Chinese Scotch Egg

On first glance, this may seem like a normal scotch egg - perhaps even a kiev. Fortnum & Masons claim to have made the first scotch egg, and indeed they are the perfect picnic snack. But long gone are the days of cold, soggy breadcrumbed shell and eggs within boiled to oblivion, that tell-tale grey ring around the yolk indicating a lack of love. A new wave of scotch eggs hit London a while ago now, one of the most lauded being The Harwood Arms' venison version, below.

The gamey meat encased a beautifully cooked egg, yolk bursting forth from being cut. The gauntlet was thrown, and pubs all around London came up with their own versions. The Ship hosted a friendly Scotch Egg Challenge for a definitive.

Throughout all this, a vague idea of a Chinese version was nagging at me. I kept swooping from pork with preserved veg, to perhaps five spice? It was all a little half hearted. A dish at The Heron, minced pork with crispy-coated fried century eggs revived the passion; this was to be my eggy base. As luck would have it, @supercharz tweeted a prawn-coated century egg from Hong Kong - hurrah! The plan was made.

Century eggs are so called because legend has it that they were buried in clay for a hundred years to preserve them. These days, they're buried in alkaline clay for between a few weeks to a few months. This results in the egg white turning into a black, clear jelly - the egg yolks are grey-green. Admittedly it's not the most appetising thing to look at, but the flavour is mild and delicate.

The prawn paste is processed until thick and sludgy and smooth in texture, reminiscent of fish balls you can buy in the Chinese supermarket. This is then wrapped around the egg and the whole lot dunked in breadcrumbs and fried. I toyed with the idea of rolling them in sesame seeds, but they burn quite quickly and I wanted a stronger crunch texture.

Served with a drizzle of spring onion, chilli oil and black vinegar, these were pretty special. The eggy centre worked well with the prawn filling, which was bouncy and light.

These probably wouldn't go down to well with your more conservative friends; I had one leftover which I later stir-fried with some chilli bean sauce and broccoli whick worked brilliantly too, if you don't mind a sauce-laden exterior.

Chinese Scotch Eggs

Makes 4

4 century eggs (both the big supermarkets on Gerrard Street sell them)
450gr raw, unshelled prawns
2 tbsp minced ginger
1 tsp minced garlic
3 spring onions
1/2 tsp white pepper
1 tsp sesame oil
2 tsp cornflour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp light soy sauce
1 egg white + 1 egg
Panko breadcrumbs
Enough vegetable oil to deep fry

For the sauce -

2 spring onions, sliced diagonally
3 tbsp Chinese black vinegar
2 tbsp light soy sauce
1 tsp sugar
1 tbsp chilli oil

Devein the prawns and add to a food processor with the ginger, garlic, white pepper, spring onions, salt, soy sauce, cornflour and egg white. Whizz until smooth.

Peel the century eggs carefully and then add a thin layer, about the thickness of a pound coin to a square of cling film. Wrap the century egg by gathering the corners up and distributing the prawn paste evenly. Wrap and place in the fridge for an hour to chill (this helps it hold its' shape). When ready, roll in the breadcrumbs, then roll in the beaten egg and roll in the breadcrumbs again.

Fry gently for 5 - 6 minutes, until nicely golden all around. I found it a bit tricky to control the temperature in my wok so I fried till golden and then finished it off for 15 minutes in a 200 degree oven.

Century eggs are perhaps more forgiving as the yolks are already set.

Combine the sauce ingredients and serve the egg drizzled with this.

Not Singapore Fried Noodles

Singaporeans will tell you that the popular takeaway classic, Singapore fried noodles, is not from their homeland. It's one of those dishes that popped up and got popular, and people are baffled (or enraged...) as to how they got that name. But you know, whatever, as the premise of it is actually quite delicious. When made at home, stir-fried rice vermicelli with a hint of curry spice and lots of crunchy vegetables was pretty damn good, and far away from the greasy neon yellow takeaway version.

