Força Portugal!

In support of Portugal's World Cup bid, here's tuna steak, spinach, roasted red pepper and tomato, and cannellini beans, dedicated to Figo, Ronaldo, Pauleta et al.

A Camera Looks At Itself

An interview with the artist:

NSB: This is at once a deeply insightful and positively dull piece. What was your inspiration?

AA: I’m interested in how society perceives itself and how it’s perceived by others. I wanted to make a statement about how I perceive society perceives itself.

NSB: So it’s not just a camera looking at itself.

AA: The camera’s a metaphor for how modern society views itself, which is largely through the mass media. In this sense, the camera objectifies those aspects of society that we most like to see: celebrity, success, marketing. Ironically, the camera looks, but it can’t see.

NSB: Why not?

AA: Because the shutter’s closed.

NSB: I see. So you’re saying that society lacks introspection.

AA: To the extent that another viewpoint on society is required, hence the view of a camera looking at itself from a different camera’s perspective.

NSB: Ah, it’s all coming into focus now (no pun intended). The medium you choose for your works has always had a great deal of significance. Here you’ve chosen digital photography, and there are rumours that you’ve expressly prohibited any print reproductions of the work. Why?

AA: I felt that a digital medium was a particularly apt format for this subject. There’s the obvious visual pun of a digital camera being itself digitized, but there are other reasons. The digital revolution has made the average individual into a photographer. People who perhaps would have no eye for composition, lighting and depth of field can now create photographs in seconds at minimal cost that would previously have required a certain amount of skill, time, dedication and money to produce, and the ability to enhance digital photographs on a personal computer gives the average Joe almost limitless options. Digital photography is a flattering, but fickle technology: whatever’s sub-optimal, you can enhance, and whatever you don’t like, you can discard. In this sense, it’s an interesting reflection (excuse the pun) on modern society and, indeed, modern celebrity.

NSB: So the medium is itself ironic. Irony seems to be permeate your work. How did you become so cynical?

AA: Certainly, I like to express ironies in my work, but I don’t think it can be considered cynical. Ironies occur because of inconsistencies, sometimes irreconcileable inconsistencies, in logic or value systems. Whether you consider those cynical or not depends upon how you interpret them.

NSB: And you’re not worried that your work will be erased from the hard-drive? How can it be art if it’s been deleted?

AA: I don’t think it ceases to be art just because you can’t see it. The art is in the statement. How you interact with it is a different matter. Although for some the public’s reaction to a statement is in itself considered art.

NSB: So the Guernika would be art even if it hadn’t been painted?

AA: The Guernika is art insofar as those brushstrokes were made into a statement somewhere at some time. Whether you can see the painting or not is irrelevant. Most people haven’t actually seen the Guernika.

NSB: Yes, but we at least know that it exists.

AA: Does something stop being art just because nobody knows it exists?

NSB: So if I destroyed the Guernika, it would still be art? But where would it be displayed? Who would go to see it? By that criterion, anyone could be creating art at any time. Nobody would know about it. We could all be artists.

AA: Perhaps.

NSB: So, in fact, there’s no way for us to know whether your work is really art or whether it’s just as fickle as society and digital photography. I could just delete it and there would be none the wiser.

AA: Go ahead. Delete it.

NSB: But… I can’t.

AA: Why not?

NSB: Because… it’s art...

AA: Exactly.

La Porte Des Indes

La Porte Des Indes (32 Bryanston Street. London WC1H 7EG) is part of The Blue Elephant empire that spreads halfway across the globe. Unlike its Thai counterpart, however, Porte only has outlets in London and Brussels. Like its Fulham cousin, La Porte Des Indes has a rather uninspiring exterior, only to reveal a lusciously detailed interior with lots of greenery and post-colonial décor. In fact, were it not situated a couple of blocks west of Selfridges, this is the kind of place you might imagine your 1920s white linen-suited doppelgänger spending those lazy Sunday afternoons.

La Porte serves a jazz buffet brunch on Sundays. This being father's day, it's only fitting that we should stuff ourselves for the benefit of our paternal ancestors. The buffet is somewhat inconveniently spread over two floors, with starters downstairs and mains and desserts upstairs. The exercise might do you good, though. Now, I must admit I can't remember what any of these things are called, but it was all very good. Particular praise goes to the biryaini, which was neither too dry nor too greasy. A spherical flour pastry that a chef pokes with a needle and fills with a mint and coriander sauce is also interesting, and out of the desserts, the gulab jamoon, normally a syrupy, diabetes-inducing lump of flour, was excellent, and not too sweet at all. But the best thing was the chilled mango soup. Smooth, strained mango, with dried chillies, mint, shredded ginger and mustard seeds, served with ice. Delicious!

