Luncheon with the delightful Dr B

Salmon and Smoked Trout Fishcakes with Watercress and Beetroot salad

I was treated to luncheon by my erudite friend, the delightful Dr B, who'd hiked down from nearby Muswell Hill to the King's Head in Crouch End.  We had previously enjoyed lunch at Villiers Terrace and I'd also taken other friends there.  The set lunch at Villiers Terrace was really good, excellent value and evidently a pared-down version of their à la carte menu - in other words, it was exactly what a set menu should be. And the cocktails were really very good, surprisingly so for somewhere which can by no means be described as in the thick of it. 


Then, with much fanfare (there still is - check out the VT website), they brought in a new chef.  The last time I went there, having invited a couple of friends to join me and lauded the set menu appropriately, I was, quite frankly embarrassed.  It was edible.  That's it.  What looked like a shop-bought pastry case, a single short ribbon of smoked salmon, a couple of slivers of cucumber and a dollop of crème fraîche comprised my starter.  I didn't bother with the pastry case.  I subscribe to the Prue Leith (isn't she marvellous?) principle of 'is it worth the calories'?  I don't spend all that time working out in the gym so that I can spend my calories or replenish my energy reserves with garbage.  The smoked mackerel with poached egg was just that.  I like fish so that's why I chose it, and I also figured that they couldn't mess it up.  I was right.  It was OK, but as the Meera Syal old lady character on Goodness Gracious Me was fond of saying (this is such an Indian thing, I grew up on this) - "I can make it at home for nothing"!


Rather than being a pared-down version of the à la carte menu, the set lunch now appears to be a travesty of cheap filler dishes (let's pad it out with potato/shop-bought pastry cases/boil some pasta), delivered in an indifferent manner and exuding the odour and taste of mediocrity.


So, it was our first time eating at the King's Head.  I'd checked out the menu on the website.  I'd been there for a drink with the gorgeous Kamila of home-made carrot halva fame.  And then there's Dr B, a man of taste and discernment.  Hopefully I'm not lacking in these attributes myself.  At least operating on the basis that like attracts like, if I have friends of taste and discernment like Dr B then it follows that I am not completely devoid of the same.  I know he prefers tablecloths but bless him, he's prepared to slum it occasionally on my account.


We're very accommodating customers as a pair.  We just had a couple of questions which were answered cheerfully by our waitress, Anna.  Dr B's question (incidentally he's not a medical doctor he's a very clever, internationally renowned academic type of doctor) concerned whether it would be possible to have smoked salmon (which was on the menu) with scrambled eggs (which wasn't).  I think he was operating on the assumption that (a) we were one of only two sets of customers although we were joined by another two customers later on in the service; and (b) kitchens are generally stocked with eggs.  Sadly, it wasn't.  I was tempted by the burger (two days in a row, I know, but when they're done well they're very nice).  So my question whether the burger could be served medium rare.  Definitely not, because of health and safety.  I've heard this one before.  Someone should tell the guys at Byron.  It is, of course, a test.  At Byron they are secure in the knowledge of the quality and provenance of their beef and habitually serve it medium rare or to the customer's preference, rare, in my case. 


Where the burger is bought in and is from some amorphous - in this case billed as 'West Country beef' - anonymous bit of beef, yes, there's a region, but that's it, the chef is quite right.  It has to be cooked right through.  Whilst providing it medium rare would not necessarily pose any problem, providing that storage and hygiene is good and I've no reason to think it's not at the King's Head, unless one is completely sure of one's beef then particularly with things like mince, thorough cooking is required.  Personally, this is where there is a strong argument for (a) free range as a minimum and (b) going to a proper butcher.  I wouldn't dream of buying a piece of fillet from a supermarket and slicing it thinly for carpaccio, no matter how good the reputation of said supermarket.  Back to Wiltshire and Gerry's purchase of beef fillet for carpaccio.  He knows the butcher.  The butcher knows the farmer.  The farmer knows the cow.  The carpaccio thanks to Gerry's skill in purchasing and Richard's and Gerry's in preparation was a tribute to all of this.


