Chef Matt Healy has breathed a new lease of life into a local institution and, says Zoë Perrett in her review for Edit Magazine, the Leeds lad is doing his home city proud

When you’re just about to get your hands on the keys to your new house, paying a visit to anywhere with covetable interiors is playing a dangerous game.

And so it goes with The Foundry in Leeds, where smoky mirrors, turquoise neon signage, and bare brickwork juxtaposed with teal velvet have us mentally frittering away half of our doer-upper’s budget before we’ve even got to the bottom of our pre-prandial g&ts. Tucked away in Saw Mill Yard, with a ritzed-up industrial vibe within and a courtyard-facing terrace without, The Foundry is a thoroughly pleasant place to ensconce oneself of an afternoon or evening.

But what of the food? Well, The Foundry’s kitchen is the domain of MasterChef: The Professionals runner-up Matt Healy; information which should provide an inkling that your stomach is in safe hands….

Make it happen

Where: Matt Healy at The Foundry, 1 Saw Mill Street, Leeds LS11 5WH
Find out more: Read the full review on Edit Magazine‘s website here

At Hostal La Torre, Zoë Perrett feasts her eyes on one of the White Isle’s most spectacular sunsets

It’s easy to feel smug when the patio of your studio faces one of the most beautiful sunsets in Ibiza – and to feel smugger still when it’s also situated opposite hot-property bar, restaurant and residence Hostal La Torre.

From La Torre’s sea-facing perch the land falls away steeply towards the sea in a craggy mass of rocks. It’s rugged, it’s beautiful, and it’s certainly not what you’d expect just five minutes’ drive from notorious party haven San Antonio.

But the Cap Negret area has remained entirely unbothered by super-clubs, fishbowl cocktails and all-inclusive wristbands. Instead of 18-30s on the lash, it’s populated by pine trees, deafening cicadas and cacti like the prickly pear on our street which I vow never to brush past again.

Endlessly-popular Hostal La Torre is open all year-round and, in mid-August, it’s no surprise that every one of its 17 rooms are occupied. It’s not fancy but it’s lovely – ‘barefoot chic’ is a cliche, but here it’s a cliche that applies.

La Torre’s carpark is sizeable for good reason: come sunset, every table has been bagged, including those scattered across the rocky terrain in front of the restaurant terrace down towards the endless sea.

Folk feeling more intrepid than us navigate a sort-of path that winds its lazy way down towards the water and we vow to embark on our own exploration on another occasion.

Tonight, however, we’d be fools to abandon our prime-location table. And we’re hungry. The comprehensive cocktail list is tempting, but for us the sun sets best when toasted with the palest rose. At La Torre, that box is ticked in the form of a Provencal example, Saint Sidoine.

It’s hard to concentrate on what’s on the plate when what’s in the sky (or rather, sinking rapidly into the sea) is so spectacular. But we happily munch a trio of tapas-with-a-twist: crispy squid lent piquancy with a scattering of sobrassada crumbs; a hearty tortilla with a lively citrus mayo; panko-crumbed croquettas on a slick of romesco.

Night falls, twinkly lights come on, the atmosphere’s a happy hubbub. We drink more pink and eat grilled pork pluma – that intensely flavoursome Spanish cut and a big old Black Angus ribeye, then linger long enough to find room for pudding.

The intriguingly-monikered ‘Argentinian caramel volcano’ is sadly unavailable, but a berry coulis-drenched baked cheesecake and a caramel ‘souffle’ that actually more closely resembles a silky semi-freddo mousse prove to be fine stand-ins.

We don’t have far to go when we finally make our way home, and if it’s on your doorstep, a visit to La Torre is a no-brainer. But even if you’re coming from far further afield, that sunset renders it an Ibiza essential.

