Angola: Aná-N'Gola

Strictly speaking this should have come before Antigua, but Aná-N'Gola has got some pretty flexible opening hours so it's a case of catching it when you can. Fortunately last Friday, having dragged a group of friends east to Newham we were in luck.

I'm becoming quite the mover and shaker among London's diplomatic circles. The woman at the Angolan Embassy probably put Texaco and De Beers on hold to give me the mobile number of a chap named 'Villa' who had a restaurant in Forest Gate. The place was completely off the radar and didn't appear on any internet searches. After several calls I finally got an answer (in Portuguese at first), they'd be open for the weekend.

Arriving was reminiscent of a wild west cantina. It was such a cliché, the shutters were all closed, apart from the door, and when the five of us finally summoned the courage to go in everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. The silence was eventually broken when one table erupted with laughter and some bandido shouted 'que fazem aqui?!!' - what are they doing here?!! I could understand the amusement, we looked stranded, it was if we'd stepped through some magic portal and had been dumped on our arses in downtown Luanda .

Feeling slightly intimidated I asked the waiter if 'It would be alright to eat?'. He disappeared into the back for a couple of minutes and returned with a thumbs up, bringing some menus in Portuguese. When we were seated the bemused owner Man Villa came out to greet us and translated the four dishes on offer for the day. 'Cacusso' grilled tilapia served with boiled cassava and plantain, 'Bitoque' a Portuguese dish of steak, egg, chips and rice, 'Muamba de Galinha' chicken and palm oil stew and finally 'Funge con Carne Sèca' cornmeal paste with salt beef.

Man Villa (meaning Daddy Villa) used to work as a chef for the Met and spoke good English, supplemented occasionally by my friend's Portuguese. The atmosphere warmed as he proudly explained Angolan cooking and the colonial influences which have shaped it. A couple of bottles of Sagres (at £2 each) helped break the ice further and we were introduced to his friends, including an Angolan drag act (pictured above with number should you need it) who impersonates a stereotypical African matriarch and reads Angolan stories at local primary schools. What came across strongly was the desire to keep Angolan culture alive for the Angolans living in London (10,000 or so, many of whom are refugees), particularly the children born over here. Sunday afternoon is the best time to visit apparently, as they regularly organise a buffet with live music and dancing.

When the food arrived it was superb, between us we'd opted for the Cacusso (tilapia) and the Chicken Muamba served with Funge. The tilapia was perfectly cooked, firm and suprisingly fresh for a tropical fish. The Portuguese influence was evident in the accompanying molho made with tomato, peppers, onions and olive oil (apparently they produce it in Angola). Chicken Muamba had an incredible depth of flavour and benefited from the use of stewing hen, something I've never seen before in the UK. The palm oil seemed to add a richness but hadn't made the stew too greasy. Funge (cornmeal paste) which came with it is a staple I'm familiar with, making a similar dish 'Fungee and Pepperpot' for Antigua. Angolan Funge, with white corn, had a thinner porridge like consistency which on its own was unremarkable. It worked well though with the Muamba and a hot sauce made from olive oil and 'gindungo', an Angolan chili related to Scotch Bonnet.

Finishing the meal we stayed for a few more beers as groups of Angolans piled in to eat or drink. The vibrant decor which included vintage photographs of Angolan dancehalls and musicians, bright African artwork and a stereo blaring salsa and rumba is a welcome contrast to what unfortunately seems like quite a depressed part of town. With his restaurant Man 'Daddy' Villa has made sure that there's some corner of Forest Gate that is forever Angola.

If you fancy an Angolan escape one weekend it's worth calling Man Villa first on 07947 591 708

Aná N'Gola, 132 Upton Lane E7 9LW

Antigua and Barbuda: Fungee and Pepperpot

"Good afternoon, is that Whap Dem Am Cum?", "Snapper's Paradise?", "The Grub Vendor?", "Am I speaking to Norma's Blessed Hands?". In a fit of desperation I spent the best part of a day ringing random West Indian takeways. "You don't happen to do any Antiguan food do you?.... Do you know anywhere that does?". The best reaction I got was a brief chuckle and a "No".

Things hadn't gone too well earlier either, speaking to the Caribbean Food Emporium an organisation dedicated to promoting West Indian food in the UK.

