Me: “I can’t meet you tonight, I am off to ham school”

Friend: “Ham School?!”

Me: “Yes, ham school! I can’t wait, it’s at Brindisa in Borough Market. You know how much I love that shop.”

Friend: “I’m jealous! Ham school was always my favourite class in school too ”

This style of intrepid food exploring I sometimes find myself engaged in confuses and perplexes my friends. They find it highly amusing that I am so engaged with the world of food. But even the most cynical, were somewhat startled by the concept of ham school, and more tellingly they wanted to go.

What was ham school? I was invited by Brindisa to participate in their first ham class, where they would educate me about four different hams, their different origins, both porcine and geographical, the different diets, and complex disparages in flavour and quality that these produce. We were also going to be taught how to slice ham from the leg of an iberico pig, and we would get to take the ham home. Finally there would be manzanilla.

A perfect evening. Perfect in all ways but one, timing. It was on a Thursday, market day, where I am usually busy up till 9pm in Covent Garden tidying away the stall. However, I couldn’t refuse, so I advised that I may be late but that I would get there as early as I could.

I’ve long been a fan of Brindisa. When I lived in Ireland, a few years ago now, I was looking for Judion beans, those enormous Spanish butter beans, and discovered that they stocked them there. I made it my business to go there on my next trip to London, and prompty fell in love. With their chorizo, of course.

After I moved to London, I became an extremely regular visitor, particularly to their Exmouth Market shop, which was near where I worked for a number of years. They did a marvellous chickpea and chorizo stew which I have tried to emulate at home and which I had from their shop at least weekly, along with their delicious and wholesome salads, sandwiches which put most sandwiches to shame, and of course the delicious Spanish cheeses. Sometimes I would treat myself to a bottle of their delicious Albarino, usually an indicator of a bad day at work, a visiting friend, or a trip to Ireland. I worked in publishing you see, and therefore was far from rich. Sadly that shop has since closed, but there is still the shop in Borough Market. Unfortunately, rules dictate that hot food cannot be served in the shop, so there’s no stew, but there are plenty of treats to buy to bring home and indulge in. Then there is also the ham. I was about to learn a lot about that.

The shop is located under one of the railway bridges, with big gates looking on to the market on one side and the street on the other. We were gathered around a large rustic kitchen table, with a plate of ham and sherry in front of us, looking at a large map of Spain. Zac Fingal-Rock Innes, the master carver, and Alberto Ambler, the Assistant Manager, guided us through the map, telling us in fascinating detail, where the differences in taste, and sometimes quality originate for each ham. We learned about the different breeds, and each one we discussed we then tasted and described. It was fascinating, like a wine tasting, but with ham. The class was informal and passionate, the loved their subject area and it was infectious. I found myself wanting to learn more. And to eat more.

The hams were delicious. We tried four, the final (and most expensive of course) was my favourite, and at £15 per 100g, it will be a treat, and a much appreciated one. Joselito Gran Reserva Bellota from Guijuelo, Salamanca, an Ibérico pig and therefore acorn fed, cured for 3-4 years. I could talk forever about these hams, and the pigs but I see I am already approaching 700 words, so I’ll get on with it. Just this one bit, the more expensive the ham, it seems the fussier the pig. These pigs will travel huge distances to eat the right acorn. Brilliant! I love that attention to detail, and the fussiness. I respect them for that.

The hams were by now tasted  and notes taken, had some delicious manzanilla. It was time to learn how to carve the ham. I was looking forward to this, I’ve always wanted to be shown how to do it. I took my place by the ham and proceeded to cut under the guidance of Zac. It didn’t seem too bad at all. In fact, it seemed fine. I was no expert, but I was finding it relatively straightforward, how could this be? Zac asked if I had done it before as I seemed like a natural, which I definitely had not. I mentioned in jest that I had done anatomy (and therefore human dissection) in my university years, which it turns out Zac had too. So, maybe that was it? My knife skills (ack! forgive me) translated from the lab to the kitchen.

