Sushi bingeing. The final frontier. The unquestionably orgasmic delight of popping dollop after dollop of a food of an unrelentingly elegant design; low in fat, high in umami, arguably, an invention born of perfection. Some say the combination of raw fish and rice is an acquired taste, but for the converted, sushi is nothing but the zenith of simple, unadulterated pleasure. The unmistakable taste of vinegar, the glutinous rice, the texture of silken sliced fish, one could crave sushi, as easily as a hamburger.

The history of sushi reaches as far back as 8th century Japan. The name – literally for ‘its sour’ – references its early iteration of preserving fish using fermented rice called Nare-zushi. It was not until the 19th century that the modern form of Nigirizushi – sliced fish on a parcel of rice – was popularised in Tokyo, as a form of fast food sold from mobile food stalls. The method of preservation differs from today, where traditional methods equated to fermenting fish with soya sauce, salt or vinegar. It would quickly change with the invention of the mighty refrigerator.

These days, I refrain from using the word ‘fresh’ to define well-prepared and well-selected sashimi grade fish because we know that sashimi grade fish implies that it is pre-frozen (mainly to kill nasties) to -20C either at source or in-house by the restaurant. Although freezing is merely a small step in a long chain of activities from boat to plate, to ensure ‘the highest grade’ of sashimi for the end customer. To make purely uneducated guesses, I would suppose location, method (eg: long-lining) and the experience of a successful fisherman all count toward ensuring the best catch.

Let’s take tuna as an example being that otoro or tuna belly is most prized in the sushi world. There are a plethora of strategies to consider. For example, there is the issue of preserving the carcass once fish is caught and killed, such as bleeding it rapidly to storing just above freezing (to slow the decaying process). And then there is also the skill of the middlemen, be it a sushi chef or a fish monger to cherry pick from the daily catch.

There is also a key element in the sushi equation, and that is the all-important rice. You can identify good sushi rice almost straight away: creamy, puffy, viscous, it threatens to melt, but it holds firm with you seize it with the chopsticks, it carries the warmth of a human touch, it stings ever so slightly with a touch of rice vinegar, it smells like a fragrant sakura. Even so, rice differs depending on what style of sushi it is. For nigiri, the hand-formed stuff is noticeably softer, warmer and organic, whereas temarizushi, or ball sushi, is densely packed, prepared by compressing the ball of rice under cling film lending to a more impenetrable texture.

The gold standard is Koshihikari which means the ‘Light of Koshi’, and it is a type of rice originally grown in Nigatta Japan, but has American variants which also carry the premium reputation. The rolls-royce of sushi rice as far as I am concerned, and is unique for it has just the right balance of attributes to qualify as sushi rice; it bounces, sticks, is milky, and because of this, it is naturally a lot pricier than lesser grains.

I have been frequenting Japanese restaurants for the past few months in order to put this newsletter together, some places are just my old haunts, others are new discoveries for me, but generally speaking, the list consists of the more rationally priced Japanese restaurants in town. I have not considered the glitterati such as Nobu, Zuma, Umu and Sake no Hana in this issue. Even though there are a few more on my little hit list I would have like to have included in the round-up, my self-imposed time limit prevented me from doing so.. I wish to follow-up this issue with more visits, whenever I get there in the next few weeks. Maybe by issue No.8.

Without further ado, here are my London sushi finds…

Sushi of Shiori

If you go to one sushi restaurant this year, or are a sushi virgin, then please, please pay a visit to this modest little shop in Warren Street. It is manned, operated and maintained by Husband Takashi Takagi, Wife Hitomi and occassionally a third helping hand, but that’s about it. The restaurant lots like half a takeaway shop, can only accomodate nine people at most, but the experience is one of the most dazzling, accomplished and ever inspiring in the London sushi scene. Takagi doesn’t just cook for his diners, he puts on a show for his audience. Watching him create his meticulous inventions, layer upon layer, slice upon slice, is like watching an artist at work on his masterpiece. He has brought the best of his time in Umu with him to his labour of love. Fish is supplied from Atari-ya so quality is ensured, and you have to pre-book your menu before hand. I recommend the £50 Omakase (which is the chef’s menu) which goes on for about six to seven courses encompassing his entire repertoire. The omakase starts at £30, but the differences are in quality of ingredients (better as you spend more) rather than in quantity. Also, the temarizushi or canape sushi as it is called is also worth a try at £25. Shiori stands for bookmark and this is sushi deserved of it. After 3 visits, it is solidly my favourite sushi restaurant in the city. Read visit 1 and visit 2.

Atari-Ya

Atari-Ya is important, if not instrumental to the sushi trade in London. The name is synonymous with quality sushi fish. Their primary business is as fishmongers, they import sashimi grade (read: frozen) fish, and they supply the likes of Nobu, Umu and probably half the restaurants on this list. They also operate a chain of sushi bars dotted across London, and they serve their prized premium stock at said locations. Needless to say, if you are not fussed about preparation and finesse, and want affordable, quick, take-away sushi of the higest available quality, you need to hit Atari-ya, however, be mindful of the price differentials. The Bond Street one is the most expensive, followed by the Swiss Cottage and finally the Golders Green branch.

Using the price of full fat tuna belly (otoro) as a guide, it varies from £3.00 per nigiri to £2.30. If you want sheer value, the Golders Green branch is it; However it a pretty tiny sushi bar inside what is a pretty small Japanese grocery shop, hence the cheapness. It’s perfect for takeaway really, I once bought 158g of Otoro for about a tenner, that’s £6.50/100g. They also sell Japanese grown Koshihikari (5kg / £37.50) and American ones (significantly cheaper) for those interested. If you need something with a more atmosphere and resembling a restaurant, the Swiss Cottage branch is your best bet. There is also another, the soon-to-be unveiled location in Ealing Common, the former site of the (defunct) mighty Sushi Hiro…. Read more here.

Kikuchi

Beautiful work here, ebbs toward the traditional stuff with the atmosphere of something old, woody and Seventies. Deftly cut and neatly presented sushi, great fluffiness in the rice, and the quality of the seafood is generally excellent. It is a tad pricy for my liking, but they do offer £5 vouchers when you spend more than £50, but don’t order the ‘market price’ otoro nigiri. They charged me a ball-ripping £8 for one piece, and it didn’t taste any better than Atari-ya. It’s raw afterall. Do order the unagi, the exterior has a thinly crispy layer that tastes of flames, perhaps from the Itamae’s blowtorch. Accomplished stuff altogether. Read more

Dinings

Chef Chiba, formerly of Nobu, owns this lovely little outfit in Edgware Road. Adored by many for its baby-Nobu style of cooking encompassing a range of ‘Japanese inspired tapas’ dishes along with Western-infused sushi recipes. Honestly, I found contention with some of his Nobu-esque creations, some are simply bad copies of the original, done at half the price with seemingly half the effort. However, the good news is that Chiba’s signature dishes are brilliantly conceived, especially the Wagyu Sushi with Truffle Salsa and Ponzu Jelly. The zesty, truffle flavoured, buttery beefiness is the perfect marriage in many more ways than one. Costs about £4 each, I would order ten of these, it is seriously good enough to warrant such a binge. No I haven’t yet, but yes I do plan to. Booking is essential for it has a cult-like following. Read more.

