Grigons & Orr, Melbourne

Grigons & Orr, Melbourne

                                          

When I was a little girl, I loved my wendy house. It was a slightly wonky, red and yellow canvas construction that sat on our sloping lawn at Salty Towers. Nothing fancy, but shaded from the midsummer glare it was the perfect venue for sand-pie teas with my ragbag teddies, and the launch pad for many a Shock and Awe attack on frère Salty, armed with fistfuls of the frogs and toads that swarmed the garden each summer.

There were only two friends who could spark a bout of wendy house envy in me. The first was my pal Lucia, whose grandparents built her a bricks and mortar house - two-storeys, plus a mini kitchen with RUNNING WATER, in their garden. There are studio flats in London with less sq ft. Lucia is, 20-something years on, still one of my closest friends - so her early advances in real estate didn't drive too much of a wedge between us.

I'm ashamed to say I don't remember the name of the other playmate. But I do remember her wendy house. Actually, wendy Harrods would be more accurate. This little girl had a freakin' play shop in her garden. A capacious wooden hut, the front half of which was filled with wicker baskets, and the back half a counter with a hatch, and shelves that ran from floor to ceiling. The shelves were stocked with pretend packets of washing powder, plastic corn on the cobs, pencils and rubbers, and empty toothpaste boxes. It was like shopping in the 1950s but without the shillings or the rationbook.

Flash-forward to 2010. On the corner of a residential block in North Melbourne, I've found a grown up version. Grigons & Orr is now officially my favourite place on earth. Modelled on Australian milk bars of the 1950s, it's a blend of traditional corner store and hip cafe. Unfortunately, it's a rather inconvenient 10,496 miles away...

Behind a glass counter laiden with buttermilk scones under fly nets, are shelves filled with bottles of pop, toothpaste and washing powder, biscuits and baked beans. In a nifty styling trick vintage packets of each item are placed next to their modern-day equivalent.

Image from grigonsorr.com.au

  

If teleporting ever becomes a viable science, I would airlift Grigons & Orr to London immediately. Here's just 10 of the many, many reasons why:

 

1. The milk bottles filled with tap water for every table - scented with strawberries, mint and sweet basil.

2. Bolshy double-shot flat whites served in delicate tea cups

3. Bircher muesli in sundae glasses, with layers of podgy blueberries and blackberries

4. The help-yourself fridge full of sodas, organic milk, free-range eggs, and pats of butter wrapped in greaseproof paper and tied with string. Built into a wall constructed from vintage milk crates.


5. Crisp slivers of prosciutto served with runny poached eggs and cornbread.
6. The rack of 1950s magazines
7. The crate of knitted blankets, for customers sitting outside - just in case it gets a bit nippy
8. Apple fritters with toasted hazelnuts, caramel sauce and mascarpone. Dusted with sugar. 'Nuff said.
9. Fillings for jaffles, a kind of Aussie toasted sandwich, are listed as 'choose your own adventure' on the menu.
10. Coke floats.

Grigons & Orr has a great website, featuring 'Granny Davis', where you can drool over the full brunch menu:

http://grigonsorr.com.au/

Grigons & Orr, 445 Queensberry St, North Melbourne, Victoria, Australia 3051

Hidden Paris: Lonely Planet magazine

                                      


Parraaaah, parraaaah - hark, that's the sound of me blowing my own trumpet. I wrote a feature for this month's Lonely Planet magazine on Paris's hidden food secrets - including interviews with Francophiles Trish Deseine, Jeremy Lee, Anthony Demetre, and Sheila Dillon. Lonely Planet's snapper, Roberto Frankenberg, did a crack-a-lackin' job with the photos - check out the jewel-bright stacks of macarons at Gerard Mulot. It was a really fun piece to write, and you can get a sneaky preview of it here:

http://cde.cerosmedia.com/1K4beacd4da77ef508.cde

Or buy the magazine, of course.

Food Debate postponed

Friends, Romans, hecklers - the Food Debate, due to be held on Tuesday 2nd June, has been postponed. The provisional date is now Friday 10th September. More soon...

British Pie Awards

On Wednesday I ate 30 pork pies. In a church. Before you tell the vicar on me, this wasn't a sacrilegious act, or some kind of kamikaze anti-diet. I was a judge at the 2nd annual British Pie Awards, held at St Mary's church in Melton Mowbray. It was, to borrow a phrase from Jeffrey Steingarten, "an escapade in animal fat."

                                        

Walking into St Mary's on a glorious May morning, we were greeted with a polite riot of Englishness...

                                         

Red, white and blue bunting criss-crossed the nave. Rows of trestle tables groaned with pies great and small. The vicar stood to one side, practising his pie-themed blessing. A P.G. Wodehouse yarn come to life.

 

The town is, of course, home to the glorious, gelatinous and PDO'd (Protected Designation of Origin) Melton Mowbray Pork Pie. And the local organisers of the British Pie Awards take this new celebration of all things pastry-cased VERY seriously. A week earlier, the rule book arrived. We were to start marking all pies from a perfect score of 100, and mark downwards for such things as excessive boil-out, uneven pastry distribution and side-sagging.

