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Marco_Polo

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Posts posted by Marco_Polo

  1. What do these wine go for in the UK?

    Hi Craig, I don't have the exact prices for these wines as they were sent to me as samples. However, generally Prosecco is available here for under a tenner with good wines at around the £7.50 mark. Remember, here fully sparkling wines attract outrageously high duty coupled with 17.5% VAT (I think the duty alone works out at something like £1.70 per bottle). Frizzante Prosecco (with corks sometimes 'tied' down with string in the rustic manner) can be considerably cheaper, not least because of the lesser duty. There is also plenty of horribly cheap and nasty stuff sloshing around.

    Marc

  2. Hi Craig, thanks for the reminder of what an enjoyable wine Prosecco can be. I adore it! It is a gorgeous wine and you are quite right, charm and easy drinking is what it is all about. The grape has a soft, creamy fruit that is most attractive and the charmat method of secondary fermentation definitely preserves and possibly enhances something of its delicate pear-drop fragrance. Prosecco seems at its best with just a touch of sweetness, a sparkling wine that is mercifully never overly aggressive or acidic. Here are some recent tasting notes:

    Prosecco Carpenè Malvolti Pale, fine mousse, luscious melony nose and deliciously creamy fruit: this well-made Prosecco from the zone’s leading winery is something of a benchmark.

    Prosecco Carpenè Malvolti Cuvée Brut Very fresh and fragrant; a little yeasty, invigoratingly crisp and zingy with a nice citrus finish.

    Prosecco Santo Stefano Ruggeri Dry Fresh, vigorous mousse; intensely fragrant pear drop nose; creamy, rich, with a soft, lightly sweet finish.

    Prosecco Ca’ Rosa Extra Dry Pale, persistent bubbles; green apple and pear nose; elegant and cleansing finish.

    Prosecco Le Colture Pianer Extra Dry An excellent traditional Prosecco: beautiful creamy fruit with clean, refreshing aromas of green apple and lime; attractive crisp, citrussy finish.

    Le Colture Cartizze Made from grapes grown on the steeper and well-exposed slopes of the Cartizze sub-zone: intensely fruity, redolent of ripe peaches and dried apricots; a rich, but gently soft texture. The bubbles seem to intensify the ripe, clean fruit so that it just explodes in your mouth.

  3. Sorry, my answer may not be much help either, but it's a darn good excuse for a trip, if ever one were needed. For the best limoncello, you must go to the Amalfi Coast. In particular to I Sapori di Positano where Sandra Russo makes it in small batches from the immense and incredibly fragrant lemons that grown in that delightful, sun-blessed spot, in her own back garden in fact. "The secret," she told me, "is to drink limoncello when it is very fresh, so that it maintains its beautiful colour and the perfume of our fresh lemons of Positano."

    I Sapori di Positano

    via dei Mulini, 6

    84017 Positano

    Marc

  4. Boy, I'm sure in the meatloaf lover's camp, so thanks for restarting this great topic. Only problem is, my wife, who is English, hates the stuff!

    There are very, very few things which one of the other of us don't like but the other adores; however, I'm afraid to say that meatloaf is one of them. It's a serious problem, I tell you! I mean, how can you hate something as simple, as comforting, as basic as meatload? This isn't some weird, esoteric food (and believe me, she's had to eat some pretty weird stuff with me, though she did draw the line, that time in Pusan, at the live baby octopus despatched expertly with a cleaver then served on a plate, especially when I had to hoik the tentacles off with my finger because the suckers were sticking to the roof of my mouth -- but that's another story...). As I was saying, how can anyone dislike meatloaf? What's to dislike?

    For what it's worth, I make (on the rare occasions when I'm allowed to, that is, when my wife is out of the house or out of town) meatloaf just like my mother used to: ground beef and pork, chopped onion, carrots and celery, a slice or two of white bread soaked in milk, an egg, maybe two, lots of black pepper, salt, dash of Worcestershire sauce, dash of Kikkoman, think that's about it. The best bit, apart from the eating of course, is the squidgy noise that it makes as you work everything in together with your bare hands, the egg and the milky bread and the meat and seasonings and everything just squelching away. My mother used to squidge and squelch for ages, and I remember just watching her, almost hypnotised by it all.

