Heroes. Little chocolates, not Sylar.

Its mid January and resolves are beginning to break. The post- Christmas fitness regime means all that stashed Christmas chocolate is calling out from the box, a bit like The beating of Edgar Allen Poe's Tell Tale Heart. In this time of possible guilt and naughtiness, I thought I'd elevate the tone by adding to the already extensive criticism of those highly popular chocs, Cadbury's Miniature Heroes.
Just a quick Google search will show anyone interested, that I am embarking on a topic of much discussion and strong opinions upon which reputations have been shaken, grudges born and dreams shattered. On the monumental decision to change the composition of the selection away from the lighter chocolates, Cadbury's email box was crammed full of Dream devotees wailing in disgust and Eclair fans applauding them. All I hope to do in these few lines is venture my humble opinion.
There are always those in the selection who are the runts. The ones that are stuck at the bottom, after the searching fingers have gone through pleasure, to the point where any possible enjoyment to be had is just not worth the sickness and nausea. Typically these are the sicklier cremes. In Heroes, nothing changes. The Twisted disaster and the Dairy Milk Caramel are the weak points in the current selection on offer. Diary Milk Caramel might perhaps some hard core fans, but these are a splinter group, probably very much isolated in their familial groups, the black sheep in the herd. If anyone has any sense, they would cast down these two horrors to the bottom of the box. Lets be honest here, no one really wanted the creme egg. We bought it because of the "How do you eat yours?" advertising campaign, in hindsight the main appeal of the thing, started to eat it and decided to take the challenge and wade all the way through. With this in mind who would buy the Twisted candy bar? The advert clearly isn't any good, probably giving little kids nightmares and boring the rest of us, and the thing itself is far too sweet, with too much creme and not enough chocolate. Why on earth then do they make them smaller and hide them in Heroes boxes? Clearly they launched the full size bar with high expectation mid-2009, and then had a vast amount of left over creme come Christmas. It doesn't even fit into the name, Heroes. That crap television advert clearly portrays a villain, a monster, a mutant.
Compared to this the Caramel is merely a snickering sidekick. Here my objection is that the caramel withing the chocolate is not caramel, as i know it. For me caramel oozes, whereas this is far too fluid. More importantly, caramel should taste and look like slightly burnt sugar, a deep amber, that hides under thick chocolate in a millionaires shortbread. Here the caramel is a bright white gold and attacks the eater with a high pure sweetness. Its too goodie goodie, its too brash; if it were to be personified, it would be one of those people who are too nice, so nice in fact that you consider them either to have a sinister hidden purpose, or be actuially mentally infirm.
Now let us leave that nastiness behind us and discuss fallen heroes. Not the rubbish ones like the Dream, probably the conniving sister of the caramel, but the noble fallen, like the Crunchie and the Picnic. The fall of these two has caused much controversy. Accusations of profiteering and skimping have been levied. As far as I'm concern I wholeheartedly agree. Why do they weigh down our selections with the villains above, when these greats could be revived suppose what I am looking for is interesting texture, rather than the gooey texture-less coating of the two above. These two offer this, a bit of excitement to find in amongst the appreciated, but texturally bland solid chocolate numbers. I agree that perhaps the Dairy Milk Whole Nut could be dropped, for those with allergies, but these two are vital quirky variations and the selection suffers without them. Currently the role is taken up by the Eclair and the Fudge, which try their best to cover the base. But where is the crunch? Where is the knobbly toughness?
I will however say a few positive things about the current selection. I am a fan of Bourneville, as a dark chocolate, obviously it is atrocious, but you enter the box with the knowledge that this is going to be a baser taste. Sweetness is the staple, there will be no subtlety, only populist appeal is sought. Therefore the Bourneville is a welcomed addition as an interesting throwout to those who might have slightly more defined palates, to draw all manner of people into the communal sharing of the box. Then we have the Dairy Milk. Who can deny the appeal. This little gem is like the Dr Xavier of the box. It was where it all started, its probably where it will all finish. When the Dairy Milk falls, so will Cadbury. And finally the Twirl. Obviously just a variation on the Dairy Milk, but an worthy one and a worthwhile addition.
Overall though, do we really want the box to change for the better? Whether it is intentional or not, Cadbury have created a pantomime in a box. We have the Heroes and the Villians, the sidekicks and the henchmen. The selection is a topic of discussion, that all can join in on. It is Christmassy in its essence, being both communal and cabaret. The fact that they are consumed in January as the fitness regime crumbles might do worse than console us with happy memories of that joyous time, to assuage our angst about our unconditioned bodies. Happy New Year!

