Classic Combination: French Onion Tart

This is an absolute winner. The ingredients are so cheap it's ridiculous, and takes no more technical skill than drinking a beer. It's a basic dish but easily sophisticated enough for a dinner party. The secret is in two things - firstly, make your pastry very short, and allow it to chill overnight. Secondly, when sweating down your onions, really do take the time to ensure they have softened fully, and just started to caramalise. This recipe uses Gruyere, but you could easily substitute for a mature Cheddar. Alternatively, you could use a blue cheese and add some rosemary to the onion mixture for something a little different. Serve with a warm potato salad and some salad leaves. Brilliant for lunch!

French Onion Tart
For a 12 inch tart tin

Ingredients:
300g Plain Flour
150g Cold Butter, cubed
A pinch of Salt
Ice-cold water

1kg sliced Onions
Two good pinches of grated Nutmeg
2 egg yolks
150ml Creme Fraiche
125g Gruyere, grated

Method:
1. Add flour, butter and salt to a food processor. Blitz until you reach what looks like bread-crumbs. Now add just enough cold water to bring the mixture together. It should be firm, not sticky. If it is, add more flour and repeat. Remove, wrap in cling film and leave in a fridge overnight.
2. The next day, remove the chilled pastry and line your tin. Roll the pastry to a thickness of roughly 5mm. Now transfer the pastry by wrapping it around the pin, and unroll (is that a word???) it over the tin. Tuck in the edges and trim off any excess. Return to the fridge to cool again.
3. Meanwhile, add your sliced onions to a pan with 50g butter and some olive oil. Sweat, but do not brown. You want them to reduce to an oozing, oniony, sweet, gorgeous pulp. This will take a while, be patient.
4. After 20 minutes of waiting, "blind bake" your pastry by lining it with greaseproof paper and weighting that down with some dried beans. Place in a preheated oven at 180 degrees. This is very important - you need to look for the pastry seeming "cooked" - thereby ensuring crunchy pastry later. Remove and cool.
5. By now the onions should be finished. Add nutmeg, cheese, egg yolks and creme-fraiche. Mix thoroughly, taste and correct seasoning. Add to the cooled pastry case.
6. Now put the whole thing into an oven at 180 degrees until the top is browned and the mixture has set.

A pub in the countryside...

Leafy Broughton, a wealthy hamlet north of Huntingdon, is a throwback to old England. Tucked away on a single-track road off the A141, the grand country houses are focused around a fine sixteenth century church and the inviting looking Crown Inn - a typical focal point-type pub first built in the seventeenth century and used as a saddlers shop. Indeed, it's so important to the locals that five years ago forty-four of them bought it when it was faced with closure.

More recently it has been passed back into private hands, the interior has been renovated to reflect the contemporary feel of the menu and the dining area has been transformed into a cool, clean, modern space for up to thirty-six. Tastefully, the bar area retains its rural charm with space to linger for a pint with the newspaper. The resulting atmosphere is relaxed, casual, family-friendly, and free from the faux affability of equivalent city centre establishments. Basing its dishes around seasonality and locality, the food reflects this modern approach to dining. Even the wine menu changes with the seasons - showing a real understanding of the importance in pairing drinks with food. For non-wine drinkers the Crown prides itself on its real ale selection and continental beers.

The menu has an unapologetically British emphasis, with French and Italian influences. Consisting of a good range of starters, main courses and desserts, plus a specials board, chef-patron David focuses on classic dishes like the perfectly cooked pigeon breast with puy lentils or coarse chicken liver pate and piquant red-onion jam we ate for our first courses.
A charming and attentive waitress, armed with freshly baked bread and full of smiles, had seated us next to some impressive French windows that led into an inviting beer garden, perfect for a summer family lunch. After our starters, a hearty roast Cornish leg of lamb with pancetta, mashed potato, baby onions and finished with a thyme jus was enjoyed, along with some super-fresh mackerel, zesty lemon-dill potatoes, earthy roasted beetroot and a watercress salad, perfectly dressed in a light salsa verde. The two dishes summed up the new Crown Inn - the modern, light touch of the mackerel, with the bucolic lamb doffing its cap to the past.

Although the emphasis was clearly on quantity as well as quality (no silly tiny portions here), we still managed to find space for pudding. Not desserts mind you, but pudding. One of the most pleasing elements of the Crown Inn's menu was the return of proper puddings, including a steamed treacle sponge with real egg custard, a selection of homemade ice creams, and a vanilla panna cotta with shortbread. We opted for a deep, luxurious, rich chocolate tart with vanilla ice cream. It was a perfect end to the meal that could be summarised as real food, done properly. It was one of those chocolate moments that see you scraping the plate for every last morsel of the dark gold.

The young, dynamic duo of chef-David and general manager-Paul have succeeded in creating a casual, brassiere-style pub that has no stuffy dress code or formality, just an emphasis on relaxation. You can bring your own bottle for a small corkage fee, you can park your car outside and leave it there all day, you can lollop around in the garden, you can eat a meal indoors and your dog can sit with you in the bar area. In short, you can do what you want. If you do want to eat, booking is advisable, especially at weekends. At a time when many rural pubs are closing, or being enveloped by bland brewery-backed chains, independent jewels like the Crown Inn offer real hope for the future of eating out in Britain - support it if you can.

NB: this is not in my usual 'style' . I haven't gone nuts, it's a copy of a review I wrote for www.localsecrets.com - a review website covering Cambridgeshire.

