Friends of Ham (and Beer), Leeds

The problem with visiting relatives in Leeds is not that there aren't plenty of good restaurants up North, but that we're so well looked after by family there's not much opportunity to get out sample them. Our most recent visit saw us being treated to my Uncle's char-grilled steak and crispy potatoes; my aunt’s tartiflette, made with heart-clogging amounts of cream, Reblochon and bacon; and baking lessons where my Uncle and the Ewing made ciabatta rolls, stuffed with black pudding and chorizo, and wholemeal bread with Stilton and walnuts. 

And that was before you considered the trays of warm pasties, truckles of cheese and the giant 40th pork pie presented at my Cousins’ joint birthday bash - plus the obligatory rounds of corned beef sandwiches consumed at the pub quiz.

Still, it probably won’t surprise you we had saved just enough room to hit the town for a little bar crawl, some Christmas window shopping and a spot of lunch on Monday in Leeds city centre. 

After an appetite whetting walk around the Kirkgate Market – despite it looking more and more down at heel every time I go back – my Uncle suggested a drink at the Leeds branch of the Scottish craft beer renegades, Brewdog.

He and I had schooners of their Punk IPA, their powerfully hopped flagship beer with its tropical funk that impressed even my Aunt’s down-to-earth, John Smith’s-loving palate. While the Ewing picked the Libertine Black Ale, a rich, black IPA pretty hefty 7.5%. 

But even this this paled in comparison to their Tactical Nuclear Penguin, an imperial stout ice brewed at a whopping 32%, and at the time of release the strongest beer ever produced.

Of course it went without saying that my Uncle was keen to sample it, and he had two accomplices equally keen to help him. The nose on this was like Christmas cake, rich with fruit and malt, while it had a viscosity like warm treacle. An interesting curiosity, but definitely one to sip and savour rather than knock back on a pub crawl; (maybe that’s what Danny Cipriani had been drinking while out in Leeds last year?)

While they do offer bar food at Brewdog, as well as a comprehensive selection of board games including Yorkshire Monopoly, Boggle and even Etch-A-Sketch after reading a recent Jay Rayner review, I was keen to sample some plates of meats and cheese – along with a few more drinks – at the nearby Friends of Ham.

While you can perch at a few small stools by the bar area, downstairs in the basement provides further seating and a welcoming décor - complete with its faux bookcase wallpaper and comfy leather armchairs - that give it an air of a library in a stately home; the kind of place where Colonel Plum might get thwacked with the lead piping.

Luckily the atmosphere on our visit was rather more serene and we were soon getting stuck into their comprehensive drinks list. My Aunt and the Ewing went with vino tino, while my Uncle and I went back upstairs to choose a drop from the huge selection of craft beers.

After some serious deliberation (they will provide tasters on tap if you can’t decide) I had a Rapture, from the nearby Magic Rock brewery, while the intriguing Sierra Nevada Kellerweis was my Uncle’s choice. ‘Untamed, unfiltered, and unafraid’ and ‘truly a unique brew’ is how they described this hazy orange wheat ale, which is brewed in open fermentation tanks, and it was certainly an acquired taste, and possibly one we hadn’t quite developed yet.

We started with a plate of chicken liver pate, made locally in Leeds by Our Munch and accompanied by chutney, black olives and bread from the Bondgate Bakery in Otley.

We also picked a sharing platter (two meat two cheese) of goodies including Monte Enebro goat’s cheese, Alex James’ Blue Monday (made in Yorkshire) wafer thin slices of Carne Salata Malenca (smoked Spanish beef) and Tuscan salami made with wild fennel pollen, all served with pickles, chilli jam, crackers and yet more bread.

I liked Friends of Ham. It the sort of place I would be happy to sit and get sizzled while eating my way through their variety of sausages. I also like how it manages to showcase the best of British - with plenty of local stuff, including charcuterie made at the nearby Reliance pub - as well as offering a wide range of continental meats and cheeses. It’s a policy that also extends to its ales, with a large range of regularly rotating keg and cask tipples, mostly from local breweries, to a fridge full of Belgian hefeweizen, German Pilsners and American craft beers.

Not quite finished we called in to Trinity Kitchen (more about that on the blog soon) for yet another morsel before popping  in to the Reliance pub (one of the providers of meat products to Friends of Ham) to visit their ‘Reli Deli’ on the way home. 

