L.F.G.S.S UDON RUN 2011

I've always been a keen cyclist, but I never really took a serious interest in the particulars of the sport, that is until I moved to London and discovered the whole community & subculture which surrounds it. All I had known of cycle culture from Christchurch, was the flocks of lycra-clad, carbon frame straddling battlers, who bust their guts out on climbing the painfully steep port hills (not my kinda fun). Other than that, being an urban cyclist in New Zealand exposes you to the usual abuse of boyracers, who would literally try to run you off the road, usually before throwing an empty beer bottle in your direction and shouting "FAGGOT!" or "HOMO". London is quite different, there is a different kind of appreciation here, as England has a richer cycling history. Getting your hands on a piece of cycling heritage is still very possible, as bikes from older independent frame builders & workshops are still floating around the market. Aside from history & tradition, the sheer population allows for a much deeper strata of appreciation groups, whether they be for touring clubs, collectors, track racers, or mountain bikers.

One of the keystones of London's cycling community is the L.F.G.S.S, or London Fixed Gear & Single Speed community, whose online forum is the perfect meeting place for cyclists who are interested in mechanics, bike building, social rides, events or just open discussions. Last Saturday I met up with a group of 30-odd members from the forum for the first time to partake in a group ride/event called the Udon Run. Basically, think of a pub crawl, but on bikes, and in addition to beer, add Japanese food. Sound like a good idea? You can bet your left one it was. Not only was I getting the chance to experience a slew of Japanese cuisine, but also riding through parts of the city I'd never seen, all while taking over the road as a juggernaut of cyclists. Aside from the amazing food, I really enjoyed the feeling of community, the conviviality of people sharing a hobbie (you think I'm talking about cycling, but I'm actually talking about food!). I'm not going to waffle on about the what everyone ate & which restaurant was the best, this was more a more a milestone of meeting new people & breaking the old stereotype of Londoners being a cold & unfriendly breed. Thanks L.F.G.S.S, & see you soon!

Our itinerary for the day was:

1. Ryo, Soho
2. Fujiyama, Brixton
3. Kyoto Garden, Holland Park (origami competition)
4. Bento Cafe, Parkway
5. Swain's Hill
6. The Flask, Highgate (Hype Haiku Workshop)
7. Akari, Angel

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Harro Kitty: Necco on Exmouth Market

Lately I have been kicking myself that I never took the opportunity to visit Japan while I was living in New Zealand. I had a three year window when a good friend of mine Josephine was living in Tokyo, so a holiday for me would've included free accommodation, local knowledge & undoubtedly a guided tour of every drinking venue within the local precinct. Well, let bygones be bygones, I missed that boat. However, I'm now discovering London has it's own little pockets of Japan, tucked away in secret places. I may have been living under a rock for the first year and a half I've been in London, as I'd never even heard of Exmouth Market until last month, despite being only a few blocks either side of two common commuting routes I cycle daily, but I was lucky enough to be guided along by my friend and fellow food blogger Doreen @londondear to the fairy light laden wonderland that is - Exmouth Market. The market is full of all kinds of cafes, restaurants & the like; from Antipodean eateries, to tapas & cocktail bars, but a cute little Japanese venue called Necco was our port of call for the evening.

It's a safe observation that Japanese are famous for not doing things in half measures. Aesthetically, they are a hyper-culture, a people who don't just take an idea & run with it - they take an idea, dismantle it, supercharge it, reassemble it more efficiently, paint it every neon colour ever seen by the human eye, give it a catchy jingle & then race it from 0-100mph in under 10 seconds. This kind of all-or-nothing attitude applies to the visual identity of Necco, which is the Japanese word for cat ("neko"), and seriously....everything in this restaurant is some kind of cute cat or butterfly related paraphernalia. The interior looks as though a bunch of school girls were let loose super-soakers filled with "liquid-cute", transforming every object into something twee (if Sailor Moon & Sailor Jupiter were real, they'd totally be found eating at Necco). Being a bit of an aesthetic snob, I really appreciate this attention to detail - I almost wish that the staff painted on whiskers & wore cat ears (perhaps that's just some sort of latent teenage hentai fantasy I'm having though).

