Amicable Alimentations: Sticky Toffee Pudding & Friendships that Stick

The steamed pudding.

Amicable Alimentations: A series of posts with no predictable order or timing dedicated to a delicious food and the friend who most reminds me of it or inspired me to love it.  Here's the link to post number one, number two, number three, number four and this is post number five in the series.

*  *  *

When you're facing life as an ex-pat, the natural tendency is to compare.  To compare the familiar, the presumed-correct, the "normal," with the unfamiliar or odd or inconvenient.  Living in the UK was baptism by fire in this regard, especially because it is deceptively convenient in the sense that the language is ostensibly the same (it's really not) and the outlook, that of "first world" or "ally" or whatever other politically and culturally-charged label has been hoisted on the UK from the other side of the Atlantic, similar (it's really not).

I'm an open-minded person, one who doesn't mind certain inconveniences if the pay-out is charm or beauty or leisure, or even education.  But I'm also highly intolerant of inefficiency, laziness, and lack of perspective.  Not a whole lot of things I saw and learned in the UK really stuck with me in the end, but many of my experiences and friendships did. 

Another thing that did stick - almost inevitably, as it was a rather sticky thing - was a love of steamed puddings, and Sticky Toffee Pudding in particular.  Steamed Puddings.  Yep - that sounds kinda gross to an American audience, doesn't it?  It makes me laugh.  The first time I heard of Suet Pudding I kind of gagged a little bit.  Beef fat pudding?  Literally, steamed lard pudding?  "What could be more disgusting?" said my inner-food-snob, dismissively.  I was wrong, of course.  It's delectable, especially in its' savory iteration.  And while I am indeed a professed lover of savory things, I must also admit that it was a sweet steamed pudding that fully won me over to steamed puddings in the end.  Well, that and the colorfully named "Spotted Dick" dessert which, however displeasing an image it may conjure - runny, creamy custard oozing all over its' brown spotted glory - is strangely delicious.  But we'll return to Spotted Dick in a moment.

I think I first had Sticky Toffee Pudding one very rainy June - our first in London, only weeks before our basement flat on Warwick Road was violently thrashed by an unexpected flood, at a restaurant in Kensington called Ffiona's.  My dear friend Sandra, whom I always think of as my "New York friend" (because really she was literally the only person outside my co-workers I hung out with in Manhattan), and her husband Jed had made the trek across the proverbial pond to visit us in the UK during what we erroneously called a "short relocation period" to Europe before heading back to New York. (We never returned to New York, of course, and we ended up staying in London for almost 4 years, but never mind the commonplace oddities of foiled life-plans.)
 

Ffiona's Charming Exterior on Kensington Church Street
Image Credit

I'd long-before noticed Ffiona's as it fell along the pleasant bus trip from Earl's Court to Notting Hill which we often made on the weekends.  It was located on a particularly picturesque and winding road through central London called Kensington Church Street, not far from an even more picturesque church where there was the most enticingly beautiful flower stand I'd ever seen and never went to.  That's a regret.  Anyway, it was tucked away in a small series of stone buildings and had a quirky sign.  It was one of hundreds of restaurants I'd pointed out to Matt and said "We should go there!" and never did.  Such is life in London - so many things to spend one's money on, and so little money to do it with!  And, yet, in this case - we did go to Ffiona's, and all because of something else rather sticky and wonderful - my friendship with Sandra.

You know, it's not often one finds a life-long friend, but I did when I met Sandra.  And despite only having lived in the same place as friends for a little over a year, we've shared some awesome experiences together, and, most of all, continue to.  From tapas' nights cooked in tiny Manhattan kitchens to Grey's Anatomy Marathons to drooling over Bacon Naan at Tabla to Greek feasts in her first home.  From karaoke in a sleazy French quarter bar to near-fisty-cuffs outside a fancy restaurant in Nola.  From my pregnancy with Roman to watching her adopt her beautiful twins to now sharing Alexander's adoption, our lives have been, it feels, somehow divinely intertwined.  I'm happy to be able to look back and say that.

The Cozy Interior.
Image Credit

But back to the pudding.  As luck would have it, Sandra's husband's parents had lived in London too.  They'd lived less than a mile from our flat in Earl's Court, in a beautiful mew (Adam & Eve Mew, if I recall correctly) on the much nicer, less dodgy end of Kensington Borough.  They'd recommended Ffiona's to us and were good friends with the namesake owner of the joint.  We went and had a lovely dinner there - mostly due to ambiance and company, I must say - which ended with Ffiona's "infamous" sticky toffee pudding.  It wasn't the best STP I've had since, but it was good enough to be memorable and make me want more.  Also on that trip, as Sandra recently reminded me, we made a feeble but valorous attempt at making Spotted Dick (because, again, who can an opportunity to continue making fun of that name?) in our damnable but somewhat-charming basement flat on Warwick Rd., which, quite frankly, was falling apart long before the July flood of 2007.  In the midst of checking on the pudding, our oven door literally fell off very nearly smashing onto my feet at 400 degrees.  It was, as Sandra put it, a little bit scary at the time, but pretty hilarious afterwards.  Moments like that, with good friends and in memorable places, make foods come to life.

And so I dedicate this post to Sandra and our many memories, food and not, one of which has left the legacy of Sticky Toffee Pudding in my life.  Sandrett will be coming to visit me and meet Alexander in a week's time, and I can't wait to have another delicious adventure with her here - including making some STP again.  Hopefully the oven door won't fall off this time, but even if it does, we'll laugh just as hard.

