crowd-pleasing with signs of brilliance. Keen pricing pulls it to the top 10 of London restaurants for me. Go, you won't regret it (if you see oxtail on the menu, try it - Bruno's signature dish, apparently).

* We were late for our booking so set out straight for the restaurant, but if you have time, squeeze in a few drinks at the new Zetter Townhouse's cocktail bar, opposite the restaurant.

Pic credit: EwanM

At Home: Chocolate Fudge Brownies

2011-07-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

Another brownie recipe. I just can't help myself.

These take 10 minutes to prepare, and are the real deal: unadulterated, and unbelievably chocolatey. Eat them still warm from the oven, with clotted cream or creme fraiche, or leave them to mature for a day or two in an airtight box, when they'll be chewier and just as delectable.

Buy the best chocolate and cocoa you can get your hands on, and you'll taste the difference.

Makes 12

185g (6oz) dark chocolate (at least 70%)
125g (4oz) salted butter
1 heaped tsp instant espresso coffee powder
1 tbsp cocoa powder
250g (8oz) golden caster sugar
3 large free-range eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
55g (1 3/4oz) self-raising flour

Preheat your oven to 180C (160C fan/Gas 4).

Line a 20 x 28cm baking tin or roasting dish with greased baking parchment.

Melt the chocolate with the butter in a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water, taking care not to let the bowl touch the water. Once melted, stir in the espresso powder and cocoa powder.

Mix the sugar with the eggs in a mixing bowl, beating with a whisk until smooth and aerated (5-10 minutes). Add the melted chocolate, mix well, then sift in the flour and stir gently until combined.

Pour the mixture into the tin and bake for 30-40 minutes. You don't want it too cakey and firm. Test it with your finger, and take the brownies out while the mixture in the middle of the tin is still not quite set. Cool before removing from tin and slicing into generous squares.

Hibiscus

2011-07-16T02:31:00.000-07:00

Wish lists are for fools. To-do lists, on the other hand, urge participation.

For too long, the back of my little moleskin diary has been home to a scrawled 'wish' list of restaurants I seem destined never to visit. Now it reads 'to-do', I am finally getting on with it. Jon chose Claude Bosi's Michelin-starred Hibiscus from the list, the occasion being my birthday and our first 'date' since baby Charlie made his grand entrance. An excuse for fine dining, if ever there was one.

Two admissions: I took no photos. It was a hushed and intimate place, and there were as many staff as there were diners. It felt inappropriate, so the camera stayed in my bag. Secondly, transcribing the menu would take forever, so you have a photograph of it instead.

Seated at a cosy corner table, hugged by blonde wood panelling, we were presented by a leather-bound two-page menu and some crisp and light cheese goujeres. On Fridays and Saturdays Hibiscus serves a 'Claudi Bosi devised' tasting-menu only: choose 6 or 8 courses, according to your appetite (and credit card limit), from £85 per person. The carpeted room seats less than 50 diners at a time, and is noticeably and thankfully less corporate than nearby fine-dining institutions Locanda Locatelli, Corrigan's Mayfair, or Gordon Ramsay at Claridges.

I'll be honest, I'm a pie, mash, and one-pot girl, and butter and carbs find their way into most of my food. Bosi's food is altogether more ethereal: bright, clear, clean, and precise. It's a shock to the palate at first, as nothing sits heavy in the mouth. Most dishes hardly required mastication.

The dinner began with a shot of Chilled Hibiscus Flower and Apple Soda. It faintly resembled Appletize, and was intensely refreshing.

In an evening of too many 'ooohs' and 'aahs' to mention, only one dish lacked the magic touch, the Slow grilled Goosnargh Duck Breast. The meat was chewy, even the bespoke 'Hibiscus' engraved bone-handle knives had to break a sweat to get through the flesh, and the fat hadn't rendered and was not pleasant to eat. The two fish dishes (see menu above) were far better executed.

The highlight was the Foie Gras Ice Cream, Toasted Brioche Emulsion, New Season Gooseberries and Cardamom. Jon claimed the ingredient composition brought to mind Brian Wilson's Smile, in its sophisticated harmony (who am I to argue...). It was certainly a show-stopper, and the soft yeasty emulsion mingling with the rich and creamy ice cream, punctured by the sharp gooseberry, will not be quickly forgotten. On a par was the Ravioli of Spring Onion and Lime, Broad Bean and Mint Puree. The essence of spring, so deftly wrought. Exquisite.

The flavour combinations thrilled and amused, and a lightness of touch was present throughout, particularly through Bosi's use of herbs and flowers, though their delicate flavours could not always be detected (the bergamot seemed absent from the mackerel dish).

There are few wines under the £50 mark, though we had a wonderful Riesling for £36 (Orea, Saaris Riesling 2009, Mosel, Germany) that hit the mark and worked beautifully with the food. The charming sommelier, Romain Henry, deserves a mention. He put us at our ease, even laughed at all Jon's jokes.

Our bill, wait for it, was £316 (including service charge) for two. You may well consider this obscene, but we judged our night out had been worth the money. And when a decent hotel room in the environs (chi chi Mayfair) doesn't cost much less, I know I'd rather eat like a king and sleep in my own bed!

Whitstable Oyster Company, and Wheelers

2011-07-02T11:57:00.000-07:00

A decade ago, Whitstable showed few signs of the gentrification that has consumed it since, bringing with it locust clouds of city dwellers, Bugaboos, and gastro-tourists. The Old Neptune and Tankerton Arms used to be good friends in my student days, when a predilection for pints on the seafront overwhelmed any desire for good food. A bag of chips would do nicely, thanks.

This time the pilgrimage was for sustenance, sea, and sun, not intoxication. I hardly recognised the place (sobriety could be to blame, admittedly). It was a last-minute trip, giving us no time to book the tremendous Sportsman in nearby Seasalter, Samphire, or JoJo's, so we wandered the seafront, seeking oysters. Spying some rather nice specimens in the entrance of Whitstable Oyster Company, we thought it a safe bet.

The moment the bread arrived our hearts sank (nasty gluey supermarket baguettes with tiny foil-wrapped butter parcels). Heart rates rose when we read the menu. The prices for simple fish dishes are astounding. Deep-fried squid - £10.50, Smoked eel - £10.50, Fish and chips - 16.50, Baked halibut £24.50. We ordered a plate of 6 local oysters (£7.50), half a lobster with potato salad (£16.50), and Fish and chips. We waited. And waited a little more. 45 minutes later these arrived, and our chagrin was not met with an apology:

Better than any oysters I've gulped in London (sorry, Bentley's). Fat, briny, and incredibly sweet and meaty. But credit goes to the seabed, not the restaurant. All they had to do was open them (and it took them close to an hour).

Fish (cod) and chips were frustratingly mediocre, given our proximity to the shore. The fish batter was dense, and the chips soggy. The fish was overcooked. We'd have done better to grab some from the nearby seafood shack for a fiver. The accompanying mushy peas and tartare sauce were so bland I've completely forgotten whether they were any good.

The lobster was succulent and meaty, the potato salad poor (undercooked and underseasoned). Again, little or no credit to the restaurant. Or shall I be generous? They are good at boiling a crustacean.

Our bill for these dishes, and half a pint of oyster stout: £56. We felt well and truly mugged. Whitstable Oyster Company was full of wealthy tourists, who seemed to have no qualms with the pricing. They're welcome to it, but please don't join them.

We dropped in at the famous Wheelers Oyster Bar on the high street a few hours later, to pick up some fish to take home. A fiver's worth of prawns survived the trip back to London in a cool bag, and I ravished them immediately and inelegantly at the kitchen sink, with Wheelers' homemade mayo. The finest, sweetest prawns I've ever eaten. Worth a dozen overpriced lobsters.

Next time, we plan to head straight to Wheelers to pick up a dozen oysters, some prawns, and a pot of mayonnaise, before heading to the beach with a few bottles of local ale, and a bag of chips. I'd be hard-pressed to dream up a better meal.

Romanesco cauliflower cheese

2011-06-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

Inflicting jaundiced food on my dear readers has become a habit. Apologies. Bakes, cakes, and corn, my current weaknesses, don't fill a screen with colour. My next post will be a verdant delight, I promise.

Back to the bake...

Last weekend I bought a beautiful romanesco cauliflower from the farmers' market. I wanted it to appeal to my one-year-old, so a dousing in dairy was the only way forward. But not just the usual bechamel and a bit of cheddar - I wanted to enjoy it, too. Dijon mustard, Poilane sourdough breadcrumbs, nutmeg, and Gruyere turned it into something very special indeed.

Prep: 15-20 minutes
Cook: 30 minutes

1 romanesco cauliflower, florets removed and rinsed
2 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tbsp flour
500ml whole milk
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
generous grating of nutmeg
large handful grated sharp cheddar cheese/Gruyere
1 ball of mozzarella, sliced
1 tbsp creme fraiche
2 cups of breadcrumbs
3 tbsp grated Parmesan

Preheat the oven to 190C. Steam the cauliflower for 8-10 minutes, until tender. Lay it in an ovenproof dish, in a single layer.

Melt the butter in a saucepan over a low heat, then add the flour and stir constantly for 1 minute. Gradually start adding the milk, a tbsp at a time, stirring constantly as it becomes amalgamated with the flour and butter to make a smooth paste. Once the paste has become looser, and more liquid, add the rest of the milk and cook over a low heat, stirring frequently, for 10 minutes or until the sauce has a thick and creamy consistency.

Take the bechamel off the heat, and add the mustard, nutmeg, cheeses, and cream. Stir until they have melted into the sauce. Season.

Pour the sauce evenly over the cauliflower. Mix the breadcrumbs and Parmesan together, and scatter over the dish. Cook for 30 minutes, until you have a delightful crunchy top, and bubbling, oozing sauce underneath.

da Polpo

2011-06-11T11:20:00.000-07:00

Russell Norman's winning formula of Italian bacaro eating has just spawned a fourth offspring: da Polpo, in the heart of Covent Garden. The slender and unimposing green frontage sits on Maiden Lane, a cobbled street that belies the surrounding touristy hubbub and is home, too, to the wonderful Rules (London's oldest restaurant: visit during game season, and seek out its famous cocktail bar).

Inside, da Polpo's unpretentious and pared down decor reflects that of the original Polpo in Soho. Modelled on Venice's wine bars, the brick walls are bare, the tables small and candlelit, and the bar prominent.

There for an early lunch, we had the place to ourselves, and a convivial welcome. Moretti and refreshing MGM virgin cocktail (lemon juice, elderflower liqueur, and ginger beer) in hand, we contemplated the placemat paper menu. It offers small Italian sharing plates: cicheti (snacks), pizzette, vegetables and salads, meatballs, 'plates', and tempting desserts.

Food-loving twitterers @londonfoodie, @sarahlovescake and @KaveyF recommended the Gorgonzola pizzetta, spicy pork and fennel meatballs, and the spinach, parmesan and soft egg pizzetta, and I'd heard people swoon about the Nutella pizzetta.

Dry focaccia was disappointingly free of char and olive oil, but all was forgiven when the pizzetta arrived.

Zucchini, chilli, mint pizzetta £6. Incredibly thin and crispy base, and a perfectly attuned topping. Heavenly, and the best dish of the day.

Grilled asparagus, buttered eggs and Parmesan £7.50. Rustic and uncomplicated. More butter than egg, but all the better for it.

Heritage tomato salad £5. Another highlight. Rarely do tomatoes satisfy - like sweetcorn and avocados, they lose their sweetness as they linger on supermarket shelves - but these were oozing goodness, sitting in a perfectly judged dressing.

Classic beef and pork meatballs £4.50. These hit a dud note. The meat was ground too finely, and quite dry. Any subtle meatiness was drowned out by the pungent tomato sauce. A weak dish.

Chicken liver crostino £1.50. The second of our two meat dishes, and sadly forgettable. The bitterness of overcooked liver overwhelmed any offaly sweetness.

Arancini £2.50. Fab, and great value. Warm and soft deep-fried risotto balls. Perfect comfort food.

Da Polpo might not be pushing the boundaries, but they cook to please. The hits outweighed the misses, and we emerged content, planning our return visit. Norman creates spectacular meat dishes, particularly ragus. I'll refrain from judging all da Polpo's meat dishes until I've had a chance to try more, particularly the pork and fennel meatballs which came so highly recommended.

Spuntino, Norman's third establishment, is getting rave write-ups, and may well be the jewel in Norman's crown (American classics such as sliders, mac 'n' cheese). I'll check it out soon.

Our bill for two (four dishes each + booze) came to £47, including service. Not bad at all, and I'll certainly return.

Da Polpo takes daytime bookings - nighttime, it's a free for all.

At Home: Grandmother's Creamy Fresh Corn

2011-06-08T12:27:00.000-07:00

Corn bought in the Midwest or Southern States is the best to be had: fresh from the sun-drenched fields, and tooth-achingly sweet. It bears no resemblance to its poor relations flown across the world to languish in plastic, stripped of their protective husks, on our supermarket shelves.

My American grandmother was a home economist and food writer, and a meticulous and impressive home cook. She kept records of her favourite family and entertaining recipes, pasting clippings neatly onto cards, or noting them down in elegant script. Serendipity intervened as I was helping clear out the family home in Ohio after the death of my grandfather, and I came across her collection. Corn features widely, and this is a true American classic.

I've adapted the recipe, providing UK measures. Use the freshest corn cobs you can find, preferably with their husks intact. I've omitted the flour, as I don't think it is necessary. Serve with plain roast chicken, or as part of a Sunday brunch fry up.

7-8 ears of corn
85g unsalted butter
1 tbsp sugar
2 tsp sea salt
120ml whole milk
120ml double cream
pepper and nutmeg, to taste

Cut the corn from the cob by holding it on a board vertically and slashing down through kernels with a small sharp knife, then scrape the cob with back of the knife to extract all the milk from the cob.

Melt butter in frying pan, stir in corn. Add sugar, salt and milk. Cover, and cook slowly for about 10 minutes. Stir in the cream, and simmer for a further couple of minutes. Sprinkle generously with coarsely ground pepper and nutmeg.

At Home: Fridge-raid Frittata

2011-06-07T12:42:00.000-07:00

A supremely easy meal, perfect for lunch boxes, picnics, toddler finger food, or a simple supper.

A frittata can be made with an endless array of ingredients languishing in your fridge, though I try to keep it seasonal, and make sure I add a generous handful of cheese (feta, Parmesan, goat's cheese, or gruyere), and whatever herbs I have to hand. A luxury version could be made with smoked salmon, or a few truffle shavings.

