Ostrea Edulis

Chablis and Oysters

2010-10-14T22:35:00.001+01:00

Whilst idly googling gastroporn on the net after a hard day's work copywriting I came across a video on YouTube featuring.... myself and my sister Abigail. My Google search was "Chablis and Oysters", nothing dirty you understand, if a little fishy. I couldn't believe I hadn't turned this into a blogpost before so feel I should now, even though it dates from Christmas Day last year. I do now live near Chablis, which is a long way from the sea, but as you will see, if you watch the video, there is a good reason why Chablis goes so well with oysters...

Cork Alive

2010-10-01T08:50:00.002+01:00

I served Champagne to some French friends recently and the cork, as I released it, sommelier-style and without a pop, sucked itself back into the bottle neck as if there was a vacuum inside. When I twisted it out again it appeared very narrow which is the normal indication of bottle age. But it had a curious lump on its end; and even more curiously, it appeared to be alive...

apologies for my laboured, heavily-accented French on the video; I think this was our second bottle of fruity, gluggable Brut from Joseph Walczak in Les Riceys

Canteen Fish & Chips

2010-06-13T17:00:00.003+01:00

I was invited recently to try fish and chips at Canteen in Baker Street. As readers will know, I am a sucker for takeaway fish and chips when in Aldeburgh on the Suffolk coast. But in London, since the demise of the wonderful Upper Street Fish Bar (sadly now a Nando's) and its charismatic owner Olga, fish and chips do not pass my lips. In fact, there are very few fish and chip shops and restaurants left and those that there are often double up as kebab shops and even Chinese takeaways. This is one of the sad legacies of overfishing.

Canteen started in Spitalfield in 2005 and is now a mini chain of four restaurants serving "Great British Food" at all times of the day. Foreign visitors to London often ask me about restaurants serving traditional British food and I have to reply that either I never go to them so cannot recommend or the very few that exist must be so terrible that they will even exceed my foreign friends' prejudices. So, we normally end up in the pub.

But, you don't necessarily always want to go to the pub and if you have young children, you can't anyway. And very few pubs do breakfast. The Canteen restaurants appear to actively encourage families and the menu includes fish finger sandwiches and Twiglets. For slightly more grown up tastes there is the all day breakfast, devilled kidneys on toast, sausages and mash, various pies and roasts, treacle pudding and fish and chips.

Our group of bloggers were at the Baker Street branch to try out the fish and chips and to hear group executive chef and co-founder Cass Titcombe talk about his restaurants and his new book, Great British Food. We learned that the fish used is sourced responsibly and ethically from south coast day boats and so the fish available changes from day to day. We tried cod, pollack and plaice in breadcrumbs and in a light batter. The batter recipes follow:

Cass explained that he prefers breaded fish as it's less greasy but his batter was certainly fairly grease free. It lacked the beefy taste of dripping-fried batter like the one in Aldeburgh but he said he didn't want to offend non meat eaters' sensibilities; vegetable oil (he thought groundnut) is used instead.

Maris Piper potatoes are used for the medium sized chips which are blanched at 130'C and then rinsed and dried to aid crispness after the next frying stage. The chips are then fried at 190'C for 3 minutes. The fish is floured before being dipped in the batter (if using) which should have the consistency of thick double cream. The fish is fried at 170'C for up to 5 minutes according to the thickness of the fillet.

As a side we had traditional mushy peas except that these were not luridly wasabi paste green, more olive green and all the more appetising for it. Cass explained that by adding bicarbonate of soda to the 12 hour soaking of the marrowfat peas these end up softer and less grey looking than they would do otherwise.

The tartare sauce is made in house which was a pleasant surprise; any pregnant women or Edwina Currie can reassure themselves though that the egg yolk being pasteurised is therefore listeria and salmonella free. I would have preferred more cornichon crunch to the sauce but that's my personal taste.

The (home made) breadcrumbs used for the plaice are white which helps judge the cooking time as they go brown in the hot oil. All three fish we tried were caught the day before so were ultra fresh. My suggestion that the fish may have a more pronounced flavour if either aged a bit longer (as with my cod experiment) or salted lightly and left to exude moisture (as they do in Greece) provoked interest but the assertion from Cass that fish does not improve with time. I agree to differ, according to the fish: sea bass, for example is best eaten the day it's caught, in my opinion, and white fish benefit from a few days out of the sea. Cass's favourite fish for fish and chips is haddock.

We drank a delicious Hooky Gold pale ale from Hook Norton brewery which had plenty of zesty, sharp hoppy flavour to wash away the fat and quench the thirst.

I was a guest at Canteen restaurant. My thanks to Cass Titcombe and to Jenny Goss of Sauce Communications

Vignettes from Jerez: The (mainly) fish market

2010-05-31T09:06:00.003+01:00

The Spanish love their fish and whilst it's obvious that big cities like Madrid and Barcelona will have great fish markets (Madrid's is second in the world to Tokyo's) I hadn't banked on a diminutive little town like landlocked Jerez having anything special. I'd walked past the large covered market building the evening I arrived and had imagined a mixed meat, fish, fruit & veg, and olive market the next morning but not the biggest show of fish I'd ever have seen.

Dozens of mongers with their neat little shops in rows were selling a bewildering array of prawns, shrimps, squid, hake, cod's roes, whelks, langoustines, tuna, the odd John Dory and skate, and a few sharks, big and small. The customers, mainly older women, were expertly choosing exactly the fish they wanted, sometimes getting the mongers, a mix of men and women, some fairly young, some veritable old fish wives, to pick fish from the bottom of the pile or even doing it themselves. The mongers would then fillet and cut in the flash of an eye with a very sharp knife.

What a shame that on an island like Britain most towns do not possess one single fishmonger (let alone a proper food market) and that the supermarkets where most food is bought anyway provide a pathetically small choice of fish, most of it ready filleted or smoked or 'previously frozen'.

The central part of the Jerez covered market is totally devoted to fish. In the stalls around the periphery there are butchers selling a little fresh meat including the odd (wild) bunny and sausages and plenty of preserved meat (in the form of hams and more sausages). There are greengrocers selling notably knobbly fruit and vegetables, nothing too perfectly smooth and shiny like in the UK. The odd frutos seccos shop selling nuts and dried fruit and honey too. And one lone baker selling crap bread, Spain being a curiously bread challenged country. Here, the Brits might have the edge, Sunblest and Hovis notwithstanding.

Chateau Musar

2010-05-23T12:48:00.006+01:00

Chateau Musar from Lebanon was my favourite red wine when I was a student and today, several years later, I still devote a corner in my cellar to its wines which seem to last forever. My favourite column in Private Eye then was Auberon Waugh's weekly diary where he would rave about Musar as being the ideal, bargain basement wine for impecunious claret or Burgundy lovers (though the wines are more Rhône-like than either, if one must compare).

The property is at 1000 metres high up in the Bekaa valley near Beirut and wine has been made here by the Hochar family since the 1930s (though wine was made here hundreds of years BC by the Phoenicians). The red wine for which the estate is famous is from a blend of Cinsault, Carignan and Cabernet Sauvignon and yet, even if these grape varieties are familiar to many wine drinkers, the resultant wine is so distinctive as to make it one of the world's easiest to spot in a blind tasting.

One distinguishing characteristic of the wine is the prominent amount of volatile acidity (or VA) which is caused by acetic bacteria when fermenting or recently fermented wine is exposed to air. If left unchecked, the wine turns to vinegar. VA which is not excessive gives wine extra fragrance and a slight sweet and sour character which is very appealing (think of your best balsamic vinegar). In most properties in the rest of the world grapes and wine receive doses of sulphur to protect them from the air to keep VA to a minimum but at Musar VA is encouraged and helps make the wines unique.

Other taste characteristics of the wine include a distinct gaminess, especially as the wine develops in older vintages, and a strawberry fruit which varies from tinned to fresh and wild! The wines never have much tannin (they are never released before 7 years) and yet seem to age very well without changing that much in character. Where most age-worthy reds continue to improve with age and then decline gradually, Musar is ready to drink when it's released and then appears to stay on a plateau for years and even decades. It goes well with roast game birds, the relatively lighter vintages with pheasant and partridge, the bigger, older ones with grouse.

Doubting Thomases who say that VA can destroy a wine have not tasted Musar vintages going back several decades which still taste vibrant. Indeed, Spain's most revered, age worthy wine Vega Sicilia (I have enjoyed the 1962) also has copious amounts of VA in its mix as does arguably the twentieth century's most highly regarded claret, château Cheval Blanc 1947, still drinking well now (so I hear).

When the Musar 1995 was released a lot of tasters apparently condemned the wine because of its very high levels of VA; that vintage is now regarded as the best of the 1990s (it has a VA level of 0.8g/l, 1.2g/l being the maximum desired).

The 1984 vintage took 5 days to reach the winery because the vineyard was in a battle zone and so the grapes started fermenting in the back of the truck. The resultant wine, which has not been released, had a VA level of 1.2g/l but according to the family is now eminently drinkable. Indeed, Serge Hochar claims it is the 40 mile journey from vineyard to winery by truck that 'inoculates' the wines against oxidation giving them great longevity and helps create the Musar style.

At a tasting last week at the London International Wine Fair we tried the 2003, 1997, 1980 and 1977. All were good (though the 1977 was suffering a bit on the nose probably because of a faulty cork), the younger wines intensely, sweetly strawberryish and fragrantly 'volatile', the older wines more leathery and tarry but still spicily fruity.

The 'second' wine which is called Hochar Père et Fils was also on show from the 2003 vintage; it spends less time in barrel and is fruitier (with an added dash of Grenache) though still has that characteristic twang of VA. The reds were mainly served from decanters as they are not filtered or fined before bottling and form quite a sediment.

Some members of the Hochar family were present at the tasting including the founder's sons, Serge (who was Decanter Magazine's first "Man of the Year" in 1984) and Ronald (named after the late Ronald Barton, a family friend, of châteaux Léoville & Langoa fame, who convinced the founder to take his wines seriously); their respective sons were there too, Gaston (named after his grandfather who founded the winery) and Ralph.

They switched from good English when addressing the audience (with much self-deprecating banter from Ronald) to perfect French when talking amongst themselves (reminding us of Lebanon's relatively recent colonial French heritage). When challenged about VA Ronald asked, rhetorically, what would Musar be without volatile acidity... and how would it age (or not).

The red wine style is resolutely old fashioned and old world. French oak is used to age the wine but the château wine never stays longer than a year in barrels, few of which are new. The Hochar Père et Fils spends 6 to 9 months in oak as do the whites; we tried the 2003 and 1990 which were big and bold, in a slightly oxidised style reminiscent of old style white Rhône or mature dry white Graves though with perhaps less acidity. In fact, my first thought on smelling the 2003 was of Ygrec, the dry white Bordeaux from château d'Yquem.

The whites are made from Obaideh and Merwah grapes which are indigenous to Lebanon and allegedly the origins of Chardonnay and Semillon. The lack of acidity and quirky flavours don't lend themselves to any obvious food pairings though I wouldn't say no to a rich lobster or crab dish... and would drink the house Arak spirit with the traditional Lebanese meze!

my thanks to Richard Hunt of Chateau Musar (UK) Ltd. for squeezing me in to this heavily oversubscribed tasting, full of loyal Musar customers, or "friends", as the Hochar family prefer to call them. For those who just don't get the eccentric, unique wine styles of the estate there is a new range of unoaked, more modern wines for immediate consumption called Musar Jeune in white, rosé and red. They are not so modern however that they have screwcaps (perhaps in 50 years time quipped Ronald) or upfront, zesty, juicy fruit: they remain quite savoury.

One unanswered question for me is why the label eschews the circumflex (â) on château.... just in case any of you wanted to correct my spelling above!

Brandade de Morue (Salt Cod Mash)

2010-05-16T15:14:00.004+01:00

Before refrigeration was invented fish would go off really quickly. Those lucky enough to live on the coast could eat that day's catch. Those inland had to eat meat and two veg. And then one day salt (conveniently from the sea) was found to preserve fish. Not only that, it preserved fish and allowed it to develop its flavour. Salt cod (morue in French) was born, would last for ever and could be exported inland and overseas.

Salting food extracts the moisture which in combination with bacteria leads to spoilage. So salted food, in this case cod, needs rehydrating to soften it, reduce the salt content and make it edible.

The drier and saltier the cod the more soaking it needs. I soaked my piece here (bought from Garcia) for 18 hours and changed the water 4 or 5 times. Salt cod in London can be found wherever there are Spaniards, Portuguese or West Indians living in any number. So, the northern end of Notting Hill is good as is Brixton. Otherwise, it's difficult to find. The French adore it and every fishmonger in France worth his salt will have it on sale. It's a gift to mongers because it's practically the only fish that won't go off. In Portugal they even have shops that won't sell anything else. And in the Caribbean the daily white rum aperitif is usually accompanied by salt cod fritters (ti punch & accras de morue on the French islands).

The Portuguese have hundreds of recipes for bacalhau (bacalao in Spanish) but the French just have the one, brandade de morue. Brandade comes from an old verb "to beat" and once the rehydrated fish has been poached for a few minutes in milk and or olive oil it is skinned, deboned and beaten into an emulsion, often with added potato.

It's not a dish for those who like mild flavours. As the fish has been aged it has quite a strong flavour in a similar way that meat goes high when it has been hung. When I poach the fish I add whole garlic cloves and pepper. I use the poaching liquor to mash the boiled potatoes. The fish is much easier to skin and debone when it's still warm; if you do this when it has cooled down it really sticks to your fingers (after all, the first glues were made from boiled fish). A sprinkling of parsley at the end is all it needs though this is my embellishment; brandade in even the smartest Parisian brasseries usually comes in an earthenware crock and looks like, well, mash.

As brandade is quite strong it's a challenge to match with wine. Here, we started off with my favourite foodie beer (Meantime India Pale Ale) which copes with any strong food that is thrown at it (the style was invented for curry). And as brandade is salty it's good to have something thirst quenching. We continued with old fashioned white Rioja (Marqués de Murrieta Gran Reserva 1998), aged for 32 months in cask and with the guts and acidity to cope. I had leftovers the next day with another old fashioned Rioja, but this time a Tondonia rosado 1997 from López de Heredia, aged 4 years in barrel. It's not often one comes across a 13 year old rosé wine that is still drinkable but again lengthy barrel ageing makes these wines pretty indestructible and gives them an almost sherryish, big oxidised flavour that allows them to cope with extremes of salt, savouriness and spice.

I sometimes make brandade without potato and spread it on bruschetta. In this case, I would probably serve a Fino Sherry or Manzanilla Pasada.

