More Eating Out
Created | Updated Nov 18, 2011
1. Maison Bleue, Bury St Edmunds
Getting There: Centre of town (but first you must survive East Anglia Railways)
Who should eat there: fish eating lovers
Dining Style: nicely done - like the food
Price: £30 with a decent French white
Quality: Scrummy
Would I go Back: East Anglia Railways may be all that lies between me and a lovely bit of fish
There are all sorts of reasons to go to Bury St Edmunds. The ruins of the largest, wealthiest and, possibly, least-in-touch Monastery in England, a lovely market town and public tours of the massive Green King brewery. The country side around about is quite nice too.
However, what sort of claim can one make about quality time in a place unless it includes a decent meal? There is probably more than one answer to this and if any of you ever meet the astoundingly gorgeous companion who eats with me on my journeys, you may guess at some of them. I also draw your attention to the brewery tour at £5 per person which is excellent value.
Our culinary experience started a long time before we discovered the joys of the town. After a typical journey for that part of the UK, changing trains at Cambridge and travelling on what seemed to be a nasty world war two throw back service of an over-crowded, two carriage East Anglia train we arrived at 8pm, well after dark, at the Bury St Edmunds station on the outskirts of the town.
We had thought to write down the telephone number of what we hoped would be a great place to eat. Between intermittent signal failure for our mobile phones, we managed to make a booking for an hour later that evening. Continuing our struggle with Suffolk's interpretation of first world public infrastructure, we managed a second telephone call from the train to my second companion to assure them that dinner was going to be special that night.
The station is a bit out of town but it is a relatively easy walk into the city centre. Mostly guessing the right way to go, we made it to our rendezvous with our third party and headed into the twisty lanes where Maison Bleue is located.
The friendliness with which we were greeted was warm, the place was full, our bags were taken from us and we were led to the back of a bright, warm, modern restaurant and given time to gather our thoughts, peruse the menu and catch up with each other. One wrinkle in some of our dining experiences is that our second companion lives a strictly gluten free lifestyle. We were reassured within minutes that this would only limit the choice from most obvious things from the menu: essentially deep fried foods. Looking around us, deep fried fish in batter with mushy peas probably wasn't going to be among our initial choices anyway.
I am a big fan of lemon sole (as it is now known, plaice seeming to such an old fashioned word) and mine was whole and cooked to perfection. The fish does have a lemony flavour that, of cooked well, comes out beautifully. For people who are used to supermarket filleted fish, no matter how fresh it is claimed to be, the taste of properly cooked, truly fresh fish is eye opening. Almost as good, in fact, as fish barbecued near the jetty, cooked while you are putting your fishing rods away.
The others of my companions chose equally happily. Neither are lovers of fish bones and both chose fillets. As a result, their experience was quite different and they probably got to eat theirs faster too.
For vegetables we simply got some pots of lovely potato goo and greens for the table and helped ourselves. These were relished and scoffed down - if one can do both at the same time.
The wine list is French, as are many of the staff. When it comes to food and drink, this isn't a bad thing. Given two days following was Mothering Sunday, we ensured we were booked in before we left so we could repeat the whole experience again.
----
2. Coriole Vinyard, McLaren Vale
Getting There: Grab a car in Adelaide and head down the Main South Road
Who should eat there: lovers of the long afternoon
Dining Style: hill top grazing with a view
Price: £20 with wine to share
Quality: Farm produce from the farm eaten at the farm
Would I go Back: Regularly
The title Food Capital of Australia is claimed by many cities in the land down under but probably most convincingly by Adelaide. Certainly Melbourne has better formal dining and Sydney has many stand-out places, Hobart is the home of Organic but Adelaide has a range and quality of eateries at prices and locations that other places find hard to match.
The city has a very long west facing beach front fronted by a series of esplanades down its 100km length. These are spotted with glass doored cafes, that open their insides to the outside to take advantage of views of the setting sun in summer and keep their doors snugly closed in the winter so you can see storms raging over the sea. Immediately surrounding this provincial capital on the remaining three sides are wine growing regions, all of which have vines much older than anything in France or the rest of Europe. 20 minutes in any direction from the city centre will put you among the vines, hillsides and farming country. OK it it isn't perfect - there is the detritus of any large, massively spaced out semi-urban sprawl of over a million people - but it its not too shabby.
Which leads us to the question only asked within the most sophisticated societies and very often asked in Adelaide: where shall we have lunch? Heading south puts you in McLaren Vale and, depending on the time of year, in the mood for crisp white wines and outdoor eating or, alternatively, heavy, rich reds and roaring fires.
In the hot, Coriole Vineyard is an oasis of civilised green in a very bright, pale yellow sun burnt land. If it is over 40 degrees, air-conditioned comfort may be more appropriate, but in the mid 30s there is little more fun than sitting in the shade with a large platter of local produced breads, farm grown olives, cheeses made in the shed across the way and meaty bits from the German butchers and small goods manufacturers that are the part of the cultural heritage from the Silesian migrations in the mid-1800's. There is more than enough on the board to keep two happy for hours.
For wine, the offer is anything sold at the cellar door at whatever price they are asking for it over there - the Chenin Blanc is a snip at less than £10 a bottle. They will provide glasses and open the bottle for you (at your table no less) but this is farm house dining. Greasy fingers are likely and the world of fine linen is miles away. Toilets and hand basins are in a re-fabricated corrugated iron water tank across the car park the side.
So without snooty waiters, napkins, opera tickets or the other outward signs of the fine life, what is there to do? Well you can pick mulberries from the nearby tree and get squirted with purple juice. You can sit there and talk to your companions for hours. You can look down the west down the valley to the sea, or south and east to the hills. The choices are priceless and Coliole charges such a reasonable amount for people like me to appreciate them.
----
3. Marks and Spencers, Dine in for 2 for £10.
Getting There: Take the restaurant food to the home
Who should eat there: Who ever eats at your place normally
Dining Style: as posh as you make it or in front of the telly
Price: £5 each with plonk
Quality: Better than you could do in the time that sometimes you have
Would I go Back: Sometimes you have only that amount of time
My work life is busy. Walking in front of London's Royal Exchange and watching the hoards descending to the gaping holes punctured in the earth around Bank Tube Station at 7 or 8pm at night, makes me realise that I am nothing special in this regard.
Actually I am special, because I live close enough to where I work that I am one of the very, very few Londoners that does not have to destroy their love of life by using the tube or one of the commuter services. I get to walk home in the fresh air. However, many nights I still get home very late.
One modern feature of London is the proliferation of the Marks and Spencer Simply Food convenience store. There is one at every major train terminus and at a great number of central tube stations. They sell fresh, fully prepared main courses, chopped vegies in bags, bowls of things in sauces, packets of this and that ready for the oven and, very importantly, deserts portioned up and ready for eating. There are ranges of wine to suit every impulse purchase budget. Very frequently sets of these things are bundled together into a Dine in For £10 for 2 special deal where you get a main, side, desert and a bottle of wine for £10. The food is all cooked at home in the metal trays in which it is bought.
For research purposes only, I have experimented with these deals.
The mains vary but for the evening in question my glamorous dining companion and I chose chicken breasts in a salsa sauce, mixed roasting vegetables and an apple pie, keeping with an oven theme. Our resources at home extended to a good range of vegetables including carrot, courgette, pumpkin, cauliflower and broccoli.
On arrival at our dining destination one of us took coats and hung them up while the other dived into the kitchen turned on the oven, put water into the steamer and read the heating instructions and calculated the countdown as to when things should be put into the oven. After the first thing's in, next is quickly to prepare all of the steaming vegies from the home collection (dishes used limited to a knife, a chopping board and the steamer). Once that's done it's chef's turn to go and get changed and generally transform from tired office bunny into fine diner.
Within half an hour the silverware is on the table, the crystal wine glasses set, the candles are lit and our letter box's contents opened and (largely) filed or binned. Cooking effort is remarkably easy with a few tops and tails from the vegies (now in the bin) and the recycling box a little fuller (Marks and Spenser are very good about recyclable packaging). No effort apart from the first five minutes has been required except pulling the cork from the wine. Black tie is a realistic option for the evening dress code - cooking is very clean.
After laying the food on the plates while the other refills wine, both my dining companion and I get to clink glasses and sample the food. The chicken is beautifully cooked and the spicy salsa adds piquancy without overwhelming the flavours. Some of the roasted vegies are a little overcooked but others are fine - we suspect the kitchen is unaware that not all things cook at the same speed and thus that the one tray method may not be ideal. The steamed vegies are wonderful, leading us to believe that chef follows the 8min/5min rule for hard (carrots, cauliflower) and soft vegetables (greens) in the steamer.
Conversation is easy as the venue is quiet without too much noise from other diners. The space also feels familiar which reduces the sense of formality that can kill free speech in other venues. The wine, although pretty rough, is quite slurpable and value for money. Fortunately the kitchen staff keep it stashed in the fridge between refilling the diners' glasses which keeps it cold and takes the corners off it.
The desert is a highlight. The pie is hot and the pasty very light and crisp. The apples are quite sour and retain their texture so that the whole has a really nice mouth feel - unlike some apple pies that are mush cooked in a bright yellow floury crust. The wine's roughness comes into its own, not being at all overpowered by the food.
At the end of dinner, cleaning up is quick with only the plates and cutlery we used plus the board, chopping knife and steamer. We wash the throw away baking trays because we believe we should. There is half a pie left over meaning somebody has a treat for the following days' work lunches.
----
4. Charlton House, Shepton Mallet
Getting There: find Wells, Bath, Castle Carey and triangulate
Who should eat there: those in search of serious relaxation
Dining Style: think wedding venue without a bride
Price: £40 with wine
Quality: food was surprisingly wedding venue-ish
Would I go Back: Nah
Some destination hotels find some parts of the year are quite tricky to attract people to cross their doors. If you are lucky or search hard you can get into some quite swanky places with some good deals. Charlton House was such a place for a Monday night after a long weekend for me and a companion.
