week 24 - My Lisbon - Nuno Mendes

While the world is a very different place to the one we knew six months ago in many ways, for the  the Ewing and I at least, life has rolled on by without too much upheaval. We're lucky to both be working - albeit from home - and to both be busy at work (although it's sometimes hard to feel fortunate about that...). And while many plans have been cancelled, or postponed, and we haven't seen any of our family and friends for the last three months - save for two recent, socially distanced meet ups with one of my oldest mates, and the Ewing leaving supplies on her parent's gate post - this week things really hit home.

This week we were supposed to be going to the Algarve for a few days with my Dad - who was due to visit from Australia, where he now lives - and then take a trip over the border to Seville for some R&R with my wife (WHO is she? - TE). Of course, far more tragic losses and upheaval have been experienced over the past weeks than the fact we couldn't have a few days eating custard tarts and drinking vinho verde, but realising that we weren't going to make it to Iberia in June, and we weren't going to see my Dad at all this year, did feel like a bit of a blow.

Of course, the one thing we could do was try to create that holiday vibe from the comfort of home. (while managing to pick the week were the weather broke and it actually rained for the first time in forever...). And so I ordered Nuno Mendes - chef of Chiltern Firehouse fame - 'My Lisbon'. His celebration of the traditional Portuguese dishes he grew up eating - and, after taking holidays in the Algarve every year as a child, I remember well, too - while the Ewing scoured the supermarket for Portuguese wine.

As well as drowning our sorrows, I also made Carne de porco à alentejana, or pork with clams. Despite being faintly weirded out by the idea of the live clams being in the fridge overnight (and even getting up just to check they hadn't drowned - (They live in water the whole time!!! - TE)) this was pretty simple to chuck together. Although I did use a hefty glug of piri piri sauce at the end just to jazz it up a little bit. Or possibly that's just my jaded palette after annihilating it with chilli over the years.

There was also a batch of warm custard tarts with cinnamon caramel that tested our marriage and were almost worth it, if not a patch on the ones you can buy from the Pingo Doce supermarket that is just down the road from the apartment we were supposed to stay at in the Algarve. Although we did discover a little Portuguese supermarket just off the Headington Roundabout in Oxford during our few days off work that sold excellent bica and bola arroz.

The pièce de résistance of my week of Iberian cooking was Polvo à lagareiro com batata a murro, or octopus with 'punched' potatoes. The octopus, which thankfully came ready boiled, was pretty good, but the potatoes, covered in the coriander (I also learnt that Portugal is the only country in Europe that uses coriander in its cuisine) pesto, were even better.

Octopus with smashed potatoes, olive oil and piso

Polvo à lagareiro com batata a murro

Serves 4

600g boiled octopus tentacles, cut into large chunks

For the piso

a bunch coriander

1/2 garlic clove

1 lemon, finely zested and juiced

3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, plus extra for drizzling

For the potatoes

8-12 floury potatoes, such as Maris Piper or similar, skin on

olive oil

2 bay leaves

4 garlic cloves, smashed

To make the piso — Mix together the coriander, garlic, lemon juice and lemon zest with a generous pinch of salt and pepper until you have a paste. Nuno recommends a pestle and mortar, but I used the Nutribullet. Stir in the olive oil. It will keep in the fridge for a few days with an extra glug of olive oil on top.

To make the smashed potatoes — Preheat the oven to 210°C. Cook the potatoes in plenty of salted boiling water until just tender but not breaking up. Remove from the pan, drain well and leave until cool enough to handle. 

Murro means ‘punch’ in Portuguese, so press each one gently with the palm of your hand. Toss them in a bowl with the olive oil, bay leaves and garlic and season with salt and pepper. 

Put them in a large baking dish (big enough to hold the octopus too) and bake for 30 minutes, or until golden brown and crispy.

Drizzle the octopus with extra-virgin olive oil and put the pieces on top of the potatoes. Increase the oven temperature to 220°C and cook for about 20 minutes, or until the octopus has lovely crispy edges. (The bbq would work well here, too)

Drizzle with the piso, and serve in the baking dish for everyone to help themselves.

