BEING A MAN INVOLVES SHAVING, AND PROTECTING THE VULNERABLE...

My collection of neckwear is sparse. I suppose I wear a tie, at most, once or twice a month but, perhaps due to having a paucity of things to worry about, I have strong views about them.

Many years ago, I was an assistant master at a public school where I spent an inordinate amount of time telling boys to do up their top shirt button and adjust their ties accordingly. I applied myself to this rather unenviable task with remarkable vehemence, which was odd in that I was a rather subversive member of staff. The sight of an undone top shirt button and loose tie simply hurt my eye, and it still does. If you’re going to wear a tie, for heaven’s sake wear the bloody thing properly.

I was reminded of this, and inspired to write the above paragraphs in my most Sir Bufton Tufton-ish style, when watching the Channel 4 documentary, Educating Yorkshire.

It features daily life, as seen through the highly selective and distorting prism of reality television, at Thornhill Academy, a secondary school in a pretty deprived part of northern England.

The headmaster, Mr Mitchell, who looks like a retired rugby international, has a thing about uniform as part of discipline. It was pretty galling, then, to see this head teacher lecture his charges about wearing ties while himself breaking my top button rule.

But, what was worse was the head’s stubble. Look, when you are at work, you need to shave every day or grow a beard. It’s a bit like the tie thing. Wear the stupid thing, or don’t.

So far, so trivial perhaps. I suspect that some of the officers who served in the Libyan desert during World War II, to take a random example of work-time mores, may have occasionally undone their top button and failed to shave regularly. Without losing control of their men.

But, what worried me about Mr Mitchell was his approach to bullying.

The school has a zero tolerance approach to physical violence – which sounds, at first, to be highly commendable. However, as anyone who has ever dealt with adolescents in a school environment will tell you, life with teenagers is not simple enough to admit of such a crude policy.

Ill-behaved pupils appeared to receive oceans of indulgence from Mr Mitchell whose motto was clearly “girls will be girls” (no doubt some of the boys are equally delinquent but, one imagines, the girls are more telegenic).

Twinkly-eyed and kindly with the troublemakers, Mr Mitchell seemed to reserve his sternest demeanour for a boy, Jac-Henry, who was clearly the victim of taunting, name-calling and non-physical bullying; (he and his friends are, it appears, quiet and studious; “I wouldn’t want to be one them”, said the naughtiest of the girls.)

Jac-Henry, like any healthy teenager, reacted to this treatment by lashing out on a number of occasions but without causing injury, let alone GBH. One of the recipients of his spontaneous wrath, a girl, was asked if she had “stamped on his head?” “I dunno,” she said. “I mira done…”

Jac-Henry was, variously, put in the school’s isolation unit (should schools have “isolation units”?), suspended, and given counselling which convinced him that he has serious anger management problems which could mar his future life.

Jac-Henry comes across as a thoughtful, intelligent and polite boy. His tormentors would appear to be anything but.

He was failed by his school because of its one-size-fits-all approach to bullying, and I have no doubt he ended up angrier than ever. It’s nothing as to the anger I felt on his behalf as I watched his headmaster, now something of a minor education celeb and shaving more frequently, indulging the little beasts (sorry, misguided and disadvantaged pupils) who, one is pretty sure, were making Jac-Henry’s life miserable.

Mr Mitchell’s application of the zero tolerance policy had the robotic quality of a call centre in the face of a complex, human situation.

Of course, we must remember that television is not omniscient and that being headmaster at Thornhill Academy is anything but an easy job. But this episode of Educating Yorkshire suggested that having a policy on bullying doesn’t equate to tackling the actual problem.

Because of the nature of much of the English state school system the children, now aged sixteen, have gone on to “college” to complete their secondary education. Jac-Henry wants to be a counsellor and he is still best mates with Brandon, the boy who pointed out, in a moment of blinding clarity, that school was victimising him because he was being bullied.

