Romania, Romania, Romania!

This is a special Delishnotism post, lovelies. Why is it special? Well, I'm about to give you a centuries-old family recipe for ciorba (pronounced 'chor-bah'). Ciorba is a traditional Romanian soup, and it's possibly one of the healthiest meals you could ever eat. As she ages, I'm becoming aware of how very important it is to write down as many of her recipes as possible.  This is my maternal grandmother's recipe. She is a Holocaust survivor from Ştefăneşti. One of the ways she has preserved our family heritage is through food, and I intend to keep the sounds and smells of her kitchen alive.

This soup is so versatile and simple. The version featured in this post is a rather modest rendition, using about half of as many ingredients as can be included!

You will need:

Scallions (known as spring onions in the UK).

Zucchini (known as courgette in the UK).

Brussels sprouts.

A generous amount of spinach.

An even more generous amount of kale.

A couple of potatoes, de-eyed and peeled.

A handful of cherry tomatoes.

Other common ingredients to include are carrots, yellow squash, beets, and bell peppers.

You will also need a couple of lemons and five tablespoons of brown rice. Keep on hand for later.

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After cleaning and preparing the ingredients, put them all into a sizable soup pot.

Fill the pot with water, about 3/4 full.

Cover the pot and turn the flame up to medium heat.

When the water boils, add the 5 spoon-fulls of rice.

The soup should be ready after about 30 minutes. Add salt to taste, and the juice of half a lemon to each bowl right before serving. The lemon juice is essential!

It will keep well in the fridge for about 4 days, and is just as enjoyable cold as it is hot.

Dare to Durian

Hello, all.

 Some of you may be the intrepid type to know about the durian fruit. It is a box of wonders among fruit. It has a large, spiky exterior which conceals a mushy paste inside. The paste has the consistency of egg or pudding; the flavour - to yours truly, at least - is reminiscent of mango and egg. It really is pretty good.

Here is a video which records our experiences of the fruit.

So what should you know for daring to do a durian day? While there are plenty of foodie types who can give you the full low-down on the durian, here's a few thoughts from us. First, you need to choose the right durian. We knew a few bits of information to get started. Firstly, Chinatown here in London has a few stalls that sell durians. Secondly, you should look out for durians that appear to be coming apart. This happens to all durians, and the more they are coming apart along various lines of the surface, the more ripe they are. And thirdly, ask the person manning the stall for a recommendation of the ripest choice. We unfortunately had a very unhelpful lady who, upon being asked which was the choice of the bunch, simply shrugged and said that any would do. Poor show, madam.

Next step. You have now bought a durian with the intention to eat it, in spite of what people will tell you about the smell ("It's like corpse vomit!") Before eating can begin, however, you need to get inside the darned thing, and its exterior makes that a challenge. Using our sharpest knife, Alyson sawed against the durian as best she could. The spikes make it tricky to handle, so if you want to try this, I'd suggest having someone hold it while wearing gloves (or no gloves if you don't much care for their hands). Also, see if you can lay it flat, then hold it in place. For the best cuts, Alyson went for those parts of the durian which appeared to already be rending.

Is Audrey's face correct? Does durian taste like 'glumph mini sick'? No, but it's funny to consider.

I cannot begin to tell you how thrusting down it with your boot does not work.

And now, you're in. What do you notice? Probably the smell. The durian is most reputed for that. Many who have tried durian describe the smell in rather discouraging terms, such as 'gym socks', 'sewage', 'rotting meat' and many other unlovely odours. But to your taste trial team - myself, Alyson and our French friend Audrey - the smell was simply of overripe tropical fruit that was close to rotting. So not wonderfully whiffalicious, but not pongtastic either. Ignore the smell, and go for the taste.

 As I said above, it tastes mostly of mango and has an aftertaste of egg. What makes reporting its taste somewhat subjective however is the taste seems to change slightly with each mouthful. Your taste buds seem confident on one mouthful, uncertain from the next. Yet this is a bonus. The durian is an adventure food, not a comfort food. So you can enjoy it for that. It is a very filling meal, too. We could not finish all the edible bits of the durian, and so have stored away the remainder for another time. (It is heavily secured in several plastic bags. It may not smell offensive now, but who knows what it is capable of, given time.)

