Linkage

The World Wide Web is bursting at the seams with other food blogs. These range from the professional to the absolutely bloody useless.

Here are some travel and food favourites from my bookmarks this year:

Dos Hermanos - two brothers based in London who eat and write very well indeed. A pretty influential blog on the London restaurant scene, with a healthy amount of travel thrown in.

Chocolate and Zucchini - you probably already know about this one from the Sunday supplements. Super recipes and great photography.

The London Review of Breakfasts - it's the most important meal of the day apparently.

Well Done Fillet - A waiter's eye view of restaurant life.

Noodlepie - a professional looking site, enjoy the regular postings or dig around in the archives for dispatches from Asia.

Cheese and Biscuits - another primarily london based blog, Cheese and Biscuits also offers a monthly cheese review alongside the frequent restaurant reviews.

Rambling Spoon - Travel and food with creative photography.

Word of Mouth. The Guardian Newspaper's own series of food blogs cover food related issues, and occasional mindless trivia.

Foodporn.com - trust me, it's safe for work

Chez Pim - another famous blogger, with fabulous photography.

Eating Asia - just looking at these photographs from Vietnam makes me want to book a ticket

Finally a friend and expert breadmaker from Dakar who writes about the beat of West Africa life at How di bohdi?

I'll pop the links into the side bar thingy when I next have a mo. That's all for now. I return to Europe tomorrow for a couple of weeks of home cooking, crumpets, and proper beer. Will post photos and maybe the odd review soon.

Le Lodge, Dakar

Dinerfinophobia - Fear of fine dining in Dakar.

I get the fear before eating out at some of Dakar's fine dining establishments. Too many times I've stuffed my wallet and put on one of my best shirts only to end up a bit disappointed. La Fourchette can be inconsistent. Cozy is like a more pretentious, pisspoor facsimile of La Fourchette. Lagon I's prices don't justify the average cooking, not to mention the kind of tawdry decor that would be laughed at in Blackpool, while the chef at Sokhoman thinks that combining incongruous ingredients is the way forward, when really it's just odd. Rabbit with earwax anyone?

So while I got suited up for Mrs Jiffler's birthday treat at Le Lodge in Almadies, I was suitably nervous. I'm pleased to say though that I think Le Lodge might be a genuinely decent upmarket restaurant. Halle-bloody-orchestra.

We were late for our table, which meant we didn't get the best table for two in the house. Our fault, but they didn't make a fuss. Service was efficent to start off with, not necessarily friendly, but I'd sooner have sharp than shoddy. Aperitifs were reasonably priced - beers for 1500 CFA and cocktails 3500-4000CFA, and we certainly didn't feel rushed as we perused the menu. Amuse-bouche were a little boring, mediterranean veg on a spoon, but at least they weren't the ubiquitous stale mini-bruschetta.

It was pleasing to see that Le Lodge play to their strengths. The menu wasn't padded out with the usual half-arsed sushi and Mexican street food, it sticks mainly to traditional French cooking, with the occasional polite nod to neighbouring Belgium and Italy. The menu has three 3-course set suggestions, at a bargainous 8500, 12500, and 18000 CFA respectively, as well as a pick and mix a la carte selection. While I was impressed with the unpretentious pricing structure, and the quality of what was on offer on the cheaper menus, I made a beeline for the top end. It was a special occasion after all.

Wine list was equally good value, again heavy on French wine, but with a few new world and Italian classics thrown in. An agreeable 'all rounder' bottle of 2006 Brouilly Beaujolais was brought without fuss and uninvited topping up was kept to a minimum.

Mrs Jiffler roamed the a la carte menu and chose filo envelopes of fried goats cheese to start with, which benefitted from a sweet salad dressing. The cheese was smooth and soft and thankfully didn't burst from the envelopes like molten lava. This was a good starter but was somewhat overshadowed by my mighty foie gras ravioli (a slight deviation from France there, at a 2000CFA supplement to the set menu). While the Ravioli had that slight sense of dryness to it that my own homemade attempts have suffered from, the foie gras was generous, and the accompanying veal reduction was bold. Mushrooms are always a problem in Dakar, but the reconstituted mushrooms accompanying this dish were of the better kind, and their strong flavour held its own against the foie gras.

Mains came quickly, and Mrs Jiffler's filet was very young, almost veal, and a touch overdone for medium, but was a tasty piece of meat nonetheless. Three cheese sauce was a strong and unusual departure for Mrs Jiffler, but was met with much approval. My Magret de Canard came cooked medium as requested with a sweet jus and a short tower of parsnips. I refused to believe they were parsnips at first, since I have never seen parsnips on sale in West Africa. Parsnips they were though, and although just a minute away from being overdone, they were a remarkably good foil for the succulent duck.

Something that most up-market places in Dakar do get right are the puddings. In this case Le Lodge let us down slightly. While our puddings were generally good, they didn't quite live up to La Fourchette's benchmark. Mrs Jiffler's fondant chocolat was great, but came without the high quality vanilla ice cream and slicks of marmalade which make La Fourchette's version so sublime. My Tiramisu was surprisingly light, but came in a Muslim friendly version which lacked the desired boozy kick.

The final bill came to about 25000CFA less than we have paid at similar places, which is a big enough saving to pay for a decent lunch the day after, or another bottle of decent wine. We'll certainly go back to Le Lodge - I'd like to see if the cheaper menus are as satisfying. So far this is my favourite of Dakar's upmarket restaurants; service is efficent and unpretentious, the menu is consistent yet still creative, and the wine list is great value.

Hanoi Market Action

The markets in Hanoi were an absolute delight, bursting with vibrant colours and and fantastic smells. Much of what we saw seemed fantastically exotic - I could only recognise about half of the fruits, vegetables and roots on sale. We took some surreptitious photos at a covered market off Pho Ly Thuong Kiet:

A typical transaction (note use of motorbike helmet as shopping basket - very eco-friendly):


Or you might prefer just to drive your motorbike straight into the market:


We'll be back to kit out the kitchen:


Rotisserie dog anyone? Possibly the only thing I could never bring myself to eat:


My favourite Longans - about 10 cents a kilo:


Thats all from Vietnam, at least until I've found an excuse to go back. Watch out for a fresh spring roll recipe on Jifflings in the new year.

