Gymkhana - It's curry Gym, but not as we know it - Oct 2013

Prepare to see a lot written about this place... This latest Mayfair big hitter (from the hand of Trisna founder Karam Sethi) is already a darling of, among others, Time Out, Fay Maschler and big Jay Rayner. The latter having managed to spectacularly annoy the frothing loons below the line in the Guardian by having the temerity to airily suggest that at £70 a head it was superb value for money. While there are very few who would dispute that you can get close to as good for a lot, lot less money, this wasn't deliberately a Guardianista baiting claim. Given the location on the same block as Mahiki, where clueless braying clods regularly compete to spend more of daddy's money than the other yahs on insane champagne and oh so accurately named cock-tails, it's not bad value at all, and it's a world of calm class away from the hoorays and their nightclub tuckshop Roc Lobsta.

There's something quite confidence inspiring about a short menu, though it's rarely seen in an Indian restaurant. You won't be pleased if you were desperately seeking your chicken / beef / lamb in a generic gloop, but then there aren't many places nearby that are so unreconstructed. It's a calmingly brief list that takes you by the hand, leads you to a comforting rattan Raj era chair and fetches you a gin and (matched) tonic before suggesting that you accede all thoughts of ordering and let Karam and his team decide.

We don't quite give them that leeway, but do grab what promises to be a seasonal standout on the gamey menu - the wild Muntjac biryani - as well as a host of smaller plates from the snacks and starters.
  

A minced kid goat and onion Methi Keema deeply steeped in fenugreek, pepper and other spices is sprinkled with shreds of deep fried potato, a flavoursome and texturally lip crinkling delight, genuinely one of the nicest things I've eaten in some time. After nailing the soft buttered rolls it was served with, we resorted to the serving spoon so desperately were we trying to scrape the Crown Derby pattern off the artfully mismatched dining plates.

Other small plates, from a similarly small menu, were more hit and miss. Wild mushroom and sweet potato Shikampuri kebabs were closer in taste and texture to falafel, not unpleasant, and raised from tedium by a thick girolle raita, but I wasn't fighting to claim the third puck. Venison keema naan on the other hand was exceptionally light and sweet.

Served showily with a thin crust dotted with nigella and pumpkin seeds, the pastry lid of the biryani cracked to release fragrant steam and soft, perfectly cooked insides. Morsels of braised deer were scattered throughout a subtle rice, like dark jewels in the sand. The only missed note (for me) was a pomegranate and mint raita too close to a sweet dessert yogurt in taste and texture. I'm in a minority of one here, my dining companion greedily scooped it solo from the bowl. For me a better accompaniment was a dark smokey aubergine Khati Meethi side, its seductive and silky textures inevitably will come back to haunt me in moments of abstinence.

Happy I got in there before the reviews, sad that it's unlikely to become a regular due to the, now inevitable, queues. Gymkhana stands out as one of my meals of the year so far and, if you can get a table, is a divinely decadent treat for an autumn supper. As a critical smash as well as the new favourite takeaway (yes, of course they do) to the Mayfair set, it's clear that they plan to be here for the longhaul. 

 
 

Pollen Street Social, the Emperor's New Clothes - April

Where: Pollen Street Social, Mayfair
With Who: J School
How much: Up there with the best... £150 for a selection of 8 small plates and a bottle of house wine, no desserts, champagnes (despite the thrice repeated offer of it at the start, a rather boring restaurant trick to play these days) or liquors
Come here if: you need to be seen in all the right places or you've just done a big deal and want to impress your partner with the depth of your wallet

I was testing a hypothesis for a new PHD for HR professionals most of the evening. Not because I am one, more because I was suffering from excessive clients and needed to whinge to J School. Do some companies recruit badly, only employing those who arrive as fully formed tits? Or do you get toxic companies, where all of the staff no matter how competent and lovely on arrival are slowly, gradually turned into arseholes through the lack of joy and the unbelievably stressful pressure of perfection placed upon them? A sort of nature vs nurture for idiots... If any HR professionals reading this fancy the challenge I don't expect any royalties, can point you in the direction of some wonderful examples, and would love to read the thesis.

Obviously I'm not talking about Pollen Street here, that would be rude, unnecessary and incorrect. The staff at Pollen Street were uniformly lovely. There were thousands of them too, in serried ranks in black. We had at least two main ones (one for speaking to and one to clear and serve), a sommelier and a couple of randoms checking in on us anxiously. You wouldn't be surprised if they were over-stressed and striving for perfection though, the pressure cooker of expectation here is palpable after one of the most hotly anticipated launches of the year. Following over 18 months of planning, Jason Atherton opens his solo venture, a move out from under the protective, if sweary, wing of mentor Ramsay.

