Shanghai foodie report 1 - Dining at the high end - May 2013

 

Three on the Bund

Try to sum up the food scene of any city in a few hundred words and you’ll struggle. Try and do it to one containing over 23 million hungry people in its metropolitan clutches and you’re on a hiding to nothing. I might as well give up now.

Shanghai isn’t a city for sightseers. It’s a city for shoppers, and above all eaters. From the rarefied (if a little smoggy) air of the Bund and the towers of Pudong down to the lanes and shopping centres and street kerbs you can’t go anywhere without being assailed by the sights, tastes and smells of a million and one altars to the god of this secular country.

After several weeks attempting to eat my way around the place, I thought it wise to cover off a few highlights by price point rather than hitting everything I’ve experienced. I’ve updated a Google map for the city below that will contain the best of the rest as well as the recommendations I got but couldn’t find time for.

View Shanghai! in a larger map

Shanghai fine dining
Long, long gone are the days of the colonial caste that inhabited the Shanghai Club (the archaic membership ‘ran’ the city were so set in their hierarchical ordered ways that as the town fell to the Japanese in 1942, a visiting British naval officer wasn’t allowed in until a committee had been convened to vote him a temporary membership, despite the bullets peppering the building). It’s here, under the glare of the Pudong skyline, that the great, the good and the wealthy are still congregating.

Occupied still by banking and commerce, the Bund also features a plethora of high-end restaurants to match any city in the world. Three on the Bund, the only privately owned real estate on the strip, is an elegant building, the restaurants on its different floors carefully curated by superchef Jean Georges Vonerichen, the Alscace's answer to Gordon Ramsay. Unusual in that it doesn't feature rooms, in every other respect it has the impression of a very successful five star hotel.
 

Chocolate Budino at Mercato

You could stay in Shanghai for a week and only eat at Three on the Bund, such are the range of different restaurants within the different floors. We had a particularly standout meal at new Italian Mercato. It’s odd not to be eating with chopsticks, but once over that, there’s a lot to love here. A focus on locally sourced ingredients gave us amazing (in all senses of the word given the Chinese lack of dairy empathy) burratta, cut with a divine lemon compote. We followed that with Kingfish carpaccio and crispy skinned chicken to die for. The building also hosts the iconic Jean Georges, masculine Argentine steakhouse Colagreco and casual bar dining at Unico.

Also very much of note on the Bund are beautifully presented French classics ‘with a twist’ from Mr. & Mrs. Bund (their foie gras mousse is all manner of right), haute Middle Eastern at nearby M on the Bund and who knows what at the hilariously bonkers sounding Ultraviolet, an ‘immersive’ food experience where what you see and hear are given as much respect as what you eat. Like Heston Blumenthal on no sleep and an enormous bag of mind altering drugs. 

 

The dining room at Table No1 

 Other than those few, if it’s non Chinese you’re looking for, you’ll find a wealth of European and American comfort food (including the obligatory Morton’s Steakhouse) among the gleaming towers of Pudong and the usual swathe of Western friendly tastes in most of the higher rated hotels. You’ll also find Ramsay alumni and chef du jour Jason Atherton occasionally skulking behind the pass at Table No1 in beautifully Brooklyn inspired boutique hotel Waterhouse at South Bund. Visit for casual dining and the modern interpretations he’s known for in London (including Pollen Street's deconstructed English Breakfast). I loved a delicate sole dish with light aromatics and gently steamed veg. It’s also, perhaps unsurprisingly, offers another English breakfast in the morning and possibly the only ‘proper’ herby English sausages you’ll find in Shanghai. Heaven for the slightly homesick on a Sunday morning!

‘Fine’ Chinese dining is somewhat harder to track down. The Whampoa Club also at Three on the Bund serves an elegant mixture of Chinese Imperial dishes and Shanghainese classics in a beautiful art deco jewelbox, We Jing Ge at the Bund Waldorf Astoria and the Family Li Imperial Cuisine off the same boulevard also offer a la carte and ‘grand dining’ set menu recipes ‘borrowed’ from the Forbidden City. Siblings Fu 1088 and Fu 1039 also deserve a mention, the pair serving traditional and high end Shanghainese (think sweet, sauce covered and fish focused) in large elegant Latinate villas near to Jing’an Temple. They are made up of a succession of private rooms and large tables so ideal for group and family dining, the preferred Chinese way.

