Twisty potatoes - Oxford

WHAT IS THAT??

So exclaimed The Child as we rounded a corner and came face to face with a leaning tower of deep-fried-potato-heart-attack-on-a-stick. I was momentarily lost for words myself as I had neither seen nor experienced such a thing before. Mrs P gallantly stepped up to describe (what we assumed should be called) the snack; 'It's a deep fried, battered twisty potato. On a stick.'

And that, dear reader, was exactly what it was. Freshly spun, the potato was teased onto a skewer as long as my arm, covered with thick batter and dropped into the longest deep fat fryer I've ever seen. After a few cholesterol enhancing minutes, it was removed and I was asked: 'Cheese or onion flavour?' I then replied 'Which is the nicest?' and the young man behind the greasy counter gave me the dead eyed stare of a student working on Saturday when he clearly wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else. 'My boss says it's the same flavour that they use in Walkers', he replied. 

'In that case, can I have both?' I respond, and the two pots were dutifully sprinkled liberally over the hot batter. At this point, I should say that we had literally just stepped out of Pizza Express having had lunch and so this was the sheer definition of an impulse purchase.

Despite our already groaning stomachs, we tucked into this new genre of chip determined to experience this amazing looking helter skelter. First impressions were clear, if these flavourings came from Mr Walkers factory, it was in a 99:1 ratio in favour of Professor MSG. Battered potato is quite an experience, The potato was thin and the batter was well seasoned but I have to question the sanity of the man who took a greasy deep fried chip, battered it and thought to themselves 'well it's tasty but it just doesn't look very exciting...'

Final Verdict: I can totally see these taking hold at festivals or the <ahem> classier seaside resorts, but I'm not sure it will ever replace the British love of the chip.

Lisbon - Portugal

Well, it's been a long month hasn't it. Not very much happened really apart from a week's business trip to Lisbon. Usually these trips are fairly hedonistic in nature involving an outrageous amount of drinking, eating and hangovers. But not this year. This year I was good and severely limited my intake to one alcoholic beverage per day, due in the main to this:

www.toughmudder.co.uk

I will soon be finding exactly how much mettle I can maintain, but until that happens, let's talk Lisbon. Primarily the week consisted of buffet breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Not incredibly inspiring I think you'll agree. The best part of which was the little private giggle I had every time we got to desert, perhaps not everything translates as expected:

The highlight of the week was supposed to be our company trip out to Bica do Sapato, a restaurant with a serious reputation. With John Malkovich was patron, this is a celeb heavy establishment with chefs coming with multiple michelin starred histories. But I'm afraid that all this was for naught. I have significant sympathy for the kitchen to cater for 50 hungry people at the same time but the menu was I'm afraid, just very dull.

For example, we first had some white goo. 

This, after some deliberation, was decided to be some kind of creamy cauliflower sauce. Not exactly a taste explosion. Under the goo, we were promised salt cod, which I understand is a speciality of the area. Perhaps there was a shortage, perhaps the kitchen made a mistake or perhaps they actually intended to replace the salt cod with chickpeas but in any event it wasn't pleasant and there wasn't much cod. The green ring around the outside was basil oil by the way. Yes, I thought that was odd too.

My main choice was pig cheek stew. The pork had been stewed down well and pulled apart easily, the mash was... mash. But the salt content was high, so high in fact that others on my table refused to eat theirs at all. All in all, bad, bad, bad.

We were all glad to get on to the puds and I had a Frey Bentos tin put down in front of me. On further examination, the lid revealed a lemon creme brulee which was actually pretty nice, but I would have certainly preferred a thicker caramel top. By the look of the website this restaurant would have charged us an absolute fortune for the evening but I'm afraid it was lost on me. Waiting staff were attentive and pleasant, the decor was painfully modern, complete with miss matching chairs and uncomfortably low tables but without good food, what's the point? 

I would love to go back to Lisbon, but without work and I'm fairly sure I could get a better plate of grub!!

