u m a m i

February sun, trains and Chinese eats in London

               

The wedding was beautiful. The bride wore three wedding gowns, not all at once of course. The final gown was a nose-bleeding sexy dance number which raised temperatures in that cold northern part of England. Champagne cocktails flowed, emotional speeches were delivered, scottish country dancing was learnt and the candy buffet was visited many times, well actually they let people make doggy bags of it, how lovely no? Mine were filled with mostly Chinese sweetmeats and hard candies.

We spent every day of our trip on a train. Paris-London on Friday, London-Newcastle Saturday morning, Newcastle-London Sunday morning and London-Paris on Monday. At the train stations we sometimes arrived hungry and succumbed to trashy but tasty junk food like a Big Breakfast Butty and Whopper at Burger King and Cumberland Sausage Baguette sandwich from Upper Crust.

               

We went to Chinatown on Sunday but missed the parades. At Trafalgar Square the pigeons were missing, a bit bizarre because for years I have avoided this place because of the birds, now they're gone I feel a bit empty and disorientated. What happened to the pigeons?

                   

But for Chinese food, we didn't get that from Chinatown. These days all the action is happening elsewhere it seems. Like Queensway, home of Royal China and Four Seasons. This time round we made a beeline for Goldmine (102, Queensway Rd), reputedly where the ex-chefs from Four Seasons set up camp. Everything we ordered were good to mindblowing, top honour deservedly goes to their signature roast duck. The skin was teeth shattering crispy and the fats in between skin and meat so alluringly melty-savoury it would be a crime to discard. Non-roast dishes were excellent too- kangkung with fu-yu came in a generous portion with little excess oil and plenty of garlic, chilli and the fermented beancurd sauce, and a casserole of tofu with minced meat was given extra oomph with addition of crispy dried shrimps.

               

Hunan Restaurant is located in deep sloaney enclave of (51) Pimlico Road. On the second day of the Lunar New Year we found ourselves the only Chinese diners in the back section of the restaurant but to our relief it doesn't serve watered down Chinese food. The meal was by no means a bargain, to be honest it was quite dear but worth the splurge as everything we ate was spot-on with hardly a false note. A considerable feat given their format: there's no menu, they bring small servings of dishes to the table in a seemingly endless parade until your stomach waves the white flag.

Octopus dressed in spicy sauce, steamed whitebait with black fungus, meatsoup in twee bamboo cups, fish rolls with seaweed, braised porkbelly with spicy undertones. My favourite dish was one of duck steamed with fresh tangkwei, the slight bitterness played off beautifully against the natural duck richness. Not everyone gets the same dishes. We were spared the lettuce wraps of minced meat whatevers, and got instead esoterics like duck tongue with bamboo shoots. We lost count of the number of dishes and polished almost every plate clean, save for the bamboo shoots which were authentic in that it still had that dreadful funky smell, to their credit, the funkiness did ease with successive bites, to keep up our good showing I ate up all the pieces of duck tongues.

The standards were consistently high, perhaps the fact that they have a set menu means they've gotten all this down to a perfect science. Every dish managed to taste right, not over or under-seasoned, yet with its unique take, the novelty was what kept us excited most of the time, whether it was the unexpected play of textures or the surprise of szechuan peppercorn hiding in a salad garnish.

Just when we thought we were about done, they brought over a big bowl of slippery egg noodles with roe-reddened soup and sweet finely fleshed crabs. Then a whole steamed baby-sized seabass. Now we're talking! We had to turn away some egg-fried rice but not desserts which included wo-peng and nian gao, tiny servings of the red bean pancake and traditional new year rice cakes to be sure, but much appreciated for its reminder of the festive season.

               

Dragon Castle (114 Walworth Rd) sounds grand doesn't it? It occupies two storey, has a grand entrance of a pair of red doors which opens into a reception area complete with a carp pond, the dining area is spacious and feels like any number of bigh restaurants one would find in Guangzhou and Hong Kong. Yet it is located in the decidedly grim neighbourhood that is Elephant & Castle and neither me nor my sister would ever dream of venturing there if it were not for husband who found out about this place from the Internet. We tried the dim sum items for lunch, the quality ranged from OK to very good. Very good applied to standard items like spring rolls, yam puffs and braised chicken feet. Our hands down favourite though was a very unassuming small claypot of rice topped with steamed chicken and chinese sausage (lap mei fan, not to be confused with a fried version made with glutinous rice which had stood around far longer than it should) it exemplified the best of what we ate in Guangzhou before, simple ingredients transformed into something magical, the meat oils and quality soy sauce flavouring the rice just so without it losing its inherent clean taste, needing only a small bite of wine-and- ginger-marinaded chicken to make it come together. I have a feeling the cooked dishes are better than dimsum and it would be worth a return trip to test that out. Best of all, the prices are amazingly cheap even for London, I bet their weekends are jampacked with hungry students and three-generation families.

             

When husband was studying for his Master's degree at Imperial College a good 15 years ago he used to go often to Stick & Bowl (31 Kensington High St) around the corner from his hall of residence. He told me this as we passed the place on the way to Whole Foods so I pulled him in to relive his nolstagia for their good and cheap eats. The decor is decidedly unfussy with its canteen style counter-top seating and homely decor which husband informed me is a vast improvement on its former self, the staff are friendly and chatty. We were too full from a very good lunch of tandoori lamb chops, aloo gobi and bindi pakora at Haandi Restaurant (136 Brompton Rd) so we only ordered a plate of beef-horfun and a bowl of wonton soup to share. The wontons had nice slippery skin  but the fillings were too stodgy and meaty. The horfun was rather alright, plentiful, not too greasy yet with that requisite, albeit mild, smoke of the wok. Again not expensive which is surprising given its upmarket location, all the more so that it has been providing this community service for such a long time.

             

Other than Chinese and Indian, we also ate at a pub. The Eagle is a gastropub in Islington and it was crowded on the Sunday afternoon that we visited. I think I should have ordered the roast chicken but instead settled for a chowder because I wanted to see how haddock would combine with pollack (answer: not very interestingly). The soup was hearty but got very boring quickly. What we all enjoyed instead was the evil cream sauce that they drown some rabbits in, bread dunked in it tasted extraordinarily good. We gobbled up so much bread that another basket had to be requested and that was soon dispensed with as well. Me and my sister can never be trusted with a basket of bread....

