Amex 10-10-10? Unsurprisingly, that points to the Sunday just gone, and was a special one-day only eating event which took place across 10 restaurants in London. Being that I am a stakeholder (with my belly) heavily invested in the dining scene and all,
Somewhere along the way, I’d lost track of what it means to be a food blogger. I rode the chu-chu express along with the rest of the zeitgeist, squeezed my way to the front of the queue for a place at London’s trending restaurants, and had somehow forgotten about unearthing local gems
I’ve been to the Boundary Estate before, and this was during one of the many illuminating photowalks with Garson Byer, he who makes striking portraits of those he encounters on the streets. Particularly around this part of East London, where enough of the historic architecture
How can you not enjoy reading about Fergus Henderson. His books, Nose to Tail Eating, and the companion follow-up Beyond NTT, I gather, have become necessary volumes in the canon of British cooking. I haven’t read the 2nd one, and I would love for him to autograph a copy for me. Yes, it’s geeky, but in the world of a lowly restaurant blogger, chefs are the rockstars. Fergus brings out the best in hacks, they pen his story with fire and gusto, respecting his electric presence, his boldness toward his craft, his battle with Parkinson’s and extol his significance to the jingoism that exists amongst those who observe the landscape of food in this country (or should I say, in this city) , professionally and by those who are simply enthusiasts. I particular enjoy this piece, this one, this (defunct) blog dedicated to him called ‘Being Fergus Henderson’ and the numerous love letters Master Rayner has written to St John over the years. Ubiquity has transformed the capital’s dining scene of course, since St John’s opening in ’94 and then most recently, a well-deserved tribute of his contributions to the ascendancy of British food (in this country) with the awarding of a star by the Bib in 2009. At times, I view it as a kind of movement you know, other times I think Fergus is British cuisine, in its
Ahh… smell the shit and seaweed in the air. That’s the smell of the fresh summer seaside breeze, the stench of highly oxygenic and smog-free air, something which I was assured time and again is duly absent in the vestiges of London. I hope you will forgive my brief absence from this blog, as I am still only just recovering from the holiday season gone by. I spent much of it being holed up in a caravan park in little known Kinghorn in Scottishland. I took in a wedding, took some photographs and had literally gone to The Dogs for a swift chew in Edinburgh, which coincidentally coincided with the Fringe fest. I feel compelled to share the view with you… So after haggis, nips, tatties and stovies at the wedding reception, I was duly informed by my lovely tweepers on twitter that there was resplendency to be had near the centrepoint in Edinburgh. It’s been four years since I was last in this town, and was glad to be received by the similar enchantingly cloudy skies that ruled over the street bagpipers. We had little time in Edinburgh, so we decided against the might of The Grain Store and opted for the stripped down, canteen splendour at the dogs. Yes, the name itself speaks of the eccentric nature that surrounds this venue – I will keep the dog jokes
Adam Byatt, the thinking man’s version of a celebrity chef, and owner of the much lauded Trinity restaurant, situated in leafy Clapham. Critics adore his work, for the invention, progression and enthusiasm he has brought to British cooking, and one expects no less
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
No doubt you will have read the multitude of pieces extolling the virtues of this greatest of London pubs. The pub’s shiny Michelin win, was both a surprise and a seal of approval that solidified its status as the epitome of pub grub in London. For the months that followed,
I remember the early days when Byron was the new kid on the block, did sliders and was firmly a West London thing. I didn’t think much of them back then, but all that’s change. I am a little amazed that some of my friends still haven’t tried a Byron yet. There are now ten locations spread across the most densely populated parts of town, while they maintain a reticent philosophy to burgers and life, each branch has its own individual character. I’m not going to pontificate about burgers – I know very little about them to be quite honest (I remain un-shacked) – but I do visit a Byron at least once every month (actually, I now use it as an incentive to go running) and I just love them to bits. The charred beefiness… ohh… I am a gruyère, medium rare with skinny chips. My local is Gloucester Road, but I like the new Old Brompton branch, a little further away from me, which opened last month. However, my favourite is the Intrepid Fox in Soho. Just ambiance I mean, burgers are consistent across the board, it’s a franchise afterall. Let’s see now, I have been to the High Street Ken one, Westfield, Gloucester Road, Old Brompton Road, Intrepid Fox, Covent Garden…. but have never been to the Canary Wharf, Islington, Kings Road or Kingston ones. As an
For a neighbourhood restaurant, this place sure has a history, not all of the good kind. While there are those of you who reminisce about the good old times, others have only scathing words to say about this Primrose Hill establishment, especially since Mark Powers took control of the reigns in 2006. I never had the pleasure of dining in its former mirror-walled iteration. Ownership however has since transferred to Bryn Williams, the Welsh prodigy who took the first season of GBM by storm with his winning turbot course for the Queen’s 80th. Floral patterns remain as wallpaper, the chairs are still of a yellow shade, and the carpets keep their garish green
Oh the sun, the sun. I spent most of last week in Norway, and happily returned to a gloriously sticky London on Friday, feeling utterly like a tourist in my very own city. There could be no better than now to loaf around in a restaurant designed for oysters slurping and scoffing seared slabs of beef. My first visit to a Mark Hix restaurant
