Who comes up with all this fiction just for a restaurant? This is the persuasive language Oliver’s people have generated for his latest project: “Ours is a union of ideas, traditions, and of people.” “Where wood-fired flatbreads meet great British flavours.” Lookintomyeyeslookintomyeyes. What’s with the wonky name – why not just call it Union or Union Jack. Is this meant to be ironic? I don’t get it. The ambiguity with the plural form (or misplaced punctuation) is the restaurant equivalent of the 2012 Olympics logo. In spite of the spin, this really is just a pizzeria. It’s billed as some kind of ground breaking bastardisation of the humble Italian pie, by the hand of Jamie’s very Bri’ish style and nicknamed as Flatbreads. As if one could reinvent something simply by calling it something else. I do like the ‘Gary Baldy’ biscuit, however. I’d like to think these concepts were the result of a complicated brain storming session by a think tank of consultants locked in a meeting room and eating nothing but pizza to precipitate ideas. Back in the real world, this union is a partnership between Jamie Oliver and Pizza Maestro Chris Bianco. This Central St Giles location being the pilot for a upcoming franchise, which (presumably) pending the success of this branch, will spread throughout London and the rest of the country in the next couple of years
Banana skin. I was suggested to try the ‘Ocre Rouge’, a Pinot Noir from Dions (as opposed to Burgundy) and I had come to the conclusion that this was a quirky little devil of a wine. The finish and its tannin structure was akin to banana skin, a first and a rather interesting peculiarity. The same could be said of the terribly cramped environs of the new Soho opening which has captivated Twitter’s appetite. Not only are they the latest restaurant to operate a no reservation service, they have gone the extra mile to install a record player on premises, inviting returning patrons to share their vinyl collection with everybody in the room. Ducksoup is either a genuinely hip place to dine or at the very least a good pretender. It is in keeping with the presumption that Londoners are still very much in love with the idea of less is more when eating out. Think Brawn, Spuntino and Rochelle Canteen throw in a Kitchenaid, then splashed across Fernandez & Wells. Et voilà. The brains behind this genius are ex-Hix, chef Julian Biggs ( I think he is the beardy one) , Clare Lattin and Rory McCoy, collectively have managed to make the genre of uber-cool and understated, easily egalitarian yet decidedly British restaurant, feel refreshed once again. I really like the name, obviously it is not named after soup,
About a year ago, a new kind of Italian restaurant swept into the smoke. It moved the goal posts, threatened the old guard and breathed new life into this country’s image of Italian cuisine. And it was mightily affordable. The decor bare, yet efficient, the service regimental yet friendly, the food simple but quite majestic. In its relatively short existence, it had won many fans, I count myself amongst that group, but the better half is the truly fervent follower. She has been back at least once every two months and has witnessed the cooking inch ever so slowly toward perfection. Like a finely tuned orchestra, each cog is a marvel to the senses, working together to pump out masterpiece after masterpiece. I was with a table of four and a half, and I was glad to see the energy and the smell of roasted coffee beans still filled the atmosphere inside this restaurant. The menu was still as brief as the A4 it was printed on. A smatter of antipasti dishes, fish, cheese, Italian ham; a couple of pasta dishes, a meat ragu and one with mushrooms; grilled fish fillets and meat chops. The memory of my first couple of meals at Zucca last year, lingered like a good summer fling, fuelling my appetite as I sat down to order. However, as this meal progressed, it was obvious that
