This story doesn’t get any less embarrassing to tell. But I still need to tell it. It was a summer lunchtime – in a New York park – and Marco Pierre White and I were hungover from a night of Sambuca at Jay-Z’s party. See what I mean? Embarrassing. Anyway. Sat on the grass, and eating a street-vendor’s burger slathered with ketchup, we wondered why we weren’t offering the same thing in Britain. I decided, then and there, that I would do something about the state of British street food. Once I had ordered another burger. (more…)
Faith Popcorn wants to know everything about you – and I mean e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. From the vermouth in your martini to the groceries in your refrigerator. The world’s leading trend forecaster works from a town house in New York, ‘brailling the culture’. And there’s an awful lot of culture to braille in New York. “I remember driving through Harlem” says Popcorn. “This guy was wearing pants, and – I swear to God – they were the biggest pants I’ve ever seen. They were like a skirt. I stopped and asked if he’d made them himself. By sewing two pairs of pants together. I just had to know. If I understand people then I can really understand the future.” (more…)
Andy Bates was there at the very beginning of the Street Food Revolution. The launch was of the British Street Food Awards was held on Whitecross Street, the London market where Andy sold his custard tarts and black pudding scotch eggs, and I remember him sending Marco Pierre White and Antony Worrall Thompson home with enough samples to feed an army. But he has that special ‘something’. And a knack with pastry. Which explains why he still holds the Best Pie title at the British Street Food Awards, and he’s now a tv star on the Food Network. It’s well deserved.
Bad news. The lovely Fay Ripley (actress and author of the brilliant Fay’s Family Food) is going to drive to Harvest At Jimmy’s. I was very excited when she agreed to come and join the judges at the British Street Food Awards on Sunday — she’s a great cook. But driving? All the way from London? I’ve tried emailing her train timetables. I’ve even looked into helicopter landing pads. But she won’t have it. She’s driving. Despite The Accident…….
Are you kidding? No more heroes? We have spent months now, meeting, greeting and eating the best of British street food. And there are some real superheroes out there. Men and women doing great things in a kitchen the size of a postage stamp. Now there’s a superpower. For a bit of fun, here are three particular heroes of mine.
In troubled times, a juicy, two-fisted hamburger provides comfort. It isn’t a trend – it’s a classic. And it’s a classic for a reason. So don’t monkey about with it. The meat shouldn’t be lean — you’ll end up with a burger that’s mealy and dry. And make sure to get your meat-to-bun ratio right. (more…)
Aiken Drum was an odd-bod. What with his hat of cream cheese, and his coat of roast beef, he had what can only be described as the world’s first eating disorder. If I remember the rhyme correctly, Drum (who played upon a ladle, a ladle) had friends who got to eat his clothing. How I wanted to be a friend of Aiken’s. As a young boy I dreamt that we would run away together, and live in a town where the rivers were fat with milk and the hills were moulded from grated cheese.
It was army scientists who first brought us dried egg, freeze-dried coffee and processed cheese. Well, they’ve gone and done it again. With everlasting bread. By lowering its acidity, and by chemically bonding its molecules to water, they have created a loaf (sic) that will stay fresh for up to three years at 26 °C. Our lives will never be the same again. (more…)
I will always remember Marco Pierre White in the lobby of the Soho Grand, signing for breakfast. He put it on Room 320 – the only problem was that he was in Room 322. He was the worse for wear after a night on the sambuca – ‘the house cocktail’, as he called it. The aniseed spirit was lit, extinguished (with the palm of the hand) and shot – in one. Sure, it was against New York fire regulations, and everything that was good and decent. But it was very Marco Pierre White. And the burns from last night didn’t appear to be bothering him…
I have just found out that Leon want to get involved with the British Street Food Awards. And I’m excited. You see, I can still remember my first Leon meal – in a busy pedestrianised area behind Libertys. Not like Soho, where diners are never more than, say, three feet away from a car exhaust. Apart from the proximity of the Great Marlborough Street public conveniences (which, to be honest, is a plus rather than a minus at my age), it felt like a nice place to set down a few tables. (more…)
Antony Worrall Thompson has just sent me this article. He wrote it for the Express, a few years ago, when he was — understandably — down on the whole idea of British street food. Now he’s coming to Ludlow to judge the British Street Food Awards. And he’s not doing it ironically. How times have changed — thank goodness.
“You’re on holiday, you’re feeling peckish, what do you do? You don’t really want the expense of a full blown meal, so you think to yourself ‘Do I trust the street vendors?’ The answer in many cases must be no.
My general rule of thumb is, if you’re in a western country (USA, UK, Germany, Australia), don’t touch them with a bargepole — unless, of course, you are into greasy nondescript burgers with boiled onions or boiled frankfurters with tasteless cotton wool bread. Let’s face it — we don’t do street food well. Except, of course, the great bacon buttie. As long as good quality bacon is used.
