Auberge De Cendrillon - Disneyland Paris

Imagine for a moment that you are a six (and a half) year old girl, whose life revolves around the next pink, sparkly Princess dress that you can get your hands on that can be accessorised by pink, sparkly Princess shoes.

Imagine that you were taken to the castle where several of the Princesses that you know from the stories you have read about, live. I mean, the real, actual Princesses. Where they really, actually live. You can see them, they wave at you, they smile and all is well with the world.

Then imagine, that you got to go to dinner in Cinderellas house. The real, actual Cinderellas real, actual house. Think that you have reached the pinnacle of excitement? Not even close my friend, because what's this? Who is that coming in through the door? It isn't, it can't be, it is, it's the real, proper, actual, Princess Aurora! And Cinderella! And Belle! She isn't, she won't, she is, she is coming here, she's talking to you! Actually talking to you! Fainted yet? Exactly.

Oh yeah, we should be talking about the food. To be fair, the food looked good but suffered horrifically from such Frenchification with rich, heavy sauces and a menu which promised much but sadly in the end simply couldn't deliver. I think that the world has moved on from plates like this and considering the price of the whole shebang, you would think that the expectation should be considerably higher.

Starters were deliciously named yet remarkably unexceptional eating. My quail stuffed with truffle would have probably been delicious if I had been able to detect any truffle and in my opinion the term 'stuffed' should not be used when discussing pate! Mrs P.'s pumpkin soup was thin and bulked only by the enormous freaking pie crust that had been mysteriously placed on the top!

Mains (in order) were veal, scallops and salmon but all were heavy and a real effort to power through. Mrs P.'s veal was huge, over cooked and the gravy was so sweet that it was almost caramelising on the plate, my scallops were cooked perfectly but the cream and white wine sauce was so thick that it coated my cutlery like a buttery tar that threatened to suck me in  everytime I tried excavate a mouthful. The best dish on the table was The Child's salmon parcel, not least because the sauce was on the side. The fish was nicely cooked, the filling was a great balance of tangy mustard and creamy butter, plus the filo was a great crunch.

Puddings were a cacophony of chocolate. See that shoe? Solid white chocolate. I thought it was a little excessive too. The raspberry tuile was a nice counterpoint though and actually really tasty. Otherwise, it was chocolate mousse, chocolate discs, chocolate cake and chocolate shoes.

Oh, and the price. For three of us, well, for three diners plus the personal companionship of three of your favourite Princesses, how much would you pay for the phrase 'Wow Daddy, this is the best holiday EVER!'? Priceless, right? 

No.

Very much not priceless. Disneyland can apparently put a price on that for you. Try £180 plus drinks. Oh and you also have to put up with the room full of Americans that are busy claiming what good value this place represents, and how they just HAD to order to champagne (at €150 a bottle), you know, because otherwise it just wouldn't be authentic.

Still, The Child appreciated it, which is good as it will be the only holiday she'll get for the next twelve years, while we recover.

Buffalo Bills Wild West Spectacular - Disneyland Paris

For a while, we've been planning to take The Child to Disneyland Paris and this Easter we got the opportunity to do so. 4 days in the most commercialised example of fake tat on the continent it may be, but I have to be honest and say that not only was I looking forward to it, I was a little excited!

As this is a food blog, I had thought to document the meals and discuss their merits, however, upon reading the many and various reviews online, it seems that in terms of merits, there would be be few to be found at all. In order to salvage something from the compromise I resolved to test and expose the culinary disasters as a lesson for us all.

First, a small caveat - Mrs P. and I decided that as the food within the park was so outrageous (€4 for a stick of candy floss and €3 for a bottle of coke for example), that we would take a pack-up lunch each day. At first glance, not a hard-core food lovers course of action I hear you shout. However, let me assure you that it is only because I am the aforementioned food lover that a pack-up should be the only acceptable course of action. Not only to save a bloody mint, but you at least have an understanding about what you are eating. With the park offered burgers and hot-dogs, it is cutting close to the wind to say otherwise.

