Indian Fish Festival

Kasturi are having a fish festival in September, and I was very privileged to get a sneak preview of the festival menu (plus a some chicken), this week.

Kasturi’s Aldgate premises are unassuming from the outside, but elegant and fresh within. The food looks fantastic and tastes even better...



Starting with a dreamy creamy mango lassi (for £2.10) was very enjoyable, especially as the lassi was not too sweet. We were then served an assortment of little starters on one big platter. These included a wonderful crab kebab, packed with fragrant herbs and hot spice, that did not drown the delectable crab flavour. There was also salmon tikki, which I would never have chosen from a menu, (salmon and tikki not quite matching in my head), but which was absolutely delicious – beautifully cooked, as well. Pieces of marinated chicken were the tenderest chicken I have ever eaten, again beautifully cooked. My fellow diner and I were quite stunned by it. I am told that 15 hours of marinating is the key to that tenderness. I don’t know why, but I think I subconsciously assumed that you go to an Indian restaurant for flavour rather than perfectly cooked meat and fish, but this extra dimension of care took the meal onto a whole new level.



Back to the platter, because there were also little chicken joints in a sweet red sauce that had caramelized and gone gooey and crispy during cooking – too sweet (for my taste) to have that alone, but a thoroughly delicious contrast to the other light, fragrant and spicy starters. The starter platter came with a punchy salsa and a gorgeous green sauce, which tasted almost like freshly cut grass, and was apparently made with a mix of herbs, green fruits and seeds.

For our main course, we tried the seafood biryani (£11.95) and mahi rolls (£9.95). The Biryani had a rainbow of flavours, the memory of which are making my mouth water as I write. It included perfectly cooked seafood, of course, with the unexpected addition of dill, which worked really well with the other flavours, and tied the salmon to the rest of the biryani.

Mahi rolls, seafood biryani, vegetable curry and ochra with shallots

The mahi rolls were something else; delicate fillets of fish, encasing a mixture of herbs, spices and chopped fish, and all covered in a fragrant coconut sauce - a very special dish.

Our main course came with a vegetable curry for the biryani, and some addictively scrumptious crispy fried ochra and shallots.

We finished off our delectable meal with mango kulfi to share. I so wanted to try the delightful-sounding dessert with cardamon, saffron, cream and carrot, but just didn’t have room. After my experience of Kasturi, I am not surprised that this multi award-winning restaurant is getting so many rave reviews.



So, if you fancy trying some of the dishes I so enjoyed sampling, make sure you don’t miss the Kasturi Fish Festival! While I was enthusing about the food to the restaurant’s passionate owner and manager, Bashir, he reminded me that the samples I was tasting were not as good as if it were cooked for the festival, because mine was done individually that evening – if cooking in big batches for the festival, the food would have longer to marinate, and flavours would develop further in the larger quantities.

Kasturi specialises in Pakhtoon cuisine, with grilled dishes that make the most of the cooking juices from meat and vegetables. They serve an exciting range of dishes, and place lots of importance on colour and texture, without “changing the true nature of Indian food for the sake of undefined modernisation”.

The service I experienced was good. Some of the junior members of staff seemed a bit nervy, as if it was their first day of work, but the management made sure everything ran smoothly, and general manager, Rahman, was warm, kind, and very helpful.

For more information, visit www.kasturi-restaurant.co.uk

Yey! Back to France!

...Well, only for 3 weeks (8th - 30th June), which will rush by, but I'm soooo looking forward to being back in my kitchen! Just the prospect of returning is making me all freshly inspired and enthused about cooking, concocting and just generally eating; homemade perfect pizzas cooked in my wood-fired oven, ridiculously rich homemade ice-creams, salads of lush home-grown or market produce and garden herbs, cool summer soups, scrambled village eggs, barbecued meat and fish and cephalopods and fruit and veg and breads, picnics and booze on the beach, croissants and pain au chocolat with coffee, steak tartare, fruits de mer, oozing little goat cheeses... and so on, and on... Ooh, and I'll make a strawberry tart with the wonderously juicy and fragrant local varieties that are in season! Actually, how the hell am I going to fit all of my French food fun into 3 weeks?

