Ah, Chinatown. One can only love it and loathe it, at the very same time. I despise Chinatown like the way I despise the way Justin Bieber’s bobcut falls over his forehead. I may well be the last person in London who will write nice things about the state of Chinese food in London but at the same time, I love it for the very same reasons. Firstly, for the rude service, what was once a spectacle at Wong Kei, has now become a culture spreading rapidly across restaurants in Soho, perhaps even an act worthy of its own Westend matinee; Secondly and more pressingly for the transient standard of cooking – It could be great on Monday nights, but total piss by Friday noon.

On the otherhand, whenever I exit Leicester Square station, the smell of roast duck, bbq pork (and piss) takes away any and all anxieties, hope is immediately restored in this culinary wasteland.

The Sichuan fad was something I never fully understood, and am still scratching my head over. To me, it’s oil, sichuan pepper, luncheon meat, more oil, more bud numbing pepper and yet more oil. But you lot love this stuff, no doubt with a helping article or two from the revered queen of Sichuanese writing – Fuchsia Dunlop. Which leads me to the Empress of Lisle Street, the Queen of Sichuan food in London, as far as the blogs will have you believe. I don’t think I’ve seen so many positive reviews about a Chinese restaurant before. Opened last year, the kitchen is helmed by Kang Dong, his track record includes stints at a presumably upmarket Hotel in the Sichuan Province in China. His profile graces the opening page of the menu describing how his style had conquered many palates in the Far East before he was whisked away to London.

Curiosity had the better of me, and for the smell of siu lap, as well as the positive scribblings of Mr Coren and Ms Maschler plastered outside, it was inevitable that I give this crowd favourite a sample.

Marinated Chicken in Spicy Sauce, £7.

Or Saliva Chicken as it is, in Mandarin.

I took Mark, Carin and the better half, who is much better versed in Chinese cooking than I am. The chicken was cold, wet, oily and spicy – as saliva chicken should be. A regular feature of Sichuan restaurants.

Hot and sour Rice Noodle, £6.

The glass noodles, made from potato starch, were bouncy and chewy and generally tasty. The hot and sour soup was merely adequate. I’m not quite the fan of this contrast, but it is adored by the Taiwanese. The perfect balance of being on the verge of just spicy enough and tethering on the edge of being just sour enough is a highly sought after equilibrium. It is, I am told by the fiercest lovers of this soup, a condition that is hardly satisfied. This version was much too toned down.

Hot and Fiery beef slices and tripe , £7.50.

Ah but it is so much more exciting in Mandarin, called ‘Husband and Wife Lung Slices’. The name is either meant to symbolise a kind of duality, in this case the combination of tripe and beef, or it’s suppose to indicate the mythology behind the genesis of this dish – that it was first served by husband & wife who operated a food cart in Chengdu in the 1930s, or point to the traditional myth that the recipe could use either lung, heart or tripe to accompany the beef slices. It was pretty salty.

Five spice dry beancurd, £5.

Seasoned with Five spice powder or ‘Wu Xiang Fen’. It comes as a premix which you can get in a jar at your local Sainsbury.

Steamed ‘Dong Po’ Pig’s joint, £13.80.

Su Dongpo was a famous 11th century Chinese poet, he wrote stuff like this:

Morning came, rain past.
What trace is left?
A pond full of broken duckweed.

Deep no?

Aside from playing his part in shaping Chinese literature, Mr Su is also credited for accidentally a pork dish, which by our best guesstimation, is what this dish is named after. As it is claimed (on Wiki) :

It is said that once during his free time, Su Dongpo decided to make stewed pork out of boredom. Then an old friend visited him in the middle of the cooking and challenged him to a game of Chinese chess. Su had totally forgotten of the stew during the game until a very fragrant smell came out from his kitchen and he was reminded of it. Thus Dongpo’s Pork (東坡肉), a famous dish in Chinese cuisine, was created by accident.

So goes the story.

I’ve never had steamed trotters before, or at least not trotters in a sort of braised stew fashion. I thought this was a great trotters recipe. The meat was so tender, it fell off the bone easily, very juicy and full of flavour. I enjoyed it immensely. Most of all, the sauce was very good. Rich, salty and also a little sweet. I liked it because it carried no hint of numbness, no spiciness, no pepper, who knew if it was or was not Sichuan, all we knew was that we loved it. Oh weeping duckweeds.

Zhong’s (secret) dumplings, £4.40.

We overheard on twitter about these secret house dumplings. They were ok. Homely, nothing special to shout about.

Crab with salted egg yolk, £17.50.

Salted duck eggs to be exact. Salted egg yolk sauce is Cantonese, as far as I know, but if you get a chance, either here or Pearl Liang, you must order something with salted egg yolks.

Anything with salted egg yolk is a winner. Deep fried prawns with salted egg yolk is win, fish fillet with salted egg yolk is a win and so is an entire fried crab crusted in a salted egg yolk armour.

I thought this was sensational, mostly because they used alot of egg yolk in this recipe. The more the merrier really. The eggs are cured either in brine or salted charcoal. The yolk usually comes out florescent orange. My mum used to make congee with salted eggs and dried scallops for Sunday breakfast, but personally I used to love mixing boiled salted eggs with steam rice, or even with fried rice. I could eat this stuff everyday.

Anyway I do digress, so the only problem with the chunky crab was that it became a little messy to take the monster apart. Otherwise, what an awesome dish.

We drank alot of Sunlik beer, and we paid £103.50 in total for four.

This was a reasonably good meal. I can understand the fanfare and I feel that it is largely justified. Good Chinese restaurants are getting harder to come by, so considering the slim pickings, Empress scores well above the average, in my opinion. In any case, a meal out at any Chinese restaurant won’t break the bank, so even if it didn’t live up to the hype, you won’t have to deal with any alarming financial ramifications.

So let’s see, that’s Pearl Liang, Wing Yip Cricklewood and Empress for the slightly posher (very slight) but still good valued Chinese dinner.

The Gist of It

Empress of Sichuan
Chinese, £35pp
6 Lisle Street WC2H 7BG
Tel : 0207 734 8128
Tube : Leicester Square

In other news… Giles Coren ; Guy Dimond ; London Chow ; Asian Food Adventures ; Catty ; ILTEAETL ; Pig Pig’s Corner ; Mr Noodles ; Chopstix to Steaknives

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

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 bed linen.

This really is a half-arsed write-up because, I didn’t stay in one of the fifteen rooms at St John Hotel, observing the St John ethos, since I did not require a post-supper room, as it was a light lunch (by St John standards) , with fellow glutton Mark.

