Cantina Laredo

I suppose at some point you have to put your money where your mouth is. When I first heard about US-import Cantina Laredo, a new 'gourmet' Mexican restaurant opening in Covent Garden, I grimaced and guffawed at the prices. Seriously? £6.95 for a guacamole? Sure, it’s made table-side but at those prices I would expect a hot half-naked Mexican waiter to serve it to me whilst serenading the table on one knee, and preparing it at the same time. Ok, perhaps that would be a bit embarrassing, but you get the point.

Many twitter discussions to this end – “£12 for a FUCKING CRANBERRY SALAD????” - were picked up on by Cantina Laredo’s omnipresent PR team and I was duly invited for a meal there. It’s not somewhere I would ever go myself as those prices are just too prohibitive, but my theory is that you shouldn’t slag something off without having tried it. I asked if I could go anonymously, and aside from the team there knowing someone would at some point in the week, they agreed. So I hope this experience (I cringe at the word ‘review’) is somewhat more impartial.

Now, first thing’s first. Tequila and I don’t get on. Even the smell makes me retch and if someone mistakenly buys me a shot of it instead of the marginally more bearable sambucca, I have to hold my nose. I’m a determined drunkard. So determined in fact, that I still tried the margarita. A bucket of the stuff, lined with a heavy salt rim, straw poking stiffly out of its frozen contents, was drinkable. Sweet, citrussy and with only a hint of tequila, it was quaffable.

Obviously we had to have the guacamole. Sadly our waiter was conservatively dressed and he duly chopped, mashed and slung stuff into a bowl. With some tortilla chips and some lovely fiery salsas, it tasted alright – I’d have preferred some chilli but our server said the green peppers were jalepenos. They were the least spicy jalapenos I’ve ever tasted. We used our lime wedges hanging off the rim of our margaritas to pep it up a bit.

Starters of that infamous cranberry and pecan salad, and a ceviche (£8) turned up. The salad was an enormous bowl of greenery punctuated by dried cranberries and nuggets of pecan. Mouthful after mouthful of leaves were cloying; there wasn’t nearly enough blue cheese to balance out the overwhelming sweetness of it all. What’s Mexican about it? I’ve never visited the country so I haven’t a clue. Unfinished, it was pushed to one side. The ceviche was fine. That’s all; fine. Chunks of fish, parts of cooked prawns nestled in capers, olives and red onion. It lacked any kind of freshness or zippy zing that I associate with the dish.

On to the main courses, and we wanted to try the mole. Only on the menu with one dish, chicken enchiladas, our server tried to steer us away from it. “It’s very traditional Mexican”. I thought that was the point. Unrelenting, we ordered it. What a mistake we made. Upon its arrival at the table, I was reminded of a dessert. Smothered with a dark, almost-but-not-quite shiny sauce, anaemic sesame seeds were scattered on top. One dimensional in flavour, the sauce was vaguely chocolatey, with some sort of spice added to it. There was no hint of smoke or fruitiness, no complexity of flavour. The tough corn tortillas were sawed away to reveal chicken that was drier than a camel’s hoof. I stuffed my half down my face before gratefully swapping plates with my companion. My tastebuds wondered what on earth they’d done to deserve this.

Her dish, prawns with a cheese sauce was heaven in comparison. Well cooked prawns, spicy, cheesy dip and a ghastly lettuce and carrot salad that had chunks of mango in it. All 6 of ‘em for a whopping £16. Meanwhile, I looked up to find a face screwed up in horror. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever eaten in this country”. The chicken mole was left unfinished. I felt hard done by - I’d finished my half of it, dammit.

We were too disturbed and stuffed to contemplate dessert. We gazed at each other, agape in the incredulity of how unpalatable it was. The overwhelming feeling I got from it all was that it was all so damn sweet. Our bill, before we piped up and ‘revealed’ ourselves, was an arse-twitchingly expensive £100, 12.5% of which was a deserved service charge. Our waiter was charming, engaging and personable; we had a good amount of banter. Unfortunately, this was the only good thing to be found at Cantina Laredo.

