1 year celebration

On Nov 5th, I pumped my fists in the air like a manly man on Wallstreet who just made a million bucks on a deal resulting in a bonus that would make politicians blush. I celebrated my first year of recovery from my eating disorder. And what did I do? I went out to eat. Hahaha. I know it could seem like an alcoholic celebrating 1 year abstinence with a bottle of beer. It's not. Because alcoholics can stop drinking booze, I still have to eat.

So, I ate. With my British Boy. My 1 year anniversary coincides with Guy Fawkes Night in the UK, so I went to Max' work near Liverpool Street Station, rode up the elevator to the 23rd floor and enjoyed the most spectacular view of London punctuated by fireworks in honour of the day. We then wandered around for a bit before settling on having dinner at the Market Coffee House aka The English Restaurant near Spitalfields.

We got a celebratory half bottle of champagne and received a lovely amuse bouche:

 

Omelette amuse bouche

 My starter was my go-to in any restaurant - seriously, I cannot resist - scallops. This time, they were a bit overdone, which took away some of their sweetness and I am not 100% convinced the pairing with the interesting sounding cauliflower couscous was the most successful one. The bacon was divine and the tomato pieces gave it all a much needed lift.



Scallops with cauliflower couscous, bacon and tomato salsa

The British Boy had ham hock terrine. I tried only a small piece and whilst it tasted ham-hock-y, I simply was not blown away by it.


Ham Hock terrine

Max had venison wrapped in bacon with a fig tartlet as a main. I had some of his venison, it tasted gamy and most importantly, he loved it. 


Venison and fig tartlet

 My main was a duo of red mullet and salmon, served with potatoes and artichokes.

Salmon, Red Mullet with potatoes and artichokes

 I was actually quite full after my dinner and yet, the cheese board called to me and luckily I could count on my trusty husband to help me eat it. :)

Cheese and chutney with home made biscuits

A visit to ze Fatherland...

 

In my description of my blog, the part where I explain who I am, I state that my ultimate goal is to move back to Germany with the British Boy and hopefully some little 'Anglo-Germanic-Saxons'. We would like to own a farm and had a chance to see how beautiful it could be.

To move the dream forward, especially when feeling really low and down with our current lives, we plan annual trips to various areas in Germany who meet the following criteria:

• Within 2-3 hours of driving distance to my parents
• In an area that has some tourism to potentially rent out holiday homes
• Within 2 hours of an airport to provide easy access to British visitors (hi parents in law)
• An area that has places we could actually really afford
• An area we could see ourselves living in, i.e. even on a dreary rainy grey day and long winters and sick children, with a flu and feeling utterly down, would I still want to live here?

That's not an easy feat. So we book some off, start searching for affordable farms, contact the realtors and set up viewings. And whilst it only took me 30 seconds to write that, the actual process is fucking annoying, pain-stakingly slow and absofuckinglutely anger inducing for me, cuz I have to talk to them all, cuz the British Boy doesn't speak German.

 

Ok, I am being unfair. He does constant scouring of the websites, did a fantastic excel to consolidate the information and make it a whole lot easier for me.

 

Back to what happened:

We went to Germany to look at farms. There were some we liked more than others, one I loved and he didn't, one he liked and I didn't and then we ended up telling each other that we had plenty of time and didn't need to force ourselves to buy anything right now.

 

Staying at my parents, I had a chance to pick the last plums of the season and bake this beauty: 

 

 

Great-grandma Emmi's Plum Cake

Prior to the last day of viewings, we decided to stay in a hotel closer to the farms so that we could get a feel for the area the farms were in. It was the Castle in Wurzen, which reminded me of the castle Max and I got married in. We got there fairly late and decided to have dinner in the castle restaurant, which looked fantastically medieval.

Castle Wurzen Restaurant

We spoiled ourselves with not just one, but TWO bottles of this amazing beauty. I want to find this wine in the UK and bathe in it. Seriously, it is worth trying to track this down.

Tasted divine

Due to the wine and the general holiday feel of the trip, I went for the whole hog, Starter, main, dessert. My starter of smoked salmon tartare was sadly too salty and the mango lacked sweetness to bring it back round. Presentation was great, but let down by the overpowering saltiness.

