Pink and black (or birthday lunch number one)

We've just got back from a week in Sicily (or, as the Ewing, who flicked through the phrasebook for five minutes would say, See-cheee-lee-uh). As ever there was food and drink. And more food and drink. And several afternoon naps. And it was lovely.

It's also been increasingly difficult to get the blogging mojo back since returning. Mostly because I have spent most my time since I've been back swathed in blankets, with the heating on full blast, bemoaning the fact I'm not still in shorts, looking out at the view above, sipping cold rose and eating cannoli.

While we ate many delicacies - including goat's intestines, gelato and granita for breakfast - but my favourite meal was my birthday lunch (part one of two, stay tuned for the next instalment) at Trattoria Al Vecchio Club Rosanero a shrine to the S.S.D Palermo, or the Pink and Black - named for the colour of their strips - the city's revered football team.

On arrival we were given a comprehensive menu but then, from my very limited understanding of Italian, informed that we should go and chose from the dishes chalked up on the boards around the room. Of course I had already studied it comprehensively on social media before our visit.

Which was lucky as it saved us standing over someone's table attempting to figure out random local specialities such as glasa, pasta topped with leftover stew, and triato, pasta with a 'chopped' sauce.

Our first antipasti was sarde a beccafico, or stuffed sardines, a dish we had seen Giorgio Locatelli cooking for Andrew Graham-Dixon on Sicily Unpacked (worth searching for online if not available on iPlayer). Made from butterflied sardines, stuffed with raisins, pine nuts and breadcrumbs, it's a peasant dish that has remained popular in Palermo.

I have say to I wasn't overly-excited about ordering them but felt duty-bound as I knew the Ewing wanted to try them. As things turned out, they were one of the best things I ate on the trip. Maybe it was the location, or the atmosphere, or the litre of vino blanco we had eagerly got stuck into, but they were simply perfect.

Equally as good was the caponata, a sweet and sour aubergine dish with celery, tomatoes, raisins and capers. Here served with the addition of chunks of spada, or swordfish, another fish found plentifully in local waters.

A heavenly mix of soft slippery aubergine and meaty cubes of grilled fish, bathed in local olive oil and mopped up with chunks of warm, sesame studded wood-fired bread that was delivered to every table on arrival. This was so good we had to come back just to order it again before we flew home.

For our primi platti, the Ewing ordered a bowl of spaghetti with sweet red prawns and briny sea urchin; with this heaping plateful being a half portion. I can confirm the full sized portions were at least twice as large, and I spent half my time trying not to stare in awe at the svelte local lady next to us who was quietly and elegantly demolishing a gargantuan heap of spaghetti bathed in a pool of jet-black squid ink sauce.

I chose the ravioli, with the robust pasta parcels pleasingly reminding me of the tinned squares in a lurid orange sauce which most 80s kids in England were subjected to as children. Rather than a mystery grey 'meat' filling, these were stuffed with a mousse of grouper fish, and served with a wonderfully glossy and buttery sauce of fresh tomato and topped with parsley and tiny pink shrimp.

In all honesty, after all that had come before, the squid was probably superfluous, but there was no way I was going to pass up ordering one of my favourite things. It was also good to see it available simply chargrilled (as well as stuffed and fried), the smoky cephalopod served bathed with olive oil, lemon and sprinkled with wild  Sicilian oregano.

In fact, the oregano was so good that I'm very  I bought a big bag in the famous Capo market and carried it home in my suitcase. I am  also retrospectively very glad I wasn't questioned more when coming back through customs.

As good girls who always eat our greens (along with pretty much everything else) we accompanied the squid with some giri  which can refer to various long-stemmed, spinach-like greens, but in this case meant swiss chard - that had been slowly cooked until soft in yet more olive oil and lemon juice and tasted deliciously sweet and delicate after all the big flavours that had come before.

We finished the meal the way all good meals should finish; with two icy cold glasses of local Sicilian amaro, a pleasingly small bill (less than fifty 50 Euros, including water and and the aforementioned litre of wine) and a long afternoon nap. The perfect way to herald the last year of the fourth decade of my existence.

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.

Now My Heart is Full

When I first met my wife she announced, just after telling me her favourite drinks were Black Russians or sweet pear cider, that she only really ate fish. As a confirmed beer-drinking carnivore, who had been living with a vegetarian for five years, I would have been less distraught to hear she was a Gooner who liked pulling the wings off butterflies in her spare time. Thankfully, pretty much five minutes later, she was drinking pints of ale while gnawing racks of ribs with her bare hands. Something I like to frequently remind her about, although she tells the story somewhat differently….

