LA BODEGUITA: CUMBIA DOWN THE ELEPHANT

I used to live in Camberwell. I got better, but it still haunts me. The dreary journey on the 68 bus to college and the combat alley of The Walworth Rd walking home on a Saturday night. The only good thing was the Walworth Rd cafe which offered a "Full English" for £1.95 which included eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, chips, beans, black pudding, bubble, tomatoes, two slices of toast and a mug of tea. The only downside was that they did not trust the punters not to nick the teaspoons,. So each table had one spoon chained to it which got an occasional rub over with a damp cloth when they could be bothered. Happy days.

I think, possibly, that I have not been back to that part of the world since 1985. If I have, I have happily blanked it from my memory and would happily never have set foot there again had a chum at work not mentioned that he and his Colombian wife regularly go to a restaurant at the Elephant. My ample ears pricked up and I took a note of the place and decided to revisit old stamping grounds and make a reservation for 7pm

La Bodeguita is situated on the first floor of that 60's monstrosity, The Elephant & Castle shopping centre which is rapidly becoming a little enclave for London's expanding Latin America community. With bookstores, bars and snack bars all offering specialities from back home, it was, by the time me and HP arrived shortly after 7pm, already packed with Colombians enjoying TV and drinking beer.

The restaurant itself is pretty sizable and not particularly cozy, but the welcome was friendly and we were shown to a seat with an exquisite view of the aforementioned Walworth Rd, ahem.

As is too often the case in ethnic restaurants in London, they had lots of echt brews on the menu none of which were available. So we had a pint of San Miquel. Like going to The Old Cock & Bull in LA and seeing a list of great real ales and being offered John Smiths Smooth. Ho hum

Still, we plodded on and ordered a range of starters

Chorizo Sausage - very different from others I have tried. The casing was tough but, once you had chomped through it, the inside was chunky and spicy and not bad at all
Empenada - Like a Jamaican patty but deep fried. What's not to like?
Patacon Con Carne Desmechada - Crispy fried plantain with shredded meat. The plantain was tough as old boots, but the meat was pretty good.
Chicharron Con Arepa - A slab of belly pork which was lovely and fatty with crisp skin and a disc of lumpen arepa which tasted like it had been sitting around for a while.

Then two main courses.

Bandeja Paisa - a Colossal portion of rice, pork belly, red beans,minced beef, chorizo, plantain, avocado topped off with a fried egg. Oh and one of those rock hard arepa. HP could barely make a dent in this there was so much. I helped out. Again, the belly was good, so were the beans.

Cazuela de Mariscos - a seafood stew which came to the table sizzling menacingly. Another enormo portion filled with prawns, mussels, clams and squid. Again, too much for even my appetite. But, what I did finish was rich and enjoyable.

In truth, the food was not that great. A couple of things were OK to good (the empenada, the belly pork, the red beans ) but the rest smacked of pre preparation and lacked freshness. The arepa could have been used to pave the roads and the plantain was not crispy but flabby and unappetising.

The bill including tip came to £45. A lot to pay for the quality if not the portions which sat in our stomachs so much we had to head on foot back to SOSHO to walk it off.

On a Friday and Saturday, they move back the tables and the expat community get down to some serious salsa dancing. All I can say, after a meal like that is that Colombians are made of much sterner stuff than we are.

My run in the morning may be interesting.

THE SALT YARD: PUT A CORK & BOTTLE IN IT

Supper tonight at one of London's relatively newest and one of London's oldest.

I am lucky enough to have a dear dear chum called Susanna who has forgotten more about food that I will ever know. From 1980 to 1986, she ran a 1* restaurant in Oxford and she has the single most amazing palate of any person I have ever encountered.

I arranged to meet her in The Salt Yard at 8.30pm as she was off seeing the Michaelangelo exhibition so, I decided to head to one of London's most treasured hidey holes and one that many Londoners, let alone visitors, forget to consider, Don Hewitson's Cork & Bottle.