In fact we were already in the area of Wells, that smallish city just south of Bath which had, that weekend, been host to a choir we wanted to hear. The idea of extending our stay in one of those most British (and expensive) Institutions the "Country House Hotel" was nearly irresistible. In the past we have managed to resist simply by not having nearly enough money to succumb to the temptation. However, a Monday night at the end of a long weekend in winter provided us with enough cumulative discounts from their webpage offerings that we counted our pennies, made our decision and confirmed our booking (non-refundable, cash in advance etc).
We arrived in the early afternoon in a taxi (we do occasionally travel in style) overcoming our normal instincts to walk the 7km from Wells across country. Our stay promised champagne, a luxury afternoon tea, a massage with hot stones (like you see in the brochures), a play in the pool, then dinner before heading up to our room. We were very keen to get in and get started.
Since this is about eating out and not about hot stone massages, I won't bore you with the details but unlike the photos, you don't lie mostly naked on an sunny bench with a row of stones resting on your spine with the blue ocean in the background. In Shepton Mallet in winter, at least, you are in a small room with no ocean or sunshine for miles. The pool though was wonderful and you could swim out under the glass wall to sit in the bubbling heated water whilst it snowed on you. I won't hazard a guess at their energy bill.
After all of these relaxing activities for mind and body (there were copies of such high-flying magazines as Wallpaper* in our room and New Scientist and, of all things, the British Medical Journal by the pool) we decided to head to afternoon tea. The first job was to start to organise drinks. The website had suggested a half bottle of bubbles for the two in our room on arrival but since we had arrived a bit early to fit in our hot rocks, it hadn't been sent up. So in the comfy lounge area with its open fires and floppy chairs, we arranged for afternoon tea and then our belated champagne.
Firstly, the afternoon tea. This is the crown of England's culinary contribution to the world. Its simplicity makes it impossible to stuff up the food and, with some elegant china, it should be a civilisation on a plate. For those who have not eaten many afternoon teas, the key is the three tiered serving plates. The bottom contains a range of simple sandwiches cut into small shapes (triangles and rectangles being traditional). The second, middle tier, has warm scones to be eaten with jam and thick cream. The top tier has tiny, fun cakes and, maybe, biscuits. A pot of tea is provided on the side.
There were two major flaws with this afternoon tea. The sandwiches were missing and the cakes and biscuits were too sweet and too plentiful. The offering moved the meal from adult delight into children's party. There was an option to pay another £10 for sandwiches but the cost seemed a bit steep and I really hadn't considered that sandwiches were ever optional in a proper tea. However, even in the face of this adversity we worked our way through the platters while drinking our tea.
Several hours into the process it was time to move onto a lighter shade of pale beverage and we asked one of the passing boys (who were always passing at handy intervals) for our bottle of bubbly. In no time at all the detritus of our previous meal was gone and two clean glasses and an ice bucket were in front of us. Horror of horrors though, the bottle was a 750ml one and our package included only a 375ml bottle. I drew the attention of the lad to the mistake and his manager (who just happened to pass by) essentially said we could have a full bottle of decent house champagne or a half bottle of second tier brand-name champagne (since they had run out of halves of house fizz) and quite frankly if we were happy to have the full bottle he was happy not have to go back the bar and change things around. It seemed like a good deal to us.
Within what seemed like minutes of turning to the Japanese interior house decorating section of my copy Wallpaper* (between the section of fluorescent cuboid footstools from up-and-coming Brazilian design students and 19 types of German artisan cutlery priced at over 200 Euros per fork) another nice lad brought across menus for the evening meal.
Given we still had a large amount of bubbles to get through, we were quite full still with ultra-sweet bits and we had three courses in front of us, we intrepidly regarded the menu. If a moderately good house champers was to be the beverage what food, we questioned, should we have to accompany it? Fish obviously, soup also (many soups go fabulously with champagne), bird and maybe a decent variety of vegies.
So with our overfull, over-sweet bellies, one of us ordered the smoked salmon with capers and the other asparagus. While the food was nice enough, the eating space was one of the cavernous conservatories bolted to the side of the old main house. No amount of white floaty drapery was ever going to make the space seem intimate. It was a wedding banqueting space and vast quantities of candle light was not really going to transform it. However as we worked out way through the food and the rest of the bottle, it mattered less to us.
The main course was more fish for me - I like to keep my long chain Omega-3s coursing through my blood stream and it was chicken with bits and bobs for my, by now, very glamorous companion. Again all was competent but it wasn't delivering the quality of food that one could have hoped for. I suspect the kitchen could have been ramped up to 50 plates an hour for both of our meals without sacrificing their scant individuality. Vegetables were charged separately but, in all fairness, they never appeared on our bill.
We did our usual trick of one of us having the cheese for desert and having it delivered before the other's desert. The cheeses were amazing, the areas around about Wells producing some top quality items.
All in all, it was a good dining experience. But right from the start of the afternoon tea, it never actually managed to hit the spot. The overall vision was right but the details never quite managed. My guess is there had been a large staff turnover previously when the ownership switched from the people who own the luxury Mulberry leather goods manufacturers to Bannatine, the health club chain. It isn't that the new staff are poor, but the new management direction hadn't created the focus that every staff member needs to share that gives a place kapow.
However, the other guests can't have been too put off. My companion for the evening swears blind that Alexia Chung was at the next table. I can't say, because my back was to her and I am far too well bred to turn and look over my shoulder to stare properly. However, my recollection of her face did bear a distinct resemble the visage on the front cover of Vogue that sat beside my bed a few months' later.
----
5. The Fox, Lower Oddington
Getting There: Fabulous walk from Morton-In-Marsh
Who should eat there: the hip and the fab
Dining Style: bonhomme country pub but without an actual bar
Price: £25 with wine
Quality: everything is tasteful - except the duck
Would I go Back: could do
Towards the northern end of the Cotswalds, that gentle area of England where the British television presenters go to live on weekends, are the twin villages of Lower and Upper Oddington. These are surrounded by thousands of identical villages each separated by no more than a couple of miles from each other. If you walk around for long enough, you feel as if no matter how far you go, you are mysteriously in the same village you started. Town planning in the Cotswalds demonstrates a level of uniformity that can be completely disconcerting.
Anyway Upper Oddington has a pub called the Horse and Groom and Lower Oddington has a pub called The Fox. To keep things interesting, 3 miles away, Longborough has two pubs - both called the Horse and Groom and 2 miles away in Broadwell there is only one pub and that is called The Fox. The degree to which Conservative England controls the countryside is quite scary. Fortunately every pub we visited catered to "all" tastes - providing "both" national papers for patrons to read: the Daily Mail and the Telegraph (the first being raving right-wing looney (although very well written) and second being nick-named the Tory-graph for its intelligent but staunch support of the Conservative (Tory) party).
But enough about urban planning and politics, how was the food?
Well, we had booked because The Fox (Lower Oddington version) is very popular since a couple of nice lads took it over several years ago (it seems that the readership of the Daily Mail has the same relationship with homosexual men as the Vogons have with the Dentrassi - they loath them generally but keep them around because they are the best caterers out there). The old pub was very buzzy on a Saturday night. Unlike a traditional pub there is no bar area with chairs or standing space: every corner, passage and room is dedicated to relaxed dining. The table allocated to my glamorous companion and myself was just inside the front door, tucked beneath a grand fireplace mantlepiece and under 3 stuffed fox heads all wearing rugby football club ties. The weather was good so we didn't get cold whenever the door opened and having easy access to watch the clothes and clientèle was a reward in itself.
Having come from central London, it felt weird being in such a full and happening place where there was exactly one non-white person in the entire establishment (including the kitchen - I looked). It appears that the Cotswalds cream-faced uniformity is not limited to its stones that make up the buildings.
Was the food any good? It is a question I keep coming back to but never get around to answering.
The answer is that it was OK. We didn't have too much to eat - limiting ourselves to a bottle of wine and a single course. I had duck breast on lentils. This is something I an striving to perfect in my own kitchen because I am convinced that lentils are a cook's gift - they have fantastic texture and take up whatever flavours you give them and return them tenfold. I was curious to see what The Fox's chef would do. The answer is not much.
Certainly the duck skin was crispy but the inside had been over cooked. The lentils were very thin on the plate and no real attempt to influence their flavour had been made. It was one of those meals where not only do I do it much better at home, I also have it on the table in less than 30 minutes from getting into the kitchen.
My convivial companion's choice was perfectly fine. To be quite honest I remember a lot about the night (it was only a few weeks' ago) but not much about food. It was intended for the wealthy, hip, England that I suspect got rather carried away with 'Cool Britania'. These are the people who rather overlooked that it is often, culturaly, the non-coolest and non-wealthiest parts of Britania where the most excitment and memorable action is. The Fox may be their kind of mutually self-congratulatory establishment and they are welcome to it.
----
6. Lythe Hill
Getting There: head down the B2131 from Haslemere but don't get hit
Who should eat there: hotels guests - and that's it really
Dining Style: vaguely European
Price: £25 with wine
Quality: hits are hits and misses are very missy
Would I go Back: I wouldn't make an effort
For various personal reasons I had decided that I needed another weekend in a spa hotel. There are a lot of spa hotels out there offering a bewildering array of luxury, food, grounds, house style and prices. Simple budgets forced a first cut leaving a choice from Nairne (near Inverness), St Margret's Bay (near Dover) and The Lythe Hill Hotel and Spa (near Godalming - the site of Bulldog Drummond's first ripping adventure), we settled on the latter. It suited me very nicely not least because it is close to London and I wanted the weekend to relax, not to sleep or sit on a train for hours on end.