Asakusa & Sakura

Asakusa is in Camden, Sakura is off Regent Street. Both – in my opinion – fall into the same category of the everyman, well-cooked, comfortable Japanese food. Both feature an Izakaya-esque atmosphere and menu, albeit Asukasa is a little well-worn, and Sakura has ruder waiters; Food wise, both are equal and nearly as good at delivering affordable, classic Japanese fare. I really enjoyed the Tori Karaage and the Umaki Tamago (Omelette with unagi folded in) in Asakusa; On the other hand, the Oyako-don (£6.50) at Sakura is probably best in class for its portion-price ratio. Sushi-wise, both are good enough, if you do not stray from salmon or tamago, you’ll like both. If you arrive for dinner at Sakura, I recommend the spicy sashimi salad (£5) which is made with fish normally discarded from and not useable when preparing sashimi and sushi. They are usually very generous with the raw fish, fish roe, seaweed and the spicy ponzu based drizzle is excellent. Represents fabulous value.

Read Asakusa review & Sakura review.

Kappa

Ahem, Kappa is my local, a nice little hideaway in this corner of West London. The chef (Korean) is ex-Zuma, and like many of his contemporaries who exited famous Japanese kitchens, serves his own signature sushi at his restaurant. In this case, the Kappa ‘house special’ roll (£8.90) is an oversized maki roll stuffed with avocado, cucumber, raw beef and their secret spicy creamy sauce. On the outside of the roll are slices of blow-torched beef (I think fillet) smothered with more of the superb zesty creamy spicy sauce and spring onion. Like the Wagyu roll in Dinings, this I could order five rolls of, and binge on. Tastebud-blow. I’ve done it before, as I use Kappa as a ‘motivator’ to go running after work. The quality of sushi is generally excellent at Kappa, the rice is notable, and the otoro exhibits the buttery melt-in-your-mouth intensity. Read more.

Roka & Bincho

We are veering off the track with Roka and Bincho now, the former features a robata grill and the latter is a yakitori. Roka is the litter sister to Zuma, so you can imagine the imaginatively creative sushi rolls are of the highest order of umami at Roka, but being that it is so upmarket, expect to fork out the shillings for the pleasure. Butterfish sashimi with ponzu-infused drizzle, chopped tuna roll with battered nori and chopped otoro with caviar – all very slick and very accomplished. The robata grilled meat and veges are generally spectacular, especially the spiced lamb cutlets. Ommph…and it had better be at the asking price.

On the other hand, if you are feeling skint, lonely and want a quiet meal, all the while watching the chefs turn meat on skewers in front of you, I highly recommend Bincho. Skewers start at £1.50 each and you can have all parts of the bird to be cooked. Chicken oysters, chicken skin, unagi are the ones I recommend. Sake is served in masu, a square cedar box which is meant to subtly impart abit of its woody elegance into the drink as it sits on your table. No sushi at Bincho however.

Read Roka review and Bincho review.

Mitsukoshi & Matsuri

The former is the namesake restaurant belonging to a premier name in the Japanese department store business and is located in the basement of the operations in Piccadilly Circus. Matsuri on the other hand, is a premier brand in the world of Japanese dining and is known for its Teppanyaki. Both represent – in my view – the old guard of premier Japanese restaurant in London and because of that, it means your bill is likely to balloon if you want a complete experience at either restaurant. Stil worth a mention, I believe, but it’s way, way down the list of priorities. Read more

Koya

Finally, London’s preeminent sanuki udon specialist, freshly made (by foot) daily on premises with super dashi made from imported katsuo-arabushi (Fermented and dried Japanese skipjack tuna), souda-bushi (another type of smoked and dried fish) and iriko (dried anchovy). No sushi here either, but worth the mention. We need more of these specialist noodle shops in London. Slurp your noodles with Echigo beer (£8.50 for a large bottle) made with using Koshihikari. Read more.

Anything Else

Unfortunately, I couldn’t visit all the places I wanted to make a more complete list, but as I said, I’ll follow up with another edition in the coming months. For the time being, this gives me the opportunity to link out to sushi-otaku brethren on the interwebs.

Bellaphon on Chisou
Meemalee on Sakana Tei
Gourmet Traveller on Sushi tour in London
Time Out London’s best Sushi Bars

….. but what about to Sushi Hiro …?

Well, don’t tell anyone you read it here, but the word is Sushi Hiro’s chef/owner has retired, returned to his homeland and sold the business to Atari-Ya. End of an era I feel, but all the more reason to revisit Shiori.

Further resources

Just a quick selection of articles, blogposts which I’ve used to help me write this post. Worth a quick flick if you want to delve further into the wonderful world of sushi.

Sushi Glossary
Tsukiji Fish Market
Sushi FAQ : What is sushi grade fish?
SPC guidelines for preparing tuna on-board for to be sashimi-grade
NY Times article on freezing fish in sushi restaurants
Koshihikari Rice – The ultimate sushi rice

Issue no.6.

It’s a tricky one, I’m planning to plunge into an Italian theme for the next issue, as the capital’s Italian restaurants emerge from their summer slumber, but it depends on how deep my pockets go, and at the moment, my arms are a little too long for my appetite. I will try in any case … see you here again in (roughly) 30 days.

This post is also available as a monthly email newsletter, you can subscribe here.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do it.

A firm, yet genteel voice answered the phone. The line was horribly muffled as I struggled to pick out the vowels through the low, low bass. Fum.Fum.Sa.Sa. I think she said, in a deceptively Japanese accent. An awkward silence befell.

“Aka …ka…” I said.

“ZZZassss… ka” she said, with a quickened pace.

I gave up. And simply assumed it was indeed Asakusa I had got through to. This was the third call in as many weeks as I’d been trying to visit this rather popular Japanese restaurant in Camden. They only do dinner Monday to Saturday, no lunch is ever served at this Izakaya-like eatery. I asked if I could get a table for two in two hours, on a Thursday night.

“Yes. See you Mr Kang…” click… didn’t even ask for my number.

As I arrived on scene, the better half and I barely squeezed into the musky, rather well-worn and grimy interior. It looked like it was gonna come down like a house of cards any time now. The restaurant was full, with a couple of reserved empty tables, which we walked past. Not everyone were Japanese expats, I observed. Past the front room of decrepit carpeting, and past the sushi counter, we were directed downstairs to the basement, but not before negotiating a creaky wooden staircase, gingerly, I measure my steps, any heavier and my foot might go through it.

The smell… what is that? Bleach? Detergent? We march toward the end of the dungeon, lit by cube-shaped lamps, plastered walls, music courtesy of an eighties style stereo with a CD player, and a black box TV. Switched off. Could be a Sony. Could also be made in Japan. Maybe JVC. Maybe the staff do karaoke during breaks. Why is it off?

The menu is divided by cooking style, indiscriminate in terms of portion size, and very much in the vein of an Izakaya. There’s almost too much to choose from, but I instinctually pointed to a short measure of cold Junmai, while the other half reached for biru. We managed to cull a selection of our favourite comfort dishes to graze on and to share.

We braced for a heartwarming meal.

Asakusa Salad £7.90.

A large plate. There are slices of raw salmon, and what looks like raw yellowtail or mackerel in the salad. Walnuts, seaweed and lettuce give the dish a slimy, nutty flavour. Copious amounts of a gummy sweet and salty miso sauce was poured over the dish. Initially the rush of concentrated saltiness was appealing, but alas, it quickly became too decadent, too sharp and difficult to stomach, it was like tipping bottle after bottel of honey into the system, and there was only so much one could take before too much became too much.

Tori Kaarage, £4.90.

I waited for my bowl of steamed rice before I tucked in. Even fried chicken need recipes, and one was superb. Well seasoned, it had a fragrance, like oyster sauce, or mushrooms, or something full of umami chemicals. Fried to a crunchy puff, whilst the chicken maintains its juicy bounce. What utter heartiness. I sank my head into my bowl of rice.