Bacon and Eggs: Gastronomy?

I was watching the BBC programme 'Top Gear' last night. James May, Jeremy Clarkson and that little rat Richard Hammond, were engaged in a contest to see who could get from Italy to central London fastest - Clarkson in a custom made, limited edition Buchatti, or James and rodent Richard in a single engine bi-plane. Clarkson won. It took him almost thirteen hours, but he beat the Wright brothers by just a few minutes. It was, I suppose, mildly entertaining but on the whole I don't understand the link between (small) men and cars. The moment some bore in the pub starts talking about horse breaks, gibbering about engine power or waffling about where the speed cameras are on the A14 I'm completely lost. There was a time when I used to fret about this. Now I just console myself that I might not be able to change a tire, but I can sharpen a knife in double quick time. Apparently, there's something of the 'animal' about driving ludicrously fast. The sense of danger releases endorphins and can give you a primeval rush, which is admittedly difficult to achieve in my Grandfather's (g.b.h.s) Renault Clio. Automatic. But I do get the same feeling when under real pressure in the kitchen. Your pace quickens, your concentration narrows in, and before you know it, three hours have passed in the blink of an eye.

Last week, having dragged myself out of bed stupidly early for a job interview in London (which I secured- hurrah!) and chewed the fat with the representative of an American based client, I was in need of feeding. There were two options - a very classy looking coffee shop with lovely glass doors, fancy looking cakes and lots of young, wealthy types; or alternatively the River Cafe nestled below a just underneath a gloriously grey, wet and drizzly Putney Bridge tube station - a fairly shabby looking greasy spoon that seemed to be staffed by age concern and frequented exclusively by council workmen. In the event, there was no contest. The decor was immense, like walking into a time warp. Perfectly placed bottles of condiments, coupled with those little glass salt and pepper shakers you used to see at primary school. Faded posters of 1980's Italian football sides drooped off the walls. I wanted to move in.

This was never going to be high-class food - the tables were plastic, the chairs wobbled and the menu board looked like it hadn't changed since 1975, but the locals were clearly knew what they wanted and whilst it wasn't rammed there was certainly a brisk trade going on. The workers were busy - driving their cars quickly. "Tea or Coffee?" barked the guy behind the counter at me - to which my order of "Tea no sugar" was relayed to an elderly woman who replied with an affirmative, in a bizarre half-cockney/half-Italian accent. "Two rounds, bacon, egg and fresh tomatoes" was then screamed into the kitchen - and five minutes later, it arrived, I read the paper, and I ate. Without realising it, it was gastronomy. Taste - texture - smell - colour - flavour.

Bacon = coarse, light colour, salty.
Egg = neutral white, smooth and a rich yolk exploding onto the plate.
Tomato = sweet, soft, juicy, bright red.

The elements of this most simple of platters both complimented and contradicted one another all at once. Genius. I was having a moment, and all for £2.50. In these times of limited credit and economic nervousness people will surely revert to basic feeding habits. Real people, eating within their means. Granted, enough to give a cardiologist a heart attack (which would be hilarious) but really, who cares? It's been a timely reminder of how much I enjoy food and the very basic pleasure it can give me.

Rice and Peas, Curry Goat, Plantains

Location: Hammersmith, London

Sometimes you discover food that reminds you why you fell in love with eating. I've long wondered why black-Britain has not succeeded in bringing its food to the high street, in the same way that Indian-Britain has. Go down any thoroughfare in most towns and cities, and you'll find at least one curry house, but how often have you seen a restaurant serving traditional fare from the Caribbean? I'm sure sociologists may have all sorts of theories about this - if you believe the statistics then black-Britain performs badly on many social indicators including education, social mobility and the rest. Perhaps Indian-Britain is simply more ambitious, more "go-getting", or just more sure of itself. A few restaurants won't change that, but at the very least, food has the potential to foster curiosity about other cultures, and the way "they" do things. It can wipe away that initial hesitancy, those thoughts of "this isn't for me". It's much better than being lectured about tolerance by some bloke from the council. Taste the food, and you are having the same experience as thousands of Jamaicans or Indians before you. It gives you direct - not sanitised political correct nonsense - access to the people. You can be, for a brief moment, one of "them" and then choose to explore that feeling further, or to withdraw.

I have no experience of Caribbean food. This is absolutely my fault - for someone who professes to want to try everything there is on offer, I made the cardinal mistake of assuming that I wouldn't be impressed. Sure, I know some of the composite parts, those ingredients that crop up continually - scotch bonnet peppers, plantains, coconut, rice - but the reality is that this unique cuisine is an amalgamation of a wide variety of cultural influences from the west coast of Africa, to the asian sub continent via the major imperial powers of Europe. Yesterday I was researching a marinade for jerk chicken that included orange juice, soy sauce and olive oil - now that was confusing, and as I have mentioned a thousand times if there's one thing I'm wary of its fusion food. I'm still learning, I know very little, but as I mentioned above I've become completely obsessed with finding out more.

