Tuesday, 5 November 2013

Melbourne Cup (and glass and plates and cutlery): three days of Victorian dining.

Melbourne dining experiences – everything they say is true. There are thousands of possibilities and combinations and, for the most part, the quality of the food and the service is of a high, high standard. Now bear in mind that I only had three and a half days so when I get asked ‘What did you enjoy the most?’ it is a hard question to answer. There was so much that was superb but also so much that I didn’t get to try. However, if I had to hand out awards, they’d be in the categories below, and some of the winners may surprise you.
I’d been urged to try Cumulus Inc and wasn’t disappointed when I got there. There was a place at the counter for me (it became a theme of my trip: the place for one at the counter/bar) –  quality coffee (a milky mocha to ease me into the day and then a rousing long black to get me up to full speed).
 I enjoyed my sweet and zesty lemon-curd filled madeleine: Marcel Proust would have approved of this variation and it was worth the extra 15 minute wait which gave me time to look around the room and admire the Derby Day fashion parade that was happening around me.
 My smoked trout croque monsieur was a classic breakfast combo of toasty bread, fresh flaky fish, smooth cream cheese and tiny capers. A filling start to the day but perhaps not the most unusual breakfast dish I’d ever tried.

I hadn’t planned to go to The Collingwood Children’s Farm but my friend and guide, Jen, said that the breakfasts were good and that the farm gave every impression of being deeply rural even when it was only 5 minutes’ drive from the dusty Collingwood streets. My ‘Farmer’s Breakfast’ was traditional – sausage, eggs, bacon.
However the sausage was organic pork, the two eggs were poached to just the right consistency (there has to be enough ‘give’ in the yolk) and served on top of buttered sour dough. There were also crispy potatoes cooked in duck fat and a jar of zingy homemade relish. Two mugs of mocha (one on time and the other forgotten until I prompted) and I was ready to explore the paddocks, pet the baby animals, and admire the flower and produce gardens.
One of the many farm friends that I patted.
The winner is:


Hungry after getting up early (6am Melbourne time, 3am Perth time) to make my pilgrimage to the Castlemaine Art Gallery, I found Apple Annie’s Café on Templeton street.  I had no expectations of this café – it was one of several in the town, so the sunshine-dappled courtyard with grape vines and robinia tree was a pleasant surprise and the breakfast, sweet heavens, the breakfast! Warm apple chunks stewed in cinnamon syrup sandwiched between rounds of light-yet-rich brioche French toast. This was topped and surrounded with fresh strawberries and quenelles of dulce de leche and icing sugar dusted the whole. Gorgeous to look at, different from the usual, an elegant mix of tastes and textures – if Castlemaine itself had no other attractions (and it has many), I would return for this alone. Apple Annie’s also offers accommodation so this is probably where I would choose to stay.
Best snack. Nominees - La Vita Buona, Laika,  Movida
My first meal in Melbourne was at La Vita Buona – a café overlooking the plaza just behind the Anglican cathedral. I was physically exhausted having not been long off the plane, but mentally awake with the excitement of new places to explore. This café was quiet and provided a great place to do some people-watching. The waiter was happy to chat a bit and talk about which wines he would recommend. I chose a local red.
 For my snack, I dipped into the lunch menu and ordered a small serve of marinated white anchovies with crostini as well as the ‘Salumi Plate’ – cured meats and cornichons. Basic and tasty, not particularly challenging (but then my palate isn’t always up for gastronomical fisticuffs) it was a good start to my Melbourne dining experiences.
The decision to visit Laika was both a good and a bad one. I had just had a wonderful swim at the St Kilda Sea Baths plus a soothing floaty session in the their hydrotherapy pool. Swimming always makes me hungry - especially for hot chips. There's just something extra summery about the smell of swimming pool chemicals mixed with the vinegar'n'fat smell of hot chips. Laika, thought not a purveyor of hot chips, did offer a delicious Sloppy Joe and beer-battered fries with the welcome addition of a glass of Chandon.
 The Sloppy Joe bun was a bit singed but the filling was a satisfying savoury hit of chili, mayonnaise and pulled pork. The beer-battered fries were crispy and endless. It was a huge bowl - too much for one. This was the reason why I didn't eat out on Saturday night - I was too full to do anything but lie down on my bed and sip tap-water.
And the winner is:


