Not Quite the Holy Trinity

Trinity is our local bolthole where we go for a treat. After some disappointing weekend experiences in the West End we’ve found it’s far better to dine somewhere more local. Or at least local to Cowie! Our previous meal at Trinity was nearly faultless. We were treated to some of the best service we’ve ever had as well as a sensational starter of pigs head that got the better of its cousin at Wild Honey and a hare dish that rivaled the Royale at the Zetter.

If you like your tablecloths to be crisp; your service to be smooth; your wine list to be accessible and interesting and your food to be refined and imaginative then Trinity ticks a lot of boxes. But if you like your sweet things to be sweet and your savoury dishes to be savoury, then you may have a freak out like we did…

Sitting at the best table in the house and drinking effete little glasses of Prosecco we gorged on some fine bread and slightly too warm butter whilst feeling like we were in a benevolent version of the Truman Show. It seemed that the whole restaurant was constructed around us with the fellow diners showcasing dishes we might order, offering background noise and in the case of a lady next to us with a notebook, a source of constant amusement. Especially when she repositioned her husband’s spoon as he was about to use it to dig into a soufflé which was then allowed to go cold!

Cowie adored a pristine starter of tuna and crab with a tomato consomme which was as close to being the Platonic Form of Cowie’s dream starter as is possible. Meanwhile, my pigs’ trotters with quail eggs on toasted sourdough was startling. Deeply savoury and with the swine dial on maximum, it made me want to roll around in a muddy field and scratch my bottom against a barbed wire fence.

I am a big fan of restaurants that serve wine by the carafe. Cowie loves white wine, but is less of a fan of red, so the carafe approach let’s me have a glass of red with my main course. A splash of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc was ideal with our starters and some Pinot Noir was ideal with the lump of meat that arrived next.

My fillet of beef with bone marrow, snails, onion tart and bordelaise sauce was richer than a Sheikh who’s just won the pools. It pulsated with flavour and mooed with medium rare rouge. From now on I am refusing to eat fillet steak without snails and marrow on my plate. But the soggy onion tart can stay at home.

Cowie ordered rabbit two ways and had to send it back because some elements of the dish were stone cold. When the plate arrived back it was a much better temperature, but was destroyed by a vanilla sauce that smothered everything in sickly sweetness. I like vanilla a lot but have learnt my own lessons that it can easily overwhelm a sweet dish, let alone a meek and mild little bunny rabbit.

And as if the pastry chef and the rabbit chef had just played musical stations we were then presented with the most bizarre dessert we’ve had in years. The apricot tart looked stunning. The golden topping was sweet, sour and fragrant. But then things got weird. We couldn’t put our finger on it, but then it clicked. The pastry wasn’t sweet, it was cheesy. After triple checking we scraped off the topping, closed our eyes and realised that the pastry tasted identical to cheese straws. How very, very odd. So we mentioned this to our waitress who after a visit to the kitchen said it always tasted that way, but that no-one had ever complained.

Having not seen each other for ages we weren’t going to let a few sweet and savoury cross wires get in the way of a romantic evening. Especially when the starters and my beef were so ravishing. But for 150 quid, you’d expect the kitchen to be able to get the basics, such as savoury for main course and sweet for dessert, right. As we moseyed home we reluctantly relegated Trinity down our “must return to” list which means we’ll be heading to Chez Bruce for our next treat.

Brilliant Mussels from Smelly Belgo

Formerly the Bierodrome, Belgo is a Belgian joint on Clapham High Street that promises the best mussels and Belgian beer in London.

Cowie and I muscled in (couldn’t resist even though it barely works) before a trip to watch The Reader at the Picture House. We were initially seated between a large group, out on someone’s birthday lash up and a window that I am still convinced was made of ice. Feeling very uncomfortable, our request to be removed from this unpleasant sandwich was accepted.

Cowie opted for just a main course of moules mariniere whilst I decided to go a bit off-piste and ordered green Thai mussels as a starter and a duck breast with plum compote for my main course.

The green Thai mussels were exceptionally good. Juicy mussels and pungent, spicey, aromatic sauce made this dish worth the trip on its own. Not a single mussel was unopened and sauce was devoid of splintered shards of shell.