*  *  *

English Sticky Toffee Pudding

Serves 8-10

I made this version of Sticky Toffee Pudding, the recipe for which I found on David Lebovtz's wonderful blog, and which is a derivatory version itself, being a variation on Mani Niall's version in the book Sweet!  I have to say, I deviated slightly on the tofee recipe as I, sadly, didn't have Lyle's Golden Syrup or Molasses.  And, also, I prefer to use a few more dates in mine (because I love dates).  This recipe has always been a winner for me - I think I made a toffee addict out of my brother-in-law Jim, for one thing - but I made it again a few weeks back and it worked a treat on the chill from a Mile-High Winter's day.  Best served warm. 

Cheers!

David Lebovitz's Sticky Toffee Pudding Recipe

Invoking Spring: Barrafina's Chorizo & Watercress Sandwich

Barrafina-inspired Chorizo Sandiwch with Watercress salad

Sometimes in the Spring, ever-so-fleetingly, I get nostalgic for London.  This year that was the case last week when I re-experienced the frustration of it being too cold to wear anything but a sweater in the middle of April.  It's just not right.  And it's just what I experienced every single spring in Londontown.  Even now, I shake my head at my British / UK-residing friends' facebook statuses about how they're almost convinced the sun will never shine again, that the weather will never warm up.  I shake my head in dismay, but also in solidarity.  I know their pain.

So this post is about invoking Spring in an otherwise un-spring-y circumstance.

I remember the first time I heard about the then-new Barrafina restaurant in London's west end back in February of 2007.  My hellacious boss (who I'll refer to as " Luca Delcattivo" here for the sake of anonymity) had taken a client to lunch there one day and came back to our offices raving about it.  Tapas.  New, delicious, refined Spanish tapas in London like none he'd ever had outside Spain.  I drooled at his brief but poignant descriptions.  Shortly thereafter, in March or April, Matt and I went there and we were so blown away that we insisted on taking most of our guests there too when they came to visit.  And a couple of Marches and Aprils later, they were all blown away too.  It's such a nice place to eat, but best in the Spring, when the window-walls fly open and you're left to enjoy the ambiance of Soho, crowds toasting glasses of wine as they wait patiently outside the door, wafts of gambas and garlic filling the air.

*  *  *

Top Things that Invoke that Springtime Spirit 

at Barrafina

watercress in a snowy garden

1. A Glass of Cava
 Maybe it's the stark, modern decor or the white-marble countertops, but, to me a glass of bright, bubbly Cava is the best-fitting drink to start your meal at Barrafina.  There is always a queue so forget the fantasies of walking in to a lovely white-linen-lined table and eating a leisurely meal.  Tables don't exist either (except for a few impossibly-small ones on the sidewalk outside if my memory serves).  You get there, you get a drink, and you stand outside with the rest of the world on the street, drinking, toasting, and feeling bubbly.  The cava brings the sunshine to you.

2. The Ooey-Gooey Tortilla Española (with shrimp)
The Spanish Tortilla is a thing of beauty.  Eggs and potato combined into round sublimity.  At Barrafina they cook individual-sized tortillas in tiny cast-iron pans, finishing them under the broiler so that the outside is set but the inside is an ooey-gooey, runny, eggy mess.  A revelation. Completely, absolutely, delicious.  They offer many different variations - often using seasonal ingredients (perfect for a time like Spring).  We especially enjoyed the one with shrimp.

3. The Pan con Tomate
Dreams of sun-ripened tomatoes haunt me at this time of year.  If you've never tried this uber-simple Spanish-staple, you must.  You will never look at a tomato and piece of bread the same way again. 

4. The Seafood
Nothing screams warm-weather and better-days more to me than a well-cooked piece of seafood.  Barrafina excels at taking fresh fish and highlighting its best aspects.  Get the octopus, the clams, the razor clams - or any of the fish.  They are all cooked simply and perfectly.

5. The Cheery Ambiance
The seating in Barrafina and the fact that you can't make reservations will either make or break the experience for you.  It's hard to sit at a long bar when you're with more than one person.  You are always seated next to a stranger.  There is no privacy because the cooks, the bar staff and chef are all running around in front of you, making food, drinks, taking plates and glasses, offering another round of painfully expensive Jamon Iberico which you will not be able to resist after a certain number of alcoholic libations.  But that's ok.  You'll feel shocked the next day when you remember the total cost of the meal, and marvel at how, truly, you're probably still hungry after having had 6 plates between the two of you.  But that's ok.  Sometimes its worth it just for the ambiance and for a couple of truly amazing bites of food.

*  *  *

Last week I decided to invoke the spirit of Barrafina by making what was one of our favorite dishes there (though we admittedly loved them all): Chorizo and Watercress sandwiches.  I'm not sure whether they still serve the chorizo sandwiches or not as it has been about four years since we've been there but judging by the reviews on Urbanspoon, whatever they are serving is still as good or better than what we had several years ago.  We loved the sandwich both because of its simplicity and its seamless fusing of Spanish and British cuisine: the Spanish chorizo and bread together with a quintessentially English crop - peppery watercress.

Bolillo and Chorizo

The chorizo I used is Mexican (I like it hot, what can I say?), and I simply formed small sausages from loose chorizo, grilled them, and paired them with a lightly toasted (grilled) Mexican bolillo.  I then placed a small helping of a watercress salad dressed simply with lemon juice, fresh garlic, salt and pepper on top.

Spring in sandwich-form. :)

Plenty of Ottolenghi & A Word to the Sage

Mushrooms & Herb Polenta from Plenty by Ottolenghi

I have something to confess.   A relatively major thing, as foody confessions go.  There's something I've been keeping to myself for several years now that I dared not utter but was forced to the forefront of my mind a few months ago when I randomly purchased a new cookbook.

