Have you ever had a gift so generous and perfect, that you are not sure the words 'thank you' cover your bosom-swelling gratitude? Yesterday I used a voucher that HG and Anj gave me for my last birthday. It was incredibly thoughtful in that I was mid-moving house (yet again) so had nowhere to house any new objects: the slip of paper was very convenient and a delicious promise of a treat to come. It was vastly generous in that it was a voucher for the River Cafe : somewhere I imagined only celebrities would frequent, and Roys not at all. I have been reading about the river cafe - its food, owners and various famous alumni - for years; I couldn't have been more thrilled.
So yesterday lunchtime found me in a state of tremulous excitement, hurrying along the Thames with the gent and an umbrella, to the much-photographed warehouse building in Hammersmith - refurbished after the fire in 2008. It was as light and minimal as the photographs you will have seen and the peasant-bloused staff as helpful as described by the heavyweights of the restaurant critic world (for example...) - always in glowing terms.
I saw both Ruth Rogers and Rose Gray speak at the Hay-on-Wye festival about five years ago and I was school-girlishly excited to see Ruth Rogers yesterday in her whites, chatting to some customers.
Back to the food. There was a fantastic winter menu lunch offer and from it I ate:
Fusilli con cavolo nero e pinoli - a very tightly-screwed fusilli which made many ridges for scooping up a maximum amount of the pesto-like sauce the cabbage was made into. Not at all what I expected and completely delicious. The gent had 'Calamari ai ferri': chargrilled squid with some fresh chilli. A generous amount came my way and wolfed down - reminding me again how bad I am at cooking shellfish and how wonderful it is when done well.
Then came 'Spiedino ai ferri': chargrilled scallops and monkfish on a rosemary skewer, very soft inside, served with castelluccio lentils, salad leaves and a chilli and parsley sauce. I paused only to take a bite of the gent's 'coniglio in tegame' which was the most beautiful, moist rabbit, pot-roasted in soave (served with polenta). A rare moment where I couldn't decide who chose the best.
The gent's pear and almond tart was probably the winner at the Dolci course - although he triumphantly declared the pear was 'more ozoney' than in the version he made recently, rendering his baking the best. Quite a boast: I'm happy to say I have eaten both. I don't normally choose chocolate desserts (however delicious, they all taste of... chocolate) but I didn't regret my chocolate nemesis for a moment. It almost brought me back into the chocolatey fold, and certainly fired me to re-create it somehow at home.
We drank ... well, as is tradition, I hand over to the pastry chef on this matter. It was bianco, almost fizzy with sherbet, almond or lemon undertones and we will ONLY drink this going around Italy ... but I don't remember the name. Would you be so kind?
I have decided to try and re-create one or two of these dishes at home for my generous friends, as a thank you. Armed with magazine clippings from the last ten years I can only try. And I know they won't mind me practising a chocolate dessert on them!
This is Roy signing off, from cloud nine.
Tuesday 30 March 2010
Monday 29 March 2010
popcorn
One Saturday afternoon when taking the gent to the cinema to see a documentary on Philip Glass, I wondered if I should take something for us to eat. Inspired by my flatmate, I heated some oil in a saucepan (I would love to say 'heavy bottomed' as the cook books do, but mine are actually pretty dreadful) and added popcorn kernels. Or is that just 'corn'? Pre-popped popcorn, anyway. In the flush of genius that being in a hurry sometimes engenders, I used a pan with a glass lid.
I have never made pop corn by myself and have never had the benefit of a transparent lid through which to watch the process. I thoroughly recommend it.
I was rendered child-like with amazement that such a tiny, unyielding little seed should explode into such a delicate, perfectly rounded puff. Completely agog I watched them all. I had underestimated their might and added too many, so the lid was eventually pushed up on a sea of white mushroom-topped corn. I am not sure of the proper process here, but I melted butter in another pan, poured it over the corn, mixed it about with my hands and added liberal amounts of salt. It was rather good.
I have never made pop corn by myself and have never had the benefit of a transparent lid through which to watch the process. I thoroughly recommend it.
I was rendered child-like with amazement that such a tiny, unyielding little seed should explode into such a delicate, perfectly rounded puff. Completely agog I watched them all. I had underestimated their might and added too many, so the lid was eventually pushed up on a sea of white mushroom-topped corn. I am not sure of the proper process here, but I melted butter in another pan, poured it over the corn, mixed it about with my hands and added liberal amounts of salt. It was rather good.
Thursday 25 March 2010
three's a crowd
... or 'playing the gooseberry'.
Have you ever wanted to bottle something intangible? Sitting on your back doorstep in the first proper sun of summer; that feeling when your tooth is very lose and squelches when you agitate it; Christmas lunch - any lunch?
In the morning my single squirt of perfume brings a moment of glamour for the day: my spirits lift, I immediately stand taller. It is a serious day when I need two squirts. I think of this perfume as bottled energy, invisible armour that can be dipped into as needed.
This evening I had some toast spread with Auntie Cyn's gooseberry jam. It was a Christmas gift, and came paired with a jar of marmalade - the very same that adorned this morning's breakfast toast. This morning the bright citrus taste in a just-set jelly reminded me of bottled sunshine and I imagined myself in Spain. This evening with the gooseberry jam though, I felt that a little of my childhood home had been preserved and came alive again in my London kitchen.
