This was the advice of a friend on how to deal with being housebound while recovering from surgery.
It was good advice, and we started by ordering from our local restaurants.
Then some kind friends realised our predicament; they introduced us to Dishpatch, and we haven’t looked back.
Dishpatch is a service which offers menus from top restaurants, delivered to your door, and available nationwide in the UK.
Your order arrives on Friday, by courier, in an insulated box, and practically all packaging is recyclable. There’s a detailed list of contents, with step by step instructions on how to finish your meal at home.
Menus change frequently; typically there’s a starter and a main event with optional ‘add-ons’, which might be a pudding, or something for breakfast or afternoon tea.
Everything is carefully thought through to ensure you have all you need to complete your meal. You won’t go hungry. Some of the participating restaurants will provide their choices of wine or cocktails to get your dinner party started.
The advice for all perishables is to enjoy them during the course of a weekend, but with common sense you can extend any leftovers for a day or two.
The introduction was the gift of a feast from Angela Hartnett’s Café Murano.
First was a fluffy focaccia with antipasti, a pleasantly bitter, smoky aubergine dip, and pickled vegetables; then an outstanding starter, Broad Bean Pesto with pine nuts, peas, herbs and Parmesan.
It came with a whole Burrata cheese to serve on top (I don’t normally set homework, but if you haven’t tried Burrata, find some immediately to rectify your omission, or I will mark you down for carelessness).
There was a little tub of pangrattato too, crisp breadcrumbs to scatter on top, for crunch. Weeks later, we still had a few left in the fridge, they were a gift that kept on giving.
I feel I should apologise that the photos that follow are blurred and poorly lit. Or both, we were SERIOUSLY OVER-EXCITED!
Buratta, Pangrattato, Broad Bean pesto
Main course was the leg and breast of a plump chicken, anointed with spicy N’duja sausage, star anise, rosemary and cardamom. There were roast new potatoes to serve alongside, with sweet cherry tomatoes and artichoke hearts.
Chicken, roast potatoes with artichokes & tomatoes
We finished with a sublime, intense chocolate ‘cake’, and a light pistachio cream.
Chocolate cake, pistachio cream
Emboldened by this success, we ordered my birthday treat from St John
I’m very fond of St John Restaurant. I know the white interior of the restaurant and the staff uniforms are reminiscent of an operating theatre, but it smells much more welcoming, and is infinitely more pleasurable.
Both the restaurant and the cookbooks have been a huge influence on chefs, particularly in Britain and the USA. They were the originators of ‘nose to tail eating’, a philosophy that respects the animals we eat by using every part.
Be reassured, any idea that you will leave the table up to your elbows in gore is misplaced.
It’s elegant, thoughtful and skilled cooking. By ordering from Dishpatch, you only have two jobs: to complete the process in your kitchen, and then polish off the results.
Chicken & ox tongue pie
A chicken & smoked ox tongue pie served two of us generously over two nights. It came with an enamelled pie dish, sufficient pastry for the top, and a length of marrow bone. The marrow enriches the gravy, while the bone serves as pie funnel.
(If you’re not a fan of tongue, the pieces are large enough to allow easy removal, once they’ve imparted their soothing smokiness to the pie).
Potted Pork with cornichons; tomato salad “model’s own”
As well as the pie, which we ate over two days, we ordered all the optional ‘add-ons’ to complete the treat: ‘anchovy gunge’ to nibble on, potted pork & cornichons to start.
There was ginger loaf, butterscotch sauce & clotted cream to follow.
There were Welsh rarebit and miniatures of Fernet Branca for the Morning After, and a chocolate brownie for tea. And an Eccles cake with Lancashire cheese. Just in case we got famished before dinner….
Our latest experiment? José Pizarro’s Paella Box.
You’ll find the full menu via the link below. The tapas provided were enough as dinner on Saturday, with some left over as a starter for the paella the following day. We chose the wild mushroom and artichoke paella, and were amazed by the intensity of flavour. The correct sized pan is included in the box, and can be re-used again if you’re tempted to reproduce the recipe yourself.
There was enough Alioli(garlic mayonnaise) for the Patatas Bravas as well as a transformative dollop to go on the paella.
Mushroom paella with artichokes; brown food, but in a good way.
