I had the pleasure, yesterday, of enjoying my second all-potato menu in as many weeks (and yes, I know what you’re thinking – some gals just have all the luck).

The occasion was a cookery demonstration given by Pádraic Óg Gallagher at Gallagher’s Boxty House as part of this weekend’s Temple Bar Trad Fest, and the subject, naturally enough, was boxty, the traditional potato speciality that gives the restaurant its name. And Pádraic, who has run The Boxty House for some 23 years, knows more than most about boxty. His making of boiled, baked and pan versions of same (which have featured on these pages before) was accompanied by a potted history of the spud in Ireland and elsewhere. For the lunch which followed the demo, you could, if you so desired, indulge in boxty for starter, main course and dessert (and for those who persist in thinking that you shouldn’t put potato and dessert in the same sentence, let alone on the same plate, all I can say is don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it).

Boxty on the menu - it's almost as versatile as the spud itself

For good measure, the event – which was mostly attended by visitors of the non-Irish variety – included a helping of soda bread making and the pouring of a few Irish coffees, and Pádraic hopes that these demos may become a regular feature at the restaurant during the summer months. If, as a result, some tourists leave the country with the urge to make boxty, then that is no bad thing. If some natives were to discover its charms (as I first did here), then so much the better. It doesn’t, I think, need to be made because it’s traditional or Irish, but because it is simply a very good thing to eat.

Pádraic Óg Gallagher talks boxty
under the watchful gaze of the Sacred Heart

It’s not like it was a difficult decision. Joe Macken, serial restaurateur and the man behind (among others) the ever-popular Jo’Burger in Rathmines and CrackBird, the restaurant that popped-up-and-stayed, had invited a small band of bloggers to visit his latest Dublin eatery, Skinflint, to see his operation and (of course) try the food.

To be honest, the mere fact that there was a potato pizza on the menu meant that I was in like flynn. I’m easy like that. At least when it comes to spuds. And the opportunity to eat, among others, with Aoife from I Can Has Cook, Catherine from The Runcible Spoon and Bill and Sharon from Gunternation was not one to be passed up either.

Skinflint, Crane Lane, Dublin 2

As for the restaurant, Skinflint is a cool, casual joint. Unsurprisingly, given the name, it boasts a value-for-money menu, which is based around creatively designed grilled pizzas. They make their dough using flour from Irish millers Odlums, and ferment it for three days to develop its flavour. It’s passed through a roller to create an oblong pizza base, and then grilled on a large roller grill. The toppings, which for this type of pizza must be pre-cooked, are added while the dough sits on the grill and it can all be put together very quickly. The restaurant also features a meatballs dish, which changes daily, and a one pot wonder from Mondays to Fridays, as well as snacks like hummus and an excellent beetroot caviar.

A selection of Skinflint pizzas (which, if you were wondering, are named after staff members' mothers):
the eithne (butternut squash, rosemary, ricotta, capers)
the sadie (roast garlic confit, toasted hazelnuts, tomato, fontina, spinach)
the tess (pulled pork, fennel seeds, braised fennel, mascarpone)

Behind the scenes, the kitchen is small, simple and functional. “I don’t usually let photographers in here,” Joe said, just as I had come in to watch the creation of my potato pizza, the Maria. And granted, there really is nothing flashy about the kitchen space, but that, to me, was neither here nor there. I was more concerned with the progress of my pizza, as it was scattered with slices of potato, mushrooms and mozzarella, and drizzled with truffle oil and cream. I beat a swift path back to my seat once it was ready and got stuck in. At Joe’s recommendation, Skinflint’s chilli-spiked honey, Firebee, was providing a popular finishing touch to pizzas all around the table.

Inside the Skinflint kitchen:
the roller for the pizza dough, the dough on the grill, the array of toppings and the finished Maria pizza

Joe sat with us for a while as we munched, though truth be told, you quickly get the impression that Joe does not sit still for long, if ever. His enthusiasm, drive and inescapable hipness give both energy and style to his various eateries, and he doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. “In the office, we’ll have ten different mood boards with different restaurant themes,” he tells us, and though Skinflint is only newly open, there are exciting plans in the works for parent restaurant Jo’Burger, as well as another new project which he can’t tell us about – so hush-hush, in fact, that even close associates don’t know the details yet. All in all, it’s not the kind of story we’re used to hearing about in these tortured economic times.

