The Empress of Sichuan, Chinatown

Boldly going where other reviewers have gone before, we followed the well-beaten trail to one of Chinatown’s more upmarket establishments, the Empress of Sichuan. The smart image of this Tardis-recessive-interior restaurant was somewhat dented on the evening we visited by a bucket collecting the constant leak from upstairs; a Chinese water torture-lite for the couple at the adjacent table - Chinese water irritation, perhaps. On the ground floor, the restaurant seemed busy, but diners were being strategically seated to plug gaps; downstairs, one empty room receded into another. But this was London’s bleak midwinter week, and the streets outside were unwontedly cold; Soho was not pullulating as it should do and, across the river, the Tate had been gratifyingly empty. A good half of the Empress’s diners were Chinese, though, auguring well.

We gluttoned out with three starters. Lamb skewers were spiced like Indian curry, a flavour that seemed entirely incongruous for a Chinese restaurant – it wouldn’t have mattered, but the meat was unfortunately chewy. Sliced pig’s ear was much better; salty, pliable crackling soaked in oil infused with chilli and lots of raw garlic. But what really made the meal for me was our third starter, Lantern Shadow Beef; thin slices of dark, hard crunchy beef like jerky, oiled with sesame and – unexpectedly – juniper. Lovely.

In terms of the mains, shredded pork with black fungus was poshed-up sweet-and-sour pork, but the slithery black fungus was a gratifying extra. Steamed beef with rice paste was more interesting on account of the spice mix; the rice paste had been ground up with coriander, ginger and cloves, flavours that sit unexpectedly and refreshingly beside the beef.

Perhaps not an unmissable restaurant, pricier than the average Chinese, spicy in line with what one expects from Szechuan cooking, and one probably needs to tread carefully when ordering; but there is a lot of scope for interest here, and the Lantern Shadow Beef alone would tempt me to return. For that visit also remain the Dong Po pig’s joint and (maybe) the very very spicy fish soup. 

6-7 Lisle St., Soho

Jashan, Wembley

I’ve had plenty of perfectly good Indian meals in Scotland, and I tend to think Edinburgh is quite well-served by Indian restaurants - it’s only when I come south to the great bastions of British India that I am reminded how westernised the cooking in Scottish Indian restaurants really is. But these bastions of BrIndia are not always easy to find, at least for the locally unlettered. In London, forget Brick Lane, discouragingly lined with waiters trying to inveigle the unwary into their establishment; real sub-continental dining has moved on from here, replaced by an ethnic hotch-potch of stalls and eateries serving marketgoers and oglers. Which isn’t to say there aren’t some tasty morsels to be had in the market, as well as a lot of feed-the-masses slurry; but when we are on Brick Lane, it’s almost always as a scenic prelude to a very British lunch at St. John Bread and Wine. Hold onto your wallet on Brick Lane; not everyone is in search of a culinary morsel and a market bargain. I have felt the fast fingers flutter against my mobile-phone pouch. 

Jashan, by contrast, a vegetarian Indian restaurant in Wembley, feels like the real Indian deal. Rather unprepossessing in appearance, it is gratifying to see it is packed with diners, almost all Indian – certainly a good sign, even if this is a very Indian area. An alternative establishment along the street, glass-fronted and upmarkety, was devoid of clientele; the waiters forlornly peeked out at passers-by, emphasizing their restaurant’s desolation and the fact that Jashan was a good choice. This is eating in the community. It isn’t quite as monocultural as we thought, though; there is an odd bit of Szechuan crossover on the menu, but we didn’t feel the need to go near that.

We had fun deconstructing the pickles. There was a mint dip with fenugreek and chilli, and a tomato dip with fennel seeds. Dal Bhajjia, deep-fried lentil pakoras, were not onion-based as I am used to. Then the really off-the-wall stuff came. Bel Puri is puffed rice with sev – my best guess is that sev is deep-fried gram flour, tiny, crunchy strands coming as a textural companion to the slightly softer, still crunchy rice and the even softer pieces of veg; it’s more like something I’d expect in a South American restaurant. I certainly wouldn’t expect find it in an Edinburgh Indian.

Chana Masala, spicy chickpeas, was actually the most conventional, least spicy thing we had; I could find them in Edinburgh. Dal Maharani, black lentils with a creamy sauce, also came with kidney beans and a stocky sauce that was more savoury than creamy. Bhindi Chatpati were deep-fried, shredded lady fingers that had been marinated in chilli, and were intensely spicy, while Aloo Bhindi was made up of lady fingers marinated in turmeric and tamarind.

