A short review of Bento Cafe - Dec 2010

Where: Bento Cafe, Parkway, Camden
How much: £18 for lunch for one, not cheap considering...
Come here: if you're in the area and craving Japanese or seeing a show at the Jazz Cafe next door


Best not to judge it on looks, Bento Cafe isn't the prettiest spot, inside or outside... Stuck on one of the most unlovely junctions in Central London, Camden Parkway, It doesn't look too smart from the street, with a curling menu in the window, but there have been some reasonable reviews and I couldn't really stomach the thought of Camden Market 'street food'...
Stepping inside, I was pleased to see a sushi counter piled high with fish, though there was slightly too much pre-cut fish for a restaurant that had only just opened its doors. Like the decor, the extensive menu laid in front of me is slightly tatty round the edges. They cover the gamut from tempura to teriyaki, tonkatsu to donburi and a wide range of nigiri, maki and sashimi. The photos certainly look professional, and there are some interesting choices, particularly in the mains (mainly between £8 and £10 a portion, other than the more expensive black cod). I was briefly tempted by Hotate Mentaiko, grilled scallop with superior roe sauce (though a little unsure why it might be superior...) 
 The bento box, a lunchtime special at 6.40, came with a good sized, fresh portion of rice, a neat side salad and slightly muted pickles. The chicken teriyaki had a good flavour in the sauce but was slightly too dry otherwise. The vegetable gzoyas were the least successful element. Measly parcels of sad that could have come from the aforementioned Camden Market stalls.. I also grabbed a plate of mixed sashimi, a tale of two halves. Meltingly sweet, quality salmon, yellowbelly and mackerel, it arrived fridge cold (I knew there was too much piled on the counter) and in lumps just too big to enjoy. The fish was tender and yielding, with particularly excellent tuna the consistency of foie gras. Once rendered into smaller mouthfuls and slightly warmed it was lovely.

Nice enough if you're in the area and craving Japanese or seeing a show at the Jazz Cafe next door, but not worth a special trip. If you're in the area and just hungry, I'd suggest there are better pickings to be found.

What happens at Steak Club, stays at Steak Club - Dec 2010

Where: The Hawksmoor, Spitalfields
With who: 12 good Steaks and true...
How much: £50 set menu, covering starters, skillets of steak, sides to share and half a bottle of a very acceptable house wine each.
Come here: to worship at a temple of meat
When I mooted the idea of a Steak Club to Nicco Polo, Mrs Jones and others, there was no question it would be an enormous screaming success. Not due to the grand organisational skills of yours truly in any way, more down to the fact that most of my friends are slathering, semi-obsessive carnivores too... There was little discussion where the first meeting would be, and a month after inception 12 of us were sitting down in the atmospheric (if slightly gloomy, hence the lack of photos) backroom of one of my favourite restaurants in London, Hawksmoor Spitalfields. It's a seriously macho restaurant, I'm sure you can picture it if you haven't been, bare brick walls with a butchers tile motif, functional and solid dark wood furniture and a large, well stocked bar in the centre of the room. It's a British take on the classic American steak n' cocktail concept that arrived in 2006 like a rain shower in a desert. Chosen, and loved, for its near fanatical devotion to quality cow, we approached them with the request to host our first steak club. We wanted meat, plenty of it, and I was confident the team would oblige. 

Their opening salvo of family style (the annoying Americanism for shared plates) starters set the tone. Tamworth belly ribs, like the rest of the meat here UK sourced and supplied by the Ginger Pig, were smokey, sweet and tasty. Bone marrow came roasted in the bone, mixed with soft yielding onions and served with a sourbread toast. It had the texture of foie and a dense almost mushroomy flavour. I'd have traded my mother for another bite. 
The steaks had to go some to beat that, thankfully they lived up to their (and my) billing. Platters of Bone-in Prime Rib, Porterhouse and Rump arrived to table, surrounded by a variety of unhealthy, but super tasty, sides. The Prime Rib was exceptional, certainly my favourite, succulent and perfectly cooked to a medium rare with an almost tart tang of blood. The Porterhouse wasn't far behind. An expansive mattress of meat, juicy soft tenderloin and equally tasty strip steak around the bone. Intensely flavoured and seasoned to match, soft enough to cut with a fork. 
It's not an obvious place for a date, unless the resulting meat coma is something you can both rise above, but is certainly solid enough for a (macho) client meeting. We found out quite how well it works for a coming together of meaty minds, a successful start to Steak Club, and a high bar for other vegetable dodgers to reach. 

Balans - Dec 2010

Where: Balans, SohoHow much: Starters for around £6, mains between £10 and £14Come here: any time of the day or night, for a true slice of Soho life


I bloody love Balans. I've been coming here for the last 10 years and feel at times like I've charted my age with the place. When I first came to London, I came here after a night's clubbing for a 4am burger or an 8am fry up, revelling in the fact it was still open and serving better than expected food at a time normally reserved for the plastic hot dog men. A little older and I was coming here for a cheapish (though it didn't feel so at the time) bite to eat with a date from its diner menu. Now it's the perfect spot for a meeting over brunch or an afternoon coffee before meeting clients. It's nothing special, but like thousands of Londoners over the years, it'll always be a place I'll go back to, regardless of any quirks.