    Well hell, life is just too darn short to live sans meatloaf, isn't it? I'm going to rustle some up this weekend (and damn the domestic consequences). No gravy, just lots of ketchup, white rice, and salad. Hot meatloaf is good, hot meatloaf is even great: but as others have said, it absolutely sensational, even at its best, the next day, leftover to be used in a meatloaf sandwich.

    Further reading about meatloaf tribulations.

    MP

  5. Hi Sun-ki,

    What a great report and what great pictures! The bubbling iron bowl of sundubu tchigae has made me ravenously hungry. When we were in Seoul many years ago, we enjoyed sundubu tchigae at the Kamchon, located somewhere behind the American Embassy. It was famous for it, still is, I imagine. They made the sundubu continuously in vast quantity.

    Though you rightly point out that sundubu (fresh tofu) is made by cogagulating soy milk with calcium chloride, we actually experimented and found that you can make the deliciously fresh curds by using lemon juice as a coagulant. The curds remain very loose, almost like barely poached egg, and the citrus adds a sour touch that works well when added to a ferociously hot, chilli-spiked tchigae!

    Sundubu tchigae, the sort of delicious food that promotes a magnificently prodigious thirst: my sort of food!

    Marc

  6. Marc - exactly! First came the fondu set, then came the pasta machine. "Oh, thanks, yeah, I've always wanted one of those....." (Honey - clear some space in the cupboard!) I can't tell you how many friends I have who have to think about it for a few minutes, and then realise they have one as well...

    The crab ravioli sounds brilliant. I know of one restaurant that uses a scallop mousseline to mix the crab meat with - it's like the frame of a picture - in the same way they would use scallop mousse for a lobster ravioli. I bet that would work really well if you were doing large raviolos also. I could look up a recipe if it would be of any help

    Nah, Moby, the pasta machine is definitely not in the class of the fondue set when it comes to useless (or hardly used) pieces of kitchen equipment. We DO use the pasta machine from time to time, just not frequently enough. But I agree, it is always worth doing and this class will inspire me to get off my butt.

    Now about that scallop mousseline. Sounds an excellent idea! Now that the weather's improved, we're getting some great diver's scallops round here, not yet very large, not cheap (80p a pop on the half-shell), but sweet as anything. Probably too good to mince into a mousseline? But I'd appreciate a broad-brush recipe idea if you've got a mo just in case since mousselines and such fancy stuff aren't really my normal sort of thang.

    Marc

  7. Moby, this is a brilliant class. Your text is excellent and inspirational; the photos are at once informative, instructional and atmospheric. You've made me want to get down my pasta machine (gathering dust in a top kitchen cupboard along with my ice cream maker) and have a go this weekend. Making pasta is always very therapeutic.

    What is an equally impressive element of these classes is the expertise, knowledge and enthusiasm of those who participate in the Q & As. So many different individuals coming at a subject from different points of reference, different experiences to share, different sets of knowledge and different questions and problems. It is a real learning experience. So thanks too to all the other contributors!

    I'll try and let you know how I get on at the weekend. I've been rather hankering to have a go at crab ravioli (since the local crab from Budleigh Salterton is particularly good at the moment).

    Marc

  8. Most of the time when I visit someone with a serious espresso setup, or I see non-styled photos online, the espresso station is a big mess: coffee grounds all over the place, wet towels lying around, etc.

    What's up with that?

    You're quite right, Fat Guy. Mine's a goddam disgrace (he says, having this minute just waddled from dinner table to kitchen by way of computer, taken digipic with dregs of a delicious bowl of pasta e fagioli in situ plus empty bottle of Blanc de Morgex et de La Salle metodo classico). No set up. Just the way it is, man. Espresso time!

    i4555.jpg

    MP

    Edited to crop out the dirty dishes. Felt a bit naked out there...

  9. From the marvelous (and often astonishingly heartfelt) "AA GILL IS AWAY":

    "It's my voice, my view, my opinion. And just as no one's opinion is worth more than mine, so mine is worth no more than anyone else's..."

