Lichtenstein at the Tate Liverpool joins all the dots

In the Car (1963) Oil paint and magma on canvas

Whenever work sends me away from home for a day or so, one of the first considerations is food. Hot on its heels comes the question of whether there is any art to be hunted down.

Thus a working weekend in Liverpool instantly meant two things: at least one visit to the Docklands Fish & Chips for lunch and a look at what was on at the Tate Liverpool, which is just along the same stretch of the Albert Dock – both no distance from the conference centre where I’m working.

Arriving yesterday in mid-afternoon, a quick lunch saw me choose scampi and chips – served in a box with mushy peas, sliced lettuce, gherkins and silverskin pickled onions. I’m not convinced by this approach, so today I made a point of asking for just battered cod, two potato scallops and mushy peas.

Reflections: Art

If yesterday’s wasn’t bad, this was much better. The chips are not sensational – I still remember a fish ‘n’ chip lunch to die for in Scarborough in 2011, where the chips were double-fried properly, in front of us, in dripping – then today’s fish was absolutely superb.

And the service is as warm and friendly as you would expect north of Watford Gap.

So, what of the art?

Tate Liverpool is 30 years old this year and it’s staging a major show by Fernand Léger, together with one that pairs works by Egon Schiele and Francesca Woodman to examine nudes and self portraiture.

Water Lily Pond with Reflections

At present, however, the main exhibition is work by the British artist John Piper. However, there is also a concise, two-room show by pop artist Roy Lichtenstein. Perfect for the time-strapped and free to boot.

Having not actually seen any Lichtenstein in the ‘flesh’ – and probably because one unthinkingly knows that a comic fits in your hand easily – I hadn’t even given much though to the scale of Lichtenstein’s works or, indeed, to the mixture of media and techniques that he used.

These are big pieces – and when you realise the precision that is key to them, it’s hardly surprising. But the variety of techniques, from print-making to working with all sorts of media on canvas, to mass-produced ceramics, is the real eye opener.

Sea Shore

For instance, in Reflections: Art from 1988, we get oil and acrylic on canvas. Pretty conventional, really. But then Sunrise (1965) is porcelain enamel on steel and Sea Shore (1964) is oil paint and magma on plexiglass, while Seascape from the following year is screenprint and paper on plastic.

Then there is Water Lily Pond with Reflections (1992), a screenprint on enamel on stainless steel.

Together with Water Lillies with Cloud from the same year – it was a series of six made in collaboration with master printmaker Donald Saff – it’s impossible not to think back to Monet. Indeed, a series of four haystacks prints takes us directly there.

Seascape

Yet part of the pleasure here is in seeing the links to the past, but in conjunction with Lichtenstein’s extraordinary mastery of such a range of modern materials. And he used those materials to gain specific effects that actually add to the work, rather than simply as some sort of art geek’s technical exercises.

After moving from comic-style works to landscape and a video installation, we come full circle to finish the two rooms with Wall Explosion II (1965), executed in enamel on steel – in many ways, a work that epitomises the power that this incredibly concise exhibition packs: not everything needs to be so vast as to exhaust.

Wall Explosion II

Mixing some of these iconic comic-style works with less-expected landscapes makes for fascinating viewing.

Indeed, such is the familiarity of the comic-book images that I suspect many people scarcely even begin to imagine that Lichtenstein did anything much else.

It’s very much the case that, while those comic works are a very long way from being disappointing, the landscapes are the revelation and the unexpected delight that you come away with.

The Roy Lichtenstein artist rooms are open at Tate Liverpool until 17 June 2018

Ludwig van offers up a culinary ode to joy

Salsify

After a difficult year, a pre-Christmas trip to Vienna for some culture and shopping seemed like the perfect way to bring 2017 to a climax.

Food would, of course, feature and, in a perfect example of serendipity, just a few weeks before we flew out, a friend pointed out that Rick Stein’s recent series of food-oriented weekend breaks included the Austrian capital.

Thus, with the aid of iPlayer, we began the trip with culinary expectations that went beyond the iconic Wiener schnitzel and the apple strudel to include such delights as Viennese goulash and tafelspitz – the latter being but one among the many versions of boiled beef in Germanic cuisine.

In the event, our first meal – lunch on a grey, drizzly afternoon, in a café on the legendary Naschmarkt – saw The Other Half try the goulash, while I opted for sliced liver that came in a big, rich gravy and was utterly scrummy.

Goulash followed again during the trip, giving evidence (were it needed) that like so many other dishes, there are as many variations on the way it can be made as there are people who make it. Varying amounts of paprika and little or lots of onion are just two of the possible variables.

Trout

But just as we’d settled into such hearty, down-to-earth eating, The Other Half spotted an interesting-looking establishment not far from our hotel.

