Bar du Boucher, Bordeaux

By: Mrs Robot

Ever have one of those days when the weather seems to be against you? We had one in Bordeaux; it was chucking down. But in the end we had the last laugh, as it drove us into a little bar we'd probably otherwise not have gone into. We love a bit of rock music, but on holiday tend to look for somewhere a little more traditional feeling, and in Bordeaux we'd been looking for the perfect steak Bordelaise. As it was, it was raining, we needed to hide from the deluge, and a beer plus Guns 'n' Roses seemed like a brilliant idea. I liked this place as soon as we walked through the door; I like a pub that feels well-worn, like it has regular patrons and doesn't give a stuff about being fancy enough to attract finicky types.

We hadn't noticed the name of the bar. Bar du Boucher: Bar of the Butcher. Had we not wandered deeper in we might never have realised what a treasure trove it was. The ceiling's vaulted, and the room itself long and slightly gloomy. The front is tables and bar, like in the photo at the top of this page, then the bar continues, with stools alongside it. We headed for those rather than a table to get a look at the beer pumps and there, by the opposite wall, is the meat counter. Beyond that there's a restaurant area with an amazing light made of pans – a pandelier, if you will – above the tables.

So, picture this: a slightly soggy pair of robots enjoying plenty of rock music and a pleasant beer or two, and right beside us, constantly drawing our eye, was the magnificent meat counter. We couldn't eat anywhere else that day!

You don't just order steak in the Bar du Boucher, or even the cut of the steak. You get a choice of the breed of cow your steak is from. We both had Blond d'Aquitaine, the local breed, and of course we had it bleu. In case you're wondering, it's the middle joint in the front row of meat in the picture above. Both it and the cut to the left of it are entrecotes, but the incredible dark colour of the Blond d'Aquitaine made it an automatic choice. The minimum size for a piece of meat is 200g, and after that the size is up to you. There's also duck breast (stuffed or plain) and andouillette on the counter, but really the cow is the star here.

I had my steak with potatoes dauphinoise, Mr Robot had chips, and the dauphinoise is definitely the way to go. We washed it down with a local wine. If the meat is impressive, the wine list matches it. Several of the bottles on there, vintage wines from some of the best-known chateaux in Bordeaux, were priced in four figures. Ours was nothing like those, so if you're hankering for an old Margaux, it's still there waiting for you.

Oh, and that steak Bordelaise? We never found one, but a charming local couple we met at lunch on another day explained that steak Bordelaise wasn't something the Bordelaise themselves really go for anyhow – a dish of lampreys stewed with leeks is the thing they really consider typical. I don't know if that's my thing. I do know if we're in Bordeaux again, we'll be heading back to Bar du Boucher, rain or shine.

Recipe Review: Lamb Kebabs with Fried Chickpeas, Butternut & Tahini

From Morito by Sam & Sam Clarke

Lamb Kebabs, roasted squash, fried chickpeas. Perfect sunshine snacking

by: Mr Robot

I deeply love our Riverford vegbox but being seasonal you do tend to get things in gluts. While that can be a burden it's also a great trigger to try something a bit different with the old familiar - always assuming one can be bothered.

Today I could be bothered so I used the third (or perhaps fourth) butternut on the bounce, along with some lamb rump found in the freezer, as an excuse to head in the direction of Southern Spain / North Africa and of course Morito came up with the goods.

Actually two separate recipes (turn to pages 110 and 222 in your copies, please class) I thought they'd go really well together, and how right I was.

It's also - unusually for me - extremely simple and pretty quick.

First up the lamb is marinaded in garlic, paprika, cumin and cinnamon, with a little olive oil and lemon juice to lubricate. 

Give it an hour or so and then just grill / griddle / barbecue / flash fry for a few minutes. 

Gratuitous griddle shot

The book suggests serving in flatbreads with a salad, but I had other fish - or rather pulses - to fry.

So the butternut is diced small and tossed in oil and cinnamon, then roasted for half an hour or so, until soft and slightly coloured.

The chickpeas are drained, dried and deep fried for a few minutes until puffy and golden then seasoned with ground coriander, cumin and (more) cinnamon. This is then tossed with the butternut, some sliced red onion and fresh coriander, with a mix of greek yoghurt and tahini poured on top.

I just piled it all in a nice dish with the kebabs on top and grabbed a bottle of very acceptable Verdejo, then headed for the sunshine.

To hell with elegant plating - this is a pile up and fight for it dish

Unforgivably we were out of fresh coriander (I've long-since learned there's no good substitute, though mint would have gone well here) so we missed that fresh, fragrant element. Even so it was real delight. 

