Burns Night at The Underground Restaurant

I was on my way to Kilburn High Road to grab an evil elephant leg kebab for me tea when I decided to pop by Aga Lady’s and say cooee. Well she had this event on and I happened to have my camera (how magnanimously convenient!) on tow. So I stayed on, not as a guest mind you but more of a loitering paparazzo.

No queasy sounding pluck is to be found in these veggie haggis.

MsMarmitelover's very own home cured smoked salmon.

Making potato scones (as bases for the canapes)

Here's some of the Cranachan pudding that was prepared earlier

Slicing the noble fish

This was good, so very good I think MsM should market it and earn a bit more pocket money from it

Aida (excellent FOH BTW!) peppering the finished canapes

I still can't smell dill you know :(

Cock(less)-a-leekie soup
Those truffle looking things are prunes

Steamin' Haggis

Bashed/whopped/whapped neeps

Callum addressing and thus reciting the ‘Address To a Haggis’

28 glorious souls turned up for the evening

''His knife see rustic Labour dicht,
An' cut you up wi' ready slicht,
Trenching your gushing entrails bricht,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sicht,
Warm-reekin, rich!''

Dishing out the haggis

This was actually a pretty good rendition of the real thing. Fiercely peppery and densely packed. I liked it.

Scottish cheeseboard

You've got to try this- deep-fried Mars Bars!

Mandatory whisky tasting for everyone

Final course of Cranachan ready to be served

The bloke made a great effort

MsM's account here

N16 bus ride back to W1 at 2AM. I believe I was the only piss artist on board. And I never got to have that kebab...

Joginder’s Supperclub

To experience home-cooked meals that I have hitherto only dreamt about can only prolong the usual: life’s good, so breathe and seek; for there’s good and honest cooking to be found. I’ve known that my Mum* was an ace cook between the age of 1.8 and ten, till I was sent away to Rottingdean as a boarder together with my even younger brother. During my time there I managed to teach myself how to embrace school dinners and the way the English eat- absolute flavours were hardly omnipotent and strange flaws in cooking (erm like boiling carrots as a way of insulting nature) were normal. But these dishes I had at school were heart-warming, so much so that they brought home the bacon. I’ve learnt to be tolerant on what’s presented on my plate from my mate Jase of Essex (chopped up pepperami and bum-crushed salt & vinegar crisps as a filling for baked spuds) to a life changing tasting menu at The Ledbury. A self appointed reviewer like myself have to take and respect everything in context- like circumstances, constraints and oft harsh, realities.

My ex-wife works in the food industry (more than likely that you’ve probably tasted one of her ready-made meal creations from the posher supermarkets) and it was her who educated me on the not so fine line differences between home-cooked and restaurant food. With restaurant food you’ll need all the necessities that you’re paying for, be it the cooking, freshness, seasoning, presentation and value- no excuses as they have to be mutually related. The agenda for home-cooked meals comes from a different stratosphere, for as long as Denise and Dave Best (from The Royle Family- re. The New Sofa) are not cooking the meal - the resultant experience suggests that the warmth and the homecoming obliterates everything else. She also said that with any half decent home cooking one can be assured that dehydration hardly figures. Restaurants use too much salt and as well as most processed food- we rely too much on it and refuse to accept that it’s harmful to us.

So some of you readers who might me feeling tetchy with my waffling by now then let me at least proclaim that Joginder’s Supperclub is 2 die 4. My best buddy KC (a distinguished restaurateur as well as an award winning industrial designer) concluded his evening there as wonderful for it was the home-cooked meal that made it so. The last time KC and I had an Indian was eight years ago and that was at Rasa Samudra in Fitzrovia. Psychologically (yes I’m damn sure that’s the case), Indian and KC’s digestive system have always been at odds but at long bloody last I think Joginder’s has remedied that! KC, Southall next stop!

I consider myself preposterous for not having enough Indian friends, well not close enough anyway, to invite me to their abodes for some real curry dinners. So when Joginder’s Supperclub was referred to me a couple of months ago by MsM (yes I know her name keeps cropping up and we can never agree on the prenups) I jumped at the chance! JS is a new curry supper club in North London and the brainchild of mum and daughter squad, Rani and Saira respectively. The well-versed Ma Rani is and cooks Punjabi and the exemplary Saira, a gifted front of house. A word of mention deservedly goes to the man about the house, Pa Graham who manages to keep everyone chugging along with some friendly pleasantries. And if cricket is your thing then he’s your man twice over.

