Chocolate-Baileys Ice Cream with Spiced Pecans for #bloggersscreamforicecream

“Christina,” said Mr. McMc after taking the first bite of the dessert I’d lovingly served up on Christmas Day. “Just how much Baileys in this ice cream?” “Oh, just 250ml,”  I said nonchalantly. “Why, is that a problem?” It turns out that I had put half a pint of rich, creamy booze in my frozen treat. As you do. Well, after all, it *was* Christmas.

I’ll level with you. This is not the type of ice cream which you should think about making and consuming if you’re planning on dieting next year. It contains two different types of chocolate, crunchy smokey-sweet pecans coated in a mixture of brown sugar, cinnamon and smoked paprika, and enough Baileys to fell a horse.  Rich, boozy and decadent, it’s a fairly ridiculous concoction devised after one too many sherries in the run-up to the festive season. It’s also my entry for December’s booze-themed Bloggers Scream for Ice Cream challenge – a delicious last gasp of Christmas indulgence.

In some ways, this ice cream is the perfect emblem of my year of excess. After all, 2012 was the year I got married, turned 30, visited Berlin and New York and somehow only managed to lose my shit about all of this three times along the way (a perfect example of this being the Monday before my wedding where I ran laps around the outside of my office in a vain attempt to calm myself down.) While I wouldn’t change any of these experiences for the world, there’s a part of me that would like my 2013 to be slightly more sedate. I’m a firm believer in New Year’s Resolutions (although most of them tend to be broken by 6th January), and my ones for the next year mainly involve building upon the happiness and wonderful experiences which I was so lucky to have last year. If 2013 is even half as great as 2012, I’ll be a very happy person indeed.

But for now, enough self indulgence. There’s still ten hours left of 2012, and there’s baths to be had and booze to drink. For now, I wish you all a very happy New Year. Here’s to 2013 and whatever excitement and new experiences it holds.

CHOCOLATE-BAILEYS ICE CREAM WITH SPICED PECANS

For the Chocolate-Baileys ice cream (based loosely on David Lebovitz’s recipe for Chocolate ice cream in The Perfect Scoop)

You will need:

• 500ml double cream
• 150g high quality dark chocolate, chopped into small chunks
• 150g high quality milk chocolate, chopped into small chunks
• 250ml Baileys (If you’re not a raging boozehound like me, feel free to reduce this to 200ml)
• 150g granulated white sugar
• Pinch of salt
• 5 large egg yolks
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the spiced pecans (recipe based loosely on this one from Smitten Kitchen)

• 20g Muscovado sugar
• 60g white granulated sugar
• 1 teaspoon sea salt
• 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 150g pecans
• 1 egg white
• 1 tablespoon water

Make It!

1. First, place the bowl of your ice cream maker in the freezer and chill for 24 hours. (I know this sounds obvious, but you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve forgotten to do this and wept for all the delicious ice cream I could have made).
2. While your bowl is chilling, make your custard. Warm 250ml of the double cream and the chopped dark chocolate together in a medium saucepan, whisking thoroughly to ensure that the two are thoroughly blended together.  Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 30 seconds, whisking constantly. Remove from the heat and add the chopped milk chocolate, stirring rapidly until the mixture turns smooth and glossy. Then stir in the remaining 250ml of cream. Pour the mixture into a large bowl, scraping the saucepan as thoroughly as possible, and set a large sieve on top of the bowl.
3. Warm the Baileys, sugar, and salt in the same saucepan. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks until they turn light and fluffy. Slowly pour the warm Baileys mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly, then scrape the warmed egg yolks back into the saucepan.
4. Stir the mixture constantly over a medium heat with a heatproof spatula, scraping the bottom while you stir so the mixture doesn’t stick. The custard is ready once it has thickened and coats the spatula. Pour the custard through the sieve and stir it into the chocolate mixture until it turns smooth, then stir in the vanilla.  Cover the bowl with a piece of greaseproof paper and leave it to cool for half an hour – this will prevent a skin forming. Them, pop it in the fridge overnight until it’s ready to churn.
5. To make the spiced pecans: While your custard is chilling, make your spiced pecans. Preheat your oven to 200 degrees/gas mark 6. Mix sugars, salt, cayenne, and cinnamon, making sure there are no lumps; set aside. Beat egg white and water until frothy but not stiff. Add the pecans, and stir to coat evenly.
6. Sprinkle your nuts with the sugar mixture, and toss until evenly coated. Spread sugared nuts in a single layer on a baking sheet which has been covered with baking paper. Bake your pecans for 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from the oven, and separate nuts as they cool. When completely cool, pour the nuts into a bowl, breaking up any that stick together.
7. Once you’re ready to make your ice cream, add the spiced pecans to the chocolate-baileys custard (the custard will be quite thick), and churn it according to your ice cream maker’s instructions.
8. Serve either on its own, or with a simple cake – this Almond & Cinnamon Cake from BBC Food complements it nicely.

