Adieu, St Jude

I'm aware that I've blogged rather a lot about pubs and beer lately, and deviated a bit from my original intention to mix things up by alternately interspersing recipes and restaurant reviews'n'shit here and there, so as to ensure a constant stream of variety.

Well - sadly for those strange folks who aren't at all interested in beer - this is going to be yet another beery one because I heard some rather sad news last night.

The St Jude's Brewery Tavern in Ipswich is closing. This Sunday. 

The patron saint of lost causes!

And it's one of the best pubs you'll ever find.

It was the undoubted highlight of my last visit to Ipswich just over a year ago - shortly after the place opened - and I feel a bit like I've just lost a relative who I didn't visit as often as I perhaps should've.

A little bit of background: I lived on the west side of Ipswich for many years and moved away in 2009, before the tavern opened. But I was there when St Jude's started brewing, in tiny, quirky, backstreet premises and I got to know the owner/brewer/visionary Frank fairly well. And his appalling jokes. And his excellent beer.

Ironically I first met him in another truly great former pub on the west side of Ipswich - the Rose and Crown - to which he supplied beers like John Orford's Strong Chocolate Malt and St. Mary's Stout. He invited me round to see his brewery the following day and plied me with free beer. That's Frank. Always generous. Always cracking bad jokes.


The closure of the Rose and Crown felt like losing a limb, and the loss of St Jude's will hurt too, even though I don't live locally and thus haven't been able to make it my local. God knows what the regulars must be going through right now. It's ironic that Jude is the patron saint of lost causes.

Wall of beer!

Located just around the corner from where I once lived, I'd probably never have left the place had it opened while I was still there.

The philosphy is simple: a vast 'wall of beer' on gravity and kitch, gothic decor that makes the place feel like a ghost train or haunted fun house for adults. The staff all know their stuff and there are no handpumps and no keg beer at all.




There is plenty of space for some cracking guest ales in addition to products from the St Jude's brewery and the pub is as friendly as it is quirky. Paradise.

So sad it ends

Unfortunately Frank is now suffering from health problems and the opening of a second St Jude's pub in Felixtowe didn't go as planned, closing just a couple of months after opening, adding financial problems to his health concerns.

Gloriously, Tastelessly Gothic!

The way I see it, Frank got pretty much everything right, which makes it all the more heartbreaking that somehow things haven't worked out. He certainly doesn't deserve this.  

 
Despite being a success in it's own right, fate has conspired against the St Jude's brewery tavern, but it's got to be worth one last visit.

I've rearranged my weekend plans to make the trip up to Ipswich for a few beers, and to toast Frank and his wife Colleen who made this dream happen, if only for a short while. 

I might even offer up a prayer to St Jude.

If you're anywhere near the Ipswich area this weekend, I'd strongly recommend doing the same.

There might never be another pub like this! 


Note: photos here have been taken from the St Judes Brewery Tavern Facebook group.

Czech this out

The Tweetosphere can be a great thing.

OK, so 99.9% of it consists of boring people telling the world stuff that they either know already or don't want to know, but occasionally it throws up nuggets of usefulness.

Earlier today the White Horse in Parson's Green (aka the Sloaney Pony) tweeted that this evening they would be featuring something very rare indeed, and a few hours later I was there, drinking the stuff.

It interested me as a beer ticker looking for rare scoops, but this wasn't just any old one-off, special beer. It was an unfiltered, unpasteurised cask version of Pilsner Urquell.

While the vast majority of output from the Czech brewery for decades has been fizzy keg beer, at which I'd turn up my nose, I applaud them for at least making gentle movements in this direction. Let's not forget that they are a part of the International SABMiller group, which has hitherto done fuck-all for real beer. It's a bold step.

A bitter Pils to swallow...

About eight people in 'Pilsner Urquell' shirts turned up to set up the promotional stand and tap the cask with considerable fanfare. Perhaps overkill for what was essentially just a pint of lager, but it's a significant pint of lager nonetheless. Indeed a pint of lager capable of winning arguments and potentially turning the beer scene on it's head.

Nicely but not brain-freezingly chilled, naturally carbonated, and with that slightly spicy, bready character that Czech lagers often have, it was undoubtedly superior to the same beer from bottle, can or keg, which begs the question: why isn't real Continental lager more widely produced, either here or anywhere else on the planet? It's bloody good stuff.