And Jac-Henry would appear to be as polite, decent and as considerate as ever. I just hope that his former school might learn from him.

You can watch the relevant episode of Educating Yorkshire here: http://www.channel4.com/programmes/educating-yorkshire/4od

A LEON LOVE AFFAIR

I ended up – quite by accident - driving, as my daily car, a SEAT Leon. I was plagued with an intermittent and utterly myserious fuel feed problem in my Land Rover TD5 and had decided, wisely, I think, that dependability was paramount.

A friend of mine, who since regrets it profoundly, offered me his 2002 Leon TDI for a modest price and I agreed to take it home for the weekend just to see what it was like. I was smitten instantly.

It was doing almost 60mpg or half that of the Land Rover. It was a great deal faster, and therefore safer when overtaking, than the Land Rover and it handled in a way that suggested to me that it was glued to the road. Quite a revelation, really, so I snapped it up.

There were only two downsides. The previous owner, in an attempt to remove a mouldy smell from the air-con had managed to impregnate the entire vehicle with some vile kind of synthetic scents which, at first, dictated that I drive with all the windows open, weather permitting. It still haunts the vehicle in a ghostly form. We refer to the car as the SEAT Aroma.

The other is a common fault in cars. It has no long wave on the radio so that I can’t listen to BBC Radio 4. Well, you can’t have everything.

I initially fell for what you might call the practical advantages of the Leon. It was economical and fun to drive; it had five seats and a decently sized boot. All of this appealed to the head.

Within a few weeks, and despite the fact that the aroma was slow to attenuate, it had claimed something of the heart too. I liked its shape which is so much more attractive than its VW stablemate (and parts bin sibling) the Golf. In profile, it reminds me, in a rather indirect way, of one of my favourite cars of my youth, the Alfetta GT Sprint Veloce which was as beautiful and downright cool as it was possible to be between 1975 and 1980 (the age of big lapels, big hair, big tie-knots, and brown as a fashionable shade). It was also as lovely as it was utterly unreliable, but nobody ever bought an Alfa-Romeo in the belief that it would behave like the Swiss railways.

Walter da Silva, now head of design for the whole VW group (which includes Lamborghini and Bentley which must be fun), worked for Alfa Romeo before he was poached by SEAT but I suspect he was too young to have had a hand in the GT. But some of Alfa’s DNA may have travelled with him to Spain and got into the cells of the new Leon.

In any case, my somewhat aromatic and slightly battered Leon (the previous owner’s spatial reasoning is, thankfully, something he doesn’t need in his profession) is a proud possession and I always like to return to it, even after driving much more expensive and fashionable cars. (As a fashion statement, a 2002 SEAT Leon TDI ranks somewhere around the ill-cut tweed jacket with fake leather elbow patches, to be honest, but it doesn’t bother me in the slightest).

Anyway, that was the kind of circumlocution (stop sniggering at the back!) that one is allowed only in the blogosphere. A print editor would have dictated that I have reached both my word count and my deadline at this stage.

And it is by way of introduction to my week with the spanking new and bright red SEAT Leon FR TDI which is something which a decade ago would have been considered a bit of an oxymoron: a diesel hot hatch. Actually, it may be a hatchback (are most cars not, these days?) but it’s rather more spacious and comfortable than the phrase might suggest.

OK, it’s maybe not a searingly hot hatch.  The version I drove has a mere 150bhp (more than quite a few models in the BMW 3 series range) as against a seriously hefty 181bhp in the faster model. But that’s still pretty powerful, especially in a car of this size, and certainly enough for my daily needs.

It lacks the electronic parking brake that VW seem so keen on, but I prefer a good, old-fashioned hand-brake like this. The 6-speed manual gearbox is snappy and you get discreet gear prompts for maximum efficiency (an experience which can be very instructive if you are used to changing gear according the old wisdom, incidentally).

