Cider Rye Bread

I’m rubbish at making bread. Cakes, quiches, pies, I can happily churn out these things with varying degrees of confidence, but bread? Forget it.  I can’t even do it using a machine (my crust is inevitably anaemic and the texture all dense and doughy).  As for the “longhand method”, I can’t be done with all that kneading and proving and knocking back – life’s too short. So I was dead chuffed to find this recipe from Dan Lepard. Involving no kneading whatsoever and just a few ingredients I’ve made it about five times now, each time with great success. And I just adore the fact that you bake it in a saucepan.

For the overnight mixture
200ml dry cider
1 tsp cider vinegar
1 tsp dry instant yeast
150g rye flour

For the dough
150ml warm water
1½ tsp salt
300g rye flour, plus a little extra for shaping

• The night before, mix the cider, ­vinegar, yeast and 150g of rye flour in a bowl, cover with a cloth and leave until the next day.

• The following day, stir in the warm water and salt, add 300g of rye flour, mix to a smooth, firm paste, then set aside for 30 minutes to rest.

• Scrape the dough on to a floured patch of worktop, pat into a smooth ball – not too flat, mind, because it spreads during baking – and sit it in the middle of a large sheet of non-stick baking paper.

• Cut a cross in the top of the dough, then lift the dough, paper and all, and lower it into a suitably sized ­ovenproof pot. Leave for two hours to rise.

• Pop the lid on the pot (or cover with foil) and place in a cold oven.Turn the oven to 200C (180C fan-assisted)/390F/gas mark 6, bake for 30 minutes, then remove the lid (or foil) and bake for 15 minutes more

http://www.danlepard.com/section/guardian

Filed under: baking

Hashi Cooking Class

Let’s face it, a lot of cookery classes can be a bit of a let down can’t they? Far too often you have all the exciting, fun bits done for you, while you’re left feeling more than a little bit patronised and relegated to stir, perhaps. Like some sort of small child, “your” finished dish is praised and cooed over, even though you  both know that you haven’t really made it at all.

Thankfully, the Hashi cooking class is nothing like this. Yes, some of the stuff is prepped (after all, you’d be there all night otherwise) but there is an immediate feeling of engagement and passion – I came away feeling like I’d genuinely learnt something new and useful. In Reiko’s beautiful Wimbledon kitchen, along with Su-Lin, Carly, Kavey , Cara , Denise and Luiz Hara (her trusty assistant for the evening)  I learnt how to shape gyoza correctly (instead of my usual Cornish pasty type creations), how to balance flavours and the best place in London for sashimi-grade fish (Atari-ya). We cooked up a garlicky beef tataki with creamy sesame sauce, some of the finest gyoza I’ve had in the West, zaru soba with velvety spicy aubergine and her signature dish of scallops with creamy spicy sauce on sushi rice. All this was washed down with copious amounts of green tea and a selection of fine wines to match, lovingly chosen by @winesleuth.

Reiko is an excellent teacher; she has that brilliant knack of making you feel at ease and undaunted, as though you were cooking with a friend, and her classes are never any larger than 6 people.  Her respect for Japanese flavour principles sprinkled with cheeky little imaginative touches (the scallop dish and her miso ice cream in particular) are just an absolute joy.  I’ve recreated some of the recipes since the class and they’ve been a resounding success. But more importantly, I’ve found that her class has really inspired me to look at Japanese food in a much more experimental and unstructured way – the other night for example,  I came up with the idea of making miso salmon handrolls with sweet chilli and tobiko mayonnaise – with some seriously tasty results (even if I do say so myself). Now I’m not sure that’s something you can really put a price on. Highly recommended.

