wanton flavours

ARDOISE GOURMANDE - A TALE OF TWO CITIES

2012-03-03T21:31:00.000Z

Ahhhh Bistro!!

It's just the best of times really: a croissant and a snooze as the Eurostar cruises from London to Paris through the early grey dawn light, a far cry from the coach and horses that struggle along the rutted lanes to Dover at the start of Dickens' classic novel.

Ardoise Gourmande

French bistro dining means crisp white linen, waiters in black and white with starched aprons, the quiet buzz of understated conversations and murmured appreciations of the chef's art. Ardoise Gourmande is completely in character, and only a stone's throw from Gare du Nord. It's resolutely French: only Parisian diners and no parallel translation of the menu. We choose from the 22 euro set menu which turns out to be fantastic value for highly imaginative cooking:

filet de lieu noir, ravioles de crabe at creme de basilic;

millefeuille de boudin aux deux pommes;

baba limoncello;

tarte tatin;

cafe creme;

fromage;

vin blanc.

Hero of the piece, the boudin aux pomme, is a tower of alternating black and gold "coins", a wonderful combination of sharply contrasting tastes, colours and textures.

After a post-prandial stroll around the Sacre Coeur and the cimetiere Montmartre to discover Zola's mausoleum, we search for some sweet cakes from the patisseries to take home - to no avail, every Parisian or Parisienne has already hoovered up all the heart-shaped confections created specially for the day.

Terminus Nord

Defeated, we retreat to another familiar haunt, Terminus Nord, a buzzing 1920s style brasserie complete with low lighting, huge mirrors and period decor. It is handily placed just across the forecourt from Gare du Nord, ideal for a glass of wine or chocolat chaud before the return journey and a great place for people-watching.

St Pancras Renaissance Hotel

As if by Eurostar magic, we are back in London, and it is only a short if weary step from the platform to the Booking Office Bar in The St Pancras Hotel for some late night refreshment. There's no better place, as we have found, to recover from the rigours of the journey; and fittingly there is a special re-creation of the Charles Dickens' punch (invented by the man himself): this was a far, far better thing and a far, far better rest...

Charles Dickens' Punch

THE BREAKFAST CLUB, HOXTON

2012-02-25T14:41:00.000Z

Here's another sharp operator to add to the list of usual suspects in the line-up for brunch in E London. We've already pulled in The Book Club and The Boundary Cafe for questioning here; now it's the turn of The Breakfast Club in Hoxton.

"She took me in and made me breakfast"

On Rufus Street, between Hoxton Square and Old Street, The Breakfast Club is a light, bright, modern post-industrial space. It is very busy, full of young fashionistas styled to match the artfully distressed walls and quirky fittings. The slick service is as up-to-the-minute as the side-ponies that have already sashayed over from London Fashion Week.
TBC gets all the important things right, with excellent coffee, a zingy bloody mary, and an eclectic menu: mounds of pancakes drip with maple syrup, bagels bulge with smoked salmon, perfect poached eggs quiver on brown toast, huevos rancheros do battle with the Full Monty breakfast. For those who only emerge when daylight fades, there is a late breakfast menu starting at 5:00 in the evening. But it's very popular, so get here fashionably early.

NIGHTJAR and LOUNGE BOHEMIA

2012-02-11T16:12:00.000Z

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well... it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves...

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

Ah the secret cocktail bar. Enter via an urban version of the rabbit hole (brown door between kebab shop and newsagent) and you will find so many bottles with 'Drink Me' that you are guaranteed a strange shrinking feeling - a feeling enhanced, I find, after spending a good few hours here... My companion has booked the Nightjar (somewhere near Old St - can't say more, obv) and we are name-checked at the door by an amiable sort with waistcoast, pocketwatch, twitching nose (ok, I jest - there's no waistcoat). Downstairs the scene is one of low lights, warm dark wood, chink and glint of cocktail glasses and comfortable tables and booths. There's a 1920s-30s speakeasy vibe, a pianist straight from the set of The Great Gatsby sings and plays quietly in the corner and our waitress is a dead ringer for Debbie Harry (without the gum-chewing Brooklyn 'whatchawant' attitude). We order London Sours and a variety of other stuff (don't expect me to remember) - one comes with flames issuing forth, another showered with powder that tastes of chocolate sherbert - a few more and then the Mad Hatter calls time....

Lounge Bohemia, by contrast, has a Cold War schtick going on, it is the sort of place Michael Caine in The Ipcress File ends up after an unfortunate encounter with a Soviet spymaster and hallucinatory truth drugs. The walls are bare concrete, with tables under the arched roof where you can dimly glimpse the (normal) world through the glass pavement tiles. The staff are blank-eyed, the clientele are cool (suits are prohibited) and bakelite jugs of water and trays of canapes are brought to the table. Fittingly my gin and lychee drink is served with a retro maraschino cherry while my accomplice's is tobacco-infused bourbon delivered in a cigar tube, then stirred (with a cinnamon stick) into a glass filled with candy floss. Needless to say, after drinking this particular truth drug, she told me all her secrets ....

www.barnightjar.com

loungebohemia.com/

BOUNDARY CAFE AND THE BOOK CLUB

2012-01-21T17:43:00.006Z

So, I'm housesitting in Hoxton and I've realised that brunch is the thing here. Queues form early outside the most popular joints such as The Breakfast Club or The Diner; by 'early' read late morning. C'mon would you really expect any self-respecting hipster to emerge before midday? There's the the skinny jeans to ease on, the Hoxton Fin (yes, some still sport them) or Undercut to style, the eyeliner to apply (male and female) and the vintage cardi to shrug on.

Hoxton Fin (noun) firmly styled longitudinal hair appendage favoured among the Shoreditch Set around 2000 - 2002.
I'm going to get an Hoxton Fin haircut down Shoreditch High Street.

Undercut (noun) a hairstyle in which the sides and back are shaved and long hair is grown at the top of the head.
Guy 1: Hey, Man, check out her undercut!
Guy 2: We should do it too!

At 12.30 -1pm they arrive in droves to gaze mordantly into their coffee cups, tap a Doc Marten to a beat still lodged in their heads from last night and order a stack of buttermilk pancakes ... and who can blame them; these breakfast places are almost faultless with well cooked food, friendly service and a lively ambiance, where you can nurse a hangover with a well-made Bloody Mary or Hard Shake.

The Albion is a slightly up market venue for this sort of thing. A Conran cafe and shop attached to The Boundary Restaurant favoured by well-heeled young families and designer clad couples.

It is a light inviting space and we while away a couple of hours reading the paper and eating bacon and egg rolls and drinking coffee.

The shop also has a nice range of vegetables (organic of course), pastries, cakes and bread.

The Book Club in Leonard St, weirdly, is located on the site of the publishing company where I used to work.

We sit at a table where my desk used to be, eat smoked haddock and poached eggs, watch a couple of guys play table tennis and I wonder where the bloody hell does time go - it seems yesterday I was sitting in the same spot worrying about deadlines.

Tempus Fugit or, as they say in Shoreditch, WTF.

Links:

http://www.albioncaff.co.uk

http://www.wearetbc.com/food-and-drink/breakfast

PANETTONE ISN'T JUST FOR CHRISTMAS...

2012-01-08T20:04:00.002Z

Buon Natale. The traditional Italian sweet bread panettone is taking over: temptingly colourful boxes and tins pile up in stores for the pre-Christmas rush, and not just in the Italian delis like Limoncello or Carluccio's; its distinctive aromas (a blend of citrus, spice, eggs, vanilla, peel) conjure up the holiday mood, especially if the bread is still warm.
So, sliding some remaining panettone slices into the toaster early this raw mid-January day brings memories of morning lie-ins and Christmas brunches wafting back. And it will continue to do so over the coming months as we bake and eat this "festive" bread outside its proper season.

It has a reputation for being difficult to make: the dough is so rich and heavy that it sometimes fails to rise fully - and a dry, airy crumb is the essence of a successful panettone. So I cheat. I order a couple "extras" from the Bakery Bits website. Firstly waxed paper moulds of various sizes, specially designed for panettone, solve the problem of finding the right baking container. Secondly, fiori di sicilia essence is suffused with all the spicy flavours and flowery scents of panettone - a couple of drops transforms the loaves; and it lightens the dough, so helping the rise. I also add some dried yeast to my sourdough starter to help get that lift.

Stage One (start the night before you wish to bake)
240g dried fruit and peel
160ml brandy
Mix fruit, peel and brandy in a bowl and soak overnight. Choose the mix of fruit that suits your taste (I use dried apricots, golden raisins and mixed peel for the flavour and golden colour I want). However, it is important to dice the fruit to match the size of the pieces of peel.

Stage Two
100g plain white flour
100g sourdough starter (I use a 50% water 50% starter)
7g dried yeast
a pinch of sugar
Mix the ingredients together and leave in a warm place to develop for about an hour.

Stage Three
125g butter
50g sugar
1 tsp vanilla essence (or seeds from half a vanilla pod)
4 drops fiori di sicilia
2 large eggs
4 egg yolks
1/2 tsp salt
Blend together the butter and sugar until smooth. Add the rest of the ingredients and continue to blend until smooth and well mixed.

Stage Four
500g plain white flour
In a large bowl, mix together the flour, the eggy mix from stage three, the yeast mixture from stage two and the fruit (drained) from stage one. Once mixed, turn out onto a floured surface, and knead for fifteen minutes, until the dough is less sticky. Place the dough in an oiled bowl and put in a warm place for three hours to rise.

Stage Five
Divide the dough in half. Knead briefly and place each half in a 154m / 750g panettone mould. Cover with cling film and leave in a warm place to rise. This may take some time (approx 3 hours) but the dough should double in size. Give it more time if the rise is slow, as this is critical to the outcome. The dough will still be some way from the top of the mould, but will rise further when in the oven.

An hour before you wish to bake the panettone, heat the oven to 200C degrees. Bake for 20 mins, then place circles of greaseproof paper on top of the loaves and bake for a further 45 minutes, or until a skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean.

Remove the loaves and brush the surface with molten butter or a sugar/water glaze.Place the loaves on a rack to cool - keep in the moulds.

Once cold, wrap the loaves in plastic bags to keep fresh.

Cut into wedges and sprinkle with icing sugar before eating. The flavour is enhanced if the bread is slightly warmed. Or slice and toast.
And it's not just for Christmas! A toasted slice is so warming on a cold January morning; or February, or March....

