Hip Hop Chip Shop Bring Fish-Based Joy to the Northern Quarter

If there's one meal capable of bringing both great joy and inconsolable sorrow, it's surely fish and chips. Good fish and chips is a wondrous thing indeed - properly crispy batter concealing soft, flaky fish; big fat chips with fluffy middles and a few scrappy bits at the bottom of the tray; more salt and vinegar than any normal person would ever want. In short, it is a thing of great beauty. Unfortunately, standards vary, and too many chippies serve up greasy, soggy fish with anaemic, under-cooked chips...I'm almost weeping at the thought of such travesty. Still, if the purchasing of fish and chips is a gamble, all the more reason to rejoice that purveyors of fine fishy wares The Hip Hop Chip Shop have taken over the kitchens at Kosmonaut in the Northern Quarter for the foreseeable future.

The new venue feels like a good fit for Hip Hop, who have been seeking a new home since the end of The Kitchens project at Spinningfields - Kosmonaut has decent beers, loads of space and always has a good atmosphere, plus it's right in the middle of the NQ rather than tucked away at the bottom of town. The new menu features Hip Hip favourites (the Battered Halloumi Fingers are on as a side and a main, and Feastie Boys - battered fish biters, chips, minty mushy peas, tartare sauce - and the splendid Shell L Cool J Burger - Louisiana spiced crabcake, battered smoky bacon, spicy ‘slaw, brioche bun, chips - are on the mains) as well as some new dishes, the standout of which is the DJ Kool Jerk - jerk batter fish, battered plantain and scotch bonnet pickled pepper. The Chilli Batter Onion Rings remain superlative, and the Minty Mushy Peas are still, for me, the best in Manchester; we also very much liked the Pea Fritters and have both become a bit obsessed with the Curry Sauce and the Black Sunday Gravy (which takes between three and several hundred days to make, depending on who you speak to).

In fact, we liked it all. We like the Hip Hop Chip Shop, we like the beer at Kosmonaut, we like the music (NWA + DJ Kool Jerk = v.g.), and we like the menu, which has a decent range of veggie and meat dishes as well as the obvious fish ones, and just shows what a permanent kitchen can do for you. Yes, it's all a bit deep-fried, but there's still far more range here than you'd get at most chippies, and anyway, there's wholesome booze to wash it all down with. The dishes you see here were part of a preview tasting and thus some of the dishes are not full size (and the crabcake is completely stark naked, apart from its 'slaw) - Hip Hop are not shy with portion size so you'll often get a bit more than seen here. And if fish and chips is more of a takeaway thing for you, they'll soon be on Deliveroo, thus rendering movement from the sofa completely unnecessary.

- You can find Hip Hop Chip Shop at Kosmonaut 4-9pm Mon-Thurs and 12-10pm Fri-Sun (full menu here); the van will also be taking up residence at Trinity Leeds for the next six weeks. This was a preview event with complimentary food but they had my cash off me plenty of times at The Kitchens and will continue to do so now.

August Gourmet Night at The Mark Addy, in which Greed Finally Pays Off

Anyone who glances at this nonsense on a regular basis will know that one of the highlights of my month is the Gourmet Night at The Mark Addy on the final Wednesday: six surprise courses of Robert Owen Brown's seasonal fancies for £30. It's always amazing, and I always enjoy myself. And yet, last night I wasn't really sure I wanted to go: I was tired, and pretty bloated after an excessively enjoyable Bank Holiday weekend and then a Tuesday night spent swanning round SoLIta dressed in head-to-toe leopard print and snarfing Italian-American classics in honour of Sporanos Night. In short, I felt that even I had finally reached my greed threshold.

Of course, it goes without saying that I went anyway - and was rewarded with what I think is Rob's finest menu yet. To wit:

1. Wild Dunham Rabbit with Red Rose Forest Mushrooms. Chef Owen Brown doesn't do requests at Gourmet Night (it's pretty much a case of you'll eat your tripe and like it), so I was doing nothing more than trying my luck when I sent a jaunty tweet to him last week saying I fancied rabbit this month. And look - not only is there a dainty dish of Flopsy cavorting happily in a mushroom and cream sauce, there are bunny ears made out of breadsticks, and a toadstool made out of radish! I'm SO going to ask for MORE stuff from now on if this kind of thing happens as a result.

2. Deep Fried Lambs Heart & Veal Tongue Sandwich with Caramelised Trotter Gear. On every Addy menu there is a dish that strikes fear into the heart of Twitter, and to be quite honest I was a little trepidatious of this myself - it just had too many scary animal parts in its name. Quite obviously though, it was the best dish of the night - offal in a rich gravy, breaded and deep fried, and slapped between two slices of fried bread; it was, as Rob himself described it, "a bit Greggs", but in a very good way. I had, incidentally, entirely missed the rudeness of the name until the ever-reliable Deanna Thomas tweeted me to say that she's always enjoyed a tongue sandwich - no wonder she's a top chef and food blogger, as she knows everything, and never fails to teach me something new.

