What we've been eating - goose egg(s)!

The Wednesday market in Oxford has stalls selling fresh fruit and vegetables, meats, a fishmonger in his van, and random bits and bobs.



An elderly man and his wife sell cheeses, bacon and eggs (a glorious mix, for which the couple should win medals), and for the past two weeks they have had goose eggs for sale.



Quite a bit larger than a hen's egg, these monstrosities were an incredible white colour. At £1.50 each, they were quite pricey.



The egg itself is mostly yolk, with an incredibly translucent albumen, quite unlike egg white. The yolk is a dark, bright orange. Can a colour be both dark and bright?



For comparison, the size of the egg compared to a small jar of Colman's mustard. Each egg probably weighs in at around four large hen eggs, or six small.



Aren't they pretty? We blew out one of them for A to paint.



The shell is so incredibly white, and very strong - similar in a way to M&M candy shells, when tapped.



The yolk that was blown out...



And turned into this delicious omelette au fine herbs with the baby parsley and basil that SS provided a few weeks ago. The egg tasted... slightly tougher than hen eggs, although that's unfair, as it was an almost crunchy, bouncy texture rather than the toughness of an over-scrambled egg. Quite delicious, but not for every-day meals!

1 Lombard Street

1 Lombard Street
London
EC3V 9AA



Having shed its Michelin Star in 2009, 1 Lombard Street seems to be rallying to regain its favour with diners. Located in the Square Mile, where dining without an expense account is unthinkable, the restaurant is currently offering a '5 course' menu for £19.50 in its brasserie to win over new custom. Really the menu is 3.5 courses, but I jump ahead of myself.



Bread is served promptly with butter. A selection of wholemeal and white bread with caraway seeds. Chewy and moist, it's good, but not great. Certainly not Michelin great.



The a la carte menu offers a plethora of dishes, vegetarian and omnivorous alike.



Meals are described in fanciful terms, but the protein/starch/greens combinatorics underpin an easily recognisable modern-euro menu.





The chef's dishes of the day sound delicious, but from the lengthy selection it seems they don't actually rotate daily. Your reporter could be wrong on this point.



Dinky small portions of flaky sea salt and coarsely crushed pepper are set out on the table. I personally believe that if these are present, they should be served with salt-spoons. Asking diners to grab salt and pepper with their fingers is just asking for an outbreak of something nasty.



First up: potato and young garlic leaf soup with toasted pumpkin seed oil.



The soup is velvety and smooth - the perfect texture. Without a spoon to use, it clung lovingly to the sides of the espresso cup. The flavour was mild with distinctive but mellow hints of garlic, reminiscent of sweet garlic scapes. The pumpkin seed oil assaults the nose and the palate in a firm, but gentle manner - akin to being marched through the complex flavours without being allowed to stop and savour each element. Less fancifully, it tasted like toasted sesame oil, but with pumpkin instead of sesame.



An interlude to stare at the decor before the next course: built in a former bank, the brasserie is smartly decorated with friendly lighting and comfortable seating. The tables are not crushed into every space, and there is an opulent 360 degree bar in the centre of the room beneath the light well for those with serious expense accounts.



Asian seared prime salmon with blah blah blah. As we'd only glanced briefly at the verbose menu, we could only guess at the accompliments, which made for very interesting conversation. The salmon was grilled and topped with a deep fried leaf of coriander. Served with three sauces that we identified as possibly reduced teriyaki, pickled daikon and salsa verde (from left to right), and a salad of cerviche topped with baby leaf.

The cerviche caused the most confusion, as it had the texture of fine fish, but not really the bite: each tiny orb parted on the tooth without any noticeable sign of grain. A thought it might have been cerviche or tartar of scallop, but lacked the seafood taste. Of course, it was aubergine, which we hadn't figured out till much later.



The sauces were a little superfluous, especially the first and third. The brown, possibly terikyaki sauce was reduced to a gloop and by the time it was served, had congealed into thin strands of gelatin on the plate. It certainly wouldn't spread or dip, so was best tasted by being scraped up with a fork. The minced daikon added, well, asian-ness, but not flavour to the fish. The salsa verde was fine, but this time a little too runny to serve with the fish.



The salmon itself was fantastic - one of the best cooked pieces I had ever eaten. Barring the Fat Duck version of salmon (which I loved except for the licorice gel), this was definitely the best presentation of what is a fantastic but easily overcooked, overused and 'boring' fish.



The meat was juicy and pink, without being raw. Cooked all through yet retaining its flavour and juices really made this dish shine.



Slow cooked caramelised lamb with cassoulet of white beans, parsley mash, truffle oil. Well, it pretty much is what it says on the tin.



A thought hers wonderfully cooked; I thought mine a little tough for a slow cooked belly of lamb. Execution is pretty much excellent, with alternating layers of lean and fat tied into a roulade, the flavours were clean and savoury without an overwhelming smell or taste of lamb, which can dominate cuts with more fat. The white beans were stewed to perfection, with a tiny amount of tooth, but mainly melting starch. The mash, often an easily overlooked component, was buttery and smooth. One shudders to think of the quantity of cream and butter it might contain.



