By: Mrs Robot

So… we're still here. It's been over a year since my last post. And we didn't get the ’rona, or have to rely on our precooked meals because we were poorly, which was great. I honestly didn't think it had been so long since I'd last posted, but I guess this had better be some sort of retrospective. I'm going to split this into two posts, one for us at home and one for food cooked by other people, because there was some of that too.

We didn't actually have any trouble getting food. We always have flour, rice, noodles, assorted nuts and pulses and so on in stock, and because we get a weekly vegbox delivery and shop at the local butcher, we never had any gaps in what we needed. We did do a bulk order with Wai Yee Hong at one point because we weren't able to get to Bath to the Chinese supermarket. But compared to friends who couldn't get pasta (and whose kids live on the stuff) we had it easy.

Last year's initial lockdown coincided with a spell of good weather, and because we're lucky enough to have a garden that meant lots of eating outside on the patio. Even if we couldn't go anywhere, we could still enjoy a Spanish spread. There was always jamon and tortilla, and Mr Robot's become extremely good at cooking pescado en adobo, chunks of white fish marinated and then floured and deep fried. I'm a big fan of those fishy nuggets. As the epidemic went on, Mavalco, which usually supplied restaurants, started selling Spanish ingredients direct, and we've placed a few orders with them.

Poor old Mr Robot had a proper lockdown birthday in May, but we made a meal of it – literally. He joked that he wanted a dinosaur cake with a raspberry ice-cream meteor for his birthday, so I made lemon-cake dinos (mould from Lakeland) and a raspberry meteor, all on a 'lost world' scene made from biscuit and chocolate ganache. I was jolly proud of that!

We cooked increasingly elaborate meals when eating indoors. Being at home meant it was possible to prep something needing long, slow cooking at lunchtime and pop it in the oven during an afternoon tea break. Pot roast pheasant midweek? Hell yeah. And I'm prone to anxiety, and found cooking a good way to switch off after the working day. There were times when I didn't have the headspace for much, but I could crack open a cookbook and make something nice. Looking at the cookbook shelf, Fuchsia Dunlop's The Food Of Sichuan and Every Grain Of Rice are two books that got a lot of use.

We didn't really push many boundaries, food-wise, though Mr Robot has enjoyed cooking Korean food – and we've both enjoyed eating it. I think it started with a recipe for Army Stew and snowballed from there.  But overall the past year or so has definitely been a time of comfort eating, everything from meat pies to Indian dishes to lasagne. And, I must confess, takeaways. This possibly should go under 'food cooked by other people' in the next post, but I feel it belongs here, because those Deliveroo/JustEat orders relate more to the food we'd cook ourselves, in that they were what we'd eat when we simply didn't have the headspace or energy to cook for ourselves. At the start of pandemic restrictions, we were often having two a week. We have become rather rotund robots!

Anyway, I shall leave you with some Christmas food. We did our usual Christmas food, a tasty spread of normality in what had been a very not-normal year. A lot of 2020 was pretty sucky, but at least the food was good!

Viva La Revolution

By: Mr Robot

No better welcome

A couple of weeks ago we were lucky enough to get into a pre-opening night for the Bath branch of Omar Allibhoy's Tapas Revolution (the only time an email subscription has ever proved worthwhile, I might add).

Effectively a dress rehearsal for the staff, we were warned it may not be entirely perfect and in exchange given a frankly ludicrous discount, but of course given our love of all things Spanish we'd happily have paid full whack. They should have had no concerns, because it all went swimmingly and the staff couldn't have been more welcoming.

As we always do, we piled straight into the Jamon - promised genuine Bellota, I was expecting this to be excluded from the discount, but no, even that was included.

It was pretty much everything you could hope for. I've seen the odd negative comment since but honestly can't see why. Maybe it's not quite the stuff you find in the back streets of Extremadura, but that's only to be expected - they keep the best stuff to themselves. But it was clearly hand-cut (if I had to be critical, some slices were a little thick and so a touch chewy), deep, sweet and rich, and most importantly had that whiff of acorn that marks The Really Good Stuff.