Pork, Potatoes and Pilsner – Adventures in Prague

As you may have gathered from the dearth of posts on here, I’ve been rather busy recently – who knew that trying to hold down a full time job, a freelance career and a personal life whilst studying for a digital marketing qualification could take up so much time?  The past fortnight has seen me pretty much living out of a suitcase, and being forced to buy clean knickers from Tescos because I had no time to go home and fetch a fresh pair. I’m scared I’m going to become one of these women who carries emergency underwear in her handbag, next to the lipbalm and the loose change.

So, finally, last Friday I decided I’d had enough. It was time for me to leave these shores and head to pastures new for a few days. Those pastures new being Prague, land of churches, cheap pork products and a strange foodstuff known as “beer cheese” (the promise of beer cheese alone was enough of an incentive for me to be honest). The holiday didn’t really get off to the best start when we were faced with a seven hour delay after one of the engines of our plane set on fire whilst we were on the runway. However, when faced with such a setback, I turned to the one thing which I know for a fact will bring me succour in times of woe. Namely, booze.

Some would say that 7.30am is too early in the morning for Breakfast Martinis. I am not one of those people. Especially when aforementioned Martini comes with a (frankly ridiculous) slab of cold toast shoved onto the side of it.

By the time we got to Prague, both myself and Mr. Cay wanted to do nothing more than go to the pub. Which we duly did. This decision was justified when we discovered that beer in the Czech Republic is both cheap (an average pint will cost you around £1.20) and delicious, and that you could smoke in pubs. Which led to us both getting rather tanked, smoking like priests and eating pizza in bed. A very fine way to start a holiday by anyone’s standards really.

Being sensible and ridiculously gluttinous types, we decided to spend our holiday eating, drinking and looking at beautiful (and occasionally strange) buildings. Here’s some of the highlights:

WHAM, BAM, THANK YOU HAM

On our first day there, we decided to go exploring, and upon entering the Old Town Square, our nostrils were immediately assailed by the delicious smell of roast meat. I’m a sucker for any time of pork product, so I couldn’t really turn down the opportunity to feast on some authentic Prague ham, served up with rye bread and plenty of mustard.

It might possibly be the best ham I’ve ever eaten – juicy, smoky and with a delicious layer of crackling which we crunched between our teeth whilst watching a Czech television personality sing traditional folk tunes. It was so good, that I’ll even forgive the bloke who sold it to me for ripping me off after I handed him the wrong bank note.

It transpired that the ham man was there as part of International Chefs Day. Which meant that it would have been rude not to try some of the dishes being served up, like this amazing homemade lamb sausage from Apartmán hotel Jítrava . Served with garlic spiked mashed potatoes and an apple relish, it was just the thing to keep out the chill of a rainy October afternoon.

BEEF AND BREAD

The evening saw us dining at U Pinkasu, a cute – if slightly touristy – restaurant situated in Jungmannovo Namesti. U Pinkasu specialises in traditional Czech cuisine which, it transpired, is exceedingly heavy on the whole ‘meats and carbs’ side of things. Seemingly every dish on the menu appeared to contain ‘bread dumplings’ (which weren’t so much dumplings as very soft, doughy slabs of white bread), potatoes or (frequently) both. This is not the kind of food you want to be eating if you’re on the Atkins diet. Full marks must also go to our waitress – a woman who could not only carry five steins of beer in each hand, but who also appeared to speak four different languages (whilst we were there, we heard her speak to diners in Czech, Italian, English and Russian), and the section of the menu which was entitled ‘For Gourmets and Feeders’.

Beef goulash with bread dumplings and horseradish

Old Bohemian Beef in Cream Sauce with Cranberries and Bread Dumplings (apologies for the poor pictures, beer had been consumed at this point).

STUPIDEST THING I ATE

The award for ‘most outrageously stupid thing I ate on my holidays’ undoubtedly has to go to this heart attack on a plate -a deep fried potato pancake filled with pork & chicken, and covered in cheese. For some bizarre reason, I decided to order this for my lunch. In my defence, I think I might have been slightly under the influence of strong drink at the time. It would be wrong to say that this wasn’t delicious, but it was also absolutely bloody enormous. I ate about half of it before I gave up, and spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the bed in my hotel, rubbing my distended belly, and feeling like a boa constrictor who has just consumed a large deer.

