Being as entirely Anglo Saxon as a girl could possibly be, I celebrate bonfire night, christmas, easter ... the usual conventional British festivals. Being as greedy as a girl could possibly be, I have wised up to stealing other celebrations. Which is why last night saw me in a gentle fuss of preparation for a belated, bastardised, spur-of-the-moment Thanskgiving meal. I wore a new apron for the occasion, a Portugal souvenir from my Mother, which had the good sense to have pockets to hide marshmallows in. A cook needs treats to keep her going.
The photos don't do it justice so I won't post them, instead I will invite you to imagine the scene of a juicy - if tiny - organic chicken, prepared in what has morphed into my 'usual' way, which is to say, half a lemon up its bum, plenty of butter pushed between the breast and skin, skin oiled like a soho go go dancer and covered in maldon salt. Baby red onions nestled around the chicken, caremalising and becoming beautiful. Then there was stuffing (Paxo, doctored with walnuts, lemon juice, mixed spice and dried cranberries), and pigs in blankets (bacon wrapped sausages), and cabbage and broccoli.... and lemony pan juices masquerading as 'gravy'.
Between you and me it was much like an ordinary roast, however the addition of marshmallow-topped sweet potato mash really took it into the realm of thanksgiving. And we did indeed give thanks for this dish: I am completely converted to sweet potatos, but don't eat them more on account of our never-dwindling potato backlog from the veg box. When I do give in and buy the sweet ones, I roast them in foil bundles with oil, then peel and mash them. Adding garlic to the packet makes a garlicky oil to pour into the mash.* Divine. Of course my inspiration was Nigella and under her tutelage the sweetness of the mash was tempered by adding lime juice, a little cinnamon too, and the result happily delighted my flatmate Jo. The marshmallow topping sounds bizarre, but some magic happens and the dish looks like it is covered in burnished, smooth buttons - you'll just have to try it and see.
We were too full for the planned dessert, so the sweetened chestnut puree is out on the sideboard, ready for today. Next to a lot of leftovers... I'm already planning bubble and squeak, cold chicken and maybe some maple roast parsnips. And sandwiches of stuffing, chicken and pigs in blankets... with a dollop of mayo. In fact, I'm all alone in the kitchen, maybe I'll just have a pre-breakfast snack...
* For some reason this garlicky sweet potato mash goes well with the beef and anchovy stew.
Sunday 30 November 2008
Monday 24 November 2008
Isarn
Last Monday morning, with bad weather and November blues; with a bank statement reminder that I've spent all my money, and a petulence about not hearing back from a job interview the previous week, I went for a walk. Ostensibly to pick up a parcel, I quickly detoured to those cheering shops on Upper Street, Islington, which warm one's heart. Though the street was deserted and rain-sodden, Ottolenghis was surprisingly busy with people queuing to buy lunch: I could almost taste their salad box which I last caved into in the summer, however I hardened my heart, remembered my wallet and walked on. Fig and Olive was similarly busy and looked warm, cosy and tasty, but again I faced the drizzle and didn't stop.
http://www.ottolenghi.co.uk/
This was the weakened state I was in when I walked past Isarn. I mentioned it a few weeks back as an establishment with a tempting lunch set for £6.50 and alluded to credit-crunched Islingtonites. I decided to go undercover and pretend to be one of them. Plus, I couldn't contain my greed any longer.
Only two other tables were occupied and I cheerfully took my seat on a woven leather bench, facing cowprint chairs, and took in the strange foreign musak and Islington Couple, who were talking about The Arts.
I absolutely adore a set menu, most certainly a happy memory from Japan, or France... or even the greasy spoons that do them. Brilliant. I set about the only vegetarian option: a green vegetable curry set. It being absent from the menu I asked if there was any tea? My waiter pointed to the iced tea on the menu. I couldn't be bothered to protest so had that... but I can't believe they had no green or jasmine tea.
Between ordering and being served, I found out I had got the job from the previous week after all and was heady with delight. Imagine! Now lunch could be called a celebration and not a squandering of cash I don't have!
The set arrived in a red and black lacquered box, akin to the Japanese bento boxes, with little segments for each bit of the meal: two crunchy little spring rolls, chilli sauce, green curry, rice and a chunk of watermelon all in their own compartments. I was genuinely surprised by the lack of chopsticks, but again, extreme laziness and pre-occupation with conversation between Islington Couple led me to just use the fork and spoon provided.
