Yup, Thornton Heath. Look it up.

While the rest of the food world had their eyes on which restaurants would make it into the World’s 50 Best last night, I was schlepping down to a crumbling takeaway in Zone 4 to get me some jerk chicken. I spend much of my time schlepping around London to taste jerk pork or chicken, come to think of it; either that, or I’m sitting in the corner of a darkened room, rocking and weeping gently, mourning the loss of some of London’s greats. The Jerk Cookout  for example (RIP) was one of the best food events ever created, in my eyes, but it stopped a couple of years ago when they (apparently) couldn’t get any sponsorship; to be honest the event was getting too big by that point anyway and thus the quality of stalls diluted until it ended up as just a representation of the state of jerk in London in one place (loads of shit places, very few good ones), rather than a gathering of the very best. The other great loss was Caribbean Spice Jerk Centre next to Peckham Rye station (RIP). That place got taken over by new management who clearly couldn’t care less; when I walked past last night the place was empty. I cry.

And so the search continues. Now I knew Tasty Jerk was going to be good because they won the Jerk Cookout two (or was it three?) times in a row, before they were told they couldn’t win any more because it wasn’t fair to the other contestants. I say: if you’re the best, you’re the best, end of. Anyway, they have branches in spectacularly inconvenient places, those places being: Thornton Heath, Croydon and er, Ghana. So Thornton Heath it was.

We could smell the food cooking from a significant distance. I’d been warned that the place was ‘grotty’ which of course meant that when I entered I immediately fell in love with it. The back wall is basically lined with jerk drums and a massive extractor fan which does try to suck up some of the smoke but fails for the most part, leaving our clothes and hair infused. I’m not wearing the same coat I wore last night. Cooking good jerk is very much about getting a lot of smoke going on, you see. Of course the spicing is important, but a lot of places fall down on the cooking method. Tasty Jerk have it nailed. Here’s a really crap photo that’s out of focus but nevertheless gives an idea of the smoke levels…

A jerk meal will typically come with your chosen meat, plus rice and peas and hot sauce (you should always add the hot sauce). The meal is all about balance; this might sound obvious but the components should not be judged separately. It’s also very much about the build. I want a steady increase of heat and allspice, not a punch in the mouth. I want moisture from the rice and peas. Always ask for gravy on those. Tasty Jerk offered gravy without me having to ask which impressed me and in fact, their rice and peas were excellent; good gooey texture hanging on the right side of stodgy, bit of yellow pepper going on in there for sweetness. Generous with the beans. Their hot sauce deserves special mention too as it was pure searing bonnet fruit balanced with a shedload of sugar that made for a terribly addictive cycle of consumption which ended up with me in tears. The method of dealing with this by the way is, in case you don’t know, Guinness punch.

Tasty Jerk are making some of the best jerk in London right now, along with Smokey Jerkey in New Cross. It’s always the glamorous locations, see? Okay so perhaps none of you care enough about a good jerk pork meal to rattle down to Thornton Heath on an empty train for which you actually have to buy a special ticket. I can understand. For me, that’s what I’m calling a good Monday night. While chefs and food glitterati were sipping champagne and waiting to hear whether or not Noma had won the title of world’s best restaurant yet again (it did), I was drinking warm gin and tonic from a can, on a train. I was uncomfortably full, I stank of jerk smoke and I was in the middle of effing nowhere. I also couldn’t have been happier.

Tasty Jerk Centre (for other locations website here)
88 Whitehorse Lane
London
SE25 6RG
Tel: 0208 653 3222

Apologies for more crappy iphone photos; I was caught off guard again at Duke’s Brew and Que, a new brew pub and BBQ joint in Haggerston. They’ve not been open too long and although some of the food wasn’t quite there yet, I’d say this is definitely one to watch over the next couple of months.

Duke’s is a pub which has been recently renovated, as is evident from the previous clientele still present in a small area reserved for drinking around the bar; the rest is given over to the consumption of que, and there’s an impressive kitchen area at the back, within which resides a serious smoker. These guys mean business.