 

There are 13 classes of pies. Apple pies, fish pies, veggie pies, football pies - a broad church. I landed a plum category - pork pies. Our team of six judges was divided into three pairs. My judging partner for the escapade was seasoned food critic Charles Campion. This was going to be good. Of the 76 anonymous entries in the pork pie category, Charles and I tasted a good 30. There were many lows - a saggy, anaemic pie filled with smooth pig paste, a larger offering where the pork was topped with grated mild cheddar and some insipid chutney. Charles was not amused. There were pies that belonged in a chip shop cabinet or petrol station fridge. 

Two hours in, I felt waves of nausea.

Charles was fine.

But then there were the highs - flaky, buttery pastry that shattered pleasingly under the knife; rich, peppery British pork, and silky jelly. We examined the pies from every angle - checking the bottom, dissecting the sides, nibbling the filling. The 76 pork pies became nine high-scorers, which then became two. They went forward to the grand pooh-bah pie judges. You can find out who our winners were, and the supreme champion pie here:

http://www.britishpieawards.co.uk/

                                      

Jellymongering

Jelly (£8.99; Pavillion) - out July

I've got jelly on the brain. Not for brains you understand, though some days it feels like it. This morning a preview copy of Jelly, the first book from Bompas & Parr landed on my desk. I haven't had a proper read yet but on first glance it looks fantastic. Arch styling with dark backdrops, plenty of recipes, passages on the fascinating history of jelly, and that canary yellow St Paul's Cathedral/boob on the front cover. It's out in July.

As Bompas & Parr will tell you, jellies haven't alway wibbled and wobbled with sweet ingredients. Those wags, the Victorians, were awfully fond of their savoury jellies. The thought of some of these 19th Century wobblers filled with veg, meat or fish fills me with unqualified horror. I still bear the mental scars of gefilte fish jelly, eaten aged 16 at a Passover dinner in California (English, shy, gentile: I gagged in silence).

Still when, scarcely an hour after receiving the Bompas & Parr book, an email from The National Gallery arrived, flagging up this rather splendid asparagus jelly mould from their online store, I was forced to reconsider my adulthood ban on things savoury and gelatinous.*

Burleigh asparagus jelly mould, £30

 www.nationalgallery.co.uk

I'm not quite ready to simmer and set asparagus (imagine the sulphuric stench), but I do love this mould. It's made in Stoke-on-Trent by Burleigh. The pottery started in 1851 and is now Britain's last standing Victorian earthenware producer.

Also loving these jelly tea towels and apron from Scottish textiles designer Joanna Kinnersley-Taylor, who manages to make a curvaceous and animated dish look completely different, almost geometric, by dint of her repeating pattern.

Apron, £80 

  http://www.selvege-drygoods.org/

   tea towel, £20 from http://www.papastour.com/

* Tim Hayward recently wrote a very interesting piece about aspic and the revival of savoury jellies on the Guardian website: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2010/apr/30/aspic

The Food Debate returns

In praise of, from l-r: Spanish omelette, Eton Mess, Irn Bru

Proportional Representation? The bottomless national debt? Feh. Now the never-ending-election has, in fact, ended, we can turn our minds back to the really important issues. Like why can't I find a decent flat white in west London? And what are Mr Whippys really made of?

And...

Which country has the best food?

That's right chaps and chapettes. After a successful (and rowdy) first innings, the Food Debate is back at The Westbridge in Battersea. The first ever Food Debate saw blogger Kavita Favelle storm to victory with a passionate plea for cheese as the best ingredient. For the second debate on June 2nd, nation goes up against nation in a culinary World Cup.

Are you a fanatical Francophile? Think Italian repasts are unsurpassed? Or maybe you want to stick up for British food? What ever your cuisine of choice, the Food Debate needs you. Click here for more information and to enter:

http://jamesramsden.wordpress.com/2010/05/04/which-country-has-the-best-food-the-food-debate-no-2-1st-june-2010/

If you're more of a heckler than an orator, tickets are £5. Come down, eat some pig snacks, and know that your fiver is going to a very good cause, Action Against Hunger.

Election night at the Parliamentary Waffle House

What a strange 72 hrs. We've watched Gordo and Cambo showing Clegg some leg on live TV, shouts of "activate the Queen", surreal sausage metaphors bandied between BoJo and a sleep-deprived Paxman, and scenes at polling stations more akin to election day in Zimbabwe than Stoke Newington. And now...we wait.

(Photo by Niamh Shields)

While the politicos were waffling into the night, Bompas & Parr were serving up apposite election snacks at their Parliamentary Waffle House on Broadwick Street. Just in case you haven't heard of them, 'jellymongers' Sam Bompas & Harry Parr are the 20-something inventors of glow-in-the-dark jellies, aerobanquets, scratch n'sniff cinema, and cocktails so large you have to row across them in a boat. Proper mad-inventor stuff.

l-r a Lib Dem supporter, Harry Parr, Sam Bompas

(pic by Niamh Shields)

Their latest initiative, the Parliamentary Waffle House, ran for the three weeks preceding the election - punters came down for a glass of Prescott Punch (warning to Tories: contains rose petals), watch the live debates and screenings of movies like In The Loop, and - most importantly - vote with their bellies. Blueberry waffles for the Tories, raspberries for Labour, and banana for the Lib Dems.

