taste.KEFI :: Upper West Side, New York

Kefi: a Greek word which translates roughly to English as "a rush of feeling that can only be expressed through singing or dancing." Unlike those stereotypical plate-shattering Greek restaurants such as those off of Boulevard St. Michel in Paris, Kefi on the Upper West Side is Michael Psilakis' more subtle intepretation on this state of grace. Instead of concentrating on a theatrical atmosphere, Mr. Psilakis concentrates on the food. The result is something rather special, and though its small, intimate, subterranean rooms might prove such revelry to be a bit difficult, Kefi has enough spirit and intimate romance to open the walls as well as your mouth to receiving an evening of convivial company, blissful cocktails, and of course, food that is worth celebrating.

Kefi is tucked down and away on a lovely but lonely block on 79th Street between Broadway and Amsterdam. Though I first was a bit lost, convinced that it would not be on a street across which I had walked hundred of time without noticing it before, I was happily proven wrong. Indeed Kefi was right there, happily and invitingly welcoming diners down a small flight of stairs to a large door that opens to a space decorated in light wood and deep navy blues. At the end of a short and cramped hallway, the back room opens to a small space with rows of modest, small tables. White fabric runs along the ceiling in undulating waves about chatty diners in small, intimate gatherings. This bustling room is a fesitval in itself, where the beautiful epicurieans of the Upper West Side come to taste a bit of Greece, throw back an ouzo or five, and drift away from the city under the guide of a handful of handsome, Grecian waiters.

Though the restaurant takes neither cash nor reservations, one would have thought we had paid off the reservations host when we were seated inside a personal, four-person dining alcove outside of the main room. The alcove, with a small, round pine table, navy blue walls, a strip of white moulding and a photograph of a statuesque goddess, was made rather private by two windowpane walls with an open doorway in the middle. The room was in need of something soft, like a celing fabric as was found in the main dining room, to keep the loud echo from invading conversation, but overall the intimacy of the room made it feel as though it were a world apart from the hot, summer city outside.

The whole menu was as mouthwatering as it was affordable; we ordered three courses, with plenty to share. Our charming and friendly waiter suggested the Roditis Momewasios Momemvasia white wine, 2004; upon first taste, notes of citrius and pear left a refreshing, crisp and dry finish on my toungue, and I began to understand why the restaurant had been given its name. The cocktail we ordered was even more impressive: the Gin and Tear was a perfect nod to the traditional gin and tonic, but spiced to Greek perfection with fennel syrup, and beautfully decorated with a layer of anise seeds at the bottom of the golden-green drink.

We started with the Greek salad, which despite its generous dressing, was a refreshing prelude to our foray into Greek cuisine. With fresh, creamy chunks of feta cheese, salty kalamata olives, and flecks of oregano, the salad was begging to be relished, and every last drop of Olive Oil to be wiped up with bread. We gladly obliged. The second appetizer, the Sheep's Milk dumplings with Lamb Sausage in Tomato sauce, was a surprise and an absolute delight. The dumplings were scrumption little squares with a soft and thin dougy outside, inside of which was a thick, creamy Goat's cheese that just barely melted by the heat of the dish. The sausage was outstandingly fresh and meaty, which was complemented perfectly by the red tomato sauce and well-portioned fresh sauteed spinach. The whole dish felt like it had been prepared by a loving -- and well-trained -- Greek Yiayia, and as I finished my last bite, I immediately began making plans to visit her again.

For entrees, the men ordered the two homemade pasta dishes, while the women kept exploring the meze. S.K. had a delightful Sheep's Milk Ravioli in a butter and sage sauce, which same with crisply fried tendrils of sweet onion. Brian's order of Hilopites kouneli, Flat pasta with Pulled Braised rabbit and Graviera Cheese, was quickly and heartly enjoyed; it was cooked in a red sauce that looked similar to the dumplings, and was finished by wiping bread to clear the plate to white. Hannah the Feta sto fourno, pita, Warm Feta with Tomatoes, Caper, Anchovies and Feta; it also came with beautifully fresh haricots verts, dressed in a delicious and savory olive oil. Upon recommendation before arriving at Kefi, I tried the Otapodi stin sxara, revithia, fasolia, tomates liastes: the Octopus and Bean Salad. The small plate arrived with one large, curling tentacle on top of a small mound of fresh white chick peas and white beans, to my friends' surprise. It was perhaps the best cooked octopus I have ever tasted: the outside skin was cooked to a perfect crisp to that the inside was still moist and chewy that the external toast served as a perfect compliment to the pure meat inside. The skin gave way to my knife, especially where the suction cups were larger, allowing me to taste the meat in its pure and delicious form. The bean salad was a lovely, fresh compliment to the heavy tentacle meat; the beans were fresh and al dente, whereas the bits of dried tomato gave a summer heartiness that made the little herbed salad rather elegant and savory.

The dessert menu is sparse, but absolutely do not ignore it. Though sorbets and gelatto might be the boring part of any dessert menu, at Kefi, they are certainly center stage. With gelato flavors as exotic as sesame seed, the one sorbet, rasperry port, is a sophisticated compliment. We all tasted the Poached pear dessert, which was a delightful surprise. The pear, made into a sort of violet-brown paste with chopped walnuts, was at the center of a nest of phyllo dought strands, with a bit of the sensual sorbet The rich, buttery nest fibers of the phyllo dough were offset well by the sorbet, balancing the heavy and the light to balance the dish and send us on our way, happy and satiated, with enough room left to dance and to sing.

About $25/person for shared three courses and a drink. I highly recommend going either for an intimate date or with a small group of friends to enjoy the handsome and friendly waitstaff and the elegant homey atmosphere ; the portions are satiating without being overwhelming, and the prices are generous. The food is excellent overall, and I will absolutely be returning for more. Opa!!

Kefi

222 W79th Street

btn Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue.

212/873.0200

Cash Only
No reservations

Menu from New York Magazine

Try nine recipes from Kefi chef Michael Psilakis, care of Food & Wine magazine: Michael Psilakis's Recipes

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Parting Thoughts.

Before I left for England, I got in the habit of telling people who asked about my journey that I was going specifically to London. This seemed to be a benign and logical explanation to me; I was on the last leg of my tri-city trifecta of travel to the three great Western cities of New York, Paris and London. I live in New York, I've left a piece of me in my appart in Paris, and now London was new territory in which I hope to someday live and make my mark. In my mind, this journey in June was in part a trial visit. But mostly, I was embracing the chance to see Naomi, to spend time with my dear friend who had only just moved back her family's home in England the week before.

The truth was, London was not my primary destination, per se. My immigration card to the UK marked my rather elusive destination as: "The Priory, Priory Lane, Little Wymondley near Hitchin, Herfordshire, England." I was not set on making a trip for exclusively romping about the capital of the imperial world; rather I was going to see Naomi and her family, to see England like an Englishwoman would, and to debunk the myth the English food offers little more than beans on toast. But it was easier to tell my fellow New Yorkers that I was going to London, rather than constantly explain the geography of provincial England.

