Have Fork Will Travel

Breakfast after the night before!

2011-12-26T09:52:00.000Z

All but four of the hotel guests are in the breakfast room discussing “things that go bump in the night”! It turns out that Hambrough isn't haunted at all but the remaining guests, who appear to be parents and their two children, have been enjoying that age-old Christmas tradition of a big old humdinger of a family row. So no ghosts of Christmas past, present and future entertaining us, but I suspect spirits of another sort helped fuel the nocturnal activities instead! The screaming, door slamming perpetrators are breakfasting in their rooms (or burying the body on the beach) so we can't count all their limbs but our curiosity will most like be sated at Boxing Day lunch.

In the meantime I eat some of the beautifully presented ring of smoked salmon (don’t think Iceland here more Fortnum & Mason!) with the happy chickens’ golden scrambled eggs.

There is a charity swim, or how long you can stay in the cold, cold sea endurance test, taking place at midday so our daily constitutional is joining the Ventnor inhabitants cheering on the hardy participants. I felt I got drenched enough yesterday striving for that decisive moment, and my hiking boots are still very much out of commission so will watch safely from the sidelines.

Oh and then there's the final lunch, gulp, must...work...up...appetite!

Haunted hamper

2011-12-26T03:06:00.000Z

In a wine induced haze during lunch I reconfirmed a hamper of provisions for my room tonight. So the hotel and kitchen staff can enjoy some semblance of Christmas day celebrations, they batten down the hatches when we've safely retired to our rooms after we've all been fabulously fed at lunch. And to make sure we don’t go hungry (as if!) Robert Thompson whips up a hamper of goodies to help while away the food-free hours!

When the overflowing basket is delivered along with my remaining Malbec and a stack of little white plates I know I'm really not remotely peckish but I check out what's on offer.

Selection of Cured Spanish Meats

Potted Gressingham Duck with Orange

Scottish Smoked Salmon with Crème Fraîche and Lemon

Smoked Mackerel and Peppercorn Pâté with Sourdough

Selection of Olives

Spanish Fried Mix

Local Potato Crisps

Selection of Local and Continental Cheeses

Freshly Baked Bread

Homemade Scones with Jam and Cream

Shortbread

Clementine Sponge

Vanilla and Caramella Chocolate Fudge

Cranberry Jelly

I definitely don't fancy any wine but I'd really like some cold water. I heard raised voices and doors banging earlier so I guess there are still staff around to help quench my thirst. I go downstairs but everything is very much shut up so I’ll have to make do with what I can find in my room. Throughout the evening I still keep hearing the banging and the only conclusion I can draw is that the hotel is haunted!

Despite the angry ghosts I fall asleep on the bed watching a bit of Agatha Christie and on waking at 2.30am-ish wondering why I'm a little cold realise I could investigate some of the delights laid out on on my little carpet picnic. My rather-past-midnight feast consists of the delicious rosy slices of succulent smoked salmon with the slightly tart creamy sauce, the moist potted duck and orange spread on the croutes, some of the Spanish meats, the only cheese that wasn't goat or blue, a small taste of the crisps and Spanish fried mix, a shard of shortbread and a soupçon of scone with a smudge of jam. I really enjoyed what I did tuck into and wish I could have done it more justice but eyes bigger than stomach again, maybe the ghosts will spirit the rest away whilst I sleep!

Christmas Stuffing!

2011-12-25T15:09:00.000Z

We’re back in the dining room again, the bling factor has been upped, the stylish crackers are out and we’re all looking forward greatly to our traditional Christmas lunch.

Well maybe not so traditional, no matter which of the three of Robert Thompson’s Tasting menus you've selected you'll find a turkey-free zone and something rather more glamorous instead. I've plumped for the seemingly slightly less extravagant of the three (more of that assumption later!) and in a moment of Christmas madness I've elected to have the accompanying sommelier choices of wines alongside. What could possibly go wrong?

The cheese oozing gougères are out again this lunchtime, still incredibly moreish!

The appetiser is an elegant glass filled with a tasty spiced aubergine dip with walnut toast. It has a light, moussey texture, a slick of olive oil, a crunch of a finger of toasted walnut bread. All washed down with the ubiquitous bubbles - a nice glass of Billecart-Salmon Brut Reserve.

Next is the picture-perfect Local Sea Bass Lightly Cured, Vinaigrette of Oysters, Potato and Tarragon. Again this is a dish I wouldn't immediately plump for on a menu but that's why tasting menus are such a fabulous invention, you get to explore new flavours and not necessarily forgo the old favourites. And this was a perfect foil to the inevitable richness ahead, sweet wafts of tarragon, an oyster-y note, tastes of the sea, very fine indeed. The wine was a cheeky little Silvaner, Villa Wolf, Pfatz 2009. one of the reasons I succumbed to the wine extravaganza.

Next an unusual dish that provoked much chatter about the inventiveness of Robert and his team. This was the Canneloni of Roasted Goose, Artichoke Risotto and Roasted Various Beetroots. We got to enjoy deliciously delicate risotto hidden inside moist slices of goose (do you see what they did here?) topped with a chunk of soft, yielding artichoke heart. Also there's a wedge of the very earthy purple beetroot and, more preferable to me, the more delicate golden beetroot. A fruity little Pinot Noir, Blanc de Noir/Chardonnay, Uruguay 2008 accompanied the ’cannelloni’.

The perfumed steam from the Baked Scallops in the Shell with Celeriac, Hazelnut, Beurre Noisette and Lemon Thyme was truly tantalizing. The sealing of all the aromatic goodies in the shell certainly intensifies that oh so sweet scallop taste and really was a revelation. I'd always believed it was sautéed, flash-fried or nothing else for the perfect scallop. And yes another wine appeared a Côte Du Jura ’Les Varrons’ Julien Labet 2007.

The fish course was Pan Fried Fillet of Local Cod

(originally Lovage but changed to) Spinach Pasta, Chantenay Carrot, Walnuts and Osietra Caviar . The perfect golden cod was fashioned as a high-rise scallop with a verdant quenelle of spaghetti (I don’t think it was ’alla chitarra’ - square cut) topped with dollop-ette of caviar and a vibrant smear of carrot purée. The nut and fish combo was a new one on me and really added to this lovely plate. The wine is making everything pretty hazy by now but thanks to my cheat sheet I can read that the wine was a glass of Limoux ’Haute Vallée’ La Cave Des Sieurs D’Arques 2007 but I have no recollection.

So my antidote to dry turkey was the splendid Roasted Saddle of Venison with Root Vegetables, Braised Red Cabbage and Agen Prune, Sauce Grand Veneur. And this really was as good as it looks with deep, deep purple of that intensely meaty hunk of venison nestled up to the perfect roasted roots surrounded by a moat of rich burgundy, prune-y, red cabbage-y sauce. Yes, another sublime dish! This was perfectly washed down more if the wine I'd been enjoying at previous meals - the lip-smacking Malbec, Clos Des Andes, Reserva, Mendoza, Poesia 2006

This curious misconception I had that the menu was less substantial than yesterdays convinced me that I'd have plenty of room for the optional Cheese Course. From the extensive selection I first eliminated the goat and blue ones I chose Brin D’amour, Brillat Trufflé, Sharpham Rustic and Lincolnshire Poacher - a bit of soft and a bit of tangy hard. My cheeses came accompanied with dried grapes, chutney, wedges of fig, a smooth slab of honey-sweet Membrillo and a napkin formed like a dinner jacket containing bread and crackers. The cheese was a nice little diversion but really there wasn't room at the inn.

I moved tables over to the window and to S and A so we could compare notes on our preparation for this meal (they walked further than me but I got oh so much wetter), our collective excessive food consumption and the highlights of our Christmas dining so far. I think it was A who said when confronted with Locally Grown Apples with Roasted Chestnuts and Dry Cider on the menu he had half expected an apple with a glass of cider. But no, the little joke was what we were really delivered was this elegantly refreshing pre-dessert of a wobbly panacotta, cider granita, apple balls, sorbet, crisp slices of apple and the slivers of essential festive flavour - roasted chestnuts.

My final dish is a caged pear or more specifically a Poached Pear with Pain D’epice Ice Cream and Quince Puree. Thankfully this dish is perfectly balanced and whisper light so I'm able to taste everything. The juicy pear is surrounded by a little wall of that Burgundian speciality pain d’epice, thin spicy gingerbread that shatters on gentle impact. There's a pear-shaped scoop of the same flavour of ice cream, a smear of fruity quince purée and artful drizzles of caramel sauce. The dessert wine is Château Filhots, 2nd Cru Classé, Sauterne 2001.

As I never drink coffee and rarely drink tea I don't end my meal like everyone else so as we’re still all enjoying our conversations I order hot water and get to also experience the petits fours.

In another moment of madness I'd pre-ordered the evening hamper in case the hunger pangs strike later. How on earth did I think that could possibly happen. There are only two words to describe how I feel now after all this fabulously delicious food and wine - utterly stuffed!

A Christmas swim!

2011-12-25T12:08:00.001Z

Yesterday's schoolboy error of setting forth on a photographic excursion with mere moments of battery life available, is not going to be repeated, I'm more prepared today. I have three fully charged batteries, tripod and the neutral density filters I need. My plan is to return to the beach, stake out a couple of good spots and try and ’smash’ (in LA’s vernacular!) the creamy waves and smudgy clouds. I'm all set up, the weather is not as fine as yesterday, I spot S and A from the hotel setting forth for their constitutional to the botanic gardens but I'm on a mission so wish them well in their walk. I'm glued to the viewfinder, fully manual (yes, living on the edge!) and tweaking the aperture and shutter speeds oblivious to everything else. Apparently too oblivious as I didn't spot the much feistier waves today building up a head of steam and trying to wipe out the pesky photographer in their wake. Hmmm, I was wearing hiking boots (occasionally I don sensible footwear) but I needed waders it seemed. The waves soaked me up to my knees and filled my boots with sludgy sand and bits of seaweed, I suspect hiking socks would have been useful here. I figured that when I'd been doused once, then twice, then a third time that I'd just stick it out until I had something I quite liked. Apparently photography is not supposed to be easy - Magnum’s Robert Capa said “If your pictures aren't good enough, you're not close enough”, best not to mention what happened to him, but I'm fairly confident I'm not going to drown so I can suffer a little more for my art. Not sure my boots will ever be the same again by I captured something at least and this time I didn't run out of power!

It's Christmaaaas!

2011-12-25T09:11:00.000Z

I had a lovely surprise from my team but especially the gorgeous other J and the fabulous new H. They had secretly organized the assembly of an intriguingly jingly, lumpy, jolly Father Christmas stocking so “I'd have something to open on Christmas Day”. I had sworn not the peek and I hadn't, not even the tiniest bit. I'd carefully packed the stocking for its Speedcat ride over to the Isle of Wight and hung it up on the door handle in lieu of a suitable fireplace and now it's time for the grand unveiling. But I did say I'd be down for breakfast nice and early (to maximise the recovery time before lunch) with the other festive guests so I'd would just have to wait a little bit longer.

I'd calculated that the lightest of the breakfasts would be soft boiled egg with soldiers. But as I’m down so early the just-out-of-the-oven pain au chocolat aromas assail me as I arrive in the dining room. Perhaps if spend the interval between breakfast and lunch stomping around Ventnor I might justify the Christmas breakfast indulgence.

Boiled egg and soldiers was my special dish as a little girl and it still transports me back in a whirl of nostalgia. So I always want to keep the tradition and have to have my boiled eggs served ’old school’. That means the soldiers have to be a slice of buttered and untoasted white bread, cut into the requisite orderly columns. I must admit when I make soldiers I butter the bread first as it is so much less fiddly but that will be my fault for not pre-warning of my preference for untoasted bread. The eggs are local, clearly borne of happy chickens and have the most golden sunshiny yolks to dunk the buttered soldiers into. A perfect start to the day of festive fare.

Before getting on my hiking boots I'm champing at the bit to unwrap the contents of my intriguing jangly stocking and it's been so much worth the wait. They've surpassed themselves, in Father Christmas nether regions I discovered a delicate snowflake garland to decorate my room, fabulous new H’s cousin’s suitably seasonal novel The Snow Merchant to curl up with later, our team’s favourite-for-any-occasion Lindt truffles, glamorous bath confetti for future soaking and my beloved Coco Chanel perfumed lotion and the new season’s Chanel Black Pearl nail varnish. With these gifts you are thoroughly spoiling me! An incredibly happy Christmas to me!

T'was the night before Christmas

2011-12-24T23:59:00.000Z

So dressed in my finery I join the other festive diners with an air of expectation, as for the hotel guests, we are embarking on our initial culinary adventure with the first of Robert Thompson’s three tasting menus. The non-residents, I suspect, have chosen their favourite of the menu trio also. I've selected the most elaborate for tonight's dinner, the slightly less extravagant for Christmas lunch and more modest for Boxing Day lunch. My rationale is that I've had time to summon a little hunger in preparation for the feast tonight, and I’ll have less time to work up an appetite tomorrow and the day after. At the corner table I see L and B from Christmas here last year. They are joined also by L’s sister C (or is it K?) We were the only people availing ourselves of the Hambrough’s chic boutique rooms last year but this year the hotel is full and I wonder which tables seat the other guests.

I start with the delicious gooey cheese filled gougères, this time on a square of slate, and a glass of cassis laced Champagne to get the tastebuds tingling.

Todays appetiser is a little white onion velouté topped with winter-warming chermoula foam.

Next is the Mackerel with Island Potato and Osietra Caviar. The elegant cubes of fish, slivers of potato salad, nuggets of haricot vert are arranged in a tower of discs. I wouldn't generally choose a dish like mackerel but it had a delicate, clean taste with fresh iron-y zing of the pearls of caviar.

One of my most favourite aromas starts to assail my senses as a soup dish of Velouté of Jerusalem Artichoke with Parmesan, Black Winter Truffle and Wild Mushroom Brioche is delivered. The soup is delicious, woodsy, creamy with tantalizing shards of Parmesan melting into its depth with a scattering of the finest chopped chive rings. But the star of the show is the slices of black truffle, the heady perfume extends to the baked-in-a-flowerpot warm brioche and the salt crystaled butter. Just layer upon layer of truffle-y goodness, this is nirvana, I've died and gone to epicurean heaven. Every morsel of this elixir is polished off, this is superb cooking.

The Pressing of Foie Gras and Wild Duck, Caramelised Clementine Puree, Pain d’epice and Watercress Salad is a smooth marbled slab of delicate meaty morsels bordered by two walls of the thinnest, crispiest spicy ginger bread. Each forkful can be dunked in the tangy streaks of vibrant clementine.

One fresh pasta cushion filled with light chunks of langoustine surrounded by autumnal spheres of pumpkin partially submerged under nutty foam or otherwise Raviole of Langoustine, Pumpkin with Sautéed Swiss Chard and Almond Cappuccino.

I'm starting to fade a little so have asked for a rest after my fish course. What I have awaiting me is a beautiful hunk of burnished golden Cornish Turbot on the Bone. Stew of Cannelloni Beans, Clams, Cockles and Horseradish. I always think that open clams add a quintessential flash of seashore sunshine to a meal and this is how this dish makes me feel. It’s too dark to see the sea outside but I can enjoy the seaside on my plate. The turbot yields to white soft flakes at the merest fork, there are, annoyingly, more bones than I'd like to spoil my eating pleasure (and I don't mean the bone it’s cooked on!) but fish can be infuriating like that. I've never been a huge fan of cannelloni beans, and I'm still not convinced but I gave them a try. I do like a subtle kick of horseradish however, this horseradish was very subtle, really too subtle, I only believed it was in the dish because the menu told me so.

The beef is coming next and I'm having a breather with a fine Malbec checking out the other diners with that contented, well-fed buzz around the room.

After the longest pause I can muster the main event arrives. Island Beef with Potato Gnocci, Crispy Braised

Oxtail, Salsify and Trompette de le Mort, Oxtail Jus and Parsley Oil. I was fairly sure I would struggle to eat another morsel but here we have draped rosy slices of the rare fillet on top of a flat cake of crunchy oxtail-y loveliness. Then there is the beautifully bronzed salsify, dark dense mushrooms and creamy cauliflower puree. The potato gnocchi were so superior to the lumpen ones last night, still firm but not stodgy.

And for the final flourish the entire dish is decorated with Jackson Pollock splashes of verdant parsley oil.

Even though I've said how full I am, my waitress asks me if I'd like to partake in the optional cheese course, which is pretty funny. I'd like to at one meal but perhaps with one of the smaller menus.

The pre-dessert of Sloe Gin Jelly with Pink Champagne Foam is a welcome, light, refreshing and restoring, I'm nearly at the home straight now.

The signature dessert of the three tasting menus is in front of me - the Dark Chocolate and Hazelnut Layered Parfait with Hazelnut Tuille. The stylish layers of rich chocolate and hazelnut with airy crispy shards of tuille and extravagant wisps of edible gold. Think Michelin starred Nutella! It's picture perfect and I'm admiring its stature whilst chatting to my neighbours on the next table. S and her husband A used to live in the Isle of Wight and can impart oodles of local knowledge which I hope I can profit from. And we also share a love of the Orient Express extravaganzas. We swap experiences of my trip to Venice and across the US and S and A’s fabulous holiday exploring castles in Scotland on the newly restored Royal Scotsman. We are so absorbed in our tales my dessert keels over with my neglect. The few mouthfuls I have however are very good indeed. It’s actually after midnight when we finish our drinks and retire to our rooms - so “Merry Christmas”, tomorrow is another day of culinary indulgence - oh my!

Don't forget your batteries!

2011-12-24T17:11:00.000Z

I'd been determined to build up an appetite for the first and most elaborate of the tasting menus by not eating from breakfast until dinner and taking in plenty of lungfuls of sea air. As I'd lugged my tripod, filters and all the camera accoutrements with me over to the island I was very much hoping to capture some picturesque winter seascapes. Suitably clad in sparkly hiking boots (well, it is Christmas) I locate a spot on the beach that has a nice view of one of the distinctive red coastal hazard markers and set up.

I'm crossing my fingers I might get some attractive shots at sunset but the sky doesn't look promising. I am well prepared, I've even braved a long queue of locals in Boots buying last minute perfumes and indigestion preparations to procure a shiny new SD card for my camera. I fire off a couple of test shots then screw on the filters to slow the crashing waves down.

A couple of clicks and the inevitable slow shutter drains the camera battery almost immediately. But no fear, of course I've bought a spare with me. However when I spot that it's upside down in the battery holder I know this one is flat also. And my third? Well that's fully charged and back up the hill again in my hotel room. And typically, as I throw in the towel, wipe my tripod of sand and pack everything away the clouds clear slightly. And as the clouds become wispier the gold, yellow ochre and tangerine streaks start to emerge and I am camera-less. Most definitely a schoolboy error! Perhaps if I rush back up the hill, shake the beach off my boots and grab the last remaining battery from my other bag in my hotel room, there might a chance I preserve the Christmas Eve sunset. Around me everyone is holding their camera phones aloft and each time I turn around the sky has bruised further, and the indigo was merging with the orange streaks.

There wasn't time to return to the beach but I did manage to get a few hand held shots squeezing in between the parked cars and peering over the balustrades. Tomorrow, I will try again but with plenty of batteries!

Christmas Eve Eve at the Pond Café

2011-12-23T22:58:00.000Z

Considering the gourmet marathon I was embarking on I had opted to temper the full indulgence by booking a table at the Pond Cafe, Robert Thompson’s more casual establishment in Bonchurch. I tried to visit last year but their Christmas opening hours coupled with not being able to consume another morsel pretty much for the duration of the entire trip meant I hadn't wandered that far. The Hambrough ordered me a taxi, a courtesy I gratefully accepted as a constitutional on Ventnor beach strapped into hiking boots was one thing but venturing forth to another village clad in high heeled sequinned shoes seemed insensible.

I'd purposely not eaten since breakfast to ensure a good appetite for the evening. I’d spent the day exploring Ventnor’s little shops on finding them open for the first time and was deposited outside the Pond Café feeling quite ready for the spread ahead. The pond that gives the name to the restaurant is directly opposite and though thankfully the sky isn't polluted with the sodium lights that turns the sky so orange back home I could still discern a fine flock of ducks that paddled over to see the new arrival. Sadly I hadn't thought to bring bread. The taxi driver mentioned as he restarted the engine that he thought the restaurant looked empty and he was quite right, I was the only diner. I hoped I was just early and was soon assured that I was the only booking. An old friend, N, had a curious fear of empty restaurants, didn't like the soul attention and would demand we sought a livelier place. In fact his oft used phrase, especially when seeking a suitable eatery when travelling, was an insistence we avoid a place as on glancing through the window he declared that it was “full of murderers!” I do feel, however, he must have been mistaken as the likelihood of a little French village being able to congregate so many cut-throat killers seemed awfully slim! I haven't heard he has since stumbled upon some den of assassins so assume his dining out in the last few years has been less perilous.

I am rather embarrassed being the only diner. I suspect the staff would rather be putting their feet up on Christmas Eve Eve but I'd thwarted that plan. I rather admired the Christmas decor in the restaurant, it was probably no coincidence seeing I recognised a few duplicates to my own decorations - particularly the sparkly black Christmas trees adorning the tables.

The menu was more Mediterranean or Italian than back in the hotel and a few old favourites leapt out at me. I started with the Local Beef - thinly sliced raw beef, rocket, Parmesan, pine nuts and olive oil. I like a good Carpaccio and prefer it when it is served with Parmesan and drizzles of olive oil rather than the original Harry's Bar sauce. The rosy slices were chilled and refreshing and alongside the warm-from-the-oven focaccia a delightful start to my light(ish) meal.

Believing that Carpaccio doesn't really fill me (I may regret that belief later) I next tuck into Raviole - organic pumpkin, sage, ricotta and Parmesan. I always like a fresh pasta and the pumpkin makes it all delicately Autumnal.

For my main I've avoided anything that will clash with the taste odyssey I will embark on tomorrow. So knowing you can never go wrong with Pork Belly - slow roasted with thyme, anchovies and lemon, potato gnocchi, wilted chard and pumpkin I choose that with a side of black cabbage. I'm expecting moist, juicy, meltingly tender pork and little fluffy pillows of potato gnocchi but to my amazement it just didn't deliver. The pork was tasty but surprisingly a tad dry, and the gnocchi were dense - more akin to dumplings. I was shocked, I haven't had any dish associated with the Hambrough or Robert Thompson that has given me pause and when the waitress sees me staring at the plate in astonishment she immediately wondered how she could assist. Her suggestion was a red wine sauce which was speedily whipped up, and it helped a little with the pork but the stodgy gnocchi were sadly unredeemable. The nuggets of roasted pumpkin were a triumph though and I should have just eaten those and been happier with my fare.

By now I'm actually feeling rather full (though it would have been worse if I'd eaten the gnocchi). Clearly my confidence in ordering two starters was misplaced. I thought I may be able to go for the sweet finish with the bitter chocolate sorbet from the pear and almond glazed tart with red wine. I imagined I'd get a single velvety mound but I presented with these abundant shiny globes of grown up bitter chocolatey sorbet. I could barely make a dent but I enjoyed what I tasted. Time to get back to my hotel and let the staff enjoy their final Christmas preparations.

Starting the day in style!

2011-12-23T10:16:00.000Z

Well not technically, as the tray would have been a little tricky to manoeuvre, but in my room at least. I don't generally avail myself of hotel room service, I'm not sure why. Perhaps I think it won't be as nice as what's on offer in the dining room or I’ll miss something but as I was the last to leave the dining room last night it was suggested I may like to take them up on their kind offer. And it was perfect start to my first morning here and added to the indulgence of the whole experience. So I could wrap myself in a fluffy robe and receive first a tray laden with a silver toast rack, condiments, teapot and linen. Followed by a second knock to bring my full cooked breakfast and then a third to bring me a caramelised apple on a small slate. How chic to have an amuse bouche with breakfast!

The 'full English', with the barest of reminders to exclude the tomato (they had remembered!) comprises of a plump, juicy sausage, a smaller sausage of the moistest, crumbliest of black pudding, tasty dry cure bacon, sautéed mushrooms and a golden yolked egg. Oh I could get used to this.

Let the feasting begin

2011-12-22T23:45:00.000Z

I knew I hadn't blogged for ages but on examination on my old daily companion I was shocked to discover it was nearly a whole twelve months since I last committed foodie thoughts electronically and was, curiously, the previous time I was in the Isle of Wight. And after pondering a couple of months ago whether it was preferable to explore a whole new destination or revisit a tried, tested and loved old friend I plumped to return to Ventnor in the Isle of Wight and avail myself of the extreme delight of Robert Thompson's fine, fine dining at the Hambrough for Christmas again.

Last year was my first foray to the island so everything from the quirky old tube trains that whisk you from the ferry port at Ryde to the end of the line at Shanklin, to the festive branches and baubles adorning the bannisters wending their way up to my boutique bedroom was new and pleasant surprise. This time I'm an old hand so I didn't go looking for how to purchase a ticket for the old tube train as I knew you just paid the conductor on board, I knew how close my hotel was to the beach and I knew those enticing aromas wafting up from kitchen promised untold culinary delights and I couldn't wait to quickly unpack and reacquaint myself to the elegant chocolate dining room.

It's lovely to see familiar faces from last year, it's not just the guests that like being here. I've arrived later than planned, I was distracted by some last minute sorting out, meeting baby N for the first time, a final farewell to E(D) and a minor diversion to acquire some new sparkle. Leaving later meant that gaps occurred in the journey and I only arrived barely moments before the deadline for the kitchen being unable to accept new diners.

I am swiftly furnished with a small stone brandishing some deliciously oozy cheesy filled gougères and I'm pleased I didn't succumb to snacking en route so I can do all the anticipated delights justice.

After perusing the à la carte and weighing carefully the options so as not to clash with the three tasting menus on offer for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day, I make my choices and a flavoursome white onion velouté topped with sage foam arrives.

Next it's the Pressing of Lightly Smoked Eel with Foie Gras, Pork Belly and Granny Smith Apple Celeriac Remoulade and Toasted Brioche. By happy accident I've ordered Robert's signature dish straight off the bat and on arrival with a small fanfare I'm immediately reminded of why I've returned here. The food is first a feast for the eyes and then each forkful adds another layer of delightful taste. The long glass plate comes replete with an elegant band of the moist, juicy morsels and little mounds of the creamy remoulade scattered with micro cress.

My next treat is the elegant Oven Roasted Anjou Squab Pigeon with Braised Crispy Leg Foie Gras Sauce and Pommes Anna Local Rainbow Chard. As usual I go a little menu blind when I see words like Foie Gras, Truffle, Mash Potato and Chocolate. And I've chosen well again, This is just perfect, the rosy pigeon breasts, the tiny crunchy leg, the diminutive roundel of potato cake and the subtle creamy foie gras sauce.

The palate cleanser or pre-dessert is a zesty, fresh clementine soup with cranberries, yoghurt sorbet and meringue. The meringue look either like tiny cotton buds or large matchsticks and give a pleasing chewy texture to the soupy clementine with little tarty nuggets of cranberries.

Typically they had me at chocolate, the signature dessert is Tarte Tatin, if you go for this you have to put your hand up at the beginning of the meal. It sounded interesting but I was alarmed that it was for two. Another table had opted for this and they got half each. Though admittedly were defeated as asked for a doggie bag. I didn't really fancy Tarte Tatin for breakfast so instead chose the Manjari Chocolate and Passion Fruit Marquise, Grue de Cacao, Chicory Ice Cream. An ideal finish, crunchy shards of chocolate, a fruit smear of passion fruit, deep, rich chocolate and the whisper of chicory in the ice cream. A more than auspicious start to my gourmet Christmas holiday.

Red Dot Snapper

2011-03-13T23:43:00.000Z

Seeing as I'm struggling to keep one blog up to date it does seem a rather bizarre decision to start a brand new blog. But there is method to my madness! Last year in an attempt to beef up my food photography I splashed out on better camera. And then I realised that I needed to learn how to master all that extra cleverness. And much to my shock I started to take the odd picture that wasn't food related! This new blog records my travails with my lovely little Leica and will be a space to record a year long photographic project I've just signed up for.
My thought was that I'd just upload all the photos without the verbiage, but I don't seem to be terribly good at that. Now I have a backlog of two blogs to catch up on, I'm petitioning for a few more hours in the day. Wish me luck on that!
Click here for the non-food photography blog - Red Dot Snapper

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The party's nearly over!