    Ah, but this is the crux of it. Critics like Gill and others of his ilk (present company excluded of course), with their undoubted wit; amusing and easy style of writing; knowing, snide, often arrogant comments; and cruel barbs, narrow-minded prejudices and personal vitriol, exist only because they have convinced others that their opinions are indeed worth more, far more, than anyone else's. To say otherwise, as Gill does in the above quote, is utter horseshit.

    The only thing marginally more vomit-inducing than the cult of the celebrity chef (present company excluded of course) is the cult of the restaurant critic as Superior Being.

    Of course, that is not to say that I do not, on many a Sunday morning (half asleep and in my slippers, over cappuccino and croissants), from time to time snort out loud in near uncontrollable laughter while reading Gill's column. There are far worse than him: at least most of what he natters on about has nothing to do with food or eating or even the restaurant he is supposed to be covering. And of course, it's easy to snort: I'm not on the receiving end.

    I would only add that most restaurant critics (some of whom I number among my friends) have neither the column inches, nor the mass readership to wield such opinion-forming and potentially destructive power. Perhaps, as in everything in life, that's what it all comes down to the end: size matters.

    MP

  10. It seems my function here is to support and agree with Marc, whom I suspect is called Marco and lives next door...

    My dear Miguel,

    I am afraid I have a dreadful confession to make. I am not Marco, your next door neighbour. Nor am I that intrepid 13th century Venetian who travelled the Silk Road through Mongolia to China, eating and writing reports along the way. I am an imposter. I truly know very little indeed about Portuguese food, only that which I love from firsthand experience. To demonstrate my profound ignorance, I have a further dreadful confession to make: I do not like bacalhau! There, I have got it off my chest and may be able now to sleep tonight. Honesty is always the best policy.

    I have loved reading your wonderful, passionate, extremely well written reports about Portugal and Portuguese food (your English is so perfect and eloquently crafted that I wonder if you are the imposter?!). You have made me want to travel more extensively through the country, if not at least to Lisbon. It is many years since I have visited Northern Portugal and I have fond memories of our travels.

    From your imposter friend,

    Marc

  11. I do hope that the lack of questions is because it was so comprehensive and not because it was too daunting or boring.

    Absolutely not! It's a great feature and thanks to both of you for all the time, hard work, and fantastic photos, atmospheric and instructive at the same time. You've made me want to get out a molcajete and start grinding away. Only problem is, I don't have one, so a stick blender will have to do. Sure wish I could get tomatillos in southwest England. Salsa verde is one of the greatest things on earth!

    MP

  12. REGARDING ......On Saturday we paid 30 euros for a couple of kilos of clams at the Silves market....

    30-Euros for a couple of kilos translates to:

    30-Euros for 4.2 pounds in weight.

    30-Euros is approximately $37.50 US

    Thus about $8.50 US per pound.

    Though not the same variety, I can buy live clams for around $2.00 a pound, a half mile from where I live.

    Hey Hungry Traveller, make no mistake, we're not talking about any old garden variety clams here. These are amêijoas, or carpet-shells, the king of clams, the sweetest, tastiest, most delicious in the world, purchased still alive to be cooked and despatched as simply and as quickly as possible. In France they are known as palourdes: we enjoy them raw as part of a plateau des fruits de mer in Brittany, while in Italy they are known, I think, as vongole verace and are the only clams to enjoy on a big steaming plate of spaghetti con le vongole .

    In Algarve markets you can certainly purchase similar looking but gastronomically far inferior clams for half the price -- Miguel will know the names, the smooth-shelled, rather dinky conquilhas, berbigãos or cockles (bigger than the English cockles we dig out here, but still just cockles), and more. But amêijoas, goddam, they're another kettle of, well, clams! Stint or economise on anything else, but not on amêijoas: buy a kilo or two in the market, cook them yourself, or order a dose in any simple local restaurant or marisqueria to pick up with the fingers and suck off the tiny half-shell, garlicky olive oil dribbling down your chin as you lustily mop up the clam juices with good crusty bread. I repeat: they are not to be missed! Amêijoas are one of the reasons in itself to visit the Algarve.

