Oh, no biggie, just a cheese shop nearly as old as my country.
Category: Food
“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.”
― Charles M. Schulz
Chocolate has played a significant role in our social lives lately, so brace yourselves for a week of it here on Small Dog Cocoa Beans Lovers and Consumers, Inc. First stop on our tour of goodness, the Chocolate Museum in Brixton.
Frankly on its face it a bit…dinky. It’s not the museum’s fault. It’s a tiny, tiny two room independent establishment with about three display cases and a few wall displays of historic artifacts relating to the history of chocolate in Britain.
Which is a fascinating subject! Chocolate and coffee houses were places of major political and social unrest and discourse, particularly in the 17th and 18th centuries. It’s rise as a sweet beverage (instead of its original state as a bitter, odd tasting thing drunk by the people of the New World) coincided directly with the rise of sugar…and therefore the slave trade – which Britain played a major role in both spreading and ending. Cadbury’s supported troops in the First World War with supplies (including chocolate of course), and in World War II converted part of their factory to to making airplane parts. Also during WWII chocolate was deemed an “essential food item” (truth!) and its manufacture and distrubution was carefully monitored, which it became a major black market item until rationing for it ended. While not on the level of Belgian, German, and Swiss chocolatiers, British candymakers are responsible for a lot of the popular appeal and commercial availability of chocolate. John Cadbury is the man responsible for inventing the method responsible for the creation of solid chocolate bars – for which humanity should be duly grateful.
In other words, yeah! Topic deserving of a museum! A museum with more than a couple of rooms.
But despite the seemingly limited setting, the Chocolate Museum has quite a few things going for it. First of all it puts on a number of chocolate making workshops and themed events throughout the year. Secondly it stocks some genuinely stellar chocolate items from artisan and free-trade growers and makers.
It was at one such event that Jeff and I made the museum’s acquaintance. Their Christmas Fair to be precise. Along with their wares, on display for nibbling, other artisans were invited to pair their offerings with the chocolates. Wine, beer, coffee, tea, cheese, breads, cured meats, and honey were prominent, but Jeff and I got distracted by a woman selling funky Italian, naturally made sodas.
We came away with lots of chocolate bars (ginger and lime for him, cardamon and nutmeg for me), and a hunk of farmhouse cheddar that was scrumptious. I’ll definitely be heading back to the Chocolate Museum, even though I’ve seen it in its entirety, for two reasons. First of all because I’ve not found cardamon flavored chocolate anywhere else that didn’t cost me an arm and a leg. Secondly because I believe strongly in supporting small museums dedicated to telling narrowly focused historical narratives.
“Those pizzas I ate were for medicinal purposes.”
― Amy Neftzger
Lauren (the fabulous woman behind Aspiring Kennedy) did such a fabulous job organizing a girl’s night out in December for people who knew each other – or didn’t know anybody and just wanted to meet people – through blogging, writing, expat-ing, etc. in London. It was a great night and I met some great ladies who I’ve been hanging out with ever since. Well, Lauren decided to do it again!
A slightly more low key affair, she organized a pizza night Monday evening at Otto in Notting Hill. They do cornmeal crust pizza with funky toppings that you order by the slice. May I personally recommend the grape, brie, and balsamic? Because I inhaled that sucker!
I really appreciate when people more established in any area or community take the time to introduce new people around, so I’m really grateful to Lauren for arranging such fun, low key ways for people to just hang out and make friends. Ruth and Katie and I bonded with a couple of hilarious ladies that I can’t wait to hang out with again.
Andrea from This New View
sparry
The girl who runs Maison Miru and brought some of her wares along to dazzle our eyes
Amber from Nouveau who is getting married in Hawaii soon!
“We must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.”
― David Mamet, Boston Marriage
“Pie” means something quite different in Britain than in does in the US. Most pies Stateside are sweet concoctions of fruit and/or cream, trotted out typically in times of celebration. Pies over here are usually meat and vegetable dishes (mostly meat, let’s be honest) in some form of gravy or sauce, and totally wrapped in pastry. There are a few exceptions, such as mince pies which are small little bundles of goodness that have largely given up their meaty past, though there are a few holdouts scattered throughout the Isles.