"Good morning, just a quick query, are there any restaurants that serve Antiguan food in London?"
"Ha, not that I know of" the lady replied.
I proceeded to sob about how you could only get Jamaican or Trinidadian food here, this won her sympathy.
"Oh darling, I feel your pain! I'm from Antigua too." She gushed.
"There is this one Antiguan guy who owns a Caribbean restaurant, but they don't serve Antiguan food. I'll give him a ring to see if he can do something for you, what's your number?... So whereabouts are your family from in Antigua?"

I paused for a second, feeling a West Indian lilt creep in, should I play along? What's the capital? St John's (there's a famous cricket ground there), it's a small island though, could be tricky. Eventually I fessed up and explained my blog.

Her voice dropped..."So you're not Antiguan?!" It was as if she'd found out I secretly had a wife and kids. She hasn't called me back yet.

Further attempts to source the Island's elusive national dish 'Fungee and Pepperpot' (calling the High Commission and joining 'Antiguans in the UK' on Facebook) proved fruitless so I was forced back into the kitchen. I bought my ingredients in Harlesden where there's supposedly an Antiguan community and scoped out a few more takeaways, sadly jerk reigned supreme.

'Fungee' pronounced 'Fun' (like a Northerner would) 'Jee', is a thick paste made from cornmeal and okra often served rolled in a ball or shaped in a bowl. A similar dish called 'Cou Cou' exists in Barbados. 'Pepperpot' is a stew combining salt meats with a variety of vegetables such as aubergine, spinach, cho cho (a small pear like squash), calaloo (leaves from a root vegetable called taro) and okra.

Brixton market is a mecca for the more exotic ingredients involved. If you live in North London, Harlesden's unbeatable, particularly Blue Mountain Peak which sells everything from sugar cane to luminous red pig snouts.

Here's the recipe I used, adapted from Antigua and Barbuda's Board of Tourism:

Ingredients:

For the Pepperpot
6 calaloo leaves, shredded
500g spinach, chopped
1 large aubergine, chunked
500g okras, chopped
500g West Indian pumpkin (pictured), peeled and chunked
3 cho cho (pictured), chopped
500g green papaya, peeled and chunked (if available, make sure it's not red inside!)
1 pint of frozen peas
2 medium onions, finely chopped
1 whole scotch bonnet
500g salt beef, chopped
500g pigs snouts (fresh or salted), chopped
a cup of beef stock or 1 stock cube

Pepperpot seasoning
2 cloves of garlic, minced
a bunch of chives
a couple of sprigs of thyme
3 tbsp ketchup

For the Fungee
2 pints water
6 okras cut into small pieces
1 pint of cornmeal
salt to taste

Pepperpot
Simmer the salt meats in water for about 10 minutes to take away some of the excess salt. Remove and drain. Fry in oil for 10 minutes, add the onions and fresh snouts (if you're using them) and fry for a further 5 minutes. Add the veg except for the peas and stir. Pour in just enough water to cover it all along with the stock and whole scotch bonnet, simmer until the veg is tender.

When the meat and veg are cooked through mash the thyme, chives and garlic together in a mortar and add to the pot with the peas and ketchup. Simmer on a low flame until the stew thickens, about 15 minutes or so.

Fungee
Place the 2 pints of water, salt and okra in a saucepan, bring to the boil until the okra's cooked. Pour away half of the cooking liquid. In a jug, mix the cornmeal with cold water to a thick batter consistency. Add this mix to the remaining liquid in the pan and reduce the heat to a low flame. Now stir continuously with a wooden spoon for around 20 minutes, the fungee's ready when it's stiff and separates cleanly from the bottom of the pan. Butter a small bowl and mould some of the mixture into it, turn it out onto a serving dish alongside the pepperpot.

Serves 5-6

Preparing fungee is a herculean task, the constant stirring as the mixture thickens up left my hand worn and blistered and my right arm pumped up like a fiddler crab's. I'd recommend wearing a glove.

As a dish Fungee and Pepperpot is nice enough, obviously it's hard to judge it on the version I cooked. Fungee is pure stodge which get's a bit much after a while, the pepperpot and a decent glug of hot sauce makes it much more appetizing though. Pepperpot tastes of goodness, it's packed with nutrition and the combination of exotic vegetables provides some exciting flavours. Unfortunately the gloopy texture from the okra and calaloo take a while getting used to. I'd rather make it with fresh meat instead of salted which became tough and could have benefited from an overnight soaking. The snout (which I prefer roasted until crispy) was pretty unpleasant, dotting the stew with gelatinous lumps of stale pigginess.