It is Chinese New Year, a time traditionally to eat noodles as the strands symbolise longevity so don't go cutting them with scissors. This was a bit of a fridge wonder as most vegetables you've got lurking would work well so don't feel you have to follow the below exactly. Things like green beans need a bit of a blanch beforehand to lose the rawness. Doused in a chilli oil and freshened up with coriander and spring onions, this made a damn fine brunch to bring the year of the dragon in with. Just don't serve it to a Singaporean. Gung hei fat choi!

Not Singapore Fried Noodles

Serves two

150gr cooked rice vermicelli, left to go cold

A handful of green or bobby beans, blanched

One yellow pepper, sliced thinly

1 carrot, julienned

1/2 an onion, sliced into half moons

Some cabbage, or curly kale shredded

A handful of beansprouts

1 heaped tsp medium curry powder

2 tbsp light soy sauce

A splash of dark soy

3 cloves of garlic, minced

1" ginger, minced

1 green chilli, chopped

A handful of raw prawns

5 tofu puffs, sliced in half (optional, but great for texture)

3 tbsp vegetable oil

Chilli oil to serve

1 spring onion, sliced on the diagonal

A handful of coriander, chopped

Heat the oil in the wok and add the ginger, garlic and chilli. Stir fry till fragrant and then add the carrot and pepper and onion. Add the bobby beans and stir fry, then adding the curry powder. Mix well then throw in the noodles and the rest of the ingredients except the spring onion and coriander garnish. Stir fry on a high heat for a couple of minutes until the prawns turn pink, then add the spring onion and coriander. Serve immediately.

Burnt Ends Bao & Pitt Cue Soho

I don't know whether you made it to Pitt Cue Co.'s barbecue truck underneath the Hungerford Bridge last summer, but if not you're in luck, as they've just opened a tiny place on Newburgh Street. We popped in during soft launch to be immediately greeted by pickle backs, that combination of a shot of bourbon followed swiftly by a shot of pickle juice. Most people wrinkle their noses at this, but once you drink it that sweet sour kick you get is addictive. Even if it does have a hint of Big Mac about it.

Downstairs is tiny, and the four of us squished in for dinner and ordered virtually everything from the menu. Trays came out laden with smoked meats, pickles and other sides. Pulled pork was soft and juicy, pork ribs glorious. Beef brisket was smoky and tender, and beef ribs fatty and charred. Burnt ends mash was insanely addictive, and ample helpings of beet slaw cut through the richness. Crispy pickled shiitake mushrooms were an absolute revelation and I still drool at the memory. It turned us feral, and we grabbed at each others' trays, trying to get a good taste of it all. All washed down with a New York Sour, I can imagine myself spending a lot of time here when they open properly on Monday 16th January.



We popped into the kitchen to give a wave to Tom and Neil who were manning the stoves and they kindly sent us off with a packet of burnt ends. These are the ends of the briskets that take on the most smoke flavour when they're cooking and often thought of as a delicacy. In thinking about what to do with my bounty, my brain kept screaming "MASH! Re-create that mash!" but I decided instead on buns. More specifically, the buns you get at dim sum restaurants ('bao' in Cantonese), usually stuffed with char siu (barbecue pork). The buns are steamed and they are soft and sweet, rich smoky meat within. The burnt ends were an obvious replacement.

The dough was a lengthy process, and I turned to the ever-trusty Sunflower for guidance. Her recipe involved making a flour roux first, then adding this to dry ingredients. I am not much of a baker to know why, but it worked so I'll go with it.

After a couple of hours proving, the dough was then flattened and stuffed with the burnt ends mix to then be pleated shut.

Left to prove in the steamer for a little longer, I was worried that they wouldn't work. They seemed like they hadn't risen much.

Happily, they doubled in size when they were steamed. The buns came out a more cream colour than what you might be used to at dim sum restaurants, but this is because commercially made bao is made with super bleached flour. Incidentally I found some when I was at my local Chinese supermarket picking up something else while this dough was proving. Typical.

I was really happy with the result; soft, pillowy buns broke open to reveal intensely smoky and juicy meat. I ate 4 of these with ease.