Cowie’s bowl of moules marinierewas deliciously garlicy and equally generous on the mussel front. My duck on the other hand was not just under-seasoned, but seemed unseasoned. A cardinal sin if ever one existed. After several minutes attacking my dish with the salt and pepper mill it was improved beyond belief. But no amount of seasoning is ever going to get past the fact that the duck was still suffering from rigour mortis and the plum sauce just tasted of sauce not plum which takes some doing. O. And another thing. Please can I have crispy skin with my duck? Chips were sinfully good which made me wish I’d had my Belgian brain engaged and ordered a steak or a carbonade of beef.

Now for the next bit you’ll have to hold your nose and give me some advice about protocol…

With my fork stabbing a morsel of duck and my head bowed forward and jaw opening in readiness for a mouthful of fodder I was suddenly overwhelmed by the uric stench of BO. Wondering whether this was my own unique scent I placed my fork down and subtly sniffed my pit. Nope. I had showered before venturing out and due to lack of my own anti-perspirant, had liberally applied some of Cowies.

I set myself up for anther hefty mouthful and was again almost bowled over by a cavalry charge of BO. Cowie’s nose twitched too and then her eyes raised and met mine. We turned on our sniffing sonar and searched out the source of the smell. It didn’t take long before one of the waiters speedily walked past carrying a tray of sparkling drinks. Our eyes met again and we burst out laughing. The poor guy absolutely reeked. It was as if he’d gone to the gym and worked out in a bin bag like Gazza used to and then used his shirt to mop up the sweat that had dripped of him before then mistaking a bottle of fox piss for a can of deodorant. It was little short of sickening. A lot is made of aroma marketing these days – it’s impossible to walk past a Sainsbury’s store without having your nostrils filled with the scent of fake bread. All Belgo have to do is either issue nose plugs to all their diners or ask their waiter to have a wash.

Belgo’s is a great place for mussels. They delivered on their promise by serving us some of the best mussels we’ve both had. But, if they are going to serve things other than tasty shellfish, then they have to do them better than this. We left a generous tip for the waiter which we can only hope he has spent on some men’s hygiene products.

The image is from Belgo’s brilliant weird website where you can explore a range of fantastic Flemmish recipes. Next time I’m going to have the Carbonade Flamande.

Celebratory Bodean’s

Photo from Eyedropper – one of the brilliant bloggers behind The Great British Food Map on Channel 4.

“Bodean’s, Bodean’s, Bodean’s”, sang Edwin as we switched from light blue to black at Stockwell. With a glazed look and gyroscopic approach to balancing we somehow emerged at Clapham Common “in the mood for food”. I had just spent the last 9 hours whizzing back from a meeting in South West France, whilst Edwin, Anna and Cowie had been busy guzzling champagne to celebrate them all brilliantly passing their surveying exam – the dreaded APC.

Given that none of us had eaten anything you could describe as lunch, we were all famished. Bodean’s couldn’t have fitted the bill any better. Margaritas ticked all the boxes, reminding me of the scene in Bottom where Eddie and Richie create a cocktail called the “Esther Rantzen” because “it pulls the gums back over your teeth”… (the ingredients are Pernod, Ouzo (a wee drop), marmalade (one glob to taste), salt (around the rim of the *glass*))

We feasted on sinful pulled pork quesadillas, nachos with gallons of guacamole and crab cakes for starters… all great and just what we wanted. Having said that it really wasn’t a very sensible choice of starters – or as Bodean’s calls them – teasers.

Already quite full, we ordered almost the entire menu! My combo of smoked BBQ’d chicken, smoked sausage and pulled pork was an epic display of meat. It tasted divine, even if the chicken breast was a bit dry. I was surrounded by sensational BBQ beans, massively exciting baby back ribs that were disappointingly tough in comparison to Edwin’s astonishingly good spare ribs, tepid onion rings and metres of kitchen roll to help us keep the grease levels to a minimum!

Cowie’s rib-eye steak was apparently very good – underscored by the fact that she didn’t give anyone else a taste! Somehow Cowie also snuck a salad and some vegetables into the mix when none of us were watching. But again, no-one got a look in here! Here’s what Cowie had to say for herself…

“A salad and greens are clearly a must in an American meat diner…. well, an essential for a Cowie at least.

The mixed roast veg platter was satisfactory with a good array of peppers and courgettes. The green salad was a green salad, and probably totally unnecessary.

But I liked them both though and shared them with no-one… I am selfish with my rabbit food!”

Anna did a great job of summing up the atmosphere…

“… it certainly had a Greece-Dallas hybrid charm and quite simply booths are under used in London restaurants- yes, it is like eating in a train carriage but there is a place for that. In all honesty, a restaurant that laminates their menus to double up as plate meats is right up my street – all of which was perfectly punctuated by a high school gym team waitress. All in all an excellent atmosphere that was as hearty as the food!”