“I am a skinflint,” Joe laughs, “and recession sharpens the mind.”

His businesses have to make commercial sense, so they are conceived with a keen eye on cost. Keeping things simple helps – in Jo’Burger, it’s all about burgers, in CrackBird, it’s nothing but chicken, in Skinflint, it’s grilled pizzas that can be turned around very quickly. Acutely aware, too, of the importance of sustaining the local economy, Joe is big on sourcing from Irish suppliers where at all possible – “if you’re not doing that, you may as well forget it.”

Plenty, then, to chew on over lunch and even after the pizzas were long gone – pizzas which, to judge by the satisfied looks on everyone’s faces, had gone down an absolute treat.

Stéphane Robin smiled enthusiastically: “You must let us know if you try any of the recipes.”

I was sitting in a reception room at Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud at an early hour perusing a copy of “Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud: The First Thirty Years” while around me, preparations were getting underway for the official launch of the book later that day. Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud is Ireland’s only two star Michelin establishment, an honour that it has held for almost 16 years, and Stéphane, the longtime manager of the restaurant, and founder Patrick Guilbaud had paused to chat informally about the book in between attending to the various tasks that comprised the business of, what was for them, a very special day.

“I’d love to try something from the book,” I had said in reply to Stéphane and – while I meant it, I really did – I also found myself wondering if the book might contain anything recipe-wise that could be classed as easy. Fat chance. Easy is not a term one one should expect to apply to cooking at two Michelin star level, and the 40 or so recipes in this book are the real deal. You won’t find recipes that have been dumbed down for home use but, rather, a genuine attempt to commit to paper instructions for accurately recreating some of the restaurant’s signature dishes. That’s just how Patrick wanted it.

As with the restaurant itself, attention to detail guided the production of this book, and much like the food at Guilbaud’s, the volume is a beauty to behold, in addition to having a rich and colourful story to tell. From the early days of the restaurant, when customers were famously aghast at the lack of salt and pepper on the tables and (worse still) at the fact that potatoes were not served with every meal, through to its establishment as a Dublin institution, the story is also one of changing Irish tastes and expanding Irish palates. It’s well worth acquiring for anyone with space on their coffee tables for a slice of Irish restaurant history, as well as for those who might aspire to reproduce a bit of Michelin-starred magic at home.

The team behind Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud tell their stories:
Founder Patrick Guilbaud, Executive Chef Guillaume Lebrun and Restaurant Manager Stéphane Robin

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Salmon With Tandoori Gnocchi And Sorrel Sauce

With the intention of making good my expressed desire to recreate a dish from the Guilbaud’s book, I had earmarked a recipe for fillet of salmon with tandoori gnocchi and sorrel sauce on the basis that (a) I rather fancied I could cook a piece of salmon and (b) gnocchi were at least somewhat familiar territory. I soon figured out that my attempted re-creation would be nowhere near exact.

The thing is, of course, that recipes for restaurant use are, by their very nature, different to recipes for home use in terms of quantities, equipment, ingredients and the skills they may expect or assume the reader to have. The biggest case in point in this instance was when I re-read my chosen recipe and finally registered the fact that it called for the fish to be cooked in a water bath – and not, I might add, the kind that I have in my bathroom. Still, I persevered and, though I knew the texture of the fish would be different, I made do with my oven. I wouldn’t be reaching any dizzying Michelin-starred heights this time ’round, that was clear (the presentation alone would need work, not to mind everything else) but I figured I could still learn a lot by trying.

You’ll need:

• gnocchi (see recipe below)
• sorrel sauce (see recipe below)
• 125g salmon fillet, per person
• butter
• fine salt
• Maldon salt (or another coarse salt)
• tandoori spice (see gnocchi recipe below)
• soft fresh herbs to garnish (e.g. dill, parsley, …)

You’ll also need:

• A water bath to cook the salmon, if you should have such a thing, otherwise I reckon your oven will do, plus a hand blender or whisk for the sorrel sauce.

