Sustenance and sustainability...(not a Jane Austin sequel)

Moonlight glistened on dark water and the reflection of light sparkled, adding a dreamy quality. Dreamy? Isn’t this Newcastle? Well, er, yes. Between the Millennium Bridge and the wonderfully monolithic wrought iron Tyne Bridge, that makes Newcastle’s landscape famous; along the quayside, with Baltic, the brutalist art museum, and Norman Foster’s undulating curves of the Sage (Newcastle’s equivalent to the Sydney Opera House, according to the taxi driver), in the new heart of Newcastle, lies one of the City’s prize assets.

Café 21 is the inspiration of Terry Laybourne, author of the cook book Quest for Taste, and the first chef to bring a Michelin star to the North East. Although the Café's aim is for informality, the initial impression, from the sleek bar, dark wood surfaces, dimmed lights and hushed tones of the diners (through enjoyment, I should add), is of formality and this is reflected in the menu, bringing together classic European dishes and English food, most of which is locally sourced from artisan producers.

A combination of work and a chaotic journey north had darkened my mood. It was late and I was tired and cranky, so I felt disappointed that I didn’t have time to indulge in a couple of dishes or more. I settled, though, on the one dish that could ease my mood and hit all my bases at once; the North Country Hot Pot (well I am in the North!) with ham knuckle smoked sausage pork belly and lentils. Pork, pork and smoked pork! (Did I mention the pork?)

Brought to the table in a cocotte big enough for two but with a perfectly portioned plate for one. A cloud of steam released the sweet smell of meat and muted woody aroma of lentils as the lid was lifted.

Succulent hock from Middlewhite pigs, boned and slow cooked, pulling apart to the touch of the fork, and with biting-into-velvet softness. Adding to the richness of flavour, a generously thick slice of salted pork belly, stripes of pink meat and full flavoured off-white fat. Smoked Morteau sausage from Lyon, thick cut discs, finished the combination of meat flavours, spongily resistant and gently smoked; sweetness, smoke and savoury. Smooth textured lentils cooked in ham stock formed the luxuriant base to which fibrously crunchy French beans, wilted baby leaks and green leaves, chateau-cut carrots and potatoes, were added. Fully satisfying and just right, so sad it had to end so quickly.

Back to the dreamy quality of Newcastle, and the palate of colours, sights and sensations in my mind as I drift off to sleep with a smile painted on my face. I am looking forward to going back.

Café 21, Trinity Gardens, Quayside, Newcastle upon Tyne NE1 2HH T: 0191 222 0755 www.cafetwentyone.com

You can’t always get what you want...

As Julie Christie might have said in the film Darling, “Chelsea is so gay” (well not in the modern sense of the word, but then again, I was surrounded by interior designers and arty folk so who knows?) Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Instantly trendy places come and go like shooting stars, and older ones from the time of Darling exist but never adapt. And, two minutes walk from the King’s Road is such an establishment.

Pellicano sits behind the lumbering blocks of flats on Sloane Avenue, and is frequented by the transient clients staying there or local people. Although it had a modern feel it was still very old fashioned. So it was with a certain apprehension that, dressed to pull and surrounded by the arty and interesting crowd, I accepted a glass of light and apple and lemony Prosecco and joined in the revelry. But that was where the problems began.

I was hungry, very hungry, so I decided on a starter of Tagliatelli with Rabbit; visions of creamy yellow tagliatelli contrasting with pale pink fleshed rabbit and flecks of maybe, parsley or thyme. However, reality kicked in the moment it arrived.

This was a rather hearty portion for a starter (serves me right, I guess), and my vision of pale yellow pasta and meaty ragu was distracted by a rather mean desert spoon serving of shredded and cheesy rabbit meat placed in the centre on top. The pasta itself while glistening was slightly over-cooked.

Over-cooked? Well that might be a bit harsh, but I wonder; were they catering for an English palate or were they too busy to cope? Either way, it is meant to be the genuine Italian article. Regardless, it was just a little too soft. Not al dente enough. (I once went to a place near the Vatican that served pasta so al dente that I wondered if water had actually been applied. But I digress).

