Nonna’s visit, Part One
As if the sheer fun of my mother-in-law’s visits weren’t enough, there’s the added fillip that her arrival means we DO things. Rather than taking yet another jar of tuna out of the pantry for an uninspired lunch, we actually got in the car last week and drove to Richmond, where we tucked into quite the most perfect lunch ever, at Petersham Nurseries. Brainchild of the outstanding Australian chef Skye Gyngell, this restaurant serves the simplest food ever to win a Michelin star. Every dish is a triumph of delicate, complex flavors and pared-down visuals, and every bite is precisely perfect and restrained, yet luscious. And in the most gorgeous of settings.
Before our lunch we wandered through the Nurseries themselves, and then the shop, an Aladdin’s cave filled with every horticultural delight you could imagine and many I couldn’t, plus china, glass, gardening tools, French wrapping paper, every gift you could ever want to give anyone. A glorious amalgam of stylish and stimulating feasts for the eye.
I revelled in eating food I could never make at home, or would never think of making at home, although I came away with two inspirations that we did recreate, later on. My first course of carpaccio of sea bass was stunningly simple: translucently thin slices of raw fish, topped with rounds of spicy red chilli and a scattering of flat-leaf parsley and a sprinkling of very intense olive oil. Then I had scallops, although truth be told, every element of the dish was more memorable than the scallops themselves. Radicchio, braised in balsamic vinegar and then grilled, and yellow runner beans cooked to a perfect tenderness. And the crowning glory: a mint and anchovy sauce that sent me straight home to recreate it.
Rosemary and John each had braised rabbit in a complex tomatoey broth. Why have I never cooked rabbit? And John had salt cod brandade, a first for all of us and not the last. Salty, rich, delicious. We carried on our usual holiday-lunch-out conversations, darting around among “real estate we have known,” discussions of future possible vacation spots, Avery and the fact that she is Practically Perfect in Every Way (this topic can be aired for a surprisingly long time among the three of us), and how much fun John’s dad would have, with us, sharing our lunch. He felt very close by. We were happy.
And mint and anchovy sauce! Isn’t that an unexpected combination? I think mint is being used increasingly in savory dishes, and I can certainly see why. It was but the work of a moment to run next door, throw myself on James’s mercy, beg for mint.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure!” he exclaimed (there is no one more courtly than James). “Can I get you a glass of wine? Let me put on my gardening shoes, and dear, where are the kitchen shears?” He led the way to his idyllic garden, down to the herb patch, and cut some nice mature leaves. “I’m not very happy with this mint, but it will do you in a pinch.”
Mint and Anchovy Sauce
(serves 4 as a condiment with grilled scallops, chicken, lamb or beef)
1 dozen large mint leaves
large handful flat-leaf parsley
4 anchovies in olive oil
juice of 1/2 lemon
2 cloves garlic
several grinds fresh black pepper
sea salt to taste
Place all ingredients in a small food processor or blender and blitz till very smooth. Season carefully — the amount of salt required will depend entirely on how salty your anchovies are. I served this sauce with sauteed scallops and spaghetti, but it would be equally good on grilled chicken, lamb or a juicy steak.
Today, in fact, I made the sauce again, mixed in a heaping tablespoon of mayonnaise and it was a STUNNING accompaniment to a grilled burger with halloumi cheese.
There is just nothing like eating something new, in a fabulous restaurant, and feeling, “Hey, I can make that!”
We needed all the nourishment we could get for our outing on a chilly evening to see “Lord of the Flies” at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre, so we stopped off at one of my favorite haunts, scene of so many happy luncheons with my old pal Becky. At the Relais de Venise de l’Entrecote in Marylebone, there is only one thing on the menu: steak frites. With a green salad. Unlimited deliveries of all these things, with a creamy, curry-ish, mustardy sauce that is mysterious and to die for.
Then a long walk through the Park, where Avery communed with a hungry squirrel (even though she had nothing to feed him).
We settled into our seats, feeling slightly embarrassed at the massive canvas bag of supplies I had brought: blankets, scarves, jackets, handwarmers, a Thermos of hot chocolate and a flask of Scotch! But when the sun set, a cold breeze ruffled the leaves high in the night sky, and we ended up using every single thing, revelling in the coziness.
The play was superb! Give the first act the benefit of the doubt as there is something painfully awkward about the development of the boys from innocent, uniformed school children who have survived a plane crash into raging uncivilised lunatics. But the second act is well worth the investment of the first, and as usual, full advantage is taken of the setting of the Theatre and the possibilities for creating the illusion of happening and places far beyond the scope of the stage.
Saturday found me at bellringing practice, learning finally to put together the two strokes, sally and backstroke. I did fairly well until the end of the rope got a bit out of control and I made the dreadful error of…looking up. “Don’t look up!” shouted Eddie and Arnold together. So scary! “Your eyes cannot keep up with the movement of the rope and you will end in disaster. Just LOOK AHEAD and don’t panic!”
Then we were off to watch Avery in possibly the most boring event of the year: Pony Club Day in Hyde Park. This used to be a day out of some moment, back when SHE was the little girl being led around on this and that pony, followed in her every movement by her doting parents with at least one camera. In those days, several mothers would join me in setting up a little stand from which we sold brownies, cookies and fairy cakes to benefit the vet-bill fund at the stable. Those were lovely times.
