In the eye of the steak

Steak has been featuring very heavily in my nightlife over the last few days. I suspect this has more to do with being friends with Fletcher than a muscle mass enhancing diet (indeed it would appear to be more of a campaign to pile on the pounds).

Last night I had an impromptu meal at La Pampa Grill on Northcote Rd. This used to be the standard bearer for steak but it has fallen waaay behind Gaucho and my old pal (and chef Ramsay's new pal) Alberto's Santa Maria del Sur. Unusually I opted for sirloin over rib eye, for novelty value I had 2 fried eggs popped on top (I say novelty, everybody was ordering with eggs), some papas fritas (wedges) and veggies, washed down with the house red (£15 and actually very drinkable). Not a bad meal but they have deffo had better days; their chimichurri was very odd, like nothing I've ever seen but I found it pretty average.

On Monday night I cooked myself the best steak I have ever prepared. Much to my annoyance I have never been very good at cooking steak but this time I fucking nailed it. Here's how, steak from the Ginger Pig (rib eye, £8.50), brought to room temp with bruised rosemary and thyme, salt and pepper. A pan with bit of butter and then cooked doing it a la Hugh; turn every minute and season on each turn. Sure it wasn't that healthy, why do you think it was so bloody good?!

And on Saturday I found myself, quite by accident, in Gaucho - not my fav Piccadilly branch sadly but the one by Smithfield Mkt (we couldn't get a table in Smiths, well we could but Fletch refused to stay as they only had 1 type of steak on offer in the wine room floor). The accident occurred on a day of accidents, I never meant to launch myself into an all dayer but it just felt right, the sun was shining, I had walked to Borough Mkt (to get Monday's steak amongst other goodies) and I had zero chores to attend to. I have to admit I had a cracking time boozing with Fletch n' Carters; the Old Red Cow was a real find and The Three Kings by Clerkenwell Green is a belting little boozer too. At Gaucho I drunkenly tucked into a rib eye with chips, spinach and my fav side there; peas, bacon and onions. I also had the cheesy Colombian bread, fooking luv that. Should I mention that one of the diners individually spent over £100 on wine?

Butchered

A couple of week's ago I had a fantastic night out at The Ginger Pig.

This isn't some boozer but indeed a butcher and farm shop belonging to my all time favourite butcher at Borough Market, The Ginger Pig, just off Marylebone High St.

About 12 of us hacked a pig to pieces under the guidance of Barry and Borat. I would at this early juncture like to question their sanity, letting 12 toffs use a cleaver, a bone saw and a knife that goes through pig as though it were soft, slighlty melted butter cannot be sensible - every time they passed one of the boys a cleaver I feared for loss of limbs and perhaps life.

After an interesting chat about how people bend the rules to call food organic (it can still lead to animals being treated badly) and how free range is often far superior we watched Barry cleave a pig's head in half and were instructed to finger its brain, which we did like an anxious, slighlty giddy 13yr old.

We then got cutting, sawing and cleaving - it was slighlty nervous as you were called upon to hack through a section in front of all the boys. Everyone had each others back, move your fucking finger man went out the warnings and a hearty round of applause was given on completion.

After this group autopsy you are given a cut of pork to bone and smear with garlic, fennel seeds, pepper and salt - and boy oh boy are you encouraged to layer on the salt. Barry also spends a long time telling you how to get the perfect crackling - don't let it get wet. Get it out of all packaging, even paper and let it go uncovered for a couple of days in the fridge. If it's still a bit wet, then just saturate it in salt, obviously you should score it too (not too deeply otherwise the fat will bubble up, making it wet). You then take this wedge home and have the home roast pork of your life and I can assure you the crackling will be sensational. The worse part about preparing the pork is that you have to tie it up, now it's well known I am a fucking malco, somehow I did eventually tie my beast but it was very much a hybrid of the 'simple' method we were shown.

After getting hugely frustrated by attempting to tie up the pork, relief arrives in the form of here's one we did earlier. You're given a plate with 2 huuuuge slabs of roasted pork, a piece of crackling the size of your palm, a slab of gratin as big as your hand, carrots dripping in melted sugar and butter and shit loads of roasties - all with lots of white wine. Simply sensational.

