For the month of September 2011, Ridley's pop-up restaurant served lunch and dinner from an empty corner on Ridley Road Market, Dalston, East London.

Instead of paying with money, diners 'bought' their meal with produce purchased from the market, which the Ridley's chefs would then use to cook the next day's meals.

This film follows two Ridley's diners, who had never been to the market before.

www.ridleys.org

Before I moved to China, I wasn’t all that keen on meat. Sure I’d eat it if it was served to me and would probably enjoy it, but I never cooked it at home and never craved it. So when I first moved to China, I would usually favour vegetarian dishes, and if I did eat meat, I’d order chicken or beef.

But in a country where pork rules, this state of affairs was never going to last long. As I became more and more interested in the food of Sichuan and of China, my eating habits began to expand, and I tried more and more meat dishes.

The time and place of my conversion to pork I can remember very clearly. It was about a year after I arrived in China, and the Foreign Languages department of the university where I worked had taken the teachers away for a weekend break to the famous Emei mountain. We were eating lunch on our last day, at a fairly modest roadside restaurant near the small and unlovely town at the bottom of the mountain. Our boss had ordered lunch (including picking out a live fish) with the kind of enthusiasm and aplomb that speaks of someone who knows and loves food and doesn't need to worry about the bill. Soon, dozens of dishes appeared at our table, showcasing the breath of flavours that Sichuan is famous for.

Amongst the copious dishes spiked with bright red chilies or pungent Sichuan pepper, there was a subtle, pale dish of cauliflower and belly pork, the meat cut into finger length pieces that were an equal mix of fat and lean. The meat and vegetables lay in a small pool of equally colourless liquid, and it looked as if it would be a very plain flavoured, rather boring dish; as I remember, on being offered some by my Chinese colleague, I was reluctant even to try it.

I will never, ever forget the moment of my first mouthful of that pork. The best description I think I've come up with is 'an explosion of flavours'. Less poetically, it was as if I had discovered a whole new set of taste buds – there was a depth and deliciousness of flavour that I had simply never experienced before. It was a moment, and I say this without any exaggeration, of personal epiphany, and had two direct and wonderful consequences: I was instantly hooked on pork, and I started blogging about Sichuanese food soon after.

So, it was with delightful anticipation that almost exactly a year ago I planned my trip to Vietnam, where pork has almost equal a status as in China. My mouth watered even at the very descriptions of bun cha, bun thit nuong, cau lau et al...and thankfully, Vietnam did not disappoint.

I ate delicious pork dishes the length and breadth of the country – from bun cha in Hanoi, to cau lau (above) in Hoian, but there are two particular porky moments which I remember most of all. The first was in the far south of Vietnam in the Mekong delta, in a small town in Ben Tre Province. On my first evening there, finding myself unimpressed by my hotel’s food, I wandered into town to find some grub. In the small square at the main crossroads, I found a tiny noodle stall, and my heart jumped for joy.

As well as just looking fantastic, this barbecued pork was giving off an incredible smell – it had been marinating in fish sauce, chili and other flavourings for who knows how long, and was cooking over a fire made from coconut (the main local crop) shells, lending the smoke an intensely sweet and aromatic quality. It was cooked quickly, and served with cold bun rice noodles, crushed peanuts and various other goodies. It was simply gobsmacking, and I went back to that stall every evening of my stay.

The second porky moment of note in Vietnam was in the capital Hanoi, and was a rather special experience all round. Through my great friend Karin, who is Swedish, I came to meet and have the pleasure of spending some time with Thoa, the chef at the residence of the Swedish Ambassador to Vietnam. On hearing of my interest in Vietnamese food, Thoa welcomed us into her kitchen, not only at the Ambassador’s residence, but also in her own home.

The wonderful Thoa.

One afternoon, Karin and I went round to Thoa’s house for a very memorable cooking class/dinner, where we learnt how to cook nem, cahn chua, and this dish of pork and quail’s eggs, a variation of the Vietnamese classic pork and caramel sauce, itself a relative of my old Chinese favourite, hong shao rou, red braised pork. It’s an utterly sensational dish, and lucky for you, me and the rest of the world, I watched Thoa with eagle eyes and wrote down a rough recipe.

Thoa's version.

Having made hong shao rou quite a bit recently, I decided that the next time I bought a piece of belly pork from my wonderful local butcher I would try to recreate this dish at home. That day came last Friday, and also happened to be the day when I learnt that I'd got a job here. So, I made this dish in celebration, and it was, if I do say so myself, a brilliant success – the moment I starting cooking the meat I was transported back to the streets of Vietnam, the heady scent of fish sauce banishing the cold January day outside. The combination of this dish, and my recent meeting of another pork-obsessive, the talented chef here, have reminded me afresh why I adore this meat so. So, enough babbling: here, in honor of the pig, the King of Meats, is the recipe.

