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

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


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

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

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

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

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

 

Katzenjammers and Maoz Falafel, alternative beer soakers - Jan 2011

Most beery nights out in this country seem to end up with some form of badly packed meat. (fnaar..) It's inevitable that we'll end up in the local kebab, pizza or burger joint, many of which haven't changed in years, despite the general increase in food quality across the country. I can track my life by these places. Drunken nights in Balham ended with the famously titled Chicken Under The Bridge. This substituted for a university institution in my affections, the doner meat pizza from Primo Pizza in Hull, itself a replacement for the Grantham Charcoal Grill, where I first witnessed the power that grilled meat, heavy seasoning and raw onion can hold over a grown man. 
And so it continues. Regardless where I'm lucky enough to trough these days, I'll always have a soft spot for the simple joys of a post beer bite. Sometimes you've just got to keep it simple. 


Here's a couple you may or may not have tried, I'll add more over time...
Where: Katzenjammers, Southwark Street, London Bridge
How much: Food is between £7 and £10 a head but you're here for the Bavarian lager predominantly 
Come here if: you fail to get into Brindesa and don't fancy any of the pricy options nearby.
In a nutshell: Barvarian style bierkeller in Borough. The name translates as caterwaul, appropriate for somewhere designed around low slung ceilings and loud, communal conversation. It was half full but still verging on too loud, not somewhere to take a date certainly, but the kind of place an office party could get their vocal chords limbered up before heading to a discotheque. The beer list is solid, lengthy, German and available in steins. The food list is perfunctory and pig flavoured. A number of different sausages come with (badly) fried chips, the other specials include Wiener Schnitzel, a plate size slice of pork, covered in breadcrumbs and forced into the fryer. Germany perversely manages more Michelin starred restaurants than any other European country other than the UK and France, but manages to have a universal reputation for bad, fried food. Katzenjammers offers a fun night, but won't change your mind about the cuisine.


Where: Maoz Falafel, Old Compton Street, Soho
How much: £5.50 for a Maoz Royale (three falafel in pitta with hummus and fried aubergine, served with a massive salad bar)
Come to either: if you just can't cope with another lamb shish or dubious chicken inna bun
In a nutshell: Post drink dining for vegetarian drinkers. 


The idea of a vegetarian fullstop on an evenings entertainment isn't everyone's idea of fun (and never used to be mine). Then I met Maoz. Freshly made falafel, a large salad bar and Belgian style fries. Cheaper than you're average 'bab, and a darn sight healthier. Service is quick, and you get all manner of crazy sods through their glass doors, spilling onto the basic formica tables. You order your falafel, small deep fried sphere of chickpeas, they arrive served in a pitta pocket that you then fill from the extensive salad bar. I'm a particular fan of the roasted cauliflower, coriander and red chilli sauce combo. Each to their own, just try and forget that there's no meat...