2010-12-30T17:47:00.000Z

I awake with a sigh, my little foray across the Solent is nearly at an end. At least I can see the sea today from my balcony as I watch the last vestiges of the sunrise disappear, perhaps my camera will have a happier day. At breakfast all the guests are fascinated by the red squirrels flitting back and forth outside the windows. None of us have ever seen a red squirrel, well in the flesh as it were, their beefier grey American cousins have put paid to them almost entirely in England, they fare slightly better in Scotland and Ireland however. I see the grey ones everyday, they're generally running up and down the trees outside my windows, chattering away. They are pretty bold, street-wise city squirrels and seem to show no fear. These slighter, more delicate, shyer long-eared red ones seem to be a lot more cautious and never linger but for the merest moment in one spot lest something should pounce. I make it my mission today to shoot one. I hasten to say with my camera only. Knowing I have nothing remotely resembling a true telephoto I'm going have to try a bit of sneaking up on them whilst they gorge at the handy nut feeders positioned near to the house. Hmmm, I wonder how successful that plan will be. But first it's back to the beach.

My first shock is that there's scenery, a lot if it, both to the left and right. Yesterday it was just walls of white. Today there are kites flying and dogs cheerily chasing crows and splashing about in the water.

There is a slither of blue sky this afternoon, not enough "to make a sailor a pair of trousers" so I doubt it will improve.

The golden sand with an artful piece of driftwood being gently caressed by the frothy waves will sadly have to be an image solely in my head. The reality is a whole lot more stark, wintery, lacking the warmth and the light quality I crave so I will have to resort to a touch of Photoshop wizardry to juzz them up a bit!

On returning from the beach I see if I can get one of those red squirrels in my sights. I find a couple cavorting in the trees near the house, but it's clear they are not going to let me get too close. In the end I decided that showing one of these flighty creatures against the backdrop of one of the perfect chocolate-box cottages would be very fitting.

After the photography 'expedition' it had turned a little chillier (more like the weather I had at home before I left) so I had the perfect excuse to make myself cosy in front of the roaring fire. And after picture editing, writing, blogging and reading (a wonderfully chilling holiday afternoon) I decide to check out their afternoon tea. Somehow eating cucumber sandwiches and strawberry jammed scones seems too quintessentially English summer to consume in front of a crackling fire in mid-December, I tried adding a seasonal glass of mulled wine but it was still a little incongruous. But the smoked salmon and crab sandwiches were wonderfully fresh and appropriate for being so close to the sea, and the fruitcake did seem to make it feel more wintry. I would have rather liked something like a warm cheese scone (memories of Hoste Arms in Burnham Market on an incredibly rain-drenched August afternoon) but a non cheese scone slathered in strawberry jam is more afternoon tea. My only problem is now that it's not many hours until dinner, well that's easily dealt with I'll push back my table for tonight. I'd originally hoped to catch the dramatization of Nigel Slater's Toast as I don't have the luxury of Sky+ here but that's why they invented the heady combination of an iPad and BBC iPlayer I guess! Isn't technology a wonderful thing?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A white Isle of Wight

2010-12-29T22:19:00.000Z

Today the white has descended! The Isle of Wight is truly white finally, but not with snow but with a swirling mist.

I try to see if I can still see the sea from my balcony but it's shrouded in the low cloud. However I still decide to venture down to the Priory Bay's private beach as it was too drizzly yesterday to check it out and perhaps I'll be luckier with the weather when I get there. But unsurprisingly I can stand on the beach, hear the waves crashing, but barely even see anything other than what's at my feet. I want to capture some shots as I know this is a truly a picturesque spot but the elements are conspiring against me. I manage to fire off a couple of slightly more interesting photographs of the wintery trees when the sky bruises as the sun we hadn't seen at all today disappears for good. However generally not a great photography day, I think it's back to chilling in the lounge of the house before dinner.
I've been reading up on the history of the Priory, they have a wonderfully eclectic collection of buildings, ruins and architecture making up the Priory Bay Hotel we can see today. A monastery originally stood on this site and the oldest surviving buildings are the two remaining tithe barns from the old Priory Farm dating back to 1100. But I learn something even more impressive about the Priory Beach on which I had stood amongst the sea-washed pebbles and seaweed earlier. It seems this has been a popular spot for many years or only at least a mere 345,000 years to be exact as stone age axes from this era have been discovered on that very beach. Which means one of the earliest settlements in Britain. And that's old!
As this is my third visit to this elegant dining room I'm starting to work my way through the menu so I am also kindly offered the Oyster Bar and Grill menu in case I wish to mix it up a bit. The risottos and the fresh tagliatelli are appealing but I'm really hankering for the scallops and after being so très désolé regarding the proliferation of the dreaded tomatoes on their menu so far, I wonder if they could serve them another way. My waitress originally suggested salad which didn't thrill me so much but then with the chef's acquiescence we came up with cunning idea of a small mound of the rather delicious Cauliflower Risotto from my Bream dish on Monday.

Tonights amuse bouche is a little meaty morsel of Croute topped with Duck Rillettes and Cranberry, it's less quirky than the last two nights, but perhaps tastier.

After the earlier machinations my starter ended up being Roast Native Scallops with Cauliflower Risotto, and this was a wonderful marriage. The cauliflower risotto was more delicious than Monday, it was creamier, more unctuous and complemented the burnished scallops beautifully and to complete the pretty-as-a-picture dish was a light scattering of the ubiquitous micro cress.

My waitress thinks I should check out their beef dish so my main tonight is the Fillet of Island Beef - Parisienne Potatoes, Pancetta, Carrots, Mushrooms, Onions, Red Wine Jus. I'm really trying not to compare the Priory Bay's beef dish with Robert Thompson's but I can stop myself, it was only three nights ago and the ringing endorsement I gave it are still very much on my mind and I daresay my taste buds. To be honest this isn't just quite as fabulous, the pancetta is there for the welcome porky hit but the Boxing Day Parma Ham rosette and the accompanying beef had the edge. The best bits are the Chantenay carrots which are perky and sweet, adorable caramelised nuggets of teeny, tiny Parisienne Potatoes, a pool of winey jus contained in the rather wonderful swirl of the deep, rich onion puree. But sadly after the stupendous starter it just doesn't quite match up.

After everyone queuing up for the Orchard Plum and Cognac Soufflé - Plum Compote, Star Anise Ice Cream last night I thought I better join the throng. I don't always see the point of soufflés as they can verge on style over content, they can be all air or too custardy in the base. It considered the classic "don't cook to impress" or "attempt on television" dish as a flop is often lurking round the corner. I've never made soufflé intended for dessert, I've only whipped up cheese, potato and other savoury goodies. I liked the soufflé, it stayed pert until i broke through its defences and doused it in the ice cream. It had a delicate plum taste and the star (excuse the pun!) was the lightly spicy star anise ice cream.

And I thought it was all over but I was offered the petits fours for the first time. Even if I couldn't possibly eat another thing it's always fascinating to see a tantalizing glimpse into the chef's mind in the final flings of a feast. It's their opportunity of leaving you with those lasting memories of their culinary artistry with sweet manifestations of delicious witticisms. Tonight we get to enjoy a Pistachio Macaroon and a square of Kirsch Cherry and Pistachio Nougat. The nougat is sticky and spiked with (always to my mind) redolent of cheese fondue Kirsch. I've saved the best until last. The macaroon performs just as it should, the tiniest nibble breaks the crisp curved outer layers and a light pistachio cloud envelopes my mouth, surely the taste of happiness. Today has undeniably been cloudy but ending with macaroon induced sugar alchemy will always be a good thing!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Too many tomatoes in the world!

2010-12-28T22:02:00.000Z

Tonight there's a new special starter of duck liver parfait (ah that rings a bell, I had really enjoyed its smooth creaminess earlier) but inexplicably it comes with yet another tomato concoction since my first taste of it so now it seems three out of the five starters have tomato in them. The fourth has blue cheese so I guess it's Hobson's choice of Cured Organic Salmon Plate - Braised Fennel, Lemon, Parsley and Caperberry Purée. I really enjoyed my Galantine of Local Game Birds once it had been de-tomatoed so perhaps the scallops can be rescued from their tomato drowning tomorrow, it's worth asking.
The amuse bouche is another quirky dish of Carrot and Ginger jelly with Ginger crumbs and watercress. When presented it did look scarily like a half of tomato but clearly my obsession is affecting me now and I'm seeing things. It could also be compared to an egg yolk deprived of its white. It's firmer than a jelly, and it slices into pleasing golden crescents which work well with the Ginger crunch.

The Cured Organic Salmon Plate - Braised Fennel, Lemon, Parsley and Caperberry Purée wouldn't necessarily be a dish I'd normally choose off the menu. I'm not entirely sure why, I love salmon but its treatment in this case sounds a tad austere. I suspect the thought of the strong tang of the caperberries makes my mouth pucker slightly in my mind. The salmon was really good though, a small slab of translucent moist flakes revealed in every mouthful. They was nicer than I thought but the accompaniments were still a little too feisty for my sadly delicate tastes. But it's good to try something new so I far from regret it.
I can only assume this aversion to bitter, tart or spicy is due to eating rather mild food as a child. At home we'd have something as exotic as even garlic very, very occasionally so my abiding memories of family dinners consist of simple comfort food, cauliflower cheese, fish pie, cottage pie, roast beef with boiled potatoes, sprouts and unusual yet very distinctive untainted-by-meat gravy, boil-in-the-bag cod in butter sauce, Findus crispy pancakes (just wrong but enjoyed at the time I guess!) meat and potato pie (from the chippy), mash potatoes (made from Smash invariably - oh the shame!), bacon butties in white floury 'oven-bottoms', in fact white bread doorstops thickly buttered featured heavily also. Because of regular trips to Paris and my parents many French friends and associates, I think we occasionally dabbled in more French bistro food than my peers, home-made quiche Lorraine with cheese pastry, French onion soup, pâtés, omelettes, soft cheese possibly Boursin, chocolate mousse, thin crêpes and those very fine-crusted apple tarts. We also had a metal rotary cheese grater from Paris, several fondue sets and all the necessary accouterments for consuming snails! This was considered very daring and the mere thought of such decadence to my grandparents would be greeted by a screwed up face and a loud declaration of "foreign muck!" But then they seemed to believe that good clean food came from a can, a mere whiff of tinned boiled potatoes, those flaccid slightly slimy tinny ovoids will instantly transport me back to regimented meals of Goblin steak & kidney pudding (if you ever get the chance, just say "no!"), butterscotch Angel Delight, tinned carrots, being forced to "just have five" tinned grey pea bullets and slices of flabby ham edged with a nasty jelly (you've guessed it from a can). I never had a very happy relationship with milk, when I drank it at home it had to be really cold and not a trace of cream. M would carefully pour off the top layer from the silver topped bottle and squirrel it away for her next coffee. If someone shook the bottle to mix up the cream and the milk, then that bottle wasn't for me. Gold top was always too creamy full stop! Hmmm do I sound rather fussy? School milk was so repellent I struggled daily to get the merest sip down. But my grandparents went one ghastly step further and only had sterilized long-life milk; Which pushed me well over the edge to total milk avoidance. Their attempts to initiate me in the fine art of drinking tea hit a large UHT brick wall. It was until decades later I discovered that black very weak Earl Grey is also tea, so I can join in this tradition now.
Apparently my grandmother used to be a decent cook in her time but by the time she had to feed a reluctant granddaughter for those long summer holidays she had hung up her apron and it had become all about convenience and the dullest grey most undemanding foods. It wasn't until adulthood that I dared to even try a pea again (and still never tinned) and an offer of mushy peas would probably make me run a mile!
Her one saving grace in the culinary arts was a fresh very nutmeg-y and voluptuously wobbly custard tart (maybe you couldn't get those in a can!) and also (possibly out of desperation) she permitted me to have a possibly unnatural amount of strawberry jam sandwiches. She bought only the thinnest of sliced bread which the jam would pleasingly seep through, stain and generally make me very sticky fingered! Some fond food memories but definitely not good preparation for forming an adventurous palate in later life!

My main dish was today's special - Rump of Lamb with Pistachio Cream, Prune Jam, Crusted Potatoes. The lamb was tasty but tricky to cut as a rump can be, perhaps I should have requested a steak knife and saved my fingers battling to produce bite-sized morsels. There was a pleasing subtle crunch to the prune jam which I later discovered was due to the inclusion of figs which made perfect sense when explained as the texture couldn't have been mere prune. The dish had a great flavour and I rather relished the slightly quirky pistachio cream and prune/fig concoction but I do wish I hadn't had to go five rounds with the lamb before it relinquished any meat. Maybe that serves me right for remarking on the bream dish being "almost too easy to eat" yesterday, today I'm exhausted!

After missing out last night I was determined not to be thwarted tonight and I secured an Assiette of Priory Orchard Apple - Apple Tatin, Apple and Blackberry Crumble, Blackberry Sorbet. Though typically tonight it's all about the Orchard Plum and Cognac Soufflé which every other table seems to be eagerly awaiting to emerge from the kitchen. I hear 'sotto voce' repeated apologies and explanations for the delay due to some recalcitrant oven whilst I tuck into my dessert which hasn't sufferered a similar fate. The Tatin tastes as they normally do, with the pastry being a little soaked by apple juice and caramel for the pastry to add the pleasing crunchy texture to the dish I had on Christmas Eve. But then normally the pastry doesn't protrude beyond the apple-y mosaic so of course it will serve as a sponge for all the fruity oozings, which I'm guessing the Tatin sisters had in mind after all. Maybe my recent tatin was an impostor! Tyler has anticipated my craving for crunch and there's a tasty autumnal treat of a darkly berried crumble with an abundance of biscuity topping. There's also a damn fine punchy blackberry sorbet which it's delectably smooth. this is one of the stars of to tonight's meal, the others being the Pistachio Cream and the Prune Jam. Maybe I'm having a purple and green moment!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Ghost story

2010-12-28T14:57:00.000Z

Today has been mostly drizzly, what a perfect excuse to lounge in the drawing room, writing, reading and relaxing. There are plenty of options for reclining, comfy squashy sofas, elegant high backed chairs and even a piano stool if so inclined. The fireplace has the extraordinary feature of an eight-sided window cut through the enormously thick wall above it. The chimney is thus split to run either side of the window though sadly this makes it somewhat impractical as a fully-functioning fire thus rendering it more a decorative feature than a warming one. But it is undeniably very striking and the Priory Bay is so toasty warm I wished I'd packed something more spring-like so not be able to light it works for me. As well as heat this country house has a lot if something else, Christmas trees. There is a veritable forest of conifers all decked out in their festive finery, different toning colours for each room. And there are very few pine needles about, either they have obliging trees or else the Christmas tree elves are busy hoovering them away.
I've also learnt to my delight that there's supposed to be a ghost here, the legend goes that a young teenage girl used to run around lamenting of her lost dog. A life-size portrait of her used to hang in the Priory and she was depicted in a blue dress with her favorite King Charles' spaniel at her feet. A dog, possibly hers, had been stuffed and used to reside by the stairs. When many years later new owners (the ones that introduced the eight-sided windows) cleared out some of the old items they didn't require the hauntings began. The newly installed staff were resigning in their droves and on enquiry claimed their desertion was due to the baleful cries of the desperate blue dressed girl bemoaning her missing dog having so very much disturbed them. The new owner keen to not let any more of her faithful retainers slip through her fingers resolved to get to the bottom of the matter and thought the dog might be the key. When the astute American woman managed after placing notice in the paper to eventually track down the moth-eaten dog in an antique shop, the restoration brought peace once more to the Priory. I'm sure her portrait is long gone but there's a black and white photo of the girl and faithful dog in the drawing room. I can't vouch for any evidence of the ghost however!

I didn't feel like lunch after the excess of recent days but fancied a glass of mulled wine and a little savoury something in the afternoon, I didn't really want afternoon tea so had some Duck Liver Parfait with Toasted Walnut Bread and Soused Sultanas instead. The parfait was smooth, rich and velvety and just what the doctor ordered, the walnut bread toast sadly was a tad too dry and just kind of shattered on contact with the knife. I'd had walnut bread at dinner last night and found it verging on hard also, I think I'm missing the straight-from-the-oven bread I've been enjoying recently. But actually, considering my next meal is looming on the horizon (story of my life on this trip, but hey next year can all be about lettuce!), just having the parfait and salad is a wise idea!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A view of the sea from Seaview

2010-12-27T22:39:00.000Z

My room is up several flights of stairs and I'm very grateful I have help lugging all my luggage up there. There's extra because I couldn't bear to part with some of the more portable items from last night's Hambrough hamper, plus the wine and Champagne I didn't drink which certainly add to the weight.
My room is huge, it has a corridor and a kind of ante-room, sitting room or possibly even dressing room. There's a balcony to admire the view from and the most enormous king size bed. My only niggle is that I wish it looked more like the rest of the house or the pictures I've seen of the other bedrooms on their website. Don't get me wrong it's a lovely, generous, spotlessly clean room but it's reminiscent of what a retired naval captain may spend his twilight years in. There's a crow's nest like balcony with a brass telescope to keep an eye out of the ships at sea (I suspect ferries really!), the walls are a pale (Tiffany?) blue tongue and groove with the odd exposed beam like a mast protruding through all the wood. There are old (treasure?) chests dotted around riveted in brass and the nautical bathroom has a few starfish decorations and shell pictures. A part of me would have like a little more of classic Regency charm I saw in the lounges and drawing room. Perhaps dark wood paneling and a rich red upholstery, or even something chintz (and I thought I'd never say that) but I'm just being greedy maybe such fripperies require an upgrade! So this seafaring haven will be my home from home for the next four nights and I'm very happy to be here. The Priory Bay hotel certainly has a lot to explore; I know, hidden from even my vantage point, is their private beach and I'm hoping for some fine photographic opportunities, weather be kind to me please!
I'm not sure if I descended the same way I arrived, there seem to be pale mustard clad carpeted flights of stairs everywhere but it gave me a chance to explore more of the building before finding where I was going to eat. The dining room is very country house, with extravagantly swagged silk curtains framing the impressive bay window overlooking the terrace, grounds and the sea beyond (if the evening permitted such a view). The three remaining walls are entirely covered with murals of what I can only assume are local scenes of Seaview. There's an intriguing map of the Isle of Wight painted above the grand fireplace, it's either an artistic impression of the island's shape or the Isle of Wight has changed drastically since it was recorded on these walls. Coincidentally a couple of months ago (whilst queuing patiently to get into Karl Lagerfield's quite peculiar photographic exhibit in Paris) I was listening to an old radio broadcast of Dave Gorman's Genius where prospective genii pose inventions, stratagems and crackpot schemes in the vain hope of being recognized as the true genius they believe they are. One such deluded believer had postulated the random scheme of making the Isle of Wight even more symmetrical than it is! To further encourage tourism if I recall. His barmy plot involved erasing Ventnor entirely and possibly attaching it somewhere else on the coast, maybe nearer Yarmouth. The idea was rejected (particularly by the head if the Isle of Wight tourist board who apparently lives in, you've guessed it, Ventnor!) At the time I would had been hard pushed to draw the outline of the island, I'd never considered the geography of this part of our country, but I was informed by the show that it was a flat diamond shape - almost, and clearly not quite enough for the failed genius! Since then finding myself planning a trip here I've done more research and can indeed vouch for the shape and vague layout of the island. For those as unfamiliar as I was I've included a handy map on my first post on December 24th. Ventnor is the 'bump' beneath Shanklin. It's not shown on this particular map as the island's considerable rail network has been decimated over the years and the now one remaining train line takes you in vintage London Underground tube trains from Ryde to Shanklin only. There is a bit of a steam railway but it's for pleasure rather than transportation purposes.
I've heard good things about the new chef here - Tyler Torrance, let's hope his food lives up to the surroundings. On first glance at the menu my horrified eye fell on the word "tomato", twice in the first four dishes. I mean, it's December, very nearly January, they refer to them as "late harvest" on the menu but despite the Isle of Wight's microclimate I have to ask what sort of freakish tomatoes are they cultivating here? Tomatoes should be long dead, they have no business hanging around like gatecrashers to the winter menus. Clearly I'll have to keep my tomato radar honed in case one sneaks up in me, Tyler clearly is a fan of them!

I have the tomato confit excluded from my starter and make my choices. A small very thin wooden cone is brought as an amuse bouche containing I'm informed Cahoon chicken with Gremolata. The chicken is encased in a delicate slightly spicy batter, like a popcorn chicken. It's an intriguing start and I'm looking forward to what's next.

And what's next is the Gallantine of Local Game Birds - Priory Garden Leeks, (Confit Tomatoes), Sauce Soubise. The Gallantine (a cold version of its warmer cousin Ballantine) consists of tasty morsels of Partridge, wood pigeon and grouse bound with a little chicken. Wonderfully devoid of tomatoes but the strong leek taste of tenderly nurtured (very) local vegetable. The sauce Soubise is a lovely subtle onion sauce accompaniment.

My main tonight is the Fillet of Bream - Cauliflower Risotto, Priory Garden Chard, Clam and Saffron Velouté. I think I'd struggle to really discern the saffron but that is fine as I occasionally find the more-expensive-than-gold crocus spice too metallic, dry and grassy on my undeveloped Indian food taste buds. A mound of clams, the tasty little nuggets of the sea, can be rather challenging in numbers but undeniably they add an attractive decoration to a dish. The sea bream was delicate and cooked to perfection and atop of the soft chard and unctuous risotto was a very posh nursery tea. Such as that it was almost too easy to eat, you barely need to chew and after what seems like a moment you glance down at your scraped clean plate and lament "all gone!" Note to self - eat slower!

My waiter recommends the Assiette of Priory Orchard Apple - Apple Tatin, Apple and Blackberry Crumble, Blackberry Sorbet for dessert but that will have to be for tomorrow night as they've all been snapped up by the other eager diners.
Having to have the Chocolate Praline Finger - Swiss Meringue, Chocolate Mousse, Rich Chocolate Ganache instead is far from a hardship however. It may defy all attempts for me to photograph it beautifully, the black hole properties of all that chocolate coupled with the ever decreasing ambient lighting, but it tastes delicious, light yet richly chocolaty.
So definitely so far so good I bid farewell to the attentive restaurant manager feeling pleasantly full, at least I can work a little off climbing those stairs!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The last hurrah!

2010-12-27T10:52:00.000Z

There's a large part of me that doesn't want to pack up all my sparkly stuff and head forth to my next destination. My second hotel over in Seaview sounds very nice but I've been so happy here and sad to leave these foodie delights behind and what if the food isn't as good at my next hotel. But the Hambrough has a cunning plan. To ensure Michelin star-struck guests don't linger after their gourmet Christmas they see us off, take down all the glittery stars, pack away the sparkly chocolate and turquoise baubles and close the hotel until the end of January. I have been known to go for 'just one more meal' to prolong the eventual departure from a place I've really enjoyed. I can't stay for lunch (as there will be no-one to cook for me) but I can avail myself of one of their very fine cooked breakfasts (adding the ’no tomato shall darken my plate’ caveat). And it is a perfect send-off, succulent sausages and moist black pudding (this is often little crispy nuggets) and a perfect runny egg. The chef patron Robert Thompson helps me with my luggage down the stairs and I can take the opportunity to heap my praises on his alchemy in the kitchen. I have really enjoyed my Christmas here, the food, the room and entire experience. This a diamond fork place, my three fork plus accolade. Just one last look and a promise that I’ll be back, hopefully next year.

Second helpings!

2010-12-26T18:09:00.000Z

As I returned to my hotel (Robert Thompson at the Hambrough) shaking the sand off my boots after the now customary appetite-inducing tramp along the beach and around the little winding streets of Ventnor (also witnessing the Charity Boxing Day Swim - though frankly it's less of a swim more of an endurance test for who can survive in the freezing waves) I am assailed by the intoxicating perfume of truffles. Not chocolate truffles (which have a heady cocoa aroma of their own) but those elusive diamonds of the fungi world. I was convinced I couldn't eat the tiniest bit of food despite my exertions this morning but that exotic aroma gets me going every time - thankfully!
On returning to the sea green dining room for what would be the last time (sob) now less windswept from my walk I can hear the excited murmurs from my neighbouring diners over the big decision of choosing the menu options.

Amongst today's difficult choices are:

Champagne and Canapés
----------
Ravioli of Lobster, Scallop and Salmon with a Crab and Lemongrass Bisque
Or
Parfait of Rougie Foie Gras with Comice Pear and Aged Port
Or
Lovage Linguini with Pink Oyster Mushrooms, Braised Celery and Shaved Walnuts
----------
Velouté of Parsnip with a Hazelnut Cappuccino and Bitter Cocoa
----------
Roast Fillet of Scotch Beef with Artichoke, Potato and Truffle Madeira Jus
Or
Pan Roasted Halibut with a Fricassee of Sprouts and Chestnuts
Chestnut Pasta
Or
Glazed Tart of Leeks with Truffle and Poached Quails Eggs
----------
Dark Chocolate and Griottine Fondant Pistachio Ice Cream
Or
Glazed Rum Baba with Citrus Fruits Vanilla Ice Cream
Or
A Selection of Fine Cheeses
----------
Coffee, Mince Pies and Petit Fours

It's a tough job but someone got to do it so I make my selection and sip another glass of Champagne. I've sussed out the canapés now so eat them in order of preference: the squishy, finger-licking truffle and goats' cheese sandwich first, the smoked salmon, soured cream and caviar blini next and then the unctuous slow-cooked veal shin cigarette in paprika mayonnaise. The feasting has begun again!
The yummy Cheddar gougères and delectable hot-from-the-oven focaccia (other breads are available!) appear as if by magic next. Maybe I should check that they're as good as the last two days - oh yes they are!

My starter choice is a nod to the influence of the salty sea outside the windows and I opt for the Ravioli of Lobster, Scallop and Salmon with a Crab and Lemongrass Bisque. The wafts of the heady scent of lobster and crab heralds the arrival of the dish. And it tastes as fabulous as it smells, a plump silky cushion containing juicy morsels of the lobster, scallop and salmon nestled in a circle of iron-y crunchy kale, napped with the delicate foam and a swirl of the intense moreish bisque. Again I hanker for more of that luscious liquid, it may have not looked as pretty on the plate in the quantities I would have happily polished off but it tasted way too toothsome not to crave more.

The soup of the day is Velouté of Parsnip with a Hazelnut Cappuccino and Bitter Cocoa. This may all sound too sweet but this parsnip is a distant cousin to the golden roasted parsnip we enjoyed on Christmas Eve, this is slightly more reminiscent of celeriac with a purer more ethereal taste. The potent chocolatey nutty foam bathes it all in a delectable blanket just to ensure it doesn't taste too virtuous!
I fear I may run out of superlatives before the main event and I'm pretty sure this will be an absolute stunner.

This time the intoxicating aroma is my own plate of Roast Fillet of Scotch Beef with Artichoke, Potato and Truffle Madeira Jus wafting towards me. And it is indeed a thing of beauty. But enough of the admiration, I pick up my steak knife and plunge in. Firstly it's that sublime bisected rosy fillet of melt-in-the-mouth beef, just perfection! And for me the ideal marriage is the crunch of the Parma ham rose which is baked or sautéed to intensify the baconiness. This instantly transported me back to ghosts of Christmas past. The original D could never tolerate poultry and turkey was a definite no-no. Beef was his meat of choice and when I first decided to jazz it up a bit inspired by a treatment I'd seen Jamie Oliver do I slathered some truffled parfait onto a fat fillet of beef and then wrapped the lot in a dozen overlapping slices of Parma ham before roasting rare. This made the Christmas joint sensational and M's inevitable pickings the next day an extra treat (she never really liked her meat hot). And this duly became the family favourite.
But coming back to the present we never accompanied our beef with the soft yielding caramelized artichoke that unfurled each petal or leaf on the gentle probing with my fork. The truffled Madeira jus is sensational, but anything that smells that good has to be. Maybe a mound of the butteriest mash potatoes would have been gilding the lily, but I just love mash so secretly wish there was some. But if Robert has added this extra indulgence I probably wouldn't be able to do his dessert justice, and that would be utterly criminal!