If your tapas need deep frying, the instructions tell you roughly what size pan to use. There’s a tub of the right amount of rapeseed oil, and a little tin of Maldon salt, enough for a generous seasoning. There’s a chunk of sourdough bread in the box, for mopping.
Deep frying at home can be quite challenging, another time I (or, rather, The Carer) might try cooking the blue cheese croquetas in a hot oven, and using less oil for the Padron peppers.
The Basque cheesecake with lavender honey? We were speechless with admiration….
‘Beef and Liberty’ from Hawksmoor
Liberty? If only….
This was another gift, aimed more at the kitchen-weary carer, I suspect.
Hawksmoor is a restaurant group known for its beef; they offer their own service, delivering steaks, or in this case a Roast Beef dinner for two. The worry and stress of preparation has been lifted from your shoulders, just follow the instructions (intelligently!) and don’t get distracted!
The beef in question was a 35 day dry-aged rolled rump. Don’t be tempted to reduce the amount of salt they advise you to throw on it while searing before it goes into the oven – the end result won’t be over seasoned.
The rested beef didn’t throw out any blood or juice when carved. It was pink, moist and perfectly tender, with the aroma of well aged meat.
The meat cooked at 200° C, and conveniently everything else reheats at the same temperature, even the perfect (substantial!) Yorkshire puddings.
Everything on the plate tasted intensely of itself.
Roast beef with everything prepared and ready to finish in the oven
Potatoes were roasted in beef fat, with whole cloves of garlic that oozed mild sweetness when squeezed open.
Again, everything is included, the fat, the Maldon salt, even a piece of marrow bone to scrape into the gravy (don’t let it dissolve, just let it soften till the sauce ‘throbs’ on the heat). Chantenay carrots & buttered greens are provided, and a sticky toffee pudding.
We kept the cauliflower cheese to eat with the leftover beef the next day (it has no other part to play in a roast, in my opinion).
Dishpatch was founded in 2020 during the first lockdown. They work with London restaurants to create meal kits that can be posted anywhere in the UK. The restaurants do what they do best by preparing the food, while Dishpatch handles logistics, delivery and customer service.
Since starting, Dishpatch has delivered well over 75,000 boxes.
We’ve found their service excellent. On only one occasion we had a minor issue with a couple of products which we fed back to the support team at Dishpatch by email. They responded very quickly and professionally, with a partial refund as recompense, and a generous voucher to spend on a future order.
Prices are comparable with a local takeaway, ranging from around £25 for a one-course meal for two, to £70 for a complete dinner; if that sounds expensive, be reassured the contents of the latter will provide more than enough for a feast, or more likely two.
Our local restaurants do not include Mexican, Japanese or Korean among the options, to name just three of the cuisines in the Dishpatch portfolio.
In November 2018 a new restaurant called Pompette opened its doors on the northern outskirts of Oxford. It quickly gained a reputation for being a welcome addition to the city’s food scene.
The terrace at Pompette
Pompette translates as tipsy, tiddly or squiffy – not drunk in an unseemly sort of way, but the rather charming state of a maiden aunt who has enjoyed an unaccustomed glass of champagne.
The restaurant looks and feels authentically French, but this is no slavish pastiche of a Paris bistro. The menu features Italian as well as French influences.
Most impressive is the eye for detail in what emerges from the kitchen; French bread can so often be a let-down. The Pompette Baguette & Burgundy butter is a thing of simple, crusty, sourdough beauty.
The charming waiting staff are friendly and efficient. You can tell they’re smiling behind their masks.
Friendly & efficient staff
We started with a salad of Roquefort, gem lettuce, celery & apple, perked up by spiced walnuts, and a flûte of Crémant d’Alsace.
Roquefort & spicy walnut salad
I chose Burrata & caponata with a glass of Vouvray, which trod a balance between richness and acidity that worked with the discreetly sweet and savoury notes of the aubergine dish and the luxuriously creamy cheese.
Burrata & caponata
For mains, Courgette, pea & broad bean risotto, mascarpone, lemon, pine nuts & mint was a comforting taste of summer on an unseasonably grey day.
Courgette, pea & broad bean risotto
I wouldn’t usually order beef at lunchtime, but this was to be my main meal of the day. Roast sirloin of Hereford beef was a thick slice, cooked to perfect rosy pink tenderness.
