Wine heaven exists in Clitheroe

If you ever happen to be anywhere near a small town in Lancashire called Clitheroe,you could do a lot worse than stop by this unimposing looking little shop.

The tiny front shop area extended through various doorways to a warren of the most impressively stocked cellars you could imagine.

Expensive taste?-no problem

Aladdin's cave

I thought I'd died and gone to wine heaven.

Wines conveniently grouped by country and region

The shop has been there for generations,the nineteenth century fittings still in use.
Bottles stacked ceiling high, accessed via library style ladder.

Like to see an authentically dusty bottle though we were told turnover at the shop is quite brisk-I'm  not surprised.

Helpful recommendations,very knowledgeable staff.

Like a nice Pomerol

If you like wine you will like it here.In fact why wait until you chance by,its well worth a detour.

Yes,I know this is an uncharacteristically sensible post but we couldn't help but chuckle when we spotted this at the far end of the last cellar,the sofa shop next door most inappropriately named...

Quite fancied buying Chef a bottle of Port for Christmas from the year of his birth

We settled on a couple of less expensive little treats..shortly after which Chef shoe horned me out of the door and back to reality before any permanent financial damage was incurred.


D Byrne and Co-Clitheroe

A BOX OF TRICKS

This time of year brings a slight and welcome respite in the intensity of kitchen life.For a rural pub it's definitely the quietest time of year.
For the successful chef there is never a quiet time.Keeping one step ahead of the game is the key to running a viable business and more importantly,making a profit.Once Autumn comes there's a plethora of alternative tasks which readily fill the void.


(Some of this weeks produce:Crab apple jelly-costs next to nothing.Ideal with chicken livers,gamey dishes and sausages.)

Jam and chutney making,pickling and bottling begins in earnest because believe me when you hit the busy time again you will be so glad you have some prep and standby accompaniments to fall back on.
Similarly,suppliers too are trying to maximize their profit,keeping waste to a minimum, hence you are more likely to be palmed off with sub standard stock at this time of year than at any other time.
Keeping your suppliers on their toes is a sport which Chef enjoys and sees as a challenge.
Fortunately,we happen to be our butchers biggest account so we always get the the pick of the stock.No problems there.Similarly,its also in the interests of our vegetable supplier to keep us sweet.Hence we are regularly the recipients of 'freebies' which Chef inventively converts into cash.He loves a bargain or more to the point something which has cost him nothing other than a bit of effort that he can then knock out for a fiver.It gives him a warm glow.

The baker provides more of a contest.Initially, we baked all our own bread,but before long this became unmanageable.We couldn't keep up with demand as the business grew.Something had to give,we had to source a decent bread supplier to provide for the sandwich menu.
In keeping with using local suppliers we identified a master baker from a nearby village who agreed to deliver fresh bread to us daily.
Lately though,we've been having a few problems.
Obviously the bakery hasn't been as busy.I've suspected on a few occasions that we've been given yesterdays bread.
Chef was not best pleased.He's told Rodney(the baker) in no uncertain terms 'I don't care where you take the old bread but don't bring any of it here-BECAUSE I DON'T BLOODY WANT IT. GEDDIT?'
He leaves a similarly worded reminder on the answer phone order to this effect each night.
The saga has been ongoing for a couple of weeks.
Rodney is living on borrowed time.

Chef hates Friday mornings.Not least because of the inevitable increased workload necessary to get through the required amount of prep for the weekend menu.
In addition Friday is usual bread delivery drivers day off.
Friday's Baker-boy loves Chef.
Unfortunately the feeling isn't reciprocated.
This morning as we met outside, Baker-boy knocked me aside(barely giving me a second glance) and almost trampled me underfoot in his desperation to push past and get to Chef,whom he affectionately refers to as 'Boss Man'.
He'd spied him through the steam at the kitchen window:

'There he is.. there's Boss Man..look at him, working away..'

He could barely contain his delight,rushing to the kitchen door with the ungainly plastic trays held aloft and becoming tangled in the black plastic fly screen blind in his haste.
Disappointingly it wasn't Chef whom he'd glimpsed,it was The Apprentice.
Baker boy had yet to encounter The Apprentice.

Determination being one of his finer attributes,Baker boy loitered with intent on the off chance of exchanging a few well chosen pleasantries with Boss Man.It makes his day.
Apprentice endeavoured to take the tray but Baker-boy's vice like grip retained possession of the prize,he wasn't giving up that easily.

'I need to see Boss Man.Where is he?I want to show him I've brought him fresh bread.See..(pointing out the condensation visible on the cellophane packs)..Its still warm..'
Satisfied smile.

