Over the past year or so, if I want to give myself a little pat on the back I usually do so with lunch at Spuntino.  It'll be quick, it might involve a sneaky cocktail or glass of wine and a few plates of great food.  My particular favourites are the deep-fried olives and pickles.  There is always a good buzz to the place, the staff are well informed and friendly and all in, it's a good meal.

Its part of a small group fronted by Russell Norman and located around Covent Garden and Soho.  The latest opening in the group is Mishkins which bills itself as "a kind of Jewish deli with drink."  I've mentioned it previously noting that it was part of a triumverate of new Jewish openings in London.

Now that I've been there, I realise I was wrong to lump it together with Kosher Roast and The Deli.  I take comfort from not being the only one to make this mistake, however.

I should have realised it was wrong from the silly moniker "a kind of Jewish deli...".  It's meaningless.  There is no such thing as a Jewish deli.  I think they mean New York deli.  To be a Jewish deli, even a kind-of Jewish deli, they'd need to have a broader menu, not one that solely draws from the Ashkenazi tradition.  I'd want to see some deep fried artichokes by way of Rome, some fish curry from Kerala, an orange and almond cake from Spain and some decent grilling courtesy of Bukhara.

Mishkins ignores all of that and takes its Jewish inspiration firmly from the middle-European tradition. Think salt-beef, bagels, latkes and chopped liver.  But these foods really aren't particularly Jewish, they're just eastern/mittel European.  They're as familiar to your Polish Catholic or Russian Orthodox as they are to your Jew.  Even more so perhaps if your Jew comes from Spain, Africa, India and wherever else on the four corners that Jews are still left.

Which means Mishkins is as much a Jewish deli as The Wolesely is.  Afterall, they too have chopped liver, chicken soup, smoked salmon bagels and salt beef sandwiches on their menu, but no-one suggests they're a Jewish restaurant.

Enough on taxonomy, it's the food that matters and overall, the food was dull.  Not that I was bored, just pretty much everything lacked flavour.

The cod cheek popcorn have got a lot of positive press, I'm flummoxed as to why other than possibly someone forgot add an ingredient to what we were served.  I note that lots of places refer to chilies on their popcorn, there wasn't any on ours. We were given bland pieces of vaguely fishy fried batter, like the stuff that works itself loose from fried fish.  

The herring on beetroot tartar at least looked very pretty.  The fish itself was nice and firm, with a decent vinegary brine.  But the beetroot was rather insipid. It would have benefited if they'd used beetroot and horseradish (chrane) rather than just beetroot.  The heat from horseradish would have kicked the dish up the back-side, made it stand up and be counted.

The bagel was really a bad example of its kind.  It was tough, hard and lacking any flavour.  The lox looked no different than smoked salmon and 'the house shmear' tasted pretty similar to bog standard cream cheese.  If they really do make it in-house, why not add a bit of pizzazz to it?  They should reintroduce liptauer, a delicious cream cheese laced with paprika, onions and various spices.

The cauliflower and caraway slaw and the knish were largely forgettable.  Bananas foster was nice, but that's not saying much for caramelised bananas and ice-cream.

The other restaurants I've been to in Norman's group have great food as well as a fun atmosphere. Mishkins really did not live up to that.  Whereas the others have some character, this feels the most formulaic.  Until now, the formula has lived up to scrutiny: alight on a genre of food that goes well with alcohol and can be served in small portions, get some props to make it look 'genuine', hire heavily tattooed staff, open.  Then again, that is the point of a formula.  There's one way of doing things and it always results in the same answer.

Google Maps

Mishkins, 25 Catherine Street, London WC2B 5JS, UK
Tel: +44 (0)20 7240 2078

What others think

Tracey Macleod - "What kind of meshuggener would apply the small plates concept to Jewish comfort food, which is all about abundance and appetite?...Turns out that this Jewish deli-meets-rackety bar is just the place London has been crying out for." 

A rather unusual Chinaman - "I guess it's no surprise that I enjoyed Mishkin's."

