Kricket, Brixton

My first experience of Brixton was 15 years ago, when as a grungy teenager I went to Brixton Academy to see Korn and basically got beaten up in the mosh pit. It was the best night ever. On the way home, we saw a homeless man smoking a pipe and I thought "well that's quite old fashioned of him" until upon closer, hurried inspection it was actually a crack pipe. That sort of thing doesn't happen so much in the open in Brixton anymore, at least not that I've seen - Brixton has officially Up and Come. 

For better or for worse remains to be seen, but with it has brought Pop Brixton, a set of shipping containers built around a covered yard, complete with bouncer on the door, housing restaurants and bars. The idea was to provide a platform for local businesses and traders who couldn't afford the extortionate rent in town to be given a chance to make a go of it on the cheap. 

All timber and beams, walking around Pop you'd be forgiven for missing Kricket entirely, if it weren't for the giant red K painted on the wall to direct you upstairs. Inside, a long trestle table holds around 20 people, all crammed up, jostling for cutlery and jugs of water flavoured with mint. 

Then menu, made of up 'Indian small plates' is incredibly appealing, with no dishes above the £10 mark. So appealing in fact, that when my companion asked whether we should just order the whole menu, our server warned us it might be a bit much for two. We gave it a good go. 

Bhel Puri (£4) was a portion big enough to serve between four. Crunchy, herby rice puffs draped with yoghurt and tamarind was a flavoursome mouthful, and a joy in texture. Samphire pakoras were less successful for me, being that the flavour and juicy crunch of the samphire got rather lost in amongst the batter. 

Keralan fried chicken (£7 opening picture) was as fine an example of any fried chicken I've had. The curry leaf mayonnaise, sunshine-yellow and silken, was so good we asked for extra and then positively slathered it on. Pickled mooli, thinly shaven into ribbons, provided that palette cleanser often needed with fried chicken. 

Hyderabad baby aubergine and coconut (£6) was such a pretty dish. I loved all the crockery they use at Kricket; it makes such a difference to the presentation. Here, the baby aubergines were quartered still on the stem. The rich coconut sauce was mildly spiced, with a shower of toasted coconut on top. It was at this point that I wished for some a buttery, flaky paratha to scoop it all up with. 

The hake in malai sauce was a little too similar in flavour profile to the aubergines for me, though such is the danger of ordering almost all of the menu. Had we ordered the venison with pumpkin pickle instead, I'm sure that gripe would be redundant. Malai means 'creamy' in Hindi, and the fish was crisp skinned and cooked perfectly, so the flakes of fish came away at the fork. I love their use of in-season ingredients, like monks beard here, to garnish the dishes. 

This 'kichri' (£8) is yellow moong lentils cooked with smoked haddock, pickled cauliflower and egg yolk. It's a real beauty; comfortingly spiced, with the just-sharp cauliflower giving a lovely crunchy contrast to what is essentially a reworked kedgeree. Wikipedia tells me Kichri originally inspired the kedgeree, and if it had been Kricket's version I'm not sure any kedgeree would be an improvement. I loved this, and would return in an instant to have it again. 

They have one dessert; gulab jamum, which is a sticky, incredibly sweet sponge with clotted ice cream and pistachios. They gave us an extra sponge ball - hurrah! - and it was the ideal sharing portion. The soft, soaked sponge had floral hints which worked beautifully with the carom seed crumble and nuts. 

Kricket has some properly brilliant cooking. I've seen much of their Sunday brunch Goan sausage roll, which I'll have to return for, with a side of that kichri too. The acoustics inside the container are terrible, and when it's really busy it can be a little uncomfortable, but given the high levels of cooking, I'll take it. Everyone is super friendly and didn't bat an eyelid for me being a whole hour late to meet my friend. It's great value, at around £25 a head for a lot of food without booze. Their cocktail list looks incredible too, though having had a teetotal lunch (I KNOW!) I can't tell you for sure. 

