Bang Bang - zone 4 style

If you were to ask me for a breakdown of my time over the last couple of months the answer would be thirty percent work, twenty percent asleep, ten per cent watching the winter Olympics and fifty percent in IKEA.

Now, I like IKEA and all (I really do) but even I can reach my limit of processed meat products. Hard to believe, I know, but when you start craving your meatballs with spaghetti and not with mash and jam, it’s probably time to look for a different dinner option. 

Fortuitously Bang Bang Oriental has just (re)opened on the old site of the much missed Oriental City in Colindale; a cavernous food court that saw much gnashing and wailing of teeth when it closed in 2008. While it’s impossible to read a review/blog post bemoaning how far Barnet is from civilisation (read zones 1 and 2), for our intents and purposes it was only another quarter of an hour around the North Circular. 

Normally this would be a sentence that would strike fear into the coldest heart, but in this case a viable option compared to eating yet another slice of Daim cake (which shows you just how many slices of Daim cake I have actually eaten recently).

Of course the very thing that makes a food court so exciting - especially to the perennially peckish, like the Ewing and I - is also what threatens to overwhelm; the choice. So many options, from so many different cuisines, yet the fear of picking the wrong dish and ending up with the unenviable food envy looms large over every decision. 

Being fully aware of the high chance of a hangry melt down from either of us at any given time, I had already trawled Instagram for the best looking bowls of food, figuring that it would be a much easier choice from the comfort of my own armchair, but we also made time for a schlep about, just to make sure we weren’t missing out on anything. (imperative - TE).

Having done my research I headed straight to the back for a bowl of roast duck noodle soup from Four Seasons, the Queensway. stalwart. While my parent's often used to take us for lunch in Bayswater - at the, now sadly closed, branch of Mr Wu, where I used to demolish unholy piles of sticky ribs, salt and pepper wings and and seaweed with a voraciousness that only a teenager can - I've never eaten at FS. Something I was looking to remedy.

Now, I'm pretty sure that, without eating there for comparison, this outpost probably pales insignificantly compared to the original, but for eight quid I was very happy with my generous portion of burnished duck and springy noodles, topped with chinese leaf and chopped spring onion. As a bonus, the duck was also boneless, making it a slightly more attractive proposition as I was chowing down.

While not the biggest noodle soup fan - no matter how good the broth, the noodles never seem to end up tasting of anything; plus all the splash back, if you're as messy an eater as I am  - nevertheless I enjoyed the restorative charms of this, though I did upend a saucer of chill oil, negating its soothing qualities somewhat.

Following my advice, the Ewing went with the laksa from Coconut Tree. A bounteous bowl of prawns, tofu puffs and noodles in a rich and spicy coconut curry broth. Apart from the fact her choice of lunch stall and mine were at opposite ends of the cavernous space - necessitating someone (me) having to navigate a kamikaze run clutching a tray of boiling liquid so we could be reunited for lunch -  this proved a strong choice. (oh Roscoe I fear you exaggerate somewhat - TE).

We also picked a selection of tarts from Wonder Bake including custard, pandan and coconut,. My love of custard tarts has diminished somewhat after over enthusiastic incidents in both Hong Kong and Lisbon, but the later pair were particularly excellent for breakfast the next day.

In the rush to negotiate timings and transport two bowls of soup to an agreed location in tandem (which sounds more like the plot of a bad Cold War spy thriller rather than trying to ensure our food arrived at roughly the same time) we didn’t have time to pick up drinks before eating . Due to some, long forgotten, misdemeanour, I owed the Ewing a favour, so agreed to schlep about after to pick up refreshments.

I had the classic milk bubble tea with black tapioca pearls; still a firm favourite and very enjoyable here, save for the fact they had run out of large cups and someone else wanted to share, despite having their own drink…. While strawberry juice with salted cheesecake might sound pretty odd, it somehow worked; the sweet sharp fruit contrasting with the smooth philly-style topping.

As several people have pointed out before me, why come to Colindale when you could go to Chinatown? Of course you could replace Chinatown with pretty much anything and still have a valid point…. In all seriousness though, if I lived near here I’d be having the last laugh.  

Yeah, it’s not perfect; it lacks a little roughness around the edges; the pricing on some dishes seem a little steep (and the portions a little small); and, like anywhere, I’m sure there are few duff dishes to be had. But for variety and convenience Bang Bang would be a welcome addition to most neighbourhoods.