The menu is exotic, quixotic and a little bit schizophrenic if I'm honest, much like the clientele on occasion, an odd mix of Soho habitues and a constantly changing crowd well worth a watch. If you've got friends coming in to London from out of town (and especially out of the country) it's a wonderful spot to recommend for people watching. They serve all sorts, so they've got used to catering to all sorts and there's almost no cuisine they don't cover. Starters range from quesadilla to crab cakes, with shredded duck spring rolls, foie gras terrine and smoked salmon blinis all making an appearance. Mains tread the same path with an (excellent) burger snuggling up alongside honey miso salmon, jambalaya and staples such as fillet steak, pie of the day and sausages and mash. It won't ever win an award for the food, but it's all done competently, even though service can be hit and miss. That being said, you don't come here for the food alone. As a go-to that's bound to work for pretty much everyone I'd certainly recommend it. Just go for the experience, sit at the front, and watch Soho go by.

Review of Yalla Yalla Oxford Circus - Dec 2010

Where: Yalla Yalla, Winsley Street (literally just off Oxford Street... opposite Poland Street)
With who: Ed Hitter (and then the Queen of Harrogate the following day... sucker that I am for a good local lunch spot)
How much: £22 for a good amount of lunchtime mezze.
Come here if: you want a decent authentic feed just off Oxford Circus


I didn't know whether to be excited or trepidatious when somewhere I love, especially somewhere so small, quirky and seemingly unchainable opens another branch. The original Yalla Yalla only opened a year or so ago on a tiny anonymous (and slightly pissy if we're honest) alley just off Brewer Street. It became a favourite for lunch, if slightly far away and always too crowded to sit down. They some very clever things with a bit of lamb, a few sesame seeds and some very good flatbread. Homely, authentic and very down to earth, it certainly didn't have Global Resto Megachain written all over it.
The closure of our local greasy spoon wasn't a cause for much mourning, cheap and a little scuzzy, it was never more than a last resort lunch spot. The surprise came with the news that Yalla Yalla was going up in the world, and expanding. It's certainly got more space than the original. They've still got the same menu of authentic Beirut street food, though have expanded this to include a few larger dishes. 

On both occasions (twice in two days, but working lunches doesn't count as proper calories) we went for sets of mezze to share. Tart pickled turnip (a proper revelation), olives and peppers came as we sat, the food freshly cooked and shortly afterwards. Hommos (sic) came with moreish juicy lumps of lamb, melting with crisp burnished edges from the hefty elephantine leg of meat rotating round the grill. This is how sheep hope their babies end up and as far from your local 'bab house as you can get. The same lamb features with a lemon parsley salad as a main course and packing their (perfect for takeaway) rolls. Grilled pitta stuffed with spicy minced lamb came topped with tahini and pomegranate, a princely portion for £4.25. The other entrant in the 'can't believe they can do that good for that cheap' category was a huge portion of deep fried prawns, whitebait and calamari, well cooked, well spiced and well cheap (sorry. Really...) for £5.50. There's not much I wouldn't go back for to be honest. And it's round the corner from my office, so I will, soon.  


The slightly claustrophobic feel of the Green Court original has gone, banished by wide spaces, though thankfully many of the more pleasing, rustic touches remain. Bench seating, dotted in places with throws and cushions, goes well with the thickset oak furniture. The staff are keen, possibly too keen, but you can't fault them for that. Genuinely eager to please, four of them checking on how the meal was going may have been a little OTT, no matter how much they meant it. It's a genuinely promising place for lunch, perfect for shoppers and Soho workers unable or unwilling to get to Charlotte Street. 

Review of Polpo - Dec 2010

Where: Polpo, Soho

With who: The Literary Lady

How much: £75 for the pair of us. More food than we could cope with (almost) and a bottle and a half of a very acceptable house red.

Come here if: you don't care when you eat and you're catching up with an old, loud mate. No reservations in the evening creates a buzzy bar, but isn't ideal if you're hungry or used to eating at an exact time.