Kricket
Pop Brixton
49 Brixton Station Road
London SW9 8PQ

 

Phu Quoc, Vietnam

I worry about Phu Quoc. A mere hour's flight from Saigon, it sits off the Southern coast of Vietnam, near Cambodia. You can take day trips to Kampot and eat crabs stir-fried in black pepper. But Phu Quoc itself, a large island, is in the grips of construction. The main roads are being paved at speed, and new developments are sprouting. These are no trifling hotels either; from the work going on, they are going to be gigantic. The beaches are incredibly beautiful, and much of the island is dense jungle that has is a national park.

To the north of the island, Vinpearl has opened a giant, glitzy amusement park, garish and bright. Soon, Phu Quoc won't be the island life paradise it used to be, or still has current signs of. Get it while you can, because it really is a beautiful place. The sand is fine, the sea is clear and the food is good eating. I can't speak for the German and Russian restaurant, or the pizza places, or the curry house but I can tell you about roadside noodle restaurants and the night market.

Hire a pushbike or a scooter and get out to down-town Phu Quoc. It's frenetic and busy, with the market stalls selling fish, vegetables and meat. There's a lot of beep-beeping of scooters, vendors calling out to customers, shading themselves from the 35 degree heat. Metal and glass carts selling noodles or rice dishes were at every corner. We swerved splashes of water and ice used to keep the fish fresh, and pedalled past children on their way to school, piled high on motorbikes, sometimes three to the bike.

After a long morning exploring on our bikes in the blazing sunshine, we ate bun rieu, our t-shirts dark with sweat, by the dusty side of a bridge. The little old lady assembling the dish that was round noodles, a crab paste and lots of chives brought us glasses of cold tea, packed to the brim with ice to cool us down. 

We breakfasted often at a small café on the main road into downtown Phu Quoc, characterised by flapping bed sheets pinned up to keep the sun off the customers. Other diners had big bowlfuls of what looked like tripe and other innards, but the cook, already looking at us a bit wide-eyed, selected only the premium slices of beef for our noodles. I can't say I wasn't relieved, given it was our first meal of the day. A huge pile of chillies were passed around the diners, for you to take the chillis out and mash them in a saucer with lime juice. Some people just munch on the chillis straight up.

The night market, on every night, has an abundance of seafood. It's hard to know where is best to go, as by and large the selection looks pretty similar. It can be a bit overwhelming with people trying to convince you that theirs is the best, but we traversed the length and decided based on the number of diners.

We pointed to the dish the two local men sitting next to us were eating - what looked like a pile of salad in rice paper rolls, and we were given a plate of raw marinated anchovies mingled amongst it. The dreaded fish leaf was present and needed to be picked out, but otherwise I loved this; it was an enormous portion, but each bit had a different assortment of herbs. I've never seen rice paper like it; usually as with making summer rolls you need to dip them in hot water, but these were perfectly pliable and delicate without and needed but filling. Our local buddies next to us were impressed and started taking photos with us and of us. We smiled politely and concentrated on our rolling.

Huge prawns were split in half and grilled to just-done with plenty of garlic, and a lime-salt and chilli dip. Snapper was smeared in a garlic, chilli and sugar paste, to be barbecued in foil until caramelised, and eaten with rice. It was a wonderfully light, simple and delicious dinner, which cost just a little more than peanuts. We were told that prices at the night market were around 10% higher than local restaurants. It still doesn't come anywhere near breaking the bank.

The night market continues on to dessert stalls selling 'ice cream rolls', shaved ice drinks and then to clothes and souvenirs.

Wandering around one night round the back of the night market, we came across Oc Noc Quan on Ly Tu Trong street. We were immediately drawn by the barbecue going outside, and that nearly every table was packed with Vietnamese people with the odd foreigner here or there. We wedged ourselves in, amongst groups of lads cheers'ing big glasses of beer, and couples cooking on their own hot pots. Fish tanks with folorn-looking fish lined the back wall.

We ended up eating here twice out of our 4 nights, it was so good. Crispy noodles with seafood and vegetables were flavoured with a lot of black pepper, and the fried rice version was just as good. I think the dish cost £2. 

