Springtime in Londontown

Spring has sprung, and with it spring lamb, spring peas, broad beans, asparagus, and strawberries popping up on Oxford and London menus quicker than you can say Chelsea Flower Show.

On a recent visit to London amidst the clamour and glamour of the RHS hullabaloo, I was able to escape to the quieter corners of Mayfair for some gastronomic pampering. The highlight of my London jaunt was, without hesitation, The Greenhouse. Tucked away behind an unassuming garden in Hay’s Mews, the Zen lighting, garden view, and minimalist, clean décor truly allows the food and wine to stand on its own.

The staff was at once warm, unobtrusive, incredibly attentive and not at all self-impressed. A rare and delicate balance indeed. If a napkin or piece of cutlery went awry, someone leapt to the table, yet I never once had the impression of being surveyed. All of the dishes were explained with an air of quiet assurance rather than stiff, let’s-see-how-complicated-we-can-make-this-sound kind of flair.

The sommelier was both charming and knowledgeable, offering suggestions that made choices from the tome of the wine list a manageable affair. Many of the reviews I’ve read of The Greenhouse moan—not unreasonably—about the prices on the wine list, but I was very happy with the suggested red that accompanied my Magret de canard with cherries, smoked potato mash and fresh almond cream (the ‘Modern Classic’ special that evening), and C., G., and I unanimously relished the arrival of the champagne trolley that opened the meal.

The amuses bouches to start and between each course were superb. ‘Sliders’ of gelled watercress filled with the essence of spring green vegetables were like having a garden explode on the palate, and herbed creme sandwiched between miniature disks of parmesan croûtes were simple and perfectly executed. My terrine de foie gras de maison with pear and lemon chutney was the best I’ve had outside of France and the warm, just-out-of-the-oven brioche that arrived with it sat on its mini slab of slate as a golden temple to be idolized by every inferior brioche ever conceived. The second round of amuses was a mustard green gelée with cauliflower mousse and toasted nutmeg served in an urchin shell, and the palate cleanser consisted of a mint sorbet with a citrus custard and grapefruit foam—delightful in its balance of fresh mint and citrus acid.

The only course where things began to falter was dessert. Where the mousse-y, foam-y, fussiness had been so wonderfully executed and welcomed in the amuses, incorporating such a deconstructed attitude towards a pudding billed as ‘carrot and orange cake’ can only disappoint. I think it is fortunate that such a strong reserve was shown throughout the menu in terms of keeping these mousses and gelées where they belong—off the à la carte and contained as amuses on their precious bits of slate, where their texture as such (as a flavour that floods and/or cleanses the palate) serves a purpose. My ‘cake’, on the other hand, had little to offer by way of any gluten-based compound that I was so looking forward to. The miniature pads of biscuit that supported a far-too-tart, impressive as it may have been, apparatus of dehydrated carrot ribbon and carrot/orange sorbet left me feeling summery but unsatisfied.

In the end, however, it was refreshing to experience food that maintained a level of honesty and modesty while clearly having been prepared with the utmost attention towards presentation and complementary pairings of texture, flavour and seasoning--a sad rarity, it seems, among Michelin starred and star-seeking kitchens.

This experience was in stark contrast to recent accounts of trips to Le Cercle on Wilbraham Place off of Sloane Square and to Summer Lodge in Evershot, West Dorset where a conflation of foams and insufferable staff, respectively, achieved wholly unpleasant experiences. Am I the only one who’s fed up with the likes of what is essentially a sub-par first course salad appearing on a menu as ‘carpaccio of beetroot, deconstructed rémoulade, and asparagus foam’? In fact, a moratorium on foams should be imposed conditional upon a published caveat that states clearly how, exactly, said foam truly constitutes an essential component to the dish in question. Call me a heathen purist, but I can’t help but be suspicious of the quality of produce being served that absolutely necessitates it being rendered as a foam or mousse. Cue cries of ‘textural variety’ now. At the very least, ample specimens of the unadulterated product should be served simultaneously so as to present the choice of whether a blob of green resembling the Gak of my childhood really does capture the essence of a spring pea better than the sweet, bursting pearls themselves.

