Voodoo Doughnut, or life in the hole

There are two locations -

Voodoo Doughnut: 22nd SW Third Ave, Portland, OR
Voodoo Doughnut Too: 1501 NE Davis, Portland, OR

They say at Voodoo Doughnut the magic is in the hole, but what they don't tell you is that the area around the hole should be treated with love too. So don't go rushing in. Enjoy what you are about to be given. Every city has its places with a cult following - the pig out joints, the family favourites, the eateries that have been there since time began, and the drunken stumble that satisfies those food urges that you can only have at three o'clock in the morning after many, many drinks.

I've no doubt that 'Cat Daddy' (a.k.a. Kenneth) wouldn't thank me for describing Voodoo as a drunk hangout, but his two outposts are open twenty-four and twenty-one hours respectively so at certain times of the day, it's inevitable! I met the Cat at his newest venture, Voodoo Doughnut Too, which is out of downtown Portland in the residential north-east quadrant of the city. Opened at the start of this year on the fifth anniversary of trading, by a thousand person parade, you can't miss it, even if you wanted to. It's hot pink - always an eye catcher - and the interior is a kooky mix of schoolroom tables, coffin shaped sofas, pinball machines and blazing techno music. At certain times of the year, weather permitting, the Cat has held rock concerts, drive in cinemas and lets not forget that you can also be legally married there. That's right. Marriage vows and doughnuts. With a raised eyebrow and flaring nose I thought - after all, why not? Then came the stories of various doughnut related contests - a classic eating contest as well as a 'how many doughnuts can you stack on your penis' contest. "The official record is four", Cat told me "but one guy had five. He was disqualified for having a pierced appendage."

You should be able to discern that this is a very 'different' place. At times it feels as though the owners (the other being an unmet Trase Shannon) go out of their way to be deviant (before deciding upon doughnuts they considered, among other things, a vintage car tour of Portland, or a mother-in-law babysitting service). If you want to open a business, why be boring? Yet as fun and exciting as all the paraphernalia is, there's no point in titillation without the end product. This was a major concern to the Cat. "I had a background in bars, hotel management and the service industry" he said "but had never done any full scale culinary work. So the first thing we had to do was find out how to make doughnuts." Seems fair, I thought. They set out for Los Angeles, California where they learned how to handle a rolling pin and when to throw the flour, before returning to Portland. Here they refined, adapted, created and spun their own designs to create the signature Voodoo collection. They also tried a myriad of oils to be more 'healthy' but eventually Cat simply though "Sod it, it's a doughnut. It's supposed to be bad for you." Amen to that, brother. The rest, as they say, is history.

They were schooled well. I opted to try the classics: a simple glazed doughnut and an iced chocolate doughnut. If these were not right, I thought, what hope was there for the 'triple chocolate penetration', the 'butter fingering' or the 'cock and balls'? Of course, they were right. Slightly chewy but as soft as a baby's behind. Not too sweet, but sweet enough. I could have done three more, put it that way. I felt a little staid but well over fifty percent of doughnuts sold at Voodoo are the classics. Yet MORE evidence that people want simple food, done well. And in any case I was given a 'maple bar with bacon' for my travels and a more adventurous frame of mind.

All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable hour. The man had a dream and he's realised it. But a warning: even the seemingly timeless doughnut is not immune from global economic fluctuations. "Last year, the price of a sack of flour tripled." Cat mentioned, looking uncharacteristically serious. "If we can get Voodoo Too through the next six months, we'll be fine." Cue much gulping and difficulty on my part. Not sure what to say. I suddenly saw bank managers making aggressive phone calls and the Cat losing his innate cool. But then, the product is so good, the reputation so strong and the trail to the door so well trodden that there will always be people who want an old-school, fun, cheap date. I'll be taking the woman. And if you ever come to Portland, make sure you do too!

Unless you are a woman, in which case take your man, obviously!

Snow at Simpatica

You know things are hairy when your plane lands and everyone starts clapping. As we touched down into Portland, Oregon for Christmas at the in-laws, the visibility was so poor that we didn't know we were on the ground......until we were on the ground. Oregon is currently experiencing the biggest snowfall in forty years, which as far as I'm concerned is utterly wonderful and beautiful. It's re-igniting childhood fantasies of sleds on powder-soft snow, or giant snowmen with coal for belly-buttons.