I love Bodean’s. It’s one of my favourite place in London. The only downside is that it’s not great for your waist-line or sex life! My top tip, try to get the sexy times in before dinner! It would be great for S&BJ day – March 14th.

Cowie’s Birthday: Trinity

Cowie has been revising like a geeky dervish for the last few months in preparation for her surveying exams. It’s important stuff and quite stressful. So I wanted to do something local and relaxing with a touch of glamour. One of our first London dining experiences was at Polygon through TopTable. We had a wonderful meal. Canon of perfectly rare lamb and a luxurious fillet of beer if I remember rightly. But then Polygon disappeared and we almost shed a tear.

Trinity emerged in it’s place with a flurry of great reviews and a menu that just begs to be guzzled up. I’ve been cycling past it on a daily basis and have to really concentrate to stop myself from lurching through their front door wearing my lycra and hi-vis jacket!

We were treated to a near perfect meal. The service was the best we’ve ever had. Everything was just right. We were given the best table in the restaurant. They remembered it was Cowie’s birthday. They filled our glasses at the right time with just the right amount of wine. They didn’t rush us. They even laughed at my attempt at banter! Legends!

We knew instantly what each other would choose. It’s always the same and is a brilliant part of our relationship. Cowie chose the crab and tuna salad followed by a wonderful looking piece of monkfish. It was perfectly cooked. So often monkfish is over cooked, too meaty or dry. This was the opposite.

If Cowie’s choices were delicate, feminine, light and the essence of Cowie. Mine were very me. Rich, meaty, a biz grizzly and sensuously deep. My starter of pigs head was sensational. Better than at Wild Honey. It oozed flavour. Not to mention a drop or two of fat!

My main course of hare two ways was almost as good. The slow-cooked, pulled leg meat was strewn in a semi circle over the top of the plate, interwoven with silky mash and brussels sprouts. And a circle of saddle meat anchored the rest of the dish. My only criticism would be to question whether the thin sheath of fat that coated the saddle shout have been seared off…

All of this wonderful food was accompanied by a classy chardonnay from the Langeudoc/Roussillon area of France. Think of a really good St. Aubin, but with a bit more to it.

Things at this point were stunning. But we were slightly underwhelmed by dessert. The lemon cheesecake arrived in a kilner jar an hour too early. That hadn’t had a chance to cook it! They left the construction work up to us. Now call me old fashioned, but don’t we go to restaurants to be cooked for? I’m all for a bit of interactivity… but only when it tastes good. A good baked lemon cheesecake is a thing of heart stopping beauty. This one tasted like it had come from a down market supermarket. I don’t want to be too rude because they had gone to the effort of writing “Happy Birthday” in toffee on Cowie’s plate!

My Valhrona chocolate pudding was fantastic. But enough for an entire family! I tired to only eat on person’s worth… but landed up eating my own body weight in rich, warm chocolate!

We’re delighted to have finally made Trinity’s acquaintance and are already planning our next visit.

The Stonhouse

My first house in London was a horrific ground floor flat with cracked lino floors, a terrifying gas oven and a serious mouse problem. Our moving in party on November 4th 2005 caused chaos. Someone hot boxed our landlord’s car. Someone was sick over the fence into our lovely next door neighbour’s sand-pit. Someone then fell through the same fence and propped it up with a super-market trolley. Then we let off enough fire-works to make our local community wish they were living in the Helmand Province. Then the police arrived to ask if any of us had witnessed the assault that had been committed in the pub opposite our house – in the Stonhouse.

It was the grottiest pub you can imagine. The most hostile atmosphere that makes being a Liverpool fan in Istanbul seem like a romantic holiday. My housemate at the time and I went to have our inaugural pint in our local and couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable… the pool table had no baize, the walls had no paint, the toilets had no toilets and the walls were riddled with bizarre holes. It was horrific. Then mysteriously one night it conveniently caught fire and almost over night transformed into a very smart gastro-pub.

So it was with great fondness and no less curiosity that I returned to Stonhouse Street for a pre-cinema meal on Friday. I arrived feeling very warm and fairly full having been treated to some fantastic prawns and white wine at Wright’s in Borough Market on the way back from the brilliant Rothko exhibition.

The transformation from ugly duckling to sauve, urbane swan is really hard for me to cope with. But in a good way. Somebody has done a fabulous job of resurrecting this phoenix from the flames.