Smoked salmon tartar with mango and a tzatziki cream

My main was great. I am a huge fan of liver and pretty much any offal. This was done beautifully. The sweet red onions worked so incredibly well with the liver and the celery in the mash was a nice lift on an otherwise quite hefty dish. It was the perfect autumn plate of 'stick to your ribs' food.

Veal liver, caramelized onions and celery mashed potato

Come dessert, despite feeling rather full, I could not resist the sound of an ice cream sundae.


Ice cream sundae for me

I have not had an ice cream sundae in a looong time. I mean, the whole hog with cream and sauce and nuts. It was tasty and I didn't wake up looking like the Ghostbuster Marshmallow Boy (which is one of my fears). The British Boy's dessert was a crème brulee that was also superb and overall the evening and food was a success.

Crème brulee for Max

If you're in the area, I can fully recommend eating at Schloss Wurzen.

Dirty food at Bodeans

Bodeans rocks...

 

How did I end up at a BBQ joint in Soho last weekend and tried to delicately eat dirty food to keep my face clean (which by the way I totally failed at)?

My burnt ends plate

 

Main reason: I am a porn addict. A food porn addict. I LOVE cooking shows and anything that describes and shows delicious looking food, where lots of people go 'mmh' and 'aah' when they eat it. We have Saturday Kitchen set up to record each weekend, in case I am out and miss it. I also love trashy Come Dine with Me. The British Boy is appalled and threatens divorce if I watch it whilst he's at home, so I indulge when he's out. Also, I am a huge fan of Triple D, aka Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives, which basically showcases small food joints across the US with mouth-wateringly sounding foods.

 

After watching a DDD episode that talked about BBQ joints (although to be honest, which episode doesn't?!), I really wanted to have something smoky and meaty. Luckily, my friend and co-worker Tiffany, who handily is an American and was craving some dirty food, was easily persuaded to join me.

 

Now, going to Bodean's on a Friday night in the middle of bustling Soho pretty much guarantees a wait. We were soo lucky! We walked downstairs to have our number taken and were prepared to wait for 1-2 hours (yes, we were that set on having BBQ) and were IMMEDIATELY slotted into a just cancelled spot.

 

Burnt Ends and sweet potato fries, here we come! I really loved the meat - it was rich and deeply flavoured and a bit chewy and sticky and crispy in the right places and not too fatty. Being able to add on various BBQ sauces was an added bonus.

Burnt Ends and sweet potato fries



 

 

The sweet potato fries were moreish and I am glad Tiff was able to help me with them. We were also happy that, despite the authentic taste, the portion size was not as huge as I was used to from the US. This was a spot on meal that satisfied my craving, and, more importantly a nice night out with a friend.

Sunday Roast at The Alma

Another Sunday roast and surprise surprise, it's chicken for me. The British Boy and I spent a lot of our weekends fairly separately and there comes a point, where I would quite like to see my husband for a bit.

It generally does not require lots of arm twisting, especially when the pub in question is only a 5 minute walk from our house.

The Alma is a not only a dependable choice, but also a good one. There is interesting decor, there is a good atmosphere and there is yummy food and beer and cider.

 

Behold the stag!

What I also love about the Alma is that they oftentimes put on cider or ale festivals.



The Alma - note my obsession with mustard.

My chicken: The chicken tasted exactly like I want chicken to taste like. Chicken-y. Not too dry and like a bird who spent a happy life running around a barn or yard somewhere. The yorkie was not too greasy (I don't like greasy Yorkshire puddings) and the jus was delicious. There was an ample amount of veggies, and thankfully the veg were not cooked to a mush. I declared it a success and finished my plate. We'll be back.

Chicken Roast at the Alma

The Cornwall Project at the Dissenting Academy

Last week, we were looking for a place to have a bite to eat in the neighbourhood. There is a pub close by called  the Dissenting Academy. They have recently started inviting pop ups into their kitchen. Currently, the most excellent Cornwall Project is in residence and boy, they rock.