3. Poached Turbot with Anglesey Seaweed. Something relatively healthy to counteract the first couple of courses - a perfect piece of fish with gorgeous little lemony potato scales, some sexy veg and some nicely salty seaweed strands.

4. Classic Roast Lancashire Grouse with all the Tracklements (to share). A classic indeed - roast, gamey bird served with roast onion, apple sauce, roast potatoes, game chips and gravy - that I can fault in only two small ways. Firstly, it turns out I am poor at carving grouse, and could have done with a passing butcher (I'm looking at you, James Bobby's Bangers) to lend a hand, and secondly, I never care to see the phrase "to share" appended to anything I'm about to eat. Otherwise, most excellent.

5. Millionaire Shortbread, Popcorn IceCream, Lemon & Lime Curd, Chocolate Fruit & and Nut, Irwell Blackcurrant Mousse. The desserts at Gourmet Night have got a little out of hand in recent months, and part of me hankers after the days when Rob would serve up a simple gooseberry fool or similar - people who can't be trusted to show restraint after four courses shouldn't be trusted with this kind of over-generously sized pudding family either. Still, hard to complain when it was all so nice - I didn't eat the mousse as blackcurrants have an unfortunate effect on me which would NOT have been welcomed at table bearing in mind the amount I'd already consumed, but everything else was delicious. As a point of future reference, never ask for extra caramel sauce as Rob will bring you what essentially amounts to a soup tureen filled with the stuff - you will gamely eat it, and you will feel ill afterwards *voice of experience*.

6. Appleby's Farmhouse Cheshire Cheese. No picture, because I didn't get this far: instead, I carried it home in a plastic container the size of China, just in case I became hungry during the night.

So, another triumph - and unfortunately it seems the lesson to be learned from such a feast is that gluttony pays, and that if you stay in, you might just miss out...

- The Mark Addy is on Stanley Street in Salford, M3 5EJ.

The Mark Addy Gourmet Evening, May 2013: "The Squizza's Demise"

There are many things I enjoy about the monthly Gourmet Night at The Mark Addy: the excellent food, of course, and the element of surprise in not knowing what your six seasonal, local courses will include, and obviously the chance to see all the charming folk at this venerable Salford institution. Truth be told, though, probably my favourite bit of my regular Addy visits is posting the menu on Twitter and Facebook, going off and stuffing my face, and then coming back to look at the trail of comments, which normally veer wildly between jealous approval and open-mouthed horror. And without fail, the course that always prompts the most concern is squirrel.

Why this should be, I'm not entirely sure. Some complain they are vermin; others - perhaps thinking fondly back to the waistcoat-wearing, mystery-solving squirrels of their childhood story books - think they are just too cute to eat. Me? I just think they are delicious - small but with a gamey taste that makes them far more interesting than many blander meats - and so does Robert Owen Brown, for he often puts them on his menu in various inventive guises. Last night it was a squirrel pasty - but you'll have to wait until course two to meet him. Here's the full rundown of what we had:

1. Crispy South Coast Sand Eels with Saffron Mayonnaise. Don't be frightened by the slightly scary-sounding name here - these little fishy friends had just been lightly dusted and then fried in the manner of whitebait, before being served up with a ludicrously thick and sexy mayonnaise for dipping. Portion size was - as you can see - very generous for course one of six; just imagine how greedy it would have been if there had been a spare one, leading someone to eat TWO portions! I know - pretty hard to even picture such gluttony.

*moves swiftly on*

2. Grey Squirrel Pasty. Aha - here is that controversial course, and I think it might just have been my favourite of the night. Tender morsels of tasty, waistcoat-wearing vermin, slow-cooked and then served up in a thick gravy within a sturdy pastry crust - I would have eaten ten if I could.

3. Roasted Arctic Char with Lemon and Chive. Now, the fish course is often the highlight of Gourmet Night for me, but not this time. Yes, this cold-water fish, found in little pockets around the country including Lake Windermere, was perfectly cooked, but I found the flavour a touch on the muddy side and the accompanying sauce a little oily. I still ate it all, mind.

4. Lamb Cutlet with Roasted Shallot. Can't go wrong with this, surely - a fat pink chop served with an equally fat roast shallot in a gravy SO good I was forced to run my finger round the dish just to get every last bit.

5. Strawberry Tart. They do a good pudding at The Addy and this was no exception - a crisp pastry shell filled with cream and strawberries and topped with an exuberant flourish of spun sugar.