I guessed that this was farmed rabbit, rather than a fuller flavoured wild rabbit, as it didn’t have that slightly woody, gamier quality that I thought it should have (it has been a while since I last had rabbit so please correct me if I am wrong), and it is the end of the hunting season. Drowned by the flavour and made slightly greasy by the cheese, it tasted more like the meat in a tin of Campbell’s Cream of Chicken soup, so a desert spoon was more than enough. I was left with an acrid after- taste and the desire to dive into a glass of the red wine staring back at me in a wanton manner.

My main course Quail with Fennel and Pancetta on Polenta. Again, I imagined pancetta wrapped roasted birds on a bed of golden polenta. This was close, presented with Italian panache and looking quite appealing, there were two pretty, boned, roasted-to-a-chestnut colour quail nestling in soft, creamy mash and surrounded by a rich meat jus; two bronzed bathers on a golden atoll surrounded by a dark sea; parmesan and sweet saline smells from the polenta and pancetta. Ah, but again, what met the eye failed to meet the expectations of the mouth and mind.

The quails were stuffed with the fennel and pancetta giving them a plump cuteness and keeping them moist. Sadly, however, the overwhelming flavour was of pancetta; pancetta, pancetta, pancetta. The subtlest hint of aniseed and the tiniest meaty taste of the quail struggled to rise above the bacon. Nor were they helped by the not-so-subtle parmesan in the polenta, nor the jus. Keeping with the sixties film quotes, Michael Caine’s “you were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!” cry to his bomb expert for a more subtle approach to cracking a nut comes to mind, the complete lack of balance in flavours and excessive use of bacon was equally heavy handed.

Will I go back? Let’s put it this way, the only things that came out tops were the prosecco and the postcard that came with the bill.

Pellicano, 19-21 Elystan Street, London SW3 3NT

The pleasure of Polpo..

Polpo is a busy and bustling Venetian style ‘bacaro’ in Soho, which serves light plates of regional food and wine, and was once home to the painter Canaletto. Having read so many excellent reviews and, on a few occasions, pressed my nose to the window like a Victorian waif to peer inside, I leapt at the invitation by @R_McCormack and @Tehbus to go for lunch.

Arriving fashionably late (I now realise what that term means… London Transport!) I was greeted by Russell, he of Polpo and @polposoho, who took me down toward the back bar and offered me a drink as I met my fellow tweeters. What was so good about the whole experience (apart from the food Russell, apart from the food) was the feeling that we were just picking up a thread of conversation, as if we had known one another for years and could go on talking until the sun went down; a real treat.

So what did we eat? Let’s start with the appetisers we shared: Two perfectly formed mouth sized balls of Arancini served skewered on a long cocktail stick. Golden crispy coated rice mixed with cheese that pulled away in chewing-gum fashion as it was bitten in half. Crunchy skinned fondue soft centred balls, given texture by the rice; richness and lightness.

White moussed puffs of creamy salt cod, a nebulously light taste of fish on a golden disc of polenta; softness, lightness, fishiness atop the gently resistant-to-the-bite grilled polenta. I should say salted cod, because of the difficulty in shipping in salt cod from Italy. Either way, the chefs have worked on interpreting and translating day-to-day cod into the salt cod before us; clever stuff.

The non-fish eating member of our table allowed me to dive into the salt cod (why does “swim with the fishes” come to mind? This is London, not the Bronx) in exchange for the prosciutto and mozzarella.

Round 2 (Now I have the theme to Rocky in my head), the plates. I don’t normally get excited about Fritto Misto. I guess it is because it seems like an easy option rather than going for something more creative, more unusual; different. However, I am glad it was chosen. I really enjoyed the sunshine yellow, lightness of the batter and the melt in the mouth squid; the soft and sweet prawn meat, and crispy crunch texture of the fish; more-ish, greedy temptation.

A salad, well, it’s a salad right? Not quite. Aniseed flavoured shaved fennel, curly leaves of endive; a bitter sweet blend of flavours, mixed with slightly perfumed almonds. That is a cleansing salad!

Pork belly, a clear favourite; meaty-succulent sweet and tender enough to pull apart with the fork; contrasting textures of softness and crunchy hazelnuts and crisp peppery radicchio.

