Monday 25 January 2021

Champagne Celebration

 



Panic is setting in as Champagne sales have plummeted this year, with an anticipated 100 million
bottles going unsold, and the future of producers looking very uncertain. Records show that turnover
has been reduced by as much as one-third, worse even than that experienced during the Great Depression of 1929, and despite having survived two world wars.

Within the industry there is little cause for celebration as we see in the new year, and our exit from the European Union. Welcomed by some, but certainly not all. 

However, here in the UK, the news of Champagne’s impending demise may herald good news for us Champagne lovers, as the Wine and Spirit Trade Association (WSTA) predicts that in the UK, more of us will be turning to Champagne as we begin yet another difficult year. Hooray! After all, we
have not had much else to celebrate so far this year.

It is thought that the impact of the pandemic on the Champagne industry could last for years, and amid Boris Johnson’s claim that the UK will be “the best friend and ally the European Union could have”, I
feel that the least we can do is to drink more Champagne. 

We, despite our diminutive size, along with the USA, remain the top export market for Champagne.

France’s Champagne Committee (the CIVC), representing 16,000 winemakers, is launching unprecedented damage-limitation measures as they lose sales. It has imposed a cap on production so tight that record quantities of grapes are to be destroyed or sold to distilleries at discounted prices.
Smaller producers are especially vulnerable, and what is particularly galling is that Champagne’s famous grapes could be destined to produce alcohol for hand sanitiser as has already happened in other wineproducing regions such as Alsace.

Until now, Champagne’s marketing has focused on it being a celebratory drink for parties and weddings. Time for re-evaluation? With few gatherings and festivities being permitted focus will now be on highlighting the wine’s status as a naturally produced quality drink from a historic French region.
Hear, hear! For over 30 years now I have made it my habit (the fluctuating availability of funds permitting) to drink a glass of Champagne every day; it lifts any day from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

When seeking those bargain buys, I have already noticed a number of good deals available, especially for those “premier” brands which normally go for around £40+. Hence, I have just ordered myself six of the best from Majestic, Laurent Perrier La Cuvée NV at £26.99, a saving of well over £100.
Morrisons Champagne deals also get the thumbs up, with no minimum purchase, so look out for Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label (£35), Lanson Black Label NV (£25) and Bollinger (£35).

For online shoppers, Amazon has Perrier-Jouët Grand Brut NV down to £33.75, while Waitrose has a wide selection available, with the majority of the premium brands on offer at 25 per cent off. By comparison, both Tesco and Sainsbury’s appear to be missing the boat at this time of year; their current
offerings are less plentiful and with lower levels of discount. 

As we reflect on the events of the past year, it is important to look forward, and to do what we can as individuals to make our lives, and those of our loved ones and neighbours, a little more comfortable in the coming months. Champagne does it for me every time. Here’s to a better 2021 for us all.

Monday 18 January 2021

I'm a Wine Lover Get Me Out of Here!

                                     

DAY ONE - The deluge that greeted my arrival at Marseilles airport was not quite what I’d hoped for on my first visit to the South of France.

Only one solution, alcohol. And lots of it! 

Perhaps not the most discriminating attitude one would hope for from a WSET recommended tutor.

Having arrived the night before the trip was due to begin, I stayed locally in a motel just a stone’s throw from the airport terminal. Cheap enough, and clearly popular as a stopover judging by the number of people there, almost all men; of the sleazy sales rep. type.

The trip very soon began to take on a slightly surreal element. I was due to meet the organiser, PR, at the airport, in time to collect the only other two participants. Marika and Don, from New York.

I had downloaded details of where we were to stay, including a picture of our host so that |I might recognise him at the airport – middle aged, short grey hair, not much of it, and wire rimmed spectacles. I eventually got lucky with the 3rd rather surprised and unsuspecting looking man I approached. Were I not a short, slightly overweight, middle-aged, bitter, menopausal wine tutor I might well have been mistaken for a hooker. Women have been burnt at the stake for less. In my defence there were a lot of middle-aged grey haired slightly balding men wearing wire rimmed spectacles cruising the arrivals hall at the time.  

Marika was something else. It has been a long time since I left the dubious joys of living the high life in the big apple – and here she was, ready for action on a rather muddy trip to a few vineyards – Louis Vuitton luggage, black lace tights, a tight little black Chanel suit, dark red nails, chipped I noticed (bitch), an armful of gold jewellery. And black stilettos. Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention the huge bottle of pills that spewed forth as her companion, Don, ever the hand maiden, opened her luggage to a retrieve a slightly less vertiginous, but only just, pair of shoes, together with an umbrella, price tag still attached. As we left the airport it was however Don who seemed most concerned about the effect of the downpour on his neatly coiffed hair.

The journey in PR’s Mercedes ‘bus’ got off to an interesting start with us not being able to make a sleek exit from the airport car park. Following the maxim that the best way to get to know someone is to ask loads of questions (a bit like the Spanish inquisition when I’m in full flow), on the basis that everyone likes to talk about themselves. I soon discovered that Marika was a journalist who lived on Columbus Circle and knew many of my old NY cohorts in the food and wine business.

I tried to be charitable, really I did, but I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from Marika’s severely stretched face where barely a muscle moved when she spoke. My eyed were glued to the wrinkles on her neck, and the lipstick line drawn well over the circumference of her thin upper lip.

The next 4 days could be something of an endurance test.

Don, who is from Iran, did not endear himself to me either when PR asked if one of us would like to sit up front. I completely forgot I was in France and went round the wrong side of the bus to get in, only to find Don had already hopped in the other side… and promptly fell asleep, suffering from jet lag. What a waste!. It’s the one thing I hate about organised trips with strangers. I always like to try and snaffle the front seat.

Our first port of call, on our way back to our host’s property, was Muscat de Beaumes de Venise. Marika just happened to let slip that she didn’t eat meat.

