A Mexican Fiduea

I'm not sure I really get fiduea, a Spanish paella-type dish but made with pasta. Perhaps I didn't cook it correctly, though I followed the instructions of the recipe perfectly. It came out a bit... claggy. Fried first, as the noodles were simmering in the sauce forks were deployed to pull the noodles apart, as they weren't unravelling themselves. They started to catch, sticking to the bottom of the pan. 

It was a starchy lump, sitting richly in the stomach. But I loved the Mexican flavours of the recipe I tried, so I was determined to make it again. I bastardised the hell out of it. Gone was the initial frying of the pasta in oil, and instead they were given a brief bath in water to release them from their coils. It's not traditional at all, but the flavours seemed more pronounced and it was an altogether lighter dish. 

Mexican Crab Fiduea (adapted from Mexican Food Made Simple)

Serves 3

200gr angel hair (vermicelli) pasta 
1 small onion, diced 
2 large green chillis, seeds removed and sliced 
1 can of chopped tomatoes 
1 tbsp capers 
Pinch of ground allspice 
1 dressed crab 

To Serve: Sour cream, a handful of coriander and wedges of lime, plus 3 tbsp sweet chipotle paste 

Sweet Chipotle Paste:  
5 chipotles in adobo 
3 tbsp brown sugar 
3 cloves of garlic 
Juice and zest of 1 lime 
2 tsp fish sauce

In a large pan with a little oil, fry the onion and the chillis together for 10 minutes on a medium / low heat until soft and transparent. Add the tomatoes, capers and allspice plus the salt and simmer for 20 minutes. 

 Meanwhile make the chipotle paste; smash the garlic in a pestle and mortar with the lime zest and juice, then add the sugar and fish sauce incorporating well as you go. 

Boil a large pan of water and add the pasta, unravelling the nests. Drain immediately, reserving a ladleful of pasta water as soon as they unravel.

Add the water to the tomato sauce and bring to the simmer. Add the pasta back in and cook until the noodles are soft. Serve, topping with a hefty tablespoon of crab meat (brown and white. Garnish with the sour cream and coriander and sweet chipotle paste. Serve with lime wedges.  

Green Bean Sheet Jelly - A Noodle Salad

I have found my New Favourite Thing. I've always been a big fan of big flappy rice noodles and these, these take it to the next level. Labelled 'green bean sheet jelly', I picked them up at a whim at my local Chinese supermarket and when they were cooked they turned into gloriously chewy stretchy noodles that soaked up whatever I cooked them with. 

I've eaten them three times this week; stewed in a spicy stew, stir-fried and in a salad. The salad was probably my favourite. Dressed in a glossy, spicy peanutty sauce, they clung to the vegetables and reminded me of the Liang Pi cold noodles from New York's Xi'an Famous Foods. Mine weren't quite as good, but nearly there and that's as much as I hoped for.

I used whatever crunchy vegetables I had going. Some Chinese cabbage, finely julienned, some fresh corn, cut off the cob. Iceberg lettuce is my least favourite of the lettuces, but strangely its bland crunchiness works the best in Asian salads. Dressed with a punchy lime, chilli and fish sauce blend, chunks of watermelon added sweetness to an otherwise umami-heavy meal. Pork meatballs made with lemongrass and galangal coud have been deemed superfluous as I was happy with the salad itself, but they made it more a meal than without. 

Pork & Lemongrass Meatballs

Serves 2

150gr minced pork 
2 sticks of lemongrass, tender innards only 
1 inch of galangal (or ginger, if you can't get hold of galangal) 
1 tbsp fish sauce 
1 clove of garlic 
1 tsp cornflour

In a pestle and mortar, smash the lemongrass, galangal and garlic until you get a fine paste. Mix in with the meat and the cornflour; mix this well until you get a paste, as this makes the meatballs firmer in texture with more bounce. Roll into balls about the size of golf balls and fry in a non-stick frying pan with a little oil until nicely browned on all sides and cooked through. This takes about 15 - 20 minutes.