The hot wings were billed as ‘hot legs’ on the menu (£8.50) – a main course rather than a pile of wings to share which disappointed our party somewhat. They’d run out of legs though so we received three gargantuan wings in their place. The first thing that struck me about Duke’s was that the quality of the meat is really excellent; those were some meaty ass wings goddamit. The skin was incredibly crisp, almost bark-like and the flesh inside super juicy. They differed from the standard buffalo wings that are popping up around London right now in that they had a background rub flavour that was like KFC, but a seriously good version. An intense, salty flavour crust that had us fighting over the third wing. Then there’s the more expected twang of vinegary hot sauce, but it’s like they’ve been doused then flashed on the grill, rather than doused right before serving as is usual. The blue cheese dip alongside was one of the best I’ve ever eaten, with lovely chunks of cheese still present. I missed the traditional celery sticks  though, and I wish they’d serve some alongside, with a bigger pot of that dip.

Those long brown things above are actually pork ribs, I’ll have you know (£10.50). After the high of the wings, these were a little disappointing, despite having a strong smoke flavour. The bark was good (that’s the crust on the outside of the meat – a bit of BBQ lingo for ya) and the flavour of the succulent meat shone through but I felt a little underwhelmed nonetheless. A good squirt of the two que sauces ever present in the table condiments bucket did help somewhat – there’s a molasses and cayenne ‘Kentucky kicker’ sauce and vinegar and mustard based ‘Memphis’ variety, the latter being my favourite packed as it was with sweet American mustard.

The accompaniments need some work: slaw was a bit on the bland side, a pickled cuke ditto, and the pink pickled onions were way too mushy. We also ordered pulled pork sliders (top photo, £9.50), which were filled with a good mix of soft pork and crunchy outer bark bits but were let down by hard and dry buns. Our mac and cheese (below, £3.90) was nice, but just not anywhere near ‘sick’ enough for me, by which I mean it needed more salt, more cheese, more filth factor. I didn’t have room for pudding but two mates made good noises about the ‘Hackney Mess’ which came topped with toasted marshmallow.

So, some real promise to be found at Duke’s and I for one really hope they settle in and find their stride. It’s clear they’re using excellent meat and taking their que seriously, I just feel they need a little more time to lock those recipes down. They brew their own beer too, if that’s your thang (I quite liked it but was distracted by draught Punk IPA) and the atmosphere is buzzing. I’m going to give it a couple more months before I make the schlep up to Haggerston once more (oh East London line, HURRY UP with extending to Peckham) and I have a good feeling that when I do, I’m going to be very pleased indeed with what I find.

Duke’s Brew and Que [map]
33 Downham Road
Haggerston
London
N1 5AA

A friend and I spent last weekend in Amsterdam. Quite a lot of things went wrong. We arrived to find a rather inappropriate transparent shower cubicle in our shared room, I got sick, we crashed our hired bicycles in the middle of a major junction causing chaos and we missed both our trains home. Through sheer grit and determination however, we did manage to fit in some good grub.

After 5 hours of train and tram travel, we were starving and headed straight to Albina in Albert Cuypstraat for some Surinamese food, a cuisine I’d never even heard of until we started looking into places to eat in the dam. The South American Republic of Suriname was a former colony of The Netherlands and so there are a lot of Dutch Surinamese living (and cooking) in Amsterdam. Completely coincidentally, a reader e-mailed me about Surinamese food almost as soon as we arrived back in London (weird), so I know that our first dish of fried potatoes topped with a kind of fish floss is usually made with cassava. Maybe it even was cassava. She also told me that the floss on top is called teloh, made with cod. Like kids in a sweetshop we excitedly doused it with the various condiments on the table, our favourite being a kind of sweetened soy concoction.

Moksi meti (above) was a dish of roasted chicken, pork, sausage and green beans in a sweet sauce; it was lovely but no match for the flakiest of rotis which came atop a mild chicken curry (below). Underneath the roti nestled boiled potatoes, which had spent their time soaking up all the precious sauce and were to be squished, savoured, treasured and fought over. Despite being full to bursting we managed to pack away most of this. The boiled egg however, was a bridge too far.

The next day we managed to pack in a bit of sandwich action despite my sickness, in the form of herring rolls from a stall called Frens Heringshandel. Two glistening fillets of rich herring were beautifully soft, contrasted by crunchy nuggets of diced onion and sweet/sharp pickles. I would have liked twice as many pickles but then, I always do. An excellent sammich. I warn you though, it makes you stink of fish and onions. This wasn’t a problem for me and my mate; we’d been sharing a bed and a room with a see through shower compartment and a toilet in the middle. Fishy onion breath was nothing.