So where did I go? To Hitchin. Where is it? You should know by now... that is, if you read Parts One and Two of this serial travelogue.

I immediately discovered after motoring out to the 'Shires that England is a beautiful country, the exploration of which should not be limited to its capital. If you have the chance, go to England, not just London. You should visit these provincial towns, these villages, the countryside; see the way people live, how they eat, what they value and how they spend their time. See the tourist sites, go to Stonehenge, tour London in a double-decker bus, find your own path that allows you to get a taste of the whole country through the eyes of those who live there.
But Most importantly: go to England to eat. Eat up the stereotypes of pub food, taste the cuisine of Britain's former colonies, sip a coffee at a Starbucks in Notting Hill, have high tea the The Wolseley, ignore the exchange rate in order to understand why a Michelin star is indeed such a regal award. Get married at The Priory, find your London neighborhood, explore a village in the provinces, watch The Vanguard, go punting in Cambridge... go to England with an open eye and an empty stomach.

England is an epicurean country with exceptional cuisine for those who are willing to be discerning and go find it. I have a special place in my heart for all of the England that I was able to see, for the friends I now have there, and for the food that I savoured with such joy.

taste. travel. live.

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Part Four -- Cambridge

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Part Four -- Cambridge

- Introduction: A Cambridge Afternoon
- Punting on the River Cam
- Fitzbillies
- Midsummer House

Introduction: A Cambridge Afternoon

Cambridge University: the cradle of some of England's most revered intellectuals. Some of the notables who have walked through the university town's cobbled streets include Sir Francis Bacon, Oliver Cromwell, John Milton, Charles Darwin, Lord Byron, C.S. Lewis and A.A. Milne. The whole town of Cambridge is teeming with students and school masters, a number of whom can still be seen wearing the traditional academic gown. On the sunny Saturday of my visit, most students were milling around the River Cam, a pint in one hand and a textbook in the other.

Cambridge is an ancient university town. Located about 50miles north-northeast of London in the county of Cambridgeshire, the town still maintains its academic and historic integrity; as I walked around the cobbled streets, I felt as though I were ambling through a novel by Charles Dickens. All of the buildings and streets are made of beautiful, old stone, with slate roof tiles and stocky brick chimneys. Because all of the structures are so old, each one is relatively small at just three stories high; as a result, the skies over Cambridge are wide, open, and on this particular day in June, very bright and blue.


Punting on the River Cam

Passing through the town of Cambridge is the River Cam, a shallow and small river that runs from the public land farm fields, curves around the backs of the university (the local term to refer to "backs" of the university buildings), and ultimately connects with the North Sea at King's End. It is here on the River Cam that the Cambridge crew team can practice its sport. Of more important note, however, is the pastime for which this little river is known best: punting.

Every day, the River Cam is trafficked by hundreds of long, narrow, shallow-bottomed boats known as punts. These boats were originally built as cargo boats for shallow rivers and canals, but nowadays they are mostly used for pleasure trips like the one I took with the Hopes down the River Cam. Puntees in Cambridge can choose to chart a course themselves or they can hire an expert punter to be their guide. There are many different companies whose representatives walk all over the ancient streets and invite amblers to take a punting ride (much like New York PediCab drivers in Central Park). We took our punting trip with Cambridge Punt Tours, a delightful company with extremely friendly guides. (A punting trip for four on a shared boat cost £40 total.) Punting is not just a pastime for tourists; families, Cambridge students, Hen Parties (Bachelorette Parties) and dates all take punting tours to engage in lessons in history, picnics, cocktail parties and all other sorts of tomfoolery.

Some punts are small, while others are quite large. Our punt was the Cadillac of punts, affectionately named "Big Bertha." Despite the friendly ridicule we received from our lovely ship's name, we had a comfortable cruise during which we stretched out like Romans after a feast as we drifted through heavy afternoon punting traffic. The ride lasted forty-five languorous minutes, just enough time for a lesson in history while taking in a bit of sun. Our punt driver, a chap by the name of Rufus, kept us entertained and afloat as we learned all about the ancient univeristy. In addition to learning about the history of each bridge, the architecture of the buildings and the rivalry between Trinity College and St. John's College, we also learned about some smutty adulterous history between a University notable and a wealthy French lady, Rufus' "pet hate" of hen parties, and the fact that Oscar Wilde had affectionately dubbed the famous and ornate King's College Chapel "The Upside-Down Pig."

The most notable bridge is the Bridge of Sighs which runts between the college's Third Court and New Court. The bridge was named after the original Bridge of Sighs in Venice, but Rufus claimed that it was so called because Cambridge students must cross that bridge with bated breath as they pass through to write their exams. After a bit of Wikiresearch, I learned that the Bridge of Sighs is a popular prank site involving the use of cars:
"On two separate occasions, students have pulled the prank of dangling a car under the bridge. In the first incident (in 1963), a 1928 Austin Seven was punted down the river using four punts that had been lashed together - then hoisted up under the bridge using ropes. The second incident (in 1968) a Bond three-wheeler car was dangled under the bridge. In neither case was the bridge damaged."


Fitzbillies

Before our puntabout, we stopped for lunch and some fruity rosé at an elegant and jolly little place called Fitzbillies on Trumpington street in town. The restaurant is next to the original Fitzbillies bakeshop, a celebrated bakery that was founded in Cambridge in 1922. The bakeshop is known best for their Chelsea buns, delightful sticky cinnamon buns with raisins. The bakeshop still has its historical 1920's facade, and the windows are open and decorated in a style true to its origins.

If you are in town, this is a great place to stop for nice lunch. The menu dresses up simple lunch meals like wraps, soups and salads. Of note are the Greek salads for their fresh vegetables, lettuces and milky feta cheese, and the Salade Niçoise, which to my surprise, came as a rich tuna steak with green haricots verts, boiled egg and tomato in a warm olive-oil dressing -- without greens.

The service is friendly and quick if you want it to be, but this is a place where you can linger for a while with a juicy bottle of rosé after a long punt on the River Cam.

Midsummer House

There are few things as exciting to me as being taken to a restaurant for the first time. I love the anticipation of a meal out, of not knowing anything about the restaurant itself (except for the dress code, of course), and then to have its mystery slowly unraveled, hint by hint, until finally it finally comes into view and I know that I have arrived. It was this romancing of the restaurant that I was so fortunate to experience when I was taken out to dinner by the Hopes one evening in Cambridge to a lovely restaurant called Midsummer House.

But before I continue, I must pause to express my gratitude to John, Ann and Naomi for giving me this incomparable gift of sharing a first-rate meal. The food and that atmosphere were, as you will see, most exceptional. But in keeping with my central tenet of culinary culture, rarely can a meal of any caliber be enjoyed so well by yourself as it can in the company of others. To share an extraordinary meal with an extraordinary family – that in itself is a unique and blessed gift for which I will always be grateful and happily revisit often in my memories.

