A Good Herts

Amazing. You read nothing about Hertfordshire for ages and then two posts come along at once... 

After the surprise of Hitchin and a reminder to be open-minded about such things, another random invite popped into the inbox. Had I heard of Rodells? Would I like to go and eat there? Because it's probably the best restaurant in Watford. 

Insert car-screeching-to-a-halt comedy sound effect there. "The best restaurant in Watford" sounds like the ultimate in damning with faint praise, akin to saying someone is the least annoying member of the Big Brother house or that the Labrador puppies scene is the funniest bit of Bridesmaids. But hey, in the spirit of openmindedness, and aware that Hertfordshire had already surprised me once, we made the short journey from Finchley to Watford, negotiated the one way system and entered... 

It's a most unassuming place and a most unassuming location, a sort of bar / deli / converted house with a slightly eccentric layout (there's a shower in the gents) and an even more eccentric menu. And, as we'd later discover, a fantastically eccentric chef/patron too. 

The man in question is Mario Tavares, a musician, producer, and now eager chef. Having eaten his way around the world, Mario would come back and recreate his favourite dishes at home. Now, he cooks the best things from his repertoire at Rodells. The result is an eclectic collection of tapas-style dishes that bounces around the continents, some with comedy asides on the menu: the vegetarian platter for two, for example, quotes a genuine, typically idiotic TripAdvisor comment that "there's not much meat in it." 



Some of the dishes that follow are excellent, some are decent, some probably clash with one another - where did you last see Nasi Goreng and Mac n Cheese on the same menu? - but, somehow, it kind of works. So, with an episode of Top Cat giving way to a Pink Panther cartoon on the back wall, and Tom Waits and Steely Dan and assorted others playing softly through the speakers, we ordered. And ordered from pretty much all the continents. Nonya Chicken Curry. The aforementioned Mac n Cheese served, in the non-aforementioned "sushi style". Cajun BBQ ribs. Cantonese Roasted Belly Pork. And because at this point we were in a why-the-hell-not mood and beyond questioning logic, the Nasi Goreng. 








And, somehow, well, yeah, it all kind of worked. Not necessarily altogether, but taken individually, there's some very good cooking here. The stand outs were the curry - sweet, well spiced, punchy - and the ribs which, as Mario explained, are from Blackfoot pigs and, after a debate with his staff, are a mix of dry rub on one side, sticky sauce on the other because, well, that's the way they do things here. The result delivers meat flavour, smoke, heat, sweetness and slips neatly off the bone. It's lovely. 

Also great - no, really - was that sushi style Mac n Cheese. Also great was the fact that The Pink Panther had finished and been replaced with Harold Lloyd in Safety First. That's a trick that could make a lot of things better. 


Dessert - from a list entitled, slightly annoyingly, Nom Noms (although Harold Lloyd can just about make that better too) - was a shared homemade carrot cake which, in now typical unexpected fashion, was one of the best I've had anywhere and, if Mario's about, comes with a great story about 1970s pop acts. 


Would I go back? Like a shot. I'm told there are big barbecue plans afoot, there's a good dozen dishes from the repertoire I haven't tried and it's the kind of random, oddball place I just warm to. Mario sources well, cooks well, his staff are charming, the drinks list has some unusual items AND Prosecco  and a sparkling rose on tap... It's proper neighbourhood stuff and, if it was in Brooklyn or Cuba or in a suburb of LA, thousands would be seeking it out for its eccentric charm. Instead though it undoubtedly remains the best restaurant in Watford. 

The Hitchin Post

As Twitter followers will know (well, more than those who follow the randomly updated blog, yes, sorry about that. AGAIN) I travel. A lot. From the early, utterly random first trip I did as a journalist  (well, second, pre-blog days, in another life, I went to the Woodford Reserve distillery), things have escalated considerably. Last year saw me in Japan, Mexico, Texas, Washington DC, Hong Kong, California, Brooklyn, Boston and up and down the Maine coast, Spain, Switzerland, France and a few days in Montana that ended with me singing karaoke with Zac Efron. No, really. 

