Ugly Baby

Two visits to the same restaurant in a matter of months for us two who don't eat out all that often, means it must be worth sharing with you. So today you get my chili-filled ramblings about a new favorite: Ugly Baby. 

This tiny restaurant's about the same size as our very small living room. The walls are covered in bright, warm paint, a line of tables is squeezed down one side, and a minuscule open kitchen is squished in the back. Combined with the waiters' colorful—often fruit-themed shirts—and upbeat music, it's clear that Ugly Baby is here to entertain you. And you soon learn you'll be doing that in the sweatiest, noisiest way (Did you know certain chilis make you temporarily lose your hearing?). 

Between two people you'll get through about three dishes from the neon menu (we tried to order more on our first visit and left with enough food to keep us going for a couple more days). The waitress will talk to you about how much spice you think you can manage, and what you should order based on that. Don't try to impress her with your heat-tolerance: she won't believe you, and you'll regret it. That dish which begins with "stay-away spicy" really is stay-away spicy. 

Tue Ka Ko (little coconut milk cakes)

Our two favorite dishes which are still on the menu are the sweet, definitely not super spicy, Tue Ka Ko (little coconut milk cakes with black bean and taro), and Kao Tod Nam Klook (curried rice, pork skin, peanut and ginger) served with a mountain of fresh leaves, herbs, and raw veg, to make the most magical lettuce wraps (pictured up top!). The green chicken curry was the spiciest thing I've ever had. I couldn't hear. My eyes were watering. Wine didn't help. Water didn't help. Thankfully, the remaining coconut milk cake did. But it was fantastic and worth every burning mouthful.

Rice vermicelli & spicy green chicken curry.

Try to go early: those tables fill up fast. Listen to the waitress: she wants to help you. But be prepared for pice: you're not going to walk out of there without a hint of heat tingling on your lips.

Ugly Baby, 407 Smith Street, Brooklyn, NY 10002

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The Good Egg

It's rare that I'm willing to wait more than five minutes for breakfast. Let alone an hour and a half. Especially when that hour and a half means I could be late for a flight. But when we'd finally found an opportunity on an all too rare trip back home to visit The Good Egg, the flight and my rumbling tummy were going to have to be a little patient.

After a walk round Abney Park Cemetery, we soon returned for coffees on the bench outside, and finally a table was ready. Once you're inside with a second cup of coffee in hand, and a slice of babka to nibble on, it's clear why everyone's so unwilling to give up their precious seat on a Sunday morning. 

As New Yorkers, we're spoilt for babka options. With Breads being the hands-down favorite in this city, it was with slight trepidation that we tried our first slice of British babka. Thankfully Oded, The Good Egg's chief babka chef, who has Ottolenghi on his list of "people who trained me and taught me magic," knows how to make the perfect twisted, chocolate-filled, yeasted bread. 

Rumbling stomaches had been silenced with this perfect chocolate breakfast, so now it was time to figure out how we could order as much of the menu as possible. A return trip sadly isn't going to happen in the near future, so the choosing pressure was on. I opted for a classic: shakshuka. With fried halloumi. Because when adding fried halloumi to your breakfast is an option, why would you say no?

Other highlights from our table overflowing with food were the Iraqi aubergine pita with eggs (see top), and the house beef salami hash. Everything was packed full of flavor, ridiculously more-ish, and if I lived nearby, I'd be here every weekend.

The Good Egg have been on an amazing journey, which has been so fun to watch (from afar) over the last couple of years. Joel and the team have created such a buzzy, tasty place. I'm so grateful I finally got a chance to brunch at this top spot, and Londoners, you better get yourselves there ASAP. I promise it's worth the wait.

The Good Egg, 93 Stoke Newington Church Street, London N16 0AS.

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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.

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5ive Spice

A restaurant with a number in its name, which serves a fusion of Vietnamese and Mexican food, should be a disaster. Somehow, 5ive Spice has achieved an impossible feat, and defies all expectations its name and concept provide.

We honored our suspicious instinct on our first few visits, and ordered the truly Vietnamese options i.e. the pho. The broth is elegantly spiced, meaty but not fatty, and so fragrant. When you take a spoonful, you feel its healing and comforting powers. Slurp up the noodles, chew the extremely generous portions of meat, and sprinkle on as much cilantro, basil, lime, and chiles as your tastebuds desire. Every bowl is huge, but you'll finish every last drop. That broth is too good to leave behind.

