Latest news with #HughCorcoran
Irish Times
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
London's most controversial restaurant, where the Irish chef takes only cash and has no website
The Yellow Bittern Address : 20 Caledonian Road, London, N1 9DU, England Telephone : 0044-2033422162 Cuisine : Irish Website : Cost : €€€ There's Burgundy by the glass for Bloomsday, and with it, a small Joycean crisis: could the food in Ulysses shape the menu too? A Gorgonzola sandwich seems unlikely, which leaves grilled mutton kidneys with 'a fine tang of faintly scented urine'. The Yellow Bittern, the 18-seater, lunch-only restaurant opened by Belfast-born chef Hugh Corcoran – which quickly became the most controversial restaurant in London – was just the sort of place to have this on the menu. Not long after it opened in late 2024, The Yellow Bittern triggered a storm. No card machine, no online booking, cash only. When Corcoran posted about diners treating the place like 'a public bench', a table of four nursing two mains and a single starter, some saw it as principled, others as combative. But it revealed something simpler – discomfort with a restaurant that asked for your presence. Corcoran runs the kitchen, drawing on six years of cooking in the Basque Country and four years in Paris. He owns the restaurant with two friends – Lady Frances von Hofmannsthal (née Armstrong-Jones), who looks after the room and also publishes Luncheon magazine, and Oisín Davies, who bakes the bread. READ MORE Lady Frances von Hofmannsthal and Hugh Corcoran. Photograph: Peter Flude/The New York Times Some rooms carry a feeling that goes beyond what's in them. It isn't just the colour on the walls – though here, it's the yellow of unsalted butter – or the light, which is soft and forgiving. It's something less visible. You cross the threshold and feel yourself ease. There are white paper tablecloths with small jars of loosely arranged rosebuds, buttercups and daisies. Pictures are mismatched – a map of Ireland, black-and-white prints of Samuel Beckett, Brendan Behan and Lenin – hung with casual care. The kitchen is visible from our table, the two chefs chatting quietly as they plate at the counter, a few pots, a single stove, and shelves of glassware. There's a gentleness to the room – as if someone had made it with the hope that you might read more Elizabeth David . A blackboard lists the day's dishes, written in cursive chalk beneath the date '16th June, 1904′. There's egg mayonnaise, ox tongue with green sauce, seafood chowder, hotpot, beef and parsnip pie for two, and three desserts. The Dublin Coddle has generated a lot of buzz. Photograph: Peter Flude/The New York Times There's no printed wine list – Corcoran pours what he loves, then talks you through it. It feels generous, not prescriptive. But it's a hot day, so it will be water (£4) and wine by the glass (£10) – a Savoie white, a cloudy Loire chenin, and a bright young Burgundy – all poured generously. [ Baba'de restaurant review: You won't eat like this anywhere else in Ireland Opens in new window ] Lunch begins with half-moons of boiled egg (£9), firm yolks just giving way, on a thick spoon of yellow mayonnaise. The mayonnaise tastes like it was made minutes before, and the eggs are cold – not chilled. It makes a strong case for the underrated brilliance of boiled eggs and emulsified fat. Waxy new potatoes – properly salted and cooked to a tender firmness – are tumbled with green peas and long stalks of watercress (£14), lightly dressed. We relax into the room, into its friendly blur of talk – a mix of tourists and regulars – as we wait for our mains. Corcoran is in deep conversation with a table for four, opening bottles he ordered with them in mind. The Yellow Bittern, located near London's King's Cross train station. Photograph: Peter Flude/The New York Times The seafood chowder (£20) reveals itself as quiet comfort, cloaked in herbs and cream: chunks of white fish and scallops, with greens and soft potato, all held in a butter-light sauce. The balance, the restraint, the seasoning – it speaks of someone who cooks with quiet precision and no urge to show off. The Lancashire hotpot (£25) appears. Slices of potato browned at the edges sit over pieces of tender lamb, carrots, peas and onions. The broth is thin but full of depth, slow-cooked with assurance. We order dessert, then Lady Frances reappears about 15 minutes later with an apology. The soufflé has not turned out as planned, they will not be serving it. Would we like something else? At the next table a spoon cracks the brûlée, its top evenly torched. But today feels like a day for strawberries (£9), a bowl of hulled berries lounging in a pool of red wine. For the most controversial restaurant in London, The Yellow Bittern is disarmingly lovely. There's no pretension. The pricing is honest, the wines are poured with generosity and a modest profit, and the people are kind. If this is radical – asking you to be present, to pay fairly, to take your time – then maybe we need more of it. Lunch for two with two bottles of water and three glasses of wine was £115 (€130). The verdict Just go. Book the 2pm sitting and have a glorious long lunch with your pals. Food provenance Henderson's fish and shellfish, Swale Dale beef, vegetables from Shrub and garden, and Mike's Fancy Cheese. Vegetarian options Limited. Wheelchair access No accessible room or toilet. Music None.
