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.

 

  

Tom Aikens at Somerset House - Fings ain't as bad as they used to be - Mar 2012

So a long time ago now, at least a yonk, if not two, I went to one of Tom Aikens' places. In fact, I went to THE Tom Aikens place. The one called Tom Aikens (as opposed to Tom's Kitchen, or Tom's Plaice or Tom's Terrace). In case you're not sensing the theme; the brand is all about Tom. Like a high end and less paunchy Jamie Oliver, or a much prettier Gordon Ramsay. 
 
Anyway, it was horrid. Tom Aikens that is. The restaurant, not the man. I was on a bad date and could barely afford to pay for half of the meal at those prices, and they are pricey prices - whilst also being in the company of an upwardly mobile wannabe Sloane desperately making eyes at investment bankers. I cried inwardly at my arts industry salary and looked daggers at the Charlies and the Henrys and the Hugos floating around the starchy dining room. None of us came out of it looking good. The food was forgettable: the sort of drawn out pale insignificance that makes you dread that this might be it for an inexperienced Michelin diner, like a schoolboy watching bad Shakespeare and dismissing the bard entirely.

But I digress. I didn't go to 'casual' offshoot Tom's Kitchen, nor to his shortlived fish restaurant, Tom's Plaice. The idea of travelling to the centre of Chelsea to eat overpriced fish and chips while watching the locals slum it didn't appeal. But I did go to Tom's Terrace, the Somerset House summer pop-up overlooking the National and the Southbank, where I experienced a huge wait for a pointlessly expensive sharing board of assorted sandwich fillers and promptly fucked off to Joe Allen for a burger.

Now all of this is a little unfair on Tom. He's certainly putting himself out there. He was the youngest British chef to win 2 Michelin stars and he does a whole host for charidee. I feel a little sad that his brand concepts have delivered two memorably disappointing dining experiences. So I went back. Well, I let myself be taken back, this time to Tom's Kitchen at Somerset House. Separate to the Terrace, it's a spare, almost monastic space, especially in the early spring weak lunchtime light. It's wealthy austerity, a "we're only casual dining, no silver service here so don't worry about the pricing" sense of scene. Wooden furniture is heavy and simple, the tables are unclothed. Reclaimed industrial lighting adds a glow to augment the large high windows. In short, it's nothing showy.

The food is good old comfort food, nothing more, nothing less. It's what the good folk of Chelsea like most about their version of the local cafe, and it's clearly aimed here at the ladies who lunch after a morning at the Courtauld. There's certainly nothing here that'll scare them. Mussels, crab cakes, chicken liver parfait and soup of the day to start. Steaks, grilled fish and calf liver for mains - It's a menu befitting an upperclass hotel dining room from the 1950's. My guest went for the cured salmon and a thick juicy ribeye. £28 for a 10oz serving isn't the greatest deal in town, though it was seemingly well enough cooked.

I went for the soup of the day, a creamy butternut squash number and have to say that I can still taste it: rich, buttery and sweet, perfectly seasoned and with the tiniest spike of chilli, like liquid sunshine. That was followed with the beer-battered fish and chips. Haddock I think. Though our server didn't know, which you should, you really should, especially for £17 a (small) portion. It wasn't a patch on cabbie's favourite, Masters Superfish, just over the bridge on Waterloo Road. But you don't take captains of industry there, unless they really want to go. 

So it isn't the cheapest of spots. And the menu won't set you on fire with its innovation. But if you're in Somerset House on a midweek lunchtime, that's probably not what you're looking for. It's certainly pricier than it needs to be for the quality and the service, but of the three Tom's, this was was by far my favourite.

   

The Sea Cow - Dec 2011

If there's an acceptable face of gentrification then the Sea Cow must surely qualify. A little local fish and chip shop in East Dulwich with the wet fish laid on a shop slab at the front. Bright and cheery, with rough hewn oak communal tables, it's got a design idea behind it, but it doesn't get in the way of the plates and plates of solid reliable meals they churn out. The fish kept fresh by the turnaround, it's a popular spot with the Dulwich mums and a tad noisy early evening and on weekends, crowd control not being a known strength of the middle class parents round here.

