I am partaking in a journey where I will appraise every non-franchise restaurant in town and review their food as well as their service. It is an attempt to expand my mind and appetite. Simultaneously, I will also be taking what I learn from these establishments and attempting to remake them with my extremely limited skill.
PATISSERIE VALERIE - The Food
Once again, I break form and review a chain. Patisserie Valerie locations can be found everywhere, but never outside of the UK, with most infesting London like one of those rashes which feel sooo good when you scratch them. Edinburgh has three…. Patisserie Valeries, not rashes. Why would I review such a location…maybe because I wish to support them.
You see, if Patisserie Valerie (and you have to know I am copy/pasting each time I mention them) was coffee-centered like every café chain in North America, I wouldn’t give them a second glance. By default, I would have preferred to avoid a chain in favor of a local independent, but I am glad I was convinced otherwise. For one, Patisserie Valerie centers on cakes, fantastic cakes. They are all about their bakery, so that I can get behind. The service presents Patisserie Valerie as much a restaurant over a traditional café where you pick and choose pastries twisting in a display guarded by plexi. They even offered a winter menu which Savanna and I took advantage of. Three courses for $12.95, and while Savanna ordered the hummus with smoked paprika and warm pita bread with the roast butternut squash stuffed with mozzarella, peppers, basil, and sundried tomato, I had the chicken liver & wild mushroom pate with crostini and sunflower shaped ravioli stuffed with asparagus, garden peas, butter and sage.
And there will be cake.
Or rather a slice of Valerie’s Gateaux. And they were amazing. We each chose one slice of different cakes, taken from a list of about twenty. I don’t know why anyone would want to visit Starbucks with awesome places like Patisserie Valerie sitting around. But, I guess, that’s the way of the world. When I was in London, my mother and I went into a Starbucks to buy a novelty souvenir for a family member. If I ever took her to Patisserie Valerie, that would pretty much be the end of her fascination with that—look, I don’t drink coffee, okay? I could never understand people’s fascination with it. I have tried it numerous times, with sugar, cream, vanilla, topped with chocolate and frothed to my desire, and I have never enjoyed a cup. Patisserie Valerie serves coffee and tea…and cake. So try Patisserie Valerie instead of ordering that double latte enema from the green siren for once.
Green siren, you know, the symbol for Starbucks. By the way, did you know that the siren represents manic obsession and death? I’m not kidding; in myth, they murdered you for looking pretty. Still undecided, try this: Go to Google Images and just enter Starbucks. What do you get? You get twenty variations of the logo with the occasional paper cup. The dominant attribute they are trying to convey, which Starbucks promotes, is their logo, not their actual product, though one may argue their logo IS their product. Now, enter Patisserie Valerie and see what you get.
Getting hungry aren’t you?
Edinburgh - Castle Rock, Princes Street, and the Scott Monument
Edinburgh - Princes Street Gardens
With my newfound knowledge of the Edinburgh transit system, I began my morning on Prince’s Street, the one area I watched from the fringe of a tour bus in 2011 but never had the opportunity to actually walk down. The plan was to meet Savanna at the National Gallery late in the afternoon. With camera in hand and vigor in my thighs (is that dirty?), I walked along the Princes Street Gardens.
For those requiring context, the gardens are bisected by a major road, separating them into Eastern and Western designations. The eastern park was currently roped off for the upcoming Edinburgh Christmas fair, thwarting my access to the Scott Monument for the time being, so I took to the western park, still under shadow of the impressive Edinburgh Castle. On their own, these parks aren’t terribly impressive. The views are great but considering square footage, it doesn’t hold a stick to some of the parks even in my home town, not taking into account that Princes Street Gardens is actually older than Canada.
That’s a fact I’ll be repeating often enough during this account. Basically, every attraction I visited can be aged by “Canadates”. For the purposes of this value, I used the signing of the Constitution of Canada in 1867, not the Statute of Westminster in 1931 because, well, there are people older than that still alive today. So that puts Edinburgh Castle between six and seven canadates, double that for the first recorded evidence of habitation on the Castle Rock the fortress sits upon. Princes Street Gardens is a mere 1.6 canadates. Here’s another perspective: My home town of Prince George will be turning 100 in 2015. That’s pubescent in Scottish terms.