My dragon eyes are hungry for the prize

This is home cooking in Vietnam:


A massive whole fish (I reckon a Bream of some sort, but a translation wasn't available) with zinging lemongrass flavours, rice noodle salad with fresh and fragrant mint and basil, and a bowl of plump green water spinach called rau muong, that American readers might know as 'morning glory' (cue sniggering from British readers). It looks like a fatter version of watercress and tastes deep and savoury, similar to asparagus but also a bit earthy, like spinach.

Dragon eyes


Longan fruit. Known to Vietnamese folk as 'dragon eyes' because they look a bit like eyeballs when you peel them. Despite coming from Wales I've never seen a real dragon, or a dragon's eyeball for that matter. Anyhow, once you get the knack of split-peeling them and popping them whole into your mouth (one handed in one very graceful flick of the wrist I'll have you know) you're in for a more-ish treat. They taste very similar to lychees and come with a hard black seed which is the perfect size and density for drunken spitting competitions.

With apologies to The Loft for the title of this post. I don't know what came over me.

Crunchy Songbird

I felt as though I should at least eat something vaguely ridiculous in Vietnam, so, having been told that the swan was off, opted for a sparrow salad. It came de-plumed and deep fried with a salad of herbs and chilli and was a crunchy delight. Mrs Jiffler couldn't stomach eating the head so passed that over to me. It made a strange popping sensation under my molars and I'm sure I would have been disgusted by the sensation of its brain matter squirting out onto my tongue had it not been for the satisfyingly savoury hit that accompanied.

Our friends had taken us to a fantastic place, a kind of canteen surrounded by stalls selling different dishes. You choose a selection of dishes from whichever stalls take your fancy, and waiting staff bring them to you plated up at a table for a modest mark-up.

Aside from the sparrow salad, we munched our way through pigs trotter soups, pho, fresh spring rolls (yes again), cooked spring rolls, chicken, squid, more squid... Best of all, lunch for four, with beers and more than we could eat came in at under £12.

Pies and Prejudice

The latest home cookery project has to perfect a meat and potato pie. I've experimented with a couple of things so far, involving large pies, mini-pies, beef and Guinness pies and so, but there is still some way to go.

What I have learned so far:

• I am useless at handling pastry
• West African Guinness doesn't make a good pie ingredient. It's 7.5% alcohol and tastes a bit too Guinnessy.
• Despite my usual prejudice, bisto is an essential ingredient.
• Despite my usual prejudice, I may have to resort to Delia.

These mini-pies made a great treat while Mrs Jiffler was in Cape Town the other week, served with the last of the HP sauce (no more until Christmas now) and a couple of beetroot.


Anyhow, this post is a call for pie suggestions and recipes, particularly for prater pies. How do I get the pastry right?

More from Vietnam next time.

Hanoi

A recent trip to Hanoi involved some excited recalibration of my culinary compass. Normally when a person looks at a map of the world, their eye is first drawn to their home country to find their bearings. My eye was usually drawn to San Sebastian in Northern Spain, to check that it was still there, ready for my return with a bigger budget, and an enormous appetite. It was my eating mecca. Now mecca has shifted further east, and my eye roams towards Vietnam.

Everyone said "You must try the Pho" (pronounced 'fur'), so I made sure this was the first thing to pass my lips. Procured cheaply from a corner cafe (or pretty much anywhere on the side of the street), Pho is easy: beef stock, beef, herbs, chilli, noodles. It's possibly the most complete meal you could ask for, which explains why Vietnamese folk enjoy it for breakfast. Its healthy, cheap, satisfying and requires a lot of interaction with chopsticks and spoons and slurping. There is no looking back now: I have to work this one out at home. Time to get extra friendly with the butcher and see if he can supply me with a few kilos of beef bones.

After a couple of bia hoi (local brew, about 5 pence a glass) our friends took us out to the upmarket restaurant Au Lac. Here, the grand premises occupy what appeared to be a former colonial mansion, and we were welcomed politely and without any stiffness. Being a group of four gave us opportunity to range widely over the menu, and the presence of a vegetarian meant trying a few dishes that I might normally skip over. The sommelier swiftly and politely corrected a corked sauvignon blanc, while I tucked into the local Hanoi beer.

It was here at Au Lac that I decided that my next home cookery project (after Pho) will be making fresh spring rolls. These were an absolute delight:



Surely there is room for some sort of fast food concept based around fresh spring rolls. Once the fillings are prepared they take seconds to make, and are filling and pretty healthy too. I'm imagining a row of half a dozen rolls lined up in a paper box with an assortment of fillings, dipping sauces already already integrated into the wrapping process. Has anybody ever seen anything like this?

I'm still not convinced of the merits of tofu. It was unusual to see groups of men gathering round plates of tofu while knocking back glass after glass of beer at the local bia hoi, but there is something about it that I'm not keen about. I suppose it's just cheese made from soy milk, but without the interesting texture, taste and smell of cheese. Anyhow, one vegetarian dish that did take my fancy was this baked aubergine, which I thought was a fish when it first arrived:


Soft shelled crab with a sweet chilli sauce was probably the best I've ever tasted. I could probably eat a bucketful of these, one after the other.


I got a bit carried away with the food if I'm honest, and had to be reminded to take a photograph of the proceedings. Sadly, we'd already demolished much of the meal. The duck at the bottom of the photograph was something very special - moist and cooked without pretensions. Note the lonely cube of deep fried tofu.


A lot of things make up a great meal - in this case we had the company of good friends, a lot of holiday spirit, and the excitement of being in a new an unfamiliar country. On top of that, the food at Restaurant Au Lac was genuinely outstanding, and the service - from the chilled towels to the most delightful sommelier was first class.

They did nifty cocktails too, with a funky chopstick/drinking straw ensemble which Mrs Jiffler rather liked.

The Mountain in Labour

Cozy, Rue Parent, Plateau.