New Statesman
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- New Statesman
British food is reactionary now
Illustration by Arne Hoepfner I am eating lunch in the Yellow Bittern on London's Caledonian Road. It is co-owned by chef Hugh Corcoran, a Belfast man. And so, fittingly, we are eating soda bread and butter; and then we split an expensive pie, its crust made glistening by the butter-flour ratio. It's a carefully staged restaurant: demure to the point of austere, with old-fashioned wooden chairs; there is a looming poster of Vladimir Lenin and a slightly friendlier photograph of Samuel Beckett. Downstairs is a bookshop – I see a copy of the Communist Manifesto with an introduction by AJP Taylor. Among his influences Corcoran counts Robespierre, the Sans-culottes and Keir Hardie. Yearning for the moral cleansing such a proletarian aesthetic might provide? Head to the Bittern. And then look to the (frequently changing) menu: sausages and potatoes in broth, turbo-charged Hibernian peasant food; beef stews; the centuries-old classic, potted crab; apple pie, just like grandma used to make it. The Bittern is on the sharp-end of 2025's reactionary swing against the culinary frippery of the 2010s: a decade symbolised by the so-called small-plates revolution; a single ravioli split between three in a Scandi-minimalist hole in the wall somewhere in E8; when the wine was cloudy and the vibes set by the super-restaurateur Richard Caring. This was a culinary universe that the spirit of Brexit could not penetrate, where pan-European liberalism survived in the form of seven padrón peppers. In the identikit restaurants of Dalston they presented the customer with crudo and hispi cabbage; at home all of a sudden we started drinking Picpoul de Pinet, the cheap stuff barely a single quality marker up from Oyster Bay, but somehow it came bearing a patina of casual sophistication. Well, now the culture is sending that vaguely fusion cabbage salad back to the kitchen. Here is pie, here is soda bread, here is a pork chop, here is full-fat unadulterated butter, and no I don't want my feta whipped and I certainly don't want my wine to be orange. The Yellow Bittern might have taken this project to the very extreme, but this is not a one-man crusade against the poly-crisis of small plates and bad wine. At the Devonshire in Soho, run by Oisín Rogers, another son of Ireland, desserts trend to postwar nostalgia: bread and butter pudding, sticky toffee pudding, it gets no more modern than crème caramel. And your starter is invariably a prawn cocktail, last exotic in the 1980s, maybe? If you want something to come on a small plate, expect it to be explained to you under the more traditional parlance of 'a side'. The restaurant's deserved popularity – in part thanks to the Guinness boom of 2024 – is proof of concept. When I visited, I had bread, cold white Burgundy, salty butter. 'What could be better!' I say, with immediate guilt, as I glance over to the kitchen and to the men sweating over a literal open flame to cook meat someone else reared, killed and butchered for me. But grill it and they will come: The Devonshire has worked out how Londoners want to eat in 2025. Food and politics never move as perfect analogues. But if we are to extract some message from this volte-face in the dining landscape it is this: take us back, the consumer pleads. To an imagined past? Maybe. Or to somewhere else entirely? But the sense that something in the world has gone terribly wrong is there; the suspicion that all this miso-charred broccoli might have had something to do with it looms. Hence the turn towards meat and custard. The restaurateur Raymond Blanc, with typical Gallic generosity, once described this island as the 'culinary dark hole of Europe'. And before the vaunted restaurant revolution of the Nineties, prefiguring New Labour by just a minute, who could challenge him? In the Seventies, British children were eating Angel Delight; their parents wondering if quiche Lorraine was the height of elegance. It was a decade in which salads were made with gelatin and set in plastic moulds; when cheese was only to be eaten on a stick. We cannot divine everything about a national psyche by what the middle classes make for dinner. Ham and bananas hollandaise – instructions for which you will find in the 1973 recipe book Contemporary Cooking – is a psychotic episode on a plate, not a political argument. But food is still a keystone in the development of a national identity – go and tell an Italian that the secret ingredient to your ragù is ketchup and I'll arrange the funeral. It is also a loose weather vane for the political mood. In the Seventies, Britain endured four prime ministers and four general elections, an oil crisis in '73, such profound industrial unrest to warrant the declaration of five states of emergency, property booms, a banking crisis and stagflation. And