22 March 2011

Fiskeriet, Oslo - Restaurant Review


Erling Moe was once an Oslo institution. This venerable fishmonger was located at the foot of Norway's first 'skyscraper' – the imposing Folketeater building – and it sold some of Norway's finest seafood for over 70 years. Sadly, like many of the small speciality food stores in Oslo, the inevitable march of modernisation forced the shop to close in 2009. For a city that once boasted over 75 fishmongers it was the end of an era, and only a tiny handful of independent fish shops survive today.

Rather fortuitously, though, out of these ashes rose a new style of fish shop. The building's current owners tasked the then 26-year-old fishmonger, Eivind Hermansen, with opening up a new generation of fish shop on the same premises. In the summer of 2010 Fiskeriet opened to much fanfare. Fishing forms an integral part of Norway's identity and history, and is one of the country's biggest exports (it sure tastes a lot better than crude oil). And such is fishing's importance that none other than the Fisheries Minister herself cut the ribbon to officially open Fiskeriet.

On entering the shop you're immediately confronted with a dazzling array of Norway's finest seafood. Huge slabs of cod, sparkling mackerel, halibut steaks, king crab, and more lay glistening on crushed ice. But I wasn't here just for raw fish; I wanted someone to cook it for me too. One end of the shop has been expanded to include a 'matbaren' – a small bar-style seating area – from which you can select from half a dozen or so lunchtime dishes such as fish stew, steamed mussels, and Norwegian fish cakes. The place is licensed too, so you can wash it all down with a glass of cool, buttery white Burgundy.
I had initially ordered a comforting bowl of fish stew, but on seeing two huge plates of fish & chips come out of the kitchen I suffered a major case of food envy and changed my order. And I'm mightily glad I did. Served on a faux-newspaper page printed with titbits of information on Erling Moe and Fiskeriet was a dish of fish & chips that would fit right in with Britain's finest. At NKr. 119 (€15 / $21) it's not bad value either.

Impeccably fresh haddock was encased in a light and crisp batter. Chunks of pearl white flesh flaking satisfyingly under knife and fork. Alongside this were some decent tartare sauce and a pickled onion. Proper Sarson's malt vinegar added that authentic acidity and brought a broad smile to my face. The only let down was the chips, which seemed to be of the generic and bland pre-frozen type that you find in every motorway café in Norway. I was hoping for something a bit more interesting, but then I suppose this place is predominantly a fishmonger. Anyway, the chips were much improved by a liberal dollop of rather excellent Stokes tomato ketchup.

Fiskeriet is a great place for a quickish lunch in Oslo. The lunch bar gives you the perfect vantage point from which to observe the fishmongers at work. I happily watched as they cleaned, filleted and skinned fish, and chatted pleasantly with customers, all the while enjoying some decent seafood and wine. Yes there may now be fewer fishmongers in Oslo, but what the city has lost in terms of quantity it certainly seems to be making up for it in quality.


Food:         7 / 10
Service:      8 / 10
Ambiance:  7 / 10

Fiskeriet Youngstorget
Youngstorget 2b
0181 Oslo
Norway
Tel: +47 22 42 45 40

There is another branch of Fiskeriet located at Willy Greinersvei 22 in Sandvika, but this is just a pure fishmonger and does not have a restaurant.

15 March 2011

Japan – How to Help

This post is a little off-topic, but sometimes stuff happens that makes you stop and put things in perspective. The tragic events in Japan are one of those such things, and the recent news and pictures following the aftermath of the devastating earthquake have been heartbreaking to say the least. It makes scribbling on a food blog such as this seem somewhat frivolous.

The photo at the top is of a piece called "Upside Down Hinomaru" by Japanese artist Teruya Yuken. He describes the work as such:
I used to have the Japanese flag in my studio and one day I decided to move the flag. And as I began to move the flag upside down, I was feeling a gravitational pull moving along with me. I hung on to this power until I had completed a 180° turn. It was at this time that the power left me and I was looking back at the flag. To all it would appear as right side up but it was only to me that it looked upside down. It was then I felt a true personal relationship with the Japanese flag for the first time. I want to share my experience with the flag and also would like everyone to see what happens when something standardized gets turned upside down.
Japan is a truly remarkable and wonderful place and it will always hold a very special place in my heart. The country has (literally in some cases) been turned upside down. My thoughts go out to everyone affected and I hope it’s not too long until Japan is able to 'right itself' and be back on its feet again.

I wanted to leave you with a few photos from happier times that I took last year from the wonderful city of Tokyo, and include some possible ways of donating to the relief effort.

Save the Children – Japan Emergency Appeal

Norwegian Red Cross

American Red Cross

Wooden Ema (wishes) hanging at Meiji Jingu, a Shinto shrine

Temizuya for ceremonial purification at Meiji Jingu

View of Tokyo Tower from the top of Roppongi Hills
Shibuya crossing at dusk

6 March 2011

Fastelavnsboller (Shrovetide Buns) – Recipe

It's Fastelavn today! In Christianity this festival (known as Shrovetide in English) marks the three days running up to Lent, which was historically a period of fasting and abstinence. However, I'm more excited by the fact that it means Easter – and therefore the end of the interminable Norwegian winter – can't be too far away. True to form, the weather in Oslo these days appears to be behaving itself and the thermometer outside has been tentatively poking its head above freezing point.