Ham sliced and packaged up, it was time to go home with a little bag of ham treats, including some fat to render and have with potatoes or similar. I had a great time and would highly recommend it. Thanks to Celia for arranging the invite and to the lovely people at Brinidisa for arranging such a wonderful evening. Lovely people, lots of knowledge, and lots of tasty ham. The classes will be running from November for £65. Given the quality of the hams, the knowledge of the staff and the uniqueness of the experience, it’s a great value evening.

Brindisa at Borough Market
The Floral Hall
Stoney Street
Borough Market
London SE1 9AF

Tel & Fax: 020 7407 1036
Email: shop@brindisa.com

Dans le cochon tout est bon!

On connaissait déjà les cours de dégustations de vins, de fromages…voilà que Brindisa se lance dans un cours de jambon! Ca paraît peut-être absurde pour certains car un jambon ça reste un jambon mais quand on commence à s’y intéresser cela peut s’avérer tout aussi pationnant que le vin ou le fromage. Je ne suis pas là pour vous faire l’historique de notre ami: le porc ou le cochon, el puerco o el cerdo “, “the pork or the pig” car cela serait très long mais je voulais juste attirer votre attention sur ces ateliers gastronomiques lancés par Brindisa dans le magasin du Borough Market. Ces ateliers ludiques vous permettront d’avoir une approche tout à fait différente du jambon, vous pourrez déguster une sélection alléchante de jambon accompagnée par quelques mets espagnols (olives, pain et huile d’olive…) et un verre de Manzanilla “La Gitana”. L’atelier dure 1h30 durant laquelle vous aurez une courte présentation des régions d’élevage de nos amis porcins, une brève explication sur les différents types de cochons accompagnée par la dégustation du jambon et pour finir une démonstration de “carving” (découpe du jambon à la main) à laquelle vous pourrez ensuite participer. C’est un atelier fort intéressant et très original, animé par 2 personnes fort enthousiastes et passionnées. A recommander pour le prochain cadeau de Noël…

Contact: Brindisa

I’ve been to some of my stalwart restaurant favourites in the last few weeks, so I thought I’d share.

Pham Sushi – my favourite sushi restaurant in London.  It’s not as convienently located as when I lived across the street, but it’s well worth the 15 minute walk from my current flat.  I heartily recommend the crunchy tuna rolls.  Book ahead, there are very few tables and I’ve often been turned away.

Brindisa – a tapas gem at the corner of Borough market.  The charcuterie plates are to die for.  They don’t take reservations, but you can grab a drink from the pub across the street whilst you wait.  And they’re open on Sundays now, hooray.

Afghan Kitchen – a neighbourhood favourite, just on Islington Green.  It has a brief menu that hasn’t changed in the years we’ve been going, including the absurdly low prices (top price, £6.50).  Chicken in yogurt, lamb and spinach, and the vegetarian dish called Sarah’s are fabulous.  Reservations are a good idea because it’s so tiny that there are only a handful of communal tables.

I also was finally introduced to Stefanie’s local Italian gem, Cinquecento.  I’m happy to say she didn’t exaggerate the goodness.

- Anna

So I slept with a plastic surgeon, George the plastic surgeon to be precise.

I’ve never had that thing that some women do about doctors, that swooning blush, week knees and racing pulse. Other girls have the same racy thoughts about firemen, a good friend of mine (clear headed, she’s an accountant) is transfixed whenever she comes across one.

But me, I’m not really sure I have a type.

I met George the plastic surgeon (mid-thirties, tall-ish, dashing-ish, blue eyes) in Vinopolis. We shared a bottle of wine and then wandered down the road (clink street?) to Brindisa for a little tapas and beer, very nice.

My cleavage was driving him crazy over dinner, sometimes I think I feel the wanton desire in a man when he thinks he’s close to ripping my clothes off and getting his hands on me. It’s like a an extra pulse. George was ripe for picking and we definitely had enough chemistry so we walked over to Borough High Street and hailed a cab back to mine.