Recent visits to London classics - Mar 2011

Where: Quaglino's and The Wolseley

With who: Dr Vole, the Northern Mother and Auntie Pat

What is it that defines a restaurant as a classic? And how often do you need to reconsider it's place in the pantheon? A contemplative mood made me head back to two restaurants, both of which have featured among my favourite haunts over the years, with the only possible arbiters of London style and taste, two small middle aged Northern ladies. 

"Quaglino's Fashionably Glamorous restaurant in Mayfair" (their description, and extraneous capitalisation...)
Quaglino's was never just about the food. To call it a basement space may be factually accurate, but like describing QEII as a passenger ferry it doesn't give the full picture. Cavernous, marbled and lit from above like the Crystal Caves. I used to come here on sophisticated dates, back when the trademark Conran 'Q' ashtrays used to vanish into elegant clutchbags and jacket pockets so often they started flogging them at reception.

The crowd tonight feel a little unlike other West End restaurant audiences. There's a real whiff of bridge and tunnel on a Friday night, glammed and gussied up without the kids to have A Good Time. It used to be quite a masculine, relatively powerful Mayfair/St James crowd of bankers, creatives and art dealers, fans of Conran's "let it be simple, let it be seasonal, let it be good" mantra, though the solo party of young bucks braying through champagne in their suits seem more trainee accountants than masters of the universe in waiting.

The food is acceptable rather than exceptional. Like the trainee accountants, we go for the Champagne set menu. £25 for three courses and a glass of fizz, and after some really quite excellent cocktails at the raised bar, share a slightly too sweet bottle of Spanish Gewürztraminer. Starters followed, a ham hock terrine came with overly mustardy piccalilli, that other 80's fave of sliced beetroot, walnut and blue cheese was perfectly fine, but nothing you wouldn't expect from a suburban dinner party. There was a elderly mottled gent in a pinched Jermyn Street suit on the table one over eating a prawn cocktail too. Retro, but just about chic. Mains weren't setting hearts or stomachs a flutter either, but "let it be simple. Let it be good"... I'll grant you, fish and chips isn't an exciting choice, but as I've forgotten most of the other options on the menu already, I could hardly describe it as a great advert for innovation. There was a goodish sea bass, randomly served with baked beans, liver and a chicken thing. Desserts followed the same slight staid path. It's a great spot for a small Northern mother, especially if they're not keen on the new, but it's not somewhere you'd go to have your senses wowed.
Brunch at The Wolseley
At 8 years young, the dark art deco doors of The Wolseley are as difficult to breach as they ever where. Owners Corbin and King came up trumps with reboots of Le Caprice, The Ivy and others, though failed in the hinterland of Haymarket with the neither one thing nor the other of St Albans. I always loved that jewelbox of a dining room a little more than its monochrome older sibling The Wolseley, but it wasn't really close enough to anywhere or quite popular enough to be a destination.

We head to The Wolseley for brunch, one of the highlights of a fine menu that runs through from 8 till (very) late every day. Like Quaglino's the space imposes itself as you enter. Built as an old luxury car showroom in Piccadilly, it then spent years as a bank and they've kept much of the original space, along with the fixtures and fittings from both periods, intact. Architecturally, it's worth popping in for a coffee alone.

we go for a mixed basket of pastries to start (the small Northern Mother and Auntie Pat are annoying daffodils in Kew Gardens later on and need the sustenance). For £7.50, I've certainly had better. The 6 bite sized samples are buttery enough, but overcooked and too crispy in the main. The exception is a dark custardy French piece called a cannelé bordelais which tasted infinitely better than it looked (and sounded). My 'main' was a thick disc of deep brown haggis. Roughly crumbled meat, studded with grains; oaty, salty and meaty in equal measures, served on a Melba toast with a brace of sun golden duck eggs and lashings of (slightly too strong) gravy. It's not an everyday brekkie, even my well conditioned gut would struggle to cope with that level of salty swine regularly, but it's a satisfying one off treat.

With so many places keen and able to define themselves London classics in one shape or another, I'd struggle to place either of these at the top of the list, but for out of town guests, you won't go wrong with The Wolseley.

New menu at Match Bar - Feb 2011

Where: Match Bar, Margaret Street
How much: Small plates for around a fiver each, platters for £14

Come here if: you want to date or meet like it's 2001

One of the original London style bars. Tricked out like a Manhattan cocktail lounge with lowslung seating, exposed brick and tile walls, lighting turned low. Recent renovations have seen the intallation of comfortable booths on the lower level as well as a revamp of the menu, now matching City sister Giant Robot, though if you've been there in the last five years, I'd be surprised if you could tell the difference. 

