The Giaconda Dining Room

Sometimes I can be a bad friend. You know, the unreliable type. "Yes, let's definitely go for dinner", said I, earlier that week. A client lunch got in the way and I ended up boozing in the most excellent bar at Hix, and I dragged my poor friend there to join me. We both went home, pissed and hungry.

Luckily my friend gave me another chance and we rebooked our dinner at Giaconda Dining Room. Nestled among guitar shops, I knew already that it was a small place with only 32 covers, but I was still surprised when I walked in. The place is tiny; tables are close together and I was worried I'd be too loud.

For a £1 cover charge, we were brought some decent, crusty bread and some standard olives. As we perused the menu, I found it really difficult to decide what to choose, which is pretty standard for me. I contemplated having a raw, beefy meal with the carpaccio to start and the steak tartare for main, but it was a cold night and I needed something a little more nourishing.

The ceviche of salmon and seabass was buried under a mound of thinly sliced fennel, cucumber and chives. Dressed with lime and the merest hint of chilli, the fish was fresh and firm. The fennel was surprisingly tame in it's aniseed flavour and worked well with the cucumber. It was a refreshing start to the meal and left me wanting more.

My companion wrinkled his nose when I announced I would be having the braised tripe with chorizo and butter beans (top). It came in an earthenware dish with a comedy large spoon; the tripe was slippery with a bit of bite, and well flavoured by the chorizo and paprika. Butter beans bulked the dish out and added creaminess. The dish was the perfect size and was homely.

We decided to share a dessert of Crème Brulée as we were both verging on full. The top was perfectly crisp, not too thick and was pleasing when you cracked your spoon into it. The custard beneath was rich and orange flavoured. I wondered if I would finish my half but on first taste, I wolfed it up.

Service was sweet and unobtrusive. When we left I realised we'd been there for three hours, which is a fair bit longer than I'd usually spend on a weeknight dinner. I never felt I was being rushed, even when people were turned away as the restaurant was full. It might be testament to the excellent company, but it flew by.

All in all, good solid cooking. The menu has quite a few options I'd like to try out, so I will definitely be back. At £35 a head including service and wine, it's great value for this part of town.

The Giaconda Dining Room

9 Denmark Street
London WC2H 8LS

Tel: 0207 240 3334

Leek & Celeriac Gratin

A recent trip to Lisbon reignited my love for roasted chicken. I often find that it is my least favourite of the meats, but there we had a meal of rotisserie chicken, brushed liberally with piri piri, served simply with some chips and some flabby salad. It was one of the best meals I had there. Ripping apart hunks of juicy flesh, I managed to scoff three quarters of the crisp-skinned beauty before I declared myself stuffed.

Last Sunday, peering out of the smudged window of the bus delivering me back to South East London, I wasn't feeling well at all. A Christmas cocktail of mulled wine, gin and some bad dancing rendered me forlorn and nauseous in the aftermath. I could only think of comfort; something chickeny, something decadently creamy, and a dinner was born. Earthy celeriac baked in leek-scented garlicky cream accompanied our roast that night. It made for a rather brown plate of food, but nevertheless, it was the perfect cure.


The creamy base of the gratin means that you don't need a gravy, but don't waste those gorgeous, marmitey meat juices. Strain the fat off, keep it warm, and dump some freshly boiled halved new potatoes in there. The potatoes suck the juices right up, and it imparts a chickeny flavour that is second to none.

Leek & Celeriac Gratin

Serves 4 frugally, or 3 generously

1/2 a celeriac
2 leeks
1 fat clove of garlic
300mls double cream
150 mls milk
A scraping of nutmeg
Salt & pepper
A handful of chopped flatleaf parsley

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C. Chop the leeks finely and wash thoroughly. In a small non-stick frying pan, fry the leeks in a little oil slowly, until they are softened and add the clove of garlic, crushed. Fry until the moisture has evaporated. Meanwhile, peel the celeriac and slice to the thickness of a pound coin. Add the cream and milk to the leeks with the nutmeg and bring to the boil.

