Eats, Shoots & Leaves

Pierre

After an evening of digestion and a morning contemplating death by boredom at work, I headed back over to the Mandarin to meet the ladies. This was easily the highlight of my social calendar - it's not often I get to enjoy a great lunch with a group of vivacious women. I decided early on not to risk iphone photos at this one, there were far too many skilled photographers present. Instead, I decided to eat while the Frogmother shot. I'd arrived with the best intentions. Perhaps I could manage a two course express lunch? Surely I wouldn't be up for the bread again!

How little I know myself.

The bread offering at Pierre (at lunch) wasn't as good as it had been at the Grill the night before. I had more of the butter roll but didn't particularly enjoy the cheese bread or the olive roll. In fairness, I may have left the cheese bread a little late. The cheese had hardened and I don't like hard work at the start of a meal. Or ever.

There was a plate of amuses. One was a herb cookie, textured like Chinese new year peanut cookies. I was a little confused by that association and this probably impacted my perception of the cookie, which was "meh". Next up was what I thought was a slice of sea bass or snapper sashimi, around a whipped cheese dollop. Meh. Finally, I had what seemed to be a hazelnut wrapped in smoked fat. Oh. Em. Gee. Delish. I may have stolen the spare from the table.

That little bit of salty, calorific goodness was the fluffer to the proper amuse, a truffle ice cream on a bed of bacon bits, mushroom quarters and consomme jelly, covered with generous slices (!?) of truffle. I can't imagine that the truffle was traditional truffle given the generousity. Could it have been made in China? I must be more trusting. Also, who cares. It tasted good to my plebeian tastebuds. In fact, it tasted more than good. That dish was a rockstar. It was also very much the highlight of the meal for me.

Though I should be clear when I make such statements. The starter of scallop carpaccio on a curry and cauliflower base was a little step down from heaven, but on a very small one. A little ledge even. I suppose it was the Bon Jovi to the truffle ice cream's GNR. The only thing that wasn't perfect about the dish was the "lace" bread, which was a little too thick to match my imaginings.

I was struggling with indecision when we picked the middle courses and so the Frogmother and I determined to share. I opted for the sorrel omelette with a cheese fondue. The dish wasn't what I was expecting - apparently I have a lot of issues with that at the moment. I expected a sorrel omelette with a cheese fondue, but felt that I'd ended up with a cheese omelette topped with sorrel. Still, that meant that I didn't have any misgivings when I gave it up to the Frogmother in exchange for her haddock quenelle.

This was the better of the two middle courses, though I think it would have been bettered by a slightly smoked haddock. Ah, smoked haddock. That takes me back to one of my best ever breakfasts, in the Malvern hills, in 2000. I was speaking at UCAS events in the UK at the time, and was put up at this quaint little B&B (it has since expanded). It was and still is a family operation, dedicated to British produce. They would smoke their own fish for breakfasts and I continually recommend them for weekend breaks in the Cotswolds (link at Malvern Hills). The views are incredible, the food is still excellent, and the prices are fair. What more can anyone ask for in austerity Britain?

I had foolishly ordered the lamb cutlet for mains, enticed by the "eggplant stiletto" it was served with. I imagined a slender, curved slice of eggplant, in the shape of a Louboutin heel. Nope. I enviously eye-ate the pork belly pasta the majority of the ladies had ordered.

Now, down to the biggest issue of the day. This was an express lunch menu. By the time we had our main course, it was two hours in. Sad to say, most of us don't officially get to eat for a living, and were summoned back to our dull desks before we could even review the dessert menu. Bah.

The petit all-fours were alright. I'm not a huge fan of marshmallow making a comeback but I do like coconut and sugar, so it wasn't unlikeable. Similarly, I don't really like marzipan, but this orange blossom marzipan was alright. There was a chocolate cup filled with a kirsch soaked cherry. Delicious. Finally, an apricot jelly that had a slightly bitter after taste that I didn't personally like, though no one seemed to find this objectionable.

So, sacrilege, I preferred the Grill. Admittedly dinner vs lunch isn't a fair comparison, but beggars (as I am in unaustere Hong Kong) cannot be choosers.

Mandarins in Hong Kong

For some reason, I often feel as though Hong Kong's dining scene is dominated by hotel restaurants. This is silly of me, since some of my favourite restaurants are in hotels, and one of the best dishes of my entire existence was Anton Edelmann's courgette flower with scallop mouselline at the Savoy. I think that part of the problem I face here is that because of the dearth of affordable middle ground restaurants (burger dates here seem to cost seventy quid for two, double what they cost in London), I often end up in a higher end restaurant since that way I feel (marginally) less ripped off. This is contrary to my general belief that eating, drinking and making merry should all go together. Starched tablecloths, judgmental European waiters, immense wine mark ups, whispering or condemnation for a lack of whispering and sacrificing taste for style doesn't really go with this ethos. Still, when in Rome...

In the last 24 hours I have been to eat at the Mandarin Oriental, which I normally only go to for Eve Lom facials, twice. First the Hubs took me to dinner at the Mandarin Grill. I am shamelessly linking to the site of someone who takes great photos here since mine were unbelievably poor and iphone based. Here is a link to someone who had most of the dishes I had, in better light, and with a better camera. Today, I had a lovely ladies lunch (none of whom were ladies of leisure, all of whom were ladies of extensive food knowledge and expertise) at Pierre, where the Fairy Frogmother was kind enough to do the photographic honours.

Mandarin Grill

The Grill is infamous in Hong Kong for being both businessy and expaty. I don't think I could challenge that. We arrived at eight thirty after I had been enjoying cocktails at Otto e Mezzo with the Frogmother. Given my tendency to favour prohibition era cocktails (links in descending preference order, in case anyone fancies buying me a drink one day), I was pretty warmed up and not in the mood for much more drinking when we arrived. This, however, meant that I was less able to block out the initial impression that I was at work when we walked into a room that was filled to capacity (probably around fifty covers), but only had three women in it.