Visiting Cozy reminded me of going to see Star Wars Episode I (The Phantom Menace) on the day of release in the summer of 1999. we were a bunch of lads in our twenties - old enough to have obsessed over the original trilogy as boys - who'd taken the day off from whatever we were doing to pile into an airconditioned box in the midlands, knees jiggling with the excitement.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... and the heroic, Wagner-esque John Williams theme tune starts up. A head rush of excitement. Five grown men grinning like fools...

But it turned out to be a load of old bollocks.

Cozy, one of Dakar's so called 'fine dining' restaurants aims to impress from the moment you step through the door. Smart staff welcome you to a long, stylish, well stocked bar. The first impression is that somebody has spent some serious money on this place, and it would only be right to spend some serious money on some serious food. The main eating area features oversized chairs and white downlit floor to ceiling curtains which impress at first but, like the CGI effects in the Phantom Menace, end up looking like a cheap interior design. Maximum style for minimum cost.

I'm not sure why the Maitre d' attempted to sit all of the females in our mixed party along one side of the table, with all the boys lined up along the other side. Perhaps he was thinking les anglophones might want to start morris dancing at some point during the meal. we ignored him in any case, but Cozy continued to reinforce the sexist agenda by handing out menus without prices on to the ladies (all of whom were the principal earners in Dakar, the rest of us being 'trailing spouses'). I've seen this kind of disgustingly chauvanistic behaviour in France before, and I'm not sure, in this day and age, what kind of woman is impressed by this, and what kind of pathetic man thinks it's impressive.

One of the challenges for the producers of the Phantom Menace was how to keep the old audience of grown ups interested, while also hooking into the new toy-hungry market of 7 year old boys. What we ended up with was a confusing mish mash of tedious politics and a 'comedy' animated jester. I think Cozy faces the same problem with its mix of pasta, risotto, sushi and French cuisine on the menu. Surely it's wiser to play to your strengths? Just give us some spectacular interstellar dogfights, and maybe a wookie, and we'll love it.

Most of us skip the overpriced starters, and roam the four corners of the earth with our main courses. While service is mostly quick, one of our mains gets forgotten in the kitchen, and there is that terrible habit of topping up the wine, which extended to topping up my water glass with white. They fail the jiffler fish-knife test by surreptitiously swapping my tableknife for a pointless fishknife. Too blunt to stab a waiter in the leg unfortunately.

They should have given me a steak knife, such was the toughness of my overcooked, undersized planche of turbot. Pommes sautes are rubbery, and the accompanying 'paste' of avocado and hibiscus leaves tastes of nothing. Like a mouthful of emptiness. The others seem moderately pleased with their various gnocci and sushi plates, but nobody gets out of their seat to rave about anything. Half of Mrs Jiffler's sashimi selection is appropriately robust and fishy, while the salmon tastes like my avocado paste.

The only thing you can rely on at these upmarket joints in Dakar are the desserts. Sticking firmly in the French style, desserts come in large portions, with all the creative swirls and splats that you could wish for. Cozy passes the Jiffler creme brulee test with flying colours, presenting three separate flavours (vanilla, pistachio and bergamot) in three cups, complete with dipping biscuit and an appropriately unnecessary frizz of thick pink candy floss hovering on the plate like a psychedelic barbed wire fence.

To finish, Nescafe, barmen with highly gelled coiffs spinning glasses, and badly dressed Toubabs clapping like seals to bad techno. More village of the Ewoks than attack on the Death Star.

Like the Phantom Menace, its easy to switch off the quality control and sit through an enjoyable meal, with enjoyable company. But with expectations set high, I left with a sense of disappointment. Right now the best and most consistent cooking in Dakar is coming from the upper-mid-range places - New Africa, Farid, Jardin Thailandais, for example,while the likes of Cozy seem to get by simply by charging high prices and having a shiny bar.

There is more from Dakar at Dakar Restaurant Reviews. Next post I'll be back in Asia.

You got the money, I got Le Seoul

Surely a contender for one of Dakar's strangest restaurants is 'Le Seoul' on Rue Amadou Assane Ndoye in Plateau. If the old estate agent's adage about 'location, location, location' were to be believed, then Le Seoul should be doing a roaring trade. As it is, they don't have many punters, don't want many punters, and would prefer it the punters all buggered off home now please. I wonder if its a front for something more sinister? There's a lot of it about.

Its a nice peaceful spot as well, a little courtyard haven with a pool and nicely made furniture. the Senegalese staff were friendly, if slightly bewildered by our large group of foreign wannabe karaoke performers. The food was nice too, as long as you eat what you're given.

Perhaps Le Seoul is a misnomer. Le Pyongyang would be more appropriate, what with the 11pm curfew, no menu-just buffet stylings. Its a good buffet mind you, leaning more towards Vietnamese than Korean I'd guess. For some reason I enjoyed deep fried fish goujons. Octopus sashimi was good, but they weren't generous with these so I had to be quick. Other sushi bites lacked flavour, but were enjoyed by the crowd nonetheless. Fresh spring rolls seem to be everywhere lately, which is a good thing.

Karaoke-wise you get your own little room and karaoke set so you can croon to your heart's content without disturbing the other customers (hang on, what other customers?). the selection is a little weird, and the lift style muzak backing tracks are a bit insipid. But what the hell does that matter? Just get some beer down your neck and start shouting.

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If I'm a selt then you're a sunt.

Le Celtic, Rue 6, Point E.
The owner is a quarter Irish, or something, which explains the name. There is no annoying Irish memorabilia about the place, apart from the odd Guinness beer towels, so bring your own bodhran.

Its another empty place, but this time they're eager to please. The bar area is comfortable and drinks are reasonably priced, with changing cocktail offers lit up on a neon board. You can also see into the nice clean kitchen and give the chef a wink.

Food is European grills and steaks and the odd bit of pasta. Our group were all pleased with their food, although some reported the vegetables to be 'a bit garlicky'. At one point the staff emerged from the kitchen with a large plate full of spare pommes sautes and distributed them around the table. Ironically the last place anything like that happened was in Dublin, in late 2002, and involved a fried egg and a black pudding (you don't get that kind of service in Bewley's mind).

