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

Weekending at The Cary Arms, South Devon

I don't explore England enough. It's well enough saying that it's good to get out of London sometimes, but having done weekends in New York, Berlin, Rome, Madrid, and Copenhagen this year, those types of weekends aren't exactly relaxing. Airports themselves I find quite stressful - if you've ever been on the verge of missing a flight, I'm sure you can sympathise - and then you're racing around trying to see everything on the limited time you have. I know, I know. Woe is me. Recently I spent a couple of days in rainy Devon, cozying up by roaring fires and eating a whole lot of seafood, and it happened to be just a mere two or so hours on a very pleasant train journey. I was clearly lucky enough to avoid Sunday replacement bus services.

The Cary Arms is an adorable converted pub, down a steep hill and right on the coast of Baddacombe Bay. It has typically low ceilings and several nooks and crannies to hide away in with the morning papers, or indeed a digestif. Probably not a digestif in the morning though. 

We were a group of five, invited to visit by their people. They have rooms as well as cottages, and the Beach Cottage was very well equipped with everything you might need for a self-catering stay. When we arrived we warmed ourselves by the Aga, before migrating over to the living room for a couple of board games. A pre-stocked fireplace made it incredibly easy to light... by someone else... I'm terrible at practical things like that. I'm much better at pouring out sloe gin that came complimentary and - joy! - was replenished daily. 

Unlike most self-catering cottages though, here you still have the luxury of nightly turn-downs in the spacious bedrooms. When I tiredly whipped off the covers of my big bouncy bed I discovered a hot water bottle warming the sheets. There is not much more glorious than getting into a pre-warmed bed.

For breakfast, fruit, honey, granola and yoghurt were on offer as well as a more traditional European-style breakfast of sliced meats and cheeses, thus enabling a three course breakfast once you factor in the cooked breakfasts that obviously I wouldn't turn down.

I ordered the grilled kippers and I got literally all the kippers in the world. See? That was just for me. It was a bit much actually. We giggled so heartily at the size of it, the waitress shrieked into the kitchen - "'ere! They're laughing at your kippers!" I gamely attempted it in its entirety but had to stop, fearful of a slow death by salt. They were good kippers though.

Much more manageable was the smoked salmon with scrambled eggs. I felt the eggs could have been a little creamier, a little fluffier but that was merely a light gripe. 

As it pissed it down with rain, we donned our raincoats and, er, leopard print trainers ("you definitely didn't bring wellies...?") and set off with David Beazley, our wild food foraging instructor. 

Sure, we look pretty soggy and bedraggled. But David was really brilliant, and took us on an hour long leisurely walk, picking out various leaves, encouraging us to taste them as we went.

We gathered leaves along the way in little plastic tubs, with the view of making our own salad as we went along. Many of the leaves were citrussy in flavour, some strongly of celery, others a hint of cucumber. 

The views along the way were stunning. Admittedly it might have been rather more picturesque if the sun had been shining and we were romping around the coast in shorts and hats, but then we definitely wouldn't have seen this mini waterfall.  

Once we'd gathered all our leaves we dressed them with a squirt of sweet sea buckthorn dressing that David had made, and in went some roasted hazelnuts he'd brought along. It was really delicious - refreshing, and interesting. A lot of salad I eat from pre-bagged or bought tend to be heavy with rocket, or bland with watery leaves, but these actually had flavour. Bitterness, sweetness, citrus, all in there. All the tastier because we picked it ourselves. 

I have absolutely no recollection of which leaf was what, which is incredibly helpful, but luckily David has a Kindle book and an app that details pictures as well as recipes. 

What else is there to do in the area? I'll come on to that later, to avoid this becoming the longest post there ever was, but what was an incredibly enjoyable way to spend a morning is a wine and cheese tasting at Sharpham's Vineyard. There's nothing quite like legitimising an 11am glass of wine - only really acceptable at weddings or wine tastings APPARENTLY - and Sharpham's wine is very fine indeed. 

