A. Wong, Pimlico

At Restaurant A. Wong, they don't serve up courses they serve up collections. The evening menu consists of six collections in total - five savoury and one sweet. When the second collection arrived in front of us, I asked the server in all seriousness, "Are the kitchen trying to kill us?"

Because at Restaurant A. Wong they give you so. Much. Food. Apparently this is typical of the culture - the desire to feed, to feast, to banquet. And fortunately, the food is so, so delicious that you unbutton your trousers, take a deep breath and power on through as much as you can. This is Chinese food done properly, expunging the memories of years of lurid, greasy, sickly takeaways in just three hours and offering a fascinating glimpse into a food culture which is as exciting and challenging and varied as any in the world.

We had the best seats in the house; perched on bar stools overlooking the main kitchen. Prep was done downstairs, and pastry prepared in a cold room off to the side, but the majority of the action took place here in front of our eyes, in an atmosphere of almost preternatural calm. Halfway through service, the main man himself arrived which seemed to make everyone stand up just a shade straighter but otherwise it didn't feel as if anyone was missing a beat and the ballet of the kitchen, mysterious, fragrant and, above all, hot, continued to mesmerise us all evening.

All in all we ate 31 dishes; and with very, very few exceptions they were wonderful. I'll try and pick out a highlight or two from each collection.

Collection 1 was The Banquet - a sumptuous array of eight relatively small dishes. The cured scallop with stuffed crab claw was my favourite here, in terms of flavour and mouth feel it felt like a definite nod to a classic sesame prawn toast, albeit elevated.

Collection 2 was Dim Sum which were a joy from start to finish, although the soup dumpling - "Tangerine fish" with Chiu Chow beef broth and Caviar - was probably the most joyful mouthful. I defy you not to smile as that amazing broth floods your palate.

Collection 3 was Fish. Full disclosure, I wasn't terribly excited about the description of any of the dishes on here but I should have known better. I was surprised by how much I adored the braised abalone with shitake mushroom, sea cucumber and abalone butter; it had an almost smoky quality to it which was immensely pleasing.

Halfway through and we were presented with Collection 4 - Snacks. All excellent, but the soy chicken was generally acknowledged as the favourite - simple (relatively speaking) but classic.

We were both genuinely flagging now and grateful for a short break before the arrival of the ominously named main course (or Collection 5 - Five Flavours). But some of the mouthfuls here were lighter and designed to soothe (chrysanthemum tofu in lemongrass broth) or refresh the palate (Nashi pear with Sichuan pepper). For sheer nostalgia though, I can't not mention the sweet and sour chicken which was both reminiscent of the takeaway classic and yet strangely refined. The candied walnuts here were a wonderful addition, giving, alongside the crispy chicken, a pleasing crunch.

Thankfully Collection 6 - Fruits - was as light as it sounds. A coconut ice with mulberries and yoghurt, and some dainty fruit jellies rounded out the meal and provided a perfect, sweet full stop without overloading our already groaning stomachs. Anything heavier and I would probably have rolled out of there.

An altogether fabulous experience then, and one which I will remember fondly for a very long time. I think anyone with an interest in Chinese food and culture should make a point of coming here to sample the food as it really should be and give it the credit it deserves. Your Saturday night takeaway will never be the same again.

A. Wong

70 Wilton Road

Pimlico

London SW1V 1DE

0207 828 8931

Kiln, London

There are very few times in life when I'm sorry to live in the North of England, despite having grown up on the London / Essex border. But there is no doubt that those people who live in London, or its environs, have access to a wondrous selection of eateries, far more varied than we have even in a decent sized city like Leeds. To Soho then, yesterday, and to Kiln, which is a D discovery. He has been a proper fanboy over it since eating there twice in two days earlier this year. 

Did I like Kiln? Yes, absolutely, and I’m only sorry that my friend J and I were relatively restrained with our menu choices (we needed to save room for an afternoon of cocktail consumption).

Speaking of cocktails, it would have been rude not to try Kiln’s offering. J went for dark rum with strawberry and cacao while I had gin with lime and something else which currently escapes me (probably because of all the brain cells I killed off in the proceeding hours). Gorgeous though, really bright and sherberty.

Food - we went for two of the smaller plates, the Northern Laap sausage and the slow cooked chicken and soy. I was expecting to love the sausage - and indeed it was rich and meaty and funky with dried shrimp. But I think the chicken was my favourite. Incredibly tender, the marriage of the sweet, melting meat with the umami hit of soy and the lick of flame from the grill, was utterly irresistible.

Stir fried greens in soy (we felt veg were required) were fresh and crunchy and a welcome foil to the meat. Dirty napkin included in the shot for, er, effect.

We weren’t going to try the glass noodles with belly pork and brown crab meat, but the server insisted that it was a Kiln classic. Enjoyable - there was a lovely kick of heat from the noodle dressing - but the crab meat was not readily discernible which was a little bit of a shame. Next time I’d definitely opt for rice and a curry instead.

This is Thai food the likes of which I haven’t seen before and really illustrates that it is a cuisine that is far more than fish cakes and green curry. Spicy and rich and exciting, it’s only a shame it’s not closer at hand. 

Foodie abroad: Brat, Shoreditch

Shortly before we went to Brat, it just so happened to be voted the second best restaurant in the entire country by the National Restaurant Awards.  This was a happy coincidence.  D had chosen and booked it months before off the back of, I believe, a glowing Jay Rayner review.  But coincidence or not, it definitely added a certain additional frisson of excitement as we headed across town to Shoreditch on Wednesday night.  Shoreditch is becoming increasingly trendy now, isn't it?  I mean, I don't really keep track given that I am safely confined to Yorkshire for most of the year and tend to come over all Country Mouse whenever I visit London, but judging by Brat itself, and the surrounding venues, it's certainly nicer than it used to be and boasted quite the collection of hipster beards.