The pre-dessert of a little clementine posset With vanilla foam replaced my licked clean main plate (well I would if I could!). The posset's foam cap was not the usual pert piped crown tonight but seemed to have have slipped and neutralized the Space Dust lurking below somewhat. The clementine was however still a refreshingly tangy palate cleanser.

And finally, they had me at "chocolate" and again at "fondant" so my dessert of choice just had to be Dark Chocolate and Griottine Fondant Pistachio Ice Cream. An unusually discrete Versace dessert plate displays the dark chocolate and vibrant green creation.
My surprise as to the uncharacteristic subtlety exercised by Versace is probably based on my 2008 Christmas present from M - a place setting of the Versace Dedalo range which believe it or not was one of the tamer designs!

The alchemy between deep, rich chocolate and the verging on unnatural green pistachio has been well documented and here was no exception but this has an extra dimension or two, the oozing fondant, the hit of Griottines (Morello cherries in Kirsch), the delicate crunch of the filigree wafer, the ice cream melting with the chocolate and the texture of the crushed pistachios. In the last two meals despite two very fine illustrations of the patisserie's art I was defeated by the crisp pastry of the Tart Tatin of Apple and the light Clementine Steamed Sponge, but had no such problems today. Another scraped clean plate, scrumptious!
There's still tonight's hamper but the final festive feast at the hands of Robert Thompson at the Hambrough is over. I came to Ventnor, to the Isle of Wight for this gourmet mission, meeting fellow epicurean pilgrims on the way, being lavished with exemplary food and wonderfully attentive but not overbearing service, languished in this beautiful, elegant hotel - what more could foodie diva desire? A very, very merry Christmas to me!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Christmas Pudding!

2010-12-25T23:33:00.000Z

To give the staff some semblance of Christmas celebration the kitchen is closed tonight. Previously they had set up a sumptuous buffet in the dining room but the guests were presumably still too stuffed from Christmas lunch to descend and avail themselves of the goodies. This year they decided instead to offer hampers that can be enjoyed at leisure in the comfort of our rooms. I couldn't see myself being famished any time soon but long time readers of my blog will know that the magic word "hamper" holds particular allure. I'm not sure if it's the Lilliputian size of the items or the surprise factor as each element reveals itself but I've loved a hamper ever since my first tiny one where I'd carefully pack away my doll's tea set after playing with it. And even now when the fat catalogues from Fortnum & Mason, Harvey Nichols, Harrod's and Selfridges plop onto the mat each year I never tire of poring over my "hamper porn". Though I have noticed a distinct change, when I blogged extensively about the latest hampers in November 2008, I mentioned the extraordinary decadence of F&M's Snow Queen (which actually was a plethora of pale wicker hampers) which was retailing for a mind-numbing £25,000 (no, that's not a typo!) and now the top of the range is the Imperial at a still crazy but considerably cheaper £5,000 but all the extravagant satin, cashmere and silver doodads have been removed! But as wonderful as these hampers are you don't generally have a complete meal. Many may contain chutneys, Gentlemen's Relish, exotic teas, jams, preserves, shortbread, water biscuits, nuts, Christmas pudding and cake, chocolates and other items to fill the store cupboard with. The more elaborate box that doesn't have to travel as far may contain a side of smoked salmon or indulgently a cooked ham. I suspect this one, however, will have the emphasis on fresh and eat tonight and not provide accoutrements for the rest of the seasonal eating.

My reverie is disturbed my a knock on the door and my hamper arrives borne by two of the staff accompanied by half a dozen plates and sets of cutlery. I wonder at first if they suspect I'm having a party and then realized that it would make the bedroom picnic much more elegant not having to mix the savoury with the sweet.
Well unsurprisingly each time I delve into my festive hamper another delicious treat emerges.

From the top:
Roasted Macadamia Nuts
Mixed Olives
Parma Ham on Walnut Bread
Marinated Isle of Wight Oyster Mushrooms
Soft Boiled Quails Eggs with Sherry Vinegar and Thyme
Tartare of Aberdeen Angus
Mosaic of Game
Smoked Salmon and Cucumber
Cheese Selection - Comte, Camembert with Calvados, Bleu de Gex Biscuits, Celery and Grapes
Lemon Tart
Shortbreads - Vanilla, Orange and Strawberry
Mince Pies
Vodka Fruit Punch - Tropical Juice, Apple Juice, Lime Juice and Dash of Angostura Bitters

Where do I start? I'm really not hungry but there are particular delights in here I must at least sample. So instead of a leftover turkey sandwich with stuffing or a few slices of remaining glazed ham others may have tonight I have these morsels of deliciousness to pick at all evening. There's a little stainless steel flask keeping the Vodka Fruit Punch cold so I pour a glass and decide what to taste first. I adore steak tartare but even if I'd eaten nothing else all day I struggle to eat too much of it. This is a dinky portion, meaty, piquant and really excellent. Next a few spoons of the mini pot of pressed smoked salmon and cucumber, which was another winner. I'd predicted they'd be something in the realm of the Mosaic of Game, a gentle forking breaks the slice seductively into soupçons of meaty chunks on contact. A couple of the soft boiled quail eggs with the mild vinegary punch go down well as I ponder what poor soul had to peel all those quail eggs and so many I'm going to invariably waste. A sliver of cheese, a few shreds of the Parma ham, a mushroom or two and a bite of a stunning lemon tart. I'm mortified by so much wanton waste, saving it for tomorrow would be pretty pointless as I have another big lunch to accommodate, and apart from the shortbread and nuts not much will keep for travelling onwards on Monday. In retrospect I should have thrown a party, I had enough crockery!
Despite the barely depleted plates every forkful I had was sheer pleasure, the steak tartare, mosaic of game and the lemon tart being real masterpieces. Now truly and utterly stuffed!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Christmas with ALL the trimmings

2010-12-25T17:19:00.000Z

There is an expectant buzz in the dining room. It's that low rumble of contented diners dressed in their festive finery patting their stomachs. I've opted for a slightly later Christmas lunch than most and have been striding up and down the beach and the seafront to give myself a fighting chance to have some room after last night's extravaganza. Thus I'm arriving as the others are reaching their finale and comparing notes on their delicious turbot, sharing reminiscences of Space Dust, discussing whether a pot of peppermint tea would aid them consuming a few more morsels of the steamed clementine sponge and rather curiously pondering the likelihood of a tsunami hitting us before the end of the meal. But then another diner nodded sagely and said "at least we'd die happy!"
Today I'm in the coffee, cappuccino coloured dining room, the blinds look like rich chocolate flakes (only the crumbliest, tastiest chocolate), which is never a bad thing!
We have a lovely view of the salmon streaked sky over the steely sea. I suspect tidal waves are incredibly unlikely and if the worse should happen we are quite high up above the crashing waves. Hopefully the surprisingly sunny weather stays the same for tomorrow, brisk healthful walks on the beach would not be so much fun if the heavens open despite the large golfing umbrella in my room.

Todays menu is as follows:

Champagne and Canapés

Mosaic of Game and Foie Gras with Quince Chutney
Seared Scottish Scallops with Cauliflower and Autumn Truffle
Carpaccio of Beetroot with a Horseradish Panna Cotta

Veloute of Pumpkin with Roasted Chestnut

Roast Goose Traditionally Garnished
Pan Roasted Turbot with a Lasagne of Langoustine
and Gem Lettuce
Gateaux of Potato, Artichoke and Wild Mushroom
Jerusalem Artichoke Cream

Steamed Clementine Sponge Stem Ginger Ice Cream
Agen Prune and Armagnac Parfait
A Selection of Fine Cheeses

Coffee, Mince Pies and Petit Fours

I started in a similar way, this time my linen waterlily contained Cheddar gougères laced with whiskey and my herby focaccia was as good as yesterday leaving those minute traces of sea salt on the lips.
To accompany the Champagne are three mini canapés, a smoked salmon blini with soured cream and a soupçon of caviar, a Perigold truffle with goats' cheese wafer and slow cooked veal shin 'cigarette' with paprika mayonnaise. They were all very fine but the veal shin was the real star, both the words "goats' cheese" and "mayonnaise" scare me generally but the goats' cheese wasn't goaty and reminiscent of ammonia and homemade mayonnaise is an entirely different beast compared to the synthetic Hellman's I so abhor. In fact I have been known on rare occasions to whip up my own mayonnaise, with the help of my Bamix naturally, and generally spike it heavily with herbs and/or garlic but I still prefer hollandaise every time.

I ummed and aahed between the Mosaic of Game and Foie Gras with Quince Chutney and the Seared Scottish Scallops with Cauliflower and Autumn Truffle. I even consulted tomorrow's menu which also has a foie gras and a scallop based starter. But in the end my proximity to the sea won as I always crave seafood when on the coast so the scallops had it. Chatting to some fellow foodie pilgrims, who have the edge on me because they've experienced Robert Thompson's talents before, when he won acclaim at Winteringham Fields, and then followed him here, they could very much vouch for mosaic of game and foie gras. I'd rationalized that my hamper tonight (yes, more delicious food to squeeze in!) may have some sort of parfait, pâté concoction and almost definitely no scallops.
The Seared Scottish Scallops with Cauliflower and Autumn Truffle were a good call. The plump scallops were caramel singed at sat atop some pale cous cous. I've never really understood the point of cous cous, naming it twice doesn't make it more interesting to me. This however was more like a minuscule mound of Parmesan shavings and was a cosy nest for the expertly cooked scallops, the cauliflower purée was another masterpiece and I would have happily had much more of it to douse the slivers of scallop in.

The soup today is a wonderful Velouté of Pumpkin with Roasted Chestnut, a rich autumnal elixir topped with chestnut foam and meaty morsels of roast chestnut. As much as I adored the truffled brioche yesterday I was pleased I didn't have to accommodate more bread today, however tasty.

I'd opted for the Roast Goose Traditionally Garnished, a part of me hankered for a little tradition (though definitely not turkey!). However goose is a fine bird and the only time I've tackled the preparation myself for the festive feast involved the loan of a neighbour's oven (one they'd never even used!), rivers of both goosefat and blood, eventual happy guests but neighbours who never spoke to me again! The goose and all the little goodies of accompaniments were utterly faultless but perhaps lacking the culinary fireworks of yesterday's venison. However each individual part was cooked to perfection, elegantly turned roasties dusted in polenta, al dente sprouts, bacon enveloped chipolata, ball of stuffing, the smooth carrot purée with the crowning glory of the delicately pink juicy goose slices drenched in a delicious winy gravy.
Today's pre-dessert was a spiced apple posset with vanilla foam. The Space Dust wasn't a surprise this time but still very welcome, and the spiced apple was rich and delicious.

I'm slightly concerned whether I can accommodate the Steamed Clementine Sponge Stem Ginger Ice Cream without literally popping (wafer thin mint anyone?) Just the words "steam pudding" sound alarming but I shouldn't have feared because of course Robert's sponge is sun-bronzed, light and festively fruity with the welcome juxtaposition of the slight exotic heat of the ginger ice cream sat on a bed of gingerbread crumbs and of course it is a visual stunner also. I've spotted that they have a impressive collection of dessert plates, todays being modeled on a gold ostrich, surely there's not more people out there as obsessive about crockery as me!
For a treat for the hardworking and fabulously friendly staff tonight the kitchen is closing early so hampers are on offer for guests who may succumb to the munchies later. As if I'm ever going to eat again... ever! But isn't it traditional that you feel utterly stuffed like the proverbial turkey on Christmas Day? I'm just being traditional! Gold, frankincense and myrrh anyone?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Have I been naughty or nice?

2010-12-25T11:00:00.000Z

On awaking on Christmas morning in my fabulous room in the enviable position of overlooking the chilly sea I was fortunate to catch the remnants of the sunrise and could set up my tripod and fire off a few shots without having to brave the frosty elements.

Despite not leaving out any mince pies nor a tot of whiskey, I had been visited (by a red besuited and bearded man perhaps?), and hanging from my door handle was a bulging red velvet stocking filled with all sorts of surprise goodies: chocolates, dried fruit and nuts, Christmas pudding, festive fragrant herb bag, candy cane and the obligatory satsuma. I've even got some Robert Thompson recipes to try at home. Merry Christmas to me! Not having ever stayed in a hotel at Christmas I don't know if this de rigeur but I thought it was such fabulous touch especially after believing that this particular solo Christmas would be surprise free! I suspect that it's just another reason why this is a special place to stay - thank you Alistair Sawday for the recommendation.

Christmas breakfast were some delicate soft folds of creamy scrambled eggs topped with rosy slices of smoked salmon. I had considered washing it down with Champagne but decided to save that for lunch.
Talking of lunch, if I had the merest hope of being able to eat another mouthful ever again I better don my unusually sensible hiking boots, hats and scarves a plenty and hit that beach. Perhaps if I stroll up and down it for a couple of hours and check out the rest of Ventnor I will be able to build up an appetite. Perhaps!

During the winter the local dog walkers are allowed to release their excitable hairy charges onto the beach, so the surprisingly bright day was full of happy dogs, people wearing red hats trimmed with white fluff, the annual wearing of the festive socks and the whoops of children practicing riding their new scooters and bikes on the deserted seafront.

Ventnor has the customary fish and chip café, bucket and spade shop, ice cream parlor and amusement arcade (all very much with hatches battened down today) but it all seemed rather quaint.

There seemed to be the distinct lack of tawdriness that some seaside resorts have. It's clean and neat, the air filled with crying swooping seagulls and that evocative salty tang to the air.

There is a touch of back and beyond to it all and again I'm intrigued why Robert Thompson chose here to build his gourmet Mecca. But as a much cleverer restaurant reviewer remarked quoting the infamous line from the Field of Dreams - "If you build it, they will come!"

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Have yourself a tasty little Christmas

2010-12-24T23:43:00.000Z

I was keen to explore the rest of my current 'home' (Robert Thompson the Hambrough) so agreed to have an aperitif in the lounge. I imagined roaring log fires, wing armchairs and homely touches but in fact it's more like a Swedish sauna with tables and chairs. The vaulted blonde wood ceiling and white plain walls gives it a slightly austere appearance, I suspect it comes into its own when you can fling open the French windows on a balmy summer evening onto the little terrace. On Christmas eve despite Ventnor's infamous microclimate, I'm not chancing it however! There are enormous glittery stars hanging from the rafters, little tealights in glass pots and my favourite white lilies but my room, though significantly bigger than the lounge, is much more cosy. The menu looks way more interesting, tonight's is as follows:

Appetiser
----------
Cornish Oysters in Various Forms
Or
Salad of Smoked Pheasant Breast with Celeriac, Apple and Walnuts
Or
Fine Tart of Onions
----------
Watercress Soup with a Truffled Poached Organic Egg
Truffle Brioche
----------
Roasted Saddle of Venison with Creamed Savoy Cabbage
Roast Parsnip and Sauce Grand Veneur
Or
Pan Roasted Monkfish Tail with Curry Spices and Cornish Mussels
Seasonal Vegetables
Or
Risotto of Butternut Squash with Glazed Bosworth Ash,
Trompette De La Morte and Autumn Truffle
----------
Tart Tatin of Apple
Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream
Or
Citrus Terrine with a Natural Yogurt Sorbet
Warm Madeleines
Or
A Selection of Fine Cheeses
----------
Coffee and Petit Fours

I've ordered a deep, dark bottle of Clos des Andes Malbec for the duration of my stay, there are wine pairings available but I find generally these exceed my famously deficient (in some peoples' minds) capacity for alcohol so my decadent wine plus a couple of Kir Royales will do me just fine.

The dining room has a much warmer feel, there's still the wooden floorboards, the minimalist but elegant decor but with the sage green textured walls, jewel-like sea green satin blinds, the most stunning slightly Art Deco mirror above the unlit fireplace it's all so much more snug. Whilst I'm pondering the room my beautiful evocative-of-the-sea fluted crystal dress plate and silver twist of a napkin ring are removed and a linen waterlily containing a couple of just-from-the-oven Cheddar gougères appear accompanied by a mini disc of the most fragrant focaccia with that most perfect sea-salt adornment. Oh my this is seriously good!

But lo, the appetizer arrives. It is a diminutive pot of the most sublime silky cauliflower panacotta, marinated lobster and shellfish oil and is a massive seafood hit but the perfect size to get you salivating for more. That's one talented chef!

Next I plumped for the Fine Tart of Onions, I may had hankered for some of the onion to be as caramelized as the rest but that's my own taste and I'm sure this was all part of achieving the optimal texture and there's no denying it's very tasty.

The heady aroma of the other diners' truffled brioche have already assailed me several times and when my Watercress Soup with a Truffled Poached Organic Egg and Truffle Brioche arrive I can't wait to dive in. Beneath the foam is the most verdant of green soups. I've waxed lyrical before about both my love of the black diamond - truffle (I'm rather partial to black diamonds in all forms actually) and softly poached eggs which when speared release their golden elixir in rivulets to anoint the rest of the dish. Hence my excitement and it didn't disappoint. It wasn't too heavy and felt slightly virtuous despite the decadence of the truffle.

The sculptural Roasted Saddle of Venison with Creamed Savoy Cabbage, Roast Parsnip and Sauce Grand Veneur was next to grace my white linen altar. I'd been fearing that I would struggle (blame the focaccia, gougères AND brioche!) but one taste of the Clanger shaped perfection of parsnip, a ridiculously good parsnip puree, the rosy succulent venison and that rich 'hunter' sauce and I'm sold. Somehow I manage to utterly clean the plate. I think I may have died and gone to heaven!

A palate cleanser or pre dessert of pear posset with vanilla foam may restore my sense of equilibrium, I am literally reeling from this menu. The Space Dust (popping candy) hiding in the soft creamy folds of the foam literally has the pear nectar dancing on my tongue. I do love a Space Dust surprise, it's a witty little treat to find in your dessert. It seems the packets of my childhood have had a welcome resurgence and I for one think this is a good thing.

I'm not entirely sure there's any room left but I plan to tackle the at least a corner of the Tart Tatin of Apple with Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream. I've had many tart Tatins, sometimes the pastry can be rather dense and stodgy, the caramel just too caramelized verging on bitterness and the whole thing can be very hard work and frankly just too tart. But this Tart Tatin is how they should be, the light-as-air pastry shattering on your tongue, the bronzed apples yielding to the spoon and a very attractive plate. It was a masterpiece, sadly there was no room at the inn (cue seasonal nod!) to do it complete justice as there is a limit.

The finale were a couple of festive petit fours and in my case, hot water. Even a mild Earl Grey may have pushed me over the edge tonight.
I chose to come to the island, to this (so I'm told) slightly shabby very off-season seaside town that time forgot because my interest was piqued by this intriguingly incongruous "restaurant with rooms." Michelin starred and Ventnor - sophisticated eyebrows were raised somewhat. But this is a find, this epicurean diamond truly is a gourmet destination, this incredibly breath-taking food and attentive and warm service wouldn't be out of place in any of the foodie capitals but here instead of having to drag myself onto public transport or spend a king's ransom getting a cab, I can just climb upstairs to my beautiful room and most likely collapse.
And oh my, tomorrow I get to do it all again! Thank goodness I has the foresight to bring my hiking boots, though possibly known as the worlds worse walker, I need to somehow prepare for an even more sumptuous Christmas lunch. Tomorrow I'll explore Ventnor and see if what I've read is true, I suspect that the chicest of seaside resorts would struggle to look its best all shuttered up in winter garb but I think there could be much promise in a windswept beach and wintry sea, as long as the rain stays away! It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Ticket to Ryde

2010-12-24T20:19:00.001Z

Well if I was being pedantic it should be a ticket from Ryde, as the fast cat (catamaran) called Night Ryder (yes I know!) pulled into Ryde Pier Head where in mere moments the wonderful vintage London Underground carriages chugged into the platform. And you can buy your ticket onboard, how civilized! And whilst we're talking civilized, the fast passenger ferry had wifi on it, how perfect for those of us who like to be connected to the interweb at all times!
I had been childishly enthusiastic about the displaced tube carriages as wasn't disappointed, these are the ones you might see in the transport museum not whisking Londoners and visitors hither and thither. They have long bench seats and dark wooden clad walls, have a vague musty smell but clearly have been spruced up recently. The pale paintwork is crisp and the distinctive seat upholstery is bright and very free of graffiti. I travelled the full length of the rail network, a whole 23 minutes worth and loved the spotless stations with their quaint metal destination signage and neat fences, have I stepped back in time? It was a curious experience to see the sea from a tube window, your only chance of that on a London tube is if you've managed to board some runaway train, and I may have left a white world but here in the Isle of Wight it's pretty green. There are little patches of snow but the recent rain has washed all the rest away. The sky was streaked deliciously with salmon and satsuma as we crossed over so I'm hoping tomorrow bodes a fine photogenic day.
As the train stopped going all the way to Ventnor back in the 60's the last leg of the journey was by taxi. My driver gave me a great introduction to the area and as we pulled up to my hotel - Robert Thompson The Hambrough - named as such to remind you it's all about the food (Robert is the Michelin starred head chef), we remarked of the wonderful prominence over the sea. I hoped I may be lucky enough to have a sea view and thus be able to admire that enviable view during my entire stay. And much to my delight I'd been upgraded to a fabulous room with a seating area overlooking the sea from two sides and also a huge bathtub also with a sea view.

I believe the rooms have recently been refurbished and have that sumptuous elegance I love so in boutique hotels. There's velvet cushions, a comfy sofa, a bed piled high with satin sequined and beaded fabrics, a great walk in closet that lights up when you open the doors so all your luggage can be magically out of sight and if I was inclined towards coffee, a shiny illy proper espresso machine of my very own. I opted for Champagne instead!

The bathroom has both a rainfall shower and the bathtub with a view, toasty underfloor heating, striking greeny blue glass mosaics and lots of yummy toiletries.
If I lack inspiration for my own entertainment I've got access to a vast DVD library. But i have my much desired wifi so I intend to while away my time blogging - it's well overdue!
One of my favourite touches is a couple of sophisticated matching with the decor (naturally!) Christmas trees for that festive feel. I'd had a taste of their chic yet rich Christmas decorations as we ascended the staircase to my room and I look forward to seeing the rest of the hotel when I emerge for dinner. I had a good feeling about this place before I'd arrived, the website, the excellent customer service I received (tons of advice of getting here and it was all spot on) and the warmest of welcome. This will be a very, merry, both elegant and delicious Christmas I sense! Cheers!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Back traveling and blogging... again!

2010-12-24T15:04:00.001Z

The thing about writing is that it's a solitary occupation. It's okay to whip out your little leather bound notebook and propelling pencil to jot down a couple of bon mots in company but anything more could be construed as just rude. On my last holiday I imagined that I'd be scribbling away whenever I got the chance but even though I went by myself I was living with others and we were generally armed with our cameras from dawn to dusk. And if we weren't snapping away or toiling over a hot Photoshop (well actually the Nikon equivalent which I wasn't a fan of due to my camera of choice being a Leica and it coming originally accompanied by Photoshop Elements which just seems so much more intuitive, but enough of technology frustrations) we were eating delicious food (which of course I also photographed) but now I'm heading forth for my Christmas break and I'm determined to attempt to record some of the fabulous places and tasty food I've enjoyed over the last few months (years!)
I do seem to be permanently apologising for being a dreadfully delinquent blogger. I so admire those that manage to write interesting, witty and informative blogs every day. Like many I write a lot at work each day, but spreadsheets and emails are not so artistically imaginative. I hope I mostly achieve informative, I can only hope for interesting also and crave for wittiness! Though a witty spreadsheet may indeed be a challenge! But after a long day doing my real job and wrangling my inbox into something less likely to erupt into fireworks of consonants and vowels I struggle to conjure the creative juices to commit to words the culinary musings that swirl round my head.
But yet again I find myself making promises, I think my two New Year's resolutions should definitely be to write more (blog wise) and do my expenses more regularly. I don't know if you're reading this H but if so I can hear you cheering at the latter. As the festive season stretches ahead of me hopefully with days filled with picturesque walks armed with my camera (note to self - must pack remotely sensible footwear), writing, reading and relaxing preferably in front of a roaring fire. There will be Michelin Christmas fare to savour, photograph beautifully and write about. Once I've got my bearings there's a little steam train I may have to ride to add to my nostalgic steam journeys of Britain (though I have no recollection of ever just getting from a to b on a steam train, I'm too young for that. All my steam train journeys have been at the hands of train enthusiasts who've lovingly restored some neglected carriages and coaxed a retired engine back to life to start breathing like a dragon again.
My destination for Christmas is the Isle of Wight. I've never been but when my original plans to return back to North Norfolk fell through because I didn't book my hotel early enough I threw myself into the hands of the Sawday's Special Places to Stay website and filtered by "restaurants with rooms". Lots of interesting ideas popped up but I did think I should possibly consider inclement weather just in case. As it turned out I had surprisingly percipiency as various parts of country seem very much buried under snow at this point, with possibly more to come. Now I'm not there yet (my journey is a bus, two trains, a ferry, another train and then a taxi) but I'm hoping the Isle of Wight's infamous micro-climate means I'll not be entirely snowed in. But if the weather does take a turn for the worse it will be the perfect excuse to stay tucked up by the fire, sipping mulled wine and writing. I'm crossing everything for a wifi connection so that after all that effort I can release my ponderings, my ruminations if you will, onto the world wide interweb.
But before I get all cosy in my little boutique-y home-from-home for a few days there's the small matter of getting there. Out of my train carriage window of train number two I see much more snow than I left behind, and am grateful that unusually for me I donned proper hiking boots for this journey. I'm not known for being suitably shod on any occasion (flashbacks of high heeled, strappy sandals on a Hawaiian beach and stiletto suede shoes for the chilly French countryside (read cobbles, grass, gravel etc.)) but for once I feel curiously prepared. Okay I will slip into something more comfortable, i.e. high-heeled and sequined, on safe arrival in 'Narnia' but for now I'm ready - Snow Queen and all. The most exciting part if the journey for me is the third train, apparently the Isle of Wight's dinky little Island line uses two old London tube carriages. Seeing I board a variety of tube trains on a daily basis I'm not sure why the thought of some vintage displaced underground carriages delights me so but it does. I guess it just makes it feel a bit more of an adventure.
Generally Christmas time is when we go somewhere very familiar, a childhood home, squashed around a large, loud dining table with the extended family, making the annual pilgrimage to the more far flung relatives clutching be-tinseled parcels and bottles of something warming. But my festive holiday is a little different, I'm going to a brand new place, to experience a totally different Christmas with strangers. I won't have a stocking to investigate or surprise parcels to unwrap but I will have a new world to explore, turkey-free gourmet food to savour and no washing up! For all of you trying to get to other places this Christmas both near and far I wish you undelayed journeys, considerate snow drifts and a warm welcome on arrival and of course a very merry Christmas. Ho ho ho!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Let them eat cake!

2010-09-10T15:38:00.000+01:00

Or how a horse, a pig and a tiny monkey helped us celebrate!