There is only one thing you should drink at an Indian restaurant, a salted lassi. At Jashan, they come sprinkled with ground cumin, whereas I’ve had black pepper and even garam masala on them in other restaurants. The rice and breads are not simple; our Ajwaini Methi Paratha was a whole-wheat flatbread densely green with bishopweed and fenugreek seeds - very herby - while the two different pulao (I say pilau, you say pulao) rice sides were almost unrecognisable as rice; the Nilgiri Pulao was intensely green from the coriander and mint run through it, while the Methi Paneer Pulao was a dish in its own right with chunks of cottage cheese and shredded fenugreek. Normally, rice is a foil to spice, but we almost needed another side as a foil to the spicy Nilgiri.

Great stuff; this was real off-road Indian. One expects to eat very hot food at a place like Jashan, although I was never obliged to reach with indelicate haste for the lassi. (I did, however, steadily get through two or three.) The spicy taste that went home in my mouth was a powerful blend of turmeric, tamarind, mint and cumin, not chilli.

Jashan, 1-2 Ealing Road Coronet Parade

¡Más vinos de España!

Or, that’s a bit more like it…

These Spanish wines formed the weekly Friday evening drop-in tasting at the charming local wine merchant Peter Green in Marchmont, Edinburgh, about a fortnight ago. I can’t quite remember what I went into the shop in search of, but I came out with something quite different. As well as a clutch of truly world-class wines, Spain shines at producing the simple, pleasant, and rustic, and ought to be a reliable supplier of good, economically priced everyday drinkers. These wines were therefore a salutary and very welcome antidote to the alarmingly over-priced Spanish wines I reviewed in my post of 23.11.10.

WHITE

Campo Flores 2009 Vino de la Tierra de Castilla £5.75

Floral, dry, simple but crispy – quite attractive at the price. It is made from a blend of Sauvignon Blanc and Verdejo, an aromatic variety native to Spain that has recently been producing more prominent wines. Verdejo has a certain affinity to Sauvignon and it is not unusual to see them blended.     

Cautivo 2009 Rioja £6.75

This is an example of “new school” unoaked white Rioja. Although oak aging often deepens the colour of white wines, I was interested to note the colour of this wine is still quite golden; apparently, then, deep colour is an intrinsic quality of the Viura grape. It is rather elusive on the nose, with very little fruit quality at all, just a hint of green apples; the slightly more prominent note is of parmesan cheese. Crisp, but hollow; “the enigma of unoaked white Rioja”. Viura is a grape that seems tailor-made for oak aging; it creates acidic wines that have the potential to age well, but, with little fruit quality of their own, they really want a bit of oak to offer an alternative flavour profile. Oak aging has somewhat gone out of fashion, though, perhaps as a reaction against some of the flabby, over-oaked Australian Chardonnays of yesteryear, and the winemakers of La Rioja appear to be striking out in search of a new, fresher, more “modern” style. The absence of oak aging, however, tends to leave “new wave” white Rioja feeling rather under-realised.

Having said all that, this wine would be a crisp (if simple) accompaniment to a nice roast chicken.

RED

El Primero (vintage foolishly unrecorded, surely young) Vino de la Tierra Tres Riberas £5.95

Notes of blueberries and yoghurt on the nose, with soft fruit and low tannins. It is made from Garnacha (Grenache), but has none of the white pepper notes the variety can so often throw up. Again, a simple but attractive wine, for drinking now, quite pleasant at the price.

De Alto Amo 2009 Rioja £6.75

The soft, brambly fruit on the nose of this wine is fairly classic Rioja. There are also slight mineral notes, but no sign of the oak aging that makes the more mature Rioja crianzas, reservas and gran reservas taste of vanilla. Young, attractive, accessible.

Giné Giné 2007 Priorat £10.75

Priorat is an area of Spain becoming widely known for producing some remarkable new wines, often combining Spanish and international grape varieties. Rather more complex than the preceding wines, this wine has clearly undergone some oak aging, with smooth vanilla notes integrated into a predominantly black fruit nose that also harbours slightly floral, slightly mineral notes. Still a little tannic on the palate, this wine would benefit from a couple of years in the cellar.

http://www.petergreenwines.co.uk/

Santi Dimitri

Puglia is the heel on Italy’s boot, the part of the country driving its spike past the Adriatic down onto the wider Med. I went to this tasting of the wines of the Puglian producer Santi Dimitri (held at the Scottish Wine Society in Edinburgh on 9.11.10) more in search of an insight into the area’s prevailing wine trends than in expectation of outstanding wines, rather wary of the flabby and overcooked wines not uncommon in particularly hot regions; but I was happily proven wrong. The strength of Santi Dimitri is in their complex and delicious reds, which inspired copious notes on my part; these are wines I would happily take home to dinner and to cellar. The Aruca, Sharav and Margia are rich, layered reds all drinking well now, but all with years of aging potential ahead.