That is all for now. We hope you have enjoyed this latest food foray, and perhaps that it encourages you to seek out durian for your own durian adventure.

Ta-ta for now, happy munching.
Phil

Pink Olive

I was really resistant to going to Pink Olive at first. I'm not quite sure why. Something about the menu seemed fussy to me. But, as I like to give most everyone and everything the benefit of the doubt, Phil and I spontaneously decided to pop in for lunch.

It's a sweet little restaurant situated on the corner of West Nicolson Street, less than a two minute walk from where Phil and I live.



I felt instantly at ease once inside. The windows let in just the right amount of light. Everything was clean, quiet, and simple. I particularly liked the bare wooden tables.



The gent in the plaid shirt seen bending down behind the bar was one of two servers. I was very impressed by his manners and warm personality. He had most definitely mastered the fine art of knowing when to give patrons space, and when to stick around for a friendly chat.

I ordered a Diet Coke and some olives to start. Our charming server in the plaid shirt (shame on me for not remembering his name) brought them out in a flash, along with a jug of water and fresh lemon slices. I absolutely love olives. If it's possible to order a small bowl of them as a starter, or on the side, it's a pretty safe bet that I'll do just that.



Phil's starter was a cold duck salad with red onion, red peppers, and a very subtle fruit vinaigrette. Duck is such a rich meat, so good-o to the chef for perfect portion control. Black pepper set off the vinaigrette, which, amazingly, made the duck feel even more succulent. It's so easy for duck dishes to be weighty. Not so with this bright salad. It was refreshing!



On to the main courses!

I ordered the crispy eggs with cold rice noodles, sweet lime cucumbers, and peanut sauce. It consisted of two hard-boiled eggs, halved and fried until crispy, smothered in the best peanut sauce you can imagine, accompanied by thin rice noodles dressed with cucumber slices pickled in lime and a little bit of sugar. And some peanuts and spring onion for good luck.



Every once in awhile, we all experience the joy and satisfaction of knowing for sure that we've ordered the best thing for us on the menu. This was one of those times for me.



I have only words of praise for this dish. It was perfect. It will be a struggle for me to order something else the next time I go to Pink Olive.

A true Englishman to the core, Phil ordered a curry. It was a vegetarian, tomato-based curry with peppers, cauliflower, and jasmine rice. I'm more picky about my curries than Phil is. I found it had a little too much of a heat kick for how thin the curry base was, but Phil scarfed it down like I hadn't fed him in days.



Desert time!

Giddy from how much I enjoyed my crispy eggs (a good peanut sauce makes me a bit loopy), I insisted we order a desert, though we hadn't planned on it. Oops?

Phil ordered a slice of banana bread with toffee sauce. One can't really go wrong with that. It was moist without be heavy, and sweet, but not so sweet that it tasted cheap. I always feel extra appreciation for well-balanced baked goods.



To round off the meal for me, I had a latte. Go ahead and look surprised. I'll wait.



When Mr. Plaid Button-Down brought our bill, he generously gave us two discount vouchers for our next visit. Thank you, charming server!

I will be using my beloved Nikon D80 for future Delishnotism posts, so you can look forward to top-notch quality images. My little point-and-shoot Nikon just isn't cutting it. It's been a wee while since my fabulous digital SLR has gotten some real action!

Until next time,

Alyson

The Elephant House

Phil and I went to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I on opening day. As a pretty devoted fan of the books, I've not been terribly impressed by most of the films. I really enjoyed how the filmmakers edited this one, so I have my hopes up for Part II.

Why am I talking about Harry Potter? Well! It just so happens that the cafe in which J.K. Rowling began writing the series is located in Edinburgh. It's called the Elephant House Cafe, and it's not more than a five minute walk from where Phil and I live. A few of my friends back in the States insisted earnestly that I pay it a visit, gushing about how cute it is.


I had to take a picture of the adorable little elephant-with-a-teacup sign.

The first thing I noticed upon entering was that the place was packed! A very short waitress in an even shorter mini skirt greeted Phil and me, and told us that the only seating available was at a shared table. No problem! The warm lighting and cozy atmosphere made sharing a table with other patrons seem like a charming idea. I'm a rather friendly person. I smile at strangers, and make faces at babies on public transport.

