Katzenjammers: Prost!

There are fewer cosier places in the world than German beer cellars. So what a joy to discover Katzenjammers in Borough Market on a dull Sunday afternoon. Yeah so it's tacky, yes there are girls walking round in ill-fitting durndls, and yes, it's slightly overpriced, but they still manage to create that everything is alright with the world feeling that personifies Bavaria.

This feeling could of course have nothing to do with a small wooden tabled filled basement and everything to do with the above. This is Paulaner dunkel, and is very tasty. Something I would never drink at home or in an English pub, but here (and in The Dove) it's like an old friend. One and a half of these and everything is beautiful. London is suddenly the best city in the world, with the most incredible sunsets. My we are lucky to be alive.

The food's nice too, warm crisp pretzeln, sausages, cheese, potatoes, big hunks of pork with knives sticking out of them, the echt thing. No better place to forget the week. Overdo the Jaeger bombs though (as the stag party beside us did), and you may not necessarily feel the same.

The Complete History of Food: With these fois gras Ferrero Rocher you are really spoiling us

 

Was so looking forward to this. The latest turning inside out of Bompas and Parr's incredible brains. This particular peek into their magnificent minds was terrifying.

 

A doctor first welcomed us to his dusty parlour, introduced his talking reindeer and declared I had too much black bile and Michael had too much phlegm.

 

For this, he prescribed a trip to an old wooden ship in a basement. Once we crossed the eel-infested swamp to reach it, I was presented with a remedy of fig with beetroot sauce and a spiced brandy cocktail and Michael was given the very medieval combination of crostini with lemon brandy. 

We were then taken in a time capsule to the future, located on a roof terrace covered in string, where we were given a fois gras Ferrero Rocher ball and a brandy champagne cocktail that fizzed in your mouth, not your glass.

Next stop was the 50s, where we were treated to a delicious, calorie-free scratch 'n' sniff TV dinner.

Then, to remind ourselves of the crimes we had committed to our bodies, we were sent to have a bounce around in the insides of our stomachs.

 

Next, off on a stroll...

 

...to the iguanadon for dinner. 

Naturally.

Downstairs again for the finale.

 

Jelly. On a giant rotating cake.

 

With whale vomit on the side.

Which wobbled pleasingly...

 

And was served with a generous quaffing of pretty much neat brandy

(watched suspiciously by a fellow food historian)...

...in a rennaissance setting filled with sugar sculptures in subtle shades of pastel...

 

...and a magic thumping table that wobbled your jelly to your own heartbeat. 

 

And thus ended our fabulous adventure in foodieland.

Or did I just make that up?

Bistrotheque: We forgive you! 10-fold!

I embarrass myself sometimes.

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Anchovies (plural)

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Maxine Gallagher	28 May 2010 13:56
To: Bistrotheque
Hello, I finally made it to dinner at Bistrotheque on 13th May for my boyfriend's birthday. I've been wanting to go for ages as I've heard great things, and we only live up the road. The food was mostly great and the service, though a bit slow was friendly and good. However, I wanted to complain about the starter. I do realise that food costs money, and quality costs even more, and I appreciate that you serve up top produce - my lamb chop was extremely good. But we ordered the 'pan-fried anchovies' for starter and were very disappointed with the result. We wanted to share it because we weren't all that hungry and wanted to save space for the main, but what appeared was a joke. Well it made us laugh anyway. We received a mound of lettuce (fine, dressing nice) and one anchovy perched on top. I looked again at the menu on my table and it clearly said anchovies. And to make things worse, it wasn't even pan fried. At the time we laughed it off and happily cut the sad little anchovy in half, and I think we actually found another half lurking amongst the greens, but really it left a bad impression of your restaurant, and left us feeling cheated. I know it's a small matter, but just want to bring it to your attention. We don't spend £80 on meals that often, but I've been to enough restaurants to know that it's really not fair to charge someone £8 for one anchovy. Regards, Maxine

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Re: Anchovies (plural)

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David Waddington	28 May 2010 16:49
To: Me
Hello Maxine Thank you for your email. Im so sorry to hear that your salad didn’t live up to expectations or even the menu description - quite clearly it was lacking in the fish department! So please accept my apologies. Its really frustrating for these things to happen when its a special occasion and also for us, as our kitchen is capable to send great food. But mistakes do happen and we are grateful for feedback. With this in mind please accept an invitation from Pablo, Tom and I to return to Bistrotheque for dinner for two on us. Drop me an email to let me know when you would like to come along. Have a lovely weekend. Best Regards David

When I showed Michael my email, he just said, "Oh no, did we really cut the poor little anchovy in half…how could we do that?" Which is a fair point. But he didn't complain when the very nice guys at Bistrotheque asked us back for dinner. 