The Hubs and I both opted for a tasting tour. I am growing increasingly bored and frustrated by menus that tell me nothing. For example, if I see "SEA" as the name of a dish on a menu, I often envisage myself sucking brine out of a piece of driftwood. If I'm feeling generous, or in a restaurant like the Mandarin Grill, which has a fairly stellar reputation, this impression may be extended to edible yet decorative garnishes like samphire. It was for this very reason that I wasn't able to contemplate Tour 3, with it's MILLIONAIRE (aren't you meant to marry them, not eat them?) and FLOWER POT (don't you cook in terracotta, not eat it?). I eat an awful lot of beef these days and so "SIRLOIN" didn't appeal, knocking out Tour 1. Tour 2 it was then! To be fair to them, the menus we were shown at the table did have slightly more information, which I've included in the descriptions below. It is always such a gamble with these menus though, because there's no real way of understanding what you are ordering, and it would have been quite a task for the waiter to rattle through each and every dish. One day I might actually test this.

To kick us off, there were three mini amuses. The first was a cookie of parmesan and basil, which looked a bit like a hot mess in a mini cupcake case, and remarkably like something I had made once that went wrong that I then covered with dessicated coconut in the hope of pulling together a passable disguise. Second was an olive oil macaroon with a home made olive on top (I may have misheard this because it tasted nothing like olive). It was exceptionally unexceptional. Finally there was the blob. A molecule of what was called olive oil, but which tasted suspiciously like a teetotal version of the Frogmother's dirrrty martini from earlier in the night. I felt slightly cheated that there was no Gray Goose or Ketal One in this. All in all, quite a poor start. That is, until the bread basket was put in front of us. There were about six choices of bread, of which I became obsessed with what turned out to be called the "butter roll". Oops. The Hubs and I destroyed this in record time. He liked the red pepper roll, which was good because the waiters brought back two more double portions. The double portions manifested because there was ongoing confusion about the one I liked, being the butter roll, an extra serving of which found its way to me on attempt three. All of this bread was served with a selection of olive oil. Oh dear God. Olive oil snobbery was a private vice of mine. How did it become publicly acceptable? As a tribute to a HK uber-girl, I opted for the Lambda oil, which was a little more flowery than I ordinarily like. Either way, as my new favourite HK food blogger would say, fat die me.

The first official course was "FOREST WALK - foie gras, truffle, mushroom, leaves", which led me to expect something along the lines of Heston Blumenthal's oak moss dish. Bo'innovation's sex on the beach would have been closer to it. It was essentially a creative take on foie gras on brioche. In this case, the foie was moulded into the shape of girolles and the like, served with a cylinder of brioche toasted to look like a log. I loved what they had done with it from a presentation aspect, but from a taste perspective it was decidedly average. In fact, I prefer the foie gras with girolles from Monsieur Chatte especially with some fig paste).

Next up (and with no more bread passing our lips for the rest of the evening) was "ONION - french, organic, consomme, egg, cheese, gold, tea bag". So, really, french onion soup. A rice paper "tea bag" of chives and god leaf was put in a teapot and covered in consomme (why not have dehydrated consomme in the tea bag too?). This was then poured into a cup with a dollop of egg and cheese in it. This was delicious though I do like the cheesy crouton and almost gravy like texture of the onion soup that I associate with bistros. I realise that I am a heathen. Amusingly, the wrapper for the tea bag said "Decaffeinated". Phew.

"LAMB - welsh, rhug estate, organic, shoulder, stew, natural jus" was next, with no threats from Gwen Stefani. This really told me nothing about what to expect, but I imagined a large Welsh R(h)ugby boy when I read it. The reality was a cellophane wrapped chunk of meaty goodness. When I saw it appear in its gift-wrapped glory, I thought it was sous vide. Eating it, I think it was actually braised. Either way, I really enjoyed this. From my perspective this was the turning point in the menu, where the focus became the food. The meat was tender and had that slight stickiness that I associate with dissolved collagen. The vegetables, served in thinly sliced discs, were perfectly al dente and of flavours that complemented the lamb and its "jus".

The star of the evening was next: "LOBSTER - brittany, rose, caviar, beetroot, fennel, lobster oil". This was heavenly. Absolutely perfect and easily the best lobster dish I have ever had in a restaurant, apologies to Scalini's spaghetti. Until this moment, I genuinely believed that lobster is best served fresh off a bbq and with garlic butter. Now I know better, though I will never be able to replicate it, which is frustrating. The texture of the lobster changed depending on which section you were inhaling, which I consider to be the hallmark of perfectly cooked shellfish. The flavours worked perfectly, though I don't recall rose. I would go again just to have this dish.

Sadly, it was hard for anything to come after that dish. The "WALNUT - hazelnut, raspberry, armagnac, snow" seemed very ordinary in taste, though I liked the idea of cracking through the shell of the "walnut" to get to the jelly-like filling. I suspect my tastebuds were overwhelmed after two old fashioneds, a G&T and all that food, so perhaps I am doing this dish an injustice. Similarly, the petit ones (a truffle. To me, it only counts as petit fours if there are four of them because I am literally minded and I don't care if it actually means something about an oven, this is actually the best ever juxtaposition of French and English and should be respected) actually didn't taste pleasant to me. All in all, I would say the pleasure of the meal was normally distributed, with an element of skew. Sometimes I hate the impact working in Finance has had on the way I think. At least I didn't say kurtosis.

So, having mentioned the cost of dining in Hong Kong, what was the damage from the dinner for two on a school night? HK$4,253 or GBP350. Not austere. This included four glasses of mid-priced wines (an Alsace unpronounceable for me, a Slovakian something for Hubs, two passable but forgettable reds). Reading back this post, I realise that I sound fairly negative, but the reality is that it was a very good meal. It just wasn't good at that price. If I put myself back to London standards, I would compare this meal to Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley, and I loved that restaurant. I just balk at the price.

Pierre experience to follow.

In a pathetic effort to revive this blog, I thought I'd include more about what we'd been doing. We aren't big New Year's Eve people, and almost always end up at home when the clock strikes. This year, we thought we'd give our helper the evening off and spend the night with RJ, so we celebrated at lunchtime. I'd been meaning to try the wine lunch at Amber for some time, and we took this opportunity to do that.

In Hong Kong, restaurants tend to be judged by their bread baskets. I still maintain that Cepage and Otto e Mezzo do it best.