Burnt Ends Bao

Makes 9 - 10

(Adapted from Sunflower)

20gr plain flour
100mls water

Whisk in the flour to the water while it is heating gently. Keep whisking until it has thickened and take off the heat. Leave to cool.

1 tsp instant yeast
80mls water
Flour roux as above
300gr plain flour (or bao flour)
1.5 tsp baking powder
1 tbsp vegetable oil
60gr sugar
1/2 tsp salt

Mix the yeast with the water and set aside. Sieve the flour and the baking powder together.

Mix the flour roux with the dissolved yeast liquid, sugar, salt and oil.

Using the mixing paddle or a sturdy wooden spoon, add half the liquid to the flour mixture and mix well. Add the rest of the liquid using a tablespoon so that you get a soft but not too sticky dough. I used all the liquid but you may need less. Mix well but don't knead it and leave it for 15 minutes. Then give it a quick knead until it is smooth, and leave to prove somewhere warm for 1.5 hours or 2, basically until it has risen 1.5 times in size.

Filling:

Any kind of barbecued meat, or char siu. You'll want it to have a bit of sauce though so that it's not too dry.

10 squares of greaseproof paper
1 tbsp white vinegar

When the dough has risen, dust it with a bit of flour and knead for a minute. Divide into 9 or 10 pieces and roll into balls.

Flatten the dough into a circle. It's better to have the middle a little thinner than the edges. Place a tablespoon of filling into the centre and start gathering the dough from the right handside - try to pleat and twist towards the centre so that you have a middle gathering at the top of the bun. Place on a square of greaseproof paper and leave to rise for another 15 minutes.

Add the white vinegar to the water in the steamer - this is supposed to make the bao fluffier - and once the water is boiling, add the buns to the steamer and place the lid on. Steam for 10 minutes on high and then remove. Eat while hot; any leftovers can be refrigerated and steamed gently to reheat, or frozen.

New York - December Edition - On the Cheap

I'm a bit of a lucky cow really; I've just spent five days in New York, my third visit of the year. This time the focus was heavily on cheap and casual with a couple of blow-outs sprinkled here and there. We brunched more too; breakfast is entirely out of the question due to being an extremely lazy person, but 11am is a manageable time.

We attempted to go to well-known brunch spot on a Saturday morning and we were greeted with about 25 people milling about outside. Waiting times can be up to 2 hours so we sacked it off and headed instead for Diner, over the river in Williamsburg. In what looked like a disused train carriage the place was packed to the rafters with cool kids sipping on bloody marys. Within 10 minutes we were seated and a delicious dish of scrambled eggs with a biscuit (aka. a savoury scone) topped with pork gravy (aka. white sauce with bits of sausage in it) ($12) kept me going till dinnertime.


We didn't give up on Clinton Street Baking Company though and came back on a weekday, as several people had proclaimed theirs to be The Best pancakes in New York. We patiently waited outside for half an hour, while my still-damp hair turned crispy with frost. We were seated snugly inside and a mountain of sugar-cured bacon, eggs with fried green tomatoes and cheesy grits ($13) warmed me up. The show stopper was indeed the wild Maine blueberry pancakes, served with a warm maple butter ($12). Sweet mother of God these were good, and worth the freezing wait we endured. Warm and fluffy inside, slightly crisp edges, punctuated with blueberries within and a mound of them on top, the maple butter drenching into the pancakes was... just... uuuunnngggg. I have no words. I need a moment alone with this memory.



Seemingly my beloved can exist on merely two meals a day - the horror - so one evening I went foraging for a snack on my own. Just a block away I came across a branch of Xi'an Famous Foods, heartily recommended by many. On St Marks Place, it was tiny; two benches faced the wall, which was plastered with the laminated menu and pictures of the dishes. As I was merely snacking, I went for Chang-an Spicy Tofu ($2) and Liang Pi Cold Skin Noodles ($4.50). Within 5 minutes I was out of there, clutching my takeaway bag.

