Newsflash. If you local to Finchley Road, you need to find this Korean restaurant. As far as I can tell, the 50% discount for their BBQ menu looks permanent. I’ve already been twice, and I think it’s a great value for money. So this discount may be some sort of shrewd marketing to undercut glitzier counterparts in central London, and in those terms, it doesn’t quite have the setting to match more expensive haunts. This place is modest budget stuff. Having said that, the 50% discount is incredibly generous. One shouldn’t expect to be see dry aged beef or lobster, but for the money, the quality of the meats is adequate. Certainly not worse that Koba. As a way of introduction, the Korean BBQ experience involves cooking sizzling meat over a hot pan dug out from a hole in the middle of the table, and if you’ve yet to try it, you should, it is one of life’s greatest pleasures. The rest of the menu is brief, in relation to Central London counterparts that is, but all the essentials are present. Like the kimchee, the seafood pancake, the soup, the glass noodles and amazingly, there are only three variants of the bibimbap : cooked beef, raw beef or vegetarian. They spent little time worrying about , the décor is numbingly plain, like a shabby café, its lean, mean, it’ll get
As you, I came upon Hedone filled with expectation. Fay likes it, Guy loved it, Andy – whose standards are as high as Taipei 101 – gave it a rare 8. So it must be fucking magic right? You’ll read alot of kerfaffle online about the birth of Hedone and its progenitor Swedish chef Mikael Jonsson, a trained chef, but who became a lawyer, before rediscovering his gastronome side with this restaurant. Curiously, I feel an aura of respect, which redoubtable comes across through the work of those food writers who visited Hedone. This is a rare occurrence. You’ll find similar glowing reports across egullet and chowhound too, and at time of writing, I believe this is what has contributed to its rocketing profile up the hypemeter. I visited for lunch and had to drag Mark along for I promised him that Hedone could very well change his life. Unexpectedly, he was late, blaming the fact that he took the wrong bus. I was obviously flipping about uncomfortably by myself when the eagle eyed waitress saw this, she brought me the daily papers to keep me distracted. Top marks for service then, granted choice was a little wanting in the Telegraph or the Times, I chose the latter. Proceedings kicked off as expected. A couple of amuse bouches that fit the conceptual, high cooking mould. I think the first was
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,
Ah, Chinatown. One can only love it and loathe it, at the very same time. I despise Chinatown like the way I despise the way Justin Bieber’s bobcut falls over his forehead. I may well be the last person in London who will write nice things about the state of Chinese food in London but at the same time, I love it for the very same reasons. Firstly, for the rude service, what was once a spectacle at Wong Kei, has now become a culture spreading rapidly across restaurants in Soho, perhaps even an act worthy of its own Westend matinee; Secondly and more pressingly for the transient standard of cooking – It could be great on Monday nights, but total piss by Friday noon. On the otherhand, whenever I exit Leicester Square station, the smell of roast duck, bbq pork (and piss) takes away any and all anxieties, hope is immediately restored in this culinary wasteland. The Sichuan fad was something I never fully understood, and am still scratching my head over. To me, it’s oil, sichuan pepper, luncheon meat, more oil, more bud numbing pepper and yet more oil. But you lot love this stuff, no doubt with a helping article or two from the revered queen of Sichuanese writing – Fuchsia Dunlop. Which leads me to the Empress of Lisle Street, the Queen of Sichuan food in
There was a time in the last decade, where the concept of redressing Modern Brit cuisine around the starkly model which Fergus Henderson created, championed and subsequently turned into a culinary dynasty, was unique to the Hendersons. And those who cooked with Henderson. Eventually, these frontrunners adopted what is widely accepted as the St John way. Back in late 2007 (back when foodbloggers were a rarity, and the iPhone was 2G only… remember those days?), a little known restaurant named after the street it took residence, opened to rather pleasing reviews by the nation’s doyens of critics. The simplistic, slick and focused cooking was more than redolent of the Hand of Henderson, and it was only natural to expect it; afterall Chef Pemberton was previously the head chef at Bread & Wine. In the four years or so since it opened, Hereford Road had grown to adopt the reputation of a dependable neighbourhood restaurant. It was always on my list, but which has eluded me for all of my blogging career, because well, I suppose I was probably preoccupied with discovering the original Henderson owned eateries (I say eateries, since my heart still yearns for Rochelle Canteen). Ironic, considering Hereford Road is actually in my neighbourhood. But this isn’t just another gastropub of course, this is as much a restaurant, as St John is a restaurant. An off-shoot, spawned from
