Hispania

Preconceptions are funny things.  I have to admit having three of them, about Hispania, that were held before last week’s visit:

1. I had never noticed it being there, despite it being open now for over two years and passing by it relatively (although not very) regularly.
2. Even if I had noticed it, I’m not sure I would have gone.  Another fancy Spanish restaurant in the middle of the City full of dreadful bankers and serving overpriced food? Hmmm. 
3. Also, some of the reviews have not been great (Time Out: 2 stars…)

Anyway, turns out preconceptions are a crock of shite, because Hispania is really rather good.
There was a group of us searching for a meal.  One chap suggested tapas at Hispania, despite him being strictly averse to sharing food, but he’d had a colleague go there who enjoyed himself.  Everyone agreed.

Have you ever tried ordering tapas amongst a large group of people?  Well don’t.  Even when you tell people to choose two dishes there is so much chit chat and wasted time and then you end up with a dozen bowls of patatas bravas and a platter of cured meats.  Best do what we did: Order the lot.  Literally, we ordered one of everything on their tapas list plus a platter of mixed meats and another of mixed cheeses.

Quick (photo-less, sorry) word about the wine.  Matthew, our resident wine expert and who has sold Hispania wine before, chose two bottles of red – one lighter and one heavier.  The heavier wine was Lucero del Alba, a Tempranillo (£30).  Dark, tannic and chewy, with t scent of burnt toast.  It was a food wine – and a rich, red meat kind of food wine at that.  Very good though – just my sort of thing.  The lighter wine was the Lágrimas de Garnacha (£26).  This was stunning – just amazing.  It was, again, quite punchy and spicy but with an immediate sweet note as well.  There was toffee as well, together with a hint of horseradish and also – and stay with me here – the flavour of burnt fat you get around a steak that’s been barbequed over charcoal.  Fantastic.

Now onto the food.

First out were the cold dishes.  Cured meat selection.  Top to bottom: Jamón Ibérico, lomo (loin), salchichón and chorizo.  Great stuff, top quality.  There’s not much more to say, I suppose, but I do love Spanish meats.

Crujientes de quesos:  toffee-coated crispy, wafer thin pastry stuffed with creamed cheese.

Initially, these were poo-pooed by the group, who did not like the sound of the dish.  OK, I get why some people might not be so keen – although a seasoned ‘salt-and-sweet’ grubster like myself had no truck with such objections.  These were great – in fact, it was the biggest opponent who ate the spare sample.

Spanish cheese selection.  Manchego (top, yellow triangles), Ibores (left, sticks with orange rind), Cabra Montenebro (right, grey rind, interspersed with membrillo (quince paste)) and Mahón (bottom, triangles with orange rind).

Again, all first rate and very delicious.  The standout favourite was the Cabra, a goat’s cheese – which is funny because I’m not that into goat that often.  This was delicious, however, and the membrillo worked with it like a treat.

Now for some fishy things.  Starting with monkfish.

Monkfish is a brilliant fish, in my humble opinion, probably because it’s so meaty.  Just excellent (even though it costs a fortune) and here was no exception.  Lightly battered and fried, they fish was cooked properly.  I also absolutely bloody love piquillo peppers.  I will never forget the first time I tasted one any being physically knocked back by the intensity of their flavour.  How, I remember thinking and still wonder each time I eat one, does that much pepper-taste get in to such a small amount of vegetable.  So two of my favourite things.  What’s the catch?  Simple: they just don’t go together.  I’m not sure who paired these or why, but whilst each constituent element is wonderful, the finished article just falls a little flat.

Calamares.

Bloody love calamari and these were bloody good examples.  With a squeeze of lime (not lemon, peculiarly) and a touch of lime zest this was a simple but delicious tapa.  It’s also worth noting that the squid was evidently fresh and cooked properly – soft and light, not hard and rubbery.  “Kentucky Fried Squid” said one diner (cruel but accurate – except, I might add, with significantly higher quality) whilst another diner passionately sworn off squid wolfed down a portion.  Happy days.

Gambas al ajillo.

Or, prawns in a spicy, garlicky sauce.  Very classic.

