I was very excited, and also a little hot and bothered. I had to be in Liverpool St at 5pm, but I didn’t finish work until 5.30pm, and I work an hour away. Eish! What to do?! Thankfully, Francesco and his team were patient and flexible, and unfazed when I burst through the door, earlier than I thought possible, but later than arranged, red and frizzy and ready for vongole.

Vongole? What’s that? It’s one of the best Italian culinary offerings, and when nestled with linguine, a real treat. Fresh and lively, salty and sweet, fruity and toothsome, you can’t beat it.

I’ve cooked this at home, but not for a while. It’s one of those things that has to be done right, great vongole from an even better fishmonger, great pasta and some time. That’s all. Like anything else, there are ways to do it to do it and to do it right you need to adhere to the rules, but really it’s not that complicated, and once you know the steps, it’s utterly achievable. It’s a weeknight dish should you choose it to be one or a perfect quick weekend treat.

Italian cuisine is one of my favourites; it’s so fresh and full of flavour. Loaded with character and variety, how could you not love it? I love the attention to detail, the adherence to quality and the sociable nature of it all. I love that everyone is confident about food, we should be here too. Everyone has a secret family recipe, knows local wines and heartily recommends favourites. They want to take you to their favourite places, and share their culinary heritage, for they are very proud of it, and so they should be. So, I wasn’t surprised when Francesco seemed to represent all of these qualities, fizzing with enthusiasm and passion, and ready to share his knowledge.

L’Anima is a lovely space, airy and bright, perhaps leaning on stark, but very stylish. We started at the bar with some snacks and a prosecco, and then progressed to the kitchen, which was stacked with food and chefs, and while busy-busy, it was very calm. Waiting by one of the sinks were enormous and very fresh clams, that had been rinsed to rid them of any sand that they had retained from the sea bed, they were ready to become vongole.

Francesco whizzed through the recipe, it really is very quick. Patient and attentive, occasionally making reference to how red I was, with a chuckle. I was at pains to explain that I am Irish and can’t cope with extremes of anything – hot or cold. Ireland is mild and temperate, and this is what my body demands, but rarely receives. So, there you go! I am doomed to have a big red face in warm environments. But that’s ok.

The vongole had already been cleaned and were gleaming and ready for action. Using a bronze cut linguine, Francesco starts the dish with a light south Italian olive oil, that won’t over power the clams. The pasta is put on, and some garlic slices and chilli are gently fried. The vongole are added shortly after with a glass of white wine, and cooked gently until they start to open. The pasta is added with some of it’s starchy cooking water, creating an emulsion with the vongole sauce as it is stirred. The pasta looks to be about half cooked at this stage, and Francesco stirs it, until it it’s al dente and nestled is a beautiful creamy sauce. I love this technique of cooking pasta by absorption, a technique that delivers a much superior pasta, and costs nothing but time and a littler exertion. Not unlike the creaminess that you get from risotto rice, when you give it all of that care and attention.

The dish is finished with a handful of freshly chopped flat leaf parsley, and is ready to eat.  We had a taste, and I was in heaven.

I was loathe to leave the kitchen and that luscious linguine behind, but Francesco assured me that I would have some more soon, over dinner in the private room, where 8 of us gathered and participated in a feast.

A gorgeous starter of muscles cooked in a josper oven, a powerful charcoal oven, just briefly, for a minute or so until they popped open. They retained their memory of the sea, in those last drops of sea water that they had held onto from when they were caught. These were superb, a real highlight, tasting of fire and water with embers from the josper oven and sea water, with a meaty mussel embracing it in the middle, and some delicious n’duja sausage with some fennel seeds.

Our linguine vongole escapades were next. Three different types, all perfectly executed, although one fusion one, while lovely, was not to my taste. I prefer the more familiar rustic Italian flavours of garlic, chilli and tomato. We had a lovely wine with the linguine, a delicious Soave, so good, I proclaimed that it was worth going that night to discover that wine alone.

We finished with a frozen chocolate truffle. An icy large truffle with chocolate sauce oozing out of the middle. Delicious. I know that word is over used but I don’t care, because that’s what it was.

And there you have it. A perfect evening. Linguine vongole is on the bar menu at L’Anima, it’s well worth a try with that glorious Soave. Francesco Mazzei is certainly one to watch and I look forward to trying L’Anima again.

I will make this dish soon and post the recipe. Give it a go, there or at home. You’ll be very happy with yourself.

Eat Like a Girl is 10 today. TEN! Woah, happy birthday to you, little thing!

10 years ago, at about this time, I was sitting at my (very messy) office desk feeling overwhelmed. It was towering with notebooks and papers relating to the science publishing projects that I was working on (I studied science at degree level and then technology for my masters). I worked late, and to relax I cooked when I got home. Many evenings and weekends would be spent exploring food shops from far off lands and bringing home ingredients that I hoped google would help me understand or one of my many cookbooks which I had been hoarding for years.

(there was punctuation, I swear!)