When you do trust this place enough to venture further afield on the menu, you'll have a revelation that these two cuisines can indeed be successfully combined. Tacos filled with lightly pickled veg and lemongrass grilled chicken are terrifyingly addictive; and grilled corn, it turns out, makes a great accompaniment to a bright rice vermicelli salad (pictured above).

No alcohol is served, and the prices are incredibly reasonable. You'll be heading back for another bowl of healing pho as soon as the next rainy day arrives.

5ive Spice, 52 5th Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11217.

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Freek's Mill

Freek's Mill isn't the kind of restaurant you stumble across on a Friday evening. While an evening stroll through Gowanus may not have been top of my parents to-do list on their most recent visit, eating at Freek's Mill with them was top of mine.

Pass the disused cars, parking lots, and empty warehouses, and you'll find a glowing haven, with a beautiful logo painted on the side, sitting on the corner of this cobbled Brooklyn road. Inside, tables line the walls, a counter wraps round the front windows, a bar glimmers, and the sounds of an open kitchen travel through from the next room.

This restaurant isn't for the selfish. The menu of sharing plates has to be split amongst you all: the rich, deep flavors of each dish make a few mouthfuls of each perfect, but eating the entire serving of it alone would be a challenge. An umami-party like this one requires good friends, plenty of funky wine, and a couple of hours to really take in the wide range of dishes presented to you.

Tuscan kale with honey crisp apples, Marcona almonds, and Beechers cheddar. Yet another competitor for top kale salad. How are there quite so many spectacular kale salads in this city? It's amazing.

Charred radicchio with straciatella and candied walnuts. Sweet enough to absorb the leaves' bitter flavor, with the creamy fresh cheese bringing rich comfort.

Montauk scallop crudo with pickled persimmon, cilantro, and crème fraîche. Refreshing, zingy, sweet, creamy: balancing magic.

Roasted beets with chickpeas, speck, and soft boiled egg. The prettiest comfort food.

Octopus with peewee potatoes and chorizo vinaigrette. No chewiness on this giant octopus tentacle. Smoky potatoes and paprika-heavy vinaigrette bought a hint of Spain to the table. And alongside that we devoured Brussels sprouts with apple-maple butter and bacon. All sprouts should be eaten like this forever and ever.

Pappardelle with rabbit ragu, guanciale, and wild nettles felt a little strange sitting amongst the other heavily flavored dishes, but in itself was an example of perfect pasta. If you needed proof that the Freek's Mill team can cook, this is is.

We were warned when we ordered roasted pork jowl with smashed cucumbers, cashews, and cilantro, that the joy of this dish was in the fat. This fatty meat was tender, and, drenched in Szechuan-inspired flavors, it was beautifully more-ish. But yes, the joy was in the fat.

We found dessert round the corner at Ample Hills (because you can't be that close to ice cream heaven and not visit). The perfect food-filled Friday night. In Gowanus. Sometimes Brooklyn really does seem magical.

Freek's Mill, 285 Nevins Street, Brooklyn, NY 11217.

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Domenic's Pizzeria

Whether skiing burns the amount of calories I eat while in the mountains or not is irrelevant. When I spend the day out in -20°C, whizzing around the mountains for hours and hours, my daily diet is allowed to consist of bagels, hot chocolate, coffee, pasta, waffles, and pizza. 

These Vermont folk are hardier than us New Yorkers. Even in this Arctic weather they're out on the slopes, and are not complaining. Rather than spend their evenings hiding away in their homes by the fire, they're out at their favorite local restaurants. On a freezing cold Sunday evening, we stepped into Domenic's Pizzeria on Killington Road, and were told there was a twenty minute wait for a table. The best pizza in town is in high demand. 

We found two seats at the bar and thereby managed to skip the line. With a (large) glass of Mountain Merlot in hand, a maths test to decide whether two 12" pizza would be bigger than one 18" pizza done (the answer is one 18" by the way - it blew my mind too), the post-ski feasting began. 