Fastelavn also traditionally marks the beginning of a period of feasting before the austere Lent period. It is said that one tradition at this time in Norway was to eat nine meals in each corner of the house. Old Pagan rituals also form a traditional part of Fastelavn in Norway, and one such tradition is the 'Fastelavsnris,' where birch twigs are placed in a vase and decorated with garishly coloured feathers. Apparently birch was viewed as a symbol of fertility.

Another tradition at this time of year in Norway is to make Fastelavnsboller – sweet buns that are filled with whipped cream. I suppose they once would have been the perfect way of fattening yourself up before Lent; now, instead, they are a deliciously decadent treat.

Norwegians have baking in their blood, and Mrs. Nibbler is no exception. Therefore, as I've mentioned before, she does most of the baking in our household and today I was treated to these beauties. To make Fastelavnsboller, she used the same dough recipe as for her skolebrød buns. Traditionally these buns are filled with whipped cream, but you could also add jam too. Another nice touch I think is to use crème pâtissière instead of the whipped cream.


Ingredients (makes around 20 buns)
  • 800g plain white flour
  • 140g caster sugar
  • 150g butter
  • 50g fresh yeast (preferably) or one 7g packet of dried yeast
  • 525ml whole milk
  • 1 tsp ground cardamom
  • 300 ml whipping cream
  • Icing sugar
  • 1 egg
 Method
  1. Melt the butter
  2. Mix the flour, sugar and cardamom in a bowl (and dried yeast if using that)
  3. If using fresh yeast, mix this with some of the milk in a cup
  4. Mix the rest of the milk with the warm melted butter
  5. Add the milk, butter and yeast mix (if applicable) to the flour/sugar, and mix well (with an electric mixer preferably)
  6. Leave the dough to rise so that it doubles in size (takes approximately 1 hour if you put the bowl in a sink with hot water)
  7. Cut the dough into 3 equal pieces, and roll each piece into a long sausage. Cut each sausage into smaller pieces, and make each piece into a round ball about the size of a mandarin orange to make buns. Put each bun on a baking sheet.
  8. Leave the buns to rise further for approx 15 mins
  9. Brush the buns lightly with some beaten egg
  10. Cook the buns in the oven for approx 8-10 minutes on 230°C (sometimes longer, depending on the size of the buns). When the buns have a light brown ring underneath them and a light brown colour on top, they should be cooked.
  11. Remove the buns from the oven and leave to cool on a wire rack
  12. Meanwhile, whip the cream, adding some caster sugar to taste
  13. Once cool, slice the buns in half and fill with whipped cream
  14. Dust the buns with icing sugar and serve!

1 March 2011

Maaemo, Oslo - Restaurant Review

(For more recent reviews of Maaemo, see my blog posts here, here, here and here)
Since I moved to Oslo from London almost three years ago I have been struck by an odd paradox. In Norway I have tasted some of the best examples of homegrown produce anywhere. We know that Norway has superb seafood, but its beef, lamb, game, root vegetables, and berries are also truly world-class. However, it seems that much of the population is almost oblivious to this local bounty, and if you visit Norway you'd be forgiven in believing that the national dish was hot dogs or frozen pizza. So in terms of eating out, with a couple of notable exceptions aside (here and here), I was resigned to my fate of getting my culinary thrills on trips outside of the country.

And then, in the summer of 2010 came news of Maaemo, an Oslo restaurant that would serve only 100% organic produce originating mainly from Norway. Could this be true? Would it be all hype and no substance? I couldn't remember the last time I was this excited about a new restaurant and, without spoiling the rest of the review, I can honestly say I enjoyed one of the most wonderful meals of my life at Maaemo – a meal so stunning in its beauty and flavour that I was at times left slack-jawed, eyes agog, taste buds singing to the heavens.

Maaemo – an old Finnish word meaning "Mother Earth" – is the creation of three men: Pontus Dahlström, a Finn and former sommelier of Oslo's then double Michelin-starred Bagatelle restaurant; Esben Holmboe Bang, a Danish chef with experience from Copenhagen's Noma and Oslo's Feinschmecker, Le Canard, and Oro; and Jon-Frede Engdahl, Managing Director of Kolonihagen, a café and supplier of organic produce in Oslo.

Their brief couldn't have been tougher – create a gourmet restaurant serving only organic food sourced mainly in Norway, a country where on average only 1.2% of food products bought by consumers is organic. In December 2010 their dream finally became reality and Maaemo opened its doors to the paying public for the first time. That the project got off the ground to begin with is amazing enough. Turned down for financing by the country's mainstream banks, the founders eventually managed to secure help and funding from varied allies including the Norwegian Agricultural Authority.