It was pretty huge for my supposed snack and goddamn it was delicious. Slippery soft, delicate tofu was bathed in a savoury, sour broth tinged with ginger and garlic and with a slick of fiery red chilli oil. Cold skin noodles (here's an interesting Wikipedia article on how they're made) made your lips go numb with Sichuan peppercorns, while the soft pliable noodles stained all and sundry with the dressing they were doused in. I absolutely honked of garlic afterwards but I immediately wanted to go back to try everything else with another serving of tofu on the side. Alas, I ran out of time.



Later that evening, we hit Corner Bistro, reputedly New York's best burger. Famed for its queues, we arrived late and got lucky; seated in 5 minutes. The burger, loosely packed and cooked as requested, came with rashers of crispy bacon and perhaps a touch more raw onion in a huge hoop than I'd have liked, but was really very good. Pickles on the side and fries that were just like McDonalds' - which is a good thing - made me a fan. At $8-ish for the Bistro burger it was insanely good value. Value aside though, Minetta Tavern's effort pips it to the post for me.



Revelation of the trip goes to Otafuku, purveyors of takoyaki. Takoyaki are balls of batter studded with cooked octopus. I'll admit it doesn't sound particularly appealing, but when I went there to yet again another hole-in-the-wall place with barely standing room for more than 3 people and no seating, I was transfixed by a huge metal pan with spherical molds, takoyaki cooking merrily inside. You'll have the excuse the photo. I am resolutely right handed and trying to wield chopsticks and take a picture while supressing the urge to stuff them in my gob was just too much.

These reminded me of a Japanese version of Jose's ham croquetas. Crisp on the outside and light and moussey inside, these are drizzled with takoyaki sauce (whatever that might be), mayonnaise and topped with a dusting of seaweed and shavings of dried bonito. $5 for 5 I think, and after I'd finished, I only wanted more and more.



Often regarded as one of the best makers of ramen, Ippudo has a legendary reputation for enormous queues and long waiting times, all for a bowl of noodles in broth. People get seriously passionate about ramen, and while I'm only just delving into this world I am fully in love with the stuff. Which might explain why I was outside Ippudo on a Tuesday morning at 10:45am, 7th in the queue, waiting for the 11am opening time. Once inside, the space reminds me of a Busaba Eathai. Seated communally, the din is incredible. Every time someone walks in, all the staff shout a greeting in Japanese to the mostly young Asian crowd. I was in and out in 30 minutes and by the time I left, pop music was pumping and the poor hapless sod opposite me was still trying to shout business down his mobile phone, with laptop out.

The lunch deal includes any ramen plus a rice with topping and side salad for merely $3 extra. I chose the grilled eel with rice, a surprisingly generous portion. The fish was soft and tender, the rice well cooked.

The curious side of me wanted to choose their 'special' which included Parmesan cheese but I knew I'd cry if I didn't like it, so I stuck to Akamaru Modern ($14). The Tonkotsu broth is topped with miso paste, pork chashu (which is simmered pork belly, unlike the Chinese char siu), scallions and fragrant garlic oil. A soy marinated soft boiled egg (nitamago) as an extra ($2) completed the bowl. The broth was deeply porky with a hint of sweetness from the reddish miso being stirred in. This was a seriously satisfying bowl, though I'd have liked the ramen noodles a bit thicker, a bit springier. Can we have an Ippudo in London please?



New York is famous for their bagels and one morning - fine, fine, afternoon - we headed up to David's Bagels. As we joined the queue we were greeted with a stunning array of bagel types so it only made sense to go for the Everything bagel. Studded with poppy seeds, sesame, onion flavourings and the like, it was served warm filled with lox and cream cheese ($8.50). It was stunning, really, like no other bagel I've had. Soft but not pappy, it held the filling well and was a far cry from those hard dry things we get in London. Pastrami and pickle-filled bagel ($6) was equally good. I suspect it's not even the best ever, but then I don't know much about them; we were nearby, hungry and it made me happy.