    All this talk has made me want to jump on a plane (not least to visit Vila Lisa - thanks for the directions, Miguel). In fact, as from this month it will be far easier to do so. One of the new cheap airlines, Flybe, is now offering three-times-a-week flights from my small regional airport in southwest England direct to Faro, and if you pick your dates right, for ridiculously cheap price (£35 one-way). Only problem is, we're at that awkward stage in life where we're stuck with having to get away during school holidays (at which time the flight prices go up astronomically).

    Now what I'd really like to do is find an excuse to take that magical sounding train from Lisbon to Madrid, and then, after a few days enjoying the wonderful suggestions, from Madrid to Lisbon to do the same there...Well, this site is also about dreams, too, isn't it?

    Marc

  13. Good idea, Soba! We have enjoyed a sort of Tuscan sage tempura as a simple antipasto along with fettunta and crostini. The chef at the Villa Villoresi outside of Florence showed us how to make it:

    Take tender fresh sage leaves. Spread half the leaves with anchovy paste. Sandwich together with remaining sage leaves. Make a light batter from flour and water and dip the sage 'sandwiches' in the batter, then fry in hot olive oil. Drain on paper towel, and serve immediately with a glass or two of Vernaccia di S. Gimignano or a simple Chianti.

    MP

  14. If you are staying in a place with a kitchen, cooking in the Algarve is a real pleasure. Because we enjoy cooking a lot, and also because this trip in part was a bit of a reunion, we've done a lot of our own cooking, everything from the above mentioned clams to hake, Lisbon style, (in tomato, onion garlic, white wine, etc) and chicken. All good.

    Hi Fresco,

    I agree with you that it is a real pleasure to be able to shop in markets and cook in Portugal. We have a family apartment where we stay on our frequent visits to the Algarve, and we invariably eat in more than we eat out. I love to purchase fresh vegetables from the market and make a Portuguese gaspacho. Slabs of deliciously chewy presunto from Monchique and good chouriços cooked in the oven as a pre-dinner nibble. Slabs of the wonderful, dense Portuguese bread, sometimes toasted then drizzled with good extra-virgin olive oil from Alentejo and a sprinkling of coarse flor de sal from Olhao.

    We purchase ameijoas by the kilo (soak them in a bucket of seawater - I hate sand), and langostinhos and gambas na costa and love preparing them simply at home, then eating outside on the terrace overlooking the beautiful sea (as night falls, the lamps on the sardine fishing boats are dotted on the wine dark sea reflecting the stars above). Though shellfish is not cheap, it is still less expensive than eating out; but more than that, cooking in makes us feel more relaxed, more like we are living and experiencing the country, not just visitng as tourists.

    We also particularly enjoy the local lamb (borrego). We love to purchase tiny costeletas to grill over charcoal on a bed of rosemary picked from the garden. Or perhaps a leg of lamb, redolent of garlic and rosemary, with a sauce made from a reduced bottle of good vinho tinto. Cooking lamb gives an excuse (as if one were needed) to enjoy some of the great red wines of Portugal, notably from Alentejo and Douro (and they are truly great). Portuguese free-range chicken (frango na campo), scrawny, yellow, with feet and head still attached, is also usually excellent, chicken that really tastes like chicken: simply grilled 'piri-piri', or stewed in wine and vegetables, or just cooked in the oven with olive oil, garlic, rosemary and perhaps a little piri-piri.

    Then there are the magnificent mountain ewe and goat milk cheeses (more reason to drink more red wine)...and the magnificent fig and almond sweets.

    Miguel, your wonderful description of Vila Lisa makes me want to go there so I'll try and hunt it down on our next visit. Where exactly is it located? Problem is, when we go to Algarve, we get so lazy, just return to our old favourites, or cook at home.

    MP

  15. I'd vote for Anglo-Indian cuisine and in particular the archetypal British classic 'Vindaloo curry' as experienced most typically on a visit to the local Indian (in whatever city or town in the UK) after the pubs shut. Haven't done this since I was a student many years ago, but I recall vindaloos so fiercely hot that sweat would be pouring down my face, mouth utterly and painfully on fire, drinking pints of lager, water, sucking ice cubes, nothing would help. And the next day...Why???

