Friday, 28 August 2009
Today, after a quiet spell (the post-Ibiza mood is not really conducive to open source communication), I asked the Twitter community for their thoughts on bar snacks. You see, we are preparing to launch our new place, The Draft House, on Northcote Road (sexy logo above) and I have been stuck in a bar food black hole. The very phrase bar food for me conjures up awful images of deep-fried frozen spring rolls with an over-sweet chilli dip. And yet we all know that at its best it can make your entire evening.
- chargrilled chorizo with olives and lemon
- Crab/chilli/lime in filo or Moroccan brique pastry. Or spicy, minced lamb w/ mint on mini flatbreads
- something fishy like posh fish fingers or whitebait. Mini sized meatballs with a little spicy kick
- pakoras (partclrly good w ale), bite-size samosas, coxinha de galinha w spicy sauce. good ol' chips w paprika&chili pwdr
- husband: liver and onions, venison/wild boar sausage and mash. Are these snacks? Pakora. Prawns+Garlic. Off for lunch now
- Good fishcakes -Thai or otherwise- not rubbery ones or ones made with too much potato at 17 quid. Squid, baby or grown.
- anything that involves decent, hot chorizo. So you can get drunk and ruin perfectly good clothes with bright red grease
- triple-cooked chips with romesco. Just invented it and WANT SOME! (Fee to usual address)
- am I right in thinking draft house is a new venture in northcote road? sardines;duck egg;anchovies on toast, welsh rarebit.
- hello! chorizo croquetas, scotch quail eggs, really good crackling, plates of jamon or similar
- Mussels, Scotch Eggs, Fish Sandwich (bajan flying fish sandwich style), good chips
- Croque monsieur, any kind of 'Quiches' and savoury tarts
- A good lentils soup in winter
- Deep fried artichoke hearts are classic American bar food.
- chorizo, whitebait, boquorones (hot?), little cheesy things of any variety
- Chilli and salt crusted calamari
- a decent bowl of salty chips, pork pie. Rarebit and scotch eggs a must i reckon
- Scotch eggs, rarebit, fresh sratchings, sausage rolls: just your basic cuisine minceur, really...
- Buffalo wings. I'm addicted to the spicy little buggers.
Sunday, 16 August 2009
...he acquired the reputation of an eccentric, which he enhanced by wearing costumes of white velvet, and gold-embroidered waistcoats, by inserting, in place of a cravat, a Parma bouquet in the opening of his shirt, by giving famous dinners to men of letters, one of which, a revival of the eighteenth century, celebrating the most futile of his misadventures, was a funeral repast.
In the dining room, hung in black and opening on the transformed garden with its ash-powdered walks, its little pool now bordered with basalt and filled with ink, its clumps of cypresses and pines, the dinner had been served on a table draped in black, adorned with baskets of violets and scabiouses, lit by candelabra from which green flames blazed, and by chandeliers from which wax tapers flared.
To the sound of funeral marches played by a concealed orchestra, nude negresses, wearing slippers and stockings of silver cloth with patterns of tears, served the guests.
Out of black-edged plates they had drunk turtle soup and eaten Russian rye bread, ripe Turkish olives, caviar, smoked Frankfort black pudding, game with sauces that were the color of licorice and blacking, truffle gravy, chocolate cream, puddings, nectarines, grape preserves, mulberries and black-heart cherries; they had sipped, out of dark glasses, wines fromLimagne, Roussillon, Tenedos, Val de Penas and Porto, and after the coffee and walnut brandy had partaken of kvas and porter and stout.
The farewell dinner to a temporarily dead virility—this was what he had written on invitation cards designed like bereavement notices.
from Against Nature by Joris-Karl Huysmans