SCOTCH EGGS with BLACK PUDDING and CHORIZO

2011-12-29T16:33:00.002Z

Our Christmas canapes aim for something more delicate than the traditional scotch egg, more Jonathan Ames than James M Cain, but hard-boiled nonetheless. We wrap quails' eggs in black pudding, the dark colouring extended by black, waxy whole-rye breadcrumbs. They sit equally comfortably with pints of Guinness or flutes of champagne.

It's new ways in modern times for the scotch egg: a (pickled) Manchester egg receives rave reviews (and soaring sales to match); competitions search for the best "new" scotch egg; one of the stars of the 2011 Masterchef Professionals' Final is a fish-based scotch egg. Responding to a challenge to national honour in far flung fields, Tom and Jen select the scotch egg to represent the best of UK food, as blogged by slightly startled Seoul foodies.

Method
1 Hardboil 12 quails' eggs (about 6 minutes); cool and peel.
2 Mix together 200g black pudding, 75g cooking chorizo and 75g sausage meat.
3 Break off a lump of black pudding mix slightly larger than a golf ball, and flatten it out. Place a peeled quail's egg in the middle, wrapping the mixture round to create a smooth, unbroken surface. Repeat for each egg,

4 Put plain white flour for dredging in a flat bowl.
5 Beat a whole (hen's) egg in another flat bowl.
6 Blend 75g of waxy whole-rye bread (Vollkombrot) with 25 g of white bread (ideally sourdough) to create breadcrumbs. Place in yet another flat bowl.
7 Arrange the bowls in a convenient row for dredging and rolling.

8 Dredge the first black pudding ball in flour, then coat in egg and breadcrumbs. Put to one side and then repeat.
9 Deep fry the breadcrumbed balls in batches of three or four for approximately 4 minutes a batch. Drain on kitchen towel.

The scotch eggs have a better texture if they are left to cool briefly and then baked in a hot oven for 10 minutes.

They are especially good with home-made hot chilli sauce.

CARROT HALVA

2011-12-15T16:55:00.002Z

The Love The Garden blog has recently launched its Christmas Competition, a celebration of the carrot; the competition is to be judged by Niamh Shields of Eat Like a Girl fame. Click on the LtG link above for more details.

In the frosty gloom of an English winter, carrots are often heaped unceremoniously in dull-brown piles on market stalls and greengrocers' shelves, almost unnoticeable in their muddy mediocrity. The mundane, meat-and-two-veg image of the carrot belies its exotic colour and sweetness, qualities recognised and treasured more perhaps in the middle east and around the Mediterranean than here.
Scrubbed up, though, this everyday root vegetable vegetable can be transformed into a orange-blossom scented, softly chewy sweetmeat which glows with colour and flavour.
And it only takes about 30 minutes.

Ingredients:

30g creamed coconut

125g unsalted butter

150g semolina

50g ground almonds

300g carrots, ground to coarse sand texture

250ml water

125g sugar

2tsp orange blossom water

1tsp all spice

1tbs honey

50g pistachios, crushed to small chunks
yoghurt

zest of one orange

dry roast pistachios, crushed.
Method:

Melt butter and coconut, then add semolina; stir and then cook over a gentle heat for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, bring water to boil in a separate pan, and then add sugar and orange blossom water; continue to heat until sugar melts.

To the semolina, add the ground almonds and ground carrots, and stir together. Add the all spice, honey and pistachios, and stir together.

Pour the water/sugar mixture over the semolina mixture and stir vigorously. Continue to cook over a medium heat, stirring frequently, for 4 or 5 minutes, by which time the halva should be coming together and leaving the sides of the pan clean.

Turn out into a lightly buttered dish and leave to cool. Then refrigerate until firm. Cut into small squares to serve.

Serve by itself, with strong coffee.
Or serve with cream or yoghurt into which orange zest has been mixed; scatter roasted, crushed pistachios on top. And sip a glass of mint tea.

MILL ROAD WINTER FAIR December 2011

2011-12-03T22:22:00.000Z

FERDIE'S FOOD LAB

2011-11-13T18:03:00.000Z

The London Foodie's been, and raved about it on his blog. We recommended it to an East London hipster, who went and loved it.

So we book Ferdie's Food Lab with anticipation and a touch of anxiety. Ferdie's Food Lab is a cutting-edge supper club set up by one of the pioneers of the movement: inventive cooking, powerful flavours, unexpected combinations of ingredients, tastes and textures. Then a tweet for help from Simon (Ferdie):

"my KITCHEN staff bailed on me! if U can help from any time possible till 23.30"

Twitter evidently comes to the rescue and the supper club survives. I am sure the menu is compromised, but nonetheless, there are some inspired moments, especially the sweet potato tortilla and the cheesecake; everyone loves the Black Olive Ganache and Salted Lemon Fudge with Limoncello petit fours. The main dish is a meaty, caramelized slab of pork belly, infused with pear preserve. But without accompaniments (the pureed gourd seems to have decamped with the kitchen staff) it seems a bit naked on the plate, and we are not alone afterwards in scouring Commercial Street for a top-up of quick, hot carbs (sadly, Codfellas, the chippy opposite, has just shut).

A kitchen crisis in a restaurant tends to mean a disappointing evening, but a supper club is different. Everyone is up for a good time: passing under the fairy lights, we have entered a magical world; we are all sharing in a special, secret event, one that sets us apart from the ordinary crowd. Our new best friends are from Uruguay, Finland, Brooklyn NY and Australia, a very international crew. The Brooklynites break open a fantastic bottle of four grains bourbon which caps an already very liquid evening.

We will return.

AZERBAIJANI LAMB STEW WITH POMEGRANATES AND CHESTNUTS

2011-11-06T12:51:00.001Z

In almost every culture, pomegranate seeds represent fertility and good fortune; it is common in parts of the eastern Mediterranean to give pomegranates as good luck tokens to families moving into a new home. The Greek myth to explain the changing seasons turns on the five pomegranate seeds eaten by Persephone which commit her to spending six months in the underworld (when winter comes to the world as Demeter, her mother and goddess of fertility, mourns her absence) and six months back on earth (when the green leaves return as Demeter celebrates). It is easy to see why Persephone was tempted by the seeds: bite into their crunchy texture and little bombs of sharp flavour explode in your mouth.

Although pomegranates originated in Iran and Azerbaijan, they have now spread across the world, popular for their flowers and fruit. Their sweet-sour taste is also highly prized by cooks; here is a recipe, appropriately from Azerbaijan and adapted from Please to the Table by Anya von Bremzen, that depends on their sweet acidity. The spices, nuts and juice combine to create a rich, thick, highly flavoured sauce, just right for the start of winter.

1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic chopped
750g stewing lamb, cubed
1/4 tsp turmeric
1/4 tsp saffron threads, crushed
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground fennel seeds
1/2 litre pomegranate juice
3 tbs pomegranate molasses
2 tbs tomato paste
6 soft prunes, pureed
100g ground walnuts
1/2 litre chicken stock
2 tsp honey
250g chestnuts (baked in the oven or ready cooked in a tin)
100g dried apricots (soaked for a couple of hours if they are hard and dry)
2 tsp turkish pepper flakes
salt and pepper
fresh mint and pomegranate seeds to garnish.
Serves 4.

Saute the onions and garlic over medium heat in a large, heavy pan until golden.
Increase the heat and brown the lamb cubes, stirring all the times.
Stir in turmeric, saffron, cinnamon, fennel seeds and stir for a few minutes.
Add the pomegranate juice, pomegranate molasses, tomato paste, pureed prunes, ground walnuts and stock. Bring up to the boil and then cover and simmer over a low heat for 90 minutes. If sauce gets too thick, add more pomegranate juice to loosen it.
Add honey, chestnuts, apricots, pepper flakes and salt; simmer for another 10 - 15 minutes. Check seasoning and adjust if necessary.
Garnish with plenty of fresh mint and pomegranate seeds and serve with steamed rice.

The mint and pomegranate seeds add colour and flavour to the dish.

SPUNTINO

2011-10-30T22:36:00.001Z

I know this is akin to swearing in church, but those zeitgeist-y tapas bars get right on my t...ts. Squished in unwelcome intimacy with fellow diners, you are privy to their conversation, too familiar with the shape of their elbows, and you end up playing some version of a Victorian parlour game as you try to spot which dishes are yours and which theirs. OK, the food is nice, but who are they kidding? They may model their interior on a cool, no-frills Barcelona zinc bar where you drink at leisure, grazing as you go, but in London the frenetic drive for turnover means a visit to, say, Brindisa is as relaxing as colonic irrigation. As soon as you perch your bum on a swivel stool, there is a pressure to order food - and quickly, with staff impervious to the 'I'm just drinking now, so piss off' look.

So Spuntino - not Spanish but Italian tapas; tucked between Soho sex shops it is easy to miss. Yes, it has a zinc bar, a kind of East Village feel, and hipster staff, but crucially we arrive at an unfashionable 5pm when there is a choice of seats. Admittedly we are asked to order food a nano second after the wine glasses hit the deck, but my 'piss off' look seems to work this time. When we are ready, we order fried, crunchy olives, spicy sausages with polenta, pulled pork and apple slider - it is all pretty good.

So the key to a chilled out experience is to choose your time wisely; or be prepared to order quickly, eat up and bugger off...

Spuntino - 61 Rupert Street, Soho, London, W1D7PW

THE WHITSTABLE OYSTER FISHERY CO.

2011-10-27T15:02:00.001+01:00

"Have you ever tasted a Whitstable oyster? If you have you will remember it. Some quirk of the Kentish coastline makes Whitstable natives - as they are properly called - the largest and the juciest, the savouriest and yet the subtlest, oysters in the whole of England. Whitstable oysters are, quite rightly, famous."

Sarah Waters Tipping the Velvet.

We are in Whitstable for the first time, and find our way to the Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company, an old, redbrick warehouse-style building right on the seafront, with views out across the mudflats that are home to the oysters.

This building has been transformed into a bright, airy seafood restaurant. Today it is packed, the Autumn sunshine has drawn everyone out for a walk along the coast and a plate of Natives.

We follow tradition, slurping and dribbling our way through half a dozen of Whitstable's finest. They are firm, juicy and sweet/salty, enlivened by the kick of a drop or two of Tabasco.

We follow this with mounds of moules and a selection of sardines. And chips. And treacle toffee pudding and ice cream.

Afterwards, we stroll off along the coastal path, to take the air, past grand Victorian villas and brightly coloured beach huts. The pale sun sinks as we walk, then sets over the Essex coast on the far side of the estuary.