Anwhom, our little waitress led Phil and me to a four-person table next to the far wall. The Elephant House is split into two sections: the bakery/cafe area and the restaurant area. There's no wall or formal separation of the two areas. The main reason for the differentiation is to allow people who only want to pop in for a quick cuppa to come and go quickly.

The far wall is lined with medium-sized windows over a decently wide ledge. On top of the ledge, one can find stacks of newspapers, magazines (including Foodie), some potted plants, and other bits and bobs. The view from the far wall windows is beautiful. But, then again, this is Edinburgh.


A jolly little elephant fetish guarded a stack of Foodie Magazine and a couple of plants by our window.

Phil and I hadn't really planned on having much to eat, but we couldn't really resist once we saw the menu. To drink, I ordered a glass of the house red. Phil ordered one of their mad alcoholic concoctions. It involved banana syrup and chocolate, and I think it could put a person of more fragile a disposition into a diabetic coma. Wine is the only alcohol that I drink, so I can't tell you how it tasted. I could smell it from where I was sitting though, and it smelled like insanity.


Weebling happily over the latest issue of Foodie Magazine while waiting for food to arrive.


Phil did a Sudoku in pen while I weebled.

Food! Phil ordered a vegetable pie with mash and gravy. I ordered a camembert and portobello mushroom burger. It came with corn chips, for some reason. I hadn't seen corn chips since I left California. Strange days.


What? Of course I ordered a cupcake. It was the last one that the bakery had for the day, it was vanilla, and about the size of my face. No complaints, obviously.

What with the corn chips and the multi-coloured sugar sprinkles on top of my face-sized cupcake, I was starting to relive memories of being 5 years old at a friend's birthday party. Fortunately, that manic detour down memory lane ended abruptly once I tucked into the mushroom burger. Ladies and gents, I don't think I've ever had such an overwhelming cheese experience (cheesperience?) before in my life. Were I any less of a crazy lover of cheese, it would have probably knocked down the quality of the meal. However, the reality is that I could happily live off of bread and cheese, so I had no complaints. The mania of the 5 year old's birthday party flashback was replaced by the mania of, well, pretty much an entire wheel of camembert. You can see in the picture above that I'm not exaggerating.

I definitely want to give the Elephant House another go during a weekday, during cafe hours rather than dinner hours. The food was comforting, and the restaurant would be a perfect place to plant oneself for a rainy afternoon to read and people-watch.  The only thing that put me off a wee bit was some Harry Potter merch in the front, by the bakery. It's relevant, to be sure, and the fact that the restaurant is trying to capitalise off of the stories being born there wasn't overwhelming, but I felt like it took away from the funky appeal just a tiny bit. No biggie, but worth mentioning.

Good eats.

Soy Marinated Chicken

Hello, hello! It’s my turn to take the pulpit. And so, I’m here to talk briefly about my baby steps with cooking and about a recent kitchen adventure.

 For many years, I had not considered cooking. It was not something that interested me.  Enjoying food beyond its necessity for survival is fairly recent development for me.  Ironically, I am fortunate enough to be able to eat, and eat, and eat without putting weight on. Yes- I am one of those people. 

A few things have opened my eyes to the joys of food, the most prominent being the growing curiosity and adventurousness that comes with the independence of growing up,  researching food and food culture, and my wife's enthusiasm for all things edible. In the early days of our relationship, she decided to introduce me to the wonder that is the American pancake. So what did she do? She made me a tall stack of dinner plate sized white chocolate and raspberry pancakes. I didn't eat for the rest of the day.

I've finally arrived at a point where I've been seduced enough by the creative potential of food that I'm starting to experiment in the kitchen. This brought me to my first big production meal. I decided to go for a healthy recipe that called for simple ingredients. The recipe was for soy-marinated chicken with orange slices and asparagus. Red on for the recipe!

