BILLINGSGATE FISH MARKET: BYE BYE LEX

The start of what was potentially one of the best food related few days of my life began on Tuesday at 4.30am as I walked down to London Bridge to catch the first train to Canary Wharf.

My irrepressible friend, Lex, who I met on my travels, was enjoying her last few days in London before flying back to Malaysia and, as a treat had asked her “Uncle” Simon to introduce her to the joys of Billingsgate Fish Market. It is a bit of a pointless exercise if you arrive after 6am as much of the business of the day will already have been concluded and, if you arrive nearer 7am, just about all you will see is people packing up for the day.

Even at a little after 5.30am, as we fought our way into the main hall, there was a feeling that we had missed the main event. People headed back to their cars and vans laden down with the fish and seafood they would need to stock up their restaurants and shops for the day. Still there was plenty to see and plenty of sights to persuade Lex to whip out her SLR making me feel very inadequate about my little, er point and shoot.

It’s many years since I had been to Billingsgate, and it’s definitely changed. Many more stalls are dedicated to the supply of London’s ethnic communities and you are just as likely to see fish to delight the Chinese, Thai and Bangladeshis as you are to find traditional sellers of the skate, salmon and eels which made the market famous.

There remain elements however which identify Billingsgate as a true London market. Lex loved the shouts of the porters and stall owners as they called trying to do a deal on their last supplies of the day. She also seemed to enjoy her introduction to another great British Tradition, kippers for breakfast.

In one of the small market cafes, a long line was already forming as the porters, just about finished for the day, replenished their stores of energy with unfeasibly large breakfasts of bacon sandwiches and “full English” Lex went to grab a seat by a wall covered in photographs dedicated to some of the market’s famous faces, while I joined the queue for ten minutes and returned having ordered her a “Kipper Breakfast” and a mug of coffee. When it arrived, Lex stared with a look that was an equal mixture of fascination and horror, but being a game girl she tucked in.

The eggs and tomatoes were, as to be expected, greasy spoon dreadful. But, as they also should be, the kippers were delicious, just steamed with a dollop of butter on them. Unless you were lucky enough, as I was at the beginning of the year when I visited Robson’s in Craster, to cook them fresh from the smoking room, then these were as good as you were going to get.

Lex struggled with the bones, but seemed to enjoy her first experience of kipperage and polished off most of her fish before we headed back into the market for her to buy some fish for a last supper in the UK she was planning that evening. She decided against squid and Monkfish and made her way to one of the stalls selling shrimp, lobsters, crabs and crayfish and came away with a tray of beautiful looking prawns for about £13.

Not a bad haul and a kipper breakfast was not a bad way to say goodbye to my young friend Lex. Even if I did have to leave the house at 4.30am.

PRODUCT OF THE WEEK: STEWED!

Thank God.

Summer such as it was, is almost over. Hurrah, it is my least favourite time of year and I find myself spending most of the months of June, July and August being even more grumpy than usual and just longing for Autumn to come, people to get the hell back to work, the children the hell back to school. And, of course, for the nights to draw the hell in.

Autumn is also the time of year when I don’t have to feel guilty for cooking the sort of food I really like, pies, puddings, curries. Proper food that people keep telling me should be replaced during the Summer months with salads containing bits of exotic fruit and lightly grilled fish with no more than olive oil to hide its blushes.

Now, I can retrieve my slow cooker from the cupboard and turn my attention to my favourite things to eat and in particular, slow cooked stews. God I love stews. I love the simple Cawl of Wales made with no more than water, root vegetables and a few cheap cuts of lamb. I love stews made from humble cuts of beef cooked in beer and served with suet dumplings bobbing on the surface and I love pork stew cooked in cider topped off with a glass of apple brandy just before being brought to the table.

Stews however take time to prepare and sometimes the cravings hit when you have neither the time nor the ingredients to prepare them. That is why I was more than a little interested when the good folk from STEWED got in touch and asked me to try their range of four pre-made stews that you just have to warm through.

