A bit of a scoop at HEL YES!

HEL YES! at night, picture courtesy of www.helyes.fi

I must admit to feeling a little worse for wear this morning. My hangover has nothing to do with yesterday's brunch venue, HEL YES! a Finnish pop-up restaurant in Islington. It has, however, everything to do with being Finnish. Which sort of makes sense?

We didn't touch this stuff, thank God...

With a good dose of sisu, a Finnish character trait which can best be described as foolhardy determination, Husband and I, plus some very good friends, drank through the day after a most excellent (albeit a little sparse) meal at the warehouse just off City Road in London where Finnish designers and chefs have created a magical restaurant on a theme of foraging.

The temporary kitchen

There were birch tree canopies above the tables, signs and artwork made out of twigs adorned the walls of the warehouse, with contemporary Finnish design by Klaus Haapaniemi, the Creative Director of HEL YES!, in evidence everywhere.

The scene when we arrived

Birch twigs put to good use.

The bar area was canopied with the softest silk cashmere blankets in a new design by Klaus Haapaniemi. I want one now! 

Detail from Klaus Haapaniemi's design

The Iittala and Arabia crockery at the restaurant was sourced from donations made by the Finnish public. The food on offer was equally wild and earthy: I had white fish tartare followed by wild mushroom hash with a poached egg. Both dishes were excellent, but the portions were so small we were all relieved there was pudding to come. I had something which took me back to being seven again: whipped raspberry semolina. My grandmother (she of the leopard print habit) used to make it out of lingonberries, a slightly more tart and smaller version of cranberries. I'd have a bowlful with cold milk after school, and it was the best thing for a fussy eater: I rarely could stomach school food, but that's another much longer tale. Others at the table had a liquorice dessert. I love anything liquorice and wish I'd been able to have both, but I'd tasted a similar dish at my very favourite London restaurant, St John's Bread and Wine, so I had to choose the semolina.

My only regret (apart from the frolicking yesterday after the meal) was that we didn't get to sit on one of the canopied round smaller tables on Alvar Aalto chairs. We were such a large group we had a long birch table with benches, the kind of dining room furniture I have always despised.

Our friendly Maitre'D

Brunching at the same time as us at the HEL YES! restaurant was Helena Puolakka, Executive Chef of Skylon restaurant at the Royal Festival Hall. (We were in good company.) And a little bird told me that she's planning to open her own place. I've thought for a long time that there's a real gap in the London food scene for a Nordic restaurant. With her considerable experience having worked with the likes of Pierre Koffmann and Gordon Ramsey, together with her talent for creating fresh tastes with traditional Finnish ingredients, Helena is the perfect person to open such a place. I do hope it'll be soon. Husband said Helena should serve a sillis in her new restaurant for Sunday brunch. The lady just laughed - I'm not sure a breakfast of raw fish and vodka would suit everyone's palette here in the UK, even though it'd be such a lot of fun for us. But there was a more enthusiastic approach to crayfish parties from the chef; she even claimed that the best crayfish in the UK come from our very own county of Wiltshire.

'Should have set up that crayfish farm after all,' Husband sighed as we walked out of the very Finnish bubble that was HEL YES! But I'm glad we didn't. I've now become such a townie that the thought of having to wear wellies every day to babysit aggressive crayfish whose only aim in life is to kill each other made me shudder. I'll just wait for Helena's restaurant to open and get my crayfish neatly served on a plate.

A crayfish party for two

'I've never had a crafish in such polite society,' said husband as the friendly waitress tied our bibs on and asked if we wished to order some schnapps. We looked at each other and smiled. 'Of course,' he said.

We were sitting at a window table in a restaurant called von Knorring in Mariehamn's East Harbour. We'd picked out one of the few days it rained on Åland during our holiday to go out to dinner a deux. The town was deserted, partly because the season was coming to an end and the tourists were leaving, partly because of the weather, and partly because the islands' most famous philanthropist and business mogul was hosting a concert in his acres of prime coast-line in Järsö. Some 3,000 people attended the charity concert in aid of The Baltic Fund. That's a lot of people for Mariehamn.

Indigo, a popular cafe/restaurant/bar - empty.

But to our surprise von Knorring was full. We'd heard from the locals that the food was good here, and obviously a few other people thought so too. I saw online the restaurant on board a steamer was serving crayfish and  immediately phoned to pre-ordered some for us. (The season officially starts in early August). After a few moments a plateful of native Åland river crayfish arrived at our table, smelling of the sea and decorated with dill flowers. Then two glasses of chilled Marskin Ryyppy were placed in front of us, followed by two glasses of locally brewed beer, Stallhagen.

I can still taste them.

We had a rainy view of Österhamn - the East Harbour in Mariehamn

While the rain poured down outside, we chose our first crayfish. They were fresh-tasting, large and delicious. The brine was just right, not too salty or sweet. The dill was fresh and the cumin-spiced cheese, traditionally eaten on toast with crayfish, was excellent.