Apprentice glanced furtively as Baker-boy followed behind me through the prep area and around to the stoves where Chef had been working.

Self:'Oh he's not here.That's weird,I wonder where he's gone'

Unrequited love.
Deflated,Baker-boy wandered off empty handed,his chance of glory and finding favour with Boss Man wasted.His despondent look left me feeling a bit sorry for him.

I wondered where Chef had gone.
Walking over to the cooked meats fridge(having separate fridges for raw and cooked meats will earn you Brownie points with Environmental Health)I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye under the adjacent stainless steel bench.
Chef had impressively compressed his not insignificant frame Houdini style,into a large brown cardboard box (formerly containing our new Potato Rumbler),stacked neatly on the shelf below.
Apprentice was in on the plan.They were creased up.




I pretended not to be amused...



PS:Sorry about the stray piece of carrot on the floor.

The Apprentice

We have a new employee in the kitchen.
An apprentice.
Its not the first time we have taken an enthusiastic youngster dazzled both by the blinding flash of some pristine new whites and the possibility of a first foot on the upward ladder towards guaranteed TV Chefdom.

In fact this is our third apprentice.

The first had great potential. Unsocial hours borne with fortitude for six long months in a repeating cycle of late nights,booze,fags and coffee until his constantly changing parade of nubile girlfriends(most wearing hot pants) was replaced by a steady girl who a) didn't like him working nights and b) was threatened by the squad of attractive females working here, quickly putting a block on his kitchen career.
He's now working at Tesco,what a waste.To be fair he puts on a mean display at the fresh fish counter.

The second was not suited at all to kitchen life.
It was left to me to impart basic training.
Having an all consuming passion to be a Chef,his enthusiasm could not be faulted.
He showed the required evidence of prior interest having studied Food Technology GCSE at school and being in possession of a Basic Food Hygiene Certificate.
Alarm bells rang on the first day however,when in conversation I asked him if he cooked at home and if so what he liked to cook.

'Not really' came the reply 'my Mum is a very good cook' Hmm.

One of the first jobs I gave him was to cut some bread,showing him first of all which knife he should use.A serrated one.Knife in hand and loaf on the correct colour coded chopping board(white)he set to work.

HE PLACED THE KNIFE ON THE LOAF AND PRESSED DOWN WITH HIS NOT INSIGNIFICANT FORCE,SQUASHING THE LOAF BEYOND RECOGNITION, THEN TEASING THE COMPACTED WEDGE OF BREAD BACK TO SOME SEMBLANCE OF ITS ORIGINAL SHAPE.

He looked pleased with himself.

Clearly the first time he had been allowed to cut himself a slice of bread.
Not wanting to burst his bubble of glory just yet,I tactfully went back to basics,explaining why the knife was serrated and how it was to be used with a SAWING action to prevent all the life from being knocked out of the bread.
I demonstrated.
Over the next few days it became apparent that he had difficulty remembering anything,the pad I gave him to make recipe notes was not of any great assistance. I glanced at it a couple of times and was surprised to see basic instructions and observations.For example, notations such as "loads of cheese" when I happened to make a cheese sandwich.For myself.

The biggest worry was the absence and total lack of awareness of basic hygiene standards.
During service I would use him as an assistant asking him to fetch things from the fridge,sometimes letting him help plate up cold starters and puddings.
I had to watch him like a hawk.Every other sentence I uttered became 'wash your hands.'

Pass the salmon
Wash your hands
pass the bread
pass the ham
wash your hands
fetch the eggs
wash your hands
wash your hands

I sounded like a broken record.Worryingly, I was even beginning to work to the rhythm of the chant which went around in my head even when I wasn't saying it.You know like an irritating tune that you just cant throw off?

He had no understanding whatsoever (despite repeated instruction) of the dangers of cross contamination.
His work station looked like the PG Tips chimps had dropped in for an impromptu cookery masterclass then tap danced on the results..

I explained the philosophy behind 'clean as you go' and the importance of wiping down ones work space,keeping the chopping board clean and washing with hot soapy water twixt each task, lest any conflicting ingredient contaminate the next.Never mind the overspill of flavours, we could ill afford to pick off the diners with a tasty but suicidial Salmonella sandwich.

I decided I could teach him how to plate up a cheeseboard and do simple puddings which would give him a purpose during service rather than just standing around watching us.

By the end of the second week he still couldn't remember every constituent of the cheeseboard.Every board he prepared had some ingredient missing which I would patiently draw his attention to.
On the Saturday night BG came in as usual to do potwash.
Another cheeseboard was produced incomplete.I was running out of patience so decided a different approach was in order.I would put the onus back on him to tell me what was missing, a process of elimination would force him to come up with the answer,rather than relying on me to address every problem.He needed to start working on his own initiative.