The reason for all this is Hammersmith market, held on a Thursday of each week. Now, I hate going to London. To do so is something of a chore, but I was there for a job interview so I couldn't complain. I felt rather like a downtrodden husband visting his in-laws, times one-thousand. Having an hour to kill, and spotting the market I wandered over, in search of a nibble for lunch. There was an impressive array of options including some delightful smelling north African food, a falafel stall with a queue that was at least thirty people deep (complete with furious looking office workers glancing at their watches every thirty seconds), the obligatory home made burgers and sausages, and gloriously, a very simple, slightly scruffy looking stall with two ramshackle signs reading "curry goat" and "jerk chicken". It was manned by two large, jolly, perma-smiled Jamaican ladies, with whom I was immediately charmed. They were cheeky, and were mercilessly mocking customers who were staring and clearly considering if it was worth a visit to the hospital. I've noticed that at a food market, certain stalls have the equivalent of pub-reconnaissance, that phenomenon of walking up and down the street from different angles, past the pub you're debating wether to go in, trying to catch a glimpse of the interior and/or clientele before opting for the soulless neon-clad bar at the end of the road. But the two ladies had those types sussed. "Give us a try!" one would say, to shrieks of laughter from the other, complete with thigh slap. "Come on over, we don't think it will kill you too bad!". Cue high-fiving and spoon waving. They were great.

And once I had some, so was the food. Goat curry is by far the best thing I have eaten this year. It was unbelievably tender, and a deep rich colour. Flavour-wise it was similar to a mature lamb, and cooked on the bone was literally melt in the mouth. It had been marinaded - and the tastes I could distinguish were cumin, some heat (scotch bonnet pepper), a slight saltiness and ginger. Served with the classic staples, rice and peas plus some sweet sweet SWEET fried plantain, which counteracted the heat of the curry wonderfully well. It was served in polystyrene tray, eaten with a plastic spoon whilst sitting on the pavement. It fired the curiosity in me - what exactly goes into the marinade? How long is it marinaded for? Do you need to use a certain type of bean for the rice and peas? Lots of questions and new things to explore - which is the incredible thing about food, you never run out of things to learn. Obviously, I'm not going to write a recipe for Curry Goat - the trouble is, I've no idea what is authentic. But I have come across this video, which seems promising, if only for the way the girl says "Jamaican Curry Goat" - absolute classic.

More than cockles and lava bread...

One of the most memorable St David's Day hilarity moments occurred in 1987 at Ysgol Y Ddwylan, where I spent my formative years in education. We were all sitting on our backsides in the gym hall, legs crossed and hands clasped on shoes, and dressed in traditional Welsh costume - miners outfits with clogs for the boys, red cloaks, petticoats and tall black hats for the girls. We were also encouraged to wear either a leek or a daffodil on our breasts, as these are both traditional symbols of the nation. We were in the gym hall to learn of St David's many miracles. The most famous occurred in mid-Wales. David was preaching to a crowd who were all airs and graces until those on the back couldn't see anything. As you can imagine, this was intolerable. To avert a riot, David simply gestured to them, (I understand in an annoyingly nonchalant manner) the ground rose up under their feet, and the ruffians now had a grandstand view. Following that, they then saw a white dove come and land on his shoulder - a sign of God's blessing at this action. Other interesting "facts" included that David was born on a cliff during a storm (a sure sign of foreboding) and his diet refrained from meat or beer. Anyhow, back to the primary school gym. Some girl at the front who was only four and had red hair obviously got hungry during the lesson, and decided to eat her daffodil. This was swiftly followed by some screeching and screaming as she was rushed to the boys toilets and forced to throw it up by a teacher. I can only think that as some people were eating their leeks, she thought it was fine. Obviously, rather than showing some concern, we all fell about laughing and tried to storm the toilets to have a pee, thereby embarrassing to the poor girl further. Completely hilarious, God we were cruel at times.

We didn't particularly eat anything on St David's Day, but often people would eat Welsh Cakes, or some Bara Brith with some tea. If you were after something savoury, you might eat some Cawl [kow-ul], which is a half-way house between a soup and a stew, traditionally made from lamb, perhaps some bacon, potatoes, carrots and stock. All of this is very hearty stuff, and whilst fantastic for the home, full of history and love, it hasn't exactly created shock-waves through the culinary world. Thankfully, there are now some great chefs taking the undoubtedly great produce we have and refining them into delicious meals. Matt Tebbutt, owner of The Foxhunter in Natygarry, is a really good example of this. One of his signature dishes is Lamb with Saffron Leeks and Cockles - a delicious marriage of sea, earth and animal. You can find the recipe here, where there is also a video talking you through it.

So there, the obligatory St David's Day post quickly finished. To friends at home, enjoy yourselves, and make sure you only drink Felinfoel Ale. All day long. And if you really do want to cook something Welsh today, here you go:

Hwyl!

Welsh Cakes
Makes 20-odd

I first cooked these as a nine-year old in primary school.

God I felt impressive.

Ingredients:
8oz self-raising flour
4oz butter
3oz sultanas
3oz caster sugar
1 level tsp mixed-spice
1 egg

Method:
1. Sift all the dry ingredients, then add the butter as if you were making pastry. Try to get that nice 'bread crumb' consistency.
2. Mix through the sultanas.
3. Beat the egg, add it to the mixture, to make a dough. If the mixture seems to dry you can add a little water or milk to bring it together.
4. Now roll the mixture onto a floured surface, you need it to be a quarter of an inch thick.
5. Cut out circles, about two and a half inches wide.
6. Cook on a heavy bottomed frying pan, lightly greased with some butter. They should be browned well, but not burned, so don't cook on too high a heat. I like eating them with more butter and/or some Welsh Honey.

