Time Flew!

Hello y'all! Greetings from the midst of a rather interesting and experimental epoch in the Choc Star experience: Brighton Fringe Festival....

For almost three weeks Jimmy will have been parked up in the central concourse of the town's marvelous one-way system as part of the Free Range event.

A massive red and blue dome rises up in the midst of this micro festival within a festival and puts on wonderful performances every night. The highlight so far has been the physics-defying kids from Circolombia. Pure magic. If you're anywhere nearby in the next few days you must witness this!

Other fun times - both in and out of the van - have been found at...

The Kingston Food Festival.

I feel a little bit in love with Suburbia that weekend.

The brilliant Food Junctions. UCL have collaborated with local food adventurers to pull together this event in the rambling and off-piste location of Camley Street Natural Park.

I was asked to go along and give a tasting and you can imagine my delight when I was offered up this teepee as the possible location.

That's it! I squealed, and then set about transforming it into a little chocolate den (no pics, sorry - I got mobbed!)

There have been a lot of chocolate tastings at schools lately too. The local press even came along to the last one in Kent to take pics of the excited kids. (If I ever figure out how to post a scan on here I'll insert it toutes suite). I love going to primary schools and showing everyone the cocoa love - it's a whole fresh sheet upon which to lay down the stories and magic of chocolate for curious minds.

And this wedding last week was fun - a Scottish knees-up right in the heart of Dulwich. God, talk about a sure-fire way of ensuring everyone has a damn good time. I LOVE all that prancing around and getting out of breath and being spun around and it certainly worked up their appetites...


New sweet encounters also have been fun. A visit to Hawksmoor for their legendary burger was given a dash of extra pleasure by a scoop of their Cornflake ice cream for pudding. It was delicious - like crushed up Crunchy Nut Cornflakes in the most purely churned vanilla ice cream. It actually reminded me a bit of those crazy ice-creamists at Momofuku Milk Bar.

Then, while doing some pavement pounding in Hackney the other day, I finally got to see my friend Claire's new bakery. After almost five years as the most popular cake stall on Broadway Market, Violet has now added a bricks and mortar string to its bow.

It's so great to see someone with Claire's taste transform an old building and offer up a spot that you just don't see in this country very often. Very Bay Area with an E8 twist.

Now can we start seeing some more of this please? I have a patio that needs inhabiting...

Pierre Herme - imagine that!

Rumours have begun to fly about one of France's true choc gods. Pierre Herme - the 'Picasso of Pastry' may be coming to our shores to imbue us with his magic. If he does I may never need to leave London again. He can hop over here, enchant us all with the Herme touch; with his filthy rich Financiers, dreamy savarins, Sichuan pepper truffles and milk chocolate tarts and whatever voids we all thought we had would be filled with one swift spread of his whisper-light mousse.

Pierre Herme - you would complete me.

How to turn your wild idea into a reality.

This is the theme of the next Scanner's night, run by 'portfolio' careerist John Williams. I met John a year or so ago when I was, as ever, pondering my options. Oh, you're a scanner, he told me. Say What? A scanner is someone who wants to do lots of things, has lots of ideas and doesn't follow a linear career path. And there are, it seems, a ton of us out there.

John's monthly Scanner's nights are talks and workshops designed to give people fresh ideas and good advice on anything from how to get a book deal to ratcheting up your online presence. The other day I got a call from them asking if I'd be able to talk about how I got started with Choc Star and where I'm heading next with the choc-mobile. No probs, I said - especially when I discovered that my fellow speakers would be the lovely Sophie Boss of Beyond Chocolate and jelly visionary Sam Bompas of Bompas & Parr.

If you'd like to come and get some ideas, ask some questions or to home in on the choc and jelly nibbles on offer, it's on 8th April at Clerkenwell House - click here to book a place.

Chocolate....underground (SHhhhh!)

I've just discovered that Doyenne of the underground restaurant scene, Ms Marmite Lover, is to hold a series of cookery courses at her tres des res in North West London - beginning with CHOCOLATE!

L.A based uber-chef Roberto Cortez will be chez Marmite this Monday (23rd March), ready to impart some of his much sought wisdom and techniques on:

Understanding how chocolate works and different types
temperatures
perfect mousses every time
flavour development
cocoa percentages

He will show how to make:

70% Dark chocolate mousse
64% Dark chocolate lavender cream
42% Milk chocolate cinnamon cream
White chocolate mousse with raspberries.