Self:theres something missing
Apprentice 2:emmm
Self:what is it?
Apprentice 2:emm i just dont know.

At this point BG,without even turning around casually produced the correct answer.

'its the celery'

I hadnt even been aware that he was listening.

The next Cheeseboard order came on and predictably the finished article was again lacking in substance somewhat.

Self:theres something missing
Apprentice 2:ermmmm
Self:what is it?
Apprentice 2:ermmmmmm im not sure

I wasn't going to give up this time.

Self:OK have you eaten a cheeseboard before?
Apprentice 2:yes
Self:well how did you eat it?
Apprentice 2:ermm well I just don't know..

The cheeseboard had no bloody biscuits on it,if there's one fundamental requirement necessary on a cheeseboard other than cheese its the bloody biscuits.
Or at least a bit of bread.

By the end of the first two weeks I was a physical wreck.If there's anything harder than working a 14 hour day, its working a 14 hour day and giving a running commentary to someone else of every aspect of that day in minute detail..I was emotionally and physically exhausted.

After service, over a couple of bottles glasses of medicinal wine Chef and I discussed the events of the night.
Apprentice 2 was a liability.
We agreed that on Monday morning Chef would have an appraising chat with him to see how he thought he was getting on.

On the morning in question Apprentice 2 arrived punctually as always(I did say I couldn't fault his enthusiasm).
Chef asked him to wash the four types of salad leaves we use every day for garnishes.When he returned to check on his progress he had washed only one type(watercress).
He had been given this task every day for 2 weeks and he still couldn't manage to remember which varieties were needed.Nor could he identify the leaves.He didn't even know which leaf he had washed.

Chef sat him down for an urgent chat.
Apprentice 2 had no idea that he was not coming up to satisfactory standard.Chef advised him diplomatically that we need to see a bit more attention to detail and concentration on the task in hand.
He drew his attention to the hygiene concerns mentioning that he'd noted that he had been awarded a Food Hygeine Cert therefore should be well aware of these significant issues.Apprentice 2 replied 'yes but that was over a year ago now I cant remember much about it now..'

He began to beal.

Chef was mortified.
He calmed him down and told him there was no reason to get upset we just needed to see some concentrated effort to improve.

Shortly afterwards Chef nipped upstairs to get his chequebook to pay the butcher.A couple of minutes later he reappeared in the bar where I was putting away the brewery delivery.

Chef:Guess what?
Self:What now?
Chef:Apprentice 2 has disappeared
Self:What???
Chef:Its true he's done a runner..
Self:You're joking

We both ran to the kitchen.It was true he was gone,knife discarded on chopping board in mid chop of the parsley.
We looked under the benches and in the cupboards.He had in fact done a bunk.
Bloody hell, said Chef, I haven't even locked him in the freezer yet..

Ever the optimist Chef's glass was half full, 'well I suppose that solves our problem-he was never going to be any good was he?..'

Which brings us to Apprentice 3.
After a summer of relaxation following his premature enforced departure from the formal world of academia , BG has decided he fancies trying his hand at cheffing..

I wonder if it will be third time lucky,or a case of....




Watch this space.

Schadenfreude (Part 2)

It never ceases to amaze me the volume and diversity of items which vanish on a regular basis from the pub.
Despite initial surprise we have now accepted that the regular 'lifting' of items by the public is an occupational hazard of running a pub.
Shopping for everyday items such as condiment receptors,at one time based on the suitability of said item for it's designated purpose, is now based principally on the criteria 'how easily can this be concealed about ones person or in a handbag.'
For example,having a large garden,miniature salt/pepper mills were purchased in our first year as handy for staff to carry outside for Al Fresco diners.By the end of the first summer there were none left.
Recently on the same afternoon a tub of hand cream and an Oil reed diffuser were surreptitiously appropriated from the ladies loo.Hopefully the 'lady' in question will have an exceedingly oily but pleasantly fragranced handbag by now.

On the other side of the coin the public are also exceptionally careless with their own belongings.Everything from coats,jumpers,umbrellas,gloves and even on one occasion a pair of shoes(I wonder how inebriated one has to be to exit minus these) have been left behind.
I now have so many spectacles, I'm beginning to think alcohol must possess sight restorative properties.Periodically, I pay our local charity shops a visit to unburden the ever increasing cache of lost property.
Chef says I have a season ticket for Oxfam.

Some things are just too good to part with though, I'm currently 'looking after' a couple of pairs of unclaimed sunglasses.Ray Ban and Oakley's.
There's also a delightful Paul and Shark jacket,a Barbour and a lovely John Partridge ladies waxed jacket(would you believe in my size?)

