I felt like bursting into tears today. While walking back along the A3205, without the package I trudged out there to get, I very nearly did. Chris is out, enjoying the wonders of political life at the Lib Dems conference (I'm just envious, it looks and sounds amazing!), so I found a way to cheer myself up. I steeped in a bubble bath with a good book and then got out to cook. By this time, I was starved and so had little patience for anything complex. Furthermore, being - let's say - extraordinarily easy going with money, I am cutting it close this month. So no foie gras for me.
After a peek in the fridge and cupboards, I decided to whip up some spicy spaghetti with kale and garlic. I indulged and added some red wine to the dish (also because drinking the entire bottle myself tends to lead to a less than happy morning).
Sauté 3 cloves of garlic in about 3 T of olive oil. Add 1 T crushed red pepper and stir. Wash and tear 2 C kale (curly, dinosaur - doesn't really matter), then add to the garlic, olive oil and pepper. Dump in a good dollop of red wine (I measured from my glass, so not too sure of the amount) and cover. Meanwhile.... cook enough spaghetti for one (a small handful should suffice) and just before done, add it to the kale mixture. This turns to spaghetti a pleasingly wine-y shade of red. Serve with some freshly grated parm, garlic bread and, of course, red wine.
The results? Delish. Sauntering around the deliciously empty flat in a sarong, listening to Movits!, I am now wonderfully calm. Don't get me wrong, DHL will still receive a strongly worded email. But not until tomorrow morning.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Tiki-tastic? Not quite.
Tony Bourdain in Hawaii at a tiki Bar? What can be better than that? My culinary hero, in my favorite place, drowning in delicious killer cocktails. Sounds like a pretty damn good time to me. This was my fantasy for an hour the other night as I watched No Reservations: Hawaii while cooking dinner. In the show, Tony indulges in a achingly expensive (but gorgeous) Hawaiian shirt, more than a few drinks at a tiki bar and even a luau. Little did I know that I'd find my way to a tiki bar later in the week...
Welcome to Trailer Happiness (http://www.trailerhappiness.com/) a London attempt at capturing the kitschy goodness of tikis and trailers. Despite the name, it doesn't feel like a trailer - it feels like your great uncle's basement which has a wet bar and hasn't been redecorated since 1973. And that's not a bad thing. I loved it. Absolutely amazing job. And the drinks? Damn, that bartender knows what he's doing. My favorite of the evening was the Up River Saint Lawrence, a devilish medley of Bourbon, bitters, maple syrup, apple juice and lime. Serve up with a rim dusted in cinnamon. When this is handed to you by a tall, blond, handsome bartender in a kickass Hawaiian shirt, it's hard to go wrong.
But somehow they manage, and therein lies the mystery. My parents have a saying that Neil Diamond is almost good. Trailer Happiness is almost cool. It suffers, however, from the surprisingly weak gastro food , the throbbing hipster music and especially the clientele. First the food. It is - unexceptional, a slightly jazzier version of the pub food served all over London. Skewers of meat and duck pancakes. I will admit that their fries were absolutely delicious, tasted like McDonalds of old. But surely this is the place to serve sliders? Cocktail sausages? Olives? Crudité? If you're going old school, do it properly, please.
Now, the music. This was perhaps the most disheartening failing of the bar. Play ANYTHING but hipster lounge music. Seriously, anything. Johnny Cash, The Beach Boys, Motown, Stax - all of these would have made the place leap alive with ambience. Instead, I felt as if I was in a Di Saronno advertisement.
And with that soulless image in mind, the clientele. Never, with the exception of walking through Portobello Market on a Saturday afternoon, have I wanted to punch so many people in all my life. After 8pm, Trailer suddenly filled with people desperate to be cool. I make no pretension to be cool. I'm not cool. I'm sitting here in a hoody and soccer shorts, writing a blog. It doesn't get less cool than that. But these people were frantic for an iota of cool, for the essence of cool, leading to an sickeningly insincere atmosphere.
So the verdict is that Trailer of Happiness wins points for originality and drinks, but loses all gains by catering the the hipster crowds of Notting Hill. What a pity.
Welcome to Trailer Happiness (http://www.trailerhappiness.com/) a London attempt at capturing the kitschy goodness of tikis and trailers. Despite the name, it doesn't feel like a trailer - it feels like your great uncle's basement which has a wet bar and hasn't been redecorated since 1973. And that's not a bad thing. I loved it. Absolutely amazing job. And the drinks? Damn, that bartender knows what he's doing. My favorite of the evening was the Up River Saint Lawrence, a devilish medley of Bourbon, bitters, maple syrup, apple juice and lime. Serve up with a rim dusted in cinnamon. When this is handed to you by a tall, blond, handsome bartender in a kickass Hawaiian shirt, it's hard to go wrong.
