New Year, same old

When it comes to New Year’s resolutions I’m firmly in the Homer Simpson camp; ‘You tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is, never try.’ That said, I have a hugely determined streak, that surprises even me sometimes, when I want to set my mind to something.

For example, my ongoing Cadbury boycott -  that started in solidarity with the Ewing when they changed the recipe of Cadbury Crème eggs in 2015 - has now extended to encompass a blanket ban on everything Mondalez own, from Kraft mac and cheese to Ritz crackers via Oreos, Toblerone and Chocolate Oranges. Oh, how I miss popping candy chocolate oranges.

Not that I could eat the latter at the moment anyway, thanks to a self-imposed sugar ban that I began on the 13th of October, after ordering a McDonald’s chocolate milkshake for breakfast (yes, I know booze has sugar in it...). It was originally going to end over the festive period, but it's going surprisingly well, so now I am hoping to extend until Easter. Who can resist a hot buttered cross bun?

While I’ve been mostly extraordinarily good, in the style of the popular song I have found myself over the last few months eating four Malteasers (three original and one coated in raspberry flavoured chocolate, from Australia), three biscotti (when very drunk), two slices of Christmas pudding and a chocolate covered date (about as good as it sounds, but it did give me a little sugar rush).

More in keeping with my old habits, I persuaded everyone that what they really wanted was a (fairly) sober kebab on the Saturday before New Year. We had already sunk several bottles of Prosecco and (two sausage roll wreaths) but I did still worry about the wisdom of dragging people out to dinner at what is ostensibly a takeaway shop on Boscombe high street.

The surprisingly plush surroundings of the small restaurant area at the back - I was particularly taken by the juxtaposition of traditional tapestries and tin advertising signs - plus the BYO policy that saw us rock up with yet more bubbles in hand, meant the mood was more happily pissed and not pissed off.

The laminated menu is a short romp through familiar favourites, encompassing a selection of mezze dishes and moving onto grilled meats, with the notorious elephant leg kebabs rotating in the window and other skewers being grilled over a charcoal fire pit next to the counter. 

They didn’t have any borek available- a small mercy, given the volumes of food that followed - but the hummus was pretty good, if unspectacular (currently nothing is beating my own homemade #Nutribulletwanker version) and grilled halloumi came in an ample portion, balanced on a heap of redundant salad.

Starters were accompanied by half a dozen Frisbee-shaped puffy flatbreads, fresh from the oven, which looked like far too many, even for committed carb-fiends, until we realised they also accompanied our kebabs. Chicken shish for the Ewing and the Lion, a mixed lamb shish chicken donner for me. 

The bread, as the online reviews had promised, was excellent. crispy and soft and smoky all at once, although I was slightly saddened there wasn’t some under the meat to soak up the pool of juices and errant chilli sauce, which is what I asked for to accompany my kebab, along with a dollop of good old garlic mayo.

The chilli sauce was slightly curious, more like a Mexican style salsa, that we got addicted to while eating tacos around Southern California and Mexico last year, but no worse for it and a lack of heat probably helped with the corresponding lack of heartburn the next morning (although I did chug a few pints of water before bed to counteract the salt and sparkling wine).

The kebab was excellent – big chunks of lean lamb (neck fillet?) atop a pile of very good chicken donner; shreds of tender thigh marinated in a garlicky herby mix a world away from my student days.

The chicken shish was also commendable. Two skewers of marinated chicken breast, grilled quickly over charcoal and served with mixed salad, coleslaw, garlic sauce and pickled chilli peppers that all ended up on my plate. Not a bad thing to have forced upon you in all honesty.

2018 hasn't been a great one, truth be told. After a very bright start, the last few months, for various reasons, haven't been easy; at all. But these things too shall pass. And with the help of the ever-patient Ewing and all my lovely family and friends, plus plenty of fizz and skewered meats, I'm already exited to see what 2019 brings. If I carry on with the kebab life, gout and reflux, probably.

