Colbert - Sloane Square's new old guard - Oct 2013

image borrowed from www.theweek.co.uk

Sloane Square manages to be one of the most outwardly pretty yet utterly vacuous London addresses and at 5 to six on a late week workday night, also seems to be home to more arseholes per square foot than a builders bum convention. 

Within seconds of leaving the tube I've been buffeted by a spry fool in a pinstripe oblivious to anything but a night on the 'lesh' with the boys ("on my way down the King's Road now squire, you'll spot me, I'm looking seriously sexy tonight") and watched as some infernal permatanned, pashmina clad princesses did her level best to get knocked over by one of the smug Astons prowling the Square by waltzing straight in front of it assuming that it would (like everything else in life) fit around her.

After that Colbert was a warm buzzing welcome. While a number of the arseholes had inevitably found their way indoors to loudly complain about the paucity of the residents parking in Ken and Chelski, there was enough space for me to slip unobserved onto a stool at the handsome marble bar. It's a classy old fashioned sort of space that, with its comfortable booths and waistcoated French staff feels like it has been there since way before George Devine reopened the Court next door in 1952. 

In actual fact, it's been there for less than 2 years, when uber-restaurateurs Jeremy King and Chris Corbin took advantage of a famous tiff between the landlord and previous tenants Oriel in which the latter were booted out following a terrible meal experienced by the Earl of Cadogan and his family. Most people would have just refused to leave a tip.

Service is friendly, prompt and efficient (perhaps mindful of the fate of their predecessors) and it'd be hard not to recommend the location at least as a great spot for dinner before a show at nearby Cadogan Hall or the Court. The food was fine brasserie fare, though maybe just without quite the oomph I'd been hoping for. 

Mini house baguettes were toasty warm spears of delight, built for scooping up thick butter, ideally the garlicky sort I'd been hoping for along with my starter of l'escarcots. The snails were plump, mild and inoffensive little fellows, like schoolboys from a minor public school. Their buttery bed was pleasant enough, though not a patch on the earthily vulgar bunch I got mugged by at Zedels. Admittedly though, these ones didn't make you feel that you'd be growling parsley and garlic at people during interval drinks. 

A Salad Nicoise was fine, but much less than the sum of its parts. Most of those parts were excellent, with the exception of a lump of slightly dry tuna, but it was difficult to ignore the keen £17.50 price point for a handful of haricots vert and an, admittedly perfectly cooked, egg.

The rest of the menu is textbook grand brasserie, with moules, confits and a section for crustacia. Plus plats du jour, all day dejeuner and some rather exciting looking patisserie to finish and you can breakfast all day or lunch from noon until night. If I'm in the area I just well might do either, or both. And it'd be the ideal place for your slightly risqué maiden aunt, just make sure she's paying.

Balthazar - power lunching in Covent Garden - Sept 2013

This was in all likelihood going to be the review that got away. I've spent time in the original Balthazar and had some lovely lunches but, especially in a white hot, can't get a table for love nor money, opening period, I'd resigned myself to forgetting about the London branch. And anyway, who really wants to go to the London branch of a slavish New York recreation of a traditional French bistro? I could be on the Eurostar before they'd answered the reservations line.

As it goes, it's reasonably quiet, even on a Thursday lunch, and therefore the perfect spot to slide into a banquette opposite the International Man of Mystery. He's never sure which city he's in at any given point in time, so this level of high class generic internationalism is perfect for him.

It's not cheap, their range of French classics, but if you've come here deliberately you know that and are comfortable paying £24 for a plate of Steak Frites and £17 for a burger. If you're a wall-eyed tourist who has just stumbled across its prime Covent Garden location then congratulations. You're going to be fleeced, but in a much more pleasant way than if you'd wound up in the Angus Steak House.

Get a back wall booth if you can, they're perfect for people watching amidst the monied buzz and much, much more room than on the cramped blood red banquettes filling the centre of the room.

After being spoilt by their homemade bread, the ceviche starter was utterly underwhelming, a few sorry rings of squid or octopus dredged in an acrid vinegar coleslaw of fridge cold mandolined bell peppers and onion. From a distance it looked perfectly pleasant, but ended up being pushed around the plate, like a refugee from a different, inferior restaurant.
 