On the subject of street eats, I’d definitely recommend also grabbing a cone of chips at the awesomely named Vleminckx Sausmeesters on Voetboogstraat. The chips seemed triple fried to me as the exterior was thick and crunchy. Topped with a sweetened mayo and diced onion they were excellent. The service was very fast, which is just as well as the queue was constant; a steady stream of tourists and locals, with more than the odd incredibly stoned person after a cure for the munchies.

On the other end of the street food scale, there’s the Febo automats. That’s deep fried stuff, plus burgers and sausages, from a vending machine. I kid you not. The poor burgers looked incredibly sad and the shrivelled sausages were a sorry sight but we chose a deep fried sausage shaped thing which was labelled ‘vegetarian’. It turned out to be filled with a very salty cheesy mushroomy gloop which was actually rather addictive, and I wasn’t even drunk. Worth a try if you’re game for a laugh.

So there’s a few pointers for you, in case you find yourself in the dam with an appetite. Ahem. We also visited a fancier restaurant which my friend assures me was lovely; I wouldn’t know because it was then I got sick and so ended up sitting there watching her eat it alone. Woe! Still, I pushed on through in the name of research, even grabbing a second herring sandwich for the train home. The one we were a spectacular two hours late for.

Eurostar return to Amsterdam from £99. It takes 5 hours but for someone like me who has a fear of flying, it’s an appealing option. 

Albina
Albert Cuypstraat 69, 1072 CN Amsterdam

Frens Heringshandel
Singel Hoek Koningsplein, 1017 AW Amsterdam

Vleminckx Sausmeesters
Voetboogstraat 31, Amsterdam

Oh how I laughed when my friend asked whether I might fancy a “little lunch at Pizarro.” There’s just no such thing as a ‘little lunch’ in our book, let alone when the restaurant is in soft opening with 50% off. We were, quite tragically really, waiting outside the door at 12pm for the place to open. Half an hour later it was 3/4 full and by the time we left people were queueing. “We’re still in soft opening; we’re still learning!” pleaded the waitress before we’d even sat down, “we’re trying our best!” I didn’t care; I’ve had such a rotten week, they could have slapped me in the face with a hot croqueta and I’d have thanked them. I was here to spend time with my mate, self-medicating with Manzanilla, demolishing explicitly decadent, wobbly balls of bechamel.

Pizarro is supposed to be more of a sit-down restaurant than José’s other place, a tapas bar just up the road; the room still buzzed though and despite there being no seats at the bar (the best spot, atmosphere-wise), there are window seats facing out into the street, meaning our conversation was peppered with important, life-affirming observations like, “squeeee! look at those cute pugs” and “holy shit, what IS she wearing?”

We ordered too much because this is tapas and it always happens. A tousle of soft, lightly pickled boquerones (anchovies) with roasted red peppers and black olives came topped with a really good quality egg, which was very well cooked at one point but was cold. Maybe it was supposed to be cold, I dunno; no big deal anyway, the dish was near perfect, if rather difficult to divvy up.

Prawns and serrano ham was Spanish surf n turf, given a good kick up the backside with the might of chilli and garlic. I felt the prawn could take a lot more of a kicking but the serrano ham deserved a break. It’s hard to be disappointed with such good ingredients though.

Quail with romesco sauce was nice and salty, almost crisp enough and perfectly cleaned of meat by the time I’d finished with my half. A swift chop right down the centre made this a lot easier to share than the previous three prawns between the two of us. The slather of rich, nutty romesco, was generous, too.

Cauliflower with chard, soft cheese and walnuts was delicate, the vegetables beautifully cooked with coriander seeds and bay, the lot topped with crumbles of light, fresh tasting cheese. When the veg was all gone, I longed for bread to plunge into the oily juices at the bottom.

The first of the larger plates we ordered – Secreto Ibérico – was surprising mainly because we thought we were ordering something akin to the Pluma Iberica at José, but it arrived cooked through. We could have predicted that to be honest, because it comes with mashed potato; mashed potato and rare pork would be strange. The charred fatty pieces were heavenly though and despite being underwhelmed at the time, I find myself thinking about the dish an awful lot now. I’m afraid I can’t say much about the mashed potato, as I’ve never been particularly interested in it, to the constant disbelief of other people.

