Tag Archives: spanish

Chorizo Sandwich at Brindisa

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The chorizo sandwich at Brindisa is one of the few Chowdown Showdown dishes that I happened to have eaten before embarking on this quest. Rather than being located in a restaurant, it’s served from a small kiosk attached to Brindisa’s shop in Borough Market (rather than Tapas Brindisa, their sit-in eatery). There tends to be a long queue, and many’s the time when I’ve been in Borough Market and vacillated between this sandwich and Kappacasein’s oozing raclette or sublime cheese toastie. Invariably I go for one of the cheese options (and it never disappoints!). So, having a good reason to go back and have the chorizo was excellent, and I’m pleased to say I didn’t shirk my duties!

“It’s even less imaginable that anyone would be crazy enough to fiddle with the formula!”

The thing about chorizo is that it’s so good at making just about anything better – toss in stews to add a little fatty heat; mix into you burger meat; add, along with brandy and manchego to make an excellent chicken dish (which I’ll put up a recipe for sometime!) – that it’s easy never to give it a chance to take centre-stage. And what’s a delight about this dish is that it really gives chorizo (and presumably Brindisa is offering some of the best examples of this sausage in the country) a chance to shine. Some bitter rocket plays off the sharpness of the chorizo, and a slice of char-grilled red pepper complements the heavy paprika in the meat. The sausage itself starts bitter, and almost shocking in its sourness, before giving way to a mellower, warm, nutty flavour, that is indulgent but not too drip-down-your-front greasy.

It’s easy to see the reason for the long queues that are always present at peak times (and when isn’t peak time in Borough Market?). I’m sure there are people who find it hard to wait for the Fridays and Saturdays when the stall is there! The sandwich really does seem a perfect example of the form, and it’s hard to see any alterations that would improve it. It’s even less imaginable that anyone would be crazy enough to fiddle with the formula!

You can get the sandwiches in either a single or double, with one chorizo, simply cut lengthways, and a single pepper, or two of each. I’d advise getting the single. But only because, if you’re particularly greedy, or have someone to share it with, you’ll have space to manage a cheese toastie as well!

Grilled Pork at Eyre Brothers

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We arrive at Eyre Brothers with really high hopes.

“I’m still convinced that Iberico pork is in a whole different league”

For me, ‘grilled pork’ at a place called ‘Eyre brothers’ had conjured up an image of a stuffy old-time city steakhouse with besuited middle-aged salarymen chomping down on expensive expense-account lunches. On looking at the website, therefore, I was very pleasantly surprised that, in spite of the name, Eyre Brothers is actually a Spanish restaurant – in fact, another in a run of tapas joints on Time Out’s list. And the grilled pork? Not a slab of Germanic gristle, but an Iberico pork steak, of the sort that at Fino I struggled to believe had not come from a cow. So expectations were raised.

I’m still convinced that Iberico pork is in a whole different league, and as succulent, tender and delicious as the best beef steak. I’m still convinced it must be cooked rare, and needs minimal seasoning. The trouble was, that’s as far as they seem to go at Eyre Brothers. Sure, people – including me – frequently demand that chefs don’t get in the way of letting their first-rate ingredients shine. As a tapa nestled among a tableful of other tasty morsel, simply-grilled pork would be outstanding. But costing £21 served atop some fried sliced potatoes? It left me a little cold. Everything it had going for it was the deliciousness of one ingredient, which tells me more about the restaurant’s shopping-strategies than the chef.

Maybe I’m just not an (expensive) steak and chips guy, or maybe I had set the bar too high. Or maybe I just love tapas too much to go to a Spanish restaurant and settle for a single large dish, no matter how delicious the central element is.

Charcuterie at The Bull and Last

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Charcuterie platters. They’re like tapas, right, but where you don’t get any choice, and they just serve you meat and, unless you’re very unlucky, a few chutneys and/or pickles? Actually, this is as much the reason why I tend to have a good time when I order these as why I never do so: because you get a whopping pile of tasty, salty, fatty meat, in a whole variety of guises. So I dove into the opportunity to head to Highgate (gastro-) pub The Bull and Last, visiting with Rachael and my parents.