You would think that after that little incident, I would have learned my lesson. No. No I didn’t. On our final day, prior to boarding a flight back to the UK, I had these potato dumplings filled with smoked meat and fried onions on a bed of cabbage. Undoubtedly tasty, but not the kind of thing you want to be eating when you have to be wide awake and drag a heavy suitcase across a city full of cobbles. They also gave me a raging heartburn that took me a good 24 hours to eradicate.

JEWISH FOOD AT KING SOLOMON’S

On our final night in the city, we decided to treat ourselves, and dine at King Solomon’s in the Jewish Quarter, allegedly the oldest  Jewish restaurant in the Czech Republic. The meal wasn’t perfect – they don’t serve wines by the glass, the restaurant was dreadfully quiet and one of the waiters appeared to having an argument with one of his colleagues about the music on a Jewish radio station which was being played in the background – but the food was excellent, and there’s always something quite lovely about an intimate  candlelit dinner. The standout highlight of the meal for me was their chicken soup with herb knedlich. I always thought that my Bubbie made the best chicken soup in the world, but sorry Bubbie – you’ve got competition.

Goulash with Matzo and herbed dumplings

Veal with bread dumplings (which, slightly bizarrely, came with a large squirt of whipped cream on the side of the plate)

We washed this all down with complementary shots of slivovitz, a potent plum brandy that you’ll find being served up at restaurants and bars across the Czech Republic. We would have had dessert, if it wasn’t for the fact we’d consumed this bad boy earlier that day.

Baileys Chocolate Mousse cake, aka three layers of chocolatey-dessert-joy. This was sinfully, indecently good. Especially when coupled with a strong espresso.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BOOZE?

Ah yes. The booze. Czech beer is possibly some of the finest beer I’ve ever tasted. Crisp, refreshing and punchy with hops, it’s a million miles away from the bland swill you so often find in British pubs. There’s a seemingly giddy array of Czech breweries, with Pilsner Uruquell being the most common. A lot of pubs also served Kozel, a dark beer, that looked like ale, but had a surprisingly light, almost fruity taste to it.

I also – in a fit of post dinner madness one night – indulged in a shot of the local spirit, Becherovka. It’s pretty interesting stuff, with a taste that’s a cross between floor cleaner and cinnamon tictacs, and a kick like a donkey. The lemon version is slightly tastier, but it’s definitely not something I’d advise you to try if your preferred tipple is Malibu. For reasons I’m still not entirely clear of, I bought a bottle to take home with me which is now taking pride of place in my drinks cabinet. I’m thinking of making cocktails with it. Does anyone know what mixes well with alcoholic Dettol?

SO, THAT WAS PRAGUE

After five days of Central European bliss, me and Mr. Cay  finally returned to Liverpool on Wednesday pickled in alcohol, marinaded in pork fat and – very probably – two stone heavier. It was worth it though. We’re already fantasising about where our next adventure is going to take us. But for now, back to the real world. Thanks Prague. You’re really something.

Chocolate Liqueur Pannacotta with Honeycomb

An open letter to my dentist: Hello there Mr. Dentist. I know I haven’t been to see you in a while – well, ten years to be exact – and you can be assured I have a suitably guilty conscience about this fact. I can assure you my lackadaisical approach to dental hygiene is more down to laziness than anything else. And, you know, have you seen the cost of dental services recently? Exactly.

Another reason I might not be darkening your doors any time soon is because I was hit with an urge to make honeycomb this weekend. Take it from me, there’s something very satisfying about the roll and boil of sugar on the stove. And, if you decide to call honeycomb by its Irish name – Yellowman – you can wander around your kitchen singing ‘YELLOWMAN!’ to the tune of Elton John’s ‘Rocket Man’. The finished result is something else entirely – a real filling-ripper of a dessert. After just one bite, you can feel all of the nerve endings in your teeth jangling from sugar. It’s also very good when coated in chocolate, making a treat which knocks the socks off Crunchie bars.

Unfortunately for you Mr. Dentist, I didn’t have any chocolate to hand – which is a good thing, as I really didn’t fancy spending my Sunday evening in A&E spending an obscene amount of money on having my back molars repaired. What I did have to hand though was a bottle of Thornton’s chocolate liqueur that I’d been sent by a very thoughtful PR (admirers take note – if you ever want to win my heart, sending me booze and/or chocolate is a good place to start). After having a few sneaky shots of it, I thought that it might be good to incorporate into a dessert. Especially if that dessert was silky smooth pannacotta.