6. Farmhouse Cheese. Now, I don't have a picture of this, as I was busy telling Clare Howarth of designsixty4 all about the forthcoming Gastro Club menu at The Addy, but you will all have seen cheese before, so no matter. Suffice to say there was no soft or stinky cheese on this month's platter, and as a result I simply ate thick slabs of excellent butter on my crackers instead, clearly in the belief that I had perhaps not eaten quite enough for one night.

By the way, thanks for the title of this post must go to lovely (vegetarian) Jules from the estimable Good Gobble blog, who has been enquiring worriedly about the squirrel's welfare on Twitter all morning. "Was there a little squirrel inside the pasty?" she enquired tremulously - well yes, Jules, there was, and I ate him, waistcoat and all. I'm afraid rumours of his demise have, in this case, not been greatly exaggerated.

- The Mark Addy is on Stanley Street in Salford, Manchester, M3 5EJ.

The Mark Addy Gourmet Night: A Tale of Two Ducks

On the whole, Manchester is a pretty sleek, sexy, sophisticated sort of city. It has all the pre-requisites to qualify as a grande dame of the very highest order: a smoky, turbulent past; art and culture beyond reproach; a fleet of interesting places to eat and drink; clever, witty inhabitants with an eye for a short hem and an excellent shoe - everything that a thriving, cosmopolitan sort of place should have. And yet there's no getting away from the fact that many of Manchester's excellently shod urban foxes will spend a large portion of tomorrow - Good Friday - freezing by the side of the River Irwell cheering on a number of small plastic ducks as they drift haplessly towards the finish line; and yes - I will be one of them, for Friday 29th March sees the return of the annual Manchester Duck Race. You can read more about it here, and it's not too late to buy yourself a duck or two; just be aware though, that my duck has had a sniff of the fact that the top prize is Kurt Geiger vouchers and has therefore promised me that it will be first across the line.

Anyway, one way of keeping warm whilst watching our tiny plastic friends do battle is to shelter inside the ever-welcoming Mark Addy, whose window seats offer an excellent view of the whole shebang. Talking of the Addy - and of ducks - we were there last night for March's Gourmet Night, the monthly six-course extravaganza that sees chef Robert Owen Brown unleash a succession of unusual animal parts upon excited diners for the bargain price of £30. Take a look at this lot and tell me it isn't a wonder to behold (well, as much as one can behold ANYTHING in the Addy's rather intimate lighting):

1. Duck Egg with Broad Beans, Sea Salt, Parmesan Crisp and Bearnaise Sauce. We used to get duck eggs very occasionally as a treat when I was a kid, and I find they have lost little of their allure - far larger and richer than the poultry (sorry) offering a hen can produce, this course was a joy from start to finish.

2. Wild Garlic, Manchester Mascarpone and Beetroot Salad. Soft, white cheese and fat, earthy beetroot is a winning combination at any time; when that cheese is a richly dense, homemade affair and you add handfuls of rampant greenery that would have any vampire running for the hills however peckish they might be, it becomes positively sublime.

3. Crab and Shellfish Pie. Joint best course of the night for me: tiny crabs and other sea-based brethren swimming merrily in a rich broth - thoughtfully topped with puff pastry (seen here both top on and top off, a little like a convertible) to stop them escaping anywhere other than into my mouth. I'm a little ashamed to say that there was a spare one of these, and it was me who ate it *waits for cries of surprise*

*still waiting*

4. Savoury Duck. Don't worry, little plastic friends - this was not a real duck at all, but a gloriously big fat meaty faggot topped with a fetching toupee of sweet onions. I have two observations here: firstly, I like how the darkness of this photo makes the faggot look a little threatening as it swaggers meatily into shot; and secondly, the beautiful Lucy Hope, chanteuse extraordinaire, shimmied in from a singing job at this point, resplendent in sequinned evening gown and full make up, and proceeded to trough three of these fine fellows in all her exotic finery *nods approvingly*.

5. Roast Rabbit Loin. Simple but good, this one - tender bunny served alongside the spoils of his own vegetable thieving.

6. Eccles Cake with Lancashire Cheese. If you've never had cheese with some kind of baked good, I suggest you try it immediately - this dainty little Eccles cake soon found itself astride a great wedge of cheese and looking a whole lot less prettily dignified. It did not mind, however, for it knew that its sweet, jammy fruitiness could only be improved by such a holy union.

So, one of the best yet? I would say so - and I'm very much looking forward to being back at The Addy tomorrow to cheer my very own little duck, savoury or otherwise, over the finishline.

