Pesto, independence and austerity.

Hello everyone, I expect you thought I was dead.

I'm not. I've just been doing a really boring thing called WORKING. Basically it's this place where I go for most of my life and I can't wear pyjamas or eat crackers with mayonnaise all day or watch Gossip Girl (at all). As you can imagine, it's taken me months just to schedule in time for these basic human rights, so writing about whatever I've been shoving in my cake-hole has rather taken a back seat.

But the sight of my sad little home page with the last post from JULY sitting on it has propelled me into action. Today, for your delectation dear reader(s)(Amy) I write about PESTO! Pesto and independence.

I've also moved away from my Grandparent's house since they bought a dog who was intent on separating my face from my skull, so I have plenty of lovely space to cook in. At first I was worried that a year of having my knickers laundered for me and my meals prepared either by my Nana or a restaurant would have rendered me completely incapable of living alone.

Not so! I have done laundry, I have swept floors, I have cleaned toilets, and I have not starved to death. I am very smug about this, for it is most unexpected.

Another thing (there will be a pesto recipe soon, I promise) is that I'm really quite poor at the moment after an especially heavy festive season - so beans and lentils are my staple diet. It's hard to jazz up beans after the 14th consecutive day of eating them, but I'm a capable independent woman who lives NOT IN HER GRANDPARENT'S HOUSE and I can make beans tasty, even on the 15th day.

I made a sort of Tuscan bean stew with tomatoes and chili and some soft old veg I found in the fridge, which is not terribly appetising, I accept, but it certainly was cheap. I also made some lovely pesto to put on top of the stew, which is a very nice easy way of pepping up a boring bowl of tomatoey beans. I didn't have all the really real and correct bits handy, but it was still jolly nice, so give it a go.

1 packet of basil leaves (I didn't bother removing the stems)
1/2 packet of flat leaf parsley (ditto the stems - what's the point when you're going to marmalise them in a minute?)
2 fat cloves of garlic (I'm a bit excessive on the garlic front, so do feel free to include just 1, or even 1/2 if you're elderly or STUPID)
juice of half a lemon, or to taste
4ish big glugs of olive oil
Salt + Pepper
Grated knob of parmesan - however much you've got knocking about really.

Put everything in a bowl and jhoosh it up with a hand blender. Check for seasoning and add more salt/pepper/oil/lemon. Three greedy people topped their stews with this (some had seconds) and there's still plenty left for pasta tonight. Go team austerity!

Ciroc Vodka: A Rapper's Delight.

Ciroc is a so-called ‘super premium’ French vodka derived from snap frost grapes rather than the traditional corn, sorghum, rye, wheat or potatoes. The juice of Mauzac Blanc grapes from Gaillac, and Ugni Blanc grapes from Cognac  is extracted and cold fermented before a lengthy distillation process can begin. The Mauzac Blanc grapes are four-times distilled in traditional copper-pot stills, whilst the Ugni Blanc enjoy their distillation in steel column stills. The combination of the two is then distilled once more in copper stills which the manufacturers insist give Ciroc it’s distinctively smooth finish. I thought this a ridiculously drawn out process for a vodka, but having tasted Ciroc, I make them right.

The vodka is very lemony in the mouth, with an almost liquorice after taste. The light smooth finish and fresh character make it a delightful drink for sipping over ice. There was none of the ‘burn’ associated with other vodkas I might mention, and amazingly, no hangover! Perhaps I’ve finally found my perfect drink?

The aspect of Ciroc which all of my friends were most aware was not (surprisingly) the laborious distillation process, but its association with Sean Combs (or Diddy/P. Diddy/ Puff Daddy/ Puffy) which has seen the rapper and business impresario promoting the brand since 2007. Rather than a regular endorsement contract, Comb’s company Sean Combs Enterprises will take a 50% share of the profits, which could amount to over $100 million over the course of the deal.

I was curious about the ‘snap frost’ grapes touted on the bottle as the distinguishing factor that marks Ciroc apart from its competitors. They appear to be grapes harvested after the first frost, like those used in the production of eiswein in which the grapes are frozen on the vine, leaving the sugars to concentrate resulting in a sweet wine balanced with high acidity. Ciroc is definitely a sweet vodka, and would combine well with any citrus-based mixers to draw out the acidic undertones.