‘Duck fat potatoes’ were sliced wafer-thin, then moulded into thick ingots, fried or roasted to lovely softness, with a crisp golden crust. Watercress, shallots and a generous bowl of glorious Béarnaise completed the plate.
Roast sirloin, Bearnaise & duck fat potatoes
I asked for a carafe of Austrian Blaufrankisch to go with the beef, and was impressed that my order was taken without having to repeat it, or point out the wine on the list.
Blaufrankisch, Weingut Judith Beck, 2019
The set lunch is very good value, 2 courses for £26 or 3 for £32.
The wine selection is inventive, and with around 25 wines offered by the glass or carafe, you can afford to be adventurous.
Parking on the street outside is free for up to two hours; there’s also parking for a dozen cars behind the restaurant. It’s through a narrow archway which you might find challenging to negotiate after lunch, especially if you’re ‘un peu Pompette’.
We booked a table at Socius for lunch on Wednesday 19th May, which turned out to be their first service after lockdown.
They were ‘so thrilled to be back’, and so were we.
The view from Table 6
Husband and wife team Dan and Natalie describe their menu as ‘snacks and small plates to showcase a modern, British version of tapas’, allowing you to order as much or as little as you want.
Don’t expect the tapas to have a Spanish accent; the Socius style is more influenced by Scandinavia and Japan.
Socius Plates
We thought most dishes were good for two to share; we ordered four between us, and didn’t forget to have the focaccia on the side, it’s essential for mopping; light and fluffy with a savoury crust, it came with a herb butter, whipped to a light green creaminess.
We chose the sticky king prawns with chilli glaze (Natalie says ‘we’d get into trouble if we tried to take them off the menu’).
Tuna tartare is dressed with a loose mayonnaise seasoned with chilli and ginger, bringing a well judged background warmth to the dish; it comes with a crisp wonton to scoop it up.
Tuna tartare, chilli, ginger, wonton
‘BBQ beetroot, yoghurt, horseradish, cucumber, dill’ was elegant, earthy and sweet, a salad transcending the sum of its humble parts.
BBQ beetroot
Hasselback potatoes were earthy too, with nutty skins and warm fluffy flesh. They were served with asparagus ‘salsa’, charred to retain a slight crunch, and spiked with capers.
Hasselback potatoes, asparagus salsa
Everything at Socius is cooked and presented with precision.
We finished with an affogato (a scoop of excellent vanilla ice cream. ‘drowned’ in espresso).
Lunch, with a glass of manzanilla and a couple of glasses of fresh zingy Verdejo, came to £58.
If there are two of you, try to ask for Table 6 – it faces the pass and you’ll see pretty much every dish plated in front of you. When it’s ready, head chef Dan calls for ‘Service please!’
If you’re a group of four, Table 2 by the window is a good alternative. We booked it for a return visit, when perhaps we’ll share the aged beef rump; it looked too much for two to share.
Table 2 on the right
The building has been designed as a restaurant, and has an unexpectedly urban feel. It faces the new car park which serves Burnham Market – if you know the town, it’s behind Satchell’s, the wine merchant.
There’s a gallery above the main space, and a table with high stools next to the ‘Wine Wall’ by the entrance.
There are about a dozen staff, half in the kitchen headed by Dan, and half waiting tables, led by the ever-smiling Natalie.
It’s a wonderful addition to the North Norfolk food scene. Booking ahead is essential.
Red gingham is a bit of a cliché, the ubiquitous table covering of an unpretentious traditional bistro in provincial France. Or so I thought.
In 2013 I came across Ristorante Tromlin in the hills overlooking the Italian city of Turin.
Torino was the capital of the Kingdom of Savoy, which also ruled Nizza, now better known as the French city of Nice.
I developed a theory that perhaps the red-and-white check entered French culture through this historical back door.
Ristorante Tromlin
The bistros of Paris were opened by people from the countryside who migrated to the city, and classic dishes from the French regions, notably Beaujolais, Alsace, and (not forgetting) Savoie became staples.
One of my favourites is La Fontaine de Mars, where the menu is firmly rooted in the French Southwest. Jambon de Bayonne is freshly cut on the red enamel slicer that gleams at you as you’re shown to your table, to nibble as you decide whether to choose cassoulet or confit de canard.
