Happy hour

And you thought tiny designer basil was useless

Cocktails! Today we take a whistle stop tour through some of my favourites. I invented these, so feel free to experiment. All measures approximate. And very approximate after 3 or 4. It’s called freepouring folks. Enjoy.

Pop my cherry

Spring 2010 - Invented for my sister M, with love. She drank 9 and threw up.

Glass: highball

3 parts vodka

2 parts cherry cordial (a morello syrup if you’re impressing someone, and a cheapo squash one if you want it to be BRIGHT PINK)

Top up with soda water

Garnish with fresh mint.

The Passion of Christ the oven’s switched off again

Easter 2011 - The natural response to my mother’s temperamental oven nearly ruining the shoulder of pork.

Glass: ‘whatever hasn’t already been set on the table, for god’s sake, can’t you see I’m busy’.

2 parts vodka

1 part amaretto

Top up with ginger ale

Garnish with a slice of lime.

Hammer of Death

Summer 2009 - a reunion with a friend who lives abroad necessitated a light afternoon cocktail. This wasn’t it.

Glass: tumbler

2 parts gin

2 parts blue curacao

Top up with bitter lemon

La Vie en Rose

Paris 2007 - Bittersweet, like my memories of France. Let’s not go into it.

Glass: champagne

2 parts vodka

1 part rose syrup

Top up with ultra brut champagne.

Basil and Elderflower Martini

Summer 2011 – things got a little out of hand with these and 3 sisters in the room.

Glass: martini

3 parts vodka

1 part elderflower cordial

Shake together with some bruised Greek basil over ice. Strain and serve. See picture above.

Other things I love but didn’t invent: Classic Champagne Cocktails, Martinis (straight up, with a twist), Whisky Sours and Singapore Slings.

I would love to drink Old Fashioneds and be like Don Draper but they’re too strong. If anyone knows a take on these that doesn’t resemble paint stripper, please let me know.

What a Woman!

It has come to my attention that there exists in the world a cookbook called ‘How to Feed your Man’. No, this is not one of those faux retro pamphlets on ‘How to be a Perfect Wife’, nor is it a 50s Oxo cube advert cunningly reproduced as a fridge magnet. It’s a real, actual book, published in 2010 by a woman who has chosen to call herself ‘Stasha Butterfly’. Which is the kind of name usually reserved for 6 year olds making themselves the centre of attention at family parties or, you know, adult entertainment artistes.

I couldn’t bring myself to part with £15 for this execrable creation, but luckily there are several reviews, a website and some lovely pictures of the recipes themselves on the internet.

Firstly, the whole concept is just monstrous. Yes, cook for your partner- it’s fun, it’s convivial, you learn stuff, and you probably won’t have to do the washing up.  Of course, if your partner has no interest in cooking, you may find yourself doing the lion’s share by default. Equally though, if you have no interest in cooking, fair enough; they might cook for you. Live and let live. You can always get a take away.

The below, on the subject of making extra pasta sauce and freezing it, made me particularly irate:

“you never know when your fella might just cancel the party and want a quiet night in … this way you can be the perfect woman, and say: 'No problem darling, I'll just rustle something up'."

What. The. F**k. Yes, obviously, freeze your sauces, but do it because it makes economic sense, not because it may at some point in the future give you the opportunity to behave like some kind of demented Iceland chiller cabinet with breasts.

The idea that to keep your partner interested you have to be in the kitchen serving them ‘man food’ disgusts me.  In fact, on occasions when I have thrown down the culinary gauntlet and cooked something fantastic for a man in order to um…whet their appetite (sorry), I have ended up so full and sleepy that it’s difficult to summon up the energy to see them to the door.  Admittedly, that may say more about me than Ms. Butterfly.

The recipes in the book itself….well. Let’s just say this, I wouldn’t be surprised if the full title was ‘How to Feed a Man so that he Dies of a Heart Attack at 45 and you get His Money’. It’s all fat and stodge (see my earlier comment about falling asleep after romantic meals). However, Stasha’s man does seem to appreciate this. At a dinner party where she served something masculine to lots of masculine men (whatever), he was seen to:

..“walk around with an ear-to-ear grin muttering the words 'What a woman!’”

I just hate him.

Last but not least, the recipes are just…not recipes. Have a look at this musing on TOAST (so simple, even a man could probably work it out):

"It's just a matter of copious amounts of white bread into a toaster buttered to the edges".

But what do you butter? The toaster? The bread, pre-toasting? It isn’t clear, and if you ask me this is just a recipe for an electrical fire.

Yours,

Disgruntled from Tunbridge Wells.

ps. don’t worry, they appear to have changed the cover for the published edition…

You should see a gynae about that yeast infection dear

Green eggs and ham

Baked eggs are, for me, the ultimate easy comfort food. They're for when you can't even be bothered to make an omelette. Nutritious and delicious, as a certain doughnut shaped breakfast cereal would have it.