This is a short, intra-holiday note to ensure your larding is fully topped-up.

I always have a nightmare cooking with chocolate, so was intrigued to hear that the choc-snobs favourite Valhrona are holding classes with the Cookery School at Little Portland Street based around their reputedly very good book Cooking with Chocolate.  The class is being taught by Valhrona's UK executive chef Andrew Gravette.

The one class currently open to bookings is on 15 March. Places are limited to 14 people, but at the time of writing there is still availability.

I guess I should have written about this before Chanukah/Christmas, but I didn't.  Surely you haven't had enough of giving gifts or eating very rich food and so the prospect of freebasing chocolate is still appealing. 

I've no idea about Mr Gravette's credentials, but I went to a sourdough course with Dan Lepard at Little Portland Street a couple of years ago that was excellent.  I'm confident this will be as well.

There are times when not knowing what you're doing is a very effective way of doing something well. Ignorance and naivety can be surprisingly powerful when combined with willfullness.  Proof of this was there to see on Sunday, with the launch of Kosher Roast.

I admire immensely what Amy Beilin, driving force behind Kosher Roast has achieved.  I have no doubt that setting up a pop-up is hellish: there is the sourcing; staffing; rent; cooking; health & safety; serving; washing up etc etc.  

The problems must be compounded if as in Amy's case you've never worked in a restaurant before.  But as problems go they are barely a flesh wound on the rampaging bull, on heat, in a farmyard of frigid cows, that are the requirements of being a kosher restaurant (even if it's not from one of the main kashrut authorities) and making the food taste great.

I should say at this stage that I was sitting down as more than just an intrigued but otherwise disinterested punter.  Over the last few months I've been giving Amy some thoughts.  I have no idea whether they were helpful or not, but in return for my bon mots, Amy said she wanted to buy me lunch. I decided it was a fair deal. (NB This is the first time I've ever accepted a complimentary meal whilst writing the blog. La Tasca, if you're reading, please don't let this give you false hope.)

As a reader with even the worst reading habits will know, I have a broad range of complaints on the rather niche subject of kosher food in London.  The quality is poor, the variety is limited, the costs are high, the staff are rude and passion is non-existent.

And then there is Kosher Roast.  

Starters were a tiny chicken and leek pie, accompanied by a scotch egg (turkey, not pork, natch) with a mustard mayo.  The farmyard conceit was carried through to the basket of hay that everything nestled in.  I've always wanted to make a scotch egg because deep fried sausage around a boiled egg sounds so very tasty.  I'm sure it's not the same as one made with a piggy sausage, but let's just accept the fact: this was a very tasty dish.  The coating had crunch, I'm pretty sure it was made from panko breadcrumbs, around a very moist and slightly spicy sausage mix.  Ideally, I'd have liked the egg to be a bit runny, like the ones I've spotted at The Bull & Last.  The chicken and leek pie was similarly good, although at little more than a mouthful, didn't leave much of a lasting impression.

The main course was roast beef, goose fat (imported from France because it's not sold here for some reason) roasted potatoes, mini-beets, kale and horseradish.  Again, it was very good.  The beef was nicely rare, wih great flavour, although I wouldn't have said no to a few crunchy bits.  I fear the gravy might have been thickened with corn-starch or something, but let's swiftly move on.  

The roast potatoes were almost as good as Silverbrowess's who is widely, and rightly, famed for her roasties.  The beets added a touch of sweetness, helped along by the impressively garlic-laden kale.  The yorkshire pudding was ok - it's always a bit tough making them without milk and I've never been the greatest fan anyway.  Overall, it was a lovely plate of food.

Dessert is rarely anything of note in kosher restaurants, because as with the yorkshire pud, there's the problem of dairy with meat. Amy came up with three little dark chocolate petit fours that were wrapped in cellophane and tied with a ribbon.  They were surprisingly tasty, in particular the gooey cookie and the cornflake crisp.