I have nothing against meat pies, indeed I’ve inhaled not a few delicious ones in my time, but I’m afraid in this respect I will always be a Yank at heart.
My family has two pie recipes that are sacrosanct, an apple and a pumpkin. The pumpkin is the real treat and it is incredibly labor intensive, it takes months of preparation when you consider that the pumpkin puree is homemade. Courtesy of Halloween jack o’lanterns. However pumpkins never made it big here via the Columbian Exchange quite like turkeys and potatoes did. This fact, coupled with the reality that I have none of the equipment necessary to make it meant that Christmas Eve dinner this year was going to be an apple affair.
As it turns out this too was a labor of love that took two days start to finish.
I have to be blunt. British baking goods selections are dinky. Seriously small. Not just their packaging (which we’ve covered), but the actual space they take up on store shelves is tiny. Back in our old haunt the local grocery store had an entire aisle set aside for baking. Here at our nearest Tesco, we have three shelves that take up about a quarter of one side of an aisle. Finding what you need can be maddening.
I have theories about this, but my chief on is that like much of Europe, Britain has a larger number of bakeries and designated craftsmen who create their baked goods. Not that these don’t exist in America, but we also have a history of frontier dwelling which meant that for generations the well off might have a cook (and the extremely wealthy a French pastry chef), but most of us were responsible for providing our own treats and that sort of got into the culture. The French have boulangeries, the Brits have bakeshops, the Americans seem to do more DIY. Which I largely don’t mind, though I admit I do enjoy baking. And I use it constructively (I tend to make cookies when I’m angry or exceptionally bored, it’s probably kept me from using that energy less constructively. The results are pretty tasty too, rage cookies are the way to go, kids).
But I digress. Pie.
First I had to find a pie crust recipe that didn’t call for shortening (a heathen American device). I was fine with this because, butter. Then I whipped it up by hand because we have no kitchen equipment besides a mixing bowl that’s a third of the size of what we’re used to, before leaving it to chill in the fridge overnight. The next morning I rolled it out with a highball glass in lieu of a roller (see: lack of kitchen equipment).
Apple pie, no explanation required, right? Moving right along.
One of the (many) secret ingredients in this particular plate of mouth goodness is grated lemon peel. Which did not exist in that one quarter of an aisle space dedicated; believe me, I scoured that store. So I painstakingly shaved off paper thin slices of fresh lemon peel and chopped it to bits by hand. Do you know how long it takes to get a teaspoon of that stuff this way? A lot longer that I anticipated!
I admit until this point I was getting a bit stressed because we were attempting a lot of food for just two people, but in the words of Tevye, “TRADITION!”
Luckily after I tossed the seasoned and sugared mixture into that labor intensive crust, the grouchiness could simply no longer put up a fight. Even intense domestic irritation fades when confronted with this thing, it is that powerful.
We ate it for breakfast for days afterward. Regretting nothing.
Like I said, a bit of a labor of love. But in the end well worth it. However, I admit I will not be repeating this until next year, or unless I’m entertaining guests. Or until I get more and better kitchen equipment.
“Each age has deemed the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer.”
― Sir Walter Scott
Throughout December, both of us made noises along the lines of, “We should do something for New Year’s Eve,” whereupon the other would say something to the effect of, “Indeed we should!” After which we would go back to working/munching/watching British quiz game shows/goofing off. For two usually highly organized people we largely took the holidays easy this year – with the exceptions of dinner and the service (which were both planned weeks if not months in advance).
The trouble is that in a city like London, you have to have a plan for New Year’s or the chances of you getting trampled, mobbed, or left out in the cold are pretty high. But almost everything is pricey and booked well in advance. So by New Year’s Eve, just as we were emerging from our food and nap induced sluggery and ready to go out and do something, we realized that our chances of a nice night out were slim.
Nevertheless, we both dressed up and headed to our favorite restaurant in Covent Garden, hoping against hope that most people would be waiting until later to start their festivities and/or heavy drinking and space would be available. As it happened, we got a prime spot at the bar and the universe missed its chance to teach us a lesson in responsibility. Ha ha!
I still heartily endorse the elderflower presse. Mocktail of champions.
We ate delicious and artfully prepared food.