Brat was very nice.  I enjoyed my meal there very much.  But I have to start out by saying that while I have no idea what criteria the panel of the NRA were using, I disagree with their conclusion.  Let's get the moaning out of the way first.  I think I must be getting old because the general layout of the dining room - with tables so close together as to be practically communcal - was not particularly to my taste.  Although D and I did enjoy singing a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday" to the nice gentleman sitting next to us.  Also, while I welcome the move away from the starched linen and hushed tones that accompany traditional fayne dayning, part of me does want a little bit of ritual and reverence and...well, special fairy dust, if for not other reason than to soften the blow of the inevitably hefty bill.  For me, I found the atmosphere Brat to be a little frenetic and (possibly as a result) the pacing of the meal overall was not quite perfectly judged.  Finally, for the love of all that is coverd in chocolate, if you're advertising a baked cheesecake on your menu then WHY would you not give it some sort of biscuit base, or at the very least, a garnish of crumbs?  Why this modern trend for puddings that entirely lack textural contrast?  I do not approve (although, in fairness, the cheesecake tasted very nice).

Burnt cheesecake with rhubarb

These whinges aside (and I am very aware that many people will disagree with my take on the general ambience being, y'know, not a seventy old trapped in the body of a thirtysomething) all was lovely.  Brat's thing is that nearly everything on the menu is cooked on a specially designed, wood-fired gril which imbues the food with wonderful char and smoke.  At its best, this makes your dinner here akin to the most amazing barbecue you've ever tasted.  In common with pretty much every other person in the place, we ordered the turbot.  Oh, the turbot.  Brought to the table partly boned out, the pearlescent flesh tinged with flashes of gold and black, this was a thing of beauty.  It is sprayed with vinegar while it cooks and then seasoned to salty perfection.  A mouthful of this carried a faint memory of traditional fish and chips, as eaten next to a beach bonfire at dusk.

Turbot.  A heavenly thing.

Elsewhere, the smaller plates were mostly miniature masterpieces.  A highlight for me was the grilled bread, crunchy and blistered and smothered in wild garlic and summer truffle.  And the smoked cod's roe, a current household obsession, was utterly amazing.  We definitely needed a few more portions of this.  It takes a brave chef to serve dishes of such simplicity, but the execution, in general, could not be faulted (cheesecake aside).

Grilled bread with wild garlic and summer truffle.

Smoked cod's roe on toast

Is this the second best restaurant in the country?  Subjectively speaking, if I was the head of the NRA judging panel then the answer would be no (and, also, I would be tremendously fat and have the liver of a foie gras goose).  To my mind it lacked the innovation and flair and touch of quirkiness of, say, a Raby Hunt but then, the two respective chefs are aiming for completely different things and vive la difference!  For the turbot alone, I will forgive Brat much.  But please.  Put a base on the cheesecake.

Summer in the city - a weekend round-up

I didn’t want to go down to London last weekend, I’ll be totally honest. I was nervous about being away from home – from D, from the cat, from familiar surroundings - and, bluntly, from my bathroom. I also did not want to have to spend a weekend guestimating points just a few days in to my newest and shiniest WW attempt.

I had more or less made up my mind not to go but D wasn’t having any of it. I don’t envy him much of the time; living with someone who is very anxious must be exhausting. You constantly have to be strong for them, to push them to overcome their entirely irrational fears. So I was effectively frogmarched on to the bus on Saturday morning – but, in the end, all was well and I had a lovely time and have come back with that new sense of confidence which comes from venturing outside the comfort zone. Thank you, D.

Of course, the fact remains that I have two days where my tracker may be way, way off. Well, actually, I think that I am fine for Sunday since we ate in and I was able to find all food items in the catalogue. I winced a bit that the innocent looking honey and seed rolls that we had for lunch turned out to be 9 Smart Points, but heigh-ho, that’s what weeklies are for.

Saturday night required a lot more guesswork, but whether I’m under or over, the meal itself was worth it. We went to a restaurant called Ember Yard in Fitzrovia and it was LOVELY - especially gratifying given that I suggested it. It’s a menu of small plates with a Spanish and Italian slant – some of the dishes are recognisable from the typical tapas repertoire, others not so much. Highlights included (surprisingly) chargrilled flatbread with thyme and smoked butter (so good we immediately ordered another) and a lovely special of sea bass with ajo blanco.

Seabass!

Bread!

I tried a little bit of everything, but stuck to water rather than indulging in wine or cocktails and then, in lieu of a dessert (tough going – the churros looked amazing) I ordered a double espresso and a single dark chocolate and Pedro Ximenez truffle (which item I thought was a really clever addition to the dessert menu). A divine full stop to the meal.

Truffle!

Also – if you’ll forgive me ditching the food talk for a minute – we went to the open air theatre in Regent’s Park, to see a production of “As You Like It” which was brilliant! Such a funny, sweet, silly rendering of the play, which I hitherto hadn’t considered one my favourite of Shakespeare’s comedies. The musical settings were a little bit cheesy but the cast carried them off with aplomb and the whole thing was an absolute joy. I’ve never seen a bad production there – and it’s a lovely venue if the weather holds out. If you’re London based and find yourself at a loose end, get thee hence.