My gripes are minor and overall, we were served very good food.  I think it was up to the standards of many solid, local restaurants and reminded me of typical decent, pub/restaurant fare.  I have yet to have a meal that was of this high quality in any kosher restaurant in London.  

What I find almost more intriguing than the food, was the way she succeeded in getting the whole package right.  The venue was a little bit funky and edgy (interesting artwork in the men's loos for example).  There was a thoughtful drinks list, with good wines at reasonable prices and four house cocktails - unheard of in any other kosher restaurant.  

I'm well aware that catering a set menu for two days is very different to running a restaurant. The waitresses I'm sure were all friends.  Some suppliers would be difficult, but others would cut you some slack because they know this is a short-lived venture, more for fun than profit.  Despite those caveats Amy has set a new bar for kosher dining - which in some regards isn't all that difficult.  What Amy has achieved is doing something different with kosher food and has made a roaring success of it. For so long we've been limited to a cynical choice of poor quality, uninspiring food and iniquitous prices.

Kosher Roast has ably demonstrated that passion goes a long way.  I would hope that other restaurateurs who serve the kosher market will experience Kosher Roast.  They will notice the slightly alternative crowd, the brilliant branding and most importantly, the passion for what is on the plate and served to paying customers.  As that great arbiter of kashrut, Roy Castle liked to say, dedication's what you need.

Google Maps

Kosher Roast
The Shop,
75 Chamberlayne Road, 
Kensal Rise, 
London, NW10 3ND

As AA Gill recently lamented (£) it is remarkably difficult to get a decent salt beef sandwich in London. As I regularly lament, it's remarkably difficult to get any decent kosher food in London, let alone a salt beef sandwich.  But a host of new openings suggest the worm might be about to turn.  Kosher Roast is a pop-up focused on great roast beef and Mishkins WC2 is the latest from the Polpo hothouse.

Whilst Kosher Roast brands itself as selling great food that is kosher, Mishkins is all about the Jewish/New York Deli experience.  The difference between kosher and Jewish is important. Kosher food basically means it’s got a religious stamp of authority, which for some is very important.  Jewish food is that which is culturally influenced by the fine canon of Jewish cuisine, whether Ashkenazi or Sephardi. It is complicated and if you want to really understand it and own one of the greatest cookbooks out there, then I strongly recommend Claudia Roden.

The others are yet to open but The Deli West One has now been open for a couple of weeks and it’s all about great kosher deli food.  Based on my visit, I think they’re getting into their stride.

Being a martyr to kosher food I tried a few things: the chopped liver; a salt beef sandwich and a pastrami sandwich. I also had some pickles. As I said after lunch, the meat was great, other elements less so.

Unlike some, I'm no maven of pastrami - it is a resolutely US dish - but I like to think that I know my salt beef. I also know what I like and both the pastrami and salt beef at West One were good.  The pastrami was moist, a bit spicy and a little bit sweet.  The salt beef was also moist - I think more so than the pastrami - but didn’t hide its salty light under a bushel.  They instinctively started to carve from a depressingly lean brisket, but a request for something with more flavour (read fat) resulted in a very good sandwich.

I was impressed with the chopped liver. Whilst I generally err towards slightly sweeter chopped liver - copious amounts of onions fried in schmaltz are the answer - theirs was much better than most commercial chopped liver.  That having been said, they garnish their liver with a red onion jam and crispy fried shallots which add texture and sweetness, so eaten together were very good.

The pickled cucumbers - half sours - were fine.  I think they’ll appeal to US diners but I’m less certain how the Brits will respond.  With our new greens and pickled dills, we’re used to vinegar based brines, rather than the salty ones our American cousins prefer.  It’ll be interesting to see how they go down over time.

Those were the good things.  On to the less so good.  Two items stuck out: the bread and the service. The bread was supplied by Grodzinski, a kosher baker that has been around for ever and frankly the bread tasted as if it was from their inaugural batch.  They call it rye, but actually it's caraway seed, rather than proper black rye bread.  It was horribly stale.  This is a fairly heinous crime given that much ink has been spilled as to whether what makes the sandwiches at places like Katz in New York so good is the quality of the meat or the quality of the bread.  I appreciate that at this stage it might be a tall order for West One to bake their own bread, but there are enough kosher bakers in London that they should be able to track down something much better than what they currently have - or get it made bespoke for them.