We did take a drink at the 1st floor bar, and whilst navigating the narrow building, it felt a little like navigating a cruise ship. Perhaps it were the porthole windows present ,seemingly, on every door. I’d imagine that Fergus the Architect, had a hand in redesigning the former Manzi’s. The famously efficient St John ambiance extends throughout the entire building. Clean, white lines run everywhere throughout the hotel.

That’s it, close your eyes for a moment, and try to recall your last experience of St John… the hotel restaurant is near enough a carbon copy of the original, save for that it is in the middle of Soho. I suppose it is apt that Fergus has returned to this part of town, after all, he did once operate the dining room (at what is now Polpetto) at the French House in a previous century.

The ground floor restaurant looks a tad smaller than Bread & Wine, and the white tablecloths, exposed steel kitchen, equally pristinely presented waiters, wooden flooring, wooden chairs and the now famous sourdough are as consistently present, and similar to the rest of the eateries that bear the St John brand.

So it was little surprise to find the same waste-not menu, typed out on a sheet on A4, with the day’s date, indicating an ever changing menu, just like the other St Johns.

Breakfast, elevenses, lunch and supper are now joined by little bun moments, room service, and the kitchen opens shop at 7 in the morning, and stays that way pretty much into the wee hours. Where I believe it will have the honour of joining the Chinese restaurants in the area to serve hot food till two in the morning.

No roast bone marrow on this Sunday menu however. At least not yet.

Pig Skin, £3.50

It wasn’t on the menu, but Mark spied Fergus and his buddies trying out this dish still in its experimental stages, as he took his drink at the bar, and he became so enchanted with it, he was determined to try it. “Just like Quavers” “Dehydrated first” “Let me ask the chef if we are allowed to serve you this” , after receiving three cautions, our waiter gleefully handed a bowl of them. We could still hear them crackle and pop, still piping hot from being fried. The sheer airy lightness was eerily like quavers, and perhaps a little like Chinese prawn crackers too. It was fun, and a nice alternative to the excellent basket of St John’s sourdough.

Pigs Head, Rabbit, Radishes & Frisee Endive £7.50

Salty, savoury, bouncy, seasoned, a hint of brawn and a hint of floss, a light and delightful terrine, with an efficient mustard spike salad, that was classic St John. It was as expected, fresh and tasted just right.

Brown Shrimp, Artichoke & Egg, £9.00

With bits of crushed crostini, a little sandy, capery, salty, fresh and also refreshingly efficient. Yet another elegant classic that had St John written all across it.

Bacon & Snails, £19.00

The sort of controlled mess-hall grub, a meal reduced to essentials, the brilliance of the St John style being it’s utter simplicity. Knobs of intensely flavoured bacon, with shallots and a handful of snails, with its juices making a light broth; I dip the bread into the sauce. I like the hearty, home-cooked feeling I receive afterward.

Tripe & Onions, £16.50

A St John meal would be incomplete without ordering at least one dish of offal. As expected the tripe was not one for the faint palate, smothery, rich, muscular and a smell strong enough that it was bordering offensive territory. Mark took down all but one last square of tripe. I commend him.

Blood Orange Jelly, £7.00

In the end, we ended the meal with something playful, a zestful, entirely wobbly blood orange jelly, served with shortbread, clotted cream and shards of blood orange.

We were a little surprised at the price, £109.24 plus coffee and two glasses of wine, but we were both very satisfied. We came expecting a St John meal, and it was exactly what we got.

All the minimal, muscular magic in the nose to tail cooking is retained. The full St John experience had been successfully transposed to Chinatown and it was alive, kicking and very delicious. Tom Harris (the former sous chef at St John) is doing just fine, even if it was only their second official day of service.

If you google the Henderson’s track record in hospitality, you would find snippets and of love letters written about the true London restaurateurs who had burst on to the scene with the French House. A time when food lovers spread the good word about their favourite haunts the old fashion way, by mouth, and probably by way of obscure internet forums. What it must have felt like to be a witness during those times. Days when MPW hadn’t yet throw in the apron, and PK was still rocking the trotters at Tante Claire. I suppose in many ways, St John Hotel is testimony of an enduring legacy. Proof that the once ground-breaking concept of nose to tail has flourished, succeeded and now, universally respected. No longer is it a mere fascination to a creative crowd, this is a bona fide institution that has grown immensely in the last two decades. Today, they exert (at least to the observer) a total influence on their supply chain, with the new St John bakery and also in their support of wine makers by selling their precious elixirs as St John Wines. As a fan, it is nice to see that success hasn’t changed the ever winning nose to tail philosophy. The dead-pan, precise and efficient cooking is still ever enjoyable.

If you ever feel like elegantly minimal British cooking and are not afraid of heavy, meaty and potential bits of offal, I (still) wholeheartedly recommend giving St John a go.

The Gist of It

St John Hotel
Made in London, £50pp
1 Leicester St WC2H 7BL
Tel: +44 (0) 203 301 8069
Tube: Leicester Square

More photos on my flickr page.

Out there: Grumbling Gourmet

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

Talk about being hidden away. Not only are Seoul Bakery based in a pocket of real estate behind The Centrepoint, which so few venture to, that going there is like remembering to clean behind your ears (unless if you happened to take a wrong turn, from the buzz of picking up your next Les Paul in Denmark St); This Korean cucina goes out of its way to mask the fact that they serve actual hot, savoury delicious and completely edible food. As if it weren’t enough, they appear to occupy half a shop connected to a hair salon (Azito). They also are not a bona fide bakery, as the name might suggest.

Isn’t that just the coolest? And doncha just love it when you stumble across the weirdly, uniquely and dangerously indie-like caffes? It reminds me of the kind of hole in the wall cafe which I frequented during my time in Sydney. And while the indie-feel cafe movement is really only just starting up in London (hard to believe, we still ain’t over the non-committal pop-up phase yet), it is something which I think, we Londoners are beginning to totally crave now.

Remember Rochelle Canteen? God I sure hope we did all we could to keep that little gem of a food haven open. We’ll hear soon in April.

The space is minute, a rich tapestry consisting of apparently genuine writings on the walls, each uniquely scratched in by visitors over the duration of its existence. From the sheer variety of the messages – most of which appears to be written in Korean, as I can’t make out most of it – it does seem like Seoul Kitchen has been going for a while, and those who go there, appear to have established a deeper connection to it. It’s real, it’s human and the sociable aspect wasn’t lost on me, on this visit.

