All Thai'ed Up... Sept 2011

On bad Thai puns - This was going to be 'Tale of Two Ci-Thais' with the opening line of "It was the best of Thai's, it was the worst of Thai's..." I then had a creative disagreement with Dr Vole. She thought Suits and Thai would have worked better, but shouldn't a day in which I'd ended up eating Thai twice not be a excuse for a Dickensian pun or two? I stood my ground for a bit and then she came over the top with the title of All Thai'ed Up, appropriately enough for a day of prior engagements...


Anyway, we'd had a Thai dinner date that had been pre-arranged, then I found I had to take some clients out for a Thai lunch and so dear reader, I ate them both...


Mango Tree - Victoria

   
The venerable Mango Tree came first. It's a popular one with our guests who work locally and one of few decent, reasonably affordable options in Victoria. That being said, a two course business lunch with soft drinks and water only still came in at £40 a head. It's a relatively soulless barn of a space under a large hotel / office building, light and bright enough on the sunniest day of the year but little ambience delivered by the large plate glass windows staring out on the traffic choked Grosvenor Place. The decor feels a little scuffed and tired round the edges these days, and the confusing, tatty menu piles three special menus on top of the banqueting options on top of the a la carte. The £17 set lunch needs to be asked for separately however.


I went for two from their seasonal Street Food Festival menu, unsure of what this was linked to but the options looked interesting enough. Kai Nok-krata Tord or Quail egg Wanton was a bit of a one trick pony. Pleasant enough, though a little cloying after a while, the portion containing six of the little orbs, hard boiled and fried in wanton skin, my anaemic chilli sauce had me eying a neighbours satay avariciously. The satay and associated chicken skewers were pronounced quite as good as anything my colleague had eaten recently in Thailand.


My main was more interesting, deep-fried sea bass with a mango salad. The former came a touch over-fried for my taste, the accompanying chewy mouthfeel tasty for sure, but killed the sea bass a little. The green mango salad worked alongside, a cooling mix of crunchy matchsticks contrasting with the heat of the fish. Elsewhere they didn't seem to compromise on flavour for pedestrian local taste buds either. Other dishes receiving plaudits round the table included a robust Massaman Lamb Shank curry, thick, creamy and almost aggressively spiced with the soft lamb falling off the bone.   

      

Wines are fairly punchy in their ambition. I'm not sure I'd waste a premier Bordeaux on such spicy fare but if you would, then they're all here and priced as you'd expect. There's plenty around the £18 - £30 mark too though the professional workers (or those with bosses) weren't able to imbibe.


Overall, it's difficult to fault the food that we had, though I might chose differently next time. Big portions of fresh and authentic, well spiced Thai banqueting specialities. But you'll pay handsomely for the privilege and if not stuck in Victoria with no escape I wouldn't necessarily travel for it. The ambience, decor and tightly packed tables rule out romantic rendezvous too. If you're craving expensive Thai in Victoria, Michelin starred Nahm on West Halkin Street is also worth a thought.




@Siam - Soho

   
Getting my eating boots back on a few hours later, we headed out into a Soho night and a Thursday crowded night. You can't miss the throb on Frith Street with crowds outside The Arts, Barrafina and Moolis merging in the quiet road. If it's dispiriting to open a restaurant next door to Koya you can't tell from @Siam's smiley staff. The smashingly simple Japanese noodle bar has achieved Rolling Stones popularity, as evidenced with a queue that stretches down the block.


Inside @Siam is clean, appropriate and fairly generic. Other than the smiling staff smartly dressed in their matching monikered black and tartan shirts you could be in Soho Thai, Thai Square or any of the other small chains.


There's the whiff of 'new' around the operation (appropriately so, as it is) and so a few bits around us don't quite work. There are people waiting for their bill, others being given wrong courses, but it's all dealt with so well by those happy staff that you don't notice anyone caring too much. Perhaps as they get busier they'll tighten up, but there are plenty of places in Soho that have built a reputation on being cheerfully shambolic (Balans, I'm particularly looking at you here).


My starter of prawns in a breadcrumb batter on a bed of iceberg wasn't the greatest of starts. The Thousand Island-style mayo drizzled over the top didn't add much and the flaccid prawns didn't dazzle either. Dr Vole's chicken satay was much better (why I should occasionally order what I want to eat, rather than what looks most exciting on the menu) with soft and moist char grilled chook and a poppy homemade satay sauce.


