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Monthly Archives: May 2010

i don’t know if you know, but i LOVE pizza. i do. i don’t love bad pizza, when the base is too bready, or the cheese too thick, gluggy, or yellow. and yet, i am by no means a pizza snob; i will happily eat ham and pineapple pizza, if the base and cheese don’t offend.

one monday evening, we sat up front on a double decker bus, and raced (like snails) through peak hour traffic, across town, to make it to dinner at pizza east. the restaurant was all unpolished floorboards and exposed beams, white subway wall tiles and wooden tables worn smooth. the windows were of the sort of glass that people don’t make anymore. the napkins were gingham.

there was a heightened sense of excitement, the anticipation of pizza that has come well recommended. we inhaled the ethereal sea bass carpaccio – pale and translucent slices with a a hint of fennel and chilli. we picked our way through a lovely salad of lettuce, with pancetta, hazelnuts and pear in a pleasingly mild gorgonzola dressing. and then the pizza arrived, and there were no other sounds at the table, besides, “mmmmmm…” and “slurp”.

you would not ordinarily think of “slurp”, but i should explain that it was a veal meatball pizza with prosciutto, sage, lemon, parsley and cream. you would not ordinarily think of “cream”, but there you go. it wasn’t a creamy pizza by any means; it just meant that everything was covered in a blanket of succulence under which all the flavours sang in sweet harmony. truly, it was like eating angels. the base was blistered and puffy, a little charred from being in the woodfire oven, perfection.

there was also a zucchini pizza with taleggio, and another one of spicy sausage — very spicy — with broccoli, and by the end of it we thought we might be so full that we might not be able to manage dessert.

and yet…

if we thought we had a winner in the meatball pizza, the salted chocolate caramel tart completely took out the grand champion trophy. it was made up of two distinct, yet barely perceptible layers. up top it was a smooth chocolate ganache, which would have been just fine on its own in a regular chocolate tart. and down below. rrraaarrrr.

down below was a dense, soft, sticky caramel, cooked dark. it was so salty that you almost might’ve thought something had gone wrong. but no, everything was completely all right. better, even, as the initial salty burst melted away into a rich, deep carameliciousness. in conjunction with the chocolate, it wreaked all manner of sweet-salty havoc in my mouth.

this is now the salted chocolate caramel tart against which all other salted caramel tarts will be judged. no wonder the dollop of thick cream stands so tall and proud in its company. even as the last brown skiddies were scraped off the plate, i was fantasising about getting a slice to take away.

lurking in the back you will see its worthy competitor: a maple pannacotta, whose delicate texture belied a bold maple flavour. a shard of sweet biscuit, and a dribble of macerated raisins were the perfect foil. this too, was gone in a whisper.

our stomachs, on the other hand, distended to their final, painful limits, demanded in no uncertain terms that we summon a taxi home. and so we did.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 6 May 2010 at 10:35 pm

permalink | filed under cake, chocolate, dinner, trip

we blinked as we re-entered the sunny sunday. we’d been hiding out in the dim cavern that is the london BMI IMAX cinema, wearing dark glasses, stretching our hands out towards the floating cheshire cat. “alice in wonderland”, in 3D, was a rollicking rollercoaster ride — in spite of the curious bit of freaky styley dancing at the end — but after a couple of contraband movie snacks, we were ready for the main event.

a short way across town, upstairs at fortnum and mason, there is a restaurant called, the parlour. it’s a decadent ice cream shoppe straight out of the 50s with a baroque (rococo?) sensibility. there they will serve you a sandwich, or a salad, and you will order one or the other — or both — and it will be a competent affair. however, you will know that it is only a little something to prepare your stomach for what is to follow.

what followed, for me, was a “lazy sundae afternoon”, which entailed

strawberries and 12 year old balsamic vinegar, vanilla bean and frosted strawberry and shortbread ice creams blended with strawberry coulis, crushed meringues, whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

it certainly made an impact as it arrived at the table, served in an enormous pink goblet of heavy cut glass. such fun! all those bits of crumbly meringue! multiple biscuits! a veritable cloud of whipped cream! the taste of strawberries through everything was quite lovely, but perhaps in the end, the overall impression was just that it was… nice.

which is not a bad thing, certainly, and i did not complain as i ate the lot. but i think the ice cream could have been better: more luscious, a little less frosty in parts.

more, in fact, like the coupe we had at afternoon tea not quite a week later and just a couple of blocks down, at the wolseley. i wish i had a picture to show you, but their no-photo policy is stark on the front page of their menu. you will just have to believe me when i tell you that the combination of crushed meringue, lemon curd and lemon yoghurt ice cream, whipped cream and flaked almonds makes for a very luscious sundae indeed. i think of it still, with a sigh, this pale yellow beauty in a frosty silver bowl.

