A weekend in New York: Part II (A wedding menu)

I did have more fun at my cousin's wedding than eating dinner, but it's worth noting the meal, if only to provide the next wedding I attend with something to live up to. Everyone, sweltering in their summer best on the evening of June 19th, made their way to be seated around white-clad tables. We were greeted by a pocket-sized box of tea, which we tried the next day and despite smelling too vanilla sweet, was very refreshing but comforting: 'A tea for marriage', as it was labelled.

Beatifully matching the array of bridal pastels, the first course was a cold courgette and buttermilk soup, scattered with radishes and chives like pink and green confetti. It was so delicious that one guest asked for a second helping, threatening to completely scupper the catering staff's deft preparation.

Unfortunately the main course of pink lamb cutlets did not survive in photographic memory, as the emotional distractions of a first dance and some tear-jerking speeches left me unable to tell see whether a photo was in focus or not. Finally out came slices of chocolate wedding cake - the best variety, I would have thought. By this time people had started dancing and switching seats - unwanted morsels of cake seemed to be enough to fuel the evening to its end, via a fair amount of Frank Sinatra kareoke and catching fireflies.

A weekend in New York: Part I

A fairly ridiculous bout of consecutive trips abroad has resulted in this blog's sudden interlude, which has been frustrating as in my travels there has been so much to report on the food front that it is almost unfair on any readers that I might have been denied constant internet access. Anyway, I am now beginning the long story that is the food history of my summer, which began in New York (17/06). En route to my cousin's wedding upstate, I managed to pay a visit to S and Z in the city and sneak in a particularly good meal, which only left me wanting to spend longer scouring the five boroughs for all that it has to offer.

We got the subway to Queens, and walked through leafy Astoria. The destination was Sripraphai, a Thai restaurant that Z's dad had been to before and was now leading us to. It had a pretty garden at the back, which was perfect for the warm evening. There were about two hundred things on the menu, but this was nothing to be wary of, as it seemed that everything would be different, and most importantly, good. We started with a crispy catfish mango salad, which was fresh and limey, and surprisingly hot with chilli, which the raw vegetables had perhaps been marinated in. A had declared Sripraphai as able to really give you the spice, and this little salad was an indication of flavour to come. Henceforth we decided to stick with 'regular' on the chilli front, which in an average Thai joint would have been labelled much more tongue-numbing.

My favourite dish was raw shrimp, again with lots of lime and chilli. Seasoned with both mint and coriander, I had never really known Thai food to be so fresh and zesty. Next came a pile of fried soft shell crab, with chilli, garlic and topped with basil. Crispy out and juicy within, the crab meat was delicious, and although the base flavours of most of our dishes consisted of a lot of chilli, garlic, and lime juice, there were obviously secret ingredient combinations at work that made everything taste different from the last.

Drunken noodles were ordered for the less spice-tolerant of the party, and were a welcome addition to the spread. With (a smaller amount) of chilli, ground beef and basil, they were silkily gloopy, and teamed well with the red curry we had to provide the final burst of heat. After all of the meals I've had in the last month or so, I can still remember this one and writing this has now made me crave something extremely spicy, and hope I will be back in New York soon. Thanks to A for the wonderful dinner, and to S and Z for being such great hosts to this transient visitor.

Learning To Roll

As promised, J and I were granted a sushi-making lesson by our great friends from Malaysia. We arrived and were greeted by a spread of necessary elements: sticky rice, tuna, teryaki chicken, cucumber sticks and egg pancake.

The excitement was too much for J as the rolling mats were laid out in front of us. Sushi-rolling is something she has always wanted to try - she will soon crack and buy a kit. The first step is to spread the rice, which is tricky as it is so sticky and the seaweed paper can easily tear. If you roll it about two thirds of the way up it makes for easier rolling later on.

After making a groove in the rice, we spread a little mayonnaise so everything stuck better. Then we were free to lay down whatever and however much we liked. I favoured the chicken over tinned tuna so this is what my rolls usually looked like:

The bottom half of the rice has to be pulled over the filling, and tightly squeezed to make a roll. If it is held firmly, the seaweed paper sticks to itself so the roll (hopefully) appears seamless. The result is a scroll of sushi, ready to cut into pieces. Because we were practising, of course, we needed to make more and more rolls, and stuff ourselves eating them as they were made.