The restaurant is located in the new 'Z-building' in Oslo's Bjørvika neighbourhood, a stretch of no man's land near the Oslo Central Station and the National Opera House. Bjørvika used to be a gritty container port, but at the moment it is the centre of the biggest urban regeneration project Norway has ever seen. The plans for it are hugely ambitious, and eventually it will become a major cultural and economic centre for Oslo. Eventually. Today it is a building site, and Mrs. Nibbler and I found ourselves gingerly making our way past cranes and construction hoardings on our way to the restaurant. I thought this quite fitting though – a restaurant's location is so often a statement of intent, and while Maaemo could have played it safe and opened in the west of Oslo, they chose this new fresh location from which to launch their new Norwegian culinary revolution.

The interior of the restaurant is an exercise in clean minimalist Scandinavian design. It has a surprisingly office-like feel inside, but the hint of "conference room 3B" is avoided by softer touches such as thick tablecloths and cosy candles. The kitchen is housed in a large glass box construction that appears to float over the dining room and is accessed by a narrow spiral staircase (massive respect to the waiters for navigating these without dropping anything). The dining room has just eight tables serving 38 diners, each of whom gets to sit on beautiful 'Elbow' chairs by Danish designer Hans J. Wegner, and as such it never feels anything less than spacious. The floor covering is made from recycled plastic bottles, the towels in the toilets are 100% organic, and even the uniforms are made by companies prohibiting the use of child labour. I was starting to feel a bit guilty for arriving by taxi.

There is only one menu choice at Maaemo – a 9-course tasting menu priced at NKr. 1,050 (€135/$186) with the option of a matching wine menu at NKr. 950 (€122/$168). Expensive, but in line with other high-end Oslo restaurants. The menu is seasonal and the plan is for it to change four times a year, although there will always be variations according to product availability. Also, a nice little touch is that you are given a menu holder made out of offcuts of the same marble used on the roof of the nearby National Opera House to keep your menu in and refer back to while you are eating.
Looking back on my meal I would add that the wine pairings played a huge role and, if you can, I would really recommend choosing it. Immense care and attention has been given to selecting the matching wines and in some cases the wine forms an integral part of the dish, bringing out hidden flavours of the food and vice versa. Of course, it is also possible to order wines à la carte and for this you are given perhaps the coolest wine list I have seen. Housed in a custom-made wooden frame is an iPad with a map of Europe. You simply click on a country and then drill down by region to find a suitable bottle. I could have spent hours playing with this. OK, it's maybe a touch gimmicky, and I've heard of other restaurants jumping on this bandwagon, but then it doesn't take much to make my inner geek happy.

With some glasses of Blanc de Blancs to ease us into the evening, the first of three amuse bouches was served. Thin strands of lush green fennel from Korsvold Gård, a farm located on an island 120km south of Oslo, came served with a small pot of sour cream and liquorice. I liked the way the liquorice intensified the aniseed taste of the fennel, but the texture was all a bit too woody for me; the jury was still out with this one.





However, on tasting the next amuse bouche I knew everything was going to be just fine. A diver scallop had been barely cooked and was served warm with lightly pickled leeks, tarragon, and a few drops of rapeseed oil. The soft sweet flesh of the scallop was achingly fresh, its taste instantly transporting me to the cold clear waters of Western Norway. Surely Norwegian scallops have to be among the best in the world? It seems incredible to think that until relatively recently scallops were not widely eaten in Norway, and for centuries they were considered only good for bait.

For the final amuse bouche, oyster emulsion, cucumber jelly, horseradish, and dill sat presented in a hollow glass bowl filled with seaweed and shells. Its taste was truly inspiring, full of the fresh ozone flavours of the sea, with the zingy horseradish making your mouth water. An object of utter beauty on the plate, I could have just sat there looking at it for the entire meal.

The first course proper was Jordskokk fra Korsvold Gård – steamed Jerusalem artichokes (again from Korsvold Farm), Jerusalem artichoke purée, and purslane leaves. Beautifully presented on a warm stone, the artichokes were soft and moist with a slight al dente bite. Their flavour was intensely earthy and nutty with a comforting warmth and natural sweetness. Never have I tasted Jerusalem artichokes this good. The creamy purée provided a nice textural contrast, while the purslane leaves seemed to pop with bursts of freshness in the mouth. This was a masterclass in how to elevate the humble tuber into food fit for a king.

Hvete med Hvede (Wheat with Wheat) – a playful take on the Norwegian and Danish spellings of 'wheat' – was next. The 'hvete' consisted of warm rolls made from wheat and spelt flours from Holli Mill in Norway's Østfold region. These sat atop a heavy piece of stone that was once used for grinding flour. Alongside this was some whipped salted butter from Røros. The bread was just divine – malty and nutty with a crisp crust and a soft open-textured interior.

The other half of this course – the 'hvede' – was a glass of the most extraordinary Danish wheat beer from the Bøgedal microbrewery. This tiny brewery is run by a husband and wife team who limit each production run to just 500 litres. The bottle said this was batch number 208 and I was told Maaemo had managed to secure the entire 60 bottles that were allocated to Norway. The beer had glorious subtle aromas of orange and coriander, and was very fresh with a touch of spice in the finish. It complemented the bread beautifully.

I think the fact that Maaemo is able to serve bread and butter as a separate course on the menu and pull it off with such skill speaks volumes about their confidence. This dish was just stunning in its simplicity and depth of flavour.


