MAPO TOFU

Got a tofu denier in your life? Are you a tofu denier yourself? Well then my friend, this is the recipe for you. It is, surely, the most delicious way to eat it. Some restaurants go overboard with the oil - traditionally, it seems, it is quite oily - and I've found that making it at home means I can control the spiciness and the tingliness of the Sichuan pepper that goes in to making mapo tofu.

Many use minced pork. I love the deep flavour of minced beef here, inspired by Fuchsia Dunlop. This is my standard base recipe for Mapo Tofu; you can modify it, using chopped up shiitake and brown mushrooms to replace the meat, or you can go super turbo, by trying out Danny Bowien's version from Mission Chinese, or watch Mind of a Chef and try that recipe. But I implore you to try a straight-up version first to get to grips and fall in love with it. Here's a video I made with Chinatown London to encourage you to give it a go. 

Here's the recipe; serve with lots of steamed fluffy white rice, and stir fried vegetables. 

Ma Po Tofu

Serves 4 with other dishes 

1 box tofu, the type you get in water - I prefer medium-firm silken. Remove, cut into cubes and steep in just boiled water with a pinch of salt
100gr of minced beef
2 tbsp of cooking oil
2 fat cloves of garlic, minced
1.5 - 2.5 tbsp of chilli bean sauce (depends on saltiness)

1 tsp chilli flakes (optional, for hot-heads)
1 tbsp fermented black beans soaked in water
1 tsp dark soy sauce
1 tbsp oyster sauce
1 tsp of sugar
175ml water
1 heaped tsp of cornflour mixed with a little water
3 stalks of spring onions, whites separated and cut into thumb-length stalks, greens sliced diagonally
1 tsp Sichuan peppercorns, toasted and ground into a powder

Heat oil in wok add minced beef with the oil and fry until crisp, mashing the beef with the back of a wooden spoon to break it up. Add garlic, whites of spring onions, stir for 10 -15 sec, add the chilli bean paste and black beans, stir till fragrant - then add soy sauce, oyster sauce, sugar, ground pepper, water and chilli flakes. 

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Drain and add the tofu to meat sauce, stir gently and simmer till hot, around 5 minutes. Add the cornflour mixture, and when thickened it’s ready. Transfer onto serving dish and sprinkle with the ground Sichuan pepper. Top with spring onion greens.

John The Unicorn, Peckham

It's a stupid name. Who is John? And why does he have a unicorn? It has a garish frontage, of large bold type with pink and teal signage, sticking out like a sore thumb on Peckham High Street. It's an Antic-owned pub, and by and large I've been a fan of them as they make a real effort to make each different from the other. This particular one is shabby chic inside, obviously decorated with unicorns, and it's absolutely cavernous. A huge downstairs bar / pub area and a garden is augmented with an upstairs restaurant. 

Despite its flaws (John. The. Unicorn.) the food is really very good. Head Chef Ben Mulock spent several years at The Opera Tavern, so naturally the food has a vaguely Spanish slant. Grilled cubes of light bread, served with a yeasted butter were smoky and airy, the butter giving off that mouth-wateringly savoury flavour that I love Marmite for. Chicken heart skewers were pink and juicy, on a bed of smooth white bean pureé, and ridiculously good value for £4.25.

Nuggets of beef brisket were crispy and atomically hot within, topped with a pickled red onion. The menu changes every so often, and while these aren't available anymore, I imagine their replacement, smoked haddock arancini, are just as good. 

Cured trout with samphire was slightly less successful; it tasted like the fish was ever-so-slightly over-cured, so the texture was hardened. The samphire gave a good seafood flavour, but overall it needed more citrus. We bored of this quickly, though it was pretty.

We were back on track with burrata served with char-grilled tenderstem broccoli, pesto and chilli. I often think burrata is just fine drizzled with a fruity olive oil, but this was a worthwhile addition too. That creamy, dreamy cheese. 

My favourite dish of the evening was the wood-fired cauliflower with pomegranate dressing; I often have cauliflower roasted with houmous and I find the whole thing can get a bit claggy, but this bean pureé was a lot lighter, creamier and all the more balanced. The pomegranate added a sweet tartness, detracting from the fire and smoke flavour. I loved this. 