It appears to only be manned by two people, who take turn in taking orders while managing the kitchen in between to churn out the goods.

Bulgogi Beef Roll.

The ‘fire meat’ roll for a more literal translation (so says wiki), was a pleasant, homely start to the evening. Beef could have probably done with a little more wetness, but hey, this was not place to be an elitist food snob. I loved it, and it was fine.

Kimchi pancake.

Astute Korean cuisine lovers will remind me of the kimchee pancake good work being carried out in Koba, and while this won’t win any gongs, we enjoyed it just the same, if not better, for the sheer honesty in the cooking. It’s homely babes, and it was (also) fine.

Bibimbap.

Egg, bulgogi, rice, cucumber, sliced carrots, beansprouts and what appears to be rocket leaves. Easy food for the easy rider.

I can’t remember how much we paid. Probably £15 plus bottled aloe vera juice, and a can of grape juice. If you happen to be floating about St Giles, I suggest skipping the views at Paramount, bring your iPad with you, some post-it notes, and leave a little sentiment behind at Seoul Bakery.

The Gist of It

Seoul Bakery
Korean, £12pp
55 St. Giles High Street WC2H 8
Tube: Tottenham Court Road

For reference: Kimchi Soul

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

All hail the gods of charcoal, keeper of the exalted flames, oh revered and magnanimous Ganko Ojisan, for I require six allotments of your juiciest chicken oysters. I imagine this place would be a hit on weekends what with its convenient location in Soho and for its appreciably straightforward and tasty grilled goodiness. Good for groups, but flexible enough for quick solo bites, a true alternative to pizza, a burger, ice cream or even duck rice and much cheaper than Roka.

Yes, this was once the Bincho at Oxo Tower, now relocated to Old Compton Street, and soon expanding into Central Saint Giles. Food was always going to play second fiddle to the view from Oxo, but now that it has moved, I wonder if certain sunset appreciators will miss it. The concept remains largely intact, the chefs still don black bandanas behind the charcoal and the main offerings are still Yakotori (grilled bird) and Kushiyaki (anything but bird). Additionally, there are salads, rice dishes but no sushi.

Their USP is a three pronged attack: Firstly the grill is flown from Japan, secondly their Yakitori sauce will blow your tastebuds to smithereens and lastly, the use of the mysterious binchō-tan, a white charcoal (also from Japan) made from oak that sounds like metal when struck (its inherent quality is so unique, wind chimes are made from it), and is chosen chiefly because of this burnt wood’s innate ability to heat up, be smokeless and free of odour.

Hajime!

I started with a glass of Kyoto Fushimizu sake, brewed with miyamizu, ‘heavenly water’ from Nishinomiya, a city in Hyogo, Japan. Interestingly, the waiter told me the overflow from the glass to the masu (square box made from cedar) it was served it, was not decorative. He told me to let the sake flow, and to drink from the box as the cedar would help bring out more sake-ness in the rice wine – an ancient tradition so I read.

We start with the Kushiyaki.

Unagi £5 for two skewers.

Prices are listed per skewer, but the minimum order is two, which is fine by me. So it appears the charcoal has done its business, allowing the surface of any meat (or unagi in this case) to be reduced to a incrustatial state of crustiness, burning out the exterior which in turn creates a dry contrast enough for one to notice the protected, interior wetness and thus giving rise to the sensation of well sealed juices. That first bite of sizzling smoke rushing into your mouth is heady, burn me baby.

Sea bream £4.60

Unfortunately, bincho-tan doesn’t work well with fish, this was tepid, dried-out and tough.

I should note that food flew out from the charcoal grill very speedily, we probably waited no more than 5 minutes.

Beef ribs £5.20

Similarly, I found the beef rib was too much like warmed-up beef jerky with lashings of a sweet and sticky sauce. It was ok.

We avoided the vegetables almost entirely.

Yakitori time.

Duck breast, spring onion and wasabi £4.40

The grilled birds are much, much better, I was astounded at how much juicier and fleshier this was, redolent of a campfire barbecue.

Chicken Oysters £4.00

Bincho will happily grill and serve any part of the chicken so long as they have it in the kitchens, so if you have a particular craving for chicken bum (which some do), then you can request it off the menu.

Great balls of fire…. the chicken oysters, fantastic! The oyster is a ball of meat found on the backbone and attached to the chicken’s thigh, so succulent that I would be a fool not to order it. Juicy, brawny, bouncy and smoky – when you go, you must order these pearls of joy, it is as good as chicken will ever get.

Chicken Skin £1.50

Probably even better than the chicken oysters were these crispy, crunchy and oily chicken skin on skewers. Naturally, it is full of natural buttery flavour, almost a tad too salty, but that’s where the rice comes in.

Oyako don, £5.50

Actually, I wanted the buttered garlic rice, but the waitress had one of these electronic touch screen ordering gizmos, where the order goes straight to the kitchen as she took it down… annoyingly when I changed my mind, she said the kitchen had probably started prepping it, so she wanted to avoid the hassle of running downstairs to change it, and urged me to stick with the oyako don. Puppy dog eyes ensued. Hmm… How much for service again?

Thankfully, this was a heartily warming bowl of rice topped with generous slices of chicken. Not quite megalamous portions however, as say when compared to Sakura, but rice was a necessity to balance out all that salt and protein.

Pre-theater menu £9.99. While I indulged in my a la carte, the missus had been quietly working her way through her superbly well valued set dinner.

The set comes with salad (with salmon), a bowl of rice and a selection of grilled meat.

Pork belly, chicken wing, chicken, salmon, shitake mushrooms and asparagus… all brilliantly juicy and smoky. In contrast to the dried out seabream, the salmon was juicy, but perhaps that’s partly because of the inherent oiliness.

The bill came to £56.13, which broke down to about £40 for my alacarte, and £16 for the missus’ pre-theatre and short Asahi. So be careful with this one, it can balloon to a pretty pricy affair if you order carelessly. Deceptively Chinese staff, undeniably camp chillout background music, what’s not to like? I would revisit. It sure beats Eds Diner… and I’ll follow this up with a visit to Tosa just for the sake of comparison.

The restaurant filled up as the evening wore on, I noted a few solo diners who really seemed to enjoy taking their time ordering skewer, after skewer, after skewer and I can see how this can easily become an addiction. Not everything was amazing, I would avoid the beef or pork; The yakitori on the other hand, is generally fabulous. Do keep an eye out for their specials, which on my visit were priced at £1.50 per skewer, and represented fantastic value for money. Otherwise, the ‘Seven Samurai’ for £10 is a good place to start, if you are struggling with choice. Although, I would say it’s all about the chicken oysters and chicken skin. Choose wisely and you shall be rewarded.