I’m a sucker for debut evenings and suitably ensured that a place was put aside for me at JS’s. That was over two months ago when my sensory smells went awol. In spite of the temporary disability I was convinced that the meal I had then was something special, so much so I came back here the second time. So let’s hit it with the food pics.

Debut night, November 14, 2009-

Punjabi Pakoras
What some of us (the uninformed like myself) might perceive as bhajjis but the above is the correct terminology. These besan (gram flour) battered morsels are made with sweet onion, potato, fresh spinach, yoghurt and spices. Utterly fluffy and near greaseless: delicious with the glass of bubbly.

Lamb Kebab with accompanying five a day
Think seekh kebab that's been shaped into a burger patty. Lovingly made and beautifully spiced. Only appreciable by those who with discerning tastes.

Fresh Masala Chicken
The below description by Ma Rani was copy and pasted from the original November menu on JS's site. It was one of the teases that made my mouth water!

''the meat is on the bone as it is the only way to get the full flavour and it falls off the bone when cooked. It is locally sourced from Indian butchers because the chicken has much more flavour and texture. I learnt to cook this dish from my mother and father and have been cooking it for 30 years for family and friends. My father’s version consisted of going off to buy a ‘fresh’ chicken (somewhere in Kent) which then had to be plucked and gutted. I am not sure how my turn came to do the gutting but I would have been grateful for rubber gloves in days gone by! Thankfully I can now go to my Indian butcher and get him to wear the gloves and come home with my lovely fresh chicken. I am trying to convince him to post pictures on the website so do watch this space.''

This has to be JS's signature dish. Chicken on the bone is the way to go and sadly dismissed by most Indian restos who through no fault of their own (blame the majority of the Brits for that) have to resort to using tasteless and bleached white breast meat. This dish tasted remarkably accomplished and I can no reason why it shouldn't appear on all the menus of JS's future dates.
Might as well reserve the word yummy for this.

Sardines for the veggiepeskyterians
Didn't get to taste it but the smell from the spices was immense.

In addition to the above and not captured by the camera, there were the following-

Spicy Fish Curry- one of the best fish curries I’ve enjoyed and together with the chicken curry, a standing applause for this standout dish!
Tarka Dhal
Channa (chickpeas)
Saag Aloo- I was informed that the inclusion of potatoes was paramount as they soak up the vital juices left by Popeye’s staple and heavenly spices
Spicy Mutton Curry- there was so much food on the table that I didn’t pay enough attention to this dish; it became somewhat perfunctory. I did have a bit but shoot me, as I couldn’t recall what it tasted like! Oh well there’s always another chance.

JS is thankfully BYO, if you want my advice, go and splash out on a bottle of Alsace Riesling or better still Gevootz.

Preparing masala chai
(spiced tea if you don't mind)

If you like Chai Latte then this is the real thing.
Perfect for the digestion after the epic meal.

Indian sweetmeats
Since I went back to smoking my fondness for sweet things has lapsed. Sadly I passed on this.

Mukhwas
A hallowed Indian mouth freshner consisting of fennel and anise seeds, nuts, pepermint and other essential oils but no fluoride. I could munch on this all day long and perish my chronic 'ashtray breath' reputation.

Second night January 16-

Vegetable Kebabs

The distinguished Masala Chicken, which tasted as good as the first time but this time with the bones removed (to appease the guests I think, personally I don’t believe in improvisations. I’m a stickler for authenticity and I get worked up by changes that interfere with the raison d'être. And that goes for the level of spiciness as well, if it was meant to be hot then let it be). Other dishes that appeared on the table included another marvellous fish curry, the Joginder’s Fish Bhuna (using a Vietnamese catfish known as Basa fish), loads of delightful Lamb Keema, Paneer Keema (I can’t help but think paneer tastes identical to coarse tofu- love it), Saag Aloo (my Bengali friend Taps keeps correcting people not to pronounce the dish as one word like saagaloo but two separate words shaag aloo!) and dhal. Rice and homemade rotis provided the carb elements.

Well chuffed and well stuffed!

The leftovers.
You see JS lives by its intention. Both Rani and Saira ensure that nobody leaves their dining room hungry.

Fruit Salad with Ice Cream

Experimental Blancmange
I adored this milk pudding and I think Ma Rani called it something like phrini. It had the same consistency as Tau Foo Fah, a sweet soy pudding found in Malaysia and Singapore.

Joginder’s Supperclub rocks. On both occasions I left the place fulfilled and cheery. And re the second paragraph, certainly no dehydration like I normally would going to an Indian (and for that matter, Chinese) restaurant and that includes Tayyabs. Thoroughly recommended and I shall be keeping an eye on their summer dates! Thank you Ma Rani and thank you Saira, see you again.