The food here is affordable, well presented & from what I can tell, fresh & tasty. I had a sashimi platter & takoyaki (octopus balls), which come roped in a kind of bbq sauce & Japanese mayonnaise that's omnipotent in fried dishes like takoyaki & okonomoyaki (a kind of Japanese pancake/pizza/omelette). Josephine once told me of her faux pas of telling her new students in Japan that takoyaki is her favourite food, which is the western equivalent of telling your students that hot dogs are your favourite thing to eat...nice.



Now I'm just itching to go back for some of their desserts, like their green tea cake which looks amazing.

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Everything's Gone Green: Spinach Soup

Ingredients

• 50g butter
• 1 medium onion , finely chopped
• 2 garlic cloves , finely chopped
• 1 medium potato , peeled and chopped into chunks
• 450ml chicken or vegetable stock
• 600ml milk
• 450g fresh spinach , washed if necessary and roughly chopped
• finely grated zest of half a lemon
• freshly grated nutmeg , to taste
• 3 tbsp double cream , to serve

Method

Melt the butter in a large lidded saucepan, add the onion and garlic and fry gently for 5-6 minutes until softening. Stir in the potato and continue to cook gently for 1 minute. Pour in the stock and simmer for 8-10 minutes until the potato starts to cook. Pour in the milk and bring up to a simmer, then stir in half the spinach and the lemon zest. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes until the spinach has completely wilted down. Allow to cool for about 5 minutes.

Pour the soup into a blender (preferably) or food processor, add the remaining spinach (this will keep the soup bright green and fresh tasting) and process until silky smooth - you may need to do this in batches depending on the size of your machine. (The soup may now be frozen for up to 1 month. Defrost in the microwave or overnight in the fridge. The soup may lose some of its vibrancy on freezing, but the flavour won't be impaired.) Return to the pan and reheat. Taste and season with salt, pepper and nutmeg. You may like to dilute the soup with a little extra stock if too thick. Ladle the soup into bowls and swirl in the cream Pin It

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Ireland: Pt 2, Doolin, Cliffs of Moher.

Breakfast of champions










My arrival into Dublin met all expectations, grey, grim & guinness. In true form, I managed to get sick just before my holiday, and to better the situation, Ireland was welcoming me with open, icy arms. I'm no stranger to cold or wet weather, my native Christchurch in New Zealand has formidable winters, & London isn't exactly sunshine & lollipops either, but my first day I was chilled to the bone, wearing 2 woollen jerseys, a heavy wool duffel coat, 2 pairs of socks, & wrapped in a wool blanket..I was inside a house by the way. My only real venture out of the house between sleeping in & warming up my bones was to Trinity College to see Ireland's national treasure, the book of Kells, which was produced by Celtic monks in approximately 800ad & is arguably one of the finest examples of western calligraphy, illustration & book design.

After geeking out on this for a few hours, I was done with Dublin. Liadain & I packed the car & took a road trip to County Clare on the west coast, 3 hours from Dublin, to a small town called "Doolin", which is a stones throw from the breath taking Cliffs of Moher, whose 214 metre sheer vertical drop plummets straight into the Atlantic ocean. Our first morning, we packed a lunch & set out on a 24km return walk around the cliff edge, what a magic experience it was. Maybe it was the country air, or just escaping the London rat-race for a few days, but my cold was a shadow of it's former self, despite the dewy air & blustery winds. As we walked along the cliff edges, through windswept pastures, the tussocks & grasses twisted & curled in unison, like the manicured fringes of 50's teddy-boys, ocean spray crept up the rocky face to lick our own. With misty rain as our constant companion, we trudged through creeks, around marshes, under & over fences to complete our journey. On the way, we passed a curious flock of horned sheep, who demonstrated the origin of the term "sheepish look" while I peered through my camera; perhaps they knew I had decided to eat their brethren later, as I was formulating plans for an Irish stew. After being exposed to the elements for a day, the idea of home made stew is absolute heaven, as nothing beats a salty, peppery, meaty, herby broth that thaws you from the inside out. The hostel we stayed in had an excellent kitchen & the manager, Karl so kindly asked his neighbour if she had any fresh herbs for our stew, she kindly delivered a fresh bundle of thyme, sage, parsley & rosemary tied up with a yellow marigold. We pretty much discarded the recipe we had, as we didn't have bones to boil.