‘Are you a vegetarian then?’

‘No, I do eat some fish.’

PR was by now showing distinct signs of panic and I don’t suppose my bemused grin helped one bit. Bloody vegetarians. I hate them. Well nearly all of them, except my friend Laure, who is a bit odd anyway as she meditates too.

Our first tasting at Les Bernardins at M-d-B-V was a hit, although I couldn’t see much point in standing on the edge of a barren vineyard in the cold and damp. Just let me get to the wines. Please. I did not enjoy the first two wines, but thereafter I was on a roll to liquid heaven in the form of ‘Hommage’. By the time we got to our lodgings I was gasping for a much needed cup of tea, I am English after all, and a rest. This was sadly not to be as there was too much noise. My personal requirements for a snooze are total darkness, silence and being able to lie in a horizontal position. Not much to ask.

Even so, the property was posh, smart, and expensive. 

For dinner that night Don, prima donna that he is, arrived thirty minutes after everyone else. Aperitifs were accompanied by PR’s homemade tapenade – lovely but on the salty side.

The soup we were served with first was a spicy mixture of something – tomato/carrot/ginger (?), and pasta elbows.

After the first course Marika disappeared for a full five minutes. It did cross my mind, that not having tried any of the pre-dinner nibbles, unlike me, who wolfed down the lot like the pig I am, could she possibly be bulimic? I think so.

Our next course was sliced tomatoes accompanied by lentils and duck, of good quality although perhaps not quite warm enough. The wines however, the reds at least, were delightful, especially at the price – no matter that the trip cost the equivalent of £200 a night.

Cheese – Roquefort (underripe); goat’s cheese; comté (fruity and firm); saint felicien (fabulously runny) ; thank God for clothes with expanding waistlines.

Marika has now been to the toilet twice during the meal and at dinner is still in the same little black sleeveless dress she’s been travelling in all day. I can’t help but notice the wrinkles on her upper arms – it just goes to show that getting a facelift won’t completely hide the ravages of time on other bits of your body.

Dinner ended, much to my surprise, at 11.35pm – and 7 wines sampled. Not bad going.

The food was all homemade – apple crumble (cold) and sorbet for pud, after the very decent cheese.

DAY TWO - I had the usual restless night but still ended up being late for breakfast the following morning, as I was lying awake listening for the noises in this vast barn of a building that might indicate others were up and about.

B’fast – good croissants, meusli, juice and yoghurt. Where was the fry up?!

Down to PR’s atelier for a very well put together presentation on the area, although sadly it seems that on this trip we’ll only be visiting vineyards in the south so I feel a bit cheated. I also feel that my fellow guests were quite rude, bloody rude actually, with Don constantly on his mobile phone.

The weather at least has perked up considerably.

Lighting in the tasting room was, I felt, quite subdued, although this is something that I have noticed a great deal in the tasting rooms/cellars of many vineyards – funny when we set such store by being able to really look at the hue of a wine.

Lunch – horror of horrors, was vegetarian. Am I really going to be subjected to the culinary whims of a neurotic pill-popping New Yorker? Putting on my best AA inspection hat I tried to remain objective. The chickpea and courgette filo pie was really delicious, but I probably wouldn’t have served it with petit epaulet (?) grain and polenta cake – as it was quite heavy overall and high on the carbs. My partner, had he been here, would probably not have enjoyed it, being a meat and two veg. kind of person, or rather an egg, chips and beans man. Our poor time keeping did not aid JR (who despite my comments does cook rather well) in her reckonings. I did however have the satisfaction of being able to gobble up Marika’s left over pastry – she was clearly not into it, unlike me.

PR, as I may have mentioned earlier, is not renowned for his timekeeping either, so it was 6..30pm by the time we returned from our afternoon’s outing to both Gigondas and Vacqueyras.

We then had a quick turn around, and a half hour drive back to Gigondas, for dinner at a very elegant restaurant called L’Oustalet, set in the middle of the village square. Seating 24 inside, there were an equal number of tables for outside dining – on this occasion firmly tied together with string. In finer summer weather the temp. here can reach around 40’, which would be far too hot for me.

Apparently, the restaurant is owned by one Gabriel Meffre, a big wig negociant from Gigondas, and whose brother has also been the mayor for many a year – sounds local the local Mafia to me!

First impressions - a meal worth having, and a menu worth perusing – with copies provided in English for our non-French speaking contingent. I have to admit that as my French is not too bad, I get by. I have started to take every opportunity to converse with anyone I can in French, just to piss them off – bad girl Linda.

Coarse grey linen tablecloths, white chairs and a sloping beamed ceiling set the scene.

Marika’s eating habits are becoming increasingly tiresome – e.g. can I have the turbot without its accompaniments and just a side salad, and no dessert for me – I had quite forgotten what it had been like living in New York. Where is Gordon Ramsay when you want him to tell someone to f*** off out of the restaurant and go eat rabbit food. I really am a cow……moo!

On the positive side it has however been fun discussing the NY food and wine scene.

Marika, I have also discovered, wires herself up to all kinds of machines (where did she find the room in her luggage?) each morning to ‘jump rope’ – I think she means skipping, for all of 5 minutes and takes a plate of cheese to bed with her every night. Why can’t she just eat at the table with the rest of us like a normal person? – bulimic I tell you.

I digress. The meal.

We began with an amuse bouche, as one would expect in a posh restaurant, of smoked salmon rolled around a mix of crème fraiche and onions – nice presentation (big on presentation here but lacking in substance), but not memorable, smoked salmon was not the best quality.

Home made bread on offer was a selection of grapefruit and apricot; wheat; cereal – of which, being a little piggy, I tried the lot only to find them all dull and leaden – a fine example of where it is all very well making the effort but if you can’t bake bread buy it in! Where’s that AA restaurant inspector when you need her? – old habits die hard.