The Gist of It

Bincho
Japanese, £30pp
16 Old Compton Street W1D 4TL
Tel: 0207 287 9111
Tube: Leicester Square

Grilling the Birds: Gourmet Traveller ; Suzie’s Notes ; Greedy Diva ; Susan Loves Food ; Grumble Mouse ; Fay Maschler (covering the original OXO Tower iteration)

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.

Luckily Mark and his better half had already secured a table for us, I was fashionably late as usual. When I arrived, I had to push my way past an army of hungry fans falling in line to make a short queue outside the blue noren which shielded the noodle shop. Inside, the barely furnished restaurant was rumbling with the chatter of hungry noodlers. On service, a bearded man who we assumed was owner John Devitt led a party of two waitresses, barely keeping up with customer turnover. The efficiency extended to its décor, cream walls and square tiles for flooring, so reminiscent of modest cafes in Asia.

There are more than 600 Udon restaurants of a similar vein in the Kagawa prefecture (formerly the Sanuki province) of Southern Japan where Sanuki udon originates. Koya’s zen-like objective is to import this experience of teuchi style (hand-made) Sanuki udon to the Big Smoke. This Udon-ya has barely been open for a month, but already word of mouth regarding John Devitt’s lovely addition to Soho has spread like wild fire. In fact, by the time you read this customary blog post, you would most likely have already tried the slurpy noodles yourself. The secret to its success due in part to the mythology behind the in-house kneading techniques. The udon is freshly made on-site daily. John has been leaking information to the press regarding the methods he has in place which includes kneading by foot for a number of hours, albeit covered in plastic canvas to quell hygienic concerns. I did a quick search for this aforementioned process, and had found a recipe for making udon, step 1 (after prepping the wheat flour mix) is known as ashibumi or ‘stepping on the dough‘. I imagine similar steps would be undertaken by John and his team at Koya to create their prized product.

Devitt – a former chef at Zafferano – employs two key pointmen in his kitchen, Shuko Oda and Junya Yamasaki, both of whom have had stints in Kunitoraya in Paris, which unsurprisingly also specialises in Udon.

The menu’s only noodle offering is udon with a choice of it being served hot in a hot broth (Atsu-Atsu); cold in hot (Hiya-Atsu) or cold in cold (Hiya-Hiya). Consistent with the custom of having warm noodles for winter, and cool noodles for hot summers. Hiya! Accompanying the noodles are a selection of ‘Donburi’ – rice + meat/veg bowl – as well as a number of small dishes such as tsukemono (home made pickle), Kakuni (pork belly) and Umeboshi (pickled plum).

We kicked things off at London’s premier Udon-ya with a single Onsen Tamago (£2).

I poked into the delicately cooked hot spring egg to reveal a half custard-like yolk with the other half turned into a viscous golden liquid that spilled onto the cold dashi soup it was served with. I really enjoyed the velvety texture of the softly egg. Boiled in their own shells at a low heat of around 70C, this gave the egg-whites a cloud-like feel, and the yolk, a flocculent texture.

Kakuni, Braised Pork Belly in Cider (£5.50)

Juicily flossy pork belly cooked in cider gave it a sweet, effervescent quality, though I found that the sogginess damped the flavours slightly.

Cod Tempura £5.50

The last of the small dishes were exquisitely battered pieces of cod, a decidedly light crunch that hid silken flakes of lively cod pieces. The juicy fish nuggets were accompanied by thinly sliced deep-fried lotus-root chips, sweet and salty. A magnificent primer for the main event to come.

Hiya-Atsu, Hiyashi Buta Miso. Cold udon with hot miso pickled pork soup. (£7.50)

The cold udon was presented on a zaru (bamboo basket) , with sprinklings of chopped nori (dried seaweed). I marvelled at the footmanship by picking up long strands of udon with my chopsticks to stretch it as far as my outstretched shoulder would allow. The noodles glistened under the lights, had wonderful elasticity, rubbery to touch, slightly sticky to feel and the friction it created between my lips as I inhaled them made satisfactory zippy noises. The rubbery texture had also reminded me of sago pearls used in bubble milk tea. The noodles were in full koshi glory when cold, koshi being the Japanese term to describe the evenly sticky, spongy bounce of noodles, analogous to being al dente.

Their base stock, the dashi is made with using imported katsuo-arabushi (Fermented and dried Japanese skipjack tuna), souda-bushi (another type of smoked and dried fish) and iriko (dried anchovy) and boy, was it strong. Minced pork pieces sat at the bottom of the intensely flavoured dashi base – an extreme hit of salt on my palate, perhaps a tad too salty to have on its own, but with the noodles – it was godsend, bringing about a bouquet of deep, deep flavours to the noodles. Yummy. I should add that the pork dashi was the perfect dip for the cod tempura too. I scooped some of the udon into the soup, to see how and if time in the soup would change its texture. It did, how interesting. As I progressively slurped the noodles, I noticed how the ‘koshi-ness‘ changed from sticky spongy to slippery spongy as the juices of the soup seeped into the noodles. After perhaps a couple of minutes in the soup, it hit just the right texture and consistency. The noodles didn’t sit in the hot soup long enough for them to become soggy. I didn’t allow it. It was that good.

One bowl of noodles is roughly £8, but you could easily have two or perhaps share a third one because the udon are excellent. There is something very strangely addictive about chewing on sticky, elastic noodles that goes far beyond words can describe. I suppose it’s akin to pizza, or a burrito or I guess a very good Spag-Bol. I could easily do this for lunch every day. Indeed if you do a swift check on twitter during lunch time, you will likely find a good proportion of the London foodie republic doing exactly that. After all, this explains the popularity of very good hand-made noodles being consumed over lunch hour across much of Asia. Simple pleasures.

Affordable, quick, deliciously springy noodles, some say a ‘healthy’ alternative and a novelty factor to boot, what’s not to like? Now get your grease-laden arse down there now right now and make lots of slurping sounds when inhaling your noodles, it’s only etiquette.