Birthdays generally feature cake and if you're especially lucky multiple cakes! The cake may manifest itself in a rich cream-filled gâteau beribboned and lavishly topped with delicate chocolate curls, a tower of tiny cupcakes scattered with glittery silver balls and crystalised hearts or if so inclined plump iced buns filled with crème patisserie. In some circles your special day is marked by consuming portions of your own face as your considerate friends and family have had you briefly immortalised in the medium of edible ink and icing! Or perhaps you've had your current pastime captured in cake form, if you're a budding centre forward perhaps you'd most crave a football cake, a rock star in training may appreciate their powder blue Fender Stratocaster carved into sponge of if 'In the night garden' was your bag you could have an icing Iggle Piggle dancing in one corner and no doubt Makka Pakka obsessively sweeping up crumbs in the other.
As well as the cake there's also the important ritual of blowing out the requisite number of candles accompanied by a rendition of "Happy Birthday" and making your annual wish but thankfully giving someone "the bumps" seems to have gone entirely out of fashion!
Today is both my fairy goddaughter KK and my birthday. And at the terribly grownup age of 4 (and at my somewhat older age!) it seemed fitting to have a proper grownup afternoon tea party. And we decided this afternoon tea should be relished in the place of previous enjoyable afternoon frolics - the Caramel Room at the Berkeley Hotel in Knightsbridge. They can provide the typical afternoon tea just like other purveyors of this tradition - dainty sandwiches, lavishly jam and Devon cream topped scones and a sweet finish of some sort of dinky cakes and/or pastries but they also have a speciality up their culinary sleeves. The pièce de résistance is their Prêt-à-Portea or 'a fashionista's afternoon tea'. Their unique twist is to get inspiration for their delectable creations from this season's designer collections. Artfully arranged on our iconic Paul Smith cake plates are a Sonia Rykiel nautical vanilla and raspberry jam layered mousse topped with a humorous yellow hat, Yves Saint Laurent soft romantic white chocolate mousse and raspberry custard finished with crunchy meringue scattered with mini strawberries, Chanel must-have clog biscuit adorned with chocolate studs, Erdem dark silky chocolate cake filled with passion fruit and delicate lace, Jean Paul Gaultier fluorescent cheese cake, Anya Hindmarch light apricot sponge summer Halen bag, belted Jason Wu poppy seed cocktail dress, Christopher Kane pale pink almond macaroon and Paul Smith orange, papaya and pink lavender bavarois.

But before we start sharing out the 'desserts' we have some typical little triangular sandwiches filled with smoked salmon, beef and pickle, soft cheese and crunchy cucumber and egg mayonnaise rolls then we had a plate of savouries. Again these reflect the season so we have spoonfuls of saucy moist nuggets of duck, marinated prawns, cornets filled will delicate crabmeat, soft cheese and roe rolls and refreshing watermelon shooters. As we demolish these, our most favourites are replenished before the lure of the designer exotica makes us cast the savouries aside. My top of pops are the gooey chocolate cake, the delicate macaroon and the biscuity chocolate iced clog.

And if the loaded cake tier wasn't enough both KK and I have our individual beautifully decorated plates delivered topped with spookily my favourite cakes crowned with a candle to blow out and wish upon.
KK is a little too distracted by her presents to consider the delights on her purple monkey-head plate much. I'd got her a tiny knitted monkey to attach to her schoolbag as she started pre-school this week and as she is now old enough to start pony riding lessons I thought I'd buy her a large toy horse so her other extensive baby doll, teddy and monkey collection can learn to ride also. Another J had got her an ever so soft Peppa Pig which was accompanied by its own puppy. How apt as another J herself has the most gorgeous beagle puppy Jäger! So KK has her first rider and H is already dreading getting a potentially sugar-high four year old and cumbersomely large horse home in the rush-hour. Whoops er sorry about that!
I've also done incredibly well and been lavished in loveliness. Continuing the designer theme another J has presented me a bottle of my favourite Coco by Chanel perfume and H has given me a gorgeous Alex Munroe necklace I've had my eye on. I've also succumbed to a delicious morsel of sparkliness designed by my local friendly jewelers (I'd only gone in to pick up a repair!) Thoroughly spoilt for sure!
The company and the cakes were utterly wonderful and it's been a truly memorable birthday, the only niggle was that the Berkeley had an unfortunate issue with their air-conditioning and both the beautiful, sweet creations and all of us were melting in the heat. It was actually a joy to get back outside again. We were given the now a little more compact mint green 'handbag' shaped doggy-bag with a few more of those Chanel inspired clog biscuits and other cakes in them to take home and they really tried to find a bag big enough to accommodate the as yet unnamed horse, though that proved too tall an order. So what shall we do when you're five KK? And I promise H if I go large again I'll have 'the man' deliver it!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Cley Not Really Next The Sea

2010-08-28T15:57:00.000+01:00

Cley, or to give its proper name, Cley Next The Sea is not next to the sea at all. It used to be before a greedy landowner decided to attempt a bit of land-grabbing whilst the rest of the busy trading port were distracted by the Plague. This caused the river to silt up and the sea retreated and a nature reserve was born. I suppose they considered renaming their village but decided that "Cley Quite Close to the Sea" didn't the the same ring to it! So the only sea I've seen is a thin sliver on the horizon beyond the fields from half way up Cley Windmill. Entering the balcony I carefully hook open the door to ensure I'm not stuck out there should a particularly blustery gust of wind slam the door shut behind me. Well I guess they picked the perfect location for a windmill, when its job was to grind corn not necessarily to house passing visitors to Norfolk. Retreating back inside after taking a few photographs espy the ladder leading up to the Wheel Chamber. This is the most sought after room in the mill, it can only be reached by this ladder and once up there a second ladder will take up again to the bathroom. There's a handy winch to help pull your luggage up into the room and the views I believe are even more spectacular.

For breakfast for a change there was smoked haddock and poached egg. If you pre-booked this or the kippers this night before you could start the day a littledifferently otherwise it was a full English. I intend to enjoy the blue skies again and avail myself of some goodies from Picnic Fayre and find a grassy knoll to fling my new picnic blanket upon. I generally seem to explicably acquire picnic hampers despite the so very rare opportunities I have for picnicking (I've alluded to my addiction for hampers before when I mentioned the 'hamper porn' both Fortnum & Mason Harvey Nichols send me every year). This time in Holt I was able to hold myself back on the hamper front and succumb to another lovely picnic blanket instead. Though today I'm most grateful for this transgression as it would not be pleasant sitting on the sodden grass otherwise and now I can perch on a soft spotty waterproof backed blanket to enjoy my impromptu picnic.
Picnic Fayre is a wonderful deli we discovered last year and I'd set my heart on one of their famous venison pies. And whilst I was there I picked up some Snowdonian cheese with garlic and herbs, roasted, salted broad bean snacks and a bottle of proper local apple juice. If I didn't fear that I'd ruin my appetite at the special Wine and Dine event at the mill tonight I would have availed myself of more of their fine fare as it was very tempting. (on returning home the first page this month's Delicious fell open was to a familiar shop front - Picnic Fayre has been short-listed for 'Deli if the Year' - it seems I have good taste!)
Across the road from the deli is Made in Cley, which as well as some jewellery and local photographs sell their own pottery. Much of it is too colourful for me but I love the minimalist white flan dish and being without a picnic hamper I am devoid of plates so I could make use of it for my small feast and gain an attractive dish into the bargain.

I found a idyllic spot to soak up a few rays of sun and see if the venison pie is as delicious as I remembered and delighted to find that it was as moist and meaty as last year and definitely worth the acclaim. The apple juice washes it down rather nicely. The whole situation seems redolent of "piles of ham sandwiches and lashings of Ginger beer" that used to fuel the intrepid adventures of Enid Blyton's Famous Five and marked my first forays into solo reading. I harboured dreams of being George, Ann was too insipid for me and George had no siblings as myself.
Sadly my quintessential English picnic got rained off I shouldn't have really been surprised I was possibly tempting fate the moment I threw my picnic blanket on the ground. A little bit like when you light the barbecue and you think "was that wise, have I really angered the sun god now?" Actually the shower didn't last very long and perhaps I could have lingered over my venison pie but as the first few drops spotted my improvised picnic plate I packed everything up and walk back to the windmill. My plan was to drop off my tripod and find a spot nearer to the mill to reconvene my picnic however it was very fortunate that I went back to my room when I did as suddenly the heavens opened and the brief shower returned bringing back all its friends to form a torrential downpour and it would have been a very sodden picnic if I'd stayed on my grassy knoll.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

I spy Cley!

2010-08-27T22:31:00.000+01:00

Cley is the last destination on my little North Norfolk coastal tour and as I drag my suitcase and sundry photographic paraphernalia plus a few local purchases from the Coasthopper bus stop towards my B&B, I ponder the challenge of negotiating these village roads thus laden as a packhorse. There are no pavements and normally the act of nipping behind a parked car or stepping precariously on the cobbles marking someones front door when a particularly wide four wheel drive tank rumbles by is fairly easy when unencumbered but today it is proving quite perilous. But when I yank my case finally over the little bridge (gravel and 'spinner' cases don't mix) and see my first view of Cley Mill in the recently restored late sunshine it has definitely been worth it. At the very first glance at the majestic windmill whilst driving through Cley last year to partake of the fine goodies from Picnic Fayre and seeing the sign for 'B&B' made me determined that I would make use of their hospitality one day and experience mill life. I quickly grab some photos in case the fickle weather turns again and am then escorted to my Barley Bin room.

The room is lovelier than I expected, I'd only decided that I wanted stay in in the actual mill not the other out buildings and as this was the only remaining room I hadn't weighed up the merits of one room over another. And as I hadn't done the normal research I hadn't realized that that my room would be so enormous, with a bed the size of a small village, a slouchy settee, antique tables and chest of drawers, a wonderful French looking tall mirror and the best surprise (because I hadn't read the website) a giant claw footed bath.

Clearly a mill would need a large space to store their barley hence my rooms generous proportions. The bathroom is the only place I can see the round wall as the Barley bin is in the lower part of the mill and thus seems attached to the cylindrical tower.
After freshening up and unpacking I descend to join the other guests for pre-dinner drinks and then into the transformed dining room. The evening meal is billed as Dinner by Candlelight on the front gate outside and there's no false advertising. The romantic in me thinks how cosy and elegant and the blogger in me thinks 'I wish I owned a miner's helmet!'. My waiter is charmingly accommodating (Victoria take note!) and fills the rest of my table with additional candles which brightens my outlook.

Shortly afterwards the Pan Fried Fillet of Red Mullet on a Watercress & Walnut Salad with Orange and Vanilla Sauce is served to us all (they have a set menu at Cley Mill). Very soon the soft murmurings in the dining room are replaced by mmmmm's as all the diners comments on the moist flakes of fish and the delectable citrusy sweet sauce, with the peppery bite of the watercress and crunch of walnuts. I made sure I mopped up every gorgeous drop with my remaining bread, that was a seriously good sauce.

The next course was the Fillet Steak with Garlic Roasted Cherry Tomatoes, Sautéed New Potatoes & a Wild Mushroom & Wholegrain Mustard Sauce. As I watched these being delivered to the other tables I made my usual mental calculations as to discretely extricate the scary tomatoes away from the meat and other good things. But as mine is delivered I realised it looked different than the other plates, instead of the roasted (evil) tomatoes ring around the meat my beef was adorned with the wild mushrooms with a stack of sauté potatoes to the side and ne'er a tomato in sight. I was seriously impressed! I couldn't even recall mentioning my tomato-phobic nature when I made my reservation but I must have and they'd cleverly remembered. The fillet steak melted in the mouth and a question regarding provenance netted information that it was bred and sold by their butcher in Melton Constable. So two for two so far, how would our meal end? The night's menu was pinned up on the board outside the mill but I hadn't seen it so it had all been a surprise.

The finale was a bowl of Slow Roasted Rosemary Plums, Rose Wine Syrup & a Minted Chocolate Garnish. The minted chocolate garnish was a reminder of my favourite from the Marks & Spencer chocolate mint selection we used to enjoy as a Christmas treat and started to melt subtly in the warmth of the aromatic plums and merge into the rose wine syrup. It was indeed three for three, this was a delicious and inspired pudding and Adam, the creator of all this bounty, is a seriously talented chef. Tomorrow night we've got the special gala wine and dine event, what heady new heights will we reach tomorrow? The couple of diners not already on the list for the extravaganza are very eager to sign up, and we retire to the lounge to drink coffee and tea and to mull over our collective joy of the windmill.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Hit the Huts!

2010-08-27T14:42:00.000+01:00

On my list of must photograph scenes were the popular, photogenic and ever so expensive beach huts in Wells. I'm not exaggerating about the price of these huts as one has just sold for nearly £70,000, and this is a small wooden shed that you're not allowed to sleep in! That's a serious amount to pay to ensure privacy when changing out of your sea-soaked bikini or applying sun cream away from stray sand particles (and I bet the sand gets in there anyway!) But all that aside they do make a lovely photo!
I had walked down to the beach and hoped the scraps of blue sky would remain long enough to fire off a few shots. There are a few brave souls who are frolicking in the sand but I'm on a one-track mission and after setting up the tripod and checking out my favourite huts I find an abandoned sand castle that clearly has suffered from an abortive siege and makes an evocative foreground.

The sky looks more promising out towards the sea and I didn't have to fear swimmers would interrupt my shot.

As I climb the steps off the beach I remembered that oft used photographers' maxim "look behind you!" as the back of the huts made an interesting composition. It's a shame about the shy, big, blue sky today, I just had to make do with the big, blue huts!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Victoria - I am not amused!

2010-08-26T23:40:00.000+01:00

I arrived early at The Victoria at Holkham (due to there being a hour between Coasthoppers at night) so found a comfy settee in the Moroccan lounge surrounded by fat creamy candles and a size-of-a-bath bowl of citrus fruit and chilled a little before checking out the menu on offer tonight. There were a couple of interesting options but I wanted something fairly undemanding tonight and instead of the local rump steak and one of my favourites potato treatments - Gratin Dauphinois I opted for the simpler sounding Wild mushroom, truffle & mascarpone risotto for my main course. But for starter I thought I'd stay local and chose the Marinated breast of Holkham pigeon, carpaccio of fig & pancetta. Not being a fan of those winged rats in Trafalgar Square I always think that one less pigeon in the world is a fine thing (and yes I do know that the plump birds that fly happily around the estate are mere second cousins to those nasty, deformed clawed pests of public buildings). I ordered my choices in the lounge and taking a delicious glass of Malbec with me before being led to my table.
I'm seated in the conservatory and in the warm light I'm not entirely sure if the newly painted woodwork is a soft pistachio (is that even possible?) or a dusky blue. On second thoughts I'm going to split the difference and say it's a muted teal and it is echoed in the abstract meandering stems (a more green-fingered diner than me could probably pinpoint the flora) on the heavy cotton cinnamon blinds that adorn each window. Which as tonight we are experiencing the extreme opposite of lovely summer evening (though there's been no snow yet!) the less I see of the gloomy rain lashed goings on outside is a good thing.
But to paraphrase the introduction from Cabaret, "outside it is windy... in here life is beautiful!" and in these attractive surroundings I'm looking forward to my meal tonight here. I'd tried to bag a table at Morston Hall on the nights i hadn't already committed myself to some fine dining but that seems to be the hottest ticket in town and I always leave it too late. One day I'll stay there for the weekend and then they'll have to feed me!
Being prepared as a lone diner you're used to arming yourself with a prop or two. Unless you plan to stare into space between courses and interaction with your waiter/waitress you need a book, newspaper or in my case an iPad. I can write or work on my latest photographs when I'm in between courses and if inclined switch to reading whilst eating. Sometimes you end up chatting to the other diners around you and sharing a few travelers' tales but on other occasions you are grateful for the Boy Scout preparedness.

My amuse bouche is delivered, a little espresso cup of Mushroom tarragon soup which had a earthy, thick, creamy taste and is rather good so it bodes well for the rest of the evening. I always feel like Alice after devouring the "eat me" cake when drinking from an espresso cup, I don't get the practice not ever being able to develop a taste for the flavour of coffee, so the novelty has never worn off.
Next my just-off-the-estate pigeon turned up astride a big saucy cross of jus. The pigeon's flesh was moist but just a tiny bit unyielding to my knife. I admired the juxtaposition of the pigeon, the soft rosy slices of fig and crunchy shards of pancetta. And of course the ubiquitous sprinkling of those wispy touches of verdant pea shoots do add a pretty touch.

I'd swallowed a couple of forkfuls of the Wild mushroom, truffle & mascarpone risotto before I pondered the flavour. I couldn't recall what was on the menu that had made it sound so appealing and then remembered the 'truffle'. The mushrooms were very apparent but I really couldn't discern the thing that attracted me to the dish in the first place. It was a pleasant mushroom risotto but not risen to any heady heights with that ever so distinctive perfume of those nuggets of black (or if very lucky white) gold nor an extra creamy unctuousness that I would have expected from the mascarpone. To be honest it was a tad dull! I was thinking that I'd rather reach for some bread and then realized I hadn't been offered any. I scoped the other richly grained, chunky wooden tables and they all seemed to have been either be furnished with a roll or have a few vestiges of torn apart hunk of bread. I shrugged and wondered why I hadn't also been served with any.
After a wait my negligent waiter took my dessert order of Chocolate fondant, peanut butter parfait, praline ice cream. The menu explained that I needed to be patient for ten minutes for the fondant but that is pretty standard so I turned back to my book on my iPad and let the minutes tick by. When I lifted my head to see what was happening I realized the entire restaurant had emptied. It was just me, and still no dessert. I reckoned at least thirty minutes had passed, maybe more, I hadn't exactly set a stopwatch. Suddenly my waiter re-appeared seemingly vaguely shocked to see me still sat there and asked in a fairly accusatory tone whether I'd had my dessert. I would have thought the entirely empty table would be a big clue here unless he thought I'd eaten the plate also. It also occurred around then that the other unusual thing was that I'd never been offered any water. The lack of bread was irritating enough but why was there also no water offered. Do lone diners not eat bread, drink water or really deserve any form of service? All the other diners, either back in their rooms or on the way home now seemed to have had the requisite amount of attention, I could only assume that they just thought "I wanted to be alone" and taken it just too literally!

When my dessert arrived it seemed interesting enough though the trendy use of slate would probably mean some teeth-on-edge knife scraping in the empty restaurant, well at least no one would be disturbed. And ice cream on slate didn't seem such a wise decision if it melted too quickly. I made some tentative tip of spoon forays into the peanut butter parfait. I'd always be perplexed why I like peanuts but have always detested peanut butter. I've tried it a few times, I remember as a child occasionally a peanut butter sandwich would be thrust in my chubby hand in the belief that is what a child would relish - and I didn't. But I could happily scoop as many peanuts as would fit in those hands when the 'nibbles' bowls would appear around the lounge that would preclude my parents' dinner parties. Coming back to the present I decided this parfait was a little too sweet for my taste and focused on the safer chocolate fondant and ice cream. The chocolate fondant was rich and chocolaty, maybe could have been oozier but then on the other hand it might have oozed right off the slate which would have been a dreadful waste of chocolate. The final piece in the triptych was the ice cream, it tasted smooth and faintly resonant of something, but couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. So I spooned another morsel of ice cream whilst referring back to the menu searching for that elusive taste and as I read the word "praline" my tongue discovered a shard of said praline. And to my surprise as the praline melted my mouth exploded with mini firecrackers as that childhood favourite space dust or popping candy had been secreted in the praline. This was a lovely surprise and really lifted the dessert.
I then asked my taciturn waiter for a taxi and to continue with his charming and effusive manner all evening (!) he announces that I'm unlikely to get one! Well, there's a lovely thought, I could just stay in the empty restaurant all night. Fortunately for me someone, possibly the restaurant manager has more wherewithal and rustled up a taxi from Fakenham to take me back from Wells. It transpired that not only did my dessert struggle to make my table it was a no-show on the bill also. And after pointing out the omission he kindly considered the lassitude of its arrival good enough reason for me not to pay for it.
I felted a little cheated by my experience tonight at The Victoria, we'd enjoyed a lovely seasonal lunch there last year of lobster salad and buttery new potatoes and I'd decided then to put them on my list of places to revisit. And even though I thought my risotto was lacking it wasn't the food that left a bit of a sour taste, it was feeling so abandoned verging on ostracized. Was it because I was a solo diner or did I just get terrible luck with my waiter? Well sadly for whatever reason I won't be going back and I personally wouldn't recommend The Victoria at Holkham. I have no doubt that others will have had a different experience (well I hope so) and if my delinquent waiter ever gets to read this I hope he feels suitably chastised and treats the next diners or diner with more consideration.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Raining buckets in Wells

2010-08-26T15:38:00.001+01:00

The rain didn't bother to tease today, it started with a torrential downpour, eased off slightly to fool the locals and visitors alike and then caught us all out again with another drenching. I had my eye on pictures of the pretty Wells beach huts and armed myself accordingly with tripod et al but neither myself nor my camera particularly like being rain-lashed so opted for the dryer mooching around the shops option instead.
When the hunger pangs started to strike just before 2.30pm I tried a couple of the local hostelries (namely The Crown and The Globe Inn) but was thwarted by the time and neither could (or would) offer me the merest repast so seeing the sky bruising again I opted to hop on the Coasthopper, check out the goodies at Big Blue Sky and then onto the Hoste Arms in Burnham Market. I know for a fact that it's warm and comfortable and at the very least I could get some afternoon tea. It doesn't strike me as the perfect day for afternoon tea, I'm traditional I feel the need for a balmy afternoon before really craving a scone slathered with strawberry jam and a some dainty crustless cucumber sandwiches. Today feels more like hot soup or something toasted and cheesy.
Due to entirely misreading the now very soggy bus timetable and cleverly choosing a stretch of road where there's no bus stop (otherwise I may have realised the error as clearly I wasn't where I thought I was) I had a very wet extended wait in the rain for the next bus and finally arrived at the Hoste Arms impersonating a drowned rat. At least I established that my camera bag was waterproof, the rest of me didn't fare so well. But I found an inviting fat leather squashy armchair and collapsed into it determined to have now a very late lunch. At least they could rustle up some warm cheese scones which really hit the spot. A perfect rainy afternoon tea!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A very special place to stay in Wells

2010-08-25T22:15:00.000+01:00

The neat cream building with dusky blue door and windows is the luxury B&B Merchant's House in Wells. D and MC stayed here last summer after we packed up the cottage in Holme and I went to stay at Titchwell Manor. I'm sure they had a lovely visit but we haven't spoken about really that much since then so we haven't compared notes yet.
The discovery was due to the kind ministrations of Alastair Sawday. What makes his guides so indispensable is in the title - Special Places to Stay. He uncovers and carefully details those places that are especially welcoming, especially beautiful, especially quirky or historic, especially good at cooking or especially unique. And Liz and Dennis (and their adorable dogs - friendly Poppy and more nonchalant Rosie) tick all the boxes with their lovely and wonderfully historic home. They have two rooms, one with a imposing oak four poster bed and the blue room. I'm staying in the blue room. I have a light airy room, lit by a chandelier with attractive wood topped distressed cream chest of drawers, matching bedside table, wicker chair, piles of covetable natural, sandy, blue cushions on the bed and chair - for me the colours of this coast and all those beach-y knick-knacks that I'd fill my dream beach hut with. The four poster room has a bathroom a short step across the hallway whereas I have a immaculate ensuite blue and white tiled bathroom.
In the morning Liz whips up the tasty breakfast whilst Dennis is in charge of the freshly made bread. You eat breakfast in a charming room that was once a butchers. The wonderful old wooden half door where the customer would lean over and ask for their cut of meat, the extra low floor stripped of wood for easy mopping and the grooves in the window where the rods of meat would hang bely the former occupation. Dennis also told us that alongside the building next-door the merchants would bring their boats to the door and when the necessary water was reclaimed and redirected the owner switched to horses and built stables to accommodate them instead. Parts of the Merchant House are the oldest buildings in Wells so there is lots of history to hear about over breakfast.
The situation so close to the quay means you can stroll on past all the boats to the beach, you may even see Dennis on duty keeping an eye on the sea in the look-out tower. I can understand why these rooms get snapped up so quickly because it feels like home and you won't want to leave.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Egg-ceedingly good!

2010-08-25T22:14:00.000+01:00

After waxing lyrical about the Byfords eggs Benedict yesterday I felt I should go crazy and try the eggs Arlington this morning. Instead of their own tasty ham I'd get fat ribbons of Cley smoked salmon. From the famous smokery in the very village I'll be heading for later in the week.
If I had to choose between the two I'd struggle, they are both equally exemplary. My only conclusion is that Byfords do an exceedingly good Eggs Benedict and Eggs Arlington, my two favourite meals here so far.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Bagging a bird!

2010-08-24T22:12:00.000+01:00

Byfords have a reputation for their chicken, they only roast twelve a day and "when they're gone, they're gone!" and because I've been unable to bag one I'm even more determined to see what's the fuss about. So to prevent an unseemly struggle I reserve a portion for my evening meal. The menu details their local free range chicken, roasted in lemon and tarragon twice a day, every day, and you get a Half roast chicken, fat chips, garlic mayo, salad. All sounds pretty appetising!
But before the eagerly waited bird I have a little terra-cotta dish of an earthy Paprika spiced pork belly, green lentils. The paprika is rather subtle but I enjoy the succulent pork.
And then with a brief drumroll and the chicken appears. Well first impressions - there's no skimping on portions here and the chips and I'm glad there's some greenery. Sadly after all that I have to admit that I don't really get it. I want to love it, one of my favourite things is to roast a whole chicken until blistering and golden and the legs just want to tear themselves away from the 'crown'. The best bit is extracting all those glistening sticky morsels of succulent meat especially around the undercarriage. I'm definitely in the dark meat camp where the cook's treat is the oyster or even oysters! I don't normally carve the bird per se I'd rather just pull off hunks of the caramelized flesh and heap it still steaming and aromatic in the plates. So with my worship of my chicken I thought a local happy chicken of such providence and treated with due reverence would be a very fine thing indeed. But it wasn't, it was just okay. The chicken wasn't as moist as I would have liked (my fault for having one put aside for a later consumption perhaps?), I failed to discern the tarragon or lemon, the chips could do with a bit more juzzing up - maybe a tastier oil or a spot of triple cooking or something. The mayonnaise tasted synthetic and not very garlicky and I was frankly disappointed.
Maybe this was my fault, I shouldn't have set so much store on the infamous chicken, I'd bigged it up in my mind and it didn't meet my expectations. I hasten to add that it wasn't bad, far from it, it just could do better. Perhaps I'd just believed the hype too much or the chef was having a off day but whatever, it was all a bit 'meh!'

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Byford's Benedict

2010-08-24T11:40:00.002+01:00

I fell for Byfords charms due the magic words "Eggs Benedict", which is one of my desert island dishes. Last August D, MC and I had been exploring the little shops in the courtyards of Holt and had found a handy table outside a buzzing Byfords and plonked down to partake in a cup of tea and possibly something more substantial. I think MC was especially delighted that D and I wouldn't be shopping for a while though we hadn't remotely relived our shopping orgy from our first visit to Holt but there's always a chance!
Whilst D and MC share a meat platter I realize that Byfords make a damn fine Eggs Benedict, the best I'd had for a really long time so mental note to self, must come back and maybe next time check out their bedrooms and see if they're as good as the Benedict!
A year later I'm back and the room is very nice indeed so how are the eggs? I'm feeling more like a brunch today but as this is a popular spot for taking a tasty respite (and it's rather rainy) so the place is chocked full. I didn't realize initially that there is a designated area for the residents but one of the friendly waitresses shows me to a table next to the groaning buffet table in a light room with more if the Steven Brooks photographs of the North Norfolk coast that I'd so admired in my room when my mistake is noticed. And as the queues of hungry potential diners grow I'm glad of my corner and could notice tad proliferation of families and especially pushchairs. At one point I was flanked with pushchairs (or strollers if you prefer) on every side - clearly 'the' accessory in Holt or today - Nappy Valley. And for much the time one of the babies were grizzling and occasionally screaming. Not quite the peaceful brunch I'd envisaged. But all that aside the Byfords Eggs Benedict were still as delicious as I'd recalled. There was an initial mix-up with tickets and my first portion was left standing on the pass which made it a tad cold and the hollandaise didn't look so glossy and unctuous. But that was whisked away immediately and hot on its heels came a second much hotter portion which looked much more appetizing and was indeed worth the wait.

So why am I waxing lyrical about a simple typical brunch dish. Well first it's the quality, their own glazed ham was thickly cut and flavorsome, the freshly laid happy eggs were poached well and just had enough oozy yolk when you forked it, the muffin topped which some green crunch was a great vehicle for the egg and ham and everything was draped in a perfect, velvety herby hollandaise. Which I adore and rarely can be bothered to whip up myself. Top brunch with or without the babies!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A room with a meal

2010-08-23T23:22:00.002+01:00

After lunch I headed for Blakeney en route to Holt, I was keen to photograph the quay with the fishing boats looking so weathered and picturesque but sadly the torrential rain quickly put paid to that little avenue of pleasure. The crabbers with their little buckets were sent scuttling and probably the crabs were thankful of the rain and they could have a day's respite.
When I arrived in Holt I thought I should have a little peruse of the higgledy piggledy streets with the hidden courtyards and the lovely little unique, independent and friendly shops but alas the rain defeated me again but I had my lovely new room to explore at Byfords.