Even after such a fine lunch, my self-imposed pork moratorium could only last so long. So after several long hours (literally) touring the cavernous bowels of hell, cramming many mdf products in a wonky-wheeled trolley, it seemed only right that a hot dog, crowned with fairground sweet onions and crinkle-cut pickles, should be my reward. Viva IKEA.

Curry favour - Kappad

I can’t work out if I’m more loyal to my favourite places as I grow older, or if discovering new stuff just seems more exhausting. Take Indian food, for example. After diligently trying pretty much all the restaurants in town, I’ve finally decided when it comes to South Indian/Sri Lankan, my favourite remains Dosa Special (now into its third incarnation since I started visiting, but still with the same chef and the same peerless food). While for North Indian/Pakistani it’s Chutney, where I take all Antipodean exiles when they come to visit. They may have significantly better weather, but they still have significantly worse curry.

So it was with some trepidation I saw a new restaurant was opening on High Wycombe’s high street, offering Keralan coastal cuisine. Part of me was excited that the number of places in town offering thalis could now fill the fingers of one hand (if you’re in the Simpsons), but part of me felt that slight lurch of irrational irritation that my curiosity meant I’d feel obliged to at least try it out (probably several times), especially as I walk past twice daily. Even if it was only to discover it wasn’t up to the good old tried and tested. Yeah, I know, it’s a tough life.

My first visit was for lunch with work colleagues just before Christmas. All of us imbued by the heady charm of the festive lead-up where you take any excuse to trade the curled up sandwich at your desk for something a little more joyous - maybe involving a festive half…. Although this time I chose the strawberry juice over a bottle of Cobra, despite the latter already having a proved effect of increased joy. The juice was pretty cheery, though, and certainly made the afternoon a little easier.

At lunch, alongside the al la carte menu, they also offer a special curry of the day (meat or veg) or the Kaapad lunch, a platter with a variety of different curries, chutneys, rice and a dosa. For seven quid it would be pretty churlish to complain, even less so when everything was excellent - especially the coconut chicken curry and the fluffy basmati rice -  if a little delicately spiced for a masochist like me. 

My second visit was a post-Christmas lunch with the Ewing and Stealth. Normally a time for parsimony and restraint, we were soon ordering rounds of large bottles of Cobra. January looks so much better from the bottom of a glass. Especially if it’s had a cold beer in it.

Unsurprisingly our drinks also went very well with our selection of beer snacks – a variety of fried bits and pieces including plantain and ornate curls of spiced rice batter, served with a selection of chutneys and sauces. A step up from standing in your dressing gown, scooping lime pickle straight from the jar onto some slightly stale poppadums, which I may or may not have been known to do.

The prawn masala was good; decent prawns, served in a decent number (although there’s never really enough prawns in a prawn curry) with a decent, coconut garlic and ginger-flecked sauce. Hard to get too excited over; would happily eat again. Maybe not a ringing endorsement given I would happily eat most things again, as long as they hadn’t made an unfavourable future appearance or contain boiled eggs. Or both.

On ordering the ‘chicken stew’- chicken cooked in a creamy coconut sauce with carrot, beans, spiced with black pepper, ginger, cloves and curry leaves - the waiter asked if we wanted any chillies in it. Now I realise some people like their food without tears, but it also seemed slightly odd to have something, even with the extra chillies, so toothless on the menu.

It wasn’t that it was bad by any means, just that it was so delicate it seemed to lack any spice at all. Perhaps it's my jaded taste buds but it resembled the creamy filling of a pot pie, the kind of thing created on Food Network by a farmer’s wife from the mid-west, assisted by her brood of children while her ruddy-cheeked husband is out ploughing the fields. (pioneer woman! - TE).

Whatever appeal the kappayum meenum - fish curry with boiled tapioca - lacked on paper (an odd-sounding combination, with the latter addition bringing to mind lumpy school dinners), it made up for by being the dish of the day. The sauce was similar to the prawn curry, but worked even better with the chunks of white fish, while the tapioca was less like frogspawn and more like a root veg mash that had been infused with turmeric and mixed with grated coconut.

Alongside we ate appams, the spongy lentil pancake with a slightly sour taste which is good, but not as good as a paratha or a peshwari naan. And side dishes of okra (officially now my favourite veg to be served in an Indian style  - sorry saag - and rice tossed with lemon , curry leaves and chilli which was fragrant and fluffy in a way that my rice has never been, and probably never will. Still, a good excuse to keep getting takeout to avoid the inevitable disappointment.

While everybody knows that Indian deserts both simultaneously make your teeth ache and smell like the dish full of bits of dead flowers on your Nan’s sideboard, of course the Ewing still wanted to try one.

