Let's chase the dragon

There’s nowhere in my town that does good Chinese food. There used to be an all you can eat buffet that did surprisingly passable crispy duck and yes, there’s a Wagamama-esque place that does pretty decent kung pau king prawns (although they’ve taken the wonton noodle soup off the menu). 

And of course there’s a real Wagamamas with the great veggie katsu that surpasses the chicken one. But they are not the kind of neon lit places, on a corner, that you stumble into after a night on the beer for a foil tray of mixed meat chow mein and a big bag of prawn crackers, to use in lieu of cutlery.

I’m not even talking about ‘good good’ Chinese food, ‘bad good’ would be just fine. Ribs the colour of my scalp after half an hour on the beach without a hat on; mounds of crispy seaweed sprinkled with the mysterious powder that’s more addictive than opiates; Yeung Chow fried rice that tastes even better when slightly congealed and eaten the next day for breakfast.

Thankfully there is salvation not too far around the North Circular, at Bang Bang Oriental Foodhall, that I have previously written about here. While the bustle and the excitement of upstairs can't be beaten if you fancy a quick bowl of noodles or a bubble tea or slice of pandan swiss roll or a brightly-coloured Korean shaved ice dessert, I'm beginning to favour Golden Dragon, the more serene and refined Chinese restaurant that can be found in the ground floor.

We visited recently for Sunday dim sum, something I have pretty much given up trying to write about - there's only so many superlatives you can come up with to describe the endless baskets of dumplings and buns that a proper yum cha feast involves - but it would be remiss not to talk at least a little bit about our meal.

First out were the pork puffs, which have been a favourite since our visit to the original Tim Ho Wan restaurant in Hong Kong. Flaky lard-enriched pastry stuffed with sweet barbecued pork, these are a must order (even if my wife always seems to get the extra bun).

The main event was out next - some top drawer crispy pork belly - layers of sweet meat and wobbly fat, topped with a crisp carapace of crackling, even better when dipped into a sauce that was very reminiscent of Colman's mustard. Alongside were chinese greens, this time gai lan, stir-fried with big chunks of fresh ginger, to help bust the Ewing's cold.

We also had a selection of steamed dumplings, including some unmemorable, UFO-shaped ones stuffed with chopped scallop and some nice crunchy veg; verdant prawn and chive; excellent har gau (truly the king of dim sum) and the special cheung fun stuffed with scallop, char sui and prawns. Luckily the Ewing isn't really a fan of the slippery, slithery steamed rice dough wrappers. All the more for me then. 

One of the best things about dim sum is the fact you get pudding at the same time as your main. My faves are the custard buns, either deep fried or steamed. Far better than a doughnut This time we went with the latter, the puffy, squidgy balls bursting with oozy yellow egg custard.

We were back again for a roasted meat fix not long after. This time for an evening visit following a visit to Go Outdoors to buy a new tent and mattress for our camping trip. The next day. As you can appreciate the icy Tsingtao was well needed.

Roast duck and rice was a decent specimen- if you go to the loos at the back of the restaurant you can see all the roasts meats as you walk past the kitchen, hanging glistening in the window - with a good ratio of glossy, lacquered skin to sweet fat and tender meat. With a heap of fluffy rice, salty soy sauce and some token steamed greens, I struggle to think of a more perfect plate of Chinese food. Or any food, for that matter.

One thing the Chinese are good at is elevating the humble pig and I have wanted to try mei cai kou rou – steamed belly pork with mustard greens – for a long while. Fortunately I managed to persuade the Ewing that she did too. 

It’s a Hakka dish, so not often seen on the predominantly Cantonese menus we are most familiar with – that consists of thick slices of streaky belly pork braised in a mix of star anise, ginger, Chinese wine, rock sugar and soy. The hunks of pork are braised until tender and served with the cooking liquor on a bed of fermented veg. All I can say after tasting it was; where have you been all my life? It was certainly worth the wait.

We also ordered some customary chinese greens, although the Ewing was slightly disappointed that the pea shoots were 'out of season', which lead to Googling later to find out when the pea shoot season is. (Answer: we still don't really know, but we are going to keep trying until they are available). The choi sum was on the menu, so we had that cooked with garlic.

