There are so many positives about lilies that their only downside never occurs to me. Today I noticed the gent covered in orange and it did then come to mind that their pollen is particularly difficult to erase from garments. Especially shirts from expensive shirt-eries.
It is a shockingly bad pun, but we were headed to Pollen Street social that night, so as I brushed and soaked the shirt, I couldn't help but chuckle at my own joke (see title of this post if you can stomach it).
Having read AA Gill's review, aghast at being explained the 'concept' of this new restaurant, I did anticipate a little pretension. And having read about everything from the 'roasted squid juice' to the 'clam and cockle emulsion', I began to feel I had already eaten there - so I promptly gave up reading reviews and didn't even look at the menu beforehand.
All of which ended in a pleasantly surprising evening. Our dining companions were the delightful Mike and Alice who were on an amazing gastro-weekend, eating at four London foodie-havens (five Michelin stars between them) before heading home. We were honoured to be invited along to the Pollen stage of the tour.
There was a zingy, lemony shellfish-based paste to spread on bread. Then I had
Escabeche of quail, chicken liver cream, nuts & seeds. Or, as I typed a few hours later 'little hams of quail, toothpick-bone sticking out, chicken liver butter on wafer-thin toast, carrot, pickled onion shells, nutty something'. It was fantastic and I barely had time to stop and taste the gent's scallop ceviche. Which was also great.
I then focused my entire attention on ox cheek with tongue and sirloin. I chose this as (a) three meats on one plate sounded an excellent plan and (b) I don't like tongue and was hoping this would convert me (still not something I'd eat quantities of...). The surprise star was the cheek, slow-cooked until the connective tissue rendered gluey, the whole thing sweet and falling into dessication. There was a pureed horseradishy thing too, which was perfect. The wine - Côte-Rôtie La Viallièret - was heady: tobaccoey, and smelling like a gentleman's library*.
Sated, I was able to look about the room. The lighting reminded me of the recent 'Frankenstein' set at the National Theatre. Then I found the (transparent) cold-room for meats, and another floor-to-ceiling wall of wine bottles in storage, all on the way to plush-grade rest rooms. It was all so beautiful I almost asked for my desert to be served there, instead.
Back upstairs my 'ham, cheese and herb' dessert arrived: watermelon granita, a 'ham' of thin-sliced melon with gelatin 'fat' attached to look like a slice of ham, intense basil sorbet (like falling face-first in a herb bed) and soft cheese. Great fun, but the only dish I didn't quite finish. We enjoyed an after-dinner Armagnac at the bar, unwinding from the sensation assault and making a mental note to come back for a post-work drink another time.
It is hard not to mention the party bags, uncovered from a little locker to which we held the key, which contained 'Breakfast on us' mini cakes and a teabag. Funny, sweet. The most charming thing about the evening was the excitement and adventure in everything, but if I go back, the reason would be the really good food, cooked perfectly.
* the gent is verbally adding descriptions, but they are his views not mine, and also I don't have a oenophile dictionary to correct the spelling. So if you are interested, then I think it's best you follow him on Twitter. And then you can argue back, too! @jamesdoeser
Sunday 31 July 2011
Thursday 28 July 2011
Lesley's courgette and Bernadette's basil
I do sometimes get tired of thinking of what to eat: the natural ennui of someone who works full time and so is tempted to choose the same, quick meal, and who also has the unlimited choice of anything in the world that the supermarket provide.
Yes, I did just say there are too many option, and I do realise how spoilt that sounds, but I actually find it liberating to have restrictions. I remember my mother coping with the autumn apple glut with such imagination: just when we were at the improbable point of being sick of raw apples, apple crumble and baked apple, out would come the apple fritters. Magic!
This encouragement into creativity is one of the (many) reasons home produce delights me, and this week I was the happy recipient of garden-gifts from two colleagues. On Tuesday Lesley presented courgettes from her allotment, with the weary sigh of someone mid-glut and trying to prevent any turning into marrows! I was dining alone that night so I took just one, sliced it on the diagonal and quickly fried it in oil with some chopped garlic. Sharing the plate - but not the glory - were baby Jersey potatoes and a quick-fried salmon fillet, dusted with paprika and salt. Heavenly.
