Jacobs Gastropub
Posted on July 16, 2008
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Occasionally I get the urge for something in particular, only that I don’t know what that is exactly. This leads me to go on a quest, either I’m going through the local restaurants in my head to see if anything tickles my fancy, or I browse the supermarket in search of food ideas. I might even flip through websites and cookbooks in search of that special thing that I don’t know what is. This feeling can be very annoying and very productive. Quite a few of my better recipes have manifested themselves as a result of such a brainstorming.
About two weeks ago I had another one of those incidents and it was one of the times where I just tried to figure out where to eat as I didn’t feel like cooking at the time. While I thought about restaurants I wandered aimlessly through the city and was fortunate enough to stumble upon Jacobs Gastropub(*). I already knew of Jacobs as it’s a quite popular pub in Bergen among musician and tourists. The rests at the base of Jacob’s Apartments, which is a moderately priced place to stay while in Bergen, and thus attracts it’s habitants along with the locals. The actual pub has always been relatively cheap, they tend to have the occasional live music and the backyard is relatively large and sunny, all which attracts people. The recent change, which I spotted on it’s door while passing, was the gastropub bit. Previously it sold standard pub food, better than most similar places, but nothing exiting as such. The new menu, on the other hand, did look quite exiting.
The food looked a bit too interesting to go for on my own so I made a mental note to return. Luckily I have a girlfriend who loves to eat as much as I do so last Thursday I returned in her company.
Knowing that the chef was supposed to be quite good, he came in fourth at the cooking nationals just the weekend before, I trusted that the menu of the day was good. If I trust the kitchen the three course menus or the tasting menus, depending on how long I plan to eat, are usually the best bets. While the a la carte is nice if you’re in the mood for something in particular the precomposed menus tend to be the best way to go if you want to test the kitchen and have whatever they consider best themselves. Our three courses were thus chosen for us by the kitchen in the form of the three course meal of the day.
Priced at 299,- NOK (about 37,5 euros or 60 dollars) this seems like an absurd bargain. This puts it at about 30% lower than other restaurants who serve similar quality meals. Granted the place is a pub as well, and thus may cater to a slightly different clientèle, but unless there was something wrong with the meal this seemed like the best gourmet bargain in the entire city. It’s even about 10-15% cheaper than the other non-pricey gourmet restaurant in the city (Naboen Restaurant og Pub) which I know wouldn’t survive without the pub as the food is under priced. I asked one of the chefs and owners of Boha, the restaurant where I work, and he admitted to being quite impressed by Jacobs himself. After adding that the three cooks that run it are among the best in the city he expressed a concern that the place might not survive for long with such prices. I realized at that point that I should probably hurry on with my newly discovered food quest.
The meal
Last Thursday my girlfriend and I went to a christening of a ship that my father and his company has just finished. After the event hunger provoked a spontaneous dinner choice. Already being out and about it seemed wise to head for a restaurant instead of shopping and cooking myself. I had already planted the seed of Jacobs with my girlfriend so getting her to go there with me required no convincing whatsoever. We trotted quickly up the street from the city fjord eager to eat at one of the newcomers in the Bergen gastronomic scene.
Well there we were told to simply find a table (after all, it’s a pub not a restaurant, albeit a gastropub) and the waiter would bring us the menus of the day. When they say “menu of the day” they really mean it. Some friends of mine went there a few days later and ate a completely different three course meal and while there the menu was even changed after they were seated. Sometimes it can take a while to order something. This depends on the size of the menu as well as several other factors; how hungry and thus indecisive we are, the weather, whether or not the menu is innovative and possibly also on the position of a few unconfirmed life-influencing stars. Last Thursday it was very quick and painless, although choosing a table was surprisingly hard and even lead to someone, who shall be unnamed, raising their voice in a touch of frustration. Our conversation on our food choices went like this:
Me: Do you feel like having three courses.
She: Yes, I’m hungry.
Me: Okay, three course menu of the day for the both of us then.
