Review: Koyal, Surbiton

Koyal is the third branch of the Dastaan empire. Unlike their Leeds restaurant, this time they’ve opened just a couple of miles up the road in Surbiton. It should make a big difference though: Dastaan is on a suburban shopping parade miles from the nearest train station, meaning anyone from central London has quite the …

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Ukiyo

Review: Ukiyo Hand Roll Bar, Covent Garden

So I need to foreshadow this review. I love sushi and sashimi, except for one element of it. The thin seaweed sheet used for wrapping rice in various sushi forms. It’s often hard to bite through, and the texture is neither crispy nor yielding. It’s essentially the closest thing to chewing on paper that exists …

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Glass nooooodles

Review: Liu Xiaomian, The Jackalope, Marylebone

Needing lunch, we settled on noodles at Liu Xiaomian, which has been cooking in the basement of the Jackalope pub in a quiet Marylebone mews for a few years now. This really isn’t one of the modern, polished, faux-street-food restaurants that have been springing up all over the trendy corners of London recently (most of …

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Review: Bala Baya, Southwark

So. Bala Baya describes itself as a Middle Eastern restaurant, as do a few review sites that perhaps keep their info updated. But older reviews and articles, that no-one ever updates, call it an Israeli restaurant. It doesn’t take much nouse to realise why they have re-badged themselves “Middle Eastern” as thoroughly as they can! …

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Review: Som Saa, Spitalfields

One of the first new-breed Thai restaurants in London, I was put off visiting Som Saa for a long while due to a sad episode of racism tangled up with the restaurant six years ago (here’s a relevant Twitter thread). But we were at Spitalfields and needed lunch, and I’m optimistic enough to hope that …

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Review: Koyal, SurbitonReview: Ukiyo Hand Roll Bar, Covent GardenReview: Liu Xiaomian, The Jackalope, MaryleboneReview: Bala Baya, SouthwarkReview: Som Saa, Spitalfields

Chef’s Table at Savoy Grill

Categories:

Events and Visits, Fine dining, London, Restaurant Reviews

30 November 2012

Jason the pastry chef takes us through the puds, the kitchen busy behind him
Having never booked a chef’s table before I have nothing to compare with, but I still think the experience at The Savoy Grill is a bit special. See what you think…

The room is a cosy little booth for no more than eight, all of whom have a great view out onto the kitchen through a thick glass window. It admirably keeps the noise and heat out, although the occasional expletives from chef at the pass were still audible. We liked that. In fact we loved the whole experience of watching a kitchen at work for five hours. You can watch all the episodes of Masterchef you want, nothing beats seeing it in the flesh.

Yes, five hours. We were welcomed at midday and finally sauntered out at five, very well fed and entertained. I love a leisurely Sunday lunch, and this has to be close to a record.

We smiled at them, they smiled at us. Well, almost a smile...
One of the chefs would come in with each course to talk us through it and answer as many questions as we could throw at them. Well, at least until their body language made it clear that the tickets were stacking up back in their section! These guys were all working their butts off, most on a seventeen hour shift, and they still had to stop and have a friendly chat with seven nosey diners.

The highlight was just before the main course, when our waiter brought in aprons. Er… what? We all emerged into the kitchen to a chorus of hello’s from the brigade, and then took turns to cook our own dinner. I dealt with seasoning the meat and cooking it in the Josper Grill. My dad sliced the sizzling hot meat for presentation.

Look at me! Where's my Michelin star?!
“5 minutes on Chef’s Table!” shouted my brother, to a chorus of “Oui!” from the whole brigade. Only those who wanted to were given tasks, and nothing technical, but everyone felt the experience of ten minutes in the heart of a big, hot, busy kitchen right in the middle of service. We certainly kept talking about it throughout our splendid mixed grill of sirloin, rib-eye and a wonderful brined pork chop. The appropriately trad accompaniments – sprouts, red cabbage, creamy mash, bearnaise, peppercorn and bone marrow sauces – were all excellent.

Yes, I really should return to the food. This is the Savoy Grill, so it is all entirely classic and simple. Canapes were merely some exceedingly good smoked and cured salmon on a wheaty soda bread with

Successful at every level: traditional, delicious, clever
just a hint of sweetness. An amuse of roast garlic and potato soup was a little too homely to impress. Despite my recent whinging about foie gras, our starter was my favourite dish. Wafer thin smoked duck had been pressed in layers with the foie gras, and the whole served at room temperature. This gave both beautiful presentation and a delicious dish, the smoke just potent enough to cut the richness of the liver. Brioche and chutney, naturally.