Please come and spend your money here in Le Celtic, its my new local and I'd hate to see it struggle.

More Dakar nonsense on Dakar Restaurant Reviews.

Palate Cleansing

You should see the backblog. Its been almost a month since I returned from the far East and there is still a pile of x-rated food porn from Vietnam to get through on the blog. Then I also have to update Dakar Restaurant Reviews and think of something interesting to say on Kigali Restaurant Reviews. Its time for a rest and a brief return to normal random-crap mitherings on Jifflings.

Dobbies Garden Centres.
Mum and Dad Jiffler like to get their jiffling hands dirty down at th'allotment. Flanked by the sea, the Menai Straits, a medieval castle, with Snowdonia's giants striding handsomely in the background, they've been jammy enough to get hold of what could be the most beautiful plot in the world. The waiting list is 8 years long apparently. Well this sort of thing is fashionable these days.

Quite apart from the quiet enjoyment that comes from picking peas, pursuing bindweed, and brewing tea in the shed (activities which beat the daylights out of blogging), allotment ownership leads to afternoons spent visiting garden centres. Normallement, I couldn't think of anything more tedious, and as the car pulled in Dobbies garden centre in near Shrewsbury en route to Anglesey from a wedding in Hertfordshire, my hungover brain began to recoil at the anticipated boredom of bargain basement books, and composty smells.

I was wrong. Well I was right about the books and the compost, but I was wrong about Dobbies. Dobbies in Shrewsbury has a cafeteria, with proper coffee, fry-ups, and a selection of British cakes and pastries which made me gasp nostagically. Millionaire's shortbread, cream buns, egg custards, proper fruit pies. I made a beeline for an eccles cake, a large mug of coffee, and felt my hangover lift like a cloud.

It's not just about the cafe though. Dobbies boasts a classy deli concession just by the entrance. A place of Barkham blue, Cornish yarg, smoked salmon, meaty scotch eggs and massive steak pies. The sort of things my fantasy foodstore (Jiffler's Deli) would stock.

Here is the website. There are branches of Dobbies across the country, some with enormous farm food halls, so there is no excuse to put with Little Chef garbage again.

A mini-chorizo recipe.
Mrs Jiffler has just returned from Barcelona, bearing gifts of serious wine, cheese, jamon Iberico and chorizo. A bit of home-made tapas action was in order, and I remembered an old easy-peasy tapas dish that's worth a go. It might even work as a appetiser or starter to a more substantial racione.

Chorizo in red wine:
Ingredients:
A good, dry or semi-dry chorizo
A glass of Rioja
Fresh parsley

(zen quantities apply as usual, depends how many you're cooking for)

A few hours in advance, cut up up the chorizo into half-bite sized nuggets (I prefer them to look a bit rough and craggy, but chacun a son gout) and place them in a small ovenproof bowl, one of those little terracotta things will do nicely. Chop up a small handful of fresh parsley and mix with the chorizo. Pour over the red wine and leave the mixture in the fridge for 3 hours or so.

Pre-heat the oven to a medium heat, and take the chorizo mixture out of the fridge. The chorizo should have absorbed much of the wine and the dish may appear a little dry. Put the bowl in the oven for about ten minutes, or until the crags of chorizo are looking nicely crunchy around the edges.

Serve out of the bowl with crusty bread to dip into the wine mixture which will have seeped out of the chorizo, exchanging a little flavour along the way.

Cheesecake.
In honour of man of the moment, chart topping comedian Peter Kay, let's finish with a gratuitous cheesecake shot. This little praline beauty came from a little tea shop in Central, Hong Kong. It nearly beat me.

Rat Alley

Time to go through the leftovers of the Hong Kong trip.

First up: Rat Alley. Just off Lan Kwai fong, there are no rats, just a bustly Saturday crowd of tourists, expats, locals, Elvis impersonators, and restaurant touts. The quietest tout wins, and we settle at Coco, which has a colourful menu of Thai and Malysian dishes. I'm drawn to the Malysian dishes, and as an amateur in the region my choice is expertly guided by our hosts. We over ordered and over ate. Perfect.

Look at these (slightly dark photos):

Perfectly crisp meat samosas with a mint dip.

Chicken satay, done proper, not all rubbery.


The photos dried up at this point, partly due to a brief Elvis related interlude:


And partly due to a combination of Tsing Tao beer and enjoying the food too much.

More leftovers later in the week.

Airline Ace-ness

This website is ace: airlinemeals.net

The very fact that hundreds of people will go to the trouble of taking photographs of airline meals and posting them online gives me hope for the human race. There is even an archive section, where you can see what people ate on planes in the 60s.

Lamma Island Seafood Odyssey

Traditionally, a junk is a sailing boat of Chinese origin, designed and built to go out into the open ocean. Modern day junks tend to be pleasurecraft built with powerful engines and room for plenty of beer. Many of the big firms located in Hong Kong own a 'corporate junk' as a treat for employees, and for entertaining important clients and, on this occasion, two aid workers from Westest Africa on a dashing mission to fill their faces with molluscs and crustacea on the island of Lamma. All aboard?

Yung Shue Wan in Lamma is famous for its row of seafood restaurants. Families and junketeers occupy large round tables with a Lazy Susan at the hub, and are encouraged to inspect the seafood living in nearby tanks, before it goes into the pan.

Not that much encouragement is required. I'm never happier than when tormenting a cuttlefish. If you poke them, sometimes they go purple.


Some of the prawns are a bit lacklustre, but razor shell clams in black bean sauce are a treat. Chilli crab, or rather CHILLI! crab is forehead tinglingly hot. All is well.

Fondling some sea snails below. In the basket below my right elbow are Abalone, a rare mollusc prized for both its meat and its sometimes iridescent shell.

Previously these expensive delicacies had been on my mental list of 'things to eat', but I'm reliably informed that most of the abalone sold in Asia come from a nefarious trade with South African gangs. Drugs for molluscs and smiliar unpleasantness, so they're quite rightly off the menu today.

Soft Italian red wine sees me through the voyage back into Hong Kong harbour, and things started to get a little blurry.