Scallops with Creamy Spicy Sauce on Sushi Rice

ingredients:

680g/3 cups of prepared sushi rice

4 large scallops or 8 small ones (sashimi grade)

4 tsp flying fish roe (tobiko)

2 tsp shredded fresh nori

1 lime or lemon

for the creamy spicy sauce

2 egg yolks

1/2 tsp salt

a little white pepper

3 tsp rice vinegar

150 ml vegetable oil

1 tbsp chilli paste or Toh Ban Joh (Chinese chilli bean paste)

Method:

• Make the sauce by beating the egg yolks in a bowl, and adding the sea salt, white pepper and rice vinegar. Gradually beat in the oil a little at a time, ensuring it doesn’t split. Once you’ve reached a mayonnaise-like consistency, stir in the chilli sauce.
• Extract the scallops from their shells and remove the beards and innards. Rinse the scallops in cold water and drain. Reserve the shells, and scrub thoroughly. Cut the scallops into rough chunks.
• Brush the insides of the shells with a little vegetable oil to prevent the rice from sticking. Distribute the rice evenly between the shells.
• Cover the rice with the shredded nori and cover this with the tobiko. Put the scallop chunks on top and place each shell on a baking tray.
• Pour the sauce over the top, ensuring that each shell is generously covered. Place the baking tray under a medium hot grill and watch the scallops like a hawk. It’s really important not to overcook them, so whip them out as soon as they turn golden brown.
• Place the shells on the plates and serve with the lemon or lime wedges on the side (if the shell is a bit wobbly, sprinkle a mound of salt underneath to secure).

Private tuition starts at £120 for one person, and then goes up by £60 per additional person to a maximum of 6 people in total. Click here for further deets. I paid nothing because Luiz Hara very kindly invited me along – many thanks to Reiko and Luiz.

Filed under: good times, great find

Fire and Knives

The latest issue of Fire and Knives is out, and it’s easily the best one yet – positively choc full of meaty sparkling prose from the likes of Henrietta Lovell, Tom Parker Bowles, Catherine Phipps and Craig Butcher. In addition to the super cool design there’s also a rather natty photo shoot from @unwholey

I’ve contributed a piece about the lost world of Anglo-Indian cuisine. Here’s a little taster….

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Fire and Knives is the ideal addition to an afternoon of sunning in the park, and also adds a touch of much needed relief to the Hieronymous Bosch-like hell otherwise know as the Central line rush hour on a Monday morning.  You can subscribe here.

Filed under: publications

Cafe Kaati

Living around the corner from Brick Lane means I’m always getting hassled for decent curry house recommendations. Despite being surrounded by a multitude, there really aren’t many in this area that I would actually rate. Most serve up dishes that are either creamed and sweetened beyond recognition or are so authentic, that no one but the most  local of Bangladeshis would really want to eat them (dried fish curry is definitely an acquired taste). I quite liked Chaat when it first opened, a little place on Redchurch Street, but my last visit was disappointing. Tayyabs is the main reason I live where I do, and I’ve eaten there regularly for the past few years – so it’s nice to have a bit of a change now and again.  I was therefore performing all manner of double take when I spotted “Cafe Kaati” from the top deck of the 205 the other day.

The kathi/kaati (meaning stick in Bengali and referring to the long iron sticks the kebabs are grilled on) hails from Calcutta. The first kaati was wrapped in the Nizam restaurant in 1932, and legend has it that this was the result of a happy accident involving a glut of parathas and a dearth of plates. The original; a simple kebab wrapped in a paratha has now spewed forth a myriad of versions. The best ones are flaky parathas, cooked over hot embers and drizzled with beaten egg, which sets to a wafer thin omelette. Spiced chicken, lamb or vegetables are added along with slivers of red onion and chutney, before being rolled up, wrapped in paper and devoured on the hop (The Spice Spoon has an excellent recipe). It’s also been said that they were invented for famished commuters who wanted a fast, portable snack and others refer to fussy British overlords, desperate to avoid any sort of haptic interaction with their meat.

