I didn't even know you could get frozen mashed potatoes!

Delia's new show started on BBC2 tonight and whilst she's been off our screens (apart from the regular as clockwork repeats) she's undergone a transformation. Not only is she now famous for the "let's be having you" speech when her beloved Norwich weren't getting the necessary support from the canary clad fans - and we were treated to that again on tonight's programme - but in the words of my food hero Nigel Slater we now have "permission from the head mistress" to cheat. It's not all about stripping the shelves bare of cranberries and recommending certain frying pans but frozen mash potatoes! And I didn't know such a thing existed. She's tossed the scrubber, the peeler, the ricer and instead it's a few anemic discs of Aunt Bessie's from the freezer topping the shepherds' pie, the fish pie and in the watercress soup. And if she is to be believed also hidden in a chocolate cake she foisted upon Nigel. He said it was very moist!
I guess I was only surprised at Delia's new incarnation as I recall her little paperback from 1971 (and no before you ask, I got my copy second hand - I hadn't yet developed my obsession with cookbooks then. In fact I wasn't reading much more than a Ladybird book or the odd Cat in the Hat if I was reading at all) My understanding was that when she became the doyenne of school ma'mish cooking on television she disassociated herself from this little tome and extinguished it from her bibliographies. Though this was before the heady days of Aunt Bessie's and she had to recommend using instant mash instead. And her original cheat's watercress soup she recommend starting with a can of Cottage Potato soup, no I am not entirely sure what a cottage potato is either, and whizzing up with some fresh watercress and a little double cream. Though this is a vast improvement on the leek and potato soup as she starts with a packet of Leek soup and another can of Cottage Potato, sprinkling them with freeze dried chives. It's not true for all the recipes but the theme seems to be buy some food, juzz it up slightly and then serve to your unsuspecting guests moping your fevered brow due to all your imagined exertions.
But apparently now it's cool to admit that your life is way too full and exciting to slave over a hot stove and you can admit to your labour saving ploys. Delia's new much glossier book is just empowering us to cheat and be proud. So that's telling me then, though maybe if truly I embrace the frozen mash potato I would have more time to blog! And that would be good indeed!

A very good menu

I’d never actually eaten at the fifth floor Harvey Nix restaurant, the café many, many a time after a day traipsing around the shops in Knightsbridge, but the restaurant had always remained a mystery behind its wall. I read a fellow food blogger extolling the virtue after their recent visit and this had made me determined to add it to my ‘must visit soon’ list. And the final clincher was that whilst perusing the shelves in the food hall a couple of weeks ago, I scanned the tasting menu and salivating at what I saw made a mental note to eat here at the first opportunity.

And T and I are indeed finally here in the newly decorated restaurant, sat at a little table under a blue lit ceiling and surrounded by walls adorned with light tubes. And surprisingly with all those lighting treatments it’s quite dark (sorry in restaurant parlance I guess I should say – ambient). Actually I was marginally concerned about the lighting strips and was worried that a sudden nudge back in my chair might puncture one of the tubes and then maybe we’d have our own firework display. Other than making an alarming scraping noise at one stage, no damage seemed to have been inflicted however. Though to be on the safe side, on my next visit I’d be tempted to sit further aware from those potentially delicate walls.

There were some interesting goodies on the menu but I seemed to be in a meaty mood so started off with the classic Carpaccio of Angus beef piled high with rocket, showered with Parmesan flakes and drizzled with creamy dressing and aged Balsamic vinegar. All very tasty so far!

Next I went for today’s special, the venison. I had spotted the Chateaubriand with truffle pomme purée and Bourguignon garnish but this dish was for two and that’s rather a lot red meat for the usually beef-dodging T so I asked if we could have a side order of the truffle pomme purée instead.

They agreed (as long as I understood it would be a couple of pounds more the their ordinary non-truffle packed pomme purée – as if that would put me off!). The venison was moist and succulent and the pomme purée was truffly good – another one for the mash hall of fame!

For our dessert we cleverly went for the one with the extra illumination, the Chocolate fondue for two. We were delivered a rich unctuous Valrhona chocolate sauce which was delicious and undeniably messy as I discover surprise chocolaty dribbles about my person on the journey home. I am sure T didn’t get any on her elegant cream self though!

Our fondue came with a variety of delicious dunkers, mini marshmallows, toasty cubes, chocolate brownie morsels and fresh fruit pieces. Going for the total chocolate overload, my favourite is the gorgeous chocolate brownies dripping with the yummy sauce; I suspect this is where the mysterious dribbles came from! We weren’t able to finish all that deliciousness but made a fine attempt. We finished off with another round of raspberry cocktails (I just love my Chambord!) in the newly refurbished sleek bar. I haven’t visited their bar for such a long time and was delighted to discover that the old tradition of being pounced on by a swarthy gentleman (?) offering to buy you a drink or seven and afterwards a tour of his palace as soon as you perched yourself on a barstool seem to have died down. That’s a relief! We happily got our own drinks and savoured our wonderful long-awaited meal. And awarded the fifth floor restaurant three ambiently lit forks - just like their Manchester cousin.