My first course was a croque monsieur of foie gras de canard with quince – an imaginative attempt but again poorly executed.

The Gigondas we had to drink with this – Domaine La Bouissière 2005 was fresh and fruity, lighter than expected.

My main course – animal based again, less I feel deprived in present company, was pigeon. Again, very well presented, (are we thinking Emperor’s new clothes here?) and beautifully cooked but slightly marred by a hint of bitterness where it had not been adequately cleaned of its yucky bits. Served with purple cauliflower (why?), polenta AND risotto, which was stodgy. We were all served the same veg. to go with – which given that Marika had ordered the turbot, was not a good move. A common error with a lot of restaurants – some veg. just do not go well with some dishes.

The cheese course perked me up a bit, not least because of the handsome and lithe looking waiter that offered a huge selection from the ubiquitous cart – lovely.

This being a ‘posh’ restaurant we were then given granita as a palate cleanser. This was icy (of course!), dull, lacking in flavour or complexity – disappointing.

For pud I had to have the 4 seasons olive confit dessert, if for no other reason than the novelty value. Again, the presentation was v.g. but the whole dish was lacking in textural variation – almost all the items – ice cream, parfait, mousse and a mini Yorkshire pud, being very similar – nice concept, but again a failure to fully think the dish through.

The choc. finger that someone else had lacked oomph, and the pumpkin dessert Marika barely tasted was a good effort at seasonality but again lacking any textural contrast.

Tiny madeleines and brandy snaps to finish – which I took home for my hosts. All in all, not a bad meal, despite my criticism, but I would love to get my hands on this place and steer their efforts in the right direction – the chef can clearly cook and is a whiz at presentation but when all is said and done it is the taste that counts.

DAY THREE - Another poor night’s sleep on account of several factors, including what seemed to be the hounds of the Baskervilles outside my window ripping some poor captive to shreds judging by the sound (I later found out this was just the local pack of hunting dogs being fed). Then I heard the breakfast table being laid, despite PR’s best effort to be quiet. The minimalist style of the building does mean the sound reverberates somewhat. Madam upstairs started ‘jumping rope’ at the crack of dawn, no doubt attached to her usual retinue of monitors, just to check she still has a pulse after all that surgery. I suppose I should be grateful that she and her Iranian lap dog, Donnie (said in a squeaky drawn-out way), do not appear to be getting on like a house on fire, hence I can confirm no nocturnal activity from my fellow guests, I would had heard every squeak of delight and listening to that would have been beyond the pale.

Last night at dinner Marika declared she did not eat bread. So, you can imagine my fury when having rooted through this morning’s breadbasket to pluck out the last remaining piece of French bread from its hiding place, beneath the fat laden almond croissants, which I don’t eat anyway, before I could stake my claim – only for her to leave most of it on the side of her plate. I could have rammed it down her tight-lipped mouth into her wrinkled gullet – I may have found God, but clearly I’ve got a long was to go when the lack of sleep still has the ability to generate such uncharitable and violent murderous thoughts.

I’m going to have to be very careful today in case my mouth gets me into trouble. I’ve been v.g. so far but lack of sleep and my renowned lack of patience may get the better of me yet! Suffice it to say I am not thinking Godly thoughts towards my fellow travellers.

I have on my lap, as I write, a very skinny ginger tabby cat called Pumpkin, recently adopted by the family’s adorable daughter. It purrs for England, or should that be France? Fully stretched out, top to the end of very long tail, I reckon about 3ft. long.

After a bright day yesterday, it is very overcast today, rain threatening.

Our first stop was C-d-P and a trip in a camion with the vineyard’s owner, up to the famed vineyards of La Crau – where Marika was put very firmly in her place. The wine maker said quite sharply on observing her ‘Your shoes are not suitable’. Marika’s face was a picture as she had to clamber into the truly filthy farmyard truck we went in up the very bumpy track to La Crau. She also insisted on getting into the front.

Now at our next vineyard, La Solitude, I think I will kill her (Marika) if she asks one more silly question or yawns one more time. This, combined with Don’s constant use of his mobile, is just SO rude. Everywhere we go Marika goes to great lengths to say she is a journalist but never seems to be able to say what publications she writes for. I think all she does is get freebie trips whilst trying to tout her stories around.

Someone is wearing very strong deodorant or perfume, which is pissing me off - big time! I have a bad enough time with the nose at the best of times but how the hell can the smell of the wine compete with this? Our winemaker and host, in the meantime, is young and handsome, despite the grubby effort at a beard – he could be the man of my dreams. As passionate about food as wine, you should hear him speak. And now I am embarrassed to admit I wrote – it makes my heart sing – how pathetic is that?! Get a grip woman.

Le Verger des Papes is our chosen stop for lunch. A restaurant set on top of the hill overlooking C-d-P.

Note to self whilst picture-taking outside –

Marika – ‘Donnie, can you stand under that arch so I can take a picture of you?’ and then in an aside to PR she continued….

‘You don’t think the arch will fall on him do you?’

My thoughts – after several hundred fxxking years I don’t think so…. I do deserve a medal for this.

I am however under great stress, holding my tongue for all it’s worth, if not my private thoughts. Well done Linda.

The restaurant is a typical tourist joint but pleasant enough. The gougère (cold) were nice as a nibble before our meal.

During lunch, despite eating only half her starter (so far) Marika gets out a zip loc bag full of pills and proceeds to take out a selection – and I confess I did sneak a photo of this.

She is, as I am writing this, recounting a very long scenario of a film she can’t remember the name of about Meg Ryan meeting someone who wins a vineyard in a card game. The woman is mad. I only hope it’s not catching.