A large Caesar salad came first - even skiers need to eat their greens - and the real skiing-fuel followed: an 18" pizza topped with ricotta (obviously), jalapeños, and pepperoni (B's choice). It was crisp, spicy, ginormous, messy, and honestly delicious. Two slices remained, and we were defeated. But don't worry: if you don't finish, there's no chance you're leaving it behind. Boxed up and handed to you, you'll be eating more pizza the next day, or maybe when you get home - we won't judge, moving around in this cold is hunger-inducing. 

If you do somehow have space for the S'mores Calzone after that pizza feast, I'm impressed. It looks amazing. Excessive, but amazing. But good luck trying to move from your seat after you've eaten that.

Domenic's Pizzeria, 2822 Killington Rd, Killington, VT 05751

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King

When two girls from London's River Café move to New York and open a restaurant with white washed walls and wicker chairs, you book a table for the next celebration opportunity. That celebration just so happened to be my birthday.

Going out in Manhattan is a rarity for us Brooklynites. Now that my office is also based in this outer borough, it's rare I even step foot on that little, chaotic, noisy island, let alone go out there in the evening. But, sometimes it's worth stepping over the Brooklyn Bridge to see what's happening amongst all the bright lights.

Serving seasonal, simple food, with influences from both Italy and Southern France, King's daily changing menu is one you can't help but love. The white brick walls and open, brass light-fittings make you feel like you're in London, the woven chairs and white tablecloths transport you to Paris, and then the diamond-wearing women around you and the beautiful linen shirts sported by the front of house remind you that, this evening, you really are in Manhattan. The space is simple, and understated, but the people, service, and food take it up to the next level. Much like The River Café itself.

The short menu is fresh and seasonal. We began with a beautiful, giant, rosemary, salt, and olive oil-coated carta di musica (see top photo), which was handed to us with our cocktails.

Panisse followed. These are essentially chickpea fries. The polenta-like batter is fried until every piece is super crisp on the outside, slightly soft in the middle, and is then coated in salt and sage. All drinks should be accompanied by these salty treats. Ricotta with shaved fennel came next. Creamy ricotta, crisp, herbal fennel, and a splash of bright olive oil transforms these simple ingredients into an elegant dish.

We fought over every strand of pappardelle with pork ragù. Thick strips of fresh al dente pasta with meaty, smushy (not a word, I know) sauce tangled between the pieces made us very happy. I persuaded B to have fish (it was my birthday after all), so we shared the most giant piece of skate. Charred and dark on the outside, the white flesh was almost delicate as it fell off its thick bones.  The greens tossed with mashed anchovies added salty, iron-rich flavors to this stunning fish.

A beautiful slice of walnut tart with a pot of thick cream then came flying towards us. These few bites of sweet, nutty filling, surrounded by the thinnest pastry, and doused in a puddle of cream made the most beautiful ending to a beautiful evening. It was worth the trip over to the other side of the bridge.

King, 18 King Street, New York, NY 10014.

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Tarte Tatin at Great Queen Street

Happy New Year! I hope you all managed to find some time for peace and laughter over the holidays. 

The silence around here is a result of being back in old Blighty for the Christmas week. Any spare moments where the internet was functioning were spent working, and not blogging. But now we are back in wet and cold Brooklyn, and normal life will resume. So now, before the crazy January period begins, I wanted to share a totally non-resolution-focused, totally undetoxing treat we ate the one day we were in London last week.

We nipped into London to celebrate Grandma's 80th birthday with lunch at Great Queen Street. I've written about this Covent Garden gem before, so won't repeat the details, but last time we didn't discover this tarte tatin. But don't worry, almost two years later we now have. And I encourage you to go and eat it sooner than 2019.

The tarte is made for two, and before it's bought to the table, a serving spoon and serrated steak knife are set down between you and your pudding partner. This is a promising sign. What follows is tarte tatin perfection. Layers of buttery puff pastry topped with soft apples, which still just hold their shape, and a deep, dark, grown-up caramel. A melting scoop of calvados ice cream perches on top, to add a boozy, chilling contrast to the sweet, warm, winter-perfect tarte underneath. Forget those New Year's resolutions, head to Great Queen Street, and order tarte tatin. You're worth it.