Hake, black cabbage and clams was okay but the hake was a touch over-cooked (though better near the bone) and I just couldn’t get excited about it. Three clams is a bit mean too, I think, particularly if you’re going to list them on the menu.

Desserts ramped things back up again; first ‘chocolate, toast and caramel ice cream’, the chocolate a big, sticky ball like really high-grade Nutella which we treated appropriately by smearing on the toast. It was incredibly good but intense and large; we couldn’t finish it. It was decided that more caramel ice cream, less Nutella blob would be better. I’m sure these things will be sorted.

To finish, my highlight of the meal; a pear sorbet in cava which was just so much fun, the light perfume of pear rising to our noses as we bent down to suck up the (lightly) saffron infused cava through straws, finally mixing it all together to make a posh, boozy Slush Puppie.

With 2 glasses of La Gitana Manzania and a beer each, that all went down very nicely at £46 for two thanks very much (with £50% off everything due to the soft opening). I’m sure any niggles will be ironed out pronto making this another boost for the increasingly trendy Bermondsey Street. Maybe one day Pizarro will own the whole stretch. Let’s hope he’s got lots of middle names.

Pizarro
194 Bermondsey Street
London
SE1 3TQ

Restaurant 12 – 3 pm then 6 – 11 pm
Bar open all day

The restaurant does not take bookings.

Meat. Liquor. I think that’s fairly self-explanatory. I am simultaneously sad and excited about the opening of The Meatwagon’s new bar and meat-fest, for it has now opened – early. For the past few months I have enjoyed living opposite The Rye pub in Peckham, where The Meatwagon has been in residency and where it still parks itself. Having those burgers a mere 2 minutes walk away has been joyous, although the effects on my waistline = savage. Now The Rye has closed for refurbishment and the meat has moved on, to 72 Welbeck Street, just North of Bond Street; I will have to travel for my fix.

The Meat Liquor venue is a space filled with a mix of gothic-cross-fairytale arches and graffiti. Basement-chic, Spuntino-style light bulbs bear butcher’s hooks. Red neon lights scream ‘LIQUOR!’ like Dan Flavin got to party. There’s plenty of room for drinking, partying, drinking, eating, more drinking and er, dancing on tables (that’s already happened). My memories of The Meateasy make my liver quiver; I suspect Meatliquor will bestow similar ravages.

I’ve not tried all the food yet, just some (proper) buffalo wings made with Frank’s-style hot sauce and butter, devilled eggs (at the preview) and the chilli fries, ever-outstanding burgers and a wondrous thing called ‘crack pie’ (on the opening night). It tastes like a pimped treacle tart and was addictive as…as…ummm…well, you know. “It’s all sugar” I’m told.

It’s dark inside, just like the Meateasy was, so I don’t have many photos for you but let me just refresh your memory of the burgers, albeit with an iphone photo (I’ve eaten about a hundred this summer and not taken a proper picture?!)

I do have a ‘photo’ of the ‘crack pie’ – it’s the pie shaped blob on the far left. I think most famous food photographers will be fearing for their jobs after seeing this, quite frankly:

The new venue is the biggest yet for The Meaty Gang, but in case you’re worried the new kitchen won’t be able to cope, don’t be – I’ve seen it in all its vast, expansive glory. The walk in fridge is bigger than my bedroom. That’s not true but it’s big and filled to the brim with London’s finest Americana. The drinks mean business too; frosted beers and kick ass cocktails from Soul Shakers. I would give you more details but you know, they got me drunk. There are so many reasons to go back – deep fried pickles and ‘dirty chicken’ being very high up on the list.

Meat Liquor was due to open on 11th November but opened last night and will remain so for the next 3 years. Things have certainly come a long way since the day I first bit into a bobcat burger on an industrial estate in Peckham.

There are some much better pictures of the food here.

Meat Liquor
72 Welbeck Street
London

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: as much as I love South East London with all my heart, there are two areas that really test the limits of my affection and they are Elephant and the Old Kent Road. There’s just not much going for them, aesthetically or gastronomically speaking. When I worked in the city my bus would chug down the OKR every single day and I studied every inch of its bleak length looking for anything that might be remotely worth the effort of checking out. For some reason I had dismissed Shu Castle straight away; I mean, a Chinese place on the Old Kent Road, no-one’s exactly going to rush to try it, are they?