Currently, the selection is little more than a bijou choice of beers and salami, although the helpful chap working there told us about the farmer’s markets where you can pick up more of their produce (although, unhelpfully, all in Yorkshire, when I’d already be back home in the Chilterns) including coppa, lardo and cured hams.

My Uncle very kindly treated me to one of their homemade salamis flavoured with chilli and fennel. There’s not much in this world I like more than a cured sausage (behave) and this one had the wonderful musty funk, giving way to salty, sweet, fatty pork studded through with the nip of fennel seeds.

You can also stop for a meal or a deli board, the place coming highly recommended by both my aunt and uncle and my cousin. If the salami and huge range of beers are anything to go by, you'll be in for a treat.

So, a fabulous afternoon with a fabulous aunt and uncle; the Ewing and I being two very lucky (and slightly drunker) girls to be taken out on the town and spoilt so comprehensively. And we still managed to regroup and take on the rest of the village (and lose) at the pub quiz that evening. 

7-Up Beef Shin

When I was growing up my Dad owned a freight forwarding business. To a young child this meant very little, and was certainly not as exciting as being able to tell other kid's your father was an astronaut or a lion tamer, but one thing I did enjoy was the exotic trips we got to go on. Due to him primarily working with Garuda Airlines this mostly meant Indonesia and, more specifically, Bali and Lombok. Although I was only young, I still remember the sights and smells - from the baskets of clove cigarettes they gave out on the aeroplane (yes, even to the children), to the hot banana fritters with cold ice cream we'd gorge ourselves on each night.

It was when I struggling to think of what to make with the two large pieces of rolled beef shin in the freezer that the idea of the Indonesian classic, rendang, sprang to mind. Rendang is originally from the Muslim area of Western Sumatra, whereas Bali is a predominately Hindu island, but the smells and the flavours of the dish bubbling away instantly bring me back to those glorious childhood memories, with the scent of lemongrass, aftersun, mozzie spray and incense thick in the air.

The tropical heat on these holidays meant constant stops for cool drinks; at home fizzy drinks were generally frowned upon, but when we were away my parents seemed to make it their sole mission to keep us slathered in sun cream and well hydrated. The swimming pool at the hotel even had a bar in the middle, where you could sit and sit and sip glass bottles of neon green Fanta and frosty cola. Amazing.

It was these memories that lead me to my my own twist on the classic rendang recipe; the addition of lemonade to provide some sweetness and a slight citrus edge. Sprite was always my Dad's favourite, but I always had a spot for 7-Up, with it's bright green bottle and distinctive red logo. As it turned out I had neither when I came to make this, settling for a can of Schweppes instead. Of course you could use a little palm sugar and fresh lemon and lime juice, but this is much more fun.

The dish originated as a way of keeping meat without refrigeration; a properly made rendang contains spices that act as natural preservatives and may be stored for up to four weeks. Although sometimes called a 'curry', rendang is a dry dish that is simmered in coconut milk and other spices until all the liquid has evaporated and the meat begins to fry in the coconut oil and fat from the meat. ('Wet rendang', where the sauce is not so heavily reduced, is known as kalio.)

Usually rendang is most often made from beef, but you also see versions made with buffalo, goat, duck, mutton or liver. Shin is a great cut to use as it's cheap and flavoursome while the slow simmering breaks this tough cut down until it's lovely and soft and sticky. The only accompaniments you will need with this very rich dish are a handful of fresh herbs, some sticky rice and a cold beer. A little lie down afterwards may also be appreciated.

Beef Shin Rendang with 7-up and Lemongrass

1 tbsp coriander seeds

1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp turmeric

5cm piece of root ginger, peeled

3 chillies (seeded if you don't like things too hot)

3 stalks of lemongrass, well trimmed

Juice half lime

3 onions

5 cloves garlic

Salt

2 bay leaves

1.5 kg beef shin or braising steak

100g coconut cream

1 tin coconut milk

1 can 7-Up (or another, full sugar, clear lemonade)

250 ml beef stock or water

Toast the coriander, cumin seeds and turmeric in a dry frying pan until lightly toasted, grind in a pestle and mortar or spice grinder until you have a fine powder. (Make sure the spices really are fine, or your rendang may taste gritty, as I have previously discovered.)