I have always been a cook more than anything, as much as I love to eat out now. I didn’t eat out much when I first moved to London, I didn’t have much money after the bills were paid, but I did cook, and I looked at restaurant menus all the time, taking inspiration from them to my kitchen back home. I was obsessed with travel, and travelled when I could (rarely), taking inspiration from those trips back home to my kitchen also. 

When is a pie not a pie? And why do people get so mad about it? Surely pastry meeting another gorgeous thing can only be celebrated, but no, people feel very strongly about this. Pie fascism is real. 

Which brings me on to pie rage. People aren’t happy with people not encasing a pie filling in pastry and calling it a PIE. But folks, it is, and even if you feel it isn’t, feel free to surround this gorgeous chicken curry filling with pastry. I made this pie two ways, entirely enclosed in shortcrust pastry top and bottom, and with a puff pastry top, no bottom. I prefer the puff pastry lid.

I wasn’t one of those kids that went on skiing holidays, nor have I been one of those adults. I love winter and I adore being in the snow breathing in the gorgeous crisp air. I love snowmobiles and husky rides, frozen rivers and puddles shattered into ice. I love crunching along, my feet sinking in as I walk. I like my face feeling cold and the rest of me toasty warm as I wander about. Ice fishing is fun (especially when you catch something). But skiing or snowboarding had never appealed. I am risk averse and not overly enamoured with sports (my sport of choice is dancing, although I used to be quite good at trampolining in university for a while surprisingly!). I quite like to relax with a book and take it all in gently over a glass of hot wine. 

I have been on a porcini kick since I was in France last month, specifically since I had a cep fondue (cep and porcini are one and the same thing). I prefer the word porcini, so let’s use that.

Porcini are a magical little thing. They confer a depth of flavour to any dish. Something of the woods and something rich, which when combined with soy sauce reaches a throaty gorgeous rumble. Throw a homemade chicken stock in the mix and you have something wonderful. I fancied trying the combination in that Eastern wonder dish, congee.

Les Gets is gorgeous small town in the French Alps. Perfect for ski fanatics, and also people like me who love the calm of winter and the snow. I prefer to be inside looking out from a great table, and so I explored the best eating and drinking options that Les Gets has to offer.

Les Gets has a lovely laid back charm with slopes on both sides, and many restaurants and bars overlooking or next to the pistes.  Les Gets partners excellently with Morzine being just a few kilometres away with cross country ski routes and easy access. There is also a ski pass for both Morzine and Les Gets, so it makes sense to do both. 

In terms of what you eat and drink, I have got you covered. All tried and tested with the Eat Like a Girl seal of approval. 

See also: Where to Eat and Drink in Morzine in the French Alps

Le Bacchus

Morzine is a busy town with lots of places to eat and drink. Standards are high generally and there are lots of great options. All here are tried and tested and get the Eat Like a Girl seal of approval. Enjoy, and do share any tips you might have in the comments.

See also: Where to Eat and Drink in Les Gets in the French Alps (the town next door to Morzine, you can get there easily via cross country ski or car). 

After my breakfast with Guy Savoy, I made my way to the 14th arrondissement to meet Didier Lavry at Le Petit Mitron, a baker who had just been awarded the second prize in le Meilleur Croissant au Beurre d’Isigny AOP. That would be the best croissant competition in France, Paris section, then. Don’t you just love France for that?

As I walked up the stairs of the Monnaie de Paris on a quiet Friday morning, I wondered what awaited me at the top. I was in France’s oldest institution, the national mint in the centre of Paris overlooking the tree lined Seine. It was early, and the staff at the door were surprised to see me arrive as they don’t open until lunchtime. I am here to have breakfast with Guy Savoy, I announced gently in clumsy French, with some trepidation. 

Jump to recipe

Potato pizza. Yes! It is a thing. And yes, it is wonderful. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! (Twirls!). I first had it on my first trip to Rome at an innocent 19. I was to discover pizza a tavola and gelato and I would speed from a tiny size 6 (US size 2) to a still small but bigger size 10 that summer. The die was cast. I wish I had such problems now!  

I was living in Nice for the summer, and it was only my second time outside of Ireland. I already knew I wanted to travel a lot, and I really have no idea why I picked Nice as a place to start, but that is where I went. I think I chose France because I spoke French, and I was curious after 6 years of studying it. Nice is lovely, that long beach, the wonderful light. So hot, too hot for me. When I first arrived and didn’t put sunscreen on the side of my feet I learned the hard way with third degree burns on the second day. I could hardly walk. It was a mesmerising time. I was startled by large lizards clambering over an imposing wooden gate protecting the entrance to a house bigger than I had seen before. I loved the packed terraces full of people eating and drinking, and I was entranced by all of the new foods and the lovely little towns nearby. 

It was a coming of age summer for me in many ways. It was my first proper summer away from Ireland, learning a lot about myself, good and bad. I spoke French, but was nervous to in the beginning, so lots assumed I couldn’t. It is amazing what people would say when they thought I couldn’t understand. I met lots of people, I trusted everyone, I learned that maybe I shouldn’t. But I also met some terrific people too who inspired me and made me think about how wonderful and large the world could be, and how much I wanted to explore it. I worked hard, and everytime I got to 1000 francs (about £120 at the time), I saved it as a travellers cheque. 