so, yes, I will wager that a decade as fraught and fragmented as that might also be the one that serves salad preserved in aspic as the centrepiece of a dinner party. If food is a sensory reflection of the moment, then the moment sounded something like this: agghhhhh! As London recovered from the downbeat Seventies, it took a while for the restaurant scene to catch up. Paris was still teaching the world how to eat. But good cooking crept in slowly and by the 1990s the demi-monde was eating sun-dried tomatoes and all of a sudden posh mums knew not only what Chardonnay was but that their preference was for the French stuff, not whatever the arrivistes in the New World managed to come up with. As a decade, beset by the ambient presence of Marco Pierre White, it taught the British elite something simple: here was a new way to signal your belonging; screw Mozart and Veronese, gen up on the River Cafe and ricotta. And so in London, as in New York City, the bourgeoisie were trading the trickier fine arts for the secretly low-brow universe of eating (basil oil, no matter how carefully considered, is not providing the same intellectual challenge for the consumer as Proust). A proper critical framework emerged, and the rock star line-cooks headed for the television: MasterChef, 1990; Rick Stein's Taste of the Sea, 1995; Jamie Oliver's Naked Chef, 1999. In 1995 the veteran Delia Smith triggered a nationwide run on cranberries after she put them in duck rillettes. The Nineties were haunted not by the end of history, but another perennial question: what if we put pesto on that? The collision of the new gastronomic landscape and the political moment was perhaps no better captured than in that picture of Tony Blair with his wife Cherie at the devastatingly fashionable Le Pont de la Tour with the Clintons in 1997. They ate ballotine – a kind of layered, stuffed poultry first associated with 19th century French cuisine, but really, this carnal swiss roll was a star of the Nineties kitchen. These left-ish tribunes, now with Jamie Oliver emerging as their standard bearer, were winning. All their affinities for the continent were cropping up, not just at the hard-to-get tables, but even in your pantries. And it continued through the rest of the New Labour years; their affection for Chianti creeping into the home kitchen; neoliberalism with a Caprese salad; the Iraq War drizzled in balsamic glaze. The year 2025 is gripped by something closer to a reactionary nostalgia. The Yellow Bittern and the comparatively more accomplished Devonshire are not sole-traders in the shift toward the traditional – their culinary ancestors at the Quality Chop House and the St John have been making similar arguments for years. Copycat menus of the Devonshire are cropping up; Ashton's in Dublin offers a near-perfect replica. This is all part of a natural culinary evolution. Brexit deflated the elite vision of Britain as somewhere with endless capacity for cosmopolitanism and reawakened a belief in the proud meat-and-two-veg nation. Even if it is all served to bourgeois executives under a Potemkin trad aesthetic. But this is not an instinct reserved for the restaurant-goer. Just look to the redemptive arc of our most ancient foodstuff: butter. Since the Eighties, the public health commissars across the Anglosphere were committed to a simple message: saturated fat was killing you. In Ireland, the dairy farming class exported cream and butter but bought hydrogenated vegetable oil for their own kitchen tables; pale and insipid margarine filled supermarket shelves; low-fat yogurts and semi-skimmed milk landed on breakfast spreads. The idea was fully realised by the 2000s when Special K told you to eschew fat and eat cereal. Restaurants never gave up on the stuff: any chef will tell you the secret to good cooking is knowing how much butter to use, and having the confidence to use it. But a counter-revolution was brewing for the consumer too, whose lives existed far from the Michelin Guide. By 2014, Time magazine staged an intervention with a cover story beseeching the world to 'Eat Butter'. The experiment was a failure, it argued; we cut saturated fat, people only got sicker. And butter's redemption was in motion, no matter that it continued to run counter to British health advice. Finally, by 2025, the grip of the low-fat regime is loosening: demand for butter and whole milk is recapturing ground in the United Kingdom, once stolen by their margarine and skimmed counterparts. One raffish young chef, Thomas Straker, found viral fame (and possibly a restaurant empire) with an extended series about the stuff. It stands as a slippery, greasy, yellow shorthand for the Great British Nostalgia Drive: a nation yearning for a custardy past, where Irish peasant food is served to counter-signalling elites on the Caledonian Road; where the very-modern anxiety about saturated fat is discarded for ancient wisdom. It is almost as if Britain looked in the mirror and said 'quite enough modernity, thank you!' [See also: We should be eating oily fish – but what's the catch?] Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe Related
