Pier Pressure

Beer on the pier? If you insist... 

As is clear from this blog, my public profile and, let's be honest, my physical profile, I love food. Food is a never ending journey of discovery (and a source of endless bleeding cliches). Food inspires, be it recipes, combinations or conversation. Food brings people together. Food just rocks generally. 


As a result, there are questions I get asked a lot. "What's your favourite restaurant?" is a regular (and maybe I should do a post on that sometime soon). "What would be your last meal?" is up there too. In at least equal first place though is "what's your favourite type of food?". My answer has long been Mexican. 

To be honest, it wasn't based on much accuracy or experience, just my own half-arsed attempts at Mexican classics using Old El Paso beans, a love of chiles and a sense from what I read that, yes, it's going to tick all my boxes. Over the years, I've experienced some fantastic Mexican and Mexican-influenced meals, from New York stalwart Rosa Mexicano to The Cactus, the much missed buffet restaurant on Haverstock Hill. 

Ah, the Cactus... I celebrated my 30th there, having had to convince a number of friends that, yes, I know "All You Can Eat for £4.88" doesn't suggest it's going to be much cop but give it a go. I then spent the rest of the evening nodding when everyone of them walked past with their second, third or fourth plates of food telling me "this is really good!" Er, yeah, I know...

Over the last few years, Mexican food has improved tremendously in London. It's no longer just the Chiquito's gloop in a tortilla ("it's all basically the same, just folded differently" as Billy Connolly once described it), we've got fine places like Taqueria (and the excellent people behind it from Cool Chile Co which, had I spent money on shares instead of their products at Borough and Taqueria, I'd now own). There's Wahaca, of course, with the fabulous Tommi Miers and team demonstrating the range and vibrancy of Mexican street food. There are countless burrito places (and I'll get on to them in a separate post soon - because I promised - and just send you to Rosie's excellent research in the meantime). Some will no doubt debate the whole Tex Mex / Cali Mex thing and bitch about the "authenticity" - because people always bitch about authenticity - but, you know, the Mexican chefs I've meet over the years happily admit that their cooking style was always a collection of regional ideas and that they've now borrowed US influences themselves, so what does it matter? I have a battle cry in such circumstances. Say it with me now people: "fuck authenticity, does it taste good?" 

Er. I digress. I'll get back to the authenticity rant another time but, for now, it's back to the Mexican food I loves, even without trying it at source. But now I have. And it's still love. Even more so. 

I've been getting closer to Mexico for a couple of years now, with press trips to Texas, Arizona and then California. Then, in February, the chance came to visit the Riviera Maya and indulge. Once again, I'm not going to claim it was a thorough study of the cuisine based, as it was, on a very small part of the country. Nor did it involve lots of little taquerias or hole-in-the-wall places as, when the opportunity could have presented itself - the long road up to Coba - and I could have asked the minibus to stop, the number of dogs running in and out of kitchens was a little offputting. Call me old fashioned but I like my tacos without hairs. However, thanks to the lovely Jetzabel (every bit as brilliant as her name) head chef at the Viceroy, Team Mexico got a great variety of everything from virtually-still-breathing ceviche to an incredible creative modern Mexican dinner, via quite brilliant, habanero-spiced breakfasts to fish tacos. Much has been written elsewhere about the textural joys and all round deliciousness of the fish taco so I'll just add my two penn'orth here: they're right. Jetzabel kindly allowed me to spend a couple of hours in the kitchen as part of a forthcoming challenge which I'll fill you in on in due course... 

I could rattle on about dish after dish but I've probably waffled enough. Time to let the new camera / pictures do the talking.     

Ceviche... we had a lot of these. That is a very good thing. 

  

The obsession with sliders reaches Mexico...

If only to prove I do eat things that aren't meat and cheese... 

Guacamole

Octopus ceviche with potatoes

Sangrita, oh how I loved thee...

Short rib tacos. Now THAT'S a breakfast option. 

See? 

The beach at Tulum. Or "just another shitty day in Paradise" as the t-shirts have it

Beetroot-infused tuna tartare

Another breakfast - think millefeuille only with layers of taco. And chicken. 

More ceviche. Which, coincidentally, was something we said a lot to waiters. 

And there's more ceviche... 

Chilaquiles with a drizzle of habanero sauce. It hurts, yes, but it's a good hurt.

How Now Short Cow?