Olive oil... yum

Parmasan foam, some kind of citrus jelly, rocket puree, tapioca pearls in truffle

Iberico croquette with curried juices. This is a fixture at Amber.

Beetroot and foie gras "chupa chup". Another fixture, though the first time I've heard it referred to as a Chupa Chup.

... all served with Veuve, which was very disappointing. Apart from my general lack of interest in Veuve, it didn't stand up to the spices of the croquette, or the depth of the foie gras.

There was a choice of three starters - Dungeness crab salad with creme fraiche, avocado, granny smith and cucumber; Royal Cabanon oyster #1 served over a oyster panna cotta, beetroot, shaved cauliflower, with a hazelnut and malt vinegar; or this...

The duck foie gras marinated in red wine (which we couldn't taste) prepared as a terrine with quince and toasted pistachio. There was also a pistachio shortbread, which was delicious. This was served with brioche. In the grand scheme of foie gras terrines, I think that this was fairly standard. Personally, I have a preference for pan-fried or a more robust pate (speaking of which, I would recommend the foie gras and girolles pate at Monsieur Chatte in Hong Kong).

This was the only course where we offered a choice of wine. It was between a pinot gris and a soave. We opted for the Mount Difficulty.

There was also a choice of middle course. The choices this time around were a kaboche squash volute with autumn truffle and white onion bread roll (my choice); Petuna ocean trout dorsal fin confit, belly seared with grennobolse (I can't read the menu here so may have made that up) and yarra valley caviar, leek in vinigarette (Hub's choice); Wild mushrooms over parmasan reggiano, with something and chicken juice.

Wine was a Dolcetto d'Alba. I can't remember if I did this for the Century wine challange, damnit. About midway through the course, they brought out the next wine, a chianti. I was confused by the random inflow of wine, but what Bacchus gives, I cannot deny. Even if it was fairly uninteresting, and ill suited to the food we had at that point in time.

The choice of mains were Atlantic cod roasted with thyme , salt roasted celeriac and Iberian pork neck in a cab sav (my term) reduction; Grefeuille lamb neck braised with spices, heirloom carrots, and dried apricots, hung yoghurt with lemon and sesame crisp; and the Pheasant pie that both the Hubs and I opted for. This was almost like a wellington, lined with foie gras and bacon, with a side of autumn salad with chesnuts and cranberries. I fully intend to rip this off sometime in the near future.

Perturbingly, the pie made me think of the Tefal Pie & Co gadget that my mother was given for Christmas. Could it be?

The wines stopped here, just as the we managed to convince the staff that we wanted to pick our cheeses rather than opt for a standard plate, which resulted in the frantic pulling together of a cheese trolley.

The cheeses were fairly good, though we lacked anything to eat with them for a few moments before fig and apricot bread was offered. After all the bread earlier, this felt like crossing some sort of line, and I had a huge hankering for poire william, but managed to resist. This is meant to be our austerity year, and indulging like that doesn't fit in.

Then came the desserts, plural.

A lemon and basil jelly with granny smith sorbet and a solo wild strawberry

Tiramisu inspired and delicious

Guanaja over speculoos & coffee ice cream

All in, I think that the meal was consistent, but the wine was a let down. I suspect that the objective was to offer good value, which it certainly does, at HK$798 (cheese an additional $179 or something) but I would have preferred more interesting choices given that I have had most of those options in bars. Amber is two Michelin, I think (though obviously that means I don't think much of it's potential), and so I would have expected better wines, or at least the ability to have chosen better wines. Something like this Luca Abrate event was more like what I had in mind, and could have been achieved, in effect, with wines from one house and explanatory notes (I like these pretentious events to be educational, particularly if mingling is required). The food was fairly noteworthy but the best thing about it was probably the Christofle everything. The cutlery, the tiffin box like thing the petit fours were served in... . Apparently, the subliminal messages worked because the Hubs and I went straight out and bought the champagne bucket we'd been lusting after since 2006. At least we know we'll like it!

I am planning a proper blog post about how I think RJ was an officer or strategist at Guantanamo Bay in his last life. Fingers crossed I manage to get there before the next cop-out opportunity.

Good Girls Bake Cake

It was my father's 60th birthday on Monday, and all he wanted was a meal cooked by his women (the wife and daughters). What a classic Indian father. We split the effort, with me taking on the asparagus mimosa, beef wellington and birthday cake. Those who read this blog may have realised that I apparently married my father, since the Hubs requested the exact same things for his birthday. I decided that their taste in birthday cakes would probably be similar, so made the same cake I had made Hubs (that is, the second cake, since he had two) - a ferrero rocher cheesecake. I adapted the recipe from the Fig Tree. The cake needs to be made a day in advance but is otherwise easy as, well, it's a piece of cake. A very rich, very decadent cake.

I keep my oven at 180 celcius or so

Step 1: The base Mix together 120g digestive crumbs 30g of ground hazelnuts 20g light brown sugar 30g melted butter 1/2 tsp vanilla extract.

Pack this tightly into the base of the cake tin (ideally springform, lined with baking paper) and bake for 5-10 minutes. This should bake till golden but can quickly burn, so it's worth keeping an eye on. Leave this to cool completely. I like to put this into the refrigerator before step 2, so it goes in cold.

Step 2: The cake Chop 180g of chocolate and mix this with 90g of nutella (approximately two large tablespoons). Place this in a bowl. Heat 450ml of whipping cream over a medium to low heat till it simmers. but don't let it burn. Once it's simmering, pour it over the chocolate and stir it till it's smooth and fully melted. Leave to cool.

Beat two packs (the standard 250g ones) of cream cheese till fluffy. The cheese needs to be at room temperature for this to work. Once it's fluffed (ha!), add 60g of sugar and beat well. Once mixed, add a tablespoon of cornstarch and combine. This shouldn't be mixed too much since air makes the cheesecake crack.

Beat two eggs and then quickly blend them into the cheese mix. Add in the chocolate slowly. Add 9 chopped ferrero rocher chocolates into the batter and pour into the pan. I quite like scattering this along the bottom of the pan. It's worth noting that the wafer can go soggy in the cake, so the pieces should be reasonably small.

Bake for 30 minutes and then turn off the heat and leave the cheesecake to sit in the oven for 40 minutes. Then let the cake rest on a wire rack, outside of the baking pan.