Make it happen

Where: Hostal La Torre, Cap Negret No.25, 07820 San Antonio, Ibiza
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Food stuff by Zoe PerrettOctober 11, 2018 Leeds food by Zoe PerrettOctober 4, 2018October 5, 2018 Leeds food by Zoe PerrettSeptember 27, 2018October 5, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettSeptember 18, 2018October 5, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettSeptember 18, 2018October 5, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettApril 23, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettMarch 28, 2018March 28, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettMarch 28, 2018March 28, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettMarch 28, 2018March 28, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettNovember 23, 2017March 28, 2018

Fergal Connolly’s all-in-one Indonesian fried rice dish is traditionally served for breakfast, but it’s every bit as good to whip up for a weekend lunch or a dinner-a-deux.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS

• 200g basmati rice
• 2 tbsp oil, for frying
• 5 Asian shallots, peeled and finely sliced
• 4 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
• 1 tbsp shrimp paste
• 1 tbsp fresh ginger, grated
• 2 fresh birdseye chillies, thinly sliced
• 2 carrots, peeled and cut into matchsticks
• 1 tbsp tomato puree
• 2 tbsp kecap manis (see note)
• 2 eggs
• salt and ground black pepper

To serve:

• 2 spring onions, sliced thinly
• hot sauce, to taste
• sliced cucumber
• chilli threads

METHOD

1. Cook the rice according to packet instructions, then set aside to cool completely.
2. Heat 1 teaspoon of the oil in a wok or large, heavy-based frying pan.
3. Add the shallots and a pinch of salt and cook for 5–6 minutes, until wilted and starting to crisp up. Remove from the pan with a slotted spoon and set aside to drain on kitchen paper.
4. Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in the frying pan over medium heat.
5. Add the garlic, shrimp paste, ginger and chillies. Cook for 2–3 minutes, stirring.
6. Add the carrots and stir-fry for 2 minutes, then stir in the tomato puree and kecap manis and cook for 2–3 minutes.
7. Add the cooked, cooled rice, making sure that all the grains are nicely separated. Cook, stirring, for 5–6 minutes, until heated through and the grains are well coated.
8. Meanwhile, put the remaining oil in a small frying pan and set over a high heat.
9. When the oil is super-hot, carefully crack in an egg and allow it to cook until a little frilly crispy edge has formed. Remove and drain on kitchen paper. Repeat with the other egg.
10. Mound the rice onto warm plates and lay an egg on each portion. Top with spring onions, hot sauce, sliced cucumber, crispy shallots and chilli threads.

Note:
Kecap manis is sweet Indonesian soy sauce. If you can’t find it, mix a little regular dark soy sauce with some honey.

Recipe from ‘Haynes Publishing’s Fakeaway Manual’ by Fergal Connolly, RRP £22.99. For more information and to order, click here

Date night dining? Look no further: Zoë Perrett says that this supremely-romantic French restaurant will save you a trip to Paris

Twinkling fairylights? Check. Candles in wax-dribbled bottles? Check. Music that perfectly complements – and enhances – the atmosphere? Check. Charming staff, an enticing menu rammed with bistro staples, wonderfully eclectic decor? Check, check, check.

I could go on, but suffice to say that Kendell’s Bistro ticks almost every box for a quite simply fabulous (and rather romantic) meal out in Leeds. Or rather, sort-of in Leeds – because once you’re ensconced at a cosy little table staring into your date’s eyes (or eyeing up the bread basket, whichever you find sexier) over a glass of Champagne, you could swear you’d crossed the channel rather than just the ring road to St. Peter’s Square.

Kendell’s is the sexy, worldly uncle to the city’s rebellious young upstart venues – and over the years it’s been open, its character has clearly developed like a fine wine. There’s a lot to covet, from the fancy-framed vintage posters that adorn every wall, to the mismatched dark wood furniture, to the miniature Eiffel Tower model which protrudes from the wall just above LB’s head. You can get a better look at it all through the pair of binoculars a waiter will set down on your table.

Yes, binoculars; issued to assist you in reading the chalkboard menu which takes the place of a printed one. Through those lenses you can indulge in a spot of not only bird-watching (pate de canard; supreme de volaille), but also read about the day’s extensive meat, fish and veg options.