We didn’t get further than the hallway the first time and he didn’t last long either. He made up for it though. He carried me to the kitchen, lifted me onto the counter and gave me a lovely, long oral session. Should I be ashamed that I was holding him by his hair, guiding him, forcing him, grinding myself on his face?

I wasn’t. I do think I have dormant-until-lately naughty streak in me.

He lasted longer, much longer, the second time.

Tapas Dancing in London

There is, declared my daughter, only one place to go for tapas in London! So, following the certainty of youth, this was my second effort to see if she was as right as she was forthright. The first, some months ago, ended in a ridiculously traffic impaired attempt to get to the location (off Borough High Street on the south side of London Bridge) and then an announced two hour wait for a table. We went to a French/Irish steak bar in Covent Garden instead, which was good. But I can’t remember the name of it, so sorry. It’s on the opposite side of the road from Christopher’s (which you should avoid at all costs), if that helps.

On this occasion, we timed our visit for the tail end of the Sunday lunch crowd on a beautifully sunny, warm London Spring day. Traffic light, parking achieved (going on a Sunday – genius), table secured immediately. What could go wrong?

Nothing. Brindisa is everything that it (and my daughter) claims  – the best Tapas in London. Look it up: http://www.brindisa.com. And go.

Food writer Michael Pollan wrote in the New York Times yesterday that he needs the public’s help. He is gathering rules on eating well and wants people from all different cultures to contribute. Finally, grandmothers all over the world can pipe up – Michael is listening.

He says: “In recent years we’ve deferred to the voices of science and industry when it comes to eating, yet often their advice has served us poorly”. He recalls how his own Russian-Jewish grandfather used to say you should leave the table a little bit hungry. Strangely enough this is a tale my dad tells of his own grandfather – a Cornish farmer born at the end of the Victorian era.

Apparently Russian-Jewish food wisdom is not the only connection Cornwall has with more exotic cultures. Popping home the other weekend I was astonished to find Brindisa raw chorizo in a gorgeous little deli called The Digey in St Ives. I’d visited Borough Market only the week before to source the stuff, thinking what an advantage it is to now live in the capital as opposed to the Cornish outback. I was wrong.

Six chorizo sausages cost around £5, but I froze them in pairs to make them last. One recipe I made up worked particularly well. It involves using a Delia cheat ingredient, which I’m not terribly proud of, but needs must.

1 Jus-Roll pastry case (Sainsbury’s chiller cabinet), baked blind

2 chorizo sausages, chopped into coins

A few baby leeks

1/2 an onion

4 eggs

creme fraiche

grated cheddar cheese

Just fry the onion and leeks in some olive oil until they’re nicely caramelised, adding the chorizo towards the end so it just cooks through. Spoon into the bottom of the pre-cooked pastry case. Beat together the eggs and creme fraiche. Season and pour over the chorizo mixture. Finally sprinkle grated cheese over the top and bake at 190 degrees C (375 degrees f) Mark 5 for about 30 minutes or until golden.

Finally, eat until a little bit (just the tiniest bit) hungry.

Nipping up to London for a couple of days is all at once exciting, overwhelming, tiring and expensive. Even my friends who actually live there full time complain about how you can’t leave the house without shedding money. So for a greedy spendthrift like me, London – gastronomic (and actual) capital of the country – can be far from a frugal place to spend time in. The other problem is the excitement of being in a place where so many friends are too, and inevitably I try and see far too many people and end up either letting people down or drinking a flurry of hurried half-finished pints and having a flurry of half-finished conversations.

This week I at least had a game plan. My brother was off to India for 5 months on Tuesday so we had dinner at my sister’s flat on Monday night – a cracking curry that I may coerce her into putting on here if she gets a minute. Tuesday the only real plan, at least to start with, was to go to a friend’s birthday drinks in the evening, but with a day to kill I suggested to a cousin that we ought to go for lunch in a place called the Boot and Flogger. We had been there together in the summer and I had fallen instantly in love with the place.