So, I ended up walking along the path, snaking around the statues and snapping images of the castle as the sun rose behind the stronghold like a blessing from silent Gaelic deities. By the way, pronounce it “gallic” in Scotland, because you’ll be spoiling for a fight if you attempt the Irish variation.
Not long after noon, Savanna finally appeared, and after walking through the National Gallery, we made our way to a local café…
I’m starting this travelogue the day after my return. It’s been a fun ten days marked with great weather and better company. For those unaware, the purpose of this trip was to test the waters of a possible relation with a local, one which passed, making this easily the best vacation of my life (sorry mom). I was not picked up by Savanna, rather by her mother who greeted me with surprising jubilation, later leading me to one of the family’s three cars, a diesel Mini with a brake pedal on the left side—a tempting candy-like button which I was tempted to push but never did. From the airport, I was taken to a local Tesco’s in order to acquire a SIM card for my cell phone. I’ll go into the details of that disaster later, but at that moment I was still optimistic about it working. From there, I was dropped off at my rendezvous point, an adorable cottage-like establishment in convenient walking distance to the local University (or rather one of them). The pub went by the name…
Upon seeing the name of this establishment, I had to immediately research the name. It sounded awesome, like a guild of thieves or an unspoken division of the police department. COMING NEXT SUMMER TO CINEMAS: THE CROFTERS. They were Britain’s last line of—oh, crofters are farmers with small plots. Well, that’s disappointing. It’s like naming a pub The Farmers, which…okay, makes sense in Scotland; I was just expecting something a tad bit more grandiose. It sure looked liked a cool pub. It shared with its Canadian counterparts an overt use of stained wood and rustic decor. However, with the Crofters, it came as a result of an actual dated design and not the intention to appear old fashioned. Also, despite there still being a small number of TVs scattered about, I found no neon alcohol adverts. Good start. It was late in the afternoon; I was minutes away from meeting my future girlfriend for the first time. I knew she wouldn’t be hungry, so I took the liberty to start my Scottish experience on the right foot. I ordered a chicken pot pie.
They’re out of chicken.
OK, take two, I ordered a steak and ale pie. Better. By this time, my eyes fell on the nearby door, waiting for her to enter. I began to imagine sitting positions I should take, orientations to the door I should assume, opening words I would say. This was our first physical meeting. I gave the chair a slight pivot to face the exit and waited. As it turned out, there was another entrance to the Crofters, and I soon noticed Savanna already staring at me.
I guess I should discuss the food. Like Canada, Scotland appears to prefer making their portions a suitable size for Maori rugby players, and The Crofters is no exception. The pie was a proper one, not some bizarre deconstructionist example of what a pie could look like in some mirror universe where up is down, women are men, and cats are dogs. I had to break apart the thick pastry to get at the piping hot meaty interior. The pie itself was not big, but the stack of fries—oh, I mean chips—was immense, and I could barely finish the plate. The dish was good, an oddity apparently according to my companion given that so many pubs only serve meals as an afterthought to alcohol…so not much different than pubs in Canada then.
It’s difficult to separate my subjectivity from my objectivity in this case, ironic given my constant reminding that I support a critic’s right to be subjective in his or her reviews. The Crofters will be marked as the first meeting place of someone very special to me, so in that, I can’t offer anything critical about it. Thankfully, it wasn’t bad, but recalling that brief hour, I don’t know if there was anything I could pull out as being negative. There was an automatic gambling machine. Okay, that’s one.
Yup, no, that was it. The Crofters is worthy of praise in that it didn’t suck in any specific way, forcing a distraction from more important matters at hand. I mean, I didn’t go, “Holy hell, this food is good!” to my girlfriend the moment she walked in the door. I didn’t waste one second in my conversation with her discussing the qualities of the cuisine. It was enough to be remembered as not bad in a day that was kind of awesome. Take that for all it’s worth.
After a long walk including a pet shop where a chameleon pawed uselessly at the window to grab my fingers (and I fought the urge to buy him right then and there), we rode a bus back to Savanna’s colossal home—a palace with a surrounding wall—a perfect stronghold against the zombie apocalypse. Seriously, this place was amazing—wood gilding every inch of floor, a kitchen worthy of Ramsay, and a glass-topped dining hall with wooden round table where opposite patrons sat in different time zones. After connecting with the family, I eventually was taken to my eventually Bed and Breakfast…
Considering that Trip Advisor is the source of a majority of my readers, I figured I should expand my reviews and include other locations like hotels and tourist attractions. If one is nitpicking my mission statement, I’ll argue that breakfast is included every morning.