I was truly glad that I had packed the new dress I purchased at the Saks Fifth Avenue First Cut Sale the week before, because when I asked Naomi if a formal dress would be appropriate for dinner, she said: “Well, I do believe so, yes.”

In the morning, I asked John the name of the restaurant. “Midsummer House,” he said nonchalantly. “We’re going back to Cambridge. That's the second time this trip! It must be a sign, Amanda. I think you’re due to come back here to England someday after all.”

That evening, I followed Naomi’s lead as she elegantly and daintily slipped into the little red Mercedes wagon car, and once inside and after having crossed the pebbled driveway in her house shoes, she unpacked her heels from a shoebag and popped them on her pedicured feet. Anne sat queen-like and elegantly in the front, while John was at the driver’s wheel, stately and calm though the level of excitement was perceptibly high.

“So, tell me a bit about this restaurant, please, John,” I asked as I got my mental pen and reporter’s notebook ready in my head. “The chef is Daniel Clifford.” That was the first clue. When someone mentions the chef of a restaurant first, this clearly means that the restaurant is of significant note. “The chef and his staff change the menu every month.” This second clue affirmed the first clue to the restaurant's excellence in showing that the chef’s monthly menu change would mean a sharp attention to detail in his food. “And I think it has two, yes that’s right, it has two Michelin stars.”

I was then really happy that I had decided to bring my dress.

To get to Midsummer House, one must first navigate the very tiny and crowded residential back roads of Cambridge, and then start praying to the parking gods that there will be room enough on the street to park the car. After finding a spot and a leisurely walk on an enchanted-looking bridge over the River Cam, the restaurant came into view through the weeping limbs of an ancient Sycamore tree: it was a regal, Victorian stone cottage with a veranda and two chimneys. A garden was walled in with privacy screens atop, within which was a large greenhouse extension with wall-to-wall glass that come together in the front in two round bay windows. A little green, waist-high gate was the entrance onto the charming property, behind where a doorman opened the heavy wooden door with a smile and a polite salutation of “Bonjour, mesmdemoiselles.”

The décor of the restaurant is a very simple white, and uses artistic, wooden accents and glass sculptures to complement the stunning garden outdoors. The tables, dressed in white settings with a single, burgundy calla lily reclining in a clear glass vase, are spaced far enough apart to make this very intimate space seem like your own private dining room. As the four of us were seated, I felt like the very grateful guest of the Royal Family of the Priory, and my enchantment with my surroundings and my new friends took my breath away.

The menu of Midsummer House is available à la carte or as a tasting menu. The à la carte menu features a three-course prix fixe, with a cheese course and a coffee course available at an additional charge. We opted for the prix fixe, which gave us the chance to debate and explore our options as we sipped our aperitif.

The meal began with champagne and a toast to happiness and good health. A short while after, one attending waiter rolled a wooden cart to our table, which carried a beautiful pink and turquoise glass globe. Out of the globe’s top was a spray trigger, like those one finds on old-fashioned spritzer bottles. From this he sprayed a pale, white-pink cloud into purple glass cups shaped like the flower of the calla lily, as he explained: “Grapefruit foam with Champagne.”

The foam was sweet, tart and danced on my tongue. It was like tasting the cream of champagne foam, if such a thing existed to be able to scoop it with a tiny, silver spoon. It can only be described as one would describe a fine wine: it had notes of citrus and spring wildflowers, with a creamy finish and an aftertaste that sparkled. I ate this bit of cloud very slowly, hoping that it would not finish – or fall – too soon. After the cool refresher, we were treated to another delight: a warm pea velouté, smooth with a foamy cream. The velvety green soup was mostly broth, but in addition to the occasional green pea, there were bits of prawn suspended in the thick near the bottom of the four-sided pyramid-shaped bowl. This soup taster was not strongly flavoured so as to showcase the fresh purity of its ingredients. After the cool foam cleansed our palates, the warm smoothness of the pea velouté warmed our stomachs in preparation for our forthcoming meal.

Our whole table chose the same starter: a scallop dish of seared, hand-dived scallop, topped with truffle and Granny Smith apple matchstick accents. Off to the side was a smear of a celeriac purée, and around the plates components was drizzled a savory-sweet caramel sauce. I find scallops to be one of the most difficult things to cook perfectly; now thanks to the team at Midsummer House, I have a model to follow the next time I try to achieve seafood perfection. The scalloped were seared on the outside, while inside they were cooked just over the threshold of coming fresh from the sea. Their meat was almost like eating a ripe sea-fruit, kept moist and salty by the taste of seawater. The pure scallops were a stand-out by themselves, but their simplicity was perfect for enjoying the rich celeriac purée, the woody truffles, and the delicate caramel sauce.

The main courses were all different, and each was presented with an explanation and humble flourish by the charming French waitstaff. John ordered the Cannon of Lamb, which came with confit tomato, cous cous, broccoli purée and girolles. Ann ordered a beautiful dish of Anjou Squab Pigeon, poached and grilled rare, with sweet potato and spinach, cherries and pistachios, then finished with a theatrical drizzle of Valharona chocolate syrup and shaving of this fine chocolate on top. Naomi and I both ordered fish. Naomi enjoyed the Turbot, which came braised with a peanut and pistachio crust, atop a bit of spinach and spears of fresh green asparagus, decorated with pieces of squash and finished in a light vanilla sauce. I ordered the John Dory, a light yet meaty white fish that came with anchovy, confit tomatoes, slices of fennel bulb and black olive. The fish was so fresh, and the dish brought out the light, earthy flavours of Mediterranean cuisine. The confit tomatoes, though just an accent, were an absolute delight; they tasted as though they had been just picked from the vine, and were infused with the richness of fine olive oil.

The presentation of all of these dishes was a work of art. The meats and the fish were all arranged playfully between brushes of sauce and sprinklings of garnish. The arrangements allowed us to taste, re-taste and choose any combination of complementary flavours with each forkful. Clifford's attention to affinities between ingredients was most evident, as each combination was harmonious, exciting, delightful.

Following our mains, we took a moment of respite to sip our wine and let the savoury tastes of our meal linger before dessert. We were then presented with an unusual palate cleanser of pear foam within which was a marble-sized scoop of what appeared to be clotted cream. The surprise was the candied kalamata olives, which were as sweet as they were salty, and a very interesting accent to the sweet and fruity foam.

The arrival of dessert was yet another showcase of art. Ann ordered a cheese tasting, and was presented with an elaborate wooden cart from which she could choose a sampling of over a dozen artisinal farm cheeses from France and England. Our waiter was as enthused and educated about his cheeses as we were about tasting them. We ultimately chose five different varieties, from a very pungent and spicy bleu cheese to a soft and creamy goat's milk cheese. Naomi and I both ordered a fanciful Raspberry Dessert of white chocolate tubes, one of which was filled with raspberry jelly, the other filled with a white-chocolate ice cream. The dessert also came with a scoop of raspberry sorbet dressed in raspberry sauce, and was seasoned most interestingly with canidied tarragon. To my delight, the herb was an extraordinary compliment to the sweetness of the dish. Although I could appreciate the artistry of the dessert, I wished I had had more room in my stomach to have ordered the Apple Tart Tatin, spiced with vanilla, garlic, and bay leaf -- an intriguing and unusual combination. John's dessert, a Mango and Passion Fruit Delice, arrived on an enormous round, white plate, decorated in golden yellow drizzles of Christmas Tree Honey, with a touch of Lychee Sorbet.