If you head north from Union Street towards Borough Market you will go up Redcross Way and will, most likely, find your gaze distracted by a large gate adorned with withering wreaths and crossbones. Neither the deserted scrub behind, nor the modernistic gate will detract from the sinisterness of the place. It was a medieval mass-burial site for prostitutes. Being outside the City of London’s jurisdiction, the area became a haven for brothels and gambling dens, and these ’single women’ were, for their sins (literally), buried in unconsecrated graves – ‘the outcast dead’. Cheery stuff. Anyway, should you turn around, you will find the Boot and Flogger.

It is an establishment that defies definition. A complete anachronism, it is somewhere between a pub, restaurant and gents’ club – the sort of place where, my cousin pointed out, the waitresses wouldn’t think twice if you patted them on the bottom (though we are far too polite for that sort of tomfoolery). With us was cousin Tom’s son Sebastien, who is a little older than me, and his (and my Dad’s, for that matter) godson Tobie. The menu, like me, is simple, and demands little dithering, something which I love. I’d much rather just be told what I’m eating – can’t stand a big menu. We kicked off with a bottle of German Riesling, the name of which I could not tell you. What I can tell you is that it was a cracking wine, being a little sweet as Rieslings tend to be, but sharp as well, which Rieslings often are not. The ideal pre-lunch drink. We nibbled at quails’ eggs while waiting for the food proper to arrive – cold ham, tongue and rare sirloin of beef, with salad and new potatoes. A more perfect lunch there could not be. If you have an aversion to tongue I might suggest this would be a good place to start. Incredibly soft and delicate, not as rich as offal but still singing with the addition of horseradish, it is a really underrated, frugal cut. A couple of bottles of Rioja somehow slipped down along with this real meat feast, and arms were twisted towards the pudding menu. Sticky toffee pud with custard, trifle, and fruitcake soaked in Madeira were all yomped down gleefully, coffee was foregone in favour of stonking great glasses of chilled Muscat, and before we knew it we were emerging into the late afternoon, a little light-headed.

Tom disappeared for a meeting while Sebastien, Tobie and I went in search of coffee and more delights at Borough Market. The Market was closed, which was a huge shame. The pub was not. It was heaving in fact, the artisans, grocers, butchers and fishmongers having a well deserved pint after what had certainly been a longer day than ours. We felt out of place – what had we achieved other than a slight afternoon hangover? We were pottering towards Monmouth Coffee Shop on the corner when we spotted Wrights next door – an oyster bar. Tobie had never had oysters, and it didn’t take much cajolery to get him out of Monmouth’s (excellent coffee, by the way) and into Wrights, where fresh (I assume) oysters were wolfed down with a bottle of Picpoul de Pinet – a Languedoc wine that was sharp and citrus-ey, ideal for oysters.

If Wrights was a little empty, somehow, impossibly, we were not. With fire in our bellies and a glint in our eye we went in search of somewhere else to continue this, frankly ridiculous, afternoon of indulgence. We happened upon Brindisa, a Spanish bar on the other side of the market, and sherry seemed the thing to drink. Ice cold and bone dry, perfect with chorizo and some crunchy broad beans, which is just how we had it. And it was fantastic. Some might say it’s a little odd, a little pretentious, a little bit old-ladyish to be drinking sherry on a Tuesday evening, and I would have been inclined to agree. But try it. Not recommended for daily consumption, but it made a really nice change from a bloaty pint of lager.

By this point we all had to go our separate ways, but it seemed churlish not to have one more swift glass of something before disappearing, so we nipped into a wine bar for glug of wine and some bread, more to soak up the alcohol than any real need for nourishment. Off we stepped into the night, and I headed towards Caspar’s birthday party in Shoreditch. I tried to resist the offer of champagne, but really that would have been rude, it being his birthday. His Mum had done some delicious canapes, too – in particular quail scotch eggs, ones to remember in future. Sadly I had to head off far too soon to have a relatively late supper with my sister, her boyfriend, a friend of theirs and a friend of my parents.