I had a tiny studio apartment off the Promenade des Anglais with a friend, a 2 minute walk from the sea, right in the heart of it all. I was discovering food, and I popped down to a local sandwich stall often to have a toasted baguette with hot chicken curry inside. I loved it! That summer I had my first coffee when I learned that a hot chocolate at 35 deg C was a not too pleasant experience. And we all know how that went. 

Fuzzy flashback to that summer in Nice – one of the rare photos that I have from that time

When the weather changed there at the end of August as I had been told it would (and it was incredibly predictable to the day then, some winds came and it got colder, and it seemed like everyone left), I packed my bags and my saved travellers cheques and I booked a one way train to Florence. I didn’t love it then. As a young solo female traveller I got a lot of grief from creepy guys, and so I took myself to Rome. Rome was bigger and easier and gorgeous. I fell in love with it. Rome became the kind of city that I started to seek out. A city that is thriving, beating and bursting, a city that knows you are there but isn’t really bothered as it is just getting on with everything that makes it so good.  I stayed for almost 10 days and burned through some of my hard earned summer savings. I spent all day walking and luxuriating in how gorgeous the city was, stopping to sit for gelato and pizza every now and then, more impressed by the seemingly abandoned gorgeousness on every street and street corner than the packed tourist spots. 

Rome! Photos from my last trip there.

I have such fond recollections of that time. It was my first time travelling solo, which I do all the time now. Potato pizza is the thing that I remember the most. Sometimes with potato matchsticks and other times with potato slices, sometimes with just potato, sometimes with cheese, sometimes with some herbs. Always good. Served from tavola caldas (hot tables), the pizza are served by the slice from enormous rectangular versions, cut with a scissors into the size you desired. I couldn’t believe it.  A POTATO PIZZA?! I was sold. I have been making them at home since, and when I go to Rome now, it is the thing I want more than anything. Well, almost as much as Bonci’s porchetta sandwich, but that is a story for another time. 

In Rome, the best of these pizzas is served on pizza bianca, a pizza that is made first with toppings added after, and then heated to order. Pizzarium and Bonci (both owned by Gabriele Bonci, mentioned already, both are a must in Rome) are the gold standard for these. I use my standard pizza base at home, and I use mozzarella as a milky buffer between the base and the potato. I have a weakness for buffalo mozzarella (the real Mozzarella di Bufala Campana which is made in Southern Italy and protected by PDO particularly), but if you can get a proper fior de latte, a good cows mozzarella made with cows milk, that is superb too. I love the romance of Italian descriptors for food, to describe a cheese as the flower of milk is just gorgeous. Taleggio works brilliantly too, so feel free to use that also.

Time for the potato, and on top of the cheese I layer sliced potatoes. When I started out they were painstakingly sliced by hand, as thin as I could. Now I use my food processor, but a mandolin is perfect too. One large potato does two pizzas, a potato pizza is a frugal joyful thing. Occasionally I like to squeeze in a couple of layers of fine guanciale slices for an extra layer of dizzying indulgence. If guanciale is not on your radar yet, it is a bacon made from the jowl of the pig (the cheek and surrounds) and it is one of the best ones. You can get it in great Italian delis and Fortnum and Mason stock a terrific one from Peter Hannon in Northern Ireland, already sliced fine and perfect for this pizza. 

I hope that you will indulge in this Roman slice of gorgeousness. It brings me much happiness. Enjoy! 

Other posts on Eat Like a Girl on Italy: 

Where to Eat Pizza & Pasta in Rome

Making Pasta in Abruzzo, the First Harvest and the Pupe

Dispatches from Abruzzo, Italy: Cooking with the Grandmothers of Abruzzo and Where to Eat

Cooking with the Grandmothers of Abruzzo [Video]

Blasting Pasta Myths – 13 Reasons Why You Should Eat Pasta

Roman food blogs that are must reads:

Rachel Eats – dispatches from Rachel’s Roman kitchen. Rachel has also penned a terrific book (Five Quarters: Recipe & Notes from a Kitchen in Rome) and Rachel also has a lovely weekly Guardian column. 

Elizabeth Minchilli in Rome – Elizabeth blogs about eating out in Rome, primarily, but also much of Italy. She also shares great recipes and videos. Elizabeth does food tours too, and has a terrific app for eating in Rome, and other parts of Italy. Elizabeth has a book on Eating Rome too. 

Katie Parla has a terrific blog all about eating in Rome and Roman food culture, and she has an excellent app for eating out in Rome too. Her first book on Rome (Tasting Rome: Fresh Flavours and Forgotten Recipes from an Ancient City) has just been published. Katie runs food tours too. 

Gillian McGuire blogs about Rome and all of Italy on Gillian’s Lists.

Pasta is one of the great joys of life. My life certainly, and lots of Italians. And you too, right? I love to make it from scratch but I also love cooking best quality dried pasta, which is so misunderstood. You can read more about why we should eat pasta, and why we certainly shouldn’t view it as anything near a guilty pleasure on another post that I wrote – Blasting Pasta Myths – Reasons Why You Should Eat Pasta.

