Ava Gene's

We've found our new favorite neighborhood restaurant. Unfortunately it's not in our neighborhood. Or city. Or state. It's a five hour flight away, over in Portland. I'm still not sure what to do about this situation: if a move to Portland were possible, that would be best. Hey, Ava Gene's, fancy moving over to New York, and bringing the Portland lifestyle with you? And maybe some of those mountains too?

Of the four nights we spent in Portland, two were spent at Ava Gene's. This wasn't intentional. But it was a happy accident. By our second visit, we'd befriended the waiter and felt more like locals than we've managed to achieve anywhere other than Van Leeuwen in 2 years in Brooklyn.

When a restaurant tells you that "our story can be told through our pasta," the executive chef has just written a beautiful, uber-seasonal, vegetable-forward cookbook, and it's located in your dream Portland neighborhood, you can be pretty sure you're walking into a great meal. When Bon Appétit won't stop shouting about it, you can be pretty sure it's going to be wonderful. And after the first sip of a Negroni Sbagliato, we were head-over-heels in love.

On both visits we shared as many antipasti, giardini (veggie-centric salady things), and primi (pasta!) as we could manage. All the pasta is milled, rolled, and cut in house. This could lead to the claggiest, most indigestible pasta in the world. Obviously, it doesn't. It makes some of the best.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that we loved every single thing. Huge plates of greens, radishes with tonnato, pane with borlotti beans and rosemary, and bruschetta piled high with favas and English peas filled the table with color and bright flavors. Linguine with clams, Sunday's special sugo, agnolotti pillows which burst like magical candy, and charred spiced chicken combined the most spectacular pasta with the freshest Portland ingredients, and made for four very happy, greedy people.

We'd started dreaming of a future in Portland as soon as we arrived, and Ava Gene's made the return to this big, tough, sweaty East coast city 100% harder.

Ava Gene's, 3377 SE Division St, Portland, OR 97202.

Continue Reading...

Padella

Since we left London last August, we've been keeping tabs on all the new food-related openings, which restaurants have rave reviews, which ones have lines round the block, and which have apparently been a disappointment. With just 3 short days in London town on our first trip back, there was a lot of eating which needed to happen: Discovering the new, and returning to our old favorites. After a breakfast of pancakes at Pavilion Café, a walk from Islington down to Borough, and a coffee stop at Monmouth, we joined the surprisingly short queue (based on the horror stories we'd heard previously) outside Padella.

A brief ten minutes later, we were seated at a table outside. The staff, in typical Italian fashion, rather brusquely threw down menus, poured us some water, and left us arguing over whether we should have pappardelle or ravioli. 

We started with a crunchy salad of radicchio, watercress, and rocket, which was perfectly dressed with a citrus-y vinaigrette and dotted with fresh mint leaves to help balance out those bitter red leaves. We needed some vegetables to be added to our carb-heavy day, and this was the tastiest, most refreshing way to consume them.

Tagliatelle with nduja, mascarpone, and parsley was spicy, sweet, and creamy, but not too much of any of those things. The pasta was as wonderful as you'd expect it to be when you know that this restaurant comes from the team behind Trullo in Highbury: Not at all claggy and wonderfully al dente.

But I have no doubt in my mind that the real star of the show, and perhaps our whole trip was the ricotta ravioli with sage butter. As all of you loyal readers will know, ravioli really is my desert island dish. When I'm served a plate of these pasta parcels stuffed full of what is (obviously) one of my favorite ingredients – ricotta – and doused in fragrant, lightly perfumed, almost nutty butter, I am quite possibly (momentarily at least) the happiest girl on the planet. When I remember that this plate of gluten and cheese only cost me £7, you're going to struggle to prevent me from talking about it non-stop for the next six months.

Padella, 6 Southwark Street, London, SE1 1TQ

Continue Reading...

Lilia

Please excuse the dramatic silence around here. I am still alive and kicking, but we've been busy eating for the last week. Maman and Papa have just left after a week's trip which flew by in a blur of pasta, lack of sleep, coffee, and sunshine. This week's return to normality where we eat in every night and take in packed lunches of leftovers to work for lunch is set to be a bit of a reality check.

Our first night on their trip was spent carb loading at home before B's record-breaking half marathon at 7am on Sunday morning. When Sunday evening rolled around, it was time to celebrate their arrival and B's ability to run as fast as airplanes can fly, with dinner at Lilia. 

When Lilia opened with a flurry of mouth-watering Instagram photos of pasta in January, it has sat tip top of my list of 'I need to eat there as soon as we have some money in our bank account'. Weeks before M and P arrived on American soil, a table at Lilia had been booked, and the countdown had begun. The Instagram photos were no word of a lie: Lilia is our new favorite NYC restaurant. Although Rucola, we do love you too, and you are also our favorite: please don't make me pick one, I'm not very good at decisions.