Dissenting Academy

The British Boy and I rocked up and poured over the frequently changing menu, not sure what to have. You see, I might have mentioned this before, Max is not a big fan of sharing plates. At a push, he will share an appetizer, but he does not like the idea of having a plethora of plates and trying various things. Spoil sport.

We settled on sharing the scallops, which I am always drawn to on a menu. I love scallops! These were sweet and had some nice crust with the coral intact, and the sauce poured over - some creamy heart attack waiting to happen - was delicate and went very well with the leeks and potatoes. There was almost too much sauce.

Scallops, leek and potatoe

Luckily we had each ordered a flank steak with radish, cherries and kale. The steak was chewy in the right places, nicely charred, juicy and the cherries and radishes provided a lovely sour and fresh contrast. We moped up the leftover scallop sauce with the steak. Delish.

Flank steak, cherries, kale and cherries.



Yum.

I am definitely up for coming back and hope the Cornwall Project are staying in residence for a while.

 

 

Dissenting Academy

Sunday roast at The Crown

Sometimes, only a proper roast will do. Especially on a Sunday, on a late summer afternoon, when it is getting colder, autumn is unmistakably in the air and the first conkers are falling to the ground. Walking around in Angel, strolling over the Farmers Market on Chapel Market and feeling rather lazy last weekend, that was exactly what happened.

On top of that, we were caught by a torrential downpour whilst looking for inspiration for what to cook that night. Rather than forcing ourselves to decide on something, I remembered that The Crown is only 5 minutes away from and it used to be one of my most favourite pubs to have a roast in when were living in that neighbourhood. Not only is the food really delicious, the pub itself is beautiful. The wood and glass interior retained a lot of the original charm and come rain or shine, it's a light filled place. It's one of those places where I can't imagine being grumpy in.

I had opted for the chicken, whilst the British Boy went for the lamb. My chicken was juicy, with more-ish crispy skin and the cabbage was doused in buttery goodness. Max' roast looked fantastic and the piece of lamb I blackmailed him into sharing was yummy.



t

Roast chicken with cabbages and roasted vegetables.



Lamb roast with potatoes, veg and cabbage

I failed to see the daily specials board until after I had ordered, which was frustrating, as they had what sounded like an amazing scallop dish. I definitely want to come back and try more of a variety of foods. All I can leave with is that they know how to make a damn good roast for sure.

Date night

The British Boy will cringe when he reads this. Something as planned and contrived as a date will surely rouse his distaste. Whatever I want to call this, quality time (bleurgh), a movie and dinner, time spent with ones love, it happened and it was nice. I like dates, both the dried fruit variety and the going out, kissing and staring at each other adoringly.

This was one of the latter and it ended up with a meal at the Jugged Hare. It started with meeting my man for a movie at the Barbican. Going to the movies is scandalously expensive and with Max being a member there, he got a discount. I love a discount and I love the Barbican. Win win situation. The architecture is fascinating and it so reminds me of what people in the 70s must have thought the future to look like.



View into the Barbican comples

After the movie, we went for dinner at the Jugged Hare. We've been to this place before to enjoy an asparagus themed night and I really liked it. Because I had only had brunch, though it was a big brunch, I opted to have a starter and a main - and, gasp, dessert.

We began the meal by ordering a bottle of sparkly stuff and then dug into some warm, just out of the oven bread with butter. Yum, I had to stop myself from overdoing it. My starter was ox tongue with beetroot slaw and gherkin. I thought it was safe from Max, since he hates both beetroot and gherkins, but I was nice to exchange a bit of my tongue for his terrine. I won that one hands down.

 



Ox tongue, beetroot slaw and gherkin

My main was a honey roast salmon nicoise salad with the dressing on the side. Because I lived in the US for six years, I have no qualms stating my preferences when it comes to 'customizing' my order. Max has gotten used to it, but I think it's fair to say that he is still very much embarrassed by my special requests and oftentimes tells me that I need to order my own food if I am so picky. I happily oblige if it means I can enjoy my food more. Anyway, I am aware it is an utter pain for the chefs and I suspect or imagine that either my food has been the recipient of someone's angry spit or I have been cursed at. Haha. I don't care.