Step 3: Refrigerate overnight.

The recipe actually calls for Nutella icing. I've never been able to cope with this - the cake is so rich. For my father's birthday we topped it with whipped cream. An alternative would to be serve this with a dollop of mascarpone (there is no better accompaniment for cheesecake).

Brace yourself, this guy is HEAVY.

Trust Him, He's Italian

It's been awhile since I put anything up about a restaurant. There are so many food bloggers in Asia who do it better than I ever would (or could, given that I am a little like a goldfish and may explode). Once in awhile though, I find places that don't seem to have as much blogtime as I think that they deserve, and so I feel that I ought to contribute something. No Menu, in Singapore, is one such place. Prior to our date there, I only found one decent article about it. Resident Froggie had gone there for her birthday though, and her recommendation was more than enough for me.

No Menu is located reasonably centrally in the business district, where it attracts a fairly affluent crowd of adventurous local foodies and homesick expats. It's a family-run affair and typically Singaporean in its informality, though it still retains white linen and generous leather seating.

While No Menu offers an attractive a la carte selection encompassing buratta ravioli, squid ink risotto and other dishes I would ordinarily be hard pressed to resist, there was a clear decision to be made this time. The off-menu, no-menu option was a no brainer. For S$98++, the No Menu family would bring out taster plates of antipasto, primo and dolce. The secondi was described only as "meat or fish?", and, naturally, the Hubs and I decided have one of each and share them. Given that I'm now a two drink girl, we jumped straight in with prosecco and valpolicella. Here's a glimpse of the meal we had:

This plate of mortadella was given to us with the introduction (in an Italian accent) "this is todays amuse bouche", which I found hysterical for reasons I'm not entirely sure of. Is there even an Italian equivalent of amuse bouche?

The antipasto plate: (L-R) coppa and steamed vegetables, caprese, parma and melon, bruschetta. The caprese and bruschetta were clear winners on this plate. I've always struggled to make good bruschetta. The best I've ever had was in a neighbourhood Italian in Chiswick, where the chef told me rubbing the bread down with garlic was an absolute essential. Sadly, there must be other essentials, since I never seem to perfect the balance of tang, sweetness and crunch. No Menu's bruschetta had that to a T, and you could taste the extra-ordinary virginity of the oil. Yum.

I've never had a fried egg with truffle before, and it's a toss up (ha) as to whether it's better than with scramble, though there is something very decadent about dipping into yolk and come up with a sliver of truffle attached.

The primo plate: (L-R) spinach and ricotta tortellini in a butter and sage sauce, wild boar ragu, buratta ravioli

Meat: Beef cheeks and mash

Fish: Sea bass

The dolce plate: (L-R) tiramisu, meringue and whipped cream, chocolate mousse and mascarpone cream All that, plus coffees and two glasses each, came to S$330. I'm definitely going to go back.

The Good Wife 1

So this year I decided not to buy the Hubs a birthday present, hoping that the baby would slip out of me on the morning so that I could go "ta-dah, here's one I made earlier". Sadly, things haven't been going to plan. To make up for it, I promised him a meal of his choosing, cooked with love. This is what he picked:
Beef Wellington
Potato Gratin
Black Forest
Cheesecake
I make a mean wellington and gratin, if I do say so myself, so no doubt I will post about those when I feel like there's nothing else to post about. I've never been a particularly good baker though, and so when I find recipes that work for me, I figure I ought to share them.

With the thousands of food blogs out there, I tend to seek my recipes from the net these days. It was surprisingly hard to find a black forest recipe that looked good and feasible. In the end I settled on a variant of this one, and aimed for good and possible. My variant was this, and turned out very dense but delish:
Phase 1
300g sugar
300g flour
225g cocoa powder
100g shaved chocolate
1 tspn salt
1 1/2 tspn baking powder
2 eggs, beaten
120ml oil
240ml milk
240ml boiling water

1. Preheat oven to 170 Celsius. Line the bottom of a cake pan (I recommend springform since otherwise it's a removal disaster).
2. Combine sugar, flour, cocoa, salt and baking powder. Sift twice.
3. In a separate bowl, combine the beaten eggs, vegetable oil, and milk. Stir to mix. Then, with the mixer on low, pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Mix on low until evenly distributed.
4. Gradually pour the boiling water into the batter and mix on medium low until smooth.
5. Pour the batter into the cake pan. It was more liquid than I expected and I was unconvinced that it would set, but it did, so have faith!
6. Bake for 35-45 minutes. When a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out cleanly, the cakes are done. Remove from the oven and let cool completely.

Phase 2
250g chopped chocolate (I used dark)
75ml heavy whipping cream
1 tbspn butter

1. In a saucepan, heat the cream and butter just until simmering.
2. Pour the hot cream mixture over the chocolate. Whisk the cream into the chocolate until smooth.
3. Slice the cake into the number of layers you'd like. Mine didn't rise much (maybe more baking powder needed?) so I determined that this would be two slices. I also took off the uneven top layer (and started soaking this in kirsch syrup).
4. Spread a thin layer of ganache on top of both of the cooled chocolate cake layers. Let set for an hour in the refrigerator.

Phase 3
Pitted cherries
2 tbspn sugar
1 tbspn cornstarch
1 tbspn kirsch or brandy

1. Place the cherries in a saucepan and cook over medium heat until the cherries begin to release their juices.
2. Add the sugar into the cherries, stirring until dissolved.
3. Pour some of the cherry juice into a small bowl. Add the cornstarch to the juice and whisk until the corn starch is completely dissolved. Add the cornstarch and juice back into the saucepan.
4. Bring the mixture to a boil and cook for one minute. Remove from heat and stir in the kirsch or brandy. Let cool before using.

Phase 4
125g mascarpone cheese
400ml heavy whipping cream
100g icing sugar

1. Combine the mascarpone cheese and cream in a bowl. Whip until soft peaks.
2. Sift in the icing sugar and continue whipping just until you reach stiff peaks. Be careful not to overwhip! Use immediately.

This could have used more cream, but I was scared.

Phase 5
1. Spread a layer of mascarpone whipped cream on the prepared ganache-chocolate cake.
2. Top with cherries. I added a layer of the soaked uneven bits of cake and repeated the cream and cherries.
3. Add the top layer of cake.