Early on Sunday evening we were seated at our table in this bright, airy space with incredibly high ceilings, warehouse style windows, whitewashed brickwork walls, and concrete floors. Simple, but elegant, with more than a touch of a West Coast vibe about it. Aperol Spritz and Negroni were ordered, along with a salty, crisp bowlful of cacio e pepe fritelle and a burratino (not burrito, as spellcheck would like it to be) toast with mozzarella, lemon, and bottarga. A pretty fabulous way to start the evening. Can these fritelle please be a feature of every Sunday supper from now on?

Vegetables followed next: Bagna cauda with winter vegetables and an individual dipping sauce being warmed by a flickering candle was simple but perfect.

Cauliflower with spicy soppressata, Sicilian pesto, and marjoram was crunchy and, according to B (we didn't get to try this one!) 'good'. An economist's excellent use of adjectives.

The last of the winter's roasted squash, Parmigiano, pine nuts, allepo, and brown butter was spicy and sweet and nutty and exactly how vegetables should be on a blustery, snowy Sunday evening.

Fennel, marinated capers, and blood orange was so much more inventive and addictive than it sounds. The fennel had been lightly charred over their open, wood-burning grill, and had all the charcoal-y, smokey flavors of your favorite barbecue dish, encapsulated into fresh, crunch slices of fennel.

We had already fallen in love with Lilia by this point, and the stars of the evening hadn't even arrived. 

We sampled almost every single pasta dish on the menu. There was no way we were allowed to order two of the same: there were too many fabulous flavours and pasta shapes which needed to be tried.

I, of course, had to go for the Instagram perfect Mafaldini with pink peppercorns and Parmigiano. These curly, frizzy strands of pasta had the most dreamy bite to them, and were dressed so simply. This twist on the classic cacio e pepe landed itself a spot on my desert island dish list.

The prettiest dish was undoubtedly the ricotta gnocchi, with vibrant broccoli pesto, basil, and pistachios. A party of all the most beautiful green early spring ingredients adorned the soft little dumplings.

Agnolotti filled with sheeps' milk cheese, saffron, dried tomato, and honey was just the right side of being overwhelmed by saffron. One more strand and it would have been too much, but as it was it sat perfectly in the middle of savory, sweet, and rich.

The silkiest papardelle was served with a veal bolognese, porcini, and nutmeg. Earthy, rich bolognese, lightly coated the freshly made strips of pasta.

We turned down dessert: If we'd had any room left we would have ordered more pasta, not dessert. Bellies full, hearts happy, and bodies utterly exhausted, we reluctantly left this heavenly restaurant and skipped out into a flurry of snowflakes falling on Williamsburg.

Lilia, 567 Union Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11222

Continue Reading...

Penne alla Carbonara

After our trip to the River Café last month, maman kindly gifted us her old copy of the first River Cafe Cook Book. Flicking through this book is inspiring: so inspiring that it every time I open it, it tempts me to quite my current life and go and live and cook in Italy for the rest of my years.

Shutting the book and returning to real life doesn't stop that dream, but I can make it just a little bit real by cooking that food here, in my East London kitchen. So last week, our final meal in our previous flat in Bethnal Green, I cooked up an enormous plateful of penne alla carbonara. It was one of the best meals we'd had all year, eaten on the floor round the coffee table as everything else had been packed away.

This may not be the healthiest of meals. But that's not the point.

Ingredients

200g pancetta, cut into matchsticks

1 tablespoon olive oil

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

6 egg yolks

120ml double cream

150g Parmesan, freshly grated

250g penne rigate

Method

1. Slowly fry the pancetta in olive oil. Add some black pepper.

2. Beat the egg yolks with the cream. Season with salt and pepper. Add half the Parmesan.

3. Cook the penne in a lot of salted water. Drain.

4. Combine cooked penne with hot pancetta and oil.

5. Pour in the cream mixture. Stir so that every piece is covered.

6. Add the remaining Parmesan to serve.

Continue Reading...

The River Café: the Story of the Cake

Go and grab yourself a cup of tea and something to eat. This is going to be a long post. I'm a bit nervous about writing it: too much to say, too much to be lost in translation from experience to blog.

Yesterday was a day of celebration in our family: the day in the middle of my brother's 21st birthday and maman's big birthday (I won't say which big birthday - I don't want to upset you maman!). And also it was Fathers' Day Eve. So the only one who wasn't celebrating was me. But I'm more than happy to jump on everyone else's celebration bandwagon.

To mark the occasion we had booked lunch at the River Café. I think I can safely say that this is our family's favourite restaurant in the UK. Especially on a beautiful sunny day when we can sit on the terrace; when a friend has bought a bottle of bubbles which are waiting there for us to celebrate; when a surprise guest arrives to join us; when we can spend all afternoon eating, drinking, laughing and talking. This isn't something that happens often.