Place roughly chopped lemongrass, ginger, garlic, chillies and onions in the food processor, add salt, lime juice and ground spices and pulse into a paste.

Heat the coconut cream in a wok or shallow pan, then add the spice paste and cook out for five minutes. Add the beef, coconut milk and seven up to the pan and simmer gently until the liquid had all evaporated (this should take at least two hours, add more liquid if the pan is getting dry). Towards the end of cooking you will have to keep stirring almost continually to stop the meat catching and burning.

When all the liquid has evaporated the meat will start to fry in the remaining coconut oil. Fry for a few minutes then allow to to rest for a little while, before serving with sticky rice and a scattering of fresh coriander.

This should keep well in the fridge for at least a week and, like most slow cooked dishes, often tastes better after a spending a night or two in the fridge.

Burgers and Booze, Shoreditch

MeatMission - burger purveyors housed in an ex-mission in Hoxton - is the third location of the wildly popular MEAT collective, and, unlike its brethren, is bookable for both lunch and in the early evening if you care about that sort of thing. (You’d think the debate about no reservation restaurants was so 2012, but yet it still rumbles on and on.)

For what it’s worth, I’m not adverse to a bit of queuing (having spent far too many minutes waiting for tables at Hurricanes in Sydney, Tim Ho Wan in Hong Kong and Burger Joint in Manhattan – all worth it) and don’t really mind as long as you can go and get a beer and a call back when your table’s ready, although I usually plan an early visit if I don’t want to hang around. 

I do fully understand why restaurants do it, though, so if you don’t want to wait, then reserve somewhere else and quietly let others freeze their sockless hipster ankles off waiting for a Tayyabs on a Friday night.

Thankfully, MeatMission on a Monday evening was a pretty peaceful prospect, although the walls are loud enough on their own. This place must have one on the most Inatagrammed ceilings in the whole of the Capital and it’s certainly something to behold; with its fluorescent colours that look like the unfortunate result of a burger feast chased down with a few too many of their house grogs.

I kicked off proceedings with a Lagerita, a cunning mix of tequila, lime and beer, served in slushy form. I loved it, the girls, thankfully, not so much, meaning I was left alone to drink it in peace. Luckily, the Ewing was a big fan of her own beverage choice, the Cydercar, a West country twist on the Sidecar. A recommendation from our waitress, this saw Remy Martin combined with Cointreau and lemon, finished off with a cider top.

Stealth with her Tipping the Velvet; 'I don't care what's in it, with that name I'm having it'. It turned out to be a rather jauntily-hued mixture of Remy Martin, lemon juice, raspberry, blackberry,strawberry, palm sugar and Velvet Devil merlot.

Next we moved onto the meat, ordering a trio of their famed burgers - for me the Dead Hippy, for Stealth, the fearsome green chilli; and for the Ewing, the classic cheeseburger. All three were requested, and came, cooked nice and rare; the double patties served with each burger saturated with bloody juices and beefy, greasy funk that dripped into our enamel dishes and ran down our wrists.

The green chilli cheeseburger came heaped with roasted strips of jalapeño, providing a decent slap of smoky heat. For even more meaty version, the red chili burgercomes with a liberal application of the stew we know as ‘con carne’ on these shores; tasty, but even messier, eating. For those with more simple tastes, the Cheesburger is pretty hard to beat; the layer of flimsy gooey plastic cheese being properly fused to each patty; while the bacon cheese features the correct use of the smoked streaky variety.

The infamous Dead Hippy, by now, needs little explanation; two mustard coated patties, grilled on the flat top and served with hippy sauce, lettuce, pickles and chopped white onions. This is, in my limited experience, a better burger than the In’n’Out burger served Animal Style, on which it is loosely approximated; there being less pesky salad in the Dead Hippy for a start. 

I would, in my own private burger heaven, prefer slightly thinner, wider patties, even if it was at the expense of some of that glorious bloody pinkness, but overall this is a masterful burger.

The signature dish at Meat Mission is the monkey fingers. Like a boneless version of their bingo wings, these are battered strips of crispy chicken doused in a vinegar based hot sauce and served with celery, carrot and blue cheese dip. 

Like deep fried goujons of crack, these salty, spicy crunchy morsels were almost impossible to stop feeding into my open maw, and possibly tasted even better when they cooled down a bit, rendering the batter gloriously sticky and soggy.

