Review: Pizza Rustica

Richmond is not cool. Richmond is arguably (by me at least) the best all-round place to live within the M25, with splendid green spaces all around, superb transport links into the city or out to the country, theatre, shopping, cinema, and good eating. But the avant garde have always made the possibly valid assumption that Richmond is conservative rather than cool, and so the town never sees anything new to eat, drink or buy until it’s already safely mainstream. In spite of the fact that a two bedroom flat on Richmond Hill will buy you a ten bedroom mansion in Dorset, the best place to eat in town is La

Buvette, a cracking but staunchly traditional French bistro.

Equally traditional and equally good is the tiny Pizza Rustica, sandwiched so tightly among the shops on the high street that you might blink and miss it. But it’s not unheard of to find yourself wandering Richmond on a Friday night and wondering what to feed on, so this little patch of Italy is worth knowing about.

This evening I had their absolutely signature pizza, the “2007”. They cook the pizza base with nothing more than good cheese on top, then add piles of rocket, parma ham, marinated tomato and shaved parmesan. I can’t eat this pizza without grinning cheerfully. The base is thin and crisp, with a good taste of roasted flour. The ham and cheese add plenty of salt, the tomato a bit of necessary juiciness and the rocket a great balancing bitter greenness.

Maureen went for the “Buffalo”, where again the pizza base is cooked with nothing more than a good garlicky tomato sauce, and a combination of parma ham, basil leaves and fresh buffalo mozzarella is added afterwards. Triumph of Italian flavour, as simple as that. We swallowed these with a couple of perfectly decent glasses of Italian white wine, and then went to the cinema.

You should too.

It doesn’t stop at pizza, though. You can have a Foodie Day Out in Richmond if you know where to look. Among its traditional and unadventurous bounds, picturesque riverside, panoramic parkland and John Lewis-stuffed homes you can find some of the best pizza, chocolate, ice cream and cheese anywhere in the country. Get stuffed.

Review: Roka

How exciting! Cameron Diaz dined with us tonight! Okay, she dined in the same restaurant at the same time. Disgusted at the denizens of a nearby table who went up to say hello and shake her hand. Yes, that takes some guts to simply introduce yourself to a major celebrity apropos of nothing. But it also takes a gross lack of empathy. She’s

here to have dinner, not to glad-hand the masses. Good grief.

Anyway, Roka is exactly the kind of place to lure celebs, with a stylish interior coupled to trendy Japanese cuisine that was very good, without being very great.

The gnarly wooden bar surrounding the robata barbecue that forms a centrepiece for the restaurant is impressive and appealing. The walls onto the street are entirely glass, which seems to be pandering more to the prurient gaze of interested passers-by who’d like to catch a glimpse of Cameron Diaz than to the diners within. All the hard surfaces certainly give the place a vibrant buzz of conversation, without quite becoming a din.

Service was good, friendliness combined with efficiency. I took some winning over when our server’s opening comment was “the menu is like Japanese tapas…” Ugh. It’s not, it’s just Japanese food. It bugs me that anything which doesn’t follow the starter, main, dessert formula gets labelled “tapas”. Just as anything deep fried in any kind of batter is now “tempura”.

The tempura we ordered was crisp and good, with some especially funky prawns. The trouble being that nothing set it apart from my local sushi place except the price. Likewise the nigiri, the chicken yakitori, the baby back ribs. This last was a special, using top-notch iberican pork, but as the sauce drowned any porky flavour it was hard to spot the difference.

So much for the ordinary fayre. We also picked a couple of dishes from the top-end of the menu, and these were far better. Yellowtail sashimi with truffle oil shouldn’t have worked at all, but the oil provided a beautiful earthy fragrance on the nose without touching the delicate flavour of the fish underneath. And a piece of sea bream from the barbecue was cooked to blackened perfection and completed with a citrussy dressing.

I usually feel more healthy and less stuffed after Japanese food, a jolly good thing because the desserts at Roka are the highlight of the meal. You heard me, the highlight. My yogurt and almond cake was scrumptiously savoury, really putting the ‘umami’ into… er… ‘pumamidding’. Fine slivers of toffee banana were pretty and complementary, which gets a big thumbs up as toffee banana is one of those things that always sounds good on paper but turns out to be a mistake anywhere more refined than a banoffee pie. Black sesame mochi ice cream with tiny cherry blossom macaroons was as delicious as it looked.

Naturally enough there’s a fine sake list and I found a zesty number with ozone and nutty note, while the wine drinkers had plenty to choose from and found a really solid Riesling. Nothing on the list was cheap, though.

Conclusion? This is good Japanese food, in a stylish setting in the middle of the west end, and we were very happy as we wandered back onto the street. If you want a visual and gustatory feast that doesn’t leave you stuffed as part of a lively night out, and you have money to burn, Roka couldn’t possibly disappoint. The top-end of the menu includes some really good and succulent cooking, and the desserts are superb.