The service was also not the best.  I don't think this was an attempt to recreate the miserable sods who famously served at the now defunct Bloom's or the exceptionally rude staff at near-neighbour Reubens.  Rather, I got the impression they were very stressed.  Understandable as it's still early days and they seemed to be having problems with their till.  I got chatting to one of the owners who seemed a thoroughly nice chap, but it was the staff, the guys and girls on the floor who seemed a bit flummoxed.

They’re about to face stiff competition from Mishkins for attention of those who aren’t worried about whether they keep kosher or not but want deli.  Whilst I generally love their restaurants, the Polpo guys appear to be colonising London a bit (I'd love to know how they've managed to roll out so many successful restaurants so quickly) and I’m supporting the under dog in this fight.

I don't necessarily come to this review unbiased.  I want them to do well.  I want all restaurants to do well, more good food and more people employed are worthy goals. But I really want there to be a great kosher restaurant in London and at the moment West One is our best hope.

Google Maps

The Deli West One
51 Blandford Street,
London, W1U 7HJ,
UK

What others think

Youngandfoodish - the salt beef sandwich...though nicely rimmed with fat, was a tad tough and dry and the rye was limp, with no oomph in the middle and little chew-and-tear in the crust.  The hot dog was plump and meaty, with the right quotient of garlic and what tasted like paprika.

Better salt beef should be more widely available.  It is a cheap cut of meat ooh how age of austerity, that doesn't take much hard work, ideal because I just don't have any time to cook and yet current offerings are pretty mediocre.

True, hope might be on the horizon, West One Deli for those that keep kosher (and assuming they get round to opening, there have been interminable delays) and Mishkin's from the irrepresable team behind Polpo et al for those that don't.  

So limited supply has left me trying to perfect my salt beef recipe for sometime and I think I've now done it.  Using the recipe below, I ended up with some of the most delicious salt beef I've ever had the privilege to taste.  It is a bit saltier than commercial salt beef but far from too salty - it gives a pleasant tang, helped no doubt by the aromatics.

I feel heretical saying it, but my efforts were no thanks to two of my heroes.  My first attempt was a salty disaster - the only time that the now veggie Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall has let me down.  I then read Claudia Roden's seminal work on Jewish cookery, but was uninspired by her recipe, especially the rather amorphous 'pickling spices' she proposes. 

I moved on to Fergus Henderson at the suggestion of a commenter on the blog.  I blithely followed him, until I received another comment on the blog saying his brine was far too salty.  Pah, I thought, what does this naif though compared to Henderson.  

I then re-read Henderson and realised he was recommending the same concentration of cure for a chicken as for salt beef.  This seemed a bit wrong and perhaps Nick Loman was worth listening to.

So I pimped Henderson's recipe, or rather I wimped out and watered it down.  For 4 days I had a 15% cure and for 1 day I had a 7.5% cure.  I suppose you could make life easier by just going for a 13.5% cure or 540g of salt to 4l of water.  (These percentages refer to the quantity of salt to water in the cure, where water is 100%.)

I didn't use salt-petre and didn't think it was any the worse for it.  The reason for using salt-petre is to ensure the beef doesn't lose its pink colour as a result of the brining process.  I didn't find the colour a problem.  The inside was brown, a bit like the centre of smoked brisket - rather delicious actually.

So here's what I did.

Please note that in total this recipe takes 5 days to brine and is cooked on the 6th day - although most of that time a lump of meat is sitting in some salty water and does not require much work from you. Just don't try to make it a few hours before guests arrive.

You will need a large non-metallic container to cure the meat in.

3.5kg brisket - make sure your butcher leaves some of the fat on it.