Classic Combination: Brandade

A few weeks ago I ate some salt cod croquettes at a Pizza place in Washington, and on the back of this had a few enquiries about how to make 'Brandade' - a classic Provencal dish which is also based around salt cod. I've only eaten it twice, once in France and once at home after I found this great recipe in one of Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall's books. As he says, it "hit many oral pleasure spots" (!). However, it is a cheat version, as it utilises either smoked cod or smoked haddock - far more appropriate for the home cook. Sometimes you shouldn't be too sanctimonious, I mean, how many of us have got 48 hours to soak their salt cod? It's indulgent - save it for a cold evening in front of the fire with a bottle of white and a loved one.

Smoky Cheaty Brandade by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall
Serves 4 as a main course, 8 as a starter

Ingredients:
500g smoked cod or haddock, poached for five mins in whole milk then left to cool
500g peeled, boiled potatoes, mashed
Olive Oil
2 garlic cloves, crushed
Double Cream
Sea Salt & Cracked Black Pepper

Method:
1. Pick over the poached fish, discard any bones.
2. Sweat your garlic in the olive oil, don't let it colour.
3. Pound the fish with the oil and garlic in a pestle and mortar. Or gently blitz in a food processor.
4. Add 2 tablespoons double cream, and the same amount in olive oil. Repeat blitzing/pounding.
5. Transfer to a bowl and combine with the mashed potatoes.
6. Spread into an ovenproof dish, bake for 15 mins at 190 degrees centigrade, or until piping hot.
7. Serve with good, thin toast and a green salad.

Childhood: Steamed Suet Pudding with Bacon and Leeks

Returning home to see the folks is always daunting. The memories of youth are most precious, a captive of years spent doing nothing more than climbing trees, spearing hedges with sharpened sticks, fingers in bowls of cake mix, robinson's lemon barley, rugby in the park and jumpers for goalposts. They are kept safe by the prison bars of adulthood, accessed fleetingly and only when the dark days come calling for a sense of grounding. It's important to keep them intact, for when we are old and grey these will be the memories that inform who, or what we are.

I suppose that your grown-up ambitions are derived from your experience as a child. It can't be a coincidence that very often, people follow their parents into their fields of employment. If you are surrounded by music whilst growing up, it's almost impossible to not develop an aptitude for music yourself. For me, I was (am) lucky to have two parents who could both cook very well. It's a great tragedy that so many children are raised without an understanding of how wonderful food can be - if they did, I'm sure that the current trend toward obesity in the UK would be nullified.

So when I return home, in the back of my mind, I am aware that the childhood memory box is about to be re-opened. There are certain dishes that my parents cook which carry with them a sense of place, a smell, a look and of course, a taste. Steamed puddings are one of those quintessentially British foods, that most other cultures don't understand. It's fairly unique in culinary circles: an dish that is truly British. It utilises a very different ingredient - Suet - and to quote Simon Hopkinson:

"...there is one particular ingredient that will forever be part of traditional British cooking, and that is suet. Apart from being one of the most original forms of lubrication in cooking, this crumbly, white animal fat is also extremely easy to work with......when asked about British cooking, I am often stumped as to what nit really is these days; that tiresome moniker "Modern British" seems to refer to nothing more than something in a sticky jus......[but] freshly grated or chopped suet is the Super League stuff."

A steamed suet pudding, cooked correctly, is a delicious, light, filling dish that can be filled with either sweet or savoury fillings. For dessert, I can think of nothing better than a steamed Apple & Blackberry Pudding with real custard. As a main course, my parents and I would fill the pudding with Bacon trimmings and sauteed leeks. This would then be served with the most delicious onion white sauce with nutmeg, and some green vegetables. When it would arrive at the dinner table, I would watch with awe as the pudding would be carved, like a joint of meat, steaming, juicy. Frankly, fairly sexy but also cheap and honest. And nowadays a direct link to my core, aged seven. A time before any sort of responsibility or awareness of the world. If there is such a thing, it was at time of perfection.

A Day at Cooks Illustrated

Location: Boston, MA

The other day I visited the offices of Cooks Illustrated magazine, easily the best, most comprehensive journal about food on the market. It's difficult to get hold of the in the UK, but in the US has a circulation of around a million copies. I was introduced to Cooks Illustrated by my friend Orlando, owner of Le Manoir de Raynaudes, and formerly editor of BBC Good Food. So, even though I'm ideologically opposed to nepotism (though not naive enough to believe that in practice, it's not how the world works) Orlando managed to help me get a visit to the holy shrine of food experimentation, 'America's Test Kitchen'.

The kitchen is located on the premises where Cooks Illustrated and its sister publication 'Cooks Country" is produced. The unassuming, first floor premises is also the hub for the production of books as well as a TV programme that airs on the American networks. It's America's most watched cookery show on public television, which is impressive, so altogether the place is a hive of activity and the volume of literature produced quite astounding. With a million loyal followers, it's safe to say that Cooks Illustrated is doing something right, and when over lunch I quizzed the executive editor, he was candid about the whole thing. "Look" he said "it's revolutionary. We don't take adverts, we only talk about food, and we make sure the recipes always work." He had the look of a man who couldn't believe how stupid the competition was. True, I thought, the recipes do always work, and how many times have you tried to follow a recipe from a so called food magazine that makes little sense, that is inaccurate in its measurements, or falls apart the moment you don't have the requisite baking tin?