The Steps:

• Prepare the gnocchi and the sorrel sauce (recipes below).
• If you have access to a water bath for cooking purposes, then preheat it to 56C, seal each piece of salmon in a vacuum bag with some fine salt and a small knob of butter and cook in the water bath for 12 minutes. Rest for 3 minutes, then carefully remove the skin, season the top side with Maldon salt and keep warm.
• Alternatively, preheat your oven to 150C. Place the salmon fillets on a baking tray, sprinkle with some salt and a small knob of butter. Bake until just cooked through, 15-20 minutes depending on thickness. Remove the skin (or not as you prefer) and sprinkle with some Maldon salt.
• To serve: warm the gnocchi in a pan with a pinch of the tandoori spice and some butter emulsion (which is water or stock which has been heated, and to which a knob of butter has been added and whisked through).
• Place the salmon on a plate, top each fillet with 3-4 gnocchi (and, though it’s not the Guilbaud way, you could serve more gnocchi on the side). Give the sorrel sauce a whizz with a hand blender and spoon over the top. Garnish with fresh herbs.

The Variations:

• What I have cooked is already, inevitably, a variation of the real thing – I’d be inclined, in this case, to try to get the original right (or as close to right as possible) before going on any (other) major tangents.

The Results:

• Each thusly prepared salmon fillet serves one.

Looking out at the view, I couldn’t help but agree with Adam Medcalf, head chef at Inchydoney Island Lodge and Spa. The graceful sweep of West Cork coastline at Inchydoney is not a sight that you would tire of easily.

Around Inchydoney

I was in Inchydoney as a guest of the resort, invited to sample their new West Cork menu (yeah, it’s a dirty job…). Except, as Adam – who has worked here for over five years – will tell you, the West Cork nature of the menu is not really that new. From farmhouse cheeses, locally grown vegetables and Clonakilty black pudding, to fish and meats, both fresh and smoked, anyone looking to source high quality, locally produced food in West Cork is spoiled for choice. The restaurant at Inchydoney has always taken advantage of the bountiful raw materials within arms reach. It would have been rude of me not to get stuck in and see what exactly they made of those raw materials.

Dinner, in other words, was served.

Let there be bread

You know you’ve embarked on a fine dining experience when additional, unordered courses start to appear on your plate. In this case, proceedings began with an amuse bouche consisting of a claw which had parted company from its parent crab.

West Cork crab claw

Not so amusing for the crab, one supposes, but I thank you crab for your sacrifice. It was well worth it.

In between courses, a palate-cleansing white port and rosemary sorbet was possibly my favourite bite of the evening.

White port and rosemary sorbet

As for the principal courses, they arrived beautifully presented and artfully deconstructed. I am always tempted, in these situations, to nibble at each carefully presented mound in turn but, if the chef has done his job well, the amalgamation of separately presented edibles into a single forkful is always greater than the sum of its parts. That, by and large, was the case here.

Dinner at Inchydoney:
starters (top): dressed local crabmeat (left) and Ardsallagh goats cheese parfait (right)
main courses (middle): pan fried hake with smoked salmon and scallion risotto (left) and roasted pepper and potato herb gnocchi (right)
desserts (bottom): iced vanilla parfait (left) and hot chocolate fondant with pistachio ice cream (right)

Truth be told, I could probably have dined exclusively on the West Cork crab and been well satiated, but my belly didn’t exactly object to the company assembled within by the end of the evening.

And the rest of me didn’t exactly object to the hospitality at the resort, which was staffed, among others, by possibly the most gracious hotel manager I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Their spa treatments, meanwhile, provided an opportunity to be both scrubbed with strawberries and wrapped in chocolate. A dessert menu of a profoundly different kind.

Moon over Inchydoney Strand

Ireland … isn’t exactly the sexiest country in the world … constant gray skies, cool temperatures and an obsession with one of nature’s homeliest vegetables….

Clare, from An American in Ireland

Ouch. Harsh but true.

By tradition, we, like our food, are more hearty and plain than delicate and fancy. We are bacon and cabbage and boiled potatoes. We are soda bread, apple tart and the ubiquitous cup of tea. We are the food that you go to your Mammy’s house for. But when we eat out, we generally look to foreign cuisines for something a little outside of our Irish selves.

