Honey & Whisky Ice Cream

Like all ice creams, this one relies basically upon making a custard and freezing it – so once you've mastered the art of custard making, and assuming you're in possession of an ice cream maker of sorts, it's pretty easy.  I made this for a Burn's Supper a few years back, and people seemed to enjoy it.  I totally forgot to photograph it finished when the final product came out until I'd scooped the last scoop – hence the slightly melty picture at the end (oh, and the fact that it melts REALLY fast on account of being full of booze).

Ingredients:

300ml double cream
300ml full fat milk
1 vanilla pod
6 egg yolks
350g rich, dark honey
50ml Scotch whisky
100g cinder toffee (not shown, but used)

1. Custard time.  In a milk pan (if you have one, but otherwise in a small pan) mix the cream and milk together, as well as the seeds scrapped from the vanilla pod.  Chuck the pod in there too (but don’t forget to remove it later).

2. Heat the cream and milk mixture together slowly until it's nearly at boiling point, but don’t let it actually boil.  Turn the heat off when it's there.

3. In a mixing bowl, beat the egg yolks and honey together until pale – this post on Neapolitan Ice Cream has some good pictures of how it ought to end up.

4. Add the egg and honey mix to the pan with the milk and cream and heat very gently until the liquid coats the back of the spoon and the first bubbles appear.  Overdo this and you'll end up with something crossed between scrambled eggs, an omelette and puke.  So be careful.  As soon as it's done turn off the heat, add the whisky and let the whole lot cool right down to room temperature.  Then stick it in the fridge for at least an hour but preferably overnight.

5. Strain the mix into another bowl before sticking it in the ice cream maker and churning until done.  Note that the ice cream will take forever to get to a normal freeze, and may not even get as ice-creamy as you'd like.  That's the booze talking.  About halfway through, add your cinder toffee.  When it's gone as far as it can, get it into the freezer for a couple of hours before serving.

And here's the finished product.  Sorry, I simply wasn't swift enough photographing it, and this was the last serving.  The whisky means that it has a much lower freezing point - which is why it's so melty here.  SORRY.

 - GrubsterBoy - 

Whisky Cured Salmon & Tattie Scones

OK, just to make it clear how horrifically far behind I am with some of my blogging, here's something that I made for Burn's Supper earlier this year.  For those of you who aren’t in Scotland, that was like back in January.  I am that late.

 

This is another fantastic dinner party dish, because it's something that looks incredible and your guests will think you must be chef-extraordinaire, but which in reality is easier to do than boiling a kettle.  I made little tattie scones to serve the salmon on because it was all Scottish themed (Burn's Supper, aye?) but it would go just as well on blinis or even little oatcakes – a recipe for which I have already furnished you with here.

 

Right, first up, make the scones.  These can sit in the fridge overnight. 

 

Ingredients:

 

500g unpeeled potatoes (I've used désirée because it makes a great creamy mash)

50g butter, plus a bit more for cooking
125g plain flour
1 tbs sunflower oil

 

Put the tatties in a pan of salted water and bring to the boil.  You want them cooked as if you were going to do mash, but by leaving the skins on you can cook them without waterlogging them, which is important for making the dough.

 

Once they're done, drain the potatoes in a colander and then balance the colander over the hot, empty pan for a few minutes so that the tatties dry off.  By the way, don’t do this if your colander is made of plastic.  This sounds self-evident, but it's not – a friend at uni once did this and we had to endure some very melty-plasticy tasting pasta – not cool for dinner party guests. 

 

As soon as you can handle them, peel the skins off.  You're in a real quandary here – whilst they're hot the skin will come away pretty easily, leaving behind most of the flesh.  But at this stage they're way too hot to hold, unless your my gran with asbestos hands.  Once you can hold on to them the skins won’t come off.  Good luck with that, yeah?

 

Right, chuck in the butter and mash it up.  Do this properly, get a ricer and mash it thoroughly – you're making a dough here, so lumps just won't cut it.  Just be sure not to get this ricer from Amazon.  It may be cheap but it's utter shit.  I wrote this review.

Rightho, once that's done, mix in the flour.  Carefully.  You should have a pretty sticky dough by now, so you have to be quite patient. 