Noodle Salad

60gr green bean sheet jelly noodles - you can also use glass noodles (mung bean) if you can't find the above 
A few leaves of Chinese lettuce and / or iceberg lettuce, julienned. Had I a carrot, I would have julienned this too and added it in 
1 spring onion, julienned 
One ear of corn, kernels shaved off with a knife 
A small handful of mint leaves, finely shredded 
A small handful of coriander, chopped roughly 
A quarter of a small watermelon, cubed - I think pineapple would work too

Cook the noodles in boiling water for 10 minutes. Keep testing them for doneness. In the last 5 minutes, throw in the corn kernels. Drain and run under cold water.  

In a large bowl, add the julienned vegetables, mint, coriander and spring onion. Toss with the noodles and corn, then toss with the dressing (below). Add the watermelon last and mix gently. Leave to stand for 5 minutes, before serving with the meatballs. 

For the dressing: 

Juice of 1 lime 
1 clove of garlic 
2 red birds eye chillis 
1 tsp brown sugar 
2 tbsp fish sauce (or to taste; you want salty, sweet and sour in balance)  
1.5 tbsp chunky peanut butter

In a pestle and mortar, smash up the garlic clove. Add the chillis, sliced, and crush well. Add the sugar and mix well. Add the lime juice and fish sauce, then incorporate the peanut butter mixing well so that it emulsifies. 

10 Greek Street, Soho

The first time I visited 10 Greek Street was when it first opened. The starter of octopus carpaccio'd with chilli and lemon was punchy, the venison that was served with a comforting and creamy truffle mash was cooked well. Bloody on the inside and seared on the outside, a small wedge of poached quince added some interest to the dish. I missed greenery though and was put off by the extra charge to purchase some.

I would have written about it then, but there were things that were inconsistent. My friend's pigeon was cooked until it was grey and required sawing through. The whole room was smoky and unpleasant, and I sat through the rest of my day at my desk, miserable that I had meaty whiffs emanating from my hair. I vowed to come back to give it another go, something I don't often do but I couldn't make my mind up about the place. 

5 months later, they seem to have sorted their ventilation issues. At around 12:30pm the room was empty, but an hour later, full to capacity, they were turning people away. My starter of smoked eel with grilled peach, horseradish cream and fennel salad (£8) was pretty damn good. The eel was silky smooth, lightly smoked and worked surprisingly well with the sweetness of the peach. The horseradish cream had a proper kick to it and was portioned generously; by the end of the dish I had a tingling scalp. So far, so good. 

I chose the courgette flowers stuffed with ricotta and served with lentils and a radish salad (£14). If I'm being kind, it was light on flavour. If I'm not, it was boring. As pretty as it was, I wonder if I just don't get courgette flowers. The ricotta filling was studded with lemon zest but that did little to improve its flavour and the batter around the things needed a bit more seasoning. The lentils were just a texture, the radish salad a mere distraction from the blandness. All in all it was underwhelming and I ended up wishing I'd chosen another starter instead. 

When I've spoken to other people about 10 Greek Street they've raved about their interesting and well priced wine list; perhaps that's where we went wrong, having stuck to tap water on both visits. But for somewhere that posits itself as a restaurant rather than a wine bar, that their food was disappointing wouldn't encourage me to go back anyway. 

 10 Greek Street

 10 Greek Street

 London W1D 4DH

Tel: 020 7734 4677 Bookings taken at lunchtime only

 

Upstairs at The Ten Bells

The Young Turks & The Clove Club, of whom I was always a big fan after visiting their various pop-ups, took over the upstairs room of The Ten Bells in Spitalfields to do a short residency. For a few months they fed diners a lengthy set menu of their choosing made up of seasonal ingredients. I visited early into their stint with seven mates and I got so horrendously drunk I don't remember a thing about it. Except it was dark. We drank a lot of wine. I woke up the next day, traumatised with The Drunken Fear, fully dressed on my couch. I had to call all my friends to apologise; they too had no idea what had happened that evening. On the way to work I was sick into a bin. 