The fish was classic too, a neat chunk of halibut with a beurre noisette, celeriac puree and some braised razor clam. I have to say the fish was just a tad over, though everyone accounted it delicious. Our main course was seasoned and cooked to perfection – well, it

Dad carves the meat while we fear for fingers
would be, I did it myself! After a palate-cleansing pre-dessert and a selection of English cheeses (to which our French waiter, Benoit, added a small Vacherin Mont d’Or, bless him) we were treated to a selection of six desserts. These made for a delicious ending, a series of classics all perfectly executed and with just the odd twist: tonka bean profiteroles, rosemary crème brulee, caramelised apple millefeuille with a cider sabayon, chocolate marquise with lavender and a pannacotta.

As a special occasion for anyone who is at all interested in the world of restaurants and kitchens this is a real treat. At £85 a head including a glass of bubbles it’s expensive but entirely worth it (and you don’t need to fear the wine list). Of course, you are nowhere near the world of molecular gastronomy, foraged oddities and theatrical plating. This is the Savoy Grill after all! But it is a very real kitchen, enthralling to watch, and the food was perfect for a Sunday lunch. Of course such an experience would live or die by the service, but as you’ll have probably guessed we were treated splendidly by everyone on the day, from our waiter and sommelier to all the team in the kitchen.

Thanks guys. Brilliant.

We certainly couldn't have complained if it was badly seasoned...

My brother looking like a pro at the pass

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Scotch quail eggs

Categories:

Guest Post, Nibbles, Recipes

27 November 2012

Guest post by my good friend Vanessa Johnson
These scotch eggs are perfect, and I guarantee that everyone at your party will give them a very impressed “oooOOOooo!” Without further ado, over to Vanessa…

I love scotch eggs, always have, they’re great for parties and picnics…. however, most of the ones you end up buying in supermarkets are a sorry excuse for a scotch egg. Over the past year I’ve decided that I must be able to have a go at cooking some fab scotch eggs. I’ve made them with normal hen eggs, but then decided I’d try them with quails eggs and since I’ve swapped to quails eggs, I’ve not gone back. I’ve made these a few times for parties and for a champagne picnic in the interval of the opera at Glyndebourne and they are easy to cook and even easier to eat.

The money shot! Look at them oooooozing...

Scotch quails eggs (makes 12)

Ingredients
12 quails eggs
500g-600g good quality pork sausage meat
cracked black pepper
herbs
spices
2 beaten hen’s eggs
flour
panko breadcrumbs
vegetable oil for cooking
  1. Start with boiling some water in a saucepan. Once it is up to boil carefully add in the quails eggs. As soon as the last one is in, set an alarm for 100 seconds. Fill a large bowl with cold water and ice and when the 100 seconds is up put the eggs into the cold water to stop the cooking process.
  2. When the eggs have cooled a little, peel the eggs being really careful as the yolks should still be runny and therefore the eggs will be a bit delicate.
  3. Mix the sausage meat with pepper, and any combination of herbs and spices that you want – I put in a little mixed herbs and cayenne pepper.
  4. Divide the sausage meat into 12 balls and then press one out to be fairly thin and to be the size that will wrap around one of the little eggs. Mould it around the egg, ensuring that the joint is hidden so that the sausage meat won’t separate when it’s being cooked. Wrap all 12 eggs and put aside.
  5. Put 2 beaten hen’s eggs, flour and breadcrumbs into 3 separate bowls. Now it’s time to get messy. Put one of the eggs and sausagemeat balls into the beaten egg, then into the flour, then back to the egg before finally finishing in the breadcrumbs. Repeat for the other 11 balls 🙂 The balls should now be totally coated in breadcrumbs ready for cooking.
    6. Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle - very important, this bit
  6. Bring a saucepan of oil to the right temperature. The oil should be sufficient to almost cover the top of the scotch egg when it’s put in the pan – I use a smallish pan that I will be able to comfortably fit 4 scotch eggs into for cooking – test that the oil is up to temperature by dropping in a little bit of bread to see if it cooks. If there is no bubbling then it’s not hot enough. If it goes brown really quickly, it’s too hot. It should bubble and go golden brown in a couple of minutes.
  7. Slowly drop 4 of the scotch eggs into the pan – the oil should be almost to the top of the egg. Leave the scotch eggs in the oil for about 10 minutes slowly turning them. When the breadcrumbs are golden brown, take them out and put them on some kitchen paper to drain.
  8. Leave to cool and then enjoy, but if you can’t wait they are even better still hot 🙂 Cut them in half and see the yolk ooze out of the eggs.