I'd been wanting it for a while but I decided to finally just go out and buy Plenty when I saw it at a highly aesthetically pleasing little shop on the main street in Camden, ME on a whimsical weekend getaway in the fall.  I ordered it off Amazon as soon as I got home.  I just couldn't stand not having that picture of the eggplants (slathered in some sort of deliciously light yoghurty-sauce and sprinkled with thyme, zatar and pomegranate seeds, if you must know) as part of my daily visual binge.

I flipped through it voraciously as soon as it came.  And I oohed and ahhhhed over the lovely, intensely creative vegetarian recipes which literally jump off the page at you.  I'd heard of Ottolenghi for so long.  First, just because I lived in London, of course (they're in Kensington, Notting Hill, Belgravia...).  Then because it was somewhat of a rival to Melrose & Morgan, the place across the street from the bakery I worked at in Primrose Hill where I generally got my lunch (to this day I often dream of their beef wellington).  And finally because a friend of mine was obsessed by their style of cooking and was going on about the new book coming out and how she'd pre-ordered it.  I scoffed.  All-natural ingredient-driven delis with modern lighting, bright white platters and on-the-edge-of-acceptable-vegetarian-salads are kind of "a thing" in London.  They're almost common, ironically.  It's like they're the British upper-crust's answer to the working man's pub on every corner: "So, you dare to serve microwaved cottage pie with frozen chips?  Take THAT scoundrels!"  

Vibrant Vegetable Recipes - as Ottolenghi's Plenty is described - have arrived.

* * *

Yottam Ottolenghi is Israeli and, surprisingly, not a vegetarian (as Plenty's recipes and his weekly column in The Guardian would suggest).  I don't know much about Israeli food, though I do know a fair bit about the Mediterranean and I'm guessing he's going for a fusion of those two with light, modern British cuisine.  I admire the use of local, fresh ingredients and the fact that everything is made from scratch by them every single day.  The only problem I often find with modern, all-vegetarian takes is that they often look better than they taste.  It seems to me that in an effort to use as many fresh, raw, unique ingredients as possible, the flavor combinations can often cross the line a little too far into the purely "artsy-fartsy" side of food, straying every-so-much from the purely "tasty-wasty" side of things.  (I mean, in all honest, I have never tasted a dish where plain quinoa featured prominently that I loved.) 

Despite my misgivings, I must admit that I was spoiled for choice with Plenty.  It covers all the seasonal bases and I had no problem finding  a warm, inviting Fall or Winter dish.  In the end I settled on a deceptively simple recipe: Mushroom and Herb Polenta.

I had all the ingredients in the fridge and any recipe that includes more than one type of mushroom in copious amounts makes it to the table at my house.  I was also especially taken by the idea of creating a beautiful slab of polenta.*  Just so aesthetically appealing.  But anyway, the only thing I was missing was the chervil.  After a quick google search I realized you can substitute a combination of parsley and sage for it and felt happy that I finally had a reason to cut into that giant, beautiful sage bush growing in my backyard before the first frost.  Except for one thing - and here's where the confession comes in - I hate sage.

What possessed me to grab it anyway?  What made me think that instead of using the 1/8 tsp the website suggested I cold use the 4-5 full sage leaves I greedily grabbed?  Was it my hopeful trust in Ottolenghi's magic chef wand?  Was it that I thought maybe this would be the dish that converted me?  It's all beyond me.  I grabbed it anyway.  Yes, I'm a beast.  

I poured my heart into that recipe, chopping up a fragrant herbal storm, conjuring and channeling the spirit of London's most sophisticated, most natural eateries - and what resulted was beautiful.  Truly beautiful.  A purely aesthetic masterpiece of creamy polenta with roasted, autumnal mushrooms.  A delightful thing to look at, and one which Matthew found me gleefully photographing in the backyard as he got home from work.  

But back at the dinner table, I knew something had gone awry.

I don't know why I don't like sage!  I never have.  Maybe in a minute quantity I can kind-of stand it but to me it just tastes like badly-cooked liver.  Badly-cooked liver in the deceptively enticing form of a lovely, velvety leaf.  A perfectly shaped leaf that is iconic for many dishes such as Saltimbocca alla Romana in which it serves as a garnish and seasoning, or traditional Christmas sausage stuffing.  And yet, I just don't get it.  It ruined the dish for me and I am convinced the chervil would have done the same.  If I ever cook this again (which I might), I'd leave it out altogether.

Ottolenghi prides itself on bold, fresh flavors.  This polenta certainly delivers that and a little too much more.  I can't say I agree with this particular flavor combination but...I can't wait to try another recipe.  And maybe even get the first cookbook. :) 

*In the book it's served on a wooden board (which, if I'd had a big enough one I would have done).

A Drizzle of Joy: Lemon Drizzle Cake

A Drizzle of Joy: Mini Lemon Drizzle Bundt Cakes

Merry (belated) Christmas!  Happy New Year!  And Happy Birthday to me! 

Lots of fun and delicious things to celebrate in December, as usual, and while I've been MIA in the blogosphere, I have been nothing short of prolific in the kitchen.  Here's a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago, as I prepped for Christmas dinner (I froze these cakes and then thawed and drizzled them on Christmas eve).  These delicious little lemon drizzle bundt cakes seem almost a distant memory now, but a fond one.  I hope everyone had a wonderful season with their loved ones!