After returning in such a good mood, I am not exactly sure what misguided impulse compelled me to jump on the bathroom scales yesterday morning. I haven’t weighed myself on them for a while, so I have no idea how my weight today relates to my official WI last Wednesday. If I was expecting to see a large drop after a whole four days of counting, I was doomed to disappointment. Not for nothing does lovely Peridot call them the Scales of Doom, because I immediately felt sulky and annoyed and resentful. The answer is clear – official weigh ins ONLY from now on and a focus on progress rather than perfection.

Polpetto, London

We're just back from a few days spent down South which was very nice indeed.  We got to spend time with friends and family and, of course, we made sure that we got to eat.  Although London has a distressing habit of encompassing far more nice restaurants than two people can possibly cover in a limited amount of time.  Sigh.

We decided to go to Polpetto and, in doing so, have now officially managed to have a meal at each of Russell Norman's London outlets.  I've been irritatingly enthusiastic about him before on numerous occasions - see here or here or even here.  Finishing the set has long been a cherished goal of my husband, who believes in completism (and, as such, is doing his best to visit every single Brewdog bar.  The fact that they've opened one in Brazil is a constant source of annoyance to him).

Anyway, Polpetto.  I'm not sure that I've much to add other than what I have said about Norman's restaurants before.  They're not high end dining, the decor tends towards slightly shabby whimsy, the staff towards the achingly cool.  The food is, in my experience, always delicious.

Whoever was cooking on Monday night was skilled in the art of perfect protein.  Grilled octopus skewers were the absolute highlight of the evening, the meat all at once dense and tender.  Ribbons of flank steak, tangled with aubergine and lamb's lettuce, melted on contact with the tongue.  Squid, thinly robed in batter and fried, had just the right amount of silky bounce.

Octopus!

Elsewhere there was a pizzete, the base bubbled and blistered, the top, liberally cheesed which is always a good thing.  And an orange semifreddo, liberally scattered with great, golden chunks of honeycomb which reminded me of the sophisticated lovechild of a Chocolate Orange and a Crunchie, There may have been plate licking.

Semifreddo

Sure, it's not setting the world on fire and since Polpo et al opened, the "small plate" dining experience has become somewhat ubiquitous.  I mean, we're even doing it in Yorkshire now. But it's all good stuff and I, for one, am very happy to hear that Polpo might be looking for a permanent home in Leeds.  It's the type of food that I will never tire of eating - honest, robust and tasty.

Polpetto
11 Berwick Street
London
W1F 0PL
020 7439 8627

London foodie adventures

It already feels like a lifetime ago (two days back in the office will do that to you) but we headed down to London at the end of last week to catch up with friends and family and, of course, to do some eating.

We spend much of the year reading articles about all the wonderful places opening up in London and suffering serious food envy as a result. So when we're there we try and fit plenty in which is neither good for wallets nor waistlines but balm for the soul.

First stop on Friday morning was Borough Market which we both adore. Already, before 10am, the air was rich with smells and we must have looked like the Bisto kids as we wandered round led by our twitching little noses. But I was on a mission on this occasion and that was to try a Bread Ahead doughnut. The Standard included them in their round up of the best doughnuts in town with, I suspect, excellent reason. We both sampled the creme caramel flavour with salted honeycomb and it was so yummy that a) I had no compunction getting my face covered in sugar and custard while out in public and b) I didn't take a photo because I was too busy making inappropriate noises. Accompanied by a coffee from Monmouth (totally worth the queue) and a shaft of August sunshine, this was a very pleasing way to start the day.

D has been wanting to visit Bone Daddies, a hipster ramen joint in Soho, for ages and this time we finally made it. I am never particularly convinced by the idea of ramen - I like noodles and I like soup but not necessarily together. But I enjoyed this a lot more than I thought I would. I went for kimchi ramen which came topped with fat prawns in a spicy-sour broth that was lurid with chilli.

Fortunately, they provide plastic bibs because this stuff went EVERYWHERE. We also shared a portion of Korean fried chicken wings - which in retrospect may have been a mistake given that we rolled rather than walked out of there. They were very tasty though - again, a real sour note in with the heat which is a flavour profile that I find very appealing.

Our final stop of the day (after plenty of walking around to work off those noodles) was actually a revisit - Burger and Lobster. This is one group who have tried to branch out further afield than London but with limited success which is a shame because we really like it. The menu is simple - lobster, burger, lobster and burger or lobster roll all with fries and salad and an amazingly addictive garlicky buttery creamy sauce that I would quite happily sup through a straw.

I am not a lobster roll expert, so maybe their version wouldn't hold up in the heartlands of New England, but I love it. The roll is sweet, buttery brioche, the lobster meat is blushing and juicy and then you have the sauce for dipping - sheer heaven. If they ever decide to try a branch in Leeds (assuming their experience in Manchester hasn't put them off) I promise to do my very best to keep them in business.

Pollen Street Social, London

Having invited ourselves round to my brother’s house for New Year’s Eve, D and I decided to take advantage of the fact that we were dahn sarf and pop into London for a nice lunch. Much as I love Yorkshire, I do get regular restaurant envy when I read of the adventures of some of my favourite food critics.

We were tempted to try and book a table at Dabbous, which is a venue we visited a couple of years ago and absolutely adored, but in the end went and nabbed a reservation at Pollen Street Social. A relatively new (2011) addition to the London restaurant scene, it managed to gain a Michelin star within a year of opening, helped, no doubt, by the fact that the executive chef is former Ramsay protégé and Great British Menu stalwart, Jason Atherton. We were lucky enough to experience Atherton’s fantastic food when we he was cooking for Ramsay at Maze, so had high expectations.