Clams with holy basil were sweet and delicious, cooked in a thick-ish sweet and tangy sauce. Lotus stem salad was an enormous portion and the building fiery heat made us gasp for water (beer). The couple next to us were carefully extracting whelks from their shells.

We asked for a barbecued fish, and our server pointed out one in the tank to us and the poor bugger was swept out of its prison. It reappeared 20 minutes later. I gave it a poke and was slightly disturbed to find it was still in its entirety. I flagged down our nice waiter and gave him a pleading look, and he deftly peeled back the charred and burnt skin, exposing the perfectly cooked flesh and avoiding any guts. We went from being aghast with our Western ways firmly in our heads, to admiring the ingenuity. This was served with that same rice paper, herbs and cucumber, and vermicelli to wrap it all up in, alongside a nuoc cham sauce to dip it into. One of my favourite ways to eat.

It wasn't all plain sailing; crab claws were obviously from frozen and had a mushy texture to them and were left largely untouched. Corn stir-fried with shrimp was tough and strangely dry, lacking in sweetness. But for a couple of duffs, we had some really great eating.

With a bloody great hangover, we ventured to the north of the island, to find an untouched beach mostly to ourselves, amongst fishing boats. It was perfect for my state of mind; I didn't want to be anywhere near anyone. Solitude was bliss.

I'd recommend doing this if you have a scooter, as it's a bit of a way in a taxi, without many to take you home again. We spent a very enjoyable day all on our own, with a quick break for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the ocean. 

The restaurant was full of Vietnamese families surrounding hot pots, each dipping their ingredients into the pot. Their meals went on into the afternoon, grazing as they went. We pointed to one of the hot pots blindly, putting everything in the hands of our waiter. 

It might seem crazy to be huddled cooking around a boiling pot when it's 34 degrees out, but once you're sweating you're arse off, you're sweating your arse off; a little hot soup doesn't make a difference. We got a huge basket of all manner of vegetables; chrysanthemum leaves, Chinese cabbage, morning glory and the like. A plate came with lots of different sliced fish, and a big bubbly thing we had no idea what was. We threw it in the pot and it turns out it was sea urchin, emerging from the pot looking rather like a deformed sponge. We poked at it, and feasted instead on delicately cooked fish and prawns, in a lemongrass-heavy broth, spooned over rice.

And so, after a few days of exploring, sitting on beaches and stuffing ourselves silly with seafood, it was on to Hoi An.

(I'd recommend staying at Phuong Binh House, where we stayed. Simple bungalows with decent A/C, and a good restaurant and beach location.)

Pitt Cue, Devonshire Square

I've always been a fan of Pitt Cue, right from when they opened a van underneath the Hungerford Bridge way back in 2011. Back then we didn't know a thing about proper American barbecue; sure, we had Bodeans, where meat was cooked until it fell off the bone, to be drenched in sweet, smoky sauces. People obviously liked it as the place was busy but every experience I had there left me feeling a little meh, a little over-stuffed and quesy. It felt, to me, like junky giant portions of mass soulless catering. Then Pitt Cue Co. burst onto the scene, and there it was; properly smoked meats and brilliant sides. 

A year later, the Soho baby was born. It was tiny. Queues were lengthy, and to eat there you had to really put the effort in; turn up early, turn up only mildly hungry to increase in the wait, get stuck into the cocktails while you tap your foot impatiently. I went a handful of times, whenever I could convince companions it was worth the wait. With a restaurant that small you can't turn enough tables in the service to make a decent profit, especially when you're using high quality ingredients. While it was a lot of fun down there in that raucous basement, it was obvious that it wasn't sustainable. It was also uncomfortable, unless you were more tolerant than I was with eating with your mates' elbow in your side. Finally, FINALLY, they've relocated to a much larger space.