Confit duck on the other hand was perfect. Rich and unctuous, it fell off the bone like a dark silk dressing gown might slide from a Parisian courtesan's shoulders. Lifted with green leaf and waxy, puckered little spuds to provide substance, this was definitely a contender for comfort dish of the year, though at the price it bloody well should be.

It's a lovely cavernous space, with decent food slightly over-assiduous staff (that'll be the New York influences rather than the French) but for the money, the ambience and the attitude, I'd much rather be in Zedel, sucking down champagne with the money I've saved on my steak. If it's a power lunch that I need, then I'll be back at the Wolesley first.


 

 
 

Angelica - Rooftop tapas in Leeds - June 2013

There are now three rooftop restaurants in Leeds… That's right. Three… Turn up looking for the declining North and you'll miss it for the Gucci swinging models navigating staircases with their micro skirts.

Obviously that's not entirely true. The great cities of the North of England are decidedly less great than they have been in recent years and the less fashionable ones (sorry Hull and Bradford) are genuinely, sadly moribund in places, with threadbare tatters swinging where once a city centre was. Leeds is at least putting on a show for visitors, particularly those that arrive into its great arched train station.

Turn right and you'll pass the thankfully shuttered Majestyks Nitespot (sic, sic and thrice sic) once home to trashy, fighty footballers and the effluvia that worshipped them, now 'undergoing redevelopment'. Turn left and you've got delightful bar and charcuterie, The Friends of Ham where once there was only a tanning salon next door to the mighty fine Brewery Tap, itself once a grotty, soulless pre-commute waiting room serving booze, now a trendy little microbrewery and home to the delightful Leodis Lager. And to top it off, there's a shiny new shopping centre with (whisper it oh incredulous Southerners) an Urban Outfitters, Armani and a Victoria's Secret. Truly the Northmen have arrived, the poor sods.

Sat atop this slightly monstrous consumer trifle like a smug cherry are two floors of D&D (formerly Conran) restaurants, the only city to be so graced with a brace other than the capital. Packed at 8pm on a Thursday, already a regular hit with the locals it would seem...

As you'd expect from their heritage, the room is an head turner. Sure, it's blowing a force 8 gale when we arrive but there's still a hardy few taking in the views over the redbrick roof tops of the city. There had been a hollow laugh from the GM when I'd tried to book for the terrace, "that won't be a problem, but we'll save you somewhere inside as well shall we, see how the weather goes", a canny lass… 

After eventually navigating a bizarre set of lifts and elevators, we walk out into the open plan atrium, its centre point a beautiful circular zinc bar packed with choppy haired mixologists. It's almost so pretty that you miss the raw bar at the back of the room. The decor is undeniably classy and understatedly mid-Century modern. With deep felt covered easy chairs, it's comfortable too, unlike the volume of the music, ear-bleed easy listening makes for a shouty experience, not a problem for the raucous groups of affluent professionals crowding the place dressed for a 'big night out'.

The menu raises a smile. There was a time when the concept of Yorkshire tapas would have suggested nothing as exotic as a bag each of salt'n'vinegar and prawn cocktail (the king of crisp) with an accompanying salted peanut or two - at first glance the menu of sharing bites at Angelica is at first a thoroughly refined departure from those dark days. We go for four or five, each arriving as they are ready. Other than a handful of items from the raw bar it's difficult to rustle up a coherent meal here. Snacks and nibbles aren't a problem in somewhere seemingly so set for a drinking crowd, but they're currently a restaurant too and it's hard to know whether they're trying to be Arthur or Martha.

 

The best thing that arrives on the table is a hearty salad of Swaledale blue, walnut, (tinned) pear and chicory. There's a Sichuan beef dish served in that slightly cringey 90's way on a few leaves of lollo rosso. It's tasty enough, but the only flavour is the overpowering iron tang of ground Sichuan peppercorns and served on a chilly plate it's entirely lacking in any sort of heat. Triple cooked chips were nice enough but the accompanying 'day fish' goujons were straight out of the Berni Inn cookbook. At £12.50 it's priced to be a solo main and four small, overcooked bits of fish don't cut the tartare sauce in a Northern town.

None of it is cheap mind, we spent £50 before touching the weighty drinks menu, and why for God's sake do they charge £2.50 for a 'bread basket'?! Management aren't stupid enough to charge for bread at the D&D London restaurants, even at Coq D'Argent, home of the £1000 Coq au vin... 

