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March 2014

Birmingham/ restaurant/ review

Birmingham Restaurant Review: A yummy Brummie bistro – The Pickled Piglet

Delicous belly pork with saffron and honey.
Delicous belly pork with saffron and honey.

I’m a bit geographically off piste in terms of my latest restaurant review.  It’s not of an eatery in Edinburgh, nor even one in Glasgow.  For this week, I am dining at a place nearly 250 miles due south of “Auld Reekie”.  And it turns out to be a restaurant I liked very much indeed.   I probably should explain.

The first day of spring has always been memorable for me, not only because it marks the passing of winter, but also because 21st March is my Dad’s birthday.  So to mark his 79th year on planet Earth I thought it appropriate to arrange a wee visit back to Birmingham – the city of my birth – to celebrate this notable event.  I’m sure it’s no surprise to learn that the exact form this celebration took was to take my parents out for very pleasant meal.

Now Birmingham is a very different place from the depressed, and – to be honest – somewhat depressing, metropolis I left in the mid-1980s.  Though the “city of a thousand trades” may have well and truly had the stuffing knocked out of it during the Thatcher era, it has now become a vibrant, cultural hub.  Its centre has witnessed massive regeneration over the last two decades, particularly around its “canal quarter”, as the development of Symphony Hall and Brum’s architecturally impressive Library of Birmingham bear testament.  The waterways that were once at the heart of Birmingham’s industrial revolution are now the focus of a Bohemian collection of cultural and culinary establishments.  And as my Dad was born a stone’s throw from the canal hub of Gas Street Basin, I thought it might be appropriate to find somewhere close by for a relaxed – but good quality – lunch.

Turbot with samphire and cockles.
Fab turbot with samphire and cockles.

A quick bit of searching on the internet and I had made a reservation for Friday lunch at the Pickled Piglet.  Located on Gas Street itself, this bar and bistro’s website promised much of what I look for when I dine out – locally sourced ingredients, and free range, properly matured meat.  “Any chef can dress a plate, but taste is a different game” the restaurant’s website sagely stated.  Occupying a compact, converted warehouse building, the Pickled Piglet’s dining and bar area is located on the upper floor.  It’s bright and airy space which is tastefully furnished, whilst retaining features which nod to the building’s industrial heritage.  Being Friday lunchtime in the centre of a bustling city, I’d expected the restaurant to be full.  Yet even though our reservation was for 1pm, as we were seated it quickly became apparent we were the only diners there.  Had I chosen a dud, I wondered?  Read on, and you will find the opposite to be true.

Chocolate torte with a berry compote.
Choco-berry sumptuousness

The bistro’s brunch menu certainly presented us with a decent amount of choice.  An appetising range of tapas-style small plates were on offer – which could have easily doubled as starters – as well as various meat, cheese and seafood sharing boards.  We decided to dive straight into the mains however, which were simply described and tasty sounding.  My choice of roast turbot, green beans, samphire, new potatoes, toasted almonds, and a cockle sauce was just great.  The fish offered perfectly cooked, sweet, firm, white flesh that was really well complimented by the salty-freshness of the bean-samphire-cockle combination.  The addition of the toasted almonds was really clever, giving the dish a nice contrast in both flavour and texture. 

The birthday boy hummed and hard before deciding upon slow roast saffron and honey pork belly, with scallops, seasonal greens and smoked bacon.  This turned out to be  quite some present, consisting of three sumptuously tender chunks of Gloucester Old Spot belly, reclining on a bed of vibrant looking – and tasting – spring greens, bejewelled with moist smoky lardons, and bathed in a subtly sweet, saffron-tinged jus.  Plus there were two perfectly cooked scallops guarding each end of the oblong plate on which the dish was served.  To be honest, I was a little envious of my Dad’s dish.  But then my Mother let me try some of her chicken. Or to be specific, pot roasted chicken, creamed leaks, roasted shallots and sautéed potatoes.  The vegetables – and the creamed leaks in particular – were really great, but it was the portions of simply-cooked Poussin that made this dish exceptional.  All around the table agreed it was one of the most succulent and flavourful chicken dishes any of us had sampled in a long while.

Bitter orange croissant & butter pudding
Bitter orange bread pudding – yum!

The quality of our main courses certainly left us wanting to try more of what the Pickled Piglet had to offer, so the dessert menus didn’t have to be brandished twice. My Limoncello curd, baked meringue, with honey and ginger crunch was perfectly fine – a citrusy-tart crème patissiere married well with the crunchy shortbread and crispy meringue.  Yet I could have gladly hijacked either of my parents’ puddings.  My Mum’s chocolate torte with winter berry compote and vanilla cream was a triumphant melding of rich cocoa, sweet yet sharp fruit, and subtle vanilla creaminess.  Father’s croissant bread and butter pudding with marmalade sauce and clotted cream was so good it’s hard to do it justice in print. Wonderfully buttery pastry bathed in bitter-sweet Seville orange sauciness, that provided a perfect flavour counterpoint, then this all topped with in a creamily sour-tinged quenelle and candied orange peel.  Pudding perfection.

