A postcard from New York: Momofuku Noodle Bar

I turned 30 yesterday. In testament to the fact that I am now (allegedly) a thoughtful and rational adult, I celebrated my third decade on this earth by running away to New York, pumping loads of money into a jukebox in the East Village and dancing badly to ‘Abracadabra’ by the Steve Miller Band. And then, because no birthday would be complete without me eating my own body weight in at least one meat product which will inevitably cause me to have a massive coronary before the age of 65, I went to Momofuku noodle bar to stuff my face with pork belly and noodles. LOTS of pork belly and noodles.

I’ve longed to go to Momofuku ever since I first read about David Chang and his legendary pork buns on Serious Eats. I’ve recreated some Momofuku and Momofuku Milk Bar recipes at home with varying degrees of success, but knew that I wouldn’t be entirely satisfied until I’d tried the real thing for myself. A quick Internet search revealed that I wouldn’t be able to go to Momofuku Ko unless I had booked six days in advance, and didn’t mind spending a ridiculous amount of money on my tea. However, the noodle bar looked like just the thing to slake my thirst for an authentic bowl of ramen.

Mr. McMc and I rocked up fully anticipating to wait for an hour or more before we could get a table, but as it was we were seated within five minutes of arrival (they must have guessed it was my birthday). We also managed to drink what might possibly be the world’s biggest can of Asahi (one can = two pints. Not too shabby considering the tiny glasses we were given to drink it from).

We started with the legendary pork buns (pictured above). Comprising of a giant slab of pork belly wrapped in a squidgy white bun and garnished with pickled cucumber, these were consumed with almost indecent haste. Porky fat, soft melting meat and the wonderful hit of pickles to cut through the richness – these were heavenly, and I only wish that I’d ordered more of them. (They were so good in fact that Mr. McMc scoffed half of one while I was in the bathroom before I could take a picture of it).

Smoked chicken wings weren’t as smoky as I maybe would have liked, but were still absolutely delicious. Punchy with soy, pickled chillies and garlic, the meat practically disintegrated off the bone at the first bite. These were a perfect example of bar food done well, and were just the thing to soak up a pint or two.

I was slightly unsure of what to expect from the Roasted Rice Cakes I ordered. Being a carb fiend, I just knew that I really wanted to try this typically Korean dish that I’d heard so much about. I need not have worried. A firm crunch of toasted rice gave way to deliciously firm, chewy insides. Smothered in a fiery red sweet-yet-spicy sauce, punchy with ssamjang (a fermented bean and chilli paste) they were like nothing I’d ever eaten before. Indeed, I’m already thinking of where I could visit in Manchester to try them again.

The highlight of the meal was undoubtedly the ramen bowls. I ordered the Momofuku Ramen and Mr McMc ordered the Spicy Miso Ramen. Both were absolutely stunning – my bowl was full of pillow-soft pulled pork, chewy toothsome noodles which were firm and springy to the bite and topped with a perfectly poached egg. I also found the thick, fat slab of pork belly to be a nice touch. I could have drunk the broth like a cup of coffee. It tasted like the absolute essence of pork, rich, fatty and slightly salty. It was a bowl of perfection – the ramen which all other ramen I eat from now on will be judged against. Mr McMc’s ramen was equally good. It tasted of spicy, smoky chicken, as though the world’s best portion of KFC had been liquidised and served up to us.

By this point, we were feeling pretty drunk on good food (as well as that gigantic can of Asahi) but I felt that the whole experience wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t try at least one of their signature desserts. A soft serve scoop of peanut butter and ritz cracker soft serve seemed to be almost too salty at first bite. Then, the pow of salt gave way to a slow, creeping sweetness, helped by the twist of grape jelly (jam) the ice cream had been layered over. It reminded me of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches of my childhood, served up to me in ice cream form.

The total bill for four courses of belly-bursting-goodness came to 90 dollars (roughly 60 pounds in UK money), an absolute bargain considering how much food we ate. While I’m in New York for another four days, I have a feeling that eating at Momofuku Noodle Bar will be one of the highlights of my trip, and something I’ll look back on fondly for years to come. It’s certainly set one hell of a precedent for the rest of my 30s.