Asparagus, sausage and pea frittata

8 Jersey Royal potatoes

6 spears of asparagus, trimmed

1 cup of frozen petit pois

1 tbsp light olive oil

knob of unsalted butter

3 spring onions, finely sliced

2 good-quality pork sausages

5 eggs

1 heaped tbsp grated Parmesan

Cook the potatoes, asparagus, beans, and peas until tender, and put them aside until they are cool enough to handle. Chop the potatoes, asparagus, and beans roughly.
Put a large non-stick frying pan over a medium heat, and add the oil and butter. When the butter has melted, add the spring onions, and cook - stirring - for 2 minutes.
Squeeze the sausage meat out of its skins into the pan, and break it up with a wooden spoon as it browns, for 5 minutes.
Stir in the chopped cooked vegetables, and petit pois, and warm through for 2 minutes.
Whisk the eggs with the Parmesan and a generous grind of black pepper (add salt now, if you like, though I like to season it just before serving).
Pour the egg mixture evenly over the vegetables, sprinkling over some feta or goat's cheese if you have some, and turn the heat to low. Leave the frittata to cook for 5-8 minutes, until almost set, then transfer the frying pan to the grill until cooked through.

Ingredient variations

Vegetables: spinach, broad beans, roasted squash, sweetcorn, chopped and deseeded tomatoes, red pepper, broccoli, red onion, watercress.

Meat and fish: smoked trout, smoked haddock, smoked salmon, cooked ham, bacon, chorizo, cooked prawns.

Herbs: dill, chives, mint, parsley, sage, basil.

The First Birthday Cake

2011-06-06T07:20:00.000-07:00

Charlie's first birthday brought with it a dilemma. Have a big bash, frowned upon by parenting gurus, or keep it low key. Refusing to be made to feel guilty for 'putting him through' a party, we shunned advice and pulled out all the stops.

One crucial element of the day: the cake. No guilt-wracked conscience here. It had to be big, it had to be sugary, and it had to be chocolatey.

A cake connoisseur, my friend Sarah suggested Nigella's Chocolate Fudge Cake from Nigella Bites. The recipe that follows is lifted word for word from her website. I decorated it with strawberry halves, white chocolate shavings (which my mother thought was Parmesan....), and icing sugar. It worked a treat, and was devoured with gusto by babies and adults alike.

It serves 10 adequately, 20 at a snip, and 60? - no chance. We managed to feed 40, but they only got a meagre sliver.

400g plain flour
250g golden caster sugar
100g light muscovado sugar
50g best quality cocoa powder
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/2 tsp salt
3 eggs
142ml/small tub sour cream
1 tbsp vanilla extract
175g unsalted butter, melted and cooled
125ml corn oil
300ml chilled water

FOR THE FUDGE ICING:

175g dark chocolate, minimum 70% cocoa solids
250g unsalted butter, softened
275g icing sugar, sifted
1 tbsp vanilla extract

Method

Preheat the oven to 180°C/gas mark 4. Butter and line the bottom of two 20cm sandwich tins.
In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugars, cocoa, baking powder, bicarb and salt. In another bowl or measuring jug whisk together the eggs, sour cream and vanilla until blended. Using a freestanding or handheld electric mixer, beat together the melted butter and corn oil until just blended, then beat in the water. Add the dry ingredients all at once and mix together on a slow speed. Add the egg mixture, and mix again until everything is blended and then pour into the prepared tins.
Bake the cakes for 50-55 minutes, or until a cake-tester comes out clean. Cool the cakes in their tins on a wire rack for 15 minutes, and then turn the cakes out onto the rack to cool completely.
To make the icing, melt the chocolate in the microwave - 2-3 minutes on medium - or in a bowl sitting over a pan of simmering water, and let cool slightly.
In another bowl beat the butter until it's soft and creamy then add the sieved icing sugar and beat again until everything's light and fluffy. Then gently add the vanilla and chocolate and mix together until everything is glossy and smooth.
Sandwich the middle of the cake with about a quarter of the icing, and then ice the top and sides, spreading and smoothing with a rubber spatula.

As you can see, our singing didn't go down too well. But I can promise that the cake did.

Bill's Produce Store, Covent Garden

2011-05-31T05:41:00.000-07:00

Once a virtuous and quirky place, situated in an old bus depot in the heart of Brighton, Bill's Produce Store has since been gobbled up by Richard Caring's vast restaurant empire (he of Le Caprice, Soho House, and The Ivy), and homogenised beyond all recognition.

Our visit to the Covent Garden branch (there are now five branches across the UK) was miserable. At first site, it's a replica of the original - kitted out in rustic, farm shop style - but that's where similarities end. We were seated at a ridiculously tiny table with our 11-month-old boy. They neglected to offer us a menu. Ten minutes in, a grumpy waiter became aware of our presence.

The menu bears no resemblance to Bill's original, which featured inventive salads and beautiful puds, all freshly made and seasonal. It reads like a poor imitation of Giraffe, a mishmash of standard tourist fare with no obvious theme: butternut squash risotto, burger and fries, fishcakes, thai green curry, lasagne, BLT. Tedious, and uninspired.

Our two burgers took another 40 minutes to arrive, by which time Charlie had finished his lunch, and was itching to get out of his highchair. The meal wouldn't fit on the table, so we had to put drinks and chips on the floor, and the salad we had ordered was missing. With no apologies forthcoming, I found the manager, who gave us a couple of free drinks. She was doing her best with a bad lot: sullen lazy staff, mediocre food, a slow kitchen, and the place thronged with tourists. I didn't envy her.

How was the burger? It looked promising, in a light brioche bun, but was bland. Instantly forgettable. And most definitely not worth the wait. The meat was sub-standard and tasteless, and I couldn't detect any pickle or crunch.

In trying to satisfy the tourist trade, and devise a menu around a new business model rather than seasonality and fresh local produce, the concept behind the original Bill's Produce Store has been well and truly abandoned. What a shame.

At Home: Ragu Wraps

2011-05-26T01:36:00.001-07:00

A rich ragu that has had a few days to mature is a great thing. The ingredients get to know each other better, making for a deeper, more complex flavour. Rather than serve it as you did first time around, try these simple, speedy wraps. I found that the ragu had become thicker and more gelatinous, perfect for spreading over a toasted flatbread. The marriage of cool crunchy cucumber, creamy avocado, tender rich meat, and a touch of Jamaican pepper heat, is addictive.

Serves 2

Two flour or corn tortillas (or flatbread of your choice) per person

Leftover beef shin ragu/beef stew, warmed through

1 avocado, stoned, skin removed, and flesh cut into strips

1 cucumber, sliced in half and cut into long strips

8 cooked new potatoes, roughly diced

6 tbsp sour cream

Jamaican Hot Sauce (use sparingly)

1 lime, for squeezing

Warm through the tortillas in a dry frying pan over a medium heat. I like them to char a bit, five minutes on each side normally does it.

Fill each tortilla with the remaining ingredients, being as generous as you wish (within limits - you want to be able to close them up).

Close the wraps, and secure them with a cocktail stick. We'd run out, so forks were the next best option.

At Home: Beef Shin Ragu

2011-05-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

It pains me to start this post with a less than inspiring pic. I hope that the description will serve as the appetite whetter instead. It tastes bloody spectacular, I promise.

Thrift never translates into bounty as readily as when a cheap cut of meat becomes a tender, rich, and satisfying supper. Shin is ideal for a ragu, as the meat falls apart easily with long slow cooking, and it pairs beautifully with pasta.

Ask your butcher to leave the bone in the shin. Failing that, add a pig's trotter to the mix. A morsel of marrow is a lovely thing, but in its absence the gelatinous nature of the trotter is a more than acceptable substitute, and will improve the texture of the ragu no end.

Pavel at How Not to Do a Food Blog was the inspiration for this dish. His recipe read like food porn, and I was hooked. And, I stole Helen Graves' (find her post at Food Stories) clever idea of perking up the finished dish with a gremolata.

Be adventurous with the aromatics. I've stuck to the usual suspects here, but you could try Stevie Parle's suggestion of allspice, fennel seeds, and star anise, or a stick or two of cinnamon/cassia bark, and a dried chilli. Or, Pavel's celery seed idea.

Shove any leftover meat into a salad wrap with avocado, cucumber and sour cream (for the hot heads, add a dollop of jamaican hot sauce); mix it with mashed potato and fry (for the gluttons, put a fried egg on top); turn it into a quesadilla filling with melted cheese and pickles. Or, simply spoon it on top of a steaming baked potato.

2 tbsp light olive oil
1.5 kg (3lb 5 oz) beef shin, thickly sliced into steaks (bone-in, if possible)

2 carrots, peeled and finely chopped

2 celery sticks, finely chopped

2 onions, peeled and finely chopped

2 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped

5 black peppercorns

Bouquet garni (sprig of thyme, sprig of rosemary, 2 bay leaves, 2 sage leaves)

2 large glasses of medium-bodied French or Italian red wine

500ml good quality beef or chicken stock

400g tin of chopped tomatoes

½ tsp grated nutmeg, and a generous handful of grated Parmesan, to serve

For the gremolata, mix together:

a handful of flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

grated zest of 1 unwaxed lemon, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, peeled and finely chopped

Pre-heat your oven to 130C (266F/Gas ½). Add the olive oil to a large heavy casserole dish and warm over a medium heat. Season the meat and fry it in batches (you want it to brown and caramelise, not steam). Remove the meat to a plate, and set aside.
Add the vegetables, peppercorns, and herbs to the casserole dish. Turn down the heat, and sweat them gently for 10-15 minutes until soft but not coloured.
Return the meat to the pan, and add the wine, stock, and tomatoes. Bring to a simmer, then cover and cook in the oven for 4-5 hours (the longer the better). Check it every hour or so, to make sure it's not drying out. If it is, add a little water.
Remove the meat from the sauce, and tear it apart with a fork and spoon (it should yield wilfully). If you'd like a gooier sauce, reduce it on the hob before returning the shredded meat to the dish. Remove the bouquet garni, and season to taste.
Serve with a robust pasta, such as rigatoni or pappardelle, or gnocchi, and sprinkle with the gremolata, some Parmesan, and a touch of grated nutmeg.

Kopapa

2011-05-11T12:07:00.003-07:00

The trend of small plate eating has taken London by storm. A recent venture to join the bandwagon, in Covent Garden, is Kopapa. It sits pretty on Monmouth Street (check out its worthy neighbours Monmouth Coffee House and Kiehl's cosmetics), and has garnered largely positive reviews from London's food bloggers.

An all day café, restaurant and bar in the chic-boutique Seven Dials district, its founder and co-owner is 'fusion king' Peter Gordon, a Kiwi chef who has already tried and tested his formula at the great but pricey Providores in Marylebone.

On a lunch-hour dash, time was not on our side. The menu didn't help, resembling as it did a hyperactive child: hard to get a grip on, and rather quixotic (lists of light meals, quick bites, platters, tapas, mains, sides, in no particular order). Where to start? I had a budget, which helped. The rest was down to potluck and a dining partner with a decisive disposition.

Shichimi-crusted baked tofu with shiitake, carrot & miso mustard dressing £5.50. Being a devoted carnivore, this isn't what I'd choose to eat, and I didn't. I stole some from my friend Sarah's plate. It was surprisingly tasty, though I think it was the seasoning I preferred over the protein. Sarah loved it.

Cassava chips with avocado, sriracha chilli sauce and crème fraîche £5. Moreish. A puffed-up plantain/parsnip is the best description I can come up with. The sauces brought the fluffy chips to life. I last had cassava chips at The Modern Pantry, a fantastic fusion place in Farringdon, run by Anna Hansen (another chef hailing from New Zealand, and an old team mate of Peter Gordon's). Cassava clearly beats the humble potato when you're in fusion territory.

Steamed and salted edamame £4. They couldn't have (and didn't) go wrong with these.

Lovely pillowy Flatbread and babaganoush with olives £3.50. A perfect snack with drinks. I could have skipped the larger dishes and just gone from this to dessert (which we didn't have time for).

Garlic sautéed chicken livers on focaccia with grapes, red onion jam and Muscat jus £7.80. Cooked perfectly, but perhaps a touch too sweet for my taste. One of the too-mean-to-be-main, but too-big-to-be-tapas dishes (aka 'small plates').

This was comfort food, and it met the brief.

I'd have liked to try dessert, and some of the Asian-influenced dishes, to get a better grip on the menu, and the breakfast offerings look special (as do the puds). If fusion and innovation is their 'thing', I want to taste it.

Until then, I recommend it as a good place for lunch, and probably a great place for breakfast and brunch (going on the reviews of bloggers I trust). If you are there for lunch, have bread, one dish, one salad, and a sobering sparkling water and you'll get change from £20.

St John Hotel restaurant

2011-04-16T12:29:00.000-07:00

This hotel restaurant, brought to us by Fergus Henderson and Trevor Gulliver of St John fame, has been a long time coming. I've booked a table three times since December last year, only to be called and informed that they weren't ready to open. A long wait brings with it high expectations. That's why I hate queuing: impatience and disappointment don't suit me.

The wait was over, and I was famished. Taking my little boy, husband, and sister along for Saturday lunch, the first impression was that this dingy Leicester Square location doesn't sit well with the clean minimalist feel of St John. The hotel entrance has a hostel/ICU feel about it, with scuffed blue rubber floors and a dull utilitarian feel. But I didn't see the rooms, so I judge in haste.

The restaurant on the ground floor is a cool low-ceiling space, kitted out in the familiar St John style: the trademark coat pegs, whitewash walls, open kitchen, and sparsely set tables.

The first to arrive for lunch service, we were greeted by an orderly line of bums, as the staff were all leaning over the pass, chatting with the chefs. We were welcomed with a giggle, and the service continued to be faultless throughout.

The menu starts with three fish dishes, oysters, langoustines, and mussels. A tip o' the hat to Manzi's Fish Restaurant, which used to call the building home, then heads into familiar territory of the best of Britain, nose to tail (barley, brill, snails, tripe, pike, celeriac - you know the score).

We had, along with a refreshing Picpoul de Pinet and some very gluggable cider breton:

Lamb sweetbreads, broad beans, and artichoke £8.20. Beautifully soft and buttery. A great introduction to offal for the squeamish among you.

Pig's head croquette and chicory £7.50. The chicory added welcome bite to the rich deep-fried croquettes. Not very piggy in flavour, but satisfyingly creamy and rich, with a hint of briny smoke.

Bacon and beans (for two) £28. Expensive for a rustic cassoulet-style bake, granted, but worth it. Slices of pork cheek sat nestled in a mound of beans: this was soul food at its best, perfect for a hangover, and according to Jon, the best pig fat he's ever eaten (needless to say, the flesh was special, too).