Situated between a grim fast food shop selling crappy pizza and Fish & Chips and a Sex Shop offering, ahem, I believe, a wide range of spanking videos, Cork & Bottle is one of THE places to visit in London. Don buys wine by the case direct from estates around the world and so offers wine to his customers from wineries that seldom, if ever export. He offers a vast range by the glass along with a short range of well prepared food. I settled myself at the bar and had a glass of Duck Pond Oregon Pinot 2004 for £7.00 which would have benefited from another year and a Stoneleigh Marlborough Reisling for £5 which was perfect and suitably petrolly.

By then, it was nearing 8pm and I headed up to The Salt Yard.

There has been a proliferation of Neuvo tapas bars in London in recent years. Far removed from the crap with potatoes and tomato sauce that informed those of the 1980's. Some are good ( Vinoteca, though not strictly a tapas bar ) some are definingly lousy ( The truly excerable Fino ) The Salt Yard is, to my mind, the best of the bunch, although I would prefer to visit when it is not quite so full of young folk and not quite so deafeningly loud. Damn them and their ability to have a good time. The music was so loud we were practically screaming across the table at each other.

I arrived early and settled at a seat downstairs next to the kitchen and ordered a glass of Manzanilla. Susanna arrived soon after and ordered the same and we chomped on a plate of caperberries.

The menu is a slightly odd mix of tapas and Italian. We did a bit of a mix and ordered

Jamon Iberico - This was hand cut ( see the striations on the meat in the photo ) and served with plenty of acorn rich fat. Not cheap for £12.50, but, for ham this good....
The Spanish Selection - Salsichon, Cabezeda, Lomo and Chorizo - Very good, but not quite up to that at Vinoteca in the taste stakes.
Morcilla Croquetas - My favourite being so redolent of my most enjoyed snack in Madrileno bars. Susanna's least favourite
Calimari with Chickpea Puree - The weakest dish by far. The squid was fine. The chick pea was over salted to a huge degree and reeked of far too much cumin. A misfire
Pimientos De Padron - well prepared but £3.50 for a dozen peppers?? Why not just carry a gun and a bag marked SWAG
Broccoli with mozarela, polenta croutons and caoda sauce - off to Italy but not bad for that. A very well thought out dish

With this, S had a glass of Rueda and I had a glass of something red from Navarre, both priced at around the £5

For puds, some house made Cantucci with a glass of Passito dessert wine and, for me, churros with hot chocolate and vanilla icecream. I also managed to glug down a glass of PX.

The Churros were vile. Dense, sugary lumpen doughnuts of yuk. Just so far from what they should be as is possible to get. just out and out wrong. Nice PX though.

Meal for two inc service was about £80.

Anyway, on the whole a good if flawed meal with friendly efficient service in an incredibly noisy environment. I will definitely be back again, but perhaps earlier before it turns into Fabric Goodge St Branch

LES MIGNON: FANCY A BIT O' LEB MATE?

I don't go to Camden that often.

The last time I can remember, bar a trip to see a customer and a trip to see Michael Moore wheel out his tired old Schtick a couple of years ago at the Roundhouse, was about 15 years ago and it still makes my toes curl.

I had just split up from my wife and was wallowing, as only I know how, in self pity. Rarely leaving the house apart from work and over indulging in both booze and dope. My next door neighbours were two gay women called Sue and Helen. I remember them with great fondness as Helen was a police woman had access to the most amazing skunkweed which was known amongs the force as, The Supergrass.

One night, they decided I needed a night out and they dragged me out clubbing with them to Camden at a gay pub/cabaret bar called The Black Cap ( still there if you see my picture ) to hang out with a group of lesbian friends of theirs. During the night, one of the gang thought it would be a damn funny thing to slip the straight guy a mickey. Let's just say, I have no recollection at all of that night until I woke up the next day safe and sound in my own bed. Thankfully with all orifices at their natural appeture. However, they did produce a polaroid to support their claim that I had spent a great deal of the evening dancing, shirtless and singing "gimme gimme a man after midnight" with a gentleman called Toby. Oh dear, Oh dear

So Camden has, er odd memories for me.