Umaki Tamago, £5.30.

Even better were the eggs, mirin sweet, with slithers of unagi folded into the omelette. A potent teriyaki-like sauce was poured over it. It was brilliant, the marriage of fishy eel with a custard-like egg and lots of rice. I sank my head further into the bowl.

Chicken Skin Skewer

Chicken heart skewers

Next came the Yakitori, skin and hearts, but rather tepidly flat. It lacked the character of being smoked over binchō-tan , and both were a little dry and a tad overcooked.

Ox tongue skewer.

Similarly, the tongue failed to lift the senses, it was tough, rubbery, overcooked, bovine but boring

Grilled baby squid ‘legs’.

Aside from the visual splendour, a little arresting at first, the squid was a yawn, underseasoned, dry and overcooked. Not even a squidge of lemon could save these tentacles.

Mixed tempura udon.

And the initially promise and hype had quickly fizzled out by the time the bowl of noodles were brought to us. Good tempura, but a forgettable stock and uninspired, tired udon (Sanuki I believe), I blocked out the smell of bleach, but it was knocking on the back of my back.

A la Carte Sushi, about a tenner, I think.

The last hurrah was an obligatory plate of nigiri. I ordered salmon, tamago, scallop, unagi and sea bream. A spike of wasabi nestled between fish and rice, I noted the beauty of the filleted salmon, of how it cuddled the dollop of rice it came it – the mark of a skilled Itamae. Oh, the fish is good, it disperses like a whiff of cold air, on my tongue. The rice – the all important rice – melty, sticky, slightly warm, but it tasted too mild. Even with my enthusiastic oversoaking in the soya sauce (fish face first), I just couldn’t taste the bite of vinegar.

We paid £54.99…. for all that food and booze? Not too shabby at all, and cheap by the usual measures of Japanese food in the capital. All the while, we were very well looked after by the sweetest Japanese waitress we’ve ever met. She deserves some kind of reward. Gold star. In the end, I felt ambivalent about Asakusa, the better half felt worse, she vowed never to return to this restaurant again. Despite the reservations, I think Asakusa has a homey feel about it, food feels like it had been prepared by a kitchen run by an army of housewives, imbuing every dish with a dollop of love as it flies out of the kitchen. Not that it is a bad thing, because I can see how some would fall for these kind of neighbourly restaurants. But for me Asakusa felt complacent, if honest, and that torrid decor is not particularly enticing. The bottomline however, was that food was only just passable. You know, I used to love going to Sakura (ruder, cleaner and central) and I think Asakusa falls in the same genre of affordable, simple, well-cooked, comforting Japanese food, but with a trump card: Perhaps the best Oyakodon, £6.50 can buy in London. And it’s available for lunch.

The Gist of It

Asakusa
£25pp Japanese, Dinner only.
265 Eversholt Street NW1 1BA
Tube: Mornington Crescent
Tel: (020) 7388 8533

Where the wind blows: Chris Pople ; TimeOut London ; Culinary Hags ; Cooking and Dining ; Delightful Eggtarts.

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the Newsletter. Alternatively, you can subscribe to the RSS feed.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do it.

I didn’t realise cameras in restaurants were still such taboo. This week I had two journalists ask me what I thought about the act of pulling out a camera in a restaurant, which some say is equal in every sense to dropping your trousers in the middle of the dining room and shouting:

“Look at me! Look at me!”

Halfway through answering a Q&A via email, I realised that it could make for light reading, and perhaps debate… so…

How often do you photograph your food when eating out?

Every meal, which I am allowed to photograph. If I return to restaurants, I rarely bring my camera on the return leg, but sometimes I do, especially if it is a restaurant I enjoy.

Have you ever received any negative reactions – from chef, waiting staff, other diners? Any examples?

Some restaurants have strict no photography policies. The Wolseley comes to mind, Helene Darroze, and I believe Murano has a no-photography policy as well. Usually, it is clearly stated on their website, or that they will highlight it to you, when they confirm your table over the phone. At which point, I simply obey the etiquette. I’ve never taken my camera into Nobu, Hakkassan or Yauatcha, and these are restaurants which I have visited multiple times over the years. I’d like to think I know how to behave myself in a restaurant and know what basic table manners are, but perhaps I don’t.

If there isn’t a policy, then out of courtesy, I usually ask my waiter for permission to take pictures of the food. Sometimes, they’ll check with their manager, most of the time, restaurants happily oblige (sometimes almost flattered) when their diners find the food so enthralling that it need be visually recorded. Sometimes the staff will even help you take pictures of you, with the food, if one so wishes.

Most of the time, when restaurants ask me why I’m taking pictures, they usually ask if I work at a competing restaurant. To which I say “Yes…. I work for Gordon Ramsay.”. Cue belly thumping laughter.

Once, I was mistaken (or not?) to be a spy for Pizza Hut, at an independent pizzeria.

Sometimes, people think I am a photography student pursuing a quirky art project, by testing the waiters’ patience with the impromptu photo-op.

Only once, was I ever approached by a Maître d, asking me – what seems like – the most obvious of questions “Are you, possibly, a foodblogger?”

“No.” I gasp.

I have only been turned down a handful of times. Both times – believe it or not – were at more laid back eateries; one exclusively sold burgers, the other was a bistro, both times, I was tucking away burgers.

You’d be surprised how many diners like to photograph their meals at higher end restaurants, who are not bloggers. And you would be surprised at how normal it is to see the average punter photographing a meal at a starred restaurant. There are only 4 three-star restaurants in the UK, securing a reservation takes weeks if not months, and it costs upwards of £100 per head. It is logical if some people will want to remember the special occasion, it would defy logic, if otherwise.

Speaking of which, I remember vividly of when I visited The Wolseley, I was nervous because I was mindful of their no-photography rules, but yet I still wanted to try my luck anyway. I was shaking like a headless chicken throughout the meal, and then a nice lady tapped me on the shoulder, she sat on the neighbouring table, and asked if I would help her take a picture of her and her mum. They were celebrating her birthday, and they came over from Chester. When the waiter came around, and we held our breathe, he nodded and said it was fine as long as he didn’t have to hold the camera.

Someone told me a joke about cameras in restaurants once and this was based on his visit to The Fat Duck and how every table was laden with cameras, everybody was there to record their special visit.

Negative reaction ? I think this topic is more about misconception, more than anything.

What has the reaction (if any) been from chefs about your photographs of their food? Any examples? Are you ever contacted by restaurants looking to buy your shots?

Honestly, I’ve not received negative feedback about my pictures, either from chefs or readers, and I think it is rare for chefs to even comment about ‘bad photos’ of his food on the internet, or to even comment on photographs generally.

At least in my time, I’ve not heard of a London chef who has complained about bad photos publicly. Besides, I would have thought that chefs have bigger fish to fry.

I think, if anyone were to complain, it would emerge from the PR team who handle the restaurant’s image and I think more to the point, that photographs are the least of their concerns. Probably what worries the establishment more, might be the overall image as perceived in public. At least, that’s what I would worry about, if I were the chef, a reputation is difficult enough to build and then to maintain. But then again, I’m no chef, just a lowly food blogger.

Sure I have. Restaurants and magazines. And I’ve been fortunate enough to have some of my pictures appear in the National papers as well, which is nice.

Does amateur food photography/writing make it easier for diners to get a good idea of restaurants’ menus before their visit?

I think all opinion is valuable. I think that having an abundance of critic pieces and blog posts gives the reader – the prospective diner – a number of considered viewpoints in which the writer/blogger has spent a good amount of time crafting a well-prepared, targeted piece of writing to help the reader better understand what they’d be paying for.