In an appropriate dish (I used a 24cm oval Le Creuset) lay the first layer of celeriac and season with salt and pepper. Add the leeks in the cream to make a layer, then repeat with the celeriac, seasoning as you go. Add the leek cream mixture in alternate layers until you run out of celeriac. The milk and cream should cover the top of the celeriac but if it doesn't, top up with some milk. Cover with foil and place in the oven, baking for half an hour. Take the foil off, turn it down to 160 degrees C and bake for another half hour. At this point you could sprinkle the top with breadcrumbs and cheese, but to be honest it's pretty rich as it is. Stand for a good 10 minutes before sprinkling with the parsley and serving.

This kind of dish is perfect with roasted meats; the oven is on anyway, and it can be finished off when the meat is resting.

Roussillon

A friend alerted me to what looked like a brilliant lunch deal at Roussillon, a Michelin-starred French restaurant in the depths of Sloane Square. For £35, they were offering a 3 course lunch inclusive of half a bottle of wine. I booked the day off work and we booked a table.


When I arrived, my friend was already seated. A quick glance around the light and airy dining room showed the restaurant was populated by mainly businessmen, unsurprising for the area. Having looked at the menu, we were tempted to go for the vegetarian option as Roussillon is said to be famous for doing vegetables well, but we eventually came to our senses and ordered meaty courses. A little plate of amuses arrived - hot sticks made with chickpea mash to dip in mustard, and little pink slivers of pork atop a cube of pear. A slate plate of butter arrived - the salted had a pretty line of pink Himilayan salt across it to denote the difference. Bread rolls were plentiful, though fumbled by a lack of the server's dexterity with a fork and spoon but were fresh, warm and delicious.

The next amuse bouche arrived, and when it was placed before us I glanced at my friend; he looked aghast. For one panicked second we thought these were our starters, which while pretty, were miniscule. Perfectly roasted sea bream atop a sweet, creamy parsnip puree, ofset by the hint of iron of the winter greens. So far, so good.

For my proper starter, a vol au vent of veal sweetbreads, turnips and morels were moistened by the beef jus. The pastry was light and buttery. The sweetbreads were pillow-like, while the morels added earthiness and texture.

My main was far more impressive. Roasted Highland venison was perfectly cooked; ruby red with just a millimetre of brown around the edges. It was pungent, gamey and cut like butter. Wild mushrooms completed the autumnal theme, while celeriac was refreshing and soaked up the juices well. I loved this dish and could have eaten it twice.

A pre-dessert of an exotic fruit tuile, vanilla-flecked custard, coconut and blackberry paved the way for the desserts. The tuile was brittle and tasted of mangoes and pineapple, the coconut bringing it all together. It also cleansed the palate and made way for the final course.

I chose the fresh pineapple roll with green tea ice cream. The ice cream was well made without a hint of bitterness that green tea-flavoured ice creams can be. I wasn't sure how well it went with the pineapple roll, which had a great balance of acidity and sweetness. It was crunchy and a light end to the meal. The restaurant were kind enough to allow my friend to have their famous Louis XV - Croustillant de Praline dessert from their a la carte menu for no extra charge.

Alexis Gauthier, the head chef, apparently trained at Louis XV in Monte Carlo, where he learned this recipe. It was a thing of great beauty, which my photo doesn't really do justice of. It was so glossy you could almost see your reflection in it, and the gold leaf was a pretty touch. I had a taste of it and it was fantastic; the ganache encased a cold chocolate cream, which sat on a base of biscuit and praline. "Well, it's... nice" my friend commented of my dessert after having tried his own, which led to a fit of tear-inducing laughter. The pitiful pineapple roll stood no chance and it paled in comparison.