Thit Kho Tau (Pork and Quail’s Eggs in a Caramel Sauce)

500g of belly pork
1 spring onion
2 tablespoons of fish sauce
2 tablespoons of dark brown sugar
100 ml of water
½ can of coconut milk
6 quail’s eggs
Salt and pepper

1. Cut the pork belly into finger-length chunks, making sure that they have an equal mix of lean and fat layers. Finely chop the spring onion, and place in a small mixing bowl with the pork. Add the fish sauce and salt and pepper and mix well.
2. Hard-boil the quail’s eggs in a small saucepan, for about 10 minutes. Allow the eggs to cool by immersing them in cold water.
3. While the eggs are cooking, in a heavy-bottomed saucepan heat the sugar and a little of the water until they begin to caramelize.
4. Add the coconut milk and the rest of the water, and then add the pork and its marinade.
5. Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat to a gentle simmer. Cook uncovered for at least an hour, stirring occasionally, topping up the mixture with water if it becomes too dry.
6. Shell the cooked quail’s eggs, and add to the pot about half an hour before serving.
7. Serve with plain steamed rice.

My version.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I recently returned to the UK after living in China for almost three years. As I hope this blog shows, during my time in China I developed a passion for Chinese food, a passion which I am now intent on sharing. Thus, I hereby present my London Chinatown Food Tour!

The tour is designed as a practical introduction to Chinese cuisine and Chinese cooking, and is particularly suited to people with little previous knowledge/experience of Chinese food but who want to learn more. The tour aims to dispel the myth that all Chinese food is greasy and unpalatable, and instead showcase the many diverse and delicious foods that China has to offer.

During the tour, participants will learn about the main regional differences in Chinese cuisine, the essential items for your cupboard if you want to cook Chinese food at home, and tips on buying unfamiliar ingredients such as tofu and Chinese fruit and vegetables. There will also be the optional extra of going for a light lunch/snack after the tour at the excellent Chinatown eatery The Baozi Inn.

The Chinatown Food Tour will be on every 2nd Saturday of the month, starting in February 2011. Please email jessielevene@gmail.com to reserve your place.

Thanks!

LONDON CHINATOWN FOOD TOURS
£8 full price / £5 concessions
Every 2nd Saturday of the month, starting at 2pm
Tour lasts approximately 1 and ½ hours
Minimum number of people in tour group: 5, maximum: 12

As I wrote about some months ago, while I was in Ben Tre province in February, I went on a bike ride. This was no ordinary bike ride however, but one on which I not only got to see the cutest baby in the whole wide world, but also...

Yes, that's right - chocolate! Little did I know, but Vietnam is actually one of the world's largest producers of cacao, almost all of which they export. I doubt that this is particularly high quality cacao, but at the time, I really didn't care - I was just beside myself with excitement at actually seeing chocolate in its rawest form. Above are the beans, spread over bamboo colanders to dry in the sun by the side of the road - this method of drying is also very commonly used in China, where everything from soy beans to sesame seeds are dried in this way.

And here is an individual bean in the palm of my hand. In fact, the chocolate bean itself is inside another thin layer of skin that is discarded before use - in the photo above you can see the bean with the skin sill on, split almost in half.

And of course I had a taste. Bitter, gritty and somewhat akin to coffee beans, I wouldn't like to eat chocolate in this form everyday, but it was definitely a memorable experience. For me though, the real icing on the cake was the sheer beauty of the cacao pods, just harvested from the trees - a positive rainbow of yellow, orange and pink.

And finally, at the beginning of this post you will find (or may have already found) a very short audio postcard that I recorded very close to where these photographs were taken. Please excuse the awful sound quality!

Nothing to do with China, or even Asia for that matter, but last week I had the privilege of visiting the workshop of The Flour Station, a London baker of artisan breads, and I simply must post a few photos. I was very kindly shown around the workshop (situated, rather incongruously, on an industrial estate in Hendon), by the company's Trading Director, Sophie Taylor, who patiently answered all of my (many) questions. I learned a lot about flour, sourdough, and baking in that whirlwind hour in the workshop, but what with being somewhat preoccupied by the all the mouthwatering sights around me, neglected to make any notes, and so I'm afraid my explanations to these pictures will be a bit basic.

These are, I think, the uncooked Multigrain Baguettes.

This (I know) is the Rosemary and Sea Salt Focaccia, which had just come out of the oven.

And these are the Ciabatta loaves coming out of the state-of-the-art (and extremely expensive) ovens. I was fascinated to learn that there are no guides for the length of time the bread is baked - the time can vary depending on the weather, amount of yeast and so on, and so the bakers must have the necessary experience and intuition to simply 'know' when a loaf is properly cooked.

And finally, the three photos above are of a new variety of bread, Sundried Tomato, one of which I ended up taking home, in last three stages of their making. The first photo is of the loaves laid out on a thick fabric, after they have had their second proving. Next, they are given a quick (and very visually pleasing) dusting of flour (see photo two), and finally is gently lifted off the fabric (photo three) and laid out on the boards that will take them into the oven.

Thanks to Sophie and everyone at the Flour Station for tolerating my incessant questions and getting in way!