To answer your question, I think so, but I think it isn’t just blog posts which help, I think that general rise in density of reviews helps.

Does developing technology – no flash needed, powerful but unobtrusive cameras – make it easier for the food blogger community?

Maybe… maybe not, but what does it matter? Unobstrusive cameras have existed since the 40s, albeit with film as the ‘sensor’, and people have been using them (Flash-free) to photograph (politely) stealthily when in public. The question is rhetorical, when some well-read, well-respected food blogs do not feature pictures, at all.

I think it is more about the advancement of the self-publishing tools available for amateurs, be it the speed of connecting to the web, as well as the software required to post things online, in a presentable manner. All help ‘make it easy’ for the amateur to air their uncensored thoughts. But I think, this phenomenon (if we can call it that), is part of way we have embraced Social Media, and people are just fuelling their desires to share the experiences they had with the wider world. And since food is something we need to face on such a frequent basis, it is probably also, the easiest and most logical one to talk about.

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the Newsletter. Alternatively, you can subscribe to the RSS feed.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do it.

Yes I cannot believe it too. It is two years ago today, that I assaulted the internet with my barrage of hot air and vulgar food photography, which may as well be classified as taboo, and I would just like to start by saying Thank You for reading and putting up with me. So far I have made public 376 pieces of nonsense, approximately 220 of which are visits to restaurants, mostly within the M25, some are further afield, and Jay Rayner has said of one of posts to be ‘intriguing but blogrreah’.

I think the best part of being a blogger is seeing how my opinion fares against others out there, and how (and if) it is valued by others. Agreeing with like-minded individuals inevitably leads to warm, mushy feelings inside, but over time, I’ve learnt that it is ok to disagree, so long as it does not become personal (or if it does then at least become entertaining), all in the favour of constructive debate. That’s the point of blogging, afterall.

In my own capacity, I strive to be fair, considerate and mindful – the considered opinion is important to me. I am but a child in the wide, wide world of food. Growing my knowledge of food is a daily learning curve, I am ever respectful of the work of restaurants and offer advance apologies to those who have had to put up with my occasional candor, and if I had gotten the facts wrong. I have never believed that the ability to eat is a skill, rather, I think of blogs as personal adventures, observation and commentary, made public.

I am amazed at the rapid advancement of food blogs, for the sheer number of those who share their thoughts online or otherwise, and for those who do it, the commitment to quality & consistency to maintain a well-read blog. For anyone who loves reading about food or gathering reviews of restaurants, we now have so much to choose from. As we watch old media flail its arms at the photocentric digital contemporaries (or are we beneath?), I am at the opinion that editorials will never die, and that the food critic will always be around. They are the professionals afterall. Marina really knows what she’s on about. Most of the time.

I feel that more than ever, food blogs represent the alternative to the critic. It is quite literally, the other side. The unedited, unending, exhaustive reel of thought, like a behind-the-scenes show & tell, in total contrast, yet completely complimentary to the reporter, not striving to be better, or to be a carbon copy, but to offer a bona-fide alternative point of view. Fractious and as awkward as that relationship between the blogger and writer is sometimes, I am certain it is nothing but growing pains, and someday, a renewed respect for one another will emerge, if it is not already taking place. Shake it long & hard enough, eventually water and oil do mix. Hey I read AA Gill novels. And of course I respect the food writer, afterall, who else would be our rolemodels?

Looking ahead into my murky crystal ball, I am ever impassioned with food, it has been a slog at times getting stuff online, but it is rewarding to see that my words and photographs are read, seen and occasionally appreciated. My goal now is to try and evolve the consummate amateur review, hence the themed newsletters, written around a genre as it helps me extend my personal knowledge, and the holistic approach is perhaps more useful than a singular, isolated pseudo-review. Perhaps. However, none of this would be possible, if not for the fabulous restaurants out there, I continue in my capacity as the ultimate fan of cutting edge hospitality.

Thank you ever so much again for reading my blog, I hope you like it so far and may I continue to serve many more page views to an internet near you in the days ahead.

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 a chef who had apprenticed under Philip Howard, the cerebral owner of the magnificentThe Square. Sometimes I wonder, if there aren’t any young chefs or successful restaurants not influenced by the brilliance of this man who holds a degree in Microbiology. Adam has also written a book titled ‘How to Eat in’ in which he shares some of his more famous recipes, noticeably that of his short rib pie. To tell the truth, I paid zero attention to Byatt’s fabulous work, especially since his is usually a hot topic when food lovers gather. That’s how I heard about Trinity, Niamh especially loved her visit, and it is one of the few times I had heard of a restaurant which fashions off-the-cuff bespoke taster menus as a regular option. Formerly of Claridge’s, Adam’s path to glory is not without patches. His debut album, a collaboration with Adam Oates, called Thyme (also in Clapham) was a roaring success, a restaurant before my time, and was popular for its starter-sized dishes and perhaps called time a little too soon, when they decided to move into the ominously named Hospital in Covent Garden. Sequels are never as good anyway. In 2006, Adam returned to his leafy beginnings in South London, aptly calling his third venture, Trinity.

Actually, the original meaning of the name, is a reference to the way dishes are cooked; with each dish featuring three major ingredients plus sideshows. Clapham feels like a trek to me, psychologically, crossing that bridge is almost like going into Europe, the last time I was in Clapham Common, I went to a festival, to get John Torode’s autograph, and that was well over a year ago. And then I was at the Taste of London event more recently where Trinity’s stall was the ubiquitous darling of the event, his excellent trotters dish scooping the ‘Gold’ award, and winning many-a-hearts, including my own. A visit to the restaurant proper was imminent.

A trio of myself, my brother and the better half stumbled into the Clapham common, running circles around The Polygon before discovering the street level restaurant, embedded into the building. The windows were open to the world, it was the laziest of summer Sundays, inside an inoffensive, rather comfortable, leather and white linen-ed restaurant cushioned our fall. Ahh…

…£2 cover charge per person for bread and olives … and no taster menu on Sunday. It normally costs £38 for six courses, and I felt as if my empty stomach had been gutted with a parang. Memories of the luxury of a congealing mess (pigs trotters) that I had at Taste was ever fresh in my mind, but it was Sunday, but I am to be denied and if I must have the roast, then I will. Excluding the cover charge, Sunday lunch costs a mere £25 for three courses.

We ordered three of everything.

The Starters

Deep Fried Sand Eels with Deviled Rapeseed Aioli.

The missus kicked things off with the lightest of the trio of starters; crunchy spears of salty joy with a bitter, whippy bearnaise-like sauce.

A Salad of Smoked Salmon, Broken Duck Eggs, Peas in the Pod, and a Small Crab Toastie.

Seeing as to how I was on an empty stomach, my starters was a fittingly deconstructed breakfast. Beautifully runny, buttery scrambled duck eggs and an equally buttery, mineral mini crabs on toast. It was also served with a very thick, garlic heavy mayonnaise on the side, plus the smoked salmon, a salt-bomb which dried my mouth out completely. Luckily, there was free-flowing freshly baked bread to help me clean up the plate.

Charcuterie of Meats: Foie Gras Parfait, Ventreche Bacon, Duck Hearts and Confit Duck Beignet

Finally, my brother ordered this rather impressive slate of preserved meat; a sweetish foie gras parfait, a juicy duck heart skewer, but again, all the salt dried his palate out. Eventually, leaving him to turn his attention to his pint of Brewdog, and for me to finish his scraps.

Which I duly abided. Don’t get me wrong, it was good, just a tad too salty.