Devonshire Square, near Liverpool Street is one of those hidden away little places that I've never set foot in, in all my years in London. It's wine bars and bouncers and blue-lit trees, festooned with fairy lights. It's suits and tall buildings and City. I got lost and a security guard guided me to the restaurant. It's enormous inside, and it's also incredibly beautiful with exposed brickwork and chrome beer tanks, bottles gleaming behind the bar. There's a bar area in which we sat at on high stools, sipping on pre-dinner, bright pink mezcal cocktails. The dining room holds around a million (roughly) more tables than Soho, backed by a gleaming kitchen, head chef Tom Adams at the marble pass. 

The menu, too, has evolved. Gone are the trays with hunks of meat served with a heel of bread. No, the menu now has snacks, starters and mains, while a blackboard lists specials of meat by the weight. The 'potato cakes' from the snacks menu is not to be missed; layers of potato pressed and deep fried, reminiscent of The Quality Chop House's now-famous confit potatoes, and served with a leek mayonnaise. I don't think we need chips anymore, guys. These are the one. 

Cep and black garlic mangalitza sausage showed off the kitchen's sophistication. Smoky, juicy and with an incredible earthiness, the puck of sausage was neither dense nor crumbly, but just the perfect resistance to the fork. 

Lamb's heart and rosemary was the most surprising dish of the night. Any hearts I've eaten - I sound like a serial killer - have always had some sort of  chew to them, a slight toughness from a muscle well used. This was different; velvety slices melted in the mouth, a light lamb flavour with just a hint of rosemary in the liquor. Simple, stunning, and very clever. 

For me, smoked eel broth with bacon toastwas less successful. The broth was beautifully clear, studded with cubes of carrot, celery and eel but I found the intense smoky flavour jarring with the format being broth, and the bacon toasts a little over-greasy. 

The Mangalitza chop seemed a diminutive portion for £16, but actually the richness and flavour of this rare-breed pork justified the price tag. Two slices of perfectly pink meat, topped with pickled onions with incredibly buttery, delicious fat; I knew I'd chosen well, despite my innate dislike for my dinner served on a board - maybe they'd run out of plates though, as this chap on the same night had one. The bone marrow mash that Pitt Cue were so famous for is still on the menu, now adorned also with mushroom. There'd be riots in the streets of London (ok, hyperbole. But only just.) if that came off the menu. I was in a rich, meaty heaven. 

For such a meat-centric restaurant, they really care about their vegetables. Grilled hispi cabbage with wild garlic was the perfect foil for all the meat we were eating; who needs salad when you can have smoky charred greens? And how better to dress a salt-baked celeriac than with runny cheese? These are the kind of vegetable dishes that make you really want to eat vegetables. 

Ahhh lardy cake. I usually avoid those warming spices in desserts, you know the sort - cinnamon, nutmeg and that - but this was something else. It's a slice of sweet bread studded with raisins, but with the most crisp outer layer, and soft cakey insides. It's traditionally made with lard and I have no reason to suspect otherwise here, so delicious was it. We also had baked custard with rhubarb, which while tasty enough felt a little on the boring side in comparison; it was very much a sum of its parts. 

You can get away with spending around £40 a head with booze if you don't go mad on the cocktails and then decide to drink a bottle of wine each (ahem) which, for the level of skill in the kitchen and the quality of the food, I thought pretty great value. For somewhere open in only its second week, the service was incredibly accomplished, our waitress was fun and nice and knowledgable which is all that I want. Those Soho stalwarts may lament a change in atmosphere, a glossy sheen added, suited City types on most of the tables, but we're on their turf now, and I'll take it for the ability to reserve a table. What novelty! So that's what happens up town. 

Pitt Cue 
1 The Avenue
Devonshire Square, EC2M 4YP 

To book: reservations@pittcue.co.uk or 020 7324 7770

Two Nights in Saigon, Vietnam

We landed at night, from a rainy Hong Kong that averaged around 17 degrees C. Ho Chi Minh City (or Saigon, as it's more commonly known) blasted at us at 36 degrees, meaning that just stepping out of the airport broke us into instant sweats. It was the epitome of culture shock; taxis tried to lure us from every direction, tugging at our bags, shouting over to us. The money was confusing and full of zeros (30,000 dong to the pound) and traffic was chaos. Everyone drives a scooter in Saigon, and the sheer volume of them, beep-beeping away was overwhelming. 