I made mine with 3 eggs because I was starving, but feel free to minimise. Serves one, perfectly.

Baked eggs

You will need:
- 3 eggs
- 2 slices of nice ham
-parmesan
-chopped chives

Method:
-Grease a large ramekin or small oven proof dish
-Tear up the ham and layer it at the bottom of the dish
-Crack the eggs in
-Sprinkle parmesan and chives on the top
-Season
-Bake in the oven at 200 for 10-15 minutes depending on how you like your eggs. 
-Eat with a glass of wine in front of some great Tuesday night TV (Great British Bake Off starts tonight).

'Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple' - Dr. Seuss

Feeling crabby

I had arranged for a friend to come over for supper this evening, however as it got later and later and I still hadn't left work, I thought that I'd probably be cancelling and decided against doing a food shop on my way back to the flat.

So, when I found myself at home at 7.30 with my friend arriving in half an hour, I was in a bit of pickle.  The cupboards were pretty bare but I managed to find 2 tins of crabmeat that I had bought on a whim (hey, it's cheaper than shoes) some time earlier.  Rest assured this is quality, 100% crab meat, unlike so called 'crab sticks', which I was disgusted to discover were made from 'pressed white fish'. Gross. However, if you're not ok with tinned things, and you have managed to plan ahead, fresh picked white crab meat would obviously be ideal.

I tipped 300g (2 tins) of the crab meat into a bowl and assembled some ingredients.

Ignore the spring onions, I didn't use them

Basically, I smushed up the crab (you can see it's in large chunks at the moment) and added mayonnaise (not too much please), lime juice, chilli flakes, salt and white pepper to taste  This created a pleasingly snowy white mousse with the occasional dash of red chilli. I moulded it into sort of round shapes and chilled it in the fridge for 30 minutes.

Avocado would have been an obvious choice with this, but miine was rock hard and in fact I broke a knife trying to prise it apart. Hmmm. Back to the drawing board. In the end I tossed a mixed salad with a mustard vinaigrette, plonked the crab mix on top in attractive blobs, sprinkled with chives and served with some small toasts for my guest, who is not currently in an emotionally abusive relationship with carbs.

Delicious. Phew.

Afternoon delight

West London - field of dreams

The sunny weather has got me thinking about pubs. Is there anything better than spending a Saturday afternoon in a beer garden with friends? The answer is no, apart from a million pounds, tax free. Even if I had a million pounds, I’d still go to these places with my friends. Probably.

Without further ado - Laura’s favourite pubs with gardens (in West London):

The White Horse.

Hopefully no introduction needed, it’s a classic summer drinking spot, even if the beer garden is on the corner of a three way junction.  Hey, if you want grass, live in the country. It’s always crowded and sometimes covered in barbecue smoke, but the atmosphere is second to none. My sisters and I are convinced that it exists in a time space continuum vortex, because if you turn up at 12, there’s no way you’re out before 8. Word to the wise: cancel your evening plans.

To drink: Delirium Tremens or Mort Subite (10% beers that will have amusing effects on your macho male companions), anything from the very interesting wine list, and the jugs of Pimms are pleasingly potent.

To eat: burgers from the barbecue are a cut above, and anything from the menu proper will be delicious. Fish and chips are a classic, and watch out for a changing specials board. I still dream about the ham hock.

 http://www.whitehorsesw6.com/

The Crabtree.

First trip here was a result of a walk by the river in Fulham with a friend, having taken the day off work (legitimately, before anyone sees this and I get fired). We stayed all afternoon. The Crabtree easily wins my ‘prettiest beer garden’ award. It has wisteria all over it - lovely. Suits evenings after work and sunny Sundays.

To drink: Great Pinot Grigio and generous vodka tonics.

To eat: The barbecue is really something (and priced accordingly…). Try the half chicken with harissa.

 http://thecrabtreew6.co.uk/

The Old Ship.

Scene of countless teenage antics. Ok, not strictly true given that we could never get served, but the grassy area outside saw many a White Lightening fuelled escapade. Once inside, you’ll find a really lovely old pub right on the river as it winds through Chiswick. Benches by the water’s edge, two levels of balconies and a conservatory eating area add to the charm.

To drink: cider, shandies, anything in a plastic cup so you can take it outside and sit on the river wall.

To eat: burgers with bloody mary ketchup and a great help yourself salad bar.

 http://www.oldshipw6.com/

The Ship.