Duroc pork chop, butter beans, and wild garlic £20. You might have noticed we're keen on all things porcine. While Jon and Helena shared the bacon and beans, I had this all to myself, a generous chop with a sweet hit from the caramelised fat and grill marks.

Custard tart £7.00. Incredible, perhaps the star of the meal. I need to know how they manage to make a tart that slices so perfectly, yet melts the moment it hits the tongue. Their pastry chef is a genius.

Chocolate terrine and Armagnac ice cream £8.50. Unashamedly rich, and a classic crowd pleaser.

Charlie happily chewed through a plate of their homemade sourdough and purple sprouting broccoli for two hours. We were never rushed, though the restaurant was surprisingly empty for a weekend lunchtime.

I've waxed lyrical about St John restaurants many a time. Suffice to say, I was pleased. At a cost of £130 for three of us, the meal had to be special. And this one was faultless.

For a review of the breakfast, check out Lizzie's (aka Hollow Legs) recent blog post. I've read about the breakfast buns, and asked if they had any left from morning service. They had run out. Next time, then.

NB: The bar and restaurant has a late licence, and takes last orders at 1:45am.

Lupita

2011-04-13T06:09:00.001-07:00

Not another Mexican restaurant, I hear you cry.

Tex Mex and Mexi-can-only-try joints are littered across the capital, and most are doing their namesake no favours. Lupita, minutes from Charing Cross/Embankment stations, is the latest to have a go at exporting the 'authentic' Mexican experience.

Working on the Strand, there are dozens of chain outlets offering takeaway food, the best at the moment being Leon, or Wasabi, for a hot cup of soothing broth (though I don't rate their sushi). Having just become a working mother, I was keen to make the most of my free lunch hour before work consumed me, and headed to try out the new kid on the block.

I can't give the place a full and fair appraisal, as I had just one dish - an Arrachera steak burrito at £6.99 - but I was not blown away.

The service is chaotic. The small restaurant, with open kitchen, was only half full at lunch service, but the staff were all fingers and thumbs, running around aimlessly as people entering the restaurant shrugged and found themselves a table.

It took 25 minutes for them to make my takeaway burrito. And it was hardly worth waiting for. Limp and lazy, the bland beef was tasteless and reminiscent of chewing on damp wool (something we all do, right?), and the sauces were insipid.

I hesitate to write off the place on the basis of just one dish, but mealtimes and lunch budgets are a precious commodity, and I'd far rather sit down at Covent Garden's branch of Wahaca - a more organised, cheerful, and above all tasty, Mexican joint - than return for a repeat experience.

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At Home: Japanese Sticky Chicken Wings

2011-02-28T02:32:00.001-08:00

These tasty umami-rich morsels are great party food. Not for a smart do, mind you. Sticky fingers are inevitable, and napkins essential.

For the host, they are a godsend. 10 minutes prep the day before, and chuck them in the oven while you get ready for the first arrivals. Easy as that.

You will need:

1kg chicken wings

For the marinade:

1 tbsp mirin
4 tbsp sake
2 tbsp brown sugar (or try using apricot/peach juice instead, as a sweetener)
4 tbsp dark soy sauce
thumb-sized knob of ginger, grated
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1 red chilli, thinly sliced

1 red chilli, spring onions, and toasted sesame seeds, to garnish

The day before the party, get them marinating. Prepare the wings: trim off the tips, and cut through each wing at the joint with a cleaver, or large knife. Mix them in a large bowl with the marinade ingredients, cover, and put in the fridge.

An hour before your guests arrive, preheat the oven to 200C. Put the marinated chicken wings in the largest roasting tray you can find, and cook them for 45 minutes, basting and turning them once with tongs. If you haven't got a particularly large roasting tray, you may need to do this in two batches so that the wings bake rather than steam.

Garnish with sliced chilli and spring onions, and a scattering of lightly toasted sesame seeds (toast in a dry frying pan over a low heat for 4 minutes, shaking the pan frequently to stop them burning).

The Royal Inn on the Park

2011-02-21T11:39:00.000-08:00

Sunday lunch is a sacred and sacrosanct British tradition. So, I'm always amazed when it goes so wrong, so often. Is it really that hard to make a decent gravy and roast potatoes in a catering environment? Too often, the meat is overcooked, the vegetables soggy, and the potatoes sodden and tasteless. I've spent a few lazy afternoons in The Royal Inn on the Park (next to Victoria Park, Hackney, E. London) since our little boy was born, catching up with friends, sinking a few pints, and leering at the plates passing us by. It was time we ate there.

I'll be brief. It's good. Not mind-blowingly out of this world, but good quality ingredients, cooked well. The menu is traditional: lamb, chicken, beef, or pork roast (and a token veggie dish: I would only recommend this place to meat eaters), and chocolate tart, crumble, or sticky toffee pud for dessert.Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. A generous plateful, and well-cooked flavoursome beef.

Roast pork belly with apple sauce. Jon loved it, but I thought the crackling looked a bit disappointing (not given a chance to try it!). It needs to be well blistered to get a proper crunch.

My roast chicken was enormous. Half a chicken with a lump of lovely bread sauce, sitting heavily on the vegetables. I think it took me 40 minutes to eat it all.

One sticky toffee pudding, and a table of four. Three of us were furiously jealous. It was decadent, rich, and the epitome of comfort food. Full marks.

Meat lovers and beer lovers won't be disappointed.

Braised rabbit with mustard

2011-02-19T09:40:00.000-08:00

I'd been wanting to (try to) replicate the memorable slow cooked rabbit with mustard sauce I ate at Les Deux Salons last month, a supremely comforting and aromatic dish. Our fluffy friends are not widely available in East London, however, so I had to seek them out. Our local butcher in Walthamstow had some lingering in his freezer, and chopped them into portions for me.

Lapin à la moutarde: I got the gist of it - shallots, garlic, mustard, wine, cream, and slow cooking - but needed some guidance, having never cooked rabbit before. I consulted some experts.
Larousse Gastronomique: Recipe is a simple one. Rub meat with mustard, season, and roast, basting frequently, adding wine and cream to the meat juices at the end to make a sauce. Suggests serving with pasta.
Leiths Cookery Bible: Recommends marinating the rabbit overnight, and adding tarragon and bacon to the creamy mustard sauce.
Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall gives rabbit generous coverage in his wonderful Meat Book. He's not too pleased with the popularity of farmed rabbits, finding their meat "terribly bland", and intensively bred for size rather than flavour. But farmed was all I could find. He stews rabbit with bacon, cider and a touch of honey.
Nigel Slater: Not surprisingly, the simplest rabbit recipe - just cream and mustard - cooked for only 25 minutes (not long enough, surely?).
Gary Rhodes: Rabbit Carbonara, a twist on the French classic, replacing the mustard with Parmesan, and poaching the meat separately in chicken stock before adding it to the made sauce.

I eventually decided to keep it classic, and adapted Raymond Blanc's recipe from February's Observer Food Monthly magazine. Here's the recipe, and I urge you to try it. The meat was moist and succulent, the sauce indulgent and rich. I couldn't get hold of fresh tarragon, but do add a sprig or two should you have some to hand. I added cream, thyme, and a touch of lemon juice, and cooked the dish for longer than he suggests.

Serves 4

2 small wild rabbits, or 1 large farmed rabbit (ask your butcher to joint the rabbit for you)
sea salt and black pepper
1 rounded tbsp Dijon mustard
4 tbsp plain flour
50g unsalted butter
olive oil
1/2 medium white onion, peeled and cut into 6 wedges, or 6 shallots
6 garlic cloves, skin on
150ml white wine
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
150ml water
6 black peppercorns
3 sprigs of thyme
2 bay leaves
1/2 a lemon
100ml double cream
1 tbsp chopped flatleaf parsley, to garnish

Preheat the oven to 140C. Put the rabbit pieces in a large bowl and season generously. Add the mustard, and turn the pieces to ensure each one is coated in a thin film of mustard. Scatter the flour on a plate. Dip each piece of rabbit in the flour to coat, patting off any excess.

In a large flameproof casserole over a medium heat, melt the butter and heat until lightly foaming. Sear the rabbit pieces in the hot butter, in batches if necessary, for 7-8 minutes, turning only once or twice, to colour them all over.

Meanwhile, heat a glug of olive oil in a small pan and sweat the onion and garlic over a medium heat for 10 minutes, seasoning lightly after a few minutes. In a separate small pan, boil the wine for 30 seconds to reduce.

Add the wine vinegar to the rabbit and reduce the liquid down to a syrup. Add the garlic and onion, reduced wine, water, peppercorns, and herbs. Stir, then cover with a lid and cook in the oven until tender, stirring occasionally, approximately 1 1/2 hours. Taste and adjust seasoning, adding a small squeeze of lemon juice.

To finish the dish, using a slotted spoon, transfer the rabbit to a warmed dish. Place the casserole over a high heat, add the cream, and reduce the liquid by one-third. Pour the sauce over the pieces of rabbit, and sprinkle with parsley. Serve with braised lettuce and peas, French beans, boiled/sauteed new potatoes or warm crusty bread. Or, de-bone and serve with pasta, as Lizzie of Hollow Legs suggests (see her own recipe here), as does Larousse.

I Heart Walthamstow

2011-02-08T04:28:00.000-08:00

A bit off course, this one, but all for a good cause in my local neighbourhood.

I HEART Walthamstow Oyster Card holders are now available. Find them at Beyca Retro Furniture Emporium, 83 Grove Road, E17.

All proceeds go to The Walthamstow Film Festival 2011.

Opera Tavern

2011-02-03T06:58:00.000-08:00

Salt Yard and Dehesa are two London Spanish-Italian tapas joints I often recommend to food lovers visiting London, especially if they happen to be on a date. The atmosphere is buzzy yet cosy, and the food never fails to please (and you can book, so no queues). High hopes for Opera Tavern then, run by the same husband-and-wife team behind Salt Yard and Dehesa, and just unveiled in the heart of Covent Garden, in a handsome two-storey building opposite The Theatre Royal.

Seated upstairs, in a quiet, smart dining room, we perused the menu. Up front is a list of tempting Spanish and Italian bar snacks, all hovering around £4. Then it gets fancier: expensive charcuterie and cheeses, and a selection of equally pricey small-plate fish, meat and vegetable dishes. Our lovely waitress suggested three dishes each would sate our appetites. I agree with Dos Hermanos about eating tapas in a smart restaurant setting - it doesn't feel right. Tapas is traditionally served at the bar, to accompany drinks, often in rowdy surroundings. Sitting at a dining table with starched napkin on lap to graze off starter-sized offerings takes a bit of getting used to. But it's all the rage right now (Polpo, Polpetto, Bocca di Lupo, Terroirs, Morito do it, and do it well).

Crispy Iberico Pigs Ears £3. Delightfully chewy and salty. Pork scratchings with bite.

Patata Fritas with Alioli and Bravas sauce £3.75. Bland, perhaps, but they were polished off quickly. They might be more pleasing if they were cut thicker and had more substance.

Grilled scallop with butternut squash puree, shallot and truffle dressing, and migas £4.25. Refined, and exceptional. The sweet soft scallop melted in the mouth as the salty crunch of crumbly migas added bite, and the fresh dressing gently amplified the scallop. A memorable mouthful, and worth every penny.

Moorish marinated Iberico pork £2.95. One of a selection of skewers available from the charcoal grill. A little disappointing, as the meat was raw in the middle. Bites of London review had the same experience, so it seems I wasn't just unlucky. Fine if you're munching through a stick of beef, but not pork.

Courgette flowers stuffed with goats' cheese and drizzled with honey £7.55. A popular dish at Opera Tavern's two sister restaurants. This was bang on: oozing, salty cheese and sweet sticky honey bringing the humble courgette to life.

Salt marsh lamb leg with pumpkin gnocchi, salted anchovies, brown butter, and mint £6.50. Another hit. Perfectly cooked lamb, and light-as-a-feather gnocchi, with enough butter to leave an indelible impression on my arteries.

Braised short rib of beef with polenta, cavolo nero and sage £7.25. This reminded me of Jun Tanaka's great braised featherblade of beef at the London Restaurant Festival in Spitalfields last year. Soft, rich, and intensely beefy (for want of a better adjective).

And to finish, a tart of chestnuts and something else. I don't remember. It was perfectly decent, but not memorable. Keep your budget for the savoury big hitters.

Our lunch bill, with 4 glasses of Prosecco, came to £80. Too pricey, by far. A fellow food blogger, Lizzie aka Hollow Legs, was at the soft launch, and warned me beforehand on Twitter of the exorbitant prices (click here to see her review), which will put me off returning for now, regardless of the largely impressive meal.

Les Deux Salons

2011-01-05T09:49:00.001-08:00

Covent Garden used to be a culinary wasteland, save for Rules, The Ivy, and Clos Maggiore. But its fortunes are changing, thanks to an infectious revival of decent restaurants in neighbouring Soho. The recession appears to have buoyed investors (perplexing, given the restaurant business is a fickle and unpredictable beast), and London's lauded eateries are expanding with audacious spirit. Les Deux Salons is one of many new much-hyped newcomers, the best of which include: Wright Brothers, Hawksmoor, Bill's Produce Store, Kopapa, Opera Tavern (opening soon), St John Hotel (opening soon).

Broadsheet food writers reviewing Les Deux Salons have been rapturous in their praise, but bloggers have been less so. I was intrigued (and ravenous), so checked it out.

Sitting just a few steps from Trafalgar Square, opposite the lovely Terroirs, it's certainly easy on the eye, prompting a flurry of positive adjectives....handsome, elegant, immaculate, impressive... The vast space, previously occupied by a dingy Pitcher & Piano, lends itself well to the Parisian brasserie decor, on which clearly no expense has been spared (check out the intricate mosaic floor). The food is brought to us by the brains and culinary prowess behind Arbutus and Wild Honey, so expectations were high.

First impression: this is posh for a brasserie. The waiting staff are regimental, and rather stiff, though warmed up as service progressed. And the food isn't cheap. An entree and plat du jour from the a la carte menu will set you back at least £25, and that's before side orders, booze, dessert (all those treats that double your food bill). The menu reads like a carnivores wet dream: rose veal, lamb sweetbreads, snails, tete de veau, Bayonne ham, rabbit, cassoulet, ox cheeks, belly pork, all given a sophisticated edge eg. ravioli of rose veal, fresh goat's curd, cavolo nero.

Far more reasonable was the set menu: £15.50 for three courses, with two choices for each. With a carafe of a rather lovely Rhone Clairette, we had...