Chaophraya, Chapel Walks, Manchester

It was a grey Friday afternoon in Manchester and I was feeling a little under the autumnal weather. My head felt as though it was packed full of the same drizzly fog that hung over the city, my stomach craved spice and I was looking for the kind of invigorating lunch that would clear my mental fog and kick start my senses. In such circumstances, I could be forgiven for having high hopes regarding Mancunian Thai stalwart, Chaophraya. After all, Chaophraya’s website promised “authentic Thai food”, a cuisine renowned for combining the four elements of sweetness, sourness, spice and saltiness beautifully. Surely I wouldn’t walk away feeling like I’d ingested a bellyful of blandness?

Tucked away down a side street off Cross Street in Manchester, Chaophraya is undeniably stunning to look at, all elegant chandeliers and tasteful water features (the backlit jellyfish tank was enthralling). The unfailingly polite and attentive staff seemed an extension of the tasteful decor. Their sunken tables are cool and original – great if you’re feeling adventurous, or want to practice your limbo skills. I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise to anyone I accidentally flashed my crotch at as I climbed out of my seat with all the agility of a drunken crab.

A selection of Thai Tapas

We started by ordering the ‘Thai Tapas’, a selection of bite-sized morsels to be shared by two people. I have a bit of an issue with non-Spanish cuisine being referred to as ‘tapas’ – I want to shout at the person who came up with the concept that IT’S NOT TAPAS! IT’S JUST SMALL FOOD! But hey, grilled sweetcorn cakes, prawn & chicken toasts, steamed dumplings, grilled spare ribs, grilled pork skewers and chicken satays wait for no woman, especially when she’s sitting across from her husband, who is both a great fan of all of those things and very hungry.

While everything we were served looked good and was cooked perfectly adequately, it was all seriously lacking in the taste department. I bit into a steamed dumpling, waiting for that delicious hit of fatty pork goodness, and got nothing. I did the same with a sweetcorn cake, a pork skewer and the satay and they were exactly the same. Practically everything on the plate was incredibly bland – there was no seasoning, no flavour, nothing apart from the taste of the accompanying sauce we’d dipped each item into. The only things that even came close to having any flavour were the spare ribs and even then, the taste was of the sticky-sweet barbeque sauce they came coated in.

Deep fried sea bass

Beef Penang Curry

We didn’t fare that much better with the mains. My deep fried sea bass was coated in a soggy batter and a gloopy chilli sauce that tasted like it had come straight from a bottle. Mr McMc’s beef Penang Curry (consisting of beef, lime leaves and coconut milk) was, again, under seasoned. A good Penang should taste of lemongrass, galangal and coriander and be thick, meaty and sweet. This was insipid, with the only flavour coming through being that of the coconut milk.

Dining at Chaophraya reminded me of an advert for H&M I saw recently featuring Lana Del Ray. On the outside, it’s beautiful but when you look closely, there’s not much going on behind the eyes. While it serves up a reasonably priced lunch deal (one course for £8.95 and two for £11.50), that doesn’t excuse the quality of the food. I wondered whether they’d felt the need to tone down their flavours to accommodate the Northern palette (which would be a shame – most Mancunians I know love a bit of spice in their lunchbox). They’ve won awards for their food, and the restaurant was full of shoppers and office workers when we visited, so you have to wonder if the kitchen was maybe having an off day. Chaophraya isn’t the only Thai restaurant in town – there’s Try Thai on Faulkner Street, the Pacific in China Town, the Siam Orchid on Portland Street. Even Ning on Oldham Street, while ostensibly a Malaysian restaurant, serves up a cracking Pad Thai. If Chaophraya was just having a bad day, they can’t afford to have them too often.

In the interests of full disclosure, we dined as guests of Chaophraya

Pizarro, Bermondsey Street, London

Apologies for no imagery to accompany this post – the restaurant was quite dark, I only had my iPhone camera on me, and the pictures came out so bad that they were almost unintelligible

“The next person to tell me a three-hour wait for food is “worth it” is going to get a punch in the face” said one of my friends recently. And, on reflection, it’s difficult not to agree with her. Queuing appears to be all the rage in London nowadays, especially when it comes to restaurants. It seems that no new opening will even get a sniff of hype unless you’re forced to wait four hours in the freezing cold for a burger. To non-London residents, such as myself, this all seems a little daft. I’m not good at queuing for things, especially if the thing in question is food. I probably wouldn’t have survived a day in Soviet Russia.