YELLOW TOMATO FOCACCIA

2011-10-21T06:23:00.001+01:00

...on

the table, at the midpoint

of summer,

the tomato,

star of earth, recurrent

and fertile

star,

From 'Ode to a Tomato' by Pablo Neruda

Ten days ago, it was 30 degrees, sunny and hot. The record-breaking Autumn weather brought about an unexpected late rally on the allotment, nowhere more so than the tomato plants. As well as dark red plums, we have experimented this year with a small, yellow, pear-shaped tomato from Italy. These hang from their plants like little drop earrings, glowing brightly in the sunshine.

This weekend, though, temperatures drop to freezing overnight, so the allotment is full of worried gardeners busily harvesting all their fragile produce; boxes and bags full of not just tomatoes, but lettuces, squashes and pumpkins, the last raspberries.

To make this yellow tomato focaccia, I use the recipe posted by Bill44 on the Sourdough Companion website. At the end, after smearing the surface with handfuls of olive oil but before the final rise, I press ripe yellow tomatoes firmly into the dough.

The tomatoes are placed about 3 inches apart, but next time I will place them closer together. As well as being caramelized and sweet, the tomato juices ooze out across the bread, and mingle with the olive oil and salt.

DOUBLE APPLE RYE BREAD

2011-10-16T20:10:00.002+01:00

Our apple tree is laden this year. Even though we have given away bags of fruit, apples are dominating the house and our diet. Apple tart, apple crumble, apple juice, blackberry and apple pie - we are picking faster than we can eat.
One of the ways to use up a few more is to make "double apple rye bread", aka bread with both dried apple chunks (for sweet, chewy texture) and grated fresh apple (to create a moist, dense loaf). Now, it is OK to use any old commercial dried apple for this, but much more satisfying to create your own.

Dried apple is easy to make: it is a great snack or it can be sprinkled over breakfast cereals:

1 peel and core several apples (you can leave the peel on if you prefer, it adds a little more texture) and slice into thumbnail size chunks;

2 drop the apple pieces into a bowl of water into which you have squeezed the juice of a lemon, to stop discolouration;

3 heat the oven to 130C degrees;

4 lightly oil a wire rack;

5 drain and dry the apple chunks and place them on the rack, making sure they do not touch; you can sprinkle them with cinnamon or other spices if you wish;

6 bake in the oven for 30 - 40 mins, or until they are caramel coloured and chewy (the time will vary depending on the size of the apple chunks and their moisture content); switch off the oven but leave the apple chunks in to continue to dry;

7 store in an airtight box in a cool dry place; they should keep for up to two weeks, but they tend to get eaten more quickly than this.

Double apple bread is quite easy too. Because of the moisture from the grated apple, it takes more flour than you might expect.

150g rye flour
250g strong wheat flour
200g grated apple (including peel but not core)
250g dried apple
250g starter (equal flour/water)
125g water
50g yoghurt
10g salt.

Double Apple rye bread with honey

Mix all the ingredients (except the dried apple) together and knead well for 15 minutes; it will be quite sticky at first, but will become smooth and stretchy after kneading.
Leave to stand for an hour, then knead again for a couple of minutes, adding the dried apple.
Place in a well-floured banneton and leave to rise for three hours.
An hour before baking, heat an oven and oven brick to 250 degrees celsius. 10 minutes before baking, place a dish with ice cubes at the bottom of the oven to create steam.
Turn out the loaf onto a baking sheet, slash the surface, and slide onto the baking stone.
Bake for 45 minutes.

The loaf will mature a little over 24 hours and the apple will keep the crumb moist.

SIX-HOUR SICHUAN KNUCKLE OF PORK

2011-10-08T06:18:00.003+01:00

I don't think we ever knew the restaurant's name, just that it was somewhere in Kowloon,Hong Kong, down crowded, narrow, steamy, neon-lit streets: Blade Runner territory.

We had been taken there by locals, regulars who were well known, and so we got the inside story about an extra on the menu - a knuckle of pork that had been simmering for twenty-four hours. Normally this is only available if ordered long in advance, but a group of diners had cancelled at the last minute.

Did we want it?

The knuckle arrives. My soul shrivels as it wobbles obscenely like a porky blancmange in a pool of pond-dark liquor. The gelatinous fat quivers as we poke it tentatively with chopsticks. The meat needs no more than this gentle prompting to fall apart: it's tender and melting with a sauce aromatic with star anise, ginger, garlic, fennel and sichuan pepper. I dream about this dish for months afterwards.

Here is an approximation of that gargantuan feast, with a little help from Fuchsia Dunlop's Sichuan Cookery (read this for a flavour of her wonderful writing about Chinese food). I have reduced the cooking time, but extend it back up to the full 24 hours if you like.

Stage One Ingredients

1 pork knuckle
150g ginger, cut into four and crushed a little
3 fat cloves garlic, cut in half
300g pickled sour mustard leaves, chopped into matchstick strips (buy this in your nearest Asian food store)
3 dried chillies (seeds can be removed)
3 star anise
6 tbs light soy sauce
6 tbs dark soy sauce
3 tbs black vinegar
9 tbs Shaoxing rice wine
2 tbs black bean and garlic sauce
1 tbs black bean and chilli sauce
2 thick spring onions cut into four inch lengths
water

Stage Two Ingredients
50 g dried white back black fungus (rinsed)

Stage Three Ingredients

3 tsp sichuan peppers (coarsely ground)
3 tsp fennel seeds (coarsely ground)

1 Place the knuckle in a large pan and add all the other Stage One ingredients, topping up with water so that the knuckle is half covered. As no one knuckle is the same as another, proportions vary, so adjust according to taste and inclination.

2 Cover the pan, bring the water to the boil and then reduce the heat to a simmer. Check every 30 minutes, turning the knuckle over. Top up with water if needed.
3 (Stage Two) After four hours, add the rinsed fungus and stir in well. Cover and bring back to the simmer - continue to check every 30 minutes as it continues to cook.
4 (Stage Three) An hour before serving, stir in the ground spices.
5 Keep tasting the sauce during the final hour, and adjust flavours to suit taste. If too thin, boil down a little.
6 Serve with steamed sticky rice, stir-fried greens.

OUR BOCHENKOWO SOURDOUGH LOAF

2011-09-25T20:42:00.002+01:00

Black Swan Bread

End of July Bread

September Bread with Plums and Hazelnuts

Rye Sourdough Boule with Sprouted Wheat
Sinful Loaf.

These names conjure up another world. I imagine some rustic, Eastern European village somewhere, all thatched cottages with wooden beams; a few chickens and dogs scratch around in the mud; golden, flat fields of wheat stretch to a distant mountain range; the smell of freshly baked bread wafts from house to house. Everyone is speaking Polish:
"BOCHENKOWO Moj chleb: jest robiony recznie na kazdym etapie, koniecznie z pelnoziarnistej maki i na domowym zakwasie. (BREAD AT HOME To bake the real bread I use: my hands, some sourdough and whole grain flour)."I am not quite sure where or when I first came across the Bochenkowo sourdough bread blog, but I do know I have been reading Anna's recipes for some months now, intrigued by the entirely different traditions and flavours that she packs into her loaves.
It took me quite a while to realise that she is blogging from Maspeth, New York.

Here is a loaf that has evolved out of several different recipes from her blog.

430g rye sourdough starter (equal water and flour)
240g dark beer (or water)
350g stoneground rye flour
250g wheat flour (white)
20g salt
130g soft prunes
70g soft dried apricots

Mix the starter, beer, flours and salt together. Knead for 15 mins until pliable and stretchy. Leave to ferment for 3 hours before putting the dough into the fridge overnight.
Remove the dough from the fridge and leave it to warm for a couple of hours; knead it briefly before adding the dried fruit and kneading it in until evenly spread. Sprinkle some flour over the dough before shaping it into a boule: leave to rise for 3 hours.
An hour before baking, place a baking stone / sheet in the oven and heat to 220 degrees. When the dough is ready, place a tray of ice cubes in the oven for steam; slash the dough to your own design; transfer it onto the baking stone / tray, and bake for 45 - 50 minutes.

CURING BACON PART 2

2011-09-18T11:03:00.004+01:00

What mental picture hoves into view when the word 'sequel' is mentioned: The Godfather or Jaws? This is not a flippant question because therein lies your attitude to having another crack of the whip, as in 'why bother?' or 'why not?' Anyone who read my first try at bacon curing may wonder why I would once more get back in the water; oh yes I mean this literally - and I'm talking the pork-flavoured variety. Well combining the steeliness of Al Pacino with the unhinged insouciance of Robert Shaw I make another attempt - with a dry-cure this time (I'm unhinged but not stupid). Here's how it went...

1. I go to Gog Magog Shop, buy 1kg rare breed pork belly and receive some good curing tips. The butcher there also removes the skin and scores the flesh (not doing this was one of the many mistakes I made last time).

2 At home, I pierce the flesh with a wooden skewer.

3. I rub the curing mixture into the flesh:

37-40 g curing salt (bought from e-bay or www.sausagemaking.org )

2 tbsps crushed juniper berries

1/3 grated nutmeg

1 tsp cracked black pepper
(you can experiment with spices)

4. Then put it in a plastic bag and rub it a bit more.

5. I then add 2 tbsps dark treacle and 1 tbsp maple syrup to the bag...

6 And then squidge it some more before putting it in the fridge for a week, turning and massaging daily (the bacon that is).

7. After a week I wrap it in muslin and hang it in the shed outside like a mummified corpse. I don't think you need to do this - you could keep it in the fridge, but I always do this as it helps dry it out and develop flavour.

8. After a week I unwrap the bacon. It is fragrant with the spices and syrups and is a very good firm texture (if it has spots of white mould I just rub them off) . It slices well and cooks quickly to a satisfying crisp.

9. It's bloody delicious. The sequel is an Oscar winner.

MY SOURDOUGH HELL

2011-09-04T16:23:00.000+01:00

There are three of us in this marriage.

This is how it started...

An epic outdoor play at The Globe (who knows what now – this was six years ago) had enriched us, I assume, culturally but rendered us cold, slightly grumpy and starving. We schlepped to Moro in Exmouth Market – no tables but, thank God, a couple of free stools to slump at the bar. What happened next is an epiphany ... not for me but for T; if only I’d foreseen the consequences and how our lives would change ...

Along with our drinks a basket of warm sourdough bread appeared fresh from the wood-fired oven, chewy, fragrant and with a crisp crust; the light of love kindled in T’s eyes - oh he wasn’t looking at me.