Cost - £40

Things kick off at 2pm and will get pretty chocolatey - click here to book a place through We Got Tickets, or e-mail Ms Marmite directly (theundergroundrestaurant@gmail.com).

Wish I could make it...

I heart David Lebovitz!

So, so much. I mean he's on 24 hour choc-watch - the guy doesn't take a break! Check this out...

Tea with Henrietta

My good friend Simon recently introduced me to the wonderful Henrietta Lovell of the Rare Tea Company Ltd. You have to meet, he said, she's right up your chutney Mary. Well, he didn't exactly put it like that but knowing how strongly she felt about one plant (tea) and I about another (take a guess) he figured it would make sense for us to get together and get to know one another.

So we met for tea.

I whipped up some Whoopie Pies filled with salted caramel buttercream. Delish. I should have made them a bit smaller though as each one was like a midi-cake in itself. And it didn't do the non-dairy aspect of my life much good but you should check out this buttercream - a kind of posh Fluff: egg whites whisked into a snowy frenzy with warmed sugar, then butter and dark caramel added until it all comes together in this wonderful voluptuous billowing delight. I ate a small pot of the stuff for fortitude for my long journey north of the river to Camden and Henrietta.

There she was in her pristine flat, poised over a selection of teas and ready for the alchemy to begin. Now I'm no tea drinker - it's never really been my bag - but I have been dabbling in that side of life a quite heartily recently and felt more than ready to be inducted into the ways of the tea. From White to Green to Black we went, taking in Jasmine, Oolong and various levels of...flushing along the way; it was as if being introduced to First Class after a long and gruelling career in the hold. And each moment of wonder that swept my face was joined by Henrietta and more fascinating tea facts. (God, that sounds so SQUARE but it's not, I promise).

We necked tea, shot-like, and ate Whoopie pies and dreamt up a million different schemes for bringing the magic of the two together. I think we have a plan and it's going to be awesome - hold tight!

Underground Mexico

Blogger's acting up, hence a rather tardy round-up of Sat night. Which was brilliant. I want Sat nights like that all the time and I loved that I had a choc-mobile to add to the mix. I arrived fresh from a slightly harrowing dodgeball tournament in Hammersmith and then went bump-bump-bumping over the endless suburban humps en route. Found the road, just wasn't sure of the house. 'Ms Marmite!' I cried down the handsfree, 'where the heck's your driveway?'. Busy dealing with her false eyelashes she dispatched her Goth, doll-like daughter to call me in to the narrow space. It wasn't the most dynamic call-in ever - the daughter stood awkward and sullen with no clear idea of what she was doing out there - but eventually we squeezed through and I was taken into the heart of Underground Restaurant HQ.

It was a bit like Kilburn's answer to Rocky Horror. There was the sister all corsets and high-heels, her ample boobs practically meeting her chin, an almost permanent twinkle in her eye. And Johnny, the Australian 'front of house' - ginger quiff, piercings through nose, mouth, eyebrow(?) etc, sharp in black, total dude. Then Helen, the food blogger who really wanted to get involved. The daughter lurked in the background, the epitomy of anti-waitressing whilst Ms Marmite Lover bustled out resplendent in black cocktail frock, super-high wedges and a broderie Anglaise Victorian pinnie.

I felt right at home.

My friend Charlie had introduced me to MML a few weeks back and we quickly concocted a plan to bring the choc van along to one of her secret suppers. The theme was to be Mexican so I came up with a spiced chocolate mousse laced with a chilli syrup for the occasion. I made most of it in advance but needed to finish it off on arrival, so after plugging in through the bedroom window I tottered out in my stilettos and got to work.

'What are you doing in there' asked some passer-by. He pressed his face up against the back window of the van to see me surrounded by choc mousses, enveiled in lurid pink and pulsing rope light combo. 'Oh you know, just stirring it up' I replied and he backed away with an amazed grin on his face. I was then ushered into the house where a place had been set for me in the 'restaurant'. I grabbed a margarita (very tangy) and joined my table.

The whole room was chattering away animatedly - around 20 guests all thrilled to be doing something different with their evenings; what a relief - we can talk to one another! The constraints of decorum kaput, chair hopping and glass sharing ahoy! At each table were salsa and chips - corn & mango, tomato and my favourite, the guacamole. Joder! this woman can season! It was a really tasty one - in fact the best I've had in London. I dug in lasciviously.

