burger

I had the most sublime fast-food experience in New York: it was a burger.

As a devotee of Heston Blumenthal, I owed to myself to check out a bizarre little place where he had the best burger in the world. Nestled in an upmarket hotel was a greasy little burger shack without a name.

I entered the hotel and immediately felt out of place: opulence, grandeur and marvel. Marble floors, leather chaises longues, martinis served on platters by penguin waiters. But I knew the burger was here - I could smell it!

I darted through the lobby following my nose. Then to one side, between two innocent curtains, I glimpsed a neon outline of a burger. Down this corridor was a boxy little greasehouse, wood-panelled walls, red PVC banquettes, and loud rock music. What struck me was the chaos. Cardboard, hand-written signs were plastered around the serving area-cum-grill, urging that you get your order ready or face queuing up a second time.

I ordered two burgers with "the works" (lettuce, tomato, onion, sliced pickles, mustard, ketchup, mayo) and gave my name, while we were offered a cosy booth amid the heaving crowd. What struck me were the different people: suits, designer wear, builders, tourists... all here to grab a burger, and god knows how they'd found the place. The walls were also covered in scribbles, with notables such as Chuck Liddell, Joss Stone and Hiro from Heroes.

A minute later my name is barked (all burgers are cooked to order and to desired doneness) so I push through and grab my waxpaper-wrapped treats. I can't wait to sit down and try it, so after some feverish unwrapping I take my first bite. It's the texture that gets me, all loose and moist. But the flavours are then running through my mouth; savoury and salty. For what has become the ultimate symbol in garbage food, this was high dining indeed.

cheesecake

I had a truly awful meal at the legendary Lindy's, opposite Madison Square Garden. Overpriced, pathetic and overwrought.

I had an open turkey sandwich, which consisted of two stale slices of white bread, piled with sandwich turkey, covered in packet gravy. Served with instant mash. Gross.

And their "world famous cheesecake" - which I went for - was distinctly average and grainy. I have many better ones, I've had better ones in the same month. Very disappointing.

Also - NYC restaurants close at 10.30pm as a rule - wassupwitdat?

bbq brisket

At the Dallas BBQ, I was given the most enormous platter of BBQ brisket beef. No way could I finish the lot. And as if the coleslaw on the side offset the enormous meat intake!

pork chop with fennel slaw and sweet potato fries

From The Crooked Knife - juicy, aniseedy and sweet.

chocolate-covered pretzels

Holsten's, the diner where they filmed the last scene of The Sopranos. As part of a tour we stopped there for complimentary onion rings and sampled some of their home-made chocolates. My favourites were chocolate-covered pretzels, which seemed to get outlawed in the UK ten years ago. Petition for their return!

eggs, sausage, grits and potatoes

Eisenberg's, opposite the flatiron building. A famous sandwich joint from 1929, at which we grabbed the above breakfast. It wasn't the food that made it, more the 60+ yr old guy behind the counter gabbing on about his sick mother, his rich aunt, and being invited to Amish reservations. Hilarious and memorable.

t-bone steak

Mickey Mantle's - best steak in the world.

yaki soba

Now here's one of my absolute favourites. I'd played with stir fries for years, and only kind-of enjoyed the results. It never felt particularly special though, just muddy and bland. "Use the holy trinity" Ken Hom would intone. "Rice wine vinegar," he'd bark. And that was that. Identikit meat + noodle + veg + jar of Amoy sauce stir-fry, and another dull meal. I knew there was something eluding me.

One lunchtime, urged by my good friend José, I finally tried Wagamama, the Japanese-inspired 'fast-food' chain. I pored over an expansive glossy menu printed in elegant Nihon vocab. I'd dimly recalled Yaki Soba being good - can't remember where from - so ordered it and loved it. Every morsel. And then one opened quite near to me that same month.

I loved it so much, I sought out its' recipe book, which is more or less the version I present here. I've tweaked it to my taste, but the rules for this and its' accompanying stir fry recipes were at once, blindingly simple and obvious:

1. Get the pan as hot as can be - it's the searing quality that keeps the freshness.
2. Cut all ingredients to roughly the same size - they'll cook in the same time.
3. Keep everything moving all the time - don't let the ingredients settle long enough to burn.

Armed with this ruleset it makes stir fries foolproof. On to yaki soba!

On of my deviations from the norm is to use chicken legs roasted with a little oil and seasoning in a hot oven for about 45 mins. This gives a richer, more interesting flavour than dull ol' breast. Once out of the oven I shred it with forks, ready to be mixed with yakitori dipping sauce.

Speaking of which, this is time to get on with the sauce: 250 ml light soy sauce, 3 tablespoons of dark soy sauce, boil up gently with a teaspoon of sugar and pinch of salt, til it gets all bubbly and thick. Once that's the case, pour this over beansprouts and spring onions (the recipe also calls for prawns here, which are a nice option). You also need noodles in this mix, and being a lazy so and so I like to use the pre-cooked ones which are good to go. If I can get them then I'll use soba (wholewheat) noodles, hence the name, else I'll use udon or whatever I can lay my hands on. Toss this all together and leave to sit a while. Once my chicken's cooked that's going in there too. During this marinating time I like to slice an onion into half-moons and a red and/or green pepper. Now it's cooking time.