We hailed our waiter, an American sommelier who had seen the light and settled in Bergen (something which may or may not be thanks to his woman friend being of the local variety), and asked for two three course menus of the day along with whatever wine he recommended. A lot of the time that means the best looking person at the table will have a single glass, possibly even only half a glass, while someone else is more than happy to have the rest of the bottle if the wine turns out to be good, hence that someone else was given carte blanc in choosing. I passed it on to our exceptionally courteous and friendly sommelier and after some discussion we decided on a bottle of Prager Grüner Veltliner Federspiel 2005. I was unfamiliar with the producer, but am a rather enthusiastic fan of the grüner veltliner (which is the grape), the Austrian national grap so to speak. It was a good choice and rather moderately priced as well. In general the better restaurants multiply the store price of a wine by 3.5 where as Jacobs instead opts for the now less used 2.5 multiplication. The wine list was also quite interesting and I will be more than happy to come back for a more wine oriented visit at a different time should anyone be willing to accompany me.
Shortly we were presented with our first course.
I was supposed to take a picture previous to commencing eating, but I was too hungry and excited. I was reminded quickly and ended up with the shot above. This plate of duck liver and oxtail terrine may not look all that exiting but it was very nice indeed. The actual terrine was amazing, the toast about as interesting as toasted bread, which is always a good thing in my book, but rarely something to write home about, and the salad was a bit of a waste. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why it’s there, something crisp and fresh to break up the fat and richness of the terrine, but I don’t really think it’s needed. It’s very common to serve terrine like this, so I may be in a minority here, but I don’t really think the dish needs it. The terrine was well balanced and left me simply wanting more, and the freshness and sweetness that goes so well with most sorts of liver was accomplished through the chutney. It didn’t say what sort of chutney it was, but my guess is some form of plum was a rather large part of it, possibly prunes. All in all a success.
Next up was the main course, a plate of sautéed tusk and summer vegetables in nut and capers beurre noisette.
If you’ve read my little post on simple sauces you’ll know that beurre noisette is French for nut butter, and that it in reality means butter that’s been browned so that it acquires a nutty aroma and flavour. One of the simple tricks of the French kitchen that lifts so many sauces and gravies to unimagined heights. The nutty aroma wasn’t as strong as it sometimes can be, something that may be done on purpose to not mask the delicate flavours of the fish, and this dish was very, very good. It’s simple, but the composition and lightness of it was perfect for the warm summer day that Thursday was. Both our fishes were cooked perfectly leaving the fish juicy and bursting with flavour. I loved it and the only objection I had, and still have, was that I still don’t know what those slice-shaped vegetables were for sure. My girlfriend didn’t love them as much as the rest and left one on the plate noting that she was full. Her stomach has a rather low volume.
Two things stuck with me after this plate. I don’t use enough root vegetables and I don’t use capers near often enough. I shall remedy this in the future.
At this point I got my hopes up and asked her if this meant she wouldn’t be able to eat, or at least not finish her soon-to-appear (like magic!) dessert. No such luck. She calmly pointed out that dessert goes to a different stomach.
Here’s another thing I don’t eat near often enough; rhubarb. Not only is it one of the best and entertainingly named edibles in the world, both in Norwegian and English, but it is also delicious. I should thank whoever realized this rather weird looking plant could be turned into gourmet treats for young and old alike. Thank you!
Rhubarb soup with chocolate ice cream was a delightful end to what is possibly the best food deal in the country right now. This dish might have been a bit high on the rhubarb and a bit low on the chocolate ice cream to be in perfect balance, though. It appears to be that one could probably make a rhubarb sauce that would accompany chocolate in various forms (pancakes, cakes, ice cream, soup, muffins, buns and what have you) perfectly. This soup was awesome, and so was the ice cream, but balance was best acquired through spoons of two thirds ice cream and one third soup, which seems more like sauce to me. Still, I was more than happy to eat the remaining soup after the ice cream was gone. Oh, and another thing, it said chocolate ice cream in the menu, but it doesn’t look that much like chocolate. If I was to guess I’d say it’s more like cocoa ice cream, however, it was delicious. Surprisingly so, to be honest. Not that I don’t expect chocolate ice cream to be good, but it was lighter than most and still very, very flavourful. I’d like to have that recipe. Perhaps I’ll ask the next time I’m there. I’ll certainly be back.