Central Street Market

I love having a good nose around a market, especially if they're a bit grubby and stinky. Most of the food markets we visited in Hong Kong were sparklingly clean however, and the nearest we got to a bit of bustle was at the Central Street market on Graham St and Peel St:

Poking around was good fun though. You could get hold of just about anything here. Great fresh fruit and veg (I developed a taste for Dragonfruit), live seafood and every part of a chicken from the beak to the talon.

Oh yeah, fancy a frog for tea?


There are a couple of places where you can grab a bite to eat at the edge of the market. Mrs jiffler and I tucked into plates of beef and squid, cooked quickly with Kai-lan and plenty of garlic. All for a couple of quid. Sorry, no pictures of the food as we were conspicuous enough. I'd recommend the grub though. Ask nicely for an English language menu and get stuck in (avoid the jugs of tea though,:unpleasant warm puddle water).


Apparently the market is under threat from developers. Same old story the world over isn't it? It seems ridiculous to me, both in my capacity as a tourist in Hong Kong, and as a professional planner. The site attracts tourists, is used by locals (and has a social function), and is part of Hong Kong's peculiar heritage (since the mid 19th century by some accounts). Would another wall of apartment blocks and shops selling Louis Vuitton handbags and swiss watches be much of a cultural improvement? The people at www.savethestreetmarket.com are organised and trying to do something about this.

Mooncakes

It was the Mid-Autumn festival, also known as the Lantern Festival in China the other week. It's a pretty important day in the Chinese calendar, traditionally when the farmers celebrate the end of the summer harvest. In modern day Hong Kong, families get together, admire the moon, hang up brightly coloured lamps, and eat mooncakes.

Mooncakes have a thin crust and can have a variety of fillings. This one was filled with a mixed of lotus seed and red bean paste. The duck eggs inside symbolise the moon (sorry, this photo is a bit rubbish).

The story goes that they were used in the Ming revolution to send messages to other revolutionaries concerning the overthrow of the Mongolians. Messages were hidden in the symbols on the crust, and could only be deciphered by taking a set of four mooncakes, cutting them into four, and assembling the 16 quarters. The revolutionaries would then eat the cakes, destroying the message. They are dense, and pretty heavy going. I certainly couldn't eat a whole one, even though they are only about the size of a picnic pork pie. The sweet paste filling tastes OK, but the egg is a bit cloying.

Jiffler in the Guardian

An article on the Guardian food website included a link to Jifflings' sister blog: Kigali Restaurant Reviews. One of my favourite food writers, Jay Rayner, included the link in his blog-article about ethnically incongruous restaurants.

Excellent news! Big thanks to Jay and the Guardian / Observer online.

Brrrrrrrrunch.

I've mixed feelings about the word "brunch". It sounds at first like some insidious yuppie portmanteau, but you can have some Tony the Tiger-style fun with it by rolling the "r". Brrrrrrunch. There we go, thats much more fun. Dylan Thomas would have enjoyed Brrrrrrunch.

Enough nonsense. The Sunday champagne buffet brunch at the Intercontinental in Kowloon is a must for vistors to Hong Kong and hungry expats alike. The champagne keeps flowing until your ears go warm and you can no longer differentiate between toes. You have to get up to help yourself to the food though, which avoids any potential Mr Creosote-style exploding. Eeets only waffer theeen....

The restaurant has a fabulous panoramic view across the harbour to Hong Kong proper. I took a photo but it didn't turn out very well due to the champagne. Trust me its lovely, almost as good as the view of the buffet.

I know, I know. Its a hotel buffet. No big deal right? Wrong. A well as the unlimited champagne you get a whole lobster (limited to one each), wagyu beef roast, foie gras, and the kind of cheeses that you want to rub all over your face. Mrs Jiffler saw the dessert station of the buffet and had to be given a sedative.

We took photos. Powers of recall are inversely proportional to quantities of unlimited champagne consumed. Note the absence of anything resembling carbohydrate. You've got to be strategic :Stick to the protein, don't fill up on the carbs. Trust me, I'm a professional.

Fancy things with prawns and crabs, and a bit of foie gras pate...


Scallop (marinated in something or other) had the sweet flavour of the sea. Slices of belly pork that I could have eaten like crisps, fall off the bone chicken, peking duck pancakes, lonely steamed dim sum.

Lobster:

Roast wagyu beef (good) with yorkshire pudding (bad):

Mini-burger, with an assortment of things made from wagyu beef:

Some carbs allowed by the time we got to the cheese. The mimolette was excellent, and the brie was unctuous and chocolatey as you could hope for.

Check out the dessert station. Can you see why Mrs Jiffler had to be restrained? we nearly ended up with a 'face-down-in-the-chocolate-cake' scenario, which isn't good form in these fancy hotels. Out of shot is the ice cream lady, and a selection of wine gums, m&ms, chocolate buttons, hundreds and thousands, and jelly beans for your sprinkling pleasure.

A car-crash of desserts:

This time next week: Hong Kong-Hanoi-Hong Kong, supping beers on a junk in Hong Kong harbour.
Mood: Stuffed
Soundtrack: The hum of the harbour.
Current grip on reality: Monty Python-esque.

Sesame Cement

On the left hand side is a scoop of some sort of boring chocolate ice cream. On the right, resembling wet cement, is a scoop of sesame ice cream. It tastes better than it sounds (and looks).

I forgot about Gordon

Prior to the Asian food meltdown the Jifflers stopped off at Gordon Ramsay's new(ish) restaurant at Heathrow Terminal 5. Plane Food (whoever came up with that name is still recovering) invites us to relax in a kind of jetsons themed dining area, or perch at a bar, ideal I guess for solo travellers. Apparently the decor is designed to give off an aviation vibe, what with it being in an airport and all that. Inspired.

Anyhow, seating and service is swift because Mrs Jiffler and I are the only customers in the whole restaurant. OK, T5 is quiet tonight, but come on? There are two flights leaving for Hong Kong, and another for Moscow. Flights packed with high rollers who might easily drop some cash Chez Ramsay. I feel an episode of kitchen nightmares coming on.