What else? Ah, Whole Foods. To be honest I was overwhelmed by the sheer scale and wide variety. I wished I could take home the readymade puddings (Bannofee and treacle looked especially tempting) and husband was impressed with the meats and all that PC rearing information but in the end I could only settle for some organic dry goods and bottled pepper jellies.

             

Back in Paris the sky is blue and the mercury has risen a few degrees. We've got enough good food tucked under our belt to resist venturing into dodgy places that tries to pass off onion rings as bhajis or spring rolls stuffed with fillers of mystery vegetables and bleached beanthreads.

               

               

               

Eh, how come you never update your blog?

                        

That came from my sister C. She is probably the only one in my family who follows my blog and as we can see, she is keeping me on my toes. Which is just as well, because we are already seeing the end of June and I have pictures from way back when we were in London, so here is the rest of what I was going to say.

When I was younger, I was more obsessed about food. Hard to believe I know, but it's true. For my 21st birthday, I invited about a dozen of my friends over and spent a whole day cooking for that dinner. The menu included toasted bagels with cream cheese or peanut butter, grilled lime-soya chicken, grilled 'mediterranean' vegetables, hummus, deep fried wantons, there was probably a quiche or fish pie of sorts, all very BBC Good Foods of the late 80's and just about all I could afford on the pocket money my parents sent over to cover my student's expense.

With jobs came money, which meant dinners became more elaborate and plentiful. If I was on call and had no time to shop or cook I ate ready-made Marks & Spencers or Waitrose foods because suddenly I could afford to. C had to tell me to stop feeding her so well as "not everyone likes to eat like you do".

And when I travelled, I was a bit of a monster. Some people have heard this story before, and some have not. Anyway, Paris, in the summer of 1993. My travel companion, she who did not think it strange to serve undoctored microwaved canned salmon for her dinner parties, well, she was shocked at how few francs our miserable sterling pounds bought us and decreed that we should prioritise our spending for museums and attractions. Now then, food and shopping was my department, she was in charge of sightseeing, this division worked good for our previous holiday in relatively cheaper Madrid. Fine. Deep breaths. Understand also that her family is well-off and we were earning good salaries, we could afford to indulge a little but no, she had to be her usual kedekut self.

We were in the Opera area on the third day of our five-day trip, and I was hot and bored. Suddenly I felt like eating an omelet, a runny cheesy omelet with a little side of green salad, and it had to be eaten inside one of those mirrored, chandeliered belle-epoque type places in the area. Just because. What do you mean just because, it is neither lunch or dinner, and are you crazy, it is probably very expensive. But I want to. No. Silence. More silence. I am going home. Tomorrow. But we have two more days. I don't care. Silence. Oh fine, go ahead and have your dxxxxx omelet. Well, she didn't exactly say that, she is not the type to swear, but she did relent. We didn't have anymore arguments about meals afterwards and needless to say, we stopped going for holidays together.

I like to think that I am a little more relaxed these days. And probably also a lot more lazy. I no longer study the guidebooks compulsively and plan everything in the minutest details, checking reviews against forums and 'best of' lists. I read a little around the subject, and maybe earmark something to try but is not too crushed if it falls through and leave it all up to chance.

Why, on our last trip to London I even placed faith in the concierge. The one who unabashedly suggested the hotel's own restaurant's The Bugis Street Cafe when I asked for Chinese food. Which I know is the pits, and I told him so. Still, we went ahead and decided to meet my sister for dinner at his second recommendation. On the way there we stopped by a Chinese grocery store, when I paid for my chilli oil, I asked the cashier what was her favourite neighbourhood restaurant and ate there a few nights later. Now, hose recommendation was better, can you guess?

Both places were brightly lit and busy, and smack in the middle of Chinatown. The waiters were quick, brusque but occasionally friendly. One served very moreish crispy salt-and-pepper prawns and a decent but not cooked a la minute dish of crabs stirfried with young ginger and green onions. Their tung-choy (kangkong) with fermented beancurd sauce of fu-yu was exemplary and so was their cha charn tng staple of iced milk tea. Details: HK Diner. 22 Wardour Street, London, W1D 6QJ. T: 0871 0757361

                        

The other was not a typical Cantonese joint, as we had initially thought. The staff spoke Mandarin more than Cantonese and they had many chain-smoking Mainlander customers, the menu even listed lau gan ma sauce fried rice. I was tempted to back out but it was late and the others were hungry. The cooking was predictably cruder and MSG intensive, the only standout was a 'water-cooked beef' which was for once not too spicy as to kill the tastebuds. Not exactly a redeeming detail but in this case it was appropriate. Details: New Laughing Buddha, 12 Macclesfield Street, London W1D 5BP, T: 020 7437 5598.

HK Diner was recommended by the hotel concierge. 

                        

I didn't eat much Chinese this time. In between the Brit foods, there were other standout gems too. In the happy party land that is Upper Street in Islington, I was at one time torn between Carluccio's and Ottolenghi. Both restaurants have an inviting demeanour, their see-through windows beckon with tempting displays of baked goods and appetising salads. But my sister prefers Ottolenghi (287 Upper St, T: 020 7288 1454) and I can see why. Even though I had initially wanted to order a cup of coffee and a cake to eat while I look through my French verbs, a cavernous bowl of plum and beetroot salad called out to me and I was miraculously saved from an otherwise sugar-loaded teatime. The wait staff, all young and beautiful, were also very friendly and attentive. I loved the beetroot salad, and should have gotten a whole plate of it instead of combining it with the peas which were fine, but not not quite as magnificient.

                      

After the power-packed lunch and much window-shopping, it was time to rest. And then time to eat again, this time at nearby Exmouth Market because I was curious to try Moro's, having read about it for, oh, only the past 10 years. Ah but I was full even before we sat down, so we decided to eat lightly from their tapas and mezes menu. The fried patatas were very good, so good that potato-phobic C ate quite a bit of it, helped along by an unbelieveably tasty tomato sauce. The chorizos were amazing, though I'm not sure if it is the same chorizos as the one sold at the famous Brindisa next door. Everything on the meze plate was eaten up, even the little pink radish was adorably sweet unlike the ones I usually buy from my market. Damned good chorizos, but I had already mentioned that.