Tonight, my good chum, Nick invited me to supper and suggested Les Mignon in Camden. I decided to head up there a bit early and see how that bit of North London was looking.

Well, still as grim as ever. Filled with people offering "smoke" and "rock" I was actually surprised how many places to eat there were. Mind you, as someone, probably me, once said to me about Camden " I guess pimps, hookers, crackheads and navvys have to eat too"

First of all, I headed up to Chalk Farm and to Marine Ices. Officially the best ice cream in London, it has been around for decades. Even though it was freezing and raining buckets, I just had to have a cone of vanilla to start my evening. Then, after a pint in AN Other horrible pub, I arrived at Les Mignon at a little after 7pm just before Nick. If there is a more unprepossesing restaurant in the whole world ( bar the sublime Kebab Cafe in Astoria, NYC ) I have yet to see it. On the corner of Delancey St and Arlington St, it was covered in Scaffolding and with a frontage that made it look like a bad Camberwell steakhouse of the 1970's. Inside, however, it was clean and tidy, welcoming and the service was immediate and suitably gruff.

Nick arrived soon after as I was enjoying a beer and we decided to concentrate on the starters to comprise our meal. Nick left it to me to order and we were soon chomping merrily on

Fattoush- a salad of mixed vegetables and herbs mixed with toasted bread and garlic
Labneh - Yoghurt with Olive Oil
Bamieh Biziat - Okra with tomatoes Onion and Corriander
Foul Moudamas - Fava beans with lemon, garlic and olive oil
Kibby - small parcels of ground lamb in a crushed wheat casing
Sawda Dajaj - Chicken Livers with garlic

Each dish was fresh and well prepared and the portions were very large indeed. If we had any intention of moving on to main courses, they were soon knocked aside by the size of the starters. The fattoush and the kibby were the stars for me. Both very good examples.

We drank a bottle of Musar 1997 @ £26 with this which was suitably robust and the meal was followed by some coffee and some excellent mint tea and decent baclava.

I was treated to supper. A rare thing. So, I cannot tell you how much the bill was. I would guess about £60 something for two. I can tell you that it was all well worth trying and, for a restaurant in such an unlikely area, a bit of a find ( to me at least, I am sure it is well known as a neighbourhood joint )

The owner told me that he is about to publish a book with Kyle Cathie, one of our competitors. All I can say is that they are lucky to have him.

So, heading down to Camden to pick up a "bit of Leb" may take on a whole new meaning

THE FOOD ROOM: MANGE TOUT ALIVE AND WELL SOUTH OF THE RIVER

Aware that I have a tendency not to stray from my own little bit of London if it can be possibly avoided, I decided to cut loose and try somewhere South of the river. It is not, I can assure you, a mistake I shall be making again any time soon if I have anything to do with it.

The other day, HP and I were discussing pork. We do this regularly and there is often drooling involved. HP mentioned The Food Room in Battersea whose chef is known for his "trilogy of pork" It sounded good, so sucking up my fear of that part of town, I made a reservation for Saturday night.

Beforehand, I agreed to meet HP at Borough Market for a drink at the Market Porter. By the time I arrived at a little after 6pm it was absolutely rammed, but I managed to get to the bar and order a couple of pints which we drank outside. There are few better things than standing outside a London pub on a Spring evening and we could quite happily have stayed there for a long time. However, we also wanted to try the Brew Wharf a relatively new bar converted from a part of Vinopolis in conjunction with the Meantime Brewery from Greenwich. Not really my kind of place. A wide range of the Meantime beers was on offer ( including stout and porter by the bottle ) along with their own house brewed Ordinary and Best but it was all served way too cold to appeal, I guess, to the younger clientele they were attracting. The music was far too loud and the droning beats were not really being appreciated by those having their drinks and the restaurant area was cavenous and empty.