Get Real!

I actually purchased a half of keg Pilsner Urquell just so I could compare the two side by side, and there was no contest. The cask version was fresher, hoppier, and just, well, infinitely superior in every way. I'm not known for being a huge fan of Czech lager, but I'd happily drink this all night. With a curry it would be quite magnificent.

Indeed the experience assured me that I'm right in my point of view, and that the arrogant approach of 'craft' brewers like Brewdog and Camden Town who dropped cask beer altogether in favour of keg is so absolutely wrong-headed and misguided that there can be no excuses. No defence. No justification.

Surely they have to admit that their not doing it because keg beer tastes better, but because it's easier to produce and manage and more profitable - the exact same reasons all the big breweries tried to eradicate real ale in the 1970s. The same big breweries that Brewdog love to criticise.

I've always argued that any beer of any style will taste better in cask form, and that all beer was 'real' before they started pasteurising and artifically carbonating in the middle of the last century.

Some folks - like beer writer Tim Webb in his rebuttal to a piece I wrote for London Drinker - take an opposing view, but I'd desperately urge anyone who thinks that cask isn't always best to try the beer I had tonight. Sample it side by side with the keg version as I did. I challenge you.

Here in Britain we were lucky enough to have CAMRA to stand up for, and preserve traditional conditioning and dispense. Just because other countries weren't so fortunate doesn't mean they shouldn't revive the old ways though, and people who claim otherwise are missing a trick.

It would also allow marketing departments to stop misleading the public so brazenly. Kronenbourg might actually resemble the way it really was back in 1664 if they did it in cask to an original recipe, rather than the result of a reboot 300 years later when keg dispense came along.

I'm a long-time CAMRA member, but one of my biggest criticisms of the organisation is the hypocrisy at our beer festivals where foreign keg beers are regularly featured. 

There are some who would like us to move further in that direction and who would have CAMRA condone or even promote British keg beers. 

And to these people I say: Fuck Off.

Fuck Off and start a new organisation if that's how you feel.

The whole purpose of CAMRA was to save cask beer from an encroaching tide of inferior keg. Without that focus, it's a subjective beast at best.

I've long acknowledged that, yes, a good beer in keg form is better than a bad beer in real form, and it doesn't matter one jot for the purposes of this argument. The point is that the same beer is always at it's best when in good condition from the cask.

I've tried Pilsner Urquell the way it would have been decades ago and it's better than the way it's usually served now. The fact that it's lager from the Czech Republic is irrelevant. The great truth is no less true than if we were talking about mild from Manchester or IPA from Aberdeenshire or anything else.

Meanwhile, I got the impression that quite a few casks have come over from Pilsen and the promotions team will be going around several pubs, so take the opportunity to try it if you possibly can. It might be the best pint of lager you ever drink.

The Ravensbourne Blandburger

I quite like Antic pubs.

From humble beginnings a few years ago they’ve slowly and quietly encroached on the South London drinking scene, with little fanfare, and have done so by being decent little individual pubs rather than a uniform chain.

They are probably a reminder of what Wetherspoons must have been like during their early years (not so much in their style and ethos, but in the fact that they have a style and ethos, if that makes sense).

In their dimly-lit, cluttery homeliness, Antic pubs are home to vast quantities of second-hand furniture, with old lampshades that look like the ones we had when I was a kid, and comfy, tatty sofas whose cushions once accomodated the tired arses of people now long-dead.

OK, so they’re completely different from Spoons. They have music playing, they don't have a chain newsletter or limited beer list, and they’re bringing bar billiards and jug glasses back into the mainstream.

Plus they always seem to take over existing pubs, whereas Wetherspoons like their shop-, bank- and church-conversions.

But there's a drive to turn each and every pub they own into something better - and they've taken over some right shitholes, like the Royal Albert in New Cross which is fast becoming my local (despite being a long walk away).

While the beaming, avuncular presence of Wetherspoons boss Tim Martin is decidedly visible at all times, Antic head honcho Anthony Thomas prefers to keep a low profile – at least for now - and uses Social Media effectively to build a loyal fan base without 'over-branding'. It's as though every one of his pubs is an individual child of his, free to develop in it's own way and largely do its own thing.