Roast Mutton & Flageolet Beans

2010-05-04T11:35:00.001+01:00

On Easter Sunday we thought we'd vary the usual lamb dish and go for mutton. We'd spotted some the day before at the excellent Snape Maltings Farmers' Market. Mutton is basically older lamb, ie sheep, and so has more flavour though is less tender. It is technically at least 2 years old, lamb being under 1 and hogget in between the two. The advice from the farmer was to roast it at a lower temperature and a little longer than for lamb.

The cut we bought was from the top of the leg. I put it in a roasting pan and laid some anchovy fillets underneath and used the olive oil from the jar to smear over the meat. I poured a bottle of red wine into the bottom of the pan and roasted the joint in a fan assisted oven for a couple of hours at about 150'C.

After allowing the joint to rest with the oven switched off the meat turned out to be really succulent and tasty without being too high and sheepy. I boiled down the remaining wine in the pan to make a thin sauce having added some thyme and rosemary from the garden. The anchovies added some umami body and richness to this sauce but absolutely no hint of fishiness. I served the mutton with flageolet beans, the traditional accompaniment to lamb in France. Mashed potatoes would have been more British I guess. And capers too.

As I wasn't sure how sheepy the mutton was going to be I'd prepared two different wines, one stronger and gamier than the other.

In the end we had the Rioja Imperial Reserva, rather than the Lebanese chateau Musar, which is my usual wild game wine; it was perfect, its tannins and acidity cutting through the richness and its marked oaky flavour echoing the herbs (and perhaps fancifully, the bottle of Rioja that went into the sauce). It was more than a match for the mutton. Young lamb is the traditional accompaniment to ancient old Rioja in northern Spain (and to claret, especially Pauillac, in Aquitaine). Whilst young lamb is an excellent foil for these wines, allowing them to show at their best, I think that a vigorous, younger wine like this 2001 is best partnered with the stronger taste of mutton.

Blind Beer Tasting

2010-04-29T10:08:00.001+01:00

I spent most of last week helping judge wines for the International Wine Challenge and by the end felt just a tad wined out. Tasting wine all day sounds like some people's dream pastime or job. But the main part of a wine taster's remit is to separate the wheat from the chaff and necessarily involves tasting young, often unattractively undeveloped wine and assess their future development. This means having to taste a lot of acidic whites and tannic reds and eventually even the most seasoned palate gives up and wants a break, or a beer... and food, which in the end, is the point of most wine.

So, thoughts turned to beer and food which reminded me of this fun blind beer tasting I did with friends in France. Fittingly, the host was my old boss from Quality Control days at a UK wine shipper and he too likes to take a break from wine and sink some beer. And besides, being in rural France meant that we couldn't just pop into a local supermarket and expect to find any decent wine to drink anyway. Tim's wife Andrea acted as barmaid, invigilator (no peeking at the labels!) and black pudding fryer and we got stuck in.

As in professional wine tastings we tasted the beers blind to avoid any potential bias. One of the labels had claimed to be la bière la plus forte du monde and this might have made it a favourite, or least favourite, depending on one's predilection for alcohol. And one bottle (the Faro) was so pretty it reminded me a bit of Perrier Jouët's expensive handpainted Belle Epoque vintage Champagne bottles. The elaborate packaging of Faro ended up being very much style over substance.

After deliberating, cogitating and digesting we couldn't choose a winner though some beers were more appetising than others and some were more for sipping on their own and others were good with food. Interestingly, when the boudin noir had been devoured we turned to panettone and chocolate cake which provided good matches for some of the stronger, sweeter styles.

No. 1 The first turned out to be Chimay Brune (red label, 7% alc) which had a frothy head and brown colour, a fine mousse, was savoury but lacking a little in acidity. It gave off whiffs of sweetcorn.

No. 2 Faro Lambic (4.2%) had no head, a pale brown colour, a sweet, cidery, almost vinegary character and lacked body after the Chimay. This had the character of Gueuze from Brussels which is made "spontaneously" from wild yeasts. An acquired taste.

No. 3 Pauwels Kwak (8.4%). This had a more savoury, malty character and a distinct whiff of Fairy Liquid. On returning to this beer it lacked complexity and ended up being too sweet. However, with the chocolate cake it became much more interesting and was redolent of almond essence.

No. 4 Leffe (9%) had an attractive caramel, burnt toffee, plummy nose and palate with hints of fortified wine (Banyuls) and Christmas cake. Indeed, this beer later on made a good accompaniment to Panettone. The high alcohol gave the beer body without making it unbalanced.

No. 5 Bush (12%) had a similarly sweet character, and hints of licorice. In spite of its wine like alcoholic strength it tasted relatively balanced.

No. 6 Duvel (8.5%) had a frothy head and a pale yellow colour, a fine mousse and the least sweet, most savoury character of the whole line up. I actually spotted this as Duvel which is a bit of a one-off style of beer. It sometimes reminds me of saucisson à l'ail (garlic sausage, if that isn't too fanciful).

No. 7 Chimay Triple (8%, yellow label) had a very solid froth and a cloudy, orangey colour. It had an orange zesty nose, dryish palate with a slight sweet and sour tang on the finish.

No. 8 Leffe Blonde (6.6%) had little head, oxidised fruit on the nose and palate and was almost grapey. It developed an overripe lychee character in the glass. It proved a hit afterwards with some Thornton's chocolate cake.

No. 9 Chimay (9%, blue label) had a solid head and brown colour. It had very little scent or flavour and tasted alcoholic. This beer was dull and clumsy.

No. 10 Belzebuth (13%) had no head and a golden brown colour. It initially smelled maltily English ale-like but as it warmed up became peachily interesting. The 13% alcohol was pretty evident though and underlined the beer's excessive sweetness.

With the body, sweetness and bite of some of these beers it would have been interesting to experiment with some cheeses to accompany them (indeed, the Trappist monks at Chimay make cheese by the same name). But the success of the two cakes was a pleasant surprise. The beers were all served at the same temperature (initially an overly cold 2'C) and became progressively more interesting as they warmed up a bit. However, it would be sensible to heed the label's serving temperature recommendation for each beer as they all have their own character. For example, for the heavy Chimay Brune it is suggested that 10-12'C is a good temperature (therefore that of an ideal cellar) whereas for the lighter, sour Faro Lambic, 5'C is suggested ('fridge temperature). Most quality Belgian beers also have their dedicated glasses and these should bring out the best in the beers' sometimes complex aromas.

Finally, these beers are refermented in the bottle (just like Perrier Jouët Belle Epoque Champagne) and so have a very fine, natural bubble. This makes them refreshing, even at high alcohol levels, but they are not overtly gassy like ordinary canned or bottled beers which have been carbonated. The expression to look out for on a (francophone) label is haute fermentation meaning 'top fermented' (basse fermentation or, rather inelegantly, 'bottom fermented' suggests a lager type beer) and something along the lines of refermentée en bouteille. Unlike in Champagnes however, the spent yeasts after this secondary, in-bottle fermentation are not removed from the beers which is why many of them possess a (harmless) sediment. I usually keep these beers standing and use the sediment in cooking.

Cod & Sauce Verte

2010-04-24T12:41:00.001+01:00

One of the joys of living on the coast is being able to buy freshly caught fish. At Aldeburgh in Suffolk the few fishermen who still exist possess little shacks on the beach where they sell what they have caught that morning.

Some of them supplement their catch with fish landed at Lowestoft further up the coast but one in particular (Dean Fryer) only sells fish that he has caught from his tiny boat that same morning. Any unsold fish at the end of the morning gets sold off to the nearby restaurants and hotels.

At this time of year cod is the main catch and the fishermen will tell you that stocks in the North Sea are plentiful. And as they are catching fish using lines and tiny nets their little industry is sustainable (though not terribly lucrative and certainly a tough one to work in).

The downside of buying cod caught that same morning is that it's too fresh to eat the same day. It has little flavour and is quite watery textured. It's firmer and more flavoursome a couple of days later. Ironically, it's very firm to the touch when spanking fresh but on cooking goes floppy. Oily or semi oily fish like herring and sea bass are best however eaten the day they are caught.

The best thing to do with a whole cod is to poach it, preferably in cod stock, and serve it cold with garlic mayonnaise or herby green sauce. In the south of France a whole fish will be laid out in the middle of the table surrounded by various cold vegetables and crudités, small bowls of garlic mayonnaise (aïoli) for dipping and halved boiled eggs. Snails will be sprinkled over the fish and jugs of rosé wine will ensure no one goes thirsty. The dish is called Le Grand Aïoli. Occasionally, poached salt cod (morue) will be used instead.

Making fish stock is really easy if, like here, you have access to fish bones and heads. Oily fish is not suitable but any white fish will do. Turbot and Dover Sole are supposed to make the best, but cod is good too. Poaching fish in fish stock gives the fish more depth of flavour. And afterwards, you can reduce this stock and make a soup or a tasty risotto.

To poach a cod you need a kettle like the one pictured here.

Simply cover the fish with cold stock, bring back to the boil, remove from the heat, and allow to cool down in the stock.

This is the perfect recipe for those nervous about over cooking fish.

Cod cooked like this is delicious served with a sauce verte (green sauce or salsa verde) made from herbs, capers, garlic and anchovies. The umami-rich anchovies help the cod taste more like cod. Green lentils from Le Puy make a good, earthy foil.

And to drink, something dry, crisp, fresh and mineral like the unoaked Chablis above, or Muscadet, Sancerre, rosé de Provence... For those less francophile, there are some very good vinho verde being made now in northern Portugal, or there is Rias Baixas from across the border in Spain. From Italy, Soave would be good.

Fish and Chips

2010-04-15T21:48:00.001+01:00

It was the 150th birthday of fish and chips the other day and I was in Aldeburgh on the North Sea coast and decided to mark the occasion with the bag of "rock 'n' chips" shown above. As an insititution, fish and chips was voted in a recent poll as Britain's most loved (knocking the Queen into second place).

Britain's first fish and chip shop opened in London in 1860. It is not clear exactly how and when the battered fish first met the deep fried potato but historians interested in that sort of thing often cite Jews in the east end of London selling (cold) fried fish in the street as a precursor. There was also a tradition of potatoes as street food but these were baked and not fried.

Manchester and Leeds make claims for inventing fish and chips as we know it today and indeed fish and chips is arguably more popular up north than down south. Many Scots would claim fish and chips as the Scottish national dish, rivalling haggis (though in Scotland you ask for a "fish supper" when ordering fish and chips, and haddock is more common than cod).

In spite of concerns over dwindling fish stocks and the consequent escalating price of fish, there are still over 10,000 shops in Britain selling affordable, takeaway meals to people from all walks of life. My lunch cost just under a fiver and included the fluorescent green mushy peas, the scarlet ketchup, copious amounts of salt (which helps the fish batter stay crisp though the chips remain resolutely soft) and lashings of malt vinegar.

Deep frying fish makes eminent sense as the batter protects the flesh from overcooking and drying out. My rock eel was really juicy as was Abi's piece of haddock. Some people leave the batter but we couldn't resist the salty, fatty crunch contrasting with the moist fish flesh within and the unmistakeable taste of beef fat.

To drink, something sharp and fizzy is good to cut through all that stodge: I think a traditional India Pale Ale is good (there is an excellent one made at the nearby Grain Brewery) or sparkling wine, if not actually Champagne. Crisp, zesty Sauvignon Blanc would work too (from the Loire Valley or South Africa). And if eating fish and chips in the south of Spain (at the Codfather in Nerja perhaps) a dry Sherry or Montilla would be perfect.

For more history (and flavour!) of fish and chips, listen here to a recent Radio 4 interview with The Guardian Food Editor Matthew Fort and the food historian Laura Mason.

A reinterpretation of Port & Stilton: Grappa & Stichelton

2010-04-15T09:26:00.001+01:00

I recently had a yearning for something sweet and savoury after a lazy Sunday graze on something unsatisfactory and raided the cupboards and 'fridge to assemble the above feast: pickled walnuts (a first for me), buttery langue de chat biscuits, blue Stichelton cheese, and fiery grappa made from Nebbiolo grapes in Piedmont and aged and rounded out in old port casks.

Port and Stilton is a well known and successful wine and cheese match and is often accompanied by sweet digestive biscuits, and occasionally chutney. Here, the grappa provided the strong, sweet, fruity taste of port to match the salty blue cheese (a superior, unpasteurized version of Stilton), the pickled walnuts contributed to this, rather like a chutney would, and the langue de chat biscuits soaked up some of the fire, salt and sharp fruit of the mix and added their own buttery richness.

The combination was so successfully balanced I devoured the whole lot.

Food and wine matches are not set in stone but some of the established ones are worth trying even if it means reinterpreting them with the ingredients at hand.

Warm Chicken Liver Salad

2010-04-06T10:26:00.004+01:00

I don't know why people buy "ready meals" from supermarkets. They are expensive, unhealthily full of fat, sugar, salt, preservatives and unmentionable e numbers and in my (limited) experience taste pretty awful. There are alternatives to ready meals though, even if time and talent and cooking utensils are in short supply. The above salad is a good example and took less time and effort than a so-called ready meal.

The free-range chicken livers I picked up from the farm shop would have served at least four as a starter and yet only cost £2.40 (from Sutton Hoo Chickens, a leading poultry farmer in Suffolk). And if you wanted to serve them to guests at a party but felt £2.40 and five minutes prep was a bit mean you could always elevate and ennoble your salad by calling it salade tiède de foies de volailles. The livers can be floured before frying if you want, and the pan deglazed with good quality vinegar (Sherry, say) instead of the red wine used here.

An appropriate vinous accompaniment could be a young, rustic red with a bit of bite and drunk coolish like Corbières, Beaujolais, Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, Chinon...

From a health perspective, free-range liver is good for you, lettuce is good for you, and garlic is good for you. I was in control of the naughty stuff like salt and fat which is a lot healthier than leaving it to the manufacturers of ready meals.

Taramasalata

2010-04-02T10:56:00.002+01:00

I challenge any home cook or chef to attempt to recreate manufactured taramasalata, that salty sweet electric pink gloop that is sold in plastic tubs in supermarkets and Greek delis. I think they would fail without access to special machines (contraptions from the back of Mr Whippy Bedford vans, circa 1970, spring to mind) and access to special chemicals like agent E120. If they tried to use grey mullet roe or, in this case, smoked cod's roe, olive oil, garlic, parsley and lemon juice they would end up with something like what's pictured above which bears absolutely no resemblance to the bought stuff.

What I don't mention in the video is that bread is often added to the mix. I personally prefer the stronger, breadless taste but as cod's roe is expensive (grey mullet roe even more so) it can be a useful padder.