Great Queen Street, 32 Great Queen Street, London, WC2B 5AA

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Sunken Hundred

Restaurants on Smith Street seem to either open and fizzle out into nothingness in under 5 minutes, or they open and are wildly popular and will be there for the forever future. Despite opening as the first 'Welsh' restaurant anyone in Brooklyn has ever heard of, Sunken Hundred has, since its first day of service earlier this year, managed to achieve the latter status. At 6.30 on a Friday it was already bustling, drinks were being poured, and food was whizzing out the kitchen.

And no, before you ask, the menu isn't just Welsh Rarebit, Glamorgan sausage, and Bara Brith (although they do make an appearance). It's filled with seafood, seaweed-tainted dishes, and warming (necessary both here and in the Welsh countryside), seasonal, vegetable-rich sides and salads. With a drinks order in (one huge glass of red wine, one beer, and one dark rye cocktail), we picked out all the non-shellfish foods on the menu (B is supposedly 'allergic'), and watched them all steadily appear on our table over the evening.

Croquettes were crisp and fishy and perfect dipped in a mustard sauce. Fish churros (described as the most 'Instagram-able' dish on the menu, so obviously we were sold) were genius: all the flavors and textures you want from classic fish and chips in one fried mouthful. A lamb pasty was how pasties should be, with crisp pastry and a flavorful interior — a far cry from the pasty scent which fills most British train stations. The squid was pretty and sweet, while the mushroom salad was earthy and autumnal, and the ffagodau (meatballs on minty peas) are what I'll be eating for the rest of winter

And obviously we ended with pan fried Bara Brith with rum and walnut ice cream. Twice. Because when a group of runners go out together, one dessert between three is simply not enough.

Sunken Hundred strikes the perfect balance between curated, carefully crafted food, comforting, homey dishes, a warm, welcoming atmosphere, and prices that mean this really can become a neighborhood local. 

Sunken Hundred, 276 Smith Street, Brooklyn, NY 11231

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al di la Trattoria

After many, many job applications, long periods of deep, dark silence, a handful of responses, some inspiring networking and meetings, challenging interviews, and finally an offer from the loveliest people working at a soup-er (sorry) wonderful company, we had some relieved 'I found a new job!' celebrating to do. Our initial idea was to follow our normal celebratory routine and head down the block to Rucola, but this excuse for fancier-than-normal meal out seemed too good to not pay a visit to al di la Trattoria, which has been sitting on my list of restaurants to visit for quite a while.

We walked up through Park Slope, planning, discussing, and jumping with excitement about my future life, until we reached the warm, cozy, vaguely disheveled (in a beautiful, European, curated way) restaurant. The specials were recited to us by our quietly charming waiter while we sipped on satisfyingly sizable glasses of Prosecco.

al di la was filled with a refreshing mixture of people. From local Park Slope families, to a very small birthday celebration, to one man sitting alone, quickly slurping through his giant plate of spaghetti, to couples young and old, to joyful groups of friends, everyone from all over the neighborhood was here with the joint mission of seek out some comforting Italian food, perhaps a glass (or two) of wine, and a couple of hours away from home.

We began with a grilled sardine (B is currently obsessed thanks to this tinned sardine experience in the summer) served on some fresh arugula, and a citrusy cavolo nero salad filled with giant croutons, huge shavings of Parmigiano, and a salty anchovy vinaigrette.

After being told we were over-ordering when we initially asked for two pastas, we reeled our pasta-obsession in to have only the tortelli di zucca. I love tortelli di zucca. If I could just eat one dinner for the whole of autumn, it would be this. Delicate parcels of pasta had been filled with sweet pumpkin and creamy mascarpone, and topped with crispy sage and grated parmesan. Pasta is the best.

But we weren't done yet. Next was the day's special which was genuinely all of B's favorite things on one plate. Creamy polenta formed the base, a glazed pork chop sat on top, and buttery Brussels sprouts, more Parmigiano, and a sprinkling of parsley were scattered over the whole plate. It was rich, fatty, salty, crispy here, super soft there, and a perfect example of how polenta really can be wonderful if it's made with enough butter and cheese.

