Bánh Mì in Vietnam: Sandwich of the Gods

The great thing about a sandwich is the beauty that lies within. Between those two, thick fluffy yet crusty slices of bread, could lie anything. Absolutely anything. If you want to munch on crushed anchovies and marmite smeared inside a crusty granary roll you can. And nobody will probably even know. The sandwich holds all secrets.

In Vietnam the sandwich has continued to do an excellent job in surprising, impressing and to be quite frank, amazing me. Strictly speaking of course, it is not a ‘sandwich’, it’s a baguette. Now I don’t want to get all ‘colonial’ on you – I am more than aware of the destruction, death and damage caused by the French colonial years in Vietnam – but man, they left the baguette. And that must surely be seen as a silver lining of sorts.

It goes by the name of Bánh Mì here – and no, it doesn’t sound like it is written. Vietnamese is a tonal language – the words are sung as if they are musical notes on the bars of a great composition. I on the other hand can’t sing or even talk in high notes, which leaves me with little more than a blank face or two when I start singing for my Bánh Mì.

But trust me, these little baguettes are worth persisting for. They are normally sold in a fairly innocuous-looking cart of sorts, which will often reveal a woman in her mid 50s furiously cutting sideways into the crusty baguettes with a seemingly blunt knife. Welcome to the Bánh Mì cart.

P1020830-copy-768x1024

You will see pots of unidentifiable ingredients – odd shapes and colours of what I have since discovered is ham, alongside sliced chillis, eggs, vats of meat juice and tomatoes. The woman will look at you increasingly mystified as you try to sing for your Bánh Mì. She sells nothing else so eventually will raise an eyebrow and sing “Banh Mi” back to you, which of course you think sounds exactly the same as what you were saying.

But she is the Bánh Mì boss so you smile sweetly and nod enthusiastically as she begins her work. First the bread is stabbed length-wise down the baguette before a vat of, what I still think is, Mayonnaise is smeared across the soft, fleshy inside. Next comes a generous slab of pate that coats the mayonnaise nicely.

Upon the thick bed of pate and mayonnaise the ‘ham’ is then placed, which can be white, pink, or something in between. And then it starts to become a bit of a blur as things are just thrown in, as if flying out of the little metal tubs that line the cart’s shelves. Chilli, coriander, fish sauce, green things, red things, pickled carrots. You know the creation is nearly complete when your smiling Bánh Mì master turns to the sizzling sunny side-up fried egg behind her and lifts it straight from the pan into your heaving baguette.

It is wrapped up in paper or cling film, held together by an elastic band and costs you the equivalent of 50p.

banh mi

Sometimes you can just eat your Bánh Mì then and there – just stand in the same spot as the cart and tuck right into the gooey, crusty goodness. But sometimes you need to take it carry it home, sinking under the weight of its own filling, and lie it on a plate and prepare yourself for what comes next.

By this point the piping hot egg has seeped through the pate, soy sauce, mayonnaise and meat – turning it into an almost pie-like sandwich. The crust retains its crunch, but the inside turns into a delectable warm mush of eggy, meaty, herby goodness with an incredible chilli after-bite.

IMG_2716

Serving Suggestion: Best enjoyed with an ice-cold bottle of Bia Saigon, available from all good retailers for about 30p.

It is Vietnam in a sandwich. It’s everything that a sandwich should be. And it knows it – it seems to almost proudly brag about the weight and sheer weirdness of its fillings as it is placed in your hands. It is after all, a sandwich that will quite literally have you singing for your supper.

Getting cosy Under the Stairs, Edinburgh

Sometimes you just have to eat somewhere that has a fish tank built into its fireplace.

20130401-134313.jpg

It was a cold, sorry – I mean a BITTERLY cold day in Edinburgh – when I found myself desperately googling ‘warmest pub in Edinburgh’ and ‘warmest place to eat in Edinburgh ever’ and ‘make me warm in Edinburgh NOW’, when I realised I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore and Google hadn’t provided. So I did what we used to do a few years back and looked around frantically for somewhere to hibernate.

For those of you in Northern Europe who are currently suffering a similar fate – how are you coping and what survival strategies are you employing? For those of you elsewhere or reading this in the future I am writing during the period of time that I am sure will be known as The Great Easter Freeze of 2013… I mean, let’s be honest there is no way Jesus would have risen 2013 years ago if the weather had been like this.