With mint teas and an espresso all around, we finished our dinner with homemade chocolates and French beignet patisseries. We dipped these fluffy, fried pastries in a caramel sauce and a pineapple sauce -- the caramel was so rich and creamy, and the pineapple sauce tasted of fresh pineapples without being too sweet.

We left out meal feeling satiated and delighted -- but not exceedingly full. Mr. Clifford's team at Midsummer House has done well in portioning their courses so that the diner may be able to taste everything without feeling gluttonous. The meal was a gift, and a joy to partake in. Every bite was like a celebration of ingredients and culinary experimentation that sought, above all, to suggest simplicity despite the layers of intricate artistry.

What made Midsummer House such a delightful experience, apart from the food, was the humbly elegant mood that the Victorian Cottage set for its diners. Even with the two Michelin Stars, the two Egon Ronay stars and 4 AA rosettes, Midsummer House still maintained a certain degree of humility and grace that make it stand alone from other fine restaurants. Daniel Clifford is passionate about food, and he is sincere about honing his craft. In my research about him, I gathered that Mr. Clifford is an unusually unpretentious chef, and his prerogative is to continually learn and make his restaurant better. Midsummer House is place where food is honored and delicately enjoyed. Mr. Clifford's cuisine, therefore, becomes a gift; it is served with joy and savoured with joy.

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Part Three -- London.

PART THREE: London

- Introduction: Journey to the Heart of London
- The King's Road and the Raj's Table
- From the Tate to Tea
- Designer Deli Dishes in Notting Hill

Introduction: Journey to the Heart of London

Everyone said, "Take a ride on the London Eye."

A ride? I didn't even see the London Eye. Neither did I get to see Big Ben, nor the House of Parliament, the Tower of London, or Westminster Abbey. But I did have a peek at London Bridge from the Millenium Bridge, and I did happen to fall upon Buckingham Palace after tea at another palatial spot, the Wolseley.

My three journeys into town were made with the earnest intention to find the heart of London. And then, after walking around Chelsea for a few hours and finding it not that much different from New York, I begged Naomi: "But where is the heart of London?" She looked at me, exhausted, and said: "Where is the heart of New York?" I had to think for a minute, as visions of New York's neighborhoods came into view... Times Square, Fifth Avenue, SoHo, the Upper West Side, Columbus Circle, or perhaps Central Park... New York's plethora of neighborhoods dumbfounded me with too many possible hearts, and all that I could say was, "Well, I suppose I don't know." With her point firmly proven, Naomi told me: "This is the heart of London, Amanda. If you can even say that the city has a heart. It depends. You shouldn't ask me. I'm not even a Londoner, I'm more of a New Yorker now."

And so, two New Yorkers began to wander the streets of London, with little but a tube map, an eye for fashion, and an insatiable appetite. I think I mildly succeeded in finding London's heart, and if anything, I would say that, very much like New York, the heart of London is underground, on the ground, all around.

The King's Road to the Raj's Table

Chelsea is a rather posh neighborhood in southwest London in the Royal Borough of Chelsea and Kensington. With streets lined with trees and multi-million-GBP townhouses, it is no surprise that the SW3 postal code on your home address label is a seal for bragging rights. Chelsea and Kensington seem to run seamlessly into one another, with Knightsbridge (think Harrod's) and South Kensington to the Northwest. The main thoroughfare in Chelsea is the King's Road, which begins from Sloan Square in Knightsbridge. The King's Road is Chelsea's high street of high fashion, decorated with an assortment of shops from pret-à-porter couture to charming and fun little gift shops (a genre of shop that London does extremely well). Pop off the Tube at Sloane Square, and head up the square to browse along the King's Road with the Chelsea Girls and Boys.

Cheslea Girls are stylish, and they know it. With sexy shoes, sleek sunglasses, and big handbags that scream "PradaGucciFendiPucci," the Girls walk up and down the King's road, popping in and out of shops and taking the occasional respite for a skinny-cappuccino or a glass of champagne. But for those to whom the mention of "Tom Ford" brings to mind American assembly-line industrialism and reliable cars, don't fret -- Chelsea is yours too for a stroll alongside these maidens of mode. There are plenty of affordable shops and restaurants all along the King's Road; two places for a quick and cheap bite are Pret à Manger and EAT., both right next to the other at the beginning of the road. Naomi and I stopped off for a quick lunch at Pret. To my happy surprise, my "Bread-less sandwich" was an exceptionally fresh salad of mache and arugula greens, ripe red tomato slices, buttery mozzerella cheese, salty olives, and toasted pine nuts. Not bad for "fast food."

Once you tire of the King's Road, there are charming side streets that, in my opinion, are more fun to explore than the Road itself. Take a turn onto Godfrey Street and have a look around the beautiful townhouses owned by Russian millionaires. Make your way to the end of Godfrey Street to Cale Street, and you will find a sweet little triangular opening with little shops and a breath of fresh air. Cath Kidston is a happy shop where those who love color can find beautiful things to brighten the home. The shop is teeny, but the colors and patterns are big; everywhere you look, patterns of polka dots, roses, stripes and stars (and any combination thereof) dazzle the eye and make your mouth water for summer watermelon at the beach.

With our arms full of shopping parcels and our stomachs empty and ready for a meal, we hopped underground to for dinner in Covent Gardens at Mela, a bright and elegant Indian restaurant with food from all over Britain's former colony. The restaurant is painted a warm goldenrod-yellow hue to complement the wooden decor. As you enter, the kitchen to your right is busy with chefs preparing rich and fluffy naan bread and tandoori meats; the whole restaurant is fragrant with cumin, coriander and oil, which makes it all the more a challenge for us to wait for our food.

Mela's menu is extensive, and divided into vegetarian and non-vegetarian selections of Starters and Mains (Tandoor and Curries). The side dishes must not be overlooked, and there are plenty of choices for rice and bread. For those wishing to sample the menu, the 3-course Table D'Hôte has vegetarian and non-vegetarian selections, priced at £29.95 and £36.95, respectively.