Cantina Laredo

10 Upper St Martin's Lane
St Martin's Courtyard
London
WC2H 9FB

Tel: 0207 420 0630

Roasted Cauliflower with Anchovy Mayonnaise

Cauliflower is a vegetable I sometimes struggle with. Every time I look at one I am haunted by memories of it being boiled to buggery at school, little grey florets whiffing of farts swimming in a dank cheese sauce to accompany whatever monstrosity was to be served that day in the canteen. This may be what drove me to a diet of crafty cigarettes and fruit pastilles for lunch instead.

Of course, this is somewhat unfair on the poor ol' cauliflower. It's not a sexy vegetable, nor is it a trendy one. Comforting soups and cheesy bakes (done properly, please) spring to mind when confronted with one, but I doubt many see this as the kind of vegetable you can simply steam, dress with butter and sprinkle with salt. It just doesn't stand up on it's own. However, roasting the florets intensifies the flavour, making them nutty, crispy and especially delicious when given a good dunking. Anchovy mayonnaise, studded with spring onions, capers and sprinkled with cinnamon was warming and luxurious; perfect for a starter or a snack.

Roasted Cauliflower with Anchovy Mayonnaise

Serves 4 as a starter or a nibble

1 medium cauliflower
Vegetable oil
A generous couple of pinches of chilli flakes
Salt & pepper
4 tbsp mayonnaise
1 heaped tsp of capers
2 anchovies
1 spring onion
1 tsp Dijon mustard or 1/2 tsp English mustard
2 sprigs of tarragon
1 tsp lemon juice
A dusting of ground cinnamon

Preheat the over to 230 degrees celcius. Cut the cauliflower into even-sized florets and give them a good wash. Drain and toss in a large bowl with a drizzle of oil, chilli flakes, salt and pepper. Place on a baking tray and put it in the oven for 15 - 20 minutes, until the florets are browned and cooked through. Toss occasionally.

Meanwhile, chop the anchovies up finely and place in a pestle and mortar. Chop the capers and the spring onion roughly and throw this in. Mash about for a bit until it's all incorporated, and transfer to a bowl.

Add the mustard and then add the mayonnaise incrementally by tablespoon, mixing well in between each. Chop the tarragon finely, add the lemon juice and stir through. Finally dust it with a little cinnamon. Serve the florets piping hot with the dipping sauce on the side.

Miso Aubergine with Soba Noodles

If I'm not careful, this blog may start looking like the Aubergine Fan Club, though to be honest, that would be no bad thing. This is a recipe I've been making and tweaking for a while; often, when I order it at restaurants I find they can be a little too sweet but a recent dish at The Ledbury was stunning. Sweet, salty, juicy and its soft flesh yielding, I wanted it almost instantaneously after the meal finished.

A couple of days later I snatched some aubergines up and made it at home. Served with cold soba noodles drizzled with dashi stock and peppered with Shichimi powder, this was a clean, light and refreshing meal. The steaming hot aubergine collapsed nicely, its caramelised topping flavouring it throughout. Nutty, springy soba noodles were an excellent texture contrast - I usually eat this dish with some rice, but this was a far lighter and more summery option.


Miso Aubergines with Soba Noodles

Serves 2

1 large aubergine
2 tbsp white miso
1 tbsp light soy sauce
1" ginger, grated
2 spring onions
150gr soba noodles
6 chestnut or fresh shiitake mushrooms
4 leaves of spring greens
Shichimi powder (you can buy this in most Asian supermarkets)
2" x 3" piece of konbu seaweed
A small handful of bonito flakes (these two can be replaced with a sachet of dashi powdered stock)

In a saucepan, add 200ml water and the piece of seaweed. Bring up to a simmer slowly and simmer on the most gentle bubble. Alternatively, just make up 200ml of dashi stock from powder.

Meanwhile, slice the aubergine in half lengthways and then take a small sliver from the outside curved end of the aubergine so that it sits flat. Score the flesh into a criss cross. In a large non stick frying pan, heat some oil and fry the aubergines skin side down for 7 minutes, then turn over and fry the flesh side for another 5 minutes.