La Fontaine de Mars
Last time we were there we startled our waiter by asking if we could have a green salad with the cheese course.
‘Une salade avec du fromage? Vraiement?(shrugs)
Vive la difference!’
(The tablecloths are red and white gingham in my memory, but when I found this photo I realised they are actually pink. Perhaps the effect of a glass too many of their finest Cahors).
Then there’s Polidor, the restaurant that time forgot. The blackboard proclaims that ‘we haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’.
Woody Allen chose it as a location for ‘Midnight in Paris’, when the lead character accepts a lift by a stranger’s car which transports him back to the literary heyday of the 1920’s, where he encounters F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway in the restaurant.
‘We haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’
I remembered a visit to Mamma Mia, an Italian restaurant in Dublin.
No mistake this time, the tablecloths are proudly chequered.
Mamma Mia
Maybe there’s something in my theory after all.
Savoie to Paris, by way of Dublin?
I look forward to resuming the necessary research.
ChalkStream Trout first appeared at Twickenham Farmers Market on 7th November last year, which was the market’s 20th Anniversary. I’m pleased to see they have started to attend regularly.
Unlike many other traders, Arthur was standing in front of his stall, engaging with anyone who showed an interest in his product.
He explained that the main thrust of the business had been to supply restaurants, which of course was impossible in the first lockdown, and was extremely erratic in the following months.
They had to adapt quickly to the changing circumstances.
As Arthur memorably put it:
‘You can’t furlough fish’
ChalkStream Smoked Trout Pate
Chalkstream Trout set about selling their products directly to consumers at farmers markets around London. They also sell online, and you can subscribe to their newsletter on the website https://www.chalkstreamfoods.co.uk/
As well as smoked trout, you’ll find fresh sides, whole small fish, fishcakes and a lovely paté.
We’re fortunate in Twickenham that we have Sandy’s Fishmongers, who were already a stockist. It was there that I first came across Chalkstream Trout, and mentioned the product in the post, ‘A “Totally Swedish” Moment’, where I suggested it as an alternative to salmon when curing your own gravlax; the fillets are not as thick as salmon, so the cure penetrates the flesh more quickly.
On that first encounter, Arthur asked for our thoughts about the market.
We’ve become increasingly supportive of the market since lockdown, in fact it’s usually the highlight of our week.
Twickenham Farmers Market
To make a good food market, you need the right mix of stalls, giving niche products their opportunity to shine without too much competition.
It should represent the staples of a weekly shopping expedition for fresh food: fish, meat, fruit & veg, baked goods, cheese & dairy. Most traders at Twickenham attend weekly, others come once or twice a month. Alongside the core products we have a stall dedicated to wild game, occasionally a local beekeeper with honey, garden plants in the summer, and at Christmas even an award winning English sparkling wine.
How can you get fish from a Haggis?
As well as having the fishmonger on Twickenham High Street, we’re doubly lucky to have a fish stall at the market.
The choice there depends on what the fisherman has caught that week in his day boat, the ‘True to the Core’, in the North Sea off Walton-on-the-Naze, on the Essex coast. You can be assured that the fish is as fresh as it can be, unless you live near a quayside.
The stall is manned by the fisherman himself, Gary Haggis. He usually has a queue, waiting patiently while Gary deftly fillets and trims to the next customer’s requirements.
Favourite Stall
Customers are invited to vote for their favourite trader in February each year. In 2020 this was awarded to Lee House Farm, who have attended since the market opened; Twickenham is now their main retail outlet.
Queuing in an orderly fashion for Lee House Farm
The farmer in question is Grant Roffey, who brings his organic lamb, beef, chicken and eggs to market, ably assisted by his sidekick Tom.
Grant raises feisty chickens, slow grown to maturity to maximise their flavour; they produce outstanding eggs which sell out quickly; it’s worth pre-ordering online. It’s pleasing to see local restaurateurs carrying away trays of eggs.
There’s also competition for less obvious products; you’ll have to join the queue early in the morning if you’re looking for chickens’ feet!
They make a wonderful jellied stock, rich in collagen. Freeze it in cubes to add body and flavour to your cooking.
We heard recently that our dear friend Michael Gough had died suddenly of a heart attack in November 2020.