The reliability of the recipes is down to the rigour with which they test them. It's an exhaustive process, that I can't really go into here (arrogantly I assume competitors might be reading, ha!) but lets just say it takes forever. No stone is left unturned and no creme brulee left unburned by a variety of grills and blow-torches - that's the other thing, not only are recipes tested, but a variety of equipment with which to cook the recipe is also tested. The quest is utterly infectious, but it's not necessarily for perfection, as that ridiculous Heston Blumenthal undertook on his recent TV show, but a perfect recipe for home cooks. Test cooks buzz around, and like ants are always purposeful. In fact, if you try to imagine a large colony of ants wearing chef whites (bear with me) and waving tiny little knives that their legs could hold, you have an idea of the intensity of activity that I walked into. And they're not any old Tom who can hold a ladel: these are all trained chefs, many of whom have worked at fine restaurants. They're like zealots, ruthlessly purging any inaccuracies in their recipes, before writing the whole lot down in Cooks Illustrated style. When you read the articles, it seems so serene - "I've occasionally wondered why this happens to that, and so I decided to try and find out." - but believe me the effort that goes into getting answers belies the calm cool exterior of the publication.

I left feeling utterly galvanised. If you were to work somewhere like Cooks Illustrated, not only would you develop technically, as a cook, but your writing would also become tighter and you'd develop a masochistic desire for answers. It would be an experience like little else and would teach you to think outside the box, perhaps even develop new techniques that haven't been tried before. Buy Cooks Illustrated - they ship overseas and you can sign up on-line. You won't be disappointed.

Classic Combination: Spaghetti Bolognese

As I mentioned the other day, regular(ish), short, recipe bulletins on classic dishes. At the moment I'm all over the pasta, so here is another classic Italian dish that done properly can't be beaten. How often though, is it done badly?

This is taken from Marcella Hazan, the doyenne of Italian cookery. Enjoy. And yes, it really does say simmer for three hours. Trust me, it's worth it. And if you're concerned about the time remember, it's time, but it's not your time. You don't actually have to stand there for three hours!!! I'm not going to insult you by telling you how to cook pasta. One other thing - my apologies (to British readers) - but this recipe is in American measurements.

Spaghetti Bolognese Ragu
Serves 4

Ingredients:
1 tbs Vegetable Oil
4 tbs Butter
1/2 cup Onion, diced
2/3 cup Carrot, diced
2/3 cup Celery, diced
3/4 lbs Beef Mince
1 cup whole milk
1 cup white wine
1 - 2 cups tinned tomatoes, good quality
Nutmeg
Sea Salt and Cracked Black Pepper

Method:
1. Add oil and 3 tbs butter to a deep pan on a medium heat. Add onion, soften. Now add the celery and carrot, soften.
2. Add beef mince. Season well, and break up with a fork. Brown.
3. Add a pinch of nutmeg plus your milk. Let this evaporate.
4. Now add your wine. Let that evaporate too.
5. Once that has happened, add your tomatoes. At this point, simmer on the gentlest of heats - so that you literally only get a bubble ever ten seconds or so - for about three hours. At the end of cooking almost all the liquid should have evaporated. You will now have the most delicious, rich and tender ragu.

Ray's Hell Burger

Location: 1713 Wilson Bvd, Arlington, VA

I have eaten yet another incredible burger, this time at Ray's Hell Burger, located in Arlington, just across the historic Potomac River. It was along this river that many settlements were founded by the British when America was the 'New World' waiting to be explored. Or exploited, depending on which way you look at it. Little evidence of history here now though - just the drone-numbing hum-drum of office workers, ties and briefcases and the same shops that you find decimating any developed city in the world. Very high on efficiency, but exceedingly low on charm. Thank God the workers have some relief at lunch time. Rather than going for the "low-carb, low-fat, low-taste" option, when I visited Ray's there was a pleasingly long queue of customers clutching minutes from meetings, spreadsheets, statistics and a Ray's burger menu printed on a single side of A4. Guess which was getting more attention. That was charming, as was the six year old boy to my left who was trying to get his chops around a burger that, I kid you not, was bigger than his head. I christened the contest "Child vs Burger", Round One: Pickles. He provided me with much entertainment.

Then my burger arrived and I became decidedly un-smug. It was absolutely ridiculous. It was immense, and the contest took a nasty turn in which "Child vs Burger" became "Edward vs the Behemoth", a challenge in which I faced odds as insurmountable as a man facing a Himalayan trek equipped with only a pair of flip-flops and a ham sandwich. The six year old was now pointing and giggling, as was his mother - creasing over with laughter whilst trying to stop her cognac sauteed mushrooms from disappearing down her cleavage. Then as I tried to pick up the burger Sean, my eating companion, did that thing where you laugh and drink at the same time, resulting in liquid hurtling out of your nostrils. I dropped the meat and the size of it caused the tables to wobble, the pictures to rattle on the walls and the lights to flicker in an alarming 'end of the world' fashion.

And to think that I'd ordered the seemingly harmless "Soul Burger Number One" which is comprised of ten ounce beef pattie, smoked bacon, Swiss cheese, cognac sauteed mushrooms (not the ones down the cleavage) and grilled red onions, all encased in a toasted brioche bun. I started to think that perhaps I'd asked for something else entirely (this seems to happen frequently in America - divided by a common language), but all the requisite parts suggested it was indeed a "Soul Burger". It could have been worse, I thought as I slipped on the first step of the Himalayas in my flip-flops - I could have ordered the "Burger of Seville" that included seared Foie Gras, cognac sauteed mushrooms, Bordelaise sauce and truffle oil.