Water (no tap offered) comes fast, as does food. Superfast, which is ideal as we end up pegging it for the flight anyway (nobody told us about the poxy monorail thing). Both of us take a fish main, and thanks to the wonders of moleskine notebooks I can report:

Mrs Jiffler:
Seared Loch Duart salmon, lemon and fennel

Jiffler:
Steamed wild seabass, asparagus, samphire and lemongrass nage

Yes, thats right, nage. Go here for a description of what a la nage is. I looked around to check that we hadn't suddenly entered a timewarp in Terminal 5 and been transported back to some sort of 80's restaurant hell where chefs use opaque foreign language terms in order to appear imaginative. No, we're still surrounded by overdesigned aviation chic, so we must be in some noughties restaurant hell designed by cretinous architects from New York. Phew.

Its good though, the fish. The nage is actually pretty more-ish and its a pleasure to have a bit of samphire on the plate. Do I detect a hint of basil in that sea bass as well? The salmon is robust and the accompanying lemon-fennel salad is just the sort of refreshing thing you need before a long flight. Sides of new potatoes and glazed carrots are just that. Carrots perhaps slightly underdone, but I don't mind them that way.

Two fish mains, carrots, spuds, water, a coke, and service. 50 quid mate. Come on hurry up, the meter is still running.

Its nice to have something decent - very decent - to eat at the airport (I prefer to avoid those sushi bars with the men in Navy blazers and perma-tanned ladies), but at quids fifty for two to sit in a restaurant designed by some sort of Top Gun fetishist is a bit over the top. Its no wonder the place was empty. They do some more reasonably priced snacks which might please the daytime punters in search of a sandwich and a little bit of Gordon Ramsay kudos, but the prices are still going to keep out the masses. Maybe thats the idea.

One other thing: This isn't the restaurant's fault, but due to security regulations you're given miniature cutlery to use. This is in case you steal a knife and go beserk in the aeroplane cabin. Most people can probably manage with the mini-eating irons provided, but unfortunately my hands are a touch on the agricultural side, and I struggled like a monkey learning to use chopsticks.

Hong Kong: Sunshine in a tinfoil tray

Some cities have a soundtrack - a record which somehow captures the indefinable essence of the city. Berlin has Low, and Achtung Baby. New York has Velvet Underground, or perhaps Marquee Moon. Manchester swaggers to the Stone Roses (Although I would imagine Simply Red are more popular up the Trafford Centre).

Hong Kong's soundtrack would be the Beatles sung at double-speed by a Chinese girl group. Populist, mainstream, but a bit wrong.

There is nothing wrong with what goes on your plate in Hong Kong though. After only a few days I accumulated enough jiffle-post worthy food observation for the foreseeable. Then I went to Hanoi and had to start all over again. Anyway, enough rambling, Look at this egg custard tart:

Like foil-wrapped sunshine. It was lovely and hot too, and went all down my chin. Produce of the marvellous Tai Cheong bakery. Favoured by Chris Patten when he had the keys to the shop. Nicknamed "Fat Patten's Egg Tarts" apparently.

More photos and foodie porn from Hong Kong (and Vietnam) soon.

New hotel, Novotel

Enough. After spending months in the Chez Lando I've finally upgraded to the Novotel. OK, Lando might still have the best bar in Kigali (I prefer my bar grotty with good service, rather than chic with bad service), but the breakfast was beginning to grind me down, as were the constant demands to move out of my room to accommodate the weekly truckload of earnest adventurers who have been overlanding in search of 'the real Africa' or whatever it is the brochure has convinced them they're going to find.

So here I am in the Novotel, my rough and ready credibility in tatters. The room is nice though, and there is a fridge, and a pool and a bar, and a bad restaurant where the beers cost more than double the price of the Chez Lando and the waiters have been lobotomised. Nextdoor is the Havana Club though, preferable for its plastic tables, great staff, and massive mugs of mutzig.

Its only for a few days, and I'm nearing the end of this trip, so I need a place just to keep my head down, spend some quiet time, and not have to ask twice for everything. Novotel is good for that, although I'm finding a strange lack of privacy about the place. Like many hotels in African cities the Novotel Kigali is one of those places where people not only stay, but also visit to do business, grab a sandwich from the bakery, use the gym or the pool, have a meeting in the bar, or even have their wedding photos done (4 separate weddings on the lawn yesterday, with 2 more backed up queing to get in).

So those moronic Republican contractors who I met in a bar the other night now say "Howdy" over breakfast. Colleagues pop in to use the gym. I have to hide from that weirdo NGO person by the cash machine. Now and again I see someone I like and am happy to exchange a few friendly words with while buying a sandwich at the bakery, but more often than not its somebody I really don't want to speak to, especially when I'm padding around in flip-flops with bad hair and an old t-shirt on, or lying by the pool sunning my gut and writing blog posts.

See. Its tough in the tropics.

The breakfast is a notch up on my old gaff though. Despite headless chicken style service, the bread and the fruit are fresh, and you can get a couple of fried eggs or a crepe freshly prepared by a woman who seems to really enjoy making them. I'm into the crepes at the moment. Small thin ones with a dab of sugar and a squeeze of lemon. A few slices of fruit on the side, maybe some goats cheese on a slice of wholemeal bread. Its beginning to sound like a healthy and fulfilling breakfast.

This time next week: Brunch at the Intercontinental Hong Kong.
Mood: Coffee
Soundtrack: Children splashing by the pool
Current grip on reality: Tenuous at best

Fame at last

Weirdness.

I think I have been recognised. The owner of a restaurant I've reviewed, eyes like a rabbit in the headlights. Slowly the cogs are turning... thinking...

That's the bastard...

Perhaps I shouldn't have put my picture up on the blog.

I wonder if they spat in my mojito.

Fruit Salad

Sitting hunched over my fruit salad and coffee in the Chez Lando breakfast room I tune into the conversation of two Ugandan fellows on an adjacent table. One wears a relaxed looking linen suit with a peach coloured shirt and no tie. His companion is more formal, wearing a navy double breasted affair with gold buttons, shiny tie, and the label of the suit still attached to his sleeve cuff. His shoes are very shiny.

