Everyone's a little bit racist, sometimes... June 2012

 Despite being a left of centre soft socialist - as a foodie, I can be as xenophobic as P W Botha. There are some cuisines I seem to viscerally object to. Weirdly, this is often diametrically opposed to how much I like the people and the drink. Take the Poles for example - great beers, really friendly people, and a cuisine of bland boiled meat and dumplings. Or the Germans; sure, they gave us the noble wurst but the history of Teutonic fine dining could be written on the back of a David Hasselhoff CD inlay. As I was reminded recently on a trip to Amsterdam, the Dutch don't do nuffin' if it ain't fried within an inch of its life and capable of being covered in satay sauce. And don't get me started on the Australians and their pub 'meat' pies...


So what makes me genetically incapable of avoiding these cuisines? Dear reader, it was the beer... All of the cuisines mentioned, in their dirty nasty greasy glory, seem so right after, or with, a strong pint of cold, tasty beer.

The Lowlander is a case in point. A phenomenal, if pricy, beer bar with a monstrously good list of continental brews and a monstrously bad selection of pointlessly fried, at the bar at least. There's a sub-gastro menu covering the 'highlights' of Belgium and the Netherlands, so that's moules, moules, various deep fried things and, um, burgers. Not that the Covent Garden clientelle care - there aren't many places round here you can get a Trappist ale, let alone a selection, and the food is seemingly no more than fuel.

   
De Hems, the incongruous Chinatown Dutch pub, isn't much better but at least they don't make much of their food menu. Here it's downplayed as the Dutch would do, greasy little treats to keep you stuck to the bar for longer. The bitterballen are certainly authentic, they remind me of the fat dripping vomit gobstoppers I (drunkenly) yummed up in Amsterdam. Half an hour after eating and you've got a slight curry afternote and the occasional gaseous hit of grease mingling with your exotic pint. As beery snacking goes this isn't just dated, it's practically medieval. Don't get me wrong, fried is after all one of my favourite food groups, but if you're going to go down that route, for God's sake try harder. Imagine how good your excellent beer would be if you could soak it up with a decent snack.

A beer and food based piece wouldn't be complete without the goddaddy of pissed eating. And in my life, I've had many, many great nights out that were predestined to finish with doner. Camberwell seems to have more of it's fair share including one I'm happy to declare to be up there with the finest in London, FM Mangal. Named after the mangal barbecue pit the delicious meat is laid over, the smell of happily sizzling spiced flesh hits you hard as you walk through the door. It's cheap, filling and spicy. Worth the oft scoffed decision to have a 'sit down' for their complimentary breads and dips, the former dusted with a spicy sumac style rub and the latter an addictive little bowl of pomegranate molasses and vinegar. Trust me, it tastes so much better than it reads.

Despite obvious Middle Eastern roots, the popular greasy parcel was invented, as recently as the 70's, in the large Turkish expat community of Berlin as a way of wrapping your grilled meat for the walk home. How that translated into processed nasty pitta grease traps we have in the UK I don't know, but try one in Berlin and understand how the Germans can justifiably claim to have given something great to world cuisine after all...

 

Nando's Camberwell - Fast food tales 2 of 3 - May 2012

I remember being told, many years ago now, that the Camberwell branch of Nando's was top of the 'Nando's Murder League'. Apparently more had occurred in this branch than any other. As an urban legend it's a fairly plausible one, given the chain's gritty location on the corner of Coldharbour Lane. If it were alive, the squat, ugly rotunda would almost certainly be a tattooed, bulldog of a Millwall fan, offering you out for looking at him the wrong way. Even the outdoor terrace reminds you of a prison yard with sharp railings and fastened down furniture.

At variance is the bright and cheerful faux-Portugese interior, like you've just found out that the Millwall fan has a penchant for flower arranging. It smells of lemon handwipes and barbequeuing chicken. And it's busy, wow is it busy. At 10 past 9 on a Friday night it's heaving with local families and young couples. The atmosphere is bright and loud, there's a queue for the takeout counter and a cluster of kids round the self service drinks machine. Romantic it ain't. 

And the food? You come to Nando's for the chicken. And only for the chicken. Coated in marinades of various strengths, it's actually pretty tasty. Sweeter than a jerk sauce and without the sour tang, it soaks through the reasonably tender chuck, working well with the open grill cooking technique, enhanced by the char. It matches RSPCA Freedom Foods standards and likely has better provenance that other local chicken shops, thankfully given the 300 odd outlets they have in this country alone. Sadly though, that's as good as it gets. The chips are soft, doughy and taste of the box they come in, coleslaw is sweet and oily. The overriding sensation is one of sugar. God knows what it'd be like with 20 oz of Coke to finish it off.

