Polpetto - Upstairs at the French House

Number two in this trilogy of small dining restaurants like the original is a big success. I’ve deliberately made myself wait to eat at Polpetto. No idea why, as I am sure it hit the ground running very comfortably, and all flaws and mistakes had been ironed out in Polpo anyhows. But it is the way I am.

It is above the French House, which is a good place to wait with a drink, as unlike Polpo there is no bar to relax at whilst your eyes burns holes in the diners heads so they will hurry up. When your table is ready you are sent a text to come and eat. But with a good pub downstairs you do not need to wander far, as you’ve only 10 minutes from text to table.

The French House is an odd but enjoyable place full of Sohoites, pre and post theatregoers and general stragglers that give it such a nice vibe.

Polpetto is small. This is really my only criticism I have of the place. This in turn means the tables are a little too close together. Our dining neighbours were both in the midst of their own love life crises. Which was quite funny as both of them were flirting like mad with the waiters, and I mean flirting. I’m not sure if the waiters really wanted this extra attention, but they played along very well. Probably just for the large tips they may get at the end in one form or another.

The food at Polpetto is delicious. Highlights were the zucchini chips and the breaded fish with a homemade gribiche dipping sauce. Delish.

We munched our way through about 6 plates, and all were very yummy. Especially loved the creamy polenta and ox cheek, but it did need a tad more seasoning.

I loved the smallest wine glasses in the world. Definitely makes for drinking a bottle of wine slowly. Thankfully no rush from the staff to sling your hook once you’d finished eating.

I tried to return a few days later with a friend, but he was not keen on the wait. When it comes to queue or not to queue, he is a fan of the later. Shame, as he missed out on a great meal.

Can’t wait to finish the trilogy.

Foto Friday # 44

La Candela in Cordoba sells some pretty damn good empanandas, but the star if the show here is the locro. Magnificent. 

We Are Moving ....

We are are finally moving. Phew. So no internet for an age until BT get their sorry butts round to connect us.
So in the mean time have a beer on us. A small one. 

Cook The Books : Rasa Malaysia - Beef Rendang

I brought this book many years ago in a small bookstore somewhere in Singapore. I know I don’t cook out of it as much as I should, but it’s one of the best cookbooks I own.

The wonderful Betty Saw seems to be the Delia Smith of the Malay/Singapore world, and has written about as many books as Delia herself. Whether she has a lucrative supermarket deal is anyones guess.

The chapters of the book are the States of Malaysia and Borneo, which makes cooking really interesting. But you therefore have so many choices for the same dish. I’m amazed there are so many different versions of the mighty laksa.

My favourite Malaysian dish is Rendang Daging or Beef Rendang. By far the best recipe I have found not only from the book, but on the interweb as well, is the recipe from Pahang. This state has the delights of the Cameron Highlands, plus the bizarre city of Kuanton and my favourite town of Cherating. All these places are within its borders.

If you are only going to cook one recipe from Malaysia, then it should be this one.

Ingredients

600g Beef, cut into 2 ½ cm cubes

1 tsp salt

1 tsp ground black peppercorns

1 ¼ litre of coconut milk

1 piece of dried sour fruit (asam gelugur)

2 Lemon grass stalks, lightly bruised

2 turmeric leaves

Salt to taste

Ground Ingredients

15 Dried chillis – soaked

15 birds eye chillis

2½ cms piece of galangal

2½ cms piece of Turmeric

2½ cms piece of Ginger

15 Thai shallots, peeled

5 garlic cloves

1. Season the beef with the salt and ground black pepper. Leave for 30 minutes.
2. Heat a pan and add a tad of oil. Add the ground ingredients and fry until it becomes fragrant. Add the coconut milk and bring to a simmer.
3. Add the meat, sour fruit, lemon grass and the turmeric leaves. Simmer for about an hour and a half or until the meat is tender and the gravy thick and oily.
4. If the meat is tender but the gravy is still a tad too loose, then remove the meat and boil the sauce hard until the gravy is nice and thick.
5. Remove the lemon grass and turmeric leaves. Season with the salt and serve with rice.

It’s that easy. It’s thick, coconuty, spicy and totally bloody unxious. I’d advise you all to give this a try. You can of course reduce the amount of chillis but the coconut milk will reduce the kick of them. But each to his own. Enjoy.

Foto Friday # 43

Three classic bottles of Quilmes. Argentina's most iconic beer.

Brunch Heaven @ La Fromagerie

Many years ago when we discovered the quaint villagey area of Marylebone and the fantastic La Fromagerie. At the time we were living in food hell. Ie. Brentford. Which if you have never visited, it takes an age to get to and from. It’s in the arse end of London and somehow we were there for far too long.

Once in a while we would end up in heaven. Wandering those peaceful streets of Marylebone, looking in those oh so pretty shops, and the oh so prettier people. How we dreamed of living here, rather than in Brentford.