aside from the lemon meringue coupe, we also had a perfunctory round of afternoon tea (a three-tiered tray to share between four) and a slice of treacle tart, which was light and lemony, and possessed none of the sickly sweetness that you might expect. the pastry was just perfect, and the filling, pleasantly sticky, well, that was perfect too. my mother — quite out of character — must have had four, if not five, mouthfuls of it, and i feared i might have to stab her with my fork to get her to stop.

such blissful eating amidst the bustle — a constant stream of tea-takers swarmed through the restaurant, but the waitress never hurried us along. for a moment, this little stretch of banquette seating under the high ceilings and marble pillars, it felt like home.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 May 2010 at 12:32 pm

permalink | filed under cake, ice cream, trip

i remember seeing coverage of skye gyngell’s pop-up cafe at the good food affare in sydney the other year. i remember being perplexed by the hay-strewn floor, and confounded by the collection of twee tchotkes on display. having now experienced petersham nurseries, it’s finally all become clear.

the running joke between my sister and her friend about the curation of old stuff piled just so around the nursery, is that someone goes around with a label gun, and randomly sticks price tags on everything. that tarnished mirror? £14,000. that rusty old hoe? £600.

but it was an intriguing wander through the various tents and sheds, admiring dusty antiques and the new things that just looked old. i especially liked the baskets (and baskets) of handy utilitarian brushes. a different one for every task imaginable.

the pastiche of skye’s cafe at the good food affare just pales in comparison. i believe all the stuff on display — the garden furniture with the perfect patina; the shabby chic chandeliers; the bottle green etched drinking glasses — could be purchased from the homewares giant who put on the show. it irritates me just thinking about it.

anyway. bear with me. it’s just some background colour to the preceding post. and besides, who doesn’t like tulips?

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 May 2010 at 12:32 pm

permalink | filed under grumble, shoping, trip

we were only scheduled to be in london for 10 days, until eyjafjallajökull erupted and gave us a bit of a bonus extra holiday. before then, we operated on a strict program that had been planned and refined over the preceding months, via a very comprehensive spreadsheet. with first day brunch at ottolenghi done and dusted, we found ourselves on the train, richmond-bound, for second day lunch at petersham nurseries.

out of the station, we walked down the high street to get there, and along the river, and through a muddy paddock, and up a dusty driveway, and through a little of the nursery, and arrived in good time to be shown to our table in a large tentish room with a dirt floor (a tent festooned with enormous bunches of fresh flowers, and strewn with mismatched furniture of varying vintage). my sister thought it was important that we have bread and butter, and lemonade, and quick! and then there they were.

the menu was streamlined – just three options for each course — and according to one of the nicest waitresses in the world, might change from day to day depending on produce available. friday, i was lucky enough to have…

fried artichokes with a caper and mint dressing
such a riot of crispy edges and zingy flavours! such a joyous jumble of leaves! the play of textures was fun indeed as i mix-matched artichoke outsides (brown and crunchy as chips) and insides (pale, soft, and mildly tangy) with capers and lemon juice and minced-up mint leaves that no doubt found their way into all the crevices of my teeth. smile!

grilled sardines with aioli
you know, it looked modest on the plate, and felt light to eat it — all those lemony, fish oily flavours — but golly, i was stuffed when i was done. the sardines were plump and moist, and the sauteed chard yielding, and the lovely dollop of aioli — so full in the mouth, i only needed a little dab on each forkful of fish, and made it last right ’til the end.

almond tart
we had been excited to read it on the menu, and gleeful to see it at the table — this sturdy wedge of pastry with the lazy slurp of cream and candied orange syrup. it was even pleasing to eat, but alas, in the end, the crunchy pastry shell filled with dense frangipane, rough-hewn nuts and rind completely vanquished us. we probably would have appreciated it more on its lonesome, with a big cup of tea, and not the legacy of three fat sardines and as many crisp-fried artichokes.

stracciatella ice cream
truly, the surprise winner of the show. the ice cream — presented in a heavy drinking glass — was super premium, rich and creamy, and served at exactly the right, just melty temperature. mixed very generously into this were more bits of good dark chocolate than you’d think necessary, or possible. the ice cream makes its way down your throat, and then the shards of chocolate melt away and linger on your tongue. blissful, it was, even when the pain of distended belly kicked in. i could not stop eating this.

it looks simple, does it not? this food? there was nothing extraneous on the plate; each course just a tumble of a few flavours, and no adornment except for its necessary elements. but it all looked beautiful, and tasted much more wonderful than what you might expect from such spare plating. everything that could be eaten — with the exception of the noble almond tart — was.