It's a shame that out of the 4,000 or more Antiguans over here seemingly not one is bringing their home cooking to the public. My one hope, Mr Vel's, a takeaway near Old Street which was a possiblity (I'd noticed it had been a ticket outlet for an Antiguan independence day party) is now an Indian takeaway. It's a problem I'm probably going to encounter for a lot of the smaller Caribbean islands, my only hope is to get in training for a 10 meal marathon at the Notting Hill Carnival in August!

Andorra: Carn a la llosa with Trinxat

Five down, two hundred to go! I knew covering Andorra would be hard, I didn't expect it to involve diplomatic talks and an attempted grave robbery.

Famous as a tax haven and ski resort the principality is a tiny landlocked country high in the Pyrenees between France and Spain. With a population of some 71,800, it boasts the second highest life expectancy in the world (83 years!). Keen to discover if the secret lay in the diet I searched out my local Andorran takeaway.

Unsuprisingly Andorran food is non-existent in London, there was very little information about it on the web even. Just to make sure though I got on the line (unwittingly) to Sra. Maria Rosa Picart de Francis, the Ambassador of Andorra. Her Excellency was charming, slightly taken a back by my request, she spent a good twenty minutes or so describing the food of her childhood and suggesting recipes I could try.

Andorran cuisine I was told, has been shaped by centuries of isolation. With snow having blocked the mountain passes for several months it's very much centred around the local produce which could survive the harsh conditions and sustain the workers in the fields. Staples like potatoes, cabbage and beans, lamb from the hills and cured meats such as bacon and sausages.

'Trinxat' is a classic example and one of Andorra's best known dishes. It's very simple, (effectively an Andorran Colcannon/Bubble and Squeek) consisting of mashed potato and cabbage fried in the form of a cake with garlic and bacon. Perfect on a cold Pyrenean evening.

A more unusual proposition was the 'Carn a la llosa' Maria Rosa had described, a speciality of meat grilled on a hot slate. Traditionally this is done over a wood fire in the hearth, it's also quite common for Andorrans on a day out in the country to rack up a slab from the mountainside and start cooking.

As well as making use of an abundant local material, the technique is supposed to impart a unique 'stony?' flavour. Its fans claim the slate not only achieves the smokiness of direct grilling but has the added benefit of retaining fat on the cooking surface for basting.

I was forced to improvise a bit with my version and I'd like to apologise now to Andorrans worldwide for what may well be an abomination. My biggest dilemma was finding a suitable piece of slate. The Andorran's and Catalans use great big sturdy ones as they've got a tendency to split/explode when they come into contact with the fire. It was a Sunday so my options were limited, a trip down to Cornwall was tempting but I eventually settled on my nearest Wickes.

On my journey there I had a dark episode. Traversing a local cemetery I noticed a majestic rock garden. Siren like, it drew me towards it's jagged slabs. Amongst them lay the perfect piece of slate, a few feet long and at least two inches thick.

To my shame I wrestled with my conscience, I even picked it up. How would the relatives feel if they saw me scampering off with a chunk of their loving memory? On the other hand, I could be honouring 'Nan Nan' by grilling such exquisite lamb chops on her rock. I'd make sure to clean it and return it. The cold, disapproving look of a nearby cherub swung it for me and I returned home with two flooring tiles.

Lacking a fireplace I made a grill pit out of some breezeblocks that were lying around, covering them in foil for insulation, which wasn't strictly necessary. Andorrans would use wood which gives a better flavour, I used some charcoal I had.

Before putting slate to fire it's important to temper it first. Place your slab in a cold oven and turn it up to 200 celsius. When the oven reaches temperature leave it in there for ten minutes. Pull it out, brush with oil and it's ready for the heat. That's the theory.....in practice one of my slates was blown to smithereens by the flames sending shards in every direction. Luckily I hadn't introduced the lamb chops yet. The remaining slate stood firm and I nervously began grilling, flinching at every tiny crackle.

Having lost half of my cooking surface I decided to do a taste comparison between chops a la llosa and direct grilling. I have to admit, I wasn't entirely convinced. The meat on the slate cooked more slowly and didn't obtain the same delicious salt crust as the seared meat from the grill. It also lacked the smokiness I'd expected. You could taste the slate though, lending a subtle minerally flavour to the meat which was quite pleasant.

The chops were supposed to be served with a proper allioli, made with just garlic and oil. Olive oil is added drop by drop to garlic paste in a mortar and pestle, a painstaking process which for a small quantity can take up to an hour of constant mixing. After fifteen minutes and a dead arm I lost patience and ended up with a garlic infused oil.