The next course, Selleri og Balsamisk Epleeddik (Celery and Balsamic Apple Vinegar), turns out to be a beautiful fillet of snow white skrei (spawning Arctic cod) from Norway's Lofoten islands. It was served with thick discs of roasted celeriac and thin slices of blanched celeriac that sat on top of mounds of celeriac purée. Drizzled over the fish was a light balsamic and apple vinegar reduction. The fish was beautifully cooked, and came apart in thick translucent flakes that tasted sparklingly fresh. The wine pairing for this course was a match made in heaven, and the apple vinegar reduction really helped bring out the best of the green and herbal Grüner Veltliner from the Nigl winery.

Then came Rødbete og Nýr (Beetroot with Nýr). Beetroot had been baked in salt and was served alongside blackcurrants, thin discs of raw beetroot, watercress, and camomile powder. A transparent cylinder of camomile jelly was filled with a mysterious substance called nýr. It turns out that nýr is a new type of tart cream cheese made by Hans Arild on his Grøndalen Farm in Nes, 30 minutes from Oslo. It was voted Oslo & Akershus product of the year in 2010. This dish came with some more theatrics in the form of a camomile infusion that was poured over dry ice, enveloping the table in wisps of soft camomile-scented clouds. The effect was electric. Sweet beetroot, sour cream, tart berries, crisp cress, and the mild honey-like scent of camomile proved to be an intoxicating combination. Delicious!


Next was Løk med Persille (Onion with Parsley). In another twist this was actually beef from Horgen Farm, 50km north east of Oslo, where farmer Trond Qvale raises grass-fed Angus cattle with minimal intervention. His cattle are left outside to graze grass pastures that are intermingled with wild herbs, giving the meat an amazingly fragrant minerally taste. The meat was tender, but not so much that your teeth didn't get a pleasant workout. It tasted like the animal had actually worked for its living. Accompanying this were onions prepared four different ways: a smooth purée, a dark and sweet caramelised onion 'soil,' pungent grilled onions, and mild pickled onions. Topping the whole thing were leaves of spinach and parsley. This was yet another sensational course, perfect in conception and execution.

On to the cheese course with Ost fra Eggen Gårdsysteri (Cheese from Eggen Dairy). Eggen Dairy is located in Vingelen, some 350km north of Oslo, and has been going since the 18th century. Here their soft Fjellblå blue cheese was served with birch leaves, birch wine reduction, Swedish maple syrup, sea buckthorn berries, and oats. The combination of tastes was revelatory, a little explosion of flavours on the palate. Pungent but creamy blue cheese was tempered by the sweetness of the maple syrup and tart juiciness of the sea buckthorn berries. The pairing of a light Poiré de Poiriers pear cider from Eric Bordelet was inspired. Low in alcohol but packed with concentrated fruit aromas, it complemented the cheese perfectly.

The arrival of dessert was heralded by the simply titled Malt. Malt mousse on a layer of malt crumble and carrot purée sat in a bowl echoing the restaurant's origami-style fold-out menus. What can I say? I was in heaven. Truly stunning! Sweet malty mousse, a little crunch from the crumble and bags of natural sweetness from the carrots. It was all I could do not to do a little dance right there and then.

Another dessert followed, this time Smør fra Røros (Butter from Røros). The sound of a whirring Pacojet machine emanating from the kitchen gave us a clue as to what this course might be. But even with this inkling, neither of us was quite prepared for how earth-shatteringly good this dessert would be. Impossibly smooth Røros butter ice cream came served with butter crumble and a sweet butter sauce. A little dollop of molasses perfumed with a hint of coffee broke the butter hegemony. The waiter called this their "crowd pleaser," and I can see why – butter, sugar, cream, what's not to like. I had to stop myself licking the plate clean. This dish was paired with a sweet raisiny 1995 Vin Santo from the Tuscan wine producer Monsanto.

We finished our meal with the cryptically titled Over Tregrensen (Above the Tree Line). Shavings of Valrhona chocolate, dollops of chocolate mousse, crowberries, white chocolate, and thick milk snow were artfully arranged on a jagged slab of stone. I'm not a huge fan of chocolate desserts, and although this dessert was excellent, it didn't quite reach the stratospheric heights of the previous two. Interestingly, it was the only dessert not to feature local ingredients as its main component. It was as though Holmboe Bang lost his nerve at the last minute and decided to serve something he knew would be universally popular and safe for the final course. I would loved to have seen another homegrown masterpiece instead, or I could have just had the butter ice cream again.

We finished our meal with some silver tip white tea that came with petit fours served on chalkstones from the Swedish island of Gotland. Sitting on these stones were chocolate shells filled with egg cream and apple syrup, chocolates filled with blackcurrant cream, and chocolate fudge sprinkled with salt from Oslo Fjord.

Finally, as a parting gift, we were handed a goodie bag containing the menu, some more of the blackcurrant filled chocolates and some heather honey drops.