But somehow they manage, and therein lies the mystery. My parents have a saying that Neil Diamond is almost good. Trailer Happiness is almost cool. It suffers, however, from the surprisingly weak gastro food , the throbbing hipster music and especially the clientele. First the food. It is - unexceptional, a slightly jazzier version of the pub food served all over London. Skewers of meat and duck pancakes. I will admit that their fries were absolutely delicious, tasted like McDonalds of old. But surely this is the place to serve sliders? Cocktail sausages? Olives? Crudité? If you're going old school, do it properly, please.
Now, the music. This was perhaps the most disheartening failing of the bar. Play ANYTHING but hipster lounge music. Seriously, anything. Johnny Cash, The Beach Boys, Motown, Stax - all of these would have made the place leap alive with ambience. Instead, I felt as if I was in a Di Saronno advertisement.
And with that soulless image in mind, the clientele. Never, with the exception of walking through Portobello Market on a Saturday afternoon, have I wanted to punch so many people in all my life. After 8pm, Trailer suddenly filled with people desperate to be cool. I make no pretension to be cool. I'm not cool. I'm sitting here in a hoody and soccer shorts, writing a blog. It doesn't get less cool than that. But these people were frantic for an iota of cool, for the essence of cool, leading to an sickeningly insincere atmosphere.
So the verdict is that Trailer of Happiness wins points for originality and drinks, but loses all gains by catering the the hipster crowds of Notting Hill. What a pity.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Take a trip back to the 1970s
One new recipe a week. That's the new rule in our home. This leads to hours spent pouring over recipes in our various beautiful books, which is fine by me. What better way to spend a Sunday evening?
This Saturday Chris and I wandered along to Notting Hill, specifically Portobello Road Market. After wandering through the market, wishing we had more room in our two room Soho pad, we happened upon heaven. Books for Cooks. This gorgeous little shop on Blenheim Crescent sells books that deal with cooking. That's it, and it's glorious. After salivating over the Alinea cookbook, checking out a legit copy of Julia Child's masterpiece and flipping through Rick Bayless' book on salsas, we decided to pick up a quirky little book on Hawaiian cooking. It took me back to the lovely days spent on Maui, sipping coffee and eating fresh Mango. I was looking forward to recreating some of my favorite Hawaiian fare.
Roana and Gene Schindler, with their connection to the famed Hawaii Kai restaurant, published Hawaiian Cooking in 1970. This Monday, 39 years later, we tried our first recipe from the book: 'Basic Curry for Meat and Chicken - and shrimp and lobster too' The result was a split ballot. Liz and I thought it was delicious, but Chris wasn't swayed by its sweet sticky charm. The curry was a perfect example of Americanized ethnic food - taking what tastes similar to a Malay curry, then making it saltier, sweeter and milder - in short, more accessible to middle America. Despite kicking up the heat with some scotch bonnets and serving it over mounds of shimmering black Forbidden Rice, this recipe still felt like it would be best enjoyed on an episode of the Brady Bunch.
Don't get me wrong, it was delicious and I'm taking the left overs for lunch today, it just in no way echoed the amazing dishes I've experienced in Hawaii. And so I'm in search of a genuine Hawaiian cookbook, one that stresses the fresh ingredients, fruit and use of seafood. Anyone have recommendations?
This Saturday Chris and I wandered along to Notting Hill, specifically Portobello Road Market. After wandering through the market, wishing we had more room in our two room Soho pad, we happened upon heaven. Books for Cooks. This gorgeous little shop on Blenheim Crescent sells books that deal with cooking. That's it, and it's glorious. After salivating over the Alinea cookbook, checking out a legit copy of Julia Child's masterpiece and flipping through Rick Bayless' book on salsas, we decided to pick up a quirky little book on Hawaiian cooking. It took me back to the lovely days spent on Maui, sipping coffee and eating fresh Mango. I was looking forward to recreating some of my favorite Hawaiian fare.
Roana and Gene Schindler, with their connection to the famed Hawaii Kai restaurant, published Hawaiian Cooking in 1970. This Monday, 39 years later, we tried our first recipe from the book: 'Basic Curry for Meat and Chicken - and shrimp and lobster too' The result was a split ballot. Liz and I thought it was delicious, but Chris wasn't swayed by its sweet sticky charm. The curry was a perfect example of Americanized ethnic food - taking what tastes similar to a Malay curry, then making it saltier, sweeter and milder - in short, more accessible to middle America. Despite kicking up the heat with some scotch bonnets and serving it over mounds of shimmering black Forbidden Rice, this recipe still felt like it would be best enjoyed on an episode of the Brady Bunch.
Don't get me wrong, it was delicious and I'm taking the left overs for lunch today, it just in no way echoed the amazing dishes I've experienced in Hawaii. And so I'm in search of a genuine Hawaiian cookbook, one that stresses the fresh ingredients, fruit and use of seafood. Anyone have recommendations?
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