Getting to the establishment was the work of a taxi ride from Haslemere station. Although I could see technically how to walk to the hotel, it was across country in a big way with some reasonable hills to hike over. There was nothing too hard about it on the map, but it would have meant extra walking shoes and this would mean extra carrying for the two or three miles to the remote section of Sussex in which my destination was located.
So my glorious companion and I arrived in style having spent no more than about 5 quid getting there (on top of the train fare which was pretty reasonable too) to find out we had been allocated a room in the 15 century main mannor house. I had asked for a nice large bed and that was the building with the room with their largest bed. Unfortunately it also had the lowest ceilings (the ceilings were lower than the bed was long, so they must have had fun getting it up the windey stairs and into the room).
Of the many good things about our room, including the uneven floors, exposed beams (which also exposed our heads to the risk of bumps), odd shaped spaces, windows that didn't really even close and an extraordinarily quirky staircase to get in, was that the dining room was right beneath us.
It took us a while to use the dining room (we had an extended weekend due to previous weekends at work) because the room service menu was really good. Using room service, you could get the best burgers, chips or proper, full-on salads etc for £8 each. Essentially their spa menu was also the room service menu, so it was complete, competitively priced and heartily recommendable. And, because we were in the same building as the cooks, it was also hot.
Against our continued desire to move as little as possible away from the direct lines between the pool, our room and the croquet lawn (don't ask) was the fact that the AA had awarded the restaurant 2 rosettes. Faced with such food quality on site, we had to try it even if only for completeness. So we paused our nightly scoffing of the room service with some reluctance to somewhere that it certainly was not cheaper and where we couldn't watch telly with our mouths full (which we can never do at home).
We always dress for dinner at these locations, so after donning the gear we descended the stairs in great style, making sure we didn't trip on an eccentrically placed 15 Century step. The dining room was dark wood panelled in a baronial style with the 2 metre diameter big cast iron hoop hanging from the ceiling forming the central source of illumination. The fire place on the long wall was in proportion as was the massive long table down the middle of the room (there were lots of smaller tables closer to the walls).
We were sat opposite each other at the long table (on the short sides, fortunately, so we didn't have to shout to each other).
To eat, my glamorous companion elected to sample a chicken dish while I opted for a tofu Asian concoction with crunchy bits on top. One of the dishes was lovely and the other was a horrible mash of tasteless wet glop with some well made crunchy bits on top. It was quite odd.
One thing that I have learnt over the years of drinking wine and eating food, is that bad things are rarely borderline. You can pretty much tell from the moment a cork comes out if the wine is off (sometimes on the first taste you realise that it has gone fizzy) and you never have to guess. The problems with my bowl of mush weren't about preference: all tofu should be silky and vegetables should have flavour. My preferences about the selection and flavour highlights may differ from the cook's, but here the flavours had gone AWOL (as had the texture). No question.
Well, one question... Should it go back? I haven't ever really sent anything back before (excepting a nearly uncooked pizza that was clearly a mistake). I couldn't tell. My companion who manages regularly to combine stunning good looks, a fabulous dress style with razor sharp decision making prowess made it clear that it should.
I raised my hand tentatively and the waiter, who was a pro of the best sort, had my dinner off the table and a menu in front of me in seconds with a clear offer to choose absolutely anything. I went for the snapper and the waiter came back to tell me the chef (who had had the night off) was decended upon the kitchen and it would all be going smoothly from now on.
If I may say so the difference between relief cook's efforts and chef's were noticeable. The fish was perfectly done and the vegetables that formed the bed upon which it lay were crisp and flavourful. I presume they were from the same supplier but cooked with a slightly different level of care and skill.
I mentioned earlier that our room was above the dining room. Well half of it was. The other half was above the kitchen. The talk we could hear in that the other half went on for some time after we had retired back upstairs.
----
7. Trattoria La Casalinga
Getting There: Cross the Arno and turn left just before the Big Palace
Who should eat there: People who follow their instincts and fell lucky
Dining Style: properly Italian
Price: £25 with wine
Quality: Fab
Would I go Back: If only I could
Eating in Florence in summer is one of lifes great pleasures. I have always been cautious of "The Italian Great City Experience" ever since reading A Room with a View by E.M. Forster, a novel next to the Arno, the river that runs through Florence. However, this time we had a raft of appointments in Italy: all social and all in a week. Florence got one night only (actually it got two, but the second one was only because Rome Railway Station burnt down and our train was very, very, very late). In the end, our room didn't have a view of much other than the hospital across the road but we were within 2 minutes walk of the Duomo (which I kept calling the Cathedral, probably because it is) and, most wonderfully, Emilio Pucci's workrooms. I don't think much of the fashion House's prints but it was still wonderful.
However, our place of abode, while central and convenient for viewing the delights of the city was devoid of anywhere to eat. This was no great loss because who wants to eat where they sleep? It just leaves crumbs everywhere…
Walking through Florence, surounded by hoards of tourists, is an oddly pleasant experience. I am not sure why. Maybe it is because it is very much a working city with people living in it and working productively. In some ways it is like London or Paris where the tourists, no matter how crammed they become on the pavements, can't overwhelm the drive of the locals to go places and do things. It means also that the shops interleave local and tourist interests because everybody has to use the same street frontages. The place has life and interest. On top of that, the town is full of wonderful historical buildings and streetscapes. It is also small which keeps things at a human scale (unlike London or Paris).
As evening fell on the one night we were there, we were wandering on the southern side of the Arno where we had heard (beats me where, as neither of us ever read any guide books and a novel written 1908 doesn't provide a lot of info on where to eat 103 years later) that life was a bit quieter there and, maybe, a bit cheaper. Coming back to my experience of London, I live one street away from a path which gets upto 60,000 tourists a day. There are no places at all to eat around where I live that don't cater to tourists or the masses of office workers (who occupy the huge buildings in which international banks love to kennel their workers). What there is, though, are places that locals use as well as the tourists in opposition to places locals don't use and leave soley to the tourists. My hope in Florence was to go to one of the former and miss the latter. On the other hand, just like London, lots of locals are on minimal wages and eat miserable rubbish - so I was keen to steer a middle path. In truth, on gorgeous warm night in a beautiful city, my thoughts were a long way from "winning" some fake trophy for finding the "most authentic" restaurant. Instead they were much closer to trailing after my feet and enjoying the crowds, the smells and the buzz.
My companion and I happened to see into an open kitchen (fly screens were in place) occupied by middle aged women and big steaming pots. One was making what looked like almond meal (I am taking a guess) and it seemed a fairly happy place. I am a happy person. It was a match. Walking around we found a door (the place was empty, hmmm) and then another door (this time mostly empty) so we went on instead of going in. Even after going round the block, the happy kitchen had stuck with us so we went back, were greeted warmly and only then noticed the few baby chairs were set next to tables nearest the doors, all of which were reserved. Grown up places that handle small children are, in my view, civilised places. Places that have accepted bookings for small children are normally the haunts of people who have done a lot more planning than I have.
So seated in quite a nice table for two, inside but near the doors, my telented companion for the evening and I perused the menu. There was no outdoor area but eating outside is for the birds (at least that is what we told ourselves). It was, as you might guess, in Italian. Neither of us know much Italian.
Given the relaxed mood of the evening, I was prepared to eat what they put in front of me. I can eat European International Cuisine pretty much anywhere TripAdvisor recommends and this wasn't a TripAdvisor kind of trip. The place was filling up with families and tourists like ourselves and pretty much everything looked good. I picked randomly Trippa alla Fiorentina for a starter and something that looked steak-like for my main (Aristarchus di maiale). My companion went for the ravioli for an entree and Pollo arrosto (with a good guess that it was roast chicken) for mains. With a jug of house red we settled back.
I soon discovered that Trippa is tripe. I haven't eaten tripe for years and years (my Dad used to cook it and his dad was a butcher, so left-overs from the shop were the norm in his family). I can't say it is my favourite food but sliced stomach isn't as bad as it sounds. OK the idea of my stomach slowly digesting another stomach can make my eyes water once you wonder what would happen if your own stomach suddenly got confused, but the flavour is excellent even if the smell is a little "meaty". Everywhere we went is Florence had Trippa as the first item on their menu so I can't be the only one to give it a go. The ravioli was really nice with sage and butter.
I didn't finish my starter mostly because I had about half a kilogram on the plate and I wanted to be able to see the night to its proper conclusion.
My guesswork for my mains was out. I got a large pork chop that was not beefish at all. It was fabulous. My companion's roast chicken was exactly that and done well too. We went to town for the vegies ordering harricot beans (not good and could have been from a tin), greans (fab), potatoes (fab) and zucchini (fab). In fact we may have gone overboard. I read earlier this year that the New York Times reported that people who over-eat green vegies actually loose weight. We may have lost several killograms.
The couple next to us (German speaking) had been talking to the waiting staff in English - something that had crossed our minds to do but we had abandoned. However, since we knew they spoke English we did ask them about the quality of their Tiramusu which they had said was really good. So we also got one to share with an espresso each (didn't have to go to bed and get up early the next day). The desert was properly flavoured with mascarpone (a very softly flavoured cheese) and coffee and it didn't have the sickly sweet flavour one gets so often. One between two was certainly sufficient.
After paying the bill we wandered happily back over the Ponte Vecchio (the fancy medieval bridge that is quite famous and impassible during the day and merely crowded late at night) past the Duomo and back to our hotel.
----
8. The Country Kitchen
Getting There: Use a 50 quid sail-ferry fare from anywhere in Olde England to Killarney
Who should eat there: It may be 50 quid but this is for those who have a day and a bit to get there
Dining Style: confused
Price: £25 with wine from a nearby bottle-o
Quality: Good Pub
Would I go Back: No, not really
For those who have missed this column during its recent occasional absences, I apologise. However I can't rule out a few more missed deadlines over the next few weeks. Although there have been some summer holidays, life right now is running to a schedule I can neither control nor predict: so there is my excuse.