We stayed in an Air BnB right in the middle of backpacker land, in District 1. Have you been to the Khao San Road in Bangkok? It reminded me of that. Music pumped from the bars, and just walking down the street elicited people thrusting their wares at us, shouting prices, keen for attention. We were shell-shocked. We dumped our bags and headed immediately for a foot massage. Recommended by The Legal Nomads, we made our way over to Kien Chi Gia Foot Massage, 20 minutes away on foot, but this itself was no trifling matter. 

How do you cross the road? There are no zebra or pelican crossings. We had to do what the locals were doing - just walk out into the road, head up, with confidence and sure enough the scooters go around you. It goes against absolutely everything you were taught about road safety. An old lady took us by the hand and led us across, smirking. We were told later to make sure you don't make eye contact when you cross the streets - this confuses the drivers as to what your intention is. Just go. By the time we got to the massage place we were jibbering wrecks. Led to a darkened room with rows of leather seats, all taken up by silent customers, the foot massage was incredible. The back and shoulder combo also - but be warned, it does feel a little bit like being beaten up. They're not messing. 

We attempted to go to Com Nieu Sai Gon, much lauded by Anthony Bourdain and said to be one of the best restaurants in Saigon, but when we got there we discovered it was a rickety old shack that was decidedly shut. We later learned we were at the wrong one, and so we went to the correct restaurant on our stopover before heading north - verdict? Don't bother. Stick to the streets. 

Back to the present, with stomachs grumbling in a foreign land, we wandered around some very quiet streets and came across an absolutely giant restaurant, lined with fish tanks with all sorts of crustaceans. We jumped on a table. We soon realised that we were the only women customers in a restaurant full of raucously drunk men. After trying to up-sell us onto foreign beer and offering us seafood by the kilo, we knew we had to stand our ground with the waitresses and very firmly picked dishes from the menu with obvious prices. Hunger made us determined and blind to the stares. Steamed lemongrass clams were sweet and free from grit, finished with healthy bunch of basil used more like a vegetable than a herb.

Tiny baby shrimps stir-fried were to be the innards of summer rolls, assembled by ourselves. A red-faced man from a nearby table came to try to persuade us to join him and his friends, swaying on his feet and sloshing a beer around. We decided it was time to retire to the air-conditioned haven of home. 

The next morning, we had better success with finding our establishment of choice, Pho Thanh Canh. They've been serving pho for 45 years, and we didn't even have to ask before they furnished us with two bowls of steaming pho (pronounced 'fuh') with slices of beef, a giant basket of herbs, limes, chillis and beansprouts. I can't think of a better breakfast. It seems counter-intuitive to eat hot soup in such heat, but actually it makes you sweat more, thereby allowing you to cool down quicker. Whatever, I'm down with it. Pick a bit of herb for your mouthful, slurp it down, repeat. Sawleaf and basil are in abundance, again more like a vegetable than a garnish that we often associate with herbs. The broth was crystal clear and beefy, the note of aniseed shining through. It was properly restorative. It cost around £1.  

After a sweaty morning exploring the Independence Palace we went off in search of Banh Mi Huynh Hoa, reportedly the best banh mi in the city. It was closed. Unlike the rest of the city, who seem to eat lunch anywhere between 11am and 1pm, Banh Mi Huynh Hoa opens at 2pm into the night. Those delicious filled sandwiches would have to wait. Instead, we headed for a hole-in-the-wall filled with office workers, all sitting down to more noodle soups. 

Here, the herb basket was more of a salad, with slivers of banana blossom, mint leaves and chopped lettuce on each table. The noodles we had were bun cha ca (bun referring to the round noodles, ca being fish) and were made up of balls of minced prawn and fishcakes, sliced into the soup. We were having a brothy day. 