Salmon Nicoise

Max had the just in season roasted grouse. It tastes gloriously gamey and this round went to him.

Roast Grouse

I felt very reckless and carefree (likely the booze at that point) and ordered dessert. When I chose the chocolate and salted caramel pot with brittle, I thought of a chocolate fondant-esque concoction. It wasn't. It was the below. It was chocolaty and rich and dark and sadly not quite what I wanted. That's the problem with making assumptions. I get disappointed if it's not living up to my imaginary standards. I live and learn. It was a nice dessert, don't get me wrong. Just not what I thought it would be. Luckily the British Boy volunteered to help me finish it.

Chocolate and salted caramel pot

It's not the cheapest place. We ended up spending just over £100 for two starters, two mains, one dessert and a bottle of sparkling wine. I would come back for their themed nights, which are £65 per head for 5 courses inspired by seasonal food, paired with wine. That's more after my taste and more in line with my wallet.

British Boy's Birthday at the Smokehouse

A few weeks back, my beloved, caring, supportive and at times annoying and infuriating man turned 33. As has now become the norm, we take each other out to a nice restaurant to celebrate, just the two of us. Generally, there will still be a party or night at the pub with our friends at a later point, which I also love, yet the actual birthday dinner is special.

To make it that bit special, we choose restaurants the other person would like but not normally go to. In the past, I have taken him to The Ledbury, Galvin at La Chapelle, a dodgy Greek restaurant in the deepest darkest East German borderland to the Czech republic. Yeah, that one was a highlight... Well, this year, I was selfish and booked us into a much hyped and highly anticipated newly launched place called Smokehouse.

The restaurant received rave reviews in the press and the menu reads like a dream. I was really looking forward to the evening, also because I like supporting places that take the sourcing of their ingredients seriously and cook with the seasons. The Smokehouse definitely ticks all of these boxes.

The atmosphere on the evening was vibrant, hip and welcoming. Almost all tables were filled with a happy and relaxed crowd, the last few remnants of summer in the air. Upon sitting, I looked around, taking in the 'oh so right now' décor and huge beer selection. The craft beers on tap and in bottles were impressive and I want to come back purely to try some of them. Luckily, the Smokehouse is in our neighbourhood.

Anyway, I ordered a negroni and started the torturous back and forth dance of what to order. Because we were seated close to the open kitchen pass, I was able to drool over all the dishes coming out, which makes choosing something even harder.

Having chosen and settled in with our drinks, we soaked up the vibe until our food arrived. My starter of smoked mullet and pickled clams sounded inventive and looked so very pretty. Sadly, I felt disappointed with how bland it was and Max agreed with me. The smokiness of the mullet was barely detectable and the pickled clams lacked a vinegary kick to liven up the dish.


Smoked mullet, sea purslane & pickled clams

For main, I had chosen the flank steak with roasted vegetables and roast potatoes. By then, we had moved on to a punchy red wine, which name I forgot to write down. Since Max had ordered the braised ox cheeks with cauliflower cheese, a red was certainly called for. My steak was juicy, charred and exactly what I wanted. That was, until I tried Max' food. Having bribed the British Boy with promises of sexual favours to allow me to try his dish, I had to concede that he was the clear winner. The ox cheeks were meltingly tender, rich and just so moorish. I hate it when that happens. A) I am notoriously competitive and dislike not coming out on top and B) I ended up with food envy. Well, it was his birthday, so I snapped out of it. 

Steak at the Smokehouse

Coincidentally, a couple of our friends had also made reservations on the same night. They sat right behind us and because they are generous, or on second thought, quite vindictive and mean, they let me try the short rib bourguignon they had ordered and that I had initially put on my shortlist.

Fucking hell, that was amazing.

Really amazing.

Like, so good I know I'll have to come back just for that.

And the beer.

And the atmosphere.

Bitten by the bug

I think I've been bitten by the tennis bug. So what if I went to the charity shop on Saturday to buy a racket and ended up accidentally getting a squash one because I don't know the difference?

