London Restaurants by category
I got called out recently. Challenged by a restaurant PR keen to prove that not all Italian chain restaurants are the same. I must admit that I wasn't overly keen but it was such a charming invite that I succumbed with my usual provisos*.
Admittedly bowling up at 2.30 on a Friday afternoon wasn't a particularly fair start. Slap bang on a busy Covent Garden junction, they'd obviously been hammered by a long lunch rush and the staff were slightly on the back foot, if delightful, throughout.
Bread and olives were definitely not good. The slightly over dry ciabatta had obviously been sat toasted for a while, left over from the lunchtime rush, and a too liberal glug of oil pre-delivery made for a chewy and teeth squeaking start. Olives likewise we're nothing to write home about.
Porky meatballs to start were fine, though any subtlety in the meat was overpowered by a brash tomato sauce that shouted over the top of them. They were, to be fair, better than a Frito Misto bowl of calamari and courgette. While it was a hearty portion, after too much dry and cloyingly thick batter, quantity became part of the criticism. We soldiered on and finished it, though mainly as it was a late lunch and we were starving.
I have to confess to not being entirely well disposed to the food by the time the pizza arrived. Expectations suitably lowered, they were wonderfully and unexpectedly knocked into a different league by the pizza. I went for simplicity itself, a humble margherita, topped with a simple smear of fresh tomato, sweet mozzarella and a wisp of basil. The other one was a Carmelo, slightly overbearing smoked mozz - leaving both of us feeling like we'd just nipped out for a fag - and lovely, if too sweet, Neapolitan pork sausage.
The toppings were secondary, it was the bases that were special. Really special. Chewy, toasty moreishness with a light char and the lightest sour tang. By dint of that, and the simplicity of it, the margherita is one of the best pizzas I've ever tasted in this country. It even edged ahead of my last visit to to Franco Manca, a real touch of Naples in the most unlikely of spots.
So did it change my preconceptions of the Italian chain? Well not really. Other than that pizza, there wasn't anything here that would make me run back. That being said, I've got a new place for a quick pizza in central London, if I can get past the tourists.
* When I get an email from a PR representing a restaurant that I think I'd enjoy, I tend to send something back along the lines of: "Thanks for the interest, I'd be happy to come along, on proviso that I can book in myself, eat anonymously and choose if, when and what I write anything about it." If it's a cut and paste email, I send a cut and paste response, if they've read and engaged with the blog and sent me a personal note, then I'll respond personally. I've never solicited an invite and I've turned a lot down (sorry Strada... I really wasn't interested in your new autumn menu tasting).
In operation for over a year and with a stack of plaudits and good reviews under the belt, I'm delighted to say despite very minor quibbles, the Crooked Well has settled into its place in the neighbourhood perfectly.
While being not quite pubby, it is still perfectly acceptable as a venue for drinks only. There's a loose divide between bar and restaurant and they're equally welcoming. The tiling, light oaks and muted colours could make it cold here, but the lighting makes enough of a difference.
An enormous cannonball scotch egg is heavenly and huge. Thick quilted layers of spiced pork blanket envelop a perfectly soft centred egg. God knows why they serve it with a Heinz Tomato Soup 'dip' but we left that well alone...
Of the mains, a pub stalwart lamb shank looked right, but was strangely lacking in flavour. I've never been a massive fan of a fairly unsophisticated dish, and would always prefer to see a decent chef (and they definitely have at least one of those scuttling around) put mutton on the menu instead. Ricotta and lemon verbena ravioli were a little one note for me, served with a slightly cloying butternut squash type sauce and too many toasted almonds but Dr Vole yummed the substantial portion down. My bream was excellent, certainly the best of the mains, the two note sweetness of the accompanying crayfish and butternut squash purée providing a soft and elegant bed for an almost muscular piece of fish, breaking pleasingly into pearlescent flakes.
A sharing dessert of chocolate pudding was fine, though just fine. I can envisage few puddings where molten, thick chocolate isn't a winner but it plays to the crowd a little too much and was a touch overcooked. Serving the accompanying ice cream on a slate doesn't work too well either. We spent a good amount of time scootling it around the slick surface. If you're going to do something that simple and charge me £12 for it, it needs to be much better than fine.
Good beer, good food (with a kitchen capable of going up a gear) and a great atmosphere... I'm pleased to say that the Crooked Well has grown into its skin and is now a fully functioning (cliche alert) gentrifying neighbourhood gem. Rather than being a destination restaurant you'd travel across London for, the Crooked Well is the place you feel deeply envious that a good friend, ie me, lives round the corner from.
A year or so ago, a place called Koya opened in Soho. It's a stripped back little place with a sparse menu focussed on their highly revered house noodles, a few dumplings and the odd daily special. It's good, very good, and used to be a real favourite for lunch when I worked locally.
Ramen noodle bars are a pretty big deal in similarly multicultural New York, their equivalent of the recent London burger explosion. However unlike other ultra-successful food trends here it seemed to start, and stop with Koya. The queues, growing nightly out of the blue curtain swagged door told any chancy restaurateur that this could be the start of something big. It's taken a while, but it seems that there are a few others springing up now. A caveat at this point, it could be that there are a load of decent noodle places around that I don't know about, so if you have any other recommendations, drop me a note.
I have to say that Ittenbari didn't wow me as much as Twitter told me it would, the slow braised pork slices were strangely flavourless, though the snaking queues of silently anticipatory Japanese expats gave some clue to the popularity of the place. The most recent to open, the chillingly named Bone Daddy, is on the list.
In essence, it's simple. Pick your base stock and key ingredient, add extra noodles or soft boiled egg if you will and serve. This simplicity is what for some can elevate the humble ramen noodle dish to an art form.
Here the soft egg was burnished bronze perfection, lightly gelatinous white leaking golden savoury depth into the clear stock, thickening and enriching almost like butter. The noodles were perfectly cooked with a slight snap to them (though I'm no expert on the subject) and sank into the life giving, clear and umami packed stock. With expertly crisped chicken karaage alongside, it's a simple, satisfying and savoury lunch.