We skipped on dessert (there was still funfetti cake at home), finished off the last few sips of Primitivo, and meandered home through the friendly streets of Park Slope.

al di la Trattoria, 248 5th Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11215

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Emily

When there are friends visiting from out of town another country, we always do our best, as resident Brooklyners, to give them a glimpse into our lives, and show them the places where we love to eat, see, play, and drink. As much as we love a fancy, white tablecloth dinner every now and again, that's not really how we live week-to-week: A night out eating pizza and ice cream is much more typical of our totally healthy, nutritious lifestyle.

For some reason we thought that the line at Emily on a Friday night wouldn't be as bad as the line at Roberta's. I have no idea how we came to this conclusion, but we did. Thankfully, we probably turned out to be right, but not because the line was shorter (there was a 2 hour wait when we arrived), but because some less dedicated pizza addicts cancelled their spot, and we snagged their table.

We gathered everyone together, rushed back from a suddenly cut-short drink at Hot Bird, and were led through the packed tables of this cozy restaurant to a hidden table which was essential in the kitchen aka the best spot in the house. And when I say in the kitchen, I'm not exaggerating: We were so close to that pizza oven that the lovely hostess had to give us a mini spiel (like the one you get when you're sitting in the emergency exit seats on an airplane), about being careful when we stand up, watching out for the handle of the pizza peel which would be jolting back and forth in our direction for the entire evening. If it had been the height of summer, this table may have proved to be a sweaty struggle, but on a crisp October night, this table was the best in the house, especially for four inquisitive, ever hungry cooks and eaters like us. 

Chicken wings and red wine kicked everything off to the tastiest start. The wings were coated in gochujang, served with the thinnest slices of radish, and a mini container of ranch. Extra paper napkins (I'm assuming a hint that we should pretty please not wipe our stained sticky fingers all over the linen ones) and hand wipes were set down too – a sign that these wings were going to be as spicy, sweet, and moreish as we had hoped.

Between us, we ate our way through several pizzas, sharing slices, comparing tasting notes, and declaring each of them amazing. Emily's pizza crusts are wonderfully different from what you'll find in a classic New York 'pie'. They're thin, charred from the wood oven, crisp bottomed, and only slightly puffed, which I think in my heart of hearts I may actually prefer to the doughy, thick Neapolitan style. And not just because it means I can fit more slices into my tummy before I reach explosion point. The Green Esquelto (mozzarella, cotija, zucchini, charred corn, and pepita mayo) was a combination of all the Mexican flavors you can hope for from the freshest, best tacos, but transformed into a spicy, crispy pizza. The daily special (mozzarella, tillage, figs, honey, basil, chile sauce) was sweet, fruity, intensely cheesy, and with a tiny little kick. The Modern (double sauce, double pecorino, herbs, garlic, basil, onion, Szechuan oil, plus pepperoni, because S knows how to order) was perhaps, if we had to choose, the best of the bunch: Everything you crave from a pizza, by which we mean sweet tomato sauce, plenty of melty cheese, a tiny bit of spice, and some perfect, crisp meatiness from the all-star pepperoni. And last but not least was the Luca (sauce, burrata, basil). It sounds so simple, and it was, but it was also a perfect example of a classic: Yes please to dollops of burrata splattered on every pizza I eat from hereon out. Thank you Emily. We'll be back. And we're happy to wait however many hours it takes to eat anything that comes out your pizza oven.

We were all groaning with full pizza bellies, but, being me, I suggested a late night ice cream dessert. And with Ample Hills only a five-minute walk away, and visitors to entertain, you won't be surprised to know that that's where we ended up spending the rest of the night.

Emily, 919 Fulton St, Brooklyn, NY 11238

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Amy Ruth's

I had my first taste of fried chicken and waffles almost two years ago. It was a skeptical first bite, which soon had me grabbing for more waffles, more chicken, and more syrup. So when we found ourselves in Harlem this weekend, a trip to Amy Ruth's was an absolute necessity.

Amy Ruth's is a huge maze of a restaurant. We were led through one room of people, past another packed dining room, by the kitchen, up the stairs, and into another, less full room of hungry, happy, fried chicken eating customers. We were thrown a couple of menus, and the hostess, who as B aptly described 'wasn't exactly full of the charms of spring', left us.

