week 37 Everyday Harumi

When the Ewing and I were both penniless library workers and travelled to Japan, I was preparing myself for it to be so ruinously expensive that we would have to subsist on packet noodles; strange flavoured maize snacks from 7 Eleven; and odd drinks, randomly chosen from glowing vending machines down dark alleyways.

As it turned out you could spend your monthly salary on sushi in the basement of a subway station, or buy fifty quid melons - displayed in perspex boxes, nestled in silver tissue paper - but the vast majority of meals were as cheap as at home, and often cheaper. While the huge range of places to eat - from tiny stand up counters to cavernous food halls - blew our tiny minds.

One of my favourite nights, which also turned out to be one of the most expensive, was the night we spend in Omoide Yokocho (which translates as the romantic-sounding Memory Alley, AKA Piss Alley, from the post-war days when shady characters would congregate here). A Tokyo landmark by Shinjuku Station, it features a warren of smoke-filled lanes filled with izakaya; small bars where people drink cold beer accompanied by various skewers grilled over charcoal.

These tiny little, salty, smoky nibbles soon racked up into a sizeable bill (no doubt aided by the beverages). So I reasoned, how hard could it be to create my own at home? Luckily I had my trusty ex-library copy of Everyday Harumi; written by celebrated homemaker TV personality Harumi Kurihara, who has been described as Japan's answer to Martha Stewart. Although I see her more as a Delia, minus the striped Canaries scarf.

Anyway, onto the skewers. I decided to make the ever-dependable yakitori - chicken thigh and Japanese leek, or spring onion, glazed with a tare of teriyaki sauce. And the less-known but equally great tsukune - meatballs, in this case beef and pork, which are also glazed with a teriyaki sauce. 

After all chopping, soaking, threading and grilling (sadly in my top oven in the absence of charcoal). Not to mention the sauce, which demanded the reduction of a whole bottle of soy and a whole bottle of mirin  - although it did make plenty of leftovers which I have used to anoint all sorts of other things, and even just to eat with teaspoon when slightly drunk - so I can now understand why they aren't the cheapest way to eat. However, the splinters were all worth it.

Tsukune (adapted from Harumi Cooks)

1 small onion peeled and finely diced

1 stalk celery, finely diced

300g mince - beef or pork (I used a mixture), but chicken works well, too

1 medium egg

1 tbs plain flour

5-6 fresh basil leaves (optional)

Sunflower or vegetable oil-for frying

Shichimi togarashi or chili pepper

Lemon wedges to serve 

Teriayaki sauce

250ml soy sauce

250ml mirin

4 tbsp caster sugar

To make the teriyaki sauce: combine the soy sauce, mirin, and sugar in a pan and slowly bring to a boil. Turn the heat down low and simmer for about 20 minutes, until it has thickened. Skim the surface if necessary and set aside.

Preheat the grill/barbecue.

To make the tsukune; put all the ingredients, except the basil, into a bowl and knead to combine well. Shred the basil, if using, and add to the mixture. It is important to add the basil at the last minute so it keeps its colour

Shape the mixture into rounds about 5 inches in diameter, and flatten slightly. Thread on to small skewers, two or three per skewer.

Grill until cooked through, turning halfway and brushing with a little teriyaki sauce.

Glaze with more sauce and sprinkle with shichimi togarashi/chili pepper flakes.

Serve with lemon wedges on the side.

week 31 - Ottolenghi

Stealth's birthday celebration have featured several times before on the blog, including summer strawberry cakes, handmade noodles, and several weekends where we probably didn't feel like eating much at all. This year I had something special planned - a meat feast, and not like the ones we used to get half-price when she worked a Pizza Hut.

To celebrate the heralding of the last year of her fourth decade, I had bought a whole, larder trimmed, fillet of beef from Turner and George. While this was a mostly altruistic gesture, I also knew that the tail fillet would make a great tartare, which we enjoyed the night before Stealth arrived, along with some frites and a green salad. 

The rest of the beef (minus a small part of the Chateaubriand, that I cut off and put in the freezer to attempt the wellington treatment on at some point) was going to be anointed simply with salt and pepper and olive oil, roasted quickly so it was still pink within, and served with three homemade sauces and some colourful salads. All taken from the brilliant first Ottolenghi cookbook.

Roast beef fillet with three sauces

1 beef fillet, trimmed, (about 1.5kg) at room temperature

olive oil

coarse sea salt

black pepper

Preheat the oven to 220C. Place the fillet in a bowl with the oil, salt and pepper and massage in to the meat. Place a heavy pan on a high heat and sear the fillet until brown all over. I

Transfer the fillet to a roasting tray and put in the oven to roast. 10-14 mins for medium rare, 15-18 mins for medium or longer for well done. 