An old favourite...

Despite what some may think, I don't indulge in a plate of sausages & mash daily, though regrettably I may add.

I generally veer between Waitrose’s wild boar and prune sausages or a plump Cumberland but today I opted for an intensely porky banger. And it's rather good. I guess if it’s not broken, I don’t need to fix it!

Mash heaven!

I think my love affair began whilst I was turning the pages in awe of an amazing new cookbook whilst sprawled on my flowery bed in my chintzy room listening to bells. Lots of bells! Well, I was staying in a fabulously eclectic room in a Paris hotel called Hotel Esmeralda, and yes, I was indeed very much in hearing distance of the Notre Dame bells. I am fairly sure if I’d been able to tear my eyes from the pages of my newly acquired cookbook I would have spotted Quasimodo out of my window. It was over ten years ago and I was having an eccentrically accommodated night sandwiched between two stays in a dull, lifeless business hotel whilst working in Paris for a week or so. I had checked out of clean and soulless ‘hotel rooms inc.’ and checked it to the wildest higgledy piggledy hotel I’d ever stayed in. I dragged my case up the sweeping staircase, it’s not the sort of place that has a lift, passing the rather moth eaten cat and plonked myself on the candlewick bedspread and gasped at the pink flowered trellis wallpaper. Who could have decorated this? Another rather bizarre touch was a desire that their guests wouldn’t leave with their room key and lose it whilst trawling around this little corner of Paris so they attached this huge object to each key so as to discourage you from slipping it into your pocket. I had a large wooden animal attached to mine; so I wasn’t tempted to try and cram it into my handbag. As soon as I could I went exploring, I had wanted to stay here as I desired to be so close to the Latin Quarter and all the life, colour and tasty food that would be on my doorstep. On my first trip out I found myself meandering in various bookshops, Shakespeare & Co. was my first port of call, it is the infamous English bookshop a few doors down from where I was staying. It was fun to visit but I wasn’t tempted to buy. Further down Rue Saint Jacques I found another bookshop and in the food and drink section found an interesting book fortunately written in English extolling the astounding recipes of a French chef I hadn’t then heard of – Joël Robuchon. But I became an instant fan of him and his work. The book was a paperback version of Cuisine Actuelle written by Patricia Wells. I think it has been reissued in the US as ‘Simply French’ more recently. And I was instantly hooked, I couldn’t wait to get back to my crazily decorated room and start absorbing it.

Some of the seminal moments in my cookbook gathering life have taken place whilst I’ve been away from home. I have mentioned before that the discovery that set me on this maniacal cookbook collecting was stumbling across Alastair Little’s Keep it Simple whilst staying with friends on their farm. I’ve always browsed through friends’ cookbooks as others may flick through the LP and now more likely CD collections. So Alastair Little started me on this wantonness and another favourite foreign acquisition is ‘West of Ireland Summers, a Cook Book: Recipes and Memories from an Irish Childhood’ by Tamasin Day-Lewis which I found rather serendipitously whilst at H and R’s beautiful wedding in Ireland in 2000. I was rather taken with Tamasin’s style as I had been by Alastair and ended up collecting all her cookbooks.

But why was I so enraptured by Joël Robuchon’s recipes? I think that not only could I could just taste the food as I read the recipes and drunk in the fabulous Steven Rothfeld photography but I was transfixed by Patricia Wells’ metamorphosis as a cook just being in the presence of such a culinary magician as Chef Robuchon. The rather innocuous recipe that leapt out at me was potato purée. The attention to detail, the repeated passing through the finest mesh sieve of the mash to achieve the smoothest, creamiest, buttery most delectable mash captured my imagination and there and then I swore that by hook or by crook I would one day dine at this 3 star Michelin chef’s restaurant. A few years later I was on a French cooking holiday in Dijon and discussing with Michel the French chef his most memorable meal at the hands of this gastronomic genius. I was enthralled, he described the wit and the tastes of the sea captured in his dish and as a homage to Joël and my enthusiasm he kindly slaved for at least an hour to recreate some of the special mash potato for me. And it was delectable but still, I needed to be fed and the great man’s hands. A few years later I was devastated to learn that Joël Robuchon had removed his toque and hung up his chef’s whites and retired. What would I do? I would never experience this awesome mash and all his other fabulous food and my life just wouldn’t be complete. But fortunately retirement proved to be a little dull and he started on his new venture L’Atelier. And last year when I heard one was opening in London I could almost taste the mash potatoes and was determined to visit.

When D suggested a cultural trip to London it seemed an obvious idea to secretly try and get a long awaited table at his Covent Garden venture. I was keen to get a booking in the restaurant – La Cuisine and not the bar and fortunately I was able to secure one. And it was so worth the wait!