The main was a house special of Weeping Tiger, soy marinaded thin slices of beef steak served with a great little dipping sauce of deepest sour and sweet. If I were being picky, I'd say it had rested a little too long and was cut a little too thick, but it was simple food done well. A mineral crisp, almost sharp Gavi de Gavi went well with the meal, one of the stars on a smallish list.

    

I'm a fan of Thai food generally. As opposed to some of it's South East Asian neighbours, there's a good mix of fried and chilli and interesting textures without the challenging 'mouthfeel' of some of the more robust regional cuisines. Spicy Pad Thai or a good homemade Green Curry is a blast of pleasure when cooked at home in the evening, but I always go for something I can't do myself when I'm out and too often end up disappointed.

Caveat: The meal at @Siam was comped and offered to me through the PR company. As I will rarely turn down a meal - much less a free one - I have been happy to accept a couple of these, going incognito and reveal myself (with a letter, calm down at the back) at the end of the meal. 

Broadway Market highlights: BanhMi'11 and Yum Bun - Momofoko hits London (nearly..)

I've talked before about the life changing pork buns at Momofuku Ssam Bar in New York. Silkily simple steamed white rice buns filled with softest braised pork belly, spring onions and hoisin sauce. Truly god's own bar snack.

I'd never really entertained the hope of these little pats of goodness arriving in London, much less in a recognisable format or as close to the warmly unctuous soft pocket perfection of the originals. As such I was only mildly interested when I first heard about the Yum Bun stall at Broadway Market on a Saturday. "Hackney copycats" quoth I dismissively, certain that they'd not live up to my memories of the original. Lucky for me they were serving their pork filled pockets at the Actor's Touring Company Gala and I was able to sample one or two (definitely no more than three, and only because I was given a spare..) after a spectacular evening at the Arcola watching The Golden Dragon.

They're almost as good. And that's enough for me. The joy of the originals is somewhat in their surroundings. I mean, if I'm eating them, then I'm in New York, and that makes me very happy in itself. These are lacking somewhat on the fat, the Blythburgh pork is damned tasty, but other than one bun they just lacked a bit of the sweetness that comes with a strip of properly melting fat. Other than that, I can't fault them at all.


And if you need another excuse (or two) to go to Broadway Market...

It's home to another of my favourite snacks, possibly the best banh mi in London, served (with enormous snaking queue) at the otherwise utterly delightful BahnMi'11. Marinaded and freshly cooked pork, beef and chicken (not to mention an amazingly piquant turmeric scented catfish) are prepared over authentic Vietnamese griddles and served in homemade rice flour baguettes with coriander, chilli and veggies. Food. Of. Champions.

If that hasn't done it for you, then stick around till the evening, and get involved with the Argentine grill at Buen Ayre (see here for a recent review). While not as well known as Borough or Spitalfields, for the food alone, I'll be making the trip up to tease the trendies again.

Being part of the chain gang

I find it difficult to hide my distain of the chain. Identikit restaurants and hotels generally turn me off. Put it down to a dislike of homogenisation, a desire to support individual, local endeavours or just call me a reactionary, elitist old snob. I've often tried to justify it, talking about a dilution of brand values, lack of management attention or a focus on satisfying the supply chain over the customer but fundamentally I'm like a 14 year old boy witnessing 'his' underground music heroes sell out into the mainstream or an anti-Facebook, I just don't like thousands of other people liking what I like.

That being said, maybe I'm growing up. I'm starting to care less and even on occasion encourage it. If for every disappointing Cay Tre Soho you were to get two places as clever as Hawksmoor Seven Dials and Goodman in the City it wouldn't be so bad. After all Byron started as a chain, and West Coast burger nirvana In-n-Out is a classic example of one that works. Of the examples given two things remain constantly at a high since the first joint, the quality of the food and the ethos of the serving staff. You can have one without the other, but it's rare. If you work somewhere that sells slop, you're not likely to be the happiest of souls and equally if the establishment consistently pumps out great food, it's more likely (though not guaranteed by any stretch) that the management will be looking out for the staff too. 