Great wines to drink with this salty, smokey, fishy paste include Fino or Manzanilla Sherry, Retsina if you like pine resin, and old fashioned white Rioja (in this case Marques de Murrieta 1998 Gran Reserva) if you prefer oak. A curiosity from eastern France would work too: Château Chalon vin jaune from the Jura. At any rate, you need something quite robust to cope with the strong taste; ersatz pink tarama only deserves bland plonk.

Moules Marinières & Muscadet

2010-03-31T14:16:00.005+01:00

A rule of thumb I have when looking at a fishmonger's slab is, if the fish look a bit sad and dull and not very fresh, I go for the mussels; at least you know that they're alive and therefore fresh (unless they're dead of course). In the picture above I am reacting to the fish man's question on how many kilos I want; I never know what to say but am showing him the rough quantity I want using my hands. I think this equated to 2 kg, so good for 2 people (and at only £6, a cheap treat).

Mussels are widely grown all around the Kingdom's coasts and yet I don't think we eat enough of them. Perhaps if they weren't such good value we might not take them for granted and could treat them with a little more reverence. These came from Brancaster in Norfolk.

A drop of cream is always good to add to moules marinières if you have any but it is optional. On the recent Master Chef competition on television the judge John Torode marked down the contestants who had added cream and said "it's just wrong!" Well, his French pronunciation is not only "just wrong", it's downright painful to hear. But, we'll let him off if he allows us to occasionally add cream to "moolz".

Baked Black Bream or Besugo al Horno

2010-03-25T20:50:00.000Z

This beautiful fish which I spotted yesterday at The Chelsea Fishmonger and couldn't resist, is a wild Black Bream. It looks like one of my favourite fish, a large Gilt Head, but as this one was wild and the Gilt Heads on display were farmed I thought I'd go mad and go for wild and black.

Mat the fishmonger helpfully provided me with a printed out menu supplied by Paul, one of his regular food-obsessed customers.

Apparently bream in the oven or, Besugo al Horno, is a traditional Christmas dish in Spain but takes about an hour altogether rather than the half day needed for a turkey. Potatoes are thinly sliced along with red onions and are then layered up in a greased dish. A paste is made of garlic, saffron, parsley and salt mixed with olive oil and water and this is poured over the potato and onion base. This is baked for 40 minutes and then the gutted, scaled, and slashed fish is placed on top for a further 20 minutes.

I varied Paul's recipe slightly by adding a few black olives I had lurking. Before serving, sprinkle with more chopped parsley and grated lemon zest. I turned the grill on inside the oven shortly before the end of cooking to crisp the skin up a bit. The fish was perfectly cooked (you can test for doneness if you wiggle the side fin near the head; if it won't come out, the fish isn't quite done) and the potato slices were smoothly waxy and redolent of saffron (I used Marfona baking potatoes, Paul recommends King Edwards). We drank a Vermentino from the south of France (more usually called Rolle there) but a rosé from the same region would have been good too.

Pizza Tuesday at Franco Manca

2010-03-23T16:52:00.006Z

Pizza is not my favourite food. I'll eat it when there's nothing else, or when the alternative is some high street junk, but I generally find it stodgy and indigestible and cannot ignore the fact that the gross profit on your average pizza is pretty, well, gross.

In the bloggosphere there has been much twittering about the merits of the Franco Manca pizzeria in Brixton Market and the fact they make authentic Neapolitan pizzas with a sourdough crust. I have walked past many times but been put off in spite of the eulogies by the fact it's in a drafty old shopping arcade. But when Franco Manca opened a second (indoor) branch in Chiswick I thought I'd give them a try on a day I had an empty fridge and a rumbly tummy.

It was a very quiet midweek lunch and the muzak had been cranked up to compensate. My pizza was both chewy and soggy at the same time. There was some excellent chorizo on top (from Brindisa) but otherwise I wasn't impressed. I mentioned my disappointment on Twitter which immediately unleashed a torrent of indignant tweets from FM's myriad fans. I thought I must be missing the point and wanted to believe the hype so when the food writer Daniel Young organised one of his regular Pizza Tuesday events at Franco Manca Chiswick I had to give it another try.

Coming here in the evening the place was bustling. After eating some agreeable antipasti including aromatic Italian sausage (with fennel?) and braised scarole with capers (both of which a welcome antidote to the very rustic red wine) we watched the fast moving pizzaioli in action and were in sheer wonderment at the speed at which the pizzas were cooked (in seconds rather than minutes though the training the pizzaioli receive lasts six months).

A feature of the FM pizza is the thin sourdough base (slow rising to develop flavour) which is baked in 40 seconds in the extremely hot brick oven, built on site. The owner Giuseppe Mascoli explained that the starter for the dough came from eighteenth century Ischia and was fed every day with flour and water. He proceeded to show us how to roll up a slice of pizza before devouring it; we all had a go at this with varying success. It was a reminder though that pizza in Italy, or in Naples at least, is very much street food, and is not really to be eaten with a knife and fork.

The oven heats to 500˙C which explains perhaps why my original pizza on an early lunch was a bit floppy if cooked in an oven that hadn't quite reached the correct temperature. Another feature of the oven other than this extreme temperature is its low roof which helps maintain a humid atmosphere thereby helping prevent scorching. It's important that the base is well covered by the topping otherwise the fierce bottom heat of the oven coupled with the wild yeast activity in the sourdough base would create huge blisters: this is why the edge of the pizzas here are so puffy (handy too if the sauce is very runny).

There is a laudable list of ingredients and suppliers mentioned on the menu and so one imagines the margins here are not as gross as in most pizzerias. It's a shame though that the one red wine available is not chosen with the same care even if it does have the buzzword description, 'organic' (pretty meaningless in wine from a taste point of view).

We tried four different pizzas, one of which was an off piste quattro formaggi which was very popular. As the four cheeses are from Neal's Yard I suspect that if listed permanently it will have to cost considerably more than the current modest price range of £4.50 to £6.80.

my thanks to Daniel Young for allowing me to use the 2nd and 3rd video on this post. The pizza tuesday evenings cost £25

La Cucina Caldesi

2010-03-20T01:24:00.014Z

I was invited to try my hand at boning a chicken and cooking it Italian style at the cookery school which is Kitchen Caldesi (La Cucina Caldesi) in Marylebone. Any feelings of nervousness our group of food bloggers may have felt at the prospect of cutting out the carcass without cutting off the wings (or indeed our own fingers) were dispelled when we had to don aprons which looked like a cross between Brabantia bin liners and elephant condoms. Further hilarity ensued when the ebullient host, Giancarlo, having plied us with Prosecco and then demonstrated the cuts to make, reprimanded latecomers with a dry wit and quite a good line in political incorrectness. The ice was broken.

Giancarlo made boning a whole baby chicken (or poussin) look easy and indeed, with practice, one could dispatch one in about two minutes especially as we were thankfully not boning out the wings too. We proceeded to stuff our chickens with roughly chopped garlic, rosemary and chilli peppers, salt, pepper and olive oil before rolling the birds back up again. The curious name of the dish, Poussin under a Brick, (polletto al mattone) derives from the tradition of flattening the bird with a brick and leaving it to marinate. I imagine this aids carving when the bird has been roasted and stops it falling apart. We were to eat this later with rocket and potatoes roasted with pancetta.

Meanwhile, Katie was preparing gnocchi nudi or spinach, sage and pine nut gnocchi without pasta or potato (hence 'nude'). The cooked spinach was drained and then mixed with ricotta, egg and parmesan, salt, pepper and nutmeg and a little flour and then formed into quenelle shapes between two spoons.

The gnocchi were then gently poached in simmering water. Just before serving they were tossed in butter, sage and parmesan. They proved to be extremely light and digestible compared with more traditional gnocchi dumplings.

The final dish was cioccolata in tazza, a superb molten chocolate pudding containing 70% cocoa content chocolate, double cream, eggs, sugar and milk which one could drink straight from the cup it was served in. It can be further improved by the addition of brandy or grappa.

The evening was hugely enjoyable not least because of the banter between the host and the 'students'. We all sat down together to eat the food that we'd helped prepare and were served wine by the school's staff.

Various courses are available, daytime and evening, and prices start at £45. They often have guest tutors like Valentina Harris and Ursula Ferrigno both of whom I have seen in action elsewhere and who both have a similarly entertaining and no nonsense approach to Italian food. The Caldesis own the restaurant next door, Caffè Caldesi. Katie showed us her impressive new book which is the result of three intensive years studying the cooking of Italy's 20 regions.

Jack Spratt's Pigeon Salad

2010-03-19T01:17:00.003Z

One of the current food issues which excites a lot of debate is lean meat versus fatty meat. People watching their weight and cholesterol levels will choose the former and those who prize taste and succulence above all will tend to choose the latter. For it is often fat that has more flavour than flesh and it is the fat in a marbled piece of beef for instance that will provide juiciness.

However, there is a third type of meat which is lean AND tasty, AND succulent if cooked correctly, and that meat is game. We don't eat enough game in this country and yet game is plentiful, if often seasonal, and usually cheap.

Wood Pigeons are one of England's most common game birds. The breasts are often sold separately, like chickens', the rest of the bird being quite bony but handy for making stock. Because they are lean the breasts should be served pink to retain moisture: cooked well done they are dry and tough. They have a moderately strong, sometimes slightly livery taste, and I love them. It takes about 2 minutes, if that, to cook them in a hot frying pan. Do them in the oven and it's all too easy to overcook.

This warm pigeon salad took about five minutes to prepare. For wine, a slightly rustic Pinot Noir would go well, nothing too fancy. And you can have an extra glass smug in the knowledge that you've barely consumed any saturated fat. Even Jack Spratt's wife might have been impressed.

the pigeon breasts were bought at the Friday Street Farm Shop and came from The Wild Meat Company (recommended by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall), the Merlot vinegar was bought at Emmett's (a Rick Stein Food Hero), and the salad leaves were bought at the Aldeburgh Market Shop, all excellent sources of delicious, mainly local food

High Flying Wines: Enotria Annual Tasting at Millbank Tower 29th Floor

2010-03-10T00:07:00.005Z

Wines drunk at high altitudes tend to be a little mute and not show their best. For this reason, buyers acting for the airlines tend to select big and bold wines rather than shrinking violets. And even Champagne in the air doesn't taste that great, does it? Even if it's "free". I bet Dom Pérignon tasted of nothing at all on Concorde.

Well, at Enotria's annual tasting in London I wasn't quite airborne but at 29 floors high in Millbank Tower I was certainly feeling a little giddy even before I had accidently swallowed any of the hundreds of wines available (and been subjected to a grappa masterclass: see below). And it was the bolder bigger wines that stood out (though this is a common problem in eclectic wine tastings even at sea level and especially when the wines are served blind).

Enotria are one of the leading wine wholesalers so you are more likely to see their wines on a restaurant list than on the shelves of your local offie or supermarket. They made a name for themselves years ago with Italian wine but now have a portfolio ranging from Argentina to New Zealand via Israel, Spain, and England amongst others.

However, it is Italy which still seems to be the focus and fittingly one of the few producer workshops was hosted by the outstanding Valpolicella grower Bertani. We tasted three Amarone made from air-dried grapes from 2001, 1981 and 1967 which in spite of their age were still vibrantly powerful. The 2001 was all chocolate and marmite on the nose, the palate sweet fruit and light tannins. The 1981 was redolent of mushrooms, mahogany, and bonfires and the palate again had very sweet fruit. The 1967 was spicier with medicinal hints of licorice on the nose and a lot of tarry fruit on the palate. These wines were a revelation. The drying and concentrating of the grapes on straw mats and the long ageing in wooden vats renders the wines almost indestructible though they do not have any of the chewy bitterness one often finds in similarly aged and ageworthy red wines. The 15% alcohol levels probably help too.

Another trio of big, bold yet refined wines came from the Henschke family winery in Eden Valley, South Australia and were presented by the 6th generation winemaker, Johann. We tasted Cyril Henschke Cabernet Sauvignon from 2004, 2002 and 1994. I was struck by the opulence and refinement of these wines which tasted like claret with a few days extra ripening of the grapes but with none of the astringent tannins which go hand in hand with Cabernet wines from cooler climes. They do cost about £50 a bottle though. Other wines from the Henschke stable I tasted included various reds the most notable of which was the Mount Edelstone Shiraz 2005 which had power yet refinement and a long finish (£40.17). More reasonably priced were Henry's Seven SGV 2006 mainly Shiraz (with Grenache, Mourvèdre & Viognier, £15.17) and Keyneton Estate Euphonium 2004 (Shiraz, Cab Sauv, Cab Franc & Merlot, £18.99).

To Portugal next and Quinta do Crasto in the Douro Valley. We tasted single vineyard Vinha Maria Teresa 2003, 2005 & 2007, by far the best Portuguese reds I have ever tasted. They are made from up to 30 different grape varieties which are trodden by foot in the traditional way, fermented and then stored in mainly French oak barriques.

All three were incredibly concentrated, ripe, smooth and rich, like a vintage port almost but without the high alcohol (though at 14.3% to 15.4% alc not that far off). It was a pleasure to taste wines evidently destined for long life and yet so attractive to drink young. Miguel Roquette, the owner's son, was especially proud of the 2005 which had earned 96 points from Robert Parker, and pointed out that like vintage port the wines could be enjoyed young and then would enter a dormant phase before blossoming at a much later date.

This is maybe just a little fanciful as Vinha Maria Teresa has only been produced since 1998. Anyhow, these wines are produced in tiny quantities and are difficult to find though Enotria can supply the 2007 at £46.33.

But the Quinta is fairly large and quality and quantity is available at £7.27 with the fruity Douro Red 2008, and £14.27 for the spicy, clovey, more savoury Douro Reserva 2007. The Douro valley being more famous for port there was an excellent LBV 2005 on show (£11.07) alongside a vintage 2005 (£24.09). The English, port's traditional export market, tend to drink vintage port decades old but this 2005 was deliciously fruity now and didn't even need decanting as too young to have thrown a crust.

Other notable wines of the day included an outstanding 1996 vintage Champagne from Henriot, not expensive at £47.58 and far more than twice as good as the £26.36 N.V. Brut Souverain. 1996 seems to be a vintage for Champagnes that will last for ever. There was a very perfumed, bone dry, crisp 2004 Riesling cuvée Frédéric Emile from Trimbach (£26.52) which will go on and on and some very youthful, lean, lemony 2007 Meursault from François Mikulski (a village at £29.79 and three 1er cru around £46), again to keep.