I checked out their website of course but I'm not sure it doesn't really do them justice as my room is a stunner. I have the local flint walls, with a lovely local coastal image (which I've since discovered is one of one of the ever so evocative images of Wells taken by a local photographer Steven Brooks and available for sale in their gallery in Holt - which I'd love to give houseroom to but sadly my décor doesn't lend itself to the cobalt blues and sandy tones of this coast) in the recess of the old window.

There are wonderful old antique leather chairs, battered leather suitcases, books and a pair of brass binoculars to add to the atmosphere. The ceiling is beamed, the huge bed with an imposing walnut headboard is swathed in velvet throws and piled high with textured cushions.

Through the fabulous old wooden door of the substantial bedroom comes the heady scent of the most beautiful stargazer lilies which some may disagree but I think is a lovely touch. There are little candles to light and yummy treatments for the bath and an impressive separate rainfall shower. There's also a lots of light if you want it (which some hotels stint on) I think I'm going to be very at home here (not that my bathroom at home is a patch on this one!)
I'd booked a table for dinner and was led through the higgledy piggeldy warren of a restaurant (just like Holt itself) and was seated in a cosy alcove. I had set my heart on the chicken but. "when it's gone, it's gone!" and it was indeed all eaten. My second choice of steak salad also proved too popular so I continued with the local seafood theme and opted for the Baked Cromer crab pots with cognac, Colman's & Smoked Dabble Cheese for starter and the Cley smoked salmon, Cromer crab & brown shrimp spaghetti (starter portion) for main.
The pot was very unctuous, cheesy and less crabby than I thought. I was worried I might have crab overload but I needn't have worried. It was nice mobbed up with a bit of bread that you go and help yourself to (not ideal for a lone diner perhaps, especially if you're armed with an iPad that everyone seems incredibly intrigued by!)

I'm so pleased I'd ordered a starter portion of the spaghetti, my neighbours had also plumped for something lighter and as our dishes all turned up simultaneously we all remarked in unison "if this is a starter portion, just imagine the size of the main!". My spaghetti was light but to be completely honest I didn't really discern the smoked salmon, crab or brown shrimp. It tasted generally seafood-y and perfectly tasty but I really wanted to taste that Cley smoked salmon and it didn't leap at me. I hope my palate hasn't been deadened by all this excessive extravagant dining!
I wasn't able to finish my 'starter' portion of spaghetti and my neighbours similarly struggled with theirs. Clearly we're just all lightweights, but after a lengthy and lively discussion of local and further afield places to visit and dine we were able to do some justice to a dessert.

I opted for a little stem ginger and chocolate ice cream.
I enjoyed my first meal at Byford's. It's certainly a popular place, there are queues and you have to wait to be served and sadly the favourite dishes are snapped up quickly but that's the sign of the hottest seats in town. The menu is informative, they are passionate about local food and providence and as well as the restaurant have an acclaimed deli which if I was going home directly from here I'd love to fill my bags with goodies from. I'm going to give them two forks, and if the chicken is so talked about I think I need to secure a bit of bird for myself tomorrow so I can tell you if it lives up to the hype!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Just before I go...

2010-08-23T14:53:00.001+01:00

Whilst having my final breakfast at Titchwell Manor of scrambled egg and smoked salmon I harked back to the fabulous Scrambled Egg Truffle Brioche Mushroom I had on arrival on Friday night. The breakfast scrambled egg was okay but I like mine a little softer and creamier so I decided I would enjoy one more lunch of the proper stuff before I head for Holt. The decision was helped by the August English summer weather which had been drenching the walled garden all morning. So I found a cosy spot in the Eating Rooms, nestled amongst the fat, orange cushions on the long sofa I wrote and enhanced yesterday's photographs. Fortunately I had been able to bask under the infamous big, blue sky and take some evocative panoramas so I had something to work with, today unless I plan to feature the big, grey skies of Norfolk I am not going to be so fortunate.

When lunchtime arrived I was planning just the Scrambled Egg Truffle Brioche Mushroom again but the lovely waitress Michelle (who's is hanging up her apron here for Mickey Mouse ears on the Disney Dreams cruises, though apparently working in the grownup restaurant means that ears won't be necessary!) suggested I tried the Rare Breed Pig Terrine, Gribiche, Croutons as a precursor to the truffle-y delight. And I probably wouldn't have tried it but I'm glad I did - definitely packed full of porky goodness and a lovely mild piquancy from the gribiche.

The scrambled egg was as truly delicious as last time and the scrambled egg was a stranger to the breakfast version.

And the accompanying Samphire Lemon Butter was both as succulent and as messy (is that just me?) as last time.

To finish, I'd spotted the Norfolk Strawberries with Lavender Cream on the blackboard but not being a fan of cream unless cooked I made some adjustments and had mine with a soupçon of Strawberry Ripple Ice Cream and Lemon Sorbet. A fruity, refreshing end to my meal.
Now I really must drag my suitcase across their gravel for one last time and head to my next destination. I've had a wonderful few days here, the stresses of the last few manic weeks melted either as soon as I entered my elegant room or tasted that first sublime mouthful of Eric Snaith's tasty and properly seasonal food. All the staff are charming and attentive and make you feel special. I must give special thanks to Margaret Snaith for welcoming me into her charming hotel, her son Eric, not just for the fabulous food but for taking time out after a busy service to talk about his philosophy and suppliers when I'm sure he just wanted to get his whites off and head home and Mark Dobby the manager of all this, whose passion seems to be shared by all. I am already planning my next visit, maybe I'll see what Christmas is like around these parts.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Not my five-a-day maybe my ten-a-day

2010-08-22T22:40:00.000+01:00

It's my last night in Titchwell Manor and on Sunday they don't serve the tasting menu in favour of a couple of roasts and all the trimmings as well as the usual a la carte. With my usual malady of "eyes bigger than stomach" I started with the Seared Foie Gras - Honey Glazed Chicory, Raspberry. The combination of the oh so sweet and rich foie gras, with the luscious slightly tart raspberries and the bitter tinged chicory is truly a wonderful thing! The resultant juices were so alluring that I begged another slice of bread to mop every delicious drop up.
For main I toyed with the lobster pot, salmon or gurnard (when in Norfolk and all that) but instead opted to be totally traditional and have the Roast 28 Day Matured Beef, Yorkshire Pudding, Duck Fat Potatoes, Sticky Red Cabbage, Red Wine Gravy. Do you think the duck fat potatoes swung it for me?

When the rosy slices of beef sat atop the red cabbage and potatoes with one of their famously large Yorkshire puddings crowning all that arrived, this was just the start. Hot on it heels were dishes of crunchy topped cauliflower cheese, medley of greens with French beans, broccoli, cabbage and courgette, a little heap of more Mediterranean vegetables with soft onions, aubergine and carrots and a pot of horseradish. That's why the plating isn't up to Eric Snaith's standards, it's constructed by me and rather enthusiastically and less artfully piled around the plate. And I certain couldn't eat all this bounty despite a valiant attempt.
I was certainly impressed by the red cabbage. I've had a longstanding fear of red cabbage from my years my years as a Girl Guide. On camp we'd dine sat on groundsheets on top of the invariably damp grass laid out in a giant horseshoe shape. Our plates would be on our laps with our Wellington clad feet thrust out in front of us. An enormous catering size jar of lip-pursing vinegared red cabbage would be placed at one end of the horseshoe. If one of your fellow Guides had a crazy hankering for said red cabbage you'd have to place your plate awkwardly behind you and heave this purple monstrosity to the person to your left. Naturally this scene would play out several times at each meal and I learnt to go from a mild avoidance to genuine hatred for these jars of red cabbage which despite these ministrations always seemed to be nearly as full at the end of camp than in the beginning.
But tonight's red cabbage was and entirely different animal, more akin to a compote or marmalade or whatever foodie term is 'de jour'! And it was delicious but I could barely make an indent.
Despite the defeat at the hands of 'all the trimmings' after a break I was able to consider a small dessert. And the quirkily retro Arctic Roll was just the job! I recall as a child that Arctic Roll was considered a special treat though even then I was just about discerning enough to realize that M and my favourite triple chocolate ice cream was superior (that's chocolate ice cream with chocolate bits and smothered greedily in chocolate sauce. Or even better if we went to Chalk Farm we'd head to an Italian café and have the wonderful exotic and frighteningly green pistachio ice cream. The ice cream 'creations' available in the supermarket were very synthetic, chocolate was often chocolate flavoured which means that chocolate needn't have made an appearance in the construction at all. The chocolate sauce was clearly a very distant cousin of chocolate but it took me years for my palate to develop fully (because until then I also thought Findus Crispy Pancakes were a good thing!) and realise that the seemingly 'special' extravagance of Arctic Roll for dessert was actually some substandard plain ice cream wrapped in a bland slightly cardboard-y sponge and didn't taste good at all. But it was new, it came in a box and seemed to be of the future!

But despite eating too much today I still want to finish on a touch of something sweet, I know Eric Snaith is famous for his exotic ice creams, but I'm feeling nostalgic and am assured that it's not very substantial. And it was a homage but totally re-invented. The superior vanilla ice cream was painted with thin coating of raspberry sauce and then wrapped in the necessary plain sponge. Cake obviously loses many of its cake qualities when frozen around ice cream but I enjoyed its undemanding blast from the past. The dish was elevated by the reappearance of my favourite raspberries again, adding their ruby jeweled allure to the whole dish.
I really enjoyed my last meal at Titchwell Manor before moving on, I wish I'd selected a less substantial main so I could have done it more justice, I think it was the duck fat potatoes that ensnared me. My only criticism has to be the lighting in the conservatory, I miss the fairy lights entwined round the conservatory's supporting beams, and hope they replace them soon. Eric's food is much too attractive to serve in semi-gloom. Obviously I'm biased because I want to take photographs but my waitress kindly moved me to a corner table where I could sneakily place one of the side lamps on my table, okay then I became a Mecca for all the light-seeking insects that turn up on a summer evening but at least I could see what I was enjoying. Last night at the tasting menu I didn't fare so well with light and the resultant photographs illustrate my frustration. I'm going to attempt to weave some Photoshop magic but suspect they really won't tantalize the senses as much as the taste did.
So I've ate very well again, been blown over by the foie gras, learnt to love red cabbage and been transported back to a 'sweet' memory of my childhood. Oh and of course, I've satisfied and positively exceeded my five-a-day if not ten-a-day recommendation.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A steamy lunch in and around Sheringham

2010-08-22T15:38:00.003+01:00

I've got a steamy Sunday lunch on the menu today. I'm dining on the Sheringham to Holt steam railway (also known as the Poppy Line). I had worked it all out I would breakfast and then grab a Coasthopper to Sheringham to start my steaming adventure. When I checked the timetable however I realized that the combination of the distance of Sheringham (a mere stone throw up the coast) and the Sunday really meant that I had to leave immediately. Luckily they provided me with a delicious foil wrapped sausage sandwich and I leapt on the little green and gold bus in time. Winding along the North Norfolk coast through all the little villages in a bus albeit a small bus can be a challenge. When we had to make tight corner in Cley we were hampered by a caravan and some terribly inconsiderate four wheel drive tanks. Our bus driver fearing that we were going to be wedged in all day, took charge, told all the other drivers what to do and directed all the traffic until we had a route through. She then regaled us with poetry about the places on our route and a little ditty about the Coasthopper itself. You so don't get that on a London bus, neither do you get greeted by your driver or get given a treat for your dog!
But fortunately about an hour and half later I was able to disembark at Sheringham and explore the station. The Poppy Line is a success due to the tireless efforts of so many local steam enthusiasts. They add great atmosphere by piling wonderful old well-travelled leather cases on the platform, traditional signage over the walls and an old carriage and signal box to explore. Any reader of my blog will know I have an infinity to dining on trains and steam trains doubly so, therefore a chance to experience the Poppy Line's version.

They'd sent today's lunch menu choices ahead for selection so it wasn't a surprise but I had to inform them that I wasn't a fan of either of the starters of King Prawn Cocktail or Greek Salad with Feta Cheese but to make it easier I suggested a few alternatives and out of these they chosen a healthy quenelle of a tasty Chicken Liver Parfait. So all worked out well there. My table was at the front of the first of two dining cars attached ahead of all the passenger carriages. I could see all the comings and goings and being behind the engine could see the steam billowing forth. Occasionally a merest amount of smut would enter the window and fall into my rosé but that just seemed to be entirely part of the experience.

For mains I had to chose from Roast Loin of Pork, Sage & Onion Stuffing, Apple Sauce or Broccoli & Blue Stilton Crumble. Well the Blue Stilton made the choice easy but normally I wouldn't go for pork as I find it a tad bland. There was nothing wrong with it, the meat and vegetables were cooked perfectly but most of my 'eating on trains' experiences have been courtesy of the Orient Express companies or the Grand Luxe in the US (which sadly ceased trading after our trip) so I have been rather spoilt. But it is terribly unfair to compare their Sunday lunch with those sort of lavish fine dining extravaganza so I'll say it was lovely, the portions were generous, the staff were so thoughtful and charming and it would recommend it highly. And to be fair it's incredible good value especially if you did compare it to a lunch on the VSOE British Pullman steam train, (one of the many blog posts I need to catch up on!)

For dessert there was the choice of Peach Melba Trifle, Belgian Chocolate Tart or Cheese & Biscuits. That was tricky! I saw the word 'chocolate' and it was all over and I really enjoyed it, the strawberries were lovely also.
I loved the trip on the North Norfolkman, it was fun trying to rush to the end of the train to capture the engine 'money shot' before it decoupled and chuffed off to join the other end of the train. I had many fellow train spotters (for this occasion only I'll designate myself as thus) also trying to capture the optimal shot. Probably a few of them could tell you something about (if not the entire history of) the engine, I could not, apart from - it was big and black!

It seemed sensible to walk off my Sunday lunch by exploring Sheringham before heading back on the Coasthopper and I really wanted to see the sea, not just on the horizon but crashing on the shore below me and I know just the spot. Sheringham is full of holiday-makers today, the air is ringing with the tling tling from the amusement arcades, happy children and some others being admonished by harassed parents. The aromas of fish and chips and fudge fills the air and in the blue sky bunting can be seen stretched across the little winding streets, a proper English seaside experience. If I wasn't too full from lunch I would have loved to partake of a crab sandwich from Joyful West's little hut which was doing a fine trade as I passed. I don't recall many childhood visits to the seaside with my parents (instead we had magnificent museum visits and luxury of luxuries the occasional holiday to Greek islands, Perth Australia, New York, San Francisco, New Orleans and Orlando - I was far from deprived) but my grandparents made sure that I made complex turreted sandcastles, rode recalcitrant donkeys, suffered sand in my sandwiches (normally jam), lost stacks if pennies in the penny arcades and generally experienced all that's good and tawdry about a typical English seaside resort. Never in this part of the world though, their stomping grounds were Blackpool, Southport and environs - an entirely different coast.

As a child I'm sure I found Blackpool terribly exciting definitely during the illuminations but now I certainly wouldn't swap these ever so calming coasts, with the soothing colours and again those skies!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Catch of the day

2010-08-21T15:01:00.005+01:00

The traditional first breakfast of a holiday is a full English, or maybe I have always hung around with people that think "I'm on holiday, so I can indulge". So apart from the inevitable fried tomato I indulged in the full works. Not that I'm surprised but the sausage and bacon were exceptional quality and much to much to my delight they also serve the very local Drove Orchard apple juice we rather fell for last year. Come lunchtime I was hungry but mindful if got a seven course tasting menu tonight I thought I should choose a light option and opted for the Plaice - Cockle Butter, Cucumber, New Potato.
It was a fine choice, the plump golden tinged plaice with those little nuggets of the sea cockles tumbled over the succulent fish. There are refreshing strips of cucumber and a dinky rubber sealed glass pot full of herby butter doused new potatoes. It seems unconsciously that the moment I arrive in these parts I'm always immediately eschew my regular menu choices and enjoy marsh samphire, cockles, crab and much more fish. But that makes perfect sense local, bang in season food always sings more than food that has been forced, held back or travelled much further than me this year. After speaking to Eric Snaith, the head chef here at Titchwell Manor I know how passionate he is about provenance, partnering with and promoting the local food providers and carving out that crucial symbiotic relationship. And then simply cooking it perfectly and plating it oh so beautifully.

Comfortably ensconced in the Eating Rooms admiring the sepia seaside shots with the french doors flung open to the airy terrace it seemed a shame to move. So I watched the Celebrity Masterchef final (Lisa was a worthy winner, I hope she believes she's a good cook now!) whilst enjoying an artful and scrummy tartly palate cleansing Lemon Meringue, Lemon Sorbet, Popcorn.
I could have happily stayed here all afternoon but the fiftieth birthday party revelers from last night seemed determined that I shouldn't remain perfectly peaceful in my solitude but should join them in their exuberance. There seemed to be a bit of 'special birthday' oneupmanship and I was regaled with tales of £150 tins of caviar served in a provocative and inducive manner by the cunning Russian women on the train journey between Moscow and St. Petersburg. It was a very decadent trip it seemed! And here a little closer to home the good stuff was flowing abundantly and the hotel is ringing with stories of some of their party returning this morning at six and not being able to open the door so stumbling through a window instead. A small group seem determined that I blow off my tasting menu in favour of joining them for a barbecue. This is so not going to happen and I'm grateful when an opportunity arises to slink off back to my herby room and away from beery clutches. I hope for their own sake that whoever is in charge of the barbecue hasn't been drinking quite so enthusiastically as the rest as I predict either charcoaled or overdone steaks and what a waste of a good cow that would be!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Feels like home!

2010-08-20T23:23:00.003+01:00

I promised I was going to be more diligent with my blogging, more immediate and of the moment. So this my first attempt to commit my thoughts and pictures to my blog whilst the taste of the meal still lingers on my tongue. I often write notes whilst still at the table (how on earth could I remember it all) but to include edited pictures also, I'm pushing the envelope of my blogging!

So I've arrived in North Norfolk after a rather circuitous route as my first day of my holiday is marred by the sad event of the funeral of a wonderful, beautiful colleague who was cruelly robbed of her life and the chance to watch her lovely six year son grow up by skin cancer. But delaying the start of my holiday seemed such a small gesture, others had flown from New York, Ireland, Germany and France to pay their respects. I'm back beneath the big, blue skies again as I find this such a calming place, being such a city girl all these wide vista are curiously restorative. I fear our willful English weather won't be kind to me but then I'll just have to find a little nook where I can read, write, paint and just chill. I have all my camera gear and tripod with me so I really hope I'll be able to put them to creative use capturing the picturesque beach huts, the artfully weathered fishing boats, the sunset over the sea and those never-ending skies (so let's hope they're blue occasionally!) I'm booked into Cley Windmill at the end of the week so some local themed picture opportunities there.
But before all that I head for Titchwell Manor close to Kings Lynn, this is a special place (to coin Alistair Sawday) where I know I'll be lavished with stunning food, welcome hospitality and an elegant, beautifully decked out room nestled in their herb garden. Ah bliss! I was counting the railway stops on the way here and dying to deposit my bags in Sage and hit the dining room.
My first surprise was the really crowded dining room (it transpired that a huge group were celebrating a fiftieth birthday in style) and feared they'd be no corner for me to enjoy my late dinner. But I was led into what I thought was the bar, which is now the hotel's new Eating Rooms and in honour of its new role is now bedecked in green and yellow stripes with blue wood. But before you grimace it actually considerably less alarming as it might sound. The green is a muted soft sage and the yellow is a pale creme anglais. The blue is a dusty cornflower and there are even a few punchy accents of colour with orange in the seat cushions and blinds. I admit their conservatory is more to my tastes with the white tented ceilings, the quirky lampshades, stunning white lacework lamp and the white wicker chairs and linen. I don't tend to surround myself with much colour so I seem to be drawn to the more neutral settings. But the Shaun Clarkson designed (taking inspiration from the seaside) Eating Room provide a vibrant contrast.

The menu was another surprise, it seemed so reduced from previous visits and I wondered if I'd been cheated being excluded from the packed conservatory. Then the friendly Michelle who remembered me from last year explained that there was a seven course tasting menu in conservatory and the a la carte had a new home. My initial frisson of fear when I'd glanced at the menu was totally dispelled when my starter arrived. The Scrambled egg truffle brioche mushroom was just delectable. Frankly they had me at 'truffle' and the delicate mound of rich scrambled egg strewn with micro cress atop a soft croute of brioche packed such a punch of unctuous heady truffle-y flavour I was momentarily stunned. No humble scrambled egg on toast was this!
Next I chose a dish from the blackboard - the Loch Duart salmon, summer beans and peas, lavender velouté. And because it's such a Norfolk delicacy I accompanied it with Samphire lemon butter. And what a beautiful dish! The pea shoot tendrils and additional samphire, peas and broad beans against the rose pink of the salmon was just a seaside summer on a plate. And not that there was any doubt, the taste lived up to its looks. The tangle of lemony butter drenched samphire was just sumptuous, and try as I might I couldn't prevent the lemon butter juices dripping down my chin as I scraped the samphire of its tasty covering. At least I had a finger bowl but nonetheless I suspect I did end up wearing part of my vegetable accompaniment.
So my revisit to Titchwell Manor has been a delicious success, the staff are even more friendly that I recalled from last year if that's possible, Mark Dobby the restaurant manager greeted me as a regular and all the waiters and waitresses (I've only learnt Michelle's name) make me feel so comfortable you don't feel like you're dining alone but with friends (albeit ones that keep wandering off to deal with other tables!)
I can't entirely put my finger on why it is so but I feel so utterly at home here, the incredibly manic last couple of weeks just melted away as soon as I'd heaved my case over slate chippings and gravel, claimed my room 'Sage' and headed back to dine. It's a testament to Margaret and the entire team that the walls of Titchwell Manor are imbued with such bon homie, if it were a little closer I'd love to be a 'real' regular and have my own table (most likely in the conservatory).
Tomorrow night I'm booked in for the nightly changing seven course tasting menu where I know the head chef Eric Snaith will do me proud, I saw what tonight's menu consisted of and was salivating. Let the feasting begin!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The re-return!

2010-08-20T17:00:00.000+01:00

So when I said I was back I'm not entirely sure I was. I certainly had valiant intentions that I would catch up on the ginormous pile of un-posted photos, the recollections of numerous unrecorded tasty escapades, banish the swinging Japanese sploggers that were haunting my comments and get my blog bang up to date. So where do I start on exactly how badly I managed all of this? Firstly an update on my unwanted Japanese visitors who are attempting to arrange their dubious rendezvous via the curious medium of highjacking the comments on selected postings of mine. And I don't like it! I tried asking them to stop nicely and in probably broken maybe even incomprehensible Japanese. And finally I just have to vet all comments going forward to stop them appearing amongst my genuine comments. This has not stopped the messages however nor made the tiniest dent in the flow of them to my inbox and at least once a day I receive some curious missive that if I do bother to feed into one of those instant machine-read translators, I generally raise a quizzical eyebrow and even occasionally a slight blush!
So not entirely curtailing that little avenue of pleasure has been one niggle but I'll just have to accept it and not let it taint my blog.
I've been trying to think why I have been so incredibly lax, what has filled all those moments that I used to blog? And sadly I can't report some wild tales of constant partying and decedent excesses. I think it probably started with me getting a new camera obsensively to facilitate more creative food photographs, which apart from the obligatory scenic shots whilst on holidays seem to be the mainstay of my picture collection. But this camera was clever! It had all sorts of new manual modes that I'd never really had to come to grips with before And clearly if I was going to take my photography to a new level I needed to get me some education. So with such thoughts in mind I hit the Internet armed with a handy guide to photographic workshops and holidays conveniently attached to an arty black and white photography magazine and before long I had a weekend booked in Norfolk. Okay no one seemed to be offering food photography, the choice seemed to be portraits, scenery or Photoshop. Even though I'd never really considered scenic photography I was more interested in this than portraits. I read the list of necessary equipment, saying "okay, why not" to the tripod but balking at the alarming list of waterproof hiking boots, rucksacks, waterproofs and all manner of all weather gear. Now I realized why I'd always loved food photography, unless visiting the birthplace of a particularly photogenic lettuce or checking out the tempting displays at the local farmers' market most of my photography had been indoors. The place where I'd never needed to don waterproof trousers or strap on a
Air of clumping hiking boots. Clearly this photography lark was going to demand a whole change of lifestyle. I was able to procure some not too alarming black hiking boots but really felt that a weekend 'holiday' in Norfolk didn't mean I was going to abandon my principles and adopt a kagoule or some other hideous hooded anorak affair. No that was a step too far for this diva!
Well the weekend shooting windmills and cavorting bluebell woods was an eyeopener. The instructor turned out to an internationally renowned landscape photographer and the other students were very far from needing instruction and turned up positively festooned with bursting rucksacks, bags and let's say 'fully tooled'. I had the diddiest little camera bag with barely nothing more than a polarizer and neutral graduated filter (I hadn't entirely ignored the list of necessary equipment when venturing forth into landscape photography!) I also had the tiniest of camera compared with the beasts they were all armed with. When I made the decision to upgrade my beloved Leica, I realized that size really is everything for me and if I tooled myself up with a Canon or Nikon I'd be lusting after a couple of extra lenses, a tit and shift and other geeky camera-holic paraphernalia. So I got a more grown up Leica, not one of those the price of a small car but with the manual mode I need, an abhorrence of interchangeable lenses and frankly rather gorgeous styling! But my new little Leica baby D Lux 4, even with a handy attachment to allow a filter or two looked like a toy amongst all the big boys. But the skinniest of chilies can pack a fine punch and my gorgeous little oh so black camera has hidden talents.
I'm still getting to grips with abandoning the safety net of the set scene modes and walking of the wild side of totally manual but I do know all about apertures, shutter speeds and ISOs now.
All this immersion in all that is photographic has kept me away from blogging, it wasn't my intention when transitioning from a point and shoot plus the work stuff that invariably gets in the way but I can only promise to do better.
I have been so flattered recently by how many times I've been asked about my blogging dry spell and if I will return to it. If you're reading this you'll already know the answer to the second question. I just needed the impetus and a break from the nagging inbox. I'd also rationalised that furnishing myself with a shiny iPad would give me the tools to write more and this theory is being put to the test. I'm writing this on the train at the beginning of my holiday, I have composed this post in a writing app (necessary if you feel the urge to write when the Internet is unreachable), a typography app to add a bit of visual interest and the ministrations of a blogpress app to connect all the dots. I even got a dinky Apple gadget that allows me to upload the pictures I'll take from my lovely new camera into my iPad and a couple of editing apps to help with the inevitable white balancing (the bane of poorly lit restaurant shooting) so really, there's no reason for me not to blog. With that in mind I'm crossing my electronic fingers and seeing if these ramblings will be launched successfully into the ether.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

I'm baaaaack!