Pasta Production in Italy

Pasta is made all over Italy with many regional variations extending to the flour used, whether just water or water and eggs are used, or just eggs. Shapes differ, how they serve it differs widely too. In general, the North makes more fresh pasta, and the South has more dried.

This is fiercely protected in terms of the dried pasta that you purchase from Italy. There are laws governing it: dried pasta must be made using durum wheat semolina flour, and egg pasta can only be made with durum wheat semolina flour and a minimum of 4 hens eggs weighing 200g without shell, per kilogram of semolina. Croissant production is also regulated in France, incidentally, and more on that soon. 

Pasta Production in Abruzzo

Abruzzo has a long history of producing some of the best Italian dried pastas (along with Gragnano in the South). In central Italy to the East of Rome and Lazio, Abruzzo is on the opposite coast on the Adriatic Sea, with sea and mountains, snow and sunshine, and a wonderful food culture dotted regionally among small towns and villages. I have been to Abruzzo twice. A gorgeous spot, under the tourist radar and who knows why? You need a car to get a round, as is the case for much of Southern Italy below it, it is worth the effort.

Pasta in production at the Rustichella pastificio

Pasta in production & drying at the Rustichella pastificio

The terroir (the mountains, hills, spring water, soil and proximity to the sea) is important here. The flour produced from the local grains, combined with the local water sourced from the mountain springs produced great pasta. The prevailing winds and humidity in the hills ensured that, in season, the pasta could be dried at a pace that produced dried pasta of a superior quality that could be used throughout the year. Slow drying allows fermentation which creates more intense flavour, and also makes pasta more digestible. Some of our best foods (in terms of flavour and ease of digestion) are a result of preservation and fermentation, pasta is an excellent example of this. 

How Dried Pasta is Made, from Grain 

Once the grain is harvested, it is cleaned, tempered and milled. To make the pasta, the flour is mixed with water and kneaded. No salt is added at any point, which is one of the reasons why it is so important to salt your pasta water properly. This is how you season it. When the dough is ready the pasta is extruded through bronze dies and then dried in the prevailing winds. Traditionally, the pasta was arranged on racks and dried naturally as the wind blew through the long rooms lined with windows on either side of the pastificios (pasta factories). This is now managed using a technical process in a climate controlled room, and takes approximately 24 hours for a high quality dried pasta. The wheat production is seasonal, and so pasta was (and remains in some places) a seasonal product. We are used to seeing it on shelves all year round, and so we forget that. 

The First Harvest in Abruzzo 

I went to Abruzzo last summer for the first harvest or Primograno (first grain) at Rustichella d’Abruzzo. A family owned and run pastificio producing high quality dried pasta in Abruzzo since 1924 (starting in Penne, yes, there is a town called Penne!). Four generations later, Gianluigi Peduzzi wanted to bring back the flavour of the pasta that he remembered from his grandfathers mill in Penne, using 100% Abruzzo wheat derived from four specific heirloom varieties which can be traced back to the wheat used in his grandfathers time. Four different primograno pastas are made with this heirloom flour, which is grown by 14 farmers over 60 hectares near Pianella in Abruzzo. 

To celebrate we had dinner (with lots of pasta, naturally!) and then watched the Pupe dance. A large papier mache doll with a man dancing inside to music, and fireworks flying off her head.

Wonderful, and only in Abruzzo. 

Rustichella d’Abruzzo hosted my stay in Abruzzo, but all editorial is my own, as always. Primograno is a seasonal product, and when in season, it is available at Odysea online, who also sell other Rustichella pastas, which I recommend (and use in my kitchen). Irish readers, I bought some Rustichella d’Abruzzo pasta at Sheridan’s when I was last home (the orecchiette is superb!), and I just checked, and some Rustichella products, including pasta flour, are available online.

This post is a sponsored post, in partnership with OpenTable, the online real-time restaurant reservation service. For this post, they provided me with a £150 Open Table gift card to trial at a restaurant of my choice. Opinions and editorial are entirely my own, as always.

It is almost Valentine’s Day, and so for sure many of you reading have plans to eat out. Somewhere romantic maybe, somewhere you have wanted to eat for a while, somewhere where you could get a reservation!

The stats say that 1 in 4 men fail to book their Valentine’s Day restaurant due to leaving it too late. Only 38% of women book the romantic meal themselves on Valentine’s Day. Maybe you will have a Galentine’s celebration with your friends, as I did today. 1 in 10 reservations on Valentine’s Day through OpenTable are for groups of more than 2. Of course us Londoners tend to book more than two months in advance with the earliest OpenTable booking for Valentine’s Day 2016 being a year prior. I am impressed and appalled at once. That is so organised! Of course it is easy to change or cancel your reservation if you change your mind.