Right, on to Buffalo Bill. This takes the form of an 'evening of entertainment and dining'. You are shepherded into rows, each seat with a plate, bowl and drink. The drinks were all free but the offerings limited:

Cheap lager

Flat coke

Water

Honestly, after a day of wandering around Eurodisney, any beer is good beer and I finished the first glass and asked for a second before the server had moved out of shouting distance (and you better believe that when beer is involved, I can shout a long way). Still, Mrs P. and I both thought that wasn't too bad considering the amount of people they were contending with.

The adults had a bowl of cowboy chili to start while the child went straight on to the main course to save time. Mrs P. is not a fan of chili at the best of times and when the first kidney bean passed her lips, she passed the bowl on to me. I had a good go, but to be honest the bean to bowl ratio was too high even for me and conscious of the farty party that was going to go down later in the hotel room, I stopped before the end. To ease the chili transition, we were also given corn bread which was very sweet but tasty. I think it would have been much better if the chili was hotter, both in terms of temperature and taste.

Following the chili, was a massive plate of protein. Two pork ribs, a sausage, a chicken leg and a load of potatoes. Clearly anything green was just not authentic. All the meat was well cooked but coated in a thin, what I assume was, BBQ sauce. I wasn't a fan but it did at least provide some much needed moisture. This was not going to help with the bum rockets later on but I was hungry and it couldn't be avoided.

Pudding was ice-cream and apple pie. Quite nice to finish off, it did it's job well but with no spectacular cinnamon twist.

The show was really good. Audience participation was constant and the plate/bowl/cutlery stood up to the really rather significant battering I put it through in an effort to make as much noise as was humanly possible. needless to say, The Child loved it, which is the point really but with all the horses, cows, buffalo, Indians and Cowboys the food was simply a fuel for all the hollerin' and awhoopin'. At €170 for two adults and a child, it sure as ship ain't cheap. And if you pay £45+ per head for dinner at home, you could perhaps expect a lot more than we got, but hell, Mickey was there and you got a free hat so stop your complaining.

Cadbury and Kraft, the results are in

When I first heard of the Kraft purchase of Cadbury, I, like many, bemoaned the Americanisation of this nations only homegrown confectionary business. Mrs. P. and I visited Cadbury World a few years ago and while the sit-in ride bit was all a little crap, the history of Bournville and the rest of the factory tour was fantastic. It was great to see and celebrate a truly Great British business (albeit one that is dependent on making it's customers fatter).

I should declare a conflict of interests at this point. Mrs. P. is a fully paid up member Cadbury Dairy Milk appreciation society*. So our household does have a certain amount of emotional investment in the future of Dairy Milk. So, it was with great trepidation and real scepticism that I read the news and spent sleepless nights** worrying about some nasty, artificial, chemical unpleasantness coursing through the Cadbury lifeline. 

So it is some 3 years later, that Mrs. P. has brought home the first fruits of the brand mash-up. A Dairy Milk shell filled with a Oreo 'style' filling, that promises much and hints at a future that can either burn in an e-number fuelled plane crash, or rise from the candyfloss clouds like a phoenix of pure ganache.

You may ask what our verdict is? What did we think of the combination? The milk chocolate, the white creme 'flavoured' type filling and the signature biscuit pieces. Well, as the connoisseur of such things, I'll let the words of Mrs. P. speak for us both:

'Mmffph, mffrrggmp, gimmiemoremmmmhhhp, sssnmmmm.'

After I managed to wrestle the three squares left in the packet out of her suddenly vice like grip, I asked her opinion. Needless to say, she is a fan. I popped the remaining confection and I have to say that I agree entirely. The standard coating hasn't been touched I'm relieved to report and the Oreo filling is really tasty. The combination tastes great and makes me wonder why Kraft haven't thought to make a chocolate coated version of the original.

Looking at the other brands in Krafts portfolio, with the exception of Toblerone, I'm not sure what other duets they may decide to dream up. I hope this one sticks around however, because I'm not sure how Mrs. P. would be able to go more than a couple of monthly shops without picking up a bar.

*I expect there actually is one of these so for the sake of full disclosure I should say that again, not really. However, she does really, really, really, really, really like it. A lot.

