Wilfrid

As an aside, I did indeed notice that what used to be Ming has now become YMing. Anyone know why? Or Y? Existential crisis perhaps?

I think I'm with Cathy on the sugar question. If you keep going in that direction, you end up with chicken which looks and tastes like pastrami. Not for every day, but it's by no means a bad experience.

Following the eGulleting at Club Gascon described on its own thread, I broke the bank at three other upscale restaurants on my recent UK trip. A long ramble follows. 1837 is the restaurant at Brown's hotel. It is large, brown and quiet. Miles between tables. Few tables occupied. I had eaten a fair meal here before when staying at the hotel, but I confess I only returned because I couldn't get into preferred options like The Square and Petrus at short notice. The service is highly trained in the French school, but surprisingly nervous - lots of agitated, whispered conversations and ominous frowns. I started with an open Cornish crab and tomato ravioli - a tower of ingredients layered with squares of pasta. Refreshing. A bewildering selection of home made breads were offered from a special bread trolley - I think I ate a cheese and bacon bread; okay, but not sure if it was worth all the effort. The main course caused a crisis of confidence in fine dining. Well, it was yet another okay lamb dish, the rack cooked medium rare, garnished with a sweetbread. A rich wine reduction.The vegetable promised to be lamb's milk potatoes, which turned out to be a gratin made with ewe's milk cheese, and about a pound of salt. Apart from the gratin, the dish was unobjectionable. Sitting in the gloom and silence, I was forced to ask myself whether I was really enjoying paying thirty quid or so for a dish I seemed to have eaten a thousand times and wouldn't care if I ever ate again. What happened to exciting, ambitious classic cooking? Where are the pressed ducks, the coxcombs, the capons garnished with crayfish, the quails in their coffins? No, bloody rack of lamb again. So much for my mood. One distinctive feature of Brown's is that it offers a vast number of respectable wines by the glass. I counted over a hundred, and the youg sommelier claimed two hundred. Sadly, some that I chose were not available. Commitment to this list must risk a lot of wastage, and I did develop a suspicion that the sommelier was reluctant to open new bottles just to pour me a glass. He told me that he was just closing that list and was about to present a new list for Spring/Summer. Good for the restaurant, but of course not much good for me. Nonetheless, I did get an interesting glass of something red - my notes are lousy, but I see the name Henschke. I should look it up. Adequate cheeses, except for the L'Ami de Chambertin. I ate three samples of this in the UK, and they were all unripe. I strongly suspect that this relates to modified processes at the manufacturer, Berthaud, as I have had the identical problem with Epoisses in New York. Currently, the Soumaintrain is the only rind-washed Berthaud cheese to risk - I am as yet undecided on the Affidelice. 1837 also exhibited another habit common to all three restaurants in this review: the cheese service is accompanied by a long explanation, which I try to cut short by showing that I can identify the cheeses on offer without being told their names. But I can't seem to stop the server telling me the order in which I should eat the cheeses. Annoying, and in any case, since the cheeses were rarely properly ripened, the advice was in each case wrong. I got back in the saddle at The Capital. I had eaten in the small, pretty hotel dining room before, and I had eaten Eric Chavot's food elsewhere, but this was the first time I had experienced Chavot at The Capital. Very classy operation, with excellent service from a French waitress and an Australian sommelier. Amuse guele was a rich, dark green cup of asparagus soup. The dishes which followed suggested that Chavot spends his spare time eating fry ups in corner caffs for menu ideas. Good, fresh langoustine were accompanied by crisp rashers of pancetta, and a potato/vegetable cake which can only be described as bubble and squeak. An unexplained side dish, which simply appeared to be an additional appetizer, was a portion of excellent Welsh rabbit. My dining companions found a lot of fried quails' eggs garnishing their dishes. The Capital should open for breakfast. I recalled Chavot's rabbit leg stuffed with squid from his Interlude days, and ordered what turned out to be a sophisticated elaboration of the dish. Torchons formed by wrapping tender squid in a rabbit forcemeat, secured again with pancetta; slices of rabbit saddle, with its crisply fried liver; a garnish of light, fried and battered calamari. Great technique and good to eat. First rate cheeses - apart from L'Ami again - and an unnecessary dessert, mint vacherin in chocolate. Several trays of petits fours and chocolates made dessert doubly unnecessary. Two extremes with the wine - a ninteen quid (yes, truly) viognier to start the meal, followed by a 1989 Cote Rotie which topped three figures. Both good for what they were. Then there was the Calvados... Finally, I enjoyed a trip into the New Forest on a rare sunny day; lunch at Le Poussin, a stately home converted into a hotel restaurant. Details and prices are clickable here. Lunch on Saturday, we were the only guests in the restaurant, with views of rolling lawns and the waitstaff to ourselves (they did claim to be full for Saturday dinner and Sunday lunch, and indeed hotel guests were arriving as we left). We enjoyed aperitifs and canapes, and later coffee, in various lounges and drawing rooms. The cooking did not have Chavot's precision, but it was certainly luxurious. A cup of celeriac soup with truffle oil; ballotine of quail stuffed with a truffle mousse - velvety texture, slightly salty; poached fillet of beef; English cheeses (no L'Ami this time). The four wines paired with the cheeses were perhaps an overindulgence at lunchtime The interesting dish was the beef. Alex Aitken had taken a quality cut of fillet, then apparently poached very slowly in merlot. It was served rare. I am aware of methods for quickly poaching beef, but the maitre d' insisted that a long cooking time had been necessary for the beef to become fully infused with the wine. It certainly worked; the beef and the wine sauce had exchanged flavors, and the latter especially was quite delicious. For a fiver, you could cap the beef with a slice of foie gras; I did, but it didn't add to the dish. Also enjoyed the wine, a Les Baux de Provence, Domaine Hauvette '96. Silky and posh. There you go - and I swore not to write long reviews here....