Meanwhile in the kitchen things were kind of hectic. I went in to chat and could barely see anyone for the smoke that was engulfing the place. I felt my way past the hanging undies and bottles of wine to the Aga where I found MML griddling the tortillas for all she was worth. Real blue corn tortillas to be served with the chili sin carne, stuffed, baked jalapeños, rice and sour cream. Eventually, buoyed on by a few more swigs of margarita, she was ready to serve. Table by table, each of us pounced on our plates most heartily. More wine got ordered, more people swapped places and then seconds got dolled up.

Finally came the moment for pud. I got into position behind the counter, grabbed the bottle of chocolate martini mix I'd been chilling in the freezer and furnished each of the guests with a mousse and a shot - perhaps a small tour of the van for those who were really keen - and away they went, back into the hub and all the perkier for it.

After coffee, cognac and more getting to know one another (Gronya with the YSL coat from eBay! Spike with the Pekham chocolate shop suggestion! The festi-loving couple who'd visited us at Bestival!) they all trooped off and home. We, the 'staff', then gathered round the Aga for a cognac-tinged 'wash-up' meeting spearheaded by Johnny. I was on the edge-of-my-seat rivetted by his ideas, MML and sister were shattered but happy and the daughter interjected with the occasional correction to Johnny's French.

In the end MML lost her voice, Johnny cycled home and I went to bed amidst the Underground Restaurant debris...a great night that I hope continues really successfully for them all.

Sshhh...The Underground Restaurant

This Saturday night I will be parking Jimmy up in the driveway or Ms Marmite Lover, doyenne of the underground restaurant scene in London. This hush-hush thing is starting to take hold as the gap between eating in and eating out becomes bridged in this big ole changing city.

I'm excited for this change. I love a good restaurant but more than that I love an atmospheric one and London isn't always brilliant at pairing great food with this. It reminds me of being in Tel Aviv where so many bars are like homes - and you can always get a really delicious plate at the bar until early morning.

I'm excited for the personality factor of eating like this - a paying guest in somebody's home, a menu that has been decided irrespective of you and at a price you can definitely afford.

I'm going to do a spiced chocolate mousse to go with the Mexican dinner. I've even been invited to stay the night. It's reminding me of my days on tour, trundling around Britain looking for strangers to have me into their homes for supper. I may get re-addicted. I like London suppers but more than that I like life out there, on the road, free-wheeling.

I'm planning to do more. Abroad. The thought of this has me ebullient with delight.

Jimmy Carter's favourite snack...

Today I have discovered that:

• I love pancakes as much as ever. After a p-c extravaganza last night (baked pancake stack with wild mushroom and herb gruyere bechamel, followed by endless sweet flips), here I am today, still flipping, still squeezing and still enjoying.

• There was no public transportation provided to evacuate New Orleans citizens after Nagin urged everyone to leave pre-Katrina. This may be old news but never better relayed than via Trouble The Water on More 4 last night.

• Today is National Chocolate Covered Peanuts Day (US) - and I'm clean out. I wonder where in London might sell me some choc-covered salted peanuts; I imagine they're darn good.

I need it and I want it, so I gotta get a...

I'm ordering one and pairing it with a brown bulb. I can almost smell the summer...or at least the spring anyway.

Blood & Chocolate

My uncle took me aside at my cousin's christening at the weekend on a matter of utmost importance.

"Petra - you have to get yourself over to Boca di Lupo asap for the Sanguinaccio", he insisted.
"Whatthehecksthat?"
"Chocolate and pig's blood that you spread on bread and sprinkle with salt - it's out of this world".

The hair on the back of my neck bristled with glee and I was sat at B di L's long marble bar two days later sipping on some friulli in anticipation of the main event. The lovely Irish bartender presented it to me with a glint in his eye and after my first thick slather of this sweet, rich, iron-tinged pate I was twinkling from the inside out too.

Some chocolate is greedy, some an academic pleasure, some just an abuse of a brilliant raw ingredient. But when it's done well, with intelligence and respect, the mind and body waltz. Like a brilliant movie I don't want to say anymore but do, if you're in the area, pull yourself up to the bar and prepare to get primal.