Aside from the slightly too clever mushy peas, a rough purée overburdened with mint and oddly sweet, everything here is as you'd expect. Coley and haddock feature on the menu instead of cod, and there are grilled prawns and sea bass for those who don't need their fish encased in batter. Those of us who do will be pleased to know that the batter is excellent, as are the chips. Not in a travel for miles kind of way, but certainly in a best in the vicinity way. There's a short but pleasingly priced wine list, though it's also worth noting that Green & Blue, the excellent little wine bar and shop across the road runs a 'chippage' scheme. The combination of excellent fish and chips alongside some very, very good wines helps you make more of a night out of it, and all of a sudden, it's a reason to travel.

A Fish and Chip Off - July 2010

Where: The Adam and Eve and The Dining Plaice, Soho

With who: Wing Commander at the Adam and Eve and Ed Hitter for Berwick Street
How much: The Adam and Eve charged a tenner for their fish and chips, plus (London) pub prices for their drinks. The Dining Plaice was a much more reasonable £6.60 for a very large haddock and chips, a quid for some curry sauce and 90p for a tea (take that Starbucks)

I love working in Soho... truly I do.

I am quite aware that I spend a lot of my time going for lunches at the moment. Now to be fair, I do work as well - I'm sometimes at my desk as early as 9.30 and when really stretched have been known to stay, on occasion, past 4 in the afternoon. Lucky enough not to have a proper job surrounded by middle aged men in suits, I can sail close to the wind of Soho media trendy and waltz off for long lunches at a whim. Having had two fish n chip lunches in so many weeks (and no time to write them up) I thought I might as well cover them off at the same time. 


The Adam and Eve

The Wing Commander needed a catch up, briefing on a planned event and, never one to look a gift lunch in the mouth, I took up his invite to cover it over a bite to eat. The Adam and Eve is a bright and smiley gastro pub by numbers from mass market chain Geronimo. It used to be goth tourist trap the Ben Crouch (dark, loud and punky) prior to a beige makeover aimed at ensnaring the nearby office drones, of which dear reader, I am one. Bland is the decor, new are the staff.


I hadn't had a decent fish and chip lunch for a while, sadly on leaving the place, this situation still stood. The chirpy staff tried their hardest, but this was the worst form of cook by numbers I've had for a while. 
A dark batter carapace flecked with a mystery herb had been in the fryer for way too long. It died protecting the white flesh below but the eventual reveal showed that the fish had given up the ghost long ago. It had the look of blackened cod underneath, fibrous and chewy from the deep fry. The chunky chips looked promising initially, but a whiff of old oil hung above them, and I was only saved from the taste of that by the salt that the poundshop Jamie Oliver in the kitchen had liberally dumped on them before they reached me. 


The Dining Plaice

Ed Hitter was the most recent lucky recipient of an hour of my very valuable time. I'd been fantasising about (proper) fish and chips since my tastebuds were assaulted a couple of weeks ago and desperate to atone, dragged the hapless journalist to Berwick Street. There are certainly no airs and graces with The Dining Plaice. It's been there for years, as the formica tables, bus station seating and tired and battered decor shows. The black sign above the hallowed door has been there for so long I only noticed what it was called when I checked back on my photos, for as long as I've worked round here, it's just been known as 'the chippie'. Everyone knows where you mean, like Highlander, there can only be one. If you do feel tempted to give it a go, then get there before 12.30. The queue on a lunchbreak can stretch out of the door.

Schooling my southern friend in the ways of the fish and chipper, I led the way with haddock and chips, curry sauce, a bread roll and a cup of tea. Sandwiched between a team of web designers and a couple of sweary builders, we didn't have long to wait before the food arrived. Freshly cooked, the enormous mountain arrived straight from the fryer, heat bravely battling the aggressive aircon attack. The crispy batter was cooked to perfection, and the pearl white fish underneath was soft and yielding. Curry sauce was the proper chip shop special, sweet, thin and tasting nothing like curry. It soaked into the chips, oil free and with enough of a crunch to carry it.


In conclusion
The Dining Plaice has it. A special place in my heart. Can you tell? Now it's still not the best in London, for me Masters Superfish in Waterloo still holds that title, but then Masters isn't five minutes from my office, and it's bloody good regardless. I'm not sure whether this is the right time to bring up the tired North v South debate. All three of them have serious flaws. All of the fish is served with it's skin on, and they all look at you oddly if you ask for batter bits or scraps on the side.