OpenTable Gift Card

I always prefer to choose the restaurant, and the idea of a gift card with no restaurant attached until you receive the card and decide where you want to eat appeals to me. The OpenTable gift card arrives by email and you choose your restaurant. You can search by name, category (“Fit for Foodies”, “Family” and for sure “Romantic”), location, special offers etc. You can even search by landmark, train station, museum and nearby cities. There are also reviews left by other OpenTable customers and average ratings.

I had a good look around the “Fit for Foodies” section and was tempted by several places. I fancied some seafood and aren’t oysters the food of love? And when you pair them with a great English sparkling wine? Win win.

Wright Brothers have a few locations, but I wouldn’t describe them as a chain (at least not yet). Each branch feels different and the food has been very enjoyable each time I have eaten at their Borough or Soho branch. They farm their own oysters in Cornwall, but also serve oysters from Ireland, other parts of the UK and France. To add to the appeal, Wright Brothers started selling the fabulous Harty Oysters from my hometown of Dungarvan (Waterford, Ireland) last year, and I have been a more regular visitor since. Particularly for oyster happy hour when oysters are £1 each from 3-6pm in Soho (every day!).

The room in Soho is lovely, inside marble tables and plush leather banquettes greet, you can also eat at the bar and when the weather is good, you will always find me on the Kingly Court terrace outside.

We started with a glass of Ridgeview Cavendish, a round and elegant English sparkling wine from Sussex (£9.50 a glass) which we had with the Dungarvan oysters (£9 for 3), fresh and with a little shallot vinegar. I love a cooked oyster too, so we also ordered the tempura oyster with sweet miso and bonito flakes (£9.50 for 3). I could have eaten double.

For mains, my friend ordered the whole Cornish lemon sole with chilli, herb and crab meat butter (£26.50), which was filleted at the table. He loved it. I had the tempura soft shell crab with a vibrant bright jalapeño dressing (£14.50). On the side, I had seaweed and radicchio salad with goat’s cheese (£6.50). It goes without saying that we had fries (£3.50). Fish and chips, innit! You just have to. We had a lovely glass of Picpoul de Pinet with this (£8 a glass), one of my favourite wines for seafood and value for money, I recommend you seek it out.

The only disappointing thing was the dessert, a chocolate fondant with salted caramel ice cream (£6). The fondant was molten but a little dry on the outside, and the ice cream a little too salty, even for me. And I adore salted caramel and salt, just for reference.

Overall we had a very pleasant meal and I will continue to return for the gorgeous oysters, lovely wines and other seafood, leaving the dessert for elsewhere, if at all. Why bother when you can just eat all the oysters? The bill came to approximately £135, which means I have £15 to spend there another time. And I know exactly what I will be spending it on. Dungarvan oysters!

Wright Brothers Soho, 13 Kingly St, London W1B 5PW
020 7434 3611
http://www.thewrightbrothers.co.uk/soho.html

Head to Menorca and fill your boots with cheese, wine, sobrasada & GIN! A gorgeous, chilled out and very under rated island, Menorca was one of my favourite places to visit this year. Here is your guide for the best of the artisan products. There are also links here to my Menorca Eating & Drinking Guide and the best Sunday lunch on the island (lobster soup, as you are asking!).

Menorcans claim mayonnaise. The French don’t agree, but Menorcans say that mayonnaise originated in Mahón and was taken to France where it was popularised after the French victory over the British in Menorca in 1756. The sauce was salsa mayonesa in Spanish, later becoming mayonnaise when the French embraced it.  Who could blame each side for declaring they are responsible for the origin? I adore the gorgeous emulsion of egg yolk and oil. A bold claim from a small island like Menorca and an insight to their proud culinary heritage.

#

Menorca is still steeped in salsa mayonesa, which they make fresh and serve with many dishes. There is also Mahón cheese (a cows milk cheese which has a PDO, which means the origin and method of production are protected), Menorcan sobrasada (wonderful spreadable gently spiced pork sausage), Menorcan gin and a growing wine industry. Menorca is small enough to whizz around and experience all of it in a couple of days.

Binifadet Winery

From November to March it is possible to do a tour of Binifadet with a wine tasting, and a tasting of their other products including jams and goats cheese marinaded in red wine. 9 wines are made here, I recommend the sparkling white which is 100% chardonnay and the white merluzo (a white wine made from merlot). The setting is beautiful and there is a restaurant there too, although I haven’t had time to eat there yet, I would try and fit in a meal on the terrace.

http://binifadet.com/en/

S’Arangí

Raw cows milk is used to make the Mahón cheese at S’Arangí, each cheese is rubbed in olive oil and paprika, which gives it its distinct rust rind. Goats cheese is made here too, and terrific sobrasada. All of which are available to buy to take home. They can vac pack it for you too. A must.

http://www.quesomahonmenorca.com/es/empresas/60-sarangi

Hort de Sant Patrici

Cheese and wine are on offer at this family run  and it is possible to do a tour and tasting. Mahón cheese is made in the traditional manner (from cows milk), and three wines also (a rosé made from Syrah and 2 reds). There is a lovely family run hotel on site too (Ca Na Xini), in a blissful rural location.