Exhausted after a long day in the office, I really wasn’t in the mood for a sweaty evening with the hob. A spot of light Googling revealed that they delivered, have been open since last June and  haven’t had any official reviews yet, although a lot of satisfied sounding folk out there seem to have some glowing things to say about their chilli lamb. Of course, they were always going to ensnare me with chicken 65 “flour coated deep fried chicken sautéed in chillis, curry leaves and sauce”, wrapped in a fresh paratha (according to my South Indian friend Rancheev, Chicken 65 is a dish with even more anecdotal tales surrounding its origins than the kaati roll). In the name of research, I also went for a lamb seekh in roti, a katchori (a pastry snack filled with spiced lentils) and a salted nimbu pani. The whole lot came to about £9, not bad at all for a London takeaway.

The chicken was very good, but lacked crunch (I’d been anticipating something that might give KFC a run for its money, but apparently chicken 65 isn’t actually meant to be crisp). Nonetheless there was something comforting about the combo of buttery, fragrant flesh and flaky bread. The paratha was ever so slightly chewy, but this was because it had cooled down en route to my flat. The lamb seekh was the star, a soft earthy girdle of wholemeal roti enclosing intensely juicy meat, the spicing every bit as good as Tayyabs. The katchori was ok, but I could have had better from Ambala down the road, and the nimbu pani was the perfect heat quencher, the refreshing balance of iced citrussy bubbles laced with the merest rumour of cumin. My only complaint was that the food was a bit cold by the time it arrived, but that probably serves me right for being so bone idle. I’m definitely planning on a visit, and soon -  while it’s still an undiscovered gem.

Cafe Kaati

123 Houndsditch

London

EC3A 7BU

0207  283 0444

Filed under: great find, lunch, snacks, tea

Halloumi Majestic

So the Great British Summer is upon us and of course it’s all grey and drizzly out there.  I always swear by a big steaming cup of tea, with a good book in one hand and a plate of fresh bhajis to munch on as the most comforting way to counteract the dreaded June mizzle. But today I discovered something a little bit different, something that turned out to be astonishingly delicious….

It all started when I spied a sign for “vegetarian” fish and chips outside an old boozer in Spitalfields. On closer inspection this turned out to be chip shop battered halloumi and it got me daydreaming. After all, a speciality amongst  Bengali street food is “Ponir Majestic”;  which is spicy battered and deep fried ponir cheese (“paneer” is the softer, unsalted Indian version). So why not show a nice lump of halloumi an equally good time?

This recipe was the end result of that thought process and I must admit, it’s a bit of a beaut. In fact, I’m rather proud to have the sort of gluttonous mind that would dream up such a thing.

The results were a crisp, garlicky, cumin-scented crust which crunched satisfyingly into hot salty, molten cheese…it married well with tamarind chutney and went even better with a big splodge of Daddy’s sauce. As the cheese is already so salty you don’t really need to put much in the batter. And you definitely have to wolf it down fryer fresh, it doesn’t take kindly to hanging around. Luckily it was so good I’m slightly ashamed to admit I ate an entire block of the stuff in about 15 minutes and immediately felt the urge to buy more sheep’s cheese and pretty much repeat to fade. With a treat this tasty, there’s a part of me that definitely wants it to keep on drizzling….

ingredients

1 block of halloumi, drained and sliced ( I cut about 9 slices from one block)

½ wine glass of fizzy water

2 ½  oz (70g) gram (chickpea) flour

1 oz (30g)rice flour

3 cloves garlic, crushed

1 tsp good curry powder ( I used Tab & Sons)

1 tsp garam masala

¼ tsp salt (optional)

1 tsp baking powder

1 heaped tsp dry roasted, ground cumin powder

Oil for deep frying

Kitchen paper for draining

method

• Heat the oil up to deep frying pitch.
• Stir together the gram and rice flours with the salt, garam masala, baking, cumin and curry powders.
• Add the garlic and slowly stir in the water, until you have the consistency of double cream (don’t worry if there are a few lumps, this only enhances the texture of the crust)
• Coat each slice of halloumi in the batter
• Deep fry, drain and devour

Filed under: snacks

Green Valley

There are very few things in life that give me quite as much of a thrill as stumbling across a new deli. All those cheeses and cold meats you’d never find in your local supermarket, the artisan breads, the teas, the lovingly sourced condiments,  those little tubs of pickled garlic and smoked artichoke hearts – it always makes for the most satisfying of browses.  Seriously, nothing excites me more. Except perhaps finding a good charity shop, that is.

