THE TRADING HOUSE

THE TRADING HOUSE

Supper tonight with my dear, dear chum, Marina. Restaurant reviewer for The Metro newspaper and consequently, the most influential critic in London ( as she likes to remind me )

A recent column in The Guardian described her as the most mysterious of all the restaurant reviewers. No one knows what she looks like. She is the equivalent of McCaverty the Mystery cat. "For when they cry Marina, Marina is not there"

Me? I have had supper with her innumerable times and each, she has sported a different hair colour and glasses. No wonder they cannot track her down.

Whatever, she remains enormous fun to dine with and has one of the best palates I have ever encountered.

Tonight, we chose a place that, while open since October, has had little ( for that read NO ) coverage. Who knew? The Trading House turned out to be one of those places that, expecting little, you got A LOT. Suffice to say, this is right up there with High Holborn and The Sutton Arms as the most unexpected nice surprises in my years dining out in the fair capital. I intend to return there soon and then often.

I arrived early and seated myself at the bar and ordered a perfect Manhattan. It arrived and was very well made indeed. Slightly dry but not far off point. Marina arrived soon afterwards and went for one of the great abominations in life, a martini made with a Grey Goose vodka. I don't give a rat's knackers what anyone says. A Martini is made with gin. I don't care what you call a cocktail with vodka, but a Martini it aint. Anyway, she enjoyed it, so that's all that counts

We ordered while we drank. The menu shows the sign of a chef who really cares about food and has serious ambitions. Charolais beef, an entrecote aged in house for 35 days, confit of lamb shoulder, Duke of Berkshire rare breed pork etc. A very enticing list,

To begin, I ordered veal brain beignet and Marina, foie gras mousse. Both superb. The beignet were melting and creamy and came with a sharp sauce grebiche. The foie mousse was a huge portion with excellent brioche and an onion marmalade

For main courses, I chose the "Duke of Berkshire" pork with a braised pig cheek, roasted root vegetables and crackling. Marina went for the confit lamb shoulder with rosted lamb cutlets and a raviolo of fleur de maquis (sp?) cheese with rosemary.

Let's just say there was not a trace of food left on the plate after we finished.

With this we drank a bottle of Yearing Pinot from Australia @ £27. It worked rather well

Puddings were a trio of brulee ( coffee, almond and lavender ) and a chocolate fondant. Being a Glaswegian lush, Marina had a sticky with this. I, having to run tomorrow, did not.

Without coffee, the bill ( on Metro, Gawd bless them ) came to £123.

As I waited for M to avail herself of the bathroom, I chatted with the waiter. The restuarant is owned by the chap who owns The Penthouse in Leicester Square. Can't recall the name. The chef, Tim Haig, is a mere 23 years old and used to work for Bruce Poole.

This is a young man with real talent and I recommend anyone who wants to see a chef with real ambition cooking without restriction to try this place soon. It is rare to see a person cooking with this much brio and confidence at any age let alone 23. I suspect, as it was empty tonight bar a blousy scot and a bald asian with a fetching goatee, it wont be around long and he, Tom Haig that is, is going on to far far better things. Remember where you heard that name first.

I will probably be back there tomorrow. It really is that good.

LE GAVROCHE

LE GAVROCHE

I have a favourite joke of the moment.

An upper class man, clearly an alcoholic, goes into Jo Malone and asks for some after shave. The young server says " of course sir" we have many types. What kind of scent would you like?" The man replies " I don't care as long as it's a nice cold one" Well, it makes me laugh.

I proffer this little story as I decided upon some ginger scent from Jo Malone this very morning as I dressed in some slightly smarter clothes in preparation for my lunch at Le Gavroche.

Often offered up as one of the bargains of high end dining in London, it seemed like the ideal place to have lunch on my own on one of my all too rare "life" days. £46 for the set lunch including a half bottle of wine, water and coffee and petit fours. Hard to beat

Unfortunately, a life day does not mean a lie in. As I am now formally in training for the NYC Marathon, I was up at 6am and in the gym doing some upper body work and back home and showered by 8am.

My reservation was early, at midday, so I was able to take my time, have a leisurely stroll into the West End with a few stops at Borders, Runner's Need and HMV and find myself on Upper Brook St bang on time.