We went to Green and Red, a Mexican restaurant on the Bethnal Green Road that has had outstanding press, impressive considering Mexican food, or at least the British interpretation of it, is hardly a world-beater. This place was fab, however. Fantastic cocktails knocked up by friendly, knowledgeable bar staff, and a menu that had not made its way to us via the southern United States, though wittily nodded towards current ‘gastropub’ trends – slow-roast pork belly was given two thumbs up, and my slow-braised lamb shank was all melting and tender, without the heart-stopping amount of fat that you often find on lamb shanks. Sides of guacamole, refried beans and tortillas were gobbled with equal glee which, considering that I had been eating pretty much non-stop since 1 o clock, says a lot about the food. Or just that I am prodigiously greedy. Perhaps both.

I have come to the conclusion that there are different types of binge. The one where you spend five hours throwing as much lager down your throat as you can, the other the type where you spend all day nibbling and sipping, without ever getting horrendously drunk or full. While I’m sure no doctor would recommend either practice were done regularly, as a twice a year treat I can honestly say that it was the best day I have had in a long time. I’m sorry this has been such a long post, but it seemed like the kind of day that ought to be written about. Anyone else had a similar sort of day recently?

Brindisa, Borough Market

So a warm welcome to Abta – they’ve picked a great location.

I mentioned I’d try and write about ‘The Borough’ area in south-east London, where I live – but apart from the odd photo, or Delicious link, I haven’t really written much.

But now Abta have confirmed their new premises (with the FTO) – relocating from 68-71 Newman Street to 30 Park Street by London Bridge – so I’ll take this opportunity to write a bit about the area.

So, a bit of history (get the boring things out of the way first, then talk about pubs).

Borough was originally a Roman settlement. The word Borough comes from Old English, meaning ‘fortified area’, and was designed to defend London Bridge. It was therefore also the first ‘borough’ outside of the City of London, so that’s why it kept the name.

Southwark, as in the London borough it sits in, got its name in the 9th century, and again from Old English meaning ‘Defensive works of the men of Surrey.’

Abta is still dealing with consumer protection issues, following the collapse of the XL Leisure Group, and upcoming changes in regulation, so they are busy people.

To help alleviate any stress they may be feeling, here’s a pick of my top places, literally on Abta’s doorstep:

Southwark Tavern - all-round decent pub, with quieter alcoves in basements (best pub in my opinion);
Wine Wharf – quieter venue, good for meetings, brilliant selection of wines;
The George Inn – historic pub;
The Roxy - doubles up as a cinema, with good movies and football/rugby matches;
Hiba – Great Lebanese restaurant;
Royal Oak - a bit further away, on Tabard Street, but a nice pub with real ales…

(I’m sure I should be doing some kind of ‘mash-up’ map, a la BNP, with Google maps, but will try another time)

There’s also Borough Market too, so it’s definitely a lively place to work – but if there any other recommendations I can add to this list, please leave a comment. This is just a few of my haunts…

In terms of keeping up to date with local news, there’s the brilliant user-generated inspired SE1 website, and you can also follow SE1 at @SE1

Below are some other pics I’ve taken recently…

Tunnel near Borough Market

Abbleby fish restaurant/fishmonger

18-20 Southwark Street, Borough Market, London SE1 1TJ

Tel: (020) 7357 8880

www.brindisa.com

Having to queue for an hour to get a seat at this bustling tapas bar is annoying, but it’s well worth the wait. They don’t take bookings and you just have keep grinning at the waiter and reminding him you’re still there while you enjoy a sherry at the bar. Dishes change regularly but my favourite delights include a whole deep fried Monte Enebro goats’ cheese smothered in orange blossom honey and meltingly tender rare fillet steak with caramelised onions and Torta de Barros cheese on toast. It’s rich, but can easily be washed down with carafes of tart red wine…

I would like to introduce all the people from Brindisa…which whom I am working with each friday and saturday! I have never thought that it will be so interesting to work in a market with amasing and friendly people. It is difficult to think that it is just for me a step to improve my English and to be more confident with people…Hard work, busy days but I am always happy to go to work to the Borough Market …I think it is one of the main reasons of my slowness to find a proper job in Marketing and Communication.