Fries (not chips) are good; thin, crisp and well salted. Those with a death wish can also have them augmented with molten cheese and meat chilli; crispy grilled onions and Hippy sauce, or as part of a ‘garbage plate’ drenched in roast beef, gravy, cheese, onions and horseradish. 

The ‘Meat’ style of burger is pretty close to my beef in a bun nirvana. While they are on the sloppy and greasy side (the original meatburger, is cooked in butter, after all), the combination of oozy plastic cheese the crisp edges of the griddled meat and a liberal application of pickles and condiments is surely what a good burger is really all about.

Our second round of cocktails included Jamie's Marvellous Medicine Pernod absinthe, fresh raspberry, coconut cream, fresh lemon juice, crushed ice; Donkey Punch a vicious blend of Finlandia, lime juice, ginger beer with an absinthe rinse; and my Game Over, six liquors including vodka, gin, rum, tequila, absinthe, Pisang Ambon and fresh lime juice and topped up with Mountain Dew and limited to two per person. 

While I had clearer photos to illustrate this potent brew, I don’t think I have one better than the one above to illustrate that this is a serious beverage.

A shout out, too, for the staff, especially the two waitresses who served us on our visit. Granted it wasn’t busy, but they were charming and chatty and very helpful, cocking a snook at all the brusque, too cool for school East End Hipster nonsense you constantly hear bandied about (I had taken care to wear my red trousers though, just so I wouldn't stand out too much).

Our next stop, Nightjar, sounded, on paper, about as Hipster Hoxton as you can hope to be. While the opposite side of the Old Street roundabout hosts the Nelson’s Retreat, a large, bright, wooden-clad pub offering a menu of all day cheese toasties and a staggering array of florescent shots and alcoholic slush puppies, Nightjar is little more than a hidden door between the chicken shops of City Road at street level.

But, after having your name checked off on the clipboard and the bouncer has radioed down to announce your arrival, you descend into a ‘hidden slice of old school glamour’ that quite belies the grim concrete of the Old Street above.

To be honest, the idea of a hidden prohibition-era speakeasy, complete with rules and reservations, sounds - on paper at least - like one of the least appealing ways to spend an evening. Thankfully, there was an instant a laid-back appeal, devoid of hipster pretension, that made it easy to be charmed by the place.

Our first round of drinks, from the Pre-prohibition section of their menu and accompanied by dishes of spiced popcorn, saw the ladies already plunged into cocktail envy as my hip flask full of Waldorf Gloom Lifter (Auchentoshan 3-wood single malt beeswax infusion, Comte de Lauvia VSOP Armagnac, Nightjar Grenadine, Fresh lemon, Constitution bitters) – adapted from the Waldorf Astoria bar book - came embedded in cherry-studded crushed and dry ice. This is one to sip straight from the flask, although they will provide a clean glass and soda if you want a longer, less potent drink. Waldorf Gloom Lifter 

Stealth chose the spicy Baltimore eggnog (Woodford Reserve bourbon, Hennessy Fine de Conac, Diplomatico Reserva rum Nightjar fortifed wine, Buttermilk, 'Old Tom' clotted cream, Umami foam, spices) the perfect winter warmer, served garnished with a chocolate wafer curl and the Stars and Stripes for an extra dollop of patriotism.

The Ewing had a classic Delicious Sour (Hennessy Fine de Conac, crab apple infusion, Nightjar Umesu, fresh lime, bee pollen syrup and buttered oolong foam) complete with a cute and seasonal toffee crab apple garnish.

Next our waiter suggested I moved from Pre-prohibition to the Nightjar classics with the (Kenko Teki Swizzle - Nikka whiskey from the barrel, green coffee bean infusion, fresh lime, Akashi Tai sake, matcha green tea, buckwheat rice syrup, alfalfa) This came served in a hollowed out bamboo ‘glass’ and had deeply savoury umami notes, amplified by the Marmite rice cracker and wasabi peas served alongside. 

In fact the whole thing had a toasted barley and oat scent that smelt rather like a branch of the Body Shop circa 1994, where my friends and I would buy little hessian sacks of the milk bath soak and pots of face mask that resembled porridge. Luckily it tasted far better.

