Ottolenghi and other London highlights

I made my first, much longed-for visit to Ottolenghi's last weekend. In London for a Monday work meeting, I flew down the previous Friday and tacked on a few destinations that I've been dying to get to for ages. Postcard Teas whom I've been ordering from online for a couple of years; a spot of lèche-vitrine in South Kensington, where my tongue almost got stuck admiring Giuseppe Zanotti's very sexy sandals, spiky boots and heels; and a tour of the Victoria and Albert's ceramic, glass and jewellery collections. The last something I've wanted to do ever since my Mum gave me their Jewels and Jewellery book two Christmases ago.

Unplanned highlights included brunch at Aubaine's Brompton Road outpost, an accidental discovery on a previous window-licking expedition around South Kensington. Although very slightly over-salted, the Eggs Florentine were still the best I've ever had. A master class in poaching, the eggs themselves were so round that they perched upright on their tiny, generously buttered yet crispy toasts. And when I sliced through with my knife, a stream of viscous yolk satisfyingly spilled forwards, fast-moving lava from its albumen crater. I'm always slightly disappointed when the yolk is so runny that it speeds off the tasty supports or, even worse, when it won't run anywhere at all.

I followed with a good coffee and my first Religieuse, a delicate sweet pastry recently brought to fame by Ladurée's of Paris, apparently so-called because of their resemblance to a nun's habit. Nothing to do with the sublime experience engendered, although I can't think how two rounds of even the most celestially light pastry vaguely resemble a nun's robes! Clearly, I am in need of enlightenment.

Ladurée's Blackcurrant-Violet Religieuse, choux pastry with blackcurrant and violet flavoured confectioner's custard

Ladurée's Rose Religieuse, with rose petal flavoured confectioner's custard

Aubaine's pistachio version is best described by calling to mind two amaretti biscuits (pistachio rather than almond, obviously), one smaller than the other, both slightly undercooked so that they remain soft on the inside and chewy out, each filled with oozing pistachio cream, then glued together, the small one on top, and the join concealed by a necklace of burnt sugar crystals. Wish I had a picture for you but I was in too much of a hurry to gobble the goods to bother getting my camera out of my bag, so here's one I've nabbed from Carol Gillott, New York artist and Paris Breakfasts blogger.

The people-watching was as compelling as the food. Expensive breeds never seen in Glasgow, all with sleek, shiny coats and abundant glossy manes obtained through generations of wealth and privilege, parading perfect finishing-school posture and a line of understated glamour, the odd gemstone or sliver of gold glinting beneath smooth silks, cashmeres and butter-soft leather. I was fascinated by their seeming difference, belonging to a world that I neither inhabit nor have a window upon, at least in my usual west of Scotland tramping ground.

But back to food and the main feature: Ottolenghi, Yotam Ottolenghi and partners' highly successful cluster of food establishments. I've wanted to go ever since I figured out that their food and dining philosophy inspired one of my favourite local foodie hang-outs, Cafezique. And more than a little I'd say.

The Ottolenghi hallmarks: quality produce, most locally sourced, handled with skill and respect to make it taste more, well, of itself. A highly colourful cast of fruit and vegetables predominates. Meat, fish and cheese play 'bit parts', though no less important for their smaller roles. Cooked with an uplifting array of vibrant herbs, exotic spices and a good dash of piquancy, the final results are outspoken and unpretentious. Decadent desserts and pastries follow, impressively displayed in the windows and beautifully photographed in the first book, Ottolenghi: The Cookbook. Service is warm and friendly, the surroundings bright and airy, and the prices value for money, particularly for London.  

After conducting a brief web-sweep of all four outlets, I'd booked a table at the Islington restaurant, as close as it comes to a flagship and the only branch where you can make a reservation. Once seated, I was delighted to discover that Ottolenghi's is the kind of place that not only encourages sharing, but wants you to explore as much of the menu as possible. Consisting entirely of 'small plates', each sized somewhere between a large starter and light supper portion, it is ideal for those who value quality and diversity over quantity, allowing inquisitive (a.k.a greedy) types to eat their way around a good part of what's on offer without making themselves feel ill. I was in my element.

Even better, it turned out my dinner date was the sharing kind, happy to order up a feast, final G.I. destination unknown. A very promising start given my dining mantra: why monopolise your plate when you can multiply the range of experience by the number of willing dining companions? Double, treble, quadruple and beyond. Willing is the operative word here however; unfortunately, I come from a family where sharing food at the table is considered most unseemly. Much more mannerly to treat your plate as a small closed-border state. On a recent trip to India, I did manage to briefly convert my Dad to the idea of deregulated eating - complementary ordering, dishes shared on arrival - but sadly, he remembers its joys and freedoms only intermittently. And never, I notice, in the presence of pressed linens, polished glassware and cutlery.