    The single most worryingly spicy item I've ever eaten was at one of my favourite restaurants in the world, O Serol, a simple marisqueria in Armaçao da Pera, Algarve. They make a fantastic ameijôas na cataplana -- clams cooked in a primitive copper clam-shell-like pressure cooker along with prosciutto, tomatoes, chouriço, cilantro, etc. The cataplana is placed in the middle of the table and you help yourself from this communal hot pot. Now cataplana is not usually spicy, or perhaps just slightly so, so I was caught off guard. As I was fishing around the cataplana for any final end-of-dish tasty bits (the odd overlooked clam, a nugget of chouriço), I fished out a tiny chili, and, in a moment's inattention (probably talking too much or maybe disappointed that it wasn't a clam), I popped it in my mouth, chewed and swallowed. Uh oh. Big big big mistake. This was a genuine fresh piri-piri chili (the fiercely hot Moçambican variety that is now a feature of Algarve cuisine) I immediately discovered, and the effect was like I'd munched on a tiny stick of nitro-glycerine. It wasn't just hot, it was explosively hot. Painfully and incredibly worryingly hot. As with those vindaloos of old, nothing it seemed would assuage the heat: I glugged a bottle of Quinta da Aveleda (a light, quenching vinho verde), sucked down a few beers, tried gargling with mineral water, stuffed bread down my mouth, ate ice cream. No better at all. And it wasn't just my mouth that was on fire: worst of all, I could feel that piri-piri chili inside me, burning a hole in my stomach lining. It was one of the biggest mistakes of my life and my stomach has never quite been the same since...

    Ever since I've been extra vigilant whenever I fish around the dregs of communal hot pots, whatever the cuisine.

    MP

  16. It's a strange thing when a restaurant so well known for a style of cooking is taken over by someone also very well known for a different style.I don't see the attraction of buying a landmark place like the Craved Angel with all it's history,at i,m guessing top dollar, when you will then have to impose your own stamp on the place.Why not buy something cheaper without all the historical baggage?

    Considering that this report was confirmed by his television production company, it might suggest that the Carved Angel has been chosen primarily because of its televisual appeal (JBR out with the crab fishermen, JBR gathering mushrooms, JBR having a pint and a chat with colourful locals etc etc). No bad thing at all from a tv point of view and I certainly have nothing against the chap. I'm sure he is a great chef. But if the whole thing is telly-driven, it would not be unfair to wonder about his long-term motives and commitment to Dartmouth and this undoubted landmark restaurant. Last year France, this year Dartmouth, where next? And turning the Carved Angel into a media circus would in my opinion be rather a shame. But there we are. Good luck to him, and I'll certainly look forward to trying the place once he settles in.

    I was, incidentally, in Dartmouth yesterday and it really is the most gorgeous spot. Parked in Kingswear and took the passenger ferry across the Dart. Didn't eat at the CA (though it was pretty full, nice looking £25 three-course menu). It was a blustery day, showery one minute, brilliantly sunny the next, and we enjoyed instead fish & chips on the quay, watching the river activity and eating with our fingers while dodging the showers. (For the record, excellent cod & chips, freshly fried, very sweet, fresh cod, nice, floury pototoes -- from Skippers). Afterwards, home for the kids to cook a sensational Mother's Day meal.

    MP

  17. This is an interesting topic, and though it started by highlighting weird and exotic Korean 'interpretations' (sic) of Western food, it has developed into a consideration of hybrid and fusion foods, and indeed the question of how traditional foods evolve.

    I'd argue that Western interpretations of Asian foods are probably just as weird or weirder than the original they are supposedly based on (take the popular but totally bogus chicken tikka masala).

    As far as Korean interpretations of Western food, it's interesting for me to consider, as a third-generation Korean-haole, looking back on how such foods evolved in our household. My grandmother came to Hawaii from Korea in the 1920s and for a time owned and ran a restaurant and saloon in Honolulu that was popular with the navy and other GIs (this was at the time of Pearl Harbor, the bombing of which my mother always remembered clearly).

