Fabulous France, first class food, fantastic wine

I love the French. I love the fact that they treat mealtimes like marriage; 'not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly'.  OK, maybe not soberly. I love the fact that the supermarkets tend to only stock French wine, the daily markets that sell fresh, ready to eat produce, the regionality of the food - Bresse chicken, beef from the Limousin - and the pride that the French take in their food.

So needless to say, when I went to the Dordogne recently, I ate extremely well. This is a region famous for geese, ducks and that delicious delicacy foie gras. I'm fully aware that some people have a real problem with foie gras so let's get this issue off my chest now. I don't have a problem with it at all and I love the stuff.  I have been to see the geese being 'force' fed and they are calm, free range, placid creatures who happily waddle forth to be fed. Banning the practice (which is incidentally what the Nazis did during Occupation because they thought it 'cruel') is only going to force the whole thing underground, leading to geese being cooped up rather than being free range and unhygienic feeding and killing practices as the farmers try to conceal what they are doing from the authorities.

Anyway, rant over and back to the food. We ate in a great little restaurant in Domme that served traditional French food using spices - I had prawns with a mildly curried sauce to start:

Then foie gras four ways (I know -so greedy!) as my main course, which was just incredible. Check out the shot glass of jellied Montbazillac as an accompaniment:

I was so, so full after this that I had to abandon the cheese plate - although I did steal some of my boy's cheese, which was great - they have my favourite goats cheese Rocamadour on tap in this part of the world:

And I settled myself with some sorbet - such beautiful presentation:

I've already mentioned the food markets, Sarlat market being one we had to get up astonishingly early on a Saturday morning for. But it was well worth it - hundreds of stalling selling garlic, fruit, vegetables, terrines, pates, cassoulet and wine. And the smell is just incredible - fresh ripe melons, nectarines, apricots and peaches, ready to take home and eat that day.

Browsing a stall selling what looked like candied figs, we got chatting with the guy behind the stall, who urged up to try his produce. He cut a slice of the fig and we tasted it, only to discover it was stuffed with foie gras. Heaven. We were chatting to the producer when I found a glass of dessert wine being thrust in my face and was urged to try it with the figs. At 9:30am in the morning. But hell, I was on holiday so my breakfast that morning ended up being a foie gras stuffed fig and a glass of Saussignac. And very nice it was too:

Later in the week we also visited the market at St Cyprien to buy fish from the stall there - check out the incredible selection:

Which gave us the opportunity to gawp at the guys making huge pans of paella for hungry shoppers and stall holders:

These beautiful prawns are that evening's dinner, fresh from the stall above:

Another great dish of the region which you'll find on pretty much every menu there is Salade Perigourdine. Salad leaves, expertly dressed of course, with duck gezers, stuffed goose neck, foie gras, and smoked duck. Always best when eaten outside accompanied by a pichet of rose wine.

When we ate where we were staying, we were lucky enough to have potatoes fresh from the earth, dug up by my father:

And an incredible summer pudding, using those fresh fruits that smelled so good at the market, lovingly handmade by my mother:

The last night we were there, we ate at Le Bistro de l'Octroi - I stupidly left my camera at home - where there was yet more foie gras, and then steak tartare charolais, followed by plate of nine different sample sizes of the puddings they offer - to share, had I attempted it alone I think I would have literally exploded.  After that, I had to say goodbye and head back to the UK - thoroughly contented and several pounds heavier.

Friday food heaven.

 My boy and I had rocked up to Spuntino a few weeks ago, a little bit pissed and very hungry, only to be told there was an hour and a half wait for a table, which we couldn't deal with. Last night, I went back to this uber-cool New York style diner with a friend, prepared to wait to see if it lives up to the hype. 

And ohhhhh, it lived up to the hype. It was Friday night after work, we were both a touch tired and a touch hungover and we needed stodge. Fay Maschler in her review described the food as "slightly white trash, comfort-eating easy pickings" -  perfect. 

I got there first and secured our place in the queue. Only a half hour wait this time, and with a glass of Prosecco and fellow queuers to chat to, this flies by. Spuntino has only one table at the back, the rest of the seating is around the bar, where we sat. We upgraded my glass to a bottle, and were given an enamel mug of freshly made popcorn (they have a machine behind the bar), heavily salted and dressed with chilli oil - yum.

Popcorn

Menu

I don't think there was ever much doubt about what we were going to have from the menu - sliders and mac and cheese. We had pulled pork and pickled apple and ground beef and bone marrow sliders. Both were fabulous, but the beef and marrow slider was exceptional - when you squeezed the bun to take a bite it would ooze with meat juices and the mini burger was juicy and full of flavour. Calorie confession number one: 'off camera', we ordered another beef and marrow slider - each. 

Ground beef and bone marrow and pulled pork and apple sliders. Manna from heaven.