That evening, we were picked up by XO Street Tours for their night-time 'foodie' tour. We were drawn to this tour in particular as they advertise that they're the only operator to have accident insurance, and I love a bit of insurance, me. They're also all-female drivers, if that is the sort of thing that swings your decision-making. We jumped on the back of the scooters, white knuckles gripping on really tight as we weaved our way through the traffic. I was pretty certain of imminent death, but weirdly once you're immersed into the traffic it all just seems to make sense. The scooters flow around the pedestrians, and everyone is going slowly enough to be able to react. 

Our first stop was bun bo hue, a spicy beef noodle soup, while we met the other people on the trip. Here, the garnishes offered were more sophisticated than we were used to; a rich, dark chilli sauce, slivered banana blossom, and shredded greens.  

Wary of not filling up too soon, we abandoned our noodle soups 3/4s of the way through and jumped back onto the scooters. Our guides took us to the Chinatown market, and shimmied us through the open air stalls selling vegetables, fruit, meat and seafood. Just past sunset, it was full of people buying groceries, vendors yelling prices, transactions reached over from scooter to scooter. At each stop our guide talked us through which district we were in, and what it was known for, so we really got a feel for each of the districts we visited, something impossible to do by foot. We visited the posher District 3, where the apartments are new and shiny, as well as the poorer District 4 in stark contrast. Eventually, we stopped at a huge open-air barbecue restaurant, and small charcoal burning stoves were placed on the tables. 

We were not to do any cooking ourselves, and instead our scooter drivers diligently cooked up the food for us, describing what each thing was and how to eat it. It was here we discovered 'fish herb', Diep Cá
 in Vietnamese, here wrapping the grilled goat. We were told it is an acquired taste; it is not a taste I have acquired. It's disgusting. It's hard to describe, but it's slightly fishy, a bit metallic. From this point on we often found it lurking in dishes and one bite of it is enough to ruin a mouthful and have me reaching for water. Foul stuff.

We were given plates of grilled frog, complete with crisp skin, which tastes just like chicken with fish skin attached to it. We got stuck in but others weren't going near it. Skewers of prawns were barbecued and dextrously relieved of their shells with scissors, for us to eat like lollipops off the stick. 

Back onto the scooters we went, over a busy bridge to District 5 for seafood. On the way my driver asked me if I'd like to try balut, a speciality of Vietnam (called  trung vit long) and the Philippines. I knew exactly what it was and I knew exactly that my stubbornness would mean that yes I would have to try it. She had me in a bind. Firstly though, we had tiny barbecued scallops dressed with fish sauce, peanuts and coriander. Crab legs cooked on the barbecue were cracked open by our drivers and handed to us to dip in black pepper, salt and lime juice; it felt a bit weird to be effectively be fed morsels but I can understand that it might be intimidating for some. Still, I like to roll my sleeves up and get stuck in. 

I couldn't put it off for much longer. The steaming balut was placed before me and everyone peered at me expectantly. Balut is a duck egg which has been fertilised and the duck has started to grow inside it before being eaten by people like me. I tapped the shell open and was instructed to drink the 'soup' accumulated in the top - barf - which just tasted like eggy salty water. You could see the duck feather fronds in the egg whites. I had a mouthful or two but it really just tasted like a very eggy egg with some texture to it. 

We had more clams here, this time in lemongrass and spicy tamarind broth. I loved these, they were spicy but sweet and the broth was incredibly moreish. 

Besides shaved ice drinks with jellies and tapioca in them, I'm not sure Vietnamese desserts are up to much. This was coconut jelly, and we also had a caramel flan. We were offered more food, which I certainly would have gone for if they had been different to what we'd already eaten but for much of the same, I was satisfied. We really enjoyed the tour; afterwards it felt like Saigon made a lot more sense to us instead of the heaving, confusing mass it had been when we first got there. 

I'll admit it though, I still breathed a slight sigh of relief when we packed up to go flop on the beach the next day.

(At the other end of the country, my compadre Helen wrote about 24 Hours in Hanoi - well worth a read)