Critters!

Contrary to appearances, the cookbook challenge has been progressing fairly well in March and April. Less successful, this time, have been my efforts at writing up my attempts. The Larousse buckwheat pancakes remain unblogged and photos of my sticky toffee pudding triumph languish unloved on my computer. The full write up will have to wait for a bi-monthly summary at the end of April. Instead, this is a note on one of my favourite books, which was put to use in respect of one of the craziest things one can cook: crayfish.

Crayfish occupy a special place in the Fork household. By opting to wed in sunny South Africa, we inadvertently started a trend in gluttonous one-upmanship. It all started the day after our wedding, when one of our friends decided a steak was not enough to satisfy his hangover-induced appetite, and chose to chase his meal with a whole crayfish on the side. At this point, I should point out that a South African crayfish is not one of these snappy, perky little Northern hemisphere blighters. A South African crayfish is a prehistoric, seafaring monster which more than makes a meal in it own right. What followed our friend's bold move was a week of everyone else trying to outdo him, which for all of us, at some point, meant eating a crayfish along with a steak. Fools.

Year of the oyster

The Earl Spencer, 260-262 Merton Road, SW18 5JL

Meal with lots of wine: £35 per head

One of the most interesting pieces of food writing I have ever read was an interview with Grant Achatz in which he recounted the process of regaining his sense of taste after his  treatment for advanced cancer of the tongue. In addition to being an incredibly inspiring story, I was fascinated by the revelation that he regained his sense of taste in stages that seemed roughly akin to the process of learning to distinguish tastes as a child - beginning, as we all do, with a recognition of sweet things. 

On the cusp of my fourth decade, I am relieved to find that my sense of taste is still constantly evolving; albeit in a more prosaic and less life-changing way. This isn't limited to the serious matters, such as discovering that big hair is back, but extends into eating; where brief periods of obsession drive a long term shift in my preferences. Generally, this process leads to me discovering that I adore something I was previously only indifferent to and, recently, it has seemed like every passing year is marked by a new favourite. In 2009, it was pickles and, to a lesser extent, ale. Last summer was flavoured with grilled lamb's kidneys and a search for increasingly dry ciders. This year, it's oysters and, in particular, bars with oysters.

Something fishy

Wright Brothers Soho, 13 Kingly St, W1B 5BW

Meal for two: £65

It is not unusual for a fledgling gourmand to have a favourite restaurant critic, someone who writes in a manner that captures the not-so-secret desires of their fundamentally greedy soul. Last year, Gourmet Chick  wrote about her respect for Marina O'Loughlin. For me, it is all about Jay Rayner: a man who expounds the virtues of lard and generally shuns bland or faffy food and stingy, ungenerous cooks. It is not surprising, therefore, that I wish I had read his review of the new Wright Brothers place in Soho before I chose it as the place to celebrate a good friend's engagement. 

Just as Rayner observed, food was generally good, if occasionally overpriced, but the holes in the service were so big, a colossal squid could have shimmied straight through them. What he criticised in December had not been put right by January. And, as he speculated in his review, we probably lost out for being civilians and not well-known food writers.