If you want to learn anything about English wine then I would strongly recommend visiting. On account of said pissing rain we forewent the vineyard tour, opting instead to have a good sit under some warm blankets and be guided through all their wines instead. The Dart Valley Reserve was my favourite, and happily you can find it in Borough Market. 

What Sharpham's also do incredibly well is cheese. Each cheese we tried matched a different glass of wine, but standalone we could only sit on our hands to avoid scoffing the lot. Well worth seeking out - stockists are listed here. 

Back to our abode, and The Cary Arms also serves food in the evenings, with a menu that can only be described as gastro-pub with a strong leaning towards seafood. Full of solid comfort food like steak and ale pie and fish and chips, they also do lighter, more elegant options. I really enjoyed the seared (very local) Brixham scallops with crisp parma ham wafers. The star anise jus lifted it from being a bit obvious to bringing something a little different about it.  

The 'trio of fish' changes depending on what's fresh at the market. Cooked very simply and sympathetically to bring out the best of each, the seabass, ling and hake were all topped with pistou sauce. A seasonal vegetable accompaniment of mange tout, green beans and cubes of fried potato really did make me reminiscent of the veg sides you get in countryside pubs. That's not a criticism, it's just very straight-forward. 

On another night, seared pigeon breast with butternut squash puree and a black pudding sauce was very generous with not one but three whole breasts, cooked perfectly blushing and juicy in the middle. Someone had a big day on the red cress garnish, but the flavours worked really nicely, the tang of the black pudding off-setting the sweetness of the squash.  

I opted for the Devon crab salad with wholegrain mustard mayonnaise and while I was happy to get both white and brown crabmeat, the mayonnaise was a bit too plentiful to fully appreciate it. 

We all got dinner envy at the Otter ale-battered fish and chips. The less said about crushed peas the better since the person actually eating the meal loved them and I'm a big mushy girl. The fish looked perfect. Sigh. I really liked the newspaper garnish, harking back to how fish and chips used to be served. 

With a sticky toffee pudding and a cheese board to properly finish us off, there was really only one thing for it - either fall asleep in front of a fire, or take advantage of the ex-pub's throwback - pool. 

They also have a spa there, with treatment rooms. In 2016 a set of beach huts will be built, completing their spa and offering rooms right on the seafront. After a restful night's sleep in a properly dark, properly silent room - this is a novelty for a Londoner - we were treated to a 25 minute neck, shoulder and back massage. Completely blissful. Afterwards I flopped into a big squishy seat and stared at the sea for a while. 

I was invited to The Cary Arms, but as with everything on this site, all opinions are my own. Rooms start at £196 per night for two, including breakfast.

The Cary Arms

Babbacombe Beach
South Devon
England
TQ1 3LX

Tel:  + 44 (0) 1803 327110

Email: enquiries@caryarms.co.uk   

Blueberry Swirl Cheesecake

Here are a couple of facts about me:

- I rarely make desserts. I can't be bothered. They don't interest me enough. 
- When I do, you can bet money on it that it'll be blueberry-based. 

So, here's a recipe for blueberry swirl cheesecake. This recipe is seriously rich, and it serves a lot of people when cut into bars. You could halve the recipe if you like, but you could also be nice to your colleagues and take them in. Or eat it all yourself and feel sick for the evening...

Blueberry Swirl Cheesecake

Serves 8 - 12

(Adapted from BBC Good Food)

300gr digestive biscuits, crushed into a fine powder
140gr butter, melted
250gr golden caster sugar + 1 tbsp
150gr blueberries
1 tsp cornflour
900gr full fat cream cheese
4 tbsp plain flour
3 eggs
2 tsp vanilla extract
200ml soured cream
Zest of half a lemon

Heat the oven to 200 degrees C. Line a large baking tray (20cm x 30cm) with baking parchment. Mix all the biscuit crumbs with the melted butter and press it firmly and evenly across the bottom of the tray. Bake for 15 minutes, then remove and leave to cool in the tray. 

Add the blueberries to a small saucepan with 1 tbsp sugar. Mix the tsp cornflour to 1 tbsp water and add this to the pan, and heat gently, stirring a few times for the sugar to melt. Increase the heat and bubble for 3 minutes, until some of the blueberries have popped. Leave to one side. 