2010-01-31T13:30:00.003Z

I know it’s been absolutely forever! It’s not that I haven’t eaten or enjoyed noteworthy meals in all these weeks and months it just seems my creativity has been regrettably suppressed and all the other stuff has just got in the way. But it’s a new year, I am taking myself in hand (weaning myself off the extremely addictive iPhone apps, I am blaming games such as Charadium, mmmm – maybe just one more round!) and definitely getting back to writing again (work emails don’t count!)
I also found that having my blog besieged by ‘spamdexing’ or it is ‘splogging’ extremely dispiriting. Maybe I should have been flattered that a group of Japanese open-minded individuals wanted to use my blog as a vehicle for their sometimes depraved discussions on their sexual proclivities but it felt like an unwelcome invasion, and wholly inappropriate. If there was some tenuous link like them combining sex and food I could have maybe seen why my blog was targeted but thanks to some handy internet translators out there I can confirm that it was way more sordid than that and as asking politely to stop didn’t work, I’ve just had to insist all comments are vetted now. I guess my new-found audience of Japanese swingers have been curtailed but hey, I can live with that.
I originally started a blog to record some of the fabulous foodie experiences that I enjoyed so that I would always be able to be instantly transported back to that moment of sharing a morsel of something magical, that stupendous unctuous egg dish that I didn’t want to forget, to be able to relive every nuance of a well crafted tasting menu, record all the details of those restaurants I would rush to recommend (and a few I would steer clear from) and jot down those recipes that I’d loved and may want to whip up again. I started my blog just before the first magical journey via the Orient Express. I knew it would be a voyage of discovery in every sense, the joy of living on a luxurious art deco train, waking up and seeing a different country out of the window and the elegant served and delicious tasting food. It was truly breath-taking and has given me a real love of that sort of holiday. Combining the getting there with actual holiday seems to extend the pleasure and makes for a more relaxing time. It’s not that I haven’t always enjoyed flying but I have really fallen out of love with airports, the endless security restrictions and all that drama. And budget airlines have certainly expanded our horizons and given us the opportunity to explore exotic places too prohibitive to consider before but there’s certainly little joy in sharing a cramped, parsimonious plane with a large group of noisy stags dressed as nuns trying to see how much lager they can neck, screaming children who remain un-admonished for violently kicking your seat back for the entire flight and the mysterious extra charges incurred if you intend to carry onboard anything more than a credit card – bitterness here perhaps? I may have always regretted not taking the opportunity to travel on Concorde before it sadly folded its wings forever but probably the QE2 would have been more my style! As 2010 lies before me I am poring over guide books and web sites and planning where to holiday this year - I know they’ll be excellent, inspirational food, they will be a train journey to and through France (the only decision made so far) and they’ll be a huge amount to write about. I have a new Leica baby (a D-Lux 4 in fact) to aid photographic creativity; I have been hankering to branch out further than point-and-shoot to inject a little more artistry in my food photography. So armed with my new toy, a raft of foodie destinations – the world is my oyster, or scallop even!
I stand by the quotes and words of wisdom that top my blog, currently “One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well “, so very true and another favourite, “Cooking is like love, it should be entered into with abandon or not at all”. So I intend to heed that advice and re-enter blogging with abandon. I have a huge stack of photographs to reacquaint myself with, reams of half-finished snatches of edible musings to complete and an appetite for even more culinary adventures. Let the feasting begin!

HHDD#29 Roasted Garlic Round-up

2009-11-08T20:53:00.065Z

For this month's HHDD#29, it was all about the roasted garlic. When I’d been asked to host this month’s HHDD event I high-tailed to my still emerging donna hay magazine collection, plus a couple of her cookery books. I wanted something I would like to eat, a recipe that was simple and crucially others would be inspired to cook and tuck into also. And in the spirit of this event I was keen to find a recipe that I would follow slavishly and not just use as a springboard to my own creations.

So in my case that means absolutely no tomato, no bananas nor every of the other black listed ingredients I normally swerve around. My donna hay magazines are full of little post-it note tabs, so inspiration was not a problem, it was more a matter of filtering the ‘I want to cook’ pile to manageable proportions. To someone who hasn’t discovered Donna Hay yet it’s hard to define what is particularly unique about her style, but really that’s the word – ‘style’. Donna’s style is all the about the mouth-watering looking food enhanced with whiter than white, neutral palette accessories, photographed in a diffused light so the shadows are soft and the whiteness seems endless. If the immaculate white bowls or un- crusty white casserole dish need adornment it’s most likely to be a crisp white folded tea towel acting as a tablemat or pot holder. When I am channelling Donna, that’s exactly the route I try and go down and feel the urge to inhabit an entirely white place with a teetering tower of plain white crockery and a stack of crisp white tea-towels.
So after all the consultation and pondering I settled on creamy pancetta and roasted garlic pasta. I like pasta and this one is entirely devoid of tomato and is laced with sweet and juicy roasted garlic cloves and Donna hay’s recipe is:

roasted garlic
2 heads of garlic
1 teaspoon olive oil

Preheat oven to 180C/fan 160C/355F. Cut off the tops of the garlic heads so the cloves are just showing. Drizzle the garlic with olive oil and wrap in aluminium foil. Place on a baking tray and cook for 45 minutes or until soft. Set aside to cool slightly before peeling off the skins*.
Place cloves in a bowl and mash with the back of a fork.
*The garlic will be so soft and jammy that you'll be able to press the flesh out by gently squeezing the cloves between your fingers, or gently lift each clove out with a skewer.
Then taking your caramelised garlic cloves and transform into a tasty pasta dish:

creamy pancetta and roasted garlic pasta
400g dried or fresh pappardelle pasta
2 teaspoons olive oil
300g piece mild pancetta, chopped
1 head roasted garlic, mashed
½ teaspoon dried chilli flakes
125ml pouring cream
sea salt and cracked black pepper
1 cup coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley
finely grated parmesan, to serve

Cook the pasta in a saucepan of salted, boiling water until al dente (10-12 minutes for dried or 3-5 minutes for fresh pasta). Drain and keep warm.
Heat the oil in a large frying pan over medium heat. Add the pancetta and cook for 2-3 minutes or until browned. Remove from the heat and add garlic, chilli, cream, salt and pepper and stir to combine. Add the warm pasta* with the parsley and parmesan and toss to coat. Serves 4
*the heat from the pasta will thicken the sauce
- donna hay magazine issue 38

I decided that as I hadn’t made some for a while I made some silky fresh pasta (for one) with 100g 00 Italian flour and 1 large egg. After rolling out I cut the golden dough into fat strips with the fluted pastry wheel and left to dry over clean white tea-towels (how very Donna!) hung over the kitchen doors.
I was happy with the recipe choice, the roasted garlic was unctuous, I am always partial to pancetta and wasn’t remotely drowned in cream, so clearly I normally use too much cream with my pasta. As there was no specification of Parmesan quantity I finished off with another sprinkling. Fortunately there were some other guests who also enjoyed this dish.

Zaira of La Cocina de Zaira has translated the recipe into vegetarian Spanish version and spiced hers up by using multicoloured shell pasta. I’m not sure the garlic is roasted but is sautéed with lots of herbs and pine nuts.

Mardi of Eat, Live, Travel, Write did go the whole roasting the garlic route and used some delicious looking mushroom pasta. It seems that someone feels the same as I do about pancetta and bacon, and home-cured as well, very impressive.

Homemades by Arfi opted for roasted smoked garlic and used a plump globe artichoke for the vehicle of the sauce instead of pasta.

Denise of Chez Us also whipped up a batch of creamy pancetta and roasted garlic pasta for her guests and I am loving the Donna-style whiteness of the bowl and background.
I had great fun planning this month’s homage to Donna and thank you to those who joined me in roasted garlic worship.

The question of cream

2009-10-30T20:22:00.005Z

The recipe I chose for this month’s HHDD called for ‘pouring cream’ and it called up an interesting question about cream globally. The differences between regions and the white stuff their cows produce is often the subject of heated debates. On travels with my fork I have heard displaced Brits in France and other parts of Europe lament the local cream (even in creamy Normandy) where crème fraîche is de rigueur and dream of the cream from back home amongst the black and white dappled dairy cows (Friesians).
To me cream is normally double cream, one this is thick, doesn’t split when added to hot sauces and can be whipped into airy peaks. It used to always seem to be in the blue pot but I noticed Waitrose for one have gone all arty and just the words ‘double cream’ and the patterns on the cream jug are blue.
Alternatively we have the one in the red pot- single cream, one that I use less as I don’t drink coffee and the like nor do I like cream poured over my strawberries (balsamic vinegar every time for me). For this recipe I have bought single cream however, as I believe this is equivalent to an Australian pouring cream and in the US – light cream. Though I’ve also read that it is almost like the US half and half – except the butterfat content is a little higher. So if you’re still planning to shop for your cream to make your Donna pasta with the roasted garlic, I recommend pouring, light, or single if in Australia, the US or the UK. If in Europe the struggle might be tougher, if all you can find is crème fraîche as that is a little sourer. I seem to recall cartons of crème liquide and that seems to fit the bill better.
I am sure there are other complications in other parts of the world but I hope you can find a local equivalence to make a lovely cream sauce. Hopefully see you tomorrow!

Hay, hay it's Donna against vampires

2009-10-11T20:33:00.020+01:00

This month I have the honour of hosting the 29th hay, hay it’s donna day. I had all sort of worthy things I planned doing this weekend but I have instead been getting lost amongst the pages of the donna hay magazine. I like many seem to have a plethora of fluorescent tabs marking the most ‘must cook’ of her recipes but what to choose, what to choose? I’ve decided that feeling full of mellow fruitfulness and nearly that time of year when the vampires are out in force (or is that just the little plastic fanged trick or treaters?) I’d go for roasted garlic. Donna Hay seems to favour the roasting treatment for her garlic bulbs; I spotted these sweet nuggets of golden stickiness cropping up all over the place but the recipe I’ve chosen for HHDD #29 is creamy pancetta and roasted garlic pasta. It may only be a few months since pasta appeared at this event but I make no apologies for another HHDD pasta recipe as last time it was more of a salad and featured peppers and tomatoes – as I’ve chosen this recipe, mine contains neither! I think this pasta sounds delicious, is undeniably easy, quick to whip up and is adaptable for the non-meat eaters/bacon haters. Despite the ‘pancetta’ in the title, this could be easily swapped for a bacon-like substitute or replaced entirely for a handful of woody autumnal field mushrooms. The pasta is up to you, if you want to knead your own golden egg-yolked fresh strands please do or if you rather rely on an Italian artisan and their hand-cut dies, that’s also perfectly okay. As long as the roasted garlic features amongst some creamy pasta, and the essence of Donna’s recipe is honoured, I think we have a HHDD dish.
For the rules of the event click here, for previous entrants we are a little out of sync on the timings this month so please can I have your homage to Donna’s creamy pancetta and roasted garlic pasta post by the end of the month? I will gather all your entries, summarise and post a roundup by 5th November.

If like me you like to leaf through your donna hay magazine stack to see the original recipe this is reproduce faithfully from issue No. 38. But if you aren’t such a recipe pack-rat, the recipes you’ll need are below. First – roast your garlic, this is how Donna does it:

roasted garlic
2 heads of garlic
1 teaspoon olive oil

Preheat oven to 180C/fan 160C/355F. Cut off the tops of the garlic heads so the cloves are just showing. Drizzle the garlic with olive oil and wrap in aluminium foil. Place on a baking tray and cook for 45 minutes or until soft. Set aside to cool slightly before peeling off the skins*.
   Place cloves in a bowl and mash with the back of a fork.
*The garlic will be so soft and jammy that you'll be able to press the flesh out by gently squeezing the cloves between your fingers, or gently lift each clove out with a skewer.

Donna assures us we can make a batch of roasted garlic and store in an airtight container in the fridge for up to a week. My experience of roasted garlic is the aromatic pungency that lingers, as lovely as it is I don’t really want it to pervade my breakfast, so make sure your pre-roasted garlic is tightly sealed – unless of course you do have a problem with vampires!

Take your caramelised garlic cloves and transform into a tasty pasta dish:

creamy pancetta and roasted garlic pasta
400g dried or fresh pappardelle pasta
2 teaspoons olive oil
300g piece mild pancetta, chopped
1 head roasted garlic, mashed
½ teaspoon dried chilli flakes
125ml pouring cream
sea salt and cracked black pepper
1 cup coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley
finely grated parmesan, to serve

Cook the pasta in a saucepan of salted, boiling water until al dente (10-12 minutes for dried or 3-5 minutes for fresh pasta). Drain and keep warm.
Heat the oil in a large frying pan over medium heat. Add the pancetta and cook for 2-3 minutes or until browned. Remove from the heat and add garlic, chilli, cream, salt and pepper and stir to combine. Add the warm pasta* with the parsley and parmesan and toss to coat. Serves 4
*the heat from the pasta will thicken the sauce

- donna hay magazine issue 38

Inspired by my garlic musings I thought I’d do a spot of amateur Donna Hay food styling for this post with the obligatory folded rough linen white cloth and a very J heart-shaped dish. The simplicity of a single ingredient plus the white on white-ness vibe always makes me feel I’m channelling Donna! Happy garlic roasting and pasta cooking everyone, I hope I’ll see your dish soon.

Hay, hay, hay - Donna does chicken

2009-09-14T19:18:00.031+01:00

“Hay Hay it's Donna day” is the first blogging event I stumbled across when I started my culinary ramblings and the whole concept of these random bloggers all over the world all emulating the signature white and clean stylised look of Donna's food really intrigued me.
I'd discovered Donna Hay and her inimitable food styling from her Marie Claire days and when confronted by stacks of white plates and bowls and that exquisite Vendee light back in October 2006 I was inspired to create a homage to Donna and attempt her quintessential appreciation of all that is pale and interesting.
Reading the other entrants of the HHDD blog event I realised that what was missing from my life was the donna hay bi-monthly magazine. My cookbook addiction is only slightly tempered by my obsession for cooking magazines. Over the years I’ve subscribed to some, dabbled with several and tracked down a few more. My only problem is occasionally whittling down and recycling them when they threaten to overtake my home.
The donna hay magazine is not a regular on the UK newsstands so I had to try a little harder to procure. I found a newsagent in Knightsbridge that specialised in foreign magazines and that worked for a while but I wanted a more regular supply. My local newsagent eventually managed to become my customary provider and has managed to pickup a couple more fans in the local area as his issues are always pounced on.
I was only thinking recently that now I have amassed a small collection of said magazine I should try another go at the HHDD event. And when I leapt into the world of tweeting and commenced trawling for mutual foodie tweets, I spotted a familiar twitter-er called HHDday and in the sometimes small world of food blogging learnt that this month’s host is Stephanie of Dispensing Happiness fame. Chez Us host the event but as Stephanie's interpretation of last month's HHDD challenge, she gets to choose this month's Donna recipe. Stephanie was the fabulous host of the monthly blogging parties but has taken a hiatus from these exertions so it was really great to see her back blogging and back at the head of the table again.
Stephanie sensibly wasn’t taking any chances with us seizing her theme and twisting it in a non-Donna sty-le so she provided her choice of Donna Hay Parmesan and Polenta Chicken recipe. I was determined to track down the original recipe only because I was fascinated to see Donna’s presentation. I combed through my magazine hoard to no avail and even my donna hay chicken cookbook couldn’t help me. But with a little digging I found another food blogger who’d been taken with the same recipe and had mentioned that she’d espied it in donna hay magazine #31, a couple of months before my collection started, that explains it.

Parmesan and Polenta Chicken
donna hay Magazine, Issue 31
2 cobs corn, husks and silks removed
olive oil for brushing
2 x 200g (7oz) chicken breasts
flour for dusting
2 eggs, lightly whisked
1/2 cup(100g/3 1/2 oz) polenta
1/3 cup finely grated parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
100g (3 1/2 oz) baby spinach leaves
1/2 basil leaves
grated parmesan cheese, extra to serve
dressing
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 teaspoons honey
sea salt and cracked black pepper
To make the dressing, place the mustard, lemon juice, garlic, oil, honey, salt and pepper in a bowl and whisk to combine. Set aside.
Preheat the oven to 220 C (425 F. Brush the corn with oil, place in a baking dish and roast for 25 minutes or until golden. Slice the kernels from the corn and set aside.
Slice the chicken in half horizontally, dust with the flour, dip into the egg and press into the combined parmesan and polenta to coat. Heat the oil in a non-stick frying pan over medium heat and cook the chicken for 2-3 minutes each side or until golden and cooked through. Arrange the chicken, corn, spinach and basil on plates and spoon over the dressing and grated parmesan to serve. Serves 4

Unusually for me I followed the recipe to the letter, my only substitution was the spinach for lamb’s lettuce and pea tops that I already had in the fridge. I’d never used Parmesan and polenta for a crispy jacket before and it definitely added a pleasing crunch to my 'happy' chicken breasts so will definitely do this again. I’m never shy to use Parmesan (or Grana Padana) and especially after absorbing Easy Tasty Italian from cover-to-cover I was even more convinced that was the way forward.
Not seeing the original recipe I wasn’t entirely sure how to present the chicken so I thought I’d go for both constructed and slightly deconstructed version. I suspect the corn kernels scattered over the plate is truer to the recipe and possibly looked the prettiest but the corn flavour was much punchier munching it off the cob – excuse the butter on the chin though! Style over content, the choice is yours I think.
It’s wonderful to be back in the company of Stephanie again, and has been great fun channelling Donna again. Check back here for how my fellow HHDDers fared.

U-mamma!

2009-09-12T18:27:00.000+01:00

I read two separate tweets yesterday extolling the virtue of the new cookbook Easy Tasty Italian available in all good bookshops (and most likely those not so good) early next month. One of the tweets handily mentioned how a rampant cookbook-ophile such as me might feed their habit and procure a copy ahead of time and much to my delight a shiny copy of said cookbook was sat on the doormat awaiting my pleasure today. Who knew our post could be so efficient? And this is not just any cookbook this is a really good one! I feel I can speak from the vantage point of an expert of cookbooks, having managed to amass a veritable tower of them over the years and if there was an organisation called Cookbooks Anonymous I would be there taking the pledge.
The author of this delightful missive is the occasionally acerbic and always wise Mrs. Santini from Waitrose Food Illustrated. She’s thrown off her guise of culinary agony aunt and we get to meet the very elegant half Italian Laura Santtini (yes, in the transformation she’s gained a ‘t’!), daughter of the now retired proprietor of Frank Sinatra’s favourite restaurant Belgravia’s Santini.
So why does the world need another cookbook, Italian or otherwise? Well what Mrs Santinni is going to do is add a little va va vroom into your cooking. Her U.S.P. is the U-bomb or umami bomb, the little taste rockets she conjures up are flavoured butters, tasty pastes, salsas, marinades and most intriguingly - the potions and elixirs. The first section of Easy Tasty Italian is all about whipping up this wizardry. There is an artichoke, prosciutto, lemon & ricotta trifolata to juzz up a pasta dish. A rosemary, apple & lavender marinade to transform pork or veal, horseradish & rose butter with which to anoint red meat or oily fish. The glamorous sounding savoury enhancer wild mushroom & anchovy stardust or the secret weapon in many a risotto a Parmesan & prosciutto paste. And not forgetting the surely magical black chocolate elixir to provide that ‘je ne sais quoi’ to a beef dish. Laura Santtini defines umami as the "things that make you go 'mmmmm'" and as umami is the Japanese name for deliciousness she has christened her Italian version of this tongue tingling culinary alchemy as u-mamma! And where can you find this u-mamma in the larder? The answer is in some of those Italian stalwarts - Parmesan, prosciutto crudo, porcini mushrooms, white truffles, balsamic vinegar and salted anchovies. And though I can't bring myself to trumpet the tomato I'll concede their usefulness in Italian cooking, though frankly not in mine!
On top of the larder essentials she spices them up further with her alchemic pantry ingredients, a taster being - hibiscus flowers, pomegranate seeds, Amalfi lemon, pistachios, rose water, pink and green peppercorns, sumac, ginger and for that essential little bit of bling, edible gold and silver. Armed with this epicurean toolbox and a few grinding, cutting and cooking utensils this is where the magic happens. The rest of Easy Tasty Italian doesn't follow the usual formulaic cookbook format of chapters entitled spring, summer, autumn, winter or salads, meat, fish, vegetable accompaniments and desserts. Here in section two we have four poetically entitled chapters that are, Air ‘I was raw’, Water ‘I was cooked’, Fire ‘I was burned’ and Earth ‘I am tasty’. You’ve got to admit that’s a little different!
In Raw there’s prosciutto wrapped mozzarella balls with a soupçon of tapenade, scallops anointed with rose stardust and carpaccio and various ‘rich & thin’ alternatives. In Water the magic is applied to soups, pasta and risotti. I can’t wait to try the ‘cheeky lobster’ though the cherry tomatoes may accidently be forgotten. The creamy pesto with asparagus & crispy pancetta will be a must when asparagus comes back round again and the strawberry and balsamic with a few grinds of black pepper I already know I love but with risotto? I have to try that!
In Heat there’s the oxymoronic ‘hot carpaccios’, the beef tagliata with that ever so captivating black chocolate elixir, the strawberry and cucumber salsa’s swordfish (though I fear swordfish is now too endangered to enjoy) and veal Milanese with a variety of exotic twists. There’s a great bit headed 'roll, wrap & splash' which has all sorts of loveliness rolled in Parmesan gratings, wrapped in prosciutto and then doused in something suitably alcoholic or just extra-virgin olive oil if you must. The beef fillet with mascarpone & rose horseradish sounds truly inspirational.
And Earth is all about slow cooking so we have beautiful hunks of beef drowned in Barolo, the tongue-in-cheekily named Leg-over lamb (check out her reason for how this dish got its name), the infamous 36-clove spring chicken and a dozen twists on vegetables. I’ve always felt that mash potato is pretty tricky to beat but Mrs Santtini adds mascarpone and sweet roasted garlic to elevate it even further and she then suggests you could add an extra dimension to this mimosa with her wild mushroom and anchovy stardust.
If all this has still not whetted your appetite we round up with some charming take on desserts and if I need a licence to gather more table accoutrements Laura suggests ‘pimping your plate’ by procuring all sorts of random little glasses and cups in which to serve your accompaniments. For a final flourish the last recipe is a pink-hued Prosecco cocktail which has a sprig of rosemary as a verdant swizzle stick – sounds delicious!
I’ve been completely entranced by this book on first opening, I’ve already amassed some jazzed-up butter to slice a couple of rounds off to top steak or vegetables but after reading this I think I need to broaden my butter mountain further. I’ve been checking how my larder would pass muster as an alchemic kitbag and I fear it falls a little short, time I think to get out of a culinary rut, take a leaf out of Mrs Santtini’s enchanting book and drop a few U-bombs. They do say Italians do it better and this one may just might!

A little birdie told me

2009-09-10T21:56:00.011+01:00

Despite being fully Twittered up for a few months yet unaccustomed to such brevity of thought I hadn't conjured up the appropriate bon mots with which to christen my account so it remained entirely bereft of tweets. I started to gather followers though and thinking how odd it was that Cheryl Cole would take time out of her busy life of mini skirt wearing and strutting her stuff in Girls Aloud to follow someone who hadn't even deigned to form a single little tweet was put straight by multi-brothered J. The excessively sibling'ed one also goes by the name of Wiki for his unparalleled knowledge on all that is www and he informed me that my so called followers were not loitering intent on hanging onto my every word should I ever get around to writing any but are probably just spamming me. But inspired by Giles Coren talking about how he has to get himself out there more - media speaking that is I thought I'd take another look at this twittering lark. Giles and I have another thing in common other than a love of writing about their epicurean tendencies though only one of us gets paid for it, but also we both work for 'the man'. Giles spoke of the live aspect of his restaurants reviews by submitting his thoughts via his phone on the repast en passant. This did intrigue me and i pondered following suit but read his column whilst I was I was holidaying in North Norfolk and seemingly entirely deprived of network connection in that far from isolated idyll I couldn't eat and tweet. Being back in the hub of unprotected wifi connections and a pretty reliable 02 such indulgence seems plausible but apart from a couple of tiny tweetettes under my new J with fork mantel I had mainly followed other more prolific scribes.
But today being my birthday initally I was inspired to tweet about yearning for chocolate cake then the joy of finding a dream cake of such substance on arrival to work. But when thoughts of an unplanned fabulous evening of dining out starting to enter my head I thought as well as consulting the usual suspects of restaurant guides I'd ask for advice on solo dining in London on Twitter. And sure enough I got a suggestion that seemed just perfect and headed forth in the direction of that tweeter's recommendation. And keeping on with the theme of giving the world a running commentary of every tiny musing I dutifully tweeted the experience in between appreciative forkfuls. It's a curious medium though, you really feel you have to be very immediate and unlike blogging where I invariably end up with a backlog of posts I guess if you can't say if there and then the moment has passed. And whether the online masses are intrigued and/or amused by your stream of consciousness can also be measured and critiqued in real time And of course by tweeting you are (possibly thankfully for any readers) curtailed in the act of scribing the more verbose of missives. If this post had been strapped into the confines of a 140 character tweet I'd been able to write as far as 'bon mots' maybe curiously prophetic but somewhat lacking in any sense at all I suspect.
If you are remotely inclined to follow a little trail of breadcrumbs of my random bursts of ruminations and nibblings, you'll find the link here or on the right under "eating & tweeting" tweet, tweet, tweet!

Baby one more time!

2009-08-23T14:30:00.018+01:00

I had it all sorted, my bags are packed and I'm ready to go. For the first time the sun has barely got his hat on and the big blue sky has been overrun by great white fluffies. I guess it means it is time to get back to life and back to reality. I toyed with the idea of making a visit to Cley again with vague thoughts of securing one of those venison pies for later and then as I went to collect my bags to catch an early Coasthopper back to King's Lynn I caught sight of the lunch menu and I succumbed. Why not extend this idyllic stay at Titchwell Manor just for a little longer, there are plenty of trains, it will an age before I can see the sea and taste the salty air again. And really I'm not quite ready to get back to the world of dusty tubes, burgeoning inboxes and the general hullabaloo of London living and working... well not for a few more hours at least. And one final excuse, if I need it, is that I'd already decided that I'd get the just before 4 o'clock train home when I made plans yesterday, this extra indulgence just makes that a reality.

In the meantime I have more of that delicious smoked salmon, cream cheese & chive risotto to tuck into. And it's still as yummy but compact and bijou and oh so good.

The main on the fixed price (set) menu today is slow cooked pork belly, apple purée, potato & cream cheese rosti. D was gutted when the last of the pork belly and crackling was snaffled up at the Yurt on Friday night and she had to switch to chicken instead. I don't know what she would have made of this one. For one thing it was devoid of crackling which, I realise that once again I'm in the minority here, is not a massive loss on my part. But I know D and LLcT would have been bereft. However before you rush to condemn Eric and the Titchwell Manor restaurant I can confirm that there was indeed crackling, and I'm sure plenty of it, with the roast loin of Berkshire pork on the Sunday lunch menu yesterday. With that assurance out of the way I can tell you why this piece of porcine perfection was so wonderful. It was a nice compact size, it had a juicy, meaty melt-in-the-mouth texture and a little bite from the mustard seed glaze. The accompaniments were a pleasing dollop of fresh apple purée and more excitingly minute cubes of a punchy apple jelly. The cream cheese in the rosti (I might say potato cakes as the potato was sliced not grated) just added a general unctuousness to the whole proceedings. There is also a meaty slick and a few artistic drizzles of gravy crowning an attractive and delicious dish. There was a lavender panacotta, meringue and crystallised nuts to chase it all down with but even I thought this was one decadence too far.

I can while away the time until the next hopper... there's no rush in the little hideaway I discovered yesterday. As Titchwell Manor looks over the fields, the marshes that make up the RSPB bird sanctuary and then the beaches beyond I'd been hankering after a little extra height to inspire a drawing. My kindly waitress told me of a seating area upstairs furnished with both the view and a handy telescope to examine it all further. I could indeed spot lots of birds but without MC's handy guide I couldn't tell you what they were. Stately and very white, no not gulls, something more marsh-waderish. Perhaps you can see why I don't do a 'twitching' blog. This little enclave was the perfect spot to draw, write some blog texts and rather randomly play a guitar hero-esque app on the iPhone. And, dare I say it, totally rock those riffs and yes, those dials were up to eleven! My Sweet Home Alabama was sweeeeet!
But I digress. After my delicious (extra) lunch I was chatting to Mark Dobby the Restaurant Manager about how much I thought they deserved Michelin star but he was concerned it would stifle Eric Snaith's creativity. Would the Michelin pendants appreciate you being able to select from a set menu, go more creatively a la carte or mix and match with the slightly simpler bar menu. Well whatever those rubber tired guys think I think Eric (and sous Ben) and Mark and all his team deserve to be showered with a multitude of accolades.
I've had just a wonderful stay at Titchwell Manor, a relaxing, chilled place with the finest of fresh, local food and really charming staff to ensure your stay is divine. If you're in the area drop in for lunch or dinner or both - I know I did.

PS - Yummy photos added now, how gorgeous does that pork look!

