Ed Smith's Blog, page 3

Pigeon with red wine-braised radicchio and grapes

I’ve a new web series for Borough Market: ‘Single Minded’. Aside from the occasional special themed week in the supplements, or books like Signe Johansen’s Solo; the joy of cooking for one, most recipes ignore the solo eater. Seems to be an oversight. So with the Market I’m going to be looking at redressing that (albeit ever so slightly).

You should head to their site to read the introductory column. And I’ve reproduced the recipe below — on the face of it, the dish is a little fancy, but (a) it’s not difficult and takes very little hands-on effort; (b) if you still think it is, over the coming months I’ll be doing some simple but effective one-potters to sink into too; and (c) one of the reasons to do this series was the belief that solo eaters shouldn’t just revert to ‘I can’t be arsed to cook anything nice for myself’.

Pigeon with baked celeriac, red wine-braised radicchio and grapes

This is, I think, a pretty foolproof way to cook wood pigeon to a perfect pink. And that bird makes a rich (though inexpensive) roast for one; maybe it looks a little fancy, but it’s really not much effort.

Does require a glass or two of red wine on the side, in addition to the glass you used during the cooking process.

1 celeriac (800g-1kg)
1 wood pigeon
20g butter (fridge cold, diced)
1/2 small radicchio tardivo, leaves separated
60g seedless red grapes
100ml red wine (something cherry and black fruity, like chianti)
1 teaspoon aged balsamic

Heat your oven to 180C fan / 200C. Wash and then trim the gnarliest roots from the celeriac so that it stands flat. Place it on a small baking sheet and then put that in the middle of the oven for 1 1/2 hours. Go for a run, clean the house, take a break, drink some (but not all) of the wine.

Once the time is up, remove the celeriac and leave it to carry on steaming itself within its skin while you cook the rest of the dish. Lower the temperature to 150C fan / 170C.

Remove the wishbone from the pigeon — this makes cutting the breasts off once cooked much easier, and ensures maximum yield. Season the bird inside and out.

Put a small, oven-proof frying pan or skillet on a high heat. Add half the butter, then as it’s melting and foaming, fry and brown the pigeon for a minute on each of the breasts, and another 30 seconds on its base.  Place the pan and pigeon in the oven for 6 minutes if you like it pink, 7 if you prefer it blushing, before transferring the bird to a warm plate to rest for 5 minutes more.

Meanwhile, put that same pan back over a high heat (remember the handle will be very very hot). Pour in the wine and reduce by 2/3rds (this may take 3 minutes). Add the remaining butter and whisk this into the wine, before adding the grapes, radicchio and balsamic vinegar and cooking for 90 seconds more.

Cut the celeriac in half and then one of the halves in half again. Set 3/4 of the celeriac to one side (see below), remove the skin from the remainder and cut into chunks.

Remove the breasts from the pigeon, salt the underside generally. Then put both pigeon and celeriac on your plate, finishing with the radicchio, grapes and red wine sauce.

The leftovers

Celeriac — you’ll have about 3/4 of the baked celeriac left over. Simply cut the skin away, cube the flesh, and for another meal warm that up again in 50ml or so of milk, plus butter, salt and pepper, and mash or purée it. Alternatively add a little more milk (or use stock), heat and then blend to make a soup.
Grapes — pick away for breakfast, snacks and puddings.
Radicchio — keeps well if in brown paper bag in fridge. Use the remaining 1/2 in salads, sandwiches, or wilt as a side dish for another meal.
Red wine — you know what to do.

Tasting Notes — October 2019

I’m dusting off the blog’s Eating Out pages again, starting with a rush through a handful of notables from the last 4 or 5 months. There’ll be another one in a few days featuring Kolamba, TATA, Orasay and Allegra. But for now…

Flor

You know about this place already, I imagine? Yes? No? Whatever, here’s a summary:

Flor is a small but very pleasingly formed bakery-bar-restaurant on the perimeter of Borough Market. There are a few tables and bar seats downstairs, where you’ll need to tuck your elbows in while appreciating that the kitchen team have even less space and are doing just fine. Up a winding iron staircase is a beauty of a double height room — exposed brick, massive windows, clean lines, wine storage as a feature because it’s appealing and suits the aesthetic (also, there’s no room for it elsewhere). Book for up here if you can.