I enjoyed a zesty, mineral, smoky Sancerre Blanc 2009 from Domaine des Vieux Pruniers (£10.28) and a concentrated, plummy, herby Cairanne 2007 from Domaine Brusset. From the same domain and from this same outstanding vintage a massive Gigondas les Hauts de Montmirail 2007 which could be kept or enjoyed now with a rich beef daube. These big and hefty, ambitious Côtes du Rhône wines slightly put the following trio of Châteauneuf du Pape in the shade but I enjoyed the final 2006 Domaine de la Roquète (£31.23) for its sweet fruit and complexity. I tried three Corbières from Cave de Castelmaure, all excellent and representing great value even compared to Rhône wines ranging from £6.28 (2008) to £10.14 (2007).

The final workshop was for grappa from the Nonino family in Friuli. I like grappa though found these ones a bit too smooth and sweet. This did not deter the myriad Italians who had flocked to Millbank (presumably many from Italian restaurants) who were knocking these back with gay abandon at the central bar which was groaning with little biscuits, cakes, more bottles of grappa and very fine smelling espresso machines.

The airline theme of the Enotria event was amusing though the event at times felt more like Ryan Air cattle class than Virgin Upper Class there were just so many people crammed into Altitude 360*.

The Enotria cabin crew managed to keep their sang froid though and Ben as head steward in the 'wine flights' tastings managed to chivvy along any waffling speakers as the schedule was quite tight.

NB: all precise bottle prices shown are ex VAT from Enotria

The Wine Society: a perfect wine merchant (almost)

2010-03-07T22:48:00.007Z

The Wine Society is a mail order wine merchant established in the late 19th century and currently based in Stevenage. It is one of the largest mail order merchants in the country and constantly wins gongs for the quality of the wines and service offered.

I attended a tasting of new wines to the list given at RIBA on Thursday and was impressed by the consistency of the wines and the value for money offered. Prices include delivery even if you live in the Outer Hebrides as long as you spend £75 or order at least 12 bottles. You need to be a member as the Society is actually a cooperative (the oldest winedrinkers' coop in the world) but the lifetime transferable share costs just £40. Delivery is fairly swift and if you have a problem with a wine it is replaced or refunded without fuss.

Tastings for members are regularly held around the country and for those wishing to save on the UK's punitive excise duty tax there is a shop in Montreuil-sur-Mer in northern France. A modest discount is offered to members collecting their wine from Stevenage.

I tasted 49 wines (out of 50, the last one having disappeared by the time I got to it) and there wasn't a duff one amongst them (even though some were not showing at their best the room being very warm). The tasting kicked off with a crisp, dry, pear fruit Prosecco (Treviso) at £8.95 incl. delivery, an ideal aperitif and party wine. Another good aperitif with substance to go with food too was the Manzanilla (Argüeso Las Medallas) at £6.95. Freshness is all with fragile Manzanilla and the large turnover at The Wine Society ensures this.

Notable whites included a bargain German, The Society's own label Rheinpfalz Ruppertsberg at £6.50, a floral yet dry blend of Riesling and Sylvaner and at 11.5% alc substantial enough to drink with food; still in Germany, a more traditional, sweet Piesporter Goldtröpfschen Riesling Spätlese 2005 (von Kesselstatt), oustanding at £16.95, a mere 8% alcohol but with flavour and length to belie this; and a Society own label (Exhibition) Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2009 at £10.95 which was all textbook zesty, upfront, gooseberry fruit. Thankfully, there was a cheeseboard at hand in the guise of lunch and I tucked into some excellent goat with the sauvignon (a Sainte Maure de Touraine from La Fromagerie).

More interesting foodie whites included a 2009 Grenache Blanc from South Africa (The Foundry), a bargain at £7.95 with really well integrated oak, balanced acidity, and plenty of ripe but savoury fruit. I cannot wait to serve this one blind to some unsuspecting wino friend. For a pound more the Marsanne 2008 from Tahbilk (£8.95) in Victoria, Australia again provided plenty of the savoury flavour of a southern French grape grown in an even warmer clime. Good Chardonnays included the Society's own label 2009 from Limari in Chile (a snip at £5.95 and unmatchable by Burgundians), the unoaked Chablis-like Maycas Reserva Especial 2008 (at an un Chablis-like £9.95), and the oaky, classy 2007 Dog Point from New Zealand (£17). But perhaps the white with the most amount of bang for buck was the Society's own label Sauvignon Blanc 2009 from Leyda valley in Chile (£5.95).

An interlude in the form of a rosé was provided via another Chilean, the Viña Leyda Loica Rosado 2009 (£9.50). This had tremendous character and flavour for a Pinot Noir let alone a rosé and was almost reminiscent of a red Beaujolais. In the red line up there was plenty of interest. Stand out wines included a ripe, silky claret, just suffering slightly because of the heat (château Reynon 2006, £12.95), an old fashioned spicy, garrigue herby, chewy, concentrated Côtes du Rhône 2007 (J-L Chave) which was better than many a Châteauneuf du Pape but only £12.50, a bargain basement French Full Red from Roussillon at £4.95 which I often take on picnics and to parties, and an astonishing deep, baked fruit Côtes de Roussillon Villages 2007 (château de Pena, £6.50).

From Italy I really enjoyed a complex, mature Langhe 2004 (Bricco Rosso Suagna, £6.50) from Piedmont made mainly from Dolcetto grapes with a touch of Nebbiolo, a 2007 Barbera d'Alba (Poderi Colla, £8.50), a Primitivo 2008 from Puglia (Santa Lucia, £6.50), and an Aglianico del Vulture 2003 (Alvolo £14.50). In true Italian style, these would all have benefitted from being served with food but they were not so savoury, chewy and or bitter that they weren't enjoyable on their own too.

From Spain there was a traditional, sweetly oaky Rioja Reserva 2003 (own label from the La Rioja Alta bodega, £12.95) and from New Zealand a pair of rather special Pinot Noirs, the first a Burgundian-with-benefits but without the price tag Momo 2008 from Marlborough (£11.95), and the second, a richer, more New World style but fine Dog Point 2007 (£18.50). Two more big New World reds came in the form of a Shiraz 2007 from Heartland in South Australia (£9.95) and a Shiraz 2004 from Tahbilk (£10.95). The Heartland was so concentrated it was almost salty whilst the Tahbilk was more Rhône like. And last but not least from Chile was a Merlot 2009 at a miserly £4.75 (Doña Paulina) and a Cabernet Sauvignon 2008 at £5.75 (El Polilla).

If you want to join The Wine Society, you can be either proposed by another member or a Society employee will do this for you. And thereafter, you need never lug your bottles home from the offie or the supermarket again.

Finest Fast Food: Duck Confit & Lentils

2010-03-07T11:59:00.005Z

Much as pasta at home must count as contender for Finest Fast Food, sometimes you run out of olives, or anchovies, or parmesan, or tomato sauce, or butter to mix in it with it. Or you cannot face that jar of half eaten pesto you wished you'd never bought (and always wondered what relation it had with basil). And sometimes, you run out of pasta.

If, like me, you are lucky enough to pop over to France regularly the vital thing to haul back from Carrefour and the rest is tins of preserved duck (confit de canard). These keep for ever at the back of the cupboard and, whilst I hate most tinned meat of any description, the duck contained within is delicious. The word confit, which seems to be entering common English usage, means preserve (hence confiture for jam) and the duck here is preserved in its own fat.

It's easy to prepare from scratch at home (Jean-Christophe Novelli has a good recipe in "Your Place or Mine") but takes about four days and then benefits from storing in a jar for a month or so. The duck legs are rubbed in salt (and herbs) and then left to exude moisture and are thereafter submerged in duck fat and cooked very gently for a few hours. The legs are used because they are tough and benefit from the tenderising and flavour developing effects of salting and long slow cooking. But here we want something fast and now and just want to reach for the can opener.

Turn the oven on high, preferably with the grill on too which helps to crisp up the skin, scrape the excess fat off the meat and roast for about 20 minutes. A good accompaniment are tinned lentils which just need 5 minutes in a saucepan.

You can buy cans of confit in smart delis, Harrods, and Selfridges probably, but you'll pay a lot more than in France in spite of the strength of the Euro. But it's worth splashing out because the end result is so good you could be in a restaurant in Gascony instead of in your Acton bedsit.

And a huge bonus is that you have enough fat left over in the tin to fry potatoes for the next 6 months.

Which is another contender for Finest Fast Food as long as you have some spuds to hand.

A mixed bag of Ozzie wines

2010-02-16T00:31:00.008Z

I attended a tasting recently organised by wine educators David Swaddle and Sarah Tohill. The speaker was the ebullient Ray O'Connor who was Young Wine Writer of the Year in 2007. He has spent time visiting vineyards and wineries in Australia, a country he is passionate about.

I more or less stopped drinking Australian wines (or in fact, any New World wines) when I moved to France in 2000 but having moved back to the UK recently I have inevitably ended up drinking Chilean Chardonnay instead of Mâcon, New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc instead of Sancerre, Australian Shiraz instead of Crozes Hermitage and Argentinian Malbec instead of Cahors. I still hanker after the leaner, less ripe, more acidic and tannic, food-friendly French style but I must say that through the odd New World wine event in London recently I have noticed that many wine makers are holding back on the upfront, over ripe, jammy, sweet vanilla, overly oaked, in your face tastes of the 1980s and 1990s and are making more subtle, interesting wines that benefit from ageing, and being partnered with food just like good French wines (or those from Italy, Spain etc.). As Ray said, Australia wants to lose its supermarket image.

We tasted a Wolf Blass Sparkling 2008 Yellow Label (£9.99) made by the traditional (Champagne) method from Pinot Noir & Chardonnay which had a lot more finesse than I expected with an attractive fruit and yeasty, bready character whilst remaining bone dry.

The Chardonnay Juniper Crossing 2007, Margaret River (£8.75) had a slightly reduced, sulphury nose but a very attractive pineappley, rich albeit crisp palate. I wondered what oaked Burgundy one could find any where near this bargain price.

The Riesling Annie's Lane 2006, Clare Valley (£9.99) was bone dry and had an intense lime scent and flavour and cried out for a seabass baked with a few herbs.

The Semillon Mount Horrocks, Clare Valley 2008 (£14.95) was a little subdued still (an equivalent Bordeaux would need years and years to be truly approachable) but classy with zesty fruit and well integrated oak.

Next wine was an unscheduled Mac Forbes Pinot Noir, Coldstream Hills 2008 (£22) which Ray had been given by Lance Foyster MW (whose Austrian as opposed to Australian wines shown that day at the annual event were very good). This was perhaps trying just too hard to be "French" and had, in spite of a tinned strawberries' nose, quite a tight palate with plenty of fine tannin but a green edge. I thought Chile, for example, with the same grape would offer more quality and value. I felt that at £22 this wine was encroaching on Burgundy prices too. And Ray didn't think this wine would age either.

Another unscheduled wine was Voyager Estate Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot/Malbec/Petit Verdot, Margaret River 2005 (£18) which was more successfully "French" with a Médoc-like nose, quite ripe but herbal too, a rich texture on the palate but plenty of acidity as well. I would pay the price but if you prefer something slightly less alcoholic (this was 14%) and leaner then a carefully picked petit château or cru bourgeois from Bordeaux would cost about the same if not less.

The Old Vine Shiraz "The Antiquus", Peter Lehmann, Barossa Valley 2001 at £12.50 for me was the bargain of the evening and provided a black hue, a tarry, plummy, liquorice, rubbery, complex nose and palate. Truly outstanding and still with years of life ahead of it. I imagined partnering this with well hung game. You could probably throw a really strong, mature, tangy Cheddar or Manchego at it and it would take them in its stride. A Rhône wine with this much power and flavour would cost a lot more. There are plenty of powerful Shiraz from Australia but this one had the bonus of not being 'sweet' and jammy.

The Shiraz Mount Edelstone, Henschke, Eden Valley 2005 (£50) in comparison was more refined, more French in a way with a nose very reminiscent of Northern Rhône Syrah. Again, too young but already very classy. It would have benefitted from being served before the Antiquus.

To end we had the fabled Grange, 2004 (£250+). This was completely undrinkable, black, dumb and in its shell even though it had been decanted 2 hours before. Obviously destined for a very long life, extremely concentrated, almost salty, chewy, alcoholic, impressive, though with a hint of shoe mender's glue on the nose (volatile acidity perhaps).

I shall keep trying Ozzie wines and also match them with food: all the above would have benefitted from being served à table rather than with just a few water biscuits!

A little water and a few snacks: Vintage Vodka Vertical at Bob Bob Ricard

2010-02-13T00:22:00.475Z

The first thing that strikes you about this restaurant is its name, Bob Bob Ricard. It is owned by two young men, one English, the other Russian. The Englishman is Richard, hence Ricard, and the Russian is Leonid, hence, erm, Bob. Bob owns two thirds and Ricard one thus two Bob (Bob Bob) to one Ricard (not sure if Bob, or Leonid, knows the significance of two bob as in 10p in modern parlance. Not sure either, come to think of it, whether Ric(h)ard knows the significance of Ricard, the French lorry driver's apéritif of choice). Anyway, the restaurant's stated aim is to offer posh English food all day long, and well into the night, though from a cursory glance at the menu one notices quite a Russian influence. Indeed, the point of the event I was invited to was to pair Russian vodkas, including a couple of vintage ones, to a variety of Russian hors d'oeuvres, or zakuski, and, as a sop to Ricard perhaps, a main course of beef Wellington.

I am not a great spirits drinker though enjoy peaty Islay malts with smoky kippers and recently have drunk and enjoyed Johnny Walker at Indian Zing and various malts at a Burn's Night Chinese dinner at Min Jiang. Smoked or spicy or sour food can be very challenging for most wine and I came to Bob Bob Ricard with an open mind on teaming up food with vodka.

A small group of us, all bloggers, joined the co-owners in a charming little room off the main restaurant where we were eased into the idea of spirit drinking with the house apéritif, rhubarb gin & tonic which tasted gently of fresh rhubarb. We then moved onto Kauffman Vodka 2006 which we were instructed to drink in one gulp and to follow immediately with the jellied ox tongue & creamed horseradish. The visual impact of the dish outweighed its flavour though the aspic was carefully made, very clear and not too bouncy through excess gelatine. The vodka was smooth and tasteless. Leonid explained that vodka doesn't have its own flavour and so needs to be partnered with food. Mmm.

The next dish was the cliché one associates with vodka: caviar, blinis and sour cream. In fact, caviar and blinis (and vodka) are the only Russian words I can think of which have entered the English language (though bistro we use as if it were French but it is actually the Russian for quickly). This caviar was the equivalent of Oscietre and came from Catalonia (Cold River) at a safe distance from the mafia in the Caspian Sea who control much of the traditional industry today. It was mild, delicately salty, and hardly fishy at all. The Kauffman 2003 vodka again was practically tasteless and didn't react with the fish eggs in any positive (or negative) way.

