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.