I had a fantastic Saturday, woke up and had a breakfast that filled me up until the afternoon. I had toast with peanut butter, sea-hawthorn jelly thickened with agave syrup and a second toast with marmite and the last of the homemade hummus.

Fuel

I went to group and then to Pilates, after which I bought the racket in anticipation of an invite to play tennis with our friends Dan and Lisa on Sunday. Erm, slight fail.

On Sunday, we decided to try and find another racket. I'm not sure what to make of the one I bought. I might just donate it back to charity.

After a late breakfast of omelette, we cycled to Brick Lane, where aside from super hyper ueber hip fashion trendsters and achingly cool vintage stores there also is a huge open square that sells all kinds of stolen goods and flea market stuff. We found a wooden racket and set off again.

We stopped at Redemption for a drink. On the web, this looked so inviting.  really wanted to check out the location and it is lovely. When we got there, around 2 pm on a Sunday, it was fairly quiet and to pay £4 for a small jug of juice was steep. The price of the salads - £12 for one - was too much for me, despite sounding amazing and the pictures of the website really getting me to salivate. Maybe when I get a pay rise... well, actually, I am a cheap skate. 12 quid is a lot of money for a salad. Even organic, good for you, your body is a temple, hand-picked by virgins and prepared lovingly, this is more than I am willing to pay. Sorry Redemption.  

Redemption Rooftop - great location, a bit too pricy for me.

We cycled on around the corner to eat from the brilliant guys at Licky Chops, who have taken up residence at Climpson's Arch. I am glad we went. Although also on the pricier side, the atmosphere was livelier and was just right for me that day.

I got two smaller portions, because I am greedy and I couldn't decide. I forgot to take a picture of the grilled courgettes with stracciatella and pumpkin seeds. The smokiness of the zucchini was glorious and the creaminess of the cheese was a perfect foil for the crunchy, salty pumpkin seeds.

This beauty was not to be sniffed at either, I snaffled it up in no time:


Grey mullet ceviche with cucumber, gooseberries and dill.

When we took to the court at 5, I was slightly apprehensive. I hadn't ever played tennis properly. It was lovely and one hour flew by. Who would have guessed, I am super competitive, I cannot direct the trajectory of my tennis ball and overall I missed more balls than I hit them. Suffice to say, I want to go back and do it more often.

Lazy bones and the meaning of life

Arrgh, shit, I had written a lot on this post on Friday and now it's nowhere to be seen. Darnit. It would also appear that I had gotten the meaning of life (see title), which I have - obviously - forgotten again and I am just pissed off.

I'm gonna keep this short. Thursday and Friday were lazy days, that was the essence of the post. It felt relaxing to do nothing. I worked, went to pilates, worked some more, and in between, I would sneak off to indulge - sometimes even at lunch time - GASP. By indulge, I mean lazing on the sofa, letting my butt imprint on the couch, totally hooked on 'Girls'. I am such a fan of this show, it's tender and raw and weird - I like it.

Anyway, I was working from home both these days and I like being able to do something more exciting than just having overnight oats, which are my staple for when I go to the office.

Porridge with nectarine, coconut, mint and yoghurt. Yum.

 Lunch on Thursday:

Salmon with sautéed mushrooms, onions and asparagus.

Side salad from the garden - Arugula & spinach drizzled with maple syrup, lemon juice & poppy seeds

 Afternoon snack:

Hummus and vegetables

For dinner, on Thursday, we treated ourselves to a night out. There is a pub not far from us, the Marquess Tavern. For ages, it only served drinks, but recently it's been done up and now serves food too.

Lovely interior, very attentive bar staff

I went for the burger, with vegetables on the side instead of fries. It was not the most amazing burger I had ever tried, it was a bit too dry for that. The menu had a lot to offer and next time I will definitely try the scallops or the fish.


Burger at the Marquess Tavern

..and thanks for all the fish...

I owe my recovery to an intensive program I did at 'Charter Harley Street'. They are fantastic and I directly attribute me getting better to the work I did with them. It was fucking hard, intense, painful and challenging. It was the best decision I have ever made in my life and the best investment (they ain't free).

