Richmond's Bingham bags its star

Congratulations to the Bingham Hotel Restaurant (reviewed 1.9.09) and Chef Shay Cooper for capturing that Michelin star I reported they were chasing last summer. This year's honours list granted them the accolade, even as it took one away from the much feted Gordon Ramsay.

The Bingham is offering recipients of their customer newsletter free champagne throughout February to toast their success, which is a lovely piece of customer care. I'm also delighted to see that prices have not, as yet, skyrocketed as predicted. At the moment they're offering a four course rugby lunch for £48. Not bad at all; may need to go back.

Madsen's gives bright and elegant intro to Danish food

My boyfriend is half Danish and, as such, has naturally been taking an interest in introducing me to Danish culture. There was not much to build on, I'm afraid, as the sum total of my awareness was derived from Hans Christian Andersen, Hamlet, pastries and comedienne Sandi Tostvig.

In-depth lesson No. 1: Food. Location: Madsen Restaurant.

This was entirely new territory. I've never been to (or even contemplated) a Danish restaurant, and had only the sketchiest understanding of Scandinavian food. I knew pickled fish was involved. And had been further educated that schnapps, beer and highly decorative sandwiches were key. I wasn't sure how you got a whole cuisine out of this, much less a restaurant, but I was willing to give it a try.

First impressions were good. Madsen is just across the broad intersection from South Kensington tube station, a small, bright place decorated with pale wood, and sleek lines and bright flowers. It was a refreshing change from the heavy, grey winter outside. The staff were all willowy Nordic beauties in black cotton uniforms who looked more like spa attendants than waitresses. The menu was broad and, it turns out, more familiar than you'd think. Meatballs, smoked salmon and cream cheese, waffles.

We started with a platter of three types of herring ... pickled in onion, madeira and mustard marinades ... served with dark rye bread, sour cream and a condiment similar to the beaten yolks of deviled eggs. This was my first foray into pickled fish, and I have to admit I found sweet fish to be too odd to love on first encounter; they were sugary enough to approach dessert. The side of schnapps certainly helped. Though it too, was sweet, the alcohol had a clarity that cut through the sugar of the food. Although odd, the tastes were pleasant, especially the medeira version, and the rye bread was fantastic. I thought that with enough experimenting to get the additional toppings right, I could find something I really liked.

Thus it was sensible for me to have the experts combine the elements for just the right balance of tastes on the next course. Although Madsen's menu listed plenty of hot entrees, everyone (including us) was indulging in the Danish Smørrebrød, open sandwiches on thin, dark rye bread with a variety of toppings. And though the menu calls these small sandwiches, they're almost better described as canapes, as they are exquisitely designed and constructed light bites. We had four each: thinly-sliced beef with remoulade, topped with crispy onions, pickled cucumbers and mayonnaise on more of that delicious rye bread; Greenland prawns and hard boiled eggs on sourdough with mayonnaise; smoked pork loin with tomato, potato and mayo; potato and crispy onion on more rye with mayo. Each was exquisite on the eye, laid out in delicate pinwheels or carefully designed towers. Evidently, chefs get extensive training to create such artistry, much along the lines of a Japanese sushi chef. (Perhaps that was what was in the Madsen menu writer's mind when he decided to call their small bites "smushi".)

A culture that likes its fish starters sweet is likely to do desserts well, and I wasn't disappointed to be presented with a chocolate sandwich. More rye bread, covered with a slab of what was essentially chocolate fudge, topped with a preserved fig. Simple and inelegant in description, it looked just as delicate as its predecessors and tasted absolutely fantastic.

As an introduction to Danish and broader Scandinavian cuisine, Madsen was a success. I've been educated, impressed, and my curiousity is piqued for further exploration. Although I'm not sure I'd put the place on my regular restaurant rotation. Much like tapas bars and conveyor belt sushi places, all these exquisite little plates add up quickly. If you start hungry, you'll potentially spend more here to get satisfied than you would for a regular three-course meal. For a break in the normal round of restaurants, however, and especially for a light and healthy lunch break from the nearby South Kensington museums, Madsen's deserves a try.

South London's Borough Market is even sweeter after nearly a fortnight snowed in

The winter of 1985 found me in Muskegon, Michigan, working as a general assignment reporter on The Chronicle as part of my University degree. It was a town that knew how to do winter.

It snowed a little most nights. Each morning before work, business and home owners would fire up their snow blowers to clear walks, drives and parking. Snow plows kept the streets fairly clear, but there always seemed to be snow packed below. Not a problem, as everyone had heavy duty snow tires or chains. It was bitterly cold, and by late January the accumulated snow was at least waist deep. This didn't keep the Michiganders inside: ice fishing, snow shoeing, cross country skiing and a lot of drinking at Muskegon Lumberjack ice hockey games were all promoted to me as ideal uses of recreational time.