Due to good weather, Bernadette's basil plant had produced abundantly and today she brought in bags of delicate, aromatic leaves. I thanked my lucky stars that no one else got there before me and bagged a bag. Right now it lies chopped in a bowl with some toasted, chopped pine nuts, a little parmesan and a lot of extra virgin olive oil. I have made this into a proper paste before, using pestle and mortar, however I much prefer this rough, verdant version. I can't wait to put the pasta on: hurry home, gent!
These two ingredients have really whetted my appetite and I can't wait to get to the market at the weekend for more inspiration!
Yes, I did just say there are too many option, and I do realise how spoilt that sounds, but I actually find it liberating to have restrictions. I remember my mother coping with the autumn apple glut with such imagination: just when we were at the improbable point of being sick of raw apples, apple crumble and baked apple, out would come the apple fritters. Magic!
This encouragement into creativity is one of the (many) reasons home produce delights me, and this week I was the happy recipient of garden-gifts from two colleagues. On Tuesday Lesley presented courgettes from her allotment, with the weary sigh of someone mid-glut and trying to prevent any turning into marrows! I was dining alone that night so I took just one, sliced it on the diagonal and quickly fried it in oil with some chopped garlic. Sharing the plate - but not the glory - were baby Jersey potatoes and a quick-fried salmon fillet, dusted with paprika and salt. Heavenly.
Due to good weather, Bernadette's basil plant had produced abundantly and today she brought in bags of delicate, aromatic leaves. I thanked my lucky stars that no one else got there before me and bagged a bag. Right now it lies chopped in a bowl with some toasted, chopped pine nuts, a little parmesan and a lot of extra virgin olive oil. I have made this into a proper paste before, using pestle and mortar, however I much prefer this rough, verdant version. I can't wait to put the pasta on: hurry home, gent!
These two ingredients have really whetted my appetite and I can't wait to get to the market at the weekend for more inspiration!
Monday 4 July 2011
physic garden madness
It was the most perfect summer's day: sweltering at 10am, wall to wall sunshine, scandalously blue skies. Good only for lying, panting in the shade and for the sublime evening that follows.
The dying day was cooler, the breeze balmy, and the proximity to midsummer stretched the evening to romantic proportions. Perfect for a surprise trip to the ‘Rambulance’ pop up supper club by Rambling Restaurant, hosted in the Urban Physic Garden.
A derelict site next to a train line, it looked an anxious, infertile spot. But once we had been admitted through the gates we found an oasis – never has the word been better employed – of herbs, trees, flowers and shrubs, each organised, tidy as a librarian, into the ailments they are said to alleviate.
To one side long table was set for supper, the rather home-made white awning, happily redundant on this cloudless evening. We dropped our bag next to our camping cutlery and jam jars (for water, of course – and a plastic measuring beaker for the gent) then headed into the garden. We looked at the beds of greenage to cure gastric problems, eye health and such. An imaginative irrigation system dripped water from pipes rigged above the plant beds, lending a lush, rain forest feeling.
Behind the ‘treatment room’ we found a skip-cum-ping pong table, and tried our hand. Then played on a complex three-part, jointed see-saw. Just as we were exploring the dispensary of pills, we felt it was probably time for supper. We sat down to sautéed mushrooms on lightly toasted ciabatta with salad leaves including various healing herbs. The salad dressing was reverently passed around in its huge plastic syringe.
The table was full and communal and we discovered we were seated with the most fun, interesting and lovely people: so lucky! Three lived nearby, one had an acquaintance in common with the gent, and conversation moved between teaching art, parking Borris bikes and London.
Next we had barbeque pork with a herb chimichurri, with a lovely sharp, vinegary mix of roast cherry tomatoes and cannellini beans, and potatoes. The generous rim of fat on my pork was well judged and much appreciated. Wine was byo and the gent matched the food brilliantly with a light, strawberry Fleurie which, after an afternoon refrigerating, came to a perfect coolish temperature by the time it was welcomed into our glasses.
