Doughnut Takeover @ Bruno’s Bakes & Coffee – Take 2

I encountered Bruno, as is often the way these days, through a community of friends and acquaintances on Twitter. We met for the first time, in actual real life, at one of the South Bank food festivals and bonded subsequently over our love of the more quirky and mutually inspiring flavour pairings, often combining sweet with savoury. His inimitable style is an unusual mix of Southern BBQ with French pastry techniques; I’ll never forget the BBQs he held at his house when he was living in East London.

Opening his Rochester cake and coffee shop was a brave move out of London and it’s Londoncentric food scene, and for a long time him and his partner really struggled with the small town mentality there and sudden cold shoulder from London – Londoners not being so accepting of that South of the river, near the river, let alone a number of towns into the depths of Kent…

So when we decided to put on a doughnut day last year, it was as much to give the little shop a spot of well deserved attention as it was an opportunity for the pair of us to go a little bit crazy in the kitchen. It paid off and they had their best day up to that date – this has obviously now been superseded in the year since, but we decided to to hold another takeover anyway; for old times sake, for the love of doughnuts and, hell, just of the fun of it.

Last year, we weren’t entirely confident Rochester would be ready for our slightly crazier ideas but we sold out regardless, so I’m excited to announce the following menu for our next doughnut day!

21st November 2015 @ Bruno’s Bakes & Coffee


Yuzu Meringue Pie – Yuzu Citrus Curd Filling with Meringue topping & Seschuan Pepper Sprinkles

Pecan Praline & Bourbon filled topped with Praline Crunch

Chocolate, Banana & Rum filled topped with shredded pink coconut angel flakes

Doughnut Sandwiches

Maple Glazed, filled with Bacon, Peanut Butter & Banana

Maple Glazed, Filled with Bacon & Egg

Duck & Pork Rillette with Green Peppercorn Mayo & Peach/Yuzu Salsa


Sobrasada filled Doughnut Holes with sides of Roasted Padron Peppers & Truffle Honey

Pumpkin & Bacon Fritters with Pumpkin Spice Glaze

Blueberry Fritters

Deep Fried Oreo Cookie Dough Balls on a stick

Deep Fried Vanilla Cheesecake

We really look forward to seeing you there!

Chloë & Bruno x

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I don’t now about you, but my preconceptions of glasgow revolved simplistically and mainly around that thick, almost unintelligible at times, accent along with a bunch of misinformed ideas of a faintly rough neighbourhood, deep fried mars bars and Iron Bru – hey, at least I’m being honest. So when I knew I had to visit for the first time last year, I was a little bit gutted that I wasn’t heading to Edinburgh. Shame on me. Turns out I was more than pleasantly surprised and despite a second trip shortly after, I departed feeling like I had lots left that I wanted to discover. When I received an invitation from Glasgow City Marketing Bureau as part of their People Make Glasgow campaign, I very quickly cleared my diary, accepted the invite and looked forward to being shown Glasgow by the very people in the know.

I’ll start with coffee – as good a place as any, and where my focus always leans, first to sharpen my senses and then to pick up further recommendations.

Echoing the current trend across the country, much of Glasgow’s speciality coffee scene is roasting it’s own and where its not, there is a mix of, mainly, other UK roasters which is mainly dominated by local roaster Dear Green , who’s founder Lisa, has done a fine job of promotion throughout local businesses, has just moved into a new roastery and also runs the Glasgow Coffee Festival. Busy lady.

My favourite cafe without a shadow of a doubt is the delightful Piña. What’s not delightful about a tiny, astro turfed cafe down a narrow gravel lane? Nothing, that’s what. Even better, they serve a great menu of Workshop Coffee and The Barn as filter and espresso based drinks, and a dedicated ghetto toastie menu, that is, none of your fancy sourdough numbers, but proper brevilled, sealed sandwiches that promise to melt your face with their contents; both sweet and savoury . It felt right to choose The Scotsman; a somewhat unusual concoction of egg, smoked ham, cheese and BBQ sauce served with tortilla crisps on the side.

The interior of Piña is ice cream hued and set down a level, so it’s like stepping down into a bunker. Upstairs is a slightly creepy area furnished with children toys and a ceiling rammed with mobiles – creepy, possibly as it was deserted on my morning visit, but spookily creepy none the less. Set in the heart of the university area, it throbs with student vibes and despite brilliant coffee, doesn’t take itself too seriously. Did I mention that I love it.

I was seriously impressed with Laboratorio Espresso just around the corner from the Train Station on West Nile Street – Milanese inspired it may be, however the Hasbean espresso I had was nothing of the sort, thankfully, a nod to Italy came instead via a pistachio Sfogliatelli.

Avenue G has two locations – I hit up the one on Byres Road one morning for a quick filter coffee on the bar – not bad at all and it came served with some good information and tasting notes. A great space that’s accommodating of the little ones, I’m told they do a decent brunch too.

Artisan Roast, I visited the Gibson Street cafe, have an impressive selection of their own beans, roasted in Edinburgh on site. Heavy on old timber and ecclesiastical imagery – it feels worn in and a bit hippified. A counter groaning with home made bakes, I, of course, went for a doughnut.