Firstly, an observation. Pollen Street Social claims to be an informal restaurant. Allowing your customers to wear jeans does not, in itself, make you informal. Nor does playing music. The presence of thick, white linen, the phalanx of immaculate waiting staff, the Bible of a wine list, the sharing main course that costs not far short of £100…these elements tend to suggest that you are a rather formal restaurant. And that’s fine. I like formal – that’s what I’m paying for. But don’t kid yourself.

Secondly, brown crab on toast is a wonderful thing. DON’T MEDDLE. I don’t care how clever it sounds on paper, brown bread foam with a sprinkle of dehydrated crabcrap is a) not nice and b) falls distinctly short of the simple dish you’re attempting to homage.


From this, you might gather that our experience at PSS did not meet expectations. And, for the first forty five minutes, I’m afraid that this was so. The service was impeccable, the food well presented. But nothing wowed and the crab, in particular, was just plain wrong.

The tide began to turn with the main courses. My lamb loin was as sweet a piece of meat as I could have wished for, blushing and sticky with jus. My only quibble was the accompaniment of curds and whey and baby vegetables – absolutely delicious but served cold so that when the creamy cheese mingled with the lamb sauce, the whole dish was rendered lukewarm. I thought it a slightly odd decision but happily licked the plate regardless. D was less taken with his venison – well-cooked but, on the whole, a bit underwhelming.



We were then offered the opportunity to take dessert at the “dessert bar” which was situated next to the glass door through to the main kitchen and allowed for an almost chef’s table experience. Here, everything went up several notches. Not only were we treated to the spectacle of the working kitchen, complete with sweary head chef, but also presented with the nicest series of sweet dishes that either of us can remember having for a long time, all plated in front of us by the lovely head of pastry, Leo.

First, an Eton mess that wasn’t messy at all – a clove scented biscuit with fromage frais, blackcurrant sorbet and mousse all contained within a fragile box of the most delicate meringue. Then chocolate pavé, rich and bitter, with little cubes of fruity olive oil jelly and an olive biscuit, which combination happily reminded us of Barcelona. And even though we were now reaching capacity, we found room for a trio of miniatures – a divine chocolate pot infused with Earl Grey, a piercingly sour jelly and a melting mouthful of a Bakewell tart. As a decided pudding fan, I was in absolute raptures. Even D, who is not generally one for a chocolate dessert, was wiping his finger round the chocolate pot and wondering if it would be possible to come, order a bucketful and have done.

Definitely, for us at least, a game of two halves. I sometimes wonder – worry! – that I am becoming jaded, which I would absolutely hate, and there was lots to praise here, but it was by no means a flawless experience and, a week on, I still feel slightly annoyed about that brown crab. There’s just no excuse for that sort of thing. Still, observing the kitchen in a place such as this is a real privilege and salutary reminder that, actually, every single dish that was put in front of us was the product of a tremendous amount of work, precision and dedication. And swearing. Lots and lots of swearing.

Weigh in Wednesday - the rollover edition

Previously on WWF: -50lbs
Last week: -1.5lbs
This week: +2.5
Total loss: 49lbs

I don't understand what it is about the 50lb milestone that I find so very difficult to get past.  Both earlier this year and now I seem to bounce around it as if it is some sort of weird WW lodestar.  And from chatting to some others on the WW UK messageboards it doesn't seem to be all that uncommon to get a bit stuck at the big 5-0.

One (very sensible) lady (who lost around eight stone to get to goal) said that she found her motivation waned when she began to look more "socially acceptable" and I sort of know what she means.  Although still demonstrably Weeble like I am significantly less Weeble like than I was this time last year.  But still too Weeble like for anyone's aesthetic comfort.

Perhaps it is just unfortunate timing and I need to grit my teeth and keep on going.  I always knew that I would have a difficult few weeks (diet wise) mid to late October what with a long weekend in London just gone and then D's birthday trip to Edinburgh which will be in little over a week.  November is looking much quieter socially so will be an ideal time to knuckle down and really push past this 50lb barrier.  And I have no excuse to not get a decent loss under my belt over the next seven days.

Further adventures of the Russell Norman Appreciation Society

D and I love Russell Norman and all who sail in him.

We first went to Polpo back in November 2011 and rather enjoyed it.  Since then he has opened a number of other venues, most of which we have also visited and liked very much.  I had a top notch Reuben sandwich at Mishkin's (this was back in the days before we made these regularly at home), adored the truffled egg toast at Spuntino's, and had a rather good pink gin at Ape and Bird.  This latter venue is worth a visit if only to go and listen to episodes of Blackadder while you make use of the facilities.  Mr Norman seems to be very good at creating appealing and interesting places to eat at a price point which is not too ridiculous for Central London.

On Saturday, finding ourselves at a slightly hungry loose end come half past two, we popped to the Covent Garden branch of Polpo for a few reviving plates.  It's a great venue if you're peckish but don't want a full on meal because you can order as many dishes as suits your appetite.  And given the fact that the venue was still full and buzzy at the tail end of lunchtime, clearly we were not the only people who thought so.

We had a selection of cicheti:

Pig's head crostini:

Fritto misto:

Linguine vongole:

And a couple of dolcetti, chocolate salami and honey ricotta cannoli, with coffee:

It's not flawless food: the pig's head could have been a bit more porky (as it was, the capers and mustard overwhelmed the meat element slightly) and the fritto misto was marginally under seasoned (although I do tend to over salt fried food so this could just be personal preference). But the linguine, in particular, was excellent and overall the food here is fun to choose and fun to eat.  We approve.