Flannels Creates - Charity Fashion Auction for Christies has Local Girl Fretting re: Bidding Skills

Now, truth be told, I've always quite fancied going to an auction. And yet, I also find the whole concept a little scary, as a woman brought up on a series of 1970s and 80s sitcoms is wont to do - what if I scratch my nose at the wrong time and accidentally purchase something that costs a million pounds? I am virtually certain I have seen Basil Fawlty, or Del Boy, or someone equally hapless do such a thing, leading to a full half hour of hilarious and uncomfortable wheeling and dealing before the whole thing is eventually ironed out. Or, on a more personal and predictable level, what if I have a couple of speedy Proseccos first, and get carried away with the excitement of the whole thing? The entire scenario is fraught with danger, and thus I have always - despite my interest - stayed away from such a potential hotbed of trouble.

Until now, that is. For this Thursday sees a pretty special auction - to celebrate their 35th birthday, Flannels will be hosting an evening of fundraising at their Manchester Spinningfields branch in aid of The Christie, by showcasing 40 mannequins created by some of the designers available in store and then auctioning off a selection of these bespoke creations: hence the name of the event - Flannels Creates. The evening starts at 7.45 with a champagne reception (take note - just the one glass for me please, lest I start bidding wildly) and ends with live music and more drinks in the Oast House winter Tepee just across the way. There will also be a raffle with prizes including £2,000 to spend at Flannels and a £7,500 Prada handbag, a fashion exhibition, and a goodie bag to take home to soften the blow of not having won the Prada one.

Tickets cost £35 a head, and are available here. The aim is to raise £50,000 to help cancer patients at an institution that is very dear to my own heart - I'm hoping that the worthiness of the cause will negate Mr Liz's wrath when I come home on Thursday night having blown the mortgage money. We all know I'll be the one on the bus, full of champagne, with a hard-won Dolce and Gabbana mannequin tucked under one arm...

Dinner at The OxNoble, Manchester: Proper Restaurant Food, Proper Old-Style Boozer

Now, after almost one hundred years (approximately) of generally happy marriage, I believe that I can offer some wise and helpful advice. Obviously, the very most desirable thing is to acquire a spouse who simply does whatever you say (and all the while with an adoring look on his face), but failing this then compromise is clearly the way forward. Take Mr Liz, for example. After years of stubborn resistance to the Saturday tradition of Strictly Come Dancing, I have now discovered that he will sit through it quite happily if furnished beforehand with some kind of beer product, and if I promise faithfully not to expect him to partipate in discussions re: Tess' dress and/or the merits of a particular Cha-Cha-Cha.

But what if the marital division is a potentially more lethal stumbling block, whereby your favourite word is "restaurant" and your husband's favourite word is "pub"? Well, I can now provide the solution to this also, as on Friday we dined at The Oxnoble, a proper pub that satisfies all Mr Liz's criteria for a top boozer whilst also serving food that wouldn't be ashamed to show its face in a restaurant. And a most splendid old pub it is too - it's been around since 1804, when Mr Liz was a boy, and although locally it's been known as The Ox in recent years, manager Alex is keen for this venerable establishment to return to its original, full title - not least because, as far as he knows, it's the only pub in Britain named after a Georgian variety of potato. If that's not a reason to visit, then I'm afraid you and I have NOTHING in common.

So, on to the food. I'd made the mistake of idly investigating the menu during the day, and found that pretty much every dish looked to be a winner: choosing was clearly going to be a difficult decision. Alex doesn't like the term "gastropub", but if we remove all sneery connotations of this over-used term and think about what it actually means...

*pretends is going off to look in clever, learned book; does quick search on Wikipedia*

...then this most certainly is "a bar and restaurant that serves high-end beer and food" - it's not in the least a term to be ashamed of. And by and large, the food here is high-end: for starters, Mr Liz chooses the Panfried Sardines served with a tomato, chorizo and spinach sauce from the regular menu, whilst I go for the exotic-sounding Roast Teal with black pudding mash, chocolate red cabbage and green beans. The first of these is an out-and-out winner - two whole sardines in a lovely piquant, earthy sauce, and absolutely crazy value at £4.25; it is as good, if not better, than a far more costly version I had in a top-end restaurant in Leith a few years ago. My teal (a particularly jaunty, handsome sort of duck, although they all look the same on the plate) is also excellent, and although pricier at £6.95, is actually nearer the size of a main than a starter; in fact, I can think of places that would indeed call this a main and charge you nearer twenty quid. Now generosity in itself is not an issue, but if you're trying to tempt people into a pub for a restaurant-quality meal, you do have to be mindful that many diners will wish to consume three courses - if you're pretty full after your starter, then the balance has gone a little awry. Although, obviously I could have left some. Equally obviously, I didn't.