I was urged to go to Movida by several friends so I decided this would be the first stop on a mini bar-crawl that I organised for myself on Friday night. As with my breakfast at Cumulus, there was a table for me at the counter but there difference here was that even in the rushed environment of the Friday after-work crowd, the service was excellent: friendly, efficient, helpful and informative. I made my selections with a glass of cava in my hand. There was a single oyster with merlot jus, jamon and shallots, a pastry 'cigarillo' with hazlenuts and macerated muscat grapes, cold smoked Spanish mackerel with pine-nuts, an 'empanadilla' stuffed with pheasant, chestnuts and bacon, and the white anchovy on a crouton with smoked tomato sorbet.
All was wonderful and different and exciting, but for me, Movida gets my vote purely for the smoked tomato sorbet. Cold, sweet, salty, fruity with a hint of char - one quenelle was not enough. Match it with a Valleformosa Penedes Cava and I can say with my hand on my heart that it was a dish that I will be raving about for a long, long time.
Best dinner. Nominees - La Citta, Chin Chin


La Citta in Degraves Lane was a suggestion made by a friend from Sydney. I was told that it was reliable for a good feed and that is exactly what I had. After my exodus from Cookie (see “Worst Service” below), it was great to be offered a choice of seats, have my aperitif on the table within minutes – a shot of Aperol and a dish of smoked almonds – and then the comfort of risotto. It was saffron risotto with peas and Moreton Bay bugs. When I consulted the wine list, I saw that there was Chardonnay by the Snake and Herring crew from Western Australia. It was a little reminder of home to pick me up after my Cookie let-down. It was excellent risotto – the rice grains with just enough bite and the saffron giving the flavour of the bugs a shove in the right direction. I finished the evening with a strong black coffee. A nicely-rounded meal. I felt better when I had finished and really, really awake.
And the winner is:
I’m glad I got to Chin Chin early. Even the places up at the bar filled up quickly and by the time I had finished my meal, there was a queue to get in. I was in my 80s element as the sound system cranked out tunes by Duran Duran, Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Spandau Ballet. I think the 80s might finally have made the jump from cheesy to hip but just in case there was any doubt, the Chin Chin décor, a mix of anime art and fluorescent tubes upped the hip quotient considerably.

It wasn’t on the cocktail list, but I got my first Negroni of the trip at Chin Chin. I like it when the bar-staff say ‘yes’ and then you see then consult a book or website – they are trying and that is worth everything. My Negronis were a little on the fruity side (a little heavy on the vermouth) but did the trick getting my appetite up to speed. The service was attentive – I was asked if I had eaten at Chin Chin before, told how the menu worked, given recommendations. I chose the crab and pork cakes with the salted duck egg and tamarind sauce and the smashed green papaya salad with chargrilled red chilli, prawn floss, peanuts and black beans cooked in chilli oil. Despite the crowds, the food turned up before I had finished my first drink.

The crab and pork cakes were dense and meaty with the floral quality of Thai herbs to lift their fragrance. Designed to be eaten like san choi bau, you wrap a cake in a lettuce leaf, smear on some sauce and squeeze lemon over the top. This is a little tricky when you are also balancing on a bar-stool (one elbow movement too far and you’d be on the floor) but I managed. For me, the addition of tamarind, one of the my favourite fruits because it does sweet and sour, mainly sour, all by itself, was the genius of the dish.
Nothing however could have prepared me for the genius of the salad though. Perfect, perfect distribution of chili – from the searing fresh chili, whole fruits and snippets, to the dark oil that bound the papaya and prawn floss flavours together. The black beans and peanuts provided the alkaline contrast to the acidity of the papaya. Another Negroni, then the offer of dessert which I couldn’t manage, and I fought my way through the queue at the door, wishing I’d been able to come in company so that I could have tried more, but knowing that if I had come in company, I’d probably still have been stuck in the queue.
Best service. Nominees - Movida, Chin Chin, Buda Historic Home and Garden


Movida would have won this hands down, with Chin Chin getting an honourable mention, but for my experience at Buda Historic Home and Garden in Castlemaine. With time to spare before my train back to Melbourne, I decided to walk up to the house and have a look. It was further than I thought and it was a hot and glary day with very little shade for me to hide under.
When I presented my red-faced sweaty self at the ticket desk, the woman in charge ushered me to a shady spot in the garden ‘where you can get some breeze’. I was sheltered from the sun by a copper-beech and surrounded by roses. She went and got me a bottle of cold water to drink and talked me through the map of the house and gardens while I cooled down. Later on, her colleague offered me a lift back to the railway station. The kindness of strangers can make even a simple bottle of cold water a great food experience.
Worst service. One nominee. (which is a good thing when you think about it) No winners, only losers. - Cookie.