My kitchen in France

Porto Alegre - Hell & Heavenly Feijoada

We arrived late at night. Having phoned various guidebook hotels from Bagé, we were a bit worried about finding somewhere to stay - the places we'd called were either full or very expensive, and we had no idea how to find our way to the different areas of the city. We should have looked around at least a little bit, but we just went straight to the crap, over-priced dump over the road from the bus station.


Porto Alegre bus station

The greasy, string-vested man behind the desk gave us the key, and sent us up to our hovel. The sheets we were supplied with were worn so thin, that once we had put them on the narrow beds, you could see through them to the dirty bedding beneath. The dusty window over-looked a filthy alleyway, and we left it open due to the strong smell of gas in our room, that made us fear for our lives. We could hear shouting coming from everywhere, and the hooting cars on the road out front sounded like they were in the room with us. The light in the cold shower was activated by a switch that was located under the stream of water. Nevermind, we did find the room's ridiculousness quite funny, and we did manage a couple of hours' sleep.

Sadly, we were unable to take photos of the ‘hotel’ room, because it was so small, and the shower at such an awkward angle, that our standard-lensed cameras couldn’t capture the fun.

The breakfast wasn't bad, surprisingly: Plenty of milky coffee, delicious, sweet, tangy little bananas, ripe papaya, breads, cakes, ‘juice’ (squash), cheap ham and plastic cheese.

After breakfast, we went straight to the bus station, super-early, to find out about coaches to Foz d’Iguaçu, and buses to the pretty wine-producing villages that we’d heard about in the Porto Alegre area. We bought our tickets to Foz for early that evening, so that we could briefly explore the surrounding villages before leaving, without having to stay an extra night. But then the ticket seller noticed that we didn’t have visas. We were illegal immigrants, due to having crossed the border in the middle of nowhere. We had to go to the airport to explain ourselves and get a stamp, or we couldn’t travel.

Luckily, the airport wasn’t far, and the customs man only gave us a gentle interrogation, but by the time we got back, we were too late to take a trip into the countryside and get back before our Foz bus. We had to miss out on seeing the vineyards and amuse ourselves in the city, and, after BA, we had intended to avoid metropoli. But after a horrible, watered-down, sugary fruit juice in the bus station, we put our rucksacks in left luggage, and began to tramp the town. We were determined to make the best of it. For a few hours. Until we were utterly wilted by the awfulness of Porto Alegre.


Don’t get me wrong; as with Montevideo, I am sure that given time we would have uncovered many more hidden joys of the city, but our brief experience did not do the place justice (I hope). It was hot, sticky and filthy, impoverished and falling down. We walked past crumbling whorehouses (it was the houses that were crumbling not the whores - the young prostitutes seemed quite spritely, despite their rank living conditions) and charcoal-grey gutter kids lying ignored and unconscious on the pavement. Shops consisted of tatt-touters, selling useless Chinese junk. Obvious Criminals, who happened to be blond and blue-eyed, thought they could gain our trust through colouration and offers of ‘help’. Most people were over-weight to obese levels, and the only food we found was brown and deep-fried, whether it was sweet or savoury. The leggings and platforms were out in force, to accentuate the eye-watering arse sizes. Huge skyscrapers lay derelict, right in the city centre, looming over the shops and stalls. We completely exhausted ourselves trying to find something nice.


Thankfully, we actually did in the end; We found the excellent covered market, with amazing street performers doing somersaults through rings of fire outside. We couldn’t take photos, for fear of being mugged. There were pavement cafés along one outside length of the market (Ahhh! Beer! At last some decent refreshment!), fish stalls lining the outside of the port side, and all sorts of food stalls inside. I’d forgotten that Porto Alegre has a port until I was standing next to it!

We found a restaurant in the market, that reminded me of a Spanish taverna, with its high, tobacco-stained walls, busy waiters in aprons, dark wooden tables and locals enjoying leisurely meals together. Bar Naval serves beer on tap and has a very accommodating service.

Some handily English-speaking men on the next table tried to chat us up, to the amusement of the waiters. The pleasing result was a lot of help with the menu and a recommendation of what to do for the rest of the afternoon, and directions to the city’s massive Redenção park.

