Supper #4 - Hastings, East Sussex

Once again I found myself darting across the countryside, trying not to be late but understanding the hopelessness of this desire in the light of Jimmy's slow moving ways. The drive from Dover to Hastings (via St Margaret's Bay to check out some raw chocolate making guys) is bellisima! Romney Marshes are great green basins full of hedgerowed pastures and contented looking, sun-glazed livestock. I charged past. Through heady fields of rape and over railway crossings, past Pop Larkin style clapboard farms and the Victorian mansion blocks of Rye....into a much larger than I'd realised Hastings.

All I had to guide me to the night's supper was a tiny map, frozen onto my laptop from my last contact with wi-fi. I pulled up and shoved the computer into the face of a slightly nervy looking woman. Her young son took control and explained it all to me - but this town is massive! I lagged up a whacking great hill to a point that looks out over a massive gulley of huge, new houses and all leered over by one of Duncan Bannytine's health clubs. I swooped down into this sea of suburbia, past driveways named after 20th century US presidents...Hoover, Eisenhower, Roosevelt...but no sign of Truman. When in doubt crank up the chimes. Children stood mesmerised and smokers stopped puffing as "Colonol Bogey" filled the evening air and then, from far away came a figure running towards me, arms flailing. The music had worked: we had contact.

THE SET UP: My inner child - which is never that far from my outter adult - leapt with joy at the sight of the night's supper location. It is an enormous, swanky, mock-Tudor spectacle and the kind of place I yearned to live in when I was growing up. To me, living in a modern house with wall-to-wall carpets, fitted kitchen and central heating was the epitome of exotic. And I've never quite shaken this idea off.

Charlene and Chris welcome me in and up to their huge, well-equipped kitchen. I am immediately offered a glass of 'Vin d'Orange' - something that Charlene has had aging in her fridge for a couple of months: Seville oranges languishing in rose wine, seeping their citric bitterness into the liquid and producing a drink so refreshing and lip-smacking that I'm inclined to start a batch up as I travel around.

WHAT WE ATE: Then I am offered homemade cheese biscuits, peppered with cayenne and rolled in sesame seeds; tuna 'mousse' crostini and clay-like, heavenly goat cheese dip. All made by Charlene. I glance around at the shelves heaving with cook books and am beside myself to have it dawn on me that I'm in the company of a couple of serious foodies. Now I know this trip isn't necessarily about just foodies, but by God it's a treat when I happen upon some!

Over on the granite island sat a great piece of porchetta, resting. Porchetta is one of my favourite things in the whole world. When my family lived up the mountain in Italy we would pester our parents for porchetta pannini every time we were at the market. Thick slices of this dense, pale meat, seamed with crushed fennel seeds, garlic, salt and pepper and shoved into a floury ciabatta....the business.

Charlene's recipe is from the Zuni recipe book and came in big, pullable chunks. Large nuggets of this well-roasted pork that went so well with the almost caramelled roast fennel, potatoes and onions. Chris opened a chilled bottle of Gavi and we chewed the cud and the grub.

DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Food blogger inhouse politics - the whys and wherefores of posting and being blackballed by precious foodies; Chris' nerve-wracking dash through JFK with a couple of Lobel's strip steaks in his bag; William Curley V Paul A. Young V L'Artisan du Chocolat; what to do with the horse meat in their freezer (apparently raw is a good option since it's the only meat that doesn't carry bacteria); how Nigel Slater should really not stray from food writing and onto the screen and this continuing theme of the joy of exchanging goods for goods without money always coming into it.

THE PUD: I made them one of Willie's Cloud Forest cakes - using a whole bar of his chocolate, ground almonds, the basics and topeed with a glossy ganache. It is a sensational cake - very dense, almost truffle like but with a lightness and a depth that keep it primal but not too heavy.

MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: We're all pretty exhausted and their little girl has a habit of waking at 5.30am so we had some jasmine tea and then I was led up to a very comfy room, complete with a TV, trashy mags and a basket full of guest size lotions. Imagine if hotels really were like this!

Supper #3 - Victoria Park, Dover

THE SET UP: Dover has a bad reputation. It is seen as being overrun by deadbeats, refugees, pramfaces, no-hopers and with little going for it other than a quick exit route to Somewhere Else. This is why my host likes it. Joanna Jones is a well-respected artist who moved here from Berlin over ten years ago. She fell for the light here, but she also fell for something else which would baffle many. She likes the idea that she can use art here in a way that would have little impact in other, 'better' places. Together with two other women, Joanna has set up DAD - a partnership for developing public arts projects throughout the town - and she's excited about something fresh being poured into the town which residents can get involved with.