It costs £125 and I have to say whilst that is an intimidating figure it is well worth it, you're there from about 6.30 till 10, Barry and Borat are top lads, the food you have is far, far superior to that you will have at home or in any pub and of course you get to take home a huge beast which can feed 6. Oh you also get bread and butter pudding but we could barely wedge that in.

I strongly urge you to sign up but they flogged 70k's worth of vouchers at Christmas so there is likely to be a bit of a wait, they also do beef and lamb courses, I'm deffo gonna sharpen my knives for them.

Guinea Grill

A week ago I met up with Tommy G, who was over from NYC for biz, to sup a few pints of G (obviously that wasn't the work he came from although wouldn't that be great).

After beers we headed off to the Guinea Grill, http://www.theguinea.co.uk/

Yeah check out the pic of that big old boy on the website, he greets you at the door, what a bloody legend! The rest of the staff are good old boys too, I was trying to hug them all as I staggered out, especially the Italian one.

This is really a boys boozer/dining room although Penny was turning the air blue and out swore all the pissed up bankers crammed in. They seemingly specialise in steaks and pies - they are 3 times steak and kidney champions! However, I bloody hate kidney so I tucked into their beef and ale pie. The pastry on their pies is off the chart in terms of quality (the actual beef was a little dry and chewy but it was the end of the night so that may have been a factor?), I urge a visit, just pop in for a plate of pastry and a pint if you're short on time.

We obviously had our pies with dauphinoise potatoes (doesn't everybody?), broccoli, creamed spinach and chips to scoop out the last of the pie from its dish - well in truth only I did that but that's why I'm a wee bit of a porker! All washed down with some red, a coffee and a double amaretto. An absolute Mayfair Tuesday night delight.

And yes the food does always taste better when somebody else pays, thanks Tom and Penny!

BP Diner

Dinner is my favourite meal, I'm keen on a brunch too and yes a boozey Sunday lunch is an absolute joy but week in week out it's dinner that excites me.

So it's been a bit depressing over the last couple of nights when the 24hr BP Garage has become my diner. It's not quite as bad as it sounds as there is an M&S in there but I doubt it would convince Frenchmen to upsticks and move over for the culinary delights (on reflection this is no bad thing, we don't want to encourage the French to live here).

Thursday night saw me stagger into the BP having celebrated the Designator's 40th. We kicked off at Mulligans drinking some lovely pints of G and then suddenly we shifted gears, partly my fault as I led the chaps off to the bar at the May Fair Hotel. It was jam packed with ladies, although I don't think I'd be incorrect if I said at least 80% were hookers. Former England player Ben Clark was in there tucking into a delightful young blonde (note I don't think she was on the game). Ben had an excellent paunch on him; on this evidence he is loving retirement. Drinks aren't cheap here by the way, they ask you to part with £11.70 for a vodka n'tonic.

We then headed across the road into the Buddah Bar, £15 to get in, we got led to a table and I was thinking hello where has this VIP action come from? Sadly it came from a missunderstanding, they thought we wanted to part with some amazing amount of cash for bottle service, no thank you. We shuffled to the bar, no longer looking quite such a bunch of playas, and drank beers. I have to say it was packed full of cunts but crikey there were some good looking ladies in there, sadly it was a school night and I had an appointment with BP. Whilst waiting to be served there were some drunk people making some shocking drunk muching purchases; prawns post booze? Onion rings that need to be heated in the oven, clearly they weren't factoring in the whole warming the oven up time issue. Amateurs. I took home the special Christmas sandwich and a vegetable samosa (opting to eat it cold of course).

Friday was my dear friend Fritzell's 30th and a lovely evening up on the rooftop at Century was had. An inspired venue choice as it meant we could all smoke without having to go out on the wet streets. I reckon non-smokers and those who have given up all indulged and had a puff or two, not least because I seemed to be supplying the bulk of the cigs. Took a cab home; somehow the taxi driver tried to magic up a fare of £52, ok, we made a few drop offs on the way to the BP but you can fuck right off my friend. I haggled hard and knocked off a massive £7, Donald Trump would have been proud. I wasn't aware it was quite so late, 3am (this was in no way partly due to the fact it took the birthday girl 15 minutes to get/wobble/stagger/trip down the stairs at Century) so I needed to make some quick eating decisions. My old pal the Christmas sandwich was an obvious choice and I picked up a pack of McCoys (steak flavour, my fav of their range).