I've talked about the concept behind Polpo before, in a rather overexcited review of younger sibling Polpetto. In a nutshell, it's a cosy, busy, reservation free joint selling  Venetian tapas, known as chiccetti, a combination of meats, fish and vegetables served with bread or polenta. 
Decorwise, it's got that Soho House style shabby chic look down to pat. low light from bare bulbs and simple furniture bely the thought that has gone into the joint. The staff are friendly and surprisingly relaxed considering the unruly mash of drinkers and diners crammed into their tiny bar space. A smatter of seats aside the bar are the best in the house, keeping you cozily ensconced in the amiable bar crowd. It's not a place for the shrinking violet. The Literary Lady and I are certainly no violets but we struggled to make ourselves heard at times. Like little brother Polpetto, this is definitely somewhere to come and meet and mingle and if you grab a bite, then it's a result. The atmosphere is key to the experience. 
But what of the food? There was a fair amount of it that grabbed us on the throwaway paper menus, and plenty of tasty morsels certain to soak up a lovely big Sagiovese, well priced for house at £16.50. We went for five plates to start and added another two on at the end, greedily tempted by a neighbouring order. Garlicky mushrooms served in a rather dry flatbread was so-so tasty, but no more than you'd expect from a student dinner party. For me, a duff note came with another student standby, sparse handful of garlic prawns, part shelled, in an insipid tomato and bean sauce.
More positive notes came with thick slices of pork belly, tenderly braised and meltingly sweet with hazelnuts and the edge of radicchio. Mackerel tartare is a favourite on the menu, winter and summer, cut through with a horseradish cream, it's a pleasing combination and provides contrast to the meatier dishes. Their polpetta, gamey and (slightly too) salty meatballs are great winter beer fodder but not too sophisticated. The duck ragu was another welcome winter warmer, served with wormlike fingers of strozzapetti pasta and the bite of green peppercorns. Not 'posh nosh' as such, but simple and pleasing. 

Review of Bar Shu - Spicy Sichuan Soho Style - Dec 2010

Where: Bar Shu, Soho

With who: Seven of us in total, a mix of the great and the good and the work colleagues

How much: £30 a head for a great range between the seven of us. Go in as big a group as you can, better to order more. Other than that most dishes are in the £8 - £12 range and are large servings.

Come here if: you want hot, proper Chinese cooking, without the rough service and beery boys filling most of the Gerrard Street dives. Great for a (fairly adventurous) team night out.


'Chinese cuisine' is a broad label. To sum up all of the different cuisines of such a vast land under one catch all title is impossible, but it's what most Chinese restaurants in this country have been doing for years, in an attempt to cater for unsophisticated or pedestrian palates. Now, like many Indian, Pakistani and Bengali restaurants, they're starting to throw off their generic roots, and cook more authentically, as people increasingly demand it. Bar Shu was one of the original London proponents of this, to the British palate, new style of Chinese cuisine. It's as far away from gloopy, generic MSG laden shit in a tray as you are going to get. 
Sichuan food is well known for its heat. The tiny red peppercorns proudly take the name of the province and appear in most dishes paired with fiery dried chillies.. When done well, the aim isn't macho heat but a level of warmth and gradual tingle, raising heartbeat and seratonin levels, like a lighter, benevolent (through still addictive) form of cocaine.

The restaurant recently closed for refurbishment and is a good looking beast now it has reopened. Several floors high on the corner of Romily and Frith Streets, it's not a small place, but it's well appointed in dark intricately carved wood and splashes of bright colour. It's quiet inside, with a hum rather than a buzz. The staff bustle, but don't push and the tables are evenly spaced. The thick menu does a good job with well taken photography and scary warnings in English, detailing the spice quotient of each dish. You won't struggle if you don't speak Mandarin. These menus are normally the signifier for a dumbed down Westernised menu, not seemingly in this case, though there was an absence of cartilage, gizzard and tripe, the usual signifiers of authenticity in a cuisine that favours texture as much as flavour. We weren't craving utter authenticity though, and mindful of the perils of ordering for seven, we instruct our server to bring us a selection. 
There's not much that you'll necessarily recognise from your local takeaway (thankfully) but there are a few of the regional Sichuan dishes that have crept into a wider consciousness, notably Gong Bau (or Kung Po) a flash-fried dish often of chicken (here with prawn), lightly flour dusted and fried with a light marinade, peanuts and the lip numbingly warm Sichuan peppercorns. One of the nicest variants I've had of this dish, and the huge portion easily catered for the seven of us, each getting a couple of the large, sweet shellfish. 
Thin sliced pork rolls were served room temperature, toothsome and sweetly piquant in a spicy garlic sauce. Shards of blackened beef, mini hot bites like biltong, came embued with rich chilli oils that even pleased the spice neutral South African in the group, comfortable with this North Chinese take on his national dish. Life seldom being about (sadly) meat alone, we grabbed a favourite of mine, the deep fried green beans with minced pork and ya kai, a preserved (and either absent or innocuous) mustard. 
A mild and almost soothing cucumber with speckles of pulled pork was interesting, but relatively unforgettable as anything other than a palate cleanser, but there were only a couple of dishes I wouldn't order again. Water boiled pork slices were possibly the least successful. A slightly acrid broth held mushy porky pieces that had been slow soaked in the water over a period of hours (possibly days), unusual texture for the meat, but not anything I'd return to.
Twice cooked pork belly, another Sichuan classic, comes recommended. The pork belly is boiled in a garlic, ginger and salt marinade before being fine sliced and stir-fried. Ants Climbing a Tree is another famous regional dish, thin rice noodles in the ubiquitous chilli oil, with the 'ants' made up of minced pork. It's good, but not worth the trip alone. Boiled beef slices with 'extremely spicy sauce' was overly apocalyptic in its description and while it was warm, the spice built well within the dish rather than beating you around the head. The flavour of the beef came through, and this, despite being one of the last dishes, vanished quickly.
Bar Shu is definitely a recommendation. Compared to some of its siblings over Shaftesbury Avenue and into Chinatown proper, it's clean, friendly and focussed on delivering decent food rather than turnover. Rolling out into a snowy London night, the warmth and satisfaction from the Sichuan heat stayed with me, though that could have been the booze..