I’m recommending Papercup as I tried their own roasted coffee at the Glasgow Coffee Festival last year once, and enjoyed it, but I haven’t been to their cafe on Great Western Road myself. You should though if you’re in the area.

For breakfast the guys from PMG introduced us to Glasgow’s answer to Dishoom, Babu Kitchen , an Indian street food cafe that’s breakfast and brunches would strike fear into any hangover. Coffee is from Dear Green and my Bhurji Pau was a beautiful harmony of two colliding cultures; buttery spiced eggs crammed into a crispy, but surprisingly light Morton’s roll. Worth noting they also do BYO in the evening.

From my previous trip I can highly recommend the sandwiches and rolls at Devil’s Deli, recommended to me by Greg from Lanark Coffee. Made me laugh that when I was trying to remember the name, the girls at Babu knew exactly where I meant when I described it as being the sandwich shop run by a couple of sullen looking, but seemingly lovely, lads – it’s exactly the sort of place I frequent and reminds me of wonderful cafe Mother’s Milk in London’s Fitzrovia. Ingredients are thoughtfully combined and all meat prepared in-house, served in large portions with more Dear Green coffee.

Back on my PMG trip and after a mid morning forage of some urban green belt on the outskirts of the city, where we lamented the lost knowledge of our grandparents whilst listening to the fascinating Monica Wilde teach us all things plant based. We learnt a little on the near forgotten art of natural remedy (remember rubbing dock leaves onto nettle stings as kids?) whilst identifying edibles. Taking our impressive haul back to Riverhill Restaurant we sit back and wait for it to transformed into lunch by their clearly talented chefs. Oh, what a lunch! If what we ate is any indication of dishes they normally serve then this place is an absolute gem. Locally sourced and seasonal ingredients are dealt a deft and delightful spin – really, well worth a visit – the regular menu draws from many cultural references. The wine list is interesting, the cocktails inspired and they also have a coffee bar around the corner serving, yup, Dear Green coffee.

Know where my absolute favourite martini is? It’s right here in Glasgow at the utterly fabulous Finnnieston. Doesn’t matter that their menu is mainly seafood, I have returned on every visit for their impressively comprehensive gin and cocktail menu. The house martini is wonderfully saline, garnished with capers and, as every martini should be ice cold and gone in three sips, is presented in an elegantly tiny glass alongside a second serve that sits waiting on ice in a tiny glass carafe – you have no idea  how much this pleases me.

On my 3rd visit to The Finnieston it mattered even less that they served seafood, as we dined next door at their sister restaurant, and newly opened, steak house Porter & Rye. An impressive ageing room left us in no doubt that we were getting meat and that it was going to be good. It was also, quite possibly the largest beast I think I’ve devoured, which I attacked with hand selected weaponry from a satisfying choice of sharp implements.

The Gannet served me one of my very best meals last year. I forget what exactly but from Negroni’s by the fire to a last glass of wine and melting puddings, it couldn’t have been more perfect, there’s a reason you have to book ahead. I don’t even have any decent pictures – just take my word for it.

Aside from the aforementioned Finnieston, cocktails at The Kelvingrove Cafe were probably my next favourite, and located handily on the same street. A dimly lit bar, heavy bound menu containing drinks veering not too far from the classics, and friendly service provide all I look for in a good cocktail bar.

Now, this place might not be for every one but the instagram pic I took from my second visit to Glasgow was greeted with unanimous nostalgic love; Nice ‘N’ Sleazy seems to be a bit of an institution around these parts, with a sticky floor shaking sound system and £4 (?) super charged white russians this is the student bar of dreams. Worth sticking your head into for a blast from the past.

Now I enjoyed my meal at Ox & Finch well enough during my first visit, but I couldn’t help feeling that it lacked anything of it’s own, that it was more of a themed restaurant designed to tick off current trends. From the style of the menu itself to the small plates and and of-the-minute ingredients, it seemed to miss the mark, for me at least.

My final recommendation is for Stravaigin - a gorgeously cosy restaurant on Gibson Street that is split into cafe and bar areas, both bustling, we hit the bar for it’s roaring fire and, of course, booze. It’s the sort of place that welcomes buggies in it’s cafe side and, more pleasingly for us, creatures of the canine variety in the bar. It’s another menu that is heavy with fusion; my starter is Breakfast Baozi – steamed bun filled with bacon, Thai cucumber & chilli salad with birds eye chilli sauce on the side. Nuff said. My main is all of the traditional as I tick a big fat Scottish box with my Haggis, Neeps & Tatties with whisky sauce. It delivers.

Oh, and finally, although I quite liked the dodgy guesthouses I stayed in when I booked myself, replete with tartan carpets and old school fry ups for breakfast, the Citizen M we were booked into by PMG was really quite special. A little perky and styled for my regular tastes, coming across as a younger sibling of Ace, what really sold it to me was the iPad entertainment controls in the rooms; HELLO colour changeable bedroom!!