I've eaten some great food since I've been here. Getting to Sel Gris was in itself a mission - cars in the Pacific Northwest are not designed for freezing rain and fifteen inches of cold snap - but once there it was well worth it. Being one of only five tables that had braved the weather to meet their reservations, the kitchen had plenty of time to produce excellent food for us. The place describes itself as 'bistro-style' which I would query - the waiting staff were far too formal to be 'bistro' and the food, although interesting, was much more contemporary than I would expect of a bistro affair. My Lyonnaise Salad was deconstructed to the extent that the wonderful braised, smoked bacon was placed on the side, and poached duck egg was served on top of some warmed Frisee. The signature French salt was a fantastic touch on the egg. Don't get me wrong - it was delicious - but to my mind, not bistro. The place borders on becoming pretentious, and I've no doubt that head chef Daniel Mondok has deliberately kept a leash on his creative instincts as he is aware that great food is ultimately very simple. Technically, the food was brilliant. The flavours were great. But for me - and I must stress that everyone else at the table loved the place - it didn't feel entirely whole.

At the other end of the scale is Simpatica. This was a dining experience that I enjoyed thoroughly. Christmas Eve brunch - a rare hanger steak, eggs over easy and a celeriac gratin - was utterly fantastic. The beef had a beautiful flavour and was tender although very bloody and the gratin was an inspired variation on the classic gratin dauphinoise. But the real clincher about Simpatica was the setting: the basement of an industrial warehouse, kitchen completely open, cooks in jeans and t-shirts, waitresses with big hearts and relaxed smiles. It felt somehow more real - and less forced. It felt as if someone was cooking purely for the love of cooking and letting the ingredients, many of them smoked and cured on the site of Simpatica's sister enterprise Viande Meats & Sausage, speak for themselves. It could have been the early morning bloody mary, but I felt utterly at home.

This is a key concept about good food. You must feel at home. If you're cooking for friends, cook what you crave, not what you think is expected. Don't go overboard - or do, if that's what you want. Take it easy. Relax.

A good book that puts this idea far more succinctly than I was given to me yesterday as a gift. It's called Roast Chicken and Other Stories. Give it a go if you get a chance.

Save Iceland, buy Skyr

As we all know the country of Iceland is going through some rather wobbly economic times at the moment. When I flew back from København I visited the currency exchange to get my hands on some US dollars and as I looked gingerly at the exchange rate - never a good idea in Denmark - I noticed that next to the Icelandic flag there was a line. Their currency has devalued so much that you can't actually buy or sell it! Their banks have collapsed, unemployment is rocketing and Britain even tried to use anti-terrorist laws to get it's money back. I've had a fascination for the place for many years but so far, no visit. As a child I would think: why on earth did people land there? It couldn't have been very promising could it? Furthermore, what did they find to eat, aside from fish? What could they grow? According to the Icelandic government website, traditional foods - thorramatur - include cured shark, singed sheep heads and "other delicacies".

But like many windswept people, heavily dependent on their cattle for survival, Iceland produces many excellent dairy products. One of the most common is Skyr, a type of thick yoghurt that has been strained from pasteurized, skimmed milk that has had rennet added. I came across Skyr for the first time yesterday and am now frantically trying to find out anything I can about it. The most information I could find is here. It is supremely high in protein, but tastes very 'clean' and ever so slightly sour. The usual rich, rounded flavour that you get from a typical yoghurt gives way to a milky, smooth texture that doesn't coat your mouth. It can be used in conjunction with both sweet and savoury flavours: last night I simply added some Acacia honey, this morning I made an open sandwich, the recipe is below.

Does anyone else know anything about Skyr? Perhaps there are some Icelanders out there who can give us some more details?

