Monday, 25 February 2013

Recipe: Pears poached in saffron

I really hate pears. Which is a shame, as I have two pear trees in my garden, well, one either side, to be precise, belonging to my neighbours. These trees, one grandiose, the other spindly, provide a show all year round. White spring blossom, coquettishly adorning the dark branches, like a jazz singer on stage; all summer, the sluttish swaying in the heat and the rain; and autumn, ripe fruit drop onto my lawn to rot or be nibbled, by squirrels, foxes or slugs.
But I've found a solution: the granular texture, faintly unpleasant to my palate, simmered in leftover wine from guests, is an easy economical pud. I usually do it with red wine and mulling spices but this weekend, I had a bottle of white wine, probably too oxidised to drink, littering my work surface. A pinch of saffron, some sugar, a dollop of double cream and pistachios, forms a boozy amber dessert for a late winter weekend.

4 pears, not too ripe, peeled, leave stalk on
3/4 of a bottle of white wine
175g of sugar
Generous pinch of saffron
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
150ml of double cream
2 tablespoons of pistachios

Simmer the pears in the wine, sugar, saffron, cinnamon for 45 minutes or so.
Serve warm with a nub of double cream topped with pistachios.
Or preserve them with their syrup, in a jar, for an occasion when you have no dessert to offer guests. They will last at least a year.
Do you like pears? Do you wait around for that brief time frame when they ripen?

Canning workshop and dinner with Gloria Nicol at The Secret Garden Club, March 3rd. Book here:

Saturday, 23 February 2013

Proper couscous

On my Aga
This is a step by step guide of the best way to make couscous. It's a bit fiddly, and requires that you eschew such blasphemies as quick-cook couscous. But with this method each grain will lift and separate, just like a Playtex bra. No clumps, no sogginess.
So, this weekend, rather than the usual carbs, have a go at making couscous from Northern Africa. I've combined it here with spices, sweet and sour flavours and a blood orange salad. The idea is to reproduce that Middle Eastern vibe of fruity acidic tastes into a savoury dish. If you don't have dates, use apricots or sultanas. If you can't find shelled pistachios, use almonds. You can riff on my recipe.
Enjoy with a heavy Middle Eastern wine such as Sidi Brahim or something from the Lebanon

Serves 2 or 3

A cup of warm water with 1-2 tablespoons of sea salt
250g wholewheat couscous
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon whole coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
4/5 dates, torn into pieces or
4/5 dried apricots, torn into pieces
50g butter
20g shelled nibbed pistachios, a startling green
20g of barberries 
10g bitter orange peel (optional)
Pomegranate seeds (optional)

  • Spread the couscous onto a flat tray.
  • Add sea salt to a cup of warm water, let it melt. 
  • Then, using your fingers, sprinkle the couscous with the water. 
  • Rub it through your fingers, not letting it clump. 
  • Do this twice more, every 15 minutes. 
  • You will see that the grains have plumped up nicely without sticking together or getting water logged. 
You will need either a couscousière (which I don't have) or a fine mesh sieve/colander, plus a saucepan with a tight fitting lid and a clean tea towel. 
  • Put almost boiling water into a saucepan, high enough that it doesn't steam away, but not touching the bottom of the sieve/colander. 
  • Add the spices to this boiling water.
  • Put your plumped up couscous into the sieve/colander. 
  • Add the dates, if using. 
  • Wrap the lid in a clean tea towel and fit it onto the saucepan.
  • Put it on the stove top on a medium heat for 15-20 minutes to steam the couscous. 
  • Do check the water level so that it doesn't run dry. 
Gather together the rest of the ingredients and fry them lightly in the butter.
When the couscous is cooked, add the buttery fruit and nuts on top. 
Blood Orange salad
2 blood oranges, thinly sliced
Olive oil
Pepperoncino flakes or any dried chilli flakes