Seasonal vegetable broth. Clearly catering to those on a new year detox, this soup had the potential to be far too worthy, a dull choice. But there was nothing dull about this ribollita-esque soup, a vibrant and reviving bowl of goodness, laced with decent oil and a delicate grating of Parmesan.

J's pressed beef terrine was the only dull note of the meal. The flavour was muted by it being a little hard and dry. Straight out of the fridge, perhaps.

Slow cooked rabbit with mustard sauce. A standout dish, and the best rabbit I've ever eaten. Every mouthful was savoured and induced rather indecent groans of gustatory pleasure. The rabbit flesh was moist and velvety, virtually melt in the mouth, and the creamy mustard sauce perfectly seasoned and piquant.

A decadent finish to the meal: floating island with pink pralines. Pillowy meringue sitting proud in a pool of cool vanilla custard, topped with crunchy praline. It could kill, granted, but what a lovely way to die.

J's Morbier cheese plate was a more rustic finish, but a pleasure nonetheless.

The meal for two left us only £50 out of pocket. A steal for a wonderful three course meal with wine. If they offered a little more shellfish, and keener prices throughout, it would get full marks.

Chocolate truffles: Hamper project no. 6

2010-12-29T11:55:00.000-08:00

This marks the end of my prolonged sweet-making binge. It's been fun, but January puts a stop to the present giving and long run of social gatherings at which I can share them, so the only excuse would be gratuitous experimentation and greediness. That won't wash with my 7-month-old.

I had to have two goes at these. Chocolate is a tricky customer, and likes being treated gently. I started off by winging it with my own boozy recipe, having picked up tips from the Hope & Greenwood sweet cookbook, but my mixture curdled, and nothing was going to rescue it. I decided to give them another go after watching Ramsay's wince-inducing 'family' Christmas special, featuring a simple recipe for mint choc truffles. It worked, and they went down a storm, though the mint was negligible in the finished truffle. Here's the recipe, adapted from his screen version (I added sea salt to mine, to perk up the chocolate flavour, and used just double cream).

500ml double cream
Bunch of mint
500g dark chocolate (about 70% cocoa solids)
130g butter, diced and at room temp.
130g clear honey
1/2 tsp finely ground Maldon sea salt
To coat: cocoa powder, crushed roasted hazelnuts

Pour the cream into a medium saucepan. Bash the mint sprigs with a wooden spoon to release their fragrance and add to the pan. Heat very gently for 5–6 minutes to infuse the cream with the mint. Do not let the cream boil. Meanwhile, break up the chocolate and place in a heatproof bowl with the diced butter and honey.

Strain the hot cream through a sieve onto the chocolate, butter and honey, stirring constantly as you do so; discard the mint sprigs. Add the sea salt. Continue to stir until the chocolate has melted and the mixture is smooth.

Pour the mixture into a wide, shallow dish, cover and chill in the fridge for an hour or until firm.
Scatter your chosen coating(s) on separate plates. Take the truffle mix from the fridge and, using a teaspoon, scoop out a portion and shape into a sphere by quickly rolling it in your hands. (Do this deftly to avoid the truffle melting with the warmth of your hands.) Toss the truffle in your preferred coating and arrange on a plate. Repeat with the rest.

Place the truffles in a shallow plastic container, seal and refrigerate until firm and ready to serve. Eat within 3–4 days.

Nuts: Hamper project no. 5

2010-12-21T02:08:00.000-08:00

To good food
and good friends
and the occasions
that bring them together

A dedication to the convivial nature of eating, elegantly composed by the authors of this little gem, Gifts from the Kitchen. It has seen quite a few grubby hands and busy kitchens in its time, hence looking rather dog-eared. My mother acquired it in the States in the '70s, when she'd decided to embark on homemade treats for Christmas hampers, and recently passed it down to me. You can buy a secondhand copy online. The illustrations on the title page, pictured below, suggest that it was once wrapped in a beautiful retro dust jacket, from which it has sadly long been separated.
We're both fond of these two nut recipes: one sweet and zesty, the other sweet and spicy, and both wonderfully easy to make. If you can resist nibbling them all as they cool, bag them up as gifts in cellophane and ribbon. Both will keep well in sealed containers for a couple of weeks.

Orange sugared nuts
The book suggests walnuts and pecans, but pecans alone seem to better complement the sugary-orange crust, and they caramelize beautifully.

2 cups pecan halves
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
2 tbsp grated orange rind (I use double the amount suggested in the book.)

Put all the ingredients in a heavy-based frying pan, and cook over a medium heat until the water has evaporated (about 8-10 minutes). Pour the nuts onto a greased baking sheet, separating them quickly with a fork, and leave to cool.

Spiced nuts
Adapted from the printed version, using a variety of nuts, and a slightly simpler method.

1 egg white
1 tbsp water
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 lb mixed nuts (leave out brazil nuts)

Preheat oven to 140C. Whisk the egg white with the water in a clean bowl until foamy, but not stiff. In a large bowl, mix the sugar, allspice, cinnamon and salt together.

Put the nuts in the egg white and stir to coat thoroughly, then add them to the spice and sugar mixture. Toss well.

Pour onto a greased baking sheet, and cook for 20-25 minutes in the middle of the oven, stirring the nuts every 5 minutes to prevent them burning. Leave to cool.

Chilli oil: Hamper project no. 4

2010-12-11T00:16:00.000-08:00

A special request from my brother-in-law. Notoriously hard to buy for, an opportunity to cater for his love of chillies was too good to miss. Bung a few fresh chillies in a bottle of oil? I wish it was that easy.

Preserve any herb or spice in oil and you run the risk of paralysing those who consume it with a severe case of food poisoning, known as botulism. As the legendary Harold McGee puts it, in his authoritative tome On Food and Cooking, "Oils encourage the growth of deadly Clostridium botulinum, whose spores can survive brief boiling and germinate when protected from the air." This put the fear of God in me. Clearly, some careful research was in order.

I won't bore you with the details, just summarise my findings:

Gently heating the oil helps eliminate bacteria.
Don't use fresh chillies if you want to keep it for longer than a week.
Use a light olive oil. There's no point splurging on fancy extra virgin: its flavour will be overwhelmed by that of the chilli.
Sterilise the bottles you intend to store the oil in.
Boil the whole dried ingredients in malt vinegar before adding them to the oil, to help eliminate any lingering bacteria.
Shake the flavoured oil, once bottled, to get rid of trapped air bubbles.
Don't add garlic to your chilli oil, as garlic provides enough nutrients for botulism to grow.

This is a recipe for Italian-style oil. For Asian chilli oil, substitute olive for flavourless groundnut/sunflower/rapeseed oil.

Ingredients
1 pint malt vinegar
2 cups olive oil
2 tsp crushed dried chillies
4 whole dried chillies (I bought mine - variety unnamed - at the local Chinese supermarket)

Sterilise the bottle(s). I wash mine in hot soapy water, then place them in a cool oven (tops removed if they have rubber seals), turn the oven to 150C and leave the bottles for 20 mins. Remove carefully, ensure they are completely dry, and set aside.

Boil the whole dried chillies in malt vinegar, fully submerged, for 10 mins. Drain on kitchen paper. Open the windows - boiling vinegar stinks! Those of you familiar with chutney-making will know what I'm talking about.

Place the olive oil in a saucepan over a low heat, and add the crushed and whole dried chillies. Warm through for 5 minutes (do not boil), remove from the heat, and leave to cool before bottling.

The longer you keep it, the hotter it will get. If you don't want it to get any hotter, after testing it a couple of weeks after making, strain out the chillies and re-bottle.

Store in a cool, dark place.

Vanilla fudge: Hamper project no. 3

2010-11-30T22:57:00.000-08:00

The cute little 'Life is Sweet' Hope and Greenwood confectionary cookbook has been leaning idly against a pile of Observer Food Monthly magazines for over a year. To busy myself in the kitchen making sweets just seemed too extravagant a notion. That is, until the Christmas hamper project began, and my 6-month-old found contentment in his high chair. Fudge seemed a safe bet, and all the ingredients are available in your local supermarket. I polled friends on Facebook to decide which flavour to make - vanilla, ginger, or chocolate - and the feedback was overwhelming. Traditional vanilla came top.

Miss Hope and Mr Greenwood are a couple of sweet makers who set up shop in London, and now have over 10 Victorian-style outlets across the capital, offering traditional handmade British confectionary in covetable retro packaging. The book's 'characterful' recipe chatter is a bit too cutesy for me, and step-by-step photographs for each type of sweet would be useful, but the method text is fuss free and easy to follow. There is also a useful storing section at the front, which informed me that my fudge would keep well in the fridge for up to 2 weeks, and freeze for 2 months.

A quick summary of my sweet-making experience, before I quote the recipe verbatim:

Pros Only one pan to clean; cheap ingredients
Cons Full and constant attention required; takes at least an hour to make anything
Tip Leave yourself lots of time - the recipe quoted '30 mins to make', it took an hour; make sure you have a radio close by, as there's lots of standing and stirring involved.

Makes 25-30 squares.

700g (1lb 7oz) granulated sugar
75g (3oz) unsalted butter
200ml (7fl oz) evaporated milk
200ml (7fl oz) double cream
Seeds scraped from 1 vanilla pod

Line a 20cm (8in) square baking tin, 4cm (1 1/2in) deep, with baking parchment.

Place the sugar, butter, evaporated milk and cream into a deep, heavy-bottomed pan and gently heat until all the sugar has dissolved, stirring with a wooden spoon. This takes 3-5 minutes. (You can check the sugar has dissolved by running a metal spoon through the mixture and looking on the back of the spoon for sugar crystals.)
Now, turn up the heat to medium and place your sugar thermometer in the pan. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally just to make sure the mixture does not stick to the bottom of the pan. After 15 minutes the mixture should have reached 100C (212F), now turn down the heat to a simmer, as it is at this point that the fudge is most likely to burn.
Keep heating until the mixture has reached 115C (240F). Take the pan off the heat. Using an electric whisk or food mixer, beat the mixture for 10 minutes. Add the vanilla seeds and beat for a further 10 minutes until the fudge loses its gloss and goes quite grainy around the edges.
Pour into the prepared tin. After an hour or so, score the fudge with a knife to create squares. Once set, snap the fudge into rough squares.

Indian aubergine pickle: Hamper project no.2

2010-11-29T12:08:00.000-08:00

This is a real delight, a Claudia Roden recipe which first appeared in her classic Book of Jewish Food. I discovered it in the recently published Leon Book 2, as I was looking for Christmas hamper inspiration. Intense, rich, fragrant and juicy, it's perfect with cold meats, a curry, or use it like Branston's in a doorstop Cheddar cheese/roast beef sandwich (as I did with the leftovers that didn't make the jar, pictured above).

In retrospect, I might have used the smaller, thinner Middle Eastern aubergines, rather than our big fat European ones. The slices are just enormous! And, there are just a few air bubbles in my jar. I'm sure this won't be a problem in the short term, but if you were looking to store the pickle for 3-6 months, it would be advisable to prod the aubergine slices with a skewer/fork to drive away the bubbles before sealing.

It will keep for a few months, refrigerated.

Here's the recipe, lifted shamelessly from the (very good) Leon cookbook:

Makes: 1 large jar
Prep: 10 mins
Cook: 40 mins

1kg aubergines
1 fresh red chilli, deseeded
5cm piece fresh ginger
8 cloves garlic
1 tbsp ground cumin
250ml wine vinegar
250ml toasted sesame oil
1 tbsp mustard seeds
1 tsp fenugreek seeds
6 curry leaves
1 tsp turmeric
100g sugar
sea salt

Sterilise your jar(s).

Cut the aubergines into 1.5cm slices. Blend the chilli, ginger, garlic and cumin with a little of the vinegar in a food processor.

Heat 3 tbsp of the oil in a large pan and add the mustard and fenugreek seeds. When they start to crackle, add the curry leaves along with the ginger and chilli paste. Cook until the mixture becomes a golden colour.

Add the turmeric, sugar, and remaining vinegar and stir well. Add the aubergines, season with salt, and bring to the boil. Simmer gently for about 30 minutes.

Allow the mixture to cool, then pour it into a jar. Cover with the remaining oil.

Bea's of Bloomsbury (One New Change)

2010-11-26T07:46:00.000-08:00

Nothing about the entrance says 'cake' to me. You have to squint through the window to discover it's Bea's new place. Once inside however, the minimalist display of cupcakes, sitting elegantly like Manolos in grey geometric cubbyholes, leaves you in no doubt. The famous Bea's of Bloomsbury is expanding, with its first little offshoot emerging in the heart of the City, at One New Change. The City folk may well be having to tighten their belts and wean themselves off habitual overindulgence, but that leaves all the more for us, and the odd fortunate tourist (it's next to St Paul's).

Not a great lover of cupcakes, I find the Hummingbird Bakery chain's obese concoctions a waste of calories: the Big Macs of the cake world. But Bea's are altogether finer, more delicate, creations, made to taste as good as they look.

I say delicate... but this slice of triple chocolate cake was a whopper. A doorstop of incredibly rich buttercream and moist dark chocolate sponge. Finishing it was a (pleasurable) challenge.

It being the day after Thanksgiving, we also had to try Bea's pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Soft, indulgent, and perfectly pumpkin-y.

I know I've done this back to front, but Bea's is known for its cakes, so I've sidelined the lunch dish. It might not look pretty, but the generous plate of belated Thanksgiving turkey (an unusual offering for Bea's, where savouries are usually more along the salad line), a steal at £6, was spot on: lashings of gravy, surprisingly tasty turkey, and moreish morsels of cornbread stuffing.

See Kang Leong's London Eater blog for a mouthwatering sequence of pics of the main Theobald's Road shop and cafe, Bea's lair and the hub of this fast-expanding baking empire, where I'll be heading next to try their famous high tea.

Home-dried tomatoes: Hamper project no. 1

2010-11-24T09:06:00.000-08:00

Damn Kirstie Allsopp. Come November, she pops her cheery head through all media outlets to remind us to "get our skates on", and prepare our homes for the festivities. Presumably she has a nanny, cleaner, and PA... For those of us who struggle to find time to run a bath, let alone recline in one whilst stitching a patchwork cushion, making gifts is a major undertaking. So, everything I'm making for this year's Christmas hampers has to be a delicious 'treat', but must also be cheap and quick to make.

Oven-dried tomatoes are first on the list, as they keep well. I've always wondered why sun-dried tomatoes are so expensive when bought in jars and tubs in the supermarket, as they are incredibly cheap and easy to make at home (and the oven mimicking the heat of the sun doesn't appear to impair the flavour). The 2nd Leon cook book has a lovely recipe, but it involved a long cooking time. Better still was the Riverford Farm Cook Book's recipe: the prep takes 5-10 mins, and the cooking just 45 mins, creating tomatoes that are juicy rather than chewy (preferable, in my opinion).