Books for Cooks, Notting Hill

There's a travel bookshop in Notting Hill that has become somewhat famous due to its appearance in a certain film featuring Hugh Grant. On the other side of the road, there is another book shop that is much less famous - although I'd quite like it to stay that way, so I am loathed to even mention it on here. However, I fear my blog does not have a multitude of readers from around the world, so I am not sure it will make much difference. The secret I wouldn't want hordes of people in on is that there is a tiny kitchen at the back of the shop, which at lunchtime every day serves the most delicious food (all handily available to recreate in recipe books which line the walls). You can either have two courses for £5, or all three for £7, and eating there you really would not believe the low price.

On the day we went, we had a starter of bright red chickpea and harissa soup, with a slice of homemade bread speckled with onion seeds. I slurped the last spoonful happily, and set down my spoon. Then the next course arrived. I honestly had not realised there was more to come. I worried for my stomach, as a Books for Cooks novice, I had not expected any more than the already filling soup. The main was lamb with a bulghur wheat salad with red onion, parsley and raisins, the meat perfectly cooked and complemented by the toothsome grains.

They have an array of cakes displayed, made fresh like everything else. The great thing is you can mix and match, so one absolutely huge portion of one cake can turn into two normal portions of different ones, or sometimes even three. I chose a slice of lemon curd roulade - by far the best thing made with lemon curd I've eaten in a long time, and a slice of chocolate marmalade cake. This, I am happy to say I will try to recreate soon as I know the recipe is in one of the 'books for cooks' books that I have. A delicious combination which is often associated with Terry's, and might be considered too rich for an every day cake, but as a sumptuous dessert it was great. I'll be returning soon, but please don't anyone else, unless you just want to buy a book, there won't be any room.

Mamuska! - A Polish Milk Bar

What seemed like much longer than a month and a half later, it was time to reunite for another girls dinner. A had suggested Mamuska, a new place that opened in the Elephant and Castle shopping centre. In amongst bargain shoe stores and dirty escalators, its location is not one you'd expect for a Time Out recommended restaurant. At night, it seemed all the more odd seeing as all of the surrounding shops were shut up, and beige floors were beginning to be cleaned. The shopping centre aesthetic fit very well with the Eastern bloc vibe of Mamuska - it is modeled on a Polish Milk Bar, open from 6am(!) to 12.30am.

All that seems to have been done to the 'unit' the restaurant occupies is a new floor, slick of paint on the brick walls, and a bunch of chairs and tables of various sizes. Artwork of debatable quality by (Polish?) artists adorn the walls, lending the look of a sort of community collective. With the menu half in Polish and half in English, and the feeling of being in a minority as an English speaker, it struck us as very authentic - but then one of their slogans is: 'Because you can't fly to Krakow every day'. They're clearly very into their zany slogans, as the friendly owner repeated this phrase when A told him her and I had both in fact been to Krakow, when we were ordering. The menu continually talks to you: 'See, you're reading Polish already!' or 'OK..it's not easy to translate..' With a perfectly concise list of dishes, it was easy to make choices. The categories are soups, dumplings, and classic Polish plates, and because they don't offer table service, the prices are seriously low (just like in Poland).

As before, A became worried at the prospect of more than one dish, and decided that a full plate of Pierogi with cabbage and smoked bacon would do her fine. B and I shared in order to try more, with some minced pork Pierogi and a big plate of 'Placki ziemniaczane' - potato pancakes with goulash. I think A's dumplings were more successful (lucky for her), with a more meaty texture and strong smokiness. Ours were unexpectedly less meaty in texture - I have tried for 5 minutes but I can't describe what it reminded me of. Soft Velcro? We chose to have them with sour cream, which was nice.

The potato pancakes I liked, and the stew was sweet and mushroomy. It was the kind of meal to have on a cold night, but we did find it equally enjoyable on this summer's evening. The pancakes were quite glutinous and gooey, that might not be to everyone's texture tastes but which certainly fit my weird ones. We were too full to try desserts but I would have liked to try the Polish cheesecake. Instead the gradually emptying out unit provided ample space for us to emulate Sex and the City style discussions about life (albeit in this Soviet landscape) fuelled by a couple of bottles of wine. The topics were grey, the shopping centre was grey, the food was grey (it's not just my camera). I loved it. Anyone?

Mamuska!

