Ripe London

Coming Clean

It’s okay, I can take it: Ripe London has gotten stale.  After nearly three years, my mojo has dwindled; and well, there are just so many ways a girl can talk about food and love in the same breath.  So, we’re going to spice things up.

Last year at this time I was making my way to what became my paradise home for two weeks: a hidden-away beach resort in Thailand called The Sanctuary.  There, I ended up doing the unthinkable: I fasted for just over three days.  It turned out to be one of the best things I’ve ever done.  Not only did I shed holiday weight and then some, I also felt incredibly energetic and optimistic. 

I can’t make it to Koh Phan Ghan this year, but my body and blog are crying out for a shake-up.  So, starting Monday – after the official finale of what the British endearingly call the silly season – I will be embarking on a 21-day cleanse as prescribed by Kathy Freston in her book Quantum Wellness.  Oprah gave up her beloved burgers last year to do it, but the biggest advertisement is Freston’s radiant self on the cover.

There are no complicated meal plans to follow, just five big no-nos: caffeine, alcohol, sugar, gluten, and animal products.  I can take or leave a drink, so no huge problem there.  Ditto tea and coffee.  But when we get into the last three, ay yay yay.  As a vegetarian for three years I became very adept at finding ways around meat, but eggs and dairy are another story, particularly because they are often found sharing dessert space (my big bad weakness) with gluten and sugar.

And since this is Ripe London, I’m going to add a little twist.  Along with the de-tox, I will simultaneously be undertaking a he-tox – a clever if fundamentally incongruent word I can’t take credit for inventing.

As my fellow single friends rightly point out, abstaining from dating for 21 days – or even longer – isn’t exactly such a challenge for us these days.  What does require a bit more effort – though perhaps not as monumental as foregoing thick hot chocolate – is keeping the focus on my life and the wonderful people in it.  This means no talking to patient yet understandably weary friends and family about the ex, not scanning the room for potentials, and not accepting nor initiating dates should the situation arise – which they won’t, because I’ll be too busy making vegan banana pancakes or something and posting about it here. 

Before I head off for an evening chock full of the aforementioned no-nos, I’ll leave you with a recipe I’ve been baking for the family Christmas table year after year.  It’s got sugar, gluten, animal products and caffeine in it and is usually consumed between this drink and that.

Have a very happy new (you!) year.

Cappuccino Cheesecake
Adapted from Food & Wine, April 1993

For the crust:

1 cup crushed graham crackers (US) or digestive biscuits (UK)
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tbsp instant espresso powder
6 tbsp melted butter

For the filling:

3 packages cream cheese, room temperature
3 eggs, room temperature
5 cups sugar
1 1/2 tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp instant espresso powder
1 tbsp hot water

Toss the crushed crackers/biscuits with the cinnamon and espresso powder.  Add the melted butter and mix well with a fork.  Pat the mixture into the bottom of an 8-inch springform pan and bake in a 345F/175C oven until it begins to brown (about 10 minutes).  Cool on a wire rack and reduce oven temp to 325F/160C.

Beat the cream cheese with an electric mixture for a minute or two until fluffy.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each.  Do the same with the sugar, then the lemon juice and vanilla extract.  Put 3/4 cup of the filling in a measuring glass; pour the rest over the cooled crust.  Combine the espresso powder with the hot water until smooth, then whisk this into the measuring glass.  Pour the coffee-flavoured filling in a thick ring over the cheesecake.  Use a spoon to gently scoop and swirl the fillings together, then use a knife to make your pattern even prettier.  Bake the cake in the centre of the oven for an hour or until the middle is almost set.  Chill for up to three days (the longer the better), or as long as you can bear it.

The Scent of Surrender

Last time, I wrote about the obstacles we’re willing to endure and overcome – sometimes again and again – to get to something that’s worthwhile.  And how, in fact, something like distance can actually be a source of joyful anticipation when that which we crave is at the other end.  But it’s also true that what we need is often right under our nose.

