TO LIVE & DIE IN LA: KOREAN, HEALTHY FOOD FOR ECSTATIC BODY & SOUL

Of all the many excellent ethnic dining options in Los Angeles, the one for which I have developed the biggest craving is Korean food. I am very far from an expert and, one or two experiences in London excluded, I had never really got to grips with the cuisine before I began to come to the West Coast regularly.

In L.A. however Sybil and her friends have taken every opportunities to introduce me to Korean cuisine in all its bewildering variety. Crab stews at On Dal, where they finish the dish with rice fried in the remaining juices of the stew. Korean BBQ at Chosun Galbi,with sizzliling strips of beef seared at the table and this week three very different experiences, which began with a first birthday party for the daughter of one of Sybil’s friends.

I did not realise that such things were a big matter but, was told that in Korean society, they are treated with the same significance as a Jewish Bar-Mitzvah and that the ceremonies have their roots in a time when high level of infant mortality meant that reaching a first anniversary was something to celebrate.

As ever, as I am beginning to realise, no Korean event passes without people being fed to within an inch of their lives and even though the star of the show could not appreciate the spread her parents provided for the party, the rest of us returned more than was probably seemly to the laden buffet table.

A good start to a Korean themed week, which got better when we accepted an invitation to join my friend and top food writer, Susan Ji-Young Park at her home as she whipped up a “simple” meal. In Korean, simple obviously means, “I am going to feed you until you are in a kimchi induced coma”. We had barely walked through the door and before she started laying out plate after plate of Banchan, the small plates of snacks to be shared, while she prepared the main course of Bulgogi and Galbi stir-fried with enoki mushrooms.

Finally, to round off the week, a visit to Sybil’s favourite fast food joint, KyoChon, an outpost of a chain which boasts over 100 branches in South Korea. I can only hope that they soon open one in London, so you can try it. Although Sybil had told me that the fried chicken here was good, it did not prepare me for just how good the twice-fried chicken wings and drumsticks in their glistening garlic sauce coating would be.

The drumsticks in particular appealed to me and I tore into them like Henry VIII at a divorce party, biting through the crisp skin to the moist meat underneath. Sybil insisted we split the last one of the five strong portion equally, but at she at least allowed me the honour of reducing the remaining bones to sawdust before we requested our final paltry (or should that be poultry?) bill, which came with a complimentary scoop of decent chocolate ice cream.

Next up, I am told is a Korean tofu restaurant. If anyone can make tofu worth eating, I suspect it is the Koreans.

THE MAGDALEN ARMS: FIRST CLASS

Apparently there’s been a whole bunch of weather around (that bit is for HS who is almost a septic these days). I wouldn’t know. In the environs of Casa DH it’s been a bit chilly of late and I think I saw a few sprinkles of snow once, but that was about the extent of it. Over the past week I’ve been going to work and about my business no bother.

Really, if you’re going to live in dreary Metro-land - or as DH know it death by a thousand trouser presses – then you deserve all you get. I even made a 100 mile round trip to Oxford the other Saturday in search of some decent grub.

It was only while planning my journey that I realised I’d only visited the University City once in my life and that was very briefly as part of a week I spent at the cookery school at Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons (when starred chef Alan Murchison was running the show).

Oxford is a pleasant enough place once you look beyond the identikit centre although lack of time meant I had to forgo my normal rubbernecking activities and make my way to lunch at The Magdalen Arms just outside town. However, I did manage to slide past a college or two which put me in mind of a heat of University Challenge. Dreaming Spires indeed.

The Magdalen Arms has been opened by a young couple, Florence Fowler and Tony Abrano, who have arrived here from the Anchor and Hope in London via The Olde Bell in Berkshire. They’ve taken a large pub which was formerly dedicated (presumably) to the downing of gallons of chemically-enhanced effluent with a helping of grot on the side. The emphasis is now on the food operation although this apparently hasn’t frightened off all the regulars. Yet.

It’s only been opened a few months ago but has already garnered a good reputation and soon after arriving the place was filled with the beau and belle monde of Oxford and their well-behaved sprogs. People of N1 please take note.