As a novice my 'llosa' days aren't over. The technique's something I want to have another crack at with different meats and a bolder piece of slate. I'm sure my brand new, weedy Wickes floor tiles are no match for a grand old slab, hewn from a Pyrenean rock face and seasoned in a thousand fires.

Moltes gràcies to Maria Rosa for her advice.

Pozole con la familia Ramírez-Martínez

Bernardino de Sahagún a Franciscan monk accompanying the Conquistadors describes a 16th century Mexican recipe prepared by the Aztecs in a ritual honouring the fertility god Xipe Tótec (take note 'Old El Paso').

"Having flayed them, the elders called 'Quaquauacuitlin' would take the bodies to the 'Calpul' (meeting house) where the owner of the captive had made his devotion or oath. There they divided them up and sent a thigh for Moctezuma to eat, and they would share the rest between the other dignitaries and relatives....They stewed that meat with maize and gave everyone a piece of the meat in a clay bowl or pot with its broth and the cooked maize. They called this dish 'Tlacatlaolli'; after having eaten, the drunken revelry would begin."
- Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva España, Bernardino de Sahagún

The prudish Spaniards took a dim view of human sacrifice and soon spoilt the party, however the ritual of stewing meat with maize (sometimes followed by drunken revelry) is still very much alive in Mexico today. 'Pozole' - Poh-so-lay, a broth of pork and hominy is a national institution usually eaten as a family weekend meal or at celebrations such as independence day.

Having been fortunate enough to study in Mexico for 6 months as an exchange student I'd tasted Pozole in some of it's various guises, green with tomatillo in Acapulco, red in Guadalajara and the traditional white 'Pozole blanco' in Balham?

On Tuesday I was privileged to join my Mexican friend Dulce and her family for dinner. It was a special and difficult occasion, Dulce's mum Rosa and sister Carina were returning to Mexico having spent a year and a half in London. Before leaving they were cooking up a vat of farewell Pozole.

Despite it's variations what makes a Pozole is the 'maíz pozolero' known as 'Cacahuazintle' in Nahuatl. These are large white maize kernels similar to North American hominy, which have been pre-cooked for a few hours in a solution of water and lime (not the fruit) to soften and remove the husks. Nowadays this is often bought pre-prepared in tins.

In the version Rosa and Carina cooked 'Pozole blanco', the prepared maize is then boiled with a few cloves of garlic until it opens, a bit like popcorn. This produces the foam from which Pozole gets it's name (pozolli is the Nahuatl for foamy). At this point the pork is added; Rosa used shoulder and hock although she told us a traditionalist would use a head. Throw in a pinch of oregano and it's the left to simmer for a couple of hours.

Whilst it was bubbling away Rosa rustled up some 'tostadas de tinga' fried corn tortillas topped with refried beans, chicken tinga (shredded chicken in a smoky tomato and chipotle sauce), ricotta (requesón) and lettuce.

When the pork was tender it was shredded and served in bowls with the maize and broth and a selection of ingredients for people to add to their taste. These included sliced radish, onion, oregano, limes, lettuce, ricotta and a fiery salsa made from 'chile de arbol'; thin, vicious chilis which were roasted on a skillet 'comal' and blended till smooth with garlic, vinegar, water and oregano.

Pozole is real comfort food simple and satisfying, especially when served with such warmth and in bottomless bowls. It was fantastic to experience something like this in London where apart from the odd decent attempt, authentic Mexican food is scarce, everyone's swept up in the current craze for burritos and overpriced, sanitised tacos. Over dinner Rosa indulged my passion for her native cooking, explaining in depth the differences between various moles and listing the tacos she was going to eat when she got home. I left longing for a return trip.

In London, Mestizo (a Mexican owned restaurant) serves Pozole which I haven't tried yet http://www.mestizomx.com/london.html . Alternatively have a go yourself, there are various recipes online and you can get the ingredients from either El Azteca (cheaper) http://www.elaztecafood.co.uk/ the website's in Spanish but they speak English, or Cool Chile (more expensive but more user friendly) http://www.coolchile.co.uk/ . Casa Mexico in Bethnal Green is also very good with a superb range or Mexican cupboard essentials and cookware including molcajetes, traditional lava rock mortar and pestles.

A huge thanks to the Ramírez-Martínez family and best of luck back in Querétaro!