http://santpatrici.com/en/

Ca’s Sucrer

A bakery that sells all of the Menorcan traditional delicacies, swing by here to try as much as possible, and don’t the ensaimada, particularly the sobrasada one. Take one home too, beautifully gift packaged.

http://www.cassucrer.es/

Gin Xoriguer

Made from wine spirit, juniper and selected aromatics, gin was initially made in Menorca to satisfy the appetites of British soldiers and sailors stationed in Menorca in the 18th century. Gin has since become part of the cultural fabric of Menorca. Xoriguer is a family owned gin producer that distils gin in copper stills on the coast in Mahón. Traitionally, Menorcan men would start the day with a thimbleful of gin, called a ginlet. For aperitif it is popular to have a pomada, a drink made with local Xoriguer gin and cloudy lemonade. You can get this gin everywhere there, but a trip to the distillery and a tour is well worth it.

http://www.xoriguer.es/Default.aspx?lan=en

Related Menorca posts from Eat Like a Girl: 

Where to Eat, Drink & Stay in Menorca

A Perfect Sunday Lunch: Caldereta de Langosta in Menorca at Es Cranc (Traditional Lobster Soup + a Recipe)

Related Menorca posts from the web:

Exploring a Spanish Fish Market in Menorca – Bright Bazaar

Gin, Sin and the History of Gin in Menorca – Inside the Travel Lab

The Streets of Ciutadella – Time Travel Turtle
My Menorca Adventure – Travmonkey

The Joy of Spring in Menorca – Live Share Travel

I travelled to Menorca as part of a project between iAmbassador and Visit Menorca, who sponsored this project.  As always, I’m free to write what I like and I do! Life is short etc. :)

Don’t even dare try to order tapas in San Sebastian. There are no tapas there (unless you happen to be in an Andalucian restaurant). In the Basque region and San Sebastian it is all about the pintxos (pronounced pincho). Small bites, served on sticks and piled high on the bars that line the San Sebastian streets. When finished you present the sticks to the bartender, and that is how they calculate your bill. Different sticks denote different prices where there is variation.

A little about San Sebastian first. A small city in the Basque country of 200,000 people straddling a long beautiful bay, San Sebastian is near the French border and is home to three of Spain’s seven 3 michelin star restaurants. It is second only to Kyoto for the number of michelin stars per square metre. This is pretty impressive but there is much more to this city. There are the many pintxo bars, the cider houses and all of the lovely local Txacoli wine. If you have not had it, I suggest you seek some out. It is lightly sparkling, dry and fruity. It is also way too easy to drink, but at 11%, that is ok (up to a point!). The cider in San Sebastian is very tart and dry. Both are poured from a height, which is an art in itself.

The original pintxo is the gilda, created in the 1940s in Bar Casa Vallés in San Sebastian and named for Rita Hayworth in the film Gilda. There was censorship in Spain at the time, and San Sebastian residents would hop across the border to France to watch banned films. The gilda, with olives, guindilla (a green pepper usually pickled in vinegar, and sometimes hot, but not usually) and an anchovy is tall and spicy, which reminded them of Rita. Swit-swoo. There are many different types of pintxos now, often served on bread or in bread, but not always. Men would have them with a drink after work before they went home, and for the locals they are still treated as an appetiser before the meal that follows.

I went on a pintxos tour in San Sebastian’s old town with Iñigo from Go Local San Sebastian on the Saturday lunchtime that I was in town, last weekend. We went to the two best streets for pintxos, 31 de Agosto and Fermín Calbeton. It was a perfect introduction to San Sebastian pintxos culture, the locals were all out enjoying a tipple and pintxos. The streets were buzzing. Iñigo is a passionate and enthusiastic local, and he has terrific knowledge.

Pintxos at A Fuego Negro

We started as we should with the gilda at A Fuego Negro, it was my first one ever but I had many more over the weekend. They have a modern and stylised approach to the pintxo which was a nice contrast to the more traditional bars that followed. I followed this with a fried sea anemone served with tigers milk, which was I think the best way I have had it. They can sometimes be too squidgy for me but the batter was crisp and a perfect contrast to the anemone inside. It was lovely that they were sourced from the harbour too. The tigers milk on the side was great (a Peruvian addition, it is what ceviche is cured in although this was less tart).

Pintxos at Gandarias

Our next stop was Gandarias which greeted us with the traditional heaving pintxos bar. It was very difficult to choose, I tried some solomillo (sirloin) with green peppers, a plate of gorgeous fried porcini (which were in season), and then we had a choice from whatever was on the bar or having one cooked (there were seafood and meat skewers available). There was red peppers stuffed with crab and then deep fried, elvers (tiny eels) with peppers on toast, tortilla sandwiches, lots of jamon, jamon sandwiches, and I had a small open sandwich of red pepper, morcilla (Spanish black pudding) and a fried quails egg and one of bread topped with jamon and three mushrooms drizzled with Idiazabal cheese, a local cheese made in Idiazabal from unpasteurised sheeps milk.