Perhaps, to my shame, that’s the reason why, in all my years of living in Dublin, I had managed, until now, to avoid darkening the door of Gallagher’s Boxty House. With its traditional Irish menu and diddly-eye music, it sat firmly in my “just for tourists” category.

Gallagher's Boxty House, Temple Bar

Yet a restaurant, of whatever type, that has been around for 22 years, has to be doing something right. And as for Pádraic Óg Gallagher, owner and originator of Gallagher’s Boxty House, I can but admire a man who builds an entire menu around boxty, Ireland’s own particular contribution to the pantheon of potato pancakes. The popularity of Gallagher’s boxty is borne out by the restaurant’s one-tonne-a-week potato habit.

The boxty family: boxty pancake, baked boxty loaf and boiled boxty

Whilst most of the boxty served up is in the form of thick, substantial pancakes, you can also sample boiled boxty, which is dense but lovely in a stodgy way, and the lighter textured baked boxty loaf. The boxty pancakes, meanwhile, you will find wrapped around all sorts of things including (yes) bacon and cabbage. All substantial and satisfying stuff.

Boxty pancake with bacon and cabbage

My visit to Gallagher’s Boxty House, though, was more than the sum of the boxties served.

It lived up to its promise of “bia, caint, ceol agus craic” / “food, chat, music and fun”, thanks, at least in part, to a generous helping of boxty and potato lore from Pádraic Óg himself. As we indulged our obsession with that homeliest of vegetables, I realised that sometimes it takes a local to celebrate the truth of what we are.

So, when I was invited recently to not only sample a selection of wines from Cloudy Bay, but to meet their viticulturist Siobán Harnett, I was hardly going to say no. The fact that this invitation also involved eating in Michelin-starred Guilbaud’s again was, er, a bonus – admittedly one that you might actually sell your granny for. None of your fried dandelions on the menu here, no sirree. Instead a range of delicate and impressive eats, designed to complement the ever elegant liquids of Cloudy Bay.

On the Guilbaud's Cloudy Bay lunch menu:
Stewed Basque Pepper Terrine, Croustillant of Dublin Bay Prawns (yeah, I had to look it up too - they're crispy, in other words), Fillet of Charolais Beef, Rhubarb Cheese Cake (with an eminently edible candy-striped white chocolate surround)

Located in the Marlborough region and best known for its flagship sauvignon blanc, Cloudy Bay was one of the first widely exported New Zealand wines. It doesn’t live in the cheap bracket, but mention Cloudy Bay to anyone involved in the business of importing wine here and you will quickly find that it has a dedicated and enthusiastic following.

As viticulturist, Siobán’s job is to grow grapes of the type, quantity, quality and taste profile required for making Cloudy Bay wines. Listening to her, you come to realise that behind every great winemaker is a great viticulturist, one who knows the soil and vines intimately and understands the minutiae of the effects wrought by the weather experienced during every growing season.

Getting to know the Cloudy Bay team

The wines, too, she knows well, and like any good matchmaker, she made the appropriate introductions and let us get on with the job of getting know each other. It was a pleasure to meet them all, from the crisp, sparkling Pelorus and the silky 2006 Chardonnay to the beautifully smooth 2007 Pinot Noir.

There was, though, a special place in my affections for the 2009 Sauvignon Blanc, which Siobán described (in a good way) as tropical and sweaty and had that distinctive grapefruit zing, one of the signatures of Marlborough sauvignon blanc. I had a soft spot, too, for the 2006 Te Koko. Also made from sauvignon blanc grapes, this was a mellower, less acidic and more honeyed affair. These grapes are not inoculated with a specific yeast, but, rather, allowed to ferment using the natural yeasts in the air, a process which takes longer and is more difficult to control. The result, compared to your typical New Zealand sauvignon blanc, is more bass than treble, but it was a true quencher of the thirsts in both mind and body, and very satisfying for that.

He hoped that I had enjoyed my meal. “Ah, that dessert with the rosé…” he murmured, clearly reliving the pleasure of it in his own mind.