In fairness the pineapple kesari -  a syrup-soaked cake made of semolina, blended with fresh pineapple, cashew nuts and raisins served warm with vanilla ice cream - was really pretty tasty. Although Stealth was happy to stick with a liquid pudding.

While I'm not sure it quite scales the dizzy heights of my favourite spot, many may want to disagree with me and it already seems to have a fervent fan base of locals. Which is handy, as my fave only has four tables, and I want to make sure I can still get served. Kappad is certainly the slicker choice, if you're looking to impress, and also boasts both an alcohol licence and a loo. Quite useful if you've drunk as many beers as we did.

I got (south coast) Seoul

The Ewing has to endure a lot when we go out to eat. Sure, she gets taken to some fancy restaurants and some trendy bars, but she also gets taken across trading estates in Rotherhithe and down dodgy alleyways in Birmingham. Yes, I know, some people may also consider this a positive. Despite the downsides, she also gets the enlightening pleasure of my company during dinner. Again, some people may also consider this a positive….

So, while 2018 may be the year of finally giving my wife an easy life (just kidding, that would be boring) for our final meal out of 2017 we headed to the inauspicious Bournemouth suburb of Charminster, for Korean food, where I promised to be on my very best behaviour.

To drink it had to be the classic rice lager, Hite, which is sweet and fizzy and pretty devoid of merit as a beer, but makes a great accompaniment to bold and spicy Korean flavours. I wanted the Ewing to chose the cinnamon punch, so I could drink it, but she went with the coconut water, complete with chunks of young flesh that get stuck in the straw.

Things started promisingly with some fried dumplings stuffed with kimchi (of which I could have easily eaten several dozen more) and, even better, dduk bok gi, a dish of fish balls, mixed veg and rice cakes stir-fried in a chilli sauce. 

Mercifully, Korean rice cakes aren’t the cylindrical blocks of dust that people nibble earnestly on before destroying a multipack of Quavers, but are cylindrical and chewy - which may not seem like much of an improvement, but are strangely moreish and a great vehicle for the fermented gochujang chilli paste, of which I can’t get enough.

It also made an appearance in my main, a dish of oh sam bulgogi, marinaded pork and squid, stir fried with spring onion and  served on a sizzling platter with a side of sticky rice. Currently pork and cephalopod is my favourite surf and turf combo (although, ask me tomorrow, and I’d tell you scallops and bacon) here both types of protein were expertly cooked as so to remain sweet and bouncy; the squid, particularly, like perfectly coiled springs of joy.

Possibly the zenith/nadir of the Ewing’s experiences as a lapsed blogger’s wife came when the waitress bough her main course, the salmon bibimpab.

Bibimbap, if you weren’t aware, as my wife wasn’t despite my wordy explanation - I should have clocked she wasn’t listening when I saw the glazed look, but I get that a lot, so it’s hard to tell - is a mix of rice, vegetable and protein (usually strips of beef), topped with a raw egg and a squirt of chilli sauce and served in a furiously hot stone bowl. The contents are then quickly mixed with chop sticks to cook to egg/meat and mix in all the crispy bits at the bottom of the dish.

It was a beautiful vision when first bought to the table; a cornucopia of bright julienned veg and perfect cubes of marinated salmon, crowned with a glowing egg yolk; sadly there’s no evidence of this, as our helpful waitress was very keen to jump in and assist the Ewing. This look of abject fear on my wife's face in the above photo, was upon her realising that I had missed the money shot. By all accounts it was very tasty to eat, but you’re going to just have to imagine what it looked like. Here's a picture of the, slightly less photogenic, miso soup instead.

NB – while my wife looks semi-petrified in the picture above, I can assure you was happy to capture an action shot; after I’d stopped laughing.

We also enjoyed some complimentary banchan - pickled or fermented vegetable dishes served with rice - that included broccoli alongside the more familiar beansprouts and kimchi. A surfeit of deliciousness (or as delicious as cold, slightly vinegary broccoli can be) that meant desert defeated us, even after trying to persuade the Ewing for a full five minutes that she really wanted the black sesame ice cream. With two spoons. Somehow, she resisted my charms. 

That aside, I must still have some appeal, as she’s already agreed to our next round of eating adventures. As Thackeray so astutely said; Despair is perfectly compatible with a good dinner, I promise you.

Lunch on the Water

I’m generally a pretty accepting sort of a person but there are a few things I remain distrustful of; when my wife says she's 'nearly ready', the arrival boards in First Wessex bus shelters, and bars/restaurants who offer both pizzas and burgers on their menu.