The £12 fixed menu was tight but generous… whilst my crab cakes could generously be described as poor, the steak was as good as you’ll get for the price. It came with a very commendable basil and lemon mayonnaise and enough chips to put a smile on Mr McCain’s face.

The girls probably did better than me. Victoria’s chicken liver and mushrooms on toast was delicious and extremely plentiful. I’m not one to take off marks for large portions… but it did dent her appetite for a few minutes! Cowie junior’s smoked salmon pate was very smokey and beautifully coarse. Good honest food. Really tasty. Far tastier than my lump of crispy edged deep fried mashed potato with ghost of crab.

They both couldn’t resist having fish pie on a Friday being the good Catholic school girls that they are. I didn’t even get a sniff of it so it must have been good.

Our Chilean red was robust and good value. I certainly left with a good ready brek glow… ready to battle through 2 hours of Keira Knightly plodding her way through another period drama.

Hats off to the Stonhouse. It was completely packed when we left. We will definitely be back next time we go to the cinema – especially if they keep their Top Table offer going.

Coffee at Glow, Clapham South

In need of a coffee and a chance to get out of the wind we nipped into Glow near Clapham South station. On a Sunday morning it was buzzing with 20 somethings catching up with their social lives – Macbooks out, Newspapers spread, gossip even more so.

Whilst Cowie was chatting on the phone I decided to nip inside and take a seat at their bar. Whilst enjoying a very robust coffee I was impressed by the quality of their backbar and the amount of Courvoisier they sell. The Australian girl behind the bar was good fun. Constantly making smoothies from sachets of frozen fruit she kept on giving me little samples! They were so busy she had to multi task by managing the bar, taking orders, blending smoothies, entertaining me and phone up all her contacts to see if they would be willing to come in immediately to help out with the Sunday rush.

I absorbed the Observer supplements, another coffee and some sample smoothies and left thinking that Glow is awesome. The breakfasts and brunches look brilliant, the staff are really friendly and efficient. They’ve got wifi and the right newspaper. The perfect place on a Sunday? Or any day of the week perhaps.

Clapham Farmers’ Market Supper

Cowie and I made the most of our Sunday back in London by heading off to the Clapham Farmers’ Market in Clapham South. Just off the very smart Abbeville Road it opens every Sunday in a school playground. It’s our local market and tends to do fantastic veg, good apple juice, tasty sausages, brilliant bread and some wacky cheeses. Apart from one occassion when I bought 3 venison shanks we haven’t really been that impressed by the meat.

We pottered around sampling bits and pieces. The goat cheese stall is brilliant. As is the buffalo milk stall. If I’d had some more cash on me I’d have bought some bufallo milk yoghurt. Maybe next time.

My coins were instead spent on a punnet of craggy looking artichokes, leeks, shallots and mushrooms. All for under a fiver. We beetled home and browned some chicken thighs before tossing in some bacon, shallots, leek and mushrooms which all took on a fantastic sheen. Before going off to play squash I added a cup full of rehydrated wild mushrooms and the liquor, some vegetable stock and a third of a bottle of red wine, some butter beans and a tin of tomatoes. Into the oven went some beetroot segments and some chopped artichokes to roast.

We came back to the house smelling of glory. The chicken had simmered its way to victory and the artichokes and beetroot had become soft, caremlised and deeply flavoured.

Although it may not look fantastic it was sensational. Rich, deep, flavoursome, moreish and not too expensive. Just what we needed after a frantic game of squash and a week eating cheese!

Northcote Road Afternoon Tea

Having not been out of the house all day I decided a trip to the Northcotte Road was a good idea. Fed up of drinking tea in the Towers, I wondered into Brew to have a nice pot of speciality tea.

I asked for a pot of Assam and was disappointed that they hadn’t even heard of it. Builders it was then. Which was fine if a little bit unexciting. I was keen to have something that we don’t have at home.

I enjoyed my tea whilst reading my new Anthony Bourdain book, intermittently writing a Christmas list to make sure I’ve got all the bases covered this year. I felt like I was being watched the whole time… maybe it’s paranoia… maybe it was the fact that the place wasn’t very busy. It didn’t make me want to linger and chill out like the best tea shops do. And they didn’t offer me any cakes or flapjacks so I decided to leave and get some on the way home from the market.

I bought a red iced cup cake with snow flakes and a white chocolate and raspberry muffin. The muffin has now been dispatched and the cup cake is a peace offering for Cowie!