I, in return, gushed. My first time to eat at Guilbaud’s and, yes, the dessert course had been as sublime a pairing of food and wine as I have had the privilege of tasting. The rest of the meal I might add (in a clear triumph of understatement) was none too shabby either.

What you would call some very serious eats...

...and the drinks to match

Proprietor of the legendary Michelin-starred restaurant that bears his name, Patrick Guilbaud displayed qualities that I would hope to find in any good restaurateur – a sincere pride in the food served and a graciousness in the service given. His restaurant, well deserving of its top-notch reputation, is the kind of place entirely appropriate to the occasion that had earned me an invite – a gala dinner showcasing Ruinart champagne.

Four very fine Ruinart champagnes, all for me

I will admit that this particular brand of champagne was new to me, but a friend, having seen my drinks menu, exclaimed simply “Ruinart! The world’s best…”. That might just tell you something about it.

I learned more on the subject from Patrick Shelley, French-domiciled Irish man and International Director with Ruinart, who explained that it is the oldest champagne house around, established in 1729 by textile merchants who found that their clients soon showed far more interest in matters of bubbly than in matters of cloth.

And it is expensive, yes. Champagne generally is (er, except when somebody else is paying for it…). And this is the good stuff. Chardonnay-based, requiring delicate handling and bottle-aging for at least 3-4 years in cavernous chalk pits that date from Roman times. The signature Ruinart brand, the wonderfully crisp non-vintage Blanc de Blancs, will go on my wishlist for special celebrations. Fancy or what?

In fact I fully expect, by now, for you to be deeply concerned about the fact that I might be in danger of getting notions far above my humble spud station, dazzled by the bright lights of Michelin-stardom. Rest assured, however, that I will not be allowed to forget that ’tis far from Michelin-starred eateries and champagne that I was raised. My mother, for one, can be trusted to bring it right back down to the things that matter:

“You got a good feed so”, says she, “that’s the main thing”.

I think that my name is on a list somewhere. Some Italian food mafia list.

And make no mistake, they are out to feed me.

First, Milano’s invite me to come and taste their new Francesco Mazzei range. All of it. Two starters, a pasta dish and three pizzas. In one sitting.

Let me tell you that the word full doesn’t remotely cover it.

Milano's Francesco Mazzei Pizzas:
Calabrese (sweet, chili-hot and sausagey, the crowd favourite), Mia Sofia (a thin-based pizza blanca that is all about the mushrooms) and Rustichella (which, let's face it, people will love for the pancetta)

Then, when I had finished digesting that, they sent their guys around with dough balls and pizza from the new Milano At Home range (eh, don’t mind if I do, grazie mille). Perhaps they’re out to change my spudly ways (after all, with the noble exception of gnocchi, Italians don’t seem to go in much for the whole potatoes thing). Or maybe they wondered if I had opinions to share, which, when it comes to food, I generally do.

Let me start by saying that the dishes by Francesco Mazzei – chef proprietor of L’Anima in London – seemed to me to be about simplicity and quality of ingredients. It was good to see that his choice of lovely Calabrian olive oil and oregano are now being used, not just with his own dishes, but throughout the Milano’s range. The corollary, of course, is that, without good quality ingredients, Francesco’s dishes do not have a whole lot to hide behind.

And that was the one niggle in an otherwise enjoyable meal.

The Insalata Semplice

The Insalata Semplice – a classic tomato and mozzarella salad – was, for me, let down by a lack of flavour in some of the tomatoes used. Now, it’s fair to say that we in Ireland are no strangers to poor quality tomatoes – goodness knows, those sold in supermarkets here don’t often taste of anything – but neither should we be too surprised that tomatoes lack flavour when they are not anywhere near being in season here. In fact, I expect that it is difficult, or at least expensive, to source large quantities of really good quality, flavoursome tomatoes here at this time of year.

The real question is, why bother?

Do we really want to eat fresh tomato salad (a) when the season dictates that tomatoes are unlikely to be anywhere near their best and (b) when it’s still freezing outside ? (yes, winter is proving very hard to shake this year)

The word seasonality has been bandied about much of late, but how many of us still expect to be able to order a fresh tomato salad year-round and would be perturbed if we couldn’t?