I was at Cookie only long enough to get one blurry snap of their menu.

I walked a long way across the CBD to get to Cookie – because it had been recommended to me. I walked up the stairs because the lift was broken. I asked for a seat. The man by the door indicated a seat at the bar and I felt that my luck was holding. I slumped onto the bar-stool and just begun to consider the menu when a voice behind me said:
“You can’t sit there.”
It was a waiter or the restaurant manager. White shirt, black waist-coat, youthful, and a bit sneering.
“But that man said I could.”
“Which man?”
“That man by the door.”
“You shouldn’t have talked to that man. I’m the one who decides and I have reserved this place for someone else.”
I’ve worked with enough young adults over the years to recognise the tone of disdain when it sneaks into a conversation. If he had rolled his eyes, I would not have been surprised. Was he contemptuous of my lack of youth and beauty (certainly the Cookie clientele was very young and beautiful), or the fact that I was dining alone and wouldn't generate as much revenue as a couple or a group? His narrowed gaze suggested that there was something about me that displeased him and he wanted me gone.
“So, is there somewhere else I can sit?” Not that I especially wanted to stay at this point but I was tired and hungry and willing to compromise.
“You can try further down the bar. There might be something.” He waved vaguely at the noisiest, most dense part of the crowd. For the ‘man who decides’ he was being very imprecise.
I was too disgusted and too tired to argue. I left. Left Cookie. Left the Cookie Monster. I got myself to La Citta and had an excellent meal. The Cookie menu had looked interesting but how good the quality of the food was, I will never know as I wouldn’t try it again or recommend it to anyone. Luckily, there was enough of the good and great service in both Melbourne and Castlemaine to more than make up for one posturing prat who wouldn’t know good management practice if someone thumped him on his coiffed head with “The Dummies Guide to Running a Restaurant.”
Cookie - the way it crumbles.
In summary, go to Melbourne! Go to Castlemaine! Try Chin Chin, Movida, La Citta and all the others.
But delete Cookie.

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Buns and roses: Secret Cake Club and heraldic rose cupcakes.

There were no buns. So I lied. What can I say? I do so love a pun.

Puns and roses?
I’ll get me coat.
The roses began at 6am – fifteen heraldic roses to top fifteen rosewater cupcakes (which I made the day before).
The theme of the latest Secret Cake Club was ‘History’ and I had decided I was going to interpret The Wars of the Roses. You can read the details on Wikipedia of course, but it’s pretty much the way Game of Thrones would be if there were only two families involved: the House of Lancaster, that’s Lancaster NOT Lannister, (symbol, the red rose) and the House of York (symbol, the white rose). Eventually, after many decades of squabbling and bloodshed, a Lancaster prince married a York princess – they combined their family symbols to create the Tudor Rose (his name was Henry Tudor) which is red and white. If Wikipedia history is a bit dull for you, then any of the Philippa Gregory oeuvre will tell you the story in a more engaging, if slightly less factual, way.
The white rose of the House of York is still used this day as the symbol of Yorkshire and since I was born in Yorkshire, I feel I have some connection to it in my personal history. I even wore my white rose pendant (bought at York Minster) to Cake Club that afternoon.
I’ll put the cupcake recipe below, but you could decorate any cake this way, so I’m just going to show you how to make a heraldic rose.


First cover your cupcakes with a thin layer of white fondant. I painted the fondant with rosewater and this makes it stick to the cake.


For the actual rose symbol, you need to have two cinquefoils, one small and one large. A cinquefoil is a flower-symbol with five leaves or petals which is all well and good unless your flower cookie-cutters have six petals... I ended up having to pinch out one petal and reshape the flower by hand.
Pinch out five small pieces of green fondant and roll them between your finger and thumb until thin and pointed at one end – these will be your leaves.
Stick these under your larger cinquefoil so that part of the leaf shows in the spaces between the petal.
Stick the small cinquefoil on top of the large one. Add a small bobble of fondant to the middle – this will be your rose’s stamen.