'The Antic Collective', as they call themselves, have brought decent beer back to pubs that had lost their way under previous management, and it’s usually interesting beer too. Some of their pubs might only have three or four real ales on but it’s an ever-changing range, and it’s far better for a pub to have four beers that change every couple of days than ten beers which remain the same ad infinitum, no?

A proper pub indeed!

I’ve also been impressed with their approach to food, having enjoyed a duck egg Welsh rarebit and some fried pigs cheeks in the Royal Albert in New Cross recently.

The menu changes every day and is concise but varied, with about 10 different dishes available, and the quality has always been good with everything seemingly cooked fresh, to order.

So, when we popped into the Ravensbourne Arms in Ladywell the other day for a lunchtime pint of Saltaire Rye Pale and a game of table football (in which I defeated Mrs B-V 11-2) I was intrigued by the Aberdeen Angus Burger on that day's menu.

I'd spent the morning having strange, diagnostic things done to my eyes at the hospital and my vision was a bit blurry, but I can see the word 'burger' from miles away, and my eyesight didn't stop me reading the menu any more than it stopped me winning at table football. Nah nah, na-nah nah!

Beef me up, Scottie

It's eight quid, or nine with the additions of Stilton and bacon which I went for, and for that you get a huge plate of food - more than I could comfortably manage at lunchtime.

There was a veritable mountain of chunky, skin-on wedge-chips which were excellent and nicely seasoned with just the right balance between softness and crunch. These went very well with the pot of house mayo, which has a hint of chilli and garlic.

Also eminantly eatable were the onion rings (although there were only two of these, on the plate - one medium and one large). The batter was thick and unctious, with a flavour of it's own and reminded me of the king prawn/chicken/pork balls you get from Chinese takeaways.

There was also a nicely dressed salad, which I like to have with a burger as it refreshes the palate between big gobs of dripping, cheesy meat.

So far, so calorifically good. But what about the actual burger?

Well, I'm sorry to report that it was the most disappointing thing on the plate. By far.

Actually, I'm not sorry to report this. That's why I spend literally minutes writing this blog, after all!

The patty was big and thick, and cooked medium-ish, with some pinkness and juice. It certainly looked alright on the plate (to my blurry eyes) but where was the flavour?

Appearances can be deceptive...

Seriously, it was blander than watching My Family, with the sound turned down whilst listening to Daniel O'Donnell. While heavily sedated.

Whereas high-end burgers these days often use flavoursome forerib and rump meat, this was definitely assembled from lesser cuts, with too much fat and gristle and an almost absolute lack of beefiness.

Oh dear

I suspect that decades of marketing wank has led consumers to believe that 'Aberdeen Angus' somehow always indicates the highest quality, when in reality it's just a breed of cow. And while I understand why they might do it, people who put the menus together really ought to know better. For fucks sake, guys, please just stop trying to exploit this misleading stereotype, and it might go away in a few years.

Before I get complaints from the Aberdeen Angus marketing board, yes, meat from Angus cattle can be very good indeed, but I'd rather eat the tastiest bits of another breed than the blandest Aberdeenshire has to offer, thank you.

The bun was of the everyday sesame variety, perhaps a little over-toasted, and did nothing to de-blandify the affair.

Worse still, the single rasher of back bacon and tiny quantity of Stilton inside also added remarkably little in the way of taste. It's like they took the least smokey bacon and the mildest Stilton they could find to top off their insipid burger, which is a great shame because the onion rings and chips were excellent.

OK, so compared to a burger at a Wetherspoons pub, or a fast food chain it's a modest improvement, mainly due to the other stuff on the plate, but in 2012 when London diners are used to the standards set by Byron, Haché and MeatLiquor, pub kitchens should at least be raising their game in the burger department.

They could start by researching where the superior burger vendors source their meat and buns and follow suit - if it costs a bit more, then charge us a bit more. Please!

I like Antic pubs for lots of reasons, and maybe one day I'll give the burger a go in another of their pubs, in case this was a one-off.

It reminded me of my experience a few weeks ago at the Cask Pub & Kitchen. Decent pub does decent food, but when it comes to the burger the clock strikes disappointment.

Where to find it

Ravensbourne Arms
323 Lewisham High Street
Ladywell
London 
SE13 6NR (map) 
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But, for the burger:

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Antic pubs offer a changing daily menu and have pubs across London (though concentrated in the SE area)

Wort Experience Boy

I've been thinking lately - semi-seriously, which is often as serious as my thinking gets – about a radical change of career direction.

