Sienna Millet: So where are we actually going for lunch?

Paris Stilton: The Attendant, it’s an old abandoned male public toilet that’s been converted into a cafe.

Sienna Millet: OMG that is disgusting, are you serious? Is it clean? I bet it’s a total dump.

Paris Stilton: hahahaha dump, get it, hahahahha.

Sienna Millet: I actually can’t believe you’re taking me to a toilet.  I’m really pissed off.

Paris Stilton: hahahaha pissed off hahaha.

Sienna Millet: No seriously, can’t we go somewhere nice instead?

Paris Stilton: you mean “in lieu” hahahahaha.

And that is how one fuming Sienna Millet and one highly amused Paris Stilton became the ladies who lunch…in the mens.

The Attendant was built as a public urinal in 1890 and left abandoned for more than 50 years after it was shut down in the 1960s. Earlier this year, after a serious revamp, and an even more serious sanitisation, the space opened its doors to the public once again.  The beautifully ornate iron lace entrance has been left intact, as have the original porcelain urinals which have been turned into individual eating spaces – but luckily these days the only thing flowing in this well-lit den off Foley Street is some seriously good coffee.

The fare is fit for an English country picnic – a trendy, organic, fair trade, sustainable country picnic – complete with hearty soups, stews, and cheese and pickle, and corned beef filled sourdough sandwiches.

While Sienna chowed down a deliciously homely chili con carne-esque bean stew, and I ploughed through my very tasty ploughmans sandwich with its fat chunks of smokey vintage cheddar, generously spread with a nostalgic piccalilli and topped with some young greens leaves, I decided I love this place.

I love it because of its honesty, I love it because of its moreish food, I love it because of the handsome clientele and the effusive staff, and I love it because I love history and while I eat my moreish food and smile at the handsome clientele, I thoroughly enjoy imagining the impressive tackles, and ancient sword fights that took place where my Nike Air Max 90 now dangle.

Incidentally, the slightly salty, chewy sweet chocolate caramel brownie by Bittersweet Bakers, that I had to accompany my macchiato (fair trade and sustainable coffee with organic milk from a tiny farm in Somerset where the cows are happy) was unequivocally the best I have ever eaten.

Quirky setting, delicious food, great coffee, mouthwatering brownies, and the endless puns. Who knew lunching in little boys room could be so much fun?  If I lived in London, I would most definitely be a regular. Wink wink nudge nudge.

Just don’t go if you really do need to go… ironically, they have no toilet.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

It all started on Monday when, on the way to have a quiet nightcap with the charming Brussel Crowe, I smashed my perfume bottle on the floor and was subsequently asked to leave a salmon shop/late night wine cellar because of my overpowering floral odour.  Just to give you some context, the salmon shop, where I had stopped to purchase a bottle of bubbly, reeks so badly of fish that Dolly Tatin starts awkwardly dry-retching every time we enter. Except this time, upon me entering the shop, the shop assistant started theatrically gagging before announcing in front of all the patrons  “Oh la la, mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, you steenk so budly of perfume zat I cunnot actually breaze.” 

So that was Monday. I Flowerbomb-ed a salmon shop.

Tuesday didn’t get much better. I had a lunch date with what turned out to be an unfairly good looking potential employer. Being my usual cool self, I arrived late, worked myself into a total fluster and, despite the fact it was only 2 degrees outside, proceeded to break into an uncontrollable stress-induced sweat.  I told myself it was one of those things only I could notice. Until that is, he reached over, patted my arm, and said “Don’t worry, one time when I was modelling for Burberry, I sweated so much from nerves that by the time the shoot was done my trench was dark brown instead of beige.”

So…probably didn’t get the job. No sweat.

But the week all really came to a head, pardon the pun, on Wednesday when I walked into the local bakery to purchase my daily bread.  At first I was puzzled as to why the baker giggled, blushed and then apologised when he handed me the last remaining baguette on the shelf. And then I saw it.