Auntie Cyn lives next to my parents, so it is no leap at all to remember the gooseberries they grew (still grow) in both their gardens, the singular smell of blackcurrant bushes behind them : I have a multitude of memories from those gardens. Eating jammed gooseberries this evening made me feel as if I were right there, lifting the lid of the rhubarb forcer to see the frogs, stealing peas, jumping over the row of daffodils. It was not a misty-eyed nostalgic moment, but instead, terribly comforting. The gooseberry jam, like my perfume, preserves something intangible - not just last summer's fruit.
Have you ever wanted to bottle something intangible? Sitting on your back doorstep in the first proper sun of summer; that feeling when your tooth is very lose and squelches when you agitate it; Christmas lunch - any lunch?
In the morning my single squirt of perfume brings a moment of glamour for the day: my spirits lift, I immediately stand taller. It is a serious day when I need two squirts. I think of this perfume as bottled energy, invisible armour that can be dipped into as needed.
This evening I had some toast spread with Auntie Cyn's gooseberry jam. It was a Christmas gift, and came paired with a jar of marmalade - the very same that adorned this morning's breakfast toast. This morning the bright citrus taste in a just-set jelly reminded me of bottled sunshine and I imagined myself in Spain. This evening with the gooseberry jam though, I felt that a little of my childhood home had been preserved and came alive again in my London kitchen.
Auntie Cyn lives next to my parents, so it is no leap at all to remember the gooseberries they grew (still grow) in both their gardens, the singular smell of blackcurrant bushes behind them : I have a multitude of memories from those gardens. Eating jammed gooseberries this evening made me feel as if I were right there, lifting the lid of the rhubarb forcer to see the frogs, stealing peas, jumping over the row of daffodils. It was not a misty-eyed nostalgic moment, but instead, terribly comforting. The gooseberry jam, like my perfume, preserves something intangible - not just last summer's fruit.
Wednesday 24 March 2010
weekday lunch
After 10 hours at work on Monday I wasn't at all in the mood too cook, let alone make lunches. I immediately put a fistful of spaghetti on to boil, to which I added cabbage for the last two minutes, and torn, wild garlic about five seconds before draining. Oil, parmesan, a squeeze of lime and a handful of toasted pine nuts - along with seasoning - were chucked over, stirred about, and was just perfect. (As always when hungry, I cooked too much pasta: after five minute of solid eating my dish didn't look any different!).
Inspired by the beetroot at my friend's house last week, I was delighted to espy some in our veg box. Whilst the pasta was cooking I speedily chunked up carrots, onions and a beet and put them in the oven to roast. After I had eaten and watched Masterchef - to which I am thoroughly hooked, again - I made some couscous with a dash of cinnamon and turmeric, and some vegetable bouillon. Once the grain had swelled I fluffed them with a fork and added seasoning, extra virgin olive oil, lime juice and toasted pine nuts. When cool, the couscous went into one big tub, the roasted veg into another and everything in the fridge to take to work the next day. I only needed to buy a little log of goat's cheese and I had three super lunches ready to hand. The only difficulty on the horizon is finding a spare moment to take a lunch break in!
Inspired by the beetroot at my friend's house last week, I was delighted to espy some in our veg box. Whilst the pasta was cooking I speedily chunked up carrots, onions and a beet and put them in the oven to roast. After I had eaten and watched Masterchef - to which I am thoroughly hooked, again - I made some couscous with a dash of cinnamon and turmeric, and some vegetable bouillon. Once the grain had swelled I fluffed them with a fork and added seasoning, extra virgin olive oil, lime juice and toasted pine nuts. When cool, the couscous went into one big tub, the roasted veg into another and everything in the fridge to take to work the next day. I only needed to buy a little log of goat's cheese and I had three super lunches ready to hand. The only difficulty on the horizon is finding a spare moment to take a lunch break in!
Tuesday 16 March 2010
winter's end
More glorious, otherworldly sunshine today: blue skies ablaze, even some spring coats on show in the streets. Only a matter of time until the bare legs (rumoured to be sported in a certain Sussex village this week) are seen on display further north - rising up the country like the cherry blossom front in Japanese weather reports!
My nearest supermarket was as uninspiring as ever for foraging a lunch today. For the first time in months I didn't feel like my fall-back regulars (soup or curry) and nothing salad-like is in season. I was half-heartedly settling for a vegetable samosa with carrot soup, when some watercress from the UK caught my eye, quickly followed by mackerel pate. Delight! I have a stash of oatcakes in my desk, so from just £2 I will reap two or three meals. Two or three meals of iron-ey, hot, fresh watercress against creamy, salty mackerel pate. After last night's over-indulgence there is also a wonderful, healing pleasure in eating something healthy: the protein will keep me going, and the greens and oily fish (I like to imagine) are already repairing me inside and out.