A palate cleansing granita. Superfluous, and not terribly well made. Possibly rose water, possibly pomegranate, the flakes of ice were sometimes too large, and slightly watery and unpleasant on the tongue.



By now the light began to fade (as you can see), and dessert and cheese were ordered.



A was delighted by her mulled bilberry with blackberry meringue, with vanilla ice cream.



The meringue was competent, but the compote of bilberry and blackberries were bright, sweet and flavoursome, and the vanilla ice cream rich and bursting of real vanilla.





My cheese platter was competently chosen, with some rich and full bodied cheeses. Somewhat let down by presentation, we were willing to overlook the rather aged and worn plate due to the quality of the cheese itself.



The damage: two very reasonably priced and excellent dinners, a bottle of wine and a bottle of water, with service came to just a tad over £76. The wine list is extensive, but heavy on the wallet. As an aside, they are a member of the Gourmet Society.

The service is highly competent but with moments of major flaw. A's soup was served in a cup heavily crusted with somebody else's dinner; apologies were profuse and a replacement was prompt. At times the staff looked confused - we were led to our table via a tour of the restaurant, after the maitre'd seemed unsure where to seat us. Our initial reservation had been lost, and it was only due to us calling to change the booking that this was discovered. Our food busser arrived at the table with an enormous tray, but nobody to help serve; it took several minutes of desperate looks from him before a waiter came to relieve him of his burdens. Etc, etc, this was not fine dining, but it could be once they sort out the minor issues.

A return to Inn Noodle - Bayswater

Inn Noodle
106 Queensway
London
W2 3RR



Having previously mistaken the place as being called 'Noodle Inn' (a far more sensible name), we return to Inn Noodle with the fabulous V in tow on a wet spring evening. Wine was on the cards, and probably shenanigans too. Definitely shenanigans.



Orders took a while to arrive, which mattered not, as we had much to catch up and understandable as there was a long queue for takeaways by the door. A's only adamant choice was the gai lan sauteed with garlic. This was almost perfect, with a sweet crunch and soft wilted leaves, the dish could only have been improved by having garlic cooked with it, instead of being topped with the pre-fried garnish. Not even close to haute cuisine, but why should it be? This is probably the most delicious way to inject green into your day.



Having texted V earlier in the evening to let her know of our imminent arrival, she had responded: "you know I have a one tracked mind", further inquiry on what that track might be, elicited: "prawns!"

Ok, in a 'real' restaurant with table cloths and menus without photos, I might have quibbled about the prawns in chili and garlic. A certainly didn't care for the slightly doughy batter, and we wondered if the gluten to starch ratio was too high. However, for a simple eatery, the prawns were big, tasty, and doused in fiery fried chili: grease+salt+spice = happy.




Wontons in vinegar/soy and chili oil. Delicious. These were actually incredibly good wontons, and superior to the ones we tried at the excellent Baozi Inn.



The highlight of the evening (overshadowing even the effervescent V), was the Cantonese roast duck. Not realising there was a choice, we received the boned version. Ever a gnawer of bones, I was disappointed to be deprived of my usual entertainment, and doubly so when I tasted the duck. The meat was plump and juicy, and tasted of soft yielding duckiness. The skin was crisp, oh so crunchy, with a melting layer of fat below. The soy sauce was savoury and salty, but balanced the sweetness perfectly. This is, without doubt, the single best Cantonese duck I have had in the UK so far, since I moved over in 2003.



Some shanghai siu mai, just out of interest. Unlike the yum cha cousin, the filling is made with glutinous rice. This version wasn't like mum's; the filling was almost entirely rice, soaked in sauce. Good, but not great.



Pot stickers - like the wontons, the filling was exceptional. The wrapper was thick, but in a good way, holding together the filling and a pocket of juice akin to xiao long bao - soup dumplings. We actually queried whether these were pot stickers or simply jiao zi, as no evidence of frying was apparent. On the underside (not pictured), a light brown surface had been achieved, but not to our satisfaction.



The damage: an eclectic selection of the weird and wonderful for distraction while chatting to a good friend. Add a bottle of wine and it came just shy of £50 for three. Given that the local pub in Bayswater (a horrible place) was charging close to £20 for house wine, this seems like a pretty good deal. Plus, the duck can't be praised enough.

British Rail - burger on board

Somewhere in Yorkshire
Aboard one of National Rail's finest



Having concluded a difficult week in Durham, and rushing to return to my gorgeous A waiting in London, I boarded the 14.17 service to King's Cross with nary a thought for lunch, and precious little time to check the luggage, let alone sip some water.



This particular train served hot food, and I was told by the stewardess (is that the correct term?) that a chef was on board to cook the burger to order. Hurrah the wonders of modern convenience!