In a small bowl, mix together the ginger, miso and the soy sauce. Slather the scored side of the aubergine with the sauce and place under a medium grill.

Slice the greens and bring a large pan of water to the boil. Add the soba noodles first, then the spring greens. Simmer until tender, about 4 minutes, and plunge into cold water. Keep the noodles and greens under cold running water until all the starch has been washed out and they do not stick together.

Turn the seaweed water off and throw in the bonito flakes. Put the lid on and leave for 5 minutes, before straining. Add the mushrooms, sliced thinly, into the stock.

By now (about 15 minutes) the aubergine should be cooked through, the topping caramelised and slightly bubbling. If not, leave to cook a little longer. To serve, place half the noodles on one plate, half on the other. Slice the aubergine into 4 big pieces and place on the plate. Slice the spring onions thinly and scatter over the noodles with some Shichimi powder, and either drizzle the dashi stock over the noodles or serve in a small bowl to dip the noodles in. This also works well piled into a deep bowl, dashi poured over it; the leftover stock is deeply flavoured and very moreish.

Fish Fragrant Aubergines

Fish fragrant aubergines is the first Sichuan dish I cooked, and I was instantly addicted. I used Sunflower's recipe and the balance of spiciness, sweet and sour was spot on. It doesn't actually contain fish - the 'fish fragrant' refers to the aforementioned tastes with the mix of garlic, ginger and spring onions.

The more I made it, the more I changed aspects of the dish, adding Sichuan peppercorns to get that almost-metallic numbness. I also upped the vinegar aspect and discovered these amazing pickled Sichuan chillis through Josh, which perks the dish up and adds a fiery punch in the gob. I bought them at See Woo on Lisle Street.

This time, shock horror, I vegetarianised the dish, substituting minced pork with deep fried tofu puffs and shiitake mushrooms. Don't feel like you should follow my madness though; it is, undeniably, better with pork.

Traditionally and in restaurants, the aubergines are deep fried. If you've ever deep fried aubergine, you'll know that it soaks up the oil like a very thirsty sponge. I usually shallow fry the slices before they go in the sauce instead, as it eases my conscience and produces an overall less greasy dish. You will be rewarded with soft, silky aubergines in a fire pit of spongy tofu puffs. A most excellent, sweat-inducing dish.


Fish Fragrant Aubergines

Serves 4

1 large aubergine
8 dried mushrooms shiitake
15 deep fried tofu puffs (or use 80gr minced pork)
4 cloves of garlic, minced
2 tsp minced ginger
2 tbsp chilli bean paste (I use this one, available at Chinese supermarkets)
1 tsp light soy sauce (or 1 tsp of the pickled chillis above - not both as it's too salty)
1 tsp dark soy sauce
2 tbsp Chinese cooking wine
3 tbsp Chinese black vinegar
2 tsp sugar
1 tsp cornflour with water to mix
1 tsp sesame oil
2 spring onions, sliced diagonally
1 tsp Sichuan peppercorns

Boil 200ml of water and leave the mushrooms to soak. Slice the aubergine up into thick fingers. Heat some oil in a non stick pan and fry on both sides until browned. Set aside. In a dry pan, toast the Sichuan peppercorns and grind to a fine powder.

In a jug, add the cooking wine, soy sauces, vinegar and sugar and give it a good stir. Remove the mushrooms and slice in half, discarding the stalk. Sieve and reserve the mushroom water. Slice the tofu puffs in half.

Heat 2 tbsp oil in a wok and add the ginger and garlic. Stir fry until fragrant. Add the chilli bean paste and stir to amalgamate. Add the aubergine slices and tofu puffs stirring so that it all gets a good coating, and then throw the mushrooms in. Add the mixture in the jug and half the mushroom water. Simmer on a medium heat for 10 minutes until the aubergines are soft and silky. Finally, mix the cornflour with a little water and add that to the wok, stirring until thickened. Take off the heat, drizzle with the sesame oil and garnish with the spring onions. Add a little pile of those preserved Sichuan chillis to each dish and serve with rice.