    Halmoni served haole food in her restaurant, but apparently it always had a most distinct Korean accent. She was a great cook and apparently the haoles loved her food. For example, she made Scotch meat pies flavoured with garlic and soy sauce; chop steak, a vegetable and meat medley that was based on Korean chap chai; and even 'Irish stew' which was actually based on changjorim, soy-braised meat with chillies and (I guess this was her Irish touch) lots of whole carrots. As kids, my mother would make this same dish for us and call it Korean pot roast.

    On Sunday mornings, we'd always eat Korean pancakes. I always wondered what made these pancakes particularly Korean, since we enjoyed them American style with butter and maple syrup. But I later discovered that these big, chewy pancakes were actually a variation of the basic Korean jon batter, as used to make another delicious home favorite, pa'jon (the famous green onion pancake, which again, everybody made - and makes - in their own way).

    When I was researching my grandmother's cooking, I discovered that while in some cases, her foods had evolved to take account of the produce and foods available to her in America, in other instances, she cooked in an old style that no longer exists in Korea today. Similarly, though she lived in the US (Hawaii and the mainland) for nearly 60 years, she never really got the hang of speaking English, and a Korean scholar and friend told us that her Korean was itself quite antiquated compared to modern spoken Korean.

    Fusion may be all the rage these days, but food has always evolved, changed, adapted (witness the use of the tomato in Italian cuisine). What is more authentic? A dish the way my grandmother made it (for example, sinsollo as she learned from a former Yi dynasty palace cook) or the way such a dish might be prepared in modern Korea today? Both may claim to be equally authentic, equally traditional. And personally, I have no qualms at all in adapting and integrating foods from my past, from my cultural roots, into the new home and family and circumstances in which we live, a continent or more away. I'm sure too, as also suggested in this thread, that as modern life evolves in Korea itself, as Koreans travel more and experience new foods, as lifestyles perforce have to adapt to changing roles as more and more women work, food in Korea will continue to adapt and evolve.

    But what is certain is that Koreans will continue to see eating well and amply and generously as part and parcel of living well: this is something that is deeply part of the Korean soul.

    MP

  18. His tv company, optomen, have gently confirmed that a bid has been made for the Carved Angel.

    They will presumably be filming him there, then.

    Sorry to hear this. That means another great place will inevitably go down the spout. Mass market tv will undoubtedly bring the hoardes to Dartmouth...

    MP

  19. Dartmouth will never be the next Padstow, thank god...

    PS No offence to Basildog (or any other Padstonians) and we too will look forward to a visit to your restaurant this summer. It sounds wonderful!

    In mitigation for the comment, I'd just say that we've been coming to Padstow for yonks (my wife virtually all her life as her family had a summer house in nearby Treyarnon). These days we love to camp at Mother Ivy's. So I guess I feel able to comment on Padstein as we've seen it evolve. Over the decades, we remember Rick's place when it was a genuinely humble eatery serving, amongst other things, great steaks cooked over charcoal (what 20, 25 years ago?). Then the phenomenon of the Seafood Restaurant, and we'd go down for special occasions, and sometimes stay in the lovely rooms above the restaurant, or else at the almost next door Customs House pub. The restaurant was always brilliant, the food a sensation, and we truly loved it.

    Television notoriety, however, I'm afraid has completely changed the character of not just the restaurant but I think it would be fair to say Padstow itself. The empire just continues to grow and grow.

    I have the greatest respect for Rick. I love his television shows. He is not only a great chef but a born communicator and I think he comes over with passion, honesty, integrity and incredible enthusiasm for real food, the sort that I like to eat. But on recent visits to the restaurant over the past years, it just is no longer the same as it once was. Is it the food? No. It is still wonderful. Perhaps it's just been the days we've been, but the staff seem tired and jaded, and the clientele has changed significantly: mostly, it seems (sorry) from London, down because the place, because Rick, is famous rather than because they love great food, rather loud and arrogant and, well, irritatingly yaw-yawish.