I attended a mega steak tasting dinner very recently put together by Douglas who writes the magnificent Intoxicating Prose, and the good people over at Chapters All Day Dining in Blackheath. One of the few London restaurants which has installed a Josper Grill. It was an enlighteningly
Paradoxically tempered tea, univalved porridge and nitro-blasted savoury puddings have no place in Heston Blumenthal’s rather quaint, rather modest pub, situated just next to The Fat Duck. This true-to-its-roots establishment can trace its history as far back as four hundred years, including being the assembly point for Prince Phillip’s stag do just before he married Her Majesty. The spirit of The Hind’s Head is a direct contrast to the modernity of the Fat Duck. The Anti-Fat Duck as it were. It comes as little surprise that, after visiting Blu’s triple starred shrine, I felt compelled to return to a week later to give his other take on Brit-cuisine a go. Back to Bray
It must be the name. It does something to the wiring of my brain causing me to associate it with many adjectives such as magnificence, opulence, ecstasy, paradise, exorbitance, Sophie Dahl. It must also be the attractive old-world quality it exudes, a quality which has ensure commercial and critical success, over its seven year history
The Fat Duck is Britain’s most famous restaurant, widely regarded as one of the best in the world. Its owner is the indomitable Heston Blumenthal. A pioneer of the very cutting edge of gastronomy, his name synonymous with perfection. Last weekend, I ate at his three michelin starred restaurant, and this is what I discovered
I associate fish and chips with the impending arrival of the weekend. Back in the day when I was a spring chicken exploring the dark arts of jellied petrol, I also tended to the student bar. Ah the days of minimum wages – £4.80 an hour, I think. We didn’t even have fancy touch screen tills to work with, and we did all the sums in our head, old school. “A pint of snakebite, nine lagers, five gin and tonics, a shandy, four packets of cheese and onion, my chilli peanuts… and yourself?” . £19.50.The student bar was near the Albert Hall and did I make a lot of money serving BBC Proms participants. Happy days. Ravenous and reeking of alcohol at the end of my shift, I would make my way to the common room for haddock and extra mushy peas – reward for the strenuous work I suppose
It has been at least a year since I last visited Great Queen Street, a restaurant which I frequented in 2008. Still signage-free and firmly offline, the low profile hasn’t kept No.32 from becoming the establishment it is today. Owned by chef/writer Tom Norrington-Davies, he has made 32 a name for its nameless self by serving slick food with a decidedly British feel, revered all around and critically acclaimed, and I love it too. Afterall, I thought their crabs on toast was the very best thing I ate in
Getting a table at this rather cosy restaurant is a bona fide challenge, even in light of its rather low-profile existence. I don’t think it has a web page. It does however have a fervent following spreading the good word on the intertubes. Twitter was equally in love with Andrew Edmunds (same people perhaps?). I pieced together a coherent picture of this hidden gem of a restaurant through the online dining community channels, which I am unofficially apart of. Enthusiast restaurant collectors abound. I failed to secure a table on three separate occasions, but I persisted anyway till I managed one in earlier this year. I needed to try Edmunds because it intrigued me so much. The last time I felt this way was discovering the equally elusive Dinings
There are five restaurants inside the beast of a hotel that is Andaz. Situated right in the heart of the square mile, a part of town where I periodically get lost in. I did as I usually do to turn to my trusty GPS when I exited Liverpool Street station. This would be my third visit to the Hyatt owned hotel, based in a Victorian building dating back to the late 19th century. Once the Great Eastern Hotel back in the day. Red brick allegedly. It always takes me for a jog around the block before deciding to get serious. Machines. Just when you need them to do what they’re told, they do the hot stuff. Cast your mind back to the dizzy days of 2009 and you will recall I was invited to 1901 once upon a time. 1901 being the flagship out of the five restaurants within Andaz. I was even given a tour of the guts of a 19th century hotel, which is by far the funkiest part of the invite. All the rooms inside are somehow interconnected. Walls hide secret doors which open to neverland, and alternate universes. There are secret trap doors, dungeons and pleasure rooms. I’m obviously kidding about dungeons. Generally, I liked the food, though the grandiose space spooked me a little… anyway, the PR machine dropped me another invitation to try Catch,
The last time I went to the Tate Modern, I was completely baffled by one of the exhibits. A slab of wood, painted white probably no bigger than 10 x10, jutted out from the similarly pearl white wall. On this wooden plank sat a large jug of what appears to be water. It was placed high enough than I had to stretch my neck. Had my taste in culture been so utterly sucked dry from my now hollow mind after years of watching Simon Cowell produced television shows that I no longer have the capacity to understand modern art? What’s going to happen next? The ground opening up with a large crack perhaps. That visit was well over three years ago, I felt a like a complete arse after the completely unsuccessful visit, modern art was lost to me. It was however a memorable experience, the hum of the old transformers, the heart of the former power plant still apparently beating, the iconic erection of it’s chimney which so strikingly titivates the London skyline; Modern will always be a museum that intrigues and intimidates. At least for me. I had been pining for a revisit primarily because I feel that my appreciation for art has increased by leaps and bounds in the last three years, and am now able to at least recognise artist names. The current collection is interesting,
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...
bunface says: maybe rethink this segment Kang. It's not the most interesting read mate...
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...
aka Kang’s Living Restaurant Guide version 4. Released to the wild in April 2012. Read V3, V2...