If you want the yolk to be hard in the scotch eggs, cook for a bit longer…. but try these with the runny yolks as they are fab!

Don't try this at home, kids! The knife juggling, obviously...

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Review: The Talbot, Newnham Bridge

Categories:

Pubs, Rest of UK, Restaurant Reviews

21 November 2012

Welcome inn
All over the land the same story is played out. A country pub closes, typically a tired boozer beloved of the village, and like a phoenix from the ashes it re-opens as a country hotel with cosy rooms, period features and an aspiring dining room. Some pay lip service to their old role by leaving a bar in place with a handful of barstools, while out go the Carlsberg and Strongbow and in come the local real ales. Others make sure they are still quite definitely the local pub, albeit with a fancy new menu and much better toilets.

In a way this is a circle. Most of these country pubs were born as coaching inns, providing comfortable rooms and good vittles for the travelling man of business. The world got smaller, the cities got bigger, and the grand coaching inns settled back on their haunches to become local boozers. If they kept rooms, it was a sideline. One by one they succumbed to the squeeze of the big Pub Co’s and the retreat of drinkers back to the comfort of their own homes. Leaving a place for coaching inns to be reborn, now providing comfortable rooms and good vittles to the affluent weekenders taking a break from their city lives. And with luck, providing a local boozer to boot.

That's as neat a plate of bubble and squeak as I've ever seen
The Talbot at Newnham Bridge is a good example of this story, opened just this summer with a flock of rooms and a menu that suggests they’re not trying to chart new culinary territory or win any foodie merit badges, just provide well presented and tasty grub to locals and visitors alike. They’ve also made certain that it is still a pub.

It looks like there’s a more formal dining room, but as the menu is the same we ate in the pub part, renovated to the epitome of cosy tavern character. Burgundy walls, quarry tiles and plenty of exposed timber mightn’t break new ground, but there’s lots of good details here in both the furnishings and the décor. Definitely not assembled from a catalogue. Service was friendly, although we were amused by the guy whose job description clearly included “bring drinks orders to tables” but definitely excluded “remove empty glasses from tables” – that was always done by whoever else appeared next. How about the food?

Scallops on green peppercorn risotto, aka Russian roulette risotto
My starter was bubble and squeak, with a good rasher of back bacon and a poached egg. The whole was plated very neatly, and was delicious. Maureen picked scallops with a green peppercorn risotto. The scallops were cooked right, but could have used more caramelisation, the risotto was a lively green and very good. However, the peppercorns were also very lively and plentiful; a few mouthfuls in and any hope of tasting scallop was gone.

For main I chose the roast lamb, and it was a few juicy slices of lamb served up with a creamy slab of gratin potatoes and some very rich confit tomatoes. I would have wished it pinker, but it hit the spot. The wilted lettuce leaf made sense to complete the ensemble, just isn’t my taste. Gravy slightly too unctuous, though good in taste. Maureen’s burger was a big’un, which along with the pile of mammoth chips made her plate of food perhaps 50% bigger than mine. The beef was top notch, but although juicy the burger was more well-done than the medium promised. Chips were good, though I’ll admit I’ve had plenty better.

Could be pinker, but this plate of lamb is a looker
I somehow managed to tuck away a plum crumble for pudding. It was pure rusticity, and had just the right balance of plump fruit to buttery crumble, with a good scoop of very ginger ice cream on top. While I digest that I must mention a couple of minor hiccups. Maureen’s starter came with a good sized shred of clingfilm, which is an accident that really shouldn’t happen. And our mains emerged within seconds of the starters being cleared, which suggests that although open for 10 weeks now there’s still some timing to polish.

What’s best about the Talbot is the pub itself, it’s a great renovation of a lovely building and you’d have to enjoy an evening out with friends here in rural Worcestershire. You wouldn’t be disappointed by the food either, if you’re after a decent dinner of pub favourites. Prices are bang on, three courses being around £25 without drinks and wines being around £4-£5 for a glass.