When I enthused about dining at Joël Robuchon's place at work today, no one had any idea who I was referring to. I wonder if I made as similar announcement in a Parisian office whether they would have echoed my excited anticipation. I would have thought so, Joël is such a passionate doyen of fine French cooking and a perfectionist, a master and I gather a celebrity chef in his own right. He should be lauded in the manner we seem to preserve for footballers now, I'm not sure if he is but I suspect it would be considerably more likely in France than the UK. If I asked friends who don't write food blogs or worship at the altar of all that is gastronomic, I'd be intrigued what top chefs they could name. I suspect the names recalled wouldn't necessarily be based on culinary talent but maybe on a certain notoriety. Take Gordon Ramsay, multi Michelin starred purveyor of the finest dining but how is he described in the Observer this weekend? Potty-mouthed! Now I'd be the first to admit that I think some people swear too much. I appreciate the need for the occasional expletive in moments of extreme stress or pain but as someone who doesn't swear myself I can't get my head round replacing every superlative with a swear word. But despite Gordon having a predilection for this habit, I still think he should be renowned for his culinary skill and not his customary sweary rants.

Maybe the name of Heston Blumenthal would pop up; he has been on television fairly recently and with a thought provoking program with the singularly most pervasive theme tune. Or would he be famous for putting snail porridge on the culinary map? I guess some may have heard of Tom Aiken, probably only for his notoriety of branding a fellow chef with a red-hot knife and accusing a diner of stealing a silver teaspoon (which was later found!), not necessarily for any food artistry. I'm sure the name Jamie Oliver would be mooted, he has done much to get the nation boshing a few Italian ingredients together to produce an artful tasting plate and worked tirelessly to highlight the atrocious slop dished out in the name of school dinners (though apparently his overhaul of their turkey twizzler, fatty, pappy food has not always met with enthusiasm from the pint-sized diners – well they miss their chips!). Though his restaurant Fifteen is not in Gordon, Heston and Tom's league of dizzying gastronomic brilliance it is extremely popular nonetheless and I do intend to try it for myself one day. But I guess there is one very good reason to dine at one of France’s most famous chefs in preference to a well known British chef, I can much more easily get a table!

And how excited were we that I’d been able to? Our eagerness meant that we were early but that was fortuitous as we were able to discover the ever so stylish red and black bar. If I had only known I would have dressed in red and black accordingly. We had suitably coordinated raspberry red cocktails with, in my case, a very exotic lemon grass foam in the sumptuous surroundings and severely coveted the glossy little vases and the slick black coffee tables and admired all the stylish, deeply aromatic dark red roses everywhere. The anticipation levels rise higher and higher as we try and guess what the evening has ahead of us. And when we can wait no longer we ascend in the lift up to La Cuisine on the top floor.

La Cuisine is designed to look like you’re sitting in a black and white kitchen with pots and pans, multiple rolling pins, jars of multi coloured macaroons and rather inexplicably, giant wooden apples left about. It is pretty empty when we arrive and the dreadful thought of rattling around in a atmosphere-less empty restaurant flits through my thoughts, maybe no one has heard of Joël Robuchon! But fortunately the restaurant soon fills up with eager diners and we get down to the more important task of selecting tonight’s gastronomic pleasure. After deciding on the menu decouverte, I start examining the fabulous black and silver chargers before they are whipped away from us. In fact our chargers were whisked away most swiftly so we took a surreptitious glance at the bottoms of those on the neighbouring table and I could jot down Bernardaud for further research, I recognised the black stripy crystal water glasses also. You can tell this is going to be very good, I am even thrilled about the tableware!

We only had to make a couple of tweaks the the tasting menu, I of course had to alert them of my ardent tomato avoidance and both D and I abhorred the thought of goats' cheese in the ravioli so our seemingly rather inexperienced waitress promised a goats' cheese and tomato free substitution.

A hush descends on our table and our AMUSE-BOUCHE arrives - a little pale glass filled with foie gras, a port wine reduction and topped with Parmesan foam. Wow, this is truly stunning! Each spoonful cuts through the delicate strata and gives you the sublime trio of creamy foie gras, intense port and the Parmesan. The man is a genius, believe the hype! Oh, this was seriously worth the anticipation!

Next was LE TOURTEAU, the crabmeat in tomato jelly with avocado. And yes you’ve read correctly, tomato jelly! And I did eat it, it wasn’t my favourite flavour but the crab was so tasty and tantalizing I tried to ignore that niggling harsh tomato taste intruding on the crabby loveliness. Though D would never back me up on this I suspect, she thought the tomato was just perfect. Each to their own!

We were given funny burgundy plastic spoons to scoop the crab and jelly mixture up out of the rather fabulous ceramic egg this was served in. I guess this is to ensure the taste is not tainted, much like you may have a ceramic egg spoon or a bone caviar spoon. Well it worked anyway!

Next it was LES GIROLLES – pan-fried girolle mushrooms with ‘Iberico de Bellota’ ham shavings. And another joy this one, the meaty, earthy mushrooms with that lovely touch of Spanish ham and dreamy dressing, delicious!