So, when I decided to pay London a visit last weekend (ostensibly with the purpose of being fitted for my wedding dress, but also because I wished to eat so much amazing street food that I would have to be rolled back to Liverpool) and was trying to decide on a place to dine with my friends, it all got a little tricky. Pitt Cue? That was out because it was a Friday night and would therefore be packed. The same applied to MeatLiquor, Spuntino, Polpetto, and pretty much anywhere else we could think of in Central London. In a fit of desperation, I turned to the place I always go to when I’m looking for culinary salvation. Twitter. “Why don’t you try Pizarro’s in Bermondsey?” suggested my friend. “It doesn’t do reservations, but you never tend to wait  for a table for more than 20 minutes”.  Whilst I am averse to waiting for my dinner, I am very very fond of cava, chorizo and other types of Spanish produce which begin with a ‘C’.  And so, last Friday night, we all weaved our merry way towards Bermondsey and Pizarro.

José Pizarro appears to be on a mission to slowly take over Bermondsey Street. His tapas bar, José, is situated further along and – when we went past it later that evening – appeared to be filled to the rafters with people guzzling sherry and iberico ham. Pizarro is an altogether more sedate affair. Rustic yet stylish (the tables appear to be made out of old sherry crates), it specialises in larger plates, whilst also encouraging diners to swipe bits of what their friends are having.

We started the evening with a bottle of achingly crisp cava accompanied by complementary snacks of sourdough bread, olive oil, and some radishes and cauliflower dressed with sea salt, and a tangy mix of olive oil and vinegar. I adored the little radishes – they were wonderfully fresh and crisp, their natural flavours enhanced by the simplicity of their garnishes.

We then all decided to dive right in with a selection of larger plates – I opted for the salt cod with white beans and chorizo whilst my dining partners selected the pork cheeks with olive oil mash and lamb with lentils and radicchio. I’ve always been a bit wary of salt cod, and I worried that here, it might overwhelm the other flavours on the plate. However, it was divine – the cod wonderfully firm and bouncy, and just the right accompliment to the toothsome beans with their silky innards and the slight smokiness of the chorizo. Indeed, it’s a dish I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since.  My friends iberico pork cheeks with olive oil mash was positively luxrious – silky smooth potatoes topped with pork  which practically melted in the mouth.  The lamb was equally good, the sweetness of the meat matched nicely by crunchy – almost bitter – raddicchio and soft lentils.

However, the true highlight of the evening were the desserts. My friend Katharine opted for a pot of chocolate accompanied by a dollop of caramel ice cream, a delicious swoon of a dish. On their own, each component dish would have been too much to handle. However, together they became a veritable Ike and Tina of the dessert world – the sweet, slightly salted caramel biting through the molten ooze of the chocolate. James went for the cake with cinnamon ice cream. We all adored the cinnamon ice cream – spicy and sweet, it almost sizzled in the mouth.  I was slightly disappointed by my cheesecake with blood orange. It arrived in a deconstructed fashion – a chunk of a sweetened ricotta ‘cheesecake’ topped with biscuits and with a blood orange compote on the side.  It could have done with more crunch and more compote to cut through the fluffiness – one lonely smear and blood orange segment does not a decent side make.

A good dinner should be a harmony of different things – namely good friends, good food and good wine in a relaxed setting. Pizarro had all of these things and more. What I especially liked was its unobtrusive staff. Despite the fact that people were waiting, and we had been dining for over two hours, I never felt as though we were going to be shoved out of the door at any moment so our table could be filled. And, the price tag didn’t hurt either – dinner for four, with wine, came to just under £30 per head.

Pizarro’s is a delight of a place, and just what London dining should be all about. If you don’t mind (relatively short) queues for your dinner, then it’s definitely worth the journey to Bermondsey.