What happened last night? Dinner with the North London Ladies, Hammersmith branch. And, to be more accurate it was the rum and coke and red wine that are to blame for any residual fragility - my fault entirely: the meal was a complete delight. We chatted to an accompaniment of manchego cheese and salted, roast almonds; olives and artichokes in oil; roast beetroot with goats cheese, and some bread and a delicious savoury red paste called sobrassada.
Then we moved on to a beautiful venison stew with roasted squash and foil-baked potatoes. It was a celebration of the end of winter, with carrots, onion and the sweet squash all having a last dazzle before retiring gracefully until next autumn. I have not had venison in a long time and had forgotten how lovely and red-meaty it is - it produced a wonderful gravy to mop up with the squash. We finished with soft chocolate puddings, raspberries and ice cream - perhaps a hint of the summer to come? A lovely, relaxed evening with great food and company that held us until that time of night when one worries what time the last tube actually is!
I am now fairly obsessed with manchego. My friend explained that she buys a whole cheese and, when fresh and unripe it tastes milky and soft, but when it has matured a little, the taste changes - which explains why it tastes so different to when I have had it before. It was a beautiful combination with the almonds and I am set on finding some for my own fridge very soon!
The venison stew was based on this abel and cole recipe but with one or two adjustments to the cooking method.
Tuesday 16th March 2010
My nearest supermarket was as uninspiring as ever for foraging a lunch today. For the first time in months I didn't feel like my fall-back regulars (soup or curry) and nothing salad-like is in season. I was half-heartedly settling for a vegetable samosa with carrot soup, when some watercress from the UK caught my eye, quickly followed by mackerel pate. Delight! I have a stash of oatcakes in my desk, so from just £2 I will reap two or three meals. Two or three meals of iron-ey, hot, fresh watercress against creamy, salty mackerel pate. After last night's over-indulgence there is also a wonderful, healing pleasure in eating something healthy: the protein will keep me going, and the greens and oily fish (I like to imagine) are already repairing me inside and out.
What happened last night? Dinner with the North London Ladies, Hammersmith branch. And, to be more accurate it was the rum and coke and red wine that are to blame for any residual fragility - my fault entirely: the meal was a complete delight. We chatted to an accompaniment of manchego cheese and salted, roast almonds; olives and artichokes in oil; roast beetroot with goats cheese, and some bread and a delicious savoury red paste called sobrassada.
Then we moved on to a beautiful venison stew with roasted squash and foil-baked potatoes. It was a celebration of the end of winter, with carrots, onion and the sweet squash all having a last dazzle before retiring gracefully until next autumn. I have not had venison in a long time and had forgotten how lovely and red-meaty it is - it produced a wonderful gravy to mop up with the squash. We finished with soft chocolate puddings, raspberries and ice cream - perhaps a hint of the summer to come? A lovely, relaxed evening with great food and company that held us until that time of night when one worries what time the last tube actually is!
I am now fairly obsessed with manchego. My friend explained that she buys a whole cheese and, when fresh and unripe it tastes milky and soft, but when it has matured a little, the taste changes - which explains why it tastes so different to when I have had it before. It was a beautiful combination with the almonds and I am set on finding some for my own fridge very soon!
The venison stew was based on this abel and cole recipe but with one or two adjustments to the cooking method.
Tuesday 16th March 2010
hurry for your curry!
There were four main curry dishes (Beef and coconut Madras, soya mince curry, fish tenga and lamb curry); side dishes of Taka Daal and Sag Aloo, and everything served with Naan bread, chapattis, plain basmati rice... not to mention poppadoms, onion salad, raita, chutney... you get the idea.
All dishes were eaten in the first round, delicious surprises including the very sweet lamb and the soya dish, but by the inevitable second-helpings I had narrowed my favourites down to the beef madras, sag aloo and daal. Then I had a third course of beef, to celebrate: incredibly tender and spicy, but not fierce - the coconut milk lending a little sweetness to the dish. Somehow we still had an appetite for the grilled pineapple basted with rum, sugar and cinnamon, served with ginger and lemongrass sorbet. Rarely have I been so full and yet not regretted a single mouthful!
There was suspense and excitement too: names of six chefs / food writers that these recipes could have come from were provided, and we had to match the dish to the chef. Apparently one Gordon Ramsay was to thank for the Madras.
There is a coda. Back home I couldn't stop thinking about the beautiful Madras, so last night I bought some ready made paste (thank you, Mrs Patak) and made a rough-and-ready vegetable version. Swede, leek, celery, onion and carrots were sweated in oil. Nervous of the heat, I added only 2 large tablespoons of the Madras paste - about 1/4 of the jar - to cook into the vegetables. After a few minutes I added 1 or 2 cans of chopped tomatoes (in fact, they were cartons which are much lighter to carry) and some water, then simmered for 40 minutes. I threw in chopped kale for five minutes, then a slug of coconut milk and a couple of cheeky hard boiled eggs. Happily, the heat was spot-on: gorgeously warming on a chill, dark March evening.
It is still the tastiest way of using your less-favoured veg - swede and the 'prickly kale' in our household - and has the immense advantage of being something to pair with lime pickle. I am obsessed with lime pickle all over again! I won't rest until I find a good recipe and a crate of unwaxed limes. Any recommendations would be much appreciated!
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