 

Many, Many Mao

In general though, the Shanghainese don’t seem to have quite the same desire to spend big on home style foods, preferring (and I’m in absolute concurrence) to eat good at one of the many smaller provincial restaurants dotted around the city. There’s something bewildering but utterly pleasing about seeing a Porsche parked up on a non descript side road, is owner parked on a plastic stool outside a tiny hole in the wall serving the best damn take your pick in Shanghai. Now that’s cultured capitalism… I’ll cover some of those off in the next piece. 

Trinity - affordable fine dining, daahn Saaarf (London) - July 2011

Where: Trinity, Clapham Common
With who: Dr Vole, Tom and Barbara Good (a pair of Fringe First winning actors, comedians, our co-allotmenteers and all-round bloody good types)
How much: £70 a head for a 5 course tasting menu with wine pairings
Come here if: You're scared of South London, this bit is like Islington (in that it's a bit faux and full of idiots wearing Jack Wills)

Along with that cheese restaurant on the Kings Road (three courses of fromage, how could it not be), the Gilbert Scott and Nandos in Camberwell, Trinity is one of those places that's been on my 'to-do list' for a while. It wasn't higher up, mainly as I tend to save the fine dining for really special occasions, or when someone else is picking up the cheque, and to be honest, there's a limit to the number of business meetings I can organise in SW4. So when the lovely folks at Squaremeal Magazine decided I'd won a prize for my review of Spuntino and gave me £250 to spend at a restaurant of my choice, Trinity seemed like an solid choice.

Just off the rather picturesque Polygon Square in Clapham's gentrified Old Town, Trinity is far enough from the Ozzie bars and general high street chicanery to feel a little bit out of London. Looking out of the large plate windows at the summer green of the Common, watching the yummy mummy brigade pile past in their SUVs, you really could have been in any well-heeled provincial town in Southern England. 

Inside is the same, the decor is well enough thought out, by someone who's obviously spent a fair amount of time around fine dining restaurants, but it's not a feature. Shades of Farrow and Ball with anonymous arty black and white prints - classy restaurant 101, I'm starting to hope there's a little more imagination behind the pass. The crowd is a well heeled local mix of retirees, professional couples on 'special' dates and what's obviously grandfather's birthday party, nothing arch about that, it's a local restaurant and perfectly sums up the community that live in the grand Victorian terraces along the tree-filled local avenues (well, the ones who can afford to eat here anyway).

Service is very friendly and in the most part efficient, a shared plate of sweet fresh radishes and freshly picked pea pods arrived promptly and were a lovely start to the meal, though we were left waiting for breads and water for a good 10 minutes after that.

The tasting menu kicked off trumpeting the finest of British summer, a flavoursome if slightly too cold pea and mint soup 'presented' at the table in an old fashioned milk bottle and poured over lemon purée and ricotta, a knowing smirk at finer dining outfits.The wine pairing for the course emphasised the national theme with a Chapel Down Primrose Hill, not my cup of tea (nor glass of wine), but a pleasant enough accompaniment.

The Gruner Veltliner that came with the second course was much more on the money for me, a complex spicy white with notes of white pepper and the perfect foil to a small but perfectly formed disc of seared tuna served with wilted baby pak choi and a tiny salsa of indeterminate but tasty orange colour. Accomplished cooking with great ingredients, it was good, bordering on very good but didn't quite hit the heights somehow.

My remembrance of the third course is hazy, it could be the wine, a sweet aromatic slap of muscat was heavenly, enough to convert one to a difficult grape. Looking at the menu I vaguely remember it as a scallop dish, with a white gazpacho and a fizzy yet funny pickled grape. The solo bivalve was plump and fresh but well, a little bland, in a forgettable gazpacho sea. Single scallops need to be make an effort, they've got to draw your attention to them, like a solo guest at a party, and this one was sat in the corner looking at the DVD collection.