Served with wedges and a salad, I savoured the wedges - slightly chewy with a wonderful potato flavour: just how I loved wedges. I poke the bun to take a photo of its contents and to my astonishment, the chef had forgotten to give me my burger patty!



Swift conversations and several apologies later, this was rectified and an enormous burger patty was presented in all its glory.



How did she not realise that this beastie was missing from my plate?! The meat was... sadly a little artificial, with a meatloaf texture and taste. Overall very passable, especially as the bun was fairly good when compared to kebab van drivel. The wedges were great, and salad pert and refreshing.

The damage: £8.95 for the burger wedges and salad. If I had been served that in a pub, I wouldn't complain. Definitely a cut above a greasy spoon, and a thankful alternative to drab and dry sandwiches.

Fried breakfast - Durham

A little cafe
Down the road
From the Castle
Durham



After a night of social networking meant serious dehydration and a fairly heavy hangover. The unprecedented sunny 20 degrees in the north of England (!) also didn't help. Coffee, black as midnight, and greasy starch was called for.



Cute little cafe with an all day breakfast. For £2.99 you get the 5-star special, and for a measly £2 more, they double it to the monstrosity you see above. The bread was heavy, and the hash browns were crisp. Everything was cooked hot to order, and beautifully done without any trace of grease. It looks like they can cook up here after all.

Oldfields - Durham

Oldfields
18 Claypath
Durham
DH1 1RH



My first night (ever) in Durham, ahead of a week-long stay. What lies ahead, I don't know. The people seem friendly, and I am yet to be mugged. I am away from A for longer than I would care to be, and stress levels are high, and all I want is a chunk of rare beef. Oldfields look good, and it had better deliver.



The menu is British, with touches such as bubble and squeak, rabbit, etc. Mostly, it's the usual chicken, fish, beef, et al. Promising, as this could be something to rival bistros in London. Well, that's the plan.


The menus are slick.



The place mat, well, a little tacky.



But all is forgiven when a bottle of Malbec arrives.



Salt and pepper: good. HP and ketchup? not something I want to see on the table when they claim to specialise in seafood.



Bread and butter are promptly served. And the service here really is friendly. The staff are young, but do not treat customers with a casual air, but neither is the atmosphere stuffy. Great.



Glass of wine, and I'm a happy camper. The Chamuyo is powerful and fills my palate - just how I like it. It should compliment my bloody steak well.



A bit of thumb twiddling. I have never eaten in a restaurant without company before. How odd. Lets take some photos of the decor.



Ok, gazing out the window done. Lets read the back of the wine bottle.



My starter arrives: oyster thermidor. Interesting concept, and they do boast about good seafood...



Yes, that's an almost identical shot: the cheese sauce looks leaden and I dread to even poke it.



But everything is better with bacon, right?



The poor oyster had been so smothered that it had lost all its original taste of the sea. Limp and cowering, it could barely be located.



The shell on the left is actually FULL of the cheesy gunk from both of the oysters. In a scene reminiscent of Mr Bean's efforts to conceal his unwanted steak tartar, I did not know how to indicate to my servers that I was done with my oysters. I could not stomach any more of the sauce, but had to move it to show that I was finished. How did I get myself into this situation?



Plastered a wall? you could have constructed the wall itself from this paste. Bland, gloppy, sticky and sickly, even the bacon totally failed to make it edible.



Sirloin and chips - can't go wrong, right?



Asking for it very rare, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the waitress knew the word 'bleu'. Doubtful of its execution, I would rather have my steak raw than brown all through.



The chips were at least as shiny as the Dalai Lama's forehead, and only failed to be more glistening due to the failing light.



The travesty of the evening turned out to be my pepper sauce, served separately in a neat little milk jug. No pepper (or indeed anything but cream) was harmed in the making of this sauce, and at most, the chef waved a bag of pepper from across the kitchen. Perhaps spices are still at medieval prices up here in the north.



The steak is surprisingly almost rare. The thinness (as in all restaurants) prohibits it from being terribly rare, but this was at least still pink: a success! The steak was very well done, but lacked flavour until I found the salt mill. I think it had been cooked sans any seasoning whatsoever. Properly salted the steak was very tasty - beefy and tender, and a delight to eat.



Hmm, lets have a go at that sauce. Oh crap, that's not sauce, he brought me a milk jug. Oh, wait, that is the sauce? Are you sure somebody hasn't just tipped cream into a dirty jug?



Inspired by a terrible meal salvaged by a decent piece of steak, I thought that I deserved more punishment and ordered a lemon cheesecake as dessert.



I have a sneaky suspicion that the cheesecake was made from the very same smegma that I had sent back in the first course. It was dense, bland and horrifyingly rich. There was probably a sale on double cream at Lidl, judging by this meal. Do NOT attempt to eat this dessert.

The damage: aside from a £18 bottle of wine, the rest was reasonable priced. Three courses plus wine (no water, because they didn't offer, and then refused to come near me) came to £53. With my handy Gourmet Society card, the total was £40.49. Service: very friendly; dinner: dreadful.