Kick the coffee bucket

Today, a few unscientific thoughts about coffee. In true disclaimer style, all views are my own, with very little foundation in the culture or science of the mighty bean. Over the past few years I have a developed a keen interest in these beautiful, caffeinated kernels. It all started with a stormy but ultimately productive love affair with my Gaggia Cubika espresso machine. Gaggia is a well respected Italian brand, but my initial dates with sleek, brushed steel Cubika left me flat. I wanted crema and depth. She produced stale, black water. I pulled myself together and eventually confessed the old adage, "It's not you, it's me". After giving the old girl a good descale, I bought her some decent coffee to spit on.

And there lies part of the secret to good coffee- not only decent beans, but the freshest possible grind. And fresh means really fresh. I discovered Two Day Coffee Roasters in Bristol after a chance introduction by my friend Jonathan. Perched in a small but perfectly formed shop at the top of St Michaels Hill, this husband and wife venture buys bags of beans from smaller growers, and then fires them up on site, billowing acrid coffee clouds onto the street outside. The scent is alluring, with an ever changing line up of coffee varieties available by the 100g, and served in neat, brown paper bags. Luckily, it was after discovering Two Day Coffee Roasters that Cubika started to return my affections. All of a sudden her crema was thick and dark, and espresso beneath was smooth and mild. Our relationship was back on track.

My next revelation was all about grinding. Two Day Coffee Roasters would always ask you the intended destination of your beans, be it espresso or french press. When I tried to replicate it on my cheap and cheerful home grinder, Cubika started to sulk again. It must have been the texture she disliked, and on subsequent enquiry I was informed that succesful home grinding required an expensive, burr based technology at the very least. Back to Jonathan, who was pleased to give me a demonstration of his beautiful Kitchenaid grinder which, in combination with his Rancilio Silvia machine, produced a dark velvet crema and an unparalelled depth of espresso flavour. Poor Cubika began to appear somewhat frumpy in comparison to Silvia's solid and faithful body. At three times the price, I would expect so too. At this point, I felt that my coffee obsession was starting to run too far. I spent night shifts trawling through coffee review websites trying to identify the sexiest machine in my budget. I added them to my basket, only to be interrupted by emergencies that stopped me from buying.

As a nation, we would now like to think that we are coffee wise, slurping lattes and cappucini by the gallon load each day. We certainly seem to have sailed past our American counterparts, who still give their hard earned dollars to slurp stale filter coffee from polystyrene cups. But who are we kidding? You don't see the Spanish swanning round Madrid with takeaway coffee cups big enough to bathe in. The Italians don't sit with a sinkful of cappucino in the late afternoon. We've adopted a pseudo coffee culture now, which our European cousins must think is rather bizarre. The idea of half a litre of hot milk with a espresso hiding in the bottom sounds unappealing on paper. On the continent, coffee is much more functional. It's an espresso. It's cheap. It's freely available. Most importantly, it's a quick affair, perhaps accompanied by a glass of water in acknowledgement of the physiological need to rehydrate and of caffeine's diuretic consequences. Maybe our cooler climate has led us into our love affair with the "longer" coffees. Perhaps our age-old obsession with voluminous cups of tea will prevent us from ever moving towards an espresso culture.

However, there are signs that things might be improving. The appearance on the market of the flat white gives me hope. The Australians are big fans, and there is a Soho coffee shop that takes its name from this middle-grounder. Unfortunately, some of the bigger chains have labelled it as an "artisan" drink, with a price to match. In fact, it is delightfully simple. Espresso, not much milk, no unnecessary foam, no bucket sized cup, and no Cadbury style sprinkles on the top. If you're not going to drink espresso, and consider a macchiato as a messy sneeze, then a flat white is your man.

But now that I have convinced you to resolve your coffee mistakes of the past, where should you find that authentic espresso, or a non artisan flat white? The answer probably lurks round the corner from your office or on your walk home. Perhaps, like me, yours is parked up on the pavement. Ditch the chains. Try local, small and independent, until you find something you like. Don't treat your grande massivo as a fashion accessory. Keep your coffee small and quick. My recent discovery parks outside Waterloo station, and provides me with a no frills cup of goodness at two thirds of the price as its well known competitors around the corner.

And if you're feeling really brave, go and buy a Rancilio, and start an obsession.

Blue Print Cafe, Shad Thames, London 26.03.12

A little springtime sunshine is the perfect excuse to find oneself in the lofty Blue Print Cafe, which sits alongside the Design Museum in Shad Thames. The glass walls gave an unparalleled vista of Tower Bridge and the weekend river traffic, and the restaurant space itself felt airy and uncluttered.