Over the following weeks, our smallish kitchen housed a hellishly stinking bubbling tureen of rotting grapes in a pool of slurry to create the sourdough starter – THE MOTHER. This monster demanded to be fed; my husband was obsessed – he’d become Dr Frankenstein, Macbeth’s three witches, Steve Martin in The Little Shop of Horrors, Anthony Perkins in Psycho…our house in Cambridge had been transformed into a Gothic castle.
This incubation phase lasted for about a month before the creation had fully come to life, ready to be transferred to its permanent home. Our small fridge struggles to fit a block of cheese, six eggs and a jar of olives, however for the last six years one entire shelf has become the permanent residence of a large plastic box containing THE MOTHER.

Now sourdough bread is not made in a speedy fashion; there are manifold stages I soon discover: a gloopy mass is slopped in tins or slumped on baking trays; in the airing cupboard, laundry is swept aside to make room for proving dough. Occasionally we escape to the pub: “how about another drink?’ I say. A watch is consulted … no, time for another round of kneading. We go home. Later in the evening, last cup of coffee drunk, television watched: “I’m going to bed, you coming?” “Uh no it’s time to bake”… and so it goes.

Six years on I’ve kind of got used to the rhythms of the sourdough, the concentrated study of books by Dan Leader or Andrew Whitley, the obsessive scanning of blogs on Sourdough Companion website (I’m serious, this does exist).

OK, the bread is bloody delicious, but spouses be aware: once taken over by the sourdough virus your partner may look the same but they are not: their allegiance is to THE MOTHER. There is no known antidote.

"Oh Mother...."

GOG MAGOG HILLS FARM SHOP AND DELI

2011-08-29T18:51:00.001+01:00

As a rule of thumb I like to patronise the locals... I live on Mill Road and all the small independent food shops are full of good local food (I boycott Tesco). However, on occasion T and I dust off the motor and trundle out further afield, and with the news of a deli opening at the Gog Magog Farm Shop we head out on the highway. In ten minutes or so we find ourselves in a bucolic idyll where pretty black and white chickens, a collie and a turkey promenading like a Victorian matriarch, make up a very traditional farmyard scene.

Gog Magog Farm Shop has been on the scene for a while, but it seems to have come into its own recently with a nice cafe, shop with very decent meat and a knowledgeable butcher and now a brand new deli with, I have to say, some blindingly good-looking cheeses (from Neal's Yard).

I have in mind to make another ill-advised sortie into the world of bacon curing and receive some fantastic tips and a few slices of their home-cured rashers.

I came, I gawped, I bought some pork belly (and a bit of cheese). We shall return ....

CHARLIE CHAN

2011-08-27T10:09:00.001+01:00

When it comes to Dim Sum, Charlie Chan, like their namesake Jackie, kick ass. OK this is Cambridge not Hong Kong and options are limited, but these are really good. Translucent thin crescents with a glimmer of prawn shining through, fluffy pork buns, chicken feet if you fancy it – oh and they also do a great hot and sour soup.

Go at lunchtime where, it seems, the entire Chinese population of Cambridge gathers, either in garrulous family groups or in silent couples, to demolish the skyscrapers of bamboo steamers unceremoniously dumped in front of them.

Charlie Chan don't serve dim sums in the evening so go for lunch and for a ridiculously small amount of money feed your face.

Charlie Chan, 14 Regent Street, Cambridge.

THE HOLE IN THE WALL - A FOOD WALK

2011-08-23T08:22:00.001+01:00

I don't need no hamburgers

No take-away...

No bacon steak, no strawberry milkshake...

I'm sick of seeing signs to eat walking down these city streets -
Wild, go wild, go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free

(Bow Wow Wow and Malcolm Mclaren)

Now that The Hole on the Wall has reopened, headed up by Masterchef finalist Alex Rushmer, there is even more reason to do this pretty circular walk from the village of Fulbourn. The 10km can be strolled in two to two-and-a-half hours, but it takes us about six, with a very leisurely lunch thrown in half way round.You can find directions at the go4awalk website here.

It is a fairly gentle ramble, with clear pathways leading through some picturesque Cambridgeshire landscape. The leafy outskirts of Fulbourn soon give way to broad fields and huge skies, which you follow through to the village of Little Wilbraham - and the pub.

The Hole in the Wall aspires to something finer than pub grub and, now open for a month or so, is beginning to hit its stride. Of our starters, the Mushrooms on Sourdough Toast is especially good; some of the other dishes lack a little finesse as yet.

The meal ends well: three of us share an exceptional desert, Victoria Plum Clafoutis with Strawberry Ice-cream, which is light, sweet with just the right tang of fruit. With coffee come freshly made petit fours in an old cigarette tin; the marshmallow is almost impossibly delicate.

After lunch, the walk leads through a pleasing combination of wide open spaces, villages of thatched houses and cricket pitches, and wooded, sheltered lanes. There is also the chance to walk up onto Fleam Dyke, the Anglo Saxon earthwork barrier, to enjoy the view.

We return to Fulborn through the nature reserve. And yes, we did see a snake in the grass....

FITZBILLIES IS BACK

2011-08-20T09:22:00.004+01:00

We all felt a twinge of guilt didn't we when, earlier this year, Fitzbillies closed down? It was as if we had neglected an aged aunt who had become a little tedious and maybe just a bit careless of personal habits; oh yes we loved her, we just didn't want to go and visit ... and at the event of her inevitable demise we indulge in an orgy of grief and nostalgia. And so it was early this year when Fitzbillies closed their doors for, what we thought, was the last time. A Cambridge institution had fallen by the wayside, shunned and neglected - oh how we beat our breasts. How could this have happened?

But second chances do happen, Fitzbillies is back. I stroll along on the first day of opening to show my support, expecting to see a few tourists and curious locals, but soon realize I have walked into an event. The air prickles with excitement, queues stretch outside the door and the staff are breathless.

It's early days yet so they are offering limited fare, but oh yes, the Chelsea Buns are as gooey and delicious as remembered and there are pretty fairy cakes perched on retro stands in the window.

The 90-year-old dowager has had a makeover. There is a clever mix of the old and the new with a contemporary seating area tiled in cool colours (Cambridge blue?); it will be a great venue for post-shopping and meeting friends. So go and get sticky and be grateful for second chances.

Fitzbillies: 51-52 Trumpington St, Cambridge, CB2 1RG

THE BONNIE AND WILD

2011-07-26T08:35:00.002+01:00

If you have booked at The Bonnie and Wild, the part-time restaurant in Chapel Market in Islington, you will receive an e-mail of instructions the day before. It will tell you, amongst other things, that it only takes cash, you have 2 hours to eat your meal and 'please do not be offended if we hurry you to finish you meal', oh, and 'the venue is 100 years old so please be careful of the fixtures and fittings'. Are they expecting a large representation from the criminal classes? Perhaps as Bonnie and Wild originate in Scotland they envisage the average Londoner will be linked to a shady underworld with historical links to the Krays - and, of course these hoodlums will be well up for a bit of chipped off Victoriana.

They'll be easing off a bit of tiling maybe or even when no one is looking unscrewing the lampshades to sell down their local hostelry. Well at least they won't have any problems paying with cash ... those types always have a monkey or two in their trouser pocket, don't they?
So what's the story, guv? (see what I did there?) The B&W is a part-time restaurant (as opposed to a pop-up), setting up each Saturday evening in Manze's eel, pie and mash shop in Chapel Market. Manze's is an unreconstructed gem, all glistening tiles, marble slabs as table tops and delicate glass lamps.

Bonnie Gull, sustainable fish suppliers, have got together with the Wild Game Company for this new venture, offering a simple menu to display their wares. The smoked mackerel and venison are both excellent, well cooked and with nothing to distract from the star quality of central ingredients.

The staff are nice if a little nervy (it's only opened recently) and the clientele is a mix of Islington Boho and a more mature, well-heeled type (who else can afford the house prices around here?). It's pretty reasonable though - £30 for 3 courses and you can drink a nice wine with it as it's BYO (or in our case a nasty supermarket wine bought without due care and consideration by T). Word is out, on the street and all over the blogosphere - the Krays would have loved it.

http://bonniewild.co.uk/

The Bonnie & Wild / M. Manze, 74 Chapel Market, Islington, London N1 9ER

BILL'S CAFE

2011-07-24T15:07:00.000+01:00

I really thought Bill's Cafe was an American import. I envisaged Bill, the youngest son of a far-flung branch of Colonel Saunders' clan who, turning his back on the family (and their military pretensions), settled in Brooklyn to open a chilled-out place for the local Bohemians. It makes sense: the wooden floors and rustic shelving a post-modern allusion to the pioneers' log cabin; the communal tables a place for playing chess or planning a wholefood collective; and in the evenings ... jazz players noodling on their sax (what else?).

I am wrong however, Bill is from the South Coast, from Sussex in fact, and English as apple pie. Not exactly a chain, there are apparently about five Bill's Cafes dotted around the south of the country. The menu is crowd-pleasing: burgers, mezze, roasted chicken breast etc, and it's all well-cooked and flavoured; they also do a mean cooked breakfast. If I were being picky I would say it does have a slight over-styled, self-conscious feel, I sense the deadening hand of a slick marketing exec.

The shelves lining the walls artfully display a range of what they call "groceries" and what most people would call "luxuries you don't actually need" (I know, I know that's a tautology).

These all seem to be chosen for their attractive packaging, so while waiting for lunch you can place your order for such essential provisions as Ortiz anchovies, bottled French juice or Bill's own ale ... and you can even purchase a bright string bag to take it all away with you.

If this all sounds like damning with faint praise I have to say I really like it ... I do, and it is great to see a new face on the Cambridge scene.

There's just a whiff of the ersatz - and if you don't believe me try selecting one of the olde books in the cosy nook by the stairs...

FOOD AT 52 - SOUTHERN INDIAN

2011-07-13T06:23:00.000+01:00

I am back at John Benbow's Food at 52 for another of his excellent cooking classes (see here for an account of the Thai Cooking course), this time exploring Southern Indian cuisine. Think of the South of India: verdant, lush vegetation; sleepy backwaters; gently leaning coconut palms loaded with fruit; long pristine beaches. The Food at 52 class is similarly relaxed, yet also stimulating, with new ideas, techniques and flavours at every turn, as well as a range of unusual gadgets (the fearsome harpoon-like object for stripping out coconut flesh is everyone's favourite). Before long, we are chopping, stirring, cooking and tasting, following John's clear, knowledgeable guidance.

First we make Spinach Vadai (deep fried dal doughnuts stuffed with onion, spices, coriander and spinach), and Aubergine Chutney (a deep green, coriander-infused sauce). Vadai are ideal for scooping up the soft green chutney.

Spinach Vadai

Meanwhile, a Fish Curry is bubbling away; this combines monk fish, prawns and green mango slices in a mildly spicy yoghurt sauce. Although Southern Indian food is largely vegetarian, Kerala, being Christian, includes meat and fish in its cuisine.