We inherited Michael as a friend. Stephen Balme, my brother-in-law Richard Groves and I were working at Les Amis du Vin in the 1980s, and we came up with the idea of occasional ‘tasting dinners’.
Each guest or couple would bring a good bottle of wine from a nominated region, and probably another to go with the supper, which the host would prepare, something from the same region as the wine.
The flaw in the concept was the quantity, not the quality, of the wine.
I think it was at the pink champagne evening that we first met Michael. The evening was hosted by Stephen and his wife Shelley Gare in their flat in Ockendon Road in Islington.
When Shelley and Stephen returned to their native Australia in 1986, their fellow Australian Michael bought the flat, and we became friends with him.
Michael surveying the carnage. Mid 1980s
It was much later that Michael confessed that he was stopped by the police on his way home that night, and taken into Kings Cross police station. He engaged the desk sergeant in conversation, whose son, as luck would have it, was living in Australia.
They must have hit it off; Michael was discreetly released without charge the following morning.
Michael worked as a copywriter in the heady world of advertising in the 1980s, a world of extravagant photoshoots and hedonistic lunches. The agencies had big budgets, and they weren’t afraid to use them.
He would quote from his portfolio, with some pride, some gems: ‘Du vin. Du pain. Du Boursin’. He was less pleased with the strap line he came up with for a since forgotten wine brand, ‘Le Soir….. pour le Bon Soir’.
Best loved in our circle was his summing up of Richard’s business:
‘Richard Groves Catering. It’s a Question of Confidence’.
He was a master of the comedy pause. When I was working in the wine trade a fellow dinner guest asked me the dreaded question: ‘what’s your favourite wine?’
I later learned to say something straight away, giving the sort of answer they wanted to hear: aged Sangiovese, or a fine champagne, but that night I paused a little too long, trying to think of a suitable response.
After what seemed like an interminable silence, Michael murmured:
‘No rush Al, but tonight would be good….’
An endlessly entertaining raconteur, Michael was an acute observer of people, and he showed amusement with a chuckle, or sometimes a snort of laughter.
You could tell If he found something really funny; he would fall silent, but his shoulders would continue to rise and fall.
Michael joined us on several holidays over the years. The first was in Tuscany in 1991.
It was there that we noticed a group of attractive and excitable adolescent Italians gathering outside the bar in the town square, prompting Michael’s inimitable comment:
‘Let’s get out of here, before someone gets pregnant’.
At the end of a good evening, when the others had retired to bed, Michael and I would find a bench somewhere in whatever garden we were in. We would watch the shooting stars in the night sky in Tuscany, or the lights of the flight path to Heathrow over Twickenham.
We would linger over another glass of red wine or perhaps of grappa, and usually, in those days, a small cigar.
Asked the next day what we had talked about, I never had the faintest recollection, but Michael once claimed I had fretted late into the night about the declining stocks of sardines off the coast of Portugal.
Michael on holiday in Chablis
I was due to start a temporary job in December 1999 and had a week to spare. Michael invited me to join him in an apartment he was renting on a farm in Tuscany.
On the first morning we walked up the track to the village for a coffee, and to buy the wherewithal for lunch. When we got back to the farm, I realised I had lost the envelope containing all my Italian currency.
Michael was a patient man. We retraced our steps up the hill, and sure enough there was the crisp white envelope, lying where it had fallen out of my pocket onto the road.
‘Let me explain to you the concept of a folding piece of leather you put your banknotes in, Al, it’s called a wallet. We’ll buy you one when we go into Florence’.
There had been a hard frost that morning, but it was warm enough to sit out on the terrace for lunch. I can even remember wine we drank, Poggio Alle Gazze (a Sauvignon Blanc from the Ornellaia estate, since you ask).
Time spent with Michael was always memorable.
At the Enoteca
Michael returned to Melbourne in c1989, but would travel every year or two, so we continued to see him when he was in the UK; he would set up an itinerary of friends to stay with. An exemplary guest, a bottle of champagne and a good red burgundy would typically be proffered on arrival.
He had friends on the other side of the Thames, and he would go to them after he had stayed with us, describing himself as being like the child of divorced parents, spending time with each one in turn.
We continued to see him in Italy too, where we linked up for two holidays in Venice.