As someone who grew up eating Indian food in the UK, where you find adequately good Indian restaurants on every high street, and very good Indian restaurants in some abundance, I wonder whether the difficulty for ventures like Tamarind and others described above is the lack of a firm base for Indian cuisine in a city like New York? If I'm stating the obvious, I apologize: my experience of Indian (and Bengali and Pakistani) food in New York has been thoroughly disappointing. The very cheap canteens on Lex in the 20's are authentic enough, but serve very poor ingredients to keep their prices down. At the slightly more upmarket restaurants which aim to attract a wider group of diners I have repeatedly had - for whatever reason - incredibly bad food. I have been served chunks of lamb rolled in raw, chopped garlic. I have had onion bhajis the size of footballs, devoid of any flavor. About the only acceptable meal I have had at this level was at Havali in the East Village, and it was not good enough to tempt me back. I think Tamarind, and other ambitious Indian (or Indian-style) restaurants are presented with an almost insurmountable obstacle in attempting to make create a following for Indian food. It would be more natural, surely, for a city to develop a bedrock of good Indian cooking in simple local restaurants before more ambitious operations can emerge and survive. That, I am sure, is what happened in London. I have no idea what the solution to this dilemma is.

Steven, why are you being taken over by the spirit of Judy Garland? ("Oh, my!")

I have just reviewed the following paragraph, and would suggest you don't read on if you're squeamish...By all means, get back to the chicken. ***** Anyway, sorry to have created a diversion. I think I know what a moil is, but it's not for peeling testicles. They come encased in a very thick, tough membrane. Dunking them in hot water loosens this up, and you can then remove it by making an incision with a sharp knife and popping the testicle out. The bison testicles sold at Union Square Green Market come with the membrane already removed for your convenience.

Blue Heron, I am very fond of razor clams. They sometimes come out a little rubbery when I grill them in their shells. I haven't tried frying them. Do you have tenderness issues with them? And do you think the secret is fast cooking at a high temperature, or giving them a little more time at a low temperature? I would be interested in your experiences.

Eeek! People actually read this stuff! Never mind; an interesting report, Steve. I am beyond recalling the detail of the last Craft thread, but there were some reminders here. The coldness of the main courses was one thing which irritated me; and this isn't just old Wilf with his usual complaint - it was a specific outcome of the restaurant's insistence on serving every component of the dish separately, leaving the diner to plate it on a cold plate. Same with your experience, I assume? I haven't been able to get near the place recently when I've tried for a table, or even the bar, at short notice - I'll have to book ahead. Given this obvious success, you'd think they could drop the dumb menu layout. I totally agree with you about that. I guess they really believe in it. Understand, I don't actually think the menu is difficult to comprehend - it's just awkward, and I agree that it I would prefer to try the chef's combination of ingredients rather than invent my own. Love that charcuterie, though (three star item or not).