The food was comparatively pricey but very good indeed. And it was real food rather than deep-fried dough. We sampled some Brazilian delicacies, tasting a rich, smoky bean feijoada, with farofa (course cassava flour which soaks up and thickens sauces, and adds flavour, crunch and calories) and the fantastic acidic, firey and salty chilli sauce (Anyone know where can I buy this in the UK?). Some spice was very welcome after what was beginning to feel like days of bland stodge. We subsequently realized that the flour and the chilli sauce are permanently on almost every dining table, especially further north.


Feijoada & all the trimmings

The feijoada was like a rich, dark, smoky cassoulet, that contained black beans, smoked pork belly, beef, smoked sausage and what seemed to be an unsmoked sausage with a bone running through it – all absolutely delicious, and served with refreshing slices of orange, crisp salad, rice and greens. I tried to establish what the tender greens were; they’re called ‘couve’, but translations vary from general brassica to cabbage to kale. Kale seems most likely. We also had some delicately fried flat fish and a few chips! Cool lager washed it all down nicely.

We still felt like we were being watched and scoped out from afar, so still no photos, I’m afraid.

Back out into the hazy sun and humidity (smog, maybe,) we began once again to navigate the grimy streets and fried food stalls, until we found the park. What a relief! We spent a couple of peaceful hours watching families and groups of friends playing sports, walking dogs and drinking maté. There were also caged enclosures down paths, among the trees, which housed monkeys and exotic birds.



Finally, feeling exhausted, sweaty, filthy and greasy, we found our way back to the bus station, and caught our overnight coach to Foz.

N.B. As a big exception to my general blog rule, the photos in the post are not mine. While I was searching for them on the internet, I did find some very pleasant looking pictures of Porto Alegre, so maybe we just caught it on a bad day...

First Experience of Freetown - 21st August 2007

Breakfast at Hotel Barmoi could involve eggs, sausage et cetera, but the whole time I stayed there I went for their toasty Sierra Leonean coffee (sadly, the only place I found local coffee!) and fruit, which was either papaya with lime and sugar, mangoes, bananas, or a combination of two.

After breakfast, I was plunged into the incredible hustle and bustle of Freetown, and had my first experience of the torrential downpours of rainy season. We dodged rivers of rainwater and beeping traffic, and slipped into the quiet calm of the Crown Bakery for lunch. The Bakery feels like an unassuming London café but is relatively expensive, and has a Sierra Leonean and international menu. I chose deep fried fish in a bun, which turned out to be cod, and was yum. Pa had fajitas which were good n’ tasty.



In the evening we went to Alex’s, a mainly open-air seafront restaurant. This is a pretty major place to eat in Freetown, where loads of ex-pats eat (the prices being too high for most locals), and all nationalities drink in the sports bar next door, but it would be difficult to find without someone in the know; it’s tucked away behind shacks and stalls. I had bonita fish in a coconut sauce, with draft Star, chips and salad. The start of things to come…

Cassava Leaves & Mud Cakes - 22nd August 2007

Went to the coolest place for lunch; D’s Bazaar, in Freetown. The kitchen is basically a landing on the stairs, with a couple of gas rings, and pots everywhere. It is expertly managed by two cheerful cooks. The first-floor café was bright and clean, with colourful tablecloths and plastic flowers. We got a table by the balcony, and ate spicy cassava leaf stew (which had ‘cow meat’ in it), with rice, and a delicious dish of ‘special rice’, which consisted of spicy, tasty rice served with fried chicken and fish. We drank Star beer.



In the afternoon, I went to the Freetown post office - the only place you can buy postcards - and walked around the centre of the capital, where, being white and female, lots of people shouted to try to get my attention, to buy their wares or just to say hello. There wasn’t any difficult or uncomfortable hassle, except that I wanted to buy some chillies in exchange for taking a picture of a fantastically colourful market stall, but the women running it wanted to charge me a fortune for the privilege. I didn’t have that kind of cash, and didn’t want to feel ripped-off, so I contented myself with buying what looked like flour-covered pastries, possibly similar to baklava. They felt curiously heavy and solid, but the girl who sold them to me didn’t speak enough English to tell me what they were, other than that they were “rich”.