Oh, I admit. I loved it. I loved the responsiveness, the mid-range acceleration (which you only miss when it’s not there), the firm but comfortable ride, the sense of connection with the road and reliable feedback.

I also loved the look of the thing (despite my younger daughter describing it as “girly”). Those fold lines are rather lovely, are they not? And those sculpted wing mirrors? And even, well in my case anyway, the inside door handles. I think they’re pretty cool.

On a totally practical note, sensible driving on the motorway will deliver 70mpg (sorry, but I always think of fuel consumption in old money; it was the way I was brought up), and overall I averaged something in the region of 62mpg.

Would I pay over €2700 for the eye-catching “Emocion red” colour? You’re joking. It would bring the cost of the car I drove to a shade over €30k which rather defeats the point of driving this rather delightful SEAT. In a more mundane shade, the version I drove costs just a little under €28k, which is more like it. The entry level model costs €10k less than that, which is stonking value.

In summary, a lively car that would serve a young family well. Practical and a lot of fun, and it’s not often one can say that.

But it took me only a day or two readjust back to the Leon Aroma.

CLEAVER EAST REVIEW

A.A. Gill quotes a chef who dreads getting a Michelin star because his restaurant would fill up with “people with faces liked smacked bottoms” who complain about everything. I’m sure that’s true.

Personally, I find the tyre company’s food guide so inconsistent that I’m past caring about what they say but I’ll concede that Michelin doesn’t throw stars round like confetti. It’s highly significant, then, that there are two chefs in the kitchen at Cleaver East who have that recognition for work elsewhere.

Oliver Dunne has his star for Bon Appetit in Malahide and Rory Carville got his at Locks.

So, there’s serious talent at Cleaver East (which was given that name, by the way, because Oliver Dunne says he “just liked the sound of it”). The motif is picked up in the décor which involves a vast number of artistically arranged meat cleavers covering the walls and even the windows of what used to be The Tea Room at the Clarence Hotel.

Cleaver East is all about small plates for sharing, that come in the order in which they are ready. This is very much the coming thing and I applaud it. If you’re a meat and three veg person who likes quantity, you’ll hate every minute of it.

The current menu is quite short (no doubt it will expand a little in time) and there seems to be a slight tilt towards seafood. It is certainly eclectic, inventive and impossible to pigeonhole in terms of style.

For example, there was our dish of lobster dumplings (large, meaty, silken skinned) with a brilliantly sharp broth of lemongrass scented coconut milk, tiny Chinese mushrooms and baby pak choi leaves. It was an exercise in combining richness and lightness, a really successful exercise in plucking elements from oriental cooking.

From the short section called “twisted classics” we enjoyed the Scotch egg – a soft-cooked quail’s egg in a ball of naturally smoked haddock flesh, but didn’t finish the beef curry which was a mini-steak of rather flavourless beef marinated in very bland curry spices and served with tiny pickled vegetables. It’s not a bad idea but it seemed a bit timid and imperfectly thought through.

Then came the really inspired dish – lamb breast which had been clearly cooked very slowly to render most of the fat (this is a very fatty cut) and render the meat itself meltingly tender. The top involved a thin layer of perfect crispness, the interior a flavour of deep, rosemary scented intensity. It was fabulous. Lightly glazed in its own jus, it almost didn’t need the rosemary aioli (although we were glad to have it) and glazed infant turnips.

And you know what? As soon as we had finished it, we ordered another. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and so it proved.

Small as all of these dishes are (they are, if you insist on dimensions, somewhere just shy of the average starter) the lamb is very rich and so we decided to finish with something light, delicate and full of taste.  This was a carpaccio of Dexter beef with Parmesan shavings, capers and flecks of some kind of clear, savoury jelly. It was as good as it sounds. Wafer thin slices of meat, sharp little explosions from the capers, Parmesan that seemed as if the taste of a whole wheel of the stuff had been concentrated into a single flake.