Desserts and drinks are more successful, a shared plate of mini 'seaside donuts' is obviously destined to become a house special, the hot sugared treats elegantly presented and ripe for dunking in the accompanying chocolate and vanilla sauce. It's a fun conceit even if it doesn't add anything to global gastronomy. Full credit for a decent range of Yorkshire bottled beers and some quite excellent cocktails.

Given the success of Antony Flynn, the Leeds version of Rick Stein, over recent years, the people of Leeds are ready enough for a few more decent premium bistros, but on this showing Angelica isn't one of them. A lazy meandering menu with no sense of place colliding with a cocktail bar that goes straight to the top of the city's list. I'd be tempted to cull the kitchen and focus on the booze.

 

  

Extra time at the Hampshire Hog - Oct 2012

I didn't dislike the Hampshire Hog, well, not much. But I certainly didn't like it enough to venture back, at least not without very good reason. There for a business meeting on the recommendation of a couple of locals, I'd had a fleeting thought that I'd found a new local gem.

The decor manages to channel Jamie Oliver and Laura Ashley at the same time, but the shabby chic rustic air of a country tea room is likely only to fool those who haven't left zone 2 for a very long time.

It's a radio edit Mumford & Sons sort of place... The homely farmhouse look might come into its own on a sunny weekend, when I can imagine locals flocking to the lush beer garden, but on a random weekday lunch, other than a few Bugaboo toting mummies, we're almost alone in this West London 'Chiswick borders' pub.

Alongside a sanded down pale wood bar serving a reasonable selection of ales to the local Henrys and Jemimas, is a dining room and a 'parlour' with a few odds and sods for sale, nothing too risky, a couple of shelves of groceries and breads alongside posh 'bits' and locally sourced tracklements (or pickles as normal people refer to them) and the like.

It's in the dining room that you really start paying the price for this unfettered rusticania. If you're stupid enough to buy your bread from the local pub then you deserve to be charged through the nose for it, but £2.50 for a few slices in the adjoining restaurant feels sharp in anyone's book. It's pretty good bread (unlike the acrid oil it's served with), but it's been a while since I've even seen a cover charge, let alone one that steep.

This sharpness continues with the salads. You can have it unadorned for £12 (really?!) or 'add' salmon or ham, allegedly supplementary ingredients in a salmon or ham salad, for £2 a pop.

They're at the upsell again with the sides, slightly more to be expected I suppose, but adding £3.50 for frankly poor chips is frustrating. The fact we are told that most of the mains need an extra something takes the average main course price past the £18-£20 price point and into the "it better be bloody superb" mark.

So (finally) to the food...sadly, with the exception of that lovely bread it just didn't achieve for either of us.

"This is why people originally made fish cakes of course," ventured my guest of his solitary desiccated puck. "it's definitely the old, dry fish they couldn't use elsewhere.."

I was slightly more pleased with a reasonably sourced piece of ribeye from O'Shays. It was a nice piece of meat sadly marred by that capital sin of not being rested, arriving still taut and virtually still crying after it's recent application of heat. The salted chips were too rested sadly and clumped together sullenly on the side.

I don't want to labour the point, but given that you can pick up 2 course lunch menus for £20 at many Michelin starred places in arguably more expensive locations, and would pay less than £9 for 2 courses at Zedel, this pricing for the level of quality delivered verges on the ridiculous. Lovely beer garden though...

   

MEATmarket - Fast food tales 1 of 3 - May 2012

So it looks like Yanni Papoutsis is coming over all Russell Norman.... Not in the way that frotting filthy resto fan kids might dream about thankfully, but with the launch of another guaranteed hit. A newly acquired space refitted out of the blue that feels perfectly in fitting with its surroundings and makes you wonder how you (or another savvy restaurateur) hadn't found it before.

Let me set the record straight. This isn't an obvious space for a restaurant. It's not an obvious space for anything. It's the echoey, almost open to the elements balcony over Covent Garden's tat-tastic Jubilee Market. Feyne Deining it ain't, but it's a perfect dirty spot for a dirty burger.

The brains behind MEATwagon, MEATeasy and MEATliquor serve up 3 or 4 different double burgers, a brace of pimped hot dogs and a 50's rockabilly tattooed handful of sides are on offer. Simple enough and satisfying enough.

