Borough Market, London

Back in London for bit, and it's good to be back. What really excites me about this city is that there is so much to do. There are always new aspects of the city's life to explore. While I was here during the summer, the Marylebone Farmers' Market was a weekend regular. It was just round the corner from where I lived. Borough Market however, I never got around to going to. I might have missed Borough Market during the bountiful summer but as far as food's concerned there really isn't a bad season. If anything, winter here is a time to indulge and to get festively plump.

Borough Market, Borough, London. 

The market itself is decked up for the occasion. The fruit and vegetable stalls were to the brim with fantastic winter harvest. Turnips, parsnips, beet root and savoy cabbage. Dare to think beyond soups and there are unlimited possibilities. But I have to admit, a nice, hearty, chunky, winter soup would be on the top of my agenda. Maybe because of the snow and the sub-zero temperature.

Winter veg

There was plenty of cheese on offer. From the continent and from nearer by. A nice strong blue I think would be the flavour of the season. But then I am partial to cheese that you can taste in your nose. What was great was that a lot of the local cheeses were unpasteurised, making them creamier than their more shelf-friendly cousins. The cold however, makes the cheese a little stiff. You need to bring it up to room temperature to get the creaminess back. I however, was more than happy walking around munching on a wedge of unpasteurised Stilton, called Stichelton. I first had a Stichelton at St. John Restaurant. That one was from Neal's Yard.

The Welsh Caerphilly

As for something I hadn't had before - the Caerphilly. A hard, crumbly, cow's, white cheese from Wales. A little nutty I thought, but quite similar to a mild Cheddar. Would go well along side some apple or on Welsh Rarebit. Rarebit is traditionally made with Cheddar.

The Italian connection

There was a sizable Italian section serving up not just the Parmiggiano Reggiano and Mozzarella, but also some less known cheeses, a great selection of cold meats, which the Italians really know how to do, and even some sandwiches to go. 

Fish is a year-round favourite at most farmers' markets. I finally got my first taste of welks, essentially Sea Snails. Cooked, and sprinkled with some vinegar and salt. Real meaty critters. Nice firm texture with good bite. Reminded me of some raw Limpets I ate while fishing near Edinburgh. Good times.

The cold slab at Furness Fish and Game

And there was an Oyster stall, which I couldn't keep away from. 

Richard Haward's Oysters

Mid-season Oysters

Native Oyster season lasts from September to April and Pacific Oysters are available all year round. There was a little banter with the man behind the stall as to how Oysters should be eaten. While the lemon, Tabasco, and red-wine vinegar and shallots mignonette are all good, I quite like them just the way they are. Without messing about with the natural ozoney saltiness. And if you are just going to get them down you as quickly as you possibly can, then don't bother with oysters at all. A couple of bites are necessary to get your money's worth (and the full flavour, of course). I like fondling them with my molars a bit more. The two shucked oysters on the left are Colchester Natives and the ones on the right are Rock Oysters. Rock oysters were brought in from the Pacific but have now made their way into the wild in this country. The Grey Squirrel of Oysters. 

Pork pies

No farmers' market is complete without a butcher, and from what I saw, Borough Market has four very fine ones, including a branch of the Ginger Pig. Two of them not only have meat to go, but also cooked on the spot hot meals. Roast sandwiches to stews to curries. Not to forget all the traders selling meat products. From sausages, cured and preserved meats, to pies and pasties. 

A pig, many ways

Prepared lamb

Farmed geese and pheasants at Furness

Mallards and partridges

With Christmas round the corner the displays were very well stocked with roasting joints and birds. There was a fantastic selection of game, farmed and wild. Pheasants, hare, rabbit, pigeon, duck, venison, wild boar, the works. I spent a lot of time just wandering around the displays admiring the craftsmanship of the butchers and the quality of the meat.

Mr. Porky

Mr. Porky's smile is infectious. Made me chuckle even. Just as my eye caught sight of the pig's head on Furness' counter top, the thought of Fergus Henderson's Warm Pig's Head made me salivate. It wasn't on the menu at his Smithfield restaurant, nor on the menu at Spitalfield. A Warm Pig's Head remains a supper to be had.

A bowl of fish soup, some welks, a wedge of Stilton, some oysters, a Malaysian chicken curry with jasmine rice and a glass of mulled wine later thought turned to dinner. I wasn't about to give up the chance of cooking with some of the fantastic ingredients at the market. 