4 day brine

• 400g caster sugar
• 600g sea salt
• 12 juniper berries
• 12 cloves
• 12 black peppercorns
• 2 bay leaves
• 4l water

5th day brine

• 4l water

Cooking the beef

• 2 bay leaves
• Bunch of thyme
• 1 carrot, chopped
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 celery stick, chopped
• 3 cloves garlic

Bring all the ingredients for the brine to the boil.  Then allow to cool thoroughly.

Once cooled, pour the brine over the beef.  Make sure the beef is fully submerged, you may well need to weigh it down.

Leave it for 4 days.

On the 5th day, add a further 4l of water.

A note on curing & refrigeration: I don't refrigerate mine whilst it's curing because this is a preserving process afterall.  I leave it in a nice cool part of the house.  If you do refrigerate, bear in mind it will slow the curing process down, so for the same flavour you'll need to make it more concentrated or brine for longer.

On the 6th day - cooking day - remove the beef from the brine and rinse well under running water.

Put the beef in a pot with herbs and vegetables and cover with fresh water.  Cook it for about 3-3.5 hours.  You want it to be a rolling boil and by that I mean: the water's gently bubbling rather than furiously splashing for most of the cooking time.

However mature we are, a recipe called 'Orbs of Joy' is always going to get a snigger. I imagine it will also generate some interesting traffic from Google.

That aside, it is one of the simplest recipes for a delicious side-dish and comes from Fergus Henderson's Beyond Nose to Tail: A Kind of British Cooking: Part II.  I used it recently as a side-dish to a bollito misto.

I have tweaked his recipe slightly.  He uses chicken stock, but I went for a more intense flavour and used chicken soup - it also happened to be what I had to hand.  However, to compensate, I use less liquid than he recommends.

You'll end up with a sweet, caramelised, soft onion.  I imagine that whole fresh cloves of garlic would be pretty special cooked in the same way, or perhaps turnips.  The world is your oyster etc etc.

So prepare yourself for this recipe, it's a toughy.  Or not.

Reckon on 1 red onion per person.

• Red onions
• Chicken soup

Peel the onions and place in an oven proof dish.

Pour over the chicken soup.  I did it to about one-third to a half the depth of the onion.  In his recipe, Henderson, using chicken stock, suggests almost covering the onions in stock.

Braise them in a medium oven for about half an hour or until they are nice and gooey.

Do you want to buy some kosher sausage casings with me?

I ask because I do again and the quantities I need to buy them in are enormous, much more than I can use.

The hardest part it seems of making kosher sausages is sourcing the cases.  Until earlier this year, Devro manufactured the only kosher sausage casings that I've ever been able to get hold of.  However, they no longer make them because they cannot source the hides they need to make the collagen casings.

I've been able to track down a caddy of these casings and rather than see three quarters going to waste, I'd like to split them with other like minded cooks, who want to make sausages.  

If you are interested, then reply in the comments below or email or tweet me.

A final thought, what on earth are butchers going to do when the casings finally run out?  I rang four suppliers that, according to a helpful gentleman at Devro, might still have some stock.  Only two still had any casings in and both of those pointed out there wasn't much stock left. 

With a sausage shortage looming, the winter surely only days away, the only answer must be for us to make our own.  Away to your mincers.

The cooking fest appears to have come out of nowhere this year.  Things are made a bit more complicated - or rather cooking intensive - because the two days of Rosh Hashanah are immediately followed by Shabbat.  This requires an awful lot of planning, preparation, cooking and refrigerating in the run-up to Wednesday night, when the festival starts.

I have decided to try my hand at salting beef again.  After my earlier over-salted flop, I've decided to go with the St John's recipe of 150g of salt per litre.  I'm going to be curing it for 5 days.  I'll report back.  

I've also got some new green cucumbers pickling in the fridge.  I've been playing with my recipe, if this one works I'll write it up.

With 15 people to feed for one of the meals I am going to go with bollito misto yet again.  I can't get enough of it, I hope they feel the same.