* * *

I became a cake addict pretty late in my life.  Up until the age of about 26 I'd pretty much avoided cake and sweets like the plague (except for the odd cookie or brownie), generally opting for savory foods over sweet.  I thought of cake as trite, over-used for parties and celebrations, over-decorated with cheap disgusting sprinkles, and, worst of all, covered in icing so sickly-sweet it made my lips pucker just thinking about it.  That was until I moved to London and joined the cult-following of cake as a way of life at The Primrose Bakery.


In addition to realizing that it's damn hard to keep your figure intact while professionally associated with a cake shop, I also discovered that the universal suspicion is true: there is definitely a secret, intangible ingredient put into home baked goods that actually does make you happy. It was always heartwarming to watch a child pick out his very own pink or green cupcake, or to look at faces as the first bite of that giant slice of chocolate cake went in.  Whether they'd chosen Victoria Sponge or Plum Cake, pretty much everyone who entered that little shop - celebrity, civilian or even the dogs - left looking visibly jollier than when they'd arrived.


It's that time of year again.  The time to be jolly, joyful, and spread all sorts of good cheer.  Christmas is one of my favorite times to bake, and this year I decided to make an old favorite from my bakery days, and one that doesn't seem to be all that common in the US - a guaranteed golden ticket to Smile City, or, if I can continue further with the cheesy phrases, a true drizzle of joy: Lemon Drizzle Cake (see below for recipe).


And in the continued name of random and rather purposeless Top 5 Lists: There were many perks associated with working at a bakery - most involving gluttonous consumption of sweet things - but here is a list of my personal top 5.

* * *

Top 5 Reasons Working at a Cake Shop Rocked

and no, I'm not generally a "cake person"

5. Managerial Taste-testing Privileges

As the manager I didn't just get to oversee the practical day-to-day running of the bakery, I also got to scope out our offerings and determine whether they were up to snuff or not.  This often required hands-on taste-testing.  There were certain products that always had to be tested before they even left the kitchen.  The brownies for example.  And I do not believe I am overstepping the boundaries of propriety when I say that I truly believe Americans are more qualified to determine the worthiness of a brownie than our dear British compatriots.  Let's face it, a good American-style cake shop is only as good as its worst brownie.

4. Buttercream.

Cakes growing up always had that should-be-illegal sugar-water concoction that grocery stores try to pass for icing.  It is stiff and flavorless (unless of course you consider pure refined sugar a flavor, in which case I wholeheartedly encourage you to make your way to your nearest Kroger and dig in).  And once you've had real homemade buttercream icing, you can never go back to it.  Learning to make buttercream icing and then learning to ice cupcakes and layer cakes with it is a simple but delicious art which I wholeheartedly embraced during my time as cake-woman, and it is one I hope to carry on perfecting for years to come.  I know Matt and Roman are glad for it anyhow. :)

3. Champagne Truffles & Crystalized Rose Petals.

Another perk of working at a "luxury" cake shop, were the "luxury" items we ordered to put on the cakes.  Supplying people like Fortnum & Mason means you get to work with (eat?) amazing things like handmade champagne truffles and real crystalized rose petals on a somewhat regular basis.  If doing this isn't already on a list of sure-fire ways to up your happy-hormones, it should be.

2. Bottomless Cappuccinos.

What is a cake shop without top notch coffee and tea to go with the cakes?  A sad, sad place, if you must ask.  And let me tell you, our bakery was anything but sad.  We served only Illy caffe and artisan teas.  I must have consumed, on average, 5-6 cups of coffee every work day.  Give me a latte to start off the day.  Then there's the mid-morning cappuccino and chat with the owners.  Move onto the late morning pick-me-up espresso, and maybe another if the coffee supplier guy comes by, while you shoot the shizzle over the week's latest gossip.  Next comes another cappuccino in the afternoon, just to get you over the hump.  And maybe an Americano before you head out, just so the tube ride isn't too unbearable.  And the best part is, I learned to make them all myself.  I was a milk-frothing, espresso-pulling, splenda-slinging fiend.  And now I know that one day when I have an unbelievably cool, industrial grade Italian hand-pulled coffee machine in my kitchen, I will be able to razzle-dazzle all my family with my mad coffee making skills.

1. A Drizzle of Pure Joy.

Of all the things we served at the bakery, my favorite was one of the only cakes Martha and Lisa chose to leave out of their cookbook: the lemon drizzle cake.  As cakes go, Lemon Drizzle is kind of a UK Institution.  Everyone seems to eat it, like it, ask for it, and have their own recipe.  It's a super simple presentation of a lemon sponge cake with a lemon juice and sugar drizzle poured over it.  I love it anytime of year, but especially when I need a little reminder of my drizzly but joyful time spent living in London. :)

* * *

Lemon Drizzle Cake

Makes 2 Loaves, 2- 8" Round Cakes, or ~16 Mini Bundt Cakes

This is a pretty standard lemon sponge cake recipe and the result is strikingly similar to the one at the bakery.  It is good enough to eat, really. :)

225g Golden Caster Sugar (or superfine sugar)

225g All-Purpose Flour

2 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

25g Cornstarch

2 sticks (225g) unsalted butter, at room temp

4 large eggs

2-3 large, juicy lemons - zest and juice

Drizzle:
2-4 large lemons, juice
1 cup (100g) white granulated sugar

* * *

1. Preheat your oven to 375F.


2. Using a food processor, pour the flour, sugar, baking powder and cornstarch in and mix until completely blended.


3. Add the remaining ingredients (making certain the butter is completely at room temp first) and mix until combined.


4. Pour into two large loaf tins (the tins should be 1/2 to 2/3 full), dividing the batter evenly.


5. Bake for 25 minutes or until golden brown and a skewer or tooth pick inserted in the center comes out clean. DO AHEAD: Allow the cakes to cool completely then wrap in cling film and freeze for up to a month.