So the next day I went to Exmouth Market because it was a Friday and on Fridays there have outdoor stalls. Also, my sister mentioned that Brindisa serves a mean tortilla. Unfortunately by the time I dragged my lazy self over, they had sold out, it was a very hot day and the picnickers had nabbed them all. Also, the St John's Bakery stand there only operates on Saturdays, so no Eccles cake for me either.

                     

And by the time I reached the head of the queue at Moro's Paella stand, they were officially sold out. I contemplated waiting 20 minutes for the next batch. But the very nice man said he could give me the pan scrapings for free if I didn't mind that there would be no seafood. Blink. Are you sure? He smiled. Oh Yes. Wow! I would absolutely love some thanks very much.

                     

So there it was, my very nice free lunch. I am not saying this because it was free, but the paella was great, so much nicer than all the other paellas I ever had in Madrid. It tasted of caramelised prawn shells, of saffron, of tomatoes, of peppers, of plump toothy rice. Yummy!

Speaking of free food, London has been kind to me in this aspect. At Krispy Kreme, although I paid for two hot donuts they gave me an extra one. And both times, because we checked in early and our rooms were not ready, the hotels soften the disappointment by offering free breakfasts.                     

                     

Breakfast. We were pleasantly surprised to discover that our 6.30am journey home in the Eurostar comes with a choice of hot or cold breakfast. Now I know why the tickets are so expensive, but we had no choice as I didn't want to miss my exams that very afternoon. The juice, the jams, the breads and hot drinks were fine, but the omelet and sausage were of the same unappetisingness as their airborne cousins. Thank goodness because it gave me the excuse to chomp instead on my takeaway Exmouth Market brownies and cardamon shortbread.

                     

In London, I was gripped by a wanting for lemon cakes during our nightly outings to the 24-hour Sainsbury's nearby. Their supermarkets are open nearly all hours, very cool. But everytime I looked at the labels, including yours Mr Kipling, I saw long lists of ingredients and the dreaded "e" word emulsifiers, and regretfully I had to put it back on the shelf. Until I was at one of the many Pret & Manger outlets, ostensibly to buy a bottled drink but also keeping a lookout for a prawn cocktail sandwich. Which I didn't find but in another case was a selection of cakes sold by the slice.

                   

Granted, they are a bit too full of their own PC-ness but hey it listed no emulsifiers nor unnecessary additives. The cake was wrapped in plastic which is then packed inside this informative box, tsk tsk. The cake itself was delicious, moist and lemony with a great homemade taste and generously speckled with poppy seeds.

We're down to one small can of Heinz baked beans now. C, you know what to do right?

Ye Good Ole Fashion English Nosh

                   

The visitors have come and gone. After the sisters and daddy stayed for nearly 10 days, we had to stuff the washing machine and dryer to turn over the linens for another set of visitors who 'checked in' the very same day and stayed till the weekend. Two mad hectic weeks of sight-seeing, champage quaffing, shopping and plunderings of every chocolatier/ boulangerie/ fromagerie/ patisserie/ marche in our paths. Little V is still calling out to her yi-yis and kong-kong but we can only show her their photographs. She also had to miss a whole week of halte-garderie because of a recalcitrant cold. Me, I strained my right shoulder so bad I could not reach behind my back to fasten the bra straps let alone move the mouse.

The good news is, I passed my exams. It was only the debutante level but still, yay! Husband has now unleashed my half-baked articles and prepositions on the unsuspecting shopkeepers, no longer can I rely on him to translate my enquiries.

I will take a break from school for a while to catch up on readings and sewing. And processing photos of course, dearie me, we have rather a lot to get through. Here is the first batch, from the last trip to London where I spent most of my time reading a translated version of a bodice-ripper novella with the aid of online dictionary in an effort to learn me of some grammar. Trashy to be sure, still, it beats the tedium of memorising verbs after endless verbs.

Meal breaks were mostly taken alone, usually takeaways or pub lunches when I felt that it would be beneficial for me to see other tourists and hear some spoken English.

Stanhope Arms (97, Gloucester Rd, London, SW7 4SS) feels bright and spacious but can be very smokey, but I decided to go in and try their famous fish and chips anyway. The fish was brilliant, all flakey and tender and encrusted with a light and crisp beer batter, chips were quite ordinary but nothing a good shot of Heinz ketchup couldn't fix. The mushy peas I would give full marks too though, very yummy. When I asked for desserts, the barman apologised, saying he was not on the menu. Didn't know whether to laugh or feel insulted. The steamed treacle sponge with custard could do with more of the lovely custard to balance the sweetness, the teeth were literally yowling with pain; I had plain forgotten how sweet treacle is. Feeling confident in them I sent husband out one evening to buy some takeaway ploughman's sandwiches for my dinner, and what he came back with nearly made me cry- they used shredded processed cheese and very little of it, and charged an outrageous 5 pounds to add further insult. 

The hotel concierge preferred Hereford Arms instead (127 Gloucester Road,
SW7 4TE) and it was slighly better. My steak and ale pie was very tasty with largish chunks of tender beef and a beautifully browned meaty crust. Too bad the peas were hard as pellets and the chips falling short of average.

Better than my pathetic cheese sandwich was another takeaway dinner of onion bhaji, pilao rice and chicken tikka masala from the corner Waitrose. I love chicken tikka masala, it is a dish invented outside India but is delicious and right up there alongside with fish and chips as a traditional British food. Snacklike dishes such as pakoras and onion bhajis are great in UK too, well, compared to Singapore; one of the tastiest selection was from a vegetarian Indian stall in Exmouth Market. I miss onion bhajis most, next time I'll buy more for deepfreezing.

Within walking distance of my sister's apartment in Angel, kind of behind Liverpool Street, is a lively street market where I came across the Naked Sausage stall. Home-made sausages and burgers are grilled to order and served with mash and gravy or in a bun. I enjoyed my Cumberland sausages which was especially good accompanied with mustard and onion marmalade.

London was where I thought I could find myself some tasty scones. Husband had enthusiastically recommended the Orangery in Kensington Gardens so off I went to meet dim sum dolly for tea. They microwaved the scones before serving it to me, for heaven's sakes. I had been hankering also for some lemon cakes, and again, their version was pretty damn lame. Avoid, avoid, avoid. The rest of Kensington Park and adjoining Hype Park was marvelous though, English parks with grasses and gravel are just so much better than the prissy sandlots we get over here.