At some point I'm going to do some roast lamb.  I've been trying to figure out if it's possible to weave in two of the key foods of Rosh Hashanah, apple and honey - perhaps a cider and honey glaze?  It may end up all a bit too sickly. Or, perhaps, a sharp cider might just work with the sweet honey and slightly fatty lamb.

I've been trying to figure out what veg and salads to do.  I'm quite tempted by radish and schmaltz, which is a traditional ashkenazi recipe.  I've never eaten it and it sounds a bit horrific, so I'm gruesomely curious.

I've been delving back into some of the classics and have come out inspired.  So I'm planning on making Sally Clarke's baked beans (or lentils) and honey roasted endives and parsnips, Stephen Bull's red cabbage salad, the St John's Bread & Wine salad and Orbs of Joy (onions roasted in chicken stock). Although I know I want to make them, I don't yet know which meal they'll be deployed at.

If I can pull my finger out in time, I might try my hand at baking cholla.

You can be sure that my new favourite dessert will make an appearance, as will some apple and honey sorbet, fresh figs and pomegranate.  And some dates.  Oh and I'd better not forget the Bendicks, the ne pas ultra of after-dinner indulgence if you keep kosher and therefore don't eat dairy products immediately after eating meat.

It seems that every cookbook is the same as the last.

There are the obligatory breakfast recipes that will include a version of çılbır, then a few pages on snacks, perhaps some suggestions for lunch that will include mackerel and then dinner, no doubt split between the quick, post-work-I'm-too-knackered-to-cook suggestion, to the dinner party option, via the thick chunky soup for an autumnal night. 

I recently wrote about Tea with Bea, Bea Vo's attempt to shed some light on how she makes such delicious cakes.  In the book's introduction she says she was initially sceptical about writing a book because she felt so much of it had been written before.  She then realised that cookbooks should be about "a particular chef's point of view".  This struck a chord with me.  So many cookbooks seem utterly pointless.

Then recently, over the last few months, I've read some books and magazines that I've enjoyed and hope has been restored.  None of them included spicy egg and yoghurt recipes, or thick chunky soups.  In fairness, not all of them were cookbooks.  They all had one thing in common, single mindedness. It felt to me as though the author was trying to leave the reader with one point, and every page hammered that home.

Setting the Table: Lessons and inspirations from one of the world's leading entrepreneurs is not a cookbook at all.  Written by Danny Meyer, owner of a slew of well regarded New York restaurants, ranging from the venerable Gramercy Tavern, through 11 Madison Avenue to Shake Shack.  Meyer's point is very simple, restaurants are about hospitality and that's the complicated bit.

Obviously these are the views of just one man, but I would guess others who run restaurant groups might well agree.  Thinking of UK restaurant groups such as Caprice Holdings, Gordon Ramsay Holdings or even the mini Arbutus Restaurant Group, service is of a very particular standard.

If I was a more diligent sort, I'd read a load of restaurant reviews and analyse the frequency and tone that hospitality is mentioned.  But I'm not, so I'll go with instinct instead.  I reckon that if there's bad service it always gets written about - perhaps two paragraphs worth in an average review - and if there's exceptional service, it might get a line and a half.  Most times though, it will barely get a mention in a review because it is solid and is not deemed to merit comment.  

If anyone can be bothered to prove how correct I am (or incorrect, unlikely) then it would seem that reviewers take service for granted because that is what we expect.  

Meyer seems to be saying that if we do take it for granted when rating a restaurant we're missing a trick.  If the hospitality isn't good, then nothing else will be either, however proficient the kitchen.

When reading Setting the Table, I did hanker for a bit more food writing and a bit more of the grit of running a restaurant, but it made a change from some of the self-serving twaddle some UK proprietors foist upon us.  Meyer's success seems to be built on firmer foundations than some of his UK counterparts, which adds legitimacy to what he has to say.  It's all about service kids.