There is something wonderful about pannacotta – that luscious Italian dessert of set cooked cream. Its wonderful gelatinous wobble (which, apparently, should have the same fluid movement as a woman’s breast) is just the thing for the rich teeth-cracking crumble of the honeycomb. The cream and chocolate enrobes all of the sticky sugar, creating a dessert which slips down far too easily – and will immediately make you feel guilty for forgoing that trip to the gym you intended to have today.

So, Mr. Dentist, I’m sure you can forgive me my sugar-imbibing sins considering the extenuating circumstances, especially as I promise to brush twice a day, and floss after every meal. And if I promise to bring you a portion of pannacotta and honeycomb next time I visit, can you make sure I won’t have to remortgage my house in order to get my teeth fixed before my wedding?

CHOCOLATE LIQUEUR PANNACOTTA WITH HONEYCOMB

The recipe for honeycomb comes from the brilliant Eat Like a Girl – if you haven’t read her blog, you really should you know. Any leftovers (and there will be leftovers) should be kept in an airtight tin or smothered in chocolate)

You will need:

For the pannacotta

• 3 gelatine leaves
• 250ml milk
• 250ml double cream
• 1 tablespoon of vanilla extract
• 5 tablespoons of chocolate liqueur
•  25g sugar

For the honeycomb

• 300g White Sugar (caster or granulated)
• 200g Golden Syrup
• 100ml Water
• 1 tbsp Cider or White Wine Vinegar
• 2 heaped tsp Bicarbonate of Soda

Make It!

1. For the pannacotta: first, soak the gelatine leaves in a little cold water until soft
2. Place the milk, cream, vanilla and sugar into a pan and bring to a simmer.
3. Squeeze the water out of the gelatine leaves, then add to the pan with the chocolate liqueur and take off the heat. Stir in until the gelatine has dissolved.
4. Divide the mixture among four ramekins and leave to cool. Place into the fridge for at least an hour, until set. You’ll know they’re done, as they should be wobbly yet firm to the touch. Don’t add too much gelatine, otherwise they’ll turn horrible and rubbery.
5. For the honeycomb: Line a tin or dish with baking parchment. Alternatively, you can do as I do and use a sillicon baking dish.
6. Heat the sugar, golden syrup, water and vinegar in a large saucepan (this is very important, as if your saucepan is too small, you’ll be scrubbing melted sugar off your cooker until doomsday) until it starts to turn amber and reaches 150C/the hard crack stage on a jam thermometer. If you don’t own a jam thermometer and want to test if it’s done, when the mixture has turned a dark amber colour, take a spoonful of it and place it onto a cold plate. If it solidifies and cracks when you tap it with a spoon, then it’s done.
7. Add the bicarbonate of soda and stir thoroughly. BE CAREFUL at this point, as adding the bicarb will cause the mixture to bubble up wildly and massively increase in size. Blisters from hot sugar HURT, so make sure you’re wearing long sleeves! Once the mixture is sufficiently bubbly,  pour it into your lined tin.   Leave to cool to room temperature for around an hour or so. If you want it to be cut into ordered shapes, cut with an oiled knife when it’s nearly it room temperature. If you like yours to be a little bit more rugged around the edges, wait until its cool.
8. When you’re ready to serve the pannacottas, plop them into a bowl of warm water, and then gently ease them out onto a plate. Top with squares of honeycomb, and serve immediately.

Blackberry and Spiced Rum Jam

I’ve developed quite the thing for jam of late – a new found fetish which has caused Mr. Cay to look at me oddly and ask me in worried tones about whether I’m going to run away and join the W.I. I place the blame for my new hobby firmly on my attendance of the World Marmalade Awards earlier this year. Who knew that standing around in a muddy field on a cold February day discussing pectin levels could be so stimulating? Since then, I’ve felt compelled to jam every soft fruit I can get my hands on. I even had a heated debate with my best friend in London this weekend about whether you can jam tomatoes or not. I say yes, and as I’m the only jam ‘expert’ I know (OK, granted, I use that term loosely) I think that I win that particular argument.