The menu has the sort of hearty School of St John dishes which will be familiar to those Londoners who eat out regularly and which are becoming increasingly familiar around the country as its disciples spread the word. There were a couple of Continental ringers in there as well but these interlopers seemed in the spirit of the rest of the menu.

I’m not a big fan of liquid courses unless it’s a Dry Martini followed by another one and on my first few sips of a Potato Soup with Duck Foie Gras I’d thought I’d not ordered well. It was only as the torchon of liver began to melt and I’d swirled it into the soup that the dish made sense. With each mouthful (eaten in the manner of Greg Wallace, of course) you got the relatively bland taste of the potato soup then un petit choc from the sweet, rich liver: starch and fat in perfect harmony.

Mussels were done in the mariniere style and were of the small and sweet - as oppose to big and meaty - variety. The care in the preparation was evident by the liquor left behind which was not full of grit and too salty as it usually is. The only way of improving the dish would have been to serve some decent crusty bread with it – the homemade focaccia wasn’t up to the job, good though it was.

Sometimes it’s the little things that show how good a place is and the fact that the kitchen asked if I’d like a break before my next course was evidence of some joined-thinking in the kitchen, even in the middle of service. Speaking of which, if two people can handle a busy dining room with such smiley efficiency why do some places struggle with two or three times that number of staff?

In retrospect, given the generously sized dishes – hey, you’re not in that there London now - Faggot and Mashed Potatoes was possibly the wrong dish. But in many ways it was the right one. The Faggot was a fairly loose mince of pork and presumably its offal, wrapped in caul fat that had taken on some colour during cooking. Rather than a dense, one-note meatball, this was a light almost dainty expression of the form. It was sitting on some smooth, buttery mash and covered in a light onion gravy. The dish as a whole belied its appearance and was actually pretty refined. Not bad for under nine quid.

I had to try the chips and the kitchen kindly did me a bowlful. Unfortunately, they were of the fat variety and really needed crisping up to be anywhere near acceptable. Still, it didn’t stop me having a couple of scoops of Praline Ice Cream for sweet which was everything I hoped it would be i.e. excellent.

By now, the sun was getting low in the sky and it looked as if it might start snowing again. Much as I would have liked to have been trapped there until teatime I had a home to go to and so, suitably insulated against the cold by a thick belt of carbohydrate, I waddled off very happily but with a part of me wishing that I had a place like The Magdalen Arms at the end of my road.

TO LIVE & DIE IN LA: JOHNNIE'S PASTRAMI. THE KATZ'S KILLER?

A quick lunch with my new chum Brent, officially the coolest man in Los Angeles, saw us bundle up outside another long time L.A. institution, Johnnie’s Pastrami, in Culver City.

Open for over half a century, Johnnie’s claims that its fixtures and fittings, and indeed some of their servers, have been there since the day it opened. As the name suggests, the speciality of the house is the pastrami sandwich and although they have plenty of other things on the menu including hamburgers and hot dogs, Brent would have none of it telling me “I have never ordered anything else and I never intend to”

That then was very much that and five minutes after we had told our waitress what we wanted she returned with a tray containing two ludicrously large sandwiches, one order of fries, a light beer for Brent and a soft drink for me.

For those who have never been initiated into the beauty that is great pastrami, it is made from beef brisket, which is brined then sometimes seasoned with herbs and spices before being smoked. To date, the best I have sampled was at the legendary Katz’s Deli in New York City. The take on the pastrami sandwich here was a very different one from that at Katz’s, where hand carved slices of glistening pink meat were served between pieces of undistinguished and dry rye bread. At Johnnie’s the meat carried more fat and was a lighter shade of pink, suggesting it had perhaps spent less time in the smoker than the New York version. It had also been sliced into smaller wafer thin pieces, not a bad thing, but giving a very different texture to the end result. The sandwich can be served on rye bread, but we both chose to have ours served in a soft roll.

Brent removed the top piece of bread to give his sandwich what I was told was a pre-requisite slather of mustard and then skewered a slice of sharp pickle whose saltiness would counteract the fattiness of the meat. While the pastrami at Katz’s is more moist and richer in flavour, their wretched bread does let down the whole affair and, rather controversially, I think I preferred the overall effect of Johnnie’s attempt better. The fries are barely worth a mention, proving to be little more than a vehicle for Ketchup.