I took my treasures, which smelled spicy and sweet, to the office where my father was working. I asked his colleagues what I had bought. They said they were hand-rolled, dried sea mud, which was full of minerals and meant for pregnant women to eat. They're called 'wojo', meaning clay in Creo. Not to be discouraged, I gave one a go – after all, they were so fragrant! But, unsurprisingly for dried mud, my mouth was filled with an almost tasteless, ashy, dry, powdery substance and grit. I’m sure they’re very nutritious…

Lebanese Mezze

Supper was fantastic Lebanese mezze served in the Lighthouse Restaurant - another comparatively pricey seafront eaterie. I didn’t enjoy the atmosphere here as much as in other places, but that may have been because there were less people around (it was raining and there was one of the metropolis-wide power cuts). But the surroundings were beautiful, and we thoroughly enjoyed the food! Our selection included fattoush, tabbouleh, mutabel, little spicy sausages and meatballs encased in rice and fried. Oh yeah, and we drank Star beer. Then finished off with rum.

There is a strong Lebanese presence in Sierra Leone, with loads of second and third generation Lebanese running thriving businesses, and Sierra Leoneans feeling “like bothers” towards their Lebanese friends.

Beach Life – Shacks & Seafood - 25th August 2007

Waking up in my own mouldy beach shack was idyllic. After a strange breakfast of delicious char-toasted baguette and butter, with disgusting tea made from mildewy teabags and powdered milk (They had no jam. Or fruit. Or real coffee. Or milk.), my dad came to pick me up.



Another jolting trip along a non-road, further down the coast, and I got my first glimpse of the white sand and aqua water of No2 River Beach. This beach is like a Bounty Bar advert, with mountains and rain forest stretching down to the white sand, and hardly anyone about.

There’s a couple of stalls selling nice souvenirs, like jewelery and sculptures. You can also order clothes, which are made while you wait, from locally dyed material. There’s a large kitchen in a building next to the stalls, from which food is served to customers in thatched shelters on the beach. Deliciously fresh pompano fish in a herb and tomato sauce, came with yummy, starchy sweet potato chips, and was washed down with Star. A very thin mummy dog and a scrawny chicken became our friends as they gobbled up scraps of leftover chips.





Then heavy clouds rolled over, and a downpour started. The downpour kept going, so we decided to leave, and headed back towards Lakka, stopping at the Italian-owned restaurant at Sussex Beach for tea. I never got to see the actual beach here, because the restaurant overlooks a tidal lagoon, with the sandbank beach on the other side. The tide was low, but I still didn’t want to wade through seawater with my camera. I’m told it’s another gorgeous stretch of peopleless sand (yellow this time) and palm trees.



If you go to Sussex, you’ll meet the soppy little dog, who tempts visitors to tickle it’s tummy by walking up to them and flopping on its back at their feet, tail wagging furiously.

Tonight we had a second date with Paul, which was pretty similar to the previous evening, except that I had freshly caught crab (y.u.m.), and pa had prawns. It was also my second and last night at the beach hut.

Hangover Healing - 31st August 2007

Too hungover for lunch, I walked on the beach and bought a bottle of water from Harry’s Bar – was this the same bar that was portrayed in Blood Diamond?

I didn’t have the energy to cope with continually telling blokes to go away, and instead let one boy walk with me, which stopped others from trying. In the end, though, he was arguing with me that he did love me and want to marry me, and why didn’t I like him, so I told him to go away. The next time I got approached I just said “No”, and walked on. My head was hurting!

After the beach, I went to visit my new friends, Foday and Abu, who I had met in Paddy’s. They said they would get me a couple of mix CDs, of the best Sierra Leonean music. I also made a new pal, Lou-Lou, who invited me to her place anytime for a meal (and a spliff). I never had the chance to take her up on the offer, but she was a lovely, bubbly girl and I’ll definitely visit if I ever go back.

Back to Basics

The construction of the houses in Sho-Sho Village vary from stone foundations with mud and stone walls and tin roofs, to a jigsaw of corrugated metal, wooden structures, plastic sheeting and anything else suitable that was obtainable at the time. Whatever they are made of, the houses are kept tidy and clean, and are a lot less depressing than equivalent one-room flats in London can be. The whole place smells pleasantly of charcoal and soap.

