Still waiting for spring

In Epping Forest, outside of London.



I was all ready to pick dandelion leaves for salad, but none was to be found.

 

Can we be more specific please?

Photo: mysupermarket.co.uk

A few months ago, I had some dark, leafy greens at the Hawksmoor served braised with a Sunday roast. They were tender like mustard and collard greens but sweeter and without any of the bitterness.

Suspecting that these “Fresh British greens” were the same greens, I gave it a go — they are just as delicious sautéed in olive oil and garlic. I also added them in risotto. I am sure they will be starring in some gratin, stir-fry and noodle soup very soon.

But I still don’t know what they are. It’s a bit unfair that something this good is given such a generic name that googling it will pull up anything that’s fresh, green and British-grown.

Anyone out there have any idea if there’s another name for these greens?

 

Drunk punch, loved it

Had me my first Dutch punch at VOC and it was one of the most delicious cocktails I’ve had in a while.

Speakeasy of genever, here’s my latest bit of reporting on the Dutch spirit, for Toque.

 

 

Easy party trick: Scotch eggs

I interviewed the owner of this charming little food stall on Broadway Market for an article (now put on hold) about embracing traditional British dishes.

 

Whole lotta shakshuka going on

Now that it’s been about six months since I’ve moved to London, I’ve noticed certain eating and dining themes:

The pop-up restaurant and bar. Like Meateasy at Goldsmiths Tavern that came and went. And now Frank’s Campari Bar that’s only open until the end of summer.

Haloumi. People in this town can’t seem to get enough of this cheese, grilled. I’ve seen it at every barbeque, traditional sandwich stands, swank gastropubs and corner shop.

Tea towels. They are everywhere, in every kind of store, appropriate to whatever they sell in the shop, be it screen printed imagery of London, kitschy designer art or the royal family. You would think that they were a nation of people obsessed with hand drying dishes.

Ginger beer. I can’t get enough of this non-alcoholic drink — it’s like ginger ale on caffeine (more on that in a future post). Could ginger beer be the secret ingredient to a Dark and Stormy?

I may be going out on a limb, but I’m putting shakshuka on this list. Nevermind my first taste of shakshuka was served to me as a heaping mess in a reheated Tupperware a few months ago. It was something I had never eaten before, something that was between a ratatouille and moussaka with baked egg. I was more impressed with saying the word shakshuka than actually eating it, but that’s probably why the word stuck. It’s just a fun word to say, shakshuka.

 

What’s been happening

A few weeks ago I helped serve at a dinner in conjunction with the Gwangju Design Biennale. For the starter, diners were presented with syringes filled with olive oil, vinegar and mascarpone

 

I miss Paris…

It’s salad season and I seem to be missing out. While I think California wins when it comes to making delicious, healthy and satisfying salads, my favorite thing in Paris was going to my weekly neighborhood farmers market. I looked forward to walking down to the market on Sundays and strolling up and down the different stalls.

 

Springtime

How do you know it’s spring in London?

Pimm’s Cup served everywhere…

 

Bespoke* noodles

One time, when my mom asked what I wanted for dinner and I said “noodles.”

“We’re Cantonese. We eat rice for dinner.”

My mom would have been happy to have had pizza or meatloaf for dinner, but noodles for dinner? Oh no, that’s a line she will not cross. So I threw me in a temper tantrum (and this was me as an adult, visiting my parents only a few years ago).

Food laws feel like the most oppressive thing to me — I don’t care about cultural rules or allergies, my values and auto-immune response will not win over my right to eat tasty things.

So even though my people are traditionally rice farmers, one morning I committed the ultimate betrayal — I made my own noodles.

 

Kitchen tour

For many Americans, the kitchen has become such an essential room when considering a home. So I could empathize with this lady’s search for a proper kitchen in Paris and it made me think back to my tiny place in the 7eme. I had a kitchen nook, with only a tiny fridge, sink and two hotplate burners. No oven. Even my first Paris apartment in the 13eme, which was adorable and decently sized for Paris, lacked an oven. It pained me that I wasn’t able to take advantage of cooking wonderful things with the aid of an oven. It’s no wonder I never felt cozy at either place.

My quality of life in London has improved dramatically. I’m cooking all the time. I mean, look at this kitchen! It’s perfect for making roasts, tagines and soups. I’ve even started to bake.