So, we soon headed off to Waterloo and our trek to Queenstown Rd station. It was all a bit of an adventure and, if I had known how bad the meal was going to turn out to be, I would have packed sandwiches and a flask of tea.

Our reservation was for 8.30pm and we arrived a little early and were shown directly to a small table. The room reminded me of an "upmarket" provincial restaurant of the early 90's. Whitewashed walls, red stained wooden seats etc etc and, in truth, it about summed up the meal for me. They offered two set menus, one at £23.50 for three courses and one at £29.50 for three courses. Good value, it would appear when first looking at the dishes on offer. However, in the execution you can see that they have had to cut their cloth accordingly. Portions are lilliputian, ingredients appear to be of ordinary provenance and the place is woefully understaffed to the point that I would have had chance to catch up with a number of Russian novels of the 19th century between courses.

To begin with, HP ordered scallops while I went for a dark meat chicken terrine. They exemplified the meal for me. The scallops were not overcooked but lacked any sign of real skill in the preparation. The portion was tiny, three small scallops and they tasted of nothing. Compared to those I bought and cooked from Steve Hatt the other day there was barely any comparison. My terrine was well made with a decent texture but, again, lacked any flavour and sign of being seasoned at all. Terrines like this really benefit from a glug of something to lift them, but that would not,I guess, have been within the budget.

They have an interesting wine list and we chose a glass of a South African Chenin Blanc to have with our starters. It suited both dishes well. Creamy and delicious.

Then an interminable wait for our main courses as the two young women servers rushed from table to table trying to keep up and failing in the attempt. Finally, they arrived. For HP braised beef and veal and for me, natch, the Trilogy of pork which comprised a rillettes of pork in a puff pastry case, braised belly pork and, I think, an andouille sausage. Sounds good, no? Well it really wasn't. There was evidence that there was someone in the kitchen who can cook but there was no real flavour in the dishes to speak of. The pork dish was a real let down. On paper, it sounded perfect for me. In its execution, it lacked spark. The braised belly pork was two thin strips which needed something to counteract the natural fattiness of the meat. We made obvious comparisons to meals at The Trading House recently where a not disimilar dish was prepared with dexterity and real flair. The beef/veal combo was so blah, I cannot actually remember anything about it.

With it came the most laughable side dish imaginable. HP has a rule to always beware of anywhere offering " a selection of vegetables" how right he was. However, we made the mistake of ordering and for a mere £3 extra we got a small dish that consisted of a couple of roasted tomatoes ( not strictly a vegetable, but hey) button mushrooms and mange tout ( hurrah it's 80's night ) What the hell were they thinking?

We drank a Chateau De Negly from the Laungedoc which was well priced at £23 and very enjoyable

Another long wait before we received the dessert menu and decided just to share one pistachio tart with vanilla ice cream. This was actively disgusting. When it did arrive it looked like they had put it out under the heat lamps for a wile as the ice cream had melted to a pool of sludge. Even worse was the tart. A rock hard lumpen mess whose filling slid greasily off the plywood, er pastry base. I would have sent it back, but I knew that would add another hour on to our evening and by now, quite frankly, I just wanted to get out of there.

They have a fairly serious kitchen set up here which was on view as I headed to point percy at the porcelain. So, they obviously have aspirations to bigger and better things. I suggest they get the basics right first. I can understand why they offer the set meal to attract locals to what is, in effect, a neighbourhood place, packed as it was with South Londoners dressed up and enjoying a night out. But, the limitations of the budget shine through in every aspect of the restaurant from the decor, the lack of staff, the ingredients and the skill of the cooks. And, you know what? It still doesn't work out that cheap. £50 a head, in fact. I rarely begrudge a bill unless the food is truly noxious. But, that is taking the piss. Particularly as we were so hungry that HP polished off a scotch egg and some kabanos on his return that he had planned to have for Sunday lunch.