4. Frost the outside of the cake with the remaining cream.
5. Overindulge

Southern Hospitality

Sometimes random lyrics make an impression on me for no real reason. One example of this is the line "If I gave you peaches, out of my own garden/ and I made you a peach cobbler, would you slap me out?" from "Hate on Me" by Jill Scott. I think it has something to do with the way she enunciates "peach cobbler". Either way, I've been obsessed with the idea of making peach cobbler ever since I first heard the song. Today, I finally got around to it. The 4th of July celebrations that the girls in London were emailing and posting about inspired the nesting instinct, and so I decided to attempt a Southern meal.

First up - King Ranch Casserole
This turned out to be an American version of the first dish my mother ever taught me to cook. It was really easy to make, though I did end up tweaking a lot of the recipe by using chicken broth with dried porcini and mascarpone cheese (leftover from last week's salmon en croute) instead of condensed milk. I couldn't find "chiles" or chilli beans, so subbed with cayenne pepper and portobello mushrooms. The human guinea pig gave it the seal of approval.

On the side, we had corn pudding. I'd never had a proper version of this before (sorry, missus Whaley!), I don't think, because it was first introduced to me at Thanksgiving 2008 or so, when Mrs Whaley accidentally added Blueberry muffin mix into hers. This recipe didn't have any flour, which surprised me, but the cornstarch in the creamed corn, as well as what was added, made it set despite my expectations. I also cut back on the egg. Five eggs seemed too much for something that wasn't an omelette. This was surprisingly good, despite needing absolutely ages to cook. Definitely one to repeat.

Finally, the finale, the cobbler! I subbed two peaches for some cherries but followed the rest of the recipe. I had expected the cobbler to be similar to crumble, but it was actually much stodgier, almost suety. Either way, it was delicious, and (considering it was an American dish) not as unhealthy as I'd expected.

I did want to take lots of pictures for this post, but am still unable to work the camera, so sadly wasn't able to get any. Boo! Hope you can take it on faith!

Day 8 - Santa Monica to LA

It was finally time to head inland and to LA. We rejoined Highway 1 to flashing lights - the police were gunning it down the highway! We were so excited, thinking that it was potentially a car chase, and kept a mindful 75 mph behind them. Imagine our disappointment when they pulled up next to another patrol car and exchanged cash for donuts. What a scandal. Still, it was enough to whet our appetite and we decided to head to Ventura to visit Walmart . It was amazing and horrific all at once. Row after row of cheap but not entirely desirable goods. I stocked up on bottled water and Krafts Mac & Cheese, but then had a terrible public bathroom experience. Not one for the faint hearted, and I certainly wasn't man enough. In no time at all we were back onto Highway 1 and headed to Malibu.

Malibu didn't seem to have much to offer beyond the beaches and the lengths of real estate that bordered those, so we kept on driving through to Santa Monica. We'd had a tip about a good Mexican restaurant from Kami and had been starving ourselves in anticipation. Good thing too because the starter platter for two and main plate for one maxed us out. The corn chips were the second best we've ever eaten, and we even had them for dessert. The owners loved it that we'd driven there on a recommendation from London, although not so much that they would share their salsa recipe.

Having eaten our approximate joint body weights, we decided to walk it off, heading down through the shops to the beach. It didn't take us very long on the beach at Santa Monica to realise why surfers wear wet suits - it was freezing! We headed down the Boulevard for Venice Beach, passing Cha Cha Chicken with overeater's remorse. Venice Beach was very much the Camden equivalent to California's London. There were freaks and geeks and everything in between. We spent a couple of hours there watching people showcase their wares and selves, boys playing basketball and enjoying the free compliments group. There were some good acrobats and a freakshow, complete with a two headed turtle.
Driving into Downtown LA, we had a car to car dance with a car full of kids having a great singalong to some old school Tupac. Then the smog was upon us and even the Hollywood sign was almost totally obscured. Downtown LA was quiet since it was a Friday night, and felt very like Canary Wharf at 8pm, but without drunk people. So nothing like Canary Wharf at all. Particularly on a Friday. We headed to Casa for yet more Mexican food, and this quickly became a favourite. They make amazing guacamole (the spicy one was particularly spectacular), the best corn chips, and I ended up having their atun y masa twice in a row. Yum!

Day 6 - Cayucos and San Luis Obispo

Waking up to the sound of a creek, the smell of pine, and what looked like a raccoon on the window sill was a pretty surreal experience for me. We'd resolved to get an early start, but there was no stopping the Hubs from getting his breakfast and coffee. Deetjens do their own blend and it was the best coffee we'd had since we arrived in the US. After breakfast we walked uphill to watch the sun rise over the pacific, which was absolutely gorgeous. We went back on Highway 1 toward San Simeon, and there isn't anything I can articulate about that - the photos say it all, other than that there are an inordinate number of mobile elliptical users in the Big Sur, and that the drive was beautiful and terrifying (the Hubs was loving the turbos a little too much), and undoubtedly one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

We had been planning to visit Hearst Castle, but I hadn't booked us in and we couldn't get onto a tour. Instead, we went to Cayucos via NitWit Ridge, the Poor Man's Hearst Castle. It featured everything from bathtubs to toilets. Cayucos was a picturesque beach town, complete with sexy, sun-kissed surfers of both sexes, though with a distinct skew in my favour. We strolled down the pier then settled in at Cayucos Cellars for a tasting with Clay S, whose family runs the vineyard. We stayed for two hours just chatting and drinking, but also got a tip to try Ruddell's Smokehouse for smoked fish and pork tacos. For $5 I had an abercole taco and the Hubs had a pork loin taco for the same, slathered in hot sauce. It was by a long stretch the best thing we had (and would)taste(d)in the US. It easily surpassed all the food from the French Laundry and Dean & Deluca. It was incredible and worth a side trip for anyone.