Remove from the oven, wrap in foil and leave to rest for at least 30 minutes. When ready to serve, unwrap and cut into slices. Season with sea salt.

Choka (smoky tomato sauce)

450g plum tomatoes

2 tbsp sunflower oil

1 small onion, thinly sliced

1 red chilli, seeded and chopped

2 garlic cloves, crushed

2 tbsp chopped coriander

1 tbsp paprika

a pinch of dried chilli flakes

salt and black pepper

Preheat the grill half the tomatoes and place, cut side down, on a tray. Put the whole tomatoes under it and cook for about 15 minutes, until the skin is burnt and blistered. The burnt skin will give the sauce its smoky flavour. Place the hot tomatoes in a bowl and crush them roughly with a wooden spoon. Pick out most of the skin.

In a saucepan, heat up the oil. add the onion and cook for 3 minutes on a medium heat. Add the onion and oil to the crushed tomatoes, together with the chilli, garlic, coriander, paprika and chilli flakes. Taste and season liberally with salt and pepper. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Rocket and horseradish sauce

50g rocket

2 tbsp freshly grated horseradish (I used 1 heaped tbsp from a far)

1 garlic clove, crushed

2 tbsp olive oil

1 tbsp milk

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp black pepper

125g Greek yoghurt

Put all the ingredients except the yoghurt in a blender or food processor and pulse until smooth. Transfer to a bowl, add the yoghurt and mix well. 

Watercress and mustard sauce

40g watercress

1 tbsp wholegrain mustard

1 tbsp Dijon mustard

1 garlic clove crushed

2 tbsp olive oil

Sea salt and black pepper

100g cream cheese

Put all the ingredients except the cream cheese in a blender or food processor and pulse until smooth. Transfer to a bowl, add the cream cheese and mix well. 

Alongside the beef I also made the roasted aubergine with saffron yoghurt and pomegranate; a superb dish that both looks impressive and is easy to throw together (bake slices of aubergine in the oven and then cool and cover with the yoghurt dressing, pomegranate and basil). And chargrilled asparagus, courgette and manouri, which is a Greek goat and sheep cheese, similar to halloumi, that has luckily made its way to the shelves of Waitrose in Wycombe. 

At least I knew if the food didn't impress her, my choice of supermarket would. Luckily, it was all a big hit.

Chick 'n Sours, somewhere out East....

Born in the Badlands of Brent and raised in the rolling Chilterns, I've always been, as Neil sang, a West End Girl. So when Carl Clarke - of Disco Bistro fame - opened a chicken shop on the Kingsland Road it pitted my love of fried poultry with my inherent dislike for convoluted trips across London with TFL.

For a while I held out, but after enduring a Twitter feed full of sticky wings and Weetabix soft serve, coupled with the plaintive pleas from The Ewing (who rates fried chicken on a par with me and only just behind chocolate and the cat), we roped in Stealth and Regina, an East End Girl, for brunch.

The name suggests, they've got a keen eye for the cocktails too, with the specialty being sour-style libations served in half pint pots. I stuck with the house sour, which featured gin; lemon; raspberry and chilli vinegar; and freeze dried raspberry, while the rest of the table honed in on the regularly changing guest list with the stand out being a a bourbon based mango and balsamic number.

The Szechuan aubergine - cubed and tempura battered before being tossed in a soy and miso glaze - was about the best thing you could do to an eggplant. So good we ordered two portions, and not just because The Ewing has vowed never to split food with Stealth after the unfortunate 'sharing' platter incident at the Doghouse in Kennington before I even started writing this blog.

We also shared a side of watermelon with peanuts and coriander and chilli and fish sauce; all things that probably shouldn't work when mixed together with chunks of fruit, but strangely did.

I had been eagerly waiting to try the House Fry drumstick and thigh, served with 'seaweed crack' and more chunks of pickled watermelon. After vicariously cyber-consuming this countless times on social media, I only hoped the reality could live up to my fowl-based fantasies. Thankfully it was even tastier; knocking Colonel Sanders grizzled offerings into a cocked bargain bucket.

A crisp shell of seasoned batter gave way to chicken pieces I would have described as being on steroids (both because of their size and my predilection for lazy cliches), if I didn't already know were from free range organic birds raised on Pilton Grange in Yorkshire. And whilst the seaweed seasoning had the appearance of the contents of an errant ashtray it certainly deserved its class A moniker, being a full on umami-bomb. 