The aforementioned duck liver pate is a retro treat that’s hard to beat; silky-smooth and well-seasoned, its inherent richness tempered when smeared over crunchy croutons and dabbed with sharp chutney. Moules marinieres provide LB with the excuse to consume yet more chunks of baguette in the sopping up of the mussels’ creamy white wine sauce – rendering him as happy as a couchon in the proverbial.

French onion soup

Old-school establishments tend to favour hearty portions of gutsy, flavoursome fare over daintily-presented, sense-stimulating dishes. Each has its own lip-smacking place in the food fan’s heart, but when you’re in the mood for the former, Kendell’s is your bistro. So learn from LB’s mistake and tread lightly around the bread basket, or you’ll ruin yourself before your proper tea turns up.

For me, that tea is boeuf bourguignon: here featuring ox cheek flooded in a dark, sticky gravy which fully necessitates the presence of a sizeable dollop of buttery mash. For LB, it’s confit de canard in an indulgent menage-a-trois with dauphinoise potatoes and bacon-braised cabbage.

Seafood assiette

After a small inter-course rest, we utter the fatal line ‘we’ll just have a look at the dessert menu for next time’ and somehow end up hoovering up a forest fruit-drenched cheesecake and a pear frangipane tart. If you’re too full for pud, you’ll want a coffee or a digestif anyway, because Kendell’s is just too lovely to leave until you absolutely have no choice.

And, when you do leave, I’ll wager you’ll already be planning a return visit.

A footnote on the pictures: The lighting in Kendell’s is designed for atmosphere, not Instagram… so the images here are from the restaurant’s own collection. They don’t show what we ate, but they do serve to show you even more of the fabulous things you can eat when you visit.

MAKE IT HAPPEN

Kendell’s Bistro, St. Peter’s Square, Leeds, LS9 8AH
To visit the website, click here

The Michelin-starred chef brothers are the men behind a rather tasty restaurant empire which includes the uber-luxe Galvin at Windows, the ale-appreciating Galvin Hop, and Essex gastropub Galvin Green Man. At the latter, the duo champions the produce of their home county – and offers the delicious ‘Host A Roast’ – a shared family dining concept you can read about here.

We quizzed Chris and Jeff about their favourite food producers and what they’d dish up at their very own Host A Roast…

You’re both huge champions of Essex food producers – who would you cite as your superhero suppliers?
To name a just a few, Colchester Oysters, Marriage’s flour, Great Garnett pig farm, Clark & Son butchers, Anglia Produce, Tiptree jams, Adnams brewery…

If you were to Host A Roast at Galvin Green Man, who would you have round the table?
After (of course) family, someone fun like Peter Kay, a musician like Keith Richards, and a couple of sportspeople like Usain Bolt and Nicola Adams. Plus of course Fred Sirieix, maitre d’ from Galvin at Windows.

What constitutes your perfect Host A Roast menu?
Galvin-cure smoked salmon followed by slow-cooked local lamb shoulder with roast vegetables and herbs, with our famous apple Tarte Tatin for pud.

Find out more: Read our review of Galvin Green Man’s ‘Host A Roast’ here

Zoë Perrett discovers a brilliant Brit-Basque bolthole brings a little slice of sunshine to South London You perch on a stool in front of a wooden counter loaded with charcuterie, cheese, and fresh produce. Something hits the tiny kitchen’s plancha with a sizzle; your nostrils twitch as a bowl of patatas bravas sails by; albarinho […]

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Eating, travelling, living… documenting it all to amuse your bouche

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In Chiangmai, Zoe Perrett takes in a Northern Thai food tour – and embarks on an edible odyssey

When you’ve got 24 hours in Chiangmai and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, the best bet is to hit the ground eating – and to do so with someone who knows what’s what. 

Enter Muai – my guide for a Northern Flavours food tour curated by A Chef’s Tour. 

Meeting in the grounds of the Wak Lok Moli temple which I sadly arrive too late to explore (take heed and don’t do the same), we’re joined by our fellow food trippers and ushered aboard a songthaew which will take us to seven locations over four hours.

Stop one’s just a short hop along from the temple, at the Chang Phuak (Elephant Gate) market. Bourdain fans will already be aware of the Cowboy Hat Lady and her infamous khao kha moo – stewed pork knuckle – which third-generation cook Joy serves from 5pm-midnight, seven days a week to the rather large tune of 200kg daily.