Whilst the regular offloading of customers unclaimed personal effects now elicits no remorse,there is a certain item of lost property which neither myself nor any of the staff can bring themselves to discard.

This is it:



Its been pinned to our check board in the bar for at least six months as witnessed by the myriad of pin holes in the card from repeated removal and replacement.

This is the wording:

'I BEAR-LY know how to apologise,but hope you will not be too GRIZZLY or GRUFF with me,and will instead enjoy the bright colours of these Midget Gems and forget that I ever vomited on any of your clothes nor left you one dancer down in Perdu.'

If ever I'd ever been the auspicious recipient of such an apology I should have treasured it,to quote another Northerner this is 'right up my street'.

Have you ever 'lifted' anything from your local?

The Bay Horse Hurworth

You realise just how sad your life is when the chance of an unexpected day off can result in hand clapping air punching and juvenile euphoria.Having been granted just that yesterday (due to new electricity supply being laid under the road outside the pub) we took the opportunity for an unscheduled MIDWEEK kitchen escape.

Our destination-The Bay Horse, Hurworth on Tees nr Darlington.
The pub was refurbished by new owners recently and has had some good reviews and a Bib Gourmand in the latest Michelin Guide.



We were seated at a large table in one of the bay windows at the front of the pub.We ordered drinks at the bar; a glass of fizz for me,Chef requested a bottle of Pernod,our friends asked for some wine.Noticing the barman's blank look,slightly agape mouth and the accompanying stunned silence I put him out of his misery with a raised eyebrow and a knowing 'he means Peroni..'
Well he was forty last week, doesn't bode well does it?

Despite booking a table we weren't offered a wine menu at any stage.When our friends asked for wine at the bar they were offered 'red or white'.In this day and age I'm amazed that varietal options weren't presented as a matter of course.Other than this absolute clonker of a missed opportunity the service was pleasant.Hopefully it was a one off,maybe Chef's Pernod request blew the barman's concentration.


Whilst we browsed the menu a welcome basket of home made bread arrived,two varieties,onion and fig and walnut.It smelt delicious.Chef commenced the obligatory: 'ooh look how crusty it is, oh its still warm, mm-mm'.
He makes a meal of this routine due to my Coeliac's not allowing me to participate of the treat.I pretend not to notice but he always performs obligingly.
I reciprocate with the expected:Ha ha.
Its well rehearsed.


To start Chef chose:
'French Black Pudding with Onion Confit, Mushroom Ketchup, Apricot Chutney & Devilled Sauce'
The black pudding was soft,unctuous and tasty.Chef's only complaint was he would have preferred more of the main event and less of the peripheral bits and pieces.It was a challenge to effect myself a small sample.I succeeded of course.



I chose 'Ham hock terrine with Woodland egg,pineapple pickle and home made HP sauce'.
The terrine interestingly contained pine nuts,I haven't come across this before,it wasn't unpleasant but I don't think it added anything to the flavour,in fact on the first mouthful I thought I'd encountered a foreign object.



Both were very prettily presented,decorated as they were with the latest gastronomic accessory for the fashion conscious Chef, micro herbs.For some reason the presentation of my dish evoked memories of the Twin Towers, not good.

For the main event Chef chose 'Normandy braised pork with suet dumpling'



Served in a Le Crueset pot ,this was quite a substantial portion the decision to serve in these pots leaves one with no choice but to be heavy handed.The pot sizes available(we've been down this route and ended up sending them back,neither size is really suitable) dictates either a very small portion, an over generous helping or a half empty pot. They'd erred on the side of caution,the large pot was packed to the rafters.Chef couldn't fault this dish.
Vegetable accompaniments had to be ordered separately at additional cost,buttered new potatoes for Chef.The potatoes had a GREEN TINGE.Chef wasn't deterred,they tasted fine.Optimistically pointing out you'd need to eat a hefty portion to suffer any ill effects.
I fancied a steak,Char Grilled 8oz Fillet Steak, Hand Cut Chips & Salad
with Poivre Sauce (£2.00 supplement)Bringing the total price to £25.


Presented with watercress salad,red onions and peppers atop the steak,sauce in copper pan and chips in a little metal bucket.



This is a bad picture, the steak was tasy but it was nowhere near the medium rare I had ordered.More medium/well done.The salad was heavily laden with French dressing which I felt unnecessary when served with the sauce.Being a woman of simple taste,I would have served this with a simple bunch of unadorned peppery watercress,but that's only personal preference of course.The chips were a high point,the flavour of a chip cooked in animal fat is unmistakeably good.

