"One cannot trust people whose cuisine is so bad." - Jacques Chirac

"I'll bet what motivated the British to colonize so much of the world is that they were just looking for a decent meal." - Martha Harrison. "Before the Sunday roast is placed in the oven the vegetables are put on to boil." - Anonymous How long have British food jokes been around? Since the first World War? That's nearly a 100 years. It's no wonder the fallacy is so hard to dispel. But I'm happy to report that the State of Food in the United Kingdom is healthy, strong and tasty. For the past decade or so there's been a resurgence in demand for quality products. The appetite is growing for local produce. Britain produces more regional cheeses than France. It has 600 varieties of apples. One hundred twenty-five species of fish and shellfish live in its waters. Statistics like that can make for a seriously impressive menu. With the help of a good friend, a map, and a London Travelcard, I set out to discover what all the fuss was about.

My buddy J-Mac had been talking about my upcoming visit for months. I think he was more excited about my trip than I was. He'd been extolling the virtues of the new British cookery and couldn't wait to show off some his finds. After a walk around the financial district and a proper pint of ale (maybe it was two), I met him at Liverpool Station for the short walk to Hawksmoor.

J-Mac is something of a fixture at Hawksmoor. Pete, the fiendish bartender not only knows him by name, but by his preferred cocktail. Pete did his level best to get us shit-faced throughout dinner. Like me, J-Mac is a firm believer of sitting at the bar, so Pete had every opportunity to ply us with his newest concoctions. Manager, Will Beckett, was one of the coolest guys. He's the kind of restaurateur who gets it. His credo is: keep things simple, send the customer on his way fat & happy, and to serve the public is a noble calling. From my understanding, he's also quite the beer connoisseur. Once he figured out I wrote a food blog back in the States, he couldn't have been more accommodating or forthcoming. I liked him a lot.

Hawksmoor - 157 Commercial Street, London E1 6BJ, is first and foremost a steakhouse in the oldest sense of the word. Yorkshire Longhorn beef is simply cooked on a charcoal grill. The meat is some of the best you'll ever have. The service is flawless. Brits understand hospitality in a way most of their American counterparts find demeaning. They are attentive, uncomplaining and ever ready to oblige. They have unfairly (or wholly the opposite, really) raised the bar for restaurants here at home.

Next morning, and on my own again, I rode a double-decker bus into the heart of London getting off at Piccadilly Circus, not as cliché as it sounds. Five major roads converge at Piccadilly. In 1819 King George IV commissioned John Nash to create a junction that would connect Carlton House with Regent's Park. Nash envisioned a circus (derived from the Latin word meaning circle, and having nothing whatsoever to do with lion taming or bearded ladies) roundabout for the flow of carriage traffic. You can walk just about anywhere from Piccadilly.

There is one place I go without fail on any trip to London, the National Portrait Gallery. It is home to Henry VIII, Elizabeth I and just about every other British monarch and noble since the Norman invasion. There is also some lovely portraiture of modern day notables. Alessandro Raho has a massive painting of Dame Judith Dench hanging in one of the lower galleries. He has, I think, brilliantly captured Ms. Dench.  Gay Icons was currently showing when I arrived at the gallery. Ten prominent gay figures were asked to select six historic and modern icons in their own lives. The submissions were inspired and moving. I caught myself misty-eyed on several occasions.

Revived culturally and fueled with another proper ale, it was time to continue my investigative gastronomic reporting. Next stop, Neal's Yard Dairy for all things cheese.

Neal's Yard is a company after my own heart. These folks are excited by cheese. From humble beginnings in the 1980s, they've grown conscientiously, never losing the heart of their business model, matching the tastes of consumers with cheeses made regionally and by traditional methods. They buy cheeses from farms all over the British Isles. They have two shops in London and also ship to restaurants and stores all over the world.

There are no poems written about cheese. No flowery prose, nor devoted sonnets. My closest friend, surfing & golf partner and fellow foodie Matty O'Food and I came up with some lines of our own one summer. We put them to the melody of "Girls" by the Beastie Boys:

Cheese! And all I really want is Cheese! And in the morning it's Cheese! Two at a time it's just Cheese! I love the way that it melts... It goes on in that vein for several verses. Calculated silliness; the best kind.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

The Van's

My whirlwind lifestyle often takes me far a field of my little slice of the Bronx. I once actually took the ferry all the way to Staten Island and back, but that was on a dare. So imagine my astonishment at finding myself in the San Francisco Bay Area over the Christmas holidays eating in strange restaurants and cooking in alien kitchens. It's a good thing I had my heart medicine with me.