Since we'd gained some time on the itinerary, I rang the hotel we were most excited about, the Madonna Inn at San Luis Obispo, to bring our booking forward. The Madonna Inn is (in)famous for having over a hundred individually decorated rooms, all of which are shrines to the deities of Tack. All the rooms are incredibly tacky but yet to such a scale that it is actually amazing and good. When Michael Jackson used "Bad" to mean good and Japanese surfers use "yabai" to mean sick, in the sense of the Americans they probably came close to describing the Madonna Inn. We were booked into the Chesnut Foal room, which featured an intriguing lightpiece. The Hubs managed to work his charm (by which I mean that he wore down the girl at check in by spending 40 minutes picking a room) and we got bumped to the Old World Suite, with a bottle of Californian champagne.

O - M - G (as the kids like to say). Did I say Suite? I think I meant Fred Flintstone channelling Hugh Hefner. The room was at basement level and is essentially cut into a mountain. You walk into a parlour area with a four seater table next to a curved sofa facing a giant hearth separated from by a stone wall with a heart-shaped cut out, revealing a bed with red velvet sheets (no joke). Across from the bed was the bathroom, with a waterfall effect shower, as was the tap. Turning on the tap to get running water took about five minutes as it made its way across the walls to trickle down to the sink.

That night was St Patrick's Day and we were booked in for dinner at the Gold Rush Steak House. In keeping with the excesses of Madonna Inn, the restaurant was gloriously ... pink. With a massive tree in the middle of the restaurant (fake, naturally). Everything was oversized and opulent. These were steaks. They were huge! Plus they threw in a free dessert. I had to throw up after from sheer over eating. The other thing we were able to do was to take advantage of one of my favourite things about America - low corkage. We'd bought a great bottle of wine from Cayucos cellars and it seemed a great day to drink it. The worst thing of the entire evening was the entirely disgusting Guinness, which even copious amounts of kahlua couldn't help.

Still, this night was a massive tick in the tourism box, and I think EVERY one should check out the Madonna Inn.

Day 5 - Monterey, Carmel & Big Sur

Day 5 started out with both of us on a high. I woke up confused, with my face in the Hub's belly. King beds in the US are just ridiculous. The Hubs' feet were hanging off the edge, but there was enough room for at least three other people in the bed. The Hubs attempted to convince me that this was because the kings of old were short but with multiple brides. I remain unconvinced.

We checked out as soon as we could and headed to Fins Coffee, which we'd spotted the night before. The signs were favourable - there was a table of police officers outside, with coffees but sadly sans donuts. We got chatting with them ("why hel-lo officer") and they offered to let us pose for photographs on their bikes. This was very much the highlight of the Hub's entire trip. If we'd won the lottery, it wouldn't have mattered. There was to be no better moment on this trip for him, than when he had to narrowly avoid the gas tank when mounting the bike. I was, sadly, in a dress and had to demurely demur.

Our first stop for the day was Henry Cowell's State Park, where we were going to check out what Americans call "Big Trees". That's a little bit like saying Keith Richards led a sort of interesting life. These things were HUGE. We were really hoping to drive through a Sequoia but it turned out that the big tree in question had fallen over a couple of years before. This upset the Hubs, who thought his childhood drive through it twenty years before may have contributed to its demise. Instead, we decided to take a trail through a redwood grove. They were incredible. I'd asked the Hubs what to expect, and he eloquently put it as something with "a big, fuck-off, red trunk"*, and he wasn't kidding. They were majestic, with new bark twisting round the trunk, extending higher than I could see. I was desperate to see a mountain lion (there were warning signs everywhere and the scenes in Twilight must have seeped into my subconscious), but I only got to see a squirrel. At the end of the trail, we grabbed a new Christmas decoration for the tree and set off for Cannery Row via Moss Landing...

... which had pretty much nothing at either of them. Cannery Row was a little stretch of resentful tourism with an Aquarium ($30 entry? Not unless we get to eat it!)and cutesy shops. It was top and tailed by the Aquarium and a by-the-ounce frozen yoghurt. Mine was 1/3 cupcake batter, 2/3 non-fat tart with 6 maraschino cherries, cookie dough, s'mores and brownies. The Hubs had cupcake batter, chocolate, raspberry, chocolate sauce, raspberry sauce, chocolate covered sunflower seeds and chocolate malt balls. We were made for each other. Having expended Monterey's tourism potential, we headed over to Pacific Grove and the Pebble Beach 17 Mile Drive. When I was planning the trip, I'd noticed a couple of reviews on Tripadvisor complaining about the admission charge and advising a visit to the Monterey Aquarium instead, so I was pleasantly surprised to find it was $9.25 and worth every penny. There were so many beautiful sights, they took our breath away.

By the time we finished gawping at nature, it was well past lunchtime and the Hubs' driving was becoming increasingly erratic. It was clearly time for a feeding, and so we popped down the road to Carmel by the Sea, where Clint Eastwood used to be mayor and still owns a restaurant, The Hog's Breath. This was an all-American meal indeed - Philly steak sandwiches and Dirty Harry Chilli dogs, copious french fries a must. It was a hell of a meal and we had to walk it off, thankfully the town had plenty of window shopping to offer, with everything priced in the "unaffordable" category. Once we'd appreciated our poverty-stricken status, we continued down Highway 1 to the Big Sur.

The drive was terrifying and amazing all at once, with hairpin turns and incredible views. It must be very similar to driving the Amalfi coast. Spectacular. I've never seen anything like it and it took our breath away. We were staying at the Chalet in Deetjens Big Sur Inn, which was roughing it - my way. That is to say that there was no air conditioning, no locks on doors, sunken into trees with a creek outside the window. There was insect mesh on the windows. The cabins there are single layer wood, and small, probably offerings less living space than in an RV, but you can smell the pine and hear the stream, which made it the closest to nature that I would ever be. The poison oak and rattlesnake warnings that were everywhere kept it that way. Thankfully, that was enough to dissuade the Hubs from pressuring me into any nature driven activity, though in a bizzare twist, I was tempted to try a trail in the morning.