Fish Curry with Green Mango

One of the real pleasures of Food at 52 is that you eat what you cook, so we break for a mid-morning snack before going on to the next phase.

A light snack of rice, vadai, chutney and fish curry

Initially, this involves frying and grinding several types of dal to create a range of pastes. Into these we stir a variety of flavours and vegetables to make up: Beet Pachadi (a bright pink, spicy beetroot dish), Aubergine Rasvangy, Moru Kachiathu with Plaintain (a kind of spicy fruit salad in yoghurt) and Snake Bean Thoran.

Aubergine Rasvangy

Snake Bean Thoran

Almost the first task on arrival had been to stir together a batter of ground rice, water, ground coconut flesh and a bit of yeast; this was then put to one side to ferment for several hours. Now it is bubbly and sour, ready to be made into appams, little rice disks not unlike very thin crumpets in texture. The batter is simply griddled in the same way as making pancakes. Like Vadai, these are brilliant for scooping up sauces.

Making appams

Everything is now virtually ready, so we are sent away with a couple of bottles of wine while the kitchen is transformed into a dining room. Jackie, who has spent the entire day tirelessly whisking away dirty plates, dishes and utensils and washing them up, does a final sweep through and prepares the table for our Southern Indian feast.

Food at 52

Glasses in hand, we reassemble, ready to test the products of our strenuous labours. It goes a bit quiet, as we taste this, nibble that, scoop up the sauce with an appam or two. Then a buzz of excited comments spreads around the group.

UKRAINIAN SOUR CHERRY DUMPLINGS

2011-07-08T22:35:00.000+01:00

"Patsuk opened his mouth, stared at the vareniki, and opened his mouth wider still."

From Christmas Eve by Nickolai Gogol

Dumplings can be found right across Russia. They come in all shapes, sizes and fillings, as well as a variety of names: Vareniki in the Ukraine, Pelmeni in Siberia or Manti in Uzbekistan. They are stuff of legend: tough men boast of the numbers consumed in one sitting. Easy freezer food, bags of Pelmeni are commonly found hanging on pegs outside Siberian houses in the sub-zero temperatures that exist there for much of the year... alongside the -18 degrees vodka that has to be drunk with them.

We first stumbled across these Soviet-style dim sum in Bob Bob Richard (http://www.bobbobricard.com) in Soho, which offers wild mushroom and truffle vareniki and meat (lamb and beef) pelmeni. For a quick tutorial on the etiquette for eating dumplings, check out this YouTube site: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Elb5-o-8czc

With cherries festooning every stall in the market, Pelmeni Nachinka z Vishni (sour cherry dumplings) have to be on the menu.

In fact, we construct a complete meal on the theme of Vareneki: "Uzbek steamed dumplings" and "Ukrainian tiny dumplings filled with wild mushrooms" are followed by cherry (you've guessed it) dumplings. Although a bit fiddly at times, in fact vareniki are quick and easy to make and just as quick to cook. Serve the savoury ones with yoghurt (stir in salt, garlic and finely chopped coriander) and a salad made of grated raw beetroot mixed with a spoonful of creme fraiche, to taste.
However, it is the sweet/sour cherry dumplings that are the star of the show, especially with poached cherries and sauce poured over the soft dough bulging with fruit. Just add a spray of icing sugar and a dollop of creme fraiche.

Recipe for Sour Cherry Dumplings

(based on Please to the Table by Anya von Bremzen)

Dough (makes about 30 dumplings):

300 g unbleached all purpose flour
2 large egg yolks
2 tsp salt
1 tbs vegetable oil
7-8 tbs water

Blend the flour and salt in a food processor. With the motor running pour the oil and egg yolks through the feeder tube; then pour in the water in a steady stream until the dough collects in a ball round the blade. Knead on a floured surface until smooth (2 mins), then cover with a damp cloth and leave to rest for 30 mins.
Divide the dough into half, covering one piece again. On a well floured surface, roll out the other piece to approx 1/16 inch (a pasta machine is ideal for this). Use a wine glass to press out circles or a knife to cut rectangles (2 ins by 1.5 ins).Collect the scrapsof dough,add to the second piece, roll out and repeat.
Fill the dumplings with your choice of filling. Moisten the edges with water, fold in half around the filling and seal tightly.

Sour Cherry Filling (for about 25 - 30 dumplings)
500 g fresh cherries
6 tbs sugar
1 tbs cherry brandy or similar
1 lemon juiced

Cut each cherry in half and remove the stone. Mix the cherry halves with sugar and lemon juice, cover and leave for three hours for the juice to run.
Save the juice. Fill each dumpling skin with three of four cherry halves and seal as above. Complete the remaining dumplings. Steam (20 mins) or cook gently in simmering water (10 minutes).
While the dumplings are cooking, add the remaining cherries and the cherry brandy (or equivalent - I used Madeira) to the saved juice. Place in a saucepan and simmer gently until the dumplings are ready.

To serve: place two or three dumplings in each bowl and pour over the poached cherries. A spoonful of creme fraiche and a dusting of icing sugar goes well; so would vanilla ice cream. And very, very cold vodka.

LAXEIRO, COLUMBIA ROAD

2011-06-26T16:56:00.000+01:00

Like so much of East London, Laxeiro, in Columbia Road, has undergone a makeover, with fresh paint inside and out, and modern prints on the walls. However at heart it is still the unpretentious Spanish restaurant, bar and tapas joint that pulls in the punters with its simple, high quality fare.

Never is this more true than on Sunday mornings when on-trend locals (black leather, skinny jeans) do battle with hordes of tourists (floral dresses, straw hats) in a Battle of the Blooms in the Flower Market.

In spite of the crowds, it is one of our favourite breakfast haunts. On a cold, grey winter's morning, nothing sets up the day better than their chorizo and fried eggs plate. This morning though is more Mediterranean than English.

We bag a rare outside table, contemplate the chorizo feast, but restrict ourselves to Serrano ham and tomato drizzled with dark green olive oil and stuffed into soft ciabatta. Meanwhile a forest of vegetation seems to be moving past, like Birnham Wood to Dunsinane, as the Flower Market empties its wares onto Columbia Road. Sated with sun and serrano, we wave away the killer croissants and Portuguese custard tarts and go off to snap up some shrubbery.

BEDOUIN, MILL ROAD

2011-06-22T22:20:00.000+01:00

As a matter of course we do not Rock the Casbah on a school night, but bad organisation combined with innate fecklessness mean we have an NIF situation on our hands (Nothing In the Fridge). Now this usually means a gentle toddle to Mill Road for a supper of the ho hum variety; by this I mean something familiar, comforting and inexpensive.

In the 6 years we have lived in Cambridge, there has been a mysterious restaurant called Bedouin on Mill Road. Fully refurbed with an array of Moroccan lamps, kilim and other North African paraphernalia, it has remained resolutely and tantalizingly closed.

So far so bizarre – or should I say bazaar (hor hor), but about a month ago it discreetly opened its doors.

So why not try it tonight? To be honest, our expectations are not high – themed restaurants are usually to be avoided in all situations (medieval banquet anyone?), but this is a ho hum evening. Why the hell not?

And yes, pleasant surprise is the order of the night. It’s nicely done, wall lamps glimmering, walls and ceiling swathed in Moroccan hangings, Tinariwen and Khaled on the sound system. Do we think we have been transported to the Sahara, are we in a nomadic tent? …Uh no … but there’s lots of attention to detail and plenty of authentic flavours in the food. The tagines are laced with cinnamon, cumin and saffron, and the little cakes accompanying our cardamom coffees are delicately scented with rosewater. So rather more than a ho hum meal: to bludgeon the metaphors to death – a star has risen in the east – you’d be nomad not to go. Enough!

PORTHMINSTER BEACH CAFE

2011-06-07T22:39:00.000+01:00

When the seagulls follow the trawler, it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.
Eric Cantona

Heck, Eric is right, seagulls do follow fish laden vessels. I know, I know, he meant it in some weird metaphorical way, but once sat in the pretty terrace of the Porthminster Beach Cafe it's the only reality you need to know.

Eric's seafaring knowledge may have been acquired on the Cote d'Azur but the white sand, sparkling blue sea and cerulean sky of St Ives give the French Riviera a run for its money.

For a beach cafe this is some classy joint; blue awnings, white china, stripped wood and fish so fresh it could have leapt on your plate from the waves a few feet away.

Needless to say we whiled away a good few hours sipping Prosecco, crunching and sucking on lobster claws and generally having a time of it. (C'mon, we earned it after 6 hours hard cliff walking.)

The food is great and prettily presented but, on this sunny afternoon, it is the ludicrously picturesque view, the susurration of the waves and the seagulls' cries (following the trawlers) that make this such an enchanting venue for lunch, tea or dinner. Now where the hell are those sardines?

http://www.porthminstercafe.co.uk

STICKYBEAKS CAFE, CAMBRIDGE

2011-05-27T10:14:00.000+01:00

If Apple ever decided to go into food, this would be the kind of place they'd set up. Stickybeaks is bright, light, with a cool kind of vibe leaving you plenty of room to think, read and gossip. Like a Mac it's a great combination of form and function, so there's good coffee - flat whites of course - and pretty cakes and even prettier salads. Tucked away on Hobson St in Cambridge, Stickybeaks Cafe is mercifully free of tourists; today there are a few women eating a light lunch and sipping glasses of white wine; on my left is a twenty-something with a lot of shopping bags (Giulio); and on my right a guy languidly surfing on his Mac Air with iphone at his side. It's a relaxing place, the staff are friendly and helpful ... but don't bother bringing your clapped out PC laptop. It's just not a Microsoft kind of place.

FRENCH BREAD

2011-05-23T22:01:00.000+01:00

This loaf, based on Pierre Nury's Rustic Light Rye in Dan Leader's Local Breads, is our standard weekly bake. It has adapted itself over time: we now usually make it with white flour rather than rye (or with only a scattering of rye anyway), though this varies. The bread has all the qualities needed for a routine loaf: it is easy, flexible enough to fit in with our other routines, and it tastes good.
This week is a special bake, however, as we have brought back from Paris some flour from the Poilane bakery on rue du Cherche-Midi; I know you can get this flour in London now, but somehow it feels different, more authentic, to have lugged the bag back on the Eurostar.

And I am sure it makes better bread: waxier in texture, fuller flavoured, altogether more of a French loaf.