By the time we had finished our coffees and liqueurs, half a dozen or so other diners had arrived at the restaurant.  But, to be honest, with food as uniformly good as that offered by the Pickled Piglet, together with the flexibility of the menu, and the relaxed – but nonetheless chic – ambience the restaurant and accompanying bar ooze, I amazed that potential punters aren’t queuing at the door to secure a table.  If there is one regret about my visit to the Pickled Piglet, it’s that I live 250 miles away from it.  I certainly will be planning to visit my parents again very soon – just to be a good son, and nothing to do with sampling fab food, of course…

Food 8.5/10
Atmosphere 7/10 (but only because it was so quiet)
Service 7.5/10
Value 7.5/10

Ambience – Expect a venue with a relaxed – but elegant – bistro/café ambience.

The Pickled Piglet on Urbanspoon

March 28, 2014 By
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baking/ cake/ Edinburgh/ polenta/ recipe

Recipe – Zesty lemon drizzle polenta cake

A lemon polenta cake in a cake tin
Deliciously zesty lemon polenta cake.

A thought entered my head the other day.  “I really must post more recipes on the blog that involve baking” is how the thought went.  Those of you who are regular followers of Scrumptious Scran will know from my “quaking baking” post that my control-freakery makes me a bit afraid of cooking bread, cakes and tarts.  I’m generally fine mixing the ingredients together, it’s when these riches have to be abandoned in the oven – a bit like a parent leaving a child on its first day at school – that I start to fret.  I mean, what if they just sit there without doing what’s expected of them?

Lemon polenta cake mixture in a cake tin.
Cake mixture in lined tin, ready for the oven.

I had mixed feelings a couple of weeks ago, when one of my work colleagues – who knew I was a food blogger – suggested I might want to contribute to a charity bake sale at work, in aid of Sport Relief.  Deep down, I knew this was the sort of challenge I needed to encourage me to have another bash at a baking recipe.  But what if the dish I produced was rubbish and nobody wanted to buy any of it?  Oh, the potential shame!  In order to avert such a disaster I would have to choose my recipe carefully, deciding upon something that was relatively simple to prepare, pretty foolproof to bake, AND that looked and tasted good.  It also occurred to me that it might be nice to produce something that wasn’t entirely based on flour, eggs, butter and sugar.


So, following a bit of anxious preparation and cooking last night, today I arrived at my work’s Sport Relief bake sale proudly clutching, what I at least thought, a pretty good looking lemon drizzle polenta cake.  A deep yellow disc made shiny by the addition of lemon syrup, not only did it look pleasing, it actually tasted pretty good – and that isn’t just my immodest opinion.  A number of my colleagues who purchased a slice of this unusual take on a sponge also pronounced it to be very tasty indeed.

By substituting polenta and almonds for flour, this cake has a firmer texture than traditional sponge, but is still light and moist.  The addition of the juice and zest of four lemons give it an intense citrus kick, which provides a great contrast to the nutty sweetness provided by the other ingredients.  But for me, the really alluring thing about this recipe is that it is so simple and straightforward execute. It could easily be made in advance of a dinner party, and turned into a really posh pudding through the addition of a fruit compote, or some decadently indulgent Pedro Ximénez sherry and raisin ice cream.  So even if you – like me – are not a natural baker, dust down your cake tins and do give this a try.

Thanks to Dove’s Farm for originally posting this recipe on their website.

Ingredients

  • 150g unsalted butter.
  • 150g castor sugar.
  • 3 large eggs.
  • 75g ground almonds.
  • 75g medium ground polenta.
  • 4 lemons, zested and juiced.
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder.
  • 50g sugar.

Preparation and cooking

  1. Preheat your oven to 170C/Fan 150C.
  2. Oil a 20cm cake tin and line it with baking parchment – I prefer silicon coated.
  3. Beat the butter – take it out the fridge in advance to ensure it is soft enough – and 150g of sugar together until smooth, pale and light.
  4. Beat the eggs into the mixture, one at a time.
  5. Mix in the ground almonds and baking powder.
  6. Stir in all of the lemon zest and half the lemon juice.
  7. Gently stir the polenta into the mixture
  8. Spoon the mixture into the lined cake tin so it forms an even layer.
  9. Bake for 40-45 minutes until firm and golden.  Remove from the oven and allow the cake to cool in the tin.
  10. Put the remaining lemon juice into a saucepan with 50g sugar.
  11. Boil gently, stirring regularly, for around 5 minutes, until a thick syrup is formed.
  12. Poor the syrup of the surface of the cake, and allow to fully cool before removing from the tin.
March 21, 2014 By
0
beef/ beer/ Belgium/ Carbonade Flamande/ casserole/ recipe

Recipe: Bravo Belgium! – Carbonade flamande, or Belgian-style beef and beer casserole

A pot of carbonade flamanade - Belgian beef and beer casserole.
Flaming tasty – Carbonade flamanade ready to eat.