And we got delicious deserts which were so incredible that they actually made my phone’s camera to spontaneously readjust its own lighting feature…I think. I’m not a photographer, people. Interestingly, popcorn has had a bit of a fad year here in London, so apparently I’m trendier than I realized!
Then, because we are old fogies, we walked home across Waterloo Bridge past the throngs of people already camping out for the fireworks show. This year the organizers went in for a multi-sensory experience combining flavored and scented aspects with the already well hyped, traditional exploding. It sounded intriguing, but frankly not enough to stay up in the freezing cold and inevitable bad weather when…
…we got to watch them from the comfort of our own sofa while drinking tea and cuddling.
And that was how we rang in 2014. We might do something more ambitious some other year, but this year, it was just right.
“I trust Christmas brings to you its traditional mix of good food and violent stomach cramps.”
– Ebenezer Blackadder (‘Blackadder’s Christmas Carol,’ 1988)
I mentioned the importance of holiday traditions, and chief among them is food. I decided to attempt the entire Rodgers Clan Christmas Dinner by myself this year, in defiance of the fact that usually we have several cooks in the kitchen to help. And that in its usual form it can feed up to 15 people. But I was not to be dissuaded!
Jeff and I went to the butchers at Borough Market to pick out a roast, lots of produce, and a staggering amount of cured meats and cheeses. Because I knew once this meal, and Christmas morning breakfast was done, I wasn’t cooking again until January. Grazing and snacking would be the order of the day, intermingled with leftovers. Which, I’m happy to report, turned out to be the case.
You would not believe how nervous I felt about this sucker, it was in every way an experimental attempt.
Luckily, nailed it!
And may I add, it was delicious.
“Even though sugar was very expensive, people consumed it till their teeth turned black, and if their teeth didn’t turn black naturally, they blackened them artificially to show how wealthy and marvelously self-indulgent they were.”
― Bill Bryson, At Home: A Short History of Private Life
I’m not good at trends, kittens. I enjoy watching other people follow most of them, and enjoy my friends who are better able to keep up with them than I, but I’m perfectly happy to take my time in jumping on bandwagons. This goes for food, music, fashion, and most things in general. It has saved me a lot of bother, money, and time waiting through an initial craze period to gauge genuine interest.
I just barely got around to reading Eat, Pray, Love, which I found deep and poignant in many places, very highlight-able, and self-indulgent in the extreme. (I’ve also just barely discovered Goodreads reviews, or rather how to write them. I’m probably having too much fun.) I still like darker and more color saturated, nail polish colors even though pastels have been all the rage. Most films I’m willing to wait to rent rather than see in theatres – though of course there are exceptions. I still haven’t read The Hunger Games trilogy. Et cetera.
But on a recent Saturday I finally got to try a cronut (after the minor culinary frenzy earlier this year). And I’ve got to say, those suckers are seriously tasty! I’m wouldn’t queue up for them in NYC for hours at a time, but now that the furor has died down and they’re actually findable in London…I think I shall indulge, very occasionally.
Perhaps I should have jumped on this particular bandwagon sooner?
How about you, ducklings? Are you a trend observer or follower, and of what sorts?
“It is the Americans who have managed to crown minced beef as hamburger, and to send it round the world so that even the fussy French have taken to le boeuf hache, le hambourgaire.”
– Julia Child
Aspiring Kennedy (a lovely blog written by a lovely expat) featured a rather nice looking burger joint on her blog the other day that immediately sang its siren song to both Jeff and my souls. So in need of lunch the other day, and also in need of a run to that great British establishment John Lewis, we decided to use our Eat Out Once A Week card and check it out.
BRGR.CO is a small restaurant off Oxford Street (which was absolutely crammed with tourists and pre-Fashion Week craziness), darkly furnished with touches of whimsy (a cow’s head in particular, personalized by a local artist is mounted on the wall for a while before being auctioned off for charity and replaced with a new one), and the meat is gorgeous.
Seriously, in a city stuffed full of hilariously overpriced but underwhelming burgers, this place was a delight. I got the most modest burger at £5 and it was the juiciest, most delicious piece of beef I’ve had in a long time. I can’t wait for a date night when I splurge and get the twice as expensive Tender Blend!
