What a perfectly social, London weekend. It is like living someone else's life!
There was the fabulous party in the wonderful Princess Victoria; a tasty vegetarian fry up, followed by a visit to the painfully cool 'Tina, we salute you'; thence to Canteen, so conveniently situated for a night at the Festival Hall, listening to those short-listed for the T. S. Eliot poetry prize - where we caught up with some more charming acquaintances. The gent commented that I'd probably met all his friends, intentionally or by chance, over the weekend! And eaten good food, I murmured into my scarf.
My tasty veggie fry: diced, par-boiled potatoes, drained and rinsed in cold water - then fried in hot oil until crunchy outwith; a rattle of maldon salt over the top. Tip onto a plate to keep hot in the oven to make room in the pan for: mushrooms and tomato. Fried eggs, over-easy (I finally found out that this just means turning them over to cook the top too!) but still completely runny inside. If you are a decent sort, then you won't be able to help but put the egg on the crispy potatoes and let the yolk drip over.
'Tina, we salute you': the website is tres stylish, but kind of hard to find anything useful on - like opening times - so I've given a link to the Time Out review instead. That's what happens when you deal with a librarian rather than a hipster Dalstonite. Here we had fabulous coffee (from Square Mile) and enjoyed a slice of nicely judged blueberry and lemon loaf cake. So good that the gent brushed the crumbs from his trousers, strode over to the bar and ordered another slice with a further two flat whites. Good man. A gorgeous place to read the papers and lose your head over coffee.
Canteen, on the South Bank, was chosen for its convenient location, but had a lot to recommend it. The house wine was really great - coming in a 25cl carafe was even better: the booths were sweet and sociable and the menu was spot on for what we needed. One of us had pie, the other a salad: both polished off. Next time we would definitely stop at the bar for another glass or two of the wine and maybe a fish finger sandwich, or pate and piccalilli on toast. Everywhere seems to be upping the ante with their bar menu at the moment!
It is not my remit, but Simon Armitage and Sam Willetts really rocked, poet-wise.
Monday 24 January 2011
Sunday 23 January 2011
scotched dinner plans
That was shoe-horning the pun in, really. The fact is the gent and I were not hungry as we left the flat yesterday evening, as we had enjoyed a late afternoon lunch of roast butternut squash and chorizo sausage, with savoy cabbage. Spicy and sweet and sunshine on a plate.
We were headed to the Princess Victoria in Shepherd's Bush, to celebrate the wedding of friends. A few bus stops away from the tube stop, one wouldn't stumble across it accidentally, however it is more than worth the effort. Inside is spacious, charming; the wine list is somewhat vast and the snack board... lured us into stopping at the bar when we fully intended to head upstairs to the party.
A little 25cl carafe of um... a 2008 Montepulchiano? ... was a tasty start to the evening, and a middlewhite pork scotch egg was the absolute most heavenly scotch egg I have ever eaten. And yes, that includes the divine example in the pub-near-Farringdon whose name I will come back and insert, when I remember it. A whole different league of scotch egg - it probably even deserves a different name!
Also on the Princess Vic menu were pork scratchings, scotch quails egg in oxtail meat and, probably, ambrosia. And another time I will go and try them all: instead, we tore ourselves away and had a wonderful time in the be-chandeliered room upstairs. What glittering surroundings for a party!
We were headed to the Princess Victoria in Shepherd's Bush, to celebrate the wedding of friends. A few bus stops away from the tube stop, one wouldn't stumble across it accidentally, however it is more than worth the effort. Inside is spacious, charming; the wine list is somewhat vast and the snack board... lured us into stopping at the bar when we fully intended to head upstairs to the party.
A little 25cl carafe of um... a 2008 Montepulchiano? ... was a tasty start to the evening, and a middlewhite pork scotch egg was the absolute most heavenly scotch egg I have ever eaten. And yes, that includes the divine example in the pub-near-Farringdon whose name I will come back and insert, when I remember it. A whole different league of scotch egg - it probably even deserves a different name!
Also on the Princess Vic menu were pork scratchings, scotch quails egg in oxtail meat and, probably, ambrosia. And another time I will go and try them all: instead, we tore ourselves away and had a wonderful time in the be-chandeliered room upstairs. What glittering surroundings for a party!
Saturday 1 January 2011
second feast of Christmas
If Christmas evening is the best sandwich of the year - ham and turkey with cranberry sauce, stuffing and anything else we can cram in (including sprouts if I can get away with it) - then Boxing day is most certainly the best bubble and squeak.
Christmas is one of the few roasts when there are actually leftovers - though sometimes, shamefully, not. For me, there has to be potato and there has to be sprouts. Any additional swede, parsnip, cabbage, carrot or peas are a bonus, but the sprouts are the finest part. At home alone I make squeak for one, a crispy messy lump, and top it with a fried egg. For boxing day bubble though, this is the centrepiece to the second feast of Christmas.
Bubble and squeak go onto plates alongside slices of ham, turkey, any left over cold sausages-in-bacon and stuffing. Depending on quantities, sometimes a separate bowl of mashed potato or some steamed greens are on the table; the only other feature is pickle. Pickled walnuts, piccalilli, pickled red cabbage - the queen of Christmas pickles - gherkins, onions, beetroot, branston pickle... almost no limit. The remaining space on one's plate is heaped with the astringent, vinegary crunch, and devoured.
Exception: people who are not me indulge in a spoon of turkey jelly, in addition. I am not yet quite that sophisticated.