Puddings:For me a Chocolate Mousse with dark chocolate glaze,blackberry purée and peanut butter ice cream.


I ordered this because of the peanut butter ice cream,it tasted exactly of that.The mousse was more of a ganache very rich and buttery.Individually the components were good but together for me a bridge too far.The dish needed something creamy rather than sweet to balance the richness of the mousse.More towering presentation,methinks the Chef may have height issues.

Chef chose a berry trifle with fruit sorbet.


Served in a miniature kilner jar.The spoon you can see sticking out of the jar is a teaspoon. I'm not embracing the idea of a trifle in one of these, two spoonfuls is simply just not enough.
We sometimes use these jars to serve pickles with Charcuterie,people often lift them.Hopefully diners might follow suit at the Bay Horse.

I couldn't help but spot some anomalies on the menu which irked me somewhat:

'Woodland egg'
This caused a heated debate.If there's anything I'm ever not sure of Chef unfailingly knows what it is.Woodland egg had him.Possible suggestions were:
1.An egg from a woodland bird-but if this were the case why not name the bird?

2.A description of a method of serving which we hadn't come across before-unlikely.

An internet search solved the mystery-Sainsbury's Woodland Eggs.Eggs from laying hens enjoying the shelter and protection trees provide and allow them to display the characteristics of their jungle fowl ancestors.
It was in fact a hen egg.
Whatever next.

'Home made HP sauce'
HP sauce is a brand. By its very nature the phrase 'home made HP sauce' is a complete non starter.
Like homemade Heinz tomato ketchup or homemade Hellmans Mayonnaise.

'Hand cut chips'
These chips were fresh,not frozen,and cooked in dripping.They were good,but 'hand cut' they w'aint,they were obviously cut on a chipper.This phrase has become so over used people have forgotten what it actually means,its now synonymous with any freshly cooked chip regardless of method of cutting process.

'Provincial Potatoes'
Initially I thought this was another item on the lines of the 'country ham' ilk.However after much discussion Chef came to the conclusion that the definition had been lost from kitchen to printer.The item in question was in fact 'Provencal potatoes'
Note to Chef:never let your menu be given out before proof reading it first.

I know I'm getting a bit manic but I just wish more Chefs would employ the Ronseal school of menu writing technique.It would save so much time and confusion.Maybe I shall start a campaign to do just that.


Being in the business its very easy to dissect other peoples menus and find fault,overall the meal at the Bay Horse was very good,in fact the best pub meal we've had for some time,we will definitely go again.

The Bay Horse
45 The Green
Hurworth
Darlington
Co Durham
Dl2 2AA
www.thebayhorsehurworth.com

PS Have you noticed that there's a disturbing trend for Michelin to favour venues which serve a considerable proportion of their menu in numerous small receptacles such as copper pans,buckets,jars etc rather than an actual plate.Its the quality of the food which really matters.Isn't it?

WARNING NON FOOD RELATED POST

Its been a stressful week.
The Sensible One has been settling in Halls at university.Its been quite strange without him,not unexpected since he's been hanging around for eighteen years now.
Having checked in via phone the first couple of days I was then curtly informed:
'Mum you don't need to ring me EVERY day'
So I havent.
Yesterday,he rang me.He's only been gone one week and in direct contravention of his name and now dwindling reputation he has managed to lose:

His driving license
His bank cards
His card swipe for his room

Actually his reputation is in tatters.
By the time he called me he had organised a replacement room key which cost him 20 quid.Bank cards had been cancelled and new ones ordered,which were to be posted out to our home address.Hence the reviled but necessary call to me-he requires them posted on asap.

Clearly all mislaid on a quiet night out,following which after lengthy negotiations with the security guard he had managed to secure himself an uncomfortable couple of hours in the communal social seating area until morning.Also sporting some impressive *UDI's which comfortingly had gone down well with his peers at morning lecture.
Consolation indeed.

So I've been worrying a bit and confided in Chef this morning.To which he retorted:
His only mistake was to take out his wallet,what he should have done was taken out the amount of cash he was prepared to spend on evening social activities. What are you worrying about??he's gone to university and got drunk.That's what he's meant to be doing.Just let him get on with it..


Which was of no comfort but true..

Meanwhile back at the ranch,Only Daughter has dyed her hair.Brown.
Now this may not seem controversial to you,I mean its not blood red,electric blue or peroxide white,no that would have been far too predictable a route. Only Daughter has beautiful natural blonde hair which is regularly admired and many would pay fortunes to emulate,so I'm a bit puzzled as to why she would prefer it a nondescript and fetching shade of TURD.
Foolishly I confided that I preferred her hair its natural colour tactfully(I thought)complementing the colour and how fortuitous it was to possess such attractive natural blonde hair.I was met with the expected raised eyebrow,disgusted leer accompanied by:

'well,actually its my hair and I prefer it brown'.