Bit upset we didn’t get to visit the Tunnock Teacake factory – one can but dream! I did, on my second visit, however manage to score a packet of the fabled Square Sausage, Lorne as it’s more locally known, or Squasage as I like to call it.

Until next time….









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World Duty Free End Of Summer Cocktails – Blood Orange Cointreau

I’m not in the habit of turning down hampers of booze. So I welcomed World Duty Free’s offer with open arms. Well, sort of. They asked if I’d like to recreate one of their Summer Drinks Festival cocktails. I actually would rather not, I said, but they were nice enough and happy enough to indulge my fussiness and send me the ingredients of my choice (from their list) to come up with my own creation instead.

The list comprised much of what you’d expect to find at your chosen gateway to foreign shores; big name brands that held little interest for me, along with a couple of curiosities. I’m not often able to resist blood orange, the San Pelegrino soft drink of this flavour is lush and I’m guaranteed to gorge on them when in season, so my eyes were immediately drawn to a Cointreau of the blood orange persuasion. This and a bottle of gin, always, Tanqueray Ten in this instance, was to form the basis of my experimentation.

I’m sure you can imagine that my first was a riff on the Negroni. The Cointreau is indeed sticky sweet but with a good bitterness on the finish that works in place of Campari, less herbal and heavy but delicious all the same, and no-where near the false sweetness of the abomination that is Aperol. I switched out the sweet vermouth for lighter and dryer regular vermouth and hey presto you have a clear Negroni – though watch out as the Cointreau has an abv kick of 40% to Campari’s 25%. Rather than serving over ice as is traditional I stirred my drink down first to control dilution prior to serving. Whilst a regular negroni benefits from the evolution as it slowly mingles with melting ice, this is much lighter and best served up – I added a grapefruit twist to this fantastic aperitif.

I played around with the ratios too and rather liked a take on a wet martini with little more than a dash of the Cointreau and served with an orange twist.

The other obvious cocktail, to me, was the white lady. Typically made with triple sec, I simply swapped for the Blood Orange Cointreau – I like this variation a lot – silky smooth with a curious berry bitterness at the end.

You’ll notice I haven’t done anything wild or ground breaking here – you see, in my opinion, unless you’re doing something super clever involving distillates, rotary evaporators and the like a la Peg & Patriot or White Lyan, then there’s really no need to stray too far from those classics. They’re classics for a reason you know…..

Who wouldn’t pick up a bottle of Tanqueray or Beefeater when passing through Duty Free anyway – no brainer right?! Well, I’d definitely think about picking up this, exclusive to them, Blood Orange Cointreau again when I run out.

You know the other thing I can’t resist? CRACKED CORN TOBLERONE. It’s unfathomably addictive and I’ve never seen it sold anywhere else. Probably a good thing though that…


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Lardo & Smoked Salt Pretzels

I got my days all skewed last week. Why did I squander a balmy Friday evening slaving away in a humid kitchen when Sunday was so miserable? Oh well, with our unpredictable weather, these things can’t be planned, and I had prosecco to keep me chilled so don’t feel too bad.

My Friday baking session was prompted by an insatiable craving to make pretzels. I’m guessing this stems from my booking a trip to Berlin paired with a highly suggestible nature. Pretzels, the soft kind, have never held any sort of appeal to me. I mean, neither have the little hard ones, but thats a given due to my ambivalence towards hard snacks. I felt like I *ought* to like the soft kind, I mean – bread, but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm for a plain twist of it, neither deep fried, filled or doused in sugar and spices.

Then I found myself with several hours to kill at Berlin airport with very little food options other than pretzels and/or sausages – I’m convinced these are the mainstays of a German diet – this was my moment. Crestfallen my pretzel came with no accompaniment than the paper napkin it was wrapped in, it’s safe to say I had low expectations.

Imagine my surprise then as I pulled off a piece. I tore through chewy skin into soft, yeasty bread, spiked aggressively with nuggets of salt. I couldn’t fathom how it could be so delicious or taste so uniquely of ‘pretzel’. Yet I continued to eat until there was none of the knotted bread left and my mouth stung from salt’s bite. Such a revelation was it that I immediately purchased another for my dinner when I went through to departures and cursed myself for discovering this new love just as I was leaving the country.

I knew I needed to make them myself. I also knew that despite having never made them before, a basic recipe would never inspire me and so I devised a, not too complicated, spin on a classic. That overwhelming saltiness paired with deep yeasty flavour notes had my head in a spin and was something I wanted to push further. Lardo leaves behind the same aggressively salty kiss but with porky silky sweetness, so I’ve added this in place of butter to enrich and push saltiness through the dough, topping with smoked salt to build layers of flavour.

I’m going to be honest here, I couldn’t be faffed to deal with the whole knotting technique, so little batons were good enough for me. I served them for dinner that evening with bratwurst and then again for breakfast with fruit, labne and a little truffle honey for pre gym indulgence – a versatile bread I’ll certainly make again.