However, no matter what, a body has got to eat.
So, for various reasons, this time about 70% under my control, I found myself taking advantage of the SailRail offer between any station in the UK to any station in the Republic of Ireland. This offer resulted in a single standard UK rail ticket "From LONDON TERMINALS To KILLARNEY" via Holyhead and Irish Ferries. Although this isn't a quick way to get to Ireland's west coast, it is a fixed price which meant I could by the ticket the day before going and buy the return ticket the day before returning - still at £50.50 per person.
So we, and I indicate by this that for this journey I was accompanied by a very accomplished companion, set of at midday to London Euston railway station and arrived in Dublin at 7ish. This wasn't in time to catch the last train to Killarney, so we resumed our journey the next morning just after 9am to be fresh faced in one of the most wonderful places in the world. We were pleased to have a few whole days to stroll around mountain lakes and generally enjoy some stunning scenery.
With all of this gentle outdoor activity it wasn't very late long before we were looking for a bite to eat in the evening and The Country Kitchen seemed the place to provide it.
From the outside it looks a bit like a sandwich and cake shop but the blackboard hanging outside the door indicated 20 Euros for three courses which seemed like a bargain for hungry people. Entering there was a photocopied piece of paper stuck next to the mostly empty sandwich refrigerated counters saying "Wait here to be seated" which turned out to be fully intended by the owner. After a few minutes of waiting (and not being able to see into the back and assuming they couldn't see me) I wandered towards to door of the dining area to wave at any passing staff. I was intercepted with a very stern telling off by a young lad (who turned out to be the aforesaid owner) who continued this while he took us to a table.
During a pause for breath in his tirade, my companion and I looked at each other, and one asked the other quite calmly if we should just go. There is no point in eating out if they staff simply can't stand the sight of you and I don't get much pleasure from it either. The other thought about it and said, given our reasons for being there hadn't changed "No, let's wait and see." I don't know what the other customers thought but it was quite quiet in there.
From that moment on, all of the staff demonstrated pure hospitality including the provision of a couple of free excellent cups of coffee at the end.
One very good piece of advice given early on was, if you order the Fish and Chips, order nothing else. This turned out to be sound advice and my companion followed it. I on the other hand was having salmon in a creamy sauce for my main, so I ran with plaice and salad for a starters and the chocolate and beetroot cake for desert. There is no wine list, but we were given a red card which, when waved at the off-licence two shops down, gave us a 10% discount. The off-licence didn't have the greatest collection of wines in Western Europe but we found something to do the trick at about 11 Euros ( minus 10%). We handed the bottle over to the, by now, extremely friendly proprietor Shane (which whom we were now on first name terms) to be kept somewhere cool.
The plaice was deep-fried and so had lost some of its flavour as a result but, as far as deep fried fish goes, it was done really well. The biggest problem was that my fish had three fillets which was either a) a miracle, b) generous of the chef or c) rather a lot for a starter. I saw other patrons had the same experience. The main Fish and Chips was very similar to my plaice except with out the salad (which my very desirable companion had nicked while I ate some of my fish) but with chips (no surprises from the kitchen on that front then). My salmon again lacked any actual fishy flavour. I appreciate that a lot of people only like fish if they can't taste it but if an animal is going to die for me, I think it is right that I enjoy the unique and specific pleasures it brings even if I don't much like it(otherwise I can eat mashed potato, which is suitably bland and something I know I like, and take a vitamin supplement).
The cake though, was quite excellent and came with sufficient cutlery that everyone at our table got to have some.
Shane had not before seen the wine we had chosen, so we offered him a glass, which he accepted as the night was coming to an end. He offered us coffee which we accepted because we didn't have to go to sleep right away or get up in the morning. It was all very civilised.
----
9. WheatherSpoons
Getting There: Like Chickenman - they're everywhere
Who should eat there: They don't mind if you don't
Dining Style: basic pub
Price: £5 including a pint
Quality: Not too bad
Would I go Back: Often
The life of a food reviewer isn't all glamour, fine dining and dressing up. It also includes eating in the cheapest places fairly regularly. One place that gets my regular custom is the Talley Ho in the Mid-North of London.
I have been to a couple of Weatherspoons Pubs to eat over the last few years and some of them (although a few years ago) scarred me for badly. However, I have since darkened the door of the Talley Ho many times now and the food is actually quite good and the price is excellent.
Last weekend it was a Burger and a Beer for £4 (more or less) which is amazing since the beer was a fairly wonderful type of ale which would cost over £3.50 in most pubs. So, using conventional beer pricing, the burger was delivered for about a pound. Interestingly it was quite edible. Obviously it isn't about to win a "best burger in North London" competition but it satisfied my two major criteria for this type of food: it mustn't be made from fine ground, mushy sausage meat and it has to be very, very slightly pink.
The patty had been ground just large enough that it doesn't feel like puree when you bite it. I would like it ground even bigger but at the price they are charging, my guess is that if it were ground any more coarsely you might be able to identify what it is made from - and that may not be something you would want to know. The cookedness of it was on the good side of "burnt" which means that whatever flavour it has (and it was fine) survived the local kitchen.
It comes with a handful of chips, prepared to a modern industrial cooking standard. There are not enough to make you want to stop eating for a week but if you are peckish rather than ravenous, they formed a nice munchy function.
Between the burger buns is a slice of tomato and some lettuce. Vast quantities of tomato sauce/ketchup, mayonnaise et al are available from the counter. This is also to my taste as I am not a big fan of litres of mayonnaise with my food, but I recognise that in the UK I am in the minority. Allowing the punter to exercise their own discretion is a good thing.
Other favourites of mine have been the Roasted shoulder of lamb (the random lottery of the kitchen can give you the joint of the shoulder or the lower top of the leg). This comes with a good range of veggies, a yorkshire pudding and gravy (and on Sunday before 6pm a pint of your choice). This has always been lovely except once when the chef (I use the term loosely) forgot to defrost the meat all of the way through in the microwave. The staff were happy to fix it - the ice next to the bone made it a no-brainer.
I suspect that the quality of the cook on site is significant. There is no doubt that this is food prepared in an massive kitchen in some low cost centre somewhere in Europe and shipped to each pub frozen with instructions. The trick is that this can be done in a way that scales well (or not) and, for the moment, the Tally Ho shows that, with someone local who knows what they are doing, it can.
----
10. Al-Badar
Getting There: Near the big Mosque on london's Brick Lane
Who should eat there: Locals, a few suits i.e. sober people
Dining Style: very cheerful Pakistani curries
Price: £5
Quality: Best in the area
Would I go Back: Every few weeks
London has a number of streets which are famed for their curries and Brick lane in the inner East End of London is one of them. Walking down the street on a Sunday or weekday evening, one is accosted by hawkers promoting their goods while, and this is a rather pleasant contribution, being surounded by some of the hippest, best dressed young things walking on two legs in Europe. Brick Lane is a street you can dress up when you visit in the knowledge that probably nothing you own will be edgier than the clothes others will be parading. I suspect that some of the looks are backed up by talent too, which makes people watching even more good fun.
As a day out Brick Lane worth the price of admision (it's a road so even better, it's free!).
Yet, one problem is that as good as the people on the street are looking, the curry houses are worthless. On the Sunday the various markets are in full swing with a multitude of food options to eat using paper plates while standing in the street (or sitting down on the pavement) but for the rest of the time (or if standing in the rain isn't your thing) you want a good cheap option.
Hence my regular frequenting of Al-Badar. It is essentially £5 for two Roti and a bowl of goo. If fried chicken or hamburgers are more your thing then they are available but with the curries as good as they are I have never tried them.
Most of the clients eat their curries with their fingers using the roti in the traditional way. I am now getting the hang of it, but it is harder than it looks. The roti are cooked to order (these are like naan except that they are not as oily and are more wholesome) and thus come to the table in their plastic basket very hot from the tandoor. This makes them tricky to use to gather the curry from your bowl for a few minutes but this may be the burden of eating in a small venue. You can ask for more roti: from your seat you ask the man behind the counter; he looks over his shoulder and asks the man in the kitchen - it really isn't a big venue.
All meals come with a soft drink (which you can decline). The big posters on the wall indicate that alcohol cannot be consumed on the premises. I don't think they tollarate drunks either. I haven't put it to the test. One of London's biggest Mosques is next door which might give some clues as to why.
People I have worked with who come from the northern Indian states rave about the food - it falls between home cooked and ordinary shop food from near their original homes. It is a bit too oily for home cooked but the flavours are rich without being too hot. It is all about the spices, cheeses and other indrediants. I have only eaten a meat dish here once. The vegetarian dishes are fabulous. Unfortunately, for strict Indian (Hindu) style vegetarians, they do use the same serving spoons in the meat and vegetable curries. However, for Musilms all is good.
Once you have finished, there is a spot to wash your hands (my Indian friends never need to bother because they know how to eat with fingers). Paying is done at the end when the man behind the counter gives you a number which corresponds to the amount of cash he expects you to tender. I presume people have tried to pull swifties and pretend they ordered cheap things, especially when it gets outrageously busy on Friday lunchtimes. Personally I don't think I would want to try it.
Once you are back on the street, you leave your little corner of plastic bench seats and cheap shop decoration and return into the delights of London fashion worn by London's most fashionable. Chalk and cheese: but both worth the trip.
----
11. Le Champignon Sauvage
Getting There: A long walk from Cheltenham Spa station
Who should eat there: Locals, a few suits i.e. sober people
Dining Style: very cheerful Pakistani curries
Price: £90pp
Quality: Best in the area
Would I go Back: Every few weeks
Being a food reviewer while leading an intensely stressful life isn't all pleasure. In between spa hotels, travels around Europe and living the life fanstastic in The City (central London to non-UK readers) one has to fit in eating. One's palate becomes jaded and one wants to go somewhere new. Sometimes London is just too small.
