Who comes up with all this fiction just for a restaurant? This is the persuasive language Oliver’s people have generated for his latest project: “Ours is a union of ideas, traditions, and of people.” “Where wood-fired flatbreads meet great British flavours.” Lookintomyeyeslookintomyeyes. What’s with the wonky name – why not just call it Union or Union Jack. Is this meant to be ironic? I don’t get it. The ambiguity with the plural form (or misplaced punctuation) is the restaurant equivalent of the 2012 Olympics logo. In spite of the spin, this really is just a pizzeria. It’s billed as some kind of ground breaking bastardisation of the humble Italian pie, by the hand of Jamie’s very Bri’ish style and nicknamed as Flatbreads. As if one could reinvent something simply by calling it something else. I do like the ‘Gary Baldy’ biscuit, however. I’d like to think these concepts were the result of a complicated brain storming session by a think tank of consultants locked in a meeting room and eating nothing but pizza to precipitate ideas. Back in the real world, this union is a partnership between Jamie Oliver and Pizza Maestro Chris Bianco. This Central St Giles location being the pilot for a upcoming franchise, which (presumably) pending the success of this branch, will spread throughout London and the rest of the country in the next couple of years
Banana skin. I was suggested to try the ‘Ocre Rouge’, a Pinot Noir from Dions (as opposed to Burgundy) and I had come to the conclusion that this was a quirky little devil of a wine. The finish and its tannin structure was akin to banana skin, a first and a rather interesting peculiarity. The same could be said of the terribly cramped environs of the new Soho opening which has captivated Twitter’s appetite. Not only are they the latest restaurant to operate a no reservation service, they have gone the extra mile to install a record player on premises, inviting returning patrons to share their vinyl collection with everybody in the room. Ducksoup is either a genuinely hip place to dine or at the very least a good pretender. It is in keeping with the presumption that Londoners are still very much in love with the idea of less is more when eating out. Think Brawn, Spuntino and Rochelle Canteen throw in a Kitchenaid, then splashed across Fernandez & Wells. Et voilà. The brains behind this genius are ex-Hix, chef Julian Biggs ( I think he is the beardy one) , Clare Lattin and Rory McCoy, collectively have managed to make the genre of uber-cool and understated, easily egalitarian yet decidedly British restaurant, feel refreshed once again. I really like the name, obviously it is not named after soup,
This is what you see when you arrive at The Sportsman. Perhaps this is the secret to the good cooking since this is also the view from Stephen Harris’ kitchen. I’m sure you must have heard about this place by now, quite literally every blog and hack with the vaguest interest in food, in this country has written and raved about this michelin starred restaurant. It is one amongst a very rare collection of restaurants which commands near unanimous appeal, and as such, it is often regarded as the very best this country has to offer. The original gastropub began life when Stephen sat through a revelatory meal at Chez Nico way back in ’92, which then became his inspiration to bring the slickness of high cooking to a more accessible setting. In the subsequent years, Stephen set about unravelling the mysteries of macaroon winning ways by visiting the nation’s darling restauranteurs of the era including MPW and GR until one fine November day in 1999, he decided to buy an isolated pub nestled between the English coast on one side and rolling fields of grazing sheep on the other. He crafted a brand new kind of experience that sought to marry cutting edge decadence with a wedge of the English seaside. Boy, did he managed that and then some. Today, he holds a Michelin star, the restaurant is constantly
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
£46 may sound like a steep price, but I assure you, it is one of the best investments you will make, when you are looking for something to fill that gaping void when you are feeling utterly ravenous. The proposition in question is the £46 buffet at the 4th floor restaurant inside the guts of Harrods. Yes, it’s that sprawling space past the pet section, with the autopiano running off epic Chinese ballads, and the occasional Whitney Houston belter. The all-you-can-eat includes unlimited return trips of roast rib of beef, leg of lamb or turkey, and occasionally fish (though I didn’t see any) , plus all the trimmings you can afford to pile on to your plate without the mountain of food collapsing before you get back to your table. Not to mention the myriad of salads, cold cured meats, cold seafood, cheese and fruit. This is what I managed on the first trip: Roast lamb, and roast beef and yorkshire puds, gravy and carrots … all on the same plate. Mmmm. But where we got our pennies worth were these superb king prawns… …. some of the juiciest giant shellfish ever to grace a free for all buffet. Seriously, these things could easily pass for £3 a pop at a Caprice outfit or a Hart brothers restaurant. The missus and I kept going back for more and more of
