|
Tuesday 28th June
Desserts at The Crown and Castle were equally luxurious, though the menu
showed a quirky side. A slice of sunken chocolate cake - of the sort
sometimes called mousse cake, or in common parlance 'squidgy' - is here
referred to as 'Sad (but not suicidal) chocolate soufflé'. I don't
know how the soufflé felt about it, but it certainly sustained my
good mood. The small jug of almost solid Jersey cream had probably
travelled further than anything else we ate (ok, except the cocoa beans)
but it kept things firmly in the British tradition. Pannacotta was good,
too (and he does keep ordering it, so one of these days I'll have to think
of something interesting to say about it), with a sharp compote of
blueberries gleaming on the side.
|
Monday 27th June
Quick tip for those with a Sainsbury's to shop in: the salad with the pea
leaves and mint in is really good. I haven't seen pea leaves (as opposed
to sprouts) anywhere else, where should I be looking? They are sweet and
spookily pea-flavoured, which is cool. Dress the salad up with goat's
cheese and blanched broad beans: yum yum.
|
Saturday 25th June
Lovely smoked prawns from the famous Orford smokery. These were
unbelievably cheap - can't remember the weight but about one pound fifty
for two good portions. We ate them, messily, just as they were, with the
following salad:
A Good Salad with Prawns Smoked in the Shell
Cold new potatoes, sliced thickly
One ripe avocado, sliced
Good handful of salad leaves
For dressing:
2 tbs crème fraîche
few cornichons, sliced
teaspoon capers
juice of half a lemon
fresh parsley, chopped finely
Sauté potatoes in olive oil until golden and crunchy. Salt lightly.
Scatter avocado slices over salad leaves and add potatoes. Combine
dressing ingredients and spoon over salad.
|
Thursday 23rd June
This is the view from the terrace at Ruth 'Fat Girl Slim' Watson's
restaurant, Trinity, at her hotel, The Crown and
Castle, in Orford, Suffolk. Beautiful, n'est-ce pas? This place is
wonderful. They say the weather in Suffolk is too unpredictable to open
the terrace every day - they take a decision mid-morning, and if they
decide it's not warm/dry enough, you eat indoors - even if by lunchtime
it's blazing sunshine. Luckily all the forecasts agreed that Saturday was
going to be cloudless and hot, so we got the view, the ambience and oh
yes, sunburn. Which we didn't notice at the time because the pleasure of
the food was just a little distracting. To start: potted shrimp, the spicy
butter bursting with tiny sweet Suffolk shrimp. Local produce is a big
theme here and being so near the sea that means fish. Orford has also long
been famous for its smokeries, so the other starter had to be a 'panoply'
of smoked fish: salmon, trout, prawns and cod roe, with a light lemony
crème fraîche. This was wonderful, each fish subtly
different. In a shocking departure from the rules, we ordered the same
main (it was the only fish on the menu other than skate, and I have
reservations about cooked cucumber). The cod - locally caught, of course -
was unbelievably tender, with a wobbly, garlic-heavy aioli. It came with a
salad of white beans, rocket and artichoke hearts, studded with chunks of
tomato. A very summery dish, nothing too punchy. Kudos to the poor
sous-chef who made mayonnaise at 28 degrees.
|
Wednesday 22nd June
Cooking
Like Mummyji, Vicky Bhogal
Vicky Bhogal describes herself as a typical second-generation British
Asian: indistinguishable from any other young British woman in education,
career and hectic lifestyle, but with a deep affection and respect for the
more traditional Punjabi customs her parents' generation brought with them
to the UK. Cooking Like Mummyji is a love letter to the food of
that culture, and especially to the many ways in which it has endured by
adapting to, and borrowing from, British habits and products. This book
will tell you how to 'spice up' a tin of Heinz baked beans - or how to
prepare a proper dhal from dried pulses and freshly ground spices.
Vicky has a chatty tone and a knack for conveying how integral these
recipes were to her childhood. Nearly every page starts 'this is my
father's favourite...', or 'my aunt is famous for these snacks...' Her
greedy descriptions made even the more complicated recipes enticing. Those
I tried worked well. Her recipes are clear and easy to follow, and
unfamiliar methods are well explained (though I admit I have not yet
ventured into the mysteries of the many kinds of roti, or
flatbread). Recipes I'll certainly be going back to include Lip-smacking
Salmon (pictured) - its buttery almond sauce deserves the name - and Bada
Singh Meatballs, made with minced chicken and ginger for a light texture
and fresh flavour. Then I must make some lemon chutney, and try roasting a
chicken in green masala paste, and of course there's those roti...