My friend Whogus (pronounced Who-Gus: not his real name, btw) picked me up at SF International late one evening and suggested a nightcap before turning in. The peninsula south of San Francisco is basically one uninterrupted bedroom community after another. There used to be distinct and very individualistic little villages along El Camino - the King's Highway - before the expressways came along in the 40's and 50's, but they're now long gone. Not surprisingly, the sidewalks fold up early and we were hard-pressed for a watering hole when some very festive lights caught our eye up on a hill in Belmont. It turned out to be The Van's, a storied old place overlooking the San Francisco Bay. It used to be a speakeasy back in the days of Prohibition. Captain Renault would have been shocked, shocked to find that gambling went on in there.

We had our cocktails served with flair by a great bartender who reminded me a lot of Nina Blackwood, one of the original MTV veejays. (I'm old; get over it.) We fell for her and her hard sell on the place and, after looking over the menu and wine list, promised to come back for dinner.

Two nights later, there we were, seated at the bar waiting for a table, drinking a fine William Hill cabernet sauvignon and quietly people-watching. My attention was drawn to a huge glass crock sitting on the bar filled with what looked to me like watermelon rinds. I didn't pay it much mind until the bartender announced that one of his regulars needed a pineapple. Intrigued now, I watched him draw some of the crock contents into a cocktail glass and top it off with vodka. "Man fruit", Whogus claimed by way of explanation. Before my mind could sink deeply into the gutter, he went on to elaborate that any fruit soaked in alcohol was considered man fruit. I had never heard of such a thing but was grateful this night was turning into such a learning experience. I still don't know if he was telling the truth though. I could have sat there all night making up stories in my head about my fellow diners, but eventually felt guilty about the maitre d' graciously holding a table for us, so we took our places. I have say first: the service at The Van's is outstanding. Attentive but not obtrusive, genuine without being saccharine, knowledgeable and in no way snooty. I was sold before the appetizer appeared at our table.

The Van's is first and foremost a steakhouse, the genuine article. Chops, T-bones, Filets, all the usual suspects. Prices run an easy 30% less than Manhattan sums. "I'm buying" were the words heard rarely out of my mouth immediately after opening my menu. I had been on a steady diet of Mexican food and leftover ham on buttermilk biscuits since arriving at my father's a week earlier and was ready for some red meat. The rack of lamb with garlic mashed potatoes kept catching my eye. So be it. Medium-rare, please, with a glass of the Trefethen "Oak Knoll" merlot, I think. Whogus, watching his girlish figure presumably, went for the "local" chicken and rice pilaf, dampening my extravagant mood. I think he had distilled water to wash down his meal; the Nancy.

Did someone mention something about an appetizer? Whogus and I have had a love affair with chicken livers ever since Patricia Wells included a terrific chicken liver salad recipe in her 1989 "Bistro Cooking" cookbook. Well, for longer than that, actually. While flat mates, whenever I would roast a whole chicken, I would fry up the liver, heart and gizzards in butter, soy and Worcestershire sauces and accusingly ask Whogus if he had been a good boy before sliding them under his nose. But back to appetizers... Van's has a sautéed chicken liver entrée which our excellent waiter agreed to serve as a starter. Garlic, parsley, sherry. Plump, juicy, melt-in-your-mouth delicious little organs. We should have ordered two.

Already feeling quite pleased with ourselves and this wonderful discovery, our main courses were about to finish us off with the 1-2 punch. Whogus's chicken was enormous and criminally moist. Topped with mushrooms and roasted tomatoes, it looked like a hunter's feast. I was insanely jealous until I looked down on my rack of lamb. It was perfectly grilled. Pink inside, succulent throughout and just a hint of rosemary and garlic. Heaven. Another glass of merlot? Well, I thought you'd never ask!

Along with this fabulous meal, we had an unobstructed view of the entire peninsula and East Bay which must be spectacular during the daytime. But with all the holiday lights sparkling, we caught a special night glow all our own.

The Van's 815 Belmont Avenue Belmont, CA 650-591-6525 The Van's is open for lunch Monday through Friday, 11:30am - 3:00pm, and every night for dinner 4:00pm - 11:00pm, until midnight Fridays.

After nearly 100 years in operation, I don't think they'll be going anywhere anytime soon. But if you should find yourself in the area, do not miss this authentic Californian steakhouse experience. And order a Man Fruit Cocktail!

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food