The bun holding the mustard fried Dirty Hippy (house speciality and tribute to the best burger on the planet) is a little lighter than before... I can't explain it, but something has changed. Not for the bad, but different. It survives, just, the onslaught of the sloppy sauce - dripping as seductively as a trickle of hot meat fat can. The taste of the sloppy patty is, as always, superb. I'd injure children to get one of these. Cheese and Jalapeno poppers are tiny spicy croquettes of fried. Perfectly acceptable, but nothing more than a distraction from the main meat, something I've felt about the sides in every iteration from MEATcorporation.

It's not immediately clear who MEATmarket is really aimed at. Is it a greasy, meaty lunchtime standfast for the hipster locals? A tourist tick or one of London's new foodie landmarks? I think that it's somewhere you'll hit up on an evening, after a few drinks in town, when the market has gone to sleep and the rock and roll meat purveyors can let their hair down.

    

Ceviche - Second time lucky - Apr 2012

We weren't too successful the first time we attempted Ceviche. A 60 minute wait for our reservation went seemingly unacknowledged in the tiny, packed galley bar at the front of the restaurant and we ate elsewhere, grumpily and late. 

I've got to say though, upon being told of the extent of the delay and the effect it'd had on a long anticipated night out with friends, über amiable host Martin rolled out the red carpet, inviting us back for a return visit on him. True to his word, from welcome to the goodbye we were thoroughly wined, dined and damn near 69'ed. I do love the VIP touch, though it's a shame to only get it when you kick up a stink. The food thankfully, after the hype and the wait, broadly lived up to our heightened expectations..

3 to 4 dishes per person, tapas style, is the recommendation. On that basis you could just get out on about £30 a head without booze. Not bad value for the quality and quantity, but it's not a cheap night out either. The food arrives as it's cooked, in fits, spurts and starts. Such wanton disregard to timing is expected when you're sharing, but it's definitely an experience that's best enjoyed with close friends. You'll need to be close to hear over the din too, it's dark, close and shouty in here.

We took advice on the menu, pulling a selection from each section. Ceviche, the house hit, is a bit of a one note wonder to me. Slivers of seabass swim in a feisty lime and chilli marinade, silken in texture and fresh as hell. As well as this, we go for a mixed seafood plate, sadly this one is a little too similar and I think we'd had our fill by the time it turned up. It was certainly slower than the first to disappear.

The other major food group here is the selection of anticuchos or grilled skewers of varying sorts. Not recognising most of the things they've been marinaded or basted with, we chanced a selection. Beef rump and heart came doused in aji panca chilli sauce, which turned out to be a mild tingling piquancy rather than anything too robust. The best of these served big chunks of salmon doused in a rocoto sauce. For those uninitiated into the world of the chilli, the rocoto also goes by the amusing name of Capsicum Pubescens, a hairy leaved little heatbomb from the west coast of South America. Botany lesson aside, it gave the blackened fish a wonderful smoothly smokey flavour and transforms a prosaic piece of fish into something quite, quite special.

The killer dish for me was a Lomo Saltado, wokfried striploin of beef served with onion and pepper. Sweet and moreishly powerful, you could have told me halfway through that I was eating slow cooked child and I'd have still carried on.

Unlike last time, half the group were steering clear of the booze for reasons transportational and so only Dr Vole and I were able to enjoy Pisco Sours so moreish they had more than a touch of the Columbian about them.

In an ideal world, Ceviche would be a perfect spot for a post work cocktail, washing down a plate of cold fresh seabass and a skewer or two at the bar. Sadly, and subjectively, it's way too busy for that to feel like an option yet, but it delivers further compelling evidence that the independent start up restaurant scene in London continues to thrive.

Where: Ceviche, Frith Street (http://cevicheuk.com)

   

Pizarro, two cheers for Jose - Apr 2012

I dunno, you wait for London's tapas king to open one new restaurant, and two come along at almost the same time... No one was at all surprised when Jose Pizarro of Brindesa fame opened up jewel box perfect Jose on Bermondsey Street a year or so ago, there was a little more surprise when it was followed up less than a year later by bigger brother Pizarro a few doors down.

If the impression is that these are a couple of places he's thrown together, then it works. Jose is a absolute favourite for post work sherry and a pincho from the authentic little bar cum kitchen in the tiny space. I remember taking a Madrileno friend prior to dinner at nearby Zucca and after a swift but heated argument with the bartender on the best sherry on the menu and two plates of their heavenly croqueta, he happily declared it the equal of anywhere in Madrid.