Despite being two of my very favourite foodstuffs, when you see them united you know one is almost definitely going to suck; maybe (probably) both. While it’s usually the pizza that's the first casualty - such a simple thing, but so hard to get right without the (costly) kit – bad burgers are also grimly familiar.

One place that has successfully managed it is the Belgrave in Leeds, but that’s because they have a pizza concession from Dough Boys at the front and burgers from the Patty Smith’s Burger Co. at the back, meaning you can mix and match from two specialists; which is cheating, really, but great if you fancy a slice with some fries on the side.

The Belgrave also serve a wide selection of Very Nice beer, so it’s pretty hard to be persuaded to try other places for lunch. That's until I saw that the team behind them had a latest venture - Water Lane Boat Lane, down by the docks - that also kept a handsomely stocked bar, and were offering a menu of both pizza and burgers. Perfect for the hungry, thirsty and the undecided.

Even though the brewery is just around the corner, and we had our customary visit scheduled for the following day, I couldn't turn down a half of the Blueberry and Mosaic black IPA, from the Northern Monk Patrons Project.

I'm not always convinced by BIPA - is it a stout or is it a pale ale? - but I really enjoyed the balance of the fruitiness from the berries with the herbal funk of the hops and the bitter edge of the roasted malt. At a hefty 7%, it's a sipper, not a slurper, but, not to give too much away in the first few paragraphs, I liked it (and the food) so much I came back for another half the very next day.

Their pizza dough is made using just three ingredients: organic Yorkshire flour, water and salt. A promising start, but pretty much all you can put in a pizza dough, to be fair. More excitingly, after slow proving for twenty four hours, their pies are cooked in their Small Victories brick oven, handmade in Naples and shipped to these shores. And, best of all, they are buy one get one for a quid on Sundays and Mondays. 

They also offer interesting, but not too outlandish, flavour combos such as prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella and pickled radicchio that I split with the Ewing. This is my kinda pizza; a puffy cornicione; blistered from the heat of the oven; a pleasingly chewy slightly sour base; and just enough toppings to keep things interesting without overwhelming the dish's inherent simplicity (or giving it a soggy bottom).

We also shared the ox cheek with horseradish, san marzano tomatoes and mozarella, which was the Ewing's preferred pie. Combining rich chunks of meat, like the best beef stew, with zippy horseraduish, sweet tomatoes and melty pools of milky cheese, it was another fine example of how simple, yet majestic, a good pizza can be. 

My cousins, who had come to meet us in a break between festive shopping, also enjoyed the classic margarita - the benchmark to which discerning diner Georgia approved; the salami and cured pepperoni; and the kale, pecorino, black olive and truffle oil; which sounded virtuous, but had two types of cheese to make up for it.

As I may have already revealed, we liked it so much that we went back the very next day. Prompted by the prospect of more blueberry beer and the fact that Tuesdays are buy one burger, get one for a pound. Time for the litmus test; could they pull off the double?

As with the day before, we attempted the 'sharing' thing, stating with the Small Victories’ burger - an aged Yorkshire beef patty, cheese, toasted sesame bun, bacon jam, tomato, lettuce, pickles, and Small Victories burger sauce. In a saturated market this was a competent, if unremarkable effort.

Surprisingly, the standout was the veggie option; a beetroot, white bean and fennel patty on a toasted sesame bun, with tomato jam, pickles, burger sauce and salad. While I was worried it sounded rather worthy, it reminded me a bit of the Indian vada pav - a fried spiced potato fritter served in a bun, and one of my favourite Indian snacks. This was possibly even better - gently spiced, earthy, sweet and crisp. To paraphrase the Ewing, a bit of a taste sensation. 

With the sun reflecting on the Leeds and Liverpool shipping canal outside the window, I reflected on how a decent pizza/burger double - with a great beer and keen service - really is possible. I'm still working on expectations when it comes to how long it's going to take for my wife to finish getting ready. (I'm still working on expectations of when you will be able to find your own things - TE).

Time to split shots

I've got mixed emotions when it comes to coffee. It begins with a strong start - there aren't many smells better than freshly brewed cup of joe - but often quickly descends into a bitter middle and a lingering regret on the finish. A metaphor for many things in life, I increasingly find. 

