Spectator Life

Sometimes this column has a guest reviewer: a dining companion. It was Liz Truss in late summer 2011, for the now long closed Bistro du Vin in Dean Street: a Hotel du Vin without a hotel, and so bereft. It had a bookshelf on which all the books were painted neon, and they flew out in lumps when you tugged at them. I wonder if Liz wanted political PR advice from this column, but I doubt it, because I think you can’t fake integrity, and I get my political PR advice from watching The West Wing. Let Truss be Truss. But Truss is Truss. Or rather Truss is Trusses: she is both myriad, and none. It is possible that the book spines gave better political PR advice. They understand colour blocking. I knew her at college and alumni are confused.

We’re in the elegant 1820s parlour of a five-star, Grade II-listed hotel. There’s music playing softly, and opposite us, one particularly well-groomed guest is wearing a bowtie.  A three-tier cake stand is brought to the table. On the top tier sits a selection of homemade biscuits and a fluffy cupcake finished with a swirl of yellow icing. Beneath that is a thick wedge of cake with what looks like pink and white buttercream oozing from the middle. And on the bottom tier is a finely decorated China bowl, piled high with… mashed-up meat?

In the battle of ideas, it is sometimes necessary to make a tactical withdrawal. That is now the case over climate change. This should not be confused with a full retreat. But in the circumstances, those who insist on the need for lifestyle changes have a point, at least when it comes to wine. Some time ago, I propounded a dictum. Rosé should only be drunk south of Lyon. One could start quite early – 10.30 perhaps, opening the first bottle while brushing away the final crumbs of croissant. Apart from a very few serious wines, it would not matter if the stuff were cooled to ice-lolly temperature. But in this heat, there is no shame in quaffing rosé in England. Other wines can be problematic. Freedom and whisky gang thegither.

What makes a kebab a kebab and why do we like eating things on sticks? That is the important question I have been mulling as we hit the steamy barbecue season. The debate was inspired not by kebabs, in fact, but by yakitori, the typically refined Japanese version of kebabs that essentially involve cooking every body part of a chicken on small skewers, and which also seems to be London’s most recent Japanese love affair following sushi, ramen, udon, and so on.  Yakitori though is really the extreme of food on stick eating. Take the menu of Junsei in Marylebone (excellent, by the way), which breaks the chicken down into ten elements ranging from gizzard to wings and cooks them to dripping succulence on half size kebab sticks.

You may have noticed it’s been a bit warm this week. There are few things the poorly insulated and generally un-airconditioned nation of Britain is less prepared for than the mercury screaming past the 30-degree mark. So really, the only sensible thing to do is park yourself in the shade with a big jug of water, some good company, and a cold cocktail. The following drinks are specially designed to beat the heat without being too much hassle to put together. They’re easy-going, refreshing, and none of them require a cocktail shaker – because, honestly, who can be bothered with that sort of thing just now? Cheers. Elderflower Rebujito In its native Andalusia, the Rebujito is the answer to the Spritz or the Mojito.

When the Tory party set itself on fire last week a restaurateur told me: ‘Don’t worry, Tanya, we’ll still be here when it’s over.’ She was wrapping a scotch egg as she said it, and it’s very true. There is a soothing continuity to restaurants: no matter what fresh hell, people need to eat. I will know civilisation has ended when I can’t get a sausage at the Savoy hotel. People always say that the Savoy has the only slip-road in Britain on which people drive on the right. That is the least interesting thing about it. It is, for instance, the only London hotel built as a dosshouse for people who like light opera (now musical theatre).

As temperatures soar and the will-to-live wanes, there is something that promises to get us through this unbearable heat. No, it’s not a pair of Chanel espadrilles, or a Balenciaga beach ball. It’s something versatile, accessible and varied. When it’s this oppressively stuffy outside and in, the only real pleasure is to quench the unavoidable thirst. I’m talking about drinking — and I don’t just mean alcohol. Here are five cooling liquids which do that better than the rest:  Mango Lassi Lassis originated in India 1000 BC.  The drink is widely believed to have Ayurvedic healing properties and can calm both stomach and mind.

Nothing beats a spot of decluttering - throwing things out of your wardrobe that you don’t use or need to see what you have and make space for things you do need. I am useless at it when it comes to clothes and other clutter, but cookbooks are another matter. I review cookbooks; I probably had about 150 of them, some of which have been used for just one recipe. When it came to the point when they were falling off the shelves – and they’re hefty, being mostly hardback – I had to let some go. So, which ones justified the shelf space? Most of my cookbooks don’t get used in their entirety. I make for two or three familiar and reliable recipes, and use them again and again.

Call it nominative determinism, but a lemon drizzle cake is perfect for disappointing, drizzly weather. It’s cheering: brightly flavoured, and packed with zest, but still comforting, filling your home with a warm citrus scent as it bakes. It’s also a more enjoyable food-based activity than picnics or barbecues when winds are high. A lemon drizzle cake is really just a pound cake – equal quantities of butter, sugar, eggs and flour – that’s then spritzed up with zest and juice. But it’s a pretty glorious one, managing to be both zingy and sweet, light and sticky.

The George, Fitzrovia, was Saki’s local, and a pub for men talking about cars when Great Portland Street was called Motor Row. I imagine them sucking down gin and weeping for early Jaguars; a ghostly Max de Winter rising to leave for Manderley; Mr Rolls and Mr Royce squabbling over ale. Felix Mendelssohn and Dylan Thomas came here too. Nowadays they would be called local creatives by marketing literature, so I suspect they are pleased to be dead. Many pubs have failed, which is an incremental tragedy, though it’s pleasing for women seeking men who are not always drunk. It’s true that if you want to see a fantastical neo-Tudor ceiling on the Kilburn High Road, you will only find it in a pub, specifically the Black Lion.