My working knowledge of maceration is handy considering that I’ve been asked to do a jam making workshop at the Northern Quarter Street Party this coming Friday. Whilst other, less sensible people than I will be standing around waving flags and celebrating the holy matrimony of two chinless wonders, I’ll be showing the fair people of Manchester how to create a kick ass conserve. I will also be wearing a very billowy dress and, hopefully, a hat with a big bow on it. Hell, if that’s not enough reason to see me make a fool out of myself in public, then I don’t know what is.

One of the jams I’m hopefully going to demonstrating is this fine fella, my Blackberry and Spiced Rum jam. Blackberries and spiced rum might sound like a bit of an interesting concoction, but the two tastes actually complement each other surprisingly well. Full of vanilla notes, a snifter of nutmeg and a slight kick of cinnamon, this is the kind of jam that evokes the first tastes of Spring, and celebrates those wonderful fat juicy blackberries you start to find on hedgerows across the countryside at this time of year.  This is the kind of jam which demands to be stirred into porridge, smothered liberally on toast (I’ve found that it goes particularly well with rye bread), or just eaten straight out of the jar in huge heaped spoonfuls.

I’ve found that when cooking this jam, it’s best not to put the alcohol directly into the mixture, as this can cause the pectin to break down and stop your jam from setting. Instead, add a tablespoon of the spirit to the bottom of each jar. Then, when you’ve poured the jam into the sterilised jars, tip them upside down, so that the spirit diffuses through the mixture. What you’ll be left with is a deliciously boozy, fruity treat -and is just the thing to put a Spring in your step when you spread it onto your crumpets in the morning.

BLACKBERRY AND SPICED RUM JAM (Makes approx two jars of jam)

You will need:

• 500g blackberries
• 500g granulated sugar
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon spiced rum (I used Morgan’s Spiced)
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 teaspoon butter (this helps to produce a clearer jam, and prevents it from foaming up too much)
  

Make It!

1. Wash your blackberries, and toss them into a wide shallow pan (a stock pot or preserving pan works quite well here). Mash them down with a wooden spoon, add the lemon juice and sugar, and leave them to macerate (i.e. break down and start to turn syrupy) for ten – fifteen minutes. Whilst this is going on, put a small saucer in your fridge – you’ll need it later.
2. Once the berries have macerated and turned nice and squidgey, add the lemon juice, vanilla extract and butter.  Cook the mixture over a medium heat – it should  start to bubble and froth quite vigorously at this point, Skim the froth off the top of the pan, and be sure to keep stirring the mixture vigorously so it doesn’t stick and burn.
3. After around twenty five minutes or so, your jam should be starting to set. To test it, place a small amount on the cold plate and leave for thirty seconds. If it crinkles, then it’s done. If the mixture is looking too thin, cook it for another few minutes to obtain a thicker consistency.
4. Once your jam is done, add a tablespoon of spiced rum to a hot, sterilsed jam jar. (To sterilise the jars, bake them on the lowest setting of your oven for fifteen minutes or so). Ladle the hot jam into each jar, wipe the excess from around the sides. Cover the top surface of the jam in each jar with waxed paper discs that have been cut to size – they should cover the entire surface of the jam (you can buy these from somewhere like Lakeland). Press the wax disc down to create a tight seal. Screw the top onto each jar, and then tip them upside down so that the rum diffuses through the mixture.
5. Sealed jam should keep for up to a year when stored in a cool and dry place. When you fancy tucking into your bounty, this goes especially well with toast, yoghurt and creamy porridge.

#Meateasy, New Cross, London

I’d like to believe that I’m the type of person who is relatively immune to hype. I blame it from my days of working as a music journalist – seriously, if I had a quid for every band who used to send me their demo swearing that they were the ‘next big thing,’ I’d be a very rich lady by now. However, when it comes to food (and especially food in London), I am ashamed to say that I often find myself following the herd. You could blame this on the fact that I live in Liverpool and so am always going to find myself being riddled with jealousy whenever I hear food bloggers raving about places such as Hawksmoor, Bob Bob Ricard and Spuntino (three restaurants that you’re more likely to find on the Moon than you are to find them in the North West of England). Or you could just blame it on the fact that whenever I’m in London, I usually have so little time to spare that I’d rather ensure that I eat somewhere good rather than schlep across the Northern Line for an unappetising Burger and Chips. So, when I found myself in New Cross a week ago, I decided to pay a visit to the legendary Meateasy. After all, it would have been rude not to.