And what foods did we bring back this time:

1. Heinz baked beans

2. Colman mustard

3. Wilkin and Son Little Scarlet (Vintage Year) strawberry jam. It cost me 8 euros at Carrefour and the domestic and V finished the jar before we had a chance so this time we'll not be so sharing.

4. Marmite

5. Cheerios

6. Jaffa cakes

7. Kettle Sweet Potato Chips

8. Chilli oil

That'll do, I think, until the next trip.

Porky Pies & Sausage Rolls

                      

Once the Chinese void in the tummy was filled, it was time for the English goodies. I have a great fondness for British foods- cheddar, Branston pickles, Ploughman sandwiches, baltis, onion bhajis, Marmite obviously, also malt bread, a good roast, Yorkshire Pudding, prawn cocktail sandwiches, pickled eggs, lemon curds, Maid of Honour tarts, Colman mustard, Heinz ketchup and baked beans, sticky puddings of either toffee, dates, treacle or golden syrup, institution fruit crumbles and requisite mystery custard, cucumber sandwiches, salt and vinegar crisps, Twix bars, Jaffa cakes etc etc. Foods that my husband would probably not really understand, him who spent nearly equal number of years as me but in this side of the channel where he was enticed by oh, I don't know, Diabolo Menthe, couscous and erm, more couscous.

That is not to say that I ate all of the things in the list above. I wish I did, but some are already extinct- like the sticky malt bread from a bakery in High Barnet, where can I get it now? also the Maid of Honour tarts which was my only reason to suffer the long tube journeys to Kew Gardens oh so long ago- and well, some we can buy over here or do without for a little longer.

Sometimes old favourites pop up unexpectedly, ok not so expectedly but certainly in an unplanned way. It sounds confusing but here it is, I went to Borough Market on a Friday afternoon, and found lots of nice things of course, like hippie chocolate brownies, truffled salamis, loads and loads of gorgeous jams and even Cheddar made from unpasteurised milk. All of which went into my BHV shopping bag and eventually back to Paris. But some foods I just had to eat almost immediately.

Like pork pies. Now friends and family know that I am not a big fan of pie, we come from a family who dive into the fillings of curry puffs and eschew the skins which makes more sense then to just eat curry itself. But pork pie hold a different kind of charm for me- the thick lardy pastry chews densely, the meat inside is cold, both of which sounds not terribly appetising- but somehow I like it. It is something I used to munch and nibble on slowly for long winter suppers in front of the telly, by myself, one of my guilty secrets, along with imbibing shots of neat vermouth from the bottle stashed in the cupboard above the oven. I'll say that the only thing better than a good pork pie is a pie filled with pork and game meats, but it is not game season yet.

Well, back to Borough Market. The first pie stall that I came across was Pieminister. They have many different pie varieties, the pork pie sounded especially interesting. Pork layered with apples, maybe some cider, ham and well I can't remember now but at the time it sounded like all things porky and nice went into the pie. The packaging was quirky too, naturally I had to buy one.

                      

But it was a big disappointment. It was a pie that sounded and looked better than it tasted, the meats were not especially interesting tasting and the fruits, spices and herbs were especially muted. If we were blindfolded we would not know that we were eating anything special. Back in my sister's flat, we cut it up and tried it, but nobody wanted more than a bite.

                         

Further inside the market there were more purveyors of pork pies. The Mrs King stand even proclaimed that they make the best. And they certainly look quite like the old fashioned ones that hails from pork pie country in Melton Mowbray. 

                     

Fortunately for us Mrs King told the truth. In a side by side test with PieMinister, it far overshadowed the latter with its skin that crumbles yet retains a satifying dense bite, and pure pork fillings that is seasoned just so. You see, my sister and husband hadn't tasted many, if any, pork pie in their lives- indeed, they were very surprised that I would eat such a thing that seems so "too much" what with the packed pink meats (nitrites! my husband says in big thought balloons above my head) and stark intimidating pastry. Both of them said it was rather good, and I quite agreed. I added the Colman's and it became very very good. I allowed myself another wedge and stopped, a meal at St John's was waiting so I had to pace myself. I kept the rest for the next evening, so that I could savour it slowly on the way home in the Eurostar.

                     

Mrs King's also sold sausage roll, another old favourite. It used to be that sausage rolls had real pork meat wrapped in flaky pastries but nowadays we have to settle for plasticky hot dogs and rubbery pastries. Mrs King's version was sadly not terribly tasty- the meat was way too fatty and one got sick of eating it quickly, the pastry whilst flakey was also way too oily. Or maybe it didn't taste that great because I did not smother it in brown sauce as advised by a fellow customer.

The next day I was accompanying my sister on her marketing rounds in her neighbourhood along Angel. We passed by a bustling bakery-cafe but did not go in at first because we had a dim sum lunch to eat later. Then she popped into the neighbouring frame shop and I could wander back, and promptly bought myself a sausage roll (see above image). What a beauty eh? It lived up to its appearance too, freshly baked with lovely crispy pastry layers outside and perfectly seasoned sausage meat inside. 

                     

This is the name of the bakery. The frame-shop owner next door also agreed that their sausage rolls is one of the better ones around. See, even the locals approve.

                     

Then it was off to Exmouth Market, if a collection of about 8 stalls selling prepared foods can be called a market. But Exmouth is lovely to shop at, the retail stores around it is chi-chi and posh, and the market stalls are themselves selling very high-quality products. We scored some inexpensive espresso cups, some panettone for my sister, Eccles cakes from St John's Bakery (they're the best!) and another favourite- shortbreads-, this time with cardamon and orange flavours.

Which leads me on to another list, that of lovely Scottish foods- porridge, whisky, kippers etc etc........Oatcakes anyone? 

                  

Can you believe we ate at Royal China THREE times within a week!

                        

Top on our London eating list was dim-sum. In Paris, where roasted meats, claypot dishes and stirfried noodles is the best we can ever hope for in the way of Cantonese food, we held off from eating dim sum knowing that here, there is simply no way these delicate morsels can ever be done right. Well, The wait was worth it, and the first meal of the trip was dim-sum.

