All quiet on the blogging front

A blogger without a laptop is, as we’d say in Yorkshire, “n’er use, n’er ornament” and as such I am unable to share those new experiences that have tickled my tastebuds in recent weeks. Instead I have been trawling the web for bloggers who write about IT fixes but have finally given in and resorted to bribing techy guys at work with a taste of home and pork pies from Bury market in the vain hope they’ll rescue it.

So in the meantime I’ll use the time to top up my tan and be back with new posts hopefully very soon.

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Hampstead Heath and The Bull & Last

I’m a sucker for a good cityscape so when my friend suggested we spend the day on Hampstead Heath and take in the panorama of London from the park’s Parliament Hill I didn’t have to be asked twice.

The day’s culinary adventures started pretty badly; I was feeling unexplainably dehydrated and had a curiously strong urge for salt so our first stop on arriving in Hampstead village at lunchtime was for a large bottle of water and a shared portion of large fries from McDonald’s. There. Confession and excuse over. Thankfully a few doors down there is a branch of Paul, a decent chain of patisseries which are scattered throughout London and I’ve even visited one here in Barcelona. We redeemed our earlier misdemeanour there by picking up a nice sandwich, some breads and a frangipane to pick at whilst we wandered the Heath. Surprisingly for Hampstead the snack food/take-away lunch choices are limited and the village suffers from that very British syndrome of high street chain domination.

Hampstead itself, however, is a delight.

It’s narrow, cobbled streets, 18th and 19th century houses and gas lamp style street lights give the borough a Dickensian air and whisk you away from the reality of actually being in the heart of one of the world’s metropolises.

After soaking up the village we made our way onto the Heath and strolled amongst the many ponds scattered throughout the park, including outdoor bathing ponds for those brave souls who can tolerate the chilly waters, although undoubtably the setting more than makes up for the cold fingers and toes.

Women's bathing pond

We decided to abandon our plans for a detour to nearby Highgate Cemetary, lured instead by the prospect of lazing with our hastily bought picnic in the warm, late afternoon sun that bathed the grassland in front of Kenwood House. Oh and mourning the lack of frangipane that the assistant at Paul had forgot to put in the bag.

Kenwood House

Lazing in the sun in front of Kenwood House

As the sun dipped behind the trees it was time to get to Parliament Hill before the light meant we wouldn’t be able to appreciate the view at it’s best. There are few places in London, save for the London Eye which will leave you £20 lighter, where you can get a good, elevated view of the city. Parliament Hill is a gem, busy, but not crowdedly so, with others who’d made the walk up there, the hill gives an amazing vista stretching from Canary Wharf in the east across to (if you squint very hard) Big Ben at Westminster to the west.

View from Parliament Hill looking east

View from Parliament Hill looking west

With our fill of the view and a contented sigh at what a glorious day we’d had it was time to go for a fill of our stomachs, so we headed down to the well reviewed gastropub The Bull & Last on the Highgate side of the Heath.

From the outset the staff were extremely friendly, making sure we were happy at the bar as we waited for some space to come free and even warning us that some of the bottled beers were “pricey” before we chose. This had a cosy pub feel and as we waited we took in the information above the bar about their suppliers, salivated over the menu and decided that as we were going to share the ‘Duck Cassoulet for Two’ we would just sample a few of the bar snacks for starters.

The blackboard behind the bar lists their produce and who supplies what

The menu changes on a daily basis

Once a table came free the first of the bar snacks arrived, a delicious, meaty and herby Scotch Egg with a lovely half set yolk, as if made me for, hater of dy, hard boiled egg yolk. Straight out of the fridge this was  slightly too cold but this is a bar snack and I’d prefer it’d come straight from the fridge than warm and soggy from sitting on the bar all day, which I hasten to add I’m sure the Bull & Last would never do.

Scotch Egg

We followed this with a ‘Colchester Rock Oyster with Shallot Vinegar’ each, my friend losing his oyster virginity and enjoying it immensely. I really like oysters and always chew them, I can’t understand just throwing it down your throat, I want to taste it.