Oringinally published at The Culinary Guide.

Homage to Homard.

Aren’t lobsters bloody fantastic? Perhaps rather churlishly, I announced over dinner last night that I would be happy to eat lobsters every day for the rest of my life. With the benefit of hindsight and in the cold light of day, I can see that this is ridiculous and would take away the fun of eating lobsters on special occasions. Unless you eat lobsters daily, like others eat eggs or bread? Thought not. Because they are special occasion food, reserved for high-days and holidays, and to eat them with any more frequency than this would be to ruin their special appeal to me.

 That said, I could do with eating a few more than I have been. I was reminded last night how blooming marvellous this crustacean is when it’s snappy and fresh and covered in delicious garlic butter. I went to Riddell and Finns on Meeting House Lane in Brighton, which sounds a bit like a seafood restaurant in Harry Potter might, and is indeed fairly magical inside. Diners sit at long marble benches with candelabras in the middle, dripping with atmospheric candle wax. The chairs, however are most uncomfortable, and left a ‘basket’ impression on the back of my thighs, not cool. The walls are covered in old-timey photos and mirrored tiles with French writing on, to give a suitably elegant and nostalgic feel to the joint. But you care not for such details, you want to know about the food!

 I ordered a whole grilled lobster with garlic butter and set about it with my shell-cracking device and teeny fork-pick with gusto and relish. I fear this was a most unappealing sight, but I cared not a jot. The lobster was a good size, with plenty of claw meat and a good fat tail. I ordered fries to go with it, but should have asked for more bread to mop up the tasty garlicky juices left behind. Next time.

 Another lobster experiences has just occurred to me, which escaped the notice of this blog. I am getting slack, forgive me. For my friend’s recent birthday we went to The Big Easy on The King’s Road for a lobster chow-down which horrified my vegetarian friend (again). We tore at the red beasts and dribbled sweet juices down our chins in our eagerness to tweeze out even the tiniest morsel of meat. The table was a tragic vista of discarded shell and balled up napkins as the final diner set down their fork, like there had been a lobster Armageddon. We paid £15 a head for a lobster/chips/salad combo, with a margarita thrown in for good measure, and though the lobster was on the smallish side, and the house band were a little long in the tooth, you really can’t argue with those prices.

 Riddle and Finn’s is significantly more expensive than that, but it’s infinitely more refined and benefits from no in-house band belting out mid-90’s soft rock standards. To surmise, both offer a great lobster experience for very different situations. Although, I can’t really imagine a bad experience if there is a lobster involved somewhere along the line. Can you?

 Riddle and Finn’s
12b Meeting House Lane

Brighton

BN1 1HB.



The Big Easy

332 – 334 King’s Road

London

SW3 5UR

Amazonica

Following the crushing defeat at the hands of the Germans on Sunday, my friends and I sought to smother our misery in a pillow of food. Obviously nothing even slightly Germanic could be countenanced, so we used a handy-dandy i-phone app (how modern!) to find a nearby restaurant meeting our requirements of 'cheap' and 'not German.'

We came up with Amazonica, which is a Columbian restaurant on Brixton Road. How novel! We exclaimed as we walked down the street, reminiscing fondly on the Cuban feast we enjoyed so rapturously in New York. How delicious! We squealed as we read the menu outside, deciding in our minds between crispy belly pork with red beans and steamed tamal. How quaint! We rhapsodised as we entered the wood panelled interior, complete with jazzy dance floor out back.

How thoughtless, we winced when we noticed the "highlights" of the afternoon's sporting debacle playing on a loop, showing on a television at the back of the restaurant. How rude! We growled when they refused to turn even the sound off when we asked them to, tears in our eyes. They then proceeded to LAUGH at us, for being upset about the sporting failings of our nation.

Frankly the food is irrelevant when the customer service is this poor. We were made to feel as though we were imposing upon them for daring to order food and spend money in their establishment. Perhaps I'm being naive, but I thought that the customer was always right, if I ask a restaurant in which I am spending money to turn the television off, I expect them to do so. To play something repeatedly which is clearly upsetting your guests, is very strange indeed. To laugh at them is rude.