I didn't love the roasted pork shoulder, the only 'main' we ordered. Served with sliced granny smith apples and roasted, crisp new potatoes, it would have been great had it not been so salty. I couldn't take it, though I did ask for it to be packaged up for me to take home, as reheated with a bland carb (I had it with rice and chilli sauce) diluted the saltiness. All the components of a great dish were there, I just wondered if there was some sort of mistake with the seasoning. 

Desserts were decent; I enjoyed my pannacotta with wild strawberries, but its the cauliflower I'll be going back for. 

John The Unicorn
157 - 159 Rye Lane
Peckham 
SE15 4TL 

Full disclosure; we had our bill comped, but that was very much to our surprise and we didn't know this when we ordered. All opinions are obviously my own and unfettered. 

Padella, London Bridge

It's such a simple concept that it's a wonder no one thought of it already. But in a climate where you can't move for courgetti and people spiralising the shit out of our poor, unsuspecting root vegetables - M&S now sell 'noodles' made from butternut squash. I ask you! - I am glad that common sense has prevailed and the people of London are queuing up to get their forks twirling around some proper carbs. 

Padella is a cute little spot, and comes from the people that started Trullo, an Italian restaurant in Islington that's always really busy, and still turning out some incredible food at prices that won't make your eyes water. Their signature dish was braised beef shin ragu, served with pappardelle, and the popularity of that dish paved the way for a pasta-centric casual restaurant. It's by Borough Market, and you'll know it by the queue that now snakes out of its door.

I went during the press preview for lunch, and I loved the marble-topped tables and the high bar where you can watch the chefs preparing each dish. I found the squid ink tagliarini, dotted with mussels and deep with the flavour of the sea, to be a little gritty, the pici cacio e pepe (that's a hand-rolled noodle-like pasta in cheese sauce) a little too chalkily al dente. But that beef shin ragu with large, flappy pasta folds was good as ever, a delicate shaving of parmesan decorating the plate. Promise shone through.

A few weeks later I went back and after queuing an hour with a friend, happily nattering away, we sat down ravenous and resolved to order pretty much everything. This time we were seated in the cavernous basement, tables lining the walls, another bar overlooking the drinks preparation area. Burrata was served simply dressed with fruity olive oil, and a refreshing radicchio, watercress and rocket salad was bitter and properly peppery, reviving our palates for what was to come. A little salt on the leaves goes a long way. Tagliatelle with nduja, mascarpone and parsley was, as the waitress warned, nose-runningly spicy. Those delicate ribbon-like folds of pasta were a masterpiece. 

This time, the pici cacio e pepe was cooked perfectly, with a strong black pepper flavour coming through. Is anything so simple, so satisfying? Cheese, pepper, butter, pasta. I'm not sure. We waited for our third pasta dish, while the serving staff, obviously harried from the busy dining rooms, rushed past. Our beef shin pappardelle had been forgotten, but no matter, as in catching their attention we were then able to order the other three pasta dishes we'd also had our eye on. 

Tagliatelle with smoked eel and amalfi lemon was generous and rich, though comparatively it became a little one-note in flavour, the smokiness overwhelming.

You know what this is. It's that glorious beef shin pappardelle. It tasted like the beef had been braised in butter, so tender and flavoursome was it. We questioned whether that width was regulation pappardelle size, and then we realised we didn't care, as we gobbled it up.

Pesto will never taste the same again, after a sterling dish of Stracci Genovese. Stracci are sheets of pasta, torn into irregular pieces, wafer-thin and silky. Made properly with potatoes and green beans, the pesto was bright with basil.  

Ravioli of ricotta with sage butter was somewhat lacking in the flavour of sage, but when you're eating dreamy pillows of cloud, little else matters. I'd like more sage flavour though. 

Reader, six pasta dishes between two are possibly too much. One is not enough though, so take my advice and avoid wobbling home like an over-stuffed walrus and stick with two per person. You'll thank me for it. 

Obviously we were far too stuffed to even contemplate dessert, but if the lemon tart from the press preview is anything to go by, they are simple and accomplished and perhaps should not be missed if you are a sweet lover. 