Marina O'Loughlin said in the Metro, "I'll happily eat in the shonkiest East End kebab joint if the food is great and not dictated by the spreadsheet". Well I'll take this further. I'll happily eat in the chainiest of chains, if the food is north of acceptable and the staff act like they give a shit. 


So what of it? Are there any truly 'acceptable' chains? Or are they all wonderful, with me and those like me just utter snobs? Are they any better in the UK or in other countries? And do you have a guilty pleasure, that you'd cross towns and countries to eat at? Answers on a postcard to the usual address...

Vineyard House - a Camberwell take on Limonia - Aug 2011

Where: Vineyard House Greek Taverna, Camberwell
With who: Dr Vole and The Ginger Prince
How much: starters around a fiver, mains between £8 and £12
Come here if: you have a hankering for moussaka and retro dining

These days it seems every mention of Camberwell comes with the breathless rejoinder that a gentrification is coming. Church Street is on the way up, Camberwell Village is on the way up, the whole damn area is coming up like a teenager at their first rave. The new housing, the new restaurants and bars, no restaurant review is complete without a GCSE style compare and contrast between the 'grim, gritty Camberwell' of old and the rays of light being shone by the latest purveyor of gastronomic goodness and culturally relevant modernity. The honourable exception in the press being Mr Jay Rayner, who lives round here and knows that it's always been a salty but fascinating and (relatively) cohesive community.

The Vineyard Taverna feels like it's been part of the community for generations. Like Primrose Hill's Lemonia, it existed before the area pulled itself up by the bootstraps and like Lemonia it obviously has long term fans. If your parents grew up in the area, this is likely to have been one of the places they'd have come to on a date. In fact, on a Saturday night, it still feels like the type of place young local couples come on a date.

We were here because all of the other, newer eateries we fancied were slammed full. The still deeply patronising (though by now almost understandably so) front desk at Angels and Gypsies stifled a laugh when I enquired about a table at 9 on a Thursday evening, "did you not plan your night out sir? Did you not realise several weeks ago that a couple of beers post work would almost certainly fire a desire for food and therefore procure a booking?" The chaps at The Crooked Well were nicer. Apologetic, friendly, understandable and accommodating; but still full to the gills until 10:15.

Looks wise, it makes some attempt at the authentic Greek taverna style. Faux grapevines cover the ceiling, white paper table cloths give a light air though the effect is localised with black and white prints of Camberwell Church Street in years gone by and spoilt by the large TV in the bar cum entrance. Tables spill onto the street in even the most inclement weather, though these, like the few scattered around the bar are often occupied by the local Greek Cypriot community who use the space as their overflow front room.

Ordinarily, I've gone for the mezze. Shared mixed platters for the table of dips, crudites, pitta and vine leaves fold into various species of fried and are followed up by lumps of chicken and lamb kebab. It's not that it's bad, it's just pedestrian, forgettable and other than being an acceptable beer soaker-upper, not really anything to get fussed about. It's somewhere you go en masse, like you did at university, diving on the sharing plates with your shared bonhomie more important than what you're shovelling down your neck.

This time though, I'm pleased to report that we go off piste and I sample some really rather good cooking. After a trio of those fairly forgettable dips, my main of Lamb Kleftico arrives in front of me with a rush of fragrant steam. A hefty portion of slow roasted meat, pink and juicy, falls of the bone, glistening motes of garlic and a hint of bay mingling in the oil infused flesh. Soaking into the olive oil cooked chips, it's a struggle to finish the slab, and a bigger struggle not to suck the bone clean afterwards. It's a worthwhile reminder of why you should support longstanding local restaurants. 

 

Sabor - the Argentinian at the end of the (Essex) Road - Aug 2011

Where: Sabor, Islington
With who: Team Dogface
How much: Starters were £6ish each, mains hover between £13 and £16
Come here if: you're called by ceviche, or have an urge for an empanada

"She'll bite you... If I tell her." being slightly intimidated by a toothless man wielding a lhasa apso wasn't how I'd planned to spend my Saturday evening, and I was lucky at this point that we shared a common language, 'slightly pissed', enabling me to smile and gurn my way out of trouble. Granted, he was slightly more fluent than I, elevated only slightly from the level of street drinker by dint of the pub bench he sat at. Sat outside the New Rose, next door to Sabor and a glimpse of the other Islington. Only a mile from but a million miles removed from the gentrified surroundings of Islington Green and Upper Street.

Essex Road has sidestepped most of the ill effects of recent gentrification, with the odd outriding bar or restaurant gradually spreading the money down from Upper Street and Islington Green. As you head further down, these become fewer and further between, replaced instead with a scattering of old style cafes, blacked out pub windows, bottle shops and the more colourful side of street life. I like it, but then I live in Camberwell.

We weren't here for the salty locale though, we were here on recommendation, punctuating an evening's drinking with a bite to eat at the relatively upmarket 'Nuevo Latino' cantina Sabor. It's a thin, bright space with white walls, primary coloured tables and an eclectic selection of South American objects scattered across the wall, somewhere across between a child's playgroup and gap year returnee's bedroom.

The food was well meaningly authentic but fairly scattergun, starting with a warm but too dry cornbread. I went for a seemingly Peruvian style of potato known as Papas Rellenas, essentially a thickened mash with a spiced minced meat filling, served with a tomato 'foam' on the side. It wasn't disastrous, but watching others plough into hot flakey empanadas and surprisingly solid vegetarian quesadillas I did have a little pang. There were some great dishes among the starters in the group, sadly mine wasn't one of them.

For my main I went for a rib-eye. Well cooked and a great bit of meat to boot. Unfortunately the balsamic glazed plantain that it came with was a little eye-watering for me though. It's an interesting idea, but the al dente discs of banana's bigger brother just didn't take enough of the marinade on, leaving it darkly slick across the plate. It clashed with the over-garlicky chimichurri like two rival gangs on my palate.The lettuce accompanying was just pointless. A classic piece of menu Tourettes. I regretted my choice watching across the tiny toy tables as Pickleodeon ploughed into a Cuban shredded beef brisket and rice dish with a wonderful piquancy to it. There were similar positive murmurs about the red snapper. It certainly smelt good, though the sample I tried got mugged on the way to my tastebuds by that chimichurri.

Desserts followed the theme. My chocolate tres leches was a classic three milk brownie, dense and sticky, a perfect balance of texture, sweet and bitter. Two of the party went for what seemed like a sweetened, poached tomato, served disingenuously with a spoon of highly alcoholic rum and raisin. 

It's a fun, friendly and fairly good value night out. I don't see myself back here at any point in the near future, but that's more the area than the restaurant. It's worth popping in if you're nearby.

   

Ganapati - Less a review, and more of an advert - July 2011

Where: Ganapati, Peckham
How much: 2 courses for under £20 and a reasonably priced, if short, drinks list. Some excellent London lagers make an appearance


It's taken me a long time to write this, for very obvious reasons*. Sometimes a positive review of a hidden local gem is a blessing, especially for those that need a kick early days to help them get going, I'm hoping that The Crooked Well keeps up at it's current rate of knots. At other times raves are a pain in the arse, particularly when one of the most popular and authentic South Indian restaurants in South London gets one and is somewhere, despite it being on your doorstep, you already find it difficult to get a table.


Ganapati has an endearing 'make do and mend' style design that runs from the charmingly quirky light fixtures and decoration made from found objects, presumably bought in Kerala on one of the many trips to the region that owner and chef, Clare Fisher, has made. It would be easy to scoff at the homely, homemade and welcoming attitude, it's almost too wholesome at times, like dining in a commune kitchen, but it'd be like kicking a puppy, and a particularly sweet one at that.


The menu is short and regularly changing, there are a few constant staples but go with recommendations from the friendly staff (and often chipped in comments from fellow diners) or one of the Thali platters if you're unsure. The poppadoms are worth getting purely for the tamarind and beetroot chutney, sweetly and divinely astringent.


From the mains, I've recently been weaning myself off the thali platter. Don't get me wrong, there are some good flavours in the tiny metal bowls, the deep and aromatic lamb curry is perfectly flavoured and the mustard cuts through the dry fried potato with a wonderful zing, but I've been there too many times before. With a rolling menu of Keralan delights, that way food envy lies. 