Mediocre sides aside, I can't bring myself to dislike Nando's. It's got to be better for you than a Big Mac or a KFC meal, and the place is bright, packed and friendly. It's not somewhere I go that often, but when I do get a craving for spicy chicken, it's not a bad standby.

Auspicious returns part 2 - Angels and Gypsies - Mar 2012

Angels and Gypsies

A good quality authentic tapas bar within olive-pip-spitting distance of my house and across the road from my local pub: I should be the definition of a regular visitor. I've tried to like it a few times, but unless dragged there at someone else's behest, the condescending front of house staff have caused me to give it a miss since it opened eighteen months ago.

Gritting my teeth (and pressuring Dr Vole to book) we decided to give it a try on a Friday night and I was pleasantly surprised. The service has definitely improved, they're warm and friendly even when rushed. The food is still pretty solid too.

55-day-aged Longhorn rump steak comes covering lusciously thick and meaty black beans, still a standout, though at over £9 for 4 small pieces of rump it should be. Potatas Poble are thin fried crisps cut through with garlic, annoyingly overpowering raw rosemary and piquant peppers. The rabbit was a fairly bland cut of normally flavoursome meat, saved by tangy well-stewed chickpeas alongside.

It's good enough to tempt dubious friends to Camberwell, but doesn't quite warrant the price. If I'm not having to pay a premium for the location, at £40 a head I expect bloody good to be bloody excellent.

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. 

 

The Crooked Well, pitch perfect local restaurant in the Pub of Death - Aug 2011

Where: The Crooked Well, Camberwell
With who: J School
How much: £6/£7 for starters, mains about £15 (a tad pricey for the area, but what you'd expect for the quality)
Come here if: You want really good pub plus cuisine and can't be bothered trekking to East Dulwich

I've talked before about the difficulty of the Restaurant of Death. That sad spot repeatedly filled with restaurateur after restaurateur desperately trying to work with a location that no one ever seems to go to. The Crooked Well is definitely in one of these, or rather has been. In recent incarnations it's been a Parisian cafe, a local pub and a trendy cocktail bar, and that's just the last two years.

The stripped back aesthetic, necessary to remove layers of paint from so many recent refurbs, is both understandable and sympathetic and the new owners have done a fair amount with the look. Currently, comfortable wooden chairs and pre-laid tables occupy most of the old boozer. There are a few sofas, but this is a restaurant that you feel comfortable having a drink in, rather than a pub. In short, the refurb works pretty well.

A cheerfully chippy website describes the story of four friends settling on a pub to share and show their passion for great food, the kind of guff that so often ends up being a marketing line, here I'm fairly sure it's not. The service shows this, on our Wednesday night visit it's friendly, relaxed and assured.

Elsewhere on the website they talk about an obsession with British food, in actuality a loose descriptor for modern gastro style dishes, a loose concatenation of rustic, European influences. Starters, generally around the £7/8 mark include smoked salmon, pork belly (with an intriguing tuna creme fresche) and squid ink risotto. On first visit we didn't sample any of them, though I was sorely tempted by duck confit and a chicken terrine served with a mango salsa.

Following beers from a reasonable selection, we went for the house special, a shared rabbit and bacon pie with a side of greens. Thankfully there's no effort to sell up either on the reasonably priced menu or wine list, and along with an enormous fluffy puff of pastry crust, the buttery, wilted greens are more than adequate. Underneath the fresh baked crust there's almost more filling than we can cope with. At least a rabbit's worth of meat, slow cooked to melting point with just enough bacon to give the rich flavour a salty, smoky overcoat.

Stuffed and struggling after finishing the braised bunny, the atmosphere's enough to keep us for a coffee, though neither of us have enough room for puds. I could possibly have had a go on their cheeseboard, £2 a lump with some really interesting suggestions. Next time though, and there will be a next time. I think this place is a stayer.