Pizarro is a different level to the bustle of Jose. It's a significant step up in size for one, and though there's window seating and bar service, the majority of the covers occupy dark, masculine furniture evocative of a high end wine shop. We took a seat at the marble bar and eyed up the short menu.

While everything is available for sharing as you'd expect from the tapas king, there's a slightly more ordered approach here, with the menu broken up into small and large plates. We went for two of each, which arrived in that order, much in the manner of a starter and a main course...

As well as some of the divine jamon croquetas, we went with razor clams to start. Served in their shells with lashings of garlicky butter and sticky nuggets of chorizo to contrast with the soft flesh of the shellfish, they were perfectly well cooked if not quite to my taste, I traded the last one for another go on the croquetas, an outcome that suited both parties. Of the mains, we shared a slightly one dimensional if well conceived dish of roasted root vegetables and curdy but bland goats cheese. The other shared 'main' was as lovely a lump of roasted lamb as I've had in some time, soused in good oil and dotted with olives, insanely tasty little flavour bombs when crisped in the hot oven.

It wasn't as busy as I was expecting, possibly less surprising as it was a mid week lunch later in service. In itself not a problem, though it did deaden the mood slightly. I'd definitely recommend an evening table shared with friends. You can go through most of the menu between 4 or 5 of you and with the help of an exceptionally well chosen wine list and the knowledgable, friendly staff have a very acceptable night out.

  

Hung's and Gerrard Corner - Feb 2012

After describing Cantonese food in the UK as gloopy and ubiquitous I was expecting - and received - flack, agreement and recommendations in equal measure. The consensus on Twitter and elsewhere was, with the exception of dim sum specialists, broad agreement, with high end exceptions such as Hakkasan, China Tang and Pearl Liang. Mr Noodles, writer of the excellent Eat Noodles Love Noodles also threw Hung's and Baker Street's Phoenix Palace into the mix. While I can't quite bring myself to pay the prices commanded by Hakkasan and China Tang, I'll be giving Pearl Liang and Phoenix Palace a go soon.

Hung's
With a front window full of hanging and marinading roasted meats, Hung's set their stall out early. It would have been churlish to ignore this carnivorous bounty and, being no churl, we went for a selection of char siu, the honeyed roast pork, along with crispy cubes of belly pork known as siu yuk. Neither was bad by any stretch of the imagination, but served simply on a bed of rice they came over either as underpowered or too subtle, depending how charitable you're feeling. Moist and well cooked, I just wanted more taste.

Flavourwise, things improved with a beef brisket hot pot. Big chunks of meltingly tender beef fell apart in a thick gravy of umami flavour. MSG enhanced? Almost certainly, the cloying afterburn of the flavour enhancer was unmistakable, but a perfect dish for a cold February night notwithstanding. Oddly, despite being a hot pot dish, it was obviously cooked in another dish and served in the clay pot as the outer container arrived stone cold, hastening the cooling down of the meat inside.

Not tried this time, but Mr Noodles also recommended the King Prawn Dumpling Noodles, something I'd be happy to come back for having seen them ordered and demolished by a tiny Chinese lady on the next table to us. The service is as perfunctory as you'd expect from a Chinatown joint and the decor is basic. I won't be making a beeline for Hung's in the near future, but what we had wasn't bad.

Gerrard Corner
While we're on the subject, I thought I'd mention another Chinatown institution that I've had some success with in the past. Like many along that strip, they tend to bulk out out mainstream standards with onions and overload on MSG, but if you choose right there are some goodies here. The roasted meats are good if not exceptional and their pork hotpot is a rich and worthy winter ribsticker, full of soft yielding aubergine and slippery pork slices flavoured with star anise punctuated with shards of garlic and chilli.

                                       

 Roast meats at Hung's

 View to the front, and the sui laap 

                                                  

The pork and aubergine hot pot at Gerrard Corner

Another bite of Brixton Market - Feb 2012

As a little foodie cluster, Brixton Village has more than enough ethnic treats to satisfy even the most diverse of foodie. The main problem will be deciding what to go for. Personal highlights include the excellent Honest Burger, Franco Manca (the slew of other, newer openings have thankfully made seats here easier to come by) and Federation's excellent coffee. 