Roll your dough out onto the work surface, having made sure to dust the surface with flour first.  Cut the scones into the shapes you want.  I was making a starter (sort of) so I wanted large blini-sized scones.  You may go classic and attempt triangles – especially if you're going to use them for a good old cooked brekkie. 

Get the pan going: heat it up to a medium to high heat, add a knob of butter and a drizzle of sunflower oil, just enough grease so that the pan is lubricated, and cook your scones off in batches.  They take about 2-3 minutes a side to look like this. 

These are great because they can just be wrapped up in cling film and kept in the fridge for a few days until needed.

To make the salmon you will need:

1 side of salmon
150g sea salt
150g caster sugar
100ml whisky (go decent, but not expensive)

Again, this is absurdly easy.  You need to make sure the salmon is super fresh – which means going to a fishmonger, not Sainsbury's.  Go to a good fishmonger too, like Moxon's and ask for sushi grade salmon – they'll know what you need.  That's what I did and no one died, so, yay.  Also, you'll need cling film (a few meters at least).

If it's in big, pyramid crystals (eg. Maldon), grind the sea salt to a powder.  Mix the salt and the sugar together, so that they are fully combined. 

Lay out a piece of cling film about twice the length of the fish.  Spread out half of the salt-sugar mix onto this piece of cling film so you have a nice pillow for the fish to rest on.  The pillow should be no bigger than your piece of fish. 

With the fish on a dinner plate, carefully pour about half the whisky over the bottom of your side of salmon.  As you do so you should (very) gently massaging the spirit into the fish.  Lots of the whisky will dribble off onto the plate, but don’t worry – you can reuse this (hence doing it on a plate and not, for example, a chopping board).  Then place this bottom side onto the salt-sugar pillow. 

Next, cover the salmon with the rest of the salt-sugar mix then carefully pour the remainder of the whisky, plus anything that ended up on the plate from the last step, over the salmon.  Try to make sure it doesn't run off and away – although it'll probably be soaked up by the salt-sugar anyway.  Now wrap the fish tightly in a few layers of cling film.

The fish needs approximately 12 hours in the fridge from here – so this is one to do first thing in the morning if it's going to be part of a dinner party.  It'll keep for about 12 more hours, but I wouldn’t want to risk it further. 

Once it's done its time, get it out, unwrap it (discarding the salt-sugar) and wash the salt off.  Pat dry with kitchen towel before slicing oh-so-finely (harder than it looks!). 

Assembly goes like this: Scone, crème fraiche, salmon ribbons, serve.

Very impressive

 - GrubsterBoy -

The Dining Room

That is roast loin of venison, served with roast parsnips, potato dauphine and hazelnuts.  It comes from the Dining Room at 28 Queen Street, Edinburgh, which is the restaurant in the Scotch Malt Whisky Society.  This was the main course of one of the very best meals that I have ever eaten in my life.  It was simply stunning.  Hay-smoked lamb, roast venison and a massive cheese board, washed down with a complimentary dram of malt, our bouches amused with peat smoked salmon roulade, kept quietly happy with a bottle of malbec and tucked into bed with coffees and complimentary handmade truffles.  All for less than you'd pay for two courses and a glass of wine in many London joints.  Bloody marvellous. 

Don’t be put off if you're not a whisky drinker – there's no obligatory whisky to drink. Just incredibly good fine dining at less than the usual fine dining prices. 

Sadly, a very, very low battery on the mobile left me unable to capture this meal and blog it.  But, if you're north of the border, please go.  You won’t regret it. 

 - GrubsterBoy -

The Candy Store at Callooh Callay

Whisk(e)y and I get on well.  Have done for a number of years.  A very large number of years, in fact.  If I have to choose a cocktail on the spot, I'll always go for an old fashioned (and be often disappointed that they don’t seem able to produce one to my exacting specifications.  If I find myself in a cocktail bar, first thing I'll do is start leafing through the menu in search of the next whisky cocktail to down.

 

I also have a famously sweet tooth – something that I think manifests itself in this blog – whether through singing the praises of Mr Whippy or making homemade maraschino cherries or mixing in sugar-coated onions with toad-in-the-hole.