For the evening, though, there was the Post Ranch Inn, nothing like Deetjens. We were going to eat at Sierra Mar, one of the "date nights" I'd planned. I'd been expecting a nice, mid-range place, and had picked it because of the picture windows over the sea at sunset. It turned out that mid-range means something different in the US, something best described by the Hubs. In fact, here is his guest entry:

Warning bells for any man about to buy his wife dinner
1. When asking the Wife what the ballpark cost will be, and the reply is "not like French Laundry"
2. Arriving... and finding a sentry. This was America, not Sierra Leone
3. Anywhere with a drive that features grazing deer and spectacular views
4. Wondering if Maybach had started a dealership in the area
5. The valet lets you park your own car, but still takes the keys
6. Walking into reception, you find discreet security and a quarter mile climb to the restaurant
7. The Wife walks in and says "this smells like a spa, I love it"
8. The maitre'd offers use of a $20,000 remote control telescope, complete with a consulting astrologer
9. While waiting for a table, three bottles of Petrus leave the cellars to the table next to what eventually becomes yours. Before 8pm
10. A smattering of random celeb and wealthy, tweed-wearing Germans on a Tuesday night
11. The Sommelier engages in a matching game with German aristocrats who, in their desire to find their favourite wine (described as "a merlot, but very smooth"), opening seven bottles before they gave up


Having said that, dinner was great. The restaurant projects over the ocean and the dolphins mill around just beneath. In the right season, you can see the whales as well. Surprisingly for a place with such obvious gimmickery, the food was good and the staff were really amicable and shared stories of growing up in California with us. After dinner, we indulged in the telescope and had a crash course on constellations before heading back to Deetjens where we sat up for hours drinking and reading the journals in the room to each other. When we'd first checked in, the Hubs was incredulous to discover that there was no television or heating. What it did have though, was years of journals that previous guests had completed while staying. They also hid money around the room, some of which we found (and replaced). We added some of our own as a tribute.

*He also said, for the benefit of AGL, "I'd like to see the French grow these"

You Can't Win Them All

Recently I've become obsessed with baking. It's not something I've ever been particularly good at, but it bothers me that I can't do a full dinner party because of my weakness in the desserts. Not to mention that the Hubs cunningly invited his team over for a Mad Hatters Tea Party. Ugh. Since then I've been trying to get my baking skills up to scratch. Sometimes, mainly with cupcakes, I can tick the box, but other times, it's a fat F.

Take a look.



What are those? SURELY you can tell it's a Victoria sponge surrounded by macaroons and peanut butter cupcakes?

I appear to have used a recipe for sponge fingers rather than the soft sponge I was aiming for. The macaroons in blue were overly almondy and didn't rise. I folded cream into them and called them whoopie pies. The ones in brown .. well. They tasted ok but still failed.

Not one to just accept failure, I tried the macaroons again.



Even worse.

At least I can still swing savoury food. This was Valentine's Day post-failures (place setting is the Hubs' job).



We had foie gras mousse on bread, mallard and potatoes with rosemary, spinach, squash and peppers. Luckily, we were too stuffed for dessert.

There's a Whole Lotta Lovin...

... in the world today. With two engagements to hit tonight, I thought I'd bake a gift:

Secret Ingredient

The night after Wild Honey, I found myself out to dinner again, though this time to somewhere very different. The Secret Ingredient is what may have been the first of London's Supperclubs, of which the most notorious are probably Miss Marmite Lover's and the Pale Blue Door.

The Secret Ingredient is run by Horton Jupiter, who cooks, and his girlfriend, who serves up on the night. The deal is this - for twenty seven sterling over paypal in advance, you get seven or so courses of vegetarian Japanese food in the homely comforts of Horton's ex council place in Stoke Newington. Wine is BYO though he'll sometimes throw in the odd glass.

I was really excited about this. One of my new year missions is to host more, and I wanted to see if I could up my game. I'm not typically great at vegetarian cooking, so I figured it would be food I couldn't make at home - my standard restaurant requirement. The hype (about 20 min in on the link) around the Supperclubs is massive, and seeing Horton featured in the same breath as Nuno Mendes put me into a bit of a tizzy since I heart Nuno. I also thought it'd be a bit of an adventure - I'd never been to Stoke Newington (though this turned out to be somewhat anti climatic since it was a taxi to table experience); I was optimistic about the crowd that I'd drummed up (a former professional ice skater, AMGL, Golden Ed from HK, Fred again). I'd invited all the vegetarians I knew but none proved up to the adventure. SURPRISE!!

So.. what was it like... well. Location was very much as had been expected. For me. I did have a call from AMGL who thought I'd dispatched her to the Projects (Funny enough, from those links I can kinda see what she means). Everyone seemed to find it alright, which was a relief.

The food then. We started off with...

... a raw onion starter. No joke. I actually didn't mind it so much, despite my general dislike for anything raw onion. This was probably because it came with mushed up preserved plum (I think) and vinegar. I have never had anything even similar in Japan, or heard of anything similar.

Then there was some asparagus with a honey dressing.

I'm not sure how Japanese this actually is. It was perfectly fine though. I couldn't get a picture of the main, which was a broth of daikon, shitake mushroom, charlotte potatoes and fried tofu. It tasted reasonably authentic, though I've never seen charlotte potatoes in Japanese food before. The next course was okonomiyaki... sort of. There was preserved ginger in it, which I've never had in okonomiyaki before.


I went to speak to Horton while these were being made and it transpired that he's never been to Japan. To me, this made the entire scenario totally different. Apart from being exceptionally gutsy, it did make his efforts seem much more credible. How did he know if something tasted right or if it was hideously wrong, but in line with the imaginary idea of what it would taste like? I was several glasses of wine in by this time, and starting to give myself a headache. The next course was broccoli with tofu, which was nice.


At this point most of the diners had left. It was about eleven and there were four courses to go. The first of the last four courses was rice and miso. Ed and I table hopped for this one and ended up speaking to someone who had just come back from working at a ryokan. I decided not to share that with Horton since the pressure may have been too much. Especially since the rice didn't come out right.


Still, it was inspiring. It inspired me to make Japanese at my dinner party the Sunday after. I served
- croquette
- sashimi

- black cod and miso; butterfish teriyaki

- okonomiyaki with aubergine miso and garlic mushrooms

- beef sukiyaki


yay!