Afterwards, as has become the custom, we went next door to Loong Fung supermarket and picked up some more veg, although if you're getting concerned this has become an #eatclean blog, this time they were in the form of deep fried spuds flavoured with cucumber. We also picked up a  basket stuffed full of crackers and mochi and frozen dumplings and fresh noodles. 

On balance, it's probably a good thing there's nowhere to get good Chinese food closer to home, as I've still got a cupboard full of ingredients to get through....

Get that bread

Writing a blog (or certainly this blog) is about 45 per cent trying to avoid the most obvious cliches, 45 per cent repeating yourself and ten per cent actually writing original, witty content. I appreciate the latter figure could be seen to be a little generous.

One of my least favourite cliches - and also one I probably repeat the most - is the classic; 'has been on  my radar for a while'. While it is often invariably true - there will always be an, ever-expanding, list of places I want to visit at any given moment - it is also more hackneyed than a taxi rank at kicking out time. Still better than some of my metaphors, though. 

In the case of this post, however, it seems entirely appropriate. In fact not only had it been on my list for a while, it was also one of the only places the Ewing had expressed any interest in going to; mostly after seeing the estimable Max Halley himself appearing on Sunday Brunch, making a fish finger sandwich stuffed with Scampi Fries.

I'm hardly sure I need even say this but, being a Saturday afternoon (and certainly after our cocktail crawl the night before) we were a little worse for wear, although a brisk walk up the Stroud Green Road had helped somewhat. The Ewing plumped for a hair of the dog, although she did show some restraint by picking a Kernel Table Beer at an eminently sensible 3.1 per cent.

I ordered a cuppa - yours for just a quid - and was rewarded with this practically perfect example, hot and strong and in a very appropriate mug. I also ordered a Arnold Palmer, the magnificently named 50/50mix of ice tea and cloudy lemonade that was said to be a favourite of the flamboyant golfer. It's one of my favourites, too, and unexpectedly exciting to see it on a menu this side of the pond.

Tom's Amazing Wings - soy and vinegar chicken wings fried in Smash, guindilla yogurt, lime pickled onions and spring onions - lived up to their name. The potato flake coating was revelatory, as was the addition of pickled chillies with the yogurt. Double onions provided tang and crunch.

Brown paper packages, tied up with string, these are a few of my favourite things. Well, a slightly less exciting elastic band, if I'm being pedantic, but still an exciting parcel of squishy carbohydrates and promise.

I chose the Et tu, Brute? Murdering the Caesar', their riff on the classic salad featuring confit guinea fowl, pickled grape and tarragon salsa, baby gem, parsley, garlic croutons and anchovy mayo. 

Let's just take a moment to look at it, a hulking beast comprising of warm, pillowy foccacia, stuffed to the gunwales with all sorts of exciting things that spill out as you unwrap the waxed paper bundle.

This was everything I love between two pillowy slices of excellent bread. Soft sticky strands of guinea fowl, sweet and sour salsa and salty anchovy, all offset with the crunch of bitter leaves. I would go as far to say it rivalled my Mum's Boxing Day turkey sarnie; the highest praise indeed. 

If there was one, minor, quibble was that the tiny croutons made the whole thing pretty rich, a situation that probably wasn't helped by my delicate constitution. I could also have done with a metric tonne more of the glorious mayo, but I'm just greedy.

The Ewing chose their signature sarnie, the Ham, Egg 'n' Chips filled with slow-cooked shredded ham hocks, piccalilli, a fried egg, shoestring fries and malt vinegar mayo. If the anchovy mayo was great, this could have been even better, mixing two of my all-time favourite condiments that gave the creamy spread an extra tangy punch.

As you can see, the Ewing was utterly in her element, giddy on carbs and the fact she had finally made the pilgrimage to try what is, possibly, London's most famous (certainly one of the best) sandwich.  I was glad that we could tick another one off the list, and squeeze in another cliche to boot. 

