A cuisine that doesn’t wok my world

Potential for rotten puns notwithstanding, I’ve never been a fan of Chinese food. That is, not sober, anyway. And even when intoxicated, I’ve only ever been able to manage a couple of bites of that cloyingly sticky, syrupy sauce that everything seems to be drenched in before accepting defeat and going to bed. For a good long while I was convinced lemon chicken was an evil combination, having eaten a takeaway once that tasted like misery soaked in Fairy liquid. It was only when I squeezed fresh lemon juice over crispy roasted chicken thighs that I realised it was the stuff of dreams.

I feel the MSG hangover already

But given that I’m so rude about fussy eaters, it didn’t seem right that I could write off an entire cuisine based on a few takeaways and pot luck dinners in Chinatown. After all, you’d be forgiven for thinking British food was beyond the pale if you only ever ate at Wetherspoon’s. And I’ve mentioned before how I feel about La Tasca…

So when I was invited to try out Min Jiang – a very upmarket Chinese restaurant at the top of the Royal Garden Hotel in Kensington, I accepted immediately. With a new chef straight from Hakkasan and side dishes whose price would make Abramovich shudder, this, I thought would change my mind about Chinese food.

Except that it didn’t.

It started well enough – the restaurant has that expensive hotel air to it that makes you feel like you’re in Lost in Translation – a sort of timelessness that means it’s ok to sit up all night drinking. Couple that with a 10^th floor view over Hyde Park, an excellent watermelon mojito and Matt le Blanc sitting next to us and I was practically Scarlett Johanssen.

The menu caused us few problems, although I did note that I wasn’t thrilled by the sound of any of it and we settled for crispy squid, and crab steamed dumplings with pork broth to start. It may well be my palate’s lack of sophistication but I honestly couldn’t taste the difference between these dumplings and the ones from Ping Pong. They were a little lighter, but the flavours tasted exactly the same to me. And the crispy squid, though perfectly cooked was utterly bland, until you bit into a dried chilli at which point your head nearly came off. These courses were followed by ostrich in Mongolian sauce (made with curry leaves) and double cooked Sichuan pork belly with Chinese leek. We were told we’d need side dishes so we also ordered egg fried rice, four seasons vegetables and noodles with chives.

My first observation when everything came out was that it was all, down to the last stick of celery, fried or coated in oil. This is my main problem with Chinese food – there isn’t the balance of flavour you get with, say, Vietnamese, where their sticky, rich sauces are off-set by pickled vegetables, fresh herbs and limes. There’s no let up, nothing fresh to counterbalance the sickliness and very soon everything starts to taste the same. The dishes were technically well executed – the ostrich incredibly tender and the pork belly thinly sliced to exacting uniformity, and there was something interestingly seaweedy amongst the veg that gave me some relief, but after eating less than half I was already feeling rather sick. The boy fared a little better, but he gave up soon after me. By the time it came to pudding I devoured the faultless passion fruit ice cream, mainly happy that it didn’t taste like the inside of a wok.

So what to conclude…I don’t want to do the restaurant down, because aside from my prejudices the staff were helpful, the wine was delicious and it was so squeaky clean I would have eaten in the loos. I can’t fault it for not being authentic either and it was quite buzzy for a fancypants place on a drizzly recession Monday, and not just with expense account diners. I think that, however unwillingly, I have to surmise that I just don’t like Chinese food. And this doesn’t make me picky, it just makes me really like fresh herbs. And salads. And citrus juice. And steamed vegetables…

Breakfast like a king…

I’ve often thought that dragging myself out of bed for breakfast with friends before work is a good idea. A coffee, a croissant and a good gossip would start the day off the right way, as opposed to the usual routine of dropping toast crumbs all over my dressing table, or worse, the keyboard of my desk. But more often than not, as the alarm goes off, the duvet’s charms are just too great, and the snooze button is pressed futilely every five minutes for an hour.

But not this morning. This morning, the lure of breakfast at the new branch of Hawksmoor dragged me out of bed at 6.30, into a rainy and dark street and a rush hour journey from hell.