Ideas in Food: Great Recipes and Why They Work also falls into the single minded category.  Written by Aki Kamozawa and H. Alexander Talbot (who I interviewed a few years ago) it is a reflection of their years behind the stove cooking together and forever posing simple questions of their ingredients and recipes, along the lines of why? and how?  All this questioning has resulted in a book that builds on their very successful blog.  

The book gives home cooks, even the fairly timid, tools to make their food more interesting and be able to explain why it is better.  They give you building blocks and ideas to ensure you start questioning the norms you associate with food.  

For example, I made their preserved lemons using a freezing and thawing technique.  This required no more hi-tech equipment than a freezer and freezer bag.  But it got me wondering about cell structures of other fruit and veg and how they might react to a similar preserving technique.  What about preserved apples, or would they go too mushy?  How about using the method to flavour and preserve potatoes, could it break down the cell structure sufficiently so you can eat them raw? Perhaps these are culinary disasters waiting to happen.  Perhaps they're little more than intellectual wankery.  Either way it has got me thinking and that is what I want from a book.

Mark Bittman is the author of numerous books about food and a columnist on the New York Times.  He has embraced the digital publishing era with gusto and in particular has started publishing on Amazon's Kindle Single format.  These are basically long articles/short books available on the Kindle or via the Kindle app.  It's an interesting way to publish cookbooks, because not all books are weighty tomes and some suit a smaller format.  I think that Bittman's Kitchen: What I Grill and Why (Kindle Single) is one such example.

In the introduction, Bittman describes the book as 'idiosyncratic' because it is effectively just a compendium of what he loves to cook.  It is therefore an indulgence for him.

Bittman is at pains to say that his book isn't a 'how to'.  But it is, just by stealth and gentle wiping of the reader's brow.  He assures you that your equipment is probably fine.  He gives a few tips on how to ensure what you're serving is properly cooked.  He gives the obligatory list of what you should have in the cupboard.  He then goes on to give some really rather lovely looking recipes, that you know, given his experience, are going to be well written, will work and will taste good.  Being a journalist, he also gives the requisite pre-recipe blurb on why that particular recipe made the cut into the book.

So for the miserly cost of £0.72 you're getting a well researched and written recipe book about just one facet of cooking. You will have decent meal and learn quite a bit about grilling. The same cannot be said for many books currently flooding the market.

I don't really bother with desserts.  It's not that I don't have a sweet tooth - I do, as much as the next fat man.  Rather, I have a technical problem with them. Specifically, the prohibition under the laws of kashrut to mix milk and meat.  

Whilst we're banned from combining milk and meat in recipes - nyet to chicken kiev for example - we also have to wait an extended period of time between eating meat and eating dairy products.  The gap I observe is 3 hours.  Which is why I don't really bother with dessert.  Dessert is all about milk, cream or butter, so really what is the point.

Some people get around this by going to town on the multitude of substitutions available but I consider them to be abominations.  I also think that generally after a relatively heavy meal, some fresh fruit or sorbet is not the end of the world.

But I have hankered for some time after a decent dessert that I can pull out of the bag when necessary. Something beyond lokshen pudding (bread and butter pudding, without the bread or butter) or almond cake in orange syrup (a Sefardi/Spanish favourite).  And I just may have found one in Tea with Bea: Recipes from Bea's of Bloomsbury.

As the name suggests, this is the first book from Bea Vo, owner of the eponymous Bea's of Bloomsbury. Over the years of blogging, tweeting and eating I've got to know Bea fairly well.  I can tell you this about her: her cakes are outstanding, she's a voracious collector of cookbooks, she's a great source for sourcing hard to find produce and she knows her way around the restaurant industry.  I implore you to try her cakes, if that fails buy her book so you can try them yourself, or if that fails, just follow her on Twitter.  Unlike others, she doesn't spend her time self-promoting and is happy to engage in fairly broad ranging debate, when she's not baking.

So, I bought the book because I'm a fan and an acquaintance.  I also was hoping to learn a bit more about baking from it because I haven't had much experience and I'm not very good at it.  