Next we have the most wonderful egg cocotte I’ve ever seen placed carefully in front of us. It arrives in a martini glass – so very diva! – and is described as egg cocotte topped with light wild mushroom cream. I’ve baked eggs before but have had a recent renaissance after falling for them all over again after reading Clotilde’s fabulous Chocolate & Zucchini but this one is the crème de la crème of egg cocottes. The foamy mushroom cream hides the perfect golden egg ready to erupt and send its golden yolk mingling with that delicious cream, mushroomy heaven. This is one awesome egg cocotte.

We move on to the first courses. The tasting menu says we should have goat’s cheese and basil ravioli, lemongrass scented prawn broth but as we both eschew all that is goat we are delivered a rather lovely crispy langoustine fritter with basil pistou instead, a much more preferable option and very melt in the mouth. The basil pistou is especially good.

Continuing with the fishy theme it’s the turn of the LE ROUGET, the red mullet on crisp pastry base with a citrus fruit dressing. Unfortunately the menu didn’t mention the pool of tomato-ey relish the red mullet was swimming in so I politely declined to try it. I would normally have a little around the edges but the tomato aroma was heady and not in a good way. It fair assaulted my senses but hey, it looked pretty. The lights have been turned down, maybe in an attempt to hide the tomato indiscretion or just to hinder my photography, but yet again I struggle to capture the true beauty of our meal. I wonder for the umpteenth time if I can surreptitiously carry my own light source. Though a light source that would discretely illuminate my plate but not the disturb any other diners, rather tricky I think! However as lousy as the photos are at least they act as an aide memoir for me. I do rather like pictures, though I would like them even better if I thought that anyone else could enjoy them also.

When our waitress realised she’d forgotten out ‘tomatoes are evil’ conversation she was truly repentant and promised a little something later to compensate. Okay I’ll forgive her then.

So drawing a line under the fish we turned our thoughts to the meat course, we had been given a choice of L’AGNEAU - lamb cutlets with fresh thyme or LA CAILLE - free range quail stuffed with foie gras served with truffled mash potatoes. Okay, absolutely no prize for guessing which option we chose. The mash was calling us and with truffles as well, this could some earth shattering experience. As it was truly breath-taking, the quail and foie gras stunning and the mash, well yes there was a flash of light, a fanfare of golden trumpets and the potato fairy waved her sparkly wand over us. This is mash mimosa, the most exquisite few delicate forkfuls bursting with flavour in our mouths than I've ever had. We wanted more! Though the truffle mash was almost too good to have some more but we asked if we could try some of the more infamous heavenly mash sans truffle. And realising we were true believers, a bowl was duly delivered for us to lap up. Everything I have read about this mash is completely true, it is the most fabulous that you can imagine. The book must be closed on the mash hall of fame, no one could produce better. We encouraged the couple on the next table to also order a portion of this potato paradise, they were suitably impressed also.

The décor of the restaurant extended to the dramatically appointed black bathrooms, they were tiled with black tiles and in a dark recess was a stack of black hand towels. Hmm very intriguing! I wonder if anyone without 20-20 vision has ever come unstuck in them, either struggling to dry their hands or perhaps even the door to leave!

The lights dim further (as is so customary now) and to bring us down gently from the mash clouds we are flying in we were delivered an extra sweet treat, this was our recompense for my red mullet/red tomato distress. And this is truly the first time I’ve tasted green chocolate and whilst I am at it sweet celeriac jelly, cardamom, cumin and lemon cream. It is a delicate dessert, it wasn’t entirely apparent initially that the green top to our bowl was edible, but it was and with such unusual and refreshing flavours also.

But this was our additional dessert we still had the mysterious François’s duo of desserts to come. And this was came with a little laminated card inscribed with Sensation, cream, cocoa, oreo, crispy, sugar, choco, milk… C’est bon. And c'est bon it is, in fact très, très bon. It's like a chocolate lucky dip, one mouthful is crunchy, then smooth and creamy and unctuous all topped with wafer (pronounced 'waffer' of course) thin squares of coloured, delicately flavoured chocolate. The next spoonful has a biscuity bite then just an intense chocolate rush. I really have died and gone to heaven now, this is another stunning dish, we are in the presence of a true culinary God. Give that man more Michelin stars!
We finish with some restorative Earl Grey tea and liquid centre chocolates, served rather beautifully on a striped card topped with a little laminate. I am fairly sure it wasn't for eating, so we didn't!
I have yet again run out of superlatives for this phenomenal meal, it is just too, too fabulous. I hope he never dreams of retiring again because the world needs to experience this delectable food.
Just to cap our wonderful evening we are asked if we'd like a tour of the whole place, we are taken down to the bar where a shorter version of our menu is prepared to the expectant diners perched on bar stools watching their every move. Well I would be doing so anyway! We spot even more wooden apples of varying sizes scattered around and gaze at the wooden frames filled with spices and condiments and try desperately to identify them all.
The dream conjured up in that little Parisian garrick bedroom when I first heard of the great man has finally been realised and I adored every minute of it. And I intend to leave it no where near as long to experience this brilliance again.
The crown has been passed on, this is my new diamond fork meal, my most magnificent, marvellous and extraordinary dining experience. I don't know if Joël Robuchon's cooking is superior to Heston Blumenthal, Gary Rhodes or Gordon Ramsay but I was served truffle mash. Enough said!

