THE BEEHIVE

Don't seem right
I've been strung out here all night

For those old enough to remember, Jack Charlton once referred during a TV program to his “little black book” which had the name of players he was going to “do” o the pitch. I’ve just added a name to my little black book: the div who invented the Vapour Grill.

Hermano, what is this Vapour Grill of which you speak ? Well, as I was told by the manager of The Beehive - Claudio Pulze’s first foray into the world of gastropubs – that it was the reason my Cote de Boeuf didn’t have any char on it. Apparently, as well as the grill part there is a steaming element to the cooking process, to keep the meat moist (it says here). And that’s why the menu didn’t describe the steak as ‘chargrilled’. All my fault then. Silly me.

The shame of it was that you could just make out that the meat was of decent quality and properly aged and was crying out for some TLC. The forty minute Vapour Grill treatment made it look and taste rather grey and sort of damp. That gradation of flavour between a good char on the outside and the rare inside seemed completely lost. To be fair the manager did discuss my issues with the steak but I wasn’t convinced that anything would be different in the future.

Along with my drowned steak there were some of those chunky i.e. fat chips which really needed another frying when they might just have approached the ones the Anchor and Hope serve with their CdB. There also was an overdressed and over-salty salad and finally a couple of flaccid (are you detecting a pattern here) grilled mushrooms and tomatoes. All served on a pointlessly big carving board which required one and a half tables to hold it.

It was a bit of an odd place The Beehive. It’s been given a makeover but then the money seems to have run out because, if my memory serves me correctly, all the chairs were mismatched. The avowed aim was for it to be a pub but it seems more like a half-hearted attempt at being a Gordon Ramsay gastropub. The effect is somewhat disorientating. The menu is similarly a bit all over the place. If there is a theme it’s Italian but along the way there’s little detours to Japan, the Mediterranean, France and Britain.

Anyway, I had a go at constructing a meal out of the options and came up with the Deep fried sardines in onion vinegary marinade – which I guess is escabeche – to start. Now, I’m not an expert on escabeche but this one seemed a bit insipid: the marinade didn’t taste of much and the sardines although meaty weren’t really improved by their dousing. A load of toast had been awkwardly plonked on the side of the dish and was a bit too charred. It wasn’t awful, more like so what ?

After my disappointing steak I was hoping that the Gelati and Sorbetti might be homemade but I was out of luck so I was stuck with chugging down a decent espresso and grappa.

Just before I left I noticed Mr Pulze at the next table no doubt planning his next resto opening and how he could rise up the chart of London restaurateurs. It struck me that the more places these guys open the less interested they are in what the restaurants are actually delivering to the customer. It’s all about concepts and market share and trends. You get the feeling that they don’t care that much about the food, service or experience any more. Sometimes you can just taste the cynicism…that and the effects of that frickin Vapour Grill.

ISTANBUL: NOT CONSTANTINOPLE

If I could bring back any three places from the restaurant heavens, where good eateries go to die, they would be, in no particular order

High Holborn, a short lived high-end place which garnered a well deserved Michelin star and then closed almost immediately to become a chain pizza restaurant.

The Sutton Arms, where Rosie Sykes cooked so splendidly that DH ate there over one hundred times between us in the two years she was behind the stove.

And, last but certainly not least, The Angel Mangal, the much missed and never bettered uber-Okabasi, where superlative grilling, combined with huge salads and pungent context wines, made Turkish food a staple of the DH diet.

We still bemoan our loss of it and its charmingly taciturn owner, Mustapha whose lips would twitch into a micro smile at the mention of his beloved, but under achieving football team, Besiktas.

So, because of that, I had high hopes for Istanbul, which makes it even harder to report that it has been such a disappointment, on the food front at least.

You could say that, thirty countries in to the EAT MY GLOBE trip, I am just jaded. But, the same was true in Madrid last week and yet, at the first sight of Jamon and with the first whiff of frying Puntillitas, I still did a strange, but oddly erotic, little dance of delight.

You could ask if I have not “gone native” enough, and stayed too close to my guesthouse slap bang in the middle of Sultanahmet and two minutes walk from The Blue Mosque. But, the fact that my favourite pair of calfskin Merrill’s are now worn out and consigned to the bin should be a testament to the fact that I have traipsed over half of Istanbul, Old and New cities in search of decent grub.