Why did I select Mayfield? It was the closest B&B to my girlfriend’s house. It also helped that it was also one of the cheapest B&B’s in town…at least when I excluded ones with shared bathrooms. My trip was on a limited budget and I was willing to forgive a lot. Scottish B&B’s are an unconventional sort, to put it mildly. The houses are small, packed ass-to-elbow with other like buildings, barely holding eight rooms at best. Single-bed rooms are generally miniscule, and I have no problem with this. I could never understand this appeal of some to dump so much money on a hotel. As long as it’s safe and in a good location, why would I need anything more? Like room service, why would I ever require room service? Why give me a reason to stay inside? If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have gone on vacation in the first place. I’d just stay home. So all I need is a bedroom, a bathroom, and enough space to drop my luggage. It also helps if the bed is big enough to fit me outstretched.
Mayfield measures up because for the price ($523 for ten days), I got a roof over my head, a queen-sized bed, a TV, a tray of tea and coffees, and a bathroom. The same key which opened my room also opened the outside door, unlike other places which practically enforce a curfew. However, I must be up front with some elements worthy of alarm. For one, I slammed my head on the roof at least three times given that it was slanted over the bed. Two, the shower is so small, that I had to enter it sideways and if I was still obese like when I was a teenager, I wouldn’t have been able to fit in at all. Three, despite making the bed during my absence, they never changed the sheets.
Don’t ask me how I know that; I just do.
Four, the breakfasts had a lot to be desired. I had been hoping for a traditional Scottish breakfast, but what I got was clearly and unmistakably English. No haggis. No black pudding. I got a spoon of hot beans, an inconsistently poached egg, a single link of sausage, a single strip of bacon, and a handful of toast. The only saving grace was that it was part of the stay and precluded my need to buy breakfast on my own.
Five, it got cold. I had arrived in Edinburgh the last week of November, but that doesn’t mean I should awake to a bathroom cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey (It’s a nautical term; I’m sure I’ve used it before). I had to leave the door open to prevent sub-zero temperatures when I tried to shower. This forced my little radiator to work overtime as heat bled through the badly constructed glass windows in the bathroom.
Would I return? Of course…as stated, it’s the closest B&B to my girlfriend’s house. And there are other reasons. Across the street is a bus-stop, and every 30 minutes, the #42 bus will take you right to the heart of the city, past several noteworthy tourist hot spots. Mayfield is a 40 minute walk to Edinburgh castle and, if you walk the opposite direction, a 40 minutes’ walk to Craigmiller castle—a fact I discovered two days before I had to return. Only in Scotland can you take a shortcut through a park and find a castle.
You know port is from Portugal, don’t you? It’s in the name. Don’t feel bad, I didn’t know until six months ago. Now I drink it every week as part of my Ramsday ritual. So imagine me waiting this long before attempting a recipe including port as an ingredient. And it has garlic, so everyone should love it. I guess this means each time I make something requiring red wine, I’m actually using port. So wait, what do I do now? It asks for both. I guess I’ll have to buy a new bottle.
As for the end result, it’s sirloin beef, why wouldn’t it be good? No weird ingredients and a simple process…just let your mother make it. Yes, I admit, I prepped the ingredients, took it to my mother’s kitchen, and while I prepped, she went and finished the dish. No regrets.
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 x 1 kg sirloin beef
1 head of garlic, broken into cloves
A few sprigs of fresh thyme and a few thyme leaves
12 large Charlotte potatoes, peeled
150g unsalted butter
16 medium shallots, peeled
285ml red wine
Preheat the oven to l80°C/350°F. Season the sirloin well, then heat some olive oil in a frying pan and brown the meat all over. Transfer it to an ovenproof dish. Add the garlic cloves, a sprig or two of thyme and a little fresh olive oil. Cook in the preheated oven for about 25 minutes, then remove the dish from the oven and set aside. With this timing the sirloin will be nice and rare — cook it for longer if you prefer.
Meanwhile, in another pan heat some more olive oil and color the potatoes all over until nice and golden. Add a few more sprigs of thyme and the butter and cook slowly until they are soft in the middle — 15-20 minutes.