We went last Friday and it was absolutely spectacular. I had a growing sense of unease leading up to it. How could I be so greedy? Their crime was only giving us a small starter, how could we take a free meal from them? And worst of all, what kind of 'special ingredients' might the chefs put it in our dinner, especially for the couple at Table Whingebag. I've worked in restaurants before, I know how it works.

When we got there I offered to pay for half, but was told the manager insisted. Uh oh.

I needn't have worried (I think). Even if there were unspeakable additions, we couldn't see any, and the meal was perfect from start to finish. I had a seafood ceviche to start and Michael had (because I ordered it for him so I could try it) a ham hock terrine with scotch egg. Everything on our plates looked and tasted gorgeous. He even had several anchovies sandwiched between his ham and his hock. Several!

My photos are really rubbish because it got darker but the food only got better. Crisped moist seabass for me, with chickpeas and tomatoes, soft and tender steak and tangy Bearnaise sauce for Michael - and chips for me to steal (as is a girlfriend's duty).

I tried really hard to resist dessert and not be so greedy but I couldn't. Perfect little slice of tart lemon tart for M and roast plums (peaches? shit too much rose at this point) with mascarpone for me.

Had a nice chat with the manager, god I've forgotten his name too, that must have been good wine. So lovely (and Irish, good man). He said they don't get many complaints and wanted to remedy this one. They did. There was definitely an all round feeling of more love and generosity in this meal compared to the last one. I must put a gushing review on Yelp immediately to quell my guilt. Or maybe a few Hail Marys will do.

Off Broadway: Shaken and stirring

Rarely a week goes by without a little restorative trip to Off Broadway. Been to a couple of their film evenings too which are fun. Best on an early weekday evening before the crowds descend. Sadly the lady with the amazing hair and jewellery (who shouts at you if you don't say 'please') no longer seems to be there. She made the most incredible cocktails. Her and that cute American guy with the hat who has also disappeared. Still, I think the rest of them are getting better. There is, of course, no worse feeling in the world than a cocktail that isn't perfect.

The strawberry marguerita we had last Saturday was perfect however, and inspired me and Michael to go home and make several more of our own at home. Which is probably why I didn't get out of bed until midday on Sunday...

Chocolate trifle: A guaranteed hit... but oh so nearly a flop

Chocolate muffins spread with cherry jam, topped with tinned raspberries 

(when you can't find morello cherries)...

 

Plus booze (lots of)...

 

Plus mascarpone and custard...

  

Plus melted dark chocolate...

Equals a nearly completed Delia Smith's cheat's chocolate trifle,

a pretty simple dessert that always goes down a treat...

But cream that won't whip = recipe for disaster.

Found out that my bowl in which I was trying to whip said disobedient cream was too warm. Who knew? Internet forums apparently. Where would an amateur cook be without them? Just like where would an amateur hypochondriac be without health forums?

Spent literally 40 minutes at 11pm trying to whip 'whipping' cream and still it was the consistency of tap water. Arrrgh. Went across the road to our lovely 24-hour shop man, gave him a whopping £1.99 for another pot (worth it for the nice smile I always get) and it still didn't work. In a tantrum I flung the bowl on the counter and went to bed. I only punished myself of course, waking up to a nice congealed bowl of rancid cream to clean.

I shall be putting my bowls in the freezer three weeks in advance next time.

However, the trifle went down very well at the dinner party it ended up in. I finally found cream in their local shop that acceded to my whipping. And so ends the trifling tale.

Royal Academy Summer Show: Seeing spots

Oh yeah baby, back to the art. Finally made it to the Royal Academy Summer Show. All the better after having seen the BBC programme about the brutal selection process and the heartwarming stories about some of the people who were chosen. Made us very happy to see that all the people on the show had sold their pieces.