Wednesday, 20 February 2013

Pancake Day! Masala dosa and uthapam recipes

Classic Masala Dosa with coconut chutney and lentils

Pancake day was almost a week ago I know, but it's taken me almost a week to make these Indian pancakes. Most cultures have some kind of pancake dish, and the Indian take on it is worth trying.
In Southern India they eat the Masala dosa, those long crispy thin crepes containing potato curry, traditionally served with coconut chutney and a lentil sauce.
I was inspired by my visit to Prashad vegetarian restaurant near Leeds where I enjoyed their 'sour dough' Masala Dosa, one of the best I've ever eaten. So when I embarked upon this savoury pancake , I used their recipe from their excellent book 'Prashad'. Attempting this recipe is not for the faint-hearted: the components of the batter require soaking, grinding, frothing, fermenting and finally, cooking in a special pan. Unfortunately their recipe, which I followed to the letter, did not produce something as good as I ate in their restaurant.
The problem with cookbooks, especially those by restaurants and professional chefs, is that they are making all sorts of assumptions. Just because you can cook something superbly doesn't mean you can explain it, with no steps missing, to the home cook. Writing recipes is very hard, I've missed out steps myself and sometimes only realise later. But we have a responsibility to readers, who've spent their money on ingredients and taken the time to try the recipe, although publishers, pushed for money, rarely pay for recipe testers except for big-time telly cooks.
It is said that the average cookery book buyer will only cook 3 or 4 recipes from a cookbook. Further, I'm willing to bet that not many readers tackle the tough ones. In my book Supper Club, there are a couple of recipes that I warn the reader about, saying, set aside some time for this, such as the timpano (giant pasta drum). I wonder how many people have actually attempted to cook it?
After my first attempt at Masala Dosa went wrong, flavourless and with the wrong texture, culminating with me sobbing into my batter on Saturday night, I spent several days looking at other Dosa recipes and Dosa YouTube videos. The Prashad recipe wasn't bad but needed some tweaking and I hope I've put in some extra information that will help you succeed at home. It does take time to make, but the final results were well worth it.
There are different types of Dosa:
  • Masala which is the classic kind found in most Indian restaurants. The original came from Karnataka, north of Mangalore, in Southern India.
  • The Masala Dosa from Mysore, not very far away, is on the other hand, spongier and less cooked on the inside.
  • Rava Dosa: made from semolina, softer and less crispy, with holes in.
  • In Sri Lankan and Singapore it's called a 'thosai'. The Sri Lankan hopper has a similar basis.
  • It's also related to the Ethiopian injera bread which is fermented and bubbly, and like Dosa, a receptacle for curries. 
  • And with the same batter you can make Idli and Uthapam.
  • Dosa can also be made sweet, with jaggery.
Properly fermenting
You can't get it thin and light UNLESS it has fermented.
Traditionally you put a potato curry in it. Some places you spread a tomato chutney on first.
Ideally you possess a 'tava' or like me, you have a cast iron crepiere pan. (I bought this in France for half the price. I literally seem to mention this pan in every post.) But a flat frying pan, such as you use for pancakes, will suffice.

Batter for Dhosa:

275g broken rice or par-boiled rice (can be found in Indian shops under these names)
65g Urad Dhal (white lentils) Buy skinless, preferably whole. I used split which aren't as good but work.
1/2 teaspoon of fenugreek seeds
1 tablespoon of salt
1 teaspoon of sugar
When you come to grind it you will need 300ml of water.

Soak the rice and the fenugreek for 12 hours.
Soak the Urad Dhal for half an hour at the end of the rice soaking period.
Drain the rice and dhal.
Grind in a blender, or food processor with the water. Do it in two batches. I used the Vitamix which grinds very finely.
Blend it really well until frothy, smooth and chalky.
Then put the mixture into a bowl and cover with a tea towel. Do not put it in the fridge unless you live in a hot country like India. It took 3/4 days for the mixture to ferment and I have a warm kitchen. Check it every day. When it's bubbly and tastes a bit sour, it's fermented. 
You add the sugar and salt.
This is very important because if you cook the batter when it isn't sufficiently fermented, the Dosa will be heavy and tasteless. 
Then take your flat pancake pan and heat it up until hot. Cool it down with kitchen roll dipped in cold water. 
Add a little ghee or vegetable oil or coconut oil to the pan then put in a ladle of the batter. Work quickly with the ladle skimming the top of the batter, spreading the batter out into a large circle. The Dosa should be thin. 
Add more ghee to the Dosa, sprinkling it around the edges and centre.
The edges will curl up when it's almost cooked, then you must use a very thin flat fish slice to loosen the Dosa from the bottom of the pan.
Place your chutney or potato curry in the centre. I don't see why you can't add any curry you happen to be making to a Dosa, although traditionally it's a potato curry.
When the underside is golden, start to fold over one side of the Dosa, then the other side.
Serve also with fresh coconut chutney and a sambar lentil dish. For those recipes you must buy the Prashad cookery book. 