Daily Mail
01-06-2025
- Business
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE Can YOU guess what links this waitress to the Royal family? Woman working in London restaurant with society links to Princess Margaret
As she scurries about carrying plates and clearing tables, dressed simply in a shirt, tie and waistcoat with a starched apron tied around her waist, you'd never believe that this busy waitress has Royal connections. To her partner - and co-owner of their restaurant The Yellow Bittern - she's simply Frances, but to those familiar with the offshoots of the Windsor family tree, she's Lady Frances von Hofmannsthal. Lady Frances née Armstrong-Jones is the youngest daughter of Lord Snowdon, the former husband of Princess Margaret, and Lucy Hogg, the woman he wed shortly after finalising his divorce. Frances was born seven months later. Photographer Antony Armstrong-Jones was given the peerage of Lord Snowdon in 1961, a year after marrying the late Queen's younger sister. The couple went on to welcome two children, David, 63, and Lady Sarah Chatto, 61, the only maternal cousins of King Charles and his three siblings. But only three-and-a-half miles away from Buckingham Palace, on the somewhat grimy Caledonian Road behind King's Cross, you'll find their half-sibling hard at work at one of London 's most controversial eateries. Opened in October 2024 by the 45-year-old with her partner, chef Hugh Corcoran, 35, and bookseller Oisín Davies, 33, The Yellow Bittern has managed to divide London's restaurant critics. With just 18 seats, you can only book in for one of the two Monday to Friday lunchtime sittings by telephone or postcard, and don't even try to settle the bill with your phone, it's a strictly cash only establishment. There is no menu. Just a chalkboard with a short list of dishes that is changed daily. On one day this week there were some interesting cuisine on offer. To start: radishes with butter; crab mayonnaise; artichokes a la barigoule [that's small artichokes braised in a light stock with carrots, onion and hidden mushrooms]; mussels in cream, white wine and spring onion; and chicken and broad bean vol-au-vent. Prices range between £9 and £18. Bread and butter costs £6. And for main course: roast chicken; beef stew and mash; and Dublin Coddle [this is the Yellow Bittern's trademark dish. It looks like an artisan sausage drowning in a bowl surrounded by onions, carrots, potatoes and herbs]. These cost £25 or £28. Deserts include classics crème brulee and chocolate soufflé but also rhubarb and apple tart and strawberries in red wine, priced at £9 or £10. And then there's the now infamous Irish cheeses at £16 a plate. Need something to wash it down with? The wine list is stored in Corcoran's head, and after becoming somewhat of an expert during a tenure in Paris, he'll tell you what you'll be having from his 'coveted' wine list. And that's £10 a glass or £60-£65 a bottle. Meanwhile across the Caledonian Road tattooed men clutching hard-hats are downing pints of cold lager as enjoy their lunch-hour. Around the corner one man is comatose under a blanket, while another pleads incoherently for money as the sits by the door of a Sainsbury local shop. Two streets away two men are sitting against a wall surrounded by a cloud of bitter smelling smoke. Their eyes are both glazed and wide-open at the same time. At first glance, you could be forgiven for thinking Frances and Hugh's romance is a classic example of 'opposites attract'. She grew up in the heart of British high society - official photos from her older half-sister Lady Sarah Chatto's wedding show her sharing bridesmaid duties with Zara Phillips and posing next to the Queen Mother, Princes Charles and Edward - and he is a Belfast-born Irish republican who dreams of cooking for the RMT trade unionists who have an office round the corner from their tiny restaurant. But while their backgrounds differ, their approach to enjoying life - and their reverence for a leisurely midday meal - is remarkably similar. Inspired by the joy of a long, boozy lunch, in 2017 Frances founded food and lifestyle magazine Luncheon, a highly regarded periodical which presents its readers with a smorgasbord of high culture, food, and interesting conversation. There are definitely parallels to be drawn between what she publishes and the vibe of the famous parties thrown by her father and his first wife in Kensington Palace's Apartment 1A from the start of their relationship until their divorce in 1978. Chain-smoking Princess Margaret was renowned for holding court with some of the era's most fashionable and sharp-tongued names, as well as many of her husband's flamboyant friends from the arts. However, Frances' tastes seem to be decidedly more lowkey. She told Vogue Italia that Gavin and Stacey star James Corden would be one of her 'ideal guests' at her perfect lunch. She added that she sees Luncheon, which is now based in the same building as The Yellow Bittern, as 'a cocktail of images, photographs, designs and illustrations. And lots of conversations between, maybe, a ninety-year-old artist and a twenty-year-old photographer. Beauty is born out of this type of mix. We like the idea of creating something unique, of looking at, reading, rereading and preserving. 