Me tasting the crayfish

Then it was time to taste the schnapps. Husband raised his glass, leaned across the table and in a low voice started singing,

Helan går

I joined him, in a whisper. Not because I was embarrassed but because I really, truly cannot sing. But it seems it's physically impossible not to sing when taking schnapps with or without crayfish, whether in public or not.

Sjung hopp faderallan lallan lej

Helan går

   Sjung hopp faderallan lej

Och den som inte helan tar 

Han heller inte halvan får

Helan går

We drank the purest tasting vodka there is and continued,

Sjung hopp faderallan lej

The post-schnapps beer to dull the hit...

Strangely the other diners hardly batted an eyelid as time after time we sang our schnapps songs. There were a few envious glances directed at the crayfish but none at us. We left the restaurant happy and just a little worst for wear. The town was still deserted so we decided to head back to Lemland where a bottle of champagne somehow got opened and drunk. 

The Esplanaden. This was 11 pm on a Saturday night in early August...

Oh, I wish I was still on holiday!

Scary is not the word for it...and what I wore.

Over the weekend, half of which I spent in sunny NW London, we got the news that our move from the 'country paradise' (called that by the local rag in their 'The House of the Week' -feature) is more imminent than we anticipated. This, I keep telling myself, is wholly good news and not at all scary.

But there are things I'm going to miss, like this view (above).

I've written before about how strange it is to move from a house where for the past 15 years you've watched your children grow. A time which seemed to have flown by; yet so much happened during it. When we moved here, away from it all, I felt this house was a little bit of Finland for me. Here we built ourselves a Finnish sauna cottage ('Nordic log cabin' according to the paper), here I could watch the stars at night surrounded by total silence. Here in the garden I planted a Finnish midsummer rose - a gift from a very good friend. Here I could organise loud crayfish parties, accompanied by drinking songs, without any complaints from the neighbours about noise or stray crayfish shells and claws on the lawn. Here I could grow proper dill and pickling cucumbers to create almost Finnish type salt gherkins. Here the occasional snowfall rendered the fields almost ski-friendly. Here I could celebrate Christmas Eve in the Finnish way, quietly, pretending the last minute shopping for presents wasn't going on all around me, teaching the children that Christmas is about family, good food and peace.

As I begin to realise the enormity of the physical and practical task of moving (we seem to have twice as many items of everything from beds to sofas to fridges we'll need in our new down-sized life) I try to contain my emotions. On Saturday, when we got the news while driving down the M4, I first wanted to cry, then laugh, then cry again. I controlled myself until Son, on hearing the news said, 'It's OK Mum, we're not exactly children any more.' It was that simple statement that made me finally crack. His words made me realise that there was no going back. That in spite of me, time marches on and there's nothing any of us can do but to get used to it. I have to embrace change, embrace our new life. And it's not as if I haven't wanted to move out of the country and into the city for years. But while a part of me is elated, the other part is heart-broken.

Now I won't say any more about this as it's all still going on and anything strange could yet happen to change the situation. So instead, I'll post a picture of me on our way to the party. As you can see JPG won the day.

  

To say the party lived up to its expectations is the understatement of the year. And the choice of dress was down to the tee. Many thanks for your advice and encouragement, my lovely blogging friends. I will not now dare to attend any fine function without your good opinions. 

Why, you're almost like real friends not just virtual ones!  

August is for Crayfish

I must confess I have no idea where the tradition for crayfish in Sweden and later Finland comes from. (I hope I've got this the right way around, else I'll have a lynching by Finnish friends, and possibly a deportation order, when I next step off the plane at Helsinki to look forward to.)


All I know is that when I was a little girl, come 1st of August my Father and his friends went off to the river with a strange net basket and bag clanking with bottles (I'd like to think it was beer but fear it may have been vodka) and tried to catch the little fighty devils. They were seldom very successful and we ended up with the bought variety.




Bringing the angry, live crayfish home from market in a brown cardboard box was a frightening experience. As I held them I jumped every time I heard their claws striking the edge of the box, and each other, in a vain attempt to escape. Even then, I was a complete coward when it came to wildlife. I've tried to keep away from anything untamed and dangerous since (not counting men), but I do love a home cooked crayfish.


As well as eating the overnight marinated crayfish, the Finnish/Swedish tradition involves a quantity of dill, toasted bread and cheese. Oh yes, and a few glasses of vodka. And some drinking songs.

Even though in the UK we could get crayfish other times of the year, we like August, and so our annual crayfish party was held a couple of weeks ago. We get the crayfish from a wonderful man who fishes them in a clean, fast flowing stream, leaving the fish naturally washed and ready to cook. But first they have to be transported home, something I no longer get involved in, and leave it to the men of the house. Oddly this arrangement has worked for years now.


When they arrive, we try to cook them straight away. I supervise. I really do not like to get my fingers bitten. Do you see how very unsuited I am to this good life in the country?


However eating them, while singing and drinking vodka, I excel in.