There's a pleasant mix developing between new and old Brixton. The newly opened food stalls complement the peacock finery of the African clothes stores and feel at home alongside the butchers and veg stalls elsewhere. A soundtrack of dub, reggae and itinerant street preacher permeates and there's thankfully little sign of the depressing corporate homogeneity that has neutered Spitalfields, Borough, Camden and the other markets. Brixton does it differently.

Mama Lam is another often mentioned treat, more an appeterif than a main meal, they do a selection of freshly made Chinese jiaozi or potsticker dumplings, a couple of other fried lovelies and intense, flavoursome noodle soups. The tiny outdoor tables are a trial in the winter so grab a place at the counter and watch their Chinese mama deftly roll and fill the little dough parcels, poached then crisped off over hot heat. Fillings include beef, pork and vegetables, five satisfying and fresh buns will set you back a few quid.

A rarer street food is served at Okan, big hearty pancakes from Osaka called Okonomiyaki. Hefty, hearty giant rosti cakes, made with a cabbage and noodle base held together with a sloppy batter, served with a variety of umami rich toppings and fillings. They taste better than they sound and the theatre of them being prepared on their sizzling short order grill is both evocative and famishing...

As well as the three or four places mentioned recently, there are a number of South American places I've subsequently noticed now on my list, a good looking Thai, jerk stalls (though I have my Peckham affinities here) and a selection of other bakeries, grills and goodies alongside non food related retailers old and new school. The continual evolution and ad hoc nature of the place will hopefully bring new places to the market to sink or swim based on satisfaction rather than longevity of lease or depth of corporate pocket.

The finished product

 Looking in at Mama Lam

And the resultant pot stickers

Pitt Cue Co and Mishkin's - Jan 2012

Hype (n.)"excessive or misleading publicity or advertising," 1967, American English (the verb is attested from 1937), probably in part a back-formation of hyperbole, but also from underworld slang sense "swindle by overcharging or short-changing"(1926)


Don't believe the hype.


You'd be forgiven for thinking that London restaurant-land is a currently a barren desert with all roads out leading to a slew of pop up joints or casual short order cafes. Each one as breathily lauded as the other within the foodie community, welcomed into the world and birthed online with a salivatory crescendo of blurry photography and a level of preemptive sweaty palmed anticipation not seen since Take That reformed. Mishkin's, Pitt Cue Co, and Burger and Lobster are going to be packed to the rafters with the great and the gluttonous for some time to come. If you listen to the foodie community on Twitter, read reviews in newspapers or follow other food blogs, it's not hard to be swept up in the gustatory anticipation. If I'd spent a couple of million launching a new fine dining spot recently (hello Dabbous), right now I'd be kicking my PR team up and down the stairs.


Have I been to them? Of course. And as much as I protest circumstance, you're right to accuse me of being dragged along in part by the the desperately positive tide.

Mishkin's
New York meets the East End by way of Finchley style all day Jew'ish' diner. Those who have been to other restaurants by creator Russell Norman will know the drill; small space squeezes maximum capacity with handsome bar seating, trendy and friendly staff sucked from design school by way of Diamond Jacks and a cocktail cum small sharing menu focused on comfortable classics. The only anomaly is that Mishkin's has a booking policy (finally, Norman, finally!).


The space is beautiful. Russell Norman truly is the Conran of the cozy cafe, though you need to be VERY good friends if you're getting more than two people round the postage stamp tables. 


My guests went for salt beef mac 'n' cheese, a pleasant enough concept, unfortunately overdosed with English mustard and on the runny side, missing the nutty unctuousness of the thick fontina-based sauce in sister restaurant Spuntino. 


I followed the crowds, who have been raving about the Reuben, toasted rye with layers of good pastrami, melted swiss cheese and sauerkraut. You know what though? It's just a sandwich. A messily enjoyable one with a little too much gunk for me and fundamentally - Just. A. Sandwich. After numerous reviews, outpourings on Twitter and a double page spread in the Metro, just on the sodding sandwich, it's hard to see how anywhere could live up to that level of hype. 


I went again, for post-meeting cocktails (all gin-based and very acceptable) and bar snacks of battered Brussels sprout and battered cod cheeks. Both quirky and totally fine, though neither demanded return visits in the way of Spuntino's deep fried olives. You're not going to feel hard done by when you get the bill, the staff are superb (with the possible exception of that mustard handler in the kitchen) and if you had it on your doorstep you'd be crazy not to be there regularly. It's not the second coming though...