On to the mains then. We both choose from the "Oxnoble Favourites" section of the menu: Braised Ox Cheek with champ mash, greens and a rich Marsala jus for me, and the Timothy Taylor Steak & Ale Pie with cabbage, mashed potato, black pudding and gravy for Mr Liz. I can't fault the quality of the ox cheek - it's a cliche to say that slow-cooked meat falls apart on your fork, melts in your mouth etc, but on this occasion it is true; the sticky tenderness of the cheek is perfection, and the rich jus sets it off just nicely. Do I really need another enormous mound of mash though, and more green beans? Probably not, and I must float the possibility that this is a dish that divides opinion - I love it, but a Twitter friend tells me soon afterwards that she tried it recently and found the jus too over-reduced and the green beans over-cooked. Meanwhile, over the other side of the table Mr Liz has temporarily disappeared from view behind the Manchester outpost of the European food mountain - a whole pie, full to bursting with (again) properly slow-cooked meat and thick gravy, perched upon mash, upon black pudding slices, upon veg, upon gravy. The pie is excellent, but the portion size begins to become an issue here - I have never before witnessed my Wiganer husband leave pastry or black pudding, and to see the pain in his eyes as he realises he is not going to manage it all is hard to bear.

Food-wise, the only bum note is a bizarre side dish we order in the form of courgette fritters - these are one of my favourite things, and I excitedly request them without noticing that they come with sweet chilli sauce and creme fraiche. Now, I like all of these ingredients very much, but separately; the fritters themselves are superlative - joyously crisp and puffy batter on the outside, tender melting flesh on the inside - but completely drowned by a sea of sweet sauce underneath and a massive, cold blob of dairy product plonked on the top. Have faith in your chef - he knows what he's doing, and his fritters should be allowed to stand lone, and proud, and speak for themselves.

And so to dessert. Now, greedy as I am, LOOK AT THOSE PORTION SIZES. Even I can't manage the merest sliver of a pudding, so head chef Richard Davies very kindly chooses a few favourite items and packages them up for us to take away, no doubt under the impression that we are going to leap into a taxi rather than accidentally being side-tracked into the Whim Wham Cafe Bar, where we sit, proudly and not a little smugly, with our foil parcel of delicious delights on the table between us. I'm somewhat ashamed to say that we eat the lot for breakfast the next day, and they have fared remarkably well despite their late-night adventures - even the vanilla-flecked panacotta remains moist and buoyant, and the raspberry cheescake is an absolute joy. The cat looks at us despairingly and goes back to bed.

The Oxnoble want people to know that they are a destination for an evening meal as well as for a quick pint, and we were therefore invited in to review the menu for free. I will however go again, as a paying customer - the food is great value (I am particularly keen to investigate the ludicrously good value "2 courses for £10" offer that runs Monday-Saturday until 9.30pm), and the attention to detail is impressive. If you're not convinced, I'll leave you with this little detail - when I complimented Alex on the quality of the balsamic vinegar that came with our bread, and asked what brand it was, he said that the chef prefers to make his own balsamic reduction, to really intensify the flavour. So yes, a busy pub it might be, but our little corner of The Oxnoble was all restaurant.

Halloween Gourmet Evening at The Mark Addy: Local Girl Finally Gets Some Brains

Now, I'm quite happy to admit that in a number of ways, I am not in the least bit adventurous. I like to be in bed early on a school night, for example, and I am highly suspicious of change; I am yet to be convinced that black and navy can be worn together, or that an open-toed sandal can be accessorised with tights. And yet I've always fancied myself as quite an adventurous eater, altogether brave in my food choices despite being - naturally - most discerning about what I pop into my gannet-like mouth.

In fact, I've always said that there's only one thing I wouldn't really want to try, and that's brains. Born in the 70s into an enthusiastically meaty family, I've eaten most things - when you've watched your father press his own tongue (so to speak) every Christmas, there's not much left in this world that can scare you. Except brains. And I think we all knew it was only a matter of time until Robert Owen Brown decided to serve them up as part of the monthly six course Gourmet Evening at The Mark Addy; on Wednesday, that time was finally nigh. Here's what we had, including - a new entry at number three - the course that almost dereailed my adventurously greedy spirit...

1. Roast Pear William with Shropshire Blue Cheese. When he introduces this, ROB terms it a salad, despite it only having one or two miniscule hints of greenery in evidence upon its arrival. Mr Liz deems this his idea of a salad, and whilst I would have liked a little more vegetation, we both enjoy the contrast of the soft, fragrant fruit against the salty strutting of the cheese and the sweetness of the honey and saffron dressing. I have to pretend that I am not running my finger round the bowl to get at the last of this dressing when someone comes to clear the table, lest I look greedy, and am brought extra brains later.

2. Pumpkin Soup Shooter. Thoroughly appropriate for Halloween, this smooth, rich soup, topped with a frisky foam, is mellow and warming, combining the soft spice of the pumpkin with the roundness of what is clearly a considerable quantity of cream. All across the pub, diners knock back their shooter and exchange anxious glances at the thought of what is to come, perhaps wishing the soup had a hefty glug of brandy in it as well.