Polpo Covent Garden
6 Maiden Lane
London
020 7836 8448

On being the least successful weight loss blogger that ever there was

I forgot to do a weigh in post last week - sorry.  Another steady loss, as predicted.  This week I am almost certainly going to see a gain on Wednesday because I have spent the weekend in London and have eaten and drunk far more than was good for me.  I seemed to have a monster appetite on me and no inclination to practice temperance.  Since we had a lovely time, catching up with old friends in the autumn sunshine, I will take whatever the scales say this week on the chin and not let it worry me too much.

At this point, do feel free to have a collective eye roll as I yet again demonstrate how not to be a weight loss blogger.

Of course, when one starts writing a weight loss blog one probably hopes it will be a short term project.  Certainly a finite one.  I have been writing here for four years, and still don't have it sussed.  That is quite the prolonged failure.

I think, though, that every year that has passed has seen me learn and that eventually all these learnings will translate into results.  I sometimes feel that I hold all the threads in my hand to finally find peace in my relationship both with eating and with my body but just still struggle slightly to bring them all together in a single yarn.  And, actually, when that analogy occurred to me earlier on I thought that it was quite an apt way to describe my life in general.  Which is probably why a weight loss blog is never really a short term project because when we write about trying to lose weight part of what we are writing about is how we learn to navigate life without hiding behind a painstakingly constructed wall of food and fat.

London weekend: a trip to the Ginstitute

If you like gin (and, let us face it, who doesn't) then I urge you most strongly to get yourself along to the Ginstitute on Portobello Road.

This is actually the home of Portobello Road gin that you may have come across in your cruises down the Waitrose gin aisle (oh, wait, is that just us?)  But the gin itself is a happy offshoot of the original intention which was to open a little place where people could learn about gin and create their own customised blend.  In the process of practising the distillation of the various botanicals to be used by the punters, the owner came up with a blend that he thought might be marketable and so Portobello Road gin was born.

The experience itself lasts about three hours and costs £100 per person which sounds steep until you realise what that gets you.  You initially spend an hour sipping gin cocktails in London's second smallest museum learning all about the history of the spirit.  It's fascinating stuff, and Jake, with his bone dry delivery, was a skilled storyteller - although I couldn't help thinking that cocktails in lectures could have made a huge difference in my attendance levels when I was at uni.

A very blurry view of the bar in the gin Lecture Room

From there, you are provided with another drink (gin and tonic - hurrah!) and taken upstairs to the blending room.  Gin is, essentially, a colourless, odourless spirit - all the flavour comes from the naturally derived ingredients that are added to the base for the second distillation.  The predominant flavour is juniper but the others can be as varied as you like.

Before we were allowed to decide on our final recipes, we had a session sampling some of the most important botanicals - in original and distilled form, and learned a bit about the different quadrants of flavour that needed to be hit to create a balanced gin.  Then we picked our ingredients - up to twelve was the recommendation, four of which were standardised to ensure that the gin had all the basic building blocks of what we recognise as...well, gin.

You eventually leave there (although not before a gin martini for good luck) with clinking bags - a bottle of your very own personalised blend (which, incidentally, is kept on record so that it can be reordered whenever you like) plus a bottle each of Portobello Road and a sample bottle of Jake's favourite tonic water.  You see now how the £100 begins to look pretty reasonable.

It was a truly unique experience and we adored it.

As an interesting footnote, the following day we did a double blind tasting of our personal gins, the Portobello Road and a fourth bottle of London Dry with my parents, brother and sister in law.  The two personal blends scored head and shoulders higher than the others (sorry Jake).  Although D beat me by 3 points damn him - and I mocked him for throwing everything bar the kitchen sink into his recipe while I was a model of restraint...We're definitely going to reorder the blends we made and I would love to go back and try and completely different combination of ingredients - perhaps something nice and spicy for Christmas.

The Ginstitute (above the Portobello Star Bar)
171 Portobello Road
London W11 2DY
020 3540 7781

London weekend: Opera tavern, hot dogs and popcorn

If you live in London and I could encourage you to do one thing with your weekend it would be to go to Barnyard, which is very close to Goodge Street tube, and get a portion of popcorn ice cream with smoked fudge sauce to take away.  Or you could sit in of course - I'm not a dictator by any means.

I solemnly swear that, wherever else you go that day, this will be one of the nicest things you eat.

Right, now that's out of the way (my God but it was good though.  I mean, just amazing - sweet and creamy and salty and crunchy and...)  where else did we get to last weekend?  Which, actually, because I am writing this and scheduling it to pop up while I am on holiday (oh, the wonders of modern technology) is probably more like two weeks ago.  Time certainly does fly when you're doing something.

Oh, Opera Tavern.  Now this was a really nice place to while away a couple of hours.  It's tapas type food (we're still on a slightly Spanish kick) although some of it is more immediately recognisable as the type of dish you might order in Spain and some of it is is more "this is a small plate of food that we fancy cooking for you", if you see what I mean.  Almost to a dish it sounded lovely though.  We actually ended up veering towards familiar tapas favourites which just made me want to go back and sample some of the slightly less...can I use the word authentic?  No, it just makes me sound like I know what I'm talking about.  Let's just say, the other side of the menu.

The one dish that we'd read about prior to arriving was the Iberico pork and foie gras sliders.  And they really didn't disappoint.

