Travel Archives - Page 3 of 22

At the Tabl: Gizzi Erskine & The Inksiders

Posted on February 28, 2016 by Farrah Kelly

Late to the trend party as ever, I’ve been pining after going to a supper club. I’m the sort of person who loves the social side of food- bonding over carving a roast or tasting a forkful of your friend’s dish is the most important part of any meal- and supper clubs are that bit more personal than your typical eat-out experience. Unfortunately, I’m also the sort of person who will have something on my ‘I must do that’ list for months, so despite it being on my radar for a good long while, I’d never got round to going to one.

Until, that is, I was invited by the very lovely Tazz along to a Tabl event. Tabl is all about making dining experiences more fun, more personal, and more social. Their website, tabl.com, is a litany of cool one-night-only pop ups, home kitchen supper clubs, and innovative food + something special mash ups. To say I jumped at the chance is to massively overstate the grace I had in accepting her invite.

So that’s how I found myself flying solo in the private dining room of Tramshed, Shoreditch, for a tattoo-inspired menu and discussion with The Inksiders and food-hero Gizzi Erskine.

Long tables lay in the centre of the dining room, with people milling around holding glasses of Brighton Gin. I knew nobody. Recognising Erin, IslandBell, from Twitter, I walked over and shyly interrupted her and her friend’s chat to introduce myself. Erin and Charlie were so sweet, and immediately accepted me as part of their evening as we got chatting about the towns we had in common and our shared love of Gizzi Erskine’s books.

Welcome drinks swigged, it was time to take our seats. Seeing a gap in the crowd surrounding Gizzi, Erin took us to meet her, we were greeted with hugs like old friends and asked to join her at the table so we could all keep chatting. As I was shaking off my fangirl, a hand tapped my shoulder. Lydia, a girl I haven’t seen for years, was right there in front of me. We freaked out, sat down together, and the meal began.

Simultaneously in reunion and making-friends mode, I chatted an laughed and swapped Twitters and took photos all night. Each dish was designed to be carved out for groups, a glowing convivial spirit of carving roast chicken and sharing out plates of salad, pouring drinks for people I hadn’t met yet. If this sounds gushing, then that’s as accurate as I could be. I loved it.

Between mains and dessert (pure salted caramel fondue with cakes for dipping- the most heart-eyes-emoji dish I’ve ever seen), there was a Q&A with Gizzi and Mo, a renowned tattoo artist. They chatted about the ink and food industries, fielding questions from the crowd as we swigged wine. Though I’m no tattoo afficianado, you could really get a feel for their passion and expertise.

Dessert rounded up and with plans to meet all four of the girls I got chatting to again, I tottered off back home feeling incredibly connected to London. Without really trying, I’d found myself alone in an awesome restaurant with food by a chef I love, met new friends and found old ones, discovered a new way of entertaining that I’m dying to do again and left full and happy. This was more social, more dinner-round-mine than any restaurant I’ve ever been to. I’m already scouring Tabl for the next opportunity to arrive alone at a dinner party and leave with new friends and a stomach full of great food.

PS- if anyone wants to hit up a supper club, shout and I will 100% come with you!

Childhood revisited

Posted on January 12, 2016 by Farrah Kelly

Earlier this month, I bundled myself and my boyfriend up to fly over the Irish Sea to County Wicklow to celebrate my grandad’s 70th birthday.

Jonathan, as yet unconvinced of the charms of a cold little coastal town and (fairly so) nervous of the impending doom in the shape of having to meet and impress every Irish person related to his girlfirend (i.e. everyone in the village), was a little wary at the start of the trip.

I, however, pushed through the motions of being outrageously ripped off by my airline and running for delayed trains to Gatwick without much anticipation. this trip had been planned so long and talked about so frequently that I wasn’t as excited as I normally would be for a quick overnighter abroad. Besides, I knew this town like the back of my hand- there was nothing new to shout about.

After a fair few bumps in the road (entire family was supposed to join- all their flights got cancelled- big emotional display, etc), we pulled up to my aunt and uncles house in the little village of Kilcoole. Kilcoole, while beautiful, has never had much tourism, so it might need a little introducing.

A quiet town not far from better known places like Bray or Greystones, Kilcoole has two main roads-the first being the Sea Road, which leads to the- you guessed it- sea and pebbled beach. The second, which I am sure has a name but I just can’t recall it ever being used, has three pubs, respectively the ‘top’, ‘middle’ and the ‘bottom’. They’re not the only identifiers of the town, but they’re the most loved. I’m just going to the bottom for a quick drink. The girls went to the middle last night, did you see them? And so on. It’s lovely.