Since I reviewed the last Hawksmoor at Seven Dials, the British steakhouse chain has gone from strength to strength, and has recently culminated in a) a new book, and b) a new restaurant in Guildhall.  Undeniably designed to cater to the city crowd, this vast polished wood dining room, unlike its brothers, also opens at seven for breakfast. We shuffled in at 8.30, wet and bad tempered from the tube, and were greeted with a warm welcome and an espresso so strong I felt like I was drinking a shot.

It feels a little like a public school dining room, but in a good way

The menu is, as you would expect, pretty meat heavy. There’s a steak and eggs section, as well as the full English, but also pancakes, pastries, yogurt and granola, which I imagine is for the dainty ladies on the arms of the city boys. But I am no dainty lady, and so my city boy and I plumped for the Hawksmoor breakfast for 2.

Deep breath…smoked bacon chop, sausages made with pork, beef and mutton, black pudding, short-rib bubble and squeak, grilled bone marrow, trotter baked beans, fried eggs, grilled mushrooms, roast tomatoes, toast and HP gravy. Oh, and hash browns. Don’t tell anyone, but we ordered those on the side.

Service was friendly, quick and efficient, and within 10 minutes we were sitting in front of an embarrassing amount of meat. 8 different types on one plate to be exact. The bone marrow, I could have done without – I love it in the evening with salad, but in the morning, it was just too much for me and I gave up after a small bite. (Although apparently the gin in the Buck’s Fizz I also ordered in the morning wasn’t too much for me, so I’m not sure what that says…) The bacon chop was an experience – done on the charcoal grill for a lovely smokiness, but the size defeated us somewhat. The sausages were unbelievably meaty and full of flavour and the hash browns were guilty perfection. The short rib bubble and squeak was divine and the star of the show for me – both crisp and fluffy, with melt in the mouth beef morsels running through it – I could have eaten a whole bowlful with just the homemade ketchup to accompany it. The trotter baked beans were also very tasty, although we were divided on this – he felt that something as sacred as baked beans shouldn’t be tampered with. But I have to disagree. My main criticism is that the toast needed to be much more toasted – done on the grill but not for long enough it was pretty much warm bread, and with such delicious sourdough it’s a pity not to treat it with proper respect. But it hardly ruined the meal, and the (quite large amount) we couldn’t finish was happily bagged up by the staff, and as I write the fashion team are tucking in with glee.

Overall conclusion -  excellent. Possibly a little too much meat on one plate for my taste, but I think they know their audience, as every other table in the restaurant (mainly men) ordered the same thing. The cocktail list is eye opening and had I not been working, would have been happy to sit there and get merrily trashed before lunch. I just hope it catches on…but with bubble and squeak that good, I can’t see how it can fail!

Guilty Pleasures

Given the nature of my job, people generally expect me to have a certain level of refinement when it comes to eating. And while this is generally correct – free-range meat, Buffalo mozzarella, dry-aged steak etc etc, there are also those little indulgences that I would prefer to keep under wraps. Actually that’s not true, since I’m about to share them with you all.

Because, no matter how sophisticated your palate, there are times when haute cuisine is not called for. There are times when only a packet of pork scratchings will do. Even the cheap, badly seasoned ones. And I’m not ashamed, because I also love all the acceptable bits of pork. When it comes to eating the noble pig, I’m all about equality.

Before it was looted...

And don’t tell anyone, but I actually went to Nando’s last night, and what’s more, I really enjoyed it. I think the trick to it is to have realistic expectations – don’t expect a taste explosion if what you’re going to eat is popping candy.

Other guilty pleasures, hmmm. There’s peanut butter with beans on toast – picked up in childhood from my father and never forgotten. Tinned tuna melted in a panini with cheese on a hangover. Heinz tomato soup with a little milk stirred into it when I’m feeling poorly. The reassuring hot chickeny blandness of a cup-a-soup on a bleak day in the office. I’ve even been known to munch a packet of Scampi Fries after a couple of drinks in the pub. Anti-social, I know.

You're judging me aren't you

Although people tend to gawp when they see me tucking into this sort of rubbish, I don’t mind. There’s something irresistibly comforting about processed food. In reality, I have a feeling it’s the e-numbers, but I prefer to haze it with nostalgia and say it reminds you of being little, when complex flavours didn’t really exist  and these simple foods shaped your palate. Although I can’t imagine my mother ever EVER fed me tuna with cheese, but that’s hangovers for you.