With a bill of £90-ish including a litre of wine which surely would have fed 3, or even 4 petite eaters, Padella is so affordable I'd go every day if it weren't for the queues. I also have a horrifying suspicion I'd soon resemble Queen Victoria in her later years, so people of London, do me a favour and keep that queue up. 

I never thought I'd say that. 

Padella
6 Southwark Street
London
SE1 1TQ

Viet Food, Wardour Street

Wardour Street, the Chinatown end south of Shaftesbury Avenue, used to house a stalwart Vietnamese restaurant, opposite the infamous Wong Kei's. Inside, paper tablecloths, strip lighting, sticky chopsticks and bland food meant I only visited a couple of times. To survive as long as they did, which is to say at least the 11 years I've worked in London, is a testament to the tourist footfall that passes through Chinatown. 

That's all changing, now. On the corner used to be a giant buffet restaurant where drunks and people of questionable taste could pile gloopy orange chicken atop deep red crispy chilli beef, stabbed with a flaccid spring roll on a huge plate and repeat, and repeat ad nauseum. Slowly, that's being refurbished into Shuang Shuang, a steamboat restaurant that I am most excited about (more on that later). Next door, Viet Food has sprung up. The pedigree is good; the Chef / Proprietor is Jeff Tan, of Hakkasan Mayfair and others. I had high hopes. 

When we arrived we were hit by the unmistakeable smell of pho, that heady, anise-laden broth that characterises the noodle soups of Vietnam. We announced our intentions and we waited. We waited some more as others who'd booked squeezed past us. Then we were asked to wait outside. So we waited even more. Finally I cracked and asked if there was actually a table to wait for, and we were sulkily shown to an upstairs sharing table. 

The menu is huge. Separated into 'Incoming', soups, chef's specials, pho, bun, rice... we stared at the list groggily, trying to figure out what to order. Summer rolls were big and bouncy, packed full of lettuce and prawns but not a patch on Uyen Luu's. There are no interesting herbs here, just the crunch of the greens and a hoi sin-style sauce for dipping. 

Coconut calamari is much talked about when Viet Food is mentioned. I didn't get it. Bland, rubbery rings with a slightly sweet, crisp coating, served with a miniature bottle of sweet chilli sauce that was just a pain in the arse to extract. Grumpf.

Chargrilled glazed lemongrass chicken wings were a meagre portion. Sure, they were £4.50 but it was slightly embarrassing to look at on the plate; the plate was large enough to make them look stingy. There were four of us and three joints of the wings were hard to share. The lemongrass flavour was absent. They're chicken wings! Cheap as anything. Make it a fiver and pile them on. 

Happily, smoky spiced quail was a whole bird (which you'd hope for £8.50), neatly jointed into 4, and indeed spiced. Lime and salt were provided to sprinkle on at whim, and we made light work of them. 

'Slow-cooked haddock with Chef's special sauce' (£8) came in a claypot in, er, special sauce (are you thinking that too?). Chunks of fish, tender enough for Granny to gum her way through, came in a slightly sweet, slightly savoury cornflour-thickened sauce that was nothing to really write home about. 

The Pho Chin Hue, featuring slow-cooked beef in spicy broth, featured none of the promised heat but had a nice flavour. Upon its arrival we were presented with a bottle of fish sauce - "we don't use MSG in our food so you might need this for more flavour". Quite weird. I'd rather they just used MSG rather than having to add my own umami. Or I dunno, cooked it with more flavours. And before you say it, MSG is fine. 

Bun Thit Nuong, which is chargrilled lemongrass pork with round noodles in a salad form, was decent with a good amount of herbs but it was presented as just a big ol' mess. I've seen street food vendors turn out a more aesthetically pleasing dish on a hot and muggy roadside. 

The unexpected highlight of our evening was the steamed okra with soy sauce (opening picture) £5. Now that was delicious; the vegetables were still crunchy, with a hint of soy and a sprinkling of deep fried shallots. I've never known anything made of okra to be so universally liked.

We weren't exactly full by the time the food was finished, so the dessert of the day had to be ordered. Pandan sago with caramelised banana was served portioned out table-side. The banana was in no way caramelised, but we still enjoyed it. 