Breakfast at Blue Mountain Cafe - Dec

East Dulwich, home to smug middle-class media breeders and their delightful progeny, has all but erased the working classes, the unwashed and the ugly from its midst through a social programming drive Machaevellian in the extreme. 
First we got a couple of delis and a couple of the local spit and sawdust boozers metaphorically cut their hair and had a wash. Then the little odd independent boutiques started to open... a newer sort of person started queuing outside the exceptional but resolutely local butcher William Rose, an ernest sort of person, a fleece wrapped, rugby shirt, sensible shoe wearing broadsheet reader who "really wanted to stay West, but when we started thinking about the kids it was either move here, or move out of London". 
And they demanded places to eat, and places to shop, and places to drink, with other similar spirits and their Bugaboo prams filled with flaxen haired organic, free range children. And then in one dreadful year, they opened The White Company, Oliver Bonas and Foxtons. The Richmondification of East Dulwich was almost complete. 
This isn't a teary eyed pean to a stalwart of the retail community deemed unsuitable for little Jemimahs and Jacobs, closed and turned into a high-class cheese shop, this is just to prepare you for the people who occupy the Blue Mountain Cafe on Northcross Road, ground zero of the yummy mummy.
It's twee. By which I mean reclaimed oak furniture and country cottage chic, and mismatching, and quirky, some of those things deliberately. They have set spaces for the prams and pushchairs - woe betide anyone trying to get a table here from 10.30 on a weekday. It defines the term mother's meeting. The food is well sourced and relatively well prepared, certainly freshly prepared. Their Full Monty breakfasts certainly are a thing of beauty, sourced and prepared by someone who really cares about what they're putting out. The sausages and bacon, from the aformentioned William Rose, are solid meaty protein torpedos. There's a decent pile of buttery mushrooms and a frankly enormous heap of beans. Perfectly poached eggs top thick slabs of brown toast. A substantial load, more suited for a trucker's cafe than a genteel suburb.

Review of one of the Tas Restaurants - Nov 2010

Where: Tas, Southwark

With who: The Vole

How much: £42 a head for the set meze menu. Otherwise starters are around £4 and mains hover under the tenner mark. You'll eat well on £20 a head. 

Come here if: these days, the local kebab house just isn't sophisticated enough for you.

You know those days when you wake up craving chickpeas? No, me neither, but the Vole pleaded pulses so I cancelled a planned trip to Hawksmoor (the things we do for love) and we headed to Tas on The Cut. It's one of the first and largest branches of this thriving, good value Turkish chain and our bill came to an end of the month pleasing £42 including a bottle of wine and coffees.

If they've skimped on anything, it's not the decor.. Clean light woods, plants and linen tablecloths take this flagship upmarket enough for that snooty auntie, if not a key client. The wipe-clean laminated menu lets the side down a little, but that's a minor whinge... The food is good, simple and authentic (at least to my untutored palate). We go for one of the set meze menus, the Renk, they're all broadly similar combinations of hot and cold small plates but this one includes Borek,  small filled, fried, filo parcels I'm an absolute sucker for. There's also a two course, more Anglicised menu, ideal for snooty auntie.


Standouts include the aforementioned  Borek, hot but ungreasy, stuffed with soft cheese and spinach, a smoky stewed aubergine number, palate cleansing parsley and mint tabbouleh, fresh and crunchy and some excellent bread. Less of a success were the deep-fried mussels, little chewy sacks of salt in a too thick batter, and a solid falafel, puckish in the wrong way.

Breakfast at Leon - Nov 2010

Where: Leon, branches everywhere, this one was on Regent Street
I've always been a fan of Leon. Bright shiny healthy looking stores, with bright shiny healthy lunch options themed mainly around (ethically sourced) meat, what's not to like? I went through a phase of picking lunch up there a couple of times a week, particularly a sucker for their grilled chicken, always moist and tender and served with a tasty spiced brown rice and a 50/50 mix of garlicky thick aoili and ruby red sharp chilli sauce. From what I can work out, the quality of the food hasn't diminished with their gradual rollout, nine sites now and counting, so I'm pleased to report that it's a chain I can happily recommend, though I don't go there as much these days.
They've recently launched a breakfast menu and I popped in to try this last week. With the caveat that I've always been happy with the quality here, the breakfast struck an off note for me. A handful of sandwiches plus several porridge options comprise the menu. Brekkie staples plus 'New York options' (served on rye bread). I went for the bacon, egg and mushroom on nutty granary bread and sadly didn't think too much of it. A hot sandwich with sliced bread needs to be prepared fresh, as it'll lose any crunch in the toast seconds after you put it into a storage bag. The fillings had merged together and with the bread gave a rather soggy mess and the disappointing bacon was slightly plasticky and wafer thin. I think that this one might be a rare duff note, certainly something to avoid, unless you miss the notes of motorway service station in your London dining.