Beer.

Yep, full time drinker. Saw it in the Guardian jobs pages today. £120k plus car plus performance-related per-pint bonus.

That job doesn’t actually exist, mind, and even beer tasting and writing for a living is perhaps an unrealistic aim at the moment, much as I’d love to believe otherwise.

But what about starting up my own micro or brewpub?

It’s a growing market (even within a wider brewing industry in overall decline) and saturation doesn’t appear to have been an issue for all the new craft brewers that have popped up in the last few years, so it might be a good time to get into the microbrewing scene.

The trouble is, I’ve almost no experience, and that which I do have is worthless. I’ve only once attempted a home brew, about 15 years ago, and it was spectacularly unsuccessful. Sorcerer was intended to be a session bitter at around 3.8% and I decided to dry hop it because, well, almost all beers in that style are better dry-hopped in my view.

With my shiny new equipment that my father got me for my birthday that year, the brewing seemed to go well, but for whatever reason, it came out very thin and overly astringent. I’ve no idea what the final strength was (almost certainly sub-2%) but it was almost impossible to drink because of the intensity of the raw, unbalanced hoppiness.

Perhaps more telling is that, following this failure, I had little drive or desire to repeat the experience or try to improve upon it. I also lack an appetite for manual work and long, antisocial hours, so I might have my work cut out trying to make it as a brewer, given my general reluctance to brew and eagerness to quit.

So I, to coin a phrase, 'sux major donkee dix!1' when it comes to brewing, but I'm actually a pretty good digital producer. Seems like a strong argument for sticking with my current career, and keeping my relationship with beer in the 'drinking it and occasionally writing about it' zone, no? 

But… what if I were to collaborate with somebody with a skillset complementary to mine? Somebody to do all the stuff I don’t want to do!

OK, that sounds selfish, I know, but they wouldn’t be doing all the work for none of the credit. No, really. Hear me out, guys.

See, I’m highly creative with several years experience in design and marketing, and I have a fairly broad knowledge of beer styles from all over the world, as well as experience drinking in, and writing about, pubs and bars of all descriptions. And I’m not completely clueless when it comes to general business skills either. 

And, whatever I think of them right now, Brewdog have proved, by expanding faster than probably any brewery, that these kinds of marketing and design-y things aren’t completely worthless and superficial in the beer industry.

Help Wanted

If I was writing the spec for my dream new job at a dream new brewery it would say ‘Creative Director’ at the top. The creativity is the important thing for me (though like all creative people I live in the bottom-quaking fear that one day somebody will confront me with irrefutable proof that I've never actually had an original idea).

Maybe one day...

I’d design the beers (and the marketing collateral, pump-clips, website etc.) and lead the overall business strategy. 30% more Citra hops for the Yorks and Humber region; Change the logo to include an actual Ocelot; Quintuple Stout for Russian Independence Day! Let’s kick some brewing ass to fuck!

And if we were an American-style brewpub with a full menu, I’d take responsibility for the food as well – joining up the food, the ale and the overall ethos into a holistic, singular experience. OK, I’m starting to talk toss now, but you get the idea. I’d be good at this stuff. 

If I were recruiting for this role, I’d hire myself, and I have little doubt that with the ideal business partner, we could come up with some of the greatest beers in the world and, crucially, make a success of the venture.

But, back on earth, before any of this shit can possibly happen, I’ll need to find the Yin to my Yang; The Science to my Art; The Head Brewer to my Creative Director. 

So, if there’s anybody out there with commercial brewing experience, the requisite technical knowledge to bring ideas to life, and a vague itch to get involved in something like this but perhaps without wanting to go it alone, please feel free to drop me a message. Maybe we can meet for a pint to discuss the possible venture? 

Maybe it will go somewhere, maybe it won’t. Maybe I’m a pipedreamer rather than a visionary. Maybe we’ll just drink a load of somebody else’s beer and talk about the injustice of Coventry City getting relegated? 

Or maybe we'll bring untold joy to thousands of thirsty people? That's got to be worth a shot, right?

Cattle of Waterloo: Browns vs Rouge

What do you lie awake at night wondering about? 

(If indeed, you lie awake at night wondering about anything at all, obviously)

Perhaps you're a City tosser worrying that the FTSE is losing billions of pence at the expense of the Franc, whatever that means? 

