And a week in Paris...

Or, at least, half a one.

Say what you will, the French do have an effortlessly stylish way of doing things - and I was struck on Monday morning, as I peered through the steamed-up windows of the RoissyBus (goes from Charles de Gaulle directly to the Opera) by the elegance of the flowerbeds that are casually dotted through the grounds of the airport. I don't think I've ever before been struck by the charm of an airport, in any form, anywhere in the World.......but here, there were roundabouts crammed with pure white roses, and verges and embankments dripping with massed ranks of sultrily dark crimson blooms, lazily dropping petals onto the ground under the onslaught of the rain. They looked lush, and abundant, and wonderful. Had somebody had the same idea at Gatwick, they would doubtless have been in some deeply naff day-glo pink, and probably hedged in by uptight little borders of primulas.

And the same skill was brought to bear in the buffet lunches that were provided as part of my two days of Conference. Large, slab-like sandwiches, that were so inelegant in scale (and with the crusts left resolutely in place) that it can only have been done very deliberately, and with fillings of tomato and chicken that were so delicious when you bit into them that it was like discovering the idea of the perfect sandwich - all washed down with a glass (or so) of a more than serviceable white Burgundy, that required quite a degree of self control not to go for a third glass and to focus instead on the afternoon ahead. And all served with an air of quiet efficiency that clearly suggested a knowledge that this un-theatrical display was the acme of professional perfection. With which I saw no reason to argue.

The rain was not incessant - and in fact, in between the showers, there were brief and deceptive bursts of sunshine, which suddenly bathed the honey-coloured walls of The Louvre or the Palais Royal in intense sunlight for all of several minutes at a time. But not dependable enough to risk an outside table... and pre-prandial consumption of Kir each evening was spent safely under cover, as the evening sunshine inevitably gave way to yet another downpour. Certainly, it wasn't worth risking an outside table for dinner in the gardens of the Palais Royal - which, on a fine summer's evening in June, as the shadows lengthen and the fountains gently play, is sheer bliss.

And so, instead, on a whim, I decided to go and dine at Le Trumilou on the Quai de l'Hotel de Ville. As I walked there, I worked out that it must have been twenty eight years since I'd last eaten in the place, and it was associated in my mind with Saturday lunches in mid-winter, when it was always bustling and noisy, and agreeably warm and welcoming, nestled amongst all the cages of animals and the forests of plants for sale along that stretch of the Quai. In those days Le Trumilou was colloquially known as 'Chez Ruby', after the diminutive, dumpy and elderly chatelaine who presided from behind the cash register and ruled the place with a rod of iron. We generally had with us the four-footed of the day, who would curl up beneath the table and contentedly crunch on whatever bowl of bones and offcuts Madame had sent in his direction, and he always got at least as good service as the paying customers! In fact, whenever we were in that part of town, said four-footed used to accelerate in the direction of Le Trumilou as soon as he realised exactly where we were...
Chez Ruby was always slightly quirky and charming and larger than life.....and the walls were filled to capacity with paintings - the most awful daubs imaginable, for the most part. I remember that it was from there that the restaurant inverse-ratio rule had originated, i.e. that the better the art on the walls, the worse the food on the plate was likely to be. And vice versa. It generally holds good, as a rule of thumb.

And so....I arrived and was seated; and for some time I admit to wallowing in nostalgia. I ordered a terrine de Campagne - delicious! - and a half of Cotes du Rhone; and it was only as I moved on to a perfectly aceptable entrecote that I began to notice the discrepancies between then and now. Ruby, of course, was no longer around - which should have been no surprise, since she was already a white-haired septegenarian all that time ago. But the pictures, in all their glorious awfulness, had also gone - replaced with artisanal artefacts, and scenes of rustic simplicity. And, as my ear became attuned, I realised that the clientele had disappeared, too - I'm not sure that there was a single indigenous parisian in the entire place: next to me, two dutch men were dining, and behind them a slightly braying foursome from the home counties; at the table in the window were a bunch of 'ok, yah' kids from London, and to my right a elderly american and his wife. These latter, at least, seemed quite focused on what they were eating and drinking and appeared to be discussing it at some length (hey - if you dine in a restaurant on your own, it's permissible to eavesdrop...I think there's even a papal dispensation to that effect..).