273 First Avenue (1st Ave. between E 15th St. & E 16th St.)

Since my first visit when I went to Torrisi Italian Specialities, things have changed and they have opened Parm, a more casual sandwich shop next door, devoting the main place to a more restaurant-like environment. I propped myself up at the bar and had an eggplant parm, served in a sweet semolina roll. I was still reeling from my ramen brunch, otherwise I'd have gone fully for the hero, a far larger affair. With slices of soft, juicy aubergine coated in gooey cheese, tomatoey sauce and sandwiched with basil leaves, the roll was perhaps a little oversweet to my liking but otherwise it was excellent, particularly for an aubergine obsessive. The Boy, a New York resident, has been addicted to the meatball parm for many weeks now and expressed disbelief at my choice. I am beginning to wonder about it myself. At $8 its not a cheap every day lunch but it makes a happy lunch.



So there ends the cheap eats. Are you still with me?

Crab Noodles - Young Cheng, Lisle Street

Chinatown restaurants often get a bad reputation; shoddy service, grubby interiors and that elusive Chinese menu for special Chinese people. It is mostly true, but I'm half Chinese so I don't feel the pain of it much; our waiter at Young Cheng last night said of the English menu - 'it's for all the 'gweilos', don't use that one', he joked in Cantonese. It's not fair but I don't see it changing anytime soon; had I not been with my mother (who reads Chinese; I don't) I'd have been lumped with the inferior menu too.

But what was available to all was on a special laminated card, the lobster or crab noodles. We ordered the latter to start, priced at a very reasonable £12.80. The behemoth above arrived and was what seemed like two crabs, cooked with ginger and spring onion on a bed of crispy noodles. Shell crackers and pickers were provided along with a bowl to wash your hands in.

It's not for people who don't enjoy getting a bit messy. The parts of the crab are smothered in a slightly gloopy savoury sauce, making everything a bit slimy and tricky to manage but as we cracked our way through the shells sucking and picking out the sweet crab meat, I didn't mind one bit. The noodles soaked up the sauce, slowly becoming softer and softer. Easily a meal for two with a vegetable dish on the side, it was quite a bargain.

Young Cheng

22 Lisle Street
London WC2H 7BA

Note there is also a Young Cheng on Shaftesbury Avenue - I'm talking about the Lisle Street branch.

Pork & Winter Melon Soup

When I was a kid a simple snack after school would be some plain boiled meat dipped in soy sauce. On rare occasions, if it was a casual dinner in front of the TV this would be supplemented with a bowl of rice and some greens for a full meal. My sister and I would clash chopsticks over the most tender morsel and soy sauce would inevitably splash as I dived in, piece after piece. It sounds dull, but it was homely food, comforting in its simplicity.

The boiled meat was a result of the cauldron of soup. This soup is made for the family mealtimes to supplement several dishes served, and is usually a clear broth made by simmering pork or chicken with some Chinese aromatics.

Unless you live near a Chinese supermarket, this type of soup is going to be pretty inaccessible so I apologise in advance. I also apologise if you do make it and you are expecting big flavours which are typical of my recipes; this it is not. Clean and nourishing, the soup with the many dishes you eat at a Chinese dinner is designed to cleanse the palate and aid digestion. The various herbs used all are said to have unique nourishing properties.

I bought a packet of soup herbs neatly separated off into sections, and from what I can gather it consisted of dried red dates (jujubes), astragalus (!), dried goji berries, dang gui (?!) and fox nuts. I only recognise them by sight but before you start backing off, wondering what the hell I've gotten you into, this nifty guide shows you what they are and what they look like. They add various notes to the soup, from a slight medicinal aniseed twang to sweetness.

Often chunks of carrot are dropped into the soup to simmer with the meat to add sweetness, but my favourite vegetable is winter melon. It is sold already cut and wrapped in clingfilm, labelled 'tong gua'. The dark skin is peeled off, seeds in the middle discarded and the flesh cubed and simmered with the meat. Much like our beloved daikon, the melon takes on a mellow flavour (i.e. of not much) and becomes soft, silky and juicy in the mouth. I love it. The Chinese believe the winter melon has cooling properties, so we ate it a lot if we ever had bouts of rich, fatty or deep fried food. If you can't get hold of any, daikon is a good substitute.

Meat should be on the bone for maximum flavour. I favour pork or chicken for these types of soup; beef and lamb can be just too strongly flavoured.