I really wanted to like Viet Food. I was hoping for a West End alternative to Pho, at which recently meals have been disappointing, with dishwater-like broth, but the food felt lacklustre, the portions stingy - exactly the opposite of what Vietnamese food is about. Shame. 

Viet Food
34-36 Wardour Street, Soho,
London W1D 6QT,

Blacklock's New Sunday Service

Blacklock, which opened this year, is one of my favourite meat emporiums. A subterranean den of affordable excess, I fell in love with their chops. Now though? I'm even more in love, for they have pulled off the nigh-impossible; an amazing Sunday roast. 

I was invited to the test run, and it ran like clockwork. You can choose from pork, beef or lamb but we decided not to worry ourselves with having to make a decision. Like their regular menu, you can go 'all-in' and get the works. For £20 per head, beautifully cooked meat, steamed broccoli and colourful carrots, a giant Yorkshire pudding and more crisp, golden fluffy potatoes than we could eat. There was so much rich, flavoursome dark golden gravy we dipped potatoes directly into the jug. Some classic 80s and 90s hits played just loud enough for me to want to sing along. It's just really really fun. 

Go. Why on earth wouldn't you?

(The Pinot Noir is dangerously drinkable.)

Blacklock

24 Great Windmill St, London W1D 7LG

Korean-Style Glazed Meatballs

I'm as guilty as the next person of buying groceries and promptly forgetting about it, going off to meet friends, work late, neglect dinner. It always makes me feel really guilty; so guilty in fact that I find myself boiling eggs at 1am, half drunk, so they don't go off and I can make the most of them. Waste is a bad thing, and I hope I never change in this respect. I don't want to be one of those people who can wantonly throw away food without a thought behind it. Long may the guilt live. 

This recipe was borne out of that very feeling. I watched flat peaches slowly wrinkle, the skin toughening, the fruit ripening. I just kept forgetting about them until it wasn't possible to ignore any longer. I could bake a cake with them, or make them into compote maybe. That would then sit in the fridge and grow fur. 

Or I could make Korean-style meatballs! A much better idea. These are a perfect starter for a few people, or you could have them over rice. I actually preferred them wrapped in lettuce leaves, like a riff on bo ssam, that pork dish served wrapped in leaves, with condiments. A bit of fresh lettuce crunch is perfect with the sweet spiciness of this sauce. 

Korean Style Glazed Meatballs

300gr minced beef with a bit of fat
A handful of panko breadcrumbs, soaked in a splash of milk
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 inch of ginger, peeled and grated
A hefty pinch of salt
2 small flat peaches, peeled and cut into cubes
2 tbsp gochujang 
1.5 tbsp rice vinegar
1.5 tbsp light soy sauce
1 tbsp sesame oil
1 tbsp water
A handful of chives, snipped
Lettuce leaves - round, Iceberg or Romaine, washed and cut into palm-sized pieces

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C. Place the peach in a small saucepan with a lid and cook on a very low heat until the fruit has softened and released its' liquid. Add a splash of water if it is catching. 

Meanwhile, drain the breadcrumbs and add to the beef with the garlic, ginger, sesame oil and salt. Mix lightly with your hands, and roll into golf-ball-sized balls. Place on a oiled sheet of greaseproof paper and place them in the oven. Cook for 15 minutes. 

Once the peach has softened into a mush, add the tbsp of water, gochujang, vinegar and soy sauce. Blitz with a handheld blender, and return to a low heat to simmer for 3 - 4 minutes. Keep warm. 

Fan out the lettuce leaves on a plate. Dip each meatball in the sauce and roll it around so it is covered, then place on a lettuce leaf. Repeat, and then scatter with snipped chives, and serve. 

Delancey & Co., Goodge Street

I'll confess - I never once went to Katz's Deli in New York in all of the 5 or 6 times I've visited the city. I know, it's an institution, but have you seen the sandwiches that come out of there? They are enormous. Behemoth. I couldn't face satiating my hunger quite so roundly. That would put me down for at least an entire meal time.