In 2014 he joined us on a rowing lesson in the Venetian lagoon. After we had all had a go at steering, our instructor rewarded us with cicheti and wine tastings at a couple of canalside bars.
At the tiller
Michael expressed regret that day that he hadn’t tried longer to row standing up, like a gondolier. It reminded me of his strap line.
‘It’s a question of confidence’
Michael afloat in Canareggio – here ended the lesson
Since we heard the news of Michael’s death, I’ve been thinking about his talents and remembering the pursuits he enjoyed:
He was self – deprecating, describing his physique as ‘the body that men admire, and women crave’
He was a writer who encouraged me to write, leading to the creation of this blog.
A talented photographer, he was also a collector of vintage typewriters.
An avid reader of ‘an improving book’, he especially enjoyed the works of Virginia Woolf.
He was a yachtsman; during his time in the UK he loved to spend time on Chichester Harbour on his ‘junk rig’.
Less well known was his skill as an amateur pilot; he liked nothing better than to land an aircraft in challenging weather conditions, at an unfamiliar airfield….
Fortunately he only pursued this risky pastime on his laptop.
Michael was always a wonderful guest, and a generous host; a bon viveur and raconteur.
No mean cook himself, Michael enjoyed watching others at work in the kitchen.
We still feel his presence today, sensing that he’s standing behind us, murmuring approval, or chuckling at some domestic dispute at the stove.
In the heady days of July, after lockdown lifted, we cautiously put our minds to where we might like to reconnect with the pleasures of….
Now, what was it called again, that activity we had been looking forward to for months?
Ah, yes! It was called ‘Eating Out’.
We could leave home and go away for a few days. We would go to Norfolk!
We’d go the pub!
The Dun Cow, Salthouse
It’s a pub with a large garden, overlooking the marshes.
View from a window table
We booked a table for supper on the evening of our arrival; we unpacked the car, got ourselves organised, and then it was a few minutes drive away.
Norfolk had escaped the worst of the pandemic, so while restrictions were duly observed, the atmosphere in the pub was relatively relaxed.
We sanitised our hands on arrival, and waited to be shown to our table. The waiting staff weren’t required to wear masks then, but the menu and wine list were ‘single use’, and we were asked to order at the bar; there were no stools for customers to sit and drink there.
We had taken two or three bites from our starters when I put down my knife and fork. They were good, but I realised what was really remarkable: this was the first plate of food I had eaten in several months that had been prepared by someone who was not sitting at the table.
And behold, for it tasted good.
Carpaccio of Beef
Carpaccio of Red Poll beef with remoulade, truffle oil, Parmesan and ‘Blakeney leaves’
And to drink? It’s an interesting wine list for a pub.
Hungarian Furmint by the glass, anyone?
I met her in a Club down in old Soho
Back in London, to lunch at The Union, the members’ club in Soho.
After lockdown they asked their members to book twice, once in July and once in August. This would enable them to keep going through the summer.
We went during what then seemed to be the never-ending heatwave. The bar and dining room were empty, everyone had elected to sit outside on the small roof terrace.
We ordered a bottle of rosé ‘to show willing’, which came with glasses that had been frosted in the freezer.
Photography is discouraged in the club, but this is a view from our table, looking up.
Blue sky over Soho
I snatched another photo.
The Upstairs Neighbour had gone fishing.
After a leisurely lunch we were able to repair to the cool shade of the bar (and enjoy the briefest snooze) before making our way home on an almost empty tube.
Inside The Union
….and a Caff (indulge me here)
During lockdown, many restaurants had asked regular customers to invest in vouchers which could be redeemed against lunch or dinner, when such activities became possible again.
We bought them for a couple of local independent places who we wanted to support.
A birthday was approaching, so we also decided to splash out at one of our favourites.
The River Café
Despite their masks, the staff were clearly enjoying being back in the business of looking after their customers.
The menus were disposable, and we had been encouraged to study the lengthy wine list online, and choose something before the Big Night.
I’m sorry the photos are a bit blurry; we were so excited!
Turbot, yellow pepper, gremolata
Simple and perfectly executed, as ever
Scallops, cod, clams, cannellini
After dinner, one of the floor managers made a point of coming over to ask how we had enjoyed our evening.
Pour these over the beef and cook for 4 – 6 hours until tender*.