The curry was entirely good and and filled with a variety of vegetables, including those alien baby aubergines - not rich and velvety like the large purple ones, but almost watery and crunchy. In a good way. The curry was as hot as it could be without needing to have this in the menu description. In fact, Islington Couple had a moment with a chilli ("burnt my mouth off! hottest chilli I've ever eaten!") which made me avoid any in my curry.
Fruit was a nice idea, but it seemed a pity not to utilise the wonderful fruit denuding techniques they use in thailand, to have spirals of pineapple or fans of mango. Fussy, fussy! The lychee iced tea came with a pretty flower hanging over the edge of the glass, and eyeballs in the bottom. Oh all right, they were peeled lychees.
The Islington Couple continued loudly in their conversation, ("remember the guy in the dress at the Donmar? You went to The Ivy place with him and - whatsername? - he only played gay parts.") so I made a little note to remember the meal by, paid and left. Here is my note:
nice environment, wellbeing, tingly lips, warm face.
http://www.isarn.co.uk/
I sauntered home, accidentally inventing the game of estate-agent-baiting on the way: looking at house prices in the shop window, seeing estate agent faces peeping at me suspiciously... then with growing hope... then half-rising out of their seats, before I hastily retreat. Isarn didn't break the bank, and gave me a warm glimpse of Islington life, but I'm still not in any place to look at the luxury pads of this area!
http://www.ottolenghi.co.uk/
This was the weakened state I was in when I walked past Isarn. I mentioned it a few weeks back as an establishment with a tempting lunch set for £6.50 and alluded to credit-crunched Islingtonites. I decided to go undercover and pretend to be one of them. Plus, I couldn't contain my greed any longer.
Only two other tables were occupied and I cheerfully took my seat on a woven leather bench, facing cowprint chairs, and took in the strange foreign musak and Islington Couple, who were talking about The Arts.
I absolutely adore a set menu, most certainly a happy memory from Japan, or France... or even the greasy spoons that do them. Brilliant. I set about the only vegetarian option: a green vegetable curry set. It being absent from the menu I asked if there was any tea? My waiter pointed to the iced tea on the menu. I couldn't be bothered to protest so had that... but I can't believe they had no green or jasmine tea.
Between ordering and being served, I found out I had got the job from the previous week after all and was heady with delight. Imagine! Now lunch could be called a celebration and not a squandering of cash I don't have!
The set arrived in a red and black lacquered box, akin to the Japanese bento boxes, with little segments for each bit of the meal: two crunchy little spring rolls, chilli sauce, green curry, rice and a chunk of watermelon all in their own compartments. I was genuinely surprised by the lack of chopsticks, but again, extreme laziness and pre-occupation with conversation between Islington Couple led me to just use the fork and spoon provided.
The curry was entirely good and and filled with a variety of vegetables, including those alien baby aubergines - not rich and velvety like the large purple ones, but almost watery and crunchy. In a good way. The curry was as hot as it could be without needing to have this in the menu description. In fact, Islington Couple had a moment with a chilli ("burnt my mouth off! hottest chilli I've ever eaten!") which made me avoid any in my curry.
Fruit was a nice idea, but it seemed a pity not to utilise the wonderful fruit denuding techniques they use in thailand, to have spirals of pineapple or fans of mango. Fussy, fussy! The lychee iced tea came with a pretty flower hanging over the edge of the glass, and eyeballs in the bottom. Oh all right, they were peeled lychees.
The Islington Couple continued loudly in their conversation, ("remember the guy in the dress at the Donmar? You went to The Ivy place with him and - whatsername? - he only played gay parts.") so I made a little note to remember the meal by, paid and left. Here is my note:
nice environment, wellbeing, tingly lips, warm face.
http://www.isarn.co.uk/
I sauntered home, accidentally inventing the game of estate-agent-baiting on the way: looking at house prices in the shop window, seeing estate agent faces peeping at me suspiciously... then with growing hope... then half-rising out of their seats, before I hastily retreat. Isarn didn't break the bank, and gave me a warm glimpse of Islington life, but I'm still not in any place to look at the luxury pads of this area!
Monday 10 November 2008
saturday scraps
I worry that I rely too much on living vicariously through the Guardian's 'Weekend' magazine. Last night I made Mel read Victoria Moore's column, mostly for the wisdom and because I love to read her writing, but also for this comment: 'Roald Dahl once wrote that "to drink a Romanee-Conti is like having an orgasm in the mouth and nose at the same time" '.
Make mine a Romanee-Conti please, this I have to try...
