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

Kosovo: Alba

So far I've been attempting to eat a London meal for each of the 193 'UN recognised' states alphabetically. I started with Afghanistan, and on Saturday wanted to try an Albanian. To my delight I managed to find a restaurant in Kilburn called 'Lisi', however on arrival I found that it was no longer called Lisi, it was called Alba, and it wasn't strictly Albanian it was Kosovan. Apart from the problem of skipping from A to K it made me realise how insipid the whole idea of 'UN recognised' countries is. I'm really limiting my experiences with this criteria, It doesn't do justice to the concept of truly discovering London's ethnic food given the fact that a large percentage of immigrant communities here are refugees from politically unstable regions or are from groups who don't have an internationally recognised homeland.

Kosovo is one such example, although its declaration of independence from Serbia in February 2008 was recognised by 54 member states (including the UK), it isn't officially a UN sovereign state. The main reason for independence was the fact that its population is largely made up of ethnic Albanians who had suffered persecution as part of Serbia, as a result Kosovan food and culture is quite similar to Albania's.

Arriving at Alba my eagerness to try what I then thought was Albanian food was initially met with disappointment when the waitress told us that after a busy day all they had left was beef burgers. Seeing the large Albanian/Kosovan family next to us mopping up the remnants of a feast I was somewhat incredulous. Clearly the British's love of eating familiar junk abroad instead of foreign muck was hampering our chances of an authentic Albanian, although she assured me the burgers were traditional. As we were on the verge of leaving she capitulated and said that they might be able to do us a mixed grill and salad, emphasising it would be Kosovan and not the Albanian we'd pleaded for for the past five minutes.

Waiting for the food to arrive we were entertained by the Kosovan news. Features included some poor unfortunates paraded round at gun point and a startled Father Jack lookalike being dragged out of his cubby hole; our fellow diners didn't bat an eyelid. What seemed like an amazing satelite link to Pristina could well have been a pre-recorded video as the newsreader read premiership football results from before Christmas.

Not sure quite what to expect (there were no menus) we were presented with a selection of charcoal grilled beef. This included a sirloin steak (overdone for my liking), Sudjuk a smoky beef sausage flavoured with garlic and paprika, Cevapcici a kofte style kebab of beef mince, a piece of chicken fillet, and finally the beef burger we'd been threatened with earlier. Despite my reservations the burger was actually pretty good, like the rest of the meat it had imbibed the sweet smokiness of the charcoal, there was a nice chili kick from pepper flakes and the onions in the mince had retained a pleasant crunch. However as with the Cevapcici kebab, the mince was too fine and lacked sufficient texture. The grill was accompanied by side dishes of hot pickled peppers, a salad topped with mint and a feta like cheese, and Hajvar a delicous spicy relish of roasted peppers, aubergine, garlic and chili.

The portion failed to satisfy the three of us, so the waitress who had promised more if necessary obligingly brought out another plate. This time there was more steak, another sirloin, a small T-bone, chicken, mushrooms and once again the house speciality burger. The steak this time had been cooked more judiciously and was pinker. Unfortunately it had been smothered in a home made cottage cheese which drowned out the seared beefiness. Credit to the chef though who was working alone on a small grill, by 9:00 the place was full of Kosovan/Albanian families en masse, tables of ten and twenty, and the meat kept coming. To my relief we weren't missing out, the glamorous peroxide blondes and their thick necked, gold chained spouses were eating the same as us, devouring burgers with gusto.

As far as I can gather this is one of the few Albanian/Kosovan restaurants in London. It's the one recommended on the Albanian embassy's website (although it's Kosovan). As with Afghan Khayber it seems like the centre of the community for local Albanians/Kosovans, the owners have been there since 1993. There was a nice family feel to it and they seemed delighted by our interest in their food, proud of their burgers they also showed us how they smoke the home made Sudjuk sausages over the grill. The menu seems limited to the mixed grill (and a full English) but they do it fairly well. The prices are reasonable too, for three of us with a few beers it came to £48, though they don't seem to take card, be wary also of the card swallowing machine opposite.

In deference to my Kosovan experience, I am willing to add any country still seeking recognition and represented by a community in London to my original list of 193 countries (even Wales!). Ban Ki-Moon and his UN goons won't stand in the way of my fork.