** Not really.

The Great Recipe Book Challenge of 2013 - March

You remember last month when I said that I was a bit disappointed because I wanted something a bit more testing? Well, clearly the gods thought they would play a little joke this month by sending me a recipe with only three ingredients. Which is rather ironic considering my latest purchase.

The verdict? Well, as you can imagine, it was tasty. What else could it be? The method of roasting the asparagus rather than putting them on the griddle resulted in a slightly softer texture on the body but a very nice crispy tip (ooh er Missus). I'm not convinced enough to do it again that way in the future though.

The lemon, butter sauce was pleasant enough but I much prefer the simplicity of one or the other. Just a squeeze of lemon and a crack of salt, or a knob (calm down grandma) of butter but both at the same time is simply  too much.

All in all, it was what you would expect from it. An OK side dish but unfortunately, it just doesn't seem to make the most of the few few things it has going for it.

Asparagus with Lemon and Butter Sauce

800g Asparagus
Olive Oil
Salt

Sauce:
Juice of 1/2 a lemon
2tsp water
100g butter
Pepper

Preheat the oven at 200c

Lay out the asparagus and drizzle with oil and season. Roast in the oven for 10 minutes.

Make the sauce by heating the lemon juice and water, then slowly add the butter. Add a little at a time and stir constantly to avoid the sauce splitting. Season with a good crack of pepper.

Three Good Things

Recipe books are to the foodie, what crack cocaine is to the socially disappointed. For example, my sister-in-law boasts a library well within three figures. Thankfully, with a total of only twenty one I have kept my habit within the boundaries of only mildly addictive.

This week, Mrs. P. saw fit to add to my collective. I've been dropping some non too subtle hints ever since Christmas that I wouldn't mind slipping into a bit of HFW, but unfortunately, it didn't materialise for either Christmas or Birthday gifts (instead I got the awesome but very intimidating Fat Duck Cook Book, so I can't really complain!). 

Once I finally got my hands on Hugh's Three Good Things on a Plate, I was immediately taken by the quality of the book. The hard back seemed sturdy and hard wearing, the paper also seemed thick enough to withstand the inevitable splatter, spatter and odd splodge that is the life if a working Cook Book.

I loved that every recipe has its own picture, as well as the fact that the whole thing has a reassuring heft. In a pinch, I could always use it as a murder weapon should Mrs. P. suddenly become too expensive to keep in the manner to which she is accustomed.

But really, the real gold is the contents. The more I read this book, the more it seems to crystallise my views on the methodology and meaning of home cooked food for me. It hit such a resonance, that I have to admit, has become a little religious. Espousing the simplistic idea of the fact that its OK to use less ingredients is something that gives me a warm feeling from deep down in my tummy. Actually it's not really the recipes that are the point here, for me, this book represents the radical (if you believe the Great British Menu) idea that good ingredients don't need to be puréed, freeze dried or powdered. Leave behind your plots of gravy spherification, put aside your savoury ice cream plans. Remember how tasty a good BLT is and embrace the theory that all you need to appreciate your food is to understand your ingredients.

For me and for those with whom I share a common cooking denominator this book is essential reading. Buy it, read it, but above all, please understand it. You don't need to follow the recipes, you just need to follow the principles!

Annie Jones - Petersfield

This Mothersday, Mrs P. and I were celebrating with the Mother-in-law at an nontraditional venue. Although Mrs P. and I have a rather worrying love of the small plate (so much so that we avoid La Tasca like the plague as we would simply spend far too much money!), it is not a style that our respective oldies have embraced.

It came as a considerable shock then when the aforementioned M.I.L. suggested we try a new tapas bar that had opened just down the road. Dutifully, we trouped down to Annie Jones and stood, baffled, for a few minutes trying to decide how to enter the bar. Annie Jones, it seems, has opened this tiny spot behind their existing restaurant which led to a moment of confusion before we plunged into the alley beside the restaurant and emerged in a lovely little covered plaza behind the place. Once we had established that we were, indeed in the Tapas bar, we sat down in a converted barn-type room which was fantastically warm thanks to a wood stove burning next to us and eagerly started on the menu. 