'It's all very random, the ideas are born spontaneously at a party, at an exhibition, or with someone I meet by chance. I want the spirit of the magazine to remain free, just like what happens during a lunch; you never know who is seated next to you and what you'll talk about.' This week Lady Frances floated between the handful of tables at this intimate eatery while her firebrand Irish chef partner Hugh picked up casserole lids to stir the pot. At one table an aging theatre director was waxing lyrical about his latest project to his lunchtime companion, an aging actor. Opposite, two young men with foppish hair in their late teens wearing Levi jeans, baggy t-shirts and expensive trainers chatter away. Next to them, a man in his late 20's and his together-forever girlfriend nuzzled each other between sips of chilled white wine, that Hugh has just poured them. Lady Frances even offered a sigh of sympathy to another diner, as he announced that his lunch guest 'cannot make it'. Lord Snowdon's zest for life and learning about people didn't fade away once he had left the confines of the Palace. Growing up, Frances recalls being invited into her father's home photography studio to meet the subject of the day - it might have been Margaret Thatcher or Tom Cruise - and joining them for a chat. She told Vogue Italia: 'I grew up in the house where my father had his studio (I'd come home from school and if the red light was on above the door I had to be absolutely silent). Every time he'd finish shooting, he'd call me in to meet his subject. They would all sit at the kitchen table, my father, the assistants, collaborators and that day's actor or actress.' With her lifelong involvement in his work, it was fitting that Lord Snowdon, who passed away aged 86 in 2017 from kidney failure, entrusted Frances to help him manage his archive and exhibitions, and gave her a key position at the Snowdon Trust. The year prior to his death, Frances launched her eponymous fashion label, selling smock coats at trendy Dover Street Market which had linings inspired by the wallpaper in her father's studio. She told ES Magazine that she had become a designer with zero formal training, admitting 'no nine to five, no degree, nothing. I just have a background of... life, I suppose.' During the 1990s, three hundred miles away in the decidedly less stellar setting of North Belfast, Corcoran was also learning about what makes for the perfect get together. He told The Irish Independent: 'As a young child, I remember coming down to a tablecloth littered with glasses from the night before; the link between food and wine and having a good time was established in my mind at an early age.' His parents, Moya, a North Yorkshire born left-winger and Jack, an Irish mechanic, nurtured the young Hugh and his brother, also called Jack, on a diet of hearty home cooked meals, which were dished up with even bigger portions of Irish nationalism and talk of trade unions over the dinner table. He added: 'My mother was always a good, hearty, simple cook and a very good gardener; she still grows vegetables and flowers. She is my primary inspiration, her food was always about nourishment. Her attitude to hospitality was that everyone was welcome to stay and eat and drink at the table. 'My father was an adventurous cook. I remember him making squid ink pasta and conger eel in red wine; we had Elizabeth David's books in the house and he was interested in those.' Described widely by the restaurant press as a 'Communist', Corcoran has done little to quash the narrative. Back at the little restaurant, Lady Frances appears to be very much at home. She smiles as she places white plates packed with haut-cuisine on to the white tablecloth, next to the cream real-linen napkins. No glass goes completely dry before she is standing next to one of the four tables, asking gently; 'Would you like anything else?' As the first sitting comes to an end Lady Frances, Hugh Corcoran and his assistant gather at the little kitchen at the end of the small room, where their gastronomic achievements wait to be served at the second sitting. This tiny one-room, no menu restaurant, may not be a banqueting hall, but Lady Frances' charm in the dining room and Hugh's skill with the pots and pans have created a truly royal eating experience.