All together now : Medlar is the best new restaurant of 2011. I said it, and I’d love for you guys to agree with me because I love this place to bits. The cooking is eye-wateringly sensational, the pricing is mind boggling slender, service is shy yet charming and the ambiance is that of the perfect neighbourhood restaurant. I’ve not been this excited about a neighbourhood restaurant for a long time coming and I could only thing of one place to visit for my birthday, last weekend. This time, I took with me, a couple of serial restaurant goers in Mark and Carina, who are such, out of necessity because of work, and obviously because they enjoy the lifestyle, and my better and more skeptical half. 12 courses (that’s 3 x 4 palates) later and we were all largely in agreement : Medlar is brilliant. I am a firm believer that great dishes rely upon the individual aspects being cooked correctly. The basics have got to be right, since each element acts like a building block, so that when it’s all assembled, it has the best chance of becoming more than the sum of its parts. Everywhere we sniffed and licked, we were greeted with slick cooking. Take the most basic dish we were served for example, the triple cooked chips, and the in-house whipped béarnaise. Dipping the crusty chips
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
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
5000. How do you even track that? Did they fill up three, four, ten books of names, numbers and dates? It is an insurmountable number, consider someone hanging by the phone to take 5000 calls in a continuous 24 hours period, which works out as 3.5 calls per minute, which translates to a pretty exhaustive day’s work. Yes that’s how many of you and I crashed the lines the day Pollen Street Social started taking reservations, and the last time it happened was… probably when Heston started picking lucky diners for his Dinner outfit at Knightsbridge. Such is anticipation of Jason Atherton’s debut solo venture. Oh it’s a golden era of restaurant openings alright, we thought 2010 was a crazy year for brilliant new players, 2011 has thus far been bigger, better and ever so highly produced. Mr Atherton’s new joint aims to bring his previously groundbreaking concepts at Maze to an unfussable, shrine of a dining room that (conceptually) wants to bring the sexy to social dining. Jason has a cult-like following, he was afterall, considered by many (me) to be Ramsay’s greatest protege. Adding fuel to the fire, PSS opened just in time to host a dinner for the visiting superchefs who were in town to find out how they ranked in the World’s 50 best ceremony (how Iggys managed to not only maintain but improve their position
At last. After months and years of hearsay and delay, Fergus Henderson and Trevor Gulliver’s newest project in the city is finally ready for you and I to throw our cash at it. The hotel occupies enviably concise address of Number One Leicester Square, where it was once Manzi’s seafood restaurant (which incidentally also had a hotel above it) that was, and I quote, as I lift this directly from St John Hotel’s website – Like most London folk Fergus and Trevor have memories of Manzi’s through the years and if it was to have a new life it seemed right that St. John should be the ones to do it. Through the years the building had developed its own extensions, corners and idiosyncracies, the truth was that it needed to be completely rebuilt and this is what has been done. As you know, I love all the Henderson restaurants. From the bare-bones original that started it all 17 years ago in a former smokehouse, St John in Smithfield, to the just bones Bread & Wine in Liverpool Street, and of course, Margot Henderson’s delightful (and I hope soon to be rescued) Canteen based inside the creative hub in Rochelle School at Arnold Circus. Pioneers in making offal sexy to plate up, and pioneers in the zen of the minimalistic approach to dining. And now the minimalistic approach to folded
Camden doesn’t lack restaurants in number, it’s just most aren’t worth the detour. But things are changing. On the surface, one wouldn’t think this bar-café located at a gig venue – serving the purpose of tanking up visitors before any given performance – should suffer the unfortunate scrutiny of a blogger’s dour thoughts. However, after reading the Guy’s glowing review, which had cast the Roundhouse’s little known cafe as the most excellent over-performing underdog, I booked a table for a weekend lunch on Open Table. Off I trotted, on the route 31 toward Camden town. As I entered the semi elliptical room, that followed the contours of the Roundhouse, I couldn’t shake the feeling as if I had walked into a university café, a waiting room ambiance, a departure lounge. At first, I was puzzled with how short the menu seemed. Baked eggs, spicy tomato with yoghurt. Pancakes with blueberry, American style with maple syrup. Grilled banana and chocolate bread. Fried egg, sweet spiced chickpeas, labneh, pangrattato and coriander. Not that it didn’t sound good, but I was actually after the creative, extended small plates menu. Which was not available for lunch over weekends. Can’t say I wasn’t a little bummed. I had my eye on such beautifully described dishes such as the Jerusalem artichokes, walnut and gorgonzola agresto, slow-roasted tomatoes. Lamb, prune and walnut koftas, pearl barley tabbouleh and