Getting There: Centre of town (but first you must survive East Anglia Railways)
Who should eat there: fish eating lovers
Dining Style: nicely done - like the food
Price: £30 with a decent French white
Quality: Scrummy
Would I go Back: East Anglia Railways may be all that lies between me and a lovely bit of fish
There are all sorts of reasons to go to Bury St Edmunds. The ruins of the largest, wealthiest and, possibly, least-in-touch Monastery in England, a lovely market town and public tours of the massive Green King brewery. The country side around about is quite nice too.
However, what sort of claim can one make about quality time in a place unless it includes a decent meal? There is probably more than one answer to this and if any of you ever meet the astoundingly gorgeous companion who eats with me on my journeys, you may guess at some of them. I also draw your attention to the brewery tour at £5 per person which is excellent value.
Our culinary experience started a long time before we discovered the joys of the town. After a typical journey for that part of the UK, changing trains at Cambridge and travelling on what seemed to be a nasty world war two throw back service of an over-crowded, two carriage East Anglia train we arrived at 8pm, well after dark, at the Bury St Edmunds station on the outskirts of the town.
We had thought to write down the telephone number of what we hoped would be a great place to eat. Between intermittent signal failure for our mobile phones, we managed to make a booking for an hour later that evening. Continuing our struggle with Suffolk's interpretation of first world public infrastructure, we managed a second telephone call from the train to my second companion to assure them that dinner was going to be special that night.
The station is a bit out of town but it is a relatively easy walk into the city centre. Mostly guessing the right way to go, we made it to our rendezvous with our third party and headed into the twisty lanes where Maison Bleue is located.
The friendliness with which we were greeted was warm, the place was full, our bags were taken from us and we were led to the back of a bright, warm, modern restaurant and given time to gather our thoughts, peruse the menu and catch up with each other. One wrinkle in some of our dining experiences is that our second companion lives a strictly gluten free lifestyle. We were reassured within minutes that this would only limit the choice from most obvious things from the menu: essentially deep fried foods. Looking around us, deep fried fish in batter with mushy peas probably wasn't going to be among our initial choices anyway.
I am a big fan of lemon sole (as it is now known, plaice seeming to such an old fashioned word) and mine was whole and cooked to perfection. The fish does have a lemony flavour that, of cooked well, comes out beautifully. For people who are used to supermarket filleted fish, no matter how fresh it is claimed to be, the taste of properly cooked, truly fresh fish is eye opening. Almost as good, in fact, as fish barbecued near the jetty, cooked while you are putting your fishing rods away.
The others of my companions chose equally happily. Neither are lovers of fish bones and both chose fillets. As a result, their experience was quite different and they probably got to eat theirs faster too.
For vegetables we simply got some pots of lovely potato goo and greens for the table and helped ourselves. These were relished and scoffed down - if one can do both at the same time.
The wine list is French, as are many of the staff. When it comes to food and drink, this isn't a bad thing. Given two days following was Mothering Sunday, we ensured we were booked in before we left so we could repeat the whole experience again.
----
2. Coriole Vinyard, McLaren Vale
Getting There: Grab a car in Adelaide and head down the Main South Road
Who should eat there: lovers of the long afternoon
Dining Style: hill top grazing with a view
Price: £20 with wine to share
Quality: Farm produce from the farm eaten at the farm
Would I go Back: Regularly
The title Food Capital of Australia is claimed by many cities in the land down under but probably most convincingly by Adelaide. Certainly Melbourne has better formal dining and Sydney has many stand-out places, Hobart is the home of Organic but Adelaide has a range and quality of eateries at prices and locations that other places find hard to match.
The city has a very long west facing beach front fronted by a series of esplanades down its 100km length. These are spotted with glass doored cafes, that open their insides to the outside to take advantage of views of the setting sun in summer and keep their doors snugly closed in the winter so you can see storms raging over the sea. Immediately surrounding this provincial capital on the remaining three sides are wine growing regions, all of which have vines much older than anything in France or the rest of Europe. 20 minutes in any direction from the city centre will put you among the vines, hillsides and farming country. OK it it isn't perfect - there is the detritus of any large, massively spaced out semi-urban sprawl of over a million people - but it its not too shabby.
Which leads us to the question only asked within the most sophisticated societies and very often asked in Adelaide: where shall we have lunch? Heading south puts you in McLaren Vale and, depending on the time of year, in the mood for crisp white wines and outdoor eating or, alternatively, heavy, rich reds and roaring fires.
In the hot, Coriole Vineyard is an oasis of civilised green in a very bright, pale yellow sun burnt land. If it is over 40 degrees, air-conditioned comfort may be more appropriate, but in the mid 30s there is little more fun than sitting in the shade with a large platter of local produced breads, farm grown olives, cheeses made in the shed across the way and meaty bits from the German butchers and small goods manufacturers that are the part of the cultural heritage from the Silesian migrations in the mid-1800's. There is more than enough on the board to keep two happy for hours.
For wine, the offer is anything sold at the cellar door at whatever price they are asking for it over there - the Chenin Blanc is a snip at less than £10 a bottle. They will provide glasses and open the bottle for you (at your table no less) but this is farm house dining. Greasy fingers are likely and the world of fine linen is miles away. Toilets and hand basins are in a re-fabricated corrugated iron water tank across the car park the side.
So without snooty waiters, napkins, opera tickets or the other outward signs of the fine life, what is there to do? Well you can pick mulberries from the nearby tree and get squirted with purple juice. You can sit there and talk to your companions for hours. You can look down the west down the valley to the sea, or south and east to the hills. The choices are priceless and Coliole charges such a reasonable amount for people like me to appreciate them.
----
3. Marks and Spencers, Dine in for 2 for £10.
Getting There: Take the restaurant food to the home
Who should eat there: Who ever eats at your place normally
Dining Style: as posh as you make it or in front of the telly
Price: £5 each with plonk
Quality: Better than you could do in the time that sometimes you have
Would I go Back: Sometimes you have only that amount of time
My work life is busy. Walking in front of London's Royal Exchange and watching the hoards descending to the gaping holes punctured in the earth around Bank Tube Station at 7 or 8pm at night, makes me realise that I am nothing special in this regard.
Actually I am special, because I live close enough to where I work that I am one of the very, very few Londoners that does not have to destroy their love of life by using the tube or one of the commuter services. I get to walk home in the fresh air. However, many nights I still get home very late.
One modern feature of London is the proliferation of the Marks and Spencer Simply Food convenience store. There is one at every major train terminus and at a great number of central tube stations. They sell fresh, fully prepared main courses, chopped vegies in bags, bowls of things in sauces, packets of this and that ready for the oven and, very importantly, deserts portioned up and ready for eating. There are ranges of wine to suit every impulse purchase budget. Very frequently sets of these things are bundled together into a Dine in For £10 for 2 special deal where you get a main, side, desert and a bottle of wine for £10. The food is all cooked at home in the metal trays in which it is bought.
For research purposes only, I have experimented with these deals.
The mains vary but for the evening in question my glamorous dining companion and I chose chicken breasts in a salsa sauce, mixed roasting vegetables and an apple pie, keeping with an oven theme. Our resources at home extended to a good range of vegetables including carrot, courgette, pumpkin, cauliflower and broccoli.
On arrival at our dining destination one of us took coats and hung them up while the other dived into the kitchen turned on the oven, put water into the steamer and read the heating instructions and calculated the countdown as to when things should be put into the oven. After the first thing's in, next is quickly to prepare all of the steaming vegies from the home collection (dishes used limited to a knife, a chopping board and the steamer). Once that's done it's chef's turn to go and get changed and generally transform from tired office bunny into fine diner.
Within half an hour the silverware is on the table, the crystal wine glasses set, the candles are lit and our letter box's contents opened and (largely) filed or binned. Cooking effort is remarkably easy with a few tops and tails from the vegies (now in the bin) and the recycling box a little fuller (Marks and Spenser are very good about recyclable packaging). No effort apart from the first five minutes has been required except pulling the cork from the wine. Black tie is a realistic option for the evening dress code - cooking is very clean.
After laying the food on the plates while the other refills wine, both my dining companion and I get to clink glasses and sample the food. The chicken is beautifully cooked and the spicy salsa adds piquancy without overwhelming the flavours. Some of the roasted vegies are a little overcooked but others are fine - we suspect the kitchen is unaware that not all things cook at the same speed and thus that the one tray method may not be ideal. The steamed vegies are wonderful, leading us to believe that chef follows the 8min/5min rule for hard (carrots, cauliflower) and soft vegetables (greens) in the steamer.
Conversation is easy as the venue is quiet without too much noise from other diners. The space also feels familiar which reduces the sense of formality that can kill free speech in other venues. The wine, although pretty rough, is quite slurpable and value for money. Fortunately the kitchen staff keep it stashed in the fridge between refilling the diners' glasses which keeps it cold and takes the corners off it.
The desert is a highlight. The pie is hot and the pasty very light and crisp. The apples are quite sour and retain their texture so that the whole has a really nice mouth feel - unlike some apple pies that are mush cooked in a bright yellow floury crust. The wine's roughness comes into its own, not being at all overpowered by the food.
At the end of dinner, cleaning up is quick with only the plates and cutlery we used plus the board, chopping knife and steamer. We wash the throw away baking trays because we believe we should. There is half a pie left over meaning somebody has a treat for the following days' work lunches.
----
4. Charlton House, Shepton Mallet
Getting There: find Wells, Bath, Castle Carey and triangulate
Who should eat there: those in search of serious relaxation
Dining Style: think wedding venue without a bride
Price: £40 with wine
Quality: food was surprisingly wedding venue-ish
Would I go Back: Nah
Some destination hotels find some parts of the year are quite tricky to attract people to cross their doors. If you are lucky or search hard you can get into some quite swanky places with some good deals. Charlton House was such a place for a Monday night after a long weekend for me and a companion.