And before you ask, I will own up to the fact that I am as guilty as anyone of buying, and expecting to be able to buy, fresh tomatoes year-round. And there is (I am sure) a lot of effort involved in devising seasonally sensitive menus, particularly when you are trying to roll them out across a restaurant chain like Milano’s.

It goes to show, I suppose, that we have a long way to go when it comes to this whole eating seasonally and locally lark. I’ll shut up now before someone reminds me gently to just, er, fuhgeddaboudit…

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Minestrone

Given the continued low temperatures outside, I am inclined much more towards soup than salad these days, and minestrone is Italian for just the kind of hearty soup I fancy in this weather.

Minestrone is also all about what you have to hand, so adjust to suit your own stash of vegetables. This version has got the the olive oil, mushroom and oregano that featured strongly in the Francesco Mazzei Milano’s menu. It’s also tomatoey, but thanks to good quality tinned tomatoes, which are a better choice at this time of year.

As for the pasta, use whatever dried pasta you have to hand, breaking larger pieces up into whatever size pieces you’d like to find in your soup.

You’ll need:

• 1 tblsp olive oil
• 1 tblsp butter
• 200g onion (1 large), finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic
• 100g chestnut mushrooms, thinly sliced
• 125g carrot (2 small carrots), finely diced
• 125g celery (2 large sticks), finely diced
• 1 x 400g tin of tomatoes, chopped
• 50ml red wine (one you’d consider drinking yourself)
• 600ml water or light vegetable or chicken stock
• 150g dried pasta (break large pasta into smaller pieces)
• 1 tsp fine salt or to taste
• 1 tsp dried oregano
• freshly ground black pepper to taste
• shavings of parmesan to serve

The Steps:

• Place a large, heavy saucepan over a medium heat and, when hot, add the olive oil and butter.
• When the butter has melted, add the onion and garlic. Stir and fry over a medium heat for about 5 minutes, or until the onion is translucent.
• Add the mushrooms and cook for about another 5 minutes or until just starting to release some liquid.
• Now add the carrot and celery and stir and fry for another 7-8 minutes.
• Add the chopped tinned tomatoes, wine, water or stock, oregano, salt and black pepper. Stir to mix, bring to the boil, then cover, lower the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes or until the carrots start to become tender.
• Stir in the dried pasta and simmer until al dente – depending on the pasta, this should take somewhere around 7-10 minutes. The soup should be thick and chunky, though you can thin it with additional boiling water if you like.
• Ladle into bowls and scatter with some shavings of parmesan.

The Variations:

• Have a look in your fridge or vegetable basket and include a bit of whatever looks good – minestrone’s a bit like that. You can also throw in some cannellini or other beans if that takes your fancy.

The Results:

• Makes about 4 decent helpings

When you get an invitation that has lunch at Eden Restaurant as part of the deal, you say yes and then ask questions later.

So it was that I found myself dining stuffing my gob at Eden during the launch by the Temple Bar Cultural Trust of their well-packed 2010 programme of events (which, I am delighted to report, includes the return of the Chocolate Festival, this time making a pre-Christmas appearance in December).

However, before the gob-stuffing got underway, I wondered did my fellow lunchers notice quite how much time I had spent staring at the menu? Or if they had caught the slight trepidation in my voice as I ordered the smokies?

Smokies, you see, are a permanent and much-loved part of the menu at Eden. A starter of smoked haddock in a sauce of crème fraîche, with cherry tomatoes, spring onions and melted red cheddar.

Smoked haddock, however, has not passed my lips since childhood.

During my youth, my mother’s smoked-haddock-in-some-kind-of-white-sauce was the most singularly reviled dish of my acquaintance. A fish-on-fridays staple, it was the cause of countless you-will-not-leave-the-table-til-you-finish-your-dinner standoffs.

However, as I looked at the Eden menu, I realised that it was time, at last, to give smoked haddock a second chance.

And so the smokies were ordered and the smokies were eaten, happily. I even went out and bought some smoked haddock the very next day, figuring that we had a lot of catching up to do. And where else to begin, but with some spuds.