Who has a television in a restaurant anyway?

Greek Beach by the Thames.

A charming PR exercise to encourage tourists to visit the economically devastated cradle of democracy.
We all know that the Greek economy isn't what it ought to be, but the Greek Tourist Board are seeking to dispel the newsreel images of angry rioters and plucky protest dogs and persuade tourists to return to the country in an effort to wiggle out of their economic crisis. New for 2010 is the ‘You in Greece’ campaign, which invites you to imagine yourself in Greece, and then make your dreams a reality by actually going there. Hence the arrival on the Southbank of the Thames, of the Greek Beach at Gabriel’s Wharf.

The tourist board have shipped in tonnes of sand from the islands of the Aegean and populated them with sun loungers to create an 'authentic' holiday experience in SW1. With a plethora of delights from Hellenic delicacies such as spankopita and kofte, to beach football, sand sculpting and frosty pints of Greek beer, you'd be forgiven for thinking that there's no reason to board a plane to enjoy the Mediterranean.

Unless however like on the day of my visit, the weather falls somewhat short of Grecian. In place of endless blue skies, sparkling seas and searing heat, I sunk my toes into the damp and chilly sand under a slate-sky and beside the murky waters of the Thames. That said, I'd recommend a visit if the weather picks up, I daresay that after a couple of pints of Mythos or a glass or two of retsina that you’ll be feeling distinctly Mediterranean. Lie back on a sun lounger, listen to the DJ beats and imagine you're sitting in an olive grove in sunny Greece. Then book yourself a flight and plough some cash back into the ailing Greeks’ empty coffers.

MEAT WAGON!

Finally we made it to the Meat Wagon BEFORE they sold out of meat for the evening. This was my third attempt to buy a simple burger from these maestros of meat, so you'll excuse the excited upper case  typing. For those of you who don't know, the meat wagon is essentially, a burger van. But it's the best goddamn burger van you've ever been to. The meat is all ethically sourced and blah blah blah, but it tastes bloody DELICIOUS. Polly and I were so excited, we ordered a Coney Island Dog to start with, which was a purely gluttonous move. It looks hideous, but it was very tasty. It's essentially a beef sausage topped with chilli con-carne, jalapenos and onions. Our long-suffering vegetarian friend was disgusted.

There's not a lot I can say apart from go. We waited an HOUR AND A HALF for our burgers, but every meaty mouthful was worth it. Burgers and 'dogs are £5-6.

The Meat Wagon
Follow them on Twitter to find out where they will be next.

Mrs Paisley's Lashings

Mrs Paisley’s Lashings at Holmwood House.

Elegant dining with a conscience.

Jo Wood and Arthur Potts Dawson have returned with characteristic flair for another seasonal Mrs Paisley’s Lashings hosted at Jo’s stunning Kingston home; Holmwood House. Arthur’s eco-friendly and sustainable approach to restaurant dining coupled with Jo’s dedication to bespoke producers and local produce create a truly unique pop-up dining experience. The series of events are sponsored by Hendricks Gin, the three little words that every girl dreams of hearing.

The idiosyncratic organic gin infused with rose and cucumber was used to great effect to create a range of summery cocktails such as the Holmwood Punch and also the Mrs Paisley’s Mojito, which also include fresh herbs from the Holmwood garden and honey from Jo’s own bees. Working my way through the carefully crafted menu I was thoroughly convinced of the fact that Hendrick’s will be featuring heavily in my summer drinking plans.

Six courses of organic delights including summer vegetable risotto, Bayonne ham and beetroot salad, spring chicken with garden greens and a lemon tart left me groaning but thoroughly convinced of Jo and Arthur’s opinion that local, organic and seasonal can still be delicious and glamorous.

Profits raised from Mrs. Paisleys Lashings will be ploughed back into creating Mrs. Paisleys Gardens in schools across the UK.  Jo and Arthur are helping set up small vegetable patches in inner city schools to teach younger generations about the importance of growing your own and the benefits of eating good organic food.

Originally published at http://www.theculinaryguide.co.uk/