“My theory was that watermelon pickle wouldn’t work”

The wooden board at The Bull and Last held products from a wider range of animals than you’d normally expect from a typically pig-heavy cuisine. Instead of the usual ham and chorizo and more ham offering, we found duck prosciutto – thin, delicately dried strips that genuinely sat somewhere between duck breast and bacon; chicken liver parfait (okay, it’s never going to be my favourite, but it certainly packed a creamy, indulgent punch – in exactly the way that means I find it a bit creepy and unpleasant); ham hock terrine was spreadable, but in a chunky way that didn’t lose all texture; duck rillettes were stringy and fibrous in just the right to-the-teeth fashion; pig’s head was rendered down into almost a croquette; chutneys and mini-pickles cut through the fatty mass of meat, though the perfunctory rocket salad was pretty bland and didn’t add much.

I was sneaky enough to ask if I could have some of the watermelon pickle that was an accompaniment to another dish. My theory was that watermelon pickle wouldn’t work. I contend that I was right, though Rachael and my parents were a little more generous and felt it was ‘interesting’. We all know what that means.

The selection was well-chosen, and a little different, and the thought that went into the creation and presentation of the whole menu shone through. This creativity was especially apparent in the desserts, particularly my pain perdu with hazelnut cream and a (yes, I’m cheeky) substituted-in (but correctly!) Ferrero Rocher ice-cream. Rachael’s Kernal Stout ice-cream, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly to my taste.

Overall, I’m game for trying more of the menu. You won’t even have to twist my arm!

Classic Tortilla at Barrafina

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There are some meals that break you. Of course, there are those so revolting, or so chaotic, that you end up exasperated and miserable. But others break you because they’re so good, so spectacular from both a culinary and experiential perspective, that you’re pretty sure your eating-life will never be the same again.

“Often the selected dish in the Time Out top 100 hasn’t been quite up to scratch”

This was one of those meals that broke me by being Just. So. Damn. Good.

James happened to me in town, so we made use of the fact that whenever he comes along we have a great Chowdown Showdown, and this was no exception. The highlights of the meal were so many it’s hard to even list them. Impeccable tuna tartare with a fresh avocado salsa. Tender squid on a spicy passata. A cheese fritter which oozed and delighted in equal measure. Indulgent pata negra (which we plotted how to steal). The black pudding was rich and not exactly to my taste, but James and Rachael practically fought over who got to devour the last morsel.

And every dish was presented like a work of art, feeding the eyes first, though definitely not  beautiful in a way that made us consider for a moment not diving right in.

So – the tortilla? Often the selected dish in the Time Out top 100 hasn’t been quite up to scratch when compared to others on offer in the relevant establishment. It’s also true that tortilla is never going to be the most complex dish, or allow chefs to show off and demonstrate the full range of their abilities. But this tortilla is a delight. We tried a classic version, plus one with ham and spinach. Both divulged a flow of rich, yolky flavour on being cut, delivering an instant aroma that the perfect, browned discs hid with their humble exterior.

“There are some meals that break you”

The flavour emphasised eggs (obviously), but in a way that showed just how good these miracles of nature can be when they’re allowed to take centre stage and not cooked till bouncy – in fact this is a dish as much about feel on the tongue as flavour. The ham and spinach match the rich, indulgent fattiness of the eggs, rather than trying to steal the limelight.

You’d be disappointed if you only ate tortilla at a restaurant that offers such a variety of spectacular colours, shapes and tastes. But I’d argue you’d be missing out if you didn’t have at least one small plate of this delicious, if simple, complement to any tapas meal.

Malaga raisin ice-cream with Pedro Ximenez sherry at Morito

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Don’t make the mistake we did! On reading Time Out’s listing for what to eat at Morito, we misinterpreted the “Malaga raisin ice cream with Pedro Ximenez sherry” as a cheeky demand on the magazine’s part for us to construct our own hybrid dessert by ordering sherry to accompany our ice cream.

“In actual fact, it wasn’t such a bad error to make!”