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Smoked Haddock Hash

This is what happens when you take some leftover boiled spuds and fry them up with the ingredients that Eden use to make their legendary smokies.

As for the melted cheese on top, it may be anathema to some who think that fish and cheese should not meet on the same plate, but it works for the original smokies and I think it works here too.

You’ll need:

• olive oil for frying
• 150g smoked haddock fillet
• 400g boiled potatoes
• 4 spring onions
• 200g cherry tomatoes (around 10-12 cherry tomatoes)
• 100g crème fraîche
• coarse salt to taste
• freshly ground black pepper to taste
• 25g sharp cheddar

The Steps:

• Cut the haddock into bite-size pieces, around 1cm wide, and slice the potatoes into pieces around 0.5cm thick, leaving the skin on if you like or peeling it off if you don’t. Finely slice the white and green parts of the spring onions and quarter the tomatoes.
• Place a large frying pan over a medium-high heat. When hot, add enough olive oil to coat the pan. Add the haddock pieces to the pan and stir and fry for 3-4 minutes or until the pieces are opaque and just cooked through. Remove the haddock to a plate.
• Return the pan to the heat and add another coating of olive oil and the sliced potatoes. Stir and fry, breaking up any larger pieces of potato as you do so, for around 10 minutes or until they are starting to brown.
• Add the spring onions and tomatoes and stir and fry for another 2-3 minutes
• Add the crème fraîche, haddock pieces, a couple of twists of black pepper and coarse salt to taste. Stir and fry for about another minute.
• Remove from the heat, sprinkle with some grated sharp cheddar and place the pan under the grill for a minute or so, allowing the cheese to melt. Now serve up, perhaps with some nice crusty buttered bread on the side.

The Variations:

• You could, of course, use other white fish here, smoked or even not-so-smoked.

The Results:

• 2 good-sized brunch portions

Notwithstanding the fact that I’m sure I reeked of garlic after lunch yesterday, nobody seemed to mind. Or, if they did, at least they didn’t let on. They’re a generally polite and friendly crowd, food bloggers. And, of course, they had been eating lovely garlic-laden food too.

Psst, there be garlic in that there hummus

The venue was Levant, a Lebanese restaurant in London and the occasion was Food Blogger Connect. I am still recovering from the whirlwind but worthwhile trip over and back to the UK yesterday for the event, though I can at least confirm that I don’t smell so much of garlic anymore. I can also vouch for the fact that, next time I haul ass over to London for this, I’m staying. Well, for a few days at least. I say next time, because the appetite for FBC round two is there, of that I’m sure.

Lola's mini-cupcakes were (phew!) garlic-free

It had all come about because Bethany from Dirty Kitchen Secrets, Jamie from Life’s a Feast, Mowie from Mowielicious and Hilda from Saffron and Blueberry witnessed the buzz around this year’s plethora of US-based food blogger events, took matters into their own hands and organised an event of their own. Good on them I say. Food bloggers on this side of the Atlantic are just as interested in meeting, eating and having a chat about the art and craft of bloggery. They also, it has to be said, like receiving food-filled goody bags.

And so it came to pass. A great big sharable spread of Lebanese food, followed by presentations from people with information and thoughts to share: Meeta from What’s For Lunch Honey and Kang from London Eater with their own particular angles on picturing your food, Jamie from Life’s a Feast and Jeanne from Cook Sister on the written word and Kang again on social networking life in the internet fish tank. A lot to pack into one afternoon and certainly scope to do more next time. It was interesting to hear other bloggers’ perspectives on these matters, of course, but, more than that, it was a joy simply to meet the people there and, in the case of Jamie, greet someone I’d never physically met before like an old friend.

There were many more bloggers and otherwise interested parties there besides, only a fraction of whom I got to talk to. ‘Twas a pleasure to meet Paul from Get Me Cooking, Alessio from Recipe Taster, Mowie from Mowielicious, Bethany from Dirty Kitchen Secrets, Ozoz from Kitchen Butterfly, Katrina from Around the World in 80 Markets, Christina from The Thorngrove Table, Greedy Diva and a host of Sarahs – Food For Think, Maison Cupcake and Meals With Sarah among them.