Perhaps you wonder whatever happened to Ringos crisps or the original entrance to the Louvre?

Or maybe you're just extremely curious about which mid-high-level 'smart-cas' chain restaurant does the best steaks: Is it the classic quintessentially English Browns or the cheeky French pretender Café Rouge?

I rather hope it's the latter, because I've been doing a little research in this area by eating steaks at both places in the last week.

It makes for a fairly scientific comparison as both chains resolutely set out their stall vis-à-vis the nationality of food on offer, both are typically in the £75-100 range for a meal for two, and both sort-of feature steaks as their flagship offerings, albeit as part of an extensive English/French menu.


And both have branches in Canary Wharf - a good excuse to return to my old stamping ground for a big meal. Twice.


I set out to order pretty much the same main course in both places to ensure a fair comparison - a rib-eye steak, cooked blue, with chips/frites and peppercorn sauce. 

Anything else included on the plate as standard is factored into my evaluation process, but the starters, desserts, cocktails and wine I consumed won't affect the result.

While I wasn't expecting the best steak ever at a chain restaurant, even a fairly pricey one, it seemed to have the makings of an interesting contest, and one that could get quite ugly.

Let Cattle Commence!

Browns started life in the 1970s and, by all accounts, was typical of restaurants in this country during that decade - eg really not very good. The 70s gave us some great music and cars, but one seldom hears positive sentiments about the cuisine.


And during the 1980s and 1990s it's probably fair to say that Browns was still stuck in the 70s, before they underwent a bit of a rebrand, moved upmarket and became a chain of fairly trendy brasseries with reasonably-priced cocktails and a 'place to be seen' vibe, albeit without abandoning the commitment to traditional English food.


Café Rouge probably showed up some time in the late 1980s or 1990s and have been springing up branches in various chic places ever since. It was all set up for a clash of the titans.


There was one other little thing I had to do to ensure a fair comparison - spend several hours drinking first.

Blue Bar G&T

(It's a long story, but on the evening we went to Browns it happened I'd spent the afternoon drinking G&Ts in the Blue Bar at The Berkeley, and then several excellent beers at the Euston Tap, so I felt it was only fair to drink a similar quantity before our visit to the red caff!) 

England

'21 Day Aged West Country Rib Eye Steak' is the last item on the flagship 'grill' section of Browns menu and, at £18.95, is the second most expensive dish there.

A nicely thick cut of beef topped with sizzling anchovy butter, I'd guess it was probably about 10 ounces, which isn't vastly huge, but it comes with a few big, chunky chips, plus grilled mushroom and mushroom, and a few watercress leaves, which all adds up to a decent plateful, particularly if you've had one of their big starters.

A strong contender from the English there

As seems to be common with rib-eye steaks these days, the 'eye' bone had been removed, or rather, the steak had been cut around it, but I'm not unduly bothered about these things. 

The jug of peppercorn sauce (£1.45 extra) is an addition that probably wasn't really necessary, because the melting anchovy butter does such a good job all on it's own and the meat itself has depth of flavour.

Anchovies are a miracle ingredient, of course, and quite possibly the most important fish in the world, so that wasn't necessarily a surprise.

It could perhaps have been served just a fraction bluer, but the crimson succulence inside was hard to fault and the charring on the outside had a lovely caramelised character.


The chips were excellent and had clearly benefitted from a twice- or thrice-cooking process, while the vegetables balanced the dish, with the mushroom particularly juicy and flavoursome.


In some ways Browns has lost it's lustre compared to a few years ago (and I have to admit I hadn't been for 18 months or so having gone off them a bit) but they proved here that they can still do a good steak and do it pretty damn well.
 
Whether or not it still expects, England delivers. Take that, Napolean!

 

France

OK, so onto the French offering... the 'Classic Steak Rouge',

It comes in at 250 French grams, sans bone, which is a bit more than half a pound in the proper weights and measures, and costs £16.95, which you might want to convert to Euros. Or not.

Sans je ne sais quoi...

A not-overly-generous bowl of fries is included, and the poivre sauce is an extra £2.45.

The steak was tender, juicy and nicely marinated, but the garlic isn't as dans votre visage as one might expect from the French.