Oldroyd - ageing well

Never let it be said that I’m not at the cutting-edge of the London food scene, but in the the week we finally managed to make it to Oldroyd for lunch – for once the Ewing’s choice, made after seeing endless pictures of their seasonal food on social media, nearly three years after they first opened, it was announced eponymous chef and owner, Tom, was to open a new French-inspired pub and dining room in Hackney.

While I was tempted to congratulate him in person, after spotting him sitting by the window as we were lead up to the bijou dining area on the first floor, he seemed engrossed in his laptop while singing along to the Isley Brothers, so I stuck with a bit of synchro humming along to Summer Breeze in solidarity.

Lunch sees a keenly priced set menu which features a short list of lovely-sounding seasonal things, all of which I wanted to eat. Of course, we had to start with a drink and what better than to herald a touch of mild weather after a battering from the Beast from the East, than a bottle of minerally, melon-scented Muscadet.

To start I chose calcots; the semi mythical vegetable from Catalonia that are often 'described as large spring onions or small leeks'. They are traditionally served barbecued or grilled, as they were here, with a romesco sauce made of roasted peppers and ground almonds.

While excited to try them, I was also a little dubious they could live up to their reputation. After all, what's all that exciting about a large spring onion or a small leek. It turns out quite a bit, especially when you've got a charred bit of outer leaf mixed up with a sweet bit from the centre, and topped it all with the smoky, nutty romesco, which was lick the plate good.

The Ewing's plate was an equally beautiful combo of salt code brandade, monk's beard and soft boiled egg. Of the two of the three elements I tried (#nobadegg) the salt cod puree was fluffy and light, yet rich and savoury. Monksbeard, or agretti, was another first. Dubbed an Italian samphire - it hails from Tuscany, where it was grown by monks, from which its name came - it was grassy and slightly salty and helped complete a perfect dish for an early spring day. 

The special of the day (which can also be part of the set menu) was the rare breed pork tonnato; thin slices of cold meat (traditionally veal, but pork is common) in a creamy tuna mayo, anointed with capers, anchovies and oregano leaves. A dish that's seldom seen, it's one my very favourite things to eat and a must order when I do see it. Here it was perfectly assembled, leaving me - apart from the odd murmur of sheer joy - momentarily struck down in silent awe (a joyous moment for all those who experience it - TE). The perfect surf and turf.

To go alongside, and dredge through the leftover pools of glossy tuna mayo, a salad of beautiful butter-yellow castelfranco leaves, with their distinctive pink speckles, came dressed with a sweet and sour hazelnut dressing that took the edge off their gentle bitterness.

Hake, pink fir potatoes and watercress was another Insta dream. A tranche of boneless rolled fish was just cooked, so it flaked apart with little more than a nudge with the tine of the Ewing's fork; the waxy potatoes below bathed in a pool of verdant sauce.

The only duff note came with the Ewing's pudding choice; a scoop of rhubarb sorbet. Despite her grumbles that ice cream or sorbet wasn't a real pudding, she chose it anyway, then grumbled... To be fair it missed the excitement of the previous courses, being too sweet and missing the proper grimace that should accompany a good rhubarb pud. Still looked pretty in pink, though.

My apple and cinnamon tart with vanilla ice cream was my kind of pud, even though I had to share half with the Ewing and I could have probably eaten twice as much of it again. But then I am greedy. While usually an autumnal combo, there are few better things than apple and cinnamon at any time of the year.

While I might be off the pace, I've still got impeccable taste, and thankfully Oldroyd managed to exceed those exacting standards. Hopefully it won't take as long to get over to Hackney.

A Big Day in the North (of London)

'The great fallacy is that the game is first and last about winning. It is nothing of the kind. The game is about glory, it is about doing things in style and with a flourish, about going out and beating the other lot, not waiting for them to die of boredom'

Danny Blanchflower

I remember avidly watching the FA cup draw on TV as a child, waiting impatiently for Tottenham’s ball to be pulled out of the velvet bag and cursing when they always seemed to be one of the last teams to be picked. Which is why - after inadvertently turning the TV over just as the draw for the fourth round took place a few weeks ago – I was surprised and even, after all these years, a little excited to see Spurs were the first ones out the hat. Things got better when the next ball out was Wycombe Wanderers, our local team who play just up the road from the Ewing’s birthplace. A hometown derby was on the cards.