The cooking was undertaken inside, and next to, an ex-ambulance. I took a good look on my way to the compost loo (which promised to turn our poo into gas to fuel the ovens): washing my hands outside in a free-standing china sink I couldn’t help but think what an unusual set up it all was!
A finale of cheesecake and crème brulee finished the evening. By now the sky had deepened but not quite reached full night. Still warm, we took the tube to Green park and opted to walk from there: it seemed a pity to not be outside.
If I were to be picky then there were inconsistencies in the meal: crispy charred pork to my left, rather less cooked to my right; lipstick on the wine glass. But the whole evening was so generous and entertaining that criticism feels out of place.
The gent and I agreed that were we to cater such an event, it would be easier to do a pork belly rather than chops. Belly is far more forgiving on timing so it wouldn’t matter if proceedings were delayed – it couldn’t be overcooked – and it would require no last-minute attention, except in carving.
The evening left the warm impression of an inventive use of neglected land, some delicious food and good company. And more herbal knowledge than I expected to come home with.
The dying day was cooler, the breeze balmy, and the proximity to midsummer stretched the evening to romantic proportions. Perfect for a surprise trip to the ‘Rambulance’ pop up supper club by Rambling Restaurant, hosted in the Urban Physic Garden.
A derelict site next to a train line, it looked an anxious, infertile spot. But once we had been admitted through the gates we found an oasis – never has the word been better employed – of herbs, trees, flowers and shrubs, each organised, tidy as a librarian, into the ailments they are said to alleviate.
To one side long table was set for supper, the rather home-made white awning, happily redundant on this cloudless evening. We dropped our bag next to our camping cutlery and jam jars (for water, of course – and a plastic measuring beaker for the gent) then headed into the garden. We looked at the beds of greenage to cure gastric problems, eye health and such. An imaginative irrigation system dripped water from pipes rigged above the plant beds, lending a lush, rain forest feeling.
Behind the ‘treatment room’ we found a skip-cum-ping pong table, and tried our hand. Then played on a complex three-part, jointed see-saw. Just as we were exploring the dispensary of pills, we felt it was probably time for supper. We sat down to sautéed mushrooms on lightly toasted ciabatta with salad leaves including various healing herbs. The salad dressing was reverently passed around in its huge plastic syringe.
The table was full and communal and we discovered we were seated with the most fun, interesting and lovely people: so lucky! Three lived nearby, one had an acquaintance in common with the gent, and conversation moved between teaching art, parking Borris bikes and London.
Next we had barbeque pork with a herb chimichurri, with a lovely sharp, vinegary mix of roast cherry tomatoes and cannellini beans, and potatoes. The generous rim of fat on my pork was well judged and much appreciated. Wine was byo and the gent matched the food brilliantly with a light, strawberry Fleurie which, after an afternoon refrigerating, came to a perfect coolish temperature by the time it was welcomed into our glasses.
The cooking was undertaken inside, and next to, an ex-ambulance. I took a good look on my way to the compost loo (which promised to turn our poo into gas to fuel the ovens): washing my hands outside in a free-standing china sink I couldn’t help but think what an unusual set up it all was!
A finale of cheesecake and crème brulee finished the evening. By now the sky had deepened but not quite reached full night. Still warm, we took the tube to Green park and opted to walk from there: it seemed a pity to not be outside.
If I were to be picky then there were inconsistencies in the meal: crispy charred pork to my left, rather less cooked to my right; lipstick on the wine glass. But the whole evening was so generous and entertaining that criticism feels out of place.
The gent and I agreed that were we to cater such an event, it would be easier to do a pork belly rather than chops. Belly is far more forgiving on timing so it wouldn’t matter if proceedings were delayed – it couldn’t be overcooked – and it would require no last-minute attention, except in carving.
The evening left the warm impression of an inventive use of neglected land, some delicious food and good company. And more herbal knowledge than I expected to come home with.
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