Pizarro

194 Bermondsey Street

London
SE1 3TQ

Restaurant: Mon-Fri 12 – 3 for lunch, 6 – 11 for dinner. Sat 12-11. Sun 12-10.
Bar open all day

No reservations, except for the private room.

Red Chilli, Portland Street, Manchester

It was Sunday, I was cold, it was raining, and I was a tad hungover after a night on the sauce with Dad Cay and Mr. Cay. There was only one thing for it. Chinese food – and lots of it.

Apparently the night before, after more than one bottle of red booze, I had promised my beloved that I would take him to Red Chilli - arguably Manchester’s finest Szechuan restaurant – for his lunch. It was a promise he was determined to hold me to. Hear me now, and hear me well. Be careful of the promises you make when you’re shitfaced. People will often try and make you keep them (well, it’s how I managed to get a hamster off my parents when I was 10 anyway).

Luckily for me, Red Chilli is a gem, and just the thing for when your head is aching and your belly is craving spice. I had been there once before, in 2007 with (vegetarian) ex Mr. Cay. He wasn’t impressed by the numerous offal-based dishes I ordered which came swimming in a soup of peppercorns and dried chillies, whilst I felt as though I had died and gone to an exceedingly fiery heaven. Thinking about it, it’s no wonder that we weren’t really meant to be.

Current Mr. Cay however, is well aware of my love of foods which set your mouth on fire with joy, and your heart on fire with acid reflux. Indeed, he has often joined me in scoffing down huge plates of chilli laden food which would make a lesser person weep for the health of their downstairs area. Reader, to paraphrase Jane Austen, there is a reason I’m marrying him.

However, seeing as we were feeling rather fragile, we decided to start slowly with a starter of poached chicken with a soy & ginger dip, and beancurd skin with spring onion. Both were delicious – the chicken was soft, tender and wonderfully moist – the perfect receptacle for the delightfully sharp and sweet dip. It was impossible to have just one piece of this, and I found myself nicking small slices of it with my chopsticks when Mr. Cay wasn’t looking. My beancurd was equally tasty, although its chewy rubbery texture might not be for everyone. The savoury, umami-rich sauce it was coated in was a delight, turning what can so often be a bland ingredient into a plate of sensory delights.

We’d decided to save the heat for the main courses, and were justly rewarded. My (huge) bowl of Dan Dan noodles arrived swimming in a slick, angry looking red broth. As the waitress was spooning it into my bowl, I could already feel its heat swimming and bubbling away on my tongue. Rich with fatty pork mince, slippery unctuous noodles and smoky fruity chilli oil, I could feel my hangover melting away after just one bite. And by the time I’d inhaled two bowls of the stuff, I felt almost human again (although that feeling was swiftly eradicated when I walked outside in the damp Mancunian afternoon).  The portion sizes were immensely generous to boot – this was a dish which could have easily fed four people.

Mr. Cay’s pork with green beans and crispy noodles (not pictured) was equally as good, although I’m not entirely sure he was as keen on the crispy noodles as I was. I enjoyed the snap and give of the noodles underneath my teeth which provided a nice contrast to the softness of the pork and preserved vegetables. Simple, yet delicious, it was more warming than spicy and a perfect example of unfussy ‘homestyle’ cooking.

Sad as it sounds, for me, the highlight of the meal was the exemplary Spring Onion Pancake we ordered as a side dish. Crispy, flaky, multi-layered and wholly delicious, it was the perfect thing to soak up all of their fiery soup from my Dan Dan Noodles. Despite reading numerous blog posts about this side dish, it was the first time I’d tried it for myself – and it certainly won’t be the last. I ate my portions of this in record time, and am now determined to try and recreate this in my kitchen at home.

In a city like Manchester, where you can easily pay ridiculous amounts of money for mediocre food, it’s nice to see a place like Red Chilli thriving. We only paid £35 for two courses and a whole lot of soft drinks each, and we were both forced to leave food on our plates because our bodies couldn’t physically hold any more noodles. Indeed, if there was one gripe I had about the place, it was that I practically had to chase a waitress around the restaurant for our bill. But, this is only a minor blip in a meal which soothed both my body and my soul. I will be visiting Red Chilli again. And soon. If only because I’m determined to try the rather exotic sounding ‘Dry Braised Frog’s Legs with Onion, Mangetout & Red pepper in Big Grandma’s Chilli Sauce Stew’.