A fresh yeasty based Pizetta arrived, cooked to perfection (for me) egg with runny yolky richness, subtle cheese flavours and garlic perfumes cut clean by spinach.

In my greed and praise for the other plates I almost forgot this, and how could I? A deliciously rich flavoured terrine of tender, dark rabbit meat, refreshingly light, crumbling under the knife onto the thinnest of French toasts; pinky meat flecked with sweet apricot and subtle herbs.

Embracing the Venetian theme, the gastronomic carnival continued. Round 3 (ding ding): The ox tongue and lentils was an ‘out there’ choice, something I was curious about but needed to taste. Nor was I disappointed. Meaty-firm slices placed fallen Domino style (did you spot that reference?) on a slightly minty lentil bed. Velvety pulses, tender meat, and a fresh flavoured herb brought extra life to the dish.

Blackness brought a deliciously Gothic end to our choices from the squid ink; liquorice smiles bringing levity to the conversation. Cuttlefish, simmered slowly, so very slowly in its own ink given an almost electric charge by a tangy gremolata. @R_McCormack and I were in two minds about this (well for this course, there were only two of us eating!) Whilst the joy of cuttlefish ink is found in the deep, rich, earthy brine quality that lingers on the tongue, coating the mouth with its long finish, the lemon zest adds another dimension, keeping it fresh and light; which I liked. This was served with a side plate of soft polenta drizzled in olive oil.

And so we stopped; the huge selection and our expanding waistlines brought an end to the feast. To ensure we were steady on the road, my tweetamies had Affogato al caffe. Like a flashback from the 70’s with Coca Cola floats, the gelato, rich and egg yolk yellow-cream was placed on top of the espresso to melt and dissolve into the drink. I looked on with envy.

This was such a good experience, made great by the food and conversation. I am looking forward to returning. Thanks to Russell and the Polpo team, and of course my tweeter friends.

Step back in time…

A final rummage through my notes reminded me that I was, all in one day, an action hero, a ‘girlyman’ (to quote Arnold Schwartznegger) and a time traveller. I think abseiling down the side of a 14 storey building constitutes the hairy-chested-man-of-action-Grrr image that I would like to convey, albeit without the box of chocolates.

On the flip side, is the ‘girlyman’ wimp that hid behind his hands watching Wolfman, with the ever gorgeous Emily Blunt. Jumping out of my skin when someone behind me dived into a pack of popcorn at the most tense of moments. But time traveller? Well, yes.

The late evening ticket for the film meant that I needed to eat something before going into the cinema. Something quick and simple and not too far that going back to the flat would constitute an easier option. Round the corner and down the road from Fulham is an old institution. I say ‘old’, this institution is somewhere I went in the 80’s and early 90’s as a teenager, and I couldn’t resist checking it out again for old times’ sake; a trip down Memory Lane (or in this case, Kings Road).

Even with the passing years, nothing has really changed at Pucci Pizza. The location is different, having formerly been housed in a terrace diagonally opposite the Chelsea Fire station; the interior has been done in a deliberately similar layout, regular customers (mainly pretty young girls about town) are pictured in framed collages on the walls, and the place still retains some of its former character, hints of red and green against a white wall, to demonstrate its true Italian-ness. The owner’s son is now in charge and provides a link between the past and the present. Teens and twenty-somethings sit along side those, like me I guess, who were customers in the 80’s and 90’s, and are now old enough to be their parents (now that is scary!) or ex-Sloane Rangers harking back to their youth. There is a very casual party atmosphere and that is reflected with the music, occasionally live, and staff who look like they are, sometimes, having more fun than the customers.

A rather formal touch to the informality for the place were the small bruschette delivered once the order had been placed, (though because of the pending change of license I had to order wine and put it down as a rather large service charge). They had a really tomato and vinegary zing and crunch, and went very quickly. In fact, they could have been a main course in copious amounts.