I did not take pictures of the food. I was afraid that we would end up being chased out of Battersea by locals carrying pitchforks and torches. As it was,we headed home with our tails between our legs,older and wiser if poorer by £50.

Now, remind me, why is it I don't do this more often?

BENTLEY'S OYSTER BAR: MUSCLES THEN MUSSELS

Given that at dawn this morning my trainer was putting me through very hell as we celebrated our tenth anniversary of training together with a ludicrously hard session of weight lifting, it seems only fitting that I had mussels for my lunch.

Before that, I sauntered with my fetching woolly hat at the most jaunty of angles, down to Borough to buy some snacks for Sunday lunch and came home laden down with pork pies, assorted cheeses from NYD and some black pudding ( all food groups covered there then ) and then to The West End to buy some more bits and pieces at Selfridges.

By Midday, I found myself at Fortnum and Masons and within striking distance of Swallow St and Bentley's Oyster Bar. Recently revamped by Richard Corrigan, chef at the Lindsay House, the restaurant has been getting very decent crit from a wide range of people including HP who raved about the quality of the oysters he tried there recently.

Unfortunately, God has denied me the joy of oysters since I had a bad one at the Frankfurt Book Fair about eight or so years ago. I did try again at J Sheekey a few years ago and, lets just say they are still trying to remove the stain from in front of our building.

Still, they had lots of other things on the menu and a decent list of wines, so I thought it was worth a try.

Arriving just as they opened, I settled myself at a seat in the welcoming bar area. The Italian barman/shucker was initially very friendly, but seemed to turn off like a light switch once I told him I could not eat oysters and turned most of his attention to a couple ordering two dozen natives. I wanted to try a half dozen of the cherry clams but they were off, so I went instead for a dish from the specials, Mussels in a mariniere sauce. With this, I ordered a glass of Prosecco which was not chilled enough. Other specials included Baked Hake and Whole Grilled Lobster with chips ( for £29)

The barman brought me a bowl of bread making a big point of saying that it was baked in house by the pastry chef. I am not sure I would be too proud of what was offered. Only the soda bread was any good. It was,actually,very good. The rest was could be described as nondescript if I was being kind. I am not kind, it tasted like cardboard

The mussels, when they arrived, were nicely presented served in a copper pan and were plump and meaty. There were also plenty of them. A good portion for £8.95. The sauce, however, was oversalted. I can still taste it now.

I had polished off the Prosecco and wanted another drink. They make another big play on the menu about how good sherry is with seafood and they have a small but well selected list. I ordered a glass of Manzanilla which was also served too warm. If you are going to make something part of your schtick to the point that you drone on about it on the menu, at least get the basics right.

The bill for the mussels and the two glasses was £20 including service which was perfunctory at best.

As I said, Hermano Primero enjoyed this place. I can understand why. The oysters I saw being opened and served looked very good indeed and, like I said,they do have lots of other things on the menu that sounded inviting like Fish Pie, Dover Sole and Fish & Chips.

But, on this showing, I was positively less than whelmed.

OSLO COURT

OSLO COURT: HEY SHORTY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY

Well who knew? The 73 bendy bus is not only an entirely horrible form of transport, it is also a time machine for yesterday it carried me from my office in Islington all the way to Gower St but also back into the 1970's.

It's my birthday today. 42 years old and this morning, I feel every damn one of them and hungover to boot.

Last night, as is our tradition, Hermano Primero treated me to supper.

We met up at 6.30pm in The Mirror Bar of The Landmark Hotel. This is one of the most beautiful hotels in London also one of the most expensive. In truth, though, the bar is pretty grim,an afterthought , I suspect, and the drinks were not very good at all. So we decamped to The Cellar Bar in the same hotel and drank a bottle of Tattinger before heading to Oslo Court.