Fishy birthday biscuits

The first time I celebrated the Ewing's birthday with her we went to visit Stealth in London; she had pulled out all the stops - preparing a lovely meal and buying gifts and even planning a special magic show featuring the Ewing to act as her glamorous assistant. Or that was the idea, until we realised my wife hated being the centre of attention and was so overwhelmed with shyness, she couldn't even pick a card. Something that neither of us two showoffs had ever had a problem with.

Fast forward a decade and you would think I would have got the message. But clearly not, as on arriving at Saint Peter for the Ewing's surprise dinner, the maître d' came over to give us the wine list and have a chat - mostly with the Ewing, as I'm not very sociable - before casually announcing; 'so I hear it's someone's birthday'...(and I'm meant to be the one with the shit memory...TE)

At this point my ears pricked up, as the Ewing, wide-eyed looking very much like a rabbit in the headlights, mumbled an affirmative, while staring at me intently across the table. I inwardly groaned, as I remembered writing 'can you stick a candle in my wife's pudding, as it's her birthday' in the comments box on ResDiary, somehow thinking this was a great idea. And I was sober at the time.

Which is more than I can say for either of us when we arrived at Saint Peter, where chef Josh Niland showcases Australian sustainably sourced seafood. Voted both chef and restaurant of the year by Timeout and chef of the Year by Gourmet Traveller, and on the World Restaurant Awards short list for ethical thinking, I knew the Ewing would love it. At least I was hoping she would, right after she had stop glaring at me and kicking me under the table. 

Luckily my wine choice, the 2018 Chardonnay Savagnin, made by the ancestral (pet nat) method, using the original grape sugars and yeast, was a big hit. Crisp and dry, with a touch of fizz and bags of crisp apple and lemon, it was a real celebratory wine that edged me back into the good books.

The arrival of the food also helped, with a plate of beautifully iridescent sweet and sour hand filleted Yamba sardines making the perfect start to the meal. With more than a nod to a classic Venetian dish, sardine in saor, the spankingly fresh raw fish were served on a perfectly balanced bed of sauce that included slow cooked shallots, vinegar and tiny sweet currants. I could have happily eaten a shoal of these, accompanied by crusty bread to mop up every last drop of sauce.

Clarence river octopus with barbecue fennel, bulls kelp and white olive was a big, beefy dish where tender tentacles went toe to toe with the powerful seaweed and the slightly bitter note of the veg. I heartily embrace any opportunity to eat the cephalopod, and here was no different, although not for the faint-hearted.

Swansea bonito, bbq zucchini, bush tomato harissa and preserved lemon paired thick fillets of the tuna-like fish, chargrilled on the outside and almost raw within, with smoky veg and cubes of (I think) potato. A surprisingly delicate dish that carefully balanced all the bold flavours. Although, not known for my love of subtlety, I did find myself missing the zing of the advertised lemon and tomato against the fatty fish.

The crumbed corner inlet garfish, butterflied and fried with the heads and tails still intact, certainly looked the part. The richness from the golden carapace was perfectly offset by the tangy yoghurt tartare, a good squeeze of lemon and the thicket of fresh herbs including flat leaf parsley and dill.

Garfish have green bones, due to the presence of the same bile pigment that gives bruises their verdant hue, and while the colour didn't bother me, I did find eating them made me feel irrationally like the Queen Mother. Although I think I was probably suffering from fish fatigue from eating too much at that point.

While I had been uncharacteristically laid back about the rest of the ordering, I did pretty much insist on the fried brussels sprouts with fresh mint and native pepper as a side dish. 

The Ewing isn't really a sprout lover (I know, I'm not sure why I've stayed with her so long either), and this didn't do too much to change her mind. I however, was a big fan and, despite being dangerously stuffed at this point, found it very hard to resist the bowlful of crispy, charred veg that had been doused in plenty of vinegar before serving; another of my favourite favours.

And what about the birthday girl? After 'persuading' her to order pudding - there wasn't much doubt that she would - we decided to share the chocolate and Murray cod fat caramel slice, with burnt vanilla soured cream, grapes and macadamia sauce, replete with candle.