Coctel de Ostiones: 23p Tesco Oysters

This morning, waking up feeling decidedly jaded, I popped to Tesco's for a litre of lucozade and a pork pie. Ever the benevolent dictator they were offering oysters half price at 23p each in an attempt to stir the Valentine's desires of the British public. Taking advantage of their generous offer I bought a dozen and made an oyster cocktail based on a Mexican seaside favourite Coctel de Ostiones. The classic, fresh combination of lime, coriander, chili and tomato coupled with the smack of the sea did wonders for my hangover.

Coctel de Ostiones (Serves 2):

12 rock oysters,
2 shallots,
2 crisp tomatoes,
1/3 cucumber,
1 green chili (Serrano ideally),
2 tbsp tomato ketchup,
juice of 1 lime,
hot sauce to taste (Valentina, Cholula if you have it, tabasco will do)
black pepper
sliced avocado to garnish.


Finely chop the shallots, tomatoes, cucumber and chili. Combine in a bowl with the shucked oysters and liquour. Mix in the ketchup, lime juice and hot sauce and season with black pepper. It's good eaten straight away or can be left in the fridge for 30 min or so for the flavours to mulch and the oysters to cevichify. Serve in a sundae glass (if you've got one) and garnish with avocado.

This recipe works equally well with a variety of seafood. Traditionally octopus, prawns, crab and conch might be used, or a combination (campechana). In the case of octopus, crab and prawns boil, beforehand and reserve some cooking liquor to add to the cocktail.

Democratic Republic of the Congo: The Double Club

Carsten Höller's art installation opened in November and has since received some good reviews. Finally on Saturday I managed to get down there having excitedly, possibly unnecessarily, booked three weeks in advance with an intimidatingly well spoken hostess whom I mistook for the automated message.

The concept behind the Double Club (If I understand correctly) is a cultural exchange between the Congo and the West, bringing the food, the music and the aesthetics of both societies together side by side, 'creating a dialogue' as their website puts it. The bar is split between a Congolese beer shack (complete with wood imported from Kinshasa) and a polished copper cocktail bar 'The Two Horses Riders Club'. On the dancefloor rhythms alternate between Congolese Soukous and Western house, and the eclectic decor encompasses everything from Andy Warhol to large murals advertising 'Primus' beer. As fascinating as the whole experience was as art, I couldn't kid myself, I was there for the goat.

True to the double theme the restaurant serves a menu divided into both Congolese, and Western brasserie food. Arriving at 9:30 with the party already jumping we were seated on a sleek black designer table and chairs whilst the table next to us ate on white plastic garden furniture, such dichotomy. Although it seemed the done thing to order a mix of Western and Congolese (with most diners veering towards Western) we went Congolese on the waiter, ordering everything on offer, 9 dishes or so which was just about right for the six of us. I was massively disappointed to find they were out of 'Primus' the Congolese beer that was trumpeted about the club. I had heard explorers tales of thirst slaying 1ltr bottles, unfortunately we had to make do with dainty Spanish bottles of Estrella.

The flippant 'I'll have one of everything' brought a fine selection of exotic dishes;

Liboke Na Mbisi (Catfish cooked in marantacee leaves)
Goat in Liboké (Goat stew in marantacee leaves)
Makayubu (Saltfish cooked with onions, tomatoes and chili)
Chicken Bouakee (a tomato, pepper and chicken stew)
Pig's trotter with white beans
Kossa Kossa (Large prawns with a chili and garlic sauce)
Fumbwa (Yam leaves cooked with peanut paste and smoked saltfish)
Pondu (Manioc leaves cooked with smoked saltfish and palm oil)
Bitekuteku (Green vegetables with aubergine and smoked saltfish)

These were accompanied by plain boiled rice, fried plantain, and Chikwange (manioc paste baked in a loaf shape in marantacee leaves).

The goat I'd been looking forward to wasn't bad. The sauce with tomato and chili was flavoursome and well spiced but lacked the richness of it's West Indian counterparts. The meat although tender was dry and hadn't stood up to a stewing, it failed to impart the wisdom obtained from tougher, fattier cuts on the bone.

A surprising highlight however was the catfish. My prejudices had prevented me from trying it in the past; as a freshwater bottom feeder I had heard it tasted muddy and bland. The catfish at the Double Club was a revelation. Steamed in a bundle of leaves with onions, garlic, chili and lime juice, it was clean and refreshing.