I have seen that the customer could feel the same impression visiting us at the shop!

Read more>>

J’attendais ce moment avec impatience…je suis enfin diplômée! Le seul soucis c’est qu’en Angleterre, ça ne suffit pas d’avoir le diplôme, il faut aussi savoir parler anglais et ça c’est pas encore gagné! J’ai donc décidé pour diverses raisons de chercher un petit boulot pour payer mon loyer et me donner le temps de trouver quelques choses en agence de communication ou dans une Web agency!

J’ai enfin trouvé un boulot à Londres…je vends des chorizos au Borought Market dans la boutique Brindisa, spécialisée dans les produits from Spain! Je conseille les amateurs de fromages espagnols, d’huile d’olives et vinaigres en tout genre de venir faire un tour car les produits sont de qualité et le service aussi!

Je recommande surtout leur jambon…même si il reste un peu cher (jusqu’à £19,95 les 100gr), l’investissement en vaut le détour! Vous vous ferez surtout servir par un professionnel du découpage de jambon qui se fera un grand plaisir de vous faire tester ses produits!

There’s a little Spanish deli around the corner from my office which serves the best lunchtime treat: a cup of chickpea and chorizo stew.

Brindisa also sells salad boxes, sandwiches and meats, but it’s the stew that really marks this place out. I’ve tried to replicate it myself, with limited success. Nigel Slater’s recipe in The Observer looks pretty good but I made the error of not leaving it to cook for long enough and using tinned over soaked chickpeas. Take note.

There are more Spanish recipes in 1080 Recipes, which includes contributions from Brindisa’s head chef. I’ve been meaning to buy a copy.

Every time I travel to Spain, I get psyched for tapas. But then I inevitably overdo it and learn the meaning of having too much of a good thing. I usually return to London totally uninterested in having tapas ever again.

Luckily, there are long enough gaps between trips to Spain which must be filled with a tapas run or two in London. And my favorite places to get tapas in London, Tapas Brindisa and Moro, are closely related to Brindisa deli, a well-stocked Spanish gourmet shop with locations in Borough Market and Exmouth Market. (Moro gets some of its most delish inventory (i.e., jamon iberico and chorizo) from Brindisa, which just happens to have a location next door to Moro).

So, the trick with Moro is that it’s packed every night of the week, which means that because Jon and I never plan ahead enough to make a reservation, we end up calling the resto at the last minute and getting a really early (7 pm) or really late (10 pm) table. And even at those early or late hours, the tables are full.

Why so popular?

Well, the service is friendly and helpful. The room is equipped with flattering lights (as in, the lights make you look good) and done in warm woods. And the tapas and Moorish dishes are fairly priced (£3 for most tapas; £15-20 for mains). I rarely hit this restaurant trifecta in London, which is why I keep going back!

On Friday, we happily took our early table and gobbled down, among other things, a serving of Moro’s sweet and smoky tortilla espanola (I think the key is the carmelized onions and lots of oil), and a rich, almost-meaty, fava bean soup.

My lamb tagine deserves special mention for being fork tender and flavored with cinnamon, nutmeg, citrus and slivered almonds. Although I was a little sad there was no fluffy couscous to go with the lamb, the bed of roasted pumpkin on which the lamb was served was a nice British touch, all sweet and creamy. The perfect heavy meal for a fall day, though it’s nothing much to look at, I guess:

The one thing that annoys me (there’s always one, isn’t there?) about Moro is how paranoid everyone seems to be that you’ll sit at a table and order only tapas. There’s a long bar with stools for which you can walk in and order just tapas, but once you take a table, there are prominent instructions on the menu explaining that each person at the table *must* order at least a main course, and in case you can’t read, the servers always remind you that you can’t “just” have tapas.

My two cents’ is that if a resto is going to offer tapas on its menu, it should just be prepared for the occasional group that wants only tapas, and even that group is likely to make up for its low-priced food order by drinking up. All the reminders and restrictions relating to ordering more than tapas are a little insulting and more than a little ungracious.