The spicing on the lamb was quite subtle - a background tone to the meat rather than the main theme - and though there's a lot of cinnamon running through the dish it wasn't overpowering. Instead brought a lovely harmony to everything.

Fire up the fryer - it's chickpea o'clock

Fried chickpeas were a revelation and I can't believe I've never come across it before. Crunchy outside and soft in the middle they're like tiny chip-nuggets with the same affection for plenty of seasoning. They worked brilliantly alongside with the soft sweetness of the squash and tender lamb. It would make an outstanding bar snack.

Personally I had mixed feelings about the tahini yoghurt - it was little strong for me and while I can see the benefit of having something sharp and runny going on, I think it would have been fine without. 

Mrs Robot disagreed violently though, stuffing it down by the spoonful, so next time I'd be minded to serve it separately on the side. 

Specifically, her side.

This would (will) make a splendid after-work dinner. The most time consuming element is marinading the lamb but of course you can always do that the day before, or more likely, up the quantities for about 15 minutes. 

Otherwise all the work is done while the squash is roasting and flung together at the last minute. It's a delicious, light meal, very different to what we've been eating lately, and one I'm already looking forward to having again.

"Finished" is the saddest work in cookery

As ever, we're not in the business of giving away other people's recipes so if you want the full details I urge you to buy the book either direct from Morito or the retailer of your choice.

All images (c) PP GETTINS

Tales of Caceres: Lost in Translation

By: Mr Robot

When we first approached the Carlos V asador (roasterie, basically) in Plaza Mayor they had the generosity and forethought to offer us a menu in our own language. We rewarded them by running away.

Why do such a mean and heartless thing? Well, there are two reasons really. For one thing we fear a polyglot menu denotes a godawful tourist trap that really doesn't give a stuff if they never see you again. A step, perhaps, towards the lurid-pictures-of-a-fry-up-joint with explanations in more languages (marked with little national flags of course) than there are dishes. Delicious, in short, is a word unlikely to apply.

On a more positive note, there's the joy of being slightly adrift in Foreign. Within reason of course: in Burma we hadn't the faintest idea how to read the script, let alone translate it, so managed either by pointing, or relying on precisely this sort of kindness.

THAT please

But a little knowledge is an entertaining thing and our Spanish is good (bad) enough that we have a fair idea of what we're ordering, but often with a zing of uncertainty.

On our honeymoon in Seville my new wife, desirous of fillet of hake, accidentally ordered "throat of hake", aka gills. She was supremely dignified about it.

On a return visit to Seville I didn't know what "choco" meant on the albondigas. Consequently, instead of meatballs, I got cuttlefishballs. Quite.

Most exciting was a tapas menu in Segovia which prompted, "That's pigs ears isn't it? Or is it eyes? I can never remember. No I'm sure it's ears. Shall we try?" Turned out it was ears, though to be honest eyes may have been a mercy, and while I may never ever order it again, I've rarely anticipated a dish quite so keenly.

Anyway, we felt bad about spurning the Carlos V so went back, insisting on the Spanish menu. And, with the inevitability of Greek gods punishing hubris, utterly failed.

The starter of scrambled eggs, asparagus (again) and jamon was remarkably expensive but I thought, "to hell with it - it must be really amazingly amazing at that price" and ordered it anyway. I may possibly have been drinking.

Completely unrelated, random image

Mrs R chose a much cheaper starter of local sausage. These, I thought, followed by a sharing plate of various roast meats between us. All good.

My revueltos, when it came, was ENORMOUS. Since madame was still waiting on her sausage I begged her to help, which is just as well. The eggs, of course, were meant for two: something I'd totally failed to notice. Mim never had a starter.

My starter? All for me? Really?

The staff had concluded (reasonably enough) that she was having a small main course and (equally reasonably) that the sharing dish of meats - which I'd also failed to notice had the very same sausage as her "starter" - was entirely for the fat bastard sat opposite.

So while Madame made do with three forks of egg and a sausage, I essentially ate for four.

I did my best to fight through roughly eight eggs (plus asparagus, plus ham), a black pudding, a chorizo, a bratwurst-type thing, and four slabs of meat that - due to shame and vino - I will never properly identify. Oh, and a potato.

Surely there must be some mistake

Naturally I failed and did the only thing an Englishman can do in such circumstances: I tried to hide the meat under my cutlery, and left an enormous tip.

"But surely," I sense you thinking, "all this just shows you should get the English menu." Well really, where's the fun in that?

All images (c) PP Gettins