Lunch was a choice of the excellent value £12.50 two course set piece versus the slightly more expensive (£16 for a main) a la carte menu. A crisp and earthy sourdough started things off cordially, and was followed by a chicken liver parfait with toast and homemade chutney. The parfait was generous and silky, but paled into insignificance in comparison to the succulent tiger prawns with a mango coulis. I do not often choose pork but thought I would give it chance today after experiencing a rather glorious serving of pork belly a few weeks ago. A well seasoned cutlet arrived on a bed of cabbage braised with cream and pancetta. The pork only just managed to retain enough moisture in the meat to be acceptable, but the flavour certainly remained. The pancetta added further saltiness to the dish, which needed something tart to cut through the oily textures of pork and cream. A neatly trimmed skate wing is served simply and traditionally with butter and capers.

The dessert list comprised of a comforting apple and rhubarb crumble, which was served in a Le Creuset style dish the size of my hand, and warm rice pudding with a jam. It felt like posh school dinners, but left us with full bellies to parade along the river path on the way home.

The environs were unparalleled; the service attentive and relaxed; and the portions certainly generous. The a la carte is on the pricey side for a lunch time menu, but I would certainly return for the fixed price menu next time. With the Design Museum set to move soon, get in there quick...

Fish! Kitchen, Borough Market London, 03.03.12

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially when you leave it until eleven o'clock and have a handful of hungry relatives in tow. The March drizzle melted into insignificance as we stumbled upon Fish! Kitchen, a buzzing, glass-surrounded eaterie in the heart of Borough Market. After a couple of stolen glances through the window at plates piled with black pudding and sausages, our minds were made, and we secured our table quicker than you can whisper full-English-and-a-black-coffee.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can now tell you that the anticipation of this breakfast was the most enjoyable part of proceedings. Our first stumbling block was a thoroughly luke-warm cappuccino, which was attractively (and perhaps coffee-chillingly) decorated with the lettering F.I.S.H. A replacement was requested, along with some milk to accompany the tea, and we placed our food orders. A piping hot cappuccino arrived shortly afterwards, along with a forgotten orange juice, but still no milk. We sat a little while longer, resisting the temptation to revisit contentious family conversation topics, but slowly autodigesting. The milk finally arrived, beautifully steamed and hot. We let the error slip past us, conscious of our parched and shrivelled kidneys, but all the same muttering "hot milk, heart of England, blah blah..."

25 minutes pass and we had still not received any food. A distracted waiter informed us they were a little snowed under in the kitchen, and that our food would be with us soon. When? Dunno. Now I am not a management consultant, but common sense would tell me that Saturday at 11am would be a predictably busy time for the breakfast service. The restaurant was half full.

Eventually the food arrived, and the full breakfast plates were bulging with produce. The sausages were firm and herby, but the scrambled eggs lacked seasoning and the poached eggs were hard. There are smaller dishes for the safety conscious client, including tomatoes or mushrooms on toast, but the former were drizzled in garlic. It was a unnerving position for any breakfast tomato. The kippers were dry and arrived drenched in butter, despite a request to arrive without. We ate. Solemnly. Desperately. And then we did the very British thing of kicking up a (bit of) a fuss. A couple of dishes were refunded and we marched out, to the tune of the waiter apologising to the table next to us, and offering a refund.

Butler's Wharf Chop House, London, 05.11.11

Butler's Wharf Chop House has an enviable position on the river firmly in the shadow of Tower Bridge. A previous visit several years ago comprised of a generous steak and kidney pudding sitting outside on the terrace. Today's visit was a chillier affair in the cloudy November Saturday gloom.

Lunch service seemed to tick over with plenty of tables picking over oysters and steaks in relaxed fashion. Diners are given the choice of different menus in the bar or restaurant areas. We chose a restaurant table alongside the set menu (two courses £23, three courses £27). Service was prompt and delightfully friendly if a little lost in translation at times.

To start, the mussels were a simple but comforting affair with a straight-forward white wine and garlic sauce that boasted great depth of flavour. The portion was adequate but shell after shell appeared empty and there were no survivors at the bottom of the bowl. A starter of game terrine was good ole slab but was underseasoned and lacked real flavour.