Beware, the £5 is just to start and anything besides your usual vegetable toppings cost additionally, but again for London that’s pretty good. I also have a desire to try their version of Afternoon Tea (which comes with slider burgers, mini fries, and mini deserts) but I think I’ll wait for friends to come into town for something like that. The plebeian basic burger will suit me fine in the meantime, the Small Dog team heartily recommends it.
“Everyone has a right to a university degree in America, even if it’s in Hamburger Technology.”
– Clive James
If I were up to a regular 5+ hour round trip, I can tell you where one of best burgers in Virginia is to be had: Blue Dog Art Cafe in Buena Vista. (Side whine, everything is far away out here, nothing is easy to get to. And poor Mum, this is the same town she teaches at, this is her regular commute!) I had to drop my sister off there the other day for a summer camp and unfortunately they weren’t planning on feeding the kids lunch on the first day, so I had to feed her before leaving her to her fate. Luckily for all concerned we’d passed a rather dilapidated sign on the way into town announcing this gem’s existence. So off we trotted off to support the local economy and eat the local cuisine.
Good. Choice.
Like many businesses in rural Virginia, there isn’t so much as a Facebook page for BDAC, much less a website. Don’t worry. Come visit and I’ll show you the way, like some wise mystic burger guide.
Pardon the phone picture quality.
Buena Vista is right along the Appalachian Trail and has become a quiet, known only to insider hikers place to stay. Blue Dog Art Cafe actually has a spare room or two for hikers to spend the night. And their walls are covered with the signatures of hikers and where they are/were/started/ended up on the Trail.
Behold the guestbook.
Yes, there are deer heads everywhere. And you grab your own cutlery, coffee, and condiments. It’s great!
The menu is almost entirely dog based. The Yorkie, a veggie sandwich. The Irish Wolfhound, no idea but something with meat. But Snickers and I both opted for the Cowboy Joe burger.
Another. Good. Choice.
Homemade chipotle sauce makes this sucker the glorious, perfectly cooked, bacon wrapped, nothing frozen at all beauty that it is. Those fries, unassuming as they seem, are actually quite deceptive. They’re called Freddie Fries and we couldn’t reach a consensus on their seasoning. We agree there’s something lemony in there along with sea salt, but beyond that it’s a mystery.
all images my own
“Cheese – milk’s leap towards immortality.”
– Clifton Paul Fadiman
One of the places I showed J. was Neal’s Yard in Covent Garden, a hidden street only a short walk from his usual stomping ground but that he’d never heard of. London is stuffed with places like this, it’s probably why I love it so much. Neal’s Yard used to be just an old, unused area behind some buildings on Neal Street and Monmouth Street. In the 1970’s Nicholas Saunders opened a series of businesses that soon attracted other shops and venues. Today you can find homeopathic snuggled up alongside major brands, boutiques and pop up shops, and tons of character in every last one of them.
Walking into the yard proper is fun because the brick walls and windows are all painted bright colors, there are quirky shops specializing in everything from astrology to frozen yogurt, and you get the idea that you’ve walked into a big, confetti colored secret. J. took a look around and declared, “You lead me into wardrobes,” which may be one of the cutest compliments ever uttered, as far as I’m concerned.
The point of our visit was that I wanted to glance through the Neal’s Yard Dairy, one of the best cheese shops in London and one of the places that has such a fun ambiance that you want to kidnap tourists from the normal places they’re herded into and show them an off-the-beaten-path good time.
Again, like most shops, it’s tiny but crammed to the brim with good stuff. There are massive rounds of cheese stored along every wall, and a staff eager to slice off samples of their wares.
J. and I tried a few samples for the fun of it. If ever you have sinus problems, let me recommend the Stinking Bishop – it’s about as potent as wasabi!
Each cheese is labeled by name, and more uniquely, the farm it was made at. No processed stuff here, if you please! This is an artisan’s shop, stocked by independent and family farms from all over Europe. We got half a round of Tunworth, a Hampshire soft cheese which is (a staff member informed me) often referred to as an English Camembert. It is delicious with gala apples.
It’s a fun treat place if you’re throwing a party and need a cheese platter, if you’re in the mood to experiment with gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches, or if you just want to snag something to treat yourself with an alternate to sugar.
Neal’s Yard, minions. Check it out.
*All photos mine.
Small Dog Syndrome 