The Mains

Roast Sirlion of Angus Beef with Yorkshire Pudding, Pot Roast Vegetables and Fresh Horseradish.

Well what can I say? It is a beautifully bloody piece of roast beef, with all the trimmings, on a Sunday, a juicy mouthful. My brother seemed to enjoy this immensely, but I didn’t try any because I had an insurmountable challenge of my own…

Pot au Feu of Capon, Smoked Ham Knuckle, Morteau Sausage and Brisket, Served with Spring Greens and Salsa Verde

The first impression, was this pot was too much food for one person. And indeed it was, I couldn’t finish it at all. I looked forlornly upon my brother’s beef, it seemed the more sensible option for summer, my dish was sizzling hot, every time I dug into it, I felt as if I was delving deeper, and deeper into an exploding volcano. I think I chose the worst possible dish for the weather. I was sweating tortuously as I negotiated the dish. I felt this dish was too bombastic, too loud, too indulgent and too over done for it’s own good, impressive as the different types of meat were, individually. I felt like I was being forced fed, and could only be obliged to break with a complacent smile when the waitress dropped by to check back on the meal. Of course, if I had had this on a cold November afternoon instead, my opinion would be closer to three out of three, being properly hearty and wintry, but it isn’t quite winter yet.

Brandade of Smoked Haddock with Clams and Samphire

More wintryness, but one of a slighter touch – this dish was a happy medium of the other two and the most successful, in my opinion. The brandade redolent of a mash, made with flakes of haddock, fish-flavoured mushy potatoes as it were, beautiful, with the sweet peas, the (naturally) salty samphire, and the roasted razor clams. The missus was a winner yet once more.

Dessert

Millefeuille of Compressed Strawberries, Clotted Cream Ice Cream and Strawberry Fool

This sounded alot more complicated than it actually was, and it was actually quite forgettable, if I was being honest. Sliced strawberries, with jelly and ice cream, fool.

Valrhona Chocolate Hot Pot with Salt Caramel Ice Cream.

Yes, it was a melting hotpot of chocolate, oh yawn.

I ordered the Apricot and Almond Tarte Fine with Milk and Honey Ice Cream , but I really didn’t like it, and didn’t bother with the pictures, since we found the desserts to be more of an afterthought, than a cohesive leg of the meal. By then, we were too full to continue eating anyway.

All in all, a meritorious Sunday Lunch. When we left, we couldn’t move, a trio of bulging tummies, and we felt like utterly gluttonous pigs. The two glasses of cold, dry El Muro were necessary to wash down all that protein. The bill was exactly £105 – or £35 each. Reflecting on the meal, its definitely a Sunday roast better suited to the cooler days ahead of us. I think there is no doubt that Byatt’s kitchen can turn out amazing food, his cooking veers to the masculine and the brawny, over the top flavours which can grab you by the scruff of the neck. One cannot help but feel overwhelmed by this bombardment of the palate. The reactions to the overloading of the senses were initially positive, gratifying even, but as the meal wore on, I definitely fatigued, especially since it was Sunday. At times, I wish Adam would turn the volume down a little, the raw firepower could do with a more delicate hand.

And so I came away feeling a little mixed about my first meal at Trinity, but there was enough evidence for me to remain ever more intrigued with Adam Byatt’s cooking. I feel like I still have not tried his cooking properly, the ‘restaurant collecting’ is incomplete as it stood. I will return on a weekday, to try the six course taster menu, if only for the sole, lingering memory of Adam’s pig’s trotters dish, and for that alone, it deserves another visit.

The Gist of It

Trinity Restaurant
£35pp British!
4 The Polygon Clapham Old Town SW4 0JG
Tel: 020 7622 1199
Tube: Clapham Common

Quando, Quando, Quando : Giles Coren ; Jay Rayner ; Greedy Diva ; I Live to Eat and Eat to Live ; Tehbus ; Foodraker ; Intoxicating Prose

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the Newsletter. Alternatively, you can subscribe to the RSS feed.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do it.

It has taken me about a year to visit Bea’s in Bloomsbury, but I’m glad I finally made it. This tour de force bakery, cake house, coffee & tea shop produces top notch sugary things from their massive kitchen on site on a daily basis. Needless to say, their cupcakes are superb, personally I quite enjoy the pillowy buttercream Bea uses, a uniquely ethereal texture, slicker than your usual icing. I really enjoyed the peanut butter cupcake I ordered.

The heart & soul behind this operation is none other that the super woman herself, Bea Vo. Notable Nobu alumnus, who had turned down the chance to head the pastry-works at Nobu (spot the Nobu cookbooks in her shop) for a shot at making a name for herself, which as of 2010, in my opinion, she has gracefully achieved. An inspirational story, in itself. I am led to believe that she spends half her life at her labour of love, and when you eventually visit and meet her, you’ll be glad to find she’s an energiser bunny of abundant joy – probably a sign of a woman who relishes every moment of working on what she is most passionate about.

Bea is slated to expand into the City soon, so things must be going well for the petite baker, critics, bloggers and women – in general – love her work.

This is one of the few times I feel there is no need to pontificate about the steadiness of cream. If you are yet to visit this cafe that looks as fabulous as the cakes sitting on the counter, then I believe you should put this on your list. Inside the shop, one can sip coffee at a table next to the open ended kitchen, read his raunchy novel (which has won numerous bad sex awards) and occasionally look up and watch the chefs scoop icing onto cake. Life could not be more perfect.

A photo essay for the girls.

Note: We ordered afternoon tea set with scones, cupcakes, assorted marshmallows and meringues for £9.90.

Even more photographs from Bea’s on my flickr stream.

The Gist of It

Bea’s of Bloomsbury
Sweets, cakes, coffee & tea £7pp
44 Theobald’s Road London WC1X 8NW
Tel: 0207 242 8330
Tube: Chancery Lane

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the Newsletter. Alternatively, you can subscribe to the RSS feed.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do 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 of which lie between the latitudes of 28° to the North and 50° to the south, not that I know what that actually means, obviously. Fashioned in a similar way to the hugely successful Terroirs, these are restaurants that lure the serious food addicts in – the proverbial mouse trap – and then throw them off guard with an astounding list of wines, in an vain attempt to convert them to the darkside. To that end, Sverrisson and Rousset have installed Paul Walsh – previously sous chef to Clare @ Royal Hospital Road – in the kitchen to churn out top quality, French inspired dishes. You’ll probably recall the gushing remarks I made, when I visited Texture a few months earlier, and so I was naturally perky (and melancholic) when I learnt that Laissez Fare was conducting his official leaving do at this restaurant.

We were a table of twelve (or so), but to be honest, things became a little hazy after I started ingesting alcohol, starting with an awkwardly short measure (75ml) of Picpoul de Pinet (by Domaine Laurier, 2009 for £2.45) which was a little papery, crispy and carried a faint whizz of fizz. There were familiar faces, Gourmet Chick, Mathilde, UN and then there was the we-meet-at-last meeting, pleasantly surprised to have finally shook the hand which writes An American in London. She eventually revealed the riddle – and inspiration – behind her blog’s URL (R.W. Apple, Bing it!) and is probably the last blogger in England yet to fall in line with the Twitterati. She’s still interested in old fashioned, real-life conversations, you see.

We chose from a party menu, about £30 for 3 courses, and I had done a quick side by side with what’s online and twas evident that this was a subset of the main menu, rather than a bespokely limited offering. However, in the spirit of truly never doing things by halves, take this blog post with the heaviest pinch of salt, as I intend to follow-up with a fuller and more representative experience.