The beauty of the team is that they also don't leave you hanging, there is a thriving after care community held each Wednesday and whenever I can, I go. Timing is a bit iffy regarding food. Group runs from 7 to 8:30 pm and that's exactly the time I would normally eat.

In the winter, I have brought some food and eaten in the Charter kitchen prior to the start of the meeting. Now that it's light and lovely outside, I would rather eat afterwards. The only problem is where to eat - grabbing something on the go for the bus home feels a bit 'meh'. Waiting until I get home and then cooking something is ok, as long as it's a quick 'throw it all together' meal.

I thought meeting the British Boy for dinner at Bonnie Gull would be a good alternative, especially as he was out for drinks with work in the centre. In theory, we were to meet close to Charter, order and get fed quickly. It turned out to be a longer than anticipated 'no food' period. We talked, we observed, we anticipated our meal - it was enjoyable.

The restaurant is intimate with a few tables outside, a few inside and a bar to sit at. The overall feel is light and summary and the waiters were friendly. The drinks sounded fantastic (Gin with thyme anyone?) and the wine list looked great too.

Bonnie Gull

 Because it was so late in the evening when we sat down, we opted for mains only. I had the crab with shack mayonnaise and toasted sourdough and the British Boy ordered the hake.

1kg crab with shack mayonnaise

Hake with burnt butter, elderflower and asparagus. Summer on a plate.

The dishes looked amazing and the whilst Max' delivered on presentation and taste, my crab was sadly raw in some places. As the cook was unable to recover it, the team kindly took Max' wine off the bill. The crab I was able to eat was lovely and the mayonnaise gave it that added dimension - I ate it all and enjoyed it, crabby fingernails and all (mmh, on that thought, I would have totally appreciated one of those lemony water bowls that make you look totally naff when flopping the fingers in to try and wash off the fishiness). Overall, this is not the cheapest place (£19 for the Hake, £20 for the crab) and I was disappointed by the raw shellfish. Nonetheless, I would give it a second chance once it's scallops season because I liked the atmosphere and that they offered compensation for the hiccup.

Lisbon and a rough patch

It's been a while, that's because I hit a rough patch. 'Curling up on a bed in a hotel room and crying so hard snot came out of my nose' rough patch. It was definitely not pretty and I felt properly shitty.

What had happened? I went to Lisbon:

Lisbon Train Station by night

Ate lots of food:

Ham starter

Stepped on a scale at the gym in the hotel and had a smack in the face that actually, overeating on a regular basis will have effects on the waistline. That was a rude awakening and my little brain went into overdrive and I just fell into this hole of 'Oh fuck, I'm fat, I'm a loser at this recovery malarkey, I need to lose weight otherwise I'm worthless...'

My check in after the 'Scale-gate':

I ate way more than I needed, I used circumstances as an excuse and ended up back at the hotel room, actually full and sated with fatty and fried foods and then opened a bag of nuts to snack on. I made the mistake of stepping on scales here at the hotel this morning and appeared to have gained 4kilos since my last scale incident a few months ago. I am really upset about it as I previously kinda kidded myself that the weight gain might only be in my head. Seeing it in numbers means I cannot hide from the truth.

Max just called and he said, do you remember when you told me last week that you looked at yourself and you found it looked good? And I do remember it and it feels a lifetime away and like at the moment, I am drowning in a deep feeling of failure.

I know this is an overreaction fuelled by my guilt for last night, my underlying fear of not being loveable if I fail and this thinking of unrealistic perfection. It hurts and it's ok to feel uncomfortable when faced with truths I would rather ignore. It's vital that I focus on the solution, am kind to myself and compassionate and that my friends and family are singing my song. And damn, it's hard right now not to panic and make stupid decisions.

I am a commitment to balance and acceptance.

Several cries, call with my sponsor, loving meditation and not puking (yay), I found myself and found a renewed sense of not going overboard.

Then I kinda tried finding the balance of still enjoying a good meal whilst also being honest about what my body actually needs as fuel. That's the tough bit to find. My last meal in Lisbon ended with this very yummy dish:

Goats cheese flan with coconut sabayon @ Darwin's Café in Lisbon

This was more of an indulgence than a need. So after I got back from my trip, went to a couple of meetings and feel more settled in my recovery, I am back at eating more in sync with my needs. I am not overindulging, not restricting and my body will end up where it's meant to end up.