The book has a good balance between traditional recipes - particularly in
the chapters dealing with vegetarian dishes, dhals and chutneys - and
newer (but no less 'authentic') ideas for pasta, fishcakes, beef (very
rarely eaten in India) and the aforementioned baked beans. There are few
pictures of the food, which may disappoint some; but these are mostly not
the sort of recipe where you need a guide to presentation. And they are
more than made up for by the beautiful design of the book. Most pages are
decorated either with evocative sari patterns or bustling black and white
photos of Vicky and her family, generally in the kitchen. That sums up
Cooking Like Mummyji: a touching and inspiring snapshot of a
cuisine at an exciting corner in its evolution. |
Tuesday 21st June
I don't know about you, but I do like to be beside the seaside.
Saturday was scorchio in the city, but up in Aldeburgh the sky was blue,
the sea sparkled and it all seemed a lot easier to cope with. And whatever
you think about Aldeburgh (people seem to have strong opinions, whether
they love it to bits or think it's dreadfully commercialised - Britten
wouldn't recognise it, y'know) there's nowhere like a thoroughly
gentrified country town for really eating well. We visited a farm shop; a
smokery; a fishing shack on the quay, and Ruth Watson's Crown and Castle
at Orford. (We didn't visit any of the delicatessens or fishmongers
that line the high street; Thane Prince's cookery school, or The
Lighthouse... but we did pick up four artichokes for a pound from the
'please leave money in restoration fund box' pile in the church porch.
Even the ice cream stall on the beach sells sorbet bursting with ripe
local blueberries.) These broad beans were the sweetest and tenderest I've
had yet. Lightly boiled, with asparagus picked that day from the fields
beside the shop, and grilled dover sole caught that morning, the whole
annointed with a dab of butter, there is nothing finer. Except perhaps a
large punnet of equally fresh Suffolk strawberries...
|
Friday 17th June
I haven't done a Sugar High Friday for a while but I quite fancied this
one - hosted by Life in
Flow, a site with which I am very glad to have become acquainted. The
subject is tarts. So many choices! In the end I decided to make a
sort of peach galette, because a) the peaches were ripe and irresistable
and b) it would involve minimum hot-stove-slaving. Hmmm. Didn't work out
quite as anticipated, so I think I will follow Sam's excellent example and
not provide a recipe until I have put together a workable one. But the
basic idea is a puff pastry base (I had read that this kind of base is
best achieved by cooking the pastry between two baking sheets to prevent
it rising too high - and it was certainly flat, but also undesirably
chewy), spread with cream (I used plain whipped cream but perhaps
crème patissière would have been better?) and topped with
fruit. I also wanted a layer of pistachio nuts, and I caramelised them
with butter and brown sugar. This is a tart that's trying hard - and has
potential - but needs some loving attention and encouragement to bring out
her best. One to which to return.
|
Thursday 16th June
Every one of the (far too many) food magazines I've bought this month say
'of course, now it's summer, you'll be eating salad every day rather than
cooking'. Erm, how? Leaving aside the weather, salad of the green variety
isn't any easy thing to keep a fridge full of. Yes, if I've been to
Borough, I'll have a head of something interesting that I can pull leaves
off for a few days. But like most people with jobs, most of my food
shopping is done in a supermarket: which means a choice between watery
iceberg lettuce and pillow packs of heavily chlorinated leaves. They're ok
the first day, but try to keep them longer and they're very quickly brown
and soggy. So this tomato salad is the first step in my quest for
end-of-week salads: tasty and fresh, with no pre-cooking and no leaves.
Cherry tomato salad with pomegranate dressing
Halve a punnet of cherry tomatoes. Finely chop three spring onions and
scatter over. Mix dressing of one tablespoon pomegranate molasses; two
tablespoons olive oil; half tablespoon water; pinch of cinnamon; salt and
pepper. Dress salad just before serving.
|
Sunday 12th June
Buy some Alphonse mangoes. I mean it, do it now! Run don't walk and so on
- the season is short and they are truly more lush, more headily perfumed
and bursting with sticky sweet juice than the ones we get for the rest of
the year. They come from Thailand, and are as brilliantly yellow inside as
they are outside (this photo really doesn't do them justice). You ought to
smell them ten paces away and find them ripe and heavy, tenderly cushioned
by a loving grocer, with a little drop of sticky juice just oozing from
the stem. (Look, I'm sorry, it is impossible to write about these things
without sounding filthy. But if fruit like this doesn't turn you on you
may have a vitamin deficiency.) The flesh is as seductively slippery as
pannacotta. I wouldn't recommend doing anything at all with them except
slicing and scoffing. You know both ways to get at a mango? You can either
primly slice each cheek off the large flat stone, and cut a lattice
through the flesh (not cutting through the skin). This allows you to turn
each half inside out - bingo, mango hedgehog, with each little square
'spine' ready to be sliced off neatly. The other way is to eat it
sans knife, sans bowl, and of necessity sans clothes
- in the bath, say. Which I suppose has its charms.
|
Wednesday 8th June
Sorry! Crazy week. As the summer finally seems to have appeared, though,
here are a couple of throw-together things, either of which would make a
nice light lunch or side dish.