Ludwig van, we were to learn, only opened its doors in January this year, but it’s already essential to book.

Presumably, our looking genuinely upset at there being no tables available, our instantly asking if we could make a reservation for the following evening (and trying this in German) produced sympathy – and with amazing good fortune, a table in the bar area.

It’s a snug space in an old, old building, with dark wood everywhere and a feeling of being an inn.

Host Oliver Jauk found us a corner and guided us through the menu.

Such was the briefness of what was listed – with so much that tempted – that we both decided to go down the route of the tasting menu.

After gorgeous bread, with the best butter I’ve ever tasted and wafer thin slices of a sausage from a 10-year-old “calf” that were packed with flavor but still tender, our taste buds were further tickled by a tiny dish of kimchee-style vegetables, accompanied by a local wine infused with herbs.

Oatmeal

The first of our ‘proper’ courses was salsify, with butternut, parsley and hazelnut. Lovely tastes – the parsley, for instance, was a perfect illustration of being so much more than a garnish, while fresh tomato shot through a light-as-silk sauce.

The bar was set high.

Next up was trout with cauliflower, grapefruit and chervil.

Standards maintained.

Then a dish of oatmeal ‘risotto’, with chanterelle mushrooms, that called up the autumn forest as though by sourcery rather than saucery.

Pike-perch (zander) from Lake Neusiedl followed, perched atop red cabbage, followed by a noisette of calf, with a rich gravy and spinach leaves that burst with flavour.

Elvis van

To finish, we were served ‘Elvis van’ – a dessert that combined banana, a peanut mousse and bacon wafers and somehow worked.

This was simply fabulous food: rich, yet light, with great textures and astounding flavour. Head chef Walter Leidenfrost and sous chef Julia Pimingstorfer are reinventing traditional Austrian cuisine in a thrilling way.

Ludwig van’s ethos means that drinks are sourced from smaller producers who might well be less-known producers and as locally as possible. We enjoyed a variety of white wines – all of which were exemplary, but which displayed an astonishing variety of tastes.

At the end, with most other diners having finished and left, Oliver offered us a choice of schnapps from unlabelled bottles.

We both chose one flavoured with pine: it was a smooth delight – and continued that underlying sense of the forest.

Ludwig van is far from cheap – but it was worth every cent. This place is going to win awards and I wouldn’t hesitate to dine there again – though I’d certainly book well in advance!

Find out more at www.ludwigvan.wien. For information and booking, contact info@ludwigvan.wien.

The Salt Room – winning deserved recognition

Pig's head

For the last couple of years, a trip to Brighton has meant one non-working thing: a visit to The Salt Room for a top-class meal.

Many eateries could learn a great deal from this place – menus that change regularly to reflect the alchemical fusion of season and place are an unfailing incentive to revisit.

After arriving in time to watch a stunning sunset that saw the sky to the west slashed with red and the magical sight of a murmuration of starlings fluidly circling over the silhouetted skeleton of the West Pier, it was time to get ready for dinner.

There are occasions when I wonder when, why or how Britain lost its understanding of seasonality in food.

We have the ridiculousness of asparagus and strawberries all year round, and people have simply come to expect that, apparently little noticing what that means for actual taste.

In October, The Salt Room was named as the UK winner in the 2017 Seafood Restaurant of the Year competition, organized by Seafish and The Caterer.

The competition, in its third year, was launched to highlight creative use of seafood and businesses’ knowledge of often under-used species in all types of restaurants.

Such recognition could hardly be more deserved.

Hake

A number of times when visiting, I’ve plumped for a mackerel dish to start – a fish that is so often ignored, but is always impeccably fresh here and cooked superbly, with innovative accompaniments.

However, this time I began with pig’s head, salt-baked parsnip, plum and miso.

The pork was soft and flaky, sitting atop a fat slice of parsnip that had just enough bite. Half a plum added a hint of tartness and firmer texture, while plum purée continued the theme. The miso was a little thread of flavor below.

Tiny pieces of nut on the side had somehow been given a light texture that made them a divine nut popcorn. Simply gorgeous and absolutely full of warm autumnal flavours.

This was accompanied by a glass of Tandem Ars Nova from Spain – a combination of Tempranillo, Cabernet, Merlot – which continued the earthy themes.

Next up was a superb piece of hake, with cauliflower presented in a number of ways, with chanterelles and lightly pickled chestnuts – a dish that illustrates perfectly why The Salt Room picked up that award.

A blackberry delight

It was accompanied by a very pleasant Sancerre, Domaine de la Rossignole.

For dessert, a blackberry meringue ball that opened to reveal a quenelle of crème fraîche, with fresh blackberries, lemon curd and lemon thyme.