Well if I must...

Clotilde urges us all to stretch our creative culinary muscles by challenging ourselves to conjure up a feast from the random scraps remaining in our fridge and/or cupboard. And not that I was intending to test myself i nany way, it was more 'needs must' as I'm going away at the end of the week and want to use up any goodies lurking in the fridge before I go. Though frankly this situation could describe my fridge on most days that Ocado haven't just unloaded a little mango decorated van (and then I am guaranteed abundance). I don't generally do a big weekly shop, it's more a random gathering of food on my travels.
But without hitting the shops, what do I have to contend with for this meal? I could have just stuck with a gratin Daupinoise as they are always fabulous when faced with a small potato and cream glut but I decided to add a couple of twists. Hiding under all the potato and creamy fabulousness is a layer of pesto, well it's such a shame to waste a good pesto! And they're also little crispy smoky hits of bacon dotted throughout the concoction and also the dregs of some garlic and chives soft cheese.
So not really a gratin Daupinoise but a small dish of delectable potato-y creamy unctuousness! I'm not sure this was what Clotilde had in mind but it was good, very good!

Pure unadulterated potato pleasure!

What should I do if I find myself proud possessor of a small handful of baby waxy potatoes and the remnants of a pot of double cream? The answer: make a little Gratin Dauphinoise. I like to make the version where you cook the ultra thin potato slices in a pan with the cream (and milk if you have some) and then tip the boiling cream and par-boiled potatoes into a ceramic dish, with a little nutmeg and pepper in between the layers for finishing in the oven. I think I got the idea from a Gordon Ramsay recipe and have adopted this speedier method ever since. As much as I love cheese I never put any in my Gratin Dauphinoise, as it doesn't seem quite right.
This version may look like a vat of the unctuous potato heaven but it's actually only an individual ramekin full - honest! I only had a few potatoes this time, unfortunately.
Never mind, what do they say, a little of what you fancy...

Chop, chop, chop

On a random chilly day in February there's really nothing better to do than go for a cockles-of-the-heart warming meal to a fine purveyor of meat and fish such as the Paternoster Chophouse, especially with the lovely m. This is another chophouse which is part of the extensive Conran empire as is so named, I guess, as it sits in the shadow of the mighty St. Paul's Cathedral.
The Paternoster Chophouse is modern, lively and rather popular place with an open plan kitchen so you can keep an eye on the progress of your lunch. And they really love their fish and meat! The menu has both a “catch of the day” and rather magnificently a “beast of the day”. Today the theme is definitely veal and the “beast of the day” is veal faggots and I spotted three other veal dishes.

Well I don’t want a total veal inspired meal so both m and I start with a rather lovely warm potted veal, prune and bitter orange marmalade. This was very good, the marmalade sauce was pleasingly sharp and zingy and complimented the warm veal mixture perfectly. An excellent choice for both of us! Then I plumped for the Galloway spit roasted fore rib, beetroot and horseradish and m opted for the Sutton Hoo chicken, Judas ear mushrooms and leeks with mash (naturally!) and buttered greens to share.

The fore rib was truly a magnificent beast, the fat yellow as it should be, clearly well hung and just cooked to perfection. The tender slices were accompanied by a little (sorry, large) pile of shredded beef (it's hiding under the mash!) which was also extremely moreish. You certainly can’t complain about the portions here. The vibrant purple of the beetroot especially intrigued me and I tried a bit. What was the surprise was that the horseradish was mixed with the beetroot and boy, it was hot. Eye-wateringly hot! Eating it with the beef calmed it down a bit and the whole effect was very tasty indeed. The mash was just perfect, the greens were great and I couldn’t fault any of it. Okay, it wasn’t the most attractive plate of food (mainly because it was so exuberant) but it was delicious so I’m not complaining.

And even though there wasn’t much room yet we ‘forced’ ourselves to share a dessert. We wanted the chocolate pudding with the parsnip ice cream because the combination seemed perplexing and just had to be experienced but the 15 minute lead time wasn’t a luxury we had today so we went for the sticky toffee pudding with caramel sauce instead. And as you see from my photograph, it looks like we were quite impressed! In fact it was very good, very sticky and unctuous and I just managed to take quick snap after we put our spoons down after having our fill!

After all that delicious food we really couldn't move, m and I utterly enjoyed our meaty meal. The provenance of the food is clearly excellent and the Paternoster Chophouse it is a temple to good British ingredients. They get three forks for their succulent meat and two spoons for the stickiest toffee pudding ever! Though I'm still full now!

