Around the World in 35 dinners

Fuji Hiro, Leeds

And so to another gem t'other side t'it Pennines- 'Fuji Hiro' in Leeds. FH is a family run and homely Japanese cafe that Manchester so lacks. We seem to be stuck in the post-industial food factories like 'Wagamma' or sets from a Kurosawa historical drama, 'Fuji Hiro' is small, ergonomic and cosy providing bowls of ramen, plates of rice and a sweet plum wine that I need to find. On our way from Bradford and after a quick visit to the Henry Moore Institute for some refreshing glasses of Rose, Di and I stopped into FH for a tasty snack of goyzas, miso soup and tea.

Still full from lunch at the Kashmir, we struggled but stuck to our task with a determination that boarded on the reckless like Tensing and Hillary. There is a mountain metaphor struggling to get out here but like Randuph bloody Fiennes, I can't make it to the top so a simile will have to do.

Di and I finished as best we could, headed down the hill to the station and back across the Pennines to the warm embrace of the Red Rose County.

The Kashmir, Bradford

Kashmir is the disputed boarder region between India and Pakistan, oft in the news and deemed to be 'most likely' spot for the beginning of nuclear armageddon. Perhaps fearing the worst, a few left the region in the 1950s to work in the dark satanic mills of Bradford. In 1958, lovelorn and homesick, they opened 'The Kashmir' to provide comfort and a descent homecooked meal for their fellow Asians. 50 years on, it's still there. On a visit to the Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit at the National Media Museum, Di and I lunched there on the best Shami kebabs and Kheema Madras in the land.




As a regular visitor for 30 years or more, I have never tasted better. But then again, it is flavoured with memories.

Buzzrocks

With the academic year drawing to a close I've been marking for what seems like an eternity. I can't even read a newspaper without marking it! To escape the torrent of words that I feel swamped by, I made my way into Hulme and to the Carribean delights of 'Buzzrocks'. After starting in a van, 'Buzzrocks' has established itself in the post-modern new builds in post-Corbusier Hulme, serving the multicultural denizens of that parish, not to mention the visitors from far and wide to sample some great West Indian food. I opted for the Jerk Chicken special with rice and peas.

Fed and watered (great grape soda!), I waded my way back to the sea of words that awaited me. Thank heaven for the small islands of culinary culture that surrounds the dead sea of the University and the thousands of scrolls that struggle to be translated into numbers.

Tampopo

As a film historian, Tampopo has a special place in my heart. This pan-Asian noodle bar is named after the 1986 Juzo Itami film, 'Tampopo', an extraordinary Zen hymn to soup and sex. To those of you who haven't seen it, see it; to those of you who have seen it, see it again! Sorry, I digress. I went to Tampopo in search of the ever elusive bowl of Pho. Pho is a Vietnamese noodle soup usually associated with breakfast, but is , as they say, a movable feast. Anthony Bourdain asked "Is there anything better to eat on this planet than a properly made bowl of Pho?". I can't answer that as there is precious little to compare it with in Manchester, which is notoriously short of Vietnamese restaurants. This Pho was wonderful.

It was fragrent, soothing and restorative, and just what I needed after an encounter with the pure Kurtzian evil that manifests itself as my boss. Manchester....I'm still only in Manchester!

Earth

With Tibet in the news, I had a brainstorm and headed to the Manchester Buddhist Centre in search of sustenance, if not enlightenment. I know Tibet is not a country but it is 'an ethnic autonomous region' and that's close enough, as is the Buddhist Centre being its representative in Manchester. The attached cafe is called 'Earth' and sells reasonable vegetarian food at reasonable prices. Not being of the Buddhist or vegetarian faith, I felt like the Devil taking Mass and ordered the Lentil and Veg stew.

If the Chinese Authorities recently described the protesting monks as 'the scum of Buddhism', then the stew could equally be described as 'the gruel of Buddhism'. If I had to eat this everyday, I would protest too. It was as bland as Kundun. No wonder I once witnessed a Buddhist monk, in his full robes, tuck into a hearty plateful of roast beef and yorkshire pud.

Around the World in 30 dinners