Oh yes, the King's Head.  Back to what the good Dr B and I actually ate.  Dr B chose the salmon and smoked trout fishcakes with beetroot crème fraîche and some unadvertised but very good-looking watercress.  No doubt the watercress was from Wiltshire and yet had made the long journey from the South West, arrived in Crouch End and onto the plate looking crisp and fresh.  OK, it might have come from a few miles either way in Hampshire or Dorset, but Wiltshire is the centre for watercress production in the UK.  This is not a joke, it's true.  It looked darned good though.

Nicely dressed too.  I couldn't see the crème fraîche but Dr B appeared to enjoy it.  We had side orders of mixed salad (which didn't arrive) and chips which did.

Yes, they are a little pale, aren't they?  I don't think we do triple-cooked here.  In fact, I think I'm a little dubious as to whether we do double-cooked.  I think it's more likely that it's parboiling, draining and letting some of the moisture out, and then deep-frying.  Not bad.  Not a great chip, but by no means bad.  Some were crisp, some were limp.  Chips various rather than uniform in a 'we're all crisp and fluffy on the inside' way.  In lighter moments that could describe me I think - crisp on the outside yet fluffy on the inside.


The King's Head really is very pleasant.  Nice, albeit slow, service.  Mind you, there weren't many customers on a midweek lunchtime, bet the evenings are buzzier with the music/comedy/other entertainment available - and I know just from walking past that it is absolutely crammed at weekends.  I bet the roasts are good.


My haddock with poached egg, bubble and squeak (really a slightly flaccid but nice-tasting potato cake), a couple of stray, unadvertised, bits of wilted spinach (I love spinach so no complaints from me) was really good.

I'd had the foresight to ask for the white wine cream sauce (decorated with snipped chives) on the side.  A jolly good thing as it was wholly superfluous to the finished dish and remained untouched.

The smoked haddock had been poached perfectly.  It fell away in pearlescent flakes.  The poached egg was good, with enough softness left in the yolk.  An ideal light luncheon dish - with a funny, clever, generous and ideal luncheon companion.


Satisfaction all round.  The Sloe Gin Eton Mess - billed as for adults only would have been too much for one we agreed, but was a pleasant sweet way to end a lovely lunch.  Thanks, Dr B - until our next meeting.

Martini Mezze

Next stop was the Chelsea Brasserie and Bar - with the emphasis being on the Bar.  Oh, it's a lovely place.  Situated in the Sloane Square Hotel, the staff are absolutely delightful (we've been there once before).  When we pitched up it was about 4pm, so practically empty and we were soon made at home by the lovely and self-deprecating barman/mixologist.

It's Martini time.  We started off with a classic Vodka Martini with olives.  Alas (not really, you'll understand why in a sec), it arrived served with a twist.  Now, this is not the biggest problem either myself or Scarlett have ever faced in our lives - not to mention that worse things happen at sea - like icebergs if you're aboard the Titanic.  We weren't bothered by it.  I mean we would have drunk it.  But we did mention it to our lovely waiter, who apologised profusely and made to take it away again.  The barman insisted that he would make another one, however, rather than waste the one he'd already made and if it wasn't too much of an imposition, he would give it to us for free.

Oh dear, poor us, it's Hobson's Choice or the Gordian Knot all over again - is this the solution, and is it the right solution to the dilemma we faced?  By the time we'd drunk the twisted Martini we decided it was an appropriate solution and so was the Martini.

The olive-bearing Martini was also delicious (I'm a twist girl).  Scarlett and I have developed an art to Martini drinking.  The method we've adopted is to order a Martini which we would like to drink - yes, I know, this is not unusual - and then we share each one as we go.  This way we get to taste many Martinis without drinking many Martinis.  That is, we drink quite sufficient Martinis (or perhaps a little more, but who's counting).  Actually Scarlett counts and has concluded based on rigorous testing - the kind that major multinational fast moving consumer goods companies producing washing powder don't do - after the last visit, the maximum Martini count for optimum satisfaction and ability to still get home while maintaining one's usual decorum afterwards is six.  That's three each, not six each.  Hence the title Martini mezze.  Analogous to a giant bowl of hummus, just one Martini would be too much or too little - several sipped and appreciated as individuals in their own right makes much more sense.  Although as Scarlett pointed out it's wise to impose some kind of limit as otherwise the mezze approach to Martinis will be the only thing that does make sense - a surfeit running the risk of making one insensible.