Burn, burn, Burns

I’d been really looking forward to the latest Blueprint Café’s cook book club. It was all in aid of a book I wasn’t very familiar with “A Cook’s tour of Scotland” by Sue Lawrence and held very appropriately on Burn’s Night. And I knew it was going to be special because the ever ebullient Jeremy Lee would be be-kilted and generally even more in his Scottish element that usual. And they’d probably be bagpipes!

What I haven’t taken into consideration is my crazy brutal schedule this week. For various work related reasons I have copious early starts and late finishes. I can normally do the late nights as I’ve always been a night owl or ‘creature of the night’ but the mornings – arghhh, I have never been an early bird and I never particularly wanted to catch the worm! So by tonight, I was really running on empty and as much as I’d always greatly enjoyed these cook book events at the Blueprint Café, I guess I had never realised how much hard work they are. As I go by myself, I have to mingle and get to know my new dining companions. I guess this didn’t work as well as usual as I was sat with people who knew each other so I felt a little like a gooseberry but also I think my tiredness meant I just really couldn’t hear everyone properly (or I guess they could have been speaking especially quietly) and it was all rather disorientating. But it did give me a really good chance to examine the cook book of the evening - A Cook’s tour of Scotland. And I was really impressed! I’d been purposely not looking at it to keep it a surprise for tonight and there are some great little recipes from the very first page. The first chapter is Lobster, Langoustines and Crab on the first page has both Jim McFarlane’s Crab Sandwich and Crab Gratin. And especially the Crab Gratin is a recipe I want to try. The second Mussels, Oysters and Scallops has my favourite Scallops with Black Pudding on Champit’ Peas. Champit’ peas are like a kind of mushy peas with both butter beans and peas. I’ve never been crazy about mushy peas; the canapés we got tonight were topped in something called Buster Peas which I would say were similar but without the butter beans and probably not with a more acceptable petits pois but the awful marrowfat peas that I recall from many a childhood fish and chip visit. The third chapter is Salmon and I’d very happily tuck into all four recipes and am planning which one to cook first – Frittata with Smoked Salmon, Smoked Salmon Pâté, Hot-smoked Salmon Pancakes, and Fresh Salmon Chowder. All good, nothing bad! And in the subsequent chapters I’ve alighted on Smokie Pots, the fabulously named Hairy Tatties, Spiced Venison with a Wild Mushroom and Truffle Sauce, Smoked Haddock with Black Pudding and Bacon, Bacon and Mussel Chowder with Cavolo Nero, Cock-a leekie Risotto with Bacon, Clapshot Soup with Haggis Croûtons, Rumblethumps, Squash with Melted Cheese and Dunkers, Gooey Cheese Potatoes with Bacon and to finish off a Raspberry Chocolate Fudge Tart.

But before I hit the kitchen there’s a small matter of a Burn’s Night feast to tuck into:

Wee pies & buster peas
Haggis, clapshot
Baked shoulder of mutton, black pudding, skirlie & kale
A wee cream, rhubarb & shortbread
Coffee, tablet

The wee pies were fabulous little quartered scotch pie topped with a vibrant dash of my not so favourite buster peas. The haggis was the nicest I’ve tasted, they can be a little overwhelmed with pin oatmeal. The clapshot is a Scottish mash, so I’m hardly likely to complain, it is potatoes with turnip (or in England we say Swede). The baked mutton was really sublime, baked long and slow until melting. The black pudding was very fine and had been accompanied from the Hebrides by its maker Ian Macleod. Skirlie is an onion and oatmeal mixture which added an interesting texture to the ever so melting mutton.

The wee cream was a kind of soft rhubarb topped with a sabayon. I think Sue had wanted to reproduce the rhubarb cobbler recipe but Jeremy thought it might be a little heavy after all the other treats. What was quite funny about the wee cream was that it was served in a wine glass but with rather curiously a soup spoon. This meant that none of us could get the spoon into the glass and had to attempt to eat it with the end of the spoon. Our eagled eyed waiter spotted our dilemma and rescued us with a stack on tea spoons. Much more sensible! I was intrigued to find out what a tablet was and it turned out to cross between the mainstays of many a hiker, the Kendal mint cake and fudge. It really was so incredibly sweet!

The whole meal was piped in by an extravagantly attired piper and yes, we did discover what was under the kilt! Jeremy Lee was on incredibly fine form, an imposing site in his tartan-less black kilt and kept us terribly amused between courses. When is he going to bring out his cook book? I chatted to Sir Terence Conran about the incredible food photography course in France with his old friend Roger Stowell and also my pleasure at Marcus Wareing getting another Michelin star. It seems that Sir Terence certainly doesn’t agree with me, doesn’t admire Marcus’ work and cites a certain Carpaccio of Gherkins as a shocking example of his deviant behaviour. Okay, I think we’ll have to agree to disagree!

It was a great evening food-wise but I do realise that I need to be not so tired to make it easier to do the social bit and I intend to be better prepared for next time. Next month I am very excited that we will be enjoying Sophie Conran’s Pies in the cook book club. And I really hope we’ll be tucking into rabbit pie which is Jeremy Lee’s recipe from Sophie’s fabulous book. I cannot wait!