Thankfully, the first bite cured all. I'm not sure how they do it, but burgers in America are almost universally juicy and flavoursome. This was seasoned perfectly to bring out the taste of the beef, and amazingly, I just kept on eating. Somehow, and this is all the more bizarre considering that there was a Brioche bun involved, the whole thing was actually light, in that, I could have eaten another one. Then, and this is something I've never experienced before, I got burger drunk - Sean and I simply ate and ate without saying a word to one another. I actually felt giddy, and memories of drinking cheap cider in the park circa 1995 came flooding back to me. Six year old boy had his chin on his chest for the duration to which I triumphantly grinned at him. So as you can gather, Ray's is certainly worth visiting, if only to try and get burger drunk as I managed to. There are a myriad of options available, from plain old cheese and ketchup to roasted bone marrow with persillade. But make sure you take a friend. You may need him to carry you home. Staggering. Shouting "I luuuuurve you...", like a good friday night at the local.

Classic Combination: Spaghetti alla Carbonara

It's already been documented that I'm extremely sceptical of fusion food: it seems confused, as if the person behind it is trying to re-invent the wheel, which may well be down to insecurity and an attempt to satisfy that most destructive element of the Human condition, ego. I remember a time when I was forced to endure a lunch at a "traditional British pub" in Somerset which boasted an 'eclectic' menu. This is usually code for 'desperately attempting to stand out because I have no idea what I am doing here'. The food was like a United Nations of cuisine - plenty of hot air but little action - and included among other things a 'Thai inspired Cottage Pie', 'Chinese Spring Rolls with Caesar Dressing' and the now commonplace (but lost on me) 'Tempura Battered Fish and Chips'. Where is the love in that? Where are the stories, the history behind the food? Over the last few years there have been numerous movements hung around food. Some have been inspired, such as Jamie Oliver's School Meals, and have really hit a nerve with people outside foodie circles. I've therefore decided to work on a one man campaign for simple food done properly that will involve short(ish,) regular(ish) postings of classic dishes, that are stupidly hard to find cooked correctly.

Today, the absolutely fantastic Spaghetti alla Carbonara, and read my lips: you do not use cream, and you do not use Parmesan. No cream. Do not use cream.

Spaghetti alla Carbonra
Serves 2

Ingredients:
2 slices Pancetta, cut into lardons
1/2 clove Garlic, crushed
150g Pecorino, finely grated
A handful of parsley, finely chopped
1 egg, beaten
2 large handfuls of Spaghetti

Method:
1. Get a large pot of salted water up to a rolling boil. Add spaghetti.
2. In a heated pan, add some olive oil, followed by the pancetta. Brown.
3. Now add your garlic, sautee quickly, do not let burn. Remove from the heat.
4. Once the spaghetti is cooked, add to the pan with the pancetta and garlic. Also add a small ladel of the cooking liquid.
5. Toss and add the pecorino, parsley, egg. Toss until pasta is incorporated. The heat from the pasta will 'cook' the egg.
6. Serve immediately with more pecorino and a giant glass of white wine.

2 Amys Neapolitan Pizzeria

Location: 3715 Macomb St NW, Washington, DC

I know that I appear to be doing more eating out than cooking out, and I am. Yesterday I spent much of the day perched on the edge of the sofa, my fingertips massaging my temples and rocking back and forth. If I was to be objectified I would become one of those little desk pendulums, banging back and forth but going no-where. Every time I tried to think of something other than the precariousness of my overdraft limit, or asking Mr Google "if my bank collapses does that mean my loan disappears into the cosmos?" I developed a cold sweat. As sure as eggs are eggs, yesterday was a bad day.

Now what would've been sensible would be to write a plan of action. But seeing as I can't even plan what clothes to wear in the morning, this obviously didn't occur. Instead I buried my head in the sand and went out for a meal at 2 Amys, allegedly the best place in all of DC to get a pizza. Now I have to admit that I am a fan of a real pizza. When I was younger, pizza came out of a box frozen and had strangely multi-coloured cheese nestling on top of some peroxide-bright-tomato sauce. Then later on when I discovered the joys of hand-made dough, wood burning ovens and the "Denominazione di Origine Controllata" (D.O.C) I became a pizza lover. I'd waltz around the kitchen shouting "beee-sa, beee-sa" in a ridiculous Italian accent. If there was a woman around I'd schmooze her by whistling and whispering "bella" everythime she'd walk by.

The D.O.C apply to all sorts of foods - in this case Neapolitan pizza - and are a set of guidelines laid out by the Italian government. All Neapoloitan pizza must be cooked in a wood burning oven, for example. Now I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I've never eaten one of those frozen pizzas out of a box when I've been blind drunk at 2 a.m (ironically this happened at Ballymaloe) - but if I'm going to actually sit down and eat one in a restaurant, I really am rather picky. If I find out that it's not really Buffalo Mozzarella on my crust, I throw my hands in the air, cross my arms furiously and tap my fingers one by one on the table rather like a five year old who didn't get the christmas present they were expecting.