And with that, I went straight online and booked a one way ticket to London – that safe haven across the sea, where the shop assistants are ingratiating, potential employers are not part-time Burberry models, and the bread is un-amusingly square.

My first night in town I set out to the newly-opened, brightly coloured beach shack style restaurant/cocktail bar The Rum Kitchen in Notting Hill for a Caribbean feast with sister Sienna Millet and friends Prawn Connery and Hilary Shank.

Whilst making my way through a deliciously potent ‘Grog 349‘ and an equally robust ‘Rumbustion‘ cocktail, we polished off some surprisingly addictive plantain chips with spicy salsa, some less notable chilli squid rings and some very impressive saltfish fritters with grilled lime and chilli jam.

For mains there was a choice of, amongst others, Supreme Jerk Chicken with Bubble and Squeak, Pan Fried Sea Bass with a Frenzy Salsa, Mutton Curry with Rice and Peas, and Mama’s Seafood Gumbo with Homemade Cornbread.

My rum-impaired judgment led me to order, of all things, the Mutton Curry with a side of slaw. I hate the word mutton; it has about as much charm as a potato ‘smear’ or a ‘moist’ chicken. I don’t know what I was thinking – I guess I was holding out hope that it was lamb dressed as mutton. Nevertheless, despite its rather unappealing colour, and its lack of spice (the waitress did pre-warn me it was ‘Notting Hill’ spicy not ‘my mama’ spicy), the old sheep was not so bad.

Sienna Millet and Hilary Shank went for the Jerk Chicken on the Bone  with a side of buttery spinach, which was very tasty.  But the real show stopper was Prawn Connery’s Supreme Jerk Chicken – a beautifully tender chicken breast with a deliciously dark spicy Caribbean gravy.  I was very jealous.

What a surprise, the Supreme Jerk won my heart once again.

We were too full for dessert (I think it was the slaw that broke the camel’s back), so we decided to call it a night and catch a cab home… three hours later, after running into old friends from our hometown, crashing a tinder date and downing an excessive amount of rum at the heaving bar, Sienna Millet, Prawn Connery, Hilary Shank and I we were to be found crumping to 90’s hip hop in the basement club with a bizarre mix of messy Mayfair suits and Jenny’s from the Block.

The Rum Kitchen; taking you from work, to jerk to twerk in one fabulous evening.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

Paris Stilton – Chéri you should have sampled these divine pork buns at Eat Street…and you really missed out on the moutwatering maki at Yashin, oh and of course the scrumptious selection of sweets at Ottolenghi were to die for…

Brad Pitta - Oh la la, deed you do anysing but eet?

Paris Stilton – Yes, thank you very much…I drunk some very, very nice wine too.

And indeed I did.  On an unusually balmy summer’s night I was lucky enough to attend a barbecue at Burnt Enz in London Fields to celebrate the launch of Tutto Wines, a wine supply company started by old friend Alex Whyte and his business partner Damiano Fiamma.  The London based duo source and distribute predominantly organic wines from small growers in Italy that ‘have a respect for the grape, the land and the winemaking traditions of that place.’ Alex, a self taught wine prodigy, is a wealth of knowledge on anything oenological, such that he even had the sommelier at Monvínic stammering, and the boys are truly passionate about the wines they drink and distribute.

Alex and Damiano specifically choose wines that do not demand food, however they could not possibly have found better cuisine to compliment their stellar wine selection. Our chef for the evening, Dave Pynt, who has worked at the likes of Noma and Asador Etxebarri, certainly knows a thing or two about a barbecue.  Using just the custom-made barbecue and grill which he has set up at the Climpson’s Roastery for the summer, Dave produced plate after plate of amazingly simple, yet exceptionally tasty grub.

No foams, no emulsions, no jus – just incredibly fresh produce cooked incredibly well.  Food as it should be.

The fresh oysters and lime that were awaiting us on arrival were a sublime accompaniment to the glass of crisp Quarticello Malvasia Despina + Lambrusco Salamino Rosato Ferrando from Reggio Emilia served up by the boys at Tutto Wines.  Both slipped down the hatch a little too easily, such that I was forced to have seconds to just to be sure…yep still amazing.