Add cornflour to thicken sauce if required.
Shred beef with two forks to serve with rice or noodles.
Side order of stir fry
Shredded cabbage, carrot, onion and pepper, plus sweetcorn, beansprouts; whatever you have to hand, really.
‘Wonderful flavours!’
*Editor’s note: if you don’t have a slow cooker, put it in a very low oven and cook for as long as it takes. Check from time to time and add liquid if necessary; a slow cooker retains moisture.
Today, 29th June 2020, is the 100th day of Lockdown in the UK.
Restaurants in England will be allowed to re-open their doors from 4th July.
I find myself looking further back to what I think is one of the most singular dining experiences of my life.
In 2012 I was travelling alone on an exploration of Piemonte and the vineyards of Barolo. I had been unable to book a hotel in Turin for the first night of my trip, and found myself in a village in the hills overlooking the city, only ten minutes by cab from the city centre.
Turin from the Hotel Magnolia
I had found an inexpensive hotel, ‘La Magnolia’, with quirky, purple 1970’s decor, an elderly proprietor, and the largest, furriest cat I think I have ever seen.
There was a restaurant in the village, and the hotel owner booked me a table for dinner.
‘It’s a typical Piemontese restaurant’, he told me. “one word of advice: there is no written menu, and they will start to bring you food’.
‘Do not feel obliged to accept everything they bring…. or you will not make it to the end’.
I walked to the village square to Ristorante Tromlin, where I was shown to my table, laid for one. The interior was panelled with dark wood, and the gingham tablecloths were typical of simple restaurants in Piemonte, red and white being the colours of the Kings of Savoy who once ruled there.
Ristorante Tromlin
Grissini, the local breadsticks, were already on the table, of course, along with a big basket of perfectly fresh raw vegetables, and some quails’ eggs.
And a bottle of Dolcetto, a simple red wine.
A smiling waiter brought a bowl of dressing for the vegetables. I thought I recognised a dish I had heard of, but never eaten.
“Bagna Càuda?” I asked.
Literally a ‘hot bath’ or warm dip of olive oil, wine vinegar, anchovies and garlic, usually served in autumn.
“No, bagna fresca”, he replied.
(It was May, so the ‘bath’ was served cold).
Bagna Cauda
Then a few strips of Lardo came, silky pork fat cured with rosemary, and a string of little salame on a wooden stand, which was left at the table to cut as much as I wanted, while taking in my surroundings and fellow diners.
A waitress (also the cook, as it turned out) brought slices of Fritatta Erbette, a vivid green herb omelette, and a bowl of Primo Sale, a fresh, slightly yogurty cheese, simply dressed with olive oil and black pepper, and a couple of perfect anchovy fillets with olive oil, parsley, and a whisper of chilli.
By this time, I realised that the 20 or so diners in the room were eating exactly the same menu as me, at the same time, and drinking the same Dolcetto.
It epitomised the natural, sociable, Italian activity of Sunday evening dinner with friends and family. Very small children were drinking water with their meals, not sugary drinks, and were still perfectly behaved at 11pm.
A young blonde woman and (I assumed) her sugar daddy popped out for cigarette breaks between the many courses.
Two or three choices of pasta were offered from a trolley “or would you like some of each?”
There were two meat dishes, little chunks of roast rabbit with shredded green lettuce, or thinly sliced roast pork.
Pouring Dolcetto. Liberally.
The wine, Dolcetto Monferrato 2010, is a simple, plummy red. You could drink as much of it as you wanted.
The meal finished with slices of sharp apple in fritters, dusted with sugar and served with a hot cherry marmellata.
Apple fritters with hot cherry jam
The food was simple, fresh and generous, and dinner had been a life-affirming experience. By the end of the evening it had become my ambition to return and share it with friends.
I was able to achieve this in 2016 with a diverse group of UK delegates from the Slow Food festival in Turin: four chefs, a farmer of rare breed pigs, a cheese producer, students from the University of Gastronomy, and a representative of London’s Borough Market.
We worked out how to split the bill over coffee, grappa and liqueurs.
It was easy; 38 euros each, for everything, drinks included. Cash only.
Ristorante TROMLIN, Via della Parrocchia 7, 10133 Torino. Tel 011/6613050
