The man is almost too beautiful to be a chef. As we ended the meal, I told our waiter to give our compliments to him. “Oh you know Ollie?” he said. I said “No, but I read about him last night, five star game changer to paraphrase Fay, and we are tempted to agree.”. Shortly after, the chef came over to greet us. He seemed a little nervous meeting paying customers but he was clearly enthusiastic with his new restaurant. He had a blue pinstriped butcher’s apron around him, but wore a thin white loosely hanging tee underneath, giving us a glimpse of his his well-endowned (and furry) man-chest. No heavily threaded chef robes here. I noted his well manicured beard. “I heard somebody knows my first name, so I thought I’d come over to say hello.” he said. His name is Ollie Dabbous (phonetically Dabboo). Remember that. You’ll be hearing a lot more of him from now on. He is but one of the talents which represent the future of British cooking. Ollie started as a protege at Raymond Blanc’s Le Manoir before travelling around the world to stint in the kitchens of some of the most written about chefs in Europe. Like Andoni Luis Aduriz, Claude Bosi, Pierre Gagnaire, Heston B, Rene R, Wylie Dufresne, before moving to lead Agnar Sverisson’s under-appreciated Texture. (I hear what you’re saying
… I write to you as I lie on the blackened brown beach in Brunei. It overlooks the oil rigs just off the coast that fuels the economy of this tiny Sultanate on the Northeast coast of Borneo Island, and behind me, my parents’ backyard. Happy new year LDN. I am technically still on my xmas vacation which is just spilling over into the new year. Did I mention the equatorial climate mean that it’s a sunny 30C every day? What better way to break the 2012 bubble than to recount a November 2011 visit at a true London institution and a destination restaurant. Yup after nearly four years of hot air, I finally made it to Chez Bruce in Wandsworth. In my often narrow and simplistic view of the shadowy powers which have molded our idea of the template for london posh dining, I see two power players whose influence reaches across an association of restaurants. Glorious chefs have passed through these kitchens at some point in their career, and in a way, these breeding grounds are the bedrock for the progression of high cooking. On one end of the stick, we have zen master Phil Howard with his double-macarooned lair – The Square. This is of course a story that is written to death about, since Brett Graham trained with Phil in the beginning days before they spun
Here’s a list of good things I expect from a good bistro: 1.Good soup 2.Good steak 3.Good frites 4.Good tartare 5.Superhot waitress I recall a highlight reel of what the Glasgow arm of this luxury out-of-town hotelier is capable of, during an episode of Don’t tell the bride. They took the tour through the banquet room, the room for the exchange of vows, the grounds. the venue was so slick, the bride cried knowing her man would never plan their wedding there. Of course, I don’t watch that show. It just happened to be playing in the background as I was shaping my manly deltoids at the gym. Obviously. There are fifteen Hotel du Vins up and down the country from St Andrews to Brighton, none are in London, but presumably all of the hotel restaurants resemble some version of bistro du vin. As of writing, there are two Bistro du Vins in London; one is next to the shit-hot Duck Soup Soho, and the other currently occupies the site where one of the best London bistros died – Bjorn van de Horst’s Eastside Inn. You do remember Eastside Inn don’t you? That was nice French food. Bistro du Vin doesn’t punch at that level, but in many ways that’s a good thing, because really the formulae that’s being applied – competitively priced, traditional French bistro affair, enomatic-preserved wines by
Bryn Williams is the most underrated chef in this country. I recall his stupendous turn on the first season of Great British Menu, in which his representation of Wales on a plate of cockles, samphire and turbot, eventually won its way to HM’s 80th birthday bash. Something I’m sure she gobbled up with glee. Five years on, the same dish is now a famously permanent fixture from his ALC menu at Odette’s. I had it last year and I was completely flabbergasted by how good the conception of the dish really is. It remains one of the most memorable dishes Ive ever eaten, and that sentiment also extends to the rest of Bryn’s fantastic cooking. I continue to be amazed by the lack of internet champions for this terrific neighbourhood restaurant. Maybe that’s the problem, that Odette’s is so well nestled within its neighbourhood that it deserves to remain a secret and not be paraded around the internet like yet another ice chips and beetroot trend that becomes dangerously out of fashion the moment it comes into vogue. Conceptual nonsense has no place in Odette’s ; This restaurant mainly involves a hardworking and a fairly young chef – coming into his prime – who passionately slaves away in his kitchen (most days and nights, if not every) to craft one of the most delicious Anglo-Franco menus in London. His six