For husband that is, he had a business lunch at a Royal China at 40, Baker Street. Me, I had to contend with what passes of for laksa at the nearby Bugis Cafe in Gloucester Rd. He came back from his lunch with a satisfied euphoric expression, the food was damn good he said. I made him take me there the next day, and finally I could eat me some excellent dim sum. I have to say, it was total bliss.

The lobster dumplings came in a cute little basket, and the fillings included generous chunks of lobster cooked with chinese wine and fresh vegetables. To-die-for. It also cost 6 pounds per serving! All the dim sum items we tried were impeccable:braised chicken feet just about perfect in seasoning and skin resilience, silky-smooth cheong fun, cha xiu baos acing all the components just-so. These people are seriously at the top of their game.

                        

The custard buns remained warm for quite a long time, and still managed to be soft and oozy when we finally got round to them. OMG so very good good. Even the teas were the premium stuff. It was only midway during the meal that we realised that we were at the Royal China Club, the most upscale of all their outlets, hence the elegant decor and deferential service.

                        

We returned again over the weekend, for one final fling before our train journey home. This time it was to their more modest outlet a few yards away at 28 Baker Street. Notice the teacups are of the more durable, everyday type, and the baskets a lot more seasoned. But the dim sum remained just as exemplary, and the prices much more affordable.

They have outlets all over London (and we know about the Singapore one, no?) We have been enthusiastic fans ever since they first opened in Queensway/Bayswater more than a decade ago, but the Baker St location is not too bad. A short walk away is Oxford Circus, where the Selfridges food hall tempts with the likes of honeyed Gorgonzola and semolina cake with almonds and lemons.

My sister tells me that good dim sum can be had at other places, e.g. Yauttcha. Some places even serves it at night. It was just too bad we didn't have time to eat more. Ah but then, there is another trip at the end of the month....

                        

                        

New Mayflower, London

                        

It's a good thing that tomorrow is a public holiday. No classes, no having to drop off & pick up V from halte garderie, no errands. I need the time to catch up with quilting mummy's green quilt, study for my exams and process the backlog of photos. So posts will be slow in coming through.

Anyways.... One of my favourite places in London for super-duper no-nonsense bonafide Cantonese dishes is the New Mayflower Restaurant. The place has changed little since my student days of nearly 20 years ago- the service is brisk, the tables cramped close together to accommodate the perpetual crowd and the promise of a complimentary bowl of tong-sui at the end of the meal (for Chinese customers only, they think the ang-mos don't know how to appreciate sweet soups)- I never miss eating here however short my visit to this city is. I remember their khao yuk -belly pork layered with either taro or preserved mustard then slow-braised with bean paste sauce- is especially yum, even better than my mom's. This time though, we opted for the more healthy tofu braised with nam-yu and it was equally good, not too salty or assertive so as to let the tofu taste dominate, simply excellent.

And of course, there's their signature Crab Steamed with Chicken Fat and Huatiao Wine. The wonderfully sweet and succulent crab meat, the thin layer of custardy egg white floating in a slurpily delicious soup that calls to be drenched onto a bowl of rice.

We did just that, and I was happy.

New Mayflower Restaurant

68-70 Shaftesbury Avenue
W1D 6LY
Chinatown
020 7734 9207

Day 10 Fly Home

 

SF Airport. Yep, going home.

The best thing I ate on the plane. Lobster tail salad. This time all the Korean selections were good, all the Western dishes were sucky.

Showtime:

• Cantonese movies. "Enter the Phoenix" which starred Eason Chen and Daniel Wu. I will watch any movie that Daniel acts in, just like I am going a bit ga-ga over Jude Law.
• Also dreamyJapanese movie "Heaven's Bookstore" and the Korean battle-of-the-sexes-romatic-comedy "Mr Handy."

   

Food souvenirs to remember SF by:

• Blue corn wall hanging - FP Market
• Rancho Gordo Beans ( Christmas Lima, Flageolet) - FP Market
• French Chestnuts 2 jars - Williams Sonoma
• Tupelo Honey 1 jar - Ranch, Yountville
• Dried tomatoes 2 kinds - FP Market
• Bushar Browns' Spicy Jerk Sauce & Authentic Jerk Seasoning - The Pasta Shop
• Pesto 2 types - The Pasta Shop
• Mariage Freres Earl Grey 1 tin - The Pasta Shop
• Valerie Chocolate - The Pasta Shop
• June Taylor jams and conserves 3 types - FP Market
• Silicon brushes, silicon spatulae, kitchen knick knacks - Sur La Table
• Krups Panini Maker - Williams Sonoma

Day 9 Dimanche SF

After spending more than 15 hours in bed, we were completely energised for our last day of adventure. Breakfast of apple for husband, persimmon for me, while on telly, Paula Deen showed how to make Mystery Pecan Pie and Man Catcher Macadamia Pie. I take back what I said about liking her, that morning she was scary as hell as she packed every high fat ingredient in the kitchen cupboard- heavy cream, cream cheese, chocolate and butta- into her pies. We escaped outdoors.

 

Outside, it was very cold, so we walked briskly to nearby Notre Dame Des Victoires church. Again, I got the service times wrong. Arrived at 7:40 a.m. for the 8:00 a.m. mass which actually started at 7:30 a.m. Have to blame the outdated information printed on the leaflet that the concierge dug out from his files. Never mind, we were just in time for the readings. This is a historical landmark built in 1913 for French parishioners. The building is beautiful outside and inside, and very French, down to the fleur-de-lys pattern on the lighting frames.

Still early, so we settled down with the NYTimes on Sunday, croissants and coffee at the nearby Cafe de la Presse.

Then we walked around Union Square. Which was a little boring since none of the shops were open yet. So it was back to hotel to watch more turkey telly and read the newspapers (the hotel also provides SF Chronicle).

For lunch, we strolled over to nearby Chinatown. The park is full of children playing and old men studying what looked like horseracing sheets.

Some parts of Chinatown remind me of Singapore. Dick Lee in the food business? The second signboard reads as Tung Lok in Chinese, so husband told me. Does Tung Lok have an SF outpost?