My lunch at Le Verger clearly lacked the finesse of last night’s dinner but by contrast was far more enjoyable. What I would describe as ‘honest food’. The quail (get your meat quota in while you can) on my salad starter was beautifully cooked. The balance of the ingredients, and the rustic preparation, of the rump of lamb I had for my main course was on the button – good use of fresh herbs and seasoning too. Very satisfying.

PR, bless his heart, seems to have developed a nervous tick – this may be because Marika has just stated that having consumed most of the bottle of red wine we ordered between us (I drinking white, and Philip abstaining from more than a glass due to being the duty driver) has now announced, after the main course, that she and Donnie NEED to have another bottle (yes, she did use the word need) of wine between them to go with the cheese. PR is clearly starting to panic and I can barely contain my amusement! For Pete’s sake do these two uncouth, unsophisticated, but filthy rich Americans not possess any social etiquette?

May be a business opportunity for me there?!

I may not have been paying much attention (quite likely at this stage) but Marika appears to have emptied the contents of her ‘horse pill size’ capsules onto the table mat – what she is planning to do with it I’m not sure but it looks like cocaine – not that I’d know. In my haste I may have forgotten to mention that the vegetarian food I was practically forced to eat yesterday lunchtime has caused me to fart in the most horrible smelly way – good!

DAY FOUR - Time to leave. Where has the time gone? Both of our hosts were delightful  and they had certainly gone to great lengths to make the property stylish, albeit on a budget. I did in the end, after 3 days of not washing (I only do baths), finally succumb to the splendid walk-in shower, à la Savoy, but I would have preferred a long soak in a deep bath. I had also tired of Marika in her scuffed Chanel shoes and lacy tights, and the fact she kept spraying herself with perfume which did not aid my less than perfect tasting skills. Everything for her and Don was a saga and they had both been so rude and self-obsessed I was quite cross. I was relieved to join PR in bidding them and their LV luggage farewell at Marseille, before trying to change my ticket, which was not to be, so I found myself stuck in Marseille for a couple of days.   

I took the bus from the airport and checked myself into the first hotel I came across on leaving the station – Beaulieu Maris. Not the most salubrious place but then at only 35 euros a night I could not complain too much. Mind you, trekking up three flights of stairs was not much fun (I do not do exercise). Neither was finding my room only recently de-occupied, with the unmade bed still in place and stinking of fag ends. I think it will also have to a ‘piss in the sink’ job as I’ll be buggered if I’m going down two flights of stairs in the middle of the night to have a wee!

I walked down to the old port for lunch. Big mistake, and I should have known better. After deciding that, as part of my economy drive, I couldn’t justify a 50 euro lunch I settled for one of the many tourist places on the harbour front and at 20 euros the meal was pretty dreadful. The fish soup in particular was like dishwater and the waiters friendly in that supercilious ‘let’s rip off the tourists’ kind of way, with poor service to boot.

I returned to my lodgings via the metro. Although we were due to leave Europe I do wish we had taken note of some of their better practices. Like the metro police prowling around, Doberman or German Shepherd being the escort of choice. This and the mob-handed bomber jacket wearing ticket inspectors – five at a time boarding just one carriage and blocking all the exits – I liked it. A lot. There was also a fair smattering of old ladies wearing pink socks, and, darling this, a tropical fish tank installed on the platform. Presumably it has a calming effect on potential muggers, although what it does for the fish I can’t bear to think. In the UK we would have the animal protection police up in arms.

Marseille really is graffiti city. Quite an art form, and it really serves to cheer up the very dilapidated buildings, elegant in their day but now looking more like Victorian tenements. I discovered accidentally during my wandering the Cours Julien area. Very interesting restaurants, bars and funky shops. I happily ensconced myself in a charming Haitian/Quebecoise restaurant called Chez Janet. And there I ran out of paper ……………     

Friday 15 January 2021

FISH - FOOD FOR THE MIND

 

It is well recorded that fish is good for the brain, and that omega-3 fatty acids, found especially in oily fish, are particularly beneficial for improving memory. A recent study has also found that children who ate fish at least once a week scored 4.8 points higher in IQ tests than those who seldom ate fish.  

Despite being a committed carnivore, in recent years I have found that I have been eating more and more fish, especially as we have a local fishmonger that arrives once a week with spanking fresh fish from Brixham. I am afraid that supermarket offerings just do not do it for me. I load up on all of my favourite things, and for the following few days my diet consists almost entirely of fish; undyed smoked haddock, kippers, plaice, skate, crab, smoked salmon, and saltwater shrimp. As a rule, I prefer my fish to have the bone in; no fillets for me. 

Being shielded at home, and going through books at a rate of knots, it seemed natural to turn my attention to some of my favourite fish and the stories behind them. 

I have read somewhere that repetitively thinking about, and imagining, eating certain foods will reduce your appetite for them. In my case this proves not to be true. 

The Last Hunters: The Crab Fishermen of Cromer, Candy Whittome 

I have always preferred crab to lobster, and for my money you would be hard pressed to beat those from Cromer in North Norfolk. This book pays a fitting tribute to the crab fishermen of Cromer. Whilst the stunning photographs and descriptions of those interviewed are filled with warmth and affection, what makes this book special are the tales of triumph and catastrophe; long days spent on rough seas, tragic accidents, and celebratory homecomings with a full catch. This compelling portrait of one of the last surviving fishing communities in Britain tells the stories of these fishermen and their families in their own words, and a way of life that is in tune with the environment, reliant on skill, resilience, and sheer willpower.   

It was Better than Working - Memoirs of a Morecambe Bay Fisherman, Jack Manning 

One of passions is good old-fashioned potted shrimp, made with the tiny, tiny, little grey shrimp from Morecombe Bay. Nowadays, I am much too lazy to peel them myself, preferring to buy them ready shelled to make my own potted shrimp. They are so full of flavour, unlike the whopping great king-sized prawns, usually brought in from the far East, seem to be so popular. This is a comprehensive thought-provoking record of hard graft in an unhospitable environment, written by a fourth generation Morecambe Bay fisherman. 