Linen suit: "How do you say 'eight' in French?"
Navy suit: "Its 'eight' same as in English"

I sigh into my fruit salad. They haven't changed the fruit salad since I started staying here in January. I've eaten this at least 150 times now, as part of a drudging daily ritual of getting something healthy inside me before I get to work.

Linen suit: "Are all the numbers the same then? The same as in English?"

My coffee cup smells slightly of fish.

Navy suit (after a pause): "No, just some of them".

A large American woman across the room raises an eyebrow, then pretends to look out of the window.

Linen suit: "Which ones then?"

Navy suit: "I only know up to ten. It goes 'Un, deux, tree, quarte, sink, six - that one is the same - sept, eight - same, nine - same, dix'"

I decide that it's time to change hotels.

Latest from Kigali

For all my bleating, things are actually looking up foodwise in Kigali. There have been a few new openings, and I've had happy visits to a few old favourites. More fuel for Kigali Restaurant Reviews.

Its been over 2 years since I first visited La Sierra in town, and I was overcome with feelings of nostalgia while enjoying a cheese and ham butty there with a colleague earlier in the week. A proper butty: well filled on brown slice bread, cut into triangles. They do do a mean samosa there as well. A shame its so far from the office as I could happily eat there every lunchtime.

Revisits to Heaven, New Cactus, Khazana and Papyrus were a bit mixed. The burgers are still good at Heaven, and roast poatoes hit the spot. I was pleased to see no flouncing about on the shop floor as well. Still that expensive wine list to put right though.

Visiting in Papyrus with a table of fussy philistine eaters was a bit grim, as was my four seasons pizza. Chewy dough and half melted cheese sent them way down in my estimations. My neighbour's taglietelle was dry and lukewarm, as if it had been hanging around for a while. Perhaps it was because it was very busy (with good vibes as a result), with a few large groups to cater for, but they need to be able to cope with this.

Indian Khazana: The only non-white diners in the chock-full restaurant were sitting at our table. we made a couple of gags about it being 'Muzungu Khazana', but its not that funny really. Breads are still good though.

On a largish work gathering at New Cactus my neighbour leaned over and asked quietly if I thought that New Cactus might be the best restaurant in Kigali. Mulling it over a while, I think it might very well be. A broad but quality menu, reasonable wines by the carafe, very cheerful staff, no problem with large groups, and no problem with drunken consultants. Right now its my number 1. Another colleague politely asked if anyone would be offended if he ordered the veal. I shook his hand in encouragement.

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Flamingo Chinese Restaurant
Flamingo has re-opened in a tasteful, though less dramatic venue in Kimihurura, which is fast becoming Kigali's restaurant district. I think this is where the Rwandese middle-classes are eating in preference to the Khazana these days, and I don't blame them. The menu is bursting with choice and unusual (for Kigali) dishes, and the service is friendly, if a little forgetful. I enjoyed the searing hot towels which perked me up on a week night when I was feeling a little tired.

Spring rolls were a bit samey, but crisp and fresh. Won ton soup was bursting with flavour, despite the dumplings being a bit on the gloopy side. Szechuan chicken relied too heavily on onions, but came with a welcome chilli kick and a side of crisp vegetables and noodles. Next time I think I'll go for one of the sizzling dishes which I enjoyed watching as they emerged dramatically from the kitchen. A large group of Chinese visitors staying at my hotel seemed delighted with the performance.

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As a little post-script: I'm currently working on a page for Anglesey and Bangor restaurants. Since I'll be passing through in September I'd welcome and appreciate any suggestions of new openings, or any other little gems I should visit, otherwise I'll probably end up in the same old places.

Rubber Cheese Shortage

Back in Kigali, and there seems to be a shortage of rubbery Gishwati cheese. Thankfully there seem to be a few new cafe and restaurant openings in Kigali, so I'll be working my way through those for future bloggage.

Out on the tiles the other night and I was greeted with inebriated embraces by the owner of one of Kigali's most popular restaurants, then mobbed enthusiastically by the head waiter and chef from one of his rivals. Strange. I wonder if they've been reading Kigali Restaurant Reviews? Maybe I'm spending too much money at their establishments.

A recipe for mango chutney

There was a mango glut in the garden. Nextdoor's mango tree overhangs three gardens, and we were all competing with the fruitbats to get some fresh mango action. In the end, they fell faster than we could eat them, juice them, or give them away - so some ended up in this mango chutney.

I scoured the web for recipes, and there are a lot of different recipes. I took a few of the most reliable looking and simplified them into this one. It should result in a nice thick chutney.

Ingredients: (Enough to fill two small jam jars)
2 large mangos, not overripe.
2 small apples
A fat clove of garlic (two if you like it garlicky)
A piece of root ginger - enough for a tablespoon of ginger.
500ml of white vinegar (white wine vinegar will do)
25ml of tarragon infused vinegar (not essential)
1 heaped tablespoon of Coleman's mustard powder
1 heaped tablespoon of Paprika
400g sugar

Some sources recommend drying the mangoes slightly before hand. This might lead to marginally better results. To do this, skin and cut up the mango into your preferred chutney consistency, then either:

• Cover them in salt, leaving overnight in the fridge. Drain off the juices in the morning, rinse, and pat dry with kitchen paper

or,

• Spread the chopped mango on a large chopping board and get Mrs Jiffler to stand over them with a hairdryer

or,

• Don't bother, just use the mangoes as they are.

Then:
Peel and cut the ginger into short matchsticks.
Push the garlic through a garlic press.
Peel and cut the apple into small 1cm cubes.

Add the apples, vinegar, garlic, ginger, mustard and paprika to a large pan. Bring to the boil while stirring in and dissolving the sugar.

Once the mixture is boiling and all the sugar has dissolved, add the pieces of mango and simmer for 30 to 45 minutes (it may take longer) until you have the desired consistency. Keep stirring from time to time towards the end so it doesn't stick and burn on the pan.

While the chutney is simmering, sterilize two empty jam jars by boiling on the stove (or heating in the oven, or using nasty chemicals, or whatever).