We started with the prawns - apologies for the photo but Mrs P. nicked a couple before I could even get the camera out! These were fantastic, easily the star of the show for me. They  characterised beautifully the K.I.S.S. principle of which, for me, fish and shellfish are best placed to benefit from. The garlic and citrus were fabulous with the sweet prawn and I joyfully disgusted the M.I.L. by sucking on the heads with greedy aplomb.

Some sausages were lovely and meaty. The sauce was a bit odd in a way that I couldn't quite place and the cooling dollop on the top didn't do anything for me. The roasted veg was nice too but couldn't claw back what was fundamentally a bit dodge.

The tortilla was authentic and delicious. Bringing some well needed carb to the meal. A little bland, it needed a bit of pep from the seasoning dept. but the ailoli was great and a jaunty little accompaniment.

As is her want, half way through the meal, Mrs P. demanded pig and as I have been trained well, I immediately ordered the pork belly. Soft and yealding, meat was great and the cheffy puree was delicious. The sauce was nice too and I mopped up the rest with bread and a big grin. Both of us agreed however, that it could of done with a bit of crackling.

I fancied some ham and tried to order a couple of different types before settling on the Speck. However, I was completely unprepared for the shear volume of the result. Far be it from me to assume that this wasn't a 'traditional' method of service but quite frankly, this was the thickest slice of ham that I've seen this side of a gammon steak. It may be that this is the way it's supposed to be but personally, I'd have the thin prosciutto style any day. Delicious as it was, it proved too much for my other diners and I had to man up in order to ensure value for money.

At 40 quid for 3 not including drinks, Annie Jones scored a quite a few points. I'd love to go back and try some of the other dishes and so I'm counting the days until the weather is sunny enough to go and really enjoy that Garden Bar.

Annie Jones

Ibis - Birmingham Airport

What is it with dull, middle of the road hotel chains that means their food is less what the punters want and more of what they think the punters want?

Take the below example. From left to right; Pork Pate with apple, wholemeal bread roll and salad. Or, as I prefer to look at it: unpleasantly sweet, unexpectedly sweet and bugger me how much vinegar is in that?

This seems to to represent an attempt at standardising the food offering across mainstream tastes while justifying an international view of high class gastronomy by serving it on a poncey tile. To be honest, it's not the taste that I really have a problem with. It's the fact that they are just not honest about what it is that they are serving. This is not haute cuisine. It's not even hot cuisine. It's bland, sweet mass market catering covered in a dressing that would make most fish and chip shops blush (see my thoughts on the fate of vinegar in the UK Fish and Chip Shop industry here).

And that was before I got my main course. At this point, I'll admit I am a BBQ fan. Last year I managed to break out the grill in February but so far this year I've been too busy. I also fulfilled a very long held dream to fly to Memphis and experience the Memphis in May BBQ World Championships. I try several dry rub recipes a year and with a large amount of self justification and no further basis whatsoever, I like to think that I know a little bit about the subject. On this premise, I never order BBQ from large scale kitchens such as this as they inevitably suffer from the exact same fate as described above - they are what the British expect BBQ to be. On this occasion, I had an issue simply because there was nothing else on the menu that caught my eye so by the time the waitress came to ask me for my order, I had nothing else to tell her. Caught by default. Well, in this case BBQ represented a sugar coated, paper thin rack of standardised measured ribs which, when eaten gave me a serious sugar-high. 

I couldn't believe meat could be this sweet. And then, follow that up with the salad, The chef must have heard my cry of surprise when I tasted the mixed leaf starter and decided: 'he didn't really like the dressing, no problem I'll switch to the sweet one'. Yes my friend, that was clearly what was required - more sugar. No need for pudding, I paid, staggered up to my room and suffered for the next three hours while my body tried to decide what to do with all the sucrose coursing through my blood stream.

I'm sure BBQ and it's rightful place in the food chain will be explored in a later post but right now, I'm tired and can't be bothered.

Interesting footnote: this night was my first experience of watching a bloke do a runner without paying. He ordered up a starter, steak and bottle of vino before finishing with a coffee and legging it. Initially staff seemed quite non-plussed, as they thought he had simply gone to his room but as it unfolded they got rather irate before resigning themselves to the inevitable. A lesson for us all there.