Anyway, as much as she loves most sources of protein, including a manic new ‘hummus in the Nutribullet’ phase she’s going through, fish and seafood remains a firm favourite. So it was an easy decision when it came to choosing what to eat on our recent jaunt down to Brighton.

Our Sunday night fish supper was at Bankers a popular takeaway and restaurant on the Western Road that are the only company in the UK to be awarded the Icelandic Responsible Fisheries Management Award, another ethical cause close to the Ewing's heart.

Inside is clean and bright, if a little utilitarian, while the fascinating range of clientele, with their quirky social mores, made me feel like I had stepped into a modern day Orwell novel full of day-trippers and secret trysts by the sea.

Keeping it classy, as always, we started with a bottle of the muscadet and a couple of wallies. No, not us, but the gherkins that were served as a kind of aperitivo, East Sussex style. If you’re feeling really fancy then a bottle of Monopole Blue Top is yours for £28. Not far off supermarket prices.

We shared the cold platter of stone cold classics to start – smoked salmon, mackerel pate and prawn cocktail - which, at £6.50, also proved great value. There are few things I like better than a prawn cocktail (I recently made the Ewing a giant version in a trifle bowl, for Valentine’s Day) and this one was no exception. The pate and salmon were also decent and served in generous portions, unlike the triangles of brown bread, which we squabbled over as we tried to scoop up every last bit of the smoked fish.

Grilled dover sole, while a touch over-cooked, was nevertheless a marvellous treat. It’s a sweet, buttery fish that needed nothing more than a squeeze of lemon and had the advantage of coming with both a generous side salad – including some outré beetroot chunks, not seen since the 80s - and a great bowl of perfect ‘chippy’ chips.

Large cod -  traditionally battered and deep fried, skin left on in the southern style - was also pretty good, but not up to the heady heights of the accompanying pile of chipped potatoes; especially when they were dunked into the complimentary tartare sauce. Boiled peas, however, were disappointingly watery and bland. Even the Ewing sadly forwent them after trying a spoonful.

After breakfasting on kippers at our hotel, followed by a stroll around the lanes to pick up mid-morning (fish-free) pastries, we headed to the Regency, a Brighton institution on the King's Road, for lunch. Another seaside classic that's been preserved in aspic, offering everything from fried breakfasts to Sunday lunch, it specialises in fish and seafood dishes with an Italian twist.

A ‘side’ of three scallops – although a couple of bivalves had been squeezed into two of the shells – served grilled and doused in garlic butter, were joyous. At £6.95, these were one of the priciest options on the menu, but a treat that was worth every penny. A pile of these, alongside a heap of fat Atlantic prawns, are very strong contenders for the starter in my death row meal menu - don’t worry, no crime has been committed; yet….)

If the scallops were good value then my main, seafood risotto, was a steal. Tomatoey rice, packed with plump prawns, sweet clams, mussels and squid and drizzled with the remnants of garlic butter from our scallops, this is about the best fun you can have in Brighton for under a tenner (and without breaking any indecency laws).

The Ewing chose the last of the seasonal sardines, before they rush off to spawn in the springtime, served simply with garlic, lemon and virginal boiled potatoes, sullied only with a sprinkling of fresh parsley. A dish that made me think of long hot summers in the south of Portugal, eating barbecued fish while watching the waves of the Atlantic crashing on the rocky shore. Not too dissimilar from our view at the Regency. Give or take twenty degrees.

We had chosen starters the day before, but now it was pudding time And what a time to be alive, with steamed syrup pudding, banoffee pie and profiteroles, three of my all-time faves all on the menu. As much as I was tempted, who could resist the lure spotted dick, or Richard, as it’s been coyly renamed here. Steamed sultana-studded, spiced sponge drowned in thick Bird's custard, what ever it's called, is always going to hit the spot.

The Ewing finished with one of her favourites, a deep-fried banana fritter served topped with ice cream and sugar wafers. A speciality her Dad spent much time perfecting when she was young, (served with toffee cream made by mixing double cream with a can of condensed milk that had been boiled for 3 hours - TE) this was a syrup covered trip down memory lane.

In an age of bland homogenisation, both restaurants are proper seaside gems that are well worth a visit - offering forgotten classics with old-fashioned prices to match. Whether you're after a takeaway tray of cod chips or a slap up lobster thermidor, despite the Ewing's very best efforts there's still plenty more fish in the sea.