So imagine my delight when I discovered Green Valley, a veritable Aladdin’s cave of Middle Eastern treats, tucked away in a side street off the Edgware Road. Apparently it’s been here for years. When I asked the owner if it was ok to take a few pictures, he just smiled and nodded in a way that said he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

As you enter you’re bombarded by what can only be described as a visual assault of deliciousness. Think racks of lustrous pomegranates, baby gourds, apricots, cherries and feathery bundles of dill next to barrels containing a Benetton advert of fleshy olives stuffed to bursting with garlic, thyme, feta, pickled chillies and hot pink pickled turnips. They even had these beautiful fresh green almonds, all fuzzy skinned and smacking of marzipan.

A spectrum of olive oil bottles ranging from pale gold to snooker baize line the walls along with tins of ful medames, halal  frankfurters, cartons of sour cherry juice, salty drinking yoghurt and erm, Ajax.

The take-away cabinets groan with great heaving platters of lamb kibbeh, fresh falafel, palm heart salads, baba ganoush, mountains of biryanis, cauliflower fritters and some superlative  hummous. They also do a selection of curries, but these didn’t look even remotely appetising.  They stock cheeses I’ve never seen or heard of before, like Akawy and “twisted cheese” (a much saltier version of halloumi). There’s an in-house bakery, complete with a wood fired oven which cooks up a daily batch of fresh pide (Turkish pizza) and flatbreads. The butchers section harbours all the racier cuts, including lamb’s tongues and veal feet, and my personal favourite, spicy, sujuk sausages.  There’s even a sweet shop which positively glitters with ices (I cannot wait to sample the ferrero rocher flavour) sticky baklava, huge ivory breeze blocks of halva studded with pistachios, a smorgasbord of cakes and sweets adrip with honey and nuts; all beautifully laid out in a style more akin to an Asian jewellery shop than a deli.

With so much variety, the prices inevitably vary depending on what you go for. I bought a Turkish coffee pot for £4.90, a handful of  almonds were almost two pounds and a tub of mixed salad, some hummous, a couple of stuffed vine leaves and a lamb kibbeh came to around a fiver. I could quite easily have spent a lot less and also a lot more and still felt like I’d had my money’s worth. With Hyde Park a mere cherry stone’s throw away, I can think of no finer place to stock up on treats for my next picnic.

36-37 Upper Berkeley Street

Marylebone

London

W1H 5QE

Filed under: great find

Waitrose Kitchen – Tandoori Chicken

I’m super chuffed to report that I’m in this month’s Waitrose Kitchen. They’ve run a rather splendid piece about food and nostalgia, which includes the story behind my not-so-secret family recipe for tandoori chicken. It’s also on the waitrose website here and the recipe’s here. My gran would be so proud…

Filed under: publications

A Dish Served Cold

“I want the bastards that tortured my grandmother to bleed” spits Susan, her face contorting and reddening to match the hue of our food. “I want them to feel just a fraction of her pain.”

We’re in a tiny izakaya in Saitama-ken, just around the corner from my flat and Susan is explaining her dark reasons for being here over a bowl of  kimchi ramen.  “So your grandmother was a…a comfort woman then?” asks Manola, who teaches in the town next door.  Manola is dead cool. The other JETs we’ve met are an assortment of private school tossers and downright weirdos, so we’ve made a point of only befriending Japanese people and each other.  We spend our weekdays teaching English and our weekends in throbbing clubs and bars in Tokyo, grabbing steaming 5am bowls of ramen and larking about in purikura booths before catching the train home to the suburbs… Her Kanji count is enviable and she’s definitely the sensible one. I, on the other hand manage to unwittingly get us into countless dodgy situations, like the time we find ourselves in the car of a minor yakuza who tries to press pills upon us and entice us to some warehouse party with his mafia pals.