Starting with the small cinquefoil, curl the petals over at the edge. Repeat with the large cinquefoil. Using edible gold food paint, colour the stamen. Then stick the whole rose to the top of the cupcake. I was using rosewater to do all my sticking but otherwise plain water or even milk will do the trick.

I made seven Lancaster roses in gold cupcake cases, seven Yorkshire roses in silver cupcake cases, and one Tudor rose which was slightly larger than the others.

I was very proud of my Tudor rose.
They created a really pretty effect when put all together.

Cake Club was held at The Ingredient Tree in Wembley and I am glad to say that my cupcakes survived the bus journey. There was an abundance of cake with most people interpreting the ‘History’ theme as ‘heritage’. There were pandan cakes from South East Asia, Ashkenazi Jewish ‘rugelach’. Korean crispies, and Irish-whiskey studded namelaka tarts.
My favourites of the day were Viv’s mini-pizzas which were a welcome oasis of savoury in the midst of all the sweetness. There was a surprise underneath the mozzarella – a fierce and concentrated Italian hit of anchovy which I loved.  I also really liked the sticky rice cakes with the slightly toasted topping made by Terry and Alex.

So much cake, so little time. The pictures are below and I have tried to keep the descriptions in shot where possible.

So, as you can see, lots and lots of cakes and slices and tarts.
But no buns. Just roses.
I beg your pardon and offer a cupcake recipe in recompense.


Rosewater Cupcakes


1 cup golden caster sugar

1 cup butter, melted

1 vanilla bean

2 tssp organic vanilla extract

4 large eggs, beaten

2 tbsp rosewater

1 tssp sea-salt

2 cups SR flour

2 tssp baking powder


White, red, and green fondant

Edible gold paint

Oven: 180C


In a food processor, whiz sugar and melted butter until pale. Scrape in the vanilla bean and add the vanilla extract. Process again.

On a low speed, add beaten eggs gradually until all combined. When all eggs are in, add the rosewater.

Sieve salt, SR flour, and baking powder into a mixing bowl. Pour in contents of food processor and stir with a wooden spoon until just combined.

Spoon mixture into cupcake cases until about 2/3 full.

Bake in oven until golden – about 25 minutes, depending on your oven.

Leave to cool.

Decorate with fondant or buttercream icing.


Tuesday, 22 October 2013

In good company: Bistrot Traditionnel at Hainault Winery

Shall I bug you with some etymology or shall I just get on with talking about food?

Etymology, you say? Your wish is my command.

I love the word ‘companion’ and I don’t mean in a ‘Firefly’ sense (though if you like it in that sense, no judgement, enjoy, be safe etc). When you have spent as much time as I have messing around with classical languages, the original meaning of words often strikes me seconds before the current meaning does. So for me, a companion is someone who you take bread (Latin: pane, panis) with (Latin: com), a breadfellow and NOT a bedfellow despite what 'Firefly' would have you believe. Some one you sit down to dine with.

I was lucky enough last week to have a truly companionable dining experience at Hainault Winery in Perth’s Bickley Valley. I had a seat at a table with eight other people only one of whom I knew. The table was on a deck overlooking the sweep of the vine-covered hillside – a hillside which we had only just managed to get the car up there having been a perilous moment went the wheels spun on the gravel and we thought we were going to drift backwards towards the main road. The Bickley Valley is cool and quiet but our little corner of the deck was warm and noisy.
There were a few extra 'companions' who were not at the table but under it.

We were there for the ‘Bistrot Traditionnel de Paris’ – an evening catered by Chef Lloyd of Grape Provisions and accompanied (there’s that word again!) by Hainault wines. Our table was a wonderful group of invited guests – gardeners, growers, butchers, photographers, psychologists and sustainablists (and just one blogger) – and the convivial (Latin: convivere – to carouse together) atmosphere grew out of this interesting mix, assisted by wine.

I started with a glass of the Hainault Sparkling Pinot Noir Brut (2008), slight on bubbles, strong on apple characteristics, every-so-delicately pink. The first course was a classic bistro-style French onion soup made from fire-roasted onions and chicken stock and served with slices of Roman (yes! fits with my Latin leitmotif!) flatbread. The flavours were intense, as robust as you would expect a peasant-style soup to be and the chunks of bread added to the rustic look. It was a good beginning on a chilly evening.