Open-Faced Chicken Sandwich with Skyr 'Mayonnaise'
Serves 2

Ingredients:
1 organic, free-range Chicken breast
1/2 Pink Lady Apple, sliced
Skyr, 1 dessert spoon
Horseradish, 1 teaspoon, grated
Wholegrain mustard, 1 teaspoon
A good handful Thyme leaves
Sour Dough bread, sliced
Maldon Sea Salt

Method:
1. Season your chicken breast and roast in a pre-heated oven at 180 degrees centigrade for 15 minutes, or until cooked through.
2. Meanwhile, mix the Skyr, mustard and horseradish together. Add a pinch of salt.
3. Once your chicken is cooked, remove the skin. Return the skin to the oven and render it until beautifully crisp.
4. Spread generously on a slice of Sour Dough.
5. Lay your sliced apple on top.
6. Slice your chicken breast on an angle, and lay on top of the apple.
7. Sprinkle with Thyme leaves and garnish with the crisp skin.

Five Guys = Burger Heaven

When one tries to define American cuisine, it's really impossible to do so. The Earth's most famous melting pot takes it's culinary influences from literally all over the world, and from almost every culture. Coupled with this being a relatively young country, a tangible American type of food really hasn't developed. If you had to choose one thing that America is famous for, it's probably going to be the burger, but even that has it's origins elsewhere with nineteenth century German immigrants bringing the "hamburger" along for their trip via the major port of, you guessed it, Hamburg. Since then, there have been numerous claims to who actually served the first hamburger, but for me the idea of the huddled masses clutching their cured beef between two slices of bread whilst braving the open waves of the Atlantic Ocean, destined for the 'new world' and who-knows-what is far, far more romantic. Although I'm sure they didn't think that at the time.

So from humble beginnings the hamburger - now known generically as the burger - has spread like wildfire all over the planet and is enjoyed daily by millions. As a consequence it seems to me that it has unwittingly developed a bad name. It's become a symbol for the globalized world, fast food and obesity. But the composite parts of a burger are actually perfectly healthy. Bread, fine. Salad, good. Ground beef, fine, and especially once it's cooked and the fat has been rendered out. Even Marco Pierre-White eats at McDonalds. So I think it's time to rise in defence of the burger, and stop assuming that it's a cardiac disaster. Now I'm not advocating that you eat a burger every day, as that ridiculous film 'Super Size Me' attests that people do. But as part of a balanced diet, then why not?

I occasionally eat at McDonalds. But by far the best burger I have eaten from a fast food joint was last night. Five Guys is a DC based burger franchise that over the last ten years has won numerous awards for the quality of what it serves, and you can see why. Good prices, delicious, never frozen hand made burgers, as many condiments as you want for free, and potato chips (from Idaho) that are cut daily and fried in peanut oil, giving them the most wonderful nutty brown colour and taste and then presented in these little cups. There was something honest about the food, and the people working there that instantly makes you relax. You just KNOW you're going to be fed well and as if to complete the picture, as I pulled apart my foil wrapped burger, the classic tones of Foreigner's "waiting for a girl like you" rang around the white-tiled walls. Perfection.

My Burger Recipe
Makes 2

Ingredients:
500g Minced Rump Steak, about 15% fat - add more if required.
2 Shallots, finely diced
A good handful of Thyme leaves
A good handful of Marjoram leaves
1 clove Garlic, crushed
A small squeeze of roasted Tomato puree
1 Egg, beaten
Maldon Sea Salt and Cracked Black Pepper

Method:
1. Pretty simple really. Place all the ingredients into a bowl and mix well. Get your hands in there. Then cover and chill in a fridge for about an hour. This is very important, it'll help the patties keep their shape.
2. Form into two patties. Brush them with olive oil, then fry on a lightly oiled non-stick pan for 4 minutes, either side. This should give you a medium finish.
3. Serve with whatever you like, but personally I eat mine with red onion marmalade and a soft blue cheese such as Dolcelatte.

Grits and Gingkos

There is a major crisis currently playing out on the streets of Washington DC. It is something that none of us, citizens or visitors alike are immune from. I caught my first whiff that there was a problem a few days when walking through the very cool neighbourhood of Adams-Morgan. No matter where I went, I could smell dog pooh. Needless to say I was getting completely paranoid. There were no traces of anything on my shoe, so was it me that was smelling? This went on every time I left the flat until eventually, this morning, over grits and a western omlette, I picked up the Washington Post. I was not alone. There have been record reports this year of the effect of the fruit from a Gingko tree that when dropped and crushed by passers by, smells like rancid butter. The district government even tried injecting the trees with 'massive hyperdermic needles' (imagine the scene) to prevent this - but it seems to have had the opposite effect. The trees have been bearing record levels of fruit. So we've got a few more weeks of flaring nostrils and quizzical looks at the soles of our shoes to endure yet.