Next up was the kaleidoscopically colourful plates of burrata, tomatoes, basil and snow pea flowers, served with a glass of Le Coste Litrozzo Bianco from Gradoli, Lazio. The tomatoes actually tasted like tomatoes which is rare in this day and age where tomatoes tend to taste like soggy vaguely tomato flavoured potatoes. The snow pea flowers added a sweet crunch and the little fresh tomato paste hiding under the vine was unbelievably moreish. Mopped up with warm homemade bread, this simple salad was truly divine.

The brown crab and aioli, served with a bottle of Cantina Giardino Fiano Gaia from Ariano Irpino, Campania, that followed suit was most probably the highlight of the night.  Of all the incredible home-cooked meals we were spoilt with growing up, crab was never one of them. Yummy Mummy has a thing against eating it as, being a Cancerian, the crab is her astrological symbol (being a Gemini I try stay away from eating twins too) and it wasn’t until recently that I truly appreciated this succulent shellfish. Simply smoked on the barbecue and served with a creamy aioli this was rustic eating at its height.

Indeed it was a very uniting experience; 30 well dressed strangers at a cacophonous banquet breaking off crab claws with their hands and poking around into the crevices to pull out the tender meat – crab parts were flying everywhere, hands were soiled, faces were grubby and everyone was truly content.

The perfectly cooked steelhead trout, served with a bottle of Nino Barraco Zibibbocame from Marsala, Sicily, arrived on an enormous plate under mounds of of fresh clams, fennel and caperberries – each layer bringing a new taste sensation.

For the last of the savouries, it was the onglet with bone marrow and pickled walnut served with a favourite wine of mine, the Ar Pe Pe Rosso di Valtellina from Valtellina, Lombardia. The little known onglet, or hanger steak, is the cut taken from the diaphragm of the steer or heifer, which was apparently formerly known as the ‘butchers’ cut’ as the butchers would take it home with them at night rather than selling it. I think they were onto something – this was truly a cut above the rest.

The dessert was a delicious Eton Mess of sorts with fresh mint-topped summer berries and cream tumbling out of a delicately sweet cocoa-dusted meringue with a glass of Le Coste Litrozzo Rosso from Gradoli, Lazio to match.

Slabs of yummy smelly Italian cheese and few glasses of Cristiano Guttarolo Primitivo Anfora from Gioia Del Colle finished off an incredibly memorable night. If you are in London this summer, Dave Pynt’s barbecue at Burnt Enz is an absolute must.

All I can say is TUTTO bene!!

xoxo

Paris Stilton

Tutto Wines

For more information on Tutto Wines visit www.tuttowines.com or email the boys at info@tuttowines.com

The Climpson Roastery at Burnt Enz

Arch 374
Helmsley Place
London E8 3SB

Open Thursday nights and weekends from 2pm-midnight

Nestled in Kings Boulevard in the heart of Kings Cross, there is certainly never a monotonous moment at Eat Street; the fare changes daily as wheeled vendors tour the London market circuit, and new vans are constantly popping up (although an application must be made to, and approved by, the Eat Street team).

When I arrived, with sister Sienna Millet and little brother Burrata Obama on a steaming hot, lazy Thursday afternoon, only a handful of the peripatetic purveyors remained due to a migration southward for the Olympics. But Eat Street made up in quality what it lacked in quantity, and our stomachs were not disappointed.

For a little(ish) bite to whet the appetite, the steamed pork bun from Yum Bun was nothing if not sensational.  The hot soft slow roasted free range Blythburgh pork belly nestling against the cool, crisp cucumber melted into the doughy bun, and generous squirts of hoisin and chilli sauce ran down my smiling face.

One would think the vegetarian counterpart that health-writing herbivore Sienna Millet insisted we get would pale in comparison, but pale it did not. Juicy meaty Portabello mushrooms topped with a sweet miso sauce and crunchy roasted walnuts left me wanting more.

