Viennese treat - Bistro Delicat, Battersea

I admit the last time I was in Vienna, inter-railing aged 18, I had far from a gastronomic time. Aside from a lot of amazing cake, most of my foodie memories involve bread and cheese from supermarkets at the best, and McDonalds and Pizza Hut at the worst on a rainy Sunday after we rashly decided to take a night train to Venice on Sunday night, check out our hostel on the Sunday morning and spend the day mooching around Vienna. This would've been fine if it hadn't torrentially rained, and if, in typical European-style, almost everything been shut for Sunday. Even the cake shops. We ended up riding the underground for a dry, warm activity. It was a low point. (Although I've just discovered that one of my favourite museums in the whole world Kunst Haus Vien - a visually-intoxicating museum built by and dedicated to Austrian artist/architect Hundertwasser. The man believed strongly in colour and little in straight lines - is actually open on Sunday. We visited on Saturday.)

Anyway my knowledge of Viennese cuisine extended little beyond cakes (I blanked out the other disasters). Wiener Shnitzel maybe, but I don't think I actually ate it there as I was in my weird vegetarian phase (it was a strange time of my life). So when new restuarant Bistro Delicat opened on South West London's eatathon that is Northcote Road at the beginning of July I was intrigued. Not least because it was a new restaurant in South West London that wasn't a chain (harsh, but kinda fair). Not least because of the Ikea goes uber-chic Scandi-esque decor of black and white tiles and neat pale wood table and chairs. But because it promised Austrian cuisine, and I wasn't entiring sure what that would mean on the menu...

The Boy was away playing with cars in Hungary so I met my old uni-friend, the extra-talented and ultra-liability Jonathan. He was half-an-hour late despite living round the corner. But no matter, it gave me plenty of time to study the menu, have owner Erik introduce me to some Austrian whites (which dominates the menu, white and red - you won't find a better selection in London). The French, German and English newspapers hanging waiting to be read on the white tiled walls and the Parisian bistro soundtrack (identified immediately by Jonathan as the Amelia soundtrack, appropriately enough) gave the continental-cafe vibe. As did the multi-European staff (German chef, French sous, and vegetarian French waiter 'It's difficult in France... they don't understand...')

Rye bread and olive oil was followed (with Jonathan's eventual crashing into the restaurant) with starters: Austrian curd ravioli-type pasta Schlutzkrapfen, filled with curd cheese and spinach (a heavier touch but with more bite than traditional Italian pasta):

And a charcuterie board - German Schwarzwaelder Schinken (Black Forest ham), French Bayonne ham, Austrian Tyrol Speck, duck rillette (Erik tells us it had been cooked for 17 hours), saucisson rosette, cornichons and pickled baby onions.

Mains we opted for one more predictable yellow-fin tuna with home-made pesto and tomato salad - which was everything you'd expect, but lovely nevertheless.

The other choice was a given, and I wasn't really given a choice - 'I've been told our Wiener Schnitzel is the best this side of Vienna' says Erik. I was sold. And not disappointed. Feather-light batter, paper-thin veal and a lemon in a muslin cloth (a nice touch).

Not content with showing off the Wiener Schnitzel, Erik's enthusiasm also translated into a taster of scallops and confit pork belly, which was every bit a melting moment as you'd hope.

Sides were really a bit superfluous - ratatouille (average) and intensely and addictively garlicky spinach.

Desserts, well with my past Viennese experience how could we refuse? No cakes this time, but again we straddled continental Europe with French crêpes and Austrian sweet apricot Knödel - deliciously naughty balls of dumpling that tasted like cake gone deep fried... as with the rest of the meal the Austrian elements won out. So much so I even forgot to take a picture... oh well you'll just have to go and see for yourself.

Bistro Delicat
124 Northcote Road
SW11 6QU
020 7924 3566
http://www.bistrodelicat.com/

The best pub in London?

A wander last sunny weekend on Hampstead Heath found us here... It doesn't serve proper food (just great home-made pork pies, scotch eggs, cheese and chutneys). It only serves small brewery cider and ale. People play the piano. They sell you carry outs and picnics to take to Hampstead Heath. It's awesome. Go.

Southampton Arms

139 Highgate Road

Kentish Town

London

NW5 1LE

http://www.thesouthamptonarms.co.uk/

You scream, I scream

Filo hits CNTraveller.com and eats a lot of ice cream in the process. More pics of the scientific treats at Chin Chin Labs. Is it novelty over substance? I don't think so, I don't really care. It was yum. (And fun)

http://www.cntraveller.com/recommended/uk/the-best-ice-cream-in-the-uk

Take a lick... uhum.