Really, really good stuff

We went through a whole range of dishes with great happiness: croquettas were fat and crisp with a good ham level; a lovely salad of braised lettuce, peas and asparagus with runny egg; squid like armadillos (crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside); meatballs in a proper sauce done properly...

Through all of it the overriding sense was the absolute authenticity of the food - it took us straight back to our favourite experiences in Spain.

Not Armadillos

The meatballs in particular were exactly as our first encounter on honeymoon in Seville. That was a real moment of misty-eyed nostalgia.

Never mind the meatballs, here's the croquettas

Probably the highlight for me was bacalao (salt cod) with braised peas and sobrasada (chorizo goop) which was utterly lovely. When handled properly there's something almost magical about the way salty bacalao reacts with the other elements on the plate, and this was perfectly done.

The magic of Bacalao

The only real negative was the building. Like so many of these places (it's in the newish Southgate development), the units are multifunctional retail jobs modelled on - and with all the charm of - a warehouse.

While it's been managed well visually (I particularly liked the half-sherry-barrel lightshades) the atmosphere suffers: you don't get the cozy buzz of a busy bar, but instead it's just a bit loud and shouty.

Could be cozier

For drinks we opted to go Full Crass and have a jug of Sangria, which I'm sorry to say was more fruity than boozy (had an odd strawberry note) but I did manage some small hilarity in trying to order a bottle of Er Bocqueron beer and instead ending up with anchovies (boquerones). The waiter chastised me gently, as is only right, and it's the kind of linguistic snafu that marks every good  Spanish evening. I was very pleased to have achieved it.

Got there in the end

Being kind of snobby about these things, we're a bit suspicious of chains, expecting fakey plasticity and bland homogeneity over interesting excitement. Bath is the seventh iteration of Tapas Revolution which puts in that troubling genre: not a corporate monstrosity to be sure, but neither the romantically tiny, unique operation. That said, the similarly-sized Bistro Pierre is a favourite and even Wahaca has become a chain for goodness' sake.

Can't help suspecting that's plastic ham: 1. no little cups to catch ooze, and 2. health & safety would go MENTAL

In the same vein I'm happy to say that on our experience Tapas Revolution is not letting brand or consistency compromise quality, and long may that continue.

As a final thought, with Tapas Revolution alongside the truly outstanding Ole Tapas (shamefully yet to be written up) and as-yet-untried Pintxo, Bath now offers the prospect of a genuine tapas crawl. I sincerely hope they all find the space to accommodate casual walk-ups to make it possible.

All images (c) PP Gettins

Restaurant Review - Pablo's Bistro, Bradford on Avon

By: Mr Robot

Pablo's Bistro, Bradford on Avon

Nestling in a valley a few miles southeast of Bath, Bradford on Avon is one of those picture-postcard chocolate-box cutesy places it's hard not to hate. The kind of place that, when presented with a valley, simply can't help but nestle in it; populated by the sort of people who read an article called "Why we should all move to Bradford on Avon" and act upon it.

However that does make it the kind of place that grows a decent food scene, of which Pablo's Bistro is a little Spanish highlight. BoA is also on one of the main train lines which is an excellent feature for the only driver in the house, who vigorously enjoys his wine.

We'd booked up for Mrs Robot's birthday and I'm pleased to report not a whiff of staff singing or surprise things with candles in - this is a grown-up place that treats its customers with respect.

It's also very very tiny. If it were one of the many boutique clothes shops displaying six frocks and a handbag you'd think, "gosh this is a bit cramped". As a restaurant seating around 25 it's, well, pretty cosy.

That said, if your idea of making friends is to gently brush someone's hair with your bottom as you head to the loo, this is definitely the place for you. The welcoming staff negotiate the space with the grace of ballerinas; we of a more heffalumpy nature must simply suck in the belly and smile apologetically.

Once we squeezed into our window seat, though, we were presented with menus as comprehensive as the place is small.

Salted Almonds, the perfect bar snack

This is proper tapas, done properly (ok, it's not free with booze, but you know what I mean) and in my pre-visit browsing I'd identified something like 17 dishes we'd desperately want to try. As it turned out we only managed 11 but by gumbo they were good.