500g strong white organic flour
200g sourdough starter (50% water, 50% flour)
300g water
10g salt

In a mixing bowl, stir together the flour, starter and water to form a rough dough and let it stand for 30 minutes to hydrate.
Turn it out and knead it for 10 minutes (no need for flour on the work top or hands); it will starts out very sticky, but will gradually become smoother and begin to come away from your hands and the work top. Leave the dough to stand for 2 minutes - I use this time to clean out and lightly oil the mixing bowl. Then knead the dough for a further 5 minutes, by which time the gluten will have developed to become stretchy and elastic.
Place the dough back in the mixing bowl, cover and leave in a warm place for two hours. The refrigerate for 18 - 24 hours.
Remove the dough from the fridge and leave to stand for 3 hours - it won't rise much.

An hour before baking, place a baking stone or tray in the oven and heat to 250 degrees.
Just before baking, prepare some floured baking paper, and sprinkle your work top with more flour and turn out the dough; scatter a little more flour on top of the mound of dough. With minimum handling, form the dough into a rectangle and cut it in half. Pick up the first half and stretch it to about 12 inches as you place it on the baking sheet. Repeat with the second piece of dough.

Slide the loaves onto the baking stone, still on the floured parchment; place a dish of ice cubes in the bottom of the oven to create steam. After 5 minutes turn the oven down to 200 degrees. Bake for 20 to 30 minutes until the crust is walnut brown.
Slide onto a wire rack to cool.

Eat while still warm. It needs no more than a smear of unsalted butter - French of course.

ARMENIAN SWEET TAHINI ROLLS

2011-05-14T22:11:00.000+01:00

Anya von Bremzen describes these as "coffee rolls," and they certainly make a substantial mid-morning snack. Her eclectic book on Russian Cooking, Please To The Table, is fascinating not only because of its unusual recipes but also because in 1990, Russia meant the USSR in its full pomp, and its territories included (among other now independent states) Latvia, Estonia and Kazakhstan, in addition to Armenia.

I have converted her original recipe to make sourdough-raised rolls (my starter is made up of 50% water and 50% flour; you may need to alter the quantities of flour and water in the ingredients if your starter has significantly different proportions). Otherwise, this pretty much follows Anya's description.The resulting buns are sweet, soft, sticky and rich with the sesame flavour of the tahini. They smell fantastic!

Ingredients:

500g flour

140g milk

120g water

110g sourdough starter

100g melted unsalted butter

1 egg, beaten

1/4 tsp salt

2 tbs sugar

1 jar tahini paste (300g)

16 tbs soft brown sugar

1 egg yolk beaten with 1 tsp milk to glaze.

Method

1 In a large mixing bowl, combine the first eight ingredients, stirring to form a rough dough. Cover and leave to stand for 30 minutes.

2 Tip out the dough onto a work surface and knead for ten minutes. It will be very sticky at first but persevere! It doesn't need extra flour. Leave the dough to rest for 10 minutes (I used this time to wash out the mixing bowl and to grease it with any remaining melted butter). Then knead again for a further ten minutes. By the end, it should have formed a soft, silky dough which comes away quite cleanly from the work surface and your fingers.

3 Place the dough back in the mixing bowl and turn over to coat with the melted butter. Cover and leave in a warm place to rise for 2 - 3 hours.

4 Sprinkle a rolling pin and the work surface liberally with flour. Turn out the dough and rotate it so that its surfaces are well floured. Divide the dough into 8 pieces, more or less of equal size.

5 Roll out the first of these smaller pieces until it is quite thin, but not fragile. Anya's method suggests rolling the dough into a circular shape about 8" in diameter, but I found creating a rectangular shape made the next steps easier.

6 Spread 3 tsps of tahini evenly across the flattened dough; then scatter two tablespoons of soft brown sugar evenly on top. If in doubt, add a bit more tahini or sugar.

7 Roll up the dough into a thin cigar shape; then roll it into a pin-wheel, tucking the outside end underneath. Place the bun onto a buttered sheet of baking paper on top of a baking tray.

8 Repeat for the remaining seven pieces of dough.

9 Cover and leave the buns to rise for 30 minutes.

10 Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees,

11 Just before placing the rolls in the oven, brush generously with the egg/milk glaze. Bake for about 30 minutes or until golden brown.

THE GILBERT SCOTT BRASSERIE

2011-05-10T22:12:00.000+01:00

I know it's not cool to gawp, but The Gilbert Scott Brasserie is just neck-craningly beautiful. You feel you could linger forever in the cosy Pugin bar, wrenching yourself away only for lunch in the airy, spacious Brasserie. Here there are vaulted ceilings with the tracery of a tasteful wedding cake, foxed mirrors and crisp coolness: Victoriana without the stuffiness.

The menu reflects the decor: a whiff of the past with a modern sensibility, unusual flavours and a touch of whimsy. Marcus Wareing's English take on Brasserie food is a triumph. It all sounds so darn comforting, this is not food but victuals: Soles in Coffins, The Queen's Potage, Dorset Jugged Steak maybe with Sage and Onion Paxo on the side.

A crab salad is pretty and juicy.

My artichoke tart is as nice as anything I have put into mouth since ... (maybe the creme egg at Easter)

Kentish Pigeon in a Pot.

Cornish Sea Bass with Cullen Skink.

Oh yes we had puddings too ...

Orange Marmalade Jaffa Cake Pudding with Earl Grey Ice Cream

Eccles Cake with Cheddar Cheese Ice Cream

Although this is no ordinary railway caff it's not ruinously expensive with a good, reasonable wine list; mind you if they do start doing bacon butties...

MAKING BACON

2011-05-01T11:20:00.000+01:00

This is my pipe dream: a small-holding containing

A pig, preferably a rare breed with a funny squashed face
Beehives (me in fetching veil collecting honey)
A potager patch where blowsy hollyhocks and honeysuckle combine in riotous harmony with wigwams of scarlet-flowering beans and rows of carrots and cabbages
Not chickens - they frighten me.

This is the reality: commuting to East London and walking the mean streets of Hackney to my job. Yes, I know, not so bucolic... but like superman I can assume a dual identity and these recent bank holidays give me the opportunity to indulge my inner HF-W. I decide to cure my own bacon.

Here's what I did:

Researched the net and various books
Discovered you can no longer buy saltpetre any more as it is used to make explosives
Bought some curing salt off e-bay: curing salt has a small percentage of nitrates which help the preserving process and maintain the colour of the meat
Found an enormous tupperware container and took it to the butcher's to say 'can I have a piece of pork belly to fit in here'
Forgot that you have to fit a load of water in the container as well as the belly, so go and buy another container
Discovered bigger container doesn't fit in fridge - scale down operation
Mixed up the solution (for 5 litres of water you need 900 g curing salt); I added crushed juniper berries for flavour and weighted it down as the pork belly floats (I used a Le Creuset lid wrapped in a plastic bag)

After 6 - 7 days I decanted the belly and wiped it dry
Decided to smoke half of it (my HF-W side was coming out strongly at the time)
Lit barbecue bucket and when smouldering chucked on fresh rosemary, fennel and sage to create smoke and flavour the meat. Had to keep rushing out to check on it - very exhausting and made worse by T calling me 'saddo'

Following morning sliced the smoked and unsmoked belly. It looked like bacon, it smelled like bacon and bloody hell it tasted sooooo salty. The smoked half tasted as though it had spent the night in a pub (before the cigarette ban) with no trace of herby flavours ...hmmmm...

Looked again at books and realised I had forgotten to soak it overnight in fresh water to remove excess salt - swore fulsomely
Returned belly to container and added water. Lost my balance while returning it to the fridge and fell backwards. Container also overbalanced and slid out of fridge covering floor and me in porky water. Had a tantrum and left spouse to clear up and return bacon and more water to fridge
After the soaking I left the bacon to dry out for a few days in the fridge.

The moment of truth ... the first slice hits the pan. It sizzles and crisps up nicely, no watery liquid exudes unlike the vacuum-packed stuff. It does taste good, full of bacony flavour with a firm texture.

So was it worth it? Yup, although better next time I think. For my next HF-W adventure I may well experiment with a dry cure ... better for my mental health and (possibly) marriage.

THE ORCHARD TEA GARDEN, GRANTCHESTER

2011-04-24T19:52:00.000+01:00

"Grantchester! Ah, Grantchester!

There's peace and holy quiet there."

Rupert Brooke

Not today there isn't.

The combination of sunshine, the long Easter Weekend, and schadenfreude as a result of the rain storms in Spain, the nation's favourite holiday destination, has brought the crowds to the River Cam. There are people by the river, on the river, even in the river.

And there are just as many in the Orchard Tea Garden when we arrive at ten to three. At least the German family behind us seem to enjoy queuing for half an hour for tea: "So English" they exclaim.

It is crowded. However, it turns out that Brooke is right: The Orchard works its magic, and, apart from the odd moment of table rage, peace does descend. We settle into our deck chairs, drink our tea and devour our scones, jam and cream.

Grantchester! Ah, Grantchester.

HOT CROSS BUNS, GOOD FRIDAY 2011

2011-04-22T18:48:00.001+01:00

Good Friday demands good sourdough Hot Cross Buns and not those pappy ones from the supermarket.
These buns are based on a recipe by "SourDom" on the ever helpful Sourdough Companion blog:

http://sourdough.com/recipes/sourdough-hot-cross-buns

So we're up at the crack of dawn to take the dough out of the fridge and shape the buns. It is a bright morning heralding the Easter weekend holiday, and the buns are ready for their final rise.

In the afternoon, we return from a walk along the river just in time to slide the buns into the oven and stir together the sugar and water for the glaze when they emerge.

Four o'clock: buttered hot cross buns and tea in the garden in the sunshine.

Happy Easter!

HOT NUMBERS, MILL ROAD

2011-04-21T08:58:00.000+01:00

There is a new cafe, Hot Numbers, in Gwydir Street, just off Mill Road in the old Dale Brewery building. It opened almost a month ago and is already buzzing.

Hot Numbers has a cool 50s' jazz vibe. There's good coffee, paninis and oh yeah ... homemade cake. It's friendly and communal with newspapers, free wi-fi and not a 4x4 buggy in sight - the yummy mummies haven't discovered it ...yet.

ON THE SOURDOUGH TRAIL, PARIS

2011-04-17T10:43:00.001+01:00

Springtime in Paris. The warm sunshine is perfect for aimless strolling, serendipity taking us past (and into) shoe shops, fromageries, and so on. The Ladurée shops are beguiling but crowded with more than a hint of Disney - after all they are just macaroons laced with food colouring. We leave toute suite.

