January was a long, old month and probably the busiest in my working year. I'm glad its gone. A marathon of dinners with varying winemakers from around the world may sound like a perfect job (and I'm not complaining) but, as much as I love the likes of St John, Chez Bruce and L'Autre Pied eating in all three in just six days was a bit too much.
Like anything else, when you gorge on something it can quickly lose its lustre. I'm happy to be at home on a Monday night, cooking for myself and eating a one (rather than three, four or five) course meal. Some humble pak choi, soy and noodles will do me tonight.
But I'm still hoping for a foodie February. I've just popped some duck legs into the oven, submerged in their own fat. The start of my first homemade cassoulet. I'm relishing making a dish that will take 2-3 weeks to come together, all from scratch. It's the opposite of just selecting something quickly from a menu and waiting for someone else to do the work.
And the best thing I ate over the weekend? Gorwydd's Caerphilly Cheese. As crumbly as the English defence and as sweet as a James Hook conversion.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
A Moveable Feast - Five Nights Out in London
25 days into 2008 and one solitary post. Not very impressive. It's easy to please busy-ness but everyone's busy. In my defence, I have eaten out every night this week. All but one with work, putting my health on the line for the job. The roll call of dishes is long: delicately flavoured scallops steamed in their shells, a dull rendering of steak rossini, an over egged bread and butter pudding, a slab of roquefort with a handful of walnuts, pheasant ravioli (decent if a little dry), a perfectly pink rack of lamb, a hunk of parmesan, an overspiced chicken supreme with raw parsnips, more scallops, a prawn, a plate-filling slab of aged ribeye (with unimpeachable bearnaise), an old school chocolate sundae, a dissected and reassembled rabbit, some venison with spiced pears and, (deep breath) finally, at eleven o'clock last night, a course of ten different and delicious cheeses.
Of all the restaurants only Hawksmoor and Chez Bruce were really worth it for the food. Hawksmoor is a steak house pure and simple. I'm not sure the starters and desserts are really worth bothering with. But, god, the steaks are good. Big, beefy, tender, ripe. They are last meal meats.
Chez Bruce is just brilliant. It has everything going for it, not least that it is less than a mile from the flat. Classy service, impeccable execution in the kitchen and a magical wine list put together by a passionate and capable sommelier. I'll write more later.
Of all the restaurants only Hawksmoor and Chez Bruce were really worth it for the food. Hawksmoor is a steak house pure and simple. I'm not sure the starters and desserts are really worth bothering with. But, god, the steaks are good. Big, beefy, tender, ripe. They are last meal meats.
Chez Bruce is just brilliant. It has everything going for it, not least that it is less than a mile from the flat. Classy service, impeccable execution in the kitchen and a magical wine list put together by a passionate and capable sommelier. I'll write more later.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Fish Pie and Apple Crumble
Saturday was a proper winter's day; all blue skies and biting cold. We took shelter in the hothouses at Kew peering at holey Henry Moore's sculptures through Victorian glass with eighteenth century ferns towering above us. The day cried out for comfort food. A Lox and Cream Cheese Brick Lane Beigel, whilst a perfect example of its type, eaten huddled on a bench with a coot for company did not cut the mustard. We headed home for fish pie and peas to be followed by a bramley apple crumble.
Fish Pie has rules and they differ with everyone you talk too. In this house there has to be both smoked and unsmoked fish, some sort of shellfish and lots of buttered leeks. I think parsley should go in too, but this time the herb lost out to my wife's ambivalence. It goes without saying it should have a thick lid of firm mashed potatoes (butter, salt and pepper only), criss-crossed with a fork to make a crust-able pattern on the top. Peas on the side are obligatory but anything else added inside or out runs the risk of 'messing about': capers, tarragon, mushrooms, boiled eggs are just a few of the options other Fish Pie makers advocate. None made it in to ours. In the end it was just the smoked hadddock, some cod, a handful of mussels (their broth giving a welcome lightness to the fishy bechamel), a packet of brown shrimps and the leeks. It was wonderful.
We finished with apple crumble, and here we did gild the lily. A hearty slug of armagnac went in with the bramleys and pine nuts and almonds added a delicious savoury, nutty note to the crumble. After the restraint of the fish pie making, it felt good to mess about with a recipe and win.
Fish Pie has rules and they differ with everyone you talk too. In this house there has to be both smoked and unsmoked fish, some sort of shellfish and lots of buttered leeks. I think parsley should go in too, but this time the herb lost out to my wife's ambivalence. It goes without saying it should have a thick lid of firm mashed potatoes (butter, salt and pepper only), criss-crossed with a fork to make a crust-able pattern on the top. Peas on the side are obligatory but anything else added inside or out runs the risk of 'messing about': capers, tarragon, mushrooms, boiled eggs are just a few of the options other Fish Pie makers advocate. None made it in to ours. In the end it was just the smoked hadddock, some cod, a handful of mussels (their broth giving a welcome lightness to the fishy bechamel), a packet of brown shrimps and the leeks. It was wonderful.