Confit trout, fennel, mustard dressing.

Immediately, I thought this dish had shades of Texture written all over it, the gently cooked fish, the ghastly regurgitate-it food styling, the dash of dill and cubed vegetables. Sweetly, pickly and a cream-like sauce played nicely with the natural oils of the trout – which was gentle, soft but only just lacked the fine sous-vide touch, so perfectly illustrated and gloriously exploited at Texture. I enjoyed this.

The White: Zeleni Silvanec, Marof, ’08.

Slovenian wine – a first for me – was paired with our selection of starters, which I have to admit, I wasn’t really paying much attention to. The wine hails from Northern Slovenia and the varietal is Zeleni Silvanec or Sylvaner, which again is a first for me. It carried a natural fizz, I detected nuts and zest. Very young, very clean and highly charged as it coursed through my system.

Onglet of beef, chips and sauce choron.

For mains, I opted for the obvious choice of L’onglet. I was a little worried at first, since the waitress didn’t ask how we’d like our steaks, the rest assumed it was going to be medium-rare, but I wouldn’t mind it a little bloodier, considering the cut.

My fears were mostly unfounded, as it arrived perfectly medium rare. I have a feeling the steak had been pre-bashed – it was the flattest onglet I had ever seen, and surprisingly the tenderest I had ever eaten. Grain was unnoticeable, the natural bitterness of onglet was pleasing, and I was hugely enjoying the – now mushy – spongy texture of the steak. It was well-seasoned, but perhaps just a tad too much so, it had me wondering if powdered tenderiser had also been applied. Nevertheless, it was a sterling example of an onglet. Extra points for the extra touches, arranged crispy chips and a sweetly caramelised shallot and props for serving a sauce choron. It tasted like a chilli bearnaise to me, a shade of orange, which I found to be rather intriguing. I had to google this, and as it turns out, sauce Choron is named after Alexandre Étienne Choron, a chef who lived in the late 19th Century, whom had invented his namesake sauce, a variant of the bearnaise, without tarragon or chervil, replacing with an enriched tomato puree instead. Personally, a brand new way to eat steaks.

The Red: Syrah, Mullineux, Swartland, South Africa, 2008.

The red was eye-openingly brilliant, this you could stick a straw in and drink it like it was the juice of the gods. Smoky, bitter, creamy and jammy. Very sweet for a Syrah. I pour as much as I could in my glass, to the limits of being considerate to others also sharing the bottle. Or so I thought.

Rum baba.

Pudding was fairly standard and traditional, the lightness of the cake was appreciated, but I could have done with the cheese platter (from La Fromagerie) to be honest.

We each paid about £60, £50 for those who ate less, and drank less, and I think everybody had a great time. I think the food is good enough, but the wines were better. Especially since food seemed more like a side show to the fabulous way the wines have been curated and presented. An entertaining side show nonetheless.

Speaking of the list, it features 15 whites and 15 reds which could be had by the glass, measuring conveniently at 75ml, 125ml and at 250ml, the latter of which is probably on the menu for legacy reasons. As I alluded to earlier, I enjoyed 28-50, and I would be interested to return to sample a flight of 75mls; afterall Xavier Rousset is an award-winning sommelier. Xavier also conducts monthly wine workshops for £25 per head, that seems intriguing, as of writing, his sessions appear to be fully booked to October. Also, his ‘Collectors List’ is put together from private collectors who have agreed to sell their precious stock on consignment. I’ve seriously gone off the trail in my wine education of late, so this seems an ideal route to get back into it. I do have to entertain relatives visiting London soon. I didn’t really take to the cavernous, subterraneo setting at first, but after slapping on the tipple goggles, everything looked woodenly sexy anyway. Maybe it was just a little too bright. The force is strong with this one folks. Good food, good wine, good service, a wine restaurant for wine and restaurant collectors alike.

The Gist of It

28-50 Wine Workshop & Kitchen
Wine bar, £60pp plus tipples
140 Fetter Lane EC4A 1BT
Tel: 020 7242 8877
Tube: Chancery Lane

Gulp: Guy Dimond ; Dos Hermanos ; David Sexton ; Gastro1

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the Newsletter. Alternatively, you can subscribe to the RSS feed.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do it.

Twenty quid doesn’t go too far in London, maybe two courses. Three if it’s a michelin-on-a-budget. On the otherhand, the Taiwanese have perfected the art of amazingly affordable fine dining on half a shoe string. Back in February, I was over in Taipei for my annual visit to see how my favourite cat (seriously) was doing. He turns ten this year, and time has made a roadmap of his furry belly. Taiwanese people very proudly boast about their excellent sushi, which is generally claimed that it is so good, that Japanese tourists cross over to the Beautiful Island to sample the Taiwanese rendition of their cuisine.

I can’t say I disagree. Even their middle-of-the-road sushi trains (the ‘real’ Yo! Sushi so to speak) will defeat anything from Kikuchi or even Shiori, or dare I say it, Sushi Hiro (pre-2010). Naturally I was intrigued with what a high nose establishment could turn out, and was recommended to try one of the Mitsui restaurants aka, the big boys. Supposedly, a favourite meeting place for politicians, celebrity and generally people who wield power and money, unafraid to swing one like Tiger.

Annoyingly however, it has a notorious reputation for snotty service, especially since I left my Zegna back in London. Hot weather you see. Pomposity aside, the restaurant looks the part obviously, we sat at the spot-lit sushi bar and were stuck with a waitress more interested in chatting with her colleague, than taking our order. Irritating. I interrupt their conversation as much as I could. Dammit woman, I just want the otoro, the chutoro and the otoro. The majority of their seafood (and their tuna) are sourced from Taiwan’s East Harbour apparently.

Naturally I went ala carte with the nigiri, that set me back £40, but the missus was a winner with her seven course, £20 set lunch. That’s it, £20.

Course 1: Sashimi Platter

You better believe it. Beautifully cut and presented, salmon, tuna, scallop, mackerel and a whole sweet prawn. Sweet.

Course 2: Crab Salad

Sweetcorn, apple, the dish had a faint whiff of rose water as well. This was bloody amazing. The crab itself, mineral, zingy and naturally salty. I was green with envy.

Course 3: Rib eye Steak.

The steak was peppery, I think it was a Prime USDA (they love that stuff in Taiwan), the glowing charcoal was still smoking the beef on the table, still sizzling away softly. Beautifully medium rare, not much in terms of bovine beefiness, but who cares. Look at the crusty exterior.

Course 4: Steamed fish.

Oh my gosh..! This was the real cracker… superbly steamed, gently silky, such delicate texture, I kept thinking, cream, cream and more cream. The broth was buttery, and the fish was stuffed with a variety of crunchy and chewy vegetables, broccoli perhaps, I forget. Just excellently steamed fish.

Course 5: Grilled tiger prawn.

Look at that monstrosity. It must have been grilled over charcoal, because I could taste the smoke, seasoned with rock salt… the better half showed her quality by offering this to me. And so, I broke it in half, and sucked it dry.

Course 6: Soup

Just soup right? But check out the presentation.

Voila!

Course 7: Red bean soup

A comforting finish, baffling being served with kiwi, didn’t think the creaminess of red bean paired with the kiwi, but whatever.

Hands down the best £20 meal I’d ever witnessed.

Meanwhile… I had…

Fried durian!… £4

The smell of unwashed, overnight socks, sweat drying out the cotton, and blood perhaps from the gruelling hour long session working on the deltoids. The taste of a superiorly whipped egg custard… and soya sauce as a dip. Somehow, if you believe my ‘buds, this sweet-stinky-salty combo was successful as a starter.