A few months ago, maman had requested Lucy Boyd's raspberry and hazelnut meringue cake as her birthday treat from me. So early Saturday morning I set about whipping egg whites and piling high the meringues and raspberries to build this towering cake that had been asked for. This cake was then carefully carried all the way to Hammersmith (a long, long way from home!) and presented to maman before lunch. It was then safely (we thought) stowed in the fridge by the receptionist while we had lunch, so it didn't completely melt in the sunshine.

Surprise bubbles were bought to us along with a plate of oily, salty, garlic-y, charred bruschetta. Papa's favourite. I think he'd eat this three meals a day if he could. Then a plate piled high with zucchini fritti arrived (I just managed to get a snap of them before the hands dove in), and quickly disappeared, to be replaced by another plate. They also quickly disappeared.

A magnum (we were celebrating after all!) of Fontodi Flaccianello that Papa had bought with him was opened (the courier smashed the bottle that he had wanted to drink when he had sent it a few days earlier - lucky for the courier we will never meet him!) Presents and cards were handed round and opened and then it was finally time to move our concentration on to food. I'll try and let the photos speak for themselves...

Prosciutto di San Daniele with Chanterais melon. The sweetest melon and vast quantities of the most wonderful prosciutto. 

Calamari ai ferri - chargrilled squid with fresh red chilli and rocket. Fresh, not chewy, with a hint of heat.

Asparagi - warm English asparagus with parmesan 'Fonduta'. I need to eat more fonduta. Bye bye hollandaise.

Gnocchi di Patate with slow-cooked sorrento tomatoes, mint and pecorino. Pillow-soft.

Agnoli - fresh pasta parcels stuffed with slow-cooked veal sweetbreads, pancetta, sage in Marsala, with parmesan. Too many good things on one plate. 

Our very clean plates were cleared away, and full ones bought. I was so excited about my plate of pasta: this pasta is one very good reason to be happy about being alive.

Taglierini - fresh pasta with clams, zucchini and their flowers, parsley and butter. I had been talking about zucchini flowers the day before, figuring out where to go and source some, and tangled in with the pasta and clams that afternoon they were sweet and light. I had by now decided that this was the best Saturday afternoon ever.

Aragosta al forno - split and wood roasted Dorset Blue lobster with wild oregano, lemon and dried chilli, with zucchini fritti (oops - I think we all ate his zucchini fritti). The best lobster Dad says he's ever had - meaty and pink and beautiful.

Maman had samlone al sale - wild Scottish salmon baked whole in sea salt with aioli, broad beans and swiss chard. Her favourite. And I forgot to photograph it.

Coscia d'Agnello ai ferri - chargrilled marinated leg of lamb with salsa rossa crudo, pink and golden beetroots and baked fresh borlotti. B's comment is: the beetroot was amazing. I think he was slightly overwhelmed by it all.

Filetto di Manzo - wood-roasted beef fillet in Fontodi Chianti Classico with rosemary, braised Violetta artichokes and peas for T (very out of character - he spends most his life claiming to be vegetarian!). Definitely worth breaking vegetarian tendencies for.

Are you still reading? I hope you are. We've not got to pudding yet, and pudding is beautiful. I won't make you wait any longer...

Lemon Tart. Crumbly pastry, and that bright yellow tells you everything else you need to know.

Almond Tart with Strawberries. The best, in my humble opinion. But I ordered it, so I am slightly biased.

Chocolate, hazelnut and espresso cake was essentially an enormous brownie with a big kick of coffee and the crunch of hazelnuts.

Maman said her pannacotta with grappa and fresh raspberries needed more grappa. But she would say that. She loves grappa. The rest of us were just amazed by its wobble. I should have filmed it. 

Coffees and fresh mint tea to calm us all down after all that excitement. We were ready to leave, Papa was busy chatting to the lovely Charles Pullan and maman went to retrieve her cake from the fridge. 

The tin was (rather embarrassingly), sitting on the bar, looking for a home. She picked it up, thought it felt quite light, asked the chefs whether they had eaten it and they all said no. She came back to the table, had a peek inside and... you may not believe me... but... there was only a quarter of it left! I think we laughed for about 15 minutes. We showed Charles who looked stunned, and, after he had regained his voice, said: 'Wait a second, that's a River Café cake! That was my wedding cake! That's my wife's recipe!'. We agreed that yes, it was Lucy Boyd's recipe. His shock that his staff had eaten maman's birthday cake was somewhat amusing. It was worth the loss of a cake for the hilarity it caused. I'll never forget the day we went to the River Café for a birthday lunch and the staff ate my cake. At least they liked it, it seems. That's a seal of approval good enough for me. I know where to go next time I'm in need of a job!

Highlight: Everything. It is heaven.

Lowlight: They ate my cake.

River Café, Thames Wharf, Rainville Rd, London, W6 9HA

Continue Reading...