Then, I noticed that these two were constantly referring to a guide book that was well thumbed and much book-marked, and appeared to form the basis of their itinerary in Paris - and to my horror, I realised that it was a 'food guide' produced by that girl who writes the 'Chocolate & Zuccini' blog, which features recipes for things like coconut-flavoured baked custard, and other examples from the more ghastly end of the Nursery canon. Worse, it appeared - from excerpts they were reading out in between mouthfuls - that Le Trumilou itself was also featured in this guide - and as the realisation dawned, I sighed deeply and signalled for the bill. The food was good - if not great - the place was fine, the bill was low - but it was no longer Chez Ruby, in any sense. Whatsoever. Ah, well...

Tonight's Dinner:

Salad of Chicken Livers tiède.

Lamb Shanks, double roast. Buttered Cabbage.

Amaretto Soufflés.

This week in Pisa...

The weather is grim. Either unpleasantly hot and airless, with thunderstorms threatening, or else - almost without warning - dropping back to sweater-wearing temperatures, and the rain coming down like chairlegs. Apparently, Tempo Italia forecasts a summer of more of the same - so one just has to hope that Tempo Italia is about as reliable in this as it normally is in everything else..Fortunately, the Technical Department has finished his Trellis project in the Loggia, so at least the place is now free of DIY paraphernalia, and is comfortably available for use - if only to be able to sit in, in order to watch the rain!

The garden takes no notice of the lousy weather, and puts on growth at a rate of knots. Keeping the pergolas trimmed at this time of year is like painting the Forth Bridge, and I know that when we return after a fortnight's break the place will have reverted to jungle once more, and I'll have to start the hacking-and-slashing process all over again. The Bergamot has settled in well, and has put on a spurt of new growth - even a small display of blossom (which smells amazing) and the promise of fruit later in the year. I confess, I'm not quite sure what a Bergamot is, and have no idea what the fruit will be like - they don't normally grow round here, and are generally found no further north than Calabria. Research reveals that the Bergamot plant is a cross between a Seville Orange and a 'Pear Lemon' (no, I hadn't, either...), and that it is used in making scent and in Earl Grey Tea - although I imagine the bit used in making scent comes from the blossom, rather than from the fruit. More research needed, clearly. Watch this space for bergamot-based recipes , later in the year...

Town is limbering up for June, which is when pretty much all of the annual festivities here get crammed within one month: the Luminara; the Giocco di Ponte; and the Palio. The streets are closed to traffic along the Lungarno for most of the month, and all sorts of 'special events' are organised, like a tour of private gardens within the Centro Storico (which is show-stoppingly unimpressive) and the annual opening - for one day only - of the archaelogical site where several years ago they found the remains of the ancient harbour, and the remnants of all the Roman and Greek boats that had ever sunk there, over time (which is definitely worth taking a look at)...

Food News? Several things to report......In addition to discovering the proper way to treat Strawberries with Balsamic, I also came across a recipe for Hasselback Potatoes with a poultice of Lemon and Garlic and Sage. Good in itself, it also suggests all sorts of other ways of treating the dish, with different fillings that can gently melt and cook deliciously between the slices of roasting potato - wonderfully fatty pancetta, for example, would be splendid.....Until now, I hadn't thought of doing the recipe any way other than bog-standard, as copied from Alastair Little many years ago, but in practice there are all sorts of variations that can be played on that basic theme. To be explored...

Tonight's Dinner:

Risotto of Basil (made with Rabbit Stock).

Swordfish, sautéed with Onion and Garlic.

Cherry Clafoutis.

A discovery....

A real one. Strawberries in Balsamic Vinegar.