Sushi Platter…. around £35quid

Not as amazing as I would have liked, if I’m being honest, however, it was still orgasmic, appetising and entirely pleasing. The rice was naturally amazing, sticky yet melts-in-the-mouth, just a gentle kick of vinegar, I would have wanted it to carry just a touch more warmth, but oh well. The fish however was excellent. Scallops were ridiculously sweet, so were the salmon (and belly), silky sea eel, the otoro disintegrated with a fragrant oiliness, mellow as opposed to just the taste of cold fat. Really accomplished stuff.

If you are in Taipei, I’d actually recommend just trying the cheaper sushi places like Hi Sushi, because it’s affordable and amazing, but if you have £20 to spare, pop into a Mitsui. As I said earlier, I think the Taiwanese have perfected the art of the set lunch. Nothing in London compares for the money, period.

The Gist of It

Mitsui
Japanese. Set Menu £20pp ; ala carte more than double..
No 30, Nong-an St., 1F Taipei City, Taiwan.
Tel : (02) 2594-3394

Did you enjoy reading this post? Why not subscribe to my feed updates for free. Alternatively, You can subscribe via email.

The last couple of weeks have been particularly damaging on my wallet, so I will use this week as a time out to recall some of my adventures as a ravenous monkey abroad… this one from a recent trip to the teeny township of Haugesund in Norway.

I was sent to Norway for an assignment, a handful of return trips over the past three months or so with my first commenced on Norway’s National day. I was lucky enough to catch the local parade through the main drag of this town. Little did I know then, that it was going to be the only day I would witness so many Norwegians – or just people for that matter – congregate in the high street. Normally, Haugesund looks eerily like a ghost town, albeit, with a beautiful view of the waterfront. The township numbers are around 33,000, although that’s probably spread over large expanses of land. However, alot of people seem to live on the water front, waking to the rising sunshine bounced off the glistening waters. Some in their boats.

The name comes from Haugr for hill or mound, and sund for strait or sound, which as my astoundingly capable deductive ability had worked out the surrounding townships end with -sund, since much of the landmass in this part of the world is surrounded by water. Unsurprisingly then, most restaurants boasts fresh fish caught from the same waters, Haugesund itself once known for its Herring trade. In fact the first thing I ate after I landed on Norge soil were fish and chips. Nuggets as opposed to a whole fried fillet, superbly crispy, golden and fizzy, enveloping oily and flaky cod. The Norwegian chippy was superior to anything I’d had in London, or Durham for that matter. Expensive however, it had set me back around £14. The cost of living in Norway was simply in another league, everything seemed to cost at least twice as much as it would do in the UK. A cheeseburger would set you back at least £15!

So I asked my colleagues about dining options in the town, many had directed me to To-Glass , but some had suggested I try Lothes – the culinary pride & joy of Haugesund… also the reason why some people find the setting a tad intimidating as well. It has a great view of the water, and is based in a large two storey wooden house initially built in the 1850′s, and looking as if it had been restored faithfully to its original rendition.

Inside, one feels the age of the house. The creaking floorboards, the musky smell of dust, the low ceilings and haunting photographs, so aged it is of a parched yellow, like calotypes, of men with surrealistic facial hair wearing riding coats only seen in period films. The rest of the scene were copper lamps, waitresses dressed as French maids and white tulips for table decoration. Was I dreaming? The feeling of being in a state of disillusion was mostly due to long summer days, the summer sun hardly ever set in Norway, seeing as much as sixteen hours of light through the waking day, and night.

“A journey of six courses menu composed of fresh supply from sea and land.” … Lothes’ star feature was a six course menu that changed on daily basis, drawing from ingredients local to the area. Funnily, they are quite flexible regarding the number of courses one would like to have from their six course expedition on a plate. On this visit, I chose three from the six for 529NOK. That’s roughly sixty quid.

Cauliflower soup with crayfish and scallop.

A pan-fried and de-shelled tail of cray fish rested in the centre of the soup. Atop, a single scalllop, shaved leeks and a type of long, black seed which I couldn’t identify. The kitchen was tiny and exposed to the diners, and actually formed part of the bar, inside were two chefs. I heard the whirring of a mixer, before this dish was brought to me. The natural sweetness of the seafood was intoxicating, bursting with liveliness. The cauliflower foam, so delicate, bubbly and warming, with a sharpening intensity which set my throat on fire; Eloquently presented and elegantly cooked.

Halibut, polenta, cous-cous, asparagus, chickpeas and olive jus.

The colour of the pickled onions, drew the eye in, and as I approached the dish, the aromatic steaminess filled my sense of smell with wonderfully hearty flavours. The olive jus had wonderful acidity, and concentration about it, it reminded me of a soya sauce, which was probably from the chickpea and polenta, the fish sat on top of. I had also detected chorizo being paired with the fish – something I had sampled at To Glass as well, a pairing which I assumed was a local favourite – and the entire plate was steaming, it was redolent of something inspired by Japanese cooking. There was a wonderful interplay of competing flavours, strongly salty and sweet, with the arresting layers of textures whirling around.

Reindeer, tarragon, spinach, carrot mash.

I opted for a rich finish with the reindeer fillet, which was not dissimilar to mallard, served medium rare, it featured a hint of game, quickly overridden by the muscular gravy. Interestingly however, most of the firepower came in the form of the oyster mushrooms this dish was served with, so strong in fact, it was as if the chef had injected Stilton into the fungi.

I returned to Lothes three more times, having fallen for its entirely chic style of cooking, and felt rather cheated not taken a picture of the entirely amazing truffle risotto made with a dash of ginger and served with a monkfish fillet. But then again, it was so good, I had opted to record the meal with nothing but my five senses. I savoured every moment. Eventually, I ended one of the return meals with a pudding: An eggy pannacotta served in a juiced, and warmed soup of watermelon…

The Gist of It

Lothes Mat & Vinhus
Norwegian, 6 retter for 769 NOK.
Skippergata 4, 5527 Haugesund, Norge‎
Tel: 52 71 22 01‎

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the Newsletter. Alternatively, you can subscribe to the RSS feed.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do it.

I have been itching to supersede my first Goodman post which I wrote last year with something that better reflects my feelings about the restaurant. I love my meat sweats obviously, and in the twelve months following the first visit, I’ve returned to many a fabulous meal at Goodman in Maddox Street. With the launch of their City branch, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to formally update position with Goodman.

In the last few months, the Goodman team have been frantically preparing the launch of their second restaurant in London, quite fittingly in the heart of the Square Mile, to cater to testosterone charged suits. David who represents Goodman’s front of house had kindly extended the new branch’s 50% soft launch discount to me, and so I was more than delighted to go along and spend my money to gorge even more steak for half the price.

The missus and I went on a Thursday night, and expectedly, the room was rammed with pressed shirts and metrosexual hairdos – it’s like the perfect hunting ground for single females looking for a plump husband to be. You know who you are.

The new restaurant is also quite alot bigger and buzzier than the Maddox branch which was always abit cramped, especially with how the bar is laid out. Same furnishings, brawny woods and hanging lamps and black and white photographs (at 16×24 instead of 8x10s .. I think .. ), and a much higher ceiling, exposing pipework, albeit masked with black paint. Everything is brought to the same level, where at Maddox street, it overspilled into the basement. The kitchen is open to the dining room and the dry ageing room, is visible to all diners as it behind a glass panel. Abit like an aquarium of steak. The new bar is massive.