Pitt Cue Co
Purveyors of allegedly the finest BBQ in London (not a great boast given the competition), Pitt Cue Co has built up similar levels of rabid support. Following a period slumming it Meatwagon style in a silver trailer on the Southbank, they've moved into a (slightly) more permanent space in the middle of Soho. Even at 6.30 on a Monday evening the queue is out of the door and round the corner for one of the 30 spaces in the tiny two-floor space. Luckily I'd sent Miss Jones on ahead to bag a spot on the waitlist. 


The menu is perfunctory. Two meats, two ribs and a daily special with a few sides on one page, wines, cocktails and beers on the other page. Hipster credentials are established with the imported Pabst Blue Ribbon; PBR is gassily ubiquitous in Lower East Side and Williamsburg skinny-jeaned hangouts, and so very appropriate here given the early adopter clientele. The cocktail getting the airtime is the Pickleback, a shot of bourbon and pickle juice - better than it sounds and enough to give any junior advertising executive a few hairs on their chest...


Onto the meat. They really do know what they're doing here. Short rib of rich, aged, buttery Dexter and a half portion of exemplary moist pulled pork came with pickles and garlicky greens. Miss Jones took in the heavily sauced St Louis  pork ribs and a large portion of beef brisket, slow cooked and sliced in thin slivers. Certainly the best BBQ I've had in London; though with the competition consisting of Sir Jamie's pricey and off the mark Barbecoa, the execrable Sticky Fingers and mid market hangover cure Bodeans, they didn't have to do much. 


Certainly a deeply satisfying meal, we waddled out 90 minutes later, unrushed by the splendid staff. Stifling a meaty belch as we walked past the crowds waiting for their turn I couldn't help but think that, with the experience they were going to have, over an hour stood in the cold might be bearable again.


Swindled, overcharged or shortchanged? Not at all. Misleading, possibly. Excessive publicity, certainly. Either way, don't (always) believe the hype.

 

The Book Club - Oct 2010

Where: The Book Club, Shoreditch
With who: The Ginger Prince 
How much: A neat, slightly clever breakfast / brunch menu (baked beans on toast make a tongue in cheek appearance), a slightly schizophrenic lunch and dinner service backing up some great cocktails and a good wine list. small plates for £3.50/£5, big (and I mean big) plates for less than a tenner. Very good value...


It's not clever to mock the afflicted. So I'll say little about the slightly too cool for school denizens of Shoreditch and Hoxton. Besides, The Ginger Prince and I had gone to an event hosted at The Book Club on Leonard Street and floppy haired kooks and early twenties hipsters come with the territory. The event was fun, if a little worthy, but I like what they're doing with the place. It hosts events (they have a regular menu from poetry and philosophy to music and networking) most nights in a downstairs basement, tricked out as a Shoreditch standard, bare brick walls, exposed pipes and graffiti stickers. Upstairs is similar, with the addition of hipster art prints, posters for forthcoming rockabilly nights and a ping pong table. Chairs as stolen from local church halls and your grandmother's parlour.
That slight derision aside, I have to say I like it. I've been there a few times during the day for meetings and the space always feel welcoming. The big windows let the light stream in, it's comfortable and the slightly scatty staff get it right more often than not. For such a casual place, more bar than restaurant, they run a lot on their menu, and this is one of the few problems. It feels a little too try-hard. The lunch menu (served all afternoon) rolls from rustic soups and jacket potatoes to chicken schnitzel and monkfish. It all looks good, and there's not much you wouldn't want to eat, but I wouldn't try to construct a meal out of it. 
Dinner gives you a selection of light (or not so light) plates. The Ginger Prince and I went for way too much without realising it. A plate of Muchos Nachos was indeed muchos, though the nachos themselves were homemade, feathery light and buttery sweet. The topping was adequate and for a tenner, a very good plate to share between two or three. The one that killed us was the duck rillette, it wasn't the half loaf of sourdough, or the large pot of homemade piccillili; sweet and crunchy with a snap of mustard, it was the soup bowl, mounded (way too) high with the subtly seasoned and gamey rillette. It wasn't the best I've had, the meat was a little too dry and the seasoning a little too subtle (with no other notes to cut through the rich meat), but it was huge. We got barely half way through the portion before admitting defeat. Half the size, twice the spice should be the chef's aim. 