Dinner at Maaemo simply took my breath away. It showed me exactly what is possible to achieve with good Norwegian ingredients. Chef Esben Holmboe Bang's light touch with the food is a key theme, allowing the sheer quality of the produce to shine through. His is certainly a name to watch and, at just 28 years of age, I've no doubt he will achieve even greater things going forward. Service throughout was impeccable too – efficient and warm waiters brimming with enthusiasm were knowledgeable about every aspect of the menu. Having been hooked on the BBC's excellent TV series "Service," I have a new sense of appreciation for how difficult it is to have a front-of-house operating at this level.

There is a notion I keep reading about in many articles that good Scandinavian food did not exist until Noma came along. That is simply not true. Scandinavia has a rich culinary heritage. However, certainly in Norway, it seems that Norwegian produce has been neglected and increasingly overlooked, often in favour of more 'exotic' imported fare. So it's out with the cod and potatoes (as delicious as they may be) and in with the sushi bars and Tex-Mex restaurants. Strawberries in January? Great! Green beans from Kenya? What a sign of progress! In all honesty, though, I don't really have a problem with this per se – increased consumer choice should generally be applauded – but what makes my blood pressure rise is when this 'progress' comes at the expense of good quality local food producers.

Fortunately, the tide is turning, and it is places like Maaemo and Kolonihagen and the Norwegian Farmers' Market Association that will be the saviour of artisanal food producers in Norway. The idea of a 'Norwegian Terroir' might have been laughable until very recently. Slowly but steadily, though, this idea is gaining credence mainly thanks, ironically, to the 'Noma phenomenon,' and the renewed global interest in Scandinavian food. Restaurants like Maaemo, Noma, Geranium, Relæ, F12, Fäviken, and Oscarsgate are at the vanguard of this rediscovery and reinterpretation of Nordic produce – the 'New Nordic Cuisine' movement – and it is unbelievably exciting to be in the midst of this culinary revolution. So go to Maaemo and revel in the beautiful cooking and purity of flavours – your perception of Norwegian cuisine will never be the same again.

(Postscript: I have been back to Maaemo a few times since. The experience just seems to get better and better – you can read those reviews here, here, here and here).


Update (14.03.2012): In the 2012 Michelin Guide, Maaemo was awarded not one, but two Michelin stars; an incredible achievement after being open for just over a year and testament to just how good this place is.


Maaemo
Schweigaardsgate 15
0191 Oslo
Norway
Tel: +47 91 99 48 05

Food:           10 / 10
Service:        10 / 10
Ambiance:      9 / 10

21 February 2011

Butter Shortbread with Cloudberry Cream – Recipe


Shortbread is so simple to make and is the perfect accompaniment to a reviving afternoon mug of builders' tea. I had always assumed shortbread biscuits were the sole preserve of the British, having originated in Scotland, so I was a little surprised to learn that there is a strong tradition of making shortbread across Scandinavia. In Sweden these biscuits are evocatively known as drömmar, or 'dreams' in English, while in Denmark pebernødder biscuits have a touch of cardamom and cinnamon in them and are popular at Christmas time. I haven't been able to find a definitive translation in Norwegian. The closest I can get to is småkaker av mørdeig, literally 'small cakes of shortcrust',  or smørkaker (butter cakes), so if anyone can shed some light on this I'd be very grateful.

I thought I'd add even more of a Scandinavian twist to these shortbread biscuits by making some cloudberry cream to serve alongside them. Cloudberries (molte in Norwegian) are quintessentially Scandinavian. These hardy berries grow across the Nordics and can survive temperatures as low as  -40°C. Cloudberries are somewhat elusive; appearing in late July they are gone by early August. They are also very difficult to cultivate and, as such, are considered a rare and expensive delicacy. My in-laws regularly go cloudberry picking near their home in the hills of Gudbrandsdalen every summer, jealously guarding the best spots (although they have promised to reveal their secrets to me someday). So why all the fuss then? Well, quite simply, the taste of cloudberries is extraordinary and unlike any other – sweet, with an intense floral aroma that is musky, exotic even. I like to eat them fresh, with a sprinkling of sugar, maybe a drizzle of cream too if you insist. As their season is so short it is most common to find cloudberries in jam form. Here I use cloudberry compote made by gently cooking cloudberries with sugar.

Ingredients (makes 8-10 biscuits)
For the shortbread:

  • 180g plain white flour
  • 125g unsalted butter
  • 55g caster sugar

For the cloudberry cream:

  • 200ml whipping cream
  • 1 tbsp caster sugar
  • 4 tbsp cloudberry compote

Method
To make the shortbread biscuits:

  1. Preheat the over to 180°C
  2. Beat together the butter and sugar
  3. Sift in the flour and mix together; it will look a bit like breadcrumbs at this stage
  4. Turn out the mixture onto a work surface and combine to make a dough
  5. Roll the dough into a cylinder about 3-inches thick
  6. Slice the cylinder into biscuits ½-inch thick and place on a baking tray
  7. Prick each biscuits 3-4 times with a fork
  8. Bake in the oven for 15-20 minutes until golden
  9. Once cooked, place on a wire rack to cool
  10. Before serving, dust each biscuit with some caster sugar

To make the cloudberry cream:

  1. Add the sugar to the cream and whip to form soft peaks
  2. Gently fold in the cloudberry compote

Serve with a big mug of strong tea.