But my biggest complaint was that, despite my asking for it to be cooked blue, and the waitress confirming said blueness in a meekly Gallic accent, the steak that actually showed up was distinctly medium-rare. 

Even pressing down hard with my fork failed to produce very much blood, which was a big disappointment.

This is a simple thing that the French, of all people, should be able to get right. Last time I was in Paris I had a lovely, properly bleu steak, although I'm not convinced that those in the kitchen at Cafe Rouge are necessarily légitime Francais.

I've even had a blue steak successfully delivered at Wetherspoons in the past, albeit not very often! 

The fries are very salty, and while typically French in style, there could be a few more of them to dip in the small bowl of peppercorn sauce, which is perhaps the only area where Le Rouge scores a victory over Le Brun.

It's a thick and intense sauce with just the right level of heat and bursting with whole peppercorns that crunch delightfully in the mouth. Like the fries, it's also very salty but more balanced because of the pepperiness. But it looks a little lonely and unimpressive on the plate.

There is undoubtedly some tasty shit on the Cafe Rouge menu, but when I order a rib-eye steak in this sort of establishment, I want it to be better than this.

The Verdict

So, all things considered, the contest isn't as close as I would have expected, and it's largely due to the French delegatation overcooking the steak and lacking the ammunition to fight back in other areas.

On another day, there might possibly have been a different result, but on this occasion the winner is clearly Browns, and so it's England 1 France 0... 

... except that the best chain restaurant for a steak on Canary Wharf, albeit at a higher price point, is actually Gaucho.

England 1 France 0. Argentina 2. Maybe.

On The Wharf...

Browns  

Unit A, Hertsmere Road

West India Quay
London
E14 8JJ  (map)

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Café Rouge

29-35 Mackenzie Walk  

Canary Wharf

London 

E14 4PH (map)

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Baltic Birthday

Nobody likes getting old much, do they?

I spoke to a 101-year-old recently whose refreshing and darkly candid take on her longevity was 'I hate being old. All my friends are dead!'

I've a comparatively long way to go, not that I'm likely to make it that far, but I did 'celebrate' my 35th last week, and to add insult to injury, I was accosted by not one but two market research people the very next day, and had to select, for the first time, the '35-44' box in which I shall be stuck for the next decade!

I'm now officially part of the target audience for Radio 2, The Spectator and Guy Clapperton's LifeOver35 blog, although in preperation I've been reading the latter for a few months, the Speccie for several years, and I actually like to think I've outgrown the Light Programme!

In recent months I've been acquiring new ailments left, right and centre, and a spell of extended stress at work (it would be less depressing working at a children's hospice) is taking its toll on my blood pressure. 

All I need now to trigger the textbook midlife crisis is a bad marriage - though, fortunately, I'm very happy being married to Mrs B-V who surprised me with a unique birthday present in the form of a trip to Latvia!

Beer

Chronophobia aside, the big day itself was quite enjoyable, with several beers at the Craft Beer Company to numb the pain, some of which were very good indeed. Highlights included Summer Wine Diablo, 6% and bursting with Citra hops, and a Black IPA from Arbor, though the 7.5% Breakfast Stout from the same brewery was a long and sickly struggle from the first sip to the bottom of the glass.

Birthday beer

Fortunately our flight to Riga the following day wasn't until late afternoon, so I didn't pay too heavy a price for overindulgence in strong ale. My system probably needed to stock up too, as Latvia isn't known for it's beer. Or, indeed, anything much.

Firstly, a few recommendations for anybody thinking of visiting Riga:


1. You can realistically 'do' Riga in a single day, so it's probably a bad idea to book a stay of more than two nights. We had two nights and were getting bored.

Being 35+ I'm never happier than when sitting down, but Riga is one of these 'old towns' that you have to walk around, with manky cobbled streets. Never been my kind of destination, and probably never will. Some things don't change as you get older. 



2. Try to avoid ever flying Ryanair. To anywhere. They are cheap, but their planes are cramped and unpleasant and we got stung with 'security charges' at the airport which they had deliberately not included in the upfront price to keep it cheap. Wankers.

There wasn't even a bus to take people from the gate to the plane, despite the plane being further from the gate than I've ever seen before - probably around 400 yards, which is a long way to dash in torrential rain with other aircraft moving disconcertingly around as you run across the tarmac.