As any steak lover will tell you, a great steak house lives or dies by the quality of beef they use, and whether if it had been properly hung or not. Not only do Goodman have their own dry ageing facilities in house, they also source their meat from arguably the best butchers in Britain, as well as the best imported beef they can get their hands on. Oh yeah, there’s also the small matter of installing a Josper grill and taming this temperamental beast of charcoal, which some kitchens have reported failure with. Family and friends whom I have dragged with me to Goodman Mayfair have always been thoroughly impressed with the bafflingly fantastic charcoal-infused steaks.

As I had the power of a 50% discount on me, I didn’t hesitate with creating my bespoke platter by selecting from their best stock. As they always do, the waiters will present you with a platter of cuts to help you decide what you want, always spot on with showing off and explaining what they’ve got in their ageing rooms, and service is the City branch is at the same top notch levels as Maddox street.

Before I talk about steaks, I want to recommend the Frank Hederman smoked salmon (£11) , Lobster bisque (£7.50) , the Russian sweet herrings (£7, a nod wink to Goodman’s owners) and the excellent in-house made pate (£7.5) as excellent choices to start, if you are so inclined to have a starter that is. They might specialise in steak, but the lobster bisque is so seriously good that it can rival more eloquent peers in the city. I skipped starters during this visit however. Just for the record, I do not rate Goodman’s burger, I find the patty to be too salty. Go to a Byron if you want minced meat, Goodman is all about the steaks.

Ok back to the meatfest.

You see the superbly well marbled piece of beef in the foreground from the picture above? Well that’s the Chilean Wagyu sirloin (NY Strip to be precise) with a marbling score of 7 to 8 at £60 for 300g. Seriously, look at the marbling on that beef! See the sirloin on the top right? Well that’s basically the same cut, but a Prime USDA. Visual evidence of why Wagyus are prized as they are. The fat content is incomparable.

On the ‘regular’ menu, they list the same cut but with a lower marbling score at 3-4, for £45.

By the way, when you visit a Goodman, forget the menu, always ask for what’s well hung in the ageing room. The chef will usually cater to heavier weights and cut them specially if you request it. Personally, I don’t scrutinise dry ageing times so much, because it varies from breed to breed, some requiring more time and some less, so if the chef says it’s ready, then I’ll believe him.

Anyway, I ordered Goodman’s triumvirate of meat – (Darragh) O’Sheas Angus Grass fed Bone-in Ribeye 450g (£26) ; (Erm, should be Nebraska) Prime USDA Angus Corn fed Bone-in Ribeye 700g (£43.75) ; Chilean Wagyu Sirloin score 7-8 300g (£60). Unfortunately, they didn’t have a Wagyu ribeye carrying that marbling score, which would have made from a better comparison (not to mention a much softer and even fattier cut), but we made do.

We waited a good 20 minutes (or so) before the steaks landed, and waiting is a good sign, since steaks really need to be rested so that their juices are retained and redistributed evenly before being sliced and served. Probably even more time considering how thick they serve ‘em.

Here’s our steak platter (£26 + £43.75 + £60 = £129.75 )

Beautiful innit? I prefer to have my steaks served as a platter and pre-sliced. The steaks look plump, and juices aren’t overflowing (Although they are probably cut on a board before plating up) on the plate, which is a good sign. I love their bearnaise but the stilton and red wine sauce is really interesting, we ordered both.

Time to taste it!

L to R. Wagyu Sirlion , O’Sheas Ribeye , USDA Ribeye. What say you? Is that a perfect 51C?

To my eyes, that’s perfectly medium rare. General comments first – it appears Ollie and his team have mastered the dark arts of manning the Josper Grill. The surface is crustily charred, inside the juices burst out as you bite into them. Oh and the signature, smoke-filled charcoal flavour too.. Mmm… As far as I can tell, Goodman City’s Josper skills are equal to John’s at Goodman Mayfair.

Right then, the Chilean Wagyu. Fantastic. It is pretty soft for a sirloin, as soft as the O’Sheas and USDA ribeyes. The meat is very plump, mellow beefiness, and it is noticeably oilier than the other cuts, in fact it oozes oil, giving rise to a very viscous mouthfeel. I suppose the oil is due to the inherent marbling, some of it hadn’t yet melted away completely and is still visible. It’s just an extremely pleasant experience of steak.

Fat equals flavour, and the fat on the wagyu is on the mellow side. No intense blue cheesiness here, very graceful stuff. The oily mouthfeel is really fantastic, it is sixty quid for 300g of pampered cows massaged daily, which listen to classical music and allegedly drunk on beer most of their lifetime… it had better be amazing and it was.

Here’s a close up of the USDA ribeye (£43.75 for 700g). It’s no slouch either. Surprisingly, it is the softest of the three cuts, albeit the wagyu was not a ribeye. Just look at how easily the fork pierces the meat. Unsurprisingly, the meat carried the least flavour of the lot, sweeter and even more mellow, but superbly tender. This is a cut that benefits from even more fattiness, as that helps to boost those sugarcane notes. Nothing abit of bearnaise can’t solve though. I still really enjoy eating USDA ribeyes, the tenderness is unmatched. Well maybe a matsusaka or a true kobe steak.

Finally, the superb O’Sheas ribeye, 450g for a fantastic price of £26. You know I love O’sheas, I think this Irish family butchers consistently produce the best beef of the British Isles. If you step into Darragh’s shop in Knightsbridge, it doesn’t stink like a usual butcher shop, instead there is a fragance of bovinity in the air. The only thing better than slapping a monster Cote de Boeuf on my Le Creuset, is to have Goodman slap it in their Josper. The beef is tender – as is any well hung beef to be quite honest – although it has a nice firmness about it as well. I find that with O’Sheas, it is all about those blue cheese flavours, it is carries much more beefiness than the other two breeds, the fat is rich. As an aside, I feel that Scotch steaks carry even more rich beefiness… but perhaps just a little too much for some, especially when one is having it bloody. I think the O’sheas strike a great balance between being affordable and being well balanced in terms of flavour and tenderness. If you don’t want to overspend, the O’Sheas are a solid choice.

It is all a matter of personal preference really, and to be quite honest, these cuts of beef are at the very top end of what your money will buy, at least in London. Well hung beef, Check. Well marbled, check. Grilled over charcoal, check. Crusty exterior, check. Well rested meat, check. Whippy bearnaise, check. Affordable jammy, medium bodied, easy drinking reds by the glass, check. Buzzy steakhouse atmosphere, check. It is a cracking steakhouse which gets alot of things right, especially the atmosphere. Ask for a quick whizz around in the dry ageing room too, if the restaurant is not too busy… do try and put your nose close to the beef and smell them. They should be sweet smelling. Anyway, the bill before discount would have been £176, which includes two sides and two glasses of red and service, but we paid £95.48 – a generous £68.88 soft launch concession, and which makes it £47 each. Of course it’s expensive, but considering the sheer quality of meat and the care that has gone into preparing it, you do get what you pay for. I know some of you prefer the All British Ginger Pig stuff at Hawksmoor (which is great as well), but I prefer Goodman’s for its low-lit steakhouse atmosphere, and what with it constantly being packed out with men in suits, must mean they are getting the job done properly. The next time you plan a steak dinner, consider a medium rare, O’Sheas bone-in ribeye at Goodman.

The Gist of It

Goodman City
Steak, £60pp
11 Old Jewry EC2R 8DU
Tel: 020 7600 8220
Tube: Bank

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the Newsletter. Alternatively, you can subscribe to the RSS feed.

All text and photography on this blogpost is copyright and belongs to Kang Leong, LondonEater.com. If you repost this without my permission, bad things will happen. So please don’t do it.