This classic Sunday afternoon hangout is just south of the river (gasp) in Wandsworth. I find the seating area overhanging the water a bit scary because all that separates you from an impromptu swim and a tetanus injection is some plexi-glass. But still, fantastic atmosphere and a nice glassed in area for those sunny-but-actually-freezing moments.

To drink: Sauvignon Blanc. Lots.

To eat: I’ve never actually eaten here but am reliably informed it’s ‘fine’.

http://www.theship.co.uk/

Benares - review

With riots on the streets and revolting people everywhere it would have been foolish, perhaps even dangerous, to venture too far for supper on Wednesday night. Benares was therefore chosen both for its convenient location right next to the office, and its convenient donation of a membership card to my friend, which meant we could get free champagne and a 15% discount. Win.

We started the evening with an inoffensive bottle of white and some light conversation outside a local pub. My friend is currently a Dukan-er and was looking fabulous. By 7pm, we were ready to leave the mean streets and move across Berkeley Square to Atul Kochhar’s (‘the nice Indian man from Great British Menu’) restaurant. Having been approved by the silent man-mountain at the door (which personally I find offputting enough in nightclubs, let alone when I just want a curry), we passed into the inner sanctum and were greeted effusively by a lot of people before ascending some fairly serious stairs (super tight skirts would be/were tricky) and arriving in the bar. Lulled into a false sense of security by the 15% discount, a margarita and a lemon thyme martini were ordered. A yoghurt based drink was not, despite assurances that it was delicious. I hate yoghurt, and on Dukan you have to eat a lot of it anyway. The cocktails we did order were delicious and got an A* from both of us, as did the lovely water feature pond thing. Very pretty.

The dining room itself is square, low ceilinged and windowless. This doesn’t bother me, but it did have *whisper* a slight hint of the corporate hotel about it.  It is fashionably brown and beige with white linen…I’m sure you can already picture it almost exactly (if not, look at the picture below). The lighting is seductively dim and very flattering. This would be a great, discreet place for a dangerous liaison, if anyone is that way inclined.

A glass of champagne helped us make our way through the menu.  I have to say, the first thing I noticed was the price. It’s…expensive.  But hey, this is London in 2011. The economy’s gone to pot, the youths are fighting in the streets, and £30 for a tandoori chicken is NFM. Normal for Mayfair. The real question is, was it worth it?

Yes, it was. Unequivocally some of the best food I’ve eaten all year, Indian or otherwise. As we sat down, we were given tiny melt in the mouth poppadums with pineapple, tomato and green apple chutneys. Delicious. See you later, Dukan.  

To start, I had spice crusted scallops and my friend had a soft shell crab. The menu required something more subtle to drink than a Cobra, so we went for a Viognier, chosen with help from the sommelier. Very dry. Excellent.

When the food arrived, I was told to eat the scallops from left to right, as their flavours intensified across the plate.  I don’t like this. I always want to point out that I’ve managed to convey food to my mouth in an order that hasn’t killed me or harmed anyone around me for 25 years now. But that would make me a bit of an arse, so I nodded politely and did what he said. Guess what? He was right. The first scallop was mild and, I thought initially, underseasoned. I was prepared to be slightly, but politely, disappointed.  But the next one had a punch of coriander seed that very cleverly picked up the first scallop too. The last one had a chilli and garlic sauce on top that was really strong. Amazingly, I could still taste all three scallops, individually, through the spices and the mango dressing. My friend’s soft shell crab with peanut salad also went down with rave reviews.

Main courses were the aforementioned £30 Tandoori Murgh for my friend, and a sea trout with Kerala curry sauce and ‘tempered yoghurt rice’ for me.  This was a showstopper. The fish was perfectly cooked (and didn’t have the desperate ‘I’m trying to be salmon’ attitude that sometimes affects sea trout), the sauce was just....beyond words. Ok, that’s a cop out. It was red and lightly spiced and didn’t overpower the fish. The stroke of absolute genius was the cold rice stirred through with a little yoghurt (bear in mind I hate yoghurt).  It added a sharp, lactic quality to the fatty fish and the thick sauce and rounded it all out perfectly.

The Tandoori murgh was a supreme of chicken with various spiced veg and a tomato and fenugreek sauce. The chicken had a good heat to it and was very smoky. Another winner.

Neither of us are really pudding people, so we skipped it and went to espressos.  At this point, a charming Frenchman appeared to ask us how our evening had gone and was treated to a rambling 10 minute conversation with two stunningly attractive (remember the lighting), happily full, slightly tipsy young women about the disenfranchisement of youth in the suburbs of Paris and London, and its contribution to aggression. I believe the word ‘ghetto’ was used. To his eternal credit, he appeared to enjoy it.

It was… expensive. £152 for two. But here’s the thing, we paid without hesitation and would both go back tomorrow.  If we could put it on a credit card.