I don’t know if it was the coffee beans (Tanzanian Peaberry and Sumatran Mandeling), the hand grinder, the personal cafetiere or the trioxane pocket stove in her handbag that give it away. But I knew early-on that my wife was particular about coffee. Now, to make matters worse, she has gone and struck up a relationship with our local coffee cart. “Try one of these” she says, handing me a coffee with a spoon dipped in white chocolate. “You want cinnamon with that?” She’s lost her coffee-loving mind. But she says she’s tasted the future. And, apparently, it will be served with gingerbread biscotti.
I remember a time when it was different. When a ‘free refill’ was a threat rather than a promise. When coffee tasted like tea. I remember industry insiders talking about toasted bran and chicory as “the new coffee” because coffee was dead. But then came Frasier and Friends, and all of a sudden we were ordering double skinnies like we knew what it actually meant. Now coffee shops are everywhere. Baristas are busily swathing espressos in hot milk, whipped cream and flavoured syrup, and handing us back something that looks like an ice-cream sundae. Which isn’t always a good thing.
After the launch, Marco and I went to his new-ish place at Stamford Bridge to talk about the judging process. It wasn’t a posh lunch. All we ate was custard tart. He wasn’t sure about the nutmeg — or the egginess of his custard. Graciously, I gave him my opinion.
September 2009 saw the launch of the British Street Food Awards at Whitecross Street Market in London. It was one heck of a job getting the banner there on the tube.
Can I just say — do you have any idea how much a banner costs? I didn’t. This one (and I did a bit of comparative shopping beforehand) came in at just over £150. So no wonder I’m holding it up for all the world to see. Which created a bit of a problem for Antony, who didn’t have his heels on. It was the culmination of a lot of hard work — and the beginning of a lot more.
This story doesn’t get any less embarrassing to tell. But I still need to tell it. It was a summer lunchtime – in a New York park – and Marco Pierre White and I were hungover from a night of Sambuca at Jay-Z’s party. See what I mean? Embarrassing. Anyway. Sat on the grass, and eating a street-vendor’s burger slathered with ketchup, we wondered why we weren’t offering the same thing in Britain. I decided, then and there, that I would do something about the state of British street food. Once I had ordered another burger. (more…)
Andy Bates was there at the very beginning of the Street Food Revolution. The launch was of the British Street Food Awards was held on Whitecross Street, the London market where Andy sold his custard tarts and black pudding scotch eggs, and I remember him sending Marco Pierre White and Antony Worrall Thompson home with enough samples to feed an army. But he has that special ‘something’. And a knack with pastry. Which explains why he still holds the Best Pie title at the British Street Food Awards, and he’s now a tv star on the Food Network. It’s well deserved.
Bad news. The lovely Fay Ripley (actress and author of the brilliant Fay’s Family Food) is going to drive to Harvest At Jimmy’s. I was very excited when she agreed to come and join the judges at the British Street Food Awards on Sunday — she’s a great cook. But driving? All the way from London? I’ve tried emailing her train timetables. I’ve even looked into helicopter landing pads. But she won’t have it. She’s driving. Despite The Accident…….
It was a proud, proud moment — to see the British Street Food Awards finalists all come together. 
In troubled times, a juicy, two-fisted hamburger provides comfort. It isn’t a trend – it’s a classic. And it’s a classic for a reason. So don’t monkey about with it. The meat shouldn’t be lean — you’ll end up with a burger that’s mealy and dry. And make sure to get your meat-to-bun ratio right. 
I have just found out that Leon want to get involved with the British Street Food Awards. And I’m excited. You see, I can still remember my first Leon meal – in a busy pedestrianised area behind Libertys. Not like Soho, where diners are never more than, say, three feet away from a car exhaust. Apart from the proximity of the Great Marlborough Street public conveniences (which, to be honest, is a plus rather than a minus at my age), it felt like a nice place to set down a few tables. 
“You’re on holiday, you’re feeling peckish, what do you do? You don’t really want the expense of a full blown meal, so you think to yourself ‘Do I trust the street vendors?’ The answer in many cases must be no.
I remember a time when it was different. When a ‘free refill’ was a threat rather than a promise. When coffee tasted like tea. I remember industry insiders talking about toasted bran and chicory as “the new coffee” because coffee was dead. But then came Frasier and Friends, and all of a sudden we were ordering double skinnies like we knew what it actually meant. Now coffee shops are everywhere. Baristas are busily swathing espressos in hot milk, whipped cream and flavoured syrup, and handing us back something that looks like an ice-cream sundae. Which isn’t always a good thing.
September 2009 saw the launch of the British Street Food Awards at Whitecross Street Market in London. It was one heck of a job getting the banner there on the tube.
