Fennel and pink grapefruit salad

I'm currently whipping through the sublime second series of Mad Men on DVD. I love everything about it, and the attention to 1950s and 1960s detail is lush. But the food you see the characters eating definitely makes me feel grateful to be living in the Teenies (is that what we're meant to be calling the successor to the Noughties?) Anyway, the sight of Don and Betty tucking into yet another family dinner of creamed corn, devilled lamb chops and tinned marrowfat peas is enough to send me running to the fridge for fresh, crisp zingy ingredients. Which is exactly how this salad came about, somewhere during episodes 8 and 9: it's tangy, aromatic and full of vitamins, and really easy to make. Just what the January body needs, huh?

Serves 2

You will need:

1/2 bulb fennel
1 pink grapefruit
1 generous handful fresh mint
1 tbsp orange flower water (I use a nice one from here - but if you can't get hold of it, use 1 tbsp of freshly squeezed orange juice)
1 tbsp chilli-infused olive oil (not essential - use extra virgin olive oil if you don't have this)
Salt and pepper

Very thinly slice the fennel lengthways. Don't bin the fennel fronds - cut up and add as well. Peel the grapefruit, remove as much pith as you can, then slice into 1/2cm rounds. Cut each round into 4 quarters. Roughly chop the mint. Place all the above in a salad bowl and roughly mix up with your hands.

Whisk together the chilli oil and the orange flower water, adding salt and pepper to taste to make the dressing. Add this to the salad just seconds before you eat it, to avoid wilting.

Will make your tastebuds pop!

Beetroot recipe horror!

Too often I'm racked with guilt about food waste. I hate throwing anything away. Even if it means making weird stir fries with 87 types of vegetables in them. So, in anticipation of N and I going on holiday soon, I've been preoccupied with using everything up in the fridge that could go off. Which means that today I was seized with a particular kind of kitchen madness: the quest to use an incongruous mix of ingredients in cack-handed quantities, knowing full well that it didn't look edible, resulting in a spectacular fail. I know most food blogs are mainly all about gorgeous recipes, but I think it's just as fun to talk about the total rubbish that I cook up on a fairly regular basis.

My thinking was thus: I somehow thought I could use up the annoying beetroots that had been lurking in the fridge for weeks and make savoury muffins out of them, incorporating the odds and ends of the Xmas cheeses that we'd failed to eat, some rosemary that was almost on the turn and some old pumpkin seeds that had been unearthed in the cupboard. I'd made savoury muffins before. It was snowing heavily outside and I felt all cosy and resourceful, like some kind of 1950's 'make do and mend' Stepford housewife. Hah - I just had a mountain of beetroot to get through. I was determined to use ALL of it. I made a mixture of grated raw beetroot, grated cheese, eggs, oil, flour and seasoning, knowing in the pit of my stomach that the mixture was looking wrong - and so red! - and that the resulting florid goo would never rise, but soldiered on anyway. It was as though I was incapable of stopping.





The horror, the horror:




Crispy tendrils of beetroot on the outside, solid cheesy clag on the inside. Texture of rubber. Weird flavour of sweet pizza. I now have about 24 of the buggers to find a home for. Anyone got a hungry piglet or horse at home? I can't throw 'em away...

A tinier kitchen

My friend S who lives in Brighton has an even tinier kitchen than me. He has put up with its diminutive size for about eight years and has finally had enough: he'll soon be moving house. I'm so very jealous (in advance) of his bigger future kitchen. Over the years, even though his current cooking space is the size of a matchbox, he has produced some amazing feasts from its depths. Just after Christmas, he invited us down for a bit of a festive blow-out - a marmalade/mustard-glazed ham and Christmas pudding ice cream.

Behold the ham:





Roast potatoes cooked in goose fat, rosemary and garlic:



Sweet Jesus - the world's best festive ice cream (Christmas pudding flavour, containing booze-soaked fruits and crunchy ginger biscuits, then the top is set alight...)


This was a legendary feast and everything was totally delicious. There was nearly a fight to get the remaining crispy bits from the roast potato bowl. I nearly wept at how yummy the ice cream tasted - like an uber-posh version of rum 'n raisin. All of the above combined with my other three weeks of festive gorging and appalling gluttony now mean that I can barely fit into my jeans. But thanks S for the beautiful grub!

Florist Cafe, Ashbourne

We celebrated the new year at our friends' wedding in Buxton, Derbyshire. There was snow on the ground and we drank mulled wine outside, trying not to fall down in our high heels and twat ourselves on the ice. The bride and groom had a tower of cheeses (left) instead of a traditional wedding cake, and we lit giant paper lanterns in the park which soared up into the wintry night. We partied late into the night in the underground cellars of the UK's reputedly oldest hotel. Feeling limp and hungover this morning, we started the four-hour drive back to London with heavy heads, in search of somewhere to serve us breakfast. About 20 miles from Buxton is the small town of Ashbourne; a wonderful cafe-cum-florist shop sits prettily on the edge of the main square. We were drawn by its twinkling fairy lights and steamed up windows, and the menu looked like it would nurse us back to life.