We ended with the best, for me at any rate, a genuinely sensational duck dish. Plump cuts of breast served with an exquisite pastile of dark duck leg. Rich, salty and thoroughly tasty, earthy girolles melted into the juice and the whole thing balanced by sweet spinach. It brought the meal alive and really showed what the kitchen was capable of.

Pudding got the requisite oohs and aahs. Thick and sticky Valrhona chocolate cream with honeycomb and almond didn't show a great imagination, but delivered perfectly what it set out to do. I had an eye on three huge cloches behind us containing a quantity of rich and oozing cheese, sadly on my own in this, I had to settle for a more sociable coffee.

In hindsight, I'm probably being overly critical. I had a wonderful meal, though the quality of the company guaranteed that, with some great wines at a restaurant I'd eat at regularly if it was on the doorstep. There are flashes of brilliance from the kitchen, and the staff are close enough to where they need to be. But only one dish out of five will trouble my best of the year list, and that's just not enough for the price.

New York - A tale of two Ducasses

I came to praise Chef Ducasse, certainly expecting a treat, sampling his two New York restaurants in the space of two days. I was impressed, but oddly not as I was expecting to be.

The restaurants are both situated on a two block stretch of 55th Street. A wealthy but anonymous cross road in Midtown Manhattan, straddling the upper class shopper’s playground of 5th Avenue. Close by you’ve got the Core: Club (uber exclusive $15K per year private members haunt), some of the wealthiest real estate on the planet and a range of high end hotels including the Plaza, the Four Seasons and The New York Palace whose guests, if they ever stretch from their luxurious surrounds, could treat either spot as a neighbourhood favourite. In short, a good place to situate a restaurant or two.

I expected the most from 2 Michelin starred Adour at the St Regis. Following a wonderful lunch earlier in the year at the Dorchester, my little fatty heart sang at the prospect of his clever, simple dishes with a focus on top end ingredients. I’d promised my colleague, not a big restaurant goer, that this would be one of the finest food experiences she’d ever had. And you know what? I think I overplayed my hand somewhat.

It’s an awe inspiring space in the ground floor of the St Regis. The decor is as opulent as you’d expect from a 2* fine dining restaurant, with muted fine ivory and brown merging with golds and marble. Theatricality comes from the oversized display cases of wine that fill every alcove, an oenophile’s wet dream, serried stands filled with bottles, jeraboams, balthazars and salazars (whatever they are) of the finest wines known to humanity. The staff were obsequious and ever present, a little too present, almost tripping over each other at times to deliver each course. You felt somehow stuck in the middle of a balletic spectacle, or a demonstration by bow tie wearing ninjas. I had three separate waiters pour my starter soup (an overly fussy sea urchin and shrimp consomme) from separate silver flasks. Sadly though, this wasn’t intentional high food art, a different essence in each bottle, they’d simply under catered for the table. The food was fussier than I remembered from London, with some of the charm, but my abiding memory wasn’t one of warmth. Partly due to the over exuberant air conditioning, and a little to do with the length of explanation required, but every dish appeared a little cold.
We went for the tasting menu, expecting a riot of flavours and tastes, and with a few exceptions were left let down. The foie gras was lukewarm and veiny, slipping down without a bite like a lightly seared and duck scented panna cotta. Fillet of escolar, a white tuna like fish, was lovely, though too close in texture to the sea bass served a couse before. The standout came with the Nebraskan beef. Served two ways it was an object lesson in flavoursome meat, prepared and served with a rich syrah jus. 