I only have photographs of two because I got a bit distracted by the delightful company and let's face it, by the Martinis.

Line 'em up.  We did.  In the foreground is the Butterfly Martini, which was very nice.  Actually, it's not.  The Butterfly Martini was one of the other ones which was clean and somehow grassy - it had Elderflower cordial in it, and mint. [thanks Google].  The Martini in the foreground is the Clover Leaf Martini - silly me - how on earth could I have forgotten that.

It was also really rather delicious, with raspberries, and garnished with a mint leaf. 

Unfortunately, the mint leaf had the unfortunate effect of making the whole drink taste minty.  Still experiential learning is very important as a research tool.  If we hadn't tasted it how would we ever know.

The shy little Martini hiding behind the big, butch (well it was with that mint taste) was the Lychee Martini.  Less sweet than you might think and not as sweet as the Pineapple and Cardamom Martini which would not be nice were it not for the Cardamom which shakes everything up a bit.  That is, the latter would basically be a Pina Colada or, ugh, do you remember that yucky stuff, Malibu, eeugh, eeugh - sorry, but I'll have to skip this and get back to...

the Lychee Martini.  Lovely (and I got the lychee - thanks, Scarlett).  And here's another shot which reminds me for some reason of 2001: a space odyssey.  I think it's because it just looks very sci-fi.

Do you not think it might be the embryo nestling in embryonic fluid belonging to an alien life form?  Or is that just me?  Answers on the blog please.

The sixth Martini wasn't actually a Martini.  We succumbed to a Margarita and it was delicious too with that nice touch of astringency you get in the best Margaritas and (happily) not a mint leaf in sight.

So here's the moral.  If you like the taste of mint, you'll love the Chelsea Brasserie and Bar - and ditto re: Martinis.  However, if you like Martinis without the mint then stick to: Classic; Lychee; Pineapple and Cardamom and do check with one of the charming and helpful staff before confirming your order.

Neither mad, nor bad - but it is Byron

Byron Burger sans Byron sauce - and with its hat slightly askew

Yes, there we were, back again.  Not the Covent Garden branch this time, but the one slumming it with the servants down the King's Road.  It became evident on entering that the Byron in the King's Road is where the nannies eat - whilst the mummies they work for and whose progeny they are entertaining with chips and colouring pens (not necessarily at the same time) are lunching somewhere very different.  Actually there were a couple of mummies there I think, although I suspect that they weren't (very) local - Clapham perhaps, or somewhere further out, Putney, Richmond.  They looked green and leafy if you know what I mean - not to imply that they were sprouting, well, sprouts from any orifice, it was just an overall impression.

Were we bothered?  Were we heck!  Up the workers! - not least because they should be congratulated for still being in employment.  And down with... well, I'll not start because there's always the danger that I won't stop and by the time even I'm exhausted no-one would be left standing.

Up with the delicious Byron Burger.


Half-naked non-[Byron] saucy burger

I also remembered to ask for the Byron sauce on the side this time.  I'd omitted to do so at the CG branch and ended up with pinky mayonnaise - if it had a flavour beyond emulsified egg yolk I couldn't discern it - on my lettuce.  OK, but it didn't do anything for a perfectly blameless leaf of greenery, especially as I consider myself contractually obliged to eat my greens for the roughage, vitamins, etc., etc.

So, it was rare (see previous post for quite how rare) and like the ever-wonderful Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins, or just Julie Andrews, practically perfect in every way.  Scarlett had the Classic, because she is - and because she likes things to be pared back, simple - classic.

And there were our customary side orders of coleslaw...

One portion of coleslaw each - it is very good coleslaw - crisp vegetables in a light and creamy sauce.  Yes, cabbage and carrots are sexy vegetables - or at least they are when they're dressed like this. 

And chips - the skin-on fat chips, not fries.  Scarlett observed and I agree that the chips were better at the King's Road branch than at Covent Garden - crispier giving an overall better impression in looks and taste.