We love it all, but Susan has made it clear she’s purely here for vengeance.

She’s a towering half Texan, half Korean model type, and she fascinates us with tales of growing up in a trailer with anorexic friends. She’s like something out of a JT Leroy novel. She confirms that yes, her grandmother was one of the comfort women Japanese soldiers famously took “refuge” in during the war. A group of young Japanese men nearby openly ogle her, one plucks up the Asahi-powered courage to saunter over and tell her how “sekusi” she is.  She tosses her hair and casts out a murderous look before archly turning her back on them. “Wow this kimchi’s great” murmurs Manola. Susan scowls and tells us about the proper stuff her gran used to make in huge earthenware pots which she’d bury in the garden for months. Years later and faced with a superabundance of cabbage I come across the napkin with her recipe scrawled over it.

Instead of pointed Chinese cabbage, I try it with a spring one – it comes out a treat. The mooli is even better. You can eat it immediately, or for a more fermented taste leave it in an airtight container at room temperature for a day before transferring to the fridge for months. I stir the cabbage kimchi into my breakfast bowl of miso soup, fold the mooli into steamed chard and wonder whatever happened to Susan.

Susan’s Gran’s Kimchi

Ingredients

2-3 cabbages

1 mooli

plenty of salt

2 tbsp mochi rice flour

1 tbsp sugar

3 tbsp water

8oz chilli pepper flakes

1-2 tbsp fish sauce

1 onion

3 spring onions, cut into diagonal “horse ears”

1 bulb of garlic

4 inches of ginger

½ tbsp honey

1 carrot julienned

Method:

1)      Fill a sink full of water and quarter the cabbages lengthways.

2)      Plunge the cabbage into the water, and drain.

3)      Sprinkle each individual leaf with salt, paying special attention to the stalks.

4)      Set aside for a couple of hours

5)      Peel the mooli and cut into 5cm cubes.

6)      Place in a large bowl and toss in plenty of salt. Set aside.

7)      after a few hours rinse the cabbage and radish really well. 3 or 4 times ought to do it.

8)      Blitz the onion, ginger and garlic in a food processor.

9)      To make the kimchi paste, put the rice flour and water in a small pan and gently heat until you have a thick porridge. Stir in the honey, sugar and salt and allow to cool.

10)   Add the fish sauce, chilli pepper flakes, blitzed onion, ginger and garlic.

11)   Stir in the spring onion and carrots.

12)   Transfer to a large bowl and mix half with the cabbage and half with the radish.

13)   Seal in air-tight containers or earthenware jars.

14)   You should see bubbles appearing on the surface after a few days, this means the fermentation process is underway…

Filed under: breakfast, lunch, sides and salads, snacks

Wahaca

When did it all get so manic? I find myself with so little time on my hands these days that I rarely make it to foodie launches or parties anymore. In fact, I hate to admit it, but I’m rapidly becoming more of a bolted-salad-on-the-way-to-the-next- board-meeting kind of woman. Last night however, I decided to ditch the shoulder pads and found myself at the launch of Wahaca’s new summer menu. The thing I love about Thomasina’s food is the way in which the dishes are all so unpretentious, authentic and secretly quite good for you.

Highlights included a mouth popping ceviche tostada, a ridiculously intense hibiscus and passionfruit jelly and my favourite fryer-fresh, cinnamon-scented churros y chocolate. I do luff the fried dough.