The coast is my oyster

2009-08-22T15:58:00.001+01:00

Before I get too settled in my elegant room I have some missions along the coast and avail myself of the Coasthopper - the handy local little bus service. In my preparations for this trip I considered most contingencies, rain (I packed a raincoat and umbrella) lots of layers and devices to entertain during the inevitable wet and inclement weather. But I didn't count on the days of huge blue skies with the occasional little white fluffy. In fact I'd not considered North Norfolk skies at all and I've been bowled over by their vastness and majesty. I can so see why they refer to the 'big blue sky' here, it really is mesmerising and I taken reams of photographs. The beaches, the fields and the skies have even encouraged ne to capture them artistically (does drawing on the iPhone count?) I love the flatness here, that's why the sky seems endless - there are no towering tall buildings, hills and other impediments to vie for your attention and hinder the view. Despite being such a city girl I did spend many years in the shadow of the Pennines and had the Peak District almost on my doorstep. I'm used to more rugged terrain and the looming hills that often held onto their snow long after ours had melted away into our memories. On an expedition in search of suitable rocks to grace our new rockery I was so surprised to find them still snow capped when I couldn't recall when I'd last seen snow in our garden Here in Norfolk you feel that you've gained a vantage point if you're sat in a people carrier or indeed the Coasthopper. And it's a great way to explore all the local villages. My only niggle is they finish too early to avail of their transportation after dining out.

The hopper conveniently stops at all the places we've also found ourselves at in the last week - the Orange Tree in Thornham, the Jolly Sailors at Brancaster Staithe, Burnham Market, the Cley Smokehouse, the Victoria Inn at Hockham and Wells-next-the-Sea. There's even a stop near The Big Blue Sky which is one of my destinations today. The airy shop is full of objects made in Norfolk and has books about the history of the villages along the coast which I would if I could, pictures of those endless blue skies again, driftwood hewn serving board (also enormously tempting), wooden puffins that D has an eye on, intricate jewellery and one particular piece of shell art I've been hankering for and it's a heart shaped sculpture that will just be perfect for my bathroom. It seems to capture my falling in love with this patch of English countryside and coast and how it caught me unawares when I had a big hole to fill. And I do so adore heart-shaped things.

After my purchase I wonder off back in search of the bus stop but curiously can't find one on the opposite side of the road to where I got off and whilst I'm dithering I see the hopper approaching me and wonder how to make it stop knowing it's half an hour until the next. Almost as if the driver has read my mind he brakes to a stop next to me and asks if he can be of service explaining that there isn't always bustops in these parts. I'm very impressed, that doesn't happen where I come from!

To the manor borne

2009-08-22T13:43:00.000+01:00

On waking up from our final night in the cottage we break up the cleaning tasks by a final foray to the Yurt. When we had dinner last night we asked to reserve a table and 'our' table is duly waiting for us. Despite MC's obvious leaning towards his full English we all plump for their ever so excellent sausage sandwiches. We already know that with D and MC with their foresight of bringing their fridge can stock up on these Arthur Howell sausages in Wells. They have also decided to purchase two dozen bottles of Coxes Orange Pippin apple juice that I'm jealously chasing my sandwich down with. After years of normally finding apple juice just above acceptable it was a joy to find one that I loved so much. There is a small fear however that LLcT wouldn't appreciate the finest of this juice and consume it rapidly in a few thirst quenching guzzlings. I can't consider adding further to my already burgeoning luggage by indulging in some bottles to go for the train journey home, that could push me over the edge!

With the cottage all suitably ship-shape again we grab our luggage and part ways. D and MC are off for a couple of nights at the Neptune where we enjoyed a wonderful dinner on our last visit. Then they are booked in for a couple more nights at an Alastair Sawday recommended B&B in Wells-next-the-sea. Feeling that I've gate-crashed their holiday long enough I've booked two nights in 'Basil' at Titchwell Manor. I'm specific about the room as this a major part of Titchwell Manor's charms; they have the original rooms in the main building with panoramic views across the marshes. They also have thirteen new rooms built around their gardens and I was completely taken with the idea of living in Basil for the next two nights. They suggested coriander but not actually liking coriander I thought this could taint my stay so settled on the way more acceptable Basil. And it is very acceptable with a lovely room of wonderful textures and muted natural tones. There are rich stripy rugs on a flagstone floor, a mohair throw here a stack of corded cushions there and luxury - real fuchsias. There are comfy leather armchairs, stone based lamps, a driftwood mirror and even a flat screen TV. The bathroom is gorgeous also with stone tiles of chocolate and biscuit colours, fluffy robes and towels and all manner of yummy White Company toiletries. There's an intriguing crescent shaped window that if you are bothered by the light you can stop with a suitable crescent shaped cushion - how thoughtful! You even get a little trowel attached to your key; though I don't think I'm expected to earn my keep amongst the rosemary and lavender beds outside my window.

For those little home comforts they have provided a tray of bottled water, fair trade Earl Grey teabags, hot chocolate, espresso coffee, a chic Villeroy & Boch teapot and cups and even little home made biscuits in a jar. I think I'm going to enjoy it here!

The only tiny thing I'd like is for their wifi to be extended to their rooms, and that's only because I've been so Internet deprived this week. My work BlackBerry was sadly pretty well connected but Apple on it's O2 network had small brief flickers of connectivity but most of the time was bereft of outside contact. I was shocked really, it's not as if really we're in the wilds or totally cut off from civilisation but O2 can't drum up a decent phone mast or two. And yes I appreciate that many would dream of being cut off from phones and the www but I've realised how many times you use them to make life a little easier. Ringing to make a restaurant reservation, the handy locator if you get separated whilst exploring the higgledy piggledy shops, the obligatory 'happy birthday' text message and then when I have to think about going home, checking train timetables and tube connections at the other end. Maybe I don't normally holiday in places that are remote enough but the only time I can recall being mobile phone-less was whilst out to sea on the Northern cities of Europe cruise M and I did two years ago. All is well though because at least the Internet lack can be sated by retiring to the comfortable lounge or bar in the manor house and I will be able to sort out travel arrangements there but still no phone, it's eerily quiet!

Fish and chip supper

2009-08-20T20:31:00.001+01:00

After the exertions of the day – browsing art galleries, mooching around boutique-y shops and languishing in a comfy hotel salon is just so exhausting! Well to be fair D and MC have been rambling for hours so two out three have been exerting themselves, and so we reconvene and plan tonight’s meal. Last night turned out to be a bit of a disappointment and we’ve got plans for tomorrow night as it’s our first dinner at the Yurt. So tonight we go old school and go back to Hunstanton for good old fish and chips. There’s nothing quite like the sea-salt in the air and the sound of persistent seagulls crying to enhance the flavour of fish and chips. We did consider walking down to the beach and getting the full fish and chips at the seaside experience but it a little nippy for such machinations so we stayed in the chippy and organised our ever so necessary chip shop accoutrements. D and MC just had to have mushy peas, which I cannot abide and spent many a childhood chippy-visit dodging as the thought of the original D’s mushy peas spilling and tainting my beloved meat and potato pie on the car journey home was terrifying. But whereas in those days some buttered white bread would be awaiting my return here a buttered bap is my vehicle of choice. The lure of a chip buttie is really too much to resist and with the chips lavishly doused with malt vinegar and salt it’s a fine fish and chip supper. Oh I do like to be beside the sea!

The hostly charms of the Hoste Arms

2009-08-20T15:05:00.037+01:00

D and MC are keen to walk off some of the meals we’ve enjoyed this week and me being as usual unsuitably shod for any given occasion I opted to explore Burnham Market instead. I want to have a look round the shops, now they’re open and also visit the art gallery to view the Jeremy Barlow exhibition. I’d picked up his catalogue at the Jolly Sailor as was taken by his obvious love of the local landscape which I’d also been inspired by and also some lovely Parisian, Provencal and Venetian scenes.
The shops are those lovely little ‘tardis’ style boutiques which seem to have room after room crammed with intriguing objects to browse amongst for hours. I was very restrained, I could have easily added even more wonderful little accoutrements for the table but bearing in mind both my limited luggage space and perhaps more importantly the getting full to bursting crockery cabinet at home I resisted.
When the sky bruised alarmingly and the much anticipated rain finally fell it seemed only fitting to seek refuge in the warmth and Moroccan styling of the Hoste Arms. It was conveniently lunchtime, the menu looked very alluring and joy of joys I could also avail myself of their wifi. I realised how deprived I had felt, my ambitious plans to blog as I go around North Norfolk was entirely thwarted when I realised I could rarely get a flicker out of my O2 network and there seemed a dearth of open wifi connections I could piggy back off.
The menu just looked so wonderful, how I wished we’d eaten here last night instead of the disappointing Lifeboat. I don’t know whether the after effects of aiming to think French last night when ordering had lingered but I was immediately drawn to both Gruyere cheese & leek tart, truffled baby spinach and the Truffled chicken liver parfait, fig & grape compote, toasted brioche. Both are available as a main course but how much more indulgent to have one of each as a starter portion. That duly organised I settled down in my big comfy settee, with a stack of reading materials, a finally happy iPhone and a glass of local cider. Rain, what rain?

I wasn’t disappointed with my choice, the parfait was gloriously smooth and tasty, the sticky figgy compote moreish and the sweet brioche just the perfect vehicle for all that creamy unctuousness. The tart hidden under a carpet of verdant spinach was cheesy and yummy and exceedingly good also. I was very happy! I was luckily just at the end of their lunch and I could luxuriate in their Moroccan themed lounge watching the awfully attractive families that frequent this village pour in and order bulging stands of afternoon tea sandwiches and pots and pots of tea, whilst uploading a few blog posts and downloading a few new apps. And I have to give props for the very impressive toilet facilities. It was an enormous room fully armed with all the usual necessities but also hairdryers and lots of lovely delicious smelling lotions and potions.

It seemed wrong to leave so I rounded off my meal with a decadent warm dark chocolate fondant, chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream. It came embellished with a shard of sugar work and was rich and melty and very fine. I’ve really enjoyed my respite (and connectivity) at the Hoste Arms and hope to avail myself on their fine hospitality on another day – maybe even take a room there! Two forks for the food and a couple of tines for the wifi – clearly I need to be plugged in more than I ever realised!

Lifeboat Inn - Out!

2009-08-19T22:44:00.032+01:00

Being such a lover of French food it’s never difficult to think of an excuse to whip out the white fluted-edged plates and bee tumblers and rustle up some French bistro delight or indulge in the finer culinary artistry of a soupçon of haute cuisine. And generally on August 19th I find an excuse to go French. Perhaps others would plump for Bastille Day or hide a little china king in a cake for Epiphany but being singular I go come over all French on this day and get out the pearls to celebrate Coco Chanel’s birthday. And being here with the ever wonderful D and MC I thought they’d like to join me in this fête. I have no idea what Coco thought about food, French or otherwise but she did utter some marvellous statements, my favourite being - “A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.” And on top of all that wisdom I am a huge fan of her camellias, the quilted leather and that indefinable “je ne sais quois”.
In the quest for our own ‘classy and fabulous’ dinner we decided on the restaurant at The Lifeboat Inn in Thornham. D and MC have eaten here on previous occasions and we have a choice of the unbookable bistro part or the restaurant and seeing some of the restaurants tables around these parts get snapped up quick so we go for more ornate restaurant menu. The Lifeboat Inn prides itself on the view out to sea but I can't see the sea from the window next to our table as there are fields full of those round hay bales stretching as far as the eye can see. Perhaps I need to be peering out of one of their bedrooms above to see beyond the golden fields.
Being in that French frame of mind I'd been pondering the chicken liver pâté and melba toast on the chalkboard from the bistro part of the pub, but it seemed cheating when we were sat in the restaurant with the ‘finer’ tale d’hôte menu so plumped for the chicken, ham and chorizo terrine with a spiced tomato chutney. I did mention my concern about the tomato chutney and the said they would leave it off. What they did instead which was much nicer was to drizzle my plate with a fruity Cumberland sauce instead. Which complemented the terrine very well and dare I say would work way better than the chutney would have done. Biased moi?

For my main course I was able to be a little more Gallic and ordered prime fillet of beef with a wholegrain mustard mash and a wild mushroom brandy and peppercorn sauce. In reply to the waitress’ usual question when ordering a steak, I replied rare – seeing I love both steak tartar and carpaccio I clearly don’t have a problem with how little my beef is cooked. But when it arrived after a curiously long wait I was disappointed to see that someone had either overruled my choice or just messed up their timings as it was well into the ‘medium’ spectrum possibly nudging ‘medium to well’. I know one of the best ways to fall foul of a kitchen is to diss their ability to judge steak doneness so I let it pass as I suspected such a mention would have also put me to back of the queue for tickets and we’d already been there a while.
D and MC fared better with their Baked lemon sole with duchess potatoes and a lemon and caper butter and an Oven roasted rack of English lamb with Lyonnaise potatoes and a minted gravy.
An observant reader might spot the theme on theme in the main courses and that was chives, not super finely snipped chives to ass a little mild onion bite to the dish but long stalks of chives. I guess I’m in favour of an insistence on edible garnishes. When chives are presented as thus I’m not entirely sure if I shouldn’t painstakingly slice the chives into more acceptable rings, place between by two thumbs and blow to see if I can make that squealing noise a blade of grass would or just push to the side of the plate.
For dessert I wanted something clean and fresh and no tarte citron was to be had so a trio of fruity sorbets were procured to cleanse my palette.
I wasn’t overwhelmed by The Lifeboat Inn, we had an unbelievably long wait for drinks on sitting down, we spotted other diners going to the bar and coming back to their tables armed with their beverages are wondered if we should also. The request for a jug of water was studiously ignored and as the sun set and the restaurant plunged into gloominess it was even harder to attract the eye of the slightly harassed looking waiting staff. I think it would be too harsh to hint that the Lifeboat needed a life belt or was sinking more that they have some great competition around here who are trouncing them in the food and service stakes. Perhaps they could be accused of resting of their laurels of past years, as they seemed popular but it lacked so much lustre. It was certainly not bad but if my taste buds need rescuing I’d call many of the other tastier options along the coast.

Next-the-Sea or even In-the-Sea

2009-08-19T18:10:00.001+01:00

MC feels the need to catch a few more waves before we go out to dinner but it seems a bit of a palaver heading back to Hunstanton beach so instead as we are staying next-the-sea we go and check out the sea closest to our cottage. The beach is accessed via the local golf course – fore! – and the links turn into dunes which turn into the beach. The soft dunes are very difficult to traverse; apparently it’s good for the calves though!
The beach is easier to walk on as the sand is more compact. We meander over to the sea’s edge and at least I can say I did dabble my toes in it and as I always suspected, it was chilly! But as we marvel at how fast the tide is coming in we turn around to see we are being cut off by the rapidly advancing tide flowing in behind us also. We grab our bags immediately and wade across the fairly fast flowing water. It was barely ankle deep but surprisingly speedy but finds its level quite quickly. A small boy and his father had in anticipation painstakingly built a sand island to stand on top of and try a spot of King Canut impersonating. I’m not sure if they were entirely successful.
We enjoyed the impromptu paddle but I wonder how many unsuspecting visitors who venture here to admire the sunset are suddenly surprised to find their possessions being whisked off further down the beach whilst they’re taking the plunge.

In search of crab

2009-08-19T13:12:00.002+01:00

With our minds firmly on thoughts of crab sandwiches our only consideration is where to partake in such crustacean consumption. We immediately leave Hunstanton as we know they do good fish but Sunny Hunny doesn't conjure up images of spanking fresh crab.
Instead we headed further along the coast and perhaps a little excessively all the way to Brancaster Staithe Harbour. Well we know there’s a hut dispensing the crabs that only a few hours ago have been sidestepping their way all the shoreline. Letzers Crab Hut supplies us with fat baguettes crammed full of crabby goodness which we consume sat dangling our legs over the wall watching the boats in the mud. The tide seems so very far away, we can hardly see it on the horizon. I am learning that this is another unique feature of this coastline, for much of the day the sea is very far away and the incredible flatness means that huge tracts of land disappear when the tide rushing in unimpeded. We vow to check out high tide later before dinner.

Sunny Hunny

2009-08-19T11:38:00.013+01:00

As this is supposed to be the sunniest day of the week we've designated it 'beach day'. D had the foresight to pack beach towels (whereas I would never have believed they’d be necessary!), we grab sunglasses, hats and reading material and head forth for Hunstanton. This is the first time I've been to 'sunny Hunny' and it hasn't rained but that thought doesn't seem to jinx the day and a veritable stream of sun worshippers snake down the short sandy descent to the beach beneath the dunes and cliffs. It is certainly a popular spot, everywhere we look families are eagerly erecting all manner of constructions designed to enhance their beach experience. As I said previously we didn't really do English seaside 'en famille' whilst I was growing up but I do remember white sands on a Greek island, golden sands and possible shark spotting in Perth, Australia and brief bursts of baking on Pensacola sands but what I don't recall is this vast batterie of accoutrements accompanying us on these forays. I'm sure there was a bucket and spade occasionally and I know for sure we had a polystyrene board for 'pretend' surfing in Perth but definitely not all this paraphernalia. I will concede that the most popular item is pretty useful, a windbreak. From every unclaimed patch on the beach you can hear the tap, tap, tap of generally frustrated fathers trying to hammer the windbreaker supports in the stony sand with mallets, hammer and more desperately shoes. Though I am beginning to understand the necessity it would be better if there were quieter, once they’ve been erected you would think they’ll just their job protecting you from the wind whipping down the beach but whereas a canvas breaker would probably just do that sadly the majority are gaudily striped plastic that flap, flap, flap in the persistent breezes which makes it sound like they’re huddled beneath a giant crisp packet. And then next to these windbreaks little tents were mushrooming up everywhere, more tapping and banging in of tent pegs. I certainly don’t remember tents when I was last on a beach but I was assured that this was another device to both shelter and aid sun enjoyment.
Maybe to be fair as our rare seaside excursions were very far from home so such excessive accessorising wasn't entirely possible even if we'd been so inclined. I guess that pesky little wind on this beach does require a little curtailing and I guess the only good thing about this excessive territory bordering is that we are protected marginally from the wind's unbroken path even, I suppose, with all the noise it was worth it.
MC was valiant enough, or crazy enough, to brave the sea. Being much wiser about sea temperature in England even in August I opted to corral the abundant pebbles into more pleasing shapes instead. As rare as this uninterrupted sun-worshipping is we are now feeling the urge to abandon our plot and go foraging.
There's an awful moment whilst we hear a mother has lost her little 5-year old girl on this now very crowded beach. It's a heart-stopping time, the anguish on the mother's face as she yells herself hoarse crying desperately for her daughter drives all thought of food from our minds as we wonder what we can possibly do to help. The best we can do is hold our collective breath and join the many others is scanning the beach, dunes and beyond for the purple swim suited escapee. After what seems like and eternity a cry of joy is issued across the sands and an ecstatic and tearful mother appears clutching her daughter close to her possibly for ever more. We are all hugely relieved the drama is over and we can vanquish the dreadful fear of those stark front page headlines tomorrow and go back to thinking of crab sandwiches. At least all we have to do is shake off the sand from our towels and grab our bags, another reason I am glad we didn’t come fully loaded!

I spy Cley

2009-08-18T21:02:00.007+01:00

Studying one of the handy guidebooks we picked up in Sheringham we decide that a trip to Cley-next-the-Sea might be in order to procure some provisions for a table picnic back in the cottage tonight.
Cley is unusual on two counts, one - it is pronounced ‘cly’ not ‘clay’ as non-local visitors often mispronounce it and two – it is no longer ‘next-the-sea’ as land reclamation has rearranged the landscape somewhat to cut it off from the coast. And there's a third thing, instead of a typical self-catering cottage you can stay in a seven roomed windmill here.
On our journey we spot a wonderful nod to the local vernacular with a couple of unique road signs around Wiverton (home of the ‘bonkers’ café) to encourage motorists to calm down their speed on the winding lanes and probably raise a smile or two in the process also!
There’s some lovely local pottery and jewellery on show but the main point of our excursion is smoked goodies and pie and other stuff.
Cley Smokehouse is packed with freshly smoked delights and soon our shopping bag is bulging with smoked Barbary duck, kiln roasted hot smoked salmon, potted shrimps, venison pâté and a new taste for us – smoked mussels. D isn’t as fond of smoked comestibles as MC and I but agrees that the mussels are very fine. The smoked haddock looks alluring also but we can’t really incorporate it tonight’s meal and it doesn’t keep particularly. But if we were planning a fish pie it would certainly find its way in there.
Next it’s across the road to Picnic Fayre, a fabulous cornucopia of a multitude of the usual deli delights plus their own unique delights. MC samples their spice paste and peruses the shelves whilst D and I complete our haul. First in the bag is a wonderful plump lavender loaf which we are assured will go with all our savoury bits, roasted broad beans, artichokes in oil, the last two of their special venison pies, herby crisps, Mrs Temple’s Binham Blue for the resident mouse and a rather scrummy soft Cheddar which sadly I cannot recall the name of.
There are some enticing deserts, syrupy treacle tarts, gooey chocolate cakes and voluptuous apple pies but we decide that should there be any room left after all this we have the standbys of chocolate truffles and rather a lot of ginger bears.
We return with our wares and lay it on glass plates on the extravagantly decorated table, I didn’t think until afterwards that it would have looked nicer on the bare wood but at least if there had been any mess, it would have been easier to deal with. You can tell we don’t live here because there is not a cheese board nor cheese knife to be found amongst the copious cupboards and drawers. Our collective kitchens back home are awash with a multitude of cheesy accoutrements but this won’t hamper the cheese consumption it is just duly noted.
As we dine in style we ponder the highlights of our ‘foraged in’ Cley banquet. MC and I agree that the smoked duck, sliced ever so finely atop the wonderful lavender bread and the venison pies win – the guide book listed these pies as one of the top ten things to do whilst in North Norfolk and they are seriously good – worth the trip alone! The venison is gloriously moist and meaty with a light pastry and adorned with a pastry ‘V’. The venison pâté from the smokery and the soft, tangy Cheddar from the deli are both very tasty also. The smoked mussels are considered a success but in small quantities. MC, our resident mouse, has no issue lavishing the local Binham Blue on his bread and we all declare it a fine spread washed down with Drove Orchards Cox’s Orange Pippin apple juice. There’s even a little left for lunch tomorrow should we want, though I suspect that fresh-from-the-sea crab sandwiches will somehow win the day.

Eggs, wood, pigeons and flint

2009-08-18T17:16:00.002+01:00

Today we are off to Holt again. On our last trip to Norfolk Holt became the shopping mecca of our trip and MC is concerned D and I will run amok and binge ourselves in their lovely shops like we (apparently) did last time. But he needn’t fear we are perfectly capable of restraint! As it turned out we ended up with one a mere couple of household fripperies between us. D had a bowl made from a wood called purple heart with a silver ball set into the rim from Lapwing Woodturning whilst MC discussed all things shiny wood and woodturning tools. He’s thinking of ‘turning’ his hand to some curvy wood projects and was looking for advice on lathes etcetera. It is amazing what things of beauty are realised from all this little bits of wood and refreshingly we are encouraged to touch to entice us to make purchases. We taste some delicious wines again from Adham’s and I resist (just) the urge to add another picnic hamper to my collection. D acquires a vibrant pink spoon which as lovely as it is I am very allergic to. That last few years it has been astonishing how many items of kitchen paraphernalia has been ‘enhanced’ by the addition of silicon and to a lesser extent latex. I am sure it has wonderful non-slip and non-scratch properties but as it irritates me so much I try and limit contact. I love my silicon whisk but only because the handle is metal, and my oven gloves only have the rubbery stuff on the outside so my hands are safe but rubber washing up gloves, a pan with silicon hiding underneath the handle or an all silicon spoon would be way beyond my tolerance.
We ponder the Thornback & peel pigeon wallpaper in Ginger Rose and are intrigued by the suggestion for its deployment in a boy bedroom, at that moment coincidentally LLcT calls D so we can scare him with such musings. It may actually go with his new charcoal and silver curtains but he needn’t fear. I was hoping they’d have the pigeon and raspberry jelly bag that I still hanker for but they only had the rabbit and lettuce.
But staying on the raspberry theme the only purchase I actually make is an Orrefor Swedish crystal tea-light holder in the shape of a raspberry. And wonderfully tactile and weighted it is. I’m tempted to consider another use so it can retain its tactilability which lighting a tea-light would inevitably dissuade.
We stop for refreshments at Byfords which claims to be a café, deli and posh B&B. Well we don’t need a bed but sustenance is definitely in order and MC and D share an impressive meat platter whereas I am drawn to the Eggs Benedict which are two words on a menu always to fill me with joy. And these are an excellent component of the dark art of Eggs Benedict making with an unctuous herby hollandaise and the yolks just that perfect level of golden ooziness. The cakes enticingly arranged in their windows look good also if we were in the mood for something sweet. They soon get moved however, the wasp-tastic explosion North Norfolk is suffering from is making such an enticements way too risky.
As we wander around Holt I am drawn yet again to the unusual construction of many of the cottages – the white Norfolk flint and bricks.
The rounded flint pebbles appear to be set in a strong mortar and then bordered by bricks. Normally the bricks are red matching the tiled roofs but occasionally they are painted white. It gives the walls a very neat appearance and clearly some of the newer builds are continuing the tradition.
Even the cottage where we are staying in Holme-next-the-Sea has a similar style but after further research it appears that this is slightly different as it’s a form of hard chalk called clunch, hence the less pronounced texture on many of this village’s walls compared to those in Holt above.

Wish you were here?

2009-08-17T21:58:00.004+01:00

Feeling all nautical after our pizzas we swing by Wells-next-the-Sea so we could have a little stroll along the sand. It looks like a busy day of sun worshipping has occurred here but the beachcombers have all but left in search of restorative fish and chips and probably a couple of glasses of the very good local dry cider. All that remains are a few dog walkers and hardier souls.
Somehow it looks all very far away; maybe the quintessential beach huts in their pastel coats belie the fact that we are on more exotic shores.
But there’s no denying this is a picture postcard place especially when the sun graces us with such bounty.
The tinges of red sky again as the sun set bodes well for tomorrow, I am having to put my scepticism on hold; apparently we do know how to do summer here.
As a matter of random local knowledge - the ever erudite Stephen Fry stars in a TV drama called Kingdom set in the fictional Norfolk town of Market Shipborough. Market Shipborough is actually a melange of several locations around this parts, the harbour piece being supplied by Wells-next-the Sea.

Hot stuff!