Despite the narrative the web has spun around Galoupet, you should know that this is not a restaurant. Don’t come here expecting to be fed, because you will be a little confused. Even the decor strays far from the norm, like the faintly perfumery, sterile ivory walls and beech floors, mirrors on either side and (if memory serves) a skylight. There was so much light coming from all corners of the room, that we could only be here for a spa treatment. Such words are not usually applied to restaurant copy: ‘light, fresh, clean’ , ‘deep understanding’ , ‘adapted’. Let’s throw sensory in there too. This was as close an experience to having a detox treatment for the tastebuds… not that I’ve ever been to a detox session for any other bodily part. In practical terms, most of the dishes could pass as salads. There’s fruit in nearly every dish, I felt an eerie sense of being cleansed after the meal. Yes, fella, this is not the usual restaurant, let alone wine bar, there is something of an unorthodox approach going on here. The emphasis on the grapes are a refreshing change, there aren’t many wine-led restaurants in town, even though most restaurants will try their bestest to flog matching wines with the food, it often feels second best to the food; and for the case of the wine bar,
All together now : Medlar is the best new restaurant of 2011. I said it, and I’d love for you guys to agree with me because I love this place to bits. The cooking is eye-wateringly sensational, the pricing is mind boggling slender, service is shy yet charming and the ambiance is that of the perfect neighbourhood restaurant. I’ve not been this excited about a neighbourhood restaurant for a long time coming and I could only thing of one place to visit for my birthday, last weekend. This time, I took with me, a couple of serial restaurant goers in Mark and Carina, who are such, out of necessity because of work, and obviously because they enjoy the lifestyle, and my better and more skeptical half. 12 courses (that’s 3 x 4 palates) later and we were all largely in agreement : Medlar is brilliant. I am a firm believer that great dishes rely upon the individual aspects being cooked correctly. The basics have got to be right, since each element acts like a building block, so that when it’s all assembled, it has the best chance of becoming more than the sum of its parts. Everywhere we sniffed and licked, we were greeted with slick cooking. Take the most basic dish we were served for example, the triple cooked chips, and the in-house whipped béarnaise. Dipping the crusty chips
Remarkable. The standard of cooking is dastardly high, the artistry kept well in check, the flavours were – in my opinion – calibrated to run riot on your palate, that it made for a breathtaking dining experience. Service took an equally disciplined yet playful approach as the cooking, and so too was the decor; lime green and quite so basic, but refreshing and pressure-free. The only question I kept asking myself throughout the meal was “What’s the catch?”. Why is it so damn affordable. As I understand it, this modern restaurant offers their three course ala carte menu at a princely sum of £25 during lunch, and the same menu for £38 during dinner. Not that I’m complaining of course, but after a string of new openings (NOPI and Pollen St Social and even St John Hotel) that seem to indicate the return of the swinging binge-times, Medlar’s prices come as a welcomed surprise. You and I should pay attention to Medlar partly because of the pedigree behind the team. In the hotseat is one Joe Mercer Nairne, previous sous-chef at Chez Bruce and before that, The Savoy Grill. Managing front of house affairs, is the very charming David O’Connor whose CV involved running the teams at The Ledbury, The Square and also Chez Bruce (all of which are Nigel Platts-Martin restaurants) , where he and Joe first forged their