Sunday lunches in Camberwell - The Phoenix July 2011

Where: The Phoenix, Denmark Hill
With who: Dr Vole and The Grumbling Granddad
How much: £10 for roast dinner and all of the trimmings
Come here if: you miss your train


There's a surfeit of places you can get a good Sunday pub lunch in and around Camberwell. It's not got the park views of some of the prettier parts of town, but there's some great old boozers to kick back in with the papers and a pint. I'll do a round up at some point, probably when I've been back to a few of them. The Sun & Doves has a new team in the kitchen since I was last there, The Bear (reviewed here last April) still gets the bulk of the praise in the neighbourhood, and all are being rapidly pursued by new kids on the block at The Tiger and The Crooked Well (opened recently by a team of escapees from The Kensington Roof Gardens). So why did we end up at the Phoenix?


The Phoenix isn't a bad pub, it's just somewhere that's never really lived up to the potential. It was the first pub I went to when I arrived in the area, a beautiful and unusual old building with high ceilings and Victorian design features perched literally over the rail tracks, Siamese twinned with the Denmark Hill ticket office. I knew it as a Yates Wine Lodge back then, a garrulous and gauche youth in clothes that didn't quite fit (a description that worked for both of us), catering to the Doctors and nurses of the local hospital before they fled Camberwell for leafier climes.

A revamp a few years later it turned into the Phoenix, technically one of my closest boozers and one I step past daily on the way back from the daily grind. Yet still I walk past and turn up the hill to the flat or down the road to The Hermit's Cave. Rather harshly I've always put this down to the attitude and experience of the staff. You'd always face a scrum at the bar, mainly because they never knew, or seemingly cared, who was next to be served, and it always felt like a railway pub, aimed at transients, less bothered about pandering to regulars. It's got better recently, a lot better, enough to tempt me back to keep trying again.

A recently revamped Sunday menu promises four roasts, described in terms that point towards a competent buyer at least, if not a chef. I went for the 'roast loin of outdoor reared Norfolk pork' over the '21 day aged West Country Beef'. As a roast, it wasn't half bad. Homemade Yorkshire puddings were a surprise and delight for the Grumbling Granddad, the pork was moist and well flavoured (if the portion was very much on the sparse side) and the roast potatoes had been cooked well the first time round. It'd have been a very competent plate if only it hadn't been so tepid. End of a service you'd have expected it, 45 minutes after the place opened you wouldn't, it screamed that most of the plate had been badly reheated. I would have brought it up, but true to form, the staff, though quiet, were studiously ignoring the few punters in the place.

It's a shame, as there's some real thought on the menu here, it's a hearty, tasty selection of contemporary pub staples with a few that show a real ambition. It's a shame that there were only a handful of tables taken by those waiting anxiously for their trains. 

 

View Pubs in SE5 and SE15 in a larger map

A Camberwell state of mind - Apr 2011

It's an odd beast is mother Camberwell. I've lived here for coming up a third of my life now and it never fails to surprise. Fitting between Brixton and Peckham, with the gentrified green of Dulwich and Herne Hill to the south, and the wasteland of the Walworth Road and estates to the north, it's a proper spoonful from London melting pot.

Crammed together you've got attempts at a new, cool and refined order, aided by the proximity of the Art College and waiting for the boost of the Hipster Express, alongside staunchly local spots catering to the working class community and the immigrants from Africa and the Caribbean who now call the area home. Spit and sawdust boozers, poundshops, chicken shops and evangelical churches vie with gastropubs and independent restaurants for the local real estate. It's a fascinating spot, if not the most picturesque.

If there's a block that sums this up best for me it's the bottom corner of Grove Lane (further up home to some of the most expensive, sweeping Georgian piles in the district) Where boho cafe Johanssons and next-door neighbour the Hermit's Cave exist in, if not blissful harmony, then certainly friendly ignorance. Next door to them you've got Cruzon, one of the most delightful old greengrocers you'll ever step foot in, owned by an elderly Cypriot and his family, friendly as you like having served generations from his faded old shop.

Squatly nestled on the corner of Camberwell Church Street like a bulldog faced Millwall fan, outwardly all neck, thrust and belligerence, The Hermits and many of its denizens are pure Sarf London bluster on the surface and properly, authentically friendly underneath. It's the sort of place where people are identified by the team they follow rather than the company they work for, you'll always get some form of conversation at the bar (if you want to) and no one bats an eyelid at the ever garish costumes of the art students. Having spent some wonderful afternoons, nights and (memorably for England's rugby World Cup win) a morning in there over the years, I feel able to call the place my regular.


Johanssons on the other hand scrubbed up a few years back, stopped metaphorically drinking and smoking and took a night course. It's now a cozy little cafe. Not cheap mind, but with really good quality ingredients. They don't always cook it as well as they could, a recent visit gave me bacon so hard it broke into shards as I cut it, but they're trying to up the tone and if we get an upward boost with the Hipster Express, will be full of yummy mummies within weeks.