The only disappointment came early on. We kicked off with some olives, a dish of salted almonds (an absolutely brilliant snack - I've no idea why it's not more common), Rebujitos and what they called Carne Espanol but the rest of us know as a Tabla Variada - a board of bread, meats and cheese, that's pretty much the compulsory start of a good evening.

The highlight of this should have been the Jamon, but I'm afraid that was a letdown. Soft, pale and bland, it had all the hallmarks of machine cut, plastic wrapped, supermarket stuff. This was a worry.

Excellent chorizo, membrillo with the cheese is a nice touch. Shame about the ham

Normally the Jamon is the pride of the establishment and the single biggest indicator of quality. Maybe they'd had a problem with the supplier, maybe they couldn't get the good stuff at a viable price. Whatever it was, this didn't bode well.

Chicharrones & Croquetas - both to die for

Exchanging worried glances, we returned to the menu. I went for Chicharrones, Mrs R for Croquetas de Jamon - not without trepidation since it relies on the ham and is her favourite thing in the world.

Well our fears were unfounded. and everything that followed was a delight.

The chicharrones were outstanding: succulent, crunchy and salty as could be, with the all-important squeeze of lemon. And the croquettes were perfect with tiny chunks of proper Jamon this time - golden, crisp and gooey. Just as they should be.

Mightily relieved, we went on to Tortilla (pretty much the closest we got to vegetables all evening), Pollo al Ajillo for madame and Gambas - prawns with jamon & chorizo - for me.

My prawns saw a return of the plastic ham but this time fried crisp, and it was fine alongside the chorizo, peppers and onion.

Mrs R's chicken in garlic was much more creamy that we've ever had in Spain but tasted wonderful - a luxurious pimping of the bar staple.

Left to right: Gambas, Pollo al Ajillo, Tortilla

We were starting to creak a bit by now but I had an agenda and would damn well see it through. I've lost count of the number of times recently I've opted against squid and regretted it, so I was determined to have the calamares. And it was a wise choice.

Hunny bunny

Then there was the rabbit in honey.

I've never seen this in Spain but it called to me immediately so there's no way I was leaving without it.

It was great - the flesh was perfectly tender with a sticky honey glaze, and a top layer of saltiness that rescued it from over-sweetness and made the whole thing profoundly satisfying.

Mrs R was under some duress by now, but I persuaded her to go for one more dish and she opted for Albondigas.

Meatballs (for it is they) was one of the first tapas we'd ever had and remains a favourite despite some variable experiences.

These looked homemade in the classic style, though made distinctive with big punches of garlic and smoked paprika. They were also pretty substantial (as they should be) and I won't pretend to be sorry she could only manage half of it.


I sincerely wish we'd had capacity for pudding - they have a "tapas selection of desserts" that looked particularly tempting - but by then could only have ended badly. A fine coffee and home was the sensible option.

It's a tremendous little place, Pablos, bringing authentic, classic dishes with a couple of twists of personality.

The price is pretty reasonable too - vegetable dishes around £3.50, and fish and meat coming in around £5-£6 per plate.

Our total cost was around £50 per head, including cocktails, a good bottle of red, and a last-minute bottle of Boqueron beer (excitingly, made with seawater!). Given the quantity, quality and variety of what we had, I consider that pretty good value.

Being slightly less extravagant, you could fill a very happy couple of hours for less than a night in the pub.

I can see this becoming a firm favourite - and once summer kicks in it'll be perfect for lazy afternoons of wine and eats and more wine and more eats, just as tapas should be.

All images (C) PP Gettins

Croquette and tubbies

By: Mrs Robot

We love Spain, and one of its very best products is jamon, cured ham. Along with simple slices of the stuff, one of my favourite tapas is croquetas de jamon, ham croquettes - cylinders or patties of bechamel and jamon, coated in breadcrumbs. I have to try not to order them too often when we're on holiday, as it's important to try other things!

We bought a whole leg of ham from Asda just before Christmas. It must have been some sort of special as they don't usually have them, but there it was, lying in the chiller cabinet. It's been living in our dining room ever since, covered in a clean tea towel to stop flies and dust getting on it. The packaging recommended wrapping it in cling film, but that's just an easy way to get a mouldy ham...