Coca-cola chicken

Yes, you heard right! A friend from the Guangdong province cooked this one evening and completely took me by surprise. Guangdong is where Cantonese food comes from, for those of you food geographers. And then come to think of it, coca-cola has got to be the perfect ingredient to get a sweet, sticky base. And balance that sweet with the salty of soy sauce and you are on to something!

This recipe works with any part of the chicken, and is superb with wings. Skin left on if you are not fussed about your weight. Wouldn't use breast meat myself, but do as you please.

For the sauce/syrup:

• 3 tablespoons of coca-cola to one of soy sauce. I use light, but dark will do too.
• sliced ginger
• sliced garlic
• sliced spring onions
• sliced chillies

I added some dried red chillies for a deeper, smokier heat. And it gives me great pleasure to report that that was a winner.

Let the aromatics infuse and in the mean time fry off the chicken wings till cooked. I used olive oil. But I think that a little bit of added sesame oil would go down a treat adding that unmistakable woody, oriental fragrance.

Once the wings are cooked put in the syrup and stir occasionally till all the liquid has evaporated and the chicken is coated in a sticky goo. The goo is bloody awesome! Next time I'd leave it a little runny to eat with sticky rice. You just know it's going to be good. I served it with some home-grown, wilted, Pok Choi.

Easy as pie?

I have always admired people who can bake. It isn't like cooking where you can just whack stuff together. Baking drills a certain discipline into you, teaches a cook how to follow orders when the urge is to do otherwise. No wonder some of the best chefs in the world train as pastry chefs at some point in their career.

Now, I knew baking wasn't easy, yet so easily forgot. A disastrous attempt at making puff pastry sent me crashing down to earth this evening. I knew the ingredients I had weren't perfect. To begin with, I only had plain flour as opposed to strong flour, and I was a little short on butter. Though I did not expect fireworks to begin with, I was horrified at how different the pastry was to anything remotely like puff pastry. It sure was nothing like how I had imagined it.

Not saying that it's time to put away the butcher's knife and bring out the oven mitts, but most certainly time to give the cake tins a little attention.

Indigo, Colaba, Mumbai.

The much talked about Indigo in Colaba, Mumbai. World class cuisine with Indian notes to some, to others, a failed attempt to bring fine dining to the city. I have wanted to go to the place for sometime now, since I saw Rahul, also a Dosco, on a television interview a few years ago. So this time around, while I was in Mumbai, a snoop was in order.

The property is beautiful, nestled in a by-lane in old Mumbai. A bungalow surrounded by greenery and old-world charm. you enter into the contemporary, dimly lit lounge, with a bar running its length. The two dining rooms on the ground floor were skipped in favour of the terrace. A nice terrace, ambient and cooled by the winter breeze, and the large fans that were only about a couple of metres from the table.

The menu is extensive, but then a clientele as diverse as the one in this city is not easy to please. It did take me a couple of whiskies to take it all in. They were running a special 'Best of the Last 10 Years' menu, and there I found myself suddenly scrutinizing everything even more intently. Best you say huh? Well, let's see how good your best is then!

Ravioli of Curried Pumpkin with Sage Butter and Pinenuts

You eat with your eyes even before your mouth gets involved, and the presentation could have been better. I prefer square ravioli for some reason, and if it's going to be round then make them bigger. Five was a crowd. But a good sized starter. I give Indigo the benefit of the doubt and let's say that even if the pasta was made fresh on the day, the edges were a little too thick, making them a little dry.

As for the flavours, the sweetness of the curried pumpkin worked beautifully with the salty Parmesan and the sweet and savoury Sage Butter. A little too salty though. A tad bit less cheese would have done the trick. But a good contrast, almost very well balanced.

Pan-roasted Duck with Coriander & Orange Glaze with Baked Turnip Puree and Snowpeas

How well a duck breast is cooked says a lot about a kitchen in my mind. And when the waiter said to me that the chef highly recommends that the duck be ordered medium rare I though to myself - this is going to be good. They know what they are talking about. And because I like my meat to still be bleeding on the plate, I ordered it as rare as the chef wanted to cook it. 

And the moment I saw the plate of food my heart sank. Not even a hue of pink. More brown. I was convinced that they had used frozen duck breast. I can't see how a fresh breast could have been murdered like this. They assured me that their duck was fresh. Since the meal, a few people who I trust with food in the city have told me otherwise.  

Put knife to meat and I lost the will to live. Soggy skin. Rubbery. This really does makes me think that the breast came out of a vacuum sealed packet. And even if it was fresh it was just so hopelessly cooked. The flavours worked though, but then citrus and sweet take to duck very well and it's a time-tested combination. Like pork and apple or lamb and mint or beef and mustard. So nothing worth praise here. The coriander in the glaze is worth a mention though. The woody punch of the seeds worked well with the sweetness of the glaze, and the turnip puree.

