Food

Early summer crops have been delayed in many places this year, thanks to the brutal rain and cold that preceded the recent heat wave, but finally, we’re starting to see tiny tomatoes, baby figs, and the first perfectly formed pea pods bursting into life. Of course, when it comes to seasonal eating, you can argue that it’s best to keep it simple, to allow the produce to ‘speak for itself’ – but, there is little that butter, shallots, and little cubes of smokey, fatty bacon can’t make even better. And that’s where petits pois à la Française comes into its own. The name rather gives it away: it’s a classic

It used to drive me mad that, whenever my husband and I would go out for dinner, no matter how fancy or lowbrow the place, he would always ignore the puddings on offer in favour of a single scoop of ice cream. He can overlook crème brûlées, lemon meringue tarts, sticky toffee puddings – even eschew a cheese plate – if ice cream is a possibility. It just always seemed quite a boring choice to me – you can keep a tub of ice cream in your own freezer, or maybe get a cone on the beach. Why would you plump for something so simple (so boring!) when there were

We can enter restaurants on Monday, and I wondered if I should tell you where to eat if you want the most fantastical or expensive or original food in London, or where I will eat in the early days of re-opening. What have you missed? A ball of ice on wheels containing champagne bottles at angles, trundling along like a mad hedgehog? (This was in Monaco). Foam? Hamburgers amid velvets at Louie, a newish supper-club near the Ivy named for Louis Armstrong and Louis XIV both? (Sometimes in life you have to choose, but not in Louie). Balthazar in the over-polished wasteland of Covent Garden, the latest central London district

The reopening of pubs is not only good for those of us that have been gasping for a pint. It’s also great news for Marmite. Supermarkets were running low on the sticky brown condiment last month because of yeast shortages while breweries lowered production during the pandemic. During the first national lockdown last year, Marmite had to suspend production altogether. My local supermarket shelf was still suspiciously empty in early May. Oddly, however, the shelf below was packed with a new Marmite upstart: Dynamite Chilli Marmite. No longer is Marmite only a slightly niche savoury spread your granny layered on toast. Or what Nigella puts on spaghetti. Oh no. Today you can buy

Pity the poor panoramic restaurant. They might boast the best views of the capital, but the lack of outdoor space on the 42nd floor means they haven’t been able to take advantage of the easing of restrictions for the hospitality industry — until now. But from 17 May, they’ll be sashaying out of lockdown like the sequin-clad Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.  With gala dinners, champagne cocktails and complimentary magnums of Moet to tempt you back, here’s where to go. Searcy’s at The Gherkin London’s original sky-high dining room on levels 39 and 40 of The Gherkin (30 St Mary Axe, EC3) is welcoming guests back

As I write this, I am wearing a thick jumper and sitting under a blanket, having just put the heating on. Earlier, rain fell on our skylight so heavily, the dog jumped up as if we were being invaded. I changed my schedule this morning so I could bake, just to take advantage of the oven’s warmth. It certainly doesn’t feel like sunny days are in our near future. I’ve read that the last year has felt warped time-wise, that it’s been hard to form memories that stick in the usual way, because we don’t have the events, the change in daily routine, the hooks onto which we peg our

The news that Australia’s borders could remain closed until 2024 will be a blow to anyone hoping for a trip down under after lockdown. If you can’t wait that long (and fingers crossed you won’t have to) here’s our guide to having an Australian themed weekend here in London. Where to eat Though London’s Aussie population has shrunk in recent years, the standard of Antipodean cuisine has been very much on the rise – not that we’re alleging any correlation there, of course. Leading the charge has been Daisy Green, a collection of Australian-run restaurants managing to gain a foothold in London’s already crowded brunch market with their inspired take on

Almost anything can constitute a salad. Yes dictionaries variously describe salad as cold, consisting of raw vegetables, and featuring a dressing, and often these things are true – but not always. For there are warm salads, salads with grains or seafood, and salads where the pairing of ingredients is so precise and perfect – think pear and Roquefort – that not even a dressing is required. For me what is essential about a salad is freshness and piquancy; it must be vibrant and sprightly. If you need a rule of thumb though, to use when constructing your salads, think in terms of leaf, grain, protein, and dressing. So an assembly

The rum baba sits somewhere between a cake and a pudding: made from an enriched, yeasted dough, full of butter, called savarin, which is like a very dry brioche. It isn’t quite as enriched as brioche and, after baking, it can be left to stale, and dry out further, which means that when it’s soaked in the sweet boozy syrup, it will drink up even more. Savarin dough can be used to make enormous bundt cakes, often decorated with fresh cream and fruit, but I have a soft spot for the individual baba. Once soaked, they are squidgy and extremely alcoholic – put it this way, I wouldn’t want to