Stealth had the Naked Lady (Santa Teresa Claro rum, Fresh lemon, Nightjar Umeshu, Nightjar grenadine, egg white) from the prohibition era selection. To be honest, I can’t remember too much about this, other than it came with a garnish of Mini eggs - carefully placed inside a real eggshell - that, along with the pretzels on the Ewing’s Jerez Fizz (Ysabel Regina (Spanish brandy), Harvey's pedro Jimenez, lotus tea infusion, longan and jujube vinegar, fresh squeezed orange and lemon, lime curd and soda), I was not given a chance to sample. 

After making a joking aside to our waiter about the unfairness of sharing my wasabi peas and gaining nothing in return, I soon had my own dish of chocolates and pretzels. Top class, enthusiastic and knowledgeable service (I was even given a great pack of cocktail themed playing cards) that proved cherry on the top of what was already proving a great evening.

We had time for one last drink for the road - this time the Ewing chose the show stopper with the Flaming Painkiller. Anything that come to the table on fire (see the Simpson’s Flaming Moe) has got to be good; just remember to keep flammable items away  from your face(and try not to exhale near by if you’ve already drunk a few). Barrel Aged Painkiller - Virgin Gorda rum, kraken dark rum, wray and Nephew overproof rum, solerno blood orange liqueur, fresh pinaepple juice, sparkling coconut water.

My Sweet Dreams- Appleton estate Rum(cacao butter, Mozart Dry, banana blossom infusion, pineapple juice, coconut yoghurt, coconut blossom sugar, plantain foam) was a little more restrained, although it did come served in a hollow metal chicken. Nice, but I’m not sure fresh mint does it for me in drinks any more, after several too many mojitios binges (Caiprinhas are my new favourite – spirit, sugar and lime; no pesky greenery).

I don’t know if Stealth had any idea about what she was imbibing by this point –it was a Jungle Bird  (Brugal Anejo rum, Ceylon arack curry leaf infusion, Campari, papaya, butternut, cantaloupe juice, coconut blossom sugar, aromatic lime, sarsaparilla root beer), but it seemed to be having the right effect (bar the sporadic outbursts of amusing curmudgeonly-ness).

From the friendly welcome to the comprehensively compiled, decently priced and pleasing strong, drinks menu, to the adorably geeky service, Nightjar was a lot of fun. I can’t say quite the same about getting the night bus home afterwards (the Ewing’s flaming painkiller wasn’t quite true to its word come the morning).

Noodles and Chocolate Cake

For a London-based blogger, writing about the handmade udon at Koya seems pretty much a pre-requisite. Made onsite from nothing but wheat flour, salt and water, they have had people queuing down Frith Street since the day they opened back in 2010.

While, as usual, I may be well behind the times and can't claim to add anything new or original to all this noodle talk, my ability to eat lots and waffle on remains undiminished. So when a vacancy a couple of doors down from the original saw the opening of the new Koya Bar, providing quick all-day counter dining, I went along for a restorative lunch with the magical Stealth. 

The menu at Koya Bar is split into small plates, udon and donburi, with the addition of a breakfast menu that features Anglo/Japanese mash ups like rice porridge with bacon and eggs, alongside more traditional bowls of curry and noodles. There are also a few Daily Specials on the chalk board, as well as Koya favourites such as fish and chips and cider braised pork belly that have made the short hop down the street. 

Stealth started as she meant to go on, with the Five Points Pale Ale, while I had a pot of, slightly less rock'n'roll Japanese tea. We also shared a plate of the crisp shredded Otsukemono pickles to get the digestive juices going.

While on our visit Koya Bar had some interesting specials, including the spooky Halloween themed Hokkaido kabocha in black sesame sauce and a dandelion leaf and crispy tofu salad, how could we possibly see beyond bowls of the slippery, fat, pale noodles they are famed for

Udon wise, Koya Bar has a number of options: Atsu-Atsu (hot udon in hot broth); Hiya-Atsu (cold udon with hot broth); Zaru Udon (cold udon with cold dipping sauce) or Hiyashi Udon (cold udon with cold sauce to pour).

I chose Buta Miso Hiya-Atsu, cold noodles served with a hot dipping broth flavoured with ground pork and sweet/salty miso. The broth had the kind of magnificent, marmite umami richness that made me reminisce about my mum’s gravy at Christmas; a potent liquor made with all the rich wobbly salty, fatty bits scraped up from the roasting tin.