One can only admire Russell Norman, Richard Beatty and their merry team for breathing revolutionary life to the London dining circuit over the past two years. It kind of reminds me of the Star Wars prequels, how as each chapter unfolded, came the buzz, the anticipation and the new effects. I thought Revenge was the strongest of them all. The last in the trilogy, the most unique, and the one which wasn’t held back. Come on folks, you gotta admit, Spuntino was special. Russell and co created a landmark with that one. Who knew that truffled egg toasts, ground beef sliders, grits and a brew, would still taste so good the third time round. And so the Russell is back yet again with the fourth (and last) in the Polpo line (until the next revelation comes to his brilliant restauranteur mind) , and its like sitting down to see Episode Four, after seeing Revenge. You’re fooling yourself into thinking you don’t know the score, when in fact, you already do. All the hype is in place, as we’ve seen before, twitter a flutter bearing the good news of the successful soft launch, which will be – inevitably – followed by the barrage of words, photographs, videos and interviews over the coming weeks. Of course, I had to saveur the moment for myself, so I decided to obey the egalitarian policy,
I have never know Queen’s Park in its old days of notoriety, and since uprooting from West London to this part of town; I’ve always felt the safely suburban leafy surroundings was an entirely nice neighborhood to live in. Kilburn is another story altogether however. I’d already written about the lovely Salusbury pub before, and if you follow my twitter feed, you’ll note the weekly oyster popping at the Sunday farmers market, but I have always been itching to put something together regarding the two Italian cafes in Queen’s Park, which are both highly recommended, if you happen to be in the area. Giorgio’s The first candidate is situated on the corner of Salusbury Road. It used to be the grocery bit of Salusbury, and about this time last year, it was rechristened as Giorgios, and redecorated into a lazy corner cafe which served food throughout the day. The pizzas, bolognese arancinis and cannolis are all pretty good, though on this trip, we had arrived for brunch. Swirly hot chocolate to get the day going.. … and a vegetarian fry up. Hmm, wasn’t quite so sure about those vegetarian sausages. However, these bad boys – French toast with streaky bacon and maple syrup – were the stuff. Finally this was a little concoction of mine. Ham, egg and melting cheese ‘breakfast sandwich’. I call it Le GBK. A truly awesome
When I think about spending big on meals, where multiple stars are involved, I think French, I think Japanese, I think miniscular gastronomy, water-bathed, raw and beetroot. Rarely does the thought of an expensive Italian meal ever cross my mind anymore these days. I put this down to the recent drive by like-minded restauranteurs in launching the lean and mean, baby River Cafes (and derivatives). As you are well aware, we’ve been loving the revolution in London-Italian dining, feeling the gastropubistro-fatigue. Come on admit it, you can’t get enough of a novel-thick grilled veal chop, dripping in wet bloody juice. Especially if it costs under £20. Yes, the Zuccas, Tinellos, Dock Kitchens, Bocca Di Lupos, Polpos, Tinellos and Trullos are good for Londoners. We have competed with one another in overbooking them to their fullest capacity, and we especially like the much slimmer bottomline, and delicious yet elegant recipes, built around fresh produce, which is the whole crust of Italian cuisine. At last, good Italian food has become democratic. Having said that, there is still a legacy of the old-world, grand but homely Italian restaurants, designated by (quite strictly) by region and the Michelin man, and the pre-crash prices. Give it a go, call L’Anima, or Locatelli or River Cafe or Murano, and then ring any of the above mentioned mid-priced super Italian cucinas. You are likely to secure a
If ever there was a restaurant synonymous with the term institution, that restaurant could well be Zafferano. Entering its sixteenth year of service, it is regarded by all of us, as one of the key purveyors of high Italian cuisine, in London. It boasts a fancy postcode, the single macaron from the Bib, as well as about a dozen or so blogposts showering praise upon it. It even has a name – Zafferano for Saffron – that echoes its maturing charm. This restaurant appears to have become impervious to the trendy competition of younger restaurants, yet to establish the sort of loyal patronage that Zafferano has the distinct honour of having. It is about as proper as it gets. As Mr Blyde once put it, Zafferano is indeed an important restaurant not only to indulge yourself, but for a ’rounded’ education in classical Italian cuisine (in London (short of a protracted trip to Italy)) to satisfy one’s experiences in benchmarking what is supposedly the best the cuisine has to offer (in London). This is likely one of the few restaurants to make return visits not for the sake of novelty, but to return because the food is genuinely fantastic. The main man in the hot seat, is the long time head chef Andy Needham who has been with the restaurant (at least to my knowledge) since its beginning days. Previous