It is a highly readable anecdotal account of family and friendship in a tight knit community, bringing to life a bygone era. The book is packed with beautiful photographs and illustrations of Cumbria and includes sections on different types of fishing, shrimping, and cockling, and local brass bands. 

Consider the Oyster, M F K Fisher 

Adored by many of our foodie celebrities, Fisher is also one of my favourite foodie authors. It took me a long time to learn to love oysters, and even now I tend to prefer them cooked.  Here, Fisher pays tribute to the hidden mysteries of the oyster, and of the pearls sometimes found therein. Given their association with luxury, it is hard to believe that oysters were once poor man’s food. She describes them in all their glory; in stews and soups, roasted, baked, fried, prepared à la Rockefeller, or au naturel.  

Delving into the 'dreadful but exciting' life of the oyster, as she describes each dish, we live through Fisher’s initiation into the 'strange cold succulence' of raw oysters as a young woman in Marseille and Dijon, exploring their aphrodisiac properties, and other less desirable effects. 

Herring: A History of the Silver Darlings, Mike Smylie 

Given my love of kippers, it is natural that I should turn my attention to herring. Inexplicably linked to the history of commercial fishing, herring have been commercially caught in our waters for centuries. Its key role in the lives of our coastal populations, where at one time tens of thousands were employed in their catching, processing and sale, cannot be underestimated. From Stornoway to Penzance, the author considers the unique lives of the communities who lived for these ‘silver darlings’, which enabled many coastal towns to prosper.   

With a wealth of illustrations, this captivating book reveals the little-known history of the herring, along with giving a number of mouth-watering recipes to try. 

Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, Paul Torday 

I just loved this tale of fly-fishing and political spin that was made into a film starring Ewan McGregor and Emily Blunt. It is the story of a fisheries scientist who finds himself unwittingly involved in a project to bring salmon fishing to Yemen. It is a light-hearted feel-good story of political intrigue about the transforming power of faith and love. 

Desert Island Dishes, The Maldon Salt Company 

Just a little diversion here, as of course sea salt does come from….. the sea. If it is good enough for HM the Queen, then it is good enough for me. This company, which is coming up to its 140th anniversary, asked some of the world’s top chefs, to share their favourite recipe; their ‘Desert Island’ dish. From simple suppers to complex dinner party crowd pleasers, the resulting book includes recipes from more than 60 chefs, including Gary Rhodes, Albert Roux, Rick Stein and Paul Heathcote. Each recipe highlights Britain’s exceptional cooking talent in celebration of one of our best-loved and finest ingredients, Maldon sea salt. 

 

Thursday 14 January 2021

WHERE THERE IS TEA THERE IS HOPE

 

One of the things I have missed most about the enforced time at home during the pandemic is not being able to eat out. As a hotel and restaurant inspector, award judge, for the last 25 years or so I have been in the habit of eating out as much as five times per week. 

My expanding waistline, exacerbated by lockdown, is evidence of the fact that food is, and always has been, at the very top of my personal agenda. When it comes to travel, as friends will testify, I tend to plan all of my holidays around what food and wine I might be able to get my hands on to satisfy the constant craving for gustatory stimulation.  

With no ready access to many of my favourite things, and in an effort to control the urge to eat unsuitable foods at inappropriate times of the day, I have done the next best thing and imposed a high degree of self-inflicted torture by…… reading about them! 

In British households it has always been natural to automatically offer visitors a cup of tea. It gives everyone the chance to take a breather, sit down, and have a good old natter. Despite lockdown restrictions, people do still need to satisfy the desire for human contact, even if only across the garden wall, or within our own limited ‘bubbles’.  

Here is a little soupçon to tickle the gustatory tastebuds at teatime, including publications by some of our most famous institutions, renowned for their afternoon tea. So very British. 

 In the 1990s, when working as chef to the British Ambassador to the UN, I can remember appearing on ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ in New York, demonstrating how to make the perfect cup of tea. As I have always been a great fan of George Orwell, to kick start my reading binge I was delighted to re-acquaint myself with his essay, published in 1946, entitled A Nice Cup of Tea, in which he gives his eleven golden rules for the perfect cup of tea. Milk first or last? That is indeed the question. 

A Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down, Wifey & Nicey 

This is a little book I have owned for a number of years, which I re-visited recently.  

Somehow it does not seem right to have a cuppa without a biscuit and finding the right biscuit for the right occasion is as much an art as it is a science. From Digestives, to Custard Creams, and Bourbons to Garibaldi, the answer to everything you will ever need to know about biscuits is here; is the Jaffa Cake a cake or a biscuit; have Wagon Wheels got smaller; which biscuit is best for dunking, and for how long? 

The Biscuit: The History of a Very British Indulgence, Lizzie Collingham 

British people eat more biscuits than any other nation. They are not only the perfect accompaniment to a cup of tea. the sustenance they provide is often emotional, conjuring up nostalgic memories of childhood. Goodness knows, we all need a bit of nostalgic comfort at the moment.
This exploration begins in Roman times when 'twice-baked' biscuits, (think biscotti without the sweetness), became the staple of the poor. We are then transported to the Middle East, where the addition of sugar to the dough created the art of confectionery. It was in Britain however that, led by the mass production brought about by the Industrial Revolution, bakers experimented to create the variety of biscuits we enjoy now,  

So, we go full circle from the durable staple for sailors and explorers to decadent luxury for the upper classes. I confess to a passion for Chocolate Bath Olivers. Like a tin of assorted biscuits, this delightful book has something to offer for everyone, combining recipes with amusing snippets of social history.  