This was a divisive dish, not so much for the caramel element but for the shortbread crumbs served alongside, which our waitress told us hapuka Roe, making them taste strangely - and not all that appealingly - fishy. Thankfully the birthday girl enthused about it so much that she even managed to persuade her new friends on the table adjacent to us (having tired of talking to me) to order it.

Happy birthday to the Ewing. Here's to the next decade of celebrating with my favourite.

The Tavern, Cheltenham

Cheltenham, a fine English spa town found nestled on the edge of the Cotswolds, famous for its racecourse, promenade and Regency architecture. Of course it might have been helpful for the Ewing to have told me about her distaste for the latter before we actually arrived, instead of announcing it as we were pulling into the car park. But after driving for what felt like most of the morning, I wasn't going to let lack of appreciation for the local buildings spoil my appetite for lunch at the Tavern.

While the elegant, white painted stucco facades of Cheltenham’s terraces might not have appealed (I found them rather lovely), the Ewing was much more receptive to the Tavern’s mix of worn wood, dark leather and Moorish tiling. Indeed it’s a very fine looking pub, with all of the little touches - ‘proper’ gingham napkins, posh toiletries in the bathrooms and glass bottles of both still and sparkling water that arrive at the table unbidden – that make you feel pretty excited about the food coming out of the kitchen.

Our starters, from the bites menu, certainly promised good things to come. Their signature Spam fritters, nicely presented in an old tin of the reformed meat product, were great. Fatty, salty and encased in a proper fish shop batter, accompanied by a poky and piquant dipping sauce to cut through the richness. The marbled squid was beautiful; a summer mosaic on a plate. It was the kind of thing I could have quite happily eaten far, far more of, especially when scooped up onto the crispy bread and slathered in the first rate aioli it was served with.

The cracking beginning made the mains seem even more disappointing in comparison. My rib eye – from the grill menu that ranges from a flat iron steak through to a range of sharing cuts, including cote du boeuf, chateaubriand and t-bones-  a bit of a treat at £24, appeared rather grey, as though it had been gently simmered rather than given the fierce char-grilling that all steak deserves. While pleasingly pink inside, the lack of smoky crust on the steak’s exterior wasn’t helped by an absence of seasoning, or the strangely light and foamy béarnaise served alongside, that eluded any of the familiar thick, buttery glossiness.

Seasoning was a problem that also befell the Ewing’s burger; but, lack of sodium chloride aside, the patty was a good coarse grind, lettuce was shredded, the bun was bouncy and the cheese was Kraft. A solid effort, with all constituent parts present and correct, but lacking that little something. The rosemary shoestring fries, however, were monumental; a mix of crispy and soft, perfectly seasoned and impossible to stop eating.

Another decent accompaniment came in the form of the burnt end mash, which I was kindly allowed to swap for the advertised fries; chunks of tender beef nestling on top of fluffy potato and doused in a (very) piquant barbecue sauce. This looked rather lovely in its little enamel dish, and made a decent foil for my steak.

Things got firmly back on track with a pudding of shared hot chocolate ‘mousse’ with pistachio ice cream. The mousse turned out to be an, expertly timed, bitter chocolate fondant combining the perfect balance of a hot and gooey middle and crisp edges, and topped with an exemplary ball of smooth and nutty ice cream. It was also remarkably good value at £8, satisfying even the Ewing’s chocolate cravings.

While I couldn’t help feeling a little sad about my steak, I enjoyed our meal at the Tavern. It’s a lovely looking space with great, accommodating staff and an appealing menu that offers all the trendy fried things, burgers, dogs and French dips; as well as summery sounding plates such as rabbit papardelle with lemon and thyme; scallops with chorizo and sweet potato; whole roasted sea bass with anchovies and basil; and a wickedly Cara Maca cheesecake.

Add a large (and cheap) glass of Tempranillo, a bit of friendly chatter with the staff, and sunny stroll to see Cheltenham's Synagogue - described by Pevsner as 'one of the architecturally "best" non-Anglican ecclesiastical buildings in Britain' - and all seemed right with this civilised corner of the world.