In a mixing bowl, combine the cream cheese with the sugar and mix well with an electric whisk until combined. Then add the soured cream, plain flour, vanilla extract and the lemon zest. Beat in each egg, one at a time, making sure everything is well incorporated before adding the next. 

Pour half the mixture onto the biscuit base, then drizzle half the blueberry sauce on top. Add the other half of the cheesecake mixture, then splodge the remaining blueberry sauce on top. Use a chopstick to drag through the blueberry sauce on top to create a swirl effect. 

Bake for 10 minutes, still in a 200 degree oven, then turn down to 110 degrees and bake for a further 30 minutes. Turn off the oven and leave the cheesecake inside for an hour and a half. Then remove and leave to cool, refrigerate for an hour, and then turn out and slice into bars. 

Propping Up the Bar: Merchant's Tavern

Merchant's Tavern has, for a wee while now, been the talk of the town. Angela Hartnett's put her name behind the place, and none other than the indomitable Thomas Blythe looks after the front of house. If ever there was a more snazzily dressed manager, I'm yet to meet them. 

We visited on a Sunday afternoon, that awkward time in between lunch and dinner. I wouldn't describe the space as what one might traditionally call a tavern - that, for me, brings to mind a lot of gloomily lit room decorated in dark wood panelling, tankards of mead on offer - but instead an airy, banquette-lined spacious bar, opening to a dining room lit by skylights. 

We perched on stools by the bar, facing a fridge full of cured meats, dangling tantalisingly. One of us sipped on an absinthe-laced cocktail, while the other nursed a 'Dr. Henderson the Younger', heady with Fernet Branca and gin. My eyes widened a touch at the pricing on the main menu, and instead we decided to graze on the bar menu. 

Pigs head and veal kremeski (sic) - a well posh croquette yes? - were plump fingers of perfectly crisp, liberally seasoned slow-cooked meat dribbled with a tarragon mayonnaise. Served in a little copper pot, they were just the thing I can imagine were deceptively time-consuming to make.

We further tested the skills of the fryer with blisteringly hot cauliflower spheres, the cheese-stuffed middles eager to ooze from its carapace. They were how I'd like all my cauliflower cheese from now on - intense creamy brassica flavour. Haddock fish fingers came with a tartare sauce so deliciously tangy it was hard not to just eat it all up with your fingers... as you can see.

We took a well needed vegetable break, and the Little Gem lettuce, braised and dressed with brown shrimp and pickled cucumber was the ideal foil for all the richness we'd indulged in. The pickled cucumber took the thinly shaved ribbon form and was unexpectedly but pleasantly sweet. Fat, amber prawns (top pic) whiffed of freshly fried garlic, spiked through with chilli. Their bodies, de-shelled were eagerly swiped through the aioli, though the juices sucked from their heads were a little on the bitter side.

Then, the main show/heart stopper arrived. Ogleshield and ham toasted sandwich might, on paper, sound rather dull. But we knew that to charge £8 for a toasted sandwich it had to be something special, right? So we ordered it, and it was amazing. Thick, soft bread fried until crisp in what I suspect was butter was stuffed with cheese that surely must've been mixed with bechemel, it was so rich and luxurious. The ham was substantial; thickly cut, proper ham. The sweet-sour pickles were a palate-cleansing necessity, the Picpoul de Pinet helping it along a bit. It's the best toasted sandwich I've ever had. We rounded off our indulgence with a perfectly wobbly vanilla-flecked custard, topped with boozy prunes. 

Avoiding the so-perceived costly dining room menu in favour of the bar turned out to be a vain attempt, as we faced a £50-a-head bill. 

Merchant's Tavern

36 Charlotte Road
London EC2A 3PG

020 7060 5335

Dunne Frankowski at Sharp's

Dunne what? At where? I kept seeing Instagram photos popping up on my feed of a trendy coffee shop tagged at this location and I didn't take much notice as really, I don't take much notice of coffee. Then my friend Ed wrote about it here and I realised it wasn't just about coffee, but toasted sandwiches too. Who doesn't love a toasted sandwich? Show me them and I'll shun them appropriately. 