So I hadn't really planned on showing my face there again. The shame was great and I couldn't bear to even walk past the place without wincing of my past demeanors. But then I saw that they were introducing an a la carte menu and were doing the whole 50% off thing. You know, I love a bargain so I swallowed my shame and strode into the dining room, head held aloft. That's actually a complete lie. I shuffled in looking guilty and miserable before I was safely ensconced into my seat clutching a blackberry fizz.
 

The menu was concise, with 3 or 4 options per course. They do snacks while you're deliberating over the menu and the smoked cods roe with chipsticks was pretty awesome. Who doesn't love chipsticks? The roe was sprinkled with what looked like seaweed and maybe some cayenne pepper; I only wished for more chipsticks. Once they were dispatched the excellent sourdough was used as a fishy vehicle.
 

I chose my starter based on the pheasant's egg. I'm a total whore for a well cooked egg, with it's oozy yolk and general silken texture, and even better if it's slow-cooked. This one was buried beneath a cheesy sauce and lightly cooked tiny cauliflower florets. A clever take on cauliflower cheese, the thinly shaved pickle added a tartness (duh) so that the dish didn't sit too richly. My friend verily inhaled his chilled courgette soup, poured tableside over jersey royals and razor clams.
 

Plaice was served breaded on one side which I thought perhaps masked the delicate flavour of the fish a little. Elderflower sauce was a stroke of genius though; its light flowery notes made the mushrooms more... mushroomy. Good word, that.
 

I almost cried when I saw my friend's main. Lamb with spinach, anchovy and potatoes sounds pretty standard on paper but when it came out... Look at it! The lamb was blush pink, tender and fatty. The anchovy sauce was in blobs and the spinach puree mellowed it somewhat. The spaghetti-like potato rosti was crisp, though the silvery anchovy abandoned due to being pretty salty / fishy (I would have scoffed it down). I sulked with envy.
 

I spotted the blueberry mousse instantaneously and that it was paired with tarragon sponge and milk crisp intrigued me even more. The sponge was intensely aniseed flavoured, while the milk crisp brought the flavours of the fruity mousse together.
  

Strawberry tart, a gift from the kitchen blew the blueberry mousse out of the water. Light discs of filo-like pastry sandwiched together a thick cream. Strawberries fanned into a disc on top was then topped with white chocolate ice cream. This was delicious simplicity.
 
We rolled out of The Ten Bells clutching our bellies, wandering around gormlessly, eyes glazed. At around £6 for a starter and the most expensive main (at the time) at £16.60, you could easily have a a 3 course meal for about £30 without booze. But then that would be boring, and you need to have those chipsticks.
 
Upstairs at The Ten Bells
 
84 Commercial Street
 
E1 6LY
 
http://tenbells.com/

FORZA WIN

There is one weekend from 2011 that my friends still speak of with a wistful fondness, eyes misting over. It was Easter and I had forcibly commanded that they ditch their plans and join me instead to make a team for a New Cross Easter egg hunt. No, I didn't really know the person who'd organised it. No I didn't really know what was involved. They were skeptical. We spent the day with about 25 other strangers running around New Cross gathering coloured eggs, to return to various challenges, devised by Bash and Amy, before ending up in the local pub dancing our socks off. That we won the hunt is by the by (ahem), but it was declared the MOST FUN EVER.

So when Bash emailed me earlier this year asking if I could put him in touch with the Pizza Pilgrims, I sensed a fun new adventure. FORZA WIN was born. They built a pizza oven on a Shoreditch rooftop; having ascended those stairs twice I can only wince and imagine how much hard work that alone was. I went along to their family n' friends test run and they stuffed us silly with pasta dressed in a porky fennel-spiked ragu. Pizzas upon pizzas finished us off and I died a happy carbocide.
 

Their press night saw Aperol spritzs flowing during a sunny evening. Those same excellent pizzas were snatched up by hungry hands. Elderflower sorbets were a floral bomb to the face and blood orange granita refreshed. I was too busy having fun to take photos of the food. Sorry.

It doesn't rain in London okay? But if it were to, then they have a back up plan. Open Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights until the 29th September, book here.

Forza Win's website is here. 