The Greenhouse is located at
27A Hay's Mews, Mayfair
London WIJ 5NY
+44 (0)20 7499 3331
reservations@greenhouserestaurant.co.uk

Istanbul, Part 2

As promised, I have followed up my first Istanbul posting with another Turkish recipe, this time for a fresh tomato salad. I first had this salad at Venge Kebab in the business-y, ever-so-fashionable 4 Levent neighbourhood of Istanbul. Before even arriving into town, my kind friends and hosts announced that we were going to Venge, whether I liked it or not, because, in fact, there was no way I was not going to love it. And they were correct in this assumption.

As you can tell, our table of four did a number on every plate put before us (and this was before grilled meat and dessert!). Never a group to shy away from a selection of mezes put before us, most everything in this photo has been devoured except for the roasted eggplant, crumbled bebris, the kisir (bulgar salad at the bottom/middle). What interests me here most, however, is the remnants of the tomato, walnut, and parsley salad in the middle of the table. It was a kind of fresh tomato version of acili ezme salata (spicy tomato salad). While there are many varieties of ezme salad, the version I had been used to has a paste-like consistency, a rich and intensely flavoured spread of tomato, red pepper, and parsley to be eaten alongside various smaller dishes and grilled meat or seafood in meyhane (think of Turkish tapas; the word literally means 'where alcohol is made'), all washed down with an ice cold Efes.

Venge's version was so good because it let these gorgeous tomatoes speak for themselves, and their flavour was only enhanced by the sumac, pepper, pomegranate molasses, parsley and walnuts. I couldn't wait to get home and try my hand at it. While the tomatoes at my disposal at Marks and Sparks were not anything near to what I had there, I was quite pleased with how it came out, and, actually, after leaving leftovers to macerate overnight, it tasted even better the next day alongside bulgur and lentil soup. I'm dreaming about a repeat attempt come July/August with some heirlooms...

This salad is great paired with grilled meat or fish, or with other small dishes--goat cheese croûtes or couscous, anyone?; it's vegetarian, vegan, actually, come to think of it (someone will certainly correct me if I'm wrong), and gluten-free.

Venge’s Tomato Salad (an adaptation)

4 large or 6 small/medium vine-ripe tomatoes (British Claret worked well), roughly chopped
2 shallots, minced
3 Tbs. pomegranate molasses (see note below)*
4 Tbs. good quality extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp. sumac (in a pinch, substitute ½ tsp. fresh lemon juice)
1 tsp. red pepper (pul biber) (substitute chilli flakes)
½ bunch parsley, finely chopped
¼ cup walnuts, toasted and roughly chopped**
Salt, to taste

** I tested this recipe with pecans as well, and found that those are just as tasty

Mince the shallots and roughly chop the tomatoes. I found that discarding some of the seed membranes gave a less ‘soupy’ result. Place shallots and tomatoes in a medium-sized bowl and add pomegranate molasses, olive oil, sumac, red pepper, and salt. Let the tomatoes and shallots macerate at least 10 minutes. Fold in the parsley; top with walnuts and serve!

* A note on pomegranate molasses:
Pomegranate molasses is commonly used as a kind of salad vinegar in many Middle Eastern countries. It has the consistency of molasses and has a tangy, sweet taste. If you can manage to track some down, it is well worth it! Otherwise, dissolve 1 part sugar in 8 parts pomegranate juice (the oh so trendy PomWonderful would work here) and 2 parts lemon juice in a medium saucepan over moderate heat. Simmer for about an hour, or until it thickens to a molasses-like consistency. Store in a sealed container in the refrigerator.

A Burger Van Interlude

Will Pouget of the Diner

This week brought a hefty helping of stress and deadlines, yet a couple of gastronomic adventures cut through the library drudgery.

Following an all-day conference on Friday, drinks at the Turf Tavern, where Bill Clinton famously ‘smoked but did not inhale’, were certainly in order. This, of course, was then followed by a need for sustenance. Finding the one and only burrito hole-in-the-wall in Oxford with a queue down the street, a friend had an idea to try the ‘posh burger van’.