So on some Sundays we would make a beeline for La Fromagerie for brunch. We were always impatient and hated queuing but it was the done thing, and so we queued as true Englishmen do, although one of us is not. We would wait till it was our turn to sit on that long wooden bench with those oh so pretty people.

The selection of salads on show were heaven on earth. The cheese boards from the cheese room used to drive us wild with happiness. All this washed down with a bottle of crisp white wine was a perfect way to spend a Sunday in London. There was none better.

I really cannot remember the last time we made it out this way on a Sunday, but this given Sunday we had planned it so. Maybe to bring back those magical memories of a long gone yesteryear.

Not much has changed in the shop cum restaurant, only that the organic shop had closed next door and they had opened it up into more seating. Damn that was so needed in my view.

I have read so many bad reports about the place of late, which mainly all came down to the service that was being given. Yes the service was never great, it was mainly rushed and busy, but it was always with a smile.

Our trip this time saw us seated in the new (slightly gloomy) area on a smaller long bench, which after a while we had two Asian ladies sit next to us. You could tell they were not happy about sitting next to anyone, or just us, and I think they wanted to move but were too polite to ask.

The salads that were laid out for you to choose from have disappeared, and replaced with a more standard menu. A shame as I always loved looking at what I could have, not reading what I can.

The menu is light and ideal brunch material. There are several cheese boards, all selected from the cheese shop adjacent. Heaven. But this time I was not in the mood for a slice of cheesy heaven, but after seeing lentils and canard on the menu I was sold. Lina was undecided between a beetroot salad and baked Tunworth cheese wrapped in pastry. Well the thought of melted cheese kinda swung it for her.

I’m glad she did, as it was unxious. Melted cheese in a lovely pastry was, well what can I say. Delicious.

My lentils were still al dente and the duck leg had so much flavour. Yum. I even gnawed all the meat off the bone, which was met with disapproving looks off our lovely neighbours.

I love La Fromagerie, nothing has really changed, it has more grown and changed with the times. To me this is still one of the best places to brunch in London. Light and casual. It’s a shame that some not so friendly people staff their other branch in Islington.

But the best thing is being able to pop next door and buy a couple of Crottin de Chavignol for a salad the following day. Heaven I tell you, bloody heaven.

Foto Friday # 42

These had to be some of the best empanadas we have ever had in Argentina. The restaurant attached looked pretty naff, but they produced Saltas finest empanadas. Definitely in my top 5 of best Empanadas in the World.

Sardines on Toast

When is a sardine not a sardine? When it is a pilchard. A sardine is a young pilchard. Apparently once a sardine reaches one year it becomes a pilchard. But who really wants to eat pilchards. So uncool.

Many years a go, pilchard sales were at a record low, so some bright spark did the spin of all spins. Even Blair’s Government would have been proud of this. They Renamed and rebranded an unpopular fish to become something that before was so untrendy and only fit for cat food into a very cool and trendy fish, that it now graces the menus of all the best restaurants in the land. So was born the Cornish Sardine. So cool.

So how best to eat this super cool fish. Simply is how.

For a quick and easy mid week supper, what can beat pan fried sardines on lightly toasted sourdough bread. I’ll tell you what. Nothing.

Filleting sardines is a bit of fiddly job, but with patience it is easily done, or some fishmongers do sell them already filleted. Which does make life a tad easier.

Putting those little seasoned fillets skin side down into a hot pan and watch them as they cook, the smell is amazing and so fishy. The belly begins to rumble and yearn for this treat long before they are ready. Then flipping them over to cook the pink flesh on the other side, you know that in a short while you will be munching on a delight.

A scattering of chopped parsley only brings out the best in these little oily fishes. Heaven pure heaven as you bite into this open sandwich and chow down on that delightful fish. It’s amazing that it is so unpopular compared with other fishes, but boy is it good for you and tastes fantastic.

Foto Friday # 41

A great winery outside Mendoza in Argentina. Not only do they make great wine, they also serve excellent food in the restaurant as well. 

Shopping and the Brass Rail and Bodean’s

I hate shopping. I really do, especially when it involves shopping for clothes. I hate having to buy new clothes, especially when the clothes I want are way out of my price range. Damn those Italian shoes. Then again, wasn’t that why credit cards were invented?

I need energy to go shopping. So I always plan where can I get some well needed nourishment for the hellish day ahead.

I’d spent most of Saturday mapping out our new locale of Nappy Valley, or Stoke Newington as some people also know it by.

The thing I love is once you hit Stoke Newington High Street and then onto Kingsland Road, is the amount of small bakeries that sell salt beef. It’s glorious. Praise the lord for my murky Jewish heritage.

There is nothing I love more than a salt beef sandwich. It’s heaven, pure bloody heaven. I’m not a bagel man, even after my 18 months in Israel I never got a taste for them. Just not my thing. Remember I am a new Jew, so can be forgiven for many a hidden sin. But I am going to enjoy living in Stokie, even if it has a far higher percentage of young families than any other place on the planet. I am going to have to learn how to be patient. Big time.