In a small pan, sauté the shallots in olive oil until slightly colored. Drain off the excess oil and add the port, red wine and thyme leaves. Simmer until the liquid has reduced and the shallots are cooked and glazed like rubies. Cut the beef into generous slices and arrange in a serving dish with the potatoes, shallots and garlic.
On Wednesday, I am leaving for Scotland. It’s not permanent, though sometimes I wonder if it would be better if it was. It is not meant as a sight-seeing journey. It is not meant as a business trip. And unfortunately, it is not meant as means to make more Prince Gastronome entries…that will still happen of course. I’ll visit café, bistros, and restaurants. Small gems and critically acclaimed favorites. Starting next week, I’ll be posting a lot more than usual. You’ve all been warned.
This is important. It’s good, it’s worth making, but do not leave anything behind. Seriously, no leftovers. Reheating this dish, whether in the microwave or in an oven, sucks. It sucks worse than microwaving leftover McDonald’s French fries. With that out of the way, cook on…
1kg fresh asparagus trimmed
1 large loaf of white bread, sliced, crusts removed
3 eggs, beaten
300 ml double cream (or whipping cream for those living in North America)
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
A grating of nutmeg
Preheat the oven to 200 C. Cook the asparagus in boiling salted water for 7-8 minutes and refresh under cold water. Grease a 22cm loaf tin with a little of the butter, then line it with bread slices, leaving a few for covering the top. Overlap them a little a gently press them down to make sure the bread lines the tin snugly. Mix the eggs and cream together, add the parmesan, and season with salt, pepper and nutmeg.
Now place half the asparagus in the tin and season. Pour over half the egg mixture and repeat, layering the asparagus and egg mixture again. Butter the remaining bread and lay on top, butter side up. Bake in the preheated oven for approximately 45 minutes until golden, then turn out of the tin and let it cool slightly before carefully cutting into slices.
Thankfully, the vast majority of ingredients listed below are non-perishable, so they’ll keep in your refrigerator for weeks, which is a good thing because fish sauce apparently comes in gallon bottles. So my advice is, prep a few more Thai recipes in the coming weeks. As for the sesame oil, this should be a pantry staple. I absolutely love it; it’s great uncooked in nearly anything, salad, pasta, you name it. I’m stressing uncooked, as a dressing only; it has far too low a smoke point to be used for cooking.
Now, limes, I always end up needing to buy a bag and most of them go bad. YES, you always hear about lemons and limes not going bad because of their acidity, but that’s an urban legend. They will go bad and mine do so rather quickly.
The real issue is finding baby gem lettuce. Very few places carry them. Neither Superstore nor Save On carries them. There are some brands which sell lettuce specifically designed for wraps. These are a good alternative. After the initial test, I found the beef to be a great additive for practically anything, so make two batches.
Olive oil, for frying
200g lean minced beef
200g minced pork
Toasted sesame oil, for frying
2 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
5cm piece of fresh root ginger, peeled and finely chopped
1–2 red chillies, deseeded and chopped
1 tbsp light brown sugar
1 tbsp fish sauce
Zest of 1 lime, juice of 1/3 lime
3 spring onions, trimmed and chopped
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 little gem lettuces, separated into leaves, to serve
For the dressing:
1 tbsp soy sauce
Juice of ½ lime
1 tsp sesame oil
½ red chilli, thinly sliced
Small bunch of coriander leaves, chopped
1–2 tsp fish sauce, to taste
1 tsp light brown sugar 1 tbsp olive oil
Heat a large frying pan and add a little oil. Mix the minced beef and pork together. Season with salt and pepper and mix well to ensure the seasoning is evenly distributed. Fry the mince in the hot pan for five to seven minutes until crisp and brown and broken down to a fine consistency. Drain the crisped mince in a sieve – this will help it stay crispy. Set aside.
Wipe out the pan and add a tablespoon of toasted sesame oil. Add the garlic, ginger and chilli. Fry with a pinch of salt and the sugar for two minutes. Add the drained mince and stir to mix.
Add the fish sauce and heat through. Stir in the lime zest and juice, then add the spring onions, stirring for thirty seconds. Turn off the heat.
Mix all the dressing ingredients together and adjust to taste.
To serve, spoon some of the mince mixture into the lettuce leaves, drizzle with a little dressing and serve.
This will be odd entry. I need to issue a retraction.
“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.”
No, the end times are not at hand. Critics change their opinion now and again, even me. In defense, in order to see the brighter side of China Taste, one must not only ask for the “hidden” menu but also speak Mandarin.