I once went out with a man who said that Uthapam and Janssen's Temptation were his favourite foods, neither of which I had tasted at that point. He was a complete wanker but he did have a great palate. Better than this date or this one. Yes I've got a whole collection of disastrous dinner dates.

Anyway, forget men, make an Uthapam, which is frequently referred to as a kind of Indian pizza, but having made it, it was more like large shallow subcontinental crumpet. It doesn't need to be spread out in the same way as the dosa. The dough on top doesn't need flipping over. It's one of the best things I have made in ages.
I made it with onions fried in ghee, with mustard seeds and curry leaves. You could try garlic, paneer and tomatoes for that pizza feel.

Ingredients for one Uthapam:

2 tablespoons of ghee
1 teaspoon of cumin seeds
1 teaspoon of mustard seeds
1 medium onion, red or brown, sliced finely into circles
1 thinly sliced green chilli
A large pinch of curry leaves, either fresh or dried 
Dosa dough, half a ladle
Pinch of salt

Heat the ghee in a small frying pan. Add the cumin seeds, then the mustard seeds. Let them pop.
Then add the onion, chilli and curry leaves until the edges of the onion are golden and the centres are soft.
In your tava or flat pancake pan, add a little ghee, then put in half a ladle of the Dosa dough. The circumference should be about 8-10 cm's (4/5 inches) and half a centimentre thick (1/4 inch). Let the bottom cook and add the onion on top.
You will see the dough bubble like a crumpet.
Add a pinch of salt and eat it all up. Then, probably, make another one and eat that all up too. Mmmm..

Uthapam with fried onions, curry leaves, coriander, and green chilli

Monday, 18 February 2013

#Meat-free every day

Processed meat sludge
"Why don't you eat meat?  Is it for ethical reasons? Do you like it? If you were dying of hunger would you eat meat? I love meat. Vegetarian food is awful. I've never met a healthy vegetarian." 
These are the kind of questions and statements I've had to put up with for years, so, intolerant of boring conversation and fatigued by fatuous argument, I avoid answering.
Today is hashtag meat-free Monday but it would be saner to make Monday, or another day, the only day in which we eat meat. I say 'we', but I haven't touched meat in 33 years nor would I.
The horse meat scandal induces a sensation of schadenfreude in me. Somewhat cruelly, I have chuckled at your discomfort. What the hell do you expect? You eat cheap unidentifiable pink sludge formed into patties or sausages or scooped into frozen TV dinners, and you think what? That this is food?
There are several lessons to be learnt from this scandal. Don't eat processed food. Don't eat cheap meat. Don't let multi-national supermarkets beat down suppliers. Shorten the food chain. Eat local! Eat more vegetables and fruit! Value cooking from scratch. Teach kids to cook.
In short, all the stuff that food activists, suppliers and writers have been banging on about for years. To the point that people have tuned them out. More guilt-tripping they think with a sigh. Just like all that eco-bollocks we are supposed to feel bad about. Life is hard enough.
Cheap food is also a feminist issue because it's us that cooks it. When you've got in from work, picked up the kids from the nursery, the school or the childminder and you have unpacked the shopping done en route or in your lunch hour and the kids are hungry and you are tired, what do you do? You reach into the freezer and pull out a pack of food that merely needs heating up.
Jamie can repeat ad nauseum that it's just as easy to cook something from scratch in the same amount of time but that still requires creativity and effort. The message isn't getting through. Cooking is only easy if you've done that dish a million times. I can cook a pasta with a tomato sauce (not from a bottle) in 15 minutes start to finish with my eyes closed.
But we are now several generations from the last generation (post-war?) that always cooked fresh food albeit badly. The habit has been lost.
Most of the foodie world, that is chefs, critics and bloggers, have had a downer on vegetarians: they don't get a good press. The food is brown, tasteless, not worth the money, even strips you of your manhood. (Food again is gender based just like everything else. Men eat meat, women eat cupcakes).
It doesn't help that there are few good vegetarian restaurants. For decent and cheap veggie food, you must eat Indian. In Brighton we have posh and expensive Terre à Terre, in London Vanilla Black, of which I have also heard good things. The vegan raw restaurant Saf, closed down in Shoreditch, unfortunately only the lunch place in Kensington remains. I've never been to any of these restaurants. As this blogpost says, if vegetarians don't support vegetarian restaurants, they can't stay in business.
Amongst supper clubs, there are some vegan and vegetarian options. I call The Underground Restaurant a 'pescetarian' restaurant, for while I never cook and serve meat, I do sometimes serve fish.  In fact I must admit I've kept the fact that I don't serve meat somewhat secret. I don't make a song and dance about it. I figured if I serve a delicious, umami-rich meal and simply don't mention that there is no meat, perhaps people won't notice. If I say I run a vegetarian supper club, am I chasing away potential customers?
I don't feel entirely comfortable about serving fish either, although I do occasionally eat fish. Sometimes when I've received a delivery of beautiful creatures from the sea, I feel sad. I look at their silvery muscular bodies with admiration, then I look at their dead eyes and feel guilt. But I like the taste of smoked salmon, taromasalata, caviar and pickled herring. So I'm a hypocrite.
And while I could easily give up all fish, I would find it tougher to give up dairy (butter! cheese!) which also has many issues: cruel factory farming, wrenching calves from their mothers, forcing cows to lactate, not even for their own children, their entire lives.
I haven't even gone into the environmental reasons of why meat eating is a bad idea. Those animals you are eating, use up an awful lot of land, for grain, for grazing, for water. This is an inefficient use of land of which, obviously, there is only a finite amount, which could be used for growing crops to feed the world, specifically the poorer majority of the planet. Less meat, more food for everyone.
So my answer to the first question, why don't you eat meat? is, I don't like the idea of eating animals. I've always been suspicious of minced meat and it's origins (since I was a child). I feel cleaner not eating meat. There is no cross-contamination in my kitchen and food hygiene is a doddle. I can't stand the idea of dripping blood from flesh, of eating body parts from dead animals. The bottom line is I think eating other animals is rather discourteous. This sounds kind of loopy but I also think we don't know enough about animals, they are probably more intelligent than we know, maybe they even talk to each other. It's rude to eat other species. If you start thinking about animals in this way, soon you will not like the taste and texture of them either.
We are not perfect. It's difficult to live a virtuous cruelty-free life. But if you are going to eat meat, eat the meat of properly cared for animals, rarely. 