The live "jazz" isn't all that, but it's inoffensive and you won't really notice it while you're busy stuffing yourself and taking pictures of your food. Service is OK, although I get the feeling that brunch time can be a busy headspin for the staff, so I trust they get paid overtime. Although one of the waitresses looked like there were a hundred other places she'd rather be. Also, I found the buffet stand somewhat ambiguous. Some things you serve yourself, others you have people serve you, but it's not exactly clear how this is determined. I tried to deduce this from the positioning of the serving spoons. Handle towards me, I serve myself; handle away from me, someone serves me. This doesn't seem to be the key, as I committed several faux pas using this logic. And since the servers aren't always there, it all seems like a bit of a free-for-all.

But for that special Sunday brunch occasion, not a bad choice at all, though keep in mind that you'll end up completely stuffed, so leave yourself a few hours before arranging that game of tennis......

Starters

Chilled mango soup

Biryani, daal, some chicken thing, lamb with spinach

Cod, paneer, some other chicken thing, naan

Dessert!

See also: London restaurants Indian French food pictures

Things to do with stuff you have lying around in the fridge...

Peasant's paella:

1 cup paella rice
1/2 onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, sliced
4 manky-looking cherry tomatoes, quartered
3 plum tomatoes from that tin you opened but didn't know what to do with
1/2 leftover tin of butter beans
Chorizo, diced
The rest of that seafood cocktail packet lurking in the back of your freezer
1/2 frozen peas
A few strands of saffron, finely ground with a pinch of salt
1 cube chicken stock, dissolved in 2 cups warm water

For those who can't be bothered to do anything else on a Saturday evening but sit in front of the tube watching football with a generous serving of starch-laden calories, this is perfect. You don't even need to defrost your seafood cocktail and peas. Heat up some olive oil in a paella pan (you can use a large, non-stick pan, but it's really not the same). Add the onion and garlic and sautée until soft. The sofrito, as it's called, is said to be the key to any paella, and some recipes even recommend frying the onion and garlic for half an hour before doing anything else. But the game starts in 45 minutes, and you really don't have time for that kind of thing. The trick, however, is to stir it around gently and make sure you have enough oil so that it doesn't stick or burn, but instead acquires shimmering glaze. When it's ready, you should be able to smell the infusion of onion and garlic. Next, add the chorizo and beans. Chorizo is the ideal emergency protein, which you can add to pretty much anything when you're in a bind to add flavour and colour. I always have some lying around in my fridge. Stir around for a couple of minutes then add the tomatoes, making sure you break them up so they're not too lumpy. Then add the rice, stirring around to coat the grains in all the juices. Add a tablespoon of stock to the ground saffron to dissolve it and add to the pan, stirring evenly into the rice. Pour over the two cups of stock and add the peas and seafood cocktail. Salt and pepper to taste. It's usually difficult to get an even heat distribution around the edges of a paella pan, so I usually place it off-centre on the ring and turn it every few minutes so that all the rice cooks evenly. The stock should be simmering constantly, but stir the rice as little as possible. Note that a paella pan isn't non-stick. In fact, the rice should stick to the pan and form a skin, which some allege is the best part of the paella, although that's probably because they only ever get the leftovers. When the rice is more or less tender, take off the heat, cover the pan and leave for 10 minutes. Serve with a wedge of lemon.

Food Art

a.k.a. things to do with salmon... In order for you to fully appreciate this, I should inform you that this was originally meant to be a much anticipated seared tuna on a bed of roasted pepper and leek salad. However, having spent an hour and a half stuck inside a baking hot train while they put out a freak fire on the track somewhere ahead of us, my enthusiasm was much dampened, and pretty much killed off when I got to the supermarket fish counter to find they had no tuna. Hence the more humble version herewith presented, with lightly smoked, pan-fried salmon fillet on a bed of spinach, cannellini bean, chorizo and pepadew pepper. I added the (canned) tuna just out of principle...

Kikuchi

Were it not for the write-up displayed on the window describing this as "probably the best Japanese restaurant in London", it might never even occur to you to walk into Kikuchi (14 Hanway Street, London W1P 9DD). In fact, on first impression you might think that this is a place frequented only by Yakuza and middle aged, married men drenched in sake paying a little too much attention to the cute waitresses.

The minimum charge for dinner is 20 pounds per person, but once you've made the choice, there's a bounty of tempting dishes to explore on the menu, and you'd potentially have no trouble spending twice or three times that amount. The omakase sushi (chef's selection) seems a good place to start: 12 pieces of assorted nigiri (including toro, tuna, seabream, mackerel and three kinds of roe), delicately presented, generously-sized super fresh fish. This might actually be the best sushi in London - certainly the best I've had. The omakase sashimi is equally good, and the grilled soy cod is to die for: flaky, tender and infused with soy marinade. For some excellent maki, try the toro and leek rolls, and for something more unusual, the deep fried pork rolls with asparagus is interesting. The wasabi is grainier and nicer than the powdery paste you get in most other places. Overall, a great choice if you wanna treat yourself to some quality sushi and try some unusual dishes that you may not find elsewhere. But I don't think it'll replace the Centre Point Sushi Café as my favourite sushi hangout.

