LONDON LEG: Supper #44 - N1

Last night saw the beginning of my London leg of the tour. I've been all over the place this summer and have missed the suppers. I wonder how things will be back in the Capital....in a way it's a completely different slant as I don't need to sleep over because I live here (SW9 FYI), therefore I won't be getting so rat-tanked because I'll be driving, which should aid my clarity and sharpen my observations. Hmmm, not sure about all this. I wonder, will the hospitality branch be extended to me by Londoners even though they know well and good I have my own bed?

I went and picked Jimmy up from his des res (parking lot in SW4), swung by my pad (deep in the heart of the hood), grabbed the part-assembled pud, revved the Gennie up so as to arrive all twinkling and flashing neon and braved the traffic from South to North. All fine until the atmospheric light show that throbbed out pleasingly to passers by turned spasmodic. Pink, black, pink, black went the on-off situation and my heart sank as I drove up Upper Street, wondering what the heck was wrong with Gennie now.

I arrived on a very swish looking street (in an Oliver Twist when he was salvaged kind of way) and felt sure that no yoots would come rootling around the van whilst I was flanked by such swank vehicles. I was late. As usual. But I carried with me a delightful offering so what could they possibly say?

THE SET UP: Madoc bought the flat six years ago with his sister who lives next door with their mum. Cosy. He used to be a chef but now works for Raleigh International in recruitment. He is a bright and perky host, despite orchestrating this evening's meal with a broken wrist. My God, I did feel honoured that he didn't call the whole thing off - the only mention of it at all was when he pondered the possibility of having a limp right wrist for the rest of his days (nasty). Joining us were Becky who used to work with him at Raleigh, Jezza who used to work with him at Raleigh and Kate, who kind of works with him at Raleigh. And it took me most of the night to get to the bottom of what Raleigh was.

After a visit to Jimmy (where Jezza quizzed me about technical things, telling me he'd spotted us before and pondered the logistics of the power and whatnot) we got back into the warm, candle-lit, Coldplay-soundtracked flat. Wine was offered. Oh God, I'm driving, better just make it the one - and instantly came an invite to stay. "Look," said Madoc "I have this beautiful spare room with a brand new bed". It did look kinda inviting with its pristine Broderie Anglaise bedspread and currently available to the right person for £850pcm (Jesus!), but the thought of fighting my way through the traffic in the morning made me abstain.

WHAT WE ATE: So the one-handed plating of dinner commenced. Becky helped, I took pics and the other two sat waiting at the table. Sainsbury's had produced a free-range chook which Madoc had roasted and served with crunchy boiled carrots, huge baked potatoes, crispy bacon, bread sauce and red wine gravy with a well-dressed salad on the side. Baked potatoes, cold meat and salad is actually one of my favourite things to eat in the world so this winter version put a smile on my face. And the chicken was really delicious - great chunky tranches of flavoursome, juicy breast. Delish.

DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Kate tried to explain to us about her Raleigh trip to Borneo. I wanted to know what they all ate but it didn't sound up to much (rice, mainly). The conversation switches pendulously - from Japanese caligraphy to how to get cheap tickets to the theatre. They'd all seen Warhorse and insisted I go. Becky lamented her friends' slightly moronic conversation skills since having kids and moving to the country. There she was at dinner with them and the only three questions they asked her were 'Have you got a boyfriend?', 'What's it like being single?' and 'Do you want kids?'. "I felt like Bridget Jones sat there, surrounded by them all - and when I made a joke about Sarah Palin I was met with blank expressions; none of them seemed to know who the hell she was!". I shuddered inwardly and outwardly.

Then Jezza - who I took to be a fairly mid-range, reg'lar middle class guy - got my attention when he began telling me about his dad's homemade fireworks and basins of explosives in the laundry room. And how, at uni in Southampton, he bought a little boat which he used to row chicks out to in the middle of the night across choppy seas. Now he likes vans. He buys them, does them up and then heads off on big adventures in them. Brilliant!

THE PUD: I made a double chocolate, Kahlua-injected roulade. Inside the moist, chocolatey folds swirled a vanilla and white chocolate cream. We all had a slice, Jezza had seconds and Madoc pretty much polished the rest off in cheeky slices directly to his mouth.


By 11.30 it was time to head home - Kate went off to Finchley, Becky cycled up to Highgate, Jezza to somewhere nearby and I took old Jimmy back across the river along nice, uncongested streets.

MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: Mine! And I expect most of my London suppers will find me back here...unless one of my hosts pulls out a particularly special cocktail, which I would never be able to resist.