Friday, 15 February 2013

Canning for beginners

Picture by Gloria Nicol

Gloria Nicol of The Laundry will, along with myself, teach a workshop on pressure canning and hot water bath canning at The Secret Garden Club on March 3rd. Afterwards we will have a 'jar' meal.
I've been trying to promote canning and the canvolution, as they call it in America, for a few years now. Aside from the difficulty of buying a pressure canner in this country, it's still not well known in the UK.
Here are a few words from Gloria:
Learning how to can or bottle produce has totally changed my approach to how I source ingredients, store food and cook it. Making use of mainly homegrown or locally grown produce means naturally following the seasons and going with the flow. I feel it allows me to appreciate more living in the moment. I just love that.  
Bottling fruit was once a common activity in the UK, especially during wartimes until freezing food became the easier option. Once every household had a freezer, bottling was seen as to much of a faff, all but one of the companies in the UK making the necessary equipment died a death and only a handful of diehard allotmenteers and make do and menders managed to keep the craft alive. 
I too own a freezer and it is filled to busting with stuff I generally forget about. I have realised that if I freeze some homegrown veg, all the while it languishes in the freezer it is clocking up additional cost. It is an expense most of us are quite prepared to accept, but with utility bills rapidly on the rise, these considerations become more relevant. Those bargain beans will have cost a fair bit more by the time I use them, that’s if I remember to use them at all of course. Alternatively, the joy of jars on shelves means once bottled the food doesn’t cost a penny more or require defrosting either. Pop open the jar and it’s ready to go. It is surely time to revive this culinary craft and give a big tick for sustainability.  
But apart from all the practical reasons to love canning, the flavours are the biggest plus. I was brought up to think that preserved foods were second rate and nowhere near as tasty as fresh. What I have experienced first hand confounds these ideas. By following correct practice and keeping cooking times safe but to a minimum, you can capture the most intense and delicious flavours in a jar, capture the absolute essence of those ingredients.
Read the rest of her blog post including recipes here. 