Attach a gift label to the jar with instructions for storing on one side, and suggestions for use on the other, such as 'Toss in a salad, use in tarts, or mix with pasta'.

These quantities will fill one 1/2 pint Le Parfait jar.

4 tbsp good quality olive oil
16 tomatoes (I used regular round 'on the vine' tomatoes from the supermarket)
1 tbsp caster sugar
sea salt

Drizzle half the olive oil over 2 baking trays. Cut the tomatoes lengthways in half, then slide the knife around the inside of each one and remove the pulp and pips. Arrange the tomato halves on the trays so that they are close but not touching. Drizzle the remaining oil over the top and sprinkle with the sugar and a little salt.

Put the trays in an oven preheated to 150C/Gas 2 and cook for about 45 mins; the tomatoes should look shrunken and slightly coloured when they are done. Remove from the oven and leave to cool.

To store, pack the tomatoes into jars and cover completely with good-quality olive oil. Add a sprig of thyme and some thinly sliced garlic to the jars if you like. They will keep for 4-6 months without refrigeration.

Viet-Anh Cafe

2010-11-12T11:07:00.000-08:00

Nothing cures a sore head better than a steaming bowl of Vietnamese Pho.

Viet-Anh Cafe on Parkway, Camden, was a frequent weekend pit stop when we lived in NW3, back in the day when bar crawls and night buses were a regular feature of the working week. Four years later we returned with baby in tow, curious to see if it still worked its magic.

To my relief, nothing had changed. The same staff run the place, condensation runs down the pale blue walls, and every table is full. A good start.

For me, every Vietnamese meal must start with fresh vegetable spring rolls (goi cuon). Light and aromatic, and stuffed with herbs, they are the antithesis of greasy fried spring rolls filled with unidentifiable vegetable matter that you frequently find in Chinese restaurants. Accompanied by a rich peanut dipping sauce, they hit the mark, and vanished as quickly as they'd arrived.

The menu is enormous, featuring over a hundred soup, noodle and rice dishes at around £5 each. It takes considerable effort to uncover the authentic Vietnamese dishes amongst the generic Oriental stuff, but if hunger overcomes concerns of authenticity, you'd be hard pressed to choose badly.

The braised and fried duck with peppers, onions, and crispy noodles was hot, sour, salty, and sweet. A blast of umami goodness.
Pho is the classic Vietnamese noodle broth, and - some argue - their national dish. Served with a bowl of lime, herbs and chilli for you to add to taste, you can choose to have it plain or spicy, and with beef or chicken. Seeking something of a more ethereal than earthy nature, I had the lighter chicken version. Ethereal it was. Sublimely fragrant and restorative, with slippery noodles lurking under the clear surface making it a substantial meal.

With two pots of jasmine tea, our bill for two came to less than £20.

There's nothing challenging or pretentious about this caff, just generous plates of noodles and rice, with your protein of choice. Cheap and cheerful. I intend to return and explore the menu more thoroughly, seeking out the more unusual suspects, and in the meantime head to Mien Tay in Battersea, a newish Vietnamese caff that's been garnering enthusiastic write-ups over the past year (see Lizzie's - aka 'Hollow Legs' - blog post here).

At Home: Carrot Cake

2010-11-04T08:44:00.000-07:00

'Foolproof' is one of the most overused words in cookery book publishing, alongside the rather empty 'delicious'. You'll find it scattered thoughtlessly in myriad back cover blurbs. Seldom do recipes in recently published cookbooks stand up to the claim, though I've found the Riverford Farm Cookbook to be a welcome exception. The recipes are well written, and turn out consistently great dishes. It has earned its place on my 'classics' shelf, alongside Richard Corrigan's The Clatter of Forks and Spoons, the Moro series, and Nigel Slater, the only modern books to share space with older trusted classics.

This carrot cake recipe, adapted from the Riverford Farm Cookbook, is a winner. Nuts and spices don't feature, and I think the finished cake is better for it (having a feather-light, clean taste). The original recipe suggests sultanas, but I prefer to use chewy currants, and booze it up a bit.

250g self-raising flour
2 tsp baking powder
75g light soft brown sugar
75g dark soft brown sugar
100g currants, soaked in 2 tbsp Cognac/brandy for a few hours, preferably overnight
200g grated carrots
150ml sunflower oil
2 medium eggs, lightly beaten

For the icing:

125g unsalted butter, at room temperature
50g icing sugar, sifted
250g cream cheese

Preheat oven to 160C/Gas 3.

Sift the flour and baking powder into a bowl and stir in the sugars. Add the currants and grated carrots. Beat the oil and eggs together and add to the bowl. Combine with either a wooden spoon or an electric mixer.

Spoon the mixture into a greased and lined 20cm springform cake tin and bake on the middle shelf of the oven for 1-1 1/4 hours, until a skewer inserted in the centre comes out clean. Cool in the tin for 10 minutes, then turn out on to a wire rack to cool completely.

Albion café

2010-10-22T12:56:00.000-07:00

In 2008 Tracey MacLeod gave Terence Conran's Boundary Project in Shoreditch, and its menagerie of outlets stacked in an impressive converted warehouse, a glowing review, saying of the ground floor Albion café, 'the food is great: well-made versions of traditional British caff grub'. So, with the positive write-up in mind, and ringing endorsements from friends, even though I'd been let down by food at Boundary rooftop last summer, I popped in for lunch.

Strategic design places a food shop and bakery up front, whetting the tastebuds and drawing in hungry mouths before even a glance at the 'posh caff' menu, which promises to deliver all the heart-stopping British classics: Welsh rarebit, devilled kidneys, Full English, fish and chips...

I'm no snob when it comes to a cooked breakfast. Nothing beats the no-frills local caff on East Finchley high street for its bottomless mugs of milky PG, endless rounds of toast, and hilariously nonchalant service. A perfect greasy-spoon fry up to soothe a booze-addled head. And, if I crave an upmarket breakfast, Lantana Cafe always delivers.

Albion cafe certainly looks the part. The space is airy and welcoming, staff delightful, and the bread top notch. However, as soon as the plates hit the table, our hearts sank.

Pint of prawns £8.50. Pricey, and not particularly fresh (I could name a dozen gastropubs that make a better fist of this simple dish).

Beetroot soup £4.75. Boring and insipid. Lacked bite, and seasoning. Again, not a hard dish to get right.

And, finally, the £10 fry up. Bloody miserable. One soggy tasteless tomato, the worst hash-brown/bubble and squeak we'd ever come across (raw potato), mediocre rubbery sausage, measly portion of beans, and...no toast!

Beauty is clearly only skin deep at Conran's caff. As Luiz, The London Foodie, says, 'another classic example of style over substance' (read his review here).

We left feeling short changed, annoyed, and still hungry, so headed to Brick Lane for a satisfying record trawl at Rough Trade, picking up a brownie from the Albion bakery on the way, a vast improvement on what the cafe kitchen had to offer.

Next time I'm in the area I'll return to the old faithful, St. John Bread & Wine.

The Hamper Project

2010-10-22T02:21:00.000-07:00

Time to dig out the old winter coat (yes, that's sadly singular), and think about what I'll be putting in this year's Christmas hampers.

Convincing myself every year that creating hampers of homemade edible goodies is a thrifty gift idea, I blindly purchase ingredients and packaging (who can resist the Le Parfait jars?), only to find each hamper has cost me about £40. Nevertheless, I carry on regardless.

Preserving is the first task that springs to mind, though how keen is everyone on chutneys? I have at least half a dozen unopened jars gathering dust from Christmases past. Perhaps jellies are closer to the mark: cranberry, damson, redcurrant, or mint.

Ideas so far are tending towards crowd-pleasers: fudge, chocolate brownies, pesto, shortbread, spiced nuts, chocolate truffles/salt caramels, pickled shallots, and parmesan crisps.

I'd like to add a few shop-bought treats too, maybe some Neal's Yard Dairy cheese, a small bag of Monmouth coffee, a chunk of Parmesan wrapped in greaseproof paper, a pretty bottle of chilli oil from the local Chinese supermarket, or a good salami.

I'll follow up with more 'Hamper Project' posts as we near C Day and I get cooking.

Street Kitchen

2010-10-15T09:12:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post yesterday, then lost it. After a fierce bout of cursing, nearly throwing my Mac out into the street, and damning technology for all eternity, I went out, had a few glasses of champagne to celebrate a 1st birthday, and returned wondering what all the fuss was about. Here's a truncated version of the original.

The London Restaurant Festival, in its second year, is coming to a close. Bigger and better than ever, it brought together hundreds of the capital's restaurants, each of which offered a special discounted 'festival' menu, and a stellar stream of chefs collaborated, popped up temporary residencies, and emerged from their subterranean sweaty kitchens to lure in the hungry public and tout their wares. Celebrating eating out: Fay Maschler (the festival's founder) hit gold.

One such culinary collaboration brought a silver Airstream caravan filled with seasonal British food to the city's streets, courtesy of two of London's finest chefs, Pearl restaurant's Jun Tanaka and Mark Jankel, chef and founder of The Food Initiative. Aptly named Street Kitchen, it offered a small but perfectly formed selection of dishes, for all tastes and appetites: soup, fish, meat, salad, and sweet, all keenly priced at between £4.50 and £6.50. Visiting them at their final parking spot - Spitalfields Market - we picked up three of their savoury dishes for lunch.

The carrot and rosemary soup with brioche was silky smooth and heavenly, the earthiness of the carrot lifted by the pungent yet fragrant rosemary. An imaginative combination: this is definitely one I'll attempt at home.

The hot smoked salmon was a hefty chunk of tender flaky fish (incredibly generous for £6.50 - it must be the absence of restaurant overheads that makes such pricing possible), sitting on sweet roast beetroot and crushed potatoes. Simple yet refined.

Braised featherblade beef with carrots and celeriac. This dish had already made itself known to me, courtesy of Giles Coren's enthusiastic write-up in last Saturday's Times Magazine. Ripe, rich, and gamey, the meat was outstanding. I haven't had a piece of beef that impressive since my last visit to Hawksmoor. Needless to say, its pedigree was impeccable. The celeriac and carrots complemented it perfectly and made it the standout dish on the menu.

To give my digestive system a final kick in the balls, having overindulged on two main courses, I stopped at the Caravan restaurant stall nearby (their permanent base is on Exmouth Market) to pick up some of their own-blend coffee with a free Anzac biscuit. Both were perfectly made, and being coffee lovers that is not a term we use lightly.

I'd like to appeal to the festival organisers for less high end events in 2011, and more frontline crowd-pleasers such as Street Kitchen, as only those already enmeshed in London's food 'scene' are quick enough off the mark to book the hottest restaurants or buy tickets to the events, leaving the rest of London leering hungrily through restaurant windows, and salivating at enthusiastic blog posts.

It's a shame we don't see more gourmet food vans in the UK. They're a big hit in the States, so perhaps the trend will rub off. London needs decent street food. We are well catered for when it comes to the finery and frippery of fine dining, but finding decent takeaway food is still a challenge (unless you're lucky enough to be near a branch of Leon or Ottolenghi). Word has it that the runaway success of Street Kitchen has made Jun and Mark think about making their temporary venture more permanent. Keep an eye on their website and @streetkitchen to be the first to know, or hot-foot it to Spitalfields before the close of the festival on Monday 18th Oct.

Morelli's ice cream parlour

2010-10-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

Drizzly, chilly October: not ideal conditions for tasting ice cream at one of Britain's hottest gelato spots. But visits to this south-east corner of Kent aren't frequent enough to be picky about the weather.

Morelli's has been causing a buzz lately, as the independent family-run business is fast expanding, opening branches in Abu Dhabi, Kuwait, Dubai, and Monte Carlo, adding to their (rather overpriced) Harrods outlet. Broadstairs is home to the original seafront parlour, which opened in 1932.

As soon as you step over the threshold, overlooking the picturesque harbour, you are hit by a kitsch 50's sensory overload: the jukebox playing Del Shannon and Billy Fury, formica tabletops, pink leather booths and gloriously tacky Italian wall friezes.
The day we visited they were selling just 6 flavours, not the 20 they promise on their website, though given that they make ice cream daily on site, and the seaside village had a rather desolate air, you can understand why they wouldn't bother. True to Italian tradition, the gelato are milk-based rather than cream-based, making it much easier to overindulge.

I had been craving the famed lemon sorbet (which Sheila Dillon recently waxed lyrical about on Radio 4's Food Programme - listen again), but we weren't in luck. Instead, we shared mint choc chip, chocolate, biscuit, and strawberry, all equally impressive. Smooth, just sweet enough, with bright, fresh and intense flavours. Not a hint of the synthetic aftertaste you find with anything from the supermarket freezer chests.

I hope the expansion doesn't dilute the passion and dedication to quality over quantity that keeps lovers of all things cold and sweet faithfully returning. Marine Ices, another famous Italian ice cream parlour, based in Chalk Farm, London, has resolutely and perhaps wisely resisted the lure of franchise: their product remains consistently gorgeous.

NB: Enter Morelli's competition by inventing a new ice cream flavour.

At Home: Cracking Crackling

2010-10-03T10:59:00.000-07:00

Crackling. One of the many joys of being a vociferous carnivore.

Pork was a meat I discovered later in life, as bland pork chops were all I'd been accustomed to as a child. Fortunately, a taste of rilette in Provence, and barbecue ribs in the Midwest, got me hooked, and I'm now a sucker for anything porcine.

There's an art to creating perfect crackling, and everyone claims their way is the best way. And methods are multitudinous: to baste or not to baste. Fry? Remove the rind from meat and cook separately? Dry skin with a hair dryer? Blast of heat at beginning or end of cooking, or both?

For me, the best crackling still has a bit of soft unctuous fat underneath, the crunchy skin finely blistered and sprinkled with coarse sea salt. This method never fails to create gorgeous crispy crackling (for me, that is! Please tell me if you've discovered another failsafe method).

Ask your butcher to score the belly, or do it yourself with a Stanley knife, cutting right through the skin and fat to the meat, but not through the meat.
The belly must be left at room temperature, uncovered (to help the skin dry out), for a few hours before cooking.
Rub fine sea salt into the skin, dabbing off any beads of moisture that appear on the surface with kitchen towel.
Preheat your oven to its highest temperature (about 220C).
Grind a tbsp of sea salt to a fine powder in a pestle and mortar with a tbsp of fennel seeds. Rub thoroughly into the dry skin with a tbsp of light olive oil, right into the scored crevices, then sprinkle over another tbsp of coarse sea salt (not ground).
Place the belly in a roasting dish on top of a trivet of onions and apples, peeled, and quartered, seasoned and doused in olive oil, and tossed with a handful of thyme sprigs.
Roast on the highest oven shelf at 220C for 20 minutes, to give the skin a good blast of heat, then turn the heat down to 160C and cook for a further hour and 15 mins.
Turn the heat up to 200C (this would be a good time to put the roast pots in the oven if you're being indulgent), and cook for a further 40 mins.
Your belly is ready.