The advantage of choosing the cold noodles have a slightly different texture to then ones served in the hot broth, a kind of gummy chew that is rather addictive. After managing to convey a few into my mouth this way (despite pretty fair chopstick skills, these buggers are quite something else to attempt to eat elegantly) I added a few to my broth to plump up and soften a bit further.

Stealth, as usual, quickly got her drinks order in in, then delegated ordering duties to me. Thankfully I was well prepared for this and, after checking on her preferred hot/cold broth/noodle combination, ordered her the Kinoko; hot udon noodles served in hot broth with mushrooms and walnut miso. 

This was toasty and autumnal without being at all dank or earthy as she had feared. As we were sitting eating, a large dish of roasted walnuts, looking like autumnal cerebellums, were bought out ready to pulverise into the oily sweet paste that married so well with the fungi.

They also make fresh tempura with a gossamer thin batter encasing huge prawns or delicate pieces of veg. Yes, it cost £12 for the mixed version, but the crustaceans are approaching Jaws like proportions. A word of warning, though, if you don’t want the crunchy cargo served in your soup then order it as a side dish, with udon and cold sauce to dip or donburi (rice bowl) and not with hot broth.

So, Koya Noodle Bar; fabulous udon and Zen like surroundings in the middle of Soho, it does exactly what it says on the tin.

After an hour or two slurping our lunch and (figuratively) chewing the fat in relative calm, we had to dodge the horrors of Oxford Street to get to our next destination. I think the run up to Christmas is the only time this stretch of hell redeems itself , with the gaudy festive baubles looking particularly pretty against the brilliant blue sky.

 

The walk was worth it, as we had a date with pudding at Paul A Young’s fourth 'chocolate salon' - and the first with a seating area - found tucked inside between Heal’s and Habitat on Tottenham Court Road. As well as a range of brownies, chocolates, biscuits and an exclusive, multi-layered, sea-salt caramel cake, there is also the option to try a variety of hot drinks including various types of hot chocolate and cocoa nib tea.

Stealth warmed her cockles with a mug of the Paul A Young hot chocolate, with chocolate dipped cantuccini biscuits to dunk, while I had a pot of the Henrietta Lovell RAF special blend tea and a cocoa nib and dark chocolate cookie.

The hot chocolate was rich, dark and fabulously unctuous, with the perfect balance of sweet and bitter and a wonderfully clean flavour that comes from the lack of dairy. Extra points for it coming in a decent sized mug, too.

While the cantuccini were a little too refined for my taste, I loved the cocoa nib cookies, which are so friable that they literally do melt in your mouth. The little nuggets of cocoa nib and the dark chocolate coating save things from becoming too sickly, although at £2.50 a pop I haven't had a chance to test how many I could manage in one sitting yet. (The recipe is also in Paul's book, of which the Ewing does have a copy...)

While the obscenely decadent multi-layered salted caramel chocolate cake is the speciality of this new branch, I wasn't sure how a slice would survive a further schelp around London in the depths of my bag, opting instead for a - relatively restrained - sea salted pecan and caramelised milk chocolate brownie, and another cocoa nib cookie, to take away.

As we were preparing to leave the eponymous man himself arrived at the store, donned his white coat and cap, and deftly began began tempering lakes of molten chocolate on the marble bench inside. Although the kitchen area is only very small, there is something rather bewitching about watching a master at work; and while I’m not sure what its final use was, I’m quite sure not much would have made it past my mouth if I was in charge. 

While going inside to settle the bill I was powerless to resist a bar of Mast Brothers chocolate, artisan collection and made in Brooklyn with locally roasted Stumptown coffee beans. The bar also cost a few beans, but if your going to scoff chocolate Why not make it the good stuff (says someone who scoffed all the leftover Halloween mini Bounty Bars in one sitting). If you want to read some more intelligent tasting notes then you should probably just read this review at Candyblog.

Finally the brownie. I often convince myself I'm not really a fan of brownies, thinking of them more as ubiquitous and undercooked cakes that have got above their station (and don't have any icing). Then I eat another Paul A Young brownie, and fall in love all over again. There's not really much more I can say about this, other than stop reading and go and get yourself one.