Having just read this post back I haven't sold this poor soup very well. But it really does do the trick; feeling run-down, tired and a little jaded from over-indulgence, this soup revived my spirits.

Pork & Winter Melon Soup

Serve 4 as part of a Chinese meal, or 2 servings on its own

300gr meaty pork on the bone - I used hock
300gr daikon, white turnip or winter melon
A handful of dried goji berries (ones from health shops are usually sweetened for snacking - check they aren't if you buy them there)
An assortment of Chinese herbs, as detailed above - A small handful of each
Soy sauce, to taste

Bring a pot of water to boil and blanch the pork hocks for a few minutes. Chuck the water out and rinse the hocks and the pan - this reduces the scum that rises to the surface. Place the hocks back in and cover just with water - you want about half a litre - bring to a gentle simmer. Put half of the soup herbs in and simmer gently for 2 hours with the lid half on.

Remove the hocks and strain the stock into a saucepan. Remove the meat from the hocks and set aside, discarding all the fat and sinew. Add the bitesize chunks of which ever vegetable you use plus the rest of the stock ingredients and place the lid on. Winter melon will take less time (around 15 minutes) than turnip (around 30 mins).

Towards the end, add the meat back in to warm. Serve with a few drops of soy sauce for seasoning.

Xinjiang Lamb Skewers

Yes, that's right; I've been skewering again. For what might be one of the last barbecues of the year, I brought along Northern Chinese lamb inspired by Silk Road, one of my favourite restaurants. Their skewers come out threaded on metal rods, each cube of lamb alternated by a chunk of lamb fat to moisten each mouthful and to make your arteries contract with fear. I couldn't find any pure lamb fat for sale so I used shoulder instead. It's quite a fatty cut anyway, so I thought I'd be safe.

After a few hours marinading in a lot of cumin, chilli and other bits and bobs, they were slapped onto a fiercely hot barbecue. I was worried that the lamb would be a bit tough, what with shoulder being traditionally a slow-cooking kind of cut, but my fears were unfounded and each mouthful was a juicy and tender spice bomb. Served with smacked cucumber salad to cool the mouth, I found them borderline too salty, though I am quite sensitive to salt and the rest of the diners thought it fine. In any case I've reduced the salt content to what I used (1 tsp of the white stuff), as you can always add but you can't take away.

Xinjiang Lamb Skewers

650gr lamb shoulder
1 tsp Sichuan peppercorns
4 fat cloves of garlic
2 inches of ginger
2 tbsp cumin seeds
3 tsp ground cumin
3 tbsp chilli bean paste (you can buy this in Chinatown)
4 spring onions
A pinch of salt
Wooden or metal skewers - metal are better as even with ample soaking, the wooden ones still caught fire

Chop your shoulder up into cubes. Toast the cumin seeds and grind to a powder. Do the same with the Sichuan peppercorns, and add this to the lamb along with the salt and the ginger and garlic, minced. Add the chilli bean paste. Cut the spring onions into 1 inch long sections and add to the lamb. Leave this to marinade for a few hours or overnight.

Thread the lamb onto the skewers, alternating with spring onion. Cook over a hot barbecue for a few minutes each side so that they are charred and cooked through but not burnt. Serve with a cooling salad.

Gong Bao Chicken

This version of Gong Bao Chicken is not typical to the version you find in most Chinese takeaways. This Sichuan dish is usually bastardised to buggery, presenting itself in a sweet, gloopy, greasy mess. Fuschia Dunlop's version in 'Sichuan Cookery', however, is top notch.



Chicken isn't my favourite of all the meats, but it is perfect for this dish. Traditionally, chicken breast is used but I prefer the darker thigh meat. Though it needs a touch more cooking, the marinating technique ensures it is still tender and juicy while giving more flavour than breast.





Another deviation was that I used cashews instead of the more traditional peanuts. It's bloody difficult to find roasted, unsalted peanuts in the supermarket. Rows upon rows of dry roasted, honey roasted, jumbo salted, salted, even lemon and coriander-spiced peanuts, but plain roasted were not to be found and I couldn't be bothered to roast my own, so I settled for a posher nut.