Noise-wise the first four months have gone exactly as could have been predicted, with hype (a new restaurant by the Lyle’s crew!); hype met and #instamplified (*THOSE prawns*, *THAT* lardo and anchovy toast, and *THE* lardy bun); a few five-starry-eyed critics in at the start; and then a Rayner “let me go against the grain” review later on.

After a number of lunches and countless pastries, my take is that the truth is (as ever) somewhere in the middle. But closer to the punch-drunk praise than the party-pooping end of things.

This is one of those relatively rare London openings: it’s a restaurant of genuine quality that’s improved ‘the scene’; somewhere that ought to be around as a dependable drop-in ten years from now and maybe beyond. Temper your excitement with the knowledge that the owners and backers (James Lowe, John Ogier and JKS) have created what I suspect they intended: a low-key medium budget modern dining experience that’s better than most, not a Blow Your Mind once in a year gastronomic trip.

Flor feels very Paris wine bar, perhaps with a bit of Melbourne thrown in, with the food offer being familiar (unsurprisingly) to anyone who’s ever grazed the Lyle’s lunch menu — granita-topped oyster here, a perfectly seasoned salad there, à point meat or fish with a garnish that’s deceptive in its simplicity but eye-opening in effect — that said, some of the most successful dishes have not, on the face of it, been typically ‘British’ or ‘interesting’ enough to be a Lyle’s dish. For example an aubergine, tomato and feta tart is as obvious a combination as you could find mid-late summer. But this particular one was also the peak of its genre, involving a very fine and crisp buckwheat flour tart-shell, smokey aubergine, dattarini tomatoes at their best and just enough feta, plus a secret smudge of courgette purée at the base to hold and bring everything together. So good.

You do need to build a meal for yourself, rather than a collection of dishes. And that’s not necessarily as simple as choosing a bunch of ‘small plates to share’ because as is so often the case, many of them are better eaten by one person only (and rarely by more than two). My suggestion would be: don’t go with more than 3 friends (and preferably just 1, I’d say), then agree on a few snacks to share, before selecting the dish you really fancy to have for yourself (and give away no more than a taster). End with brown butter cakes and whatever ice cream is on the menu, because they’re outstanding.

Finally, a nod to the coffee and pastries. Available from 10:00am. And top class.

florlondon.com — 1 Bedale St, SE1 9AL — 020 3319 8144

Lagom at Hackney Brewery

We should talk about Elliot Cunningham’s Lagom at Hackney Brewery. There’s been a bit of coverage (actually same as Flor: Jimi Famurewa from the Evening Standard and Jay Rayner — who was a fan this time). But really, not enough for what I’d gently suggest is a top 3 London Sunday roast, and just a great food offering through the rest of the week.

Cunningham uses smoke and fire to subtle and classy effect, and while the menu draws you in with meats, this is not a basic Meat Fest; the menu is more considered than the heavy-smoke and sweet sauce ‘BBQ’ that became trend 7 or 8 years ago, and as effective as anyone else cooking over ‘live fire’ at the moment. Vegetables are as respected and engagingly treated and presented as the meat (a smoked, rehydrated then fried mushroom side dish that was as good as any mushroom dish I’ve ever had). And Cunningham seems set on sourcing the meat that he does use as carefully as possible. Interestingly he recently revealed his outstanding, highly praised and very beefy beef burger had in fact, for some months, been a goat burger. (Kid goats are a byproduct of a dairy industry and if not eaten (as is so often the case) they quite literally go to waste. So here is a clever way of avoiding ordering kilos and kilos of beef mince without wondering what happens to the rest of the cow. Arguably a more climate friendly ruminant too.).

The brewery Lagom resides in is tucked underneath some arches on the east side of Hackney, which perhaps explains why it’s not on everyone’s wish list. But it’s a decent space, and in any event can’t be long until he adds another venture / ends up somewhere more central. Watch out for it / head over to the current place asap.

@elliotcunningham — Eat Lagom, 17 Bohemia Place, E81DU — 020 8986 2643

Quality Wines

A quick aside to say that Quality Wines is a superb place to stack up (more) small plates and clink a few (more) glasses of wine. Attached to the indomitable Quality Chop House, but with its own separate identity, the chef Nick Bramham stands over an induction hob and passes over smartly curated and precisely cooked plates to fit the season and mood. It might be as simple and effective as a ball of burrata at bursting point and house foccacia, terrine made in house, or fresh porcini in garlic butter. Or as clever and memorable as a perfect, tender octopus tendril curled over chermoula slicked chickpeas. Front of house Gus Gluck ups the charm further  (there’s not really a front nor is it a house, but you get my point). Save space for pork fat cannoli filled with whipped ricotta. Mega.