Stewed was started in 2007 by Alan Rosenthal and from Monday will be available for those of you too lazy to walk to the supermarket via Ocado. It also gained the approval of the blessed Saint Delia (a good thing) and Peter Gordon (slightly less good as his food is a bit sucky)

I had my doubts. After all, despite trumpeting the provenance of their ingredients, these stews contained things that might make John Bull come over all a quiver ; chorizo, chickpeas and feta to name but three. One even committed the cardinal sin of having no meat in it at all, which in my eyes makes it a soup rather not a stew.

Despite my initial misgivings however and the fact that, as a stew it doesn’t look terribly attractive on the plate, I have to say that the Persian Chicken stew I sampled for tonight’s supper turned out to be very enjoyable indeed. It was full of decent ingredients, showed pleasing absence of additives and came packed with flavour. The chicken retained a bite and had subtle hints of sour cherry and pomegranate molasses added at the end of cooking.

A slight criticism for claiming that each pot contains enough for two people (when plumped out with rice or bread) that’s just silly talk as one person could polish off a pot without it touching the sides and would probably want to. Another for the lack of some good old British recipes in the range (I trust they will follow) but these are minor quibbles about a well made product from people who patently care about what they are doing.

They are never going to be the same as making a home cooked stew, however, when the urge hits for some slow cooked loveliness but the flesh and spirit are too weak to provide, STEWED might just be a good place to turn.

EATING FOR BRITAIN: ROAST BEEF & YORKSHIRE PUDDING WITH ANDY PORTER

Unless you were lucky enough to eat at The Blacksmith’s Arms in Westow when it was owned by my chums, Gary & Sarah Marshall, you won’t have heard of Andy Porter. A great shame because Andy is one of my favourite chefs in the country.

When it came to finding someone to show me how to make the perfect Roast Beef & Yorkshire Pudding, I thought back to a DH Sunday lunch at The Blacksmith’s Arms. It was just before we headed home to London after a superb weekend that included meals at J Bakers, Anthony’s, The Red Chilli and, of course, more than one meal prepared by Andy. It was the perfect example of the Sunday Lunch, particularly as I was undecided whether to choose a thick slice from a rib of beef or a piece from a juicy loin of pork with perfect crackling. Andy said “have a bit of both” and served them up with an enormous bowl full of the most sensational Yorkshire Puddings. My kind of guy.

Now, Andy is getting his chef whites dirty at The Pavilion Hotel, a charming hotel in York, where although he is having to stick to more the more standard offerings required by business travellers and tourists, there are still enough moments on the menu that make you realise that he is as enthusiastic as ever.

I met Andy at the hotel and, after a quick tour of the converted mansion in which it is housed we headed to visit Matthew at M&K butchers, Andy’s meat suppliers. Matthew already had some cuts of beef ready for us to select from, but after a little discussion we decided on a nicely marbled piece of rib-eye that had been hip hung and aged for twenty-one days. Matthew sliced a chunk big enough to give us a few good slices and, stopping to grab a packet of beef dripping, we set off back to the hotel.

Andy had done his prep, the batter using his own simple recipe (equal parts milk, water, eggs and flour, whisked and sieved) was resting on the work surface. Potatoes were par-boiled and had been shaken in the pan to give them some rough edges to crisp up in the fat and he had both the dripping and some duck fat so we could do a comparative tasting of the two.

While the fat for the Yorkshires heated up to smoking point in the oven, Andy seared the beef on all sides until it took on a glorious colour and then placed it on a roasting pan. By now all the trays were hot and ready and we tossed the potatoes in both types of fat and poured out the batter for the puddings until it began to bubble the moment it hit the hot dripping.

Then of course, the trick is not to open the oven. Not quite so important in a large commercial combi-oven like the one Andy had use of at The Pavilion, but still a rule of thumb if you don’t want your puddings to sag like an English Cricket fan’s spirits by day three of a test match.

When Andy decided they were good and ready by peering through the glass of the cooker, out they came. Both sets of potatoes and puddings looked great, but those cooked in the dripping had taken on an extra depth of colour and, from the ones I stole from both trays, an extra level of flavour. I would happily eat either, but dripping was the undoubted winner as the cooking medium of choice.

That decided, Andy took over and began plating up. The beef had been kept rare and allowed to rest so it remained a wonderful pink colour throughout. The Yorkshire Puddings had bubbled up, crisp on the outside and slightly doughy on the inside and the potatoes were a burnished colour with a crunchy outside and soft almost creamy insides.