3. Avoid using the strangely-named Terravision coach service to Stansted. It's bad enough having to fly from fucking Stansted in the first place, without this total shower of incompetence. 

Rather than running to timetables, they seem to depart only when there are enough bodies to completely fill the thing up, which for us meant standing in the aforementioned rain at Stratford worrying that we'd miss our flight on the way out, and standing around at Stansted late at night, knowing that we'd miss the last DLR on the way home.

It's the Ryanair of coaches.


4. In fact, don't fucking fly at all. There's too much hanging around, too much hassle getting to and from airports, too much turbulence and fearing for your life, and too few people in passport control at British airports. 

It's the Terravision of travel. Except that that's already Terravision.



5 (and back on the actual subject of Latvia rather than general whinging about shit). Don't take too much money. Riga is cheap and it's hard to spend. You can get a half-litre of beer in a bar in the centre for about £1.30 and a plate of food for the same price. I bought the best spoon ever for about a fiver. No, really. It's a great spoon.
 

The important stuff

So, what about the food and drink?


Well, with so little to do we spent quite a lot of time eating and drinking, and I noticed some similarities to Lithuania and Estonia, both of which I've previously visited. 

Grey peas; Steak with liquor

The national dish is grey peas, which thankfully aren't like peas as we know them, but a sort of cross between split peas and black-eyed beans, cooked with onion and bacon. It's not unpleasant and widely available (for a couple of quid).

What was unpleasant, however, was lunch on our first day. Somehow we seemed to find ourselves in a workers cafe in the basement of some government offices and not knowing about the food, just pointed to something behind the glass which we ascertained was a sort of potato pancake with meat inside.

The 'meat' was some kind of reconstituted pulp, almost entirely unseasoned apart from the sour cream which they seem to serve with everything in this part of the world. Maybe it was pink slime? I couldn't eat much of it without gagging, whatever it was.

Oh for some beer to cleanse my mouth...

Riga has a brewpub, Lido, located in some suburban shopping mall away from the old town that we didn't get to visit, but their beers are available fairly widely, and their old town outpost, Alus Seta offered an opportunity to try the closest thing to proper beer in the area (and some grey peas!)

This lot cost about £2.80

As expected, it's nothing to write home about. I tried their regular light lager, a honey beer which was a bit more interesting, and an amber which was darker and maltier. All of it was very fizzy and none of it was particularly hoppy.

Alus Seta is also well known for it's traditional Latvian food, though slightly disconcertingly, you have to queue up, canteen-style, with a tray and point to everything you want.

Suck it and see

Again we didn't know exactly what we were getting, but most of the stuff here was indeed very good. Skewers of moist chicken, garlic roast potatoes, thick garlic-infused steak with a parsley sauce a bit like the 'liquor' dispensed by our very own pie'n'mash shops. 

Clearly if you choose the right thing, there is some tasty food to be had here.

Garlic Bread? Garlic? Bread? Queens?

While some of the food can be bland, garlic features heavily and, as is common in this region, the garlic bread is something rather special - black rye bread deep fried in thin slices, probably in garlic-infused oil, and liberally coated with smushed garlic. 

Served with blue cheese sauce in the Queens pub, they were particularly good, though perhaps not the healthiest snack ever.


There was unfiltered wheat beer on here (passable), as well as Latvian 'Kiss' cider, which is a lot like the Scandinavian ciders that have taken off over here in recent years - horribly, horribly sweet and synthetic-tasting.

But as we were staying for a few (and some vodka, balsam and cream liquers) we were able to eat our way through the food menu, which was at odds with the 'English pub' theme.

After the garlic bread, smoky hunters sausages and slow-roasted pork belly in chilli were good accompaniments for an afternoon's drinking before we had to catch the plane home, and if I'd known how long and manky the journey home would be (we didn't get back until 2:30 AM) I'd have had more to drink!

'City of contrasts' is a cliche that's been done to death, but it's probably a fair reflection on Riga. Some of the food was very tasty, but there's not a lot to see or do (a 35 minute ride on a little cart seems to cover everything) and there are other, more interesting parts of the former USSR. Like Ukraine. And Estonia.

Am I glad I've been? Yes.

Was it a good birthday present? Yes. Thank you, Mrs B-V.

Would I want to go back, or go through the experience again? Fuck, no!