And so, with that lot in mind, today I'm writing about... Hitchin. No, to be fair, you're right, it doesn't sit easily in that list. I didn't ever see it on an episode of Wish You Were Here, poets have been strangely quiet on the subject and the honeymooners are understandably nowhere to be seen. But, if you'd had the sort of ludicrously entertaining correspondence with self-appointed Hitchin rep Kirsty Favell that I had, you'd have been persuaded too. They're too random and rambling to go into in depth here (one person's random ramblings is enough on this blog, right?) but: a) they made me laugh a lot; and b) made me think I'd met a kindred spirit and what did I have to lose?

The answer to the latter, as it turned out, was "about three hours" after the powerlines that allow trains to travel from Hitchin back to Kings Cross fell down, but that's not important right now. At least I had snacks - an excellent carrot cake and mince pie from local bakery Taste Buds - and good company in the shape of Vogue writer / Toast founder / Maltby Street obergruppenführer Miranda York. And, as it happened, surprisingly fond memories of a small town in Hertfordshire that's doing some rather good things in terms of food. They do, however, need to improve their tagline... 


So, on a cold December morning Miranda and I found ourselves in Hitchin. Not that it took a lot of effort frankly: it's all of 20 minutes outside of Kings Cross (well, unless the power goes down) which makes it a very popular commuter belt sort of place. Because of that, and locals who've seen London restaurants and delis and such like, they've headed back to Hertfordshire deciding they'd quite like that sort of variety and quality on their doorstep and a few local entrepreneurs, publicans, hoteliers, chefs and shopkeepers have decided to give them what they want. The results are frequently surprising, charming and - best of all - thriving. 

Kirsty, as Hitchin's self-appointed ambassador, was everything from our welcoming committee to our driver and tour guide, pointing out the interesting local businesses we didn't have time to visit as we headed to our first stop: a full English breakfast at Redcoats. 

Lots of places bang on about local and seasonal to the point of cliche. Owner Peter Butterfield didn't use that expression but, as he told us tales of the house, how the 15th Century property had evolved and been extended over the centuries, what it was like growing up in such remarkable surroundings and how they'd come to make it into a hotel, he pointed at certain things on the plate and explained where nearby they'd come from. Later he pointed out a field opposite explaining that, basically, is where they keep their beef while it's breathing and in cow form. This isn't local as a hook, or because it's "on message", it's local because,well, that's the way it's done. It's nice.  


Next stop was the town centre - which is quite pretty, watery and, apparently, the home of assorted street food carts and such like on Saturdays. It's also the more permanent home of Blue Otter Wines where owner Paul was on hand to meet us and provide glasses of The King's Ginger. If you've never had it, think Stones, only better. If you have, you'll understand why I bought a bottle. I usually have to head to Berry Bros to get one, so it was a delight to find one elsewhere a week before Christmas, as it makes a blooming marvellous whisky mac. It's also good with other things, like lemonade or, indeed, a straw. They also had a cracking selection of wines and spirits, promise "any flavour of vodka you like, as long as it's rhubarb" and, according to their Twitter feed, are home to the comfiest armchair in Hitchin. I'd like them enormously for that alone, but this a quality business, and exactly the quirky little drinks shop you'd like on your doorstep. Lucky old Hitchin, I thought, and not for the first time that day... and not for the last time, either. 

A short walk later, more money was exchanged for fine goods in Halsey's Deli. It sounds snobby to keep saying things were surprising but you simply don't expect to find that range of cheese, that range of loose leaf teas and coffees, brilliant little edible stocking fillers and such like in a small market town in Hertfordshire. 

So, stomach stuffed with pork products and eggs, pockets stuffed with cheese and my bag stuffed with a bottle of King Edward's favourite tipple it was obviously time for lunch. Hey, you have to do these things when you're a professional... Fortunately, Kirsty took us on a short tour of the town first which helped burn off possibly as many as 10 calories. There are the things in Hitchin you'd expect to see in any market town these days - closing down sales, a branch of Zizzi's, a Pizza Express, a very strange busker - but, actually, the chains don't dominate and there's a distinct sense of personality here. 