Flicking through the book from back to front, as I always do with new cookbooks, my eye was caught by the Vegan Chocolate Cake.  At first, I was a bit horrified.  Bea is not a lady who panders to whims and I feared she had sold out to the whiny-brigade.  It then dawned on me that I have a claim to be a member of that particular army and Bea might just be a saviour and perhaps I could overlook my substitution snobbishness and accept soy milk in a recipe.

The cake was a revelation.  The sponge tasted of Oreos - a good thing - and the icing was simply very rich chocolate.  It was delicious.  

I should admit that whilst it tasted lovely, mine looked like a disaster, a reflection of a few issues I had baking it.  For example, after making the chocolate mousse filling/topping, it looked like someone had staged a dirty protest in our kitchen.  Further, being an impatient baker and egged on by a young child, I decided to layer on the chocolate icing before the cake had fully cooled.  Therefore I cut the sponge before it was cool and put chocolate on top of warm sponge.  Not very accomplished.

As per Bea's note at the start of the recipe, you don't need to bother telling people it's vegan when you give it to them, it might put them off.  Then again, this does have its advantages, such as there's more for you to eat and in my experience the sponge benefits from a being a day or so old.

The recipe I give below is for my version of the chocolate cake.  The main difference with the one that Bea has in the book is that I'm lazy.  I didn't include the raspberries, strawberries or crystallised violets she suggests incorporating into the mousse.  They do sound good though.

Serves 8-12

For the cake

• 23cm round cake pan, greased and baselined with parchment paper
• 275g plain flour
• 100g natural cocoa powder
• 2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
• 1 tsp baking powder
• a pinch of salt
• 450ml unsweetened soy milk
• 2 tsp red wine vinegar
• 320g caster sugar
• 320ml sunflower oil
• 2 tbsp vanilla extract

For the mousse

• 800g good quality dark chocolate, chopped (or in my case smashed) into pea-sized pieces
• 600ml hot water
• lots of ice - I used about 400g

Preheat the oven to 160C, gas mark 4.

Put the flour, cocoa powder, bicarbonate of soda, baking powder and salt into a large mixing bowl and sift twice through a sieve.

In a separate bowl, whisk the soya milk, vinegar, sugar, oil and vanilla extract.  Pour into the flour mixture and stir until well combined.  I took that to mean a consistent colour throughout the mixture.

Spoon the lot into the prepared cake pan and bake in the preheated oven for 40-55 minutes.  Bea suggests that you can test when it's done by inserting a wooden skewer into the centre of the cake.  If cooked, the skewer should be crumb-free when you pull it out.  She also says that when the cake is ready, if you press the middle of the cake it should spring back, rather than sink.  If it does sink, or your skewer is crumb-laden, return the cake to the oven for a further 5-10 minutes and check again.

Remove from the oven and let cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then remove from pan, probably with the aid of a knife and cool on a rack for 1 hour.

While it's cooling you can make the mousse.

Put the chocolate in a large, wide heatproo bowl over a saucepan of simmering water.  Don't let the base of the bowl touch the water.  Leave the chocolate until it is melted, then stir with a wooden spoon until smooth and glossy.

Remove from the heat.

Pour the hot water into the bowl of chocolate and mix until nice and smooth.

Sit the bowl in a dish filled with ice cubes.  Using an electric whisk, quickly whisk the chocolate and water mixture thoroughly and quickly until a stiff mousse forms.

Don't forget my warning about the dirty protest.  The kitchen re-decoration wasn't helped by my mousse not thickening.  So, as per Bea's suggestion, I melted more chocolate and whisked that in quickly and suddenly it became a mousse.

She suggests that if it gets too thick, you can add a touch more warm water, or espresso, or whisky to thin it out.

Then cut the cake horizontally.  She suggests 3 layers, but I didn't risk it and opted for two.  Then again, mine was in a near state of collapse given my haste and refusal to let it fully cool.

You then spread the mousse between the layers and on top of the cake.  If you're using the various berries and sweets, now's the time to add them.

Eat and enjoy.