I've been thinking about that winter a lot, given the comparison of this one. London in January 2010 is experiencing a winter everyone is heralding as the worst in living memory; it's been below freezing for the better part of a month, and we've been hit by multiple snowfalls. This, however, is a town that has no idea how to manage.

I suppose I was quite lucky to get home from Heathrow, given the fact that none of the side roads had been ploughed and sheets of black ice lay everywhere. In the following two weeks I barely left the house. One of the advantages of flexible working is that I don't need to, of course, but it was getting pretty lonely after a week. There was a limit, however, to how long I could survive out of cupboards and freezer. But the news was keeping me indoors, with stories of motorists stranded for hours, impassible roads and halted public transport.

The first time I ventured out in a car I almost got stuck in a slushy verge, while the only time I had to go into London the announcement on the train platform told me that I traveled at my own risk, with no guarantee they could get me home. By 4pm, 80 per cent of the trains out of Waterloo were cancelled and I felt quite fortunate to stumble through my door with an extra hour of travel time.

All this from a couple of snowfalls, none of which topped three inches, and temperatures that never got much below 30F/-1C. In Michigan, the idea of these conditions causing trouble would be laughable. But in a country that has no equipment, nor any idea of how to deal snow, it's been a mess.

Thus it felt like a holiday yesterday when it was not only clear enough to get into town easily, but to go out to a friend's dinner party in Chiswick that night with assurance that we'd make it home. Being in London on a Friday gave me a chance to swing by Borough Market. London's premier specialty food and produce market, in the shadow of Southwark Cathedral, really only swings into action on Fridays and Saturdays. This is a foodie paradise. Specialist bakeries offer bewildering ranges of breads and sweet treats. Produce stands display the best of the best, arranged in displays like piles of glittering jewels. Ethnic booths offer food from Spain, Italy, France, the Middle East and Asia. Here an olive vendor, there a specialist pork butcher, there a booth with nothing but boutique ales and beers. Free samples abound, and if you're feeling more peckish, there's street food on sale throughout the market and restaurants ringing it.

For me, however, the real edge of this market is its cheeses. Most of the rest of these delights you can find in suburbia, but getting this cheese range anywhere else is rare. Knowing I'd be able to stop by the market, I'd volunteered to assemble the cheese board for the evening's party. I think I got pretty close to perfection.

First, Pouligny St. Pierre, a bready, delicate, almost floral goat cheese from the French Alps. It is my favourite cheese in the world, rare in France much less beyond, so getting my hands on one of the little pyramids with its lopped top was a find. Next came a pungent ewe's milk cheese, also from France. I neglected to save the name of that one, and it was something I'd never heard of, but the guys at the French cheese stall guided and sampled me to an excellent selection. Then it was time to jump the Channel. On to the Bournes Cheese stand, purveyors of a variety of aged cheddars made to what they claim is the oldest cheese recipe on record in England. I also picked up one of their Bries to fill the mild end of the board. Finally, the sumptuous Stichelton. This is essentially Stilton, but unpasteurised and made to the original recipe, as opposed to all modern Stiltons that must go through modern pasteurisation processes. The result has all the pungent tang of the blue we know, but accompanied by much creamier, richer back notes.

Two weeks confined to the house, unable to do my usual walking because of the iced roads. Followed by a cheese board direct from heaven. Is it any wonder I didn't perform well at Weight Watchers this morning? The thaw, and the diet, are coming.

borough market, the perfect cheese board

Christmas in LA is all about the kids, but still manages to offer some grown up pleasures

I come from a small family, the maternal side of which has dwindled to just a pair of progeny: my cousin's 8- and 3-year-old boys. Given my mother's fragile health, a big family Christmas was at the top of the priority list.

This has never happened before. The family is closer than some, more distant than others, but for a variety of reasons Christmas has generally been a quiet holiday spent with just me and my mother in Florida, England or St. Louis. This year, however, it was LA. As I walked out of LAX into the brilliant sunshine, contemplated the rotten weather in London and succumbed to the temptation to upgrade to a convertible. I had to admit: this was nice.

Obviously, with two kids in the prime Santa zone, Christmas was all about them. We spent a festive Christmas Eve making gingerbread houses. (An art form at which I, clearly, do not excel. At least I had local colour; my house looked like an earthquake victim.) We then feasted on my mother's home made pizza, with dough, cheese and pepperoni all carried from specialty shops in St. Louis. Christmas day was about mounds of presents for the little guys and the admiration of my cousin's impressive Christmas displays. Boxing Day saw us at Disney on Ice, where I was perhaps more fascinated by marketing that could get parents to pay $12 for a snow cone (in a specialty cup, of course) than I was by show itself.