Onwards and upwards: Now we hit the ‘hot food’ section (notwithstanding that the fish was hot – it was meant to be a sort of starter-fish-mains experience – I think?).

Croquets, which came in two forms:

1. Croquetas de jamón.

Very nice.  Large enough to get a proper portion but not so large that they are difficult to eat.  Very tasty too.

2. Croquetas ‘Hay Festival’.

I am sure there is a back story to these, other than “created specially for the famous literary festival” that the menu proclaims.  I would like to know the back story because otherwise I cannot work out how (a) they are especially (that’s the correct word, btw) suited for the Hay Festival and (b) it was ever thought that substituting jamón with leeks would be an improvement.  Unless, of course, the chef at Hispania hates the Hay Festival / bookworms in general and wanted to serve an inferior croquet.  To be fair, there’s nothing wrong with this, it’s more a case that there’s nothing right with it either.  It’s just that I can’t help feeling that, on the choice of croquet with ham and croquet with leeks, the sane person would (and should) always choose the former.

And the ubiquitous Spanish tortilla.

Now, I actually tried to talk the table out of ordering this because I’m no fan of omelettes and most forms of potato (yes it’s weird, no it doesn’t preclude me writing a food blog, and I’ve written about this in more detail elsewhere).  But I was overruled by the resident vegetarian and, given that we were having all sorts of other meat, I reckoned I should let her have her way.  It was actually pretty spectacular.  Rather than being, as is customary, a big, stodgy cakey of eggy potato, it was crisp on the outside whilst still being beautifully light and underdone inside.  This was actually a revelation.

Together with some padron peppers.  Not much to say about these.  They are nice.  They always are.  Five years ago you couldn’t find them in London for love or money, now you can’t go to a Spanish restaurant without having them virtually thrown at you.

Morcilla duo.  If you’re not familiar with morcilla, it is what is known as a ‘blood sausage’, or black pudding, in plain English.  Although, it’s not really like a black pudding.  It tends to be softer, more moist, and has lumps of fat or sometimes rice where the English version has oats.  But you get the idea.

These two were onion and rice.  Both excellent, and very moreish – although the differences (other than in texture) were not immediately obvious.

A short break then followed before we were presented with what had to be the finale – the potato course (or so it seemed).

Huevos rotos de corral – or ham, egg and chips as it is known over here.

We are well and truly into hangover food territory now.  To tell the truth, when I saw this on the menu I knew I recognised it from somewhere – and assumed I liked it. Then it came back to me – my first visit to Tapas 24 in Barcelona (the very best tapas restaurant I have ever been to) and one of my earliest Grubster posts.  And when it came back to me I remembered: this is not a dish I enjoy.  Not then, not now.  Again, it’s more of a case of what’s right than what’s wrong.  This is a grease fest – Spain’s answer to Canada’s poutine or Britain’s chips and gravy.  You can try all you like, it’s not sophisticated, it’s not clever and it doesn’t belong in an upscale tapas joint like Hispania.  You can try all you like, but just no.

And then, of course, patas bravas.

I mean…  Really, let’s cut to the chase.  If you like this sort of thing then you’ll like this version – very nicely done, with a fancy romesco sauce that’s full of flavour.  I personally find it hard to get excited, but the others seemed to enjoy it.

Greg, the man with the plan who suggested the place, had earlier confessed to me is worries regarding the cost.  I don’t wholly blame him – it looks from the outside (and within, with its epically tall ceilings, marble floors and wide, sparsely tabled spaces – it’s actually a very pleasant atmosphere) like it will be expensive.  When the bill came we were pleasantly surprised.  All that food (12 tapas plates and two platters) and drink (half a bottle of wine each in the end) came to about £36 a head.  Not bad – for the City.

Someone remarked that it somehow didn’t feel like authentic, Spanish tapas.  No kidding.  It wasn’t – it was high end tapas, done in a fancy, marble lined dining room.  There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s simply that you’re looking at a different beast.  And a very fine beast, in this case.