The Meateasy isn’t so much a restaurant as a dining phenomenon – a beautiful conglomeration of word of mouth recommendations, social media frenzy and tasty tasty burgers which was born after some inconsiderate dickslap decided to nick Yianni Papoutsis’s Meatwagon street food van. I’d heard rumours about the Meatwagon from various Londoners in the know over the past few years. How it would mysteriously appear in the carparks of South East London with little-to-no warning (from what I can gather, people were only aware of its existence via chinese whispers and smoke signals). How people would flock for miles around and often wait up to two hours to get their jaws around a cheeseburger. And that it served up possibly the best burgers in London – if not the whole of the UK. I didn’t care if I had to follow a centuries old pirate map and perform a ritualistic dance around a wheelie bin in a Sainsbury’s car park – I had to try one of these burgers.

Actually finding the place was a bit of a feat in itself, seeing as it’s housed at the top of a relatively run down looking pub. Once you’ve walked up a terrifyingly rickety staircase (no mean feat when you’re schlepping a suitcase around with you, I can tell you), you open the door into another world – a world populated by noise, crowds, smoke and a hell of a lot of good looking women banging bin lids (considering they all looked like models with size 8 waists, I guessed that they didn’t eat there very often). Then, when you’re in, you’re handed a ticket and told to wait until your lucky number is hollered through a loudspeaker. And what do you do whilst you wait? Why you drink of course.

I’d heard rumours that I could be waiting an inordinate amount of time before I got fed, so I decided to fully lubricate my jaws before I wrapped them around a huge slab of meat. The bar – run by crack cocktail team Soulshakers – is worth the trip alone. Pick a spirit, and a taste sensation you’re looking for, and they’ll create it for you there and then. Although they weren’t able to satiate my friend’s lust for all things Jaegermeister, they did manage to whip her up a Michelada (a kind of beery Bloody Mary). Salty, spicy and refreshing, it slipped down alarmingly easily and I had to push it away before I gulped the whole glass down in record time.

When I first saw the plates of food which were being plonked onto our table, I worried for a moment that perhpas my eyes were bigger than my belly. I needn’t have worried. Onion Rings the size of a baby’s head were crisp, sweet and terrifyingly moreish – I defy anyone to not eat an entire plateful of these in one sitting. Even better, they didn’t disintegrate in your hands leaving you with limp batter and raw onion. I wolfed a plate of these down in the space of two minutes and immediately regretted not ordering more.

Of course I couldn’t as I needed to leave room for the main event – the infamous Dead Hippy. Modelled after In-n-Out Burger’s legendary ‘Double Double’, this bad boy is two patties of mustard grilled, 100 per cent, 28 day aged chuck steak, placed lovingly onto a sourdough bun and smothered with secret sauce. After one bite, you soon realise that this isn’t so much a burger as a religious experience. A very very messy religious experience. There’s a reason why huge slabs of kitchen roll are placed on each table, and it’s not so you can delicately dab at your mouth after dainty wee bites. As soon as you chomp into this thing, rivers of burger juice run down your arms and chin, making you feel like some kind of cannibal. At first, I felt slightly self conscious about eating something which was so messy and which was causing me to openly make sex noises in public. And then I took another bite. And another. And I saw that people around me were having the same experience. And I decided to just leave my airs and graces at the door and get stuck right in.

There’s very little I can say about this burger that hasn’t be said by others already. About the perfect crust and char of the meat which manages to pack it full of flavour without losing any of that key moistness. About the fact that it is served up perfectly medium rare. About the sheer heft of that bun, which manages to soak up all of those divine flavours without disintegrating into a pappy mulch. But in the end, they’re just words. This is a food experience that really need to be tried to be believed.

Another highlight was the truly immense looking Chilli Dog that was served up to one of my friends. This wasn’t so much a Hot Dog, as a Hot Wolf – a huge hulking beast of mustard, chilli, melted cheese and a lone frankfurter looking slightly forlorn underneath it all. It seemed to be almost impossible to pick this up and eat it with your hands, but we somehow managed to succeed by passing it around the table and gently cradling it from person to person between bites. The dog itself was perfect – firm, smoky and juicy, a far cry from the rather forlorn looking things my Nanna used to pluck out of a tin when I was a kid. The authentic bean free chilli was spicy and rich without being overwhelming and provided the perfect foil for the mountain of thick yellow American cheese it was covered in.

Buffalo Wings were rich, sticky and crispy, reminding me of the type of wings you often get served up in dive bars in America. Whilst the blue cheese dip was a bit too funky for my tastes, I put this more down to the fact that I’m not a great lover of blue cheese rather than any fault on the part of the dip. If I’d not already consumed a large burger and my own bodyweight in chilli, I could have easily demolished a good few portions of these.