This was positively a symphony of richness, tartness and texture – incredible flavours. And yet again, totally in keeping with the season.

The Salt Room is not cheap – but you get what you pay for and given that, just a few doors down the road, a plate of frozen scampi, frozen chips and mushy peas with a soft drink costs over £12, real quality is bound to cost more.

Very helpfully, they have an excellent range of wines that are available by the glass.

So there you have it: once again, The Salt Rooms illustrates the joy of seasonal food, locally sourced and cooked flawlessly. That is why it has been named the top fish restaurant in the UK. And why I think it is only a matter of time before it wins yet more plaudits.

If you’re in Brighton do visit – but booking is essential.

saltroom-restaurant.co.uk

Petit Pois – a new Brighton culinary star is rising

Frogs' legs

If The Salt Room gave us a superb dinner last Sunday, our first meal in Brighton during this particular tour of duty had come 24 hours earlier at Al Fresco.

The menu at this Brighton legend has been modernised and lightened, which is all to the good, and while not without flaws – including, but not limited to, my bugbear of OTT portion sizes – they gained our custom essentially because of rudeness elsewhere.

Having only just arrived and got organised, we’d thought to go and have fish and chips on the prom. Now The Regency may be another local legend, but that’s primarily because it’s not as bad as most excuses for fish and chips that are served on England’s south coast.

Stuffed vegetables

It simply cannot compare with what we ate in Scarborough in 2001 or even the German ode to “a great British tradition” that we consumed with relish in Travemünde in 2014, yet it clearly suffers from a vast dose of arrogance.

On Saturday, it was rammed, so we asked the maître d’ if he had space.

Clearly channelling the rudest French waiter stereotype that he could muster, he enquired whether we had a reservation (who books for a chippy?) then scoffed and pointed us to a large queue outside a side door where “the naughty boys” had to wait.

Suffice it to say, he didn’t see a penny of our money during the week.

Ice cream and sorbet

But thankfully, we managed to wrench ourselves east of West Street, taking us beyond our usual patch and his rudeness.

On Monday night, on the back of a colleague’s recommendation, we booked for Petit Pois on Ship Street, a new French tapas eatery that had only been open for eight days.

We picked a selection of dishes between the two of us.

To a bowl of olives and a plate of bread and very nice butter, with tapenade and aîoli, we added salt cod fritters with a spicy sauce; frogs’ leg goujons with a garlic and parsley butter; chips and a béarnaise sauce; duck breast with celeriac dauphinoise, and little stuffed vegetables with a tomato sauce.

Olives

The frog was superb – delicate and so moist. If you haven’t eaten frog, the taste is as little like a sort of gamey chicken.

The salt cod fritters were also excellent – light and moist.

The courgettes, peppers and small onions, stuffed with a delicate mushroom and herb mixture, were superb.

The duck breast was lovely – properly pink with delightfully crisp skin – while the celeriac dauphinoise was quite simply divine.

The Other Half finished with a café gourmand; I opted for a combination of vanilla ice cream with blood orange sorbet.

Halibut

Oh, this was very good indeed.

The cooking is excellent; the ingredients fresh and of high quality.

There is a nice wine list – no telephone directory, but some very good and interesting choices.

Service is friendly and knowledgeable; décor is simple, modern and clean, yet warm and very pleasant.

So much was this all the case that, on Thursday evening, wandering along the seafront in the duck, in search of food after a reception, we suddenly thought: ‘why eat something for the sake of it down here when we could nip up the steps and go back to Petit Pois if it’s open?’

We did – it was open and we enjoyed it every bit as much the second time around.

Snails

We partook once more of those very good salt cod fritters, also opting for excellent snails that were far more than an excuse to consume copious amounts of butter, garlic and parsley.

Then there was a halibut dish that came with potato duchesse, broccoli stems and a seaweed hollandaise.

A tarte fine of tomatoes, courgette, aubergine and rocket gave us a very pleasant side of vegetable and we welcomed more of the bread.

I finished with a trio of crèmes brulées – that’s right: three delightful mini brulées – and mini, mini madeleines, while The Other Half had a tarte tatin.

Brulées

Petit Pois is very new, but goodness, it’s also very good and is, unsurprisingly, already picking up a very good buzz.

On the basis of this visit, it deserves to become another Brighton legend.

And finding a new – and not just to me – eatery of such quality in Brighton gives me renewed hope in the state of British food.

Petit Pois is also open for lunch, from noon until 3pm, with the lunchtime set menu costing £9.50 for two courses and £13.50 for three.

To find out more – and to salivate over the menus – visit petitpoisbrighton.co.uk. It’s also on Facebook at www.facebook.com/PetitPoisBrighton/.