I discovered a fact about you lot (which seems intuitive but something you never really think about) when I first sat down for this meal at Roganic, and that is nobody eats lunch at 12 pm on Saturdays. In fact, you don’t show up till about 1.30. Talk about being unfashionably early. I booked myself in for the high noon sitting, but was actually a quarter of an hour early anyway. I skipped breakfast you see, because Roganic is one of those restaurant premised upon a idyllic gastronomic journey as opposed to a bog standard meat and two veg. So for half of the meal, I had the entire front of house to myself, it felt the complete opposite of being lonely (as I was dining solo), the staff gave their sole (and first) patron (of the day) their undivided attention. Anyway, you should care about the opening of Roganic, because Roganic’s chef patron is none other than Simon Rogan. Michelin star holder and co-owner of the unashamedly high concept L’Enclume in the Lake District. The restaurant named after Rogan and which is also a play on ‘organic’ is to my best guessimations, a reflection of Rogan’s philosophy to grow and cook (most of) his own produce, alluding to a certain level of unrivalled excellence in the ingredients. Rogan himself does not run this kitchen, that honour belongs to one
The things people do to track down a good meal, this one in particular involves my first encounter with the Lucky Chip burger. As you know, summers are pretty up and down every year, we remember the odd day when the thermometer crosses the psychological 100F mark, but we tend to forget that mostly, it’s just very wet. So there we were, Mark with his gentlemenly brolly, and me with my … FT Weekend Magazine… (ironically, this weekend’s was the Food issue including a feature on the slow death of the Bib, and a short Heston interview) and soaked Marni blazer (sniffers) , we were traipsing up and down London fields to find this rather elusive, and well hidden Netil Market, and mindful that the mild drizzle – like a balloon slowly filling with water – was about to burst into a proper rainstorm. After a little tinkering with google maps, we circled onto Westgate Street as the entry point to Netil Market. So we found it eventually, quite modest, in a rather small car park, but as it had been raining all afternoon, it wasn’t a surprise to find the vendors packing up their stock to shield from it. The sight of the Lucky Chip van was modestly uneventful, and given the street food craze, it’s quite a change coming across an empty food truck with good internet gossip
When everyone including dear Ol’ Uncle B has visited this restaurant, that’s when you know the interwebs has taken to showering yet another crowd pleaser with its ever expanding vocabulary of praise words. “Wondrous”. “Decadent”. “Moorish”. “Decadent”. “Sinful”. “Ultimate comfort food”. Adjectives, which I too, am guilty of overusing. Cynicism aside, a restaurant that has collected as many reviews as it has since it’s April debut, must be doing something right. Somehow, I had managed to avoid the 50% discount circus, though the full asking price wasn’t too bad. To grease the wheels, we started with not one, but two plates (£1.50 each) of their excellent warm, crusty and soft sourdough (ironically, warm bread is abit of a rarity in London restaurants) served with some excellent artichoke puree, which i gather is, must be made in house. I ordered one of their fresh juices, the ‘invigorate’ of pineapple, apple, lime and strawberries. Sadly it was anything but invigorating… and note to self, never drink pineapple and strawberry juice from the same glass. Service was a little jumpy, but well intentioned, they had a tendency to take things away before we were done with them, like the wedge of pineapple, which I had initially wanted to savour when I finished my juice, for instance. Believe the hype, the decor is absolutely top class. Like the Tardis, it’s unimpressive on the outside,
