Spectator Life

Inflation is (if you’ll excuse the pun) biting. So how can you keep down the cost of the weekly shop and get maximum bang for your buck in the kitchen without compromising? I have always shopped by the yellow sticker and the discount aisle. When I first started getting creative in the kitchen as an early teen, I wanted to try searing scallops and practice filleting Dover sole, French-trim a rack of lamb, and prepare artichoke hearts – and none of that comes cheap. So, I went to the supermarket an hour before closing and bought from the man in the hairnet who I knew and who I liked to think knew me: I took home whatever was most reduced from the fresh counter and then tried to work out how to cook it.

Michelin, alone within the hospitality industry, possesses the ability to provoke elation or tears in professional chefs. If you thought the victims on the receiving end of an expletive-laden tirade from Gordon Ramsay were a sorry sight, just imagine the faces of the poor broken chefs who lose one of their coveted Michelin stars. Some may claim that they are an outdated measure of excellence and that they do not give a jot about them — the enfant terrible of the British restaurant scene, Marco Pierre White, even famously returned his, citing the crippling pressure they brought— but Michelin retains the power to reduce grown men to sobbing infants with one sprinkling of their stardust.

‘Always order your Guinness first in the round,’ Aaron begins ‘when you get it, let it settle before your first sip – half the pleasure is in the patience.’ He’s pouring a pint at Homeboy, his bar in Nine Elms where he and his business partner Ciarán Smith serve some of the best Guinness in London. These words of wisdom were first bestowed on him by his father Liam Wall. ‘If you drink it in less than three sips, you’re a pig. If you drink it in more than seven, you don’t deserve it and if you take so long to drink it the head goes yellow, then we’ll take it off you.’ This is how a well-served pint of Guinness makes people feel. More-so than any other beer, it carries a sentimental connection.

Fancy a dabble in the wine business, at a knock-down price? The Prieuré of Saint Jean de Bébian, a trophy asset owned by a sanctioned Russian oligarch, is set amidst 32 majestic hectares of artfully tended vines nestled in a beautiful corner of southern France. A brand-new climate-controlled production hall has all the mod cons. There’s even a Michelin-starred restaurant on the premises where you might entertain clients. A château within a walled park in a nearby village may be available by separate negotiation. And it’s just 20 minutes away from Béziers airport where you can land your jet.

I have a confession to make to Spectator readers. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s time to come clean (no, I haven’t become a Labour voter – the Tories have been bad, but not that bad). I’ve been experimenting with using meat and dairy substitutes. Hear me out. I’m not proud of what I’ve done. As a right-of-centre comic, indulging in anti-woke sentiment, eating animal products is a badge of honour – the unspoken custom of our movement. Ceasing to do so is the kind of thing which could raise alarm within the ranks, like a bite on the neck in a zombie film. My main motivation for this possible lifestyle change is that my tour shows start at 7:30pm and I am 45.

This week’s recipe is for a chocolate cake that is not a terribly traditional chocolate cake. But that is its charm. It uses only one egg, no butter and, most magically, absolutely no chocolate. Instead, it uses cocoa powder and boiling water: the boiling water releases a deeper, rounder flavour from the cocoa, which is enhanced by vanilla, a little strong coffee, and a pinch of salt. The cake’s flavour is a little like that of a packet mix of brownies – which is not to diminish it, but to signal its fudgy darkness. Feel free to swap the sugar for whatever you have: caster, granulated, even dark brown sugar would work here, or a mixture of whatever’s in your cupboards.

As JFOODO’s ‘Add Sake to Taste’ campaign continues, we want you to continue to enjoy the perfect combination of sake and seafood. London is known for some of the best restaurants in the world and we have paired up with 20 of them for your enjoyment. Each restaurant has created a specific dish that matches with a specific sake to open your palate to umami. Some of these restaurants will continue to serve sake after the campaign. By the time you’ve visited each site, you’ll be an honorary sake ninja and an ambassador to everyone you know. Sake is sophisticated, unobtrusive, delicious and fun. Visit https://sake-jfoodo.jetro.go.jp/uk/taste/index.html to learn more about the restaurants, seafood and sake pairings.

As the war in Ukraine worsens, the horrific scenes filling our screens have prompted a visceral reaction from the British public: 78 per cent now support Russian sanctions – up from 61 per cent in late February. Economic sanctions have undoubtedly hit the Kremlin’s spending power ­– and that’s to be encouraged. But what should we make of the broader cultural boycott of Russia that is rapidly gaining pace? So far, Britain's boycotts have had a peculiarly culinary bent. While Putin continues his onslaught, British shoppers have been encouraged to shun vodka and caviar. Lockdown revived an intense interest in cooking amongst the house-bound middle classes.

Spaghetti and meatballs is an iconic dish: whether it’s Lady and the Tramp that springs to mind at the name, cosying up over a shared bowl of the stuff, facilitating their canine kissing, or Henry Hill describing the prison meatballs that they make to remind them of home in Goodfellas, while Paulie slices garlic paper-thin with a razor blade, there’s no denying that this pasta dish is one which has taken on significance beyond the sum of its parts.