Before I could take my shot, Andy splodged a spoonful of fresh horseradish sauce on the plate along with a sprig of peppery watercress and then we both tucked in fighting for the piece of meat with the sliver of fat through it. The beef, perhaps could have done with a little more age for me, but was cooked perfectly. The Yorkshire puddings were as good as you are ever likely to find and I broke big pieces off to dip into a jug of gravy that Andy had made with the juices released by the beef during resting.

I had to let Andy to get on with his real work at this point and as I left, the rest of the kitchen staff began to descend on the remaining puddings, beef and potatoes. Absolute proof, if it were needed that Britain’s love affair with its most famous dish shows no sign of ending.

Nor, indeed does my admiration for the cooking skills of one Andrew Porter.

HERMANO SEGUNDO: BIG IN GERMANY

Ich habe Hunger Hunger Hunger,
habe Hunger Hunger Hunger,
habe Hunger Hunger Hunger,
habe Durst

Wo bleibt das Essen Essen Essen,
bleibt das Essen Essen Essen,
bleibt das Essen Essen Essen,
bleibt die Wurst*


Good news at Casa DH. HS has now had his book published in Germany and, apparently, his image changed to that of a medieval monk – think one of the more unsavoury characters from The Name of the Rose.

To celebrate the publication I did a bit of wine-sleuthing to track down one of HS’s favourite German wines, Sekt. Rarely seen in the UK, this sparkling wine has a reputation for being a bit ropey but the Riesling Sekt stocked by the excellent wine merchant The Winery in Maida Vale was rather wonderful with hints of crisp apple and a refreshing dryness in the finish that made for a perfect aperitivo. The Winery also has an excellent selection of other German wines including a range of Spätburgunders - well worth a visit.

To keep up the German theme we followed with an unfeasibly large hunk of Pork and some Potatoes roasted in the fat of Pig. There was Apfelmus as well (Muss es sein? ....Es muss sein!). A modest meal, certainly, but the best I could do short of flying HS out to München.

Anyway well done, Hermano, and Prost !

* Not great I know, but that was the extent of my German after one term at Oakwood Comprehensive under the tutelage of the rather fragrant Frau Müller (mmm…Frau Müller).

LE CAFE ANGLAIS: GOOD GAME, GOOD GAME

On our recent visit to Something Fishy HS pointed out that it didn’t smell right. Having been brought up in the Sixties when most chippies used Beef Dripping as the frying medium, a place that doesn’t have that instantly recognisable smell will not engage us on a more visceral level.

This will always be the case no matter how good the finished product and despite the fact that I actually prefer a lighter oil so that I can taste the fish. Walking past The Fryer’s Delight in Holborn, however, will take us back to a place with steamed up windows, an impossibly high counter and newspaper cones heaped high with Fish and Chips and the smell of frying mixed with non-brewed condiment. Such is the emotional resonance of olfaction.

I had another such souvenir involontaire last week at Le Café Anglais in Queensway. The whiff of cloves from the bowl of Bread Sauce accompanying my Roast Grouse took me back to Sunday Dinner at our Nana’s. Her bread sauce was great - all thick and creamy. Rowley Leigh’s version was pretty good too: a bit looser, a bit more refined. Not bad – just different.

The Grouse – this was the day after the Glorious Twelfth, the start of the shooting season – was predictably lovely. The young bird had a sweetness to the flesh that you lose with long hanging and yet there’s still a gamey quality that adds complexity and hints at the coming Autumn (can’t wait).

I believe that if animals are going to get slaughtered on my behalf then I should at least try eat as much of them as possible. As a consequence there wasn’t a great deal of my Grouse left. The FOH said it was the best effort she’d seen so far. Bet she says that to all the patrons.

With a bird as good as this there’s no need to gussy things up so all it needed were the classic accompaniments which were all present and correct. A pile of Game Chips were light and crisp and grease-free. There was the Bread Sauce of course, a small bunch of Watercress and a light gravy to keep it all moist, although the latter wasn’t really necessary as the bird was cooked perfectly.

As on my first vist , almost two years ago, starters were a bit of a mixed bag. Salsify was covered in a thick batter that masked its flavour. They tasted like Churros which might have been down to using the same oil that the Chips were cooked in. Not a bad thing in itself but wrong in this context. Compare with the light, oil-free version from that first visit.