Turns out Shu Castle serves Sichuan food, which is very good indeed. Refreshingly, they don’t seem to have a massive, dull Cantonese menu too (just a very little one as a set menu), as many places do, presumably in an attempt to please everyone. Mainly they just do their thing and they do it very well. We had two cold dishes to start:

Century eggs with green chilli pepper. My first century egg – unbelievable, I know. They arrived, pungent and alarming in colour; the yolks tinged green and the whites, orange/purple. Their preservation for several weeks or months renders them scary in appearance and odour but I was pleased to find, relatively subtle in flavour; just like an egg, but richer, creamier. Addictive. This dish was hot, because there was a massive great pile of chopped green chillies on top. Duh.

Cold chicken arrived sliced in chilli oil, scattered with sesame seeds; slippery and tender. Cold poached chicken fat should be horrible but somehow is pleasingly silken; the Chinese love those jellified textures and so do I.

Pickled beans with pork mince. Pickles and pork, in the same dish? It was always going to get ordered. Little bullets of preserved beans, slightly musty, slightly bitter seemed to enhance the sweetness of the pork; it’s the kind of dish I’m going to spend silly amounts of time thinking about over the next few weeks.

We kept it simple with the meaty main: beef in chilli oil. This is what I want when I go for a Sichuan meal, bits of stuff bobbing about in a bloody great vat of spicy oil. “It’s hot” said the waitress “we know, that’s why we came here” said my mate. Tender slippery strips of meat plus bamboo shoots and Chinese leaves were fished from the scarlet depths. I particularly enjoyed the freshness of the coriander on top; something you don’t often see in Sichuan restaurants. I would have a liked a little more numbing from Sichuan peppercorns, but still, a great dish.

There were also boiled porky dumplings with chilli oil, soft and exactly as expected; a simple dumpling fix. There was a broth of gourd and again, pork, which was delicate, tasting subtly of simmered pork fat (in a good way, promise). Strangely moreish.

A reason to visit the Old Kent Road; who’d have thunk it?! The restaurant is tucked into the side of a hotel; the toilets are um…well, it’s not The Ritz is it, it’s a restaurant on the Old Kent Road. The carpet speaks of more than a few major spillages (chilli oil is a right bugger to get out, trust me, I speak from experience); the food however, is very good indeed. I’d like to feel a few more Sichuan peppercorns anaesthetising my mouth but apart from that, no grumbles. The portions are huge and we spent £76 between 3 with 3 beers each. South East London, with Wuli Wuli and Shu Castle, you really are spoiling us.

Shu Castle
194 Old Kent Road
London
SE1 5TY
Tel: 020 7703 9797

[EDIT: After a brief spell, My Salivation have restricted their delivery area and are no longer delivering to Peckham. It had to happen I guess. I'm pleased I got on in while it lasted]

Oh yes. Legendary Whitechapel grill Tayyabs are now delivering, all the way down to SE15. I didn’t waste any time in taking advantage. I mean seriously, I live 7 miles away and someone is going to bring the food to me? I didn’t care if it would be cold when it got here. Hit. Me. Up. They’re doing it through a site called ‘My Salivation’. Uhuh. We ordered the classics; lamb chops; seekh kebabs; parathas; tinda masala; dry meat. I did have concerns about how nice the grilled stuff would be once it reached us but bravely soldiered on (snigger).

The phone rang. “Um, this is My Salivation. The delivery charge on the website (£6.50) is wrong, it’s going to be £10.” “TEN POUNDS?!” I spluttered. “Er, you live 7 miles away” he replied. “Ah yes.” I knew there was a catch in there somewhere. I wanted Tayyabs badly so I agreed to pay the extra on delivery. Two hours later another, very apologetic phone call telling me I wouldn’t have to pay delivery at all since the food had taken such a long time. “It’s Ramadan and the restaurant is very busy” he told me. I felt bad. He was very lovely. My stomach growled.