Study in beige

http://www.benaresrestaurant.com/

Good mood food

Just a quick recommendation if you ever fancy a burrito – http://www.poncho8.com/

Their appearance in my office today caused widespread lunchtime happiness. Delivered piping hot by one of the founders themselves (riding a very fetching bicycle) with free nachos to boot, this is true good mood food.

Recommendation: barbacoa burrito with EVERYTHING. They also do frozen margaritas.
Prices: c.£6.50

"What do you call cheese that isn't yours?"
"Nacho cheese"

Lobster Festival

Having eaten (conservative estimate) 15 baguettes in the 10 days I spent on holiday, I decided to do a couple of days of intense carbohydrate avoidance in order to be able to show off my glorious tan to my many lovers, without looking like one of those giant cured pig legs that you get hanging up in tapas bars. Needless to say, after a breakfast of smoked salmon, a lunch of skinned chopped chicken breast, three litres of water and a decaf espresso I was dangerously bored and I foolishly arranged to meet friends for a drink after work. I was going to have a soda water *wry laugh*.  To cut a long story short, by midnight I was knocking back whisky sours having eaten lobster thermidor and chips. I am going to gloss over this lapse and go off on a tangent about lobsters.

Lobster thermidor is an interesting one. You don’t see it on menus much and, truth be told, I’d never tried it. In my head, it fits into a food box with prawn cocktail, steak Diane and black forest gateau. I guess that’s the 70s swingers dinner party box then. Even so, it was delicious.

According to Wikipedia, it was invented in 1894, is named after the summer month of the same name in the French Revolutionary Calendar, and is a creamy mixture of cooked lobster meat, egg yolks, mustard and cognac with gruyere crust. The one I had was definitely a white wine béchamel with parmesan, which shows how much you can trust Wikipedia. And all of this brings us neatly to the proudest moment of my adult life, which involves both Wikipedia and lobsters. Fancy that.

Picture the scene:

First year at university, and my friend C and I were struggling through Nerval’s ‘Les Chimeres’ as part of our French literature course. Do not read this book. The language was antiquated and the poetry opaque; it was difficult to read and even worse to write about. Nerval was the bane of my life for two solid weeks. When I later moved to Paris I went to the cemetery where he is buried and took a photo of myself doing a thumbs up sign. Anyway, back to Autumn 2004, sitting in a concrete bedroom desperately trying to make sense of the writings of a man who was, by any standard you care to put on it, insane.

Academic research obviously came in the form of google, and it was here that I first found a reference to Nerval’s lobster. He had said, in a discussion with a friend, that he couldn’t understand why people didn’t have lobsters as pets instead of dogs.  It’s not actually that funny, but when you’re trying to work out why exactly the recurring motif of a black sun in his poems means that he’s scared of women, you take what you can get.

I decided to bring Nerval’s pet lobster into the 21^st century, by launching it on that byword for truth and reliability – Wikipedia. C and I set about constructing an elaborate story that provided concrete ‘proof’ of the existence of the pet lobster, which according to us, and now the Wikipedia entry, some scholars doubted. The story revolved around a supposedly recently discovered letter that Nerval had written to his ‘childhood friend’, Laura LeBeau. You may have noticed that my name is Laura and ‘beau’ means handsome. I am quite vain... The letter does actually exist, but only because C and I wrote it.  In it, Nerval confessed that he had been in trouble with the police in La Rochelle (aka ‘where people go in French textbooks’) for stealing from the lobster nets. Having paid a fine, Nerval was allowed to keep the lobster he had stolen, name it ‘Thibault’ (I believe I had recently watched the classic Leonardo DiCaprio/Claire Danes reworking of Romeo and Juliet) and bring it back to the city.

We uploaded the story to Wikipedia, wrote our essays and thought no more about it.  Apart from occasional night terrors. About 3 months later, we checked back and were surprised to find that the entry had not been deleted for obvious lunacy and lack of supporting evidence. It became something of a private joke.

Fast forward 4 years and we are about to graduate. In the course of reminiscing about some of the crazy fun times we’d had, Nerval’s lobster came up. We decided to check up on the entry. Imagine our surprise when, not only had our story been embellished, but it had a footnoted reference link to a recently printed article in Harpers Magazine. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G%C3%A9rard_de_Nerval#Pet_lobster

Sure enough that esteemed publication had used the long lost letter (© me, 2004)

as the basis of proof in its article on Nerval, here: http://www.harpers.org/archive/2008/10/hbc-90003665

There is no real point to this story except, perhaps, don’t use Wikipedia as a source if you’re a journalist, but I do feel a huge sense of pride in this achievement.

Ps. Buy the t-shirt! http://www.etsy.com/listing/34315681/nerval-lobster-tee-ladies-pink-small-or