Sauces are the unsung hero of any barbecue for me. We tend to focus on the big hitting items like the burgers, sausages, and steaks – and don’t get me wrong, these are an extremely important part of the barbecue experience – but what really brings a barbecue to the next level is what goes with it. The beauty of sauces is that they can be prepared in advance. With so much to think about during the preparation, anything that can be made ahead of time for a barbecue is a winner in my eyes. The key to impressing your guests is choosing sauces that are going to complement what you’re cooking. If you’re having fish, for example, you need a sauce that is light and citrusy – or something with Asian flavours.

There’s a story that foodie types like to wheel out about what a culinary backwater the British Isles used to be. ‘In the 1970s,’ they’ll begin. ‘The only way you could buy olive oil in Britain was as medicine for your blocked ears!’ While we might argue that Italian delis were importing olive oil to our cities since at least the 19thcentury, it’s certainly true that olive oil is better known here than it used to be. Indeed, the oil shelves at our markets are coming to look like those at a wine shop, with bottles arranged by style and origin. We’ve even seen the arrival of trendy olive oils that follow the paths trodden by coffee and natural wine to satisfy the curious and nerdy.

For anyone with any interest in the story of Mumbai, or the modern history of Indian food in the UK, Britannia & Co. is a worthy lunch destination when on the subcontinent. An institution in the city, it is one of a clutch of surviving Irani cafes that once filled Bombay. Their fame has peaked in recent years, in no small part because they were the inspiration behind one of London’s biggest restaurant successes of the last decade –Dishoom. These Irani cafes were places where sweaty taxiwallahs mingled with suited and booted business execs, while eating eggs akuri or lamb keema, under wooden fans whirling overhead. The proprietor of Britannia & Co, Mr Kohinoor, tells me the restaurant was before him run by his grandfather and then his father until the age of 95.

One could get used to this. I come from seafaring stock, albeit distant. ‘Anderson’ suggests Viking antecedents, especially as my forebears came from the Shetland Islands. Yet there must have been something wrong with the first Anderson. Other Vikings reached Normandy, Sicily, even Byzantium. At the very least, they found the odd monastery to plunder. Later, their Norman descendants compensated for cultural destruction with cultural creation. But to endure the rigours of crossing from Norway and then disembark on Shetland? Was my remote ancestor seasick, or mutinous, or did he rape the cabin boy? We will never know. A millennium or so later, life at sea was rather different. We were on a yacht, cruising between Sardinia and Corsica.

You don’t need to venture too far out of the big city to find yourself the perfect rural drinking hole. Craving a blissful afternoon sipping on drinks al fresco and watching the sunset? On a mission to try a smashing Sunday roast lunch with all the trimmings? Or simply keen to spend some time surrounded by nature? Then why not retreat to a country pub, many just a stone's throw from London – accessible by car, train (if you can dodge the strikes) or even bike. Go for lunch, a pint, a birthday dinner, and stay for the chilled vibes away from the city smog.

There’s no better time of year to tuck into one of the seasons finest ingredients, the strawberry. The crowning jewel of June's harvest, its arrival signals the beginning of summertime - at long last. This strawberry sorbet is a winner. It’s deceptively easy to make, packed full of flavour and makes for the ultimate treat when served with a dash of Champagne. We love to serve this after a long al fresco lunch in the garden. It’s fresh and light and always goes down a treat. Rustle up some little shortbread fingers to accompany it and it's the perfect pudding. Task the children with that whilst you crack on with the sorbet!

The sun is set to shine again this weekend, and those lucky enough to have access to a garden are turning their minds to al-fresco dining. So we’ve gathered together our top five tips to help you pull off your weekend barbecue – everything from how to get the best out of your meat, to barbecue-friendly puddings. 1. Marinating Marinating meat (and veg!) is a no-brainer when it comes to injecting flavour quickly and easily: using punchy spices, herbs, sugars and salts and letting them get to know the raw meat is minimal work for maximum reward.

Ave Mario looks like Clown Town, a soft-play centre in Finchley with a ball pit so large you could drown in it and lie undiscovered for years. Apart from the crucifixes on the walls, of course, which are specific to Avo Maria. (I have yet to find a soft-play centre that looks like St Peter’s.) We need joy now that Al ‘Boris’ Johnson, our human ball pit masquerading as someone who does not have narcissistic personality disorder, endures to fudge another day with his cabinet of ghouls and his stupid hair. I have always underestimated him as a hack: no more. Now I think he could edit the Daily Mail, and I have no higher praise for any hustler who ever learned to write his name than that.

Whether it’s Santa or the Sith Lord Vader, if there’s a patriarch knocking about in your family, he’s sure to appreciate some pampering this Father’s Day. But there’s no need to fuss, since most daddios are at their best if they’re left alone with a drink. So why not earmark a quiet corner for him on the 19th and make sure he has something special to sip on? Here are some suggestions that’ll make his day. Bourbon This month’s removal of a punitive US-UK tariff on American whiskey trade should see a glorious return for this smashing spirit, and there are few finer than the whiskies coming from the Heaven Hill Distillery (https://heavenhilldistillery.com/#5) in Kentucky.

It was an extraordinary weekend. The various spectacles had something for all tastes: pageantry on Horse Guards; solemnity in St Paul’s; the street party of all street parties on the Mall. And there was also food for thought. What does this tell us about the monarchy, and about Britain? I discussed it with a French friend, abetted by some moderately serious claret. We agreed that France was a monarchy masquerading as a republic; Spain, a republic pretending to be a monarchy. As for Britain, the monarchy is as secure as it has ever been. The evolution of British institutions regularly refutes Our Lord Himself. It is possible to put new wine into old bottles.