So many bloggers to meet, so little time. As Arnold Schwarzenegger might say, “I’ll be back”.

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Lebanesey Potato Pie

Admittedly I don’t automatically think of potatoes with I think of Lebanese cuisine. In fact, after yesterday’s buffet at Levant, I would say that, yes, Lebanese food mostly makes me think stink of garlic. And I mean that in a good, if occasionally smelly, way.

Lebanon does, however, appear to be home to some rather large potatoes, so a potato pie with Lebanese flavours is not such an outrageous proposition. I adapted the recipe below from one I came across on the Daily Mail site here, but which contained no garlic to speak of. I soon fixed that.

World's heaviest potato? (image from bbc.co.uk)

For the pie:

• 500g potatoes, preferably a floury variety
• 125g coarse bulgar wheat
• 25g plain flour
• 0.25 tsp cinnamon
• 250g onion (2 small-ish specimens), finely sliced
• 2 large cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 50g pine nuts
• 50g flat leaf parsley (leaves + thin stems), finely chopped (or substitute fresh coriander)
• 2 tsp lemon juice
• 1 tsp sumac (optional)
• salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1.5 tblsp olive oil plus more for coating dish and frying

To serve:

• 150g natural yoghurt
• 3 tblsp finely chopped mint leaves
• small pinch of sugar
• pinch of cayenne pepper
• coarse salt to taste
• 3-4 spring onions, white and light green parts finely sliced

You’ll also need:

• An ovenproof dish – mine was 20cm x 20cm x 5cm

The Steps:

• Rinse the bulgar in several changes of water, then place in a small bowl and add cold water to cover by a few cm. Leave aside to soak for at least 30 minutes.
• Peel your potatoes and cut into roughly even-sized slices, around 1-2cm thick. Rinse them under cold water.
• Bring about 1l of water to the boil in a saucepan, add about 1 tsp salt and the potato slices. Bring back to the boil and reduce to a simmer. Simmer gently, covered, for around 12-15 minutes or until just fork-tender. Alternatively, you can steam the potatoes until they reach the same stage.
• You can now go ahead and preheat your oven to 220C
• While the potatoes are cooking, place a large frying pan over a medium heat. When hot add enough oil to coat the pan and add the onions. Stir and fry for around 8-10 minutes, until soft and starting to colour. Add the garlic and pine nuts and stir and fry for another 2-3 minutes. Add the chopped parsley, stir and fry for about a minute, then remove from the heat and season with the lemon juice, sumac (if using) plus salt and black pepper to taste.
• When the potatoes are done, drain well and return them to the saucepan. Then either let them sit, covered by a tea-towel, for about 5 minutes or place the pan over a low heat and stir the potatoes gently for a minute or so, so that they dry out.
• Put the dried and still-warm potatoes through a potato ricer and into a large bowl, or mash gently in the bowl using a masher or a fork.
• In another small bowl, whisk together the flour, cinnamon, about 0.5 tsp salt and a couple of twists of black pepper.
• Drain the bulgar and, placing the drained bulgar in a clean tea-towel, squeeze out as much water as you can.
• Add the bulgar and flour to the mashed potato and mix gently to combine. Taste for salt and add more if needed.
• Brush the base of your ovenproof dish with oil and spread with half of the potato mixture. Add the onions in a single layer next, then top with the remaining potato, smoothing with the back of a spoon. Brush about 1.5 tblsp of olive oil over the potato and, using the tip of a sharp knife, make shallow diagonal cuts in the top of the pie, with about 2-3cm between cuts, so that it marks out a diamond pattern.
• Bake at 220C for about 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 190C and bake for about another 30 minutes or until golden on top.
• Serve pieces of the pie, warm or at room temperature, scattered with sliced spring onions and a couple of spoonfuls of mint yoghurt, made by mixing together the yoghurt, mint and sugar, with salt and cayenne to taste. This would also be nice with some grilled or roasted courgettes.

The Variations:

• Crumble some goats cheese or feta between the onion and top potato layer or perhaps add some tomatoes to the onion mix or maybe some fried courgette slices.

The Results:

• Serves 4, as long as nobody gets greedy