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London

London farewells: Food, film and the future of work

My last week in London was a whirl of farewells and final thises and thats before I hopped into my minicab back to Heathrow and leapt skyward in unexpected luxury – bumped up to business class by my friends at British Airways thank you thank you – and landed in calm clear weather in Vancouver, which held off on the rain, sleet and snow until I was tucked up into bed.

It was a week of nice food in London too. Still buzzing after the Copenhagen jaunt and the pleasures of the poetry workshop in Cambridge, I joined dear friends to tuck into a most excellent Sunday lunch at Great Queen Street in Holborn.

The pot roasted pheasant with poached quince looked (and tasted) wonderful but oh dear I’d just had pheasant (how often do I have the chance to say that?) so after a few reversals I opted for baked cod and spinach, which was studded with garlic and chili and was a delight, although I did think it was just barely overcooked, by a fish’s whisker. I was  afforded a morsel of the chicken pot pie on the other side of the table that satisfied my curiosity on that score (chervil in the crust we thought? very nice touch).

But there was much excitement to follow on the dessert menu: each item more delicious than the next. I had the prune and almond tart, which was soft and nutty and chewy where it should be and had a fine crunchy and slightly caramelly crust. Even so my envious fork went round and round the table. The salt creme caramel was exquisite: a silky yellow custard standing softly within its warm and salty caramel pashmina; the baked cheesecake light and lemony with a surprising and effective fruit confit alongside, and the beignets… ah the beignets. Featherlight and warm, faintly crunchy on the outside, tender on the inside. Why would anyone waste their money on donuts when they can have beignets with raspberry coulis here?

 

 

 

 

 

So all in all it was a great introduction for me to this restaurant – and an exceptional waiter who doted knowledgeably without being intrusive, and who had some friendly insights on the opera my dining companions were off to see. Manly yes, but I like it too.

Monday was spent mostly packing and trying out my new toy, a suitcase scale, which will be invaluable on my future travels.

Monday evening I went to The School of Life where I promptly undid all my careful work packing and weighing by losing my head in the gift/book shop. My new treasures include a beautiful hardcover copy of The Flavour Thesaurus: Pairings, recipes and ideas for the creative cook, entertainingly written by Niki Segnit, which is arranged by ingredient and offers, well, just what it says on the label. But I was there for a class – the only one I could fit into my schedule – called How to Find a Job You Love. At my stage of life I had thought through a lot of what was covered, and suspect I may have my perfect job (though I have yet to work out how to make it pay!) but this topic is a winner and the subsequent offerings are selling like hotcakes in these risky times. There were a fair number of people present who’d been made redundant, and some who were stuck in unrewarding jobs, as well as a few who were looking to round out their part time positions with something meaningful. I liked the historical and sociological context that David Baker brought to the session, the exercises were useful and we were well fed and watered as well.

Tuesday I went to see The Iron Lady, which was as I’d expected well acted and cast (except for Jim Broadbent who never convinced me he was Denis) but I thought disappointing from its current day setting and the brevity of the flashbacks into Thatcher’s time. I didn’t feel I got much more insight into those years – and the trump card had already been played a few days before when 1981 cabinet papers were released that cast new light on old questions.

Anyway we mulled all this over a few Irish rock oysters at Pescatori, followed in my case by a nice octopus salad (which did make me pine for Parma, but was good in a different way, a kind of spin on salade nicoise, with potatoes and green beans rounding it out). I confess that the treat of the day for me was a glass of Passito di Panterellia, which is quite simply heaven in a glass, and I savoured every drop.

Wednesday was another lunch with dear friends and former neighbours, and a bit more folding, rolling, shoving, kneeling, sweating and swearing over suitcases. Thursday yet another lunch with dear friends and poets and a final poetry workshop. And Friday the sun shone on the parrots, the Mahonia japonica (not to be confused with the Mahonia aquifolium – Oregon Grape) shared its wintry perfume as we passed by on our way to a farewell lunch at Tarantella where the Melanzane parmigiana and Spaghetti alla vongole were both excellent. And all too soon, the cab driver was there and my Euro-time was over… for now.

Devonshire to Denmark

I find myself in Copenhagen this evening, where it is calm and mild, although we are promised winds and rain for the morrow.

And it is a new year! I once heard it said that what you do on New Year’s Eve you will do all through the year, and so I thought to hedge my bets I’d return to the Devonshire Arms and eat a lovely meal in hopes this will set a suitable tone.

We commenced with potted Suffolk ham hock and very fine toasted sourdough, accompanied by a few darling cornichons and pickled onions, and a pear and Cheshire blue cheese salad sprinkled with toasted pine nuts. We moved smoothly on to a melting featherblade of beef with herbed dumplings. kale mash and tiny roast onions. Thus fortified we were able to take a calm, clear look at the desserts which all sounded spectacular. One of the finest was a hot chocolate pudding with salt caramel ice cream. Just to make sure the chef had chosen the right ice cream to go with this (he had, oh yes he had) we checked out the chocolate and ginger flavours as well, bathing them in warm chocolate sauce for good measure. If this is to be my fate in 2012, bring it on.