Fast forward to New Year's day and we found ourselves at the Rose Bowl parade. This, of course, was in theory for the kids ... but the adults lapped up every minute. Like most Americans, I have watched this annual event on television since early childhood, marveling at the amazing mobile displays covered entirely with flowers and organic materials. As it's broadcast nationally from the West Coast, this meant an early start: On a bus at 5:30 to travel to Pasadena, wind through the crowds and get settled before the 8am kick off. But it was worth it. Floats of beauty, complexity and humour glided by, separated by excellent marching bands and showy contingents of equestrians in themed costumes. Pirate ships, airplanes, stadium models, Chinese warriors and more drifted by. My favourite float, without doubt, was Natural Balance pet food's ski jumping bulldogs. Yes, real, live dogs, standing on snowboards, sliding down an artificial slope along the entirety of the parade route. Priceless. I didn't manage to get a great photo, but you can check out someone else's video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeuAmYpCjoI.

My most guilty childish pleasure of the trip? My introduction to Balboa Bars. Balboa Island is a strip of shockingly expensive real estate lying off the coast of Orange County. You take a small, traditional car ferry over and are greeted with shopping and dining streets of great charm, almost New England-like, interspersed between streets of "beach cottages" that go for millions. And in the midst of this well heeled luxury you will find two humble ice cream stands battling for the coveted title of best Balboa Bar. And what is this delight? A rectangle of vanilla ice cream on a stick, dipped in hot molten chocolate that hardens just after it's dredged through the topping of your choice. My cousin favours Dad's Donuts rather than Sugar and Spice in this war, and though I didn't comparison taste, I find it hard to believe much of anything could be better than Dad's combo bar, encrusted with a mix of nuts, oreos, butter brickle and chocolate sprinkles. Thank God I live 5,000 miles away from this place, because this was too delicious for restraint.

We left the kids at home for a few grown up foodie pleasures, of course. On the more humble end, I indulged my Mexican cravings at El Burrito Junior, still my all-time favourite taco stand and better than the majority of "proper" Mexican restaurants anywhere. We made several visits to Captain Kidd's fresh seafood market, where they'll cook up anything they sell while you wait.

While we nibbled on sushi throughout the visit, Yamashiro served it up in the most spectacular setting. It's a Japanese palace, built in 1911 by some early Hollywood moguls to house their Asian art collection. In the '20s it became a social club for the greats of the early film industry. It fell into disrepair after WWII, when all things Japanese were shunned, and has been lovingly restored over the past 30 years. It is a magnificent building, with teak beams, gilt accents, sliding panels, tile roofs, an interior courtyard with Japanese gardens and more gardens surrounding the outside. The walls facing Hollywood, LA and the ocean are almost entirely glass, providing a magical view. And the sushi? Excellent, though you're without doubt paying a premium for the setting. As with most Californian sushi spots, they have an array of gorgeous, complex and ingredient-loaded rolls. My favourite was the Darth Vader: spicy tuna, cucumber, avocado, black rice and spicy mayo. Though the Californication (spicy tuna, california roll, soy roasted shishito pepper, eel sauce) and the wacky Hawaii Five-O (spicy yellowtail, mango, macadamia nuts, toasted coconut, soy paper) were in tight competition. I'd definitely come back here, preferably during the day so I could explore the gardens.

My favourite evening out, however, was New Year's Eve at Baleen at the Portofino Inn; an exquisite conjunction of setting, food, wine and beloved company. The dining room sits in a separate building on the King Harbor Marina, thus avoiding the institutional feel that some hotel restaurants have. You climb a flight of stairs to arrive in a waterfront pavilion, a surprisingly dark, luxurious and cosy interior despite the expanse of windows and the watery view. Even though it was a cool night, the windows to the Marina were thrown open, the chill kept at bay by a roaring fire. Clearly, best to go for a layered look when visiting at this time of year, however, because the room temperature varied considerably between fire (blazing) and window seat (a bit chilly).

A set menu was the only option for the holiday, but this wasn't a problem as the options looked fantastic and the price ($50 per person, $65 with wine) was fair. Though I would happily have paid a little more for the wine flight in order to get bigger glasses; it was truly just a taster.

I started with the pan friend foie gras with scallop, though I was mightily tempted by the lump crab wrapped in marinated cucumber with winter vegetables. The man gave me a bite of the latter, which was excellent ... but not as celebratory as my foie gras. The chef had paired this course with an Australian viognier that was crisp enough to complement the crab, yet had enough sweet notes to work well with the the liver. For the main, I went with the lobster tail while the man opted for the rib eye, which they did manage to get almost as rare as he likes it. Both dishes were both packed with flavour and beautifully presented. Oddly, however, the chef had decided on a blend of malbec, cabernet and syrah (Justin - Savant) to pair both dishes. Fantastic with the beef but it overpowered the delicate lobster terribly. I topped up the man's glass with mine, then ordered more of the previous course's viognier, which worked beautifully. Dessert was a trio of chocolate delicacies, beautifully served and melt-in-the-mouth tasty.

This was fine dining on a level I hadn't previously found in the laid back, casual world that is the South Bay of Los Angeles. On par with any fine restaurant in London, it gets my highest foodie recommendation for anyone visiting the area. And it was a fine way to celebrate the turn of the year.