Random pictures of Lisbon:

Oh, and I also found a can of Antarctica that I couldn't resist:

You would think it tasted of cherries right? Wrong, it tasted of Brazilian chemicals.

http://www.bicadosapato.com/

The Banana Tree - Milton Keynes

As Mrs P and The Child will confirm without a moments hesitation or fear of reprisal, I do not like surprises. Surprises are not fun, surprises are not exciting and surprises invariably lead to someone getting upset or drunk, usually both and probably not in that order. This is doubly unfortunate because Mrs P demands surprises at regular (but not predictably regular) intervals. That is not to say I don't like new experiences; I love to have new things, try new tastes and go to new places but surely it is patently obvious that all new adventures should be carefully considered and prepared for. A measure of expectation is clearly necessary for surviving life's events, isn't it?

It was in this spirit of this mentality that I turned to our smiling waitress and said:

'These herb wraps, how herby are they? I don't like herbs.'

As you can imagine, the smiled faltered a little while she paused and considered how to answer.

'Don't worry, you'll love them. They're really popular.'

Hmmm, I think I'll be the judge of that thankyouverymuch. I therefore felt forced to order them. I had feared a soggy, parsley and oregano infused slice of carbohydrate inspired, corporately approved tortilla. What I got was a lettuce leaf and a whole lot of fun!

The meat balls were beautifully crisp on the outside and moist on the inside, the Vietnamese crunchy salad was great and the fresh coriander being the 'herbs' of which the menu spoke. I bloody love coriander and this was fresh and strong as you like. It was however the dipping sauce that really brought the whole thing alive though, tangy with vinegar, sweet and hot all at the same time, it was a great balance.

Mrs P enjoyed some Satay chicken which was good. A decent portion of chicken as well meant enjoying some fresh produce that didn't seem like a token green leaf that had been unwillingly forced onto the plate. It was tasty and the satay sauce was creamy as well as providing a flavour punch. The plate also had tiny little bamboo pockets containing some sticky rice which were great fun to ping across the table at each other!

For mains I enjoyed a noodle soup

 which was fine but no different to what you can find in Wagamama. Mrs P was the one who struck gold with her crispy chicken, dressed salad, more sticky rice and odd balls.

Lovely and fresh tasting this would have been a fab continuation from my starter. Very Vietnamese (as qualified as I am to say this having read books about the subject but never actually going to the place) , this was a winner from crispy chicken top to individual prawn cracker toe.

Mrs P couldn't resist the pud menu of a gooey chocky fondant. The fresh passion fruit on top of the ice cream was really tart and played the whole thing up beautifully.

Even the camera was starting to get a bit foggy by this time so we paid up and made our weary way. The Banana Tree puts gratuity on the bill automatically which I 100% disagree with, and I very nearly asked them to take it off. I almost always give between 10 to 15% tip depending on how happy/drunk I am but for it to be assumed really does get my slow roasted goat.

So that's The Banana Tree in Milton Keynes. It is apparently the only one in the country with a dedicated bar. It's certainly the only bar that I've ever seen with personal hammocks which, while undeniably cool, do make it rather difficult to talk to other people as you swing, twist and otherwise try to haul yourself back into a sensible seating position all the while sipping on a cocktail with an amusing straw and umbrella perched on the top.

£50 quid for two including drinks (£55 with annoyingly included tip).

http://www.bananatree.co.uk/

Weird stuff I've found in European airports

I've been looking through the photos from my recent summer holibobs and I came across a two gems that I had snapped ages ago from a couple of unnamed, unknown and unloved airports across the continent. I thought what better way to enjoy the wonderful Euro-cuisine than to share with you lovely people.

First, what happens when you want the best of both bread and pretzel worlds? 

That's right, at these times only a Brezel-Snack will do! Unpleasantly chewy lab grown carb product? Sweaty, limp and tasteless cheese? Outrageously expensive? Check, check and check. This is one vending machine snack (with advertised 'handmade quality') which I shall not be looking forward to invading our shores.