Our destination this time was a restaurant in a converted horrible nightclub. Apparently. It's the sort of description that fills you with dread... and obviously the sort of thing Hitchin surprises you with once again. The stairs bring you to a long bar, a spacious airy room, a comfortable (and thriving) well lit restaurant and a buzzing open kitchen. It's called Hermitage Road and, frankly, you could drop it into Islington tomorrow and it would succeed. The menu is simple, with (at lunchtime) assorted small plate options and a main list biased towards salads, risottos and fish. Or pretty much all of the above in the case of my smoked haddock, chive and horseradish risotto with a poached egg. That's my kind of lunching and the execution was terrific: bite - in terms of texture and that little "wa-hey" thing horseradish does - big flavours and a lovely, silky, vibrant egg yolk to bring it all together and make it look even prettier. You know the mantra that was rattling around my head at this point, of course. 



Dessert was shunned because we know what was coming next: cakes, courtesy of former army catering man Charlton Vincent. After retiring from the forces, Charlton attempted to work for a large catering group and decided it wasn't for him: there are only so many years of being told what to do anyone should take, right? Salvation came in the form of Taste Buds, a sandwich shop and bakery that, apparently, was decidedly average, like so many local sandwich shops and bakeries. It's no longer decidedly average. Cakes are made on site - many with low sugar and other dietary requirements taken care of - sandwiches use fresh ingredients, with fillings that are prepped and cooked from scratch each day using Fair Trade ingredients wherever possible. If this was anywhere near your office, you'd be there every day. Actually, you'd want it about 15 minutes from your office as that way you could sort of justify having a cake as well... 


Do I sound like I've drunk the Kool Aid in Hitchin? Obviously Kirsty knew my tastes and was guiding us through the finer places but when there are five this fine in such a small radius, it's hard not to sound like a newly converted Hitchin zealot. Seriously, five great food places is a better average than I found for bits of North London when I did the Square Meal chapters last year. Lucky old Hitchin? Yes, to some extent. But clever old Hitchin is probably more accurate. Well done chaps. Keep up the good work. 

Chablis Challenge: The Takeaway

Last year, as you may recall - relax, I'm not expecting you to, I'm constantly amazed that anyone reads my random calorie-fuelled musings - I was approached with a Chablis-based challenge. Well, I'm pleased to say that the grape-based gauntlet has been thrown down once again. Last year, the subject was "find something interesting to pair with Chablis" and I took it as en excuse to ramble on about my long-held opinion that white wine - particularly something crisp and clean and "minerally" like a Chablis - is frequently better with cheese than the oft-quoted red. 

This year, the challenge was a little more specific: throw the Chablis up against the takeaway dish of your choice. Or, in the name of thorough research (or "greed" as it's generally known), takeaway dishes. 

While Finchley isn't going to challenge Soho anytime soon for its selection of restaurants, we do have some great places, and a good range of nationalities and cuisines. Having perhaps not given Chablis the thorough work out it probably deserves last year, this year we went for it. And the results were... well, if not surprising, knowing how versatile this wine can be, certainly impressive. 

The wines in question - both available from Majestic - were a Petit Chablis (2011 Union des Viticulteurs de Chablis, £9.99) and the Laroche 2011 Chablis La Collegiale, £13.99). For those unfamiliar with such things - or whom, like me, have brains that remember grapes not geography - these are Burgundy wines and 100% Chardonnay. 

The former, according to Majestic's own notes, is "bright and approachable with an absence of oak allowing the generous ripe apple and citrus fruit to shine through" that's "best enjoyed with fresh white fish or seafood". 

The latter, again according to Majestic's own notes, is "pale golden" with "a youthful citrus nose with spring blossom nuances." Which suggests Majestic have been exposed to a completely different type of youth than I typically experience on the Northern Line. "The palate is fresh and harmonious with nicely focused fruit character and a lingering stony texture on the finish." As for tasting suggestions, "freshly prepared sushi, or a salad of prawns and watercress." 

And, boringly, we'd have to agree. The Petit Chablis was, as the name suggests, more compact in terms of nose and appearance - it's a very pale straw colour, with a gentle hint of fruit on the nose - a little "thinner". Not in a bad way, by any means, it just lacked the buttery mouth feel of the Laroche which, to our palates, was closer to the feel of all those Aussie Chardonnays we drank in the 90s, with a honey like hue and a much riper nose, although considerably subtler in terms of oak than its Antipodean rivals. 