Review of Aqua Nueva in Soho - Nov 2010

Where: Aqua Nueva, Oxford Circus

With who: A pair of clients and one of our account managers

How much: We were treated, but it's not cheap... 'tapas' style starters from £8 - £12 a plate and mains from £22. I dread to think how much we paid for the three bottles of a fair but forgettable Rioja we shared.

Come here if: Someone with deep pockets owes you a favour

Las Vegas is wonderful for many things, among them a real sense of pomp and circumstance around the art of eating. Sure, you can grab a burger, or queue up at the trough of an all you can eat buffet to feed your face with the best of them, but there are plenty of places where flair is key. I was reminded of this as I entered the slightly schizophrenic entrance of Aqua, two restaurants for one, in the old Dickens and Jones store on Argyll Street. Heavy red drapes, suited flunkys and confusing mirrors remind you more of the circus house in Twin Peaks than luxe dining. A lift to the loft disgorges you into another welcome annex, with yet more floating staff, and by the time you enter the main bar you feel thoroughly confused.

The main bar is decorated in a generic international style. Chinoise fabrics, opulent drapes and tall banquette tables surround the semi-circular bar - occupied by skinny pretty girls and the braying suits who pay for them flood the space. From the main bar, the space leads off to a Japanese restaurant on one side and a Spanglish restaurant with its own bar on the other end of a long corridor. It's owned by a consortium of  Chinese businessmen and seems determined to pick and pinch from every cultural influence it can. 

The Spanish side of the space is very separate and feels lighter in style, like eating in the lobby of a Four Seasons hotel rather than chowing down in the nightclub. The international feel carries on, with French and Polish staff treading their way carefully round the menu. Our stumped 'sommelier' finally recommended a Rioja as being the most Spanish, desperate as he was to veer towards the upper reaches of the list. Tap water wasn't offered.

The menu has a Spanish twist, but in the loosest sense of the phrase. We tried to do tapas, but you'll fare just as well going for starters, main course and desserts. The plate of Iberico ham was thickly and badly carved, chewier than it should be against the grain, and a stretch at £18 for around 125 grams of the rich, gamey meat - even in Borough Market you'd be pushing it to pay more than a fiver for that quantity. Other starters of octopus, sliced sausages and croquettes were acceptable, but not exactly memorable, though they did have a grassy and tart extra virgin olive oil I could have almost drunk neat. 

The mains followed a similar vein. Monkfish 'adobo' was a pleasant piece of fish, but bore no trace of the titular marinade, a spicy Latin American base of peppers, oregano and cumin. Of the other mains, a beef tenderloin was a well cooked yet dainty slab, served simply with pimentos de padron, a simple if incongruous side to the dish. The boiled 'confit' tomatoes were left untouched. We'd attempted to order the peppers as a tapas plate and had initially been told that they weren't in season. To be fair to the restaurant, when we pointed out that they were the side of one of the main dishes, they did offer to cook an extra portion as a side, though charged us prettily for the pleasure of the simple salted peppers. 

For a Wednesday night in November, pre party season and a year after opening, both sides of the restaurant and the two large bars were buzzy and busy. It's an impressive state of affairs considering the punchy prices and determinedly inauthentic concepts. But this place doesn't appeal to or aim at the determined foodie. If you want to eat authentic Japanese and / or Spanish, there are a dozen better within walking distance. But if you're entertaining clients, models or proving to friends that you are in the know prior to a night jousting with AMEX Black cards in nearby Movida, then you may just have found your new go to destination of choice.

Review of Zucca - Nov 2010

Where: Zucca, Bermondsey Street
With who: Northern Mother and The Vole
How much: £75 for three courses and a bottle of wine
Zucca opened earlier in the year to rave reviews from bloggers and critics alike. Many had no idea how they could create their homely yet modern Italian cuisine at the prices they were charging, many of the same people also raved about the quality of the simple ingredients and this man, reading the bundles of food porn produced, licked his lips and vowed to get there, and soon. Well time moved on, and other places opened, and this man didn't get down there (though close) so it was with pleasure while sculling round for somewhere to take Northern Mother, that this man was reminded of the little (still fairly new) cozy, modern and cheap Italian on Bermondsey Street.
Slightly uncomfortable sub-Habitat chairs aside, the space is a welcoming one. Light walls and exposed brick link the floor to ceiling windows that mirror the open kitchen across the rear. The tables are small and close together, but the high ceilings don't allow the volume to get too loud or your neighbours conversations too intrusive.