First, a note on Oxford kebab van culture, which is far more contentious than one might think. In a food and beverage climate that shuts down no later than, perhaps, 11pm, the kebab van is the Oxford student’s port of call for that greasy bit of inject-my-arteries-with lard-directly-must-soak-up-the-last-six-pints-of-ale before stumbling and nodding off to Bedfordshire. While I do know the rare one or two frequenters who admit to indulging in kebab fare while sober, the typical clientele of the kebab van are ravenous, slightly bleary-eyed, and, I suppose, occasionally belligerent, sputtering something along the lines of ‘gihmemychips!’ Not the kind of scene that adds glint to the gilded portals of college quads. Just this year, Saeid Keshmiri of ‘Sid’s Kitchen’ was nearly ousted from his post outside the Tom Gate of Christ Church after the steward John Harris complained to the City Council that the smell of chips and doner and the noise of ‘revellers’ was detrimental to student welfare and unsightly for visitors. In a land without the waffle house, 24-hour diner, or street food culture full stop, the kebab van has ingrained itself into the gastro landscape of Oxford, certain vans achieving a kind of cult status. Ahmed’s has its own Facebook group of devotees, and Daily Information for Oxford includes a food review section specifically dedicated to kebab vans.

On this particular occasion, myself and two friends found ourselves with all powers of discrimination fully intact, and, acting upon good reviews we’d heard, decided to give it a shot. Known as ‘The Diner: Alpha on Wheels’, the owners of Alpha Bar (an organic, local, wholefood staple of the Covered Market) and the Woodstock Deli have come up with an utterly ingenious, mobile set-up. The burgers on offer include veggie and vegan options from tofu to a ‘risotto’ burger, next to lamb burgers, chicken burgers, goat cheese burgers, and an array of toppings and sauces, including fresh tomato salsa and guacamole (green gold to any American ex-patriot). All seasonal, local, and organic, and for 3.50 a pop, it’s hard to find a better deal. My organic beef cheeseburger was presented to me on grilled artisan bread, and I decided to go for the onion jam, red cabbage coleslaw and garlic mayo for accompaniment. The beef was juicy and flavourful; the onion jam sticky with caramelized goodness; the coleslaw added a delightful crunch, and the garlic mayo oozed fortified creaminess strong enough to ward off even Edward Cullen.

Of course, eating ours picnic-style beside the Worcester College lake didn’t hurt, either. Yes, the vans may be eyesores, the doner may be nothing more than rotating, gristly cardboard, and the unsightly inhalation of cheese and chips does little for an image of intellect or one's figure, but keep your kebab—this is one van that I would not mind having outside my door.

Article in the Telegraph: 'The kebab crusader bites back'
The Diner: Alpha on Wheels can be found at the corner of Beaumont Street & St. Giles street, just outside the Taylorian.
Alpha Bar is located at 89 Covered Market, Avenue 3, and the Woodstock Road Delicatessen is at 15 Woodstock Road.

Hail, Yufka! (Or, Istanbul Part 1)

On a recent trip to Istanbul, Turkey to visit friends, I was, as happens upon every visit, astounded by the breadth and depth that is Turkish cuisine. I discover a new culinary obsession with each trip, and there really is something to please every corner of every palate. The fruits and vegetables of the spring and summer are alternately crisp, floral, and gushing juice. The yesil erik, green plums that have sour skins and sweet flesh, were just on the cusp of coming into season, but the tomatoes—oh, the tomatoes! More on those later.

It was my good fortune that this week coincided with the Istanbul Tulip Festival—Istanbul’da lale zamani—which ran the 12-19 of April and meant that the entire city was in bloom. The Istanbul municipality planted tulips of every imaginable variety in every available square foot of grass. In my opinion, the best place to appreciate the Turkish provenance of the tulip is at Emirgan Park, in Sariyer, which is just a short bus ride up the coastal road from Besiktas or Ortakoy. Seas of tulips surrounded three Ottoman pavilions and a central pond.

The winding paths of the park, pitched at rather halting vertical heights, were not for the weak at heart or the arthritic, and it was, perhaps, in spite of and thanks to a delicious breakfast at Kale (KAH-leh) that I kept pace with the men and women who were more than twice my age.