Benoit had high expectations from the monied locals of the fringes of Midtown and the Upper East Side when it opened on the site of famed local favourite La Côte Basque in early 2008. The ‘venerable high society temple of French cuisine’, as described by the New York Times had been purveying classical French fine dining on the spot since the late 1950s, an eternity in such a rapidly changing city. Ducasse has kept much and made more of l’histoire and l’heritage of both the site and the venerable French bistrot style typified by the original turn of the century Benoit in Paris. The screen dividers in the light, airy oak panelled room are 19th century Parisien imports, the rotating trolley from a similar period carries desserts such as his signature Rhum Baba and the lightest macaroons round the room and one of the private dining rooms is decorated with authentic decor from a turn of the century apothecary. 

Buzzy for lunch even at an early hour, the service was a touch less formal and strained than its neighbour, efficient and attentive, but without excessive ceremony. Delicate, moreish parmesan puffs arrived before my guests did, and almost didn’t last until their arrival. The menu is classic bistro. Starters go heavy with terrine and tartes flambee (signature of the Alsatian bias on the menu, likely to change slightly with their new chef as he beds in). I’m a sucker for fat and buttery snails whenever I see them on a menu and these beauties hid under their crouton lids bubbling garlic and parsley, waiting to be mopped up with fresh crusty loaf. It was followed by a faultless steak tartare, chosen from among other rustic mainly meaty treats including a couple of classic steak cuts, roast chicken with garlic, pork chops and an intriguing looking Boudin Aux Pommes, blood sausage served with apples on a bed of green salad. It's certainly a comfortable menu more suited to the financiers and the local workers than the demure ladies who lunch market.

Overall, I could see the touch of the master chef coming through in Adour. The level of inventiveness, the formal style and the precision all chimed, but while it hit certain highs, for me the laid back food and sheer pleasure I experienced at Benoit made it the superior experience.

Review of Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester - July 2010

Where: Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester, Mayfair

With whom: The Flying Manc and two others
How much?: DISCLAIMER ***guests of the restaurant, but not for blogging or review purposes, it's one of the perks of my day job*** two courses (no wine) are £55 per head, three for £75. 

There are times when you realise quite how lucky you are. Being able to regularly conduct business over lunch, especially when that lunch happens to be at one of the 140 in the country with a Michelin star, is a good start. When lunch is at the country's newest three starred restaurant, one of only four accorded the highest accolade in the UK, you're on another level entirely. If I had a newspaper backing me, worked for an investment bank or had a trust fund to pay for it, then I'd probably be used to this by now, as it is, I've just got to try very hard not to sound too smug.

Walking into the Dorchester is always walking into a world of craziness... Even on a Wednesday lunchtime, there were paparazzi outside fighting over who got to be closest to the ridiculous and expensive looking cock extension that someone was emerging from. The Grand Dame of London's grand society hotels, it now has the propensity to resemble mutton dressed as lamb, like someone has taken an elderly but refined lady and dressed her as a high end Russian call girl. Anything that doesn't move has been plumped up, gilded or had a mirror attached to it.

There are multiple restaurants throughout the Dorchester, breathily calling their opulence out as you walk down the Promenade in the centre of the hotel. You can also 'enjoy' afternoon tea along this boardwalk though quite why anyone would choose to enjoy afternoon tea along this stretch, somewhere between Brighton Pier and an explosion in Harrods, I do not know. They have awards though (so I've been told) and there's a better chance of seeing who's just climbed out of the shiny mid-life crisis in the front. But there's the rub. The people here aren't having a mid-life crisis, or even spending their children's inheritance. They're here, from around the world, because spending £36 on a cup of tea and some cakes is perfectly normal, and dropping a ton on lunch for one (without wine) just isn't something that you think twice about. It certainly isn't worth some of the prices you'd get charged but the overall experience is perfection - and people will pay for perfection.

After the gold explosion of the lobby, the (relatively) understated calm of Alain Ducasse came as a blessed relief, I felt like my eyes could breath again. Aside from the floor to ceiling crystal shower curtain (a six person V VIP table separated by a crystal sheet and few quid on the bill), the tone is muted light wood and grey anonymous elegant. After the overblown opulence of the adjoining corridor this is definitely in it's favour. 

