All Higgldypiggldy...

Goodness gracious but I'm all over the place with my food blogposts. The truth is, I've been plotting another blog baby, which I hope to be launching into the world on Valentine's day next Saturday (stay tuned - let's see if I can stick to that now blogosphere-proclaimed deadline). The truth is that my life doesn't solely consist of cooking, eating my wares and eating out. It's a whole lot less one-dimensional than that. And I need a blog which reflects this. So the new blog will include characters and scribbles, knitting and nibbles...as well as other musings on life, love, laughter and jellybeans. There will be a method in my madness, ye shall see!

Of course, don't get me wrong - that does NOT by ANY means translate as the young nibblescribbler wasting away, not putting a morsel past her lips. Ha! With all this snow around??! You must be kidding! A girl needs comfort food in times like these!

So let me break down my various noteworthy foodventures over the last month or so. This is blatant cheating, but at the moment I steadfastly refuse to post an individual account of each, you'll have to make do with these scraplets. I figure I can make my own rules here. You can't get to me to tell me off, I'm safe the other side of the screen!

And....we're off...

1. Benares - posh indian restaurant to be found on glitzy Berkeley Square near Nobu, yet another poncy restaurant I've an eye to try (only if treated by a bigger wallet than I). The 2nd time I've been to Benares, and it didn't disappoint, as chef Atul Kochhar pleased the eye and the palate (and, unusually, the wallet, with a special credit crunch meal deal) with beautifully presented dishes packed full of indian flavour. I cracked into Tandoor cooked Salmon fillets with spiced Gazpacho salsa, a delightful dry roasted chunk of salmon, lent juiciness by its accompanying sauce, followed by Pan Fried King Fish steaks with Chilli-Garlic Mash and Nilgiri Sauce. I found this slightly unremarkable, exactly as you'd have expected it, with the mash and sauce combining to rather cloying effect. Still, I forgave the meal this when what, frankly, to me was the piece de resistance. Our, by now, bosom buddy waiter (I make a habit of befriending the waiters because a) from past waitressing experience I know how snooty customers can be and b) it makes them much better disposed to treating you nice), appeared in a flash, and carefully placed a tiny flat black glass dish in front of each of the three of us. Into the shallow indentation of each dish, he poured a few drops of water from a jug. Also on his tray I noticed three small, flat round white pellets, which I presumed were the sort of crazy amuse-bouche you tend to get in this type of restaurant. But. EVEN BETTER!! He dropped each into the water and POFF!, as if by magic they were suddenly ten times their height: a little warm hand towel ready for use. Honestly, the guy couldn't have had a better audience than me for this little trick. My eyes were like saucers, my little hands were clapping and I was giggling with glee. I would honestly have paid the entire price of the meal JUST to see this little trick!
2. Hm, well, then I've already told you about Tayyabs, my favourite Indian restaurant tucked away in East London ...
3. Charitable soul that I am, that same London-bound week I decided to give Cha Cha Moon, subject of damning scorn from a previous post, another try (mainly through the oft-encountered London dilemma of 'not being able to get home to eat' and 'required dirt cheap prices due to impending poverty') and found it to be in better sorts once again, fully-trained staff in place. Sadly, though, prices look like they'll never again be back to their previously outrageous, and note-worthy economy status.
4. I was then treated to a handful of home-cooked Sicilian meal (I will elaborate on this in due course, I promise) - examples such as Squid Ink Pasta with Botarga, Steamed Lemon Sole accompanied by spinach and sultanas, and Ricotta Ravioli with Pistachio Sauce.
   
5. Reciprocally and nationally obliged to demonstrate that, whilst not quite on a par with Italian cooking, English food can sometimes be pretty darn great I cheated, and brought Il huomo home to be cooked for by...my mum. Well, without a kitchen, I'm restricted and, I know I'm slightly biased, but she does cook the best meals in the land. No pressure then mum, but English National Food Heritage (and Pride) lies squarely on your shoulders. She rose admirably to the occasion, producing a (not-so-English, admittedly, yet completely delicious) chickpea soup, followed by a stellar rendition of Roast Chicken, accompanied by crisped, golden roast potatoes and parsnips cooked in goose fat (divine), steamed cabbage that hovered perfectly between al dente and feather-soft, carrots and a steaming, tasty golden gravy. Nowt more English than that! This was followed by diva-esque puffs of beautiful baked apples oozing with a caramelly butter sauce and sultanas/raisins, poured over with cream. All guests left the table replete to play a fierce game of Cluedo, the resultant competitiveness no doubt fruitsugar-fuelled. No sooner had the main meal commenced digestion, than a round of English tea was brought out; crumpets dripped with butter and lemon curd, and home-made scones groaned with their generous load of raspberry jam and clotted cream. Cholesterol? What's that?!
   