Having not made them before, I stuck fairly strictly to the instructions on the BBC Good Food website for German Soft Pretzels 

Lardo & Smoked Salt Pretzels –  Makes 8 batons

500g plain white flour

130g luke warm water

130g luke warm full fat milk

40g rendered lardo (or butter)

half a tablespoon dark muscovado sugar

1 sachet fast action dried yeast

1 teaspoon salt

1 litre water

3 tablespoons baking soda

Halen Môn smoked salt

Put 100g of flour in a bowl with the yeast and water, cover with cling film and leave for 5 hours to develop a deep yeast flavour.

Finely dice a good chunk of lardo or fatty prosciutto and put into a pan in a medium heated oven until it renders down. Drain off and reserve the fat and also the remaining lardons.

Add remaining flour to yeast mixture with the sugar, salt, milk, rendered fat & lardons and knead until you get a firm and smooth dough. Leave covered for around an hour until doubled in size.

Knock back the dough and divide into 8 equal sized balls, then roll each into a sausage shape. Leave uncovered in a warm place for 30 minutes to rise again.

Boil water in a large saucepan and add the baking soda.

Place the risen pretzel batons near an open window with a cold breeze, or do what I did and blast them with a fan for a couple minutes, this helps them develop their skin and unique texture.

Drop the pretzels, one at a time, into the boiling liquid and fish out after around 5 second.

Lay them straight onto a baking tray lined with baking paper, sprinkle with smoked salt then cut deep slashes into the top of the dough.

Place into an oven pre heated to 200 degrees for around 15 minutes or until a deep brown.

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A brunch twist on Panzanella for the onset of Autumn

I struggle with raw tomatoes in this country. Unless plucked directly from our allotment, still warm from the sun’s kiss and sweet from the caress of fresh air and goodness, they just don’t taste good; bitter, wet and sour to my palate. Perhaps because I’ve tasted the tomatoes in Italy and France, somehow more full of flavour than anything I’ve tasted over here. Placebo maybe, when everything is blessed with that mediterranean sunshine. Or could it be that my cynical side takes over, having spent several months picking tomatoes in Bowen, Australia, I’ve seen the industrial side of production, the plucking of under ripe fruit, then storing and synthetically ripening in warehouses with chemicals rather than on the plants themselves. At any rate, on the whole, I eat them grilled or roasted over here, blistered and charred. That is, of course, unless I find some outstanding specimens, in which case I’m more than happy to eat them as nature intended, accompanied with a creamy buffalo mozzarella, freshly picked basil and a good drizzle of olive oil.

Raw onion equally leaves me cold; I fear it’s aggressive bitterness, ditto raw pepper. For these reasons I find many raw salads too sharp and not wholly enjoyable. So, this is a sweet and mellow version of the classic panzanella salad, much more suited to my own tastes and a warming welcome as Autumn nudges Summer out of the way. I’d imagine silky, smoky aubergine would work really well with these charred vegetables, BBQ’d even better. Basically anything you care to toss in, are particularly keen on or have wilting around the kitchen. Clearly I’ve also made versions spiked with nduja, but you guessed that, right? It makes a great little brunch dish topped with an egg, yolk perfectly ready to pop, spilling it’s richness onto the salad.

More of an idea than a recipe, feel free to add or sub as you fancy and to your own tastes. I’m really not a fan of soggy bread, so mine has large croutons that are allowed to soften ever so slightly with the juices. Just not too much…

I haven’t put quantities here just some rough directions

Drizzle torn chunks of bread, of roughly equal size, liberally with olive oil, then toss with crushed garlic and put under the grill to toast.

Chop red onion, sweet red peppers and a mixture of tomatoes, drizzle with olive oil and red wine vinegar, plenty of seasoning then put under the drill until they start to blacken, blister and turn soft.

I had some thick slices of crumbly finocchiona (fennel salami), so I fried this off a little in a pan whilst frying an egg.

Add croutons to the vegetables and their juices and the salami, toss together and top with  the fried egg.


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N’duja Focaccia

One of my favourite places to take brunch these days is Salon in Brixton Village. I hear they do a cracking evening service but, well, brunch is where my heart is, and after a tough session at the gym, the likes of nduja strewn scrambled eggs on toast is just the thing. An nduja pain perdou was a stroke of genius and, as you can imagine, right up my street.

The setting is as pretty as a provincial picture; a well stocked bar dominates a room filled with wooden furniture, dusky blue walls, old bottles and dried flowers. I love that seating is upstairs, on a slightly wonky floor, above the bustle of the market, an airy room that matches the external eclectic chaos with an equally boisterous, if middle class, brunching crowd. Best spot in the house is at the far end of the room, next to the window for people and market peering.

They often declare of a weekend morning their ‘special’; one of nduja focaccia with roasted tomatoes speaks strongly to me often, but never at a time I’ve been available to catch it. Until I do, I’ve stolen the idea myself and rather than a focaccia stuffed with chunks of the spicy Calabrian sausage, as I assume they do, I’ve mixed swirls of the paste-like version into the dough itself. Fiery ribbons and seams of chilli strewn sausage paste that licks the dough with it’s orange tongue.