Labour waffle (pic by Niamh Shields)

For their election night party, Bompas & Parr pulled out all the stops. There were Nail polish-ticians, a political pinata, a gin and tonic cloud in their Museum of Food and Politics (which includes the wrapper from John Gummer's infamous burger), live coverage of the results from 9pm-8am, and even a survivors' breakfast at 8am. The waffles appeared from the tiny makeshift kitchen in a steady stream throughout the evening, followed by pork belly rolls from Allens of Mayfair. There were over 300 people crammed into the slender waffle house, mainly 20- and 30-somethings of all political hues. Red, blue and yellow mingled happily - bonding over white carbs and potent G&Ts. As a recipe for political cohesion, Messrs Brown, Cameron & Clegg could learn a lot from a trip to the Waffle House. And when it comes to invention and initiative, our politicians could certainly learn a lot from Bompas & Parr.


For more pictures of the night, check out Niamh's snaps at www.eatlikeagirl.com

For more information on Bompas & Parr visit www.jellymongers.co.uk

Pomegranate and Prosecco jellies

Boris Johnson was bouncing around his office like a Blue Peter puppy, Diet Coke in one hand, football in
another, singing the praises of raspberry juice. It was 2007 and I was interviewing the current Mayor of London, then still an MP, on probing topics such as 'what was in his fridge'? And 'did he like Marmite'? Paxmanian in their ferocity, I'm sure you agree. He was a charming and articulate interviewee, and something he said has stayed with me:

"I can't believe how lucky we are in this country; no wonder we're all so fat. Praise the Lord for the rich foison! When I was young we didn't have all this stuff. In those days it was inconceivable to make juice out of raspberries, for instance. The luxury implied would have been unthinkable."

I don't share many views with our improbably-haired Mayor, but I often think about this remark when I'm shunting my trolley around the supermarket, past rows of "inconceivable" imports and items we now take for granted, but really are luxuries. How quickly these things become part of our lives. Raspberry, clementine, cranberry and cherry juice all lined up in the chiller cabinet - how odd, how decadent these jewels must seem to generations who knew rationing, or even just Mr Juicy and Panda Pops - there certainly wasn't a blueberry smoothie in my Victoria Plum lunchbox back in 1989. 

My favourite of all the 'inconceivable' juices is pomegranate. Rich yet delicate at the same time, pomegranate - the Prince of Persia, is such a wonderfully fragrant and, well, bright pink addition to my mornings. I have a glass with breakfast most days. Pa Salty even uses it instead of jam to lure wasps to a sticky grave - proof, if any were needed, of how quickly the foreign and novel turns into the everyday.

So in the spirit of decadence, I added some fizz to pomegranate juice and made jelly. Just call me P Diddy.

Pomegranate and Prosecco Jellies
makes 4

200ml pomegranate juice
100ml Prosecco/Champagne or other sparkling wine
4 gelatine leaves
1 tbsp caster sugar
Good handful of fresh pomegranate seeds

To serve
4 tsp Crème fraîche
Good handful of roughly chopped pistachios

Soak the gelatine leaves in a bowl of cold water for five minutes until soft.

Heat the pomegranate juice and sugar in a small saucepan over a medium heat. Remove the softened gelatine leaves from the bowl, wring out any excess water and add to the pan with the juice and sugar. Stir until everything has dissolved and then remove from the heat. Add the Prosecco and leave to cool.

When the liquid is cool enough to go into the fridge, decant into a jug and pour into pretty tea cups or small glasses. Add a handful of pomegranate seeds to each cup. Make sure they are very fresh - seeds from a pomegranate that has been doing time in the fruit bowl will be thistly and wizened, rather than the bursts of juice you're after. Put into the fridge and leave to set for at least four hours or overnight.

Serve with a dollop of whipped double cream or crème fraîche and a smattering of chopped pistachios.

Kentish asparagus

Joy of joys. I've just got my paws on my first bunch of new season Kentish asparagus from a favourite farm shop (technically more of a farm shed), New Park Farm in Groombridge. Of all the things that sum up the pleasures of trying to eat by the season it's the arrival of asparagus. Down in West Kent, Ma and Pa Salty's manor, several of the local hotels and restaurants have been known to race to the fields at dawn in order to be the first kitchen serving up this year's crop.

So now the question is what to do with the portly spears? Fleetingly steamed and anointed with butter and black pepper is all well and good, but a girl needs some variety. Plunge into the amber yolk of a softly boiled egg? Griddle with anchovies and breadcrumbs (a favourite Jo Pratt recipe)? Bake into a Bank Holiday tart? I'm looking for some spear-ious inspiration. What's your favourite way to serve the asp? Please send me your ideas...