Beans from Ipanema

I nearly never end up at home for New Year. I'm not sure why, but whether I'm visiting family or abroad, in the dead zone between Christmas and New Year I face enduring those the planning conversations, feeling utterly irrelevant. Sometimes, when I'm sipping a snowball upcountry, watching Jools Holland's Hootenanny I wish I was out in the streets of Weymouth. This year, though, there was no envy, because this year, I was in Rio de Janeiro!
This year was fireworks and dance music, and thousands of white clad people grooving in the waves. My first new experience for the year was the Capriana, a much loved Brazilian cocktail. You've got to watch them though, they sneak up on you. This zingy mix of sugar, ice, lime juice and a lot of cachaca (local firewater, made from sugar cane), doesn't taste as strong as it really is. Here's a suggestion of a recipe:
1 part sugar
3 parts cachaca
1 part lime juice
Ice cubes
A couple of eighths of lime (if you want to impress)

Anyway this is a food blog, so I want to focus on a my gastronomic experiences of this beautiful city. In amongst the sunny, green streets there are some real gems of restaurants, where a hot westerner can escape the relentless sun.

Brazil, for me, differs in three crucial areas. Beer, beans and beef. The first is simple to explain. I love variety in beer, and accord similar respect to lagers, bitters, ales and porters. Brazilians too capture the whole range of possibility; they have nutty, nutmegy, spiced beer, or they have the chopp, lager-like draught, beer that is sold ice cold on the beach.

Next are the beans (I believe these are typically black turtle beans and I have found them easily in supermarkets). These beans are hailed as the saviour staple for centuries of poor Brazilians and make an appearance in many dishes. They are served simply boiled with a little seasoning, as a side. They are the foundation of thick meaty broths, heavy with garlic, bay and flavoursome stocks. These beans are rightly adored and cherished. They are an intriguing deep purple, almost black, and have a thick, mouth-filling texture, that coats your tongue. Comparisons could be made to proper mushy peas, broad beans or even baked beans. The definitive moment in my gastronomic experience of Rio was when I was served these beans, pureed into a smooth paste, with kale, pork steaks and eggs baked into them. It all arrived in a vast frying pan, designed for two or three to share, each ingredient occupying its own space. It reminded me of those nutrition charts you were shown in lower school biology. These your protein, theres your fats, theres your starch, oo and look, just peeking out from underneath that pork steak, a vitamin! The dish was everything a hard working farm worker could need cooked in the same pan and the beans gave it a thick wholesomeness for filling and comfort.

For this final section vegetarians might want to look away. Now I have come to Brazilian beef. South America is famous for its vast cattle ranches, in in Brazil this has led to a new breed of buffet. I talk of the mighty Churrasco. Here you are seated and waiters hustle around with five foot long kebabs of beef of all different cuts, and a few other animals as well. At a request the waiters will carve you a portion of meat, straight onto your plate. If the restaurant is good, the beef will be tender, incredibly juicy, and beautifully pink. Off to one side, there will also be a salad bar. Eating here is a real talent, because there is a colossal amount of meat to choose from, and some waiters get upset if you refuse their cut. What is sure is that it is a fantastic experience, very communal and you will not leave hungry. Perhaps this is why these restaurants are beginning to sweep the states, ever growing in popularity.

In retrospect, I think Brazil has a lot to teach Europe. In civilization where the media agonizes over the decline of the family evening meal, around the table, Brazil stands as a reminder of how communal meals could be. There dishes are mostly designed to be shared, and restaurants cater for huge parties. Because of this the food is simplified. The standard and taste remains superb, but fiddling over individual dishes is abandoned, achieving the best of both worlds. For wholesome, meaty, filling food, to enjoy in good company, minutes from spectacular beaches and forests, I recommend that you give Rio a visit.

Review for The Wild Garlic, Beaminster

Through thick banks of fog and over icy hillock we tumbled that dark mid-winter Dorsetshire night. For all we knew we could have been almost anywhere, but soon, looming cheerily out of the murk appeared the pastel front of Masterchef Matt Follas' restaurant The Wild Garlic.