Red Chilli
70-72 Portland Street
Manchester
M1 4GU

Chilli Banana, Lark Lane, Liverpool

Despite living in Liverpool for *counts on fingers* nigh on eighteen months, I’ve never really explored South Liverpool. Indeed, the furthest I’ve ever ventured down the Northern line is Liverpool South Parkway – and (take my word for it), this doesn’t really contain many delights unless you count the 86 to Speke to be a ‘delight’.

Ever since I moved here, I’d had numerous people telling me to pay a visit to Lark Lane. How it was full of good restaurants, good cafés, and an even a branch of my beloved Pi (which is, you’ve guessed it, a bar which specialises in pies – unsurprisingly I was a frequent visitor to their Chorlton branch back when I lived in Manchester). So, on a balmy Sunday, myself and Mr. Cay decided to take a trip down the Northern Line to Lark Lane. And, as usually happens when we venture anywhere outside of Central Liverpool, we felt a bit peckish. What better way to alleviate our hunger than by indulging in a massive Thai banquet?

Despite its rather cheesy name (and even worse logo) Chilli Banana is one of those stalwarts of the Northern restaurant community that I’ve often heard people recommend when I mention how hard I find it to source decent Thai food in Liverpool. (Trust me when I say that the road to this food blog is paved with the carcasses of terrible Pad Thai’s and Tom Yam Gai’s). Seeing as I’ve found it nigh on impossible to eat any decent South East Asian food since my move to Liverpool, I was naturally wary.  However, once I’d made the decision to dine there, I decided to place my faith in their rather impressive looking selection of dishes – indeed, just a quick glance at the menu caused my stomach to rumble loudly in a rather unseemly fashion.

Both myself and Mr. Cay decided to opt for the Special Banquet Menu, a selection which required two separate tables to be cleared so that our incredibly polite waitress could pile them high with food. The first course was bite sized amuse bouché of a deep fried cracker, stuffed with salty cashew nuts, chillies, spring onions and a piquant lime dressing. It was just the thing to wet our appetites and went especially well with slurps of ice cold Chang beer.

My eyes almost popped out when I saw our starter, which was a plate groaning with Thai appetisers – skewers of chicken Satay Gai served with a cucumber pickle which coated the inside of your mouth with a deliciously sticky peanut sauce, Po Pia Godd (mini Thai Spring Rolls), Tod Man Pla (spicy, bouncy fishcakes which tasted pleasantly of lemongrass and were just the right size to shove into your mouth in one thoroughly unladylike bite), Spare ribs marinated in ginger, garlic and coriander which were a delight to gnaw on and slices of cucumber which were topped with a crisp pomelo salad. Being a big fan of pomelo, this appetiser was my favourite. Its crisp citrus flavour melded perfectly with the cucumber, and acted as a perfect palate cleanser before I dived right back in to nab some more of those fishcakes.

Next up, a bowl of Tom Yam Gai – its soothing sour sweetness being just the thing to cut through all the fat and meat of the previous course. This managed to combine everything I love about Thai food, a perfect conglomeration of Hot, Sweet, Sour and Salty which soothed both the appetite and the soul. I could have done without the big hunks of barely cooked mushroom floating in my bowl though – and had to pick these out like a faddy teenager in order to enjoy more huge slurps of that delicious broth. (I would have drunk it straight from the bowl if I could, but I believe that’s not considered seemly in polite society).

The main course comprised four different dishes, Pla Kratiem (Catfish with Garlic and Ginger), Thai Green Curry, Gai Pad Kimon (‘Drunken’ stir fried chicken with kaffir lime leaves, chilli and green beans) and a rather interesting dish called ‘Heavenly’ Beef which was topped with crispy basil. Out of all of these, I found the catfish (possibly the dish I’d been looking forward to trying the most) to be a little disappointing. The whole dish felt a bit flabby, with a heavy hand on the garlic and ginger totally overwhelming the flavour of the catfish. The Thai Green Curry however, was a delight. Laden with coconut milk, lemongrass, coriander and chillies, it was wolfed down by the sweet toothed Mr. Cay in record time.