Post-Byron it was a trip up the King's Road (towards Sloane Square).  But first we headed down to Rococo.  It's the birthday of my favourite person's daughter and a little gift from Rococo would, I thought, be the perfect present.  Quite frankly if the first time I met someone, and it happened to be on my birthday, and they brought me Rococo chocolates, I'd really, really like them a lot (after tasting the chocolate obviously, otherwise I'd take them as I found them).  Let me rethink/rephrase that slightly, if I met someone for the first time, etc., etc., I'd think they were very nice to give me such a lovely present and, after tasting the Rococo chocolate, I'd conclude that (a) they really were very nice and (b) they also had excellent taste.  Or perhaps I'll just stick with, if I met someone... [you're already there, aren't you?], I'd conclude that they had excellent taste.  After all, truly fulfilling relationships are not based on transaction, but a free exchange based on mutual respect; affection and acceptance.  Particularly the latter in my case, I think, as I have a lot of little - how to describe them - idiosyncrasies.  That sounds all right, doesn't it?

Back to the airfield and choccs away.  This won't work so well of course if the birthday girl in question doesn't like the chocolate I bought.  However, I've managed the risk of this as much as I can in order to mitigate any potential adverse impact (I can feel myself straying into the brownie as performance indicator territory again and will drag myself back whilst I still can).  I ascertained from her proud pa that she likes dark chocolate.  I went to Rococo.  I tasted the chocolate (and some other chocolate) before I bought it - and it was delicious.  Actually all of their chocolate is delicious and it just depends on which is more to one's taste than another.

This is what I bought Mary.

Quite extraordinarily delicious and I hope Mary enjoys them.  I shall provide an update in due course.  I also tasted: Cardamom dark; Arabic Spices dark; some of the last of the Jersey Potatoes (which look like the very small Jersey Potatoes and are filled with Praline); some of the Lavender/Geranium cream fondants in dark chocolate (very good) and there were many other things I wished to taste but didn't. 

Rococo's Jersey New Potatoes - also served with crystallised mint - truly they think of everything!

Actually there were many other things I wished to buy and didn't [the shop, for instance].  I did buy four of the big bars (there's a discount if one buys four), two of the Rococo Rose dark and two of the Cardamom dark.  And I stopped there (for once).  There was a Bergamot dark truffle.  There was a Pistachio, Saffron and something else - another ganache dark truffle.  They are also the most beautifully handpainted chocolates I've ever seen (I have a top with a pattern similar to that of the Pistachio truffle except my top has orange in it rather than pale green/pistachio).

All of their ganache truffles are made with Valrhona single origin chocolate - my goodness, is it any wonder that they are so unbelievably delicious?

I should correct myself, they were amongst the most handpainted chocolates I've ever seen because I had previously bought some for Dalston for Valentine's Day.  They included dark ganaches (there was an extraordinary blackcurrant one and another, with pineapple), honey dark ganache (he loves honey), and some of these, because they would make him giggle.  Is it a giggle, or is it more of a very soft. slightly aspirated chuckle?  It's very characteristic and utterly delightful. 

Venus Nipples and Chocolate Lips

I will be back.  It is a marvellous place.  If you haven't been and you live in London do visit one of their branches.  If you do not come to London and you wish to buy something utterly delicious for someone wonderful in your life then do order online.  I promise faithfully that not only will you not be disappointed but it is worth every single penny.  Eschew all other chocolate if you need to so that if you only have one chocolate, make it Rococo.

Before we move on I must pay tribute to the gorgeous Scarlett who was incredibly patient as I tasted this and tasted that.  I was helped all the while by the delightful assistant who proffered ever more choices making it even more difficult and tempting than it was already!

Rococo - tasting and buying chocolate - even tasting in teeny amounts, it's better than pudding (except perhaps for Frangipane which is after all sui generis in the pudding stakes).  It's definitely either/or though.  After such beautiful chocolate, with deep, rounded flavours one simply couldn't manage anything else.  Until the next time...

A strange and fishy experience

It's Friday.  It's time for Tate Modern and the Miro exhibition which was great.  After that, Dalston and I pottered about.  We visited somewhere I'd been wanting to take him to for a while because as a person of great sensibility he would appreciate and be moved by the Cross Bones graveyard, which has been preserved and cared for by local people and by the local authority.  It is a moving tribute to some of those who have been and often still are most neglected in our society.