I also realised that I have gone beyond the food when reading food columns: I feel like I'm catching up on an old friend and listening to their weekend news when I read Matthew Norman and Hugh F-W. Anyone who also enjoys a 'seaside caff, out of season, luxuriating in the melancholy' is someone I would spend time with. And quite often I just bask in the lovely writing. Try this from Matthew N:
'the spare ribs were just the nobbly, gristly little buggers you'd expect for £2.10, and necessitated an emergency request for the fleshier ribs that come suffused in mandarin sauce, albeit the quality of the late pig posing too high a hurdle for an indistinct sauce.'
Happily, Mel was the cure for a day spent reading about food and not eating it. She sweetly dropped a cake tin back to me, and I lured her into staying for tea and welsh cakes. The recipe is one that Rose and I sent to our female parent, on a postcard from Cardiff, when I lived there. My mother often tells me how good they are but I had never made them. They are easily one of the best tea-time things to make, being quick, requiring rolling pin action and cutting out circles of dough with a wine glass. You fry them in a pan (or griddle them, if you prefer to be picturesque) and I chose to spread butter over them, though I don't think that is very Welsh.
Before we knew it, it was time for something more substantial. Despite Mel's protestations that she couldn't eat 'anything ever again', we managed make good inroads on a quick mushroom risotto, with greens on the side.
The most boring of store-cupboard recipes: onion, two cloves garlic and celery sweated down; risotto rice, a panic there wasn't enough, so some pot barley too; marigold stock; dried porchini mushrooms re-hydrated in warm water - chopped up and added half way through, and the soaking juice added too; fresh mushrooms chopped in at the same time. Parmesan cheese, a little chilli, and forgot the parsley and lemon. Warm and yum and one very appreciative Mel made happy.
Now I'm going to eat the leftovers on this miserable, wet afternoon, and think about where to drink cocktails this evening. It's a good life.
Make mine a Romanee-Conti please, this I have to try...
I also realised that I have gone beyond the food when reading food columns: I feel like I'm catching up on an old friend and listening to their weekend news when I read Matthew Norman and Hugh F-W. Anyone who also enjoys a 'seaside caff, out of season, luxuriating in the melancholy' is someone I would spend time with. And quite often I just bask in the lovely writing. Try this from Matthew N:
'the spare ribs were just the nobbly, gristly little buggers you'd expect for £2.10, and necessitated an emergency request for the fleshier ribs that come suffused in mandarin sauce, albeit the quality of the late pig posing too high a hurdle for an indistinct sauce.'
Happily, Mel was the cure for a day spent reading about food and not eating it. She sweetly dropped a cake tin back to me, and I lured her into staying for tea and welsh cakes. The recipe is one that Rose and I sent to our female parent, on a postcard from Cardiff, when I lived there. My mother often tells me how good they are but I had never made them. They are easily one of the best tea-time things to make, being quick, requiring rolling pin action and cutting out circles of dough with a wine glass. You fry them in a pan (or griddle them, if you prefer to be picturesque) and I chose to spread butter over them, though I don't think that is very Welsh.
Before we knew it, it was time for something more substantial. Despite Mel's protestations that she couldn't eat 'anything ever again', we managed make good inroads on a quick mushroom risotto, with greens on the side.
The most boring of store-cupboard recipes: onion, two cloves garlic and celery sweated down; risotto rice, a panic there wasn't enough, so some pot barley too; marigold stock; dried porchini mushrooms re-hydrated in warm water - chopped up and added half way through, and the soaking juice added too; fresh mushrooms chopped in at the same time. Parmesan cheese, a little chilli, and forgot the parsley and lemon. Warm and yum and one very appreciative Mel made happy.
Now I'm going to eat the leftovers on this miserable, wet afternoon, and think about where to drink cocktails this evening. It's a good life.
Baking notes
I made three cakes this week and just wanted to add some notes for myself about them.
Apple cake was for Debora's birthday, and taken from an Anna del Conte recipe ('torta di mele') which uses oil instead of butter; this and the apple made it similar to making a carrot cake. I soaked the sultanas not in warm water, but warmed brandy; and did not add quite as much flour as suggested - perhaps using 10 instead of 12 ounces. It was a stout and hearty cake, perhaps marginally too healthy-tasting: next time I will try skewering and drizzling brandy over whilst the cake is still hot ... and a crunch top layer of demerara sugar would be good too. It improved over the next day.