Some people always feel entitled

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Beef stroganoff

Categories:

Lunch or supper, One-pot meals, Quick meal, Recipes

16 November 2012

Judging by online rants, some people take recipe authenticity very seriously
Thumbing through a few recipes on-line to see how other people tackle Stroganoff, I quickly discovered that it’s one of those dishes. The ones where even the “taught to me by a chef at the Kremlin so it must be authentic” recipes contradict each other at every turn. Apparently it should definitely include mushrooms or never include mushrooms, be spiced with paprika or be spiced with mustard, include white wine or include brandy, be cooked very quickly or cooked very slowly. You get the idea. Having always associated it with paprika I was particularly surprised to find that mustard probably is the authentic spice. Just about the only common theme is that you should use the most expensive bit of beef you can find. Fillet, ideally.

I do mine with skirt steak, because I have to be different and because I’m cheap.

The skirt steak is a very flavoursome yet reasonably priced piece of meat, but not often used. You may well not even see it on display at the butcher, in which case just ask. When you get a piece you’ll see that it’s very obviously fibrous in one direction, and so the two crucial tips for enjoying it are: (1) cut across the fibres when you cut it up, (2) cook it rare or at the very most medium-rare. If you need your beef well-done then you’ll have to cough up for fillet!

Beyond that, this is my own personal Beef Stroganoff and I don’t guarantee that it is authentic. I do guarantee that it is quick, exceedingly delicious, and that you won’t be able to resist serving yourself a big glass of red wine to go with it.

Beef. Stroganoff.

Beef Stroganoff (serves 2)

½ lb skirt steak (or fillet)
a few interesting mushrooms
1 onion, sliced
big knob of butter
1½ tsp smoked paprika
1 tbsp brandy
2 tbsp crème fraiche/soured cream
1 tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
squeeze of lemon juice
  1. Cut the skirt across the grain into roughly finger-sized pieces, set aside
  2. Saute the onion, mushrooms and paprika in the butter for a few minutes – you don’t want them browned or even totally soft. Season with salt and black pepper. Put them in a warm bowl
  3. Get the pan on a high heat, add a little oil, and swiftly flash-fry the skirt. You want to sear it, and you really want it rare inside. Nothing more than 30 seconds, perhaps a minute. Set it aside in a warm bowl
  4. Back in the pan go the onions and mushrooms, medium heat, add the brandy and cook for just a minute
  5. Add the meat, parsley, squeeze of lemon juice, and stir in the crème fraiche. Check seasoning. Just give it 30 seconds for the cream to heat through, then serve

I usually serve it on a bed of plain rice, but you could equally go with potatoes, chips, bread, whatever starch you want. But here’s the essential point: it’s a really, really quick dish. Also it’s divine.

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Eating around France

Categories:

Events and Visits, General Articles

12 November 2012

Methinks my Tarte a L'Oignon may be a tad over...
I should warn you, this post does not describe a carefully researched trip targeting a handful of Michelin star-studded bastions of haute cuisine. Much though I’d love to do that! No, we spent two weeks touring some of the wine regions around France, with no planned itinerary, picking low- and mid-range places to eat in whatever city, town or village we ended up in. Surely in La Belle France of all places it ought to be easy to find good, honest local cooking almost by chance?

Wrong. We had two genuinely excellent meals out of about twenty, along with a whole bunch of instantly forgettable but at least digestible eats, and a handful of fairly dismal experiences. This usually involved paying over the odds for a plate of very ordinary slops.

I’m sure there are fuming Francophiles in the audience dying to tell me of all the brilliant places to eat, why, just in their own favourite little town in Provence! Not my point. The visiting tourist doesn’t have the benefit of familiarity, exploring all the options, inside advice and recommendations. And these days if their French isn’t great then the Guide Michelin isn’t much help – apparently no longer published in English.

When the French put booze in food, they don't mess about. Rum for breakfast!
We occasionally used our Rough Guide to France, which proved no better than random choices. We tried TripAdvisor twice, and were bemused by the rave reviews for underwhelming fodder. We asked local people for recommendations four times and got: (1) a place that turned out to be closed, (2) a decent chicken stew, (3) a dodgy concept restaurant and (4) “all the restaurants in our village are good”. This last was admittedly from a guy in the Tourist Info office, and he was wrong because the place we chose was merely adequate, and that’s being charitable.