Would anyone care to share their guilty pleasures with me?

And so it begins…

Pity me, dear reader, on this sweltering Tuesday afternoon in early July, for I am about to enter a winter wonderland of festive cheer. That’s right, Christmas season in magazine world is in full swing. There’ll be mince pies, frosted fruit, pigs in blankets, and chestnuts roasting on an open…well, pavement probably, it’s so hot.

Although it feels extraordinary when you first experience it, it is surprising how quickly you get used to it. And although I sit here eating sushi and dreading the thought of a turkey tasting session, I know that after 10 minutes of over-zealous air con and Christmas tree room spray I will accept my fate…and all the canapés they throw at me. It’s this time of year when I experience food hangovers – there’s only so much smoked salmon you can eat before your body goes into lockdown.

It’s lucky, I suppose, that I love Christmas so much, since it starts for me in July and continues right up until the rest of the world catches up, when I join in with that one too. As a child I used to wish that it could be Christmas every day. Well, I got my wish for half of the year, although unfortunately it doesn’t come with a stocking each morning, which I imagine was the main reason for the wish in the first place. As a five year old, I certainly didn’t have an overwhelming urge to eat Christmas dinner for six months, or plan boxing day buffets and homemade gifts. But it’s worth it by the time the Christmas issue finally appears, and it always makes for a good dinner party discussion!

So when you’re enjoying a crisp glass of Sauvignon after work this evening, perhaps a gin and tonic and some olives, think of me smiling through the pain of my 10^th mince pie, Bing Crosby buzzing mercilessly round my head and pine needles stuck in my sandals. Whoever said that Christmas was about Christ has clearly never been to a press show in July…

Want to critique Taste of London? Then read on…

So, to continue in the restaurant critic vein, an email landed in my inbox today about Toptable’s latest venture with Taste of London. They’re offering one lucky foodie the chance to officially review every restaurant at Taste of London, for free. There are 40 restaurants at Taste of London. That one lucky foodie had better be very hungry.

 I think this is a pretty amazing prize, and one guaranteed to appeal to the almost slavish fanaticism with which food enthusiasts can talk about restaurants. Ask your gastro-friend (every circle has one), about the last meal they had out and you’ll rarely get just a couple of sentences. Everyone who likes food, it seems, is a born restaurant critic.

And before I’m lambasted for completely contradicting myself after my last article, I should point out that I think constructive restaurant reviews are always useful, as long as they’re not some excuse for an over-inflated ego to flap about. I’m also very much in favour of getting ‘ordinary Joe’ in to review the restaurants at Taste. Who knows, they could end up being the next Mr Coren.

So if you feel like this is your time to shine, click here to go to Toptable’s entry page. All you need to do is review a restaurant of your choice and send it off. The winner will be judged, and then they’d better start stomach stretching. It’s going to be a marathon, not a sprint…

To review or not to…

After reading a damning review in the Times of Jason Atherton’s new venture last week, I was left wondering what purpose is served by a bad restaurant review.

Certainly they’re funny, as long as they’re well written. It gives us a delicious sense of schadenfreude, as we shudder to think about the poor chef whose livelihood is about to go up the spout because someone didn’t like their steak. But are they really fair?

In English lessons we were told that no opinion was ever wrong, because literature was subjective to the reader. One man’s Hardy is another man’s Jilly Cooper. Surely the same thing can be said about food?

Admittedly, it’s unlikely that anyone is going to argue that bad service, or a cold main course, or a forty minute wait for a cocktail is ever acceptable. But when restaurant reviewers begin to criticise the dishes, is when I begin to question the point of the review.

So what if you don’t think that vanilla salt goes with a chocolate pudding? Or if you don’t like the size of the sharing plates. Evidently someone did, which is why they’re on the menu, and who knows, maybe quite a lot of other people like it too. It’s hardly fair for one person’s taste, simply because it’s put into print, to influence the number of people that it can.

And chefs, like everyone else, are subject to human error. Imagine you had a bad day at work, and somebody wrote a double page spread about how hopeless you’d been. And since reviews are mostly about new openings, imagine that this was your second week in a new job. It’s not really on, is it? Surely it’s far better to say nothing at all?