Something fishy up North - Crabshakk, Glasgow

Most of my food memories of my teenage years when I grew up in Glasgow revolve around one place: 24/7 Cafe on Sauchihall Street (which after various incarnations is now called Steak and Cherry, I don't think it serves steaks or cherries mind...). USA Breakfasts and curly fries at 3am celebrating a night trying to kiss boys and wiggle our hips and ‘small and humble’ breasts like Shakira to ‘Whenever, Wherever’ if we got into The Garage or The Shack (the place to go if you were around 17 in Glasgow in 2001 before it burnt down), or cheese toasties and milkshakes to commiserate a night of getting turned away for dodgy fake IDs and ending up at Destiny at the wrong end of town trying to avoid boys with teeth missing wanting to kiss us and attempting to feel the beat of dodgy happy hardcore soundtrack. It was only a really bad night if one of us failed to get in to 24/7 on the account of being still too drunk.... but let’s not dwell on that.

Going back to Glasgow to visit now my dining-dial is still set to the early noughties – French martinis at The Social on Royal Exchange Square, the disappointment of finding that OKO (Glasgow’s first catching on to the sushi trend in the Merchant City) has shut, god, I can still remember when I was at university in Edinburgh the trip through on the train for the excitement of Wagamama opening north of the border. But Glasgow’s dining scene has moved on since then and so have I.

Crabshakk (look past the ridiculous spelling, I hate it too) opened last year and caught national attention when various Saturday supplements reviewed it including Kate Spicer for The Times while up with fishboy Tom Aikens filming Iron Chef. Having heard mutterings before from Glaswegian fish-loving friends my interest was piqued; when I found out even my mother (who doesn’t like shellfish, oh the travesty) had been, I knew I had to get a table. So Choux Boy and I decided what better way to celebrate our engagement (again) than to eat lots of fish and drink lots of wine. Perfect if you ask me.

Glasgow pretty much is divided into ‘town’ (The shopping Z of Sauchihall Street, Buchanan Street and Argyle Street and surrounds) and ‘the Westend’ (Byres Road and the university area) with two distinct camps of fans. ‘Town’ is more flash, more cocktail bars and fusion-dining with a spattering of old institutions, while ‘the Westend’, with its student and arty inhabitants, is more low-key and understated cool. The Crabshakk falls geographically and demographically between the two, located at the unventured end of Argyle St round from the mega-concert/exhibition centre the SECC. The unassuming narrow glass frontage is easy to miss: a discreet sign on the door and catch a glimpse of whole crabs being demolished at the huge bar that dominates the downstairs, and you know you are in the right place. ‘Get a table upstairs,’ was my mother’s instruction. ‘Downstairs the tables are so narrow Joan and I could barely fit our fish and chips on them – it’s just like bits of driftwood!’. Whether my mother appreciated the chic seaside vibe was questionable, but the calm blue walls, wood-panelling, coastal prints and model boats on the wall suited the theme. But still our friendly shaggy-haired waiter led us up to the glass-edged mezzanine level (the perfect vantage point for spying on what people were eating at the bar) and a large non-‘driftwood’ table – which was just as well as there was a lot of food to be ordered.

Like Santa Maria del Sur was to steak, Crabshakk is to fish, don’t come here if you don’t want to order it. Menus were cardboard strips, bulldog-clipped together – oysters, mussels, squid, scallops, lobster, and of course, crab. A steak, a veggie risotto and a few sides (chips, bread, salad) were about as off-piste as you got. A mini-blackboard of lunch specials were whisked over – smaller portioned catches – and it was decision time. Not to limit our options the Boy and I went for the old chestnut of sharing everything: six oysters, starter portion of scallops in anchovy butter, a lunch special of grilled mackerel on a bed of leeks and beans with an olive tapenade dressing, bread, salad, and of course, a whole crab. Well, when in Rome...

Fresh oysters and a couple of glasses of prosecco kicked of the celebratory mood nicely – not much that could go wrong there. And from the 12.30 quietness when we arrived, the tables will filling up with Friday lunchtime groups of businessmen (champagne and mussels all round), families and couples; it was chocca.