The whole schtick of Le Gavroche is predicated on their service. It is as close to telepathic as I have ever experienced. I always use an example. When one is drinking a glass of wine one gets to the point when you feel " after I have had the next sip, I may need a top up" you may not even articulate this, but it is there in the back of your mind. This is the point when the waiters at Gavroche will top you up just enough to take you back into your comfort zone. At the same time, they are not so pressing as to be a nuisance.

Immediately upon my arrival, my coat was whisked away and I was seated in the tiny bar with a glass of Champagne ( from the house of Albert Roux ) and a tray of exemplary snacks were plonked in front of me. Very good indeed. Pork rillettes and, even better, a sliver of artichoke with a black truffle cream. 20 mins later I was shown downstairs to a comfortable table at the edge of the restaurant.

I used to hate dining on my own. Feeling hugely self conscious. Now, I love it and am more than happy to sit in any dining room and ponder on life's rich tapestry while eating. In fact, I did not ponder on life's rich anything today. I read BOXING NEWS which drew more than a few glances from the waitstaff.

A small amuse of Lobster Ballotine was presented at the same time as the 1/2 bottle of Ladoix 2001 arrived. The wine was perfect. A delicious burgundy which suited my meal rather well. Also, excellent rye bread with both salted and unsalted butter

For my starter, I ordered the Oeuf Poche Albert. A soft poached egg atop a mousse of salmon and artichoke heart decorated with plump roe and some excellelent toasted brioche. Yep! I really have gone carb crazy in the last few days. God will punish me.

For my main course, a braised rabbit with fennel, anis and grain mustard with a mash potato that melted down to thicken the sauce. The rabbit was bang on point. Falling off the bone. The anis over powered the sauce for me. Slightly too strong.

For dessert, I chose petit pot of chocolate and vanilla. While these were a little ordinary, the almond biscuit that came with it was perfect. Even better was the Sacristan. I often have these with some hot chocolate in Sauve when I am visiting there. These were every bit as good. I had a glass of Pedro Ximinez with the pudding ( an extra £8)

Coffee ( or in my case, fresh mint tea ) came with some petits which were, in truth, really rather poor.

Suffice to say, service througout was preternaturally sublime and the napkin test was slapped into submission from the get go.

The bill, with a 12.5% service charge was £72.

About an hour and forty five minutes later, I emerged from the dark dining room to the day light and headed home.

So, expensive? Certainly. Value? Definitely. Le Gavroche retains its position as the Old School restaurant in London nonpareil. The set lunch does not really show it to its best effect ( the a la carte has starters from £30 and mains at £90 ) and the cooking for the set is high end bistro rather than the two* of the carte. However, when one is on a mission to be pampered and cosseted, there are few better options anywhere.

And, you know what? I deserve it.

KULU KULU AND A LAZY LONDON DAY

I can't remember the last time I really had chance to enjoy London on a Saturday. In the last few weeks, I have been away on business, sitting in an airport or working at a trade fair.

Today, I had absolutely nothing planned. Blissful to say the least. So, after the usual 6.30am session with my trainer, I showered and shaved and headed "up West" and spent a very happy morning mooching around town with no pressure to be anywhere or do anything.

First stop, Selfridges Food Hall. It may seem strange to say this about one of the world's great department stores, but the food hall here is one of the great London secrets. Every tourist knows to go to Harrods food hall and, while that is great theatre, it is not a patch on that nestled at the back of the only decent store on the increasingly tawdry Oxford St. Here, you have some of the best middle eastern snacks in London, a sublime deli counter, superlative butchers and fishmongers, exemplary Chinese and Indian take out and a host of other offerings ( best of all recently is the new gelato counter ) While it is not cheap, nor somewhere to do a weekly shop, it is the perfect place to mosey for the evening snackage

I left there half an hour later lighter by £30 but happily weighed down with Kibbe, Labneh,Bourek, Kofta, Scotch Eggs, Kabanos, Pork pies, Game pies and a few other things. Roll on supper.

By this time, it was approaching Noon and I suddenly developed a serious Sushi jones. By the time it hit full force, I was in The Vintage Magazine shop on Brewer St ( looking at back issues of Empire and NOT, I repeat NOT looking at old issues of Hustler from the 70's I deny that completely ) and within striking distance of two of the Kaiten Sushi places on that interesting rd.