The Guest Fry on this visit was spicy satay; a House Fry drumstick and thigh smothered in a creamy peanut sauce, crunchy red onion and a thatch of coriander and thai basil. A serious plate of food which, again, managed to tame all the big bold flavours into a harmonious whole.

Stealth isn't a fan of a bone - not in her chicken, anyway (umm...you know how she recoils at erotic puns - TE) - but thankfully the brunch bun was there to satiate her every need. A behemoth of fried thigh, avocado, fried egg, bacon, chilli slaw, hot sauce and gochujang mayonnaise, clamped in a shiny brioche bun that elicited gasps both when it arrived at the table and then as Stealth manfully struggled to finish it. 

Thumbs up, too for the packet of Huggies baby wipes that arrived with it and were much needed. I probably should have used one myself, being as the above photo is rendered in a soft glow focus thanks to the greasy fingers on my phone camera lens.

Yes, fried chicken restaurants in the Capital might be as ubiquitous as conceded Spurs goals, but far more fun. And with excellent cocktails, superlative poultry and a soft serve menu I must return to sample (hopefully before the matcha, banana and sesame flavour is replaced) it's worth braving the 243 to Wood Green for.

Ding Dong Merrily on Vietnamese

'Tis the season for goodwill to all men and Stealth has obviously been very good this year as she has found Regina in her stocking (steady on), a much lauded admirer that the Ewing and I were super excited to properly meet.

Our destination was near Regina's hood, on the Kingsland Road, home to some of the best Vietnamese food in London. Although after promising to display model behaviour, motoring our way though several bottles of pre-dinner fizz at Stealth's before our rendezvous may not have been the wisest idea. 

As you can probably see... At least the alcohol helped sustain us on our travails from E&C to Hoxton on a busy Friday night, as well as fueling lots of loud and raucous conversation (sadly mostly unintelligible by this point) to match the restaurant's lively atmosphere. 

Things kicked off, in a an edible sense, with the staple summer rolls with pork and prawn. Funnily enough, one of the first restaurants I took the Ewing to was Song Que, stalwart of the Kingsland Road, where I introduced her to summer rolls and funky bowls of pho for the first time. Time has mellowed the experience to a romantic memory, but I'm pretty sure the reality was fraught with some sort of emotional drama. Nice food, though.

This time our starters passed much more peacefully. The rolls were on point, gossamer rice paper folded around juicy chunks of  crustacean, noodles and a thicket of fresh herbs although looking at the menu in the clear light of day, I'm rather disappointed I didn't try the shredded pork skin or prawn floss versions.

Aubergine with fish sauce was also very good; the smoky skin split and the virginal flesh anointed with the gentle funk of fermented fish and topped with a tangle of green onions. A Nigella-esque description that doesn't quite convey the swarm of locust-like chopsticks that hungrily descended moments after it arrived at the table.

The comprehensive menu meant we could of had our pick across South East Asia, with delights ranging from char grilled goat to beef wrapped in betel leaf to minced eel, but who can resist a great pile of crispy spring rolls, triangles of prawn toast and sticky spare ribs sitting atop a rustling heap of deep fried seaweed. Not us clearly, and these were classics done with aplomb.

While Stealth and I were dispatched to find more wine  - it's BYO, with a pound head corkage - the ladies chose the mains; Regina went with the duck, a hefty portion stir fried with smoky onions and chillies, while the Ewing chose a similar dish, this time with a heap of prawns and the added citrus zing of lemongrass. 

Normally, lemongrass isn't a flavour I enjoy too much, reminding me of the hot cloths the stewardesses thrusts at you when you've woken up somewhere over the Atlantic with a cricked neck and covered in your neighbour's dribble, but here it was very nice. I also now have to try and make myself like it, as the Ewing has taken to attempting to grow industrial amounts of it in a window box at home. (still very leafy with not much stalk - TE).

Stealth, before leaving on mission, had asked for 'prawns in a pot', which, after being such a good girl, is exactly what Santa bought her. I have to confess I originally though this was one of her made up epithets for dishes she doesn't really know the name of, but I checked and it's there; stewed prawns in a pot, or number 113 on the menu if you'd like to try it.

Unfortunately I didn't, so can offer only limited thoughts on it. While I would normally hesitate to endorse something Stealth recommends - this is someone who's signature dish is frankfurters and fried eggs and frozen veg, eaten out of the same pan it's cooked in to save on the washing up - it did smell rather delicious, even if my soft focus picture isn't doing much for it.

My request for frogs legs had been replaced by the more staid suggestion of chilli satay lamb in my absense. A clever choice, seeing as they were both sitting opposite and thus sparing themselves the spectacle watching me gnawing on assorted amphibian bits.