The Petit Chablis was particularly crisp, which is a very hard thing to get across unless you've experienced it. It's not a dryness thing, it's more the brightness of the flavours - and yes, citrus fruits and apple were to the fore. If it's not too pretentious to say, the flavours just kind of present themselves, in a very pleasant manner, before evolving into that stony, fresh mouthfeel with, to my mind at least, a lingering hint of pear drops. Now there's a way to show your age... 

While the Laroche finished in similar style - I know stony and mineral don't sound appealing but man, it's delicious and refreshing - it's a very different, altogether more rounded wine. "Harmonious" is actually a good word (nice one Majestic, you've got a future in this business) as the fruit and that mineral crispness sort of evolve together before fading into a lovely melon-y hit. 

Right then. That's enough wine talk - if you'll excuse my amateurish attempts at going the full Goolden - onto how it matches up with food. Given that our local takeaways are noticeably light on "fresh white fish and seafood" - outside of batter, anyway - and "freshly prepared sushi" we were winging it all the way. Also, our local branch of Prawns And Watercress Salad Hut is currently closed for refurbishment... 

Finchley, like many bits of North London, scores very highly though in terms of Turkish takeaways including our all too regular haunt Durum Ocakbasi. We've also got pretty decent pizza and mainstream Italian from Da Lillo and the excellent Meera's which I've previously written about here. We've also got a superb Vietnamese called Vy Nam Cafe, however we've found the takeaways aren't quite as good as eating in, so ruled that one out. So how to choose between the other three? Er, we didn't. 

Hence from Durum we had the mixed cold mezze - dollops of humus, tarama, cacik (yoghurt with cucumber and garlic), califasulye (green beans in olive oil) and ispanak tarator (spinach, yoghurt and garlic) - plus a portion of sucuk (that addictive and spicy chargrilled beef sausage) and some muska boregi (feta-and-parsley-stuffed pastries). The Laroche was a good match and very drinkable but the lightness and freshness of the Petit Chablis really sang against the garlic and spice and, best of all, the boregi, where it cut through the richness of the feta and the crispy, fatty pastry without overpowering the flavours, and also gave the parsley its place in the spotlight. All told that was probably the best pairing of the night. 

From Da Lillo, we thought we'd challenge the bottles with a Capricciosa pizza - mozzarella, tomati, ham, peppers, anchovies, egg and olives to stop you having to Google it. We also ordered Milanese con Spaghetti because: a) it's delicious; b) it reminds Mrs L of Italian meals of her youth; c) we're pigs; d) we like cold escalope sandwiches if we don't finish it; and e) we had to get the order over £12 to get free delivery). This time, both wines got a chance to shine, with the Petit Chablis pairing well with the Milanese (although I might argue the Laroche worked slightly better with the spaghetti part of the meal) but the standout was the Laroche with the Capricciosa. I'm not always a great lover of the anchovy although exposure to the work of the great Jose Pizarro has helped change my mind. Here that deep underlying salt hit and the in-your-face fishiness found a damn fine partner in the Chablis, which also linked well with the richness of the egg. A very close second to the Petit Chablis and boregi pairing. 

The wines went back in the fridge for an hour or so while we had a pause (read "nap") before giving it the possibly greater challenge of bhel puri (which tasted much better than it looks) and an even-by-my-standards hot and fantastically rich paneer masala, plus a naan and some home made lentils and rice. This may have been a couple of dishes too far for us, but the Chablis, the versatile little sausage that it is, coped reasonably well. The Petit Chablis fared better against the paneer while the Laroche fared better against the bhel puri - well, until the addition of a little yoghurt, which probably gave the Petit Chablis the edge, although neither pairing was quite as good as the earlier session's matches. 

After that - and, yes, alright, after another impromptu nap - the wines were finished on their own.Both are very good "drinkers" in their own right. If I had to pick, I'd probably go for the Laroche but then I'm a sucker for that big buttery mouthfeel while the oak-loathing, too-many-bad-Aussie-Chardonnay-experiences-in-the-90s Mrs L would go for the lighter refreshing nature of the Petit Chablis. After a fine (and pleasantly squiffy) experiment though, I think we can call it a draw.