Pear Shaped (37 page)

So, in no particular order:

Fitou, 1-3 Dalgarno Gardens, W10 (near Wormwood Scrubs prison. Glamourama…)

This is probably my favourite restaurant in London. It is totally cheap and cheerful, hard to spend more than about £15 a head even if you’re being a total pig (it’s BYO) – but most importantly the food is outstanding. I once saw the Prime Minister here, but don’t hold that against the place if you’re not a fan.

Starters: Fish Cakes, Papaya Salad – super super spicy, not for the faint hearted.

Mains: Gaeng Penang chicken – a really thick, hot red coconutty curry with lime leaves and fresh chillies, again super spicy and addictive.

Pad See Ew: stir fried broad rice noodles with eggs and green vegetables in a thick soy sauce. A perfect combination of soft, crunch, salt, almost sweet and above all tasty.

Coconut rice – sets off the spicy chicken curry perfectly.

St John – Smithfields, Spitalfields, and others

Most people love St John because of the whole nose to tail eating thing. They rave about the trotters, or whisper sweet nothings about chewing on a pig’s ear. Well I’ll admit it.
I’m scared of offal. I like liver, but anything more adventurous and I fold.

There are two reasons why I like St John so much, and neither of them have anything to do with soft tissue:

1. The Custard Donut of the Gods. They serve these at the Spitalfields branch during a brief window, only on a Sunday morning and now at their Bermondsey bakery, only on a Saturday morning. When I first ate one of these donuts I became obsessed. Thick, dense, Madagascan vanilla custard, injected into the crispest, lightest donut casing. If I ever become really rich and move to the South of France, I will, like Elvis with his peanut butter, bacon and banana sandwiches at the Colorado Mine Company, fly back to Bermondsey on my private jet just for a taste of one of these.
   
2. Welsh Rarebit. The opposite of adventurous I know. But really really great Welsh Rarebit. Goes back to A Simple Thing Done Well. It helps that St John make some of the finest bread in London. On top of their white sandwich loaf they put a combination of Neal’s Yard Montgomery cheddar, Guinness, Lea & Perrins, Coleman’s mustard and a touch of cayenne. Savoury, salty, tangy, melting perfection.
   

Ottolenghi, Upper Street N1 and various

Every thing I’ve ever eaten here has been perfectly executed and I’ve eaten almost everything. Come for breakfast, lunch or a cake – dinner if it’s payday. Ottolenghi uses herbs and spices so brilliantly that he elevates an ingredient as prosaic as broccoli into something stellar. The food looks magnificent and bounteous and tastes better than it looks.

My Ottolenghi rules of engagement:

If you go to the Upper Street branch at the weekend, go EARLY or expect to queue forever.

Do not take a boyfriend whom there is any danger of you splitting up with at a subsequent date. You do not want to scar Ottolenghi with the sadness of happy memories.

But do go there with at least one other person, so you can try all their salads, and their cake (and, I suppose, vice versa …)

If you order bread, make sure you get cornbread in the selection – spicy, crumbly and slightly sweet – utterly delicious.

The broccoli is better than any broccoli you’ve ever had anywhere. Ditto the butternut squash, ditto anything with green beans, ditto the granola, home-made nutella and jams. Their banana jam made me un-hate bananas, temporarily.

Take a cake home for someone you love – including
yourself. I can think of no greater expression of appreciation and affection than something sweet in a white paper bag from Ottolenghi.

C&R café, Rupert Court, W1

This is the sort of place I’d walk straight past if I didn’t know not to. It’s garishly lit, in a crappy alley in Soho, and shows no indication of its greatness – other than an occasional queue. A word of warning – do not let them seat you in the basement if you have a sensitive nose and don’t like the smell of toilets.

C&R’s strengths are soups and noodle dishes – every time I’ve strayed from these I’ve regretted it. (Except for the roti canai side dish – a light, buttery Malaysian bread served with a searingly hot spicy dipping sauce – an essential starter, whatever you’re ordering for your main.)

The greatest dish on the menu is the Singapore Laksa – by far the best of its kind I’ve had in London. A spicy coconut milk broth, with chunks of chicken, prawn, tofu, noodles and other floating wonders – it is a truly satisfying one-bowl soup meal. Some folk struggle to finish the generous portion but not for want of trying.