On rue du Cherche-Midi a chance discovery launches us on a mini-pilgrimage, following in the footsteps of American Daniel Leader, as described in his book "Local Breads". Poilane is the boulangerie established in the 1930s by Pierre Poilane, which produces the most famous sourdough bread in Paris - indeed you can now buy Poilane bread in London. This, though, is the original bakery, the starting point for the brand now run by Pierre's sons Max and Lionel. Poilane started the renaissance in Paris of the old style, country bread raised by a sourdough culture: pain au levain.

We join a noisy throng of shoppers inside, getting in the way of busy Parisiennes who are keen to snap up the evening's bread on their way home after work. After browsing, dithering, breathing in the nutty, yeasty smell, we leave clutching flour and bread, but not a branded cushion fashioned into loaves, hilarious as they are. The chewy, crusty loaf doesn't last long; we sit by the Seine, pulling the bread apart, watching the sunset slip down towards the Eiffel Tower as runners jog and romantic couples stroll past along the river bank. A lone trumpeter plays jazz under one of the bridges, the notes echoing out across the water.

The next morning finds us at Eric Kayser's, also in the Latin Quarter, one of Daniel Leader's gurus when he was researching the skills and techniques in the 1980s that would inform his own baking practice in America.

Although one of the pioneers of the new wave of sourdough bread-makers, an "artisan boulanger", the Kayser shops are modern, as are the bread-making techniques he uses. It is Kayser who developed the use of a liquid levain, easier to control than the traditional "stiff" sourdough starter. The bread is light, crusty and has a slightly more pronounced sourness.

If Kayser's is modern in approach and appearance, Le Moulin de la Vierge (rue Vercingetorix) is the opposite. Basil Kamir had been a rock promoter, whose office was in an old bakery in a run-down area in the south of Paris. The area was scheduled for re-development and the bulldozers had moved in; the only way to save the building was to return the bakery to its original use. Basil transformed himself from promoter to baker, drawing a traditional baker, Jean LeFleur, out of retirement to teach him.

We travel to Pernety on the Metro, arriving in a rather soulless, modern neighbourhood. The bakery is tucked away in a quiet street of featureless, concrete blocks of flats next to a busy railway. To go inside is to step into the past.

Foxed mirrors are topped by extravagant cornices and the ceiling is a tiled rural scene. Basil Kamir's bread is traditional, made in the old way and baked in a wood fired oven that is over 150 years old. The baguette we buy and eat (with some powerful cheese from a maitre fromager on the high street) is dense, chewy and delicious. We scan the real estate windows; perhaps we should move to Pernety so that we can feast on this bread every day.

ST PANCRAS RENAISSANCE HOTEL

2011-04-14T17:01:00.000+01:00

Staggering from the Eurostar with a quantity of French cheese and a sourdough loaf the size and weight of a well-fed baby we are no way ready, mentally or physically, to deal with the rigours of the return journey to Cambridge. Rather like returning astronauts needing decompression time we too need a period of assimilation back into Blighty after a Paris trip.

So with malodorous plastic bags and wheely case in tow we think to belly up to the 'Booking Office Bar' at the spanking new St Pancras Renaissance hotel. Not so easy, my friends. A welter of smart, smilingly efficient staff descend upon us blocking our path: "would sir and madam like to leave your case and the uh plastic bags in the cloakroom?"; "no, I'm afraid there is nowhere to sit just now"; "yes, you can stand at the bar, if you like"; "yes, I'm afraid it is rather busy". Anywhere else we would have thought, "sod this, let's go to the pub", but the space is beautiful and I do want to have a nosey around the refurb.

The bar is built around Victorian ticket booths (I'm presuming this is an original feature), the brickwork, soaring ceilings, windows and doors all point to a very sensitive restoration and like all good restorations it has retained the essence of the past. I somehow sense an echo of the hubbub and air of expectation of a busy booking office in the late 1800s in the general hum and excitement that surrounds a new opening. I trot to the ladies and catch a few glimpses of other public rooms; the hotel is not officially open but it certainly looks stylish, high-spec and gracious. The original Victorian hotel, apparently, had only 3 bathrooms for about 200 rooms ... ewww... Not so here, I imagine all rooms in this 5-star hotel are en-suited up to the eyeballs.

On my return to the bar, Geoffrey, the attentive and observant bartender has found us bar stools and some light and sparkling wine along with some crunchy things in a miniature silver pail. There's much attention to detail here, the nod to the past is subtly and tastefully executed, there is no Little Dorrit tea room, Magwitch Mead or naff cocktails named after eminent Victorians.

Ah well, back to to reality, we board the 8.15 to Cambridge and behold there are at least 3 people eating Mcdonald's, the smell is overpowering and nauseating, but when it comes to olfactory weapons we have nuclear capability. The neck of the plastic bag opens...we unleash the époisses.

See our review of the Gilbert Scott Brasserie, Macus Wareing's new restaurant now open in the St Pancras Hotel complex here:

http://wantonflavours.blogspot.com/2011/05/gilbert-scott-brasserie-st-pancras.html

SORREL SOUP

2011-04-09T17:59:00.000+01:00

Hugh F-W bemoaned, a couple of weeks ago (Guardian Weekend magazine), the lack of sorrel in neighbourhood supermarkets or veg shops. It is a shame as sorrel is so versatile and distinctive. Technically, I think, it's a herb, but that shouldn't hold us back: delicate young leaves, unexpectedly sharp and juicy, are great in salads; added to a stew, sorrel adds a velvety thickness as well as enhancing the flavours; it livens up a stir fry in no time at all; and of course, turned into a sauce, sorrel is conventionally served with fish.

Do not despair at its scarcity, however: sorrel is easy to grow. Pop some seeds in the ground today and you will be harvesting young leaves in no time at all. Think a bit about positioning, as your sorrel will never fully die back, and fresh bright green leaves will shoot up again very early next spring, one of the first new vegetables of the year to show.
As you have probably worked out, sorrel is lemony sharp. And I think it is worthy of being the headline act, not just a support band.

SORREL SOUP

3 large handfuls of sorrel
3 large handfuls of spinach
(1 carrot diced - optional)
(1 leek diced - optional)
600 mls water
1 tsp salt
2 tsps granulated white sugar (or palm sugar)
200 mls tinned coconut milk
1 lime, zest and juice
To serve: single cream and lime quarters.
Serves 2 as a main meal.

The spinach is important to keep the soup green; sorrel goes brown when heated.
Rinse the leaves and place them in a large pan, along with the carrot and leek if using. Add the water and salt. Bring to the boil and then simmer for a few minutes. Once soft, blitz the soup in a blender.
Pass the soup through a sieve to remove the coarse fibres of the sorrel stalks; be prepared to push the soup through the sieve with the back of a spoon until only a loose paste is left.
Return the soup to a low heat. Add the sugar, tinned coconut milk and the juice of half a lime. Stir and taste. Adjust the proportions of sugar, lime and coconut to suit. Bring back to simmering point before serving.
Serve with a dollop of single cream and 1 tsp of lime zest, with lime quarters for squeezing onto the soup.
Accompany with warmed or freshly baked bread - sourdough matches the sharpness of the sorrel extremely well.

RESTAURANT 22

2011-04-05T18:14:00.000+01:00

"I know a chef who used to work there. Yeah, apparently it's gone downhill..." I wish our taxi driver would shut it and confine himself to the usual repertoire: idiosyncrasies of the one-way system/traffic/drunks on a Saturday night etc. It's T's birthday and we are on our way to Restaurant 22 on Chesterton Rd in celebratory mood. Weirdly you don't see much press about this place, but it wasn't easy to book a table on a Friday night - maybe their popularity is such they don't need to market themselves. With that optimistic thought under our belts - along with a few glasses of pre-prandial Champagne - we knock on the front door of a nice looking Victorian terrace. It looks and feels excitingly like a secret supper club as we step through to a cosy, candlelit dining room with tables arranged in fairly hugger mugger, but not crowded fashion.

I certainly feel in a congenial frame of mind (no, that's not a euphemism, and yes, I had necked a quantity of Champagne). While we are mulling over an interesting wine list an amuse bouche of carrot velouté arrives. I really, really wish I could put my critical faculties on hold just for tonight, but sorry to say this dish set the tone for the evening. As those two thugs on Masterchef would say, 'We need big, bold flavours'. They aren't in evidence tonight. A Crab Bread and Butter Pudding starter sounds interesting but tastes less so. Our main courses - rump of lamb and pollock are perfectly ... well, ok I suppose. The chocolate torte is rich and delicious but, honest to God, if they want themselves to be taken seriously and ranked alongside Alimentum, Three Horseshoes et al they need to raise their game. The moral of the story: ignore the ramblings of taxi drivers at your peril...

GREAT MALL OF CHINA

2011-03-25T07:49:00.000Z

The Great Mall of China aka Cho Mee may not have been around since the 5th century BC but its 20 years of trading make it a veritable ancient monument around these parts. Here on Cambridge's Mill Road shops open and shut quicker than you can say Ghenghis Khan, but Cho Mee is an emporium built for longevity. Having hit upon the word emporium I realise it is exactly the right term for Cho Mee: it's a cavernous, old-fashioned kind of place selling a wide variety of far eastern food. Here you can find everything you need to make authentic dishes whether Szechuan, Hunan or Thai is your thing. You can find pickled mustard greens, Shaoxing wine, Chinkiang vinegar, 100 year old eggs (more about them soon!), silken or smoked tofu; certainly there are no concessions to the Western palate here and some may find a few of the foodstuffs a tad recherché ... pig uteri anyone?

At weekends it's crammed with families loading up with produce for what can only be gargantuan feasts sizzled and steamed in woks. There are more varieties of noodles you can shake a chopstick at and piled high in a dimly lit corner are great white sacks of rice - sticky, Thai, jasmine - you name it they have it. And of course there's the smell, unmistakeable and indefinable - fishy, sweet and pungent with undertones of what can only be called putrefaction - if anyone is familiar with food markets in Hong Kong you'll know what I mean.

At Chinese New Year Cho Mee really comes into its own, scarlet streamers garland the aisles and boxes of live crab and razor clams are shipped in along with stinky durian fruit and pomelos. The husband and wife team who run Cho Mee know their stuff - they can advise on the best rice cooker to buy, how to prepare a good tofu dish and may even have a few good pig's uteri recipes up their sleeves -...
Cho Mee 108–110 Mill Road

SPRING

2011-03-08T19:51:00.000Z

Maybe it's the spring weather, the warm sunshine and clear blue skies that we are enjoying at the moment, but we are on an extended Asian flavours' kick this week. Our taste buds relish the fresh edges of lime juice, galangal, chilli and lemongrass, and demand more of the same. This "Thai-style Steak and Pomegranate Salad" recipe on one of our favourite blogs, Hollow Legs, really hits the spot:
http://lizzieeatslondon.blogspot.com/2010/08/thai-style-steak-pomegranate-salad.html

Lack of a pomegranate to hand means a bit of improvisation: the beef is marinaded in a mix of pomegranate molasses, lime juice and fish sauce along with the chilli garlic and sugar - I confess to doubling up the chilli and garlic too.