This week has been a good week. Particularly Wednesday. Any day that starts on a farm in Kent with friendly (and tiny) Dexter cattle, finishes with a testing of Greg Malouf's incredible menu for Petersham Nurseries and has lunch at The Marquis at Alkham in the middle can't be bad. 

All deserve a proper analysis and maybe, just maybe, they'll get it. In the meantime, here's how the day started.

Here's what happened in the middle.

And here's how the day finished. With a lemon posset pavlova. Oh yes. 

Not Too Chablis

One of the joys of blogging has been the random e mails I receive because of this on / off (admittedly more the latter) bit of fun. One of the more exciting messages recently came from the wonderfully named Stephanie Labourdique wondering if I'd like to get involved in a challenge. 

With a name like that, it won't come as much of a surprise to discover the challenge was French wine-related, specifically Chablis.  The deal? They'll send me a couple of bottles of Chablis, I have to find something interesting to pair it with. As well as potentially winning a trip to Chablis as a result (look, I'm shameless, we've long established that), it also gave me an opportunity to write a post I've often thought about doing: the joys of white wine and cheese. 


The common wisdom seems to dictate big heavy red or port when you break out the cheeseboard. The thing is, while the light fruitiness of port works against a lot of cheeses, soft and hard, a tannin-heavy red with a slice of Brie is a mistake you only make once. In my chequered / portfolio career (delete depending on how charitable you're feeling), I've worked with a couple of wine companies: one Chinese (and yes, it is quite a story) and one importing boutique New Zealand whites to the UK. I've also been a cheese monger at Neal's Yard Dairy (a job I'd go back to tomorrow if I could). With ready access to some delicious Kiwi Sauvignon Blancs, Pinot Gris, etc., and some of the finest cheeses to come from these shores, Saturday nights often ended with a bit of impromptu pairing.  

The finest of these involved an incredible, passion-fruit oozing Sauvignon Blanc called Terrace Road and our first Tunworth. I was working at Neal's Yard the morning after Tunworth won the top prize at the British Cheese Awards. It was the first time I'd had access to the cheese and that morning we had something like 47 whole Tunworths to sell. For me and Mike, a colleague, it was love at first nibble and we became Tunworth evangelists that morning, so much so that we tasted it out to every possible customer. As a result, we sold all of the cheese before 11am, the last two to ourselves. That night, I told my wife we should have a little of the Tunworth, it's a thing of cheesy beauty. As it happened, we had opened a Terrace Road as well and... well, the result was fireworks, one of those unexpected matches that escalates and escalates, to the extent that the plan for a single glass and a little cheese saw us demolish both in a heady few minutes of moderate debauchery. 

Since that day, I've been a huge advocate of white wine with cheese and Chablis, with  its crisp fruit flavours, vanilla notes, slight mineral edge and bright acidity, seemed like a good wine to cut through and complement a range of cheeses. 

Hence, after a hefty lunch at Roast yesterday afternoon, I hit Neal's Yard with a vengeance. Parmigiano Reggiano. Appleby's Cheshire. Coolea, Innes Brick. Devon Blue. Tunworth (but of course). And, from the stand in Borough Market, a large block of Comte. 

 

















To be frank, the Chablis went with pretty much everything, although I found it overpowered the Cheshire somewhat, and clashed a little with the Coolea's sweet nuttiness. The Comte worked well - I might go out on a limb and say it's the best cheese at Borough Market most days - but Parmigiano left it behind. I'm a big fan of Parmesan as an eating cheese and the bite, umami hit and saltiness worked danced happily all over my palate. 

We thought we had a winner and then the soft cheeses came out. The Tunworth - it can falter sometimes but is currently a creamy, cabbagey joy - was extremely pleasant, although it does scream out for something that packs more fruit per sip. Then came the Innes Brick. If you've had the Innes Log, you'll know what to expect here in terms of flavour, but the brick is an altogether softer, fresher, brighter experience. There's something very French to it and, unsurprisingly, it sang alongside the Chablis. 

 

But, you know what? The Devon Blue was even better. If you've had the Beenleigh Blue (ewe's milk) or the Harbourne Blue (goat's milk), then the Devon Blue (cow's milk) sits somewhere between the two. There's a hint of apricots and a light nuttiness, with a good salty finish. If the Innes Brick sang, then the Devon Blue and Chablis was a choral masterpiece.