Preconceptions about different lifestyles meant that I was surprised at how wholesome the existence in Sho-Sho was. How can I have been so patronizing and had so little empathy as to think that people would just slum it and be used to that, just because they’re living with very little? When people have very little, they take good care of what they do have, and the tranquil atmosphere of Sho-Sho gave more of an impression of acceptance of circumstances than want. Squalor or need would not have entered my mind, as I watched healthy little Emmanuel giggling while he was soaped and scrubbed down by his brother. Instead, I am ashamed to admit that I felt a touch envious - these people have such a strong community, close and supportive family and few material aspirations. It all seemed so thoroughly pure, and a recipe for the ultimate in mental health.

Of course, everyone expresses a desire to go to Europe or the U.S. and get a job, but they don't have expectations or take anything for granted. I would feel uncomfortable and unhappy about taking anyone out of that situation to give them 'opportunities' in Europe, because they'd loose so much in terms of community and general contentment.

These guys also eat much better than many western people, simply because convenience and processed foods are not an option. Organic rice, super-fresh fish, vegetables and spices, cooked over an open fire, are the only choice, and the people I spoke to don’t actually want to eat “rich foods”, preferring sticky rice and cassava leaf stew with fish, to meat and chips.

Life expectancy must be low only because of the lack of a welfare state and medical services. If you get sick and have no money you might die, but everyone’s ‘natural’ health must be better from the clean diet and tropical climate. The constantly warm climate adds to a general feeling of wellbeing, which is of course also known to lengthen human lives. But I did keep in mind that sometimes the villagers can’t afford to buy enough rice, and rely on each other for food at difficult moments.

After the beach walk, social visit, and a nap, my hangover had eased up and my father took me to Alex’s again, for supper, where I had a medicinal G&T, followed by tasty moussaka, chips and a lush-but-over-dressed salad. Pa had barbequed fish and draft Star.

P.S Sorry about the total lack of photos for today - my mind wasn't on the job...

Fishing Villages; Friction in Freetown - 1st September 2007

Fishing Villages

It was the first day of my last weekend in Sierra Leone, and we headed off down the coast again, but this time taking the much longer route on a new road. We were aiming for Kent beach, with the idea of perhaps getting a canoe over to the Banana Islands.

We stopped off at Mama Beach, and experienced the typical African fishing village in full swing. Everyone was on the beach, hauling huge baskets of wonderful-looking sardines out of the boats, through the surf to wash them, and up onto the beach to sell. Further along the beach, a team of people were pulling in nets with a varied catch of fish and crustaceans. Mama Beach has the softest, finest sand I have ever felt between my toes.



We wanted to buy some sardines for lunch, and I was up for building a fire to cook them - we still had Mabinti’s limes in the car. But in the end we decided to keep going to Kent, and see if we could find a restaurant selling sardines and Star.

Both the restaurants at Kent were closed, due to it being low season, but a deal was made with some local lads - all fishermen – and they went off to get the necessaries to provide us with a meal. Sardines were not available. An hour (and a Star) later, we were given our plates of ultra-fresh white fish (Groupa? Forgot to ask because I was so keen to tuck in), which had been barbecued near us on the beach, and was served with tomatoey rice and a kind of freshly cooked onion and tomato chutney sauce. We drank cold Stars and sat on the rocks to eat our scrumptious lunch.



The sea was looking a bit rough for a boat trip, so we postponed the idea of the Banana Islands until the next day.



We couldn't continue round on the new road, because we got to the end of the road. Literally. So we turned back and went the long, smooth way back to Freetown.



Friction in Freetown

On the way back, we got caught up in some election aggravation in the centre of Freetown. The streets were chokka, and suddenly everyone started walking in the same direction. Stuck in the traffic, we wound up our windows, and locked the doors, while soldiers and police (men and women) started to dash up the street wielding guns and shouting. Trucks of riot police arrived. You just can’t tell what will happen in that kind of situation, and I felt nervous seeing guns waved around. It got slightly scary when we finally got out of the gridlock, because my dad got lost, ending up in a different part of town than he expected. After ducking down alleys and roads in a labyrinth of one-way streets, we finally found ourselves on the road to Lumley and safety.

Back at the hotel, we went to the poolside bar again. The laughing barman wasn’t there, but his colleague was a nice bloke anyway, and I got another offer of a Sierra Leone mix CD. We had a quiet supper at the hotel, of bonita fish, chips, salad and Star.