The meal is rounded off with further slices of Christmas pudding, denuded of charms to be heated in the microwave, then re-charmed and doused in leftover custard and further clotted cream. Coffee and mints follow this as naturally as retiring to beside the fire for a snooze, or to write thank you letters.
Chocolates may make an appearance, but only a few: it is only a few hours until supper, after all.
Christmas is one of the few roasts when there are actually leftovers - though sometimes, shamefully, not. For me, there has to be potato and there has to be sprouts. Any additional swede, parsnip, cabbage, carrot or peas are a bonus, but the sprouts are the finest part. At home alone I make squeak for one, a crispy messy lump, and top it with a fried egg. For boxing day bubble though, this is the centrepiece to the second feast of Christmas.
Bubble and squeak go onto plates alongside slices of ham, turkey, any left over cold sausages-in-bacon and stuffing. Depending on quantities, sometimes a separate bowl of mashed potato or some steamed greens are on the table; the only other feature is pickle. Pickled walnuts, piccalilli, pickled red cabbage - the queen of Christmas pickles - gherkins, onions, beetroot, branston pickle... almost no limit. The remaining space on one's plate is heaped with the astringent, vinegary crunch, and devoured.
Exception: people who are not me indulge in a spoon of turkey jelly, in addition. I am not yet quite that sophisticated.
The meal is rounded off with further slices of Christmas pudding, denuded of charms to be heated in the microwave, then re-charmed and doused in leftover custard and further clotted cream. Coffee and mints follow this as naturally as retiring to beside the fire for a snooze, or to write thank you letters.
Chocolates may make an appearance, but only a few: it is only a few hours until supper, after all.
yuletide feasting
If you don't like Christmas, look away now. This post is one long, unashamed description of a traditional Christmas lunch. Which I love.
My wider family agreed to discontinue the million-way gift giving we formerly went in for, whilst my immediate family had a challenge to buy gifts only from charity shops. Both were most successful ventures with some ingenious gifts - and one or two naughty aunts transgressing, with the excuse that hand-made gifts don't count. My store cupboard consequently benefits from a small Christmas pudding and pots of jam, whilst my toes are now toasty in bed thanks to a delightful hand-sewn hot water bottle cover!
Mrs I invented a new Christmas Eve tradition some years back, whereby we have smoked salmon on wholemeal bread, with wedges of lemon to squeeze over. A grown up luxury which marked us young ones moving from childhood into the realm of adults. This year we also indulged in the local church's nativity (in which my goddaughter charmed as one of the three Kings) and games of charades and home-bingo.
Christmas morning breakfast is an even more ingrained tradition of chocolate coins followed by a wrestle in the street (don't ask). Lunchtime prosecco makes things more civilised and lunch follows shortly after. This year was Mrs I's most favoured option: ham cooked the day before so that we could have slices of ham and turkey together - in addition to the usual pigs in blankets (chipolatas wrapped in bacon) and fabulous apricot, lemon and walnut stuffing.
We never stint on sauces. There was bread sauce cooked with an onion and cloves; cranberry sauce made with the easy additions of orange zest and juice, and a shake of sugar (not too much, we like it tart); and some hearty gravy.
Vegetables abounded. Roast potatoes and parsnips, mashed swede, sprouts... all the favourites. It seems paradoxical to wait until the largest meal of the year to follow it with the heaviest pudding, however tradition is tradition and I can never say no to Christmas pudding. I adore it. Incredibly rich as it is, it is always paired with custard and clotted cream - and an instruction from Mrs I to watch for the silver charms!
I love the ceremony, the anticipation and the feast itself: the leftovers are just a continuation of the joy. Never will you hear family I complain about cold turkey, except to bemoan it being finished!
My wider family agreed to discontinue the million-way gift giving we formerly went in for, whilst my immediate family had a challenge to buy gifts only from charity shops. Both were most successful ventures with some ingenious gifts - and one or two naughty aunts transgressing, with the excuse that hand-made gifts don't count. My store cupboard consequently benefits from a small Christmas pudding and pots of jam, whilst my toes are now toasty in bed thanks to a delightful hand-sewn hot water bottle cover!
Mrs I invented a new Christmas Eve tradition some years back, whereby we have smoked salmon on wholemeal bread, with wedges of lemon to squeeze over. A grown up luxury which marked us young ones moving from childhood into the realm of adults. This year we also indulged in the local church's nativity (in which my goddaughter charmed as one of the three Kings) and games of charades and home-bingo.
Christmas morning breakfast is an even more ingrained tradition of chocolate coins followed by a wrestle in the street (don't ask). Lunchtime prosecco makes things more civilised and lunch follows shortly after. This year was Mrs I's most favoured option: ham cooked the day before so that we could have slices of ham and turkey together - in addition to the usual pigs in blankets (chipolatas wrapped in bacon) and fabulous apricot, lemon and walnut stuffing.
We never stint on sauces. There was bread sauce cooked with an onion and cloves; cranberry sauce made with the easy additions of orange zest and juice, and a shake of sugar (not too much, we like it tart); and some hearty gravy.
Vegetables abounded. Roast potatoes and parsnips, mashed swede, sprouts... all the favourites. It seems paradoxical to wait until the largest meal of the year to follow it with the heaviest pudding, however tradition is tradition and I can never say no to Christmas pudding. I adore it. Incredibly rich as it is, it is always paired with custard and clotted cream - and an instruction from Mrs I to watch for the silver charms!
I love the ceremony, the anticipation and the feast itself: the leftovers are just a continuation of the joy. Never will you hear family I complain about cold turkey, except to bemoan it being finished!
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