It was the dinner party from hell. What's more it was my dinner party from hell. Not because of the guests who were all lovely people. The problem was the knowledge they possessed. Seated around my kitchen table were, among others, a Michelin-starred restaurant chef, one of Britain's foremost restaurant critics and a public relations expert for the restaurant business. And they were all waiting for pudding; the pudding I had cooked for them.
I lifted my spoon high above the poached peach and readied myself for it to sink easily into the flesh as if it were softened butter. Instead the spoon bent at the neck. The fruit was as hard as a cannon ball, despite an hour in a raging oven. I smiled uneasily at my guests. 'Won't be long now,' I said. And then, through gritted teeth I said to my wife, Pat, 'It's a sodding disaster.' And it was, you know. It was.
It was all my own stupid fault. Over the past two years or so as The Observer's restaurant critic I have passed judgment on the cooking skills of over 100 chefs. I thought it could now be fun to get a chef to pass judgment on me: I might sneer at the cack-handed execution of an under-powered meat jus or an over-cooked meringue, but did I have the first clue how to do any of those things myself? Some might argue that I don't need to know. The theatre critic isn't expected to be a great actor. Why should a restaurant critic be a dab hand at the stove? Except that food, unlike theatre, is something all of us consume every day. That is the truth of it: I can't claim never to have cooked.
Bruce Poole of Chez Bruce in London's Wandsworth - who has a Michelin star - agreed to be my chef. Poole was the ideal choice. He is not a media tart because, unlike so many of his higher-profile colleagues, he prefers to spend his time in his kitchen rather than in television studios. But his restaurant is held in very high esteem by London's kitchen brigades and two years ago it was awarded its first Michelin star. He was accompanied by Maureen Mills, who does PR for Chez Bruce as well as the Fat Duck at Bray and the Capitol Hotel among others. Maureen mentioned that her friend Fay Maschler, restaurant critic for the London Evening Standard and arguably the guv'nor, wanted to come. If I was going down I might as well go down in front of a top audience. I invited her too. She accepted and then said simply 'But can you cook?' It was a good question. I like cooking but that's very different from being any good at it. In my student days I was truly appalling.
But over the years I've practised and I like to think I now know what I'm doing. If friends come round for dinner they probably don't think they're going to be poisoned. I am handicapped, though, by one little character trait. I can't be fagged to use recipe books. My eyes glaze over. I get bored. I start making it up. (Which means you should be wary of the recipes accompanying this piece.) Usually, if I attempt a dish, it's because I ate it somewhere and think I've worked out how it's done. I'm that much of an arse.
So it was with the starter I decided to cook for Bruce Poole: a warm salad of roasted Jerusalem artichokes that I had eaten at L'Anis in Kensington. It couldn't be that hard, could it? Yes, funnily enough, it could. My trial dish did not qualify as food in that it could not be eaten. My mistake, I think, was to try doing any kind of restaurant food. This had to be home cooking, well executed, not something you'd be served from under a glistening cloche. I decided instead to do a French onion tart. There were three reasons for this. First, it's a classic dish. Second, it would be a test of my pastry skills. And third - and most important - it's the only cooked starter I know how to do.
Next, the main course. My wife said: 'Why don't you do the lamb thing?' I demurred. I couldn't do that. I needed to impress the chef. No, I said, I will do roast cod with cockles. She dropped her head into her hands. I couldn't see why. It's a great dish, simple but smart at the same time. Cook the cod in a roasting tin, skin down, over the hob for about five minutes until it goes crispy, then finish in a hot oven. Remove the fish then de-glaze the pan with white wine and throw in some cockles which will steam open in the juices. One Sunday evening I prepared the whole lot at home for Pat. It was terrific apart from the fact that it reached the table stone cold. And I had only been cooking for two, not eight.
Please, Pat said, do the lamb thing. You're good at the lamb thing. I agreed. I stole the lamb thing from my sister, Amanda, who says it's her invention. It's a good dinner party dish because even if you overcook the meat, it's still a pleasure. A boned saddle of lamb is stuffed with a mixture of ciabatta breadcrumbs, sunblushed tomatoes, black olives and garlic. The only problem was, this time, it had to come out pink. Normally I'd chance it but nothing could be left to chance: my standing depended on a bloody piece of meat, in all senses of the phrase. I called Richard Neat, the only British chef ever to win a Michelin star in France. 'Listen,' he said. 'Cook in a hot oven for 10 minutes a pound. Then take it out half an hour before you need to carve and wrap it in foil. And if that doesn't work I'm changing my mobile number so you can't shout at me.'