I’ve no idea why it took me so long to visit The Bull & Last, a pub that falls in the category of one that is gifted with an overachieving kitchen, and incidentally, one which has largely won the praise of those who stalk restaurants as often as they do the interwebs. The pub looks genuinely enough, spacey and woody, with ornamental bull heads, and spread over two floors, I am certain it is fully endorsed by the residents as the designated local. Service was friendly if a tad lazy, which ain’t a bad thing, since you know, it’s laid back and all. However, what I really want to focus on is how good I found the meal to be. I thought the cooking was really top of the range stuff. I mean if Harwood Arms has a star, and if Hand & Flowers also has a star, then perhaps B&L deserves one as well, because I think B&L’s recipes (and cooking by extension) might be better than the mentioned pubs, by quite a bit. Homemade Charcuterie Board, £12 (Duck Prosciutto, Chicken Liver Parfait, Game Terrine, Rillettes, Pig’s Head, Pickles, Remoulade & Toast) Look at this board of preserved meats, ain’t it wonderful? Doesn’t it look like a masterpiece? Say what you like about Boulud’s in-house charcuterie experts, but I think the Bull & Last team may very well best
I waited until the opportune moment presented itself, before making the visit to Marcus Wareing’s The Gilbert Scott. Or should I say The Renaissance Hotel’s flagship restaurant, seeing as to how Mr Wareing has rather desperately been detaching his name to the restaurant, at least so it seems. But today, I am in the right frame of mind, because I happen to be travelling from the Gateway to Europe to attend a wedding. Actually, I tell a lie, the wedding’s in Yorkshire, and the Grand Central trains leave from King’s Cross next door to St Pancras station. But let’s not take away from the romance of the rail travel. Ah yes, Macbook Pro fully charged, the latest issue of Monocle in hand, passing grazing sheep as the train zips into the countryside. The sheer cinema of travelling to truly appreciate the homage to the heritage of British life and style, to which The Gilbert Scott aspires to. As you already know, the newly restored Renaissance hotel took years of painstaking work to bring it back to life, the restaurant is named after its original architect, Sir Gilbert Scott. Problem is, rather than evoke a sense of past, the decor actually feels aged and musky. Not quite newly minted vintage. The brass seem a little muffled and requiring a new lick of polish. In fact, the dining room felt rather like
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
I don’t know the first thing about Iranian cuisine, but after my first visit to Kateh, I’ve become hooked on saffron rice. Oh man, it was so fluffy, so puffy, so billowy, so indescribably easy to eat, eating it was akin to a smooth glide like a magtrain levitating over nothing but thin air and supported by the pure magic of electromagnetism. And so the story begins, of how I fell in love with the fluff… …but first, let’s talk about the decor, and nestled deep within mews-like Warwick Place, I found the ground level dining space redolent of eating in somebody’s living room, converted into a theatre to show-off the owner’s passion in the kitchen. Yes, if you are at all familiar with pop-up, home restaurants and (not so) underground supper clubs, then Kateh certainly gives off the secure, homely, neighbourly vibe. “Prego, prego” He says. He being only the suavest man to wait on a table. I will try my best to describe his outfit. White, perfected pressed cotton trousers, taped together with an orange belt, blue and white pin striped oxford shirt, and thick black rectangular framed specs. Finally, gelled back, slick hair, all very colour coordinated and very GQ. Bon appetite, and when I grow up, I want to own a restaurant and serve my guests in exactly the same fashion. Chargrilled calamari, broadbeans £6.50.
Consider this as the side project. An epilogue of a visionary concept. A retelling of a story told from another point of view. The breakfast room for hotel guests. Yes, The Corner Room is the child of Nuno Mendes’ Viajante, both nestled within the zen like confines of the uber cool Townhall hotel in uber edgy Bethnal Green on the East end. A spin-off, an overflow room for those who don’t like the idea of advanced reservations at the ultra fantastic temple of modernist gastronomy downstairs. Perhaps the best part of it all, is how low-key The Corner Room has been kept. There is no weblink or phone and therefore takes no reservations and is totally egalitarian, if you can find it. You’ll have to go through the main hotel reception, instead of the reception to Viajante to find the easily find The Corner Room. If you take the latter route (which we did), you’ll be taken through the guts of the hotel, maze your way through the immaculate designs and occasionally peek into the beautifully designed rooms as they are being kept. The Townhall hotel is a marvelous hotel. It’s a work of wonder. It’s understated and because of this, it probably makes cooler than staying at say The Renaissance, whose goth granduer is a little bit of a overwhelming monstrosity. When we did eventually find The Corner Room