Anyhow, I digress. So with numb fingers and a distant memory of feeling my toes, I headed down Merchant Street in Edinburgh (just behind the lovely statue of Bobby, the bonniest dog of Scotland who sat on his master’s grave for 14 years after he died…. Ahhhh!) And it was down that little road that I spied some railings with a sign reading ‘Under the Stairs’ and in the window below, a big comfy looking chair.

I shuffled my frozen feet down the stairs and tentatively pushed open the door. Immediately I was greeted by array of retro sink-into-me armchairs and the fire place/fish tank feature. I knew I had struck gold.

Glancing around, I realised this was one of those rare places that doesn’t really have a ‘bad table’ in the house. Table picking can be a tough gig. Too often when walking into a restaurant you immediately spy the two good tables – perhaps by the fire, with the comfiest seats etc – which are always taken, leaving you with the remainder of the room and its cold, drafts tables packed too closely together, by the door – the loo – the mad woman muttering to herself.

Under the Stairs offered no such predicament. The large cosy room, with its thick and battered wooden floor boards, offered a plethora of mismatched, cobbled together tables and chairs – each as lovely as the next.

The man behind the bar greeted me in a warm, Scottish drawl and told me to sit wherever. I immediately wanted to try out a few tables before settling on one – they all looked so good.

20130401-140711.jpg

In the end I settled for one that boasted both a fabulous old armchair (they just don’t make them like they used to, do they?), and an old lampshade that gave off a warm, orange glow. Feeling very pleased with myself I perused the menu.

20130401-145052.jpg

This is where Under the Stairs gains a few more brownie points. It has a fabulous selection of sharing plates… Anti pasti, cheese boards, breads and dipping oils etc that can be ordered until midnight. I am constantly seeking establishments that will cater to both my food and wine needs at all hours, if only I lived a little closer.

The rest of the menu also appealed – from the imaginative twist on a veggie burger (black bean, spring onion an mushroom burger), to the venison casserole and salmon and cous cous fish cakes, I was torn.

With most dishes costing about £8.95 it’s definitely a cheap lunch option in Edinburgh.

But it was this sign that caught my attention:

20130401-142157.jpg

And this one:

20130401-142311.jpg

Two things. One, they had my sandwich and soup and I needed them back and two, red wine must always be pondered.

So I pondered and I ordered and I sat in my Grandad’s chair, listening to David Bowie, plotting how to steal the Scottish Crown Jewels over a large glass of Rioja. I’m joking, I’m joking… I was drinking Cabernet Sauvignon.

The food arrived and I decided it was definitely the best use of £5.95 that I have put the pound to for some time. Ladies and gents, allow me to introduce you to my soup and sandwich.

20130401-143018.jpg

Aren’t they lovely? Divine? As soon as we were ‘reunited’ I realised I had unknowingly missed them my whole life.

The soup, a spicy parsnip and puy lentil number, was delightfully coarse and rich with a heart-warming chilli kick to it. Meanwhile, the sandwich was door stopping – huge slices of granary bread were filled with Cajun marinaded chunks of chicken breast, accompanied by a sweet, caramelised onion garnish and garlic mayonnaise. There was no corner cutting.

As I finished my lunch, the tank cleaning man came in to tend to the fish. As I watched him remove water, add water, and do his thing, I couldn’t help but feel they definitely have the best spot in town. If I was a fish I would want to be by the fire, swimming around Under the Stairs.

Food Facts

My soup, sarnie, and large glass of Rioja came to £12.80.

If you want to get involved you’ll find Under the Stairs at 3a Merchant Street. Bell them on 0131 466 8550.

Iberico, Nottingham: The King of Tapas in his Castle of Churros

There’s a new word that’s entered restaurant vocab of late. It has just quietly slipped in, unannounced, and often comes up during those precious moments when you’re scanning the menu, desperately trying to absorb what’s on offer, keen to make sure you make the right decision. Fomo.