The fish pie was excellent- hearty chunks of fish and boiled eggs with a lightly toasted potato mash topping. The whole plaice came decorated with samphire and capers ( advertised "sea vegetables") but was a little soggy and over-buttered. The ox cheek was enormous but could have benefited from substantially longer in the oven. It was rubber-textured with unsavoury gelatinous seams- all this could have been improved with the slow cooking it deserves. A few sides of vegetables would have been welcome, especially with a £27 menu.

With half an ox cheek declined, there was room for sticky toffee pudding with clotted cream. It was a mediocre experience- a little dry and lacking in stick.

Altogether we were left feeling a little deflated by the Chop House Experience, and had wished we had gone with the appealing bar menu. Our mood was alleviated by the low pendant light hanging off centre over our table. Multiple head bangs later (diner number 1) we were sent off chuckling into the afternoon drizzle.

The Prince Regent, Marylebone, London. 16.07.11

The Prince Regent take two.

I had a pretty decent Sunday lunch here over two years now, but today wasn't my first visit since- I had a fairly disastrous mid-week meal here earlier this year with friends. We all had fish and chips- staple British pub fodder- but it couldn't have been more disappointing. The fish was dry, the batter dark brown, and every so often we found black chips which had very obviously spent a little too long lying in the fryer.

All credit to Prince Regent though, as the comment card we filled in was acted upon and today's lunch was a freebie. Sound simple? Well, almost simple. Firstly they wouldn't take our booking for lunch because of a group booking, but on second phone call they decided they could. The pub turns out to be only averagely busy when we get there. Next, the helpful manager is a little undecided as to what the deal was when we arrive. Our original party had been five people, and now we have diminished to four, but he tells us that the freebie would be for two people. Now we are beginning to think we were wasting our time. No such thing as a free lunch? Obviously not.

The food itself is decidedly better than last time. My pork cassoulet is plentiful, with big chunks of chorizo and pork, albeit the latter feels like it might be the reincarnated leftovers of a previous Sunday roast. The accompanying bread is brilliantly fresh. The spinach and lentil burger is true to form, with not a cremated chip in sight. A few extra chunks of cod would make the fish stew a little more worthwhile. The sticky toffee pudding is a generous portion indeed, but unfortunately it is stone cold. I am reluctant to complain (again) but enjoy it nonetheless.

We broker a deal that the main meals and soft drinks are complimentary, and fork out for our Sierra Nevadas and desserts. Without doubt the Prince Regent has a fantastic location with plenty of foot-fall. I'm sure it will remain busy, but I suspect the number of customers who return might dwindle. Like my sticky toffee pudding, I'm left feeling luke-warm.

Goldbrick House (cafe), Bristol, 20.11.10

Goldbrick House is truly established on the Bristol cafe/bar/restaurant scene. It is a rambling but endearing place- rooms, stairs, more rooms, stairs, a roof terrace- and so on. Today was a quick and slightly late lunch in the street-level cafe. Service is slow, but eventually the pots of loose leaf tea are delivered. The eggs royale (the smoked salmon take on benedict) are pretty stingey- not abundant with hollandaise and constructed with truly "hard-poached" eggs. The cheddar and pickle sandwich is unwealdy (better suited to a trip up Snowdon) and accompanied by a mountain of blood-pressure-curdling salty chips. Next thing, the manager walks through the cafe having popped out for a Boston Tea Party take-away latte. It doesn't inspire confidence- we sort the bill and make our excuses.

Maison Bleue, Victoria St, Edinburgh, 13.09.10

Maison Bleue has been a popular Edinburgh eating place for a number of years now, and boasts a prime location on the exquisite Victoria Street at the heart of the Old Town. Even on a post-festival Monday night, there is a healthy buzz and plenty of busy tables. It is an intimate atmosphere- low lights, heavy dining furniture and plenty of couples leaning over candles, safe from the dreary Scottish night.

"Le Banquet Bleu" seems a good value option, with three courses for £25 and plenty of choice in amongst it. To start, the beer-battered haggis balls are a little soggy but arrive with a healthy dollop of clapshot potatoes (mashed potato and swede, so do not expect a taste explosion). The camembert fondue is a generous portion in a crispy filo basket. The duck leg confit is a conservatively-sized limb, but flakes off the bone satisfyingly. The skin would benefit from a bit more crunch and the gruyere mash and port reduction are bland. The saffron rissoto has a beautiful yellow glow, but the rice is a little too al dente and stiff. Again, it lacks a depth of flavour and is under-seasoned. Luckily, the sticky toffee pudding saves the day, with teeth-clinging reassurance.

Maison Bleue will no doubt remain busy- not bad for a tourist trip, but locals will know better.