Former auction specialist turned antiques dealer, amateur cook and second-hand book obsessive, Luke Honey has been writing The Greasy Spoon blog since 2007: a personal, unashamedly nostalgic and sometimes irreverent take on the link between food and culture. He lives in London with his wife and book-munching whippet. Current enthusiasms include the food of the American South and London Dry Gin.
Another terrific reprint. This time it's Picnics by Claudia Roden, first published by Jill Norman in 1981. For some reason, food writers seem to have avoided the subject, which in some ways, seems surprising. This one fills a gap in the market.
The book's very much an international affair; an erudite and idiosyncratic discource on picnics, and the art of picnicking. As Claudia Roden says in her introduction: "Everything tastes better outdoors." Picnics is published by Grub Street, priced at £14.99.
Gooseberries are the most English of fruit, although for some reason it's becoming incredibly hard to find any for sale here in London. The season is just about coming to an end. I had been meaning to make Gooseberry Gin for ages, but, typically, had never got around to it until last weekend, when I managed to track down a packet of frozen gooseberries from the wonderfully helpful Wholefoods in Kensington High Street.
Gooseberry Gin is a flavoured, gin-based liqueur, made in a similar way to the much-loved, traditional Winter tipple, Sloe Gin. I find that freezing the fruit helps to break them down- which, as you want the sugars and juices to be released- is a good thing.
Making the gin was straightforward. I bought a standard large bottle of Sainsbury's home-brand gin (actually distilled by Greenall's, so it's more than all right). I smashed up the thawed green gooseberries with a wooden mallet and filled an empty glass bottle (an ex-olive oil bottle with one of those plastic swing corks) with the gooseberries- about half way up. I poured granulated white sugar into the bottle- about a third way up. I topped up the bottle with the Sainsbury's gin, and finished it off with a few teaspoons of concentrated organic Belvoir Elderflower Cordial. I shook it up. The gin turned a lovely light greeney-grey Eau de Nil colour. I need to carry on shaking the bottle every day for about two weeks, and then it's going into the dark, cool(ish) cellar for six months or so.
I've had a sneaky taste already, and it's looking good. Very floral, very grassy, masses of tart grapefruit, similar in a way to those lovely grassy, summery tastes you get in a decent Sauvignon Blanc. I think it's going to be excellent as a summer liqueur in its own right, or perhaps, as an alternative to the standard gin and tonic. I like the idea of offering guests a Gooseberry Gin & Tonic.
The photograph comes from an inspirational Scottish deli called Demijohn in Edinburgh. This sort of thing really turns me on. It looks a bit like an apothecary in a monastary. Love the white painted brick walls. The only thing lacking is chanted plain song in the background. They sell all manner of home-made liqueurs, steeped vinegars, balsamics, whiskies, scented oils- the lot.
tu vuoi vivere alla modama se bevi whisky and soda
po' te sente 'e disturbà"
Ah yes, the Americano. The cocktail was first served at the Caffè Campari in the 1860s. Its original name was the "Milano-Torino". Campari is made in Milan, and Cinzano, the vermouth, is made in Turin. Anyway, the story goes that the drink became popular with rich American tourists who flocked to Italy during the Prohibition Era. Hence the name "Americano".
Making one is easy enough: Into a high glass filled with ice, pour one part Campari to one part red vermouth (Cinzano Rosso), and top off with one part club soda. Garnish with a slice of orange, or a twist of orange peel.
It turns out that none other than our old friend, Mister Bond, was a reluctant connoisseur of the Americano: "No, in cafés you have to drink the least offensive of the musical comedy drinks that go with them, and Bond always had the same thing, an Americano.” (From a View to a Kill, 1960). Very Ian Fleming.
One of the most beautiful- and glamorous- restaurant interiors in London. Slightly shabby, a touch frayed at the edges (a faded velveteen quality) understated, grand, utterly grown up; like a time-warp from the 1950's: what a proper restaurant should look like. Odin's boasts a serious art collection- many pictures, apparently, bought on the advice of Brian Sewell when the Modern British art market was going for a song. This is very much my sort of thing: William Nicholson, R.B. Kitaj, Patrick Procktor, David Hockney; all mixed up with obscure Edwardian and 20th century British artists such as Alfred Hayward. There's a massive and fabulous Laura Knight by the front door. Peter Langan took over the restaurant in 1967. Desparately fashionable back then, serving nursery food to le gratin, it's now very much off the beaten track.
Not so long ago, there was a suave maitre d' in a dark grey double-breasted suit to lead you to your table and spread your napkin on your lap; although recently this appealing trait seems to have vanished; the food- to be frank- is not up to much either (thinking about it, if Odin's suddenly upped its game and served fabulous food, it really would be heaven on earth) but I really don't want to spoil my post. Odin's still remains- and will remain- one of my favourite London restaurants. I will be extremely grumpy if it closes.
Two new cookery books hot off the presses: Polpo, a Venetian Cookbook (Of Sorts) by Russell Norman, and a reprint of Arabella Boxer's English Food in hardback.
One of the things I find exciting about this country is our excellence in book design. And what a beautiful thing is Russell Norman's Polpo. The design and typography are exquisite; Bloomsbury have done something clever with the spine (it's just the edges of the paper, sewn- if that makes sense), so that the book lies completely flat when open. The paper is creamy and smooth. The typeface is elegant. The photography is evocative. The book even smells right.
For those of you more interested in the food, Polpo is based on the recipes used in Russell Norman's successful London restaurants. I've got a thing about Venetian food. Not that awful trat stuff you get near St Marks' Square, but the genuine, regional cooking you'll find in out of the way restaurants like the wonderful Corte Sconta or in standup working men's bars tucked away down sinister alleyways. We're talking about Warm Squid Salad with Cavolo Nero and Chickpeas, Broad Bean, Mint & Ricotta Bruschette, Grilled Fennel & White Anchovy Skewers, Chopped Chicken Liver Crostini. Polpo, a Venetian Cookbook of Sorts is published by Bloomsbury and is priced at twenty five pounds.
Another recent publication which caught my eye is a reprint of Arabella Boxer's classic Book of English Food (published by Fig Tree/Penguin in hardback, and priced at £20). It's another sumptuous effort of high quality, with a fabulous Art Nouveau dustjacket, sumptious creamy paper and a decent typeface. The book was first published back in 1991. I've got a Penguin paperback edition, which I seem to remember cost me an arm and a leg second hand. Lady Arabella's book is a terrific read, and covers Country House and restaurant food of the 1920's and 30's. It's a gem.
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