You could even ask if a cuisine based predominantly on grilled meats is ever going to be that good. To which I would reply “don’t be so bleeding stupid” and point you towards pictures of Morocco, South African Brai and just about everything I ate in Argentina and America.

I have had a couple of Pide, which just confirm my “snot on toast” opinion of the pizza genus and, I have supplemented the grilling of more standard meats such as chicken wings and lamb chops (all served with the rather odd double starch combo of rice and chips) with the “sadakat” option of offal and still found it lacking any spark.

It should tell you all you need to know, particularly if you are aware of my “fish does not make a meal” philosophy, that the best thing I have had to eat has been a Balik Ekmek, a sandwich, served on the edges of The Bosphorus in the early evenings, which combines freshly grilled mackerel, a good slosh of lemon juice and sharp, raw onions. Delicious, but hardly the keystone for a six-day trip.

In the end, the ingredients are simply not good enough and the techniques not good enough to cover the failings of the ingredients.

If the food is mediocre, then fortunately, there is much in Istanbul to distract me from a disappointed belly. Its monuments are rare treasures and I have filled my time happily wandering from extraordinary sight to extraordinary sight. I have seen The Topkapı Dagger and The Alexander Sarcophagus and I have even let a large bearded Turk beat me up whıle I was good and sweaty.

Yet, this is not a trip about the joys of antiquity. It is about the food and, on that basis, Istanbul, like Besiktas, must rank amongst the also rans of the EAT MY GLOBE adventure.

Sorry Mustapha.

VANILLA BLACK

Worry the bottle Mamma,
it's grapefruit wine

A second restaurant in as many weeks where there’s no meat or fish on the menu. Please say it isn’t so Hermano. Sure – it isn’t so Hermano…or rather it is so. After some distinctly average meals at animal protein-lead gaffs I though it would be nice to have a change (that and the fact I would be knocking back large amounts of jamón and big chuletón in Spain). So the second day that Vanilla Black – a restaurant previously based in York – was open I popped in for some lunch.

The owners have decided to set up shop, so to speak, in Lawyerland aka Chancery Lane on the site of the short-lived and apparently not very good Shimo. Previous to Shimo it was a French bistro, Tooks (later Dine) which I liked but which also crashed and burned when the owner couldn’t make the numbers work.

So will Vanilla Black succeed where others have failed ? On their showing when I went I have my doubts. First there’s the prices: they’re bloody steep. A set lunch menu should be a reasonably priced deal to pull in punters who would otherwise be eating at a Pret or some other dreary corporate sandwich bar. VB’s set menu is priced at £21/£26 for 2/3 courses which feels at least 30% overpriced – I mean do you want to pay a fiver for a cucumber spring roll ? Oh and don't forget the 12.5% service charge.

The ALC, which I went for, is priced at £25/£32 which seems similarly overpriced given the food I received. There was nothing particularly wrong with it per se, save for some gluey pomme puree in the first course, it’s just that, well, I was expecting a bit more for my money. It was all a bit prosaic. There wasn’t even an amuse or two to whet the appetite, just bread rolls.

A Deconstructed Puy Lentil Dahl offered up some Puy Lentils, with some slivers of chilli and some onion puree drizzled over the top. There was also some curry oil in the mix which gave the dish the whiff that you catch downwind of your local curry house. Not unpleasant actually. And that was it. Spicy and nice to eat but is this really indicative of vegetarian fine dining ?

Hickory Smoke Duck Egg ad Ducketts Caerphilly Pudding was a little more ambitious. There was a little cheesy pudding with a perfectly cooked egg that had taken on a deeply savoury note from the hickory smoke. There was a nice potato croquette where the pomme puree within actually tasted of potato and the best thing: a very good pineapple pickle. Yet again, a dish that was ok, but as a whole was less than the sum of its parts. An attempt at a few culinary fireworks, even if they were indoor, would definitely not go amiss here.

Pud similarly failed to wow. Tomato Ripple Ice Cream is an interesting idea but tasted bland. The Curd Cake had a good texture and plenty of Raisins but needed a lot more Rum to kick it up a notch. The shortbread wasn’t very er…short.