We finished with apple crumble, and here we did gild the lily. A hearty slug of armagnac went in with the bramleys and pine nuts and almonds added a delicious savoury, nutty note to the crumble. After the restraint of the fish pie making, it felt good to mess about with a recipe and win.
Monday, December 31, 2007
It's The End of the Year as We List It
You can't open a newspaper, turn on a TV channel or read a website without stumbling across someone categorising the year in some aspect or other. Order must prevail. Awards must be handed out. Opinions must be opined. So I thought I should join in. Here's two Top 5 lists that will mean very little to anyone else but me. Both are in chronological order.
Top 5 Meals of 2007
1. St John in February. Langoustines and Mayonnaise, a whole loaf of foie gras, suckling pig for 12, Eccles Cakes and Lancashire Cheese and 24 fine German Rieslings. Obscene and worth every penny. I'd do it again tomorrow. In fact, we should do it again tomorrow.
2. A Parisian market picnic on the sleeper train to Milan. Saumur-Champigny from a beaker washed down an oozing St Marcellin, wafer-thin speck, sour, chewy baguette and - most importantly - Jen.
3. Cambol Zero, Rivoli outside of Turin. Only one star but three times the experience we had in L'Astrance in Paris. Proof that there is more to a great restuarant than great food. Give me humour, humility, enthusiasm and warmth over cold-blooded perfection anyday.
4. The River Cafe in August with Jen, Jen and Greg. One of this year's few summery days and the perfect place to skive off an afternoon at work. I remember multi-coloured baby beets with horseradish, silky pasta parcels, spanking-fresh fish and a wholly unneccessary bottle of Moscato d'Asti in the sunshine longer after we should have gone home.
5. Ben's Birthday in November. Ben tells me his abiding memory is twirling bread dough into grissini whilst covered in flour and half-cut on Champagne at 11 o'clock in the morning. How weekend lunches should be.
Top 5 Dishes of 2007
1. The foie gras and mushroom cake at L'Astrance with its 'roasted lemon' and pool of hazelnut oil. A perfect dish of just four ingredients. The sweet-sharp lemon was the ideal foil for the foie gras whilst the hazelnut turned the raw white mushrooms into fungi heaven. I never said Pascal Bardot couldn't cook.
2. A foie gras risotto with fried artichokes at Cambol Zero. Indecently rich.
3. A humble Panzanella made from ripe tomatoes and stale sourdough baguette in Uzes.
4. Another Uzes afternoon: leftover ratatouille, fried sardines and ice-cold Provence rose. Then a nap.
5. Pheasant and Trotter Pie at St John Bread and Wine. A December lunch of champions to fight off the 4pm nightfall.
Top 5 Meals of 2007
1. St John in February. Langoustines and Mayonnaise, a whole loaf of foie gras, suckling pig for 12, Eccles Cakes and Lancashire Cheese and 24 fine German Rieslings. Obscene and worth every penny. I'd do it again tomorrow. In fact, we should do it again tomorrow.
2. A Parisian market picnic on the sleeper train to Milan. Saumur-Champigny from a beaker washed down an oozing St Marcellin, wafer-thin speck, sour, chewy baguette and - most importantly - Jen.
3. Cambol Zero, Rivoli outside of Turin. Only one star but three times the experience we had in L'Astrance in Paris. Proof that there is more to a great restuarant than great food. Give me humour, humility, enthusiasm and warmth over cold-blooded perfection anyday.
4. The River Cafe in August with Jen, Jen and Greg. One of this year's few summery days and the perfect place to skive off an afternoon at work. I remember multi-coloured baby beets with horseradish, silky pasta parcels, spanking-fresh fish and a wholly unneccessary bottle of Moscato d'Asti in the sunshine longer after we should have gone home.
5. Ben's Birthday in November. Ben tells me his abiding memory is twirling bread dough into grissini whilst covered in flour and half-cut on Champagne at 11 o'clock in the morning. How weekend lunches should be.
Top 5 Dishes of 2007
1. The foie gras and mushroom cake at L'Astrance with its 'roasted lemon' and pool of hazelnut oil. A perfect dish of just four ingredients. The sweet-sharp lemon was the ideal foil for the foie gras whilst the hazelnut turned the raw white mushrooms into fungi heaven. I never said Pascal Bardot couldn't cook.
2. A foie gras risotto with fried artichokes at Cambol Zero. Indecently rich.
3. A humble Panzanella made from ripe tomatoes and stale sourdough baguette in Uzes.
4. Another Uzes afternoon: leftover ratatouille, fried sardines and ice-cold Provence rose. Then a nap.
5. Pheasant and Trotter Pie at St John Bread and Wine. A December lunch of champions to fight off the 4pm nightfall.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Closure
Perhaps (only perhaps, mind you) this is the beginning of the end of the two-month Burgundy obsession. The symptoms are waning. I can just about appreciate other wines without comparing them to the greats of the Cote d'Or and have acknowledged that others cheeses than Epoisses are worth eating too. Especially given the frankly rude and almost frightening level of ripeness that the Epoisses in the kitchen has reached.