When the food arrived it was delicious; I mean, it’s Tayyabs, silly. Even without the theatrical sizzle of the grilled meats, the chops and kebabs were still incredible. The rest was lukewarm too of course (we don’t own a microwave) but we wolfed it in 10 minutes. “The spicing really is incredible” I said for the ten billionth time. How do they make food so highly and yet distinctly spiced? No muddy flavours here.

So it’s a bit ridiculous that Tayyabs will even consider sending their food down to Peckham but in the end, it sums them up really; so lovely, so eager to please. I can’t say I’ll be doing it too often, but having the option there? Magic.

mysalivation.com
New Tayyabs

I was having a conversation on Twitter yesterday about the restaurant Apsley’s. I didn’t like it. I believe I described it as ‘wanky’, ‘over-priced’ (£30-£40 a main course anyone?) and ‘over-fussed’ (I’m being kind – one starter came on 9 separate plates). This sparked off another conversation with a friend about restaurant preferences in general. He asked me, innocently, “you really wouldn’t go to these places (like Apsley’s), even out of curiosity, if money was literally no object?” I couldn’t say ‘NO’ fast enough or with enough emphasis to really sum up the strength of my feeling on the matter and let’s face it, Gmail chat isn’t the easiest medium to communicate a ‘NO’ bearing the force of splenetic juices, unhinged fury, fires of hell and vein-popping frustration. Well you know, I feel quite strongly about it.

My point is that people have different restaurant preferences, which aren’t entirely dependent on whether or not they can bloody afford it. Not everyone wants to go around ticking off the most expensive places like collecting notches on the bedpost. Every few months I go to The Ledbury. This is because it’s a brilliant restaurant; simply outstanding cooking . I fork out the money because I want to go there, as I could with any restaurant in London if I fancied it. I don’t.

The day my friend and I ate at Apsley’s, we also ate at José (Pizarro). It’s a ham and sherry bar, which is so much more up my alley I can’t begin to tell you. It’s a small space on Bermondsey Street with a bar, a few stools dotted about and a couple of chefs beavering away in an open kitchen. The chatter is loud and the laughter unrestrained. We settled in for Manzanilla and snacks.

Croquetas de jamón. I was shocked when I bit into the first. No ham?! Turns out I was just unlucky. In my second the cheesy filling wibbled around hammy jewels. Very good croquetas, although not quite on par with those I ate at Barrafina earlier in the week.

Jamón Ibérico was to die for, as ever; nutty fat slowly, slowly melting away…sigh. The carving was really quite something as you can see from the top photo. I’ve had a go at this myself at Brindisa and let me tell you, it’s not easy.

Having already packed away 3 courses we were really only after a nibble but a special of ‘Pluma Iberica‘ with piquillo pepper was so intriguing it duly got ordered. We looked at it, at each other and back at the plate, a mixture of fear and excitement brewing. Could we eat rare pork? The waiter reassured us of the quality and in we plunged. It had the plancha-charred initial taste and silken texture of rare steak then a deep pork flavour that somehow didn’t make your brain go “argh, raw pig, I’m going to die!”

So that was José; a few snacks effortlessly trumping an earlier elaborate 3 course meal. Fantastic ingredients, served simply and modestly. Of course these two places have completely different aspirations but that’s not my problem. All I have to do is decide where to spend my money. José wins every time.

José
104 Bermondsey Street
London
SE1 3UB
Tel: 0207 403 4902

I’ve just come back from a week in Puglia, specifically the Itria valley, which encompasses the provinces of Bari, Brindisi and Taranto. The area is noted for a distinctive architectural feature, the trullo; a conical shaped stone roof designed to cool in summer and insulate in winter. Our villa, Trullo Tranquillo was located just outside Ceglie Messapica in Brindisi, hidden away in a labyrinthine network of narrow dirt tracks. Being tucked away like this was not a bad thing, although it did define the way we shopped and ate while in Puglia. I thought it might be of use to others who want to visit the area if I share my experiences of shopping and eating here.

With no restaurants within walking distance of our villa and only 2 drivers among 9, all of whom harboured a desire to get drunk, opportunities to eat out were limited. Mostly we bought ingredients at local markets and cooked for ourselves. Our excursion to the town of Monopoli however, saw us busting bellies at Osteria Perricci.