NEW YORK

I love New York for its energy, for its buildings, for its people, but most of all for its food. Everything changes so quickly in New York that it’s impossible to keep up with what’s hot and what’s not. Regardless, I tend to eschew fashionable restaurants anyway as they’re often more about the scene than what’s coming out of the kitchen. (Incidentally isn’t eschew an odd word? So strange.)

Corner Bistro, 331 West 4th Street

While there’s always at least a handful of new contenders every year for the position of Number 1 burger in town, my favourite will always be the cheeseburger at Corner Bistro. It’s no frills, you’ll have to queue, and there’s nothing innovative or modern about it – and that’s why I love it. Beef that tastes of beef, the perfect thickness of patty, the perfect-dimensioned bun, the golden ratio
of bun to beef to cheese. It satisfies one’s deepest caveman longings for beef, and doesn’t embarrass itself by trying to introduce foolishness such as ‘boiled egg’ or ‘beetroot’ into the equation, like some other burgers I could mention …

Num Pang, 21 East 12th Street

A tiny Cambodian sandwich bar close to Union Square, with a succinct menu of delicious food. The absolute all-star winning sandwich is the hoisin meatball with basil, stewed tomatoes and Num Pang’s signature chili mayo. Like all their sand wiches, it comes served with cucumber, pickled carrots, coriander and chili mayo, on fresh white bread from Parisi Bakery down in Little Italy. It is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten – spicy, sweet, crunchy, soft, piquant and fresh.

Rocco’s, 243 Bleeker Street

Avoid the tourist queues at Magnolia’s – I never understand what all the fuss about cupcakes is anyway – and head further down Bleeker Street to Rocco’s for a cannoli. Perfect crunchy crispy cigars, stuffed with thick ricotta cream and chocolate chips – again, there’s something very perfect about the dimensions and proportions of Rocco’s cannolis, which might explain why it’s been a West Village favourite for decades.

Momofuku Milk Bar, 251 East 13th Street

David Chang’s cookie shop in the East Village is always on my to-do list whenever I visit New York. Try and go on the final day you’re in town, so that you can take back cookies for friends and family alike – they last at least 4 days – that is if you don’t eat them all on the plane / the Heathrow Express / walking up the stairs to your front door …

Obviously the Compost Cookie is a must, but the chocolate-chocolate cookie is so salty, fudgy and dark you almost feel like you’re in the middle of it. And make room for a slice of Crack Pie, as above. Be warned – it’s named Crack Pie for a reason, folks …

City Bakery, 3 West 18th Street

If it’s cold out, go to City Bakery for their legendary hot chocolate. Not for the faint hearted, or those who like their hot chocolate to resemble something you could buy from a vending machine. It’s more like a very thick, extremely velvety chocolate soup – but if that’s how you like your hot chocolate (and that is how I like mine) – make the pilgrimage.

Further reading

Heartburn
, Nora Ephron

The book that most inspired me when writing
Pear Shaped
was Nora Ephron’s
Heartburn
(subsequently made into a film with Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep). While I like the film, and love the actors, the book is superior.

It is an excellent blend of comedy and sadness, interwoven with recipes. Ephron’s writing is always sharp, wise, funny and honest and that is all I ever want in fiction.

Take Care of Yourself
, Sophie Calle

Sophie Calle is a French conceptual artist and writer. Her book
Take Care of Yourself
was inspired by an e-mail her ex-boyfriend sent her, finishing their relationship. Calle had the e-mail analysed by 107 different women from different professions and in doing so, turned her heartbreak into a fascinating, original, creative and intriguing work of art. Plus the book has a gorgeous shiny pink cover and cool DVDs within.

The Beauty Myth
, Naomi Wolf

It seems unlikely that the beauty, diet and anti-ageing industries will do anything other than grow in the future. There’s an awful lot of money to be made in manipulating female insecurity. An important and disturbing book.

The Sociopath Next Door
, Martha Stout

This best-selling popular psychology book came out in 2005, and is subtitled
The Ruthless versus The Rest of Us
. It posits that 1 in 20 of us ‘normal’ folk is in fact sociopathic, i.e. capable of acting without a conscience, and thus potentially extremely dangerous to be involved with. It is quite scary, when you look at the checklist in the book, to realise that you probably work with, or are friends with, at least one bona fide sociopath. Fascinating and useful.