The place has a long way to go before becoming a fine dining destination in my mind. The insult to injury was the waiter's body odor as he reached across the table to pick up my starter plate. Now, the humid weather makes you sweat, but when you are paying through your nose for a meal this is unacceptable. This glitch aside, Indigo may be one of the better places around here, in terms of the food and the dining experience, but it most certainly is rough  around the edges. Maybe they need to rethink the expectations they set along with working on the food and service. Until that happens, over-rated I'd say!

Deep fried goats' brains with Green Sauce

The first time I ate brains I wasn't too impressed. I don't think they really taste of much on their own. A little like marrow. Fatty but not as concentrated with flavour. The texture is, well, exactly how you'd imagine it. But I'd try anything twice, and besides I've never cooked them myself. This recipe is from Fergus Henderson's Nose to Tail Eating.

The first thing about brains, I am surprised at how expensive they are. A 100 rupees for 3? Second, they have a smell. A smell even I am not too keen on. You need to rinse them in cold running water to get rid of small pieces of bone and other stuff that does not belong.

In a stock pot simmer for 15 minutes

• 1 onion, peeled and quartered.
• 1 carrot
• bay leaf
• celery stalk. I used the upper stalk and leaves as the celery cost me an absolute bomb and I didn't have the heart to let anything go to waste. The leaves impart an intense aroma. Very pleasant.
• a few pepper corns
• and about 6 cloves of garlic. Bruised
• You could add in any other fresh herbs. I recommend leaving the herbs whole otherwise they will stick to the brains and the brains will need picking.

Once the stock has simmered for 15 minutes put in the brains and cook gently for 6 minutes. I am not normally this anal about time, but as far as textures are concerned, mine was pretty perfect, so stick to Dr. Henderson's 6. The poaches takes away the pungent smell of the brains, and of course, pre-cooks them before the frying.

Fish out the poached brains and leave to cool. While the brains cool prepare these 3 bowls:

1. Plain flour. Seasoned with salt and pepper
2. 2 eggs whisked with 100mls of milk
3. breadcrumbs

Once cold separate the lobes of the brains. Introduce them to the 3 bowls in the same order as above, coating well, and then into a sauce pan of hot vegetable oil. The frying is very quick. Pull them out golden.

I had mine with Green sauce, another Henderson creation. It is finely chopped parsley, dill, mint, garlic, capers, crushed pepper and extra virgin olive oil. Wish I had some anchovies. Chopped anchovies was, I think, the ingredient that seals the deal on this sauce, and also the only ingredient I could not get my hands on. The anchovies were missed.

My opinion of brains hasn't changed much. I'd happily eat them, but I'd much rather cook them.

Gamda nu khavaanu

I seldom hesitate in telling people of the non-Indian credentials of the Chicken Tikka Masala or the Balti. Indian food is more than that. It's about marrying countless spices in accordance to timeless recipes, about impart flavours through patience and pain. It's about serving up rich portions of food in generous proportions. Food fit for kings. Or is it?

These ideas of extravagance are most certainly not false. But, there is another India. If Indian food is what most Indians eat on a daily basis then this is it.

I have been working on 'The Land' for the past few days, coming home in the afternoon for lunch, and to get out of the blistering mid-day sun. Its been a while since I ate there, with the care-taker and his wife, and some good gamda nu khavaanu (village food in Gujarati) was long over due. Cooking in rural India is no easy feat. The wood has to be foraged and prepared, the fire tended to with great care and, in the case of dinner, the setting sun to race.

Sunita cooking the potatoes and eggplant

The village spread

The food can best be described as functional. Wheat is not on the menu of most rural households. Coarse grain such as corn, jowar (sorghum) and bajra (pearl millet) are the order of the day and the bread is unlike the rotis or the naans served up in restaurants. The 'roti' (called rotla in Gujarati when made from these coarse grain) are heafty, dense and on most occasions eaten cold. They taste great hot with some melted butter on the top but labourers working in the farms do not have that luxury, and nor did I.

The bajra was cultivated on The Land itself and the veg was picked from neighbouring farms. Debts are settled in kind. The eggplant was paid for in grass for the farmers buffalo. I think the potatoes were too. It's all done on good faith. That afternoon only a handful of ingredients went into everything. Garlic, chilli, turmeric, and salt and lots of oil. Without non-stick cookware the copious amounts of oil is a necessity. The oil also helps prevent the food  drying up as left overs are consumed at the next meal and are stored in a cool place without refrigeration.