There’s no menu here, an unexpected relief. Monopoli is a coastal town, so they just serve fish; “antipasti?” our host asked. We nodded. “Pasta?” Of course. “Fish? Grilled? Fried?” We ordered both.

First bruschetta, properly made. Ruby ripe tomatoes smooshed into garlic scrubbed toast. The tomatoes in Puglia are to die for.

Favourite antipasti were butterflied anchovies drenched in the ubiquitous (delicious) olive oil; meaty morsels of octopus and sweet mussels bathing in grassy pools of their own juices mixed with, you guessed it, lots of olive oil. A couple of duds didn’t spoil the fun at all; battered fish was, for me, all bready batter and little fish. Sundried tomatoes were chewy as ever, although the accompanying chunks of cucumber rocked; a sweet, round variety that tastes like a mild melon.

Huge bowls of pasta next – ‘fish’ spaghetti, predominantly octopus and squid in a tomato sauce which tasted of shellfish shells, silkily bound with cooking liquor. The second, not the Orecchiette typical of the region but similar in shape (I think Cencioni), delightfully chewy, the sauce packed with garlic and white wine, the bowl clattering with mussels and sweet clams. Chillies were added at table.

Eating was becoming more difficult. Simply grilled fish was delicious, but an effort. We picked lamely at fritto misto; I stuffed down as many tender squid rings as possible.

A refreshing lemon sorbet could not have been a more welcome finish, sitting atop sweet glazed strawberries, it saved us from passing into a food coma.

The owners don’t speak much English at Osteria Perricci but they’re very friendly and make it easy to get by with gesturing, nodding and piss poor attempts at speaking Italian. Our meal came to around €25 a head I think, including a few beers and a bottle of wine. You can walk it all off around Monopoli afterwards too; the old part of town is well worth a look.

Osteria Perricci
Via Orazio Comes, 1
70043 Monopoli Bari, Italy
080 9372208

We couldn’t visit Italy and not eat pizza. One evening 4 of us left camp to pick up some takeaway from Mamm Ce Pizza in Ceglie Messapica, reasoning that 1 pizza per person should be enough. As we sat waiting for our order it slowly dawned – they were the size of small planets. We staggered out with towering stacks, the owner following behind us; we turned to find him pointing and heartily laughing at our tiny Fiat 500. I think we made his evening. Next thing I know I’m jammed in the back, pizza boxes rammed between my face and the seat, not a millimetre to spare. Each bump in the road guffed more hot cheesy steam into the eyes. We snorted with laughter the whole journey, as did everyone who passed us.

Nice though, and cheap (€7-11 each for those monsters). The ham and ricotta was my favourite. Here’s the menu.

Mamm ce Pizz
Via Taranto, 5
Ceglie Messapica
Brindisi
334.3643145

The remainder of the time we shopped at (fairly) local food markets; some were better than others. I really hope my memory serves me correctly here because it could save you a lot of disappointment. Of the 3 we attempted to visit, only 2 were actually where they were supposed to be – those in Cisternino and Alberobello. We found stall holders at the former very friendly, at the latter a little less so, as at one point we got into a misunderstanding trying to buy figs and had to run away. Don’t let that put you off though, the majority were lovely.

I wouldn’t bother trying the market in Martina Franca; advertised in our guide book as happening ‘all day’ we failed to find anything apart from stalls selling cheap clothes and toilet rolls [Edit: see comment from Tony below; they do exist!]

All the markets carry the same stuff (seasonal, innit) and you’ll find fishmongers and butchers dotted around the towns. To find the markets, just head for the centre, it’s obvious once you arrive.

Fat, buttery green olives.

Bright pink prawns with purple heads.

Saving the shells to make pasta sauce.

Bream ready for the BBQ.

Tomato salad – one of many.

Langoustines.

Can’t beat a mooch around a foreign supermarket.

Now I’m going on a week long detox (that’s obviously a joke, I’m really making focaccia).

A reader e-mailed me recently to suggest I make a Google map showing the best food shops and restaurants around Peckham (thanks Alex). I thought it would be a nice way to follow on from this post and extend it to cafes, restaurants and boozers. I may branch it out further when I have time, into Nunhead and East Dulwich but for now I expect you locals to tell me about all those places I’ve missed. Don’t let me down now.

There’s a little linky underneath the map above to take you to a fancy big one. Ooooh.