Dishoom

The ill-fated evening that we visited Cantina Laredo, we popped in to Dishoom, a new Bombay-style café for a cheeky cocktail and a couple of snacks. They open officially today, and so when we visited the food was 50% off as part of their soft launch. The first thing I noticed was the exposed lightbulbs and dipped lamps that hung low over the tables and I immediately warmed to it. From a short list of cocktails I picked the house punch which was fruity and refreshing.

Café crisps were just as described on the menu; tangy. With a little bit of kick, they were light and crispy.

Calamari was heavily but pleasantly spiced, a sweetness to the sticky sauce and a pleasing whack of lime. Tentacles were crispy and crunchy, just the way I like them. I was a bit sad to leave, especially as other tables filled up with delicious-looking and smelling dishes. After our disastrous meal two doors down, I was even more annoyed that we had.

I love a good bargain, me. I decided to come back instead for breakfast while it was still in the soft launch and dragged my arse into town at the ungodly hour of 8:30am.

I had spotted 'sausage naan roll' on their online menu and vowed to order it. Between us, my companion and I got one of each of the bacon and sossidge variety. It's great value at £3.50 and wrapped in a light, pliable roti, the meat was stuffed inside along with a good handful of coriander. Spicy and sweet chutney was slathered inside. I am unsure I can go back to a normal bacon or sossidge sarnie after this; it was gorgeous. I am told by their Twitter account they they will be doing this to take away soon. I know it'll save me on many a hungover morning. Hurry up please.

I've never liked chai - it always reminded me of crusty old hippies at festivals clutching a mugful of steaming hot liquid that whiffed vaguely of cloves and cinnamon. I still ordered it though and I'm glad I did; it was liquid revivement. Warm spices, strong tea with a rich milk flavour, I slurped it up as soon as it was cool enough to do so. Mango with vanilla yoghurt and honey (background) was the right balance of creamy yoghurt with the sweetness of the mango accentuated by the honey, though I wondered if there should be more of it since it was around the £5 mark.

Bombay omelette was much like my own masala omelette. Served with intensely sweet roasted cherry tomatoes, I'd have liked the egg to be a bit wibblier within.

My companion also ordered the 'Hot Toast Dipped in Chai'. I presumed this would be a dish of toast with a glass of chai to dip said toast in - it's not that weird a concept given that I often see my housemate dipping her toast into her tea - but I got it completely wrong, it was toast dipped in chai before it was brought to us. It tasted just like normal toast to me, but my friend enjoyed it.

Staff were really sweet and our server looked agape at us when we ordered and worried we'd gone for too much. I decided not to tell him we once polished off 2.8kg of steak between us for fear his eyes might pop out. At around what would have been £24, we breakfasted like kings, rendering me only able to sup a bowl of vegetable broth for lunch later that day. I'm not one that frequents Covent Garden much, but I will be now.

Dishoom opens at 8am and serves breakfast until 11am.

Dishoom

12 Upper St Martins Lane
London WC2H 9FB

Tel: 020 7420 9320

Smoked Mackerel & Broad Bean Salad

Broad beans. Lovely green little beauties, but my god what a pain in the arse they are. I tend to buy them frozen now, as it's one less step in the process. It's nice and summery to sit in the sun, podding the beans and then shelling them of their tough skins, but sometimes there just aren't enough hours in the day.

Is a salad still a salad if it's loaded with bacon and dressed with cream? Of course it is.

This recipe is Nigel Slater's and it first caught my eye in The Observer's magazine; the picture drove me to drool and I knew I had to make it. I couldn't help but have a mess around, though; there are some salty elements in the salad in the smoked mackerel and lardons, so I added a squeeze of lemon and a splodge of horseradish to pep it up a bit. The inclusion of chicory for a bitter edge offset by creaminess was ideal, and a few tangled leaves and some cooked new potatoes that needed using up made this salad into a hearty yet summery dish.

I imagine that once the broad bean season is over and we edge into autumn, replacing the beans with beetroot would work nicely to create a vivid and earthy salad. Watch this space.

Smoked Mackerel & Broad Bean Salad

Serves 2, adapted from Nigel Slater

200gr smoked mackerel
200gr bacon lardons or pancetta
400gr frozen broad beans
6 spring onions
2 sprigs of tarragon
175ml double cream
Half a lemon
1 tsp horseradish
A few leftover potatoes (optional)
1 head of chicory
A handful of peppery leaves, such as rocket or watercress

Bring a pan of water to the boil and simmer the broad beans until tender, about 2 minutes. Drain and run under cold water. Peel the tough outer skins off them - you might want to get an extra pair of hands to help you out.