Next came Nigella's chocolate fudge cake 'serves 10 or one with a broken heart' (or as an incentive to attend a work meeting...). I am still not quite comfortable with the oven and find the heat a little uneven - the two cakes rose so much that the bottom cake touched the cake tin above - but at least they cooked at the same time. I normally even the cakes out so they stack on top of each other neatly, but this time I just sandwiched them, with the filling oozing out, and covered it in a mudslide of the icing. Even in my big cake tin, the lid touched the cake - never have I made this one so tall!
By lunchtime I realised I had chocolate over my jeans and hands, and icing sugar dust coating my glasses. Back home, I had to wipe my computer keyboard as the icing sugar had blanketed this too... note to self: good cake, but use your ipod in the kitchen!
For all that the oven seemed too hot with the fudge cake, it turned petulantly cool with the cheesecake I made on Saturday, which I left in for about 20 minutes longer than normal. It showed: the centre was perfect, but the outside had the slight, spongy crust of being cooked too long. It was my contribution to a cheese party, hosted by Phil.
There was a fondu which we all gathered around, vulture-like. Everyone had contributed cheese on cheese (stilton, manchego, wine washed rind cheese, Port Salut, um emmental... and more), olives, crackers, fresh bread, chutney, tricolore salad ... endless amounts of beautiful food. Only after I had eaten too much did I recall that that was supposed to be a starter - and out came the fantastic macaroni cheese, lasagne, halloumi salad, baked vegetables with cheese, and pizza. It is testament to everyone's enthusiasm that we managed cheesecake as well.
Anna Del Conte, 'Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes: the best of Anna Del Conte' (Vintage, 2006)
Nigella Lawson, 'How to be a domestic goddess...' (Chatto & Windus, 2000)
Apple cake was for Debora's birthday, and taken from an Anna del Conte recipe ('torta di mele') which uses oil instead of butter; this and the apple made it similar to making a carrot cake. I soaked the sultanas not in warm water, but warmed brandy; and did not add quite as much flour as suggested - perhaps using 10 instead of 12 ounces. It was a stout and hearty cake, perhaps marginally too healthy-tasting: next time I will try skewering and drizzling brandy over whilst the cake is still hot ... and a crunch top layer of demerara sugar would be good too. It improved over the next day.
Next came Nigella's chocolate fudge cake 'serves 10 or one with a broken heart' (or as an incentive to attend a work meeting...). I am still not quite comfortable with the oven and find the heat a little uneven - the two cakes rose so much that the bottom cake touched the cake tin above - but at least they cooked at the same time. I normally even the cakes out so they stack on top of each other neatly, but this time I just sandwiched them, with the filling oozing out, and covered it in a mudslide of the icing. Even in my big cake tin, the lid touched the cake - never have I made this one so tall!
By lunchtime I realised I had chocolate over my jeans and hands, and icing sugar dust coating my glasses. Back home, I had to wipe my computer keyboard as the icing sugar had blanketed this too... note to self: good cake, but use your ipod in the kitchen!
For all that the oven seemed too hot with the fudge cake, it turned petulantly cool with the cheesecake I made on Saturday, which I left in for about 20 minutes longer than normal. It showed: the centre was perfect, but the outside had the slight, spongy crust of being cooked too long. It was my contribution to a cheese party, hosted by Phil.
There was a fondu which we all gathered around, vulture-like. Everyone had contributed cheese on cheese (stilton, manchego, wine washed rind cheese, Port Salut, um emmental... and more), olives, crackers, fresh bread, chutney, tricolore salad ... endless amounts of beautiful food. Only after I had eaten too much did I recall that that was supposed to be a starter - and out came the fantastic macaroni cheese, lasagne, halloumi salad, baked vegetables with cheese, and pizza. It is testament to everyone's enthusiasm that we managed cheesecake as well.
Anna Del Conte, 'Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes: the best of Anna Del Conte' (Vintage, 2006)
Nigella Lawson, 'How to be a domestic goddess...' (Chatto & Windus, 2000)
Monday 3 November 2008
pass the runcible spoon!
I haven't made it to the market recently, so haven't bought any more quince (quinces -?). This is a real pity as I had an epiphany with the last two I had in the house: they must have been more ripe as their delicate, seductive perfume suddenly became obvious to me and I am utterly hooked.
Now my eyes have been opened, I can't open a cook book without finding another recipe. I knew of the quince cheese or jam - a smear of fragrant preserve, eeked out of pounds of fruit - but the only other recipe I had formerly come across was Nigella's quince brandy. Having made a few jars of this for Christmas gifts I felt I had preserved the spirit of autumn, however I am now feeling increasingly urgent about finding more fruit to try the new recipes, as the season is most probably over already... please tell me if you know of anywhere in London that still sells them!