The kind and patient waitstaff checked in with us regularly as I scoured the menu for our meal. We began with Matar Aur Adrak Bhari Aloo Tiki, two small, fried potato patties with mashed green peas and spiced with ginger. The two spicy patties were lightly covered in an auburn tamarind sauce and a fresh yogurt sauce drizzled across the bottom of the plate, with sprinkles of cool, green mint that cleared the palate of the hot spices. We loved these intricate little pea-patties so much that we ordered an additional plate to come with our main course. When everything arrived, our table was filled with copper pots and white plates filled with colorful and fragrant food: Murgh Tikka Makhanwala, Suki Miloni Subzi, Jeera Pulao Rice and Roti. The Murgh Tikka Makhanwala, the traditional favourite known simply as chicken tikka, consisted of small pieces of chicken marinated all day in yogurt and spices like cardamom, fennel and cumin. These pieces were then delicately to retain their succulent moisture. Served in a sauce of creamy tomatoes spiced with fenugreek, this dish achieved an excellent balance of spice, savoury and sweetness. This excellent sauce was lapped up with fragrant Jeera Pulao rice and rich, buttery whole-wheat roti bread. The Suki Miloni Subzi -- a side dish that I ordered as a main, much to our waiter's surprise -- was a very hearty, large portion of snow peas, cauliflower, broccoli, baby carrots, tomatoes, potatoes and fava beans that were cooked in a rich, brown spice paste of tamarind and asafoetida. This was my ideal Indian dish: rich, savoury and spicy Indian flavours with a mouthwatering variety of fresh vegetables. What struck me most about this dish was its freshness; far too often, the heavy spices of Indian cuisine battle with the raw ingredients, which render the vegetables rubbery and defeated by curry, coriander and chili. But this side-dish-made-main-dish was a stunning example of how, in the hands of an expert, attentive and careful chef, a dish's flavour and complement -- not overpower -- the ingredients from which is it made.

***
Cath Kidston
12 Cale Street London SW3 3QV
+44 (0) 20 7584 3232
www.cathkidston.co.uk

Mela
152-156 Shaftesbury Avenue
London WC2H 8HL
+ 44 (0) 20 7836 8635
www.melarestaurant.co.uk

***

From Tate to Tea

After our romp through Chelsea, I had a bit of a feel for the city, but I was far from satiated. That night, comfortably nestled in the Hope's blue guest room, I suddenly felt that perhaps my idea of seeing London "as a Londoner" would keep me from actually seeing the city as it was intended to present itself to tourists such as me. I was craving culture in the form of red double-decker buses, crowned jewels, bobbies and high tea. And yet I simultaneously felt a pang of guilt: I couldn't possibly stomach the idea of making Naomi tour London with yet another friend come from America to ride the London Eye. I spent the night concocting an un-tour of London in my dreams.

So the next day, I proposed a mini-tour: the Tate Modern and then high tea at a place of Naomi's choosing. Naomi conceded with grace, and kindly came up with a little itinerary for us to see as much as possible without riding atop a bus. We would amble around the Tate Modern, take a peek into St. Paul's Cathedral, have a stroll along the South Bank, and then take Tea at The Wolseley followed by a walk into Green Park. I was thrilled, wearing my flats and ready to walk, eager as ever to see this Tate Modern that was so iconic to me.

And then I discovered that the Tate Modern was, if nothing else, an old factory relic of England's industrial age. It was an overcast day -- the first and only of my trip --, which foreshadowed the rather gloomy art that was contained inside London's modern art museum.

The best part of the Tate Modern was crossing over the uber-modern Millennium Bridge. As we crossed the wide, expansive River Thames, I felt for a moment as though I were in an enlarged and grossly modernized/industrialized version of the River Seine. For four months over a year ago, I crossed the Seine daily over the historic Pont de la Concorde to the great square of the Revolution. Now, I was crossing a very new and very metallic bridge to a place of artistic revolution, which purportedly held some of the world's greatest modern and contemporary art collections. One look at the Tate Modern Museum's map would have one believe such a claim to be true: a whole room of Roy Lichtenstein?!? Up to the fourth floor, yes please!

Once inside, we discovered that yes indeed, it was a whole room. A whole room of a Roy Lichtenstein. Oh, but there was also an awkward mobile inspired by the one, single, mediocre work of exploding fighter jets (forgive me, Mr. Lichtenstein). Disappointed, we headed over to the Rothko Room for some cheering up. But the Rothko collection proved to be similar: one dark room of a single series of murals done by Rothko on commission to a restaurant The Ritz in New York, a commission which he broke after he realized that his paintings (inspired by the cloistered enclosures of brick walls) would not at all inspire feasting and merriment. The paintings themselves are magnificent, but in the context of the dark, dank museum proved to be oppressive and overwhelming. After a good forty minutes of putting up with my search for meaning in the modern museum world, Naomi made her confession of visceral distaste for the Tate's cold steel-concrete-and-wood structure. To which I wholeheartedly agreed. I have a great deal of respect and awe for the Tate Modern, but I ultimately felt that its structure was too much a distraction away from the art, and the organization of the works was too disjointed to allow for museum-goers to wander pensively through the galleries.

Hungry and irritable, we decided to forego the walk along the South Bank, pop over to St. Paul's Cathedral at the other end of the Millennium Bridge, and then take a cab over to the Wolseley for lunch and tea. St. Paul's Cathedral is where Prince Charles and Lady Diana were married on July 29, 1981, and where Queen Victoria celebrated the religious service of her Diamond Jubilee in 1897. The Cathedral is unquestionably worthy of these two important royal events, as the Cathedral itself possesses an architectural noblesse and grandeur in its present form, the fifth incarnation of the Cathedral since pre-Norman times in the seventh century A.D. The enormous cupola is a beautiful and impressive feature of the structure, which makes it seem to stretch high upward almost infinitely into the grey London skies. However, the Cathedral did present a certain finitude for me; at £9.50 per person entry into the Cathedral (19.00 USD), I decided that I'd rather keep the hefty "donation" and spend it on scones with clotted cream and raspberry jam.

The Wolseley is a spectacularly opulent restaurant in St. James on the famous London Boulevard, Picadilly. The building was originally designed in 1921 as a car showroom for Wolseley Cars Limited in high Florentine and Venetian style. What ensued was an extraordinary and elegant building which now serves as a restaurant for high society, posh society and tourists hoping to get a taste of English society. This is the place to forget that the USD/GBP exchange rate is two-times in favor of the pound. Order with one finger firmly covering the menu prices and the other pointing outward as you daintily stir your imported Indian and Chinese tea with a silver spoon and sip away the afternoon from delicate, porcelain cups.

With high tea thirty minutes away, Naomi and I arrived at without a reservation, so we were happily seated in a side room outside of the chatty, theatrical main dining room. Disappointed as we were to miss the goings-on of society, we settled like proper princesses into our seats and ordered the French-inspired menu. We both began with soup: Naomi chose a creamy, chartreuse-hued seafood soup, and I chose a chicken and dumpling soup in a chicken consomme broth. The broth of my soup was delightfully rich for a consomme, and the tiny bread dumplings bobbled about in penny-sized balls among sparse leek slivers and a few quarter-sized pieces of chicken. The soup was of perfect temperature, just warm enough to thaw the cold left within me by the Tate Modern.