Fry the bacon lardons in a pan until browned and crispy. Drain off the oil and return to the heat. Chop the spring onions roughly and throw them in, frying for a minute or two. Add the cream and simmer for a minute until thickened slightly. Add the lemon juice, horseradish and throw in the broad beans. Remove from the heat, add the tarragon, chopped, and set to one side.

To assemble, take apart the chicory leaves and distribute evenly on two plates. Scatter slices of the potato over it and then the leaves. Add the bacon, then spoon the creamy broad beans over it, topping it with large chunks of the smoked mackerel. Eat immediately; it's far better warm than cold.

The Magdalen Arms, Oxford

I think it's perfectly reasonable to travel miles and miles for a decent feed. When you can incorporate it into a day trip, then it's even better. The Magdalen Arms has been on my list of places to visit since Matthew Norman wrote about it, followed by Dos Hermanos. The owners were from the Anchor and Hope, and you can really tell from the menu; short, well priced and very seasonal.

Four of us jumped on a train at the ungodly hour of 9:30am (on a Saturday!) and an hour later, we were on the streets of Oxford in the balmy summer morning's sun. Having an alumni in our midst meant we could wander around the beautiful colleges, stopping off for some liquid refreshment on the way. We arrived at the pub, slightly sweating and starving. Seated in the back garden, we kicked off with a pear and elderflower prosecco, some excellent bread, and a bottle of light blush-tinged rosé.

I wanted everything off the menu. I could feel the panic rising, that fear of indecision and the terror of picking something inferior to my companions' dishes. It sounds melodramatic but food envy really does suck. Happily, we all agreed to order most of the menu to share and my fears were dispelled.

Brawn appeared terrine-style sliced thinly, fanned across the plate and it was meaty, wobbly goodness. Capers, parsley and shallots added tang, crunch and freshness while a mustardy dressing suited it perfectly.

Baked artichoke with goats cheese and herbed breadcrumbs drew admiring gasps from the table. Leaves slid off with the gentlest of tugs and each morsel was satisfyingly delicious. Definitely something I'd like to recreate at home, it made a change from simply steamed and dipped in vinaigrette. The heart was sweet and it was scooped up greedily.

Cheddar soufflé was divided into four studiously. Fluffy and with a generous cheesy hit, it was rich yet light. The salad was dill-heavy which pleased me and was an interesting twist to the salad. The people in the kitchen at The Magdelen Arms know how to dress their leaves.

After the excellence of the starters, we awaited the main courses eagerly. An enormous veal schnizel with a rocket and tomato salad arrived. The meat was beautifully breadcrumbed and was moist and tender. Tomatoes were sweet, juicy and actually tasted of tomatoes - something I haven't said in a long time.

Rabbit with bacon, mustard and shallots was gorgeous and I wanted it all to myself. I almost didn't let go of the plate. The braised shallots added sweetness, the bacon sharp hits of saltiness. The rabbit was tender, juicy and fell off the bone. Wilted chard beneath gave that luscious green mineral element to the dish. Top marks.

Whole crab with mayonnaise was perfect simplicity. At just under a tenner it was bargainous too. Crab viscera sprayed us as we extracted the sweet meat from its shell, attracting the flies in the garden to swarm around the detritus. The mayonnaise was abandoned for a purer flavour.

The only dud of the meal was the roasted pigeon with semolina gnocchi and braised radishes. The pigeon was over-cooked and tough. When I hacked off a piece to put in my mouth I was quite repulsed; livery in texture, and overtly gamey. It was abandoned. The rectangle of gnocchi, however, was delicious; pillowy in texture and shot through with sage. I'd never have thought to cook radishes either but will in the future. These were slightly crisp, warm and flavoursome.

All in all, a lovely meal. Although the pigeon was pretty unappetising, I am confident that it was a one-off mistake from the kitchen as the rest of the meal was outstanding. Service was sweet and friendly, and our total bill came to £102 including 2 bottles of wine and 3 coffees before service. A total bargain and I couldn't figure out why the place wasn't packed out to the rafters.

After a lazy punt and a sit in the meadows, we headed back to London, some 11 hours after we arrived. All in all, a perfect day really.

The Magdalen Arms

243 Iffley Road,
Oxford
OX4 1SJ

Tel: 01865 243 159

When booked in advance we managed to get return tickets for £10 each as part of the Groupsave scheme as there were 4 of us. Oxford is about an hour away.

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.