I digress. Returning to Ottolenghi's, Islington's savoury menu comes in two parts. Large bowlfuls of salads and other cold dishes From the Counter, the kind of food that improves with sitting, the flavours melding over time. Seared, sizzled, pan-fried and blanched items made to order From the Kitchen. Staff advised us to choose at least one dish from the counter. These are served immediately giving diners something to munch on whilst waiting 20 minutes or so for the freshly prepared hot items. We ordered four savoury dishes, the first from the counter, the rest from the kitchen:

Mixed green beans and char-grilled baby fennel with garlic, mustard seeds and tarragon

Grilled English asparagus with poached egg, verjuice mayonnaise, pea shoots and broad beans

Pan fried sea bass on puff pastry with caramelised endive, mixed herbs, pink grapefruit and pistachio sauce

Pan fried lamb sweetbreads with polenta crust and caponata.

The drinks list contains some interesting wines from lesser-known grapes, areas and producers. I ordered a glass of Rhône white - Terre D’Argence, Mourgues du Gres, 2008, equal parts Viognier and Rousanne supported by Grenache Blanc - mainly because I simply love sensuous Viognier, an ample lady who can't quite be contained within her rigid undergarments, but also because she gets on famously with eggs and rich, strongly flavoured foods; I was thinking here of the sweetbreads and caponata.

Our salad arrived and we happily sipped, chatted and crunched away as the hot dishes were prepared. I enjoyed the Viognier Roussane, lighter and more restrained than you might expect, but more than acceptable for the price. My date couldn't see the big difference with Chardonnay - I obviously need to introduce him to one of the more voluptuous Viognier classics! He did, however, praise the char-grilled fennel, sweet and gently liquorice. A difficult vegetable to get right he said. I must ask him why.

We also ordered a glass of Cahors - Heritage du Cèdre, Château du Cèdre, 2007 - distinctively black in colour and with tight, chewy tannins courtesy of the high proportion of Malbec. Blends must contain at least 70%, this one has 90% and 10% Merlot. It wasn't going to go amazingly well with anything we'd ordered, but you don't often see Cahors on wine menus and Mister Proving-Quite-Hard-to-Please hadn't tried one before. Thankfully, it got an enthusiastic thumbs up. Phew.

All three hot dishes were very good, the only slight criticism - again, not mine - that serving them together meant the last was cold by the time we reached it. The asparagus and sea bass stood out. The spears and accompaniments - broad beans, pea shoots and an explosion of herbs - a sweet, verdant promise that summer is just around the corner. But what really got me about this dish was the poached egg, which appeared to have been fried in a crunchy breadcrumb and herb batter. Was it partially poached and then fried? Couldn't have been as the yolk would surely be overdone. Which it wasn't, I'd have noticed, overcooked yolk being one of the greatest sins against ova. It couldn't just have been fried because then you couldn't call it 'poached'. Besides, it's not possible to batter a raw egg. Is it? Nope, that's got to be a non-starter. So... How did they do that? Maybe I'm making this much harder than it is and the poached egg was simply rolled in crispy breadcrumbs. Whatever, it was very cleverly done.

I was also pleasantly puzzled as to why the sea bass reminded me of one of my favourite snacks - peanut butter and marmalade sandwiches. Not any old peanut butter and marmalade mind. Suma's crunchy and my Mum's homemade dark seville, you know the kind that's so dark it's almost toffied? I ventured as far as 'nuts' to our server, who patiently reminded me of the pistachios. The marmalade? Not the corals of raw grapefruit - tart but neither bitter nor overly sweet. Must have been the caramelised endive. Crunchy poached eggs and nut butter and 'marmalade' sea bass - both left-field throws guaranteed to keep your tastebuds on their toes.

With so much to engage and stimulate our attention, we had plenty to talk about. Though, to be fair, we hadn't had any difficulty filling airspace since we'd met at 3pm that afternoon! Like a tributary, the food carried us on a meandering conversational trail: the identification of an elusive herb running into the story of a special meal abroad, hallowed by its many retellings; the slightly unusual wines to our shared love of Pinot noir, from the Beaune region in particular; the crème anglaise, declared "perfect" with typical male brevity, to the disclosure that he's a professionally trained chef.

Now that went some way towards explaining the aerial standards. Which, in truth, were making me feel a little disorientated: I never meet anyone as passionately exacting about food and wine as me. That's not to say they don't exist, clearly they do, but as a general rule, I don't meet them. The realisation that I may well have found someone to swell the dismally small ranks of those prepared to don a pinny on my behalf was enough to make me giddy. Moments later, my verdict on something or other elicited the pronouncement that he'd never cook for me. My nascent hopes crashed. When will I learn that there are times it's best to keep one's mouth shut?