The Gist of It

Koya official site
£12pp Japanese, Udon-ya.
49 Frith St W1D 4SG
Tel : 020 7434 4463
Tube : Leicester Square

Gospel Elsewhere: Marina for Metro ; Charmaine for Time Out London ; Foreignmuck on Chowhound ; Will Eat for Money

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

Getting a table at this rather cosy restaurant is a bona fide challenge, even in light of its rather low-profile existence. I don’t think it has a web page. It does however have a fervent following spreading the good word on the intertubes. Twitter was equally in love with Andrew Edmunds (same people perhaps?). I pieced together a coherent picture of this hidden gem of a restaurant through the online dining community channels, which I am unofficially apart of. Enthusiast restaurant collectors abound. I failed to secure a table on three separate occasions, but I persisted anyway till I managed one in earlier this year. I needed to try Edmunds because it intrigued me so much. The last time I felt this way was discovering the equally elusive Dinings.

I was to meet with two of the coolest peeps who run two of the coolest websites on the internet. Helen the former world foodie guide and now a living legend in internet foodie terms, so to speak; Garson the consummate street photographer, custodian of the ‘Garson blur’ and my unofficial mentor of sorts, I’ve learnt so much from him already. So Food & Photography. I couldn’t be in better company. It was a slippery Friday night in January, the snow refusing to melt from the storm which had hit us the year before. The front door at Edmunds was as grey as the January gloom. I was a little surprised at how modest the décor actually was. The restaurant was well-worn, but well-maintained and with an aged character that felt genuine. Space was necessarily wanting. Twisting and turning as I made my way past the narrow gaps in between the backs of chairs. Our table was in the basement, the chatter cuts off as I enter the cellared surroundings. I prefer the upstairs area, where the lowly light ambiance is as romantic as word of mouth suggests. The menu was a hand-written photocopy, perhaps a suggestion that it is refreshed on a frequent basis. A mix of efficient British and Eurocentric recipes, dare I say, a kind of precursor to gastropubs. Anyway let’s just dive into the food.

I started with the roast woodcock on toast.

The natural game saturated my palate, heavily-seasoned, and with an intensity just enough to distract from feeling the pinch of the game. Complete with a lovely baked comfort and a texture still juicy, with the bird just a tad pink. Oh I loved this, such a rustic accomplishment.

And here are a peek at what H and G were having.

G is vegetarian, so naturally he had a salad. Fortunately company was so unbelievable good that I forgot to jot down what he had. He did appear to have enjoyed it though.

And here is Helen’s dressed crab.

I found their choice of (or lack of) styling quite abit puzzling. The distance between the shell of the crab and the dollop of aioli (or was it mayo?) made it look so empty. Helen also seemed to have enjoyed this.

This is one of those rare occasions where I behaved myself and didn’t reach across the table to steal food from neighbouring plates. I tend to think of it as a sort of ‘Blogger tax’. Blogger tax usually comes with a 2 minute wait, for photos.

Helen’s scallop risotto.

Ah, this I did have a small sample, not enough to deliver a full blown assessment, though my tastebuds did register a similar response to its heavenly appearance.

G’s mushroom tagliatelle.

I noted the substantial portions of every course, it seems the chef is genuinely in the business of satiating appetites. I didn’t give this a go, but G seemed pleased with it, it was redolent.

And finally, my turn : Pork Belly, apple puree, mash.

I was bemused when they handed me a large knife, but it all made sense when this dish landed. A herculean plate of food. Chunks of sliced pork belly glistened under the spotlights, it looked so good, I was struggling to refrain myself from poking a finger as I took pictures. Hearty and homey aromas steaming quite visibly from the meat. Oh gosh, what regal texture. The juices go everywhere as I bit into it, so hearty and so beautifully roasted. The mash was equally so, buttery. The best bits though were the apple puree and a large slab of crunchy crackling which they had left to one side on the dish. I picked it up with my hands and ate it like I was chewing down on a Cuban. Not that I smoke cigars. What a remarkable example of this most classic of dishes.

We each ended with rather safe if classic puddings. Treacle tart, toffee pudding and a slice of white chocolate, pistachio cake. All in all… G very kindly paid for the meal, so I need to thank him for this. I’ve promised to return the gesture on our next meet. Yeah I believe it. I can seen why the Edmunds charm has seduced so many. It was fully booked on a Friday evening, barely room for outstretched elbows, or even to undo the top button on my trousers. I thoroughly enjoyed my meal at Edmunds, not for phenomenal nor ground-breaking cuisine, but for recreating solid recipes which were – very simply – cooked well. It is completely unpretentious, is a place I would not hesitate to revisit, and also is a restaurant which I wouldn’t mind taking visitors to; something uniquely local. I can think of mustier, smaller and older looking joints in and around Soho for those of you searching for evocative romantic evenings, but many will not match the kitchen’s output at Edmunds. Maybe Giaconda Dining Room. I would put both restaurants in the same category. Soho’s modestly hidden British restaurants, reticent, accomplished and comforting. It is discoveries such as this that make the hunt to develop a palate such an exhilarating adventure. I do wonder about the history of it’s name, though it might be better if I never found out to protect its mystique. Recommended.

The Gist of It

Andrew Edmunds, £30pp
46 Lexington Street, Soho W1F 0LW
Tel : 0207 437 5708
Tube : Leicester Square
Reviews elsewhere : David Sexton ; TimeOut London ; The Silver Spoon ; Intoxicating Prose

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

There is money behind J Sheekey. The ultimate owner, Richard Caring bought the Caprice galaxy of restaurants, amongst other things for a cool £30m in 2005 with a view to transform it into a superbrand of luxury eateries. This very group also includes some old time establishments such as Le Caprice and the Ivy which at some point in history represented the pinnacle of fine dining and celeb watching in London. Observers (Camilla Long for the Times) had already noted his master plan to turn this group of highly polished establishments into a synchronised design for the discerning taste master and occasional Londoner. Whatever the case, the high production values behind J Sheekey and it’s sister restaurants (both in London and elsewhere) must be working. A swift google search will bring up at least a handful of glowing remarks on this historic restaurant which has been serving fish to the public from the same site since the late 1800s. As recently as late 2008, Sheekey had expanded their premises to include an all wood, all shiny brass Oyster bar next to it’s dining room, though it is interesting to read up on reports which claim that Josef Sheekey, a local fishmonger and the original owner, had started his eponymous brand as an oyster bar anyway.

