Silverbrow on Food

Osteria del Tempo Perso ****

It has to be said that despite the rave reviews I'd heard about the food in Puglia, some of it was appalling.  One dinner in particular I was thorougly peeved about.  We were in Ostuni, having already eaten once at Osteria del Tempo Perso and thought we'd try somewhere different.  This was a big mistake.  Instead of a delicious meal of simple ingredients of the best quality put together with care, we were served tourist pap that centred around a medieval theme.  I am ashamed to be so open here about this experience, especially when I mention that apart from the menu in Italian they also had one in French (although thankfully not in German or English).  In my defence the French menu and the medieval theme were not advertised, or obvious when we walked in.  Anyway, suffice to say this was deeply disappointing, especially when we knew that del Tempo Perso was less than 100m away.

Our one and only meal at del Tempo Perso was on our second night in Italy (the first night's dinner being a late-night pizza in Fasano) and I was ready to taste Italy's finest.  Because it had been Shavuot the previous two days, we needed to wait until Yom Tov was out and therefore we didn't get out until late and being still on stuck-up British time, we couldn't face a full meal at 10pm so opted for two courses.  Along with never having done a PhD, I regret this. 

The 15-dish antipasti menu looked astounding, the Polpette di Pane e Menta or Fiori di Zucca fritti in Pastella ensured much mouth watering.  But with cozze (mussels) included in the antipasti, we thought we'd better stick to the slightly less treyf primi piatti. Seeing bits and bobs of the 15 antipasti coming out to tables only compounded my conviction that I was to be the only visitor ever to Puglia not to have a decent meal.  Thankfully, at about that point our Maccheroncini freschi alla Crudaiola con Ricotta Salata and Fazzoletti di Ricotta con Pomodoro fresco e Basilico arrived at the table. 

Neither dish is that hard to translate, but you would be sorely incorrect if you mistook the former for mac 'n cheese. Crudaiola is basically chopped raw vegetables (think crudites) and in this case was simply sliced cherry tomatoes and some garlic. This dish was sublime. The tomatoes were so sweet, the garlic adding a bit of depth and the ricotta providing a contrast in textures. I would have been happy to have eaten that every meal for the rest of the holiday. The fazoletti was a bit like cannelloni, but frankly this does them a disservice. The were stuffed full with the mildest, crumbliest ricotta and the tomato sauce was fresher and zestier than Bill Clinton with a Cohiba.

The fantastic food is all well and good, but I shouldn't forget about the room. I did find the wall hangings of agricultural equipment and religious icons slightly incongruous, but possibly they were there to remind you of the dual binds in this part of Italy. The other strange thing is that in fact there are two Osteria del Tempo Perso's, one either side of the kitchen. I'm not sure what the significance is of which dining room one is in, we simply walked into the one we first came upon. Anyway, the food comes out of the same kitchen so there shouldn't be too much of an issue.

The restaurant itself is located in the back streets of the beautiful Ostuni, which with its wiggling streets and dim street lighting reminded me of Venice (although being several hundred metres above sea level it lacks the lido and canals). You do need to keep your eyes open when walking to the restaurant as there are signs and without them you'll be lost in the Labyrinth and might well come across the Minotaur.

Back to the food. For dessert we asked for a bowl of the cherries that we'd spotted sitting in an enormous bowl. We also had a plate of Pecorino semistagionato di Masseria, which for those with a lingual bent will know is an aged Pecorina (di Masseria, meaning “of the masseria/farm”). This was served with a fantastic, zingy orange marmalade. The cherries, were slightly disappointing, not as sweet as I'd hoped, I've just had some from M&S that dare I say it tasted better. The cheese was another matter, it was sufficiently stinky on the nose but subtle on the tongue. The marmalade added a bit of freshness and made it all a bit lighter.

Overall a great meal that set the bar particularly high for the rest of the holiday. It was a shame that not all of the meals lived up to it, but those that did were something special. The only reason I've given it a four, rather than five-star rating is because I was miffed that the antipasti was so long and therefore ruled it out for us, but frankly this was our fault for being up-tight Brits rather than getting into the Italian groove a bit earlier in our holiday.