The main course was also traditional and warming – pot au feu which, if you are to believe Raymond Blanc is “the quintessence of French family cuisine, it is the most celebrated dish in France. It honours the tables of the rich and poor alike”. This version also honoured the cow that provided the meat. “Tongue to tail” (langue a la queue) cooking uses every part of the animal in an effort not to be wasteful. There were six different cuts of beef through the rich sauce. I was able to notice the difference in texture but could not have identified with parts were tongue or tail (or cheek or saddle…) but we were fortunate to be sitting with Pip from Sebastian Butchers in Kalamunda who, through his expertese, was able to make the subtle distinctions. I think there might have been a tongue-in-cheek – pun intended – remark about the ‘autopsy at the end of the table’ but it was very interesting to have that knowledge there, even if it might have been a little confronting for some.
I think this was my favourite part of the whole meal -pane, panis (bread).

There was a mixed salad to go with the pot au feu and fragrant fresh-baked sour-dough, soft beneath the golden crust. I broke bread with my breadfellows while we listened to stories of growing gardens, European travel without a valid passport, and hosting difficult foreign exchange students.
The Latin word for 'owl' is 'bubo' because that is the sound owls make...

If anyone had been intimidated about being seated with strangers at the beginning, this was no longer evident. We mopped up our stew with the sourdough and chased this with the deep berry-ness of the Hainault 2009 Cabernet Sauvignon. I was put in mind of Breughel’s painting of a peasant wedding – simple food, done well and eaten in good company with much merriment.

The dessert was an interesting combination of pistachio ice-cream swirled with liquorice sauce and garnished with pickled strawberries. I personally would have liked more of the liquorice sauce, because I am a lifelong liquorice devotee, and fewer of the pickled strawberries which I found a little too intense for my taste, but which my companions enjoyed very much.

By the end of the meal, we had made seven new friends, had recommendations for an ice-cream shop in Kalamunda, had an invitation to visit an open garden, knew where to buy herbed sausages in the Bickley Valley, and had two bottles of the Cab Sauv to take home.

The last bottle of Cab Sauv was brought to the table by Chef Lloyd at the end of service. He deserved it more than we did, having successfully got out more than 50 covers, but it was nice of him to share. That extra glass was a lovely way to finish superb evening and I know that I for one was definitely content (Latin: contentus – satisfied, having all that one could desire).

Note: I dined as a guest of Grape Provisions/Hainault Winery but paid for my drinks.

Friday, 11 October 2013

Breaking the Birthday Law: Grass, Amphoras, The Nic and The Moon

I broke the fourth commandment of Bri's Birthday Law by coming to work. However, in a busy week with my boss away and a whole lot of organisation to be done, the luxury of a day at home just wasn't on the cards this year. 

Still, I was determined that despite a lot of general crapness that has been going on of late, I was going to have as good a birthday as possible. I was going to be kind to myself and treat me to some quality me-time if possible.

Breakfast for one seemed a good place to start. Grass Espresso is my latest West Perth discovery and perhaps my choice to go there today had a lot to do with the fact that I could have a glass of Pommery N.V. along with my mocha and eggs Benedict. If you ever feel like toasting me with champagne (you know, if the whim strikes you...) then Pommery in all its wheaty gold goodness is my declared favourite.

Like a putting green but sideways.

I like it at Grass and not just because of their astroturf walls. They are all so smiley there and sometimes, though not this time, they do latte art teddy bears on the top of your coffee. Even without a friendly bear, my mocha was excellent, good coffee with some chocolate in it and not the other way around.
The eggs Benedict, sorry, Grass Benedict, was just right too. I’m not much of a breakfast person, but eggs Benedict is the dish most likely to sway me into matutinal eating. It’s the Hollandaise that does it for me – nothing quite like a creamy, tangy sauce over the top of warm poached eggs with just enough liquidity in the yolk. Add a generous ripple of smoked salmon, and alfalfa sprouts on top of a white doorstep of bread – this is a breakfast worth having.
I had a moment’s nostalgia when the eggs were served up on an apple-green plate. When I was a kiddie, I had a favourite poem (which I cannot find online anywhere) which put forward the idea that food tasted better ‘off apple-green plates’ and to this day, on the rare occasion when an apple-green plate is placed before me, I think of that poem and smile. Apple-green plates and the shimmer of Pommery, opened and poured in front of me, and I was off to a very good start.