In a vague attempt to inject something green 'n' good into our meal, we ordered spinach and pine nuts to go with our mac and cheese. Bloody hell, even the spinach was good, heavily garlicked and dressed with butter and pine nuts. Then the macaroni cheese arrived. Served in a hot iron pan this was just what we needed  - proper carb and cheese laden loveliness, all crispy on top and stuck to the bottom to scape off. Oozy and delicious, I think everyone in the place had ordered one of these. A very wise choice.  

Mac and cheese with spinach on the side

Were we, by this point, stuffed to the gills, not able to eat another thing? No ladies and gentlemen, we were not and there was pudding to contemplate. Calorie confession number two: we ordered three puddings between two of us. We had to, we couldn't choose between the three we really wanted and I'm so glad we did. 

Chocolate, pecan and whisky cake.

My friend Vicky desperately wanted the chocolate, pecan and whisky cake, and very nice it was too.

I desperately wanted the brown sugar cheesecake with drunken cherries, and this was utterly divine. 

Brown sugar cheesecake and drunken cherries

And neither of us were leaving there without trying the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I had visions of this being bread based and was a little dubious, but couldn't have been more wrong. To use a really annoying Americanism: OMG.  It was two layers of peanut butter ice cream sandwiched together with raspberry jam and topped with sprinkles of peanut butter brittle. It was utterly divine. 

Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My new love.

Apparently, the model Kate Moss has been known to say in the past that 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels'. She's obviously never eaten at Spuntino. 

A star in the (South) East

Apparently, London's latest up and coming are is Bermondsey. Whereas previously hip London districts have been north of the river (yes Shoreditch and Dalston, I'm looking at you), now anywhere with an SE1 postcode is considered too cool for school.

According to people who are far more down with the kids than me, Bermondsey Street is the epicentre of where it's at. It already contains several fabulous bars and restaurants, The Garrison, Zucca, The Woolpack and the recently opened, and previously blogged about, Jose. Rumours abound that a White Cube art gallery and a Gordon Ramsay restaurant are soon to open.

Yesterday lunchtime, on the prowl for somewhere lovely to lunch and feeling a bit decadent, we headed to Village East, 171 Bermondsey Street. It's a bit lovely, a bit lofty, with a cute dining room and even cuter staff. We cracked open a lovely bottle of rosé wine, obligatory when the sun is shining, and pored over the menu. We wanted lobster even though it was on the evening menu only, and the kitchen said they'd happily oblige our request, only for us to be those really annoying people who then chose something completely different.

Hitting the rose. 

So, on to the starters. My friend Sara had the asparagus soup with sorrel and creme fraiche. She said it was very nice for the first seven mouthfuls, but there was too much of it. I tried it and have to say that it was lovely, served chilled, which highlighted the combined flavours. I suspect I could have managed the whole bowlful myself....

I had the seared scallops and caramelised pork belly, served with carrot puree and a (largely unnoticeable) terayaki glaze. The scallops were cooked perfectly, the pork was lovely but a teensy bit dry in places,and the carrot puree was beautifully flavoured with orange and possibly cumin. Sara liked this so much that she proceeded to keep sticking her fork in to try it. Maybe she should have had a bowlful of that instead?!

In a vague attempt to be virtuous, we both had the salad as our main course. The furthest-from-diet type-salad you can imagine. Loads of chorizo, paprika, beautifully cooked squid, 'perfectly soft squid' said Sara, who is Spanish and knows about such things. Dressed with a citrussy mayonnaise and served on a bed of mixed leaves, this was a really good main course salad.

Pleasantly stuffed, and not inspired by the dessert menu, we passed on dessert and coffee and ,although tempted by the tiramisu martini, we left that for another visit and meandered off to check out their private bar for a forthcoming party. Very cool, despite the price tag. Pleasantly squiffy, we headed off back down a sunny Bermondsey Street, trying to decide the venue of our next gastro-outing and wondering where London's next 'hot new neighbourhood' will be.

I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I actually feel a bit sorry for Dominque Strauss-Kahn. If reports coming in overnight from New York are to be believed, there is serious doubt about the strength of the case against him, amid suspicions that the alleged victim's report is flawed and that she has 'repeatedly lied' during conversations with prosecutors.

If Mr Strauss-Kahn is innocent, his name has been dragged through the mud and his career, both with the International Monetary Fund, and in French politics is ruined, for no good reason. There will always be an element of suspicion surrounding him, those who say 'there's no smoke without fire'.

If he is guilty, the chances are he will not stand trial or, if he does, be found not guilty, because 'law enforcement officials' insist on briefing the media as to the lack of credibility of the alleged victim, together with the fact that she apparently lied about her application for asylum (The implication being that she's obviously a serial liar and not to be trusted.).

Either way, the whole case raises the issue of how rape cases are handled, both here in the UK and in the United States. Of course this is a high profile case, but wouldn't it have been better for the identities of both the alleged victim and the defendant to have been kept out of the media, at least until after the trial - essentially for justice to have been done without trial by media?