For a perfect gravy/sauce: remove the pork from the roasting tray to a serving dish, save any onion/apple that has miraculously not turned to mush in the cooking process (serve with the pork), and pour off the oodles of fat. Place the roasting dish on the hob, pour in a generous glass of dry cider, and let it bubble away for a few minutes, scraping the bottom of the dish to release all the gooey bits. Thicken with arrowroot/flour if you like - we prefer it thinner, so it gets easily soaked up by the belly meat.

At Home: Daube of Oxtail

2010-09-24T11:43:00.000-07:00

As autumn fills the air and winter looms, as the whiff of dusty radiators creaking back to life makes us long for log fires, the casserole dish is recovered from the back of the cupboard and I get slow cooking.

Cheap cuts of meat are what's called for: pig's cheeks, trotters, belly...beef shin and oxtail. Supermarkets are starting to meet consumer demand and stock these treasures, so if you're not lucky enough to have a decent local butcher, check out your nearest supermarket's meat counter.

In a bid to be more frugal, I'm strongly resisting the urge to buy new cookbooks, instead plundering the dozens that are gathering greasy dust on the kitchen bookshelves (not the ideal place to keep precious tomes, I know). Adapted from a recipe in 'More Taste Than Money', a wonderful American 1970's cookbook by Harriet Hands, now out of print, this oxtail stew will thaw, soothe and coddle the chilliest of souls.

4 large pieces of oxtail (don't let the butcher palm you off with the small bony pieces, go for the thickest meatiest chunks you can find)
3 red onions, quartered
3 carrots, sliced
2 garlic cloves, crushed
cooled beef stock
2 cups red wine
generous splash of brandy (optional, but nice)
5 slices streaky smoked bacon/pancetta, diced
2 tbsp vegetable/light olive oil
1 bay leaf
5 whole cloves
5 whole allspice berries
4 sprigs thyme
grated rind of half an orange
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Place the oxtail in a deep stainless steel or glass bowl with the onions, carrots, garlic, stock, wine and brandy (if using). Cover, and let marinate for 4-5 hours in the fridge.

Dice the bacon and fry, stirring, in a deep, heavy casserole with the oil until brown. Remove the oxtail from the marinade with a slotted spoon and fry with the bacon, turning until brown on all sides. Do this in batches, if necessary, to avoid crowding the meat (making it steam and braise instead of fry), removing each piece to a plate.

Add the drained vegetables from the marinade to the casserole dish, cook with the bacon until softened, then return the meat and the marinade. If the marinade doesn't cover the meat, add a cup or two of water. Add the remaining ingredients, season generously, and stir.

Cover and simmer over a very low heat, or place in a preheated 120C oven, and cook for 4-5 hours until the meat is tender.

Harriet Hands suggests serving the daube in a bowl with noodles and chopped parsley, without reducing the sauce. For a more traditional version of the dish, remove the meat, reduce the sauce to thicken, and serve with a steaming jacket potato or mashed potato.

At Home: Blackberry and Rosemary Cheesecake

2010-08-30T23:53:00.000-07:00

Made with a pound and a half of cream cheese (it has to be full fat) and lashings of sugar, this baked cheesecake - adapted from a recipe in the Soil Association's Grown in Britain Cookbook - is not a light dessert, but unless you're planning to demolish the whole thing yourself, it's an indulgence worth every mouthful. Adding rosemary to the biscuit base adds a welcome fragrant note.

Sweet, tart, and rich, this crowd-pleaser is perfect for a dinner party and will serve 8-10.

200g (7oz) digestive biscuits, crushed
1 tbsp chopped fresh rosemary
85g (3oz) unsalted butter, melted, plus extra for greasing
675 (1 1/2lb) cream cheese
225g (8oz) caster sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp natural vanilla extract
225g (8oz) blackberries
granulated sugar, to taste
1 tsp arrowroot

Mix the crushed biscuits with the chopped rosemary and stir in the melted butter. Press the mixture into the base and about 2.5cm (1in) up the sides of a buttered 20cm (8in) springform tin. Preheat the oven to 150C (300F/Gas 2).

Beat the cheese with the sugar, eggs, and vanilla extract. Spoon into the prepared tin. Level the surface. Bake for 1-1 1/4 hours until set. Turn off the oven and leave until cold.

Stew the fruit in 4 tbsp water until the juices run. Sweeten to taste. Blend the arrowroot with 1 tsp water and stir in. Cook, stirring, until thickened and clear. Leave to cool.

Remove the cheesecake from the tin and place on a serving plate. Spoon the fruit topping over, and top the cake with fresh berries.

VARIATIONS

Try using blueberries, stoned cherries, raspberries, redcurrants, blackcurrants, or strawberries. Adjust the added sugar accordingly.
Add 80g crushed nuts - roasted pecans or hazelnuts are ideal - to the biscuit base (reducing the quantity of biscuit to 120g).
Instead of cooking down the berries to cover the cheesecake, mix the fresh berries gently into the cream mixture before baking. Top with fresh berries and icing sugar to serve.
Add 1 tbsp of lemon juice to the cream cheese mixture if you'd like to temper the sweetness.
Add the zest of an orange to the cream cheese mixture.

At Home: Apple and Amaretti Tart

2010-08-10T06:59:00.000-07:00

Another simple autumnal dessert that takes only 10 minutes to prepare. No pastry to chill, roll, and blind bake. Just an easy biscuity crust. This recipe comes from my well-thumbed copy of Riverford farm's brilliant Riverford Farm Cook Book.

The book states this serves 8, but you'll find 4 will polish it off. For 8, use a 28in loose-bottomed tart tin, and the quantities in brackets.

Try Braeburns or Granny Smiths for a tarter finish, but Bramleys hold their shape surprisingly well. Plums or apricots are a great alternative to apples.

700g Bramley apples, peeled, cored and sliced (900g)
1 tbsp melted butter (2tbsp)
2 tbsp caster sugar (3 tbsp)
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon (1 tsp)
Optional: 2 tbsp warmed apricot jam

For the base:
100g plain flour (150g)
50g unsalted butter (75g)
50g caster sugar (75g)
40g amaretti biscuits (60g)

To make the base, put all the ingredients in a food processor and process to a fine breadcrumb consistency. Press into a 23cm loose-bottomed tart tin.
Arrange the apples in an attractive pattern on top. Brush them with the melted butter (and brush over some apricot jam if you like, to give the tart a sticky glaze), and sprinkle with the cinnamon and sugar.
Place in an oven preheated to 200C/Gas Mark 6 and bake for 30-40 minutes, until the apples are golden brown. Serve at room temperature.

Serve with a generous dollop of clotted cream, ice cream, or creme fraiche.

At Home: Cherry Clafoutis

2010-07-14T03:34:00.000-07:00

4 kilos of plump juicy cherries landed on our doorstep, the bounty from a neighbour's garden. Devouring them in one sitting was not an option, even for the most gluttonous. So, to other uses...

Surprisingly, most cherry recipes in classic cookbooks - Leiths for example - feature only the canned variety. Inevitably, cherry pie came to mind, but it seemed too obvious, so I trawled the Web and found this lovely clafoutis recipe, by the venerable Diana Henry. The rest will be preserved as cherry sorbet, perfect spiked with a dash of ice-cold kirsch or vodka and served in little glasses on a hot summer evening.

If you can be bothered, stone the cherries. I didn't. And remember to grease your dish before filling it with the cherries and batter.

150ml (5fl oz) double cream
150ml (5fl oz) milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 tbsp kirsch or amaretto
3 large eggs
125g (4½oz) caster sugar
pinch of salt
25g (1oz) plain flour
600g (1lb 4oz) cherries
toasted flaked almonds (optional) and icing sugar, to serve

To make the batter, mix the cream, milk, vanilla and alcohol. Whisk the eggs, sugar and salt in a separate bowl until the mixture triples in volume and is pale and fluffy. Fold in the flour and then the milk mixture.

Arrange the cherries in a copper, cast-iron or ceramic gratin dish about 24cm (9½in) in diameter, and pour over the batter. Cook in an oven preheated to 180°C/350°F/gas mark 4 for 30 minutes, or until the batter is set (it may take an extra five or so minutes if you’re using a ceramic dish). Scatter on the toasted almonds if you’re using them and sift a little icing sugar over the top. Allow it to sit for 10 minutes then serve warm with crème fraîche or pouring cream.

Back soon...

2010-07-10T14:06:00.000-07:00

Due to the happy distraction that is my 5-week-old son Charlie, I've been neglecting my blog. I intend to return, though, before long, with more London restaurant reviews and the odd bit of home cooking.

At Home: Slow-cooked beef

2010-05-31T13:13:00.000-07:00

Drizzly Bank Holiday Monday. Grey limbo, and ripe ground for spiritual malaise. Days like these call for a soothing soulful slow-cooked beef stew. Nothing heavy about this stew, though. It's a vibrant dish, no thickening agents or heavy stocks required. The orange peel and fresh thyme add a zesty Mediterranean note, perfect for a cool May evening. Serve with new potatoes and braised lettuce with minted peas.

Slow-cooked beef
Serves 3-4

1 tbsp olive oil
500g chuck/stewing steak, cut into generous bite-sized pieces
10-12 shallots, peeled but left whole
2 bay leaves
4 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, chopped
2 sticks of celery, chopped
1 large carrot, peeled and chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled but left whole
2 sprigs rosemary
1 sprig thyme
3 ripe salad tomatoes, or 10 cherry tomatoes
half a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, or similar hearty red wine
350ml chicken stock (Marigold or Kallo brand is fine, if you don't have fresh)
5in strip of orange peel

Heat the olive oil in a heavy-based casserole. Season the meat generously with salt and pepper, and brown it in two batches over a high heat. Remove each batch of browned meat to a plate. Place the whole shallots, bay leaves and bacon in the hot casserole, and fry until the bacon has rendered its fat and the shallots are golden, about 5 minutes.

Add the celery, carrot, bay leaves, garlic, rosemary, and thyme, and fry for a couple of minutes before adding the tomatoes, followed by the browned meat and its released juices, the wine, and the stock.

Simmer over a very gentle heat for 3-4 hours, covered with a lid on the hob (or in a preheated 150C oven). Stir once in a while, to make sure the meat isn't sticking to the bottom of the pan. In the last 30-40 minutes of cooking, add the orange peel. Remove the bay leaves and herb sprigs before serving.

At Home: Cheat Macarons

2010-05-24T03:03:00.000-07:00

This isn't typical Corrigan fare. More commonly associated with earthy uncomplicated meat, game, and fish dishes, Richard Corrigan has been a key player in the revival of British and Irish food over the past 15 years, his seasonal ingredients-led cooking elevating comfort food to glittering Michelin heights (at Lyndsay House, now sadly closed). Visit Corrigan's Mayfair, I urge you. Or, the lovely Bentley's Oyster Bar and Grill.

I discovered this jewel of a recipe buried at the back of the beautiful and accomplished The Clatter of Forks and Spoons. Corrigan doesn't churn out lazy over-illustrated ghostwritten cookbooks like so many of his contemporaries. His first cookbook - now out of print and highly sought after, grab it if you see it - was published in 2000.

Faithful to his 'keep it simple' mantra, these moreish, chewy treats (I call them 'cheat macarons') are quick and easy, and impossible to mess up.

Almond Biscuits
Makes 20-25

500g ground almonds
300g caster sugar
seeds from 1 vanilla pod
4 egg whites
50ml Amaretto

Preheat the oven to 160C/Gas 3.

Mix together the almonds, sugar and vanilla seeds.

Fold the egg whites (don't whisk them) into the mixture along with the Amaretto.

Have ready a baking sheet lined with greaseproof paper. Take small spoonfuls of the mixture and dot over the sheet. Bake for 10-15 minutes until golden. Transfer to a cooling rack and leave to cool.

2010 destination wish-list update

2010-05-19T01:17:00.000-07:00

Back in January, I listed all the London restaurants and bars I want to try out this year. Well, with some ticked off, and some struck off, it's time for an update. What's on your list?

Koya
Viajante
Dock Kitchen
Gauthier Soho
Bistrot Bruno Loubet
The Draft House
The Summerhouse
Harwood Arms
Barrica
L'Anima
Bar Boulud, Mandarin Oriental
Wild Honey
The Breakfast Club
Wolseley for breakfast
Quo Vadis
Hibiscus
Dinings
The Ledbury
Eastside Inn
Hunan
Franco Manca
Chilli Cool
Savoy's American Bar, reopening this summer
new St. John hotel and restaurant, opening in Leicester Sq this summer
Cay Tre
return visit to Rules
Umu
Downstairs at Terroirs
Pollen St.
Galvin La Chapelle
Dean Street Townhouse

Hawksmoor steakhouse

2010-05-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

This East London steakhouse and cocktail bar has had bloggers buzzing, posting, and tweeting for years. Hawksmoor has a venerable reputation as one of the few places in the capital that knows how to grill a decent steak, but for some reason it took me 4 years to get myself through the door.

A juicy steak is a rare treat, as I refuse to cook it at home. I like my meat bloody on the inside, charred on the outside, and no domestic grill or oven will do the job. Most professional kitchens in London get it badly wrong, too (the Gaucho all-style-no-content chain for one), but word of mouth made me confident that we were on to a good thing at Hawksmoor. The last great steak I had was over a year ago in NYC: a hanger steak salad at Bourdain's lovely Brasserie Les Halles, so I'd had a long wait.

A simple sparsely-furnished space on Commercial Road, the restaurant clearly focuses all its creative and financial efforts on pleasing punters palates. The brunch menu is a celebration of meat, most notably meat from the traditional and noble Yorkshire longhorn cattle bred by The Ginger Pig. They offer 7 dry-aged steak cuts, the house favourites being Bone-in prime rib, Porterhouse (similar to T-bone), and Chateaubriand. LondonEater, a rather wonderful food blogger, recently posted a 'study' on steak cuts and London's grills, so I'll hand you over to him to elucidate on the nature of each cut.

On cuts, it would have been helpful to see the cuts before choosing them. They bring the slabs of meat out on a board to help you choose at the much-lauded Goodman steakhouse (Mayfair) and Hix's Oyster & Chop House.