3. Crispy Veal Calf Brain with Diablo Sauce. This course arrives whilst I am indulging in some heady sausage talk with James of Bobby's Bangers; I return to my table to find Mr Liz looking warily at the dish that has appeared there, with a sort of "they're he-eeere" expression on his face as he peers - with some trepidation - into the shadowy depths of the bowl. And do you know what? They're OK - two flat, white discs of meat (one each), coated in batter, deep fried, and served with a spicy dipping sauce. Would I have liked them if they hadn't essentially tasted of batter and spicy dipping sauce? Maybe not, but I can now say I've tried them, and if I get pestered by trick or treaters in future years I can always offer this up to them as a tasty alternative to all that bland Haribo, and then watch them run away, screaming, down the street.

4. Roast Local Pheasant. A sensibly straightforward course after all that excitement - moist, gamey bird served with tiny roast onions, spinach and fondant potato. I enjoy this very much, particularly as, after the last course, I too now consider myself to be something of a game old bird.

5. Chestnut and Fig Tart. I love Autumn/Winter food, and this encapsulates everything that is right and good about the season - a crisp pastry shell filled with a rich, nutty mixture that is not too sweet, just flavoured with the natural sugars of the figs and the warmth of the chestnuts. It is perfect, and I think those who have eaten the brains should have extra portions at the expense of those who have not.

6. Local Cheese. As ever, two cheeses, grapes, celery and crackers; as ever, excellent. The only variable with this one is the location of their consumption; tonight, I eat them on the premises rather than in the car on the way home.

As I weigh all of this up the next day, there are two things that come to mind. First of all, only ROB would have the chutzpah to serve up brains to the 30 Swedish tourists who have booked in for Gourmet Evening for a taste of real English cuisine (to be fair, many of them do give them a good go, although others look rather as if they would like to return home with immediate effect). And secondly? The brains were fine, but given a choice, I'll take balls over brains ANY day.

Mark Addy Gourmet Evening July 2012: the Beginning of a Triumphant Birthday Fortnight

A few years ago, I decided that birthdays were just too much fun to be restricted to one day per annum, and enthusiastically adopted the tradition of the Birthday Week. This is of course far more sensible than it might sound - most of us these days have a pretty extended network of friends and family, spread out in various geographical locations, and the flexible notion of the Birthday Week allows for the lucky celebrant to catch up with all of those people nearest and dearest to them. And - less worthily - adopting this tradition also means a/ more nights out and b/ more presents.

Unfortunately, in this household, this year is a story of monkey see, monkey do, monkey want MORE. This year is a special birthday for Mr Liz, and he is insisting on a full birthday fortnight, running from Monday just gone to Monday week - and I've got to be honest, I'm exhausted already. I've already eaten my own body-weight in cheese at Tuesday's International Cheese Awards (more of this in another post), and we've still got Damson, Olympic football, Linen at Manchester 235 and - oh - PARIS to go. Last night, though, was the last Wednesday of the month, so you know what that means...Gourmet Evening at The Mark Addy. Here's this month's luscious line-up:

1. Morecambe Bay Shrimp Shooter. Regular Addy-ites will know that this dish has appeared on the Gourmet Evening menu before; its popularity (as well as its local and seasonal nature) meant that this shot glass of hot, fishy broth, rich with cream and flecked with fiery pepper, was deservedly back. I burnt my mouth on it last time and am ashamed to say that absolutely NO lessons had been learnt and I burnt my mouth on it all over again.

2. Glebeland Growers Salad. In his opening preamble, Chef Robert Owen Brown said that he's getting quite into salad, as long as it's "proper salad". I can confirm that ROB's understanding of a "proper salad" is one that contains approximately three small pieces of greenery along with a selection of popular breakfast items - in this case, cubes of warm, crumbly black pudding, slivers of fat, flavoursome bacon, and a quivering poached egg. Absolutely delicious, although I fear disappointment and perhaps a tantrum when I next serve up salad at home to a husband who has been given false expectations of what a healthy dish should be like.

3. Signal Crayfish Cocktail. I really can't get enough of prawn cocktail - I love it in all its forms, even the plastic, luridly pink versions that come in a tub from the supermarket. I can't help it; I think it's because I was born in the 70s. Being the Addy, of course, this was neither lurid nor plastic - saucy, sexy, local crayfish peering haughtily from their rightful place in a martini glass. There was even a tiny - tiny - bit more salad in the bottom of the glass.

4. Roast Pork Fillet with Summer Truffles and Mushrooms. This was the only dish last night that I wouldn't give full marks to - my piece of pork was on the small side (yes, I AM aware that I am in the middle of eating six courses, but hungry is as hungry does) and also a tiny bit dry. The rest of the dish effortlessly redeemed itself though - the potato was deliciously soft, creamy and garlicky, and the sauce pungent with but not overwhelmed by the earthiness of the truffles.