So, what with it being a 5 minute walk from my office, I strong-armed Ed into meeting me there for lunch. There's a barber shop out back and a cavernous, rather dark space with a simple bar. Huge chrome coffee machines and a few grills for toasting sandwiches is the sum of its parts. I ordered a meatball, cheese and pickled fennel toastie (£4.50) and we went outside to sit on their bench. 10 minutes later (for they are made and toasted from scratch) our sandwiches arrived and though my meatball number was flavoursome, cheesy goodness, the sharp tang of pickled fennel saying "HELLO! I'm here!" and working rather beautifully with the pork, I'd set eyes on Ed's Stilton and kimchi version (opening photo) and was immediately jealous. I lightly cajoled him into swapping his other half with me and I'm glad my bullying tactics worked because it was a winner. Kimchi and Stilton on paper sounds like a flavour sensation, perhaps overwhelming, but it wasn't - it was perfect. 

We finished up with a greengage and custard tart that actually I bullied Ed into making for me, and only got a little disheveled in its bike ride. So really I'm just teasing with that photo as they don't sell them at Dunne Whatchamacallit. 

It's just dawned on me that I wasn't very nice to poor Ed. But at Dunne's, the bread is sourdough, the cheese is posh, and these guys sure as shit know their pickles. They are really very good. 

Dunne Frankowski at Sharp's  

9 Windmill Street, 
W1T 2JF

Steak & Blue Cheese Salad

When I have people round for dinner, I have terrible trouble thinking of things to make which don't involve at least a substantial piece of meat and some fixings. You'd think I would have learnt from my vegan month, but thoughts always stray to something roasted or braised. More often than not, it will be a fairly lengthy recipe to take time over, and there just seems to be more of a sense of celebration in these dishes. 

This kind of meal assumes you have the time to spend over such things though. I recently had friends over for dinner after work and rather than make them wait until the early hours while my centrepiece cooked, this steak salad was pretty much perfect; quick to make and decadent enough to feel like a treat. Faces fell somewhat when I announced that we were having salad, but they soon perked up when the steak was sliced into it and the blue cheese crumbled over it. Salad at our house is rarely the healthy sort. I'll admit I wouldn't win any prizes on presentation, though. 

It seems rather wrong to be eating salad in this weather, but served warm and with a mountain of oven chips, it didn't really need to be Summer. 

Steak & Blue Cheese Salad

Serves 4

500gr rump steak at room temperature
70gr blue cheese, at room temperature
A handful of cherry tomatoes
1 red and 1 yellow pepper, roasted and skins removed (or use jarred)
1/2 a red onion
30gr walnuts, toasted and left to cool
1 x bag of mixed strong leaves, like rocket and watercress


For the dressing:

4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil 
1 tsp honey
1 tbsp sherry vinegar
2 tbsp wholegrain mustard
1 tbsp creme fraiche or yoghurt (optional, but nice)
A pinch of salt and pepper

Whisk the dressing together and set to one side.

This is basically an assembly job. Heat up a griddle pan or a frying pan until it's really hot - oil the steak, not the pan. Fry until your desired doneness (medium rare, for me). Season generously on both sides and remove to rest on a plate under a tent of foil. Rest for 15 minutes.

In a large bowl, add the leaves and dress with half of the dressing. Use your hands to really get in there and work the dressing onto the leaves. Arrange on a plate, then halve the cherry tomatoes and slice the peppers into stripes. Scatter over the leaves. Slice the red onion into thin half moons, again, scatter. 

Slice the steak thinly against the grain. Any juice that remains can be whisked into the remainder of the dressing. Drape the steak over the leaves, give them a little wiggle, and drizzle the rest of the dressing over. Finally, crumble over the blue cheese and serve.

Baked Strawberry Cheesecake

I don't bake often, as with just the two of us we'd have to get through an awful lot of cake to avoid waste but when a gathering is planned, it seems the perfect opportunity to try out a new recipe. This was based on a raspberry cheesecake recipe I'd seen, but as strawberries are just coming into season, I thought it would make a good and seasonal substitute.