Subversion

My word for the day is subversion. Under my semi professional outfit (semi professional because I rarely dress properly for work, a plus of not having clients to canoodle too often) I am wearing an astroboy t shirt. This will make me happy all day. I am wearing this t shirt for a couple of reasons. One was that it was snowing when I went to work, so I wanted a layer that could be dried over hand dryers with relative ease should I end up drenched in melted snow. Another was that I have yet to work anywhere with an office that features properly regulated climate control. A key investment piece for my colleagues this year was a pair of gloves with the fingerless option. I spent most of yesterday saying "No, I haven't just gotten into the office, I am just wearing my coat to stay warm". The main reason though, was that I had a hangover this morning and instinctively went for comfort clothes.

The poor vision and killer headache were a direct result of dinner at Wild Honey last night. I've resisted the urge to go to Wild Honey till now, largely because I was really dissapointed by Arbutus. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with Arbutus. It was just like Independence Day - not a bad movie, but much less than the press surrounding it. I also made a bad call at Arbutus and had the Bouillabaise, which I have a tendency to order though I almost never like it. The hype around both siblings is generally the same: "impeccable", with something about the value for money, the use of less popular cuts,and a reference to Putney Bridge (now so close to forgotten that I can't even find a review online). I can't remember what went wrong for me with Arbutus other than that I didn't like the Bouillabaise, and that it wasn't actually huge value for money, despite expectation. I think part of the issue was probably that I'd gone with people I wasn't relaxed with, and so the food and service had to work harder to make the experience a great one.

I totally disagree with Adrian Almighty Gill, who preferred Arbutus, and agree with Matthew Norman's non food-critic friend, who said "Five minutes of service here has obliterated the memory of two hours of mediocrity at the other place, and the setting is infinitely better, too."
The setting is actually fairly interesting. Tables are in booths on either side of the restaurant, with a long table in the centre. That table houses the cheeses under a perspex lid, which avoids the smell of the cheese permeating through the room. Great in principle, but whenever someone had cheese, the lid would be lifted and there would be an assault on the senses. Plural, since the Australian potential-vegetarian (he had a trial run there last night) would lurch away from the cheeses and into me every time this happened. Beyond that though, I really liked it. I've always liked the cosiness of booths, and it lends to an intimate conversation. Perfect if you're having dinner with disgruntled colleagues or an ex or a war criminal.

The menus were on the table when we arrived and featured these starters:
- Partridge and foie gras boudin blanc with wild mushrooms and pea puree;
- Exmouth crab with poached pear salad;
- Pork belly with Hereford snails and a butternut squash puree;
- Potato Soup with mackerel rilette and muscat grapes;
- Ravioli of winter vegetables;
- Foie gras terrine with pickled quince and wet walnuts;
- Smoked eel, chicken wings and sweetcorn with sweet and sour turnips.

Imagine the dillemma. I didn't want all of them, but it was fairly close. In the end I managed to convince Fred to share his with me, and we settled on the boudin blanc and the crab. Both were excellent. The crab was all white meat in decent chunks so it didn't keep falling off the fork (pet peeve, I don't like to struggle to eat), properly briny and generously portioned. The poached pear was something I actually felt jealous off. It was thinly sliced, so it didn't overpower the crab. I've never been able to poach a pear so that I could slice it like that. I've barely been able to poach a pear at all. The boudin blanc was amazing. I've always been nervous about it but this was absolutely gorgeous. I unashamedly kept going back for more from Fred's plate. I couldn't work out where the partridge came into it, but that didn't matter.

The main courses on offer were:
- Bouillabaise, but I'd learnt my lesson!
- Pumpkin risotto covered in wild mushrooms and parmesan. The psuedo-vegetarian had this and I thought it was weak. It was a little oversalted and tasted too rich, if that's feasible;
- Cod with gnocchi, shellfish vinaigrette and something involving sea purslane;
- Roast veal with caramelised endive, wet walnuts and sage. This was tempting but for once I resisted! Alex had it though and he thought the veal was overcooked. I suspect we were too early in the week to have hit the centre of the joint, and no choice was offered as to how well cooked it should be, but that's difficult with roasts in any case;
- Salmon trout with creamed cabbage and wild mushrooms. Fred went for this and it was a little surprising in that the fish resembled sea bass (I have my suspiscions!), but it was lovely. A very generous portion of fish for the price, with plenty of the mushroom to buffer it;
- Haunch of venison, curly kale and jeruselum artichokes. I was tempted after my New Year's experience to go for this because of the artichoke, but didn't.

So what did I have? I cheekily asked the waitress to upsize the Pork belly starter, and it was fantastic. The clear winner. Fred got a third of it for previously exhibited good behaviour and the decision was unanimous. It wasn't fatty, though moist through and with a crunchy crackling. The snails were just the right texture. Yum! I might have to go back. For dessert we were evenly split between the cheese and the chocolate soup with almond soy ice cream. Both were alright but not amazing, which was dissapointing. Still, we were sated.

It's a winner!

Bistro Le JamTam 20100110

For New Years Eve the Hubs and I went to La Trompette. We're not big NYE people but Trompette is a consistent winner and has the added benefit of being walkable from the pad in my highest heels (though only just, and only if sober - I may have frostbite on my toe from the return journey). I still think that it's one of the best value restaurants in London, and the wine list is amazing (and cheap). I've never said it's the best restaurant, but as of 31 Dec 2009, it has become the restaurant with the best starter (since Anton Edelmann stopped doing the courgette flower stuffed with scallop mousseline). The starter was jerusalem artichoke filled with a seared slab of foie gras, covered with a chicken mousse which came decorated with shaved black truffle. It was so good that it made an otherwise unfriendly celebrity next to me feel like bonding.

Over dinner we agreed on our resolutions, and one of them was to do more Bistro le JamTam (ie. our weekend dates at home). The first was tonight and to inaugurate it we broke open a wine we'd been saving. Yum:



My inferior starter was a mild mushroom salad. I'd managed to score some porcini, morels and trompette from Andreas Georghiou:

It was easy peasy, cooked in olive oil and garlic with a sprinkling of oregano.

For the main, I'd tried out a tweaked recipe I found at my sister in law's. It was for roast veal. She's vegetarian. It worked!


This one was easy but did take some prep. It was marinated for 2 days in white wine, garlic, rosemary and sage. We had this with white asparagus, roasted butternut squash and courgette cooked in lemon juice and butter.

So far so good! Now it's just the exercise, promotions and tidiness to go!