Earlier in the week I'd actually made it home in time to have dinner; griddled lamb steaks with 'cheat' roast potatoes (get pan, add potatoes with garlic and rosemary to hot olive oil, cover and hey presto - shake a lot though otherwise it will be welded to the bottom of the pan). I also fired up some Orecchiette with broccoli and smoked pancetta. All fairly tasty but I've got a long way to go in my execution.

As for tonight well I suspect I have another date with the BP Diner as I'm off to some club for a birthday bash.

South Bank Leaf Peeping

So as previously reported it transpires NYC is trying to claim that it is the only place in the world to have falling leaves in Autumn and that you must travel there, thus becoming a valuable toursit leaf peeper and a boost to their ailing economy. Well London needs to get in on the act, walking yesterday to Borough Market along a sunny South Bank was a real joy and as the video below illustrates there were plenty of brown leaves. Ok I'll admit I wasn't knee deep in them but I doubt anybody books their long haul flight hoping they won't be able to walk the streets due to the sheer volume of leaves they are peeping at.

It was so sunny yesterday that people genuinely lost their minds, the tide was out and a group of kids were so happy they were running up a sloping bit of concrete and then flipping through the air onto the polluted sand below.

People would never really consider swimming in the Thames (unless drunk or mentally unhinged), however, if it is November and there is some unseasonal sunshine then they are quite happy to frolic in the sands. Now I'm no marine biologist but surely if the water is of a dodgy quality then the underlying sand will be of a similar nature? But, sand is safe right, so get the kids rollicking around in it. Then again I think I'm all for it, I hate the hyper hygine gang, frankly they can fuck off and ponder how humans have survived for so long amongst the germs.

I only went to Borough Market for a quick raid on the Ginger Pig to pick up some bangers. I accomplished this mission with ease (8 cumberlands and 8 traditonals) but I also donated £8 to some artisan bread makers, bagging some rosemary and sea salt foccacia and an excellent London Bloomer. Having now found my more generous side I thought it wrong not to buy an award winning pork pie from the store next to the Ginger Pig (surely these boys do the best pork pie crust) and then allowed myself to get fleeced by some wiley Ities buying some pancetta and pecorino. Oh and I also popped into Neal's Yard Dairy and came away with some amazing stilton. Whilst typing about this champion cheese shop I should mention a British soft cheese, the Tunworth, which I had to buy for Mum, well she had requested the Brie but fuck the French, it's damn tasty, get some.

Bangers bought it was time for the rugby; I was convinced we would thump this young-ish Aussie team at HQ. Not so, they totally outplayed us in the 2nd half and the young scrum half showed Care what it's like to play well whilst being young. Care's education had to take place from the stands as Johnno hauled him off - a good move, Hodgson was a lot more effective.

Having watched England get outplayed it was time for the Welsh to show how they could be out thought by a weak All Blacks team and therefore beaten. Yeah they think it was close and are moaning about a high tackle; get over it, you aren't good enough (but you are better than England). What riled me about both Northern teams was their lack of concern in defeat, with Jones positively beaming. Oh well at least Jonny played well as did Mad Dog Moody.

Popped down, with Dan and Bracey, to The Ship for a few pints of G which I have to say were amazing. I got a flyer from The Ship the other day talking themselves up and saying that with their Irish connections you could be assured that they do one of the best pints of G in London, well on this evidence they weren't lying. I'm already looking forward to my next pint there, undoubtedly it won't be a long wait. I should also take this moment to salute The Ship's commercial operation, year in year out they astound me. This summer they pulled off a coup, the double burger at around £16 - who's going to buy one of those at that price, well once you shrink the regular burger and effectively call out the alpha male status of burger consumers then an awful lot and profits rocket. Anyway, very cleverly they've converted the bit where they used to keep the bins into a little patio, only one prob, it stinks of refuse but that won't put people off this summer - another cunning money spinner.