J Sheekey had been high on my to-eat list not because I bought into Caring’s idea of the ideal social life; instead I was intrigued with a colleague of mine who had incessantly recommended this restaurant to me on my birthday, for each of the three years I’ve worked with him. He celebrates all his special occasions at J Sheekey. What amazing customer loyalty, surely Caring must either be practising voodoo or that management are realising his money with shocking consistency. I tend to believe it is the former. As one can appreciate, this fish restaurant caters to immeasurable flavours from the deep, including your oysters and lobsters as well as eggs topped with sevruga – oh so modestly priced at £75 a go. Carnivores are not forgetten of course, a princely choice of chicken, rump of lamb and rib eye steak round out the fish heavy menu.

Alright, alright I admit. I turned up on a Sunday with no intention of splashing on the eggs benedict royale. Rather it was meant to be a swift meal with a fellow taste champion after a hard slog at the mass photographers’ gathering in January. I was saving up for my eventual trip to Taiwan and so the weekend lunch menu priced at £25.50 made all too much sense.

Starters, Pan fried duck eggs, mushrooms, toasted brioche.

So starters were breakfast on a warm plate. Served with toasted mushrooms and toasted brioche, which was a thick bread airy and full of holes, and which carried a mild charness to its crunchy bite. Ah then my tastebuds failed me: either the eggs were garnished with some sort of zest flavoured ketchup; or it was probably the juices from the hedgehog mushrooms seeping into the vinegar and olive oil. Either way, it tasted good. Simplicity that married up nicely – the charred toast with the milky yolk and the toasty mushrooms. yummy.

Mains – Cornish Pollock.

I usually prefer fish to be cooked just ever so slightly under. It means that the fish is still flaky and yet manage a consistent spring in its texture. And I judged this Pollock to be cooked to those parameters, just the way I like it. It was well salted, which brought out all the fleshy flavour, and the fish flaked off with the slightest prick of the fork. The cream sauce, dense, carried a mild flavour, with a mellow fragrance of leek and saffron. Accompanied by juicy river exe mussels and a coarsely tussled mash, the dish was another exemplary example of refined simplicity.

Finally, dessert : Orange treacle tart.

Up to this point, I had been singing the praises, when the pudding appeared before us, I was positively on my feet. It filled our side of the room with regal aromas. The waiter left us with a jug of custard and pouring the golden juice onto the orange sponge was strangely satisfying. The tart was very warm, distinctly light and dizzyingly sweet. Successful execution once again.

You know what, I thought my meal at J Sheekey was consistent. Every dish was clinical, every dish was beautifully cooked and everything about the place highly produced but here’s the beauty – in and amongst all that world beating elegance, it felt gregarious, almost as if I was dining in Josef Sheekey’s original and very humble (if ever it was) oyster bar. In the end, I cannot say that I would celebrate every special occasion at J Sheekey, but on evidence, this is a place I would pay serious attention to, and quite possibly visit again and give their seafood a closer look. I realise I hadn’t spoken about the decor yet, well like the food, it is refined, it glistens with a noble and largely old world charm – wood, cream curtains and flawless white tablecloths. If this is the way Richard Caring decides I should eat, then I’m signing up to the Club at Ivy.

More photographs on my flickr account here.

Links to other reviews : Gourmet Chick, Boo in London, Londonelicious

The Gist of It

J Sheekey Official Site £25.50 weekend lunch menu
28-31 Saint Martin’s Court
London WC2N 4AL
020 7240 2565

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

A little while ago, I met with Laissez fare, a fellow foodblogger for dinner and I walked away quite amazed with his wealth of knowledge regarding restaurants in London and otherwise. A kindred spirit and a gentlemen, my impression of this guy was that he just loved to eat out. So our conversations started with the obvious heavily promoted big guns around town and from there, it led him to speak about his favourite bars in town – especially the hidden ones which aren’t talked about as much. It turns out there is a plush bar on the 3rd floor of Le Atelier de Joël Robuchon, yes that international sensation situation in Soho and which is proudly one of only seven institutions in London to hold two coveted michelin stars. So here’s what I know, Joel Robuchon’s team sent out a newsletter to their clientele on the 20th Jan 2010 informing the public that starting from the 21st, the Le Salon Bar would effectively turn into a setting for a spot of ‘low tea’, every week from Thursday through Saturday, 3 to 5 pm. I suppose this would make for a good meeting place to discuss business toward the end of the working week and so on. My partner in crime was smitten with the concept and instantly booked our first available friday afternoon off to sample their afternoon tea selection. But first, a few words regarding their lavish circumstances.

Slick. Very much so. The black and red theme consistent with the Robuchon brand is written across the entire setup. There are lots of soft furnishings to sink my overweight body into, ahh… We chose a corner table by the blinded off windows, and also for it’s oversized single person sofas. It would appear the boys at Sketch have serious competition.

I’m no expert on interior design, but while the concept of La Salon is similar in spirit to the laid back elegance of the two star restaurant downstairs; the bar just feels a tad more opulent. While it appears like it could be a pretty stuffy place, the waiters are down to earth and made us feel right at home.

Right then, let’s talk about the food, there isn’t much on offer as it’s just high tea. £14 per person gets you their tea selection.

We were given a choice with regards to teas which included a myriad of exotic choices. My half chose the jasmine pearls, I was explore my feminine side with rosebuds infused tea…. yeah, turns out I don’t like rosebud infused tea. As we went before the 14th of Feb (er… my apologies for not posting this earlier), we were given a complimentary shot of raspberry cheesecake – Vanilla fragrance followed by a rich red fruit bomb, refreshing. The main event is a two tier stand; it’s dinkier than I had expected, and I went on an empty stomach – foolish I know. On the top tier are the La gougères au persil with red pepper and parsley – a sort of cheese stuffed pastry balls. These were delicious, served warm, the appenzeller cheese sauce stuffing was much like a creamy bechamel and with just a hint of dairy stink. Went down really well, I could easily have ten more. Onto the bottom tier, an assortment of sweet pastry. I started with the frangible mandelines. A sophisticated golden centre made from peaches, gave it a regal taste. The mandeline was then masterfully wrapped with an ultra skinny mandarin marmalade layer, so consistent it glistened in the light. Nice. Other pretentiously dinky pastries included a wafer thin chocolate and coconut biscuit made in size of penny coins. There were also stick to your teeth caramel candy each individually wrapped. I will however note that the macarons were only average, crusty and a little dry – not Pierre Herme, heck not even a patch on the average Parisian pastry shops.

Overall, I liked Le Salon, I think it’s the nice alternative to indulge if you are looking for a place to burn your time and money. It costs less than a trip to the restaurant downstairs, though two tiers are hardly adequate, so don’t expect to be fed well when you go. You know what this feels like, abit like a primer to get acquainted with the Robuchon brand before taking the plunge on their ala carte, and I think I just might have been seduced, again.