There is something about the light in her house that is unique. You feel like you may be able to unravel your thoughts enough here to put something down of worth. I arrived feeling a bit fraught and out of sorts. I was starting to feel like I was already losing time and beginning to spin. She pulled me into her house and I felt calmed in an instant. Dinner was waiting in great pots on the stove, my hand was soon holding a glass of red wine (nothing particular and probably bought from Lidl) and we got stuck straight into some pretty mystical discussions.

WHO CAME: Joanna, me, another Petra who lives next door and one of her DAD partners, Clare.

WHAT WE ATE: Potato and mushroom curry, cooked with ginger and turmeric, chicken curry and coconut rice. Simple and soothing. Outside was still grizzly - a chilling to the bone tone to it and demanding of hot, spicy comfort food.



DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Clare's mum is a 72 year old Chinese woman who is about to return to her homeland to study at university. Imagine that. We talked about J's recent trip to Calcutta and the Western habit of sorting ideas dualistically, as opposed to the Eastern way which just is. Climate change and human greed came into play and the thought that perhaps we've gotten to the point where we've consumed so much that we've almost eaten through it and we're coming out the other side. Apparently foot passengers on ferries last year were at their highest level since 1992.

THE PUD: No chocolate! A pud was already made - poached pears and cherry ripple ice cream (again from Lidl and fairly synthetic in a familiar, childhood way).



MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: An old fashioned single room with an enormous sash window that looks out over the street below so I can keep an eye on Jimmy and any meddling dock workers wanting to leap in and sample the wares!

Getting lost

It is a luxury of traveling to be able to get lost without too much upset. I have always relished it in a way. My mum has admonished me on our road trips over the years for getting us lost on purpose and being a bit too perky over some potentially extreme wrong turns. This one occasion found us crawling through the Louisiana Bayou at dusk...swampland either side of us harboured a murkiness and threat that thrilled me whilst leaving poor Mama pulling out her hair.

So far my trip hasn't had quite enough of this. It's been very much dictated by the places I have to reach each day - which have all been great and a real joy, but just not leaving time for idling and misadventure along the way. I will loosen things up to make room for enjoying the mistakes on the road.

I did squeeze in a bit though - between Woodchurch and Dover I ducked off the A28 out of Ashford, through Wye and then well off-piste up and down some tiny country lanes. As I examined the map for the most straightforward meander I found nothing but a tangle of noodle-like roads, splitting and contorting in multiple directions. Suck it and see, I thought and crashed on regardless - despite a Biblical thunderstorm. The sky went sombre, the puddles swelled and it seemed as though every living creature for miles around disappeared into its hedge/nest/hole, leaving just me and Jimmy rumbling guilelessly along...

I emerged onto a proper, clear-cut, direct road a long time later, a little bewildered but engulfed by a sense that I had fought through a meddling conspiracy of lanes and won!....in a long, roundabout, would have been more sensible to take an easier route kind of way.

Supper #2 - Woodchurch, Kent

I left Whitstable and headed for Woodchurch, just beyond Ashford. As soon as I got on the hands-free I veered off my route and wound up going the long way round. This may become a theme for me. Eventually I rolled up to another house in the middle of a major refurb.

THE SET-UP: I met Ian at Big Chill a couple of years ago. We were neighbours - whilst we were scooping ice cream and serving brownies he and his mates were dishing up fat chips and wicked dips and some pretty hilarious customer chat. We've stayed in touch, not least because his wife, Beatrice, is a business powerhouse who has helped me with some juicy nuggets along my way.

They're into doing houses up and then moving on. Here I find them recently moved into this beautiful, sloping 14th century pile. They found it musty and damp after being lived in for years by an old woman who only occupied a couple of rooms. Great big open hearths hold coal fires that have dried it all out and now the smell is pure leather and wood.

I'm offered champagne as soon as I'm through the door and we settle down for a catch up. Their little boy gurgles away and I hear about how Beatrice nearly didn't come back from the hospital after having him last year. Cripes.

Before long we are descended upon by loads of neighbours desperate for some choc action from the van. They've seen Jimmy on the box and keep asking if we're famous. They run off with glee when presented with ice creams and then I get to work on the evening's pud: chocolate, almond and orange frozen terrine. It's one of the best recipes ever - really easy and so succulent in a truffly, iced chocolate kinda way. You could easily lose your mind with it and grab a whole slab of the stuff and just suck it down....I'm salivating as I write this.