But there were other treats to be sampled.

The Indian spiced burger stall, Bhangra Burger, run by jolly jokester Alec Owen was mine and Burrata Obama’s pick for mains. Spicy, juicy lamb patties with a multitude of hot homemade chutneys, pickles and slaws wrapped up in pitta, with a creamy mango lassi to soothe the tastebuds – nom nom nom.

While dishing up our Crazy Lamb Jalfrezi, Mr Owen, who goes by the stage name Simple Jackson, informed us that he is also releasing his debut rap album today.

Rad wrapper by day, mad rapper by night. What a dude.

I just hope his beats are as hot as his pickles.

For desserts it was a wholly unnecessary but awesomely flavoursome and refreshing watermelon sorbet from the Sorbitium Ices team.

Belt in hand, top button undone, I fell into a smiling slumber on Sienna Millets shoulder in the cab home.

Eat Street is my sort of address.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

L’Autre Pied, the cleverly named offshoot of David Moore and Shan Osborne’s two Michelin star Pied à Terre, opened its doors in 2007 with a team headed by the talented Marcus Eaves, who has since passed the baton on to the equally capable young chef Andy McFadden.

The restaurant is certainly more relaxed than its sibling, with its informal, convivial atmosphere, friendly service and flower and fruit printed olive green walls, but the fare is anything but casual.

The sparse deconstructivist menu laden with bizarre ingredients (Larousse Gastronomique reference book required) that makes you feel like you are reciting a foodie’s shopping list, and the little puffs of ‘flavoured’ foam that found their way onto every plate struck me as all a bit 2004.  However, that aside, the marriage of flavours, textures and colours that McFadden produced in each dish was impeccable. And lets face it, that is what really counts, n’est-ce pas?

Our bouches were certainly amused by the fluffy, creamy, roasted-seed and black quinoa topped cucumber mousse that accompanied our aperitif – just the thing to cool the palate and whet the appetite.

The entrée pick of the night went to me with my divine hand rolled garganelli. The perfectly al dente pasta encasing a delicate shredded crab which moseyed amongst sweet crisp broad beans and warm crunchy almonds was over all too quickly.

Brad Pitta went for the two-way mackerel. A crispy char-grilled fillet and its butter soft tartare partner atop a bed of multi-coloured sweet heritage tomatoes and sorrel. Certainly no complaints there.

A menu mix-up meant that Yummy Mummy and The Eton Mess were served foie gras instead of their scottish scallop ceviche, but the apologies were profuse, the two dishes of roasted foie gras were added compliments of the chef and the deliciously fresh scallop ceviche appeared shortly thereafter paired with fluffy black quinoa, tiny dollops of creme fraiche, crispy succulent radishes and a hint of fresh dill.

Before Yummy Mummy could finish saying “We honestly don’t need to keep the foie gras” Brad Pitta and The Eton Mess had all but devoured the two plates of the sweet roasted delicacy which was accompanied by glazed endive, toasted grains, tea marinated prunes and nutmeg.

For mains Sienna Millet, Yummy Mummy and I ordered the English grass fed spring lamb, served with glazed aubergine, raz el hanout and manzanilla.  The ingredients were dotted around the plate like awkward teenagers at a gathering, but nonetheless this was a party I most enjoyed attending. The herb crusted lamb was succulent, tender and perfectly pink.  The crunchy roll next door, which The Eton Mess described as “the most epic gourmet lamb sausage roll ever” was a strangely perfect accompaniment to the morsel of what tasted like sticky sweet and sour chinese BBQ lamb and the delicately glazed aubergines hanging out around the edge with little green olives created an amazingly orchestrated explosion of the senses.

Always one for a bit of game, The Eton Mess went for the loin of roe deer cooked in cocoa and served with black rice, crapaudine beetroot, tapioca and smoked bacon. The presentation was a tad scary, indeed it appeared as though the poor old roe deer had in fact been hit by a car on the plate, but the taste was, unsurprisingly, magical.