Seated and served excellent pale ale, red wine, and a refreshing virgin cocktail (I left the components up to them: suffice to say their creation was as exciting as a non-alcoholic beverage can get) on a rainy Sunday we wasted no time, skipped starters and headed straight for the protein fix. I've been getting a few concerned looks - being 38-weeks pregnant - when ordering meat 'rare', but Hawksmoor staff didn't bat an eyelid, clearly confident in the superior quality of their meat.

I shared an 800g rare Porterhouse with N, while the boys - averse to the concept of sharing food (naturally) - did their own thing, ordering a 600g bone-in sirloin and a hefty 750g Porterhouse. Sides: chips, steamed spinach, piquant tomato salad, a beautiful fluffy-soft bearnaise.

This 750g Porterhouse was immense. My greedy companion topped it off with an order of two fried eggs, and bone marrow, as if setting out on a collision course with his gut, not a pleasurable gustatory experience. I eat my words: he ate and loved every morsel.

My shared Porterhouse was a beautiful sight, the fierce heat having seared the bone as well as the thick, juicy, and intense strips of meat. With bone marrow alongside, it pushed every carnivorous button. I seem to remember the table going quiet for a few minutes, as the pleasure of eating overcame us (this is all beginning to sound a bit erotic, forgive me. It's been a while...).

The triple-cooked chips were light, fluffy, and crispy, as they should be. We ordered two servings to share between four of us, believing that would leave us satisfied, but ended up with four. All sides were £4 each.

Energised by the protein rush, bones chewed, and plates clean, we dived headlong into the dessert menu. Don't expect sorbets, foams, or fruit salads here: they do proper classic puds, and do them well.

Chocolate brownie with salt caramel ice cream. £6.50. I'll leave the picture to do the talking.

Rhubarb trifle, £6. This was devoured by the 750g Porterhouse + marrow + eggs companion, ordering lunch as if this was his last meal on earth.

Scoops of cornflake ice cream (a clever nostalgia hit, made from milk that has had cornflakes soaked in it overnight, apparently) and rich, dark, salted caramel ice cream hit all the right notes, and brought the meal to a suitably decadent conclusion.

The savvy duo behind the restaurant, Will Beckett and Huw Gott, are opening a second branch in Covent Garden in the autumn, bringing to life what is currently a culinary wasteland between Soho and the Thames (save for the exceptional Terroirs and Rules, and serviceable Wahaca).

It wasn't cheap (£239, incl. great service, for 4. Yes, ouch.), but I'd have worried if it was. A small price to pay for a month's protein quota, top quality produce, and a memorable meat-fest. Next on the list is Goodman, currently jostling with Hawksmoor for London's top 'steak' spot.

Hawksmoor Steakhouse
157 Commercial Street
London
E1 6BJ
Tel: 02072477392
info@thehawksmoor.com

At Home: Chocolate mocha cupcakes

2010-05-12T15:14:00.001-07:00

Choclette, this one's for you.

A few days ago, I came across a chocolate mocha layer cake recipe on Choclette's lovely blog, attributed to the Primrose Bakery Cookbook, but tweaked with the addition of Greek yogurt and coffee.

Being more of a savoury girl, my baking repertoire largely consists of simple cupcakes (my favourites: lime cupcakes drizzled with Absinthe, chocolate cupcakes drizzled with Frangelico - I'm a sucker for boozy cake) and little else. Not the massive American-style ones, I should add.

This recipe produces the lightest cake texture, and trumps the lot. Maybe the yogurt is the secret. Here it is, adapted from Choclette's adaptation of a Primrose Bakery recipe.

200g 70% dark chocolate (I used Green & Blacks)
170g unsalted butter, at room temperature
350g soft brown sugar
3 duck egg yolks
185g wholemeal plain flour
185g white plain flour
1½ tsp baking powder
1½ tsp bicarb of soda
½ tsp salt
250g Greek yogurt
2 tsp vanilla extract
150g unsalted butter, at room temperature
300g icing sugar, sifted
2 tsp instant espresso coffee (dissolved in a little water)
1 tbsp semi-skimmed or full fat milk

For the cupcakes (makes about 16)
1. Preheat the oven to 180C. Melt the chocolate in a bain marie and leave to cool.
2. Cream the softened butter with the sugar until pale and fluffy. Stir in the yolks, followed by the melted cooled chocolate.
3. Sift the two flours with the bicarbonate of soda, baking powder, and salt. Fold into butter mixture, along with 250ml water.
4. Fold in the yogurt and vanilla extract.
5. Spoon into paper muffin cases sitting in a muffin tray, and bake for 20 minutes on the middle shelf of the oven. Turn out onto a wire rack to cool. Careful: they are light in texture so very delicate!

For the icing
Beat the butter with the icing sugar, coffee, and milk until smooth. Spread or pipe over each cooled cupcake.

In the absence of chocolate-covered coffee beans, I gave mine two different toppings: grated white chocolate, and blueberries.

At Home: Trout fillets en papillote

2010-05-11T13:40:00.000-07:00

After an interminably long winter, and a surfeit of gutsy, rich, earthy food, I'm starting to crave lighter fare. This is a quick and simple supper for two, perfect for weeknights. (Or for one: keep one of the cooked fillets for a zesty, herby trout & noodle salad the next day.)

2 trout fillets (skin on, to keep them in one piece as they steam)
3 spring onions, sliced
Thumb-size piece of fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
1 red chilli, deseeded and thinly sliced
Handful of coriander leaves, chopped
3/4 thin slices of lime
3 tbsp sake

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4. Place all the ingredients in the middle of a large folded square of foil or greaseproof paper, the fish sitting on top of the spring onions. Pull up the sides of the foil or paper and scrunch together to form a loose but tightly sealed 'envelope'. Place carefully on a baking tray and bake for 15-20 minutes.

Serve each fillet on a pile of steamed rice and pak choi, drizzled with the juices from the cooking 'envelope' and a little light soy sauce.

Ottolenghi

2010-05-09T06:46:00.000-07:00

In shops for less than a week, Plenty – Yotam Ottolenghi's new cookbook – already has five stars on Amazon, and hoards of devotees. Ottolenghi's vibrant fare is manna to food-loving vegetarians, releasing them from the grip of the usual suspects: quinoa, sun-dried tomatoes, goats' cheese, pasta... unimaginative and lazy ingredient combinations that blight restaurant menus nationwide.

To get to the point, though I'm a fan of his New Vegetarian column in The Guardian, this was the first time I'd eaten at one of the four London establishments, and it certainly lived up to the hype. The Upper Street restaurant-bakery-deli branch was packed, the late lunchtime queue a confused gaggle of voyeurs, those patiently waiting for a table, and others fighting for attention at the deli.

The pan-Med menu offers their deli dishes at £3.50-£4.50 each, suggesting that you combine two or three to create small/large plates. It being 3:15pm, they had sadly run out of the famous chargrilled broccoli with chilli and garlic. Instead, we had: Gorgeous moist cornbread spiked with red chilli, Seared beef fillet with coriander dipping sauce, Marinated aubergine with tahini dressing, and French beans and mangetout with hazelnut and orange. Bold food, confidently composed and inspiring to the palate.

Seasonal, local produce is not their thing, and prices are rather cheeky, but it's not worth holding a grudge. Ottolenghi is stirring vegetarian food from its slumber, confronting healthy food prejudices and preconceptions (which I am all too guilty of), and offering a unique experience: virtuous salad fare alongside the most sinful sweets I have ever seen. New Yorkers are going mad for Yotam's two books, so no doubt he'll be hopping across the pond before long.

The Islington branch offers reservations for evening, daytime is free-for-all.

These are two of the sweet treats I took home and devoured in one sitting:

Raspberry meringue. Pass any of their outposts and these will be the first thing you notice in the window: mountains of the beasts, in assorted colours, tempting you in.

Passion fruit tart: soft pillowy meringue on top of a passion fruit curd filling. Positively achingly sweet.

A fat moist chunk of apple and vanilla cake didn't remain in the box long enough to be photographed, i'm afraid.

At Home: Jersey Royal and Wild Garlic Tortilla

2010-05-04T12:50:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of the great Mark Hix and The Independent, this one. A sublime case of serendipity, I came upon the recipe having just picked up a bunch of wild garlic leaves from the local farmers' market, along with the Sunday papers.

Foraging and city life aren't likely bedfellows (blackberry picking on Walthamstow Marshes is about as 'wild' as I get), so Britain's finest hedgerow, orchard, and woodland treats rarely find their way on to my plate.

This is the first time I've tasted or cooked with wild garlic leaves, I'm ashamed to say, but - thanks to 'lordmelbury' tweeting that Epping Forest is groaning with the stuff - it won't be the last. Keeping it simple, combining them with organic eggs and new season's Jersey Royals, is definitely the way to go. Although they smell pungent, once cooked the leaves mellow and add a delicate piquant garlicky-herby lift to the buttery, rich eggs.

By the way, I didn't bother peeling the potatoes. And, I would shred or chop the leaves rather than leave them whole: I couldn't encourage them to spread evenly through the omelette mixture. This is noticeably flatter than Hix's creation, as I only had a large frying pan. A smaller frying pan, as he suggests, would make two thicker tortillas.

If you find wild garlic flowers, use these to garnish the tortilla.

At Home: Candied nuts

2010-04-21T09:51:00.000-07:00

Another simple party pleaser, adapted from an out-of-print 1970's American 'sweet gifts' book, "Gifts from the Kitchen" (Norma Myers & Joan Scobey), which sits well-thumbed on mom's cookbook shelf. She makes batch after batch every Christmas, giving them away in kilner jars as gifts.

1 1/2 cups pecan nuts (or walnuts, if preferred)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
1-2 tsp grated orange rind

Put all the ingredients in a large heavy skillet, and cook over a medium heat until the water evaporates and the nuts have a sugary look.
Pour the nuts onto a greased baking sheet, separating them quickly with a fork. Cool, and store in a sealed container.

At Home: Parmesan crisps

2010-04-21T09:50:00.001-07:00

These are the easiest crowd pleasers. I've made them as party nibbles for years, ever since coming home with a scribbled version of the recipe after a day cooking Italian treats at Cucina Caldesi in Marylebone with Giancarlo and Katie Caldesi.

This will take no more than 30 minutes of your time in the kitchen, I promise.

Makes 20 biscuits/crisps.

100g unsalted butter, at room temperature
100g Parmesan cheese, grated
120g self-raising flour
Pinch of cayenne pepper
Pink of black pepper

In a mixing bowl, beat the soft butter and grated cheese until combined. Add the flour, cayenne (to taste), and pepper, and fold in. Roll the dough into a long sausage, wrap in cling film, and chill to harden.

Cut thin discs from the chilled dough sausage, and bake in a 180C oven for 10 mins.

It couldn't be simpler!

OPTION: if you'd like to make them a little snazzier, roll the sausage over a layer of poppy seeds before chilling so that the crisps have a pretty edge when baked.

Skylon Restaurant

2010-04-19T12:23:00.000-07:00

Dining rooms with views are guaranteed to disappoint, aren't they? Though perhaps I should hold my tongue until I've tried Galvin at Windows Restaurant, purported to be an exception to the rule. Horridly overpriced, made to cater for tourists, and passing trade with more money than taste, they seldom display culinary expertise.

A 9-to-5 resident of The Strand, I regularly head north for proper sustenance, to Soho and beyond, the Thames and South Bank being instead a refuge for boozy summer evenings in riverside watering holes, when food consists of bar snacks at best.

A friend had waxed lyrical about the bar at Skylon, located within the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank, overlooking the river. Hanging out with an old uni mate on the South Bank, we decided to give the Skylon Grill a try, for a lazy lunch (supposedly less formal and better value than the restaurant).

The menu is instantly forgettable: bland modern European brasserie fare, at ridiculous prices, much like - possibly worse than - the Portrait Restaurant at the top of the National Portrait Gallery. Mushroom gnocchi at £14, what a joke. To steal Lisa Markwell's phrase from her recent review of Petrus in the Independent: 'it has the distinct feeling of an operation that knows the price of everything and the value of nothing'.

Uninspired, and struggling to choose, we were asked by three different waitresses whether we were ready to order: none of them seemed dedicated to a particular dining area, but rather aimlessly wandered around, looking bored or gossiping (they clearly tired of the impressive view long ago).

On to the food:
Pumpkin tortelloni with confit tomato, wild rocket and shaved pecorino: £15. 10 pieces of mediocre filled pasta, and the chef forgot the promised shavings of pecorino, and deemed it acceptable to place just one poor, lonely tomato (nothing 'confit' about it, by the way) on the dish. Lame.

Jo came off a little better with the Sunday roast - rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding, and roasted veg: £17.50. The beef was agreeably tender and rare, but rather tasteless. At least the serving was generous, and the Yorkshire puddings crispy.

Greens: £3.50. Again, forgettable.

Chocolate and pear tart with Guinness ice cream: £6.50. The worst part of the meal. The ice cream was a miserable scoop of defrosting water crystals, in which I couldn't detect dairy products, let alone a treacly hint of hops. The chocolate tart was bland, the pastry thick and soggy, and the poached pears on top even blander. How they could feel proud enough of this dessert to decorate the plate with a pointless line of the same bland chocolate and a half-hearted sprinkling of icing sugar, I don't know.

If the cocktails are as lackluster and overpriced as the food, I wouldn't bother. Just enjoy a cold beer on the terrace a floor below Skylon, or head to the buzzy Benugo Bar in the BFI building for a 'pint' of hot sausage rolls.

St. John Restaurant

2010-04-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

Staycations. All the rage, apparently.

Well, being car-less and anticipating the capricious nature of National Rail, we'd made up our minds to be footloose in the city over the Easter break. And, it was Jon's birthday. Having treated ourselves to a birthday stay at Hazlitt's hotel in Soho a couple of years ago, and loved the place, The Rookery (its sister hotel in Clerkenwell) was next on the list. Its close proximity to Michelin-starred St. John Restaurant - our favourite London restaurant since moving here 8 years ago - sealed the deal.

The urge to slob out in the room, and have a long soak in the gorgeous bath, was overwhelming, but the eager anticipation of a return visit to St. John got us on our feet.

Two minutes later, we were in Fergus Henderson's lair, for a gustatory study in nose to tail eating. Without fuss or frippery, the menu exhibits the best of British produce, and we would have been spoilt for choice, had I not been pregnant: native oysters, goat's curd, sprats, rabbit offal, all poetically paired with seasonal leaves that hold their own: mint, dandelion, and watercress. St. John doesn't do garnishes. The robust food bears a striking affinity to the dining space, a white-washed former smokehouse: sparse and pared down.