Our final snack was new territory for both of us with the ‘Crispy Pigs Ears, Head Meat, Apples, Radish and Capers’, where we dug through the pile of fruity, tangy salad with the crispy bits to the unctuous, delicious head meat sitting in the bottom of the dish. It was really, really good and yet another occasion where I’ve been offally surprised.

Colchester Rock Oysters and the Crispy Pig's Ears & Head Meat

And then the main event, the cassoulet of confited duck legs with slices of boudin noir and toulouse sausages nestling in the white bean ragu. As soon as it was put on the table I said a small prayer of thanks to the assistant at Paul for forgetting that frangipane, she’d done us a huge favour.  I’ve never had cassoulet before and imagined breaking a fatty crust to reveal the meats underneath but here the legs sat on top of the ragu, whether this is usual or their take on it I have no idea as have nothing to compare it to.

Duck leg cassoulet for two

Whatever, despite the duck legs being ever so slightly dry on the outside the dish was fantastic and really needs no more comment other than my friend’s words at the end of the meal, who with a few forkfuls left and an almost bursting belly said something along the lines of  “I’m finishing this no matter what”.

Dessert was beyond us but the truffles of White Chocolate & Pistachio and Salted Caramel made their way into my bag to be tasted another time (the salted caramel ones were very moreish), we settled the bill, headed out onto the street, loosened our belts and groaned with pleasure the whole walk home.

The Bull & Last, 168 Highgate Road, London NW5 (non-smoking)

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Books for Cooks

Heaven is a book shop. Any book shop. From the dusty, heaped to the rafters second-hand shops, the sections in charity shops (which I miss terribly here, the culture of charity shops just doesn’t exist in the same way as in the UK), through to Waterstones and smart, independent book stores with their coffee machines and comfortable armchairs, it’s hard to pass any of these without nipping in and having a quick browse.

Nirvana, however, is a cookbook shop.

And that state of nirvana can be reached just off Notting Hill’s Portobello Road at Books for Cooks.

Floor to ceiling shelves groan under the weight of cookbooks for every possible cuisine, with titles and chefs many of us are familiar with and many more we may never have heard of.

However, this is not just a store of recipe books, there are also a wealth of volumes covering topics such as food history, cooking for children, nutrition, biographies, fiction and that absorbing subject of cooking chemistry.

For those lucky enough to live locally the shop runs an extensive choice of workshops which take place in the kitchen at the rear of the store, this they also use to test-cook dishes from their book collection and feedback on the recipes.

I believe they have compiled a book of their own based on these trials. It’s good to see ‘Seasonal Secrets of Catalan Cooking’ feature in the autumn workshop list and I’d be tempted by ‘Meals in Heels’ if it meant learning to be stylish and seductive from the kitchen (in a non-Nigella way of course), unfortunately my furtive imagination was disappointed to read that the title just refers to having a dinner party prepared in time for you to get your lipstick and heels on. Boo.

For those of us living on foreign soils, Books for Cooks will send your order in the mail, although you’ll have to know what you’re looking for as they have over 8000 titles and no catalogue, but if you find yourself in London, make the pilgrimage and get one step closer to heaven.

Books for Cooks, 4 Blenheim Crescent, Notting Hill, London

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Ain’t no party like a crayfish party…

….and nothing like the British weather to try and scupper the party plans. But undeterred, we donned our jackets, erected the gazebo and vowed not to be beaten by the chilly, August mancunian rain.

Laiden with goodies prepared from the Moro cookbook and a crayfish party pack courtesy of Ikea this was the second time in a long weekend that a friend had rescued us from chip shop party recovery food and brought something infinitely more fun and tasty.

Manchester weather, do your worst.

An authentic crayfish party should indeed include crayfish and no doubt there are an abundance in the nearby Bridgewater canal, but on this occasion this shindig was of a middle eastern flavour, a few thousand miles from the crayfish party‘s native Sweden. Traditionally celebrated at the end of August to celebrate the brief crayfish season, parties are held outdoors with crayfish garlands around the table, paper hats and bibs for each guest and crayfish songs are sung, all of which were suitably provided in Ikea’s party pack. No doubt our jackets, blankets on knees and huddling near the BBQ are also not unheard of at a Swedish party.