So the prices aren’t right and the food at those prices failed to ignite my ardour. Anything else ? Well, since you ask, it’s not a great site for a restaurant. Even assuming there are enough vegetarians in the area and I doubt it – lawyers love the smell of blood - then they’re unlikely to happen upon the restaurant as it’s hidden down an alley. Also, as far as I know, it’s not a residential area so there would be the same problem at night. They would have to rely on bookings.

From talking to one of the owners it seems this might be the plan as they wanted to build things up gradually. But can it be good business to go a whole service with just one customer ? Then again I’m not a restaurateur so maybe with their niche position in the restaurant market the 60k rent I read about will be a doddle to pay. I hope so because they seem like decent folk at VB and we (that’s the London we) need more independent businesses. Still, I think my (brief) sampling of veggy and vegan restaurants is done with. Now where’s me STEAK.

JEREZ: A HORSEMAN RIDING BY

Our 500th post.

Who knew that we would still be here two and a half years later?

It seems fitting that a blog with a Spanish name and written by two brothers with a slightly unhealthy obsession with Spain should note this milestone with a post about their favourite country.

Even more so, when the post also involves one of their favourite things to drink, sherry.

We have droned on about sherry before. Well a couple of times at least. In our humble opinions one of the great underrated drinks of all, primarily because of a lack of good marketing on the part of the producers and a misunderstanding of the product on the part of the consumers.

So, we make no excuses for taking yet another opportunity to promulgate the sheer wonderfulness of the fortified wines of Jerez one more time. Even more so because, on this occasion we had the opportunity to drink the sauce at source, as it were.

As I head towards the natural conclusion of EAT MY GLOBE, one of the things that has kept me going as I have been dragging my big red rucksack all over the globe was the invitation from my new friends at Gonzalez Byass to come and be their guests at The Feria Del Caballo in Jerez. It is hard to explain to anyone who has not been to a Spanish fair just what makes it so special as lots of things combine to make them one of the most enjoyable experiences anywhere on earth.

In this case, as the name suggests the official reason for the fair is to celebrate the local horsemen who turn out in their finery to ferry people around the town. But, these days, that is just an excuse for a week long knees up that involves fun fairs, food stalls, the opportunity for every one, men, women and children to dress up to the hilt and, of course, this being Jerez, the chance to drink more Sherry than anyone ever thought possible.

After arriving the night before from Madrid, we fortified ourselves for the day with a little breakfast of tostada with tomatoes and lots of olive oil before heading out for a visit to the vast vineyards of Gonzalez Byass where nearly 900 Hectares of grapes, Palomino and Pedro Ximinez, are cultivated every year.

After that, a guided tour around their bodegas followed by a sneak at the original tasting rooms, The barrels signed by Picasso and Orson Wells and the pot stills for Lepanto Brandy, made from specially selected Palomino grapes. Finally, we went to the archives of Gonzalez Byass, which include a letter from original UK distributor, Mr Byass complaining about the “Pale Wine” they had sent him, known to us now as Tio Pepe, the first commercial fino ever produced.

It is a truly stunning place and each bodega has its own distinct smell as the scents of fino and, other sherries, leach into the air from the barrels.

Finally, before heading to the fair itself, a tasting of the full Gonzalez Byass range including some pretty exciting 30 year old sherries a sniff of which explains the beauty of The Solera system.

The fair is of staggering proportions, covering an area equivalent to about ten football fields all filled with “casseta” which literally means “hut” but does a disservice to rather elaborate stands set up by most of the local sherry producers and all the bars in town. Everyone serves different food, with standard Spanish choices of Jamon and Queso sitting alongside Andalucian specialities such as Menudo, a tripe stew. What more could two middle aged men want than the sight of mounds of freshly fried seafood being consumed by outstandingly attractive Spanish women?

It is all washed down, of course, with vast amounts of chilled sherry, primarily Tio Pepe which, we were told sells 25,000 bottles a day during the fair. Unsurprisingly, it is bottled and comes straight to the fair, so is as fresh as you are ever likely to try and goes beautifully with the food, as you would expect.

As the night draws in, so the fair goes from being great fun to being one of the best parties on earth. Stands begin to play music and every, but everyone, begins to dance. Particularly when the heart rending local folk music of Sevillanas blares through the speakers. Everyone seems to know the 12 step pattern to the dance and some foolish sorts even tried to get DH up on the floor. You will be delighted to know that it didn’t happen.

