Marlin Azul

I went to Mexico expecting to feast on tacos everyday. And while I did do that, I also had the magical surprise of feasting on ceviche every other day.

After a food marketing shopping morning and a splash in the pool at our Airbnb, our tummies were rumbling again: ceviche time.

B claims to be allergic to shellfish so a seafood spot is often challenging. But a giant place of shellfish-free (yes, sadly we're sure, thanks for checking, Señor) ceviche was exactly what we didn't know we were craving. With an ice cold michelada (we alternated between margaritas and micheladas most of the week) in hand, a huge bowl of salted tortilla chips, and a giant platter of citrusy-packed, herb-filled, refreshing, super simple ceviche was holiday heaven. That taco breakfast followed by this ceviche lunch, and an afternoon ice cream stop made for the most perfect day of eating, snoozing, and discovering a city through its food.

Marlin Azul, Calle 62 488, Col. Centro, 97000 Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico.

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Trullo

B and I had a few things to celebrate so a dinner à deux was in order. I wanted pasta. So we went to Trullo.

We first ate at Trullo almost two years ago (I thought it was last year but stand corrected). Since that first visit we have talked about going back (for a year longer than I thought - our conversations clearly don't change much), and have sent many friends and family members. Everyone has left with glowing reports. And so finally we returned. After so many months of talk and fond memories, thankfully there was no disappointment. We left with happier memories.

A G&T laced with fresh sage, and bread dipped in vibrant olive oil to get us going. A view into the kitchen made for a happy me all evening, and left B with a strained neck from looking behind him to see what I found so endlessly fascinating.

B chose the wine and immediately forgot what he'd ordered so I'm afraid I can't document that for you. But it was yummy and fresh and light and so pretty. 

I'm a sucker for mozzarella and so had torn up pieces of the beautiful stuff draped over rather pale but surprisingly tasty for the time of year flower shape tomatoes. I know these have a proper name, but I prefer flower tomatoes. Delicate and delicious. B went straight in for the pasta. No hanging around with this one, straight to the point. Sausage ragú with pappardelle. I don't think I need to tell you that this was amazing. But I do need to tell you that they had zested in a little bit of orange, which was initially surprising yet soon refreshing and light. Sausage and orange - who'd've thunk it? Genius.

Tagliatelle with mussels and chilli for me. A cleverly selfish order as B claims to have a shellfish allergy. Well done me. A plate of heaven all to myself. I was a super happy bunny and would have happily left there and then. But B had still to finish his lamb shoulder with braised fennel aioli. He is forcing me now to write that the aioli really 'cut through' the fennel and meat. Pretentious blogger term in this blog post now achieved. Thanks B. Perhaps not the best looking dish, but there were only approving noises coming from the other side of the table.

And we still ordered more. We had both decided far earlier evening that we had to have the almond and nespoli tart. So we did and it was heaven. And then I really was too full and too happy and had to go to bed.

We're already talking about going back. Watch this space for another two years to fly by before we return.

Highlight: Pasta

Lowlight: There is no lowlight

Trullo, 300-302 St Paul's Road, London, N1 2LH

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Rainbow Trout

So it seems that I've gone from an overdose of cake on this blog to an overdose of fish. I promise this will be the last one for a while. Please bear with me! 

I've never been much good at cooking meat. I guess you could say that I am pretty much a  vegetarian. But I will happily munch my way through a roast chicken, a baby quail, lamb chops, and, very rarely, a perfect steak, if I'm not the one who's had to deal with the flesh, and as long as I know where it comes from and can be reassured that it had a happy life before it landed on my plate. A flexitarian, some may say. So when it comes to cooking a more 'decadent' meal, especially when B is around and wants more than our normal veggie fare, I find myself heading to the fishmonger. Fin and Flounder on Broadway Market is our favourite haunt. Leaves us with the excuse of picking up many other goodies that we don't really need but can't resist at the same time.

Last week it was these little rainbow trout. Actually not so little. But just small enough to be acceptable to eat one each. They looked so perfect, their pink flesh and bright scales shimmering in the lights. I didn't do much: turned the oven on, and put whatever I had in and on them (this time it was lemon, thyme, butter, garlic), and shoved them in the oven until they were done. What has come to be known in this little East London flat as 'Mary's potatoes' came with them. Boiled baby potatoes, chopped and mixed with lashings of greek yoghurt, horseradish (a lot, if you're like me), a dash of white wine vinegar, olive oil, lots and lots of dill, a couple of handfuls of capers, and of course, S and P. A winner every time. And it always puts a smile on everyone's faces: the explosion of flavours far from what's expected of the standard, British potato salad. Some crunchy leaves and a couple of toasted pine nuts for some colour, vitamins and bite. Et voilà, my kind of Sunday roast.