Fresh radishes make a lovely zingy salsa with lime and coriander. I found
baby coriander at the farmers' market (it's sometimes called coriander
'cress' or 'shoots') which was particularly nice as it's soft and subtle,
with a few seeds already growing. If you can't find it, use ordinary
coriander leaves with a couple of seeds crushed into the dressing.
Radish salsa
Bunch of fresh radishes 1/2 red onion juice of 1/2 lime 1 tbs
olive oil small bunch of baby (or adult) coriander Chop the onion
and squeeze the lime juice over it. Leave to stand while you slice the
radishes finely and chop the coriander. Add the radishes to the onions
with the olive oil; season and mix well. Add the coriander just before
serving.

This is a kind of remoulade, which is often made with celeriac. Kohlrabi
has a milder flavour, so the beans add interest and that nice healthy
feeling that eating something green gives you - even if it is smothered in
mayonnaise.
Kohlrabi remoulade
1 kohlrabi, cut into fine strips
Handful of green beans, topped and tailed
1 tsp mustard
2 tbs mayonnaise (a good one from a jar or make your own)
Blanch the beans for a couple of minutes in boiling water and rinse under
the cold tap. Stir mustard into mayonnaise and season. Toss beans and
kohlrabi in dressing and serve to accompany cold or grilled meats.
|
Wednesday 1st June
Finally in our short series on London's exciting restaurant scene, The
Peasant (240 St John's Street, Clerkenwell). The Peasant is an
attractive Victorian pub downstairs, and upstairs feels connected - the
same dark oak floors and large windows - but classier, and pleasingly
quirky, with a loose collection of circus-themed posters and paintings,
and carefully mismatched chairs. On a weeknight we were first in at 7.30,
and one of only three tables taken by the time we left. The single
waitress, then, wasn't rushed off her feet, but we never felt we were
intruding on her peace as is sometimes the case in an empty dining room.
On a rather un-spring like evening, a velvety cauliflower and celery soup
was wonderfully warming. The generous scoop of chilli jelly lurking under
the surface was a rounded, smoky-sweet addition, and by the time I'd
scraped the bowl clean, I was as relaxed as if I'd kicked off my shoes and
downed a large glass of wine. My dining companion had had a long day
too... the tender pinkness of his roast pigeon breast had a more
invigorating effect, bolstered as it was by earthy roasted beetroot and
artichoke hearts. The subtle tang of wilted garlic completed a
satisfyingly complex plateful.
My main course ensured I didn't relax all the way under the table. A spiky
parsley and lime salad made a rustically Mediterranean 'brodetto' of red
mullet, monkfish and chickpeas into something bright and sophisticated.
The bursts of lime juice highlighted the fresh, seaside flavours of the
fish against the familiar deep richness of the slow-cooked tomato
broth.
Roast lamb was impeccably cooked, and accompanied by a rather unusual
'flan' - an eggy, quiche-like (but pastryless) cake of Appleby's Cheshire
cheese and pine nuts. To contrast with the rich softness of both the meat
and flan, a sharp and crunchy salad included beetroot - pickled this time
- chard and enoki. This rather unexpected combination did come together,
assisted by a meaty jus.
Someone's imagination had run riot over the dessert menu. In contrast to
the comprehensive descriptions of starters and mains, desserts -
especially the ice creams - have fanciful, 50s sci-fi names. 'Cold Fusion'
ice cream turned out to mean ginger/pineapple - extremely good, with
chunky caramelised pieces of each - certainly cold, but hardly fusion in
its usual culinary sense, let along a chemical one. No, 'Space Junk',
'Cosmic Crunch' and the rest serve mainly to place The Peasant firmly in
context: trendily retrogressive Clerkenwell. An assortment of doughnuts
(including fudge, lemon curd and marshmallow) has a similar feel. It's all
good fun, and perhaps a gimmick is required to tempt the local crowd to
eat ice cream. But a less comic book dessert, a peppery brioche with
luscious mango and mascarpone, whose flavours developed slowly but surely
with each mouthful, is a more typical example of The Peasant's main
strength: confident, bold and thoroughly grown-up cooking.
Bill for two came to £60 (inc. service but no alcoholic
drinks)
Value for money? Well worth it.
Would you go again? Like a shot.
Marks out of ten:
Service 7/10 - neither intrusive nor neglectful
Atmosphere 7/10 - rather quiet on a weeknight, but a lovely room
with potential
Food 8/10 - imaginative and well balanced
|
|