As I said, I was eating brunch at the time when I was able to breath a huge sigh of relief. I didn't need to change my shower gel. Anyway, why can't people cook omlettes properly? This one wasn't bad, per say, in fact it was quite tasty. The smoked ham - cheddar cheese - green peppers - onions combination was quite satisfying. But it wasn't cooked properly. And by properly I mean slightly under-set in the centre. While I was at Ballymaloe, we learned that an omlette should take less than a minute to make once it hits the pan. Any longer and you know it's probably going to be too set, as was this. The grits however, were a revelation. A strange texture, somewhere between polenta and cous-cous, served very wet. They need seasoning and I can quite imagine serving them with shedloads of Parmesan stirred through, but these ones were plain. Somehow though, they were delicious piled on some toasted rye bread. I'll post a recipe once I find one.

Advanced warning of some upcoming posts: look out for reviews of Ben's Chilli Bowl, Julia's Empanandas and Five Guys - all legendary DC food joints!

Kobenhavn, city chic

This is my second visit to Kobenhavn, the first occurred twelve months ago. It was a three day visit as part of a 'grand tour of Scandinavian capitals' that only got as far as Denmark and Sweden, due to a lack of money. But although short on time, it left a lingering impression of an opportunity missed, like watching a film and faling asleep for the last twenty minutes. It's an incredibly 'cool' place - there are hundreds of tall Aryan looking boys and girls strutting around with an almost innate sense of style and grace, the reputation for design is not a myth with the clean lines of mimimalism occasionnally giving way to eighteenth century granduer. The pace of life is sunny afternoon on a beach and so it should be, with Denmark consistenly being ranked as one of the happiest places to live on this little planet of ours.

I spent most of the last trip jaw-dropping with amazement that every person we ran into spoke English. And by 'speak' English I mean perfect fluency. This time I thought I'd be clever by trying to find someone who couldn't. Complete failure and major case of egg on face. My main tactic was to trawl the numerous Pølser Stands (popular with both Danes and tourists alike) and quiz the vagabonds running them. Not a hint of a difficulty and as a result, no need to reign in my near obsessive enthusiasm for the humble Pølser due to linguistic embarresment. For the uninitiated, the Pølser is a national variation on the common hot dog, but is so much more than those dodgy boiled Frankfurters we get in the UK. Pølser with bacon. Pølser with cheese. Pølser with pickled cucumber and little, teenee-weenee bits of onion. Pølser with mustard. Pølser with remoulade! Big ones, small ones. The list is endless. Yes they are mass-produced and yes, they're not organic or even local. But by God they're good and sometimes you have to hold your hands up and admit you're occasionally wrong. If you want, take a look at the website of the company that produces them - but it doesn't really do them justice. A slightly more refined lunchtime snack that the Danes enjoy is the more well-known Smørrebrød - an open sandwich with a rye bread base. You can enjoy these at any number of eateries throughout the city. They have a myriad of toppings including smoked salmon, roast beef, pickled herring, eel - the list is essentially endless. My personal favourite was 'Leverpostej' - warm liver pate serves with sauteed mushrooms.

Danish cuisine has a tradition akin to many northern European countries featuring products well suited to it's climate such as barley, potatoes, berries, mushrooms and locally produced dairy products. Although famously liberal in relation to social values, it seems the Danes are staunchly conservative in relation to their food. There appears a pleasing rejection of health fads. For example, a lack of refrigeration would have meant few fresh fruits and vegetables in main meals. Those things that could be preserved were either pickled or smoked, hence pickled cucumbers or fruits with fish dishes. Food is hearty in Denmark - such as the national dish 'Frikadeller' - a type of meatball with potatoes and brown sauce. Whatever that is. But of course there are now refrigeration processes in Denmark. Consequently, there has been a boom in 'top-end' restaurants in Kobenhavn that demand refinement and a light hand. Diners no longer want to be rolled out of the restaurant. Two of the most famous are Søren K which can be found in the 'Black Diamond' on the city's canals; and Noma whose head chef is Rene Redzepi, formerly of El Bulli. The picture above was taken at Pastis (no website). It can be found at Gothersgade 52. You can see a 'juledessert' that consisted of a rich fruit cake, rice pudding, clementine sorbet and vanilla syrup, garnished with hazelnuts and cherries.