I could have eaten a lot of these.  The pork was more deeply savoury than I usually associate with that meat, but was lifted by the sweetness of the foie.  Juicy, messy and seriously meaty, these were a delight.

Ah, but see here we have a selection of Spanish charcuterie and some gooey little croquettes with aioli and we're back on to familiar territory.

There was much about Opera Tavern to like - not least the wonderful service, with a disarmingly honest yet charming waitress who, despite having to deal with a very large party at latecomers, was still more than happy to chat about the menu, the restaurant and other Salt Yard venues as much as we could wish.  She particularly recommended Ember Yard as being worth a visit - something to bear in mind next time.

We agreed on this trip that we would both get to pick an establishment for lunch.  Opera Tavern was D's choice (well done D).  His wife, yet again, revealed herself to be an utter pleb at heart by opting for Bubbledogs over in Fitzrovia and what can she say?  She doesn't regret it one bit.

Yes, it's a total bloody gimmick.  Bubbledogs is a champagne bar with one of the most extensive fizz lists that I have ever seen.  Alongside the champagne, they serve...hot dogs.  Yep, gourmet hot dogs with a variety of toppings, and sides of tots or sweet potato fries...and that is pretty much the extent of the menu.  I loved it.

The dogs themselves were top quality - well spiced with that pleasing snap that you are supposed to get when you bite into a hot dog skin, the toppings were generous, and the portion of tots we ordered to go alongside were inescapably moreish.

Given that they served a number of the champagnes by the glass for less than ten pounds, you could quite easily get a cheapish lunch in here.  We opted for a bottle, but there are a good range of prices, and some of the varieties are pretty unusual - plus, the waiter was quite happy to chat through different options without ever going for the hard sell.  As I said, gimmick - yes, but a charming and delicious one.  And they're the best sort.

Barnyard
18 Charlotte Street
London, W1T 2LY
020 7580 3842

Opera Tavern
23 Catherine Street
London, WC2B 5JS
020 7836 3680 

Bubbledogs
70 Charlotte Street
London, W1T 4QG
020 7637 7770

The sound of silence

Greetings, friends!  My, but this little corner of the internet has been a bit quiet lately, hasn't it?  I wish I had a good excuse for you - I've got more stuff to put up from Barcelona, and a couple of real little London gems from last weekend but the truth is...well, I've had a bit of the ennui.

I think....no, I pretty much know that this is work related.  I try to be suitably vague about my job on here because a) it is quite horrendously dull and b) I am ever so slightly paranoid (someone in our building got sacked on the spot for making a comment about the department on Twitter while in the office).  So excuse me for not providing details.  Suffice to say, I am conscious of how lucky I am to not only be employed but also reasonably well remunerated but oh, it grinds me down.  It is just not really the right job for me.  And when you spend two thirds of your life doing something that doesn't make you particularly happy then it impacts on the remaining third - in my case, misery makes me rather inert.

So, why not pack it in and do something else?  Well, the main reason is that I have The Fear: I don't want to be unemployed and I don't really want to take a significant pay cut unless it is for a very good reason.  I also don't honestly know what the right job is.  I have ideas and inklings but no stone cold certainty.  I'm not desperately motivated by money - I just want something that makes me excited to get out of bed in the morning.  Am I expecting too much?  Do the majority of people just drag themselves through the daily grind and then concentrate on making sure that their leisure time makes up for the drudgery of the office?  That doesn't sound like the right way to live to me.

Anyway, I've been having a bit of a sulk and that is why I haven't been a particularly good blogger in recent weeks and is also probably why my WW campaign has stalled a bit.  We are going to Scotland for ten days next week so my impetus to get going again is rather low - but hopefully a break will be just what I need to clear my head, gain a bit of perspective and boost my mojo.                                                                      

Foodie Abroad: Spuntino's

I was already fairly sure that I liked Russell Norman, media styled “King of Soho Dining”.  But then I saw him on the BBC series “The Restaurant Man”, dispensing advice to aspiring restaurateurs, and this became a certainty.  He was witty and wise, had a very snazzy line in cardigans and (most importantly) was often to be seen writing busily in an elegant little notebook – any man with a proper appreciation for good stationery is a man that I wish to know.

 

This would still not be enough to induce with me to part with hard earned cash to eat in one of his venues were it not for the fact that they are very good indeed.  Russell Norman has a habit of creating restaurants that you really, really want to eat in.  They are trendy but not painfully so, stylised but with the substance to back the style up and genuinely appetising sounding menus which of course is the most important aspect of any restaurant.  Concept alone will not fill one’s boots.

 

We had already been to the original Polpo and to Mishkin’s and on Saturday we went to sniff out Spuntino’s – perhaps still on the tail end of our New York kick (it describes itself as a Brooklyn diner).  Fabulous stuff.  Not being particularly trendy we were more than happy to skip the queue and take one of the seats away from the bar area which meant that, despite the no booking policy, we had very little wait.  And waiting, to be honest, would have been no great hardship considering the excellent cocktails that the cheery bar staff were quite happy to hand you while you stood gazing longingly over the shoulders of fellow diners.  Let me tell you, the rhubarb sour was a thing of absolute beauty (always assuming that you like rhubarb and sour drinks – which we do). 

 

Drinks!