We declined pud but were given one anyway by Oliver Dunne: a beautifully presented and correctly textured (i.e. very loose) pannacotta topped with blueberries and raspberries and (oh joy!) honeycomb (think of what’s inside a Crunchie).

With a bottle of mineral water and a bottle of house red, our bill came in under €80 (there being 20% off the food during the first month). Service was outstanding (friendly but not intrusive, helpful, efficient).

Cleaver East is an original in several respects. All restaurants know that they won’t fire consistently on all cylinders as they get on their feet (and I happily mix metaphors). But they all charge full whack all the same.

Cleaver East has broken the mould in this respect. They have discounted prices by 20% for the first month (you have a week left, by the way).

They deserve support for this gesture alone (a first, I think, in Ireland) but add the exceptional, refined cooking being applied to what is essentially informal, fun, food and you have something delightful. Cleaver East is going to be a sensation.

Cleaver East

East Essex Street

Temple Bar

Dublin 2

Phone: 01 531 3500

www.cleavereast.ie

WINE CHOICE:

Apart from a range of cocktails, most of them at €8.95 and a collection of proper beers, there’s a virtually 100% European wine list. Our €22 Tempranillo was fine for the price and Rocca Antica Primitivo is worth €26. I can’t say the same of Ca’ di Ponti Nero d’Avola at €29 – it’s the house red in lots of places. There are some very serious and expensive wines here which may be rather out of kilter with the style of the restaurant.

THE SMART MONEY:

Two dishes, a glass of wine and an espresso would do me fine and weigh in around €30.

AND ANOTHER THING:

I gather that the number of “celebs” per square metre is quite high.

Published in the Irish Daily Mail, August 2013

MENU FOR MARIAN

3-COURSE MENU TO SERVE 4 (WITH WINE!) FOR €20 OR UNDER:

This was a challenge put to me by the Marian Finucane Radio programme on RTE Radio 1.

All of the shopping was done in either Lidl or Aldi. Including a bottle of Baron St Jean Rosé (€3.99 from Lidl; a perfectly decent wine, especially when well chilled) the total cost came to €19.74, which leaves a whopping 26 cent left over. I didn’t include store cupboard ingredients like flour and sugar but everything else has been costed. The bad news is that if you must have spuds (and so many Irish people do) it’s going to push the expenditure over the limit – but only just.

Starter: Sopa cuatro de hora (by Elisabeth Luard)

Main course:Chicken, mushroom, mustard gratin

Side: Green salad, shallot, vinaigrette

Pudding: Whole lemon tart, crème fraiche (based on a recipe by Adrian Bailey)

The order in which you prepare it all, is up to you but I'd be inclined to start with the chicken which can be done the day before.

COOKING THE CHICKEN AND THE STOCK:

What you get here is (a) sensational stock and (b) exceptionally moist chicken which is going be luscious.

Start with the chicken and the stock. You will need

1 x 1.4kg free range chicken

1 large onion, with its skin, sliced

2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1cm lengths

2 cloves of garlic, peeled and crushed

1 sprig of thyme

2 bay leaves

stalks cut from 1 bunch of parsley

Put the chicken into a large saucepan. Add the rest of the ingredients and 2 litres of water. Cover, bring to the boil, reduce the heat and simmer for 45 minutes.

Turn off the heat and let the saucepan cool (if you have time). When its contents are warm, but not scalding, remove the chicken and let it drain in a colander over a bowl. Put the chicken aside and pour the rest of the saucepan contents through the colander into a bowl. This liquid is now a superb chicken stock.

Now, get the chicken gratin organised....

PREPARING THE GRATIN:

The gratin is rich and savoury but the mustard cuts it, so to speak. Lovely contrast between crusty, cheesy top and moist, creamy main part.

You will need...