The day I fell in love with Morecambe Bay

I always had a feeling about Morecambe. Something just sang inside at the thought of it and then bust into a full-blown aria as I joined the stream of traffic that wended its way along the promenade. I had been in touch with Kate at Sunset Ices and was keen to track her down. It's so interesting encountering other post-Mr Whippy mobilers and the website also sang to me a bit too.

There she was parked outside the resurrected art deco Midland hotel. I went round and round the roundabout before making a dash for it and traversing the cyclists lane and onto the promenade, actual. Kate had said she was happy for me to trade on her pitch with her but I was too enraptured by everything to even think of opening up the hatch. I roamed around like a ravaged old coyote, licking my chops with glee at the pure, uninhibited kitsch of the place.

Kate gave me an Angostura Ice which flicked my switches still further and I hung out in her van with her while she worked. Fascinating to be in the passenger seat of someones elses operation. She does all these retro treats like Oysters and Snowball Toppers and has jars and jars of sprinkles which the kids receive with total glee. The Midland was winking at me through the window so I set off to try and persuade one of the builders to show me around. This was achieved by impressing upon this one hot guy that I wasn't in town for long and would miss the big opening ceremony on Sunday.

"Ok, but if the boss comes then just keep yer 'ead down" he warned.
"Don't worry - let's just walk about like we own the joint and if that fails I've got a whole van full of chocolate outside" I assured him.

He then gave me the most comprehensive tour of this grand old dame I could have wished for - round the kitchens, the spa, the bar, the ballroom - up the curling stairs to the penthouse suite and onto the rooftop. I beamed happily away at all the hard-hats who looked like they had shed loads to do before the place could be opened and then dodged off when they started yelling for me to give my guide my phone number. I might have handed it over but I had to get back onto my and Jimmy's beloved moors.

La Rosa Campsite

Burning rubber filled the air as I screeched into Goathead, barely managing to control Jimmy's heavy bulk. Further out of this moorland village were more obstacles and the La Rosa Campsite felt hard won after a, frankly, terrifying rocky road down. At one point I was clutching onto my door handle with My Life Flashed Before My Eyes cued up and ready to roll. But when I stepped out of the van it was pure magic.

Imagine this, somewhere near Whitby, down in a moorland valley lies an enchanted campsite with special touches to make your jaw drop. I wandered wide-eyed around in the dying sun. Amazed. You sleep in caravans and can choose between the tinker's truck, the Virgin Mary caravan, burlesque or Elvis. Being a Tues night I found myself in the enviable position of being able to take my pick. Of course Elvis was the obvious choice for a devotee like myself, but there was something about the smell of the burlesque one that won me over. It was the sort of sweet, dusky smell of holidays - the scent of warm concrete floors in a scruffy whitewashed house in Greece. It even had a pole. My friend Vee yelled at me down the phone to try it out - "Jesus, you're the only one there - get on the pole!". But it looked a bit flimsy so I resisted.



Elsewhere lies a huge tee-pee with great luscious white rugs on the floor, a mini circus tent, a caravan sweet shop with Jelly Babies, Jelly Tots and Dolly Mix and an outdoor bath and showers that you have by candlelight with a gramophone on the side to crank up and listen to. I selected some old gypsy lament and, after showering, couldn't help but run myself a bath as well. Submerged in steaming hot water, looking out across the caravan strewn valley, the peace was incredible. Bless the wonderful Amanda for making such a place happen and roll on next June when I return with enough friends to fill the place.

Sundae Sundae

A great discovery. Duncan took me there the following morning in his slippers. I love his casual appropriation of the town as an extended living room. On the website the opening times are listed as 'varied' so we swerve round hoping.



I know comparisons are odious, and I shall try not to make too many of them, but
Sundae Sundae reminds me of the kind of places you find in small towns all over the East and West coasts of America: A quirky, independent little ice cream parlour, come sweet shop (or 'ice cream delicatessen') that has been put together with a sense of humour and a bit more imagination than your average scoop-it-up-and-rake-it-in disaster. Inside were bags of homemade fudge, chocolate teacakes, toffee apples, cupcakes, real meringues - a sundae counter promising 'Dulce de Leche sundaes' (MMmmmmm) and a whole load of soda fountain memorabilia out back: banana split boats, Knickerbocker Glory dishes and lashings of Enid Blyton books. Brilliant.

I bought a Cider Refresher which refreshed me just perfectly.