Osteria del Tempo Perso, via Gaetano Tanzarella Vitale 47, Ostuni, 72017, Italy
Tel: +39 0831 303 320

What others think
Conde Nast Traveller - Even they rub in the fact I didn't have the antipasti
The Independent - Yet more on the pleasures of the antipasti

A week in Puglia

I've just returned from Puglia and don't have the time at the moment to give the full run down of where we went and what we ate but some quick initial observations are:

• The area where we were (nr Fasano) was far more industrialised than I had expected and so it took a bit more searching to find places that were out of the way.
• I've read lots of things saying that Puglia is the next hot destination, which is worrying because given the number of tourists that were there when we went it will be mobbed.  PLEASE, PLEASE, don't let it turn into the next Tuscany or heaven forbid, the next Marbella.
• It's a fantastic place for vegetarians or rather those of us who are picky about where we eat our meat.
• You aren't assured of great food (blame the tourists) but when you get it, it knocks your socks off.
• You can't see it all in a week - another visit is definitely necessary.

Highlights on the stomach filling front were:

1. The first thing I ate at our hotel, Borgo San Marco: a salad of tomatoes, artichoke hearts and olive oil. 
2. Dinner any night at BSM cooked by Peppino, who's voice at least meant he could have doubled for Barry White.  He is also one of Italy's nattiest dressers.
3. Lunch at Alle due Corti in Lecce.
4. The market at Alberobello, just a shame about all the tourist tat around the market.
5. Dinner at Osteria del Tempo Perso in Ostuni.
6. Any meal that included a tomato.

I'll come back and add more flesh to these bones, just give me a couple of days to open the post.

L'Atelier du Joël Robuchon *****

I decided I couldn't go to Paris and not at least have one meal at a great restaurant, my problem was that I didn't have much time so I needed somewhere quick.  Joël Robuchon's restaurant is famed for its bar-stool seating and small tasting plates, it therefore seemed to fit the bill ideally.  Plus, because I had to check in at Charles de Gaulle by 8pm I guessed I wouldn't need to book if I turned up at the restaurant at 6.30pm.

There were several striking things when I walked in, and only the dark wood design was related to the restaurant.  The other things related to the customers.  With the sole exception of me, everyone in there was American, in their sixties and looking very confused.  The menu seemed to throw them and they were perplexed how they were supposed to eat at a bar rather than at a table - this is France after all, home of haute cuisine.  One couple went so far as to complain to me that it was bar-stools rather than tables.  The staff were excellent, with unlimited patience when dealing with ridiculous questions and requests - the best being the man next to me, who when offered the sublime mashed potatoes, looked horrified and said he'd eat anything except potato.  Paris is not the place for the Atkins diet. 

One more point on the staff, apart from being patient they are extremely accommodating.  Initially I was sat in the only one of four seats that isn't at the bar but looks out onto the street.  They assured me that if a booking failed to turn up they would move me, they were as good as their word, I was soon moved to a plum position at the bar.

I hadn't realised that there is more to the menu than the small tasting plates, with larger main courses also being offered as well as a menu degustation.  Because I was in such a hurry, I stuck with the tasting plates.  The waiter recommended three to make up a fair sized meal, so I went for five: anchovies; gazpacho; l'ouef cocotte; legumes confits and of course mashed potatoes.  This was washed down with a glass of 2002 Mâcon les Combettes and a bottle of finest Evian. 

I can only give simple descriptions because however flowery my language I won't do the meal justice.  Everything was simple, uncomplicated and delicious, the best ingredients cooked with minute care. 

The presentation of the anchovies reminded me of a game of noughts and crosses.  The anchovies were laid out on the plate, side-by-side, each anchovy separated from the next by a thin sliver of marinated red pepper.  Either side of the five or six fillets was a large X of what I think was a salsa verde.  Very pungent and a good foil to the vinegary (but not face alteringly sour) anchovies.

The gazpacho (or as they spell it gaspacho) was intensely tomatoey, with just the right garlic hit.  The three drops of olive oil sitting on the soup thinned it out nicely.  The one thing that was slightly strange was that I could have sworn that I tasted Worcestershire sauce, which frankly wasn't the most pleasant thing.