Next we had a break from vodka (the previous group of bloggers having disgraced themselves apparently) and four different dishes arrived to share: thin slices of cured Orkney beef with celeriac, blueberries & roasted hazelnuts; thin slices of pickled beetroot with goat's cheese & mint; potted shrimps; and rabbit, foie gras & date terrine.

I was hankering after wine and when launching into the goat's cheese my taste buds cried out for some sauvignon blanc. I was beginning to think the dishes were too refined and polite for my taste, ladies-who-lunch fare, but then tasted the potted shrimps which were rich, tasty and quite outstanding. Now I needed some white Burgundy! The salty butter had been softened (so often it's fridge hard) and the piscine character of the little brown shrimps had been heightened by a sleight of hand addition of anchovy (not sure if any lady-who-lunches would want to know this detail).

Just as I felt as if I was turning into a lady-who-lunches myself glasses of Russian Standard Platinum vodka were poured. The retail price of £15 a bottle was announced for this (as opposed to the £170 for the Kauffman 2003) which reassured me we might get more than just a thimbleful. This was served with salt-cured herring, raw onion & new potatoes. The vodka was tasteless (so I shall be buying this brand for home and saving £155) but somehow took the salty edge off the fish. I felt perhaps I was beginning to get the hang of this.

The next vodka was Russian Standard Imperia (£20 retail). The extra cost premium over Platinum was because of the extra filtration the spirit goes through resulting in yet even less flavour. This was served with salmon roe on hard-boiled quails' eggs. I think roe of the salmon superior, or at least tastier, to that of sturgeon and enjoyed the fishy aftertaste mingling with the fumes of the vodka. I mentioned to my erudite neighbour Sig (aka Scandilicious amongst the twitterati) that Fino sherry would have coped with the multifarious flavours we were trying but she rightly pointed out that wine transforms food whereas vodka stays in the background and at most cleanses the palate in between mouthfuls. A concept my oenophile palate was struggling with (Sig is half Norwegian).

The evening was really taking on an egg theme, appropriately so in the week leading up to Shrove Tuesday, and the next dish was quails' eggs mayonnaise with anchovies. At this stage, any ladies-who-lunch would have moved onto sorbet or been past caring and whole anchovy fillets proudly adorned each egg in a puddle of mayo. Beluga was the vodka served here.

The next dish was stand out for texture alone: perfect little meat pelmeni dumplings of sublimely smooth pasta enveloping mince. Here we were treated to Beluga Gold Line from Siberia.

Next was salo on rye bread. This is thinly sliced backfat and is a traditional accompaniment to vodka apparently. Much humour was derived by calling it lard on toast. It had a pleasant, mildly piggy taste, not as strong as Iberico ham fat. We were served Stolichnaya Gold with this which turned out to be the strongest tasting vodka of the evening; or should I say, the least mild tasting of the evening. Leonid pointed out that this vodka is made more for Western tastes and isn't one he would choose himself. I found it quite fruity and enjoyed it with the pig.

The final zakuska was malosol (lightly salted) cucumber which accompanied Stolichnaya Elit. This costs £80 retail and consequently had less flavour than the cheaper Gold. The cucumber tasted of, well, salty cucumber. As Ricard said when spotting me taking notes and the pic: "it's only a f***ing cucumber!" I felt like retaliating by pressing the button below.

After zakuski came the main course proper which was Aberdeenshire Longhorn 28-day aged beef in a Wellington with veg. The beef was good if a tad overcooked because allowed to sit (politely) under the hotlamp awaiting the extremely late arrival of a fellow diner. Now I was gagging for wine. One day, I'd like to return and try out a claret maybe from the very appealing and relatively sensibly priced wine list.

To follow, we were offered pud and I shared a very good crème brûlée which actually floored the half bottle of château Rieussec 2003. Sauternes is normally such an apt combination with this dish but perhaps wine in a half bottle from a heatwave vintage was not the ideal choice. Ricard's crème caramel was a milder match. Sig's very pretty fruit jelly tasted pleasantly vinous (ah, decent wine at last!). Ollie's soufflé looked outstanding but he wasn't sharing.

All in all, the evening was enjoyable, the staff charming, the hosts genial and an entertaining double act, natural restaurateurs in spite of their advertising backgrounds, the food refined and carefully prepared, the design of the restaurant art deco-ish, reminiscent of certain Parisian brasseries, but more darkly lit and in parts laid out like an upmarket railway wagon. The gents' loos however are not very Parisian or railway wagon and are the smartest (and amongst the cleanest) I've come across in London. Not normally worthy of a mention I know but I did regret not taking some photos. The ladies, I imagine, are sumptuous.

On my way home, I had to remind myself that vodka is the diminutive of water (voda) in Russian and I understood that taste is not really the point: clean, pure, smooth, colourless spirit is all and the more you pay, the more the spirit is distilled (and redistilled), and filtered (and refiltered) through silver, quartz and sand and so the less it has any taste. And presumably, the less it gives you a hangover. And if you drink it at 4'C to 7'C, as we did, you barely notice the alcohol, much.

I was a guest of Bob Bob Ricard at this event and the shots of the restaurant entrance & members' bar are taken from their

website.

Mussels with Mettle

2010-02-12T02:45:00.009Z

I think mussels are underrated. They are deliciously sweet, easy to prepare, nutritious, pretty, equally good raw or cooked, and plentiful in the UK and much of Europe. They are also cheap (£3.50/kg); perhaps they do not receive the recognition they deserve because of this.

Posh fish like turbot and brill and shellfish like lobster have special, often expensive implements for cooking and eating them. But when it comes to the "humble" mussel any old saucepan will do to boil them up; and then, one is expected to eat them using empty shells as utensils.

Using the shell as a kind of combined fork, knife and spoon is good though after a few mouthfuls the hinge breaks or one's fingers crush the shell in hasty enthusiasm. Through my friend Amanda at the Goldsmiths' annual fair I met a silversmith who makes these exquisite and very realistic gold-plated mussel shells which possess an indefatigable hinge and a solid sterling silver body.

Eating mussels with one of these is a real joy and whilst one might feel a little foolish using one at home whilst sprawled on the sofa watching News at Ten on the box I reckon they have their place in smart fish restaurants like Scott's, Bentley's or Sheekey's.

Just make sure the plongeur doesn't end up chucking them in the bin.

Ham, Egg & Chips

2010-02-02T19:21:00.005Z

A dish associated with greasy spoons and yet when prepared with care using good quality ingredients it is a culinary tour de force. I do not understand why it isn't seen more often on restaurant menus.

Here, the eggs were from my mother's Marans chickens, the potatoes were fried in duck fat, and the gammon ham came from Macken Brothers in Chiswick. Normally, I would boil ham in water with maybe an onion or two, studded with cloves if I had any, and parsley stalks, a bit of celery, some carrot too. But my sister Abi who is a Nigella fan (thought they were normally blokes) was dying to try out a recipe which involves Coca Cola. Having not drunk coke since the age of 8 when it was a weekly treat at the vending machine of Loughton municipal baths I wasn't sure this was a good idea. I know some fellow foodies drink it in the middle of the night when they've had too many sherberts and certain regiments use it to clean their rifles. But poaching a ham in it? Mmm.

It was one of those be kind to sister days so she won and the ham did turn out very well. The only downside to this recipe is that the poaching liquor cannot be turned into pea & ham soup, unless you're a coke head of course.

Munster Cheese & Gewürztraminer Wine: a perfect match

2010-01-24T23:43:00.017Z

Wine and food matching never excites as much debate as when the food in question is cheese. It is true that a corner of mousetrap or a wedge of supermarket Brie will take the rough edges off a glass of plonky red but great cheese deserves decent wine and the most pleasurable combination will often be with a white (not to mention a beer, cider, sherry & port, or the occasional spirit).

The problem in red wine is often the tannin which can clash with the fat in cheese, particularly the soft varieties. And, the salt in cheese goes very well with the naturally higher acidity found in most whites.

The French especially have a tendency to serve their best red wines with the cheese and many a fragile mature red Burgundy or thin old Claret is laid waste by a board groaning and reeking with impossibly strong, runny, salty, acidic cheeses of which there are hundreds in France. Far better really to serve just one cheese in perfect condition and match it with the appropriate wine. And if in doubt about which wine then sometimes local goes with local. In this case, Munster cheese from Alsace matched with white Alsatian Gewürztraminer.

Munster is a strong, 'wet rind', pooey cheese which demolishes most wines in its path. Here however, the highish alcohol, luscious texture, residual sugar and very pronounced flavour of the wine (think lychees, rosewater, and a bag full of makeup) manages to match the cheese and create some harmony in spite of the seeming odds.

Occasionally Munster impregnated with cumin is sold. This centuries-old practice came about as an aid to digestion (that well known digestif Kümmel is based on cumin) and again the aromatic spice matches the perfume of the wine (gewürz actually means spice in German) and the monster pong of the cheese. Caraway seeds served separately are also traditional. I discovered this at that Alsatian temple of gastronomy, l'Auberge de l'Ill, where the cheese course was made up of a plate of Munster in various guises including mini soufflé, mini croque monsieur, mini aumônière, fresh, solid and runny, and in the middle a bowl of caraway seeds, and on the side, a glass of fragrant, slightly sweet, vendanges tardives (late harvest), Gewürz. Perfect.

Nice Apple Tart (Aumônière aux Pommes Flambée)

2010-01-14T21:52:00.021Z

I'm a sucker for table-side preparation in a restaurant and the rare times I see "flambée" mentioned on a menu I invariably choose the associated dish. In Paris, at the great brasseries like La Coupole and Terminus Nord, I always have crêpes Suzette to give the waiter a chance to show off his pyrotechnic skills. Similarly, I enjoy raw steak tartare as, even if they only very rarely chop the beef (or horse if you're lucky) in front of you these days, they still (in France at least) blend in the raw egg yolk, Dijon mustard, chopped shallots, capers and cornichons, condiments and seasonings with a flourish at the table and ask you how daring you want to be with the tabasco.

In this simple little restaurant in Nice I spotted aumônière aux pommes on the menu followed by the magic word flambée so I had to have it. Aumônière is an old word for purse (the type one would have tied to one's belt and where we get the words alms and almoner) and here represents the pastry pouch holding the baked apple slices (and vanilla ice cream). The waiter poured Calvados over the dish and then lit it with his little Bic lighter. Notice in the short video below his forced laughter at my attempt at jocular engagement with him...

My French friend Claire points out that a true aumônière is made from pancakes and is therefore soft and bundles up like an oldfashioned purse. It's not clear to me however how one would tie it up at the top. The chef here has used (Tunisian) feuille de brik pastry which one can buy in packs of a dozen sheets from the supermarket rather like one can buy (Greek or Turkish) filo. It's less brittle than filo though and can be merely moistened and shaped in a bowl before spending a few minutes in the oven.

Porchetta Pork Out

2010-01-13T19:02:00.007Z

On a recent trip to Nice I was struck by the Italian influence on local food. There are shops solely dedicated to selling handmade pasta. Or market stalls just selling tomatoes in various degrees of sun-induced dryness. Pizza and its variants is everywhere and not just in restaurants; it is quintessential street food, as in Italy, and I saw people eating triangles of it whilst walking around, browsing in the markets, or sitting down at improvised little temporary, outdoor, snack bars. The French are normally a bit more formal and parochial in their eating habits (I pretend the only people patronising all those McDonald's are foreign tourists) and I found this approach refreshing.

But having explored the town including its most magnificent square, named after Garibaldi who was a local, I recalled that Nice and its surrounding province was only incorporated into the French Republic in 1860 when Italy was unified. Before that, Nice was part of the kingdom of Savoy which included Turin. And much of the pizza I saw being eaten was actually pissaladière, a Provençal variant of the Neapolitan dish.

On further exploration I learned that gnocchi are actually Niçois and often accompany daube de boeuf, a Provençal take on boeuf bourguignonne. Which is great because one has an excuse to sprinkle grated Parmesan all over one's plate.

Much as the French love charcuterie they are rivalled, if not beaten, by the Italians with their vast range of salume. In the narrow alleys of le vieux Nice I came across this glass cabinet containing two whole pigs bearing the label porchetta. I couldn't believe my eyes. The pigs had been completly boned out (save the head), then restuffed with meat, offal (including plenty of tripe) and herbs. It was being sold as a kind of terrine. But unlike many terrines, you could actually see the constituent parts. Back at home for dinner, the herbs turned out to be (wild) fennel and the whole thing was highly seasoned, and dryish and crumbly rather than moist and fatty. Delicious. I often serve white wine with pork terrines, patés and rillettes (demi-sec Vouvray is good) but here a robust albeit rustic red was in order and we sunk a bottle of Côtes du Rhône. A Barbera or Bardolino would have been more appropriate, I guess, but you can't expect the French to sell Italian wine, can you? Even if they are Nice French.

Breakfast with a Bite

2010-01-11T23:39:00.014Z

In our family we traditionally have smoked salmon & scrambled eggs for breakfast on Christmas Day (and I invariably serve this to French guests whenever they are staying as they find it novel and exotic... but less challenging than kippers or Full English). Buck's Fizz is de rigueur to wash it all down. On this particular occasion the supermarket-supplied ingredients all lacked impact. But, after a root around in the 'fridge for inspiration, a large splash of Campari came to the rescue for the Buck's Fizz and added bitterness and interest (and a lovely, innocent-looking grenadine hue)

And to improve the slightly bland eggs and under-smoked salmon I found some little green peppers from Galicia in Spain, pimientos de Padrón. Eating these is a bit like Russian roulette as the occasional one will be fatally fiery. It's impossible to tell from their appearance which are which. They need some hard frying in hot olive oil and then a sprinkling of sea salt. They're often served as tapas and lend themselves to being eaten by hand by their little stalks. They need something cold and wet to counteract any palate pyrotechnics and are usually accompanied in bars by a copita of chilled Manzanilla or Fino Sherry. But here, the grown up fizzy OJ was just the ticket...; it was breakfast, after all.

Lemon Posset and Ginger Shortbread

2009-12-29T01:17:00.006Z

Two really easy peasy recipes from Richard Corrigan's great book, The Clatter of Forks & Spoons. If you must drink wine with pudding then a sweet German or Austrian Riesling should cope with the lemon tartness. Sauternes would match the richness. Tokaji Aszu from Hungary is an oft overlooked wine with plenty of character and the sweetness (and acidity) to cope with many challenging puddings including this one.