Ingredients

• 1-1½ kg neck or shoulder of lamb/beef
• Bouquet of parsley, thyme and rosemary
• 3 large onions, finely chopped
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 3-4 carrots, chopped into bite-sized pieces
• 3-4 parsnips, chopped into bite-sized pieces
• Some small new potatoes, peeled and quartered, or large potatoes, peeled and chopped
• 75-100g hispi cabbage, shredded
• Finely chopped parsley

Method

Remove the meat from the bone, trim off all the fat and cut into cubes. Keep the bones, place the meat in a pot, cover with cold salted water. Bring to the boil, drain and rinse the meat.

In a fresh pot put the meat, bones, bouquet of herbs, onions, seasoning, carrots, leeks and turnip and cover with water. Simmer gently for one hour. Skim off the foam as it rises. (this is very important for the final flavour and appearance of the stew.) Add the potatoes and continue cooking for 25 minutes. For the last 5 minutes add in the cabbage. When the meat and vegetables are cooked remove the bones and bouquet for herbs. Stir in the chopped parsley and a dash. Serve in deep bowls with soda bread.

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Ireland: Pt 1, Mulligans, Dublin.

The Irish. We love those chirpy little leprechauns. I just visited Ireland for the first time recently to catch up with my old friend Liadain who lives in Dublin. Of course, while I was there, I had to make a mission to sample some local fare. Ireland isn't a country renowned for gifting the world anything groundbreaking in terms of its culinary contributions, but like many countries who are often accused of having a dull repertoire of national recipes, it's experiencing a resurgence in traditional dishes executed with high quality, locally produced ingredients.

I would be selling my first host short if I said they weren't inventive or curious with their menu, because I personally felt like most meals had an extra factor to their ingredients to pique my curiosity. The host I speak of is Mulligans, a hopped up Gastro-pub on the North side of the Liffey in Dublin, with an enviably long beer list, probably longer whisky list, & tantalizing menu. There's no need to harp on about how tasty everything was, because I'm tired, and I think the photos are ample proof that I waddled home fully stuffed & content with the start of my Irish holiday. The dishes we had were free-range organic chicken stuffed with black pudding, garden salad with white wine sauce & beer battered chips, & vege burger with aubergine & lentil spiced pattie, beetroot coleslaw, & beer-battered chips. To be continued in Ireland: Pt 2, Irish Stew, Doolin.






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Lonely winter root....vegetable soup

Winter is shit. As you can probably tell, I'm not a huge fan of the cold seasons. I do however like to occasionally romanticize about the virtues of winter, such as cosy open fires, hot chocolates, & big bowls of soup. One of my most vivid childhood memories is when my primary school class stayed late one evening to wait out a freak storm.