Fomo, my friends, means the Fear Of Missing Out and it’s a growing condition. It tends to strike when two people are torn between the same dishes. When one makes a decision, the other turns to her decisively (and a little bit bitterly) and says: ‘Well I shall have to have the same otherwise I’ll be riddled with fomo.’ Ok she might not say riddled, but you get the idea.

To be fair, it has a point. There is nothing worse than spending an entire dinner staring at someone else’s food, wishing it was yours.

But this is why I am such a fan of tapas. Specifically, tapas at Iberico in Nottingham.

Tucked away under Nottingham’s busy pavements in the caves of the Lace Market, this is the perfect place to while away an evening ordering two, three, four even five small dishes. And obviously the Spanish designed tapas so that you also get to share all the dishes ordered by your dinner companion too. It’s perfect for a fomo-free night of nibbling.

It’s white, low-arched ceilings create a warmth that feels almost unimaginable when pacing the pavements above on a cold winter’s day, and the cosiness is further intensified by the restaurant’s soft lighting and the Arabic mosaic tiles that adorn the bar.

20121030-175854.jpg

Apologies for the poor quality of the pics, the cosy, warm lighting played havoc with my camera

But it is the quality of the food that makes this place stand out from the crowd. You will find all the tapas regulars on the menu like patatas bravas, chorizo and totrilla but you will also find an endless list of ever-changing imaginative dishes like its infamous black cod in spicy miso, the scallops with smoke cured pork belly and cauliflower foam or beef skewers with truffle sauce. To put it bluntly, Iberico makes La Tasca taste like fast food. So it is no surprise to learn that it has just picked up a pretty impressive food gong – the Michelen Bib Gourmand, which is an accolade given to “good value” restaurants by the most respected food guide in the world.

Dishes are priced at anything from about £4 to £8, which I agree is good value for the quality here – but as my belly is so often dwarfed by my big, greedy eyes, it is easy to walk away with a bill larger than one would reasonably expect for two people. However, on my most recent trip I sampled the early-bird menu which took this problem right out of my hands.

For just £13.95 you can have two tapas dishes and two chunky slices of their delicious Catalan bread (imagine crusty door-step toast made from the softest bread, smothered in a herby, garlic tomato paste). It works. Plus dessert is also included.

The early-bird menu also scores points because it doesn’t just leave you with the cheap dishes to choose from. We ordered the pan fried squid with chorizo jam, jamon croquetta, the sausage and bean cassoulet with confit of duck and the wild mushroom, kale and chilli empanadilla. It was hard to pass on the delicious sounding roasted cauliflower in curry mayonnaise with almonds and rice and the grilled hake with piquillo pepper, green olive and lemon salsa – but that is just testament to the great selection on the bargain menu.

The wine menu is equally impressive and we ordered a beautiful bottle of Montepulciano that arrived at the perfect temperature, despite the almost icy weather outside.

And after about 15 minutes or so our food began to arrive. Iberico serves the dishes as soon as they’re ready so be prepared to finish one dish before the last has arrived, but it does mean you can enjoy each dish while its hot and fresh from the pan.

20121030-183409.jpg

The cassoulet was the perfect winter warmer. The duck confit gave a delicious rich flavour, while the chunky pieces of chorizo and stewed beans contributed to its rustic and robust texture. And the squid was just as impressive. It’s reassuring to be offered squid without its usual coat of batter, instead the delicate flavours of the al dente pan-fried squid were accentuated simply by salt and pepper – and a sweet, sticky chilli jam on the side.

20121030-183458.jpg

The mushroom patties (aka empanadilla) were fab. These delightful little parcels of crumbly puff pastry were stuffed with finely chopped marinated wild mushrooms and the kale, which it was served with, had a nutty sweet flavour. I was a little bit in love.

20121030-183547.jpg

And the jamon croquetta fingers were equally delightful. Their crispy bread-crumbed shells broke away to reveal a creamy, cheesy béchamel dotted with ham. I remember loving Findus crispy pancakes as a kid but returning to them years later and realising, with horror, that they were awful. However, I must confess that these croquettes are, to my matured taste buds, what Findus was to my five year-old self; a guilty, creamy pleasure.