This is great food. Hardy and whole. Only one complaint though. No meat?

Little parcels of goodness

You cannot possibly go to Mussoorie and not eat Momos. I asked around town for the best place to go and there seemed to be a split in the local opinion. I very nearly went to the Rice Bowl but got coaxed into Kalsang by a friend who prefers the latter. The large Tibetan population in Mussoorie, and in other cities around, and on, the Northern ranges means that their delicious food has found its way into our hearts and stomachs. Tibetans have not had it easy. Driven out of their country by the Chinese, their integration into India, though they are largely welcome, has not been easy either. In fact just as we were leaving Kalsang we passed a protest march of locals demonstrating against a nearby Tibetan market.
Tibetan food is understated. At least the authentic dishes are. There is extensive use of broths, which is a great way to get the most of the limited ingredients you have. However, Tibetan food is greatly influenced by Chinese cuisine and also by Sino-Luthianvi food, as I discovered. Kalsang also has a few Thai inspired dishes on the menu. For someone like me who appears to know more about Tibetan food than he actually does, telling where authentic ends and influence starts is a difficult one. But you can tell Sino-Luthianvi influence quite easily by an overdose of everything. Sino-Luthianvi food is not Called Masala Chinese for nothing.


Kalsang

The place is family run, like most great eateries round the world and opened about 5 years ago. Kalsang, I was told by one of the boys who worked there, is a Tibetian name that is lucky for the family that runs the joint. May have been the name of a dead loved one - I didn't probe. The space is comfortable. From the collection of foreign currency pasted on one wall, it seems to be a popular tourist haunt. This could explain the extensive, east-influenced menu, even if not wholly authentic.

Mutton and Chicken Momos

I kept it simple, and authentic, I think. The Momos to the left are mutton and the others are chicken. The stuffing in both was meat, cabbage, garlic and onions. Sure there was other stuff. The the skill in making Momos is in the parceling. The stuffing is sealed in flour parcels and steamed. You can also have them fried. I eat a lot of Momos when I am up north and you can always tell the ones made by a Tibetan. There is only as much pastry as is needed and they are stuffed to the brim with meat. Momos made by non-native Momo eaters are quite heavy on the pastry. It's really is a skill - see how the ones on the left are so beautifully sealed off with a twirl? The dipping sauce could make Chuck Norris cry.

Devil's Chicken Momo

A friend ordered these little bastards, and God most certainly would not have approved. Sino-Luthianvi to the bone. But that's not what ruined it. It just did'nt work. With Momos less really is more. These devils were served up in a think, hot and sweet sauce with spring onions. The sauce took away from the Momos more than it lent. Bad deal for the Tibetan side. Again.

Mussoorie, UK (Uttarakhand)

Apologies for the radio silence. I am finally back from my holiday and feel like a human being again. The blood alcohol levels are back to normal. Mostly. The Garhwal Terrace Bar is worth a visit. It's what you'd expect from a government bar but the view of Dehra Dun from the balcony is spectacular. The food however, was downright disgusting. Stick to the peanuts and papads.



Tavern

The Tavern, at the other end of Mall Road is the place for food.  I am told that during the peak season consider yourself lucky if you get a place to sit. This time of the year though, we had the place to ourselves, to the horror of the manager. The menu is eclectic, which made me vary at first, but that changed once the food arrived. The Kali Mirch Murg Tikka (Black Pepper Chicken Tikka) I highly recommend. Superbly juicy and, as the name suggests, peppery. Simple and  very satisfying.

Kali Mirch Murg Tikka

The Seekh Kebabs were interesting. The texture was not granular at all. It was dense and reminded me of Rista, the Kashmiri meat balls, that are made by pounding meat and lamb fat for hours, till the structure of the meat itself changes. This gave the kebab a nice bite. Though I hate to say this, a bite similar to that of processed meat. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Seekh Kebabs

This is another one of the Sino-Ludhianvi greats - Crispy Shredded Lamb. The peppers and onions were crispy indeed, but I cannot say the same for the lamb. Hearty slices of lamb though and boldly seasoned with Schezwan peppercorns. I have had this dish in numerous places but I have never come across one as good as that that used to be served at Kwality Restaurant in Dehra Dun. Unfortunately the place shut down sometime ago, but I am told the chef is now at the Alcove, at Meedo's Grand in Dehra Dun. Give it a try.  Good food after you've had a few. Even better when you've had a few too many.