5. Dunham Massey Berries. The desserts at Gourmet Evenings are often deceptively straightforward - this was just fresh, sweet berries in a syrup made from their own brethren, and topped with lots and lots of cream. When the raw materials are this good, you just don't need to do any more to them.

6. Selection of Local Farmhouse Cheese. Course number six is always cheese, and for the second month running I stayed to eat it rather than have it packed up in a foil party bag that ALWAYS intrigues fellow travellers on the bus on the way home. As usual, I ate the blue one, Mr Liz ate the non-blue one, and we fought over the grapes.

I must also mention two exciting things that happened last night - firstly, the generous folk at The Addy had arranged for a bottle of birthday champagne to be waiting on our table for when we arrived (I kindly helped Mr Liz drink it, for it was a school night *good wife*), and secondly, the lovely James from Bobby's Bangers brought me along a bag of sausages that had missed the food barge on Monday (more of these fellows another time). It's been a life-long dream of mine for a man to hand me a bag of sausages in a pub (although I didn't actually know this until it happened), and his small, kind action has earned me countless brownie points with Mr Liz.

So, for the second month running, there was nothing here that could possibly upset anyone - which does rather take the fun out of posting the menu on Facebook and then checking a few hours later to see what particular dishes poeple have got their knickers in a twist about this month. Although please ROB, do NOT see this as a challenge for next month...

The Mark Addy Gourmet Evening June 2012; This Time, it's NORMAL

Now, I realise that for regular readers, it's about the time of the month that I entertain you with tales of testicle-eating and squirrel-bothering at the venerable Mark Addy, whose monthly Gourmet Evenings are as delicious as they are bonkers. What would chef Robert Owen Brown have worked his magic on this month? A well-meaning friend at work kindly suggested perhaps it would be a slug risotto, whilst another simply begins humming the theme to I'm a Celebrity whenever I hove into view. Well, you PHILISTINES - it's not about shock value, it's about cooking with whatever happens to be seasonal, local, available and good; and this month, there's really nothing that anyone could turn their noses up at (unless they were a vegetarian of course; the Gourmet Evening remains solidly unsuitable for non-meat eaters). Here's what we had:

1. Glebeland City Growers Salad with Poached Egg and Bacon. Glebelands, on the banks of the Mersey in Sale, produces organic food for consumption within Greater Manchester; most admirable, of course, although Mr Liz did look a little crestfallen when this first, apparently healthy, course was announced. He needn't have worried of course: this was salad ROB style, i.e. served with a big fat poached egg and a generous amount of salty porcine chunks, and as any fool knows, you can have pretty much anything you want with salad leaves and it's still good for you, FACT*.

*Although I am not technically a qualified nutritionist, I still whole-heartedly believe this to be true.

2. Cider Marinated Cornish Sardines with Scallop and Deep-Fried Herring Roe. This was the most unusual course of the night and it was also the best, the cold, sharp, tangy fish contrasting beautifully with the hot, crunchy, golden puffs of battered roe. I have a photo of it here, but the quality is poor, due to the iphone flash having been crafted by a malicious goblin in the fiery pit of Hades. I'm sorry to let you all down with this, but frankly you should blame Apple, not me, and maybe write a letter or something.

3. Wood Pigeon with Black Pudding and Pea Shoots. Turns out, there are some things that are just MEANT to go together. And lo, tonight at The Addy a new duo was born, with two new names to add to the already illustrious roll call of perfect pairings: Lennon & McCartney, Morrissey & Marr, Morecambe & Wise, Fry & Laurie...and now wood pigeon and black pudding. Tender, gamey morsels of pink pigeon roosting atop a crumbly disc of Bury's finest - a perfect combination of flavours and textures that sadly never stood a chance of lasting even as long as Morrissey & Marr. I even have good photos now, as I have turned off the flash and Mr Liz is suspending himself over the table illuminating the scene with the torch app on his own phone. Never let it be said I am ANYTHING other than a true and dedicated professional.

4. Mutton with Cream and Capers. By ROB's reckoning, all that salad to start meant that our arteries were now as clean as a whistle and could thereby justify THIS, a heavenly yet sturdy dish of slow-cooked mutton (which to my mind has a much better flavour than lamb if you cook it right) in a rich sauce cut through with the salty freshness of caper berries. As I swiped up the last of the cream sauce on my finger I couldn't help thinking it was a mighty fine job I had eaten all my pea shoots as well as my salad, or I might have been guilty of over-indulgence here.