Of course I’m not suggesting that if restaurants serve sub-standard food, or have waitresses who look at you like you might possibly be leperous they should be allowed to get away with it, I simply think that people should be able to form their own opinions.

So, in the spirit of that, I welcome yours.

Royal Wedding Watch

I’m sorry, I know you’re probably all a bit sick of it, but I’m going to talk about the royal wedding. For all my huffing and puffing as we get email after email pushing products with increasingly tenuous links to the happy couple, I can’t help but feel a little bit patriotic when I see all the bunting up everywhere. And I’m not going to lie, I’ve become slightly obsessed with the Daily Mail’s Royal Wedding page.

Sadly, well not sadly, very smugly, I’ll be in France on the day itself, and having been informed there’s no TV where we’re going, I will be holing up in a bar somewhere to watch the momentous occasion. But for those who are staying in Grande Bretagne, even if you’re not enamoured with Miss Middleton, the extra day’s holiday is undoubtedly an excuse for eating and drinking at otherwise inappropriate times of the day. So what shall you all be feasting on?

Well, surely Pimm’s has to factor into the equation somewhere. Not being a fan of sickly sweet drinks I always make mine with half and half lemonade and ginger beer, with an extra tot of gin. I’m sure the Queen Mother would have approved. At a recent work celebration I also added a load of fresh passion fruit to it, which went down extraordinarily well.

And as for food, I might argue that a royal wedding party without sausage rolls is no party at all. Have a crack at making your own, they’re so easy and seriously a lot better than anything bought. And in a nod to the royal lifestyle, these caviar and brioche fingers would also be rather appropriate. If you’re near a Waitrose, look out for a faux-caviar called Arenkha – it’s made by spherifying smoked herring (don’t ask) so it’s totally sustainable, very tasty, and a teeny tiny fraction of the price of the real stuff. Royalty for the middle classes, if you will. A bit like our future queen.

And to finish off, what could be more British than a sherry trifle?! If you really can’t face the thought, though, ditch the custard and sponge and try a slightly more updated version with crushed meringues, fresh raspberries and elderflower syllabub. A large splash of dessert wine in there finishes it off perfectly.

And how will I be celebrating? Well,  without a street party or a Union Jack in sight, I’ll be wishing Kate and William well in the true French style – with a large vat of rosé and several dozen oysters. Vive l’amour!

For more Royal Wedding foodie ideas, click here

Dusting off the barbie

Outside our office with its over-enthusiastic air conditioning, the sun is shining and the air is warm.  It appears that summer has come early to our shores, once again filling me with self-loathing questions about why I didn’t moisturise more, why I didn’t shop for spring when the sales were on, and why God in His wisdom chose to make me both ghostly pale, and allergic to fake tan. Summer dresses are out, plasters poke out of new sandals, businessmen sweat in their winter suits. England, like Martha and the Vandellas, loves a heatwave.

Mournful thoughts about my blindingly white legs aside, the warm weather is prompting very pleasant musings about al fresco cookery. We are blessed with a garden at the new flat and have inherited a slightly rickety looking barbecue from the previous owners – I’m thinking this weekend might be the time to christen it.

I love barbecues, not least because it’s one of the few times I get to sit back and let the menfolk sweat over the cooking. My job is over when the salads and marinades are done, and I always find it amusing to watch the way men gather around a pit of smoking charcoal, prodding sausages and looking at each other knowingly. But what will I cook on my barbie? Sorry, what will I prepare and leave someone else to cook.

Well, it might be beer can chicken. A South African dish, it consists of emptying (drinking) half the contents of a can of lager, then sitting a chicken upright on the can, and cooking it on the barbie with the lid down for an hour or so. The beer steams into the chicken’s flesh and the results are tender, fragrant and delicious. Or maybe we’ll cook sirloin steaks and I’ll make these flavoured butters to go with them. Flavouring butter is a great idea for a topping – you can put pretty much whatever you want in, and it’s way less hassle than making a sauce last minute.

As for salads, you can see by my last post how I feel about these. I love this Middle Eastern salad, a sort of bastardisation of a Lebanese fattoush and a Morroccan tabbouleh, but it works for me. Just add the pitta last minute so it doesn’t go too soggy. Another favourite is this summer greens salad, with mini roasted new potatoes through it and lots of the new season’s beans. Perfect with char-grilled prawns.