Princi Pizza

I've never liked Princi much. I walk past it every morning and watch the businessmen gazing onto Wardour Street, absent-mindedly munching on their crumbly pastries and sucking coffee back. Early evening, I walk past it again and it looks sleek from the outside, bustling and lively within. There's usually a bouncer on the door, typical of Alan Yau's places, like Cha Cha Moon (which I actively despised).

It lures you in with the open plan view of bakers rolling and patting dough, placing it in a wood-fired oven. When you walk in you can mill about at the counters displaying the food, queueing up to place your order. Then, after collecting your order you can shuffle amongst the bodies, desperately seeking a seat. Perhaps you thought ahead and made a mate guard some stools, and then you have to tag team while they go and do that food ordering thing while yours slowly loses optimum temperature. No, it was all too stressful for me.   But then, they extended next door and built what looked like a sit-down restaurant. You know, one of those places where you're seated and your order is retrieved from you. One Friday, seven sheets to the wind and in need of late-night sustenance, four of us staggered towards the bouncer, pizza in our minds. Miraculously we were let in. 

Heritage tomatoes were sweet and juicy, like no tomatoes you usually get in the UK. Paired with the sweet, creamy mozzerella and drizzled with olive oil (£7.50), this was simplicity at its best. We devoured this while we waited for our pizzas.

 Diavola (£9.50) was monstrously spicy, with hidden chilli slices ready to heat-bomb your face. It was addictive. We sucked air through our teeth as we attacked through the slices.  

Bresaola (£10.50) was huge and generously topped with the thinly shaved cured beef, some rocket and Parmesan. The base was chewy, well charred and the tomato sauce flavoursome. This was hard to fault. 

 I was less impressed with our waiter's recommendation, the Valerio. Topped with mushroom, ham, mozzerella, cream and basil, this was a white pizza and it was just a bit too boring for my tastes. With a beer each we paid roughly £15 each including service. By no means the cheapest drunk food I've ever had, but it was incredibly satisfying. Stress-free dining helps. 

  Princi London  

 135 Wardour Street London W1F 0UT 

 

Irene's Peranakan Recipes

In the same part of the cookbook series as Uncle Lau's Teochew Recipes, Irene's Peranakan Recipes have the same simple style and layout. Peranakan refers to the descendants of the late 15th & 16th century Chinese immigrants who settled in Malaysia and Indonesia  Now, normally I'd object to quotes like: "Girls have to do girls' things", being the raging bra-burning feminist that I am, but the picture of Irene herself at the stove with big glasses and 70s hair, as well as her charmingly honest history was enough to tame me.  
  
It was one Sunday and a group of my friends, obsessed with South East Asian food, decided to get together for a British version of a potluck, also known as the Pie Out. It was the perfect opportunity to try out this new cookbook. It's not the easiest cookbook to navigate as the contents page lists the Peranakan name of the dishes, but it's a fascinating flick through. 

Fish curry was well spiced with a tangy hit. The gelatinous quality of the sauce was made by the addition of lots of sliced okra. 

With plenty of spicy, creamy curries (including the chicken rendang in the opening picture), a simple cleansing cucumber salad was ideal to cool mouths, even if it did have some chilli in it. 

One of the dishes I made was braised green beans with prawns in spicy coconut milk. Pretty straightforward to make, the shrimp paste used to stir-fry the spice mixture gave it a deep savoury flavour that only shrimp paste makes. 

My favourite accompaniment of the dishes though was pickled pineapple. Chunks of pineapple are cooked until soft with salt, sugar, chilli and cinnamon (or cassia bark in my case) and then served at room temperature. It was the perfect acidic foil for the richness of the meal.

Pickled Pineapple

Serves 6 with other dishes 

1 small pineapple; cored, skinned and chopped into bite sized chunks

2 large red chillis, deseeded and chopped

2 tsp sugar

1/2 tbsp salt

1 6inch stick of cinnamon, or cassia bark

2 cloves

In a pan, heat up the pineapple with everything else gently. No need to add any liquid. Cook gently for 20 minutes until tender. Place in a bowl to cool and serve with creamy, rich curries at room temperature or cold.

Contact Epigram for a copy of the book here.