"Oh", I can hear you yawn...."that old chestnut!" And you'd be right, if you meant the way I've been doing it for years (and, let's be honest, so have you) - i.e. Strawberries, doused in a slug of said vinegar, all whisked around for thirty seconds and presented with a flourish that encompasses how modern and clever and 'nouvelle' and sophisticated we all are, when the reality is that after the first time of having done it - all those years ago - when it was surprising, and really quite good, and had an edge to it, we've actually been doing it for years and years essentially from sheer laziness. God! Is it that time already? And nothing organised for dinner......I know! Strawberries with Balsamic ....Perfect!

This. Is. Different.

This takes the concept to a different level. And although it takes a few more minutes, it really is only a few more minutes...and the end-result is stratospherically better. I made it a few days ago, to serve along with home-made French Vanilla Ice Cream, and it was SO good!

I'm not writing this out as a recipe, because the pitifully few steps don't merit it.

For 12 oz of strawberries, take 2 fl oz of red wine, and combine in a small pan with 1 tablespoon of runny honey and 2 tablespoons of Balsamic Vinegar (decent quality, preferably, rather then the scrubbing alcohol variety). Halve the strawberries; bring the liquid to a fast simmer, and cook the fruit briefly in it - for about one minute (you just want to break the membranes down slightly); with a slotted spoon, remove the fruit to a small bowl, then boil the liquid down to a syrup (takes maybe two or three minutes); pour syrup over fruit, stir, leave to cool, and then chill prior to use. Wonderful! Delicious! Try it!

Tonight's Dinner:

Poached Eggs on a bed of Ratatouille

Bistecchie di Maiale; Leeks, braised in Pork Fat

Individual Paris-Brests, with Wild Strawberries

Recipe: Farfalle with Lemon & Hazelnut sauce.

First cousin to the wonderful recipe for Risotto with Lemon & Sage, this is one of those dishes where the first mouthful is greeted with an exclamation of surprise, quickly followed by an exclamation of pleasure. The flavours here are as unexpected as they are delicious, and the overall effect is light and unctuous - perfect to be included in any summer menu.

I once heard Matthew Parris wax lyrical in decrying the silliness of all the different shapes of pasta, when in fact - in his opinion - all they are is different methods of presenting exactly the same ingredients in myriad forms. Well, articulate though he was on the subject, his argument was wrong, and this combination of sauce and pasta type is a prime example of the fact. Different pasta shapes work well with the varying textures of different sauces - and the shape of Farfalle is perfect for this sauce, where the creamy lemon coats the exposed flanks of the pasta shape, while the crunch of the hazelnuts is contained within the ends of the individual pieces of pasta, and thus spread evenly throughout the dish.

For four.

Ingredients: 14 oz Farfalle; 2 oz Butter; 4 medium cloves of Garlic, peeled and minced; 2 medium Lemons; 3 oz Hazelnuts ; 4 tablespoons each of fresh Basil and fresh Parsley; 4 tablespoons of Cream; seasoning; grated Parmesan, to serve.

Method:

1. Toast the Hazulnuts under the grill for several minutes, taking care not to let them burn. Once toasted, let them cool slighty, then rub them with a dry cloth to remove the skins. Process them briefly in a food processor, but don't go too far -you want them to be roughly chopped, not reduced to a powder! (You can use pre-processed toasted and chopped nuts instead, if you'd rather, but I don't the result is quite as good as doing this stage yourself).

2. Put water to boil for the Pasta, adding the appropriate amount of Salt, and a slug of Oil (to prevent the pasta shapes from sticking together as they cook). Follow the packet instructions for the time needed to cook the Pasta - normally about ten minutes - and carry on with the sauce as the Pasta is cooking.

3. Melt the Butter in a small pan; add the minced Garlic to this, and - having stirred it, and cooked the Garlic in the Butter for a minute - add the chopped Hazelnuts and sauté the mixture over a medium-high heat for a further minute. Add to this the grated rind from the Lemons and then set the mixture aside.

4. Once the Pasta is cooked, drain it into a colander, leaving perhaps a couple of tablespoons of cooking water in the bottom of the pan. Add the Lemon-Garlic-Hazelnut mixture to this water and stir quickly.