Eagerly anticipating the Moro magic

As we tucked into our fattoush, tabouleh, lebanese chicken, lamb patties and an array of amazing salads, washed down with Pimms, ‘La Ritournelle’ wine and quality beers from Carrington’s various friends intermittently arrived to join us. On each arrival they were regaled with a song from the crayfish songbook whilst they were adorned with a bib and hat, which provide us with much hilarity even on the fourth or fifth time of singing.

I’ll leave you with our favourite and most amusing song of the evening, sung to the tune of Leo Sayer’s ‘When I need you’….whatever did the neighbours think?

When I need beer

When I need beer,

I just close my eyes and I think beer,

And all that I want is to drink beer,

Keeping me warm night and day.

When I have beer,

I reach out my hand and I grab beer,

I never knew there was so much beer,

Only an armlength away.

Miles and miles of empty bottle behind me,

Lots and lots of bottles waiting ahead,

And you know I will be drinking beer forever,

It’s cold out, but hold out and do like I do (repeat first verse).

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A taste of home

I’ve just got back to Barcelona after two weeks in the UK and am feeling distinctly podgier after being well fed and watered by my cherished family and  friends back home. I’ve never had myself down as a typical Brit; I like and respect British food but I don’t particularly crave it or miss it a great deal and rarely go out of my way here to hunt down anything more than golden syrup for baking or the odd bit of Stilton. Maybe it’s the ‘want what you can’t have’ principal but I’ve surprised myself with my sudden enthusiasm and desire for as many British  foods as possible from the minute I stepped off the plane.

The Warburton’s crumpets were a disappointment but a reminder that I really must have a bash at making them fresh one day and the Yorkshire parkin from the Cannon Hall Farm Shop on the Huddersfield/Barnsley border was overly dry although this may have had more to do with our post-party parched mouths than the quality of their baking.

But the Long Clawson Stilton, several bottles of Weston’s Organic Cider (without ice, why would you want to put ice in cider?) amongst others whose names I can’t remember, Cheshire dry cured smoked bacon and traditional pork sausages were a welcome reminder of good English fayre and eased the pain of the distinct lack of decent grocers in my old Manchester neighbourhood.

And finally, what could be better after a bank holiday weekend’s partying excesses than a home cooked roast

Hello roast, it's been a while.

complete with cute, hastily made place settings by my friend’s daughter Amelia

Amelia puts us in our place

and rounded off with sweet ‘Bridgewater Canal blackberry and Barrow apple crumble’

'Bridgewater Canal and Barrow apple crumble'

which took it’s name from an afternoon’s picking from the local waterside and Amelia’s recent visit to Grandma’s caravan in Cumbria?

A true ‘taste of home’.

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Green Valley Grocer

It may be a long way from my current home but very close to my heart is the village of Slaithwaite in West Yorkshire where I grew up. I mention it briefly here as I am overjoyed to find out recently that the village greengrocers which closed in May 2009 was rescued and reopened by a cooperative of villagers. The Green Valley Grocer opened shortly after the previous owners gave up the business and appears, from my distant viewpoint, to be thriving. The shop is continuing as a greengrocer as well as stocking other locally sourced and produced goods such as breads, honeys and jams. Local people are even invited to provide stock if they have the relevant food hygiene and environmental health inspections.

I fondly remember going to the original greengrocers with my mum and sister in the 80s when the small shop was busy and served your loose and often dirty vegetables in brown paper bags before the arrival of the omnipresent plastic shrink wrapped varieties we see today. Sadly the twice weekly market we also used to be dragged round (or so it felt as a child) is long gone although the village has benefitted from the uncovering of the canal that runs through the village which once again allows barges to pass through alongside it’s high street.

With the continued and unrelenting growth of the supermarkets and in particular the ‘metro or express’ mini supermarkets which have crushed or made life very difficult for small local businesses in the UK it is refreshing and encouraging to see local people making a success of a more traditional and less environmentally impactive business.

Long may their success continue and I shall be paying them a visit when I am in the UK in the next couple of weeks.

Green Valley Grocer, 4 Carr Lane, Slaithwaite, West Yorkshire, UK.

http://www.slaithwaite.coop

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