This little village is where my grandad grew up. He was born and raised in the house across the street from where I was staying. Relatives of mine live side by side. Brothers and sisters are neighbours. From a very young age, we’d come to stay with them over summers and for special occasions- never quite remembering all the names of the hands reaching down to give us pocket money or to straighten our clothes.

We’d badger to be taken to the beach to collect the best looking pebbles, build dens in front rooms we barely knew and squirrel away sweets and treats you can’t get in England. It was the nineties, so no mobiles to distract us and no video games to bicker over. It’s difficult not to romanticise a time like this, because it does feel so young and simple. I’m sure in reality there was lots of sulking and strops, as defined most of my childhood, but my stand out memories are of playing ‘just pretend’ in front gardens with cousins and of falling asleep in the back of cars back from trips to nearby sand beaches.

I stopped going when I was around thirteen. As a teenager, I’m sure I had much cooler things to be doing than hanging out with toddler relatives (most likely untrue- let’s not dwell).

Fastforward back to today, ten years later, and I’m walking down these streets that had gained near mythical status in my mind. I couldn’t believe that they were still here- almost like I was never really sure if they’d existed, or if I’d just made up this idyllic little place for me to store my childhood memories. The sound of a doorbell I’d forgotten I’d ever heard before, the feel of a stone wall I would sit on, the smell of a garden we’d steal flowers from, all rocketing me back to eight years old. Muscle memory taking round corners I hadn’t seen in a decade. Comforting and odd and the same time.

Here I am as an adult. I have a house, a job, I’ve travelled, I’ve moved to a new city, I’ve graduated. Stood here, in this little town I used to know. Every memory I didn’t realise I still held onto, dotting past like a glint of sun in the corner of my eye. Hello, first crush. Hello, scary neighbour’s house. Hello, grazed knees. Hello.

My room- the one that used to be a pile of toys and books, now has a full length mirror inside. When I look in, for the shortest of moments, I’m there, eight years old, in a corduroy pinafore and glitter-clip tied hair, running past to go play outside with my sister.

Crocker’s Folly | 8 Highlights from a 12 course meal

Posted on September 30, 2015 by Farrah Kelly

An invitation to a twelve-course meal is not one I am ever, under any circumstances, going to pass up on. So when the lovely team at Zomato emailed me, I practically fell over myself in glee/desperation to get a seat on that chef’s table. Having heard so much about Crocker’s Folly from their last Zomato meet-up, I was pretty psyched to get to go myself. I hiked up to Maida Vale, swanned in late (a recurring problem) and quickly settled into my dinner.

Now. I could attempt a marathon post detailing every single dish- all glorious twelve of them- but I think I’d struggle to say something interesting and witty about each and every one, so instead I’ll give you my highlights. To be fair, there are still a lot of highlights… I guess I’m telling you to buckle in, in any case.

Highlight One: My seat.

I was sat in a little blogger’s dream- opposite Rosie from A Little Lusciousness and Grub Club extravaganza, effortlessly stylish Catherine from a Lux Life, Adrian from The Hedonist who I spent a good hour captivated by on the progression of music and cultural appropriation with, and Andrea Zagatti who saw my inability to enjoy warm desserts as a challenge. Scattered across the table were bloggers and writers I admire, and getting to stuff my face with the lot of them was a pleasure.

Highlight Two: Chicken Skin.

While it might not sound like the most naturally appetising snack, ambitious chef Damian Wawrzyniak worked his magic and presented us with a crisp, jerky-like dried chicken skin with a shot of sweet, sweet onion soup. A slightly unusual canape, yes, but an excellent introduction to the mind of a chef who loves a challenge.

Highlight Three: Gravadlax

I am all about salmon. Gravadlax, raw salmon cured all Norwegian-y, is one of my favourites. Delicately cured salmon is the kind of food I could stuff into my face all day err’y day and still buzz quietly at every mouthful. I like this stuff, we’re all on the same page, clear. What makes it a highlight at Crocker’s Folly is watching chef Damian and his glamorous assistants carve it out, fresh from the fillet, in front of you. Bonus points for asking how many slices I would like (had to restrain myself in front of new impressive people, if this was any other day I’d have wept with joy and eaten the whole fish.)

Highlight Four: All The Pretty.

JUST LOOK.

Highlight Five: The Veg.