5. Return the cooked Pasta to the pan and stir to coat it with the Nut mixture, then add the juice from the 2 Lemons (you should have four tablespoons), the chopped fresh herbs, and the Cream. Stir, to coat the Pasta thoroughly in the sauce; check the seasoning and adjust if necessary, then serve, topped with freshly grated Parmesan.

Gala Night at Chelsea....

The rain held off, at least - but Chelsea could have done with being a few degrees warmer for the preview evening on Monday. Champagne flowed, and the canapés were really rather good, for a change - particularly a miniature spoon-shaped affair made of a biscuit pastry, which was filled with a delicious foie gras pâté. Definitely more-ish. So, I did. Those and some splendid colchester oysters, which were being shucked and offered on the half-shell by a very chatty octagenarian, were definitely the culinary highlights of the evening.

For the most part, the show gardens had decided to go for green-and-white themes, which must have been rather irritating when they all began to set them out (like people turning up to a dinner party who discover they're wearing identical clothes); and since it's exactly the idea of the garden in Pisa, everything looked rather familiar. In any event, it provided an appropriately calm background against which the peacock colours of the great and the good stood out rather well, as they stood around and discussed mergers and acquisitions and sub-primes and derivatives trading, and whatever...

We nearly bumped - literally - into John and Norma Major as they took the corner quite sharply beside the Laurent Perrier garden ( I catered a drinks party for her once, at the House of Commons... but somehow I doubt she'd remember) and otherwise there were quite a few faces that looked as though they ought to be 'somebody', but I'm not sure who, exactly....


As ever, my favourite stands in the Pavilion were the roses...where the Peter Beale display particularly always has me wondering if there's any way I could possible fit anything more into the garden - to which the answer has to be a regretful 'No'. And right beside Peter Beale's roses was the stand for Ken Muir's strawberry plants , the smell from which was quite wonderful..

Which leads me to my grumble of the evening. The Technical Dept had been left at home, on dinner preparation duty. Which was splendid. We started with Asparagus, which at this time of year, and coming from Hampshire should have been perfect. The platonic form; the acme of asparagus.....as good as it gets...

It wasn't.

The colour was right - a beautiful deep green - and the texture was good, just the right degree of bite. The flavour? What flavour? Notable by its absence. Nul. How do they do that - considering it was perfectly possible to get acceptable asparagus in the middle of winter, when the growing conditions can only have been less than perfect, even taking into account their journey from some distant hot-house somewhere on the other side of the World? If Hampshire can't manage to come up with the goods at prime Asparagus season, then we might just as well all give up in despair.....Yet another depressing example of spin over substance, I suppose.

Back to Italy this afternoon, to see how a green and white themed garden looks for real - and this one with the appropriate temperature, and Tuscan sunshine!

Tonight's Dinner:

Scrambled Eggs with Smoked Salmon

Leek-flavoured Sausages, with Broccoli Purée

Raspberries and Blueberries in Prosecco.

The Spice of Life.....

I'm in the middle of Reay Tannahill's 'Food in History', a book that's been hanging around on the bookshelves for a very long time, but which has only now pushed itself to the front of the queue. The subject is fascinating, not least because the title leads one to expect a History of Food, whereas in fact what it's about is the influence that different kinds of food production over the ages have had on the diverse social and political development of mankind in the period since the end of the neolithic age. The author has a tendency to move between millenia with dizzying athleticism - within one paragraph concerned with the evolution of wine production, she skips effortlessly from the third to the first millenium B.C, and back again - and she resorts inevitably to the expedient of 'probably' happened, or 'might' have happened, or 'could' have happened, in the absence of any real evidence, rather too frequently for comfort. Not her fault, of course, since no evidence exists for the way in which the beneficial effects of the fermentation of grapes was identified, for instance, or the way that yeast could be used as a raising agent in making bread - but it does mean that she frames a lot of fundamental questions in these areas which she then has to leave dangling tantalisingly in mid-air.