Tearing away at chunks of homemade sourdough bread, we went for their signature dish, a must if you're new to St. John, the roast bone marrow. And, beautiful cured beef.
Cured beef and celeriac £9.50. This was outstanding. The beef cut to perfect toothsome thickness, paired with a stunning creamy celeriac 'coleslaw', spiked generously with fresh horseradish. A rugged dish, but one created with a deft touch.

Roast bone marrow and parsley salad £7. As usual, a winner. Nothing gives me more carnivorous pleasure than scraping out the rich, warm, gelatinous marrow and spreading it on charred bread. Shame it wasn't my starter, but I was generously given a look-in by the birthday boy.

Pigeon and braised Savoy cabbage £16.60. The only disappointment of the evening. Our waitress told us it would be cooked medium-rare. The bone-in pigeon breasts had hardly seen the heat. The plate was already brimming with blood when it reached me, and the breasts were raw under the skin (cold, in fact). Do not be mistaken, I love bloody meat, even blood itself. One of the culinary highlights of my life was a pig-fest in Bali with a Balinese family, where the star dish alongside the whole spit-roast pig, was a magical raw 'salad' of coconut and spiced pig's blood. Game blood is an altogether different experience, however: bitter, funky, smelly, and all-pervasive. We might well be alone here, but it didn't thrill us.

Rabbit saddle and parsnips £16.40. Not a looker, granted, yet it delivered in every other way. Rabbit, devilish to cook, and so often tough, was tender and full of flavour. Silky subtle flesh, on the bone, with sweet and earthy roasted parsnips.

Greens £3.50, Potatoes £3.50. Star side dishes. The humble cabbage elevated to new heights with a light steam, smothered in warm butter and a generous grind of pepper. They take their potatoes seriously, too: this is the first time Jon's ever ooh-ed and aah-ed over the humble tuber.

Brown bread ice cream £6.80. A Victorian classic, apparently. Hokey-pokey for grown-ups, it was chewy, nutty, and a perfect end to the meal. I was sorely tempted to pour Jon's Lagavulin whisky over it, to make a hardcore affogato-style dessert.

Topped off with a refreshing fresh mint tea (my pregnant state seems to be stopping everyone I eat with getting madly drunk. Shame really, as I want be the one to witness and recall everyone's embarrassing moments, for once), the meal came to a very reasonable £86.

This was the first time I'd had an off-key dish here, and it preyed on my mind. Had I just chosen badly? Everything else was cooked beautifully, and the staff were delightful. The St. John experience - in all three establishments - epitomizes everything I love about food: big, butch flavours, superb seasonal ingredients, and no-fuss presentation.

Their new establishment, a hotel/restaurant due to open in Leicester Square this summer, is bound to be a rip-roaring success, if they pull off the trick of delivering great rooms and great food, as Dean Street Townhouse has.

Too much was right about our meal to put me off a return visit. I'll just give the funky pigeon a wide berth next time.

St. John Bar and Restaurant Smithfield
26 St John Street
London
EC1M 4AY
020 7251 0848

Hix at Selfridges

2010-03-28T10:01:00.000-07:00

'Hix' and 'Selfridges'. Not names I'd expect to see together. Ramsay, Peyton, Stein, Yau, Conran, Galvin, Nobu... perhaps. Many chefs seem more than willing to get into bed with big business and hotel chains, and be lured into launching franchises. But Mark Hix struck me more the Fergus Henderson (of St John) type. This is his fifth self-named restaurant, and word has it he's keen on further expansion. As a restaurant consultant and former Caprice boss, he has quietly stamped his name on dozens of menus across town over the last decade, though premises with his name above the door have so far been his own, until now.

I'd booked well ahead for Sunday lunch at Hix's Restaurant and Champagne Bar in Selfridges, expecting it to be thronged with moneyed shoppers and destination diners, but it was strangely quiet. An awkward moment followed, as the waitress seating us went to great pains to inform (persuade) us that it was normally packed out and buzzy. No matter. It was peaceful and we weren't going to be shifted in a hurry.

The Conran-designed mezzanine dining area floats above the posh handbags, providing ample eye candy for the girls, and a welcome sanctuary from the frenetic shopping floor for all (particularly the guys: I hate seeing men with tails between their legs being dragged around designer stores by their spouse, languid and glassy eyed).

Up pop the familiarly robust Hixy British classics on the menu: 'Hix Cure' salmon, oysters, fish and chips, and fancified 'wild garlic' chicken kiev. The rest of the menu, though, is rather Hix-lite, concentrating on safer Mediterranean dishes (burrata, risotto, pasta). Pressure from store management perhaps, or Hix predicting a less adventurous diner.

For what is - the staff tell me - a walk-in restaurant, this place ain't cheap. Starters average £10, mains range from £14-40, and desserts are all priced at £6.75. Add water, wine, and service, and you've easily spent £50 each.

Tasty, though. All the dishes were well executed, served in typically pared-down Hix style.

Maldon Rock oysters (above), came topped with a zingy tomato granita. The granita wasn't on the menu, so purists may have objected, but Jon's no purist. He loved them.

Onion tart. Just the right temperature, beautifully soft onions, and crispy pastry.

Burrata on toasted sourdough. Oh, I love this cheese, a yielding luscious Puglian buffalo mozzarella, enriched with cream. I last indulged in it at Skye Gyngell's Petersham Nurseries cafe, where it had been paired with salty ham and wet figs. A date-night dish if ever there was one.

Purple sprouting broccoli with Berkswell cheese and pickled walnuts. £9.25! No matter how good it was, that price can't be justified.

Cornish lamb cutlets with 'roasted cucumber salad' and watercress £19.50. The lamb was cooked beautifully, its flesh charred and meltingly tender. But the cucumber was raw. Shame. The lack of any further cooked element to the dish made it a touch too light for my taste.

Steak tartare £15.75, with chips. Gorgeous.

Chicken kiev with wild garlic £16.75. Another winner. (Hands back, Matt.)

Linguine with red sea prawns and chilli £14.50. Creamy, delicate, soothing and polished off happily by my companion, washed down with a glass of refreshing Côteaux de Peyriac.

Pink Fir Apple potatoes £3.95.

Citrus salad with yogurt sorbet £6.75. Sprinkled with caramelized peel, a refreshing dessert with a touch of indulgence.

Treacle sponge pudding with custard £6.75. For the chaps. This was the star pudding, a standout textbook example of perfect sticky syrupy sponge.

Rhubarb and ginger jelly with Jersey cream £6.75. I was mocked for ordering 'baby food', and although the flavours hit all the right notes, I admit something of a firmer texture would have been appreciated - maybe a piece of shortbread, or an oaty biscuit.

I adored this elegant tea gadget. Strainer and drip bowl in one. I never used to take much notice of trinkets, I must be getting old...

For a proper Hix experience, I wouldn't make a bee-line for this outpost. It's well-judged for its location, however, and I would definitely return for champagne and oysters, or an indulgent pudding, if we were feeling flush. There's just something odd about sitting through 3 courses in a windowless department store.

Only bother booking ahead for Saturday lunch.

Bar Shu

2010-03-12T15:38:00.001-08:00

For some, spicy food is considered an endurance test, but for many it's an awakening, a base pleasure to be sought in as many forms as possible, be it a simple extra grind of pepper over weeknight cheese on toast, a chilli-infested broth, or a fiery Saturday night curry.

I adore heat. A grind of pepper is as important as a pinch of salt, and chilli flakes are always close to hand. About time, then, that I try out a Sichuanese restaurant.

Bar Shu sits at the corner of Frith Street in Soho, on the edge of Chinatown. It opened - to much excitement and high praise in foodie circles - in 2006, and boasts a renowned food writer as its consultant: Fuchsia Dunlop, an Oxbridge-educated cook, fluent in Mandarin, educated and initiated in Sichuanese cuisine in Chengdu, China. Being the only Western woman who knows her Sichuan stuff and writes about it prolifically and well, it seemed we were in safe hands.

Marched rather brusquely by front-of-house to the table where friends had already been seated, on the first floor, I had little time to take in the surroundings, though I remember recalling Bam-Bou on Percy Street, similarly decked out as it is, tea-house style, with ample carved dark wood furnishings.

The laminated menu was luridly eye-catching, filled with gaudy photographs of each dish. Pitched as a catch-all collection of authentic dishes, the choice was overwhelming. Spice is a given though, as is a generous selection of offal.

The region's signature spice, Sichuan pepper, features in almost every dish. A pod, not a chilli pepper, it's Grade A, high definition spice. Not for the faint-hearted, it numbs the lips, momentarily anesthetizes the palate, then smothers the mouth with a warm pungent fiery glow. Heat-lover heaven.

So, we went for a selection of cold starters (they're all chilled), a plate of offal, a plate of veg, and two meat dishes.

The "smacked cucumbers" starter was a winner: Cucumber whacked with a cleaver, like a coconut, so it breaks open into generous chunks, pickled in a fragrant sour dressing. I've recently become a fan of cooked cucumber, and vastly prefer it cooked/pickled over fresh.

Dry-fried green beans £8.90. I was informed by one of my companions, who has spent time studying in China, that this dish is made from yard-long beans, and that the secret to their moreishness is the tiny specks of minced spiced pork it is stir-fried with. Life as a vegetarian in China must be tough...

Fish-fragrant aubergine £8.90. Expensive for a plate of cold aubergine, I thought, but the slimy, slithery chunks were divine. Sweet and sour, in equal intensity.

Slivered pig's tripe in chilli oil £6.90. One of my fellow diners' favourites. It sounds distinctly unappetizing, and I can't promise I would have chosen it if not cajoled. The cold tripe slivers do indeed sit in a pool of oil, but the intense savoury "umami" combination of spice, sugar, and oil, is addictive. I couldn't identify any flavour of tripe, though, to my quiet relief.

Gong Bao chicken with peanuts £10.90. A Sichuan classic, this one packed a punch. Crammed with peanuts, the Sichuan peppercorns pervaded the dish, packed into every sticky crevice. Again, a touch of the expensive side, but given I took home the leftovers and they kept me going for two more meals, I can hardly complain.

Bar shu red braising pork £10.90. This was good, but not outstanding. I adore fatty belly pork, but this meat was perhaps not top quality. The flesh was amazingly a touch dry (sitting in liquid, surrounded by fat, you'd think this would be hard to achieve). Perhaps one to give a miss, next time.

Numbing and hot sliced beef £8.90. Wonderfully spiced, but again, I would just question the quality of the meat. It resembled the thin slices of overcooked beef you find languishing under heat lamps in a chain pub carvery.

I was impressed by the flavours and execution at Bar Shan, but the meat - I have a sneaking suspicion that this is where they cut corners. This meal was not cheap: we spent £35 a head, and two of us weren't on the booze. At that price, meat quality should not be questionnable. I hear Mark Hix likes Gourmet San on Bethnal Green Road, a recommendation definitely worth following up.

'Chinese' food in the capital is most often Cantonese, 'Indian' most often Bangladeshi, and all largely offer a one-dimensional spice fix. Try Bar Shu: it's a unique culinary experience. If it was a touch more keenly priced, and stepped up on meat quality, it would be worth a pilgrimage, not just a bus ride.

Galvin Café de Luxe

2010-03-11T14:35:00.001-08:00

The City now has its gastronomic jewel, if we are to believe current musings and schmoozings from the nation's well-regarded food critics. They have been waxing lyrical about the latest venture from those darlings of the restaurant trade, Chris and Jeff Galvin - Galvin La Chapelle near Spitalfields Market. Giles Coren's even planning to host his forthcoming wedding reception there, in the breathtakingly beautiful converted chapel space. Lucky chap. I'm guessing you have to be in with the brothers to pull that one off.

As the picture suggests, we dined not in the hallowed halls of fine dining, but 'round the back', in the casual French bistro/bar attached to the chapel, aptly named Galvin Café de Luxe (taking the 'de Luxe' name from the first Galvin establishment: Bistro de Luxe, on Baker St).

The Galvin team obviously put a lot of thought into the interior: the lighting, bar area, table settings, even the toilets (Ren products galore), are all high spec, creating an intimate yet lavish setting. The menu is textbook robust French with a touch of Neapolitan influence, and immediately reminded me of the more rough-and-ready Comptoir Gascon in Smithfield, featuring classics such as duck confit, pissaladière, steak tartare, escargots, and rhum baba.

Seeing a fellow diner poring over their precious 2nd issue of Fire & Knives magazine - a new quarterly, dedicated to food writing - was the first sign we were on to a good thing, then a basket of decent bread arrived, as did Tracey Emin, who sat quietly at the next table, to our surprise (I had expected her to be a loud, gregarious character, one of those larger-than-life gesticulators).

The meaty mains are at top-end bistro prices - all around £15. Preferring to graze, we chose the Endive salad with blood orange, olives, buffalo mozzarella and speck (on the side, so my vegetarian friend and I could share), and two Pissaladières with rocket garnish from the kitchen's wood oven. The crisp and chewy pissaladière crust was topped with perfectly balanced caramelized onion and salty anchovies, and the perky salad was dressed delicately. Both dishes, at around £7 each, were served in generous portions. My Pissaladière was so large I had to ask for a doggy bag, a happy sight for Jon when he opened the fridge the next morning.

Just two small criticisms: they could offer more from their wood oven, as the menu currently features only four options, and their tables could be a touch bigger - my clumsiness saw various items dropping to the floor, though they were graciously and speedily replaced by the smart and ever-so-slightly stiff waiters (owing to the proximity of the chapel, perhaps).

We shared a slice of Prune and walnut tart with vanilla ice cream (£5.50) to finish. Rich and treacly, with the gooey and satisfying texture of pecan pie, and boozy prunes, it compared favourably to the River Cafe's famous Prune and almond tart that I'd eaten the week before, and was considerably cheaper. Bistros, cafés and brasseries tend to suffer from lack of imagination when it comes to the closing credits of a menu, making do with familiar fare, but the Galvin brothers put the effort in and come up trumps.

Somehow, we managed to get away with spending just £15 each on dinner, though if you're going to delve into the impressive wine menu, and gorge on 3 courses, you'll be looking at a more hefty bill of £30-4o per person. Not café prices, indeed, but to get a taste of what next door has to offer, it's worth the price. We managed to get a glimpse of La Chapelle, chaperoned by a waiter who told us that weekdays get booked up far in advance, but weekends are much quieter: a tip for those of you keen to get in quick.

Hallelujah. The arrival of La Chapelle, and its casual offshoot, signals all is well on London's food map. They are keeping standards and expectations high, and pretenders/competitors on their toes. Now, I just need to muscle in on that wedding reception...