Pavlova is one of those deserts I associate with my childhood summers. One of our nanny’s used to bake the most wonderful creations, filled with what my brother and I considered to be the epitomy of poshness– papaya, mangoes and kiwi fruit. Yesterday waking up the sun streaming between the blinds I knew it was a Pavlova day and leapt out of bed to search out a recipe.

It didn’t take long before I found one staring at me alluringly from Nigella Lawson’s excellent cookbook ‘Forever Summer’. Her recipe deviates slightly from the norm by her inclusion of chocolate, which in my book is always a welcome addition. As luck would have it a new chocolatier, Paul Young, has recently taken up residence in a small shop, in Camden Passage, round the corner from my apartment. It is homage to all things chocolate and I have been spending a little too much time there scoffing down his award winning sea salt caramels. For the purposes of the pavlova however he recommended using Valhrona dark chocolate 66% cocoa content, you can use one with a higher cocoa content if you desire.

The topping is also a matter of personal preference. To be honest you can stick most types of fruit on top. Nigella uses raspberries however they had run out at the local supermarket so I was forced to use strawberries and blueberries instead.

I’m not really a great baker so I was frankly rather relieved that this turned out so well. The meringue retained a crunch on the outside and a gooeyness within and the chocolate gave it an added depth and flavour.

After lovingly decorating the top of it with the strawberries and blueberries, I took it outside onto my balcony to photograph. I then rushed back inside to answer my telephone and when I returned found my naughty puppy up on a chair licking the side of it. You can imagine how mortified I was, thankfully however half of it was salvageable.

Serves 8 - 10

Meringue base
6 egg whites
300g caster sugar
3 tablespoons cocoa powder, sieved (I used Green&Blacks)
1 teaspoon balsamic or red wine vinegar
50g dark chocolate, finely chopped

For the topping
500ml double cream
500g raspberries
2-3 tablespoons coarsely grated dark chocolate

Preheat the oven to 180C and line a baking tray with parchment
Beat the egg whites until satiny peaks form, and then beat in the sugar a spoonful at a time, until the meringue is stiff and shiny. Sprinkle over the cocoa and vinegar, and the chopped chocolate. Then gently fold everything until the cocoa is thoroughly mixed in. Mound on to a baking sheet in a fat circle approximately 23cm in diameter, smoothing down the sides and top. Place in the oven, then immediately turn the temperature down to 150C and coof for about one to one and a quarter hours. When it’s ready it should look crisp around the edges and on the sides and be dry on top, but when you prod the centre you should feel the promise of squidginess beneath your fingers. Turn off the oven and open the door slightly, and let the chocolate meringue disc cool completely.
When your’re ready to serve, invert on a big flat bottomed plate. Whisk the cream until thick but still soft and pile it on top of the meringue, then scatter over the raspberries. Coarsely grate the chocolate so that you get curls rather than rubble, as you don’t want the raspberries luscious colour and form to be obscured, and sprinkle haphazardly over the top, letting some fall as it will on your plate’s rim.

The first assignment in the food-writing course yesterday was to write a recipe for an omelette. My initial gun-ho attempt, which excluded the rudimentary components of most recipes; serving size, recipe title and key ingredients illustrates how a relatively simple task in the hands of the uninitiated can end in tears. I consoled myself by acknowledging I was not alone, most of my classmates had also failed to include vital information, however an interesting discussion ensued regarding what a recipe was and what it’s essential purpose should be.

The general consensus was that a recipe should provide a set of directions, with a list of ingredients for making or preparing something, it should also be comprehensive enough so that everyone be able to follow it regardless of their ability in the kitchen. From a personal standpoint my criteria for assessing the worth of a recipe are; how easy/time consuming is it, how bad is it for me, how easy is it to source ingredients and most importantly does it scream ‘COOK ME’ when I look at the accompanying picture

The following recipe for salmon sashimi salad, which made its glorious appearance in GourmetTraveller, appealed on a variety of different levels. Seductively splayed on its glossy pages, food porn at it’s finest, the bright colored salmon and the healthy insinuation made by the inclusion of the salad leaves instantly captivated me. After a winter spent gorging on too much red meat and carbohydrates it appealed to my more virtuous side.

It also provided the perfect opportunity to head down to Saki a new Japanese restaurant/deli located on the periphery of Smithfields. A deceptively modest entrance belies the multitude of goodies on offer once inside. The eclectic and wide selection of Japanese groceries meant that I secured the majority of ingredients in one foul swoop affording me time to check out the cavernous dining room located in the basement, which I’m sure to review shortly. The most crucial ingredient I left till last. The quality and freshness of the fish is vital to the success of the dish, anything smelling remotely fishy should be discounted immediately. For these reasons I always schlep to Steve Hatt, one of the best fishmongers in London.

Salmon Sashimi Salad
Serves 4

200g sashimi-grade salmon, thinly sliced
250g red cherry tomatoes
1 Lebanese cucumber, halved, seeded and cut into batons
350g daikon (Japanese radish)
100gm mixed salad greens
1 bunch of chives, thinly sliced
Salmon Roe to serve

Japanese Salad Dressing
50ml Japanese rice wine vinegar
1 ½ tbsp dark soy sauce
¼ large onion, coarsely grated
½ clove of garlic, finely grated
3 tsp lemon juice
3 tsp mirin

1 For dressing, whisk ingredients in a bowl until combined, season with salt and pepper. Makes about 150ml. Add salmon to dressing and marinade for 5 minutes.
2 Combine tomatos, cucumber, daikon, salad greens, and chives in a bowl, add salmon and toss to combine, divide among serving plates, then drizzle with dressing. Scatter with salmon roe and serve immediately.

Last night I started a course in food writing. The course tutor, Lulu Grimes recommended that all her students keep a food diary, so from this meal forward, for the next 10 weeks, I will endeavour to document the majority of things that end up down my mouth, which considering the volume of food I consume might end up being a mammoth task. One of the perils of this project might be that regular readers desert once they realise that I am hideously greedy, a bad cook and an awful photographer to boot, so I’ll apologise for any misdemeanours in advance.

A good place to start would be the meal I enjoyed last night at a relatively new Vietnamese joint called Pho. As the name suggests it specialises in the popular Vietnamese dish pho. Vietnamese people eat this soupy broth with noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner in fact it is probably regarded as their national dish. If it tastes like the offering I had last night I certainly don’t blame them, after one slurp I was hooked.

There are a choice of different meats, apparently the most authentic is beef, I went for the chicken, which arrived on top of a huge tangle of noodles floating in a fragrant broth. They also bring you a side dish of bean sprouts and various herbs (mint, coriander, sweet basil), which you add to suit your own personal taste. After a long day the soup was deeply restorative, the clean taste and purity of ingredients a perfect pick me up and I found myself in almost a meditative state rhythmically slurping down the noodles.

Pho is not the kind of place where you go to hangout, it has a far more utilitarian purpose a quick pit stop to refuel and energise, which is probably a more authentic Vietnamese experience. The owners actually work in the restaurant and are clearly passionate about what they are serving, which is reflected in the high standard of food on offer. I can’t wait to return, in fact I can see this becoming a regular Monday night haunt.

Pho - 86 St John Street, London, EC1M 4EH