Following a drink in the Boot and Flogger opposite, pleasant, quiet (we weren't far off closing time given that it was past 6pm).  It's also a very nice place to eat good, wholesome food.  On the occasions I've been there with my friend from Peckham, Scarlett, I've invariably plumped for the gammon and egg with (that's with black pudding) - utterly delicious.


But I'd booked us a table at Applebee's fish café in Borough Market.  It's also a fine fish shop - where everything looks and undoubtedly is spankingly fresh.  And where the staff (at least some of them) appear to be exceedingly strange.


We'd booked for 7pm and were amongst the first there for evening service, with perhaps one other couple.  There was rather horrible techno-type music playing which I asked to be turned down, pointing out politely that we had come to talk to each other rather than listen to music.  Whereupon the waiter cupped is hand to his ear (pretending to be deaf you understand) and said, what?  I repeated the request and he turned down the music.  I then asked Dalston if he would prefer it if the music were turned off completely (I certainly did) and he said yes.  I then asked the same waiter to turn the music off completely.  He bridled slightly at this, saying that the music added to the ambience.  I said that it wasn't adding to our enjoyment of the ambience in the slightest and mentioned that I had found his earlier behaviour quite offensive not least because the friend I was with does actually have a hearing impairment.  No apology.  He did turn the music off.  In fact, I found his behaviour offensive anyway.


The food was very nice and the wine was reasonably priced and delicious. When we didn't finish the latter there was no quibble from the waitress (who was pleasant and efficient) retrieving a cork for us and re-stoppering the bottle to take home (we had at least half a bottle left).  Dalston and I chose the set menu, at £17.50 an excellent deal.


We had the chickpea and mussel soup.

Spot the chickpeas lurking in the bottom right of the photo.  As Dalston correctly pointed out the mussels were so delicious, fresh and soft, perfectly cooked that it seemed a shame to eat them - really one should save them.  Whilst I cannot recreate the taste, they have been saved for posterity.

We followed with swordfish, a nice thick fillet, with grilled peppers and sautéed potatoes, actually they were billed as roast potatoes but they were in fact sautéed.  A minor quibble, but to be frank I'm still a bit hacked off by the pretending to be deaf dumb show from the waiter.  At least I hope he was just a waiter - horrors, he might have been the manager in which case I dread to think how he treats his other customers.  The waitress took pains to point out that the swordfish would be served medium rare (actually when I think of some of the people I've had the misfortune to come across who would carbonise everything they could I can understand why she would feel the need to do this).


We were very happy with that and in fact asked for it to be rare in the middle.  It was nicely cooked but it wasn't medium rare - it was cooked through.  Tasty though.


By this time, I was distracted by my delightful company so I forgot the photos.  Dalston did say that he would like to try the menu on Saturday night when there's a special deal on for advance bookings, but I'm a little wary.  I'm happy to challenge the music/ambient idiots any time, but perhaps we'll leave it for a while.


Besides for reasons which I need not go into here, this is one of a short series of fish suppers and there are a few other places to try yet.


Having seen it for the first time on the bus back North, I must admit that I rather fancy Faulkner's on Kingsland Road or Dotori in Finsbury Park.  We'll see.


Anyway, it was back to Hackney for tea and a special treat, purchased by Dalston earlier - the best cheesecake.  Made by Rinkoff it was a käsekuchen to savour, with sultanas even.  Cheesecake with Dalston, and with sultanas - truly a leaven of heaven.

Bury your face in my Frangipane

Yep, that is one moist Frangipane.  A favourite I might say of myself and my friend Dalston.  All I need is a text inviting me to consider whether "frangipanibamus hodie?" trans. shall we frangipane today from the original Latin and I feel a stirring inside at the mere thought.

Happily, the people who brought us Sablé d’Or in Crouch End have also brought us Boulangerie Bon Matin in Stroud Green.  Just down the road from the also rather lovely Front Room which has outside tables from where you can soak up the atmosphere of Tollington Park.  Anyway, back to BBM.  It's the same bakery as Sablé d’Or and so it is the same frangipane.  This one was plum - here is a better view of the plums.

Ooh, look, a crumb has got on top of my plum.  Another aerial shot, that tiny wee helicopter pilot is really doing overtime on the blog.