A great place to eat.

qualitywinesfarringdon.com — 88 Farringdon Rd, Farringdon, London EC1R 3EA — Tuesday to Saturday, 4pm-10pm, no bookings

And in passing

Other recent eats worth stopping by if passing include (the Not New) Bright, Oklava and Anchor & Hope; (the New-ish) Emile, SnackBar, Fen Noodles, and Sons + Daughters; and (the Already Gone for now but maybe David Carter and Chris Leach will bring it back?) 10 Heddon Street.

Keep an eye on @rocketandsquash over on instagram for more in the moment detail on meals eaten in restaurants of all types.

Mont D’Or platter

We’ve pressed a pause on my Borough Market ‘Assemblies’ series — figuring that the theme is best suited to Spring and Summer, when throwing together a few raw ingredients with minimal fuss feels most appropriate.

As a parting shot, in my October post for their website, I wrote about a platter that could take you from this month all the way to the Spring equinox in March 2020. You might need to be flexible on the surrounding bits and pieces, but Vacherin Mont D’Or runs from now until then. A truly seasonal cheese that you need to climb on (in?) to right now.

Assemble away. The original post is here. And paraphrased below — it’s more a ramble round the Market than a recipe, but you’ll get the idea.

Loads more good things to read on Borough’s website — under ‘recipes’ and ‘articles’. My new series will be on market shopping and eating for one.

Golden Mountain

Mont D’Or is made from the autumn and winter milk of Montbeliarde or French Simmental herds of the Jura region in France, when those cows are brought down below the Alpine snow line to 700m. The result is a rich, creamy cheese that’s encased within a circular wooden box, and its own undulating, chalky, rind. Break through the rind to find molten dairy heaven — a natural fondue. You can bake it — as you would a Camembert — to enhance that gloop, but it’s not necessary (nor to my mind is it better than when devoured at room temperature).

I buy a Mont D’Or from Mons knowing that I would be quite happy to lock myself in a room with just this and a baguette. With friends coming round, though, I should probably do a little more (and suggest you do too).

Seek russet apples, or something crisp and tart, and a bag of lemony sorrel leaves; both of which will provide a fabulous contrast to the creamy cheese and savoury bread. (You might need to go with mustard leaves instead of sorrel later in the year, or perhaps something bitter, like radicchio or chicory once we’re into 2020).

Further, while this series has largely been about not cooking, I find myself thinking that shoving a couple of things in the oven for 30 minutes isn’t too far outside the remit; if the cheese is at room temperature, then a few warm crudités will be welcome over the colder months.

I convince myself that it’s OK when I see a basket of Pink Fir Apple potatoes which roast so brilliantly (I take 500g) and bag of Spanish grapes. Roasted in olive oil and showered with flakey salt, both of these ingredients will provide additional support for the cheesey centrepiece: the crunch and fluff of the potatoes are ideal vessels for the viscous cheese, and grapes will be an intense, jammy, raisiny contrast.

Even though you need to turn the oven on, it’s hands-free and ultimately an easy assembly that you’ll find proves itself to be even more than the sum of its parts.

To assemble 

(for 4 people)

Unwrap the Mont D’or and leave at room temperature to breath and warm up a little while the potatoes and grapes cook and you sort the rest your meal out.

Heat your oven to 220C. Ensure the potatoes are clean and around the size of a large thumb (cut larger ones in half). Place on a roasting tray with plenty of space around each potato, drizzle generously with olive oil and roast for 35 minutes. Give the tray a shake after 25 minutes, create a space to fit a bunch of grapes, then add those grapes and a little more oil and return to the oven for a final ten minutes.

Meanwhile place the Mont D’or in the middle of the table and cut a hole in the rind so that you and your guests can spoon the cheese on to you plates. Slice the bread and add it to the platter, along with a good handful of sorrel and slices of apple (if you’ve got russet apples slice these at the last minute as they go brown very quickly).