At this point a good blogger would say something pithy, or at least something useful, about their dish. Unfortunately, success on the wine finding mission meant that - despite the alarmingly garish hue - I only rememebered eating it after finding the pictures on my phone the next morning. By all accounts I hoovered it all up with gay abandon. So it must have been quite good, at least.

A night out in the East has to end with hipster cocktails in a dingy bar and where better than Shoreditch institution Jaguar Shoes. G'n'Ts and bad dancing in the underground room rounded off a very merry evening with fine company, even if it meant the only festive fizz I could face the following day came in the form of two dispersible aspirin and a Berocca. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

Oxford Blues

Following on from the first of my countdown to working Mondays blog posts, which saw me eating pork pies in drizzly Birmingham, my antepenultimate Monday off meant dragging the Ewing up the M40 to bask in the Oxford sunshine.

Whilst it may have a reputation for bucolic British beauty Oxford also has its share of ugly urban sprawl, and none more so than the Eastern side of the city. Previously this was the site of the outer ramparts of the castle, now it's home to humdrum expanses of grey concrete. It's not all doom and gloom in this part of town however. For here, incongruously tucked under the Bridge nightclub on Hyth Bridge Street, you'll find lauded szechuan restaurant, Sojo.

As well as szechuan dishes there is also a roll call of standard Cantonese and Shanghainese staples  - think sweet and sour chicken, spicy yellow bean chicken and, err, 'mouth watery' chicken - alongside a good looking lunchtime dim sum selection, but what's the point of going somewhere with 'SSS = Mind Blowing Spicy' dishes on the menu and not trying one. In this case the triple rated Szechaun pork for me and the beef and aubergine for the Ewing.

After such a menacing warning - the waiter even bought us glasses of iced water, unbidden, with our meals - the food wasn't too spicy - and no, I don't say that in the surreptitiously squinting, sweat breaking out on the brow manner of a lager-filled masochist trying to impress his mates on a Friday night. 

What is was, however, was delicious, the shreds of pork and crunchy strips of veg possessing just the right amount of tongue tingling from the fresh chillies and lip numbing from the szechuan pepper to provoke a pleasing glow. The Ewing's dish, with it's slippery curls of soy drenched aubergine and chunks of sweet beef, may have been even better (this is unheard of! - TE).

After cranking the heat up it was time to cool down again, and where better than one of my favourite ice cream parlours, G&D. As we were on the wrong side of town it was the perfect chance to try out the mini-chain's original branch, George and Davis, having previously frequented George and Danver on St Algates and the seasonal ice cream cart that appears on the street in the summer.

I had what I originally thought was the Oxford Blue (blueberry)but  was actually probably the Black and Blue (blackberry and blueberry). Soft fruit semantics aside, it was completely awesome. Whilst not normally a fruity ice cream fan, this balanced the sweet dairy and sharp berries perfectly. The Ewing got her buzz on with a cone of Kenyan AA, a coffee flavored ice that was demolished too quickly to capture (Too slow, Roscoe - TE).

It's pretty impossible to come to Oxford without imbibing a pint in one of their historied hostelries, and this time we headed off to the Turf Tavern, hidden down a narrow winding alley between Holywell Street and New College Lane.

The Turf Tavern is crammed (there isn't much room in here) with history. Not only has it had a role call of famous guests, including Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor, CS Lewis and Margaret Thatcher. but it was also the the site of former Australian Prime Minister Bob Hawke's Guinness World Record, where he sculled a yard glass of ale in 11 seconds. Legend also has it that the the Turf is where former U.S. president Bill Clinton, while attending Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, infamously 'did not inhale' on a herbal cigarette. There's even a plaque attesting to it, so it must be true. 

It's also, most excitingly for me, it was one of Inspector Morse's favourite locals. Hoping to inherit some of his curmogeonly intelligence by the osmosis of my surroundings (I'm pretty sure I'm already halfway there - I concur -TE) I tried the Turf Tavern's Landlord's Choice, 'an education in intoxication' and a fair enough pint to sup on a Monday afternoon.

The Ewing went with the topical Richard the III ale, Blue Boar, from Everards. 'An amber ale brewed with medieval taste of honey and mead with delicate spice and citric notes'. Scientists have recently revealed that King Richard III regularly drank around three litres of beer and wine a day, and liked to snack on the occasional swan. Which is probably how he ended up in a Leicester car park.

The skies may have been darkening ominously but of course there still had to be a library in there somewhere and nowhere seemed more fitting than a walk around the Radcliffe Camera, the neo-classical home of the Radcliffe Science Library and now part of the bibliophile's dream, the Bodleian.

