Tag Archives: pasta

The Red Pepper: a good neighbourhood Italian

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Wild boar pappardelle, taken on an iphone

Sometimes simple is best, and this little local joint in Maida Vale has been proving that for at least the last 16 years. It was the first restaurant I visited in London as an adult. And it’s turning out pasta every bit as good now, as it did then.

Delivering constantly good food is not nearly as simple as it sounds, and many restaurants fail this seemingly simple task. Here, the cooks – and there have been several changes in the kitchen over the years – always do the basics right. Continue reading →

Crab, chilli and tomato pasta

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Pasta on the plate

Fresh crab takes me right back to being a kid in Cornwall, sitting outside in the warm summer weekend mornings. My step-dad would come back from the fish shop clutching a whole paper-wrapped pink crab, like a chest of buried treasure. Together we would sit on the patio steps and break our way in, carefully picking out the succulent treasure inside.

The legs and claws would be cracked and piled carefully on a plate, a pile of briny building blocks. They’d be served with a simple green salad. The brown body meat whipped up with just the slightest squeeze of lemon and some Dijon mustard. A creamy piquant treat to dollop onto bread. Continue reading →

A zingy Italian sausage and (tinned) cherry tomato sauce

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When I cook, I often cheat. There I said it. I cheat. What do I do? I use tins. Pretty much any time I make any sort of wet dish with tomatoes, I always use tinned. When I use pulses – unless they’re lentils, they’re almost always tinned. Likewise anchovies, sardines and sweetcorn.

Without them, cooking wouldn’t be nearly so spontaneous. Or as much fun. For all that I love to spend a lot of time chopping, stirring and tasting, I simply don’t have enough time to peel and chop tomatoes. Particularly when the end result often doesn’t taste as good as the tinned Italian variety. Continue reading →

Beef short rib ragu

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Short rib beef ragu

It was with a little skip of joy that I spotted some short ribs in The Ginger Pig on Lauriston Rd, home of Borut, the butcher king of London town. They were tucked shyly away behind some steaks, just waiting for some happy soul to come along and give them a home. And boy, I thought as I scuttled away clutching my treasure, do I have a home for you.

I’ve been itching to get my claws on some short ribs for ages, keeping a beady eye on all my local butchers. I’d seen them in the US, usually marinated and slowly barbecued until the fatty meat is falling off the bones. But here, where pork and chicken rule the BBQ roost, no sir, no short ribs. Continue reading →