*Mum stopped cooking at home when my Dad passed away just before my A level results, she lost heart since.

A £20 contribution is suggested. If you want to be my mate please don't forget to tip. (Honestly Adrian**, how could you forget!)
**Another mate (no longer!) who went on the second night


Joginder’s Supperclub Site

Abeno Too (Boo Hoo Hoo)

I need to get this out of the way and it’s hardly a momentous one to start my first post of 2010. This review has been pickling for the past two weeks and the wretched experience only encouraged me to sit on my arse and do sod all but stare at other food blogs and make comments of a mildly vitriolic nature. But I do have a backlog of yet-to-be indited reviews of places I’ve been to during the past few months; fortunately the majority of them managed to be rather good and positive but alas, not so Abeno Too.

New Year’s Eve

My dinner of steamed Brussels and cuttlefish balls covered with aligue (crab fat). The latter isn’t too good for anyone- triple bypass comes to mind.

New Year’s Day

And yet again no rest for the infernally wicked. Work and that was at 9AM! You see that silver cable coiled on top of my tool case; that is an ultra posh (actually in the hi-fi industry we call it state of the art) mains cable retailing at 11K GBP for a 2m run. You could actually plug that cable into your kettle, the boiled water might end up tasting like an elixir.

If I’m boring you then I might as well revel in it. The same cable draped over the speakers. Again in Hi-Fi terms you should spend at least 10% of the total cost of your system on ancillary cables (100 quid on a stereo that costs a grand). The system I was attending to that morning will set you back well over a 150K; and that’s only two channel (stereo- we’re purists and we don’t do home cinemas!). No, I don’t sell this kind of stuff every week and if did I would’ve employed a ghost-writer to maintain this blog.

New Year's Day Parade

After four hours of ensuring that the customer was well satisfied (he played Springsteen endlessly, an auspicious kickoff to 2010 and ewgh!) I ventured off to Piccadilly to catch a glimpse of the above. Personally I don’t think Londoners actually turn up at events like this; it’s instead one of those things that only the tourists would take the trouble and do so without the usual accompaniment of a hangover brewing from the night before.

Why did I bother turning up at this event. Well simple, the majority of the young kids have travelled afar from across the pond and away from their families just to enlighten us once a year with their talents. I thus felt inclined to be there (actually I’ve been part of the crowd for the past ten years and likewise the Notting Hill Carnival).

Lunch beckoned and the tummy rumbled in the midst of drums, brass and screaming cheerleaders. With Chinatown only a five minutes away, the thought of Dim Sum started to arouse my appetite. Now I would like to think of myself as a Mother Theresa figure of solo dining; I’ve been doing it for so long now and I relish the pleasure (oh reading material is essential otherwise one will be mistaken by the waiting staff and other diners as being a sad but solitary lemon). Like a barbecue, one simply can’t do Dim Sum alone; they’re both a social event and to do so alone would only confirm a thick-skinned character of anti-social leanings. So I called Marms with little or no notice, she obliged despite hosting her own evening the night before. Now as we all know MsM is a vegetarian (or possibly a reluctant fishyterian), I started to have doubts about Dim Sum in Gerrard Street- thoughts of vegetarian dumplings becoming contaminated by lard or meat stock ruled out the whole idea to smithereens. All dumpling emotions were banished and I decided upon some kind of Nippon tuck instead.

There were two choices- Tokyo Diner (365 days a year, no service charge, aged, indifferent feedbacks, blah, blah…) and Abeno Too. The latter was the first I showed MsM; it was busy, modern and projected a kind of magnetism of ‘be there or be square’ about it. And since it was also highly recommended by a fellow food blogger to MsM, we succumbed and entered.

The place looked like some kind of teppanyaki joint New Labour would be proud off; not too showy but entailing a hidden agenda or two. It’s also Benihana without the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon antics. In addition to the main communal dining area where diners congregate around a bar-like plan there were four separate tables for those who eschew elbow to elbow dining. The bench/seats double up as storage compartments for your cloaks or in my case a week’s supply of fishballs from nearby See Woo supermarket. Like in most Japanese eateries these seats are sadistically hard and promote discomfort (an ode to the misery of Ms Emma Royd is beyond validated). Each table is fitted with a teppan or iron griddle. I’m surprised that in this day and age no ‘Beware, Burns Likely’ disclaimers are presented to the diners at Abeno Too. Mark my word this place is a dream for injury lawyers to swoop on some ignorant buffoon who decided to sizzle his upper limbs; however unknowingly and gulp, knowingly.