Sushi is yet another cuisine in which I can hardly claim to have any expertise. But, in recent years, I have really developed a taste for it and, on more than one occasion, have serious cravings for it. Although I have had sushi many times, I can trace my increasing passion for it back to a meal in NYC a mere three years or so ago when a friend, Abby, took me to Jewel Bakko where we sat at the bar and had Omakase. It was, until a more recent experience of Omakase at Yasuda in the same city, the best I had ever experienced and,although I am no longer in touch, I shall always be grateful to her for giving me the opportunity to see how extraordinary sushi can be.

Well, Kulu Kulu is certainly not at that level and, if truth be told, not that expertly made. But, the place is cheap and cheerful, the fish fresh and it does not cost the $150 a head it does to sit at Yasuda's station. I arrived almost exactly as the sign was flipped from "closed" to "open" and took a seat at the belt. Usual schtick and I helped myself to some wasabi, ginger and soy and some tea from the self serve station as I waited for the first offerings of the day to come trundling by.

This place gets packed to the gunwhales during the evening and there is a 45 minute limit for each visitor. On a Saturday lunchtime at noon, things were a lot more leisurely and I munched happily on some pickles and five plates of assorted Maki and Nigri. Just the job. I tottered over to the counter carrying my plates of many colours and they relieved me both of them and of £13.20. About fair.

A short stroll home in time to catch the second half of Chelsea Vs Spurs with my feet up, a large mug of tea, the winter sunshine streaming in through my window and a copy of Runner's World in hand as I ponder on my place in this year's NYC marathon. Life seldom gets better. I really must do it more often.

IT'S DIFFERENT FOR MIXED GRILLS


Sometimes, when one's diet has been nutritionally lacking, you need to get back to basics and eat food that covers all the food groups.

Fortunately, HP is a past master when it comes to such matters and whipped up a meal involving everything that keeps a decent human being operating on full throttle.

Beef: Fillet steak
Pork: Sausages
Lamb: Cutlets
Chicken: Well, eggs
Fruit: er, tomatoes
Vegetables: Mushrooms

Oh yes, black pudding too. For the iron of course.

With a large cup of builder's tea, it is everything the forward thinking nutritionist would prescribe.

Perfect

GREEN & RED REDUX

OK SEA BASS, GREAT MULLET

There are few real benefits to knowing Jay Rayner. A few free meals, obviously, the occasional opportunity to give him a hard time for being the only person in christendom who thinks that M&S' Blue Harbour line is fashionable and, er, that's about it.

However, last night when he was kind enough to invite Dos Hermanos to join him at Green & Red, he really came up trumps. Not only was he late ( 'serves him right for living South of the river" to quote hermano Primero ) but he had a mullet. Not just a slight lengthening of the hair at the back of the head, but a full on Billy Ray Cyrus, Achy Breaky Heart, mullet. A Jon Bon Jovi c 1988 mullet. It was all I could do to stop myself from singing "you give criticism a bad name" Actually, I think I did.

I am afraid, that the mullet, like watching a car wreck was too distracting and informed most of our evening. Unfortunately, I was not able to capture said mullet on camera. Mr Rayner was shy of having his fizzog on my blog. Strange given that it is plastered on the header of his column every week. Such a desire to be shy and retiring seems out of place with this 6ft + , 200lb + lumbering behomoth of a man. A bit like Paris Hilton getting all coy and saying she does not put out on the first date. Ah Well. All I could get was this image of him, napkin over head ( actually a good look for him ) looking disturbingly like The Elephant Man.

Anyway, arriving bang on 8pm as directed. HP and I went straight to the house margarita's. Very good indeed and, when JR did turn up, it took little persuading for us to have another round.

The room was packed with beautiful young things and the sight of three middle aged men salivating was not a good look, I am sure. The trouble is, once you pass 40, you become entirely invisible to attractive women. I guess it does allow you to letch with impunity. I, of course, was not guitly of such things. I wish I could say the same for the other two. Shameful.

JR took control of the menu and we ordered about 80% of the menu.

The food was as good as on my previous visit and we tried some things I had not eaten before amongst them chorizo and also a whole baked sea bass

This time, the Birria was the star for me. A slow braised lamb shank in a thin chilli broth. A comment on my previous post about this explained how this is cooked in a pit before being braised. As Jay said, given that this is Bethnal green, I am pretty glad it had not been buried anywhere.

We also managed to try a few postre. The chocolate and churros was not a bad stab although the churros were too dense and not as light and hot as they could have been. A creme catalan style dessert was probably the best of the bunch.