The parade of inevitable extras started as we sat with herb parcels in filo pastry, in size and texture no different to warm Scampi Fries, deliciously salty and very more-ish though. These arrived along with a selection of perfectly seasoned choux pastry puffs. The black pepper variant was especially successful. An amuse of heirloom tomato mousse was less inspiring though a handy palate cleanser. 

Oddly (and annoyingly had I have been paying) despite the prices, four items on the short menu came with hefty £10 supplements. My Scottish LANGOUSTINE salad with coral jus (their capitalisation, just in case the oligarchs don't get the main ingredients...) was one of these. Assuming a £20/£35 split on that £55 set price for two courses, that supplement brought the salad to a punchy £30. Don't get me wrong, langoustines that do well at school pray to end up on a plate like this. Some of the sweetest shellfish I've ever had, with an earthy jus served over strips of seasonal vegetable. The dish worked. But for £30, I don't know what else it could have offered, short of trained prawns that danced their way out of the pot and onto my plate. Will stop whinging about money now...

I followed this with the roasted rib, saddle and kidney of MILK FED LAMB, served with perfectly cooked, roasted purple artichokes and new potatoes and a scattering of soft garlic croquettes. These were a revelation. The size of jelly gums, they yielded a perfect soft garlic infused paste under their crisp shell. The meat was cooked medium and fell apart. Technically one of the finest takes on this dish I've had, with a wonderful clarity of flavour. 

The Flying Manc had the roasted native LOBSTER, seasonal vegetables and macaroni served as a tiny raft of gratinated tubes. Again, simple perfection in ingredients and preparation. The showmanship ran through to the array of petits fours served with our coffee, macaroons, tiny dark walnut studded chocolate nibs and a variety of chocolates and sweets. One of my hosts ordered a lemon verbena tisane, the leaves cut from the plant in front of us, served with a sense of theatre. 

The service throughout was flawless, in every sense of the word. The staff were attentive, knowledgable (the Pinot Noir selected as an accompaniment to my lamb isn't what I would have picked, but worked a treat) and unobtrusive. There is a discernible, hugely positive difference between here and many of the one star restaurants I've eaten at. Does the restaurant justify a third star? I couldn't say I was competent or experienced enough to judge that, but for all elements it was a meal striking in its perfection throughout, the clientele were certainly happy to pay for this perfection, and I was honoured to eat it (even if I won't necessarily be taking my own wallet back there..) 

Review of Colicchio & Sons - New York - May 2010

Where: Colicchio and Sons, Meatpacking District, New York
With whom: The Vole
How much?: $110 per person for three courses, wine and aperitifs

We'd thought long and hard about where we were going to go for our Friday night in NYC and after much deliberation and research among foodies based there I strongly suggested begged that we go to Colicchio and Sons. The back story is a restaurant PR's wet dream. Tom Colicchio, of Top Chef fame (think US Masterchef with a proper budget and no Gregg) became jaded with the demands of running his restaurant empire and rather than follow the likes of Ducasse and Ramsay out of the kitchen and into the boardroom he decided to get back in to the kitchen full time. He took out the successful branch of his national chain Craftsteak and installed Colicchio and Sons in its place, vowing to spend a significant amount of time behind the stove.  

The aim appears to be rustic, a folksy farm to table ethic as evidenced by the dark wood design, Danish farmhouse furniture, artfully arranged pots of herbs and the piles of timber aesthetically stacked by the wood-burning stove visible from the bar. Evidently however, the homely vibe doesn't extend to the rather bling floor to ceiling wine tower used as a room divider between the formal main restaurant and the more casual Tap Room at the front, a throwback to Craftsteak in the MGM Grand in Vegas. We got there early and took a seat at the bar. It's a beer lovers dream, with over 40 ales from around the world, over half on draft, including a vintage Harvest Ale from J.W. Lees in Manchester, aged in Lagavulin casks and priced at $33 a bottle. This punchy pricing extended through to the dictionary sized wine list, a probable hangover from the expense account days of Craftsteak.