Petit fours were a bit uninspiring, though I rather liked the coffee marshmallow. Roussillon must have one of the best lunch deals around; we shared a half bottle of white wine and half a red, which complemented our courses well. Other places I've tried had only two or three choices on the menu, all far less appealing than the a la carte but it wasn't the case at Roussillon; it felt like rather than berudgingly having a cheaper set menu, they relished it. Along with not one but two amuses and a pre-dessert, it makes the £40 each including service an absolute bargain.

A note on the service. I had a niggling doubt about it when the head waiter commented that my friend was "running around like he owned the place" just because he stepped outside to take an important phone call. Though in a light-hearted tone, it seemed a bit of a strange thing to say; it was a Friday lunchtime, and better than taking the call mid-meal in the restaurant. My niggles were compounded when I realised the sommelier refused to even look at me when explaining the wine; he steadfastly spoke only to my friend, and then had him taste both wines. I know it's very formal French service, but I am a bit of a feminist and a bit of recognition, or even a glance in my direction would have been appreciated. It is the 21st century, after all.

Full Flickr set here.

Roussillon

16 St Barnabas Street
London SW1W 8PB

Tel: 0207 730 5550

Kedgeree

One thing I look forward to most at the weekend is breakfast, or rather, brunch options. A nice lie-in and a potter around the kitchen is a luxury most of us can't afford on weekdays, not when you like to sleep as much as I do. Some people might express distaste at eating anything remotely spicy or heavily spiced so early, but I rather like it - it wakes you up a bit.

Kedgeree is something I've been meaning to make for a while; I'd never pass up an excuse to eat rice for breakfast. It is said to have been derived from the Indian dish, Kitchuri, dating back from the days of the Raj. Back then, breakfasts were far grander affairs - no sad little bowls of muesli, nor cardboard-like pieces of toast munched solitarily at your desk. Instead, fish caught that morning was often used since it was so hot in India, it would turn bad by evening. Ingredients like egg were added to cater to British tastes.

The subtle spicing coats each grain, with a delicate, smoky flavour of the fish in the background. Traditionally the dish is made with hard boiled eggs to garnish, but I prefer a soft-boiled. Cutting into the egg, the yolk seeps nicely into the rice, enriching the grains already glossy with butter. A scattering of parsley freshens it up some.


Kedgeree

Serves 2

180gr basmati rice
1 large undyed smoked haddock fillet
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 level tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp ground cumin
A pinch of chilli powder
1 small onion, diced
50gr butter
300ml milk
1 bay leaf
A handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley
Half a lemon
2 eggs
Salt & pepper


In a saucepan or large frying pan with a lid, place the fish and bay leaf and add the milk, which should cover it. Bring to the boil and then immediately take off the heat, leaving the fish in the milk. In a non-stick frying pan, add half the butter. Once it's foaming, add the onion and fry slowly until translucent and soft. Add the spices, stir well and then add the rice with plenty of black pepper. Lift the fish & bay leaf out of the milk. Reserve half the milk, diluting it with enough water to cook the rice, and add to the pan. At this point I transfer it all the the rice cooker, but if you don't have one, just carry on cooking your rice in the pan as you normally do. Flake the fish and set to one side.

While the rice is cooking, place the eggs in a small saucepan of cold water and bring to the boil. As soon as the water boils, take the eggs out and plunge in cold water. Add the flaked fish and the remaining butter to the rice, stirring carefully. Add the parsley and peel the eggs, which should be soft-boiled, and place on top. Season, and garnish with a quarter wedge of lemon.

Dine With Dos Hermanos - Bentley's

This post has been a while in the making. After the latest Dine With Dos Hermanos which took place well over a month ago, my poor laptop died a little death. One day it was working fine, the next - nothing. A few wails on Twitter spelled doom. Someone told me sometimes it was cheaper to buy a new laptop then to get this fixed. My heart almost stopped.

However my super-geek mate Adam managed to fix it. I fretted and worried as he removed the hard drive (with a screwdriver! Actually took the thing out!) and I asked lots of inane questions while he completely reinstalled my operating system, whatever that means. He gave up an entire Saturday afternoon to poke around my technology. It's taken me a while to find the photos - the lesson here is: Always. Back. Everything. Up.