WHITE

Ruah Salento IGT 2009  

Golden, with a slightly toasty nose that also has melon notes, this initially feels like a fairly common-or-garden Chardonnay. The palate has notes of talcum powder, maybe herbs, maybe a touch of honey, with relatively low levels of acid. An entry level wine, it is at least unusual in having a more interesting palate than bouquet. It is made from an indigenous variety called Fiano. Unlike many white varieties, Fiano grows well in the local sandy soils, and unlike many South Italian white wines which can fade within the year, this should keep its freshness for up to 2 years.

ROSÉ

Aruca Salento IGT 2009

I tend to think that the most attractive thing about rosé wine is the colour, and this is a very attractive strawberry pink with lovely highlights. The bouquet has notes of bubble-gum and red fruit. Much rosé wine everywhere, and especially in areas with a booming tourist trade, is fairly insipid stuff designed only for freshness. While this Salento wine is as light as most rosé, I am surprised by how attractive I find the red fruit notes, which are followed by the gently tannic suggestion of black tea. This would be a good match for fish cooked with tomato.

RED

Aruca Salento IGT 2007

This dark but not opaque wine is made from the classically south Italian Negroamaro grape, a variety particularly associated with Salento, where it makes both rosés (such as the Aruca above) and age-worthy reds.

The Aruca red is an impressive mix of firm fruit, almonds and Rioja-style oak spicy oak. Liquorice notes emerge on the palate (a classic Negroamaro note) amid the ripe cherry fruit. Interestingly, it has been matured in Hungarian oak, which tends to impart spicy notes to wine, complementing in this case the naturally spicy notes of the Negroamaro. Hot and leathery, it is rather like a Shiraz meeting a Rioja. Over time, raisined notes emerge.

Sharav Salento IGT 2007

This very slightly darker wine has a dusty nose quite suggestive of oak aging, mixed with smooth red fruits that show the wine is maturing well. It is made from a local clone of Italy’s Primitivo (itself the same as California’s Zinfandel). Although Primitivo can age well, this – clearly a very high quality wine – is beautifully smooth at the moment, dominated at first by notes of blackcurrant jelly with pepper, which are superseded by the very leafy finish. Again, this has been aged in Hungarian oak barriques (36 months), which helps marry some Negroamaro-style spicy notes with Primitivo fruit.

Margia Salento IGT 2006

Once again, quite a dark wine, although it is showing hints of a little more maturity round the rim. The bouquet is a mix of eucalyptus, cassis and balsamic, with the first suggestions of the Worcester sauce that some reds mature towards beautifully. It is a blend of Negroamaro (60%), Cabernet Sauvignon (20%), and Merlot (20%), but the Cabernet clearly dominates. Nevertheless, it is quite complex with a lot of personality, perhaps reflecting the maturation using a mix of Hungarian and French barriques. Given time, the eucalyptus notes blend with orange and farmyardy notes. Extremely expressive, well-structured with good tannins, body and acid, this is a wine that will age very well.

DESSERT

Serra dei Santi Salento IGT (vintage unrecorded)

The bouquet on this wine is reminiscent of a perfumed variation of cough mixture, with herbal notes behind. Sugary and viscous on the palate, the quite sharp acid nevertheless brings forward notes of sherbet lemons along with the grapey, raisined sweetness. Attractive and fresh despite the sugar, this would be a natural match for bitter chocolate, venison pate or hard cheese.

It is made from the local Aleatico grape (which has made it into some parts of the world as Red Moscatel), a typically perfumed red variety well-suited to dessert wines.

http://www.santidimitri.it/

Lilbert-Fils Champagne

This was N1’s birthday champagne, which we drank at home with quails’ eggs before going off to the Kitchin for dinner. It opened my eyes to how good non-vintage champagne can be.

Lilbert-Fils Blanc de Blanc NV Grand Cru          

Very appley attack, followed by classic brioche notes. There are subtly spicy notes in a slightly creamy texture, while the finish is dominated by the mix of lemon and oak; the champagne is really showing off its classic blanc de blancs / Chardonnay-dominated character. Granny smiths on toast, or blanc de blancs as it was meant to be.

It is classified as Grand Cru on the grounds that the three villages from where this champagne draws all its grapes – Cramant, Chouilly, and Oiry - all have Grand Cru status, as under the champagne classification system, a whole village has a single classification, unlike in Burgundy, where vineyards are rated individually. This champagne rating system is controversial, with critics alleging that such a broad-brush approach ignores terroir differences within a single village.