The Official Downton Abbey Afternoon Tea Cookbook, Graham Neame 

I am not a particular fan of Downton Abbey, but I do know that it has been very popular amongst women of, shall we say, a certain age; those like myself for whom afternoon tea is still de rigeur. With recipes for intimate afternoon teas taken in the drawing-room, to glamorous tea parties in the garden, this guide to the etiquette and decorum for afternoon tea, along with its plethora of magnificent photographs, makes the perfect gift. 

The Ritz London Book Of Afternoon Tea: The Art and Pleasures of Taking Tea, Helen Simpson 

Despite its tendency towards being more of a magnet for tourists these days, along with its rigid time slots, there remains a sense of theatre at The Ritz. It is still the place to go for tea. 

This Edwardian-style book captures the essence of our favourite traditional British pastime. Stories about the legendary afternoon teas at The Ritz and fascinating details about the history of tea drinking are complemented with passages from such diverse writers as Charles Dickens to Oscar Wilde. Beautifully presented and charmingly illustrated, this book is the ideal gift for tea drinkers everywhere, and one that I often send to Anglophile friends abroad. 

Tea Fit for a Queen: Recipes & Drinks for Afternoon Tea                                                         

Produced by the historic royal palaces, this is stuffed full of recipes that have stood the test of time, along with intriguing anecdotes and tales. We learn about infamous royals and their connection to the history of tea; why jam pennies were Queen Elizabeth II's favourite teatime treat and why orange-scented scones became a royal tradition at Kensington Palace. A taste of palace etiquette to recreate at home. 

Taking Tea at The Savoy, Anton Edelmann 

I have always been a Savoy girl at heart. During my early days as a Hotel & Restaurant Inspector, I had the pleasure of meeting Anton on a number of occasions, and even dined in the kitchen with him; what a treat that was. Here he writes about the importance of the ceremony of taking tea itself. The book culminates in a delightful account of an elegant bygone age.  

Tea at Fortnum & Mason 

This internationally renowned store in Piccadilly is synonymous with style, elegance, and English charm. On rare trips up to London I love to listen to the chimes of the magnificent clock in the entrance hall and can never leave without a box of their rose and violet creams, if only for the elegant stylish packaging. Recipes include rose biscuits and lemon curd meringues, guiding the reader through the best types of tea to accompany them. In addition to their famous tea blends, of which my two favourites are their Royal Blend and Queen Anne Blend, Fortnum have recently launched their own Bespoke Tea Blending Service. The ideal gift for the person who has everything perhaps?

Friday 8 January 2021

IS IT ALL A LOAD OF RUBBISH?

I am passionate about rubbish. I hate it with a vengeance. I have been known, often taking my life in my hands, to chase people down the road for littering, or photographing moving vehicles when I see litter being thrown out of windows.

There can be no doubt that over many centuries human beings have done their level best to destroy the very planet upon which we rely for our existence, and the future lives of the generations that follow.

I am all for trying to halt the downward trend, but I am increasingly frustrated that the onus continues to be on us, as consumers, to play the biggest part in reversing the negative effects of our presence. The vast majority of the waste that is produced is down to the excess packaging generated by supermarkets, where most of us shop. With the advent of the pandemic, and many people switching to online purchasing, this has been exacerbated. 

With the proposed changes here in Somerset, general household waste will only be collected once every three weeks, which I think is unacceptable. The introduction of the ‘blue bag’ scheme means that each household will now have five different receptacles for waste. The big question is, where to store them? I live in a flat with a kitchen that measures just 6 ft. x 9ft. No one seems to be able to provide an answer to that.

No small matter is the cost of the water used to rinse out containers before disposing of them. Just as well we do not live in a drought-ridden area of the world.

In addition to this, apart from the unsightly weekly scenes outside our homes, how cost effective can it be to have lorries going from house to house, collecting and sorting waste?

In many places is Europe there are collective bins sited at the end of streets, which are emptied daily.


What is not happening here is for supermarkets to be forced to play their part. I can see no reason why they cannot have Argos type counters dedicated to receiving bottles, plastic etc; the majority of it came from them after all. This could be combined with an incentive for shoppers to return items in exchange for a small discount or voucher. I am all for ‘reward’ rather than penalties.

For as long as I can remember, ‘drug’ stores in the USA have all had machines where cans can be redeemed for 5c. As a result, you never, ever find them left lying on the street; because they have a value. Now in my 60s, I also recall the ‘Corona man’ who would provide refunds on returned empty bottles of pop. 

Whilst I was one of those who voted to leave the EU, I am frustrated that during all of our years of our membership we seem to have learnt very little from each other.
A quick look at some statistics shows that when it comes to waste disposal and recycling there is a lot we could have learnt. 

In Denmark almost half of their waste is recycled, with leftover rubbish being sent to incinerator plants, where it’s burned and used to heat homes. They even have a super-clean waste-to-energy plant that can convert 440,000 tons of waste into clean energy every year, which also serves the unexpected dual purpose of being a ski slope and activity centre for the city’s residents to enjoy. 

Sweden has a long-running bottle recycling scheme, where people can drop off their empty glass and plastic bottles and cans at ‘reverse vending machines’, which give out vouchers in return. In fact, Sweden has now prohibited the sale of any bottles or cans that are not part of the scheme. 

Switzerland has also long been ahead of the curve when it comes to recycling. In the 1990s, it introduced the ‘polluter pays’ principle, where people are taxed on rubbish bags in order to incentivise recycling. The scheme doubled the recycling rate in 20 years, and 96% of their glass bottles are recycled, well above the EU average of 73%.

In Amsterdam, the ‘Wasted’ scheme rewards citizens that recycle plastic with tokens, which can be redeemed for discounts at local shops and businesses. Also, Dutch company EverUse recycles paper and turns it into insulation materials for housing. 