As has been said (by me often, but by others too), Camberwell is a wonderful spot to live if you're a foodie. Some of the finest (and cheapest) local restaurants cover a broad spectrum of cuisine befitting the cultures that flock here. I wouldn't say you can eat authentically round the world without leaving the Village, but you can give it a bloody good try...

Some of my local favourites include:
Wuli Wuli - a near faultless Sichuan. Once they realise you're there for the good stuff and not the generic Chinglish at the start of the menu the staff will guide and offer suggestions. Listen to them, even if it involves Duck's Tongues - though they will strongly try and recommend you away from these slippery little delicacies if they don't think you've got the constitution for it.
Silk Road - rustic Chinese canteen serving home style specialities, complete with the scowling old lady churning out plates of pot sticker dumplings. Cheap, spicy and wonderful. The Middle Belt Chicken is the cheapest way to get full in the area.
Angels and Gypsies - Great, great tapas though staff do occasionally behave like they're running a starred joint in the West End rather than a small restaurant in Camberwell. Possibly they'll have the last laugh...
The Bear and the Tiger - Two lovely little pubs, renovated from their spit and sawdust days but still with plenty of character. The Bear was recommended in last year's Observer Good Food mag, though the service can be patchy when they're busy. The Tiger does great sausage rolls... seriously. They also have some great food options. A recent trip saw faultless pub classics of fish and chips and burgers well executed with great ingredients, as well as a well spiced and flavoured pig cheek ragu over homemade pasta. Either would make fine local pubs, if only most of my friends weren't wedded to the Hermits..

And shockingly there are many others that I haven't been to yet, I've got to get round to going to Pasha, the only Khazak restaurant in London (and favourite of their national football team who stayed here a few years ago). I was also reading a review for a brilliant sounding Eritrean restaurant called the Zeret Kitchen that will have to be explored at some point... Let me know if there are any others you think I'm definitely missing...
Camberwell images come from www.davidhankin.com (Copyright David Hankin)

A review of Wuli Wuli and Camberwell's other Chinese restaurants

There is something a bit cringy about taking photos of your food for a blog. I know it, and despite that am guilty of it. But I do stand by it as a way of demonstrating in a way that words seldom can (unless you're Coren, O'Loughlin or Gill-like, and in which case frankly, start getting paid for it).
There are exceptions however, when you imbibe something that sings to your tastebuds like Susan Boyle and has the misfortune to look similar... Wuli Wuli definitely falls into this category. I can't, even kindly, describe what arrived as beautiful or pleasing to the eye, but dear reader, there are times where you don't, and shouldn't, care.

There's certainly no finesse about the bulk of the menu, or the majority of the delivery. It's perfunctory, acceptable and seemingly well done generic Chinese. Where it differs however, and why it demanded a visit, was the Sichuan specialities on the menu. The default starter of aromatic duck was pumped. Tasty, well cooked and enormously proportioned (if perhaps not enough crispy skin for my liking). This was a big bit of Donald for a great value £6.40. Freshly prepped veggies too, rather than the fridge freezing soggy pot of cucumber and spring onion you can often encounter. When done well I've got no problem with the well-known dishes many of us Brits grew up with, but I'm always going to take a punt on something different when on offer, particularly when spice, chilli or weird texture combinations are integral. 

They have a good thirty or so Sichuan specialities clustered at the back of the menu, my strong advice is to start here, get some rice if you must but don't look any further. Forgive the Chinglish translations and some of the less thrilling descriptions. Saliva Chicken (stop tittering at the back) translates into Mouthwatering Chicken, an allusion to the sensation the peppercorns give your tastebuds, rather than the main ingredients! If I'm honest, none of it sounds great on the page, but I'm going back on a weekly basis until I've tried it all, so that should tell you something. Also of glorious note were the Fried Aubergine with Minced Pork, a dense gravy-like broth slow cooking the aubergines to fall apart completeness, the bite then coming from the succulent pork. 

We're fairly well resourced for Chinese and South East Asian food in Camberwell. Fellow Camberwellian A Rather Unusual Chinaman covers several of these too (and takes a much better photo). 