Lunch at Golden King. Drip coffee for husband, sour plum juice for me. They sour plum juice was similar to but much nicer than our sng-buay drinks. Pho came with slippery noodles, fresh beef and a deliciously clear and flavourful broth, one of the best phos I've ever had. The pork chop rice was equally satisfying.  Although the meat was quite dry eaten on its own, combined with some pickled vegetables and chilli-spiked fish sauce, it was just right.

On the way to the car rental agency, we passed a rousing taiko performance at Union Square, just a preview of a performance for the following week.

Setting off for Napa Valley. At this point the GPS system (Hertz NeverLost) was indicating that we were on the wrong route and was beeping furiously to signal us to get onto a parallel road. Trouble was, we were crossing a bridge, and there was only that one bridge. If we took the other road, we would be driving on water.

Never mind, it later  orientated itself, funny isn't it, for the GPS to become disorientated. Still, it managed to take us all the way to Yountville. Guess where we were going for dinner?

Uh-huh. After much nail-biting suspenseful waiting, we managed to get a table at the much talked about The French Laundry. Husband could not confirm our travel dates until about six weeks before the departure date, and by then of course, the reservations were full although they offered to put us on the waiting list. About four weeks before we left for SF, husband wrote them a nice letter, not expecting much to come out of it, so we were very pleasantly surprised to receive a couriered letter from them confirming our dinner reservation for 8:45 p.m 14 November 2004. Email me if you would like a copy of the letter, husband wrote it in French, as advised by a wise friend.

We arrived much sooner than we expected. Three and 3/4 hours early to be exact. Because he was worried about the traffic jam. What could potentially take 3 hours took us only 1 1/4 hours to finish. By the time we arrived, the sky was already dark and the weather decidedly frosty. At first we walked around the area, stopping by at the Ranch supermarket, but Yountville really is a tiny place, so we settled ourselves at the bar at Hurleys Restaurant for drinks and sports telly.

At 8:00 p.m we ambled over. They were very gracious about us being early. Initially I was a little nervous and thinking maybe it was a little crazy to come all this way, but the people there were so good at taking care of us, all I remember now is how comfortable the whole experience was.

We sat at a table by the window downstairs. Candles, custom-made tableware, and of course the napkin secured with the laundry peg. There were three menus to choose from: Dinner, Chef's Tasting Menu and Tasting of Vegetables. We decided on Dinner because some of the items on the tasting menu (endive, foie gras, chocolates, coconut) did not appeal to either of us and an entire dinner without meat was not ever an option. Our choice was brilliant, we loved everything we tasted, and I will now let my pictures do most of the talking.

Something to start with:

Cornets of salmon with creme fraiche and chives- fish served like ice-cream, very playful idea.

Butter poached langoustines. A pared down version of the famous lobster dish.

Breads were French, not sourdough, how lovely. And two butters, one sweet, one salty, both utterly delicious.

Then our choices arrived. We swopped plates halfway through for each of the courses so both of us ended up trying everything.

"La Ratte" Potato "Agnolotti"- Diane Saint Claire Butter and Grated Perigord Truffles:  Black truffle grated with a Microplane grater ( I want this toy!) over fresh pasta. Mmmmm, truffles, I don't know any bad words for truffles, this was just too swoonsome for words.

"Soup and Sandwich" -"Puree" of Sunchoke Soup with Marcona Almond Slivers, Nicoise Olives and a B.L.T sandwich: Don't know what a sunchoke is, but it makes good soup. The sandwich was, dare I say it, a little greasy, reminded me of those fried breads they serve for breakfasts in English countryside B & Bs.

Crispy Skin Filet of Pacific Sablefish with a "Fricassee" of New Crop Potatoes, Cured Hoh River Salmon Roe, Vermont Sweet Butter and Horseradish "Mousse": So many firsts for me, never having tried sablefish before. I likee...

Holland Turbot "Roti Aux Herbes", Forest Mushroom "Ragout", Glazed Pearl Onions, Baby Leeks and "Beurre Rouge": mmmmmmm....

"Cote Et Noisette" of New Zealand Fallow Venison, Red Wine Braised Cabbage, Sierra Beauty Apples and Yukon Gold Potato "Mille-Feuille" (serves two): We hesitated before ordering this, because if we didn't like it we would be stuck with it, but of course we needn't have worried. Tender juicy meaty meat unobstructed by gaminess, generously portioned, accompanied by a most terrific cabbage braise.

Do we want to talk about the rest room? There are two upstairs, and both are beautifully wallpapered and scented. Loo paper, soft of course. When I came back downstairs, someone was waiting for me to help me back to my seat. Seriously, this man does nothing but walk around making sure everything is in place and every diner is happy.

Our favourites dishes, the cheeses. Again, we have never come across these wonderfully complex and wonderful cheeses before.

"Hoch Y'Brig" - Roasted "Champignons de Bois" and Garden Tarragon "Coulis": Ate everything together. mmmmmmm....

"Fourme D'Ambert" - White Wine Poached Bartlett Pears, Spiced Walnuts and Pear "Puree": that pear puree and walnuts,wow, together now, mmmmmm.....

Feeling really full at this stage, we asked for a little break. A short walk around the grounds and we were ready for the desserts. Our five desserts.

These are what we ordered. Perfectly sweet and delightful.

Lemon-Buttermilk Ice Cream with Red Currant "Coulis"

"Vacherin" - Vanilla Scented "Bavarois", Passion Fruit Curd and Crispy Swiss "Meringue"

These are what we were given as extras. Panna cotta for me, creme brulee for husband.

Mignardises: These were given with husband's espresso (not nearly as good as Chez Panisse says he) and my tea. And I liked these desserts most. Many places have rubbish mignardises, or petit fours, whatever they call it, most of the time the pastries are stale and the nutty cookies either rancid or soft, but these, these could rival the teatime selection at the most snooty parlour. Macaroons that reminded me of Laduree's. Perfectly baked madeleine and shortbread. Fruit jellies that exploded with fruit, this was the most intense treatment of pomegranates I have ever come across. And that little lemon tart, ooh lala.

And in case we were still hungry, the waiter put a dish of fresh home-made chocolate truffles on our table. All sitting prettily in a silver dish. A sweet ending to a most memorable meal. Maybe it is a good thing I don't live in California, or we would be finding excuses to eat here all the time...

