Rafa’s is a hole in the wall in the city of Roses. Roses itself is really not much to shout about. Another fishing village whose former charm has been eroded by mass tourism. Just up the hill from the tourist trap is the most famous restaurant in the world: El Bulli, home of the molecularly culinary genius Ferran Adria. But we shan’t talk about him today. We shall talk about the restaurant that Adria calls his favourite, where a husband and wife team produce the most splendid food on one griddle (aka “la plancha”) and a couple of store bought Tefal pans. We had booked a table for lunch the day after our 30 course El Bulli extravaganza and as Spain lives on a different lunch time zone from the rest of the world, Rafa’s doesn’t open until one thirty. We repaired to a little Bodega, ordered what seemed like the roughest Xerez (that’s pretentious for Sherry, by the way) and were given Pan amb tomaquet, or something similar sounding: fresh bread, lightly oiled, grilled by the grumpy owner, rubbed with a ripe tomato (a thing entirely unknown in KL) and served with Bellota, the ham that stops time.

Now, a funny thing happened after I ate a little of the bread and a fair amount of the ham. Suddenly the sherry blossomed into the most perfect accompaniment I’d ever tasted. Gone was the roughness, washed away by the fat of that ham, the sweet acidity of the tomato, soaked entirely away by the dark brown peasant bread. I realised was drinking the best sherry I had ever tasted. I looked at the owner who had recommended it and though I may be imagining this, I swear I detected a little smile on the taciturn man as he looked at these fools that had judged his sherry too early.

Off to Rafa’s we went and were most affably greeted by Mr. Rafa’s wife. We sat down and were told that we would have to wait a bit. The seafood was just being brought in by the fishermen. First came the clams. The tiny, briny purple ones arrived at our table after Rafa had quickly popped them on the plancha, salted and peppered them, tossed them unceremoniously onto a plate and given them to us. One bite and the gates of heaven opened wide, the angels plucked lyres and rivers of milk and honey flowed without bound. Bulli was clever, interesting, amusing and entirely wothwhile, but here was an encounter with produce so superior, simple and clean, it took our breath away. We were eating dish after dish cooked in excatly the same simple way and yet each was completely distinct from the other. One clam dish followed the other, five in a row, yet if I had closed my eyes you could have convinced me that one was veal and the other frog legs, so different and exciting were they in texture and flavour.

In my mind we never stopped eating and I am still there, waiting for the next fisherman to bring the next catch, sharing another bottle with the friends sitting around the table, all of us laughing at our extreme good fortune.

I have been terribly slack with my blog, but I was completely bogged down with work. There’s still a million and one things to sort out at the bar and we’re feverishly working on a completely new menu for the restaurant. Sneak preview coming up here soon. But that’s not what I was going to say. I was at a (non-Italian, I hasten to add) restaurant the other day and ordered a large salad. Now I’m not a vegetarian nor am I likely to ever become one, I’m just too fat and need to live like a grazing animal for most of the time, so I can pig out occasionally. This not being a pigging out occasion, I ordered said (and as you will find out sad) salad.

The thing arrives and is once again… Submerged in balsamic vinegar. WHAT IS IT WITH THE BLOODY STUFF?? Let me put it down once and for all: I HATE balsamic vinegar. Most of the time anyway. I mean it’s got its place and time (far away, hopefully in both place AND time), but why has every restaurant in town and in most of the after all not so civilised world conspired to bore the living daylights out of us? The damn thing has such a strong flavour it never takes second place to anything it covers. Most of the time I would actually like to taste the leaves if I have to eat the friggin things, at least let me taste them.

Right, I’m calm again. I nicely asked whether they could bring me another salad (entirely willing to pay for this one as well) with vinaigrette on the side. One the side because most restaurants in KL believe that a salad is actually a leaf soup. Not leaves covered lightly with just enough dressing, but pools of dressing with a few leaves swimming in it. What, you ask is just enough. Easy: If you finish eating the salad and there’s still enough vinaigrette on your plate to mop with a piece of bread (yes, even a single one!), then your salad was OVERDRESSED!!! “Vinaigrette?” said my affable waiter and went to check with chef what that might be…

 None was to be found he told me. And that leads me to the question: WhatEVER happened to good, plain old vinaigrette? The knowledge of how to make one has been lost to the world. Balsamic Advertising has been so successful that no other vinegar has survived. In restaurants at least! So; Being the complete prat that I am, I asked for oil, vinegar (white wine, red wine, cider, I’m not fussy. Much) salt, pepper. Success?? Nope, apart from an old bottle of Chinese pickling vinegar, the balsamic ruled supreme!

 So here the recipe for a simple vinaigrette (this makes a lot, give it to everyone you meet):

100ml olive oil
200ml canola oil (or any other tastefree oil)
100ml white wine (or red wine) vinegar
2 little shallots, finely chopped
salt & a little black pepper

Put in jar, shake and leave to stand for an hour. Pour on and eat.

Note: I am not of the widely touted opinion that vinaigrette is best when just mixed. In my not normally humble opinion, it is better after the flavours have matured for a bit, so there.

Remember the long haired girl that used to work at Frangipani? Well, she and her Italian partner (he of the white hair) have opened a restaurant just down the road from us. It serves, surprise, surprise… Italian Food. A simple, unpretentious place that incorporates the pig into many of its dishes. I’ve eaten there three times and every time it has been excellent. I don’t just say this. The pizzas are really great, (though I still have to try the bacon and soft runny egg one) and the other day, Andrea (that’s the white haired one) made a pot stew of fresh mussels and clams with a little saffron broth that we shared and that next time I’m going to eat all on my own.

Steak’s really good and juicy too (almost as good as the Frangi one, well… almost) On my list of must tries is the wild boar cutlet. I’ve done the wild boar papardelle, which were excellent. Just one piece of advice: Don’t order the frito misto if you’re on your own and think you just want to nibble. It’s humongous and you’ll need at least two hungry friends to help you through it, or your liver will never forgive you.

Address:
Chiaroscuro, Grd Fl 38 Bidara, 30 Jalan Bedara Tel.: 03 21448006