The onions go into a devlishly-hot pan with a little oil, and after a minute or two to take the harsh edge off the onions, the peppers go in for the same treatment. Don't forget to keep it on the move. Once they start to tenderise then the yakitori-soaked mixture is chucked in. Once you feel the noodles and beansprouts start to give a little, you're practically there. Now add two beaten eggs, which will collect up all the loose juice and meld with it to form a silky, delicious coating. Keep it on the move as always, it's not supposed to be egg-fried rice.

Dole out into bowls, top with sesame seeds, pickled ginger and fried onion bits and devour with joy in your heart. It's just brilliant.

cheesecake

King of teatime desserts, the New York style cheesecake. I'm not a great sponge-baker so this kind of non-flour dessert works great for me.

One thing I really recommend is a springform cake tin - one with a clasp on the side. It makes getting it out dead easy.

Easy first stage - mix melted butter and broken biscuits (digestives for me) to make a base, and line the greased tin with with this mix. I leave this in the fridge to firm up while I make the batter - which is pretty straightforward. Just mix together caster sugar, cream cheese, lemon zest, two eggs, two more egg yolks, vanilla extract and double cream. Pour this on the biscuits and whack it in a 160C oven in a bain marie. About thirty minutes later it'll be firm round the edge and wobbly in the middle, after cooling and a couple more hours setting in the fridge you'll have yourself a firm, creamy, sweet, lemony dessert to die for.

Now someone make me a coffee to have with it...

sausages and tomatoes

Sorry about the rubbish name for it, but that's almost all it is! It's a Jamie Oliver recipe that's a marvel for taking on the leftovers and gluts from the garden. My tomato plants have been kind to me this year; now I have the remainders to use up and this is just the thing.

Any tomatoes to hand get chucked in a nice deep roasting tray in a hot oven with a splash of oil, a nice sprig of rosemary (thank you window box), and a healthy swig of cheap balsamic vinegar - about half a bottle. It stays in the oven, filling the house with the slightly accrid whiff of boiling vinegar. It's worth it though, as the flavour mellows, sweetens and starts to break the tomatoes down. After about half an hour the skins will blister and burst, and you can remove them. It's a bit fiddly, and I find using some tongs can help to yank them off.

Once the skins are off sausages can go in. Any that you like will do the job. After another 20 mins the sausages should've browned, so give 'em a turn. When they're browned, we're good to go. Try the broth - you might want to add some seasoning or even a pinch of sugar.

Dish it up, and serve with some bread to mop up all the juice. One day I mean to make this, but then sieve and reheat the sauce to serve with perhaps some lamb leg steaks.

bread

Is there anything more honest, rewarding and fulfilling as baking your own bread?

It almost seems like alchemy - magic even - to go through the whole process. And it's so sad that we don't either subscribe to the French model (new bread every day) or that making your own seems like such an unusual prospect. It's so not difficult, and at least a million times better than anything you'll ever buy.

A kilo of flour mixed with 14g of yeast (two of those handy little sachets), 20g of salt (for flavour), a pinch of sugar (food for the yeast), and 600ml of tepid water (party bath for yeastlings) gets you started. I often have to add water or flour to get the right consistency. Once it's all sticky and malleable it gets a thorough kneading on a floured surface to encourage gluten formation. Then it's left in a bowl in a nice warm place for an hour to let the yeast get it's party started.

After about an hour it should have doubled in size. Now it needs pushing the air out and forming into the desired shape. Roll-size, tin loaf, squat thing.. whatever you want. Leave this again for another hour to settle down, dust with flour if you like, then put in a preheated 250C oven. Once it's in there it can calm down to about 200C.

Every loaf cooks the way it wants to, and a time can never be prescribed. The best advice I ever heard was from Nigel Slater: lift the bread and tap the underside - it will sound like a hollow drum when ready. In the meantime, it will fill the house with that clichéd "house-buyers love it" smell. You'll be desperate to gnaw chunks off it straight from the oven, but I promise you, half an hour's rest will make it sublime. And you'll feel like a King for making it. Just great.

pea, bacon and mushroom pasta

Here's a mouthful. A little of everything in one bowl, quick and tasty.

I got some spaghetti on to boil whilst the pan business goes on. A quick frying of some bacon in a pan, and then some frozen peas and sliced chestnut mushrooms. Whilst that fries up I took a trip to the windowbox to collect some woody, aromatic thyme. I think it's my favourite herb, so robust and penetrating, leaving a comforting note. I chuck a few leaves in with everything else.