More photographs on my flickr account here.

The Gist of It

Le Salon Bar official site
L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon,
13-15 West Street WC2H 9NE
Tel : 020 7010 8600
Tube: Leicester Square

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

This will be the penultimate entry in my unofficial 2010 Chinese cuisine fortnightly special which is (unofficially) intended to celebrate the coming Lunar New Year (Tiger) which will fall on the 14th of Feb this year. I had always been fasnicated with the idea of Haozhan, being it is one of two restaurants (the other being Plum Valley) in Gerard Street to break from the mould of old world Chinese cuisine. It was obvious that these guys wanted to set Chinatown alight with a touch of elegance, both of which carry shades of Hakkasan. While Plum Valley is more disciplined in it’s approach toward Chinese fine dining; Haozhan dares to venture to the realm of pan asia with a menu that marries the best of East and West, and isn’t shy to get a little creative with their recipes. On paper at least, Haozhan seems an exciting prospect : Owned by Joe Kong who’s family owns New Fook Lam (also in Gerard Street) and having secured a kitchen of ex Hakkasan and ex Kai talent: New blood poised to grab the torch away from their founding fathers.

The contemporary idea extends to the efficient décor – a long rectangular space free from clutter, black wooden walls lit by a rainbow of coloured lights, as if to punctuate the start of a new breed of Chinese restaurants : Sleeker, sexier, robust and ever more serious. They waste little time in shoving their bold concept in your face with their mission statement scrawled across the very first page of the menu. All the keywords are used “innovate”, “creativity” , “our style” , “no crispy duck” to drill into you that the stereotype do not apply here, though chopsticks still do. I nod in appreciation when reading the menu, many dishes seem exciting such as the chilli quail, scallop kaitaifi, XO black cod and even marmite prawns. This clearly wasn’t the average Chinese restaurant, in fact even the background music was avant garde, overlaying the Alan Yau style percussion heavy lift music, a sort of electronica sound-scape guided by a wailing female voice, haunting… and slightly annoying.

Now that I had completely bought into their marketing hurrah, I was really looking forward to fireworks. We started with their signature dish : Haozhan Tofu £10.50. It definitely looked the part, each egg tofu made into individual parcel which includes chopped spinach, a single scallop, coated with a thick gravy, and then garnished with fish roe. The gravy gave the custardy egg tofu a silky mouthfeel, but that’s about the end of anything good. The tofu was mostly cold when I was expecting a sort of piping hotness; The crispy exterior was quickly eroding and gave way to the damp and soggy. Most disappointingly, the scallop was chewy. This recipe has great potential, but I felt it was woefully cooked. It felt tired, everything about it was off balance, as if the chef did not want to cook. It’s heartbreaking tasting food which could be but isn’t.

Also £10.50 are the wasabi prawns.

Any sort of battered shrimp coated with salad dressing, mayonnaise or tangy cream sauce is a favourite of mine. Wasabi prawns was no exception, and I view this as a relatively easy recipe to get right with sprinkles of wasabi to give the mayonnaise abit of kick and colour. Thankfully, this was well executed – standard fare but good. With the batter delivering a robust crunch and with a mayonnaise that went well with steamed rice, just the way I like it.

Champagne cod £19.50

The champagne black cod was a dish that jumped out at me – baked black cod, champagne, butter and honey – heavyweight ingredients. And then, disaster struck. I dipped my chopsticks into the sauce, and my heart sank. That sauce was horrendously wrong. Just like the wailing background noise, this was an off key symphony, so abstract, it was downright strange. I could clearly taste a kind of fruity fizz probably from the champagne, but the palette was ruined with a rich butter taste and then made worse when the fruitiness clashed with the pure sugary sweetness from the honey. At least the fish was cooked well enough, just under and exhibited the signature slithery qualities associated with black cod, though it was no where near Nobu standards. With the viscous sauce penetrating deep into the fish, the squishy oily texture was unappealing. I respect the chef for daring to be creative, but as far as I am concerned – butter and honey do not go well with fish. It was like mixing milk that had gone off with parsley regurgitated by a cat and the result was not very far off from ingesting play-doh. Shudder…

Deep fried ice cream £4.80….

Just when I thought the woes ended with the fish, I was shocked with the quality of the pudding. The red sauce that was served with the deep fried ice cream was disgusting. It tasted like ketchup. As for the deep-fried ball of ice cream itslef, that was equally wrong. The crust wasn’t even piping hot, nor did it taste fried, in fact it tasted as if crumbly outside was barely cooked. I’ve had deep-fried ice cream before, and the key attraction of this recipe is the utter paradoxical nature of it – being that the outside should be piping hot and the inside icy cold. This was neither. This was no different from sugared and uncooked frozen fish fingers garnished with bits of fruit. Monumental failure – one of the worst desserts I’ve ever had the displeasure of eating.

Our bill came to £59.50 for two, not cheap considering the location. Reflecting on the meal, I get the feeling that Haozhan must have once lived up to its vision, especially considering the rave reviews they received in the first few months, but that time seems well and truly behind them. I can’t fault their boldness, but the kitchen now seems rudderless and it churned out food which felt lethargic; uninspired cooking, if this was an off-night, then this restaurant has dire consistency issues. I’ve seen this sort of downfall in Chinatown before and I’m referring to Royal Dragon just opposite Haozhan. The food was excellent with a chef who placed particular attention to balanced flavours, and it was one of the few restaurants in town where food was infused with the magical ‘wok hei’ – a sort of chargrilled smokiness – that separates merely good from the truly excellent. After it’s refurbishment in 2005/06, it was never the same again. The front of house assured me it was the same chef in charge, but the differences in quality was too obvious, it was difficult to believe her. Nothing new then.

More photographs on my flickr account here.