Day 8 To Market, To Market We Went

Saturday morning bright and beautiful. California St Financial District. Where the cable car stops.

 

The Farmer's Market at Ferry Building. Where the local residents go for fresh produce and super good eats. Where the tourists like us go to gawk at the abundance and gnash their teeth deciding what to try. Where there is also a statue of Gandhi looking at all the market activities, huh? Non-violence towards vegetables and fruits?

Breakfast. Redwood Hill Farm Vanilla Grade A Goat Milk Yoghurt with Fresh Raspberries. And scrumptious peanut butter cookie sandwich. Gorgeousssss.

This gentleman from the White Crane Spring Ranch taught me a new word. "Biodynamic" farming, which he described as "beyond organic". His produce is grown high up in the mountains where the water and air are pure. Where herbs and vegetables turned out coloured as richly as Old Masters paintings. Picture on the right shows some bay leaf wreathes.

More herbs from his farm. Even the slugs grow fat and sluggy.

Lots of foods to sample. Looks more like a party spread.

Hmm, don't know what he was selling. Doubt it was anything to do with meat.

And then there was more eating. Tamales, which are like Mexican versions of our bak changs. Looks messy I know, but very tasty.. from left, Mole chicken, beef and pumpkin-cheddar. Mole is a kind of chocolate savoury sauce, wished there was more of it.

Crab cakes. With real crab meat bound with a little breadcrumbs. Unlike versions here which comes with icky surimi.

There are tables at one end set with plastic tablecloths to make it easier to eat on. These tables can accommodate quite a lot of people if everyone squeezes a little to make room for others. Unlike our oblivious Singaporean companions who insisted on hogging the entire table for our party of five. They ignored my suggestions to make space for other people. Even after I said it twice. Grumble grumbled to myself. We ate quickly and said our goodbyes.

Many more things to see, touch, smell, admire. Autumn collection. Amazing varieties of peppers. French beans. Cranberry beans. Brussels sprouts-a-sprouting.

   

Those are not grapes people, but potatoes. But don't they look juicy?  Pomegranates and pumpkins. We bought some persimmons and apples, just missed the last of the figs. Some stuff sells out fast.

 

Even salt can be interesting. Picture on left shows varieties of salts,  Himalayan, French, Volcanic and I don't know what.

Beautiful beautiful beans from Rancho Gordo- this stand is located in the front part of the building. At the front too is a stand that sells delicious yuba (the skin formed at the top of pot when soya milk is boiled) marinated in various flavours like ma-la and sesame.

When the sun got too hot and the vendors in the market started packing up, we adjourned to the building itself, where there are many specialty shops. Cowgirl Creamery for cheeses, too bad cheese is not so easily transportable by plane. A wild mushroom shop, home ofwildly expensive chanterelles and porcini and truffles. Beautiful iced cakes at one cake shop. Another shop glowing with copper pans.

Sur La Table, again. Back home now, I am still scolding myself for walking past that Microplane zester/grater. All the cooks on Food Network were using it, as were the waiters at some of the restaurants we ate at. But we got the other appliances of the moment, the most interesting of which was the silicon spatulae-TV cooks no longer stir with spoons or ladles nowadays, only silicon spatulae would do. I also got a silicon pastry brush. There was a version which can double up as a baster, but I found it too fiddly. Silicon Valley, full of erm, silicon... they sure have found plenty of new uses for it.

 

For lunch, we tar-powed a bento set from Delica RF1 to eat back at the hotel.  The bento box included simmered vegetables and a fat juicy scallop breaded and fried. I was also attracted to the Hijiki Salad with Soybeans like a bee to honey, this salad was sooo incredibly tasty and is likely very healthy too. Hijiki, another favourite. The yellow soup was butternut squash soup, a welcome taste of autumn.

After the lunch, sated and full, we settled on our comfy kingsized bed and watched telly. Mostly plastic surgery and food programmes. I like Rose Levy Beranbaum for her detailed instructions on baking (chill the dough!), Tyler Florence (pity he had to work with that silly Jack woman), Alton Brown and Rachael Ray (not too perky as some have said, just very organised). There was heavy emphasis on turkey dishes, Paula Deen even talked to hers, calling it Mr Tom Turkey, so funny. Emile Lagasse mumbles. And that evil horror Sandra Lee-switch channels!

That evening we were supposed to eat dinner at 1550 Hyde St. Pim recommended this too ( I e-mailed her for advice before the trip, and she very kindly gave some suggestions, thanks Pim!). But we didn't make it there.

Because my eczema was bugging me so much, and my skin was painful and itchy. The instructions that came with the loratadine said to eat only one tablet every 24 hours but I found its effects too mild. Already I have finished one bottle of lotion and the spray was as good as useless. I contemplated overdosing with the loratadine but husband, bless him, rummaged in his bags and waved something in my face-a small vial of Axe Medicated Oil. Eeks, I said, hesitating strongly. I have not used this oil for years. In my mind only little old ladies and lorry drivers use it, the former for all sorts of ills, the latter to dab on their nostrils to keep them awake during long journeys. Medicated oil has a lot of menthol, and it makes the skin tingle and burn. But I was already foaming at the mouth with frustration so it was worth a risk. At first there was no reaction, but after about 20 minutes, the tingling and slight burning sensation soothed and negated the itch while simultaneously calming irritation. Complete relief came within one hour. That night I rested well, not needing to wake in the middle of the night to scratch at some damn spot. What a little miracle. I will never doubt this humble oil again. Our forefathers were right. Axe Medicated Oil rules!

Day 7 Berkeley

John the van driver came early to our hotel to drive us back to San Francisco. We checked into The Orchard hotel again, but it was still early and our room was not ready yet. So we left our bags with the concierge and went out to jalan-jalan.

Picture above: locked out workers in picket line outside a hotel in Union Sq. This scene repeated itself in many of the big chain hotels. The lockout mainly affected hotels with unionised workers. (The Orchard was not involved in the dispute, well, because their workers are not unionised). Here's my understanding of events. It started in late September. Negotiations over a new work contract became stalled so union workers went on strike in four hotels. In retaliation, the hotels locked out the strikers, and expanded the lockout to other hotels and their unionised workers. Locked out workers started picket lines outside the hotels. Till now, the issue is not yet resolved though some workers have returned to work.

