Greedy Diva Gets Her Noggin on a Cereal Box - Jordans Country Crisp Appreciation Society

If you've been paying attention, you will have noticed this is largely a blog about restaurants.

However, I reserve the right to muse whimsically about any food related moment that comes my way. That includes my recently attempted one night stand with a dim sim.

And now it shall also include the fact that I recently had my grinning mug put on on a box of cereal. (A lovely Christmas present for the The Peanut Gallery, without the need to hit the shops - things were looking up.) Unfortunately, the folks at Jordans did not see fit to put said box in wider circulation than my own kitchen. What a kick in the guts. (Although, "understandable", The Peanut Gallery tells me consolingly as he stares at the box with a slightly freaked out expression.)

I never ate breakfast at all until I started working in an office, and now it has simply faded into the first part of my standard "cannot think, type or make any kind of decision unless chewing" routine. There's a breakfast window - don't put anything near me before 9am (unless I'm still on my way home, in which case make it a souva), and anything after 12pm becomes lunch.

However, during the breakfast window, I'll eat like a lion with a hangover. Give me pizza, burger or last night leftovers - I'll take them. Even cold. I just stop short of mouldy. As a standard/lazy position at home, it's hard to beat warm toast or crumpets with loads of melting butter and a smattering of Vegemite, but I might branch out wildly and mix things up a bit with some avocado on toast, or (on health kick days) granola and muesli. Or porridge (plain, with yoghurt) or mushy Vita Brits (baby food consistency is best). Anything that's not too sweet - unless it involves pancakes or I am in France, in which case I'm sure to have a craving for pain au chocolat or an almond croissant. And I haven't even started on my favourite breakfasts around town.

So, when at home, I like a nutty, crunchy, not too sweet cereal that's got a bit of a granola character about it. Which brings me to my point. Before Christmas (yes, I've been a little tardy), I was invited along with some other fine food bloggers to attend Leith's School of Food and Wine for a Jordans Country Crisp Appreciation Society food fest. There, Jordans and the lovely gang from the Wild Card PR company fed me up with coffee (very wise at such an early hour - someone must have warned them), juice, cereal and fresh fruits, and entrusted me use the rather professional looking utensils to bake a pear and cereal cake (not an innate GD skill - they make nice cakes at Princi, afterall. Think the Swedish chef on the Muppets let loose in a professional kitchen, and you'll have caught my drift.)

To my intense shock, I found the whole baking saga surprisingly therapeutic, and managed not to fling too many bits of stray pear onto the winty woolies of my accomplices, Ginger Gourmand, Kavey Eats and Food Urchin. I became at one with that mixer, as I chopped, mixed and whirled like a Japanese iron chef. So inspired was I, that I even bought myself a new pair of beaters leading up to Christmas - although it may be telling that they have since been used only to make alcoholic beverages (a lovely Christmas eggnog).

I enjoyed an enlightening speech by Bill Jordan on the ethos and family history of the company. Jordans is committed to producing its products without added salt, unseemly amounts of sugar and in a conservation friendly manner. Its oats are grown by British farmers who subscribe to a Conservation Grade scheme. (See more on Jordan's mission here in this week's article in The Telegraph).

An educative session from Kirsten (Head of Taste - love the title) on the complex making of cereal followed (seriously - who would have guessed there was so much to it? I've been taking my cereal makers for granted), before we rolled up the sleeves and dug in to create our own cereal blends. And I must say (ahem) I believe I may have uncovered a new GD talent. The mix of 9 parts nuts to 1 part cereal (no dried berry bits or chocolate flakes), was an award winning combo.

For more on the day, you can check out some other posts here (by Kavey Eats), here (by The Muesli Lover) and here (by Apple and Spice).

Thanks to Jordans and Wild Card for your hospitality, a great day and a lovely stash of cereal which I've been munching on since, as a fine accompaniment to my daily Vegemite fix.

So. What do you like for breakfast? Is my leftovers habit really that disgusting (I already know what you think, TPG). C'mon admit it - you sneak in a bit of cold curry in the mornings, don't you? Don't you?

Beard Papa, Soho (London)

I had never before seen a grown man thrust his entire head into a pastry. Then came the day The Peanut Gallery discovered Beard Papa. Since then, I swear I am sometimes woken up at 4am as Peanut fitfully shakes his head from side to side in his sleep, burrow frowed, muttering "Beard Papa, Beard Papa....".

Beard Papa is a Japanese bakery which specialises in cream puffs. It started out in Osaka in 1997, and like all good Japanese fads, has spread around the world. Specifically, in our case, it is conveniently positioned at the scraggly end of Oxford Street in London.