Unit 233, 1st Floor

Elephant & Castle Shopping Centre

www.mamuska.net

Encountering the Udon Noodle

C does not much like Japanese food. I think this aversion has something to do with a bout of food poisoning after sushi, but he maintains also that it is simply boring. I don't agree with this, but I can understand that in comparison to French or Italian food, say, the flavours are less intense; their perceived blandness perhaps off-putting. For me, there is a lot to be said for the texture. With food in general, actually, I get jiggly at the prospect of encountering an unusually bouncy, fluffy, or jelly like food substance and with Japanese food this does happen often.

Our trip to the recently opened Koya in Soho would be an interesting one, then, since their main focus is the Udon noodle. Pan-fried in a medley of spices as in Wagamama's bastardized noodle dishes, C would eat platefuls, but the idea of a plate of plain worm-like noodles scared him. At Koya you have various options as to how to eat your noodles: hot in hot broth, cold in hot broth, cold with pouring sauce or cold with dipping sauce. C decided on a hot/hot with smoked mackerel, despite apparently not liking soup noodles. 'Why did you order soup noodles?' I wondered, but the main reason, I realised is to do with not wanting to wait for the hot soup to cool down enough to slurp. 'Order rice instead', I suggested. 'No, I'm worried it will make me sleepy.' I suppose this was going to be a good test. If these could overcome this ridiculous fussiness, they must be alright. I, as the happier eater, braved the cold noodles with a cold sesame dipping sauce, with a side of seaweed. C ordered a bowl of rice with duck as well, just to be safe.

The cold noodles arrived piled upon a bamboo plate, ready to be dipped into the bowl of sauce. This was not as easy as it sounds, as the noodles are quite sticky, and also very long. Not as skilled with chopsticks as I'd like, I didn't manage to elegantly manoeuvre them from plate to bowl to mouth. I found ground spice mix in a pot on the table, and experimented with mixing spoonfuls of this into the (comfortingly) unseasoned noodles. As a refreshing summer's lunch, I found the meal hugely satisfying and would definitely return to sample more variations of the Japanese staple.

And C? I was pleased to be persuaded that the meal had in fact been genuinely enjoyed - both the soup noodles (in a deliciously fishy broth) and the duck rice (stickily sweet and morish) - and to have an indication of further forays into Japanese food textures in the future. Koya is only open for lunch, which is nice as I'd imagine at night time the little canteen-like space doesn't look nearly as lovely. The wood and earthy-coloured tiled floor seemed to fit with the simplicity of the food, and the general atmosphere. If only they'd served my favourite weirdly textured Japanese desserts, I would have been really happy. But I suppose too much chewiness in a meal might ruin ones appetite.

The Real Thing (!)

Tickets for the theatre at the Old Vic on Monday night meant a beautiful breezy evening out in Waterloo. We arrived early in order to test our luck at getting a quick bite at the Anchor & Hope down the road. On arrival, it was of course packed, but my mother spotted a man quietly enjoying his dinner alone at a table in the corner. The fact that, after asking nicely, we were kindly offered to sit opposite is one of the great things about the pub's eating experience - which our fellow diner, as a local himself expressed later on. We were to see Tom Stoppard's 'The Real Thing', so it was appropriate that we were able to enjoy the equivalent as far as pre-theatre pub snacks go.

After a quick glance at the menu chalkboard and ordering at the bar (they acknowledged our need to be fed and out in half an hour gracefully, despite this not being exactly the norm at this establishment), we were able to relax at our table, which was situated by the open door so we could cool off after a sweaty tube journey. 'Rhubarb and Prosecco Fizz' was our drink of choice, and was gorgeously refreshing in the weather. It was not too sweet, and had a hint of aniseed.They informed us it had been created from the same rhubarb compote they use for puddings, which struck me as a great idea.

We shared a plate of soft asparagus, served with a tumbler of golden, liquid butter. I ordered pickled herring, suitably vinegary with a dollop of sour cream, a lemon wedge and pickled veg so each mouthful could be tailored to the desired texture and flavour. Mum had a deliciously meaty slab of terrine, speckled with spots of her favourite colour green. This filled us up just in time to leave for the theatre, after chatting to our neighbour about how lovely it must be to live nearby.

'The Real Thing', incidentally is an excellent play which I'd never seen before, and this production definitely convinced me - not that it needed to - of Stoppard's brilliance as a writer. It's one of those plays with lines that really stay with you - it's serious while being incredibly funny. I'd encourage anyone to see it; get tickets as an excuse to dine at the Anchor & Hope before or after.