My first instinct was to serve with roasted tomatoes, sweet and blistered, a soft mozzarella and some smoky prosciutto. I ate it again for brunch the following day as a beast of a sandwich, filled with more roasted tomatoes, smashed avocado and an nduja fried egg. Oooof.

It’s definitely a recipe I’ll be making again.

Focaccia is a super quick and simple bread to make, this time I followed Paul Hollywood’s recipe as it was one of the first to pop up in Google, but it’s much the same as recipes I’ve used in the past with success.

For the Focaccia

40g olive oil plus extra

250g strong white bread flour

180g chilled water

5g salt

1 sachet fast action yeast

Fresh Rosemary

nduja paste – I use one from M&S’ foreign grocery section that comes in a small jar

sea salt

Put the flour into a large mixing bowl and add the yeast to one side and salt to the other.

Add the olive oil and then water slowly to incorporate all of the dough until you have a fairly wet, rough dough.

Lightly oil a work surface, turn the dough out and knead for 5-10 minutes until it starts to become smooth and elastic. It should still be quite wet and sticky so don’t panic and add lots of flour, just keep scraping down and cleaning your hands.

Once it has a smooth consistency, push a dip into the centre and dot a good tablespoon of nduja onto the top. Fold the corners of the dough roughly back into the centre, then repeat once more so the nduja starts to become ripples throughout the dough, but gently and stop before you get a completely orange mess! Pick it up gently and place into an oiled bowl, fold side facing down.

Cover and leave for 1 hour until doubled in size.

Oil a baking tray. Lift the dough carefully out of the bowl and very gently stretch it out before placing onto the tray and pushing it into shape without letting too much of the air escape.

Cover and leave for another hour to let it rise again.

Preheat your oven to 220 degrees. Push deep dimples evenly apart into the surface of the dough, drizzle liberally with olive oil, sprinkle with rosemary and flaked sea salt then bake for around 15 minutes until the surface is golden and the bread sounds hollow when tapped.

Allow to cool before serving.

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Pancetta, Peach, Bourbon & Thyme Breakfast Buns

This is a bun that shoehorns everything I want for breakfast into one neat package. Sweet, savoury, peach and porky, spikily salty and sugary with a herbal twist. Umm, and booze…

I based this on Felicity Cloake’s chelsea bun recipe from her excellent Guardian Perfect column but replaced the butter for rendered Italian lardo. As you do. Well, I had the remainder of a lump of it reclining in the fridge and just knew it would enhance the dough for my intentions. Peach jam benefits from a lick of bourbon that’s echoed in an egg wash. I kept it fairly heavy on the pancetta after my introduction to Nuno Medes’ breakfast meat bread last week, an inspired addition to a newly launched breakfast menu at Taberno Do Mercado that also ticks many boxes for me, including as it does an oozing custard tart and some cute looking filled doughnuts. Alas, I haven’t made it there for breakfast yet, my delivery was from Clerkenwell Boy , my lunchtime partner in crime at, always perfect, Lyles.

Makes 9

200ml whole milk

60g rendered pork fat

450g strong white flour

2 tablespoons caster sugar

1 egg beaten

1 teaspoon salt

sachet fast action yeast

pancetta, finely chopped

fresh thyme

For filling and finishing


beaten egg

caster sugar



white peach


fresh thyme

I had some lardo in the fridge, so I rendered that down in the oven, obviously retaining the meat scraps to throw back into the dough, but you could use butter in it’s place.

Mix the milk with the pork fat. In a large bowl put the flour and sugar, whisk in the yeast, then add the milk mixture and egg and stir to combine before mixing in the salt.

Knead the dough on a clean surface for around 10 minutes until smooth and elastic. Replace in the bowl, cover and leave to rise for around 2 hours or until doubled in size.

Meanwhile make the jam. I use a very simple method, finely chopping 3 peaches, then add the juice of a lemon and a good level of caster sugar, around the same weight of the fruit. Boil for several minutes until it thickens then add a slug of bourbon and heat again until slightly reduced.

Knock back the dough, adding the chopped pancetta at the same time and fully incorporate then roll into a long rectangle. Spread with butter and the jam then roll up from the long side. Carefully cut into 9 evenly sized pieces, making sure not to squash them too much as you cut. Place into an oiled, square baking tray.

At this stage I left my buns to prove overnight covered in the fridge so that I could bake them fresh, and more importantly eat them warm, the following morning, but they only really need a 30 minute rise. When you’re ready to bake, brush with an egg wash pimped with a glug of bourbon, scatter with thyme and caster sugar and place in the centre of an oven pre heated to 200 degrees for around 30-35 minutes.



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Summer’s Here – Of Peaches, Figs & Elderflowers

A sudden craving to be pottering around in the kitchen means – oh there it is –  a new season has arrived, bringing with it fresh produce and inspiration renewed. I’m as ever predictably whimsy.