2Amys abide by the D.O.C, and I was happy. Which is just as well because the "host" was more unfriendly than a lion whose wife you had stolen, house you'd moved into and told that he was adopted. She was an awful, gum-chewing, ashen-faced, jumble-sale clothed, ice cube of a woman. Bearing in mind that I had already been having a bad day, I was not exactly my usual placatory self. Her sarcastic smiles were met by my sarcastic smiles and pose that I imagine teenage girls use when they are taunting each other. When we were moved to a different table (at my request) I responded with the loudest most sarcastic "Oh thank you SO much you are SO kind." Horrible lady. So when the friendly little (she really was petite) waitress bounced up to our table, all smiles and enthusiasm, I was instantly charmed and ordered the largest beer known to mankind, followed by a Parsnip and Prosciutto crostini, some Salt Cod Croquettes and a Vongole pizza.

I absolutely adore Salt Cod, that wonderful ingredient used in so much of the Mediterranean, a throwback to the days when mariners had to preserve their catch in sea salt. Bound with potato, parsley and deep fried in breadcrumbs, they are a perfect snack with a chunk of lemon. 2Amys did a great job. There is always a danger that deep fried food can be awful, but in this case the oil they used was obviously clean (no nasty bitter taste) and the end product had probably been dried in a warming oven. The Crostini was a nice surprise when it arrived - a creamy Parsnip puree with a wafer thin shaving of Prosciutto. Wonderful, so it was. The following pizza was also fantastic. A wafer thin, light pizza crust topped with juicy sweet Cockles, sweet roasted Garlic, zingy Capers, fresh Parsley, a little Chili pepper and some Grana Padano. Needless to say I finished the lot with ease, unlike the lady sitting on the table adjacent to us who had obviously just given birth. (Or so I deduced - she was wearing a hospital bracelet and her husband was reading a book of baby names.) Poor woman obviously just wanted to be at home resting, not enduring one of the three witches of Eastwick at the door...

Obama and the Cheese Fries

Location: 1213 U Street NW, Washington, DC

There were a few reasons why I wanted to visit Ben's Chili Bowl, but when I saw that the president-elect had been there, I had to go along. If only I'd gone on the day I intended to, I could have clearly helped Mr. Obama with his inaugural speech. I'm sure he would have rushed home, sacked his speech writer and immediately offered me a job. Alas, as is the way of the world, I simply joined the lunchtime rush in ordering a "half smoke with cheese fries" cursing my lack of foresight - America's first black president was obviously going to pay a visit to a Washington DC institution that for decades has served the city's large black population with comfort food. I should have been camping outside, waiting for special branch to arrive and check me out. Ho hum.

Since my visit to Voodoo Doughnut in Portland, OR, I've been thinking hard about "cult food places". In a west Wales context we're talking the Central Cafe in Newcastle Emlyn, or in an Edinburgh context we could be talking about La Favorita - those places that are a microcosm of the community that they serve. They are evidence that a food 'experience' is as much about context as the food itself. When I'm in Sicily, I want the freshest seafood cooked simply with garlic, parsley, lemon and olive oil. When I'm in Germany I want a bratwurst.

And when I'm at Ben's, I want soul food.

Opened in 1958, and having served the same mix of greasy fries, bowls of smoking chili and hot dogs ever since, what really excites me about Ben's is that you get a piece of the past when you visit. Much of the furniture is still from the 1950's, and as Washington was officially a segregated city when Ben's first opened it's doors, you're also getting a feel (and nothing more than) of how this particular community on the U-street corridor (affectionately known as 'Black Broadway') maintained their essence. It survived violent riots following the assassination of Martin Luther King and the economic depression of the 1980's, when the area was a hot-bed of drug use and completely off limit to the middle, chattering, classes who schmooze the place nowadays. But the locals still came. They were dining on memories, transported to their youth and the core of who they are.

I loved the fact that as I plopped my bottom on a rickety, swivel-crazy, plastic leather stool, a large, African-American lady bounced up looked me straight in the eye and said "Hey baby, what you want?". (Admittedly I was a little startled and only just managed to say 'a half smoke please' without sounding too ridiculous.) Just imagine how the magic would have been lost if she had said "What could I get you, my fine looking fellow?".

The food itself wasn't brilliant: dirty, greasy and altogether bad for you. But at the same time utterly wonderful and that is the question that needs to be answered. How can something so average, inspire so many? After all, Ben's has a loyal following of celebrities including Bill Cosby (he never has to pay), Denzel Washington and Bono. My sense is that it's a meeting place in the same way that the church once was, or the post office is for the elderly - a place where the true locals can catch up on the news. The food just happens: it's an ice breaker for the secret gossiping of teenage girls, the frustrations of middle-aged women and the resigned shrugs of elderly men. There will, no doubt, be massive amounts of hope as well. America has unearthed something special, and there will be no-where sweeter than Ben's come its inauguration.

Kaz Sushi Bistro

Location: 1915 I Street NW, Washington, DC

Ahhh, Sushi. If you want to look at exquisite knife skills, consummate calm, poise and all around serenity, then you go to a Sushi bar. I was a late starter to eating Sushi. Like so many people I thought it simply referred to raw fish and couldn't fathom why there were so many folk willing to pay through the nose for something that required (so I thought) little culinary skill at all. It was later that I learned that the term 'Sushi' actually refers to the type of rice used, hence the different styles of roll you get. The speed and accuracy with which they create these rolls is breathtaking. From my limited knowledge, 'Sashimi' is raw fish. 'Maki' are the little rolls, 'Nigiri' are the blocks of rice generally topped with raw fish and 'Temaki' are the cone-like shaped rolls. After that, I'm still at a bit of a loss. It takes me absolutely ages to order in a Sushi bar, which is why places with those little train-tracks full of food are such a good idea - not only can you gawp at the technique, but you can eat what you want, and no more. I really should go to Japan one day and learn more.