Drunken Chicken (Pad Gai Kimon) was a definite highlight of the meal – the rice wine laden chicken contrasting perfectly with the fresh snap of the runner beans and the sizzle of the chillies – just the thing to be soaked up by bowlfuls of pillowy steamed white rice.

However, the stand out dish of the meal was undeniably the Nua Sawwan, aka ‘heavenly beef’.  Comprising of thin slices of beef cooked in coriander, cumin and sugar, this was like insanely addictive Thai beef jerky. Even when my stomach felt as though it could take no more, I had to keep nibbling away at small pieces, drawn back again and again by its chewy, spicy taste. Although I couldn’t tell you how it got its name, I do know that whoever named it wasn’t joking when they pronounced it to be heavenly.

After all of that food, you could be forgiven for wondering how I could even contemplate dessert. And to that I would reply that you should never underestimate my capacity for consuming sweet pastry based treats. (I’m fairly convinced that when it comes to desserts, my stomach contains an extra chamber like a cow). Biting into one of these chocolate filled spring rolls was a bit like playing Russian Roulette, as all the time I was convinced that some filling would splurt out and burn off the roof of my mouth. I needn’t have worried. Because quite frankly, I inhaled these nutella filled nuggets of deliciousness so quickly that they barely had time to scald any of my internal or external organs. To soften the blow though, I was sure to dip them in the accompanying ice cream first, a creamy orange concoction that wasn’t quite a sorbet, and, when eaten between bites of spring roll, made me feel like I was eating rather more sensorily adventurous Chocolate Orange.

By the end of the meal, I felt a bit like Liverpool’s answer to Mr. Creosote, wondering aloud whether I should undo the top button of my jeans on the train back to Bootle.  I also marvelled at the fact that (with drinks) our bill only came to around £40 per person – not bad considering the truly immense amounts of food we ate. With great food like this only a twenty minute train journey away from my house, perhaps I should visit Lark Lane more often. Although I’ll be sure to wear my elasticated trousers next time.

Chilli Banana, 2 Lark Lane, Aigburth, Liverpool L17 8US

Gastro Club – Harvey Nichols, Manchester

I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to get around to writing about Manchester’s very own Gastro Club, which is arguably one of the most exciting dining experiences to hit the city in rather a long time.  On the second Tuesday of each month, a group of intrepid (and very hungry) culinary obsessed Twitterers flock en masse to one of the cities numerous restaurants to eat interesting food, drink excellent wine and generally have a good old natter with each other about food, life, love and everything inbetween. I adore Gastro Club – so much so in fact that I don’t even mind undertaking the hellish morning rush hour Manchester to Liverpool commute with a hangover the next day. If what’s being served up to me is tasty enough, frankly, I can even put up with being elbowed in the face by businessmen on a packed train. The lengths I go to for a good feed eh?

The last Gastro Club saw us all decamping to The Mark Addy in Spinningfields which had been turned into a festive Narnia wonderland, reached by walking through a cupboard and into a world of candlelit delights. I feasted until I popped on Mythical Beast, Herb Soup and Bread ‘Mice’ with ‘Cheese’ soup, and even managed to knock over a Christmas tree onto a man dressed as Mr. Tumnus (whilst shouting ‘SORRY MR. TUMNUS!’ rather loudly to boot. Sorry Mr. Tumnus). It was one of those magical dining experiences that will forever live on in the memories of those who were lucky enough to experience it. Alas, last time my camera decided to have a funny turn and none of my pictures came out. When it was announced that the next Gastro Club was going to be held at Harvey Nichols in Manchester, I was determined not to make the same mistake again.

When I got to Harvey Nichols, I was – to be honest – feeling a little harassed. It had been a long day at work  and whilst I was doing my make-up on the train, a complete stranger walked up to me and told me to ‘smile’ as I was apparently ‘looking really miserable’.  Well yes – you wouldn’t look particularly cheery too if you were attempting to put eyeliner on whilst on a moving vehicle matey.