Canning is environmentally friendly and tasty. Plus you can start on putting together a beautiful larder full of beautifully diverse ingredients.
Price of the event is £60 per person which includes the lesson, the meal and a goodie bag with a jar from Le Parfait.
This is a one off event so don't miss this chance to see myself and Gloria at work. Book here: Places are limited. March 3rd 2pm.
Apple syrup pic: Gloria Nicol

Thursday, 14 February 2013

Cheesy Valentine's recipe

Soft, creamy and grassy Neufchatel cheese from Haute Normandie 
This is hardly a recipe, it's so simple. But it's a great starter for a romantic meal, something that even non-cooking men (or women) can do. Serve it with a green salad and it becomes a main dish.
Neufchatel* cheese in it's classic heart shape is one of France's oldest cheeses.  It's a Camembert-like soft cheese from Normandy designed to woo, legend has it, the British soldiers during the 100 year war.

Heart to heart recipe

1 Neufchatel cheese heart
1 jar of artichoke hearts in oil (artichokes are reputed to be an aphrodisiac)
1/2 clove of garlic
1/4 glass of white wine

For dipping:
Sour dough, cut into fingers
Pitta bread, cut into strips
or celery heart sticks....
Carrot batons
Red pepper strips

Slash an opening in the middle of the heart and stick a slither of garlic and the white wine in the cheese.
Place it in a baking dish and surround by the artichoke hearts.
Place it in a medium oven for 5 to 10 minutes or so.
Serve with the suggestions above for dipping into the creamy melted interior of the cheese. The artichoke hearts also contrast nicely with the cheese. Serve with a white wine such as a Riesling, perhaps a Gerwurtraminer.
For dessert why don't you make Coeur à la crème? Another easy recipe.

*(Waitrose stocks these I believe.)

Tuesday, 12 February 2013

Pot noodles, Shoryu and hot and sour soup recipe

A nod to Chinese New Year on Sunday, my hot and sour soup. Find the recipe here on the Secret Garden Club blog. 
This weekend, I also went to the super fashionable Shoryu, a ramen specialist owned by the same guy that runs The Japan Centre opposite, where I had the vegetarian 'Natural' ramen. It was ok, not thrilling. It also had a suspicious bit of meat scum in it. Bleurgh. Sorry but meat cooks can't cook vegetarian. Carnivore chefs cook blandly once you take the meat out. My companion Bellaphon however, who knows his stuff, was very impressed with the tonkotsu ramen made from pork stock.
Lets face it, ramen is pot noodles. I know Shoryu and Bone Daddies make the noodles fresh but it's strange that people have been sneering at pot noodles for ages (I believe Gwyneth Paltrow said she'd rather die than feed it to her kids) but now it's trendy. I've always liked a pot noodle on occasion. I add stuff to it though, like a squeeze of fresh lime, some soy, some tofu, some spring onions, whatever vaguely Asian thing I've got in my fridge.
Bellaphon says if you are going to buy dried ramen in packets, buy Korean. Unlike the rest of Asia, they always eat it dried and their dried noodle technology is the best, producing the 'bounciest' noodles. He also says the Japanese stole ramen from the Chinese, but then he says that about everything.
The best two things about Shoryu?
 The cabbage leaves dipped in fresh yuzu and soy sauce, which is basically ponzu but fresh so even better. Please Mr Owner, can I have some of your fresh yuzu? Please? You can't get it anywhere else and you are clearly importing it. 
And the lemon grass tea. Just shove a stock or two of lemon grass in a pot of hot water, add a tablespoon or so of sugar and you have the most refreshing, enlivening 'tisane' you can imagine. Try it. Probably dead good for you as well.
L to R clockwise: Big queues, busy restaurant, vile seaweed salad, tonkotsu, veggie ramen, menu, cabbage.

Friday, 8 February 2013

Video: Marmite on toast for beginners

I hope you enjoy this little film. Two points: a) I forgot to put mascara on. b) You get to see my sex face.