Food wise – Spuntino’s serves little dishes for sharing (or not) ranging from a selection of sliders (we tried all four) to some fresh looking salad plates (which we did not get around to ordering – D curled his lip at the thought, but I want to go back and check some of them out).  The truffled egg toast, which seems to have become something of a signature dish, was so amazingly good that we had to order a second one.  Nutty cheese, thick, sweet toast, a pool of golden yolk quivering in the centre, and that unmistakeable whiff of forest floor – it was just fantastically good, and I’d love to have a go at recreating it at home.

 

Toast!

 

Sliders!



I don’t know whether I was still a bit full from the day before, but I found myself struggling earlier on than I would have liked and so a disturbingly large proportion of the menu remained unsampled (I even turned down the prospect of another drink after dinner in favour of heading home for a stomach soothing peppermint tea – unheard of!)  But we still found a corner for desserts and I am mightily glad we did.  The “peanut butter and jelly sandwich” was amazing – a blissfull combo of peanut butter parfait and raspberry compote, but the star (to my mind at least) was the brown sugar cheesecake.  This unassumingly beige dessert was sweet and creamy with a delicate hum of cinnamon spice – a perfect example of the cheesecake genre.  Worth the trip alone.

 

Cheesecake!

Mr Norman has recently opened a traditional pub which I will be sure to go and seek out next time I make it down South and, if I should happen to find him in there, perhaps doodling in a Moleskine, I will be sure to pull up a seat and explain to him in no uncertain terms why York would be the ideal location for a Northern branch of his empire.  In the meantime, Spuntino’s joins Polpo and Mishkin’s in the league of Restaurants I Wish Were Just Down The Road (but it is probably lucky, for the sake of my not inconsiderable waistline that they are not).

Foodie Abroad: Dabbous

Dabbous is a restaurant that we have wanted to visit for ages and, this weekend, we finally did.  Following rave reviews from pretty much everyone who has ever eaten there, tables have not been easy to come by.  We ended up with a lunchtime rather than dinner slot but we have both agreed recently that this might, in fact, be preferable; I quite like emerging, blinking, into the afternoon sunshine, safe in the knowledge I have a good few hours to get on with the process of digesting umpteen courses.  Although talking of multiple courses, it is a mark of how spoiled your average fine diner is getting that we felt vaguely disappointed that we were presented with a tasting menu of seven courses and we got…seven courses.  We’ve got so used to the sneaky little extras that we now regard them as our due.  This minor gripe aside, £59 for the whole felt like remarkably good value. 

 

 

 

Before getting on to the actual food I have to take a minute to do an excited fan girl squeal about the basement bar area, which is apparently open to non diners.  I would definitely urge a trip along there for a peek at the superlative booze collection and a seriously good cocktail; I was only half joking when I told the barman that my “Dillusion” martini was the nicest thing I tasted all day. 

 

And so to our table upstairs, where we were cheek by jowl with our neighbours (French, appropriately nonchalant of expression throughout – eschewed cheese which we thought was jolly bad form).  The space is tight in the dining room and the style very much the modern, industrial feel that is becoming somewhat endemic – if you’re looking for hushed and hallowed halls, starched linen and leather bound menus, this is possibly not the place for you.  We opted for the tasting menu with nary a peek at the set lunch and also an absolutely fantastic English sparkling wine from Sussex, which is probably the nicest thing I have quaffed so far this year. 

 

The food, though, what of the food?  Well, I have no complaints.  When we came to mark the dishes out of ten afterwards (our new game to aid better comparisons across dining experiences – whether or not it works is probably debatable but it makes for enjoyable post dinner conversations) nearly everything was hitting the eights and nines.  The two palate cleanser courses (avocado in osmanthus and onion consommé, and poached rhubarb with lavender respectively) were, to our minds, the least satisfying plates – although they did the job, being both full of freshness and vim.  The pulled veal breast was an undoubted highlight, straddling the turn of the seasons between winter and spring admirably by combining lightness with savoury depth.  New season Jersey Royals, some no larger than a kitten’s paw, were perfectly celebrated, their musty sweetness enhanced rather than smothered by the velvety drape of the buttermilk sauce.  We also loved the combination of smoked halibut and celeriac – again the balance between lightness and shade was so cleverly done – and the barbecued octopus was a real revelation, inspiring us to get some cephalopods over charcoal as soon as the weather improves.

 

Potato!

 

Celeriac!

What else?  Oh, the cheese.  We were served a fondue of Spenwell cheese which had a fabulous hit of thyme to help cut through the richness - a genuine lick the bowl type of dish.  I really love the trend, which we’ve seen in a few places recently, for serving a single cheese or savoury rather than the more traditional cheeseboard.  And the dessert was lovely as well – a big, creamy, can’t-wipe-the-grin-off-your-face banana and custard éclair, it was a proper pudding which left us thoroughly sticky mouthed and content.

 

Éclair!

Overall, I thought that Dabbous, which could well have been a disappointment after all the intense hype, could have buckled under the weight of our expectations, bore up very well and I would be absolutely delighted to go back.  D thinks he might just about prefer Story (more testing is perhaps required) but for me, Dabbous was the more consistently enjoyable of the two not to mention possessed of a kick-ass cocktail bar.  Given how many people, possessed of far more discerning palates than I, have already lavished praise upon it, you probably don’t need a recommendation or otherwise from me.  But you have one anyway, such as it is.

 

Dabbous

39 Whitfield Street

London

W1T 2SF

020 7323 1544

Moving on up (a bit)

Weeks 1-23: -45lbs
This week: +1.5lbs
Total loss: 43.5lbs

So, as expected, a gain this week and deserved to be quite honest. Four days out of seven well off track. At least I can take comfort in the fact that it would have been a lot worse had I not got my act together on Tuesday.