These days, however, Avery is a Nearly Adult Rider and as such, her skills are diverted from actually riding to helping recalcitrant and uncharming children ride. Which activity we watched, in a desultory fashion, repairing now and again to a blanket in the chill air, to read a few pages of a magazine.
Finally she was given the last task of minding two rebellious ponies with opposite wishes, after which we could go home.
Now it is Revision Week in advance of next week’s exams at school. This means good news, Avery is home all week, sharing meals and some conversation, between geography and Russian notes. I feel happier just being able to see her during the day. Bad news, she is glued to her studies.
In this situation, stuck at home, all I can do is provide food. How about my new discovery, from Petersham Nurseries? I give you Robiola cheese — made from sheep, cow and goat’s milk — with shards of celery and a really fancy olive oil. There are at least two cheese that go by the name Robiola, and our preferred variety is a round, dense goat’s cheese texture with a gentle, edible rind. The other type is a square cheese of a much runnier, Brie-like texture, also very delicious and more easily found. This is the our preferred type, to be found so far only at Marylebone’s La Fromagerie.
Do you fancy spending your entire paycheck on a selection of impossibly pretentious exotic vegetables? La Fromagerie is the place for you. It felt expensive just taking the photographs.
Today’s lunch was a spectacular invention, and one which all my vegetarian readers should heed.
Grilled Red Peppers with Robiola, Celery Sprouts and Egg
(one half pepper per person)
Cut each red pepper in half from top to bottom. Carefully remove any webbing and seeds from inside the pepper halves, leaving the stem intact (I removed mine and I wish I hadn’t).
Place a good chunk of your Robiola — or any easily melting cheese — in each pepper half, then sprinkle with celery sprouts and top with a raw egg, pouring the egg in slowly so that it oozes around and under the cheese and is completely contained by the pepper. Place the peppers on the hottest part of your grill, or in the hot Aga oven. Cook for about 20 minutes or until the white of the egg is cooked. A slightly runny yolk is ideal, but can be hard to achieve.
What a delight this little treasure is to eat! Hot, tender red pepper and charred skin, melty rich cheese, fresh and jaunty celery sprouts and finally that luxurious egg. I think you could easily do this in a large flat mushroom — Portobello, for example — or in a hollowed-out zucchini (American style) or a little round green courgette (from Waitrose here in England).
The rain has come this afternoon, scuppering our half-hearted plans to visit our local cemetery. It’s Bank Holiday Monday, so there can be no shopping — yesterday Avery and her Nonna had quite a spree in South Kensington while I raided Whole Foods! It’s a quiet, drizzly interlude before our next adventure.
I feel like I was there — and have been so know just how accurate (and if anything, understated your descriptions are!) I’m finally going to risk trying your recipes … I know you’d NEVER intend it, but it’s so intimidating to see such talent. Thanks for the inspiration.…now for the perspiration. xo
N. B. The mint/anchovy sauce is a reputation maker. My word on it.
Poor Avery. Is she on half-term holiday or is it strictly for revision? Thomas has been taking some GCSE’s early, but unlike Year 11, his year have not been given study leave. He’s had to combine lessons, revision and exams. NOT a happy bunny at all. It IS half-term here this week btw!
I must say I do fancy the peppers .… they look yummy. I must look out for the cheese in Lincoln too, although I doubt if I shall ever find it in a supermarket. There is of course that divine deli up in the Bailgate in Lincoln. I shall have to go and have a look :)
Hi Rosemary, Wish I were there with you. I love Kristin’s blog! To think I know you, that you are a good friend. I will be in Waterloo the end of June, hope you will be too. Anna
Silly girl, Sue, you are at LEAST as accomplished a cook — 0r anything — as I am! I promise you the recipes work. Thank you, John’s mom… I agree, we can’t oversell the sauce as it is just divine.
Caz, Avery’s in the same boat as Thomas, I think. She’s on half-term AND revising for end of term exams, for which the main thing is maths. If you can’t find Robiola, I’ll get it for you and send it! I wish I knew about the Bailgate deli in Lincoln!
Anna, I wish you were here too! Rest assured we’re appreciating Rosemary as much as you would wish. :)
A delightful entry, Kristen. I have 2 of Skye Gyngell’s cookbooks and like them a lot.
And, of course, I love any and all Avery reports.
Casey, give that mint-anchovy sauce a try. I know you and your anchovies. :) I love it that you love Avery reports. I hate it that they’re getting fewer and farther between as her life separates from mine. But you’ve been there, and it looks as if there are compensations as they grow up, at least in your life!
One of the best things about guests is being stretched to have new adventures — including foodie ones. I do want to meet you in Marylebone! Steak frites is one of my favorite meals, and I’d like to pick up some of that cheese, too.
I will definitely try the mint/anchovy idea. I’ve got a mountain of mint in the garden. It’s swamping my bay tree!
btw, your mother-in-law looks very chic. How wonderful that you were able to get a reservation at Petersham.
My mother in law is the definition of chic, Bee. Any restaurant would be elevated to have her there. And YOU have a bay tree?! I just gave an enormous spray of it to my interim bellringing teacher today. How scary bellringing seems compared to all my other activities: typing, cooking, being a daughter in law!
Marylebone and steak frites it is. Is Yaz a vegetarian? No, I think not! Together, the Three Museketeers?