Finally, season the grapes and potatoes with a generous scattering of flakey salt and transfer them to your platter. Dig in.

Plum gin (or vodka)

Last year I wrote a set of autumnal recipes for Borough Market’s October-ish edition of Market Life magazine: pork and plum meatballs; lightly spiced monkfish and clams; AYO (assemble your own) toffee apple millefeuille, plum gin (or vodka) …

As it happens, these were among the dishes, words and instructions I was ultimately shortlisted for ‘Best Cookery Writer’ at Fortnum and Mason’s Food and Drink Awards, so they must be okay.

Anyway, I mention that here not by way of humble brag, more that Borough recently published the booze idea online which means I can too. Also, British plum season will be over before you know it and I want you to make the most of them before they’re gone.

Plum gin (or vodka)

If you can’t get hold of sloes or damsons, dessert plums are equally pleasing to infuse into gin or vodka. The process is also quicker with the sweeter, softer plums, so autumnal-flavoured gin or vodka based cocktails are just around the corner.

750ml gin or vodka
600g ripe plums
100g caster sugar
1 x sterilised 2 litre mason jar

Wash the plums and remove any stalks. Prick all over each fruit with a clean pin or fork, then halve the fruits but leave the stones in. Place these in a large (2 litre) jar, add the sugar and pour the gin over the top. Ensure all the fruits are submerged, otherwise they will spoil. Keep the gin bottle.

Store in a cool dark place for at least 2-3 weeks, turning occasionally to help the sugar dissolve. The alcohol will have taken on a good amount of flavour already, though you could leave it longer if you wish. Decant the gin back into the bottle – you may want to strain the liqueur through muslin or a fine sieve, and consider adding more sugar if you think it should be sweeter.

Use 30-50ml as the base of a plum-flavoured gin or vodka tonic.

And don’t discard the boozy plums — it’s not unheard of to use make jams, compotes to flavour ice cream, in fruit pies, crumbles and cakes, or (sliced thinly) as an embellishment for your plum cocktails.

Tomato, celery and Greek olive salad

This is distilled from my latest Borough Market ‘Assemblies’ column — things that take just a few minutes to put together, and so make the most of seasonal market food to feed a crowd. It’s doesn’t follow the classic ingredient and method recipe format, but you’ll get the gist of how to make the dish if you read on.

You can follow the series on their website, along with the many excellent recipes and articles that are updated daily (browse the tabs marked, err, ‘Recipes’ and ‘Articles’).

Tomatoes

Of course we all know how to Tomato Salad (verb), but I feel like we’ve one last shot at a seasonally appropriate platter of tomatoes. There are a few additions here which might appeal if you’ve had enough of basil for the year.

Nibbly-crunch

Celery is an under-appreciated ingredient. I make sure to grab a bulb that’s full of young, bright green and yellow leaves on the inside. I’ll finely dice a couple of stalks, let them steep in a sharp vinaigrette, and use them to dress the salad instead of going down the trattoria diced shallot approach. I like the nibbly-crunch and added layer of flavour shallot brings, but I know so many find raw onion too astringent, regardless of how allegedly mild it is. Diced celery will do a similar (superior?) job here, and I’ll also make use of the leaves, which provide a herbal version of celery’s unique flavour. More bright colours, too — this is a platter that we will first eat with our eyes, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

To the celery and tomatoes I’ll add some good olives — ideally not too salty because I’m going to salt the tomatoes. A company called Oliveology do two varieties that fit the bill: one called throuba, which ripen to an intense, shrivelled and near-pastille type on the tree before being picked and get barely a light salting after that; and some unsalted kalamata olives, which ferment and cure in fresh water rather than a brine, and are absolutely stunning.

Oliveology also stock a beautifully pure and creamy cheese called galomizithra, and a feta that’s creamy and sharp, and again by comparison much less salty than most supermarket types (though in the supermarkets, I like the brand Odysea). This’ll be provide a finishing, and unifying touch to the platter.

To assemble

First of all, at least 30 mins before you plan to eat, cut and generously salt 1kg tomatoes. Place them in a large mixing bowl and leave that somewhere warm (the tomatoes MUST be at room temperature by the time you eat them).