Or was it Cantonese? This is a point of personal contention with me from back when I flew to China to meet a certain someone (I’m not blanking on the name—Jaime—it’s just not in the slightest bit important) and took it upon myself to learn Mandarin, a useful skill until I realized only two days before my journey that the language I needed to learn was Cantonese. And yes, the languages are different. “Nǐ hǎo” becomes “Nei hou” and some people (apparently) get ornery when you get it wrong.
Thankfully, with China Taste’s “authentic” Chinese menu, you can ask for a translation. There isn’t much of a selection compared to a normal Westernized menu, though still plenty enough for the average patron. The prices are not cheap either, starting at around $18.95, but with that, you get a lot of food. Me and my friend each ordered one dish and we couldn’t finish either. My suggestion: go with three or more people and order a number of dishes equal to the group size minus one. I got a sizzling lamb dish while my friend ordered a white fish platter. I couldn’t give exact names because, well, obviously I didn’t know.
In the end, the important thing was that these dishes were amazing, worthy of a visit. I think China Taste may represent some macabre trial like those offered up by insidious paranormal forces wishing to test the resolve of mortal men. On one side, you have money and fame, the other happiness. Here, the choice is between a Big Mac and a gourmet meal. What annoys me is that I know a lot of people who would still prefer the burger. Really?
I know burgers are great and I’ve had some amazing ones, but this is just a Big Mac. Why choose that? AND yet, people still will. There is a name for those people. I thought about it for some time, and I think I finally found one that’s appropriate. Stupid. Those are stupid people. Defend them if you will, but if presented with a well-made plate from the finest bistro rather than greasy layers of fat, sugar, plastic, and lost dreams, what would you choose? I have a substandard opinion of those still preferring the latter. I simply call them stupid and think nothing of it. To everyone else, those that have gone to China Taste for the buffet, stop. Just stop. Take a breath. Reconsider. There’s a better option. Ask for the authentic Chinese menu and order something better. Let these businesses know that there is demand for this cuisine and that people want it.
Finally, I want to address one specific point. The most commonly asked question I’ve ever fielded has been, “What is a good Chinese restaurant in Prince George?” I’ve been asked this obviously from people unaware of my views on the cuisine. I don’t approve of it generally because of the extent it’s been westernized. I have only curmudgeonly recommended a few through gritted teeth, but no longer. I have my answer, China Taste’s authentic menu. I have heard rumors of other restaurants offering such menus but never before have I seen a place feel so delighted to satisfy. The chef came out to our table, pointed at suggestions and asked how we thought of it afterward. Until someone can match that, China Taste will be my source of all Chinese cuisine from here on, as it should be yours.
I wouldn’t want to think of calling these people acquaintances, rather only people I…met. I also won’t claim to been a fan from the beginning considering I only bought their products a few days before they burst onto the world market thanks to a successful appearance on Dragon’s Den. I can’t believe I was actually nervous for these two. I have a shelf of their products and can’t wait to enjoy them; of course they were going to do well. I just hope they stay afloat and keep their business going. I’m unlikely to ever see these people in person again but I hope they know I’ll still be buying from them in the future.
On the Sunday of November 3rd, I received an invite to attend the Studio Fair at the Prince George Civic Center. I won’t waste words discussing its merits because that’s not what I do (well, I do praise, just businesses, not events). I like my furniture to be modern, my art to have spaceships or dragons in them, and my soap to smell like soap and not like food. Also, by the time anyone reads this, the event will be long since over. And besides, I was there for the food. I didn’t know what to expect, booths of popcorn and Indian curry in cups or tables full of condiments. As it turned out, it was more the latter. I wouldn’t bother bringing an appetite, because there really isn’t much for food other than the pleasantly generous samples handed out.
So let’s get the arts and crafts out of the way.
Yes, it’s all pretty. A novelty wine stopper for $20? Darn, I just bought Pacific Rim, will have to pass.
I gave myself a budget of $20. I needed to keep myself under control. Unfortunately, thanks to the damned progress of human civilization, nearly everyone had debit machines wired to their cell phones. I thought I was doing well but I then ran aground at the Untamed Feast booth and I could feel the little conservative person inside me waving the little white flag.
As it turned out, these were the guys who invited me (specifically, Rod, unrelated to Todd), and thus they get the first mention. I’m like Colbert, acknowledging those who acknowledge me. The fact their business revolves around the cultivation and selling of wild mushroom was a real bonus. Readers will no doubt be aware of my culinary quest for morel mushrooms, plentiful around Prince George but virtually absent from their markets. Well, here they were, in all their dried goodness. I now have a Ramsay recipe awaiting my attention. I loved these guys; consummate salesmen with a passion for their profession. If I only spent money on one thing at this fair, it would have been them. Unfortunately, I ended up spending more. A lot more.
Subsequently, I stumbled across a table sampling Indian teas next to a variety of cookbooks written by one Daksha Narsing. Nope, never heard of her. Wouldn’t know what she looked like. Oh, that’s her right in front of me. Well, hello. How could I not pass up this opportunity? I bought one of her cookbooks and had her sign it. I’m going to start my own collection. Talbot, Ramsay, Narsing, Vij…no wait, my sister got that one. Doh. The book’s polish confirmed it wasn’t some cheap digest fired off a local printer. And it was Indian food, so out came the debit again.
As I orbited around the sublimely titled street names inside of the convention center, I found the Blue Kettle table and their collection of chili mixes and dressings. Impressed with their samples, I picked up a bottle of ginger dipping sauce and asiago caeser dressing. I passed by not one, not two, not four or five, but three tables selling novelty soap. Alas, my experience with Fight Club prevents me from every buying anything like that ever. Trust me; most people are thankful enough that I shower.
Okay, but that’s it. I’m putting the stop there, no more money—well, five bucks for a bar of demerara butter crunch. Chocolate covered nuts and berries were sold from two venders, both parading their pleasures in small bags for a price bordering on extortion. Seriously, ten bucks for a small bag? It’s less than a week after Halloween; I can get a fifty pack of Glosettes reduced to four bucks on clearance Wal-Mart. Although I was tempted to pick up some oils and/or vinegars from artisans like Dundrave or Nonna Pias, alas, I’m a pimp for 4OAK and reserve myself just for them. I eventually did come across Goodness of Garlic, that’s a direct name for a business. Garlic relish, pepper jelly, and hot pickled garlic? Sold. Wait, is that a booth selling nothing but hummus? I’ll take three! (note, probably the best hummus I’ve ever had)
I wandered around a bit more and finally found myself encumbered with heavy bags of bottles and books. This was to be it. I made my way to the exit…and stopped…
…why do I smell cooked Indian food? Narsing only offered cups of chai (oops, bought some). Like Toucan Sam, I followed my nose to Ace Curries To Go and their simmering plate of vindaloo. Dammit. I almost made it out of there. The incredibly charismatic owner handed me spoon after spoon or various bottles until I suddenly had a mixed bag of sauces, dips, and chutneys. Thank God this event only occurs once a year. However, all the places I mentioned have websites or Facebook pages, and I do recommend you give them a shot.
Bean Boy Creations
Blue Kettle Specialty Foods
Yes, you could buy spicy Italian sausage but thankfully, Johnsonville sells the meat on its own, allowing you to skip a step, making this dish one of the fastest, most satisfying out of any Ramsay book. It’s simple comfort food, that’s all. I’m getting hungry again just typing this out. It’s so easy to make, reserve it when you get home late and don’t want to think about what to make for supper.
Olive oil, for frying
1 red onion, sliced
1 red pepper, deseeded and chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely sliced
5 spiced sausages, e.g. Italian chilli
1 heaped tsp smoked paprika
200g long-grain rice
½ glass white wine
500ml chicken stock
4 spring onions, trimmed and chopped
1 tomato, chopped
Small bunch of flat leaf parsley, roughly chopped
Add a glug of oil to a heavy-based casserole dish and fry the onion for 5 minutes until soft but not colored. Add the pepper and garlic and cook for 2 minutes.
Slit the sausage skins and crumble the sausage meat into the pan, then cook over a medium heat for 4–5 minutes until colored. Add the smoked paprika and mix. Season to taste.
Add the rice and stir well to mix thoroughly and absorb the flavor. Deglaze the pan by pouring in the white wine and scraping any bits stuck to the bottom. Add the stock and bring to a simmer. Cook gently for 15–20 minutes until the rice is tender and the liquid almost entirely absorbed.
Remove from the heat, gently fold in the spring onions, tomato and parsley and serve.