Back to our usual frivolous activities...

Husband and I walked to the BART station on Market St. The BART took us to Berkeley. We had intended to visit Telegraph St but Martha (lady at next table at Manresa from the night before) told us we wouldn't like it very much and had proposed that we checked out 4th St instead. 4th St is quite far away from the station and the route was not very interesting for walking so we waited for a bus. The bus failed to appear after 25 minutes of our waiting so we hailed a taxi. Good idea. The taxi carried us away from the dust and grime of University Avenue and deposited us on sunny 4th St.

 

First thing I saw was Bette's Oceanview Diner. I've always had the impression that it is in the middle of the ocean or at some ferry point overlooking the ocean. But I didn't see no ocean. What I saw were thick crowds of people inside and outside, so we put our name on the waiting list and waited for a table. We ordered the day's special of pumpkin pancakes and waffles because the place is famous for its pancakes. And we were disappointed. My waffles was not crispy at all. Husband's pancakes were slightly better and went well with poached eggs. Maybe we should have ordered something from the regular menu.

4th St is an upscale neighbourhood lined on both sides by "lifestyle" shops. Antiques, kimono-patterned bedlinen, beeswax candles, cutting edge-luggage, obscure books and more. The gourmet Pasta Shop Fine Foods is just as overachieving with its selection of many high-quality varieties of cheeses, chocolates, teas, oils, etc. We had an unfettered session of sampling and buying.

 

Then it was time for our lunch appointment. Like our friend from the night before this taxi driver also came from India, difference is, he has earned enough to have his family join him. I asked him about calling the Festival of Lights Deepavali and Diwali. He said both have the same meaning and explained that Diwali is the abbreviated version for the more formal sounding Deepavali.

He finished his explanation just before we arrived at our lunch venue. Chez Panisse Cafe. We noticed the tree first, then the restaurant. A very beautiful tree, its leaves form a wide canopy that seemed to 'protect' the restaurant. Maybe the tree is the secret to its longevity hehe.

Inside the cafe it was warm and cozy and packed with customers. The room has a Charles Rennie McIntosh sensibility about it, with the lines and geometric shapes of its window panels and light fixtures, which helped greatly to distract from the smallness of the space.

 

We were not exactly starving, so we ordered lightly. My Chicory Salad with anchovy, garlic and egg was perfectly balanced in flavours considering its assertive ingredients. Husband ordered the Local albacore salad with green beans, beets and black olives but I ate most of his salad. This is the second time I came across beets. The first time was at Arcadia restaurant in San Jose. I concluded beets can be very delicious, it helped that its colour is orange and not bloody red. What I could not get enough of was the french beans, which was the absolutest sweetest tenderest little beans I've ever had in my entire life. The beans made me begin to understand what Alice Waters has been banging on about.

For the second course I ordered another appetiser item. Crema di fagioli: Cannard Farm shell bean soup. Because I had read about Koon and Cannard in the New Yorker food issue. I felt very food-geeky right then telling husband this. Nice beany soup. But after the soup I started to feel chest pains! Could I be having a heart attack? I wasn't sweating or breathless and had no history of heart problems (touch wood). So I decided to take a walk down the street; if it was a heart attack the pain should get worse. It didn't. After walking for about 10 minutes, I started burping (discreetly of course, okay there was one big buster) and started to feel better. Alamak those fancy organic sustainable agriculture beans gave me Gas.

All this time, husband was not really paying attention to me because he was liking his Spaghetti with porcini mushroom and gremolata so much. It looked very simple, a few mushrooms dotted around the green-flecked pasta, like something I could have made for him at home. But the porcini was so voluptously intense and meaty it made all the difference to the dish.

Feeling virtuous from the salads and the soups, we decided to share a plate of Artisan Cheese  Selection for dessert Red Hawk from CowGirl Creamery in Monterey, Tome de Couserans from the Pyrenees and Roncal from Navaronne. Marvellous cheeses all of them. Our favourite was the Tome, but the Red Hawk came a close second.

We finished with espresso and tea. My husband declared that this place made the best expresso. All the places we've been to thus far have not come up to his espresso expectations. He likes it in a very tiny concentrated shot, thick but not burnt or overly bitter, and with the requisite crema layer on top. Many places used too much water. At Chez Panisse Cafe it was just right.

Martha had been so disappointed when we told her we were only eating lunch at the cafe. She urged us to eat dinner in the restaurant proper, but our calendar was already packed. If there is a next time, we will definitely have dinner here. The cafe was a good primer, showing how seemingly mundane dishes can be elevated with really good produce. The produce are the celebrities here, not the chef.

This area of Berkeley is also touted as the Gourmet Ghetto because of its profusion of eateries and produce purveyors. Right next door to Chez Panisse is a tapas restaurant and right opposite is a cheese shop called The Cheeseboard with its eye-popping array of cheese and breads. Along the nine-block walk to the BART station we came across many more places of indulgence, like Phoenix Pastifico and the 50-year old Virginia Bakery (does this mean this place is older than Chez Pannise?).

Our daily itineraries often read like non-stop dining marathon interspersed with bits of shopping and bittier bits of sightseeing. It was intentionally planned, some of these places require advanced reservations, but still, I could not shake the feeling that we were barely scratching the surface. There seemed to be hundreds more interesting things in this area that I haven't explored. Next time we'll have to stay a lot lot longer.

   

Later that evening, we took another of pim's recommendation and ate a wonderful dinner of lamb couscous at The Green Pizza. Remember A Cook's Tour where Anthony Bourdain discovered that in Morocco, all the good food is in private homes rather than restaurants? This would explain why it is so hard to find decent Arabic food outside the Middle East.

The Green Pizza in the Tenderloin district usually serves pizza. But the oven was broken and couscous replaced pizza on the menu. Mr Hakim the owner is a young student from Tunisia. The couscous was cooked by his mother who was visiting during the Ramadan period. Perfect timing for husband who has a perpetual nolstalgia for couscous because it was the staple food during his student days in France. The authentic home-style couscous was delicious and satisfying. The grains had been cooked properly so it absorbed the steam of the lamb broth. A big pile of the couscous was served topped with generous amounts of tender lamb and vegetables. By Makansutra standards, this definitely rated as "Die Die Must Try".