Inside, the cafe is a retro heaven. All the tables and chairs are mismatched, as is the crockery. Jugs, garlands and knick-knacks hang down from the ceiling. There are magazines and well-thumbed cookery books to read. (We flicked through a terrifying Microwave Cookery book circa 1980 - yuk!). Bunches of flowers for sale sit prettily in the corner. Menu choices (soups, sandwiches, jacket potatoes) are scrawled on a big blackboard. There is a wonderfully laid back atmosphere and an air of tasteful dishevelment. Our friendly waiter brought us Earl Grey tea in a fantastic 1950's teapot with elegant china teacups (below), and served us very decent baked potatoes with baked beans and cheese. Perfect hangover fodder. I only wish I'd had room to try some of the cakes - the likes of coffee and walnut or almond and Dime bar cake sat temptingly underneath glass domes. The portions were hefty.




If I could, I would transport this cafe on wheels down to South London and have it as my local hangout...I hated having to leave!

Saltoun Supper Club

Sometimes I'm lucky enough to stumble upon the occasional hidden away eatery that is truly unique, a little bit under-the-radar, and with an edge of naughtiness. Somewhere with a rebellious spirit and a generous nature. I almost don't want to tell you about this one, but I'm feeling festively generous. And the food is a-mazing. Here it is: The Saltoun Supper Club, one of London's most feted underground restaurants presided over by a gregarious and enigmatic moustachiod cook. You won't be eating in a regular joint where you can book a table to order: there's a phenomenal waiting list, the restaurant only opens on Wednesday and Thursday nights and you'll be eating in Arno Masdoorp's second floor flat in Brixton, South London. Not only will you eat a meal fit for the gods, but you can rummage through his flatmate's book collection and smoke an illicit ciggy out of the skylight!

Arno has been running his supper club from March of 2009. From the moment you ring the doorbell of the unassuming Victorian terrace on Saltoun Road, you feel the thrill of the unknown. You don't know who you'll be sat next to or what the atmosphere will be like. But there's nothing to fear except having fun! He comes to greet every diner personally (there's only room for 14 people), and you sit in his living room which is festooned with curious and ornaments, and every table is beautifully decorated with striking design touches and vintage curios. It's like sitting in a jewel box - there is so much to look at. Arno and his head waiter (usually one of his good friends) are quick to make everyone feel at home and you're told you can roam everywhere you please in the house.

The food is excellent. Ok, so Arno has 20 years of restaurant experience, so you'd sort of expect him to be able to fan a melon, but it's not always a given that just because you've worked in catering that your food is good by default, is it? He cooks with real flair and elegance. The meal on our first visit is etched into my memory: a pre-starter salad of cucumber and feta cheese, a starter of rustic duck pate with caperberries and melba toast, a delicious main course of sea bass with new potatoes and peas, a divine dessert of mango with salted caramel and meringue, and petit fours served on gold platters. It was essential that we return...

Unfortunately this time around I decided to take photos (using my husband's rubbish camera phone). I was trying to be unobtrusive, avoiding snapping away with my bigger camera. But these will at least will give you a rough (and blurry) idea of what we ate...

Baked Beets, Peppers and Tomatoes with Mandarin Oil:


Such a humble looking salad which was an 'umami'-laden mix of savouriness, earthiness and zingy citrussy oil - amazing. And the bread was craggy sourdough from the Wild Caper deli in Brixton Market. Four of us greedily got through THREE baskets of this bread...oops...that's nearly one basket each!

Truffle infused Cauliflower Gnocchi:


This was my first experience of truffles. Our host had combined the truffles two ways: he'd infused them in the gnocchi, and also added perfumed dabs of truffle cream at the edges of the plate. Raw cauliflower was shaved over the top. I don't even usually like cauliflower, but this dish was HEAVEN. I can definitely handle eating cauliflower in this format - every day please...

Grilled Sea Bass with Saffron and Mussel Sauce:


Deliciously light and fresh, the sea bass was served with a fragrant seafood broth infused with saffron and mussels.

Pear Syrup Tart, Bramley Tart Fine and Salted Caramel:


Really buttery pastry, caremelised pears and heavenly salted caramel...I am crazy for the salt-sweet combination of caramel, salt and pears!

Petit Fours:


Wow-ee - how cute is this? A delightful selection of mini chocolate brownies, nougat, Turkish delight, vintage-style candy canes and chocolate toy cars? Heart be still!!!

Between courses, you're encouraged to go upstairs to Arno's flatmate's bedroom and have a cigarette out of the skylight, and you can sit on sofas and rummage through the books that are stacked floor-to-ceiling in artful piles. After dessert, he and his waiter serve up coffee or tea in vintage mis-matched cups and kitsch coffeepots, and then for the diners that linger, he generously cracks open his own wine supply and pops glamorous decanters down on the table. Arno sits and has a chat once the meal has ended, and he keeps on pouring the vino. It's very hard to leave!

You get all this for a very modest suggested 'donation' of £25 per head, which is staggeringly cheap for the superb level of food and number of courses (and it's BYO). Arno told us that he doesn't really make much money from doing the Supper Club two nights a week, but that it acts as the perfect vehicle to spread the word about his catering service. This is clearly a man who is passionate about food and entertaining - it takes guts and a lot of energy to invite strangers into your home and feed them to such a high standard week after week. But you sense that he and his flatmate absolutely thrive on the buzz and theatre of it.

So, if you want to eat fabulous food in fascinating surroundings, meet new people and have an evening that is really different, The Saltoun Supperclub might be the place for you. As we left - or rather wobbled - out of the front door with our friends A and K, they proclaimed that they'd had such an amazing evening that they wanted to 'eat Arno's flat'...

The Saltoun Supperclub
Secret Location, Brixton, South London