Pasta's about done now, so I drain that and chuck it in the pan with some creme fraiche and lemon juice. A quick season, a sloosh around for a couple of minutes, and in a bowl it goes. Instant and tasty.

moussaka

This moussaka posited an excellent time-saver: red pesto as the main gravy indredient. You can't hold back with moussaka; as a permutation of lasagne as all nations are wont to have, bold flavours work best here. This version oozed lambiness, retaining a lot of that savoury juice that characterizes rich lamb dishes.

The red pesto saved a lot of bother by forming the basis of the sauce, both gutsy and part tomatoey. Persuaded to try again I'd some tomato puree to oomph up that side. In a semi-traditional nod this recipe had a custardy topping, one which I've never been oversold on. And this is no exception. A clagginess underscores any flavour advantage you might gain. I'd rather head back to roux territory for the ultimate aubergine topping. And what a star aubergine is here. Meaty, moist and exuding a mediterranean flavour, and somehow always so filling.

Served with leftover courgettes from yesterday, this was a very satisfying meal.

lamb with cous cous and courgette

Inspired by a recipe in last month's delicious magazine, this faintly Moroccan dish seemed too tempting to pass up. I love an excuse to eat lamb, which can often take too long to cook, so when I find a snappy lamb dish difficult to ignore.

I got some lovely lamb neck fillet, all chunky and packed with lambiness. This was smeared in a yoghurt-spice mixture and left alone for a while. The spice was supposed to be a Moroccan-style infusion but due to a kitchen mix-up got blended with my garam masala (gary masala...) which I'll get to the recipe for one day but rest assured it's fairly standard Indian-y blend of cumin, cinnamon, chilli, pepper, fenugreek...

The nice and sloppy marinated lamb was griddled to brownness and then left in the oven for ten minutes whilst the other stuff went on.

The cous cous was steeped in boiling chicken stock, lemon zest and butter and left covered to absorb the flavours. Meanwhile, I griddled razor-thin sliced courgettes a coupla minutes a side to get those attractive dark lines. Five minutes later, I'm adding lemon juice, chopped coriander and the browned courgettes. Tumble it onto plates, dot with lamb and serve with lemon wedges. Not difficult at all, but filling, tasty and very nearly healthy.

lasagne alla cacciatore

I'm a big fan of home-made lasagne dishes; as many variations as there are families this side of the Alps. Alternately cheesy, beefy, saucy, chewy... it's such a warming, filling dish full of flavour that unashamedly reeks of comfort, how could you not love it? I have my own version (of course) that I love to trot out, but my head was turned by this version apparently printed in The Times. I got it from Ocado's recipe book given with their deliveries. It's a touch lengthy, requiring a true béchamel and a gutsy tomato sauce but as it's a Sunday I'll let it go. None of it is real grind, more a case of letting things simmer.

The dish means "Lasagne in the hunter's style", I'm not quite sure where that part comes from. I've had cacciatore-style dishes before, which usually means a rich tomatoey base. Lasagne in the classic sense (and when I say classic I mean that in the English way that most of us recognise) is mostly this anyway, so hey-ho. The thing that I understand grates Italians most is the mountain of meat smothering the pasta, which after all is what the dish is named for. So I've made a deliberate attempt here to layer the golden sheets inbetween thin peeks of ruddy ragu and let it sing through. I use Waitrose's fresh lasagne sheets (snob alert!) which have a wonderful chewiness and a light crispy texture when cooked unadorned. They are a wondeful fridge standby too: need papardelle / tagliatelle / faux linguini instead? Just slice as required.

Out of the oven it behaves as it should: patchy brown, angrily bubbling sauce. It was the high point however, it looked much better than it tasted. I felt here the braising steak was not given long enough to develop a tender consistency, despite me giving it longer than prescribed. Additionally the meat hasn't had long enough to meld with the tomato sauce - the flavours are entirely separate in the mouth, and not in a fulfilling way. Beef mince would have sufficed perfectly. Done again I would brown the meat first, then let stew with the tomatoes for a lot longer - maybe two hours or so. I pushed it a little further in the simmering stage also as there was a heckuva lotta juice in there. Also adding parmesan to this béchamel is overdoing it, and becomes lost among the savoury notes.

On the positive, having chunks of meat is texturally pleasing and gives an interesting mouth-feel. The sage topping is inspired, leaving behind a camphorous perfume that sits atop the cheesiness in a pleasant way. That's one I'll be using elsewhere - I adore sage, particularly with oils and dairy, but struggle to find times when it's appropriate.

In all, an interesting take on a 'traditional' lasagne al forno, but ultimately overwrought and trying too hard. I'll do my usual at some point, and we'll see how that measures up for time, effort, and taste.

PS. This does give me a chance to proffer one of my favourite lasagne-style meal tips: when taking a dish like this out of the oven, leave it to one side for five minutes or more; the cheeses and sauces will set and meld and make a topping much easier to cut through. This leaves a much tidier and cool-looking wodge of food on the plate.