Kitchen W8

Isn't it nice to make the most of something? New Year's Eve started early for us with a bacon sandwich (true celebration food!) then a shopping trip for the gent, to include some 78's for the 'grandmaphone' and a serendipitous suit from Hornets.

To end such a satisfactory morning in Kitchen W8 was truly fitting, and frankly if all lunches were like this I would be a whole lot more enthusiastic about shopping.

A mere moment of white table-clothed tranquility was enough to restore our senses, jangled as they were by the Portobello hoardes. And then the feasting began. My starter satiated the senses with rich, extravagant flavours: fried egg with truffle soldiers felt terribly sophisticated and was accompanied by baked squash, chanterelle mushrooms and hazelnut gnocchi. Indeed, gnocchi so full of flavour that we almost mistook them for morsels of something meaty! The gent enjoyed an elegant marriage of beetroot, mackerel rillettes, smoked eel and ham.

Let us pause between courses to note that the Qupe 2009 Chardonnay / Viognier from the new world was a beautiful choice, and entirely worth the gamble. The gent's notes: "powerful full-bodied Chardonnay with the floral qualities of Viognier". But much, much nicer.

We continued with halibut, which came with pumpkin purée, Jerusalem artichoke, fricassee of winter veg (spinach and roast shallots, in this instance). If we were being po-faced and picky we might mention that the fish was just a tiny smidge more cooked then we personally would have chosen... but it was still a beautiful dish which we really enjoyed.

The deserts almost defeated us, despite their wondrousness, and we limped through the finish line, the last to leave the restaurant. If the staff minded they hid it well. To cement my budding love for this restaurant, the maitre d' dropped the espressi from our bill, to compensate for any disappointment for not being able to serve my first-choice of dessert. It is that level of charm that really hits my weak spot: people who understand what a blow it can be to miss out on a poached pear! Happily the desert menu was rare in having several puds I would say yes to, and I was most content with my passion fruit posset. And some of the gent's melting chocolate pudding.

Given that 'Kitchen W8' earned a Michelin star in 2011 I am perhaps being too easily impressed. But I care not: I had a super experience and would visit again at the drop of a hat. I would even contemplate Portobello road again, if this is the treasure at the foot of the rainbow!

Happy new year, I hope it brings you delicious food!

food the enemy

The first meal after 3 days of (literally) bread and water, is most certainly the silver lining to food poisoning.

I have rarely seen food as the enemy: always it is the stuff of celebrations, feast-days and a way to everyday happiness. To look at it with suspicion and associate it with making you feel terrible is an awful way to live. It was a stern prompt to value my health much more: I really do appreciate that for some people food is a daily battle.

But, to my point: ham. Roast ham, to be specific. After 3 days with a spoon of porridge here, some dry spaghetti there, marmite toast was my gateway substance back into experiencing taste. What a world of colour after so much bland! And then on Christmas Eve I had a couple of slices of roast ham, pushed into unbuttered bread. An explosion of savoury taste sensations! Never has a slice of ham tasted so strong, so salty, so powerful. It was like tasting anew - I felt like Frankenstein's created man experiencing sensations for the first time.

My relief was great: not only did the sandwich avoid disagreeing with my stomach, but it meant I could, after all, have Christmas lunch the next day. What an alarming prospect to have been facing!

What caused the illness? I have no idea, thank goodness: as I don't know, I can't have bad associations with anything I ate the previous day. I would be loathe to make an enemy of any foodstuff for longer than 3 days. I do so hate to feud.

the walrus and the carpenter

Well I think those are the fellows I mean: they who wept over the fate of the oysters until they were all eaten. Well I wept only with pleasure, this evening at Les Deux Salons. These three were sublime and my only regret was not eating six. Or a dozen.

leon + stroganoff

Leon saved the day with its ham, lentil and chunky vegetable soup. I had a flat bread to dip in, too, and somehow it felt completely different to the soup-and-bread I can get so bored of. Top marks, too, for making swede, celery and lentils into something so very tasty: to me the epitome of skilled cooking is to take something wholesome (and perhaps somewhat boring) and make you want seconds! My grumpy mood lifted like a sea mist in the sun.

Last night I dashed together a mushroom stroganoff to use up left-overs, which turned out better than expected. Shallot, garlic, celery softened in a pan, then I added a sliced brown cup mushrooms and a field mushroom or two and a teaspoon and a half of spicy smoked paprika. We really must get some sweet paprika in! After it had cooked a bit, I added just a little vegetable stock (about 100ml) and let it bubble away. Lastly in went some double cream, a squeeze of lemon and some seasoning... and we had it over rice.

Actually the 'proper' or classic recipe escapes me: I have made or eaten so many variations that I am only certain that it is supposed to contain beef and sour cream! In my top three remains the delightful kidney and mushroom, from Delia's 'Frugal Food'. I must re-visit that before I even pick up Larousse to find out how a proper cook would create it...

never were there such devoted sisters

And this is why.

It is hard to be grumpy after raspberry pancakes with yogurt and extra raspberries. Or watercress soup with buttered, toasted cheese scones from 'Ginger two' in Winchester.

Or a supper of smoked salmon on rye and cream cheese, with gherkins; pigs in blankets; devils on horsebacks and rocket salad. And a great cava.

I really love our almost-annual sister weekend: thank you Andy, Alex, gingers and the gent for giving up your wimminfolk! x

sobrasada

Most wonderful breakfast EVER!

Despite a late night of dvds I bounced out of bed, keen to get in the kitchen.

Anun gifted us a pot of sobrasada, that bright orange paste from Spanish heaven. Or Garcia & sons, as it is otherwise known.

Spread over toast and topped with a poached or fried egg you will want for nothing more bar a cup of tea.

home alone

Two days off work - a mid-week weekend, if you will - and I am having a wonderful time. You see here that I made the best of a guilty scoot round H&M's home department. The pseudo-rustic little bags charmed themselves home with me and it didn't take me long to put them to a good use, to whit: holding 4 or 5 different bags of flour on the top shelf (the naughty shelf, as in a newsagent, dedicated here to baking goods), and containing a several half-finished bags of rice and pulses on the bottom shelf.

After a shuffle-tidy I felt as if this had actually been a virtuous move. Note the famous nutmeg enjoying its bamboo throne on the middle shelf!

Oh dear, and here is evidence of my less-virtuous side when home alone: lunch for one. I was ravenous after a morning swim so had an early lunch. Broccoli and stilton soup straight from the saucepan with some bread; the extra delicacy you espy is a cold sausage with mustard. If I'm to be honest, a completely blasted, burnt stump of a sausage. I know it is a bad craftsman who blames his tools, but before this oven I'm sure I never managed to burn a sausage: I couldn't have done that if I had tried!

I won't be snobbish about shop-bought soup as it is really handy and I just love the pea and ham from *ahem* Waitrose. This broccoli and stilton soup reminded me how very lovely my own version is, too: I'll add a note to my 'foods to cook' list and make it soon.