Have I mentioned that Only Daughter fancies a career in law/criminology?



At fifteen she managed to secure herself a coveted place at the Law Courts in Newcastle for two weeks work experience.Impressively, she organised this herself,making contact personally and then attending an interview. She was informed that places were highly sought after and not to be disappointed if unsuccessful-only eight places are offered each year and hundreds apply.Unsurprisingly she was quite pleased with herself when she was selected.
It emerges afternoons glued to Diagnosis Murder and Murder She Wrote were not spent in vain.
She was delighted to experience time in various departments including sitting in on a court case.
A particularly enjoyable couple of days were spent in the District Judges office,Only Daughter was allowed to man the reception desk and chaperone and announce appointments to the judge.We were treated to a demonstration at home:

*Knock on door,Enter office, Your Honour, your 2 o 'clock is here*.

Also serving tea and refreshments which obviously she was very adept at due to a wealth of relevant experience in the pub.
Seemingly quite a lot of time was spent chatting to judges and barristers in chambers which Only Daughter very much enjoyed being quite the busy body.By the end of the week she knew where they lived, what their hobbies were and how many children they had..actually what she didn't know wasn't worth knowing.
Given that Only Daughter's existing wardrobe failed spectacularly in meeting the required 'appropriate clothing' clause even the humiliation of the Dorothy Perkins polyester black trews purchased especially to fulfil this criteria(I hope no one wearing hairspray comes close to me in these things or they'll go up in a blue light) was forgotten.

Now that was two years ago.This week Only Daughter had organised an afternoon attendance at Newcastle University for a 'Meet the Jury' event.Gone are the days when achieving entry to your chosen course at university is dependant solely on your actual exam results. Associated activities and proof of relevant interest are now also a required element.The 'Meet the Jury' event was identified by Only Daughter as perfect for inclusion on her CV.The afternoon would encompass a talk about the relevant courses on offer and also involvement in a mock trial and verdict.The event chaired by an actual judge.

As the attendees filed into the lecture hall and took their seats,Only Daughter was spotted in the crowd and singled out by the judge.He addressed her by name and enquired how she was getting on and expressed pleasure that she continued to pursue an interest in law.Only Daughter basked in the reflected glory as ninety nine sets of envious eyes looked on.

As this tale was related to us later at home we were amazed, What???he remembered you and your name after two years?? Amongst that crowd of people????

Only Daughter:You see Mum, some of us don't actually need blonde hair to stand out from the crowd.....

Methinks pride cometh before a fall........


(*Unidentified drinking injury)

Am I a food snob?

Am I a food snob?

I don't think so, but I know that in the area we live its not easy finding pubs serving decent food.

The other day I voiced this opinion and the response "If that's the case were all fecked" got me thinking.
Maybe I'm not as open minded as I should be, from a food point of view.

So this week looking for a suitable venue for the Sensible One's last supper prior to his University departure, we decided to book somewhere completely different.I asked Only Daughter to ring and place the booking.She found the number on line.

Only Daughter:Mum do you know this place isn't a proper restaurant?
Self:What do you mean?
Only Daughter:Well its not a proper restaurant,its a chain place.

Conclusive proof,I've passed my prejudices on to her.
We had to go.

Gusto is situated on the hot spot quayside area of Newcastle in sight of the Millennium bridge.A trendy area in the heart of the business district and law courts.The restaurant boasts the obligatory outside eating area with wall to ceiling windows inside taking advantage of the stunning river views.

We were greeted warmly and taken to our booth seating on the first floor accessed via a staircase in the centre of the room.Though Monday night the restaurant was already busy and had a nice buzz.
Drinks order promptly and efficiently taken we settled down to study the menu.
An Italian style menu with the usual,pizza,pastas,risottos together with meat and seafood options.
We ordered some olives and garlic bread to start.





It wasnt long before the food arrived.
Wheels chose an 'Italian' Burger with pesto and mozzarella.



Various pizza varieties for everyone else.



Apart from me(due to my gluten allergy).Wanting to keep some semblance of going with the Italian flow I asked for the Pork Cutlet Saltimbocca.It wasnt to be, I was informed that it was "off".I'm hoping not available, not literally..
I settled for the flattened rump steak with chilli and garlic.Served with rocket and Parmigiana.



The general consensus was that the pizzas were good, nice plentiful topping and crispy base,Wheels enjoyed his burger.My steak was tasty if a little spicy due to the liberal sprinkling of dried chilli flakes which I didnt expect.The chips were frozen,but they were crispy and golden and good quality.I would rather have eaten these than a badly cooked fresh chip.
Chef ordered a tomato and mozzarella salad to go with his pizza,which I tasted after Id finished my meal.