In fact we were already in the area of Wells, that smallish city just south of Bath which had, that weekend, been host to a choir we wanted to hear. The idea of extending our stay in one of those most British (and expensive) Institutions the "Country House Hotel" was nearly irresistible. In the past we have managed to resist simply by not having nearly enough money to succumb to the temptation. However, a Monday night at the end of a long weekend in winter provided us with enough cumulative discounts from their webpage offerings that we counted our pennies, made our decision and confirmed our booking (non-refundable, cash in advance etc).
We arrived in the early afternoon in a taxi (we do occasionally travel in style) overcoming our normal instincts to walk the 7km from Wells across country. Our stay promised champagne, a luxury afternoon tea, a massage with hot stones (like you see in the brochures), a play in the pool, then dinner before heading up to our room. We were very keen to get in and get started.
Since this is about eating out and not about hot stone massages, I won't bore you with the details but unlike the photos, you don't lie mostly naked on an sunny bench with a row of stones resting on your spine with the blue ocean in the background. In Shepton Mallet in winter, at least, you are in a small room with no ocean or sunshine for miles. The pool though was wonderful and you could swim out under the glass wall to sit in the bubbling heated water whilst it snowed on you. I won't hazard a guess at their energy bill.
After all of these relaxing activities for mind and body (there were copies of such high-flying magazines as Wallpaper* in our room and New Scientist and, of all things, the British Medical Journal by the pool) we decided to head to afternoon tea. The first job was to start to organise drinks. The website had suggested a half bottle of bubbles for the two in our room on arrival but since we had arrived a bit early to fit in our hot rocks, it hadn't been sent up. So in the comfy lounge area with its open fires and floppy chairs, we arranged for afternoon tea and then our belated champagne.
Firstly, the afternoon tea. This is the crown of England's culinary contribution to the world. Its simplicity makes it impossible to stuff up the food and, with some elegant china, it should be a civilisation on a plate. For those who have not eaten many afternoon teas, the key is the three tiered serving plates. The bottom contains a range of simple sandwiches cut into small shapes (triangles and rectangles being traditional). The second, middle tier, has warm scones to be eaten with jam and thick cream. The top tier has tiny, fun cakes and, maybe, biscuits. A pot of tea is provided on the side.
There were two major flaws with this afternoon tea. The sandwiches were missing and the cakes and biscuits were too sweet and too plentiful. The offering moved the meal from adult delight into children's party. There was an option to pay another £10 for sandwiches but the cost seemed a bit steep and I really hadn't considered that sandwiches were ever optional in a proper tea. However, even in the face of this adversity we worked our way through the platters while drinking our tea.
Several hours into the process it was time to move onto a lighter shade of pale beverage and we asked one of the passing boys (who were always passing at handy intervals) for our bottle of bubbly. In no time at all the detritus of our previous meal was gone and two clean glasses and an ice bucket were in front of us. Horror of horrors though, the bottle was a 750ml one and our package included only a 375ml bottle. I drew the attention of the lad to the mistake and his manager (who just happened to pass by) essentially said we could have a full bottle of decent house champagne or a half bottle of second tier brand-name champagne (since they had run out of halves of house fizz) and quite frankly if we were happy to have the full bottle he was happy not have to go back the bar and change things around. It seemed like a good deal to us.
Within what seemed like minutes of turning to the Japanese interior house decorating section of my copy Wallpaper* (between the section of fluorescent cuboid footstools from up-and-coming Brazilian design students and 19 types of German artisan cutlery priced at over 200 Euros per fork) another nice lad brought across menus for the evening meal.
Given we still had a large amount of bubbles to get through, we were quite full still with ultra-sweet bits and we had three courses in front of us, we intrepidly regarded the menu. If a moderately good house champers was to be the beverage what food, we questioned, should we have to accompany it? Fish obviously, soup also (many soups go fabulously with champagne), bird and maybe a decent variety of vegies.
So with our overfull, over-sweet bellies, one of us ordered the smoked salmon with capers and the other asparagus. While the food was nice enough, the eating space was one of the cavernous conservatories bolted to the side of the old main house. No amount of white floaty drapery was ever going to make the space seem intimate. It was a wedding banqueting space and vast quantities of candle light was not really going to transform it. However as we worked out way through the food and the rest of the bottle, it mattered less to us.
The main course was more fish for me - I like to keep my long chain Omega-3s coursing through my blood stream and it was chicken with bits and bobs for my, by now, very glamorous companion. Again all was competent but it wasn't delivering the quality of food that one could have hoped for. I suspect the kitchen could have been ramped up to 50 plates an hour for both of our meals without sacrificing their scant individuality. Vegetables were charged separately but, in all fairness, they never appeared on our bill.
We did our usual trick of one of us having the cheese for desert and having it delivered before the other's desert. The cheeses were amazing, the areas around about Wells producing some top quality items.
All in all, it was a good dining experience. But right from the start of the afternoon tea, it never actually managed to hit the spot. The overall vision was right but the details never quite managed. My guess is there had been a large staff turnover previously when the ownership switched from the people who own the luxury Mulberry leather goods manufacturers to Bannatine, the health club chain. It isn't that the new staff are poor, but the new management direction hadn't created the focus that every staff member needs to share that gives a place kapow.
However, the other guests can't have been too put off. My companion for the evening swears blind that Alexia Chung was at the next table. I can't say, because my back was to her and I am far too well bred to turn and look over my shoulder to stare properly. However, my recollection of her face did bear a distinct resemble the visage on the front cover of Vogue that sat beside my bed a few months' later.
----
5. The Fox, Lower Oddington
Getting There: Fabulous walk from Morton-In-Marsh
Who should eat there: the hip and the fab
Dining Style: bonhomme country pub but without an actual bar
Price: £25 with wine
Quality: everything is tasteful - except the duck
Would I go Back: could do
Towards the northern end of the Cotswalds, that gentle area of England where the British television presenters go to live on weekends, are the twin villages of Lower and Upper Oddington. These are surrounded by thousands of identical villages each separated by no more than a couple of miles from each other. If you walk around for long enough, you feel as if no matter how far you go, you are mysteriously in the same village you started. Town planning in the Cotswalds demonstrates a level of uniformity that can be completely disconcerting.
Anyway Upper Oddington has a pub called the Horse and Groom and Lower Oddington has a pub called The Fox. To keep things interesting, 3 miles away, Longborough has two pubs - both called the Horse and Groom and 2 miles away in Broadwell there is only one pub and that is called The Fox. The degree to which Conservative England controls the countryside is quite scary. Fortunately every pub we visited catered to "all" tastes - providing "both" national papers for patrons to read: the Daily Mail and the Telegraph (the first being raving right-wing looney (although very well written) and second being nick-named the Tory-graph for its intelligent but staunch support of the Conservative (Tory) party).
But enough about urban planning and politics, how was the food?
Well, we had booked because The Fox (Lower Oddington version) is very popular since a couple of nice lads took it over several years ago (it seems that the readership of the Daily Mail has the same relationship with homosexual men as the Vogons have with the Dentrassi - they loath them generally but keep them around because they are the best caterers out there). The old pub was very buzzy on a Saturday night. Unlike a traditional pub there is no bar area with chairs or standing space: every corner, passage and room is dedicated to relaxed dining. The table allocated to my glamorous companion and myself was just inside the front door, tucked beneath a grand fireplace mantlepiece and under 3 stuffed fox heads all wearing rugby football club ties. The weather was good so we didn't get cold whenever the door opened and having easy access to watch the clothes and clientèle was a reward in itself.
Having come from central London, it felt weird being in such a full and happening place where there was exactly one non-white person in the entire establishment (including the kitchen - I looked). It appears that the Cotswalds cream-faced uniformity is not limited to its stones that make up the buildings.
Was the food any good? It is a question I keep coming back to but never get around to answering.
The answer is that it was OK. We didn't have too much to eat - limiting ourselves to a bottle of wine and a single course. I had duck breast on lentils. This is something I an striving to perfect in my own kitchen because I am convinced that lentils are a cook's gift - they have fantastic texture and take up whatever flavours you give them and return them tenfold. I was curious to see what The Fox's chef would do. The answer is not much.
Certainly the duck skin was crispy but the inside had been over cooked. The lentils were very thin on the plate and no real attempt to influence their flavour had been made. It was one of those meals where not only do I do it much better at home, I also have it on the table in less than 30 minutes from getting into the kitchen.
My convivial companion's choice was perfectly fine. To be quite honest I remember a lot about the night (it was only a few weeks' ago) but not much about food. It was intended for the wealthy, hip, England that I suspect got rather carried away with 'Cool Britania'. These are the people who rather overlooked that it is often, culturaly, the non-coolest and non-wealthiest parts of Britania where the most excitment and memorable action is. The Fox may be their kind of mutually self-congratulatory establishment and they are welcome to it.
----
6. Lythe Hill
Getting There: head down the B2131 from Haslemere but don't get hit
Who should eat there: hotels guests - and that's it really
Dining Style: vaguely European
Price: £25 with wine
Quality: hits are hits and misses are very missy
Would I go Back: I wouldn't make an effort
For various personal reasons I had decided that I needed another weekend in a spa hotel. There are a lot of spa hotels out there offering a bewildering array of luxury, food, grounds, house style and prices. Simple budgets forced a first cut leaving a choice from Nairne (near Inverness), St Margret's Bay (near Dover) and The Lythe Hill Hotel and Spa (near Godalming - the site of Bulldog Drummond's first ripping adventure), we settled on the latter. It suited me very nicely not least because it is close to London and I wanted the weekend to relax, not to sleep or sit on a train for hours on end.