WHO CAME: Ian, Beatrice and me

WHAT WE ATE: Ian had been marinating a tangy zucchini salad in the larder all day. He has adapted to recipe from something similar he had in Key West. I love Key West with a mighty passion and am crazy about all those lime and cilantro flavours. It was like a vegetable ceviche but with a sweet edge (although Sweet 'n' Low or some other sugar replacement was used on account of B being on Atkins).



Then we had Saltmarsh lamb from a field a couple of miles away. The thing still had grass on it and needed nothing but a few cloves of garlic wedged into it. It was a deep, dark colour and all the better for being nice and rare. Butternut squash, parsnips and broccoli went beautifully and Ian and I had a British style gravy whilst Beatrice went for the French pan oils and blood combo.


THE PUD: A triumph. It's always important to me that French people like my gear and I think that despite the Atkins situation, Beatrice might be making the odd foray into the freezer for regular reprisals....cool, with the clouded crunch of shortbread and something more definite from the toasted almonds...a deep, dark chocolate succulence (as I keep saying) with a jolt of brandy and a shimmer of orange. Heaven.

DINNER TABLE TOPICS: How the two of them met (at a party in the '80s - her in a green velour minidress, him fresh out of the force as an undercover cop); Ian's involvement in the Brixton riots (had his trews set on fire - everything still intact); Beatrice's student days in London when her housemates had to find a compromise between the French way of roasting beef (30 mins) and the Brit way (3 hours); the widespread cowboy practices of food traders at festivals - questionable """"Vegetarian"""" food and super cheap bangers and Mash being passed off as gourmet. Being worthy and righteous is all well and good but if you want to make serious dollar at the festis you cut corners in a ruthless fashion. I don't know if I have this in me.

MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: A sumptuous collection of brocaded linen arranged on a big, soft bed with an electric blanket! If April is chilly then here's a good reason to make the most of it. Beatrice told me I'd probably have a lie-in and she was right - I slept and slept in a way that would embarrass Rip Van Winkle (well, til 9.30am).

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.

Supper #1 - West Cliff, Whitstable

I was contacted through the Tour Facebook Group by Duncan who said that I must come to dinner in Whitstable. As it turns out we have some friends in common. Duncan lived next door to them in Bow when his family were part of a 'community'. I think Duncan misses that world a bit and was attracted to the exchange of kindness and treats of the Choc Star Tour.

I finished up at my pitch on the seafront - which by now was as sunny as could be - went for a little spin round town, bought a pot of prawns from Wheeler's, wandered around the beach and then headed for my destination. A slightly tight squeeze into the driveway ensued, the lead got fed through the window and soon enough Jimmy was whirring away and I was being ushered into the house.

THE SET UP: Duncan and his girlfriend have been renovating it for the last 18 months and are doing it all sustainably. I like the idea of the hemp insulation and the reclaimed glass floors. The whole place was dripping in evening sun and even the churned up garden looked kind of pretty in an earthy, moundish way.

After a swift pint in the Old Neptune (more old rockers and a UB40 tribute band), a look at their eBay-bought beach hut and a hearty hello with the wild lesbians next door it was suppertime!

WHO CAME: two twinkly-eyed couples who'd been to school/uni with D&H. One of the girls wore pearls and had the most lovely smiley way about her and a kind of innocence that seems almost old fashioned. Her husband was cut from the same cloth. The other couple seemed sweet too - the guy even offered a possible supper party in a cave down in Swanage (very Dead Poet's Society), D, H and me.

WHAT WE ATE: huge fat Whitstable oysters - the girls were pretty terrified of them...the guys not the most gung-ho either, whilst Duncan, a vegetarian, wasn't overjoyed by the mushroom and thyme pate Harry had picked up for him. Various other pates dotted the table as well as breads and a packet of butter. We ate on paper plates and drank champagne from wine glasses. Then came the main course - big, plump chicken breasts with discs of tarragon butter that melted juicily in, flageolet beans and peppery watercress. It was delicious and so touching to see all the effort put in despite the fact that they're basically camping and everything is in boxes.

DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Upcoming friends' weddings; booking hotels for these weddings; my tour; house renovation; Duncan's mum's sex life.