Pintxos at La Cepa

Our final stop was La Cepa, a quirky spot where all of the tables showcase something within. Ours had artwork made of sweets. Again, the bar was laden with pintxos, many many pintxos. We started with a gorgeous platter of jamon, which was glistening as it had been at room temperature for a bit (as jamon always should be, that way to better taste it). There was a beautiful plate of fried fresh guindilla peppers, a few hot as with padron (and in Spain it is also common to eat the green peppers from Gernika). There was dessert and coffees too, but I skipped dessert as I was already full of pintxos.

What a great introduction to San Sebastian!

For more info on Go Local San Sebastian Tours, visit their site. I highly recommend them. This post was brought to you as a result of the #SeeSanSebastian blog trip, created and managed by iambassador in partnership with San Sebastian. I maintain full editorial control of the content published on Eat Like a Girl, as always. All of our lives are too short for any alternative!

Sunday morning was the day of my first Piedmont walk. And it was HOT. Italy is experiencing a heatwave right now. I gathered my bags and had my briefing with the Headwater team before they dropped me at my first stop.

A little about the Headwater setup first. As you will have read in my last post on Piedmont, my trip to Piedmont was part of the #30activedays blogger project with Headwater Holidays. 5 bloggers were involved in Italy, France & Austria, each doing an activity holiday. Not my usual travel style, although I am keen to be more active, I love slow travel and I love to walk. Headwater make it easy, the walks are already detailed in notes and maps which they send you before you go to Italy.

Every morning that you walk, the team move your bags to the next hotel, not just that, they have a wine delivery service and will pick up any wine that you buy too, delivering it to your final hotel for you to collect before you go home. Easy! Headwater also book your dinners (and they pride themselves on their local food and wine knowledge – the restaurants booked were testament to that). Lunch is your own affair with mention in the notes of local restaurants, trattorias and shops, picnic location suggestions and also advisory on where you can buy food en route. I stuck to the local restaurants, I love them and wanted to maximise my pasta scoffing opportunities while I was there.

My first walk started in Verduno, a sleepy place where all awake were at morning mass. The streets were deserted but I heard the familiar mass refrains and singing through a net curtained window. It was hot, very hot, so I hid every now and then in the shade an occasional wood might offer or in a hazelnut grove, arriving a couple of hours later at Roddi, my first stop, and where I had planned to lunch.

Roddi is a university town, not that you would know it to look at it. It is tiny, and there is hardly anyone about. But a university town it is and it is home to the Truffle Dog University, which was founded in 1880. Bright canines can be taught to sniff out one of the worlds finest delicacies here, Albas white truffles are some of the best. Have you ever tried one? They are incredible, so pungent and gorgeous with just an egg, perfect on a vacherin cheese. Truffles love fat, they are very indulgent, and quite pricey, but I do try to treat myself to one every year, just a small one for one dish. 

I had to eat. But it was Sunday and nowhere was open and I hadn’t planned anything. I started to worry, could my first lunch be foiled?! I spotted a restaurant down a side street. It didn’t look open, nothing did, but I was just the first customer. Around here people don’t lunch until 1pm and it was 12.30. La Crota was open and was serving home made pasta. Hello! I will have that, yes, please. 

I started with a typical dish, Tajarin with Ragu & Black Truffles. It is summer truffle season now and while summer truffles are just a hint of what is to come with white truffle season, when fresh as they are here, they are good. Tajarin is a thin cut egg pasta and the ragu here is served sparingly, as I have found often in Italy. Which on a hot day makes perfect sense. With some crisp white wine, a local Arneis, even more so. Then I packed my bag again and made my way. 

This was when it got challenging. It was hot. Really hot. So I continued to dip in and out of hazelnut groves having gentle rests and reading my book. Down a hill, and a gentle walk through some woods, a stretch on a quiet road, and then the ascent through a wooded park area to my next stop, Grinzane Cavour, home to a UNESCO heritage castle and the annual World Truffle Auction. I had a little lie down en route and luxuriated in the shade of a passing cloud. I ascended the final stretch, turned on to the street and, then – boom – loud speakers. I had landed there on the day of their annual fiesta, Fiesta della Madonna del Carmine.

Later that evening, all of the locals gathered in a marquee to eat a set menu cooked by some local volunteers. It was served by those in the area who had been born in 1997 (and they all had a t-shirt that said 97, too!). Next year it will be 1998 etc. It looked like fun but I was headed to Al Castello Ristorante.

Marc Lanteri is chef here, originally from Tende in the French Alps, Marc’s food reflects both cultures, but with a twist. Marc started cooking with Alain Ducasse at Louis XV in Monte Carlo, before working in Paris and then in Piedmont where he was worked primarily in michelin starred kitchens since. There is a terrific wine list too, which Marc’s wife Amy, front of house and a sommelier, looks after, matching being a keen skill, so do take advantage of that should you visit.

Hand chopped raw beef (or crudo, as it is called here), served with beautiful raw red prawns from San Remo and perfectly ripe buttery avocado started my meal. I ate lots of crudo in Piedmont, and this was one of my favourite executions.

Tajarin with piedmont hazelnuts and a wonderful rich ragù of pigeon and chanterelle mushroom followed.