Was good to go late in the show's run so you can see which ones sell and which don't. It's all about those little red dots. Felt all warm inside to see this one of Tory Island, (a wild 1-mile by 3-mile island off the coast of Ireland) was doing particularly well, seeing as how my granny was from there.

My favourite was the print room. Such lovely stuff there. Also liked the Stephen Chambers one 'Boy, Boat and something else'. But £28,000 is a bit out of my budget right now. I wanted to bring something home but we decided an ice-cream in Fortnum and Mason across the road would be a better investment. (it was) 

Signs: Stop a&*sing around

You have got to be joking. This was in a Superdrug, in an English speaking country - called England. Where we have armpits, but not, surely not, surely not...

Vintroville: Reasons I love Hackney, #273

On my way to sweat myself happy at Bikram yoga last Friday, I came across a cute (and not too expensive) vintage shop, Vintroville on Hackney Road. And I bought this little bag. And it made me very happy.

Purl London: Smokin' speakeasy in the 'heart of london'

Cocktails are, of course, a fundamental part of every working week. For if there is no alcoholic reward, what other way is it possible to justify spending 37.5 hours making money for someone else?

This week's cocktail consultation couch was in Purl London. 'Luxury Drinking in the Heart of the Capital.' Not sure if Marylebone's the heart of the capital but anyhow.

Great fun indeed. Set in a basement, made to look like an old speakeasy, a great place to secrete yourself away from prying London eyes, with that person you're not supposed to be seen with. The smoking bucket you see above was not in fact an ashtray gone on fire, but a Mr Hyde's Fixer Upper. Inside, was a potion bottle like so:

Caused me a little consternation to see my friend plunge her hand in to see what liquid nitrogen feels like. Cold water apparently. No harm done. 

Next was a Backwards Bellini which was great, save for a mouthful of lavender that made me think I'd swallowed my granny. Finally, a lovely negroni in a retro glass in which a piece of handcut ice clinked pleasingly. At this point, the work part of my brain had been satisfactorily fizzed and dissolved like an Alka Seltzer.

Backwards Bellini

A few weeks ago this might have been the most exciting drinking establishment I'd seen in London, but unfortunately the cooler, sleeker Lounge Bohemia took the edge. In fact, Purl had pilfered several (many) touches from there. Menus hidden in old books, concrete bunker booths, experimental cocktails, including a smoke infused one, even the website looks remarkably similar. Only thing was, they'd overdone the posh, clean furniture and it felt a little too sanitised compared to its Eastern rival. There were no toilets hidden in the walls, no amazing 50s waitresses, no amazing rescued vintage furniture... a little less character overall.

But having said all that, well worth a trip. I imagine there aren't many places like this in the not-so-wild West.

Vauxhall Bowling Club: Twee twee twee, all the way home

It's Sunday and I'm sitting on the couch, wondering why it is I'm shaking so much and feel like I might just start bouncing myself off the walls if I don't do something soon. Then Michael comes in and says, hm, do you think it's right that we got through a whole pack of filter coffee in one weekend? 

So like a good boyfriend, he has to drop everything and take me out to walk off the jitters. Luckily I just got an invite to the Vauxhall Bowling Club thing on Brick Lane so we went down for a look. 

Was nice to see older people getting honourable status for knowing something the hipsters don't. All dressed up in their finest whites. Not sure it was exactly as amazing as advertised but interesting all the same. In fairness, we did miss the bands but still, I didn't relish paying £3 for a cupcake at was supposed to be a brand sponsored event. There were no freebies that I could see. Not that I don't mind paying  a few quid but when you have to go to the effort of waiting to see if you've been allocated tickets, isn't that what you expect? Even a sherbert dip would have done.

More and more brands are tacking themselves on to hip events, many of them brands with a fusty middle-aged reputation - Courvoiser, Volvo and now Vauxhall - i guess in a last ditch attempt to seed themselves into the brains of their future markets. But I think they have to be careful not to overpromise. They need to tell you what to expect (that you'll need to pay for food and drink) and to do something genuinely innovative, thoughtful and interesting, otherwise they can do more harm than good. I def didn't come away thinking oh yeah, my next car's a Vauxhall. I did, however, begin appreciate the older generation that little bit more. They were the real stars of the show.