Birthday noms: Art's Cafe and Patisserie Valerie

Hello foodies, Maz here. Yes, I am aware it's been a while; I've been away (metaphorically, not actually (apart from, like, one week in Tenerife)) to graduate and sort my life out a bit.

While the life sorting hasn't really happened, I have had a birthday! Happy twenty-twoth to me. To celebrate, G, the lovely bearded soul he is, took me for a day out of culinary pleasures, which I will more than happily document for you here.

Firstly, we went to Art's Cafe. This is a fairly well-kept secret tucked away on Call Lane and, while the interior is a little dark, it adds to the snug feeling and keeps the tables from feeling cramped. In the evening it would be "moodily lit" and gorgeous. In fact, the meticulous care that went into the production of G's coke float and the presentation of our meals made us both feel pretty frickin' special; it was certainly above and beyond the service from an establishment that calls itself a cafe.

We had a "plate" each - mine was the fish plate and G's was the Yorkshire plate. His had a slab of homemade pork pie, the creamiest Wensleydale this side of, well, Wensleydale and a wonderful apple and celeriac coleslaw that put the tang back into the cheese. I'm a sucker for crayfish and lemon, and my ramekin-full felt like it would never end. This was in contrast to the haddock fishcake which I wolfed down in a couple of bites it was that good, which of course induced immediate regret and meant the smoked mackerel pate (which was just as intense) lasted half an hour on the hugest slice of dough bread ever. My God, there is nothing bad to say about this place. Just don't all go, let's keep it a bit secret (although, being well-known wouldn't stop it from being hella tasty...)

At this point it had started raining, so by the time we took shelter in Patisserie Valerie about half of Leeds had had the same idea. It also meant that some of the cakes we maybe would have liked (ahem, TOFFEE ECLAIR) were sold out, but it turned out that was a testament to the quality of the produce. We shared individual portions of strawberry gateau, mixed fruit tart and pecan tart and the intensity of flavours, the freshness of the ingredients and the little presentational details set them far above any other cake in any shop in Leeds. Especially the strawberry gateau was light and fragrant; the strawberries, while chilled, still remained juicy and their flavour stayed on my tongue like rosewater.

Click here to have a nosey at ALL THE CAKES. Mmm.

This was my first experience of a cake shop (apart from the wonderful Sunshine Bakery - thankyou Culture Vulture), but doesn't mean it any less deserves that title of my new Patisserie of Dreams. It was a wonderful birthday day out, and the second of two establishments I would evangelise about quite happily to any unsuspecting passers-by. Art's Cafe and Patisserie Valerie are genuinely two of my favourites out of all the places I've had the pleasure of reviewing so far. More than worth the money, fabulous service and a great eating experience in both establishments, where in both places we really felt like valued customers.

Art's Cafe

42 Call Lane

Leeds

LS1 6DT

0113 243 8243

http://www.artscafebar.com

Patisserie Valerie

50A Albion Street

Leeds

LS1 6AD

0113 242 4739

http://www.patisserie-valerie.co.uk/leeds

Linguine All' Espagnola

Again, apologies must come for not updating this more in recent weeks - now that the kitchen's finished I am able to cook again, but I hardly seem to be making incredibly exciting food worth writing up. In any case, enjoy this pasta dish I whipped up the other day. My pidgin Italian probably doesn't make any sense, but that's just the way I roll. The dish takes its cue from the classic All' Arrabiatta sauce, so I just bastardised it for my own ends. I'd like to think I picked this meal up during the few times I've been to Spain (and subsequently fallen in love with the country and its cooking) but most of the time I was there I was too pissed on Sangria to cook. Oh well.

Serves 2

200-250g Linguine

2 Medium Onions

4 Cloves Garlic

2 inches chorizo

1 tsp Dried Thyme

2 tbsp Tomato Puree

2 Chillies (optional)

2 Egg yolks

Set a large pan of salted water on to boil for the pasta, and cook until al dente according to packet instructions. When draining the pasta, reserve a mug of the starchy water, and add to the pasta again once it's fully drained - this stops the pasta from sticking in the saucepan and helps the sauce to coat it. While the pasta boils, prepare the topping. Dice the chorizo as finely as possible and fry gently in a little olive oil for a few minutes. Finely slice the onion and add to the frying pan once the chorizo's starting to release its fat. Keep frying on a low heat, finely chop the garlic and chillies and add to the pan as well, along with the thyme and tomato puree. When everything's all nice and soft and orange, stir it into the pasta, and serve. While it's still hot, place an egg yolk on top of each serving, and beat it in with your fork. Season generously with black pepper, and enjoy.