Today I carved off a chunk of the ham and turned it into croquetas. I didn't follow a recipe, as it was a simple matter of make bechamel (not forgetting a grating of nutmeg, but omitting salt as the meat itself is very salty), sling in finely-diced jamon, then later coat balls of the cooled mixture in breadcrumbs, egg wash and another coat of breadcrumbs. Mine were a bit large, as I haven't yet mastered the art of scooping small amounts (it's amazing how what seems like a little amount of mixture turns into a large cylinder). After a brief fry, they were ready to eat.

Going through the process of dicing, making bechamel and crumbing does seem a bit of a faff for a snack, but as the croquetas are pretty high in salt and fat that's probably a good thing.

Tales of Caceres: El Pato

By: Mr Robot

Leaving Old Caceres on the western side, one passes through the Puerta de Estrella, gleefully translated by nerds everywhere as The Stargate.

Stepping through with an appropriate vwooosh sound, the childish traveller finds himself in Plaza Mayor: a fine colonnaded square (ok, rectangle) and the site of numerous restaurants that are probably the most tourist-trappy you'll find in the city, but also often crammed with locals so can't be that bad.

Plaza Mayor, Cacares. Not shot through The Stargate because physics

Thus we reasoned anyway, and resolved to try a few.

We originally headed towards a roasting house but were pounced on by a waitress seeking to drag us in (worrying sign) and who proudly held out a menu in (gasp!) English.

At this point Mrs R gently wigged out and we scurried next door: she has a morbid fear of translated menus believing them to be a step down the slippery slope that ends in El Breakfast Ingles.

Next door turns out to be El Pato (The Duck - no idea why) where we're greeted by a genial silver-haired gent and presented with, um, a translated menu. Oh well.

El Pato

We'd already sampled El Pato a day or two earlier when we'd spent some happy time propping up the bar and been pleased with both beer and tapas, so we cast aside any concerns and set to.

Tapas of light, soft cheese and paprika. Free with beer.

In any case, we were already seated and far too English to run away a second time.

The light of my life opted to start with Migas: fried breadcrumbs normally made using just a very little meat and veg for flavour rather than substance. It's quite a favourite here - no surprise since it's a humble dish of the rural poor and Extremadura, like much of central Spain, is a pretty humble rural area.

A fried slice by any other name...

She deemed it very tasty, though the salt pork they'd used was both a tad salty (duh) and served in whacking great chunks with unrendered fat that was just the wrong side of grim. Still, trimming that off was no great burden.

I went for revueltos: scrambled eggs. Quite how we came to lose our respect for scrambled eggs is beyond me, but the Spanish still revere them and have taught me to do the same so I get them at every opportunity. You will rarely go wrong, I submit, in any Spanish eatery that offers more than three varieties of revueltos.

Revueltos con Trigueros y Setas, or, Eggs a la Smelly Wee

These came with mushrooms and tiny but intense asparagus stalks, and were delicious. If anything there was a little too much asparagus but that is such a petulant complaint I won't demean myself to make it.

From there Mrs R went for rabbit stew and I believe enjoyed it greatly, but honestly I can't tell you anything more because I had this to contend with:

Cochinillo - roasted fat piglet

Yes, a whole leg of roast suckling pig, and it was immense - in every sense of the word.

Skin so crisp it was practically brulee and meat so soft it was, well ok, not creme but you get my drift. Simply served with fries and a comedy salad of half an iceberg and five quarters of tomato. But frankly with that pig headlining, who gives a damn about the support acts?

Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside . . .

It shames me to say we declined puddings. Instead, as clouds started to roll in over the square (ok, rectangle) we girded our tums and waddled off to a much-needed siesta. I doubt El Pato will ever be accused of Fine Dining, but there's some mighty fine lunching to be had.

All images (c) PP Gettins

Ambiente Tapas, York

By: Mr Robot

York is a delightful city. The pubs are many and excellent, there are some outstanding museums, the wonky streets of the old town never cease to please and it's packed with tempting eateries. Whenever we visit, our main regret is not having the time or belly to do it justice and this latest trip was no different.

The Trembling Madness, Blue Boar and Three Tuns were all enticing but time and circumstance were against us, though we did find some excellent eating - including the (practically compulsory) roast pork place down from the Minster and a fine pie shop.