L'ouef cocotte was something new to me, which was why I'd ordered it.  It came in a martini glass and looked like a glass of milk with a few brown bits floating in it.  The brown bits were girolles that when eaten with the cream and the soft egg, hiding in the middle, together made a delicious, nursery food feel, but with a strong salty undercurrent giving it that grown-up slug.  Not a hug in a mug, more a bear hug in a martini glass.

Salt seemed to be a bit of a theme as the mashed potatoes were pretty salty as well, but this balanced out the creaminess perfectly.  The only downside to the mashed potatoes is that for the rest of my life I'll strive to make potatoes tasting like this and these potato perfections will no doubt be elusive.

The mille-feuille of confit vegetables was good, the tomatoes especially stood out - the most tomatoey tomatoes I've tasted outside of Italy.  But it has to be said, this was the one let down of the meal for me, although that could have been because I knew it was coming to an end and I would soon be flying home, rather than the unexciting combination of tomato, aubergine and mozzarella. 

As I keep saying, it was a great meal that I thoroughly enjoyed, you just need to get your head round the concept of small plates of food, no structured courses and eating at a bar - all very un-French and from the confusion of my fellow diners, un-American too it would seem.

L'Atelier du Joël Robuchon, 5 rue de Montalembert, 75007, Paris, France
Tel: +33 (0)1 42 22 56 56
Google Earth

What others think
New York Times - The most exciting restaurant in Paris

Sore feet, sunny Paris

Talk about wearing out shoe leather.  Having spent yesterday from 8am until 8pm trudging around Paris my feet were and still are killing me.  I accept I may not have chosen the right footwear, but somehow I felt that wearing a pair of trainers wouldn't quite cut the mustard.  The payoff for not looking like a tourist from Louisiana was that I was in agony from lunchtime onwards.

My trip to Paris was primarily to get hold of some decent charcuterie, which I'm pleased to say I did and managed to smuggle it back into the UK without getting caught or going to prison.  I also managed to eat and drink my way through the City and as such returned home fully sated.

I got a flight in time for breakfast and my first stop was at Maison Kayser just off bvd St Germain.  Following a café au lait, a brioche aux raisins et noix, and a pain au raisin I was back on the streets.  I must say that although the brioche and pain au raisin were excellent somehow neither managed to hit the spot.  I was hoping for something a bit more buttery (I should have gone for a croissant) and with a bit more depth that I felt these lacked.  That's not to say they weren't delicious, it was just that I was looking for that little bit more.

Suitably fortified I headed back out to brave the tourists when the urge for a toilet meant that all other plans were put on hold.  I don't want this post to end up in the gutter but it is worth noting that it is hard to find a clean loo in Paris.  Anyway, I snuck into quite a nice hotel by the Louvre and made full use of their facilities.  Somewhat more comfortable, I was able to undertake the main task of the day and headed to the Marais. 

The Marais is an unusual place because not only is it historically the old Jewish area, but it has become the gay quarter as well.  You therefore get the rather odd sight of Hassidic Jews walking down the same streets as skimpily dressed young men holding hands.  I'm not sure whether it's a consequence of this combination but it is an exceptionally vibrant part of Paris.  The Jewish part of the Marais now only takes up a few streets centred around the rue des Rosiers.  Along des Rosiers there are several Jewish book shops, bakers and restaurants.  Having scoped out a few of the butchers I chose to buy my meat from Rene Panzer.  The deciding factor being the large keg of cucumbers that were being pickled by the front door.  Seeing it, reminded me of stories my grandmother used to tell me of her family pickling their own vegetables, and for that memory I felt the boucherie to be worthy of my custom.  It also helped that they let me try virtually everything in the shop before I bought.

