We started the meal with a mutton roll, a delicately spicy croquette filled with mutton meat, its pancake coating bright and crispy. Then an almost lacy dosa, a kaleidoscope of texture, soft and chewy and crispy, the batter a little tangy and nutty, to be dipped into sambar.
The menu is utterly confident in its use of offal and traditional Chinese ingredients in the most innocent looking parcel: a steamed bun.
In the case of Chinese laundry, pictures of geometrical dumpling omelettes, and sides of pale milky buns, trickling onto my Instagram feed, looked spanking fresh, and astonishingly not swimming in oil.
I’m perched on the sofa and Alex is cooking. He’s an ambitious cook, Alex; he will never whip up something quick and easy – if he wants to cook, then…
As I write this, it’s an impossibly beautiful, crisp, bone-cold winter day outside. The sun, low on the horizon, fills the quiet suburban street with deceivingly golden light which masks the…
We fell in love when I was sixteen. I say we because, although many people would argue that sushi doesn’t really have feelings -it being food and all that- I…