And then it was time for dessert. Just look at this…

20121030-183632.jpg

Like a castle with turrets of Spanish doughnut; the churros was something special. The fried dough-pastry fingers were perfectly crispy on the outside, sprinkled in cinnamon sugar, but beautifully melt-in-the-mouth soft on the inside. And the hot chocolate dip (yes it comes with hot chocolate dip) was wonderfully rich, thick and creamy. I was in heaven.

So there you have it, the essential guide to dealing with fomo; you can order, taste and fall in love with everything on your table… without any fear in the world.

DISCLAIMER: If you’re eating from Iberico’s standard menu you will be spoilt with a huge selection of tasty tapas. The cheese board is to die for and the black cod is amazing. In fact, unless you are dining with a small group of people, and can order at least 12 dishes, you may still suffer from fomo. Sorry about that.

Food Facts

The express early evening menu is available from 5.30pm to 6.45pm Monday to Friday, and we had to vacate our table by 8.30pm for the evening diners. It costs £13.95 for two tapas dishes, the Catalan bread and dessert (the churros and hot chocolate incurred an extra £2 supplement).

You can also get the same deal at lunch time during the week for £11.95.

Iberico World Tapas lives at the Shire Hall, High Pavement in the Lace Market and you can call them on 0115 9410410.

Nottingham Contemporary Cafe: When Art becomes Food

I have to admit some art galleries intimidate me. When people talk about the likes of the Tate Modern and the Louvre in excited tones, I nod in agreement. I do not tell them that the first thing I look for is the board that tells you which floor the cafe is on. And I definitely do not tell them that I have been to the cafe of any good art gallery about 10 times more than I have visited the exhibitions. Until now.

An all-time favourite cafe of mine is that of the Tate Modern’s, which can be found on the sixth floor of the former Bankside Power Station; boasting stunning views across London with a wonderful selection of food and fine wines. And I can’t tell you how delighted I was when I realised that you could walk all over the roof of the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Nice. Just thinking about endless floors of art makes me crave a pastry of some kind and a frothy coffee.

So whenever I tell people I have visited the Nottingham Contemporary, the chances are I didn’t explore its three impressive galleries of regularly-changing modern art. No, no, I probably went straight down to its wonderful cafe on the basement floor. And when my two friends Nicki and Nick came up from from London recently, that’s exactly what we did.

The Contemporary is a wonderful airy space that opens out onto a lovely, large terrace area for alfresco snacking. Its exposed concrete walls are decorated with quirky, arty features and its high ceiling exacerbates the size of the room.

20120827-234741.jpg

See, you can get your art fix without even leaving the cafe!

Perfect for a light lunch, the cafe has a ‘buffet table’ of salads, pasta and noodle dishes, and freshly baked tarts. You buy a small or large plate, for about £6 and £8 respectively, and you can fill it as high as you want. Almost like a really posh Pizza Hut salad bar.

20120827-235022.jpg

Our salad plate did not disappoint. We tucked in to a delicious spicy brown rice and pea salad, which was reassuringly al dente. Packed with kidney beans and chick peas, it had fresh herbs shredded through it with crunchy vegetables mixed in. We also enjoyed a kale and green vegetable salad, a wholesome dish that would have made Popeye proud. Meanwhile the sweetness of the honey roasted butternut squash was the perfect antidote to the crab and sweetcorn tart, which had a wonderfully strong fish flavour. I hate a bland tart.

20120827-235129.jpg

The menu also has a good mix of sandwiches (of the chunky ciabetta and doorstep style) as well as a mix of grilled meats (I intend to go back for the lamb kebab) and burgers, if you fancy something a bit heavier. We opted to also share a spicy bean burger and chunky chips, which was mouth wateringly good. The crispy coating of the burger held the spicy, mushy bean mix together perfectly and the chips were served piping hot.

20120827-235238.jpg

Just to round things off, we opted for a slice of the coffee and walnut cake and a rhubarb and ginger cheesecake slice. Both disappeared from the plates quickly. Here’s a little pic of the coffee cake, which was wonderfully moist, before it was devoured. I didn’t even get a chance to photograph the cheesecake…

20120827-235328.jpg

The exhibitions at the Contemporary change every few months. The salad bar, I am told, changes every month. And while the roasted butternut squash may not have the same mystery as the Mona Lisa, nor the coffee cake have the longevity of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, these muffins my friends, are my Water Lilies.

20120827-233946.jpg