Piedmontese beef is renowned, so I opted for it a second time in one meal, this time cooked as a steak served with potatoes and mushrooms with Barolo wine reduction. Served medium rare, the flavour of the meat was deep and the reduction rich but not overwhelming. I did also taste the duck, just a bit, and it was one of finest I had tasted in a while, I would order that on my return (which I hope to).

I couldn’t resist a cheeky dessert of spiced pineapple carpaccio with Piña Colada sorbet with a little rum on the side.

At which point something sounded like a canon, and I jumped out of my seat. I was in a castle after all. Seconds later I spied that it was the fireworks to finish the fiesta that evening, a lengthy spectacle, impressive for such a small town, which I watched through the castle window.

The party was still in full swing when I returned to Casa Pasevi, my hotel. A townhouse with a terrace perched over the hills and vineyards beyond, my room had a balcony overlooking it all. I had breakfast on the terrace before hitting my next Piedmont town, and my next walk. More on that soon! 

My Gastronomic Walking Tour of Barolo was sponsored as part of a #30activedays project, a partnership between Captivate Digital Media and Headwater Holidays to celebrate 30 years of  activity holidays by Headwater Holidays, including Gastronomic Walking and Cycling Trips. I maintain full editorial control of the content published on this site, as always.

Who doesn’t want to go to Paris in the Spring? A world away from London, and only 2 hours by Eurostar. I went recently to eat, drink, wander, and as always, to stock up my pantry with all sorts of good things.

One for the veggies? No! One for all of us. This was one of those things that came together randomly in a helter skelter way, and I am so glad that it did. 

When I was in France recently I bought some dried chickpeas from a farmer at the market. I cooked half of them last week, and they were so lovely. Great texture and taste, and even though they were dried, they were fresh, if you know what I mean? The cooked until plump and with bite. I was thrilled with them and saved the rest of my stash for this week. 

Sometimes the world is with you, and sometimes it is not. Equally sometimes your fridge is with you, and sometimes it is not. Sometimes your fridge can be a nasty twisted beast. Last week when I came home from France to discover that my fridge had been off all weekend, well that was a moment where my fridge was being a poison troll. Today, when I shuffled through it and put together the makings of lunch, it was definitely trying to make amends.

In university a friend used to call me MacGyver, not because I sported an awesome mullet or because I had impressive skills where I could construct something brilliant, unexpected and absolutely required at that instant in time with just a piece of chewing gum and any-other-thing, but because she believed that I could tackle a kitchen with hardly anything in it and make something good to eat. I have always loved a cupboard forage and it is exactly this MacGyver skill level that brought lunch to my door this lunchtime.

L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue in Provence is a gorgeous little town, patches of land interspersed between strands of river and streams, with waterwheels, tendrils of moss hanging down, dragging themselves round. Known for a Sunday market full of antiques, food stalls and lots of randomness, I spent a lovely Sunday meandering it last weekend. I heard after that this is where Keith Floyd had an antique shop before he became a chef.

I wanted every antique knife, spoon, fork and copper pan but reserved the space for chickpeas and chickpea flower purchased from a grower and a huge fat plait of stinky purple garlic. I watched rotisserie chicken spinning around, glistening with fat and saying EAT-ME, FOR-THE-LOVE-OF-GOD-EAT-ME-NOW. I wanted to, I really did and I desperately wanted to just run and grab some of the potatoes drinking all of that gorgeous chicken fat underneath, but I behaved. As much as I wanted to grab a chicken and just eat it with some bread, I also wanted to sit down and have a nice lunch.

At the last minute we secured a reservation at Le Jardin du Quai, and surely the last one as the dining room was full. It took a while to find it, L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is peppered with antiques arcades and I have a brutal sense of direction. But we found it, and sat down. Beyond a garden lies a lovely bar and restaurant, a large bright room, a dog called Scooby just outside, shelves with jars of marshmallow rolled around, cut with scissors and served with coffee, crystal candelabras stand sentry beside. In the corner, we perused the wine list, perched beside us on a large blackboard (and chose a lovely local house white). The menu was set and €40 for 3 courses and we were to eat what was on offer with no choice. I love to eat like that, it is often a sign of great confident cooking.

Truffle hunting (oink oink, SNORT!), gooey chocolate truffles, and doing the truffle shuffle (I inadvertently have earned the right through this food writing of mine), regardless of what truffles make you think of, the fungal variety, growing underground and snuffed out by dogs and less so now, pigs, are a wonder. Rich, funky, and smelling of things that most people won’t admit to (also male pig pheremones, which is why female pigs are so good at earthing them out), they are the ultimate flavour bomb, making simple things taste amazing with the tiniest bit of work. A small chop, slice or grate will do you just fine, and they will elevate eggs, fried, scrambled or in an omelette, to one of the best dishes in the world. Buttered bread becomes something you might fight your mother for, anything simple with fat and richness (lard works great), with truffles enters a My Fair Lady sort of situation, adopting a smart accent, elegant umbrella and dress. 

I love a truffle.