Anyway. When Simon Majumdar first announced the event, to be held at Bentley's, the places were snapped up immediately. I was slow off the mark, having responded a whole hour after it was announced and was put on the waiting list. Talk of what the menu involved was torture; then, 3 days before the actual event, someone pulled out and I got a place. Hurrah!

On arrival, we were handed little half pints of Porterhouse oyster stout. Iced dishes of native and rock oysters were dived upon, making a great little snack while we mingled over our drinks. Having had a look around, the dining room at Bentley's was markedly different to the other two Dine With Dos Hermanos' I've attended - there were several large tables, and looked rather more formal. The table settings were beautifully autumnal and festive.

Little canapés of foie gras with apple chutney balanced rich and with a little sweetness. Trays heaving with chilli-fried prawns and mayo were passed around before we sat down. More huge platters came forth, laden with a variety of smoked fish; smoked eel was dense, meaty and gorgeous. Smoked salmon, mackerel, tuna, and even little dishes of dill-scented salmon tartare were accompanied by excellent soda bread and blinis. This could have been dinner itself.

A large, white pot complete with lid was then brought to the table. Our table of 9 looked at each other in anticipation, before I could bear it no longer and whipped the lid off. Beef cheeks glistened in a dark gravy. Mashed potato and roasted root vegetables accompanied it.

But that's not all - no, no, no. A fish pie was set before us, the golden crusty top giving off little puffs of inviting steam. I looked down at my all-but-eaten beef cheeks and winced a bit. I would have to just stuff some down. The fish within was perfectly cooked; flakes of salmon and haddock, nuggets of prawn and scallop in a rich, creamy sauce.

By this point I was fit to burst. I felt a bit sick.

A huge tray of sticky toffee pudding was laid before us, like a gauntlet. Not just that - a pot of clotted cream and a jug of toffee sauce. Oh my god.

Well, I'm glad I battled through as this was perhaps my favourite course. This is unusual for me, as I'm more the savoury sort. Rich, fudgy, sticky, lightened (ha!) by the clotted cream, I only wish I had more.

As we patted our bellies, Richard Corrigan and his head chef, Brendan came out to say hello to raptuous applause from all of us for a job brilliantly done.

Goody bags were stuffed to the brim and almost too heavy to lug home. In particular I can't get enough of the chili infused Nudo Extra Virgin Olive Oil. All in all, a great night out; well organised, a loud, convival atmosphere and fantastic food.

Bentley's Oyster Bar & Grill

11-15 Swallow Street
London
W1B 4DG

Tel: +44 (0)20 7734 4756

To hear about other events, join this Facebook group. Full Flickr set can be seen here.

Prawn & Squid Risotto

Recently, a friend came round with a whole cooked lobster. After I finished clapping my hands with glee, we munched away happily on it. Later, I smashed the shell up with a spanner, spraying my kitchen with tiny bits of shell, and it all went into the stockpot. Celery, shallots and carrot went in there with it and a couple hours of simmering later, it became a lobster broth. It was richly flavoured, beautifully coloured. I later found shell in my hair.

I don't often make risottos as they're so reliant on a decent stock base, so this immediately came to mind. A hint of saffron complements the deep lobster flavour, with prawns adding sweetness and squid, the texture. Sadly there was no lobster to add but what I did have made a decent substitute. Crab would also work well with this. Enriched with plenty of butter, the huge portion I managed to eat was creamy and luxurious.

Prawn & Squid Risotto

Serves 1

110gr arborio rice
600ml lobster stock
A large slosh of white wine
1 stick of celery
1 small carrot
Half an onion
1 clove of garlic
A pinch of saffron
1 tbsp chopped parsley
1 small chilli
1 tsp capers
5 large raw prawns
2 small squid tubes with tentacles
50gr butter
Half a lemon

Put the lobster stock on to simmer. Add the saffron to a few tablespoons of hot water to infuse. Butterfly the prawns and slice the squid into rings.