Fast food does not necessarily mean cheap food these days and our bill at Jonnie’s came to a sizable $40 between us including an L.A standard 20% tip. Expensive, but just about worth it considering that needing supper would be unlikely and my morning run would prove to be interesting to say the very least.

TO LIVE & DIE IN LA: LIZ & JOHN. A CUT ABOVE THE REST

I may well have mentioned in passing, during the last few posts, my being less than whelmed by LA’s mid and fine level dining scene. There is however one place where I can always be guaranteed to have a memorable night filled with amazing food, great wines and, best of all, exceptional company.

Unfortunately, it is not a place I can recommend to you all as a must visit, because my favourite place to eat in L.A. is not in a restaurant but in the dining room of my dear friends, Liz and John Haskell. Over the last year and a half as I have been visiting the city on a more regular basis, Liz and John have taken Sybil and I under their wing and treated us to any number of great evenings. But, no invitation is more welcome that when Liz tells us she fancies cooking and John tells us he is going to open up a few bottles of “interesting” wine.

Last night’s supper came about after we had suggested to them that they might care to join us at CUT, Wolfgang Puck’s high end steakhouse. Instead, John offered to light up the grill at their house and Liz offered to cook a few things to go alongside a decent steak.

We knew from previous experience that when Liz offered to cook a few things that usually involved days in the kitchen preparing a multi course menu. Liz is a dining maven (for the record, she has eaten at The French Laundry over 100 times) and brings to bear all her many years of eating experience to what is prepared in her kitchen.

The meal began with starters served at the coffee table. The first course comprised two pates served with hot buttery brioche and glasses of two different styles of West Coast sparkling wine from Domaine Chandon in the Napa Valley. A perfect match and just as enjoyable with the next two courses, one of blini cups filled with crème fraiche and topped with caviar, the other using the same high end ingredient but this time served with eggs, slowly scrambled with butter for twenty five minutes and then returned to their shells for presentation.

After John had fired up the grill for the preparation of the main event, we moved to the dining table be presented with a bowl each of rich, velvety chestnut soup, laced with a shot of brandy just before serving. John poured us all a glass of Malmsey, which proved to be a terrific in combination with the gloriously luxurious soup. Luxurious would be the perfect word to describe a lot of Liz’s cooking. That does not mean that she always uses high-end ingredients. In fact, caviar apart, the ingredients used in the night’s meal were quite simple, but it is the attention Liz gives to their preparation transforms them into memorable dishes.

The main course of steak, potatoes and spinach was a perfect example, although admittedly the steak they prepared for us was no ordinary slab of meat from the supermarket. John had ordered a 40oz porterhouse from a company called Bryan’s Fine Foods. I had not heard of the company, but when John proudly showed off the raw porterhouse with its fine network of marbling, I immediately scribbled down the name to find out more about them.

Alongside the porterhouse was an equally impressive New York Strip from the same supplier. Both cuts of meat had been dry aged for forty days and gave off waves of meaty steam the moment John slapped them on to the grill. After they had been cooked and as soon as they had been rested, John carved them into big meaty slices making sure that each plate had plenty of each cut, while Liz added her own contribution, potato gratin and creamed spinach. So often in steakhouses, side dishes are no more than a diversion. Liz Haskell’s versions are, however, amongst the very best I have tasted, both again taking hours of preparation to get the desired result.

We staggered to the coffee table for the last two courses, cheeses from Andrew’s Cheese Shop in Santa Monica and a slab of persimmon pudding, which we doused in booze laden whipped cream and washed down with the last drops of a very fine 2001 Ridge Montebello Cabernet .

By the time we all looked at our watches and realised that nearly five hours had passed while we enjoyed our meal, wine and conversation, Liz had already begun to pack a goodie bag for us containing more of the persimmon pudding and some homemade chocolate chip cookies, in the unlikely event we got hungry on the way home.

It was the perfect end to another great meal at my favourite place to eat in Los Angeles. If any of you are fortunate enough to get to know Liz and John Haskell, you might just be lucky enough to experience it too.