Roast Guinea Fowl with apologies to Gordon Ramsay

2009-12-19T18:34:00.002Z

There's nothing more I love than cooking something and making up the recipe as I go along. For this supper video I admit I was inspired by a Gordon Ramsay article I'd read a few days beforehand. But I couldn't find it when a guineafowl appeared in Abi's 'fridge. So I stumbled through with what I could remember and with what ingredients were to hand and it ended up really delicious (if not quite 3 Michelin star quality). Oh, and whilst waiting for it to cook we had an umami moment...

Mexican Supper Club at Dock Kitchen

2009-12-16T01:20:00.019Z

I heard on the grape vine that Thomasina Miers was helping out at a one off Mexican dinner at the pop-up restaurant Dock Kitchen. She is something of an authority on the food of Mexico having cooked her way around the country and she now owns three restaurants in London (all called Wahaca). So I put myself on the waiting list as I'd read that food in Mexico is as regionally diverse as it is in Italy, it's spicily interesting due to the vast range of chillies grown there and well, I wanted to be shown that authentic Mexican has nothing whatsover to do with the vile gloop that is Tex Mex.

Dock Kitchen is run by the Moveable Kitchen company which previously specialised in popping up at odd locations all over London but now seems to be settling more permanently into this site overlooking the canal at the unsmart end of Ladbroke Grove (W10 rather than W11 for postcode snobs). The front of house staff are sweet and polite and appear to be friends giving a hand rather than the pros the River Café trained owner chefs must be. The kitchen is open plan and very calm. A set menu with everyone eating the same thing at the same time is easier to achieve than the multiple orders a normal restaurant copes with but the phlegm in the kitchen was noticeable. It's a shame then that, given the relative lack of pressure, time was not afforded for a little introductory talk about Mexican cuisine especially as no written menus were available and the waiting staff were not drilled in the naming of dishes or ingredients.

We kicked off with what looked like a deconstructed, molecular After Eight but turned out to be (Tommi kindly sent me the menu a couple of days later) blue tortilla chips (quite brown actually) and octopus swimming in lime juice & chilli water ("Agua Chile"). This very sour northern Sinaloan recipe was a real palate sharpener and I realised that I was going to be drinking the beer I'd brought rather than the southern French red wine which was completely floored (Costières de Nîmes from Nicolas). The very hoppy old fashioned India Pale Ale (from Meantime Brewery) coped deliciously with this assault (the restaurant doesn't yet have a license so is BYO; hopefully it will one day list this classic, full-bodied IPA).

After those palate fireworks, we had this soothing dish of vermicelli pasta, white crab meat, coriander, and smoked Jalapeno pepper sauce (according to the waitress but Chipotle according to Tommi's notes). You needed to take quite a mouthful of crab to notice it (perhaps brown meat would have been better than white) and the chilli was quite strong, tasting as it did of a smokey Wurst, but overall an interesting, enjoyable dish, and 'cooling' after the first course. The dish is called "Fideus" and comes from Veracruz on the east coast (whence certain Mediterranean influences like olives & capers).

Next came slow cooked pork shoulder with achiote spice served with greens in crème fraîche and habanero salsa (from the Yucatan peninsula via a farm in Kent). This was tender and tasty pork some of which had crispily caught on the sides of the pan. The greens were a little underwhelming but we learned later that in Mexico they would be pepped up with chillies. Perhaps the yellow chilli salsa was supposed to be mixed in with the veg. We were served some doughy tortillas; I'm not sure what these are for but Abi suggested I put bits of pork, greens and salsa into one and roll it up. I remonstrated that this reminded me of a Tex Mex sarnie (fajita?) but I did it anyway so as not to offend her.

The India Pale Ale was so delicious that I forgot to snap the orange "nieve" ice which was like a grown up orange squash made with orange and tequila. There followed these chocolate truffles. One was almost savoury, its cocoa content in inverse proportion to its sugar content. The other packed a really hot chilli punch; how nice not to end a meal on a sweet note whilst eating chocolate.

Seabass from Aldeburgh

2009-12-04T00:06:00.015Z

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I picked up some seabass caught that very morning by Dean Fryer off the beach at Aldeburgh. You can watch me cook it somewhat cackhandedly in the short video. I should have perhaps used some greaseproof paper or, better still, some baking parchment to stop the skin sticking to the foil. Or, just been more thorough in oiling and salting the fish all over. Seabass is not very firm so falls apart more easily than say bream. It is delicious when fresh like this but isn't packed with flavour. It deserves decent wine but something not too powerful. A Meursault or good Mâcon might overpower it. Perhaps a minerally Chablis 1er Cru would do the trick or something from Galicia like an Albarinho or Godello, both mineral again but also with a touch of peachy perfume to go with the ginger. We drank a zesty young Sauvignon from Chile which worked but seabass deserves something classier (especially when it outprices the wine threefold).

Larry Lobster bites the dust

2009-11-29T22:24:00.017Z

One of the huge benefits of living on the coast in a place like Aldeburgh (in fact, the main benefit) is having a fisherman like Dean Fryer on your doorstep selling that day's catch. Normally, when he catches lobsters in his pots he boils them and sells them pink and ready to devour cold with, say, mayonnaise. If you catch him early (or phone him the day before) he'll have a lobster live for you which is what you want if you want to grill or fry and benefit from a secret ingredient within.

To kill Larry humanely you chill him down gradually in the 'fridge (with a damp cloth over him) and then when he's pretty still you put him in the freezer to send him into a coma. A couple of hours later when he's completely still you can cut him in half. He might wriggle a bit but that's just his overdeveloped nervous system whose sensibility is in inverse proportion to the size of his brain. It doesn't hurt.

The secret ingredient you don't really notice (or might not eat) if you buy your lobster cooked and which is ignored also by most restaurants who use live lobsters is the tomalley which is the liver (above). It is absolutely delicious just briefly fried in butter and spread on toast but a top chef like Anton Mosimann will be using it to enrich a complicated sauce to accompany the lobster. On cooking it goes from a beige colour to green. It doesn't taste remotely fishy. It's a kind of foie gras from the sea. Or for those of you who don't eat foie gras, perhaps it's similar to calf's brains. I must say I did feel a little like Hannibal Lecter when scooping out the wobbly organ above.

Curiously, even lobster suppliers tend to ignore this delicacy. Once the tomalley has been removed the lobster is ready to grill. The inedible "dead men's fingers" or gills can be taken out now though it's probably easier to do this when the lobster is cooked. Now is the time for the cook to have a break, prewarm the grill, make some toast, open the wine, spread the fried tomalley on the toast and test the wine. By the time this is done the grill is hot enough to place Larry cut in half under the grill with a knob of butter on each half. He only needs about 10 minutes when he'll have gone from jet black to a beautiful orangey pink. He doesn't need seasoning because he's naturally pretty salty. This gives the chef the time to appreciate the wine and decide whether the temperature is correct and whether the wine needs decanting to aerate it a bit if it's a bit too young.

Larry weighing in at about 1 1/2 pounds was a bit too high for my grill so I ended up frying him.

The tail meat is normally most highly prized by fans but I actually prefer the claw which is juicier and less firm. But for me the real treat is the shell and crunching on the crunchy bits which have slightly caught under the grill or in the frying pan. These bits are really sweet and exotic tasting, almost like a piece of pork crackling. The best bits are the eyes.

If just boiling a crustacean I prefer crab because I like the brown meat which has more taste and in a crab is more plentiful (and more easily accessible) than the white. However, a grilled, or fried, lobster (or for that matter, langoustine) is the king and the reaction of dry heat (plus butter) against shell produces an incredible, complex sweetness which begs to be tempered by the very finest white wine. The usual choice would be Burgundy but why not young, very cold Sauternes (especially if the shellfish is accompanied by a creamy sauce flavoured with saffron)?

In my case, I couldn't stretch to the finest Burgundy though this Mâcon Cruzilles 1999 dom Guillot Broux did its best to impersonate something grand from the Côte d'Or with its smoky, nutty nose and buttery, rich albeit crisp palate.

A perk for the greedy chef is to mop the pan with a piece of bread. The combination of caramelised shell juice and brown butter is the stuff made of (sweet) dreams. Just make sure you use unsalted butter, preferably French. Salted burns too easily. And don't throw the empty shell away..... save for stock to make bisque or risotto.

Lunch at Hereford Road, Notting Hill

2009-11-26T01:18:00.008Z

I received an email last week from an outfit called Taste Club of which I was apparently a 'member'. It invited me to buy a place for a 'Taste Tuesday' lunch, proceeds of which (well, some of the profit I guess) would go to the StreetSmart charity. The name Taste reminded me offputtingly of a glossy food magazine back in the 1980s featuring elaborate, often foreign recipes but the names Hereford Road and Tom Pemberton leapt out of the email and screamed 21st century back-to-basics, offally good English food. And the St. John trained chef was going to do a demo for us. I had to give it a go.

There was no one from Taste Club to greet members and I was shown on arrival straight to an extremely comfortable but lonely 4 seater booth. I hoped that I'd be joined by some greedy and hillarious fellow club members or at least have a waitress (or the promised chef) to chat to but bonviveur members of any club were perhaps in St. James's, and the waitress and chef were busy. I thought clubs were supposed to be about conviviality and the sharing of common interests but what members there were (identifiable by the smart blue Taste Club menus on their tables) were too far apart to communicate. But it is early days for Taste and I hope membership increases and the concept takes off.

After fiddling with a glass of Laurent Perrier I was summoned to the open kitchen where Tom talked us through the meal we were going to have. He briefly explained his ethos carried over from being head chef at St. John Bread & Wine of using all the bits of the animal and using sympathetic preparation and cooking techniques appropriate for all these bits. In his quiet, unassuming way he managed to convey considerable passion and knowledge about the ingredients and their sourcing and careful handling. He assembled a salad starter for us whilst explaining the brining of lamb's tongues and the blanching and peeling of the "rather membraneous" lamb's sweetbreads. Whilst he spoke we chomped on sublime little fried crostini of smoked cod's roe which finally gave meaning to the lean and rather fresh, lemony Champagne. But being 1pm and a restaurant with only two chefs there were other fish to fry and we had to reluctantly leave the kitchen behind and go back to our booths.

The sensational starter of Lamb's Tongues, Sweetbreads, Pearl Barley & Mint was served with plenty of chopped flat leaf parsley and the odd tiny caper in a light oil & lemon dressing. The tongues which had had 2 weeks in brine were tender and subtle but were outlambed by the caramelised sweetbreads which tasted very lamby (wonder what mutton sweetbreads taste like) and left a pleasant sticky residue on my teeth. The whole dish had character a plenty but was light and balanced and the glass of house white (billed as Sauvignon) was a pleasant enough foil.

The next dish drew gasps of amazement from around the room as each table received a whole oxtail, enough to feed 3 or 4. I was not complaining and tucked straight into melting, fibrous, unctuous meat, tender from 6 hours braising in carrot and onion sweet stock. The carrots had had several hours too and only managed to stay whole as they hadn't been peeled and so the skin held them together. The jus was redolent of herbs (mainly rosemary) and had a slightly syrupy consistency from the gelatine oozing from the bones. The buttery rich mash was perfect for soaking up the juices (why wasn't Pierre Koffmann's mash made like this?).

Evidently, the dish was intended for more than one but I managed to finish it as, like the starter, it was balanced, subtle but flavoursome. A glass of plummy house red (billed as Côtes du Roussillon) was again a pleasant, innocuous foil letting the dish speak for itself.

Even I needed a bit of a rest after that and this rather odd-looking but refreshing pud turned out to be the best sorbet I have ever had. It was creamy but light, tasting more of oranges than oranges themselves, and was slightly molten like a granita because of a splash of homemade sloe gin (the sloes came from the lamb supplier). The tuile was buttery but again super light. The preferable order of cheese following pud allowed us port or sherry to finish off the meal. Cashel Blue went really well with my glass of figgy, treacly Pedro Ximenez which did rather swamp the overly youthful Montgomery Cheddar and something rather mild called Coddlestone, the only false note in an otherwise brilliant lunch. Oh, and the long flat crostini to go with the cheese were embedded with cumin seeds which underlines this chef's attention to detail. As a postscript, I think for future Taste Club events the chef should try and come around towards end of service to chat about the food. One can grill the waiting staff but when the response to each question is "I'll go and ask" you soon feel you're upsetting their service routine. I didn't ask about the wine because I overheard the neighbouring table being informed that the Côtes du Roussillon was "French" when a query was made.

Roll Mop Herrings

2009-11-23T22:34:00.004Z

It's the herring season in Aldeburgh at the moment and whilst the 'Silver Darlings' taste great just grilled and eaten with toast and scrambled eggs it's a shame not to buy them in bulk once you've had your fill (5 lb for £5 from Dean Fryer on the beach) and preserve them. Turning them into rollmops is a cheap, delicious, easy way of doing this.

The fillets need to be brined in salty water for 3 hours. Meanwhile, boil up some cider vinegar with bayleaves, allspice berries, finely chopped onion, a tablespoon of sugar, peppercorns and a little orange peel. Allow this to cool then jar up the herring fillets in the pickle.

The recipe's in Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's "Fish" tome. He says the jars need to be sterilised but if you're eating the fish within days this is not essential.

The vinegar solution seems to dissolve the pinbones which saves a lot on labour trying to pick them out. Curious because the pinbones when eating kippers are so much more noticeable... and irritating.

The fish is a bit of a challenge for wine except maybe a young Sauvignon. An alternative could be some kind of schnapps or aquavit. The problem is the vinegar.

Or perhaps no booze is needed at all. The fish is really soft and the onions crunchy and aromatic. Bread is the thing or maybe a few waxy potatoes cooked in their skins.

Foie Gras for Impecunious Piscivores

2009-11-17T15:14:00.008Z

When you buy, or catch, a herring you get a lot more than just a couple of fillets.

You get a load of roe (from the female) and millet (from the male).

Both are excellent to eat. The roe's firm and grainy, the milt really soft and creamy.

Spot the sperm.

The best way to cook these is to dust them in seasoned flour and fry them for 5 minutes being careful not to let them catch and then squeezing some lemon onto them and finally adding a sprinkling of chopped flatleaf parsley. Serve them on buttered sourdough toast.

The roe has slightly more flavour though is not remotely fishy. The milt (above) is reminiscent of fresh foie gras straight out of the frying pan (foie gras poêlé) but without the guilt feeling. Actually, it has less taste than foie gras but the same molten, slippery unctuosity; perhaps it's more like calf's brains.

Talking of guilt, perhaps one should worry about eating thousands of eggs and thousands of sperms. But, at least these little fish lived in the wild off the coast at Aldeburgh until they were caught. And Hugh Fearnley-
Whittingstall eats them so it must be ok.