6. While baking the cakes, make the drizzle by combining the sugar and lemon juice.

7. Allow the cakes to cool completely in their tins, then carefully remove and place on a plate.  Poke holes all over the loaves with a skewer then spoon the drizzle over the loaves and allow it to set.   Serve in slices.

Flashback: Best Italian Restaurants Ever. Period.

 The stuff Italian Meals are made of.  In a dreamy kind of way.

 Just before we left London this past summer, I went back to one of our favorite eating establishments with Matt - a place I've written of before: The Fat Italian.  In a last-ditch effort to do and eat everything we hadn't done and eaten in the 3 1/2 years we spent in London, we started shamelessly dishing out on posh lunches and London Eye tickets.  Most of the stuff we had was hit and miss and some of it was downright boring and overpriced, and so in the end we decided maybe just revisiting our favorite places was a good way to make our big exit in "good taste" if you'll allow me the lame pun.  What we ate there was a simple but unforgettable lunch - one lacking in pretention and price but weighty on taste and even health.

The Last Lunch
Fat Italian Style

 

Pasta all'Amatriciana accompanied by a simple tomato salad

and soybeans tossed with semi-sun-dried tomatoes and carciofi in olive oil

Prosciutto and Avocado accompanied by a Caprese salad

Sliced Ciabatta and Aqua Gassata
Two Caffe Macchiati with Biscottini di Mandorla

Aesthetically pleasing and delicious.  We also ate at a local family-run Putney haunt worth mentioning called Valentina.  It was literally our last dinner in London, and I'm glad we went with good, simple  Italian for it.

As you read in my last post, and have probably already gathered from this one: I've got Italy on the Brain.  I have been shamelessly blabbing about our upcoming trip to anyone that will listen (despite having planned very little of it yet - yikes.).  And last night I was further plunged into a pool of Italic nostalgia when I decided to go out with some girlfriends for dinner and left Matt a no-need-to-reheat-or-cook dinner that I thought he would enjoy.  The menu went a little something like this:

Matt's Awesome Bachelor-Night Dinner

*small flare of trumpetiness*

Vinegar-cured Greek Kalamata Olives: black and green mix

Buffalo Mozarella Caprese Salad with garlic, basil and balsamic vinaigrette dressing

Prosciutto and Avocado Platter dressed with black pepper, EVOO and lemon juice

Freshly sliced Oregano Ciabatta

A Cherry Danish for dessert

I admitted to my friends once we arrived at the Indian restaurant we chose that I had left home a little envious of his meal.  And despite thoroughly enjoying my dinner at Ushna, this morning I woke up and made myself a platter of prosciutto and avocado for breakfast.   Yes, that is generally how I roll.

Since first encountering prosciutto and avocado - an obvious yet under-used combination - at Frankie's in Putney, I have been a devotee.  It's the easiest and simplest thing in the world to make, provided you have good quality, fresh ingredients (what's new, right?). It is as pleasing to the eye as to the palate and just wreaks of sophistication, which always sits well with me. :) 

Well, anyway, all of this prosciutto-y delirium inspired me to make a quick list of my favorite spots for the best Italian food in all the places I've lived so far.  It's an undertaking, but one that I found immensely satisfying as, in writing it, I re-lived some of my favorite meals to date.

* * *

Brenda's All-Time Top Italian Restaurants Ever. Period.

all over the world, in fuzzy-memory form

4. London: Osteria dell'Arancio or La Famiglia

One is a swanky super-modern Italian restaurant located on the King's road where traditional food is elevated to the palate of London's foodie elite.  The other is a family-run 35+ year old restaurant in Fulham serving rustic home-style Tuscan fare.
 You can't go wrong with either, though admittedly the latter is far cheaper and less likely to snicker at you when you're tempted to drown the carefully pan-fried sea bass in grated Parmesan cheese, even though I might raise an eyebrow. :)

3. New York: Caffe Taci (or Patsy's?)

They look like mere mortals.  They always do.  Opera singers, I mean.  But they're not.  And if you're an opera fan, you know this very much to be true.  Caffe Taci is the only place I know of that is these three unique things at once: a casual opera house, an Italian culinary force in its own right, and home to the best Lobster Fra Diavolo I've ever had in my life (ok except the one I had at Patsy's on the West Side - please go there!).

World renowned singers from the Met Opera come hang out here, have a few drinks, and serenade the innocent bystanders on a make-shift stage with a live octogenarian Russian pianist accompaniment.  The place was in Greenwich Village when I lived in Manhattan but it has moved more times than I can count and last I heard the Opera nights were being held at some placed called Bistro Papillon (kill me now).  But they did have a documentary made about them (Mad About Opera), which at least guarantees my dearly beloved Toreador will not be forgotten anytime soon.

2. Rome: The Centro (or that place by the Pantheon?)

Sorry, as cool as "The Centro" sounds it falls short of any kind of trendy modern Italian restaurant image you might have based on its name.  In fact, it is pretty much as "uncool" of a place to eat as you can imagine, if you function under standards set by modern society at large, that is.  On the other hand, if you're a Wannabe Latin Scholar, a budding Ancient Roman Archeologist, or even an aspiring and wordy Renaissance Art Historian as I once was, it's the best place in Rome, at least as far as nostalgic cravings go, and as long as you don't mind plastic tablecloths.