Pies and Subs in Camberwell

Camberwell, the leafy (ish) corner of South East London that’s the birthplace of the Carrot ('I invented it in Camberwell and it's shaped like a carrot') Boris Karloff, and Florence of Machine fame, as well as being the home of the curious concrete submarine-shaped block that acts as a vent shaft for a subterranean boiler room providing heating to the adjacent housing estates.

Most of this quirky behemoth was sadly surrounded by hoardings trumpeting a ‘visionary new development’ in the ‘Oval Quarter’ (no, me neither) when we visited. Although the area is experiencing the same insidious creep of gentrification that can be seen across most of London, it looks as though this concrete curiosity is set to remain pumping out power, after the chimneys were extended by four metres each last year. Which is more than can be said for all the council residents that have been shipped out of the area to accommodate the controversial new development.

One recent addition to the area that has been much better received is Theo’s Pizzeria, a traditional wood-fired pizza restaurant just off Camberwell Church Street, offering Italianate delights such as aubergine parmagiana, cheesy garlic focaccia and potato and mozzarella croquettes to the lucky residents of SE5.

The succinct beer list runs from the standard Moretti to the local Orbit Nico kolsh lager (brewed up the road in Walworth) and Kernel Table Beer (brewed up the road in Bermondsey). Despite Stealth’s reservations about its low ABV (but that's piss-weak) we got through a couple of frosty jugs of the latter, the perfect choice for a warm mid-afternoon when there was plenty more still to be done after our lunch.

From a strong list of starters and side – the aforementioned croquettes and the pizza fritta looked particularly dreamy - we chose a little snack of Mortadella, pickled green chillies and crescentine, a kind of puffy pillow of fried dough, sprinkled with salt to nibble on waiting for our pizzas. 

Add some of their magnificent homemeade red chilli sauce, and you’ve got yourself pretty much the most perfect starter - despite the Ewing’s misgivings about having to attempt to ‘share’ with Stealth, who is still famous for taking two chocolates (one for now and one for later) every time you offer her the selection box (it always ends badly - TE).

The pizzas served at Theo’s are Neapolitan-style pies with a sourdough base; fired very quickly at very hot temperatures in their wood-fired oven that – in an ideal world - leaves them with a puffy and blistered crust and a perfectly melted middle.

Now I’m a pizza whore, and would eat almost anything involving dough and cheese, but Neapolitan pizzas are my favourite of all. They are also probably the hardest to get right, as the brief cooking time means that if the pizza isn’t fired at a hot enough temperature, or has too many toppings, you are left with a pallid, doughy crust and a soggy bottom covered in a puddle of lukewarm tomato soup.

Thankfully, they had clearly stoked their fires and my pie, the Camberwell scotch bonnet n’duja with sopressata sausage, was gooey and charred in all the right places. Topping wise this was also the perfect combo – hot sausage, oozy cheese and just the right amount of tomato, before being strewn with a handful of fresh basil that smelt like the final, glorious throes of summer as it arrived at our table.

Stealth was very happy with her scotch bonnet pie with added mushrooms (her favourite foodstuff, alongside the gala pie), while the Ewing pimped the anchovy and olive combo with some mozzarella and extra wood-fire roasted aubergine.

Pizzas start at £5.50 for a Marinara, topping out at a tenner for fancy stuff like a pizza bianca with sausage and wild broccoli - which is still approximately half the cost of a Dominos while giving you approximately twice as much pleasure, especially if you slather it in some more of their red chilli sauce.

Despite missing the summer cut-off point - owing the fact it was two days after the vernal equinox, and now officially autumn - I still couldn’t resist the pistachio ice cream which was magnificent - far better than much of the ice cream I’ve eaten in Italy and definitely in LAB G league. South London really does have a strong line up of frozen nut-based desserts at the moment, now happily joined by some great pizza - the perfect accompaniments to the eponymous carrot.