As to the pudding I would do peaches roasted in Muscat wine with a lemon mascarpone cream. There was only one problem with this brilliant wheeze: I had forgotten that peaches were out of season and therefore much like rocks.
Finally, after two days of non-stop cooking it was dinner time. Bruce arrived and announced he would pass on the fine Alsatian Riesling (chosen by our own Tim Atkin, also in attendance) to go with the onion tart. He asked instead for the can of Red Stripe he had spotted in the fridge. And you make all that effort.
I'll leave Bruce to comment on the food. Save to say that the onion tart tasted of onions, the lamb was indeed pink (thank you, Richard Neat) and the redcurrant and Dijon mustard sauce I did to go with it didn't seem too overwhelming. Then again, what the hell do I know? I'm only a restaurant critic. Finally, of course, there were those peaches. They simply hadn't worked. Digging around I found two that were less than diamond hard. They would go to Bruce and Fay. Unfortunately each time we tried to give Fay hers she politely passed it on around the table. The one she received was like granite. I admitted to the table that pudding was a total screw-up and graciously took their soothing words. I think I'd better stick to writing about the food rather than cooking it. It's so much less effort.
French onion tart
Makes one 10-inch tart, which serves four generously
For the pastry (pate brisée):
200g plain four
100g cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
one egg yolk
tsp salt
45 mls water
Sift the flour onto a work surface and make a well in the centre. Put the other ingredients in the well and gradually mix together, drawing in the flour from the edges until it forms a coarse crumb. Gather together all the pieces with a pastry scraper and then, on a lightly floured surface, knead until it forms a putty (around two minutes). Roll into a ball and chill in the fridge for at least half an hour. Roll out thinly. Grease and flour a 10 inch tart tin (with a removable bottom). Line with the pastry and then prick the bottom with a fork. Heat the oven to 220C.
Bake the tart shell blind by lining with greaseproof paper and then filling with dried beans, to stop it from rising. After 10 minutes at full heat, turn the oven down to 190C and cook for another five or so minutes until just lightly browned. Remove the beans, allow to cool for about 10 minutes and then carefully remove from the tin.
For the onions:
two medium white onions, two medium red onions
half a dozen good sized shallots
one clove of garlic
balsamic vinegar, olive oil
unsalted butter
one beaten egg
walnut sized piece of Parmesan
Slice the onions and shallots into rings and separate. Heat two tablespoons of olive oil in a pan and add a knob of butter. Add one chopped clove of garlic and sauté for a minute or two then add the onions. Gently sauté the onions until soft. If the pan looks at all dry, add a little extra butter. When the onions are soft but not brown add two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar. Turn up the heat and, stirring the onions, burn off the vinegar until the acidic edge has gone. The onions should be sweetly caramelised but not burnt.
Allow the onion mixture to cool. Heat the oven to 180C. Fill the tart shell with the onion mixture, smoothing it out to the sides. Grate the parmesan finely into the egg and then pour over the onions, again smoothing it out to the edges. Bake for about 10 minutes. Cool for 15 minutes before serving with a green salad.
Amanda's lamb
saddle of lamb, boned
one loaf of cibatta
350g sun-blushed tomatoes
250g black pitted olives
large bunch fresh basil
two cloves garlic
salt and pepper
olive oil
Grind up the bread in a mixer to a loose crumb. Roughly chop the tomatoes, olives, basil and garlic. Mix in with the crumbs, then pour in two tablespoons of olive oil (more if necessary) to bring the crumbs together. Season to taste. Get your butcher to bone the lamb for you and keep the bones. Fill the cavity with the stuffing and then roll and tie up the meat. Ideally do this 24 hours before the meal and then return to the fridge wrapped in greaseproof paper (as some of the oil might leak out).
Heat the oven to 180C. Caramelise the outside of the meat in a roasting tin on top of the hob, giving it a minute or so per side until it is a golden brown. Put in the oven for around 10 minutes per pound. Take out half an hour before you want to carve and fully wrap (rather than just cover) with foil. It should come out pink. Serve with roast potatoes.