I slice each tomato differently, depending on the desired result and (more importantly) the shape of that tomato in the first place. This platter will work best if the tomatoes are kept chunky, and that suits the multi-shaped, multi-coloured tomatoes too. As a rule of thumb, halve them, and then chunk those halves into 2-3 pieces, depending on their size.

Strip out all the celery leaves from the middle of your bulb, pick them apart from any stalk and each other and set aside. Wash, trim, finely slice and then dice 2 stalks. Take your time on this—the smaller the dice (1-2mm ideally), the better. Put the diced celery in a bowl and add a pinch of salt, a pinch of caster sugar, 1 tbsp white wine or sherry vinegar, and 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil. Again, set aside to steep. No need to de-stone the olives or do anything in advance with the cheese—your guests can do that as they eat, you’ve spent ages chopping celery and this is supposed to be a quick assembly.

When it comes to eating, drain (and reserve) much of the tomato juice from the salted tomatoes. Add the olives and the oil they came in, plus the diced celery, its vinaigrette and half the celery leaves. Mix, then decant onto a platter. Add some of the tomato water back (as much as you see fit). Use a teaspoon to spoon cheese into gaps between the tomatoes (you’ll need only 100g or so), scatter with the remaining celery leaves and finish with a good glug of extra virgin olive oil.

We ate this with recently toasted pieces of sourdough, effectively DIY-ing tomato tartine/bruschetta.

Crab, courgette and white bean platter

This is distilled from my latest Borough Market ‘Assemblies’ column — things that take just a few minutes to put together, and so make the most of seasonal market food to feed a crowd.

You can follow the series on their website, along with the many excellent recipes and articles that are updated daily (browse the tabs marked, err, ‘Recipes’ and ‘Articles’).

I suppose in essence this dish is the equivalent of one of those recipe boxes that contains the pre-prepared elements of a meal that you can throw together last minute and feel like you’ve cooked from scratch.

But pre-prepared things are available away from apps and subscription boxes too (confit duck legs, pre-made corn tacos, fresh pasta, roasted peppers etc). Often those ingredients are really good, and there’s absolutely no shame in taking advantage of the work that others have already done. The results will be better than one of those boxes; and there’ll be less packaging to get rid of too.

One of my favourite ‘ready’ items is a dressed crab; the fiddly cooking, picking and separation of brown meat, white meat and claw has already been done for us. You could stick that between some slices of bread, or with good tomatoes or roast peppers, and be happy. But I like to pair crabmeat (both types — the more flavoursome brown being particularly important) with also pre-cooked white beans (haricots, butter beans or coco de paimpol). There’s a virtually ready-made flavour bomb of a sauce to be got by  combining the brown crab meat and cooking liquor of the beans, and very little time required to get a result.

So in essence this is basically: buy cooked crab, buy cooked beans, mix. Albeit in this instance finely chopped parsley, thinly sliced yellow courgettes and a chilli-flecked vinaigrette provide additional colour and texture.

Serves 4 when eaten with sharply-dressed crisp lettuce and thick wedges of fresh buttered bread. 6 if you add a big tomato or roast pepper salad too.

To assemble

Finely dice 1 mild red chilli. Measure 2 tbsp white wine vinegar, 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil and 1 tsp sugar into a small saucepan. Bring to the boil then remove from the heat and add the chilli. Leave to cool.

Remove the white crab meat and claw from a (large) dressed crab and set to one side. Spoon the brown meat into a large mixing bowl. Gently prize half to two-thirds of the beans from a 660g jar of Brindisa’s Navarrico ‘alubias blancas’ into a separate bowl*. Fill the jar about a third full of recently boiled water (thereby capturing the starchy cooking liquor) and then pour that out through a sieve and over the brown crab meat, transferring the remaining beans into the bowl with the others in.

Whisk the brown meat so that it’s mixed into the water, then add all the beans, plus 1-2 small yellow courgettes, very thinly sliced, 2-3 tbsp finely chopped parsley and a generous pinch of good salt and freshly ground pepper. Carefully fold everything together. Taste and re-season if necessary, then decant onto a platter. Distribute the white crab meat and spoon the chilli vinaigrette over the top.

*I’ve been deliberately specific on the brand here — because Navarrico beans are excellent. You can do it with any cooked white beans, though. Just take care with the ‘adding extra water’ element. Go little by little. The beans should be loose and can take a surprising amount, however you can always add more, but can’t take away…

Gooseberry and praline fool

Here’s my latest recipe / loose method for my Borough Market ‘Assemblies’ column — things that take just a few minutes to put together, and so making the most of seasonal market food to feed a crowd.