Crispy Shredded Lamb

Tandoori chicken

My favourite chicken dish has got to be Tandoori chicken. It’s a great starter, a side dish and a meal in itself, if like me you like to order the whole bird and work at it till the bones are polished clean. I have a problem with not being served the neck piece when ordering the whole bird. A big problem. With some gnawing there is some great meat to be had from the neck. My piece of choice is the leg though. I find breast meat bland.

Tandoori chicken was reserved for when I went out, until I got this recipe from my granduncle – a super cook. He’s one of those people who just have a knack for food. He normally cooks his chicken in a baking tray, in the oven, to save time and effort. But that would not do. Tandoori chicken has to be char-grilled. So I put together a make shift barbecue. The one I used to use got left outside while I was away for a year and rusted and rotted away over the monsoon. Good excuse to get a new one made.

To make the marinade you need:

• hung curd 
• onion paste
• garlic paste
• ginger paste
• garam masala, be careful with this one.
• finely chopped green chili
• some red chili powder
• and some honey. The garam masala and the chili will give you a back of the throat, harsh, spiciness. The honey rounds that off for you.
• Salt 

The trick to getting this marinade right is to taste, taste and taste. Taste some before you put the honey in and you'll see what I am talking about. 

I also put in a little bit of red food colouring. Tandoori chicken has to be red (ish). A good quality Kashmiri chili powder will give you the colour you need. But I had none and resorted to cheating. 

Mix all the above ingredients together and marinade the chicken for a few hours. Cut slits on the chicken to aide the process.

Make the marinade and cut slits on the chicken legs

Marinade the chicken

The effort spent getting a coal fire going really pays off

Don't let the black bits put you off. They are welcome.

Serve with onion, tomato and coriander salad.

 

Of cuts

Having become very accustomed to, and fascinated by, butchery in Britain, I sometimes feel that there is something really wasteful about the way meat, especially lamb, is butchered in India. There is absolutely no distinction made between the various cuts. Lamb is broadly divided into the shoulder, the leg and the ribs. You can get paya (trotters) or the neck in particular, if that's what you are after, but mostly the meat is chopped up indiscriminately, into either medium, large or small pieces. With bone or boneless.

But then, this only bothers me because the sort of food I have in mind, stuff like loin steaks, braised shanks, Frenched chops (cooked rare of course) mean nothing to most Indians. I have come to the realisation that the kind of food I like would never make me millions in India. I got my butcher to cut me some double chops once - it was a very small lamb and single rib chops weren't thick enough - for some grilled minted chops I was making for one of my father's parties. When I cooked them it very quickly became apparent that no one there shared my love for meat cooked rare. Most Indians don't understand cooking meat to taste. The meat is either raw or cremated. And they like it cremated.

The way meat is butchered in India is a result of the kind of cooking. Curries are stewed for a fair bit, or cooked in a pressure cooker, so even the toughest meat goes tender. All the spices over shadow the meat's taste and make it, with its fat content, a carrier of flavour rather than something of flavour itself. Sometimes to get the meat really tender, very young animals are slaughtered - I have eaten curries with bones that looked like they came from a rodent (maybe they did) - and on other occasions the animals are over 2 years old - meat that would be considered mutton in Britain and isn't really used that much.

If I have been informed correctly, lamb is cheaper than goat (chevon) in India and some butchers will regularly peddle lamb to goat expecting customers. Again, as long as customers are getting meat they don't seem to care. Butchers will sometimes leave the tail hairs on the carcass to show customers that they are indeed selling goat. My butcher gave me a funny look when I first categorically asked for lamb. But then with the amount of business I give him, he will happily do as I say.

And hanging meat to mature? Unheard of. The quicker the animal goes from slaughter to pot, the better it is considered. This makes perfect sense given the lack of refrigeration at most butchers'. But why does all this concern me? Well, because what I can cook is limited by what the butcher can give me.

Solution? Butcher your own animals.

This only arrived in the post the other day. Even if I do not rear my own lamb anytime soon, I am keen to start working on carcasses or quarters bought from the butcher. It's just another way to get a little bit more involved with your food.

Steak with roasted sweet potatoes

I like steak. There was a time when I ate steak 3-4 times a week. Not anymore though. It's more of a weekend ritual now. Steak with potatoes and veg. When I want to be a proper fat bastard, I'll top the steak with a fried egg! It's the perfect meal to sort your life out after a couple of days of abusing your body. It's quick to cook, versatile and bloody deliciously - literally. And besides I am off to India for a bit next week and need to get my fix of cow while I can.