16 February 2011

The Sportsman, Seasalter – Restaurant Review

The last few weeks have been fairly quiet on the blog front. I've really wanted to write, but every time I try and put digital pen to digital paper the words just don't seem to form, and the letters remain jumbled and stubbornly stuck in my mind like some tin of Alphabetti Spaghetti. The main reason for this is a trench of work-related crap that I'm wading through at the moment, enveloping me in alternating clouds of ennui and worry. I'm not going to drag this blog off topic, or into a melancholy funk, so that's all I'll say for the time being. So, deep breath, Zen thoughts, and time to transport myself to a happier place by reminiscing over a wonderful lunch I had at The Sportsman pub on the windswept coastline near Whitstable in Kent.

The Nibbler family had rented a house with some friends in Whitstable for the New Year festivities, and we decided to see out the last day of 2010 with lunch at The Sportsman, a short drive away. The journey alone was memorable enough – an exposed coastal road that meanders into increasing remoteness. I had to check the GPS a couple of times to make sure I was headed in the right direction, and just as I thought we had passed the last traces of civilisation, there it appeared, a somewhat shabby, whitewashed pub. Despite our early lunchtime booking, a sign in the window reassuringly proclaimed the restaurant to be fully booked for the day, so be warned if you plan on dropping by unannounced as it looks like you have to do the very un-pub like thing and reserve well in advance. The interior of the pub is fairly spartan with wooden flooring and unadorned wooden tables throughout, but the atmosphere is friendly and welcoming. A crackling fire radiated cosy warmth and our mouths began to water as we gazed at the day's menu chalked up on a blackboard next to the bar.

Brothers Stephen and Philip Harris took over The Sportsman pub in 1999 with financial backing from their music producer brother Damian. Philip was tasked with running the bar, while Stephen set about running the kitchen. The family link continues with Emma, Stephen's partner, managing the front-of-house. Remarkably, Stephen is entirely self-taught as a chef, learning his craft by eating his way through the menus of some of the world’s top restaurants. His initial inspiration for The Sportsman came from a meal he had at Chez Nico, Nico Landenis’s legendary London restaurant, which at the time held two Michelin stars. The idea was to bring that rarefied level of cooking to a pub; Michelin-standard food, without the Michelin-standard snobbery perhaps. Their efforts were recognised when, in 2008, Michelin awarded The Sportsman one of their coveted stars.

The Sportsman offers a tasting menu that is only available on weekdays if you order in advance. Disappointingly, although this was a Friday, the tasting menu was not on offer – I suppose New Year's Eve should probably count as a weekend on a technicality. Anyway, we needn't have been disappointed as the à la carte menu listed more than enough tempting dishes to keep us happy. Harris's focus is very much on sourcing or producing quality local produce and treating it kindly and intelligently. Each dish therefore is a showcase for local ingredients, and it was so exciting to think of such a thing as the 'Kent terroir', a place I had only ever, to my shame, associated with apples and oysters.

To begin we were offered bread. Not usually something to fawn over, The Sportsman’s offering was staggeringly good. Crumbly soda bread bursting with sweet malt notes, dense chewy sourdough, and soft rosemary focaccia were as good as any I’ve ever had. The accompanying house-made salted butter was luxurious in its richness, and even the salt used was special, it being made with seawater from just across the road.
For starters I chose the simply-titled pork terrine (£7.95). What arrived was a thick slab of coarsely cut pork speckled with herbs and elegantly wrapped in cabbage. This was served with apple mustard, pickles, toasted bread, and the most obscenely good pork crackling. The meat was sublime and is sourced from nearby Monkshill Farm, part of The John Townsend Trust, a charity set up to help deaf children. From start to finish this dish was pure bliss.
My friends started with pickled herring and cabbage salad (£5.95) that glistened with freshness, and poached rock oysters with pickled cucumber and Avruga caviar. I wasn’t quick enough to take a snap of the latter, and it had been wolfed down by the time I had fired up my point-and-shoot.
For his main course my friend went for roasted goose (also from Monkshill Farm) served with mashed potatoes, hazelnuts and apple sauce (£18.95). It looked a bit of a mess on the plate, but my friend reported it to be excellent. My eldest daughter, Little Miss Nibbler, had opted for tagliatelle carbonara (not pictured), which she loved. I tried a bit of this and was impressed with the quality of the pasta; thin, bouncy ribbons with a perfect chewy texture.
Meanwhile, I had chosen seared Thornback ray with brown butter, cockles, and a sherry vinegar dressing (£18.95). Accompanying this was a separate plate of mashed and boiled potatoes. Skate wings have to be one of my favourite pieces of fish, and here they were served simply, but flawlessly. A thick piece of wing had been cooked perfectly, its flesh coming away in long juicy strands. It sat atop a mound of wilted spinach and came with the classic addition of nutty beurre noisette, whose richness was cut by a sherry vinegar dressing. The dish's crowning glory was a sprinkling of tiny cockles. It wasn't so long ago that the only cockles you could find in Britain were those drowned in vinegar and cheap white pepper, the majority of them having been exported to France or Spain. To see these little bivalves sitting proudly on the plate waving the flag for British seafood made me very happy indeed.
For dessert I had cream cheese ice cream served with pear purée, meringue and crumble crumbs (£6.95). This was one of those dishes where each component seems ordinary in its own right, but when combined creates a stunning confluence of flavours. The cool freshness of the ice cream went so well with the slightly tart purée, and the meringues and crumble added just the right amount of sweetness and texture. This was a very well thought out dish that was executed perfectly.
However, I suffered a serious case of food envy when my friends’ desserts arrived as they had gone for the warm chocolate mousse (£6.95). In their benevolence they let me taste some. I can safely say my search is over – the best chocolate mousse in the world is right here, in Kent! Fluffy folds of airy, but powerful chocolate mousse sat on a layer of salted caramel sauce, the sweet intensity of the combination tempered by a mild milk sorbet. I don't usually do chocolate for dessert, but this was the stuff of warm fuzzy dreams.
Lunch at The Sportsman was a truly singular pleasure. This meal would also mark another special occasion: my 4-year-old daughter’s first experience of a Michelin-starred restaurant. Although Michelin is certainly not the ultimate arbiter of culinary excellence, the fact that virtually all professional chefs (at least in Europe) regard recognition by Michelin as the highest accolade speaks volumes. Indeed, within the confines of "modern European cuisine" you know that a restaurant bestowed with one or more of the famous tyre company’s stars will generally serve some remarkably good food. And that is what I wanted Little Miss Nibbler to experience: the magic of exquisite food. I wanted her to marvel at the ritual of eating in a restaurant, to taste food she's never seen the likes of, and for her to see the adults' joy and near reverence of the whole experience.