I had, not a small, obsession with flat white peaches last year and it sees no sign of abating this – I still can’t get enough of their gently persuasive aroma and sweetly juicy flesh and it still tickles me that varieties have names like UFO and Cake Pearl. Another herald of summer is the elderflower, whispering to passers by of meadows and hedgerows, turns out that intoxicating scent of summer I’ve been getting as I leave my flat, and it’s obvious now I’ve identified it, is a large elderflower bush now blossoming beneath our rickety metal staircase. Easily identified by the buttermilk hued cloud, that on closer inspection reveals a lacy detailed cluster of delicate flowers. Ripe for cordial or champagne I only had sights on a fritter version – how can you fail to feel like an otherworldly creature when chomping down on deep fried clusters of blossom faerie queen style?!

I went with Nigel Slater’s recipe, subbing sparkling water and sugar for sparkling pink wine, because, well mainly what doesn’t benefit from pink fizz in the sunshine? I also rather liked the notion of adding a sticky pink tinged sweetness to that orgy of lacy cream petals.

I served mine with another faint current obsession which is greek yoghurt whipped with a lacing of tahini and then a very simple peach jam made from a mix of equally wilting yellow and white fleshed peaches.

I often experiment with various and seasonal flavours in toastie form, with a Doughnut Peach and Nduja one being the winning combo from last year; it worked so well I decided to use the same flavours as a pizza. Yup, still works. As does ripe black fig with finocchiona and nduja. I loosely adhered to this adaptation of Peter Reinhart’s Neopolitan recipe

A mid morning breakfast of figs, with tahini and yoghurt again, is doing it for me too, served sliced over toasted and buttered sourdough and drizzled with tahini.

Best thing I ate this week though? A very, very simple Thing On Toast – flat peach grilled, sliced over sourdough and draped with melting slivers of lardo – sweet, juicy and salty bliss.

Heirloom tomato salads, burrata dressed with a smoky olive oil, course and crumbly Tuscan Finocciona; the simplest feasts made magical by the fading light of a summers day.


Prod me when it’s Autumn hey?


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Neighbourhood Dining – 161 Kirk & Fields Cafe

If you asked me which of the many, many restaurant, cafe and bar openings I was most excited about last year, I wouldn’t hesitate with my two answers – Fields and 161 Kirk.

As I’ve grown more meh about proper restaurants and all they entail, I’ve felt myself increasingly drawn to places with more of a neighbourhood bent. Who doesn’t want to eat, drink, work, chill somewhere where they really do know your name? Both of these are South of the river, not entirely close enough to my own neighbourhood to claim my own but close enough in lieu of having anything better nearer. More importantly, they’re that alchemic balance of many small things that combine to create something that is far, far more than the sum of it’s parts. I’m less concerned about chasing that perfect coffee and the now dish, more interested in the collective ambience. Maybe it’s my age…

161 Kirk opened about a year ago to my absolute disbelief. I was sat, at the time, in North London with plans to move East for the evening. Nothing unusual there then. An email from a (trusted) friend declaring he was sat in a lovely new wine bar in Sydenham had a group of us racing back South unable to contain bewildered curiosity – or resist a boozy get together.

Turns out that was the first of many days and evenings spent at the cafe bar. It might be a couple of towns away from my own but I’m claiming it as *my* neighbourhood cafe, because it feels like it is. It’s the place I go when I need to get out of the house for a breather, to sit and work, take brunch and coffee, catch up with friends over a bottle or five of interesting natural wines or go for tinny reds and charcuterie boards for my Birthday and Christmas eve. It covers all bases (It’s also ridiculously reasonably priced!).

There was also that time they popped up in the fabric shop opposite for an evening of cocktails and another where they hosted a bunch of producers from the local market.

One of the owners is also part of ToastED, which I should mention here is also an excellent place, similar in vein, that I’ve had two absolutely cracking evenings at, with meals and wine to match. A dish of pork, astounding, and one of carrots that was bound with the most incredible puree that we surmised could only be that of brown butter anointed carrot – I dunked duck hearts in a supplementary dish of that carroty nirvana, that we’d demanded spontaneously, for the epitome of one forkful of heaven. Mangalitza charcuterie was the stuff of dreams.

Back at 161, and it’s much smaller and simpler but none the worse for it. Better in fact. The daily changing, succinct menu is influenced by cuisines from further shores, often a turkish influence, sometimes Jewish, Persian, as is quite often the case at the moment. A chocolate and olive oil cake is a recipe created by the other owner Belinda for her coeliac grandfather, she’s since become a friend. It’s touches like this that make up the warmth of the place. That as a package elevate it above and beyond the regular cafe or bar. Locals, at times, are challenging, sometimes obnoxious. But welcomed. They’re locals after all and this is a cafe for the community.

M1lk in Balham has always been worth travelling, even queuing for, as is inevitable if you attempt a weekend visit. An air of the quirky interspersed with the reckless and kitsch macabre. Music is boisterous, food is hearty and the atmosphere is frenetic and lively, thick with nostril teasing aromas. I struggle to leave without a takeout box of their pistachio and yuzu or brown butter and hazelnut cake or one of each. There’s a couple of pictues below of more recent visits, without trawling the archives of my phone too heavily, my favourite is generally the baked eggs, and coffee always served from twee crockery.