One thing though; out of 6 randomly chosen fish, 5 were blokes. It must be quite competitive out there in the North Sea.

Poached Eggs on Toast - à la Bourguignonne

2009-11-12T09:46:00.004Z

For those of you who missed breakfast this morning how about these eggs for brunch? Oeufs en Meurette is not a dish you're likely to come across in a greasy spoon or even the the most Francophile of gingham cloth-bedecked bistrots but it makes for the perfect (late) breakfast. Instead of poaching eggs in boring old water they simmer away in the winiest of bourguignonne sauces, redolent of smokey bacon (lardons fumés) and enriched with a little beurre manié (butter mixed with a little flour). A sprinkling of chopped parsley is traditional at the end (good for vitamin C - who needs orange juice?) and then the whole thing gets plopped onto toast, preferably thickly sliced sourdough (pain au levain).

Roast Pheasant TV Dinner

2009-11-09T13:48:00.002Z

Wine Gang Wine Fair at Vinopolis

2009-11-07T08:04:00.007Z

For those of you in or near London there is a wine fair on at Vinopolis next to Borough Market today. I have just seen the line up of wines on show in the 50 page brochure and there is a huge choice of carefully chosen wines from leading merchants and retailers. The fair is organised by wine blogger Thirstforwine and the Wine Gang whose members are leading wine journalists. Come and join us: http://thewineganglive.com/

The Food is the Star: choucroute garnie

2009-11-06T01:33:00.006Z

Sometimes, well, often actually, you don't need to concern yourself too much with what drink you have with your food. A guide is to drink what the locals drink. In wine and beer producing Alsace white wine made from Riesling, or lager beer, are traditional with the local choucroute. But acidulated fermented cabbage was never going to be a great friend to anything subtle and refined. The refreshing thirstquenching and digestive properties of the liquid are all so here an ordinary Riesling and a very ordinary (yes Dutch, wrong country) lager went down a treat with a family Sunday lunch in Dijon of choucroute, saucisse de Morteau, various bits of brined tender pork including shin and knuckle, and dense, waxy, perfectly cooked and carefully peeled potatoes. Though hailing from cabbage-producing Alsace it is a favourite dish all over France though it does have a distant German cousin by the name of sauerkraut.

Anchor & Hope Blow Out

2009-10-28T00:20:00.015Z

Some foodie friends from Suffolk were up in London recently, staying in Waterloo. They have just had a baby and this was their first evening off having put the baby in the care of a grandparent. They were particularly hungry and were keen to try out some local, cutting-edge metropolitan restaurant within easy reach of a panicking grandfather.

Well, the Anchor & Hope is not exactly cutting edge but it's an excellent place, about as good as (pub) food gets, the atmosphere is convivial if noisy, it's informal, and the dishes lend themselves to sharing.

Whilst contemplating the menu we had pints of well-kept Young's Ordinary (£3) and then kicked off with Quince and Prosecco fizz as an aperitif (£4.60) whilst sitting at the bar waiting for a table (there is a no-booking, first-come first-serve policy except on Sunday lunch). There were some tempting looking pâté-laden crostini on the bar which were slightly out of reach because of the sheer number of punters ordering drinks (Monday evening, around 7). The three of us were eventually shown to a tiny corner table which we knew would not be big enough for all the dishes we were going to order. But as soon as another larger table became free we were offered it graciously by the waiter (but carried over all the paraphernalia ourselves).

We tried Artichoke Vinaigrette (£4.80) which was what it said on the tin. Very plain, French home food but novel in a London restaurant. I had to show the Suffolktons how to peel the leaves and scrape the flesh off the ends using teeth. Whole Crab Mayonnaise (£8.40) again was what the tin said. And it was very sweet, fresh and juicy and the mayonnaise made in-house (why do Loch Fyne restaurants refuse to make their own mayo? grrrrr). Great diet food as it takes so long to pick out the meat that you end up ignoring other dishes. But we were too greedy for that and were soon tucking into Smoked Cod's Roe on Toast, Cucumber & Crème Fraîche (£6) which was just that and really good. The cream was probably unnecessary but the cucumber had been peeled, salted and then lightly pickled and went well with the salty fish.

Hot dishes were Salt Beef, Beetroot & Horseradish Broth (£5) which was very satisfying, the beef melting, the beetroot sweet and fruity, the horseradish cream giving the dish a kick; I could have had this one twice over and slightly resented having to share it. Red Gurnard, its Broth & Aïoli (£13.80) was OUTSTANDINGLY good, simpler and better than Bouillabaisse at a fraction of the price (please Chelseafish, don't tell me gurnard is on the endangered list).

Hare & Mashed Celeriac (£13.80) was well done, flaky but not dry leg meat on the bone in a winey jus with real depth. Could have had more juniper maybe but this went really well with the old fashioned, gamey, truffley, beetrooty 12 year old Rioja Alta Gran Reserva 904 which we managed to drink from real wine glasses as opposed to the ludicrously trendy Duralex school tumblers on other tables which do nothing for fine wine (St. John Restaurant please note).

Roast & Confit Mallard, Coco Beans, Kale & Damson (£28 for two) was cooked to perfection (but not very Delia) with really rare breast served on the carcase and the separate legs done confit, really tender, not too salty; shame that in France you never get breast AND leg served like this together. Roast Middlewhite, Pumpkin & Cured Ham, Bramley Apple Sauce (£16) was really sweet, moist, pale meat in a broth with soft, yielding ham. The apple was best avoided with the wine (as was the damson in the duck dish). Whole Roast Seabass (£32.80 for two) was off but that is a fish you can pick up off the beach in Suffolk and cook yourself quite easily and Slow Cooked Lamb Shoulder and Gratin Dauphinois at £65 for five-ish might have been a bit greedy.

However, there was room for puds (and cheese) and we chose the whole lot. Lemon Queen of Puddings (£5) was a lovely soft meringuey sort of thing and quite refreshing after the protein overload beforehand. Pear & Almond Tart (£5) was just that, Buttermilk Pudding & Scottish Raspberries (£4.80) a great way to neutralise some of the tartness of the fruit, Damson Icecream (£2.40 per scoop) damsomy, and the star Soufflé Beignet, Stewed Bramley & Vanilla Icecream (£5) which was perfectly crispily fried churros (not sure why chef Trish Hilferty chose a French name for these) with stewed apple. We had our Mr Creosote moment with the cheese (at £7.40, more than at Pierre Koffmann's but at least the cheese was at room temp and not fridge cold) and reluctantly ate it fearing detonation. It was served with a whole apple cut in half, but not peeled or cored, which somehow sums up the welcome lack of pretension of the Anchor & Hope.

As in so many restaurants however, wine service could have been better. Whilst the normal tumblers were replaced with wine glasses for the (£50) Rioja, this red wine whilst excellent was served too warm. The Viré Clessé 2005, André Bonhomme (£25) was noticeably corked but the waiter wanted to fetch a superior before accepting our mutual rejection of the wine. The second bottle was even worse at which point the manageress suggested we have something else; logically, we should have been offered a 3rd bottle. We settled for Limoux Chardonnay 2007, Toques & Clocher (£29) which was actually very good and coped more or less with the mix of starters. A fruity, spicey Douro 2007, Vinha de Palestra (£20 and again, too warm) helped the cheese go down. The list usefully serves six whites and five reds and one rosé by the 375ml carafe aswell as 125ml glass but if you want to smell the wine refuse the school canteen tumbler.

Truffle Omelette

2009-10-26T17:30:00.013Z

After the sumptuous dinner at The Harrow I was kindly given a couple of small truffles by the Trufflehounds to play with at home. I picked up half a dozen fresh eggs laid by my mother's hens in Dorset and packed them into a small tupperware box along with the pair of truffles hoping that magic things would happen to the flavour of the eggs before I turned them into an omelette. A couple of days later I took a sniff and was almost overwhelmed by the scent, or should I say fumes, reminiscent of shoemaker's glue. Others with me suggested petrol and ethanol. Not necessarily very appetising but certainly intriguing and somehow compelling (if not downright addictive).

After four days I sliced the truffles thinly, sweated them in butter and then poured in the seasoned beaten eggs to make a scrambled omelette which three of us ate straight from the pan.

The truffles had definitely perfumed the eggs (the inside surface of the shells was very aromatic) but that gluey, estery smell did not transmute the flavour; instead, the truffles were pleasantly nutty and slightly 'high' hinting at decay and earth, the eggs a lovely rich umami accompaniment.

Truffle & Ozzie Wine Fest at The Harrow in Little Bedwyn

2009-10-21T18:12:00.032+01:00

I made the journey down the flooded, leaf-strewn narrow lanes of this beautiful and seemingly isolated (albeit M4-friendly) part of Wiltshire looking forward to a multi-course truffle dinner organised at The Harrow at Little Bedwyn.

I did wonder though if, yet again, I'd be underwhelmed by black truffles. I'd had them from the markets in Beaune and Carpentras before, I'd been on a forage in St. Bris le Vineux, I'd unearthed them in the Lubéron where I'd packed them into a box of fresh eggs and a tin of Arborio rice hoping that their supposedly magic olfactory properties would symbiotically transform any subsequent omelette or risotto I made from them. But it seemed to me that truffles were more about smell and less about taste.

Well, the dish on the bar of glistening black truffles that greeted us on arrival was certainly promisingly aromatic and I just hoped that the wafts of gamey, musky, fruity earthiness reaching our nostrils would not dissipate before chef-patron Roger Jones had managed to trap at least a little taste for our palates in the menu. The other challenge for the evening was to convince me that Australian wine goes with subtle, refined Michelin-star food without smothering it with over-extracted, rich ripe fruit, unsubtle vanillary new oak and too much alcohol. Sandro Mosele the winemaker at Kooyong Estate on the Mornington Peninsula south of Melbourne, Victoria was on hand to do the convincing with his wines by matching them to Roger's dishes.

Before attacking the first course we had some Taittinger Brut enlivened by deliciously fresh crab & cucumber bites (well, licks, as these were served on small spoons passed around on trays) and lightly smoked tiny chunks of salmon. We listened to the local farmer who has chanced upon what might be the most fecund patch of truffle-laden forest in Europe, if not the world. The past 4 years have yielded over a ton of commercially viable, worm-free, intact truffles. The whereabouts of this 10 acre chalky patch of mainly beech and hazel forest are necessarily kept secret but I have been invited to go and have a look as long as I am escorted there blindfolded.

The first course consisted of a large dim sum like dumpling of lobster in a light chicken broth scented, and slightly crunchy with nutty truffle.

This was an elegant and subtle foil for the very Burgundian Kooyong Estate Chardonnay 2004 though perhaps a richer and creamier lobster dish (bisque-style maybe) would have better matched the oakiness of this Chassagne Montrachet lookalike.

But then, we might not have been hungry for the next course of a stunningly ambrosial, rich, wild mushroom and truffle risotto where the slices of truffle were soft rather than crunchy and seemed to flavour the dish more convincingly than in the broth (perhaps with the helping hand of a drop of truffle oil added just before serving?). The even more Burgundian Kooyong Faultline Chardonnay 2004 was more than a match for this dish with its honeyed, creamy palate redolent of hazelnuts. Both chardonnays had great acidity like proper Burgundy from a classic vintage and price tags approaching Burgundy prices too (at £18.95 and £27 retail respectively) but, unlike Burgundy of a similar age, these wines are mature and perfectly formed right now. So, representing great value if carefully oaked, nutty, crisp Chardonnay with great length is your thing (if not, it should be!).

Next dish was a chunky pork & truffle terrine containing nuggets of moist pork, nutmeggy black pudding, foie gras, thinly sliced truffle and incredibly soft pork fat almost like lard; the whole was wrapped in hammy, English 'prosciutto'. The Kooyong Estate Pinot Noir 2006 (retail £19.95) was lean and mean like a young red Burgundy and French oak still dominated the nose. However, the wine opened up in the glass over time and the fruit started coming through. There was a puddle of beetroot purée under the terrine which echoed the wine's fruit but the two whites were at least as good with this dish with their pronounced, citrussy acidity going with the saltiness of the meat and cutting through the richness. I thought the pork in the terrine had been confit (salted then gently poached in fat) but apparently had been poached overnight in veal stock at 75°C. It was really succulent and I wonder why more terrines are not made like this.

The second Pinot Noir was Kooyong Ferrous 2004 (retail £27) which, with the advantage of 2 extra years ageing had a more open, evolved, almost gamey nose, with great fruit concentration on the palate, lowish tannin and a fair amount of acidity. A great, balanced Pinot Noir which blind could be taken for a well made Côte d'Or Burgundy. The grilled turbot it accompanied was crying out for the Faultline Chardonnay. I know that low tannin, high acid reds do go with fish; I just prefer white. Perhaps it's the lemony finish on the Chardonnays so good with fish that is missing from the Pinot Noirs. The fish had a wonderfully gelatinous consistency in the skin (even though it had been grilled) and firm flesh. It was in a truffley broth with a few tiny morels, some runny mash and peas. A great dish,the fish just lacking a little salt.

The 2 chardonnays left in my glass 1 hour later were still full of vitality and very long. Next wine was Kooyong Clonale Chardonnay 2007 (retail £13.95) which was a noticeable step down in concentration though very attractive; more Mâcon than Côte d'Or.

It could not match however the intensely anchovy Welsh Rarebit which really needed a glass of Fino Sherry (or Alvear Montilla, which The Harrow has on its comprehensive list).

Next wine was Kooyong Massale Pinot Noir 2008 (retail £14.95) which had lovely cherryish fruit, fine tannins, fresh acidity and a slightly bitter finish.

A delight on its own (or with a plate of charcuterie perhaps) but floored by the challenging pudding of blackberry crumble, blackberry jelly, and creamed cheese ice cream. To be fair, most whites, sweet included, would have clashed.

The outstanding ice cream was reminiscent of those served in the Basque country of Northern Spain; a cheesy, slightly sour and salty cream, great with the darkly acid fruit.

The service orchestrated by Sue Jones with her able manager Heather was smooth and smiley. The farmers, who call themselves the Trufflehounds, spoke eloquently about their truffle treasure find. Their truffles are available at Borough Market through The Wild Mushroom Company and at Truffle UK Ltd. Sandro the wine maker was tired after a marathon tour doing tastings all over the country but did explain that his aim was to make food-friendly wines from hand picked grapes from his own land and that the Mornington Peninsula with its relatively cool, atypically Australian maritime climate is perfect for making balanced, fresh wines from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir which have a sense of place. All quite novel in an Australian context.