But in all seriousness, when I did my one-semester study abroad program at the Intercollegiate Center for Classical Studies (as it were), not only did I get a soul mate out of the deal, I was lucky enough to get amazing food.  The cafeteria catered only to the 36 students and 4 professors, and it was run entirely by old Italian ladies who served only traditional home-style Italian food.  Simple, easy to make, and involved fresh seasonal ingredients.  The bread wasn't always amazing, and it was technically BYOW, but hey - pumpkin risotto, Amatriciana, Caprese Salads - every week?!  Awesome.  And they also made a mean carpaccio, but for a truly amazing one you'd have to go to that place directly in front of the Pantheon.  No, not McDonald's.  And no, I don't remember the name. :)

1. Duino: Al Cavalluccio (or the Mickey Mouse Bar?)

When I sit down with Matt and try to list the all-time top five best meals in my life (which I do surprisingly often), a lunch we had in October of 2007 at Al Cavaluccio is always on that list, no matter how hard it is to come up with the rest.  This is particularly notable because in that same weekend we also stayed, ate and drank at the infamous Hotel Cipriani Venice, an experience that left me, well, mostly just chatting about Al Cavaluccio some more. :)

Al Cavaluccio is situated in the small and scenic port of a tiny Italian village called Duino where I lived and studied for two years at the United World College of the Adriatic (brava, I know).  I once found a seahorse (which I still have) right by the restaurant steps, which I take as a supreme sign from above that it's a chosen place.  It's also one of the most scenic, pleasant little restaurants I've ever eaten at with its al fresco area roofed by grape vines and with a full-ocean view.

Photo credit

Duino is noteworthy not only because of its natural beauty - nestled atop dramatic cliffs along the Adriatic sea - but also because of its intellectual / literary past and present.  Rilke was inspired to write his Duino Elegies (some of my favorite poetry) there and even Dante was rumored to have once visited the Castello di Duino and meditated on a rock ("la scoglia di Dante") there.

Al Cavaluccio is where the then-student-poor foodie in me got her kicks on the wages of an unpaid English tutor (apart from Mickey Mouse where I serially ordered the Insalatona and Patatine con Salsa Rosa).  I would go down of a Friday evening and order their seafood soup as my entire meal.  If I was feeling particularly generous I'd get a glass of wine (which let's face it, I generally was).

Anyway, I graduated the UWCAD in 2000.  When I went back to Al Cavaluccio in October 2007 with Matt, the same waiter served me that had served me in my student days - same wild bushy hair, same unbottoned pirate-esque waiter shirt, same wild bushy chest hair.  And get this - he remembered me!  We ate a whole seabass cooked in rock salt (branzino al sale) and garnished with lemon (brought out whole, still under hot salt, to your table where the waiter de-bones and serves it).  We had simply sauteed spinach and roast potatoes to accompany it.  We also splashed out on a bottle of Prosecco that sparkled almost as much as the Adriatic in front of us.  Best. ITALIAN. Meal. EVER.

The sparkling Adriatic.
Duino, Porto

Hurry up, go buy some prosciutto and avocado.  You'll thank me for my insistance.

This post is brought to you by the Opera Nights at Caffe Taci - an intensely nostalgic, deliciously exhilirating affair to remember.

TGIFriday: The Day of Brunching

My favorite brunch fare - eggs florentine hollandaise.
Nothing like poached eggs, hollandaise sauce and sauteed
spinach to make you feel like laying around for the next 24 hours.

Photo credit: From a great food blog called My Salt is Maldon.

*NB: I meant to post this on Friday but the weekend and moving into our new house got away with me. Here it is, a day late!*

It seems like there is something intrinsically special about Fridays everywhere. People thirst for them in the West because they are the portal leading to the weekend. People revere them in the East because they are the Holy Day, a day of rest and prayer and family. I look forward to Fridays for many splendid reasons: because the radio always plays the best "ready for the weekend" songs, because in my synesthetic conceptual calendar of the week Friday is symbolized by a pretty summer's sunshine, because I still associate it with drinks at Jake's Dilemma on the Upper West Side, because it is the most exciting day of the weekend in the sense that you still have two "fun" nights ahead of you before the dreaded joykill that is Monday, because, in short, it's Friday.

Ironically, having just moved to Abu Dhabi, many of these traditional reasons to love Friday no longer apply. The weekend here starts on Thursday and ends on Saturday. It's a little bit of a mind-jerk to be honest, and I can't help constantly feeling jipped when I wake up on Saturday morning realize Matt goes back to work the next day. No Sunday brunch, no Mass as a family, and no lazy Sunday afternoons watching black and white movies.

But on the bright side, I now have a new reason to look forward to and enjoy TGIFridays as the "bread and butter" of the weekend... It somehow became known to us that in the UAE there is a certain pleasure reserved solely for Fridays and - no, it does not have to do with Mosques or worship of any traditional sort - it has to do with food.

Fridays are the day of Brunching in Abu Dhabi, and like with everything else in the UAE, when the Emiratis do brunch, they go all out.

* * *

Friday: It's the new Saturday
Or rather Sunday, in the brunch sense,

What is Brunch?
Brunch has meant lots of different things in the various places we've lived, but everywhere people agree and know it means good food - and lots of it - somewhere between breakfast and lunch. The idea is to stuff yourselves so you can cover two meals in one - breakfast and lunch.

This wonderful portmanteau conjures images of sweet and savory dishes, drinks hot and cold, and even unbreakable traditions depending on who you ask. Here are some of the meanings in some of the places we know.