JFOODO has brought together the most sought-after Japanese sake varieties with London’s top restaurants to create food pairings to enhance and delight your palate. The campaign is designed to introduce, educate and make London fall in love with sake. We will be focusing on the harmony of sake and seafood, one of the best pairings that enhances the umami, which translates in Japanese as the ‘essence of deliciousness’. This campaign will run until 18 March, giving you the next few weeks to explore the world of sake with some of the best restaurants in London. This melting pot of British, Japanese, French and, well, any cuisine you can imagine helps us explore new ways of experiencing your food.

In British cooking we have traditionally had a complicated relationship with garlic. Let the french use it to their hearts’ content: fine in a Toulouse but no thank you in a Cumberland. Suggestive of this wariness is wild garlic’s many names – ‘devil's garlic’, ‘gypsy's onions’ and ‘stinking Jenny’ amongst others. But in recent years British cooks have taken to wild garlic with unabashed relish (and indeed it makes rather a good one, as seen here). Food always tastes better having foraged or hunted for it yourself and so it is with wild garlic. The leaves appear in March and you will find them throughout spring but they are best picked early in the season.

With Shrove Tuesday upon us, I am forced to face my annual pancake day gripe. It is, inevitably, the cook’s gripe: standard crèpe-like pancakes should be eaten as soon as they are cooked, each doled out to waiting mouths as soon as it’s ready. Yes, recipes tell you you can keep them warm in a low oven, but doing that tends them towards the rubbery and luke-warm. This means that the cook is standing at the stove ladling batter while everyone else eats. As a greedy cook, I resent this. But there is a pancake solution: the Dutch baby. The name does not point to a Holland heritage: instead, the dish is named after the Pennsylvanian Dutch, a group of German-speaking immigrants to America.

I don’t quite know how the Americans got away with it: convincing first their own people, and then the rest of the world that a muffin is a suitable breakfast food? A foodstuff which is, let’s be honest, cake. But then, we are quite happy to sprinkle our worthy porridge liberally with demerara sugar, to use yoghurt in our overnight oats or alongside granola, to combine butter and flour in any manner of breakfast staples from toast to pancakes, what’s so different about combining all those things?

Seafood has been at the centre of the Japanese diet for more than 10,000 years, with the Japanese consuming an amount that’s more than triple the world average. But it’s not just about food — sake is also an integral part of this seafood culture. Japan’s national alcoholic drink has a 2,500-year history, but its quality, style and variety have evolved to give a marvellous selection of perfectly balanced options. Sake as umami enhancer One of the unique characteristics of sake is its rich umami, which translates as ‘essence of deliciousness’. Sake contains amino acids such as glutamic acid that give a mellow, mouth-coating sensation, helping to enhance other flavours.

There was a moment, about 20 years ago, when Londoners began to realise, and then boast about, the transformation in our food scene. No longer deserving of mockery compared to other global centres, our restaurants were suddenly producing delicious food every bit (well, almost) as good as that associated with the likes of New York. The revolution began with fresh takes on exotic cuisines, especially South and East Asian, Spanish and Italian. But soon another, delightful development emerged: the reinvention of British food. Gastropubs began taking ploughmans and sausage rolls and roasts very seriously indeed, and posh restaurants began to show that homegrown food, when it comes from domestic seas and soil, can be sophisticated, innovative and richly satisfying.

There’s something inherently romantic about eggs: whether you’re preparing them for another person, or being served them, they always strike me as a little act of love. Maybe it’s that they suggest breakfast in bed. Breakfast in bed is not about flirting or seduction, it’s more than that. You don’t make breakfast in bed for someone in whom you’re uninterested. Breakfast in bed is not a collaboration, it’s a gift from one person to the other, reserved for those you wish to impress, or to whom you wish to signal your love. That said, while in theory I like the idea, in practice I can feel a little allergic to breakfast in bed: the prospect of crumbs dropped and discovered the following evening is about the least romantic thing I can imagine.

Japan’s influence on the way we drink cannot be overstated. An entrenched culture of artisanship and craft combined with a love of the good life has made Japan a force to be reckoned with in the noble field of boozing. As a fellow island nation with a similar appreciation for the hard stuff, we Brits have taken a serious interest in how our Japanese cousins get their drink on. In London today, traditional fare like sake and shochu, as well as finely honed interpretations of single malt and gin, feature prominently on our cocktails lists. There’s never been a better time to drink Japanese-style in the city and these are some of the best places to do it.

Let’s face it, rugby can be a bit confusing. No-one really understands the rules. For huge swathes of an 80-minute game, the ball disappears under a pile of bodies; scrums look like a load of fat fellas looking for a set of keys dropped in the mud and the rest of the time it’s just a giant cartoon brawl – a massive Beano-esque cloud of dust with assorted fists, feet and colloquial expletives emerging from it at various angles; after which a pint-sized 'bloody good bloke' kicks a penalty through some posts after an alleged offence no one understood in the first place. That’s why rugby fans are allowed to drink in the stadiums because, if they weren’t, no-one would bother.