La Pampa, Argentinian Steak House

Photo from Sagasurfer on Flickr

7 of us met up at La Pampa for a steak fest in honour of Wakers’ birthday. Excited by the pospect of tucking into untold amounts of steak we settled in and didn’t have many problems working out what to have…

3 bottles of deep purple Malbec and a variety of steaks to feed 7 please. Will and I wisely chose rare rump steaks. Opting for taste and size over tenderness. The others all chose fillets… some with eggs and some without.

The waiters took our orders very efficiently but with a not so much as a smile. Maybe they were just being Argentinian? Our steaks arrived moments later and all hell broke loose. I was presented with a medium well done fillet steak… wrong. Eventually it got sorted out but they had only achieved a 30% success rate in terms of getting the orders right, which is surprising considering we’d all ordered steak!

My rare rump steak tasted delicious despite being on the dry side of medium and one of my eggs had spent so long under the pass that it had cooked to the consistency of a hard boiled egg. The meat was tasty and had been well seasoned. But it was the chips and sauteed potatoes that won the day. Fluffy on the inside and crunchy on the outside, just like God intended.

This time last year I went to see Suz, my sister, in Argentina for a pilgrimage to gorge on the world’s best beef. Each mouthful was to die for. Rich, tasty, thick cuts of beef are grilled to perfection from every part of the animal. I’ve never eaten meat like it. It’s stunning. Which is why I came back from Buenos Aires around a stone heavier after spending just under a week there!

Argentinian beef isn’t hung. Because the beasts wonder around, stress free, on the Pampas and don’t get fed anything apart from grass the meat is already really tender and doesn’t need to be aged. In many ways it has the texture of veal and is never chewy. This therefore makes me wonder… if the Argentines eat their beef fresh and unhung, does that mean that transporting it half way across the globe acts like hanging it? Then add onto this the fact that the transportation isn’t particularly great for the environment and you start to wonder what all the fuss is about.

This is how it’s done by the gauchos (photo from Flickr)

Certainly the meat at La Pampa is nothing in comparison to steaks in Buenos Aires and it also isn’t up to the quality of the steak you get at the likes of Hawksmoor near Liverpool Street. So shouldn’t we be supporting british farmers and opt instead for incredibly good British beef. Afterall, the Argentinian cattle are mainly descendents of a couple of Hereford beasts, so they’re pretty much ex-pat British cows anyway!

We had a great time at La Pampa, despite the surly service and erratic cooking of the meat. The wine was great and the atmosphere was fun and enegetic. And more to the point how could we not have a good time celebrating Wakers’ birthday. The groups thoughts on the evening were… grumpy service and “is it wrong to go for a kebab” because they had chosen the tiny fillet steaks.

Happy Birthay Wakers.

Enak Enak Oriental Restaurant , Lavander Hill

Welcome to Mama Nancy’s Enak Enak…..

This was a spontaneous choice by Browny. For us, this place was close to home, cosy, offering Thai yummy food… perfect for a random Wednesday when you can’t be bothered to cook!

This is what they have to say for themselves on their website:

“It seems like only yesterday that Nancy Lam opened her small restaurant Enak Enak 18 years ago to introduce Londoners to her unique brand of family-style, Indonesian-inspired cooking – laced with a whole lot of Nancy’s trademark personal spice!

Yes, Nancy Lam’s Enak Enak has come a long way since it first put the
Indonesian words for “yummy yummy” into the English foodie vocabulary. Nancy prepares her famous satay, barbecued prawns, rendang and other homely dishes just the way her late grandmother taught her, so you won’t find her style of cooking anywhere else.

This is, after all, a family-run restaurant where you get honest-to-goodness cooking. And as many people would agree: food is best when it comes straight from the heart.”

From the outside you could be mistaken that this restaurant has featured in one of Gordan Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmare episodes; quite dingie looking, dark, a big painted picture of Mama Nancy immediately catches you eye…. however once you walk in you realise why locals continually go back for more.

The interior is pretty basic but the atmosphere is intimate and cosy, the service was attentive, and the food was extremely tasty. The only slight let down was the rather greasy fish cakes to start. However, this was followed by delicious sizzling beef and a fantastic spicy number: Treasure Hunt chicken with rice and pak choi. A majority of the food was well presented and oozed flavour.

Enak Enka produces simple food which is cooked from the heart….. And cooked very well at that!

Having polished off a bottle of white and put the world to rights, we came to the conclusion that we liked this local eatery. A little pricey? …..Yes. But worth it?……. I think so.