It’s nearly the middle of March, so as a “foodie” I suppose I really should be clambering to the likes of Edinburgh Farmer’s Market to fill my bags with early spring vegetables in order to cook a recipe that’s both fresh and tasty. Well that’s all well and good in theory, but whilst southern England may have been basking in double digit temperatures last Saturday, in Scotland it certainly didn’t feel very spring-like. Consequently my yearning for comfort food continues, meaning that last weekend I decided to draw inspiration for dinner from the Low Countries – Belgium to be precise.

Softening carrot, onion and celery by frying.
Sweating the veg until soft.

Belgium has a surprisingly varied and rich cuisine, featuring really great meat, fish and vegetable dishes that often have overtones of influence from neighbouring cultures and countries. I’ve heard it joked that Belgium food combines the straightforwardness of the Dutch, the portion control of the Germans, and the cooking skill of the French. We all know that, in terms of food and drink, Belgium is particularly famous for three things: fries (frieten/frites); chocolate; and beer. What might not be so obvious however it that the Belgians have not only mastered the art of producing a fantastic range of excellent beers, but also cooking with beer as well.

Chunks of beef shin coated in seasoned flour.
Chunks of beef shin coated in seasoned flour.

Ample chunks of shin of beef, combined with complementary vegetables and a few herbs and spices, and simmered slow and long in a bitter-sour-malty beer. This is basically carbonade flamande (or in Flemish, stoverij or stoofvlees, which sounds pretty close to the Scottish “stovies”), often described as Belgium’s “true national dish”. It is a sumptuous casserole where a tough cut of meat softens superbly – through slow cooking – and melds its flavours with the acidic-sweetness of the hoppy beer and aromatic vegetables to produce a rich gravy. It’s both splendid and really simple to prepare.

Chunks of beef frying in a pan.
Beautifully browned beef shin chunks.

Over the last few decades in the UK we have become pretty well accustomed with using wine as an ingredient in our cooking, and there is nothing wrong with that. Yet such culinary influence comes from Southern Europe, and we – like the Belgians, Dutch and Scandinavians – are historically northern European in cultural terms. We share the fact that beer has long been our alcoholic tipple of choice. So why not go a bit Flemish and cook, as well as sup, with this smashing malty-hoppy ingredient?

Serve carbonade flamande with mashed potato, or even better, just-fried frites. Thank you Belgium!

Bubbling beef and beer casserole.
Bubbling beef and beer casserole.
Together with sides, this dish should easily serve four people.

Ingredients

  • 800g of stewing steak – preferably shin of beef – with any excess fat and sinew removed, and cut into 2-3cm chunks.
  • 1 large onion, peeled and medium sliced.
  • 2 large sticks of celery – medium sliced.
  • 1 medium-large carrot, scrubbed and cut in large-ish chunks.
  • 2 cloves of garlic, peeled and crushed.
  • Olive oil for frying.
  • 2 bay leaves, fresh if available.
  • 2 large sprigs of thyme, leaves removed from stalks.
  • 2 tablespoons, or so, of plain flour (enough to coat the beef).
  • 1 teaspoon of hot, smoked paprika.
  • 1 teaspoon of redcurrant or cranberry jelly.
  • Around 500 ml of brown Belgian beer (such as Leffe Brune) or a good quality, local, dark, hoppy ale.
  • Salt and pepper.
Preparation and cooking

  1. Preheat your oven to 140 degrees Celsius.
  2. In a medium to large, lidded casserole dish heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil over a medium heat. Add a pinch of salt (this helps stop the onion catching). Add the chopped onion, carrot and celery, stir and fry for five minutes, then add the crushed garlic and cook until the vegetables begin to soften, stirring occasionally.
  3. Add the flour, smoked paprika and a good pinch of salt and pepper to a lidded plastic storage container, big enough to hold the beef chunks, and mix together. Add the beef to the container, securely attach the lid and give a good shake to thoroughly coat the beef with the flour mixture.
  4. Heat a large frying pan over a medium-high heat and add a good glug of olive oil – about a couple of tablespoons. When the oil is hot, add the floured chunks of beef and brown on all sides. You may need to do this in batches to avoid overfilling the frying pan, in which case the meat will steam instead of sear.
  5. When browned, add the beef to the casserole dish containing the softening vegetables, and stir. Turn up the heat to high and throw in the bay leaves and thyme and then carefully pour in the beer – BE CAREFUL, it will bubble and steam fiercely at first.
  6. Stir in the redcurrant jelly, and allow the ingredients to come to the boil and then simmer for about five minutes to let most of the alcohol from the beer to evaporate.
  7. Cover the casserole dish with its lid then place in the oven for at least three hours, until the meat is so tender it is possible to break up a chunk of the beef with a fork. 
  8. The slow cooking, together with the flour coating on the beef, such have produced a thick beer gravy. However, if you prefer a thicker sauce remove the meat and vegetables with a slotted spoon and place in warmed dish in a low oven, whilst rapidly simmering the gravy until it reaches the desired consistency. Return the beef and vegetables to the gravy, check and adjust the seasoning and serve.
March 12, 2014 By
0
blog/ food/ ham hock/ recipe/ soup/ split peas