Once the chutney is the right consistency, take it off the heat and leave to cool. Once it has cooled, spoon it into the jars, seal, and keep in the fridge.

Bring the jars to room temperature before serving (with curry, or on a cheese sandwich).

Dakar Restaurant Reviews

Dakar Restaurant Reviews is now online.

The first post features a few of my local eateries, all within staggering distance of the new Chez Jiffler in Point E. There is more to come though - with posts on Plateau, Yoff-Ngor-Almadies, cafes and patisseries, Goree Island, St Louis and Saly coming soon.

La Fourchette

La Fourchette, Rue Parent, Plateau, Dakar.

Its anniversary time Chez Jiffler, so a slap-up meal at somewhere fancy is in order. Mrs Jiffler and I scrub up well, despite having to get dressed for the evening in the dark thanks to the useless so called 'electricity company'. I've started enjoying wearing nice suits these days as well. Perhaps its a sign of growing up.

La Fourchette (The Fork) is one of the classier joints in Dakar. Putting the bland chain hotel dining rooms aside, there are only a handful of properly upmarket places to go in town; notably Le Lodge, Farid, Cosi, Sokhomon, and the surreal, yet ultimately disappointing Lagon II. La Forchette is the one with the real reputation for fine dining though, and I've heard good things about it here and there.

Front of house is smart enough, and we're shown to a decent table. The bar area looks like the sort of place I could knock back a bit of rum, and the restaurant is stylishly decorated (thankfully they didn't go with a forchette theme). Its something of a windowless box though, and although the A/C keeps us cool enough, the place quickly fills up with smoke as the French pile in with their Gitanes. More of the Frenchies later.

The menu is a little bit overwhelming as there appear to be multiple-personalities at work in the kitchen. You have a range of French-style starters and mains to get through, plus a selection of Mexican dishes, Japanese sushi and tempura, Italian platters, and the daily specials. The wine list is more trim, mostly French with a couple of Moroccan, New World and Spanish plonks thrown in to keep the prices down.

Mrs Jiffler recommends the sushi, and so we opt for a 'pirogue' of mixed sashimi to share as a starter. It comes presented on a wooden pirogue (Mrs Jiffler likes this kind of novelty) and looks quite smart. Capitaine and tuna are fresh and flavoursome, but the salmon is a cold tasteless lump. Wasabi is fresh and zingy and soya sauce is decent quality, but the rice just falls to bits in our chopsticks. Messy. I spot a few other more conventional sashimi options coming out of the kitchen, which in fairness look better held together than the pirogue, perhaps the boat was a touch too experimental.

Mains then, and the t-bone I ordered from the specials is unavailable. The waitress is gracious and witty about her error and recommends the Entrecote. This comes rare, as requested and tastes like a steak that has been left to hang for a while, unusual in Dakar. Unfortunately its a bit of a stringy cut, and I have to wrestle the knobbly bits out of my teeth. Vegetable sides are nicely al dente and carefully presented. Mrs Jiffler's Pork comes in an oriental style, with the odd surprising nugget of chilli. Her bucketload of rice could have been cut with a few veg to keep things interesting though.

So far, so inconsistent.

Its a treat, so we decide to squeeze in some puds. La Fourchette is famous for its puds, and I've been watching plate after plate of Roti au Chocolat coming out of the kitchen to the obvious delight of assorted French ladies. Mrs Jiffler leaps at the chance to try one, while I attempt the Creme Brulee en Coque, mainly to find out what they mean by en coque. After a few minutes our plates arrive, and the inconsistencies earlier in the meal are immediately forgiven. The baked chocolate is sublime, coming with a scoop of dreamy vanilla ice cream and a little smudge of marmalade. "En Coque" means your creme brulee comes served in three neatly opened egg shells (making the most of leftovers I see). Normally I not so impressed with this kind of gimick, but I concede it has some wit, and the creme brulee is outstanding. A neat crunch, followed by more of that lovely vanilla kick, the custard so smooth that I have the childish urge to lick the shells out.

During the course of the meal We chug through a good bottle of Beaujolais, a half bottle of OK Cote De Rhone, and some fizzy water. The final bill comes to something in the region of UK restaurant prices, which is becoming less of a surprise in this town. For a treat in Dakar, its worthwhile now and again, despite the inconsistencies. Certainly its popular with the French and Lebanese of all ages, who pack out the restaurant, with virtually no Senegalese in sight. I wonder if the lack of Senegalese customers is because, or in spite of this. Maybe La Fourchette is no longer fashionable with the Dakar glitterati, or perhaps even the Dakar-riche are feeling the crunch.

New Jiffling Website

Some repainting on Jifflings, and look: a handsome photo of the Jiffler (check out that steak). I'll work out how to put a photo in the title bar one of these days as well. Then it will look smart.

But the "news" is that I've spawned the first spin off in the jiffling empire: Kigali Restaurant Reviews now has its own site. It was my most popular posting, with some interest from expats and visiting tourists alike. With its own standalone site it will be easier to maintain. Please keep me updated if things change in Kigali - I'm always interested in new openings and the ups and downs of various establishments. I'm due to return to the city shortly, so will hopefully cover a handful of places that I have missed.

Coming soon I hope to publish a new site: Dakar Restaurant Reviews. A few people have mentionned that such a resource would come in handy, particularly an English language one. So why not eh? I'm halfway through the write up now, but this one may take some time. In the meantime I've written a review of La Fourchette, which I will post shortly.

Plans are also afoot to prepare a guide to the curry cafes of Manchester, some more resto reviews from Zanzibar, and Anglesey reviews. I'd like to encourage readers to help me put these together by offering their recommendations and highlights.

I'll also be developing the site a little, providing links to other foodie blogs of note, as well as food websites and producers. Again - I'd like to invite reader contributions to help with this.

Jifflings will remain much the same, with reviews and recipes and opinion pieces, but will be supplemented by the "satellite" blogs. Apologies for being a bit weak on recipes this year - I've been staying at a lot of hotels, and eating out a lot. Should have a couple of recipes up by the end of the week though.