The other day I ate at Kaz Sushi Bistro in Washington, DC and it started with the same feeling I always have when going into a Sushi place: a sense that I am about to be underwhelmed. It's really not fair of me. I never feel that way if I'm about to eat tapas - but I assume my lack of knowledge is such that I have no idea if I'll feel fed or not. Kaz's has won numerous local awards recently for the innovation of its food. You can see this in the menu. The classic Nigiri, Sashimi and Rolls are all there, but so too are Kaz's signature sushi, including tuna with fore gras-miso, sake-poached scallop with lemon and coriander or salmon with mango puree. This was looking very much like "fusion-food", something else I'm a little sceptical of and I therefore opted for the more normal sounding tempura clams with green tea salt and lime, some seared octopus heads with lime, and a range of maki plus a seaweed salad.

Very tasty indeed: undoubtedly fresh ingredients, cooked well. The clams were beautifully sweet and the tempura feather light. I wasn't entirely sure what the 'green-tea salt' contributed: I could only taste salt and no green tea. But very tasty none the less. As for the octopus, my partner and I almost lost it when an eye-ball popped out at one point, but beyond the squeamishness, the texture was amazing: silky smooth without a hint of that awful rubbery feeling you get when eating badly cooked Calamari. I could be wrong, but I was sure I detected a taste of Sake: I wonder if the little tentacles had been flambéed?

Business: Cooking for Vegans

One of the more difficult things when cooking for a group of people is that in general, you're going to have differing palettes sitting around the table. This is part of my rationale for being extremely suspicious of any sort of eating fad, such as that ridiculous thing the "Atkins Diet" that so many women were following just a few short years ago: people seem to buy into them and become difficult. Whenever I'm asked to cook a meal for a dinner party, it's always a good idea to find out as much as possible about the guests: age, sex, dietary requirements, absolute pet hates in terms of food. That way you can plan a menu to suit everyone. There's nothing more awkward than having a vegetarian feeling left-out because the cook couldn't be more imaginative than the dreaded 'vegetable lasagna': so when I have the information I require, I liaise with the organizer and decide if we need a special menu for someone, or if everyone can eat the same fare. I always prefer the latter option - it's much more warm, cosy and inclusive.

On New Year's Eve I was asked to cook for a group of eight friends in Oregon. Nothing too fancy, a simple two course meal that they could sit around and munch on whilst seeing in 2009. I asked the usual questions and unearthed a woman, 27 years old, vegan, non-drinker. A few phone calls later and I was charged with making a vegan meal that everyone would enjoy. I used to be of the opinion that carnivores will never feel truly satisfied without meat (ridiculous) until I ate at David Bann, a vegetarian restaurant in Edinburgh, Scotland. The food was so wonderful, so satisfying that I didn't once think of having a kebab on the way home. I remembered that there were some serious use of root vegetables, and pulses. You felt full. You felt fed.

So I tried to recreate something similar and after some recipe searches came up with a simple two course meal, and the recipes (that were well received) are below. If anyone out there has more experience of feeding vegans, please e-mail me. I need to build up a good database of options! These recipes are inspired by, recipes from Moro, a great restaurant in London, England.

Roast Butternut Squash Steaks with a warm Chick Pea Salad, Stuffed Bell Pepper and Tahini Dressing
Serves 4

Ingredients:
1 medium size butternut squash, sliced into chunks lengthways and de-seeded
1 dessert spoon all-spice
A handful of sage leaves, shallow fried, to garnish

1 tin of Chick Peas (Garbanzo Beans), drained
1 small red onion, finely diced
2 teaspoons cumin seeds, toasted
A handful of coriander (cilantro)

2 Red Bell Peppers, halved and de-seeded
2 oven-roasted Tomatoes, quartered (you'll need to make these in advance)
1 head fennel, sliced thinly

For the dressing:
3 parts Tahini
2 parts Olive Oil
2 parts Water
3 parts Lemon Juice
1 clove Garlic, crushed
Sea Salt and Cracked Black Pepper

Method:
1. First make the dressing. Put all the ingredients into a blender and whizz until smooth. Add more water if required, the consistency should be quite liquid. Taste and season, set aside.
2. Pre-heat your oven to 200 degrees centigrade.
3. Place your chunks of squash into a bowl, drizzle with olive oil, all spice and some sea salt. Toss until well covered. Place on a baking tray. Bake for 30 mins or until tender and brown. Set aside in a warming oven.
4. While the squash is cooking start the peppers. Place them in the oven with the squash until they start to soften. Now stuff with the tomatoes and top with a layer of fennel. Bake until almost collapsing. Remove and set aside in a warming oven.
5. While that is all happening, make your chick pea salad. Simply toss the chick peas, diced onion, cumin and coriander with a little of the tahini dressing.
6. Assemble as follows: a few (three) slices of squash, pepper to the side with chick peas to the side also. Drizzle more dressing across squash and salad, garnish with shallow fried sage leaves and coriander.

Medjool Date and Orange Salad with Cinnamon and Mint
Serves 4

Ingredients:
4 Oranges, segmented
8 Medjool Dates, stoned and roughly chopped
1 dessert spoon icing sugar
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
A handful of Mint, roughly chopped

Method:
1. Easy: just mix everything in a bowl and serve. But do taste and correct the amount of sugar or cinnamon.