Alba, 5 Malvern Road, Kilburn, NW6
Tel: 020 76258932

Afghanistan: Afghan Khayber

There's an old Pashtun saying that 'Every anguish passes except the anguish of hunger'. Gripped by such an anguish one Friday I decided to make the perilous journey to Hanwell, and carried on up to the 'Afghan Khayber'.

There's estimated to be around 50,000 Afghans in London, and Hanwell with two Afghan restaurants seems to have quite a large community. Despite the restaurant being empty apart from a young couple, there was a constant stream of locals, largely Afghan families buying carrierbags of steaming naan straight from the tandoor. The place feels quite authentic (or at least what I'd imagine a Kabul chow house to be like). The walls are white washed and decorated with rugs and ornate weavings, the ubiquitous giant teapot sits expectantly in the window, hoping one day it'll get its chance. There's also a large recliner with a low table should you wish a more authentic experience, much to my relief the five of us didn't fit.

On ordering we found that much of the menu was unavailable. Admirably the owners are narrowing it down to strictly Afghan dishes and jettisoning so called Iranian impostors such as Jujeh Kebab and Spinach Ba Sibzamini. To start we went for Borani Banjan, aubergine slices fried with garlic and tomatos and topped with yoghurt, and Borani Sabzi, sauteed spinach with yoghurt. Both were simple and delicious mopped up with a 2ft naan.

This was followed by two pasta dishes (an Uzbek contribution to Afghan cuisine I'm told). Mantu, rich, steamed parcels of minced lamb and onions flavoured with chili and coriander, coated in yoghurt and a tomato and split pea sauce; and Ashak, leek filled ravioli, sweet and salty. It was washed down with Dogh (pronounced a flem summoning Dohhhk) a traditional drink of yoghurt, mint and cucumber similar in taste to raita. It's tasty and the perfect antidote to a hot Kabul summer I'm sure, but I soon opted for a beer.

It's BYOB so I popped a few doors up to a Russian shop 'Pogrebok'. It felt like I was in Novosibirsk, everything was written in Cyrrilic. Walking back I wondered if there was any animosity between Afghan Khayber and their Russian neighbours given the events of the 1980s. My questions were soon answered when we opened a Baltika and it cannoned a jet of beer across the table, drenching a fellow diner. An embarassing incident in a dry Muslim restaurant, typical KGB inventiveness.

For our main courses we ordered a selection of kebabs; Shami, coarsely minced lamb sausage shaped kebabs flavoured with garlic, cumin and chili, moist with the right amount of fat, and Kofta Chalau, finely minced lamb patties with a hint of cardamon. The latter came in a rich tomato sauce, supposed to be with chickpeas (which were dually omitted). Delicious as the Kofta were, the sauce was far too oily for my liking, It may be more suited to Afghan tastes (and winters).

We encountered the same problem with the other Qormas (Curries) we ordered. A lamb Kahari was deep with slowly cooked onions but was oily and the meat used, perhaps too lean, had shrunk and dried up a bit. The chicken Qorma was sweet and sour with a nice tang, but would have been more succulent with thigh meat as opposed to breast. These were accompanied by Chalow; basmati rice boiled until almost cooked and then finished in the oven with oil and butter, which was excellent, as were the 70p giant naans which were drawing in the regulars. Chatney, a fresh relish of vinegar, tomato, chili and coriander cut nicely through the fat of the kebabs.

Our final plate was Qabuli Palao, Afghanistan's national dish of rice cooked with a lamb shank and stock, topped with carrots, raisins and almonds. The portion was intimidating, it was nice enough but the rice lacked the lambiness I'd hoped for. The key perhaps is to render enough lamb/mutton fat at the start of cooking. The meat itself was flavoursome but again was a touch too dry.

I'd certainly recommend Afghan Khayber if you can make it out to Hanwell, it was a really genuine place with no pretensions and seems like an important part of the community. As my first real Afghan experience I'm unqualified to speak about it with any authority. We had a satisfying meal which could have been better. The highlight was certainly the pasta, the Mantu and the Ashak, and it was great to see the owners take a real pride in it. The price was very reasonable, five of us ate, starters and mains for just over £50. Afghan food is something I really want to come back to, hopefully one day in its birthplace, which seems like a fascinating and enigmatic country.

Afghan Khayber, 203-205 Uxbridge Road, London, W7 3TH

Tel: 020 8579 5111

Next stop Albania........