It’s our first but by no means final encounter with pork, which Muai informs us is was introduced to Thailand by the Chinese – and has since become the nation’s favourite protein. 

The Cowboy Hat Lady’s signature dish is a central Thai preparation in which the pork knuckle is slow-cooked with Chinese five spice for six hours; pulled into soft shreds served over rice with sour-salty pickled mustard greens – both of which do a stellar job of cutting the meat’s fatty richness.

Why the headgear? A simple move of practicality rather than a sartorial statement: the glare of a light facing the stall would get in Joy’s eyes; a problem solved by the broad brim of her eponymous hat.

Stop two yields yet more piggy protein; this time in the form of roasted crispy pork belly, cooked in red-hot, tandoor-like ovens by veteran of 16 years Chef Neng, who also does a mean roasted chicken leg. We’re told Neng cooked for the Princess of Thailand, and I suspect that what’s good enough for the Princess will almost certainly please us proletarians.

We sample both fire-licked, moist-middled meats; the pork dunked into a chilli-shallow-spring onion-coriander-roasted-rice-powder elixir; the chicken swiped through tart-sweet sauce made from tamarind, galangal, chilli, soy sauce and sugar. 

On the road again, Muai says that street food really took off in Thailand around 1960 –  providing busy workers with the perfect grab-n-go solution. Cheap, abundant, accessible and diverse, it’s the ultimate egalitarian eat. 

According to Muai there are no set items for various meals – people eat what they like, when they like; which nicely and neatly surmises the ultra-accepting attitude I’ve encountered from Thai people regarding all aspects of life and culture. 

There’s fishier fare at our next stop, where the dish of the day is salt-rubbed, barbecued tilapia – a species gifted to Thailand’s royal family by the Japanese. Its flesh is moist and tender; had with fresh herbs and veggie and yet another delicious dipping sauce, but it’s yet another porcine preparation that makes my mouth water: pork blended with sticky rice, salt and a vampire’s nightmare-worth of garlic, fermented for three days in banana leaves. It’s sour, it’s sausagey, it’s downright delicious. 

As we bump along to the fourth location, Muai tells us how the beef – or rather, water buffalo – we’ll be sampling at the next stop is traditionally eaten only on high days and holidays in North and Northeastern Thailand; because historically the cattle served them better working the land than gracing the plate. 

Northern laab is as far removed from its Northeastern Esarn counterpart as chalk is from cheese. The Esarn version of the minced meat salad is spicy, citrussy, and aromatic; here it’s dark and brooding – a blend of blood, meat and tendon (in this case cooked, but also available raw) seasoned with a long list of dried spices including makwaen, peculiar to this part of the world. 

Akin to black pudding, the laab’s earthy, deeply-spiced character is lifted by the Vietnamese coriander and ‘fishy leaf’ (the clue’s in the name) herb served on the side. 

Soup’s next; less ‘palate cleanser’ than ‘absolute tastebud tingler’. Northeastern tom saep neua is a spicy-tart-savoury galangal, lemongrass and chilli-infused beef broth in which chunks of long-stewed, gelatinous beef tendon bob. If you’re into the sticky comfort of oxtail, this one’s for you.

It wouldn’t be a food tour without a market visit, and accordingly, our next stop is Thani Market; open for retail therapy as well as stuffing oneself senseless from 6am-8pm daily. I am over the moon and back round again that the first stall we hit specialises in sai ua, aka Northern Thai pork sausage aka my absolute Achilles heel.

Chilli-spiked and flavoured with allsorts of aromatics including lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, garlic and ginger, sai ua is basically chorizo that went travelling on its gap year and came back with a Southeast Asian accent – and this one’s got perfect pronunciation. 

Our food intake has been pretty protein-heavy thus far, so a visit to the fruit stall is warmly welcomed – although the durian not so much by some members of the party.