We were famished by now, so the need for both food and some hair of the dog was absolute. As for the latter, whenever it was uttered by MsM to a member of the waiting staff whose command of English had been gathered from watching endless episodes of Mr Bean or plain half-hearted pidgin like mine; often provokes a clueless reaction of wtf?

Kimpira Gobou-

A spicy burdock and carrot dish. I know that the comparison is poor but I’d rather have kimchi any day. I was confused as to why it was described as spicy; my mate Tapan from Calcutta would’ve cackled himself to death if he tasted it. The minuscule portion was priced at £2.80. I’ve been had.

Mackerel Saba-

A special dish of the day or possibly the last of the noughties. This is supposedly Cornish mack that’s been simmered/braised/boiled in a 'special’ (arghhhhhhhhhhh…hate that word!) marinade/sauce; that to my buds obviously pointed to a simple combo of miso paste and soy sauce. Good fish ended up in undignified circumstances; is what I thought of it. This was also one of those clever creations whereby the fish was cooked to mimic meat and a miserable attempt it was too. At £5.50, it was amateurish and diabolical value. I’ve been doubly had.

MsM’s Ume Croshi

Veggie udon soup. It took her only a few minutes to finish it. It must have been ok or perhaps even great for her, I didn’t bother tasting as my mind was rattling. From a perceived value point of view, it was poor; a packet of instant ramen at 55p to which I can add an egg, choy sum, shrimps, pieces of leftover roasts, auricularia auricula-judae, sea urchin, fake foie gras is more rewarding and it’ll still come to less than the £8.95 the above was charged. Waffle on I shall, in fact a bowl of wonton noodles (7-8 dumplings, take heed my dears) at Wonkys will only set you back £3.80 (oh free tea included and no service charge!). Help me if you can, for I’m well lost and in need of some reeducation on eating budget Japanese!

Okonomi-yaki

Abeno Too is part of a growing chain that thrives its reputation on the above. This is their description-

‘'Okonomi-yakis' are variations on a theme, the theme being a base of cabbage, egg and dough with spring onions, ginger and morsels of 'tempura' batter, the variations being any of the following in Deluxe or Super Deluxe size’

Hell, as far as I could observe it was simply a fried glutinous rice* dough cake bound by an egg or two and various ingredients thrown in at will. Much like a Korean barbecue, this place is all about theatre (and how bloody convenient it was to be near Covent Garden); an act that’s also akin to Crêpe Suzettes being cooked or Steak tartare prepped or Sunday Rib Roast carved at the table…just to forcibly (or falsely) whet your appetite even more. The chap (nice but suspicious of our cameras) attending to us resembled some kind of a Shaolin monk; he displayed his kung-fu skills by cooking these ‘bubble and squeaks’ (as suggested by MsM). Oh I have endured what no one on earth has endured before; for I’ve eaten the blandest thing since a sea cucumber. Economy-yucky at a premium is how I describe this dish! MsM concurred. She has been had and I’ve been triply had.

MsM’s Tofu Deluxe

An immense amount of squirts of yummy Japanese mayonnaise was observed duly to make it more palatable (did you know that Jap mayo contains MSG, well I certainly didn’t tell her. We all love a umami kick without the need to know where it came from). She didn’t finish it and to make matters worse it was 9 quid eighty.

My Oshogatsu Super Deluxe

Super meant half a bowl more rice* dough and bit more beaten egg mixture. Oh it also included a choice of bacon or organic pork (not both mind you) and cheese (!). I went for slices of the happy piggy…it looked more like bacon if anything. My Okonomi-yaki was bigger and possibly twice as bland as the tofu deluxe. How pointless is this bloody thing, £15.50 is torturous! I must point out that in addition to the Class A addictive properties of the mayo utilised, the option of having your pancakes sprinkled with some bonito flakes is essential- demand all the umami you can get for this street food dish. On the subject of theatre, those bonito flakes fluttered like butterflies when vaguely stroked by the heat from the griddle… David Attenborough would’ve been awing.

The bill came to 70 quid to include a fair numerable amount of tips (this place doesn’t charge for service). A third of the total balance was for two flasks of house sake (280ml and £11 each). Why do Japanese restos insist on charging a premium for sakes? The stuff we had was hardly esoteric and I daresay the rice grains were hardly polished enough to justify their worth. A 500ml pot of superior Rhône at Terroirs would only set you back £11.50 and that spells common sense. I’ve been quadruply had. Stick to green tea methinks.

I suppose if one’s not fussy about tastes or harbour a grudge against MSG laced food in Chinatown, then come here; it’s all yours for the taking, I’m not going back (oh there are a few cash point machines in the vicinity should you overspend here).