But any lack of charm from our waitress was soon made up for by a much friendlier server bringing us huge cups of iced water, warm cornbread, and melting butter. He took our order (efficiency is not lacking here), and we had pretty much eaten both slices of the sweet, fluffy cornbread, slathered in salty butter of course, before our order had even made it to the kitchen.

B decided he wasn't going to skimp on any part of this experience, so ordered a half-lemonade, half iced tea, which was sickly sweet, wonderfully refreshing, and, had we not been so in need of a big boost of sugar, would probably have led us head first into the strongest of sugar crashes.

Our chicken was soon delivered, and we were faced once again with the reality of astounding American portion sizes. One wonderfully thick waffle was topped with they most humungous fried chicken thigh, served with three extra portions of butter, and a huge bottle of syrup. This made my previous (British) chicken and waffle experience seem rather sad in comparison. It also made my love for this wonderfully unhealthy dish even stronger. 

But we weren't here just for the waffles. When there's an item on the menu called the 'Barack Obama', there was no way we were leaving without having it. A huge side of chicken (it seemed to be the majority of a chicken had been placed whole in the frier, and then put on our plate) had been cooked to juicy, moist, crispy-exterior perfection. It was served with our choice of sides – mac and cheese and collard greens – because we definitely needed some more carbs and fat with this meal, and having some green on one of our plates made us feel slightly healthier. Who am I kidding? The greens were dotted with meat and were salty and delicious, and totally unhealthy too. It was fabulous.

There's nothing apologetic, nothing fancy, and nothing not to love about Amy Ruth's. If you're looking for some proper Southern food, I've not yet found anything better in NYC.

Amy Ruth's, 113 West 116th Street, Harlem, NY 10026

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The Three Horseshoes, Madingley

You may or may not know that my family have always and forever been in the hotel and restaurant business. This probably goes quite far in explaining why I now seem to manage to make a living by talking about everything we eat. Anyway, many moons ago, The Three Horseshoes at Madingley was run, managed, designed, and owned by maman and papa. They since sold it, but it has now boomeranged back into their hands, and they are working night and day to transform what has become a slightly out of control, dilapidated space, back to its former glory. Unsurprisingly, they are doing a magical job.

Last Wednesday lunchtime, the sun came out and we all filled a colorful picnic bench in the green garden behind the thatched roof restaurant. We had yoga in the evening, so no drinking was allowed, but we made up for it imbibing our annual allowance of San Pellegrino in one fell swoop. To accompany the water were squares of rosemary focaccia, dipped in zingy olive oil, and citrusy, nutty Sicilian Nocellara olives.

We then all shared one of the most simple yet flavor-packed dishes I've eaten in a long time: A tin of swanky sardines served with toasted sourdough and a spoonful of paprika. The idea is that you recreate the classic, ever-reliable, well-loved meal of sardines on toast. Sometimes simplicity is best, and you really can't go wrong by starting your meal like this.

We then ordered a large portion of the menu, and the typical Hoskins-family rigorous tasting of everybody else's plate of food commenced. An elegant crab brik (spelling mistake intentional) was crunchy and crisp on the outside, and revealed a perfectly spiced, seafood interior.

Peaches and prosciutto was as perfect a summer lunch as you are currently imagining. Grilled sweet peaches, salty prosciutto, and purple basil created a real taste of Italian summer enjoyed in a British garden.

Corn and baby mushroom tagliatelle was doused in a beautiful amount of butter, coated with herbs, and scattered with soft cheese. The combination of crunchy summer corn, al dente strands of pasta, salty cheese, fresh herbs, woody mushrooms, and rich butter combined a range of flavors and textures to create an incredibly addictive and more-ish meal.

Giant couscous salad with fresh peas, broad beans, pea shoots, sunflower seeds, parsley, mint, and edible flowers was as tasty as it was pretty: Instagram fodder with plenty of flavor supporting it.

We finished our leisurely weekday lunch sitting in the deck chairs sipping on espresso and trying to resist eating too many of these gorgeous, giant, dark chocolate truffles. If only every Wednesday afternoon could be spent this way.

The Three Horseshoes, High Street, Madingley, Cambridge, CB23 8AB

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