Scallops came sizzling in a mini cast iron-pot... and looked amazing. Two huge and plump with a baby friend to fight over, cutting into them and the texture was about as buttery as well, butter. They melted in my mouth as the Boy and I fought over the last morsel. The anchovy butter that crusted onto the pot round the edges was crying out to be soaked up by hulks of bread.

‘Do you know that is pure fat you are putting on your bread,’ says Choux Boy, in an unusually healthy observation.

‘I know... Mmmmm!’ At this point I really don’t care, anyway fish is healthy isn’t it?

‘Another glass of prosecco?’ asks shaggy waiter.

‘No, a bottle of the Chardonnay.’ We were on a roll.

I think one of the best things about crab (or even lobster) is that you really feel like you are working for your reward. All that cracking and scrapping and accidentally spraying crab meat at the next table, as the gravely-voiced man in the Guinness advert says ‘Good things come to those who wait.’ Tick tock tick... But sometimes you’re starving, so the mackerel was a good idea – a snack while we dug around for our food.

I got cracking while the Boy tucked into his mackerel half, then I down tools for mine – fresh and tasty but the most interesting part of it was probably the tapenade dressing, which was an unexpected hit. With the two of us toiling the crab was quickly de-constructed – going down the patient route of fishing out all the prime white meat and adding it to the main shell of brown meat to mix together and spread on the bread. Eventually, it was time. And it was worth it: full and flavoursome and tender.

The main event might have been over but we weren't done there, resting happily surveying our kingdom (and almost seriously considering ordering another portion of the scallops as another sizzling pot of temptation was served as a main course at the bar downstairs) Shaggy returned cheerfully clearing up our mess and doing the usually waiter chat of trying to tempt us with one more course. He needn't have worried we were sold: affogato and a special of chocolate tart. 'And maybe some coffee afterward?' Oh, yes, two macchiatos. Shaggy trotted downstairs happy.

Both majored on creamy, seed-flecked vanilla ice-cream and rounded off the feast nicely although not spectacularly. Time for the bill, which was the biggest treat - £90. I'm sure you'd agree: an absolute bargain. And only four and a half hours on the train from London. Get there fast.

Crabshakk
1114 Argyle St
Finnieston
Glasgow
G3 8TD
0141 334 6127
http://www.crabshakk.com/

Food and fields: Gastro-nbury

It's been a while, eh? Sorry about that. I've been away at Glastonbury drinking cider in the sun, Devon eating fish in the rain and, erm, getting getting engaged to Choux Boy, which, it turns out, is a rather time consuming business - so many people to tell, so many glass of champagne to drink. But anyway, back to the food...

Eating outdoors in Britain - I bet you are thinking one thing: picnics. Sandwiches and tartan rugs, Pimms and cold cocktail sausages, or if we are really getting fancy here some salads in Tupperware boxes. But no, I’m talking street food. Street food in this country (and we’re not talking Borough Market here, which is about as street as D-Cam chatting up some hoodies) gets a bad rap. Burger vans and pies is what springs to mind; appetising it ain’t. So when I say ‘festival food’, you are probably going to shudder. This is what you are thinking right:

Or some sweltering nachos, greasy chow mien or one of those giant soggy Yorkshire puds with a lone sausage swimming in watery gravy. Yes, I’ve just got back from Glastonbury, and yes they were all there. But there is good stuff to be found, just I wonder, why not more? Taste showed us what you can whip up in park in London, why not in a field in Somerset. Ok, so the clientele of Glastonbury aren’t quite the pasta-maker-owning bunch who go to Taste, but it doesn’t mean we have none.

As anyone who has even caught a wiff of Glastonbury will know, Somerset is famous for it's cider, and it's not in short supply. But slap bang in the farmlands of the west country good fresh food is in no short supply. And if you look beyond the burger vans and the kebabs there is plenty of goodness to be found. At the first Glastonbury 40 years ago they gave away free milk, fortunately the food options have expanded a bit since then.

For fresh and healthy the hippy veganess of the Green Fields has to be the first stop on the Gastro-nbury tour (from 2009 memory try the Thali Cafe - food at Glastonbury is usually easily judged by the queue size and this is no exception). Hummus is in no short supply, along with vegetarian curries, home-made falafel and a few, uhum, special-looking brownies...

But you're not at Glastonbury for the health are you. Beyond that there is everything you can imagine and more. Sushi and wasabi peas in the Park followed by delicious mascapone, fig and honey Somerset ice-cream from Mendip Moments.