Irish Examiner
17-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Darina Allen: Three recipes to try at home inspired by the London food scene
This week, an update from the London food scene. I was over for a wedding lunch at Corrigan's in Grosvenor St, and chic, delicious, and wonderfully convivial it was too. I particularly loved the new seasons' English asparagus swimming in nori seaweed butter. They used yakisushinori-roasted nori seaweed and added a bunch of watercress as a garnish — delicious! And guess what? I managed to get a table at the Yellow Bittern in Caledonian Rd. It felt like winning the Lotto! It's owned and run by Hugh Corcoran from Belfast and his lovely daughter Frances. Open just for lunch Monday to Friday and closed at the weekend — two sittings, one at 12pm and the other at 2pm, and for just 20 people. The food is simple, comforting, and delicious. The super fresh ingredients are laid out on the worktop in the tiny kitchen at the end of the restaurant. Hugh and his assistant work their magic on two stove tops and a tiny oven. We ordered radishes with butter and flaky sea salt, brown crab with mayonnaise, and freshly-baked soda bread. The flavour of the mixed brown and white crab meat reminded me of the flavours of early Ballymaloe. Myrtle always served both brown and white crab meat to encourage the fishermen to catch and sell whole crabs rather than just claws. Many other good things included a succulent beef pie and one of the best crème brûlées I've ever tasted. Always fun to catch up with Ballymaloe Cookery School alumni when I'm travelling. George Williams and Beth O'Brien have recently opened the Fat Badger over Canteen on Portobello Rd, a super cool bar with live music and a restaurant with an open kitchen on top. It was really rocking, and, once again, I enjoyed a delicious dinner. I particularly loved the intense nettle soup and a dotey little individual soda bread with good butter and a custard tart extraordinaire. Bravo to all again. A tough place to bag a table but definitely worth a try (tell them you read about it in the Irish Examiner!) So proud of 'our babies', next stop Stevie Parle's Town on Drury Lane. This is a much larger space designed by North End Design. It was absolutely throbbing with enthusiastic diners on its second night. Stevie offered me many tastes from his super creative menu, I particularly loved the deliciously fresh winter tomatoes with cod crudo and tomato water. He's been experimenting with lots of heritage citrus from Todoli Farm in Spain's Valencia, which provided little bursts of tart flavour. The wine-cured wild-farmed beef with candied walnuts and cheese whizz was another intriguing combination — all the more interesting because the cheese came from his brother, Mike Parle, who hand makes several artisan cheeses in The Lost Valley Dairy and Creamery in Inchigeelagh in Co Cork. He and his partner sell from his stall at the Skibbereen Farmers' Market every Saturday. Add these to your London list, plus a sweet little place in Hampstead called La Cage Imaginaire, where I had a lovely lunch with my dear friend of many years Claudia Roden, author of A Book of Middle Eastern Food, and many others, and who introduced us all to hummus et al in the 1990s. Devotees will be happy to hear that Claudia, now in her late 80s, is working on yet another book — her 22nd… what an icon! The Cage Imaginaire is the perfect place for a catch up. Cooking is done from scratch and there's no loud, throbbing music so we could hear each other rather than having to lip read. Claudia Roden's Hummus bi Tahina recipe by:Darina Allen Hummus bi Tahina is brilliant as a starter served as a dip with pitta bread. It is also delicious as part of a mezze. This recipe is from Claudia's Middle Eastern Food, first published in 1968 by Thomas Nelson. Servings 4 Preparation Time 15 mins Cooking Time 60 mins Total Time 1 hours 15 mins Course Side Ingredients 110-175g cooked chickpeas (see below) or use tinned for meals in minutes freshly squeezed juice of 2-3 lemons, or to taste 2-3 cloves garlic, crushed