Any suggestions of how to wow a foreigner with some delicious English fare (it does exist, honest guv!) gladly received...

Happy New Year!!!

A hat tip to Noble Pig, who has chivvied me into blog action after a woeful time away from my keyboard - apparently blogging is good for your health. I need to get me some of that.

Two weeks I've been down with the lurgy, that's two whole weeks of my life wasted in bed-ridden hours, days and days of no real senses (taste or smell, sob!), temperatures, fevers, blocked sinuses, exploding heads. It was HIDEOUS!

But yesterday, two days into this brand spanking new year, I woke to my first day of a clear head - I could breathe. And oh boy was it good. So I spent most of the morning revelling in this fact, skipping and dancing round my room to a song which undoubtedly would severely lower my kudos amongst my friends, but which nevertheless makes me feel unbelievably positive. Oh dear, it's playing again...

Then I spent the rest of the day chopping veg, assembling hams, salamis, chicken legs, and Christmas leftovers as a whole host of friends descended from London to help us with our remaining food. Bowl after bowl of steaming and redemptive chicken and vegetable broth (Ma Pea being, as I may have mentioned before, the Queen of soups), spiced homemade date chutney with baked ham, crunchy, cleansing celery and carrot, and the richer creamier Italian cheeses left over from our time in Italy. All in all a thoroughly good day.

I wonder if I'm the only one to have slightly embarrassing songs which I jig away to in the kitchen when compiling whatever the dish of the day is, I'm sure I'm not. Somehow I think when a dish is made with love and happiness, corny as it sounds, it can be tasted!

What song and dish would be your favourite way to get your year off to a riproaring start?

500 words, 5 senses, La Cantineta della Nonna (Granny's Canteen), Tuscany

There’s a hurried and slightly frantic rush to enter the restaurant before the usual 2pm lunch cutoff. The door slams behind our family of four, scooting us indoors. We hold our collective breath, hoping there would be room at the inn. We needn’t have worried – a far cry from the dour-faced welcome of an English eatery, here a space is quickly made, a table obligingly cleared and with several cheerful shouts of ‘Buon giorno’ we are welcomed with open-armed generosity as only Italians know how.

We are ushered through a dark hobbit tunnel, to the left side of which the rowdy clatter and bang of a steamy kitchen can be heard. Immediately after the kitchen, the tunnel opens out into the bright lights of the second dining room, revealing an Italian crowd gathered round eight or so tables of anything between two to eight occupants: a jolly soap opera scene. Tables of families are immersed in conversation, tucking into hearty meals, sharing deep red wines, or listening intently as waiters enthusiastically describe each separate gem on the menu with dramatic gesticulations and opulent rolling of musical vowels.

Settling into our table and gaining a sense of our surroundings I look around, noting deeply etched faces on all sides, expressions ready carved for an emotional prompt. There is the lively hum of voices without pause, bubbling like a cheerful brook. The occasional melodramatic outburst of an excited voice rises staccato above the rest, accompanied by much waving of hands. Faces are kind, smiling, laughter lines framing chestnut brown eyes and dark curls atop heads. Clothes are the autumnal palette of the Tuscan painter, rich, comforting and cozy.

An endless succession of inspiring plates of food are borne aloft as the waiters waltz past, each trailing tantalizing scents of garlic, herbs, roast meat. English mouths water shamelessly in anticipation of the first Italian meal in months, and eyes widen in glee as we turn our full attention to the important and not unenjoyable task of menu perusal. With all five senses pulled in opposing directions, it’s difficult to keep concentration for long, but I eventually choose the gnocchi con cavalo nero. We decide to share a couple of roast dishes between four – in Italy it is perilously easy to overdo it. The order is taken with many cries of appreciation and recommendation, ‘Gnocchi? Fantastico! Excelente! Buenisimo!’

My attention is caught by free entertainment provided by one family’s little toddler repeatedly tottering off on expedition back through the connecting tunnel, an intrepid and determined explorer. The entire troupe of waiters are at his beck and call: playing games, making faces, and pandering to the little tyke’s every command.

Steaming platefuls of savoury delights soon arrive, mouthfuls of featherlight gnocchi topped in a delicately flavoured, fine sliced cavalo nero sauce. Roast rabbit leg follows – rosemary, salt and garlic juice is licked off fingers just as pork ribs arrive, charred but succulent, mopping up garlicky swiss chard side. Platefuls of delightful treasure troves.