With the cocktails and a few rounds of Negro Modela, the bill came to £150 of which a good 60% was probably on the booze so we were more than happy to cough up a bit towards the tab. After all, Jay has a family and that mullet to support.

All together now

DON"T BREAK MY HEART, MY ACHY BREAKY HEART

CASALE FRANCO

A post fair collapse of a supper last night with friends and colleagues at Casale Franco

A quitessentially old school "trat" hidden away up an alleyway off Upper St, its single benefit appears to be that it is within staggering distance of the office. It certainly is not the food which is passable at best .

However, my chum and colleague, Zaro really rather likes it and it does, from time to time, serve as a venue for a "family" supper

Arriving early with my friend Michael, the officious podgy little tool at front of house tried to shoehorn us into a small table in a room of people slowly getting drunk before heading off to see The Arse play Real Madrid.

We finally managed to persuade him that we had no intention of sitting there and were begrudgingly shown a table in the narrow room near the pass. I was knackered after the fair and had every reason to be cranky. I think this guy does it because he is just a knob.

Fortunately, the rest of the staff are a great deal more friendly and a couple of glasses of Prosecco later, I was feeling a great deal more affable.

By the time Zaro and Gareth arrived, we had decided to order another bottle and were pretty much "in our cups" and munching on decent olives and some perfectly OK cold roasted vegetables.

While we perused the menu, they comped us a bowl of garlic pizza which everyone devoured pretty quickly except me as CARBS = DEATH as we all readily acknowledge.

To begin, I had grilled squid which, while not dreadful was rubbery ( there is a joke in there somewhere ) and the CHEW/TASTE ratio was completely out of whack. Not worth the effort. While zaro and Michael did their usual green salad schtick, Gareth ordered a rather lumpen looking tart. Didn't try it. Didn't want to.

By the time we came to our main courses, Stacey, who heads up our US office had arrived just in time for the Sea Bass we had ordered to be plonked in front of her. I had ordered braised Wild Boar with grilled polenta. I was hungry enough to polish it off, but was it any good? Not really. A cloying sauce,stringy meat and bland polenta ( bland being the nature of polenta, I guess ) It is amazing what you can bring yourself to eat when you are

a) starving
b) drunk
c) both of the above

The redeeming feature of CF is that is has a well priced and interesting wine list. This time, along side the very passable Prosecco, we polished off ( well, Micheal, Gareth and myself did ) two bottles of Lacrima Di Mora D'alba which was warm, rich and a nice couterpoint to the cold and rain outside. Very good and £20 a bottle

Because of the above ( wine that is ) I have no recollection of the desserts although I suspect they would not have been that memorable anyway.

A mint tea and a comped Limocello later, I was on my way home and literally counting the moments until I return to this fine establishment. Ahem

BIBENDUM

Years ago,when the world was young and I looked less like Ming the Merciless, I saved up my pennies and went to Bibendum. At that time, it was, arguably, THE restaurant in London. The Chef, Simon Hopkinson was at at the top of his game and the Conran empire was decidedly fledgling. It was everything I could have hoped for. A stunning room, formal service and food which, at the time, made a marked difference to the dining out my baby publisher's career would allow. I went back several times after that and, while it was still solid, it never quite had the same impact.

It had been at least seven years since I last went back, so tonight, when some dear dear publishing chums from Aschehoug in Denmark invited us to join them there for supper, I was more than a little curious and willing to schlep all the way across town from the Excel centre.

If truth be told, time had in fact stood still since my last visit.

The room remains entirely unchanged and one of the most beguiling in London. The service is formal but efficient and friendly and probably still represents the better end of what the Conran group can do. The food, while hardly creating any fireworks at all, is solid enough and certainly suitable for a convivial supper with good friends and business colleagues.

Once we had all arrived, we began with some excellent Belinni's. Not a drink I would ever order for myself as it is preternatuarlly girly. However, not bad at all. Perhaps I am in touch with my feminine side. Who knew?

To begin, I along with most of the table, chose the crab mayonnaise on a salad of watercress and herbs. What came was a small mound of achingly fresh white meat flanked by a nice amount of rich brown meat and a very good thick mayo. Small, but perfectly formed. Very enjoyable.