On entry the cold is blasted from us by a glowing wood stove on one side of the room, our coats are taken and we are seated at the thick, wooden tables. We are immediately presented with complimentary bread and oil, along with a small dish of wasabi peas. I feel that we have been drawn into a friendly space, somewhere relaxed, but luxurious. The place allows for quirks to discuss, with the nibbles and the tables, which are carved with lists and phrases, but is ever inoffensive. Quite often when establishments try to aim for a relaxed style they can inadvertently appear confrontational, forcing their relaxation on their customers, but not here. Any expression is kept at a ubiquitous light touch, so that they are there, but only if you want them.

The waiter quickly takes our drinks orders and presents us with the menus, pointing out the specials blackboard at one end of the room. Our friend, who has a nut allergy, is quickly and quietly run through the options. This is pleasant, but brings me to a criticism. The majority of the menu is unavailable, including the more signature dishes, such as the slow roast pork, the plaice and the venison. We visited in that strange period between Christmas and New Year, so I suppose some leeway could be given but it was disappointing in any case.

The orders are taken; the drinks arrive in good time and the starters after a comfortable conversation period. I have a Trio of Smoked Fish and Pheasant with a Dill Sauce. The dish is pleasing to the eye; the fish arranged in a diagonal with the sauce to a side. It is pleasing also to see eel making a comeback, but as with everything it is only one small piece sitting un-confrontationally centre stage. It seems to appeal for unbiased trial. Eel has developed a bad name for itself following years of jellifying, but here it is on its knees, having turned over a new leaf, "Please, give me one more chance", it pleads. The trio is delicious, all displaying a different mysterious smokiness, which is daintily elaborated upon by the sauce. My query with the dish is about the pheasant, that is, why is it there? By itself it is great, served with tangy pickled red onions, but there it is, sitting stubbornly on the unoccupied corner of the plate, isolated both physically and in flavour.

My companions all have soup, of which there are two kinds; wild mushroom or tomato and seafood. These goes down without touching the sides and their reception is hearty. These are again cleared away and, to our surprise we are presented with interim nibbles, this time quails eggs on a bed of seaweed. Matt's enthusiasm for interesting foraged food shines out here. It is as if he's just run in, flushed, foraging book in one hand and a bunch of something he's picked from a hedgerow in the other, eager to share and explore a new taste or texture. It is exiting and as customers, partly because it is complimentary, you get drawn in to a more daring, open palate. For the record, the nibbles were well received, the salty, slightly chewy seaweed curling up with the delicate, soft eggs. What can I say? Opposites attract.
Then the moment we'd all been waiting for, the main course arrives. All are exquisitely presented, in perfectly sized portions. The plates walk that difficult tight rope between feeling like you need to pop down the pub for a bar snack, and bloating to the point of haemorrhage. I have a beautifully cooked and rib eye steak accompanied by the secret-recipe smoked mash and roasted veg. The vegetables could have done with just a few more minutes, but this is being pedantic. The gutsy smoked mash and frankly godly steak more than make up for slightly less than perfect veg.

Whilst I am in an ecstatic dream world, the rest of my table join me. The mode dish is duck breast with kumquat compote and smashed new potatoes. Again the meat is cooked perfectly, with just a tinge of pink in the centre and the kumquat gives the dish a lightly candied quality. The two bond as if fate had written their meeting in the stars. Similarly for liver fans, the calves liver dish was gulped down with unadulterated enthusiasm and much approval.

To finish the table shares a hot chocolate pudding and a cheese board. The pudding has a cute tiny perfection and is served with a slightly curled shortbread star, and the cheeseboard is well stocked with interesting local cheeses. While we're savouring these Matt himself wanders out of the kitchen to check if we all enjoyed our meal. Talking to him he emanates the quiet confidence his restaurant and food does. He encourages change and open mindedness, but in a way that is unobtrusive. He expresses his opinions strongly, but quietly, hoping that you might only try, but on your own terms and in your own time.

On the whole, The Wild Garlic was a pleasure to dine at, a place where exploration and comfort meet. The serving staff are attentive and friendly, but never obtrusive and the food, despite some minor criticism, is delicious. The Wild Garlic offers a new compromise between hard line radical new formats and overly formal stereotyped service, where waiters wither grovel or sneer. I wish the best of luck to Mr Follas in the New Year and hope he has all the success he so clearly deserves.