Christmas in London

I had a busy few days since my return from Parma, visiting friends and tootling around town. I decided to avoid the main shopping craziness of central London but had to pass through it a few times en route to here and there. As you can see, they’ve gone all out with the Christmas lights on Oxford Street, which is busy at the best of times and quite insane at this time of year. However, I do like the fact that at Christmas London pretty much empties, and because Christmas Eve fell on a Saturday, everyone scooted out of town on Friday, which meant the shops were quiet on Friday night, and everything quite calm on Saturday. Better news for me than the shopkeepers who are hurting badly this year.

It is always a bit surprising in this hemisphere to catch a glimpse of green among the brown at the bird feeders, but apparently escapee parrots have made themselves at home in England. I’ve been watching the bird feeders with interest and notice the big bruisers – wood pigeons, starlings and magpies – are getting most of the action, while the smaller songsters hop around the edges. The year round birdsong is something I do miss about England.

On Christmas Eve I thought I’d try to get into the carol service at St Paul’s but what with one thing and another just got there too late and was turned away with several hundred others. I had hoped they might have speakers set up to soothe the outsiders with music from within. But they did not, so I wandered about the tent city for a while before heading onwards to Islington where I had an alternative Carol service from my eponymous hostess who served up some mulled wine and Christmas cake while we caught up. I returned to Chiswick and settled in with The Young Victoria and a nice bowl of risotto, and reckoned that was a fine old evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Christmas gift to myself was a leisurely day of cooking, which always makes me happy. I had bought a plump little pheasant from the lovely butcher, Macklen Bros, and pot roasted it in wine according to a Katie Stewart recipe. Stewart is revered by many of today’s celebrity chefs including Delia Smith, Sophie Dahl, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Anna del Conte. The stained old copy of The Times Cookery Book I was working from would not command the full £50+ you’d expect to pay elsewhere, but it has been well loved, and for good reason. The bird was very good – finished with a buttery wine gravy made with beurre manie and pan-fried mushrooms, accompanied by brussels sprouts of course, and some Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall roasted aubergines and potatoes … best of all I managed not to crack a tooth on the buckshot. Outside, all was peaceful and mild. A Christmas walk around the neighbourhood revealed almost nothing was stirring on Chiswick High Road at five-ish in the afternoon.

Dashing around London

It’s a busy old place, this London. Crowded, too. Even, at times, in the spacious halls of the British Library where I spend as much time as I can. I noticed a little urban food growing going on in the forecourt, where giant planters are evidently brimming with strawberries.

Wandering round Vauxhall after a dog walk we stopped for a little breakfast at a dog-friendly pub, the Black Dog, which is a great thing to have in one’s neighbourhood. As is this venerable tea house, a building which Virginia tells me is mentioned in one of Thackeray’s novels.

 

 

 

 

 

We stopped in for a peek at the Vauxhall City Farm, which is part petting zoo and part community garden. There are horses large and small as well as rabbits, chickens, goats, sheep and a fair number of waterfowl of various shapes and sizes. In the back there’s a modest allotment which in this unseasonably warm December is still growing, unimpeded by frost.

 

 

 

And on for a look at Borough Market where there’s everything from bread to biltong.

 

London eating

It’s been quiet here at the Iambic Cafe lately, but only because I’ve been so busy frequenting a few of London’s eateries and drinkeries.

Last week for example I made a joyful visit to Ottolenghi whose pastries look as beautiful as ever; the salads (shaved fennel, roasted aubergine and roasted sweet potato) were exquisite. I’d also heard that the Devonshire Arms was worth a visit, so I popped in for a bit of smoked eel and a most delicious mixed salad and will have to make a return visit soon.

 

 

 

 

 

On Thursday I spent a happy evening swanning around Covent Garden with several thousand other merry-making shoppers, lapping up free drinks and hors d’oeuvres at shops participating in a seasonal shopping promotion. At the end we found ourself a cozy bench at Cantina Laredo, which promised gourmet Mexican food. The guacamole, prepared at our table, was fun, and the avocado enchiladas were wonderful – full of artichokes, rice and avocado.

 

 

 

Friday I went to the movies with Nancy and Mike and we wandered Lamb’s Conduit Street in search of nourishment. It was my second visit to La Cigala and although it was good I did sense a few standards slipping (along with a couple of plates in the kitchen). In the chickpea and chestnut stew, for example, I may have found the only rancid chestnut (Mike said the rest were fine), and Nancy – and the pair at the adjoining table – who had the goose stuffed with pork and prunes and served with roasted parsnips, found it tough. Good, but tough. Not, she remarked, what you want with a goose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was happy enough with my trio of starters: boquerones – marinated anchovies – with a nice vegetable salad on thinly sliced jerusalem artichokes; a towering tortilla; and padrone peppers. As is the custom there, we did a little celebrity spotting while desserting: meringue with prunes, a stunning orange flan, and a mountain of membrillo (poached quince) with an alcoholic dollop of cream.

 

 

 

And I had a lovely Neopolitan pagnotella – “sandwich” – at Canta Napoli – just flatbread, tomatoes, mozzarella and basil.