You can read about MsM’s account here. Thankfully we ended up at the excellent Bou Tea.

*fumbled big time please see meemalee's comment. I'm well humbled.


17-18 Great Newport Street
London
WC2H 7JE

www.abeno.co.uk

Out with the Noughties and hello to the One-ders.

An optimist is an ill-informed pessimist, so on that account alone 2010 can only be a stonking one. Happy New Year everyone!

A Fairytale of NW6

The walk to Kilburn from Marble Arch took an hour and a bit (thankfully I was given a lift from Islington to W1). On arrival Msmarmitelover confounded me by saying that it only takes her half the time! Hell all that performance-enhancing properties of the turtle blood soup diet I’ve been having in China was a waste of time, nah I don’t believe her, and she’s obviously Lindsay Wagner in disguise.

Fact (and thus sobs)- I’ve never had an actual home-cooked turkey dinner during Christmas, ever. I’ve always fantasised about mimicking Bob Hoskins' character in Felicia's Journey to cook an entire turkey just for one person but as fantasies go I think of myself as being too much of a chicken to do so. Anyway after the past three years solo-dining kebabs on Christmas Day, MsMarmitelover insisted that I should stop this self-inflicted lack of joie de vivre and pop around sa maison instead. Biased I may sound, but let’s be honest who gives a floss, the evening was wonderfully delightful. It was to me a homecoming triumph. The delicious food served was endless and made mockery of one of the seven deadly sins. The salmon en croûte was huge (bloody hell, I thought turkeys were big but this fish took the biscuit!), superior AGA roasted veg (the general consensus is that conventional ovens don’t quite provide the same results when roasting your spuds, parsnips, salsifys, etc), magnificent cheese boards that made me go gaga, Pavlova with passion fruit and salted caramel (I passed on that and opted for a sneaky puff as an alternative) followed by C. pud and the most accomplished home-made mince pies I’ve had. The intimate setting was more than a blissful accessory. The fellow guests proved godsend- the Taiwanese chap and his Italian girlfriend love-speaking in Spanish, a dizzying blonde from Estonia called Ulrike, a most measured Frankfurter who’s now Kingston based that’s Ursula. In addition there was MsMarmitelover’s teen (beautifully attired with a kind of Victorian discipline) and parents (handsome looking couple that makes you look forward to growing old!). I was gobsmacked by two individuals- Alice (who also brought her parents from Nottinghamshire), a Cambridge educated mathematician who has an allergy to WIFI waves and there was MsMarmitelover’s sister, Imogen, who I was sure was singing The Snowman’s Walking in the Air whilst I was incapacitated by sloshing both reds and whites. These gorgeous ladies are perfect catalysts for livening up any parties or dinners. As for MsMarmitelover, just how do you do it? 4-5 days preps required for every event, like I said before, rather you than me. Marms, thanks for the invite and you’re übergorgeous and all.

NB Ursula, thank you for the lift back to W1, you saved me from the leg cramps.

My prez from the Teen and Marms- is that a hint I should start tweeting or twittering?

Merry Christmas Meemalee…

…and to everyone as well. To be honest I couldn’t be arsed about posting but thanks to the above it’s the least I could do. I think I may have up to 70% (don’t ask how that percentage was arrived as I too found it baffling) of my olfaction back. I can’t detect dill or galangal (immensely irritating!) and to make matters worse, a cup of Kenyan AA tastes the same as a Colombian- blogging about coffee is currently stalled. Despite the lack of reviews I have been eating well, from a blow out dinner at The Square to one of the best supper club meals I’ve had this year that’s the Joginder’s Supper Club. I will write about them at some point.

The above is a photo of my daughter’s pressie. She wanted a Strat but I got her an uke instead. She needs to convince me with some George Formby renditions before she can realise her Jack White aspirations.

Alas, my abstinence from grape juice is now history. After 14 months of being teetotal I couldn’t resist taking a peep at a couple of cases of Chateau l'Evangile (1990, for those nosey winos) I had in my possession (‘once an alk always an alk’ is fair do’s). Pinot Noir and Argentinean Malbec currently besot yours truly. The above also shows what I’ll be drinking this Christmas break. Christmas Day will be spent helping out at a homeless shelter followed by an epic walk from Islington to MsMarmitelover’s for a glass or two of Burgundy.

The Muji bear may look childish as a prop but it’s my pressie from my daughter. It’s hardly a ‘Shit Xmas Present’! I love it, thank you Bron.

Meemalee, I’m back, albeit hindered; but thank you.