As well as stoking a bit of friendly family rivalry, it was also the perfect chance for me to make one final visit to the Lane before the old stadium is demolished – to be replaced by a swanky new 60,00 stadium on the same site - while indoctrinating the Ewing into the joys (and pain) of seeing a match at one of the finest stadiums in the land (after reiterating that cheering for the Chairboys in the home end was probably not a good move).

It was over decade ago when I used to trail up the High Road to the Lane - the days of Kanute and Keane rather than Kane and Kyle Walker - I managed to pick up a cheap Kappa dark blue away strip (back in the days when I was svelte enough to, just about, pull it off) that I wore under my work shirt for a whole week after we beat Chelsea in the League Cup. So I had planned a day of revisiting old haunts and discovering new ones.

First beer of the day was at the Beehive, perfectly situated about halfway between Seven Sisters and the Lane, where it had to be Hopspur amber ale, from Tottenham-based Redemption Brewery. We also clearly qualified as responsible adults as we were served our beer in dimpled pint pots, whereas the away fans coming in behind us got their lager in plastic glasses.

London cask beer often gets a bad rap, and often deservedly so. This, however, was a tip-top pint, balancing a gentle bitterness with a tight and creamy head. A dangerously drinkable session ale that I could have happily kept quaffing in their sunny beer garden all afternoon.

Man can’t live on beer alone (although I have tried) - and their barbecue shack, in said garden, was only just firing up for the day - so I popped down the road for a slice of tottenham cake. Originally invented by Quaker baker Henry Chalkley, it’s probably the only pink-hued foodstuff a Spurs fan would consider eating on match day, the colour originally coming from the mulberries that grew on Tottenham Friends burial ground. Of course, that’s now been replaced by e-numbers but the fluffy vanilla sponge, topped with a tooth-achingly sweet water icing, still remains a Proustian madeline.

Next stop was the Bricklayers, on the High Road just north of the ground. It's home fans only (and a cash bar) on match days, the Brickies is known as as one of the best places to have a sing-song, while surrounded by a plethora of Tottenham memorabilia, before the game.

Sadly the beer isn't up to the heights of the decor, with only lager, in seemingly every conceivable variety, cider and Guinness on offer. As there was no Holsten (sponsors on my very first Spur's shirt - another away number, this time in canary yellow) I went for Heineken, while the Ewing picked a pint of the Black Stuff.

I haven't had the pleasure of drinking the Dutch lager since a trip to the brewery in Amsterdam, and it seems I haven't missed much. Still, there's a decent beer garden if it gets too snug in the pub, complete with TV screens and a good old fashioned burger bar, and a cold Guinness always goes down well on keg.

Many moons ago the Ewing and I bonded over our love of fried chicken (and cheap sushi, and pints of cider) and I had been informed that Chick King was the best in N17 (despite the less than hench review by the Pengest Munch). Two ‘two piece and (excellent) chips’, eaten standing at the chrome counter that runs along the side of the room, and all washed down with a chocolate milkshake made the perfect pre-match meal. 

Apparently the secret coating contains cinnamon, amongst other witchcraft. Whatever the ingredients, the outside was crisp, keeping the bird juicy within. The queue was not too fearsome an hour before kick-off, but as we left, the hordes were stretching up the High Road, so plan accordingly if you fancy a fillet burger or some crispy wings before the game.

 

There was just enough time for swift half before the game, so we dashed around the corner to the Antwerp Arms. The pub has been here, overlooking Bruce Castle Park, since 1822 but has recently been taken over by the Bruce Castle Village Association after it was sold to developers, and is now run as a community pub.

As well as a great story about how neighbourly spirit and perseverance can stop the wrecking balls rolling in, the Annie is a lovely pub serving a good selection of local beers. We enjoyed one of the best, Beavertown's Gamma Ray, in their sunny garden. New bobble hat model's own.