Oslo Court is, as so many people have described, the restaurant that time forgot. It remains proudly in the 1970's resplendent in its salmon pink livery, its silver service and its classical heart attack inducing dishes. It stands in the ground floor of a block of flats called, er Oslo Court for whose residents it used to provide food not entirely unlike this I imagine. Its main clientele seems to be Jewish people out for a celebration and the flash of cameras is as much a part of the night as the food.

A lot of reviewers have revelled in its kitch glory. But, for Dos Hermanos, it was not that much of a shock. It reminded us of Valpariso on the Costa Del Sol and a restaurant near Barnsley called Brooklands ( favourite haunt of Umpire Dickie Bird) restaurants of which my parents were inordinately fond. Exactly the same schtick. Lots of large pepper pots and lots of elderly ladies being asked if they are old enough to drink and loving every moment of it.

That is the one thing that stands out about Oslo Court, people having a damn good time. So many restaurants take themselves so seriously and have an atmosphere that is positively funereal. Not Oslo Court. It is noisy, joyous and hugely good fun. And you know what? The food is really rather good too. Old school for certain, but decent ingredients and prepared with no shortcuts. I have always been a sucker for that kind of cooking. They seem to have about 100 dishes on offer. 10 on the menu and the rest reeled off in impressive fashion by the owners daughter. All come from times past and all sounded great.

Seated in a little alcove we had a great view of the rest of the place and nibbled happily on some melba toast, some crudites with excellent mayonnaise and some garlic bread while we pondered on what to eat from the extensive list.

HP began with a Lobster and Crab Salad. It was HUGE which seems to be a feature here. Lots and lots of fresh lumps of lobsster and crab, it was a challenge to finish it. I went for a Coquille St Jaques. I had not seen one of these on a menu for 20 years. It was everything I recall from my younger days. Creamy sauce, lots of mashed potato and a filling of sweet small scallops and prawns. Again, a struggle to finish. How did people used to eat like this?

We drank a truly lovely Pouilly Fuisse with this which helped wash everything down

The main courses were just as much of a challenge. For HP a Veal Schnitzel Holstein which came, as it should with capers and anchovies and a fried egg on top. For me crispy roast duckling with cherry sauce. Both enormous portions which even our gargantuan appetites struggled with particularly when the mounds of vegetables arrived. Battered courgettes, spinach, chips, green beans and on and on. It is not so much a meal. More an assault course. We did not come close to finishing what was offered.

We just about managed to polish off a bottle of Protos Grand Reserva, but were struggling by then.

Then the fun really began. The dessert waiter at Oslo court ( pictured ) is the campest man I have ever encountered. I did not understand a damn word he said, but I am sure this is where Graham Norton is going to end up when his 15 minutes is over and this guy retires. The trolley has everything you would imagine. Mounds of profiteroles, tartes, cakes, fruit salads etc etc. HP chose a creme brulee. I had something that consisted entirely of double cream and raspberries. The comped us some glasses of dessert wine with the puds. I could barely touch it as I was reeling by this point.

Some fresh mint tea and some coffee later, we staggered out of there, back into the present day and poured ourselves into a cab. So drunk that I forgot my holdall and HP kindly offered to cab it there and back to collect for me as I was, quite frankly, in no state.

So, there you have it. The first time Dos Hermano have failed to polish off what was offered that I can recall. If I have many more meals like that, I am not certain I will be here to write about my 43rd birthday. But, what fun.

BLOSSOM: I'M TOO SQUARE FOR THE SQUARE

Even though I live almost within spitting distance of the epicentre of hip Europe, Hoxton Square, I am not regularly drawn to it. I don't have the urge nor capablility to grow a Hoxton Fin, nor do I live South of the river but come up here to be part of the experience.

Hermano Primero and I pondered on creating a range of T-shirts for those of us who live around here. They would read

FRONT: I AM NOT HIP ENOUGHT TO DRINK HERE. BUT, I AM RICH ENOUGH TO LIVE HERE

BACK: FUCK OFF BACK TO CLAPHAM

It about sums up my feelings for the area and that includes the majority ( but by no means all ) of the restaurant offerings which are the very definition of style over substance.