Delancey & Co. on Goodge Street is a New York deli-style kind of place. 'Modernising New York tradition', they call it. Smoked salmon, salt beef and the mystery that is smoked turkey - I'll never understand what is so special about smoked turkey - offered in bagels or various type of bread. When I first visited, challah bread took my fancy and it came totally wodged with salt beef.

That green goo? That's wasabi horseradish mustard and it doesn't seem to be on the menu anymore; all the better really, because that greenness gave me the wibbles. Nothing is wrong with normal mustard. In fact, please stick to normal mustard. The cheese, blow-torched onto the bread is entirely superfluous and I'm going to go out on a limb and say for once, this sandwich is better cheese-less. Yep. The unadulterated salt beef is really that good.

They're not buggering about with their smoked salmon, either. That shit is generous. Too generous for a 9am breakfast bagel. But perfect once the sun has passed the midday point.

It's not cheap - it's definitely not Brick Lane Beigel Bake cheap - at £7.95 for a standard salt beef sandwich. The meat is plentiful and moist, laced with fat and just the right side of salty, and the smoked salmon is obviously well made. Skip the chopped salad - it has the office canteen slop feel to it - and opt for the sweet n' sour pickles instead, to fill your vegetable quota. They are GOOD.

Delancey & Co.
34 Goodge Street
London W1T 2QL

Clear Beef & Turnip Soup

The Chinese have plenty of ways of cooking their version of a 'beef stew'. The Taiwanese and Sichuanese add a bit of spice to theirs with chilli bean paste, to make a rich, red broth - I have a recipe in Chinatown Kitchen, using ox cheek. At one of my favourite noodle shops in Hong Kong, Kau Kee, they only sell beef - brisket, tendon and 'slices'. You can get it in clear soup or in curry soup - both are incredible. I also like cooking the beef in Chu Hou sauce, which is made with fermented soybeans, ginger and garlic.  

I return to the clear version frequently, and I find it's light enough to be a year-round dish. The scent and fragrance of the soup from hours of simmering is mouth-watering. The soup is clean, slightly sweet, intensely beefy - you don't have to have noodles with this, you could also spoon it over rice. 

Clear Beef Brisket & Turnip Soup

Serves 4

1kg beef brisket, cut into bitesize chunks
500gr beef bones (optional)
4 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed with the side of a cleaver
7 slices of ginger
2 spring onions, whites and greens separated, both chopped finely
2 star anise
1 stick of cinnamon, or cassia bark
1 tbsp Shaoxing rice wine
1 lump of yellow rock sugar, about 10gr
1.5 litres of water
3 large turnips or mooli, peeled and sliced into bite-sized chunks
1 tbsp cooking oil
1 tsp salt

Bring a large saucepan of water to the boil. Add the brisket, bones, 3 slices of garlic and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat, drain the water away and rinse the beef pieces, as well as the saucepan well to get rid of the scum. 

Return the saucepan to the stove and heat the oil. Add the garlic and remaining ginger and stir-fry until fragrant. Add the beef pieces and bones, then sprinkle in the cooking wine. Add the cinnamon, rock sugar, star anise and the salt, then the water. Bring to the simmer and simmer for 1.5 hours with the lid on. Alternatively you could put this lot in a pressure cooker and cook at pressure for 15 minutes. 

Next, add the turnips and cook for a further 40 minutes (5 minutes in the pressure cooker). 

Carefully drain the broth into another saucepan, and discard the beef bones. Reduce the broth for 5 minutes on a rolling boil, then add the whites of the spring onions and take off the heat, returning the turnips and beef to the pot. 

Serve with rice, or ladle over cooked noodles to serve. I cooked rice noodles and cavalo nero for the opening shot, served with chilli oil. 

Som Saa, Hackney

Have you ever enjoyed a restaurant so much that you revisited the night after? 

There are so many restaurants in London, especially new ones opening up all the time, that it would seem like madness to do so, but I did do it. One Friday night, we rocked up bang on 6pm to Som Saa in Hackney. It's situated in an archway underneath London Fields train station. If you ever went to Burnt Enz, sadly now relocated to Singapore, you might recognise the space as it's the same one, in the Climpson Arch. They're in residence there, headed up by Andy Oliver and Tom George. Andy's pedigree is solid, having trained at Nahm in Bangkok and The Begging Bowl in Peckham. I knew I was already enamoured with his food from this brief stint in 2013.