Finely dice the onion, celery, carrot, garlic and chilli. Halve the butter and add it to the frying pan with a little bit of oil. Add the diced vegetables and cook slowly for at least 10 minutes. Add the rice and stir to coat all the grains with the butter. Add the large splosh of white wine and stir until the rice has soaked it up. Next, add the infused saffron water, straining out the strands. Add the stock, ladleful by ladleful, stirring constantly and not adding more until the previous ladleful has been soaked up. This will take about 15- 20 minutes, and once the rice turns creamy and has still a little bit of bite, it will be done. On the last ladleful of stock, add the squid and prawns. Once the stock has been absorbed and the prawns just pink, turn the heat off, add the parsley, capers, lemon juice and the rest of the butter. Give it a good stir and put the lid on, leaving it for 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper, and serve.

Aubergine-Wrapped Ricotta Gnocchi

I'm sure I've mentioned before that I have a really big thing for aubergines. It's borderline obsessive; I can't walk past market stalls without buying some, and I've even been growing them (without much success...) myself. Trouble is, I don't have all that many recipes for them. I love them liberally coated in oil simply griddled, or in a couple of Chinese dishes. I also love moussaka or in a pasta sauce, but anything past this and I'm stumped.

I finally picked up my Ottolenghi cookbook. Many people have raved about it but when I first flicked through it, despite the pretty pictures, there was an overwhelming number of recipes for squashes and sweet potato - the arch nemeses of my food world. Still, this weekend I resolved I would try and get over this squash-a-phobia, but I was waylaid by an aubergine. The roots of evil would have to wait.

I was a bit dubious about the recipe in question. How would gnocchi, made with ricotta and Parmesan, not just melt into the water when it was simmering? But I trusted the cookbook and ploughed ahead with it. As I rolled the gnocchi out into fat sausage-like shapes, I then wondered how on earth they were going to fill two of us up. Little did I know, they were pretty rich and were just about sufficient.

Soaking aubergines in oil and grilling them makes them silky and soft. The gnocchi are dressed in sage butter making it a rich, decadent dish. The housemate could only finish two, but I scoffed four happily. One complaint I had about the cookbook was that many of the recipes don't say what to serve with that particular dish; I find it hard to believe that this dish is meant to be served as is, when it's a main course. Broccoli roasted with garlic, chilli and lemon suited it fine, but I imagine there are better alternatives.


Aubergine-Wrapped Ricotta Gnocchi

Adapted from Ottolenghi - Serves 2 as a main

1 small aubergine
Olive oil
30gr pine nuts, lightly toasted
250gr ricotta cheese
2 egg yolks
35gr plain flour
50gr Parmesan, grated
1 tbsp chopped flatleaf parsley
1 tbsp chopped basil
1/4 tsp grated nutmeg
1/2 tsp salt
Black pepper
70gr butter
20 sage leaves
1/2 tbsp lemon juice

In a large bowl, mix together 40gr Parmesan, the flour, egg yolks, salt and ricotta. Add the parsley and basil, mix thoroughly and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, overnight if possible.

Trim off the top and the bottom of the aubergine and slice to the thickness of a pound coin lengthways. Brush liberally with olive oil and griddle until soft. Scoop a large tablespoon of the gnocchi mixture and using wet hands, shape into a barrel shape and set aside. I managed to make 6 out of this mixture. Bring a large pot of salted water to the boil and simmer them, 3 at a time. They are done when they float to the surface. Fish them out - it's quite a delicate business - and leave todry on kitchen towel. Once the dumplings are cool, wrap the aubergine around them carefully. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celcius. Place the aubergine-wrapped gnocchi in an oiled dish and bake for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a pan and simmer until light brown in colour. Turn off the heat, add the sage leaves and the lemon juice.

To serve, place the gnocchi on the plate and drizzle the butter over it.