It's best to get everything chopped, minced and laid out, as with this kind of cooking everything happens fairly quickly.

Out in the Wild West - Michael Nadra

When I was invited to go and try out the eponymous Michael Nadra, I was excited. Previously of The Fish Hook, he has also worked at Petrus, Chez Bruce, The Square, The Glasshouse and La Trompette; all heavy hitters. And then I looked at the address and groaned inwardly. West London. The Wild West. Bloody miles away.

When I was 19 I had a boyfriend who lived in posho Turnham Green. I used to spend weekends there, feeling out of place in the local pub, thinking everyone was sneering at me and my ragged Converse trainers. One pant-twistingly embarrassing moment was when I ordered a bottle of Rioja. "Which one?" asked the barman. "The Spanish one", said I. His eyes rolled skywards.

Four years on, I was back. The sun was shining, people were lounging on the green. The restaurant is situated on a leafy suburban street dotted with Mercedes and BMWs. I'd like to live here. With a rueful shake I banished the unwarranted thought from my head.

The restaurant was empty upon arrival; I whispered my hellos to a friend. We spent a lot of time deliberating over the menu as there was a lot on offer. At £8.50 for starters and £17 for mains, it's a middle priced menu, though I found the supplements scattered around to be irksome. It's a bug bear of mine; either price everything individually, or don't use 'premium' ingredients. An amuse of light, grease-free battered sprats with a gorgeously creamy and tart tartare sauce made me forget.

Quail three ways - poached, tempura-d and confit - was served with sweet potato puree and sherry sauce. I usually avoid sweet potato like the plague since it's the root of all evil, but in the interests of expanding my horizons I've been tentatively trying it. This did not repulse me, which is an enormous compliment. The tempura was crispy, the poached breast was juicy, gamey and cooked to perfection. The star of the show was the confit little legs; I sucked every morsel of meat off the bones.

As we'd pondered over our menu choices, Michael Nadra came to say hello to us and he spoke with great enthusiasm of the 'plat du jour', a risotto with lobster and rocket. He told us that it's his special dish, one that he always makes himself and that he won't leave to the sous chefs. His preference is to cook the rice grains through, so that it doesn't leave them crunchy. After all this, we thought it only best we give it a try. Tasting plates came out and the rice was silky smooth, flavoured lightly with a seafood stock. Lobster meat was sweet and firm with the rocket leaves adding a peppery hit. Perfectly balanced between comforting and luxurious.

Roast cod with summer veg, king prawn veloute and roasted garlic was a beautiful plate. Confusingly, two little lumps of majoram ricotta gnocchi followed on a side dish a minute or two after, what I can only imagine as originally forgotten by the kitchen. The sweetness of the vegetables worked well with the veloute but I felt that somehow it didn't gel properly. A tangle of carrot, a few shaved discs of radish, a spear or two of asparagus, the crunch of mange tout was a bit jumbled underneath that impeccably cooked cod. Given the beauty of the quail dish I couldn't help but regret that neither of us had ordered a meaty main course.

I found it rather difficult to choose from the dessert list. It wasn't particularly inspired; chocolate fondant, fruit salad, ice cream, cheese. Tarte tatin seemed too heavy for the weather we were having, so instead I decided on the sorbet. Our waiter heartily recommended the Greek yoghurt sorbet with honey, perhaps with raspberry and lemon.

The Greek yoghurt sorbet was stand-out. Creamy and without the tang you usually get from frozen yoghurt, the honey sweetened it just so. Lemon and raspberry were also good, but I had only eyes for that particular sphere.

The ambience of the restaurant, at least where we were sitting, seems geared heavily towards dating couples. Candlelit tables, soft music and two seaters lined the walls. Despite feeling like some of the dishes were a touch over-wrought with little piles of leaves and cresses adorning most plates, a smear popping up occasionally, I really enjoyed our meal here; Nadra's skill shines through. I'd love to go back to try out the meat more but my god - what a schlep back South East. An hour and a half, to be precise. Residents of West London, it's not often I say this, but you're lucky things. A lovely little place on your doorstep.