They are in the arch temporarily, until they find themselves a permanent home. It's always busy; it was reviewed well, and Thai BBQ is so-hot-right-now. On visit number 1 we put our names down and took to some outside benches with snacks and drinks, nibbling on cashews spiked with chilli and lime. This prawn with samphire on a betel leaf is intended to be eaten whole and it was absolutely gorgeous. It's one of those things that slap you round the face and demand that you pay attention. The perfume of the lemongrass, the citrus lime, balanced with fish sauce, a hint of lime leaf - masterful.

After a brief wait (which wasn't really a wait, given that we were seated, with snacks and drinks. There are worse ways to queue) we were seated. The first to arrive was the coal-roasted aubergine, garnished with a soft boiled duck egg, resplendent with herbs. Smoky, silky and sweet, sticky rice we have unlimited amounts of was perfect for mopping up the sauce. 

Lon Kapi is smoked mackerel and raw vegetables served with a dip of shrimp paste and coconut cream. I knew I had to have this, as I also know the lengths they go to to make their own coconut cream by hand. It is not in vain. Leaves of bitter chicory contrast wonderfully with the slightly sweet dip. I particularly enjoyed the sour / sweet chunks of green mango too. 

As for larger dishes, the sea bass is deep fried whole and served looking panicked. It's covered in herbs, so you have to rootle around a bit for the morsels of flesh. Roasted rice is pounded into a powder and sprinkled on top, for a bit of crunch. 

We also tried a Isaan-style som tam; at Som Saa, both Isaan and Bangkok styles are offered. The Isaan is not for the faint-hearted; this particular style of Thai cooking, from the North East of the country, is known for being spiciest, and features sour and fishy flavours heavily. Indeed, the som tum is made with fermented crabs. It sure was funky. It was so spicy I glanced over to a man eating it and his head was thrown back, he was slightly perspiring, and he was gulping the air. 

I came back the following evening with 4 friends. We ordered everything from the menu with glee. 

This time we had the Bangkok som tam, which comes with crispy pork. Crispy pork makes everything better so there was a clear winner between the two options. 

All the other dishes I enjoyed again, though none of us were particularly fond of this grilled oyster mushroom on chicory. I think it was the dill, it jarred somewhat. 

The grilled onglet with herbs, lettuce and roasted red chilli paste made a great little parcel to pop in the mouth. Onglet is known for for being particularly flavoursome as it comes from the diaphragm - as such it has to be cooked very rare so that it remains tender. I would have paid a little more for a fattier, juicier cut like rib-eye. 

Soup was the clear, soothing broth with mushrooms bobbing about in it. Our table heaved with plates as elbows knocked into shoulders as we attempted to dish the soup out. It was reviving and comforting. Some remarked that it was bland, but I thought that really was the point of it. 

Thai meals are all about balance. Some dishes are meant to be on the sour side, some spicy, some mild, and you're also supposed to have dishes that lean to a sweeter angle. Our palates were becoming slightly fatigued - a couple of the salads were quite similar - and then this baby turned up. It's a Northern-style pork belly curry with pickled garlic and ginger. Northern-style in this sense meant no coconut milk, just rich, sweet, anise-scented sauce that the fork-tender pork belly cooked in. I loved the ginger on top; it cuts through that richness and livens it up. I loved this dish very much. In fact, I loved Som Saa very much.

Both times at Som Saa I spent around £25 on food, while the bill for drinks can go up depending on how long you're waiting. And how many of these you drink. The Sang Som hangover was strong. 

I have a recipe for Tom Yum soup, amongst other Thai gems in my book, Chinatown Kitchen - in case you're out of reach of Hackney, or just prefer cooking at home. 

Arch 374 Helmsley Place,

Hackney, London E8 3SB

No Reservations

Summer Opening Times

Dinner:        6pm-late Thurs - Sun

                        (last orders 1030pm)

Lunch:          12-3pm Sat / Sun only

Garden:        6pm-late Thurs / Fri

                        12-3pm & 5pm-late Sat / Sun                  

                        weather and kitchen permitting