Getting to the establishment was the work of a taxi ride from Haslemere station. Although I could see technically how to walk to the hotel, it was across country in a big way with some reasonable hills to hike over. There was nothing too hard about it on the map, but it would have meant extra walking shoes and this would mean extra carrying for the two or three miles to the remote section of Sussex in which my destination was located.
So my glorious companion and I arrived in style having spent no more than about 5 quid getting there (on top of the train fare which was pretty reasonable too) to find out we had been allocated a room in the 15 century main mannor house. I had asked for a nice large bed and that was the building with the room with their largest bed. Unfortunately it also had the lowest ceilings (the ceilings were lower than the bed was long, so they must have had fun getting it up the windey stairs and into the room).
Of the many good things about our room, including the uneven floors, exposed beams (which also exposed our heads to the risk of bumps), odd shaped spaces, windows that didn't really even close and an extraordinarily quirky staircase to get in, was that the dining room was right beneath us.
It took us a while to use the dining room (we had an extended weekend due to previous weekends at work) because the room service menu was really good. Using room service, you could get the best burgers, chips or proper, full-on salads etc for £8 each. Essentially their spa menu was also the room service menu, so it was complete, competitively priced and heartily recommendable. And, because we were in the same building as the cooks, it was also hot.
Against our continued desire to move as little as possible away from the direct lines between the pool, our room and the croquet lawn (don't ask) was the fact that the AA had awarded the restaurant 2 rosettes. Faced with such food quality on site, we had to try it even if only for completeness. So we paused our nightly scoffing of the room service with some reluctance to somewhere that it certainly was not cheaper and where we couldn't watch telly with our mouths full (which we can never do at home).
We always dress for dinner at these locations, so after donning the gear we descended the stairs in great style, making sure we didn't trip on an eccentrically placed 15 Century step. The dining room was dark wood panelled in a baronial style with the 2 metre diameter big cast iron hoop hanging from the ceiling forming the central source of illumination. The fire place on the long wall was in proportion as was the massive long table down the middle of the room (there were lots of smaller tables closer to the walls).
We were sat opposite each other at the long table (on the short sides, fortunately, so we didn't have to shout to each other).
To eat, my glamorous companion elected to sample a chicken dish while I opted for a tofu Asian concoction with crunchy bits on top. One of the dishes was lovely and the other was a horrible mash of tasteless wet glop with some well made crunchy bits on top. It was quite odd.
One thing that I have learnt over the years of drinking wine and eating food, is that bad things are rarely borderline. You can pretty much tell from the moment a cork comes out if the wine is off (sometimes on the first taste you realise that it has gone fizzy) and you never have to guess. The problems with my bowl of mush weren't about preference: all tofu should be silky and vegetables should have flavour. My preferences about the selection and flavour highlights may differ from the cook's, but here the flavours had gone AWOL (as had the texture). No question.
Well, one question... Should it go back? I haven't ever really sent anything back before (excepting a nearly uncooked pizza that was clearly a mistake). I couldn't tell. My companion who manages regularly to combine stunning good looks, a fabulous dress style with razor sharp decision making prowess made it clear that it should.
I raised my hand tentatively and the waiter, who was a pro of the best sort, had my dinner off the table and a menu in front of me in seconds with a clear offer to choose absolutely anything. I went for the snapper and the waiter came back to tell me the chef (who had had the night off) was decended upon the kitchen and it would all be going smoothly from now on.
If I may say so the difference between relief cook's efforts and chef's were noticeable. The fish was perfectly done and the vegetables that formed the bed upon which it lay were crisp and flavourful. I presume they were from the same supplier but cooked with a slightly different level of care and skill.
I mentioned earlier that our room was above the dining room. Well half of it was. The other half was above the kitchen. The talk we could hear in that the other half went on for some time after we had retired back upstairs.
----
7. Trattoria La Casalinga
Getting There: Cross the Arno and turn left just before the Big Palace
Who should eat there: People who follow their instincts and fell lucky
Dining Style: properly Italian
Price: £25 with wine
Quality: Fab
Would I go Back: If only I could
Eating in Florence in summer is one of lifes great pleasures. I have always been cautious of "The Italian Great City Experience" ever since reading A Room with a View by E.M. Forster, a novel next to the Arno, the river that runs through Florence. However, this time we had a raft of appointments in Italy: all social and all in a week. Florence got one night only (actually it got two, but the second one was only because Rome Railway Station burnt down and our train was very, very, very late). In the end, our room didn't have a view of much other than the hospital across the road but we were within 2 minutes walk of the Duomo (which I kept calling the Cathedral, probably because it is) and, most wonderfully, Emilio Pucci's workrooms. I don't think much of the fashion House's prints but it was still wonderful.
However, our place of abode, while central and convenient for viewing the delights of the city was devoid of anywhere to eat. This was no great loss because who wants to eat where they sleep? It just leaves crumbs everywhere…
Walking through Florence, surounded by hoards of tourists, is an oddly pleasant experience. I am not sure why. Maybe it is because it is very much a working city with people living in it and working productively. In some ways it is like London or Paris where the tourists, no matter how crammed they become on the pavements, can't overwhelm the drive of the locals to go places and do things. It means also that the shops interleave local and tourist interests because everybody has to use the same street frontages. The place has life and interest. On top of that, the town is full of wonderful historical buildings and streetscapes. It is also small which keeps things at a human scale (unlike London or Paris).
As evening fell on the one night we were there, we were wandering on the southern side of the Arno where we had heard (beats me where, as neither of us ever read any guide books and a novel written 1908 doesn't provide a lot of info on where to eat 103 years later) that life was a bit quieter there and, maybe, a bit cheaper. Coming back to my experience of London, I live one street away from a path which gets upto 60,000 tourists a day. There are no places at all to eat around where I live that don't cater to tourists or the masses of office workers (who occupy the huge buildings in which international banks love to kennel their workers). What there is, though, are places that locals use as well as the tourists in opposition to places locals don't use and leave soley to the tourists. My hope in Florence was to go to one of the former and miss the latter. On the other hand, just like London, lots of locals are on minimal wages and eat miserable rubbish - so I was keen to steer a middle path. In truth, on gorgeous warm night in a beautiful city, my thoughts were a long way from "winning" some fake trophy for finding the "most authentic" restaurant. Instead they were much closer to trailing after my feet and enjoying the crowds, the smells and the buzz.
My companion and I happened to see into an open kitchen (fly screens were in place) occupied by middle aged women and big steaming pots. One was making what looked like almond meal (I am taking a guess) and it seemed a fairly happy place. I am a happy person. It was a match. Walking around we found a door (the place was empty, hmmm) and then another door (this time mostly empty) so we went on instead of going in. Even after going round the block, the happy kitchen had stuck with us so we went back, were greeted warmly and only then noticed the few baby chairs were set next to tables nearest the doors, all of which were reserved. Grown up places that handle small children are, in my view, civilised places. Places that have accepted bookings for small children are normally the haunts of people who have done a lot more planning than I have.
So seated in quite a nice table for two, inside but near the doors, my telented companion for the evening and I perused the menu. There was no outdoor area but eating outside is for the birds (at least that is what we told ourselves). It was, as you might guess, in Italian. Neither of us know much Italian.
Given the relaxed mood of the evening, I was prepared to eat what they put in front of me. I can eat European International Cuisine pretty much anywhere TripAdvisor recommends and this wasn't a TripAdvisor kind of trip. The place was filling up with families and tourists like ourselves and pretty much everything looked good. I picked randomly Trippa alla Fiorentina for a starter and something that looked steak-like for my main (Aristarchus di maiale). My companion went for the ravioli for an entree and Pollo arrosto (with a good guess that it was roast chicken) for mains. With a jug of house red we settled back.
I soon discovered that Trippa is tripe. I haven't eaten tripe for years and years (my Dad used to cook it and his dad was a butcher, so left-overs from the shop were the norm in his family). I can't say it is my favourite food but sliced stomach isn't as bad as it sounds. OK the idea of my stomach slowly digesting another stomach can make my eyes water once you wonder what would happen if your own stomach suddenly got confused, but the flavour is excellent even if the smell is a little "meaty". Everywhere we went is Florence had Trippa as the first item on their menu so I can't be the only one to give it a go. The ravioli was really nice with sage and butter.
I didn't finish my starter mostly because I had about half a kilogram on the plate and I wanted to be able to see the night to its proper conclusion.
My guesswork for my mains was out. I got a large pork chop that was not beefish at all. It was fabulous. My companion's roast chicken was exactly that and done well too. We went to town for the vegies ordering harricot beans (not good and could have been from a tin), greans (fab), potatoes (fab) and zucchini (fab). In fact we may have gone overboard. I read earlier this year that the New York Times reported that people who over-eat green vegies actually loose weight. We may have lost several killograms.
The couple next to us (German speaking) had been talking to the waiting staff in English - something that had crossed our minds to do but we had abandoned. However, since we knew they spoke English we did ask them about the quality of their Tiramusu which they had said was really good. So we also got one to share with an espresso each (didn't have to go to bed and get up early the next day). The desert was properly flavoured with mascarpone (a very softly flavoured cheese) and coffee and it didn't have the sickly sweet flavour one gets so often. One between two was certainly sufficient.
After paying the bill we wandered happily back over the Ponte Vecchio (the fancy medieval bridge that is quite famous and impassible during the day and merely crowded late at night) past the Duomo and back to our hotel.
----
8. The Country Kitchen
Getting There: Use a 50 quid sail-ferry fare from anywhere in Olde England to Killarney
Who should eat there: It may be 50 quid but this is for those who have a day and a bit to get there
Dining Style: confused
Price: £25 with wine from a nearby bottle-o
Quality: Good Pub
Would I go Back: No, not really
For those who have missed this column during its recent occasional absences, I apologise. However I can't rule out a few more missed deadlines over the next few weeks. Although there have been some summer holidays, life right now is running to a schedule I can neither control nor predict: so there is my excuse.