Parmesan Cream is a great Hors D’Oeuvre although the Anchovy Toasts always seem a bit, well, crude next to the pot of elegant Cheesy Cream. It’s less than a fiver though so I’m obviously just being my curmudgeonly self. Half a dozen plump and briny Oysters were as good as you’re going to get of the Rock variety.

Those Fritters sans Salsify with a pot of Hot Chocolate would make a good if filling dessert but in their absence I had to settle for the excellent Ice Cream, the Coffee variety being particularly nice. I got two (count ‘em) wafers and the hot chocolate was probably unnecessary but, er, glorious.

You can currently get Grouse at several several London restaurants including the venerable Rules and at the French restaurant Racine whose versions I’m sure will be impeccable. But for eating it in one of London's nicest rooms and with good service and a great atmosphere to boot it's hard to beat Le Cafe Anglais. The Bread Sauce may not be as memorable as my Nan’s but then nothing ever will be.

SOMETHING FISHY THIS WAY COMES

Lewisham may not be the other end of the earth, but on a Saturday afternoon, when you are on a DLR train which can’t decide whether it wants to move from station to station or sit between then and catch up on its knitting, it certainly felt like it.

HP and I are going ever further in our search for decent Fish & Chips, as you will know if you have been reading of recent excursions to Finchley (the excellent Poseidon) and Fulham (HP’s fave F&C’s of the year at Fishers) Now we decided on a joint expedition to the well recommended Something Fishy in Lewisham.

I had done the journey before. It should take no more than thirty minutes from Bank station. Scumbag operators of the DLR should take note that, on a day when the other scumbag operators of the Jubilee line (all obviously deprived of oxygen at birth) had decided to close the entire line, it would be wise to put on more trains, not less.

Instead, hundreds of people fought their way onto what few trains there were as they staggered between stations while the carriages and those inside them began to slowly bake in the sunlight. It was like a scene from Hell. People fainted, babies were crying, tempers became flared and by the time we finally reached Lewisham ONE HOUR LATER, it was just as well there were no staff around or a baying lynch mob would have strung them up from the roof of the B&Q next door.

I was reminded of the recent visit to London of a friend from India who said she was looking forward to her return to Calcutta because “at least the public transport system works there”

As you can imagine, HP and I were not in the best of moods and, if it were not for the thought of another train journey, would have turned around and gone straight home. But, we had come all this way and the thought of decent fish & chips made us feel slightly less aggravated.

Something Fishy, slap bang on the Lewisham High St, was already packed as we arrived, mainly with elderly couples taking advantage of the vast portions and low cost of plates of pie & mash. We placed our standard order at the counter “Haddock & Chips twice, mushy peas and a couple of pickled onions” and went to sit down as they prepared it fresh to order.

Suitably impressive looking portions arrived a few minutes later, but on closer inspection we could see that the portions of fish were on the small side and the plate had been plumped out by the over exuberance of the chip dispenser. The batter was good, making a sound like feet on a gravel path as I cut into it and the fish in my portion steamed nicely as it broke into flakes. HP’s was less successful, the middle had turned to mush and although it was better towards the edges of the fillet, you have to wonder how two pieces cooked at the same time can vary so much. Chips and pickles were spot on, mushy peas a bit disappointing and shame on anyone who dispenses tartar sauce out of a sachet, even if the cost of the meal was £17.00 for the two of us with our drinks.

I wouldn’t put this in the top tier of London’s fish & chip offerings. If I lived in Lewisham (excuse me while I put my cup of tea down and have a good giggle at the thought) I could see myself visiting it on occasions but more for the pie, mash & liquor which definitely looked more the part than the acceptable but average fish & chips. It is certainly not worth anybody’s time to travel for.

We were in and out of Something Fishy in exactly half the time it had taken us to get there on the train and not being able to bear the thought of returning by the same method of transportation, we began a long route march towards town until we spotted a bus on The Old Kent Road that would take us all the way to Casa Hermanos. Hats off then to the 21 Bus. It arrived on schedule and dropped us off on schedule. They should tell more people about the bus service in London. It could catch on.