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Ingredients:

4 skinless chicken breast fillets
1 large orange
2 tbsp dark soy sauce (preferably low sodium)
14oz medium asparagus spears

Method:

1. Slash each chicken breast diagonally. Place them in a single layer in a shallow oven-safe dish (I used a Pyrex one.)
2. Slice the orange in half, and squeeze the juice from one of the halves into a small bowl.
3. Add the soy sauce to the orange juice, and mix. Pour the mixture over the chicken.
4. Cut the remaining half of the orange into wedges. Place the wedges on top of the chicken slices.
5. Cover the dish with plastic wrap, and leave to marinate for ate least 2 hours.
6. Toward the end of marination, preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas mark 4.
7. When the chicken is finished marinating, turn the slices over. Put the orange slices back on top.   Bake for 20 minutes uncovered.
8. Turn the chicken over once more and bake for an additional 15 minutes, or until each slice is cooked to your liking.
9. While the chicken and orange slices are baking, prepare the asparagus by cutting off the tough ends.
10. Place the prepared asparagus spears in a heated frying pan. Pour just enough boiling water into the pan to cover the spears. Simmer gently until they are tender.
11. Drain the asparagus and arrange them on warm plates. Top with the chicken and orange wedges.
12. Spoon the remaining cooking juices over the dish, and serve right away.

13. Optional: Prepare brown rice or to accompany. I also decided to add a mixture of other steamed veggies, just for fun.



Apologies about the blurry photo! It gets dark so early here in Scotland, and my hands just weren't quite steady enough in the low lighting.

The meal was so tasty! The soy and orange combination was delightful, and worked perfectly with the white meat. The only little downer was the asparagus. They're not in season now, so they weren't the tenderest. All in all, I'm happy with how it turned out, considering it was my first real go at preparing a proper meal!

Toodle-oo and don't spoil your appetites,
Philip

The Southern Cross Cafe

Phil and I ate our first meal together at the Southern Cross during the summer of 2008. I was doing an internship with a theatre production company with my best friend at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, and he'd been gone on a family holiday to Australia for three weeks. Four days after he returned to the UK, barely recovered from the trans-hemispherical jet lag, he hopped on an overnight bus from London to Edinburgh. He arrived in Edinburgh at 7:00am, far more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than one would expect considering he'd been up all night on a crowded bus. A hearty meal was definitely in order.

After checking into the hostel suite, where he displayed his impressive gentlemanly ways by lugging both my and my best friend's giant suitcases up 6 flights of stairs (chivalry is not dead, folks), we headed to the Royal Mile to forage. There's a charming street that curves down off of the Royal Mile, called Cockburn Street.


The view down Cockburn Street from the Royal Mile.

The Southern Cross Cafe is snuggled right down the bend. It looked bright and inviting, so we decided to give it a go. The menu provided is simple and clear, and the waitresses are attentive, but not smothering. As the cafe is quite small, there usually aren't more than two servers.

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Phil and I moved to Edinburgh just this past September. Our most recent trip here before moving was in March, and of course we needed to make it to the Southern Cross for a meal. Being very early spring, the weather was still chilly. In fact, we arrived in a blizzard. We definitely wanted a warming lunch.


Phil ordered a hot whiskey toddy. For those of you who aren't familiar with this drink, it's a mixture of hot water, whiskey, and a generous amount of lemon juice. The concoction is often used as a bit of a cheeky cold remedy. Some people like to add a bit of sugar, hence the spoon. The toddy took the chill right out of Phil's bones. Success.


The British aren't exactly renowned for their coffee-making skills, so I like to order coffees in my quest to find places that make a decent cup of joe. I'm American. I do love my tea, but old habits die hard. The lovely staff of the Southern Cross Cafe can, indeed, make a good cappuccino! I was pleased. There was no trace of burnt beans, and it sat nicely in my tummy. The acidity was very well balanced.


With my cappuccino drained and Phil's hot whiskey toddy still half-full, our lunches arrived in a timely fashion. If I ate red meat, I might have been disappointed that Phil inhaled his burger before I had the chance to try a little. I'm guessing it was good! I ordered a butternut squash and feta panini, which arrived with a cute little pot of chips, and a wee salad garnish. I would have liked some more salad, but otherwise I was very pleased with presentation and portion size. The panini melted in my mouth. The crunch of the bread worked perfectly with the soft meld of butternut squash and feta cheese. I have a hard time not ordering this dish whenever we go to the Southern Cross.

Happily sated, Phil and I were even more pleased by the reasonable price of our meal. It had been about a year and a half since our first time at the Southern Cross, and we'd forgotten how decently priced the food is! It probably had something to do with us not being able to pay attention to anything due to being incapacitated by the throes of new love.


Good eats!