On to chunky sausages in white wine gravy and tartiflette at La Grande Bouffe washed down with a glass of Lanson champagne (don't deprive me of my glass of bubbles) at Queen's Head.

Venison burgers, hog roast with chunky apple chutney, organic bread, jerk chicken, cream teas, more hummus - with hundreds of stalls to choose from it is easy to dine around the world and, with a bit of a hunt (steer clear of most of the options near the main stages), well. And be well stuffed too. Music? What music?

Rebel Rebel: The Rebel Dining Society Pernod Absinthe Green Hour

I hate to admit being late to jump on the latest trend, but the whole underground / secret / pop-up dining scene completely passed me by. Now, I'm going to blame leaving East London just as every man and their culinary-inclined dog was opening up their sitting rooms. But that's just a lie. I even helped my TV researcher Bethnal Green flatmate trawl Spitalfields for people for her oh-so-on-the-moment show 'Restaurant in your Home,' and that was well before I crossed the river. I think I was rather British about it all: 'Going to someone's house you don't know to eat? Oh no, I'm not too sure about that...' But enough excuses.

So on Wednesday I was invited to a pop-up/secret/underground night hosted by The Rebel Dining Society. And guess what? It was in East London, and it wasn't even in someone's house.

The evening was called The Pernod Absinthe Green Hour. According to their website The Rebel Dining Society 'welcomes all those who are looking for a fresh and unique dining experience and our passion for food, art and music is the driving force behind our desire to push the boundaries of fine dining'. Though by Thursday it was probably more accurate to call it The Rebel Drinking Society, but that wasn't entirely their fault. It was the absinthe's. And no it's not illegal.

Choux Boy and I arrived at Hoxton Square greeted by absinthe cocktails and a mixture of Shoreditch types and some slightly lost-looking bankers. Told to drink until we would be seated at the long tressle tables in the main gallery, we followed our instructions to the letter. Absinthe is the stuff of legend and lethal strength: 68% proof and with a strong aniseed flavour it's not a shy spirit. In the spirit of research of course we tried all the cocktails - the distinctive flavour drowned the French Kiss and Mojito but the sweet Paris Citronne was a big hit. The Boy wavered between worrying about the Thursday hangover and worrying about that there wouldn't be enough drink with dinner - 'Filo what if it's like a wedding and they only budget half a bottle per head and then what if everyone else wants red too? I think we should have another cocktail just in case.' So we did.

Seated and swaying slightly, the art element of the evening (recreating Trafalgar Square - see Nelson's Column pige-fied below) was the ice breaker. A Shoreditch media couple (naturally), a freelance everything (journalist/PR/stylist), and a pair of Spanish girls who knew 'Shay' (a founding Rebels) set to work introducing themselved and cutting out their pigeons. I rapidly lost the interest of the Spaniards to the so-trendy-I-can-pull-off-a-full-on-moustache arty type next to me, and the Boy to deep concentration on his 'ravey' pigeon (bottom with the neon yellow 'string vest' on the left of the Column), so my mind turned to the food and not cutting my finger off using my safety scissors under the influence...

Four absinthe cocktails and a glass of wine down, the shot glass of green liquid fortunately wasn't absinthe based. But a tasty shot-o-soup alongside the light beany stew. The flavour and food was great but didn't make any hangover-reducing dent in the pool of absinthe in my stomach. And before my body got weaned back onto solids there was the Green Hour's take on the amuse bouche - er, absinthe. Straight. Out came towers of ice water, cut crystal glasses of vivid green absinthe and a man in a top hat and cravat. Time for the 'Absinthe Ritual'. Dripping the water through our sugar cube balance on a intricately decorated spoon, we were told of the drink's bohemian history - invented by Dr Ordinaire (Dr Ordinary, love it), Picasso and Van Gogh were fans, the creativdes' 5pm 'Green Hour' in late 19th century Paris - it's 'all about the love, the patience and the poetry of the drink'. Given that this was our fifth glass of the stuff we were easily sold.

Luckily before the Green Fairy cast her spell and I lost the ability to use my tastebuds our delicious rabbit two ways main arrived backed by The Roundhouse Experimental Choir, who were sadly almost drowned out by 120 absinthed-up diners grabbing plates and cutlery.