It was during the tail end of Autumn, me & twenty-something 6 & 7 year old children were captive to the weather. As we all waited, most played with toys listlessly or listened half heartedly to Mrs York read stories from the book-box. I was against the windows, my nose almost touching the glass, watching the rain pelt down & intently recording in my mind's eye as crackling coal-black thunderclouds descended over the school yard. It was only 3:50pm & the street lamps had long since flickered into life, dispensing a vaguely sulphurous glow, I could see them 200 metres across the field, flanking the street amidst the irrepressible darkness that had closed in without warning. It wasn't even so much a darkness, it was just an absence of light; everything was cloaked in a deep graphite shade, which seemed to consume all light, bar the emissions of the occasional house stirring with signs of life. Nobody was in the playground, the monkey bars sat perched on an angle, they were the cruel shipwreck of this great tempest. There seemed to be no traffic on the distant road...the eeriness of this setting was only amplified by the howling wind which fought it's way in through the cracks in the cavernous old classroom, like draughts of compressed air through the bellows of a gypsy accordion. The skeletons of trees which has shed their clothes weeks ago, scratched with their bony fingers against the windows & roof tiles, jostling & shaking, molested by the violent gales. I left my window outpost & the warmth of the ancient hot-water radiator which skirted the classroom, the teacher had finished reading & was stirring a cup of tea. I convinced her that I would be fine to go home - insisting that the weather wasn't so bad, & that I could run home, as I only lived 5-10minutes away, (it was only rain & wind & a bit of thunder occasionally after all).

I broke loose, with my windbreaker buttoned right up I ran for it. I was Carl Lewis, I was Mercury, I was Roadrunner, I was every fast character my 7-year old self had ever heard of; my school bag bouncing up and down laden with books & an empty lunch box. I hurtled across the field, out the school gates, over the zebra crossing, down the long & dead-straight alleyway, the end of which was marked by a horizontal metal bar. Most days I would jump onto the bar and do a roly-poly on my stomach, but not today. 2 more minutes running around the crescent that was my childhood street, under the scarlet red leaved plum trees, my clothes were starting to soak through, & my shoes were capsizing, taking on water. Finally I arrived at my own front door. I was home. What was waiting inside, were the exact things I do romanticize about winter; a blazing open fire & a big bowl of leek & potato soup with buttery toast. On this occasion, I have made an adaptation of the humble leek & potato soup, what we have instead is a leek, potato, onion, garlic, swede, carrot, barley, thyme & celery. Garnished with flat leaf parsley, shredded cabbage, mozzarella & a pinch of paprika. I will right the recipe in a bit, right now, I'm too fucking lazy. Pin It

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Tiki Taster - Pacific Social Club

When winter arrives, & London turns it's lights down, it becomes one fuck of a dreary place. The sky turns to stone, the grey expanse of tenement houses & asphalt roads all unite in drab homogeny. Grey, dark, dark, grey. Just as you're giving oral sex to a shotgun, ready to paint the skyline with your own grey matter, you remember that other people have been feeling the same way in this city for centuries, & that some have had the initiative to craft escape-pods, incubators & time machines to hide from the oppressive dark seasons. Nestled in a Hackney side street, I found my own little parallel world to escape the London doldrums. Pacific Social Club is an all in one incubator/time machine/escape pod. Stepping into this little cafe, father-time's whip was suddenly too short to reach my back, I felt calm away from the hustle & bustle, I was at ease amongst the colourful bunting, 78-sleeve wallpaper, pacific island tiki carvings, wood panel transistor radios, the LP player wooing me with it's warm analogue patter, the gentle clatter of antique cups & saucers, straight out of a time-warp. This felt like home, & I didn't want to leave.

Now it's all very well & good having a carefully crafted aesthetic, but it can easily look trite or hackneyed (double-entendre) in an age where "vintage" is the old new. This place not only brims with authenticity, but it has two other key ingredients which really give it the trifecta: friendly staff, & most importantly, great food. I was fairly ravenous when I arrived, as I hadn't had breakfast or lunch, & it was already 1pm. I settled in to the Venezuelan sandwich with chorizo, beans, avocado & cheese. This toasted treat was so packed with flavour, I had to curse Jesus aloud. Once my savoury craving was satisfied, I whet my appetite on the carrot cake with cream cheese icing (it might have had cinnamon on the icing, I think?), to be honest I was still so blinded by the afterglow of that toastie, that I could've been spooning dogshit into my gob & still been happy, but nah, the carrot cake was actually great too. In the word of California's former Governor, I'll be back...Pacific Social Club...

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