Domer-Style: At the University of Notre Dame, my alma mater, brunch took place on Sundays, and for a Walsh-Wild-Woman like me that meant getting up at about 10 or so and walking across God Quad and South Quad with my 3 or 4 closest girlfriends to the legendary South Dining Hall. They generally had the full-gamut of traditional choices, buffet-style: scrambled eggs, eggs Benedict, and even hash browns. If you were a freak you could also get a full choice of 20+ different cereals or savories such as roast chicken and beef with veggies, or even sushi. The sky was the limit - as would make sense in God's brunch locale of choice. ;)

NY-Style:
You can't really say you've ever had Sunday brunch until you've had it in New York City.

Sunday brunch in the Big Apple is a tried and true, full-blown institution. Women and men alike crawl from their tiny apartments donning impossibly fashionable casual clothes and prerequisite designer sunglasses (both for effect and to help with last night's hangover), small dog alongside, and sit outside at one of the many cafes and international venues the city offers. In New York you are spoiled for choice - French, Italian, Spanish, Mexican, even Chinese Dim Sum - everyone does brunch. But if you want the real deal, you've got two choices: an American cafe or an American diner. (image: Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel don the typical NY brunch look, on their way to eat)

Any place with a brunch worth its weight in gold will have a brunch menu and special: your choices generally consist of coffee (American is traditional but it is also acceptable to indulge in an Italian or French variation), a cold drink (Mimosa or Bloody Mary are traditional), a starter (yogurt and granola, fruit salad or toasted muffin), and a main which is typically egg-based: eggs any style with home fries, toast and bacon, eggs Benedict, eggs with smoked salmon, or any kind of gourmet omelette. If you go all out you can get salads, sandwiches, bagels, pancakes and pastries of all sorts - the list never ends - but in NYC you always go a la carte, no buffets here.

London-Style:
Matt and I were even sadder (if that's possible) to leave NYC when we realized that brunch is all but non-existent in London. There is a negligible crowd that adheres to this tradition, and those who do generally do it in extremely expensive locales: Cecconi's, The Wolseley - you get the idea. If they don't go to posh British places, then they go to posh American ones - The Diner, Christopher's, or even Automat. The food is good-ish, but overpriced for what it is. Some local pubs have started offering brunch fair in an attempt to feed the growing demand (one of our Putney locals did a good one: The Normanby), but it just doesn't compare to any normal American diner. For the life of me, I could not find a good, normal fried eggs and hash in London! So I basically wrote American-style brunch off...until, that is, I discovered the British version of Sunday brunch: Sunday lunch.

It's later than brunch, but in England it's worth the wait: Sunday Roast, beef or chicken with roasties, veggies, a Yorkshire pudding and gravy to boot. My all-time favorite Sunday roast was had with Matt and his parents at a hidden-gem of a pub in Primrose Hill, just down the street from Primrose Bakery: The Lansdowne. All four of us ordered the roast chicken and instead of the typical, tired half-chicken with watery gravy and soggy roasties, what we got was a platter with a full chicken on it (!) surrounded by the necessary and perfectly-cooked accoutrement and au jus. Unforgettable, aesthetically pleasing, and almost worth passing on brunch for. :)

Abu Dhabi-Style:
In Abu Dhabi much of the culinary scene takes place in hotels. Because it is a Muslim country, hotels are the only places legally allowed to serve Alcohol, which means the truly-gourmet, Western institutions are drawn to them and their wealthy clientele (largely expats). Hotels also have enough man-power to produce a production such as what I am about to describe.

Over the past two weeks I have been learning to drive again: we rented a car on a monthly basis until we buy our own, and so I was essentially let loose in a city I didn't know, Roman buckled-up in the back, and told to find my way around. As I attempted to keep my calm in what is, or so I am told, one of the 10-worst places to drive in the world, I listened to the BBC radio. The chap on the other end kept blabbing on about "Friday brunch" and so I looked into this, as of yet, unknown phenomenon.

On Fridays, between the hours of 11-2, people in Abu Dhabi flock by the thousands to various luxury hotels where they enjoy the most sumptuous, international version of brunch I have ever experienced (outside of at the JW Marriott in Phuket, which does an un-believable daily buffet breakfast). Prices range from 125AED (about 40USD) to upwards of 300AED (about 100USD) per person, and can either include alcoholic drinks (usually called a "bubbly brunch" because of the traditional offering of champagne) or not. Your main choices for venue in Abu Dhabi are the Shangri-La Hotel, Le Royal Meridien Hotel, Fairmont Hotel (they have a Frankie's!), Sheraton Hotel or for a boutique-y feel - the One to One Hotel. We chose to go to a place very near to our new house: Al Raha Beach hotel, Abu Dhabi's first "boutique hotel." I would hardly call it "small."

The dining room at Sevilla, Al Raha Beach Hotel

It was not crowded because of its relatively out-of-the-way location, but the venue was beautiful, immaculate, and the service attentive and warm. The choice of foods left me, for lack of a better word (again), speechless. Perhaps a pictorial description and Time Out Review would do it all better justice.

My first plate of food: crab claws (pre-peeled), seared tuna on a papaya salad, shrimp ceviche and octopus salad.
Second plate included: full lobster tail, raw oysters, grilled shrimp, and beef wellington. Indulgent, I know.

The Asian / Seafood section, next to the carving station, "Arabic" corner and full salad bar, as well as the whole-lamb roast, whole turkey, whole beef wellington and Indian section.


A whole roasted Hammour fish.

Part of the dessert section.

Favorite new find: Umm Ali Arabian bread pudding made with croissants and pistachios.

Oh and as an added perk, many of the hotels offer discounted use of their pool and beach facilities when you eat brunch with them. Good thing - it can cost up to 80USD to use some of them!

Why Brunch, anyway?