Another new experience was the various dishes of greens, which we over did a bit. Fumbwa (yam leaves with peanut paste and smoked saltfish) was rich and satisfying yet hard to eat much of. Pondu (manioc leaves cooked with smoked saltfish) reminded me a lot of its descendant, West Indian Calaloo. It's an acquired taste (but very good for you) and the slightly bitter gelatinous leaves needed more saltfish to liven them up. Bitekuteku, Amaranth leaves (used in the Jamaican version of Calaloo) were very similar but benefited from the addition of aubergine which had caramelised nicely.

There were the more conventional dishes such as Makayabu (Saltfish with onion, tomatoes and chili) which appeared to be saltcod and was well prepared. The fish was still firm yet not too salty, perfectly complimented by the sweetness of the tomatoes and onions. The trotters and white beans were pleasant, the combination struck me as a possible Belgian/French colonial legacy. Chicken Bouakee, stewed chicken with tomatoes and peppers was tasty but nothing exciting and the Kossa Kossa giant prawns were big prawns which needed perking up a bit with a chili and vinegar sauce. At £11.00 for three they weren't my choice.

Chikwange the baked cassava paste made for a challenging side dish. Starchy and tasteless with a thick gluelike consistency which coated the roof of your mouth it was clearly a staple born out of necessity. Dipped in stew it was ok.

The Congolese side of the menu was considerably cheaper than the Western. Between the six of us including a couple of beers each and wine (no palm wine unfortunately) it was about £190.

Having finished the meal I headed to the toilets hoping I wouldn't have to squat in the cubicle with the long drop. They were pitch black, whether this was Carsten's comment on Conrad's description of the Congo as 'The Heart of Darkness' I don't know, but men emerged with wet shoes and women with bizarre make up.

I have to admit I arrived at the Double Club with preconceptions. I was expecting complete pretension, it's sponsored by Fondazione Prada (and was originally going to be called the Prada Congo Club!). In an interview I saw, Höller seemed Teutonically humourless. Having been to restaurants which appear to be at the heart of ethnic communities in London I was very sceptical of the Double Club's arty 'fabrication' of Congolese culture and was really just there to try the food.

It is a bit pretentious, but still quite a fun and relaxed atmosphere. There's a fascinating mix of people, from the glamorous and the arty to lanky scruffs like me. Tellingly there were a lot of Africans, not just Congolese, we also met Ivorians and Cameroonians. The immaculately dressed Congolese 'Sappeurs' seemed so proud that the vitality of their culture was being celebrated so extravagantly when all too often the poverty and brutality of the Congo is highlighted in the media. As a fitting recognition of these problems 50% of the club's profits are being donated to the Unicef 'City of Joy' Charity for the women and children victims of the country's civil war.

The Double Club, 7 Torrens Street EC1V 1NQ
Tel: 020 7837 2222

Algeria: El Bled

Trying my best to keep to alphabetical order, Afganistan, Albania (Kosovo, will have to go back to Albania) I dragged a couple of colleagues down to 'El Bled' in Streatham for an Algerian. 'El Bled' is the Arabic for 'village' which really sums the place up. White washed and ceramic tiled, it was full of homesick young Algerian men dispatching plates of Merguez Frites, engrossed in the football or slamming dominos. We could well have been in the neigbourhood caf in Algiers.

The window advertised specialities such as Tadjine, Couscous and Shorba, unfortunately all they had was Merguez, lamb chops and liver grilled on a panini maker. According to the one man owner/chef/waiter they had had a lamb and chickpea Shorba (soup) but had sold out at lunch. Nevertheless the grill was pleasant enough, succulent lamb chops and spicy Merguez which oozed unctious paprika infused fat. The only let down was the slightly tough over cooked liver. As in North Africa I imagine, the meat was served on one communal plate for us all to dig in, alongside salad, chips and a nice harisa which benefited from a generous glug of olive oil. To drink we were given an interesting Algerian apple drink with a bizarre bubblegum tang.

The meal ended with a mint tea which Oli my French friend, more of an expert on Maghreb cuisine and a useful translator, thought should have been sweeter and mintier. It was ok, far from the tea theatre of Middle Eastern restaurants in central London it was served in cups which said coffee on the side which I liked, authentically 'Bled'.

For a no thrills slice of Algerian life in the capital it's worth a trip particularly as the owner was so welcoming. If you want to eat Couscous or Tadjine though it might be worth ringing in advance.

El Bled 296-298 Streatham High Road, London SW16 6HG
Tel: 020 8769 9428