Germany leads the way with 66.1% of its waste being recycled. Citizens do the sorting themselves, into six different bins, which reduces the amount of money the government has to spend on sorting, as well as reducing contamination. German law makes companies responsible for making their packaging reusable or recyclable, operating under a ‘polluter pays’ principle, and all recyclable items are marked with a recognisable green dot.

Further afield, Singapore’s high recycling rates owe a debt to informal recyclers – known as karung guni. They collect around 20% of all household recyclable waste. These informal collectors visit households and pick up all types of recyclable waste, including electronics, which they sell on to dealers and recycling companies.


I have nothing but admiration for our waste collectors, but in looking for a long-term solution we really must think outside the box.

Tuesday 5 January 2021

YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT


One of the things I have missed most about the enforced time at home during the pandemic is not being able to eat out. As a chef, hotel and restaurant inspector and food critic, for the last 25 years or so I have been in the habit of eating out as much as five times per week.

My expanding waistline, exacerbated by lockdown, is evidence of the fact that food is, and always has been, at the very top of my agenda.

With an equal passion for literature, it comes as no surprise that, hindered in my constant pursuit of the next tasty morsel, the next best thing is to read about it!

Apart from a keen interest in what I put into my own mouth, I am always interested in what others choose to eat. I believe our food choices say much about how we lead our lives, and what we value most, which has in turn influenced my choice of bedtime reading. As the famous 18th century epicure and gastronome Brillat Savarin said:

‘Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are’.

Here is a selection of books I have enjoyed reading over the last few months.

Food with the Famous, Jane Grigson 

This cookery book is one of my all-time favourite foodie books, by one of my favourite authors. A great source of inspiration for themed meals, it is packed full of recipes inspired by famous people; diarist John Evelyn, Jane Austen, Alexander Dumas, Emile Zola, painter Claude Monet, plus Thomas Jefferson and the Reverend Sidney Smith.

Eggs or Anarchy: The remarkable story of the man tasked with the impossible: to feed a nation at war, William Sitwell

My enjoyment of this book came as something of a surprise. I had of course heard of Lord Woolton; to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the end of WW2 I made his eponymous Woolton Pie. Not quite one of the highlights of my culinary career.

Sitwell reveals the heroic tale of how Lord Woolton, Minister for Food, really fed Britain, in fulfilling promise to the nation that there would be food on the shelves each week, and how he succeeds against all the odds.

Scoff: A History of Food and Class in Britain, Pen Vogler

In this fascinating social history, Pen Vogler examines the origins of our eating habits and reveals how they are laden with centuries of class prejudice.

Covering such topics as fish and chips, roast beef, avocados, tripe, fish knives and the origins of breakfast, Scoff reveals how we have become experts at using eating habits to make judgements about social background.
Bringing together evidence from cookbooks, literature, artworks and social records from 1066 to the present day, Vogler unravels the aspirations and prejudices of the people who have shaped our eating habits.

Asterix and The Banquet: Album 5,  René Goscinny, Albert Uderzo 

Although a comic book, I could not resist acquiring this. Gaul, what we now know as France, has always been famous for its food and drink. In this tale, on a bet with the Romans, Asterix and Obelix travel round collecting local delicacies and begin their journey home with all sorts of goodies. First, however, they need to outsmart the thieves Villanus and Unscrupulous.

British Regional Food: A cook's tour of the best produce in Britain and Ireland, Mark Hix

Hix tours Britain to re-discover forgotten, traditional regional dishes. Organised by region, each chapter includes fascinating information and anecdotes about the traditions behind some of our favourite meals and indigenous ingredients. The book also provides regional recipes and details of artisan food producers working to revive all that is best in British food; rare breeds and forgotten varieties of fruit and vegetables whose quality rivals that of our neighbours across the Channel.

The Course of History: Ten Meals That Changed the World, Struan Stevens

Many decisions which have had enormous historical consequences have been made over the dinner table, often influenced by an abundance of food and wine. During my time as chef to the British Ambassador to the UN I was witness to this; we could always tell when something of importance was about to happen by who came to dine at the embassy residence.

This book explores the personalities, the issues and the food which has helped to shape the course of history. The inclusion of actual recipes makes this a real treasure chest, with meals a dinner attended by George Washington which sowed the seeds of the American Revolution; a meeting between Richard Nixon and Mao Tse-Tung in Beijing; and in Teheran, where Churchill, Stalin and Roosevelt met to hammer out their plan to defeat Hitler.

Menus that Made History: Over 2000 years of menus from Ancient Egyptian food for the afterlife to Elvis Presley’s wedding breakfast, Alex Johnson

Foodies will delight in this entertaining collection of menus from around the world.
Each menu, from the typical food on offer in a 19th century workhouse, to the extravagance of George IV's coronation dinner, provides an insight into specific events.

Included is the Hindenburg's last flight menu, meals on offer on board the Titanic and the 1963 FA Cup Final Dinner. Fiction also plays its part, with the inclusion of Ratty's picnic in The Wind in the Willows.

What She Ate: Six Remarkable Women and the Food That Tells Their Stories, Laura Shapiro

In this irresistible account readers get to examine the plates, recipe books and shopping trolleys of these extraordinary women; revealing love and rage, desire and denial, need and pleasure.

We take a peek at the lives of Dorothy Wordsworth, cockney chef Rosa Lewis (who became a favourite of King Edward VII), Eleanor Roosevelt, Eva Braun, Cosmopolitan editor Helen Gurley Brown's idea of “having it all”, and Barbara Pym's novels.

Stories from the Kitchen, Diana Secker Tesdell

This mouth-watering assortment of stories has food very much taking the starring role. From Dickens to Chekhov and Saki to Isak Dinesen, we are served choice titbits from famous novels: the triumphant boeuf en daube served in Virginia Woolf's’ To the Lighthouse’, Proust's ardent memories of watching the family cook prepare asparagus in Remembrance of Things Past, and Zola's extravagant 'cheese symphony' scene from The Belly of Paris.