 

So when I heard about Callooh Callay's most recent installation, The Candy Store, the first thing I thought was: I have got to go.

 

Billed as 'whisky, cocktails and candy', it's a themed bar that actually works – something we're not too to, sadly enough.  It's situated in the upstairs room of Callooh Callay, which I understand has been being used by Callooh Callay for some time now for specialist pop-up cocktail bars – a bit like one of those artists' studios, with different folk 'in residence' every couple of months, but a lot, lot cooler.  The upstairs room has to be reached through the backroom, which in turn has to be reached by walking through a big, mirrored wardrobe.  I'll confess something: my heart sank a little at this point.  Too much, way way way too much, has been put into the whole prohibition-era, hidden away, secret bar thing, and it's really beginning to hack me off.  I had a horrific experience with this at The Evans & Peel Detective Agency last year, so the moment I saw this method of entrance, I balked. 

 

In keeping with the name the entire place is done up like an old fashioned sweetshop, from the red and white striped wallpaper to the countless jars of penny chews dotted around the place – all of which you're invited to help yourself from.

The drinks themselves are pretty impressive too, but then that's sort of what you'd expect from a cocktail bar with the pedigree of Callooh Callay behind it – remember, this is a place that has been named amongst Time Out's best bars in the Capital. 

 

I kicked off proceedings with the charmingly named Love You Lots Like Jelly Tots (a bit of a mouthful, but what do you expect from a place that gives you unlimited free gobstoppers with your drinks?).  It was fantastically well done on every count – the perfect blend of sweet and salt (another of my favourite combinations) with the smoky, savoury flavours of the Royal Lochnagar cutting through the fruitiness of the lime and sweetness of the briottet coquelicot (a liqueur made from poppies – honestly!). The jam is wonderful too – who knew that jam and whisky made such good bedfellows?  That it was served in three little snifter glasses – like individual jelly tots – didn't hurt one bit.

My friend and partner in crime, Victoria (GrubsterGirl is, sadly, rather adverse to whisky of any kind), ordered up the Berry Jelly Collins – a medley of Speyside, Chambord and other lovely stuff, served with a little shot glass of raspberry and prosecco jelly on the side.  I like drinks with stuff served on the side – it's nice to have a bit extra.  As for the drink?  Equally superb.

 

 

Between courses (booze courses, that is) we had a couple of snacks.  Sadly, their beer battered chips had come off the menu – apparently (according to our server) because they were "just too intense".  Whether that meant too greasy or that they just said really awkward things that weren't even meant to be a joke we shall never know.  The chips we did have were a little disappointing, in that there were exactly five of them and they were about two inches thick both ways, and four inches long.  Genuinely, carry that thing on the street and you're liable to be arrested for carrying an offensive weapon. 

 

We also had onion rings, however, and they were bloody marvellous.  I basically had to restrain Victoria from eating the lot. 

 

 

Also (although we didn’t have them but did see them) they had a trio of sliders going with some interesting toppings.  Definitely looked like they'd be worth a try if you wanted something a touch more substantial.

 

But wait, I'm leaving out the most exciting bit of food – the menu!  That's right.  They whole thing was made of rice paper and edible.  So we ate it.

 

 

Victoria particularly enjoyed the eating of it.

 

 

Back to the drinks then, we decided on another round.  I hit up the Tipsy Dipsy, whilst my collaborator had the Davey Dee’s Delightful Dream.

 

 

Mine was, sadly, a bit of a disappointment.  You throw lemon juice and prosecco into a glass and give it a sherbet rim you're going to end up with something pretty tart, regardless of how much poppy liqueur you throw in there.  For me it was just too tart – it should have been called something like Sherbet Sourz (a la Haribo Sourz).  But pause a minute here: because my associate adored it.  Absolutely loved it – specifically, the intense sourness of it.  So I'm not going to write it off like that. 

 

 

The Dream was similarly a touch disappointing – although still nice, in my view.  It was billed as an alcoholic Parma Violet, and laced with violet liqueur, but sadly failed almost entirely to deliver on the promised violet essence.  Still, a good drink in itself; if its only crime is not living up to the magic of our childhood rememberings, then we can hardly criticise – if we did, they'd be hardly anything we can look at with pleasure now we're grown-up. 