And my barbie tip du jour – try layering yours with dry sticks and hardy herbs like rosemary or thyme, the smoke from the wood and herbs really gets into the meat giving it an extra dimension to the charred flavour. It makes me think of holidays in the south of France. I’m off to get the rosé in the fridge!

 

A gourmet garden at Taste of London

I got terribly excited recently when I got the info through about this year’s Taste of London restaurant festival. A highlight of my June for the last few years, I love going along for an evening of gastronomic excess, trying out all the dishes from restaurants I can’t usually afford to eat at.

Being professionally greedy, I also enjoy meeting and talking to the producers who showcase their food and drinks – it makes my job a whole lot easier to have everything in one place. If you’ve never been before I’d definitely check it out, even last year when the rain was tipping down (ah the glorious British summertime), there was a great atmosphere of ‘we’re going to eat everything anyway’. A sort of Blitz-spirit of gluttony, if you will.

This year they’re launching their Secret Garden – a seriously exclusive hidden enclave where key holders will be treated to demonstrations, masterclasses and Q&As with some of the best UK chefs, including Michel Roux Jr and Theo Randall. It’s also playing host to the Laverstoke Park Farm British Barbecue Championships where 18 of the UK’s biggest chefs will be tossing sausages to try and impress a panel of fancy food critics. I might be cheeky and suggest some of our barbecue recipes…

To be able to enter the Secret Garden you need to a. be super quick and b. click here. Personally I will be begging, borrowing or stealing to get my hands on a key. See you in there!

Go to the Taste of London website here.

 

The Art of Dressing (salads, that is)

My flatmate doesn’t get salad dressings. Great cook though he is, he just can’t be bothered with them. He’ll julienne peppers to within a (quarter) inch of their lives, but when it comes to dressing them, he looks a little helplessly towards the storecupboard until I invariably take over.

I’m pretty sure this inability stems not from a lack of talent, but from a lack of interest. After all, whisking up a salad dressing isn’t exactly the most glamorous of tasks in the kitchen. There’s no flambéing or elaborate pastry-work needed. But I still don’t understand the reticence. For me, salad dressings are probably the most important component of a salad – a collection of simple, unassuming ingredients that can transform even the most depressing lettuce leaf into something memorable and delicious.

A mustard sharp vinaigrette on a little gem lettuce, a salted lemon and dill infusion with cucumber, the honeyed sweetness of balsamic and wholegrain on a ripe tomato – if food’s success is reliant on its balance of flavour, then these combinations are right up there. And the beauty of a well-made dressing is that it also balances the rest of the meal. A slow-cooked pork belly, melting and rich might leave you feeling over-indulged, but add a sharp, bitter salad to it and suddenly the flavours come together.

Like everything with cooking, there are some rules you have to adhere to, in order to achieve success. The first holds true for everything – always season it! I am never without Maldon, but any good sea salt will do, and just a small pinch will lift your dressing hugely.

The basic ratio I use for vinaigrettes (ie, vinegar, mustard and oil) is equal quantities of vinegar and mustard, and about 2-3 times as much oil, then sugar or honey to taste. Always mix the vinegar and mustard together well with the sweetener before slowly whisking in the oil – this will give you that gorgeously thick emulsion you’re aiming for.

And the wonderful things about salad dressings is that you can pretty much make them out of anything. Some of my favourites include:

• A classic French vinaigrette, made with Dijon mustard, white wine vinegar, sugar and oil (not extra virgin). Add finely chopped shallots to this and you’re pretty near perfection.
• Natural yogurt mixed with a couple of tsps of harissa, chopped mint and lemon. Works brilliantly with salads to go with middle Eastern dishes
• A Vietnamese dressing with fish sauce, fresh lime and rice vinegar. The quantities are pretty specific, so click here.
• Balsamic, wholegrain mustard, honey and extra virgin olive oil. This is my go to for all Italian dishes, and is an absolute winner with basil.

So tonight, don’t reach for that sacrilegious bottle of ready-made stuff in the back of your fridge, get your oils and vinegars out and whip up a saucy frenzy. It may not be Blumenthal, but that doesn’t mean it’s not brilliant.

Click here for more salad ideas.