The only low point of the Meateasy for me were the fries – weedy, inconsequential little things which didn’t appear to be totally capable of standing up to the mounds of chilli they were saturated in. It would have been nice to have tucked into some slightly crisper specimens rather than ones which tasted like they’d come of the deep fat fryer a fraction too early.

After all that, you might have wondered how I managed to fit in a large portion of dessert. However, I undid that belt buckle, rubbed my belly and decided to take one for the team. Solely in the interests of research of course. Thankfully, the Fudge Brownie Sundae was a delight – a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream which sat proudly atop a dense, cakey brownie and had been smothered in a delectable fudge sauce. It reminded me of a more grown up version of the sundaes you tend to find in American diners (and that I used to beg my parents to buy for me when I was a kid). The vanilla ice cream cut through the rich sqiudgey brownie perfectly, combining to form something which was almost obscene after all of that grease and meat. I could practically feel my arteries turning into tubes of coagulated fat whilst I was eating it, but by God it was worth it.

There’s a certain rough and ready charm to the Meateasy, and it’s impossible not to find yourself getting wrapped up in its raucous spirit. And whilst some may baulk at the idea of plastic cutlery, drinks served in jam jars and people openly licking their fingers after a good meal, to me it felt that this was what good dining should be about – good food, good booze and good times. As I waddled down the road back to my friend’s flat, I genuinely couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed myself so much whilst dining out. Best of all, a meal there won’t break the bank either – a shedload of food and two rounds of cocktails only came to £30.

Indeed, I’d happily go back there in a flash if it wasn’t for the fact that the Meateasy is closing its doors on 16th April (that’s THIS Saturday) so that the pub it’s housed in can be fully gutted and refurbished. So, if you live in London and you haven’t been yet, you need to go before this place passes into folklore forever. Hopefully this isn’t the last we’ll see of Yianni and his brilliant burgers. And, when he does make a reappearance, I’ll be travelling down from Liverpool in homage. Take my word for it, Meateasy is a very special dining experience indeed. Believe the hype.

The Meateasy, Goldsmiths Tavern, 316 New Cross Road, London.

Fancy a Tipple? A Taste Test of Absolut Boston

Back in November, myself and my venerable partner-in-crime, the almost husband, decided to take a trip to Boston to spend Thanksgiving with the various family members I have situated there. We had a brilliant time acting like gluttons – consuming massive portions of Clam Chowder and Fried Oysters at the Union Oyster House, guzzling pints of tasty Sam Adams Ale to keep ourselves warm, and getting tanked beyond belief on the terrifying concoctions known as Scorpion Bowls - which led to a rather amusing late night journey home with a very drunk almost-husband, who kept trying to preach the virtues of Formula 1 racing to some very bemused Americans.

On the way home, I decided to pop by the Duty Free shop in Boston Logan Airport and see what delightful spirits they had on offer. Which led to me discovering the existence of Absolut Boston vodka. Now, I’ve long been a fan of flavoured vodkas – Absolut Vanilla and cranberry juice makes a fine tipple which I will never turn down – but I prefer making them myself as it’s a) cheaper and b) tends to lead to a tastier spirit. However, Absolut Boston appealed to me for a few reasons. Firstly, it came in a rather fetching green bottle, and secondly, it was flavoured with ‘Black Tea and Elderflower’, a rather interesting combination to say the least, and one I’d never be able to recreate at home. Also, being a fan of a nice mug of Builder’s Brew, tea flavoured vodka was something that I just wasn’t willing to pass up. So, I handed over my $15 dollars, bought a bottle to take home with me, and concentrated on more pressing matters. Like draining the Aer Lingus business class lounge dry of their supply of Jamiesons. (Aer Lingus, if you’re reading this, sorry about that).

According to the blurb I’ve researched on the internet, Absolut Boston is one of a series of vodkas that the distiller has been producing themed around the distinctive tastes of various U.S cities. So far, they’ve produced an Absolut Los Angeles (flavoured with blueberry, acai berry, acerola cherry and pomegranate), Absolut New Orleans (flavoured with mango and black pepper – annoyingly, I saw bottles of this being sold when I was in the USA, and am gutted I didn’t pick any up), and Absolut Brooklyn (flavoured with red apple and ginger and created in collaboration with Spike Lee. I would gladly sell a body part to get my hands on a bottle of this!)