Some of my earliest memories involve food, and I have vivid childhood recollections of being taken to restaurants by my parents – the wonderment and excitement of it all! Somewhere along the way, whether by familiarity or indifference, this sense of magic gets lost. Lunch at The Sportsman with my daughter brought those happy memories flooding back. The lack of frippery here, so often present in Michelin starred restaurants, allows you to focus solely on the food. It is also this same sense of informality that leaves you totally unprepared for the sheer quality of cooking to come out of the kitchen. As a family affair, the pub really is a labour of love, and this passion for impeccable food and service shines through in everything they do. Eating at The Sportsman was certainly a highlight of the year for me and, judging by Little Miss Nibbler’s broad smile, she seemed to have enjoyed it too.

Food:         8 / 10
Service:      8 / 10
Ambiance:  7 / 10

The Sportsman
Faversham Road
Seasalter
Whitstable
Kent CT5 4BP
Tel: +44 (0)1227 273370
Sportsman on Urbanspoon
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1 February 2011

Hawksmoor (Seven Dials), London – Restaurant Review

Meat and fire have such primal appeals about them. Oh, how the first human to grill their woolly mammoth must have wept at that first bite of charred heaven. I mean is there anything better than great big slabs of Flintstone-sized beef seared over an open flame and washed down with some red Burgundy? Fire. Flesh. Wine. It's almost biblical! So when I set about organising a boys' night out with five of my dearest friends, it seemed appropriate to come to the church of carnivores that is Hawksmoor and worship at its altar of all things meat.

The original Hawksmoor opened in London's Shoreditch in 2006 and rapidly built up a fanatical following due to its sublime steaks and eclectic cocktails. This restaurant is the second venture of restaurateurs Will Beckett and Huw Gottby, and opened in late 2010 in the old Combe brewery in the heart of Covent Garden. It continues in the same vein as the original, offering an almost identical menu, but on a larger and slightly more polished scale.

On entering through the heavy double doors, I descended the steps to the underground bar passing a playful "Beef and Liberty" sign on my way – presumably a relic of London's legendary steak club, the Sublime Society of Beef Steaks, which was active in the 18th and 19th centuries, and from which Hawksmoor takes inspiration. I'm not a fan of subterranean dining spaces, the lack of windows usually make me feel like I'm in some sort of claustrophobic bunker, and the low-slung ceiling and dim lighting of the bar area here didn't help matters either. However, the main restaurant was cavernous enough, with a vaulted brick ceiling and beautiful parquet flooring adding to its charm.

As I was among the first to arrive, I took a seat at the bar to wait for the others. The bar menu here is quite an extensive affair, listing some classic and fantastically quirky cocktails, with names like 'Alamagoozlum' and 'Johnny-from-London'. I shouldn't have been surprised by the quality of the drinks as the bar is run by 'Shaky' Pete Jeary, one of London's best mixologists, and is definitely worth a visit in its own right. I ordered a 'Tobacco Old Fashioned', which is made with Hawksmoor's own tobacco-infused bitters, and was one of the finest examples I have tasted. My friend's 'Hawksmoor Fizz' was a cooling and zesty mix of gin, lemon, cream, orange flower water, and egg white. Both drinks were made with extreme precision, and we watched in awe as the barman carefully and methodically created our cocktails.

Once the rest of our group arrived, we were shown to our table in the adjoining dining room and presented with menus. Obviously, steaks would be the order of the day, and the available cuts and weights are chalked up on blackboards around the dining room. Given the amount of meat we planned on ordering, we somewhat hesitantly chose a selection of starters to share.

