Michael Nassar

The Bengal Lancers date their beginnings back to 1787 when the Nawab Wazir of Oudh created Bengal’s first regiment of cavalry and then further developed his horsemen into a whole army of cavalry regiments.  In 1865, by then under control of the British Indian Army, the force was expanded and reorganized with five regiments of cavalry becoming classified as proper Lancers.

While the majority of cavalry regiments carried guns, the Lancers were unique in that they were armed with bamboo lances between ten and eleven feet long and weighing just four pounds.  Lancers were able to jump hedges, cross ditches, scale walls and other obstacles and thus simply armed they were able to fight with an elegance that became legendary throughout the Empire.  From Abyssinia to Peking and Egypt to Persia the Bengal Lancers drew distinction as a fighting force but by the beginning of the 20th Century the needs of the Empire were changing and Lancer regiments were being decommissioned.  The last regiment of the Bengal Lancers left the service of the Crown in 1903.

The Lancers themselves may be a thing of the past but a trace of that legend lives on in the Stockbridge area of Edinburgh.  Of the many thousands of Indian restaurants in the UK, Lancers Brasserie has been called one of the best Indian restaurants in Great Britain as well as voted Best Indian Restaurant in Scotland.  Unassuming and incredibly friendly, the gorgeous dining room alongside the Water of Leith is a spot to seek out when you get a craving for a real curry or the intricate flavors of North Indian cuisine. (trust me:  the iPhone failed me here; these dimly lit photos do not do it a shred justice.)

Sabzi tikka:  shallow-fried vegetable fritters.

Chana on puri:  chick peas cooked with green herbs, medium-hot spices, and served with puffed fried bread.

Sabzi pakura:  deep-fried balls of flour, vegetables and spices.

Misti sag:  fresh butternut squash, cooked with green herbs, garnished with a touch of fresh ginger and green chilies.

Chingree massalam:  freshwater king prawns cooked with sliced garlic, fresh green chilies, coriander, chopped green peppers, spices, herbs and butternut squash.

Start with a freshly-baked white or brown roll at Oink, just off the Royal Mile on Victoria Street.  Spread a layer of sage stuffing or haggis on one side before stuffing it full of tender, juicy roast pig.  Top it with sweet onion marmalade or spicy chili jam and voila! – the best pig in town.  Plus at 3£50 it’s also one of the best lunch deals in town, too.

David Thompson has literally written the book on Thai  food in the UK, so I was excited to finally try nahm, his Michelin-starred restaurant – the only Michelin-starred Thai in Europe, by the way – at London’s posh Halkin Hotel in Belgravia.  As expected, it did not disappoint – especially as on the advice of the waiter I opted for the nahm arharn, a traditional Thai meal in which a selection dishes designed to whet the palate are served family-style.  It’s a luxury lunch to be sure but well worth it:  Thompson reveals the subtle complexity of Thai food.  I’d seriously rank it up there with French and Chinese as one of the great cuisines of the world.

An amuse bouche of vegetables, tamarind and palm sugar atop pineapple triangles and stuffed into mandarin segments.

Another amuse:  a chiffonade of vegetables, jalapeno peppers and coriander wrapped in spicy leaves and eaten like a wrap.

Geng Gwia Warn Plaa Grapong Tort:  a green curry of crispy sea bass with white turmeric and Thai basil.

Geng Gari Gai:  an aromatic curry of chicken and potatoes with cucumber relish.

Cucumber relish:  the perfect sweet and sour antidote to the fiery curry.

Yam Pak:  a salad of assorted vegetables dressed with tamarind, palm sugar and sesame seeds.

Pat Het Ton Grataim:  stir-fried girolles and king oyster mushroom with morning glory.

Korng Warn:  fresh fruit for dessert, including rambutan, papaya, and jackfruit.

Korng Warn:  young coconut pudding with sweet corn is served alongside ash pudding, an old fashioned Thai desert made from – you guessed it – ashes.

Braised Ayrshire pig’s nose with parsley sauce and lemon.  Yes, you read that right – for breakfast.