Despite the ‘unusual’ aroma which sees the spike-encrusted fruit banned from trains, planes and hotels, IMHO durian is delicious; boasting a creamy texture which envelops the tongue like panna cotta or clotted cream, with a flavour not unlike an just-short-of -too-overripe mango. More universally appreciated are sapodilla – nature’s own sticky toffee pudding, and marian fruit – a seasonal treat occupying the centre of a mango-plum-peach Venn diagram.

Sugarcane juice is initially too sweet for my palate, but when mixed with a good slosh of lime it’s a fresh-to-death bev; supremely refreshing and feeling weirdly colder than a still-liquid drink has any right to be.

Muai bustles us round the covered market, pointing out specialist laab butchers and fermented fish sauce vendors, all the while gathering more stuff to sample. 

We stop to watch a trader knock us up a stir-fry similar to the liang leaf one I love from the South. This shares the same egg-oyster sauce-soy-garlic-sugar seasoning, but uses gurmar/gymnema leaves unique to Northern Thailand. Sampled raw, they’re bitter, strong and peppery, so I’m unsurprised when Muai tells me they’re frequently used in the treatment of high blood sugar. 

Stir-fry dished up, we gather round a table for a deliciously random picnic: the leaves; tamarind, sugar and garam masala-gravied Burmese pork hanglay curry; date-like fresh tamarind from the pod; deep-fried crickets and silk worms (inoffensive, with a similar nutty, sweetish flavour to a prawn shell).

For dessert there’s fermented rice with coconut and black beans in bamboo; sun-dried rice crispy cakes with a modest swirl of palm sugar which, owing to the historic price of sugar in the North, are one of the only indigenous sweet snacks; khanom tom (coconut balls filled with palm sugar and caramelised coconut); gooey little khanom tuay coconut puddings; and the universal favourite: khanom buang – aka crispy crepes filled with soft meringue and salted egg yolk. 

It feels like the finale but it’s not: next we’re headed to the area of the city that’s home to the Shan community who migrated from North Myanmar. According to Muai, there are 200,000 Shan people in Chiangmai who retain their own language, culture and cuisine. 

In the restaurant which Muai says was the city’s first Shan spot, we tuck into a fermented tea leaf salad. Captivated by the beguiling oniony, chilli-y, sour flavour and the pleasing crunch of deep-fried lentils, peanuts, chickpeas and sesame seeds, I find it hard to turn my attention and fork to the bowl of sliced-pork-topped noodles, but I do my duty and mmmmmmm boy am I glad I have.

Perfectly chewy-gooey, the handmade wheat-and-egg noodles are not sauced as such; just lightly coated in a giddingly gorgeous, white-pepper-spicy slick of something or other. The bowl of broth on the side is to be sipped separately rather than poured over; bites and slurps interspersed with nibbles of pickled mustard greens. 

Absolute satiation is fast making its way over the horizon now, and when we pass an open-air gym on the way back to the songthaew I’m only half joking when I ask Muai if it’s our final stop.

But we’re here to consume calories, not burn them – so it’s onto the seventh and final stop; or rather, back to the market from whence we started, where we’ll end on a literally sweet note with a bowl of bualoi.

This sweet soup originates from the Central region, and features chewy balls of sticky rice and tapioca flours boiled in sugar syrup. Here, we have it ladled into bowls with purple sweet potato chunks – but myriad other inclusions are available, including the not-usually-popular-with-farangs option of a poached egg.

Stirring the syrup together with the unsweetened coconut milk which is poured atop each serving yields a silky, salty-sweet sauce punctuated by the slippery-chewy balls and starchy, savoury taro chunks, and I soon find myself scraping the bottom of my bowl. 

Trying to walk rather than waddle, I bid my tour-mates farewell and head for my guesthouse, studiously avoiding eye contact with the crispy pork that’s eyeing me from another street food stall. Loads of food, loads of knowledge, loads of places to discover and revisit at leisure: there can’t be many better ways to spend four hours in Chiangmai than on A Chef’s Tour. 

MAKE IT HAPPEN

• Visit A Chef’s Tour’s website here 
• For more information and to book the Chiangmai Northern Flavours food tour, click here
• Find A Chef’s Tour on Instagram