Somewhere between the rabbit and the two desserts I started seriously discussing getting my boobs painted in the Nevada desert (Burning Man Festival) with freelance-everything girl and I knew it was probably bus time. As the Boy and I staggered towards the 344 feeling like naughty children for being drunk and up past our bedtime on a school night, we decided we'd have to do this again. The food was delicious, the drinks not just flowing but gushing, the company interesting and four hours had passed in a blink of the green fairy's eye, plus we felt ever so slightly smug, like the rebellious cool kids had asked us to sit at their table in the lunchroom.

With The Rebel Dining Society hosting four more dinners with Pernod Absinthe and only £15 a ticket it's a bargain and an adventure - just make sure you bring some spare change for the bagel shop on the way home.

For more information see http://therebeldiningsociety.co.uk/

Steak it to him The BBBBL (Boy's Big Boozy Birthday Lunch) - Santa Maria del Sur

Like most of the important dates in our relationship, Choux Boy's birthday revolves around eating. What are presents but mere things when I could give the him the gift of really great food? Ok, that's bollocks, treating him to a great meal is actually a rather tasty excuse for me to birthday benefit as well, after all I don't think the watch I bought him would fit my wrist too well...

So after eye-ing it up for months, I booked us a table for Sunday at Santa Maria del Sur on Queenstown Road. Even weeks before the big date they only had mid-afternoon tables left (a good sign surely?) so I plumped for 2.30pm (it was a Sunday after all, it was made for lunching) and the Boy's Big Boozy Birthday Lunch (BBBBL) was born.

Not that that was the start of his gastronomic celebration. Oh no. With a lunch so late there was plenty of time for brunch (the BLBBB - Boy's Little Boozy Birthday Brunch - if you will) Champagne, fresh orange juice and Bacon and Parsley Hotcakes (delicious, easy recipe - I added an extra slice of fried bacon to the stack under the poached egg for good measure - well it was his birthday after all - plus a bit of tabasco to give it a kick) set us up nicely.

You don't go to Santa Maria del Sur if you don't want to eat steak. The whole place revolves around the simplicity of serving really great steak. Plain wooden tables and chairs packed together and exposed brickwork do nothing to detract from the big open kitchen with a huge adjustable grill in the window. The menu is steak. There's few distractions. Starters of morcilla, chorizo, serano ham or, if you're not quite ready for the meat, grilled tuna steak. Sides of chips or salads. Variety is not the spice of Santa. But who cares, you only came for the steak anyway didn't you? The wine list, like the beef, is born and raised Argentinian. We opt for a smooth Séptimo Día - Cabernet Sauvignon 2005 - Luján de Cuyo (a choice that prompted the owner to bring us proper red wine glasses 'you need good glasses for good wine' which had the Boy's chest puff a little with his wine choosing prowess) and starters of grilled provolone cheese (which is just cheese, grilled, a lot of it) and serrano ham with palm hearts and mayo sauce. All well and good but nothing special.

It was time for the special. It was time for the steak. They range from 8oz to pound of prime Argentinian beef; rump, rib-eye, fillet or sirloin. The quest for the perfect steak has a almost cultish appeal. It's got a seductive blend of exclusivity, primal carnivorousness and sheer simplicity. It's cow, killed, grilled, on the plate. But what makes one steak great? Who knows. Is the meat, the cooking, the occasion? Well, we ticked all three. Two 8oz sirloins, medium rare.

Gorgeously charred on the outside, baby soft pink on the inside. Moist and packed with flavour. Simplicity as it should be: a handful of salad on the side, a grilled pepper on top. Fat, fluffy chips and a couple of sauces on the side: tomato and onion salsa and mustard and white wine. It didn't need it but it didn't hurt. 'I think this is the best steak I've ever eaten,' says the Boy. That's the idea. Now I knew what all the fuss was about.

Like all good things it had to come to an end and we emerged from our red mist of fine meat and juicy wine back into the Battersea sunshine. Stuffed. Well, not quite stuffed... you see up the road  from Santa Maria del Sur is another great Battersea international import: Italian Gelateria Danieli. Raspberry Ripple and the creamiest Strawberry can-you-even-call-it-sorbet ever in a proper biscuit cone was my final treat. And it wasn't even my birthday...

Santa Maria del Sur

129 Queenstown Road

Battersea

SW8 3RH

020 7622 2088

http://www.santamariadelsur.co.uk/

Gelateria Danieli

47 Queenstown Road

Battersea

SW8 3RX

http://www.gelateriadanieli.com/