The Greedy Queen: Eating with Victoria, Annie Gray

Food historian and BBC Kitchen Cabinet veteran, Annie Gray, celebrates Victoria's appetite, both for food, and for life.
In her early years Victoria lived on milk and bread under the ‘Kensington system’ and although in her old age she suffered constant indigestion Victoria continued to over-eat. From state balls and intimate breakfasts with the King of France, to cavorting at tea-parties with her children, her life is examined through what she ate, when and with whom. Insatiable and adventurous in her tastes, Queen Victoria was head of state during a time of revolution in how we ate.

Victory in the Kitchen: The Life of Churchill's Cook, Annie Gray

This culinary biography is the story of a woman who was not rich or famous. She was simply someone who worked hard and enjoyed her life. While Georgina Landemare saw herself as ordinary, the life she lived was anything but. She started her career as a nursemaid, and ended it cooking for Winston Churchill, for whom food was central, both as a personal pleasure and also as a diplomatic tool.

Dining with the Famous and Infamous (Dining with Destiny), Fiona Ross

This entertaining journey into the gastronomic peccadilloes of celebrities, stars, and notorious public figures, explores the preferences of the famous and infamous. Ross delves into the culinary secret lives of people like Alfred Hitchcock, Frank Sinatra, and Woody Allen, among many others. Recreate a 'Get Gassed' afternoon cocktail with Andy Warhol and Truman Capote; shake up the chocolate martini Liz Taylor and Rock Hudson invented on the set of ‘Giant’; and relive the Swinging Sixties with the hedonistic tastes of Bob Dylan, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones.

The Bloomsbury Cookbook: Recipes for Life, Love and Art, Jans Ondaatje Rolls

Part cookbook, part social and cultural history, this account, told in seven chapters, begins in the 1890s. The Bloomsbury Group fostered a creative way of living that encouraged debate and communication, often across the dining table. Gathered at these tables were many great early 20th century figures in art, literature, and economics, including E. M. Forster, Roger Fry, J. M. Keynes, Lytton Strachey and Virginia Woolf. Each chapter comprises a series of tales, many of which are enhanced by original quotations and recipes, along with sketches, paintings, photographs, and handwritten notes.

The Man Who Ate Too Much: The Life of James Beard, John Birdsall

I have yet to read this but having been very involved in promoting British food through the James Beard Foundation while living in New York, I could not resist ordering it. The author looks beyond Beard’s public image to give voice to the gourmet’s complex gay life. He is credited with inventing ‘American’ cuisine, and this biography traces the emergence of personality and celebrity in American food while acknowledging Beard’s own need for love and his unapologetic pursuit of pleasure. He was the jovial bachelor uncle presiding over America’s kitchens for nearly four decades. I cannot wait to start turning the pages.

Monday 4 January 2021

IS CHAMPAGNE IN THE PANDEMIC DOLDRUMS?

 



Panic is setting in as Champagne sales have plummeted this year, with an anticipated 100 million bottles going unsold, and the future of producers looking very uncertain. Records show that turnover has been reduced by as much as one-third, worse even than that experienced during the Great Depression of 1929, and despite having survived two world wars.    

Within the industry there is little cause for celebration as we see in the new year, and our exit from the European Union. Welcomed by some, but certainly not all. 

However, here in the UK, the news of Champagne’s impending demise may herald good news for us Champagne lovers, as the Wine and Spirit Trade Association (WSTA) predicts that in the UK, more of us will be turning to Champagne as a difficult year comes to an end. Hooray! After all, we have not had much else to celebrate this year. 

It is thought that the impact of the pandemic on the Champagne industry could last for years, and amid Boris Johnson’s claim that the UK will be “the best friend and ally the European Union could have”, I feel that the least we can do is to drink more Champagne.  

We, despite our diminutive size, along with the USA, remain the top export market for Champagne. 

France's Champagne Committee (the CIVC), representing 16,000 winemakers, is launching unprecedented damage-limitation measures as they lose sales. It has imposed a cap on production so tight that record quantities of grapes are to be destroyed or sold to distilleries at discounted prices. Smaller producers are especially vulnerable, and what is particularly galling is that Champagne’s famous grapes could be destined to produce alcohol for hand sanitiser as has already happened in other wine-producing regions such as Alsace. 

Until now, Champagne’s marketing has focused on it being a celebratory drink for parties and weddings. Time for re-evaluation? With few gatherings and festivities being permitted   focus will now be on highlighting the wine’s status as a naturally, and often organically, produced quality drink from a historic French region. Hear, hear! For over 30 years now I have made it my habit (the fluctuating availability of funds permitting) to drink a glass of Champagne every day; it lifts any day from the ordinary to the extraordinary. 

When seeking those bargain buys, I have already noticed a number of good deals available, especially for those ‘premier’ brands which normally go for around £40+. Hence, I have just ordered myself six of the best from Majestic, Laurent Perrier La Cuvée NV at £26.99, a saving of well over £100. 

Morrisons Champagne deals also get the thumbs up, with no minimum purchase, so look out for Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label (£35), Lanson Black Label NV (£25) and Bollinger (£35). 

For online shoppers, Amazon has Perrier-Jouët Grand Brut NV down to £33.75, whilst   

Waitrose has a wide selection available, with the majority of the premium brands on offer at 25% off.   

By comparison, both Tesco and Sainsbury’s appear to be missing the boat at this time of year; their current offerings are less plentiful and with lower levels of discount.  

As we reflect on the events of the past year, it is important to look forward, and to do what we can as individuals to make our lives, and those of our loved ones and neighbours, a little more comfortable in the coming months. Champagne does it for me every time. Here’s to a better 2021 for us all.