Jamie in Kingston is truly worth the trip.  He opened me up to the refreshing possibilities outside the Smoke in the same way that leaving behind the madness of Manhattan for the bliss of Brooklyn turned me into a real New Yorker.  But I recently met another Italian that re-connected me to the treasures right here. 

I had passed by Sirena countless times and never gave it a second glance.  It looked tacky from the outside and unwelcomingly bare when I peeked through the window.  Snuggled on a strip too close to Selfridges, I reasoned it lacked substance and was purely there to trap tourists.  I had merely looked at the cover without flipping through the pages.  To say I was critical is to let me off easy.  But on this particular evening I was with two good friends I met while training at Le Cordon Bleu, and I was outnumbered.  One look at the menu, and they seemed instantly eager to check it out.  I kept quiet and followed along, sceptical.

Once inside, I was dismayed by the almost unfinished ambiance of the place.  We each ordered a different pasta dish, and I was already waiting for my doubts to be confirmed.  How good could linguini primavera, rigatoni with sausage and lamb ravioli be in a spot like this?

Well, if they gave out prizes for al dente, Sirena would take gold.  I didn’t try the lamb dish, but as we swapped plates I became almost possessive of my primavera and its carefully julienned vegetables swirled together with absolutely perfect pasta.  We were so overjoyed that we ordered a mushroom risotto to share, and when it emerged a good while later we were convinced the chef at Sirena knew what he was doing.

I would never have tried this little jewel of a place had I not followed my friends’ lead.  Sometimes we know what’s best for us, but life becomes more delicious when we open up, let go and hand the reigns over to someone else.  As Einstein said: “No problem can be solved from the same consciousness that created it.”

Have a very merry Christmas, resting in the knowledge that 2009 will bring you just what you need, even if it’s not what you think you want – yet.

Sirena is at 44 James Street, W1U 1EY. Such a nice surprise.

Close to the Bone

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door

–"I’m Gonna Be" by The Proclaimers

I’m bartering with the attendant at Kingston rail station who has just slapped me with a £20 penalty “fare” for not having bought a ticket.  He keeps telling me not to worry and hands me pointless instructions on how to appeal, which really annoys me as it's clearly a deflecting technique.  Of course, I'm really just annoyed at myself for having been so absentminded.

I try the logical approach.  Can’t I just buy my ticket now, please?  I never come into Kingston, honest!  Plus, it didn’t even occur to me that I couldn’t get here on my Oyster.  I get all the way to Heathrow and other parts of Surrey with it.  Why not Kingston?  Why can’t London Underground and National Rail just get along?!

You have no sympathy for me; I understand.  Neither does the attendant.  And then I do it.  My eyes well up, and all comes gushing forth.

“But, but, it’s my BIRTHDAY!" I sob, "Doesn’t that count for anything?”

The guy’s not having it and keeps feeding me his “don’t worry.”  And by now I'm fully aware that any rage I may be feeling against the system this man represents is really just a projection of how I'm feeling about myself: I messed up, not him.    

It really was my birthday.  I wouldn’t have made that up; I’m a terrible liar.  And I’m lucky that it is, because I’m being treated to dinner at the new Jamie’s Italian.  It’s opening night and the staff are over-the-top friendly.  There’s something very American about the place, and I suspect Jamie has spent as much time in South Carolina as in Southern Italy.

We order baked chestnut mushrooms and rosemary polenta chips to start, both of which take the chill off this wintry night and soften the sting of my £20 mistake.  We split the butternut squash ravioli and a salad of prosciutto and pears that arrives sans pears.  They quickly correct it, and while it’s perfectly good I wish I had asked for a more adventurous dish.  Thankfully, the tiramisu, with its hints of orange, is one of the best I’ve ever had.  And the banana brownie – an idea I initially resist – is again one of the best I’ve ever had.

So yes, I’ll jump through hoops to get to Jamie.  And no, I haven’t even tried to dodge that fare. 

Jamie's Italian is at 19-23 High Street, Kingston KT1 1LL.  Buy before you board!