New York eating - part 1 "casual snackin round Manhattan"

Where: Across the city, 24 hours a day, you can guarantee that someone is eating something..
How much?: You can eat like a prince in Manhattan for a few dollars (or even for free if you hit the right happy hours) and unlike London, much of the best eating can be done on, or just off, the street.

After much deliberation, we, scratch that... I, decided on the important evening meals for the four nights stay (two of these deserve their own reviews) and a number of other must eats.

I won't cover it all, just a few of the highlights. We started most mornings with coffee at Hectors. Jammed under the newly opened Highline like a toad under a stone, it's stubbornly avoided any attempt at the gentrification and pretentiousness that has infested the rest of the Meatpacking district to keep serving the (few) meatpackers still operating.

I wasn't too impressed with the Standard to be honest. Locals queued round the block to experience the 'exotic' joys of an $9 per beer or a currywurst in the Biergarten and the ultralounge, at the top of the Standard, is so cool it doesn't need a proper name or any sort of website. The views were exceptional, but at $20 or more for a competent cocktail, unless you're on someone else's money, I'd advise you to smuggle a beer up the Empire State.

While Northern Mum and Auntie Pat were in town (long story, not as mad as it sounds) we wanted to hit up a decent steakhouse. I've heard bad things happen to people who order well done meat at Peter Lugers, though I've certainly never tried it, so we went to Keens instead. While it ain't no Rules, it has been around (and up and down) since 1885. 

It's a New York steak house in the old style. Dark wood panelling and a loud, macho steaky atmosphere. It used to (back in the wild crazy smoke filled days pre 2003) host the Pipe Club, and the ceiling is hung with examples from some of the reprobates who hung their pipes up here over the years in deference to a wonderful 17th Century tradition I won't explore here, but direct you to their website (when you've read the rest of the post of course...).
I started with a short, punchy Sazerac, a great pre-steak aperitif mixing rye, bitters and absinthe. The Vole had a suitable welcome to New York drinking with a large Tiger Lily almost entirely consisting of gin!

I umm'ed and ahh'ed about their famous mutton chop before agreeing to share a medium rare filet steak. Soft as butter, great charring on the outside, possibly nearer medium than med rare but still a stunning piece of meat cooked perfectly. Sides of hash brown (effectively a fried mash pattie), buttered spinach,garlicky thin fries and green beans. An excellent Key Lime pie finished off the meal and we rolled off for more cocktails and a few showtunes at the divey but excellent Don't Tell Mama on Restaurant Row.

New York wouldn't be New York without the burger and we had a few samples. No holy grail, but some top performers and it really begs the question of how a country can get it so right on one hand, and invent Macdonalds with the other? 
On recommendation from an NYU student, I went for a covert Bacon Swiss at Soup n' Burger on Lower Broadway at 8th Ave and it was good, great for a Brit, but nothing out of the New York ordinary. The juice from the pattie soaked the lightly toasted sesame bun which held up well but didn't add much to the experience. Not much seasoning other than salt from the bacon but it certainly filled a hole. It's worth checking out if you're in this part of town and have failed to get anything from the now universally known Shake Shack on Madison Square Park. We arrived there at 11am and the queue was already to the edge of the park. It can't be that good, and I don't want to know if you've eaten there, and it is. We didn't stop to find out.
Also high on the word of mouth hysteria list (watching the crowds at the lacklustre Beer Garden under the Standard reminded me that this seems to be a NYC habit) is the Magnolia Bakery. Proof of how word of mouth PR and judicious online seeding (oh, and a few appearances in Sex And The City) can work... A two block queue on a hot Friday afternoon. Not interested.

We also tried the burger at the Viand Coffee Shop, a classic little diner that hasn't changed in the 8 years since I first went. A steady stream of locals moved in and out of the tiny space relatively tourist-free despite the Madison Ave location. A perfectly cooked burger (served medium rare without asking) and good coffee too. Pancakes also looked very good.
I'd also recommend stopping off at Taim, a lovely little Arabic themed veggie cafe in the Village. I had  a restorative strawberry, raspberry and Thai basil smoothie combined with a snack of smoky baba ganoush on a slightly charred and obviously fresh pita.
I could go on. And if you ask me, I'll be quite happy to bore you at length. We didn't look for answers to the standard 'best pizza / burger / pasta' question, an impossible task in a city so food obsessed but instead looked to take back a few memories, and leave a few places unexplored for the next visit.