It.

Was.

Deadly Good.

I can't reccommend Kobenhavn highly enough. When I'm there it feels like coming home. The Danes go all out to try and create 'hygge', what in Wales we would call 'cwtch' or in English we'd call cosy. But it's not something that just happens. It's an ideology, a lifestyle, a being.

And from what I've experienced of this great city, they succeed.

Århus, the city of smiles

First off, apologies for not having posted in some time. I know regular readers will have been losing eons of sleep over this, but I have been slightly nomadic recently. Initially intending to re-locate to Scotland, I've found myself in Denmark - one of my most favourite countries - re-booting my relationship with the girl from the Hazelnut Tart post.

We've been based in København - a future post will come on that - but for now I'm in Denmark's second city, Århus. Known as the city of smiles and as the cultural capital of the country, the place has an energetic beat largely due to its student population of 40,000. Out of a total of 300,000. Bet the locals are happy! The atmospheric old town ("Den Gamle By") is a living museum of houses, shops, gardens and kitchens and well worth a visit for a feeling of Danish life in centuries past, and the pedestrianised centre nods a head to it's students with it's array of shops, bars and clubs. It feels like a city pulling in two seperate directions, with one half storming toward the future and another clinging to it's proud tradition as a major port and centre of artistic prowess, making the future all the more fascinating.

It's fair to say that Denmark is not renowned for it's culinary tradition, save Pork, Cabbage and Smoked Fish. However, as I happen to adore Roast Pork, Red Cabbage and Smoked Fish all is well in my stomach. Last night we ate at a lovely little French bistro called "Sct. Oluf" with only four things on the menu. I've often wondered about this as a concept - a no choice restaurant where you sit down and 'get what you're given' - perhaps the diner, abdicated of all control, would enjoy simply being fed. As an indicator the place was rammed, cheap and good. And you'll soon learn that cheap, good food in Denmark is like gold dust. I ate Potato Soup, a braised Veal stew (achingly tender) and some Christmas pudding that consisted of an Amaretti biscuit base, stewed apples and a vanilla cream. All for 149Kr or just under 20 pounds (no pound sign on this keyboard!). Bargin. Note that the ingredients involved in those three dishes are not expensive. Yet another example that simple food, cooked well is all most people really want. If you want to go there it's on Mejlgade, number 33. No website, of course.

I also managed to steal a recipe for Red Cabbage, Danish style and in my opinion, the best there is to be had. It's bang in season at the moment and very 'Christmassy':

Klassisk Rødkal - Classic Red Cabbage
Serves 6

Ingredients:

1 Red Cabbage
2 Oranges, Skin and Juice
1 Cinnamon Stick
3 Star Anise
4 Bay Leaves
2 Cardamom Pods
200g Soft Brown Sugar
300ml Pear Juice or Blackcurrant Juice
200ml Cherry Vinegar
400ml Red Wine
Sea Salt, to season

Method:
(NB: As this recipe is translated by me from the Danish, I'm giving you my method for cooking. I only just mananged to work out the ingredients! It's quite time intensive, but not labour intensive. You just need to keep an eye on it.)

1. Remove the core and slice the Cabbage into fine shreds. Set Aside.
2. Quarter your Oranges and then slice lengthways so you have little triangles. Set Aside.
3. Find a large, heavy dish with a lid. Add your Cabbage and Oranges and a splash of water. Place on a medium heat for ten minutes to get it started.
4. Now add all your other ingredients (except the salt) together. Stir well and return to the heat. Make sure the lid is well sealed - use a tin foil seal under the lid to help if necessary. It's really important to keep the heat in. Stir every now and again. If the liquids are boiling off too quickly, reduce the heat. We want the cabbage to braise. Pre-heat an oven to 200 degrees centigrade.
5. After 20 mins transfer to the oven for roughly an hour. Stir every 20 mins or so. The end product should be soft and juicy.

This is one of those dishes that tends to taste better the day after, so the longer you leave it after cooking the better: it allows the flavours to infuse further. If you're re-heating, do so on the hob on a gentle heat and keep it moving. Don't let it stick!