And the food? Well I've already booked my return. It's a rare place that makes you feel like that, but Zucca is the restaurant equivalent of a huge hug from an old family friend. And I want another hug. We started, encouraged by the friendly, observant and on the ball waitress, to go for a selection of shared starters. Prosciutto di Parma with a perfectly ripe fig was good, two excellent ingredients in harmonious marriage. Cardoons, celery like sticks of artichoke thistle a rare sight on a menu, came slathered in a thick and slightly boozy fondue cheese which proved perfect for being mopped up by the real star of the starters, the Zucca Fritti. Sticks of pumpkin, squash and carrot with the odd leaf of zingy basil came cooked in a tempura light batter and piled high. The healthiest fried food I've ever had and for a jaw dropping £3 a plate. This would be my lunch, daily, if I lived in the neighbourhood.

You have the option of a pasta course, either before or instead of the main, a bold and light chicory, lemon and gorgonzola taglierini that both The Vole and Northern Mother opted for, and an intriguing bucatini, a spaghetti-like shape with a hollow centre, served with a seasonal pheasant sauce. The gamey notes continued into the carne, where I went for a whole partridge, served with slightly pointless and bland potatoes (the nearest to a duff note I had). Tender as I've had, with a rich stickiness on the breast and a salty umami-filled gravy made from the juices. We shared a homemade tiramisu, rich and creamy, and a panna cotta with poached pear, illiteratively pleasing but as a dessert just too bland for my palate. For £25 a head, it felt like we were committing theft.

Covent Garden veggie Food For Thought - Nov 2010

Where: Food For Thought, Covent Garden
How Much: £20 for 2 big plates of food and drinks


Years ago, a very good friend of mine worked at the Donmar Theatre, the 200 capacity, perma sellout celebrity hangout in Covent Garden. I was in a deep state of envy. Not so much for the job, he had to spend 3 hours a night crouched in silence backstage with occasional bursts of action, more for the fact he had Food For Thought as his unofficial work canteen.
The unfussy little basement has been there since the mid 70's, serving those in the know. Easy to miss if you didn't know exactly where so incongruous is it, sandwiched between the shoe shops, mid end retail boutiques and expensive coffee emporia of tourist trap Covent Garden. The students, local office workers and middle aged liberals who share the rough wooden tables certainly know why they're here though and are willing to queue patiently down the rickety stairs for a seat, or a portion to go.
They serve a small but eclectic menu with big healthy salads supported by crumbly homemade quiches, pies and bakes. The Vole went for a courgette, red onion and broccoli quiche, supported with a big leafy salad topped with a piquant and peppery sauce. I went for a wintery leek and mushroom bake, thick and hearty mixed veg nestled under a still crunchy pastry carapace, served with lashings of almost meaty gravy, roast new potatoes with rosemary and a green bean and cabbage mix.
By now it was 7pm and the place was packed, beardies queuing down the stairs. We were sharing our small table with another pair, Euro students, or tourists who'd wandered in on a whim, hopefully now clearer that you can eat well for cheap, even in the centre of tourist London's most touristy street.

San Francisco - Burger Madness

Two burgers, two ways, one day... Only in California

No trip to the West Coast is complete without worshiping at the altar of In-n-Out. Possibly the finest burger I've ever had. I have a slight moment of anxiety every time that it's not going to live up to the memories, and every time I've breathed a huge, meaty sigh of relief. The menu is simple. Burgers, fries and drinks. They have a much famed 'secret' menu, but essentially it boils down to combinations and numbers of patties and cheese slices. There's also the patented 'animal style' fries and burgers, slathered in onion, cheese and mustard and worthy of poetry. The fries are a little floury but not too greasy or doused in salt. The patty is meaty, thin and wonderful. Served in a white sponge dough bun, not too much taste, but that goes some way to soaking up the sauces. If I was complaining, I'd say that there was little too much onion for me but with the slice of tomato and piles of lettuce, it's certainly enough to count for a portion a day.


Rule number 1 when in the States on your own. Hit a bar, sit at the bar, talk to people. It's not as sleazy or try hard as it is in England, and you'll generally find out where the locals go. Any decent barkeep is guaranteed to give you a decent recommendation and you'll end up round the corner, having the time of your life, in the oddest of little dives. Or at least, that's the plan...Stuck in shopping central Union Square on a Sunday night, I had to try and pick my way through the tourist options. The slightly ditzy girl in Lefty O'Doulls (baseball themed post work joint with a rank looking carvery) sent me towards either Gold Rush or The Summer Place... The former was ok, but had only a few beers on tap and a post shopping crowd. I later found out from Katie Pie that they had ace live musicians Thursday through Saturday, but it wasn't a goer for me. She redeemed herself with The Summer Place, a proper little dive bar just off the Square and certainly somewhere you wouldn't walk in by choice. A couple of bottles of Anchor Steam (complex but light local brew) and a blast of Nirvana on the stereo and I was convinced I'd found a gem. It's also randomly one of the few places you can still smoke openly in a bar... "owner operated, this is San Francisco, not California" explained the beard next to me. 