Ivory surprise

I haven’t been to the Ivory since it changed from being the Aquarium. Our original plan was to eat at the Lightship as we didn’t want to cross Tower Bridge as we didn’t have a huge amount of time to refuel and return to a much awaited email. I haven’t been to the Lightship for ages, I’ve had some very nice meals there but H is not partial to entering any establishment that might possibly sway due to being on water and the clue is in the name of the restaurant here. So this little avenue of pleasure has been unavailable for a while but P (previously been referred to as designated driver P!) doesn’t seem to be affected by the possibility of a slight rocking. But being a very chilly Wednesday night or for some other undisclosed reason, only one floor was open and there wasn't room for us so they suggested we went to their sister restaurant - the Ivory. I had checked the menu for the Ivory as we passed but thought it was a little odd so wasn’t too delighted that this was all that was on offer. As a plan B, I suggest we went to the bar above the Ivory which I’d had a stunning Wagyu beef cheeseburger with H last year. And I knew that P was craving a beef burger as the picture of my Gourmet Burger Kitchen burger from last Friday made him positively giddy so I thought this may fill the gap. We climbed the stairs to the Ivory bar (formerly the Bang Bar) and ordered two of their finest Wagyu (AKA Kobe) burgers. But we were thwarted; they are still offering Wagyu beef but only in some sort of noodle salad travesty and I had some awful Masa flashback at themere thought. They gave us the menu and it was the menu I’d read downstairs believing it was the Ivory restaurant menu, I asked if this was the same menu as downstairs and they said no – that was the “proper restaurant”. Oh I thought, well why would we perch on a rather uncomfortable looking barstools at the bar, we’d go downstairs and eat at the proper restaurant instead. So we go back downstairs again, get seated and are offered the same menu as upstairs. Are you still following? By now I’m really confused, they shouldn’t really offer the restaurant menu in the bar but sometimes do and we were no nearer to a fabulous Wagyu cheeseburger than when we started. I’m not sure why I didn’t fancy the menu but there were little extras to everything that I should wasn’t crazy about but on closer examination, it actually seemed okay with only minor tweaking. And by now we were rather hungry so we weren’t going anywhere else.

We both ordered the wild mushroom soup with a poached duck egg (I think) in the middle. Again I tried to record this murky looking soup with a curious white lump partially submerged in the centre on my camera phone. It doesn’t look terribly attractive on my camera phone but no matter as the phone is not relinquishing its photographs anyway. I’m still struggling to work out how to type my email address in Cyrillic; I think I will just give up. The appearance may have not been the finest but the soup was very tasty and the poached egg was an interesting and unusual addition. Though P was deeply suspicious and left his intact declaring that eggs are for breakfast.

Next I ordered the pork belly and Brussels tops but not with the proffered sauerkraut (ughhh!) but instead with that ever shining light the end of a bad meal tunnel – potato purée. And P ordered the crumbed chicken breast with coleslaw and gremolata. He was going to plump for the straw potatoes but I pointed him in the direction of the double cooked chips – ‘man’s chips!’ and the waiter backed me up. My pork belly was really good and the mash was very, very good. How could I have doubted them? It was creamy, tasty and extremely copious – and no I didn’t eat it all! But it definitely needs to be added to the mash hall of fame. P was very impressed with his chips - pleasingly fluffy on the inside and perfectly crunchy on the outside. And the chicken? How curious, it was so big and very thin. It in fact was the largest chicken breast I had ever seen carefully flattened by a steam roller and then crumbed. One can only wonder where on earth one gets such a stupendous chicken; I’d dread to see the size of the original bird.

Our meal was so much better than I expected, we didn’t have time for desserts but they looks quite interesting also. I feel quite guilty for the quick glance at the menu that caused me to instantly dismiss them on first examination. I really should try not to judge a restaurant by its menu, there’s probably always some redeeming features and hidden surprises worth exploring. And when the mash is so fine, much can be excused!

An ivory handled fork for the Ivory, I will definitely give them another go even though in my mind they’ve spoilt their original Wagyu dish!

Swanning around the White Swan

I'd heard things about the food in the White Swan in Fetter Lane but we were in the bar not the restaurant and when we finally got around to ordering, the interesting menu had been reduced to one option - sausages and mash. Well I'm hardly going to complain too much about that but unfortunately I found the pork and leek sausages and mustard mash a little lack lustre. The sausages were meaty and a very firm texture so you could pleasingly cut them carefully into perfect slices but just didn't seem to taste of that much. I couldn't really identify the mustard in the mash either.
Though perhaps I'm being harsh, I’d had a seriously long and tiring day and possibly my taste buds had gone to sleep. I would really like to revisit the White Swan and try the restaurant. It all looked very promising and I'm not sure the Hobson's choice menu and my extreme fatigue did the place justice. I did take a picture of my plate of comfort food but unfortunately only on my camera phone and so far it doesn't seem to want to relinquish it. I've been assured it can but when I try the screen goes all Cyrillic on me – that can’t be right!