However, no matter what, a body has got to eat.
So, for various reasons, this time about 70% under my control, I found myself taking advantage of the SailRail offer between any station in the UK to any station in the Republic of Ireland. This offer resulted in a single standard UK rail ticket "From LONDON TERMINALS To KILLARNEY" via Holyhead and Irish Ferries. Although this isn't a quick way to get to Ireland's west coast, it is a fixed price which meant I could by the ticket the day before going and buy the return ticket the day before returning - still at £50.50 per person.
So we, and I indicate by this that for this journey I was accompanied by a very accomplished companion, set of at midday to London Euston railway station and arrived in Dublin at 7ish. This wasn't in time to catch the last train to Killarney, so we resumed our journey the next morning just after 9am to be fresh faced in one of the most wonderful places in the world. We were pleased to have a few whole days to stroll around mountain lakes and generally enjoy some stunning scenery.
With all of this gentle outdoor activity it wasn't very late long before we were looking for a bite to eat in the evening and The Country Kitchen seemed the place to provide it.
From the outside it looks a bit like a sandwich and cake shop but the blackboard hanging outside the door indicated 20 Euros for three courses which seemed like a bargain for hungry people. Entering there was a photocopied piece of paper stuck next to the mostly empty sandwich refrigerated counters saying "Wait here to be seated" which turned out to be fully intended by the owner. After a few minutes of waiting (and not being able to see into the back and assuming they couldn't see me) I wandered towards to door of the dining area to wave at any passing staff. I was intercepted with a very stern telling off by a young lad (who turned out to be the aforesaid owner) who continued this while he took us to a table.
During a pause for breath in his tirade, my companion and I looked at each other, and one asked the other quite calmly if we should just go. There is no point in eating out if they staff simply can't stand the sight of you and I don't get much pleasure from it either. The other thought about it and said, given our reasons for being there hadn't changed "No, let's wait and see." I don't know what the other customers thought but it was quite quiet in there.
From that moment on, all of the staff demonstrated pure hospitality including the provision of a couple of free excellent cups of coffee at the end.
One very good piece of advice given early on was, if you order the Fish and Chips, order nothing else. This turned out to be sound advice and my companion followed it. I on the other hand was having salmon in a creamy sauce for my main, so I ran with plaice and salad for a starters and the chocolate and beetroot cake for desert. There is no wine list, but we were given a red card which, when waved at the off-licence two shops down, gave us a 10% discount. The off-licence didn't have the greatest collection of wines in Western Europe but we found something to do the trick at about 11 Euros ( minus 10%). We handed the bottle over to the, by now, extremely friendly proprietor Shane (which whom we were now on first name terms) to be kept somewhere cool.
The plaice was deep-fried and so had lost some of its flavour as a result but, as far as deep fried fish goes, it was done really well. The biggest problem was that my fish had three fillets which was either a) a miracle, b) generous of the chef or c) rather a lot for a starter. I saw other patrons had the same experience. The main Fish and Chips was very similar to my plaice except with out the salad (which my very desirable companion had nicked while I ate some of my fish) but with chips (no surprises from the kitchen on that front then). My salmon again lacked any actual fishy flavour. I appreciate that a lot of people only like fish if they can't taste it but if an animal is going to die for me, I think it is right that I enjoy the unique and specific pleasures it brings even if I don't much like it(otherwise I can eat mashed potato, which is suitably bland and something I know I like, and take a vitamin supplement).
The cake though, was quite excellent and came with sufficient cutlery that everyone at our table got to have some.
Shane had not before seen the wine we had chosen, so we offered him a glass, which he accepted as the night was coming to an end. He offered us coffee which we accepted because we didn't have to go to sleep right away or get up in the morning. It was all very civilised.
----
9. WheatherSpoons
Getting There: Like Chickenman - they're everywhere
Who should eat there: They don't mind if you don't
Dining Style: basic pub
Price: £5 including a pint
Quality: Not too bad
Would I go Back: Often
The life of a food reviewer isn't all glamour, fine dining and dressing up. It also includes eating in the cheapest places fairly regularly. One place that gets my regular custom is the Talley Ho in the Mid-North of London.
I have been to a couple of Weatherspoons Pubs to eat over the last few years and some of them (although a few years ago) scarred me for badly. However, I have since darkened the door of the Talley Ho many times now and the food is actually quite good and the price is excellent.
Last weekend it was a Burger and a Beer for £4 (more or less) which is amazing since the beer was a fairly wonderful type of ale which would cost over £3.50 in most pubs. So, using conventional beer pricing, the burger was delivered for about a pound. Interestingly it was quite edible. Obviously it isn't about to win a "best burger in North London" competition but it satisfied my two major criteria for this type of food: it mustn't be made from fine ground, mushy sausage meat and it has to be very, very slightly pink.
The patty had been ground just large enough that it doesn't feel like puree when you bite it. I would like it ground even bigger but at the price they are charging, my guess is that if it were ground any more coarsely you might be able to identify what it is made from - and that may not be something you would want to know. The cookedness of it was on the good side of "burnt" which means that whatever flavour it has (and it was fine) survived the local kitchen.
It comes with a handful of chips, prepared to a modern industrial cooking standard. There are not enough to make you want to stop eating for a week but if you are peckish rather than ravenous, they formed a nice munchy function.
Between the burger buns is a slice of tomato and some lettuce. Vast quantities of tomato sauce/ketchup, mayonnaise et al are available from the counter. This is also to my taste as I am not a big fan of litres of mayonnaise with my food, but I recognise that in the UK I am in the minority. Allowing the punter to exercise their own discretion is a good thing.
Other favourites of mine have been the Roasted shoulder of lamb (the random lottery of the kitchen can give you the joint of the shoulder or the lower top of the leg). This comes with a good range of veggies, a yorkshire pudding and gravy (and on Sunday before 6pm a pint of your choice). This has always been lovely except once when the chef (I use the term loosely) forgot to defrost the meat all of the way through in the microwave. The staff were happy to fix it - the ice next to the bone made it a no-brainer.
I suspect that the quality of the cook on site is significant. There is no doubt that this is food prepared in an massive kitchen in some low cost centre somewhere in Europe and shipped to each pub frozen with instructions. The trick is that this can be done in a way that scales well (or not) and, for the moment, the Tally Ho shows that, with someone local who knows what they are doing, it can.
----
10. Al-Badar
Getting There: Near the big Mosque on london's Brick Lane
Who should eat there: Locals, a few suits i.e. sober people
Dining Style: very cheerful Pakistani curries
Price: £5
Quality: Best in the area
Would I go Back: Every few weeks
London has a number of streets which are famed for their curries and Brick lane in the inner East End of London is one of them. Walking down the street on a Sunday or weekday evening, one is accosted by hawkers promoting their goods while, and this is a rather pleasant contribution, being surounded by some of the hippest, best dressed young things walking on two legs in Europe. Brick Lane is a street you can dress up when you visit in the knowledge that probably nothing you own will be edgier than the clothes others will be parading. I suspect that some of the looks are backed up by talent too, which makes people watching even more good fun.
As a day out Brick Lane worth the price of admision (it's a road so even better, it's free!).
Yet, one problem is that as good as the people on the street are looking, the curry houses are worthless. On the Sunday the various markets are in full swing with a multitude of food options to eat using paper plates while standing in the street (or sitting down on the pavement) but for the rest of the time (or if standing in the rain isn't your thing) you want a good cheap option.
Hence my regular frequenting of Al-Badar. It is essentially £5 for two Roti and a bowl of goo. If fried chicken or hamburgers are more your thing then they are available but with the curries as good as they are I have never tried them.
Most of the clients eat their curries with their fingers using the roti in the traditional way. I am now getting the hang of it, but it is harder than it looks. The roti are cooked to order (these are like naan except that they are not as oily and are more wholesome) and thus come to the table in their plastic basket very hot from the tandoor. This makes them tricky to use to gather the curry from your bowl for a few minutes but this may be the burden of eating in a small venue. You can ask for more roti: from your seat you ask the man behind the counter; he looks over his shoulder and asks the man in the kitchen - it really isn't a big venue.
All meals come with a soft drink (which you can decline). The big posters on the wall indicate that alcohol cannot be consumed on the premises. I don't think they tollarate drunks either. I haven't put it to the test. One of London's biggest Mosques is next door which might give some clues as to why.
People I have worked with who come from the northern Indian states rave about the food - it falls between home cooked and ordinary shop food from near their original homes. It is a bit too oily for home cooked but the flavours are rich without being too hot. It is all about the spices, cheeses and other indrediants. I have only eaten a meat dish here once. The vegetarian dishes are fabulous. Unfortunately, for strict Indian (Hindu) style vegetarians, they do use the same serving spoons in the meat and vegetable curries. However, for Musilms all is good.
Once you have finished, there is a spot to wash your hands (my Indian friends never need to bother because they know how to eat with fingers). Paying is done at the end when the man behind the counter gives you a number which corresponds to the amount of cash he expects you to tender. I presume people have tried to pull swifties and pretend they ordered cheap things, especially when it gets outrageously busy on Friday lunchtimes. Personally I don't think I would want to try it.
Once you are back on the street, you leave your little corner of plastic bench seats and cheap shop decoration and return into the delights of London fashion worn by London's most fashionable. Chalk and cheese: but both worth the trip.
----
11. Le Champignon Sauvage
Getting There: A long walk from Cheltenham Spa station
Who should eat there: Locals, a few suits i.e. sober people
Dining Style: very cheerful Pakistani curries
Price: £90pp
Quality: Best in the area
Would I go Back: Every few weeks
Being a food reviewer while leading an intensely stressful life isn't all pleasure. In between spa hotels, travels around Europe and living the life fanstastic in The City (central London to non-UK readers) one has to fit in eating. One's palate becomes jaded and one wants to go somewhere new. Sometimes London is just too small.