salt 150ml tahini paste (available from health food shops) ½ to 1 tsp ground cumin To garnish 1 tbsp olive oil 1 tsp paprika 1 tbsp parsley, finely chopped a few cooked chickpeas pitta bread or any crusty white bread, to serve For the pitta crisps 3 mini pitta breads (about 9cm in diameter), halved crosswise 4 tsp extra virgin olive oil 1 tsp freshly ground cumin ½ tsp salt Method Cover and soak the dried chickpeas overnight in lots of cold water. Drain the chickpeas, cover with fresh water. Add a good pinch of bicarbonate of soda, bring to the boil and cook until tender, this can take anything from 30 to 60 minutes. Drain and reserve the cooking liquid. Remove any loose skins and keep a few whole ones aside for garnish. Whizz up the remainder in an electric mixer or blender or food processor with the lemon juice and a little cooking water. If necessary, add the crushed garlic, tahini paste, cumin, and salt to taste. Blend to a soft creamy paste, add more cooking water if necessary. Taste and continue to add lemon juice and salt until you are happy with the flavour — the texture should be soft and silky. Pour the creamy mixture into a serving dish, mix the paprika with a little extra virgin olive oil, drizzle over the surface, do the same with the chopped parsley. Sprinkle with a few cooked chickpeas. Serve as a dip with pitta bread or as an accompaniment to kebabs. For the pitta crisps Preheat the oven to 200C/gas mark 6. Cut the pita into triangles. Brush evenly with olive oil, sprinkle with cumin and salt. Spread pita strips in a single layer on a baking tray and bake in the middle of the oven for three minutes or until crisp and golden. Serve immediately to scoop up the hummus. Stevie Parle's Cod Crudo with Tomato Water and Basil Oil recipe by:Darina Allen Clean, vivid and elegant — this crudo balances the sweetness of tomato, fragrant basil oil, and bright citrus over delicate slices of cured cod. Servings 4 Preparation Time 10 mins Cooking Time 4 hours 0 mins Total Time 4 hours 10 mins Course Main Ingredients For the cod cure 300g caster sugar 600g coarse sea salt zest of 1 lemon zest of 1 orange For the tomato water (yields 400g) 400g Marinda tomatoes 400g vine tomatoes 20g fresh basil 4g fish sauce (we use colatura di alici) 16g sea salt flakes 16g sherry vinegar 16g white wine vinegar 10g caster sugar 4g black peppercorns For the basil oil (yields more than needed): 228g fresh basil leaves 900g sunflower oil To serve 1-2 Marinda tomatoes, sliced as thinly as possible with a sharp knife 180g cured cod (sliced) 100g tomato water basil oil, to drizzle a few segments of pomelo or grapefruit (optional) Method To cure the cod, bliitz the sugar, salt, and citrus zests in a food processor. Coat a cod loin evenly in the cure and refrigerate for four hours. Rinse well, pat dry, and chill. Slice thinly just before serving. Make the tomato water by roughly chopping the tomatoes and combine with the remaining ingredients. Marinate for 20 minutes. Blend everything, then strain through muslin cloth overnight without pressing. For the basil oil, blend the basil and sunflower oil in a Thermomix at 90°C for nine minutes. Alternatively, heat in a saucepan for a couple of minutes and use a blender to emulsify. Strain through muslin cloth and chill. To serve, lay a few very thin slices of Marinda tomato on the base of each chilled plate. Arrange slices of cured cod on top. Spoon over around 25g of tomato water per portion. Finish with basil oil and citrus segments if using. Fat Badger's Brown Sugar Custard Tart recipe by:Darina Allen Thank you to Beth O'Brien, pastry chef extraordinaire, for sharing this delicious recipe, best custard tart I've ever tasted. Servings 4 Preparation Time 30 mins Cooking Time 1 hours 30 mins Total Time 2 hours 0 mins Course Baking Ingredients For the pastry 80g butter 80g icing sugar 1 egg 240g plain flour 35g ground almonds pinch of salt 1 egg, to egg wash For the custard 240g milk 900g cream 2 200g dark brown sugar pinch of salt 12 egg yolks caster sugar, Maldon sea salt and crème fraîche, to finish