THE PUD: Then came my bit - the first of many chocolate puds to be offered up in exchange for all the kindness. I slipped away to the van to prep it - a chocolate mousse cake that was setting in the fridge. I'd made it the day before whilst still at home. I don't know if this is cheating or not but figure there aren't really any rules as long as I actually produce a pud somehow. I slid a hot knife around the tin to release the dense, creamy number and luckily managed not to drop it on the floor (I'd had a few). I carried it through the house and everyone seemed very excited in a hushed, reverential kind of way and Harry sliced it up into enormous portions...which everyone managed to finish. Just.


MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: I was struggling to stay awake from 10pm. Really struggling, yet I felt I absolutely couldn't go - it would be so rude. This is going to be part of my challenge - how to handle the dichotomy of being treated like a friend and yet being a total stranger. And should I remain neutral and journo-like or try and be the life and soul and thus earn my keep in entertainment value? Or is the pudding enough? Anyway, the bed was a series of cushions on the floor covered with a pristine white sheet and topped off with a big, cosy duvet. It was met by me with the kind of enthusiasm normally felt after a very long haul flight. I slept like a log.

Whitstable

My friend Ellis told me that Whitstable is like a cross between Weymouth and Aldeburgh and I see what he means. It is cute, full of gift shops and seems to have more than a passing interest in the gourmet side of life...yet its undercurrent of old rockers and barflies gives the place a funk in its thigh that delivers it from tweeness.

I arrived (after a detour through the pebble-dash cacophony of Bexleyheath looking for a carwash), found the spot I thought was mine and got settled in. The sun was ablaze, a skiffle band got everyone swaying and the place was teeming with kids imploring their parents for ice creams - the perfect spot!...then, as I was almost set up, came the most brimstone and fire hailstorm ever. I quickly battoned down the hatches and sat in the van getting pounded - the van shook, the noise deafened and all the people vanished into unknown places of dryness and warmth.


Then it poured with rain. Then the sun returned. Then it poured with rain. Then the sun returned - and so on for the rest of the day which found me serving hot chocolate one minute and white chocolate ice cream the next. Some people came to complain about my being there but when I explained what I was doing it was all smiles and good luck. One guy did point out to me that I was actually in the wrong place entirely but wasn't hard-nosed enough to make me move.

If my tour is an exploration of British friendliness and hospitality then Whitstable has passed with flying colours. A mixed group of punters - from proper hard-nut, spiky haired mums to old fishermen and high-flying couples from the city. Some had seen me and Jimmy on the telly and were delighted to be able to get their hands on Willie's chocolate some just wanted to shut their kids up. I loved it - even the hail - and would return in an instant if invited.

Thanks for having me Whitstable!

Off I go!

Thursday night's leaving drinks left me feeling pretty hanging on Fri - I imagined I didn't have as much to do as I actually did and as the day dwindled my body had to race on ahead of my head. The results weren't pretty - one of which was a misguided bin-bag lob into a seething, grimy old dumpster...carrying my enormous bunch of keys with it. Luckily Sam and Jemma had just dropped me off the most beautiful box of cakes ever and were on hand to figure out how the hell to retrieve the keys without needing a full disinfectant pressure hose-down afterwards.

My brother gave a delicious dinner for me - deep, earthy green sorrel soup; a porcini risotto that had this wonderful lemony way about it; a big peppery green salad and then baked bananas with nutmeg and cream. I can think of few people's cooking I prefer to his.

I hurtled off the next day having had about three hours sleep - fully loaded with stuff. An alarming amount really but which, I reasoned, looked a lot worse than it was and would soon be whipped into shape by my natural flair for packing and down-sizing.

One last trawl through London, one last look at her sights, a fill-up of diesel and petrol for the gennie then through the Blackwall tunnel and onto the A2 - all the way reaching for my cupcakes. I couldn't stop eating them. One after the other I tossed those little buttercream clad beauties into my mouth, viewing them as both treat and medicinal for their energising sugar properties.

...and I'm out on the open road. Bliss. My absolute, 100% spiritual pleasure. To awake in a new place everyday and then to move on in whichever direction I choose is the realest of the deals, the purest of the packages and the bombest of the bombs!

Whitstable - this Saturday

So Dave from the licensing dept. at Kent County Council has agreed to have us for the day down on the Seawall. It's our first yes - he sounds quite enthused in fact - and we're going to be by the coffee man and the cheese lady (should be easy to spot).

If you're in that neck of the woods this Sat 12th April do swing by for a Triple Chocolate Malted Bliss milkshake or some Black Millionaire's shortbread.