Interesting, Shiva. Too many different flavors for me, I think. Am I weird in not boiling my brine, or is the boiling mainly worthwhile if you want to infuse the water with a lot of herbs and spices? Come to think of it, my method may be from fergus Henderson's book. I should check it and see if I missed the phrase "boil it"!

I have never noticed a sweetening effect. It doesn't really make the meat salty either. Perhaps someone else can explain what goes on chemically, but I find the meat to be more tender and more strongly flavored.

Jim Dixon's method which he's posted in the Roasting Chicken thread is the same as mine as far as basic ingredients goes, but I don't boil the water. Two parts kosher salt to one part brown sugar (I use a mug of the first and half a mug of the second for a turkey) well stirred into cold water. You can then add a few juniper berries, or some herbs, or whatever flavorings you fancy - even if you don't, the brining adds tenderness and depth of flavor. One tip: if you are brining something big like a turkey, and are looking for something big enough, you can use a large plastic bag (check for leaks or bad smells of course). I tie the plastic bag closed and sit it in a dutch oven; it gets the turkey well-covered. How long? Twenty four hours would be typical for me. I haven't tried brining ribs, but I should have thought it's worth a go. Oh yes, rinse well afterwards; I test for saltiness by just touching the meat with my finger and licking. The idea is not to produce a very salty dish.

Cathy, I think you may be missing something with the lemons. It is okay to cut them first - into quarters, I suggest. And I agree with you about brining, although I tend to save that for turkeys.

Ouch. By the way, maybe my post was a bit vague. The idea is that the hot dip loosens the skin from the breast, and it then crisps up better*. It also helps, once the bird has cooled a little, in getting your fingers under the skin for stuffing purposes. *Same technique for peeling testicles, of course.

JSD, yes the rhubarb is cooked, along with some grated fresh ginger root. Some of the juice is stirred into the cream along with the rhubarb chunks. You want it the right sort of consistency that a few hours of refrigeration (overnight prefreably) should "set" it. It will go a bit pink, of course, from the juice. I assume some sugar has gone in at the time you cooked the rhubarb. Hope that helps - it's a while since I made it, but it's refreshing for summer.

Okay, maybe moderate rather than cheap - I have been living in Manhattan too long - but this was one of the most surprising finds of my recent UK trip. I had to go back a second time, because I couldn't believe it. Le Pigalle is in premises formerly occupied by a very poor operation called Hujo's, on the dark block of Berwick street between Raymond's Revue Bar and the Blue Posts. I chanced on it while heading for a pint in the latter - one of Soho's few remaining real pubs. The menu looked convincingly French, but I had low expectations when I went in. I had a fine casual dinner. Very good quality goat cheese, served hot on croutons over a green salad. Escalope of turkey (authentic French cafe fare, rarely seen in "French" bistros outside France) - served a la Normande, which turned out to be a creamy Calvados sauce. Perfect pommes frites. Let me just emphasize that: perfect pommes frites. This was a Saturday night, and the single room was packed, noisy, and smoky. Service is informal and was very stretched. The wine list is absolutely elementary: vins de table listed by grape, without much further information. I drank an ordinary Portuguese rose. But the food tasted like food in France. I don't mean like a Michelin-starred restaurant, or a nice bistro - I mean it tasted like the home-cooked food you will get in a corner cafe or bar. The kitchen staff are French, as are the waitstaff, and so is the owner, and I guess that explains the authenticity. Thirty quid including a full bottle of wine. I couldn't believe it, so I went back on a quiet Tuesday, when I was the only diner in the place. I got talking to Francois, the waiter, and we reached agreement on all main points of current European politics, and cheerfully celebrated the defeat of Le Pen. This, of course, made me even more well-disposed to the place. Another cracking meal. A gratin of shellfish - freshly prepared, with each mussel and shrimp distinct and tender in the cream sauce. Having done well with a grillade last time, I thought I should try one of their long cooked dishes, so I ordered the petit sale. Delicious Puy lentils. I thought the garnish was slightly unorthodox - the dish was crowned with slices of smoked ham and bacon, which I would have expected to see on their choucroute. But tasty. I wanted to double check the pommes frites, so ordered an unnecessary portion. This time I got thick cut chips, again perfectly cooked - you'd better specify if you want the skinny allumettes. Twenty eight quid, including a half litre of merlot. I learned that the same proprietor also owns the pair of "mediterranean" cafes just up the road before you arrive at the Blue Posts. Different chefs there, so I can't tell you more. I hope this place gets the support it deserves. I was genuinely surprised. At the risk of offending, I have to say I enjoyed it much more than a dinner at Le Trouvaille. I felt the latter was trying very hard with a pleasant dining room and ambitious menu, but I didn't find the cooking all that good.