Mostly we picked at random, using common sense. Avoiding the big central place with its row of brasseries willing to pay the high rent in order to flog overpriced fayre to all the tourists that naturally gravitate there. Picking places that have plenty of other people already dining. And trying to spot whether those other diners are locals (admittedly easier in Nepal than in France).

Anyway, a few recollections to round out the blog…

Why is everything always closed?

An odd mixture, oddly unappealing. Decent gazpacho in the middle though
It sometimes feels like every other day is Christmas Day in France. We check-in to a hotel, head into town to find dinner, and wonder why on earth most of the restaurants are closed. Or arrive in a small town for lunch, and wonder when exactly these three shuttered-up restaurants ever open. Monday night in Avignon was particularly devoid of choice, and as the Mistral was trying to blow road signs down on us we took the first place we found – especially as a French couple outside told us it was good. It turned out to be a slightly odd buffet restaurant where you pick either 3, 5, 7 or 9 starters, then a main, then 3, 5, 7 or 9 desserts. Well, the starters were of course bite-sized (slurp-sized for the soups), and while mostly tasty they were just a collection of oddities on a plate. The mains were carvery joints, and the lamb was admittedly a very good piece. Nice boulanger potatoes, too. Desserts were back to mini-bites, ranging between okay and yuck. It felt like an awkward attempt to bring a party buffet to the high street, and I don’t much like party buffets anyway.

Nose to tail

Andouillette in funky cheese sauce. More hazardous than shark-infested custard
While very much on-trend in England, the French have scoffed nose to tail as a matter of course for centuries. Without going near a high-end restaurant we enjoyed lamb’s feet and stomach lining, veal head and sweetbreads. I say enjoyed, but some of this stuff can get a bit ripe. One dish of andouillete (tripe sausage) in a cheesy sauce was so spectacularly pungent that it lingered on the breath for almost 24 hours no matter what combination of strong liquor and mints were administered.

TV chef

Waiter! There's a garnish in my soup!
I find it a bit irksome when chefs put little advertisements for their new book on the tables at their restaurant. So when we sat down in a bistro in Arles and I spotted the TV screens in the corner showing not the latest Marseilles match but a DVD of the chef-proprietor putting some veggies through their paces, I was slightly put off. This bistro was a lower priced offshoot of his Michelin-starred joint next door (you really must see the website). And the food was very average for the price. Potatoes that are 50% burned and 50% raw do not average out at 100% cooked. The butternut veloute was pretty ordinary, while poached pear with chocolate sauce was just dull. The staff and the décor were both modern and tres chic, so why couldn’t the food have been presented a bit less ’80s? A wretched sprig of mint stuck in a poached pear, and what’s with all the oily bits of old lettuce on everything? Even on the soup?!?

Bangkok tartare!

Bangkok tartare, best thing we ate all holiday
Why is it so bloody hard to get a steak tartare in England? Our national degustatory sense of adventure has come on in leaps and bounds during the last two decades, so why is such a simple and delicious pleasure from over the Channel still denied me? In Grenoble we tucked into a unique take on the dish: Bangkok tartare. Chatting to the chef afterwards, he had included carefully fried garlic, lime, basil, ginger, sesame and various other oriental elements in place of the usual capers and such. It was simple and brilliant. He’d also used an excellent chunk of beef. Of course, this being France it was accompanied by boulanger potatoes and a vinaigrette-dressed salad. Fusion, c’est bon.

Foie bloody gras

Oh goodie! Two lumps of foie gras!
I really don’t need to see another slab of cold foie gras with a bit of toast. And I really don’t want it in a restaurant with a Michelin star. The hideous vinegary fruit jelly accompaniment failed to elevate it beyond what it was: the same lump of chilled liver found on the menu of every brasserie from Calais to Cannes. Don’t get me wrong, I like a bit of foie gras on occasion. I was just astonished at how hard it was to spot a proper restaurant brave enough to leave it off the menu. Prawn cocktail was never so ubiquitous.

So, a couple of closing comments. Firstly: France is still a wonderland of great produce. I love the markets, the patisseries, the epiceries and the fromageries, all abundantly available in every town in France and scarce back home. Secondly: I wouldn’t dream of suggesting you’d do any better as a tourist eating out without research on a journey around Britain. I’d venture to suggest that Thailand and Malaysia are the only two countries I’ve visited where picking a place to eat randomly usually has a good outcome. But I’m surprised, given my halcyon memories of childhood holidays, that France doesn’t belong in that club either.

Put me in a strange town, it often feels like this

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