The addition of raw egg may seem strange (and not for the faint-hearted) but the residual heat of the pasta cooks it, and it adds a lovely richness to the meal. Definitely not one if you're watching your cholesterol, but what the hell. It's only lunch.

No Beans About it: A Simple Pork Casserole

Apologies for the lack of updates recently, but rather selfishly my parents have decided to knock out the whole back of the house and redo the kitchen at the very same time that I moved back home from Leeds. The upshot of this is that we've been surviving on baguettes from the local French deli and microwave meals. Shudder.

In any case, I was finally allowed into the kitchen the other night to use the new fridge and hob. Limited for space amongst the dusty surfaces and power tools, I had to make something that wouldn't require too much preparation and had little chance of spoiling or getting dust in it. I came up with this.

Serves 4

4 Pork Chops (or similar amount of diced pork)

50g Prosciutto (or lardons, or diced smoked bacon)

1-2 Red onions

1-2 Red Peppers

2 Cloves Garlic

1 Tin Red Kidney Beans

Olive Oil

Firstly, begin by chopping up the pork. I divided each chop into three as a compromise between reducing the cooking time and having a having something large to get your teeth into. Heat a small glug of oil in a casserole dish and brown off the pork. There's no need to cook it all through, just let it take on colour. Remove and set aside on a plate.

Throw in some more olive oil, thickly slice the onion and roughly chop the pepper and add to the pan when the oil's ready. Add the prosciutto (diced if not already), and cook for about 5-10 minutes, until the onion begins to soften. It might seem somewhat excessive to have two kinds of pork in the dish, but it's really important to incorporate the smokiness into the dish. Finely slice the garlic and add to the pot. Rinse the beans, and add when the garlic just starts to brown and become aromatic. Add the reserved pork, refill the bean tin with water, and fill the casserole dish until the food is completely covered in liquid. At this point you might want to add some herbs or paprika, but I think this dish has enough in it to let the taste of the pork shine through.

I neglected to take a picture, so enjoy this mercilessly stolen shot of some bacon being chopped up

 

Simmer as long as you can bear, but for at least half an hour. The idea is the reduce the liquid in the pot until it thickens from the partially dissolving kidney beans. As with all stews, it's not an exact science; add more water if you feel it needs it, cover the casserole if you feel it's evaporating too rapidly. You'll want to scrape the bottom now and then to avoid the food burning, but don't be too much of a zealot about this. The burnt bits at the bottom are often the best part. When it's done, serve with rice, polenta or crusty bread.

Like all stews, it was eaten in a far shorter time than it took to make it. But that's no bad thing, as by that point we were completely ravenous. A few glasses of red wine and immediately the house began to feel like a home again.

Pretty Grand: A Tale in Dining On the Go

There's a certain terrible transience that necessarily comes with any area associated with transport. I suppose that's a bit obvious really. But stopping to seriously consider the matter, it is a symptom of the modern world that we can never find the time to sit down and relax whenever we try and go anywhere. Consider Heathrow's Terminal 5 - supposedly a multi-million pound luxury hotspot to facilitate the mass transport of holidaymakers, the sheer amount of bloody chain restaurants and overpriced tourist shit make it an even more stressful entry on the bulletin list of enforced foreign relaxation.

St Pancras railway station is similarly marketed as some kind of boutique haven; a place where trendy young women in heels and silk scarves relax before a trip up north by filling their Louis Vuitton suitcases with yet more designer clobber. Instead I find the whole setup rather depressing - as lovely the architecture may be (and so far removed from horrid King's Cross next door) the whole place smacks of desperate consumerism. All the typical high street chains are crammed into brick alcoves; there's only so many Moleskines a man can take.

Upstairs, however, is home to the St Pancras Grand, a restaurant that holds the accolade of being able to rob me of my London cynicism for a few precious hours. It may be yet another chain (part of the Searcy brand) but the restaurant has a notable individuality that extends purely beyond its delightful location. Situated opposite the Eurostar trains bound for Paris, there is a definite Gallic air to the place, and the inside is done up like an old continental art deco establishment. Save for the Chip & Pin machines, you could be mistaken for thinking you'd fallen into a wormhole to the 1930s. I half expected to turn round and see Agatha Christie dining with James Bond at the table across from us.