You can follow the series on their website, along with the many excellent recipes and articles that are updated daily (browse the tabs marked, err, ‘Recipes’ and ‘Articles’).

This one’s a sweet thing: a gooseberry fool with added crunch. I love fools, but they are perhaps a little monotonous after two spoonfuls, so need a biscuit or something similar to go with them. I’d thought of buying a couple of ready made meringues to add to the mix, and so making it a topical ‘foolish Eton mess’. But on reflection given we’re living that there’s no need to eat it as well. So chopped up some hazelnut praline you can get from the Market (from an agroforestry stall called ‘Food & Forest‘) others would do) and that worked really well.

As mentioned, the series doesn’t set out recipe instruction in classic form. Here’s the method paraphrased; head to the original article to read about my shopping trip and rationale in full.

Gooseberry and praline fool

Use scissors to top and tail a punnet (about 400g) of gooseberries. Add 50g sugar and 100g water and gently stew the berries for 5-10 mins, so they burst but still hold some shape. This leaves the gooseberries quite tart, but the nut brittle is sweet and fool mellow — they balance each other well. Leave to cool to room temperature, while chopping 100g of praline or nutty brittle with a big knife into granola-sized pieces.

Add about 50g cooled cooking juice and 250g double cream to a large mixing bowl and whip to ribbon stage (it’ll take just a few flicks of a balloon whisk). Add another 50g juice and 150g Greek-style yoghurt and whip away again. This second whipping stage requires more effort and time but keep going and suddenly you’ll notice the cream and yoghurt is light and voluminous. You can do this in advance of dinner, but too long in the fridge and the fool seizes a little. An hour or so is fine, if you don’t want to do it to order—but don’t spoon the gooseberries over until the moment you plan to eat.

Fold half the brittle through, then decant the fool to a wide bowl or a platter with a dip in the middle and lip at the edge. Spoon the gooseberries over the top and scatter with the remaining brittle.

Tasting Notes — May 2019

Some of the places I ate during the course of May 2019 include:

Bao Borough

A new BAO! At Borough Market!

Two of my favourite things, mashed together …

… and it’s great.

The team behind BAO continue to move onwards and upwards, rather than simply copy-paste the content of their first bricks and mortar success (Soho).

This BAO’s got a karaoke room in the basement and the signature ordering tick sheet has been replaced a by wipe-clean 8bit illustrated menu. There are, obviously, a bunch of filled gua bao (steamed buns) including the classic original but also a few new options: such as a deep-fried puck of Neal’s Yard wastage cheese embellished with curry sauce; a deceptively fiery chicken nugget bao; and one that’s in the shape of a hot dog bun, but also deep-fried and filled delicate, sweet, chopped prawns.

There’s more. Specifically a whole load of grilled bits and small plates filled with inventive and occasionally bonkers Taiwanese flavours. I loved the tongue-tingling Xinjiang maitake mushrooms slicked with gently curried spices, also deep-fried tofu triangles with Taiwanese pickles and a ridiculously more-ish sweet-sour-savoury glaze.

My favourite thing of all was a plate of smokey, mushy, cold aubergine with a couple of panko’d (Japanese breadcrumbed) bao halves. Babaganoush and pita will never be the same, sadly.

The room’s appealing, not least because of the skylights at the back and the hum of the Market out front. Another gem. BrAvO

baolondon.com — 13 Stoney St, SE1 9AD — Mon-Sun, various timings all beginning at 12:00 — Bookable for 5 or more; also karaoke

Sushi bar Atari-ya, Ealing Common

No doubt many West and North Londoners already know of Atari-ya, who supply sushi-grade fish to restaurants across the capital, but also have a handful of low-key bars and retail shops dotted in unlikely places, like Swiss Cottage, Finchley Road, and Ealing Common. It’s been on my mind ever since I got into ‘London food’, but (apparently foolishly) I’ve never schlepped to one.

So I took the opportunity when passing the Ealing outpost a few weeks ago and savoured first class chirashi donburi (various types of sashimi over a bowl of sushi rice); you don’t have to be an expert (I’m not) to recognise when both quality and cut of fish are above that of your usual; whether the usual is casual or haughty. We also enjoyed superb agedashi tofu — crisp cubes of silken tofu in a multi-layered dashi broth.