Returned to the Towers to watch the Haymaker take on Valuev, I don't normally do pay per view but this wasn't at some silly bugger hour and so I took the risk on this big fight night lasting more than 30 seconds and didn't it just. It would have been absurd if Haye hadn't won as he demonstrated all the skill against the giant and even had him wobbling towards the end. Eventually the bread and sausages I kept wedging in coupled with red wine saw sleep wash over me and I found myself on the sofa at 4am, shit! Still at least I did eventually make it to bed.

Overall an excellent day; gym, sunny South Bank, rugby, best mates, booze, some time with the old man (he came to watch the rugger) and great grub from Borough Market, just a shame we didn't win the rugby.

The Trumpster

I find every moment of Donald Trump's The Apprentice USA spine chillingly awful yet I love it, here are some cracking exchanges from a recent episode (and never forget how special the Trumpster's hair is).

DT: It can be the most special park in New York (the one he's donating - "it will be one of the most spectacular in the country")
George: How are you going to get rid of the slope?
DT: There is a lot of slope but we have a lot of good tractors

"INSPIRE"
DT: You have to make your staff respect you.
DT to lawyer J: Come on lets do it, do it. You guaranteed me victory, did you guarantee me victory? You never quit, you never quit.
Bring Jennifer in.
People like working for Trump because I make it fun. That is Miss Universe (Jennifer).
I make life interesting. Where else do you get a good time like with Trump. Trump is Trump, what can I tell you?

Male team huddle (yet another), hands together and they shout Excel (their team name). This is truly fucking awful TV.

Jen W: I made the cake, it says Techno Expo on it (Techno is actually spelt Tethno - amazing)

Jen M: Showing a heart rate monitor to old men at the retirement village.
If we win because we're women and they're old men then that's fine I'll take it (she then proceeds to do fairly racy press ups in her gym kit for an old boy).

Jen W: Having sworn; I don't even like to cuss (rolls back and cries for soap for her mouth).

The male team as their reward go to the children's hospital and crassly hand out numerous X-boxes, forget you're dying child; Donald has made a donation (this is set to terrible music and statements such as what's great about this team is we connected with these children just as well as we did with those old people)

Jen W: How can 7 such brilliant women be so wrong?

THE BOARDROOM

Toral: I have impressive work experience. We think thoughts before speaking (she really doesn't).

George: The men had cookies and cheese, they had great cookies (thanks George, that's the great business mind that has helped make Donald rich).

George: You're way off base
Rebecca: She went to the same school as Donald, George
DT: Don't say that George. Toral has to be smart, she went to a school where truly the smartest people in the country go.
The rest are going up to this magnificent suite in Trump Tower (of course it's magnificent). Enjoy the view Toral.

George: Where's the flexibility?
DT: She has no flexibility George (said sagely).

Jen W: My Grandma loved cake, that's why I chose it (this emotional play won't wash with the Trumpster).

DT: (shaking his head in bewilderment) This girl is either gonna be great or a disaster.
George: Time will tell (is there any end to this old boy's incisive analysis?).

On reflection I haven't really done the cringing awfulness of this series justice; get on iPlayer and see how bad it is for yourself but don't be afraid to enjoy it like I do too. Oh and look how dreadful Trump's female assistant is and how awful the decor is.

Right I'm gonna have to watch another episode now.

Sat Extra

My hangover prevented me from remembering that during the Borough Mkt trip I tucked into a lovely pint of organic cider (choose the mild, the dry is disgusting and I reckon a pint of the sweet would be too much to stomach). However, I'd been to the gym beforehand and my only liquid since had been that delicious Monmouth Coffee. This meant that I was hydrating on hugely powerful inbred cider, I was absolutely wrecked come the end of that pint.

To try and sober up I staggered to Fish and had their swordfish club sandwich (swordfish, lettuce, mayo and lightly cooked smoked salmon in a triple decker), delicious and interestingly much bigger than the fish and chips they serve up - mind you it is £12.95. It quelled the lethal cider but I was so full afterwards I struggled to drink my commercial cider later on the evening (note I only struggled, I of course wasn't going to be defeated).