When I am feeling rich, I'll go for the sirloin, but mostly it's rump. Good enough I think. I'll normally cook it quite simply, with some pepper and a few herbs. But if you want to take  some time on it you can leave it to marinade, in balsamic, garlic, juniper berries, red wine, rosemary, oregano, mixed pepper corns, in anything you fancy with beef.



Sunday supper

The rump steak was rubbed with olive oil, crushed black pepper, fresh rosemary and a little bit of oregano and set aside. No salt.

The sweet potatoes were cut into chunky wedges, rubbed with garlic infused Olive oil, chopped rosemary, loads of pepper, and salt. 1 large quartered onion for company and the tray was put in the oven for about 40 minutes. Do this first, it takes the longest. I was peeling the sweet potatoes when a certain Dr. Green told me off. Tell you what, leave the skins on. They are good cooked. The french beans and carrots were boiled.

To cook the steak,  heat some oil in a heavy bottomed frying pan. When it starts smoking put the steak in. I season it at this stage. Turn the steak just once. When you have cooked quite a few like I have, you get a sense of how well its done just by sight. You can also tell by touch. You don't want to cut it to see if it's done - this will let all the juices out. Letting the steak rest is very important. Get it out of the pan and leave on the plate for 3-4 minutes.

While my steaks rested, I deglased the the pan with some red wine and cooked the mushrooms in the juices.

Chefs differ a great deal on how they cook steaks. Some say that oiling the pan is an absolute no no - the steaks should be oiled. While others don't see a problem with oil in the pan. The are all wrong! In my experience is depends on the pan. You could get away with not oiling the pan at all if it is a non-stick or a griddle. If it's a stainless steel one, like the one I used, you'll probably have to add oil to the pan in addition to oiling the steaks. Steel pans don't come up to temperature very well. And obviously, if you are using a grill, then brushing oil onto the steaks is what you do. Now you know.

St. John Restaurant, Smithfield. Vol. 2

1st October 2010, St. John Restaurant, Smithfield, London.

The main course menu gives you a lot to choose from. From grouse to pie. None of that for us though. Oh no. We were very much interested in seeing how good the less sought after meats can be when cooked by someone, or at an institution, committed to the cause.

Ox Heart with Beans

The ox heart was served thinly sliced. With beans, with the right amount of crunch. The heart strips were probably only momentarily sears on either side. They were still pink on the inside. When cooking something as lean as heart, or even liver for that matter, there is a very very fine line between getting it cooked just right and turning it into rubbery waste. I wouldn't be able to tell you what was in the marinade but I would think that thyme, red wine and maybe even some balsamic vinegar might have been involved. The green beans in this one have me quite confused. Their crunch takes away from the texture of the meat. Eat on different fork fulls I'd say, but it all still works wonderfully.

Chitterlings with Braised Turnips

Now for the pièce de résistance. The chitterlings were cooked in duck fat - golden to perfection. Super soft to cut into. A distinct layer of lean (ish) muscle lined with fat. Unlike the ox heart this was probably first slow cooked and then flash fried in fat to give it colour and a little bite. This is a real meaty piece of meat. Pungent even. Lovely if you are into that kind of stuff and I most certainly am. The softer braised turnips worked perfectly on the same fork, taking nothing away. In fact, the very slight spiciness of the turnip kept the pungency under good check. The sauce, was well seasoned and took on the flavours of both, the meat and the turnip, very well. Not quite sure what the sauce was though. A pan-sauce made by deglasing the pan the chitterlings were cooked in? Maybe based on the braising juices from the turnips? No idea, but I like. By the way, chitterlings are the intestines of a pig.


Platter of unpasteurised British cheeses

A cheese platter aided the process of contemplating what to have for dessert. All the cheeses were unpasteurised and from Neal's Yard Dairy - all British cheeses. 12 'O' clock, a goat's cheese. Smooth and creamy with a soft rind. Not too salty. Below that to the right, a sheep's cheese. Very much like Brie, I thought. My favourite, the one part hidden under the crisp bread, is a Stichelton. Stichelton is a unpasteurised blue cheese, very much like Stilton. Strong (but nothing compared to some of the other stuff I've had), pungent, salty. Not as crumbly as Stilton, creamier. Good stuff. The darkest one is a hard, mild cow cheese. Pointless and insignificant compared to the others on the board. Mostly because it was the last one I tried and anything that it had to offer failed to deliver through the strong after taste of the other cheeses. My mistake maybe.

