I couldn’t think of a good pun on the title of this blog to describe my week long adventure into the world of food criticism so instead I’ve provided three bad ones, and I think it pretty much evens out.
Yes, last week I swapped my remote control for a set of chopsticks, a knife and fork, and an irrepressible appetite as I embarked on a food tour of London, gobbling anything reasonably priced enough to get in my way, and a few things more besides.
In the following report I’ve trimmed off the gristle, separated the wheat from the chaff (not because I’m intolerant mind, I find that whole thing bullshit) and glossed over the banal to give you the highs and lows of my big munching adventure. Observer Food Monthly, stick this in your bradley smoker and – uh - smoke it!
The week started off well with a Sunday night Vietnamese in one of the scores of such restaurants just beyond the City. After sinking a few overpriced ones in the trendy environs of Brick Lane, the brother and I set off on the short walk to the restaurant, one of his personal favourites and promising start to my food adventure.
A quick look at the monumental menu was made more confusing by the arrival of another, longer menu held together by paper clips and a few more less-overpriced ones, so I wisely threw caution to the dogs and let the waiter and my brother negotiate the order between them.
To start, we shared a large plate of crispy duck pancakes, followed quickly by my still sizzling order of curried goat with chilli and lemongrass with a side order of fried rice. The brother opted for the pork belly with noodles and before long we were no more than a blur of chopsticks, flying rice and soiled napkins. The enthusiasm with which the food was attacked was matched by the quality of what was on offer. The pancakes, as our waiter demonstrated, were to be wrapped up in crisp, fresh, perfectly shaped leaves of what I assumed to be a small Asian lettuce and dipped in an addictive chilli oil, making for a good starter that immediately dispensed with ceremony and set a good communal tone for the rest of the meal.
Delving into my Goat before it burned a hole through the plate, I found a tender aromatic meat that reminded me, not unpleasantly, of the smell of wet dog that worked well with the chilli and lemongrass. A practical query into what was happening on the other side of the table found a plate of similar quality, and we rolled out of the restaurant so contented I forgot the copy of Slip It In I had only that afternoon purchased for the Duchess.
Lunch and breakfast for the next few days came in the form of subsidised bacon rolls and main meals courtesy of H.M Government (I wasn’t in prison) as I spent my mornings musing over the weekly updated menus on the intranet at my temporary place of work, coming to the sound decisions of a herb marinated pork foccacia and parsley and parmesan crusted hake with a side of cabbage.
After a few post work drinks on Tuesday with a colleague, I headed back east to meet my brother again for a trip to the renowned Tas Firin. This place is legendary among my brother and his flatmates, and it didn’t disappoint. Going straight to main we both opted for the mixed kebabs. Large, tender chunks of chicken, lamb shish and lamb kofta cooked to perfection, nestled next to generous portions of rice and flat bread complimented by a fresh salad and red onion–type vinegarette to share. The meat almost melted in my mouth, and the large portions ensured another contented, if wet, journey home.
The next morning, inspired by website London Review of Breakfasts, I set off to start the day with a hearty full English. As my top two choices (Nicos and Fellici’s in Bethnal Green) were closed, I had to go freestyle and choose from the litany of greasy spoons on Bethnal Green road. While what I finally settled on didn’t exactly blow my morning apart, it was cheap, voluminous and greasy, perfect for setting me up for a day of pounding the streets and culture vulturey, carrying me straight through lunch and into Jamaican eaterie Banners in Crouch End to meet ex-Glasgow friends for dinner.
Jerk Swordfish with rice and peas was the clear choice, with the tangy, fruity jerk sauce going well with the white meaty swordfish. My only complaint was quantity-related, exasperated as I saw the piled high plates of the half jerk chicken with rice and peas at a neighbouring tables. However, by occasionally pausing between mouthfuls and grazing off ollys sweet potato chips I managed to (not?) make a meal out of it and pace myself through a leisurely course.
Next day was market day, and bright as a button mushroom I skipped breakfast and made the journey to borough market to harass market sellers into setting up their food stalls. First stop was a saliva inducing “three scallops with crispy bacon and stir-fry” stall. Served in a plastic tray with a slice of lemon and hunk of bread,
While the novelty of scallops on the street in central London was in itself worth the £4, the scallops themselves unfortunately didn’t really measure up. Smaller than I expected, they lacked the fresh sea-taste of those I’d bought only the week before in the Partick Farmers Market, but served with the bacon and a generous squeeze of lemon juice they made a good mid morning snack.
Next I hit the charcuterie stall, and considering the scallops a starter, decided to have a main course. Having never tried Casoulet before, the rich French stew particularly stood out, and I was soon digging into a tray of duck confit, sliced Toulouse sausage, white beans and a thick boullion. It was tasty, but unfortunately stone cold, and instead of taking it back I continued to eat. Which I will most likely regret for the rest of my life. I left the market feeling a little disheartened that my experience didn’t live up to my expectations, and half wishing I’d got up early to go to Billingham Fish Market instead.
The rest of the trip consisted of a few so-so fry ups, some disheartening Chinese in Camden, and a truly awful kebab, but I left London after the week nevertheless satisfied with my culinary trip.
Back to the box next week.
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