• Lamoon on Denmark Hill makes a decent stab of the more mainstream fare you'd expect and does an excellent Salt and Pepper Soft Shelled Crab. 
• Silver Lake has been around for a number of years and though, according to some, has dropped off in recent years, their Korean and Japanese dishes are still freshly prepared from good ingredients and they do a good line in slightly unusual choices. I've got very good memories of a Braised Crystal Chicken dish. 
• The other newcomer, Silk Road, serves a short rustic menu from Xinjiang province, like Sichuan rich in lip numbing chilli heat. Particular kudos here goes to the prosaically named Medium or Large Belt Noodle. A steaming thin broth of delightful pepper and chilli zing, packed full of potato and rough chopped chicken pieces. Once the solids have been imbibed, your server arrives to perfuntorarily plonk a plate of homemade belt noodles into the remaining liquor soaking it up like a firecracker gravy.

Carravagio - Sept 2010

Where: Caravaggio, Camberwell Church Street

With who: The California Kid, The Art Tart and assorted others.

How much: starters £4 to £5 and mains around £7 to £9

What we need much more of in this country are the little local restaurants, putting fresh, well prepared food in front of their local customers with an understanding that with quality, in terms of service, ingredients and preparation, comes repeat business and profitability. It's a virtuous circle far removed from the endless, turgid chains pumping out minimum wage warehouse prepared crap, served by minimum wage servers who care little about their customers or the food that they serve.


With this rant over, it's fair to assume that I want to really like local Italian restaurant Caravaggio. Sandwiched between a couple of decent spots (including Silk Road, Tadim and Angel's and Gypsies) on Camberwell's version of Restaurant Row, it's a family owned place and even after only a year or so in operation, feels like it's been there for years. 


I feel slightly as my parents may have felt in the 70's and 80's. Chirpy waiters chat freely over cheesy pop to their regular customers in a large wood and garish wallpaper lined back room. It's comfortable, if not particularly stylish. The menu is as they'd have expected, lined with straight forward pasta, fish and meat standards. There's no innovation here, but you wouldn't expect it at the price.

After the obligatory sliced pre bought baguette (basket, paper napkin) and mixed olives I started with a fair enough (and large) portion of King Prawns in a piquant tomato sauce and followed with a bubbling homemade lasagne straight from the oven. I wouldn't say it was the best I've ever had, tasty enough, but over salted and low on meat. That being said, it was a massive portion for £7 and I certainly didn't feel shortchanged at the end of it. Another bottle of wine and a complimentary limoncello (just like mum and dad used to get..) we rolled out. Deservedly busy on a Monday night, it's definitely a good standby option for a cheap eat in Camberwell, if not somewhere you'd make a journey for.

Le Petit Parisien (CLOSED) - Aug 2010

THE CURSE OF THE RESTAURANT OF DEATH... LE PETIT PARISIEN IS NO MORE, REPLACED BY THE CROOKED WELL


Where: Le Petit Parisien, Camberwell
With who: Teacher Boy
How much: £8 for a burger, other mains between £8 and £15

Working in commercial theatre, we had one of those wonderful industry phrases, 'the theatre of death'. This  unfortunate moniker moved around the West End but the broad definition remained the same; that of a slightly out of the way theatre, away from the tourist track, that always ended up hosting riskier shows, often badly promoted 50 /50 calls by new producers with no guarantees of success. Every now and then a show would come forth and rescue a theatre from this status, step forward examples such as Mamma Mia!, which saved the reputation of the Prince Edward, previously home to a number of turkeys and Billy Elliot, prior to which, the Victoria Palace had been home to a string of different shows, none lasting longer than a year. Possibly the best example is the Shaftesbury Theatre. In a gloriously hopeful span of just under four years, the blighted venue hosted no fewer than five productions including such 'hits' as Bat Boy, Far Pavilions, Daddy Cool and a woeful reprisal of Fame starring Hollyoaks 'star' Natalie Casey and Ian 'H' Watkins (he of Steps fame). 
The same is true of restaurants. There are some sites that will see a new opening every year or so as another poor sod comes along to waste their money / live the dream. Walking past these new enterprises one has a little cringe on behalf of the new restauranteur. "Easiest way of making a small fortune guv'nor? Take a large one and open up a restaurant..." Le Petit Parisien has been clinging on gamely in such a location for some time now, and to be fair they're really trying hard. A nondescript Victorian pub on a wealthy side street (yes, we have those in Camberwell), it's been renamed and repainted so many times now it's at least a foot wider than it was built. Prior to this it was the Dark Horse, prior to that Blake House and way back in 2007, well, you get the picture. Across the road a property developer is attempting to drag Camberwell up by its bootstraps with the conversion of an old school. The owners of Le Petit P have got to be hoping they succeed, and soon.