2009-08-17T21:53:00.015+01:00

The day starts with another little meander Yurt-wards. MC has declared that he couldn’t possibly have a full English breakfast ‘every’ day but after D and I order the haddock with tomatoes and the entirely tomato-free sausage sandwich respectively he relents. He figures that we might have other plans for tomorrow so he better get another full English in!
I wash my sausage sandwich down with the tastiest apple juice I’ve ever had – no acidity, metallic taste or gassiness of some others just – you won’t believe this – lots of apples! And Cox’s Orange Pippin to be exact; a damn fine juice and incredibly moreish!
Due to two (what turns out to be entirely mistaken) beliefs that a) there is a dearth of Lloyd’s banks around this here parts and a sudden urgent need for one and b) the weather will be a bit iffy we sally forth for Norwich. We locate the bank, no thanks to my google maps which bizarrely believes I’m currently strolling around Bury St Edmunds and persists in trying to direct me there and as it’s about 40 miles away and it thinks I’ll make the journey on foot it recommend a handy 13 hour itinerary. Maybe the satellites were busy that morning!
Whilst in Norwich it seems appropriate to seek out one of their famous exports (Delia Smith being the other) and go in search of the mustard shop. Colman’s have been producing their hot golden elixir since 1814 and the factory is just outside Norwich. The mustard shop is, as one would expect, dedicated to all things mustard, there are powders and ready made mustard, some with even more added kick, mustard pots and spoons and a whole host of mustard-abilia in cabinets. It didn’t seem to be like the mustard shop in Dijon where you could take along your favourite mustard receptacle and pump (in the style of a beer tap) your mustard of choice directly into it, but it certainly the condiment available in every form possible. Coincidentally I surprised ‘new’ S with a little hamper full of mustards and a little chilli for his birthday which he would have spotted on his chair today on his return from New York (jealous, moi?) and couldn’t resist the urge to add another one squeezy bottle of Colman’s English to the collection. Well he always said he liked mustard!
After a little explore around Norwich’s lanes we stop for a cup of tea and a bit of refreshment, I go for the rather random garlic mushroom and Parmesan quiche, MC a pork pie, D a ham sandwich not realising that these were served up which a large and some would say extremely eclectic salad. A single sliver of radish okay, a single shaving of kiwi fruit – a little odder! The quiche was tasty though, quite unusual by not having the mushrooms distributed throughout the custardy mixture but just buried in the middle like some dark fungal treasure. MC was defeated by his pork pie, though at least he had plenty of mustard to accompany it with.
On the journey back the sky is still gloriously blue and I find I am curiously drawn to the fields and especially the round hay bales. Bearing in mind I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever considered a hay bale of any shape previously I believe I haven’t come across one of these before. They are rather striking and I do spend quite a lot of the journey trying to capture a field of a few in all their majesty. Not really being in a position where I can easily get right in there with the bales I am struggling to find a suitable vantage point in all this flatness but it’s fun, and dare I say, slightly perilous trying. Those cars can whiz along the pavement-less winding lanes. I guess being such a city girl the countryside is holding a certain new allure. The more mundane cuboid bales seem very pedestrian now I only want round ones!
I was also rather taken with a windmill which is also rather glorious!
At we get back to our little stretch of the North Norfolk coast we’ve read about the pizzas at the Jolly Sailors in Bradcaster and think it will be worth a try. They have one of those wood burning ovens and everything smells very promising. Unusually I find something on a pizza menu that I can order unadulterated and so without really thinking I ask for a Letzer’s Fish Calzone – garlic base, smoked salmon, smoked haddock, prawns, peas and mozzarella. It turns out to be a bit like a fish pie encapsulated in a pasty and as promising as it started off it just became all a little stodgy. The pizza base seems pleasingly thin but the whole calzone thing was mistake, just too much dough I think. If I could have started from the beginning and just forget the whole pizza pasty malarkey I think I would had continued with the garlic base, then perhaps a simple ham and cheese. D and MC loved their pizzas mine was sadly a bit cloying and defeated me quite early on. But I will conclude that it was my poor ordering and not the fault of the calzone per se – I just now realise that I don’t like calzones. Well at least I know for next time!

Clockwork orange!

2009-08-16T22:22:00.007+01:00

As we return from our steam-filled day we pull up outside the Orange Tree at Thornham as we are drawn by a banner claiming their national award for their pub food and send MC in to bag us a spot for tonight. Duly secured we return to the cottage to chill and then spruce ourselves up. We pondered taking the little Coasthopper so no-one has to stick to soft drinks but the last bus leaves a whole five minutes after we are due to sit down for dinner so cancel that idea!
Unusually they don't bring round the bread basket, not a problem but it has been many hours since our full English and the mint choc cornet in Sheringham is also distant memory. But fear not it is not long until I'm looking down at one of their specials - a bowl of steamed Brancaster cockles, Chadonnay and black pepper cream, gremolata and spiced salami. I had something similar on my last trip to these parts at Titchwell Manor, not surprisingly I feel that urge to hit the seafood when I'm this close to all that salty water and sea air. I like the addition of salami which adds a little piquancy and colours the cream. The cockles hit the spot but are a bit of a faff to deal with but hey, when at the seaside…
D in a similar frame of mind goes for the Crab Tempura which is lengthily described as soft shell crab, slow cooked belly pork, chicken satay, pinapple and chilli salsa.
MC being not so inclined plumps for the Pressed Norfolk Rabbit & Ham Hock Terrine with toasted pumpernickel bread, warm carrot pannacotta, caramel prosciutto crisp. We all feel that our week of Norfolk culinary excellence has well and truly kicked off. Bring on the mains!
I go for the Pan Fried Organic Sea Trout – Fresh Norfolk pea & our smoked salmon risotto, pea velouté, marsh samphire - continuing the fishy theme and making sure I get my first taste of the luscious samphire in.

Despite what you may have heard, samphire is worth the effort, but I’d abandon the knife and fork. Tuck your napkin in if you have a sauce and extract the scrummy green goodness by scraping the fronds on your teeth and discarding the tough core. This was worth the effort! The whole dish was very nice; I am not adverse to risotto as a one of the elements to a main dish not just the main feature.

MC stays with one of his favourite themes - Roast Rack of Sandringham Estate Lamb Petite ratatouille, roasted Piedmont pepper, lemon couscous, tomato & rosemary consommé. He assures me it was lovely but to me it is so wrong on just so many levels – tomato, peppers, did I mention tomato and couscous.
D’s still riding the seafood wave and goes for the Pan Roasted Norfolk Skate Wing - chorizo and spinach croquettes, lobster bisque, pickled wild fennel but panics slightly when realises that she has had some wine and has also been enjoying that lobster bisque. D is one of those people who suffer badly when consuming seafood and wine in the same meal, the bisque is avoided just in case.
To round off our meal I have a White and Dark Chocolate Terrine – mille feuille of Norfolk raspberries and coconut macaroons. D has the coconut macaroons for later.
I am pleased to see that the mouse is back and MC is curiously drawn to the cheese board. Cheese is apparently big in these parts and he gets frozen grapes, Binham blue, Wells Alpine, smoked poacher, crackers and gooseberry chutney.

We are all really delighted with our Orange Tree meal, a clean white welcoming place with intriguing Thai-style art and dark leather chairs. The food is undoubtedly locally sourced, flavoursome, presented well and their chef Phil Milner deserves his award and now he has another – three forks!

Oh I do like to be beside the sea

2009-08-16T16:21:00.002+01:00

We found ourselves sat in the old first class carriage of the steam train that enthusiasts man back and forth between Holt and Sheringham. We'd been trying to find a way to spend our first full day in Norfolk and a bit of steam powered perambulation seemed a fine choice.
I've been trying to cast my mind back to see if I've ever been actually aboard a proper full sized steam train. I've travelled on various fabulous trains in the UK, Europe and the US but we've always had more modern engines to pull (and often push also) our elegant extravagantly decorated rail-running temporary homes. The nearest memory I can conjure up is the coal fire at my grandmother's (always known as little gran) house, the evocative slightly sooty air that also powered her oven. This fire was a constant fascination to me with its dancing mostly orange but occasionally blue flames and and if I was very lucky a warming meat and potato pie lurking inside the oven. We can smell the smoke and occasionally a fleck of smut drifts in the window and threatened to smudge our clothes so despite the authenticity we moved a little away from the window. We only have a short journey on the North Norfolk railway and the stations are a delight crammed with vintage luggage, old enamel signs and a cornucopia of railway memorabilia being poured over by men in railway caps and jackets bearing all sort of gold insignia. From the train we see our first glimpse of the sea beyond the corn fields. When we arrive at Sheringham - the end of the line - there's the whole process of moving the engine from the front of the train as was to the new front of the train and taking on water. This is all accompanied by enormous plumes of steam, ear-piercing tooting on the whistle and much picture taking by passengers, onlookers and steam fans.
Sheringham is rather packed, surprisingly the ding ding dings emanating from the amusement arcades means that some people are not on the beach nor partaking of the finest of crab sandwiches rustled up by Joyful West's. Rather thoughtlessly captured by the shining sun its alluring rays we have furnished ourselves with ice cream cones as we walk to the sea front and sadly have no space to chase this with crab sandwiches and i know they are very good as we had them on a grey August bank holiday on my first ever foray to these parts. The crabs (or swinners I've learnt they're referred to around here) will have to wait for another day!
We soak up some images of the beach and the crashing greeny blue waves to revisit on a gloomy wintry day back home. M always had an infinity with the sea, she said it was because she was a Pisces, I'm not sure if she saw this part of the North Sea coast but I'm sure she would have enjoyed this journey. I couldn't help thinking about M whilst we were on the train also. Our last holiday was on the Grand Luxe railway (sadly no more) exploring the US west coast treasures and all my most memorable treasured train journeys are ones we took together. Especially as we crossed paths of the dining cars on a special Sunday lunch train my mind shot straight back to happy times fine dining on the Orient Express, British Pullman and the Northern Belle.
In preparation for the days ahead we arm ourselves with sheaves of tourist information guides on the local eateries, galleries, shops, museums and touristy delights. MC is rather taken by an exhibition of tanks and D and I make a mental note of interesting shops, delis and restaurants we'd like to try. After a meander around Sheringham we board the last steam train for the days and marvel at how some children are allowed to run wild whooping and running up and down the carriage whilst their indulgant parents look on and no doubt hope their little cherubs will tire themselves out before bedtime. We've had a fun day both on and off the rails and now we just have to consult our guides books for ideas for dining tonight. Ah the tough life of a holidaymaker!

Holiday. Celebrate!

2009-08-16T15:48:00.004+01:00

I may have to take it all back, our unpredictable British weather has done good and the sun is out and the sky is blue. I would illustrate this with a snap of suitably sun drenched North Norfolk fields but am struggling with posting pictures to my blog remotely so the on-the-spot pictorial reportage will have to wait until I'm back on home turf. (update - Yey... back to civilisation) But there is no doubt that the golden rays have imbued the day with the holiday spirit and even made us think that perhaps we should have packed that sunscreen after all.
The day started with breakfast that soon became brunch in the popular new canvas topped trellised and ribbed eatery at Drove Orchards. Though perhaps a little too popular as it turned out because the sudden influx of breakfast demanding holidaymakers descending upon their jolly restaurant meant they quickly reached their sausage and bacon sizzling capacity and we had a long stomach gnawing wait for our full English.
They were awfully nice about it however and as MC availed himself of their excellent coffee D and I tried to distract ourselves with the Sunday papers, wondering where in the queue we were and hoping it would be worth the wait.
And thankfully it truly was, the sausages alone were enough to dispel all the inconvenience of delay. The rest of the breakfast was pretty fine also. The deliciously smoked bacon wasn't really to D's taste but MC and I fully appreciated it. The mushrooms were far from those flabby pallid fungi some lesser establishments serve up and were dark and delicious and I hear the tomatoes were pretty good also - if you like that sort of thing! Eager to discover their provenance we were informed that they were Arthur Howell's olde English and are sourced locally from Wells and Burnham Market. We all agreed that they are possibly the tastiest sausages we've ever had and the lure of these will definitely bring us back to the friendly tables of the Yurt nestling amongst the pick-your-own raspberries even if we have to wait a little while for the food. To compound the Yurt's deserved popularity we only just managed to secure a table reservation for dinner on Friday as the rest of the week is spoken for. It has made us think we should consider our options and secure all week's dining experiences.
After being well sated in the way only a full English can we headed off for Burnham Market. Not in search of the aforementioned stunning sausages I hasten to add but as I haven't yet been to the oft-called Chelsea-on-sea and as D and MC had regalled me about the pleasant Saturday afternoon they'd spent whilst I'd been first wrestling with a leak that had sprung in my bathroom and then with London Transport's cunning ploy to thwart the wary weekend traveller by closing lines and other skullduggery. But if course it's Sunday now and many of the intriguing browse-worthy shops have drawn their blinds for the traditional day of rest so we head forth for other adventures.

The mobile fork

2009-08-15T18:18:00.004+01:00

Multiple-brothered J thinks my blog needs a greater sense of urgency which is a fair point especially considering the dreadful delinquency in my postings recently. I'm finding life rather tricky to handle at the moment and random musings seem to be one of the first casualties of that state of mind. But on the second leg of my journey that will take me back to Holme-next-the-Sea where I'll commence my 'staycation' I thought I'd see if my lovely new Apple iPhone could be deployed in such an exercise. Apart from the previous weekend foray to Norfolk all my trips this year have been borne of need and duty, desperate dashes to hospital bedsides and all the related to-ing and froings that ensued. This is a train journey albeit more tortured than I hoped due to the incessant need to reorganise part of the railway network every weekend. I got to visit a part of south London which I wouldn't normally find myself, and remained relatively unscathed apart from being somewhat annoyed by being forced to undertake such a preposterous detour. My lofty plans of fine dining were curtailed by the delay and being utterly unable to find acceptable tomato and mayonnaise free sandwiches in the paltry time remaining before boarding my train. But the rest of the week lays ahead strewn with culinary delights so a night off is probably a good thing. Though I have to admit a pang of jealousy knowing D and MC are planning vinegar-soaked parcels of fragrant fish and chips.
Pondering my ruminations on staycationing yesterday I forgot to add that I am fortunate enough to live in a place where at least our ancestors (though not particularly ancient I hasten to add) would take their holidays. It was a popular pleasure spot where some would 'take the waters' whilst others would visit the cloth merchants, tailors and seamstresses in order to procure next season's wardrobe. The wells of spa waters have since dried up, the cloth merchant's buildings now house a department store and my least favourite supermarket but on a balmy Saturday night the crowds will still happily swarm to the rivers edge. I suspect the water they take now has been brewed by Germans or perhaps fermented in barrels by Chileans but the expectant buzz of an evening of felicitous escapades remains.
Due to D and MC's handy situation I am now a regular-ish visitor to Cambridge and even after eight years of these trips still feel like I'm on holiday on every visit.

Staycations - the new black!

2009-08-14T18:12:00.003+01:00

It has become terribly fashionable to eschew the lure of bustling airports, cumulating air miles and foreign shores in favour of our more local coastlines and Sainsbury’s sent me this delightful edible map of the British Isles as an incentive to discuss this phenomena. I might be quite unique in my lack of experience of domestic holidaying – my father’s airline job meant that as a child we got to sample the exotica of Greek islands, Perth – Australia, France and many miles and states of the US. Whilst my peers were discussing caravanning and camping in the Isle of Wight, Guernsey and Wales I had never experienced these types of holidays so couldn’t share their reminiscences of rock pools and buckets and spades. Though this isn’t entirely the case as I was taken for day trips to Southport, Buxton and Blackpool by my grandparents but my donkey riding exploits are very few and far between.
Coincidentally I have taken the trendy step of delaying my much anticipated photography holiday in the Dordogne for a week in ‘sunny’ Norfolk. And therein lies the rub, those of us familiar with a British summertime know how unreliable the ‘summer’ weather can be and have been seeking more dependable climes for our hard-won summer holiday fortnight for years but now the general consensus is that in these straightened times we should pack our waterproofs, our umbrellas and be more faithful to the rich diversity of rain-soaked destinations on our doorstep. And yes, I could just be being dramatically gloomy; we do have fabulously sunny days in Britain- sometimes. I’ve seen them on the front pages of our red-topped newspapers accompanied by pictures of happy people cooling off in municipal fountains, or packed like ants on the beaches complaining of a lack of deckchairs and nursing blistered foreheads. The latter is due to the unfortunate pastime many have, myself included, resorted to due to the vagaries of our weather – the act of sun binging. If like our continental cousins we could expect day after day of unbroken blue skies we could ration our sun worshipping to acceptable levels and sensibly build up a healthy glow. But when the sun graces us with its presence the temptation to soak up every last ray not knowing when it will be back round again is curiously compelling. Like many others, I have over indulged by the simple act of taking a book to the park and absorbing too many hours of precious sunbeams and then regretting it the next day when my sun gorging has carved its revenge on my pale skin. Generally now I am more sensible, we know what dangers lurk in such practices so I favour my sunglasses and large brimmed hats rather than bronzed limbs.
I guess if we had reliable seasons we’d never discuss the weather and everyone knows the British are always curiously obsessed with weather. We rejoice when an unseasonal day raises our temperatures above those of a typically hotter spot or we contact our relatives back home and hear of wind and rain whilst we are toasting ourselves faraway.
So really the only way we can possibly embrace a more domestic holiday is get beyond the weather and appreciate all the other delights Britain has to offer. And we truly do, the rugged coastline of Cornwall has understandably sent our painters and authors in to raptures for many a year. The lush green mountains and endless pools of the Lake District have enamoured many others. The islands and highlands of Scotland have awestruck many and our native flora and fauna have much to inspire. We can stay in quaint sandy stone cottages or rambling manor houses and marvel at the towering majesty of the country’s castles and ancient monuments. Those of us that live in the cities can abandon commuting, the train strikes and the pollution in search of peace in the countryside where you are woken up by over-enthusiastic cocks crowing and not car alarms. Those who have cows and sheep as nearest neighbours can leave off jam making for a few days and soak up the bright lights and shiny baubles of the cities.
And wherever we go in Britain we can celebrate the food. It seems that we are now so keen to assimilate the food we experience on our foreign travels into our own culture we have almost forgotten what truly rich pickings we have closer to home. There is no asparagus to beat our own when it’s in its too short season, our strawberries are just the most tastiest and perfect and with the upsurge in allotments and the urging to ‘dig’ ourselves out of our current predicament we are able to appreciate how our native vegetables should taste when it not all about uniformity, year round yields and air freight. Our shorelines are still swimming with the plumpest of seafood, our beef (despite scares) is the finest and there is a cornucopia of regional delicacies waiting to be unearthed and honoured. And just think without this need to hurtle myself halfway across the world I won't have to endure a moment in an airport, be asked if I packed my bag or ponder what on earth is my airline meal supposed to be emulating.
As I plan for my ‘staycation’ as well as ensuring that I’m covered for all that Mother Nature might fling at me I am rather excited about the luscious freshly picked crab and other seafood that lay ahead, the samphire and other sea salads so championed by Mark Hix (himself proud proprietor of a seafood restaurant in another staycationning hotspot – Lyme Regis) and other culinary delights that await. I have been combing local guides for new restaurants to discover as well as few old favourite we are planning to relive. I might not come back with a tan but I will be well-fed, I better pack my fork! Happy staycationing one and all!

First bite of the Apple

2009-07-19T20:30:00.005+01:00

Well I wasn’t going to, but I was at my wits end with my elderly mobile phone having constantly drained its battery whenever I whipped it out of my handbag to make an important call. I sidled into my local mobile phone shop and whilst the telephonic vendors were otherwise engaged I had a little look at the gleaming new Apple iPhone 3GS. Hmmm it was very intriguing, it could do all manner of things I’d never realised were missing from my life but now I knew I could do such things I felt a sudden need to fill this gap. I’d been deterred from an iPhone previously because of my apparent too long nails for such touch screen manipulation but really it just takes a little getting used to. And it wasn’t long before I’d swapped networks (yes annoying there is only one that an iPhone can communicate over) and found myself a proud possessor of a shiny black iPhone. Then I immediately had to hurtle home to load all my music and see what apps I should adorn my new gadget with. And of course this being a food and travel blog that was one of my themes for app selection. Firstly I could actually access my blog on it, something my BlackBerry hadn’t been able to cope with – too many photographs or something! And within a matter of moments I had furnished myself with a plethora of colourful travel guides, a useful translation app for those tricky menu items, a restaurant locating program, the UK Michelin guide, the huge Epicurious recipe database and even a mobile Ocado app so I could order groceries from wherever I am. I used the Google maps to locate a restaurant we’d forgotten to write the address down of within hours of owning it and the inbuilt camera was also immediately deployed to snap a few of the delicious delights we ate. There’s a great collection of photographic apps so I can recolour photos or rather bizarrely make any picture I take look like a seventies cookbook image. I’ve also got a couple of painting programs so I can while away train journeys both listening to music or an audio book and creating things like the illustrative apple bite picture above, though I don’t feel Van Gogh needs to worry himself too much! I can’t really rationalise my need to have Excel close to me all the time but I blame my inner geek there and now even that desire has been sated. I noticed there was an app to help with grilling meat but feeling I know how to do that task I have managed to resist so far. I’ve also been able to hold myself back from Cooking Mama but I did plump for and am now a big fan of Cooking Quest – a hidden objects game ever so slightly based on the theme of cooking, but still fun nonetheless.
I also have ELLE à table, my French is far from fluent but I have always been fond of the pictures and trying to read the magazine and now that A-A will not be nipping over to Paris regularly it will be harder to get my French recipes magazine fix. And to try and make inroads with my clearly inadequate French I have also uploaded all Michel Thomas’ French lessons CDs. I shouldn’t be too surprised that I have found my little Apple so strangely alluring, I always was a fan of a gadget and this has got to be one of the ultimate ones. This has been my very first foray into the Apple world, I’d been one of those mavericks with another MP3 player not the one that all the boutique hotels in New York provide adapters and chargers for. No I had to be different! And that’s not just because I didn’t fancy white earphones.
As much as I had admired an Apple Mac from a distance I was determined to stick with what I know and what my clients pretty much exclusively have when choosing a new laptop but I can really see the allure.
But for now I am happy to report that I think that I am pretty covered for fruit based communications devices - I have a BlackBerry for work and an Apple for pleasure. Let me know when they bring out an Apricot or even better my favourite RaspBerry but I’ll pass on the Banana as I really don’t like the smell!

Easy like a Sunday lunchtime

2009-06-07T13:52:00.004+01:00

As we are staying ‘next the sea’ this weekend when we surface on Sunday morning we sally forth for a final burst of the bright lights and seaside air of Hunstanton. But of course this is English summer so it quickly transforms from persistent drizzle to torrential downpour so a paddle in the sea is pretty much out of the question, not that I think we ever really considered it. So we have to resort to the other seaside activity when the deckchairs are packed away and the donkeys trot to shelter and that’s the amusement arcades. We run into the tawdry lighted hut nearest the car park, shaking off our wet tresses we change some notes into buckets of tuppences and hit the machines. When frequenting these gaudy establishments as a little girl when my grandmother would take me on a day trip to Southport or Blackpool, or even Buxton (you’ve got to love that miniature train) I used to be drawn to the one armed bandits but the fruit machines have been replaced by way more complicated ones now. So D and I eschewed those incredibly noisy things and stuck to the old fashioned 2p slot machines, the ones where the 2 pence pieces drop and hopefully knock some of their coppery friends into the waiting retrieval slot below. Though frankly the coins are considerably more likely to slip down the side and into the bowels of the machine, an action which sadly makes all the right noises but doesn’t give up the goods. But despite the terribly unlikely odds D and I are determined to stick to these machines and inexplicably put untold effort into procuring a little plastic skeleton. One slipped out of D’s grasps and committed suicide down the side of the machine but after further 2 pences were rained into the slot she succeeded in winning one, why this pleased us so excessively is hard to explain perhaps it’s a memory of all the times these machines robbed us of our pennies as children, especially those giant hooks that would tantalisingly hover over a vaguely desirable toy but evade all attempts to grab said item and deliver into our eager hands. Ha, revenge is sweet!
With our vast winnings of a plastic skeleton, 2 lollipops and still with 50 pence in the kitty we felt we could now tackle lunch so much to MC’s relief we head over to Titchwell Manor. As soon as N heard I was off to this neck of the woods for a weekend she said I should check out Titchwell Manor and we were immediately inspired to add it to our culinary destinations list. It’s still raining when we arrive but we have to explore and are very taken by their cottagey looking rooms aptly named Rosemary, Basil, Tarragon etcetera encircling a neat herb garden. D is particularly taken by the Potting Shed a little wooden house with a deck to sit out and catch a few rays over breakfast – sadly not today though.
Soon we are sat cosily in the conservatory watching the torrential seaside rain lash the glass roof and the lush secret garden beyond, grateful for the Sunday roast smells wafting enticingly from the kitchen and the fact we had abandoned thoughts of coastal pursuits in favour of a good feed up. The worse an English summer can fling at you can certainly be tempered by a good hunk of beef. And it looked like the finest of beasts were on offer particularly in the form of one of the set lunches of Roast rib of 28 day matured beef, Yorkshire pudding, duck fat potatoes, red wine gravy - there was also Roast loin of Berkshire pork on offer but I didn't spot as many eager takers. It seemed all around us were appreciative noises coming from contented diners forking beef and Yorkshires.
I was very intrigued by undeniably the largest Yorkshire pudding I've ever seen and spotting a handy baby at a neighbouring table I can vouch for the interesting fact that these giants of the Yorkshire pudding world are as big as a baby's head. But to be honest I'm not as wildly excited by these batter behemoths, I wouldn't say "no" if one turned up on my plate but I don't hanker for them particularly so I opted to explore the menu further and was considerably enamoured by the thought of Organic Red Poll Sirloin (Royal Sandringham Estate don’t you know) with horseradish risotto, pea and oxtail. I know John and Gregg from Master Chef would be yelling "don't you know that risotto is a dish in it's own right, it's not an accompaniment to the main feature" but occasionally I've thought that as delicious as a particular risotto is I'd quite like to move on to another flavour.
But before our beefy loveliness we had the small matter of the starters. D and MC had both opted for the Sunday lunch menu so they had Hobson's choice of local asparagus, duck egg dressing, parsley - not I hasten to add a bad thing but having a wider menu to select from I was determined to eke out the seaside theme and plump for the Brancaster cockles with white wine, shallots, cream and soft herbs. It took me many years to appreciate the joy of the fruits of the sea and I remember the first time I decided to try mussels whilst holidaying in Dijon and became an instant convert. Oysters I conquered on my first visit to Normandy. I think my natural aversion to mussels especially had been a frequent juxtaposition of the black glistening bivalves with the dreaded tomato. Michel the chef in Dijon made a special ‘sans tomates’ version for me and I saw the light. The only throwback to those seafood dodging times is a big preference for my seafood not being fridge cold. The oysters I preferred were the ones we'd topped with slivers of chorizo and grilled rather than just shucked and swallowed and I normally leave the prawns to everyone else unless they are warm. A fat prawn wrapped in a little Parma ham, skewered and then grilled is a very interesting proposition whereas a cold and slightly flaccid one lying there suspiciously close to a tomato laced Marie Rose sauce fills me with total dread.
But the clams were tasty - fiddly I have to admit, more work than mussels but with undeniably pretty shells, albeit a lot of them.
After our starters were polished off it was the turn of the beef, bring on the beasts! D and MC’s plates were a towering glory of beef crowned with the gargantuan Yorkshire puddings which they consumed with gusto.
Mine was the more elegant organic sirloin with horseradish risotto and added peas and oxtail. It is stylish, hearty and utterly delicious. There is a yummy breaded nugget of oxtail nestling in some gorgeous risotto with three slices of pink, juicy beef – this is Sunday lunch heaven!
To accompany all our beef we have a wonderfully verdant bowl of spring greens and another of broccoli gratin which seems incredibly apt when surrounded by all glistening greenery through the glass.
With the benefit of hindsight I should have chosen the hot Valrhona chocolate fondant but wanting to go against type I chose the elderflower and lemon tart with Italian meringue and raspberries. It certainly looked pretty and summery, topped with little elderflowers and tasted okay but just not outstanding. The lemon just wasn’t tart enough, it was just a tad bland but then the main course had been a lot to live up to.
D has selected the dessert with her name all over it, the apricot consommé with almond sorbet, marzipan and basil. Not my idea of a good time but then it wasn’t my name all over it! She was extremely happy claiming it to be one of the best desserts she’d ever had. Hmm I think I may have to return to this place and go for the chocolate fondant as it clearly had my name all over it but I chose to ignore the signs.
MC went for the rhubarb and liquorice sorbet with meringue and compressed fruits; he seemed to enjoy his unusual combination.
The conservatory at Titchwell Manor is an oasis of culinary calm from the delights of the June weather outside. We all decide that we’ve eaten enough to sink a small battleship but bizarrely we still want to check out the opening of the Yurt restaurant at Drove Orchards. Though the proviso is that we don’t eat anything no matter how many delicious plates of intriguing nibbles they wave in front of us. However truth be told I did succumb to a small wedge of a Scotch egg. A proper home-made Scotch egg is a wonderful thing and if this is indicative with the Yurt has to offer on future occasions I think another visit is definitely in order. Though not today as that sliver of breaded egg nearly pushed me over the edge.
Titchwell Manor was a fabulous recommendation by N and I am definitely drawn to the place perhaps even for a visit sometime. Perhaps I can surrender to that fabulous Valrhona chocolate fondant and then give them that third fork. Not that it was lacking as truly the memory of that succulent beef will linger for a long time, I know that D would definitely not concur but I didn’t end on a high. Hmmm, I wonder if they’re free next Sunday.