One place where (most) of the locals are glad to see the cranes in is at the new Northumberland Development Project. A project which will see the new Spurs ground being built that will seat 61,000 - including a 17,000-seat single tier stand, the biggest in the UK - and feature its own cheese tasting room, microbrewery and bakery. The cleverest part is how the new stadium is being built on the original White Hart Lane site. You can already see it taking shape, including the 'nibble' taken out of the current North Stand, as you approach their current ground.

Of course, their are the inevitable downsides: building works will see Spurs moving temporarily to Wembley next season (a current bogey ground, in Europe at least); the stadium will no longer be called the Lane (naming rights being sold for cold had cash) and and public transport and parking in N17 is still lacking, to say the least. But overall it's a welcome, and necessary move. 

While WHL is still one of the finest grounds in the land, with a great atmosphere and history, it's also too small, with no real potential for expansion, and it's beginning to show it's age. From the pictures, the stands in the new ground are positioned close to the pitch (one of the best things about the current ground) and the large stands should hopefully help to regenerate that famous atmosphere. 

A rousing atmosphere that was rather muted from the home fans for most of the game on our visit (the away fans were in fine form) that saw us sneak a 4-3 victory with a very cheeky, 96 minute winner. Typical Spurs but a great game of cup football.

In desperate need of something to steady the nerves - and because I couldn't walk past Tottenham Hale on a Saturday afternoon without calling in for a jar - we walked over to Beavertown Brewery for a drink. Fortuitously it was also the annual launch of their Heavy Water sea salt and sour cherry imperial stout; and this year they also brewed limited edition kegs with chilli and with cocoa and hazelnuts.

Ok, I'll admit it, Heavy Water has never been a favourite of mine (although I love their India Cowbell india stout), but the chocolate/nut addition gave it a little extra oomph, and made it dangerously drinakble. And at 9% I'm just glad I wasn't drowning my sorrows...

Beer demands kebabs so we headed back to the High Road to OZ Erciyes Ocakbasi. It seems we weren't alone as, at half six on a Saturday, they had already run out of both lamb and chicken doner; which seemed rather unfortunate for a kebab restaurant. Thankfully, this turn of events lead to us choosing the mixed grill for two, cooked on the fearsome open charcoal grill along the side of the room. Yes, there is a man somewhere behind that wall of smoke.

As our meat was grilling we entertained ourselves with some excellent cacik - strained yoghut with garlic and cucumber - a basket of fresh Turkish bread and a chopped salad sprinkled with sumac, all provided gratis, alongside giant lamachun – topped with spiced lamb, which cost the princely sum of two pounds. 

A temperamental beast - many restaurants only seem to serve lamachun during certain hours, which is almost certainly not when you're visiting – I think it also represents one of the bargains of the restaurant world. It’s also Stealth’s favourite, so I always have to order one in her honour.

After eating solidly since we arrived, even the Ewing looked slightly fear-stricken when a mountain of assorted types of meat, juices soaking into a bed of fluffy white rice and more toasted Turkish bread, arrived tableside. A fear I soon shared when, no matter how many gloriously crispy lamb ribs, chunks of kofte or smoky shish we ate, the end seemed no nearer in sight.

When I glanced up to see my wife looking pink and clammy, half a chicken wing in hand and a despairing look in her eyes, I knew we were done. Thankfully, I think they’re fairly well-versed in this sort of thing and were happy to box up our leftovers - I was also thankful when they bought glasses of complimentary sweetened Turkish tea, for the digestion. An offer that was somewhat undermined by another complimentary offering of a tray of sutlac – baked rice pudding – one of my favourite deserts. Needless to say I found a little extra room and even the Ewing managed to activate the magical pudding stomach to help me finish it off.

And, as if she hasn't suffered enough putting up with me for all these years, the Ewing - as a newly adopted, and most dedicated Spurs fan - has just condemned herself to join me in a continuing cycle of thwarted dreams and disappointment. Wouldn't change it (or her) for the world, though. (best day ever! - TE).