I found it a bit dry,Chef was surprised.We realised it had dried out under the huge hanging light which was directly over the table similar to an operating theatre fitting.I put my hand under,it was hot,maybe it was a ploy to keep the food warm.A bad idea.

Wheels and I always have a pudd.He chose a 'Nutella and mascarpone Calzone' but was discouraged from having this as the 'kitchen were too busy'.Im struggling with the conflict this statement provokes:

a. why would you put something on the menu which it was impossible to cook if you happened to be busy?
b.why would you open a restaurant if you expected not to be busy?

Its a 'no brainer' isn't it?Never mind,he settled for a Tiramisu instead which he proclaimed was the 'best he'd ever eaten'.I wouldn't take this literally though as the last thing he's eaten is frequently the best thing he's ever eaten.Oh the optimism of youth,its a nice sentiment though.



I tried the chocolate and orange mousse which tasted exactly like Terry's chocolate orange.Chef suspected it may in fact have been made with that product.Quite a good idea actually.



Whilst the food wasn't fantastic, there was nothing actually wrong with it,the service was very good,an example of a well implemented company standard( Standards Of Procedure Manual as known in the trade).We were glad we went.

At this point BG excused himself to go outside to have a look at the river fag..

As we sat around the table Chef reminisced about his first job out of college.
He was given his first taste of professional cooking at the oldest established Italian restaurant in the city.Pascal the owner was a real character.It was a good learning curve with everything cooked properly from scratch,butchery was done on site and nothing wasted.
All the trimmings from the whole fillets and striploins were frozen until there was enough to cook slowly overnight on huge trays,until the fat was rendered down and the meat beautifully tender.This was then used as the base for various pasta sauces.
Chef is adamant the lasagne and bolognese are still the best he's ever tasted.

The restaurant was noted for the Veal Saltimbocca.One of the most popular dishes.
Chef remembers painstakingly de-sinewing bucket upon bucket of turkey legs(if you've ever tried this you'll know what a goddamn awful task this is)which were then batted out and served as veal...No one ever questioned this.

It was one of those places which was open and serving food until after midnight.After service when all the diners had left, Pascal would open a bottle of wine(always red) and insist all the kitchen staff sat down together and ate.He chose what, but made sure they were all fed.Afterwards in his strong Italian accent he would say 'Now we make the pasta.' There was a family atmosphere but Chef suspected Pascal didn't much like going home himself.
They were usually in the kitchens making something or other until 5am.After which Pascal would drive them all home in his battered estate car.Sometimes he would allow Chef to drive despite the inconsequential lack of a license.They were back at work at 10am.Small wonder the reliance in the industry for artificial stimulants..


Italian food is delicious.Chef has always fancied opening an authentic Italian restaurant serving simple pastas,pizzas and salads.Made properly(no veal dishes).Not a pseudo trendy one, a bog standard wooden table candle in the bottle retro type place.There isn't a one in our local town.Tonight's excursion reignited the enthusiasm and we both like the challenge of a new venture.
Do you think it would go?
Or would people still want the 'Peking pizza with Roasted crispy duck on a hoi sin base with spring onion and cucumber'?
I'm not sure..

What I didn't eat yesterday.

I love Autumn.Crisp fresh mornings,the colours,the settling back into some semblance of a routine after the summer madness and a thankfully cooler working environment.
Most of all I love the food.Hearty stews,game dishes,foraged food,nursery puddings.
Comfort food at its best.Bliss.
Just as I was easing into the more comfortable and predictable work pace,Chef dropped an unexpected bombshell.

He wants us to adopt a healthy lifestyle "so that we're rejuvenated and ready to cope with the Christmas rush."

Now you may think that working in a food environment we would eat well.Not so,its probably the most unhealthy of professions.Most of the time there just isn't time to eat.Weekdays aren't too bad as I described here,but weekends are comprised of a repeating cycle of coffee,Red Bull,chocolate,beer,wine,late night snacks(crisps,nuts and porky scratchings..)Along with the constant grazing on chips and tasting of sauces etc.

This week though in line with the new regime, our main meal of the day has consisted of a protein item(steak,lamb chops,duck leg or the like)accompanied by a simple salad and boiled potatoes.

So,in direct contravention to my previous post(What I ate yesterday)may I proudly present:

What I didn't eat Yesterday.




No North Sea Coley..



... lamb chops with peas and smoked bacon..



no confit duck leg with Daupinoise ptotates..



...steak and chips...



pigeon..