I’d known Fields was opening for a while (day job), had an inkling of the concept (press release) but was still unprepared for how stark a contrast it is from it’s sister M1lk. There’s so much to love about Fields even as it stands as a sort of work in progress, perhaps partly because of that. I adore, first, that it sits just behind a skate park, meaning there’s a steady stream of skaters ambling through the door, looking for refreshment – reminds me of my  youth and my brother. I think I imagine the clatter and roll of wheels as skateboards hit the deck, a ghostly echo of memories. In reality little more than a shack, there’s a soft focus glow that infects my vision of it, a 70′s watercolour wash lens that I can’t shake from my eyes. Perhaps that’s my tragedy; I can’t resist finding melancholy romance in the ephemeral, the out of place and different.

Fields eased themselves into service gently. On my first visit they had just coffee and cake. I say *just* but nothing is just here…. Walking across the decking I’m reminded of beach huts and the faded, wind and rain ravaged beauty of British seaside towns. The juxtaposition then of a space age Spirit winking from the window hatch is nothing less than brilliant and induces a chuckle every time. The interior is soft serve perfection with a deliciously subversive twist – look closer at the retro salt shaker and is that himalayan pink salt to match the candy walls? Too right it is. It’s these touches that tickle me, like the set of flying ducks on the wall and the actual soft serve machine. Why yes, of course they have one! But nothing as trad as vanilla here; hay smoked with gingerbread crumb or matcha and white chocolate; a slushy machine is similarly, brilliantly perverted.

I hardly need to say that the brunches are genius incarnate. Bacon and poached eggs on sourdough would be lovely enough with regular hollandaise, infuse that sauce cleverly with siracha and espresso and it’s taken to another level. A fruit salad couldn’t be further from the classic, a dish that comprises burnt plums, walnuts, cream and shaved apple, a heartbreaking, breathtaking plate of winter whimsy served on diner basics.

Croque madame is just as perfect as a version as you could dream of, all molten cheese and smoked egg yolk. A side of wild ramsons comes pimped with lurid celery salt. House made crumpets, light and fluffy, perch on a small mound of smoked goats curd, dripping with honey they’re finished with faerie dust, flowers and honeycomb. Ok, I might be lying about the faerie dust but maybe not, there’s a touch of the fantastical about this place. Remember the show Eerie Indiana? Feels a bit like that. Where nothing is *quite* what it seems…..You just have to scratch a little below the surface.

Peat smoked larder cake is subtly smoky with a sugar cracked crust. Coffee, of course good, is from Workshop and Koppi. Wine is astonishing, from a tiny French natural producer and sold by the glass at retail price. See what I mean? These things are delivered in such a way as to not draw attention – almost with a nonchalant shrug in cheap tumblers. Magical.

It’s not gathered quite the following of M1lk yet, but I guarantee it won’t be long before the public catch on. I kind of hope they don’t to be honest. Just our little secret? Just try not to fall in love over those confectionary hues yeah? My heart aches a little just looking at them.

I understand they’re launching an evening service shortly in time for warmer months….



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Pao de Queijo and the Beauty of Breakfast Abroad

I never take breakfast at home, merely a couple of black filter coffees at my desk, less if I’m out at meetings, a snack (again when desk bound) if I’m actually famished – not often. However when travelling, as I do increasingly these days, I relish breakfast time more than any other. Possibly because it’s so alien in my pedestrian life, maybe a reason too why I savour foods classified as breakfast or brunch most of all. There’s something transient about the idea of breakfast that I think I’ve romanticised.

When travelling, breakfast becomes my time to gather together my bearings before embarking apon the new, unfamiliar, sometimes daunting. To check emails and social media (at least I’m honest). Ready myself for the day ahead. I find it can also be an unrivalled insight into the culture of an area, an opportunity to absorb the ebb and flow and tone. I wonder if my recent (ish) love affair with coffee and cafe life has something to do with it’s own cultural punctuation and my enjoyment of it.

European buffet breakfasts can generally go do one with their homogenised eurosludgy mash up. I’ve recently opted to swap depressing, grey suit filled shells for airbnb and consequently dodged the accompanying complimentary disaster by hunting out nearby and illustrious cafes for my breakfast fix. This a double win, as it allows me the chance to request recommendations from the staff – always my top tip for traveling that – get recs from places you already like, staff are more likely to be into/appreciate the same things. In this way I can ricochet around a city for days, dining on hot tips from hotter kids.

A buffet breakfast is not always to be avoided though and never an excuse to simply lard it up whislt away from home as you see so many tourists do, gorging for no reason than sheer gluttony, hand to mouth with mindlessly inert movements. Having just returned from a trip to South West Brazil however, I can heartily condone a table spilling with exotic (to me) dishes, fruits that I’ve never seen so ripe and juices I’ve never before come across. Never mind that some of the dishes (explained to me later) are a local spin on things prepared entirely for expectant Gringos like me. An invitation to try a little bit of everything is not one I have power to refuse, taking small portions of everything. Just to try. To explore and discover. No doubt looking like that greedy tourist in the process. Hi *waves*

Amongst a veritable feast of papaya, melon and mango, eggs and sobrassata fried with onions (not the supple salami we get but a firmer sliced sausage – this being the thing presented for the Gringos benefit – locals would never eat meat for breakfast) and local cakes enriched with yoghurt or mayo, one topped with a coconut crust is particularly good, a banana bread served with banana fritters is near moist perfection. Juices verge on the joyfully ridiculous; watermelon and  mango are favourites and then I have my cashew epiphany. Asking what one particularly sweet nectar is, unable to match it to anything I’d encountered in my succinct juice repertoire, I’m told Caju. I furrow my brow at the unusual word and it’s repeated to me, caju, CAJU, you know like the nut, cashew. Aaaah. I don’t actually get it until our guide pulls up google images. Mind. Blown.