Following the soup, we each ordered a small Roast Chicken and Tarragon Salad. These were served in cone-like bowls, brimming with delicious mache greens and dotted with juicy red cherry tomatoes and crisp scallion slices. The chicken was incredibly succulent and moist; its freshness reaffirmed my decision to abandon my post-Gourmet Magazine article decision to not eat chicken. The dressing was a rich vinaigrette spiced with curry, which brought out the sweetness of the greens and the buttery flavour of the chicken. By the end, we were happy and full -- but tea was on its way.

The Wolseley offers two options for high tea served daily from 3.30pm to 5.30pm, and on Sundays all day until 6.30pm: The Cream Tea and the Afternoon Tea. Afternoon Tea is served on a three-tiered tray with Assorted Finger Sandwiches, Currant Scones, and a Selection of fine Pastries to complement your choice of tea served in heavy, polished silver pots. The Cream Tea is a one-plate version of the Afternoon Tea, with simply the essentials: tea and three fluffy scones and a tiny server with a cup of clotted cream and raspberry jam. Naomi and I ordered one to share between the two of us, with a pot of tea for each. The scones were heavenly; the moist, cake-like flour was rich with sweet butter on the inside, with a crisp yet supple crust outside. The scones opened warmly in half at the command of our fingers, and soaked up the rich clotted cream and tender raspberry jam. Each morsel of scone-cake brought me closer to feeling like a Duchess dressed in silk skirts and a velvet overcoat.

***
The Tate Modern
Bankside
London SE1 9TG
+44 (0) 20 7887 8888
www.tate.org.uk
Gallery Hours:
Sunday – Thursday, 10.00–18.00
Friday and Saturday, 10.00–22.00
Last admission into exhibitions 17.15 (Friday and Saturday 21.15)

The Wolseley
160 Picadilly
London W1J 9EB
+44 (0) 20 7499 6996
www.thewolseley.com
***

Designer Deli Dishes in Notting Hill

When I told Matthew that Naomi and I had spent the day pottering about Notting Hill, he described this West London neighborhood in the Royal Borough of Chelsea and Kensington as that neighborhood in which: "one puts on makeup to take out the bin."

The neighborhood is undoubtedly one of, if not the trendiest spots in London. A host of celebrities live or have townhouses here, including Stella McCartney, Mick Jagger, Richard Curtis and (according to Naomi) Madonna. The average price for renting a flat or a house seems to be between £600 and £1,758 -- keeping in mind, for the American audience, that the GBP is twice as strong as the dollar. This massive peak in prices occured after the release of a certain little romantic comedy that took its name from the neighborhood in which it was filmed. Notting Hill, once a run-down immigrant neighborhood, was in the middle of a 20-year gentrifrication process when the film instantly boosted this little neighborhood to stardom. It is little surprise that there is as much frustration as there is awe with the "The Notting Hill Set," the "Trustifarians" and "the Notting Hillbillies," who include the wealthy young professionals and media people who are priviledged enough to live here. The streets are clean and charming, the houses are immaculately maintained, and there are ample sundries about town that range from your standard Boots pharmacy to Vintage record shops, and designer boutiques to the famous Portobello Road and antique flea market. I was immediately swept up, into, and around the sunny streets of Notting Hill, where Naomi and I passed away a happy afternoon by saying "ooh" and "ahh" as we popped in and out of shops and became inspired by the possibilty of one day having a house with a navy blue door in W11. For now, I'll settle for a flat on a street just on the neighborhood's border called Ladbroke Grove.

Get off the Tube at the Notting Hill Gate stop, a beautiful, brick interior station with hanging planters that spill out lush, green, manicured foliage. You'll know immediately that you have arrived at Notting Hill. When you exit the station, turn onto Pembridge Road, and follow it until you reach a turn down onto Portobello Road.

Every Saturday, the antique shops of Portobello Road and traveling antique / oddities caravans pour out onto the street to sell their wares. This is one of the world's most famous markets, which is also a favorite place where Paddington Bear would potter about, and upon which "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" starring Angela Lansbury was filmed and sung about in 1971: "Portobello road, Portobello road / Street where the riches of ages are stowed. / Anything and everything a chap can unload / Is sold off the barrow in Portobello road. / You’ll find what you want in the Portobello road." The street is charming, even on a weekday afternoon when the market is not up. It is worth the stroll all the way down, but if you fancy a turn for a nibble or a handbag, take left at Westbourne Grove.

Westbourne Grove opens up widely to a main thoroughfare in the neighborhood, with designer shops aplenty and two noteworthy places to eat. 202 Cafe at Nicole Farhi has outdoor seating right on the street where people go to see and be seen, and a little indoor part inside the shop next to open windows looking onto a garden. We decided not to eat here because all of the outside seats were taken, and inside the music was too loud and too much like a European fashion show for us to be able to enjoy our brunch. It was, however, the top recommendation of all the local shopkeepers.

But thanks to the lovely staff at Ted Baker (a shop with clothes that are so humbly stylish that I would like to buy the whole store), we discovered Tom's Delicatessen, the perfect mix of kitch and class. Tom's is a nod to the old-time general store; in the front is a mish-mash of candies and treats, with gourmet sandwiches and pastries to take away. Downstairs is the deli and salad bar -- but this is not your typical turkey-on-rye deli and iceberg lettuce with all the fixin's salad bar. The deli serves top, imported meats, cheeses, and beautiful "free-er than free range eggs," while the salad bar features bowls of salads composed of fresh vegetables, meats and cheeses. Each is crafted to hold its own, and no two are seasoned or spiced similarly.

What makes this candy-apple-red gourmet general store so appealing to sit-down diners is (second to the food, of course) the garden out back and the little terrace out from the dining floor where breakfast and lunch can be served under grey London skies. The interior is designed in 1950s Americana-diner-style, and outside is outfitted as a complementary 1950s Americana-garden-party theme. Be sure to spot the teapot sculpture in the corner by the stairs.

The menu at Tom's Delicatessen is a bruncher's dream -- the breakfast menu is served until noon, after which the delightful and varied lunch menu takes over. The food is an interesting and eclectic mix of influences; there is traditional English food done with a Mediterranean spin, like the sausages and beans. These were served with a heaping spoonful of lentil salad instead of traditional beans, and finished with a hot, peppery spice. Tom's is celebrated particularly for its breakfast egg offerings like the caviar-garnished scrambled eggs with salmon, or the perfectly poached eggs benedict. Bread does not come with your meal, but do order the bread basket for £1.50, which comes with white bread, brown bread and multigrain. Save room for dessert -- the millionaire's bar is perfect for satiating your sweettooth, and the coconut macaroons are perfect for dunking in tea.

While the service at Tom's was lamentably slow, the waitstaff was very kind and friendly. This is a perfect spot for a tasty lunch -- don't be in a rush, just take a terrace seat and enjoy.