Aldeburgh Food & Drink Festival

I left London too late on Friday to get away with an easy journey. It took hours of snailing along to Blackheath along the A2 and then onto the A12 from the M25 - but once I'd shaken Ipswich free and had slid off at Melton I was back in the world I love. I spent my early years living by the sea here - a marsh-fringed, thinly glazed vast tract of coast with a light to it all of its own. Inland a bit lay the woods. They were where the magic happened as far as I was concerned, and now, though diminished brutally, they still call me in, rustling enticingly.

I drove through the woodland, barely a soul on the road and inhaled deeply that great pine needle fug. Through the villages; Rendlesham, Eyke, Sudbourne until I reached Orford and the red dirt track that leads to my uncle's house. Barely through the front door and I had his six kids throwing themselves at me, desperate for ice cream. We all trooped down the garden path and I doled out the sweet stuff and then went in for supper and a nice cold beer with my uncle and aunt.

I slept a sleep of cool serenity and didn't even object at having to haul myself out of bed to get to the food festival so early. It was beautiful out there. Hares dashed luxuriously along chilled, moist fields and the sun bore sideways. Some places are just special. Maybe it's to do with fond early memories, maybe it's the ley lines, but the enchantment I feel when I'm back in East Suffolk is enough to see me through day after day of London cacophony.

The festival was a real East Anglian affair. Loads of blonde women stalked around in their pink sweatshirts and jostling pearls, directing traders onto their pitches. Hersuit old men came blinking out of the woodwork, tashes twitching, tweeds a-billowing and tables groaned all around with local produce. I wonder if I've reached saturation point but I'm feeling increasingly immune to a lot of this fare. Maybe it's not the fare that's the problem but more the fetishisation of it. It's like we have to keep giving ourselves such whacking great slaps on the back for producing anything that's half decent. Like it's not part of our fabric but a whole other piece of clothing that we parade around in.

Still, Aspall cider was there so I was pretty happy and the English wine on offer was working out quite well for me as well. Once again we had a wonderful sunny weekend and what with the brass band, the smell of the BBQ and the river shimmering away it couldn't have been a nicer close to Choc Star's festival season.

Now is the time to step up the pace and start making some new waves....

Touring the Capital

So the summer is coming to a close - just one more festival this weekend - and I am turning my thoughts back to the Tour. I need to be in London for the next few months and I want to take the opportunity to seek out some more supper safaris. There are so many opportunities! I'm always joking with the Romanian carwash guys, my mechanics, the dudes at the Jerk Centre about it. They may try and laugh it off but I'm going in - I'm going to work away at the London layer that tries to keep itself to itself. It's a very different beast to the rest of the country. It has its ways, its apparent hardness, its 'don't give a damn' gait - but I suspect there are soft patches and soft spots that chocolate will work wonders with.

So, if you'd like to take part in the Choc Star Tour (does London) - if you cook well or even if you don't, if you like chocolate , if you like new people - e-mail me (feedme@chocstar.co.uk) and let's put in a date! I promise to arrive bearing a wonderful Choc Star special dessert and I don't mind what we eat (as long as it's not tripe).

I already have offers in Camden, North Finchley, Shooters Hill...and a very fruity sounding Rocky Horror supper in Bromley. Yee-hah, can't wait to hit those streets!

Wake and bake

I'm having such a lovely lazy day off. The last week has been mental, culminating in a four day Slow Food festival on the Southbank. Someone arranged for the weather to be consistently brilliant for the entire thing and the place was a throng of hungry grazers. I loved it. Sometimes you do gigs and they're just so gratifying - customer after customer seemingly thrilled and excited to be occupying the space in front of Jimmy's counter. Loads of 'ooohing' and 'aahhhing'. Lots of great feedback. People who seem genuinely interested in the Choc Star cause. It was hectic and hot and I couldn't seem to slice those brownies up fast enough or roll them truffles quick enough or make enough of the Venezuelan hot chocolate shots but I had several moments of thinking - and as Dolly would muse - "wow, what a way to to make a living!".

I was asked to give a couple of cooking demos at the stage. I'd observed a few others and decided that I definitely wouldn't be taking the serious route. I mounted that podium with all my kit on the first day and was astonished to find that my compere was a TV presenter from my childhood on Anglia Television. Patrick Anthony would read out the birthday cards accompanied by this fluffy puppet called BC. I would long for him to open up one of those huge cards and read out my name but it never happened. I mentioned this on stage and like to think that Patrick may have made a mental note to fix it for my next birthday....The terrine I prepared wouldn't play ball as I tried to turn it out. There was a collective holding in of breath from the audience and then huge, relieved applause when the slab of darkness slunk free from the tin.