To add insult to injury, I’d decided to give up booze, potatoes, rice, pasta and bread for Lent, so this was my last night of indulging in all of those tasty things before 40 days and 40 nights of self-imposed abstinence. It was time for a cocktail – and an ‘Angry Sailor’ which contained pineapple juice, Sailor Jerry’s and (rather worryingly) a rather large amount of chillies hit the spot nicely. A proferred glass of Bucks Fizz was even nicer, and went down a treat with the various snacks we were served up – big fat olives and deliciously smoky sweet pecans. I had to stop myself gobbling down a whole bowl of them before the main courses arrived. Although I never have been particularly good at restraint, I must say.

Our starter, a pressing of Goosnargh chicken, with a morel with truffle dressing looked elegant, and thankfully managed to avoid going looking like posh catfood (a problem afflicting a few of the terrines I’ve had served up to me recently). It seemed to act as more of a palate cleanser than anything else – dainty, delicate and with the merest hint of Christmas dinner about it.

I adored the next course – a Portland crab raviolo with fennel and saffron. The saffron sauce provided a beautiful burst of golden sunshine to the plate, and provided a wonderful contrast to the tender, flavoursome crab, and the sharp aniseed bite of the fennel. Usually, I’m not the biggest fan of fennel, but here it worked perfectly, its crispness providing the perfect counterpoint to the toothsome pasta of the raviolo. As I took a large slurp of my delicious Sauvignon Blanc, I couldn’t wait to see what would be served up to me next.

Sadly, it was (for me) the only dish of the night that I felt didn’t work – the Cheshire ox cheek and celeriac with Savoy cabbage. Each element of the dish was cooked perfectly – the ox cheek falling apart into delicate litle shreds as soon as I prodded it with my fork, and I adored the pumpkin seed brittle it was topped with. However, I felt as though it didn’t all come together into one harmonious whole. It felt too rich, too dense, as though I was eating mouthfuls of velvet. I would have liked something a bit sharp on the plate to cut through the intense heaviness of it all, and I finished it longing for something light and zingy.

Thankfully, that came in the form of a British classic. Rhubarb Crumble. I’d never eaten rhubarb before that night (blame my American mother, and a father who despised the stuff after being served up stringy overcooked portions of it throughout his childhood) , so this was something of an epiphany for my tastebuds. Short, sharp and sweet, the frozen base reminded me of a pimped up sherbert, whilst the amaretti tasting crumble added a nice bit of texture to the softness of the sorbet. I’ve already made a mental note that I really have to get my hands on some rhubarb so I can attempt to recreate this in my kitchen at home. How has such an amazing ingredient eluded me for so long?

However, the Rhubarb Crumble was but a prelude to the dish of the night, Manuka set cream with a lime confit and smoked macadamia crisp. If this pudding was a man, I would have leapt on it after one bite and done exceedingly dirty things to it . The smoked macadamia crisp had the texture of honeycomb, yielding yet brittle, snapping delicately between your teeth. It went perfectly with spoonfuls of the manuka cream – soft, dreamy and delightfully creamy – the kind of honey that bees leave reserved for very special people indeed. The cubes of lime jelly practically fizzed on the tongue, yet didn’t feel out of place amidst such a variety of rich ingredients. In fact, this dessert was so good, I was compelled to finish my dining companions when they said they couldn’t eat another bite. Well, it would have been a shame to see it go to waste after all.

The evening finished with coffee and petit fours – smokey chocolate truffles with a raspberry ganache, and delicate strawberry macarons which looked almost too dainty to eat and – when you bit into them – tasted of the strawberry fondant you find in pink wrappered  Quality Street chocolates.

Being one of those relentlessly greedy types, I’m ashamed to say I snaffled a few away in my pocket to scoff in the taxi on the way home.

All in all, it was an amazing evening, filled to the brim with good food, good company, and more than a few glasses of excellent wine to boot. Plus it was only £35 a head without wine, a very reasonable price for an exceptional dining experience.  I woke up the next day with a huge smile on my face as well as a  cracking hangover. But it was all worth it. I couldn’t have wished for a nicer way to see in Lent and 40 days and 40 nights of abstinence. Gulp.

For more information about Gastro Club, read this ace blog post by Inside the M60, or you can follow them on Twitter at @GastroClub_mcr