Tom Kerridge is an ingloriously talented chef. We both know this guy can cook the pants off of anybody, competition or no competition. I first savoured his brilliant ways when he joined forces with Anthony Demetre at Arbutus for the one-off 10-10-10 event for last year’s London Restaurant Festival. Look I’m a Demetre fan right, and you know I love his michelin winning pigs head terrine, but when placed side by side with Tom’s dishes; we were absolutely blown to bits by the quality of Kerridge’s cooking. His mussels in warm stout was nothing short of edible divinity. Anthony aint no slouch in the kitchen, but we thought Tom’s dishes totally outclassed Anthony’s on that day. A visit to Marlow to Tom’s pub with an overachieving, and michelin starred kitchen was inevitable, obviously, but I had forgotten about it the Marlow trip until I saw the chief on GBM last week, creating his ultimate lobster burger, which in itself, caused quite a stir on twitter. And with the last bank holiday in May, I thought it the perfect opportunity to finally eat at Tom Kerridge HQ. Deep fried whitebait to start. Crispy, warm and juicy on the inside, mmm. The low ceilings, brick walls, solid wooden beams and sturdy wooden tables, grant the pub a genuinely old world, country feel. The room is naturally cavernous, and a little musky and
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,
My favourite London restaurant is Cambio de Tercio. I think Abel Lusa’s fabulous, often times adventurous and sometimes experimental change of pace to Spanish cooking is the best representative of the cuisine to grace the Big Smoke. This is my most frequented restaurant in London, since my first visit in 2004 (or 05, around then) when I moved to West London. In fact, it was one of the first reviews (the 3rd one if I’m not mistaken) I’d written when I started this blog. I would like to think that I’ve eaten pretty much everything on its menu; witnessing some of its mainstay dishes – like the oxtail – evolve over time. I remember the days when I used to visit as frequently as my monthly paychecks. Heck, I even remember the days when Tendido Cero – the tapas bar opposite the street from Cambio – was attractive because it was BYO, and extremely cheap, by Kensington standards anyway. Since I moved to North London last year, my former neighbourhood restaurant, has now become a pilgrimage, and returning to Old Brompton Road to sample the finest in (London based) Spanish cuisine, is ever more a treat. In the time since my move from West London, Abel had opened Tendido Cuatro in Parsons Green – a tapas bar which I will visit sometime in the coming weeks – but for now,
As the third long weekend dawned on me – the same week Kate & Wills tied the knot – I decided to get away from the reality of it, and by the time they were officially Man and Wife, I was watching it back on TV in the BnB. Ahh, Whistable, smell the sea and sand.. and I did pray for last minute cancellations at The Sportsman. Alas, that did not happen. I called a week before my trip, and begged for a table over the phone, but she didn’t shift her stance budge. “Royal Wedding mate, we’re all booked up for the next six weekends.” The first thing I did when I placed my bags in the B&B (The Pearl Fisher, run by Jan & Gary and Baby (the cat) , which was a lovely stay) was make to another phone call to The Sportsman. I pleaded again “Look babes, I took the train all the way from London, just so I could say hello to you in person, I’ll swim across the English Channel for you, please give me a narrow space on anyone’s table, tonight.” Twice she denies me. “I’m afraid it’s a no sir. I’ve already a waiting list, the length of my arm, sir. I’m so sorry.” The feeling of utter doom came over. But then my staycation had only just begun, and I of
Coming to a West End near you, a slice of Little Hanoi. Let Pho fever be unleashed. Again. Yep, you feel it too don’t you. It is starting, Cay Tre is going to sweep the intertubes, and with good reason: they flog smashing Vietnamese food to the public. Many of you are already quite familiar with the Vietnamese Kitchen’s group of restaurants, namely Cay Tre and Viet Grill, which counts Mark Hix, amongst its many fans. This time round however, Mr Hix happens to also be a very involved stakeholder with Hieu Trung Bui’s latest venture. So it is little surprise that the new Cay Tre in Dean Street shares much of its menu with the Hoxton branch and Viet Grill, such as the theatrical Chả cá Lã Vọng and the incastratable Mekong Catfish. Reminiscent of Viet Grill, but one in which its decor has been given a spit shine of the highest order. Pristine, white enamel table tops, black chairs with black leather cushions, wooden panel walls, painted white and pressed against cement walls (also painted white). Wah… so clean. The room is long and narrow, a little clastrophobic, and if you squint, you would be forgiven for mistaking this to be NOPI, but with less brass. Much less brass. My eating schedule is all screwed up these days, so lunch for us was at the sleepy hour of
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
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
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