Method Cream the butter and sugar together in the bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment for two minutes until combined but not aerated. Add the egg and mix well, then add the flour, almonds and salt and mix to combine. Wrap and chill in the refrigerator for at least an hour. Remove the pastry from the refrigerator. Roll out to an even disc around 3mm thick. Line a deep tart tin (25cm in size), pushing the pastry into the corners and pushing against the edges of the tin. Chill for at least 30 minutes while you preheat the oven to 180°C/Gas Mark 4. Trim the edges and line the tart with baking paper and fill with baking beans. Bake in the preheated oven for 20 minutes, then remove the baking beans, brush generously with egg wash and bake for a further seven minutes. For the custard, eat the milk and cream to just about a simmer while you combine the sugar, salt and egg yolks in a bowl. Pour half the hot milk and cream over the yolks, whisk to combine, then pour this mixture back into the pot and whisk thoroughly. Reduce the oven temperature to 155°C/Gas Mark 3. Pour the custard into the blind baked tin and return to the oven. Bake for 55-60 minutes, until there is only a very slight wobble in the centre when baked. Chill fully before slicing. To serve, sprinkle a generous amount of caster sugar on top of each slice and use a blowtorch to brûlée. Put a pinch of flaky salt on top and serve with crème fraîche. NOTS Inaugural Agri-Homeopathy Conference 2025 Don't miss the Inaugural Agri-Homeopathy Conference run by the National Organic Training Skillnet taking place on Thursday, June 5, at Avalon House Hotel in Castlecomer, Co Kilkenny. In person or online event. Taste of Dublin: The Recipes Cookbook Taste of Dublin. which is celebrating its 20-year anniversary this year, has just launched its first cookbook Taste of Dublin: The Recipes with 20 recipes, all of which were demonstrated at the festival over the years. The festival has partnered with Dublin Simon Community to donate a portion of each sale directly to the charity's vital housing and healthcare services. The cookbook is available to pre-order for click and collect at the festival via or for postage on Read More Darina Allen: My top basic baking tips and three of my favourite recipes to try
New York Times
05-03-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
The Most Divisive Restaurant in London Is Open Only for Lunch
The Yellow Bittern, an 18-seat restaurant and bookstore near King's Cross station, hardly looks like the most divisive lunch spot in London. It feels more like the farmhouse of a retired professor: Customers ring a bell to enter, then hang their coats on pegs by the door, while pots of Irish stew simmer in the tiny open kitchen. The food is hearty and hot, served with open jars of mustard. The décor includes books on Bertolt Brecht and an accordion. But the cooking and ambience are not the only reasons that London's top restaurant critics, chefs and gourmands have come to dine and opine. Many are curious for a taste of the controversy swirling around its head cook, Hugh Corcoran, a deeply read communist and vocal Instagrammer who managed to enrage half the city soon after the Yellow Bittern opened in October. 'I've arrived at dinner parties or meals with people and then we all say, 'Shall we discuss the Yellow Bittern?'' said Margot Henderson, the chef of Rochelle Canteen in East London and a pioneer of modern British cooking. 'It's the talk of the town.' Much of that talk boils down to issues of class, as it so often does in Britain. The Bittern is cash-only and open for two seatings, at noon and 2 p.m., only during the workweek. Detractors have noted that few Londoners can partake in a leisurely, multicourse midday meal with a bottle of wine, and fewer still can justify one that easily costs $300 for a group of four. And the suggestion that they could — coming from a man with a larger-than-life drawing of Vladimir Lenin in his restaurant — has set off a yowl of irritation. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