UPDATE: Well now, this is news to me. 101 Pimlico Road is closing on the 28th of May, man that’s a loss to the trade, but here’s hoping Keith G’s next project will be more sustainable. The trick in choosing your next greatest meal is to find a restaurant which borrows its name from its address. For instance, 32 Great Queen Street at 32 Great Queen Street is brilliant, and by that estimation, so is 101 Pimlico Road. I’ve heard nice things about 101, though it’s one of those restaurants which I keep pushing down my list, but I am glad I finally made some time for this maiden visit. The restaurant decor is both woefully boring, and a successful exercise of restraint elegance. I like the blue theme, but the long and narrow room is a bit of a mind bender. Leading the hob is young Keith Goddard, and as I understand it (from Dino), Keith’s alma mater is The French Culinary Institute in NYC and formerly apprenticed with O’Sheas, Peyton’s restaurant at the Wallace Collection (which is a brilliant private collection of art) and with Mr Aikens. The theme of his restaurant is English, with a French accent, sashaying on to your plates, to the smokey tunes of Nina Simone grooving over the PA. Oh, so this is what Spring looks like in Belgravia. The ala carte is
You can almost expect Audrey Tautou to waltz through the front door of this cosy restaurant; hang her coat, and whip her beret onto the coat rack. With Piaf marching on in the background, your eyes follow her every move, as she sits herself down on the round corner table for two (except she’s by herself), briefly re-arrange the silverware, and as she settles to her comfort spot; she senses your longing gaze and looks up. At which point, you change focus and start making eyes with the French waitress, who is in the process of handing the menu to you. You hesitate to say merci, because you feel insecure with the language, but know that it might make the difference between a successful or failed connection. Anti-climatically, you end with a simple thank you. Ah the romance. Tucked away in the nether regions of Knightsbridge, an alley way connecting either side of Brompton road, is Knightsbridge Green, where a relatively new bistro, opened by a rather well-regarded chef, has made its home. The full name Chabrot Bistrot d’amis, for the friendly bistro, I believe quite aptly describes the cosy, comforting, Parisian ambiance. Particularly the Parisian bit. Thierry Laborde is the previously mentioned chef, who brings with him an all-star track record that includes time at heavyweight French restaurants namely Roux’s Le Gav and Ducasse’s Louis XV. And the atmosphere
Les Deux Salons is into week 3 of operation, as of this visit, and I am glad to say that the kinks from the soft launch, crucially to do with service & speed, have been thoroughly worked out of the system. But thank goodness, this resplendent brasserie is not run with military precision, rather with a conservative friendliness instead. It is early days yet, though impressions are that Les Duex Salons is a serious contender for the title of ultimo Soho Anglo-French brasserie. We must start with decor, and boy is it breathtaking. The site is on William IV Street – which is near another Gallic superstar, Terroirs – once a Pitcher & Piano, painstakingly (at great expense I gather) converted into a thirties-style brasserie that harks back to Middle Europe Grand Cafe traditions, of a champagne brass, green leather booths and vintage train station-style lamps. 250 covers are spread over two floors. The decor immediately reminded me of another throw back design that is the sheer grandeur of St Pancras Grand (at St Pancras Station), and sure enough, the man who has dreamt up this luxury is doubly responsible for both. Martin Brudnizki, London based and Swedish born designer, also the main man behind many of Richard Caring’s luxury sites, including the recent redesigns of Ivy, Scotts, J Sheekey and Dean Street Townhouse. I really do feel a certain
I’m dreaming. This is a radical fantasy, the food is beyond excellent, the filtered water is free, a rainbow assortment of bread flows (freely too) all night long, with the startling choice of salted and unsalted Normandy butter on the table. All hail the new chieftain of Soho,
Having to update my list of favourites is the least of my worries, and this is probably the only time, in my time as a blogger, that I feel devastated enough to compel me to write a few words about the closing of a restaurant, and the factors which surround it,
From the creators of the sleeper hit of the century, the Icelandic inspired, macaron-winning, Texture, comes Rousset & Sverrisson’s next high octane, vinely-charged collaboration, titled 28-50. The name is a geographical tip of the hat to all the world’s vineyards, most