On recent visits I've sampled hot Thattu Kada lamb, joyful tingling crunches of green firecracker chilllies poking out of the dish like vibrant fish in the wall of a coral reef. The Pudina chicken is milder, despite a slow heat from the black pepper, and comes on the bone with a fresh mint and coconut masala served with tomato rice. I've even had one of the veggie pieces. Hunks of sweet potato, cauliflower and okra, cooked a dente in a rich fragrant coconut broth, not enough to convert me, but good enough for a second go.


Whatever you have for a main, just make sure that you leave room for one, or more, of their heavenly parathas. Butter drenched whorls of unlevened bread, hot and fresh from the oven, demand attention as they arrive but are best saved to soak up stray sauce.


I've never managed a dessert. Actually, that's a lie, I once managed a mouthful of sticky carrot and sultana halwa, fragrant carrot cake batter with notes of cardamon, but I've never eaten a whole one. The lassi is a good option, and one of the few things I can stomach after a distending session of paratha. They also sell their beetroot chutney, and a delightful box-set of recipe cards from the kitchen. I suggest you pick both up if you are lucky enough to go, you need it for the times when you have a craving for that paratha, but just can't get a table.

   

* and like a giggling country idiot, I thought I'd already reviewed it on here...

'that' burger at the Rye - July-Sept 2011

Surely everyone has become bored with hearing the story of Yanni 'Meatwagon' Papoutsis and his rise, fall and second coming? If you're not or have been living in a culinary hole for the last three years, have a read up on it somewhere else. In short; Man researches burger, Man creates burger, Man sells burger, all pronounce it good.

Yanni seems to have settled down now, other than occasional forays to appropriate festivals and food fairs, and I really can't complain, as he's settled just round the corner from my house...

There's something almost noble about the life of a legendary travelling meat slinger and setting up a residency at The Rye, a refurbished refurbishment on the edges of Peckham was either a genius redefinition or as self serving and money-grabbing as Celine Dion's residency in Vegas.

It's certainly an improvement on the two hour queues in edgy carparks and pubs that I've experienced before to get Yanni's good stuff, but on the last couple of Sunday lunchtimes visited at least, the steady supply of on of the finest meat based snacks known to man has slowly turned its host pub into a creche. The dodgy as hell history of great, cult burgerdom, has been subsumed into some sort of family friendly post pool party treat for the weekend folks of Dulwich willing to speed ("not in that way darling, I haven't touched the stuff since before Imogen was conceived") over the Rye for it.

The menu is extensive, if you like burgers. There are 6 or so styles with rotating specials. The base of them all is a medium rare patty of 28 day aged chuck steak and a soft, yielding sourdough bun that soaks the juices while keeping shape till the last sticky bite. Toppings include the Dirty Hippy, a pair of mustard fried patties with a processed cheese slice broiled into the meat, the Green Chili burger, a tongue stinging tribute to New Mexico's Bobcat Burger, allegedly one of the finest on the planet, and a self explanatory bacon cheeseburger. Recent specials include a mushroom swiss that took me back to childhood and a dirty plate of chili cheese covered fries, oozing amber juice over the utilitarian tin plates. There isn't any sense of accomplished presentation, but you'll find it difficult to care as the main event, the burgers, have maintained their standards well in the transition from outdoor wagon to pub kitchen. A touch of chopped iceberg gives crunch, the rest is a delicious mingling of flavours and soft texture, a meaty taste explosion.

The only problem I have with the food here is the sides. They've not improved from the early days, despite the static kitchen. Over cooked and over greased in the case of the chips and onion rings and over salted in the case of the last coleslaw I tried. It's not the end of the world though, you can manage two burgers instead. It's probably much better for you.

Does the fact that you're now slamming it down surrounded by rug rats rather than New Cross hipsters take away from the experience? Somewhat, I have to say. It's beyond middle class hell when you can't even hear Minnie Ripperton over the scream and the gurgle of little Ollie and Arthur let alone the shout of your order. Weekday nights have to be the way forward, I don't think I can cope with a Sunday like that without getting fighty...

So will I come again? Of course, the burger is still worth a trip, if not across town, then certainly from the neighbouring postcode. And if you have kids, you need feel no shame here, they'll be welcome, with their mewling and puking, while you can sample the burger you couldn't get the buggy through the crowds to before.