The chicken, skinned, meat removed from bones, cut or torn into bite-sized pieces…

And the sauce, which goes like this. (If you don’t like mustard, try a sprig of tarragon very finely chopped or half a teaspoon of dried tarragon instead)

a knob of butter

2 onions, finely chopped

1 clove garlic, firmly squashed

250g button mushrooms, sliced

500ml double cream

1 tsp to 1 tbsp wholegrain mustard (according to taste)

salt

pepper

110g breadcrumbs

50g Grano Padano or other hard cheese, grated

Preheat the oven to 190ºC, gas mark 5.

Melt the butter in a pan, add the onions and garlic; turn the heat down and  cook gently until soft but not browning. Now add the mushrooms, turn up the heat and toss for 2 – 3 minutes.

Add the cream and cook for 3 minutes or until the cream slightly thickens. Now add the mustard and cook for 1 minute. Add the chicken, and allow to heat through. Season with salt and pepper, then pour into a shallow ovenproof dish. If the mixture is too thick or too dry, just add more cream or stock.

Mix the breadcrumbs and cheese together and sprinkle evenly over the top.

When you’re ready, pop it into the oven for 15 – 20 minutes, or until browned and bubbling.

MAKING THE WHOLE LEMON TART:

Pastry:

200g plain flour

115g butter

1 tbsp caster sugar
1 egg

Filling:

1 egg

2 unwaxed lemons

300ml water

2 eggs

225g sugar

Make the pastry. Put the flour into a mixing bowl and add the butter, cut into little cubes. With your fingers, mix the two together until it resembles sand. Stir in the caster sugar followed by the egg. Mix together and roll into a ball. If the mixture is too dry, add a teaspoon or two of water.  Wrap in clingfilm and put in the fridge for an hour or, ideally, overnight.

To make the filling, slice the lemons thinly, remove the pips and put into a saucepan with the water. Simmer, covered, for 30 – 40 minutes or until very tender. Uncover and, when cool, blitz in a food processor until quite smooth. Add the eggs and the sugar and pulse until thoroughly mixed.

Take the pastry from the fridge, roll it out and line a 24 cm tart tin (ideally one with a removable bottom), cover with greaseproof paper, fill with baking beans or rice and bake for 10 minutes. (The pastry has a tendency to break; just work it with your fingers so the base is thin and there are no holes! Think of it as a kind of Plasticene).

Remove the greaseproof paper and the baking beans. Pour the filling into the case, reduce the oven temperature to 160ºC, gas mark 3.

Bake the tart on the middle shelf for 30 – 40 minutes until the filling has risen and is just starting to colour.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool. Glaze the top with a little sugar syrup, if  you like, or sprinkle with icing sugar. This tart is best served warm rather than hot or stone cold, with, ideally, crème fraiche, or with lightly whipped cream.

MAKING THE SALAD:

This is the simplest salad you will ever make. So easy but the perfect foil for that rich, bubbling gratin.

1 large cos lettuce

I pink shallot, very finely siced

extra virgin olive oil

1 garlic clove, crushed

cider vinegar

a little Dijon mustard (optional)

Wash and spin the lettuce, discarding the coarser outer leaves. Put them in a salad bowl and sprinkle over the shallot. Combine the dressing ingredients in a jar (I like 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar, but it’s up to you…) Shake, pour over the salad and toss.

MAKING THE SOUP:

This is a soup only in a technical sense. It’s really the most delicious broth – light and packed with flavour – enriched with some slightly unexpected things. The name suggests it takes 15 minutes to make; it doesn’t – more like five.

You will need:

 the stock from the chicken

1 egg

50g Serrano ham slices

leaves from the bunch of parsley

salt

pepper

Hard-boil the egg. Boil  the stock until reduced to about 1 litre. Meanwhile, shell and finely chop the egg. Chop the parsley finely (if you have a mezzaluna, use it). Cut the Serrano ham into fine ribbons. Now, add all of these ingredients to the stock, check the seasoning and divide between four bowls. Serve right away.