Thursday, 7 February 2013

On the road: Yorkshire food

The Hull Road
Hull docks in winter
Hull docks

I'm that rare thing: a Londoner from London, but I was bred here not born. Rather, I was born in Hull, when my father worked at the Hull Daily Mail for two years while training to be a journalist. He wrote the entire paper under various pseudonyms: the news, the features, the music column, the problem page, the obits and the births, the crimes. We lived above a haberdashery, a den of walls lined with dark wooden shelves, tight with coloured wool, and pegboards of appliqués, reels of ribbon. Bright sharp Northern women would visit and gossip, expertly appraising the goods. To this day I find haberdashery departments a source of comfort. 
At 15 years old I returned with my parents, to find I couldn't understand a word. We ate mushy peas, fish and chips. My parents friend had a wife with harshly dyed black back-combed hair. I looked on in fascination as she spent an hour teasing every strand into a bouffant; you could see her white skull underneath the inky dye. Her make-up further dated her; sixties black winged eyeliner ruthlessly applied on wrinkled eyelids. Hull seemed behind the times, a relic. 
My daughter is now at York university, shivering through a Game of Thrones winter, for temperatures are often well below zero. We stopped for lunch in Hull on the drive up. You CANNOT get good fish and chips in London, whatever people say, anything recommended is, by comparison, flat, soggy and unfresh. The Golden Fry in Hull, where I ordered battered plaice (covered in crisp billowing batter), chips and mushy peas, doused with malt vinegar and chip shop salt, was marvellous. I wandered about the docks, plunging my cold fingers into the wet warmth of my food. 

Rural Yorkshire is mostly about meat, sheep farming although they do have cheese such as Wensleydale and those made by Shepherds purse. There is also the rhubarb triangle in Wakefield, a trip I hope to make one day. York and Harrogate are famous for Betty's tea room, where waitresses in black and white uniform serve cakes and cheese on toast. I would also like to visit Pontefract where liquorice was first mixed with sugar and sold as confectionary. York is associated with chocolate from the Rowntree family: alongside quaint bars of 'motoring chocolate' you would also have 'York chocolate'. The Yorkie bar, marketed as chunky chocolate suitable for men, (their large paws could not cope with the dainty snapping of thinner bars) was no doubt part of the same tradition.
In York I stayed on campus at my daughter's university, a cheap option for the lone traveller at £53 a night with the most delicious creamy porridge for breakfast amongst other things. My only complaint was no marmite for my toast. The signature dish at The Courtyard, an on-campus pub, is 'cheesy chips'. Mostly I ate in my daughter's campus flat, and I had to do the cooking, even after a seven hour drive. I brought my organic vegetable box for her to eat. This led to an animated conversation "I'm not eating any of that!" She accepted the avocados and the lettuce and promptly froze them in the crowded fridge. 
York itself is pretty, timbered buildings and ghost walks. I visited the Jorvik viking museum (York derives from Jorvik) and York Minster. I've always been fascinated by Vikings, my surname Rodgers was originally Hrothgar meaning 'famous spear' where the expression 'to be given a good Rogering' comes from. (The Jolly Roger pirate flag is also related to my surname, seems appropriate considering the underground nature of what I do.)
York ghost tour
On this trip I again visited the Yorkshire dales, home of my friend Rachelle Blondel, a talented crafter and cook, co-author of Granny Chic. Her stylish house will soon be featured in Country Living. We went thrifting, or charity shop buying. Rachel has a vast knowledge and a superb eye for vintage kitchenware and runs an occasional secret tea room.
Rachelle Blondel, vintage wallpaper behind
Rachelle is doing sewing and craft workshops at her home. See details here. 
On the way to Clapham in the Yorkshire Dales, home of Alan Bennett
Rachelle collects so many interesting things: here Romanian flowery jugs.
Bark cloth

Thrifting with Rachelle. We visited charity shops in Morecombe, I found these things.
Rachelle's knitting cabinet. Her hands are never idle.
A view of the Yorkshire dales
The North is also the home of some of the best Indian restaurants in the UK. I drove to Bradford to visit Prashad, a Gujurati vegetarian restaurant, where Kaushy Patel and her son Bobbie wrote Prashad, one of my favourite cookbooks of last year. Prashad has recently moved from Bradford, I soon discovered, to a village, Drighlington, on the road to Leeds. 

My meal was incredible: vibrant chaat, an Indian street food salad; a truncheon of masala dosa (with an authentic fermented taste) with creamy fresh coconut sauce; an unusual colocasia leaf roll, silky rich thick shrikand (a strained yoghurt dessert) and sweet carrot halwa. All the recipes are in the book. If you do go North, don't miss this place.
Bobbie and his mum Kaushy signing my copy of their book.
The head chef is Bobbie's wife, Mina Patel.
Paneer fried balls with coriander dip

137 Whitehall Road

Drighlington, BD11 1AT 

(King St / Bradford Rd crossroads)

SatNav: Just type 'Drighlington'