Although I mostly subsist on pints of PG Tips (pretty hard to mess up - although a colleague regularly manages it) I do enjoy some java. I'm a big fan of the Red Eye at Boscanova in Bournemouth - a mug of filter with an extra shot of espresso, although it does lead to a propensity for waffling even more than normal. I also always look forward to the coffee at the Westminster Archives; while it's not particularly notable, it's strong, there's lots of it and it also comes with a decent number of Jammy Dodgers.

Possibly my favourite caffeinated libation of all, and one I now customarily look forward to on our bi-annual visits to Leeds, is the split shot. Googling hasn’t thrown up too much on the history of the drink (the name also used to describe several other beverages, including an espresso with half the caffeine probably better named What's the Point) but my uncultured understanding is that here it’s a double espresso ‘spilt’ into a single and a piccolo – the definition of the latter being either a ‘long’ macchiato or a ‘short’ flat white; do keep up at the back – so the coffee can be tasted both on its own and with milk. (oh, i am totes lost - TE).

It's a drink I first discovered when looking for tips for a beverage to help keep my eyes open on the slog back down the M1 (in the passenger seat? - TE). The lovely folk on Twitter lead me to the Light - literally and figuratively, where I discovered the incongruous La Bottega Milanese, complete with astroturf carpet, exposed pipework, and rickety metal stools. 

Their mantra is "If it’s not from Italy, it’s from Yorkshire", and the beans for their drinks are all roasted locally, and the milk is from local farms. And while I probably know as much about coffee as Trump does about uranium, I enjoyed La Bottega Milanese’s enough to make it a regular part of our last day in the North tradition. The espresso provides a short sharp shock, while the piccolo - I’m not usually a big fan of milk in coffee – treads the right side of the line between sweet and sickly.

The coffee isn’t the only draw, as they also serve a selection of traditional imported Italian deli items, cakes and sweets, including my favourite, pasticcini, a mini cannoli with a crisp blistered outer shell that tastes like it’s made from crunchy sugar brittle, which is filled with Nutella or a sweet pistachio paste. The perfect foil for the bitter coffee. There are also various pasta bakes, pastries and ciabattas for those who value their dentistry, or are in need of a little more sustenance.

Despite being a creature of habit at heart I don't really like change, but I recently fell down a rabbit hole looking at the Noisette Bakery Instagram page, after finding out their cakes are now served at North Star Coffee down at Leeds Dock. I knew then, even after a weekend gorging on fine foods and wine with the family, I needed a Morning Cake in my life.

It was also a good excuse to explore another part of town as, to my shame, after visiting this fine city for the best part of forty years, I had never made this far down the River Aire. I can highly recommend  the schlep though, the area reminding me a bit of Sunday walks in London across Mudchute and the Isle of Dogs, and especially lovely on a crisp and clear winter's morning.

Originally set up as a roastery, working with independent and ethical coffee producers across the globe, they have recently expanded their site to include a cafe and general store. So now you can now watch them roasting grinding and packaging their beans through the glass partition while you sit back and drink the fruits of their labour.

Any beverage with Christmas in the title usually invokes the fear of drinking a liquid scented candle – although I did build-up a bit of a gingerbread latte habit at uni while burning the midnight oil.  Thankfully this isn't fancy flavoured stuff, with added syrups and spices, but a Brazil/Guatemala/Costa Rica blend that’s billed as naturally possessing notes of date, orange, marzipan, red apple. 

In all honesty, to a primitive palate like mine, it tasted like a cup of coffee, albeit a pretty serious one; the espresso, particularly, provided a swift smack round the chops, while the addition of a lick of milk balanced out the piccolo a bit without making it taste like Mellow Bird.

The Morning Cake - vanilla infused sour cream batter layered with tonka bean and topped with a spiced almond streusel - was just as good it sounded.  Possibly better. The ethereally light and fluffy texture meant it slipped down far too easily considering I'd just eaten my first breakfast (limited edition Vegemite, an early Xmas pressie from my sister in Oz, toast courtesy of my cousin).

As well as selling bags of their own coffee, there is also a small selection of local goodies including Leeds Bread Co-Op and Proper Nutty peanut butter from Huddersfield. After persuading the Ewing that we needed a loaf of the former (her sourdough starter is currently in hibernation at the back of the fridge, although I fear it's going to burst to life, like Zuul, at any given moment) it seemed prudent to get a jar of the latter.

We also picked up a bag of their coffee, described as 'washed micro lot' from Guatemala. Your guess is as good as mine, but it makes a decent cup of bean juice to go alongside my crunchy peanut butter on sourdough toast. Enjoyed with absolutely no bitterness or regrets (and maybe an extra jammy dodger on the side).