So, there I am all astir inside, knowing that when Dalston texts from Finsbury Park we will rendezvous 10 minutes later at BBM or the Front Room for coffee first.  We do still do this at times, although we've now discovered that thanks to competition, BBM has reduced the price of their macchiato (probably the other ones too) at least to Front Room prices.  Otherwise you know we'd just have a coffee at Front Room and then head up to BBM for the cake.

That Frangipane - talk about being a poseur.  You'd think I'd weary of takng shots of the moist almond crumb but not a bit of it.  Worth noting though that when I pulled the camera out and started taking snaps, Dalston did seem a bit perturbed and wondered (out loud) if I was all right.  "It's for the blog" said I - and will have to email him the link as a QED. 

So, here it is, the shot you've been waiting for.

Close up of the crumb, end of this post.

All that country air made me feel so hungry!

Back in the smoke and back down South.  There's a lovely pussy I know...

So beautiful that my friend in Peckham in the deep South has invented and named a Martini after her.  So I sallied forth from the north to sample the Misty Martini.

Misty Martini

Grey Goose and Mûre for that smoky something extra.  Look deep into my Martini...

and tell me that in its depths you cannot discern this louche kitty.

Alas, we had to leave Misty to go to the restaurant du notre jour - or so it seems and not without good reason.  Yes, it's Franklin's restaurant in Lordship Lane - again - and I'll alert you now to the fact that it's very likely indeed that in about four weeks' time you will find me there again, eating delicious food in wonderful company to celebrate the fact that I'm another year older - and still kicking against the... you know what.

Anyway, with the starter which Peckham friend had - do you think I should call her Scarlett from now on in homage to all that deep Southern charm? - you can tickle my tongue with your pickled plum any time.  Really, I got to taste some and it was delicious.

Ox Tongue with pickled plum

And in bite-sized form...

It's not as if I had any complaints either with my brawn.  Oooh, I do like a nice bit of brawn and what a brawny brawn this proved to be.

And piled up to resemble an offal tower (boom, boom!).

Really lovely.  Amongst the other things I like about Franklin's is that they call things by their real names.  So, it's ox tongue with pickled plum or brawn with toast and cornichons.  This is not to say that I have any objection to the use of languages other than English - quite the contrary - and if something is in an unfamiliar language and cuisine then I do appreciate a description of what it consists of.  It does mean that I have a dislike of menus which go into huge amounts of detail of what the thing is - a reminder of those ghastly places where things are home-made (oh yeah?) and farm fresh (the battery farm perchance?) and so on.

Rant over and into the main courses.  First up is Bambi chosen by Scarlett.

Later I did have the rest of Bambi's beans as I can never resist a good bean and very nice they were too (N.B. Richard - these were nude broad beans).

And of course, I also ate the main course I had ordered.



There used to be those photograph competitions (still are?) where you're shown a section of something and have to guess what the whole is.  Hence the anchovy and fried egg which was part of...

because I thought it would be mean to keep you in suspense and also because that is a fine looking veal escalope.  That's right, I'm a schnitzel girl.  It's ages since I had a good schnitzel or indeed any schnitzel at all.  It's probably why I fancied this when I saw it on the menu - it may not be a true Schnitzel Holstein but it was a great escalope.  We had it served with the most delicious cabbage (I do like my greens as well as my beans).

Good light crunch

And of course Franklin's chips of which I've written before, but they're pretty much a staple for us to order.

Fine chips

For pudding, Scarlett chose the gooseberry tart - an excellent choice.  Both from the side...

And taking an aerial view.  You can get these very tiny little helicopters with cameras attached to photograph food from above.

And I had the brownie with ice cream.  It was very nice ice cream, and the brownie was OK.

And from above.  The helicopter's working overtime.



It was a tad dry and dense to be honest.  Although what I will say is that I'm very fussy about brownies and very, very few meet my high standards.  I have been known to use the brownie as a performance indicator to determine critical success factors in the delivery of patisserie/baked goods, assessing the brownie on its input, output, outcome and impact.  The Franklin's brownie wasn't a bad brownie, but it was ordinaire.