When Blossom first opened, I dismissed it as another one of "those" places where young folk went for crappy food before getting off their tits on whatever stuff youngsters take at whatever clubs they go to. I was wrong. Hard to believe but it does happen. I was very wrong.

In fact, Blossom despite having all the cards stacked against it; location, clientele, haphazzard service, comes up trumps because they have someone in the kitchen who knows what the hell they are doing. I am sure the Hoxton Restaurant Association would have him/her shot if they ever found out. It offers a mix of Korean and Japanese dishes with good ingredients and careful, thoughtful presentation. So help me, I really like it a lot.

After last night's aborted attempt to have supper here, I was pretty keen to come back and try again today. I had planned on another solo supper but received a rather desparate text from COTY Jay Rayner who was going stir crazy after looking after his two kids for three solid days ( poor lamb ) and craved some, adult company.

So, I booked a table for 8pm and arrived a short while before Jay arrived and spent a happy few minutes staring menacingly at people wearing tracksuit tops and Bob Marley T-shirts while I waited.

Once Jay arrived and inbetween him boasting about all the name places he had just eaten at in Vegas ( even the next table complained about the noise of names crashing to the floor as they were dropped ) we ordered a huge amount of food. To begin

Nigiri of Toro, Yellowtail and Unagi
Crispy Salmon Skin & Cucumber Maki
Rock Shrimp Tempura with wasabi mayonnaise
Duckbreast and Yuzu Yakitori
Spicy Korean Lamb Yakitori
Spicy Pork Gyoza
Kimchi
Korean Beef Tartar with pear

The nigiri were fresh and well prepared. The frying of the tempura greasless and crisp and the gyoza just the right amount of softness to crunch ratio. The tartar was probaly the weakest. Not bad, but the pear was soft and floppy and did not offer the crunch needed to work with the beef. I also think it was overpowered by too much sesame dressing. Looked nice though.

We decided, once this lot was done, to press on with some more and ordered

Softshell crab & Chive tempura Maki
Tempura scallop and Fennel Maki
Ebi Gyoza

The new addition to the menu the Tempura scallop was the best of the lot, by far. Lovely sweet scallop meat with the crunch of the fennel.

With a couple of Ichiban beers each the bill was a not inconsiderable £90 inc service. But, this is rapidly becoming one of my favourite places for sushi in London.

Well worth trying, even if you don't feel the need to get down with your bad self until the early hours after supper. Of course, you will need to bring a skateboard with you.

VIET HOA: MAD ABOUT THE GOI

A change of plan again tonight. I had wanted an early supper at Blossom, my favourite of the neighbouring sushi places. Unfortunately, for reasons far too dull to expound upon here, that option was not open to me, so I trudged from the achingly trendy corner of Hoxton Sq, the few short minutes around the corner to the bottom of The Kingsland Rd, a lot less trendy but home to any number of Vietnamese restaurants.

They range from the actively horrible ( Song Que Cafe - admittedly on one try ) to the rather good and I chose to have my supper in The Viet Hoa cafe which is pretty widely considered to be the best of the bunch.

It was already reasonably full when I arrived so I plonked myself at the end of one of the benches and ordered some tea.

To begin, some Summer rolls. Not a good example of the art! The trouble with eating early for supper and ordering these is that you often get the leftovers from lunch. I suspect that is what happened here. Slightly rubbery and soft without the neecessary crunch.

Better were my two main courses. Fried squid in a cornstarch coating and a Shredded chicken & Prawn Goi. The Goi in particular was just what I wanted. Sharp dressing with crisp fresh vegetables. The squid was a little bland so I am afraid I made too liberal a use of the chilli condiments which is going to be an issue in the morning, I am sure you appreciate knowing.

Hardly a mindblowing culinary experience, but a suitable light supper and for £15 inc service, decent value.