The cocktail menu is a strong feature. Pages of classics vie with house specials behind the well stocked bar. As many purveyors of high strength liquids they fair less well with the grape and grain, beer limited to a measly selection of three bottles (one of them a weissbier) and wine proffered without comment by grape variety. Whiskey and Amaretto Sours go down well (the latter definitely not my choice) and the dirty martini, a good test of any bar, is competent, though I'm not offered a choice of preferred brand. 

Foodwise, they go with small plates. It's beer fodder at best, hearty, stodgy and male (even more surprising given the office girl and post shop clientele. I'd have thought they'd be crying out for something small, wholesome and Asian, rather than cannonball-esque mini burgers, heavy (though tasty) deep fried rice and mozzarella balls and sharing platters of charcuterie. Don't get me wrong, it's well enough done, though more suitable for soaking up pints than the cocktails more regularly quaffed. Slightly bland crostini and an odd, almost chemical guacamole are best avoided.

Breakfast at Leon - Nov 2010

Where: Leon, branches everywhere, this one was on Regent Street
I've always been a fan of Leon. Bright shiny healthy looking stores, with bright shiny healthy lunch options themed mainly around (ethically sourced) meat, what's not to like? I went through a phase of picking lunch up there a couple of times a week, particularly a sucker for their grilled chicken, always moist and tender and served with a tasty spiced brown rice and a 50/50 mix of garlicky thick aoili and ruby red sharp chilli sauce. From what I can work out, the quality of the food hasn't diminished with their gradual rollout, nine sites now and counting, so I'm pleased to report that it's a chain I can happily recommend, though I don't go there as much these days.
They've recently launched a breakfast menu and I popped in to try this last week. With the caveat that I've always been happy with the quality here, the breakfast struck an off note for me. A handful of sandwiches plus several porridge options comprise the menu. Brekkie staples plus 'New York options' (served on rye bread). I went for the bacon, egg and mushroom on nutty granary bread and sadly didn't think too much of it. A hot sandwich with sliced bread needs to be prepared fresh, as it'll lose any crunch in the toast seconds after you put it into a storage bag. The fillings had merged together and with the bread gave a rather soggy mess and the disappointing bacon was slightly plasticky and wafer thin. I think that this one might be a rare duff note, certainly something to avoid, unless you miss the notes of motorway service station in your London dining.

Bompas and Parr - Complete History of Food AND C***V*ISIER - July 2010

Where: The Complete History of Food, Knightsbridge

How much?: £25 a head... not much for an evening's entertainment, but we both felt like we were paying to be at a PR event..

Bompas and Parr have rapidly gained a reputation for audatious food and drink related extraviganzas. They are certainly good at generating their own PR, and sadly from the evidence of tonight, other peoples too... 

The event bills as The Complete History of Food, "an exciting walk-through dining experience and multi-course meal charting key revolutionary periods in food history" brought to you by the pair behind such wonders as the walk-through Gin and Tonic and the bowl of punch so big you can row across it. They specialise in extravaganza (albeit booze advertising extravaganza), but my first personal experience sadly felt a little cheap and tawdry.. 

I used to work in the theatre industry and would often see 2 or 3 shows a week. After all of this time I still remember the feeling I had when walking into the wonderful and magical Punchdrunk producution of The Masque of the Red Death, the groundbreaking 2007 performance that occupied the Battersea Arts Centre. They transformed the entire venue. Every room, corridor, each everything and everyone you could see, hear, touch, interact with or read throughout the venue had been meticulously prepared to provide a truly immersive theatrical experience. I'm not going to re-review a show from three years ago, but if you want more info, then Charlie Spencer's review in the Telegraph sums it up well. Obviously somewhere during the run, someone had mistakenly sold a ticket to a random advertising exec who had walked through and vowed to borrow the idea and use it to sell product.

Before you say it, this wasn't on the same scale as Masque of the Red Death, it wasn't theatre but a pop up restaurant / bar experience (unashamedly sponsored) and shouldn't be judged in the same way. I know... I get it..  but while there was a lot of promise in the food and booze, it still felt like a borrowed trick used to advertise hard at me. And I'd paid to be there.  

You know what, I'm not going to review the food... it's done and gone now, popped off as it were. The show has been reviewed by countless other bloggers and reviewers, google 'review bompass and parr ' and you'll find a few or check down the right of this page and have a look at a few of the blogs I like, most of them were there too. The best one has to be Meemalee's Haiku review. it's inspired (and has some lovely pics of the food).