One thing, though, which she does manage to communicate - almost as a by-product of her main thesis - is the stultifyingly monotonous diet that has been enjoyed by most people in all societies around the World from the end of the neolithic period, probably right up until a couple of centuries ago. What ended up on the table might have varied slightly in the course of the year, as different fruits and vegetables came into season, but essentially the fundamental elements in most peoples' diet would have remained unchanged from a few staple dishes week in, week out throughout the year, and effectively throughout their entire lives.
In our modern Marie-Antoinette tendency to eulogise the idyllic simplicity of peasant life in bygone days, a whole raft of recipe books is available these days which present a colourful tapestry of regional peasant delicacies from days of yore - the result being an idea in our minds that all of this rich and diverse culinary bounty featured regularly in said peasants' diet. Not so. Not so, then, and in many peasant communities, equally not so now. You ate what you could grow - animal or vegetable - and what that tended to be was a small number of familiar and reliable things: chickens, and a pig, on the fauna side of things, and aubergines, tomatoes and onions (for example) on the flora. The peasant housewife learned a handful of recipes at her mother's knee - and by a handful, I mean something like five or six - and that would be what she fed her family unwaveringly, repeating the same things ad infinitum over the years. Oh, and the repertoire would always include a special culinary 'turn' to be brought out on special occasions - like the 'Oeufs Mimosa' that Marcelle Pons would religiously produce on high days and holidays in St Michel par Le Caylar (where the Belfortes used to live), or the Tiramisu that has been served by the Brancolis' contadina neighbour on every single occasion - and there have been many - when they've been invited to dinner over the past fifteen years.

It was the same also in the Greek Islands, when we first lived there back in the seventies - the bulk of all food was produced locally, which meant endless dishes concocted from peppers and aubergines and tomatoes... and after several months, the prospect of yet another Greek Salad was enough to induce dreams of hamburgers, and tomato ketchup, and chips! Not quite as bad, though, as the description quoted by Reay Tannahil and originally produced by Sir Alfred Zimmern, when he said of Athenian menu-structure that it consisted of two courses: .."the first, a kind of porridge, and the second...a kind of porridge".

How wonderfully, decadently better off we are, these days, when it is perfectly normal to go an entire month - or more - without having to repeat a single dish once, and the idea of constantly introducing new recipes into the repertoire is something cooks do as a matter of course. Which naturally justifies the constant and ongoing purchase of more recipe books (yes. ..guilty!), because otherwise, we could well be confronted with a future that consists of little better than..well...a multiplicity of porridge. This weeks arrivals in the repertoire have been Farfalle with a sauce of lemon, garlic, and crushed hazelnuts, and a recipe for sole fillets stuffed with shrimp. I don't think porridge is yet threatening from too close a range...

Tonight's dinner...

Is at Moreton Terrace.

Recipe: Poor Man's Ratatouille

In fact, this might more accurately be described as 'lazy' ratatouille, since it leaves out only a few of the ingredients from the classic version, but omits quite a few of the step from my preferred approach, and thus takes less than half the time. The introduction of Orange rind towards the end takes it in a noticeably different direction from the provencal flavours of the original; if this particular divergence offends, you can just leave it out....

For four, as a side serving.

Ingredients: 1 large Aubergine; 2 medium Courgettes; quarter of a cup of Olive Oil; 1 medium clove of Garlic, peeled and finely chopped; 1 medium White Onion , diced; 5 or 6 Spring onions, sliced thinly; 4 Plum Tomatoes, roughly chopped; 4 sprigs of Thyme; 2 sprigs of Rosemary; 1 Bay Leaf; grated rind of one medium Orange; half a cup of chopped Basil leaves.

Method:

1. Cut the Courgettes and Aubergine into half inch cubes; heat the Oil in a large pan, and once it is very hot, sear the cubed vegetables for three to four minutes, until lightly browned all over. Add Garlic, Onion and Spring Onion, and continue cooking, stirring continuously, for a further five minutes.

2. Add Tomatoes, herbs(apart from the chopped Basil) and Orange rind; reduce heat to medium, and cook, stirring, for about ten minutes more.

3. Remove the Bay Leaf, stir in the Basil, and correct the seasoning. Stir thoroughly, and keep warm until ready to serve.