Omakase sushi

Omakase sashimi

Toro and leek maki

Grilled soy cod

Deep fried pork and asparagus rolls

See also: London restaurants Japanese food sushi pictures

Da Paolo

Da Paolo is one of countless Italian restaurants around Charlotte Street (Da Paolo, 3 Charlotte Place, London W1T 1SD). It seems people can't get enough of the stuff. It's a quaint little restaurant with good service, slightly detached from the craziness that can be Charlotte Street on a busy night, and it has a good selection of pasta and risotto dishes, as well as fancier entrées. I can recommend the swordfish, tuna and salmon carpaccio or the grilled vegetables with mozarella as starters. All the pasta and risotto dishes sound great, but the risotto with dolcelatte and asparagus is truly excellent, if a bit on the heavy side. Garganelle with swordfish is good, but nothing special, although the pasta's cooked just right. And for those of you who like to order off the menu, the chef will be happy to whip up whatever pasta dish takes your fancy.

Incidentally, garganelle isn't a pasta shape you'll easily find in your local Waitrose, which sells stupid shapes like shells, bowties and wagon wheels (really, what the heck is that about?). I suspect there's a pasta shape hierarchy at Italian restaurants. Linguine positively looks down on spaghetti, and garganelle is favoured over its more plebeian macaroni cousin....

As for desserts, give the sorry excuse for a tiramisu a miss. It's dry, doesn't taste of coffee or amaretto and it's completely buried under cocoa powder. Inhale it by accident and you might choke. The crème caramel, however, is excellent.

Garganelle con pesce spada, pomodoro e arugula

Risotto con dolcelatte e asparagi
Crème caramel

Maison Bertaux

Reportedly, this Soho institution on 33 Greek Street, London W1D 5DD, was one of the first patisseries to make it across the Channel to London sometime in the Sixties. I imagine the furniture has been there since the Sixties, too; the decor is, well, let's just say it has "character". Although not renowned for variety ("what's that?" "It's apple and almond cake". "And that?" "That's citrus tart." "Oh, and what about that one?" "That's apple and almond cake" "And that one there?" "That's another apple and almond cake".....), a limited range of scrumptious quiches, croissants, pastries and marzipan is temptingly displayed on the window, and they all taste as good as they look.

Before you rush headlong into the place, however, there are a few things you should know. Your experience will be much enhanced if you know how the place works. First of all, you do not choose a table. You ask politely if there's a table you could possibly, if it's not too much trouble, occupy. Secondly, you order before you sit down. Thirdly, and most importantly, do not, on any account, even think of asking for an espresso. The place doesn't serve espresso. How can you not know that? They haven't served espresso in the forty-some years since they've been there. What's wrong with you? As an example, borne of personal experience, I offer this personal exchange. It was all going so well, and then.....:

French guy: "What would you like to drink?"
Me: "I'll have an espresso, please."
French guy (under his breath): "You wish...."
Me: "Uh. I'm sorry?"
French guy (clearly thinking, "You don't know how things work here, do you?"): "I said, 'You wish'. We don't do cappuccino, espresso that kind of thing. Only filter coffee."
Me: "Erm... I'll have a mint tea, please...."

Granted, I don't have a particularly good record with staff at Franco-Italian coffee houses. There was this particularly perplexing exchange at nearby Amato (who, by the way, doesn't spit on the idea of espresso machiatto) with their nasty skank byotch of a French attendant (who, thankfully, doesn't seem to work there any more):

Me (at the cake counter, pointing to various items): "Excuse me, what are these?"
French NSB (scowling): "They're cakes."
Me (thinking, "Oh, this was a good start....."): "What kind of cakes?"
French NSB (apparently bewildered): "They're all different kinds of cakes. Tell me which one you want and I'll tell you what it is."
Me (pointing randomly): "Ermmm.... I'll have that one."

Oh, now there's one final, crucial thing you must remember. Should you wish to purchase some food at Bertaux to go, or should you, say, happen to be given some for whatever reason.... it is imperative that you ask for a plastic carrier bag. Do not, under any circumstances, walk out of the shop with your purchases in a paper bag. It has been conclusively proven that their paper bags lack the necessary structural integrity. And you wouldn't want to experience total bag rupture as you're getting off the bus at 3am on Wellington Road now, would ya?

Mushroom quiche and ham and cheese croissant, thankfully rescued from complete structural bag failure by precocious use of plastic carrier bag, thus pre-empting the need to implement the "5-second rule"