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Can Maño

It's approaching Saturday lunch time. I had a night with no sleep, which was followed by a much happier breakfast in bed with the sun streaming through the windows. I forced myself out for a long run, looking forward to the sun shining on my face. This was not to be. As soon as I arrived at the park the heavens opened and the wind tried to blow me many, many miles away. I have returned home, bedraggled and exhausted, dreaming of the blue skies and sun we saw only a fortnight ago in Barcelona. It seems like it was months ago. And all of a sudden I have a craving for another Saturday lunch at Can Maño.

From the outside it doesn't look nondescript, it looks unappealing, it looks like the kind of place were you peer in to the fogged up windows and see the plastic tables crammed together, the crumbling ceiling and floor, the chairs which have been there for longer than I've been alive (and not in a good way). The kind of place where you stick your nose in before turning to the person standing next to you and telepathically agree to keep walking. However, this is Barcelona, this is Spain. And if there is one thing we learned on our short trip, it was that a sleek, chic restaurant does not mean good food. I think, in his role as economist, B has drawn a graph in his mind which shows this relation between décor and food, and according to that, this restaurant was going to be one of the best. It was.

In many of the reviews we had read it had said that this place did not welcome tourists; that the service was unpleasant and abrupt. Sounds perfect. We were shoved up against the wall, a menu thrown down, and drinks plonked next to us. A beer for B. A bottle of wine for me. I asked for a glass and was a little taken aback when he bought me a bottle. I looked around. Everyone else had a bottle. It's a dangerous system: he gives you a bottle, you drink what you want, and he estimates how much that is. The whole bottle is only €4.50 so it's never your wallet that will suffer. Just you. 

Locals filled the rest of the tables, which were adorned with water glasses (no sign of wine glasses here - far too much of a faff), and plates and plates of fish and sea food. So we followed suit, trying our best to imitate their orders, trusting that the regulars knew best. 

Fried aubergine and peppers appeared first. Any nutritional value removed in the cooking process. They tasted so good that I soon got over my neurotic watch on vitamin intake. A plate of six sardines, perfectly aligned, staring up at us, immaculately shining, beautifully simple, drizzled with a parsley butter sauce. Alongside them, a mackerel, cut open brutally, yet perfectly down the middle, baring its heart to us, covered in the same speckled green sauce. There was little conversation as we ate, working our way round the bony fish, eating every scrap of flesh, desperate to not miss a single mouthful. Eventually we were left with just a pile of bones, very full stomachs, and a smug feeling that we had discovered a miracle. And a slightly sad awareness that we wouldn't be eating as well as this for a very long time.

Highlight: the freshest of fresh fish. Oh, and the added bonus that the bill only came to €17.

Lowlight: the décor. The décor is not the reason you visit this place.

Can Maño: Calle de Baluard, 12, 08003, Barcelona (Barceloneta)

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El Kiosko Universal

It was a Thursday afternoon. It was my birthday. 23rd. And I'd just received a job offer. And we'd just arrived in Barcelona. I'll tell you more about the rest of that some other time. But for now, I want to talk about that lunch.

About 2.30 on a mid-January weekday afternoon, El Kiosko Universal, tucked away in the corner of the sense-exploding space that is El Boqueria, is full. Well, not quite full. Being just the two of us they managed to squeeze us in at the bar. Top seats. Worth being just a two for. From there people point at the seafood they want, placed inside the counter, an aching glass pane away, and they cook it for you. And they cook it perfectly.

With a glass of wine and a beer in hand, we scanned the blackboards before settling for what we already knew we wanted: a large plate of our favourite Pimientos de Padrón, calamarcitos (squid) for me, and dorada (bream) for B. The pimientos went into the deep fat fryer (along with the chips) and came out blistered and burning. With a (generous) portion of sea salt scattered over the top, plus a little bit more for good measure, they were little nuggets of Spanish, green perfection.

Squid was then plonked in front of me in an appropriately abrupt Spanish fashion. With perfectly soggy chips underneath. Everything covered in parsley and oil. B's dorada was served identically. The whole fish had been cut down the middle, split perfectly in two. Just caught, just cooked, and served just like that. With seafood this good you can ask for nothing more. So we didn't. We drank and ate and smiled and admired. And I think it was the best birthday lunch I've ever had. I intend to return, again and again.

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5 Things

We ran away from the cold on Thursday. It was my birthday, do I need more of an excuse than that? So, there's lots of big things that have made me happy cette semaine, but here are a few of the smaller ones:

1. Left over Green Kitchen Stories baked carrot cake oatmeal for breakfast on Monday
2. Strong coffee at Violet Cakes first thing on Tuesday morning
3. A massive breakthrough in yoga... I've moved on to headstands!
4. Being 'allowed' to open my birthday presents a day early because we went on holiday super early on my birthday morning
5. Lunch at el Kiosko Universal as soon as we arrived in Barcelona. Pimientos, squid, and a crisp glass of white. No complaining.

Happy Friday to you all.

x

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