Seated in the main dining room, we surveyed the menu. It's a long, detailed love letter to flesh with no more than 2 or 3 dishes in either the a la carte or the $125 a head tasting menu meat or fish free. Bread came served in the oven tray it baked in, buttery enough to eat dry. An amuse of lobster, spiced apple and broad bean on a thin crisp biscuit was encouraging, less so the fact that they didn't clock that the Vole's allergy to shellfish might extend to lobster. It provided an appropriate opener to my sea urchin and peekytoe crab 'fondue'. I asked if this was served to be shared (as any other fondue) which thoroughly confused the waiter, "no sir, it's the special... it's a starter", not quite what I meant, but I assumed my error and moved on. It was an exceptional dish. Sea fresh, with complementary textures from the crab and the chilled slippery slivers of urchin. 

Vole took a call to have starter sizes at both courses, wise considering the size of portions we were seeing. She started with a poached farm egg in a fava bean and pea shoot broth, served with a parmesan crisp. An excellent idea, though sadly too oily in execution. This was followed by a faultless ricotta ravioli with tasty meaty morels.

Amazingly, in the home of one of the masters of meat, I couldn't take my eyes off the piscine portion of the menu. My main was a monkfish in pancetta, to be honest, a bit of a letdown. Slightly dry as it arrived, it came sat atop a fava bean and pea broth that, other than the inclusion of a shave of fennel, comprised Voles starter. 

Minor grumbles aside, the place has the looks and the pulling power that makes it perfect whether you're sealing the deal with a business associate or a date. It wasn't everything I was hoping for, but then expectation was running ridiculously high. As we walked out we were presented with a brace of lovely lemon and poppyseed muffins, "from the chef, for the morning". A lovely final touch.

Review of Bar Boulud - May 2010

Where: Bar Boulud, The Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Knightsbridge
With whom: The Masticator
How much?: £110 for the two of us. That was four courses (Prix Fixe plus an extra charcuterie course)


This was the week that we got news of another American import, Keith McNally, bringing a feted and famous New York brasserie to London (Balthazar, in partnership with Richard Caring's Caprice Holdings). Both McNally and Daniel Boulud, at whose new London outpost we were dining, are considered by many to be American chefs, and both made their large reputations there however both were born in Europe, Keith McNally a few miles up the road from his planned new home. 

I came to praise Daniel Boulud, but instead walk away strangely unsatisfied. As a dining experience overall, it wasn't one that will live long in the memory. 
It wasn't the staff. They were as well drilled, knowledgable and friendly a brigade as I've seen... 
It wasn't the decor. The light, well proportioned space is a graceful place for the well heeled to dine... Admittedly I was less sure about the arty splashes on the wall. The blot art of famous red wine vintages intrigued but were only vaguely reminicent of blood stained rorchach drawings. 
Sadly, and more fundamentally, it was the food.

We went for a so-so Corbier, fair enough, but a little too earthy for both of us. It came from a large and excellent winelist priced squarely for the Four Seasons clientele. There are only a handful below £50, the rest quickly hit hedge fund levels.
The relatively long and involved menu presented a thrill as it was knowledgeably announced by our gallic host. There were certainly sparks of excellence here. Themes of charcuterie, sausage, pâtés and burger were highlighted and so we decided to go for the Prix Fixe with an additional charcuterie course (supplied by expert Parisian charcuterie supplier Gilles Verot). The small plate was more than ample and made a very good pre-starter paired with a moreish (light in texture but richly flavoured) boudin blanc sausage and its accompanying garlic mash. A very good salami made up for the dry and too subtle ham. Pâtés (particularly the tagine dagneau, a heavily spiced Maroc influenced lamb and aubergine mix and a superb pâté grand-mère) really excelled and the portions of the small plate were the ideal way to sample.