Pizze are hard to mess up once the base is made, and that was one thing I do remember about Pucci. They never used to get it wrong, so the twitching suspense was heightened as the waiting for the pizza drew out (though not too long!). I ordered the Capriciosa. I have always loved egg and anchovy as a combination so couldn’t resist it. My pizza was piping hot from the over, crispy, crunchy and thin, the base softening the closer you got to the centre. I prefer thin crusty pizze to the breadier, thicker bases. The flavours? well that is the easy bit: a rich tomato base, layers of cheese and anchovies and, of course, the egg, though I don’t like my egg scrambled and cooked into the topping as they did on this. For me, leaving the egg to fry in the centre is preferable, but that is my choice and many would disagree, as they would about the thickness of the base and so many other things.

Still, it worked; powdery, crumbly golden yolk and salty, briny anchovy shock; tart tomato and creamy melted cheese, scattered pieces of mushroom and ham completing the tutti frutti colour balance (although the ingredients' quality were run of the mill). So? It’s a pizza! And I was full enough and ready for my schlock horror film.

Wow! What a retro-mental experience. Seeing it without rose coloured glasses is a whole new experience. It is old Chelsea and ‘to hell with it’. It relies on its reputation for being fun and buzzy and has done so for nearly three decades. (Not only that, but its website points out it is Chelsea in the address, next to the changing pictures of the parked red Ferrari and Callum Best). Cheap and cheerful? Definitely. I guess I would prefer to go there than go to one of a chain of well-knowns. Classy? Erm.. think again. But for a value for money quick bite I would probably go again.

Pucci Pizza 442 Kings Road SW10 0LQ Chelsea London T: 020 7352 2134 E: enquiries@puccipizza.co.uk

An Experiment… on a theme of risotti…

Aside from the chance to put on spangly thongs, big feathers and party until the early hours, isn’t the idea of Mardi gras to clear out the larder, use up what you have and start afresh? Well, isn’t it? And while sparkling fireworks and rhinestones light up the Brazilian night, here the dark and gloomy slow crackle of damp wood on fires and cold, wet weather inspire something altogether different. I have a need to create.

Spurred on by the success of one home made risotto (the delicious Nigella Lawson’s irresistible Lemon Risotto – albeit slightly amended to suit my needs) and the discovery of one large tub of fish stock (made only from salmon carcasses), I decided to combine my Lenten clear out with that of continuing a theme: risotto. And so begins the experiment.

Flickering lights from the stormy gusts light up a lonely pack of Arborio rice gathering dust in the cupboard. Some equally cheerless shallots, and the last decent couple of cloves on a bulb of garlic, sitting solemnly beside the Aga, were enough to turn famine to feast, ready to bring life to the listless and mundane.

Lou’s Salmon Risotto with wrapped Monkfish

2 banana shallots
250g Arborio risotto rice
750ml salmon stock (I couldn’t make up the full litre, but it is fresh!)
1 small glass white wine (such as Pinot Grigio)
1-2 cloves garlic finely sliced
1 sprig of rosemary
Maldon sea salt
Butter

2 fillets of monkfish (or other firm white fish)
2 packs pancetta or Parma ham
1 small pack of baby spinach leaves.

Serves 2

As I said before, it is all in the preparation. Mince the shallots, and warm up the stock. Next, prepare the fish as follows:

Lay out the Parma ham from left to right so that the ends overlap and you have a wide ‘sheet’ for wrapping. Trim each spinach leaf of its stalk and place on top of the ham, making sure the leaves are layered evenly. Leave a centimetre at the top and bottom. The leaves need only be two or three deep. Once done, place each fish fillet at the bottom end and roll the ham around it into a sausage. I would not put salt on this as with the stock and the ham it is likely to be salty enough. Lightly brush with some olive oil and place in a hot oven for 15-20 minutes (or until done).

Meanwhile fry the shallots, with oil and butter, add the rice and coat well. Add the glass of wine and reduce until practically gone, then start adding the stock, one ladle at a time until all used up (In the final stages I added the rosemary and garlic so that the flavour of the rosemary has a chance to infuse and the garlic settles rather than being raw and pungent).

To serve: remove the rosemary stem. Place the risotto in a dish or on a plate, slice the cooked fish in a diagonal, and place on top of the rice, the idea being to show off the tricolour of the fish, spinach and ham on a slightly yellow rice. Clean, simple and elegant.