Brad Pitta’s poached megrim sole was delicately and deliciously executed with a light champagne and oyster veloute that was mopped clean with a scrumptious little homemade brioche.

The pave of devilishly decadent valrhona caramelia chocolate that followed with its posse of honeycomb, pistachio and tonka bean ice-cream was unfairly divine.

But the baked vanilla cheesecake topped with sweet, caramelised banana and served with mandarin sorbet, and blueberries was the real winner.  You know a good dessert when you hesitate ordering it as you are too full to justify eating any more, and then find yourself desperately scraping the film of cream cheese off the plate as the waiter is trying to take it away. This was the story with the light, tangy, caramelised, crunchy, buttery cheesecake that ended our daringly imaginative, yet undeniably scrumptious dinner at L’Autre Pied.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

L’Autre Pied

So with sister Sienna Millet and her local London beau, lets call him The Eton Mess, in tow I trotted off to Brett Graham’s two Michelin star adorned establishment in Notting Hill, The Ledbury for the 9 (but it was really 11) course tasting menu and matching wine flight.  The Ledbury offers an à la carte menu as well, but for a special occasion (or, as in our case, to titillate a tiresome Tuesday), going the full monty is definitely worth every penny.

The journey began with a glass of bubbly and mouthwatering complimentary “pre-amuse bouche” of mini tarts topped with foie gras, goats cheese and cumquat jam.  A very memorable ménage à foie indeed.

These were swiftly followed by an amaze-bouche consisting of a miniature perfectly soft-boiled quail’s egg wrapped in a crunchy nest, topped with shaved truffle and resting on a purée of Jerusalem artichoke.

Next up was the Cornish oyster chantilly and tartare with icy shaved horseradish and dill, along with its batter-half, the tempura oyster in shell with seaweed crisps, which were paired with a 2010 Lagar de Costa Albariño, from Rias Baixas, Spain. Ever since an incident in a French market where an overzealous fish vendor coerced me to try my first oyster at 9am on a hungover Sunday the smell of oysters has made me clam-up, so to speak.  However this little mélange was magical. The soft peachy aromas of the light Albariño perfectly complemented the richness of the chantilly and allowed the subtle flavours of the tartare to shine through.

The first fish course, a flame grilled mackerel with smoked eel, celtic mustard and shiso served with a crisp 2010 Grüner Veltliner, Gebling, Sepp Moser, from Kremstal, Austria was a team favourite.  The smoked eel and cucumber roll, a moreish mix of smoked eel, crispy shallots, crème fraîche and a hint of horseradish housed in a delicate transparent cucumber sheet, was the perfect accompaniment to the mouthwatering mackerel.

Heavenly hand rolled macaroni stuffed with rabbit and celery basking in a velouté of toasted hay and truffle and matched with a 2008 Vin de Pays des Côtes Catalanes, Le Soula, Gérard Gauby et Associés from France was a welcome interlude to the two sumptuous seafood courses. The flavours were quirky and complex without being confused, and rich without being overbearing.  If this macaroni were a man I think I would want to date him.

Next up was came the fillet of sea bass with fennel, bergamot, liquorice and oat crusted mussels (which The Eton Mess claimed tasted like “the best little crunchy non-chicken chicken nuggets ever”).  Unsurprisingly the fillet itself was amazing, but the wine it was paired with, a bottle of 2008 A.A. Badenhorst Family Wines, from South Africa was the show-stopper. A blend of Chenin Blanc, Roussanne, Greanche Blanc, Viognier, Verdehlo and Chardonnay, it was like a seasonal stone fruit salad, at once sweet and punchy, and as refreshing and colourful as its label. A perfect finale to the whites.

With the wine flights taking us from Austria to Australia, and from Spain to South Africa, with a French and Italian stopover ahead, by the time the meat courses came (Berkshire Muntjac served two ways), we were certainly a table of happy travellers; The Eton Mess was making witty quips in Latin, while our dinner companion was describing how his Iranian mother claims that they can cook everything better in Iran (“I think she would even try to claim that they do a better smoked eel stuffed transparent cucumber sheet, or a more moreish Muntjac”).  Well certainly a more Moorish one anyway.