But what do you wash a Brezel-Snack down with? Well, look no further than this generic, own brand orange coke concoction. The harshness of the synthetic citrus flavouring cut through the ridiculous amount of processed sugar like a hidden cardamom pod in a bowl of ice cream.

Mmmm, tasty. Makes you really jealous of my jet-set lifestyle doesn't it?

Ben Tunnicliffe at the Tolcarne Inn - Newlyn

Before testing our mettle on the French coast, Mrs P, The Child and I were in the depths of Cornwall with family. While many lunches and lovely treats were had, the most amusing of which happened in a tiny shop hidden on a back street that proported to be:

I later learned that this claim related to the bakery chain rather than the shop itself which I will admit left me slightly disappointed. But one of the main attractions was visiting the Tolcarne Inn in Newlyn. Mrs P and I managed to find a unsuspecting family member to look after The Child for the evening and off we went to try and find this pub.

From the outside, this seems like a perfectly normal boozer - but don't let that fool you. It is stood not 200 yards from the best fish market in the South. 90% of what is landed goes straight off to London and the quality is superb. Inside, the space is small, with less than 20 covers, but perfectly formed. Certainly informal (the waiting staff had to shoo how a local cat a couple of times), the place won me over straight away. The menu was short, with only five starters, mains and puddings to choose from but there was something in there for those of us who pride quality over quantity.

Starting with scallops and lentils for Mrs P, these were nice and big. Full of taste and the creamy sauce was fab. Neither of us were sure about the lentils as they didn't seem to bring anything to the plate apart from a little grittyness.

I went for the crab cakes which were good. Perhaps a little bland if I'm being uber critical, needing more crabiness to really stand out. The avocado dip though was really good, a perfect balance.

For mains, I had monkfish with crab risotto:

Which was all the crab that the starter was missing. This dish had everything, and I enjoyed every, single, fork-licking moment. The fennel was a great accompaniment and a vegetable which I vowed to feature more heavily on my plate at home. Mrs P, in a shocking break from tradition, had a mahoosive rib-eye steak:

Which looked an absolute fright but tasted beautiful. She ordered a side of chips which were the size of potato based medieval clubs and I'm ashamed to say we left most of them.

We shared a pud between us and what you can see here:

Is what's left of the lightest toffee sponge cake you will ever taste. It sent Mrs P over all unnecessary and she had to go for a lie down afterwards. The quality of this sponge was sublime and required us to say so to the waiter. He seemed pleased and said he would pass the feedback on.

In conclusion, If you are in Newlyn please go and support the Tolcarne Inn. Ben is a former Michelin starred chef and while the food here isn't up to that standard, I hope that isn't where he wants to take it. It's a work in progress, of that there can be no doubt and there is no mistaking the talent in this kitchen but by creaming off the quality of ingredients that are on his doorstep there is very little Mr Tunnicliffe can do wrong.

Oh, and he did me a great favour by recommending a couple of butchers for my sister-in-laws birthday BBQ which I catered for a couple of days later. So if you are reading this - the meat and fish went down an absolute treat, thanks very much.

www.tolcarneinn.co.uk/

Noirmoutier-en-l'Île - France

I'm afraid to say that I have recently been very slack in updating this blog recently. The end of the School term, coupled with various business trips and a summer holiday all combined to demand more of my time than one laptop could handle. But having now completed all of the above, I am back to the day job and after filing* five hundred odd emails I can find a few spare moments to update you all** on my culinary exploits over the last few weeks.

I have many tales to tell, but here I will concentrate on my recent time in France. On a French campsite to be exact, wherein I discovered that modern tents, while quick and simple to erect, do tend to suffer somewhat when confronted by the arse-end of hurricane Bertha. Seriously, if it wasn't for the fridge we had hired from reception, we would have unexpectedly gate crashed the Dutch tent next door. As it was I was re-pegging several times a night, and our very kind neighbours also did it for us when they saw we were a gnats chuff away from taking an impromptu wind surfing lesson in our pyjamas. 