Its cream puffs are billowing clouds of creamy-custardy heaven.  They look a bit like giant profiteroles with custard cream overflowing from the edges. Decadent and delicious, they are the perfect dirty little secret.

The custard cream is more creamy than eggy - lightened by fresh cream and made delectable by vanilla bean. All this whipped up creamy goodness is encrusted in a puffy layer of choux pastry. Scrumptious.

There are ever changing flavours of the day, like green tea and chocolate. But I'm a traditionalist when it comes to custard cream (and creme brulee) so nothing will ever surpass the rapture of the original vanilla puff. Oh, they sell other things too. But when you can see your cream puff being freshly made, and a never ending stream of cream is squirted in before your eyes, there really is no other option.

Cream puffs are £1.30 (plus an extra 10p for the flirtatious flavour of the day). A tad hefty for a puff, but totally worth it if you want to come over to my place and see a grown man diving head first into one.

Beard Papa, 143 Oxford Street, Soho, London W1D 2JB

Princi, Soho (London)

When I think Milan, I don't think Gucci, Prada, Armani. I think Princi. (Ok, I also think veal milanese and the best red wine I have ever tasted, but that's another posting).

It was a cool, overcast day in March 2008 when The Peanut Gallery and I, feet aching from endless hours spent trodding the well worn, cobblestoned streets of Milano's shopping district, stumbled upon a breathtaking bakery. In a trancelike state, we were forcibly drawn, mouths agape, into its bounty of loaves, cakes and delights both savoury and sweet. Like greedy piglets at the trough, we ate everything - pizza, bread, sausage rolls, pastry, cake. All at once and in no particular order, we devoured, pillaged, ransacked and consumed, leaving in our wake nothing but a scattering of crumbs at our feet and a trail of grease around our lips. This is my lasting and most pleasant memory of Milan.

So it was a certain amount of gluttonous anticipation that we watched the familiar Princi layout spring up in Soho last year. Could it be the same one? If it was, would we ever be able to look down and see our feet again?

And so it was that Rocco Princi, famed as the "Armani of bread", teamed up with Alan Yau, the man behind Wagamama, Busaba Eathai, Hakkasan, Yautcha and Cha Cha Moon, to bring the Milanese baker's delights to London last year.

Helen and Suzi joined me there late on Friday night, after our invigorating Italian feast at a nearby eatery. We simply followed the drool up Wardour Street, passed the noses pressed up to the glass and stepped into the buzzing throng that is London's Princi.

For the food lover, Princi looks like food porn. The counter runs along the left hand side of the restaurant with giant bread ovens and shiny loaves in the background. It is stocked up first with Italian pastries, then a glitzy array of cakes, biscuits and slices. Further along come the olive bread sticks, focaccias and pizzas, enticing one down to the amazing and colourful side salads, before the counter intersects with a hot food bar containing meaty meals and various pasta dishes.

But let me start by saying something controversial. As far as the sweet stuff goes, with some notable exceptions, the overall impact of looking at a smorsgasboard of 20 colourful treats oozing with cream, custard and chocolate is actually more magnificent than any one of them, individually, tastes. The croissants and chocolate pastries were the biggest let down for me - expecting the French style pastries I love, I don't bother with the heavier, breadier Italian style pastries here.

The exceptions include the delectable custard filled cannoncini and the chocolate chip biscuits. The Peanut Gallery is addicted to these and if he does not bound in the door on the way home to pick up an evening selection, he is at least blaming me for deterring him from doing so by espousing my ridiculous notion that we should, in the interests of good health, hold back at least one night per week. As we stare into space entranced by the after glow of dinner, it will be a rare night indeed if The Peanut Gallery does not break the silence with a hopeful "Princi?"

On Friday night, the divas and I chose the happy triangle of passionfruit cheesecake, chocolate fudge & biscuit slice (I'm sure it has a more technical Italian name) and a bold newcomer, the lemon custard and sponge slice topped with soft, gooey meringue. The cheesecake is tangy and creamy and the chocolate fudge thing hugely rich. Both are good, but they are not as amazing as you think they will be when faced with a counter-full which could only be conceived by an Italian Willy Wonka on acid. The meringue number was the best.

The pizzas and salads are delicious, although we didn't sample them on Friday. And all are reasonably priced.

Service is chaotic and often disorganised. Serious teamwork and strategic coordination of military precision is required to obtain everyone's food items at the same time. Finding a seat among the communal benches is tough. And what's with the water feature running constantly down the back wall?

However, despite the catches, I still love it. Princi has a late night buzz and enough good stuff to keep us coming back, and to be attracting the crowds in their droves. It's open for breakfast, lunch and dinner until midnight (although I believe the doors are open all night in Milan...).

Princi, 135 Wardour Street, London W1F 0UT.