Alcoholic Architecture

Back at school there was a rumour that if you snorted tequila you’d get much drunker much quicker but wouldn’t be sick and wouldn’t get a hangover.  I remember a guy called Ian trying it at a house party once with a bottle of Jose Cuervo, throwing up a lot shortly afterwards and looking decidedly ropey in the morning.  To be frank, I don’t think it was the nasally ingested liquor that did for Ian, I think it was more likely the Foster’s six pack from a local off licence and that he’d downed on an empty stomach as soon as he’d arrived and the half bottle of Lambrini he’d sunk over the next half hour with the girl he was trying to get off with.  But anyway, I digress – that was the first time I recall being (un)reliably informed that ingesting alcohol other than through your gob would have the desired, inebriating effect. 

It was also, until very recently, the last – and that comes as no surprise.  However, a couple of weeks ago an email dropped into my inbox informing me that someone else was giving this concept a go.
Of course, it was the chaps behind Bompas & Parr – whose projects range from a jelly version of Heathrow Terminal 5 to a cityscape of lost London architecture made out of biscuits by way of a Parliamentary Waffle House and a glow-in-the dark Cornetto – that are spearheading this.

Their latest project is called Alcoholic Architecture.  I am not entirely sure how to describe it – other than a room full of gin. 

I’ll explain.

Alcoholic Architecture is based in the former Banana Store restaurant (and, indeed, store) near Borough Market.  Avid readers of this blog may recall it as the location of my stag party, oddly enough, which is alas no more. 

Book your tickets (hurry to get the last few) and get there on time.  For health and sobriety reasons you are limited to an hour in the room (which actually works out as a lot less) so don’t be late.

A funny monk shows you inside, and you work your way into the belly of the building, through spookily lit and gothic-ly decorated corridors.

Soon you find yourself in the bar, having first donned a plastic mac.  Trust me, this is essential – you will get very damp otherwise. 

The drinks are rather predictably unpredictable.  I opted first for a Mystery Mead, a combination of mead (surprise surprise), antica formula, sweet vermouth, honey, lemon and rhubarb bitters.  Greg went for a gin and tonic, because he’s a little Tory like that – except here it’s made with frankincense-smoked gin (although it tasted, apparently, like a G&T).

Then you make your way into ‘the room’ - or cloud as they would (quite justifiably) have it.  This is the main attraction of the night. 

And cloudy it is.

Basically, it is a room full of gin.  By which I mean literally full of gin and tonic – a G&T mist, to be precise, made from Beefeater gin, concentrated tonic and spring water.  It’s then turned magically into a thick fog and pumped, in enormous volumes, into a small room.

It’s incredibly thick.  It’s sort of what I imagine old the London smogs that people talked about were like.  The room is – actually, I have no real idea how big the room is.  There seemed to be a lot of people in there, but there was no way of judging how long it was from one end to another because you cannot see from one end to another.  The fog is so thick, in fact, that you struggle to make out the big light installations at the other end of the room – the light itself becoming obscured by the mix. 

It’s a surreal experience.  No real concept of time or space or sound.  It’s pretty cool.

It’s also pretty damn tasty.  The idea is that you ingest the cocktail through your nose, mouth, lungs and – yes – the mucus coating of your eyeballs.  Your eyeballs.  This is eyeball-ingested booze.  But honestly, as you are there breathing it in you cannot avoid the taste.  It’s pretty tempting to start sucking it down, in fact, particularly once you get near the booze vent at the far end of the room.

We also had other drinks over the course of the night. 

I drank the Blasphemy to Nature – a cocktail of Buckfast (ahhh, Buckie – takes me straight back to Edinburgh University…), yellow chartreuse, lemon and egg white.  This was lovely – somehow strangely like a herbaceous, spiced old fashioned – but not really.  Very good.  Greg had the Monk-y Business, a sort of daiquiri made with Old Monk Rum that left it tasting very sweet – almost toffee-like.

And, to finish off, a couple of shots.  Whilst Greg went for the whiskey based shots, mine was a mix of Campari and Frangelico – so bitter liqueur and hazelnuts, a superb (if innovative) combination.