What I got (pure luck) was a contrast in colours of the white, meaty fish, the stripe of the green spinach followed by the rich red of the ham changing what would be a visually ordinary white-on-white (made grey by the cloudy weather) serving into something more appealing. Testing the fish morsel, it reminded me of the texture of a soft centred chocolate; firm to the bite with a softer centre. The pancetta, sometimes crunchy at the end gives way to a moist, meaty and tender monkfish; the spinach giving some cleanliness to the salty ham.

Creamy butter and rich fish stock (part of your Omega 3, I guess) make a smooth combination, coating the rice, contrasting with the ham and the fish: nutty rice and firm meat; soft monkfish and spinach; strong salmon, rosemary and bacon flavours combining to pull the taste buds back and forth, here and there.

Keep your rhinestones, your feathers and your twenty-four-hour-party-people carnivals, your music, dancing and fireworks. The hypnotic flicker of the fire and the smooth comfort of a risotto is enough to warm even the most miserable of cold nights (though I did look at prices on Last minute).

Unseasonal itch...

You know when you get that urge? That certain craving? That itch? That wanting that no other taste or texture will make up for? Craving a risotto was a first for me. No need to check my oestrogen levels to know that this was out of the blue. But urge, craving, compelling pull, call it what you will, this was an itch that needed scratching. Badly.

What to do? Faced with an already defrosted chicken breast in the fridge, I had thought of a simple (read: bland) cep risotto with fried chicken breast. Quirky, angular cuts of opaque meat scattered with the remainder of some forest green thyme leaves, gently placed on a small bowl of Harris Tweed-dappled, ivory coloured Arborio rice and tobacco and nutty brown mushrooms, and hints of creamy yellow parmesan cheese. Smoke, beef and wooded mushroom flavours contrasting with the succulent, sweetness of the meat and the sharp, saline nuttiness of the cheese. Very simple and appealing to my blokey nature.

However, my tweetamie @Hollowlegs, with the tact and smoothness of a Venetian ambassador, suggested that it was too simple and needed livening up. Flatten the chicken breast and coat it in lemon zested breadcrumbs. Wonderful! Added sharpness with the zest would contrast very well with the thyme and mushroom. Crisp breadcrumby crunchiness matching the bite of the rice (it’s Arborio not Ambrosia). But by then there were more items on my shopping list than indictments against the Parmelat Directors, and if I were to go that far, why not go all the way? Come on girls, blokes like gilding the lily!

Lou’s lifted Nigella Lemon Risotto with Chicken.
2 shallots
1 stick of celery
Butter
Olive oil
100 grams risotto rice
500 ml chicken stock (I used a pack of Waitrose liquid stock but home made would have been richer)
Lemon juice and zest of half a lemon
Rosemary
Yolk of an egg
Parmesan 2tbsp and some for scattering
2 tbsp double cream,
Maldon sea salt
Chicken breast and garlic for flavouring the frying oil

Technically you shouldn’t have moved away from the risotto as it needs to be constantly stirred at a gentle simmering point (but you knew that already). So, firstly, prepare. Heat the stock but don’t boil it. In a bowl, mix the egg yolk, cream and the 2tbsp of Parmesan, lemon juice and zest, and rosemary. Next, finely chop the celery and onion. At the same time (who says men can’t multitask?), heat some olive oil in a pan and add some garlic making sure it aromatises the oil and doesn’t go burnt or bitter. Remove the garlic and get ready to fry the chicken breast.

Melt some butter and olive oil in a pan and gently fry the onion and celery until translucent. Add the rice and coat with the oils thoroughly, then, put in a ladle of the stock until it is absorbed. Repeat this process until all the stock is used up and the rice is done, about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, fry the chicken breast adding salt if necessary.

To assemble, once the rice is done add the creamy mixture, I tend to spoon some of rice stock mix into the egg cream first, stir and then pour it into the risotto pan so as not to curdle or shock the egg. Mix and add a bit more cheese if necessary. Slice the cooked chicken breast and either stir it into the rice or lay it on top in said quirky manner. Garnish with a little rosemary (and maybe a couple of slices of lemon zest lifted out of the Martini that has been helping you through this process).