I've been here a few times under the current ownership, and it's certainly the most pleasant in its latest incarnation, a French style gastro pub and cocktail bar. The inside is a little unwelcoming with generic faux leather club chairs in the bar and dark wood in the restaurant side. Over the summer they've got a selection of street furniture that's pleasant enough on the quiet leafy street (and yes, we do have those in Camberwell too). The service is friendly though chaotic at times and when the food is good, it's very good. 
The kitchen focusses on French and pub staples with an occasional Algerian twist. Not a bad brunch option too (especially during the summer months when you can sit outside). On several occasions recently I've recently had an excellent steak frites here, the cheap onglet cut, cooked brilliantly on each occasion with a load of taste, perfectly accompanied by a brace of lagers or a bottle of house red. They also have a well regarded cous cous night every Friday that I've been meaning to check out. My last visit was hopefully the exception to the rule. Having a hankering for a burger after a few beers with Teacher Boy, manfully struggling his way through the privation of a 6 week holiday, we decided to give Le Petit Parisien a go. It wasn't terrible, but was sadly just rather forgettable. The burger was lacking in all taste, other than a slight oily tang, it was overpowered even in taste by the, randomly square, ciabatta bun. A floppy side salad came undressed, the chips appeared twice fried and a measly portion of salsa on the side came straight from a pot. It's a lovely place to go for a summer evening drink if you're local, and not a bad option for inviting friends dubious about visiting the area, it's less gritty than most. If you're going to go for food though, stick to the steak frites...
 

A Tale of Two Pizzas - Review of Firezza Pizza and The Gowlett - May 2010

Where: Firezza, Herne Hill (delivery) and The Gowlett, East Dulwich / Peckham(ish)
With whom: The good Doctor Vole, Nico Polo and Con-olog
How much?: Firezza - 15 notes for a pizza, coleslaw and garlic bread... easily enough for two. The Gowlett - £9 for the Chef's Special, others were £8 or £8.50

Firezza
You know those times when only a pizza will do? When you just want to sit in, crack open a bottle of wine and chow down on a good to honest, slice of succulent pie?

Well tonight was definitely that night.

Firezza make a great pizza. Wood fired Neapolitan pizza by the 12" pie or by the half metre. The recipes are broadly authentic, and they don't scrimp on the toppings. The chewy, freshly made crust is slightly charred in places, highlighting its uneven authenticity. The smokey heat from the chorizo and the plump red peppers weren't the most authentic pairing but they did me just fine. A little too damp towards the middle, the liquid in the sauce and from the peppers necessitated some serious folding action. Order online and get a lovely garlic bread thrown in.

The Gowlett 

We'd gone to Locale in East Dulwich, lured by the promise of canapes and free Mojitos... Their outside 'terrace' is little more than pavement, but pleasant enough. Brian, the owner / manager was certainly working the space, welcoming the natives and encouraging all to eat and drink. We grabbed some perfectly cooked arancini and possibly the saltiest tapenade I've ever sampled but it only really filled a corner. The queues were large enough to put us off staying, so we whizzed round to the Gowlett for some of their superb pizza.

Much is said around SE15 / SE22 about the wonders of the Gowlett. It's an unreconstructed boozer. Pool table in the corner, multiple dogs wandering round trying to half inch crisps, local 'characters' happily mingling with art students, t-shirts and haircuts that wouldn't feel out of place in Shoreditch. That kind of thing. I bumped into a random colleague there who proudly informed me that she had just moved to the road to be near the place... it inspires loyalty and reverence.
You also know that it's no ordinary pub pizza when people, hungry, booze filled exuberant people, are all very happy waiting AN HOUR for a few simple toppings on a dough base.

Crispier than I was expecting, the base was almost like a pitta bread around the edges. My Chef's Special came with a topping led by bacon and peppers and despite a (slightly) excessive char on the base was mighty tasty. Con-olog had their signature Gowlettini, a cheese heavy combination that comes with a lot, and I mean a large man's handful, of rocket over the top. A lazy-boy salad combo if you will. 

Overall 

To be honest, I prefer the pizza from Firezza. It's got more 'weight' to it, and the flavour is exceptional. If I'm sitting in of an evening inhaling a box set then nothing else will do. However, if you're looking for a great local pub, with torn up seating, and dogs, and well kept beers and a bloody good pizza to boot.. then you can't go wrong with the Gowlett. If they both continue to prosper I'll be a happy, though lardy, man.