A gain always stings, even when you know the reason. I’ve had a relatively easy ride so far and a few weeks where I’ve achieved a loss where, really, it wasn’t warranted and so I suppose at the back of my mind I had hoped that I would always get away with it. This week has given me the salutary lesson that I won’t. It is ok to choose to have time “off” but I can’t then complain when the scales nudge their way up.

This next week is a quiet one which will (I nearly used the word “should”) give me the opportunity to turn things around. There is no doubt in my mind that I will – I want this far too much to allow a little slip up to derail me.

This, by the way, is one of the Saturday night cocktails that led me down the path to gaindom. It is in an OWL for gawdsake. How could I not?

Restaurant Story - tall tales of delicious food

Restaurant Story is, D informed me as we walk from London Bridge station, on the site of a former public convenience.  We debate using scatological humour in the title of the blog post.  We have had several drinks by the time this conversation takes place, and the puns become more and more lame the further along Tooley Street we get.

We managed to walk past Story once but, when we finally find it, wonder how we could have missed it.  It looks a bit like a house from a fairy tale, incongruous on the London street.  Inside it is warm and bright.  Books line the walls, making it feel curiously cosy considering the size and nature of the space and the fact that there is a glass walled, brightly lit kitchen set to one side of the dining area (a waiter later tells us that the main kitchen is downstairs so this may be chiefly for show and plating).

The menu is simple - six courses or ten courses.  We, of course, opt for ten, despite the fact we have advanced notice that the table is only ours for two hours.  As it turns out we are there for over three, and a good thing too, for while only ten courses are advertised, we tot up that we actually chomp our way through twenty two platefuls.  I've read reviews that suggest each dish is linked to the "story" theme but I think this conceit must have been dispensed with, or at least relaxed, by the time we go and while some have nods to memory and nostalgia, in general the food is best described as very modern, very respectful of its component parts and, occasionally, very challenging.  We loved it.

The meal kicks off with a few quick fire "snack" rounds.  It's difficult to identify a favourite.  The crispy cod skin is remarkable - like a very thin, fishy version of a pork scratching.  I adore the radishes filled with kelp butter and deeply savoury rabbit "cakes" while D is particularly taken with the whole prawns - head and tail roasted, body raw - that need to be popped in a single mouthful, and the oyster and rye on courgette flower. 

I was excited to try the "bread and dripping course", which I'd already read about online, although more for the novelty value than the actual taste.  This has to be the kitschiest presented course I have ever eaten anywhere - a candle is brought to the table and lit when you first sit down:

and after you've finished the snacks, warm bread and jellied veal tongue and pickles are brought along for you to (get this) dunk in the melted candle wax!  Which is actually beef dripping!  Beautiful novelty aside, it turns out that beef dripping smeared on slightly salty bread is a Very Good Thing indeed.  In fact, one of my biggest criticisms of Story is that they do not bring us more bread after we have demolished the first couple of rolls.  They probably want us to save room.

But, since we're on the subject - let's talk about the negatives for a moment.  Two of the dishes on the ten course menu I had issues with.  The pig, chicken and langoustine, which I expected to adore, was not nice - an overly set chicken mousse wrapped in squidgily gelatinous pigs' trotter that really suffered from a lack of textural contrast.  And the prune tea with lovage and milk - well, it turned out that the milk component was milk skin draped over the fruit. I found this deeply unpleasant.  I am a serial custard avoider because of the possibility of skin. Now, I accept that both of these quibbles are primarily down to personal preference as opposed to a lack of skill in the kitchen.  And the thing is, when you've got an exciting young chef experimenting with flavours and textures and techniques then you are going to get hits and misses - I remember vividly not enjoying at least one course when we went to both The Fat Duck and Noma and these are regarded as two of the finest restaurants in the world.  Tasting menus mean that you end up eating things that you would never normally order, and sometimes this means an absolute taste sensation and sometimes it means that it's not quite your cup of tea, but being open minded and accepting the challenge of the new is all part of the experience.

And the highs at Story were really very high indeed.  The venison with yeast and elderberry, oh, it was just fantastic:

Plus one of the unexpected real treats on the menu turned out to be one of the dishes that sounded the least flashy - potato, turnip and coal oil:

The potato was as whipped and smooth as it is possible for a potato to be, with peppery kicks from the raw turnip and deep savoury notes from the coal oil.  It was blissful.  Actually, the only thing that could possibly have improved either of these two courses would have been to serve a dollop of the potato on the side of the venison. 

Desserts, overall, were the least successful part of the meal to my mind.  There were some interesting flavour combinations - who would have thought that almond and dill work so well together in a sweet context:

And I loved the sherberty sourness of the sea buckthorne pre-dessert palate cleanser.  But we thought that the Scandinavian influence was very apparent in the puddings which is a little alien to the English palate - and seems a shame given this island's fantastic heritage of rib sticking puds.  Again, this may be more of a matter of personal taste, but I would have loved (especially given the Story USP) to see something along the lines of gingerbread houses and chocolate soldiers or some riffs on British dessert classics (like Simon Rogan's truly phenomenal stiffy tacky pudding).

The petits fours were fabulous though - yellow plum puree with buttermilk foam served in school milk bottles with stripy straws:

And Mr Tunnock would have been proud at the rose and raspberry flavoured take on a teacake.

Minor gripes aside, Restaurant Story is the kind of place that reminds me why I love modern food and clever, modern chefs.  I can't wait to go back.  Although next time I will be taking along some bread rolls in my handbag....