***
Nicole Farhi, 202 Cafe
202 Westbourne Grove
London W11 2RH
+44 (0) 20 7727 2722

Tom's Delicatessen

226 Westbourne Grove
London, W11 2RH

+44 (0) 20 7221 8818
***

I was at first rather intimidated by London. Unlike New York and Paris, it seems to be an unbounded expanse of industrial city that stretches for miles and dissapears into unfamiliar neighborhoods. I found myself constantly checking for traffic in the wrong direction, despite the kind signs on the roads that are designed to direct your gaze. I felt more like a foreigner in London than I did in Paris, a sensation that struck me as truly odd considering that there is no language barrier. But ultimately, my heart was warmed to London, and on my last train back from King's Cross back to Hitchin, I found myself regretting my departure from both the city and the island nation. I know that I will return someday soon, perhaps for a more permanent stay one of London's many neighborhoods that are its heart, so that I may amble there for longer than just an afternoon.

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Part two -- The Provinces.

PART TWO: The Provinces

- Introduction: Nowhere and Everywhere at the Priory; The Vanguard film

- Dining at the Priory

- Local Chinese in Hitchin

- Mediterranean deli delights in Oundell

- More-ish Malteses

Nowhere and Everywhere at The Priory; The Vanguard Film

When I first asked Naomi what town the Priory is in, she had no answer. The address for her family's home is rather complicated; near Hitchin, in Little Wymondley, Herfordshire, England, postal code, etc. But Naomi best explained her location as "the place between two roads that belongs to neither town bordering it." Such an ambiguous address could only mean one thing: I was going to the middle of nowhere.

So to nowhere I went, and I found that I actually landed somewhere, somewhere extraordinarily special.

The Priory is located on six acres of lush green land, which are extremely well-appointed with proper English gardens, a curving moat, Mediterranean flourishes, and fields with over a hundred varieties of trees, including a number of ancient specimens that were planted at the time of the Romans. Even with jet-lag, I knew upon my arrival that I was in a sacred place, one that the Hopes are so very fortunate to call home. It seems to be a place that inspires all sorts of endeavors -- from John's entrepreneurial prowess, to Ann's garden design, their chef Jeff's culinary delights, to Naomi's ambitions in history and in fashion.

Of the many things being produced at the Priory, right now the Priory has become the studio where producer, director, and screenwriter Matthew Hope is finishing up his first feature film, The Vanguard. Set in a post-apocalyptic world, this horror film uses elements of Japanese cinema and what seems like a huge amount of crimson blood to examine how a man from industrialized society might survive in the wilderness as a hunter-gatherer. The film is currently in production, and I certainly anticipate that it will hit the festival circuit rather soon, and then later frighten us all on the big screen. (For more information, look at The Vanguard's trailer on the website, and this interview with Matthew about the film.)

Dining at the Priory

It was over dinners at the Priory that I was able to talk to Matthew and learn about his film, in addition to enjoying the company and laughter of Naomi and the entire family. Though I had my hand at cookery one night by (literally) throwing together a Pasta Pomodoro (see Friday, May 27 2007 for recipe), I was truly fortunate to taste the cuisine of the Priory's chef, Jeff, on two delightful occasions. The first was a three-course dinner, which began with an unusual prawn cocktail wherein small bits of shrimp were suspended in chilled butter and herbs. This appetizer was followed by a delightful chicken dish with roasted vegetables in a hearty sauce. The dessert -- or pudding -- was rather exceptional: pannacotta with lavender syrup, decorated with fresh lavender flowers from the Priory's garden.

Before my departure flight, Jeff once again crafted an elegant two-course meal, which we enjoyed outside on the sunny patio. The first course was a lightly curried cauliflower soup, served with cumin-salted pappadam crisps. The soup had a soft and creamy texture, and was served just warm enough to complement the summer heat. Though one might suspect that a cream soup would be heavy, Jeff's was not -- the soup was light, almost fluffy, and the curry was just enough to linger pleasantly on your tongue before the cream balanced the piquant spices away.

The soup was followed by sea bass, beautifully arranged on large, white, deep Gordon Ramsay plates. Two small filets of fresh, pure white bass were placed atop a sampling of green vegetables: short haricot verts, tips of asparagus, and zucchini. Encircled by three boiled potatoes powdered with fresh herbs, the whole plate was brought together by a white, light butter sauce that was subtly flavoured with a hint of vanilla. The dish was cooked so perfectly that the juices of the bass seemed to be infused with the butter sauce. It was a delightful meal that was accompanied by Chimere champagne and a white wine, the name of which I must ask John to remind me.

Local Chinese in Hitchin

Hitchin is a small and charming historic market village in Little Wymondley of Hertfordshire. There are many shops, including a Marks & Spencer's Simply Food, a Waterstone's bookstore, a hand and foot spa, and a delightful little gourmet shop and deli called Halsey's of Hitchin. Halsey's has an impressive selection of cheeses and prepared foods, teas and coffees, and other little cooker's helpers. I was bewitched by their collection of packaged herbs, which included exotic spices like Al Quar-at and organic basil from Egypt, and local peppercorn mixes and lemon lavender sugar.

For a casual dinner my first night in England, we went to the local Chinese called Paddyfields, the Hopes' family favourite. Though their reviews that night were mixed, I found the dinner to be a real treat. Everything was shared; we began with mixed appetizers, including chicken satay, spare ribs, bean sprouts, and the very unusual prawn toast -- fried bread encrusted with prawn. Next came duck with plum sauce, which our congenial waiter fiercely and methodically pulled apart from the animal's bodily form into a thousand shreds of succulent, rich meat.

Though just thiry minutes outside of London by train, Hitchin is not a tourist destination, but it is a lovely town in its own right. On Tuesdays and Saturdays, the old market comes to life in Market Square where you can potter about and have a look at the old china, antiques, and knickknacks, or buy some local produce from England or the continent. Stop for a coffee at Cafe Rouge, a local chain French cafe that seemed to pop up everywhere I went in England throughout the week. Be sure to stroll around the little stream that curves behind St. Mary's church. Have a peek inside this 14th century landmark, or wander around the large and ancient tombstones surrounding it.

Halsey's of Hitchin
Market Place
Hitchin
Hertfordshire
SG5 1DR
01462 432023

Paddyfields
3 St Andrew Street
Hertford
SG14 1HZ
01992 550582

Mediterranean Deli Delights in Oundle

After having spent two rather exhausting days in a row in London, Naomi and I decided to spend one afternoon locally with her sister who lives about an hour away from the Priory. We decided to meet for a light lunch and go to Oundle (pronounced like "how": ow-n-dle) an affluent and academic village in Northamptonshire. Oundle is a gorgeous historical village with lovely stone houses that trail along historic and well-maintained streets. The village is perhaps best known for The Oundle School, a rigorous boarding and day school for 5-11, with entry into the sixth form. The school was founded in 1556 by Sir William Laxton (after whom the junior school takes its name), and the stately stone buildings in place today are from the 17th century. If you can, take a peek around the main courtyard, enclosed on one side by regal arches. Of note is the art studio, into which I was able to spy and have a look at some rather remarkable student painting and sculpture works.