Rib of beef a definite no no...



as was bread and butter pudding..



and Bakewell tart..



well maybe just a bit in the interests of quality control..

I can cope with the reformed eating program,and the weekday alcohol embargo,but the final suggestion has me feeling like this.



He wants us TO JOIN THE LOCAL GYM.
I wouldn't say I was unfit,inactive or unsportsmanlike,being a former county hockey and 100 metres runner,(though admittedly this was in ones school days),since then I confess I haven't partaken of any structured sporting activity,however, being on one's feet for 14 hours plus every day kind of compensates.I lift a fair amount of weight around(apart from my own),I lug casks daily and have devised an ingenious way of flipping them onto the racking system which avoids unnecessary lifting and cleverly enables me to do this single handedly.Various dray-men have been suitably impressed by this skill.

I'm harbouring a big fat secret-I have never been to a gym before.I'm frightened.All those complicated machines and the Lycra clad bodies who know exactly how to work them.I don't know the protocol and it fills me with fear and dread.

As I was pondering possible excuses for not fulfilling this part of the new ethos my mobile rang:

Self:Hello
Unknown caller:Who's that?
Self:Who's that?
Unknown Caller: Oh I think I must have the wrong number
Self:Yes you must
Unknown Caller:Oh OK sorry Bye
Self:OK Goodbye

A couple of minutes later I received the following text:

'I know you might think this is forward,but may I take you out to dinner?You sound naughty.'

With the knowledge that my 16 year old son BG often borrows my phone to text friends, a situation enforced due to his poor money managements skills and the resultant absence of credit on his phone.Being aware also of his hectic social calendar and extended circle of friends raging in age 16-20yrs,I have a fair idea that the mystery caller will have been one of his mates.Sending texts from ones mothers phone without alerting ones friends to this fact will invariably result in a reply call or text to the same phone at some point.

This occurrence was the cause of much hilarity in the kitchen and amongst the waiting staff.Chef laughed a little too heartily at the folly of it for my liking.

I believe the sudden enthusiasm for the new clean living regime has less to do with any fear of us beginning to resemble our role model:



(now there's a guy who appreciates a good feed)
and more to do with Chefs fast approaching birthday,transition into the fourth decade and accompanying intimations of mortality.

Methinks I shall be giving the gym a wide berth,besides,I have my potential toyboy secret admirer to fall back on now...

No,instead I've helpfully stuck a timely reminder on the fridge door:

'Fridge Pickers have bigger knickers'

Much more my style..

Eggs en Cocotte

Thought I might just show you one of the dishes we served using the glut of Ceps which we stumbled upon here.

Eggs en Cocotte is a classic French dish,the name coming from the small oven proof pots which the eggs are baked in,usually with a knob of butter and perhaps some cream.

Escoffier lists variations on the original,some using different sauces such as Bechamel,or the addition of tomatoes or Asparagus.

Which gave us an idea...

Wild Mushroom and Duck Egg Pots

Ingredients

Duck eggs
Mushrooms(we used Ceps but use any type will do they don't have to be wild)
Leeks
Cream
Gruyère Cheese
White wine
Butter

Thickly sliced white bread to toast

Method:

Dice the leeks and slice your mushrooms.I haven't given quantities-we never weigh anything but work on about equal quantities.
Place in a pan,season with salt and pepper and sweat in butter until soft.



At this point the mixture can be cooled and stored in the fridge until needed.

Place some large ramekins on a tray and heat in the oven.

Meanwhile place a large tablespoon per pot of the mushroom mix into a small saucepan.Heat gently.
Next add a splash of white wine and some double cream and allow the mixture to bubble and reduce until the cream has thickened.




Remove the pots from the oven and fill with the mushroom mix to about half full.
Next crack a duck egg into each pot,grate some Gruyère cheese on top and return to the oven until the white has cooked and the yolk is still runny.
About 20 minutes.

Serve with toast soldiers.



Cough..I have a confession to make.
Cooking in a commercial kitchen isn't always as straightforward as the scenario I've described above.
In practice we found that the duck eggs being quite large took too long to cook to order in the oven.
In addition the outside of the white was overcooked whilst the inside was still way too liquid.
(If you were to use hens eggs you probably wouldn't encounter this problem)



As you can see...white still partially gloopy.



So,what we actually did was poach the duck eggs (whilst the mushroom pots were heating in the oven),then add them to the pots(grating some Gruyère on top)before finishing them off under a hot grill .



On Friday night these were flying out,were in fact sold out before 8pm.
Perfect,and at £5 per portion that's not going to do our GP any harm.


Apparently we're going 'shrooming again tomorrow, so any further recipe ideas gratefully accepted..