Why bother with brunch? Why get up out of your lazy weekend slumber and venture into the cruel, cruel world rather than continue to hibernate in the relative safety and assumed comfort of your home? Because brunch as a concept and tradition reaffirms humanity's need and desire to commune, to be together, to share, to break bread (or toast, as it were) together and to relate life's happenings, for better, worse or hilarious.

There could be nothing more satisfying, in my mind, than a meal well-had and well-shared. And brunch, wherever one may be, is that perfect, almost cosmic, combination of comfort-food and friendship that makes it a tradition worth passing on to the next generation and the one after that.

the little prince, brunching away at Al Raha Beach Hotel

Frankie's: A piece of Italian-Americana right here in Putney.

We were greeted with this image as we walked into Frankie's.
Nice. :)

This year was technically my 2nd Mother's Day, but it felt like the first because last year I found myself utterly consumed by a newborn who did anything and everything but shower me with cards or flowers. In fact, if I recall correctly, me and the rest of the world were still busy showering him with cards and flowers.

This year was much more me-centered in that regard: Matt and Roman took me to lunch at a local restaurant as my Mother's Day gift. Matt provided the champagne, Roman provided the 2+ hour nap (still in disbelief that this happened) which covered our entire lunch experience and saved us the hassle of high-chairs, bibs, and spilled spaghetti. It was a great meal, but let's face it - the nap was the real Mother's Day gift. : )

* * *

Top 5 Reasons to go to Frankie's
despite the shady-looking exterior

5. The Unabashed Swank.
Matt and I had probably walked by Frankie's hundreds of times since living in Putney but had never gone because the front looks like this:

blacked-out windows? really?

Not sure who made the call on that being appropriate way to "entice" patrons into the establishment, but at least they were smart enough to make the interior look like this:

really cool but really swanky.

It's a swanky slice of Italian-Americana right here in good old Putney. It's comfortable but cool - special enough that you want to dress up, but you don't really have to, and even if you don't, you still feel like you're one of the cool expensive-lunch crowd types who is just that understated that you don't have to flash bling.

4. Shockingly Enough: Kid Friendly.
By the time we got to Frankie's that fateful Sunday afternoon, I had already said 3 Hail Marys and 4 Our Fathers in hopes that Roman would stay asleep and not cause a riot in the restaurant. It wasn't just because I wanted a civilized lunch - I was downright worried that Frankie's was anything but a "child friendly" establishment from the looks of it. I was very wrong.

Roman didn't wake up until we left the restaurant, plump, pleased and a wee bit tipsy off champagne (us, that is). But if he had woken up, he would have been in good company. Two of the four tables at the restaurant had children - and not quiet sleeping newborns either. Toddlers, who screamed, broke glasses, ran around with checkered napkins tucked into their shirts and stuck to their shoes, and even came over and peeped into Roman's stroller.

Not only were they provided with a children's meal of a smaller size, there were highchairs and booster seats readily available, and the waitstaff was very understanding and helpful. It was no Chuckee Cheez's, but it wasn't stuffy, uncomfortable or inappropriate for kids. I was quietly thankful.

3. Marco Pierre White
Yes, once again he rears his (sorry) ugly head in my blog (see Homage to the Bouillon Cube post). He may not be a looker, but Marco Pierre White has the whole "making good food" thing down to an art.

I have, alas, never been to any of his other restaurants, nor have I ever watched Hell's Kitchen. And on top of all that, I think he kind of sounds like he was a real a$$ in his hey-day. But you have to give someone who was once the youngest chef to earn 3 Michelin-stars some respect. He had all or most of the British greats work under him - Gordon Ramsay, Heston Blumenthal, and Bryn Williams.

I guess patronizing Frankie's is about as close as I get to showing respect. Besides, if I didn't throw him a bone and he read this blog (ha!) I might end up like that young chef at Harveys, who once complained of heat in the kitchen, and was rumoured to have the back of his chef's jacket and trousers cut open by White who was wielding a sharp paring knife.
*For more incredible MPW stories, go here.

2. A très raisonnable Prix Fixe
Part of the charm of Frankie's for me was the simplicity of it. The giant disco balls hanging from the cieling weren't exactly minimalist, but the menu was. I am always both thrilled and thankful for restaurants with simple, concise menus. It makes my choice much easier because in having to cover all the main options (meat, seafood, pasta, etc) in a smaller number of dishes, there are naturally fewer things I can't decide between, and that is always a blessing for me and my chronic restaurant-indecisiveness.

At Frankie's you pay less than a twenty for either a two or three-course lunch: starter, main and dessert if you have room. The portions are perfect (and not minimalist), and the food is hearty but mod at the same time. The wine list is also fairly concise and unpretentious. Their champagne was excellent and reasonably priced. In London, this is a God-send.

1. The Spaghettini with Lobster.
Yes, LOBSTER. And yes it's on the prix fixe menu. And the supplement is minimal (a quid fifty if I recall correctly).

This pasta was cooked to perfection. A spicy tomato sauce, spiked with pepperoncino chili and lots of garlic. There was a surprisingly generous amount of lobster meat already mixed in with the pasta (I prefer this as trying to peel and eat Lobster with tomato sauce involved is inevitably ugly). And the portion was fitting of a home-style-ish Italian restaurant, but not overkill.

I am not generally a fan of very thin pastas like spaghettini or angel hair, but this one held its own with the sauce and lobster, and was anything but mushy or slimy. I loved it. And I would go back just to eat it again. And again. : )

* * *

Frankie's Express
263 Putney Bridge Road
London SW15 2PU

+44 (0)20 8780 3366
http://www.frankies-putney.org/


PS: Check it out! This post got featured on the Putney Local website!