Although this is a recipe aimed at bringing comforting warmth on those slightly chilly but sunny first days and weeks of Spring, what is striking about this recipe is the combination of simplicity and richness; smooth, unctuous and creamy textures; the sharp lemon tang and the almost sweetening effect of the salt; the yolky cream coating the mouth, not in an unpleasant way, wrapping you in a comfort blanket and protecting you from the sharp acidity of the lemon; the slightly crystalline, gritty Parmesan cheese; nutty rice bites against soft, moist, garlic infused chicken; and, hints of smoky herb from the rosemary, adding balance to the overall flavour. The stock, originally meant to be Marigold vegetable bouillon, is richer and adds a bit of beef (chicken actually) to the sauce and lifts what could normally be a bland meat into something more lively.

I poured myself a glass (or two) of Soave (Strele, Oddbins £10.99) with its balance of flavour adding to the creamier elements of the dish while helping give punch to the lemon. More-ish and satisfying, I can’t think why I never tried it before, so thanks @Hollowlegs for the inspiration.

Kitchen confidential

Gosh! Aren’t I the lucky one? Called, last minute, by my brother Ben who let me know that Villandry have opened a new bistrot and café in Chiswick and I should check it out (where he gets that knowledge from I have no idea). So instead of going back to the darkest depths of Somerset, I delayed… I deferred… I… well, I let my stomach take over my thought processes. There is a childish joy at being a ‘first’ customer. I was so excited by the thought of a free meal I was bouncing like Tigger… no really, I was.

Smells of paint, comfortingly and reassuringly imply newness, cleanliness, never before touched freshness; contrasting, the second hand rustic pine and oak furniture, zinc topped tables, and café lights of glass and steel. Light and airy arched windows, denuded walls and wooden floors give a ‘loft’ atmosphere upstairs (where downstairs seemed a bit darker, even though it had ceiling to floor windows… strange).

Open kitchens and on-display chefs give me a childish sense of anticipation, excitement and entertainment. No nose picking or inappropriate scratching, as graphically described by Anthony Bourdain in Kitchen Confidential, but I still crane my neck to see what they are doing and if it is my plate they are doing in places like that (Union Café in Marylebone is the same).

I ordered duck confit with haricot beans (well if they can’t get the classics right then there is no point in trying the ‘trendy’ stuff). It arrived, perfectly cooked and piping hot. Haricot beans, the larger Tarbais variety (?), slightly soft, mixed with tail clipped crunchy Kenya beans, small strips of roasted red pepper for variety, and a stock and tomato based burnt sienna coloured sauce, thickened with a beurre manié. Sat on this, knife tappingly crunchy, salty skin hid a treasure trove of fresh succulent dark duck meat, sweet and rich, easily pulled apart from the bone with just the slightest touch of the fork. Earthy, gamey, slightly saline duck flavours lifted up by the sauce. Meaty succulence mixed with golden skinned crispness; velvet powdery softness of the haricots shocked by the crunch of the green beans. Visually and texturally, this was good.

A glass of Pinot Noir by J C Boisset Bourgogne was meant to compliment the dish, but it was a bit too cold to show its fruitiness at first and needed to be warmed up (I understood that all the windows had been opened to quicken the paint drying).

Pudding? I had room… no, I made room! I definitely had to make room for pear and almond frangipane tart.

And WOW! The almond frangipane was sublimely light and eggy buttery, sweet as sweet sugary eggy almond frangipane can be: a golden crust; an interior, light and cloudy fluffy and hinting lemon. Although the pears had coloured brown grey (so not seasoned with lemon?) they had a nice bite, and I have always loved the graininess of pears. The crème fraîche, soured and thickened to an almost ice cream consistency, perfectly balanced the sweet fluffiness of the almond base, the smooth unctuousness contradicting the pear grain and the fluffy frangipane.

Washing this down was a lemon-cream Charles Frères, Cuvee Jean Louis Brut, Crémante de Bourgogne, wonderfully smooth, young and petillant.

Slightly nervous service (well it was opening night) and a couple of tweaks (the slightly too soft haricots, the below room wine; peripheral stuff) aside, would I come again? Yes. Recommend it to friends? Yes. Pay? Oh if I have to.

Villandry Kitchen, 217-221 Chiswick High Road, London W4 2DW. T: 020 8747 9113. E: Chiswick@villandrykitchen.com