Half a dozen Cumbrae rock oysters, served with their briny juices intact and traditional mignonette sauce on the side.
Grilled Poole clams with bacon came served with a wedge of dense bread, perfect for soaking up the delicious juices.
Roasted bone marrow and slow-cooked onions were smeared over grilled bread and greedily wolfed down. A little went a long way though as the bone marrow was impossibly rich and creamy with a deep beefy taste.
We also ordered some Tamworth pork belly ribs. These had been slow cooked to a state of melting softness. By far the best of the starters, they disappeared instantly. So quickly, in fact, that I didn't even have time to take a snapshot of them. We had also been tempted by the Dorset blue lobster with hazelnut butter, but surprisingly the restaurant had already run out of lobster, even though it hadn't yet gone 8pm.

And so, on to the main courses. Although I have heard good things about the burgers at Hawksmoor (it seems no review of Hawksmoor is complete without a mention of their infamous kimchi burger), it was vast quantities of red meat we were craving. Unlike at London rival Goodman, the steaks at Hawksmoor all come from a single breed – grass-fed Longhorn cattle reared in North Yorkshire by The Ginger Pig – and are dry aged for at least 35 days. They are then grilled to perfection on a fiercely hot charcoal grill. Your choice is simply one of cut and weight.

I'm a sucker for Porterhouse steak – with a combination of succulent sirloin and tender fillet, they are a meat lover's dream cut, and we ordered 900g versions of this steak (medium-rare, naturally) to share in pairs. They arrived in cast iron skillets; handily pre-cut to make sharing easier. We also ordered some sauces on the side and managed to select from most of what the restaurant offers: Béarnaise, peppercorn, Stilton hollandaise, and bone marrow gravy. Sides of beef dripping chips, triple cooked chips, roast field mushrooms, and creamed spinach were the token vegetables in this veritable meat feast.
The steaks arrived beautifully cooked and well rested, with pleasing thin seams of creamy yellow fat running through them. The surface of the meat had a mouth-watering char to it that tasted every bit as good as it looked with an intensely savoury smokiness to it. The tender beef had a remarkable depth of flavour and an almost sweet mineral taste that only grass-fed cows can produce. A touch more salt was needed to lift the flavour, but that's to be expected, as it's difficult for the seasoning to permeate through a cut this thick. The side dishes were good too, although I couldn't really discern much difference between the beef dripping chips and the triple cooked chips. The only disappointment was the Béarnaise sauce, which didn't have enough acidity or tarragon and was far too creamy as a result. Goodman's version, in contrast, is a real joy.
Please spare a thought for my dear friend though. Such is his love of meat that he dispatched the waitress to find him his own personal cut of Porterhouse, the bigger the better. The end result was a 1.1kg behemoth that sat on his plate like some obscure anatomical specimen. To his (dis)credit, he finished the lot, leaving a huge T-shaped bone that looked like it had been bleached clean. He then spent the rest of the evening fending off incessant meat sweats. Maybe not quite as impressive as these two, but remember, my friend had already had starters too!
Desserts were a bit of hazy blur to be honest, as by this stage we'd had more than a skinfull. I seemed to have ordered a powerfully alcoholic jelly and cream number that wasn't very pleasant at all. A caramel and peanut thing was much better though, the ice cream in particular being luxuriously smooth and rich.
Throughout the meal we drank a truly stunning 2005 Vosne-Romanée. Packed with red fruit, it had a heavenly flavour and a fantastic sense of vitality. With our puddings we couldn't resist the allure of a 1998 Château d'Yquem – the nectar of the gods – which was sipped in near silence. Extraordinary!


After dinner, we gingerly took our meat-laden bellies back to the bar for some more drinks. There, we noticed a gruesome sounding "Zombie" cocktail, containing three different kinds of rum, grenadine, grapefruit, and lime, with a hefty slug of absinthe thrown in for good measure. Somewhat ominously, this drink came with a limit of one per person. Intrigued, we asked the waitress what it was like; "it's a good beginning to the end of the night" came her reply. We ordered two. Five minutes later, a couple of glass goblets the size of melons arrived. After that I don't remember too much to be honest, other than the bill being brought out, which came in just north of a rather sobering £1,600 between the six of us. Oh, and I may or may not have tried to hire a bicycle rickshaw to take me back home to Battersea, a 4 mile trek away.
Hawksmoor Seven Dials is a really fantastic addition to London's dining scene. I love the bar, I love the bustling, raucous dining room, and I love the super-friendly service, and of course the steaks are good enough to satisfy the most demanding of meat lovers. It's a perfect place for hanging out and laughing with a bunch of friends over good food and wine. As far as the steaks go, though, I think Goodman still has the edge, mainly due to the variety of beef they offer and their slightly better execution, but these two restaurants are probably the best steak houses in the capital at the moment and both are operating at a very high standard indeed.

So, Hawksmoor: Meat. Fire. Wine. What more is there to say? Just go!

Food:        7 / 10
Service:     8 / 10
Ambiance: 8 / 10

Hawksmoor (Seven Dials)
11 Langley Street
London WC2H 9JG
United Kingdom
Tel: +44 (0)20 7856 2154
Hawksmoor (Seven Dials) on Urbanspoon
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