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!

As a seasoned traveler and obsessive foodie, I like to think that I can suss out where the good food is wherever I am. Sometimes though, it pays to have a little local knowledge, a fact that I very pleasurably experienced earlier this year in Vietnam’s third city, Da Nang.

Known to most Westerners for its American air base during the war (which, in the words of John Pilger, eventually turned the town into ‘a small American city’), today Da Nang is little visited by foreigners. Though this is probably part of the charm of the place, it’s also a shame more people don’t go to Da Nang, for this relaxed port city has some of Vietnam’s most beautiful scenery on its doorstep – and, as I discovered, some of its most delicious food.

Originally, I’d planned to go to Da Nang just for a day trip from the nearby beach where I was staying, and arranged, through the wonderful Couchsurfing.org, to meet up for dinner with a local young man by the name of Kent Lee. With a couple of hours to kill before I was meeting Kent, I decided to check out the city’s central market – and realized very quickly that I had vastly underestimated Da Nang.

The place was heaving, full to the brim with families doing their shopping for the upcoming New Year festivities. Da Nang-ites, I now appreciated, were serious about their food. A colourful (and delicious) snack outside the market only whet my appetite for more, and I looked forward to dinner with mounting anticipation.

Thankfully, within minutes of meeting Kent, I discovered that I was in excellent hands. As well as being fantastic company (he is, among many other talents, the Vietnamese translator of Bridget Jones’ Diary no less!), Kent is also a consummate foodie, and as soon as he learned of my interest in food, resolved on showing me Da Nang’s best.

We started with one of the Central coast’s most famous dishes – My Quang, a beautiful bowl of springy, bright yellow rice noodles, served with beansprouts, herbs, shrimp, quail's eggs, chopped peanuts and crunchy flatbread. Kent took me to an utterly undistinctive-looking corner restaurant, but whose brisk business and fresh ingredients (above) attested to its quality.

This is my mixed-in My Quang, waiting to be devoured, which it duly was. I could easily have eaten a second bowl, but Kent advised me to keep some space for dessert –

Che, a kind of cross between a drink and a pudding, of which there are countless varieties – ours contained mango, coconut milk, and (joy of joys!), durian.

After a quick drink with Kent’s friends in a surreal bar full of fortune tellers and snake-charmers, I went back to my beach-side hostel pleased to have seen a side of Vietnam unknown to most tourists – so you can imagine my delight when Kent called me the very next day to invite me back to Da Nang, this time for lunch with his family.

As you can see from the photo, it was a sumptuous spread. My favourite dish was the one you can see to the right of the soup – a salad that I guessed contained, among probably many other ingredients, fresh herbs, raw onions and chicken. I was overwhelmed by my hosts’ generosity, but when I thanked them profusely for it, was told by Kent that the best way of showing my appreciation was by eating a lot. I was, as you can probably understand, starting to fall for Vietnam big-time.

But the delights of Da Nang didn't end there. After a couple of hours swimming at this beautiful nearby beach,

Kent took me for a dinner which was probably one of the best I ate in Vietnam (but which sadly I have no pictures of): at a street-stall down a tiny, scruffy alley, we ate snails and salad – the former which I am not normally a big fan of, but whose flavours I was so overwhelmed and delighted by that I completely forgot to ask what was in them, or their name. Which at least gives me a good excuse to go back to Da Nang one day.

My Quang restaurant
Corner of Le Hong Phong and Nguyen Chi Thanh.

Che cafe
Tran Phu Street.

Snail and salad vendor
Unknown alley.