There’s much to be explored on the menu (from sashimi-topped fermented soy bean ‘nattō’, to simply trialling their more plain vanilla options) and will be back.

Like great sushi but can’t be arsed with the flash and pretension of central London’s offering? This is a relatively rare ‘neighbourhood’ sushi restaurant worth travelling to.

atariya.co.uk — 1 Station Parade, Uxbridge Road, W5 3LD — Tue-Sun 12:00-14:30; 18:00-21:00

Parrillan

The Hart Bros (Barrafina, El Pastor) group have opened an outdoor but mostly covered concept on the terrace next to their Coal Drops Yard restaurant.

Concept is a key word, here. For this is different to most restaurants in that you’re expected to do the cooking — on an impressive and impressively hot grill positioned on the table once you’ve placed your order.

Early days (and an #invite) when I went, but things to grill included pluma Iberico, rump steak, langoustines, carabineros, scallops and a few vegetables too. Simple but high end which went well with a couple of good sides (supremely-dressed gem lettuce wedges especially). There are quality Barrafinaesque snacks before the BBQ arrives (and prepared for you), and I felt the idea well executed and setting spot on — sun or rain Parrillan feels like a luxurious escape, and there aren’t many better ways or places in this city to eat a gently paced al fresco lunch or supper.

NB I like to cook, so maybe this is My Kind of Thing more than it will be for others? You can’t really go wrong, though. And either way, there’s no washing up.

parrillan.co.uk — Coal Drops Yard, Stable Street, N1C 4AB — Mon-Sun 12:00-22:00

Market Halls Victoria (update)

Popped into Market Halls again. I’d still err towards my “best to eat in the main restaurant of Monty’s, Baozi Inn, Koya etc if you can” opinion, BUT the place was buzzing and it feels more and more like a gem of an eating-out resource.

The Marksman’s Bunshop has gone, replaced by Soft Serve Society’s fancy Mr Whippys — and much as I love their filled buns this feels more appropriate and also balances the overall offer. Gopal’s Corner was super popular and the fresh pasta place (Nonna’s) also looked to be pleasing many.

We ate colourful (and decent) dumplings from Baozi Inn, plus a great fried chicken burger and brisket massaman smothered roast spuds from Flank. Both good.

London’s moved on from the ‘street food’ term and trend and now have a plethora of food courts. And this is the city’s best one. Probably.

markethalls.co.uk — 191 Victoria St, SW1E 5NE — Mon-Fri 07:00-23:00; Sat-Sun 09:00-22:00

Som Saa

Speaking of returns, I sneaked another lunch at Som Saa at the start May and had, quite possibly, the two best dishes of the whole month: five pice and soy based pork in a fragrant, garlic heavy broth with a fruity fermented chilli sauce on the side to add to taste; and their Yam Pak herb and fruit salad, full of fennel, radish, raddicchio, and less familiar funky cucumbers, star fruit, and tempura herbs, all dressed in a sharp tamarind and sesame dressing. Both were beautifully balanced and enlivening. Superb.

somsaa.com — 43A Commercial St, E1 6BD — Tues-Sat 12:00-14:30, Mon-Sat 17:00-late

Slow roast tomato soup with jamon

Here’s the latest recipe attached to my ‘Cut and Dried’ cured meat series for Borough Market.

This time the meat in question is charcuteria from Spain, and in fact there’s a second recipe too — smoked chorizo croquetas — which you can get hold of on the Market’s site, along with the article. OK thanks bye.

Slow roast tomato soup with jamon

Slow roasting tomatoes encourages a depth flavour that you just don’t get in a normal tomato soup; there’s buckets of umami too. Which makes this an incredibly satisfying and moreish thing.

Still, even the best soups need embellishments to ensure your interest is maintained from first to last spoonful. So I suggest topping with crunchy croutons made from the end of your loaf and, more significantly, strips of ideally, Iberico Paleta – the cured, air dried shoulder of the same pigs whose back legs become jamon iberico de bellota. There aren’t many things that could stand up to the intensity of the soup, but this meat does.