As I said in the previous post, one of the great things about the Spanish is that they know how to have a good time all the time. So, as midnight came around and I headed back to the hotel to prepare for an early start back to Madrid the next day, I passed plenty of elderly people heading the other way to begin their night’s fun. A diet of fried fish and sherry obviously works wonders.

HP stayed out until 4.30am and, when he left, it was still going strong. As we headed to the train station, at 7.30am, it was just coming to an end and stragglers were heading home to rest up in preparation for the last night

As for us, we have a half bottle of Tio Pepe chilling in our hotel room fridge which we plan to drink tonight before HP heads back to London and I head off to Istanbul.

As I have said before on the blog, every now and again, life stops kicking you in the ass.

MADRID: MAINLINING MAHOU

Throughout the whole EAT MY GLOBE trip so far, I have been in regular contact with dear sibling, H1 and, while he has expressed considerable support for my efforts and, in the case of The American Royal or my trips to indulge in Texas BBQ, not a little jealousy, he has tempered this with one regular and simple phrase.

“Yes, but is it Spain?”

And, he is right. No matter how much I have enjoyed my travels to date (bearing in mind it is nearly over with just three more countries to go) at the back of my mind, I have always had a sneaking feeling that all that EAT MY GLOBE will reveal to me is that Spain remains my favourite country on the face of God’s earth and, by hook or by crook, my next adventure is to move there.

So, when I was invited by the good people of Gonzalez Byass to join them at the sherry fair in Jerez this week it seemed liked the perfect opportunity for H1 and H2 to proceed it with a visit to the place that we both place at the very top of our list of favourite cities, Madrid.

Unless you have visited (and if not, why not?) it is hard to explain the appeal of Madrid.

Is it the fact that it is hard to walk more than ten yards without passing a bar that sells food and wine that back in London would make the Hart brothers cream themselves at the thought of what they could charge?

Is it the fact that for the price of your beer you invariably get a freebie? A plate of nuts, some fried seafood, some offcuts of jamon. No muss no fuss.

Is it the fact that the Madrilenos predicate their entire life around things, which they find enjoyable and don’t bother too much with little things, like work, that might get in the way of that enjoyment?

Or, is it simply the fact that, above all else, Madrid is not dependent upon tourism and just gets on with its life which you are more than welcome to be a part of but no one is desperate to persuade you to be part of.

In any case, after many visits over the last few years, stepping off the plane at Barrajas feels like coming home and although the city is now very familiar to us, it still fills us with incredible excitement.

So much so that, inevitably, after meeting H1 at our hotel in Barrio Salamanca, we headed straight out and, quite frankly, overdid it a bit fitting in visits to nearly twenty bars, each of which provided a small freebie with our cana, before heading off to supper at Asador Ansorena situated near Plaza De Castilla.

H1, of course, had done considerable research searching for a venue for our first supper and lit upon this particular asador because it is one of only three in the whole country that serves true Carne Roja, the stunning beef from Galicia.

Starters of croquetta and morcilla were good, but just passed the time while our kilogram plus of chuleton was cooked above coals. It came to the table with a perfect char on the outside and perfectly “poco hecho” inside as requested. As ever, in Spain, you order beef and that’s what you get. No side dishes to distract from the main event and what a main event it was.

I would have to think long and hard before I could come up with a place that has served beef that I enjoyed as much as this with the crunch of the char giving way to the juicy, rare inside. Stunning and, served well with a bottle of Arzuaga.

Puddings, like starters, are perfunctory but do the job and dishes of ice cream were followed by small chopitos of Pacharan and Orujo before we collected the bill.

With the Euro being so strong, it is not a cheap option with the bill coming out at £100 but, for beef of this quality and for the whole experience back in our favourite city, I begrudge not a penny.

After supper, the owner gave us a little tour of his kitchens, meat locker and held up a large rib of beef for us to admire like a new-born baby. He rubbed his hands along the creamy, yellowing fat lovingly and then lifted it for us to smell. An odd but strangely pleasurable experience.

We may or may not have fitted in another nightcap, I don’t recall but I do recall why I love this country so much and this city in particular.

H1 was as ever, right. I have (and still am) travelling all over the world, but at the heart of the matter is the fact that where ever I go it will not be Spain and it certainly will not be Madrid.

The best city on the planet.