The à la carte menu isn't exactly cheap (expect to pay £14-20 for a main course) but we were able to take advantage of a seriously good offer by booking through Toptable. £15 for a two course meal with complimentary glass of "pink fizz"? Yes please. The cheap menu was obviously fairly limited, with a choice of three for both starters and main course, but the old adage "you get what you pay for" is fairly appropriate. And since what you pay for is a rather delicious meal, there's no harm in that.

I ordered the Cornish Brown Crab served with toast, but was told sadly that the dish wasn't on the menu that night, replaced by a rather delectable salmon, trout and saffron potato terrine. It was fairly great, if a little mild. Still, an absence of gutsy salt or lemon was made up for by a good whack of chives, bring the meal up to taste.

Roast chicken with bacon, croutons and a poached egg was the main course (narrowly beating a salmon fishcake). The chicken was beautifully soft, clearly slow-roast for a good length of time, and covered in a wonderfully deep and rich gravy that tasted faintly of mushrooms. The mildly vinegary poached egg was a slight anomaly perched on top of the delectable meal, but the yolk provided even more depth of flavour to the chicken.

Desserts are priced at £6.50, but they are (according to my younger brother) bloody good. I wouldn't know; I had an espresso and a brandy in what I hoped was a Mad Men-esque throwback to the days of the liquid lunch, but more likely made me come across as a slight alcoholic. Oh well.

So transient and vaguely corporate it may be, but you could do a lot worse if you feel like chilling out and stepping back in time during a hectic trip out of London.

St Pancras Grand
St Pancras Station
Upper Concourse
Euston Road
London
N1C 4QL
http://www.searcys.co.uk/stpancrasgrand/
0207 870 9900

From Bulgaria With Love: A Beginner's Guide to Shopska Salad.

With three years of higher education under our belts, my housemates and I (along with 6 other friends) recently spent a week on the coast of the Black Sea in Bulgaria sunning ourselves, drinking cheap lager and generally frittering away the remainders of our overdrafts.
"But why is he telling us all this!" I hear you ask through the magic of the internet. Well, obviously because we ended up spending the week surviving on Shopska, the national salad of Bulgaria. It may sound simple, and I'm not going to imply that simply chopping vegetables requires a recipe, but I felt the meal needed some kind of record for posterity. What can I say?

The key ingredient of the Shopska is the cheese, a type of brined white cheese called sirena. It's similar to feta, but less strongly flavoured, and generally made from cow's milk rather than ewe's. Any Leedsers should be able to pick something similar from the Maumoniat international supermarket, but the ubiquitous Feta should serve just as well.

Perhaps harder to replicate in Britain are the tomatoes. I don't think I've ever eaten a tomato from a supermarket that satisfied me in any way. I mean, sure, Sainsbury's flavouripe are alright in a bland sandwich, or drenched in dressing, but we just don't have the climate for producing tomatoes that actually taste of what they are. Oh well. It may be worth shelling out for. If you find a good source for tomatoes, let me know. In any case, the texture of the salad demands large and juicy tomatoes rather than small and fruity - if it wouldn't go in Maz's famed Tabbouleh, it wouldn't go in here.

Serves 10 as a starter, maybe 6 as a main.

1 block of Sirena cheese
1 large cucumber

2 Green or yellow peppers

2 red onions

4 of the freshest, best beef tomatoes you can find

1 tsp dried parsley

½ tsp dried oregano

6 tbsp sunflower oil

2 tbsp white wine vinegar

Salt and Pepper

Begin by chopping the cucumber, peppers and tomatoes into chunks about 1cm wide, and place in a large bowl - actual quantities don't really matter, but there should be a roughly even amount. Likewise, finely chop or slice the onions, add to the bowl and stir the mixture. Season well with salt (to bring out the juices) and set aside for a few minutes. 

To make the dressing, simply mix the dried herbs into the oil with a fork. Add some salt and pepper, slosh in the vinegar and shake vigourously in a glass jar. Pour most of the dressing over the mixture in the bowl. Either chop the cheese into large chunks or grate it over the salad - either way is fine, but we preferred the large chunks of salty goodness soaking up the dressing and tomato juices. Drizzle over the remainder of the dressing, and serve with bread and grilled meat.

I know, it doesn't look like much, but the way the saltiness of the cheese is matched by the acidty of the dressing and juice of the tomatoes is one of the closest sensations I've come to culinary perfection.

As a post-recipe bonus, have a picture of me making the salad, in a dodgy vest and using the knife found in our villa that we swiftly entitled "the Bitchfucker".