On tasting the sherry it was clear that this was a pudding in itself (in a way I’ve never before appreciated of a ‘dessert wine’) – super-sweet and with an amazing raisin taste which surprised me with how little it tasted of fresh grapes. When the ice cream arrived – or rather was scooped into bowls and had a thick red-brown liquid poured over it (should I say ‘constructed’?), we realised our mistake! In actual fact, it wasn’t such a bad error to make!

And then, something extraordinary happened. After the first mouthful Rachael uttered the words ‘this is in the top ten’. Completely matter-of-fact, completely unprompted.

The ice cream was a relatively straightforward, simple offer, with a light vanilla punctuated by the punch of Malaga raisins. Complexity, richness, a shaper edge, and, frankly, a lot more sweetness was added from the shot of sherry poured over.

I don’t really rate rum and raisin as an ice cream flavour, but this raisin and sherry I could certainly get used to. In fact, this is a great dessert I might make at home, for those times when I have an elaborate starter and main and want a simple sweet as much for my cooking sanity as to avoid overpowering guests’ palates. Vital to get really good quality ice cream and a top notch (sweet!) sherry. I’ll definitely try it!

12/100 of Time Out’s recommended list

Goats’ cheese stuffed courgette flowers with lavender honey at Salt Yard

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This is a relatively straightforward dish, as the picture probably suggests. Courgette flowers are stuffed with tangy goats’ cheese, deep fried in the lightest of batters and drizzled (very generously) with aromatic lavender honey. Simple ingredients, but a really tasty result.

“They’re a bit of theatre and the chefs know how to play it”

Well, I say simple ingredients, but flowers rather than fruit bodies of courgette are no doubt pretty exotic. You couldn’t easily see these yellow beauties, and I was surprised (pleasantly it turns out) that they were cooked with quite a length of stalk which helped the dish stand up to the mellow but robust flavour of the oozing cheese, and gave a lovely crunchy bite to go with the crispy batter and flower.

The honey was sweet, obviously, but also almost spicy in its aromaticness. Together it amounted to an ethereal offering which is deservedly a signature dish for Salt Yard.

Courgette flowers are never going to fill you up, and I can’t honestly promise that the petals themselves add much to the dish, but they’re a bit of theatre and the chefs know how to play it. 

I’ve been told off for going on about other dishes not part of the Chowdown Showdown Londontown challenge, so here are some pictures to tantalise you of the other dishes on offer, with no additional commentary…

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24/100 best dishes in London

Baby Gem Salad with Anchovies and Pancetta at Fino

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“How good can a salad be?”

It seemed a bit rich coming from Rachael who’d expressed horror at Tom’s asking ‘How good can a doughnut be?’ of St John Bakery’s top 100 option. But sure enough, that’s what she asked when hoping for an explanation of the dish she admitted having low hopes about. Perhaps it was low expectations, but she ate her words with her lettuce!

Crunchy. That’s the main selling point of good baby gem lettuce. It offers a crisp taste in an onomatopoeic physical form.

“Eating this felt a bit like following Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s Three Good Things“

Salty, with depth. Anchovies offer that umami richness alongside a salty bitterness that contrasts well with the crisp lettuce.

Salty, with bite. Pancetta (in crispy-bacon form) completed the dish with a velvety, indulgent, fatty bite that didn’t punch too strongly and obliterate the other flavours, but melted into them.

Okay, so eating this felt a bit like following Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s Three Good Things (high, commercial) concept, in which you put together three main ingredients which complement one another and forget about the other twenty ingredients Ottolenghi (for example) wants you to pile on. And, to be fair, he’s probably onto something: this dish is simple, yet surprising. I found myself actively trying to get a little of each flavour onto every forkful, and they did match well.

If anything – and this obviously isn’t a criticism – the only thing that meant I didn’t come away shouting about this salad was that the other dishes (Fino is new to me) were equally delicious and faultlessly executed. Chorizo Tortilla oozed softly-done yolks. And I couldn’t believe the Presa Iberica wasn’t beef steak – a revelation.

I have a bit of a fear that, somewhere down the line when I’m trying to squeeze in and shuffle round later dishes, I’ll want to drop this down the rankings because I’ll have lost its immediacy and think ‘How good can a salad be?’ This here is a note to remind myself that I shouldn’t: it was delicious.

26/100 best dishes in London