The book 'The legendary cuisine of Persia' by Margaret Shaida (Grub Street, 2006) has some beautiful quince recipes. I hoped to find a chutney or preserve, and indeed found 'quince jam' but then was thrilled to find quince stew with lamb and split peas. I can't imagine anything more exciting than being able to try quince more directly: it is such an unapproachable little thing. I'm quite sure it doesn't wish to be eaten.
I quote from Shaida: "it is difficult to decide which delectable dish to make with it, whether to stew it with lamb and split peas, or whether to stuff and bake it, or whether, after all, to make a simple sherbert." She also supplies instruction on making quince and lime syrup, which sounds at once refreshing and aromatic, no?
I also read that quince used to be used to perfume the house, and could be studded with cloves and left in a linen cupboard, just as an orange is at Christmas.
Quince brandy from Nigella's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess': like any other fruit spirit: just chop up the fruit and add the alcohol and leave to steep - in this instance for three months. No sugar is used this time, but cinnamon quills and star anise are added. I have used fat little kilner jars as I think it will be more of a novelty, rather than something to savour over the year. Except for my jar, of course, which will be large and savoured - and, I hope, cooked with too!
Notes:
1 As a librarian I really shouldn't point towards such a website, however for quick reference (NB not guaranteed to be written by a reputable source) then here is wikipedia's take on quince. I loved seeing pictures of the plants, and also Plutarch's reportage of Greek brides taking a bite of quince on their wedding night, to perfume their kiss. The saucepots.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quince
2 The title of this blog was, of course, taken from Edward Lear's The owl and the Pussycat: 'they dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon'. Nothing like a bit of literature with your food.
Now my eyes have been opened, I can't open a cook book without finding another recipe. I knew of the quince cheese or jam - a smear of fragrant preserve, eeked out of pounds of fruit - but the only other recipe I had formerly come across was Nigella's quince brandy. Having made a few jars of this for Christmas gifts I felt I had preserved the spirit of autumn, however I am now feeling increasingly urgent about finding more fruit to try the new recipes, as the season is most probably over already... please tell me if you know of anywhere in London that still sells them!
The book 'The legendary cuisine of Persia' by Margaret Shaida (Grub Street, 2006) has some beautiful quince recipes. I hoped to find a chutney or preserve, and indeed found 'quince jam' but then was thrilled to find quince stew with lamb and split peas. I can't imagine anything more exciting than being able to try quince more directly: it is such an unapproachable little thing. I'm quite sure it doesn't wish to be eaten.
I quote from Shaida: "it is difficult to decide which delectable dish to make with it, whether to stew it with lamb and split peas, or whether to stuff and bake it, or whether, after all, to make a simple sherbert." She also supplies instruction on making quince and lime syrup, which sounds at once refreshing and aromatic, no?
I also read that quince used to be used to perfume the house, and could be studded with cloves and left in a linen cupboard, just as an orange is at Christmas.
Quince brandy from Nigella's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess': like any other fruit spirit: just chop up the fruit and add the alcohol and leave to steep - in this instance for three months. No sugar is used this time, but cinnamon quills and star anise are added. I have used fat little kilner jars as I think it will be more of a novelty, rather than something to savour over the year. Except for my jar, of course, which will be large and savoured - and, I hope, cooked with too!
Notes:
1 As a librarian I really shouldn't point towards such a website, however for quick reference (NB not guaranteed to be written by a reputable source) then here is wikipedia's take on quince. I loved seeing pictures of the plants, and also Plutarch's reportage of Greek brides taking a bite of quince on their wedding night, to perfume their kiss. The saucepots.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quince
2 The title of this blog was, of course, taken from Edward Lear's The owl and the Pussycat: 'they dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon'. Nothing like a bit of literature with your food.
Sunday 2 November 2008
The Ivy Bubble
Sitting in primark pyjamas, eating fried egg and field mushrooms on toast, I recalled a comment made last night about the beauty of the rose being also in the thorns, and not just the flower. There were both thorns and flowers last night, creating a fully-rounded - and very delightful - experience. But my thoughts led me to wonder if my evening at The Ivy could be called beautiful... given the worrying lack of thorns?