 

 

As a word of warning, you do not get the advertised hour – not even close – as you don’t get into the bar, let alone the fog room, until about ten / fifteen minutes after the hour you’ve booked, and the call for last orders in about twenty minutes before the end of the booking – and you’re bundled our pretty sharpish after that, so in all it’s about 40 minutes.  Still, I’m not sure you need much longer that, to be honest.  And, crucially, it’s a great, fun and different thing to do.  Genuine innovation in an age of ubiquitous bars performing the same tricks to the same tunes.  Well done, chaps. 

 

I would definitely recommend giving this one a try.  Just remember to do as the sign says...

Gizzi Erskine's Healthy Appetite

So, I have a new book.  Let me tell you how I got it.

 

 

Let me try to paint a little picture.

 

Last week, I found myself in a restaurant – well, more of a pub – up in Islington, with GrubsterGirl.  We were there as part of a book launch for a new tome generated by a celebrity chef, which is all very well and good and exciting.  As we were sat, waiting for the first course to appear, someone from the kitchen came over to talk to GG about an allergy issue – basically a message had not been passed from front of house to the kitchen that GG has a mild nut allergy. 

 

It was quite a squeeze in said pub and, due to the way the tables were arranged, I had my back to the chef who was talking to us and it would have been a pain to turn around.  Anyway, it was GG’s conversation and she was handling it.  No need to get involved.

 

However, I can hear that the chef talking to us is obviously pretty worried – who wouldn’t be worried about cooking for someone suffering nut allergies, mild or not – and is bending over backwards to try to deal with the situation.

 

And slowly it dawns on me.  We are here for Gizzi Erskine’s book launch.  We are having supper cooked for us by the author of that book.  The person talking to us from the kitchen must therefore be…

 

I twizzle myself round in my chair, awkwardly, to look up at the person towering above me.  It is.  It’s Gizzi frickin’ Erskine.  And she’s talking to my wife about how she’s going to tailor-make a meal for her, with no warning.

 

Call me some loser fanboy if you like, I don’t care – that’s pretty damn cool.

 

So where are we again?  The Draper’s Arms, that’s where, in deepest darkest Islington, near Angel.  It’s actually a very nice pub, in very nice little residential streets.  Gizzi Erskine has a new book out, called Gizzi’s Healthy Appetite, and we managed (through pure fluke, I might add – this is no sponsored post) to bag a couple of seats at a meal she was cooking to showcase some of the highlights.

 

Note to self: Biscuits with my face / book (which I have never written) printed on them = Ultra Cool.

But enough mucking around, we came for the food so here it is.

First course was a sort of appetiser course.  First dish out was walnut bagna cauda.

Bagna cauda, for those of you who don’t already know what it is (okay, I too had to look it up) is a Piedmontese dish – a sort of warm dip often eaten like a fondue.  In this instance it was served with crudités (always reminds me of the line in The Real Thing by Tom Stoppard: "Crudités! Perfect title for a pornographic revue.") which were made from wonderfully fresh, high quality veg.  I thought this dish was absolutely amazing – I was a bit concerned that it would taste a bit like the walnut equivalent of peanut butter (if there is such a thing) but not even remotely.  The fact that it was warm really added something as well.  Rich and more-ish.  Very nice.

Then we were presented with little bowls of stuff.  Dill, peeled baby prawns, pickles and a boiled egg, quartered. 

Minutes later jugs of bright purply-pink ooze appeared and we were asked to fill our bowls.  Which we dutifully did.

This was chłodnik.

What, you don’t know what chłodnik is either?  Dear oh dear.  I’ll tell you.  It’s a soup.  Specifically, it’s a Polish soup made with beetroots and buttermilk, served cold.  It’s also bloody delicious.  Looking at the recipe in the book, it seems pretty simple too and is wonderfully refreshing on a hot summer’s night.  Actually, flicking through the recipe book last night I was thinking: there's a lot here I want to make.  Chłodnik is just one of those things.

Next course was a medley of three dishes, everything arriving at the table on large plates to be eaten ‘family style’ as they say in the United States. 

The first to arrive was Thai roast duck with watermelon salad. 