Ten years ago this week I had one of the best assignments of my early writing life. By luck I had a connection to Alain Ducasse at the time he was opening his first restaurant in  New York.  The foodie world was agog; not only because in the year Y2K Chef Ducasse held the record for Michelin stars accorded to a single chef but also because the menu would be a chefs tasting at the then-astronomical price of $160 per person.  My ability to score a table enabled me to land an assignment to write about it for Time Out New York, itself just a start-up in the city at the time and not yet enough of a coveted outlet to warrant the chef’s attention.

Needless to say, it was divine.  And while the city and I have gone on to bigger, bolder and more expensive meals in the ensuing decade, you always remember your first, right?  In fact, it was with a semi-famous actress that I first went to Ducasse, attempting to woo her into appearing in a play I was producing – as though  our posh surroundings were any indication of what was on offer to her theatrically.  She politely turned me down, nevertheless we had one of those amazing only-in-NYC evenings that ended with the dining room captain handing her a shopping bag as we left.  Outside the restaurant she ripped open the bag and removed a large item elegantly wrapped in tissue paper.  It was a cake, we discovered.  And soon  thereafter it slipped from her hands and fell rolling into the gutter of Central Park South.  She chased it down, hastily wrapping it back in tissue and returning it to the bag as though nothing had happened.  Then in her haughtiest imitation of Lauren Bacall, she gave her hair a toss before heading off down the block:  “Don’t you even think I’m not still going to eat it.”

Read the full story HERE. (then click on the image to enlarge)

Regular readers might recall my virgin attempts at pickling earlier in the spring.  Having just consumed the last of the pickled ramps some three months after the experiment – with a really nice piece of aged goat cheese – I can honestly say that it turned out to be a great way to extend the life of those ethereal spring onions.

The newly empty canning jar, however, turned my thoughts to wondering what’s in season right now.  Blueberries, which a week ago were as expensive as semi-precious stones, are suddenly everywhere and cheap as chips.  They’re bursting with sweet berry flavor, too – which means this long hot summer has kicked the growing season up a few weeks.  I’m thinking crumble, pie, cobbler; but more urgently I’m thinking I don’t want to turn on the oven.  Eventually I figured out that using the cook top I could make a syrup, which would not only be more in line with my attempts at seasonal preserves but also a significantly less intense dose of heat infusing my already overheated apartment.  And yet again, like with the pickling, I was pleasantly surprised at how easy the whole affair turned out to be:  5 cups of berries mashed up with 1 cup of water and simmered for 20 minutes.  Drain through a sieve and reserve the liquid, discarding the solids. Rinse the pot, adding two cups of water, two cups of sugar, the zest of a lemon and bring to a medium boil.  Add reserved berry liquid, a few tablespoons of lemon juice and cook for one minute.  Remove from heat, let cool, then discard zest and pour into bottles.  Voila!

In addition to these two bottles, which should last for six months in the fridge, I got the accidental benefit of some fresh jelly, too.  “Leave to cool,” you should know means just that:  let it cool down and then pour into storage containers.  I on the other hand left it to cool for most of the day.  As a result when I finally checked up on my syrup a gelatinous skin of jelly about an inch thick had formed  across the top.  It tasted intense and looked eminently spreadable, so I put it in a jar for later.  The syrup, I am happy to report, is rich, thick, and bursting with a concentrated ripe-fruit flavor. Now I’m craving pancakes, as well as musing on all the  items that will get the blueberry treatment in the coming months.

Try, try again!  The record heat here in New York is so thoroughly debilitating that I thought it medically necessary to flashback to the weekend before last.  I was overheated, yes, but also enjoying the Pacific breeze in Punta Mita – not to mention eating my body weight in ceviche.

Here’s a shot of the namesake Ceviche Punta Mita by chef Richard Sandoval at Four Seasons’ Ketsi restaurant. A combination of octopus, scallop, shrimp, onion, tomato, jicama and avocado, it’s accompanied by a refreshing shot of Bloody Mary sorbet.

(By the by, New York readers of this site should know of Sandoval, who’s become a leader in the upscale Latin culinary movement.  Born in Mexico City, trained at the CIA, he’s the man behind the restaurant Maya, which introduced the concept of bold and flavorful Modern Mexican to New York City, as well as Pampano.)

And because nothing goes better with ceviche than a big bowl of guac, I’m including a shot of the guacamole made tableside at Ketsi.  It’s mixed and served in a traditional molcajete, a Mexican mortar and pestle made of lava rock.