Now, I’m aware that it seems I’m rather critical on the details while I still praise this place. I would like to note, though, that my criticisms are details and I’m well aware that I might be part of a minority that even think so in some of the cases, but there’s room for improvement everywhere. I think I’ve never served a perfect meal in my entire life however hard I occasionally try, but this place is an amazing deal. The food is excellent, much better than any other place in Bergen at this price level, and just as good and better than many far more expensive gourmet restaurants. If you take service, which was very good, and price into account, I think this might be as close to perfect that you might be able to get right now. If money is of no concern at all I’d still go here more than once even though that’d mean I’d be on the first plane to England in pursuit of the current holy grail of restaurants; The Fat Duck.
Footnotes
(*) In English the name would be Jacob’s while we don’t use the apostrophe in Norwegian, and the name is in Norwegian. If only just.
Simple sauces
Posted on May 20, 2008
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A lot people seem to think cooking is either hard or takes a lot of time. Both are correct and wrong at the same time. The reason for this is relatively simple: anything you already know how to do is easy to do, but it can be hard to learn. At the same time it’s time consuming to cook if you have little or no efficient technique in the kitchen, and it doesn’t help if you don’t know the procedure properly and thus have to check with recipes continuously. I rarely use recipes for hot meals, but I very often skim cookbooks for inspiration. Once I realize what I want to eat or cook, often I chose courses based on perceived wishes from my dinner guests, I leave the cookbook behind and go to the kitchen. I’m able to do this because of previously obtained knowledge in the field of culinary craftsmanship.
If a recipe is called beurre noisette and veal reduction with sage and garlic and I’ll know how to make it. That is a result of, by now, ten years being a foodie. Now, a lot of people would have no idea on how to do this, where as some who read this will know instantly, like me, and we think it’s very easy. It really is. That recipe is from a sauce served alongside tenderloin of noble pork in the restaurant where I work. It was a special for a few days and I was amazed at how good it was so I asked what they put in it. There’s nothing in it that the title doesn’t say. That lead me realize that there are a lot more splendid simple sauces than I had ever been aware of. A lot of the sauces I’ve made the last few years have either been a few simple stars or long, complex stock based sauces. I’ve never been the master of simple stock based sauces until now. I had all the information I just didn’t connect the dots.
Beurre Noisette with veal stock, garlic and sage
- 75 grams unsalted butter
- 2 dl reduced veal stock (reduced from 4 dl)
- 5-10 leaves of sage depending on preference
- 1 peeled glove of garlic
Over low heat melt and brown the butter with clove of garlic in it. This is called a beurre noisette meaning nut butter, named after the walnutty flavour butter gets when browned, and if anyone was wondering: no, you can not use margarine (ever!). Remove the pan from the heat, remove the garlic and let the butter cool some. Five to ten minutes should be enough. Start adding the stock slowly while stirring with a whisk. Reheat, but do not boil, before serving.
This sort of sauce, that we call a sky (pronounced similar to shi, and if directly translated would mean ‘cloud’), is a very quick and easily changeable sort of sauce. This is perfect for summer and spring cooking when I want fresh flavours and less time in front of the stove. It’s also a sauce that can be made in advance and then reheated on the barbecue. Oh, and the reason it’s not called a ’sauce’ here is because a sauce is supposed to have some form of thickening in it, like corn flour or more commonly roux (50/50 butter and flour), whereas this is thinner and not thickened per definition.
One variation I recently did was merely a fish stock and tomato purée reduction with butter. I added two teaspoons of tomato purée to 5 dl fish stock and reduced it to about 1 dl. When everything else was ready I put the reduction back on the heat and whisked in 50 grams of unsalted butter. A touch of pepper and everybody was happy. To be served with fish.
The simple and compliant scones
Posted on February 22, 2008
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There’s something satisfying and soothing about baking. It’s probably related to that feeling of creating something, by relatively little effort, that lasts.
We’re not talking about the longevity that buildings can boast, only Wonder Bread has can compete with that, and thus shouldn’t be trusted, but we’re talking about something that lasts several meals. You may, for instance, use 30 minutes to create a dinner that only takes about 15 minutes to eat. Something which is against some people’s principles. My good friend Kåre, for one, has a principle announcing that no food should take longer to cook than to eat. A belief which, no doubt, has contributed to the pre cooked food industry. Personally I like to cook. The actual activity gives me pleasure, so such a principle would come in conflict with other principles, to put it bluntly.