I’d never tried cornbread before- our seemingly endless feast included warm buttercup yellow hunks of the stuff. The texture was lovely, like savoury Madeira cake which came replete with a fat slick of rich mole sauce.  I also loved the new cactus taco with courgette and cheese – the cactus flesh was a revelation; subtle, savoury and yet simultaneously bursting with freshness. What’s more 20p of the cost of each of these beauties goes to the EDNICA Charity, supporting the street children of Mexico.  Never before has doing it for the kids been quite so delicious…

Filed under: good times

Le Burger

I’ve written a little something about the Joe Allen burger in this week’s Le Cool

You can read all about it here:

Filed under: Uncategorized

Riverford Field Kitchen, Burts Chips and Barbers 1833 Cheddar

An ophthalmologist friend of mine has this theory that myopia is far more prevalent amongst city dwellers than country folk. I suppose this makes sense when you think about it. In the countryside you frequently get to cast your gaze out far and wide over huge vistas of emerald and azure; while – let’s face it, in the city any hopes of visual exercise are swiftly mugged by the inevitable urine stained brick wall no more than arms length away at any given time.

So my poor deprived peepers hungrily suck up the feast as I gaze from the minibus window across endless, luxuriant carpets of green, and I find myself humming the Bengali national anthem under my breath-  the lyrics seem strangely apt somehow.  The gallant young Douglas Blyde has invited a few of us on a mini food break down in the West Country, and it’s the first properly sunny weekend we’ve had for time.

We stop off at Barbers Cheddar Farm where they’ve been making cheese since 1833. That’s six generations of cheesemakers. What this lot don’t know about cheese making clearly isn’t worth knowing. I sample some extremely moreish two year old cheddar,  freshly cut from the box. It’s spicy, tart and creamy all at once. I pretend I didn’t get to taste any just to have a bit more. We compare it with some of that“seriously strong” branded cheese, you know, the stuff you find  in your local  supermarket. It’s a genuine shock to realise how sweet and cloying it actually is, a bit like fudge masquerading as fromage.

Filed under: good times

My Dining Room

My dining room is in Fulham, tucked around the corner from Fulham Broadway station to be more precise. Now, I rarely visit this part of town, but if I lived around here and wanted to eat somewhere that was a bit less manic than say the Harwood Arms, this would definitely be my regular haunt. Formerly a gastropub called “The Farm” it’s been recently refurbished and they’ve recruited head chef Julian Marshall who’s also done time at Anton Mosimann’s and The Lanesborough. The interior is adeck with coffee and cream tones of plushness. Whilst I’m not too sure about the name, it’s very well designed in a spacious-and-sophisticated-without-being-stuffy sort of way –designer Jason Hwang is a bit of a genius.

My dining partner and I were impressed at the cocktail list and even more so at the wine list, which joyfully sources from small artisan vineyards. My glass of Cuvee des Conti Bergerac was more crisp and floral than a bunch of stargazers. The menu boasts big sharing plates of comfort food, things like onglet and chips or wild boar sausage and mash – in short the sort of dishes I completely resent having to share.  Nonetheless, we did share a starter of crayfish caesar salad. It arrived in a bucket sized bowl, busy with fresh anchovies, crayfish and a spot-hitting tangy, cheesy dressing. Our only complaint was that we struggled to finish it – it could have easily fed three. A main of fish and chips came perfectly cooked, a crisp, tempura shell which crunched appealingly into a steaming hunk of pearly protein. The presentation was adorable, they served the skin on chips in a little mini coal scuttle and a pretty chiffonade of citrus peel on the fish. The home made mushy peas was nicely flecked with minty shreds and the home made tartare sauce definitely tasted like it was.

Filed under: great find , restaurant reviews

Tarte Tatin Emile Henry

It does make me laugh when people go on about “super foods”. I mean, surely all fruit and vegetables are good for you, aren’t they? What makes a blueberry so much better for you than say a carrot? Or some nice runner beans? We fork out for fancy pomegranate seeds and goji berries, when you can get just as many health benefits from the humble apple, and for a fraction of the price, at that. From perfumed crunch, to complex tartness and rich vanilla scented flesh, the varieties and nuances of this most English of fruits run deep and wide. These shores have borne countless breeds that have been sadly aborted in favour of a few sickly sweet, mushy types and we continue regardless to import our bland, flawless varieties.