From there I headed on to another local recommendation, this one from a different source, Yelp if you're wondering. They took me to Seasons, the lounge bar at the Four Seasons. It couldn't have been a bigger contrast. They do a wonderful Sunday night special, burger and beverage for $20. From the sticky, tacky seats and esoteric tunes of the Summer Place, I slid into the relaxed piano bar style of the Four Seasons lounge. The decor and the crowd were middle aged, generic upper class and slightly turned up at the edges. I wasn't sure I was going to stay until I saw the menu - Ground Kobe, Lincolnshire Poacher cheddar and confit shallots served on a brioche bun with fries - they offer 5 different styles on a Sunday evening, but this was the only one for me, and the only burger I've ever had with a suggested wine, cocktail or beer pairing. It was a done deal..

Slightly dry (but I'm being deliberately picky), and very rich, it was one of the better burgers I've eaten in the States. The Catena Merlot it paired with couldn't cut through the duck fat, and I dare anyone to finish it and still say they're hungry, but it was a satisfying bite. Not an every day option, but a once in a while fine dining burger treat.

Busabi Eathai

Where: Busaba Eathai, Bloomsbury

How much: Three main courses and a side to share came to £44. Most mains hover around the £10 mark.

I've always been a little amazed by Busaba Eathai. Ten years after do no wrong restaurateur Alan Yau first opened the first branch on Soho's Wardour Street, the crowds still line up outside the reservation free communal tabled Thai eateries. We arrived at 7pm on a Friday night and waited 20 minutes outside before being given a menu. There were a few people who had sorted the system and nipped in to 'meet friends', there were also a couple who seemed to be treated as VIPs and managed to queue jump somehow. It's not a system I'm a big fan of personally, though the fact there was a queue throughout means that it must work for some people. We ordered finally 45 minutes after arriving. It would normally have been way too long for me to wait.

We went for three mains and a side to share. The Green Curry beef was ok but the large amounts of a vaguely tasteless vegetable along with the beef felt more like filler than anything else. A grilled ribeye was thin, though well cooked and tender, and went well with the sour tamarind sauce it was served with. We both felt let down by the alleged 'crabmeat' rice, which other than a couple of rather incongruous mushy tomatoes and a lonely looking spring onion was nothing more than a bowl of plain rice. I'd have been badly let down if I'd ordered that as a main course on its own. The Thai calamari was excellent however. Perfectly cooked and seasoned. 
Despite the shared tables it didn't feel too intrusive or loud. That being said, we were on a table with a large group and did feel like we were intruding on their party. Other comment would be that on the large communal tables the central sauces felt far too far away so that you were intrusively leaning over people to get to them.

The menu seemed a little smaller than I remember. There didn't seem to be much by the way of starters, though I get that they may not be culturally appropriate. Having checked with their website I see that there aren't any desserts and while fresh fruit couldn't appropriately be served year round, there are a number of Thai desserts that would have rounded it off nicely. It was a good meal, but not worth the 45 minute wait.

New York - A tale of two Ducasses

I came to praise Chef Ducasse, certainly expecting a treat, sampling his two New York restaurants in the space of two days. I was impressed, but oddly not as I was expecting to be.

The restaurants are both situated on a two block stretch of 55th Street. A wealthy but anonymous cross road in Midtown Manhattan, straddling the upper class shopper’s playground of 5th Avenue. Close by you’ve got the Core: Club (uber exclusive $15K per year private members haunt), some of the wealthiest real estate on the planet and a range of high end hotels including the Plaza, the Four Seasons and The New York Palace whose guests, if they ever stretch from their luxurious surrounds, could treat either spot as a neighbourhood favourite. In short, a good place to situate a restaurant or two.

I expected the most from 2 Michelin starred Adour at the St Regis. Following a wonderful lunch earlier in the year at the Dorchester, my little fatty heart sang at the prospect of his clever, simple dishes with a focus on top end ingredients. I’d promised my colleague, not a big restaurant goer, that this would be one of the finest food experiences she’d ever had. And you know what? I think I overplayed my hand somewhat.

It’s an awe inspiring space in the ground floor of the St Regis. The decor is as opulent as you’d expect from a 2* fine dining restaurant, with muted fine ivory and brown merging with golds and marble. Theatricality comes from the oversized display cases of wine that fill every alcove, an oenophile’s wet dream, serried stands filled with bottles, jeraboams, balthazars and salazars (whatever they are) of the finest wines known to humanity. The staff were obsequious and ever present, a little too present, almost tripping over each other at times to deliver each course. You felt somehow stuck in the middle of a balletic spectacle, or a demonstration by bow tie wearing ninjas. I had three separate waiters pour my starter soup (an overly fussy sea urchin and shrimp consomme) from separate silver flasks. Sadly though, this wasn’t intentional high food art, a different essence in each bottle, they’d simply under catered for the table. The food was fussier than I remembered from London, with some of the charm, but my abiding memory wasn’t one of warmth. Partly due to the over exuberant air conditioning, and a little to do with the length of explanation required, but every dish appeared a little cold.
We went for the tasting menu, expecting a riot of flavours and tastes, and with a few exceptions were left let down. The foie gras was lukewarm and veiny, slipping down without a bite like a lightly seared and duck scented panna cotta. Fillet of escolar, a white tuna like fish, was lovely, though too close in texture to the sea bass served a couse before. The standout came with the Nebraskan beef. Served two ways it was an object lesson in flavoursome meat, prepared and served with a rich syrah jus. 