Ain’t it just a beauty? I couldn’t help but show you photographs of this lovely little Italian on the corner of Fifth Avenue, toward Kensal Green. Since my move to North London, I have been actively seeking out goodies in the vicinity. And I think I might have found a really nice
By now you’ll have tried and failed to book a table at Trullo, the latest budget conscious, laid-back, Italian inspired restaurant to open and to become over-subscribed, in London. Owned by Jordan Frieda, once the front of house at River Café, and chef Tim Siadatan,
You would have most likely read about Russell Norman’s new opening on other blogs, or probably were amongst those who went to Polpetto’s first week of launch. Well if you are a Polpo fan, then you’ll be familiar with much of the Venetian inspired bacaro concept, now transported to the upper floor of a pub, The French House, in Soho. Except the space is much smaller, purportedly only sits 28, as opposed to Polpo’s 65. Polpo receives much endearing love from the zeitgeist, it has a rather ubiquitous twitter presence, not least since Rusell Norman – the owner – is a master at his craft. Previously the Operations director at Le Caprice, he launched the Oyster bar at the resplendent institution that is J Sheekey. Truth be told, I feel ambivalent writing posts about places as hot as these, ardent loyalists will mock any negativity, and a good review is just jumping on the bandwagon. Oh well. So the winning formula is untinkered, dishes are tiny and to share, brick walls and wooden furnishings, paper menus as table tops, and the edgy and effortlessly waiting staff – a feature at Polpo – as well as the begrudged no reservations policy. I must confess, the visit to Polpetto was completely accidental. I was en route to meet Mark for a maiden meal at the egalitarian institution that is Anchor & Hope
I must confess, I feel pressure writing up my visit to L’Anima, because as you know, Francesco Mazzei’s Soul in the city is the gastronomic darling which has had critics, blogs and people who are generally interested in food, cooing in unison. As the consummate restaurant collector living
The Salusbury is the obvious hip hang out junction, where the beautiful, the youthful, carefree inhabitants of this rapidly gentrified part of NW6 flaunt their hide. It is hardly ever empty, and undoubtedly the most happening joint in and around Queen’s Park. On the weekends, it’s chock-a-block
Are you melting in the English summer yet? I’m surprised how humid the weather is so far, I went to Uniqlo to get new shorts so I can let the wind blow me dry… …. So there is a new gelateria in town, the same group behind the excellent tour-the-Italian-regions restaurant, Bocca di Lupo, and how very timely too. The gelati are pretty unique rather than just offer a standard selection (such as stracciatella or fiore di latte), there are combos such as ricotta, coffee and honey (which was excellent) and avocado & honey (which was a little off kilter, was a little sour). What I really enjoyed however, were the sorbets, the melon in particular tastes just like frozen cantaloupes, sweet, sugarly, stringly and fresh, just what one needs to cool off really. Even better were their granitas, we tried the watermelon, icy, syrupy and quite literally chipped frozen watermelon. Other granitas on the menu include coffee, blood orange and almond. The only things that disappointed were the cannoli. On paper it sounds interesting, stuffed with pistachio ice cream, fresh pistachios and a dark chocolate icing. It did taste freshly fried, but as it was stored in the freezer, the pastry dough became soggy. If only they fried and stuffed the cannoli (with gelato of choice, and as an alternate choice to wafer cones) to order, that would be
When I grow up, I want to roam the twenty regions of Italy to discover all the local specialities, so intertwined with the nation’s culture and history. Pesto made with Ligurian basil, a hearty Milanese ossobucco from Lombardy, sip wine in a Venetian baccaro, visit the factories which produce Parmigiano Reggiano in Parma and if I am fortunate, be taken on a hunt for white truffles in Tuscany. For all my fantasies, I have never been to Italy and I concede that I actually know very little about the intricacies of this most well-documented of European cuisines. Italian is one that enchants and mystifies, one that is entirely romantic, familiar and wholesome