It’s difficult (nay, impossible, says I) not to like this dish.  I bloody love watermelon salad, so it basically boded well from the start, but this was executed perfectly.  I loved the effect of sweet, refreshing watermelon balancing out the rich, fatty duck.  I’ve always liked duck with fruit sauce but always erred for sharp fruits, such as redcurrants.  I would never have thought of using sweet fruit but it worked an absolute treat.

Next out was crispy chicken with spiralized vegetable noodle salad and satay sauce.

GrubsterGirl got her special food mountain plate, due to her allergies, which was pretty sweet.

Very good, the noodle salad nicely dressed to pair well with the crispy chicken.  Great satay sauce. 

Then the ceviche.

OK, I admit it, this is a completely awful picture.  Sorry about that.  Basically, I missed this coming out (too busy stuffing my face with the first two excellent dishes) and by the time it got round to me the dish had basically be destroyed.  Which is a shame because, from other pictures I’ve seen, it was pretty good looking. 

Fortunately, there are some dishes you cannot spoil with bad looks.  This was one.  I bloody loved this.  The raw fish was marinated in yuzu, sesame and kumquat (finally answering a question I have been asking all my life – what are those little orange things for, other than making rank Corfiot liqueurs?).  Also in there was sweetcorn and avocado in there too and it was topped with coriander, basically making sure that all of my favourite flavours were mixed up into this one, fantastic dish.  I will be making this at home, for sure. 

So that was the first course, top marks.

Now onto the mains. 

Merguez shepherd’s pie…

…and fish stew.

Starting with the fish stew.  Very nice, if not my favourite dish of the day (but then, I’m not a huge fish eater).  A medley of fish, including some beautifully tender and tasty baby squid and some clams.  The sauce was basically the very traditional bouillabaisse Provençal (flavoured with fennel and saffron), which goes so well with fish and brings out all those salty, seafoody flavours.  There was also orzo (little, rice-like pasta) in there too, although to be honest it was a bit lost on me.

Then the Shepherd’s pie.  I have to be honest, at the time I was not really sure what makes this particularly ‘merguez’.  I thought merguez were those spicy sausages you get in Morocco (in fact, I know they are, having eaten them there).  But who cares, it was still pretty damn tasty - and, having checked, the stuffing is a mix of slow roasted lamb shoulder and merguez sausages. 

The topping was an interesting choice - cauliflower mash.  Now, if I’m honest, this doesn’t have the same consistency and unctuous-ness (Is that a word? It is now.) that good old mash has – it’s a bit looser, a bit less rich and starchy.  But it still works – and not just that, it’s still good.  In fact, it’s a much healthier yet still tasty equivalent.  Think semi-skimmed rather than full-fat milk – ok, sure, it’s not got the same wow factor, but it’s basically just as nice with much less fat.

By now, we were feeling pretty well fed.  There were a few words spoken, and Gizzi made a little speech talking about the food and what the book was trying to achieve – healthy eating without all the fad diets.  I thought she’d managed that quite well, with what I think sounds a fairly sensible approach – little changes and big flavours, which is a much  more manageable attitude. 
Then she said something great:  “It’s all been healthy… well, except for dessert.”

GOOD NEWS.

So, yes, pudding was pretty dirty.  In a good way.

Waffles, topped with roasted bananas, pineapple jam, and a chilli and honey butter.  The bananas were cooked ‘Foster’, which means flambéed with butter and sugar, which is just brilliant.  As I’ve said elsewhere, I’m sure, I generally don’t go in for hot puddings, preferring a scoop or two of sorbet at the end of a big meal.  But I am more than happy to make an exception for a dish like this.  The hot, caramelly bananas , with their sticky sweetness and background sharp twang that they take on when cooked, transported me back to the cadet camps and bonfire nights of my youth.  This was decadence in a pudding. 

What a meal.  At the end each diner was given a copy of the book, signed by the author and head chef. 

Meeting Gizzi (again?) was pretty cool.  Turns out, she’s a really lovely person.  They say don’t meet your heroes and I think it’s too often true.  That's not true of Gizzi – she's warm, friendly and welcoming.  Which is a lovely way to end a meal.

So yes, I have a new book.  And that was the story of how I got it.

It’s signed and everything.