Kitchin

“Forewarned is forearmed”, I’d planned to call this review of N1’s birthday dinner at the Kitchin restaurant in Leith, Edinburgh, on 23.11.10. But quite apart from the fact that calling a spade a spade and a Kitchin a Kitchin gets me more hits from the google machine, “forewarned” turned out to be a false alarm. We’d been warned that the Kitchin’s wine mark-up reached four times retail, and our memory of their wine list from our first visit there, not long after they got their Michelin star in 2007, was not particularly good. So we decided to drink champagne at home before going down to Leithshire for dinner, enabling me to smugly report how we had avoided an egregious mark-up. But that was not the way it turned out; a perusal of the Kitchin wine list soon shows it is in line with the standard Edinburgh three times retail mark-up (as opposed to the more competitive two-and-a-half normal in London). It might err towards three-point-two, there may be some outliers, and there are no obvious bargains, but essentially, Kitchin’s wine list is priced as you’d expect for a smarter Edinburgh restaurant.

Kitchin certainly ought to be good; it comes highly garlanded, having just been voted UK Restaurant of the Year 2010 in the Observer Food Monthly Awards. The dining room is smart, as you’d expect, the average diner very casual. It’s rather a dark room, cosy for a wintry dinner, dingy for a summertime lunch, with a grand window into Kitchin’s kitchen. (“They don’t look very happy in there,” N1 observed.) With various shapes of squash along the wall, Kitchin is letting you know seasonal awareness is the theme, and we sat down to a bowl of vegetable crisps, arguing about what each was. Beetroot was obvious by colour, parsnip and carrot were fairly clear, but we didn’t know if another was swede or turnip. The crisps came with a cheesey choux pastry bunlet, while the breads that followed were unremarkable save for a sun-dried tomato bun with curry powder – an ingenious match which seems natural once you’ve tasted it.

Our “land and sea surprise” tasting menu began with a game consommé, with chives, cabbage, and the unexpected sweetness of a slice of grape. A terrine of leek and mackerel with dollops of mackerel pate, horseradish and beetroot evokes Russia as much as Scotland. Our surprise menu was indeed a surprise, as we aren’t getting entirely the same dishes as the table next to us at this point; no doubt, this was deliberate.

Razor clam next; we had this the last time we were here, too, so I suspect it must be one of the Kitchin’s signature’s; local, and relatively underused elsewhere, ideal for Kitchin to make a mark with. It was mixed with other seafood last time, and very salty; this time, it comes held in place on a celeriac purée and mixed with  pieces of chorizo, which are tiny, but have a large impact on the overall flavour of the dish.

The next dish is the Kitchin’s real signature dish; rolled pig’s head with seared scallop and a salad of pig’s ear. The pig’s head is a roundel of meat with a mixed texture, some gelatinous lumps, and cumin – my favourite taste memory of our previous visit here is of pork belly impregnated with cumin, a glorious match – while the pig’s ear is essentially pork crackling. The scallop was the softest I’d ever had; the texture more of cooked potato than scallop.

Halibut comes with beans, shellfish, fennel, and a very unseasonal basil pesto. Saddle of venison follows, perched on a pumpkin purée, a quince sauce making a delicious dark gravy for the venison, which is red and soft and not remotely liverish.

And so to dessert. What we got was no surprise at all, since we had made a point of asking if we could have what sounded like the most interesting of all the desserts from the main menu, millefeuille; Kitchin graciously complied. While the layered sheets of millefeuille were as good as one would expect (with another crisp making an appearance, an oven-dried slice of apple; is the crisp Kitchin’s concept of the essence of autumn, an attempt to symbolise dried leaves on city pavements?) the star of the dish was not Chantilly cream or chestnut parfait or syrupy apple but the darker-than-beetroot elderberry sorbet, fresh, refreshing, intense.

Coffee is, as ever in restaurants of this class, an excuse for petit fours, the last chance for the restaurant to show a flash of virtuosity before unveiling the bill and abandoning her diners to the streets. These comprised a chewy little pistachio macaroon that hinted at coconut, an almond financier looking for all the world like a scallop with its coral, and a powdery chocolate truffle; what I mistook for orange notes turned out to be discreet, embedded pieces of ginger.

Kitchin has spent the past few years competing with Martin Wishart’s for de facto recognition as Edinburgh’s most highly regarded dining spot. It looks like Kitchin has won, at least for the time being. While Wishart’s is fussier, more French, and more clearly aiming for that second Michelin star, Kitchin unobtrusively maintains a slightly heartier, more Scottish identity. If Kitchin were to aim more clearly down the second star route, they might to choose to offer a palate cleanser to start the meal; but perhaps focusing on seasonal appeal, as Kitchin does, is the most attractive way to maintain a high profile and a distinct identity.