Roon-ing around (and no nothing to do with Wayne)

It's hard not to love macaroons (macarons en Francais). Small, perfectly formed, melt in the mouth. But being an impoverish journo the one thing I don't love it the price (£1 a macaroon!! But they're tiny!!!) and they've stopped sending me free ones... So... I thought... how hard can they be to make? Uhum...

So make your own macaroons. There are plenty of recipes out there so Saturday morning and I set to work. I had two recipes: Ottolenghi and Delicious Magazine. So of course, erring on the side of caution why not combine them?! But what flavour, what flavour... the trusted Ottolenghi offered up salt peanut and caramel, lime and basil and chocolate, while Delicious opts for a myriad of flavour extracts or chocolate.... mmmm. But it had to be raspberry.

The first stumbling block came when 'the big Tescos' didn't have raspberry flavour extract. Ok, I thought, I'll get really raspberries, we'll work this.

Macaroons are essentially almondy meringue sandwiches, so the basis to the recipe is sugar, egg whites and ground almonds. Easy! Laduree, watch out.

I kicked off on the Delicious recipe (sorry, Otto, I love you really and this may have been my first mistake) but mostly because it called for bigger qualities (175g icing sugar, 125g ground almonds, 3 large egg whites, 75g caster sugar) compared to Otto's (110g icing sugar, 60g ground almonds, 2 large egg whites, 40g caster sugar) and I was greedy.

The method though is pretty much standard:

Pre-heat the over to 160 (less if you're is fan, not accounted for in the Otto recipe, error two). Sieve the icing sugar and ground almonds into a bowl.

Crack the eggs into a bowl and whisk until thick and glossy, adding the caster sugar as the peaks form.

Of course, I couldn't resist the classic test: tipping the bowl upside down. Gingerly, very gingerly...

Phew. Fold bit by bit, either the meringue into the almond/icing sugar or the almond/icing sugar into the meringue (recipe dependant). Now add your flavouring. Working with my fresh raspberries, I decided the best option would be to blitz them in the food processor and then sieve them to take out the pips. So I added the juice which gave a satisfying pinky colour to the mixture. Now comes the fun/messy bit: piping! So armed with a icing piping bag (John Lewis or a specialist cooking shop will help you out), fill the bag halfway and then pipe only a baking paper lined tray. You're aiming for blobs about 3cm wide, about the size of a two pound coin. They don't swell like cookies when you bake them so space them but you don't need loads of room.

Bang them on the kitchen surface so they form a good 'foot' (you know that distinctive puffy, rough base). Leave for 15 minutes uncovered before you pop them in the oven for about 12-15 minutes.

While the 'bread' of the sandwich as cooking, it's time to make the buttercream filling. Having had far too much meringue mix for my trays last time, I decided to switch back to my beloved Otto (sorry I deserted you!). So 100g unsalted soft butter and 45g icing sugar mixed together until pale coloured and smooth. Then add your flavouring (more pulverised raspberries).

Check the 'breads' regularly though (third mistake), you want them raised and hard but leave them too long and they'll go golden and overcooked. They should also be cooked enough that they come easily off the baking sheet and there's no meringue goo still holding them on. Mine were almost there but somehow both slighty over-and under-cooked.

Leave the meringues to cool before assembling the macaroons with a small spoonful of buttercream holding the sandwiches together, then leave somewhere cool to set.

So the verdict? Ok, so they're no Laduree, more homely than haute-caketure but they still disappeared between me and the Boy in ooh two days. Twenty of them. But for next time? Work on the meringue mixture (I think I might need a more precise scale). The flavouring needed to be a bit more intense... it was kind of like roses to rose water in terms of the raspberry flavour. And I need to play with the oven temperature and time (a constant battle with my oven). And oh, one last thing, I think they would've been better with a jam-y filling rather than buttercream. But apart from that they were deeeeeeeeelicious. And very much less than £1 each.

Pick your own, make your own

There are certain childhood memories that are hold a mythical status in your mind - for me going to pick your own fruit is right up there. Rows upon rows of raspberries glistening in the sun, as much as you can eat straight from the branch... well that might not technically be the point of pick your own, but it was for me. It was like the Willy Wonka Factory but instead of chocolate there were raspberries, everywhere. Until I was quite possibly sick.

So sunny bank holiday weekend and I did my best child like pleading. 'Peeeeeeeeeete, please can we go pick your own pleeeeeeeeeeease. You prooooooomiiiiiiiised.' It worked. And off we piled in the car to Garsons in Esher - the very same pick your own farm as I went to as a kid. Oh it was too good to be true.

Now, many things that were immense as a child shrink under adult eyes. Cinema pick'n'mix tastes a little less sweet. Slides are so much shorter and lower. Swimming pool wave machines no longer house sharks, but are just bars at the end of the pool (is that just me?). But the pick your own farm was still as huge as I remembered.

'We need to get some punnets.' I informed the Boy as we drove past field upon field.

'I think we need to find something to pick first.' Good point, it turns our August isn't prime picking period, oops.

We stop at the corn fields first. I hate to admit but I'd never really knew that corn grew out the bottom of the erm, corn on the cob plants... but we selected two plump looking corns 'for starters'. But I was really here for the fruit. Some sad looking blackberry plants were either overpicked or under-ripe and a good 20 minutes of picking only yielded a handful of berries and some scratched wrists. Onward. Carrots, onions and marrows didn't really have the immediate hit (uhum, eat) appeal...

'Maybe if we got some apples we could make a crumble,' said the Boy. Good plan.

Apples were much more fun to pick, giving a satisfyingly weighty plop into your palm when you twisted them off the tree.

But apple picking wasn't what I was here for really. Back in the car in search of the sweet fruit. And just before we got to the exit: berry nirvana! Raspberries, strawberries, ripe and ready to go. I hadn't imagined how fun this was after all. Pick one, eat one, pick one...

Back home it was crumble time. One of my favourite quick-fire recipes is peach, raspberry and ginger crumble from Gordon Ramsay's Cooking for Friends. It's dead simple and won over the Boy's grandmother so it's a keeper. I'll give it to you whole before today's adaptation, becasue it is yum and the stem ginger is an amazing addition.

Peach, raspberry and ginger crumble

For the filling:
8 fimr but ripe peaches
250g raspberries
2 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp icing sugar
2 stem ginger in syrup, finely chopped

For the crumble:
50g plain flour
pinch of salt
40g diced butter
35g rolled oats
50g demerara sugar
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
30g slivered almonds or crushed hazelnuts (or both!)

Heat the oven to 190. To make the filling: Cut the peaches into wedges and toss in a large bowl with the raspberries, lemon juice, icing sugar and stem ginger. Spread them evenly in a large butter baking dish.

To make the crumble: put the flour and salt in a bowl and add the diced butter. Rub the butter into the floru with your fingers until it looks like coarse breadcrumbs. Stir in the oats, sugar, cinnamon and nuts and sprinkle over the filling. Bake for about 25-30 minutes until crumble is golden brown and then stand for 10 before serving with ice cream (of course!)

To turn this beauty into late summer fruits crumble: make the filling with one large sliced cooking apple, a handful of blackberries and a handful and a half of raspberries. Toss with the lemon juice, icing sugar but replace the ginger with a covering of ground cinnamon. Crumble and bake the same and voila, from field to bowl in one day.

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?