The vodka has a taste which can only be described as acquired and  is certainly not a drink for anyone who has a virulent dislike of tea. A strong smell of PG Tips assaults your nostrils as soon as you open the bottle, and reminded me of those horrible stewed dregs you find at the bottom of a teapot. The flavour of black tea is also the first thing which hits your tastebuds, and threatens to overwhelm the light, grassy flavour of the elderflower. It’s definitely not the kind of thing you’d knock back happily as an apperitif. Where it comes into its own though is cocktails. Delicious, blissful cocktails.

Ever the traditionalist, I liked mixing Absolut Boston with ginger beer and lime, or with cranberry juice to create a fetching concoction I called the Boston Massacre. Absolut Boston’s signatures, the Boston Tea Party Martini and Homerun, also do a great job of balancing that overwhelming tea flavour.

Absolut Boston is certainly unique, but I loved it never the less. Then again, I am the kind of girl who drinks seven cups of strong tea a day, so it’s not altogether unsurprising that I’d fall for a vodka that manages to combine the comforting hug of a nice brew and hardcore booze. However, if you shudder at the mere mention of tea, I recommend you look elsewhere. This is most definitely not the spirit for you.

Absolut are yet to announce whether they intend to launch flavoured vodkas themed around British cities, but I hope they do. I’d be particularly interested to see what an Absolut Glasgow would taste like. Do you think it would be possible to distill the distinctive taste of Irn Bru and deep fried Mars Bars into an alcoholic drink?

I’ve not seen anywhere in the U.K. that sells Absolut Boston, but from the looks of things, you can buy it online via this website.

Hot Buttered Rum

(Baby), it’s cold outside. Bootle is like one huge ice rink at the moment – on my walk to work this morning I skidded and slided three times, and often was only saved by clinging onto trees like a terrified monkey. To add insult to injury, both me and Mr. Cay are full of evil colds and I have to work on Christmas Eve. In such circumstances, drastic measures are required.

The cold weather always reminds me of my Grandad John, and the Hot Toddies he’d make for my family as soon as the temperature dropped and we all started sneezing in unison. These were amazing concotions – hot, sweet and sticky. Laden with honey, lemon and a healthy shot of the whisky he’d have hidden away from my Dad at the back of the drinks cabinet. After one sip, I’d feel all of my cares boiling away from me in a puff of steam. As a teenager, I’d often secretly look forward to catching the flu and spending time off school so I could spend it in his company. I’d lie on the sofa huddled up underneath my duvet watching Watercolour Challenge, and Grandad John would make me Cream of Tomato soup with Mighty White soldiers. Endless cups of tea. Sneak me Hot Toddy’s with whisky when my parents weren’t looking.  He died in March. I miss him a lot – I doubt I’ll ever be able to fully acquire his mastery of hot beverages.

This Hot Buttered Rum is a homage to the Hot Toddys of my misspent youth. Full of sugar, spice and all things nice, it tastes like liquidised Apple Pie, and will make you toes tingle with comfort and joy.  Of course, there’s nothing right about it healthwise (after all, who puts butter in their hot drinks?  It’s a one way ticket to a heart attack). But screw it. It’s (nearly) Christmas, a season where putting trans fats in your coffee is practically the law. And, as I said before, it is very very cold out there. Whilst the recipe I followed suggested using maple syrup, I subbed it for some gorgeous cinnamon honey I picked up whilst I was in Florida last month. Also, the only maple syrup esque beverage I had in the house was Aunt Jemima’s pancake syrup, and somehow I doubted that would add the kind of comforting bite I was looking for.

I drank my Hot Buttered Rum in one heady gulp whilst a coriander spiked Dhaal bubbled away on the stove, and Mr. Cay shouted at the Darts from the living room. Good booze, good food, a warm house and a happy heart. Screw you Winter. I win.

HOT BUTTERED RUM

You will need:

• 1 tsp unsalted butter, softened
• 1 tsp honey (I used cinnamon honey, but normal honey will do just fine)
• 1 tsp ground allspice
• 50ml spiced rum (I used Captain Morgan)
• apple juice, warmed, to top up
• cinnamon stick, to garnish
• freshly grated nutmeg, to garnish

Make It!

1. Place the butter into a heatproof coffee glass.
2. Add the allspice, honey and rum.
3. Top up the glass with warmed apple juice and mix with a spoon until the butter has melted and emulsified in the liquid (like mixing a salad dressing).
4. Using a lighter or gas hob, lightly warm the cinnamon stick (be careful not to burn it). Add the cinnamon stick as a stirrer and garnish with fresh grated nutmeg.