 

 

If you like whisk(e)y at all then do go, it's a great little place.  Make sure you book, though – we saw people turned away and there's only a half dozen or so tables.  Also, it's a bar in residence – so it's only there for a little while longer.  We went shortly before it was due to close, but you've all been very fortunate: given its success, Callooh Callay are keeping the Candy Store open until the beginning of next year.

 

 - GrubsterBoy -


Credit: Photos 1, 2 and 12 taken by Victoria Tills, my most excellent friend and generally good egg who confesses that her photo-taking skills post whisky imbibition are not up to much, but I think are still pretty damn good.  She got a photo on the BBC too, so she's, like, well talented, innit.

The Bar at the Gilbert Scott

The whole Mad Men, 1950s / 1960s New York plush thing has pretty much been done to death already.  But that's not to say that bars aren’t still going to try it, nor is it to say that they aren't (from time to time) going to get it bang on.  The bar at the Gilbert Scott is one of those.

GrubsterGirl and I had eaten brunch in the restaurant already – and sampled the bar's creations as well – but we were there strictly on a reconnaissance, so it made sense to hit the bar and see what they were made of. 

Proceedings began with the Guilia's Julep, a tempting mix of Woodford Reserve bourbon, mint, lime, Fernet Branca, Cynar, cucumber, sage and ginger.  Essentially, an ultra-pimped version of the classic mint julep.  I'm a massive fan of bourbon (and the julep, for that matter) so it was a bit of a no-brainer.  What, quite simply, could there possibly be not to like?

Well, quite a lot, as it turned out.  Sadly, this is one of those drinks that shoots for the moon and not so much ends up in the stars as fizzles out and goes phutt.  There's simply too much in there, too many flavours, which leaves your taste buds a complete mess by the time you're done. This is pretty much their signature drink, but it probably shouldn’t be: I wouldn’t go telling too many people about this if I owned the bar.

GrubsterGirl chose more wisely with her opening salvo, going for a Rhubarb and Ginger Sour with tequila – a choice given to the consumer, the alternative being vodka.  This was an absolutely fantastic little mix; all the right flavours in the right places, very satisfying indeed.

Round 2: For me, an Amber Embers – Campfire infused scotch, apricot and vermouth.  Yes, another whiskey cocktail, what can I say.

Suddenly, The Gilbert Scott had raised its game.  This was magnificent, full of all the smoke, salt, thump and power it promised.  Sure, it's not much to look at - especially considering the other efforts made on the presentation front - but I had to physically restrain myself from gulping.

GrubsterGirl's second choice was the Hibiscus and Chamomile Caipirinha. 

Cachaça (the core ingredient of any Caipirinha) has a strong, distinctive flavour which needs some punchy flavours to be heard above the noise, so I worried that hibiscus and chamomile might be lost.  I needn't have been worried about the hibiscus, which shone through, but I was slightly less impressed by the chamomile – by which I mean, where was it?  When matched to GG's first cup, this one was a bit off the mark.

The bar itself is opulent, in that mid-Century New York way that Campbell Apartments is.  We were there during the day, but by night I can imagine it's quite fantastic.  In fact, the only part I wouldn’t venture into is the garden – which is a shame, but it's situated right on the main road, so traffic just pours by.

And the damage?  Hefty.  Four drinks and semi-mandatory service set us back over £60, which is more than you want, really.  We started going to nice bars after a drink at the Savoy's American bar, which charges roughly £15 a drink – which is more expensive, but the drinks are flawless.  More in their league (and price range), and style, are Hawksmoor's many bars.  But then, their drinks are also pretty damn flawless.

Oh, one other thing.  Whilst we there there, sat up at the bar, the barman brought out a bag of greengages he'd sourced from some local market and set about inventing a new drink - quite unselfconsciously.  Now, I imagine that that's part of your trade, as a cocktail barman, but there's something magical about watching the creation and experimentation process, and it's great - and reassuring - to see someone at work who takes their job seriously enough to be doing that.

 - GrubsterBoy -