Then I was rescued by the graffiti removal squad. Some little shit had tagged Jimmy while he was parked up overnight on the Southbank the week before. I spotted these dudes in their truck and pounced on them. They chuckled gamely and, without any fuss, bowled over to the van with a bucket and some special sollution and wiped that stain clean away. They even gave me some of the stuff in case it happened again while I reciprocated with a couple of chocolate ice creams.

Lord Mayor's Party went off!

We got pretty well mobbed at the weekend - praise Jesus for the good weather...and the cold weather in the evening. We were caught a bit unawares. We don't know what to expect anymore and have to think pretty quick when the weather changes. Coffee Republic had a pop-up cafe behind us and I had to go and negotiate a milk deal with them. Over and over again we had to return to get more supplies for the hot chocs. As for the ice cream, we were run out of most flavours by Sunday arvo - with Rocky Road, Cookie & Cream and Mint Choc Chip sailing off first.

The brownies also were hard to keep still. People kept coming up to the van saying "I've read about these brownies/apparently they're the best there are/I've been dreaming of this moment". I have to say they were looking pretty special - almost glossy and so deep in colour. Extra Brut I like to call it - but with that unmistakable fudginess that brings you over all abandoned and joyous.

Plenty of new stocks in for this week though. From tomorrow (Thurs 18th) we'll be at the Slow Food Festival by the Royal Festival Hall on the Southbank. And we're going to be doing Venezuelan hot chocolate and truffles...and chocolate Guinness cupcakes. Yikes! Better go and get busy in that kitchen!

Thames Festival this weekend

The Thames Festival was one of my favourite events of last summer. There was something so great about how it made you really feel part of the city. There were tourists, of course, but much more it felt like all of London coming out to promenade along the Southbank - just as they would have done 100 years ago. And when the fireworks went off on the Sunday night and I crawled along in Jimmy, I got a real kick at seeing everyone out in the street, heads facing the sky, all gazing in wonder at the electro fizz sharding all above.

Choc Star will be in the Jubilee Gardens this year, churning out that chocolate...not sure if it's going to be of the hot or cold variety right now but one thing you can be sure of is that it'll be tasty!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

I'm so excited! I'm made up, tickled pink, touched by the Thriller from Manilla, chuffed. A real Tennessee Williams moment has taken hold of me today and once more I am blown away by the kindness of strangers.

The legendary Alex from right in the middle of England has rescued my buggered hard drive. We've been in talks since the tour began and, even though we never managed an actual visit, he has been following my progress...and decline. When I posted that the drive had been declared officially unsalvageable he strode into the shadows that had befallen me and gave me light and hope. "You do know that Macs are a pile of crap don't you?", he'd keep saying and I'd just keep on crossing my fingers.

Lord knows how he did it because all the others I took it to up and down Britain couldn't fix it, but the mighty barbecuing Alex has recovered all the pics - from Sussex through Berks., Bucks., Oxfordshire, Warwicksire, Northants., Suffolk, Essex, Norfolk, Lincs. and Yorkshire - and I am so grateful that I'm intending to drive old Jimmy up to his house to say thank you properly.

Thank you Alex you broiling genius!

Bestival: Brown stuff everywhere

Bestival is the sunny festival, the last gasp of joy at the end of the summer. It's where people cavort in the woods and roll around on the grass. And it's colourful! This year it was all brown - we couldn't get away from it. A big, soupy, stanky danky city of mud...and we were on a hill. Spare a thought for the dressing up tent who got wiped out by a 15ft wide angry mudslide. And we were in Jimmy and boy, I've never been more relieved to be holed up in there. Whilst others fought their ways through the profligate rain and squelch we felt cocooned and surrounded by a more desirable kind of brown.

The freezer remained largely unopened for the weekend but those hot choc machines worked their little butts off. Floating Islands, Jazz It Ups and Jamaican hot chocolates fairly flew off the shelf and it was all we could do to get that milk steamed and that chocolate melted to feed the need.

HIGHLIGHTS: Roni Size getting the slightly dejected crowd buzzing again on Sunday afternoon, the skiffle band in the Polka tent playing Ring of Fire to a delighted, chanting crowd, the outfits that the Choc Star team kept changing into, the chick pea curry at Vicente's stall (it tasted like real food!), John, my high-heeled wellies, Winehouse's gorgeous sailor boy back up singer belting out Killing Me Softly on Saturday night.

Bestival this weekend!

The time has come to leave the mainland and trundle Jimmy's perky derriere over to the Isle of Wight. We were going to take the gazebo but decided, in the end, that Jimmy and Bestival just belong together and who am I to try and keep them apart?