When you have been looking forward to something so much, you need that one thing to happen, something to suddenly click, that makes you go, 'ah this is bloody brilliant'! As if all the food wasn't enough, at 11:30 pm a sous chef walked out of the walk-in fridge, in full view, with an entire pig carcass slung over his shoulder. Nose to tail indeed. He off-loaded it on the service station and fetched another one. This to me epitomises what St. John Restaurant is all about. Understated, wholesome and bold, rustic food. Home cooking with an unmatched level of precision and attention to detail. A carefully planned chaos.

I had set my eye's on the bakewell tart for dessert, again sold out.

Damson and Crème fraiche Ice cream

Bread and Butter Pudding

The ice cream had a tang, but not too much. Damsons have just come into season here in Britain so why not use them while they're there. There was definitely too much of it though. It was more sorbet than ice cream. A good palate cleanser. The bread and butter pudding was perfect - really! I often find the stuff way too sweet. But the candied orange peel and burnt sugar in this one kept the whole thing on track. The bread was a raisin loaf and the custard was warm with lashing of vanilla.

When I had made the 10 pm reservation, I had categorically asked if we would be rushed towards the end of the meal, and they promised we wouldn't be. Truth. We were left sitting in our corner with a couple of single malts while they closed the dining room down for the night.

The place is more canteen than restaurant

St. John has been called one of the best restaurants in the world. I haven't been around long enough to say something like that with any credibility. But, if I were to drop dead tomorrow, I would die a very happy man.



St. John Restaurant, Smithfield. Vol. 1

1st October 2010, St. John Restaurant, Smithfield, London.



The bar area

As I got to St. John Restaurant in Smithfield, absolutely drenched in the rain, the first thing I noticed was how modest the restaurant front was. No big signs, smokers braving the rain with their drinks, a hole in the wall really, recognisable by the Nose to Tail Eating pig. But as soon as you walk through the white doors that make the place look like a mental ward, the experience truly begins. Servers running around getting things done, serving a good mix of people. We entered into the bar area that smelt of bread, not booze. Tucked in a corner, in the same room, is the bakery that bakes fresh bread to be served in the restaurant, and for punters to take away. Servers were shuttling bakewell tarts from oven to table. The day's breads jotted on a black board. The decor is functional. The place was probably a barn or maybe an abattoir back in the day. Hatches in in the walls, exposed iron girders painted in white to match the white, bare brick walls, and a iron staircase that, curiously, didn't seem to lead to anywhere. Into the dining room, a couple of pints later.

The dining room is more canteen than restaurant. Lots of small tables joined together to accommodate larger parties and the white-washed walls matched by white paper table spreads. The service was extremely human. No sir, ma'am non-sense. At one point a women doing her job bumped into me, crate of crockery in hand. Not even a glance. Apologies? Most certainly not. There seemed to be an understanding that everyone was their for the food, customers and servers, and that all else, including pleasantries were secondary. Good banter. We got the sense that the servers all worked in the kitchen as well, maybe on prep - stubborn ingredient can take a lot of prep time. They wore stained chef's jackets and whizzed in and out of the kitchen, which one could sort of look into through the service station and galley. Studying the menu did not take very long - I had been looking at it for weeks and knew what I wanted. Left the wine to someone who knew better.

Between the two of us, we ordered three starters, part curiosity part gluttony. Dr. Henderson's signature Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad - but of course - a Snails with Oakleaf salad, and Pig's Spleen. All with a basket of fresh baked brown loaf. The menu is very undescriptive. For example, for the Pig Spleen, it said just that. Good opportunity to have a chat with the server to enquire. They did seem to know their stuff.  

I did have my eyes on a Langoustine and Mayonnaise starter, but a 10 pm reservation does have its drawbacks. I did however see a portion, probably the last one, go to a table while we were at the bar and it looked just like how I had imagined it. Clean and simple. Maybe next time, but I am not complaining.



Snails with Oakleaf

I do like snails, but this was the conservative wild card choice - a damn good one though. The snails were warm, and texture more than taste. The dressing for the oakleaf lettuce though, bursting with flavour. My guess? Shallots (agreed upon after a bit of consultation), balsamic, red wine vinegar and seasoning. The croutons were buttery, boldly seasoned, crunchy and generous. Among a very rich and gamy menu, this is definitely the ladies' choice. Light, yet adventurous.


Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad

This is a mischievous dish. Food lego of sorts. From the top, roasted marrow bone of cow. Cooked till the marrow gives but not long enough so that it simply runs through. The flat leaf parsley was tossed with shallots. Sour dough bread, nicely toasted for real bite. And sea salt. This plate of food is genius. Not so much in the way of the ingredients themselves but the way they come together. Scoop the marrow out of the bone and spread on the toast. Not too thin though. Lump it on. Sprinkle some sea salt on the marrow,  lob on some parsley and sink your teeth in.

After the crunch, you are hit by the richness of the fat. The marrow is very rich but the beefiness is subtler than you would think. The salt soon kicks in and just before it all gets a bit too much, the parsley rounds it all off just perfectly. I have been holding back an oxymoronic blurb, but no more. This dish is extremely complex in its simplicity. And genius in its ingenuity. A worthy signature dish.

Pig Spleen

But for me, and for the fellow connoisseur of the pluck, this was the one. The blue ribbon for the starter went to the Pig Spleen. Everything about it surpassed expectations, and they were pretty high, may be because the brevity of the menu spurs on the imagination. The spleen was rolled with bacon and what I initially though was rosemary, but was in fact sage. Though served at room temperature, the bacon fat was a lot more giving that it looks. The spleen tastes a lot like liver but richer, more irony and also a little more fibrous. The spleen was served with red onions, pickled baby gherkins and red wine vinegar, all three pretty sharp condiments in their own right, but perfect complements to the spleen's richness. This one really surprised, in taste and texture. I was never forced to eat liver as a child and because of this I have come to really love it as an ingredient. Wouldn't have said the same for spleen. Until now.

The starters were followed by a dramatic pause and some 2007 Côtes du Rhône.

Chain pain

Just round the corner from 170 Gloucester Place, where I live, within a matter of about 200 metres, there is an ASK, a Subway, a Pizza Hut, a Pizza Express, a McDonalds, a KFC, a Gourmet Burger Kitchen, a Strada, a Nando's and a Zizzi. Just down the road from Zizzi there is a Giraffe, a Ping Pong and The Real Greek. Where the bloody hell are all these chain restaurants coming from? In the age of economies, standardisation, and franchising, we accept there to be some chain restaurants, but the number springing up these days is a damn disgrace. Oh yes, and another thing that has led to the pitiable state of affairs - feminism. If women had just stayed at home rather than getting into the workplace, the death of good old home cooking could have been averted and these sad excuses of restaurants would not have sprung up like mushrooms. Says Prince Rose. Not me. I am all up for feminism and all that bollocks. (Rose on the BBC).

There's something about most chain restaurants that makes me cringe. It's probably to do with how industrial they make the food feel. And how modular the establishments themselves are. I can't help but think of the kitchen in these places as assembly lines; food should NOT be prepared using flowcharts and  standard operating procedures. We are not talking of building furniture here. And what I find really disturbing is that this chain phenomenon has, from the junk food brands, crept into the kind of restaurants that serve three course meals. Not great meals, but meals nonetheless. There is an upside. More people can enjoy the 'dining out' experience without having to sell their children, but the food, ah, its just 'okay' at the best of times. Not talking about the junk food chains here - the 'food' there isn't really food.

Chains aren't all bad. My local butcher, Ginger Pig, is a chain establishment. They rear their animals in the Yorkshire Moor and operate a few shops in the Greater London area. They specialise in rare breeds of pigs, make some awesome sausages - they have a chili and ginger sausage, a real man's sausage. Will put hair on your eyeballs - and make some great pies and pasties too. And every time I go there I am greeted by the same man, who will have a bit of banter, put in his two bits with regard to how I should cook what I am buying, suggest something new that they might have, and just be generally enthusiastic about the food he sells. Oh yes, and they run butchery classes too.

My local fishmonger, FishWorks, also a chain. They source fish from small independent fishermen, and women, around the Devon and Cornwall region. Sourcing fish does not get more sustainable than this. Of course you can buy monkfish tails, halibut and sea bass from them, but they also have gurnard, bream, great sardines, sorry, pilchards, and other more reasonable and sensible fish. They normally have a damn good selection of flat fish. And ray wings. Talking about ray wings - the shop doubles as a seafood restaurant. And a damn good one. The roasted ray wing, with caper and butter sauce is great. Most of the food is very simple, and the quality of the fish is allowed to shine. A good selection of oysters too. Have enjoyed some great dinners there with some great people. Also runs a cookery school.

So, lets have some more chain establishment that are designed around connecting people with good food, rather than around getting people fed quickly, cheaply and, well, badly.