'And that sweet city with her dreaming spires. She needs not June for beauty's heightening'

Matthew Arnold

Rams, Kenton

Dear old Grandad’s taken a tumble and as a consequence has been banged up at the NHS’s pleasure for the last few weeks. While it’s unlikely many of us would ever choose to be in hospital, the care he’s been receiving - at Northwick Park, the auspicious site of my own birth, and latterly Central Middlesex - has been first rate and even the (notorious) catering has had the thumbs up. If the Ewing’s ever admitted she’s hoping it will be on a Thursday, for corned beef and pickle sandwiches followed by jerk chicken and sponge pudding. 

The frequent dashes made up the Western Avenue have meant things have been a bit slack on the domestic front, so luckily there are plenty of decent choices for dinner nearby when visiting hours are over.

Fortuitously Northwick Park is a stone’s throw from Kenton, the home of Ram’s Pure Vegetarian, and somewhere I’ve wanted to visit for a while. While most things with veggie in the title may scream of mung beans and tofu, here you can be assured of plenty of deep frying, liberal helpings of cheese and ghee, and cold beers to wash it all down with.

Speaking of the beer, Kingfisher is £2.00 a bottle, and only £3.80 for a 660ml bomber. So I had two. The Ewing enjoyed a cup of sweet, spicy chai.

The menu is bewilderingly large and is split into many different sections reflecting various different types of Indian cuisine. These include Surti Khajana (a state in Gujarat), Mumbai Chatpata (classic street food such as idli and dosa)  - Panjabi dishes - South Indian Dishes and Indian Mirch (an Guajarati word meaning pepper or chilli) Masala dishes - This is then subdivided into starters and mains, with a few extra accompaniments, rice and daal dishes and Hindustani Breads thrown in for good measure.

To kick things off we had a plate of Pani Puri, the crisp shells being served with a lurid, spiced potato and chickpea mixture and a thin tamarind chutney. Preparing these is almost as much fun as eating them. Crack open the top of the shell -rather like a boiled egg - stuff with the potato mixture, top with a spoonful of tamarind liquid and down in one before it all disintergrates. A great start.

Of course, we were obliged to order a dosa. This time the Mysore version, the crisp, lacy crepe being stuffed with spicy garlic and chilli masala paste, before being folded and served with a decent vegetable sambal and an unmemorable coconut chutney (well I liked it - TE).

Next came a plate of Banana Methi Bhajiya - banana and fenugreek pakoras served with two different chutneys. These were the Ewing’s favourite dish of the day, the sweet, slightly spongy fried nuggets pairing well with the grassiness (a bit too 'compost' like for my tastes) of the green coriander chutney and the tang of the red tomato.

I have recently been flicking back through Simon Hopkinson’s latest book, Cook, and have been tempted by the rather 70’s simplicity of a recipe for a tomato curry, with the whole fruit simmered in a delicately spiced sauce; this craving lead to me choosing the, curious sounding, Tomato Sev.

While I normally associate tomato in a curry with the brackish, metallic and smoky flavours of Northern India and Pakistan, this was clean, light and tangy with a searing heat from a good thwack of fresh chilli. I expected the sev (chickpea noodles) to have been sprinkled on top of the finished dish, but they has been simmered into the curry, giving it a pleasing, if slightly odd, texture and a nutty back note.

The Vengan na Ravaiya, a peanut and gram flour stuffed aubergine that's a a Surti specialty, was equally fiery. The slippery, finger sized, baby baingan being simmered in a rich, oily tomato and onion sauce that reminded me of one of my favourite curries from Tayyabs (minus the lentils).

Our final main, from the Punjab, was the the Ewing’s favourite ‘cheesy peas’. This version of muttar paneer was rich and soporific while still showcasing the delicate sweetness of the legumes. The paneer, always a favourite, was pleasingly bouncy and with a smoky edge from a tumble in the hot kahari before being added to the sauce.

From the Hindustani breads section shared a Puran Poli, a Guajarati bread usually eaten during festivals and times of celebration and a speciality of the restaurant. The standard puri is stuffed with jaggery (palm sugar) and daal before being fried in ghee. Unsurprisingly, it was exceptionally good, if very rich, the sweet, butteriness providing a foil for the heat and astringency of the vegetable curries.

Tempted as we were by the homemade pistachio kulfi and the butter and sugar laden pastries and sweetmeats that sold from their adjoining sweet shop, dessert was far more restrained and refreshing, coming in the form of fresh mango and blueberries bought from the Lebanese grocers a little further up the road. And whilst the fruit might not have counteracted all our previous dinnertime transgressions, hopefully it will go some way towards keeping us out of the inpatients.