The Gist of It

Haozhan official site £30pp
8 Gerrard Street
W1D 5PJ
Tel : +44 (0)20 7434 3838
Tube : Leicester Square

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

I once held the narrow view that only three types of Chinese restaurants exist in London. Ones that specialized in barbeque meat, others serve dim sum and the rest ripped people off. This perspective is largely unfounded as the diversity of London based Chinese restaurants with specialist regional cuisines are more than far reaching. There is a healthy army of Szechuan inspired eateries, ‘hand-pulled’ noodle specialists are easily accessible, till recently Taiwanese cuisine has been making its waves and not forgetting the ever popular ‘Dai Pai Tong’ style café concepts imported from the streets of Hong Kong. Ah yes, the beauty of Chinese food – diversity. Quite separately, there has been a quiet revolution in what I view as a rebranding exercise which new fangled Chinese restaurants are embarking upon in applying abit of gloss to their respective businesses. The highest profile of these self-appointed fine dining establishments being Hakkasan – a Michelin star holder since the early noughties – serving as an inspiration and subsequently igniting a trend that has seen more success recently with Kai also awarded a star in 2009. Hakkasan wasn’t the first to do it as much before my time, Lee Ho Fook (which today, is rip off central in Gerard St as far as I am concerned) achieved the eponymous status in 1974. So it seemed that there is a market for seasoning Chinese food with a sprinkling of pretension.

Plum Valley falls into this category of a highly produced concept of refined Chinese food served in surroundings which are so slick, one might slip on it. Ironically, it is located in the centre of China town along Gerard Street as if to publicly signal that a change of guard is due in Chinatown. Everything about this restaurant screams ‘I am different’ which swaps expensive looking solid black wood for the withering old world charm of its neighbours. It is about as anti-Chinatown as it gets, and we felt it immediately as we stepped through the glass doors, and were amazed with the loss of lighting. I was here to meet with my brother and also an impromptu rendezvous with a couple of foodbloggers.

Service seemed swift and slick at first even though I was a little miffed when our waitress suggested we start with a crispy duck salad – their best seller we were told.

Crispy duck shaved and shredded into a bed of mixed salad leaves with pomegranate seeds alternating hoisin dips tidily arranged around the plate. I was looking for the unique selling point of this dish, as if to try and figure out where the prestige was with this magic trick, especially since this trickery costs a hefty £14. To my dismay, there was none. Granted the duck was crispy, there was little else to suggest that this was Chinese cuisines’ finest hour. A ridiculously overpriced bunch of leaves.

Lamb chops in Lemongrass £15.80.

Ah, this looks better – beautifully arranged lambchops made to resemble a sort of culinary structure of some kind with a seared celery base as a foundation. First of all, the intense sauce was wonderful, as I detected strong hits of chilli and coriander. Sadly though, I had also detected salty hits of powdered tenderiser as the meat while soft was very artificial. I don’t know, this wasn’t high cooking nor was it fresh produce, this was an an above average lamb chops dish which any of the Chinese restaurants in Gerard Street could easily replicate, for half the price.

Next, egg tofu hotpot £10.80

A thick gravy enveloping silky egg tofu with fragrant mushrooms and aubergines – very hearty indeed, but again nothing out of the ordinary, and I’ve had better versions at Four Seasons.

Sacha seafood hotpot £16.50

As the saying goes : “Big fish, big vegetables” . Great Chinese restaurants distinguish themselves with a mastery of seafood dishes, particularly a kitchen’s ability to churn out properly steamed fish (my choice is grouper). Though on this occasion, we chose the seafood hotpot as a minor acid test . The sauce was slimy, hearty and sizzly however, the rather paltry portions of cod, prawn and squid left me wanting. It was above average, inoffensive but by now I was beginning to see that the dishes followed an unexciting theme.

Finally, the last of the mains : Mongolian fillet of beef £15

This was the only dish which suggested a spot of brilliance as the seared meat swam in a honey sweet sauce with a unique mocha smokiness infusion. Upon further investigation, we surmised that is perhaps down to the a well seared meat with the charcoal somehow being imparted into the sauce. Liquified smoke.

Up to this point, we were still half convinced that Plum Valley might appeal to those looking for a restaurant that boasted ambiance and high class service and could overlook the largely tasty if uninspired Chinese food. But just then, the staff hit the self-destruct button. We ordered three willow dew creams to end our meal, in which the menu describes a sago desert with pomelo and mango but when it got to our table, it turned out to be sago-less. And so we flagged the waitress down to simply ask about the exclusion. Wrong move. The first waitress nervously replied that she did not know and that she had to ask someone else. Fair enough. Fifteen minutes later, no word, we flag another waiter down. This guy also replied nervously but this time insisted that the Willow Dew Cream was meant to be sago-less. We told him to bring the menu around, and pointed out the description regarding the sago. Puzzled, he left us to ask about this with the kitchen. Another ten minutes later, he comes back and informs us that their dim sum department makes the sago, and since this fell out of the jurisdiction of the team which looked after the ala carte menu – his answer was “I don’t know, ask the dim sum guy”. Third time’s a charm then, we flag down another waitress to ask what “the dim sum department” actually meant. This was funny, she seemed fidgety, and it was quite apparent she was nervous, but she suddenly burst out in a very defensive tone – verging on reprimanding us for ordering the desert and then threatening to take the deserts away since we didn’t like it. Her body language turned aggressive and it was only until waiter no.2 came over to calm things down. He then explained that the dim sum guys had excluded the sago because their latest batch wasn’t ‘fresh’. Now I’m no sago expert, but as I understand it, sago can be bought as a readily available flour format in most supermarket, so I was a little miffed at the notion that it wasn’t ‘fresh’. In any case, it was never about the sago, this was a lesson in miscommunication hell and we merely asked a question which took half an hour to produce an answer and which turned into a sour fiasco.

I did note that they were kind enough to take the willow cream off the final bill… which came to a shocking £111.90 for four. I did not like that they had charged us £7.60 for tea and £8 for rice respectively – something which most ‘fine dining’ establishments would do, and something which I continue to find troubling. In the end, the bottom line for me has always been about the food; if we give the restaurant the benefit of the doubt regarding the faux pax in service, sadly, I have to conclude that the food at plum valley does not cut the mustard. While food was above average, it was nothing spectacular, comparable to the rest of China town which are on average about half as expensive. Categorically unexciting and I think Plum Valley is a little confused as to what a ‘good’ restaurant is supposed to be. The gloss is entirely superficial in my opinion, and this pretension is unnecessarily driving up the costs of food, which is largely forgettable. It is a victim of it’s own high nose concept.

I will give it that the restaurant has great décor, but so does Leong’s Legends. With a front of house that cannot talk to the kitchen and whom are hopelessly giving customers the wrong impression, this operation is stunned at best, and this equates to a very disjointed experience altogether. There is a reason why Four Seasons continues to pull in huge queues in Chinatown and it has nothing to do with décor – it is simply because they serve great food.

More photographs on my flickr account here.

The Gist of It

Plum Valley £40pp
20 Gerrard Street W1D 6JQ
Tel : (020) 7494 4366
Tube: Leicester Square

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