To digress for a moment.  I really like Sablé d'Or in Crouch End (for frangipane in particular), but they also fall down in the Brownie stakes.  As with Franklin's, it's a bit moister but nothing much to write home about.  At least they don't charge a fortune for it unlike Gail's Bakery which was absolutely horrible.  Based on the input, output, outcome, impact matrix - the input had evidently been a quarter of a pound of butter (salted?) and chocolate/cocoa, the output was a very moist slab of brownie which promised much, the outcome is that not much was delivered except for butter flavoured cocoa, and the impact was a horrible butter-coated claggy taste in the mouth - mouthwash was not supplied.  I've no doubt they used quality ingredients in which case what a waste.

So, sorry chaps at Franklin's, you're lovely, but I think I've come to the conclusion that when it's pudding time, your skills lie in tarts and that's what I'll stick to given half the chance (and lovely ice cream by the way).

On the brownie front, I've only found two that meet my requirements for soft, yielding, unctuous, chocolate brownie (unadulterated with nuts by the way, I like a nut, but a brownie is not a place for them in my opinion).  Number one is Bea's of Bloomsbury (they have another branch in St Paul's and a summer pop-up in Spitalfields by Dennis Severs' house).  Bea's do a fantastic Valhrona brownie - if you only have one brownie then make it this one.  The other is Good for Food on Blackstock Road (Finsbury Park end).  The reviews of staff manners seem a bit variable and are not something I'm able to comment on as I've only ever popped in for a takeaway brownie, but the brownies are good and I've no reason to think that the rest of the food wouldn't be of a similar standard.

The only other brownies which are truly superlative are those made by Paul A Young - again with Valhrona.  However at £3.75 for the brownie and £4.50 for Christmas pudding brownie they are really quite expensive.  The moral being that if it's Valhrona you are, to my mind at least, better off with Bea - in all senses.  Just as an afterthought, the brownies are really the thing I like most about Paul A Young, for chocolate I much prefer Rococo and Scarlett and I were lucky enough to meet Chantal Coady, a true food hero.  I must say I was quite tongue-tied.  And you can taste before you buy and what you taste is delicious.  Long live Rococo.

A simple (final) supper

Woe is me, for Sunday marked the last evening with Gerry and Richard, my lovely, hospitable friends.  After the beautiful barbecue, it was a light supper of Mushrooms à la Grecque - another Richard special.

Served simply with brown bread and butter (buttered with my own fair hand - of course not, it was buttered by me with a butter knife).

All undertaken by the light of the fairies in the garden, winking from the bay trees (remember the bay leaf flavouring the salmon) as they skittered about bringing colour and sparkle to a Sunday night with friends.

The Gentle Touch

The object of Gerry's attention

Or I could have called this, Gerry does Barbecue - and he does it very well.  Or Gerry is a pyromaniac - which he is, but we still love him very much. 

Many years ago when I was young there was a TV series about a policewoman (I'm talking before Juliet Bravo here) called The Gentle Touch starring the lovely Jill Gascoine.  Anyway although they otherwise have nothing at all in common, the fragrant Ms Gascoine came to mind as I watched Gerry at work on the barbie.

Mmm, go chilli, go.

Baste those bangers - local, pork and leek and not so local, chorizo.  Gerry's gentle touch paid off in the eating.

Bangers to the fore.

Le tout ensemble.  Gerry let me dice the onions for the potato salad (because they didn't need to be regular) and kindly offered to teach me how to improve my knife skills.  I'd had a glass of wine by that time so perforce declined, perhaps next time.

See the diced onion in the foreground.  It doesn't look too bad, does it?

Top right is Richard's home-made griddled aubergine preserved in extra virgin olive oil - delicious.  Borough Market eat your heart out.  Although there's a lot of trouble down t'market - that's been brewing for years, and here's not the place to go into why the trustees appear to be cutting off their noses to spite their faces - and customers' stomachs.

Instead, cop a load of this.



Burger à la Lane

You can buy them in the shops, but nothing is likely to beat Richard's home-made burger filled with a large knob of local cheese.

It was followed by raspberries and ice cream - yummy, yummy, yummy - it all went in my tummy.

You'll notice that pudding included some of the lovely peaches in brandy left over from before.

Quite perfect.