I did it my way!

I re-watched Heston Blumenthal create his perfect steak and salad last week with the insanely catchy theme tune that peppers his show - digger, digger, ding, ding, ding, ding - and fancying a bit of steak today but I considered the wisdom of this method. It seemed to take him 24 hours to slow cook his rib of beef before finally cutting it down into manageable steaks. And Heston of course says it’s the perfect steak.

But the key thing is that I wanted a steak today, and I didn’t know yesterday that I wanted a steak today. I’m all for getting the meat out of the fridge for an hour before cooking but starting the day before? I’m not so sure about that.

Raymond le Blanc was on Saturday Kitchen yesterday and was waxing lyrical about the importance of cooking your steak in a nice bit of foaming butter and made a little jus by deglazing the tasty pan juices with nothing more than water! One of my favourites, Mark Sargeant was also on with Raymond and conjured up a verdant green broccoli puree with a poached duck egg and goats’ cheese cream. Shame about the goats’ cheese but maybe it can be reinterpreted! I know Raymond is a keen advocate of slow food, I wonder what he’d think about Heston’s day long steak cooking?

I cooked my steak rare and amply peppered in my lovely SKK pan alongside some chunks of field mushrooms and served, naturally, with some fabulous creamy, buttery mash potatoes. I didn't do Raymond's trick with the jus this time as I didn't want it to mingle with the mash but it was still very fine.
Hmmm perfection indeed!

Top-tastic table

I do occasionally book restaurants through toptable and as a reward for using their site they award me points. And when you get enough points you can exchange them for a special menu at a few selected locations. However, if you don’t use your points within the year, they expire. I suddenly realised that my points were expiring on the 12th January so I’d made a swift booking at Le Pont de la Tour and persuaded the enigmatic ZZ (or possibly soon to be renamed to ’The’ J at his behest!) to accompany me on this mission.
The meal was in the main restaurant and not the bar so we had the ’posh’ china and tablecloths and they gave us a glass of Champagne as part of the set menu.
The set menu only had a few choices but there were a few interesting options so that’s perfectly acceptable, it only becomes an issue when the chef has gone on some massive tomato and goats‘ cheese bender - fortunately, he hadn’t!
We both started with the foie gras chicken liver parfait with toasted brioche. This was extremely smooth and flavoursome and served in one of those fluted ramekins sealed with a little clarified butter. Just how it should be! We also had some melba toast to tuck into and the proffered bread basket just in case the brioche wasn’t enough.
I then selected the daube de boeuf with pomme mousseline but I did check that they weren’t planning to spoil one of my favourite French bistro classics by adulterating it with tomatoes and olives, à la Provençal if you will. I was assured by our waiter that wouldn’t dream of such a travesty. And a mighty fine exponent of the daube family this was, just perfect and if I had a spoon I would have eaten it with one to prove that I could. It was possibly the darkest piece of meat ever and I would have taken a better photograph by placing a lump of coal on a pool of black treacle. But it tasted so much better than it looked in this picture. And the mousseline; well of course this is the creamiest, softest mash ever to mop of the gorgeous meaty juices. Another worthy addition to the mash potato hall of fame.
‘The’ J tucked somewhat happily into the roast salmon, with a fricassee of wild mushrooms, parsley puree and fresh truffle. I am quite intrigued by salmon and truffle as they don’t seem the most obvious of marriages, though I guess perfect with the fricassee.
Rather unusually ‘The’ J examined the three choices of desserts - crème brulee, bowl of ice cream and sorbet or the infamous petit pot au chocolat with a warm Madeline and challenged our (now) waitress to ’surprise him’ between the crème brulee or pot au chocolat. But definitely no sorbet! I ordered the petit pot au chocolat, naturellement! But as you’ve probably guessed, they ignored The J and gave him the raspberry sorbet and mint chocolate ice cream and I had totally forgotten that they poured a gallon of cream over the pot au chocolate - sacré blue! So we swapped! The raspberry sorbet was a wonderful flavour and the ice cream was very good also, it saved me from having to send the chocolate pot back and the J got his surprise after all! This was all washed down with a bottle of Portuguese Lokal Silex 2004.
I think that this was a great meal, I like the way Le Pont de la Tour serve beautifully made bistro food but in a terribly refined environment. There is a lack of pretension to their food; you hear the gently tinkling of the grand piano in the bar and get to choose from a very un-bistro like extensive wine list ably guided towards the more ’impressive’ bottles by the sommelier. He gave me a choice of three ranging from £25, £55 or £90 but said that the cheapest was not right with our meal! Hmmm, naturellement!
Now that I’ve eaten in le Pont de la Tour restaurant as opposed to the bar and they served me such an immaculate daube and mash, I think they should get another fork. Thank you toptable for encouraging me to partake in such a delicious meal.