Others went for salads and one of the group went for the much more substantial option of a fried spinach & ricotta cake with a poached egg and anchovy hollandaise. An enormo portion. It would have been too much for my appetite at that time, but she seemed to get through it in good order and seemed to enjoy.

For some reason, perhaps as the only man in the group, I was handed the wine list. Often an anxious moment if one is choosing the wine for a party when one is not paying. However, on the instruction to find something "light" I found a Vouvray ( Vincent Rimbaud 2002 ) for £24 and the Chenin Blanc suited perfectly with our meals.

For my main course, I went for Ris De Veau. A very well executed dish of a large sweetbread with plump large capers and a beurre noisette. I have not had this dish for years and, at the end of a long day, it was a little rich for me. But, being a brave little soldier, I polished it off.

Other choices around the table seemed equally well executed if not pushing any boundaries. I was particularly taken with the Roast Hake with Salsa Verde and wilted rocket which was chosen by three of the group. A much underrated fish in this country but well worth the effort if you can find it.

Given that the rest of the group was all female, there seemed little chance that we would not have pudding. I was entirely unoriginal with a chocolate fondant which, while fine and coming with a lovely pistachio ice cream was not close to being as tasty and a date and almond cake with Kummel Ice Cream. The host brought us a glass of Kummel to try. I have to admit I had not ever tasted it before. A schnapps made with caraway seeds. Rather splendid. He also comped us a bowl of Basil Sorbet which another at the table had with a pinapple carpaccio.

The min tea test was aced. No teabags here, people. It came with some workaday petits. Points deducted for a failure to pass the napkin test however. Shameful

I have no idea what the bill came to it being one of the very rare times when we were being treated. I don't doubt it was close to the GNP of some latin American countries.

Still, quite interesting to go back in time like that. Made me feel like a chubby Dr Who.

THE REAL GREEK

THE REAL GREEK

Another book fair. Another dinner.

After a day setting up our stand at the new venue for The London Book Fair at Excel, I had a n early supper planned with my good chums from Hallmark.

The beauty of me being asked to organise the meals is that I can make damn sure that they are all within walking distance of my flat so I can have an early night in preparation for the 40 + meetings a day I have to cram in during the fair.

Tonight, the short walk to Hoxton Market and The Real Greek. Opened, I think, in 1999, the restaurant was right at the heart of the gentrification of Hoxton and Shoreditch and despite the opening of the Mezze bar next door and, with the sale of 50% of the business, the roll out of the Souvlaki bar concept, the main oroginal restuarant seems to have lost none of its appeal. It was rammed to the rafters soon after we arrived for our early booking of 6.30pm.

I ordered starters for the table to share in the form of their plates of mixed mezze. Each plate came with three selections and I chose ( to quote from the menu )

Tzatzik
Lentils with a touch of spices from Alexandroupoli
Octopus baked in parchment paper with garlic, olive oil and rosemary

Fava (light purée of yellow split peas from Santorini)
Pot-roasted rabbit with yoghurt and dil
Grilled Cornish squid marinated in fresh herbs, lemon zest and olive oil

Soutzouki (Armenian style spicy beef sausage) souvlaki
Tirokeftedes (fried cheese dumplings)
Warm salad of chick peas, Thessaly style

All were good although, for sharing between five, it was scarcely enough and I underordered.

The octopus was a hit as was the rabbit in dill ( the first time my chums had ever tasted rabbit ) the souvlaki was off the mark and I found it very tough and lacking flavour. The others, despite the great descriptions, were non descript

We drank an excellent St Elias from Pelopene with this which soon disappeared so I ordered a Tselepos from Arcadia which I thought even better. There really are some excellent wines coming out of Greece rigght now. I wish they were more widely available in the UK.

For the main courses, they offer between smaller and larger plates depending on your appetite. We all went for the larger plates

Seared rib-eye served with trahana
Chicken Skordostoumbi (pot-roasted with garlic in Corfu style)
Marsh Mutton
Roasted Sea Bass

My rib was cooked rare to order and not bad at all. I did not taste the others so cannot comment.

Puddings were undistinguished apart from an excellent baclava.

With mint tea and coffee and some petits the bill was a not insubstantial £220 inc tip which was deserved for service which was efficient if a little harried.

As a meal to entertain visiting guests, it would seem that the Real Greek still hits the spot. I enjoyed it more than my last visit when it seemed a little tired. I am not sure, however, how often I can see myself going there on my own penny.