It should, perhaps, more accurately be called 'The Ivy Bubble'. From the moment the top-hatted doorman ushered us inside, (my heart jumping at the mere sight of the famous ivy stained glass!) we were encased in the kind of warm aura that I suspect is also known as 'money'. Someone took our coats, another person sat us down, a third swiftly concocted very fine gin and tonics, should we be parched from our walk to the table.
It gets no worse, so I will whisk you past the entirely charming waiting staff, who wouldn't let you sit down but that they pulled a table discretely aside, past the amount of sequins worn by celeb-spotters at the surrounding tables... and head straight for the food.
My duck and watercress salad was stickily, darkly dressed and be-sessame seeded. Rose had a prosciutto, fig and rocket salad, with provlone cheese - every bit as good as it sounds. I next had monkfish cheeks with chickpeas, chorizo and padron peppers. I don't really remember the padron peppers, they were lost on me but the monkfish cheeks were tasty nuggets, despite their slightly sinewy covering; the chorizo pulled the dish together and gave it a perfect amount of flavour. Rose had a beautiful tuna steak, with that lovely smoky, chargrilled flavour that should accompany such impressive black stripes: her only gripe was that she should have ordered it rare. It was still beautiful.
We drank Limoux Chardonnay (Chateau d'Antugnac 2007 France), recommended by the sommelier, a man I could easily take shopping with me, so user-friendly was he. To ensure we didn't go hungry we accompanied this feast with champ, parmesan-fried courgettes and buttered spinach. We finished with baked alaska, flamed at our table in the most satisfyingly extravagant manner, served with the most alcoholic cherries known to man, and a coffee. The Ivy bubble made everything feel like heaven.
I was a little surprised at how eclectic the menu was - I rather expected something more tightly selected. Instead, bang bang chicken sat next to kingfish sashimi and steak tartare. Rump of saltmarsh lamb nestled alongside the ivy hamburger and the ubiquitous thai green curry. 'Peas and heritage carrots with chervil' make it to my top 10 favourite poncy dishes. Heritage carrots!
I have the receipt as a memo of the food we ate, and the first item is two G&T's priced £15: as it was a birthday gift to me, I think my sister was the beneficiary of the 'thorn' of the evening! The rest really was all roses.
http://www.the-ivy.co.uk/
It should, perhaps, more accurately be called 'The Ivy Bubble'. From the moment the top-hatted doorman ushered us inside, (my heart jumping at the mere sight of the famous ivy stained glass!) we were encased in the kind of warm aura that I suspect is also known as 'money'. Someone took our coats, another person sat us down, a third swiftly concocted very fine gin and tonics, should we be parched from our walk to the table.
It gets no worse, so I will whisk you past the entirely charming waiting staff, who wouldn't let you sit down but that they pulled a table discretely aside, past the amount of sequins worn by celeb-spotters at the surrounding tables... and head straight for the food.
My duck and watercress salad was stickily, darkly dressed and be-sessame seeded. Rose had a prosciutto, fig and rocket salad, with provlone cheese - every bit as good as it sounds. I next had monkfish cheeks with chickpeas, chorizo and padron peppers. I don't really remember the padron peppers, they were lost on me but the monkfish cheeks were tasty nuggets, despite their slightly sinewy covering; the chorizo pulled the dish together and gave it a perfect amount of flavour. Rose had a beautiful tuna steak, with that lovely smoky, chargrilled flavour that should accompany such impressive black stripes: her only gripe was that she should have ordered it rare. It was still beautiful.
We drank Limoux Chardonnay (Chateau d'Antugnac 2007 France), recommended by the sommelier, a man I could easily take shopping with me, so user-friendly was he. To ensure we didn't go hungry we accompanied this feast with champ, parmesan-fried courgettes and buttered spinach. We finished with baked alaska, flamed at our table in the most satisfyingly extravagant manner, served with the most alcoholic cherries known to man, and a coffee. The Ivy bubble made everything feel like heaven.
I was a little surprised at how eclectic the menu was - I rather expected something more tightly selected. Instead, bang bang chicken sat next to kingfish sashimi and steak tartare. Rump of saltmarsh lamb nestled alongside the ivy hamburger and the ubiquitous thai green curry. 'Peas and heritage carrots with chervil' make it to my top 10 favourite poncy dishes. Heritage carrots!
I have the receipt as a memo of the food we ate, and the first item is two G&T's priced £15: as it was a birthday gift to me, I think my sister was the beneficiary of the 'thorn' of the evening! The rest really was all roses.
http://www.the-ivy.co.uk/
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