I just checked out the website and got such a thrill to see the van in cartoon form, all tucked in between Fruit Sticks and toasted sarnies (check it out under Practical Info...although I'd hardly put Choc Star under the practical banner, but I guess everyone needs to know where to access the choc stop).

See you there ravers!

Festibelly

It's your last chance to come and get a piece of the chocolate pie at Covent Garden - only two more days to go...I'm imagining quite a lot more hot chocs than cold chocs today - it's horrif. Makes you want to bolt for somewhere succulent. Good job being in Jimmy is like a little neon dream world.


This weekend we're in Hampshire for Festibelly, a tiny little festival that we're very excited about. Then comes Bestival where the Choc Star team has decided to contort the '20,000 Freaks Under The Sea' theme and git real freaky. Watch out!

Phoebe's wedding in the 'burbs

My cousin Phoebe got married to her long term boyfriend, Dom, at the weekend. He's a massive chocolate fan and has been a big advocate of the Choc Star cause since the beginning. They insisted that only the choc-mobile would do as dessert. Knowing how our family is I suggested also laying on a large supply of chocolate martini shots - they really got things jumping. Everyone kept insisting that I let the waiters run the show so I could enjoy the party but there was no way I was going to let that bunch of pubescents loose in Jimmy - I enlisted the help of Belli and Bendy inside and had Beps set up a bar on Gennie from the Box out back. Before long the marquee was depleted and the van was fairly rocking with activity....as ever the Choc Star magic did the trick and I actually kinda liked having access to all the backstage gossip with the caterers.

Covent Garden Night Market

It's a beautiful morning - rain is predicted but our milkshakes are protected by domed lids and the white chocolate and macademia nut cookies are in little wet weather bags, so come and knock yerselves out!

We'll be on the west side of the Piazza from midday-10pm, spinning out the old Choc Star charm (and some nice edibles too) and will be making it our home every Thursday and Friday during August.

See you in the Garden.

Big Chill

Camp Bestival

A nice mellow festival, beautiful weather, lots of customers - all you need really to succeed...but somehow it doesn't always work like this so this was a nice surprise. I met this author called Henry Hemming who's written two books that strike a chord with me. I tracked him down backstage and drilled him for info on getting published. Thick skin is the key, that and terrier like determination - the writing skill doesn't get a look in without these. I'm off to develop tougher skin...

99 Red Balloons

It's one of my favourite ever pop songs, along with I Want To Break Free and Love is a Stranger (Eurythmics) and I hope to jiminy that I can enjoy it in some way this weekend at the Bristol Balloon Fiesta. I have no idea what to expect - it's not like other festivals where you sort of know your audience but there are half a million of them over the four days so surely some will come knocking for some choc?!

So I'm giving myself a hard time because there's been nothing happening here for ages. But honestly, there's no frickin' time. I put the tour on pause about a month ago in order to do a few private gigs and get into the festival spirit and now it's August. Last weekend was Big Chill and Standon Calling, before that Camp Bestival and Lovebox and before that my most favourite ever (bit like the pop songs but better) - this mesmerising set-up in Norfolk which I'm not allowed to name, what I can say though is that it managed to mimic the effects of phenylethylamine in chocolate and reproduce the feeling of falling in love. We came away from that weekend with our hearts bursting. Christ, it sounds so bloody cheesy but straight up, this festival gave us what a festival should give and all the extra-curricular BS didn't turn up once.

For a start I was able to amble over there, cross-country from my mum's house, which was a great way to arrive. Then we got set up and the shennanigans began - all sorts of people carousing. Big smiles, no dodgy London-in-wellies posturing, all bound up in a mutual trust that everyone is on the same page as far as having a damn good time is concerned. It actually reminded me a bit of raving BITD in that blissed-out, ego-shed, almost innocent way. Last weekend was more of a contrast at the Big Chill. Don't get me wrong, it's a nice festival in many ways but from a trader's point of view the cynicism just reaked.

So here's the thing, a culture of rack it and stack it prevails amongst the food traders. Churn that low-grade food out, give it a nice name with an exotic twist and then jack up the price. Call it Organic (even if it isn't), call it Vegetarian (and then cook in lard), bang on about Farm-Reared then hop off to Bookers for 40 to a pack of frozen value burgers when the stocks run out. That's how you make money at festivals. But if you are trying to do something well then you can sit and spin - plenty of others waiting in the wings if you can't stump up the exorbitant pitch fee. It's no different really to the high street but it just tries to make out that it's not like the real world, which is why it stinks so bad.

Anyway, I'll get some pics of these shindigs up soon - and some more suppers too. And I need to start getting the next phase of the tour off the ground...I'm thinking of taking it to lands afar. Imagine!?