The first morsel of Muntjac was the incredibly tender slow cooked shoulder with parsley root, pear and a sweet juniper jus served with a 2005 Côtes du Rhône, lieu-dit-Clavin, Domaine de la Vieille Julienne from France.

Then came the second serving of Muntjac. “Whats this one again” I asked? “The face of Deer I think” said The Eton Mess, as if Dior had branched off into animal wear and the Muntjac was the postergirl for this season’s campaign. It was actually the loin, roasted to perfection in douglas fir. And with friends liked earthy white beetroot, red wine leeks and crispy smoked bone marrow, it couldn’t go wrong.

In a sacrilegious act, we declined the cheese platter, which incidentally smelt horrendously good and moved straight to the caramelised banana galette with salted caramel and a peanut oil parfait served with a 2008 Recioto di Soave, Le Colombare, Pieropan, from Veneto, Italy. YUM.

An array of petit fours and a coffee finished off what was an exceptional and memorable evening.

I happily stumbled up the staircase, blaming my tight shoes (“I’m sure they swelled up on the wine flight”) for the four falls along the way (“sure sure blame the shoes not the booze”, quipped Sienna Millet) and fell, smiling, into a satiated slumber.

xoxo

Together we were the perfect duo to take on the Borough Markets.  Like Jack Sprat (who could eat no fat) and his wife (who could eat no lean), between us both, you see, we could lick the Borough Markets clean.  Sienna Millet begrudgingly lined up in the cheese toastie queue, the mushroom paté queue and the salty caramel fudge queue with me, while I traipsed around behind her as she purchased ‘sow gourmet’ seedlings, sampled unpasteurised olives and sipped organic white tea.

These are a few of my favourite things…

I have never liked a queue.  But when dealing with a food stall, it is almost imperative. There is a line; ergo the food must be good. So while Sienna Millet trotted off to order her veggie burger, I stepped into formation with the other 50 punters at Brindisa’s chorizo roll stand. And I wasn’t disappointed. The formula is so simple (toasted bread roll, roasted peppers, fried chorizo and some fresh rocket), yet so effective. I wiped the dripping chorizo oil off my face, but the smile stayed.

The cheese toastie by the team at Kappacasein is undeniably the best cheese toastie I have ever eaten. I would go so far as to say that it may even the best thing I have ever eaten.  Pure unadulterated Montgomery cheddar oozes out the top and sides, while a scrumptious but subtle melange of leek, garlic and onion mosey about in the middle. It is worth coming to the markets, nay it is worth coming to the United Kingdom, just for this cheese toastie.

The merry merchants 

Borough is foodie’s fairyland; a sapid smelling maze of appetising aliments and tasty treats.  But to be honest, what really make the Borough Markets such an experience are the people.

Who doesn’t have a soft spot (I certainly have a few after today) for the beautiful blue-eyed boys at Brindisa?

And I feel like I could talk for hours to the unassuming olive skinned beauty who stands behind the Oliveology stall selling her high quality organic produce from independent Greek artisan farmers, such as unpasteurised olives (yes you heard it, almost all of the olives you have ever eaten will have been pasteurised, eradicating all of the goodness in order to preserve the olive’s shelf life) and olive leaf tea.

Meanwhile, across the way is the effusive Tim from Pâté Moi, who reminds me of Ned from Our Idiot Brother (this is a compliment).  Tim, whose sister Flip started the company, smiles from ear to ear as he passionately tells you about all the different uses for his organic homemade mushroom paté.  With his little woollen pullover, dashing smile and mop of brown hair I think I would be going back even if the mushrooms weren’t so moreish.

And then there is the flamboyant Frenchman from Pascal Beillevaire Butter, whose accent is as thick as his raw cream and unpasteurised butter (“yoo can ave yoor butter sulty, slutly sulty, or not sulty”).

I went for the slutly salty (I am Paris Stilton after all).

xoxo

Paris Stilton