Mildred's - a review finally - Oct 2013

Another recent step back down Memory Lane. Gearing up for a trip to the Edinburgh Festival recently, I needed nothing more than vegetables and pulses. If you're that determined to give your flabby middleaged stomach and liver a kicking, at least have the decency to treat it healthily first.

I've always been a fan of Mildred's, ever since I was lucky enough to score an office opposite the place over ten years ago. It was never a place you'd waste on a dinner with suits. The unreservable tables are too close together, the service is amiable if too erratic for client entertaining and the menu a flustered mix of clichéd vegetarian comfort food and esoteric rabbit droppings. I'm delighted to report that nothing has changed in the intervening years.

Although it sounds like I'm gearing up for a slagging I'm really, really not. One of the reasons Mildred's has been there for so long is that it hasn't changed. And the regulars who crowd the front galley bar, flirting with the staff and each other while waiting for their table wouldn't have it any other way.

That cramped bar belies the gorgeously lit conservatory roofed space you walk out into. Light, bright and loud, it's packed every lunchtime and full from 5.30 every night.

Those veggie clichés are hard to get past. It's been a long time since I've been able to get past their doorstep thick mushroom and ale pie, thick chewy pastry scattered with seeds, stuffed with a glossy dark chunky filling you'd swear only a dead (and happy) cow could supply... If I sidestep that, then I get tackled by one of the tastiest bean burgers imaginable or tonight's punishing two footed tackle, a piping hot, bean and chilli feast of a burrito.

Taking up the space of a small child (or approximately an eigth of the size of Michael Gove's self regard) it squats ominously on the plate alongside some ill-judged and entirely erroneous greenery. Blistered white cheese (no one including the server is quite sure what sort) is baked into the carapace and the inside opens to a rich bean melange. It's inauthentic as hell but tasty and filling. The coconut curry with sweet potato was fine, verging on microwave hot, but instantly forgettable. There are a number of salads, various specials and a number of ways with quinoa. The wine list is

Sure it's not a place for a business meeting, and I'd think strongly about the impression you were going for before taking a first date there. But it's a wonderful place for a healthy, filling feed with your very closest friends, and that's why it's one of my favourite places in London.

 

The Reform Social and Grill - What What! May 2013

Spring! As the first rays of life-giving sun hit your upturned cheeks and the nights recede into long placid evenings with the promise of chilled rose wine. A thousand BBQ's rumble out of garages, the long forgotten, rusty and oil stained armoured vanguard of summer. Spring! A time of salads and green and the lightest of touches. Spring! The perfect time to visit a gentleman's club inspired grill restaurant then… ah. No.. sadly not.

I'd had the Reform Social highlighted to me by a number of people back in the depths of winter (i.e. various points in the last 12 months) and the reports had all said broadly the same thing. Pretty decent food, if heavy on the meat and puddings, and a dark, clubby, cocoon of a space with snug leather seating you could drown in. 

In summary, ideal for a long gentleman's luncheon before the weather breaks for the better... Well I'm no follower of fashion (just look at my wardrobe) and that's why I'd waited until the first fragrant days of warmth and light before pulling on my crushed velvet smoking jacket, adjusting my monocle and finding a saucy young slip of a gel to entertain.

Slotted underneath the Mandeville Hotel just off Marylebone High Street, the hotelish (and not entirely in a good way) bar was our first entry point. The way robustly blocked by a florid and fully padded post work crowd enjoying a discount deal on fizz we squeezed uncomfortably through to the dining room at the other side of the lounge. 

   

Here I was pleased to see a full crowd of mixed ages. My gentleman's jacket wouldn't have looked entirely out of place, but neither were we marooned in fuddy-duddy land. The table of birthday partying hipsters and a gaggle of courting couples dining gave our section of the long dark room a gentle (and genteel) buzz.

Things started very well with a crisp, clean and perfectly cooked duck 'Scotch' egg, wrapped in a pliant and piquant black pudding shell. It clashed with an unnecessary trough of apple sauce, but solo was note perfect.

The mains sadly were less accomplished in their delivery. Both arrived on a generic root vegetable puree, hay cooked hake was a fine piece of fish, but smokier and saltier than a Glaswegian sailors mission. Stuffed lamb breast, a substitution for the stout sounding Angus rose veal chop I'd been salivating for, came as an underwelmingly small and fatty roulade filled with a fishy breadcrumb mix and topped bafflingly with tight and over-battered scampi, an odd mix that did none of the constituent parts justice. A side of pumpkin with chilli and sage gave none of the flavour of either and was verging on undercooked to boot. There's a good looking grill section here filled with some handsomely sourced cuts. I can only blame our ordering for missing them out.