So leaving the slightly slim food pickings out of it, what were we left with? A walk through advert with C***V*ISIER emblazoned across cardboard sets wedged between a selection of slightly prosaic service corridors taking us through the building. Sometimes we'd see the kitchens, at other times the doors opened on store rooms stacked with crate upon crate of C***V*ISIER. We walked out slightly tiddled (and vowing not to touch brandy for a while) but in dire need of a burger. PLEASE BUY C***V*ISIER

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..) 

Brunch review of Automat - May 2010

Where: Automat, Dover Street, Mayfair
With whom: Batman and his brother
How much?: £16 for their brunch burger

Friday night turned into Saturday morning and Batman and I were determined to carry on going... We weren't in the best state to enjoy a gourmet meal but had decided that the obvious thing to do in the situation would be to head to the Wolesley for a restorative brunch.. Batman is a few months away from impending fatherhood and so these days (and nights) are soon to be replaced with the screaming and squalling of a newborn. That's his excuse. I have none...

Sadly our 'Withnail and I' esque plans were scuppered by the classily suited Maitre 'D who disabused us of our hopes of a table (and with it one of the finest bacon sandwiches I've ever had). We left the beautiful former car showroom and walked up Dover Street to a longtime favourite of mine, Automat.

It's been with us since 2005, and while there aren't the queues that there were on launch, it's still popular. Too popular - full of the expat families who somehow manage to live in Mayfair and their raucous offspring. Batman was getting an early, hungover, flavour of what his Saturdays would like like in years to come. In a bizarre tunnel like main room with the acoustics of your local council swimming baths, their screams echoed. The restaurant, with an authentically upper class diner mix of clean white lozenged tiles and wood panelling, looks a little run down these days.

Enough of that. We were here for life giving sustenance. And to me, that was always going to be their 'famous' brunch burger. For £16 I was expecting great things. It was good, better than I could cope with, though they, like many others, still haven't found a decent bun. This one was dry and had more sesame than Ali Baba. There was a thick, too meaty sausage unceremoniously plonked on the upper half of the bun, a squat porky rocket definitely intended for another meal. Bacon was cooked perfectly, and I've got to say that the burger itself was excellent with a decent amount of char and well seasoned, moist meat cooked exactly as requested. If I had a quibble with it, it would only be that it was a little too dense, but that would be a minor quibble. The 'homestyle' potatoes served unannounced on the side were a little oily, but a good partner to the sausage as a second part to the meal. 

Worth £16? I'd say probably so, considering the location (and the locals)... it's two meals in one and if they sort the bun out, it's an excellent burger, served in a nice space. I'd avoid children's hour though.

Goodmans Burger review - Apr 2010

Where: Goodmans, Mayfair
With whom: The Trustafarian
How much?: £22 for a burger and a couple of beers

A couple of postwork beers turned into talk of food, and the joys of an office in Soho is that there are plenty of choices close at hand. 


The Trustafarian and I had a few things to celebrate though it could have turned nasty when we got into a rather lazy argument on the best burger in the vicinity of the office and my ill-considered companion held up the Gourmet Burger Kitchen as his choice. 


I could have just shaken my head and left, but I can't walk away from a winnable argument, and I had only had a salad for lunch.

Within 5 minutes we were sat at the bar in Goodmans and already I wished I'd had money on this one. The Trustafarian fitted right in among the braying hedge fundies clustering the bar, handy, as even on a Monday night there few spaces elsewhere. 


It has a typically upper class NYC steakhouse vibe - dark panelled woods, blood red leather seating and a personable Irishman behind the bar. We went for a very acceptable IPA from local London brewery Meantime and racked up a pair of burgers, medium rare.


A satisfied smug silence from me as the glazed brioche bun covered patties arrived. The toasted crisp top broke under knife and juices flooded the lower layer. 

Now this is a real American style burger. Dense and sweet pink meat kept its moisture under the crisp charred exterior and a minimum of extraneous greenery. 


The Trustafarian mumbled of his defeat between crammed mouthfuls and I graciously accepted my plaudits. There were a couple of grumbles, the pickles were well warmed within the bun rather than the spears of refreshment I wanted alongside (though to be fair, I could have asked, and received, so my own fault) and I wasn't a fan of the chips. They were dry and crispy, but thick, a little oily, and not unlike eating many roast potatoes. 


With a satisfied belch my converted companion and I stepped out into the night. Game, steak and match.