Recipe: Peas please me, and ham it up too! – Split pea and ham hock soup

A bowl of pea and ham soup
Pea and ham soup – a real winter warmer.

In my last review on Scrumptious Scran – for the excellent The Apiary bistro – I mentioned how, at the end of a long winter, we often need something comforting (food-wise) to provide a bit of cheer. Spring, may be about to bring us warmer days and the year’s first crop of fresh produce, but even March can have a wintry sting in its tail.

When we can now skip to the supermarket to purchase out-of-season asparagus jetted in from South America, or fresh tomatoes grown at any time of year, it’s easy to forget that historically during this season people would mostly be cooking with produce harvested the preceding year, and preserved to last through the winter. Personally speaking I think that some of the best comfort food to be made uses these preserved ingredients, and a fine example of this can be found in a steaming-hot bowl of split pea and smoked ham hock soup.

Split peas, vegetables and herbs in a pan about to be boiled.
Split peas and flavourings about to be cooked.

There’s something truly lovely about the look of this deep khaki-green concoction, punctuated with pink flecks of meat. But if it looks good, it tastes event better. Drying the peas imparts a really earthy mellowness to them, totally different to the taste of these legumes when fresh out the pod. By salting, then smoking the hock (or hough), the rich meaty flavour of this cut is further enhanced and transformed to yield (once simmered for a couple of hours) tenderly smoky, almost gamey meat. The further addition of good quality stock and some complimentary herbs and spices all combine to produce a splendidly tasty and filling dish. And what’s more, given that the ingredients are usually pretty cheap, it makes for an economical meal, too.

Smoked ham hough (hock) simmering in a pan.
Splendid simmering smoked ham hock (hough).

Now it occurred to me that though this is a traditional dish, it isn’t one that can be enjoyed by non-meat eaters. However, I did think that the recipe could be adapted, leaving out the smoked ham and substituting in its place a couple of (rehydrated) dried sweet peppers, together with a teaspoon or two of smoked pimentón (paprika). This should provide a complimentary contrast in texture to the peas, together with an intense, smoke-tinged flavour. I’d be interested to hear back from anyone who tries the vegetarian alternative, but in the meantime I give you my own take on this scrumptious, winter warmer (with split peas and ham hock).
Ingredients

  • 1 smoked ham hock of good quality – I tend to use those from Simon Howie.
  • 500g packet of green split peas, soaked in water overnight.
  • 2 small onions, peeled.
  • A large carrot, scrubbed and chopped into large chunks.
  • 3 bay leaves – fresh if you can get them.
  • 4 cloves.
  • A couple of sprigs of thyme, leaves removed from stalks.
  • About 1.5 litres of chicken or vegetable stock.
  • Salt and pepper.

Preparation and cooking

  1. Place the ham hock in a large bowl and cover with cold water. Place in the fridge and soak for 24 hours – changing the water a couple of times – to remove excess salt resulting from the curing process.
  2. Drain the ham hock and place in a large pan and cover with fresh water. Bring to the boil and then cover and simmer for an hour and a half or so, until the meat is “fall off the bone” tender. Remove and set aside until the joint is cool enough to handle.
  3. Stud the onions with two cloves each. Place in a large pan together with the pre-soaked split peas, carrots and bay leaves. Cover with the stock (add a little more water if necessary) and bring to the boil. With a slotted spoon, remove any foam that rises to the surface. Turn down the heat and simmer the peas until soft (about an hour or so). When soft, remove the onions, carrots and bay leaves. Add the thyme leaves and either mash the peas, or puree with a hand blender if you prefer a smoother soup.
  4. When the hock is cool enough to handle, remove the skin and any excess fat. Using a couple of forks separate the flesh in strands, and then add to the pea puree. Check the seasoning and add salt and pepper as required. If the soup is very thick add a little water, then heat through until just simmering and serve in warmed bowls, with fresh bread and butter as an accompaniment.

March 1, 2014 By
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