Literally panna cotta

This is ridiculously simple and I feel a bit of a fraud offering it up as a “recipe”. But one of my best friends has never ordered panna cotta in a restaurant in the last five years, and the reason given is: “because it won’t be as good as yours”. High praise indeed!

Except this isn’t really, truly a classic Panna Cotta. There is no gelatine in it. Instead you just cook the cream for much, much longer until it is thick enough to semi-set when chilled. “Panna cotta” is just Italian for “cooked cream” and so really this recipe is more panna cotta than a proper Panna Cotta is! The result is indulgently rich, quite close to white chocolate parfait, and really needs to be served with a tangy coulis of some kind to cut the power of the cream.


Oh! And before I scribble it down, I have to say this isn’t my recipe. I found it years ago on the old website of Mr Underhills, Shaun Hill’s lovely restaurant in Ludlow. That website has long gone and so I can’t link back to the original.

Rich panna cotta (serves 2)

284ml double cream
1 level dessert spoon caster sugar
½ vanilla pod, split
  1. Pour the cream in a small pan, with the vanilla pod and sugar. Bring to a simmer
  2. Simmer for 15-25 minutes, basically until the cream has reduced by about a third (tip: keep the cream carton and you can pour it in to see how much it has reduced)
  3. Pour into little cups or ramekins, stick in the fridge to chill

Seeeeeeee? Too easy. Just increase the cream, sugar and vanilla if you want to make more. As I say, you really need to top this with a coulis; two handfuls of raspberries, a squirt of lemon juice and a spoonful of sugar, simmer for 5 minutes then pass through a sieve – that’ll do it.

Muddy Michelin waters

My most unusual Michelin-starred meal must be Tim Ho Wan, a tiny restaurant tucked away in a backwater neighbourhood of Kowloon, Hong Kong. They seated about thirty, shoulder to shoulder in a room no bigger than my lounge, with décor to remind you of your local Chinese takeaway several thousand miles away. We had a feast of very good dim sum, were out the door in just over an hour, and the meal was about £12 for two including bottomless jasmine tea.

What the heck? Where’s my amuse bouche?

It helps if you actually take some time to read how Michelin define their own star ratings. One star indicates a “very good cuisine in its category”, a two-star ranking represents “excellent cuisine, worth a detour,” and three stars are awarded to restaurants offering “exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey”. There’s nothing here about the whiteness of the linen, the number of waiters hovering per diner, or whether your napkin will be folded neatly on the table for you if you disappear to the loo. Michelin are steadfast about this: stars are given for the cooking; quality, consistency, inventiveness, ingredients, value for money. Yes, value for money. That is, in theory at least, how a cupboard-sized dim sum joint in Kowloon can score a Michelin star.

Which might also explain how the Pony & Trap in rural Somerset has scored a Michelin star, or the Hand & Flowers has become the first pub in Britain with two Michelin stars. This acclamation seems to have particularly divided people. As one irate Frenchman pointed out rather sarcastically (check his comment below this blog for the full rant), the toilets even have “lovely plastic flowers…..a must have in a 2 Michelin Star rated place”! He’s clearly missing the point. It’s all about the food, right?

Or is it? Why do people consistently associate Michelin stars with a particular formula of elegant super-processed cuisine, silver service and serene white linen dining rooms (with fresh flowers in the toilet, dammit)? Well, presumably because for a very long time that was about the only sort of establishment that delivered the kind of food to merit a Michelin star.

So should we not applaud the fact that Michelin is trying to discard this twentieth century image and award stars quite deliberately (it seems to me) to dining establishments that focus on delivering quality cooking at a specific price-point rather than a blinkered fine dining formula?

I’m not going to applaud it. Let me set out my argument.

At the end of the day, restaurants are not chasing Michelin stars. No. They’re chasing money. Restaurants are businesses. The Michelin star, with its venerable history in the echelons of fine dining, attracts a moneyed clientèle willing to pay handsomely for a particular dining experience. This experience includes being looked after brilliantly, sitting in a refined dining space, eating food that has obviously had immense care and attention lavished on it, and splashing out on a bottle of vintage champagne if the occasion warrants. For most, this is special occasion dining; a wedding anniversary, a family birthday, or a lavish weekend break. It’s the restaurant that chooses to combine silver service and white linen with the Michelin-style food, because that’s what their target demographic wants and expects. History tells them so.

The Michelin star may be awarded for excellence in cooking, but it is used by people as a way of quickly identifying a complete special occasion; food, service and ambience.