I love a good vegetarian dish, though I’m usually too chicken to order them at a restaurant in case they turn out bland, unimaginative, or worse- soggy. We’re all sick of halloumi burgers, I get that it’s easy to whack out a pea risotto, now show me the interesting stuff you can do. Well. The things Damian can do with a cauliflower, let me tell you, are not to be sniffed at.

Highlight Six: The Josper

Tucked away in the kitchen lies a monster. As a treat, we were led downstairs to meet him- the Josper. Josper, for the uninitiated, is basically a mega grill that cooks from all angles, fuelled by charcoal and pure love. I even got to play with it myself, jeapordising the entire meal for everyone else. Damian showed me how to tell how cooked a steak is, just by giving them a prod. My action shots are CRAP so let’s move swiftly on.

Highlight Seven: The wines.

I don’t think I’ve ever had Lebanese wine before (I’ve never noticed it while swigging it anyway), so it was really nice to try something new. My favourite was the Rose (duh), which was paired with the early dishes. The wines, from the Bekaa Valley were generously poured out all evening, and I gleefully put it away.

Highlight Eight: Chocolate Sphere

This was straight up the best thing on the menu. A dark chocolate sphere that took a real bashing to open up, filled with goodies. Worth a visit on it’s own and the hero dish of the night.

Crocker’s Folly is a beautiful room- that old school Victorian feel- with a fresh and unique menu, and you won’t need twelve courses to figure that out.

Crocker’s Folly, Aberdeen Place, St John’s Wood.

Afternoon Tea at Hotel Café Royal | The Oscar Wilde Bar

Posted on September 21, 2015 by Farrah Kelly

Disclaimer: I really, truly, cannot express my disbelief that I have turned-evolved- into a person who regularly takes afternoon tea- one that doesn’t come in an oversized Sports Direct mug, at least. But when your amazing friend Mary takes you to afternoon tea at the Langham, the only fair way to repay her is to take her to afternoon tea at Hotel Café Royal.

We rocked up, fashionably late (my bad), and swanned through to the Oscar Wilde Bar. The old haunt of Winston Churchill, Liz Taylor, Rudyard Kipling and Mr Wilde himself; if you ever need to impress someone, take them here. The room has this amazing old school elegance that radiates class and debauchery (a tough combo to crack- trust me, I’ve tried.)

If the room feels luxurious, the afternoon tea feels downright decadent. I’d had some friends visit already that had warned me of the vast quantities of food I was about to tuck in to, so I’d gone prepared on an empty stomach- you’d be wise to follow the same advice.

To start, the tea. Well, actually we had champers to start, but can you blame us? The Oscar Wilde Bar is a room that deserves toasting.

Back to the tea. The selection is wide reaching, but after a few quick-to-bitter teas at other places, I stuck with something I knew and had the Mango Noir. I hate tea that is served in a pot, left to over stew turning into sharp gross cold liquid after just one cup, so was very happy with my fairly unadventurous, but happy-swilling-around-for-more-than-two-minutes cup. (I think this means I’m posh now, everyone.)

The savouries were lush. Delicate cucumber sarnies, goat’s cheese and tomato muffin, teeny chorizo tarts. All very good, all demolished within minutes of our lovely waitress leaving the table.

On to the sweet stuff- washed down with a quick shot of iced tea (oh la la). The scones were fresh and delicious- being the glutton I am, I would have preferred a larger helping of cream and jam- and the delicate pastries and inventive desserts were a) beautifully presented b) perfectly flavoured and c) piled high. All the winning traits.

One of the sweetest things about Hotel Café Royal is, in addition to the food and drink- alone enough to rave about- they amp up the experience with little treats. A live pianist brings class, a brief history in a booklet on your table adds depth, and a cheery Toastmaster, reading quotes from Oscar Wilde, adds a sense of occasion. None of the above are necessary to make Hotel Café Royal feel grand and luxurious, the gorgeous food is plenty to write home about, yet they think of everything here and you’ll start to wonder if you should arrange a live pianist for every cuppa you brew.

Highlights of the tea were the goat’s cheese muffin with the DIY-sauce injection, the rich and fruity (oi oi) Raspberry Regent, the creamy ‘Spitfire Lollipop’, the fruity history supplied in the little ‘OWB’ history book (it’s 150 years old!) and of course, the ever-charming Mary’s company. Treat someone you love or wanna show off to to afternoon tea at the Oscar Wilde Bar and watch the brownie points roll on in.

Afternoon Tea, Oscar Wilde Bar, Hotel Café Royal, 68 Regent St, London.