As I hate shopping, a department store gives me everything I need. A one stop shop with everything inside one building. A genius who came up with that that idea.

Now as I still had the delightful taste and memories of my salt beef day the day before, I had been trying to find an excuse to re-visit the Brass Rail on the ground floor of Selfridges for an age now. Now I had one. Excellent, well apart from the thought of the shopping.

I hadn’t eaten here in at least 3 years, as whenever we come to Selfridges the queues were just too long for us to bother queuing up for. But this time there was only some chatty guy in front of me who wouldn’t stop yabbering on to anyone who made eye contact with him. Thankfully before he had time to turn to me and start trying to get me into conversation about whatever, he found himself front of Saj, who apparently according to their conversation had worked there for over 30 years. Damn, that’s a long time to be carving meat into sandwiches. I wonder if he just wants to say fuck it some days and look for another job.

I don’t remember how much they used to be but £8 for a sarnie is a tad too much, but I had been thinking about this for a day now, and the thought of being forced to eat at Square Pie that I decided to go for it.

So I ordered a regular salt beef with American mustard and a pickle. You pay through the nose, all in all it came to £8.70p, but Saj does pile on that salt beef.

I sat well away from the chatty guy who was engaged in a one sided conversation with some old lady who made the bad mistake on sitting on that empty table. She looked like she was ready to bolt, but was far too polite to do so.

The salt beef although quite tasty was somehow a bit of a let down. The meat was kind of dry and not what I was expecting.

I’d spent £3.50p on a salt beef roll the day before and it was miles better than this poor and pretty expensive version. But you are in Selfridges, so I guess it all goes down to location, location, location.

After leaving a rather disappointing sarnie, I ventured upstairs to do some clothes shopping. In record breaking time I found everything I wanted, but as it all came to well over a £1,000 I declined to open my wallet and get out that small piece of plastic. Plus it would have looked embarrassing with all the moths flying out as I went to pay. Damn those Italian handmade leather shoes. So I high tailed it out of there and off to a few more shops down the most hideous street on the planet. In the end I saw lots of stuff I should of brought, but just couldn’t prise that wallet open. The crappy thing about this shopping disaster was that I have to return and do it all over again, but I will do it next time with my own personal shopping and designer assistant.

As I said shopping or even window shopping is hard work. After another hour or so of aimlessly wandering around with my hands tightly clenched over that piece of leather, I ended up outside Bodean’s in Soho.

I love Bar-B-Q. I look upon those grill masters as what they are. Masters of the grill. Grilling or bar-b-q’ing is an art form, plus it is an obsession to some. Look at Barbecue Bible to see what I mean.

I love Bodean’s, although nowadays I won’t go downstairs as the last time me and Lina were there, we had a blazing row over a bowl of chips. They were mine, I ate them. She had none. We argued. Simple. But what started out as a fun night in Lowlander drinking Kwak’s, ended up as a heated row and us not speaking to each other for days, and all over me eating my own chips and not offering her any. Like Joey says “You want chips, order some chips, just don’t eat mine.”  Nuff said.

So for at least 4 years, maybe more we haven’t delved downstairs into the scene of that heated argument, such bad memories. I wonder if that argument has been passed onto to waitresses over the years. So since then we’ve only eaten upstairs in the deli. Lina doesn’t like it, as she thinks it’s cheap and naff. I like it, I actually prefer it, it’s more relaxed, more lively and gives me a chance to people watch. My fave pastime.

So this given Sunday afternoon I strolled into Bodean’s for some bar-b-q nourishment to wipe away the memory of my tightness at not buying anything all day. What a tight arse.

I normally always have ½ a slab of those baby back ribs with the coleslaw and fries. Sometimes I treat myself to a tub of bar-b-q beans. But this time I just wanted a sandwich, as the salt beef had slightly done its job. Now I needed something else to finish it off.

Looking down the list of their sandwiches, I was at a loss. Now do I go for the Boston Butt, the slow smoked cooked pork shoulder. Or the Pulled Pork, or even the Pastrami on Rye or a Turkey BLT. But no, I had to have the Soho Special. The Best Sandwich in London as voted by Capital Radio. It’s pulled pork and Burnt Ends mixed with a Bar-B-Q sauce in a toasted roll. Sounded too good to be true.

To be honest it isn’t the best sandwich in London I’ve ever had. But it was not the worst. The burnt ends and pulled pork were favourable enough, but the sauce was a little too thin. But it was ok for what I wanted.

I’ve noticed something about Bodean’s. The times I’ve eaten there since returning last March, that the quality of the food has slipped from what I remember it from before Colombia. Maybe this is due to their sudden expansion all over London, stretching themselves too thin. Or maybe I am just getting more and more picky in my old age. God I hope it isn’t the later, as soon I won’t be enjoying my fave crappy foods.

But Bodean’s I will always return to like a duck to water, as I love Bar-B-Q.