The Painted Road Trip

The luminous, illustrious illustrator Gwen Burns has created this pic for the Choc Star Tour. All I gave her was a scrawled up idea from my Moleskin and she's got it so perfectly right. My heart leaps with delight every time I look at it and I can't wait to get out there. On this subject I have been persuaded by people far more sensible than I that leaving on Saturday would be a much better idea than Friday. I'm having leaving drinks tomorrow night and I don't exactly have anything lined up for the following evening - AKA the first night of my trip. The thought of lurching out of bed after a knees-up with my mates, leaving London for three months and propelling myself towards....A Village Somewhere In Kent, has had some scratching their heads.

"HMmm, you're not going to be at your most charming in that state are you" said my friend Sam when I ran through the plan with him. And I had visions of it all coming out wrong as I try to explain to a pub full of people what I'm doing - and then sloping back to the van to re-group, only to eventually settle on the safety of a B&B....which all actually still doesn't sound that bad. But I will go for the easier option. This time!

Londonist

Hi from a slightly mangle-minded person. I'm surrounded by lists and piles of stuff and a groaning amount of e-mails to send. Plus the TV license people are hot on my case. I'm not trying to avoid getting one, it's just that that particular sheet of paper has been relegated to a fairly low position in the heap and has barely seen the light of 2008.

Jimmy's been checked over by Big Jim at City Autos. I'm all excited because he's promised to take me to one of the gypsey shows he goes to - proper horse racing and selling and trading on the side of the track...I took him some brownies today so that should have sealed the deal.

The Londonist has written a piece on Choc Star - have a look (although it's a bit strange when you see how you've been quoted and wonder, 'God, is that the kind of stuff that comes out of my mouth?!'. Anyway, it was written by the doyenne of London food devotees, Krista who shall be given Super VIP treatment chez Jimmy next time we cross paths.

Off on Friday and still not sure where the heck I'll be suppering. Somewhere between Brixton and Whitstable....

Nuts

I'm writing from my usual spot - the cream leather chaise longue I bought on eBay a couple of months ago. I've been thinking about my day to day activities whilst out on the road. It's typical of me that I've cooked up this scheme which feels so damn right in my gut, yet, when breaking it down, is actually a logistical horror show. I know I'll write on my laptop in the van. I'll pull up at some bucolic setting and set about my keyboard. I imagine that if it's nice I'll go and find a river to swim in...then I remind myself that it's not summertime in Arkansas but Blighty with a sleat storm pending.

Then there's the selling. This is very important because without it I can't get Jimmy juiced up and we won't get to see much of Britain. I've been in touch with various different places and the response has been pretty good - I mean, when I'm pitching the idea that I'm looking for the friendliest and most hospitable parts of Britain, they'd have to be a bit salty to say no...but you never know - regulations can get in the way of all sorts of fun. It looks like Whitstable town council are keen and next Saturday could well see us down on its seafront (wonder if it'll snow?).

I also need to bake and this could be my undoing. I have the means to do a certain amount of baking in the van...but not major stuff. Am I going to find myself rapping on the gates of schools, asking if I can use their kitchen facilities? Supplies shouldn't really be a problem as ice cream can be delivered anywhere (although I really want to find local producers along the way...as long as it's chocolatey and up to scratch) and eggs and flour, etc will be fun to hunt down.

What may be an issue is my need of overnight power to keep the freezers going so the ice cream stands firm. But in a way this keeps the mission clearer - I have to find people to descend on or the ice cream gets it and the journey can't continue, otherwise there'd be nothing to stop me from just pulling up in secluded spots and bedding down in the van for the night, sans seeking supper.

My mood is now a thick layer of calm trapping the terror and keeping it submissive. I hope it doesn't decide to revolt and lunge at me unawares. I think I have it under control. I think my lack of a grand logistical design is ok and that I'll figure it out on my feet, rather than fret about it too much now. I think the trip is going to be magical and tough, but mainly the most amazing opportunity to really get my chops around Britain in all her various states and guises...and this thrills me like nothing else.

Choc Star Tour map is live!

The tour map is up and running - I've plotted all the places I have been invited to so far and will be adding photos, links and stories as I go along...as well as more supper spots. The divine, hot-mess that is Sam from Crumbs & Doilies has set the whole thing up so that it even has a Google Earth link. It's so exciting! I'm a massive map fan and am all over it.

I'll be posting all sorts along the way - not only where I go for supper but also any good food destinations: roadside sellers, creameries, cake shops...whatever I can uncover in my quest to find the most hospitable parts of Britain and what to make them for pudding.

ETD: Friday 11th April from South London - heading South-East to Kent.