Filed under: afters

Le Cool/Wapping Project

Hello. I’ve written a rather mean thing about cupcakes (and how you won’t find any in The Wapping Project) in this week’s Le Cool. The editor of Le Cool used to be the bass player in Suede. If that’s not a reason to subscribe I don’t know what is.

Filed under: Uncategorized

Bob Bob Ricard

Did you know that the man who invented Imperia Russian Standard vodka* also invented the periodic table of elements? Or that the liquid is distilled no less than eight times, and filtered twice through Ural mountain quartz?  Or indeed, that “Stolichnaya” is just another flavour in Russia and has been heavily marketed to us in the west, whereas the more discerning Russian connoisseurs are less impressed at its mere double distillation?

Filed under: good times , restaurant reviews

Qype

Sorry I’ve been so quiet, things have been super busy. You know how it is…  Anyway, for now, here’s a little interview I did with those lovely people at  Qype.

Filed under: Uncategorized

Ottolenghi Turkey and Sweetcorn Meatballs with Roasted Pepper Sauce

Regularly stocking up on cookbooks can get a bit pricey, so I’ve started borrowing them from my local library, which harbours a superb selection.  I get a vicarious thrill out of lugging them home and leafing through, before post it noting the recipes I want to try before the dreaded due date  (never let it be said that I don’t like to live life on its absolute edge).

Filed under: lunch, tea , recipe

The Albemarle

I do love a good pie.  Whether it’s of the puff pastry variety or the old fashioned suet crust ilk, there’s just something about the thought of a buttery crust yielding into soft, meaty chunks of savoury comfort that drives me to distraction. Especially when it’s a bit parky outdoors.

Recently I’ve found myself haunted by Food Stories’ towering beauty, it seems to greet me at every turn. There I am, trotting along on the way to work or to meet pals and it’s there shining down at me like an old friend.  As a result I’ve had full on pie-pangs on repeat in my pastry-addled mind like an unshakeably good tune. You know, the sort you’re afraid to listen to too many times in case you get sick of, but you can’t really help yourself.

Filed under: good times , restaurant reviews

Tenore

When I interviewed Francesco Mazzei last summer, he tipped me off about a little-known place he sometimes likes to visit with his wife and daughter. Tucked away in a quiet side street behind the Sainsbury’s in Angel, Tenore is an authentic Sardinian restaurant, with a great little line in wood fired pizzas. Chef Roberto Tonzanu, who worked with Gennaro Contaldo at Passione for many years, has run this little gem in a refurbished Barnsbury pub for the past year.

The decor is all overblown black and white prints, burgundy banquettes, priapic pepper grinders and single roses on the table. It  welcomes you in, in an unpretentious trattoria kind of manner.  Images of the Sardinian flag greet the eye at every turn, and it’s an image I’m eerily fascinated by. It’s basically a St Georges flag with the severed head of a Moor in every quarter. This represents the execution of Moorish kings after the reconquest of the island in the 11th century and was updated 10 years ago. Now the blindfolds on their heads have been replaced with hip hop style bandanas – I have no idea what this represents but it makes me feel ever so slightly uncomfortable.

Filed under: great find , restaurant reviews

Bangalore Express

Regular readers of this blog will know that I suffer from a shameless weakness for anglo-asian dishes. Done properly, curried cauliflower cheese, masala-ed up mousakka, tandoori fried chicken- all of the above are pretty much guaranteed to make me come over ever so slightly herbal essences. So when Richard Vines, his adorable aunt and sister in law suggested trying out the City branch of Bangalore Express one blustery evening I was in.

As we descended into what can only be described as a visual migraine, the huge geometric black, red and white designs ensconced us like the wet nightmare of some coke addled 80’s interior designer.A gaggle of staff sweated anxiously into the bowl of papadoms placed before us – I was deeply impressed. Garlic is my MSG and this was the one and only highlight for me. The combination of a home made pickled garlic dip, all seductive smoky sauce and crisp greaseless papads was champion.

Filed under: never again , restaurant reviews