We three ladies lunched at an elegant and comfortable deli, Smith's at No. 4, in the center of the village around the fountain. The "deli" serves upscale lunch food by which I was duly impressed. The vegetarian platter comes with rich, homemade hummous, salty olives, sweet and savoury couscous salad, and finger-ready grilled vegetables. The platter appears to be quite small, as each delight comes in a little ramekin no larger than an inch-and-a-half in diameter, but if enjoyed with their delicious bread (white or multi-grain brown) and a simple side salad (with cucumber and tomato, rocket, and my very favorite -- mache!), it becomes a very substantial and healthy meal. The elderflower presse is equally delightful, as are many other other organic presse drinks that are crafted by a local British maker. At the counter, there is ample selection of sweets and savories, from scones and brownies to samosas and fish.

Though I myself was unable to try it, a local cafe called Beans on the opposite side of the square is a local favorite. This shop seemed to attract a youngish crowd, exclusive of the school students. Beans is also very well known for its ice cream milkshakes like the Malteser flavour.

The shops around Oundle are elegant and well-appointed. For women wandering about, you must not leave without having a look around Eve, an amazing lingerie shop at the small Bazaar shopping complex on West Street, not far down the road from Beans. Eve carries all the best European lingerie makers, including Princesse Tam-Tam, Elle MacPherson, and Ted Baker. In addition to lingerie, Eve also has a small selection of swimwear.

Smiths at No.4
North Street
01832 270011

Beans
1 New Street
01933 314001

Eve
The Bazaar, West Street
01832 273969

More-ish Maltesers

One night, Ann, Naomi, and I had a long discussion about the delights of British candy as I uncontrollably popped a bag of Maltesers into my mouth. Naomi said: "They're so more-ish, aren't they?" "Moor-ish?" I asked. "What do they have anything to do with North Africa?" "No... more, as in, you can't have enough and you want more, and more, and more." I immediately thought: Once you pop, the fun don't stop.

Word from the wiser: don't pop, just stop. The Brits have an affinity for sweets -- think Willy Wonka -- and they're damn good at their product. Maltesers are little balls of milk-chocolate-crunch-heaven, with crisp wafer inside, and which I swear bears a minuscule piece of caramel that makes heaven crumble in your mouth. BUT, I do have to warn you (though perhaps it is just my own lactose-unfriendly stomach that is forcing me to stage this protest), Maltesers are INCREDIBLY MORE-ISH, and once you go beyond a certain point, the feeling goes from happy-childhood-candy-memories to adult-pass-me-the-Tums-indigestion.

For the alcoholic sweet-tooth in all of us, go for Maynard Wine Gums. Again, pop and stop. You won't get a buzz, just a cavity.

taste.travel.ENGLAND. Part One: Introduction.

There is nothing quite like English bread.













Even I, a devoted Francophile, was duly impressed with the quality of bread in England. It was both a surprise and delight to find that the bread I had was consistently delicious almost everywhere I ate, even at little delis that seemed to be otherwise un-special.

English bread isn't dainty like French artisan-quality baguettes. To begin by oversimplification, English bread seems to come in two varieties: white bread and brown bread. There was always a crunchy, thick crust that kept the inner dough soft, supple, and moist. English bread is bread meantfor soaking up warm soup, sponging the last taste of sauces, and depending which side you're on, for smothering with fresh, creamy butter and a thin smear of Marmite. English bread is hearty, fresh, and satisfying.

My discovery of England's delicious bread foreshadowed the quality of the country's cuisine in general. Despite the suspicions (beans on toast), the admonitions (beware black pudding...), and worst of all, the prejudices (fish 'n chips!!), I discovered a rather exciting an dynamic side of English food, all thanks due to my wonderful new friends, the Hopes, of the beautiful English estate, The Priory.

So without further prolonging the obvious, my final assessment of English cuisine is the following (are you ready, John?):

English food is outstanding.

Even with Marmite. Or, Marmite notwithstanding. Or, exclusive of Marmite. Depending on which side you're on, of course.

I cannot say that all English food is outstanding, just I would not say that all American, French, or even my beloved Italian food is 100% palatable. My foray into English cuisine was admittedly very unique. It was thanks to the Hopes that I had such a delicious experience, and I can only begin to express my gratitude to them for sharing their love of food, drink, and each other with me during my stay at the Priory.

My exceptional English epicurean education took place in three particular regions: London, Cambridge, and the provinces in Hertfordshire and Northamptonshire. It included a wide range of cuisine from sharing shrimp cakes at the local Chinese to eating with joy and amazement at an establishment deservingly awarded two-Michelin stars.

As there is so very much to cover, I have decided to organize my experience in three parts, by region, to share with you the ways by which I discovered English cuisine. Consider each installment a sort of epicurean travel guide, complete with restaurant reviews and a few things to do in between meals.

So happy eating old chap, safe journey, and cheers!

If you are planning a wedding and thinking about having your wedding in England, there is no where quite like the Priory for a private, elegant, and romantic setting for your big day.

The Priory
Little Wymondley near Hitchin
Hertfordshire
Phone: +44 (0) 1438 748647
Fax: +44 (0) 1438 355519
http://thepriory.net/

California Barbecue Salmon

Though my hopeful plan to travel to San Francisco next week is now on hold, I'm delighted to have the chance to have a bit of Cali in my kitchen. Hannah, a new friend of mine, just went back home to San Francisco for Memorial Day weekend, and promised to send me a recipe upon her return to New York. I just found it in my emailbox, and it looks as delicious as she said it would be. Now if only I can find a way to get a grill up five flights of stairs and onto our precarious fire escape...




CALIFORNIA BARBECUE SALMON


1 tablespoon butter or margarine
1 tablespoon each honey and firmly packed brown sugar
2 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon minced fresh ginger or minced garlic
1 salmon fillet with skin (3.5 – 4.5 lb.; a 12-lb. whole salmon yields 2 about this size)
Lime slices and wedges
Whole chives (optional)

In a 6- to 8-inch frying pan over medium heat, stir butter with honey and sugar until butter melts. Remove from heat; add to pan the soy,mustard, oil, and ginger; mix well. Let sauce cool slightly.

Meanwhile, rinse fish and pat dry. To make fish easier to handle when cooked, set it, skin down, on a large piece of foil; trim foil (or fold under) to fit outline of fish. Set fish and foil in a rimmed pan large enough to hold fish. Stir sauce and spoon evenly over fish; let stand 15 minutes to 1 hour; frequently spoon sauce over fish.


Put salmon with foil on a grill over indirect heat. Cover barbecue with lid, open any vents, and cook until fish is opaque but still moist-looking in the thickest part (cut to test), 20 to 30 minutes.

To move fish onto a platter, support with 2 large spatulas, or slip a rimless baking sheet under fish. Set, or slide, fish onto a platter. Serve salmon hot or cold; if making ahead, cover and chill up to 1 day. Squeeze juice from lime wedges onto portions.

Makes 10 to 12 servings.