Restaurant Michael Nadra

6/8 Elliot Road
Chiswick
London W4 1PE

Tel: 020 8742 0766

Rescue Mission

I'm not always a competent cook. Over the years I've smashed 3 Pyrex dishes by removing them from the oven and then running them under a cold tap. I am completely unable to make foccacia without producing sheets of cardboard. I can't cook rice without the aid of a rice cooker.

To add to this list, I have been known to get drunk on gin when I have friends round on a sunny afternoon. I forgot about it and hideously overcooked a beautiful 2.6kg sirloin of beef. Even still with the merest hint of pink on the inside, it was moist and tender but my cheeks burned with shame (and the alcoholic flush) when I sliced into it.

Served with summertime accompaniments of steamed carrots, broad bean salad and new potatoes crushed with Greek yoghurt and horseradish, there was no denying it; I'd ballsed it right up. I thought of the leftovers and shuddered at the image of drying slices of meat heaped pitifully atop piles of salad leaves, perked up only by a smear of mustard and a quartered pickled onion. No no, it wouldn't do.

Having spied the leftover crushed new potatoes and a few carrots languishing as well, there was only one thing for it; chopped into chunks, the meat would make a cottage pie. Not really the weather for it, but after feasting in Hong Kong I was rather taken by the idea of some warming British comfort food. A damn fine pie it made too; crispy peaks of the crushed potato, spiked with horseradish spiciness yielded to rich, unctuous gravy, sweetened with carrot and studded with tender chunks of beef. This was the only way to atone for my sins.

Cottage Pie

Serves 3

300gr leftover roast beef, chopped into chunks
A few (leftover) carrots, diced
A large onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
Beef stock, to cover
2 sprigs of thyme
1 tbsp cornflour, mixed with 1 tbsp water

Cold mashed potato - I used new potatoes and crushed them with horseradish, Greek yoghurt and 2 sliced spring onions

Fry the onion and garlic slowly until soft and translucent. Add the carrots and fry for another 5 minutes. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Throw in the sprigs of thyme, the chunks of beef and cover with the beef stock. Simmer slowly for 40 minutes. Thicken with the cornflour and then pour into a dish. Top with the potato, make slight peaks with a fork and bake for 30 minutes, or until the top is lightly browned and the dish is bubbling, making an unholy mess of your oven.

Remove, leave to stand for 10 minutes and serve.

Eat Meet Supperclub, Brockley

Thus far, I've only been to two supperclubs. The first, in North West London, was well over a year ago. Following 5 months later, The Savoy Truffle Supperclub was closer to home in Blackheath. I heard about Eat Meet through Feast on Scraps, and hooray! Right on my doorstep.

A slightly sweaty, beautifully sunny summer's day, the seven of us dined in the garden after a refreshing gin cooler. The house looked newly decorated and was gorgeously colourful. I got some house envy. A salad of watermelon, halloumi and green beans was sweet, salty, juicy and crunchy all at the same time. The sweetness of the watermelon worked brilliantly with the halloumi.

Duck with puy lentils braised in cider was crispy skinned, though cooked more than I'd have liked. The meat lacked a little seasoning but was moist and tender. Lentils were suitably cidery, with sweet bursts from the pomegranate seeds and peppery hits from the watercress. Just the right amount of food too.

Earl grey pannacotta with boozy berries and poppyseed biscuits was well accomplished. The pannacotta had a proper hit of the tea flavour, and the berries, almost face puckeringly sour when eaten alone, balanced the sweetness of the biscuits and the pannacotta well.

Cheese, served with home-made spelt biscuits were all from the UK. A particular favourite was the Scottish cheddar, and the chutney served with it was delicious. Biscuits were a little too thick and therefore a bit heavy with the cheese, but I was so stuffed at this point I needed a less substantial recepticle to get the cheese in my face. My greed sees no boundaries.

Coffee followed, and we sat around chatting until darkness fell and goosebumps appeared. For £25 and to bring your own booze, it was a great evening; really interesting and chatty people, and lovely hosts in Julie and Sophie, who sat down with us at the end. Heartily recommended.

Eat Meet