Highlight of the trip, though, was an impromptu visit to Ambiente Tapas on Goodramgate. We were lucky to get in, what with it being Tour de France Day, but they slotted us in to a high barrel-style table in the bar area, which turned out to be a very good thing. There's proper dining upstairs which we didn't see so can't comment on but for me tapas belongs in a lively, informal setting and that's just what we got.

Rebujito

The menu is plenty big and priced reasonably with most dishes coming in around £4-£5, and covers both classics and slightly more off-the-wall offerings. So we ordered ourselves a big jug of rebujito and got stuck in in an impressive - not to say appalling - way.

Would it be bad to order everything?

First up was a sharing platter of cured meats, pate, olives, bread etc, along with croquetas de jamon (Mrs R's favourite thing in the whole world) and for your humble correspondent, carilla da bresa: pork cheeks braised in Pedro Ximenez.

The platter was just as you'd expect: a fun snacky mix of which the serrano-ham-wrapped-dates stands out. The pork cheeks too were excellent - rich and soft and sticky and deeply moreish. The croquetas were, well, just a bit odd. I'm not sure what went in them - perhaps some pimenton or saffron or something, or perhaps the ham had been minced in - but the centre was sort of pale orangey-red, not the pure bechamel with tiny jamon nuggets one expects. Not that it was bad, mind, it was very nice. And the accompanying pea puree was lovely. But in Mrs R's book there's only one way to do croquetas and that's not fuck with them.

Croquetas de Jamon

Then I noticed the Jamon Iberico Bellota. At £8 a pop it's easily the most expensive thing on the menu and so it should be, because this stuff comes from the back leg of free-range black-footed pigs stuffing themselves fat on acorns and is just about THE BEST THING YOU CAN EVER EAT.

Jamon Iberico Bellota

And so it was.

Tapas is not for sharing but with the bellota we did just that because we love each other so much, and are used to fighting in public.

Share this? Seriously?

This was followed by creamy, herby mushrooms for me and albondigas - meatballs - for madame. Traditionally albondigas come in a rich tomato sauce but Ambiente had decided to go off-piste with a Thai-style chilli & lemongrass affair which worked extremely well.

Note to cynics: "confusion" is just the Spanish for "with fusion"

NB. We're not so precious about meatballs having been caught out in Seville with ones made of, um, cuttlefish - which is exactly as vile as it sounds.

Quickly rejecting the offer of pud, we returned to the menu yet again. This time pancetta de cerdo - similar to chicharrones, being nuggets of pork belly that's been slow cooked with lots of cumin and salt. Aside from the Bellota this was my favourite thing of the night: one of those dishes that just makes you groan happily at every bite.

You can do what you like to pork belly, as long as it's this

Along with that we had bunuelo de bacalao - salt cod in batter - that was light and crisp and I wish we'd had earlier because it would've gone so well with the (sadly now exhausted) rebujito.

Bunuelo da Bacalao

This last round was accompanied by my traditional cry of "bring me something young, Spanish and rough" which delivered an excellent merlot. No idea what it was but it had the ripe fruit and startling tannins that's exactly what you'd want on a hot and dusty day in Castilla-Leon.

Finally I have to say the staff were fantastic. They weren't just attentive but positively and universally friendly, and very happy to talk about the food, the place, the drinks etc when time permitted. They even indulged my passion for speaking hopeless Spanish, which really is going an extra mile. As is so often the case, the food can be excellent but it's the people that make an exceptional evening.

All in the bill came to an exceedingly reasonable £75, and a tip only limited by the cash in my pocket. We waddled off with achingly full bellies, and very happy memories.


This is a fully independent review: Greedybots paid full whack and received nothing for free except kindness, of which there was lots.

Finito

All images (c) PP Gettins

Recipe(s) Review: Morito Three Ways

Recipes from Morito by Sam & Sam Clark

By: Mr Robot

So the wife has already waxed (waxen?) lyric about Sam & Sam coming to Bath to talk about the Morito book. She has also cooked the most delicious courgette tortilla though I'm afraid there are no pictures because we were both too bloody starving. But trust me it's a darn good way to clear a courgette (or indeed egg) glut.