(Pieces of classic jamon iberico works well too, obviously, but this is slightly easier on the pocket)

Serves 4

Soup

2kg ripe tomatoes, halved
Extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
1 heaped tablespoon granulated sugar
3 sprigs thyme
Flaked sea salt
1 bulb garlic
1 banana shallot, finely diced

For the stock

3 large carrots, peeled and roughly chopped
2 celery sticks, roughly chopped
1 litre water

Garnish

50g iberico paleta
1 slice of sourdough, torn into croutons

Heat the oven to 150C fan / 170C / gas mark 3.5

Lay the tomatoes on a large roasting or baking tray (or two, if necessary), with cut side facing up. Sprinkle each with a few flakes of good salt – you’ll need 5 or 6 pinches overall. Then drizzle each with extra virgin olive oil, a few drops of sherry vinegar, dust with the sugar, and pick the thyme leaves over the top. Place in the oven for 30 minutes, during which time the tomatoes will start to slowly cook down, with plenty of moisture coming out. Add the garlic bulb into the tray — rolling and submerging it in tomato liquor — and cook the tomatoes for 60-90 minutes more, depending on their size, until all are shrunken and shrivelled, with just a tablespoon or twos worth of sticky juices left in the pan.

Meanwhile, make a stock by combining the carrots, celery and water in a saucepan. Bring to the boil then simmer for 40 minutes. Drain the stock into a jug and eat the vegetables alongside another meal if you can.

When the slow roast tomatoes are ready, put a little oil in a saucepan over a medium heat. Gently sweat and soften the diced shallot for 3 minutes before adding the tomatoes and stock. Squeeze the garlic into the pan too, bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer for 15 minutes. Stir occasionally; the tomatoes will break down a little, but the soup is meant to be textured.

Fry the bread in olive oil with salt and garlic too if you wish. Tear the paleta length-ways along the direction of the fat and sinew.

Check the tomato soup for seasoning, adding more salt and sherry vinegar to taste. Then decant into four bowls, top with the croutons and ham and a splash of extra virgin olive oil.

Shaved asparagus and smoked salmon platter

I’ve just started a new series of recipes for Borough Market.

Well, I say recipes; it’s more loose guidance towards assembling something simple from the produce you see in front of you (wherever you might shop). Platter food for sharing, basically. Seasonal ingredients, minimal to no cooking, and on a £15 budget.

You can follow it on their website, along with the many excellent recipes and articles that are updated daily (browse the tabs marked, err, ‘Recipes’ and ‘Articles’).

First up: a fresh, crunchy, sharply-dressed asparagus salad.

As mentioned, the series doesn’t set out recipe instruction in classic form. Here’s the method paraphrased; head to the original article to read about my shopping trip and rationale in full.

English asparagus is cheap, now (you should get 2-3 bunches for a fiver, wherever you shop), but won’t be around for much longer. So make the most of it.

My favourite way to prepare these green spears is to show them a large pan of boiling water for barely 3 mins, so they become tender but not yet floppy, then roll in melting butter and a little salt and black pepper before eating them with my fingers.

You can’t fill a platter with the five or six spears that make up a bunch, though, so I thought on this occasion of spreading the spears further by using my least rusty speed peeler to shave them into a salad. Look for ‘extra select’ graded asparagus if you can, as these are chunky enough to be peeled.

From there, grab some (ideally) baby cucumbers — which are at the intersection of the cucumber Venn diagram of ‘crunch’, ‘juiciness’, and ‘flavour’ — a big bunch of dill and a lemon and a bag of rocket to pad out the assembly and also bring nasal-bracing pepperiness; something that layers well with the freshness of the asparagus and sharp citrus.

Smoked salmon provides a necessary dash of pink, as well as a contrasting flavour and texture. The asparagus and greens still star, but the addition of this fish turns the dish from a side salad to a light lunch that’ll feed at least two — more if you add some fresh sourdough and maybe some other cold cuts or platters, picked up at the same time.

In terms of assembly, you can pretty much do what you want, though I suggest peeling and then chunking the cucumbers and letting them sit in a little olive oil, half the lemon juice, sugar, salt, white pepper and chopped dill while you prepare the rest of the salad. Let the shaved asparagus (and any chunky bits that can’t be shaved) sit in the remaining lemon juice and more olive oil, and mix the rocket through that at the last minute. Transfer to a platter, scatter over the marinated cucumbers, then more dill fronds over the top.