Anyway, this is just a mix of all the food related stuff I snapped over there; there seem to be three things this island is famous for: salt, mussels and oysters. I bought a bag of salt from the salt pans, (a kilo for 95p), I ate an awful lot of these:



Mostly very small and packed with the flavour of holidays by the beach, but the oysters...

I thought I had struck gold with these beauties in the supermarket, what's that? €5.75 per kilogram? An entire box for eleven Euros? Umm, yes please, load me up for two, but then. Then, on an early morning stroll to the patisserie to get Mrs P her regular morning sugar high, I saw this:

I returned that same evening and dined on twelve of the freshest, slimiest little buggers that ever slid down my throat with a squeeze of lemon and splash of tobasco. The fella runs a shack at the bottom of his garden with his wife and mother-in-law, freshly collecting then dishing out those bad boys to anyone who happens to be passing at the right time. The most expensive of his offer was twelve for five Euro. At home, you would be lucky to get an empty shell for that cash.

A beer my delightful camping companions bought for me. It tasted like... lager.

We also visited a creperie, which we intended to only supply us with a snack to keep the hunger pangs at bay while we found yet more mollusc related foodstuffs, but actually, this kept three of us going for hours:

This first is a savoury one filled with cheese and salty ham (everything was salty here, we were by the sea and next door to a bloody salt pan for goodness sake). It was a mammoth undertaking, I think it was the cheese that did it for us and it was just so heavy - delicious but serious fromage territory. The sweet was much better with a nice salty (again) caramel sauce. The French crepe is really a thing of beauty and we had several on our trip, this being the poshest but I can just go with one rolled up in a bit of tin foil out of the back of a street van. Lovely stuff.

This was the two Michelin starred restaurant that we found but didn't go into with our shorts, flipflops and overwhelmingly English accents. I'm sure it's very nice though.

This is what we actually ended up eating that night and I honestly don't think I had ever eaten so much shellfish in my life. A whole crab, whelks, oysters (of course), mussels, winckles, cockles etc etc. I was stuffed to the max after - a steal at twenty eight quid. Also pictured is the terrine that The Child ordered. Nice and roughly textured, a bit salty (of course) but it went down well, unlike the cornichons. But I was more than happy to help with those.

Finally this is a shot of a sausage that we cooked up on the beach. It was labelled as 'Toulouse flavour'. Now, I'm not too sure what Toulouse is supposed to taste like but these sausages were great; meaty, well textured with a big whack of pepper into the bargain. Sausage, a bit of baguette and some tommy sauce meant all was right with the world - well until the hurricane hit that is...

*and by 'filing', I of course mean deleting.

** Haha

Chilli Hut

First, a quick note on my opinion regarding street food: it lives or dies on the quality of the base product. There is no hiding behind good service, fancy decor or air conditioning. Street food, and specifically street food other than burgers and chips, more than any other type of ready meal has to be absolutely fantastic to shift the expectations of the average British punter into something better. Now with that being said, lets talk Chilli.

Oh Chilli Hut, I'm so sorry. I wanted to like you, I really did. But you just made it too hard. Your chilli had no chilli, you nachos didn't nach and the sour cream made to whole thing even more dreary.

But the worst thing, the very worst, the absolutely unforgivable problem heaped on top of a whole mound of issues was the cheese. 

Street food, I am pleased to say is currently enjoying unprecedented popularity at the moment. I love the concept of great food made available to people outside of the restaurant, but this. This gives the whole genre a bad reputation. The Chilli Hut should have been busting at the seams, it should have had to beat of customers with a french baguette. Unfortunately it had neither of these issues, when I asked for my cone, the place was deserted and I handed over almost five pounds for what had the taste profile of clinically grown plastic.

I will continue to shout out the virtues of great British street food (look no further than details of my urban affair for further details), but unless the Chilli Hut get serious about their ingredients, they are simply riding on the shoulders of giants. Shame on them.