It wasn’t long ago when pizza was simply a decision of who to call to coincide with prime-time TV. I am referring to the myriad of takeaway menus regularly shoved through the front door of course. I’d always pick the one which sold Haagen Daz ice creams. Pizza being about as far away from pretension and debate as can be, pizza being the ultimate comfort food. These days, it’s a phenomenon unto itself, our critics and bloggers are making startling discoveries, holding aloft neighborhood gems that have somehow managed to stay hidden for decades. Ahem, just to add fuel to the fire, my local hidden gem would be Da Mario’s, my favourite are their house special the ‘Pizza Diana’, once rumoured to be Princess D’s favourite haunt (hence Pizza D) and an atrocity it had not been more widely ‘discovered’ as yet. Being such a common food, it isn’t surprising to see so much commentary and especially such heated opinion regarding the humble pizza, after all, it’s quite rare to find someone not ever experiencing this dish in one form or another. At least not in London
Sam Harris must be the merriest restaurateur in town right now. Zucca is enjoying near universal adulation; Critics and blogs are raving about his fresh take on Italian food and it has even been compared to River Cafe, The Quintessential Institution that launched a billion Italian restaurants. Aside from being named after a wrinkly skinned fruit, I went to Zucca last week to find out what exactly makes this restaurant so enticing
As you know, I am now half way round the other side of the world basking in the sun. It’s been eight years since I left sunny Brunei, and in that time, friends have moved on to the bigger and better, I somehow feel as if I had only just awoken from a long coma, as the world is not the same as I remembered it. I have been catching up with some old friends from high school and I remember the days when Terry was the bonafide babe magnet at St Johns – I mean, girls used professed their love for him in the playground and all, very public. Good times, that was a long time ago. Today, Terrance is the chef/owner of his cafe in our home town, Kuala Belait, aiming to bring a sense of style to the humble town – coffee, elegant puds and a cosy laid back setting. I have much respect for independent cafes and so I thought I’d ask for the opportunity to gain an insight into what it takes to run a cafe
Tis’ time to be jolly. I have sent off my wish-list to Daddy Christmas – pending strike action from royal mail – and lined my fake fireplace with stockings deep enough and strong enough to hold the weight of a solid Leica camera. The festive lights are already up on Oxford street, and I’m already piling on the holiday pounds as every other night is yet another night of tableside firecrackers and paper crowns. I will have to reinstate my gym membership
As I was researching (some prefer to say wikipedia) the origins of Pizza, I stumbled across the valiant efforts of an organisation known as Vera Pizza Napoletana (VPN) , or the Real Neopolitan Pizza Association. Obviously, they are non-profit and their goal is to preserve the ‘authenticity’ of restaurant pizza recipes around the world, and they do this by flying around the world, visiting restaurants either to rubber stamp or to reject pizzas. These guys have created a set of hardcore guidelines which only recognises Magherita and Marinara as true Neopolitan pizzas. They even have a very specific description of what the real thing ought to taste like, and I quote: (The pizza)… should be soft, elastic, easy to manipulate and fold…. Talk about Pizza police eh, I wonder if there are any VPN certified doughs in London… Franco
If you’ve been keeping your finger on the pulse of the London foodie scene, you’ll be aware of the carnival that followed the recent opening of this latest Italian venture to hit Soho. It has been a couple of months since it’s opening and it is ever so busy. They do no take evening bookings, and my first visit was a non starter that resulted in a return visit to Koba. That was eight pm on a Thursday night. We eventually infiltrated the bacaro on a Monday night literally by beating the queue to it at 6.30 pm. No pastas, wine was involved but not the glasses and Mark was entertaining our growing bromance
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