I ended up buying a terrine of foie gras; chorizo; goose fat sausage; duck paté and a few slices of a beef saucissons.  I haven't yet tasted the foie gras but have eaten all of the others.  The chorizo is good, with a thick meaty consistency and a lingering but by no means overpowering spiciness.  The paté is sublime, thoroughly creamy and takes me back to the days before I kept kosher when it was easy buying decent paté.  I have no idea how they make kosher stuff taste this good, but I intend to find out.  The quality and selection in France only reinforces my utter confusion as to why in the UK the kosher shopper puts up with such limited and poor quality.  Oh, and of course I had to have one of the pickled cucumbers.

Despite having been fed by the nice lady in the boucherie I decided it would be rude not to have some lunch, so I had a lamb kebab at Mivami, a schwarma place on des Rosiers.  It was nothing spectacular, but was good and filled a rapidly diminishing hole.

After lunch, in a nod to culture, rather than food, I visited an exhibition at the Hôtel de Ville about the Jews in the Marais.  Although it was all in French, the old photos were fascinating and one didn't need a translator to understand about the impact of the Vichy government, who were eager and willing agents of the Gestapo.  That once again Jews are afraid to walk in the street in Paris is a sad indictment and shows how short memories can be.

It seems trite to say it but by this stage my feet were causing me real discomfort so after lunch I decided to sit down and watch Paris go by me so I in the course of three hours I spent the afternoon sipping an espresso in the Marais, having a beer in the 1er and drinking a cup of Ceylon a few doors down from Poilâne.  This was all in preparation for my dinner at L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon.  I'll save the stories of that for another post but suffice to say it ended off a day of gluttony perfectly.

The Soul of a Chef

I've just finished reading Michael Ruhlman's The Soul of a Chef and I was struck by the mindset that seems to be required of Thomas Keller, Brian Polcyn and Michael Symon, the chefs in the book.  It goes without saying they're all perfectionists in their own way and each of them regards the smallest element of the cooking process, let alone the ingredients, are crucial to the final plated dish, with Keller taking this to its extremes. 

However, I wonder to what extent the home cook can learn from this: is there a Soul of a Cook?  I don't mean the type of person who nukes a ready meal for two minutes and calls that cooking.  I mean the type of person who loves cooking, loves ingredients and loves seeing others getting great pleasure from their food, but who confine themselves to home - do these people need to know what it feels like to kill a rabbit, in order to get the most out of it?  I'm not sure that a home cook could ever quite reach these sorts of levels because if they did, I assume they'd quickly move out of the home and into the restaurant.  However, I was thinking recently that people are far too squeamish about what they eat and with the demise of butchers and other suppliers rarely see any more of a dead animal or fish than what is wrapped in a polystyrene tray.  It seems a bit unfair on the animals we eat that we don't understand more about them and the process by which they're slaughtered.  The only problem is that too learn more we'd need to go and have a look at the abattoirs and I wonder how many would be happy to have Joe Shmo, or Silverbrow, wandering around asking questions?

Ruhlman M, 2001, The Soul of a Chef: The Journey Toward Perfection, Penguin (ISBN: 0141001895)

Not so tight buns

Friday was spent cooking, the weekend was spent eating.  Through the day I managed to make some more sausages, bake some chelsea buns, roast a chicken and work-up a marinade for a barbecue.  However, it's the buns I want to focus on.  I've made a few of Dan Lepard's recipes but none of the sweet items, and frankly the chelsea buns looked the best so I went for them.

Cutting to the chase: they tasted great and were easy to make.  I slightly mucked things up by managing to set them in baking tray the wrong way round, they're supposed to sit with the cut side up, like a pain au raisin, instead I put them in with the cut side being on the side, so they looked a bit more like a pain au chocolat.  Other than that they were great, next time though they'll spend a bit less time in the oven.  I followed Dan's recipe and used my oven thermometer but still they came out a bit too brown.  My only other comment would be my ineptitude at dredging the sugar in the final part of the recipe.  Because I drenched rather dredged, they ended up being pretty sugary, especially when I topped off the buns with the sugar glaze.  By not dredging properly the buns ended up not looking quite as good as they should have, instead they looked like there were patches of wet sugar sitting underneath the glaze.  Something to be more careful next time and that next time shouldn't be too long, when something tastes this good, even when it's done badly, you know you're on to a good thing.