So, although I still would have rather gone to Blossom, to paraphrase someone incredibly famous " I ain't got no quarrel with the Viet Hoa"

GOIN' BACK TO MY ROOTS

I am uncertain why but, at the moment, I seem to be craving the food from my father's home in Calcutta.

Tonight, I made two dishes. A simple Bengali chicken in a rich spicy gravy and a dish we call Chingri Bhaddakopir Ghonto, a dish made with cabbage and shrimp.

For those who may be interested, here are the recipes

BENGALI CHICKEN

INGREDIENTS
Chicken thighs and drumsticks ( skinned )

1 onion chopped

Ginger garlic paste ( made by whizzing up chopped ginger and garlic in the blender with a little salt and water)

2 green chilli minced

1 cinnamon stick
1 bayleaf
2 green cardamon pods
2 cloves

1 tsp turmeric
1 tsp chilli powder
1 tsp ginger powder
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground corriander
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar

METHOD
Put 2 tblespoons of oil in a pan.

Fry the whole spices until they begin to pop

Fry the onions, chilli and garlic/ginger until the onions are soft and golden

Add the ground spices and salt/sugar and fry for a few minutes until the oil begins to split. If it sticks, add a little water.

Add the chicken pieces and toss in the onions and spice mixture.

Add about 2 pints of water, bring to the boil and simmer until the chicken is done and the sauce is reduced to a thick, fiery gravy.


CHINGRI BHADDAKOPIR GHONTO ( Bengali cabbage with shrimp )

INGREDIENTS
1 white cabbage shredded

1 onion chopped

2 chopped green chillis

Ginger garlic paste

1 tsp turmeric
1 tsp ginger
1 tsp hot chilli powder
1/2 tsp salt

2 cups peeled small shrimp
1 cups large peeled shrimp

METHOD
Put two tblespoons of oil in a pan and fry the onion, chilli and ginger garlic paste until it is golden.

Add the ground spices and cook for a few minutes to remove the rawness. Add a little water if it sticks

Add the shredded cabbage and stir well into the onions so the cabbage takes on the colour of the turmeric.

Cook over a gentle heat for 1 1/2-2hrs so the cabbage begins to caramelise ( in Calcutta they almost overcook the cabbage deliberately over a long period to really get the sweetness out)

Add the small shrimp and stir in and cook gently for a few minutes so they cook and take on the colour

Before serving, stir in the large shrimp unti they are warmed through.

Before serving, squeeze the juice of a lime over the dish

Enjoy. I certainly did

ANOTHER PLEASANT HERMANOS SUNDAY

Feeling a little the worse for wear this morning ( a fairly regular state of affairs) I managed to drag myself to the gym and work out for a couple of hours which made me feel closer to being human than I did at 6am when I woke up feeling rough as a sandpapered backside.

It was HP's turn to cook. He had found a duck recipe on the web which involved stuffing the bird with rhubarb, grated ginger, onion and sage. Then roasted slowly on its giblets for 2 1/2 hours after which time the stuffing is removed and added to the pan juices witha cup of marsala and strained to make a gravy.

The bird is broken up into bits and topped off with some more rhubarb, ginger and sage, this time crispy fried in olive oil.

A light salad of shaved fennel and orange with a little chilli was the perfect accompaniment to the duck which was moist with crispy skin.

We washed it down with a light Chinon.

For pudding, the marsala brought to mind one of those old "Trat" style dishes which seem to have gone out of fashion as they have to be prepared to order. Zabaglione was always one of my favourite desserts when I first began eating out. Now, served on top of some remaining rhubarb, I wonder if it will ever make a comeback. I hope so, the warm velvety texture of the whipped eggs and sugar with that little hit of booze is such a great way to end a meal. If only I could have persuaded HP to wave around an unfeasibly large pepper pot at some point in the meal.

A pot of lemon, mint and ginger tea and a slab of Grand Cru brownie from the delightful Petra of Chocstar later, I am fortified enough to consider another week's hard grind at the cutting edge that is publishing.