The result is glossy, sweet and spicy velvet-textured meat, with the occasional crunch and richness of the cashew. Eaten with rice, this went down a storm with the family.



Gong Bao Chicken (adapted from 'Sichuan Cookery')



Serves 4 with 2 other dishes, or 2 with rice



325gr chicken thighs, deskinned and boned

4 cloves of garlic chopped & the equivalent of minced ginger

3 stalks of spring onion, sliced diagonally

A handful of whole dried chillis

1 tsp whole Sichuan peppercorns

75gr roasted unsalted cashews or peanuts



Marinade:

1/2 tsp salt

2 tsp light soy

1 tsp Shaoxing rice wine

1 1/2 tsp cornflour

1 tbsp water



Sauce:

3 tsp sugar

1 tsp cornflour

1 tsp dark soy

1 tsp light soy

3 tsp Chinese black vinegar

1 tsp sesame oil

1 tbsp water



Snip the chillis in half, discarding the seeds, and soak in boiling water to soften.



Firstly, chop the chicken into chunks around the size of the cashews, maybe a little larger, and put in with all the marinade ingredients and mix well. Next, slice the spring onion so that it's around the same size as the cashews; you want everything roughly the same size.



Mix all your sauce ingredients together in a bowl. Toast the Sichuan peppercorns and then grind into a fine powder.



Heat 2 tbsp oil in a wok till almost smoking, and add the chillis, stir-frying for a few seconds, before adding the ground Sichuan pepper in. Add the ginger, garlic and half the spring onion and stir-fry until fragrant. Turn the heat up and add the chicken, cooking for 5 or so minutes, stirring all the time so it doesn't stick or burn. Turn the heat down to medium and add the sauce ingredients and the cashews, simmering for a few minutes until thick and glossy. Toss through the rest of the spring onion and serve.

Shu Castle

The Old Kent Road has long been a bit of a mystery to me. I often catch buses trundling along, depositing me at my flat at the end of it, and as I gaze upon rows and rows of derelict-looking shops, I'm struck by what a shit-hole most of it is. But a diamond shines in the rough, as we found out when we visited Shu Castle on Friday night. I suspect it is part of Dragon Castle nearby, our stalwart dim sum joint and when we arrived it was almost full.



A short, neat menu with pictures of dishes was presented to us, and I was surprised to find most of the usual crowd-pleasing dishes were missing. It was Sichuan only and this pleased me. After much panic and self-restraint, we settled on a few dishes. Firstly, century eggs with sliced green chillis was doused with sesame oil and was super spicy. The eggs aren't as terrifying as they look; being buried in alkaline clay gives them that appearance, but they are creamy and mild.



Sliced chicken in chilli oil was cold yet mouth-warming. The chicken flesh was firm but tender, the skin pleasingly gelatinous.



White gourd and sliced pork soup was not made with winter melon as I thought it would be, but rather Chinese turnip (daikon). Simple and cleansing, it reminded me of soups my grandmother served when I was a child, at the start of the meal to aid digestion. I found it quite addictive.



Pickled green beans with pork and chilli was a vast portion and the tangy greens mixed with the savoury pork was perfect mixed into our bowls of rice. The beef in chilli came with a warning from our waitress, but we soldiered on. Strips of beef were velveted and as a result were really tender, bobbing around in a broth that was distinctly lacking in Sichuan peppercorn numbness but more than made up for it in chilli punch. A dish of boiled dumplings with chilli oil were slightly dull.



With service, food the three of us and a few beers each reached the grand total of £76 big ones. A total bargain really, especially as I got to take the leftover minced pork and pickled green beans to mix it with some steamed rice and top with a fried egg the next day. A very decent lunch indeed.



I sense a return visit in my very near future, mainly to try the shrimp in salted egg yolk and the crispy sea bass dishes. Oh! And they have a hot plate embedded into the tables. Steamboat ahoy. The toilets are disgusting though.



Shu Castle



194 Old Kent Road,

London,

SE1 5TY



Tel: 020 7703 9797