Spring in my step, Hole in my shoe

The only real downside of my visit to the west end for expressionist art and a big sloppy burger the other day is that it marked the end of my shoes. My beloved, trusty comfortable shoes!

I knew the one on my right foot was just one short walk away from wearing through, and Tuesday’s aggressive rainfall finally did for it as pavement puddles squelchified my sock through the hole, forcing me to finally give up on them. Reluctantly.

‘But the left one still works OK!’ I protested in vain to Mrs B-V, who had had the foresight to line up an acceptable replacement pair which assumed service the following day.

Apparently it’s Spring, but it’s cold, it’s rainy and it validates my long-held theory that people who get unduly bothered about the Weather failing to behave predictably but who still try to organise their lives or their shoes around Nature’s Clock are twats.

I have a bad reputation for clinging to threadbare footwear for way too long, in complete defiance of the passing seasons, but it’s not my fault that new shoes are never as comfortable as ones you’ve worn in, is it? Where’s the incentive to change?!?

I’ve also developed a (good) reputation for hearty, ‘Winter’ food (like my Boston Baked Beans and Porty Pig with Stilton mash), but I do have a little tip for this time of year as well.

New potatoes are alright when cooked in the traditional way. You know, boiled whole, with butter, possibly a few chives or black pepper. Quite pleasant.

But nobody is ever going get wildly excited about them, are they? 

Nobody comes back from a restaurant proclaiming that 'OMG, the new potatoes are like so, totally, TO DIE FOR!!11one1'. 

Nobody misses new potatoes when they're gone in the same that they miss their old shoes.

The taste of Spring

So, having realised this a few years ago, I decided that baby new potatoes needed to grow the fuck up, and so devised a recipe that roasts them with three different kinds of garlic. Oh yes.

I cooked up the first 2012 batch of these bad boys the other day, along with some simple but stunning pork chops in a sweet, mustard sauce.

Mrs B-V enjoyed the meal so much she actually stopped banging on about me wearing out my shoes for a few minutes!

The great thing about these potatoes is that while they're a great accompaniment to a huge range of meat or fish, they also work in isolation; you could serve a big plate of these garlicky bastards as party food if you have guests over, and I guarantee they'll be gone within minutes.

(That's the potatoes, not the guests, obviously.)

Mustard-glazed chops

Pork chops, 2 per person

Apple juice, cloudy, not from concentrate

English mustard

Garlic salt

Sea salt

Black pepper

Cumin

This is an extremely simple dish to cook, and while you can marinade in advance, the flavours are so robust that you don’t need to.

 

Method

Mix up the apple juice, mustard, garlic salt, black pepper and cumin to make your glaze (you can go easy on the cumin, and aim for about a 60-40 dilute ratio between the apple juice and everything else – not too liquidy)

Prick the flesh of the chops several times with a fork, and soak them in the glaze, ensuring that they are liberally coated and the glaze has gone through the little holes.

Arrange side by side in an oven dish so that the fat is upturned, and sprinkle with a little sea salt.

Cook for 45 minutes at about 200 C, or until browned and the fat is crispy. Turn and re-glaze the sides of the chops mid-way through cooking.

Serve with a green vegetable such as spinach or green beans, and Garlic-roasted New potatoes.

Garlic-roasted New potatoes

Ingredients (makes 2-3 large servings or 4-5 smaller ones)

Ready for the oven...

Baby new potatoes, 15-20, cut in half. Do NOT remove the skins!

Garlic, one bulb, half the cloves kept whole, the other half peeled and smushed up

Garlic salt

Black pepper

Herbes de Provence

Butter

Olive oil

Method

Plunge your potato halves into boiling water for a few seconds, then drain and dry them with some kitchen towel.

Place them in a roasting tin (or a baking tray with sides) closely together, but not piled up, and try to avoid having inside edges pointing downwards.

Arrange the whole garlic cloves strategically across the potatoes, and do likewise with several small knobs of butter.

Sprinkle garlic salt, black pepper and herbes de Provence over the potatoes.

Finally, mix your smushed garlic in with a little olive oil and drizzle it all over everything, ensuring that all your potatoes have at least some coverage.

Whack in the oven at around 200 degrees, until the potatoes are brown, crispy and delicious, which will probably take around 40 minutes.

For best results, remove from the oven at least once during cooking to baste them with the garlicy, buttery oil which will have accumulated beneath them.

Enjoy while hot and fresh!