Benoit had high expectations from the monied locals of the fringes of Midtown and the Upper East Side when it opened on the site of famed local favourite La Côte Basque in early 2008. The ‘venerable high society temple of French cuisine’, as described by the New York Times had been purveying classical French fine dining on the spot since the late 1950s, an eternity in such a rapidly changing city. Ducasse has kept much and made more of l’histoire and l’heritage of both the site and the venerable French bistrot style typified by the original turn of the century Benoit in Paris. The screen dividers in the light, airy oak panelled room are 19th century Parisien imports, the rotating trolley from a similar period carries desserts such as his signature Rhum Baba and the lightest macaroons round the room and one of the private dining rooms is decorated with authentic decor from a turn of the century apothecary. 

Buzzy for lunch even at an early hour, the service was a touch less formal and strained than its neighbour, efficient and attentive, but without excessive ceremony. Delicate, moreish parmesan puffs arrived before my guests did, and almost didn’t last until their arrival. The menu is classic bistro. Starters go heavy with terrine and tartes flambee (signature of the Alsatian bias on the menu, likely to change slightly with their new chef as he beds in). I’m a sucker for fat and buttery snails whenever I see them on a menu and these beauties hid under their crouton lids bubbling garlic and parsley, waiting to be mopped up with fresh crusty loaf. It was followed by a faultless steak tartare, chosen from among other rustic mainly meaty treats including a couple of classic steak cuts, roast chicken with garlic, pork chops and an intriguing looking Boudin Aux Pommes, blood sausage served with apples on a bed of green salad. It's certainly a comfortable menu more suited to the financiers and the local workers than the demure ladies who lunch market.

Overall, I could see the touch of the master chef coming through in Adour. The level of inventiveness, the formal style and the precision all chimed, but while it hit certain highs, for me the laid back food and sheer pleasure I experienced at Benoit made it the superior experience.

Review of Les Deux Salons - Oct 2010

Where: Les Deux Salons, Covent Garden
With who: The Vole
How much: A very good value set lunch was £15 for three courses, our total bill (with an extra course) came to £70 for the two of us. Starters generally £6 - £9 and mains £16 - £21, including sides.

The third in the family from Anthony Demetre, the chef behind low key Michelin starred joints Wild Honey and Arbutus, was always going to get my interest. I've had some great meals at the other two and was excited to hear about the plans for a larger, more classically French bistro just off St Martin's Lane. Like one of my other big current favourites, the Dean Street Townhouse, Les Deux Salons is housed in a former Pitcher and Piano and my god, is it an improvement. While they may not have the deep pockets of Caprice Holdings, the team behind Les Deux Salons have done a great job turning the large, cavernous space into an elegant French bistro. Deep red banquettes, blacks and whites and elegant brasses go with the formality of the linen table cloths and the bustling smart floor team. It's a big room, with further covers on the mezzanine level, and they'll have to go some to fill it on every service, but on this showing, I think they're in with a fighting chance, even if the mezzanine level isn't open often. 

It's a classic bistro menu, with a large nod to their Josper Grill (an ultra hot Spanish machine drooled over by chefs nationwide) and a Gallic sneer towards the vegetarians - a couple of salads and a solitary (though very fine) pasta dish complete the meat free line up. A particularly fine looking bavette (or flank steak) arrives on the next table, joining a Scottish beefburger that comes in at £12 and pretty much guarantees my return visit. We go for the set menu and slip in the orecchiette pasta as a shared course after the starter. It's almost a step too far.

The white bean and smoked duck soup I start with is OK, but to be honest, it's nothing special. I can't taste the duck at all and the bean is a little chalky. The Vole's chunky country terrine is a much better option, full of flavoursome nuggets of melting fat. Fresh orecchiette pasta comes in a creamy sauce with artichokes, pecorino, kale and pine nuts and is exceptional. Well cooked, well seasoned and with individual flavours that really shine through. Simple but very well thought through. Even simpler though is the shoulder of venison served with a parsnip puree that follows as my main. It's a big portion of gamey melting meat served with a smooth puree and a rich jus. The meat was obviously on the go before I was this morning, and has been caramelised around the edges with the Josper. It's sweet and meltingly tender. I feel thoroughly sated.  

The chocolate fondant was acceptable, good even, but almost too much after the previous courses. It wasn't too memorable, but I did spy a Rhum Baba on an adjacent table with my name on it for next time.