Spring is also bringing the allotment back to life, with new shoots bursting through everywhere, flashes of jewel-bright green set against the tattered browns and greys of winter.
We scatter freshly picked mustard leaves and chives over the salad to add to the range of sharp, zesty herbal notes that cut against the sweetness of the steak and red pepper.

YIPPEE

2011-03-06T19:12:00.000Z

Saturday night in Cambridge and having watched a bleakish film (Archipelago if anyone is interested) sustained only by a few handfuls of popcorn we are up for something quick and delicious. We walk out and it is soon evident that while we have been in the cinema dusk has fallen and Regent St has transformed itself into a Bacardi Breezer version of Dante's Inferno. We edge past a girl slumped senseless outside Emmanuel (whose friends stand around her listlessly chatting and text messaging) and hotfoot it to King Street and Yippee.

Yippee is a noodle bar ... now I've frequented quite a few noodle bars in my time, both here and in the Far East, and Yippee can punch its weight with the best. The standard accoutrements are here: brightly lit interior; trestle tables; lightning service and an open kitchen where you can register the sizzle of food in boiling oil and the clang of woks and pans. Suffice to say we scan the menu and then have our usual - Tempura Prawns, Spicy Squid laced with birds' eye chillies, Prawn Toasts and Beef Ho Fun Noodles.

It's all brought to the table together and we chow down (no point in any chit chat between us the noise level is so high we have to yell at each other - we can talk about the film later). It's startlingly good and mouth searingly hot - I still have blisters in my mouth. It was so worth it....

BLACKCURRANT ICE CREAM

2011-03-05T17:23:00.000Z

Ice cream in February? Oh yes!

We had some friends around last week for a Thai curry fest and having chopped about 60 chillies in preparation for the paste, I had an inkling that our tastebuds might be .... how shall I put it... enlivened. What to make for pudding? I rooted around in the freezer and found tucked at the back some frozen blackcurrants harvested last summer from the allotment. Ah blackcurrant ice cream - cool and soothing with a sharp fruit kick to counter the Thai spice and coconut.

Blackcurrant Ice Cream

350 g blackcurrants
4 eggs, separated
225 g caster sugar
575 ml double cream

Stew and sieve the blackcurrants to make a purée. Allow to cool. Whip the cream to soft peaks and beat in the egg yolks. Combine this with the pur ée,
Whip the the egg whites with the sugar and fold this meringue mixture into the fruit cream. Place the mixture in a sorbetiere, if you are lucky enough to have one. I scraped it all into a plastic tub and stirred it a few times to break up the crystals.
If you want to make a blackcurrant ripple ice cream make a little more puree and half way through the freezing -when the mixture starts solidifying - streak the mixture using a spoon or fork with some puree. Be careful with any subsequent stirring not to amalgamate it all.

One of the many nice things about inviting friends to supper is that they often arrive with presents ... such as beautiful white roses...

SMOKE AND OZONE

2011-02-28T22:37:00.000Z

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:

Pepper and vinegar besides

Are very good indeed--

Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,

We can begin to feed."

The North Norfolk coast, aka Chelsea-on-Sea: Barbours and Boden, Hunter wellies - oh and Jack Wills now resides in Burnham Market where a delightful fish restaurant used to be. Luckily there is still plenty of authentic charm and beauty here: the marshes - haunting on a misty early morning walk, the long stretches of sandy beaches (don't get caught in a rainstorm here - there's nowhere to shelter), the haunting cry of a curlew, redshanks delicately picking their way on the mudbanks ... oh and the Cley Smokehouse.

We make our usual pilgrimage there and breathe in the tarry, woody smells while buying potted brown shrimps, kippers and smoked crevettes; we then drop into a wayside shed selling crabs and generally have a fishy time of it. We stop short of buying the freshly boiled lobsters in Gurneys in Burnham Market, and just gawp at the swanky comestibles in the deli next door - just the stuff to pull in the punters from Putney.

As evening falls we dine, like the Walrus and Carpenter, on oysters ... and potted shrimp and sea-bass teriyaki and mussels and smoked salmon ...

CROISSANTS

2011-02-20T10:22:00.002Z

Easy Like Sunday Morning ... coffee and croissants.

According to Lionel Richie, this is how weekends should pan out, even if it's a rainy morning at home in Cambridge rather than a sun-dappled Californian cafe.

But the folds of dough rising in the oven and releasing their rich, buttery, sugary aroma into the house do have their roots in the US, albeit NYC on another cold, rainy morning last winter...

Footsore from too much pavement pounding, we turn into the nearest welcoming doorway when the drizzle starts in earnest. This, serendipitously, turns out to be no ordinary cafe, but a tall converted industrial space run by The Housing Works in Soho, Manhattan, which supports the homeless and victims of AIDS. It does so much more than serve coffee.

It is busy: cool, urban style-meisters lounge over their espressos, dressed knife-sharp, tapping languidly at their Apple devices (no PCs here), and admire their reflections in the screens. We gather our coffee and slink towards a corner table.

This is not only wi-fi heaven: floor-to-ceiling shelves house an eclectic collection of second-hand books and it is here we find (and lug back to England) Daniel Leader's wonderful sourdough manual Local Breads. Far from being local this is the story of his searches across Europe for real bread, loaves crafted by artisans, men with flour on their hands and sweat on their brows. It transforms our sourdough culture -
literally.

... so for the last couple of days (following Daniel Leader's instructions) a bubbly, flexible, sweet-sour-smelling dough has been maturing. This morning it has been rolled out, cut into triangles, spread with almond paste, folded, brushed with a sugar glaze and dotted with flaked almonds, and hustled into a hot oven.

Now, although it's not Lionel Richie on the airwaves but The Archers' Omnibus, the coffee is dripping and the newspapers have arrived.

It's time to open the oven...

FOOD AT 52 - THAI

2011-02-20T07:37:00.001Z

I'm on my way to a one day cooking class in North London. Normally, group activities are my idea of hell, especially if there is a competitive element involved. Masterchef is great to watch, but to take part? It's all sweaty brows, fumbling fingers and yards of sticky, blue elastoplast. Then the ritual dissection and public humiliation. And an early exit through the swinging doors before tearful pieces to camera.

So what will a day's cooking at Food at 52 be like, I wonder?

(see their website at: http://www.foodat52.co.uk)

Many thanks to Nicky Martin for the photo

Fortunately, John Benbow is no John Torode; Michel Roux and Greg Wallace are nowhere to be seen. Just a dozen of us waiting anxiously to begin. After cups of tea in the sunny, spacious kitchen, we do our introductions and get into pairs ready to start. Our first task, to de-seed 150 birdseye chillies, soon burns off any English reserve, but then we are not all English and we are cooking Thai food. John proves to be an entertaining, attentive and inspiring teacher. We get busy with the creative stuff: slicing and dicing; peeling and chopping; stir-frying in coconut cream; simmering in the oven; mixing and stirring; and tasting, tasting, tasting with our individual, plastic spoons. No worries about sourcing or collecting provisions: it's all done. No worries about clearing away or washing up: it's all done. All we do is cook, and chat, and compare our bubbling cauldrons. The kitchen gets steamy; tantalising aromas drift out of the woks. And slowly some great dishes emerge: Beef Panaeng (rich, creamy); Green Curry with Sea Bream and Peppercorns (fresh, delicate); mussels in Lime and Lychee (fragrant, spicy); and a crisp, tangy Green Mango, Green Papaya and Pomelo salad.

Another of Nicky's great images

Later, in another part of the house, we relax after our endeavours over a glass or two of white wine, admiring the Far Eastern furniture and the suit of armour in the corner. The kitchen is being cleared ready for our reward: you get to eat what you have cooked! Masterchef? Everyone’s been a winner today. We do get briefly competitive when it comes to thinking up names for the day, but quickly agree that “I think I’ve Thai’d and gone to Heaven” sums it up pretty well.

See here for a review of the Southern Indian Cooking class.

IF LOOKS COULD KILL

2011-02-19T21:03:00.000Z

I'm quite shallow really, good looks do it for me every time.

So when this little beauty popped out of the oven, my heart swelled:

love at first sight.

Lots of my favourite things all rolled up into one sourdough loaf.

It tasted pretty good too.

BACKSTREET BISTRO

2011-02-16T21:37:00.000Z

Moules frites and a glass of white wine in a candlelit corner. The Backstreet Bistro pays homage to the Parisian Left Bank, fitting snugly in a corner of Cambridge's 'Red' Romsey Town or 'Little Russia', as it was once known, it is a place where left wing intellectuals should and ought to go. It's a warm and cosy place, the food is comforting and the waitresses friendly and you half expect Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir to turn up. The couple next to us are discussing Marx's dialectic materialism - well, ok property prices... but you get the picture...

http://www.back-street.co.uk/bistro.html

THE PAV, VICTORIA PARK

2011-01-30T21:29:00.000Z

Early on this cold Sunday morning in Hackney, Victoria Park is lively with joggers, cyclists and frisky dogs. We walk pretty briskly, partly because it's numbingly cold and partly because we're in a hurry for breakfast.

Vicky Park is one of the most unexpected of London's green spaces, set up by Queen Victoria, in her munificence, to give the East End poor a much-needed green space. It's a popular and much-used place for today's east enders, many of them looking for an escape not so much from the tanneries and clothing sweatshops, but the ... y'know, really tough world of the media.

Seriously, there are a few places nicer than The Pavilion. You can sit inside where it is warm and cosy or at the tables outside to watch the sun glint through the fountain on the lake. The Pav has been turned into a wonderful cafe serving breakfasts of eggs benedict, scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, and the full fried fest; they also do fresh and delicious lunches and, oh yeeeaah, freshly baked cakes. It's all beautifully cooked using organic produce, which you can wash down with a comfortingly large mug of builder's brew.

Of course on a Sunday morning the east end hipsters are here, bleary eyed after a Saturday night of god- knows-what, plus mums and dads coming in for a bite after frolicking with their toddlers.

It's a jolly and also a cool affair, served as you are by black clad, chiselled cheek-boned - I'm just doing this until my job in the media turns up - types.

Now pass the tomato ketchup; my poached egg, homemade baked beans, bacon, sausage and black pudding has arrived...