Kale is a little gem of a kavalti (breakfast) cafe and pastane (patisserie), and thanks to my savvy Istanbulites, it has now made the short list. I went for the classic spread of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, beyaz peynir (white cheese, similar to feta) and kasar (mild white cheese) served with olives, honey, butter, and fresh baked bread. As if this was not enough to whet my appetite for a day of meandering the hills leading up from the Bosphorus, I also sprung for sigara börek—not entirely breakfast fare—and I’m glad I did. Sigara börek takes its name, unsurprisingly, from the stout, cigarette-like shape that is formed when the yufka (a thicker version of phyllo) is stuffed with sweet or savoury mixtures, rolled, and fried in oil. The traditional fillings are either meat or cheese-based with variations on the fresh herbs, seasonings, and, sometimes, nuts, used, and is usually eaten as a meze or as a snack with tea. Nearly every culinary culture has a version of dough that is stuffed and rolled with filling, then either baked or fried, and this is Turkey’s heavenly contribution. Yufka, I’m convinced, was conceived of by a gluten god, and Kale's homemade version was particularly good. Unfortunately, I was too concerned with eating to be bothered with documenting the delicate, flaky, golden and aromatic specimens, but I can tell you that the inner layers of yufka were perfectly chewy, the outer ones light-as-a-feather, and the perfectly-spiced meat/garlic/herb mixture was bursting with flavour rather than dripping grease--not an easy balance to achieve. Instead, behold above the in-house rolls, some studded with olives, others with chocolate.

Turkish breakfast is, for me, the perfect combination of savoury and sweet. Lighter than an American or British fry-up (which, of course, also have their well-deserved place, particularly after a late night out), the simplified balance of flavours from produce that is unaltered and which serves as prime examples of the best Turkey has to offer can only mean success: the sweet süzme çam bali (pine honey) in combination with the cheese, and, in my case, the savoury sigara börek, all countered by the clean crunch of cucumber, perfect tomatoes, and a strong tea is always a blissful way to start the day. Now, don't get me started on the bal kaymak (milk fats that form into something like clotted cream, served on a pool of honey)...

I brought back some yufka to Oxford (a kilo, to be exact), and I was more or less successful with this adapted version. The recipe follows below.

Kale Cafe can be found in the Rumelihisari neighbourhood, adjacent to the Ottoman fortress of the same name:

Yahya Kemal cadessi
No. 16 Rumelihisari
Istanbul
Tel. 0212 265 0097
www.kalecafe.com

Sigara Börek

Yield: about 24 (enough for a crowd), depending on how much filling is used in each
Time: 1 hour
This blog has great photos for preparing the yufka.

Yufka (or phyllo, in a pinch) comes in either circular or rectangular sheets. These sheets should be cut into triangles (this is best achieved by cutting each sheet in half, folding, cutting in half again, and so on...the triangles should be about 6 inches across). Work quickly and keep a damp towel over resting sheets.

For meat filling:

Olive oil
1.5 lbs. lean ground beef
1 small onion, finely minced
1 Tbs. cinnamon
2 Tbs. dried mint
2 tsp. ground cumin
2 tsp. ground coriander
2 tsp. sumac*
2-3 tsp. (to taste) Turkish red pepper (pul biber)*, or chili flakes
Salt and cracked black pepper to taste
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
1/2 of 1 large bunch flat-leaf parsley, minced

*Can usually be found at specialty food markets; substitute a good squeeze of lemon for the sumac

For cheese filling:

16 oz (2 8-oz containers) feta cheese
Reserved flat-leaf parsley (1/2 of a large bunch), minced
2 tsp. dried oregano
Squeeze of lemon (approx. 1 tsp.) (optional)
Cracked black pepper to taste

Water
Sunflower oil (or peanut oil, or vegetable oil--an oil with a high burn point)

For the cheese filling, simply mix all ingredients together in a bowl and set aside.

Brown the ground beef in a large sauté pan with 3 Tbs. of extra virgin olive oil over medium heat. As the meat begins to brown, add the rest of the filling ingredients, except the garlic and parsley. When the meat is completely browned and the onions translucent, add the garlic and cook for another 1-2 minutes. Check the filling for seasoning and add the chopped parsley.

While the meat filling cools for a bit, clear a work space to fill the yufka. Fill a small dish with water and begin laying out triangles of yufka. Remember to keep those sheets not in use under a damp towel! Place a small amount of filling one inch from the edge of each triangle, and fold in the corners. Roll the end with the filling towards the point of the triangle, folding in the edges as you go and wet the point with water to seal.

Once all of the börek are made, heat enough sunflower oil to coat a large, deep sauté pan over medium-high heat. In batches, lightly fry each börek until golden, adding oil as needed. Don’t walk away, as they burn quite quickly.

Serve warm as a snack, appetizer, or with next week’s tomato salad recipe!