Eeek! Has the Nosherie closed? I checked for the address before going and couldn't find it listed anywhere. I gave up and went for a bacon sarnie. Have we lost this jewel of kosher dining?

You might try putting "rhubarb fool" into a recipe search engine. This is a dish in which rhubarb is combined with cream and refrigerated overnight. I have certainly made it in the past, but don't have precise instructions at my fingertips.

Another good thing to poke under the skin is fresh tarragon - just a little, it's powerful stuff. I used to use a technique for getting the breast skin extra crispy which involved plunging the raw bird, breast side down, into just boiled water (carefully!). I think it helped a little, but not so much that I persevered with the approach. Anyone else want to speak up for this?

By chance, I was served one of "your" dishes at 38,000 feet yesterday. It was grilled haddock with parsnips, fennel and lentils, and it was one of a number of dishes currently presented by British Airways as devised by guest chefs. I know I have also eaten a Richard Corrigan fish dish on BA, and I know other airlines are similarly crediting guest chefs on their menus. I have always been curious as to the chef's level of involvement. I wonder if you just give BA the concept and recipe, or whether you discuss with them how the dish will be prepared and served in the air. They are not, of course, cooking the haddock over an open grill in the galley, and one recognises that terms such as "grilled" and "fried" on airline menus are essentially euphemisms. I think it's a shrewd use of your "brand name", because if the dish goes badly, passengers will think of it as bad airplane food, not bad Shaun Hill food! Actually, I enjoyed it for the parsnips especially - not a vegetable BA would normally dare serve!

I am not sure if this fits exactly under the topic heading , but I always understood scampi was originally a distinct sea creature of some kind rather than a shrimp (which is not to disagree by any means with Mark's comment about how the term's usage has slipped in the states). I just recall John Arlott saying scampi "should be scampi, fresh from the Adriatic, and not Dublin Bay prawns. I like Dublin Bay prawns under their own name, but not when they creep onto the menu of every restuarant in London claiming to be scampi." I am quoting from memory. Adam, you know about multi-legged underwater things. Are scampi a species unto themselves? Perhaps distant cousins of Balmain Bay bugs?

And then there are fritons. I think these are just rillons with some more heavily cooked bits. I recall them being a bit crunchy. Perhaps they are made by applying the shredding technique (two forks) to a nicely crusted piece of confit? But I am open to correction. Haven't had lamb rillettes, although I can conceptualise them.

I am sure this will vary from couple to couple (not wishing to rule out trios or quartets either). My other half enjoys restaurant dining very much, and takes it fairly seriously. Eating at home, though, is just re-fuelling for her. She'll eat whatever's around, often standing up, and then get on with whatever else it is she does. Cooking, unless it's a special occasion, is just a way of getting the food from raw to edible. I love cooking, and I also love table settings and a degree of formality when eating (I mean, put the phone down for example). Of course, I am just anal, but there you go.

There was a discussion of the meaning of confit months back, with Fat Bloke mistakenly claiming that it involved only braising, and me assertingly accurately that it implied preservation too (that's how I remember it, anyway ). But to answer the last question, I prepare rabbit legs in confit in the same way as duck legs, and indeed keep them in the same big jar. Very good. I also recall a French person of my acquaintance preserving jointed up small birds - pigeons in particular - but I have never tried that.

Liza, you're very tolerant. I am a bit protective of my kitchen, with the result that I do 90% of the cooking, and most of the food shopping too. I am not counting the preparation of squidgy stuff for baby, which is the Beloved's domain. The other 10% of the cooking divides I would say thus: 3% by the Beloved herself, 7% by the Beloved's friends who can't hang about the place all day without sort of absent-mindedly rustling up some rice and beans. The Beloved then presents the latter dishes to me as her own work, but I am not fooled. I would say cleaning is split about evenly, although I am sure she'd disagree.

I tried Gaby's only once - pastrami so gristly and fatty I never bothered again. If it stops raining, I might go to the Nosherie this afternoon.