Redcurrant and Dijon mustard sauce
lamb bones and off-cuts
an onion
garlic
olive oil
flour
500 mls lamb or beef stock (the ready made kind is perfect)
redcurrant jelly
Dijon mustard
50gms butter
In a roasting tin place the lamb bones and off- cuts, quartered onion and clove of chopped garlic with a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, and a grind of salt and pepper. Roast in a hot oven until caramelised. Remove the bones (though leave the onions and any meaty pieces) and pour off most of the oil, leaving a tablespoon or so. Brown a teaspoon of flour in the oil on the hob and then pour in 250 mls of stock. Stir until the liquid thickens slightly. Strain into a saucepan and then add the rest of the stock. If the flavour is not intense enough reduce for a short while. Just before serving whisk in a good teaspoon each of redcurrant jelly and the mustard. Finally, whisk in the butter to give a glossy sheen.
Peaches roasted in Muscat wine
one firm (but not rock hard) peach per person
a bottle of sweet Muscat wine
demerara sugar
This is how it should work. Score the skins of the peaches. Place in boiling water for a minute and then straight into cold water. The skins should peel away. Place in a casserole with a lid. Pour in the Muscat to a depth of about an inch. Sprinkle a liberal amount of sugar both on to the fruit and into the wine. Cover and roast in a hot oven until the peaches are still holding together, but break up on a teaspoon. I have no idea how long this should take and I'm making no promises. Cool until just warm.
Lemon Mascarpone cream
300g Mascarpone
150 mls single cream
zest of one lemon, juice of half a lemon
tbsp caster sugar
Work the thick Mascarpone together with the cream until soft. Then mix in the other ingredients. This is really all a matter of taste.
And the verdict?
Bruce Poole, the chef with the Michelin star, tells it like it is
I cook for a living and either my friends are daunted by the prospect of cooking for me in their homes, or I am a miserable bastard totally bereft of any mates from whom such an invitation might be forthcoming. To avoid the growth of a sizeable crinkle cut on my shoulder, I must assume the former scenario applies, although realistically I suspect it is a combination of the two. This is a great pity, because every chef I know is as happy as a pig in its element to receive a call which might result in the consumption of food and wine in goodly quantities. It doesn't even need to be good food and wine; it is simply a case of it being, as I was brought up to believe, the thought that counts.
When I do receive such an overture, I look upon it with both reverence and excitement, although my prospective host may not adopt the same stance. Here follows in no particular order of importance, my very personal guide to staging a successful dinner party:
1.Keep the menu simple. Straightforward combos can be very pleasing - a plate of Parma ham with good crusty bread and butter is a sure-fire winner.
2. Never try to cook a dish to 'impress' your guests. If this is your sole motive, the reverse effect will usually be achieved.
3. Always provide a cheese course. Everyone likes it, it's easy to prepare, looks good and adds an agreeable sense of communion to the proceedings. Iif you have really bombed with your main course, it also provides something for your guests to tuck into.
4. Have plenty of wine around and I mean plenty. No diner should ever have an empty glass - especially me. Serve the cheap booze first and the undrinkable stuff later on. Open a (good) bottle before your guests arrive to soothe your nerves.
5. Offer as much cold food as you think you can get away with. Plating hot food for large numbers requires considerable timing skills if the food is to remain appetisingly hot and this is often the undoing of a well-meaning host.
6.The most common mistake made by amateur cooks is to under-season food. Things often taste better in good restaurants simply because they have been seasoned correctly.
7. Make sure that plates which should be hot, are hot, and make sure you have enough of them to go around.
8. One final point for guests. Please take along at least one good bottle of wine. A box of After Eights or a £2.99 bottle of plonk are hardly a very flattering riposte to the hard effort and cash your host will have put in. And if the wine you brought along is not used don't, as one guest at my house once did, take it home with you afterwards.
This brings me somewhat circuitously to the dinner served to me by Jay and his wife Pat at their home in Brixton. Jay is yet to review my restaurant, so forgive me if I choose my words with lily-livered circumspection. With all good dinner parties, as with the best restaurants, the food is by no means the only important factor and it was the intoxicating blend of charming fellow diners and my hosts' generosity which led for a splendid evening. And the food? As it happens, it was really rather good - should have had a cheese course though. And the plates could have been hotter.