A while ago I came to the conclusion that it was time to bake again. As previously mentioned there’s something appealing about baking, and it’s been a while since the last time I did any. As if destiny was playing into my hands, or vice versa, I noticed a small feature about scones on the back of one of the larger newspapers in the country just after I felt the urge to bake. The feature was about scones. Not only do I love a freshly baked scone with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper, but the recipe looked exceptionally simple. Even simpler than regular bread, and even I can bake bread!
A short while later it was time to put my new plan into action. I was no longer in possession of the inspiring piece of paper, but I do however have my beloved cookbook The Joy of Cookin. I have through my ten or so years of food interest collected a rather large selection of cookbooks ranging from the bible Larousse Gastronomique through the book Italian Cooking that I once adopted from a not so food interested friend of mine to simple books about sushi and various more or less famous chef’s recipes between to covers. Joy of Cooking is a favourite because it not only give ingredients and cooking instructions but because it also tells you why you should do things in a particular way. That’s where I learned how microwave ovens work (and thus why cling film doesn’t melt in it).
Scones have two main forms. One is with sugar, and the other without. The one without can be made in numerous forms, and Joy of Cooking listed two, with chili or cheese, both which I’ve made a note of for later use, but in Norway, or Weegieland as Robyn calls it, you almost always get the sugary version. The most interesting variant of that in the book was with lemon juice and lemon zest, something Kåre would approve of, but raisins are way more common. I like those.
So I read the recipe and it’s instructions at the start of the chapter, and I quote: “They are tender, flaky and light, and veryquick and easy to make.” Further into the chapter I notice that the recipes have various amounts of baking soda and fluids and that they apparently all work. Scones are compliant and far from as picky in their ingredients and measurements unlike other pastries. Excellent, I thought.
Scones, unlike bread, ought not be kneaded well. On the contrary. If you do that you get a stretchy and tenacious dough that in turn leads to tough and tenacious rolls instead of scones. We don’t want that. The dough for scones only needs to be mixed until it turns into a single mass instead of various unrelated ingredients. Then you flatten it and press out circles with a kitchen glass and bake them. Easy and quick. However, it’s only easy if you’re not having a horrible day in the kitchen.
I baked scones following the recipe, even buying new baking powder as I didn’t trust the old one to still work. There was no expiration date and I had no idea when it was bought. As I’m not senile yet that likely means it’s expired. I figured I’d bake half with raisins and half without as my dear girlfriend prefers them without, and I with. The first mistake I did was to bake the classic scones. Without sugar. That wasn’t what I was aiming for, but I didn’t realize they were sugarless until I tasted them at which point something else ruined the taste to an even larger degree.
I mixed, cut out shapes, baked and placed myself in front of my computer awaiting the fruits of my labour. They were supposed to bake 10-12 minutes at 230 degrees celcius (450 degrees F). My oven doesn’t show the most accurate numbers between 210 and 250, so I put at 210 plus a little bit. Probably around 220. 15 minutes later I realized I had forgotten about my scones and ran to the oven. They were burned. I was cranky and depressed. Not only were they burned but the kitchen was messy and covered in flour. This was supposed to be the point in time where I used the happiness that tends to come from smelling newly baked pastries to inspire myself to clean up while the scones cooled off. It’s a tactic I’ve used for a long time, and it works. That is, when the baking doesn’t go wrong. Now I had to bite my tongue, clamp my teeth, brace myself, and that sort of thing, and start over. You see; these scones weren’t just for me. If they were I might have just cleaned up and eaten a sandwich while waiting for the disappointment to go away, but these were supposed to accompany me to the university the next day and be a surprise lunch for my girlfriend. However, serving burned scones, without sugar, was not an option. Oh, and at this point I realized I had also forgotten to divide the dough in two halves before putting in raisins. My girlfriend didn’t like raisins. I sighed, pulled myself together and started over.