Pierre Koffmann's Restaurant on the Roof at Selfridges

2009-10-19T11:40:00.003+01:00

A 360 degree clip of Pierre Koffmann's Restaurant on the Roof

I never got to go to Pierre Koffmann's restaurant when it was open in the 1980's & 90's. I kept hearing and reading how good the food was but every time I tried to book the place was full.

I had to content myself with his book Memories of Gascony and imagine his food through eating at his ex-students' places like Marco Pierre White's Harvey's.

Then he sold up and fell off most people's radar screens. So when I heard he was back in town in a pop up restaurant I joined the queue on the phone to book a table without knowing what was going to be served, how much it was going to cost, and indeed, without knowing what Michelin star food would be like served in a tent on the roof of a department store.

On the whole I wasn't disappointed but perhaps slightly underwhelmed. Flavours were a little mute, service friendly but patchy, and the tent whilst being very light and airy had an irritatingly bouncy floor.

Perhaps my expectations were too high. And food in restaurants (and pubs and bars) is so much better these days than it was a decade or so ago, at least in London.

A pre-starter of langoustine bisque with a langoustine raviolo set the tone for a meal of high quality ingredients classically transformed into refined dishes which, by balancing richness and lightness, sometimes lacked impact.

I shared my £75 menu with Abi and my view of the rest of the meal follows in the next three blog posts:

Foie Gras & Snails

Trotter & Hare

Pistachio Soufflé & Walnut Tart

Listen!

Pierre Koffmann's Foie Gras & Snails

2009-10-19T11:30:00.011+01:00

Abi chose Pan Fried Foie Gras with a Potato Galatte (sic) and Sauternes Jus.

The liver was cut thickly, well seared but just done in the middle: perfect.

This was a refined, subtly flavoured piece of offal, perhaps from a goose rather than a duck?

The Galette was a crispy foil for the wobbly liver and the jus came with a couple of smears of bright green apple which tasted of rhubarb and gooseberry.

A surprisingly trendy foam was sprayed over the liver (or had a snail escaped from my plate and crawled over?)

The Fricassé (sic) of Wild Mushrooms and Snails with Bone Marrow was a small portion of tiny bits of mushroom not easily identifiable (shame when the markets are heaving now with ceps and girolles) with some curiously bland though pleasingly soft snails.

The star of the dish was sadly only 2 crostini (or should it be croûtes?) of bone marrow.

A whole dish of these would have been just the ticket.

Pierre Koffmann's Trotter & Hare

2009-10-19T11:15:00.006+01:00

This is the iconic dish of Pierre Koffmann, 3 Michelin Star Chef of the 1980's & 90's. Looks revolting, doesn't it? The trotter looks, well, like a pig's trotter, or a peeled puppy lying on its front next to a quenelle of taramasalata. But, the trotter didn't taste doggy (well, I don't think dogs taste of pork) and the pink mash didn't taste fishy. Unappetising appearances aside, the dish was enjoyable though the mash of "Burgundy Potato" (whence the colour) could have been lighter, more buttery and less gloopy. It seemed to have been overworked (with a blender?). Marco Pierre White's homage version at the Hyde Park Hotel back in the early 90's was certainly better and relied on its smoothness by being pushed through a tammy strainer (twice) and containing a ratio of butter to potato of about 1:1 in true 3* Michelin fashion. This trotter was almost completely boned out and contained carefully cooked calf's sweetbreads and the odd tiny morel (adding a contrast of dark colour to the pallid glands rather than much flavour) all set in an eggy mousseline held by the wobbly pig skin.

The puddle in the plate was an (overly) sweet, sticky, old-school reduction. Minimal texture relief was provided by a thin disc of rolled crispy pig's belly.

In all, a good dish if you like plenty of soft, pillowy, marshmallowy sensations on the palate (but watch out for the toe bones).

An altogether more satisfying dish was the one chosen by Abi which was Royale de Lièvre with Buttered Taglietelle. The pasta alone was worth the journey and was silkily soft and, well, pasta-ry, and needed no accompaniment other than the butter. The hare came three ways with a meatloaf slice of confit hare with a nugget of foie gras in the centre, a faggot of shredded leg meat and offal, and a few slices of fried saddle.

The hare could have been gamier but this being a French restaurant the wow factor was provided by elaborate techniques used such as the long slow confit cooking of the meat to produce the succulent 'terrine' where the foie gras in the centre was perfectly cooked, the long slow braising of the leg meat for the faggot which had a tremendous, winey depth of flavour and even the long slow cooking of the almost caramelised, sweet carrots.

Pierre Koffmann's Pistachio Soufflé, Pistachio Ice Cream & Walnut Tart

2009-10-19T11:00:00.004+01:00

This was the highlight of my lunch. A beautifully risen soufflé (how often do you see people eating soufflés these days?) with a scoop of ice cream plopped into the middle by the waitress.

The soufflé was very eggy and rich but deceptively light at the same time.

There were quite big flecks of egg white still visible implying the mix had not been overstirred thereby ensuring an airy lightness.

The chocolate dusting around the edge of the dish helped the soufflé climb out of the ramekin and made a pretty, and tasty, contrast to the pale green soufflé.

Walnut Tart was a generous serving of heavy looking pastry but again achieved that balance between rich and light.

Crisp pastry with caramelised walnuts set in a walnut liqueur-heady crème pâtissière which was light on the cornflour.

We did share a plate of cheese before the pud for a relatively reasonable sounding fiver supplement (often much more these days, even in pubs).

Disappointingly, the slivers of cheese (4 French, 1 Swiss) were ice cold. Evidently, not many people were ordering cheese to warrant it being kept out of the fridge. Shame.

But we needed it to finish off the rather acid, slightly overextracted Saumur Champigny '06 from Sébastien Bobinet.

Giant Lobster & Giant Wine

2009-10-15T21:56:00.007+01:00

This giant 5 to 6 pound lobster was caught off the Suffolk coast near Orford and boiled in seawater and then served cold. It provided a feast of a starter for 6. It was probably 30 to 40 years old.

We did it justice with the giant bottle of white on the right... the briny lobster bringing out the intense minerality of this outstanding Meursault and the wine still so crisp and fresh at 17 years old slaking our resultant thirst.

(the reds went with steak by the way... but not any old steak: rib of beef aged for 38 days). The host was Julian from Seckford Wines (hence the splendid line up in the picture).

Another Great Match... chablis & langoustines

2009-10-09T18:31:00.002+01:00

This unoaked Chardonnay is restrained enough not to dominate gently boiled and refreshed langoustines (here, they're still alive) and has enough bite still to cut through the accompanying mayonnaise.

A Great Match... chablis & oysters

2009-10-09T17:24:00.004+01:00

These wild oysters gathered minutes before have an intensely briney, almost bitter twang to them. Never have oysters needed a squeeze of lemon or spoonful of shallot vinegar less than these. However, they are thirsty work and the wine quenches that thirst and brings out the mineral character of the mollusc. And the mollusc reciprocates and accentuates the mineral, stoney, almost 'oystery' character of the wine; after all, the soil in Chablis is made up of oyster shells. But choose your Chablis carefully as some Grand Cru are aged (and even fermented) in oak and should be treated like top Côte d'Or whites to go with turbot, halibut, Dover sole etc.

A Couple of Old Scrubbers... Jean-Marc Brocard & I cleaning oysters

2009-10-09T16:43:00.004+01:00

The older scrubber is Jean-Marc Brocard from Chablis who makes wines which go so well with those being scrubbed. Incidentally, the water is spotlessly clear and clean; the orange tinge comes from the peat over which this burn flows on the Isle of Mull. The oysters were gathered at low tide 100 yards away and were subsequently eaten at high tide 30 yards away.

A Perfect Snack for Lunch... tinned sardines & Fino

2009-10-09T14:48:00.005+01:00

Tinned sardines in olive oil (John West will do though there are myriad posher brands, especially from Spain), garlic, lemon, Fino sherry. Just make sure you don't have a date within 12 hours.

Wild Oysters

2009-10-09T12:54:00.002+01:00

It seems a shame to scrub them clean. Note the colour of the burn water (peaty and soft and so good added to Malt whisky to help the kippers go down).

Camouflaged Oyster

2009-10-09T12:44:00.002+01:00

This wild oyster from the Isle of Mull looks like it's trying to blend into its surroundings to avoid the shucking knife.

A Smokey Breakfast... kippers & Laphroaig

2009-10-06T12:28:00.005+01:00

The oaky smokiness of the kipper is echoed in the peaty smokiness of this Islay Malt and the fishiness of the herring brings out an iodine salty twang in the whisky.

A great combination especially if you temper the strength of the alcohol with a little water (preferably lusciously soft, peaty water taken straight from the burn running at the end of the garden if you're in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland). Incidentally, the same water makes great tea too.

Buy Smarter and Drink Better Wines

2009-10-06T11:25:00.011+01:00

The main thing to think about when choosing a bottle of wine is whether it's going to be drunk on its own or with food. Imbibing without eating broadens the choice though fruitier red wines low in tannin and dry white wines not searingly high in acidity are more pleasingly drinkable on their own than other styles. New World wines often fall into these categories as they are usually made from riper grapes than those from the Old World. And some sweet, vanillary, American oak makes them even more appealing as drinks in their own right.

At the end of the day though most wines, especially European unless very low in alcohol, are improved by food; and much food, unless inordinately spicy, is improved by wine.

It's important to aim at a balance in relative 'weight' in wine and food as a big, alcoholic, super ripe Australian shiraz can all too easily swamp a delicate rabbit dish and a light, fruity Beaujolais will be overwhelmed by a gamey venison stew.

Balancing tannins in red wines and acidity in white wines is crucial too; tannic reds become rounder and richer when paired with roast red meat and acidic, neutral whites become more mineral and interesting with shellfish. In fact, the colour of the wine is often less important than its structure so that a red low in tannin but fresh in acidity (like many a Pinot Noir) can happily partner fish like salmon or tuna and a full white with moderate acidity but plenty of flavour (like a white Rhône) can partner roast pork or veal.

Tannic reds also help make a rich stew or fatty meat like lamb more palatable and acidic whites are good with salty, hard cheese.

Sometimes flavours echo each other in wine and food so a mature red Burgundy which has developed earthy, gamey flavours will go well with well-hung game birds and young Sauternes positively reeks of crème brûlée.

So, when reaching for that bottle in the rack, or choosing something off a wine list, think about the food it's going with. In European wine-producing countries most wine is made with food in mind and, if not, at least as a prelude to food or to sip afterwards. Sometimes it makes sense to think local so good combinations include sauvignon with goat's cheese (as in Sancerre and the locally made Crottin de Chavignol), dry mineral whites with shellfish (such as Muscadet and locally harvested oysters), roast lamb and claret (as in salt meadow lamb and Pauillac, or baby lamb and Rioja), white truffle risotto and Barolo, spag bol and Lambrusco, Munster cheese and Gewürztraminer, olives and Manzanilla, taramasalata and Retsina, Bouillabaisse and Provence rosé, coq au vin and red Burgundy, and so on.

But whatever you do don't eat salted peanuts or flavoured crisps with any wine and if faced with something very salty, or fishy, or sour and strongly flavoured, or all of these, try Fino Sherry, the world's most underrated, versatile, value wine, great on its own but miles better with food.

http://wineconversation.com/consumer-marketing/spot-the-wine-blog/

http://thewineganglive.com/

Pasta & Pesto

2009-10-06T10:14:00.003+01:00

What is it about "bronze drawn, slow dried, organically grown, high density durum wheat from the unspoilt Orcia valley in Tuscany"? Yes, it's got a firm texture and the sauce sticks to it nicely... but should it cost more than free range, 90 day old, organically grown, high welfare chicken from the unspoilt Alde valley in Suffolk? For you vegetarians out there (not vegans as the Grana Padano cheese in the pesto contains rennet and be careful of the isinglass fish bladders or egg albumen in the wine) try the above dish with Sauvignon (from Chile or New Zealand maybe).

Goat's cheese & Sauvignon... a marriage made in heaven

2009-10-05T19:22:00.002+01:00

Why are goat's cheese and sauvignon such a good combination? Even if the wine here is only Oxford Landing, the cheese (which cost more than the wine) is Dorstone from Neal's Yard Dairy and has a Crottin-like chalky texture and intense goatiness.

Oyster scrubbing

2009-10-04T22:46:00.002+01:00

Scrubbing the mud off a freshly gathered ostrea edulis with my feet in an orange, peat-tinted burn on the Isle of Mull.

Crab tart and Sauvignon

2009-10-04T22:14:00.004+01:00

Crab tart recipe adapted from Simon Hopkinson's book Roast Chicken though I add as much brown meat into it that I can without it overflowing. Rather more saffron too. Wine could be richer (chardonnay-based perhaps) but delicious nonetheless.

young Scottish grouse and old French wine

2009-10-04T22:04:00.008+01:00

A stonking combination. At 48 years old this Pauillac has had time to develop deep, earthy, savoury, gamey flavours which are echoed in the little bird which is barely a year old.

Credit Crunch "Champagne"

2009-09-30T20:28:00.000+01:00

Not quite Champagne but surprisingly drinkable. Would you order it in a bar? Or serve it at your wedding? A good one to get tongues wagging.

Tiny lobster... not ready to eat

2009-09-29T23:12:00.001+01:00

This lively little lobster was fished in Butley Creek, Suffolk but was put straight back into the water to grow for another decade or two. Trip organised by Polly at Food Safari, Suffolk.

Razor Clams (or 'Spoots')

2009-09-29T23:05:00.001+01:00

These are live razor clams from the Isle of Arran just about to go into the frying pan. They're locally known as spoots perhaps because they spoot water out of their little burrows when you're trying to grab them off the beach. The French call them couteaux (as in knives) and the edge of the shell is certainly quite sharp when you open them up. But the heat of the frying pan will open them up for you if you put them in whole.

Scottish Ostrea Edulis

2009-09-28T15:31:00.000+01:00

These are more native wild oysters gathered at low tide off the Isle of Mull. I've opened them (with great difficulty as, being so fresh and 'lively', they're very tightly clamped shut). The locals call these oysters clams but sadly show no interest whatsoever in gathering them. The flesh is very firm, almost chewy, and the iodine hit you get when eating one is akin to that of a sea urchin albeit more bitter. They cry out for crisp, chilled Muscadet, white Sancerre or lean, minerally Chablis. Indeed, the soil in Chablis (and in Champagne for that matter) is made up of fossilised oyster shells so the wine & food marriage is doubly appropriate.

Native wild oysters gathered at low tide, Isle of Mull

2009-09-24T15:41:00.000+01:00

These oysters were picked at low tide off the coast of the Isle of Mull in the inner Hebrides.

They went down a treat with a magnum of chilled Chablis 1er cru 1998 from Jean-Marc Brocard.