they serve coffee from a cafetière here, or any number of floral infusions. no, not a single normal tea, grumble. so i picked mint from the list recited by the waitress, and was brought a comforting pot of green. a fine way to conclude a meal in the middle of a garden centre on a sunny springtime afternoon.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 4 May 2010 at 11:00 am

permalink | filed under ice cream, lunch, trip

another morning, breakfast for some of us was a remarkably life-like, custard-filled totoro bun. not for me: the day before, i had chanced upon the new digs of the japan centre on regent street. i stumbled into this warren of wonders, and came away with the bready gift for my sister.

it is more frenetic in the store than out on the street. past the sidewalk tables with the unsettling spongey seating, just after the entrance, there is hot steamy action with freshly made savoury snacks. then there are the refrigerated shelves piled with ready-made meals. there are a few rows of tables where people can (and do! madness!) sit and eat this food amidst the crush. there is, somewhat inconveniently placed, a bank of cash registers, before the grocery section kicks in — all the staples and then some, as well as a fridge of treats like cottage industry black sesame panna cotta and maccha swiss rolls. there is a wall of practical kitchen utensils, whimsical bento accoutrement and aluminium foil printed in cartoon characters. beyond all that, almost hidden, a sushi train. truly a fine example of a small but hyper(crazy)efficient inner city supermarket.

back home, totoro-pan was met with an appropriate amount of appreciative gasping, and delivered a comforting combination of airy, sweet bread (complete with “polo” topping for the belly) and nice light custard. me, i had the tiniest nibble, and then contented myself with eating quite a bit of the kid’s hello kitty bun. really, i’d bought it for effect, as the child does not like custard, not even chocolate custard. shame: kitty’s filling was a smooth, dark specimen, rich with cocoa. when i was done tearing limb from bready limb, i licked my fingers clean.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 3 May 2010 at 10:08 pm

permalink | filed under breakfast, shoping, trip

let me tell you about breakfast. this morning, sitting at my desk and watching last night’s episode of masterchef online and writing this — how’s that for multitasking? — i have before me a slice of buttered and vegemited bourke street bakery soy and linseed. i also have another slice slathered in a big sticky blanket of laduree caramel au beurre salé. and i have milky tea.

it’s mostly back to normal: trying to fit a plate somewhere on my paper-strewn desk, or on the dining table which is mostly a thing repository. sometimes just an empty spot on the carpet littered with crumbs from the kid’s last three meals. oh how i miss that clean expanse of candy-striped oil cloth on an almost awkwardly positioned table in a lounge room in london.

our first day there, i steered the excursion into waitrose, where i found an enormous jar of bonne maman apricot compote. just look at that vibrant orange colour — it was very striking against the green gingham lid. i commandeered a packet of scones then, and a tub of clotted cream, and waited eagerly for breakfast time to arrive.

my sister does not have a microwave oven, so i ate the scones cold in the first jetlaggish light of day. however, by ensuring that the volume of cream and compote was greater than the volume of scone, i managed to counter any cold hardness that an overnight scone might normally possess. in any case, this supermarket scone was moist enough inside, and performed admirably its role as vehicle for deliciousness.

and the fruit compote? my word, it was some kind of wonderful. tangy-sweet with huge chunks of succulent apricots right down to the bottom of the jar. we ate our way through it over the next couple of weeks, mostly on buttered toast, and were sorry to see it go.

now, here’s something completely different: we only made it out for breakfast once, and that was to euphorium bakery. i surprised myself by going savoury; even the counter girl seemed taken aback when i ordered the british pork and apple sauce sandwich. but she grabbed one from the pile and sliced it in half before plonking it down on a plate and pushing it across the counter.

i was silenced. it was as big as my forearm. every mouth at the table dropped open in awe as i set it down — except for the kid who was grappling with a perplexing and sodden (and ice cold and rubbery) blueberry clafouti (tchk. there is really no need to serve such a fail in a cafe, especially one where they make everything fresh inhouse.) i began to eat, and the meat was moist and a little bit streaked with fat. there was soft bread, and salty butter generously spread, a foil to the sweet-tart apples. there was crisp lettuce, and crunchy edges of crackling. it really was a most pleasing sandwich.

it was so good i had in again for lunch, after carrying it around in my satchel for some hours as i wandered through the excellent national portrait gallery (a compact and well curated selection of the permanent collection; a quite mesmerising exhibition of three centuries of indian portraits; and a room of mind-boggling contemporary “miniatures” by the singh twins). though mainly because i only managed to eat one half of it for breakfast.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 3 May 2010 at 12:25 pm

permalink | filed under breakfast, trip

Monthly Archives: May 2010

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