The chilled pea soup was simple elegance and one dish I'll remember for a long time. Fresh, creamy and with an occasional snap of tiny rosemary flavoured cruton, it hit the spot perfectly.
Sadly it went a little down hill from here. The Masticator's burger was initially dry, tasteless, unseasoned and lukewarm with a shredded lettuce, 'special sauce' and thin, limp tomato combination eeriely remenicent of a certain golden arched chain. Only a tasty brioche bun saved it. The team were swift to offer a replacement due to the temperature but this arrived in the same state (albeit warmer). The chips were inedibly saline.
My roasted chicken breast had a rich rustic and flavoursome taste of pure perfect poultry and arrived, in comparison, piping hot. Slightly dry too though sadly, it was helped by a rich (if salty) gravy but badly let down by rather floury fingerling potatoes and overcooked artichokes.
The Masticator had further problems with his desert (though this time arguably of his own making). A pervading scent of lavender that put him off his two (small) scoops of mint and coconut ices was tracked down to the overpowering handwash in the Mandarin Oriental bathroom. That aside, a powder dry hazelnut cookie didn't add to the experience. My exotic fruit sundae was preceded by a long spoon hightening childish anticipation before it arrived in a Martini glass. A pleasant but not earth-shattering mélange of passion fruit purée and cream came with nuggets of an excellent coconut macroon to give some needed bite.
Will I come again? Absolutely. It's a great space for a business lunch in the area, a safe menu overall with some excellent notes and very good charcuterie. It isn't somewhere I'll be rushing back to though. For the price, I'd rather take a day trip to Paris and pop by Gilles Verot's shop in person. 

Review of The Swan at The Globe - May 2010

Where: The Swan at The Globe, The South Bank
With whom: Nicco Polo and Bet Lynch
How much?: £40 a head (with a cheeky staff discount) so nearer £60, fair enough for three courses from the a la carte, wine and cocktails
On a stretch of river in our capital city filled with world famous buildings and iconic views, there can only be two sureties; loud, jostling hungry tourists, and overpriced, substandard restaurants to feed them.
One of the jewels along the waterside is the Globe Theatre. Only a teenager (started by Sam Wannamaker in 1970, opening after his death in 1997), it fits in perfectly with its older neighbours and has rightly become a real destination along the bank.

For the last year or so they've also been blessed with the Swan. A lovely little bar and brasserie  adjoining the theatre 'directed' by ex Ramsay cohort Mark Sargeant, there's a sense of real purpose about the menu. They shout loud and proud about their reliance on foragers, farmers and local markets (they are just up the road from Borough Market after all) and the menu reflects this seasonality. Sadly that season has just passed. On a gorgeous spring night it's a shame that most of the food on offer has a distinctly wintery note. Don't get me wrong, I love the sound of the Cashel Blue macaroni cheese and spiced Elizabethan mutton casserole is just what you'd expect to eat before outdoor Shakespeare, but not when the weather outside is so warm.
I went for the one seasonal starter.
Trimmed asparagus with hollandaise. Sometimes kitchens have to realise that you don't mess with perfection and that was certainly the case. Cooked for a couple of minutes, lightly drizzled with a zingy sauce, it was heaven. Nicco Polo was slightly less lucky. His scallop and spring onion gratin was average at best, with an excess of herbed breadcrumbs and a strong gratin sauce overwhelming the more delicate scallops.
The confit pork belly was a big homely portion. Again, not necessarily suited to a spring night, but I'm a big fan of the pig and won't let a little thing like seasonality get in my way. The large slab came with a sweet honey and dill glazed crackling, sweetly tender fat and a creamy, mustardy celeriac remoulade that set it off perfectly
Finishing off with the summer pudding, I was struck by just how conducive the restaurant was to having a good time. It was so friendly and comfortable with some excellent food, that and the very central location mean I'll certainly be coming back. For a very reasonable price, we had three strong courses, an aperitif and a Chilean Pinot Noir from a tasty little list that struggled to top £40 a bottle. Looking out at the tourists crossing the Millennium Bridge as the light gradually faded behind St Paul's dome we wondered how many of them would look up and check out the Swan, or given the sad state of occupancy would they all end up flooding into the overpriced 'ye olde pubbe' or one of the chain restaurants that infest the area. More fool them if they do.