The recipe needs a bit of tweaking; as delicious as it was, the base could have been crunchier and the filling a touch more set, so I've added what I think you should alter to achieve this in brackets. Nonetheless, it was devoured. The cooked strawberries are sweet and soft while the fresh fruit on top gives good bite and a touch of tartness.


Baked Strawberry Cheesecake

Serves around 8

600gr cream cheese
8 digestive biscuits (I'd suggest using 10 for a drier, crispier base)
50gr butter
142ml soured cream
2 tbsp plain flour
2 eggs + 1 yolk
175gr caster sugar + 1 tbsp
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
500gr strawberries

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C. Hull and halve the strawberries. Process the digestives into fine crumbs, and met the butter. Mix the two together well and press into a 20cm springform tin. Bake for 10 minutes, and then leave to cool.

Combine the eggs, cream cheese, soured cream, vanilla essence and flour in a bowl. Add the 175gr sugar and whisk until light and fluffy. Stir in half of the strawberries, and then spoon into your tin. Bake for 50 - 55 minutes. The middle should have a slight wobble when you remove it from the oven. Leave to cool in the tin.

Halve the remaining strawberries and put in a small saucepan with the 1tbsp sugar and a tablespoon of water. Heat gently until the strawberries are very soft. Squeeze through a sieve to get the juice. When serving, pile the fresh strawberries on top and drizzle with the strawberry sauce.

Deep Fried

I don't have the squeamishness that some people have about deep frying. I love it; from the vaguely healthy, like agedashi tofu, to the horrendously deliciously unhealthy, like buttermilk fried chicken. Of course I've had my accidents; my first foray into deep frying was squid tempura and I cowered behind my wok lid shield as furious fat spat all over my kitchen, in protest of having wet squid chucked into it. I learned my lesson from that one.


I saw a post on fried pickles at the excellent Homesick Texan and I knew I had to make it. Pickles? Crumbed and fried? Yes please. A buttermilk dressing was made to accompany it, though I added my own tweaks. Combined, the crunch of the coating giving way to crunchy, tangy dill pickle slices was brilliant. The garlicky buttermilk dressing, with a heavy hand in coriander, made an ideal dipping sauce.

Surprise of the day though was a happy snap decision. Some squat mild chillis were in the fridge, while some halloumi was slowly growing mouldy. Since I had a wok full of shimmering hot oil, I figured I might as well give it a go, and they were a hit. Mild, slightly spicy pepper bursting with melted halloumi was a pretty perfect snack to go with a couple of beers.


Coriander Buttermilk Dressing

Makes a small bowl

4 tbsp buttermilk
7 tbsp mayonnaise
1 clove of garlic
Juice of half a lime
A large pinch of cayenne pepper
1 green chilli, diced
Salt and pepper to taste
A handful of coriander, minced

In a bowl, whisk together the lime juice, buttermilk and mayonnaise. Add the garlic, minced finely and the cayenne pepper and chilli. Add the coriander and mix well. Taste for seasoning.

Deep Fried Pickles & Cheese-Stuffed Chillis

Makes enough for 4 as a light snack

4 large pickled dill cucumbers
10 mild squat red chillis
Half a block of halloumi
6 Matzo crackers
4 tbsp buttermilk
1 egg
Plain flour
Vegetable oil for deep frying

Slice the cucumbers to the thickness of about an inch and leave to dry on kitchen paper. Make a slit in the chillis just down one side and carefully scrape out the seeds. Stuff with sticks of halloumi.

Preheat the oven to 170 degrees C. Process the matzo crackers into crumbs and place in a sandwich bag. Whisk together the egg and the buttermilk and cover a plate with the flour. Dip the pickles and chillis firstly in the flour, then the egg and then in the sandwich bag for a good shake to cover. Heat the oil until it's shimmering and a breadcrumb sizzles in it and fry the pickles and chilli in batches until browned on all sides. Remove to a plate lined with kitchen towel and place in the oven to keep warm.