The most hotly anticipated London restaurant opening to date has finally opened for business. A quick trawl through the interwebs returns dozens of reviews, blog posts, photographs and genial hype. Expectedly, there is just no shortage of media (virtually and in print) coverage centred around Heston Blumenthal’s first foray into the queasy world of London fine dining. Blumenwho you say? Only one of (if not) the most highly regarded chefs in the universe, famous for his three michelin starred restaurant – The Fat Duck – in Bray, for his obsessively scientific approach in constructing recipes, for the TV show that plotted the reinvention of a road-side diner and for another TV show that had him recreate medieval feasts from myth, legend and history books. Even in post-meal, I have only read one complete review about Dinner (Gill’s), so as to keep my expectations as undiluted as possible. Besides, it was always either gonna win rave reviews or suffer major criticism; In this case, it is the former, a general feeling utter awe. We are barely into 2011, and there are already whispers that this is not only the best new restaurant opening in London this year, but potentially the greatest London restaurant ever created. I was extremely excited to visit this restaurant. Something uniquely in its own league. We are all Heston fans after all. There are four Heston Blumenthal
The long time resident oyster bar at Borough market opened their 2nd London outlet in late 2010, in the very heart of central London. It takes up an entire wing that oversees the courtyard in Kingly Court, with a view of nearby Cha Cha Moon. Alan Yau’s woefully modern noodlebar, which I dread, and which is a place I would only return to, if prices revert to the introductory £3.50-for-every-plate. Fortunately, I may never need to, now that the new Wright Brothers is so conveniently located, staying open all day from lunch through to midnight, I find myself compelled to go shopping, just as an excuse to pop in for a mid afternoon oyster slurping session. Wright Brothers are in fact oystermen themselves, who own the Duchy oyster farm in Cornwall, cultivating over 5 million natives and pacifics every year along the Helford River. I have obviously never visited, but it seems like an interesting weekend trip to conduct one of these days. This positions WBs as one of the most productive oyster farms in GB. Previous to WB Soho, my go-to oyster bars were Bentley’s (damn their oysters are fine) and then to J Sheekeys. If you are an oyster lover like me, you can only appreciate yet another oyster specialist opening in town. The media has thus far graced it with a rather luke-warm reception, though it largely
On paper, this two month old wine bar in Fulham road reads like a winner. A laid back, well decked out bistro atmosphere, a dedicated and extensive wine list and a grazing Anglo-French menu, with fancy charcuterie made in-house and otherwise sourced from artisans in Beaujolais. The Henry Root, like Brawn, are derivatives of the hugely popular Terroirs wine bar in Charing Cross, all three openings have been choreographed by the same group of people. [Update: Nope this statement is not true. The Henry Root is not associated with Terroirs or Brawn at all. My bad, folks. People at Terroirs contacted me to let me know.] At the start of 2011, it looks as if the sharing plates cum wine bar revolution is coming back into vogue. With a bang. Brawn is still high on my list, but I had decided to visit The Henry Root first because it’s much closer to me than the former. Food is prepared by Sang Nguyen who packs premier league experience stinting previously at Orrery, Maze and Le Gav. I googled but failed to turn up on Finn the win guy’s background. But I’m sure it is on equal footing to Sang’s. I really like the decor. It is completely open plan, from the receiving bar, that stretches deeply all the way into the kitchen, visible to diners and skylit. All very clean, comfortable,
The sheer volume of blogposts on Bob Bob Ricard throughout 2010 made the interwebs quite a homogeneous place to read about new things. For a moment in time, BBR was perhaps the trendiest all day, all-booth, Anglo diner in London, complete with
I had a lovely lunch when I visited the then pop-up version of Dock Kitchen in October last year. It was part of Stevie (and kitchen buddy Joe Trivelli)’s mobile restaurant project titled “The Moveable Kitchen” which began at the height of the underground
Hawksmoor has great PR, one of the early champions of blogs, it has since gone on to utilise and charm the medium with great success. Generally speaking, you guys – ie, people who read online food ramblings – love Hawksmoor. And I suppose, as a viable business
Whatever reservations I may have about the man and his empire, I respect El Gordo’s achievements above all and can’t help but admire the sheer talent that has passed through his stables. Ramsay’s first class have all but graduated, they now lead their
The man is almost too beautiful to be a chef. As we ended the meal, I told our waiter to give our...
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AKA …where Kang spent most of his moolah this year. The time has come to reflect on...
Who comes up with all this fiction just for a restaurant? This is the persuasive language...
My food writing invariably boils down to a caricature of self-indulgent cliched hyperbole or...