5. Gooseberry Fool. As a child of the 70s and 80s, I remember gooseberry fool as a pretty formative part of those early years, served up to great enthusiasm and acclaim even from a bunch of picky kids who all had wildly differing food tastes. My mum makes a GREAT gooseberry fool. Now, as she doesn't read this blog, I can say* that it turns out that ROB's fool is EVEN BETTER than my mum's - so good, in fact, I had two. I am most ashamed of myself, and can promise that it will not happen again**.

*I am however going to say it very quietly, in case my sister is reading this and tells my mum - I can simply claim she misheard.

**It very probably WILL happen again.

6. Shropshire Blue Cheese. I had offered to forgo my cheese course in return for extra dessert, and meant it: there was a very worrying possibility that I might burst during this part of the evening. However, I eschewed the crackers and only nibbled the end sections of cheese, thereby scotching in one deft stroke any rumours you may have heard about me being a big fat greed-face.

So, a great night, and adventurous as I am, I must admit this was my favourite menu yet - pretty much all things I would have chosen anyway, particularly the fish course. I can't help worrying though, that with all this month's restraint there's going to be something REALLY terrifying next month...

- The Mark Addy is on Stanley St in Salford, M3 5EJ; tel. 0161 832 4080.

May's Gourmet Evening at The Mark Addy, Salford: Local Man Still in Recovery from Unexpected Experience

Now, there are a number of expressions in the English Language that hint at the retributive nature of justice: "you reap what you sow", for example, or "what goes around comes around". This is why something nice will surely happen to you if you help an old lady across the road, or rescue a sad kitten from a tree, or crochet a blanket for someone who is cold. And this is why you should never, EVER joke with your work colleagues about how Robert Owen Brown will probably feed you squirrel testicles at that evening's Mark Addy Gourmet Evening; frankly, you deserve everything you get. And, this is what we got; Mr Liz is still recovering from course number three, but we'll get to that in a minute.

1. Buttered English Asparagus. Not much to say about this one, other than simple perfection: fresh fat spears of England's finest charred and softened and served swimming in a sea of butter and black pepper - hard to improve on this dish really, although Mr Liz IS distracted by the thought of what's to come.

2. Baked hand dived scallop glazed with Lancashire cheese sauce. Again, no problems here: a single plump, quivering scallop - with the coral, the tastiest bit in my humble opinion, still attached - served in its shell covered with a thick blacket of tangy cheese sauce (essentially a scallop mornay but done the Lancashire way rather than the French). Delicious, delicious, delicious - although the ridges in the scallop shell DID mean a finger had to be employed to really get out every last bit of cheesy goodness *puts on best ladylike face but fears this may be too little, too late*.

3. Pan Roast Lamb's Fry with Capers. Sounds pretty normal, doesn't it - every one likes capers, after all, and lambs are tasty fellows. The pallor that instantly drained all trace of colour from Mr Liz's face when Chef Owen Brown explained that "fry" = "testicles" was quite something to behold; I swear his bottom lip may even have trembled slightly. In the end, of course, they looked nothing like one might have expected: tender slices of pillowy-textured, intensely savoury meat in a buttery sauce so tasty that even Mr Liz managed to clear his plate, along with lots of other brave and hungry boys. Would I order this particular delicacy again? Probably not, but I AM a big believer that if you're prepared to eat animals then it's wrong to turn your nose up at certain cuts of meat, and it DID provide me with enough material for around half an hour of smutty banter with a passing History teacher the following day.

4. Slow Braised Grey Squirrel. So, my premonition had been proven half right - rather than the envisaged squirrel nadgers, instead we were presented with a dainty dish of rodent haunch, slow roasted and served atop the potato version of Table Mountain. I'm a big fan of squirrel - it's lean, it's tasty, and were I a little more enterprising I could harvest a seemingly almost inexhaustible supply from my own garden - and although it can be a little fiddly, the gamey flavour totally rewards the patient diner. Much easier to let a chef get most of the bones out of the little blighters for you though.

5. English Strawberries Three Ways. This month's dessert was a triumph - I don't have a massively sweet tooth, so this combination of fresh and freeze-dried berries, pretty pink strawberry soup, and custard-filled sponge cake was right up my street. The soup was the star here - essentially a posh smoothie, I could feel it physically cleansing my system of all the calories I had previously consumed; at least, that's what I like to hope was happening.

6. Selection of Cheese. Once again, my eyes were bigger than my stomach - no mean feat considering that by this point of the evening my stomach was the size and heft of a small bungalow - and we had to have our cheese foil-wrapped to go. It's hard to express quite how satisfying it is to leave a restaurant clutching a shiny package that you know is filled to bursting with brie, grapes and crackers - even if your stomach IS full of balls.

- The Mark Addy is on Stanley Street, Salford M3 5EJ, and the next Gourmet Evening will be on Wednesday 27th June.