However as I've noted before, my first instinct is to hit the pork belly, and since Morito has two recipes on adjoining pages the only appropriate response is to declare Fornicate It and do them both. 

Double pig

Perhaps facile to say (hence it comes so naturally) they are variants on a theme: rub with goodness, roast as you will, and dress afterwards. Dress the dish that is: I don't think The Sams are suggesting you dally with pork fat naked.

Why god gave us trousers

 So the recipes in question are:
     Chicharrones (described as basically pork scratchings with the meat still on!) and
     PX, meaning done with Pedro Ximenez sherry

Spagnophiles that we are, we have oodles of sherry kicking around but PX is a bit challenging for casual drinking so we're always up for a good use for it.

Pedro Ximenez is not, repeat NOT, casual

Both recipes call for a kilo of meat each, so I bought one kilo and halved them - regular readers will recognise the massive restraint involved here. Chicharrones, then, are seasoned meatside with garlic and fennel, while the PX is garlic and rosemary, then cook your pig.

I must commend The Sams for their generosity towards, and confidence in, the reader: they give a roasting method but make a point of saying, if you have a method that works, use it.

Bugger two hours roasting, this was poached Vietnamese style

This is good on two fronts: 1) a friend had already tried the chicharrones recipe and been sad about his crackling (oven seal not up to snuff would be my bet) and 2) I've found Uyen Luu's approach to be infallible.

Of course I could use my own method without the authors' permission, but it's still nice they give it.

But more, much more that this..... I did it Uyyyeeenn's Waaaay....

Anyway, do that. Hack the chicharrones into easily scoffable pieces, and with the PX piece remove crackling for serving and do same. The chicharrones simply get served with lemon and cumin, while the PX gets returned to the oven with Pedro Ximenez, sherry vinegar and bay to get stickily glazed.

Pork, you say? In sherry? Where do I sign?

By now, observant/pervert readers will be shouting YOU PROMISED ME A THREE-WAY or something and wondering where the third element is. Well it was a late decision to do what the book calls Wrinkly Potatoes but the rest of us know as spuds arrugadas. These Canarian joys are new potatoes cooked in seawater until they look like your fingers after three hours in a hot bath, but are a whole load tastier.

Now, I could've sworn an oven should be involved but the book says hob, so hob it is. Here's where it all went wrong. Undoubtedly it's my fault, but I honestly can't tell you why: maybe there was too much water; maybe not enough salt; maybe the wrong level of low-to-medium simmer; maybe it just hates me.

Whatever the reason "20-30 minutes, until water is gone and spuds are wrinkly" turned into "after an hour of getting very cross, open another beer and 17 seconds later find that all the water has gone, the pan is basically destroyed and the potatoes STILL aren't f'ing wrinkly."

See the wrinkles? Nor do I, curse it

At that point of course you curse vividly, dish up like nobody's business, try to persuade the wife that she should be at the table, the cat that she very definitely should not be on it, and admit the pork has probably suffered for sitting in a warm oven for however long. And realise you've forgotten the sodding lemon & cumin on the chicharrones.

After all that, sitting down with a triple-whack of Morito plus - bless her - Mrs R's tomates alinadas is a monstrous relief and, moreover, an absolute delight. Ok so my arrugadas were a little short on arruga but they do all the right things on the tongue.  The pork PX is sweet, sticky, slightly sour, rich, smokey; in fact it has a lot in common with char siu. The chicharrones are amazingly crispy (in your face, failure-friend) and the belated lemon & cumin give a zing to cut the fatty soft meat and increase dribblousness exponentially.

Go on - complain. I dare you.

Overall time to cook is between one hour and twenty hours, depending on how wrinkly you insist upon the potatoes being. More practically, 10-15 mins prep, 30 mins or so cooking but both pork recipes need to cool before finishing: do any of this when you can wait an hour or so before eating. You really won't be sorry.

Gratuitous pork p0rn

If you were hoping to blag a free recipe here you’ll be disappointed – we don’t do that. These cooks need to make a living just like anyone else so if you like the look, buy the book

All images (c) PP Gettins