In search of closure, I (I should say 'we' as Jen did half the work but this is My Blog and My Obsession) made a Jambon Persille, the jelly and ham terrine that provided roughly 50% of my daily calorific needs in Burgundy (if only 20% of my actual calorific intake). It was deeply satisfying to make and much easier than it looked. As many so called complicated 'resaturant dishes' are when you have a go yourself. I urge you to try.
The recipe can be found on a bookshelf near you in Simon Hopkinson's unimpeachable Roast Chicken and Other Stories 2 (Second Helpings, it might be called). And if you don't own it click on to Amazon now, buy the book and make it for yourself. There are few better vehicles for humble white Burgundy and Dijon mustard.
In search of closure, I (I should say 'we' as Jen did half the work but this is My Blog and My Obsession) made a Jambon Persille, the jelly and ham terrine that provided roughly 50% of my daily calorific needs in Burgundy (if only 20% of my actual calorific intake). It was deeply satisfying to make and much easier than it looked. As many so called complicated 'resaturant dishes' are when you have a go yourself. I urge you to try.
The recipe can be found on a bookshelf near you in Simon Hopkinson's unimpeachable Roast Chicken and Other Stories 2 (Second Helpings, it might be called). And if you don't own it click on to Amazon now, buy the book and make it for yourself. There are few better vehicles for humble white Burgundy and Dijon mustard.
Too Much
My sister and her boyfriend Greg did a sterling job for Christmas Dinner. Incidentally December 25th probably the only day of the year I have Dinner in the middle of the day. The other 364 days, I have Lunch.
For the record. I eat Lunch at lunchtime and Tea in the evening. Unless I am a) eating out or b) at someone else's house or c) rustling up something more extravagant than broccoli and pasta to eat at home with guests - when it becomes Dinner. I don't dress for Dinner but I do expect some decent wine. Supper is what other people have before bed.
Anyway, I digress.
Sister and Greg were ace. Proper turkey, the world famous Sweet Potato stuffing (the recipe is the closest we have to a family heirloom, passed down from Tesco's Christmas Magazine circa 1997 via my mother to her eldest daughter) and more types of veg that I care to recall. We all ate far too much and groaned our way back to the sofa in time honoured fashion. Quite why we force such an ernomous plateful of food on ourselves in one go is quite beyond me. But we do, all of us. A massive proportion of the 60m people in the country all overeating at exactly the same time. A quite bizarre tradition of national gluttony.
And we feel all the worse for it, compounding the problems by cramming Christmas Pud into our greedy selves as soon as we sense there is room. I didn't make it as far as cheese and Port this year. A casualty of excess and a virulent bout of manflu.
Not that I really want to change it, though. We have so few food traditions any more apart from the roast bird and pigs in blankets that it really needs encouraging not denigrating. And at the same time we need to protect and promote the other few food traditions we have: Pancake Day, Simnel Cake, Grouse in August, Oysters in September.
Missing out on the cheese and Port (even a Fonseca single Quinta 1988, dammit) is a small price to pay to keep it all going.
For the record. I eat Lunch at lunchtime and Tea in the evening. Unless I am a) eating out or b) at someone else's house or c) rustling up something more extravagant than broccoli and pasta to eat at home with guests - when it becomes Dinner. I don't dress for Dinner but I do expect some decent wine. Supper is what other people have before bed.
Anyway, I digress.
Sister and Greg were ace. Proper turkey, the world famous Sweet Potato stuffing (the recipe is the closest we have to a family heirloom, passed down from Tesco's Christmas Magazine circa 1997 via my mother to her eldest daughter) and more types of veg that I care to recall. We all ate far too much and groaned our way back to the sofa in time honoured fashion. Quite why we force such an ernomous plateful of food on ourselves in one go is quite beyond me. But we do, all of us. A massive proportion of the 60m people in the country all overeating at exactly the same time. A quite bizarre tradition of national gluttony.
And we feel all the worse for it, compounding the problems by cramming Christmas Pud into our greedy selves as soon as we sense there is room. I didn't make it as far as cheese and Port this year. A casualty of excess and a virulent bout of manflu.
Not that I really want to change it, though. We have so few food traditions any more apart from the roast bird and pigs in blankets that it really needs encouraging not denigrating. And at the same time we need to protect and promote the other few food traditions we have: Pancake Day, Simnel Cake, Grouse in August, Oysters in September.
Missing out on the cheese and Port (even a Fonseca single Quinta 1988, dammit) is a small price to pay to keep it all going.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Stollen
The Christmas baking is in full-swing, though quite when we are going to eat it all is beyond me. No doubt, we'll end up foisting half of it on to various rellies who will smile through gritted teeth as we hand it over. Their fridges, cupboards and freezers already full to bursting without our offerings. Oh well.
The house is just stating to smell Christmassy with cinnamon, cardomom, marzipan and mixed peel baking inside a rich bread dough in the oven. I've never made Stollen before and am not sure I've even eaten it before. But it smells right for today, and feel right too; a memory of childhood Christmases for Jen.
The house is just stating to smell Christmassy with cinnamon, cardomom, marzipan and mixed peel baking inside a rich bread dough in the oven. I've never made Stollen before and am not sure I've even eaten it before. But it smells right for today, and feel right too; a memory of childhood Christmases for Jen.
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