    No, these days if we're down for the day, we far prefer to park in Wadebridge (next time we do, Slacker, I'll make sure and drop into Bintwo), cycle down the Camel Trail along the lovely estuary, and enjoy a delicious fish taco, incredibly good fish & chips, or a plate of Goan fish curry from Rick's Seafood Deli on the fishing quay waterfront.

    But of course this is really a different thread to JBR and the Carved Angel. The common themes I suppose are tv, the celebrity chef and restaurants on the water.

    MP

  20. It is rumoured that John Burton Race has purchased The Carved Angel in Dartmouth

    Has this report been confirmed, Moby? What's your source?

    The Carved Angel, located on the waterfront of a lovely Devon town that is still a working fishing port, has in recent years been under the part ownership of chef Peter Gorton (along with the renowned Horn of Plenty in Gulworthy) since Joyce Molyneux retired. It is one of the great legendary restaurants of Britain and we have had many many sensational meals here (though admittedly not in the last year or two). Stylish yet informal, with one of the first open plan kitchens, it has its own unique style imposed by Joyce that has lasted even under new ownership. We've taken our children there since they were babies, and yes sometimes gone around by boat (about 20 miles down the coast from us) to enjoy a lunch (still salty and rather exhilarated from the passage) of local shellfish (especially Dartmouth crab) and seafood. Yes, the style of cooking changed when Joyce and her excellent chef Nick Coiley (now of Agaric, Ashburton) left, but the place was still special and Peter was doing some good things.

    The original very informal Carved Angel Café in Fosse St Dartmouth is still there, too, and subsequently spawned a Carved Angel Café on the Cathedral Yard of Exeter which we drop into from time to time. It's OK. My understanding was that there were plans to take the concept further afield (as seems to be happening more and more these days - the dreaded 'branding' of good food).

    I don't know John Burton Race or his cooking though I did see the tv show once or twice. I'm surprised at the apparent animosity towards the guy. Is this because of the telly show or for other reasons? I personally didn't have a problem with the show, found his self-deprecating humour and dysfunctional approach to life in France rather amusing. And the man clearly has a passion for food.

    IMO, what a place like the CA needs is a proprietor-chef who can take the wonderful Devon produce, especially fish and shellfish landed literally on the doorstep, and produce original and creative cuisine in this unique and special location. Dartmouth will never be the next Padstow, thank god, (for a start, it's a bugger to get to in summer by road) and it is wonderful spot to visit: I urge you to make the effort to get down here.

    I'll certainly be looking forward to following this story and to an early summer visit the Carved Angel, whatever the outcome.

    MP

  21. John, written with your usual style, eye and ear for detail, precise and knowing palate, and characteristic devotion to excess. I'll look forward to a visit on my next trip to town. Care to join me?

    Brain with tête de veau is no longer to be taken for granted, even in Paris. Last year it was lacking even from the outstanding version at the venerable Cave Petrissan. At the bar I made a jesting reference to its absence in the wake of mad cow disease. Madame did not smile...

    Gawd, what a howler. A classic case of foot-in-mouth disease?!

    Marc

  22. Nor will the waiter try to fob her off with an up-market McD Happy Meal.  :biggrin:

    Not always true, John. Many French restaurants, even better ones, will indeed try and fob you off, or at least pay lip service to a 'menu enfant' that includes some variation of steak hachée frites, etc, followed by a glace. Best bet almost always (in our experience of travelling extensively with two young children who LOVE food) is to avoid such menus like the plague and choose real food, either a simple menu or a la carte. That way your food loving daughter will also have a French food experience to remember. Sometimes our daughter (who is now 11) would choose just a starter and dessert. And for her, it's the desserts that she usually remembers! Have fun and happy travelling.

    MP

    PS For one of the simplest and best of all Parisian treats, don't forget to visit Maison Bertillon on the Ile-St-Louis for the best ice cream in town!

  23. Carolyn, this wine blog is absolutely brilliant!

    The photo of the vine with its new shoots and budding leaves has brought springtime into our house and transports us back to the wine country where we long to be.

    I'll look forward to following your stories through the year.

    Thanks and keep up the great work!

    MP

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