Do it.

One of my favourite breakfast discoveries is that of a recurring pairing of cheese with sweet. It’s one that’s repeated for dessert and as snacks throughout the day.

At breakfast it’s a firm, pale and unsalty cheese that I smear with guava jam, for a snack it’s the local Minas cheese served with tiny glasses of thick sweet coffee. A snack of Brazilian sweets happens twice; one of the traditional flavoured bonbons, Brigadeiro, typically chocolate but here I love the sweet cheese version filled with a guava paste; the other is at a cafe where we eat tiny cheesecakes topped with guava swhirls.

My favourite of all though is a combination we eat nearly twice daily while in Minas, that of a firm white cheese, they call it Ricotta but it’s more of a less salty, less crumbly feta, served with dulce de leche. I had no idea there were so many riffs on the sweet stuff; some of it searingly sweet and dark, some creamy, some sort of curdled, it appeared without fail at the end of every meal. Sometimes a humble jar would appear, lid askew, but more often it would fill glamorous glass vessels extravagantly, surrounded by much smaller plates laid with triangles of that white cheese and bulbous glass jars filled with candied figs – I’m aware this was offered to us as guests.

Consistent throughout my my week long induction to Minas Gerais is the exposure to their peo de queijo, little carby, cheesy puffs that you couldn’t help but notice as they sat prominent on every counter of the airport at Sao Paolo. They reappeared as palate cleansers between rounds of coffee cupping, at many snacking intervals and, joy! There they were again at the breakfast buffet.

Not bread. But not, not bread. I did a smidge of research and found them to be made from cassava root flour, that’s weirdly squeaky in it’s packet, with cheese and oil. They vary in texture from the soft, to almost quaver-like crispy and some near solid -  their unifying feature is (or should be) a squidgy middle, the best are crisp with a crackle across the surface and gooey middle.

At first I ate them as they were, enthralled enough to have so quickly discovered a new *thing*. Then we visited an incredible speciality cafe run by one of the co-ops and we were served a small basket-full of the puffs accompanied by little dishes of jam. Well, now this changed everything.  Another time they were served fancy like, topped with sesame seeds alongside a chilli and honey dip before dinner. If I’d stayed any longer I imagine I’d have witnessed them dunked into or filled with dulce de leche as seems to be the custom here. I’ve since been treated to Kaya toast and fancy they’d be rather nice with coconut jam.

I bought packet mix of the bread on a whim at the airport. Turns out it was simplicity incarnate and I have a sneaky feeling that’s what most of the locals use as it produces an almost perfect version of the buns. (I *think* I’m joking here). Feeling lacklustre after acute sickness upon returning, I manage a couple feebly stuffed in typical (me) fashion with mortadella and n’duja.

I’d brought a kilo of the flour back from Brazil, Polvilho Doce is on the packet, so I thought I really ought to attempt a proper recipe too. Deciding to use the Brazilian butter I’d also brought back in place of oil and Minas cheese rather than the suggested parmesan. Funny thing this, but most of the products of Brazil I’ve encountered have a faintly parmesan-ey aroma. The flour, butter and cheese all smell deeply, well, a little vommy, if we’re being honest. Hmm. Update on my Minas cheese while I’m here is that it’s getting funkier and firmer by the day. So not a bad sub for parmesan here to be fair.

These were again as good a version as any I’ve tried. I think they’d be good with chilli and or herbs too. I ate mine, while still warm and gooey, filled with some fatty prosciutto & jabuticaba jam – this is the jam that I’m told is typically served with the buns and a jar of which automatically came back with me. Jabuticaba is a firm, round, medium sized fruit that grows on trees, the jam is super sweet and tastes somewhere between prune and plum.

I followed this recipe from BBC Food – they all seem much of a muchness to be honest – and all very simple

250ml Full fat milk

125g Butter

300g tapioca or cassava flour

2 eggs

100g cheese

Boil the butter with milk until the butter is melted and the mixture is starting to froth and bubble lightly. Allow to cool slightly then pour in the flour. Keep mixing until everything cools down. It’s at this point that I remember I’m not working with actual flour as the mixture has an unusual glutinous quality. Add the eggs one at a time and beat until fully incorporated and the mixture has become glossy. Finally add the grated cheese and mix again until fully incorporated.

Scoop up egg sized pieces of dough, roll between your hands roughly and place on a greased baking tray.

Bake in an oven preheated to 220 degrees for around 30 minutes.

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