Thankfully there was a knowing hand on the desserts, reason almost to return in themselves. My Bakewell Pudding, a crispy puck of choux filled with tart fruit and covered in thick vanilla custard the colour and consistency of whipped butter. A darkly decadent chocolate and blood orange pot was equally moreish. Given what I saw of the cocktails, I'm tempted to return for a lush's afternoon tea combining the two.

On a slight negative note, there was a noticeable level of fractiousness among the front of house team, commands and critiques hissed not sotto voce enough to be unheard as the harried team flew around us. It wasn't ideal. They were pretty good face to face, just less so when talking to each other.

There's less knowing cool than at that other modern bastions of of 'private member's-chic' like Dean Street Townhouse and Hawksmoor (both of whom definitely hosted planning meetings for this place) but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It doesn't do it quite as well as the aforementioned, but does well enough at a reasonable price that you won't probably shouldn't mind. 

 

The Ivy - Sept 2010

There is an unspoken rule not to describe what occurs behind the hallowed portals of the Ivy, and so I won't. I'm far too scared of losing my privileges. So I'll go as far, and no further as this.

Coming back into The Ivy, stationed on Covent Garden's West Street for the last 90 years, is like sliding into a favourite chair, or pulling on 'that' pair of jeans. It's somewhere that makes you feel comfortable and cosseted. Whether you're going there weekly, or for your first visit, once you're on the other side of the stained glass panelled windows, you're treated like you belong.

The sense of history at the restaurant comes more from the staff than the decor. It's not a formula, they're all allowed to express their own personalities and behave like, well, human beings. Compared to some of the Michelin starred restaurants in town, with their robotic teams of perfectly drilled matched staff, that's got to be a positive. They keep their staff, and move them round within the Caprice Holdings Group (for of course it is they, along with Sheekeys, Scotts, Caprice and newer sibling the Dean Street Townhouse) and there are enough people on their board of directors who have been with the business for 20 years or more who worked their way up. Jesus Adorno (with Le Caprice since the day it opened in 1981), Fernando Piero (the formidably cultured director of The Ivy) and chief exec Des MacDonald are, for some, better known than most restauranteurs.

I used to be brought in here by suppliers and clients, when I worked more regularly in the theatre, and you could always spot those who didn't go there often. They would call you up with a time and date, clutched like a golden ticket, their voices quavering with excitement, two months out. The Ivy doesn't work like that. Like most top restaurants, they dress the room keeping back tables for nearer the time, to ensure that the right mix of people fill the space (a balance of industry, entertainment, old friends and the odd rubbernecker). It's more casual than many think, shhhh... they now take some (non peak) bookings online...

Warning signs should flash here. It's NOT somewhere for a special meal. It's a good, rising to great, local restaurant. So often do you see or hear people comparing unfavourably to Le Gavroche or Royal Hospital Road, but truth be told, it's not trying to compete. The food focusses on simple ingredients, cooked well, British cuisine with some (very loose) Med influences and a strong focus on matching seasonality with their old favourites. Yes they have a pasta list, but you could sample their expertly made gnocchi following a starter of caviar or tuna sashimi. The winelist is extensive, intelligent and full of enough surprises at all levels. A standout Douro and an aromatic Gavi di Gavi are highlights on a small list by the glass.

I go for a spicily perfect Steak Tartare that comes with fresh toast (seemlessly replaced when I run out), my guest's Beetroot and Goat's cheese salad comes studded with tiny blue edible flowers and a rapeseed oil dressing. I enschew the usual shepherd's pie (one of their more famed dishes, rightly so, along with an excellent burger and a surprisingly good, though inauthentic curry - see what I mean about it being simple food here?) and go for a meaty and thick monkfish tail (one of several daily, seasonal specials) served with saltily spiky coastal greens and a butter sauce. My guest had a Blythbourne Pork Belly with lentils, morcilla and peas. Sated, we skipped dessert, though I could recommend a slate of frozen Scandinavian Berries with a hot white chocolate sauce, another regular on a groaning dessert list. We take coffee and try to recover.