Check in on Sunday:

Yesterday was a day of rest, and I liked and needed it. I am thankful for having found my footing, my connection again and had an abstinent day. I am thankful for the smell of elderflowers, the taste of home grown kale and spinach and rocket. I am thankful for a job I like and for everything.

Today, I ran to a meeting, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I spoke to a fellow, ran into a friend and am now on my way to eat Sunday roast at friends'. I will stick to whatever is being put in front of me and hope to be able to continue working on step four. I'm working on my fears and the last week in Portugal definitely showed me the power these fears have over my mental and spiritual well-being. Lots to write about. At the moment, I'm really hungry and have committed my food plan to Max, which is not to have seconds. I won't miss out and I am a commitment to balance.

I also bought bigger jeans to stop myself from constantly obsessing about how tight my jeans feel. :)

Breakfast out of a peanut butter container

Dinner in a Victorian garden

After our amazing smallholder course, I wanted us to treat ourselves to a yummy meal and went about to research what Bristol and surroundings have to offer. Initially, I had booked a table at the River Cottage Canteen, which I am sure would have been great. I have much respect for Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, well, in fact, I want to be HFW - aside from being a middle-aged man, having married a French woman and having several kids with her, doing television stuff and using alliterations all the time - ok, so I DON'T want to be HFW, but I would LOVE to have his farm, his staff to help him run it and an ethical and seasonal approach to rearing what he's eating. Anyway, it was really hard to find a nice hotel in Bristol within walking distance (so we could both drink) and I gave up.

I did stumble across this blog though and was totally intrigued. See, I'm a menu perv. I read menus like other people 'read' Playboy magazines. I drool over them, try out the various foods in my head, imagine having immense pleasure from whatever is on the menu and get very very VERY excited. As soon as I read The Ethicurean's menu, I was a goner.


The Ethicurean Dining Room

I was also intrigued by the location. The restaurant is inside the Barley Wood Walled Garden, a 'restored Victorian kitchen garden'. It was like stepping back in time. The weather was gorgeous and balmy, the birds were singing and the scent of glorious cooking wafted through the air. The sun kissed the hilltops as it set and I felt blissfully happy.

The view from the window - the walled garden.

What about the food - well, it certainly delivered on that too. Drinks first though: I ordered a smoked bourbon drink, which was intriguing due to the actual smoke that filled the decanter. It was overall a little too sweet for me. The British Boy had the very masculine looking pink tea pot filled with sloe gin and Fevertree tonic. I have to say, I was a bit jealous as I think I would have enjoyed the G&T more.

Smoked Bourbon in the front, Sloe Gin & Fevertree Tonic in the tea pot

I didn't take a picture of Max' humongous Welsh rarebit starter, but could not resist snapping the prettiest starter I had seen in a while:

Cuttlefish, scallops, pressed apple and cauliflower puree.

Our mains were delectable. I went for a Tomato & fennel seed soup with fish and a blob of some creamy ewe's milk cheese and truffle toast, but I could not detect any truffle-iness on that toast at all. I mean, at all. I left half of it, because it was basically just a toasted soldier drenched in olive oil.

Fennel & tomato soup with ewes milk cheese, fish and truffle oil toast.

The British Boy's pork with fondant potato was delicious and meaty and yummy. I only had a little bite, but he said it was wonderful. 

Meat for the man.

 I did not snap a picture of the dessert we shared - a very rich and absolutely decadent chocolate tart concoction. We also shared two cheeses. The blue one was so strong, it practically rendered my taste buds non-functioning for the rest of the evening.

Cheeeeeeese.

The meal was great, the setting was magical and the walk home in the dark felt right, except for the slight disagreement (erm, fight culminating in me crying) about whether it is contrived or not want to plan to wake up at 3am in the morning for a week to just sit in the garden with a blanket to feel one's connection to the universe.

I'll leave with the picture I took on my run the morning after - I really love the woods and the area around Bristol is beautiful!