“You sound surprised.” Michael’s response to my initial thoughts about his food. I blurted “Yeah. It was great.” with bulging eyeballs. Indeed I couldn’t hide my instinctual outburst. This was a restaurant that had mostly flown under my radar until now. Full report after the jump
Daniel Boulud. Three Michelin Stars. Twelve restaurants. French. Celebrated. Now in London. We were all witnesses when the internet welcomed the meritable chef’s European debut with open arms. Time for us to consider Bar Boulud
This will be my third visit to Eastside Inn, which is hands down my favourite restaurant in London. There is much fire in Bjorn van der Horst’s sauces. Though the restaurant’s history is short, it has undergone significant changes of late changing from a Restaurant-with-a-Bistro to a Bistro-with-a-lounge-bar. My love affair with ESI continues. Here we go again
I never had confidence in museum mess halls. Having memories only of torrid experiences both locally and abroad. It is the logical thing to do, after taking in centuries of culture, to then breathe in stereotypical food. Of course, that was until I became a convert to the restaurant at Tate Modern. I wondered then about the general quality of London museum/gallery cafes – maybe it is not so bad afterall
One of the major themes of my restaurant collecting this year involves expanding the catchment area. It occured to me last year when I felt like a tourist in Liverpool street station; circling it many times until I eventually found out that Andaz was just next door. Yes, the East is still a mystery to me. There are supposedly very good, and very hidden Turkish restaurants beyond Limehouse. I have yet to find out. So a few weeks ago, I was in Southfields to run an errand, I hadn’t been back since Wimbledon ’04, and thought it was the perfect opportunity to give a local restaurant a try
There was a time when Gordon Ramsay was the darling of the nation, the once protege who displaced his mentor, then the king of British gastronomy, Marco Pierre White. Like his mentor, he has achieved three stars and so much more. I remember my first brush with Gordon Ramsay food, albeit indirectly. It was on a Singapore Airlines flight to London, Gordon as a consultant for the airline’s menu. I remember being impressed then with his credentials, late thirties and already a qualified genius of his craft. And I still respect Gordon Ramsay for what he has achieved
Only the most romantic of cities could have given birth to the L’Entrecote restaurants. It has remained firmly a family business for the better half of the 20th century. The legacy belongs to the family of Paul Gineste de Saurs, the founder, who was then searching for an outlet to sell wine from his family château. He had bought out an Italian restaurant known as the Le Relais de Venise in Porte Maillot, Paris. The Venice Inn. Instead of offering pasta and pizza, Paul’s grand idea was based on an entirely menu-less concept of serving the bistro classic of steak-frites. The entrecote cut was used, sometimes known in France as the contre-fillet, which in this case refers to the sirloin. All diners start their meal with a lettuce and walnut salad, bathed in a mustard vinaigrette. And then, the two servings of steak-frites would follow, the second half kept warm while you ate the first. The formula would be completed with their special butter based sauce smothered all over the steak – a secret recipe
LifeDonk says: I didn't mind it, but I do read most of your stuff. I would be interested to read more about why you...
Kang L. says: Bunface - damn, that bad huh? Haha, whats wrong with the nose?? Gotta smell that stuff man! You're p...
bunface says: it feels a little like you're trying to be one of those guys who knows abou wine without the experti...
“..surrounded by the greatest wines of the world..” The dining room is relatively small...
A Prologue The first of a new series of posts I intend to write on a weekly basis. Not reviews per...
This is my 3rd visit to the fabulous Admiral Codrington in as many months. By now, you’ll have...
No doubt you’ve already heard about Ceviche, the first of a trio of Peruvian restaurants to...
Ah Norway. Good times. I spent some time in Haugesund a couple of years ago, for work, and I will...
I have asserted in the past that Bryn Williams is the most underrated chef in Britain, and that...
Rob & David’s eponymous restaurant has only just toasted its ten year anniversary. A...
Ah …Easter weekend. We drove all the way to the Sidmouth coast, to marvel at the bronze...