RECOVERY AT THE RIVINGTON

How do you solve a problem like the Rivington? So maddeningly inconsistent. A real curate's egg of a restaurant. Sometimes, so awfully bad that you cannot imagine ever setting foot in there again. Then, it comes up with cooking so on point and ingredients so well provenanced, that you can't imagine not going there regularly.

Tonight was just such a night

I was dining with colleagues both from the UK office and from the US office and the Rivington seemed like a good place which would not offend anyone.

We arrived at 6.30pm. We were the only ones in there and to begin with, the service could have been measured with a calendar rather than a watch. The table we were shown to in the corner was as cold as the welcome and we asked to be moved. T
while this did not seem to phase them at all, it did phase me as I managed to spill the best part of a martini over Zaro. Mind you, having tasted the martini, spilling it was the best thing to do.

We ordered and our starters arrived pretty promptly. While my whitebait was very good indeed and Stacey's potted shrimp also good, two of our colleagues had ordered green salads. What came was the most abysmally small, parsimonious amount of green leafery I have ever seen. We kicked up a stink and they brought us bigger plates which were fine. But, who would ever think this would be acceptable?

So far, so bad and I was in my " why do we come here" mode.

Then, just when I think I have the place sussed out, the main courses arrived. Damn them. They were all great. My suckling pig was a bigger portion than normal. Lucy's lamb was a big chunk with a decent amount of bubble & squeak. Zaro had seven plump scallops ( which, being an American, she let me enjoy the roe ). All were very good indeed.

However, best of all, Michael and Stacey shared a gosenard roast chicken with roast potatoes. This was seriously good chicken. Perfectly roasted with a big bowl of stuffing and some roast potatoes that all who tried ( not me ) declared "fabulous"

I had a chunk of chicken too as no one else could finish and I am a big fat bastard. A great flavour and perfectly cooked with wonderfully crispy skin.

We shared three puddings. A chocolate trifle which I seemed to enjoy most of all, a butterscotch ice cream with shortbread and a, slightly dry, bakewell tart. All were enjoyed, but puddings are not my stick.

With the drinks to begin, two bottles of water and two bottles of wine ( a Marsanne Vigionier and a Quinto de Duoro ) the bill came to £230 inc service which I think was a bout fair.

So, 10 meals later, I still have not figured out The Rivington Grill. I will certainly go there again and it will certainly be just as horribly infuriating and just good enough to keep me coming back. Curses.

IT'S A LITTLE BIT BUNNY

Elizabeth Luard is, to my mind, the greatest food writer in the UK. I am fortunate that we have published a number of books with her

Recently, Fergus Henderson ( he of St John fame ) was quoted in The New Yorker as saying that one of the titles we commissioned from her, SACRED FOOD, was the book which informed much of his cooking. You don't get much higher recommendation that that.

Yesterday, we received advances of her new book, CLASSIC SPANISH COOKING. Part of a series, that includes titles on French and Italian cuisine and will soon include Jewish and British. It is growing into a useful resource.

Flipping through the pages with a production hat on, I came across a recipe called Pollo en Ajopollo ( chicken in an almond and saffron sauce ) a moorish dish from Andalucia.

It struck me that it might well work with the rabbit I saw on sale in James Elliot.

So, after picking up one of the poor blighters today at lunchtime, I cooked up a CONEJO EN AJOPOLLO ( I think !) for supper

A slice of bread is fried with garlic and a little parsley and whizzed to breadcrumbs. Then I added saffron threads and their infusing water, cinnamon, lemon juice and zest, cloves, a glass of white wine and two tablespoons of ground almonds and whizzed to a smooth pureee.

I fried the rabbit ( dusted in seasoned flour ) in olive oil until golden, added sliced onion and cooked until that was soft. Then the nut puree is added and the whole lot is simmered until the rabbit is falling off the bone and the sauce is reduced to a thick unctuousness. An optional extra is to sprinkle with more parsley and some toasted flaked almonds before serving, but I did not bother.

The end result is redolent ( as HP commented ) of a Korma which is the Moorish influence, I guess. Whatever its provenance, it is entirely delicious and I heartily recommend it

Served with some buttered purple sprouting brocoli and some slow roasted tomatoes, this is certainly a dish I can see myself returning to time and again.

At the risk of shilling one of my own books. BUY THIS BOOK. Or, be nice to me and I may send you one!