Poems

I’m not terribly good with poetry. Usually it makes me feel a bit thick, because I don’t ever understand all the layers of meaning the poet intended. However I mentioned two poems in
Pear Shaped
that I do like, and that I think I understand.

Nora Criona, by James Stephens

James Stephens was an Irish novelist and poet. I don’t know much about him but according to Wikipedia he was mates
with James Joyce, and from his photo it looks like he wore hats a little too small for his head. As far as I’m aware he did not drive a Maserati. The poem Sophie mentions on the first page of the book is called ‘Nora Criona’, and is about the perils of being too attentive to a man.

Bluebird, by Charles Bukowski

The second poem is Sophie’s and her ex Nick’s favourite poem, ‘Bluebird’, by the American writer Charles Bukowski. Bukowski wrote an awful lot of poems, including an excellent one about becoming a writer, and ‘Bluebird’, about love. I think it’s rather wonderful.

Acknowledgements

To the many people who have encouraged, supported and helped me while I was writing this book, most notably:

Kowski – for being brilliant and being better.

My dear friends Bobby, Baz, Dalia and Nicole. For enduring my first drafts and for being there always with patience, honesty and wisdom.

Lisa B – for pushing me up the mountain of Kong and tobogganing down the other side, roll ups in hand.

Ed McD for some perspective. What
would
Madonna do?

Mavis – for the material and the immaterial. There’s no one I’d rather eat apricots with.

Matt – for hitting me in the Harwood with a packet of granola and making me cry, and for 15 years of Saab driver wisdom.

To Sophie and Sean, for the extreme generosity in lending us the best house in the world. I promise Dave didn’t lay a finger on Barbie. Maybe in her …

Kathryn F – for being the perfect mother-in-law, and giving me the kindest feedback always.

Anna H & Simon D – for bringing me chocolate seashells when I couldn’t see the shore.

Debbi A – two numbers for you dude. Seven. Eleven. The most fun ever. xx

Kate Long, Jeremy Sheldon, and everyone on my Arvon course – for advice, hope, and laughing at my jokes.

Jenny B, Queen of Puddings, for your fabulous knowledge of desserts and letting me tag along to the cake factory. Best. Job. Ever.

Nat F – for your time, your immense talent and for being a 24-hour go-to emergency service. We tried, my darling, at least we tried.

Anna T and Joy for being my surrogate Buddhas and having the patience of many saints.

Ben & Gabi, and Russell & Keren – Dyer to play Devron?

Oliver ‘Paul’ Newman – for the kiss of life.

The beautiful Flanders and Liv – house-stealers extraordinaire.

My oldest BF, BFK – for the weasel.

Margarita, Jane, Anand, Allan and Melanie – for taking care of my mind, body and soul.

Ellie ‘Business Critical’ G, Anna ‘Big Balls’ P, Lauren ‘Legs’ S, and Hazel ‘clever clogs and heels’ W, for the sympathetic eyes.

Susie A – for being deadpan, sassy, wise, and the best hitman/wingman a girl could ask for. Sorry this isn’t in yellow …

Lou – for being the opposite of Devron and for believing in me.

Antonello – Segize dice grazie per le lezioni di Italiano.

Fern ‘CEO’ V, for the cover stories.

Simon K – for dropping everything at a moment’s notice to simulate sex with me in your high performance Italian sports car – still laughing.

Dominic – for pointing out the difference between being in gear and neutral, teaching me how to spell betterer, and for the funniest grammar joke ever.

Andrew, a great, generous and loyal friend, for actually buying a Sub-Zero.

Sanj – for always being Mr Saturday Night and in my hour of need Mr Wednesday Night. And for letting me drive the DB9. Such a footballer’s car …

My beloved Gerry. Hyrum was right about us bad kids in the back row.

Nate – for showing me your tattoos.

The fabulous Slater boys – for being almost as funny as each other. And not quite as funny as the gorgeous Alvin.

Daniel S – idea generator, triangle giver and taker, ice-cream connoisseur. What’re the odds that we haven’t played bad minton by the time you finally get round to reading this book?

Jenny K – the fag what needs no lighter. I could not
have done this without you. For the c-punch, the e-mail, the g-force. You next please.