There is nothing muted about Ottolenghi's style of cooking, yet the end results were neither shouty nor overbearing. Each dish was balanced in appearance and taste, and some also in the more frequently overlooked department of texture. Deep and rounded flavours were contrasted by another tastebud-rattlingly sharp and zingy. The snap of a lightly cooked vegetable offset another slow cooked to unctuous smoothness. Finishing touches - mustard or pomegranate seeds, crispy herbed breadcrumbs - offered fragrance and rounded out the textures with resistance and granularity. Any dish not achieving that final aspect of balance on its own, need only be combined with another. Besides, they're not intended to be eaten solo - the staff recommends two or three small plates per person.

When our table was due back for the next service, we were politely ushered to the bar. Directly in front of the vast array of cakes and desserts I might add. Was that a fix? Neither of us needed anything else, but sometimes appetite has nothing to do with fullness. After listening to a rundown of the 20+ options, we ordered a passion fruit meringue tart served with a jug of the "perfect" crème anglaise: runny and not too sweet. Thin pastry, the liquid curd squirting into every oral cranny thereby maximising taste sensation and mouth watering, topped with burnished peaks of soft, slightly chewy meringue. And our best wine of the night: Jasnières 'Des longues vignes', Domaine le Briseau, 2005. A semi-sweet Chenin Blanc from the Loire, ideal for those who don't like their sweets too sweet. Do not leave without trying.

Intoxicated on legal highs, we prepared to leave, chatting pleasantly with the lovely maître d', Basia, on our way. I was most surprised when she asked if we'd been to St John in Farringdon. Owned and run by Fergus Henderson, the man who wrote Nose to Tail Eating, it had tied with Ottolenghi's on my foodie hit list and I was booked for lunch the very next day. Unfortunately, a last-minute change in plans meant I had to release the reservation, but when foodies as similarly minded and accomplished as these spontaneously reinforce your choice, you know it's a good one. St John's, next London trip, here I come! Now I just have to find a dining companion prepared to eat offal with as much gusto as me.

Ottolenghi
287 Upper Street
London N1 2TZ
Tel: 020 7288 1454
Email: upper@ottolenghi.co.uk  
Opening times: Mon-Sat 0800-2300, Sun 0900-1900

A huge thanks to Ottolenghi for kindly allowing me to use their photos to illustrate this post. I had such a good time, I forgot I even had a camera in my bag.

Comments

[Frances]

going to London next month. You make Ottolenghi sound so good I've made my reservations already. Thanks - and happy hunting.

[Finka]

Hey there lovely lady, well you have done it as far as i am concerned. Writing is richly descriptive, i can taste sensousness, desire, lascivious sexual dining capers he he!!!! No, really splendid, enjoyed reading and the photos are superb too . Wouldn´t mind a bit of your home made citrine gemstone cake - wealth and prosperity to boot thrown into all mouthfuls - yeah baby!

Good to see you exploring and taking London by storm as well as keenly observing differences in the peoples dress and how they seem. Tea blog, liked that too and pics. Is looking so colourful and appealingly attractive.

In response to your email, wish we had landline too. Is not to be. All well here on Portugese front - is more like paradise everyday, though poor Adam must work in the heat of the sun. I wish he didn´t have to work, that we could live on raw fruit and veggies from the garden adn that would suffice to entertain us also. Poland seems imminent and i am now fairly happily resigned to the prospect. It will be good for Felix and of course, is a new country where i can find out more about culture and way of life. I am so healthy these days practising chee-gung - form of slow moving martial art, and meditation and very healthy eating habits. Adam too, though a little less committedly. Birth a happy prospect also - babies head already engaged and i am fit as a fiddle, more or less. Bump is not too large so should mean easy passing through of spirit in form.

Out tonight on ma tod, was meant to have reflexology treatment. However, woman got dates and times wrong so i taking some me time. Lovely!!! We have bath in garden now so can have moon and sun-charged baths whenever it takes our fancy. Sun heats up water sufficiently so we don´t need to boil a cauldron of water every time we need a wash, just a dash out to the garden and a healthy dip amongst mosquitos is all the body calls for. You would hate that of course, with the mosquitos. They are not so bad, what is more noticeable are the very large, eeksome spiders which we frequently find in various corners of our bedroom or kitchen or living room. Felix points and screams, just like he does when he drops a poop (can´t help but laugh) "eeo eeooo". He doesn´t like insects much or frozen langoustines, scrunching up his plump skin into a fat sultana crinkle.

Well dear, love you muchly and sooooooooooo glad, i sigh with relief, that you are as creatively productive as never before. Is good for thy kindred soul!!!!

Loveth thee with great big cyber bear hugs and Burza boojies, from all of us here oot in the golden meadows xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx