Sophie Grigson and Riverford at the Blackwell's Oxford Literary Festival Marquee

I love the idea of the Oxford Literary Festival but my, for an event where you're basically offering yourself up to be sold books to, it's rather expensive. Whilst I love hearing authors talk about their latest work, I see it as part of the process of marketing a book, so I object slightly to the £11 (or more) cost of most events at the Festival. Let alone the £95 or £120 to sit in the same room as some of my idols whilst we eat dinner!

Luckily, the Blackwell's Festival Marquee, back this year after an absence, and packed with free events. There owls almost all the time (real live owls!!), although it would have been nice to have some more structured talks about them, or at least keepers who were a bit more keen to chat to festival-goers. There was also a pop-up cafe/restaurant from the guys behind the ever expanding Jacob's empire (Jacob's and Field, Jacob's Inn, and Jacob's Chop House). The menu looked tempting but I just grabbed a coffee - a shame, as it tasted burnt and bitter.

I was visiting mainly because there was no way I was going to miss the foodie combo treat of Sophie Grigson and Riverford founder Guy Watson in conversation. Sophie Grigson was one of the first food writers I can remember watching on TV, with her spiky hair and giant earrings. I still have her recipes for moussaka and sausage and apple pie by heart. I knew a lot less about Guy; although I admire the idea behind veg boxes I'm quite happy going out to one of Oxford's fantastic farmers' markets when I want some local produce.

The discussion was unstructured and, initially, a little stilted as a result. Both speakers made some lovely noises about how fabulous organic seasonal food was, but there was little bite to the chatter. Things got going after Sophie had talked through a display copy of a Riverford veg box, discussing her favourite vegetables and her least favourite (yay, another swede hater!) and some interesting ways of cooking them (yay, another roast cauliflower fan!). The audience joined in, offering their own ideas, and a sparky debate started up about whether we needed new ways of cooking traditional vegetables. Is this a necessity in order to stay interested in your food, or is it a tarting up, a dressing of mutton as lamb, when the vegetables are perfectly exciting in their own right? I'm firmly in the former camp, but it was great to hear some passionate arguments from the other side!

The debate moved on to cover organic farming, looking at some of the ways this affects the wider world, rather than focussing on any (much debated) nutritional benefits or taste differences. It was interesting to hear how Guy has seen his farm develop in a totally different way to his neighbours' intensive non-organic farms, with a greater range of natural wildlife and better quality soil. He felt that this had made his farm more robust when this winter's floods hit: his soil is apparently significantly thicker and richer in nutrients than that of non-organic farms in the same area, and as a result his yields are staying high, or growing, whilst theirs decline.

To round things off, there was some chatter around the effect supermarkets had had on vegetable supply chains since Riverford was founded over twenty years ago. Many of the audience were veg box regulars, but what about the rest of us? Where can we source British, local, seasonal, organic vegetables? Lots of people mentioned farmers' markets, but there was some ignorance about how widely these had spread. A lady standing next to me had no idea any existed in Oxford, because she didn't want to go online and look for them, which highlights one massive change in the last twenty years: marketing is now mostly done online! The majority of the audience missed having a greengrocer's on their street, but generally we noted a positive trend, with the opening of stores like 2 North Parade.

The Oxford Literary Festival will be back next year, and if the Festival Marquee returns with it I shall certainly be back for more. This is high-end, entertaining and intellectual debate; well done Blackwell's!

Restaurant Review: The Pie Emporium

I'd popped into the Pie Emporium for lunch soon after they opened, hungover and bleary. Initial impressions (through a headache, severe dehydration, and sleep deprivation) were good, but I thought it deserved a return visit to assess it in a slightly more capable manner. In need of a speedy pre-theatre dinner, it seemed an ideal venue.

The welcome when we arrived was friendly and charming. The decor is hip without being too cold; there are lots of touches of colour, and the evening addition of candles on tables made the whole place feel quite cosy. It's certainly not a formal venue, but it's a lot warmer than you might expect. We were talked briefly through the menu, and were disappointed to hear that they had run out of two pies, including one of the veggie options (of only two on the whole menu) and one of the fish pies (again, of only two). The menu isn't long, so this had a fairly large impact on our choices; if you didn't eat meat, it would have been even more annoying.

There's an interesting range of mostly local beers, but we both went for wine, from the somewhat less diverse wine list ("red" or "white" if you're ordering by the glass). It was unexpectedly good: not amazing, but for £3, much better than it needed to be. There was a slight wait for food to arrive, but only as you'd expect for fresh-cooked pies: this ain't Pie Minister, with their battalions of pies slowly drying out under hot lights. 

My partner had opted for the rather exciting sounding Lamb Tikka Jalfrezi pie, certainly not one for the traditionalists. They'd be missing out, though, this was a superb curry, tart but rich and stuffed with melting chunks of meat. A side of lentils came as a smooth dal, not the salad we had expected, and was lightly spiced: an excellent accompaniment to the pie.

I opted for the slightly more normal-sounding Old English Woodland pie, being a massive fan of game meats. The chunks of partridge and pigeon were lovely, but the rabbit was slightly tough - perhaps it could have done with slightly longer time baking. The meats came in a gorgeous thick gravy, one of the best I've ever found in a pie, with lots of garlic and rosemary. The side of mustard and cabbage mash was a bit overpowering in terms of taste, but had a lovely smooth texture. The biggest downside for both pies was the slightly thin pastry lid, and therefore the rather low ratio of pastry to filling. Those of you who don't call a pie a pie unless it has a pastry lid *and* a pastry bottom would be even more furious: it's just a lid here, chaps. I won't argue with Pie Emporium's definition of a pie, but the glutton in me would still like rather more flaky starch with my meat and gravy.

We had two additional sides; the peas were fine, but the red cabbage was very dry, and yet somehow still tasted watery.

When we visited, we ate on a Groupon voucher, so the price was very reasonable, but their normal prices are not exactly excessive: pies range from £7 to £11, including one side (and we wouldn't recommend adding another). They were also advertising a few lunchtime and early evening deals which seemed very reasonable, making this a good place to go for a simple lunch or, like us, a pre-theatre supper. 

Restaurant Review: Aziz

Disaster strikes the minute I walk into Aziz. I had a hilarious story all ready to tell you, about what they've done every single other time I've visited: ask if I had a reservation, sigh deeply, examine the reservations book, then stride up and down the cavernous room, footsteps echoing on the plush maroon carpets, furiously seeking an available table among the mass of available tables. Eventually, I've been summoned to a table where they can "just squeeze me in" among the mass of other, invisible, customers.

But it didn't happen this time. The waitress greeting us at the door didn't smile - that would be asking too much - but she asked if she could take our coats, led us straight to a table, handed us a menu each, and offered poppadoms. It's not bad service, is it?

Poppadoms and pickles duly arrive, along with drinks. Pickles are fine: nothing to write home about, but not the (now infamous) fermented mango chutney that I was once served at another Oxford institution, which will remain nameless.

The upwards curve continued with starters. My partner's Tandoori Galda Chingri were beasts of their genre, three giant butterflied prawns smoky from the heat of the oven and perfectly cooked, still juicy but with a wonderful meaty bite. The heap of generic frisee salad, undressed and taking up half the plate, was a little puzzling but didn't detract excessively from the prawns. My Dal Bora was less the menu description of "lentil cake" and more a mass of teeny lentil fritters, crispy outside and fluffy within, somewhat reminiscent (for those who've tried them) of the polenta chips at Jamie's Italian. They were lightly, but not overpoweringly spiced. An incredibly sweet dipping sauce was, like the salad, puzzling, but easily ignored in favour of the yoghurt dip that had come with the poppadoms, which provided a much better foil to the deep fried morsels.

Unfortunately, that was the end of Aziz's success. We were faintly disappointed with both main courses. If my Ada Gosht, described on the menu as "tikka lamb", had ever seen the inside of a tandoor, it was a very long time ago. The meat was so well cooked it could be pushed apart with a fork, and the onions and green peppers accompanying it were extremely overcooked. If you've ever tried to cook a green pepper, you'll know quite how difficult it is to overcook them, robust creatures that they are, but Aziz seem to have succeeded. The sauce had a nice amount of shredded ginger in it, but the spicing otherwise was undistinguished and undistinguishable.

My partner, as ever, chose the Chicken Pathia, which is normally the one dish we come to Aziz for, theirs being (according to him) one of the best. This time, it certainly wasn't: the chicken was dry and overcooked, and the sauce was lacking its usual citrus bite. A side of pilau rice had been mis-remembered and arrived as plain rice; a Misti naan bread was not stuffed with almonds but had a paste smeared on the outside, making it messy to eat. A complementary vegetable side dish was interestingly spiced with onion seeds and cumin, but was cold almost as soon as it was on the table.

Service throughout had been aloof, but reached a peak when the dishes were removed from the table whilst my partner still had a piece of bread in his hand, and when the tablecloth was removed whilst he was still eating it. The restaurant was not busy; there was not a queue of waiting customers; we had not been told that we only had the table for a limited period of time. So why this brusque rudeness? The implication is that the customer is simply not wanted, not welcome, despite the fact that we are paying for the food.

Bad service is not the be-all and end-all of a restaurant; I've never felt particularly warmly welcomed at the Magdalen Arms, for example. But if you are to be arrogant, you need something to be arrogant about. The food at the Magdalen Arms is excellent. The food at Aziz is occasionally good, but more often is cliched and tired, and that just doesn't make up for the poor service.