To my mind, Michelin are just muddying the waters and confusing the punters by giving out stars to jolly good pubs or tasty dim sum joints. They should accept the position that the history of fine dining has put them in and continue to use the three Michelin stars to identify the highest levels of fine dining. And no, that doesn’t just mean French haute cuisine. It should be obvious today that anything from Japanese to Nordic inspired cooking can deliver a meal fit for a fine dining splurge. For delicious food in a different settings or price point, why not expand and emphasise the Bib Gourmand rosette, let’s say to three levels, in order to reward and acclaim brilliance elsewhere in the realms of eating out?

Referring again back to their own definitions: one star indicates a “very good cuisine in its category”, a two-star ranking represents “excellent cuisine, worth a detour,” and three stars are awarded to restaurants offering “exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey”. These stars should shine above the doors of destination restaurants. People plan entire weekend breaks around a trip to Le Manoir or The Kitchin. I don’t care how brilliant the burgers at MEATLiquor, or how splendid the simple cooking at The Green Cafe in Ludlow, no-one is going to build a weekend break around a visit there.

Michelin stars have a place. Had a place. Michelin is in danger of terminally confusing their punters if they pay too much attention to people who moan about the “Michelin formula” and so try to spread their three star system across the entire gamut of eating establishments. Keep the stars focussed. Keep them for those special occasion meals where you can ooh and aah over the cleverness of the amuses bouche, tinkle your myriad of silvered cutlery along the line of various wine glasses and have your napkin neatly folded by a team of dashing waiters when you pop to the loo.

Keep the stars where they belong. I’ll use them if I want a refined dining experience. I’ll happily look elsewhere for more down-to-earth but equally delicious food.

Postscript! Of course, it may simply be that Michelin is an imperfect, biased and disjointed organisation with overworked staff and inexact standards that regularly gets things wrong but has good PR. And so it may also be the case that the Hand & Flowers isn’t even worth two stars for its food, leaving aside the plasticity of it’s bathroom bouquet. I couldn’t tell you, I last ate there before they won a single star and had a great gastropub meal. Certainly the dim sum at Tim Ho Wan was no better than those at the splendid but unawarded Maxim’s Palace on the other side of Victoria Harbour. And I was personally disgusted this year that La Becasse lost its Michelin star for no reason I can see. If nothing else, the red guide always gives restaurant lovers something to talk about!

Kedgeree and egg rage

I had a fit of food rage today, a wee glimpse of the kind of stress that causes top chefs to bawl out their sous and spank their commis with ladles. Well, I managed to screw up boiling a couple of eggs for gawd’s sake! As Maureen so poignantly put it on Twitter: “should you be writing a food blog?”

I always use hard-boiled eggs for kedgeree, but I thought this time it would be nice if the yolk was still a tiny bit squishy. You know, just perfect. I’ve no idea how I got the timing wrong. Stupid water was probably boiling at under 100C or something! You know, like it does sometimes. Ahem. Anyway, the stupid egg just would not peel, even the tiniest bit of shell came off with a huge lump of white. The yolk was totally liquid, burst in the struggle and poured all over my hand. The second egg was exactly the same, of course. I gave an inarticulate scream of rage and flung it full-tilt at the sink. Massive, massive splatter. Everywhere.

So I took a deep breath, boiled two more eggs properly, and the kedgeree was delicious anyway.

As a complete aside, if you’re going to soft-boil eggs you probably want to use older ones, perhaps a couple of weeks. Really fresh eggs is what causes sticking-to-the-shell issues.

Kedgeree (serves 2)

1 piece smoked haddock
3 tbsp whisky
2 bay leaves
1 onion
2 eggs
80g rice
½ tsp turmeric
2 small tomatoes
tabasco sauce
3 tbsp cream
25g butter
black pepper
fresh parsley
  1. Buy as much fish as you’d have for an ordinary fish supper. Get a big frying pan on the hob, put in the bay leaves, whisky and a cup-or-so of water.
  2. Slice the onion, then toss the top and tail of it into the pan along with a couple of slices and bring it to a simmer. Poach the fish, covered, until it is gently cooked through. I find it is between 6 and 10 minutes.
  3. Meanwhile hard-boil the eggs, then set them aside.
  4. Now that the fish is done, cook the rice using the water leftover from the fish poaching along with half of the turmeric. You may need to top up the water if it’s not enough.
  5. While the rice cooks, peel and chop the eggs. Also flake the smoked haddock, getting rid of the skin and any bones you find. Fingers are definitely the best for finding bones.
  6. When the rice is nearly done, start gently frying the onion in a knob of butter. As it softens, add the rest of the turmeric and a good lot of ground black pepper.
  7. Finally, add the sliced tomato. After a minute more, add back the fish, the egg and the rice. A dash of tabasco sauce, the cream, the butter. Mix everything, then put the lid on and leave for two minutes.
  8. Serve hot, garnished with chopped parsley.

You shouldn’t need to use salt, as the smoked haddock provides plenty, but check your seasoning of course just in case. We usually have this for supper with absolutely nothing else, but it’s good with soft white buttered bread, or with some black pudding on the side.