This time I dropped the raisins entirely. I didn’t feel like dividing the dough and doing two versions, so when the choice was between my girlfriend eating evil raisin infected scones and me not having the sweet love of raisins caressing my taste buds; the choice was simple. My girlfriend is a great girl, but how you can like scones without raisins, and raisins without scones, but not scones with raisins is a mystery to me. Like so many things that relate to women. Oh, and I made very certain that to put sugar in this time.
I sat the alarmed on my cell phone at 10 minutes and once more placed my shiney hiney in front of the computer. After ten minutes I went to the kitchen and stood looking at my scones. They were done, lying in the oven, small and tan, much thanks to coating them with eggs. Oh, they were a bit on the small side. I had forgotten baking powder! I had something resembling fat cookies, not scones. They were inedible. I swore loudly and went at it again. This was, apparently, not my day.
My third dough had a little more moisture than than the first two, and I added baking powder again. It was supposedly better to just bake with the wet dough than to add flour and knead more, so I did that. Kneading more than you need to is supposed to lead to tough rolls instead of scones. At least I knew to avoid that disaster. I shaped them and put them on the baking tray and put the tray in the oven for the third time. I did not plan to take any chances so I sat myself in front of the oven and read my book 101, One Year on Tour with Gluecifer (my translation). A book about the last tour of the Norwegian rock band Gluecifer written by Fritjof Jacobsen, also known as Biff Malibu from the band. The book is very entertaining and was able to lift my spirits. After reading for a bit I peeked into the oven. I wasn’t just watching raisinless scones, but also another fiasco.
They had collapsed in on themselves, were extremely porous and looked like golden cow turds. They tasted edible, but the texture was all wrong; hard and dry on the outside, porous like sand on the inside. They weren’t even close to the moist, soft and slightly heavy texture that characterizes scones in my dreams. These were almost worst, and to think that I had even paid attention. Staid in the kitchen! My self-image as a half competent baker had been delivered a fatal blow, and I was sincerely depressed. I went to the phone and sighed loudly. My shoulders were level with my chest as I called my girlfriend. She immediately realized something was wrong and worriedly asked me what it was. As I told her how through good intention I had spent the day in the kitchen failing to make scones, throwing batch after batch of sad pastries in the bin, she started laughing. Not an evil laughter, but found me bombing in the kitchen to be very amusing. After a while I felt better from hearing her voice, albeit with laughter, and said no, thanks to her coming to comfort me. It was late, and it was far too far away. In rising spirits I vowed that this was not to be the last battle between the scones and me. I’m way too stubborn to accept a loss and just move on.
Two days later I once again stood in the kitchen armed with flour, butter, sugar, baking powder and clean clothes that wasn’t covered in flour. This time I focused and followed the recipe to the letter except that I kneaded a little more than it tells you to. I wanted something not tough as bread nor porous as a turd, but the golden intersection between those two glorious images. I wanted scones. This time I can reveal that I actually made scones. They were an unmitigated success. I raised my hands above my head and celebrated. I had once again thrived in the kitchen. Oh, happy joy.
So how do you do it?
Scones
- 280 grams of flour
- 80 grams of sugar
- 1/2 teaspoon of salt
- 2 1/2 teaspoon of baking powder
- 90 g unsalted butter cut into small cubes
- 1,8 dl milk
Mix all the dry ingredients and then add the butter. Massage the butter into the mixture until it’s like coarse crumbs, but don’t overdo it. You want bits of butter here and there in the dough that will turn into pockets of butter in the scones when baked. Mix in the milk all at once, with a spatula. Roll out the dough about 1 cm thick and cut out round pieces with a large kitchen glass. Put on a baking tray (I put some paper underneath) and bake at 210-230 degrees celcius for about 10 to 12 minutes.
Now, how on earth did I manage to get something as simple as this wrong three times in a row?
Welcome to Foodstruck!
Posted on February 15, 2008
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This here is another food blog, just like the title suggest. Shortly there shall be musings, food porn in the form of images, relentless displays of food love through rather large amounts of words, and the occasional fun bit. Not entirely certain what form those will take, but once in a while I pop a bit of fun in there, sometimes unintended, for your amusement. Be ready!