Arriving at work, I thought my luck had changed when I discovered two police cars parked out the front. I almost turned around and went home. The thought of having to deal with the thin blue line (and, yes, it has happened to me in the past) made me not a little anxious. It turned out, however, that it was nothing to do with my building, so huge sigh of relief and on with business as usual.

Somebody else's problem.
Lunch was more sociable than breakfast and I was lucky enough to have the company of wonderful work and blogger friends (thank you for joining me Nic, Mel, Liv, and Sarah-Jane!) for tapas and prosecco in the sunshine. Amphoras never lets me down and it was really, really kind of the wait-staff to organise an extra serve on each tapas plate where possible, so there were 5 portions where there would normally be 4.
We started with the glazed chorizo which is an Amphoras must-have – don’t let them take it away before you have mopped up all the glaze with bread – then there were marinated mushrooms, arancini, anchovy toasts, crumbed goat cheese, and warm bread with butter and black salt

Anchovies are one of those love it or hate it foods – I love them but I get that other people don’t. Still, these were superb – not the super-salty, tiny crumbly morsels that you get in tins – these were large, fresh and marinated in vinegar, served with tomato salsa and bread. They matched really well with the prosecco – tart, appley bubbles to chase the sharpness.

 Fresh anchovy fillets.
I was grateful to have to chance to sit in the sunshine – yes, sunshine! I was lucky with the weather – and have a laugh with some smart, talented and funny ladies. As I said to Mel afterwards, I couldn’t have wished for better but longer would have been nice.
I did drag my feet a bit when it was time to go back to the office, but the afternoon was busy, and the last part of the day disappeared in a flurry of paperwork. I walked to the bus-stop via Gangemi’s. The guys there know their stuff and can always be guaranteed to point me straight at the wine I want. This time I was steered towards a De Bortoli Este 2006 “ultra sauvage, hand riddled, hand disgorged” which was deeply amber and tasted of honey toast - an appropriate book-end to a day which had begun with Pommery. 

Later that evening, I matched the Este with cheap pizza and The Sound of Music on DVD.
Hey, the birthday law, the sixth commandment in fact, says that thou shalt do whatever the hell you want, and if that’s alternating mouthfuls of deep-pan Super Supreme with karaoke renditions of “Edelweiss” and "The Lonely Goatherd", then so be it. 

Before I reached home, I stopped off at The Nic in Subiaco for a quiet glass of red (Yelland and Papps Shiraz) to toast myself and the fact that I have survived to celebrate another birthday.

It's not a birthday without some Shiraz.
I rarely go to bars by myself, so it was a different experience to sit and sip my wine and watch other people socialise. The Nic (formerly The Suite) has recently changed management and expanded its premises - what you get is a big airy bar in a quiet part of the suburb. Worth a return visit when I am back that way, next time with friends.

It was also a time for contemplation and for planning how I am going to continue to be kind to myself in the year ahead. I have gifted myself with some travel before the end of the year, some good food and drink experiences, and a couple of adventures. You'll get the blog posts on those as they happen.

Commandment Eight also says it is permissible to stretch out your birthday over multiple days, especially if your actual birthday is on a week day.
And that's my excuse for yesterday's dinner at The Moon Cafe in Northbridge. (No food photos - mood lighting issues) In actual fact, I wasn't there to celebrate my birthday at all, I was there to have a reunion with some former colleagues, one of whom was visiting from Switzerland, but when I got there, there was present for me, and another friend just happened to have a musical birthday cake candle with him (it was Barbie Pink and played a tinny version of "Happy Birthday" if you pressed a button) so they sang the song and I got to blow out the candle.

Berry cheesecake with cream AND icecream and a musical candle.
Funnily enough, I quite forgot to make a wish. At the moment I blew that candle out, I was in such a happy place it didn't even cross my mind..

I've checked The Birthday Law - candles and wishes are not mentioned, perhaps they are sub judice as their place in the law is considered? Perhaps it's not necessary to mention them; if your birthday brings you wine and song and friends and cake and apple-green plates and, if liked, anchovies, then really, what more is there to wish for?